Love is a Playlist

February 25, 2016 ~ Henry ~ 2 Comments

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Dear Mackenzie,

Music is one of those things. Like a time machine, it takes you instantly back to the smells and the lighting and the textures of the time tied to a certain sound of a certain song. Eventually, instead of certain times, songs and artists start to tie themselves to certain people. Like you. And when you’ve been with someone for enough years, the songs start to pile up. Like with us.

There’s probably a song for every major moment in my life. More importantly, there’s probably a song for every hour we’ve spent together. But that’s most likely because, at any given moment, we’re either listening to music or youtube-ing music videos or googling random lyrics we can’t remember or simply singing louder than we should in the middle of a thrift store. And maybe that’s because when there aren’t words, there’re lyrics, and when there aren’t lyrics, there’re melodies. And that’s sometimes just what’s needed.

For times like when I skipped class to go with you to see Jurassic Park in 3-D, times like when we played Edith Piaf and made omelettes at 6:00AM while you’re roommates slept, and times like when it just hurts too much – inside and out – to make your own music… those are some of the times when melody and lyric and chorus and bridge does what nothing else can: capture a single or series of moments, forever to be called upon in times when the outside noise drowns everything else out.

It’s not exhaustive, but here’s a working playlist of some pretty great moments we’ve had so far…

1. For the Summer, by Ray Lamontagne

This is one of the first songs you used to introduce me to Mr. Lamontagne. And my life has never been the same ever since. For good and for bad. About 32 seconds into any song by Ray Lamontagne and I begin seriously contemplating a vegan lifestyle, teaching post-war French literature at an Appalachian liberal arts college. Also, this is your ringtone on my iPhone.

“Can I come home for the summer? I could slow down for a little while
Get back to loving each other
Leave all those long and lonesome miles behind”

2. Turning Page, by Sleeping at Last

That one time we’d “broken up” and you came over to my mom’s house so we could “talk” – which usually only ended in tears and more confusion – but instead, we just listened to music in the kitchen and when this song came on, we danced with the lights off and didn’t bother to ruin anything with pointless talk and just swayed in each other’s arms and wiped each other’s tears. And maybe you couldn’t see it, but I was floating.

Also, this is from the Twilight soundtrack. So, 500 points to us.

“I’ve waited a hundred years, but I’d wait a million more for you”

3. ***Flawless, by Beyoncé

LOVED this song when it first came out (because I’m a closet female Black Panther). But now it’s our morning alarm tone so now I HATE this song (because even human rights activists need a balanced sleep schedule).

“I woke up like this, I woke up like this. We flawless.”

Was Ashton Kutcher your computer wallpaper when I first met you? Was it?!

4. Brighter Than Sunshine, by Aqualung

Had we had the big wedding we initially wanted but thankfully avoided, this song from the A Lot Like Love soundtrack would have been the song used for our first dance. Even though I was firm in my desire to use Sade’s By Your Side. Small wedding = many avoided fights.

“It’s brighter than sunshine, let the rain fall, I don’t care”

5. Wide Open Spaces, by The Dixie Chicks

Our commute home is about an hour long. And you can fill every one of those hours for an entire year just singing Dixie Chicks songs. Especially this one. It’s fun for the first 37 minutes and then I slowly start to go to a dark place. But then I see the absolute bliss plastered on your face and I’m allowed a glimpse into the life of 15 year-old Mackenzie and I melt and cherish seeing you so free and happy. And then I speed up because we’re almost at our exit which means were closer to ending this torture.

“Many precede and many will follow
A young girl’s dreams no longer hollow
It takes the shape of a place out west
But what it holds for her, she hasn’t yet guessed”

6. Glory Bound, by Martin Sexton

For my 26th birthday, you took me to his concert, our first one together. He came out looking like the fourth member of the lollypop guild, but then opened his mouth and plucked his guitar and threw his head back in pure musical surrender and I wanted to throw myself at his feet. This song. Holy cow on a hot tin roof. You know what I’m talking about.

“I’m taking my chance on the wind
I’m packing up all my bags”

I’m guessing none of these guys have an IRA or Costco membership

7. Rivers and Roads, by The Head & the Heart

If there were theme music for all the people we know, this would be the song I’d pick for your brother Chandler. You LOVE your brother Chandler. I do too. He’s 200 lbs of muscle and tears. And he’s taught me to see the beauty of buying a VW van and living the life of a beat poet on the road. Someday.

“A year from now we’ll all be gone
All our friends will move away
And they’re going to better places
But our friends will be gone away”

8. Is This Love?, by Bob Marley

Yes, Bob. It is.

“We’ll share the shelter, of my single bed,
We’ll share the same room, for Jah provide the bread.”

9. Don’t Rain On My Parade, by Barbra Streisand via Funny Girl

Because I know all the words and can comfortably hit all the notes.

“Life’s candy and the sun’s a ball of buttah!”

10. Blackbird, by Bobby McFerrin

I missed that whole period in history when a man singing in and out of every orifice in his head was a thing. Apparently, it was. But you did NOT miss out on it. And every time Bobby comes up in Spotify or Pandora, you grab my forearm and – with every muster of your buster – tell me, “this is my childhood”. With tears in your eyes. And I just don’t get it. And that’s okay.

“Mmmdeep, mmmboop, mmmpop, mmmskee“

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11. Kathy’s Song, by Eva Cassidy

This is your favorite song. And it fits you. And who’s Kathy?

“And as I watch the drops of rain
Weave their weary paths and die
I know that I am like the rain
There before the grace of you, go I”

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12. Hold On, by Wilson Philips

That one time I was vacuuming the hall and you were brushing your teeth and this song came on and I dropped the vacuum and danced my little, not-so-little butt off for you while you watched in awe that I knew all the words as I followed the natural flow of my body to the beats and rhythms. And then we hugged and forgot about the chicken burning in the oven. And that’s life and vacuuming sucks (#pun) and every once in a while we just need to be reminded to hold on for one more day and break free, break free from the chains.

Love, H

36609_10151104238461608_1531254096_n — You’re the cha to my cha

My Silent Fighter

February 20, 2016May 2, 2016 ~ Mackenzie Madsen ~ 5 Comments

View More: http://samanthabroderick.pass.us/unga — Photography by the amazing Samantha Broderick

I don’t remember meeting Henry for the first time. It’s true. And I feel really bad about it. Shame on me for not having a first memory! Because he really really deserves a great first memory. Time didn’t stop. Birds didn’t sing. Wind didn’t blow in his hair like a fan on a Telenovela series. And no…I don’t recall fainting, forgetting my name or suggesting we play Yahtzee (another story altogether).

I always thought when I met the man that I would eventually marry, that I would feel something different. What do I mean by different? I don’t really know..something having to do with talking woodland creatures, wind, and heavenly hosts. I later learned that whatever I thought I knew about love and fairy tales was a bunch of crap. It really was. Buckets of it. Fact of the matter is, I knew nothing about love, twue wuuuuv. I knew nothing until I met Henry. And he taught me, not just the perfect way to apply hot sauce to tacos, but how to love. And not just how to love him, but how to love myself.

View More: http://samanthabroderick.pass.us/unga I didn’t know this at the time we first met, but Henry would change me. I know what you’re thinking, and no, you don’t need to start calling me Chaz or Elphaba. What I’m trying to say is, I now shave my legs more often. And I see the world through the eyes of his love (thank you Melissa Manchester). Henry is my split-soul, my twin flame, my spirit animal, my space monkey (I think that’s maybe something else). We were MFEO (hopefully my Sleepless in Seattle reference isn’t lost on anyone). And our love actually started small.

He would start by making me laugh. a lot. We would say the EXACT SAME THINGS at the EXACT SAME TIME. (Like today, when we said “Dairy Queen” in unison out of the blue). I would fall in love with his brown skin and freckles and the fact that he could talk about his favorite Bachelorette villain one second and the use of Iambic pentameter in Shakespearean sonnets the next. He would fascinate me (that lip curl…).

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And soon he would play French music all the while Julia Child-ing beef bourguignon (I love how he whips a towel over his shoulder when he cooks). He would bring me flowers wrapped in paper. We would sing in the car (He does Renee Flemming better than Renee Flemming). He would put his hand on the small of my back when we’d walk into a crowded room. He would laugh at my jokes. He would love my family as his own. He would hold my cold hand in his warm one and pull the joined set over his chest as if making an oath, an oath that no matter how tough things got, he would stay.

And later he would marry me. He would help me wash my hair when I got too out of breath to do so on my own. He would help me get out of bed when I didn’t have the strength or will. He would carry my oxygen tank for me so I wouldn’t be uncomfortable. He would celebrate with me the tiny victories, and cry with me at our tiny losses. He would rub sore muscles and repeat to me what I so often forget to do these days, “breathe…in and out…slow and steady. Everything’s going to be ok.”

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I didn’t know all this then. But since I’m imparting life lessons that I’ve learned with the perspective that I didn’t ask for, here’s this: 1. Love conquers all. 2. Pizza and hot dogs in one night is a mistake. 3. There are no mistakes in life. 4. You can never have too many ketchup cups. And 5. if laughter truly is the best medicine, then I know for a fact that Henry can heal me.

Anne of Green Gables said it best, “I don’t want sunbursts or marble halls, I just want you.” While I may never replace his love for Michelle Kwan or Rafa Nadal, I know this for sure: I don’t exist apart from us, for he is the greatest part of me. And I don’t need to live happily ever after, just as long as I get to live with him.

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Happy Birthday Henry, my reason for living.

Men Are From Mars, Women Are Always Right

February 17, 2016 ~ Henry ~ 7 Comments

1025642_10100282257607224_923145276_o — Epic photo courtesy of Alyssa Tolman‘s mad skills

Dear Mackenzie,

Every relationship should come with monthly statistical reporting. For example, I’d like to know exactly how many times I’ve had to tell you to buckle your seat belt only to have you glare at me, shun my request, and pretend to ignore the beeping of the car telling you to listen to your husband. Likewise, how many times do you think you’ve told me to simply follow the recipe instead of improvising as if I’m Rachel Ray? (How was I supposed to know mushrooms, flour and vinegar wouldn’t make gravy?) But more than anything, I’d love to have a perfect recount of all the fights, arguments, petty snips, and under-the-breath snarks we’ve shared over the years.

Oh, the bombastic reasoning of two lovers in quarrel. For some reason, nothing seems to matter to me as much unless I’m arguing about it with you. Then EVERYTHING becomes life or death. Like that one time I soapboxed about Ruth Bader Ginsberg, arguing with you about her merits and contributions to the judicial landscape and fourth-wave feminism. First of all, I couldn’t even spell “Ginsberg” until I googled it 7 minutes ago. Second, we had that argument when I was 3 seasons into The West Wing, which led me to believe I had a law degree. Lastly, you didn’t even care about the argument, you just knew talking ill of Ruth would get a rise out of me. So, that one’s on you.

But without looking through the records of our fights, I know for sure we’ve had some pretty pointless doozies, most of which have been my doing. So, maybe chronicling them here in their ridiculousness will help us (mostly me) from repeating them. And it’s also probably a large comfort to know that plenty of other couples have similar spats. I’ve been to enough relief society meetings to know we’re not the only ones.

I’d first like to add that, for most of these fights, either 1) I hadn’t eaten in the past 20 mins 2) I just got off the phone with Comcast or 3) I just came out of a dressing room that had wide-angle mirrors. So, I’m partially justified in all of these instances. Right?

1. The fight we have right before walking into a social gathering

That one time we went to a birthday party at Thai Village and we got into a spat on the car ride there about “something” and had to put on a smile before walking in the doors because 17 people were at this party and we’re the “funny” couple and everyone holds us to that, forgetting we’re human and sometimes want to smash a pie in each other’s face. Well, we didn’t disappoint, because sometimes the show must go on and because you can turn a scowl into an angelic smile faster than I can judge a grown man wearing Abercrombie and Fitch. And after our second serving of red curry and pad thai, we’d forgotten what we fought about and after dinner we spent a moment in the cold car telling each other how sorry we were. And then I told you to buckle your seatbelt before the car was even on. And we were back to square one. And I’m an idiot.

2. The fight we have when one of us keeps falling asleep

That one time our dinner conversation carried over into the living room and then started to turn sour as we were getting ready for bed. And while you were in the shower, I was pacing the floor, formulating the perfect response. And then you came out of the shower and I watched as you brushed your teeth and puttered in the bathroom and I instantly forgot my point because sometimes I love you more than I like being right or being heard. And then you changed into your PJ’s and turned out the lights and came to bed and we started to resolve our discussion. And just when I remembered the 15 reasons why I’m right, you fell asleep. And stayed asleep. So, I won by default.

3. The church fight

Sometimes fast and testimony meeting seems like the perfect place to discuss why you spent so much money at Hobby Lobby the day before. It’s not. I know that now.

4. The fight we have in hushed tones at the grocery store checkout line

The difference between you and me: I have a hard time deciding what cereal to get, so I buy one and see how it goes. You have a hard time deciding what cereal to get, so you buy 12 boxes but only end up liking 2 of them and throw away the other 10 boxes a few months later. Exact quote: “Why do you need 3 boxes of Cinnamon Chex?” Exact quote, in response: “Because Henry, you’re not my dad!”

5. The hangry Fight

That one time we were held up by a late delivery, so we barely made it to Blue Lemon before they closed and when we ordered our food there was no blood in our faces or love in our voices. And then we swallowed our food like maniacs and looked into each other’s eyes and apologized for everything that happened in the hour prior. Yes, cheese is the 6th love language.

6. The fight we have about socks but it’s really about my daddy issues

Me: “It just makes me feel like you don’t validate me as a grown man”

You: “Fine, Henry…you can have another underwear drawer…”

7. The rush hour traffic fight

Me: “Hey Kenz, we should start looking at houses?”

16 minutes of discussion later…

You: “Stop the car, I’m getting out!”

8. The fight we have about the names we will and will NOT give our future children

Crypton is not a name you give a baby, my love. It’s a coding language used to navigate drone strikes.

9. The double-edged sword fight

That fight we seem to sometimes have where you’re talking about “A” and I’m talking about “B” and we don’t realize we aren’t even arguing the same topic until we’re in the middle of IKEA and a fabric decision on an ottoman is about to give us a brain aneurysm.

You: “Well, I think the way you chew is stupid!”

Me: “…Wait, I thought we were talking about Benghazi”

10. The nothing fight

Let’s face it, they’re all “nothing” fights. Because really, all of our arguments share a simple theme: we’re sick of wearing pants everyday and we just wanna be panda bears. And what’s wrong with the name Shoshana?

Love, H

One in Six Million

February 15, 2016May 19, 2016 ~ Mackenzie Madsen ~ 24 Comments

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Whoever said “live like you are dying” was a real twerp. Seriously. If everyone lived each moment like it was their last, the world would fall to pieces. Think about it: Everyone would quit their jobs. We’d all gain at least 20 pounds each. bread. cheese. chocolate. cheese. Christmas decorations would be up all year round. Hugging…so much hugging. Whitney Huston’s “One Moment in Time” on a constant loop. We’d all just walk around sobbing at every puppy and sunset we saw, wondering if it would be our last. That’s no way to live! As a matter of fact…it’s exhausting. Depressing! Have you ever watched Beaches, Step Mom or Old Yeller?! Well… multiply that by 10 and you maybe have a taste of what that would feel like. Trust me.

In August of last year, I was diagnosed with a rare terminal lung disease called Pulmonary Veno Occlusive Disease or PVOD. It’s a rare form of Pulmonary Hypertension or PH, which is a fancy way of saying that my lungs aren’t getting enough oxygen and my heart is having to work extra hard to pump oxygenated blood to all my important organs. Not much is known about this disease and the only major treatment is a lung transplant.

The odds of getting diagnosed with such a disease: 1 in 6 million.

Here are some other statistics that should help put this into perspective:

Odds of being born with 11 fingers or toes: 1 in 500

Odds of winning an Oscar: 1 in 11,500

Odds of being struck by lightning: 1 in 700,000

Odds of becoming a billionaire: 1 in 7,000,000

Odds of becoming President of the U.S.: 1 in 10,000,000

So based on my luck, I should be a lightning survivor, billionaire Oscar winner with 11 toes, running for president.

But alas…I am none of these things. Instead, I am sick. I’ve got a bad pair of lungs. And that’s ok.

I really really don’t want this blog to be sad. or depressing. We have enough Twilight moms, Jersey Shore millionaires and pet obesity for that. What I do want is 1) to help anyone in a similar situation 2) raise awareness for organ donation and this beast of a disease (which often goes misdiagnosed, if diagnosed at all) 3) to rant to something that isn’t my husband because there’s only so much tender face caressing a man can take. Poor guy.

Let me be honest…lung disease sucks. Oxygen tubes dry out my nose and I feel more geriatric than vicenarian…but most of the time…I’m really happy. Like truly happy. I have the most wonderful husband who throws me into an attack every 5 minutes from laughing so hard. I have supportive family and friends who at any given moment would drop anything to help me. I still go to work. I still shower. I still wear pants….ok, maybe I don’t (Maybe I never did). I still eat everything that’s in front of me (probably not helping). And there’s still hope. And where there’s hope (and faith), there is peace.

I’ve been blessed with a condition that makes me acutely aware of my existence. And I find it my duty to impart with you one of the truths I have learned about that existence thus far. It is this: we are all going to die someday, but…we will live until we do. Shocking, I know! If you are reading this, then you are still alive! So…quit your job, turn up the Whitney Huston and get to gaining that 20 pounds or simply follow Snookie’s advice, “steal a plant, get arrested, and then do whatever,” because congratulations, you’re lucky like me.

The 11th Day

February 9, 2016 ~ Henry ~ 3 Comments

Dear Mackenzie,

Grief was always something that happened to other people in other places around me, but never to me. Not directly. I used to think grief was simply a state everyone eventually evolved into, like achy joints and ear hair. However, I’ve come to feel that gracefully mourning a loved one is an ability that can be mastered at any age. And for too many good people, it’s learned too soon and descends harder than I am yet able to understand or accept. Grief and loss and endings and grace; 29 years in this life and I’d never given it much thought. Now, it’s nearly all I think about. And not only in ways that it relates to us specifically, but also in ways that relate to the bigger world beyond you and me.

In high school, people were always surprised to find out that A.J. Pope and I are cousins. For starters, we were never very close or very much alike. He was always much more involved than me, more athletic, and actually went to his classes. I, on the other hand, was the only boy in the advanced dance class, was kicked off the moot court team for “over arguing”, and spent the majority of my senior year at Taco Bell. All hard to believe, I know. But I didn’t have to know A.J. perfectly to know firsthand of his kindness. Everyone who knew him knew that; that he’s calm but strong, witty but kind, fierce in his loyalty and wise beyond his years. All of which only added to my ache when, on February 5th, he and his lovely wife, Lizette, lost a newborn child for the second time. He lived 10 days.

What limits are there to the scope and breadth of anguish a single soul can bear? And what parts of the body does a grief that heavy go when everywhere else is full? I want to know. If there are words to satisfy, I want to know. At the very least, I wish I had an idea; just one idea that I could string to another and then string to another and then string to another until I had enough slack to make partial sense of it all. But I don’t. All I have is what I know, which isn’t much and might not help. But it comes from the heart, a heart that breaks for them in ways I can only second-hand imagine.

I know that I have memories of A.J., good memories that I’d probably be able to piece together to accurately describe his goodness to a stranger. I know many more who know him and have deeper memories of him, longer memories to fill in the holes and flesh out the man. I know enough of Lizette to know there are countless others who can retell her laughs and faces and happy times and hair dos. And I imagine a trial like this can make one feel evaporated, muted from life. But I know there’s enough of A.J. and Lizette in all of us to keep the spirit of them and their beautiful family forever vibrant and effectual in this life.

I know that, as opposed to what I used to believe, there are no areas of life off-limits to the hands of fate. Or destiny or chance or divine providence or whatever you call it. Part of being here is agreeing to what may and probably will come, and it’s hard and it’s terrifying and at times it keeps me from leaving my bed in the morning. But I think and I hope that it’s as fair and as justified as it is severe and deafening. For as exposed as we are to the hot hand of suffering, we’re just as susceptible to an unstoppable potential for power and godliness. Their world may deservedly feel desolate, but I know the ground they now walk is sacred and promised and reserved for the strongest shoulders of the most worthy.

I know that a healthy portion of this life is spent trying to reconcile the distance between time and eternity. More than that, however, may simply be reconciling the distance between the 9th and the 10th day of baby Likio’s life – the time it took to shake a world and loosen the fibers of a young and righteous home. And beyond that, what of the days to follow? What will fill the 11th day and then the 12th and then the 4,000th?

I only know a little bit. But I feel I know they’ll cross this desolate land, however many days it may take from this one. And in addition to their personal strength, I know they’ll make it because of the earthly and heavenly concourse behind them and ahead of them, on their left and on their right, in their past and in their future and aiding them from on high. They’ll cross this desolate land, because maybe that’s why we’re all still here. And maybe they’re one of the select few entrusted with the directions and the aptitude necessary to crossing. And when they get there, they’ll know the knowing we all seek. And they’ll feel the warmth and see the purpose and touch the faces of their beloved and sing the sweet words of life lost and reclaimed. And perhaps they’ll be honored for the multitude of their endurances in this life and the example they showed all of us. And perhaps they’ll look back and take slow, deep breaths and remember, with reverence, the precious price of it all.

Love, H

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