Kecks in Paradise

Kecks in Paradise

Sunday, March 28, 2010

Nine Months

Jason and I have been married for nine months. We are a newborn baby of love, true. Getting our wedding pictures together has not been an easy process and I kind of wanted to present it to you with bells and whistles and banners flying. Or at least have the photos in order. I decided, though, that you are probably on pins and needles by this point just aching to see these bad boys. I know how rough it must have been for you all waiting for this moment and I just wanted to take you out of your misery and publish the whole lot before you. I expect in the future to do some more arranging and whatnot with them all, but I figure if your reading this little website, there is probably a great shot of you in here, so here you go:

The first half of the photos were taken by Jana Beck and the second half by Simon Williams and Kimberlee Sirstins. If you find you need your picture taken, I can pass their information along lickedy-split.

Thursday, March 25, 2010

Blight, Blow, Calamity, Cataclysm

I dropped the last Capri-sun in the toilet. It was an accident.

Monday, March 15, 2010

Hot and Heavy Pumpkin Pie

Jason and I have found the song we have decided to sing at our fiftieth wedding anniversary, much thanks to Tracy:

However, my dear friend K-sirs, soon to be K-williams said I might be able to debut our performance at her upcoming wedding in June, which I am willing to oblige.

On a different note, I have recently discovered certain features on my camera that allow me to do the following:

And all on my camera! I don't know if anyone is looking for a photographer, say for perhaps a wedding, who might need frames, angel wings, or expressions written across their faces, but all I am saying is--

Thursday, March 4, 2010

He'll rip your lungs out, Jim

So I was listening to classic rock on the radio today. Why you ask? Because classic rock is the greatest genre of music, of course. There are other kinds of great music but classic rock is simply the best overall genre. I mean 'classic' is right in the name. What else do you need? I am greatly distressed with the kind of music passing for classic rock today. I love a good Coldplay song but they are not classic rock. But I digress.

I heard the song "Werewolves of London" today, which I highly recommend. There is a point in the song where he says "I'd like to meet his tailor," speaking of the werewolf, of course. I thought about that line and other such statements given in similar situations and thought about how ridiculously stupid it is. Picture this:

"So you're the werewolf's tailor?"
"Wow. What's that like?"
"Well I have to fix his clothes a lot."
"Really! Like, how often?"
"About once a month, I guess. That's how it works with werewolves, isn't it?"
"Yeah I guess it is. This is so cool."

No, buddy, it's not that cool.

Monday, March 1, 2010

Ring, Ring, Ring . . . Hello?

Jason and I have been under the weather, so naturally we watched Muppet Treasure Island yesterday in our bedroom. I put my wedding ring on the bedside table as usual and slipped in and out of napping and empathizing with pirate and Muppet friends experiencing the under-appreciated disease, Cabin Fever.

This morning I went to put on my ring as usual and I only found my engagement ring. I search all around the table and surrounding area for my wedding band and I couldn't find it. I felt really unsettled about that so I spent a fair amount of my morning searching. I dismantled the bed, searched through the books we have on our bed stand in case it rolled in the pages or something (one of which being The Lord of the Rings, which unfortunately yielded no tangible results), I shook out every piece of clothing I wore yesterday and I just couldn't find it.

I tried to go through my normal morning routine, but losing my ring really threw off my groove. I was sadder than after we ran out of wedding presents to open, in which situation, I looked like this:

I even had to call Jason for a pep talk. I kept praying to find my ring and just felt like I was getting no response. It occurred to me that my wedding ring was more important to me than I had previously thought. It wasn't just the actual thing, but the symbol-- the evidence on my finger that I am married, though the ring itself was also a factor. I love my ring, I remember Jason giving it to me and the things he said and how excited I was to have it.

Even more disturbing was the prospect of not finding it after praying. I wanted to feel the Holy Ghost guiding me and helping me get on to the bigger issues of the morning and it seemed like I was alone hung up on this tiny, gray band.

I have been reading a lot of literature lately alluding or directly stating that God is an illusion that humans need to keep their balance. The theory is that He does not really exist, but we need the idea of him, if only to give us hope and inspiration to be our best selves. I have thought, well, that is simply not true, because I do need God everyday. He has to be real, more than simply because I need Him, but because there is evidence of Him everywhere, right?

I kept thinking about my seminary classes and how I had learned that people in the early days of the church had left over issues like spilt milk and other such seeming nonsense. The consensus of the class was that they left because their testimonies were not rooted within them and these small events were the push to leave.

I started to consider the question Would my lost ring be cause to shatter my testimony? I sat with my Frosted Flakes in a completely existentialist moment and realized that no it is not.

As much as I love my ring, not finding it would not mean that Jason and I were no longer in love or married anymore. It was a symbol of our marriage, not a reflection of the thing itself. And not getting an answer would not shatter my testimony, as much as I like my ring. I always seem to get what I want, and I thought, if God was not giving me something, it was not because He didn't want to or, worse, because He wasn't there, it was because he wanted me to grow.

My ring fell out of the sweatshirt I had repeatedly shook out this morning.