Tuesday, February 19, 2008


Sunday was considered a "Funday" by The Mates and I. K's mom was so excited for church because the "dreamiest missionary ever sent off by El Segundo" had just come home and the day before he had joined their volley ball game on the beach and she dropped our names. Oh boy. He wasn't the speaker. In fact, the polar opposite was the speaker. He was 5'5" and goes to BYU-I. Fantastic.

The Elder's Quorum provided the music and as soon as they all took the stand we were all puzzled, trying to figure out just who this elusive elder was. There was no one outstanding in the array of men. We shot a look to K's mom who excitedly pointed. Him? I was unimpressed. Dreamy probably wasn't the word I would have used. He reminded me slightly of the guy off the notebook. Not rugged, hot Ryan Gosling, but the other guy, the snooty guy with dark hair who ends up getting dropped. Turns out he wanted to get to know us so K's mom took the liberty upon herself to invite him to dinner. This day was turning dismal fast.

We jetted out of Sacrament meeting as fast as we could and ran home to grab our beach gear and hit the shore. I think I could walk the entire California coast and not tire of the feast for my senses. The sounds, the smells, the feel of the sand between my toes, the sun, and seagulls, the people, the color, the water. . . nothing compares to the life and vitality that exists where land meets water.

J, M, and I walked down the pier and talked about life. I love talking, musing, and letting your mouth just run sometimes, not in gushing ways, but flowing ways. We spun around the cement pillars and let ourselves discover. I felt like a little kid, awakening my sense of wonder as I played with mussels and sea creatures, letting sea weed tickle my legs and sand crabs my fingers. We explored. And I loved it. One reason I can't wait to have kids is so I have an excuse to go outside and watch ants on the sidewalk, or paint with my fingers, or play with flour, or wonder about the tickly feeling of grass or the strangeness of bugs. Children are allowed to wonder. For some reason when we get older, we lose our ability and justifications for wondering. I would argue that we don't really need an excuse or justification to sit on the ground and play in the dirt. It enlivens our senses and helps us rediscover the world around us.

We came back from playing volleyball only to discover that our beach snacks had been thoroughly pillaged. M was the first to arrive on the scene and I found her in a moment of desperation.

"What happened? What happened?"
"I don't have any money."
"What happened?"
"I don't have any money."
"No what really--"
"I feel like I'm on Les Mis. The seagulls attacked us when we were playing volleyball. I just scared that--there's sand everywhere"
"Who attacked us?"
"Yeah look at their little feety prints everywhere."
"Yeah their little feety prints. . ."
"Melissa was being righteous on Sunday. See Book of Mormon. I think she probably read like a half a verse, but it's the thought that counts. . . huh Melissa?"
"Hand me that apple core."

We ended the night with the most delicious Carne eats with K's family and the Dream Boy and then played games for a few hours before hitting the music room for performances ranging from a Beyonce booty walk to Once Upon a December. I fell somewhere in between the two. After the shows (and seriously, I've never seen 4 sisters do more dances from High School Musical in my life--but I must say I was throughly entertained) we sang Hairspray until our voices were raw and we were laughing too hard to get anything out besides guttural har-hars.

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