i want to come back as alex mack

Dear blog followers, or the one I may have left. Sorry I've neglected the blog. It's one of those things that's a habit or it's not. And lately I just got out of the habit of posting. I'm going to try to make it a habit to post every day, because let's face it, every day I have something interesting to say. Kidding! I'm not fascinating, but I do enjoy writing.

Anyway, today I have been thinking a lot about Amanda Knox. She is the girl convicted of murdering her housemate in Italy. I usually have an opinion on everything, but I cannot decide if she was guilty. This is driving me bonkers. I want to know. Why does it matter? I'm not sure why it bugs me. I just want to decided one way or the other. I realized this afternoon that the only way to know for sure would be to be Amanda. Then I thought, well maybe she told her attorneys. Or maybe she told her family. That got me to thinking, as I often do, that I wish I was Alex Mack. Who is Alex Mack? Well, when I was a pre-teen there was this show on Nickelodeon called The Secret World of Alex Mack. It replaced another show that I couldn't live without Clarissa Explains It All.

Alex Mack is an ordinary teenage girl, living with her parents and older sister in the corporate town of Paradise Valley. One day, while coming home from school, Alex is doused in toxic chemicals from an overturned truck. As a result she gains a number of superhuman powers, including telekinesis, the ability to project electricity, and the ability to turn into a liquid. Only trusting her sister and her best friend Ray with her secret, Alex must confront ordinary teenage issues while keeping her powers secret from those who wish to find her.

Alex could turn into putty and eavesdrop on her friends and family conversations. So many times I want to know the truth about things. It's not about being nosy or intrusive. I just have an investigative personality and everything fascinates me. I am curious about everything. EVERYTHING.

Where is this going you may ask? I'm getting there. I wish I could be some places and hear people tell what really happened. Like in the case of Amanda Knox. I have a gut feeling that she told someone the whole truth.

I can't help but have empathy for a girl that sits in a cell in a small town in Italy. A girl in her mid-twenties like me. At the same time though, it irks me to think there's a chance I'm having empathy for someone who killed another young girl.

Of course, I'll never know the truth. But it won't stop me from reading news articles, watching news coverage, and wishing an impossible wish that I sometimes be a 90s tv character named Alex Mack

news article about Amanda Knox:
http://www.cnn.com/2009/CRIME/12/04/italy.knox.trial/index.html

eye on the (grand)prize

"You're never too old to become younger."
-Mae West

I have a question. Why do we grow up in regard to almost everything but prizes? My dad thinks it's really weird that I refuse to go to a local Chevron station that has better gasoline, all because I have to get my Speedway rewards points. He has said "so you're putting less quality gas in your car which will end up being bad for your car, costing you money eventually..all because you want to get a $100 gift card from Speedway that took you 3 years to obtain?" My answer "yes, you got it."

My friends and I went out for a drink last night and here was the conversation:
me: I have a confession. You know how the gas pumps at that one speedway have been broken down for awhile. well i've been going to another gas station every few days putting just $10 in because i don't want to fill up and then the speedway reopen!
c: I don't think there's anything weird about that.
b: I love points.
c: remember gattiland? all that money spent playing those games, getting those points, all to get a slinky?
me: i bet i still have points at gattiland from back in the day.
c: let's go there for supper club thursday next week.
b: cool. good idea.

(me is obviously me. c and b are a girl and guy that i meet on thursdays for supper club. using c and b instead of their names because , who knows, i could leak their names, and i could suddenly get so much blog traffic that they become famous. and maybe they don't want to become famous? baha)

So in the next week you can find me filling up my gas tank just a fourth of the way in hopes that when I'm low again, speedway will be open again so i can go back to getting my points. And when you see me next ask me how much I had to spend to get the grand prize of a slap bracelet or a ruler at gattiland.

yes my friends yes. i'm going places.

"It takes a long time to become young." -Pablo Picasso

her cup runneth over...

As in the case of wines that improve with age, the oldest friendships ought to be the most delightful. --Cicero
I don't remember a time when Laurel was not in my life. I am two and a half years older than her, but we might as well have been born the same day because my earliest memory contains Laurel. There's something to be said for that...for that person that has been there as long as your memory goes back.

Laurel's mom and my mom have been best friends since they were in 5th grade. Pam, Laurel's mom, served as maid of honor in my mom's wedding. My mom served as matron of honor in Pam's wedding. If I was Catholic then I'm sure at some point a ceremony would have taken place making Pam and her husband my godparents. They are family.

The Laurel I know now can be described sweet spirited, elegant, intelligent, and displined with both work and school. The Laurel of my youth? Hell on wheels. She sang country songs at the top of her lungs. Drank a gallon of milk a day. Drug a dog named scooter around like it was a cabbage patch doll. Insisted on opening my birthday presents along with me at my birthday parties. Picture all that behavior combined with her also being the most adorable little girl you have ever seen. Her mom dressed her in the cutest children's clothing. She was the definition of the expression "awwww." Behind that though was guts and glory. She knew right out of the womb that it was just a matter of minutes before she was going to hit the stage and so therefore spent her young years preparing for that debut. I just knew she'd eventually have a tattoo. And a boyfriend name Zeke. Think Gretchen Wilson and that's what I thought Laurel would become. I would have taken her as a country music star, probably would have begged to have been her personal assistant. I am pleasantly surprised though to have seen her grow to be one of the most eloquent, mild mannered, and graceful women I know. A person of faith who wants to be a teacher. Little Laurel? Rambunctious. Adult Laurel? Classy.

When Laurel was little, she thought I hung the moon. No exaggeration. She acted as if I was literally the coolest person on planet earth. I remember going out to eat and if the waiter asked her what she wanted before they asked me, she'd say "Ashley, what are YOU getting?" This ran all over me! One time I think I even ordered something I knew she wouldn't like, to test her allegiance. Didn't phase her. She ordered the exact same meal. I should have been flattered because Lord knows I was NOT the coolest person on earth. I should have been delighted that she put me up on a pedestol. But it irritated me to no end. Then I remember the day that we went to dinner and she didn't ask what I was ordering. It broke my heart. That day I wished for was here and now I didn't want it anymore. I never envisioned a day that she would assert her independence and not strive to be just like me. If you are not convinced yet how much she loved me, let me tell you this: I nicknamed her Wart when she was younger. I don't remember why I started calling her wart but I did. I think I said it was because she never went away. She didn't even mind that nickname. Pretty sure she liked it. She would even write Wart underneath her signature when she sent me a card. Anybody else would have said, by the age of 16 at least, "pick another nickname, that's cruel!" But Laurel embraced it and kept the tradition alive up until a few years ago. And actually, while I'm thinking of it, I'd like to remind her that she's slacking on using that term of endearment when she sends me a card. Bring that tradition back.

Make no mistake though: deepdown I have always seen myself as Laurel's security guard. I will defend her to the death. Even though I don't fight, I will admit that when I've heard a story about anyone being mean to Laurel or hurting her feelings, I've actually considered hauling my hiney to the culprit's house and showing them who's boss. Laurel is so nice that I have never been able to understand how anyone could be anything but kind back to her. Very few people are completely free of mean bones. Laurel is one of those people. She is incapable of being rude or mean.

When people talk about having a sister, I've never felt like I missed out on having one. I never felt envious or jealous. I always felt like Laurel and I were sisters. We are both only children, so we kind of have the best of both worlds. We are sisters in every definition of the word, except we are not blood related. We each have a wonderful set of parents though too that have showered each of us with as much love and affection as any children in the world have received. We have been through countless experiences together: each of us has moved more than once to a different city, we've lost family members, experienced the joy of successes and the disappointment of failures. We've even watched a cow give birth. Nothing has been off limits in this friendship. What connects and roots us most deeply though is not supporting each other through experiences. It's not even that our moms are best friends. It's our bond in Christ. We pray, serve, and worship the same God. I can't imagine a better thing to share with a friend than a common love for the Lord.

Last night I get a text from Laurel that represents another experience in her life that I'll be there for: her upcoming marriage to her fiance Wes!
Last night I got this text from Laurel:
"Shut up! Wes just proposed! I am speechless."
I started to type back: "What?! But you're just a baby?!"
But instead I wrote back: "Did you say yes? ;) "
and she replied: "I don't let a good opportunity pass me by."
The funny thing is that while we were at The Frist on Saturday, I said to Laurel's boyfriend Wes "hey Wes, I hope you're ok with Laurel hyphenating her last name when you all get married, which I'm assuming you all will because we decided in Chicago she may need to hyphenate her last name. " I can't imagine what he was feeling inside knowing that he was about to propose.

So, I'm writing this to the loveliest girl I know. I hope she realizes I'm filled to the brim with excitement over this news. Her living out her dreams brings me as much joy, maybe more, as when my very own dreams are fulfilled. I am writing this also as my plea to her to not decide to elope. I know she is humble and doesn't like receiving a ton of attention, but I hope she'll let me be there. Whether it's a huge event with a gazillion people or a small affair with a few guests, I hope she'll let me be there. Because, with a few exceptions where I've failed to be there, I've been present for all the other big events of her life. This should be no exception. So please let me be first on the invite list. And when you send it, in the return address section, leave off the return address label. Just simply write Wart... and know that I'm thrilled you've never gone away.

Said Mrs. Browning, the poet, to Charles Kingsley, the novelist, "What is the secret of your life? Tell me, that I may make mine beautiful also." Thinking a moment, the beloved author replied, "I had a friend."

the ones that have mattered, so far.

I am borderline obsessed with love. Ok, that's a lie. I crossed the border years ago. I am in love with love. I love talking about it, feeling it, and reading about it. But deepdown, who isn't?

Recently I was talking to a 16 year old and it dawned on me that she was a decade younger than me! A decade! Suddenly I knew why I felt so removed from her high school mentality , it was because I hadn't been there in 10 years! Ten. Wow. As she talked about her infatuation with a boy, I sat back and listened. It was like taking a walk down memory lane, listening to her describe the highs and lows of her summer of love. It hit me how many times I've been in her shoes. Truly caring about someone, without weighing the consequences or cost of putting my heart on the line.

Three names came to mind as I listened. Three names of boys that reminded me that I too had once fallen head over heels when I was young (i know, i know, i'm still young. But i'm talking YOUNG, as in a kid). I say boys because when I knew them, none of them were men yet. It was so intriguing to revisit the years, the decade she was just entering, between the ages of 15 and 25, and look at my younger self. Because in the past year, I have really grown. I still live to the hilt, but I don't serve my heart on a silver platter to someone that hasn't shown that he will attempt not to crush it. I also try not to crush hearts either. Because it's not fun being broken hearted and it's not fun hurting another. So here I go. The ones during the decade of learning for the sake of learning...

First...the one that I wanted to surf with, even though I can't surf--this was my naïve love. the person that could have dyed his hair green, gained 6359 pounds, and could have asked me to move to Tokyo and I would in turn dyed my hair a color that complimented his hair color, eaten all those meals with him if he wanted to stay fat, and fled the country for the land of Tokyo. Looking back I know now why he once said "we don't have much in common", but at the time I just kept thinking "but we both have the same kind of car that are so old they must have come over on noahs ark, together, and isn't that ENOUGH?!" No it wasn't enough. In fact, opposites attract, and then they aggravate. And boy, do they ever aggravate. But now, years later, when I think back and look at that young girl, a girl who was so innocent and thought she could change the world, taming one wild boy at a time, I can't help but smile and shake my head. I want to go back to that girl and say to her "you'll be ok. I know this feels like the end of the world. But I promise you, you'll be ok."

the one who took a lot of pictures, no really A LOT of pictures -- this one ignited a part of me that still remains. He sparked my intense love affair with photography and even though he's not a part of my life, the photography remains. I took one look at a picture this boy took and knew I had to meet him. Conveniently enough, we had a class together. We would sit in the hallway outside the photography lab and talk for hours. I almost considered changing my major to photography for this boy. I almost considered spending an entire summer in a far off place to impress him. But I didn't change my major and I didn't go to that camp. Why? Because that would have been crazy. No really, its because I knew I wasn't the girl who lived in the shadow of someone else's dream. I wasn't one to follow, on the heels, and coming in 2nd to his first love- the camera and the subjects. I'll never forget the moment this one told me he was engaged. I started crying but never let my voice change, only gushed about how happy I was. I knew he'd found the girl who loved the camera like he did. Who didn't ever want to put it down. And I now breathe a sigh of relief because even though I love my camera too, sometimes I want to put it down and live in the moment completely. But every now and then, his name will pop into my mind, and I'll google (yes google) his name. And every time, more results come up than before. Of the events he's documented, places he's been, and awards he's won. And instead of regret or sadness, I feel so proud of him. And hope one day he'll remember me and come back to the little town where he spent a few years, to document something for me.

The one who wrote letters, real letters--it was the words. Seeing the words on the screen and on paper. Nevermind the fact that his words were usually empty promises. I never lost hope that one day all the pieces would fit and it would work. Until about a year ago, I stopped ignoring all the signs from the Lord that this was not in His grand plan for my life. I loved this boy more than any other and this was hard to accept. This one is the kind that I've decided its all but impossible to make into a friend. The magic is just gone. And at the end of the day, all I can say is he's the what could have been guy. What could have been and thankfully didn't. But still, we had dreams and nothing creates silence between two people quite like broken dreams. He didn't follow through, but neither did I. I still see him a lot and what do you know, he's engaged too. I hope one day we'll have an interesting, fascinating, awe-inspiring conversation again, but that is a long-shot hope. Its the definition of awkward when we come face to face. Perhaps because he knows so much about me, which makes me nervous, and I know his secrets, which makes him uneasy. Maybe in a perfect world I could look at him and he could look at me and we'd say in unison "your secrets will always be safe with me." But its not a perfect world. And it is doubtful this scene will play out. It is what it is. I accept that wholeheartedly, heavy hearted, but wholeheartedly nonetheless. My only wish regarding him is that he'll grow up one day to be a fully realized man. I used to want that for my own benefit but now I want it just for him. Expecting nothing in return. I want him to find happiness, preferably in Jesus Christ.

I'm reflecting on this because it seems that now, I don't have the patience, desire, or tolerance for "projects". I want an already assembled man. That may sound funny, but it's the truth. I don't want to go into something expecting change and I don't want them to want to change me. I realized recently that in the past year I have had friends that I was on the brink of seeing as more. Somehow now, I can stop myself and say "are you compatible? Does this person love the Lord? Wouldn't you rather love them as a friend forever than eventually despise them at the end of a failed relationship doomed to fail from the start? Do you really want them to have the bitterness toward you or you toward them?" I think this is wisdom and being able to see inevitable future hurt. Still, I kind of miss that girl hell bent on proving everyone wrong. Not enough to become the girl again, let me assure you, but I'm so glad I was once this person. You see, a lot of people don't take the risk. And a lot of people settle. But me, I've done neither. I'm taken the risk and given people a chance. But I've also tried to exit as gracefully as possible when it's time to go. And I'm truly thankful that I've taken the leap but then known when it was time to call out to the Lord for self control. May seem like I'm looking for closure. Nah. You never get closure fully. You never say goodbye to what you once really loved. You just learn to live side by side with the pain and you keep dancing through life. Its simply enjoyable to discover I'm not there yet, at the peak of maturity and knowledge, but I'm getting there. And that's feels so wonderful. Knowing that I'm closer than I was before. And I hope a certain friend of mine knows I'm writing this to her. That she finds solace and comfort in knowing that she's closer than she was before.

*and note, i left out names, because well, it would have been stupid for me to include them. I'm not sure that my past people see the past like I did. It's all about perspective and I'm sure their perspective/memory of the past is different from mine. And just a word of caution, if you ever create a blog and reflect on your past, leave out the names. Because if one happens to call you up and say "is this about me?" you can laugh and say "no! of course not! that was totally somebody else."...even if it was really about them:)

"still it's a real good bet...

the best is yet to come."
-Frank Sinatra

Barbara Stewart, the lady that owns Barbara Stewart Interiors on the Downtown Square, and I had a talk one day. I went in to get a wedding gift and came out with two gifts: the tangible one in my hand and one that could not be returned, the gift of wisdom.
As always, she was perched on a chair looking prim and proper. I said my standard hello, knowing her but wondering if she remembered me because she has so many customers. This visit stands out in my mind because of these three words that provided the opening to one of my favorite conversations I've ever had:
"Close your eyes!" said Mrs. Stewart.
I was just a bit caught off guard.
"What?" I blurted out.
"Close your eyes!" she repeated.
So I did just as she instructed and closed my eyes.
"Open them!" Mrs. Stewart said.
So I opened them.
And I wish I had a picture so you could see what I saw.
She was wearing Martini-shaped glasses on her eyes.
"Whereeeee did you get those? I want a pair!" I squeled.
"My friends gave these to me at my birthday party last night, aren't they fun?!" Mrs. Stewart replied, with an hint of satisfaction in her voice that she'd gotten the reaction she'd anticipated.

And this was when I decided that age is a state of mind.

I hoped, as I left the little shop of sophistication that day, that when I'm in my 80s I too will be wearing martini-shaped sunglasses and ordering 20-something year old girls to close their eyes ....so I can remind them that I'm just as (or even more) youthful as they are.

"I should have switched from Scotch to martinis." -Humphrey Bogart, American actor (1899-1957)