Nine years ago, we said ‘I do.’

‘I do’ to being best friends.

To love that grows and strengthens and deepens.

To inside jokes and deep belly laughs.

To growing up and growing old together.

To holding hands and sharing dreams.

To arguing over silly stuff like why the ending of Lost was perfect and not at all an easy out for the writers (glad we finally agree on that, cough cough).

To fighting, the loud kind, because we both lay our hearts on the line.

To making up with words and kisses and hugs, and forgiving.

To sharing lazy mornings over the french press and talking about any and everything.

To crazy, rushed mornings where we’re both running late but we always kiss good-bye.

To puppy training and dog walking and snuggles on the couch.

To talking to our dogs in the most ridiculous of voices and thinking we could totally make a cartoon out of this.

To loving Taco until our very last good-bye and grieving together.

To old jazz records and singing as loud as we can in the kitchen, making up words as we go.

To house-buying and painting and moving furniture – and then moving it again.

To kitchen remodeling and listening to audiobooks late into the night.

To you doubting and me believing.

To me doubting and you believing.

To Southport summers and Pennsylvania winters. To adventures in between.

To leaking washing machines and flat tires and lost keys.

To late night studying and copious amounts of coffee.

To graduations and new jobs and more school.

To rough patches and questions.

To growing closer. To daydreaming and naming pretend kids who live in our pretend house.

To tailgates and football and Happy Valley.

To travels near and far, and an adventurous spirit.

To cozy nights, curled up on the couch, watching old British detective shows while the snow falls outside.

To for sale signs and taxes and laundry.

To amazing dinners where we lose all track of time, just talking.

To takeout from our favorite Indian restaurant after long, hard days of working late.

To gardens and farmer markets and cooking together.

To me stopping to photograph every.single.thing and you waiting.

To you stopping to read every museum sign and me waiting.

To ice cream just because and birthdays and family gatherings.

To accidentally driving to Ikea in a blizzard (I swear….I checked the forecast!) and trying to interpret the mysterious pictogram instructions that come with all Ikea furniture.

To crazy risks and taking chances.

To failing.

To succeeding.

To sharing God’s grace.

To choosing each other, for always.

We’ve lived a lifetime since we walked out of that little chapel and greeted the world as Mr. & Mrs. We were kids, naive and young and exploding with hope.

Here we are, nine years later, and I am so grateful that we were blessed with the chance to start our lives together so early, to be able to share so much of this scary, beautiful journey hand in hand.

Our story is still being written … and I have a feeling we’re just getting to the good part.

love you chief.

Today, I turn 30.

Thirty years old.

How can this be? Yesterday I was seven … and somehow, overnight, twenty-three years of life happened.

I have never been one to shy away from an age. When I was growing up, I was proud to turn yet another year older. The funny thing is, the older I’ve gotten, the less I’ve really kept track of birthdays and age, often times having to turn to my husband and ask, ‘How old am I again?’

But somehow, this one is different. This birthday is resonating with me. This age gives me pause – it is placing a mirror of my own mortality in front of my face. Not in a gloomy, mopey why-is-life-so-short way. No, it’s in a  ‘Life is so astonishingly beautiful, Heather, and you better embrace it for all it is’ way.  And the thing is, I know the mirror is right – if the past year has taught me anything, it is that my life is beautiful, just as it is, and a gift not to be wasted.

When we listed our house in PA and made plans to move to Idaho and excitedly laid out a plan for establishing residency and adopting – my life was beautiful.

When our house sold and the position in Idaho was dissolved as if it never existed, and we were at a loss – my life was beautiful.

When we moved into the spare bedroom of my in-laws’ house and wondered ‘what next?’ – my life was beautiful.

When I broke down Christmas morning because I was not pregnant and not adopting or even moving toward the possibility of children – my life was beautiful.

When I woke up during the night, panicked by the questions I didn’t have answers to – my life was beautiful.

It just took me awhile to see the beauty, for my eyes and heart to fully open. I was so wrapped up in the expectations of others that I felt paralyzed.

I felt an internal pressure to define who I was based on my academic training and whatever success I achieved from that. When I was in high school, I was voted most likely to succeed, and for so long I equated success with education, with career, with esteem. I thought I had to pursue challenges, overcome them and make a huge impact – anything less and I would be a failure.

But this conflicted with what lay in my heart – at my core, how I want to define myself is not by what I do but who I am. And there’s a difference. I didn’t want to be Heather – scientist, academic, relentless career-woman. Heather – tired, stressed, stingy with happiness.

I wanted to be Heather – loving, generous, compassionate.

Heather – wife, daughter, friend and one day, mother.

And so I made a very simple choice to open myself up by giving, by listening, by loving.

Two seemingly innocuous but pivotal events occurred:

1) I started volunteering at our local shelter, photographing adoptable animals.

2) I went to church

These two things, so small at first glance, did nothing short of change my life. I’m not trying to be overly dramatic – just honest.

During my time at the shelter, I am surrounded by love on four legs (and on two legs, in the form of staff and volunteers). It’s impossible for your heart not to grow in such an environment. With my camera in hand, I remembered a joy and a passion that I had buried. And I took a chance, a risk, a dive into the unknown as I opened my own photography business, something that I never believed I could actually do. (Shameless plug: www.heatherhuntphotography.com)

At church, I listened. I didn’t let my mind wander as I have so often in the past. I wanted and needed God’s love. And He didn’t let me down. My faith grew, and with it, my heart.

And amazing things happened.

I remembered who I truly am and what matters most to me in this life.

I am imperfect, flawed and hopelessly powerless when faced with an open jar of a nutella and a spoon. I don’t have all the answers or even very many of them.

I am not successful by the standards of my academic self, and don’t get me started on the woeful state of my bank account.

But I know without a doubt that I am blessed beyond measure and that I have all that I need at this moment of my life.

I am married to my high school sweetheart and our love is stronger than it has ever been. If you have ever lived with your significant other in a single room, you know that you have two options – to take out frustration at the situation on each other or grow closer together in order to change the situation. We have grown closer than I knew we could and for that, I’m grateful.

I have not one but two families who love me very much. My parents are a constant source of support, love and encouragement and Andrew’s parents treat me as if I am their own daughter.

I have a pack of crazy but oh-so-loveable hounds and they make my life better every single day.

I have a home to call my own … and it even has my lifelong wish of a screened-in porch where I can drink coffee in the early morning or count fireflies as dusk fades into night.

I have a healthy, functioning body that does what I tell it (for the most part).

I am exactly where I want to be – surrounded by love.

And so, my big fear as I turn 30, is not that I’ll miss my twenties or wrinkles or gray hair.

It’s that I can’t possibly give as much love as I receive. That I can’t adequately express my gratitude for the changes that have taken place and for the ones that are surely coming. That I’ll fail to share my heart, which is full to bursting.

But I’m ready to try.

The lives lost at Sandy Hook are weighing heavily on my heart, just as they are the nation’s collective conscience.

I want to lighten the burden of the families who must move on, who must somehow accept that their child/brother/sister/friend will not be there for this Christmas or any other. These families need time, precious time, to heal and to find peace. These families need love, unconditional and freely given, to remember there is still beauty in life.

Countless other share the desire to help, to support, and have established many, many wonderful ways to do just that.

I thought I’d share just a few in case you too would like to join in the global embrace of the heartbroken community of Newton, Connecticut.

Shop

• Crafting for Cause : For the week of 12/17/12 through 12/23/12, multiple Etsy shops will donate a portion of their proceeds (ranging from 5% all the way to 100%) to the United Way of Western Connecticut which has partnered with Newton Savings Bank to create the Sandy Hook School Support Fund to provide support to affected families.
• Publishing Hearts Connecticut Online Auction: An online auction through 12/21/12 to benefit the affected families and communities through Newton Youth and Family Services. Over 50 authors have donated a host of items and services, ranging from manuscript critiques to book packages.

Run

Tons of virtual runs are being organized to raise funds for support – this is a great way to donate to the victims and their families and also spend some quality time with your own family.

• 5k run for the Children of Sandy Hook: an event in the making which will possibly include a half-marathon, and will definitely include a global virtual component so that people everywhere can run to honor and raise money for the victims of Sandy Hook. The run will most likely take place in the spring to allow time to organize and get the word out.
• Sandy Hook Virtual 5k: Take off for a jog around the neighborhood with your family this Saturday and join in a virtual 5k; donations made to Sandy Hook School Support Fund through Active.com
• Sandy Hook Elementary Memorial Half-Marathon & 5k: another virtual run, being held on Thursday January 31, 2013, to benefit affected families through the United Way of Western Connecticut. Miles can be completed anytime between now and 1/31.

Donate Directly

• United Way
• Sandy Hook Elementary School Victims Relief Fund: started by a former Sandy Hook Elementary student to raise support for the victims, their families, and the community. Funds will be donated to the school’s PTSA organization. Over $113,000 raised as of this morning (12/19/12)

 Share Words of Support:

• Send a letter of condolence to:

Message of Condolence

P.O. Box 3700

Newtown, CT 06470

Pray

Lift the Newtown community up in your prayers, that they may find solace, peace, love.

We can all contribute in a meaningful way and help help this community pick up the shattered pieces of so many broken hearts. To remind us that we all have something to give, here’s a link to what our four-legged friends are doing to help: Therapy Dogs in Sandy Hook

Have a wonderful Wednesday

Part Two

So, let’s see … where did I leave off? To sum up from Part One:

• I spent most of my life utterly despising Running.
• After playing on an intramural soccer team, I realized that running around could actually be kind of fun
• I trained for and ran a half-marathon
• Toward the end of training and during the half-marathon, my knees H.U.R.T., sooooo…..
• I decided Running and I were through … at leaast until we worked on some of our issues.

At first, my intention was to only temporarily break up. I would figure out what the heck was going on with my knees, solve it and lace up my shoes again. But as is often the case, life saw a void and filled it with Busy. I wrapped up my research and sequestered myself away into full-on no-I-can’t-shower/get dressed/cook/eat- I’m-writing-my-thesis-mode. Once that crazy period ended and I actually changed out of my pajamas totally professional writing apparel, I successfully defended my thesis and launched myself into job-hunting as winter settled in. I turned my fitness focus to strength training at my nice warm house and circuit training at the nice warm gym, and let running become a distant memory.  Once the snow melted, I found myself with a shiny new job.

A shiny new DESK job.

Stress + being sedentary most of the day does not a healthy person make. Over the next year, I struggled to maintain some level of fitness. I tried the crack of dawn Body Pump class but found it hard to squeeze in a shower and breakfast before I had to commute to work. I tried evening boxing classes but realized that it didn’t relieve stress like I hoped it would – instead I felt worse as my body stayed tense and I tried to keep a ‘tough’ mentality.

What I wanted was simplicity.

What I wanted was a reprieve from the daily grind of responsibility and requirement.

What I wanted was Running.

But I pushed that thought away. Silly. I thought that so much time had passed that it would be like starting over all again, and quite frankly, I was just too tired to try.

But Running refused to take no for an answer and slyly tried another avenue – my mother-in-law. This past spring, Andrew’s mom asked us if we had any interest in running the 2013 Disney World Half Marathon.

My initial response was ‘ H-E-Double Hockey Sticks NO! I’m done with Running! We’re not friends anymore!’

But the idea was planted. Soon, I began to remember all the good times that Running and I had had together. And I wanted to try again. But this time, I was going to do things a little differently.

This time, my training would focus on three areas:

1. My Form

For most of my life, whenever I took a PE class or participated in any kind of sports, people always told me that I ran on my toes and I needed to run on my heels instead. Because I didn’t know any better, I listened to them and when training for the first half-marathon, painstakingly changed my stride to strike my heel first.  Big mistake. This was not my natural movement, and my body paid for it as my heavy footfalls sent jarring impact up my leg and to my knees. The truth was that I wasn’t sure what proper running form even looked like, and in particular, what it should look like for me. So, I studied up. After reading Born to Run and soaking in the details of the legendary Tarahumara runners who cover vast distances in thin sandals, I set one simple goal: to strike softly on the balls of my feet. But how to do this??

My answer was two-fold. First, I switched out my shoes for a minimalist pair, Brooks PureFlow’s, which offered a lower heel profile and the ability to actually ‘feel’ the road.

I know that sounds ridiculous but in my old shoes, I would strike the ground heavy and hard, relying solely (<–pun, teehee) on the cushioning to compensate for the impact my terrible stride was generating. Second, I leaned forward. Yes, that’s it.  I leaned forward slightly, as if I was going to fall, and moved my arms farther back for balance.  Sounds easy but it took me awhile to turn it into a habit, and I admit, I felt totally ridiculous at first.  I figured I must look silly to any onlookers but soon enough I realized that it only felt extreme because previously, I had run with my back straight, and legs shooting out in front of the rest of my body (again, because that’s what I though I was supposed to do).

As I focused on leaning forward, I found it much easier to land on my forefoot and the minimal shoes insured that I landed softly because, well, landing any other way was highly undesirable. Bit by bit my form changed … and knee pain stayed noticeably absent.

2. My strength

After several months of focusing on form and steadily working on my mileage, I added in strength training. I went back to what worked for me in the past – Men’s Health Power Training. Yeah, it’s from Men’s Health but training sessions are effective for anyone, regardless of chromosomes.  However, these workouts are tough! We’re talking squats, deadlifts, push press, pull-ups, bench press, etc. I maintained a steady routine of strength training three times a week and running threes times a week, usually two short runs and one long run.

And my body responded. I grew stronger, and I grew more capable of handling being ‘uncomfortable.’ When you’re running, it’s easy to slip into a pace that is simply comfortable and not push yourself. But I derive great joy in propelling myself through a challenge and coming out on the other side a sweaty success. My legs, with their new-found strength, carried me to a faster pace in training and to my greater surprise, in races. After ~ a month and a half of strength training, I was shocked to find myself setting a PR of 55:24 and placing second in my age division in a 10k road race.

An even greater surprise came two weekends ago, when I ran with my beagle Wally in the Santa Paws 5k at my parents’. Wally howled the entire way, announcing our every step and leading me to finish as the second female overall and first in my age division. Granted, it was a small race but I achieved a new PR, and I felt strong – a win in my book.

And all the while, no knee pain.

3. My attitude

One of the hardest challenges I’ve faced with Running is learning how to handle the little voice in my head that tells me I can’t do things. ‘You can’t run that distance’ or ‘you’ll never run that fast’ or ‘you could just walk instead.’

My mantra became ‘Very next steps.’ I would focus on running the very next steps…. and then the steps after that, and before I knew it, the negative voice had no choice but to be silent. I’m not saying that every run is perfect, with Chariots of Fire blasting and my hands up in the air in victory. I’ve certainly had my share of arguments with Running, where I just feel like poop and it’s a total struggle. But increasingly I’ve learned to appreciate the hardness of it. The level of hard is always shifting – what used to be hard for me is no longer, and what is hard for me now will one day be easy.

There will always be a new level of hard, of challenge. It is my choice to embrace that challenge and make it my own.

So it is in life. Running has equipped me with dedication and self-discipline, qualities that keep me grounded and clearheaded. If you had told me five years ago, that I would go for a 13 mile run with my husband on Thanksgiving just for the heck of it – no race, no fanfare, just the two of us- and that I would love all of it, even the last excruciating miles, I would have dismissed you as a crazy person. But I did go on that run, and I’ll cherish that memory for a long time.

This past weekend, Andrew and I joined his parents to run a 5k as a team, and I acted as pacer for his mom. It felt so awesome to be motivating and encouraging someone else to love Running, and I’m proud to say she finished strong with a shiny new PR. And what do you know? Team Will Run for Rein-beer took first place in the team division! I have no clue how many teams there actually were we’ll take it .

Wow, this has turned into quite the monster post, so I’ll tell you how the story ends.

I love Running.

And we plan to live happily ever after.

I may never run a six minute mile. I may never run an ultra or even a marathon.

But I will lace up my shoes, step out into the cool morning air, and jog quietly down the street, relishing the fact that I am moving of my own accord.

And for that, I will be thankful.

How far that little candle throws his beams!
So shines a good deed in a weary world.
~William Shakespeare

Yesterday, an unspeakable darkness descended onto Newton, CT. I cannot fathom the evil that occurred.

I can only pray fervently for God to wrap these families up in His comfort and His peace. May we all hold our own loved ones a little closer today and always. May we all be a candle of love and compassion in a world that sometimes feels far too dark.

To brighten your day just for a minute, here’s some puppy love from a local shelter I’ve been helping out through photography.

Have a blessed day.

A Tale in Two Parts

Part 1

Running and I have a complicated relationship.

It all started in my college phys ed class when I was faced with the dreaded task of running three miles WITHOUT STOPPING at the end of term. To me that was equivalent to climbing Everest or swimming through shark infested waters with an anchor tied to my leg or beating up Chuck Norris… notgonnahappen.  I fretted and whined and fretted some more but in the end I managed to run those three miles … painfully slow but I did it. And promptly shook hands with Running and went our separate ways.

Over the next few years, we would occasionally meet up again – usually when I was struggling with my body image. I would curse each step as I huffed and puffed, believing wholeheartedly that runner’s high was a sadistic myth, perpetuated to keep saps like me chasing a white rabbit that didn’t exist.  Running and I were not friends. I used it to get what I needed but was never satisfied with the result. Our run-ins (excuse the shameless pun) were few and far between.

When I started graduate school in PA, I met Running again – but in a different light. I played on an intramural co-ed soccer team and, given that I know practically zip about soccer, I focused on running my little heart out and practicing my brilliant defensive maneuvers of simply getting in the way of whomever I could. And I had a blast. I looked forward to each game just for the chance to run around. I had my first taste of running as something other than drudgery meant solely to burn calories. I started jogging and actually developing a little discipline. And then winter hit with all its brutal force. After a few brave attempts with temperatures in the teens, I stowed away my running gear, with the promise that I would pick back up when the ice thawed.

And I did. But boy, did I take it slow. Somewhere, in the back of my mind, a little voice that sounded a lot like Voldemort’s slithery whispers told me that I was only capable of so much – and ‘so much’ meant short distances at a slow pace. And I believed that voice for a long time. But Running still wanted to show me how much fun we could have together, even if we took things slow.

That fall, I played soccer again and I also joined up with Andrew on a team to run the Tussey Mountainback, a 50 mile relay race. I ran two legs,  3.4 miles and 4.2 miles, which was quite a personal achievement.

I have no idea what my pace was but it was my first time crossing a finish line and it felt amazing. The whole day was a positive experience, as we cheered each teammate into transition zones, listened to silly running playlists and traded random stories. If you have never been trapped in a van with a bunch of stinky sweaty runners done a relay race, I encourage you to give it a go – you will not regret it.

By the time the next spring rolled around, I had a crazy idea in my head. I was still in graduate school, and it had hung me out to dry. The experiments I had been working on for the past year and a half were going nowhere. So I faced every grad student’s worst nightmare, pulled the plug and started over, devising a completely new project.  This, quite frankly, sucked and certainly didn’t leave me feeling like I was a winner winner chicken dinner. I wanted, no, I needed something in my life that I could work toward and actually finish.

I wanted to run a half-marathon.

So, I started training. At first, Running and I kept things casual, meeting up here and there for a bit of training and even doing a dog jog with Sawyer and Sherlock, which of course did not at all go as planned.

I started off with Sawyer, who by all previous accounts, we believed to be the slower dog. But as soon as we crossed the starting line, he took off with me clinging desperately to the end of the leash. I quickly traded with Andrew for Sherlock, who was a bit taken aback by the chaos and more willing to stick right.by.me and go my speed. After a couple of awkwardly timed doggie bathroom breaks, we finally finished up the 5k and I found Andrew. Apparently, as soon as Sawyer realized the run was a loop, he stopped running as if he had no interest in covering the same ground twice – silly dog.

Once summer arrived, I began to take training more seriously. I cracked open Jeff Galloway’s Book on Running and made a spreadsheet so I could be a Super Serious Runner to keep track of my runs. Saturdays became Long Run Days. I was slow but consistent. Running gave me a respite from everything else – the chaos of my current experiment, a messy house, bills to pay, all of it. I didn’t listen to music – I listened to audiobooks. It was the only way I could keep my mind from drifting to (a) what I could be doing instead (b) whether I was truly satisfied with the ending of Lost or (c) how much my knees hurt.

And hurt they did. I ignored it at first but after several painful runs, I purchased some knee sleeves and started icing my knees after every run. This seemed to solve the problem.

Running and I grew very close that summer, even as I grew more and more stressed over my research. I steadfastly completed each of my long runs, maxing out at a seemingly endless odyssey of 16 miles through Davis on a trip to California.

By the time the half-marathon rolled around in September, I felt prepared. I didn’t really have a time goal – just a goal of feeling strong and finishing. We traveled to Philadelphia and met my parents who had come up to cheer me on. One of my best friends, Ashlee, was also running and she calmed my nerves. The sheer number of runners was overwhelming but soon enough, I was off and running through the streets of Philly. The first six miles were amazing. I felt strong, I felt good. Miles 7-10 were harder but I still felt capable.

And then mile 11 hit and my knees rebelled.

They just plain hurt. I stepped off to the side, did my best to massage them and then resumed running. No dice. The remaining 2.1 miles were an alternating walk-jog-limp. My pace plummeted but I pushed through to the finish, raised my arms in triumphant victory and … tripped on a cable, crashing to the ground. Not the most graceful ending but I was happy to have finished under two and a half hours, despite my ailing legs.

(hoping for a pic of The Big Bad Fall? sorry to disappoint but alas, I did not purchase that super flattering race photo)

After the race was over, I began to have my doubts about Running. My knee pain seemed to be an issue we couldn’t resolve. I had committed to run another Tussey relay, and after completing my ten miles, I decided Running and I just weren’t working out.

We broke up.

Stay tuned for Part Two … Spoiler Alert – we get back together.

I’m getting quite talented at dropping off the radar. Ye olde blog has gotten a bit dusty here, patiently waiting for my return.

I just haven’t had anything to write … or at least, that’s what I told myself.

There’s another writing project I’ve been working on and I had this utterly twisted notion that I shouldn’t work on any ‘fun’ writing until that was out of the way. As if I only had a finite quantity of Written Word within me and I needed to hoard it for the Big Serious Writing.

But the truth is I miss writing here very much – I miss opening up a blank ‘Add New Post’ and then by-golly, adding a new post.  (Can we bring back by-golly or is it too far in the past to pluck from its holdfast of benign black-and-white films?)

So I’m kicking my silly, self-imposed rule to the curb and diving back in to my virtual creative outlet.

I suppose a brief ‘What-Have-I-Been-Up-To’ montage is in order. The past few months have been full of:

Writing

Eating

Staring blankly at my keyboard Writing

Running

Deleting what I wrote because it’s crap Writing

and spending tons of quality time with family

And there’s some other stuff, too, but I’ll get around to that in time.

Topics on the horizon:

•  the #1 Love/Hate relationship in my life

•   a new project

•  gratuitous pictures of cute dogs

Happy Tuesday!

Where to start?

Since my last post in July (….yikes!), life has been go-go-go – hence, the lack of blogging. After returning from our unexpected vacation in July, we poured our energy into prepping our house to sell. Some projects were easy (cheerful new flowers for the win) while others made us question our sanity (new windows, I’m looking at you.)

Massive de-cluttering took place, leading to the realization that man, we have a lot of crap. Countless donations to Goodwill later, the house felt cleaner, fresher and more spacious. By August, we felt we were ready to contact a realtor to list this sucker, figuring it may take a long time to actually sell.

We listed our house for sale on a Monday.

Within seventy-two hours, we accepted an offer over the asking price with a closing date of September 10.

To say we were shocked was kind of an understatement. To say we were vacillating between giddy hysteria and wild disbelief would probably be more accurate. The house sold far far more quickly than we had anticipated. Truth be told, we were not fully ready to leave with Andrew still writing his dissertation and new jobs not yet lined up. We had assumed the process would take far longer, granting us enough time to solidify our game plan. Luckily, Andrew’s parents offered to let us enjoy a ‘sabbatical’ at their house in the interim while Andrew finishes up writing and we both search for jobs.

Now, I know most people would balk at moving in with their family/in-laws but Andrew’s parents are great about giving us space and independence and treating us more as peers than as ‘the kids.’ Plus, they live at the beach. This = awesome. After living away from the coast for so long, I’m going to appreciate every moment I have by the water.

Last week, we launched into our move from PA to NC – not a simple task by any means. In fact, it quickly descended into utter chaos. Please, join me on a journey back in time:

Monday AM – We eat a somewhat leisurely breakfast before we prepare to pick up our scheduled moving truck – cue birds chirping, sun shining, general sense that all is well with the world. We then receive a phone call saying that our reserved truck did not arrive over the weekend and we must choose between a smaller truck (at a discount) or a monstrously huge truck that could hold a small neighborhood (I may be slightly exaggerating). We’re feeling overly confident in how much stuff we’ve donated and sold and agree on the smaller truck. We promptly pat ourselves on the back for saving money – birds are still chirping, sun is still shining. We pick up the new truck – I bust out laughing at the tiny toy truck that we will be cramming our possessions into. The first wave of doubt hits but I roll over it with a zealous ‘We’ll just donate what doesn’t fit!’

Monday PM – The day has turned rosier with a last minute buyer for my piano (which I had given up hope on). We’re thrilled that we no longer have to worry about giving ourselves hernias. We move everything down from the attic and the house immediately feels ten times smaller – how the hell did we accumulate all this crap? I sort through our clothes, shoes, appliances, and random odds & ends and we cart off a carload of stuff to Goodwill. We start packing the truck, loading the heaviest furniture first, followed by some of the heaviest boxes. We step back, wipe the sweat off our brow and congratulate ourselves on getting the, quote, ‘hard part done.’ We treat ourselves to take-out, devouring delicious veggie burgers and sweet potato fries. We fall asleep with the determined attitude that we will make this tiny truck work.

Tuesday AM – We eat a slightly more hurried breakfast and then throw more stuff into boxes. Apparently, another house of unpacked objects broke in during the night and overtook our home.  A feeling of slight dismay starts to settle in my gut. We head off to sign some paperwork for the house and take yet another carload of stuff to Goodwill. We return and contemplate how to fit our freakishly large armchair and rower on the truck along with everything else that remains.

Tuesday PM – I have a brilliant idea and ask a friend if we can temporarily store said pieces in her basement for the time being. Never mind when or how we would get them in the future – we need a solution RIGHT NOW, people. Permission is granted and we tote the armchair and rower (the most awkwardly shaped and heavy object everrrr) over to the basement and return home. We haul more stuff onto the truck and I throw more random crap priceless valuables into boxes. The weather decides we must be lonely and gives us rain for company. We interrupt the packing chaos to return our modem to Comcast. Forty-bajillion other people are also visiting Comcast, all in dire need of upgrading to the mega-quintuple-play package. We return home and attack the tetris puzzle that is our moving truck until late into the evening. We lug our bed onto the truck and are forced to face the awful truth – there is not enough space for what we have left.

The truck is simply too small. Several miles away, ginormous monster truck releases an evil cackle.

Wednesday AM: We call Penske and they kindly agree to switch out our truck to the ginormous truck instead (the original truck still has not arrived). We unload everything we packed.

Let me repeat: WE UNLOAD EVERYTHING WE PACKED.

Please take a moment and think about how much fun that was.

We retrieve our awkward-heavy rower and armchair and exchange trucks.

Wednesday PM: We cautiously return home. Truck #2 takes up allllmost our entire driveway. We re-load everything we unloaded. We move everything from our shed to the front lawn. I die a little inside. The remaining hours pass by in a dazed blur of packing, cleaning, and aching shoulders. We collapse onto our sleeping bags in the wee hours and grab what sleep we can. We feel kinda like this:

(forgive the crappy iphone quality)

Thursday AM: All-out whirlwind of cleaning occurs and we fiiiiinally get on the road around 11:30 am. Sawyer joins Andrew in the cab of the truck, and I get the beagles for traveling companions. A sense of tired relief washes over as we roll out of the driveway and get on our way.

Thursday PM: The drive is relatively smooth. And then we enter Virginia and get in the vicinity of even thinking of being near I-95. Traffic freezes and I wonder if Hermione has used her time turner but I didn’t get the memo. We cross into North Carolina, traffic magically clears and the drive become smooth sailing. And thennnnn, the rain comes. Not just any rain. Pouring, pounding rain. Slow-down to 10 mph rain. White knuckles-clenched-on-the-steering-wheel rain. The long drive morphs into the never-ending drive. The rain finally slows enough to resume a decent speed and we roll up to the house around 11:30 pm.

And then the truck key breaks off in the ignition. I kid you not. If my brain had not turned to mush at that point, I would have thought to snap a picture but alas, you’ll just have to take my word for it.

Friday AM/PM: The broken key turns out to be a blessing in disguise as a locksmith must come out, allowing us to return the truck later and be able to take our time unloading. The key problem is sorted out and we head off to unload big a$$ truck into a storage unit. Three sweaty, tiring hours later, we lock the unit up and return the truck.

For the rest of the weekend, I am pretty much a vegetable, capable of nothing other than sleeping, complaining about my neck like I’m an 85-year-old grandma and gobbling down spoonfuls of almond butter.

But now, I’m back in the land of normalcy, thank goodness, and have figured out a good routine in the new place. It’s been nice to get back to regular meals and a regular work-out schedule. Heck, we even managed to get our butts in gear for a 5k yesterday. And I’ve had time to reflect and properly mourn what we’ve left behind.

Yes, mourn. Moving is hard stuff. We lived in Pennsylvania for four years and somewhere along the way, it transformed from a frigid tundra that must be temporarily tolerated while in school to our home. When we first arrived in PA, we had a bad habit of focusing on what it wasn’t – namely, that it was not NC. There was no beach a short drive away, it was freaking cold in the winter (that seemed to go on until May), and people pronounced Du Boise weird. But over time, we rubbed the sleep out of our eyes and saw Happy Valley for what it is: a great big wonderful mix of academic and agrarian, a tightknit community that supports its members, all amidst the backdrop of a lush and beautiful environment.

Pennsylvania is where Andrew and I truly found our identities, as individuals and as a married couple. If you have ever been married and attended graduate school at the same time as your spouse, you will know exactly how trying of a period it can be. There were times we wanted to quit – quit each other, quit school. But we grew … and we strengthened …  and we came out closer than ever. I am achingly grateful for all that I experienced during my time in the Keystone state  – the good, the bad & the borderline ridiculous. We may have left behind the house that we shaped with our blood, sweat and tears. We may have left behind our favorite little coffee shop, a thriving local foods community and the gently rolling countryside of Penns Valley.  But we carry with us amazing memories and life-long friendships. And we carry with us the hope that we will love our next landing spot just as much .

Yes, we have another foster dog.

This poor guy was fuh-reaking out at the center. Scared to death with huge separation anxiety.

So, we brought him home to our pack of hounds.

And…he was terrified of them – especially Wally, oddly enough. Our guys were baffled – they went from Hey-New-Guy-Let’s-Play to Hey-New-Guy-Let’s-At-Least-Sniff-Each-Other to Huh…What’s-Wrong-With-This-Dude?

Jack also panicked when we left the house – there was much wailing and nashing of teeth.

But man, what a difference a week makes.

As happens so often, once you take dog out of the incredibly stressful environment of a kennel and place him in a home, magic happens.

Jack now loves to play with Sawyer and Wally. (Sherlock spectates).

He’s well on his way to being crate-trained, and we’ve learned that he already knows (and obeys!) quite a few commands: Sit, Lay Down, Stay, Come, and Off (as in, get off that chair).

Pretty darn good for a two-year-old.

His affection knows no end – he is at his absolute happiest cuddled up next to you on the couch.

Jack has so much love to give and will make a great family member. When we took him to open house on Sunday, he remained perfectly still and calm while a little girl (~3 years old) carefully inspected his ears and nose and mouth. He was just happy for the attention.

He’s pretty much the perfect dog with his lone fault being that he loves his humans so much that he gets upset when they leave. But even that improves every single day.

So, if you happen to live in the State College area and you want to give this great guy a forever home, check out Centre County PAWS or come out to the open house this Sunday from 12-2 pm. Jack would love to meet you!

It’s been one week since we returned from our impromptu vacation – and mannnn, what a full week: taking in a new foster dog, house projects, job stuff, and plans, plans, plans. Exciting times, my friends, that I hope to share in more detail soon.  Fortunately, our getaway recharged and refreshed us.  We had a fantastic time down in North Carolina – it was the perfect mix of relaxation, fun activity and of course, delicious food.

Here’s the highlight reel:

- pink champagne (on ice, of course), fresh fruit & sheep cheese

- Sailing! Thank you to Captain Jeremy for taking us out – being on the water was perfection.

- Fourth of July eats: BBQ Porter-Bella Sandwiches, potato salad and grilled corn, followed by homemade coconut ice cream & fresh fruit. YUM!

- Provision Company – while I definitely don’t miss my waitressing days there, the fresh seafood and atmosphere can’t be beat.

- Fried Green Tomatoes at The Basics in Wilmington … Andrew and I devoured these. Must recreate asap.

- scoping out the set for Safe Haven

- the BEACH: sand between my toes …

salt air …

sunsets

I love it all.