Making up for lost time.

I've been rather annoyed at myself these past couple of weeks. 


It's been three weeks since I've moved from Grand Rapids, MI to Yorba Linda, CA. I've had so much happen these past three weeks, so many people I've met and so many awesome opportunities thrown my way...


I know I've lacked in updating friends and for that, I am so terribly sorry. 


I promise I've sat down countless times and have tried to force out words into a blog post-update. Something to let you guys know "I'm doing ok, this is what I'm up to...bla bla bla." But, let's just say, words don't come when they don't want to. Or, as my good friend (Kidding, I actually don't know the dude) Walter Wellesley Smith, would say: "There's nothing to writing.  All you do is sit down at a typewriter and open a vein."


Perhaps my "veins" haven't been ready to bleed my...words? The true feelings in my heart? Was that taking the analogy a bit far? Not sure. You guys can decide.




Anyways...


I know what I want to write about now. No, I don't want to tell you about the palm trees, how much I miss people, how toned my legs are getting from riding my AWESOME BIKE (thanks Uncle Bud, you're the bomb.com) or how ALL of the girls here seem to have hair past their belly buttons. I suppose it's rather practical here, however...it could double as a towel to take to the beach. "Come here little Billy, I must dry your knee-pits with my flowing strands!" 


Wow, I got off topic. 


I want to write about lost time. I want to write about memories missed. I want to write about family, stories, endless love, the same smile which passes through generations and true laughter. The kind of laughter which starts in your toes and bubbles up through your body until you just can't keep it inside. The rich, deep, hearty kind of laughter. The good stuff. I probably won't get to all of these topics, but, at least you'll get a taste of what's been brewing in my heart. 


Yesterday I wore an old set of converse sneakers. They're dirty. They're no designer Pumas, or actually, even real converse...probably knock off's from a thrift store. I also wore a pair of shorts made out of old jeans (they're pretty hideous) and carried around a vintage, leather, back-pack which belonged to my mom 20+ years ago. Somehow, I feel like I can pull this look off. Maybe I'm just in denial (but please don't tell me otherwise until I find the money tree and can afford new shoes.) 


My grandpa took us out on a date. "Us", being my Nana and me. Nana looked classy as usual, wearing her red lip stick and heels. God, I want to be like that woman when I grow up. 


First stop on date: 
  

Yup, you guessed it. Or, you know- I showed you. Regardless, "IN-N-OUT BURGER", I'm convinced is the best burger place ever. EVER. You hear me Five-Guys? You've got nothing on my main man; IN-N-OUT. 


So, we gobbled down the burgers...or rather Grandpa and I gobbed and Nana daintily nibbled her perfectly crispified bunned-burger. Nom Nom Nom. Tasty. 


Next stop (I promise, just keep with me- I'll tie up this blog-post up with a practical-lovey-dovey application and you'll be left dabbing your eyes with your neighbors shirt.) *ehheeem* where was I? Oh yes, Next stop: 

Cinema City in Anaheim, CA. It was a choice between Cars 2 or Mr. Poppers Penguins. We chose the latter. I know what you're thinking: "I have no idea what that movie is about!" Allow me to enlighten you with a slightly snarky semi-spoiler synopsis. (try saying that 3 times fast.)  


It's pretty much a "happily ever after movie" with bad CG penguins that poop at impromptu times. 


It didn't matter that it was horrible though, I laughed my gluteus maximus off. 
I put my feet up on the chair in front of me (don't worry, it was a very empty theater), sipped my cola very unlady-like and laughed until my belly hurt. 


Priceless.


Last stop: 

YogurtMania; it's practically heaven on earth. You grab a cup, fill it with whatever mixture of yogurt you want (they have different soft-serve like flavor dispensers all around the walls) and put whatever kinds of toppings you want. I got a mixture of sherbert, gummy bears and sour-gummy worms. It was amazing. I felt like I was a kid again, a kid going out on a date with my grandparents. 

Then, it hit me:

Holy, cow. I feel like a kid...going out on a date with my grandparents. 

Maybe I was experiencing an over-emotional girl moment...but as I struggled to pick out which color spoon I wanted to eat my delicious creation with, I fought back the tears. At 20 years old, this was the first time I've gone out on a date with my grandparents. This was the first time I felt like a care-free little girl, wearing dirty sneakers, laughing at pooping penguins and stuffing my face with frozen, sour-gummy yogurt. It was the first time I felt completely accepted, loved and like the most special grand-daughter on the face of the planet. 

Wow. All the missed memories. All of the real-childhood ice-cream dates I missed out on as a kid with my grandparents. All of the words unsaid, all of the time lost, all of the hugs not given...all of the laughter not shared. I can probably count on my fingers how many times I've visited California. And, I can probably count on one hand, how many times I had called and talked on the phone with my grandparents.  

So...sad.

Three weeks ago, they were practically strangers to me. I moved into a spare bedroom, listened to their stories and ate at their table pretending to feel like I somehow felt connected to them. Today, I sleep in their spare bedroom...but it's more than a room and the bed I sleep in is more than a bed. That bed has kept more than a dozen women safe at night (they housed dozens of women in their lifetime) and I'll be the last one of those girls. I'm wrapping up that legacy...and I feel blessed, SO terribly blessed because of it. And, the stories they tell aren't just stories anymore; they're history. They're their history...but it's also MY history. I'm proud to listen to their words of wisdom, I'm proud to call them my grandparents. I'm proud to walk with them. I'm proud to sit with them and I'm proud to eat with them. Because, when I sit at their table and we eat and laugh and reminisce, I don't feel like they're strangers anymore...I feel like they're family. I feel like I'm home.  

Go call your grandparents. Go listen to their stories. Go eat at their table. Share some Stolen Moments. 

Don't waist anymore time.