Saturday, July 25, 2009

Life is Good.

If we had been married in February, April, June, September, OR November, July 24th would have been our month mark. However, we were married in June. So we had to wait one more day to celebrate. But we still had a great day!

Andrew went to work.
I stayed home. The library doesn't let you work during Pioneer Day.
I didn't know that was a legit holiday, either.

Then Andrew came home and we headed to good ol' Salt Lake to see an old friend. Whitney Beck. Or Whitney Ferry, as she is known now-a-days.

Whitney and I became friends in 2006 when she was 20 and I was 19. Being two of the youngest EFY counselors, bewildered and excited at training that first Saturday, it was inevitable that we would create a strong bond. And we DID. Since I was in the process of moving to Salt Lake and she was enrolled at Utah State, we started a long distance best friendship. You know those friendships where you only see each other now and then and it's the same every time? It was one of those. (And still is). Except we saw each other at least once (or twice!) a month. And it was fun.

And when I moved to Provo, Whit moved with me. We went back to the spot we met to celebrate a year of friendship (see above picture). We learned how to golf (kinda). We went to church (sometimes I skipped Relief Society). We went on dates with boys (the men loved her). We went to the grocery store (and bought cheese). We went country dancing (I got elbowed in the nose). We wore each other's clothes (We had a tiny closet). We went ice skating (inside). We saw Hairspray (and danced to the soundtrack after Erika bought it). We hung out with our roommates (mainly Erika). Whitney got a job (I did not turn in my applications). We did not watch movies. Or hang out with boys after curfew (unless it was outside). Then I stayed in Provo and Whit went back to Logan where she found her man.

About a year later, I found my man. And since we now both have men so dedicated they are husbands, we arranged a little get together. Where we took these pictures:

I am the one who is barefoot. My man is the one with the trashed converse.

On the way home, I sang Andrew some oh-so-romantic Elliot Yamin. He said the song sounded like a boy band. I disagreed. So I kept singing. And then we saw fireworks.

OH! And on the ride home, he told me that broccoli, the kind that we eat, blooms like a flower (what?!). Such a remark reminds me of the ostrich comment he told me the week before we fell in love.