what i've learned so far

From this blog. The top six, anyways. In ascending order of importance, I think.

(1) I am a perfectionist.
I never thought it. Never ever. And I never wished it. Okay, just that one teensy time I did. But now it's true. Gosh dang it.

(2) A name is incredibly important.
Your name. My name. Through years of trial and error, I have become Becky. (Now I'm working on becoming the other parts of my name, but I have the rest of my life to do that, I suppose.) This little blog has gone through an array of names. And although its current (and forever) name may not sound super-creative, it is a part of who I am. It's something I say to connect in my own little way to the person I'm talking to. And it's how I would like to connect with you every day to share the things that are important to me. Anyways, what I'm saying is that today is christening day. This blog has a name. Finally. Now it will just continue to become.

(3) People are inherently good.
From the comments left here and the ones on other blogs, I have seen a lot of goodness all over. I've noticed a desire to follow, to show support, to encourage, to console. True, there are those nay-sayers who somehow get a kick out of fault-finding. But even those few are just searching for something we all want-- a little satisfaction. A little bit of "You're Right!" and "You're Great!" and "I love you." Maybe that's naive to think, but I sure do hope it's true.

(4) Being afraid sucks. Don't do it.
Forever and ever I have been afraid to wear lipstick. Yep. But now I'm not. Isn't it cool how that works? Now I am very afraid of some other things. Some bigger things. And I know I just need to put on that proverbial lipstick and see how it looks, but it's hard. 

(5) 99% of the time you have the answer you were looking for.
There are a few blogs that I absolutely love (see side bar). Of those few blogs, there are a few bloggers that I really look up to. They are people I have come to admire through their blog-voice. Once I even emailed one of them to ask some advice. She gave absolutely lovely advice, because she is truly a lovely person. But more importantly I found, as I wrote out my question for her, that I already knew my answer.
Your life is your life. Something may work for one person and not for you. And vicey versy. That doesn't make you less. It doesn't make him/her more. It just means that most of the time, you can be your own best friend & adviser. It may take a trick to get your inner-self to whisper the secret answer to your outer-self. But it's there. You're smart, and you're strong. As cheesy as it sounds, that's what's up.

(6) I need people.
My reaction to blog comments has revealed a lot to me about the nature of my people-needing. I know I just got done with my little "Miss Independent" shpeel, and I believe every word of it. But that doesn't negate that fact that I need people. For real. I need love. I need attention. I need a friend to say "you're going to be okay" or "I've felt that way, too" or "yeah, let's go get some diet cokes and froyo and watch the longest movie ever."  Now, I got a little flack in my dating days about needing people. So, just to clarify-- I didn't need a husband. That's not why I got married. Hopefully it's not why people get married ever. But I met my Hubby-to-be, and I needed to be with him for the rest of my life. And I know he will always be there for me like no one else would ever even want to be. And that's a beautiful thing.
People don't have to get married to be happy. That's not what I'm saying at all. But maybe we have to recognize exactly how much and in what way we need people and learn to somehow react.
I hope we all find a best friend. Or a few best friends. Or that we learn how to be best friends with just about everyone. That would be pretty sweet. Because as much as we may not want to admit it, sometimes we really do just need people.

Happy Wednesday.

when husband's away

His slightly OCD wife will play.

Seriously, ya'll- I organized the cr(ap)izzle out of our hizzle. Fo'rizzle. 

I set up an official junk drawer, which I was told during an organization seminar is crucial to the functioning of any well-organized household. I grouped everything that could possibly be grouped and folded everything that should be folded and hung everything that would be hung. I scrubbed, dusted and itemized every inch of the man-spouse's work area. I set up a little artsy-tartsy work corner for the more craft-inclined half of our little family and even made sure to display all manly-items on my very own med student's half of the room to give his "office" some semblance of man-cave-ishness. In the past, I've quite enjoyed telling him on the daily to "GO to your hole!" when study-time rolled around. Because that's what our spare room was. A hole of nastiness. The playroom to our castaway items that we just know we will one day need again. And the unfortunate home of Clint's gigantic desk. But I believe the black hole days are over. Now I'll have to say something lame like, "Go to your man-space of light and beautimousness." Just doesn't have that same demeaning tone, ya know?

Okay, for reals what I'm the most proud of is the little hallway that is now housing man-hunk's gigantic Marshall guitar amp. That thing was a beast to haul around trying to find a resting place for. Wouldn't fit under the bed or up on the closet shelves. Totally ruined the nice his-hers deal I was trying to pull off in the office. So I put my thinking cap on, and this was the end-result...

I loved this because it combines things that Clint and I are both passionate about (art, music, & our little 2-man band) and creates a nice filler for an otherwise empty space. I know it's not break-through material, but I thought myself to be quite clever. I know some of you with similarly small living spaces must have awkward items hanging around that you don't know what to do with. So I thought I would pose one solution for thought. Use the larger items as props. Make them work with your decor. Improvise.

In other news, while Clint was gone I also took the liberty or rummaging through old pictures on his computer. Mostly looking for pictures with old girlfriends to get jealous about, of course. (Don't deny it-- you know you've done it.)  Anyways, I found an absolute gem of a picture of my hunk-o-hunk-o-burnin' love during his freshman year at BYU looking like a total babe. We're talking 80s stud-muffin meets 90s alternative rebel. Unfortunately I have not been able to coerce him into letting me post said picture. Which means I will probably just blow it up and frame it.

Just kidding, honey.

I will be posting an organization how-to, so stayed tuned!

running through eras on fashion friday

I think I was misplaced. In time, I mean. I'm an old soul. Know what I mean?

I remember sitting on the grass with my gal pals at recess talking about boys, and I'd be making a daisy chain. I wouldn't actually put it on my head-- (I had to fit in somehow during all those childhood moves, and daisy head bands just wouldn't have done the trick)--but I felt like it wanted to be there. Right atop my long, wild blonde hair.

And now when I watch (copious amounts of) TCM, I feel this longing to be swathed in 50s garb, dressed to the nines with a feathered cap, big brooch, Mary Janes, and a sleek mink around my shoulders. Or ready for an evening on the dance floor at Gatsby's mansion, bedazzled from head to toe in a gaudy head dress and a sparkly flapper sheath dress.

But maybe my displacement is a good thing. As much as antiquated fashions appeal to my innerest of souls, living like a flapper or a hippie may not have been the best idea for me. I could see myself getting sucked into the power of the flower or dance-magic-dance and having a pretty hard time finding my way back out. I'd be one of those parents whose kids' friends all think is cool because I'd sleep on a hammock and roll down hills and stay out really late with people I barely know and talk about all sorts or esoteric literature... But in reality, I'd be living for the past, and my kids would be sad about it.

Luckily for me I am alive now. And now is a beautiful time for fashion, because it borrows from all eras. Us old souls can have our proverbial cake and eat it, too!

Combining details from fashion of past eras can be fun and functional. I wore this outfit to work with a black pencil skirt and around the house (and tonight for date night, ahem) with flares. There are a few different eras represented: 50s-polka dot blouse, skinny belt, & jeweled brooch; 60s- hair; 70s- bell bottoms; 90s-blouse tied at the naval. All together it is a representation of Now.

Blouse- thrifted; Brooch- gifted; Belt- Target; Flares- Bebe; Pumps- Kohl's

There is so much freedom in fashion right now. We aren't confined to or defined by any era. This may end up being really confusing for the future generations, but we can cross that bridge when we come to it, right!? For now--enjoy it!

<3, Parlor Talk

P.S. I want to give a special thank you to the dear friend who gifted me that gorgeous brooch. She did it with no other reason than to be kind and to make my day. Thank you, friend. I'm sorry I didn't get a better picture of it. 

love letter

I don't believe I have many bragging-on-my-husband posts. That's not because he is not worthy of bragging. It's simply because, until now, I have been too shy to post one. I'm afraid someone might sneer at me. And I know that you know why. You might do it, too just a little bit, if you aren't careful. No one likes a Braggy-Becky. (Get it? Like a Chatty-Cathy, except... yeah, you're all very smart people, I know.) Anyways, I just think my hunk-of-a-man-spouse deserves recognition today. So here it goes. Here's my love letter to him for all to see, because hey, I have listened to that one Rascal Flats song a bajillion and one times, and baby, "I learned to love you out loud! Woo!"

Dear Clint,


Remember on Tuesday how it was my day for the shopping in the Kroger? And how you came to find me and surprise me with a Big Drink because you know how much I dislike the Kroger, only to discover I had gone to a different Kroger? Well, then you know how you called me and eventually had to explain your plot to me because you couldn't find me at the usual Kroger and needed to make sure I didn't re-buy the deli meat you had just waited in line at the ridiculously slow deli-counter for? I stood there, cart handle clutched in one hand and phone in the other, listening to you reluctantly reveal the surprise you had so sneakily contrived for me, and I cried. Right there in the middle of the aisle. I could see you roaming the aisles of that other Kroger with the deli meat and the Big Drink. I could feel your excitement, knowing that in just a second you would sneak up behind me, wrap your arms around me, and make me smile so big that it would fill even the dark corners between the 50 lb bags of dog food with the light of happiness.You had left the house to do this despite all the work you have to do. Despite the fact that you don't really have the time to help me grocery shop and won't until you retire after years and years and hundreds of patients. I could see it all. I could feel all that love. I just wasn't there to give it back to you. I wasn't there to smile that big smile and hug you the tightest.


So you put that Big Drink in the freezer. It was waiting when I got home. You were there studying at the desk--the one I had been so excited to get all prepped for you this Summer--even though I know you prefer to be out at the dining room table. You were reading lots and lots of words.  Words that I know sometimes frustrate you, but you keep reading them, because you understand that those words will build and build on each other until they've formed a nice career, a college fund for our children, a house to grow in.



Everything you give. Nothing you would take.


You amaze me. I've had friends in the past that thought I was dumb to get married so young. Dumb to marry you so soon. But I knew what I was doing. I was more sure of you than I had been of anything else in my life to that point. Thank you for being everything you promised to be when you got down on one knee in that alley behind the climbing walls. For being everything I prayed for every night when I was a little girl, planning out my happily ever after. And thank you for allowing me to grow into the woman I promised you I would be when I put your ring on my left hand.


Life is hard. It's not fair. But it's beautiful with you in it. It's doable. It's worth every second. And it's fun. A whole lot of fun.


I love you.

How to camp when you'd rather not...

The man-hunk and I love to camp. But I hate humidity, and he hates bugs. So on Friday night we made a little compromise. One air mattress, sleeping bags, a trip to the Target, a couple of skewers, and a ridiculously tiny lantern later-- badaboom, badabing!-- camping in Houston!

This was a seriously cheap-o-date. If we had already been owners of "sidewalk crayons," then this date woulda costed next-ta-nothin. But we weren't. But now we are. See how that works? But what I was trying to say is that it was cheap and it simultaneously rocked. Hard core rockage, is what I'm talking about here. A good-ol'd time was had by all. And not only was it entertaining, the night was also educational. Here are the things I learned whilst going about the business of the Camping Date Night 2011:

-Diet IBC Root Beer is far inferior to its sugary sister.
-Chalk makes for sneeziness. Consequently, handkerchiefs should be worn around the face bandit-style while creating works of chalky genius.
-Nickel Creek provides a great soundtrack for indoor camping. Nickelback provides a great soundtrack for... absolutely nothing.
-It's "ante up"--not "Annie up" or "inny up." No wonder the other poker players have never taken me seriously.
-Graham crackers and marshmallows are food for the birds until roasted and topped with chocolate. Then they become dessert for the kings and queens o' camping.
-Screaming shrilly when terrified is very unbecoming and wholly unnecessary.

The moral: Indoor camping is entertaining, educational, and yesh...

...oh-sho-yummy.

taking His name upon me

I'm supposed to be writing a talk right now on that topic.

But here’s the thing—I don’t want to be writing this talk. Today I feel unattractive, moody, and kind of like bawling my eyes out whenever I think of some new thing I should be doing but am not doing because I am too busy feeling sorry for my hormonal self. I know what I should be talking about. It’s been talked about a katrillion different ways. I know that it’s important, and that’s why I’m supposed to buckled down, suck it up, and just do it. But all I can think about is myself. How bad I feel. How men don’t understand what we go through every month. How nothing could be worse than having to give a talk tomorrow. 

But that is so far from the truth, it's not even kind of funny. SO many things could be worse than having to give this talk tomorrow. Like my wailing and gnashing of teeth distracting my sweet husband to the point that he is unable to finish his studying, falls behind, and fails his classes. Like getting a phone call saying that my family is yet another person smaller. Like losing my hearing and eyesight and not even being able to prepare to a talk tomorrow, even if I wanted to. This could go on and on, you see?

My point is-- I was just talking to my very wise and benevolent spouse-friend about the unfairness of having a pill to take away cramping pains but no pill to take away the sad pain that some times goes with it. He listened to me very patiently, just like he always does. Then do you know what he said to me? "Guess you're just going to have to deal with it." He gave me a quick, cautious smile and a hug and told me he was kidding. And he was.

But you know what? He's right. Sometimes there are things we just have to deal with. Sometimes the only fair thing would be for the world to just slow down, pause for a second and let us catch our breaths. But it never does. Because life as we can see it is not fair.

Someday it will be fair. Someday I'll understand why for one gosh-darn minute the world can't pause and let me wallow in the past. Why someone doesn't know to call and say, "Becky, I've always dreamed of giving a talk on that subject, would you mind if I gave the talk tomorrow instead?" Why people do die and do lose precious things and do have to do things they don't want to do. But today I will just "deal with it." I'm going to smile and write a talk and hug my husband and go to bed and get up and give that talk. And you know what? It's going to be just fine. And you know what else? So will every other time I think life isn't fair. Because at one point very loving Savior felt all of this mess and lived through it so that I could know that I can, too.

And I think maybe I've stumbled across a nice starting point for that talk...

The rain in Spain...

...falls mainly in the plain. Which any properly educated person knows, so I am sure you were aware of this. However, the rain in Houston has not fallen at all in quite some time. Not in the plain or in any other place. That is, it hadn't until Saturday. At which point it decided to pour down for an hour or two.

As I sat at the dining room table by the window that afternoon, I heard the pattering begin. I love the sound of rain. I love what it symbolizes. It symbolizes Time, I think. Time to get all cozied up with a fuzzy blanket and a good book. Time for hot cocoa and buttered toast. Time for living room forts and under-covers time and a general sense of laziness accompanied by utter contentment, a rare combination in our busy lives. Yes, rain is wonderful.

But on Saturday I heard that rain, and I groaned deep down inside. Not only was I sitting at the dining room table for the sole purpose of writing a shopping list which needed my immediate attention and meant that I would have to roll up my pants and get my hair wet, but also my favorite rain-friend was M.I.A. Of course he would be traipsing around the wilderness with his man-relatives at the exact moment the heavens opened up in Texas. And my other favorite rain-friend was, at that moment, somewhere in North Carolina purchasing a backpack, I believe. Plus she doesn't have a license yet, so coming to catch the rain with me was out of the question.

Feeling quite sure I had been the object of a very mean trick, I opened my blinds to get a better view of the rain and to see just what exactly I would be battling on my grocery shopping excursion. And this is what I saw...

Perfect rain-friends. So I decided to quit feeling sorry for myself and to real sneaky-like take a picture of them. And that's really not a creepy thing to do, trust me.

The next morning I saw their underthings hanging on a clothes line on their balcony, sunning themselves in the hot Houston sun . And I said a little hallelujah for rain and rain-friends that make life so lovely.

Happy Monday.

P.S. Welcome home, Favorite Rain-Friend. I love you.

The trouble with time is...

It makes you forget things. Sometimes those things are very important, and sometimes they were just taking up head-space anyways. But they are forgotten just the same.

Do you ever wonder what happens to a memory once it's forgotten? Does it float around in limbo? Throw wild forgotten-memory parties with the other forgotten memories where they sip bubbly and dance to obnoxious music of the subconscious variety? Maybe those memories retire themselves into a bunch of marbles carried around by the Lost Boys in Never Never Land, just waiting to be remembered again?

Or perhaps... perhaps they just stop being?

Is that possible? Can that moment in time, that person, that responsibility, those feelings once so strong and so real and so--everything-- can they just poof into nothingness?

I refuse to think so. But just in case, I am going to keep on writing them down, keep on taking pictures, keep on holding on  and holding on until my little brain can't hold anymore. Then I will fill up my soul with memories until it swells and bursts and can at last become infinite.

But I expect that will take quite a bit of time.

What I'm saying is, thank you for reading these little things. I am sorry I haven't written in so long.

It's hot as Hades here in Houston (how's that for a little Tuesday Alliteration, huh?), but I want to send you cool happy thoughts. Like a breeze through a hammock on a white sand beach. Are you feeling them?

Good.

Happy remembering!