Leaky Rain boots and Rain

This isn't me but I wish it was...because who doesn't want to be completely soaked in rain??

There are moments in life when you have epiphanies. You realize that not everything is quite right with the world. Hearts get broken, people are unhappy, laughter gets scarce. Sometimes life just feels wrong. Like you are almost "there" but something is missing. And you don't what or where "there" is, but you are longing for it? But then, you also realize that it is okay. Life is okay, and you move on the best you can. Your life isn't always carefree and joyful, but it also isn't always incomplete.

I once had a pair of rain boots. They were adorned with bright squares of color and I loved them. With them I was free! (aaah so much cheese:) 

Free to play in the rain...

Free to splash in puddles...

Free to test out the waters of a storm...

They were like a buffer zone, a safety net from the cold wetness of stagnant water. 

Rain boots are an iconic symbol, at least to me. They represent a childlike view on life. I mean when the rain comes and everything gets dark what do most people do? They go inside. And It makes sense, why get your feet wet and muddy when can curl up on your window seat and read a good book with some cozy hot chocolate?

But NO! With rain boots, you don't have to worry about the wetness. In fact, you can completely and totally embrace it. The rain boots are your armor, and as you race toward that puddle you know that without a doubt you can jump and you won't get wet. 

I jumped so many times with those boots. But then one day after I jumped I felt a cold wetness seeping through that I had never felt before. I was horrified. With dismay I lifted up my boot and saw the perpetrator. My rain boot had slice on the side of it. The kind you don't notice until it is too late and your feet are already wet. I was so heartbroken. I honestly felt betrayed that my rain boots had allowed my feet to get wet.

Hmm, wet. As I am writing this I am wondering why I am making wet out to be such a negative word. Oh no, she is becoming self-aware! But really though, who even decided that becoming "wet"/rain/thunder clouds/ was equal to pain and sadness and affliction? You know what? I won't stand for it, I WILL NOT!

Ok, take two: Sometimes, life is hard and you become sad. You feel stuck, and that is okay. I don't think many people understand that feeling that way is okay. There is a process, and when people try to skip that process all the pain, regret, bitterness, and inability to move forward shows itself. How do I know this? Just trust me, personal experiences have made this concept crystal clear to me. But once all the "bleh" stuff is all worked out and felt and forgotten, there is a growing capacity for you to feel everything, more than you did before.

So, try it. Go play in the rain without your rain boots.

"EXPERIENCE: That most brutal of teachers. But you learn, my goodness do you learn" -C.S Lewis

Okay you got me. I slightly changed the quote so it wasn't profane. Sorry.

So we had an interesting experience this last monday night. It started out simple enough. We had a plan. Go ice skating, get dinner, and go home to start our Indiana Jones or Star Wars marathon. We weren't sure which one yet.

Here we are ice skating:

Oh...so precious. Me and my little bros

Again, aww, how cute are we?????

So we are having fun right? Dad is glued to the wall barely skating, haha and we get him this ice walker. Austin is slowly making his way around the ice, and Brandon and I are speeding around spinning each other and having ton of fun. Then, as it often does, tragedy strikes.

BACKGROUND INFORMATION: Brandon is the most accident prone of all six of us siblings. He has hit his head on so many different things: counters, floors, fans, ice, other heads. Just, when he was little he almost had a perpetual goose egg on his forehead.  

Haha. Um well this is awkward. You see, we were in an intense game of ice tag. He got in front of me, and I was sneaking behind him and I tagged him. It was a normally pressured tagging on my part. Just to clear up ANY suspicion. The little bro just slipped. And his hands aborted that mission so his head took up the slack. He landed pretty much on right on his eyebrow, and slit it right open. OH Gee. My health teacher told me once that if a wound is smiling at you, it needs stitches. His eyebrow was synonymous to the freakin' cheshire cat at that moment! Stitches were definitely needed.



If you know me, you know that I tend to not do well in stressful situations. Like the time my friend and I were in a golf cart, foolishly texting away on our phones. We were headed straight towards a sign. Did I say "Hey Friend, we are about to hit a sign?" or a nice warning like "WATCH OUT". Nope, I screamed and slapped the phone out of her hand to get her attention. Or the time when...well never mind, I think you get it. Savanna + stressful = ridiculous reactions guaranteed to make bystanders laugh and wonder what the heck is wrong with said girl. Luckily though, I kept my head and was able to help my bro.

Anywho, after the smack-down, quite literally, I picked Brandon up and dragged him off to the ice where I handed him off to my dad who took one look at him and said "stitches". Hold it up, um where were the really fancy ice skating dudes and dudettes with yellow jackets skating around saving kids who got lost their fights with the ice? Well, after grabbing about a bajillion napkins and a bag of ice, we took off Brandon's skates, put on his shoes, explained what happened too many times to every curious eye in the lobby area, received free passes for the next time we wanted to split open one of our heads, called the mother goose, and headed off the emergency room.

We only had to wait ten(ish) minutes which was nice. And apparently the whole thing wasn't a very big deal because Mom stopped off at the neighbors annual pie party on the way over. Well, he got all cleaned up and we got see how deep it really was. And it really was deep. I think I will spare you that picture because it is so deep and it was gross. Just take my word for it.

Oh look! Here he is getting stitched up.

Ooo, that sea green is his color, doncha' think?

And the final product. See he is totally fine. I mean, maybe he can start a new zig-zaggy eyebrow trend. And he is rockin' that goose egg on his eye...and cheekbone. Luckily the scar will be mostly covered by his eyebrow. I mean I can't think of another good use for them 'brows.

Well, you know you raised your kids right when injured kid is able to joke about injury 5 minutes after the incident. And the almost guilty kid can take all the crap she gets about it and send it right back at everyone. And when injured kid sticks up for almost guilty kid. I think the parents did a mighty fine job with this batch. 

A Haiku for you :)

I see the dust rise

as the leaves are turning.

Notice the ripple

And people say you can't choose your own nickname...

I reached a milestone the other day. We were sitting in the car and my sister asked me a question, calling me "love." Gah! She has been doing that recently. And she means it in the most sincere way an older sister can. And I caaaannn't stand it (extra points if you understood that reference). The only way I can be called "love" and not cringe or feel belittled is if my (future) british husband dubs me his "love" and calls me that when asking me to fetch him his tea. Please excuse my stereotype. And while I am not ruling out that possibility, it does seem highly improbable. So I needed to find a new nickname and I told her so. "Well what do you want me to call you?"

~Enter Dr. Seuss~

Umm, what does HE have to do with your nickname preferences weirdo?

Wow, I feel so grown up using pictures and stuff!!

One day many years ago, I was reading the above book with my mother, as we so often did, and I felt a connection with one of the letters. Can you guess which one? How about S?? That would be the most logical because my name is SAVANNA. Nope. Okay, umm maybe N? Since your blog name is Nix?? (Insert obnoxious beeping noise that signifies failure here) Not even close. Oddly enough, it was X. The page read 

"X is very useful if your name is Nixie Knox. 

It also comes in handy if you're spelling ax and extra fox."

Anything jump out at you in those pages? Cause something sure did for me. For sure. My young mind (I'd ballpark at about 3 or 4 years old) latched onto the name Nixie Knox. Oh my goodness, I was in love! I just felt this connection with this fictional female character Dr. Seuss created. 

Oh don't worry, I will introduce you to her.

Ladies and Gents...meet my dear soul sister Nixie Knox. Ain't she a beauty? 

From that moment on, I emphatically insisted on being called Nixie Knox. My young, somewhat sassy, self would introduce herself to others with an enthusiastic "My name is Savanna Bwette Weich, but you can call me Nixie Knox!" By the way, that came straight from the journals folks, with the inability to say R's and all. 

Unfortunately, the name didn't stick too well. And it was always in the back of my mind. My moms cousin Matt, who we nicknamed Rug,  always called me that and consequently became my favorite. Ever. Every couple of years I would try to bring up the nickname and ask my family to use it, but it never really worked. UNTIL NOW! I had this perfect opportunity because my sister was asking me to choose my own nickname. I could just feel the raw power oozing from that moment. I thought about it and half a second later I said "Nixy Knox...(she looked at me, I looked at her).......Nix" I said. "I want you to call me Nix." "Okay."

And people say you can't choose your own nickname....

Hoo-Rah! Had I done it? Had I gone against nature and established my very own nickname? I think so. It has been two weeks, and she is still calling me Nix. I carefully introduced the topic to my roommate/best friend, and she seems to be fine with it. What does this even mean? This means that although people say you can't choose your own nickname, I say you can. So go crazy with that newfound information.

And for the record. I like my nickname. My own chosen nickname, So if you ever see me and want to make me unbelievably happy, I have shown you the way. And it is super easy. Just call me Nix.

Tidbits of truth from a thirteen-year old

"Your Faith is like a star.

Invisible during the day, when the sun is shining,

but you know it's there.

And when your world gets dark

your star comes out shining 

to light the way."

Too cheesy? Maybe. But ya know what? I am sure it is true. 

Can you believe I wrote this when I was thirteen? Well, me neither. Mainly because I can't remember when I wrote it. But thirteen sounded better that fourteen or sixteen. And I just really wanted the alliteration in this post. So sorry for any betrayal one may feel from this little digression.

Why be Safe?

Safe is a tricky word. You want to be safe, but you don’t want to be so safe that you never try anything different. When I live the dictionary definition of safe, I feel happy, carefree, and not afraid to be me. I go through life, never taking risks, and not experiencing anything new. These feelings lure me into safety, and persuade me to never leave. And why would I want to leave? In reality, life isn’t safe. 

Let me use an analogy my theatre instructor shared with our class. After drawing one large circle and a smaller circle adjacent to it, she labelled the larger one ‘magic’, and the smaller one “comfort zones.” She said “If we want to experience real ‘magic’ in our lives, we have to step out of our comfort zone and find the ‘magical’ life for ourselves.” I decided to find out if she was right.

I have always been one to seek out life. My family jokingly refers to me as the rebel child. Not in a nose-ring tattooed-bicep sort of way, but because I was the girl who didn’t do exactly what the sibling before her did.  My older siblings have all experienced and done amazing, worthwhile things in their lives. At the same high school, they ran cross-country, played the piano, and earned their associate’s degree before graduating high school. They didn’t really branch out from those things. When it came time for me to decide which high school I’d attend, I took a risk and attended a different school than my older siblings. I did track, like the others, but with a different approach.  Instead of long distance, I attempted to sprint. I even tried pole vaulting. On my first (and only) jump, I was two feet underneath the standard bar, but four feet above everyone else in my family. And while I didn’t succeed in all of these expeditions, at least I tried. Since sprinting and pole vaulting weren’t the magic I needed in my life, I found it later in theatre.  This was an extremely big step because in my family, nobody does theatre. And not only did I go against “social norms” in my family, but I had to sing and dance in front of people I didn’t know. It was terrifying for me, but exhilarating at the same time. As scary as it was to step out of my “comfort” circle, I found something I enjoyed.

Vincent Van Gogh once said, “There is safety in the midst of danger. What would life be if we had no courage to attempt anything? It will be a hard pull for me; the tide rises high, almost to the lips and perhaps higher still, how can I know! But I shall fight my battle, and sell my life dearly, and try to win and get the best of it.”

I don’t want to live a “safe” life, as a stagnant person, feeling the same emotions and doing the same things day to day. I am open to the difficult changes that reshape and transform who I am as I experience everything I can. 

My theatre teacher was right; magic does exist. It is there for the taking whenever I am ready.

A Hole Dug Deeper

Well, I wrote this about a year ago. Literally, I hadn't touched it until about a month ago, and now I am posting it on my blog. So, here we go...

A Hole Dug Deeper~Savanna Brette Reich~11.13.12

death and divorce
both ugly, and broken,
rip the heart apart

death is one pain
its long  ...  deep
with   empty   spaces
But, you know,
reunion will come.
And, when it does,
the pain is gone

Until then, it is there...lingering
like someone dug a hole
in your heart
with a shovel.

Only time can fill the hole
never completely, 
always slowly

death and divorce,
both ugly, and broken,
rip your heart apart.

Divorce is many pains,
The first shovel in your hole
then all calms down,
into a "normal" rhythm,
the hole still there.

BUT, you see him,
your father, husband, brother,son.
You remember him leaving
nothing holding him back.
You are the nothing.
The hole gets bigger, another shovelful.

With time, the hole shrinks until
he digs again.
He found something, 
forget about us,
We are NOTHING.
We used to be something.

His happiness was once our happiness.
Its gone.
Another shovelful.
The hole dug deeper, never healing.
Although, time passes...

Trying to find normal,
it's gone.
Your heart has a hole.
Never knowing when that time comes,
there isn't a reunion.

He chose it. 
He chose death over you, us, me.
Over living with us.

There is a hole in my heart,
is there one in his?
I hope,
but know it can never be.

I hold on, faith, family
they carry me through
know
all will be as it should.

but

death and divorce,
both ugly, and broken, 
rip my heart apart.