Fiddlesticks and Birdies

"Oh Fiddlesticks!"
We giggled uncontrollably at Daddy Bill. We were playing Jenga, and once again, he had caused all the carefully placed sticks (sticky from popsicle hands) to topple over. My sister and I secretly wanted him to mess up, because that was when his silly remarks would slip out of his smile.

Daddy Bill had the face of someone who had won a battle with a longhorn, rode a bucking bronco across the wild wild West, and hiked 1000 miles just to see you. And his smile and eyes lit up like a golf club catching the sun when he saw my sister and I running toward him at the airport. Daddy Bill! Juju! 

I remember those splendid nights sitting out on the screen porch in humid Texas air. The locusts blared in the background, the wind chime played games in the summer breeze and the frogs croaked along in a rhythm, conducting a symphony from the Texas Classical Music genre. We ate our mini Blue Bell ice cream cups with wooden spoons that scraped our teeth as we watched intently for roaming deer. A pure joy buzzed in my heart on those nights. I had just had a wonderful day with Juju and Daddy Bill, and I knew tomorrow would be a whole new episode of excitement. I had probably gone to the American Girl store that day and was sitting with my doll in our matching pajamas. Or I might've had wet hair from swimming. All I know is that while I was on that porch, joy surrounded us and let our imaginations run around the universe.

Daddy Bill was so loving and gentle. He loved us so much and the memories I have with him taste even better than vanilla Blue Bell. He took us on crazy fast golf cart rides and played any board game we wanted (for however long we wanted).

Daddy Bill died four years ago today. I don't feel sad necessarily, knowing that heaven can't even be compared to this dying world. Daddy Bill is still alive with us, as a beautiful example of a man with an abounding faith in God. His golf tips live on and his silly remarks make me grin even if I'm not trying to. Daddy Bill is still with me and sees me accomplishing (and failing) at all my "things." He watched me start high school. He cheered when I made the volleyball team, and encouraged me when I got cut the next year. He reads my newspaper articles and listens to my choir concerts, smiling his sweet smile all the while.

For a few summers, all of us cousins would go out to Texas and partake in GOLF-A-GANZA (I take credit for the name :) It was a week of fun-filled summer-licious activities, piano lessons, and golf playing with each other. One particular week, Juju had imagined up some silly songs and characters to go along with our party. As we sat on the living room rug, Juju told us all to shout MR. TEES PLEASE! as loud as we could. All of a sudden, out came Daddy Bill, dressed in crazy argyle socks and a colorful necklace made of golf tees. It was a "talent show," and we each had our own act (I think I sang itsy bitsy teenie weenie yellow polka dot bikini loud and proud.) Anyway, I like to think of Mr. Tees showing up sometimes and making us laugh when we're having a rough day.

I wanted to do something for Daddy Bill and write something brilliant and deep for him, something that would serve justice for all the wonder and joy he brought to everyone he encountered. I'm so proud to be his granddaughter, and I can't come up with some ballerina-y melt-in-the-mouth metaphor for that. I love Daddy Bill, and I miss him. I know heaven is pure wonderment (not even that word is good enough). He's playing heavenly golf everyday with the angels, probably giving the saints some tips on how to better their swings on the driving range (thumbs lined up on the grip, swing fast). And he is with his Savior finally. Just think: my grandpa has seen the face of God. Woah.

I found a journal entry from fourth grade buried in one of my old Hannah Montana themed diaries (yes, I've kept all my old journals...don't judge :) and found this one:

Right now I am in my room writing this. I want to be in Granbury with Juju and DB. I want a golf cart ride. I want ice-cream on the porch room. And especially I miss Juju and Daddy Bill.

Funny how something can still be so relevant eight years later. Thank you for everything Daddy Bill. I love you and miss you.

California in Winter

We're on your shore again, I can feel the ocean. I can feel your open arms, like pure emotion. I'm finally free again, by my own explosion...

With sand still in my pockets (and underwear if we're being honest), I stepped off a plane a couple days ago going from 65° to a balmy -12° in the apparent frozen tundra of Colorado. I had an AMAZING time in California, which included my cousin's Bar Mitzvah and Disneyland. The happiest place on earth! YOU CAN FLYY you can fly YOU CAN FLYYYY! Oh, and so much good food. I had great food days. Our hotel in Encinitas was right by a coffee shop called Pannikin's, and we had the most delicious, giant, hardy, homemade raspberry and pumpkin walnut muffins. We also had some street tacos with pineapple and guacamole, coast-side pizza, and the best part? A candy buffet at Ethan's Bar Mitzvah. A. Candy. Buffet. What? Were my eyes deceiving me? Whatever amount of candy you could shove into a bag (and your hat, and your cup, or in Josh's case, a giant cardboard box) was what you could take. My lovely aunt Holly had yummy food at her house too (ya know, the good food kind of made up for the stab in the heart from the Superbowl... but I won't bring up that sour topic :) My cuzzies' living room is an actual pinball machine arcade. They have like 5 old school pinball machines just in their living room. It's quite beautiful I must say. And so are they. (My family I mean).

I was born in California and spent my first years there, so maybe I have some saltwater still pumping inside of me. But I love the ocean. I mean, who doesn't? It's so striking. It ignites this weird spark in you, and it tells you life is SO much more than your land-locked dreams that get trapped inside society's concrete box.

The ocean dreams in motion. Every soul, every fault, and every hope we hide deep down are bubbles that float around and swirl and get lost in the great abyss. My heart is made of raindrops that gush out of my smile when I close my eyes and surrender to the wonder. The fish swim by and carry my bubbles as my lungs gulp the salty air. The ocean breathes possibility. On the way other side, if I stretch my arm further and further, I can touch the other side of the world. The ocean invites me to be invincible.

I'm enchanted by the fact that in a world this big and crazy and demanding, there's a God who's greater. There's a God who commands the waves to crash and the tides to roll in. (I like to imagine him blowing on the water from heaven and creating those waves, like little ripples). This same God cares about ME, my quirky, imperfect, anxious self. In fact, He smiles at my imperfections, cause He's got a plan for them.

Another bullet point to add to the list of reasons why travel is so wonderful is flying there. (Okay, if the flight isn't very bumpy and you have a window seat). Flying so high above everyone else makes me feel infinite, like I could float away and never come back. Like I can swim in the sky. I can pick up the little toy pieces of our world and rearrange them however I want. The moving cars on the spaghetti highways, the teeny houses, and little blue dots for the pools. Then at night, way up in the sky, the city lights are only holes that someone poked through black paper, and if I unglued the ground and took it away a blinding light would burst out and set the world on fire. What makes our daily worries multiply in size, what makes them grow exponentially every waking moment, when they can easily be pulled away? The world wants us to worry. The oxygen is saturated with worries. But when I'm so high in the air, I can swish away the filthy oxygen with my fingers and fabricate a different life than the one I live. People's dreams are real, not artificial play toys that I can move around up in a plane. The people far below, sleeping as I fly, posses dangerous, beautiful, and exasperating dreams. Yearning dreams. Nightmarish dreams. Dreams that make us want to stay alive, and dreams that make us want the opposite. All these dreams float up into the black sky and swirl around, conducting a blended symphony of longing and grace.

There's beauty in stepping outside of your own little world for a while. (Or maybe running away). While I was in California, the city and the beach enthralled me and sparked my dreams again. The ocean sucked me into it's enchanting enthusiasm that inspired so many (Emily Dickinson even... I started early, took my dog, and visited the sea, the mermaids in the basement came out to look at me)

I love California. Everything about the cities, the beach, the people. Maybe I ate some sand when I was living there as a little kid, but I feel at home. Like the ocean wants to lick my feet and drown my worries.

And let's not forget about Disneyland! We had a blast when we went. Always go in February on a Monday, because the longest line we waited in was like 20 minutes max. I got way more excited than what is socially acceptable (LOOK IT'S PETER PAN MAMA PETER PAN LOOOOOK) and sang to my heart's desire (kick your knees up step in time, KICK YOUR KNEES UP STEP IN TIME) And of course being with my awesome cousins made me uber happy yaaaa!!! And Camryn loved it. We went on Space Mountain like four times. It's really hard for me to say what my favorite thing at Disneyland is. Because really, that's like asking if I like breathing. But, if I HAD to say, I'd say Space Mountain just cause it's awesome, but I love Pirates of the Caribbean, Peter Pan, and, yes, the Tiki Room. It's a happy place. ~Let's all sing like the birdies sing, tweet tweet tweet tweet tweet~

Also, going to a Bar Mitzvah was a brand new experience. First of all, Jewish people can truly make music. The rhythms made me want to dance, and even though I understood none of the Hebrew, I wanted to sing along. I'm proud of my cuzzy for memorizing those chants! (seriously, it's kind of insane) I can also tell he's maturing. Becoming more responsible. I know he's going places.

Now that I'm back in the -3 degree tundra, (I might as well move to Antarctica. At least there's penguins) my memories of saltwater are making me smile. God is so good. I can have a perfectly sunny day with no actual sun in sight! Maybe someone is flying over me in a plane tonight, looking down and wondering what I'm dreaming of. Well, I'm pretty sure my mind will be like an 80's movie, just me in a cute love story with the sea and no iphones. Also some singing to classic Disney songs. I hope your dreams that float in the night sky are full of wonder and make you happy. And if not, I hope they'll dissolve in the night air, and that the sea will carry them far, far away.

Here's some pictures of our trip. Dream away.

 "Tiny E" is a teenager now?!

I had to... :)

I am restless, I run like the ocean to find your shore, looking for you. Switchfoot