simple happiness :)

Hey, reader!

I didn't make that singular to "personalize" it. I said that because, literally, I have probably one reader. If I'm lucky. God bless you.

soo anyway.

i realize my last couple of posts have been quite serious. sorry about that. my writing reflects my mood. and, well... that was my mood: sentimental, with a little bit of darkness and sadness to go along with it. last week was a rollercoaster.

but it's a new week, and boy oh boy i am happy! boy oh boy oh boy.

and you know what's so great about it? most people who know me well are probably thinking i'm going "boy oh boy oh boy" with such glee BECAUSE of a boy. but guess what? i am this overjoyously happy for NO REASON AT ALL. I'm just... happy!

why am i so euphoric, you may ask? well, one thing I absolutely know i will have gotten out of college, if nothing else, is my new appreciation for anything and everything; big or small. And THAT is why. It's because there are so many little and big AWESOME things. And I've come to notice them in a new way-- a way that makes me notice them on a daily basis, which inadvertently overpowers anything possibly bad in my life!

so let's take a moment, and look at these simple pleasures of life, shall we? (these are numbered in no particular order of importance.)

number one: MILK. 

Weird, I know. Honestly, I was never one of those kids who loved milk and drank a ton of it. I had it with my cereal and of course with the Oreo Cookie, but basically that's about it. now, I drink milk ALL THE TIME. I'm addicted. I have to have my fix. And do not even get me started on chocolate milk. Like seriously. I just bought a gallon and a half of chocolate milk at the store yesterday. I literally, cannot sleep if I don't chug a few sips before bed. oh, speaking of, that's another thing: i get to drink right out of the carton! college, baby. it's somethin' else.

^the above photo applies to the next on the list: 

number two: footy pj's. 

Two weeks ago, I get a call from my mom. And boy, she's excited. she goes "guess what i just bought you?" I guess "scarf" (because she has sent me two in the mail now.) "Nope. I got you footsie pajamas! Haven't you been looking for a pair for awhile? because i just got you some!" 

No. Fetchin. Way. My mom is seriously, the coolest human being. 

"They're not zip up, they're button-up. And they're red, and they have Mickey Mouse on them." 

A week later, I get them in a package in the mail. And they're even better than I could have possibly imagined! They are the most comfortable item of clothing I own... and I mean, just look at them! They're magnificent! Unfortunately, it's not quite cold enough to wear them without dying of heat stroke. Luckily, though, the night I got them was a colder one, so I of course was elated to wear them that first night! and I wear them during late night study sessions, because it's a little bit chilly around then, plus they just make studying easier. 

These babies are sitting on my bed under my pillow, just aching for the time when I wear them on a nightly basis. And every time I look at them, it brings a smile to my face. They are just too awesome. 

this brings me to number three: my mom. 

Now obviously, I love my mom. And obviously, I always have. However, I'd be lying if I said I didn't go through the angsty teenager-must-always-disagree-with-mom-even-if-she's-right phase. And I definitely didn't always appreciate her the way I should have, even though despite that we had a good relationship. But since being away, holy cow my mom just makes me so happy. I mean, how could she not, when she's a person who sends me footy pj's in the mail, am i right? I enjoy our phone conversations, even if they're short, and i am CONSTANTLY calling to ask a question about how long it is until this food is bad, or what's the best way to get a stain out, or whatever. or sometimes it's just to rant about something. but yeah. momsie is a big one. our relationship has grown and become gloriously strengthened through this whole college experience. people always tell me how i look just like her, just like a Poulsen, and I love that. She gave me my smile (and as you'll see, my "excited" face) she's the best! i love my mommy! 

number four: priesthood. 

Ah, i love my college guy friends. now, like with my mom, i've had a pretty good appreciation for something far from simple, but often overlooked. every year i've looked forward to my Father's Blessing before school starts, and i've always utilized its power the night before a test, or with a big assignment, or before big competitions by asking for a blessing from my dad. the true power of the priesthood manifested itself in spring of my junior year, on choir tour. i had a hypoglycemic attack, because i hadn't really been eating much throughout the trip (not because i was trying to starve myself, i swear. i just wasn't hungry. which is still a mystery to my friends how THAT happened, because i'm always hungry.) anyway, we were in Las Vegas, about to see Phantom. We were in line waiting for them to open the theater so we could take our seats, half an hour before the show began. First thing I noticed, my arms went numb. For real. numbness, shot up both arms in almost perfect synchronization. I started shaking, hard. and then, suddenly, i just couldn't breathe. my friends were doing their very best to help me on their own, because i was too stubborn to accept the aid of a chaperone and didn't want that sort of attention. their way of finally convincing me to let them go get one was by saying "megan, do you think you want a Priesthood blessing?"

YES i want a priesthood blessing. Obviously, since none of the boys in high school could do so, they had to get a chaperone.

so, right there in the Venetian of Las Vegas, two of the dads on the trip brought me into a corner and gave me a Priesthood blessing. one of my best friends had come with and was holding my hand, and she said she remembers how violently i was shaking, and how i suddenly went calm the second they put their hands on my head and gave the anointing. gotta love growing up in salt lake. only there could you go on a trip with your  choir and have that happen in Vegas, of all places. but anyway, from then on i knew the importance of the priesthood. but... never fully appreciated its power in my peers, guys my own age.

well, last friday that changed. i was hanging out with the boys upstairs (all of my girlfriends had gone home for the weekend, so it was just me and the boys.) We were watching How I Met Your Mother, of course. For like, three and a half to four hours. No joke. one of their roommates was in his room the whole night, super sick, throwing up, in the doubled over position. one of the guys asked him if he wanted a blessing, and he said yes. since three of the guys in that room are now elders, they were able to do so. so, i watched three of the guys I just met a month ago but love to hang out with, give a blessing to their roommate. and the Spirit in his bedroom was so powerful I started to cry. It was simply phenomenal. love those boys!

anyway, i always look at them differently now. and that experience... just fills me with joy! no pic for this one, but whatevs.

number five: my fish.

this one doesn't really have a very long explanation. i brought a Beta fish up with me to school, since those are the only pets we're allowed. my friend and i each bought one the day she turned 18 (so she could be allowed to get them in case we were ID'd. did you know you have to be 18 to even buy a fish? lame.) she named hers Bubba and I named mine Bosco. Bubba was viciously murdered by her stupid cats, but Bosco still stands. That's why you buy a dog, people. Charlie Bear would have never attempted any such heinous crime. He sits on my desk... and i just love him. every morning, i greet him with a "hey, Boss!" and he swims over to the side of his little bowl once he sees me get out his food. he is so smart! and the prettiest fish i ever saw!

number six: my bike. 

i have the cutest pink beach cruiser around! i love her. yes, her. i named my bike a couple of weeks ago. her name is Betty, and she is just hawt. I never rode her a lot at home, i admit. but now, seeing as i live in a place that shouldn't even be considered "on campus" because that's how close to campus it even is, i use her all the time. most people have to leave for class at least half an hour before to walk or take the bus, but not me, sir! i leave five minutes before and get there on time. thanks to sweet Betty. Plus, I just love riding around campus on her. Utah State Campus is so unbelievably beautiful, and it's like drinking a bottle of instant happy when i'm riding around, on my bike, with my headphones in (usually listening to Imagine Dragons. Which just IS happy music.) Logan is so beautiful, and i've come to notice that while using Betty. It is going to suck when winter rolls around and i can no longer use her, but she will be around every spring and fall (and summer in salt lake... because i really am going to ride her more often in salt lake (don't make that statement dirty)). I love, love, LOVE my bike! I finally got a picture of her up! Look at her... she's magnificent.  Also, everyone always seems to know where i am because of how noticeable she is. I get at least on text a day on average saying "Hey, i saw you at this place! you were on your bike!" Yep. Betty's an eye-catcher, that one. 

number seven: the mountains. 

this one kind of goes along with the last one. but riding around, i really have noticed the beauty of this place that we live in. I've decided that I think I want to live in Logan, first off. I have absolutely fallen in love with it. But seriously, the mountains. They always look a different sort of beautiful. I particularly love it now, as red and orange are slowly creeping their way over the green as autumn approaches, creating a patchwork quilt of colors and textures. They sure are beautiful. I literally catch myself smiling while I ride to and from school sometimes as I look up at them. It's kind of sad how much we all complain that we want the beach and the ocean, when we've got all this beauty right in front of us. God sure does love us to give us those mountains. He gives us all this beauty to look at in a day, and then to end the day, he gives us a sunset. A sunset which sets fire to the gray-blue sky, turning the mountains anywhere between a scorching red and a gentle pink. Wow, that is love. And looking at it? That is happiness. 

number eight: family. 

I miss my family. I miss my dog. I miss my nephews. Seeing pictures and Facebook posts and getting cheeky texts from my brother just make me smile. My family really is the best around. 

Alright, kids. It is now 4:00 in the afternoon and I have yet to eat anything at all today. And for those of you who know me well, you know that is way too long for me and the second anyone talks to me i'll probably bite their head of due to the beastly qualities i possess when in a state of hunger. so.... i must go. i will surely add the list as things come to me, but those are the main things. 

don't ever forget the simple joys in life. it's these things that are making me so freaking incredibly happy, even while single and getting over a break up. just... purely, simply, happy. 

i'm back to the old happy-go-lucky meggers now, don't you worry! I'm back to being just like Barb, doing what we always did best. 

and happy is what we do.

 peace

~just megsie

Ronan.

September has always been quite the ordinary month to me. It's the month of almost-fall time. It's the month of Labor Day and barbecues and 9/11 and a time that for me means getting closer to my favorite time of year... that time of long-sleeved t-shirts and hoodies and beanies and sweats. There has never been anything special about September. It's always been, utterly ordinary. 

That is, until today. 

It's funny, how something so simple can change your entire mood or outlook. Something as simple as a song or a blog post or a Facebook link. And you listen to that song or read that blog post or click on that Facebook link, without even knowing it's going to get inside of you and change you. In as little time as it took for you to listen to that song or read that blog post or click on that Facebook link. 

Today was ordinary. With nothing exceptional about it. Well, except that I slept through my last class of the day. yeah, not my first class. My last class. I had every intention of lying down for just ten minutes in between classes back at the apartment and oops... two hours later, I've missed class. So I get up, eat, do some homework, all the while banging my head in for missing class. I am so angry at myself because first off, well I mean, I missed a class and that bugs me to a high degree, but second, it's my favorite class which may or may not have anything to do with the cute boy named Jake who sits next to/talks to me every day. But whatever. Anyway, I go through my normal afternoon routines, all the while complaining about how much this day really sucks. Because I missed a stupid class. 

Seriously? 

But then, I go on Facebook. Out of pure curiosity or I don't know what I go to this girl's Facebook page. Well, woman I should say. A cute mama who had to grow up so much so fast when her baby was diagnosed with Leukemia and she began the battle against cancer, having to be there for her little girl. I see a link on her wall to a song. A song by one of my favorite singers, a girl who normally writes either upbeat love songs or heartbreak ballads. But in this video, I see her heart really is breaking, and this time it's for a different reason-- one far bigger than anything something as stupid as a jerky guy could have ever done. 

Curiosity gets the better of me, and I google the name of the song because it's the name of a little boy. Well, that takes me to a blog. It's the blog of another mama. One I don't know. One who had to go through something no parent or human being should ever have to go through when her baby boy Ronan died of Neuroblastoma, a childhood cancer. A mama who, without even knowing it, gave Taylor Swift the lyrics to the next single through the words she writes almost daily to her baby boy who lost his battle with cancer. 

Two hours later and I've gone through post after post after post. I learn of the day Ronan was diagnosed with the disease, Stage Four Neuroblastoma. I learn of how he loved racecars and dinosaurs and Small Paul monkeys and Star Wars and playing with his older brothers. I learn of how his mama started writing all of her posts to him the day after he died and how she tells him how lost she feels without him and how the pain isn't going away and the day she found out Taylor Swift named her new single "Ronan" and how she cried and cried when she found out because it's the best way for him to live on and continue to touch the hearts of millions. I learn of how everytime it rains she knows it's from him because he knows how much she loves rain and how happy it makes her and so he sends it to her on her hardest days. I learn of how she started the Ronan Thompson Foundation because she knows she's got to do something bigger with her life, because that's the only possible reason why her RoBaby would die so young. How she thought they were going to win because her and his special bond, their eternal love for one another. Because he's so perfect and special and he would win. 

Eventually, I click on May 9, 2011, when her blind hope was shattered and her baby boy's eight month battle with Neuroblastoma ended and he left this earth, just three days before he would have been four. 

"I fell in and out of sleep. She left the room about 3 a.m. and the nurse taking care of Ronan patted me around 3:20 a.m. Ronan was ready to leave. I said to her, “Is he gone?” She replied, “Almost.” I grabbed on to my baby boy, whispered in his ear that I loved him, but it was time to go so he needed to come with me. I kept saying, “Come with me, Ronan. Let’s get out of here.” The nurse went to get Woody and when he got to the room, he kissed Ronan goodbye and that was that. His little heart just stopped."

I read the post from that dreadful day, listen to the song one more time, and before I know it I'm in tears. This little boy, with his big blue eyes and happy smile even with a bald head in a hospital bed, has left me in tears. He has changed the way I see things. 

For this Mama Maya, and mothers like the one who posted the video on Facebook, September is nothing but ordinary. It's Childhood Cancer Awareness Month. 

I don't know anything about Childhood Cancer. The closest I have gotten to it has been that girl who grew up in my stake, and her little girl Tenley Jane. She, unlike Maya, was lucky enough to have her little girl win the fight and keep her with her today. I've read about Ronan. That's the closest I've ever gotten to childhood cancer. 

But I know a little something about cancer. 

I know it's the reason why I've never known my grandma, whose middle name I have. I know it's why she never got to see me be born. I know it's why my grandpa lived without her for twelve years until a merciful Lord called him home to her. I know it's why my sweet Nana over in Florida lives without her husband for eight years now. I know it's why I don't have my Barb. I know it's why she lived in pain for years. I know it's why her life for so long involved chemotherapy and bruises and hair loss and disappointment and going in and out of remission and being in an out of doctors' offices. It's why I learned true sorrow three months ago when I stood before her grave and my family and friends sent her away with a soft song and let go of white balloons and watched them float up to the Heavens where she now is. I know it's the reason why my Barb didn't get to watch me graduate because her cancer had returned full force. It's why she won't be there to see all of the heartbreak and boy problems she always listened to become worth it when I meet that guy who is perfect in every way, and marry him. She won't be there to watch me be sealed to him. It's why my children won't ever know her. They won't ever be able to call her "GAB" (Great Aunt Barb) just like I always told her they would. It's why I don't go to Chuck-A-Rama anymore because I feel her there and it's just too much. It's why I've put my heart on lockdown. It's why she wasn't with my parents when they dropped me off at college. It's why she won't be on this earth to watch me grow up and become a woman and get everything out of this life. It's why I no longer have my Barbie to talk to. We all thought we had beat it. We thought she was going to be okay. And it's cancer, that came creeping in to take away something so precious from me. 

I know it's cancer that took my sweet Barb when she should still be here. She should still be here.

Yeah, I know a little something about cancer. And I know what it's like to hate it with every fiber of my being. 

Then I think, of how Barb got to live a pretty full life. I think of how sweet babies like Ronan didn't have that opportunity. Now, I don't know what it's like to feel that mother's love. I just know how much my mom loves me. And how much my sister loves her sweet little boys. I know how deeply, passionately, and sorrowfully Maya Thompson loved and loves her baby Ro, and how she lives the pain of his loss every day. I look into the big blue eyes of sweet baby Ronan's, and I see my nephew, who's about the age Ronan was when he was diagnosed with the disease. And it makes me hate cancer even more when I have the heart-wrenching thought "that could have been him." It could be my sister who has a life of pain and sorrow and a Taylor Swift song, writing posts to her dead baby boy instead of posts about soccer games and birthday parties and books and movies and outings, just like every mother should be able to do. How so many other children are taken by cancer. And even the ones who aren't taken, lose a childhood to hospitals and doctors visits and chemotherapy. I think of how cancer is the #1 killer of children in non-accidental deaths. It breaks my heart. Even as I write this, tears roll down my cheeks and snot clogs up my face and I don't even care that I'm writing this outside where people coming in and out of my building can see. Because this is important. This is one of the most important things I will write, ever. 

So to any of you who are reading this, please, we can't do a lot, but we can do something. Spread the word about Childhood Cancer Awareness Month. Remind people. Talk to someone who has been touched by it. Comfort them. Give them a hug. Make sure they know they have you. Think of baby Ronan. He has changed me in so short amount of time. Let him change you too. Let his spirit work through you to change the world. And start now in little ways to change it. 

So here's what I say, today. 

First: spread the word. Post a link on Facebook. Blog about it. Listen to Taylor Swift's "Ronan". Buy it, because all proceeds go to help fund research centers and coping centers for those who have gone through loss. Read Maya's blog. Donate, if that's something you're in a position to be able to do. If not, that's okay. The first step is awareness. So make people aware. Let people know that 46 children every day are diagnosed with cancer, and that seven will die today. Let the world know the things cancer does. But also let them know that cancer will NOT win. Because we will NOT let it. Let the world know that, instead of letting cancer lodge fear in our hearts and set hatred in our souls, we will look cancer in the face, and stand to fight. We will win as many battles as we can. And no matter how many are lost, we will always, always love. We will not let it cripple our hope. We will stand. We will Stand Up To Cancer. 

Second: live. 

Like I said, we can't win every battle. But what we can do as individuals is live our lives to fullest and best of our abilities. Hug tighter. Hold tighter. Let your kids stay up to watch that movie with you. Play with racecars on the kitchen floor with them. Listen to their stories. Tell them stories. Tell people you love them. Tell someone they changed your life, before it's too late and you're standing before their grave letting go of a white balloon. Maya talks about how she has this "new pair of eyes" which makes her appreciate all the simple things in life. It's so tragic that losing a child gave her that. Don't wait until tragedy strikes to gain that new pair of eyes. Live a life of passion, of adventure. Do everything you can do. Do things you've always wanted to try but were too scared to. Hold on to the people in your life, and never let them go. 

Do it for someone you know who lost their life to cancer. If you're lucky enough not to know anyone like that, then do it for a loved one who lost a loved one to cancer. Do it for those still battling. Do it for anyone lost. Do it for anyone you love. You may not know a child with cancer, but think of your brother or sister or niece or nephew or cousin or neighbor or friend and think of how it could have been them. How it could still be them. And live life, for them. 46 children are diagnosed with cancer every day. 7 of them will die today. Beautiful Littles who are taken Home before they really get a piece out of this life. Do everything for them. That's what they would want from us. That's what Ronan would want from not only his mama but also from us. That's what Barb wants from me. So, do it for them. Do it for Barb. 

Neuroblastoma. Leukemia. Breast Cancer. Colon Cancer. Lung Cancer. Multiple Myeloma. Whichever one you've been touched by or whichever way you say it, stand up to cancer. Do it for the beautiful blue-eyed baby boy who fought cancer with a smile on his face and died in his mother's arms. 

Today, live for Ronan. And stand. 

peace

~just megsie 

PLEASE GO HERE: http://rockstarronan.com

AND HERE: http://theronanthompsonfoundation.com

tigger.

In my English 2010 class, our first paper we had to write was a "Word Meditation" paper. We pick a word that had a constant presence in our lives and use it to write stories from different points in our life. The paper as a whole also had to have some sort of over-arching theme as well as little bits of research on the word.  Anyone who knows me well knows I've always had a love for Tigger. I have more Tiggers than I care to admit. 

In case you don't already figure it out, the over-arching theme is basically growing up. I wish I could have written more but she gave us a five page limit, so that's why it may seem rushed. 

Anyway, I thought I'd share this. So uh.... yeah. Tigger. (PS I did fabricate some stuff for the sake of making it more interesting. Us writers, dude.  you just can't trust us. ) 

TIGGER

            I’m five years old. I sit in the back of my dad’s red pickup truck, my uncle sitting next to me. “Lil Megs, Lil Megs!” he says to me. He tickles my belly and I laugh. His faded blue jean eyes gleam as he beams with mischief down at me—the same beam, my dad has always told me, he has held since he was born. He kisses my cheeks and I giggle as his scruffy chin scratches my face. He smells like peppermint and cigarettes. I have no memory of the scent every bothering me; I’m used to it. It’s just the scent of Uncle Bruce. So I breathe it in and keep giggling.

            He pulls something from behind his back. I squeal with delight; it’s a small stuffed Tigger. This one reminds me of the Tigger he brought to the hospital the day I was born, with a slightly faded orange and a small ball inside that jingles when he moves. It got lost somewhere though, so I’m happy to have its duplicate. I shake the Tigger to hear the slight jing, jing he makes. My uncle’s pearly white smile grows wider, looking even whiter in contrast with his weathered tan skin. Dad was always jealous of his brother’s ability to tan; neither he nor any of us kids ever could. But Bruce’s is also rough and leathery from too many days of golf. I feel it under his prickly whiskers as I grab his face and say thank you.

            “The wonderful thing about Tigger, is Tigger’s a wonderful thing!” Bruce says his own rendition of the original phrase, then proceeds to grab me again and tickle me. As I move, I hear the jing jing of the animal. I grab the small Tigger and hold him to my chest, vowing to protect him.

            During World War I, soldiers were transferring from Winnipeg, Canada, to Eastern Canada where they would be taken to Europe. When the train stopped in Ontario, a soldier by the name of Harry Colebourn bought a small black bear cub for $20 from a man who had shot its mother. He named the bear Winnipeg, after his hometown, or “Winnie” for short. The bear was a mascot of the brigade until Colebourn gave him over to London Zoo upon arriving in Europe, where he became a popular attraction. He was the particular favorite of a boy named Christopher Robin. Christopher Robin asked his father, A. A. Milne, to take him on many trips to the zoo to see the bear. Milne began writing a series of stories involving Christopher Robin, Winnie, and other characters based off of stuffed animals his son owned. In one such book, titledThe House at Pooh Corner, published in 1926, Tigger, based off a stuffed animal, is mentioned for the first time.

            I’m eleven years old. My family stands around the bed at a care center, where my grandpa lays. He’s been sick for awhile now but things have gotten bad enough that we know the end is near. I clench the small Tigger he gave me for my eighth birthday tightly to my chest and stand at the foot of his bed. The room is silent, except for the occasional funny comment made with the intent to lighten the mood. It smells of sickness and medicine. I hear the echoes of the nurses’ antibacterial shoes against the floor in the hallway, squeaking every few steps. I look down at the small stuffed animal, and tears fill my eyes. I’m the youngest of everyone standing here, so I am hesitant to step forward. But I do. I walk around to where he lays and bury my face in his stomach. Despite his being here, he still smells of must and pine, the scents of his house. As he hears me crying, one crocodile tear trickles down his face, even as he lays there with his eyes closed, barely coherent. The silence in the room is broken as cousins and siblings and aunts and uncles embrace. We embrace each other. Embrace him. Hug, hug, hug. We can’t get enough. I hear the choir of sniffles around the room as the tears we’ve been holding in are finally set free. Before I know it, it’s time to go. I give my grandpa a kiss on the cheek, not knowing at the time that it’s the last I’ll see of him alive. As I walk out of the room with a tear-stained face, I look down at the Tigger still held in my hands. His face has no sign of tears or crying. But he’s here, and that’s enough for me.

************************************************************************************

            The first heard of Tigger is in “In Which Tigger Comes To The Forest and Has Breakfast” in The House At Pooh’s Corner. Tigger appears at Pooh’s doorstep with a “bounce and a bang,” where he says he’ll eat “everything” but doesn’t like honey or thistles or haycorns, so the search begins for something Tigger would like to eat. Upon going to Kanga’s house, another popular character derived from one of Christopher Robin’s stuffed animals, it is discovered that Tigger has a liking for malt, which Kanga keeps to give to her son, Roo. After his discovery, Tigger makes Kanga’s house his home, and resides there through the rest of all the series. Tigger becomes a beloved character known for individuality, fun, and craziness. Some popular phrases said by Tigger include “don’t be ridikorous!” “why, that’s what Tiggers do best!” and “the wonderful thing about Tigger is I’m the only one!” His laugh, smile and bouncy tail become trademarks of his character.

*************************************************************************************

            Barb and I sit in our regular booth at our favorite restaurant. She started out as my mom’s best friend but inadvertently became one of mine as well. We eat some of our food but mostly get distracted with talking, eating only our scones as we chat. The smooth taste of melted honey butter slips easily onto my tongue as I place the scone in my mouth. As I do this, I talk to Barb.  I share with her things I can share with no one else. I trust her.

            It’s now been six years since Grandpa died, and so much has changed. My problems have changed from who to play with at recess or when the next Fablehaven book comes out to who I date and which friends are true as opposed to which ones are gossiping about me and which college I should go to. I tell Barb all of it. Her hair is short and curly, finally starting to grow in since she stopped her chemotherapy. Her beady eyes sparkle and the edges of her mouth crinkle when she smiles. The smell of gravy and mashed potatoes in the restaurant are so strong I can taste them, feeling the hot liquid trickle down my throat. It’s calling to me from the buffet, but I ignore the urge and keep talking to Barb. The fabric of the booth squeaks when I switch positions.

            Barb tells me of how laughter and craziness are the best medicines in life, and that’s why her and I get through it all. She tells me to “keep bouncing” even after every heartbreak or lost friend, just like Tigger does.

            As she says this, I realize Barb reminds me of Tigger. And I love her even more for it.

            It’s been three months since Barb’s cancer returned and I stood before her grave at the cemetery. I vow never to tell anyone of Barb unless I really trust them. Barb becomes a sacred part of my heart of which I swear always to protect. It’s a warm summer’s night. I sit on a bench at a park with a boy. I hear the rattle of the trees surrounding us and the breeze brushes my hair against my cheeks. I think of the word rattle, and it takes me back to that rattly Tigger my uncle gave me so many years before. That Tigger has since been lost in the mess of moving rooms and buying new things and gaining new priorities. Now, I sit here with this boy, a new Tigger in my hand. He’s discovered my love for the character and bought me one while we were out. It’s three days before I leave for college and I realize I could be in love with him, but just like my Grandpa and Barb, I’ll have to say goodbye. One of my hands is held in his as the other holds Tigger. I breathe in the smell of roses and cotton trees, and sigh. The Tigger smiles up at me, oblivious to the dangers of growing up.

            As Winnie the Pooh became more popular, the daughters of Walt Disney took a liking to it as well, and in 1977 he released the first full-length feature film of Pooh titled “The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh.” All of the characters became widely loved but none so much as Tigger—so much so that in 2000 Disney released the third Winnie the Pooh film titled “The Tigger Movie” in which Tigger is the main character, Tigger being voiced by Paul Winchell. As various TV shows, movies, and books have been released throughout the years, Tigger has remained a character beloved by all, his phrases widely quoted and his contagious demeanor affecting all who experience him.

*************************************************************************************

            I sit in my college dorm with a tear stained face. I think back to when it was stained with tears when I was eleven, then again when I was seventeen. Wishing for my grandpa and Barb, I find the tear stains have turned again into actual tears. The room smells as it did the night I said goodbye to my parents: old wood, dust, and new sheets. I think of my parents and their last hugs goodbye. My mom, with the same smile I have and the pungent smell of sweet pea lotion, and my dad, with the same faded blue jean eyes of my uncle, always smelling of salt. I think of how they’ve always smelled this way. Of how things used to be simple, in my dad’s old pickup truck being tickled by my uncle.

I think of the boy I loved.  I think of his cologne and the way his curls felt between my fingers. I think of his smile. The tears come more constantly and my heart breaks as I remember I’ve just learned this boy I thought I could love, doesn’t love me anymore. I pick up the Tigger he gave me just before I left, about to throw it. But then, I look at its smile. It reminds me of my uncle’s pearly whites and my grandpa’s silver teeth and Barb’s wrinkles at the edge of her mouth when she smiles. Suddenly I feel them all with me, and find myself beaming as I know they would. I remember Barb’s goofy laugh and her high pitched voice as she tells me to “keep bouncing.” As the tears come to a stop, I hold this Tigger tighter, thinking of them. I smile one more time. Tonight, I fall asleep calmly under the safe protection of this small animal, still clutched against my chest.

peace

~just megsie

remember.

If you asked me what day of the year is both my favorite and also my absolute least favorite day ever, I would tell you it's September 11.

I hate this day.

I wake up on this day every year with such a complexity of emotions it almost becomes overwhelming. I obsess over watching hours of 9/11 footage on the History Channel. Every year, it's what I do. The melancholy feeling hangs over me for the entire day, seeping deep into every crevice of my heart. It sinks further and further as I learn the stories of individuals. Individuals who turned into heroes. Individuals who sat inside the tower and huddled together to share a cell phone and call their families to say goodbye.

Individuals who woke up on a sunny morning and went to work, and between 102 minutes later found themselves saying goodbye to this life.

Saying goodbye.

I watch the stories. I learn the names. I take it all in until the emotions build up and I find myself in tears. Every year, it happens. I cry for our country. I cry for the people on the planes. I cry for the people who waited for help but no help came. I cry for those who jumped because they saw no other way out, so they flew to the pavement at 200 miles per hour. I cry for the fireman and the police, who fought so hard to save lives yet felt so helpless. I cry for the families who had to watch it all on the news, just praying for the night to come and to see their loves one walk in the door. I cry for everyone I've lost. I cry because I remember.

In a time like now, I consider us a country divided. Democrats and Republicans, Obama supporters and Romney supporters. We make cutting remarks and don't consider the individual.

But on this day, that always seems to change.

On this day, eleven years ago, this nation came together. We did it because we had to. We did it because we had a point to prove. We had to prove that we are America. And just because they took lives, does not mean they would take our freedom. Just because they destroyed buildings, does not mean they would destroy hope.

Does not mean they would ever, ever, destroy the United States of America. That is the only reason why this day, as dreadful as it is to me, is that important.

I wasn't in New York on 9/11. I didn't know anybody in the towers. I only know people who knew people. But when I think of lives lost, I think of people I've lost. And the grief becomes more real. I think of how, even though I lost them, I had time. I got to say goodbye. I saw it coming. I didn't wake up on a sunny morning and 2 hours later have my world turned upside down. I think of how despite all that, I still always thought I would have more time. I think that's something we can all relate to, and that's why we came together and come together every year.

September 11 reminds me of how fragile things can be. It reminds me how fragile life is. How important the little things are. Because when those people in those towers knew they were going to die, they were stripped down to life's basics: saying goodbye, saying "I love you", saying "thank you." The transcendent truths, and they had to be in a burning building to come to them. So on this day, let's not wait until smoke has filled our lungs and we find ourselves at the lip of Hell to appreciate life. Life is too fragile. That's why I hate this day so much. It reminds me of tragedy and grief and loss and how everything seems so temporary and breakable.

But here is why it is also one of my favorite days:

It reminds me of being fragile, yes, but it also reminds me of strength. It reminds me of the fireman and policeman, knowing what they were about to enter when they walked into those two buildings but entering anyway. It reminds me of individuals trapped in the towers whose only worries became getting  other people out. It reminds me of the couple who held hands as they jumped the tower, together. Colleagues, lovers, strangers, no one knows. But they held hands, and they jumped. It reminds me of Orio Palmer, a fireman who climbed over twenty flights to reach people trapped in the mayhem, only to have the tower collapse on him too. It reminds me of the families of those lost who will still sit in front of a camera and talk about it because they believe its a story that needs to be shared. It reminds me of the way every American became better because of it. How we were knocked down but we didn't stay down for long.

That is why I like this day. That is why I pour over the hours of stories even though I've seen every one of them year after year. It reminds me that as human beings we have this innate ability to cope, to endure, and stand.

We stand. We remember. And we always love.

Let me answer the question everyone is asked on this day: do you remember where you were when it happened?

It's one of the most vivid memories of my childhood. I had just woken up to go to school. I remember I had slept in my parents' room the night before. I walked out and saw the tower smoking. I was 7 years old and too young to really understand what was happening, I'll admit. But I remember feeding off of everyone else's fear as we watched the chaos on the news. I remember teachers at school, crying as they explained. Crying as they talked about people they knew who were there. I remember my Dad telling me "Don't you ever forget this, because this, is going to change everything." Now, all I remember about this day every year is remembering. We forget so easily until the day rolls around again.

So here's what I say.

No matter what your political party, your opinions on our government, you remember this. Remember how it was the first time in a long time that our country united. Remember the way the precariousness of life became so real to every single on of us, and how it changed, and continues to change, every year on this day, the way we live. The way we treat each other. Remember to say "I love you," because that person may wake up tomorrow morning and go to work and that's the last you'll ever see of them in this life. Remember to treat people the way we all treated each other on this day eleven years ago. Remember the firefighters and the cops who selflessly entered the inferno. Remember our soldiers today who enter the inferno of war to protect our freedom. Remember to love. Remember to be kind. Remember to laugh. Remember to live. 

Remember September 11, 2001. And never forget.

who doesn't love the spot, where the sagebrush grows.

I should have done this two days ago. But the sweet smell of victory is still pungent in my nostrils.

AGGIESWONAGGIESWONAGGIESWONAGGIESWONAGGIESWONAGGIESWONAGGIESWON

okay I'm good.

AGGGGIIIIEEEESSSSSS WOOOONNNNNNNN.

Okay, NOW I'm good.

Friday was probably one of my favorite nights of college thus far. Why? AGGIES V. UTES FOOTBALL GAME. That's why.

First off, let's talk about a rollercoaster of emotions that is college life. I'm feelin' good before the game. I was running late so I just met up with my friends at Romney Stadium. Where, by the way, they had been standing for an hour and by the time we were let in we still ended up, like, ten rows from the back of the student section. But it's cool. No matter where you are in the student section, it's a party. But we get in, and I'm laughing having a good time, and then this girl who is in my friends group who quite obviously doesn't like me says a cutting sarcastic remark about me, one which everyone else laughs at.... and boom. Rock bottom. I try to be nice to her and keep myself in conversation, but everything I say is just getting more of those sarcastic and, to everybody else, "funny" comments. So finally, I sit down. The adversary takes his hits with one thought after another. "you can't do anything right" "just go home, no one here will miss you" "your friends don't actually like you" "you don't belong" seriously. And an hour and a half before one of the biggest rivalry games ever ever? What the cuss? Behind my sunglasses, there are a couple tears. Not gonna lie. But because I'm me, I don't let anybody see, nor do I say anything to anyone. I'm known for being happy-go-lucky crazy spazz optimistic me. So I let no one see. I fight through it.

SPOILER ALERT: In the mini battle of Megan vs. Satan, Megan wins.

Because now it's an hour 'til kickoff. I give myself a scolding for being such a baby, put on my free Utah State sweatband some chick was handing out at the entrance, stand up and go back into Me mode. You know what that means?

CRAZZZZZYYYY TIME.

Yes, I put on a Utes bracelet. I took a picture of it and sent it to the family. I've been a Utes fan my entire life. I assured them I still partially was. Of course, all that went out the window once the game started. I very quickly made the Utes my enemies. Plus, Nick made me take the bracelet off. He took it off my wrist, handed it to me, and said "in your pocket or it disappears forever."

Love ya too buddy.

Okay enough about me. Let's talk about the game here.

MOST INTENSE GAME OF MY LIFE. I almost had a heart attack about five times.

In case you didn't watch it, I'll walk you through. First, Aggies score. BOOM BEBE. 6-0. Student section is a riot. Later, Aggies score again. TAKE THAT UTES. But we miss the kick, so 13-0 instead of 14. (I'm going to skip over missed field goal opportunities and many many missed passes and quite possibly a couple of stupid calls from the refs. because let's be real. that's just every college football game.) I don't remember which came first, the field goal or the touchdown, but before we know it..... The Utes have now tied with us. 13-13. Um, what? NO NO NO. This is the best our football team has been in years and therefore the best opportunity we'll have to beat the Utes. Us students.... we're going insane. And quite honestly we're a little peeved about our players missing easy passed. COME ON OFFENSE. Pull it together for cryin' out loud. It's 3rd quarter now, and no progress is being made. This is that point in the game where everyone is tired. The student section has been standing the entire time. We've come from a day of classes. We've used up all of our energy in first half, and now, we're getting discouraged.

Fourth quarter, Aggies score. Woooooooooo. 20-13. Then that high is gone pretty quick when the Utes score. 20-20. Fourth quarter ends. Now, we go into Overtime. Which, by the way, should not have happened, as we would have been ahead had we not missed the field goal or kick. But BAM. Aggies score!!!!!! Here's the moment of truth. If we can hold the Utes off from scoring, we win the game. And there it is. We hold 'em. WE WON. The student section pours out onto the field, and the facilitators and ushers don't stop us. That's just not a battle they want to fight.

We have beat the Utes for the first time in 13 years. Of course we're gonna rush the field.

Now, it's time to celebrate! So let me tell you about the adventure/mayhem of trying to go out and celebrate in a college town, where the rest of the student population of Utah State is also celebrating.

There's a diner in Logan called Angie's, and they do a thing called "clean the sink." you buy, literally, a sink full of ice-cream. and, well.... clean it. What a naive thing for us to think. We get there (beeteedubs, it was 13 of us in two 5 passenger cars. I ended up in Lexie's trunk) and it's packed. Completely. With no hope of ever getting in. Well, we are also starving. We just want to freaking eat.  There's an A&W across the street (that's right. they still have a legit full-on A&W restaurant), so someone suggests we go there but no one approves. So, we start walking. We pass a McDonald's, where a few of us suggest we just go to. It, of course, is crowded as well, just as any place at that time was, but we figured it would go faster. People brush off that idea, too. Cool. so we keep walking. Two of the guys with us are from here, and they keep saying there is nothing for at least another eight blocks, but nobody listens. but, some of us (myself included) are just really hungry. The two guys suggest we really just backtrack and go to McDonald's. Our friends tell us we should just split up and call each other when we're leaving. So five of us head in the direction of McDonald's. Me and one of the guys, tired, hungry, and very very hyper, run ahead of the other three and get in line, which is wrapped all the way around the restaurant. We're there for probably ten minutes, and move maybe a foot in line. A foot. That's it. Until a girl from our group pokes her head in and says "we're going to Papa Johns sooo... come if you don't want to get left." So we follow, saying to each other "would Papa Johns really be open at 11:30?"

Let me answer that for you. It's not.

So we walk to Papa Johns and see that it's closed. This is about forty five minutes after we had arrived at Angie's. Then someone goes "we really should just go to A&W. It wasn't that crowded."

Oh sure. NOW everyone agrees. We are the most dysfunctional group of people I have ever met. (don't worry. i still love us.)

So we go to A&W. Me and this guy once again have run ahead of the group so we're the first of our group to order.

Well, I step up to order.... and realize. I left my wallet at home.

I left my wallet at home.

I give the two local boys who are closest to me in line a look of total shock and disappointment and tell one of them to order. The other asks what's wrong, and I say I forgot my wallet. BLESS HIS SOUL, the guy with me offers to pay for mine. I probably legit would have cried. That's how insanely hungry I was, no joke.

A&W by the way, has the most scrumptious food. And if you ever go, you HAVE to get a Freeze. That was my first experience having one, and it is out of this world. Do it. Just go. Quit reading this. And go to A&W. Right now. And have a Freeze. Do it. Just go.

Welcome back! How was it?

So, we go back to the dorms where the two local boys jam out on guitar and sing because they're both so talented it's kind of sick. And the rest of us sit there and enjoy feeling inferior.

All in all, it was a fantastic night. Followed by an overall fantastic weekend.

College really is the best. I have met so many amazing people and friends and I'm so happy I made the decision to come here. I don't think I belong anywhere else. I love my Aggies. I love Logan, and I just love life. It really is just the best, no?

Let's end on a really good note here:

Show me a Scotsman who doesn't love the thistle. 
Show me an Englishman who doesn't love the rose. 
Show me a true-blooded Aggie from Utah 
Who doesn't love the spot (clap clap) 
Where the sagebrush growwwwwwssssss. 

GO AGGIES!

Peace 

~just megsie