Hemingway and Fitzgerald

I started reading A Moveable Feast by Ernest Hemingway yesterday and I am already excited! It is like stepping right back into Paris but in a time I can only imagine living in. Writing was his whole world and he talks a lot about it. He describes the advice Stein gave him and the fast life his friend F. Scott Fitzgerald led. Hemingway suffered a lot in life and never truly finished this book that was published posthumously. This specific version I am reading is the restored edition. It was collected and put together by his children and grandchildren in a manner they felt reflected what he really wanted for the book of his life in Paris from 1920-1926. I feel I can learn a lot about being a writer from this book. I will never be a writer like Hemingway. To  be a writer of that caliber I would have to completely lose myself to the craft. I could never do that to the people I love. I just hope to be half the writer Hemingway and Fitzgerald were. 

I hope everyone is having a great week! Last week I gave Sage a bath. As you can see from the pictures, she was not a fan.

I am really happy with this story. The names are all from my favorite great American novel. If you can guess it let me know!

Week 7 (16-22 February 2015)

Mr. Fitzgerald and Ms. Carraway

He didn't look anything like she expected. She imagined an older man with salt and pepper hair, a tailored suit and stern eyes. Instead she got a man in his early 30's like her, perfectly coiffed dark blond hair and soft but piercing blue eyes. The only thing she was correct about him was the suit. It was an exquisitely tailored suit with a skinny tie instead of the regular style. If she had not been there to interview for the job of his assistant she thought he would be a a good candidate for a date or at least a drink at the bar. She shook her head and cleared her throat. He smiled at her, with his elbows on his desk and his finger tips tapping each other, he began the interview.

“Ms. Carraway, why exactly do you think you deserve to work for me?” he did not start the interview off slowly. He went right for the gut.

“I... uh... I have...” she stuttered.

“Your stuttering and stammering are really concerning. I can't have someone working for me who can't speak. I am a busy man, a wealthy man, a man in high demand and I cannot have someone like you working for me,” Jordan was shocked. She had never been in an interview where the interviewer was so incredibly rude. His kind eyes disappeared behind the well of tears that were building up behind hers, “I apologize, it has been a long day and I just do not have the energy to deal with another incompetent person. Please, let's pause. Would you like a coffee? A soda? Maybe some tea? Catherine please bring Ms. Carraway a chamomile tea with some honey and lemon,” he didn't even wait for her to respond before paging someone in the office. Lucky for him she liked tea.

Catherine brought her tea. She put a little bit of honey and stirred in some lemon juice before taking a sip. She took a deep breath and swallowed the tears she was holding back. He was an ass. He was certainly not as she expected. She expected a gentle encounter and if he didn't like her she would never hear from him again. It was just a job not a reason to be unkind. She felt a bitter disdain for the ambitious alpha male that sat across the sleek oak desk from her. He's such a prick she thought as she counted down the minutes before she was brave enough to leave or he told her to go.

“Let's start over. I see you worked at various offices and have assisted several people. It does not look like you have ever worked for someone of my caliber so how can I know you will be able to keep up with my hectic schedule and high demands?”

“Honestly, I don't know that I could because, as you've said, I do not have the experience. I have done this job for several years and I want more than just some small time gig. I thought this would be the place to start expanding my horizons,” she knew he liked her answer but at this point she did not care. She did not want the job. She did not want to ever see him again.

“Thank you Ms. Carraway. I will be finishing interviews this week and I will have Catherine call you about my decision. It was very nice to meet you,” he extended his hand and she shook it. It was over. She could go home and forget this ever happened. The interaction was short but it left a bad taste in her mouth.

Jordan left the office with a defeated smile on her face. She didn't want anyone to know she would cry in the taxi on the way to the bar. She was pissed, fuming and could barely fight back the urge to scream. She choked back her scream and huffed into the elevator. How dare he be so rude. How dare he assume she is incompetent before the interview even begins. If he gained his wealth this way she really wanted to get out of New York and be nowhere near people like him. She wanted to go to the bar next to the elevator doors at the main level but she really did not want to run into him again or anyone in his office. The shame would be too great. She shot out of the elevator and flagged down a yellow cab. She was almost free when she heard his voice.

“Ms. Carraway!” Christ! She thought. Had he followed her down to berate her some more? “You left your scarf in my office. It is a nice cashmere. I figured you'd miss it,” how thoughtful of him. She rolled her eyes and turned towards him.

“Thank you. I do like this one. My father gave it to me before he was killed in the line of duty, he gave it to me the day before he died,” She gracefully grabbed the scarf, thanked him again with a strained, toothless smile and got in the cab. She told the driver where she needed to go and watched as the arrogant interviewer walked across the street rather than head back into the building. She was stopped at a light when, like a bolt of lightening, a motorcycle flew past the taxi. It turned the corner as quick as it could. The back tire whipped out and hit her interviewer, knocking him into oncoming traffic. She watched with horror as he landed in front of a car which then hit him. She burst through the taxi door and ran to the man.

“Call 9-1-1! Someone call 9-1-1!” She screamed as she approached him. His perfect hair was stained with blood. His tailored suit was shredded and embedded with asphalt. She could smell his musky cologne mixed with the strong, metallic taste of iron from his wounds, “Oh my God! Oh my God! Can you hear me?” she snapped her fingers and checked his pulse. He let out a light groan and slightly open his eyes. He looked like he was fading. The man she sat before just minutes earlier had disappeared from her mind. Laying on the street was now a wounded man in a dire situation. She didn't want to move him for fear he may be paralyzed but he was losing so much blood she wanted to do something to comfort him. She took off her coat and scarf, the one he had just handed her, and laid it over him. Within minutes an ambulance had made its way through traffic. They loaded him up and she was left standing in the street soaked in blood talking to an officer.

After Jordan gave her account of the accident she dashed into the taxi, whose driver was also explaining what he saw. She burst through the doors, asked where her interviewer was and how he was doing. She only barely remembered he called himself Mr. Fitzgerald.

“Ma'am you have to be family. I can't give away any info about him.”

“I am! I am his... uh... cousin!” she announced to the irritated nurse.

“His cousin?”

“Yes!” she snapped back and immediately felt guilty about it because she knew the nurse was just having a busy night, “I'm sorry, yes, I am his cousin. How is he? Is he okay?”

“Mr. Fitzgerald is in surgery. I am going to take you to the doctor. You should talk to him. Do you have numbers for the next of kin?”

“Oh god, is he going to die?” she was devastated. This man was a jerk to her but he certainly did not deserve to be pulverized by a car and die!

“No, no, no! Well, not likely. Here please speak to Dr. Eckleburg. He has more answers,” the nurse brought her to the aged doctor with round spectcles adorning his nose.

“Ms...”

“Carraway.”

“Yes, Ms. Carraway. Scott has some very serious injuries. He is currently in surgery but it looks as if he will be needing a blood transfusion. We need next of kin so we can quickly match his blood type. Unfortunately, Mr. Fitzgerald is type O-,” explained the doctor. Jordan was dumbstruck. This stranger that she interviewed for happened to be the same blood type as her.

“Doctor, I am O-,” Jordan could not believe her luck at being a blood match.

“Why my dear, that is a miracle. There is only a 7% chance of finding a compatible donor for that blood type. I suppose since you are family it is not that surprising. Well, if you will, lets get you ready. This is a dire situation,” he motioned a nurse and took Jordan down the hall to a room. She didn't even think twice about saying yes. She was his fake cousin after all and besides, it was just blood. She could make more of it and help someone who needed it. She no longer thought of the ruthless, inconsiderate man that sat across his oak desk from her but rather the man who lay helpless and shattered in the road.

The next morning, Scott woke up groggy and achy. He saw Jordan asleep in the chair next to him. She had on sweats and a hoodie that looked far too large for her petite frame. He tried to adjust in the hospital bed but his body was too beat up for much movement. He let out a groan that stirred Jordan.

“Mr. Fitzgerald, uh Scott? That's what they kept calling you so I assume that is your name. I just nodded my head in agreement. Oh! We are cousins by the way. It is the only way they would let me know anything about you. How are you feeling, cousin?” she snickered at him and he smiled back. It felt natural, like they had been friends since grade school.

“Fitz. You can call me Fitz. That is what my closest friends call me. I suppose that is what a cousin would call me too if I had one. What happened? Last thing I remember was thinking of my father after I gave you your scarf. I guess I was feeling a bit nostalgic. I was heading to the hot dog stand he would take me to when I was a kid but I only remember bits and pieces from there,” Jordan was beginning to answer when a nurse walked in.

“Good! You're up Mr. Fitzgerald. I imagine you are uncomfortable. Let me check a few things and I will give you something to ease the pain since it has been a while. It's a good thing your cousin was here. She saved you,” the nurse checked his vitals and did as she said, gave him something to ease the pain, then left him to continue speaking with Jordan.

“Saved my life huh?” he was perplexed at the nurse's statement.

“Yeah, apparently type O- is hard to find. You needed blood and, well, I just happened to have it. Obviously you know you were in an accident. A car hit you and it was really bad,” Jordan remembered the fear and the taste of iron in her mouth from the smell of so much blood, “I thought you were going to die. All I could think of to do was cover you with my coat and my scarf. I wanted you to be comfortable and not alone if you died.”

He took in a deep breath. His body told him it had been that bad but he was mostly unconscious for everything she explained, “Your scarf, the one your father gave you. I am so sorry I ruined it,” Fitz began to cry. He knew it meant the world to her because of her loss and he knew the despair of loss.

“Don't worry, my father would have been proud of what I did for you. Especially after that interview. Does this mean you'll reconsider me for the job?” they both chuckled and the thoughts of him as a jerk wore off.

Fitz explained to Jordan that his mother died when he was a child. His father was a financier who had a heart attack when he was 22. This left him a large inheritance so he started his own company. He was able to be successful by being zealous, tenacious and not being bullied by others. This made him slightly bitter in life and he tended to rub people the wrong way, as he had with Jordan. They talked for hours until he dozed off to sleep from nighttime meds the evening nurse gave him. Family never showed up for him but Jordan's family helped her take care of him until he recovered. He did give her a job as his personal assistant with her own office and extra holidays, it was the least he could do for her since she saved his life. The greatest thing he did for her though was replace her scarf. He gave it to her at the opening of a fallen officers memorial he donated to the city her father was born in.

“I could never repay you for this,” she cried at the opening.

“You already did. I am alive because of you. I am able to be a far better person because you saved me.”

Jordan and Fitz became the closest of friends. He introduced her to her future husband while she taught him the kindness he needed to grow his business and increase his generosity in the community. This led him to meet his wife at benefit he held for New York's homeless veterans. Since the day in the hospital, they acted as if they really were cousins. Fitz felt he could never repay Jordan for changing his life and making him a better person. He wasn't sure if he would have hired her the day she was interviewed but without her he would not have become the man his wife would have ever spoken to. His life had been lonely as a child. He had very little family and few friends but now his life was so full. The goodness of one changed so many and with so little effort, Fitz wondered why he had never been as hospitable before.

Birthday Week!

Last Thursday I turned 27! I had a fun birthday and got pretty much everything I could possibly ask for! I am off to work now so this will be short. Here are a few pics from the week. I hope everyone had a great Valentine's Day, President's Day and Mardi Gras! Laissez les bons temps rouler! 

P.S. I did not go over this last story but I will later. If it is awful and full of mistakes I apologize.

Week 6 (9-15 February 2015)

The Fear Touch Part 2

Lilou felt a strange cathartic sense of peace while she practiced honing her skill. Being able to touch someone and not be paralyzed with their deepest fears was a difficult task but Averett was an incredibly patient teacher. They bounced from safe house to safe house, often sleeping on the floors of mountain caves and factories in various cities until she finally figured out how to control her fear flashes. Once she was in control, Averett finally answered Lilou's burning questions; who were they running from and why?

“There are men, bad men...”

“Really? Bad guys? We are running from bad guys?” Lilou was underwhelmed at Averett's answer. Of course they were running from bad guys. This wasn't a movie, this was her life, “Who are they?”

“I don't really know. That is the problem. We have been trying to stay ahead of them for so long we don't know exactly who they are just that they want to use our abilities to kill people, important people,” he answered.

“Have they captured any of us? Who are we by the way?”

“They have,” Averett paused, “That's why we don't know who these people are. If they can't use us or someone tries to escape they kill them. No one who has been captured has ever come back to us. We have just kind of been collecting and hiding and trying to figure this all out as a group. W don't have a name, we aren't like a thing, we just save each other and run.”

“There has to be something we can do, there has to be!” She demanded. Lilou was flabbergasted. How could they not possibly know who they are dealing with. Obviously these people were dangerous, they destroyed her home and beat her mother, but how could they run from them and outsmart them if they didn't even know who they were dealing with? Averett gave her a sympathetic look as if to say he had thought long and hard about that but had no answer either.

“Now that you have your fear flashes under control it's time you met some of the others like us,” Averett took Lilou to dingy little Chinese restaurant. He walked passed the counter, to the back, through a door that led to stairs and into a room where a few people were playing an Xbox. An Xbox? These people were so normal but so was Lilou so she shouldn't be too surprised, “This is Max, Ellie and Beckett. Max, like you, has the fear touch. He will be the most helpful to you. Ellie, with one touch, can make you want to die. Then we have Beckett. Beckett is a great asset because he can see your weaknesses as if someone just wrote it all over your face for him to read.”

“And you?” Lilou realized at introductions that she had never asked Averett what he could do. How could she have gone all this time and not asked? It was most likely because she was so distracted by her own life altering change that she didn't even ask the stranger who was helping her what he could do. Averett smiled at her, as did the rest of the group. She wasn't sure why they were smiling until she realized she was hugging herself. Why was she hugging herself? She tried to stop but she couldn't. She noticed they were all laughing and yelled, “Stop!”

“Okay! Okay! Sorry,” Averett chuckled and she couldn't help but smile back.

“So... what do you do?”

“I can manipulate thoughts. I figured it out as a child so I can make people do pretty much whatever I want but I don't even allow myself to go there,” Lilou was stunned. She suddenly felt hurt.

“Have you manipulated me?”

“NO! No! Not at all! The only time I have was now to make you hug yourself so you could see my ability. That is all. I use my skill to make people feel at ease. I did it to your mother. That is how we were able to leave so easily. I helped her feel comfortable with me taking you,” Lilou wasn't sure how to feel. On the one hand she was upset. She felt slightly betrayed that he had this trait of manipulation and never told her. On the other hand, he had earned her trust and he had helped her hone her skill. She decided she would talk to him about her feelings later. She had too many other thoughts.

“So what do we do now?”

“Well, we think we figured out what is going on,” announced Ellie as she put her controller down.

“Yeah? And? What is going on?” Lilou was growing impatient.

“There was an assassination attempt on the president while he was visiting a few European leaders. Now, this doesn't seem all that surprising, world leaders are nearly assassinated all the time and no one bats an eye. The interesting thing about this incident is one of our own did it. Jen went missing a couple weeks ago and we knew they had to of had her. Well they did and she was killed trying to make the attempt. We don't know how or why or anything other than one of our own did something bad after she was taken,” proclaimed Max.

“We need to get her body. We need to bring her home and see what they did to her. Jen never would have done this without force,” Averett looked crushed, “You guys figure out as much as you can. Lilou I need you to come with me. My aunt knows someone who can possibly help us.”

Max, Ellie and Beckett began making calls and doing research on the incident with Jen. Averett took Lilou with him to a quiet little house in a nice little neighborhood. She was confused. His aunt was not in hiding but Averett seemed to constantly be on the run. It felt dangerous to be in such a normal area. The house was quite cute. It had a small front yard with a flourishing tree that hung over a simple patio. The door was white and a dirty welcome mat sat at the door. It was such an obvious home it had to be a perfect hiding place. Lilou and Averett walked around back and found the key hidden in a rock on the back deck. He opened the door and called out his aunt's name. They stepped into the kitchen and heard nothing but Lilou could smell a sharp metallic scent fill her nose. Their confusion was laid to rest when they entered the living room.

The entire living room was covered in blood and Averett's aunt lay face down on the stairs with a note stabbed to her back. Lilou let out a scream and Averett turn chalk white. There had been a great struggle and his aunt had fought diligently but to no avail. Averett grabbed the note and read it: We've been watching you. Join us or Lilou's mother is next. Lilou choked on the tears trying to escape her. She had left her mother alone and someone wanted to kill her. Fear gripped her entire body. She felt it pulsating through her fists and her ears were pounding. Averett placed his hand on her and attempted to calm her.

“I need you to touch her Lilou. I cannot manipulate a dead persons thoughts but if she is still warm you can see her last moments of fear,” Lilou was shocked. He could not possibly be asking her to touch his dead aunt. Averett looked more serious thank he ever had before. She slowly walked to the body. It was still warm so she felt a tiny sliver of hope. She took a deep breath and placed her hand in Averett's aunt's hand. Suddenly a chaotic scene filled her mind. Jen got inside and began stabbing Averett's aunt. It was brutal and quick but something wasn't right. Jen had something tattooed on her hand and she looked crazed. She didn't look like a woman who had control of herself. Someone else had control of her and made her kill the poor woman on the stairs.

Lilou explained to Averett what she saw. He grabbed her arm and took her out of the home to his car. She had never seen him drive so fast. When they made it to a place she could only assume was a safe spot, Averett made a call to the others. They met them at the new safe house to discuss a plan with the traumatized pair.

“They are taking control of us and I think it is through the tattoo they put on Jen's arm. They are watching us and we need to stop them now before they kill all of or families,” demanded Averett. The group agreed and for the first time in a while Lilou could feel the fear filling up the room. Someone was kidnapping them, controlling them and forcing them to murder others. They would have to act fast to protect the innocent but how? They did not know their enemy.

Lilou took a deep breath and called attention to herself, “Our families are not safe. We need to protect them and destroy whoever did this. They cannot use us and we cannot let them harm our loved one. We leave tomorrow. I hope someone figured out where these people are because we are going after them. They will pay for this,” Lilou was shaking. She had never been so angry and vengeful but she had also never seen such a horrible sight. Everyone agreed her plan was solid and they parted ways in he safe home for watch and privacy. Only months before she was a normal student, now she just felt like a freak with a hit on her head. 

The ocean inspired me

I have been in California this past week and other than missing my husband it has been awesome! I got to drive through Vegas and see my grandparents. They got to meet Ava and their little pooch Harley loved her! The weather here is beyond gorgeous! Mid to high 70's, slight humidity and sunshine! It makes my soul happy. I took Ava for a run on the beach and she was amazing! My day at the beach inspired my story for this week.

I learned not too long ago that Hemingway used to have a way of writing where he would take a personal experience and then take someone else's personal experience, mesh them together and create a story as if he experienced the whole event himself! I really liked that idea so I have been experimenting with it. If you notice your name or an experience you had in one of my stories that is exactly what I am doing. I was supposed to do my Fear Touch story this week but I was moved by the sea to write another story. This story is based on my day at the beach mixed with a military wife losing her husband. Ever since I saw American Sniper I just can't get the Kyle family out of my thoughts. This helped mend that bit of sadness I had for them. 

I hope you all enjoy this story this week and enjoy my pictures of my trip so far! See you all next Monday!

*I know there are multiple pictures of the same scene with hardly any differences but it was too pretty to not capture! So sorry not sorry!

Week 5 (2-8 February 2015)

My Red, White and Blue

They handed me the patriotic triangle that signaled the end of my husband's funeral. Inconsolable, I thanked the young man who graciously and delicately handed me the flag these men so valiantly fought for. My husband's dog tags hung from my neck and danced as I heaved out hot, salty tears of my earth shattering grief. Gone. He was gone. When we had the private viewing he looked so peaceful, like he was happily sleeping his death away. My sorrow felt like it had no bounds as my children and I spent the next couple of weeks cuddled in my bed. I would have to learn to sleep alone, which I had done while my husband was deployed but he was alive then. I could still smell his cologne on his pillow as if his flesh was pressed against wet cheek.

Weeks went by and months followed after the loss of my husband. Soon it would be a year since I had lost my soul mate. A dear friend of mine had moved in to help me raise my young, fatherless children. She was the angel we needed in these dark months and somehow managed to keep us all afloat. I noticed her staring at me on day and asked her what she was looking at.

“I was hoping to catch you smiling. I haven't seen you smile for almost a year now,” it was true. Since the loss I had not smiled. My children had not smiled. No one smiled around me. We were weak in our desperation for a sense of normality in the wake of the destruction we called life now. I didn't know what to say. Did I scream at her about how pitiful I felt? Did I all to the floor at how completely lost I was? Did I dare smile to appease her? I looked down. Hot, stinging tears pressing on my eyelids as I tried to blink them away, “I have an idea. You should do something on the anniversary of his death.”

I sighed. How could I? How could I commemorate such a tragic day? My sorrowful plea must have seeped through to her because she came over to me and hugged me.

“I will take the kids for the day. They should do something happy, maybe we can visit some of his friends. I want you to spend the day alone with the thoughts of your husband. Your first date was at the beach. Go to the beach and reflect on him. Reflect on yourself. Tell him you love him and tell him he will always be with you.”

It was actually a brilliant idea. I didn't want to do it but I could not say no, she wouldn't let me anyway. No sense in fighting and a day alone with my husband is what I needed. Our first date was at Newport Pier. I had sand in my shoes for weeks. He bought me an ice cream cone and we walked the beach all the way to Balboa Pier. He was such a gentleman, bending down to snatch up shells he thought I would like as a keepsake. He held my hand and even saved me from falling in the sand like some sort of fairy tale prince charming. We kissed under the pier as the sun set on our day long first date. Nothing had ever felt so true, so pure as that first day together. We spent the entire day talking and getting to know each other, now I was to go and find myself without him. I thanked my friend for her suggestion, packed up my kids to spend the day with her and hugged her. She gave me a sad smile and off I drove.

When I arrived at the beach I noticed I had a voice mail from my dear friend. Hoping the children were alright I listened to it, “Today will be one of the most difficult days of your life and I am really sorry you have to go through that. Please do me one favor while you are there. I want you to look out onto the ocean and tell me how many hands are pushing the waves. I love you Kat,” How many hands are pushing the waves? I was puzzled by her inquiry. The moon pushed the tide, there were no hands. I shrugged my shoulders and began what I felt was a huge mistake.

The boardwalk had its usual buzz. Gulls were cawing at tourists throwing bread. People hummed the soft chatter of excitement in the distance. I could hear the scraping of wax on surf boards and the gritty roll of passing bicyclists. It was warm out and a light breeze rolled by here and there. I strolled through the hectic beach city and couldn't help but feel sorry for how lonely I felt amongst all these people. I kept my head down and kicked the sand for the next couple of miles. I felt pitiful, hopeless and just all around heartbroken. My best friend was gone. The father of my children was dead. I was a widow and I was only in my 30's. I never got to experience a 20^th anniversary. I will never get to grow old with him. He is not within grasp and I can't even hear his voice or have him reason with me anymore. It was all gone. I looked around and saw no one was there. I was alone on the beach and it was fitting. I crumpled into a heap on my knees and cried. Heavy sobs gushed from my chest until I had no more tears to donate the shore.

I sat on the crunchy sand, not caring that the tide could nearly reach me and that the sand was extremely moist. I closed my eyes for a moment and remembered what my friend had told me. I opened my eyes to look for the hands pushing the waves and instead, I was met with an astonishing sight. The swell was strong, I could see it sucking back the water like the ocean was inhaling the land to create foamy waves and a steep incline because the tide was out. The salty air tickled my nostrils and kissed my dewy skin. I looked at the crashing waves and the incoming roll of ocean that would be the next round of waves. There were no hands. Nothing was pushing the sea to meet the shore. All of nature was working as one to create this symphony of peace and harmony. The surf this Sunday was my church and each new inhale and exhale of waves was God telling me I wasn't alone. I realized then that I had my husband's dog tags around my neck. They were pressed against my chest, as close to my heart and I could get them.

There were no hands pushing the waves. It was all a symbiotic relationship between creator and created. I was alone on this beach but in my heart I knew I was never really alone. I began to talk to my husband and I let the ocean answer for him. I kissed his dog tags and pressed the cold metal to my chest, imagining all the times he had kissed me on this beach. I dug my toes into the sand remembering all the times I made him sit on my feet to keep them warm. I spoke to the sea breeze about our children and let the wind carry our grief off to a place where it could be stored safely away from us. I stood up, nearly weak in the knees from sitting in the sand for so long. I stumbled a step or two and a couple jogging by at that exact moment, as if my husband had told them what a klutz I am, caught me before I tumbled down into the engulfing swell below. For the first time in a year, I smiled at this sweet couple enjoying the space that held so much love for me. I gathered a few shells to bring home to my precious children and headed home. I was greeted by the happiest little faces that looked more and more like my husband everyday. We kissed and hugged and smiled some more. They saw me happy, they deserved me happy.

Tragedy forced my family to live with an empty void in our home and in our hearts but we began to manage. We sought solace in nature and spoke to our fallen hero in the surf and in the breeze. We let the birds carry our fears to heaven. We let the ocean wash away our sadness. We let the shells remind us that, even though our home will forever have a pair of unused boots by the front door, this is all just temporary for home is carried in your heart. I still grieve for the man so madly fell in love with but I cherish the time we had and our talks on the beach in his absence. I know in that wet, salty sand I am never without him.

Headed to California with Nugget!

In a few hours I will be hopping in a car with my BFF and her baby and driving to California where her house is. I have never done a road trip like this with a friend and I am so excited! It has been a nice several days with my friend, like old times :) Our favorite thing that we used to do was veg on the couch and watch trashy daytime TV. I was so happy to do be able to do this again! 

The weekly stories have been fun to do! I am working on two series right now. One series is the Fear Touch (which will be coming back soon!) and the other is Verona. Verona will have part one this week and I am excited for it. It is a travel, love, self discovery type story. I hope you all enjoy the first part of this series! 

Enjoy some pictures and I will see you all next Monday!

My little Broncos niece! Girl will love her some Denver Broncos!

Such dorks!

She is learning to grab haha!

This kid's face explains it all!

Probably the cutest thing in the world!

Week 4 (26 January- 1 February 2015)

Verona

In the fair city of Verona we set our scene. A fair maiden sits at a fountain, done with love, done with men, done wandering the world in a hopeless dream of achieving a passion she had only read in Shakespeare's play. But what brought this auburn beauty to the city nestled in Northern Italy? Heartache. Never ending, gut wrenching heartache. Her first love at the ripe age of 18 left her for college. No rhyme or reason why. He had applied to a college in New York, was accepted and left her to mend her heart alone without taking her calls or texts. In college she fell in love with a sophisticated older English major. He was tall, handsome and an incredible poet. He also had a secret. He exposed his secret to all his friends and family by announcing he was marrying his best friend, a fellow poet, now that gay marriage had become legalized. Krysta knew this relationship was too good to be true but he really didn't have to pretend their relationship had never existed and announce his new relationship so publicly.

A succession of lovers followed but none stayed. They would all leave for new girls or new jobs or for no reason at all, they would just leave. Eventually the familiar face of her high school sweetheart sauntered back into her life. She was sitting at the local coffee shop studying for finals when his bearded face walked in. He looked like the scholarly New York type and for a moment she hated him but his flash of white teeth and golden hazel eyes softened her. For six months they would date. It would be six months of familiar conversations and complacent attitudes. They were comfortable and she was happy again. One day, she walked her new joyous self home after getting out of classes early. She grabbed a bottle of wine and some dinner so they could have a romantic evening alone. She turned the key to her apartment, walked in and heard the shower going. How splendid! She thought to herself. She could just join him. She walked into the bathroom and immediately regretted in.

“Oh my god! Oh My god!” she yelled as she shut the door and ran to her room. Flying behind her was her boyfriend.

“Krysta wait! Please wait!”

“Who is she? Actually I don't even care, how long has this been going on?”

“Not long, I am sorry, plea...”

“No. Just no. Get out. Please leave. She needs to leave and you need to leave. I don't even care how long or why and anything just go,” she grabbed her keys and the bottle of wine and walked to her friend's apartment. She was devastated. Love was not kind to her and she was ready to give up on it.

Krysta finished school a few months after her boyfriend cheated on her and felt an urge to get away. She needed to wander and find herself. As she was walking home one sunny day she heard some girls chatting about Shakespeare. She had always had a soft spot for the Bard of Avon and so she eavesdropped a little.

“I learned from a friend that there are volunteers in Verona who answer letters people send in to Juliet!” said one girl.

“How incredible would it be to go to such an old city and see the place that inspired Romeo and Juliet!” announced the other. A light bulb went off in Krysta's head. It would be incredible to see Verona. She didn't know much about it besides what she had read in Shakespeare's play but she had a bunch of graduation money and a need to escape. She went home that day, booked a flight, called her family and left for Verona. She made her way to the picturesque town but stopped for nothing until she reached Juliet's house. If she couldn't have love she would guide others to it by volunteering to write letters. She walked to the famous balcony near the famous statue, paused for a moment then walked right into the Juliet's house.

“Boungiorno, parli inglese?”

“Hello dear. I do,” smiled an elderly woman. She had crisp white hair, deep brown eyes and hands that had seen the happiest and saddest days. She offered Krysta a seat and some water, “We are from all over here but I speak the best English,” she said with a wink, “What brings you in to Casa di Guilietta?”

“I heard about the letters and want to volunteer.”

“What is your name? Most importantly what is your story?” Krysta explained to the woman what brought her to Verona, the heartache, the yearning for love, the disappointment, every last drop of her love life to that point then quietly waited for an offer to write letters. After several minutes of contemplative hums and sighs the woman spoke, “It's not quite that easy Krysta.”

“Why not? I know what love is, I know how to write?”

“Sure, sure, you can write but you have no inclining of what love is. You know what love isn't. You know what it shouldn't feel like but you do not know love,” Krysta was a mix of angry and astounded. No one had ever expressed such truth to her.

“How can I prove to you I am ready to be a volunteer?”

“I want you to go to lunch. Spend a couple hours eating fine Italian cuisine and come back when you are full. Do not come back for a couple hours. I will not see you. No go on. See a little slice of Verona,” the woman ushered Krysta out of the house and blew her a kiss goodbye.

She did as the woman told her. She ate pasta made with homemade tomato sauce and aged Parmesan, she had wine that glided smoothly down her throat and warmed her belly, she tasted gelato so creamy and rich she felt as if she were devouring fresh strawberries picked by her own hands. The food was incomparable to anything she had ever tasted. As the sun began to set and exhaustion began to settle in her head, Krysta made her way back to Juliet's house. She noticed on her walk how the blazing orange sunset was made brighter by the red roofs of the city's buildings. For the first time in her life she felt alive. Krysta walked to back to Juliet's house as requested and paused for a moment below the balcony. There were dozens of tourists and a buzz of talking. She couldn't help but notice how beautiful the scenery truly was.

“Ciao Bella! How was your lunch?” asked the woman.

“It was wonderful! I have never had such incredible food. It made my palate feel as if it were tasting food for the first time!”

“Perfect! Now you say you want to volunteer here but you are not ready my dear,” the disappointment on Krysta's face was evident, “Now do not get me wrong, you have felt love but you do not understand love! You must understand loved to help those who write to us. You need to find yourself. I cannot have an unguided soul penning out advice to love lorn subjects. No, no, no I cannot. The ladies and I, we like you. You are the first American to waltz in our door and want to help people find love. Because of this, we have pooled together some money. We receive countless donations but we do not use most of it so we want to send you on a trip to find yourself. Tour Europe. Visit the ancient cities of Italy and Greece, go to La Tomatina in Spain, explore Germany's fairy tale castles, have champagne at the top of the Eiffel tower, see the green lands of Ireland. Go visit as many places as you can muster with the money we give you and return to us once you have a sense of confidence. This is all the guidance we can give you sweet girl. Now be on your way.”

The women blew kisses, gave hugs and shut the door on her. Krysta was stunned. She stood in the doorway of Juliet's house with a parcel full of tips for travel and cash. She had enough money to explore Europe for a year! She could not believe her luck. Normally she did not do things alone but she had traveled this far alone so she knew she could travel more. She went back to her room and decided to heed the advice of the old woman. She needed to figure out who she was and how to love herself before she could find love. She slept soundly that night listening to the sounds of traffic below her window and woke up to church bells ringing in the bright early morning. She packed up her belongings and boarded the train. She picked the Netherlands to explore first. She had heard of their tulips and decided that was a perfect place to start. Her journey to find herself began at the clatter of Italian train tracks.