Ethiopia-bound!

Today I am on my way to Ethiopia!!

If you want to keep up with my journey, like VoiceBox Media on Facebook or follow us on Twitter (@thvoiceboxmedia).

Can't wait to get back and tell you the stories of the people I encounter there!

grateful celebration of turning {30}

 

In October 2012 I was driving from Kentucky back to Texas and I thought, "I want to return here for my 30th birthday party and I want to celebrate with some of my most favorite people."

Fast forward to September 2013 and that's what happened. 

When I look at the pictures from that weekend and when I think about being surrounded by that much love, I'm grateful.

I'm grateful for acceptance.

...for the friends who drove a lot of miles to get there.

And for the friend who flew across time zones.

I'm grateful for a friend's lake house and their inspiring generosity.

I'm grateful for the photos and the memories we created.

...for morning coffee on the floating dock.

...and for conversations till 2 a.m.

I'm grateful for falling asleep mid-sentence.

I'm grateful for the kids who sang me original birthday songs.

...for their handwritten notes and cards.

I'm grateful for the gifts my friends brought - the kind they knew would mean the most.

I'm grateful for laughing, for crying, for reminiscing and for creating.

I'm grateful for a town that is home, a campus that welcomes me the same as it did 11 years ago, and for streets that are as familiar to me as, well, home.

I'm grateful for the women who cradled me and for my mom who organized that surprise.

I'm grateful for our "love fest" and for the affirming gift-words we gave each other (I WAS SO EXCITED TO DO THIS!!)

I'm grateful for friends who couldn't come, but sent me a party hat.

...and homemade beer.

...and a beautiful letter.

I'm grateful for the football games that played, the football conversations, and the "hook 'em, Horns!" pictures with my 3-year-old friend.

I'm grateful for my mom who did most of the driving, for friends who watched Skye, and for the terrific boarder who cared for Tuck.

I'm grateful for the quilts I gave as gifts and for all the things they symbolized.

I'm grateful for sunsets over the lake, and for a sturdy deck with rocking chairs.

I'm grateful for turning 30.

...to be living this new decade with so much love.

Y'all give me the warm fuzzies.

(and not in a moldy-kind-of-way)

 

 

direction{s}

I was trying to find The UPS Store yesterday in an unfamiliar town. I drove around a block three times, I made for-sure positive I did not travel the wrong way down one-way streets, and I nearly returned home (errands un-done) out of frustration. Instead I called The UPS Store and asked what they were located next to, and the landmarks helped. Then I walked into the store and the fresh-faced college students made me feel old and slightly less awesome.

I texted a friend: "I want to go home and take my bra off," which is like saying, "I want to go home and eat a pint of ice cream," or "I want to go home and watch a Real Housewives marathon."

It wasn't until I was driving around the unfamiliar Texas town square yesterday that it dawned on me: you moved.

Sure, I'd done all the things required for a move - change of address, shut off the electricity, put my stuff in storage - but the reality of it didn't register till I was wandering in a different town feeling old and disoriented.

This was one of my simpler moves, and one of my most favorites because I didn't move too far from the people I dearly love in my old place, and in my new place I have an existing network of friends.

So may the record state that Holly has moved (and some of you will add an exaggerated again).

I'm an Austinite now.

Well, kind of.

I'm an around-Austinite.

(and if you want my new address and we're tight like that, email me for it.)

"I've gotcha"

"Fearlessness with peace," my mom reminded me. "Remember what the skunk means?"

Skunks have been a crazy intimate part of my life for about 17 months now, and they've finally driven me out of my Cottage. *insert sadness here* While I'm lamenting the loss of my home, and humored that I lost the battle to skunks, my life coach is informing me of the significance that skunks represent. 

Fearlessness with peace. Steady with efforts. What you do emanates outward. Teaches willpower. An awareness of when to move and adapt. People will naturally notice you.

I had no idea the skunks had an important message. 

Four months ago, there were so many reasons not to accept my friend's invitation to Kenya. 

Money. Job. Vacation. Dogs. Health. Risk. Fear.

There were so many reasons not to launch VoiceBox Media. 

Money. Job. Vacation. Risk. Fear. My obsessive worrying about details that didn't matter. 

But then I decided to take a small step. Dip my toe in the water, if you will. I started talking about my idea. And the idea became a bigger idea until it was bursting at the seams and I had a choice to make: kill it, or take the next small step.

Four months ago I was sitting in a friend's living room tallying up all the reasons I shouldn't go to Kenya. Don't get me wrong. I wanted to go so freaking bad. 

But was I ready for that step? Did I have what it would take?

I consulted my mentors.

You're going to Kenya. 

Forget dipping the toe in the water. That takes too long. I decided to dive. 

I can only calculate risk for so long before I have to jump, and trust. I can only run through so many scenarios in my dizzy head until I have to relinquish control, and trust.

When will I learn?

I was shaking my head at myself yesterday over that very question. An unplanned sequence of events had me irritated and flustered, but led me exactly to where I needed to be at exactly the right time - not a day too late, not a minute too soon. 

When will I get that despite my planning and obsessive studying of the calendar, shit's not really under my control?

I've seen it happen again and again with my four-month-old-project-that's-been-in-the-making-for-13-years. You'd think I'd get it. 

Everything happens for a reason.

That's my motto. It reminds me not to sweat the small stuff, and to appreciate the big stuff. To let go of some things and to trust. Usually these moments hit me when I'm driving at sundown and I look over or ahead of me to see the magnificent sunset, and I hear a couple words whispered into my soul: 

"I've gotcha."

fall into fall, and a bit of rambling

Starbucks has introduced their great fall line-up, football season has started, it's forecasted to be 68 degrees Saturday night, and everywhere there are orange scarves and pumpkins.

I think fall is about to be here.
But, you know, in Texas that still means 100+ degree days for most of this glorious month of September, which is really my favorite month of the whole year.

It starts with my birthday, celebrated four days ago by attending the season opening game of the Texas Longhorns with 101,000 other people, and a new friend. Nothing says "welcome to fall" than sitting at the very top of the Longhorns stadium for an evening game, and watching the moon glow over the Austin skyline while a breeze cooled everyone. Plus, we won, so that was awesome.

Texas Longhorns vs. Wyoming Cowboys

My Facebook page lit up Saturday and Sunday with birthday wishes, all of which I deeply appreciated. The one that made me cry, though, was a text message I got Monday from my former nanny-child's mom. She wished me a happy birthday from her and Josey, and said they went to the circus a few days ago and Josey said she wished I was with them. And then tears stung my eyes. It's funny how after all these years one little girl can still have a grip on your heart, and she remembers me. And then yesterday my best friend sent me a picture message of her two-year-old son with a Longhorns shirt on and a caption, "Making Auntie Holly proud!" I'm truly blessed by the little squirts in my life.

I'm fighting off a cold, or whatever it is. Whatever-it-is is a sore throat and mild congestion capped off with some ol' fashioned fatigue. Last night I had a strict regiment: leave work early, get Vitamin C, go home, rest, run, eat, make chili, shower, sleep. So that's what I did, and I was not deterred by the books scattered across the kitchen floor because Skye had knocked over the bookshelf. Nope. Cleaning up books and fixing a bookshelf was not on the evening's agenda and so I left them.

And I slept for 10 hours, which in my world is a glorious, glorious thing.

I've got a 5K coming up on Saturday and I'm so, so, so glad for my birthday-present-to-myself running shoes. Can you believe I bought running shoes?  I still catch myself, like last night post-run while washing dishes, thinking: You ran. YOU RAN. And this is monumental because I've always said, "I am not a runner," despite my great admiration of all my running friends. But now, here I am, running a little at a time and a little bit more at a time.

And judging myself for not running more. Why do I that? Tuck and I had a good run last night and on our way back, I was frustrated that I couldn't run anymore. That's my adversarial side talking, and then I become my own coach: "You've only been running for two months, you've got a couple diseases, you started at zero and look at where you are today. Get over it! And be satisfied."

So I told myself, "OK, self. You're right."

And I walked the rest of the way home. 

dumping the dogs

I'm going out of town this weekend and for the first time in my life, I'm boarding my dogs at an actual facility. No leaving them with their grandmother, or shacking them with a friend. They're getting the boneified drop-off at the daycare.

What the hell am I supposed to tell these people?
Tuck likes to chew hard plastics and swallow the small pieces. He also rises at 6:30 every damn morning.
Skye has a WILL BITE sticker in her folder at the vet. She should be kept far away from baby deer, sheep and kittens. You can pet her head, just not her body. 

But first, let's just get them there.

Because I'm a bit obsessive, I called the boarding place yesterday to find out exactly what I needed to bring with them. I'd made the reservation a month ago, but I have a problem with short-term memory loss and I hadn't written anything down from that first conversation.

Dog food and vaccine records. OK. I can handle that.

Two hours later, the owner of the place calls me and says he doesn't have a reservation on file for my dogs. First words out of my mouth: "WHAT? Nooooooo...." because a lot of people board their dogs and getting last minute reservations is like impossible. But he graciously finagled it for me and squeezed us (well, them) in. And then the housekeeping items:

"Do you want to keep them together or separate?"
"Separate, please." Tuck gets too rough with Skye and without supervision, they're liable to be at each other's throats all day. 

"If you want to bring any bedding with them, you can."
"It's OK...they rough it." Ha, yeah right! They have the entire life of one human that revolves around them.

"You can bring any toys that they might like to have."
"OK." Do dustpans, tupperware containers, tote bags and sticks count? Because, really, those are the most favorite toys around here.

"The kennels are five-feet high and we've never had a dog jump them."
"Hmmm...well, that's good." At what point do I warn you about my dogs? That when they're determined to do something, they're going to do it?

I've never done this before. Does a dog boarder want your dog's life story, because I'm tempted to give it? Is it like leaving your kid with a babysitter?

Tuck gets up at 6:30 every morning and prefers to be let outside for approximately 15 minutes. But then he gets bored and starts barking, so you need to bring him back inside and re-crate him, OR at this point you can take them for their 1.5 mile walk. Skye can either go out at 6:30, but she's used to sleeping a bit later, so she can wait till you want to get out of bed at like 8 or something. If they both go stand at the farm gate after your evening walk, that means they want to go to the river. Feel free to take them, but keep Skye on a leash until you know no one else is at the river. Tuck doesn't need to be leashed, because he'll stay with you and if he runs ahead a bit, he'll listen and come back. When you get to the river and if no one is there, you can let them loose and throw rocks in the water to let them swim. Just don't throw sticks because they'll both want to retrieve it and they'll fight in the water over it. They might drown. When you're ready to leave, say "Let's go home," and they should go home, no leashes necessary. Tie them up outside so they'll dry off. Tuck will dry off much faster; it takes Skye hours.

They speak German, have I told you that? Am I supposed to leave a list of their German commands? And warn you they're probably not going to listen to you anyway?

Do I mention that Tuck gets bored easily and WILL find something to chew, and that neither of them are going to eat very much and will probably look like shit when I pick them up? Do I talk about the fact that Skye likes to jump on you and put her paws on your shoulders, while Tuck will just leeeeaaaaannnn into the front of your legs with no concern at all if you're mid-step, just so you can pet him? And that when you scratch his ears and head, he'll leave his mouth open and you'll be covered in slobber? Do I need to talk about bloodlines and pedigree and their intelligence levels, training schedules?

When should I mention that my world revolves around them, that they're my dream dogs, my friends, my roommates, my protectors, my investments, my incentives to exercise?

Maybe I don't talk about any of that. Maybe I'm just supposed to kiss their foreheads, scratch their ears and say, "Momma loves you...I'll be home soon," just like I do every morning.

There's no manual for life, is there? Not even for dumping your dogs.

I’m no road warrior. Who am I kidding?

Two hours into my 13-hour drive home Monday, I wondered if I’d really make it. I think I actually thought a thought along the lines of,“What if I ditch my car in Memphis and Tuck and I fly home?”

But I popped some pills (Tylenol), tossed out a Facebook status about how I wasn’t sure the condition I’d arrive home in, and I settled in for the long haul. The really long haul.

A really long haul with no AC and 96-degree heat because what's a road trip without AC in 96-degree heat?

But in all seriousness, I'm getting too old for that shit, and it's probably time, after 22 years on the road, to hang up my road warrior hat and don my paranoid old-lady driver bonnet.

Because that's what I've become.

The symptoms are all there. Blinker on 45 seconds before merging so everyone in a 2-mile radius knows I'm comin' over. At least two car lengths between me and the car in front of me, allowing enough room for people to pass me on the right and still squeeze in between me and the yahoo in front of me. Honking and cursing at people who cut me off (OK, maybe I've always done that). Frantically scanning my front seat and grabbing my purse to make sure I didn't leave my wallet at the last gas station. Walking at the rest area for 10 minutes at a time.

And then the pain.

The magnificent pain in my knees, hips, femurs, my collar bone, shoulders and long bones in my arms. The numbness in the tops of my legs, the ringing in my ears, the trembling in my hands.

I'll embrace the old lady in all her old lady demands until the next time I want to travel. By then I might have forgotten the pledge I made all the way home from Kentucky that I would never (ever!) do that drive again.

It's the open road after all. And I'm in love with it.

Kentucky morning

My best friend's farmhouse is silent this morning, except for the dog whining in a crate and his tail hitting the metal sides, sending off a "ping, ping" in the morning stillness. The only other sounds are my fingertips on my keyboard and Tuck's occasional bark from my car.

The day is about to explode in all its ferocious glory, but for now, it's me, my coffee and this screen. Earlier, it was me and Tuck on our morning walk in the Kentucky farmland.

He and I drove the 13 hours yesterday from Texas to here. Here. Where it feels like home in all of its comfortable familiarity. Even my car is happy to be here, to finally be here after its wheels spun us the entire 744 miles.

I was worried about that, you know, as I've been worried about a lot of things as of late.

Since when did I worry so much?

Since, well, forever, but sometimes worse than others.

This is a some time worse than others.

I was worried we would break down, I was worried that I wouldn't have money to fix the imaginary problem. I was worried all day yesterday that we would crash.

And so I became a paranoid old-lady driver. Blinker on 45 seconds before merging. Two car lengths between me and the vehicle in front of us. Look twice (three times) before switching lanes. Double-checking every gas station stop to make sure I hadn't forgotten anything or left my wallet anywhere.

Since when did I become old-lady paranoid driver?
Since yesterday, apparently.

I don't want to worry all the time, it just sneaks up on me.

"What else is there possibly for you to stress out about?" a friend asked me the other day after I spewed my current worries, some real, others not.

"Just give me time. I'll find something," I said.

I don't like admitting it, but it's true.

"I need to chill out...big time," I told my best friend on the phone yesterday.

And I do, which is probably why I'm on vacation and what better place to be to chill out big time then the place that knows me best and with the people who love me despite my uptight and highstrung tendencies?

I might remember your name. Other things, maybe not

I don't have a good memory.

I know that I know things that could relate to a myriad of conversations that would validate my opinion, make me sound smarter, perhaps give the people around me confidence in the adamant dispensation of my words.

But more often than not, I don't interject my opinion, because what's an opinion that you can't back up? And when the questions start rolling in about why I think the way I'm thinking, I don't want to have to say, "I can't remember."

My short term memory sucks.

It's evidenced in many ways, but the biggest one is that I'm always writing stuff down. Always. By the end of the week, my desk is littered with Post-it notes and scrap pieces of paper with random messages, to-do things, key points from conversations and things I must not forget.

Friends and observant people I work with know this. When I say, in answer to a question, "To be honest with you..."

..."you don't remember," a good friend finishes my sentence.

I sigh. "No, I don't. But I have it in an email, I'll forward it to you ASAP."

The longer a conversation, a scenario, a meeting or an interaction marinates in my head, the better chance I have of recounting each detail.

It's something in my life I have to deal with on a conscious level. I can't pretend it doesn't exist, because it does. It means I have to circumvent its impact on my life. I have to be proactive.

So I'm armed with clearly labeled notebooks to coordinate with each title I have and my calendar. And any other documentation I might need to rely on.

What's tricky is when I have to remember what direction I entered the gas station from while traveling. That always gets me. Did I turn right to get in here or left? Bceause that's going to tell me how to get out and in what direction I need to head on the interstate/highway.

I've had to sit and think about it awhile.

pure spirituality

Pure religion is, according to the Bible, taking care of the fatherless and the widows.

Pure spirituality is, according to me, the enriching current of conversation that flows between friends.

It's discourse, exchange of information and ideas, melding passions and differing opinions without the threat of domination. It's laughing, and drinking coffee in a cafe unfamiliar to both of us. It's spending five hours there, poring over maps and calendars and notepads.

Seven years and six months ago, I met Christina during a journalism training course in Washington, D.C. We were young and ambitious and we stayed friends.


(I'm in the purple shirt standing in the back row; Christina is third from the left sitting down)

Seven and a half years later, we've traversed a lot of life (physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually) as we've journeyed from our barely-twenties through our early twenties, and now mid-to-late twenties.

When she told me last week she was in Dallas for the week, it wasn't a question of if we would see each other, it was what day, and am I going there or are you coming here?

I went there yesterday, an 8-hour road trip, and there was this great moment of me in my car texting her to tell her I was there, and then she was ripping open my door and I couldn't get out fast enough.

Who cares that it'd been 2,737.5 days since our last meeting.

"This just feels natural," is what she said as we were driving in an unknown Texas town. True to form, for both of us, we got lost, turned around and back tracked a couple times, but we made it to our destination - not that we really cared where we were going. We just wanted a space to talk for as long as we wanted, face-to-face.

We holed up in a booth in a far back corner and we stayed there for a long time...women, friends, dreamers, planners, adventurers.

I'm thankful for her friendship, for her inspiration, for her life that scarily parallels mine, for her perspective, for her infectious desire to change the world, and our shared belief that we still can.

cannot forget these moments

My best friend has a baby and I took him to a winery, because that's what best friends do.



The complete story, if you must know, is I was watching him in an unfamiliar town where I did not know where parks were located. Since we wanted to play, I needed grass so it was either the winery or a cemetery. And as I suspected, there was lots of ground for him to play on at the winery, and even corn hole boards and a black lab.

Perfection.

Much like my friendship with his mother.

We laugh, we cry, we road trip, we sleep in the king-size bed, we drink, we read, we watch TV. She reminds me to take my glasses off before I fall asleep and gives me gifts, like a journal that says "unload" on the front, because she knows I often need to, or a book of short stories with the title, "Cowboys are my Weakness." She inspires me, strengthens me, she's got my back.

I wish we were neighbors.

these moments especially

Some people are destined to change your life.

Josey Ann changed mine over and over again.

I can’t remember the first time I met her – my memory tells we were just always a team. Me, her nanny; her, my sidekick.

I’ve written about her many times here, and the last time I saw her was in February 2010.

I was worried driving over to her last Thursday. Worried that she’d have forgotten about me, worried that she’d not like me, worried that she’d be mad, or afraid, or shy.

But when I walked in her grandparent’s house, she jumped into my arms and kept yelling, “Holly, I’ve missed you so much!” It was as if I’d left to run an errand and returned.

That’s notable for us.

I taught her that people return – that the door might close behind me, but that shortly, it would reopen and I would appear. Even if it was 18 months later.

We spent the entire evening together in what was a highlight of my trip. Her mother and I talked and I got to see her, the reinvented person she is now. I was ecstatic to find out she got the help she needed and that her eyes were alive.

these moments

Friends who don't usually stay up late, waited up for me last Saturday night and met me in their driveway when I rolled in at nearly midnight.

My moments with them are strangely normal. We don't do anything fancy. We play cards when the kids go to bed, we watch TV, we move around in the kitchen at the same time, I tag along during chores and errands, and sit in the nursery with them during church.

Their kids know me. One remembers me, one had no reason to, but repeated my name throughout the house and wanted me to "hold you" every chance he got.



Our friendship has spanned a few years now and many miles. They've stayed rooted in one town; I've floated around in a few states and they've patiently kept up with me. I was worried, you know, the first time I left. Some friends let you fade.

They did not.

Our greatest ally is technology. Kristin and I email almost every day, strings of conversation that encompasses our respective drama, mundane daily activities, gossip and stories. We rarely talk on the phone, but text often. And, of course, utilize Gchat and Facebook.

On Monday evening, I said I was going to take a walk in the park across their house. My legs were still stiff from my 14-hour drive and I needed to move around.

Kristin said she would go with me and before long, Greg and the kids had their shoes on and we all went.

It's a good example of our friendship. Simple...rich...small moments that beg to be remembered and conversations that can't be forgotten.

where have I been?

I'm glad you asked.

I've been a lot of good places in more ways than one.

I've been here and there and over there.

I've been to my favorite kitchen table, and my favorite farmhouse.

I've been kissed by dogs who aren't mine.

I've talked and laughed and contemplated and thought.

I've been high and low, relaxed and stressed.

I've been in pain and in revelation.

I've lived in the moment, which brings me to my point....

...I have many wonderful moments to share with you, to document for myself here, so I'll do that this week before they escape me.

Together, we will "enjoy these moments for these moments were my life."

more

Suddenly, I want to do more.

Live more, explore more, experience more, help more, love more, write more, save more, simplify more, connect more, risk more, hope more. Be more, journey more, get into my heart more, adventure more, lose more, embrace more, touch more, see more, do more, hear more, inspire more, analyze more, think more, watch more, listen more, lay more, manage more.

Get less, worry less, stress less.

Be more self-centered, more aware, more reflective, introspective, critical. Read more, write more, educate more.

Live adventure, peace, hope, healing.

Hear people’s heart and write their stories, unabridged and unencumbered.

Mother more, nurture more, give more. Go more, stay less. Reach out, receive, give back.

I am free, hindered only by my own inhibitions and the restraints I restrain myself with.

What about money? What about bills? What about my job? What about my family? What about my dog? What about my colleagues? What about love? What if I fail, it doesn’t work, it’s painful, it crashes and burns? What if I go under, lose respect, lose myself?

But, what if in the process of seeking it – this greater sense of satisfaction in doing good – I find myself, liberate myself, set myself free? Free of fear, free falling into where I should be, what I should be doing. If, in the process of helping others, I’m helping my own heart?

How can I be inspired, changed, equipped? How can I transform that inspiration, change, preparedness into good?

I don’t have to change the world – I just need to change the corner I live in.

six days of my face

I did not photograph my face for six days in a row with the intent to blog about it. But since I did, I will.

In chronological order, behold the burn, starting Sunday and ending today.

Beach 2011

If my face were my friend, and I treated my friend like how I treated my face Saturday, we would no longer be friends. As a matter of fact, if my face could slap me right now, it would.

Other parts of my body would too. Like my back, and a random strip of flesh across my hips that must have been exposed when the wind lifted my tank top up.

Moral of the story, you should never, ever fall asleep on your stomach on the beach. Or at least, be me and fall asleep on the beach.

I applied sunscreen, but admittedly it wasn’t made for much protection because it was SPF 6, which if you ask my mother, is like wearing a condom with a hole in it – no protection at all. I did not put any on my face, or on the random strip of flesh across my hips. Sunscreen EPIC FAIL.

So today I sat on a pillow so I didn’t have to have the leather touch my sensitive legs, and now I’m sitting on my jacket in my office chair. I brought moisturizer for my face, and ask my colleague and friend periodically to please inspect it for blisters. Everyone tells me there are no blisters and that it’ll be a nice tan…when it’s not so flipping angry.

Last night, my mom bought me enough Gatorade and vitamin water to float a small boat or canoe, and I lubed up with Aloe Vera before bed and at 4 a.m. I was more nervous about my shower this morning then any other shower in my life, but surprisingly it felt good? Mostly it felt good to wash my hair that I hadn’t washed in three days.

Who wants to wash their hair on a beach getaway?

That was the first big question my friend and I faced at 5 o’clock Saturday morning getting ready to leave for our grand adventure. She was throwing ice from her ice-maker into our small cooler sitting on the counter, and I’d just rolled out of bed in my moo-moo and hair a-mess.

“Are you showering?”

“No.”

“Neither am I. Let’s be rebellious.”

So we were. All weekend long.

We did not make a hotel reservation, we got cranky when we went too long without eating, we self-indulged on mimosas at 11 a.m. on a Sunday, we drank two margaritas at dinner Saturday and then hiked a couple miles to the beach front. We were honked at, cat-called, and yelled at. We oohed and aahed over menu designs and ate twice at one restaurant because it was that good.

When two newspaper editors hit the road for a rebellious weekend, it includes things like picking out gas stations with “national average” gas prices, and commenting on grammatical errors on billboards.

“Sometimes, grammatically incorrect words are okay. But “get wetter” just sounds stupid.”

And what would be a road trip without doing some last minute editing on the road, and questioning the editorial decisions made by every newspaper we saw in gas stations along the way?

We were in Corpus Christi for about 28 hours, but it was relaxing, peaceful, and the beach get-away we’d been spontaneously planning for about a week.

Now, I just have to convince my face it was worth it. And get back on its good side.

comfort people

He slept on my chest for 2 1/2-hours, and as comfortable as he was is how comfortable I was during my 66 1/2-hour trip to my old Kentucky home.

It is comforting to me that such a place exists where people know me, people love me, places are familiar and despite being gone a year, it feels like I never left.

I did all of my favorite things.

From the moment Penny picked me up from the airport Thursday, I was hugged, talked to, laughed with, cried on.

Friends came over for game night Thursday, and it was normal. More friends who couldn't stay but wanted to say hi, popped in just to "see your face." Kristin and I sat at her kitchen table and talked in person about everything we email about. Her husband joined us Thursday night, and we stayed up way too late talking about things grown-ups talk about - work, business, what it's like to be on city council, family, life. Their almost 4-year-old remembered me, their 16-month-old liked me. On Friday, we walked the campus of our Alma mater, which spurred nostalgic conversation about how long it's been since we were in college, what we were like back then and how it changed us.

Friday afternoon I was with Brooke, and my surrogate nephew, and it was natural - the three of us hanging out. We browsed Wal-Mart like only we do, we talked, gossiped and laughed. We party-planned, decorated, cleaned. I watched her be a mom, and wanted to say, "I told you so." She's a great one. I've been telling her for years she would be. After the baby was tucked in bed, and we had finished getting ready for the birthday party, we fixed food and crawled in bed to continue talking (uninterrupted) and watch TV. We literally talked until we couldn't stay awake anymore. Saturday we celebrated her son. And later we went to Nashville, we talked the whole way, laughed, cried, plotted and constructed sentences that sometimes didn't make sense and yet we understood. We got to the hotel, talked about our days of working in a hotel (where we met), tried for 10 minutes to get into a room that wasn't ours, drank wine, watched the last 16 seconds of the Kentucky/UCONN game, browsed menus, visited the vending machines, and lights out at 11:30. She dropped me off at the airport the next morning at 4:30 and just like that, my trip was over.

I love the place that feels comfortable to me.
I love the people that make me feel at home.
I love how the combination of the two makes 365 days seem non-existent. Why, I was just there yesterday. And 365 days from now when I visit again, it'll feel the same way*.

*it'll be less then 365 days before my next visit. I promised.

2,710 miles. 8 days.

I am home - the place that is home because my family is here. I arrived back here after a trip to Murray, Kentucky - the place that is home because my extended family (I'll claim them all!) are there. I will tell you about it via my Facebook statuses over the past eight days.


"Holly: "I know what things are good: friendship and work and conversation. These I shall have. - Rupert Brooke."

Those things I did have. Nothing is more satisfying then sitting at Kristin's kitchen table or on Brooke's couch or Jaclyn's outdoor swing and having conversation. We talk about everything. These conversations (and many others!) I look forward to and relish when I'm having them. Every time I'm with my friends I realize just how great they are - every one of them.


"Holly is lovin' on my nephew this morning."


After spending the weekend grieving, birthday partying, walking, talking, eating, dog training and just generally hanging out, I headed to my best friend's house to spend this past week with her and her new little family. Baby Vinn was born two weeks ago and being the son of my best friend, he is my nephew. That's how we roll. He is the best snuggler ever and we did lots of it! And he smells good (bonus!) and even when he's crying, he's still precious. I loved every minute with him.


He was such a trooper too. His mommy and I enjoy shopping together and eating and lounging on the couch and talking and cooking and watching marathons of Snapped....we did all those things, just with a 7-pound 'football' nestled in the crook of one of our arms.


I got to tell him in person how amazing his mom is and how much she loves him and how he's so lucky to have her. He was crying when I told him that but I'm confident he registered the info.


"Holly has a new journal and I can't wait to use it."


It's true. All of it. And on the cover it says, "A girl's gotta doodle what a girl's gotta doodle," which is completely fitting for me since I have to doodle...on something...anything...especially when I'm engaging in serious conversation. This knowledge is so prolific in my family that prior to a serious discussion, my mom will hand me a napkin and a pen. Or a marker. Or a piece of paper because really, who wants to doodle on a napkin? But I'll take whatever's handy. If I'm not doodling, I'm breaking toothpicks or sprinkling salt on the table or tearing the napkin into microscopic pieces. It's just much better if I have a pen and a piece of paper handy.


"Holly is certain of many things right now: 1) I love road trips; my body does not 2) I'm very glad for improved use of my right pointer finger 3) my GSD is super great 4) my friends are even greater 5) I've been at this rest stop before 6) I wanna salsa dancing in El Paso 7) I"m looking forward to bed tonight."


I wrote this yesterday about 7 hours into my 18-hour drive home. Yes, I had been at that rest stop before. As a matter of fact, I've been at most of those rest stops and gas station exits along I-40 and I-30 in the past five years. They feel familiar to me even in Arkansas, which is just wrong. Because I really (REALLY!) don't like Arkansas.


And again, true. I love road trips...everything about them. But, unfortunately, my back, neck, hips, knees, elbows and arms do not agree. Actually, they protest very loudly. And that makes me sad.


My finger is much, much better! I'm actually typing with it right now for the first time in almost two weeks. Glorious!


Skye went with me to Kentucky. She's a good traveler and I enjoy the excuse she gives me to get out and walk. I also like the fact that people give me a lot of space when she's next to me. She doesn't prohibit conversation (Exhibit A: random guy at the rest stop) but she turns into a beast when she feels we're threatened.


I "snuck" her into my cheap hotel room last night in Garland, Texas. I desperately just wanted a bed. But I forgot the other amenities you get when you stay at a non-cheap hotel (Marriott, oh, how I love thee!) Things like a remote to the TV, a power and volume button that exist on said TV. Oh, and NO PARTIES NEXT DOOR. They got started about 10:30 p.m. and the noise just escalated. Pounding (POUNDING!!!!) music, shouting from two floors down, scraping against MY door and window...ugh. Finally, around midnight I called the front desk and complained. They quieted down but it didn't dissipate. I thought about calling the police to drive through the parking lot but I couldn't remember what exit I was off of and that was the thought I finally fell asleep to.


Skye, in all her awesomeness, was on full alert, pacing in front of the door, alerting when the sounds got too loud, never barking or growling, just watching...and waiting. She finally settled on the double bed next to mine and I guess fell asleep.


Salsa dancing, yes, and other types of dance, mainly swing and ballroom. I've recruited my brother. Well, in all honesty, I commanded him to go with me. He said he doesn't like to dance but I finally got an admission over dinner that he would go with me. Ah, the power of persuasion.


"Holly is always courteous to truckdrivers. I am not courteous to Honda Accords who get in the fast lane and brake to 40. And drift. And whose driver is rummaging on the floor. I honk at them."


I take my Interstate driving very seriously but I'll be the first to say that during the last leg of a long trip (this one being 18-hours) I get cranky and exhibit road-aggression. I won't call it rage because I'm in control of the vehicle at all times but SERIOUSLY, dumb lady driving the Honda Accord. FORTY?! In the fast lane? There's a reason it's fast and there's a reason why you should never drive on the Interstate again. So yes. I honked at her. And then passed her from the right. Actually, I did that a lot on this 2,710-mile trip. If riding your ass for .2 seconds doesn't give you the impression that you miiight want to get over, I will go around.

"Holly is back in the land of no radio stations. HOME!!!"

You guessed it. It's true. There are no working radio stations here. But that's okay because that means I'm home safely (no accidents, no tickets, no driving in the wrong direction) and that means I get to sleep in my own bed (JOY!)

I do miss my friends tonight, my community of family in a West Kentucky town that suits me.

I spent a portion of my trip home devising early retirement-to-there plans.

Vast homeland

Tonight I am very tired but my life feels overwhelmingly full and blessed, which is why I'm here and not sleeping, although sleep will have to come very, very quickly.  

I've written about this before - an incredible sense of belonging when I'm here in this small Western Kentucky town.  It feels like ...being home...jumping on a down comforter and landing in a heap of soft pillows...comfortable...easy...

So here I am, nearing the end of my visit.  I told friends goodbye tonight at the park and loved their company.  

Sleep is screaming in my ear (thank you Simply Sleep!) and my fingers are making too many mistakes - missing keys on the keyboard, replacing 'l's' with 'p,s' and forgetting to hit the space bar.  

Here's to friends and me blogging more about them later.