And besides the fact that I’m particularly determined to birth a house full of girls just. like. this. I have also decided that I would like a personal hype-girl. Like, a full-time personal hype-girl. Wouldn’t that be totally awesome? Someone to just follow you around, giving you the confidence you need to be you and do those things that you really want to do?

The thing is … I realized this week that I have hype-peeps all around me. Ever since I announced my magazine launch I’ve begun receiving emails and comments and phone calls and text messages at exactly the right moment to keep me going. I’ve heard from people I haven’t heard from in years!-offering ideas and help or just simple support and encouragement.

And I can see that these things, these miraculous moments of “hype,” are full of providence and grace.

But this idea of “hype” is something I’ve actually been thinking about for a while. Although maybe not in that exact term.

Earlier this year I was talking with a friend about being a “champion” for the people around us.

And I think that in my obituary someday, I would like it to mention (among the other good deeds and charming particularities I was known for, of course) that I was just that–a champion for those around me.

That I cheered people on. That I encouraged. That I reinforced. That I complimented. That I was, in essence, a hype-girl to every person I met.

I think sometimes we’re so quick to come up with reasons why people shouldn’t do things, or why such-and-such won’t work, or why so-and-so would never be able to do whatever it is he/she has conjured up. But how different the world might be if we simply beamed with belief that they can, and should, do what it is they want to do, no matter how seemingly impossible. How many  more goals might be accomplished, businesses started, inventions invented, oceans crossed, and dreams realized, if we said, “That is awesome! How can I help you?!” instead of “Are you sure?”

So. I guess what I’m saying is that I’d like to offer my services. As your personal hype-girl. I believe in you (wherever you are). I really do. And I know you can.

Whatever it is. I know you can.

And … you know … If anyone is interested in becoming my full-time hype-girl, I’ll be accepting applications via email.

There’s an episode of Grey’s Anatomy where Cristina says to Meredith, “Mer, why do you care what I think?” And Meredith looks at her and says, “Because. You’re my person.”

In another episode Cristina, speaking of Meredith, says, “She’s my person. If I murdered someone, she’s the person I’d call to help me drag the corpse across the living room floor. … She’s my person.”

I get that.

I totally get that.

Cuz Frit’s my person.

She has my back. Always.

And I have hers.

Always.

And I hate being away from her.

So. Leaving sucked.

But there are still some things for me here on the Island.

Still some things I need to figure out.

Still some things I need to unearth.

Still some things I need to dedicate myself to.

And so I’m back.

For Part II of my Island Summer.

We sat on the sidewalk at an umbrella’ed table and reveled in the wholly spiritual experience of Bruge’s Liege waffles with creme fraiche, strawberries, and drizzled Belgian chocolate. We talked–catching up on lives, crying some, and laughing more. Tiny little birds jumped around, fluttering here and there–from the table to the chairs, then onto the sidewalk and back to the chairs, only to repeat their path again and again–jumping for joy at the promise of a new day.

After filling our bellies with wonder I pointed her toward the park across the street. “I’m taking your picture today. You need a better picture than the one you took with your cell phone in the bathroom mirror.”

I wanted to give her proof of exactly who she is becoming. See, Laurel is running her first half marathon in three weeks. And in the process, she is changing her body, and her mind. I guess you could say they are just catching up with her spirit.

When I look at these pictures, I see a woman who is sure. A woman who is fierce. A woman who is confident. A woman who is beautiful. A woman who is believing.

But above all else, I see a woman who is a finisher.

To read about her becoming and to cheer her on, click here.

A few texts later, it was decided–I would be flying to San Fransisco that weekend for a 24-hour whirlwind of adventure, fun, and memories.

Saturday morning I tipped my hat to the frigid desert and within one hour landed smack dab in middle of the warm, golden Bay. Invigorated by the bustle of city life and sunshine, we mazed through traffic and trolleys and found ourselves in a line a block long for what promised to be the most delicious brunch I’d had in my life. “Delicious” didn’t even come close.

We started with cake. Yes, cake. With frosting divine. And from there, moved on to banana bread masquerading as french toast and jam-slathered sandwiches. How had I never eaten a Monte Cristo before now?, I kept asking myself. If I was on death row, I decided, a Monte Cristo is what I would eat for my final meal. My mouth was so happy it cried.

We left the cafe with stomachs as round and happy as the yellow ball in the sky. The beautiful thing about a city of never-ending hills and horrible parking options is that you can eat like that and think nothing of it. And we didn’t. The only thing to think about was what to do next.

The wharf? The shopping district? We’d both been there, done that and wanted something new. Within ten minutes we were northbound headed for a sleepy beach off the coastal highway. Sunroof open, the heat poured in and the wind rushed past. The rolling hills and sweeping fields filled me to the brim with green.

Two hours later we were standing on the sand staring into the fog, the wicked ocean air whipping past our faces and through our hair with exfoliating fury. Waves crashed, culling the sandy shore and building it back up again. We laughed and breathed, filling our lungs with the salty sea–a preservative for the soul. All too soon, it was time to return. The city was calling–promising a glittery night of music and lights.

But not before we stopped again for food. If I didn’t know it before, I know it now. I love dining. I love the linens and the silver. I love the sound of clinking glass and the hum of conversation that rises above the tables, wafting through the room like the scent of herbs from the kitchen. I love the total body nourishment of sharing a meal with a friend. Food, quite complexly, is good for the heart.

We arrived at the hotel with no time to spare–silk and sequins spilling out from our suitcases. A quick turn in the mirror and we were ready to go. We floated down twenty-two floors to the lobby, through the glass doors held open by a suited doorman, and into a shiny black taxi with the softest leather seats.

Twenty minutes later we were sitting high in velvet chairs as the lights dimmed and the conductor took the stage. A handsome French cellist pulled his bow across a 300-year-old instrument–the sound, rich and full, lifted, seeking, filling the darkest corners of the hall. It was stunning. He was stunning.

The second act, Berlioz’s Symphonie Fantastique, was exactly that–fantastique. I was awed at the music and couldn’t help but wonder at how the symphony moved. It was a visual feast as much as it was auditory. Each instrument its own entity, but collectively they became this living organism. The bows of the strings, the mallets of the timpani, the sliding arms of the trombones–it was as if, with every note, they were a lung breathing air, and in the process, pushing oxygen into us. By the end of the fifth movement the aliveness of the audience was palpable and at the last note it erupted like a volcano into applause and bravos. Five curtain calls later, we were still clapping.

As we left the gilded glass hall, the night air was brisk and busy, filled with the stars of the city–headlights, traffic lights, and sparkling skyscrapers. We hailed a taxi–a first for me, and an exciting one at that–and our driver dropped us off on a corner in Union Square where we ordered desserts to go and walked back to our hotel. Heels off and nylons strewn, I slowly lifted fork to mouth, savoring every sweet crumb of the mango key-lime dream I held in front of me as I sank into a cloud of a bed.

“I want this day to be a vacation for the senses,” I’d told her earlier that morning. “I want to see beautiful things, and taste beautiful things. I want to hear, touch and smell beauty.” I’d no idea how the day would deliver. And deliver it did. Every molecule of every minute was filled with gorgeous life. And as I balanced on the precipice of a new day, I found myself happy. So very happy. And so very very full.

—

Don’t take one thing for granted.

Adore your husband and children.

Make a batch of chocolate chip cookies from scratch every week.

Marry a man who “doesn’t bug” you.

Wear hats.

Sit in the sun for a few minutes every day.

Laugh often.

Smile always.

Romantic comedies are always the best choice.

It’s okay to cry, even when you’ve got to be tough.

Call your friends, even the ones you haven’t spoken to in years.

Live with grace, always.

Take lots of pictures.

Send notes.

Wear pajamas to the movie theater.

Having faith doesn’t mean it will always turn out how you hope right now, but that it will all be right in the end.

The end isn’t really the end.

—

Catie, the first friend I met in the dorms my freshman year of college, passed away this past February after a battle with cancer. She was 30. The disease was painful and the fight was long. And though it was hard, Catie held her kind and gentle grace (with a side of wit and humor). She is survived by her husband and three small children.

Her life, and her death, changed me. I will never forget watching the red Tennessee dirt crumbling over her casket. We stood, huddled and trembling, shuddering from the cold–and the loss–tears streaming, eyes burning, missing our friend. But knowing. We will see her again.

More about Catie …

To leave your thoughts, simply scroll down. To read more #reverb10 posts, click here.

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Sept. 9, 2010

Dearest Cookie (a.k.a. Frit),
Did you realize that the last day of Summer is this month? Well, it is. The 21st of September to be exact. And so I propose … a dress up dinner party hostessed by toi et moi (that’s “you and me” in French. I learned that the other day when I was watching my French subtitled movie from Netflix On Demand). A “Farewell to Summer” dinner party if you will.
What do you think? Invite 4 ladies, dresses required, and fancy to boot?
Fondly,
Kristafer

The reply to which, was:

Dear Cookie. Stop.

Though I am saddened to hear that summer will be departing, I think a dinner party in honor of the warm days is a splendid idea.

Sincerely. Cordially. And affectionately.

Frit

(Sidenote: I illustrated the banner on our invitations which you are free to download here if you would like use it in the future. Simply paste into a Word document or other editing program, type in your party info, and print. *Remember–it’s for personal use only. Please do not sell my illustration or anything made from my illustration. Stealing makes me sad.)

As for place settings, I used large white dinner plates, chartreuse linen napkins with silverware to the sides (knife and spoon on the right, fork on the left … in case you wondered), beveled glass bowls for the dinner rolls, stemmed glasses for iced water and mason jars for lemonade. It was summer casual meets simple elegance.

On the menu we had:

The hot summer wind blew down from the eastern mountains and swirled around us, coaxing us into an eddy of music and memories. I looked at Lise and our eyes met. We stayed there, held in gaze for no more than a few seconds, but a world passed between us. I rested my head on the back of my chair, wishing everyone could have been here, and let my eyes fall with one deep breath. I missed this. I missed them. And here, tonight, with the laughter and the music and the conversation–oh the conversation–I couldn’t help but dive into an ocean of sweet contentment.

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It’s sunny today. I reminds me of that morning when we first met–you and Alison walking on the sidewalk by the dorms. And it reminds me of you. If I had to pick a color that said, “Catie,” it would be  yellow.

I’m still in my pajamas, my hair in a big knotted ball on top of my head. It reminds me of those Friday nights junior year that we’d go to the dollar theater wearing our pajama bottoms and BYU sweatshirts for the midnight movie.

[Me, Alison, You, Mandy, Emily]

Beside me sits my scrapbook from freshman year. I’ve been thumbing through it all morning. Remember the Halloween dance we went to? I went as a mom with curlers, bathrobe, and green mask on my face. Yeah the fellas were all over me, let me tell you. And you went as my baby? You had pigtails, wore an adult onesie, sucked on a pacifier and everything.

[You, Alison, Me, Kassie, Camille]

Oh and remember white trash registration night? :) Why did we do that again? And lyrcra leg fights? Mandy and Em were the champs. And then there was that time we had a Chinese party in my room. Our little group ate $80 worth of Chinese food. And afterwards we lined up the mattresses and did tumbling passes. We definitely came up with the weirdest things to do to pass the time when we were 18. It was so fun though. :) Oh! And our Christmas picture for our families:

[Top to bottom, left to right: Em, Lizzie, Me, Mand, You, Kassie, Camille, Alison]

That was also the Christmas we all put out “barf bags” just outside our dorm room doors. Remember? So we could leave each other love notes and goodies? I still have my note from you. It says: Krista, Hi! You are way too cute and always make me smile! Good luck on all your finals. You’ll do GREAT!! I’m taking you up on that visit to Hilton Head!! [heart], Catie.

Catie, did you know that you always make me smile? Even through the tears and mascara that have stained my face this morning. I’m still smiling … because I’m thinking of you. Thinking of how you were my first friend at college. Thinking of Tuesday devotionals and Tunnel Singing. Thinking of our long talks and walks to campus. Thinking of all the letters we wrote on our missions and phone calls exchanged while you were dating Steve. Thinking of your perpetual smile and beautiful face. Thinking of the freshman girl reunion we organized at your house in California. Thinking of how grateful I am that we got to visit one last time last summer. Thinking of the way our friendship, and your life, has changed me.

[Katie, Me, You (and your Mary), Em, Mand (and her Maddie). I love that we're holding hands.]

I can’t help but think about how all of us girls were “randomly” assigned to Deseret Towers T-hall 2nd floor. And how it wasn’t really random. How we’ve all been through finals and first apartments and pans of brownies and learning Em’s dance routines in the living room and misunderstandings and boys and missions and men and marriages and babies and careers together, and now this. How could we have known at 18 what life would bring twelve years later? Would we have done anything differently? I think I would’ve tried harder to get everyone together more often. I think I would’ve said, “I love you” more.

[Our last ward prayer before Sophomore year]

I’m pretty sure you know how much we all love you. Actually, I’m certain you do. And I hope you know how much we miss you. Already. Mandy called this morning to tell me. And we cried. Sobbed together really. I could hear her little George through the phone say, “Mommy I don’t want you to cry anymore.” And we laughed, but we couldn’t stop. Neither of us said much. We just cried.

[Just one more of you and your Mary.]

Catie, I don’t really know what to say. I just want you to know. To know that those of us who knew you before the cancer, will never forget the vibrant, bright, life-filled woman you were and now get to be again. And we’ll make sure your babies know who you were. We’ll make sure they know how funny you were. We’ll make sure they know how good and kind you were to everyone. We’ll make sure they know what a great missionary you were and how much you loved Steve. And we’ll make sure they knew the little things too, like how you’d pull your eye-brows out when you were studying hard, how much you loved your momma’s red-eye gravy, and how you’d talk incessantly during movies. We’ll make sure they know that you played a mean fiddle, that you were full of life and laughter. And we’ll make sure they know how much you loved them. We’ll wrap ‘em up as if they were our own and make sure. Promise.

Oh and Catie? I love you.

… I’ll be seeing you.

[You and me]