Monday, August 19, 2013

from my notebook

[at a coffee shop] This guy plopped down at the table next to me with his yellow motorcycle helmet and asked if I lived up the road; I looked a little familiar.

"Yeah!" I said, recognizing him as the motorcycle guy down the hall. "Cameron Village Apartments!" Pause. "Oh, I mean Cameron Woods." Blank looks of confusion. "Cameron Lake. Gosh, Lake Cameron!" I am an idiot.

* * *

The business world is, shall we say, not my cup of tea. It represents everything that I despise and I never want to darken its door again. It smells like microwave popcorn and cheap perfume and Lysol. It is flourescently lit, that same awful light, never changing, not a single window to be found. It is ties and tassled loafers and porcelain coffee mugs, the ones with vacation destinations printed on the side, Aloha from Oahu!, that people cling fiercely to as they move down the halls, the only sign of life in this place. It's stale jokes and even staler donuts laying on the counter. It's routines and spreadsheets and "Is it Friday yet?" all week long, hardy-har-har.

It is one of Dante's circles of hell.

And I'm not going back. Even if I spend the rest of my life pulling espresso shots or shelving books I will feel a heck of a lot more alive than sitting in that cubicle. And I would like to spend my one human life feeling human. 

* * *

We had a nice, quiet weekend. Now that I stop to think about it, I'm not really sure what we did. Let's see, we baked a cake. 

Gosh, is that the highlight of my weekend, we baked a cake?

* * *

Looks like Mom and Dad will be selling their house soon. It'll be so strange not having the farm to come home to. So much of Trevor's and my relationship bloomed right out of those hills and fields. I met him right when we moved in, sixteen and starry-eyed, not wasting any time in making him a main character in my journals.

My favorite room, the library downstairs, was where I dialed his number with shaking hands to tell him that yes, I would go to prom with him. Red faced and swallowed up in tulle and cologne, we posed for pictures in that same room, Mom and Dad were so impressed with this future pastor they told him not to worry about a curfew.

It was at the kitchen counter that I sat while Mom peeled potatoes and I told her that it was all over, he was getting serious about this girl, and she said, "Honey, it ain't over till they're married."

And she was right because in a few years he would be back in the foyer, picking me up for a date, sans the corsages and bad hair this time. Out on the dock over the pond was where we went dancing that night in June, that time I almost fell in, and then he asked me to be his girlfriend. And right across the pond, up there by the pasture, was where we had that first, most awkward kiss. Right next to that, out on the field looking up at the stars, was where he told me that he loved me. And also that I needed a tic tac.

A year later and I was running out of the house, grabbing that same sequined purse I took to prom, only this time I was in all white and wouldn't be coming back.

To think I will never return to the place where I went from a braces-wearing teenager to a married woman, the place where I fell in love with Trevor, doesn't seem possible. But that's the way it goes.

* * *

Saturday evening at an almost empty Starbucks that smells of heated milk and cinnamon. Stevie Wonder is singing our wedding song on the radio. It's raining outside and I'm sitting across from Trevor, both in our lazy summer clothes, too hot to look cool.

Often I hear people (happily married people) say that marriage is hard. Rewarding and wonderful, but hard. And I just don't get it. Sure, there are always things to work out and adjust to. And that whole selfless, unconditional love thing doesn't exactly come naturally. But to say that marriage is hard, as a general rule? 


 Maybe we are just naive newlyweds, slap-happy and stupid. But I sure hope we stay that way.


  1. Maybe I'm just a slap-happy newlywed too, but I don't think marriage is that hard either. It has it's moments, and it's something that needs to be fought for--but it's not like pulling teeth everyday!

    Also, the corporate business world is TOTALLY one of Dante's circles of hell.

  2. Hmmm the part about your parents house i loved it and it made me sad for you at the same's to hoping new memories will be made at their new place. <3

  3. i laughed out loud at the tic-tac comment. classic.

    your parent's house! isn't it odd how we move on from things yet want them to stay the same once we've left? so many memories there.

    ugh. i completely agree about the corporate business world. it is NOT my cup of tea, yet here i am...for the time being.

  4. This makes me smile, tear up, and laugh - all at once! You truly have a gift for writing!

  5. I love your notebook posts. I regret not writing more thoughts down immediately--you inspire me to keep a notebook closer by at all times.

    Your anecdote about the apartment name reminds me of when I accidentally told someone I was younger than I really was, then kept correcting myself by adding one year and realizing I was still wrong. I doubt they believed anything I said after that.

  6. Your writing voice is just spectacular. I love this series! I want more! "I met him right when we moved in, sixteen and starry-eyed, not wasting any time in making him a main character in my journals." LOVE that line.

  7. Love the part about your parents house, all beautifully written!

  8. Just discovered your blog and I love it! Your writing is beautiful.


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