Living

Sometimes I have a lot to say.  I'll write draft after draft and continue to revise them until they are "perfect."  I can think of 3 that are waiting for perfection right now.  Other times I have little to say, but a lot of living to do.  It's been one of those weeks.  Here are a few snap shots of my favorite moments.

*Why buy your kids toys when all they really need is their imaginations and a big box?   Seriously.  They played with this thing more than any of their toys.*

On that note, hope y'all have a fabulous week.  I'll be back with more words soon.

The End of an Era

 9 years ago, this month, a chance meeting at a bar changed my life forever.

Even though said bar moved locations and another bar took its place, I have always felt a special connection to the place that housed some of my favorite, magical, first memories with Wes.

I am sad to report that the International Market Place is being torn down.  (don't even get me started about how having a Saks Fifth Avenue put up in its place makes me really feel, but  THIS article really sums that up for me)

I know that memories live in our hearts, but the reality that such a life changing place in my life is being destroyed breaks my heart.  I kept staring that that article over and over again, thinking of all the adventures at the Dawg House (popularly known as the Dizzle to the people we partied with), Bobby G's next door, the infamous koi pond and times we spent gallivanting through the Market Place during the years we lived in Honolulu.  I am sad.  So sad that tears form every time I think of not being able to go back there.

My kids are sitting next to me on the couch as I type this.  I can't help but think that they wouldn't exist if not for that night in the International Market Place when I met their Dad almost a decade ago. 

I am known for being very sentimental and for my attachments to things, people and places.  It's hard for me to let go.  I just always assumed we would go back, but it's been almost 8 years since we moved away and we have yet to have that opportunity.  I wish I had that chance to smile and laugh while we remember our beginnings and show the kids where we first met and fell in love only to have them roll their eyes at us and our sentimentality.

I also wish other people had the chance to meet and fall in love and create the kinds of memories we were lucky enough to experience.  Ever since I was a little girl Waikiki always felt like a magical place full of promise and possibility.  I feel sad for the people who will never know that Waikiki and especially for those who will never experience the International Market Place in all its real glory.  So here's to you International Market Place.  Thank you for the memories, they will forever live in my heart.

I wrote him a letter

Revisiting something I wrote in the beginning of September...

I wrote him a letter... about the heat and the Blackberry Festival I took the kids to.  I asked them if they wanted to say hi.  Ayden, as usual said no.  I write that his nephew says hi anyway.  Rayne is finally beginning to really talk.  "What doing?" she says as her big doll eyes look at me intently.  "Writing to Uncle Julien." I respond.  "Uncle Julien." She repeats.  But she will never know what this really means.

"What's this?" she asks while looking at my sparkly blue handwritten print.  "Words!" she says before I can answer.  I call her baby even though she is three now and most definitely not a baby.  "Yes, baby.  Words."

She was 15 months old the morning I got the phone call. 

She was 20 months old the afternoon he was charged with negligent homicide.

She was 24 months old the last time she saw him.

She was 27 months old when he accepted the plea bargain.

She was 32 months old when he went to prison.

  "Why crying, Mommy?' she says in her high pitched little voice.  But I don't respond because she is 42 months old now and she will never understand.  Off she runs with Ayden to cause chaos and mischief and I am reminded of the days long gone that Julien and I would play and laugh.  In the days before he grew up and became less interested in his family and more interested in his "friends" and getting high.  When drugs  became his best friend and our laughter in the gray house was all but a memory.

I wrote him a letter about the heat and the Blackberry Festival.  And I hoped it was enough.

Enough to know that we love him.

Enough to keep him sober.

Enough to remind him of the love and the laughter in that gray house.

Enough to be more than just a memory.