My-best-friend-since-fifth-grade

We met in fifth grade and have never had much in common. I thought it was sixth grade, but for the past five years or so, we’ve referenced each other as “my-best-friend-since-sixth-grade.” We went to different schools, had different friends and were involved in different activities. We didn’t keep in touch in college and have lived over 400 miles away from each other since high school. But for some reason, we’re best friends. We’re still pretty opposite and live somewhat different lives. Our families are different, our pastimes are different…a lot is different.

But I love this girl. I love her like a sister. I know that if we don’t talk for months, I can still call her up and cry or laugh harder than I thought possible. I don’t care that her car is so messy I can barely find a place to sit, and she doesn’t care if I babble on for hours, sharing every little detail of every little story. We’ve even gotten in some fights that felt more like a break-up than an argument. We would cry and hug and say that we wouldn’t be able to be friends. That never lasted long. It was too hard to stay mad.

We agreed sometime in high school to never start sentences with the phrase, “OK, I feel like a dork for telling you this, but…” because we knew we were dorks and there was nothing one of us could share that would change our opinions about each other. There’s a lot in each other’s lives that we miss. I think I missed her birthday this year. And that’s OK. It’s OK because the past 17 years have built up enough of a history that not much could destroy.

In about two hours, we’re going out to dinner. I don’t expect it to be very eventful. I don’t expect it to be much to write home about. But I do expect it to be normal. It’s normal to hang out with Stephanie, order fun drinks and splurge on dessert as we divulge all of the “dumb” stuff we’ve thought or said or dreamt or experienced since the last time we were face-to-face…because that’s what these friends are for.

(Stephanie…if you actually read this, and I don’t think you do, I love you to pieces!)

If these walls could talk...

It’s been almost 10 years since I last called this room home for any significant period of time. This room, being the bedroom in which I grew up…the bedroom where Annie and I played dress-up in elementary school, where Ruth would sleep over at least once a month in junior high (back when they still called it “junior high”), where Stephanie and I would talk for hours in high school, and to where Suzanne and I would retreat to escape my parents when I was home for winter break or during summers of college.

It’s got pink carpet and flowered wallpaper. There are still tennis team, summer camp, and orchestra pictures covering the walls. There are dolls and books shoved on shelves, and boxes of old letters. The drawers are now mostly empty…sometimes my mom uses them for storage, but instead of reaching inside the off-white, flowered dresser for clothes to wear, an open suitcase overflows on the floor.

It’s only used a few times a year, mostly by me when I return for weddings or holidays…sometimes just to visit. And it remains the same. Not much has changed. There are a few boxes from my grandma’s house, and sometimes, my mom leaves wedding announcements on the dresser, but not much changes when no one is here to call it home.

It holds memories and stories and pictures and most of what made me into “me.”

Almost 10 years. Almost 10 years since most of these pictures were taken and the memorabilia held much significance. 10 years is a long time. Perhaps that’s why it’s time. Time to go through boxes of letters, give away books, donate anything someone else might appreciate and take with me those things that I always wished I had in the other places I’ve lived. It’s just time. My parents never cleaned it out. There were no younger siblings to take over, and already having a spare bedroom, guests rarely reside here. There was no reason. But now, it just seems time. It seems time to box up the things that are important, recognizing that there’s a lot of meaningless junk that has seen better days.

The thing that surprises me is that I’m OK with this. Having moved almost 20 times in these past almost 10 years, I always found some strange security in the fact that I could drive up to 357 Utley and find a room to call my own. No one would have moved anything, and the sheets would have that soft, used feeling to them that was familiar. I liked that it didn’t change.

And so I wouldn’t say it’s completely changing. The furniture will stay here, the pink carpet will probably be here for years to come, and the prom picture to my right on this desk I picked out in junior high will probably keep its place for a while longer. And I’m OK with that.

Dreaming of a White Christmas

Growing up in Chicago and returning for Christmas each year, the holiday is supposed to be covered in snow. But this year, the best weather.com can do is promise a chance of rain and snow on December 25. It’s not even going to be below freezing while I’m home, and the snow that was here a few weeks ago has all melted. That’s weird.

I guess I will be dreaming of a white Christmas.

(Colorado – can you share? I hear you have more than you can handle...)

One of my new favorite things...

...the automatic machine at the post office.

I Heart '80s Cover Bands!

If you’re ever in Austin on a Wednesday, The Spazmatics are well worth the $5 cover.

A Texas Snowball Fight

Last night was a Tuesday disguised as a weekend night – way more fun than expected on a weeknight, and it was fabulous! One of the minor highlights was a snowball fight. A snowball fight in Austin?! Yes, a snowball fight in Austin. The last stop was a Christmas party with the promise of a snowball fight. Always having lived in places with real snow, I was curious as to how this was actually going to happen. There were cotton cloth balls, like small socks, filled with flour. Adults lined up and took sides, and the battle began. Slightly ridiculous, yes, but nonetheless, it was entertaining.

Remember when...

This morning, I was going through all the Colorado pictures on my computer in an effort to start some scrapbooking. It’s a daunting task, but one I enjoy and one that I’ll be glad I took the time to do in the future. But for now, it’s daunting.

Besides knowing there’s a big project involved, the idea of spending hours looking at and thinking about the faces and events captured in the 4x6 boxes makes me a little sad. I loved my life. I loved my life in Colorado. I loved my friends. I loved the adventure. I loved the freedom. I loved the attitude. I loved the opportunities. I loved the laughter. I loved the tears. I loved the comfortableness. I loved it. I loved my life in Colorado.

But my life is no longer in Colorado. I’m in Austin. It feels like an extended summer vacation as I think about what to wear to work today and am pondering flip flops and a skirt for the 80-degree day ahead of me...80-degrees in December, that is. But it’s not an extended vacation. I actually live in Texas.

One might think that I would have gotten the memo by now, but I still wake up some days and feel like I’m a visitor, like the life I loved so much in Colorado is still going on, and I’ll return to it shortly.

Unfortunately, that return will only be for a visit, and it probably won’t happen until April. It will be weird. I know that I’ll want it to be the same. I’ll want it to feel like home, to have all the same people there, to go back to what was…what I loved so much. But it won’t be. People have moved. Relationships have evolved. Jobs have transferred. As many changes that have happened in my life this past year will have happened in the lives of those I knew well...and I’ll have missed it all.

It’s a little sad.

But there is something that helps. Austin is starting to feel like home. The deep relationships are still a thousand miles away, but it’s starting to feel like I have friends. I share meals, go to movies and am spending time with these new people, and it’s starting to feel comfortable. I have less “Hi, my name is Heather” interactions and more that actually follow up on previous conversations. I even found myself having a discussion on Friday that included the phrase, “remember when.” “Remember when” has never felt so good.

December 18. It’s December 18, and I’m gearing up for Christmas in Chicago. I won’t be flying through DIA and won’t be bragging about all the skiing I’ve gotten in so far this season. No, instead, I’ll be trading in my flip flops and skirts for only a few brief days before returning to Austin...back home.

Trail of Lights

I did, in fact, make it to the Trail of Lights last night. It was an interesting experience. Picture what would happen if a county fair and a parade of lights had a love child. There were different “scenes” set up, and you walked around in a big horseshoe at Zilker Park. In the middle, there was a stage with some dancers – high school stomp performance last night. There was a lot of neon, and you could even get your own glow-stick-type thing. That’s why it reminded me of a state fair. Each “scene” had something to do with Christmas, though, and most had some recognizable cartoon characters. I liked this one, but I can't figure out what cartoon, movie or book it came from.


At the end, there’s a big tree made of Christmas lights. I guess that’s what they do in Austin without any big evergreen trees around the place. They make their own – bigger and out of lights. The thing to do is spin underneath it like a little kid. I almost fell over a few times; it was a lot of fun.


So it kind of started feeling like Christmas.

Then I woke up to the weatherman telling me that it would be in the 80s this weekend. It’s going to take a long time to get used to Christmas in Texas.

Nothing motivates like a deadline!

If it weren’t for the last minute, nothing in my life would ever get accomplished. How do you fight off the beast of procrastination?

Two Months

Exactly two months ago, I woke up at 3 a.m., hugged Julie good-bye, climbed in the Penske Truck and met Amy at the Westminster Park-N-Ride. It was the beginning of the 21-hour road trip that brought me to Austin.

Two months ago in Colorado, on October 11, the weather was about like it is here on December 11. Two months ago, I was wondering what the heck I was doing moving to entirely new state. Two months ago, I was waking up to the mountains at my finger tips. Two months ago, Austin meant vacation.

Now it’s home…in some ways. I know where the grocery store is. I have a job that I love. I have people to hang out with all the time – the list of 512 numbers in my phone is growing. I have discovered some good routes for running, and I’ve even had one friend and my parents come to visit. Acquaintances are becoming relationships.

It’s getting there. I still miss hanging out with the girls I was closest to and being able to walk to Vic’s on days off. Skiing on weekends seems foreign, but it still sounds fabulous…I’d even trade a few of the 80-degree days in December for a chance to float down fresh powder at Copper.

The one thing that still feels weird, the one thing that makes it feel like I’m on some sort of extended summer vacation and don’t actually live in real life, is that it doesn’t feel like Christmas. All of the places I’ve ever lived have been cold – snow cold – in December. Even Seattle, without actually snow in this month when I lived there, was so cold that it felt like the seasons were changing. Christmas lights should be covered with snow, not wrapped around palm trees. And wool sweaters the norm, not the exception. (I don’t miss scrapping ice off my car, though, so I can’t complain too much.)

This week, I’m hoping to get to the Trail of Lights. It looks to be the Austin thing to do around the holiday season. That might make it feel like Christmas. I just hope it’s cold enough to wear a gloves and a hat. That would me feel a little better about the lights on palm trees.

7 o'clock

I guess when you fall asleep at 7 o’clock on a Monday night and don’t wake up until morning it means that you had a really fun weekend. Thank you, Julie Mae.