Gone but not forgotten, remembrances of my old haunts...

In August, thirteen years will have passed since I began my freshman year at the University of North Texas (UNT). The next four years would be simultaneously some of the best and worst of my life. Much of the time, I felt like I was either on the verge of greatness or the brink of ruin. I was a huge mess, but (cue Joe Cocker) "I [got] by with a little help from my friends..." (Note, that's the only line of the song that applies...we did NOT get high...) And though a mess, I also thrived there. I was fed by learning, nourished by amazing friendships, and completely enchanted by some of my newfound favorite haunts.

The Tomato

First and foremost, I must pay homage to my beloved Tomato. The Tomato, originally The Flying Tomato, was a local pizza joint with the most amazing Chicago-style pizzas: warm, gooey, and about 1 million calories of love and deliciousness!

Inside reminded me of a treehouse. It was dark, slightly musty, had a juke box, some eccentric art work, and the tables were covered in graffiti. My favorite table graffiti was a personal tale of triumph. It read: "This one time, I ate a whole tube of toothpaste, and I didn't have to have my stomach pumped or nothing. -DS" I always joked with my dad that he wrote it, since those were his initials.

Upon entering you were greeted by the comforting smell of rising dough and melty, cheesy pieces of heaven. When you walked through the door, you had to go down steps to a sunken floor, which added to the treehouse/hideaway feel. If you sat by a window on the first floor, your head was level with the sidewalk outside. From the window, you could spy on the Language Building, Fry St, and the fringes of campus. From the second floor, you enjoyed a broader, panoramic view. The rickety stairs to the second floor were charming and slightly terrifying at the same time. It made walking to your seat with your pizza an adventure.

So many days after class, I would go to the Tomato, find a cozy booth by the window, enjoy delicious pizza, and write in a journal. It reminded me of this scene from the movie Sabrina in which the character, Sabrina (played by Julia Ormond) recalls:

For eight months-- no, more than that-- a year...

 

I sat in a cafe, I drank coffee...

 

and I wrote nonsense in a journal.

 

And then, somehow...

 

it was not nonsense.

 

I went for long walks...

 

and I met myself in Paris.

In my head, mimicking Julia Ormond's breathy, dreamy voice, I narrated this era of my life similarly:

For twenty-four months-- no, more than that-- four years...

 

I sat in the Tomato, I ate pizza...

 

and I wrote nonsense in a journal.

 

And then, somehow...

 

it was not nonsense.

 

I went for long walks...

 

and I met myself in Denton.

My experiences at the Tomato are not limited to finding myself through journaling. More often than not, I was there with friends. So many conversations. So much people-watching, so many quirky, wonderful moments.

It was there that the clerk at the counter announced on the microphone in his best Bob Barker, Price is Right voice, "Cherry Stewart. Come on down! Your pizza is waiting for you at the counter. Cherry Stewart, come on down!" She was thrilled. Really, I think this made my mom's day that day.

It was there that I spied one of my very serious English profs outside of his natural habitat (the language  building) sporting jeans, a button-up shirt, and a giant Texas belt buckle. He sauntered up to the juke box, put in a quarter, and selected Bohemian Rhapsody by Queen. What a priceless moment!

It was there that Elisa and I were inspired to form our prayer-based matchmaking ministry "Fishers of Men" in which we "prayed" people together. And either we're really bad pray-ers or really bad matchmakers (or a combination thereof). None of our matches ever came close to happening. But we amused ourselves with scheming, and hopefully gave God a chuckle or two at our silliness.

And though I could go on and on about the Tomato, I will end with this event, which led to some pretty bizarre conversations with my family.

It was my senior year. After church, my parents who were in town for the weekend, treated Emily and I to lunch at the Tomato. My crush, Mr. Crush decided to come along. I was thrilled. My heart went pitter-pat.

After lunch, I asked my mom, "What did you think of Mr. Crush?"

Mom: "Who's that? I don't think I know him."

Me: "Mom, he just went to lunch with us TODAY!"

Mom: "Oh, I forgot he was there. He's just not that memorable. Do you really like him?"

Me: "Yes."

Mom: "Really?"

Me: "What's wrong with him?"

Mom: "It's just like he's a dull stone and you're a shimmering diamond."

Me: "oh...Well, I just like him. He's really nice."

Mom: "He doesn't talk, he's just there..."

-------------------------------------------------------

So I moved on to Dad, who had not heard my conversation with Mom.

Me: "Dad, what did you think of Mr. Crush?

Dad: "Who?"

Me: "Mr. Crush. He came to lunch with us TODAY!"

Dad: "He did? ...Oh...him?

Me: "Yeah, him. "You and Mom both forgot that he came!"

Dad: "Well, he's just not that interesting...He was just there."

------------------------------------------------------------------------

At this point, I gave up with my parents. They were clearly spaced out or something . So, I called my sister to vent about it.

Me: "Emily, can you believe Mom and Dad BOTH forgot that Mr. Crush ate lunch with us today?

Emily: "Who's he? Do I know him?"

Me: "YES! How many conversations have we had about this? Plus, you live here. You've met him more than once. You know him! And, he went to lunch with us!"

Emily: "Oh yeah, I know him. I forgot."

-----------------------------------------------------

Despite the this common reaction, I persisted in my crush on Mr. Crush.

A week or so later, I talked to my mom on the phone:

Me: "So, I talked to Mr. Crush today..."

Mom: Who's that?

Me: "Mom! Remember, he went to lunch with us, and you forgot about him then too?"

Mom: "You still like him?"

Me: "Yeah"

Mom: "Well, I think you should like Mr. Parent-Approved instead.

Me: "I used to like him, but I just don't anymore. We're better off as friends. He would make me crazy. Besides, it doesn't matter if I like him! He doesn't like me like that.

Mom: "I still think you should like him."

Me: "It won't happen"

Mom: "It might happen if you liked him again. You liked him once, you can like him again. He's a great guy!"

Me: "He may be great, but we just wouldn't be great together."

Seeing that I remained unconvinced! Mom went for unconventional tactics to sway me. She was clearly grasping at straws at this point:

Mom: "Well, Mr. X (my sister's boyfriend at the time) would want you to date him. Mr. X thinks he's great. In fact, if Mr. X were a girl, he'd probably want to date Mr. Parent-Approved...

Me: "So, because my sister's boyfriend would date Mr. Parent-Approved if he were a girl, I should want to date him?"

Mom: "Yes"

Me: "That doesn't make any sense!"

Mom: "Well the point is, you should just like him."

Me: "But, I like Mr. Crush"

Mom: "Who's that?"

Me: "Mom!"

Mom: "Oh yeah, ...him."

--------------------------------

So it turns out, Mom and I were both right and both wrong. Mr. Parent-Approved and I never dated which was a good thing. And, within a few months, I figured out that Mr. Crush was pretty lame.  Mom, Dad, and Emily were way ahead of me on that one. And in time, I almost completely forgot about him. That is...until I found a photo from that day at the Tomato, and it all came back to me.  Sigh...good times. Sadly, the Tomato succumbed to fire in 2007. May it rest in peace.

The Secret Garden

This magical place embodied the charm of two of my childhood loves: The Sound of Music and The Secret Garden (the book and the PBS movie .... NOT the newer movie where the dad looks like Yanni). On the square, by a florist shop was a gate. If you dared to open the gate, you saw a small little garden area with benches! Note: this was in fact a public garden. I was not trespassing, but it still was tucked away, and few people even knew about it.

Part of my Denton-dream-date fantasy involved my date holding my hand while I jumped from bench to bench Sound of Music style. Leisel and Ralph would be proud. Except, I wouldn't try to compete with them. There would likely not be singing or choreographed dancing. But the hand holding and leaping from bench to bench was critical. Of course, I never divulged my Denton-dream-date hopes to anyone, because a caveat of Denton-dream-date is that these things would happen spontaneously and without manipulation. 

Sadly, shortly after I graduated, the florist and the secret garden were sold. This area was changed into indoor square footage of a new building. Goodbye Denton-dream-date. At least I have my real life dream date with me always --- my husband. He is perfect for any occasion, even if my silly girl hopes of a dream date in Denton have been dashed. 

Art Six

Art Six was the Brasil coffee shop of Denton, except way cooler than Brasil. I didn't discover it until my senior year. (In fact, it may not have opened until my senior year). It was an old, historic house converted into a coffee shop/ art galley. There were board games in cozy nooks, a bookshelf with books begging to be read, an outdoor patio with lights, and a super cool bathroom that featured a zen garden. The artwork there was so amazing. My favorite display featured a blind artist's work. It was unforgettable. Amazing! I will venture to say life-changing.

My favorite thing about this place is that you could walk into a room full of strangers, but feel like you were with friends. It was cozy and homey and oozing with charm and culture. Anytime I visited Denton post-Bachelor's degree, this is where I went with friends. I was fortunate enough to bring my husband here in August 2012 after receiving my Master's Degree. I loved being able to share this locale with him. It was like past and present merged, and he was able to see a past part of my life in the present. 

Last week, I spoke with a student who is to attend UNT in the fall. Immediately, I went to work to make her a North Texas must-do list. Art Six was at the top. I googled it to verify the address and learned that it has been sold, and is now a coffee shop/ bar. My heart was broken. This was one of those special places; I wanted to know it was still there -- changing lives and charming the socks off of people. The new venue may be alright. It's just not Art Six, and that upsets me. I'm sure this student will find her own haunts that are special and unique to her. I just wanted her to at least experience Art Six since the Tomato and Secret Garden are long gone. 

Anyway, the time has come to bring this extremely long nostalgic rant to an end. I write these tributes to express my gratitude for the hope, joy, and memories that each of these places brought me during such a time of growth, change, and maturity.  I will cherish these remembrances always and be consoled knowing that Recycled Books is alive and kicking. Should Recycled Books ever go, I may have to dress in sackcloth and cover myself in ashes...but I choose to believe that it will remain until Jesus comes back.

10 years, a reflection

This year I turned 31. In some ways this is abstract for me. Thirty is cute and trendy...like in 13 going on 30 - "Thirty, flirty, and thriving". But 31 - I'm officially IN my 30s now! In no way does it feel like 10 years since my 21st birthday, but if I had to pick one, I'd pick 31, hands down. No contest.

This year, my 31st year, I had the opportunity to spend the week of my birthday in the snow covered mountains of Colorado with my husband and his family. For someone from Wyoming, snow might be overrated. But for a native Texan who has spent EVERY Christmas in Houston, a white Christmas and more than 1 cm. of snow is pretty spectacular! Happy Birthday to me!

The best part of the cold, is having somewhere to be warm. In our case, we had a toasty warm cabin to stay in, or 'tabin', as my 3 year old nephew calls it. The fireplace was glorious and kept us nice and warm, thanks to Bill's (my father-in-law's)  many trips outside to bring in more wood. We were also stocked up on other winter essentials: hot cocoa, snuggly blankets, a new snuggly newborn nephew, a 3 year old bundle of energy, and furry animals -2 cats and 4 puppies.

On the day of my birthday, I was forbidden from stepping into the kitchen. Melissa (my mother-in-law), and Molly (my sister-in-law) made me an amazing dinner of Mexican pile-ons and a homemade chocolate cake. As if that were not enough, presents were piled high in my lap. I got some snow gear to help keep me warm, a personalized cheese board, and a gorgeous necklace from my sweet husband.

There is a Garfield cartoon that was printed on one of my nightgowns when I was younger that said: "Hold me! Kiss me! Make me eat chocolate!" That's what this birthday felt like. I had my wonderful husband to hold and kiss me; and a family to prepare delicious food, chocolate cake, and spoil me with generous gifts! I had to pinch myself just to know that this was real. I am truly blessed.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As for ten years ago, I dreaded my 21st birthday. It was the first birthday following the death of my friend. Grief consumed me. It felt like an endless pit, a black hole, or a vortex so strong that I wondered how I could manage to walk, talk, or even think. All of my daily routines, academics, any daily interactions seemed mechanical. The landscape of the interior was so bleak, all I could muster was a type of auto-pilot existence.

S-U-I-C-I-D-E. The word felt like a curse upon me. It was not an action I performed, but I felt responsible. If only I'd...(fill-in-the-blank). The guilt was endless. I had failed her. We all had failed her. We couldn't make her see that she was loved. We couldn't reach her...

And then there were those who blamed her. Who, without knowing her, heaped judgements on her: She was selfish. She was bound for hell. She was weak. She was cruel.
I could endure guilt more than such proclamations.

In the summer and winter breaks prior to that awful March day, I was as carefree as a child. My friends were a family of my choosing, and I cherished every moment with them. Three to five days a week, I spent in their company for impromptu outings: plays, museums, board games, movie marathons, dinner, picnics, and the zoo. Laughter and joy filled those carefree days. Sometimes my face hurt from smiling, sometimes I was too happy to sleep.

Now, grief chased sleep away. When I did sleep, I dreamed of my friend. Sometimes she was unhappy with her choice and begged death to release her back to life. I was powerless to help her and felt great distress. Sometimes, when I dreamed, it was as if she were still alive, as if nothing had happened. We laughed and had adventures just as before. These dreams were actually harder to bear because they felt all too real. When I awoke, I had to lose her all over again. Regardless of my dreams, each day, I woke up heavy with exhaustion and weariness.

Ten years ago, I prayed that my birthday could at least be a time of healing. I imagined all of my friends coming together. We would honor our friend's memory by enjoying each other's company. They would know my heart, and encourage me, knowing it was a hard day. But we would get through it together. There was hope!

This did not quite come together as I had imagined. Two of my friends from this cherished group either could not or would not come to my party. I was devastated! They were supposed to be there for me! Thankfully, some others came and rescued my party to some extent. I can't imagine how awful it would have been without them. But I had a hard time getting over what felt like such a betrayal.

In retrospect, I understand that everyone grieves differently, and sometimes people only know how to retreat. I also understand that my birthday is very inconveniently timed which makes it easy to forget or double-book. I have since resolved my issues with the offending members, and I understand that neither looked upon this as an opportunity to slight me. I only mention it to paint a clear picture of my brokenness at the time.

Now, this party did not occur on my actual birthday. It was something like the Friday or Saturday before. On my REAL birthday, Elisa made additional plans with me because A) She is my best friend! and B) It was my 21st birthday!

There is that right of passage that everyone must experience at 21, and that is going to a bar. We selected Tony's Tavern because it was close to home, and because there was karaoke. We did not want to sing ourselves, but it was a perfect people-watching opportunity.

I remember looking at the drink menu, and it was so abstract and foreign. The only alcohol I had ever had to date was a sip of Boone's Farm Snow Creek Berry, and I'm not sure that counts. Beer smelled like corn nuts, which I abhor, so beer did not sound appealing. Wines seemed far too sophisticated,
and I was a little bit scared that I would pronounce something wrong.  And then hard liquor was something that did not sound like it would agree with the burning tears that coated my stomach. So no mixed drinks for me! I longed for something familiar and safe, but not something I ordered with frequency. So, I did the unthinkable. I ordered a Cherry Coke, in a bar, on my 21st birthday.

The bar tender, I like to think it was Tony, himself, asked to see my license. Likely, because he suspected that I was 16 and trying to sneak into a bar covertly. He had long hair and a goatee and looked similar to Aaron Eckhart's character in Erin Brochovich (the motorcycler/ tattooed boyfriend). When he saw my license he looked up and smiled. He spoke with the gruff, raspy voice of a chain smoker and said, "Happy Birthday, sweetheart. I don't charge people for staying sober."

Cherry Coke in hand, I settled back in my chair to enjoy what I presumed would be bad karaoke. Only it wasn't! Elisa and I were delighted to enjoy talented singer after talented singer. For free! I swear these people rehearsed. And my perception was in no way compromised by alcohol, so you can believe me when I say- this was great music!

My birthday didn't start out liked I planned, but ended better than I could have imagined. Thanks to Elisa and Tony, and the talented karaoke singers of Tony's Tavern.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Now, were circumstances different, the Tony's Tavern experience might have been a contender for greatest birthday, truly.  At the time, this was a fun night in the midst of terrible. But terrible was still winning, and though this gave me a reprieve from awful, I still held a heart full of hurt feelings from my other birthday party and the unwavering dull ache of grief was still there.

 But one of the biggest gifts that 10 years has given me is perspective. Perspective to know that things change. And even when grief seems all-consuming and never ending, great friends can still give you great memories that bring you joy long after the grief has abated. I didn't have that perspective then. I didn't know that 10 years later, I would have an amazing husband and a new family that loves me as their own.

So these are my thoughts I leave. When the good times are here, cherish them and be thankful. When you are heavy with grief or heartache, take time to remember those small reprieves from the terrible and the small bursts of joy. Keep a highlight of the day journal and be thankful for those moments, no matter how small. In time they add up. And in time, you will HEAL. Your Rocky Mountain High is out there, waiting for you.

Oh unsettled little heart -

It's those tiny stresses that build up and plague you.
It's those small uncertainties that join forces to make an overwhelming, vast unknown that approaches too rapidly.
It's those realizations about yourself that you don't really want to acknowledge.
It's letting go of things that you've clasped so tightly.
It's wondering when to take a stand, and when to put someone's feelings above your own.
It's trying to grasp the meaning of things.
It's discerning those true and noble hearts.
It's yearning for change but not knowing what that needs to look like.
It's wondering if things are as they seem.
It's trying to fill those voids that are still so deeply void.
It's remembering a thousand tiny details...
And -
It's exhausted!

Blind-sighted

Everyone has a blind spot. It’s true! We did this experiment in high school that proved it. We were told to place a dot somewhere on an index card. (I’m not sure where)…Then we had to move the card in front of our eyes. In one particular position, the dot disappeared. The reason, my teacher explained, is that everyone has a blind spot. Your imagination “fills in” the spot using information from the immediate surroundings. Because the immediate surroundings were blank, the dot disappeared.

In a similar way, I think that the heart has a blind spot too. Our hearts fill it in with what we know or don’t know about someone’s character. I’m trying to become aware of my heart’s blind spot(s)…so I don’t miss anything obvious. Something that’s there, something I need to know. In doing so, I hope to know truth; I want to judge fairly; I want to be wise and discerning; I want to surround myself with pure and noble hearts.