owing

What amuses me most: you have cleaned... how many toilets of mine since I have moved out? To me, this is unending owing. I hate cleaning my own toilets (thank goodness for those little miracle brushes), though I do so thinking of you: shocked that you have the habit of cleaning them without special tools, without gloves. I shudder to think, and must move on, hoping I can be a bit more cleanly on my next move-out, hoping my next move-out doesn't happen for eons.

Tonight, another good friend got married. Another beautiful bride, another beautiful ceremony, and so much happiness as it all occurred... I remember as the pastor said to us: it's not just today that you need to be here for the couple, but watch them grow and help them.

I think of how many people we all have that love us, that want the best for us. I think of how fiercely I want the best for you (for Emily, for so many that I love).

And tonight, I realized: five weeks from my own wedding day.

I also thought of this: Emily's friends have been so accepting of me, so welcoming, so curious about who I am (they told me she's mentioned me a handful of times, so of course, natural curiosity). And I also think of how I am such a naturally jealous person, how your new friends have always made me mildly leery and how I began to meet people you've mentioned, realizing how wonderful they are. Think of Michelle! My goodness, I'm so glad you've introduced me to her! And Monette, such a good attendant... and I realize this: the people who have welcomed me into Emily's life have done so because I clearly love her, clearly care about her, clearly value her friendship.

And so here I am, in my own humble way, trying to do the same to you: anyone who wants to enter your life, who loves you as I think you deserve to be loved, as I think people like Michelle and Monette (and others) do, I hope I can find a way to be as good to them as I think Em's friends have been to me. Here I lay down that silly gauntlet of jealousy.

We are a jealous species, you and I. I think that means we love each other, though sometimes it's a very silly way of showing it. :)

Bumps and Bruises

I have never broken a bone. I'm still in shock that you have. I've always know you were clumsy, but I never thought you would break something!

I remember that story about when you were little and in the hospital. I remember the part about the Three Billy Goats Gruff the most. Why would I choose to remember that small detail.

Moments spent at a hospital: the first time I remember being at hospital was after my Grandpa's heart attack. It was awful. He didn't look like himself with all the tubes and machines. I was at the hospital when my nephew Antonio was born. When my now brother-in-law was in a car accident and shattered his knee, I visited him in the hospital. And then there was the nose bleed...

I've never been seriously injured or sick. I've always been very healthy. I got 3 stitches in my knee when I was 10 (jumping on a Hide-a-bed). I tripped over the hitch of my dad's trailer when I was 9. My front teeth went through my bottom lip. Lots of blood and tears. But nothing more. And I am proud to say I chipped my front tooth on the slide at Hardee's at Mindy's 1st grade birthday party. I was climbing up the slide as her brother was coming down. I remember him saying, "If we took out all the woodchips, I bet we could find her tooth."

And then, New Year's 2002. 10 minutes til Midnight. Little drops of blood trickle on to the game board of the game we were playing. And then the steady of stream of blood. Out my nose. Out my mouth. Down my throat. After spending hours in the emergency room, having 2 cotton clotting devices that resembled tampons shoved up my nose (most painful experience ever), and having liquid cocaine dumped in my nose (to numb the pain), my nose finally stopped bleeding. Two days later, it started again with vengence. After another night in the emergency room, 4 more tampon thingys shoved up my nose, and no numbing agent (bleeding too much to get it in there), I was admitted to the hospital. My one and only hospital stay. I had emergency surgery to cauderize an artery in my nose. They pumped my stomach because it was full of blood. And who stayed with me during my recovery? You. You made me meals, you dispensed medication, you watched endless epidsodes of Friends, you helped me walk because I was so weak. You forced me to eat Raisin Bran because I needed iron so badly. I'll never be able to repay you for that.

If you need me to be your left hand until you heal, I WILL! Where do I sign up! But if something more serious comes our way, I'll be there to help, to guide, to listen and watch.

first break

Here I am, on the first night of my long three-week stay in Green Bay, my three weeks that will get me through a theatre course, which actually, has been much more pleasant than I expected, and on the first, overly full and overly tiring day, at the end of that day, I decide to go for a walk with the dogs. My father is with me, and I have Penelope and Zephyr's leashes around my wrist (this is how I often like to walk them, so they don't slip away). And we run to catch up with my father and his two geriatric dogs (we have paused so we can get untangled, which is a frequent occurrence with my two). And it is a little wobbly on this ground, the pavement rolling with small pebbles, and there are those seconds where I can tell I'm going to fall, but I'm hoping I'll get my footing and the dogs will slow down, but this time I don't, and all of a sudden, I am toppling and my chin and chest and knees and hands are sliding along those little pebbles, road rash blooming on my skin. I don't realize it yet, but the impact of my left wrist on the pavement, catching the brunt of my fall, has fractured my left upper radial bone, cracked it at the very top, which allows for painful x-rays in an emergency room visit the next morning, but not a cast. A sling, and I avoid the pain medication as I don't want to be swimming in soupy brain waves while trying to instruct gifted and talented students, too brilliant for their own good. I must be on guard, after all, for any question I cannot answer, be prepared for their inquiry. It has only been twenty four hours and it's already been the best instructional experience I've ever had.

I've never broken a bone before. I have, however, spent some decent time in the hospital. When I was three, I had Kawasaki's, which meant I had to spend ten long days in the hospital, at one point my recovery being questioned. I was three, my tongue swelled up like a strawberry, and I had to learn to walk again. I remember my mother spending the night on an orange plastic coach and reading me Three Billy Goats Gruff. My sister spent some time in the hospital after she was in a serious car accident, which broke her leg and put her in intensive care after she had a stop-breathing reaction to the morphine. I returned again and again, at the specific times to the hospital when Yvonne was dying. And I went with Lani to the hospital when Eve was born, the only one least nervous enough to walk with her as she breathed, taking her down the hallway corridor.

The Fiance has broken several bones, has spent much time having to go to the hospital for small mishaps. His mother emailed the family, saying I've already become a K before we've even officially married. I feel ridiculous, breaking my arm in the company of the dogs, but I must emphasize: I was running and that pavement just jumped right up and bit me. I can't help my delicate elbows.

Green Bay: The City That Never Evolves

Green Bay. To best describe growing up in this working class, backwards town, I will share a poem I wrote over 10 years ago for a 11th grade Language Arts class. Modeled after Carl Sandburg's "Chicago", we were given the assignment to describe our fair city.

My Ode to Green Bay

As the summer sun hits my face, the cool grass squishes between my toes

And on those blistery winter days, when the powder falls like sugar on my warm face

The carefree children run in the streets, playing their innocent games

The beat-up Dodge with the sticker on the rusting bumper reads, "I spent my Grandchildren's inheritance." A lie in its own words

And downtown, below the old decrepited buildings, the buzzing cars wiz by, shouting frustration through a horn.

The people chant in full enthusiasm, "Go Pack Go!" A sickening, stale cliche.

The smell of smog, ominous smoke, clog my lungs, suffocates my fair skin

The putrid scent of cow slaughter swells within my nostrils, and the silent screams of thousands echo in my ears.

And the tiny floating particles that invade my mouth, pollution from the filthy paper mills, choking my will to live.

City of adulteration and the past!

City of exaggerating trifles!

Green Bay.

(keep in mind, I wrote it when I was 17).

I was born and raised in this stale city. As was my father. As a teenager, I hated living in Green Bay. There was never anything to do or anywhere to go. We had to go to Appleton if we wanted anything decent. (I know we made that trip more than once in your family's caramel mini van). I hated growing up in a town that was a slave to a sport. Remember when they canceled school when The Packers won the Super Bowl?! I hated that everything was green and gold. (Even our school colors AND Ashwaubenon HS). I hated that everything was "Packerland" this. Did you know that Green Bay is now called "The City of Celebrations"? What? It should be "The City that Never Evolves".

Don't get me wrong, I'm proud to be from Green Bay. I don't mind it so much anymore. I don't spend enough time there to despise it.

When you moved to Green Bay, the city glowed. Ok, I'm exaggerating. But you breathed new life into this town. You were an outsider. You were new. You were different. You had an accent!

There are so many memories of us in this town. Even during the "dark years" that we didn't acknowledge each other, there were still hints of your presence. I remember watching a video of my Kurt Cobain look-alike boyfriend's band. And you were in the crowd, looking up at the band with your big, stone blue eyes. Your little bob hair cut bouncing with the music.

I remember when we started speaking again. You passed me a notebook in the hallway. The *new* NFN? And we went to Country Kitchen (there is one in Cadott, WI). I remember you had this big, scary secret to tell me. I remember you being nervous and edgy. And when you confided in me, I laughed. I laughed loud and hard. Not in mean way, but in relief. I thought your parents were getting divorced, or dying, or you were going to boot camp. Your secret, so huge in its own right, but so insignificant to our friendship. I love you regardless of this secret. It was a shock, but it would never change or alter our bond. Nothing could do that. Nothing could shake our friendship.

Every time I pass that sad little restaurant, right off of Main, I think of that night. The night you thought would be a test of our friendship. It was no test. You showed me a side of you I had never know. I side I wanted to know.

the shape of our continent

If you click on the picture, you can see it a little better (I still have a long way to go in understanding light-dark balances), but instead of picking a more clear picture, this one, for my town, makes more sense--not only is there that sort of heavenly ray, looking down on us, protecting our humble town, but you can also see Wisconsin.

I grew up in Tennessee. I spent so much of my beginning there: learning the shape of low slung mountains, enjoying the scent of dogwood, counting the ways kudzu could climb a forest. I said "y'all" naturally, and loved the way everything slowed down.

Moving to Wisconsin was the most adventurous and horrifying things I'd ever done. I didn't have a choice in the matter, true, but I think it was things like your friendship that kept me from agreeing wholeheartedly with a family falling part: yes, let's find a way to go back. Without this new love, there would be little to grasp in the land of cornfields and lowing cows.

There was a quiet period in our friendship in high school, but we both needed to be someone else, and I don't think we were to grow together then. When we came out of it, only slightly scathed, you were the first person I told my deepest high school secret to. Something that is still a secret in some circles. You were the first person I wanted to know, officially, and I loved you for that, over coffee and looking at the curved window of Country Kitchen.

(Remember that place? We don't have one in town, and I haven't seen one, or many, in Minnesota. Not an unfortunate thing, indeed.)

Here we are, somehow settled in the same state, only an hour and a half apart, which is so lucky. I could stomp my feet and wish we were closer, but even when we lived six blocks from each other, we didn't see each other enough. It's the nature of busy daily lives. And it's the nature of a friendship that would still stretch across a continent, would survive if your twelve at night was my noontime. That's just how we are.

first memories

Thanks for the lovely memories. :)

This is how I remember it...

I remember the first day of Seventh Grade. Soccer was the popular sport. I was decked out in head to toe Umbros. (Although I wore red and teal jeans a lot in 7th and 8th grade; And I had a few pair of Adidas shoes). I remember I wanted to fit in. I made no real lasting friends from Sixth Grade. I still had Mindy and Vicki, but I had known them since Kindergarten.

Mr Braedel. I was unfortunate enough to be Kim's little sister. My sister had him for 7th and 8th grade. I don't think he ever called me by my real name. Didn't we have him for Homeroom, English, and Social Studies?

Back to the first day of school: I remember Mr Breadel sat us alphabetical. And it just so happened that you were diagonal from me. You were the new girl. And you were different. You didn't wear makeup, you had long, long brown hair, and you had "duck boots". I remember they were green and plastic over the toes. I thought it was so weird that you wore them in September!

I honestly don't remember much about our relationship prior to your birthday party. I remember playing Truth or Dare at your birthday party. I remember Libby licking the toilet seat.

I remember the NFN. I remember when you started writing in it. And somehow you and I clicked. I'm not sure what it was. I know neither of us were as boy crazy as Anna and Jessica. (I remember Jessica tried to set me up with her boyfriend's friend. And he wouldn't be my boyfriend because I refused to make out with him the first time I met him). And Lori was really into sports, which we weren't (although I did play basketball). You and I shared an awareness for the environment and for animals (remember when we wrote to organizations about adopting an animal). I don't know what drew us together. But I know once we met, we became inseparable.

We spent every weekend with each other. Calling boys, playing computer games (Island of the Spanking Monkey!), exploring the woods, sleepovers. I remember my Dad would always order us Cheese and Onion pizza and you hated it. I remember we got to drink pop at your house but only with a straw. I remember our canoeing trip! Still one of my favorite experiences. I remember the awful parts of 7th grade too. We stood together when the boys became rude and inappropriate. Even when the Assistant principal threatened suspension, we stood together.

I had no idea when I was thirteen that I would meet my best friend for life. Even as we changed and evolved. Even as we grew a part. We were actually growing together.

first impressions

So this is how we met:

I grew up in Chattanooga, Tennessee and said things like "y'all," which caused evil boys in the classroom to call me a hick (even though they arrived at school with cow on their pants and I lived in a city twice the size of Green Bay that was much more culturally diverse). I didn't know anyone, but seventh grade isn't such a terrible time to move, if you fall into the right classroom. First hour: Mr. Bredel and "Calm 'er down!" and grammar books and stories from a moldy textbook. Libby and her howling like a dog, Halloween party, and then my birthday, where I invited everyone I knew, even though I didn't really know anyone.

You sat kitty corner from me, to the rear left of me. You wore red umbros a lot, I think, and adidas. Or maybe red jeans. Teal ones too. And a gold basketball necklace (which you gave to me later on, and I still have it, tucked in a beautiful wood jewelry box an ex gave me that plays a simple song).

I wore snow boots to school, because I hadn't grown up in a place where snow was something you encountered on the walk to the bus, and you still call them "duck boots," which I think is amusing. They were green and tan and a size too big and I would comp through the hallways, unashamed, though a little envious of the trendy adidas.

How long did it take before everyone else fell away? We were part of the same circle so often, with the NFN (notebook for notes) that was confiscated (and our science teacher talked to us about it, and I think now, about how official it all seemed, and now as a teacher myself, how hard it is to corner a student and explain why something was wrong) and the slumber parties and everyone else.

It's strange how clothing can change so much: from red jeans to dog collars to girlish t-shirts. And me, from duck boots to patchwork to teacher shoes. Purple hair and magazines. We always say if we met today, we probably wouldn't be friends. Who knows what sorts of things in the universe must be aligned so you can find that easy comfort with someone?

This is Fabulous!

Dear Molly-

I am very excited to start this endeaver with you. It's like a diary between friends, between sisters.

It's like our notebooks, but current. I don't have to wait to see you to read your letters. We should still keep the notebooks for everything tangible that cannot be remembered in cyberspace. Plus handwriting is more personal. But I love this. I am very excited about this!

This is the only picture I have of us from my digital camera. Very sad. I have lots of just you, but not us together. We must change this.

Let's start this adventure!

Love,

KeLL

introductory

Dear Kelly,

I have this idea. It has to do with long distance, collaboration, and two "sisters" converging in a new way. It has to do with embracing what is whole about us and what pieces we have that fit together. It has to do with friendship, godmothership, and wedding veils. It has to do with tattoos, giant cookie initials, and memories. It has to do with preservation and being here now. It has to do with my love for you and maybe a little some from you too.

It's just an idea, and I can delete as quick as I can make. But I thought, maybe, we could see where this takes us. A testament to friendship. (You can think of it as virtual scrapbooking, if that entices at all.)

Love,
Molly

PS: This idea is referenced here, in my own blog, if you are curious.