For Sara

Fourteen years ago today, a highway patrolman called my home to inform us that my oldest sister, Sara, was in a car accident.

Instead of a slumber party, I found myself tightly squeezed in an emergency room surrounded by frantic or on the verge of frantic family and friends. To say that the air was laced with hysteria would be an understatement.

A grief counselor ushered immediate family into a special room, and doctors told my family to say our goodbyes. I was cautioned by some to not go in because of Sara's physical appearance.

"You're so young," they said. "You don't want that to be your last memory of your sister."

My sister Lyndsey went in and instantly collapsed on the cold tile floor.

"That's not Sara in there," they said with wide eyes and trembling lips. "It would scar you for life."

I went in anyway. If this was going to be the last time I saw Sara, I was going to see her. Even if it was a Sara covered in blood. Even if it was a Sara with a nurse pumping air into her lungs.

I understood why Lyndsey had collapsed.

It seemed to take forever to reach the gurney. My memory still plays tricks of a room as vast as Alice going down a rabbit hole, with blank walls and only Sara's small body on a miniscule gurney. It was cold, and my stomach rolled at the smell of iron and the ever-present sour medicinal smell. I couldn't tell you if there were beeping monitors hooked up to her. I'm sure there were. If I think back really hard, I can almost see them. But the only sound I was aware of was the squeeze and release of the breathing apparatus being held by a nurse.

I didn't say goodbye. I only urged her to stay. And as most twelve-year-olds would do or anyone being faced with living life without a loved one, I selfishly begged her not to leave me.

And Sara didn't leave. Eventually she woke up. Brain damaged with a shattered pelvis, compacted spine, and other scars both internally and externally. But my sister was alive.

She may have thought she was from Planet Ursula, and one day she may have pointed to her communication card to tell her obnoxious younger sisters to leave her room in ICU. But my sister was alive.

Eventually she spoke. And walked. And one day she even ran around our grandma's atrium--albeit slowly and a little wobbily--to joyous applause and tears. Fourteen years later, she's married with three beautiful children.

To this day I am grateful I walked into that room to see my sister for what many thought was the last time. What she looked like didn't scar me. I'll never forget it, but it didn't scar me.

What scarred me was the possibility of Sara not being alive. A life without her reminding me every May 24 that I ruined her kindergarten zoo trip by being a girl. A life without riding with Sara in her car listening to music, her hand dancing in that certain way. A life without her laughter when she loses complete control and you wonder whether or not she just needs a Kleenex or possibly CPR and a change of pants.

We're sisters. It goes without saying that sisters don't always get along. But I love her immeasurably.

Some people say, "You choose your friends, not your family." I understand how that could be a comfort. However, I believe that although we may choose our friends, God chooses our family. His taste tends to be infinitely better than mine.

He knew I needed Sara Dalene in my life as my oldest sister. Today I thank God for Sara.

Navigating Houston

Soooo... I start a blog about moving to Houston, and I don't write for two months. How do I explain myself? Well, here's an example of why it was a good idea I didn't write for the general public: I wrote a letter to my mom. The day she got it she posted a video "It's a Jolly Holiday with Mary" from Mary Poppins on my Facebook wall.

What other videos (besides babies laughing and baby animals frolicking in a meadow) could cheer someone up as much as Julie Andrews and Dick Van Dyke, right?

Another example: While walking the trail at Memorial Park one morning, I saw a woman walking by herself and smiling for no apparent reason. I turned to Evan and said, "What the hell is she smiling at?"

Obviously, things haven't gone according to Our Plan. At all, in fact. Until last week, we were in a freefall leap of faith. Luckily our feet landed on that firm ground of greener pastures--the main reason we moved to Houston in the first place.

So here's some insight into life in Houston, Texas.

What I've Learned So Far:

1. The grocery stores are the cat's pajamas. A quick trip to one can put me in a blissful state for a minimum of two hours. My favorite is Central Market with Whole Foods as a close second and the completely redone Kroger in third.

Why are they so great? The options. Correction: The truly healthy options. I'm not used to that at all. At least I'm not used to traveling less than an hour to get high quality groceries.

At some point people stopped caring about where their food comes from. The food industry isn't like it used to be. The quantity produced is the priority, not the quality.

Now I know the grocery stores mentioned are not perfect saviors, but they're a giant step up from Walmart.

Free range, cage free eggs from chickens fed from a vegetarian grain diet? Yes, please. Local honey with honeycomb included? Don't mind if I do. Freeze dried fruit, which may possibly be the best snack ever? Mmkay, I'll take five bags. Not to mention that Central Market was featuring Hatch green chile all month.

2. The search for The Perfect Mexican Restaurant is not nearly as easy as you may think. I have tried chains. I have tried local holes. And yet nothing comes close to Tarahumara's in Norman, Oklahoma.

My checklist for TPMR, all of which Tarahumara's has:

-fast and friendly service (Dear Original Ninfa's- You fail at this. Big. Fat. Epic fail.)

-tasty queso and salsa (not Velveeta, folks; preferrably both automatically come out free of charge)

-tantalizing fajita meat

-enchiladas that will make you "slap your daddy" to quote my papa (and more options than the red meaty sauce, something like sour cream sauce)

-fluffy, fresh sopapillas (preferrably served free of charge)

-margaritas that have the ability to make your life better (hey, a margarita at Tarahumara's made me a lot braver at communication with the man who is now my husband)

So far I have tried Pappasito's, Lupe Tortilla, Cafe Adobe, Original Ninfa's, Tia Maria's, and Bravo. Next up is Los Cucos.

3. Memorial Park is a great place to go, whether for fitness (see #4) or relaxation.

4. Unemployment works wonders for my fi'ness.

While some may think it's all about sleeping in and watching tv, daytime television leaves much to be desired. Now I will admit I watched seasons 1-3 of True Blood in about a week, but I work out twice a day.

5. The restaurants are amazing. Although I may not have found The Perfect Mexican Restaurant yet, I have found other tasty cuisines. I love Hobbit Cafe (www.myhobbitcafe.com). The menu has plenty of choices. The food is fresh, and the scenery is inspired by Lord of the Rings.

Fuzzy's Pizza is another favorite place. My first time to go was about five years ago on what was technically my third date with Evan (it was a whirlwind weekend of about five dates). I had fallen into a hole on the beach in Galveston, so I walked into Fuzzy's with soaking wet jeans. Quite humbling, especially since I was in impress-your-date mode.

6. Another thing we wanted to do when we got here was find a church...and not get involved. I do not want to know any dirt about anyone. Although Lakewood Church and Joel Osteen may receive some flack, I can assure you that it's not some smarmy mega-church with no soul and phony people. I gotta say I love it when Israel Houghton is there. It is huge, but it doesn't seem that way when you're there. And honestly, the people there--both on and off stage--are quite genuine. No one tells you how to worship. It's not about saying or doing the supposed right thing in the supposed right moment. I don't feel any anxiety when I'm there, and that's saying something since I thought I was scarred for life from the church I grew up in.

7. Houston is not overwhelming. When you hear that there are five million people here, it can seem like way too much to handle. However, once you realize it's just a bunch of neighborhoods, it makes it a lot easier. It's not uncommon to run into people you know. And owning a GPS helps matters. I can actually navigate back ways now. Don't act like you're not impressed.

8. If you're one of my Oklahomans, come visit me. If you already have, come visit me again.

Countdown: 17 days

I’m not a fan of sticking with the same old things day in and day out. Although I love having a familiar place to land, I crave change. I seek out new environments.

I have blamed the fact that I’ve moved to nine different living arrangements since 2003 on the “college life.” The truth: if I was going to be in the same town, I wanted something different.

With the addition of a husband and three furry children, the requirements for living arrangements changed a bit. Saying “I want” became “we want.” The first question to a potential landlord became, “Do you allow pets?” The second, “Do you allow large pets?” The third, “How much is the pet deposit?”

And so life went. Until three months ago.

As I sat at work and read yet another outlandish book from a crazy author, bitterness boiled inside my belly. Mostly, I was bitter that I felt stuck—obligated to stay at my current job because there was really nothing else that I could do in this state that pertained to my degrees AND paid the bills. I sent my husband (Evan) daily texts that said variations of “i’ve got to get out of here,” “would you mind if i jumped off a building real quick? i have life insurance…you could get money,” or “would you mind being homeless and having a credit score of 3?”

I finally reached the point where I was sick of complaining and not doing something about it.

Then I realized something: I didn’t have to stay in Oklahoma anymore. I had graduated and wasn’t tied to a particular school. Then I realized the game changer: Even though Evan has a bit of time left with school, he is considered a dual resident in Oklahoma and Texas.

Now you may ask, “What’s the difference between Oklahoma and Texas?”

You may not think much…but you may realize just how much if you change the question a bit and ask, “What’s the difference between Oklahoma and Houston?” The most noticeable difference? Houston has more people than the entire state of Oklahoma.

Population is not why I began to think of life in Houston. It was a variety of things really—more opportunities, higher pay, moving somewhere new where we still had some familiarity, and it’s close to a beach. There are more, but I won’t list them all right now.

This post most definitely does not serve as an I-hate-Oklahoma post. I love Oklahoma. My family and friends are here. I received a great education here. I love the Sooners. It just goes back to me loving change. After Evan graduates, we don’t know where life will take us—but for now, life is taking us to Houston.