Featuring an ugly red coat

The last few days in Washington were spent cleaning and packing and organizing so coming home from our holiday in Utah would be a pleasant, relaxing experience. Everybody knows you need rehab after a vacation. Somehow they often leave you feeling hung over from all the happy memories made.

We left fairly cold weather in Washington (with those mums still holding on for dear, numby life!) and arrived in mounds of snow in the frozen Utah tundra. Ada couldn't have been happier. I couldn't have been colder.

A few days after arriving she somehow got us all out of the house before 10 and on a sub-arctic walk around the neighborhood. There's a spot from one of our home videos growing up that has my sisters and I playing in the snow on the deck of my parents' Grandview home. My mom is playing commentator while we chase each other and catch snowflakes in our mouths. She says something like, "There's some sort of golden rule where the amount of time it takes to get ready to play in the snow must be twice as long as the time the kids actually play in it." I thought about it every time we got suited up to head outside. Did I mention that Utah is like an arctic subcontinent?

Ada walked off the plane wearing a sign announcing our big news around her neck. It was fun to wait and announce my pregnancy until we were there with our families in person. At nearly 14 weeks I felt super proud of our secret-keeping skills. It took everyone a little bit to realize what Ada was wearing. Seeing their faces was priceless.

I've been feeling relatively good, but more sick and tired than I did during my pregnancy with Ada. I'm sure half the fatigue comes from tearing after my toddler day in and day out and not having the luxury of sleeping in any more (oh the days of sleeping in!!)

We've drilled the phrase "Ada's going to be a big sister because Mommy's having a baby!" into Ada's head. I've heard her say it to her toys (and while she leaves out half the words it still never gets old). We're excited and hoping to build up how great babies are so Ada doesn't get too jealous when the little bundle arrives at the end of June.

The blurriness of tears

When we landed on the runway I couldn't believe I was home already. The metal letters spelling out the name of the airport, Aeroporto G. Marconi Bologna, were familiar. I remember thinking how charming they were when we first landed in September.

We're back. Did we even leave?

Our time in Utah was far too short. With Christmas and two weddings, it made the whole trip one big blur. A blur full of family and food and laughter and hugs and kisses. It was a joyous blur. But a tiring one.

I miss it already. Blurriness and all.

I cried the night before we left. It just wasn't long enough. I wasn't ready to go back to Italy. I felt so at home in Utah; speaking English to everyone, knowing just what was going on, driving a car, gazing at the imposing mountains, the dry cold air. I felt so able and agile. I could get anywhere and say anything.

It is a freedom I think I've taken for granted my entire life.

But when we opened the door to our little apartment, I felt a heavy sense of belonging. At least for now. I belong here, far away from Utah, but close to the most important things. For now.

What did we do?

There was probably 9 square feet of space left in our hotel room after our bikes—packed tightly in two boxes—were slid in the narrow space beside the bed, our suitcases were stacked up (four high) next to the wall, and Ada's porta-crib was unfolded. The room was cramped, hot, and it didn't smell the greatest. When I finally allowed my mind to settle, all I could think was, What have we done?

Why are we here in a city far, far away, full of people speaking languages we don't know and streets that are hard to navigate? Why did we leave our life that was close to people we love, places, sounds, and sights that were familiar, and a lifestyle that was full and good? What on earth have we done? 

I was exhausted, but I couldn't sleep. It was too hot and my mind was too blurry. I couldn't believe that in a matter of hours, my life was uprooted from almost everything recognizable.

It felt like as soon as I finally got my eyes to close and my head to shut off, Ada was awake and ready to play. For two hours. Mikey and I took 10 minute shifts until she finally wore herself out and we slept until Caro came. We overslept our meeting time. She went and got us breakfast while we got ready and packed up.

It's amazing how sleep can ground you and realign your perspective. In the daylight, my outlook was  much brighter. Mikey's school is incredible. I'm so proud of him. After meeting the receptionist and looking around a bit I felt more and more that we could do this.

We had found an apartment by lunchtime that day and moved in before dinner. It's nearly perfect and situated on an absolutely stunning street. I love our part of the city. It's clean and quite and close to the foothills but near the heart of city (the Piazza Maggiore is only a short walk away).

When I woke up Sunday morning and looked out my bedroom window I couldn't help but think, We're doing this. And it feels so right.

Ada, sleeping in our bed. The cutie.

Home

As promised, here's a little tour of where we'll be calling home for the next three months. Husband has lovingly dubbed it, "The Club House."

Productivity

My toast was cold by the time the honey, practically creeping out of the the Honey Bear, was evenly spread on my toast. There are few things worse than cold toast. Cold toast is like eating a raw potato--completely unpleasant.

So I popped the toast in the microwave for 15 seconds (you may think this is excessive, but our microwave rivals me in age so it takes a little longer to heat things up). There are a myriad of pros and cons for using a microwave. Someone told me once that microwaves zap all the nutrients out of food. You put in a carrot and what you come out with is akin to Styrofoam in nutritional value. This may be true. But I love microwaves because it's like a mini time trial.

As soon as I hit the "start" button I like to see just how much I can accomplish before the timer dings. During my 15 seconds of microwave use today, I put away the salt and pepper shakers, twisted up the bag of potatoes and put them back, zipped up the cheese and placed it in the drawer in the fridge, and I wiped the counters. That is what I call productivity.

Moved

It was sort of on a whim. I had planned on getting it done later this week, but when I got home from work OlderAndWiserToo informed me that, "if I want to sleep at Mom and Dad's tonight, I have to go to Grandma's and get my pajamas." So I started packing.

It only took 30 minutes to cram all my stuff in the back of Brian, my faithful Honda of 3 years. But he was full to the gills. I was continually astounded this summer as we were cleaning out storage closets and dresser drawers just how much STUFF one accumulates over the course of a lifetime. And look at me. I had an entire car full after just 19 years. This is not good. I wanted to pare down then and there, get rid of some of the superfluous things that seem to suffocate so many, but I'll have to save that project for a later date. There are just too many in the works right now.

Everything fit just fine in my new space. It felt fresh and new. I felt excited and ready; waiting to start a new year of crescendoing upwards and outwards. It feels good. I feel good.

The digs.

I have yet to put the finishing touches on the place. The closet doors still lean up against the wall next to my closet and some things have yet to find a home but it makes me excited to watch it all gradually fall into place.

Mr. Apple likes it too.

I love when periods of your life feel like you're taking a huge, week long breath. A big inhale. A refreshing rush. That's what the last week has been, a refreshing rush of new space, new life, new opportunity...and it's just beginning.

Bunkmate

Why I love my bunkmate:
- she brought an odd number of socks anticipating losing one in the laundry
- she doesn't actually have the plague
- she has her novels memorized and basically recited them to be verbatim while walking in Kensington Gardens
- she stays up late on her computer like me
- she leaves her music playing all. the. time.
- she doesn't get mad at me when I leave my backpack in front of her drawer
- she winks back

p.s. while writing this post one of my mates said, "does it smell like BO in here to any of you?" and then I sheepishly confessed that I too had just smelled something peculiar and, not knowing what the origin was, checked myself. (For the record it wasn't me) and then two other girls in the room confessed to smelling themselves too. Oh the joys of communal living. After a few minutes it was determined that the smell was coming from the kitchen. What is for dinner?

Hitchcock

- Oh! He's coming home!
- She really has the cutest couch. I want a red couch. Ooh! Look at her bag. AND she has cute friends. What does that girl do? Her life looks perfect.
- Isn't she home early today?
- Nah, she usually gets back before we head down to dinner. Last night it was a little earlier because she had a dinner party.
- Oh yeah. That's right.
- Man, that guy who lives a floor below is seriously so attractive. We have a blessed view.
- You're telling me. Why isn't he dating the girl upstairs with the cute couch? I think they'd be a perfect couple.
- Whatever why isn't he dating me!
- I don't know. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that you're a Peeping Tom--did he just look up here? I think he totally just looked up here.

My roommates are seriously so creepy. It's like watching Rear Window in real life. Every night they line up at the desk which lines the wall against the window, get on their computers and spy on the neighbors. One girl is almost so attached I'm just waiting for her to name them.

Phlegm

I wish I had the capacity to type out the sounds that have been clinging in my ears like sticky ectoplasm. My poor bunkmate must have the plague or something and I really do feel for her, but must she insist on coddling up every gram of phlegm and slime desperately clinging to her esophagus walls, forcing into a mass in her mouth and then spitting the wad into a plastic sac that just so happens to be precariously perched on her bulletin board which also happens to be positioned directly over my head? I just wish you could hear the sounds she makes. Every hacking, coughing, juicy-head-cold, allergetic, sludgy, oozy sound a human is capable of making she makes and indeed makes every, oh, say, 13.2 seconds. I'm just waiting for the time that she either a) spits into the bag and the little plastic "fft" sound that the mucousy blah makes as it plunks into the sack is followed by a mucousy plop of nearly two weeks of guttural excess on my shoulder or b) misses the bag entirely and I find a massive blob of plague on my head. Sort of like flubber, only not so friendly.

I'm just praying I don't fall ill. I was just nasty on Sunday and woke up with a fear that her 2 weeks of hacking down the crack between the wall and her mattress onto me and my things may have finally taken its toll on my immune system. I put my retainer on the shelf the other day and ever since I've been to afraid to wear it. I just don't think there is any way that brushing it could be sufficient. I need rubbing alcohol or something. Maybe I'll just run it through the sanitizer in the kitchen with the silverware.

Home

It was such a strange feeling coming back from Edinburgh and feeling so at home when we finally reached the familiar Underground. Something so un-homey has never felt so completely homey. I have realized that this place really is becoming a part of me and I love that. I need to come back and live for a few years, have more time to soak in the city and let it get into my pores.

I took a walk to Holland Park Tuesday afternoon and walked down some of the most charming streets in Kensington. I wouldn't mind living in any of them. I'd call them home in a second. Anyone have few million pounds to spare?

Holland Park Ave.

I thought about my dad a lot and how much he would love roaming the streets I was walking. They were just so beautiful. The kind of beauty that makes you have to stop and lift your heart in gratitude. The kind of beauty that keeps your camera in your bag because anything would be an injustice. It's that kind of beauty that feeds me spirit and keeps me alive. I soak in the nourishment through my eyes and feed my entire being.

Snoring

Here I sit, typing away in the bottom bunk whilst sonorous snores imped every orifice of my skull. Darn it.

Departure

It feels so strange to walk past the rooms in our apartment and see vacant beds and open closet doors bearing their emptied sterile insides. Much of their entrails were donated and much more was packed into anything capable of containing them and stuffed in some home-bound car.

How did it end so quickly?

If you would have asked me a month ago I would have told you that March is interminable. You would have tried to persuade me otherwise, and probably would have made a considerable case based on past experience, but I would have looked the other way and pointed to the vacuum that March seemed to be. It sucked me dry. Well, as luck would have it, I was incorrect and not only is March completely terminable, but April passed in flashes of color and snow and now I'm finding myself at the door. Waiting.

Half of my things have moved home and figuring out how to Tetris the contents of my dorm room to my new room is going to be a trick. Boy commandeered my room earlier this year and now I have to learn to stop at the first room at the top of the stairs rather than walking to the end of the hall before turning right. It's harder that it seems to break a 9 year habit.

Last night Roommate crawled into bed with me. I was half-asleep and dreaming when I saw her and reminisced for a few minutes about the year before I drifted off. Much of the year seems like dreams now.

For weeks now I have been making a list of reasons I won't miss my home-away-from-home. Most of this was so I wouldn't be as sad to go. I won't miss the shower with a depressing excuse for water pressure, the fungal floor, or the water temperature that fluctuates on a whim and often leaves you burning. I won't miss my window with a view of the parking lot and that is so hard to open the last time I tried, I nearly fell off my bed. I won't miss the constant mound of dishes or crumbs around the toaster. I won't miss the couch. Period. I won't miss the sound of living in the same building of 75 girls. I won't miss anything about the bathroom or the kitchen floor, both of which tested my tolerance threshold and taught me to just let things be. But over the last week I have been making a list of things I'll miss, albeit a mental list, but a constant flow of imaginary ink has been writing in my mind recording things that I will miss terribly.

I'm used to missing things and dealing with change. I think I'm destined to marry a nomad or live and hunter/gatherer lifestyle just so I can't ever get settled.

i.

miss.

you.

true.

Look

Look! What are they doing? They're demolishing memories, that's what! Farewell fond EFY days of laughter and sunshine, wristbands and forced social interaction. Goodbye spiritual highs amidst social pressures and excessive primping. Adieu quirky counselors, late night pizza parties, and giggly girl fests. I'll miss you all.

However, change is good. The buildings were slightly unsightly (although no worse than the seedy Foreign Language houses or the drab and dull assortment of Heritage Halls buildings might I interject). But I'm sure this will pave the way for better and brighter On-Campus housing experiences which are over-priced and manipulative, but worth it most of the time.


Oh yeah. Happy Chinese New Year. Welcome Year of the Rat. It's going to be a good one. Maybe this is a good reminder to check in on those resolutions. . .

Dorms

What fun dorm life is sometimes. I laugh heartily every day. It's a good thing.

“A smile starts on the lips, A grin spreads to the eyes, A chuckle comes from the belly; But a good laugh bursts forth from the soul, Overflows, and bubbles all around” [Carolyn Birmingham]

Tonight was especially funny. One Roommate introduced us to "Potty Yaztee: The Pre-Wipe Game" (because we don't want all your nasty germs on the buttons.) It's grand fun, as well as a phenominal team sport. We go through a few games a day, each rolling a few times every time we, ahem, "go." Last night I jovially exclaimed "YATZEE!" while in the bathroom and the girls cheered when I got out. Even though it was a Yatzee of ones, I still felt accomplished.

After I walked down the hall only to find Roommate trying to reach something in the top of her closet. I couldn't resist. I pushed her in the closet and scrambled for her keys while I held the door with my foot. I tried to lock her in, but instead just held her there while listening to her idol threats and cries. Hysterical. When I let her out she pounced and tickled me until tears were streaming down my face. They weren't only tears of laughter, but also tears from her amazingly lethal hipbone that was stabbing my lumbar region during the entire episode.

We both recovered eventually and after she remembered a fantastic discovery she had made earlier that day. "Warm Delight Mini's!" Unfortunately I'm having a no treat week (what lousy week for one. Had I known, I would have postponed...) but I think most of the reason why I am so enamored by them is because a) 45 seconds in the microwave is incredible and b) it is sheer, complete and utter instant gratification. Sometimes it just feels good to "just add water" even though my stomach protests.

Another discovery of last night, well, more of a rediscovery was The Incredible Mr. Limpet. We all fell into a heap of nostalgia as we reminisced about childhood movies, especially this little gem. We mentioned in Sunday, but couldn't remember the name. After 3o minutes of googling I finally figured it out and my research was met with much excitement and squealing. Girls are decidedly squeally.

Lastly, we forced all the Mates to get gmail accounts so we could chat during our boring classes. We justified it by saying at least we wouldn't be sleeping. Right?

Enjoyment

Things that I love (and/or slightly addicted to):
o banana bread batter - pretty much I'd rather eat the uncooked form of most desserts and baked goods, but today I felt particularly domestic and whipped out a few loafs. Mmmm...what a treat. I think the best part of any baking adventure is licking out the bowl and cleaning off the beaters with my tongue. It's truly an acrobat.
o my dear friend Cathy - she uses cool words like "divine" and "wretched" and I just think that she is fabulous. She also just found a guy with the sexiest name ever. Isaac Westwood. Say it ten times and tell me you don't imagine a cruelly good-looking man with an English accent. Isaac Westwood. Isaac Westwood. Isaac Westwood...
o cable-knit sweaters. I don't think there are too many things cozier than a cable-knit sweater. Seriously.
o taking pictures of my favorite-ever red chair. I don't know where my adoration for it stemmed from. In actuality It's just a beat-up red chair, but I love it so.
o my siblings. It's strange, this growing up and moving out business. You realize after you come home that your siblings grew up, got personalities, and are actually real people! People who are fun to hang around or go to movies with.

After a bit of a wrench thrown at my parent's day by my older sister, the tension level in our house went from a 1 to a 10 in about 32.7 seconds. Me and the young'ns sought refuge upstairs and took a brief hiatus to avoid the line of fire. We brought banana bread and a board game to keep us occupied. Luckily the storm downstairs cleared relatively quickly, because my pseudo-room became stuffy and uncomfortable rather quickly.

I saw a good flick tonight. The trailor alone made me laugh out loud. The language wasn't the best and some parts were a tad awkward, but overall, I thought it was really good and quite beautiful. I thought the actress was fantastic, the message good, and the soundtrack doesn't seem too shabby either...if anyone has an itunes gift card lying around, you can post it my way...

My mother is hysterical and I'm finding out more and more that I am like her in so many ways. The latest? Strange things happen to us. Things that would only happen to us. So much so that people say "A Paige thing happened to me today" or "I just pulled a Paige." A few days ago Mom was doing electronic acrobatics while trying to send a digital greeting to our friends over seas. Uploading an avi file has never been accompanied by more groans and moans. Amidst all the cords and digitizing, a rogue cord was plugged into the back of her computer in a futile attempt to pull video off the camera. After she was finished with the cord, she went to pull it out. It was stuck and stuck good. My dad tried, I tried, we all tried and to no avail the plug was planted and she was out of luck. Someone suggested calling the Geek Squad. I didn't think the idea was too shabby. Well today, days after the fact, she was fed up with the pesky cord and announced, "I'm going in! Paige, grab me the needle nose. " I was worried for the poor computer's backside. She started yanking and pulling, and the poor stressed plastic parts were going in directions they never imagined. I ran to hold it together while she channeled her frustrations and anger into removing the senselessly stuck cord. After much twisting and turning and a bit of torque, the cord came free and was obviously battered. The thing was bent and misshapen, but Mom proved victorious and I was proud of her. What a Paige...

Home

When I came to college I thought I was moving away from home. But in reality I was really creating a new home. I never thought that the cinder block walls would become a sanctuary, but after going "back home" for Thanksgiving, I realized that my childhood home isn't the same place to me that it used to be. Suddenly it's "my parent's house" or my "house house" but not really my home anymore. It's not a completely bad thing, just a different thing. It is a little bit comforting to know that I can feel at home in places that seem so completely un-homely. Being with my family is what makes me feel at home, and somehow, 5 girls have become a new family and support system. It's nice to know I have two sets of 5 people at my side through everything.

Landed

I'm here, moved into my new domain, my new space, my seemingly completely new life. How is it possible that just a few hours and a couple boxes can totally jolt your world?

Melissa and I went early to "check in" but decided that we were too hungry to start moving in all of our stuff. And maybe a little part of us wanted to postpone the move just a little longer so we could still feel grounded. We had french toast. She likes to dip hers in syrup. I'd rather pour it all over on top. Nuances like these I'm sure will continue to grace our experience living together.

It didn't feel real when I walked in the door. Actually, that's not completely true. It did feel real. It felt like a completely real EFY. I was just waiting for a super, pseudo-happy, bubbly counselor to knock on the door and give me a Blow-Pop. No such luck. Instead I was greeted by strangers, a room mate, Jilian, who by my initial appraisal seemed to be a nice and cheery person, and her entire moving crew (aka: family). My moving crew consisted of Michelle. She was great to come and help me haul my mangy egg boxes from grandma's house, bins, and containers of various shapes and sizes up three flights of stairs to my new abode.

Once it was all moved in, the shock that it was for real hit me. I surveyed the scene, trying to decide how I felt about this rite of passage. The only response my sense sent me were butterflies, so I concluded that excitement was the way to feel and Michelle and I started the process of organizing the mass of stuff that we shoved into my itty-bitty living space. It looked like the drop-off zone at D.I. minus the foreign, spanish-speaking workers who put it all away for you. Nothing I brought fit into its box. The contents of everything were spilling in all matter of directions and the mess was nothing short of amazing. I've been accused of having OCD but I think my packing job could prove otherwise.

It's all in now, settled neatly onto shelves and nestled into bins and drawers. It's incredible it all fit. When Melissa and my stuff was everywhere, I was skeptical, but organizational skills were at work as we played Tetris with our things and put it all away.

I think I'm going to like it here. It's "cozy" to say the least.

Launching

It is only appropriate to start a blog as I embark on numerous other "firsts." Today's task was a commencement of sorts--packing. Never before have I delved so deeply into the fuzzy corners of my closet and room, only to discover scraps of things that, once strung together, make up my memories. Sometimes it took a moment to find the file in my brain that stored the memory to unlock the secret of the object I found. I stumbled upon droves of letters and a horde of every ticket stub to every movie, theatrical performance, concert or other such ticketed event I have attended in the last, oh many five years, of my life. Why did I save all of those? Perhaps it's to remind me just how much money I've spent on entertainment over the years...or maybe to remind me of all the fun things I've done with people I love to be around. I realized just how many t-shirts I have but never wear, yet still fold and place on my shelf, and just how many pairs of shoes I have to cram into my new closet. How does one accumulate so much?

It's amazing how chaotic things got in the process of "consolidating" "organizing" and "packing up" my belongings. By mid-day the floor was littered with all sorts of odds and ends and I once again got caught up in reminiscing. Slowly the dingsbums found their way into boxes and some sort of semblance of order. Now that everything is snug in a box at the foot of my spray-painted bunkbed I wonder how I'm supposed to fit all of it into the pocket-sized space allotted to me so generously by BYU.

So ready or not, here I come. The process thus far of stepping in a new direction has been nothing short of tedious and time-consuming and maybe a little tiring, but I am prepared to launch.