Memory Box

disregard the fact that I look horrible in this picture

I've been home for the past few days.

It's been so very good for me.

My heart needed a place to begin to repair itself.

I've been feeling weathered and worn.

Now I feel slightly less so.

Today I was reorganizing my old room in my parent's house.

I came across letters, yearbooks, notebooks, English papers, trinkets, jewelry, and all kinds of lovely little pieces of me.

Part of me felt strange.

Like I was going through someone else's memories.

And then I found a silly short story that Ace and I wrote together so many years ago...

And I remembered who I was.

Remembering who I had been before life got hard and big decisions had to be made, made me want to sit there and hold that paper so tightly.

I'm not sure why.

Other than that maybe for a second I needed to remind myself that though I've come a long way I still have miles to go.

xo

Oh, David, you slay me.

On Mondays and Wednesday I have Intro to Interiors from 8 am until 9:15 am.

At 9:30 I have History of Design and Architecture.

Both classes are taught by the same Professor.

My professor is completely brilliant and about as chipper as a Professor Snape from Harry Potter.

He has a talent for talking in a monotone voice while he spits off facts about design and all of the while remains unconcerned about the comatose students on the front row.

That's why when he has a moment like he had today I feel the need to document it....for his legacy.

We've been studying English Barque design and today we started Early Georgian.

Early Georgian is the first time in the history of design when furniture pieces are named after the designer and not the monarch.

Today Dr. T introduced the most influential English Furniture designer during the Early Georgian Era.

"It is Thomas (pause) Chippendale. Not. Chip and Dale. And not the Strippers."

Of course I was the only one who laughed out loud.

A mark of my maturity.

xo

P.s. I really love Dr. T's class and not just because he says racy things. But mostly because of that.

Dear Sir,

This morning I:

poured orange juice on my cereal,

tried to drown out the opera singing next door with hymns,

strained my brain for creativity,

and instead couldn't stop thinking about an epiphany I had last night.

Which is this, my love, the process of finding you has/and will be a long one because you are the only one who can complete me.

I think in heaven I promised you my heart and I think you promised me yours.

We probably even pinkie promised that we would find each other.

And I know when we find each other the impression you left on my soul will be filled again.

with love,

your Sabrina Danielle

All That Jazz

me and my daddy at a Jazz game in 2009

I am the poster child for a sports dimwit.

If I see a ball flying near or towards my head my immediate reaction is to run.

Not catch.

Run.

I couldn't tell you how football works or even how many inning are in a baseball game.

I think that's why it was a shock to my roommates when they found me on the couch watching a Jazz game.

Gigi: "You're watching basketball?"

Me: "Not just basketball. It's Jerry and my boys."

I have to admit initially I didn't love Jerry, the boys, or the game.

But I did love my dad.

My dad is the Jazz fan.

And no fair weather fan at that.

He's always been a Jazz man.

I remember in middle school I would moan and groan when I would hear the too familiar voice of Hot Rod Hundley.

But then I would see my dad getting ready to coach the boys from our green couch.

And then I would sit next to him and the rhythm of the game would lure me in.

By the time I was in high school I was planning my nights around the games.

I would stay at home just to sit on that green couch and watch the game with my dad.

Some nights were victorious, others ended is embarrassing defeat.

Game after game, season after season.

Last season before I moved away I remember a pit in my stomach as each game ended.

Nothing would be as perfect as sitting on that green couch with my dad.

Tonight when I heard the voice of Craig Bolerjack and watched Jerry stalk onto the court in his usual slump I nearly teared up.

It's not just basketball...it's a little piece of home.

xo