Why Me?

SO the year started fantastic. I got a promotion at my job, the winter storms hadn't caused any severe mishaps, I was (and still am) falling more madly in love and I had two vacations, to more tropical climates, planned within the first two months.

January went off with only a slight hitch of my 25th birthday meltdown. The number stung so hard and for no apparent reason at all. Thoughts came barrelling through my normal routine of who I was, who I'd become, where I was going and how I was going to make my impact on this world before I woke up middle-aged and with regrets. I absolutely refuse to be complacent and "normal" in what people expect of their lives. I'm a thrill seeker. I like challenge and I like (healthy) risks. As my future begins to mold and unfold, taking another's wishes and goals into account, makes my type-A mind go into overdrive of planning and setting myself (us) up for success. Eventually, after throwing myself the weirdest pity party of all-day tears and laughter, and speaking with my closest friends, I settled down enough to start being (slightly) normal again.

So February comes along. As my counterparts are receiving their valid US Passports, I received a letter stating that I was issued the wrong renewal forms, and because my initial passport was before my 16th birthday, I was in need of a totally new passport- with two weeks until flight time to Mexico- a trip that had so much anticipation, excitement and nerves behind it already.
I decide to make a drama out of getting it by encountering battles with no-name organizations like the United States Post Office, the United States Department of Justice, a company called Sameday Passport out of Chicago and Fedex. It ended with a small extortion of my bank account, a lot of anxiety and a day late into Cancun. But I got there, and I'm thankful and still believe you learn from everything and things happen for a reason. - It just took me a lot of deep breaths and a few sips of watered down Mexican cocktails to reassure myself.

It's now only February 14. This past week has felt like two entire months on it's own.

On the day we arrived home from Cancun, I was experiencing some indigestion and stomach pains but took light to it, due to our incessant obsession with room service in Cancun and our unlimited poolside refreshments. I believed it to be just the normal run of the mill stomach issues for me. Never have had a normal digestion process. Stomach pains and cramping have been something of slight regularity, so I made mention in passing to Brian and my friends I was traveling with, of seeing blood, but never thought much more about it.

The next morning I spoke with my mother at my teeth cleaning appointment (dear doc, sorry you had to witness my mouth 6 hours after getting home from Mexico. Whoops.), explaining that my body was excreting moderate to heavy amount of bright red blood, but I was sure it was to go away. She expressed her concerns but has come to realize in the 25 years of trying to make me listen, that I've inherited both her and my father's stubborn trait and I would do what I was going to do.

I left the Dentist's office in haste of a good soup and salad in America. It had been days since my body has seen proper nutrition and I was craving vegetables and leaves. Brian and I headed to lunch and after a couple bites I was in the bathroom in pain and started to get a bit nervous.

I spent my entire day thereafter being incredibly lethargic and sleeping. I came around in the evening and made my way to my grandparents house, who also happened to be in town that week. We talked of our lives, my trip, the weather and everything else we could think of. I sat on the floor next to Gram's chair, feeling very relaxed and safe, yet never mentioned what was going on- something I never do. (My grandparents probably know more about me than they care to admit, because somehow I always blurt random life happenings out in hopes they share their experiences and/or knowledge.)

I finally made it home about 7:30pm and exhaustively hugged my mother. I was in the works of grabbing misc. things around the house that belonged to me and without fail, I needed to use the bathroom. It hadn't gotten better, and had most definitely gotten worse. I, like the 4 year old I am, grabbed my mother's hand and made her look. Her startled look and onset worry instantly made me feel like the child I was being. Off to the ER I was to go. No if's and's or but's (no pun intended Noren) about it. She pleaded to go with me, but I assured her she needed her rest before work the next day, and Brian would go with me.

Seven very long hours later, I had a good looking doctor put his fingers in my backside, take blood and stool samples and tell me it was outside of his expertise and I needed to see a specialist. Awesome. Back to square one- actually negative after the probing I received. And it was only Tuesday.

Wednesday. In and out of sleep, I played phone tag with my Aunt Tracy, whom works in the Spectrum Health systems in Grand Rapids. She helped get me an appointment with a general surgeon in GR who would be the starting block in my road to discovery. After my initial consultation, and his complete puzzlement, he set up an array of tests and procedures to start slaying the dragon. (At this point I haven't eaten anything solid and still having rough cramps that mimicked menstrual pains.)

Thursday. Bri and I went to the Gerald R. Ford Museum to kill some time and get my mind cleared. I wasn't able to eat or drink until my test at 3pm, so I needed to keep busy. After learning about the only US President who was not elected to the Vice President role, nor the President role, I was quite content with heading downtown to Blodgett. Pretty quiet day in the grand scheme of things, which is all I could hope for.

That's when D-Day hit. Friday. I had an early afternoon colonoscopy scheduled. Unlike the rest of the 25 year old women I associate with, this procedure was no threat to me, being that I've had one done a few years ago with IBS-like symptoms as well. So I suited up, in an awkward gown and grippy socks and went under for what I thought would be a quick 30 minute scope. I instantly woke up through the sedation screaming in pain. I cried. I acted like a baby. and then I swore. I think I said every word that came to mind, even if I didn't know it's full meaning. I grabbed both nurses hands and acted like I was giving birth to 8 kids. at once. They gave me another shot to ease the pain, but it was too late. I had already felt it all. The shooting pain, the crippling shocks, the everything that isn't prepared for.

In recovery, Brian knew something was wrong. My pillow was covered in black from the mascara I had applied to impress my 70 year old surgeon. I continually heard the nurse explain that I was fine and that "young women just reacted dramatically to sedation." The fight in me was gone, I had nothing left for her- which is comparable to me being at a loss for words, usually non-existent. I whimpered and cried and tried to explain to him what I went through and was feeling. Of course the procedural nurses and the doctor were on to their next victim, so it was me, battling the wicked witch of the endoscopy department on my lonesome, with Brian in a cluttered cloud of "what the heck is going on?"

After I convinced the kind woman to leave me alone and discharge me, I was escorted to the car and off Brian and I went to South Lyon, back to the arms of Mom- who will always and forever make everything better. I had an OK weekend. Several bouts of afternoon pain ranging from cramps & bloating to body numbing surges, but I came back to GR wide-eyed Sunday evening, ready to take on the world... and my desk, that I had now vacated for over a week.

Nice try.

About 1pm this afternoon I doubled over in pain. The nausea overcame me and the fever rose. What the heck? I followed the diet that I have been reading and researching about. I was completely hydrated. What was going on? I called the doctor and he called in a prescription to help ease the digestive pains. I retreated to my apartment feeling defeated on this bright sunny day. I took my first pill and tried to sleep. No such luck. The pill actually had the opposite effects on my digestive tract and stopped everything. So now, instead of awful pain and constant bathroom sprints, I had a build up of pain and no movement. WHAT THE HECK?!

So here I am, 7 P.M. on a Monday night. I'm lost, I'm confused and consistently asking myself, Why me? What did I do wrong to make myself get like this? Where did I choose the wrong path? And why isn't this adding up to a pattern I can detect and consequently change?

And that, is completely horrible thinking.

I didn't do this to myself on purpose. Auto-immune diseases aren't confirmed by any certain cause. Absolutely I've added to it. With my rockstar, party-hard lifestyle through college and into my mid-20s. The top 3 irritants of irritable bowel diseases? Alcohol, nicotine & caffeine. Gee, nothing to do with my line of work or my social circle... during worknights- mostly. kinda. never.

How was I so ignorant to miss the signs? The constant stomach aches and all the gross things that happen in the bathroom that it's not politically correct for women to openly discuss? Where was my brain when my body was talking? Why was partying more important than how I felt?
Such a shame. What a letdown. I'm such a strong, independent, leader-type and I can't even follow my own rules or standing up for myself?

So here's the part where the quarter life crisis I had just a mere month ago comes back around. I need to work something new into the plans. I need to be open to change and willing to learn. I need to re-learn life in means of eating to live and not lavishly dining on expensive vodkas and highly saturated foods because I can. (The urge for fine dining and cocktail parties hasn't left- and I don't think it ever will.) But I can do this. And I will.

My friends will be the first to announce how I can't turn down a bet. The football game, the approaching a stranger for conversation, the awkward comments that break the silence- you name it, I'd probably give it a go. So here's the point where I challenge myself. It definitely won't be easy. But I'm optimistic.

I have a great family, a wonderful boyfriend (who now knows every intricate awkward detail of my life) and a helluva group of friends. And you know what? A great rest of the year to keep on rolling.


Why NOT me? I'm more than capable.

the bitterSWEET state of being in a long distance relationship

the Back Story...

I met Brian back in high school where I regularly ogled over him with a school girl's crush and thought about just how handsome and charming he was. He was a year ahead of me in school and fortunately, I'd like to think due to my views of "timing is everything," we were both in what were "serious" relationships for high school. Nothing ever became of my crush (which if you know me, having a crush is comparable to breathing in my life) and that was that. I went off to college and began a larger, more exciting world of "dating."

He SWEARS nowadays that he visited Central Michigan, where I went to college for two years, and tried to contact me to potentially explore what could have become of us. We both might agree I was too caught up in the hype and excitement that was my life at CMU, that I don't remember his visit, or his call that he would be in the area. (I still think he's bluffing.)

enter Present Day.

I have been dating Brian for over a year due to "fate," or Mafia Wars, whichever you choose to believe in more. I live in Grand Rapids, MI and work for an advertising firm in Ada, which other than my soul-mate of a roommate whom I co-exist with beyond wonderfully, is the only thing that binds me to the geographic area.

Brian, however, lives in New Hudson, MI, five miles from where I grew up, that is plentiful with family and friends whom are very near to my heart. (This isn't to say I haven't met friends in West Michigan I will forever remember, or be a part of their lives- but the bulk of what made me and what influenced that, is back "home.") Brian works for an engineering firm located out of Southfield, MI, where he is employed, enjoys his job and to be quite honest, makes more money than I do. (This last point is ONLY relevant to planning a stable future.)

As Brian and I move closer and closer to the next steps in our lives, engagement, marriage, buying and house and creating a life of our own together, the obvious choice is back "home." It saddens me and excites me all in the same thought. My last four years of life have been in West Michigan, falling in love with the scenery, the accessibility, the commerce and the people I know and now rely on in my everyday troubles and triumphs.

black & White...

I've lived on my own, or with roommates, since 18, never having to answer to anybody else, or constantly let someone know my every move. I'm independent, stubborn and motivated to make an impact on someone, or something, in my quest for life. (Some of which often cause issues with learning to offer 50% of me and my efforts to another human.) I'm extremely sarcastic, quick-witted and thrive off "living on the edge," or being spontaneous. I grew up with a large group of close friends and family whom are always too loud, too animated and very dramatic in their story telling.

"B", as his friends and family call him, tends to be quieter, more reserved, and content with more private-style hangouts. He has a HUGE heart and is quite sensitive. He plans out his every move, calculates math quicker than my wit in his head, and tells long very detailed stories. He LOVES semantics and understanding how and why things work and happen. He has select close friends whom he enjoys one-on-one dinners, cocktails or coffee with and couldn't be more content with life.

So here we are, 150 miles apart on a daily basis, making two totally different worlds collide, and more often than not, through the receiver of the telephone. I couldn't tell you it's been easy getting here, and I'm not sure we're fully through the weeds yet either. We fight, we bicker, we have two totally different outlooks and approaches to life and it's occurrences. We often times want to strangle the other in between laughs. But that's what we do have... laughs.

I've never met another man in my life that can have me laughing like he does to me, and many would attest to me not being the easiest critic. He makes me whole world light up, comparable to a child on Christmas morning, and my smile bigger than ever before. He cares to "fight me for me," as he puts it, to enjoy more of the simple things in life, and not attempt to live at the speed of sound. (I would argue his hatred for my "abomination" of a smart phone attached to my hip tops the charts.) He calms me, he soothes me, and ironically, he understands me. He appreciates and supports my pursuit of my career, and what potential I may have. He believes in me as his partner in tackling life together, for what we both can hope is a very long time. He loves me. (Which if you ask my father, can be VERY difficult from time to time.)

So here I sit on a Sunday, writing, which I've become to know as a very calming activity. Out the porch you can see the snow falling and the sun setting. The anticipation of the upcoming holidays upon us can be seen all around our apartment in the stockings and bright lights. I'm drinking a cup of coffee and thinking of perhaps scrap-booking (my new found love) for an hour or two tonight. I've got my smart phone next to me, chiming with emails and notifications of the upcoming work week, which I will inevitably address tonight to ease my mind of all the possible 4th quarter ending chaos that may spring 8am EST tomorrow. But the best thing going on right now? The sleeping body in my bed in the next room, re-energizing himself after a long Sunday of church, shopping and lunch, before he drives back two hours to "home." I couldn't imagine my life without him. And I can't wait for the time to come where our lives collide on a daily basis. We can live, laugh, strangle and love all in person.

After all, timing IS everything. <3

Both sides of the spectrum

So at 24 I find myself ridiculously out of shape...

A "has been" in the world of health. Who I once was, an always on-the-go high school athlete, turned college kids who very rapidly slumped off the health and exercise radar, with absolutely no motivation to go back. Beer pong, college football viewing and substantial weight gain later I looked in the mirror, reminisced at old photos and there was something that needed to change.

Enter present day.

I live with my best friend, a gorgeous redhead, stands about 5' 9" and weighs about 150, if that. (dear Passage, if I just got your weight extremely off, you can hate me :)) She's always been active, can eat like a 16 year old boy going through puberty, and manages to stay the size of my left thigh. She's incredible. Not to say she doesn't have to work for it, just substantially less than some of us other women... So our lifestyle is that of two bachelorettes living in an apartment in Grand Rapids, we have our fair share of "late nights" and "college football Saturdays" but for the most part we tend to eat healthy(ish) and consciously.




Around August of this year, a couple of guy friends of ours joined a mixed martial arts gym and asked if we had an interest. Amanda (No I unfortunately don't speak in third person, my roommate and I share the same name.) joined a week or so before me due to scheduling stuff, but by the end of July we were all on track. It was neat. We did things like body sculpt class (weight lifting of legs, arms and core) and aerobic kickboxing (the closest thing to a death wish possible) It sucked and was so fun all in the same sentence. You sweat (We're talking dripping, not a glisten of perspiration.) and your entire body hurts, but a month or so into it we had more energy than before.

We were going pretty strong, even hit a few weeks going 4 days in a row (Friday's are saved for social events, obviously). I was frustrated in the beginning because I hadn't seen physical results, but that began too, right about the time we stopped. ugh.

Enter the downfall.

Two weekends ago we went to Michigan State for the Northern Colorado game and somehow ( I act like it was unexplainable) ended up drinking Busch all night. (We did however party with my parents and we got to school my father in quarters, which I'll forever smile about.) Next, I had several late nights at the office that led up to two 14-hour work days at a tradeshow in Traverse City at the end of last week. (Mind you- exercise class starts at 6:05pm, so any late work nights and your basically SOL for the classes we attend.) So that was four days off from the gym PLUS heavy eating and drinking. Not good. To continue my demise, I ended up going home this past weekend to hang out with my family and boyfriend, which in turn becomes endless amounts of "home-cooked" meals, desserts and wine. I took Monday off of work for a personal day and FINALLY made it back to GR by Tuesday morning. One can imagine the amounts of work to catch up on being out of the office for three days, so that's my Tuesday excuse. Yesterday, I was just too plain tired to get the motivation. Another excuse. And tonight, I have plans to attend a haunted house with some friends. Excuse.

So the past week I've been completely unmotivated to do more than the minimal required of me at work, I've been in a sour mood, and beyond tired is an understatement of my condition. What the heck happened? Oh yeah, I stopped working out, eating healthy and ultimately, caring. Something so little. Something that I thought only affected the tenderness in my muscles and bones. Something that I obviously took for granted.

According to the Mayo Clinic, regular exercise does MUCH more than just make you sore. It can improve your overall mood, help fight diseases, promote better sleep and wayy more. (http://www.mayoclinic.com/health/exercise/HQ01676) People have said it all the time, but it wasn't until I realized it first hand how much of an impact it makes. So today I made a pledge to myself, and ultimately the people around me, to get back in shape. I'm happier, way funnier and more pleasant to be around.

And hey, if you're in the Grand Rapids area and wanna check out a great workout, come to Seung-Ni with us. 29th & Schaffer.... always an entertaining time.

Eastside. ::Enter super-hip hand gesture::

With all this centered attention on Detroit, whether it comes from the news, tv shows, sports teams or trending Twitter topics, I would like to address a habitual annoyance of mine.

Back in 2006 I moved from Mount Pleasant to Grand Rapids to complete my public relations and advertising degree from Grand Valley State University. (The 10 year plan at CMU wasn't doing much for my education, intelligence or new-found beer figure.) Amongst my first two months here I was involved in two car accidents (only ONE being my fault) and wanted nothing more than to retreat back to my parents house on the East side- where it was safe. (Many Detroit critics would argue that sentence is an oxymoron.) Upon a gentle request from my father, I stuck it out and gave it another shot. Here I still am, four years later.

I graduated in the spring of 2008 and miraculously landed a job with a pretty cool niche, full-service marketing firm in Ada. (The fact that I met my boss while bartending is merely semantics.) I began in the corporate world of life, experiencing about 15 or so life lessons a day. and fast. (My heart goes out to all college grads starting at the bottom.)

The thing about living/working in West Michigan, that is entirely different from Detroit and it's suburbs, is the attitude. the lifestyle. the people. the everything.

West Michigan goes by, well, West Michigan. They don't include themselves in the state as a whole. You're not from Grand Rapids, Mich., you're from West Michigan. You don't associate with the other side. You have your private donors whom fuel this economy that barely saw a recession over here. You have your prestigious school systems, the medical miracle mile and you're elaborate community structure. People compare your city to a smaller version of Chicago. It's like a cloud over here. West Michigan; it's own little world.

So one can assume, as I began to work, visit and travel the Grand Rapids area and suburbs, I too, became easily consumed by it. Why wouldn't you want to be from the part of the state that is thriving? The part that hosts city-wide art venues for aspiring artists. The city that believes in it's citizens and youth. The city that has an upbeat and lively downtown outlined by a beautiful fresh water coastline.

Reality always hit for me when I went home for visits. Friends, family, aunts, uncles, even MY father was laid off in the past 2 years. Life over there was chaotic. Finances were headaches. Business people with 20+ years experience were making minimum wage or unemployment. How weird it was to see so many superiors resent me for where I lived, what job I held and how excited I was to talk about how great life was.

Enter my longwinded annoyance...

Why does it have to be sides?

Why can't Grand Rapids pick up some Detroit slack? The money over here is abundant. We have countless venues, businesses, restaurants and organizations that love to pitch in and make a difference, what's a simple two hour drive? I feel like the stigma of Detroit has gotten out of hand. Too many critics who love to poke fun or stab at Detroit (no pun on crime rate), without knowing any real first hand experience of it , condemn it. People choose to look at the poor choices some key companies have made in Detroit in the past, and the unemployment rate, instead of the ridiculous potential it has.

Both Grand Rapids, Detroit and other cities statewide have collectively produced phenomenal results for this state, as cited in the history books. At one point Michigan was a serious contender in the national GDP. Let strive to go back there. Let's look to abandoned building as potential future businesses, homes, charity centers or public venues. Let's look to build the economy as a whole. There's so many great people, places and things in Detroit, why not check them out for yourself?

It's a straight shot across 96 East... just beware of the 80+ mph drivers that would rock "West Michigan."

Links to sites where you can learn, grow or get involved:

www.detroitmi.gov

http://www.shopdownriver.com

http://www.detroitchamber.com

http://www.visitdetroit.com/

http://detroit.about.com/

... AND I'm done ranting.

AB

The sun is always shining

Most recently I have encountered the term hero. What is a hero? How do you define one? Is it someone who saves lives, or someone who saves the day? Does hero imply cape and tights, or can a hero wear shorts and a t-shirt like the rest of us? Joesph Cambell once said, “A hero is someone who has given his or her life, to something bigger than oneself.” Enter George Charles Jourden.

The ancient tall tales of walking to school in the snow uphill, both ways, aren’t where this story starts. To be honest, I’m not sure I’ve actually ever even heard them. This story starts years down the road… third generation stuff… the Grandchildren Era. The point where at 24 years old I am still, and will always be, humbled by my grandfather.

The blissful young memories I remember with Grandpa George involve playing and growing in the old Farmington house, trick-or-treating, walking to the Dairy Twist and learning how to ride a bike with grandpa. He always made his grandchildren his top priority, sometimes even over his own girls. He didn’t miss a beat on athletic and school events, giving rides on his “big bad” motorcycles or playing games.

Then the move to Brighton came and although leaving the old house was bittersweet, it brought grandpa closer, which nobody complained about. My high school life had begun- boys, friends, tears and more sports. And wouldn’t you know, grandpa got to experience it all. Lucky guy. He and Grandma Linda got to know my friends; they began to share in what and who I was becoming. I couldn’t have asked for better, younger, cooler and more “hip” grandparents.

Memories aside, want to know the truth about Grandpa George? He encompasses everything about the Jourden family. I challenge you to sit down with any one of his daughters, their husbands, or their children, his own siblings, nieces or nephews. Ask them about him; see what it is they have to say. He’s every reason the family exists. He’s the reason I will forever think of my aunts as older sisters and women I look to for help, when hurting or need love. He’s every reason I feel absolutely blessed to be one of the oldest grandchildren; I have younger cousins that I’ve been able to watch grow, and who look to grandpa for all the same things I did.

The story comes full circle for me, when I can sit next to Grandpa George at one of the other grandchildren’s swim meets, band concerts or birthday parties and see the way he looks at them. How much he wants and chooses to be involved with all of us and every detail of our lives… how much he endures… and how much love he is capable of spreading. To me, a hero is a man who is so selfless, has worked so hard to be where and who he is and who provides a wonderful life for his wife, children and grandchildren alike. He is George Jourden. Challenge me.

To my handsome, charming, wonderful Grandfather,

Happy 70 years young!

Love Always,

Amanda

It's funny sometimes, how life throws you curve balls you never see coming...

My grandpa, who turned 70 years on June 8, 2010 has visited with some doctors and discovered an aortic aneurysm pumping upward on the right side of his heart. To anyone who doesn't understand what this is, it's an area of a localized widening of a blood vessel. When this occurs in the human heart, it involves the aorta, one of the large arteries through which blood passes from the heart to the rest of the body. Because of this, my grandfather has been pricked and prodded, undergone a heart cath and will be having open heart surgery this Friday morning at 5:30am in Grand Rapids.

Grandpa taking a break from water volleyball to blow out his birthday candles

This is not an easy surgery, they will have to crack ribs and sternum to get in, as well as, it could be pretty lengthy. My thoughts? Bring it on. My grandpa is the strongest man I've ever met. He has a surgeon that has guaranteed him a 99% success rate. His 70 year old body is GURANTEED in better shape than mine at 24. I have hope and faith, that this is in God's hands and the outcome will be pleasing. The doctor has spoken of a 5 or 6 day hospital stay and a 10 week full recovery. Grandpa George seems to think his hospital stay will max out at about 3 to 4 days and he'll be back to golfing 18 and riding his motorcycle in no time. :)

I can't tell you what mental happiness and optimism do for me. I think they're the best cure to any sad day; they always provide the greener, sunnier other side to life. Can't wait to see you on the other side grandpa :)

God Bless.

If you see a faded sign at the side of the road...

My father always told me I wasted so much of my valuable younger years and lessons on my friends, being social, being active (which is limited to co-ed adult softball these days) and partying- which isn't prime anymore either. I was more worried about "missing out" on a certain occasion, or not being able to partake in the next day's reminiscing sessions, than catching up on homework, sleep or my health.

What is a BEST friend anyway?

Today, I am a 24 year old female with the very best of friends. Ironically, just last week I had a conversation with my roommate on the usage of the term "best friend," "bestie," "bff" or any other associated term. At 24 I have a hard time pin-pointing who this person, by societal standards, should or is in my life. How do you pick one? Does this one person mean just a little bit more than the rest? Do you determine this person by length of friendship, or how much you have gone through together? To me, a friend is someone who you can count on, you don't always have to see to maintain a bond, someone you enjoy sharing you most intimate times, secrets and embarrassing moments with.

For me, the majority of my friends are seldom those whom I've met in the past few years, which gradually have become the people in my everyday life, but realistically, my BEST friends have been around since high school, if not before then. My hometown buddies. Go ahead, laugh. Everyone does. "It'll never last," they say. They tell me, "the bonds you have with those individuals will cease to exist in just a few short years, along with the fact that you don't have anything in common any longer." I'd like to take that challenge from any opponent.

Since our 6 or so years ago HS graduation we have come into contact with brilliant, fun-loving, hilarious people. Our "group" now consists of additions picked up along the way through college, significant others and family. We all live geographically at least 10 to 20 miles apart from each other, myself and roommate being the farthest at about 100 to 150 miles. We make it a priority to see each other about once a month- no matter the season.

Summer, as it seems, just so happens to be the most exciting time of year for us. We are blessed to have some of the parents own cottages on lakefront property that they let us use- with less stress now that we're older. ;) Our greatest past times have come from one particular place, the "Love Shack" cottage on Loon Lake in Hale, Michigan. Here's where you can find us jamming to country tunes, frequenting the Long Lake Tavern or in serious tubing battles behind the speed boat. The weather need not be perfect, we seem to manage in almost any temperature and amount of precipitation. The food doesn't have to be 5-star, although if the women of the group had their choice we probably purchase a few more interesting things. The company is what does it for us. You can't imagine sitting around a big cottage, or on the dock with 10 of your closest friends...joking, laughing, drinking and naturally sharing in the small thrills of what life brings.


For the first time ever, Up North may boast a slightly different tune this year. We're no longer all single. Co-ed wrestling, teasing, taunting and rivalry is sometimes misinterpreted by the significant others of the group, and rightfully so. I suppose it's a transition into that "growing up," we're all doing. But no matter the weather, no matter the food, I'm very certain our tradition will continue to bring the biggest smiles of the summer to our faces. Because of this friendship we have created and maintained, that I wouldn't trade for any higher GPA, any different society to join, or anymore, if at all, studying I did for a particular exam. I'm happy, I'm blessed and I'm fortunate. I have thee BEST of friends. Dad...you were wrong.