You don't know what you've got til it's gone

Two enormous green eyes, shrouded in thick luxurious lashes, gazed out the cabin window of a westbound plane. The eyes belonged to that of Madison Griggs. At the time she was only thirteen years old, tall for her age and paler than most. The St. Louis native sat pondering the uncertainty of her future, feelings of fear and bitterness surfacing among her otherwise placid thoughts. Madison had built a life in the Midwest. She had attended kindergarten through six grade, developed close friendships, and grew to love the languid humid summers and harsh snowy winters that the Gateway City has to offer. But now, as she was about to enter her Freshman year of high school, perhaps the most crucial moment in her young life, she was abruptly and unwillingly being dragged across the country to California for her dad's new job. California, she mused silently. All she could think of were bronzed bodies, blonde hair, and the fact that her porcelain skin would be a dead giveaway that she was not a beach savvy local.

Upon recently discussing this challenging time during my sister's life, I was able to delve deeper into the thoughts and emotions that stirred behind her cold and stoic exterior. "You were right about the walls." Madison began. "I put up walls, and I put them up high so that no one could see me. I was bitter, and angry at my parents, at myself, at my life. All I wanted was to go back to my perfectly normal and happy life as a teenage girl in Missouri, but there was something else too. Something no one ever knew about. I wanted to fit in! I saw moving to California as a great adventure. No one at Wydown Middle School had even dreamed of going somewhere so..." Madison struggled for the right word. "Fabulous" She concluded, a light flickering in those brilliant green eyes. "But I kept that want hidden deep behind my walls. I desperately wanted to be a 'California Girl' but the teenage rebellion inside didn't want that for me."

The walls my sister put up proved to be detrimental to her less than budding social life on the coast. Those who did try to reach out to her were soon deterred by her lack of enthusiasm and general indifference towards life. “I’d remember girls I had met at school calling the house and asking for me” Recalls Madison. “I didn’t even want to come to the phone. Bothering with friendship meant effort and effort meant room for failure. In my mind, no one could be as fun as my friends back home. I quickly developed reasons for why everyone was unfit to be my friend.”

She walked the outdoor pathways of Dos Pueblos High School, pathways that would have been dingy hallways back in Missouri. She munched on her turkey sandwiches atop the dewy field known as the meadow with the rest of her lunch hour. And while she physically took part in these actions, her body acted alone, like a hallow tree trunk, moving and bending when necessary, though nothing substantial happening on the inside. The heart, mind, and light in her eyes were still back in the Midwest, still with the sleepovers and inside jokes of deep rooted friendships and familiarity. She was the ghost of the girl her parents knew before, the venom of bitterness becoming the only real sign of life within her.

Eventually our mother stepped in and insisted that Madison agree to participate in some social activities outside of school. Begrudgingly, she joined a club volleyball team and endured several shopping trips with a cheery, golden haired Cara Johnson. But her heart wasn't in either. And so, despite the efforts of kind strangers, sunshine, and glistening waters of the pacific Madison continued to hate the state of California. Or at least that's what the walls she built bellowed loudly to all who passed. She took to journaling and story writing as a means to pass the time and channel her angst. She also watched the lives of her Missouri friends move on without her, thanks to the phenomenon of social networking. Time passed slowly. It had been two years. Hopelessness began to sink in.

But fate had other plans for Madison Griggs. One spring day, our father decided to move the family to Alabama, where the majority of our relatives live. "It's time to circle the wagons" He said firmly. And there she was again, being stripped from familiarity and moved across the country, this time to the land of southern drawls and fried food. "I remember feeling quite indifferent about the move, like most things at the time, I just didn't care. It didn't feel like I'd be losing anything." She stated grimly. "Eventually the teenage rebellion, with its high hedges and cold wrought iron gates, won. After two years of a pathetic life I discovered I was moving far away from the land of Barbie doll girls and salty haired guys. I was moving to Alabama. I have to admit, I secretly related my life to that of Miley Cyrus/Hannah Montana's. You know, moving from a small yet glamorous beach town back to your "roots" in the good 'ol south." She jested with a smirk. "The only difference (besides the obvious difference in talent and my lack of an alter ego) was that I hated Santa Barbara. But over the Summer in Alabama, after day in and day out of watching The Nanny and sleeping until 2:00 PM only to fall back asleep after consuming the most calories possible in one sitting, my view on things shifted a little. I missed Santa Barbara. I missed the beach and the shopping and the sunshine and, yes, I even missed the salty haired guys. A lot. Madison admitted with a laugh. "I began to realize what a great opportunity I missed at having the life most girls dreamed about. During that summer in Alabama, my walls retreated and the gates swung open; all that was left was me and my desire to be the California Girl I was so scared of. "Madison revealed. I could see the burden lifting from her as she finished the last of her testimony.

It took being dragged away from a place most people deem paradise to realize what a blessing it was to live there. Madison moved to Alabama and made a point to make friends and engage in her new social surroundings. She became quite happy and thought less and less of her life back in the Midwest, although the town of Santa Barbra lingered in her mind. Once again, fate had other plans for the now fifteen year old beauty. A close family friend from California contacted my father, asking him to take part in a once in a life time opportunity. The man informed our family that one morning, while in deep prayer over who should replace the president of his company, my father's name came to mind. Several phone calls, a bullet flight to Santa Barbara, and one interview later and my family was moving back to the land of surf, sand, and sun. Madison was elated to have a second chance at life as a California. The quote "You don't know what you've got until it's gone" seems most fitting for this tale. I'm thankful that my sister was given a second chance to appreciate the beauty of a California town. Completely reacquainted with west coast life and invested in several meaningful friends

This Girl

Let me tell you about Brooke. She's a petite doe-eyed brunette with long auburn hair that dries straight naturally. She drives a black sedan with horrific midnight velvet seat covers, not one but two cherry air fresheners, and an "Easter" bumper sticker plastered to her back window. Tearing across the freeway at frightening speeds, she belts the words to her favorite Christian songs, and not always on key mind you. She makes abrupt and frequent stops that often result in several lacerations on my neck, compliments of the seatbelt strap. The hot pink hearts embroidered on her steering wheel cover never seem to help the situation.

This girl has the body of a D1 cheerleader, yet she dresses it in blue jeans and sweaters. She could probably get a date with any guy, but chooses to hang out with all girls. The cherry on top to this female phenomenon? She blinks her big brown eyes and informs the ticket taker at the movies "Jesus loves you" every time, without fail.

I actually like Brooke. Sure, her random "Hallelujah!" and "Praise Jesus!" can catch me off guard at times. And when she asks perfect strangers on the street "Do you know Jesus?" it can make for an awkward moment. But the thing is Brooke is being completely real. Her faith is integrated into every aspect of her life. That's why we pray for the police officers that pass us on the highway and bless the homeless sitting outside the stores we shop in on State Street. She's got a heart for the Lord and wants to share it. And that desire alone is enough to keep this gorgeous girl away from bars and boys. It's enough for her to set aside her pride and sacrifice what's "cool" or "normal". Her love of the Lord is enough to make her, yes, a Jesus Freak. And I think it's pretty damn cool.

Santa Monica Pier

Artists, Asian tourists, angst-ridden teens, street performers, bleached hair, bratty kids, starry eyed couples, disgruntled hobos, muffin tops, fanny packs, and miniskirts all make their way to this jewel by the sea. As if these varying forms of humanity aren't enough entertainment, there is a theme park as well.

My sister and I waded through the crowd of beer bellied dads and bronzed bodies. Latino children darted between paler legs of eastern origin, calling loudly to one another in their thick accents and foreign tongue, sugar laden churros clenched tightly in hand. The Ferris wheel towered overhead, winding lazily; it's heaving sighs and groaning gears silenced by the teeming crowds below. We pushed our way through the masses and headed for the far end of the pier, the part that stretched farthest over the glistening waters and closest to the burning sunset. Others went before us. We all wanted to be close to that place.

We reached the end of the pier and followed the stream of bodies settling on wooden bleachers that seemed to climb the sky. My sister and I slipped between one of the two top rows, the sunlight shinning hard atop our amber lenses and the crashing waves below.

We stayed there, watching the movement of the sun paint the sky with passionate pinks and purples. The foaming waters below rolled and twisted in approval. The two elements, fire and water, mingled along the horizon. My whole body buzzed with beauty and sensuality of the scene before me.

The strum of an acoustic guitar brought me back from my entrancement. I looked down to find a boy standing at a mike, guitar around his neck. He opened his mouth and in that moment Santa Monica Pier became more than what it was. A haunting "Hallelujah" by Rufus Wainwright resonated over the wooden planks of the pier, the bodies before him, and the waves beneath him. Santa Monica Pier had become someplace higher.

The song broke me and moved inside me. It took me to places and thoughts in my mind reserved for moments of great inspiration. I watched the people listening to the boy's song and I watched the sea swelling before me and the sun stealing away with violent light. People are beautiful, I thought to myself. This life is beautiful.

I asked my sister for a pen and rummaged around in my purse for a piece of paper, business card, anything. I had to share this feeling. When it came down to it, all I had was a taco in its wrapper left over from lunch. I scrawled on the wooden bench hastily to get the ink flowing and wrote:

Hey,

All I had was a taco to write on. I just wanted to let you know that your music is a blessing from God. Thanks for the inspiration.

Turn taco over.

~Taylor

I wrapped a dollar bill around it, slipped it in his money bucked and left.

Keeping the Wolves at Bay

The click clack of high heels is almost always accompanied by feelings of professionalism and the general notion that you're going somewhere in life (this works both literally and metaphorically). And while the snappy rhythm of a pair of peep toe pumps on pavement can make heading into a corporate office slightly less daunting, they can also draw the attention of several hungry looking construction workers from across the street. Thus, begins the pros and cons to being an intern.

Responsibilities include: stuffing envelopes, avoiding the temptation of Facebook during long awkward breaks of not having any work to do, stuffing envelopes, having to hum the ABC's to in order to alphabetize files, stuffing envelopes, random intense assignments that require the intellect of Einstein, going on Starbucks runs for the entire marketing department, and stuffing some more envelopes.

Speaking of Starbucks runs, on my last mission I was sent out in a torrential downpour that I'm sure could have rivaled The Great Flood. In the process I may have ruined my suede Steve Maddens, had mascara streaming down my cheeks, and looked like I'd jumped in a river, but I'll be darned If I didn't pack those coffees like infants in car seats on the way back to the office. What's the number one way to never get hired? Spill your supervisor's coffee. I wasn't about to let that happen, even if I was donning adorable suede ballet flats. So I ditched the umbrella and opted for a sturdy two hand grasp on my coffee cup carousel and made two trips to ensure no spillage occurred. I really think it's going to pay off.

You see, there is a grand balance to being an intern. You certainly don't want to overstep your bounds, i.e. being too confidant, making better jokes than the boss, but you also don't want to be meek as a mouse, unimpressionable, and assumed incompetent. So my summer internship at Carl's Jr. was spent doing a sort of dance. I leapt and bounded toward opportunities to compliment the work of others, flitted this way and that to avoid overtly outshining a more seasoned employee, and twirled round and round in a dizzy attempt to grasp general office etiquette and the skills necessary to operate a fax machine. Basically humility was the word of day, or summer for that matter.

However sometimes no matter how hard you try to be a polite, inconspicuous individual with an ounce of charisma you draw unwanted attention. Or maybe it was just the fact that I was below 30 and in heels. Either way, there was one creepy guy in particular who frequented my squalor cubicle a few too many times. After he'd asked several stupid questions, made a remark about the "wild" college life he assumed I took part in (skipping class?), there would always be the, hold your breath, horribly slow once over with his beady eyes, just in case I didn't already know that he valued a gander at my legs over any sort of project results I could produce. Gauge my eyes out with paper clips, hole-punch me to death or something! Do all interns under 200 pounds and with fairly clear complexion have to deal with this? Apparently so. In retrospect I realize that coffee runs in the rain and enduring the stares of creepy 40 something year old males are really a sort of mark of passage. Ask any woman in a position of power and she'll most likely inform you that she was, at some point, in a very similar place: scraping for promising employment, learning as you go, and of course, keeping the wolves at bay.

Bored Out of My Mind in Paradise

I'm slowly watching my skin grow darker and darker. There are freckles too, but over a smooth, tawny complexion, so I don't mind as much. The product of living on the west coast and not being a complete hermit, I suppose.

I've taken to riding my sister's baby blue beach cruiser whenever I can, usually to the gym, and I'm averaging about 3 miles a day in cardio.

To combat my aerobic efforts, of course, I've been introduced to the west coast yogurt phenomenon. Seriously, there's one every corner (sometimes two). Pick from a dozen different flavors of yogurt, fill her up, and then drown yogurt in a ridiculous and wonderful array of toppings. My first concoction: French Vanilla yogurt, crushed oreos, NY cheesecake bites, strawberries, carmel, and chocolate syrup. Mental groan of longing? You don't even know.

Also, I purchased my very first pair of designer jeans, Rock & Republic. That's right! I bought them myself with my money from my paycheck. I'm in the big leagues now, all grown up, a real woman, or something like that...

I don't really know why I'm saying any of this. Probably because I'm bored out of my mind in paradise.

Hey, we have a title.

Pineapple Express

There's something about car rides and beautiful landscape that really makes a person think. My twenty minute drive to work on the 101 provides a lot of time for this. And it's not like I say "Ok Taylor, time for some serious reflection". It just happens. One minute I'm rockin out to 103.3 (the beat of the Central coast) and the next minute I'm all quiet and serious, mulling over some major stuff in my life. It really isn't something I'd like to be doing with my time. It kind of creeps it's way in. The point is I would really like to ignore these thoughts and just continue to be a cool, empty-headed, California girl on her way to work.

But there's something about the cliffs and crashing waves and the speed of the car around the turns that just breaks me. It's like everything before my eyes is so beautiful, so raw and real, that I can't even begin to be anything less. It's like those ocean views just pierce right through me. When you look at something that is so absolutely gorgeous and so completely natural, everything else is stripped away. All that's left is you. You and every secret, every pain, every joy, every fear, every precious memory. Your hopes, dreams, everything. All that's left is just an undeniable, resounding Truth. And it's just starring you in the face. I don't know if it's God speaking to me through his creation or my own crazy mind but I get into this intense mode where I pretty much rack my brains out.

A lot of times they're filled with regret and sorrow. I start thinking about how I could have done things differently, been better. The sadness is often laced with an edge of bitterness. Fighting for nothing. That's pretty pathetic. And then, me being me, I can only stay mad for so long. And the waves are still crashing, endless, mile after mile. The sun still glistens off the bumpers and rooftops of the passing cars. Then I start to think, maybe I gave up right before the finish line. Maybe all that fighting wasn't for nothing. Maybe I gave in just a second too soon.

Oh yea, the point to my title. I packaged 100 pineapples today for work. It smelt amazing.

A place in the sun

My family moved to California in November of '08. I was left behind in order to continue attending school in Greenville, IL. We had known for a while that Cali was the next likely place for our family to live, so it was no real surprise when the "For Sale" sign went up in front yard of our St. Louis home. Although, I secretly loathed that sign. Several times I envisioned myself ripping the stake from the ground. The thought of scaring off possible home buyers by ranting and raving about in the front yard like a crazy woman came to mind as well. I always hated that whole process: waiting in my car outside the house, like some creep, trying to stay occupied with a book I had grabbed, while the prospective buyers took their sweet time criticizing my beloved home. It really put me in a bad mood...

Eventually I got over the whole possessive house thing and accepted it for what it was. I mean, it's family that makes a house a home right? And mine was moving. The destination definitely had me thinking. California...I mean, wow. It got a great response from people, tons of enthusiasm and remarks about jealousy and great weather. Good conversation for airplanes and what not too. And don't get me wrong, I was fully aware of the fact that I was basically moving to the coolest part of the country; a prime vacation spot with just about the prettiest views in the world. But people always failed to see what I struggled with. Hello, I have friends! And not friends that are good for a laugh or as a shopping buddy. These are strong relationships, bonds set deep with embarrassing middle school memories, late night baking, a shared faith, and mutual dislike for early mornings. In all seriousness these girls are the real deal. They're there for me, through thick and thin. Breakups, self esteem issues, you name it, they are there. And now I have to give that all up in return for phone call counseling and a once a year visit. No way Jose', I want chick flicks and late night talks in my kitchen on a regular basis, thank you very much. So, yea, that was a bit of a struggle for me.

But I'm out here now for the Summer, in the land of sun and surf. And it's beautiful, beyond compare. The sloping hill sides dotted with vineyards, the ocean vast and blue and sparkling like you wouldn't believe in the morning sunlight. And all the color that a year round tropical climate would bring. You wouldn't believe the flowers. And then there's the pastel beach cruisers coasting a long the boardwalks, the fresh produce of the farmer's market in tow. The hippies and homeless add their own color. Music along the streets, the blend of a dozen different ethnic foods wafting about. It's a sensory overload and something I never get bored of.

More to come from a place in the sun...