There’s a song by Cross Canadian Ragweed called ‘Sick and Tired.’ Favorite part of the song: “Well, memories, they’re over-rated. All they do is get you down & frustrated, and who needs that on their back?” I’m not big on looking in on the past. I have a box of journals that I’ve kept, and they date back from elementary school. I’ve opened this box (maybe) twice in the past few years. Unless I’m certain that reminiscing will bring only good feelings, I don’t do it. Usually, you’ll only find me reminiscing deeply over a nice mixed drink and Marlboro Light; just in case a memory brings up a sore spot.
Anyhow. Last night I decided that I was going to go strolling through memory lane and take the 50 minute drive to Farmersville; but I went sober and could not smoke in the car because Landon. (I was not armed like I would have liked to be.) But this was the first place I ever lived outside of my father’s house. I was only 17, and Drew being 19, when we moved out there. It was where it all started.
It was a gorgeous house; just needed a lot of work. It sat on 10 acres of land and it was surrounded by absolutely.. nothing. It had terrible red carpet in the bathroom. The taste of the water made me gag. The carpet was stained and old. The walls were that wood look. But. It had beautiful French backdoors. Wood floors in our huge bedroom. It was quiet. And, for the time being, it was ours.
It was such a simple, peaceful time in our lives. Maybe peaceful isn’t the correct word: there was a lot of struggle in there. We were young and dumb. We fought over stupid things [like we do now. Time doesn’t change everything]. We had to learn hard lessons, together. We struggled to stay on our feet and keep our heads above water. For a while, it seemed like nothing was ever going to go our way. But, nonetheless, we did it all together.
The house Drew lost his best friend, Ice. That’s the house we lived in as a newly engaged couple. And most importantly, that’s the house where we learned that we were going to have a little man be joining our lives.
Either way. Sometimes it’s not bad to go just let go of your mind and let it visit the past. I would have let my mind stay there all day [if I didn't have a hungry husband in the driver seat and an ansy one year old in the back]. Your past is what makes you who you are. When your lost, maybe the only way to find yourself is going back; remembering how you got to where you are. I think for me, it's about time to open that box of journals.
Anyhow. Last night I decided that I was going to go strolling through memory lane and take the 50 minute drive to Farmersville; but I went sober and could not smoke in the car because Landon. (I was not armed like I would have liked to be.) But this was the first place I ever lived outside of my father’s house. I was only 17, and Drew being 19, when we moved out there. It was where it all started.
It was a gorgeous house; just needed a lot of work. It sat on 10 acres of land and it was surrounded by absolutely.. nothing. It had terrible red carpet in the bathroom. The taste of the water made me gag. The carpet was stained and old. The walls were that wood look. But. It had beautiful French backdoors. Wood floors in our huge bedroom. It was quiet. And, for the time being, it was ours.
It was such a simple, peaceful time in our lives. Maybe peaceful isn’t the correct word: there was a lot of struggle in there. We were young and dumb. We fought over stupid things [like we do now. Time doesn’t change everything]. We had to learn hard lessons, together. We struggled to stay on our feet and keep our heads above water. For a while, it seemed like nothing was ever going to go our way. But, nonetheless, we did it all together.
The house Drew lost his best friend, Ice. That’s the house we lived in as a newly engaged couple. And most importantly, that’s the house where we learned that we were going to have a little man be joining our lives.
Either way. Sometimes it’s not bad to go just let go of your mind and let it visit the past. I would have let my mind stay there all day [if I didn't have a hungry husband in the driver seat and an ansy one year old in the back]. Your past is what makes you who you are. When your lost, maybe the only way to find yourself is going back; remembering how you got to where you are. I think for me, it's about time to open that box of journals.
The first weekend living there.
Our American Bulldog, Colbie. We had to sell her when we moved.
[I was pregnant in these pictures-not just fat.]
After a day of hiking in the mud.
Us.
& the day we found out I was pregnant.
[Look how young we looked. Whoa.]
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