Krista Maurer

For Catie

Posted on February 22, 2010 by Krista

[You and your Mary, right after a kiss]

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]

Oh, The Places You’ll Go. Oh, The Places I’ve Been.

Posted on February 17, 2010 by Krista

When I was at home over the Christmas holiday, I began digging through boxes and drawers and browsing the shelves of my old room. Not much has changed since I lived there twelve years ago, which is one of the things I love about my mom. Our rooms are still our rooms and remain “as they were” when we three girls lived in them, although she has commandeered part of my room to use for furniture storage.

My swimming trophies and Care Bears still line the top shelf, my toe shoes on the shelf just below. My desk drawers are filled with the notes and letters of my adolescence, yellowed newspaper clippings and office supplies (I had an addiction even then). My jewelry box is still stuffed with handmade earrings, covered in gems and jewels, too big and neon for anyone’s good–a collection even Cyndi Lauper would envy. On the wall is the plaque I received for the highest academic average in AP History my senior year. And next to that is the plaque for the 1997 Citizenship Award from Hilton Head Preparatory. Behind my dresser is my art portfolio with every painting, pencil sketch, and pastel drawing since my first art class at age 8. Just outside my door are my awards for completing all four years of early-morning Seminary with 100% attendance. And next to those, framed in gold, is my acceptance letter to BYU. To the right of my bed is the nightstand that held my bubble-gum pink stereo, the stereo on which I would record radio shows onto cassette tapes so I could play and replay my favorite songs.

In fact I remember one morning. It was about 5:30 a.m. and I was getting ready for Seminary. I had the radio dialed in to the country station because although I’d not liked country music until then, Carlton Elliott (who I had a big fat crush on) liked country music and I needed something to talk to him about, so I forced myself to listen to it until I did (ay ya yai, the things we do when we’re 15 and like a boy!). So anyways, it was about 5:30 a.m. and the song “Please Don’t Take the Girl” by Tim McGraw came on for the first time and my tender 15-year-old heart couldn’t take it. I sat at the edge of my bed, my dim lamp barely making a dent in the dark of morning, crying my little eyes out over that three-and-a-half minute love story, willing God (right along with Tim) to not “take the girl.”

To the left of my bed sit my “missionary shoes,” duct taped and superglued, with holes in the soles and only half a heel left on each shoe. And sitting beside the shoes, stacked in chronological order, are my yearbooks.

I was never “popular” by any means. At least not after 6th grade when Adam Schwartz and I broke up. We’d been “the” couple ever since 4th grade, and with that came some measure of popularity. Actually, come to think of it, it was Brian Hollingsworth who called “on behalf of Adam” to ask if I wanted to “go out” with him. Mind you we never talked to each other, let alone “went out” anywhere, at least not that first year. But like I said, I wasn’t “popular” in the traditional I’m-ultra-cool-and-everyone-wants-to-be-like-me way. But I was friendly and I knew everyone. And everyone knew me. (Is that a correct assessment Meghan? I think you’re the only person from grade/high school that reads my blog.)

So anyways, over Christmas I spent the better part of an afternoon flipping the pages of each book. Scanning the faces. Reliving memories I’d almost forgotten. Remembering friends, and boys I was certain I “loved.” Feeling the flood of emotion that inevitably comes when you swim through any sort of reminiscense. Thinking about who I was. And who I am. Where I’ve been. And where I’m going.

I could see my personality taking shape even in my round 10-year-old face. I could see my life path being laid with every accomplishment and honor of high school. And I could see the truth in the scripture, wherein God says, “Verily, verily, I say unto thee, blessed art thou for what thou hast done; for thou hast inquired of me, and behold, as often as thou hast inquired thou hast received instruction of my Spirit. If it had not been so, thou wouldst not have come to the place where thou art at this time.”

I need to get back to that place. That place where I inquired more. Where I counseled more with the heavens. Because if I’m going to get where I’m going, I need that instruction. I need that guidance. I need the assurance that I’m in the right place at the right time today, so that tomorrow I can say the same.

***

This photo is for you Meghan. I do love it so. A seriously fantastic signature. Definitely the most creative one from 6th grade. :)

I’m as GIDDY AS A 10-YEAR-OLD

Posted on November 13, 2008 by Krista

Do you know why?! BECAUSE I AM GOING TO SEE NEW KIDS ON THE BLOCK ON SATURDAY NIGHT!!!!!!! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

For my 11th birthday my mom spent DAYS trying to find a ticket to their concert but they were completely sold out. So instead I got a(nother!) poster and the VHS of all their music videos and tour footage. It wasn’t tickets, but when I opened it, I screamed like I was AT the concert. I was so excited! We watched that video over and over and over and over. I had ALL the posters BOP Magazine ever printed on my wall. In fact, when we evacuated for Hurricane Hugo in 1989 my mom told me to gather my precious belongings to take with me. You know what I took? My scriptures and all my posters of New Kids on The Block, which I tucked safely in my Jams-style fabric trapper keeper. And in 6th grade when it wasn’t “cool” to like them anymore, I still did. And I secretly listened to their music. I remember having to say out loud that they weren’t cool (so I could be) and inside I was totally crying. Ha ha.

Now, 20 years later … I AM GOING TO THEIR CONCERT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Finally! I will scream, sway, dance, and maybe even cry. I’ll probably buy a t-shirt too. Ohmigosh. I seriously can’t even wait.

And to Rox, who had an extra ticket and thought to invite me?! Roxy I LOVE YOU! You are the best in the whole wide world and I will ever be in debt to you.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! I’M GOING TO SEE NEW KIDS ON THE BLOCK ON SATURDAY!

Tell me: Who musical group from your childhood would you be *this* excited to see today?

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It’s Friday, I’m in Love!: Vanilla Honey Bee Ice-Cream

Posted on August 15, 2008 by Krista

When I was a little girl, my mom was a health-nut. At least outwardly she was a health-nut. I think she’s secretly had a bag of m&m’s and a pack of Necco’s in her purse since 1960, even when she was grinding wheat and meat and telling people not to give her kids candy.

The health-nut phase only lasted a few years, but the damage had been done. By the age of five, I found myself in the midst of a love affair … the kind of love affair most children have with lollipops and cookies. But I knew nothing of sugar. All I knew was that every morning my dad gave me a bowl of Cheerios and I’d watch, wide-eyed with hungry anticipation, as he drizzled a spoonful of golden sweetness on top. Honey, I was certain, was where it was at.

In a house devoid of ice-creams and cakes, honey seemed decadent. It seemed too good to be true. It was all I knew of the saccharine side of life. And I loved it. Oh, did I love it. Like little children who steal cookies from the cookie jar every time mother leaves the kitchen, I took advantage of every private moment with that plastic honey bear who sat on top of the fridge and held a world of salivary bliss in his round little belly.

In fact I can clearly see myself around the age of 7, casually getting up from a family night with the Cosby’s, to go to the “bathroom,” and sneaking my way to the kitchen, only to climb on a chair to retrieve the honey bear, wedging myself in between the fridge and counter (so no one would me see of course), and guzzling the honey. I probably squeezed half the jar into my mouth.

So of course, when Haagan-Dazs, decided to create an ice-cream flavor solely dedicated to this most delicious nectar, I was first in line to buy my pint, along with an extra honey bear for drizzling on top. (Like I said, mom’s heath-nut phase only lasted so long and we Maurer girls have since been well-educated on the merits of refined sugar and high-fructose corn syrup.)

Well, here I am. Multiple pints later and I must say … I feel like I’m 7 again, sneaking something that tastes too delicious to be good for you. Yep that’s right. I am certain this pint of Haagan-Dazs Vanilla Honey Bee I’m eating is good for me. For two reasons. #1. It’s made with honey. Honey is good for you. It is. Really. And #2. For every pint I buy, Haagan-Dazs donates money to fund research to protect disappearing bee populations.

Disappearing bee populations?! You’re telling me there could be a day when there might not be any more honey?! That can’t happen! I love honey! I could drink honey! I do drink honey! And so I commit: I will buy as much Haagan-Dazs Vanilla Honey Bee ice-cream as I need to. If I have to eat a pint a day. I will do it. I will do it for the bees. You have my word.

Tell me: Do you have a sweet tooth? If so, what’s your pleasure?

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You Have Sisters

Posted on July 25, 2008 by Krista

I have a hilarious story about how my roommate and I got stuck in the elevator at work last night ☺ … but that’s a post for another time. Today I have to, need to, want to share a story about my sisters.

I have two amazing younger sisters. One, who at times can be the most difficult person you’ve ever met, can also be the most loving, caring, and sensitive. She’s a fighter. A scrapper. And always a friend to the underdog. She’s climbed mountains in this life. Rugged and steep. And she always makes it to the top, no matter how long it takes. I admire her. And I look up to her.

The other is our baby. And that’s what we call her. And for the most part, that’s what we’ve always seen her as. But today, my baby sister had to do a really hard thing. It may have even been the hardest thing she’s ever had to do in her life to date. And while it’s utterly impossible to love her more than I already did, I’ve perhaps never been more proud of her. Today I saw her for the woman she has become. And what an amazing woman that is.

Now for the story … A few months back, the three of us went to the Colbie Caillat concert here in Salt Lake. We were so excited about it and I was particularly thrilled to be going with my girls. We arrived early so we’d get good seats and waited through the openers. After the first act, they announced the second – Trevor Hall. The name sounded familiar to us, but we didn’t think twice about it until he came on and Kaycie (our baby) screamed “Ohmigosh, it’s Trevor Hall!” He and Kaycie had gone to school together back in South Carolina. Actually we’d all gone to school together but he and Kaycie had been in the same grade.

My sisters and I all went to a private school that included grades 2 through 12, so although Kaycie was age 10 and in 4th grade when I graduated, we were in the same school. And we loved that. Even when “we” (i.e Karly and Kaycie, or Karly and I, never Kaycie and I) fought, like siblings do, we were always super close. And going to the same school, I think, gave us each, particularly Kayc, a measure of security. If something went wrong, we knew we could find our sisters. And we were really quite an anomaly. Most of the other siblings we went to school with were definitely not as close or as nice to each other. I even remember Kaycie saying one day how her friends thought it was “so cool” that her older sisters were so nice to her and included her and hugged her in the halls. But we never thought much about it. That’s just how it was for us.

So anyways, back to the concert. Trevor finished his set (’twas fabulous). Colbie came on (’twas seriously fabulous). And after the show we waited around to say hi. When the lines finally died down and Kaycie could get up to the table, she said, “You probably don’t remember me, but we went to school together …” and as she was finishing her sentence his eyes lit up and despite the fact that he was higher than a kite, he said, “Ohmigosh!” He recognized her and then added, “You have sisters!”

We all laughed and she said, “yeah they’re here!” And Karly and I waved. It was a seemingly funny thing for him to blurt out at that moment – “you have sisters!” But over the last little while I’ve thought a lot about his reaction. I’ve thought of all the things he could have said at that moment. Of all the memories from grade school he and Kaycie shared. But of all those things, the one thing he remembered about Kaycie was that she had sisters. And I love that. To me it says we three Maurer girls are “tight.” It says that the people around us know what, and more importantly, who, is most important to us. I love my girls and I love knowing that each of us has two cheerleaders in our corner no matter what. And I’m glad THAT is what people remember about us.

Kayc … I know you know that we love you most. But today especially, I hope you’ll remember that “You have sisters.” I can only imagine how your heart must hurt. I can only imagine the number of tears you’ve cried. But you are one amazing little woman. One amazing little baby. ☺ Kar and I are here. Your cheerleaders. Your safe place. You have sisters and I couldn’t be more grateful to be yours, especially today.

Tell me: Do you have siblings? What do you love about them?

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My Island Home

Posted on July 8, 2008 by Krista

I come from an enchanted island, and thus had an enchanting childhood. Surrounded by the Atlantic and kept from the mainland only by a wildlife refuge and a pair of bridges, it was a place I clamored to escape as a teenager. But now, with my rearview in focus, I see the dream-world I grew up in.

Come. Sit with me … you in your rocking chair and I in mine, and I will tell you of these dreams over a tall glass of lemonade. Close your eyes. Drink the heat. A symphony of crickets and frogs will serenade, and these stories of oceans and skies will rest between us like the glistening air on your skin.

***

I am five. Maybe six. Sunbeams stream through a canopy of oaks kissing everything golden. My bony legs step lightly on the dusty path, fighting the urge to run. I don’t like getting dirt in my shoes. The dock is behind me and the red barn as tall as the pines surrounding just ahead. I look down at my left elbow and run my fingers gently over a little brown birthmark. It reminds me of her, and her name. Again I fight the urge to run. I know she is waiting.

Big, and black, and beautiful, with a lap you could get lost in, Bertha is there just like she always is with my special plate. The same plate she always sets aside just for me. Extra cornbread. She knows it’s my favorite. I eat every crumb. There in the bigness, and safety, of her lap.

***

I am eleven. Leah is my best friend because we both love to paint. Today we decide to sneak through the fence and explore under the bridge. The woods don’t seem as treacherous now that we’re eleven. Tiny drops of sweat trickle down the middle of my back. Finally we make it to the bridge and the water passes in and out over our toes.

All afternoon we pace up and down the shore, combing the broken oysters for jewels. We laugh, and talk the way only eleven-year-old girls can. The world speeds by in cars overhead and time wouldn’t exist if it weren’t for our stomachs. Dinner will be ready soon, so with sun-pinkened noses we head for home. Running fast, holding tight to my treasures, this has been the best day of the summer. I have a jar full of shark teeth and mermaid fingernails.

***

I am twenty-one. Standing beside my dad. We’re on Bertha’s island again – but she’s not here anymore. I secretly wish for her cornbread. Behind us streams the chatter and laughter from the barn. This place is a novelty to them, the tourists. An island lost in time. But for us … it’s the essence of our home.

Flaming orange, the sun shoots blazing pink heat across the sky as it disappears into the sea. Seagulls fly overhead and a pair of dolphin swim lazily in the Sound. Fiddler crabs scurry underneath a warped dock and to our left an oak tree dripping with Spanish Moss reaches her bony fingers out over the marsh.

“This is what you’ll miss when you’re gone,” he finally says.

He was right.

Tell me: What memories do you have of your home or childhood?

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