Thoughts On Baby Naming

Nicole Gonzalez and baby Lillie Sol, via her blog Lillies & León | photograph by Mary Grace

This week marks the start of my 3rd trimester of pregnancy. 28 weeks. I can't believe it's come this fast. Despite being more than ready to meet this little girl and embrace the challenges of new motherhood, I am still woefully unprepared to bring her home and step away from my job for 3+ months. Still so much to buy and prep and do!

Preparing for baby in all the big and little ways that one prepares for such things has been both fun and stressful. Jonathan is hyper-involved in everything, but most of the research on baby gear and essentials has fallen to me—mostly because I've embraced it like it's a full time job. But one area where we've both been particularly attentive is to the issue of baby names.

I don't know how most couples approach this kind of thing in the early stages of their relationship, but Jonathan and I—once we were each aware of the other's interest in having kids someday—talked openly about baby name preferences before nearly anything else, including marriage. It was probably because talking about baby names is one of my favorite topics of conversation period, full stop, and I forced him to talk to me about it. Six years ago, it was very important that he know how I felt about his preferred boy's name, Doc ("Hell no."), and it was necessary that I knew his feelings about my favorite girl's name at the time, Laila ("Not feeling it...").

He was such a good sport.

And so it went, the "What about...?" discussion happening a hundred times over the years, thus we were able to narrow down our top choices to a short list of possibilities that sat in stasis for upwards of three years. When we found out we were having a baby—and especially when we found out it was a girl—Jonathan's baby naming seriousness kicked into high gear. Something about the reality of picking a name for a real live person to have for their entire life makes you look at all your name choices differently. At least, it did for us.

A big discussion of late has been whether (and how) to honor family members in the naming of our baby. So many individual names and name combos we love, and that made our list, have little or nothing to do with family legacy. We liked the idea of family names, but neither of us thought it really mattered all that much when we were just ruminating over ideas. Now though... with an actual baby brewing... we are weighing all the pros and cons.

There are lots of pros and cons, it turns out.

So at 28 weeks, we're honing in on a much shorter short list of names, with one that's peaking out as the favorite. It's mind-boggling to have thought so much about baby names for so many years (long before Jonathan was even a blip on my romantic radar), and now... we get to name one. A girl who will hopefully live a long life with that name, carrying it into adulthood, hearing it through the voices of friends and lovers, putting it on job resumes!

The weight of such a life long decision is not lost on us. We're so honored to get the opportunity to name a human being—bestowing upon her the first little piece of her identity.

We've made the decision not to announce or discuss the baby's name until she's born, primarily because I would like to reserve the right to change my mind after seeing her little face! It's tough though, since I love talking about them so much...

SO TELL ME: If you've got some favorite baby names, or your children are already named and you love talking about the why and how you came up with that name, let me know in the comments. Are there names you used to love, but your partner nixed them? What about names you are sad you couldn't use because you are done having children? I would absolutely love to read all about it!

Baby names. I seriously can't get enough.

The Things Worth Sharing

Emily Jeffords, From the Valley

The last half of the year, I really went out of my way to avoid writing here. Typical excuses were that I was spending 98% of my computer time on my work laptop, and therefore didn't have access to any photos. Also, my camera that I took with me to capture certain events (you know, ones too important to document with a cell phone camera) was always, like, way over there on the bookshelf, and nowhere near where I was sitting at the time. And not only that, but, like, the chord to connect it to my computer? Lost, I'm sure of it, since I can't find it without moving so much stuff.

But the truth is, there was and still is a lot of stuff I want to write about.

My best friend had her 2nd baby in July, and my sister and I were the luckiest ducklings and got to be in the hospital room when he was born. And I got to take pictures of the whole shebang.

Jonathan and I got to spend five days on Whidbey Island in Washington, and got to do lots of things, but most importantly we saw our friend (and wedding photographer) Joe propose to one of my best friends, Jessie -- surrounded by around a dozen of their nearest and dearest.

Lots of wedding stuff is done. Dress and rings are purchased, vendors are booked, Save the Dates have been sent out, the booze for the open bar is starting to get acquired, music planning is coming along, I'm starting to freak out a little... I mean, the wedding is only 4 months away! I can't even. Where did the time go? I'm already kicking myself for not documenting every detail.

I've developed some serious baby fever, and it seems only fair to write about it publicly.

I'm planning to write about all these things, if for nothing else than for me to just remember and document. This blog has no focus other than, maybe, Stacy's life and stuff she digs, so I don't want to be that person who acts like it matters if I don't write. But hey, if my sister and my best friend tell me enough times that they're sad I don't write more, then I guess it's worth the trouble, even if -- by contrast -- my mother doesn't even know my blog URL. Because I like it. The writing, that is. I do. Especially knowing that, as years go by, I'll be ever-so grateful that I took the time. Future Stacy will be happy to relish the memories. The more, the better.

For the 26 of you that actually read this blog when I write something new (two thumbs up for Google stats!) -- thank you for indulging my over-sharing tendencies. I hope to share much, much more this year, since it's gearing up to be a doozy.

Sick Days: A Quick Rundown

Pinkie Pie making me smile while I'm imprisoned in the hospital

It's Saturday morning, February 8th, and I'm realizing that it's been just over three weeks since I first got sick with [what I thought was] the flu. This is my first weekend of freedom from sickness and hospitals in what feels like ages. It's overwhelming and depressing to think I actually lost three weekends and two full work weeks of my life.

It's not all that interesting of a story, though it was all wholly unexpected. Never in a million years -- when wracking my brain before Christmas about whether to pick the PPO or OAP (HSA) on my company's medical plan -- did I think that I would end up meeting my $2600 deductible before February even rolled around. Especially since I haven't been sick enough to see a doctor (save for a urinary tract infection) for probably 10 years. Maybe more.

What started Friday, January 17th, as a simple case of a nasty flu (headaches, chills/sweats, fever, fatigue), developed into a week-long sickness so unbearble that I actually felt I was going to die, at times. Hyperbolic, I guess, but when you're dealing with consistently high fevers of 104.9, it can get a little scary. Monday took me to Urgent Care. (They were useless.) Wednesday took me both to an internal medicine specialist, then the ER to get a spinal tap, since my doctor was suddenly very concerned about meningitis.

Hours of waiting in the ER left me face-to-face with Sexy Doctor, who insisted that we were not dealing with bacterial meningitis, because (essentially) after this many days, I'd be dead already. And if it were viral meningitis, there was nothing they could do anyway; it would take care of itself. May as well go home.

More fevers, severe headaches, not eating anything but half a banana (maybe) each day, my mother came down to spend the following weekend with me. My doctor, one week after the fevers began, put me on a 5-day antibiotic which, surprisingly, helped me feel a lot better by the time the weekend was over. I was relieved; finally in the clear, maybe?

After having already missed 5 days of work (using my carefully-saved PTO that was meant to be used for my honeymoon in June), I was eager to get back to work. So Tuesday, feeling lightyears better than I had the previous week, I returned to my computer and got back to it.

Unfortunately, over that weekend, I'd still been dealing with minor fevers and headaches, and developed a bit of blurry vision and hazy "floaters" in my eyes. So I took some time on Wednesday morning to see an ophthalmologist.

To my surprise, upon looking into my dilated eyes, the ophthalmologist -- with the DEADEST EXPRESSION I'VE EVER SEEN ON A HUMAN BEING -- told me point blank, "This isn't an infection in your eyes, it's in your brain. I'm very serious. You need to leave here immediately and go to the ER to get an MRI of your brain."

And that was that. Jonathan took me to the ER. Both of us completely terrified by this point, we waited. Then we got a room in the ER. Then waited. Then I was moved to get the MRI. It was freaking scary, that machine is crazy small and confined, and I'm not even claustrophobic. Then I waited some more.

The doctor came and told us that, even if the MRI came back negative, they were going to prepare a room for me and admit me to the hospital for more tests. My fever was still consistently climbing to 102, and after 12 days, that just wasn't acceptable.

After more waiting, the nurse told me -- GOOD NEWS, EVERYONE -- the MRI was clear. No apparent tumors or major swelling to be found. PHEW!

But they moved me to a room in the hospital and admitted me anyway.

More tests. Lots and lots of blood work. A spinal tap scheduled for the next morning. A blast of antibiotics, as a precaution, just in case.

I thought maybe I'd be out by the next evening, after they'd done the spinal tap. I ended up being in there for four days, Wednesday through Sunday.

Consistently, my blood work came back negative for everything they tested. (At one point, my potassium was a little high. No big deal.) The spinal tap revealed a higher level of white blood cells than they ideally want to see. (Normal is 1-5, mine was 18, a really really really sick person can be as high as 80-100.) It was obvious that whatever I had, I was recovering from it, because my WBC count appeared to be on its way down.

By Sunday morning, I'd completely had it. I told them I no longer needed these antibiotics (all bacterial tests for four days had come back negative, plus my veins had been completely pulverized thanks to the IV drip) and I felt great now, thank you very much, time to go home. They agreed, even though we were still waiting on tests.

Discharge approved.

So I went home. And it was glorious, because I got to see my dog and lay down in my own bed. And shower.

All of the doctors that I spoke with that last day in the hospital, and since, have "hung their hat" on this being viral meningitis. There are still tests out (apparently they don't test for West Nile every day -- surprise surprise), so I probably won't know the results of every test until my follow-up appointment next Tuesday.

But all signs point to viral meningitis. I don't know how I could have gotten it; I never see people or go anywhere -- I'm a hermit. But hey, the important thing is that I'm feeling nearly 100% again, save for some minor haziness still clouding up my vision, and a few unfortunate side effects from the antibiotics. Ah well, c'est la vie.

To everyone:

Thank you for your well wishes while I was in the hospital. I felt a little silly, since by this point I was feeling so much better than when I was really, deathly ill the week before (and subsequently not updating Facebook all that much), but your thoughts and prayers really made me feel loved. I can't tell you what it meant to me.

To Jonathan:

I honestly don't know how I would have made it through the last few weeks without you. You gave up so much of your time, and committed so much energy to taking care of me. I can't imagine what I would have done if I'd been living alone. You're my absolute hero, and your selflessness will not be forgotten. I love you more than I can say.

And I'm just so damn grateful that it's all over.

4 Years Today

Some of our many selfies together, at various degrees of hairy and adorned with an exciting array of spectacles

Today, you and I have been together for four life-changing years, and exactly 5 months from now, we will be married.

Yay us!

Darling, I am constantly amazed at what we've been through over the last several years, since the first moment I opened that loooooooooong Facebook message you (my dear friend) had bravely composed, divulging the depth of your feelings for me. The decision to leave our strong friendship behind and move forward into romance was something out of a song. I'm thankful every day that when you asked, I said yes. (Twice!)

I marvel at the amazing things we've celebrated, the difficult times we've pulled ourselves out of, and the day-to-day normalcy that is the foundation of our simple, happy, bickering, smoochy, animal-hair-filled, human life together.

We aren't perfect, and darling, I wouldn't want to be, because those people are so boring. You know me at my best, but still love me at my worst, and the latter is what's important. It has kept us grounded. It is what keeps us checking our comfort at the door, and continuing to build a stronger love, a more beautiful place in this world that we can share, and into which we will grow.

Jonathan: I shudder to think of my world without your kisses, your stupid jokes, your beard, your wicked smart brain, your warmth. I love you, every day, and cannot wait to be your wife.

xx
s

Throw Off the Bowlines

Nothing More by Wesley Bird

I was about 10-years-old. My sister and I were spending a few weeks of our summer with my aunt, uncle, and small cousins at their home in Sturbridge, Massachusetts. During that trip, we visited a family friend of theirs who lived in a house on a lake, with other beautiful homes spaced evenly around it. It was a big lake, but not so big that you couldn't see all the way across and get a glimpse of the houses on the other side.

That afternoon, I sat and daydreamed silly girl dreams about my best friends and school crush, a movie in my mind about what it would be like when I was a teenager.

I will live on the shore of a lake just like this. All of my friends will live around it, too. We'll float on rafts in the middle and swim all day. We'll ride jet skis instead of bikes. When my first love breaks my heart, I'll sit on the dock, crying and contemplating the stars. No matter what happens later on in life, me and my friends... we'll always come back here.

Nothing to write home about; musings of a prepubescent. What strikes me now, as I remember it, are less the details (I hardly consider "lakefront property" a priority and I'm well past my "young love" phase) than the sentiment behind it.

My friends.

Together.

Those friends have changed, it's true, but the feeling hasn't shifted. I couldn't appreciate the simplicity of it at the time, but that fantasy (in its more adult incarnations) would continue to go through my mind for the next nearly two decades. A sense of Home, always with others. It's what I want, what I've always wanted. I knew it even when I was ten, didn't I?

Being far away from the people I love has been the hardest part of growing up. I am thankful that staying connected takes just one click, but I wonder if it's the simplicity of that click that's to blame for pulling us apart in the first place. Myself, my friends... we're all intelligent, 21st century, Gen-Y folk who want adventure, travel, exploration, a change of scene, even if it's just to a new state or city that challenges us. It's what led me to Seattle after college, what led so many of my friends to New York City, and others to England and South Korea.

print by December Baby Designs

I long to experience true adventure again; to become a "local" in a new place and see things from an insider's point-of-view. It's not just about traveling, but living somewhere. The idea of getting rid of all my possessions and moving to someplace new, where weekend trips to another country aren't just feasible, but expected. It makes me yearn for the flexibility (ahem, money) to make exploration a standard in my life -- not just a trip that takes a full year of saving and planning.

And yet...

The part of me that yearns for new and challenging experiences in other areas of the world is constantly at odds with the part of me that wants to stay grounded. The part of me that wants to find a home and community near friends and family, where Jonathan's and my children will grow up and cry their own tears on a dock over a broken heart, still can't reconcile the idea of never having lived abroad -- of not taking bigger risks.

I think most people know where they fall on this spectrum. Travel, excitement, adventure? Duh. No-brainer. Settling near family and friends? Totes. Only option for me. But what about when you're limited by your income and work and paid time off, and living impossibly far from those you love sounds about on par with the 4th circle of Hell, yet your heart still feels pulled in the direction of movement... What can you do?

I've never been much of a risk-taker. I'm an introvert, and my first year in Seattle was hard for a reason -- I'm simply dreadful at meeting new people. Making friends doesn't come easy for me, because my standards are so high. (I have some flipping awesome friends.) Also, RBF is at least partly to blame. This is a major reason why moving to someplace new, just Jonathan and me, scares the ever-living-hell out of me. Adventures can be thrilling, but they can also be lonely. But maybe that's the beauty of it?

It's no secret to me now that, when something scares me, I am not the person who goes into it head-on. I usually back away. It's always been this way, but that doesn't mean it's how I want to live my life. Whatever happens, our life choices should never be made out of fear. But how can you make yourself be brave?

via Pinterest

Jonathan and I just signed another one-year lease on our apartment in Orange. He'll work to finish school and keep his contract position at his job -- until they decide, inevitably, to offer him a full-time job. When they do that, he'll accept it. This means we'll be staying in Los Angeles for at least a year after we get married next summer.

This both excites me and makes me terribly anxious.

I have to remind myself constantly that we are only 27. If we move from Orange to Los Angeles next year, we'll only be 28, etc. etc. etc. There's no rush on making these decisions, and it does me no good to ponder things that may or may not come. Who said you had to have it all figured out by the time you're 30?

Still...

I remember back to my fantasy at 10-years-old and know that, without question, being near my loved ones in some capacity is an absolute must in my life and in my future. This was the one Truth I learned after three years of growing pains in Seattle. Does that mean travel and living abroad will be impossible? I'm not sure; I can't know.

What I do know is that I am opening up myself to the many possibilities that make me happy and scared. Friends and neighbors, late nights and bottles of wine, exploring someplace new and getting out of my comfort zone.

On second thought, let's just all go adventuring together. That'd make this decision a lot easier.

Venue Hunt, Part III: To the Mountains We Go

Remember three months ago when I mentioned we'd found a wedding venue? Remember how I'm the worst at updating? Oh, but remember how I love you and I am really, really happy that you're interested in reading about the little things in my life that mean nothing but mean the world all at once?

Ahem. Picking up where we last left off...

Several weeks after beginning our venue hunt for our summer 2014 wedding, I made Jonathan sit down for a serious heart-to-heart with me. As I mentioned before, things started to go off the rails in unexpected ways, and I realized that putting myself (and therefore: us) in a stressful place was not what I wanted for our wedding.



I know. This is starting to seem really dramatic. Like, how difficult can finding a venue really be, and on top of that, why would I let myself get so worked up about it so quickly after getting engaged -- and so far away from my actual wedding date?!

The truth is: we're picky people, but in most areas, our tastes are very simple. Having a wedding that was overly complicated and stressful was not something we wanted. The thought of eloping to a favorite location (Seattle, near the water perhaps) was more appealing than most of the options we were finding, but we were adamant that we find something where our close friends and family who could come would be able to come.

So we sat down and discussed what our ideal wedding would look like. Here's a smattering of ideas and phrases that kept popping up (and were eventually solidified) during our talk:

• We'd rather elope than spend a dime on something for which we'd have to settle
• The feeling of a small, intimate, casual, and fun wedding, but without the super small guest list
• "Backyard wedding"
• The ceremony, reception, or both venue locations should be quintessentially "Northern California"
• Golf courses, country clubs, and wineries were still out of the question
• Focus on "local" and simple options, so that we can keep costs down with flowers, food, decor...
• Being somewhere that allows us to keep the party going until at least 11 PM or midnight is ideal
• We need to love the location enough that even if only 20 people come, we'll still be excited about it

With a very quick realization that no one we know has a backyard suitable for the kind of wedding we'd want (one where the neighbors won't start complaining come 10 PM), I immediately took to Google.

Oh, Google. My trusty-yet-fickle friend.

I looked for several days straight, and for the life of me I couldn't tell you the search terms I was using. It was similar to a Buzzfeed black hole, where you're sucked from one link to another to another to another, but instead of GIFs of kittens and TV show personalities, it was overpriced California mansions, industrial lofts, and outdoor toilet rentals.

Inevitably, I found myself here: Here Comes the Bride venue search. Armed with the following filters (Northern California, Private Estate, garden views, and 100 people), I was given a list of options.

I started with the towns/cities I already knew. Nothing I liked. Eventually I moved on to the more obscure ones that were around the Bay Area. Nothing I could afford. Finally, the very last one that I selected (because who the hell under 50-years-old has heard of Graeagle?!), I knew I'd found the one.




This is The Twenty Mile House. It's situated on 200 acres of pine trees, hiking trails, river bed, and train tracks in Cromberg, CA -- just outside of Graeagle, an hour and a half north of Lake Tahoe, nestled in the Sierra Nevada Mountains.

It's everything I ever wanted. What's better? Jonathan loved it too.

The Web site has all the juicy details about price, vendors, etc. so I won't bore you with that now. (Eventually, once this silliness is all over, I'll come back with a budget breakdown for anyone who is interested in this particular venue.) All you need to know is that this is a "green" venue, and it partners with all local vendors who specialize in eco-friendly goodies.

Back in April, my parent's offered to drive up to Cromberg and check it all out for us. They met with Kevin, the owner, and asked him a million and one questions that I had prepared for them. They came back from the trip smitten as could be, and my mother (notoriously difficult to please or get excited about things) thought it was the absolute perfect choice for us.

So within a week, Jonathan and I signed a contract... on a place we hadn't even seen in person.

I admit, it was nerve-wracking.

My nerves might have been the thing that kept me from updating about the venue until now. I knew we'd made the right choice, but having never seen the place in person made me feel as though I couldn't really justify it.

Luckily, last month while I was waiting for my lovely best friend to give birth (more on that later), my mother and I took a day trip up there to look around, check out nearby Graeagle, and watch a wedding get set up on the property. I took pictures, but they're all on my mother's phone. So I'll just say this:

I'm elated, I'm excited, I'm itching for this wedding to finally get here already, and I simply could not be more satisfied. This location is heaven on earth, it smells like summer camp (pine trees!), and it's secluded, quiet, and under the stars.

The next 10 months can't go by soon enough.


** All images above are from this stunning Twenty Mile House wedding by Kris Holland Photography. Check it out and gawk. It's okay; no one is watching.

Venue Hunt, Part II: Hometown Pride with a Spanish Twist

As I began looking at venue options in Santa Barbara, I started to feel better. During our drive home from the Bay Area, down the 5, it suddenly came to me that I had the perfect ceremony site, and maybe -- just maybe -- it would be nearly free to use.

Back in December, Jonathan* and I spent some time in Santa Barbara and Carpinteria with his family, and one afternoon went out to UC Santa Barbara for lunch at Woodstock's and to walk Ennis around the lagoon to Campus Pointe. It was then that I snapped this photo of the lagoon (and ocean in the distance) from one of my favorite, secluded lawn areas on campus -- right near the Santa Cruz dorms, where I lived as a freshman.

With this in mind as a ceremony venue, I started to do some more intense searches for reception possibilities in the area. It was easy to imagine getting married here, and how fun it would be to have our friends join us in such a beautiful destination. I figured there had to be a reception site that could compliment the beauty of UCSB.

Word to the wise, if you're looking to hold your wedding in Santa Barbara:

1. Better get your wallets out.
2. If you manage to find something affordable, you better book it right away. The cheap[er] options book up fast.
3. No seriously, you better have a big budget, because shit here is expensive.

I exhausted and crossed-off most of the obvious options first, mainly because they were so beyond our budget, it wasn't even worth considering.

After a few different searches using variants of "affordable Santa Barbara wedding venues" on Google, I found an intriguing -- yet unexpected -- option.

from this lovely wedding by EPlove, via

The El Paseo Restaurant is located in an historic courtyard in Downtown Santa Barbara, and is actually a Mexican restaurant -- widely known for their Happy Hours and Sunday brunch buffets. (Random, right?) Jonathan and I had actually been there for brunch just last August with his parents, and I remembered the space being very lovely, with lots of old character -- and just a hint of Spanish flair, mainly in the adobe architecture and tile work.

It was so different from anything I considered, and I actually surprised myself when I didn't immediately go, "Nope! Next!" I dug a little deeper to find out what their pricing was, and what we might be able to do, if we really considered it. The Website explained:

Renting the reception space would cost only a purchase of $12,000 in food and drinks on Saturday, or $6,500 in food and drinks on Sunday.

... and that was it. Despite the fact that Saturday was, without question, not an option -- price-wise -- Sunday suddenly looked a lot more appealing.

I dug deeper.

No site rental. Cost applies to food and drinks -- catering, essentially. 200 people could fit in the space. They have a dance floor. They have bartenders and waitstaff, and plates, and stemware, and flatware. Tables, chairs, linens. They have an on-site, day-of event coordinator. All for a minimum cost of $6,500.

Needless to say, I had to know more. Given the kinds of prices I had seen before, this seemed like an steal! (For reference: in Coastal California, the venue site rental alone (i.e. just to use the space and get your foot in the door) could easily cost $4,500 - $7,000. Ridiculous! That's before catering, DJ, decor, lighting, and additional staff needs...)

Jonathan and I discussed, letting our parents know and find out what they thought. After some back-and-forth, we all agreed that is sounded like a really fun and affordable option. Low stress. Good plan.

I wrote to the manager, and he was quick to respond. He called and we chatted about some things, and I got my questions answered. He was no-nonsense and matter-of-fact with what they could and couldn't do. I loved that. Everything sounded great, so I told him we'd be coming up that weekend to visit and meet with him in person.

Things started to move really fast after that. It quickly became a known fact among us that -- despite not having booked any venues yet -- Santa Barbara would be where we were gonna get married.

We started looking at lodging and vacation homes for us and my family to stay in.

We picked an entirely new "desired date," fully accepting that our wedding would now be on a Sunday.

We started planning an agenda for the weekend, figuring out how to work in trips to our favorite spots.

Before we took our trip up to Santa Barbara, I called the UCSB Alumni offices to find out about what it would cost/require to rent or reserve the grassy area that Jonathan and I both loved. I was passed around a bit, but eventually spoke with someone who told me that I could actually reserve the space (it's officially called Pearl Chase Park -- who knew?) for free! I would just need to go through the business office in order to deal with some contracts. She gave me the contact information, I contacted and left a message for the business manager, and things were officially set in motion!

The trip to visit El Paseo was a very positive one. The manager met with us while they were in the process of setting up a wedding, and we were able to ask him a bunch of questions. He was just as helpful in person as he'd been on the phone, and he let us roam around, explore, and take as many pictures as we wanted.

Essentially, the overall message he gave us was: "It's your party, it's your space. If it's legal and physically possible, you can do it in here."

Fantastic.



Despite my enthusiasm about the space, I would be lying if I said I didn't have some initial concerns. The set up is a little strange -- at least given how picky I am about symmetry. There is a large fountain right in the middle of the space, which makes things a little awkward, plus trees (pretty and pre-lit!) that were not evenly planted, making things feel a little off-kilter. It was obvious from the way the tables were set up that they were laid out that way because, well, I suspected no one really thought to challenge whether there was a better way.

I assured myself that if anyone could make the tables fit better, it was me. That's what I do.

We took our last photos, talked a bit about linens (their tablecloths are restaurant table clothes, not event table cloths, so they go only to the chair seat and not the floor -- a big no-no, says my wonderful, event planner friend, Carlin), and how much we thought the addition of market lighting would cost us.

All in all, we left happy. Extremely happy. So happy, in fact, that Jonathan's mother was ready to write a check for the deposit and hand it over that very week.

But I couldn't commit yet. Something still felt a little off to me, and I couldn't put my finger on it...

Then, after almost two weeks, we got some very bad news.

The business manager at UCSB wrote me a message, with a simple message about letting us reserve Pearl Chase Park:

Can't do it.

Given my conversation with the event coordinator three weeks before, I was shocked. It made no sense.

I won't go into the back-and-forth that ensued -- where Jonathan got involved, and even my two UCSB girlfriends who I'd told about the spot volunteered to call and make a fuss about it -- because, in the end, it just wasn't going to happen. Unless we planned on having a guerilla wedding by the lagoon, Pearl Chase Park was no longer an option.

Which meant we had no ceremony site.

So that's how the next week went: me searching, high and low, for a viable ceremony site that actually seemed appealing to me. I'm so picky, you guys. We knew there was no hope of finding anything for free like we'd hoped, so I started to look around the El Paseo area. The traditional ceremony site for couples who have their reception at El Paseo is the El Presidio Chapel just a block away. But I knew it wasn't an option for us; a church wedding was not what I wanted, and it was too pricey to make it worth it for a 25 minute ceremony.

After looking at every venue and rooftop terrace and public park in town, I finally decided to consider the Santa Barbara Courthouse. (Beware: apparently their Web site was designed in 1998.) The lawns are stunning, but very public. (The thought of having strangers stop and watch my ceremony is... not my idea of a good ceremony.) But the price was right, and so was the size.

Then I found an option at the Courthouse that I had never seen before. Inside is a little, historic courtroom, now referred to as The Mural Room.

Image via Austin + Dara Photography

(Get a stunning, 360º tour of the room here.)

It seemed weird, but... I kinda loved it. It was unique, colorful, it went with the style of the El Paseo, and it was just the right size for our guest estimate.

After contacting the courthouse, I found out that it costs only $275 for a two-hour rental. Without question, the price cannot be beat anywhere.

I started to get excited again, and I vividly remember going to yoga and not being able to concentrate on anything about the Mural Room and what it would mean for the style of the wedding if we were to get married there. That first night, I was on cloud nine.

The next day, anxiety set it.

I had absolutely no idea what the hell I was doing anymore, and my opinions suddenly seemed entirely questionable.

This lasted for days, and though  my mother was very encouraging about the Mural Room and El Paseo (and everyone was supportive), it was Cassie who sort of pointed out that... "Yeah, it seems really pretty and fun! But... is it really you guys?"

It took the better part of a week to really come to the conclusion that my wedding planning had gone entirely off the rails and that what I was planning was a total 180 from what I had always planned and pinned. I tried to convince myself that Santa Barbara was the perfect option because it's where Jonathan and I met, and where he grew up. The "Spanish" and "Mission" styles were just part of the Santa Barbara package. Plus, the price -- the price, you guys. So affordable... but then again... was it really? I started to question. My mind was doing some serious damage control. I could no longer be trusted.

"They would be the perfect wedding venues... for someone that isn't you and Jon," Kim told me, sympathetically.

I knew she was right.

So after one month of ups and downs, nearly putting money down on two places, and changing around and considering so many options that I was drowning in possibilities, I stepped back and decided -- with Jon's input -- that we would move on.

We'd find something new.

We'd find something perfect for us that didn't make me want to run away to the nearest airport and elope to wherever the cheapest plane ticket would take us.

And find something we did.

* So, I figured I should start writing "Jon" as "Jonathan" because, well... technically that's his name and it's what he prefers to go by. I'm still getting used to saying it (since he was always just "Jon" in college, to me), so bear with me while I make that switch! (You're welcome, honey!)

Venue Hunt, Part I: All About the Atmosphere

As soon as Jon and I got engaged, I promised myself that I would take the time to update you all here with every detail of the process, through the venue search, dress hunt, and general engagement jitters (with the planning, not with the fiancé!). I want to remember this -- this time before Jon and I are married and start our lives together as a family.

That being said, the last month I have been up to my eyeballs in internet searches for the perfect venue, debating the pros and cons, soup to nuts, of every location.

It's safe to say that I have a pretty clear vision of what I want. But really, more than that: I have a pretty clear vision of what I don't want. (I know that is the wrong way to approach decision-making, but I digress.) I felt this way about engagement rings; I'm sure I'll feel this way about weddings dresses. I don't believe that there's only one right option for me, because there is such a variety of venues (and rings, dresses, etc.) that so many of them can be "perfect." In general, I believed going into all of this that if the venue had the right bones, then we can create the right atmosphere to best match our personalities.

Historic Cedarwood wedding, photo by Krystall Mann via Style Me Pretty | candle photo source unknown | Babylonstoren wedding, photo by We Love Pictures via Miss Moss | Lago Giuseppe Cellars wedding, photo by MEF Photography via Style Me Pretty

Farmhouse tables, candles and market lights, handmade details, big blooms and wildflowers, surrounded by nature and/or rustic architecture... Low-key, but lovely.

I'm picky. We both are, but I wouldn't say that we have expensive taste. In fact, fancy locations make me nervous; I'd much rather be somewhere with some history, perhaps even something a little shabby.

You know what I mean.

collage and photo source unknown

A little bit of perfect imperfection.

We've always imagined our wedding being a bit like how we live: nice-looking and coordinated, but not so nice that it doesn't feel inviting, or you're nervous to settle in and touch things. Jon and I would rather elope with a handful of witnesses in tow than settle on a venue that doesn't work with our [varied-but-specific] taste. It's only worth it to us to spend money if we feel comfortable and complimented by the surroundings.

What I didn't consider during the last two years of pinning wedding ideas is just how much those details cost, and how quickly everything adds up. Budget, not surprisingly, became a huge obstacle. And we'd only been engaged for 2 weeks!

I think that with the pressure of keeping within budget and trimming away at costs in order to ensure that we can cover the things that are really important to us (late night food, open bar with specialty drinks, a reception that goes past 10 PM, etc.), we started to... veer away from what people would expect.

We started in the Bay Area. I never thought of looking outside of the Bay, but goodness, I gave up within one week. The issue with the SF Bay Area is that affordable venues go quick, and I was adamant about not getting married at a winery or country club. I have nothing against those locations (in fact, we love wine and are members of 3 wine clubs); they work for some people, but they just don't suit our personalities. Plus, it's hard to find places that don't come handcuffed to loads of time/noise restrictions and guest list requirements.

So if you're on a tight budget and looking to have a Saturday wedding in the Bay Area in June -- and you nix wineries and golf courses -- then, needless to say, you're going to have a tough time.

One option we found that we loved was the Brazilian Room located in Tilden Park in Berkeley. We even visited it less than one week after getting engaged, and sneaked a peak at the wedding being set up for that Saturday. We loved the simplicity and bare bones of the room, and knew we could really gussy it up to suit our styles.

Brazilian Room, Tilden Park, Berkeley via Hawthorne Photography

Unfortunately, given the fact that this venue is one of the "hot spots" for affordable weddings in the Bay, by early March every single Saturday from June to October of 2014 was already booked.

That was a pretty rough blow, since [price- and style-wise] nothing that I'd found during my hours and hours of searches the past week had some close.

So it was back to the drawing board.

I knew that finding a venue that Jon and I both loved [and could afford] was going to be a challenge, and I admit... I think I pushed myself a little too hard that first week. By week two, I'd pretty much given up on the Bay Area -- not because I couldn't find anything, but because it felt like too much of a challenge and I was losing perspective. I knew what I was looking for, and knew I needed to really hone in on the areas that were most important...

boober at the wedding - Spring Ranch, Mendocino by Chelsey Paul Productions

This would prove to be a surprising challenge.

Since Jon started a new job as a Data Quality Analyst at Machinima one week after we got engaged, I committed myself to finding the perfect venue without having to worry him too much with details. As much as I wanted his help, I knew working full time (with a commute into West Hollywood from Orange) and going to to school full time on top of that would not allow for a lot of free time to browse venues.

So I put the pressure on myself and expanded my search to also include Jon's hometown of Santa Barbara -- a place I'd originally avoided; I assumed finding anything decent would be completely out of our price range, but I came back with some pretty surprising results.

I'll be back with more about what I found in Santa Barbara, how we were this close to committing, and how I quickly lost sight of what we wanted.

Wedding planning is totes hard, ya'll. Needless to say: a lot has happened in five weeks!

Stay tuned.

Jon Proposes [A Scavenger Hunt]

On Sunday, March 3, 2013, I woke up with my dog happily jumping around me, bouncing on and off the bed. Nothing weird about this; it accurately describes every morning.

My sister, Kim, was visiting for the weekend; we'd spent all of Saturday marathoning Switched at Birth -- an ABC Family drama that deals with a girl who is deaf, so there is lots of American Sign Language. Kim is studying ASL and hopes to pursue interpreting, so... watching and loving this show makes sense. That was our weekend. Getting up-to-date on the full series while Jon was out of town visiting his folks in Santa Barbara.

At least, that was the plan. I went to bed on Saturday night expecting to wake up and keep going with the show. Apparently, that wasn't the plan at all.

I woke up (foggily) and knew from the various noises I was hearing that Kim had gotten up to take Ennis and her dog, Gretchen, outside so I didn't think too much about the fact that she was up already. Until I noticed that Ennis had something around his neck. I called him up on the bed and saw immediately that it was  a message in a bottle, with a bit of sand and everything. I also knew, of course, that it was for me and, through my daze, I started calling for Kim while I fumbled to get it open. In the process and spilled sand on the bed. I screamed for Kim through developing tears, saying that I'd spilled sand all over the bed.

I opened the message.



Aaaaaaand I immediately started crying tears of fear and confusion and happiness. It was a weird mix, and all I could think was that my hair was dirty and my armpits were smelly and how Kim had refused (for some reason) to go and get girly manicures & pedicures the day before. I was physically not prepared for this.

Mentally and emotionally prepared, however? Yeah. I was ready.

So I did what any girl would do who was half asleep and suddenly bombarded by romance: I sat there crying for a while. I dunno, it's a blur.

Eventually I threw on a robe and waddled down the hallway into the living room, my face tear-stained and feeling weirdly self-conscious, only to see Kim sitting there with a flippant smirk on her face while tap-tap-tapping away on her cell phone.

On the kitchen table was a Starbucks coffee, a wrapped-up breakfast sandwich, and a note.

(I scanned all of the notes for the blog - in addition to the patterns on the backsides - since I couldn't get very good quality photos with my camera. Deal with it.)



At this point it solidified in my brain that I was about to be sent on a scavenger hunt. Since my brain tends to immediately complicate things and I'm basically the worst at puzzles and riddles, I started panicking about where I was about to be sent and whether I could actually figure out these clues.

Kim, seeing my confusion, assured me that it wasn't meant to confuse me; think simply.

"Do I have to go somewhere? I'm dirty," I sniveled.

She told me to shower and take all the time that I needed. I left my coffee, my breakfast sandwich, and my first clue and went to shower. (I also shaved my legs within an inch of their life, in case you were curious. Also, fun fact: before getting into the shower, Kim asked me, "If I hear a thud in there, should I call for help?", obviously teasing me about how disoriented and shakey I was feeling. Not 5 minutes after entering the shower, I slipped and fell. Twice. Ooohhh, good job, body.)

I got out of the shower, dressed, and considered the clue while I drank my coffee and sriracha'd-up (technical term) my sandwich. Obviously the clue was referring to Ennis Del Mar, Heath Ledger's character in Brokeback Mountain (whom I named my boober after), so eventually I determined that -- if I wasn't leaving the house -- the next clue was either in my copy of the screenplay or the BluRay.

I was right. Inside the BluRay for Brokeback Mountain was the next clue:



When I told mah girl, Kait, the story of Jon's proposal, she got this clue in about .75 seconds. Apparently she knows me better than I know myself, because I read this and almost gave up right then and there. I had no idea. And of course, despite Kim telling me not to, I immediately over-complicated it. Here's where my brain went:

"Constellation? So... stars? Like, celebrities? Hollywood?!?!?"

See what I mean? Pathetic.

I put the clue down and went to do my hair, talking a little to Kim to see if I could get any hints or tips from her about what I should be expecting. She was tight-lipped, which I give her credit for, because she is usually a blabbermouth. (Honestly, no idea how she hung out with me all weekend and didn't give this whole shebang away.)

Mid-blow dry, the answer finally came to me and I felt like a fool. I went into my office to our gallery wall, and pulled off my Hubble telescope photo of the Orion Nebula. (I've referred to Orion as my "constellation crush" since I was about 17.)

Tapped behind it, was clue #3:



"What??"

Kim called to me from the other room, "You know, you can use Google! You're not on lock-down, dude!"

Ah.

I started to Google and it popped up after just a few letters: Bird's nest fern, which is my dearest and favoritest plant that I haven't managed to kill yet.

On the balcony, nestled in the dirt with my fern, was clue #4:

I must've started to get better at this game, because I figured this one out pretty quickly. My dress from Free People that I bought last year on sale ($69 down from $299) turned out to be way too small for me, but it was too pretty to send back, so I dubbed it my "goal dress" for when I inevitably have my wedding rehearsal dinner.

Inside the dress, paperclipped to the inside of the tag, was clue #5.

Another easy one: my yoga studio, SunSpark.

To give you some perspective, I woke up at around 8:30 AM, and by now it was getting close to 10:15 or so. At this point, I was feeling a lot less queasy about everything, and started to settle into a normal rhythm of nerves and anticipation. I'm an extremely self-conscious person, and generally don't like being looked at for too long, much less being the center of attention, so the thought of going out and maybe interacting with people... was skeery.

Kim and I leashed up our dogs and went on our way, walking the half-mile to my yoga studio. I was relieved to see that it was Ernie sitting at the front desk (the part-owner of the studio and a super nice guy), and when I walked in, he gave me a knowing and friendly smile.

"I think you have something for me," I said.

He pulled out a clue which matched the others and handed it over.

"How's your morning been so far?" he asked.

"Oh, you know. It's been a morning." Awkward.

"Did you suspect anything at all?"

"NOPE!"

I thanked him, blushing like a fool, and went out towards the obvious destination: Chapman's Leatherby Library.

It was a gorgeous day. Walking with Kim and the dogs felt pretty great, and even though I was still shakey and anxious, my excitement started to build the longer we walked.

Outside Leatherby, Kim told me to go in alone and find the book I was instructed to get, and bring it out with me. Apparently, it had already been checked out!

Being the idiot that I am (and bad college student that I was), I had a bit of trouble deciphering the library code, but eventually found my way to the Literature section.

Then eventually to a copy of my favorite modern romance: The Time Traveler's Wife. Inside, the next clue:



This meant we were about to turn around and head back towards home. This couldn't be anything other than The Filling Station, our favorite place to get brunch and salads in Old Towne Orange.

So with that, we started back the way we came, all the while shaking out my hands and trying to stop my heart from beating so intensely in them. By now I wasn't so much nervous or anxious, but anticipatory. I wanted to see Jon, and I wanted this to be over, with a ring on my finger. Get 'er done.

A few blocks away, surrounded by the brunch crowd that keep Old Towne bustling on Sundays, I walked up to the hostess stationed outside and gave her my name. I wasn't sure if I needed to get food, or whether she was the right person to talk to; she looked a little confused. She called over another hostess who instantly told me to come inside. She walked around the counter and pulled out a card just like the previous ones.

She smiled, adding, "Congratulations."

"Thanks," I squeaked.

Glancing at the last card, the air in my chest immediately floated to my head.



As you can probably imagine, this one is my favorite clue. It makes me happy every time I see it.

I walked home, hardly saying anything, doing my best imitation of Lamaze breathing to keep myself from falling over. The nerves were back, the anxiousness was all-encompassing. Kim broke the silence with some helpful reassurance, letting me know I would be alright. Just keep breathing.

Kim left me just beyond the gate in the building walkway, right at the bottom of the stairs leading up to our apartment. She took the dogs and had me go up alone.

The door was unlocked, the apartment was dark (as dark as it could be on a somewhat-sunny day), and Jason Mraz & Colbie Caillat's "Lucky" was playing quietly from the kitchen. Several vases of flowers covered the coffee table, as well as a dozen or so candles.

A bit apprehensively -- as though I were anticipating someone to jump out of the closet and scare me -- I called Jon's name. After a few times he came out of the back room, dressed to the nines, with a rose that coincidentally matched the dress I was wearing. (Very much a perfect accident.)

Aaaaaaand then I cried. Somehow, though, Jon managed to keep it together. I kissed him as he handed me the rose, and we hugged for a long time. He had me sit down in one of our lounge chairs, which he'd moved to the center of the room.

He knelt down on one knee, then... I forget. I'm sorry, everyone. Honest to God... I barely remember a word that he said.

I know. Not really what you were expecting considering I've been telling you this long story and you were probably hoping for a detailed climax, but... The truth is, I was so happy, weepy, and excited that everything about these few minutes were a blur. All I can remember is that what he said was sweet, personal, and summed up the fact that we are two best friends who took a chance, fell in love, and it's all led up to this moment.

He pulled out the ring. He opened the box. He asked me to marry him.

Obviously, I said "yes," because hello, look at that thing! ;-)

Okay, okay, Jon is also the best guy I could ever hope to spend my life with. A bit more important than a perfect and stunning ring.

But the ring certainly doesn't hurt, either.

We hugged and kissed and held each other for a while, and it was then that I felt everything that had weighed me down all morning, week, month, year drift away from me. I was utterly relaxed and impossibly blissful.

Then we celebrated!

Jon pulled out the bottle of Veuve Clicquot champagne that we'd been "saving for a special occasion" since we got it in September 2010. He popped the cork and we celebrated with the tastiest champagne I've ever had, both of us admiring the ring. He admitted that he'd had the ring for almost a month and was so relieved to see it on me and that it fit. He definitely went out of the balcony to admire it in the sunlight!

He also told me that my friend Shannon Gomes was there as well, and she had helped him set up the flowers and get everything in place around town that morning. I was so excited that another friend could be there to celebrate with us!




After snapping a few pictures, we invited Kim and Shannon back upstairs to share our champagne, and thank them for all that they did to help Jon plan such an amazing and personal proposal. (It's no secret that Kim had a pretty heavy hand in the idea!)

It's now been over a month since Jon proposed, and I've been in full-on wedding mode. Venue options, decor ideas, wedding date... it's all on constant rotation in my head -- and my internet searches!

I simply cannot wait to plan this wedding, and really get things rolling. Our families couldn't be happier or more supportive; we're so fortunate and blessed.

But more than that, I can't wait to marry my best friend and perfect match.

Big Changes Take a Little Adjusting

It's been about almost two months since I've been around these parts, which means I'm the worst, but guys, really, I've been a bit preoccupied with other things, like how - two weeks ago - well...

Jon and I got engaged.

!

I'm still reeling a bit from how weird and wonderful it feels. The whole weekend was an out-of-body experience; something that still feels like it happened to someone else. That might also be because now - in the reality of having to eventually plan a real wedding rather than just pinning about hypothetical cakes, flowers, dresses, and decor (I may or may not have given it a little thought) - I'm already starting to feel stressed out.

No. No no. It's way too early for that.

Jon's proposal was creative, simple, and personal. With a little help from my dear sister, I'm pretty sure everything went off without a hitch. I mean... I said "yes," so... how bad could it really have been? I have photos and other things to share, as soon as I can get it all off my camera. But right now, my camera is over there, and I'm here with my whisky & coke and I'm happy to just take my time with this.

I promise I'll be back with a full breakdown on how Mr. Jonathan did the deed, but until then, here's a fairly accurate type-emoticon-explosion of what my last two weeks have been like.

@~{~~~  :-D  xoxo  ! ! ! ! $ $ $   *_*  . . . ? ? . . .  #%^&  . . .  :-D :-D ! ! ! <3

You're welcome for that.


* image: Will you by Genevieve Santos

Namaste, Bitches

by Lime Fly Photography

It's a new year. 2013, you guys. I'm feeling so old suddenly.

The usual body and mind resolutions that are so prevalent come January have taken hold of my household. I wouldn't say we've done anything revolutionary, but this year we decided to focus on overall health, which means less of a focus on weight and numbers and scales and mass restrictions. (This, for a life-long, chronic dieter like me is, needless to say, a challenge.)

For years I have aimed for massive weight-loss each January, like the one I had when I was a senior in college, never really coming to terms with the fact that it just won't work this time. It's a hard habit to break; this desire to drop a quick 20 lbs. can be all-encompassing, and even now - 21 days after the implementation of my new, healthful mentality - I am struggling to resist the urge to jump on Medifast.com and order another $300 worth of food that will get me to my goal faster, easier. I'm not allowed to do that this time around. Just ask my handler/boyfriend. He's on crash diet watch.

I'm tackling my body-reawakening in installments, and so far it's been going wonderfully - as far as my strength, endurance, and flexibility is concerned.

Right after the new year changeover, I started up with Jillian Michael's "30-Day Shred" again. This is ol' reliable for me. I've started the 30-day challenge countless times, but have never stuck with it long enough to get a mastery of Level 2 and comfortably situated in Level 3.

This has been slow and steady, because in addition to starting up with Jillian again, I did a 2-week unlimited trial period at a local yoga studio, called SunSpark, in Old Towne Orange. I debated for a while whether I was going to do it, because after the 2-week trial, the monthly unlimited fee is substantially higher than simply joining a gym; I've had quite a few friends and relatives tell me that paying extra for a fancy yoga studio experience wasn't going to be worth it.

Now that my two weeks are over, I must disagree with their assessment. While I didn't experience any weight loss, the change in my body's flexibility and strength was apparent after just one week. The studio also has classes nearly all day long, which means I can go to class whenever I feel like it. I did around 5-6 classes per week, for a total of 11 classes (the 2-week trial fee is $20), and I've enjoyed it immensely.

There are a wide variety of yoga classes to choose from, from meditative/static, to strength-focused/moderate level, to cardio-focused/active, and I was doing approximately two of each type for both weeks during my trial. My last day was this past Sunday, and I am planning on committing to a 3-month unlimited membership starting after the 1st of February. It's an investment, but I feel it's money well spent, especially considering three weeks of Medifast food ran me about $250 - the same price as three months of unlimited yoga. Four classes per week will run me approximately $4.50/class.

Not too shabby, yeah?

Tackling one month of Jillian in conjunction with beginning my foray into the yogic arts is just a part of this body/mind reformation of mine. Rather than focusing on "dieting," Jon and I both are focusing our efforts on cleaner eating and smaller portions, which means listening to our bodies and indulging only on rare occasions.

With the help and inspiration of my dear friend and ex-roommate, Barbara (who has lost an astounding 50 lbs. in the last year), I'm working on finding the proper workout/food intake balance for my body, which has been a massive struggle in past years. I'm using MyFitnessPal to track some of my food so that I know I'm at least getting enough calories to feed my new workouts, but that I also don't overindulge on fats or carbs when I shouldn't.

Balance.

My motto for 2013. For my mind, my spirit, and my body.

Does anyone else swear by yoga, or even Pilates? Any suggestions for a chubby beginner like me? How has yoga changed your body, and how long before you started noticing results?

Inquiring mind wants to know.

EDIT: At my dear sister's request, a quick update. I failed to mention in this post that SunSpark Yoga, the lovely little studio near the Orange Circle, offers an amazing (and free!) community yoga class on Sunday nights. It's an "all levels" course, and the instructor changes from week to week. I plan on going this weekend, as my interim class before I start my 3-month unlimited stint.

If you're ever in Orange on a Sunday, definitely check it out!

Christmas and Thankfulness

by fashion illustration goddess, Katie Rodgers, via PaperFashion

Thinking of my friends and family, near and far today. I am happy happy happy today, and hoping that everyone is enjoying their Christmas mornings.

It's still the early hours of Christmas, but we all know that the height of the season comes just before the presents are ripped open and the tree's base becomes barren. Mugs are full of hot coffee, breakfast is cooking, and we're slowly making our way towards opening gifts.

The best time of the holiday for me, always.

I've been pretty absent during this last quarter of 2012, but I had to let everyone know...

I love you. I wish we could celebrate today and enjoy the last days before the new year together.

Kiss your loved ones today. Cherish your gifts, and relish if the generosity of others.

Be thankful.

I thank you.

x

Pure Imagination

by Gregory Colbert, via

My cousin, Eli, told me a story once about a pet elephant he kept in his jacket pocket. The elephant was no taller than his thumb. He tried taking this elephant onto an airplane, which was fine until he got onto the plane and at 32,000 feet, the elephant stealthily climbed out of his jacket pocket and started exploring the plane, right over everyone's bags and wadded-up coats. It was an hour before my cousin realized his pet elephant was gone, and had to figure out a way to find him without alerting the entire plane. He didn't want his elephant to get crushed or scared and run off and hide, he'd told me. He got up from his seat by the airplane window and walked to the front of the plane towards the cockpit, turned around and dropped a quarter down the long aisle. He fell to his knees, apologized, and started looking for his quarter -- actually, his pet elephant. I never found out if my cousin had found his elephant, because my mom said dinner was ready.

Eli was five when he told me this story. Not with the same, advanced vocabulary, but the plot went just like that. I was 17, in the middle of writing the play for a high school choir performance, and I remember thinking:

I've never in my conscious life come up with anything remotely as mesmerizing as this.

This wasn't because what he'd said was overly imaginative, but rather it was the ease with which he told the story. It was all about delivery. It wasn't a story to him; it had actually happened, yet I could see the cogs working behind his eyes -- never faltering, stopping only for a moment to think when I'd ask him what happened next. I stared at him like he was an amoeba growing legs. I looked at his mother, my Aunt Julie, and silently pleaded with her to give me some explanation. Was this a story he'd read? Had he seen a miniature elephant on TV? She shook her head, simply. No idea, she said with her eyes.

I'm not very good with kids, and I find myself bored with them easily. I don't like playing or pretending, and I certainly don't like to stop what I'm doing and go out of my way to entertain them...

On the other hand, I love listening to them. Their imaginations fascinate me, and the way they see the world is exquisite. I love asking questions and finding out more. Their lack of filters and their self-assuredness means there is no cap on what they can come up with. They don't concern themselves with what other people will think, or whether their stories and ideas will stand up to someone else's.

It's sad that most kids lose that freedom. I certainly did, that is, assuming I ever had it. I'd like to think I did, and that it's still inside me somewhere, locked away. I'm in such awe of adults to seem to have maintained that level of imagination and confidence. That's the key, I think.

My cousin is 14 now, and I told him this story over Thanksgiving dinner. He, of course, doesn't remember it, and is at that age now where rolling your eyes at everything is the jammiest of jams. He thought it was silly.