Black People Don't Swim

This is a realization I had today while Sam and I were at the beach (here we have Sam at the beach). There seems to be a healthy population of black people in California, but the proportion of black people you see at the beach isn't exactly high. Today we saw one black man. The rest were beautifully fit and robust white young folk and a handful of hispanics.

The week of my wedding, my brother, Jack, who pretty much only hangs out with black people since he lives in Georgia now, just mentioned in conversation that "black people don't swim." Flashback! I'd only been to the beach with my family once when I was five. We were here in Cali to visit Disneyland and the beach. But my dad never . . . swam. He didn't even own swim trunks for most of my life. He came with us to the pool, to Typhoon Lagoon, or to the beach, but I have 0 memories of my dad, who is black, swimming or immersing himself in water. My mom, who's Korean, did swim with us; for example, she scooped the vomit out of the wavepool when I lost my lunch, which I remember as the pinnacle of motherly love.

Yesterday Sam and I went swimming at the outdoor pool outside our complex for the first time. I was the one who suggested it, but after repeatedly dipping my big toe in and having these awful recollections of freezing my limbs off in the last hellishly cold and long Utah winter (does anyone else feel that way about the cold? I even grew up in Colorado)--I just stood there at the edge of the pool for maybe ten minutes wringing my hands together. Sam even pretended like he was drowning (several times) to see if I'd get in the water. No go.

I admit I have a fear of drowning and of water in general--lakes and oceans scare me to death. I went snorkeling in the Great Barrier Reef once and it was the most frightening experience of my life, I think--I swam over a giant clam with my head above the water in the shallows, and when I looked down I started shrieking into my snorkel (see below and experience a similar response). My leg was just hovering over it--they said it'd close if I touched it. I'm also scared of fish. I like to eat them, but I don't like to be in water with them. Basically, like I said, I'm scared of water.





















There's a third and very important factor that contributes to this reluctance and anxiety involved with immersing myself (beyond hatred of cold and the depth), which could be the subject of an entire book. I've actually considered and written the intro to a memoir entirely devoted to the story of my hair--a very long story. As a half asian/black Blasian, of the three children in my family, I'm the only one who inherited the unadulterated fro. Jack has pretty straight hair and Janet has the ever-so-coveted ringlets. My dad used to make me get my hair relaxed, which I have since I was 6. Chemical straightening--usually involving lye that burns your scalp, even to the point of bleeding if you're not careful. I had this done routinely between ages 6 and 17, and let my hair grow out naturally until about 2 months ago when I finally gave in and had my hair done before the wedding. I never realized how grateful I would be to have relaxed hair again. It's still curly, but it's not... a fro. But what am I getting at? That's a completely different story.

Let me put it this way. If you ever live amongst a gaggle of modern black women, you will find that they wash their hair maybe once every 1-2 weeks, unless they have braids/dreads and then maybe they just won't wash it at all, and when you wash, it's a big deal--the process of washing and redoing one's hair may take up to 3 hours depending on the girl. When I straighten my hair, then, I usually wash once a week.

This is the product my mom used to use when she did my hair in elementary school.

So, if you're in New York on a rainy day, you'll notice the black women will go through great lengths to keep their hair from coming in contact with any moisture. So do I. After getting my hair relaxed in high school, I even got a note from my dad to get out of swimming in P.E. because you can't just swim whenever you want after getting a $60-$80 dollar perm. It's cheaper if you do it yourself, which I definitely don't and probably never will. Tricky business!

Anyway, this third factor contributes to the hypothesis that, mmmmm hm, black people don't swim. But I am proud to say, after about 15 minutes and much commotion, Sam finally coaxed me out into the ocean today. It was very cold and I wasn't planning to go in until maybe mid July, but I felt very brave, as if I were conquering some weakness in my soul, and I rode the ocean waves for the first time this summer.

We'll see if I ever do it again. At least until next week.

P.S. This is me in my McDonald's uniform on my first day, if you're looking for actual proof of this experiment. That's my DI bike I ride to work . . . I even wear a new helmet we got at Target so I can experience the full effect of dorkification + reliving/coming to terms with the worst of high school self-consciousness. I already have a greater appreciation for my own clothing, our comfortable living situation, Sam's job, and his social/conversational/handsomeness skills. I like being in a clean comfy home with him much more, especially now, than splashing OJ and hot coffee on my hands. But at the same time, I have been much happier here since starting at McDonald's. I love the new friends I'm making and it's actually . . . fun. If you don't believe me, maybe you should try it yourself. Hmph.

McDonald's and Cancer?

Okay, just to clear this one up--
Yes, there is this small mysterious blurb on the nutrition fact poster with regards to cancer . . .
If your curiosity was actually piqued, it's not anything McDonald's adds to their food, but it's a chemical/substance that's produced naturally in foods when you brown them. Sam's heard of it. It's a more recent study, I guess. So, it can be found in browned potatoes, biscuits, etc., but it's like a carbon thing... it just happens when you brown food.

So should you never eat a toasted cheese sandwich or a cookie again, I'm so sorry. Genuinely.

The Rolling Pin

Here it is, in case you were curious: the rolling pin painting I gave Janet as her graduation gift. Terrible enough to be chic.
I started work today--got back from my first morning shift. I'm getting to know the McDonald's menu quite well already. I'm not sure if I'm traumatized or just tired and it's limiting my ability to describe this maidenship franchise voyage, but it was... pretty good! I just worked the register. Made a couple new friends.

The one thing I thought about a lot while I was just standing behind the register all morning was Pilates stance. Ana Caban suggests that if you're waiting in line or standing for a long time, try standing in Pilates stance--you just line up all your bones, tuck in your tummy (activating the Powerhouse), put your heels together, and spread your toes about three inches apart. I tried it out and I have to say I was pretty comfortable.
Besides just ringing people up, I made a lot of coffees. That's about it. Maybe this won't actually provide enough interesting reading material for a blog or a book unless you're interested in the cancer warning posted on the wall behind another display. But if you want to know about that you'll just have to ask me in person.

McDonald's: A Step Down or a Step Up

Hey, we decorated our living room and got these great couches on Craig's List for cheap. The Craig's List market here is awesome! I don't imagine Utah Valley is very promising in that respect.
But onto the more thrilling topic of discussion:

Today I did something that was equally exciting as it was sobering. I'm having trouble explaining myself, so I'm going to try in a series of points. You're going to ask yourself why. You're going to ask me why.

I've been hired at McDonalds.
Yes, it's true--but let me explain! College graduate and newlywed, I have gone out of my way to join the fast food forces. I know it sounds strange! I know it sounds a little too appropriate for a music major! But really, I promise, or at least...I think I'm not crazy.

[Soooo... I actually just finished typing this up in Word and it's like 12 double spaced pages. This will have to be abbreviated . . .]

Basically, here's my reasoning:

Why McDonald's is Good for Me
I can:
1. Get out of the house and make friends.
2. Learn what it's like to work fast food.
3. Learn what kind of people work at McDonald's--if you can't beat 'em, join 'em.
4. Improve and practice my Spanish.
5. Get to know the high schoolers and try to be a good example. Find out what they're doing in their lives, if they're planning to go to college, and what they want to do with their futures. Try to be an inspiration to get an education and not necessarily work at McDonald's afterwards.
6. Overcome my fear of strangers.
7. Allow myself to eat french fries once a week.
8. Watch all the kids really loving their Happy Meals and playing in the Play Place.
9. Know what it's like to clean up after customers like myself.
10. Try to communicate with people across the boundary of the fast food counter.
11. Overcome my intellectual, upper-middle-class-youngest child haughtiness.
12. Improve my work ethic with a non-cushy job.
13. Learn to appreciate food service at all other fast food chains.
14. Learn the inner workings of the McDonald's corporation.
15. Fulfill my Dad's desire that everyone work fast food once in their lives.
16. Make minimum wage and buy things with it.
17. Overcome the feeling that I deserve a snooty job post-university.
18. Realize that I am not defined by what I do, but who I am.
19. Learn to keep a smile on my face for more than 4 hours straight.
20. Obtain very stylish women's Oxford "safety" shoes for $20.
21. Bring home entertaining and thought-provoking stories from work for my husband.
22. Appreciate any job that I have after this.
23. Get discounted value meals.
24. Get some exercise by riding bicycle to work.
25. Say that once in my life I worked at McDonald's.

[The following is the beginning of what turned into a really long "thing" that I'll continue to work on through this summers McDonald adventures.]

Point 1 of . . . 1: Who We Are vs. What We Do

I've been a little spoiled my entire life. I didn't work in high school, although my siblings did. Janet worked at KMart and Jack worked at Chic-fil-a. He rode his bike down and up that long hill to the Chapel Hills Mall and we ate a lot of waffle fries as a family. But me, somehow, as the youngest child, I got out of a lot of Rhodes "requirements." Call me spoiled.

But as far as jobs go, I've always been lucky. I used to think the stars always aligned for me and every job I've sought, I've got. My first job as a BYU freshman was as an artist at the Cannon Center. I decorated for theme days at the cafeteria. I just went in between classes and painted murals, cardboard leprechauns for St. Patty's and cupids for Valentine's. I blew up balloons. I made a huge Hershey Kiss out of chicken wire and cut and tied ribon. It wasn't work at all--I was payed to play, fingerpaint included.

I have to say, I've been getting used to that line of work: getting paid to play. As a musician, I've been fortunate enough to get some sweet gigs where I just show up, play the bass, and get a check in the mail. To put it in some perspective, for example, playing for Peter Cetera's (from the band Chicago) paid $400 for one show plus gas money to Idaho, if I remember correctly. Not bad, huh? Studio gigs for films scores are similar--around $75 an hour in Utah. probably more elsewhere. But with music, of course, gigging isn't a reliable source of income, especially as a younger musician still establishing him/herself on the scene. It requires making connections and getting a higher spot on the call lists and knowing the right people.

I'm not going to post my whole resume, but to list a few more comfortable jobs, I spent a summer playing bass for the Utah Shakespearean Festival, a few years as the BYU Instrument Office String Specialist and a music librarian, and a year as editor of one of BYU's magazines (which provided my first and only cubicle). All "cushy" jobs, you might say. Not that there wasn't work to be done, but it's always been fun work, comfortable work.

And everytime I got one of these jobs, I would usually call my dad and tell him about it, and he would be very happy for me. Almost everytime I tried to find work, he would tell me not to expect a glamorous job from the beginning. He told me not to hold myself above working fast food. He said you have to work your way up sometime, and any work well done is respectable work.

I still avoided fast food like the plague. I'm a classy girl. I don't do that kind of thing. I only get dirt under my nails when I do fashionable gardening. I remember in high school, I went to Subway at the mall food court, and when I got to the front of the line, a boy from school asked me what kind of bread I wanted. We didn't acknowledge each other as if we knew each other. He did his service for me and wrapped up his sandwich and I think we were both a little embarrassed. At least I was. It's funny how that fast food counter estranges us, like some force field that skews the perspective between server and served. I walked away with my sandwich and asked my Dad if he thought working fast food was something to be ashamed of, and he gave me a pretty heated response. That’s when he gave me that line about any work being respectable, and that boy from school was making more money than I was, so I should be looking up to him.

Stick Shifts and a Long Train Ride to LA

So, despite the coolness of bringing Lizzy's Chrysler LeBaron down to California, we decided to only bring my truck and leave the convertible in Utah for the summer. This being the case, Lizzy had to learn to drive my truck - which is not the easiest vehicle to learn stick shift on.

We went out for Family Night a couple weeks ago and practiced putting the car into 1st gear in a school parking lot. It was emotionally taxing, but Liz did really well. I think she only stalled once. Last night, I had her drive about a half a block to get home from the supermarket.

Having this experience under her belt, this morning we decided that she was ready to give me a ride to the train station. She did really well and I was to the station by 7:04 to catch my 7:11 train. About thirty minutes later I texted her do see if she was home okay. No answer. Then I called her, but still, no answer. I put my head down on between my hands and imagined what may have happend to my sweet wife. I was sooo worried. When I got to LA at 8:15 I called her again, and again, no answer. Finally, at about 8:30, I got a call from Lizzy. Apearantly she got horribly lost, ended up driving through Santa Ana and Costa Mesa for about an hour before finding her way back home.

I was so relieved to know that she was all right. It was a pretty funny story too.

Missing my wife - for the first time

Lizzy keeps saying I'm going to pipe in here some time and say something myself about our great California adventure. And I'm just sitting here looking at this stack of photos on my desk and sifting through all of the things that remind me of Lizzy (blook included). You see, my sister-in-law, Janet, is graduating this week in New York, and Lizzy left a couple of days ago to be with her family... over there... on the other side of our huge continent. (Can you tell I'm missing her?) And it's the first time we are far apart since our wedding 3 weeks ago.

Luckily I've had company. My parents, Cheri and Chuck, drove a rental truck full of our Utah goods down to California. They arrived Wednesday night, just hours after Lizzy left for NYC. We spent the evening emptying the truck - assisted by the 6 LDS sister missionaries that live in our apartment complex. They were just adorable, running up the stairs in their dress cloths and badges. Luckily it only took a couple trips up the stairs before we were all unloaded.

I hung out with my 'rents on Thursday night, and they went over to Phoenix this morning. We're having an open house this weekend. It should be fun.

It's less than 12 hours til I get to see Liz again. I really can't wait to see her. I also can't wait to see my good friends down in Phoenix. It will be a great time.

The California Kingdom

NOTE: Yesterday I wrote this freakin long and totally inspired entry full of the greatest truths known to man. You could have been totally enlightened and taken to a state of nirvana, but alas, the internet fell asleep and THE entry went the way of the earth. Because brilliance so sheer and cutting only comes once in a lifetime, I'm afraid you'll have to settle for this mediocre replacement version of what could have been the most influential blog entry known to the www.

Today is Tuesday and I'm taking a break from working on my sister's graduation present: a painting of a rolling pin floating over a landscape of green field and blue sky. But I'm sorry to say that my description of it sounds worlds better/cooler than it actually looks. Sigh. I'm down to the rolling pin, which is the most important part. This is my time to regroup, breath, and reapproach the enigma. I'll be sure to post a photo of the final product. Don't look forward to it TOO much.

This last weekend was monumental, as Sam and I accomplished another trifold set of miracles!

1) Welcome to the California Kingdom
(Don't be fooled; I'm not referring to the state.)
Early in our courtship, Sam and I discussed the importance of sleeping comfortably. As Sam pointed out, the average Joe spends one third of his life asleep, so we promptly registered for an impossibly expensive mattress from Macys, which we definitely didn't get. I mentioned earlier that our only furniture (until relief arrives tomorrow!) has included an air mattress and two beach chairs.
You know, this was so awesome we wanted to tell everyone, but we didn’t want people to feel too badly about their own lives. Read at your own risk: we went on Craig’s list, and amongst the large numbers and old tables, chairs, etc., we found a California king mattress, including box springs and a bed frame for $75 (What!!!!). Sounds sketchy, doesn’t it? But we checked it out—the guy wanted to buy a new bed, the Cal king was too big, he wanted to get rid of it before the end of the day, so we got it. Clean, beautiful, and 4” longer than a king, which (tada!) is just enough to keep Sam’s toes from hanging of the bed, which they have for his entire life beyond puberty. Our very first bed!

2) Lizzy Gets a Job
With help from Sam’s expertise in the resume workshop, I submitted mine to the owner of the music store across the street, and he called right away and said come on over and let’s talk about pay. So Sam and I abandoned our laundry and walked across the street. I’m now a bass, clarinet, and guitar teacher at Tustin Music. Pretty low key, part time, and literally across the street, which means I’ll still have time to paint rolling pin landscapes and cook and practice and all that. Woo!

3) Son of a Beach
Sam and I made our first trip to the beach—a fifteen minute drive from our little home. I was almost apprehensive about going; I wanted it to be this sublime and unearthly experience, standing on the edge of America, the final frontier, the edge of the world!!! And what if I were sleepy or yawny or bored? But no worries—it was as good as I’d hoped. I hadn’t been to the California beach since age five or so, and nothing counts when you’re that old. But my favorite thing was how when you step on the sand, the hard packed sand right on the water, it turns white under your feet. It’s like natural DDR. Yes!

And to top it off, we ate fish and chips on the pier. I think we’ll be coming here often.

That’s all for now. I’m leaving for New York tomorrow afternoon for my sister’s graduation, and on Saturday Sam and I are reuniting in Phoenix for our open house. If you’d like to come, details are on wedding.lambsonfam.com—so are our wedding pictures! Come on by!

I know Sam hasn’t written anything on our joint Blog yet… but he’s out there working hard and changing the world. I’m just at home playing all day. Suffering with my tortilla chips and acrylic paint. I think if Sam were to say something, it’d be “_________!” Fill in the blank. Or maybe I’ll have him do that.

Onward ho!
Lizzy Lambson

Premature Thoughts on Housewivery

Today I have done the following:

ironed shirt and pants
made grilled cheese for Sam
2 minutes of family scripture study
kissed Sam goodbye to work
let gas company man in to start oven and stove
went to bank
visited flower store and music store looking for job
2 loads laundry + folding
unpacked 2 more bags
organized clothing in walk in closet
made tuna melt and Spaghettios for lunch
assembled vaccuum cleaner
vacuumed apartment
washed new glasses/dishes
assembled new Brita water pitcher
talked to sister on the phone
talked with manager about parking and storage
updated marital status, hobbies, and interests on Facebook
e-mailed wedding photo link to fam and friends (http://jarviedigital.com/weddings/08/lambson-select/)

It's 4:00 p.m. now and I've spent enough time online to feel like a bum.
Maybe I'll do some Pilates. I'm also waiting for the refrigerator delivery people to come. I have been feeling the need for a refrigerator in the form of Spaghettios in my stomach.

I guess what I've learned is that waking up at 6:30 makes for either a very long, a very productive, or a very long and productive day. And that having children must increase laundry folding time exponentially. I still can't decide which approach to take in folding T-shirts. Otherwise, I have been at home three days now while Sam has been at work. (His job sounds wonderful--from what I understand he's been given the tast to organize the company blog. Funny, huh?) But two days was enough to motivate me to either find a job or start having children. Either will provide someone to talk with during the day, which I think is necessary.

Let There Be Light

Oh my heck.

I've never had a blog before. Well heck, I've never been married before or lived by the ocean or had my own kitchen and a load of Target gift cards in my purse or had a husband with a nine to five job who will come home and take me to me to beach for a walk and maybe dinner at Ruby's after a full day of home decorating and walking around town looking for an easy going job--maybe something at the music store down the way or even the Italian market that just happens to be right across the street--I dunno, we'll just wait and see. One day at a time, I tell myself. One day I graduate, the next day I get married, the next day I'm off to my honeymoon. Four days pass and the next day we leave the cabin and the next day we open wedding gifts and load up Sam's truck and the next day we drive 600 miles towards the Pacific and move into an apartment neither of us have ever seen before. It happens to be so unexpectedly beautiful and spacious and clean. The next day is today.

"No huge life changes today, right?" Sam says.
"New ward."
"Oh yeah!"

So this morning at church I stood up to introduce myself and I said, "Hi, I'm Lizzy Lambson and I just got married last week and I'm still in shock and my husband just threw me in his truck and brought me here and now I'm in California!" Everyone laughed and I sat down.

And that's just the thing. There's tropical greenery outside the window and there's an outdoor pool at the bottom of the stairs to our apartment. My garden gnome is still outside my front door by our new recycled rubber mat with skinny colored trees on it. I'm lying on the floor amidst a scatter of cardboard boxes and packing paper. Today I put away our dishes and kitchen supplies and Sam set up his computer. We have no furniture except for an air mattress and two aluminum beach chairs we bought last night. Sam is sitting in mine behind me with his toes tucked under my legs and he's reading The Code of Ethics he has to read before his first day of work tomorrow at Capital Group. And I am very, very happy.

We just got home from a drive down the Pacific Coast Highway, California 1, and I finally saw the ocean. I got distracted by the lavish mansions to the right and Sam would say, "Look, Lizzy, the beach--it's the beach, isn't it pretty?" It is. There's so much to look at here and I asked Sam, why does anyone live outside of California? Why would you live in the desert when you could have fuschia floral bushes just bursting about you and tropical fruits just falling to your feet? Oh yeah, that's why it's so expensive here. Eggs cost four dollars a dozen. So does a gallon of gas. But oh man, New York is so dirty and gray and hard core, and here everyone is just wrapped up in towels on the beach and the sun shines--oh the sun SHINES! What is this place? Is it heaven? The trees look like the ones I only see in paintings, like that one where Adam and Eve are cast out of the Garden of Eden. Heart shaped leaves and limbs as smooth as a babies bottom. It is unreal.

"Our apartment is SWEET," Sam says on the phone to Paul. This is the first time I've moved into a place where the walls have been freshly painted and there's a brand spanking new dishwasher. "Yeah, they actually replace things that are old and broken," Sam said. I have my very own drawer to put my hair cream and blow dryer. We have a walk in closet and a balcony, and rent was cheaper than anything we found even for an itty bitty studio. Am I rubbing it in? I hate to say it, but I think I'm in paradise. I'm waiting for Lucifer to slither by and offer me the fruit of the Tree of Life. Or at least a mansion on a hill. And a lot of credit cards.

Sam just says instead of a Blog, we should call it a Blook. Ha ha. So clever.

Well, I mean, I just wanted to say hi and let you know we're okay and we're happy. The wedding was so beautiful I can't even express the sublime-ality of it all. We were saying, if you took one event from that day--between the temple sealing, the luncheon, the ring ceremony, the reception, and the suite at the Grand America--take any one of those and it'd be the best day of our lives. Put it all together and you have something we call "OUT OF THIS WORLD"-ness.

Our honeymoon was great, if you're curious. I'm not sure what's kosher to discuss, but it was very relaxing and...

["Man, this is so LONG," Sam says. The Code of Ethics = "out of awesome controllness" in Sam phrasology.
"So is this blog entry."
"You mean your Blook?"
"Ha ha."
"Are you just quoting everything I say?"
"No, I just wanted to write 'out of awesome controllness.'"]

...and the cabin was amazing. We were in Heber Valley, down Provo Canyon near Park City. We were able to go to dinner in Provo, Park City, and Salt Lake--Bombay House, an amazing Italian place, and a Napolitano pizzeria respectively. We made huge omelettes in the mornings and treated ourselves to that incredible Amazon chocolate and creme broulee Haagen Daaz. I don't even know how to spell it it's so good. Food is very important to us.

The cabin though--it had beds for like twenty people. It was huge--almost scary. Who knows what sort of wild animals could be knawing their way in on the other side of that establishment? A serial killer could be watching Superman in the home theater downstairs and we wouldn't even know it.

And get this: after loading Sam's truck with his family's blow up boat and going out to buy fishing licences and worms, we woke up at 6 a.m. on Thursday and it was SNOWING--what???? I know! And that, my friends, is why I think everyone should live in California because I'm already convinced that this place is amazing. It's warm here. Yeah, Utahns. Eat it up!

Sam and I are having a great time together. We both got really nervous as we pulled into Orange County--the traffic started picking up and when we stopped at a gas station it really hit me that we weren't in Utah or Kansas anymore--at every pump there was a different nationality--Mexican, black, Chinese, white. I don't know why that seemed so foreign to me. Oh, wait--I just graduated from BYU!

On that note, it's a huge relief to have finished. I loved BYU. After five years there and a lot of ups and downs, even with the institution itself, I left very much loving that place. I learned too much there about more than I bargained for in the best way. I got my BA in music with my English miner...I mean, minor, and I am just pleased as punch. It's amazing to me what can happen in the prime of your youth, in those developmental years. One month or even one week can take you in a totally new direction for better or for worse when you're trying to make those decisions that affect the rest of your life. I can't believe how much happened in my five years there. I had to grow up a lot, and honestly, there's a lot more growing up to do.

I don't think I ever felt as childish in my time at BYU as I did when I was standing pigeon-toed with a goofy grin on my face, wearing that billowing graduation gown and trying to hold up a cap that was too big for my head. As Sam drove me into this foreign land my stomach was turning. We're grown ups now. We're married. But we're like these little kids. I told him before we left that I felt like we were in elementary school--two little kids standing on the edge of the playground ready to run away.
"I packed my bags, did you?"
"Yeah--"
"Okay, we're gonna do it. We're really gonna do it! Let's run away!"
"Okay!"
"Ready??"
"Yeah, I'm ready!"
"Okay! Let's go!"
"Okay!"
And then we're just like those two little kids, just standing on the edge of the playground with our little cartoon-print suitcases. But this time we did it. We just grabbed our little bags with our toothbrushes and underwear and we ran over the hills and no one even blew a whistle at us.

I guess that's how I feel. Forever is a long time to be with someone. Who knows what's gonna happen to us, what we'll see and do and work through and overcome. But we're just taking it day by day and it's really something when you're with someone you love. I love Sam. I think our understanding of love will be much different, much more mature in 20 or 30 or 40 or 80 years, but for now we give it all we've got. I like being with him, I still love his smile and his eyes. Tonight we had dinner with the couple two doors down--the Brinkerhoffs we know from Provo. Given all that's going on, it may seem complicated, but it's suspiciously simple.... We just got married, we're in love, and we're just going day by day, looking for the good, looking for the better, even the best. Can't say I know what I'm doing, but all I know is that I've never been happier.

That's all I wanted to say.

But I'm sure there will be more tomorrow.

-Lizzy Lambson