unexpected turns of life

Sunday June 7, 2009.

I have not written in my blog in just over a year. I have craved this moment for months. In my travels, writing becomes a vital part of my journey. In my routine, writing takes a back seat. It makes me sad to see I have neglected the time my soul can open freely.

My life has changed drastically recently.

Three months ago in March 2009, I went on an awareness trip to Haiti. I visited orphanages, hospitals, disabilty residences, and group homes. I observed a culture completely different to my own. I admired the art, the music and the freedom of life there; but I craved to change the hunger, the lack of shelter and the strife that leads to nowhere.

I decided I wanted to become a part of the change in this world. Things are unbalanced and it is unfair.

I was meant to travel to Los Angeles, United States of America, immediately upon return from Haiti. I was going to be an Au Pair, live with a family and take care of three year old twins. I was about to experience a complete whirlwind of two incredibly different worlds. I was going to go from rags to riches.

I came arrived home from Haiti; I packed and repacked; and I was about to leave for the airport once again for the next destination. It was then my mother decided to tell me my best friend's mom had passed away. I was stunned. I couldn't leave her. How could I go? March 27th, Mrs. Van Hooren died.

I decided at 4 AM in the morning, I would be unsuccessful to get a hold of anyone from the agency to inform them. Somehow, with knots in my stomach and holding back the desire to vomit my insides, I got onto the plane and headed for my orientation in New York City.

As soon as I arrived to the orientation, I immediately informed the facilitators of what had happened. They were more than understanding and assured me my host family would understand and they would help organize my flights back home.

My host family did not understand. They were more concerned about when I was going to arrive and how I needed to arrive for the weekend in order to be trained to pick up the kids from school on Monday. When they were told this was not going to happen, the mother was not pleased. She had to contact her organizer and re-schedule her entire week..."the amount of people I had to inconvience because of this is rediculous...."

I was in shock. I had just come back from a country with true heartache and 'real' problems, only to find out my best friend just lost her mother. Then I had to sit through a conversation with a woman who completely lacked any compassion or understanding; a woman I was meant to live with for the next year of my life.

I realized my values were being tested. The most important thing to me in that moment was to be a friend. I knew I needed to be at home; however, I had made a commitment to a family to complete four days of orientation and move to live with them. My friend of ten years, or a family I have never met, and obviously do not meet eye to eye. If they had no compassion over a death, I doubt they'd be understanding about anything else.

The decision was simple. I booked my flight back home and I told the agency I would no longer be able to match with this family; they needed me earlier than I could be available to them. I haven't heard from the family since. I wasn't even offer condolences or a single thought. Not that it even mattered.

I returned home the day after I arrived to New York. I spent the week at the funeral home and the following week when I spoke to the agency, I told them I no longer wanted to take part in the program. They were understanding, yet told me to take some time to think that decision over before making it.

I was home. I had nothing to do. All I had was time. I was sad. I was inspired. I had the world in my hands and I could do anything I wanted with it. It was now time to do nothing. I did not know how to do nothing. I immediately spent my time coming up with ways to fill it; with things to do and plans to complete.

With this forever desire to have more time to do the things we want to do, I suddenly had no idea what to do with myself. I felt lost; yet I had the opportunity to find myself; to do whatever I desired.

I came up with lists to do the things I always wanted to do: learn to play the guitar; learn to speak Spanish; learn to speak Italian; spend time with my grandparents; cook for my family; spend time with my nephew; run; make videos I have been wanting to work on; organize my photos; dance; learn Reiki; write.

Some things I managed to do, other things I continued to put off. In time, I felt unmotivated to do all of the things I never seemed to have time for. I began to seek ways to fill my time. I looked for work. I decided I wanted to do work that helped people. I did not need to go to Haiti to help society balance out. I did not need to travel to see poverty. It was in my own backyard. I began to apply for jobs that worked with people and assisting people.

Then my aunt passed away. April 16th, 2009, we found my aunt dead in her bed.

I had dropped off some resumes at Community Living, a place to work with people of various disabilities. I had the afternoon free and I decided to go to my grandparents' house to visit. I entered the kitchen while my Nonna was on the phone. I smiled and waved. I walked over to grab a freshly baked cookie and suddenly I heard a screech, "molta!"

Someone had died. I looked at my Nonna and she broke down, "Zia Sara!"

She said Nonna was at her house and found her dead. She said I needed to call 911. I said okay, I told her I was going to go over there. I grabbed my things, put on my shoes and started dialing 911.

As I walked to my car, they answered the phone in a jumble of words, I had no idea what they asked, "Pardon!?"

"Fire, ambulance, police?"

Who do you need if someone is dead? "I'm not sure, I guess police? Maybe ambulance?"

I explained my grandfather found my aunt dead at her house.

"Are you sure she is dead?"

Well, I sure as hell don't know for sure. I would like to think she was alive. I remained calm, surprisingly. I explained again, "I'm not at the house. He phoned us at a different house to let us know. He went to visit her and found her. I don't know for sure, but that is what he said on the phone."

I was asked questions and I answered them calmly as I got into my Jeep and made my way over to her house. I knew her unit number but I could not remember her address. I knew her street but I did not know the number. She kept me on the phone, continuing to ask questions. As I raced down the streets, knowing they could not send someone to the house until they got the address. I whizzed around corners, hoping a police would decide to chase me.

Finally, she said she was going to call the house and ask my grandfather. I was told to call her back as soon as I got there.

"But wait, who do I call, what's the number?"

"911!"

Of course. Funny how the most obvious things become a blur!

I got off the phone and I thought to myself, I just might be arriving to my Aunt Sara's house to find her dead. I might see her dead. Still I remained calm. Drove fast, but it an undescribable stillness; guided by peace.

I arrived to the house. My entire body had been shaking. I saw my grandfather put down the phone, he was looking for a letter with the address on it. I picked up the phone to speak with the same familar voice. She told me to hang up and call back so the number would show up on their records. I obeyed and she said they were on their way and would be there immediately.

I hung up the phone, looked at my Nonno and gave him a hug. He told me to look down, and there they were. Pills layed out all over the floor. Her pill cabnet was opened and almost every bottle was opened. I looked at him, "Are you sure she's dead?"

He said, "Yes, do you want to check?"

And so I did. Him and I walked upstairs and into her room. She was layed on her side, one arm under her head and the other arm just over the edge of the bed. She was in her night gown, her heating pad on her, and her blanket half off. She was cold and she was white, but I checked for a pulse anyway. Maybe, just maybe she was still alive. I waited. I moved incase I put my fingers in the wrong spot, but there was not a pulse. She was dead. I knelt beside her bed, "Oh Aunt Sara!"

I prayed. I prayed for her soul, for her guidance to the light. I looked around. More pills on her nightstand. She garbage can filled with tissues. She had been crying. Sylvia Brown cds and The Secret layed beside the bed. I prayed some more. I don't know how long I knelt there, I don't think time really existed at this moment. I'm not really sure where Nonno stood. I don't know how he felt. I got up, I looked out the window and asked where the hell the police were. It felt like forever.

We walked back downstairs, aimlessly. We went back to the kitchen and I investigated the pills again. Nonno handed me a paper and asked what it was.

It said, No Funeral.

"Where did you get this?"

He responded, "Here, on the floor."

I sat down and stared at the piece of paper. I put my hand on the table, only to place it on other small note pages, identical to the one in my hand. Messages, written in my Aunt Sara's handwriting. No funeral. Pain too much to handle. House too much. Useless. Please forgive me. No funeral. I love you all. Chest cancer. I am sorry. Be happy for me.

I was numb. The situation was obvious. My aunt had decided to take her own life.

I got up and told my Nonno we should wait outside. It felt like it was a half hour before we finally heard sirens. The fire truck arrived first. "You come too," I asked.

"Yeah we all come. Where is she?"

"She's inside. Upstairs in the room."

The ambulance arrived. The police arrived. We went inside. The officer began to question Nonno and I. The phone rang.

I looked to see who it was and it was Aunt Sara's daughter, Phyllis. I didn't want to answer the phone. I didn't want to have to tell her her mother was dead. I stared at the name. I picked up the phone. She was hystarical on the other end, "Is my mom dead, Laura? Is it true?"

"Yes."

"What was it? Did she take too many pills, Laura? Is that what happened?"

"The police are here right now and they are investigating everything. Nothing is for sure yet."

Crying.

I'm not sure how the rest of the converstation went. I told her I would call her as soon as I knew anything. She said Wendie was on her way to pick her up and they were going to be coming right after. I took her cell phone number and told her I'd keep her posted. I think that was one of the hardest conversations I had to have. I was guided, because I never imagined I could be so calm.

They continued the investiagation and Nonno and I were told to wait outside. We answered more questions and as time went on, we developed more and more of our own questions.

The firemen and the paramedics left. Other investigators and a sargent arrived. I spoke to Lisa on the phone. I told her to go to Nonna's to be with her.

I spoke to my mom on the phone and she was in a complete fog of shock, "Mom, did you talk to Nonna?"

"Yeah, I know."

"Well, where are you?"

"I'm finishing my nails at Sara's Spa."

"Um, okay, well are you going to go to Nonna's?"

"Do you think I should?"

"Well, where were you going to go?"

"I have to meet Jamie at Lorenzo's appointment."

"Um, okay. Well maybe you should make sure Nonna is okay."

"I was thinking about coming by there."

"Okay, well they were investigating now. Nonno and I are just here...."

It was I was speaking to someone who had no idea what had happened. She was in a complete fog, in complete shock. I was stunned.

My dad showed up to the house. Nonno and I told him what happened. We stood outside and every so often people would come in and out, maybe ask a couple questions and head back in. They were waiting for the corner to arrive and declare the situation.

My mom arrived. By this time it was coming to a wrap. They asked us to come in. They told us the funeral home was going to come and bring the body to the hospital. They said to my parents if they wanted to see her they could, but the officer, Mr. Toutant, said, "I wouldn't reccommend you go. You don't want to have that memory of her."

They took his advice. I think my mom still regrets it, but if I could bring any piece to her mind, I wouldn't have suggested anyone to see what I'm sure plays in my Nonno's head, just as much as it plays in mine.

My mom left to meet Jamie. My dad, Nonno and I waited for the funeral home to come. They entered the house with a trolley and when they exited, they had my Aunt Sara under a black tarp. They stuck her in the back of their van, shut the doors and that was the last she was ever in her house.

The three of us went back into the house. I cleaned up the pills in the kitchen. The investigation was done and I didn't really think anyone else needed that visualization. The house had a smell that overpowered even the tabacco scent. They had moved the body and the gases had developed an aroma I will never forget.

We cleaned up a few things, walked around one last time and realized it was time to leave.

My Aunt Sara was dead. We were left with questions, guilt, and most obvious, sadness. Her notes said no funeral, not just once, but twice. The next few days we spent organizing her funeral. I don't think she really wanted us to fuss over everything; but when someone dies, the funeral isn't really for that person, it is for the people left to mourn. That's what we determined anyway. It took us through the next few days to focus on doing something- to go to the funeral home; to pick out a casket; to write an obituary; to choose songs for the mass; to pick readings and readers; to pass through pictures and share memories; to make a video and bulitin boards; to choose songs; and sort through angels to bring....

The funeral was against her wishes, but did it ever represent who my Aunt was. Angels and photos filled the room with her peace. The casket was closed. The body in there wasn't my Aunt Sara. My Aunt Sara had gone beyond this world, I'm sure many times before she died, but now she decided to remain there.

I don't really think Aunt Sara needed to ask for our forgiveness. I think we needed to ask for her's. Although I will never know the pain she was in that led her to make this decision, I understand what brought her to it. What aches me is the fact that my Aunt Sara not only died alone, but died feeling alone- so alone that she would take her own life. The only peace I have is knowing she is no longer in so much pain; and knowing that she is surrounded by all the angels and saints she would pray and talk to on a daily basis. She is among those she felt the most peace from.

I pray she now looks after the rest of us.

I pray my mom learns to live without her best friend.

I pray my Nonno is freed from the hauntings of this experience.

I pray that we all learn never to allow the people we love most to think we are not there for them.

I pray the guilt be filled with learnt lessons; if you have something to say or to do with or for someone, don't wait until you don't have the chance to be able to say or do it.

I pray this experience be at peace for everyone.

on becoming a robot in society

I've been unwell for three weeks. I started seeing someone three weeks ago.
Why do the two coincide?

I went to the doctor's a week ago. She told me I had a virus. Of course, there was nothing I could do about that. I refuse to take medication. I merely hate the idea of taking powdered balls to chemically alter my body. Don't we breathe in enough chemicals? Don't we induce enough chemicals into our foods? I can't stand it. Pills, and medication to feel better. How has this become such an accepted way to our society? What happened to rest? To exercise? To taking care of our precious tool: the body. The abuse we put ourselves through... and then the abuse we blame everyone else for... I can never wrap my head around it.

But it has been three weeks and although my days aren't so bad, my nights, I feel much worse. Coughing up my lungs, struggling to do that simple thing we call breathing. Feeling much like I may die before morning comes. What an awful thought... what an awful feeling.

I told the doctor I've been sick and need something to fix me up because I'm tired of it. He prescribed me medication. Two pills a day that I should probably take with food because it will upset my stomach. In fact, if it happens to upset my stomach so badly, I should probably shift to only one pill a day. Great. The lovely results of medication. I told him I needed birth control too. He passed it out as if it was free candy at a parade. I told him I never had it before. He looked at me blankly. What? So I decide now it's a good idea to be safe, get over it.

I didn't think much of it until I got to the pharmacy. I handed in my prescription and shopped around for twenty minutes. Finished. Grabbed myself a magazine to read why Katie wanted things to end with Tom. I can't believe it took three years for that headline to make the page. My beeper buzzed, and like Pavlov's dog, I responded accordingly, wandering over to receive my scripts. I waited a minute for the pharmacist to have a chat with me about my prescriptions. She repeated the upset stomach side effects; eating food when taking the meds; making sure it's at the same time of the day; repeating for ten days. Then she sent me off. I didn't go anywhere. I looked at her and asked, "what about the other one?"

She gave me that same look, "Oh, this is your first time with this one as well?"

Why is that such a big surprise to everyone? Do I look like a whore? Clearly not. I figured it's probably a good idea to be smart about these things, especially since I am an expecting aunt to a child who was a mistake. Poor kid. Perhaps, we're all mistakes and our parents just make us believe we were wanted and planned....

So here I was, standing at the counter hearing all the things I heard before about birth control.
Be sure to take it everyday at the same time.
If you miss a day, don't double up.
For the first three months, use another form of protection.
It will take the three months to regulate your body.
Are you regular already? No. Pregnancy scares all the time.
This may in fact regulate your periods then.
The end week are sugar pills. You can take them in order to develop the habit of taking pills every day, but if you don't, remember to start your pills again the following week.
Start on Sunday.

Oh God. Pills to robot my body into regulation and prevent the gift of life? Just to have sex?
Welp, seems worth it.

Why doesn't it feel right though? Why do I struggle to take man-made medications- that of vitamins, cough syrup, sore throat, birth control...? I just cannot fathom using chemicals to voluntarily pollute my body more than it already is. Is it because I've been reading too many science fiction stories for my topics in literature course!? That can't be it. I felt strongly about pills long before that course. A pill everyday? Don't skip, don't double up, don't rely one hundred per cent... oh fuck, don't tell me what to do! But then what... get pregnant? Don't have sex? Are either of those even an option!? Is staying sick an option?

Maybe I need to change cultures. Go somewhere you can pop kids out as they come. Somewhere we eat natural foods. That place where the sky is blue and the grass is green, the air is fresh, and chemicals just simply do not exist. The place love can be expressed safely and freely and people are healthy and do what they want to do, anytime of the day.

Maybe I should just go write my paper on culture....

Tuesday April 22 2008. earth day... wish it was as clean as my dreams.

the fear of love

So I stare at love straight in the face.

The love I crave and write endless words about. The love that comes from fairy tales and storybooks. The prince to sweep you off your feet and carry you away on a horse carriage kind of love. The love that scares the living shit right out of you. That kind of love.

I stare at it. Blankly. I know the feeling of vulnerability; of warmth; of pure fulfillment of emotion. The sort of feeling you always dream to have. But this time, my biggest fear is not the love... it is the dream.

See in love it can so easily make us blind. All you see are the bright lights and all you feel are those crazy warm fuzzies inside. You forget the time, where you're going and sometimes even who you are. It all just goes blank because somehow in love... it doesn't seem to matter anymore. And it is that which scares me most.

The dream is not the dream of love; but the dream of dreams I plan to conquer. How do my dreams fit into love? When you begin a journey with someone, it becomes a path of two- but who's way do you decide to take? See, I'm stubborn. I've got some big dreams to live out. I've got a heart of love waiting to pour. I've got many grounds to walk along. I thought I was ready for love; I feel I am ready for love. However, I am not ready to give up my dreams- they are the only thing I've always had. I am a person to dream big; to do big things. Love should simply accompany that; not get in the way of it.

Yet, here I am, hesitating...again. I feel like I lied to myself, thinking I was ready to open my heart with someone. I can feel that wall is slowly creeping up again. I thought for sure I was ready this time. In this hesitation, I know I am ready, but I cannot let myself change, because I know how easily that can happen... how easily we lose ourselves to love and I am not willing to lose myself to anything; even that love I crave.

I suppose in any situation it is fear that creates a challenge for us. If we didn't fear, we would never think first; or feel an accomplishment when we overcome a fear that attempts to stop us from doing something. So in this love that I crave and incredibly fear; I need to know my dreams will be safe. It has never seemed more important than it does right now. They have never felt so threatened.

Funny how this person is the one to have said, "you need to protect your dreams" ...maybe that's why I love him.

written April 11, 2008 1:02 am

on being naked

Naked. Nothing on: no clothes; no shoes; no necklace; no ring; and no, not even socks. Naked. Revealing what I cover. I cover with clothing, with a style I create as my image; the image I choose for you to see. Just an image. The person I choose you to see; maybe not quite the person I really am. No. Not the person I am.

Naked. Revealing who I am.

To love who you are. I look in the mirror, looking myself in the eye; looking deep and seeing the person underneath, whom I protect. To love that person.

Naked. Unable to look that person in the eye; only looking at the flaws that cover the person. The body that is far from meeting perfect. The body I determine as the person I am. I hate it.

Love the body. The body is our greatest tool; the tool we use to do; to create and to be. Protect the body; care and love the body.

I crave a cigarette. Somehow the mental state worships it; the body disintegrates. I pollute my lungs; I pollute my blood stream. The inhale passes through my entire body, loosening the tight areas, releasing with exhale into the air and out... away forever. My body builds tar inside for a five minute break to take time to inhale and exhale, outside in 'fresh' air, perhaps with a friend to chat with. Can I just take that five minutes, please? All I really need is the time to breathe, to inhale the air that captures my inner toxins and releases them outside of the body; the body I need to protect.

I eat. I feel guity. I hate what my body looks like because I eat. So I eat more and more and more. Then I don't eat at all. I skip meals and think my body will look better. If I look better, I'll feel better. I only feel worse. I torture my body- suffer in hunger, I hate you. Eat the stored fats and allow me to disintegrate. Again. Instead, it holds onto the fats because I deprive it of proper nutrients. It shuffles to hold onto whatever it possibly can, for I hold back from nurturing my body; from loving my body. Is this not the only way? I need to fit in the clothes I cover who I really am with- to be an image you can approve of. I want to reach your expectations. Then I will love my body too... when you do.

I cut. Frustration, pain, hate, anger- mere emotion- it builds and builds and builds and I have no idea how to control it anymore. I want to scream, I want to cry... sometimes I just want to die. Oh... but I don't want to die. Frustration and pain and anger and hate and love and missing love and tears that won't stop... I cut. It releases and no longer do I struggle to control it. It stings and it hurts. I bleed. And then I am still crying... and I scar my body. I hide what I did to myself; bury it under clothes you can determine as who I am. I hide it with a smile; with success; with money; with so many things to do that I even hide it from myself. Yet; when I am naked... I know. I hurt my body.

I do nothing. I am a useless piece of skin, that sits while the days pass by... one after another. I sit in the stands and watch others play the game. I tell them what they should be doing and how they should do it. They barely ever do it the right way. I could do it better- with my eyes closed. I feel heavy; low to the ground, tired. I sleep. My eyes are closed most of my life; my blinks are slow and heavy. My skin is dry. I don't even care anyway. My body disintegrates. Again.

Stupid. Ugly. Useless.
Fat. Lazy. Dense.
Revolting. Idiot. Gross.
I fill my mind. I believe it.

Don't judge me. I am my worst judge; you can't compete.

Naked. I can't bare to stay here. I cover myself. It becomes such a ritual, I believe I am who you see. I create my world as that image and you treat me as that image. The image I choose. A failure or a scholar. A bitch or a sweetheart. Busy or has time to listen. An ememy... or a friend. Why do I choose this one?
I ask myself.

And I constantly keep asking because I am not the person I let people see. I wish they did see, because when I stare in my eyes in my reflection I know I am pretty fucking amazing. I wish they knew that. Be naked. Be true- but not to others, to myself.

And love my body; it is my greatest tool. I am stronger than I think I am. Challenge my body, it needs to grow. Nurture my body, it needs to be strong. Breathe. Take time to think, don't allow myself to pollute who I am. I am the only one to see me naked; I won't allow anyone else see until I am happy with my reflection- with the person I am, not the person I pretend to be.

Be naked.

written april 5, 2008.

the world is mine

The world is my stage
I'm going to perform a show for everyone
The world is my canvas
I'm going to paint an abstract of reality
The world is my frame
I'm going to place in my print
The world is my game
I'm going to battle till the end
The world is my sand
I'm going to leave my footprints
The world is my paper
I'm going to write down my story
The world is my map
I'm going to travel every road
The world is my bed
I'm going to cuddle, while I dream
The world is my bath
I'm going to soak in the salts
The world is my microphone
I'm going to let my voice be heard
The world is my jeep
I'm going to ride it along
The world is my song
I'm going to sing it out loud
The world is mine
I'm going to create it

written April 3, 2008 3:01 am

settling for love

It's the end of the day; nearly the end of the night. I'm too tired to do anymore work; yet not quite tired enough to go to sleep. The only show I seem to sit down and watch is the episode after episode of Friends that I have fallen in love with. I finished my collection of the sitcom at Christmas and I watched each DVD from the beginning to the end, each and every episode until I reached the last one. I've been done for a few weeks now. I miss friends.

I'm not in the mood to sit and allow the television to pollute my brain anymore than it already is. It's that perfect time of night to put on a flick and cuddle with someone.

I play my guitar instead.

When the ex-boyfriend asks to hangout, it seems like a good idea to be friends. But I'm smart enough to know that I tried that. My best friend tells me you can't be friends with your ex's. I'm friends with all of mine, but this last one is a little different. She might be right about this one. A part of me loves the companionship; loves the mere idea of company at the end of the night. But is the love of company worth the settling down with someone you know you should stay clear from... even though he is the only one asking you to hang out- to chat, to laugh, to dance, to watch a flick... to cuddle. It seems harmless.
Things aren't always what they seem.

I suppose it's not him that I am really debating; in fact, I know it's not him I am debating. That has been over for years, and although debated over those years, it's quite evidently over. A nice guy, I can settle with saying- but not for me, to put gently. I do miss companionship and chats and laughs... dances and movies... and I definitely miss the cuddles. My stuffed monkey, George, well, he just doesn't cut it.

We're all looking for someone to love. As much as we want to deny that or claim we don't need someone... it is in our human nature to love, to touch, to feel... to hold. I found true love; a love of life. I surround myself with friends I am most definitely close to and whom I smother with my hugs and kisses. But I miss having that person to wake up next to, to get lost in their eyes and go for long walks; walks more enjoyed when it's raining. To kiss anywhere and everywhere. To fall into intimacy, while falling into love. To see every part of; to touch every part; to reveal every part of myself; to be so vulnerable. To feel so scared and so safe simultaneously. Oh how I miss being in love.

I debate if love is so beautiful you should allow yourself to always be in love. To fall for anyone willing to fall for you. I love being in love. However, I think what makes being in love with someone is not the being in love... it's the someone. I struggled growing up- stopping myself from falling in love with anyone willing to fall in love with me. I knew it was special and I was eager to experience it... but I really don't think it's worth the settle... is it? To settle just to love?

Tonight, I lay in bed. I cuddle close to George and I close my eyes. It feels like tonight I could settle... but instead I fall asleep- alone. Surprisingly, however, I don't feel lonely.


written april 1 2008 12::06- april 2.

bumping into you...

Oh my! How you've grown!

You look like your mother!

When did you get so tall?

Wow, how time flies.

How's school?

What are you going to do after?

Do you have a boyfriend?

Where do you work?

I haven't seen you in ages!

Where are you now?

How are your parents?

You look great!

I'm so sorry to hear what happened.

How are you doing?

I don't know what to say.

My condolences to your family.

What can ya do?

Congratulations!

I heard the news!

That's great!

I'm so happy for you!

Are you excited?

It's so good to see you!
You look great!
How is everyone?
What are you up to these days?

predictable.

written march 28 2008 1157 PM