Still Boo Html

With the help of Arly and Rachel, I've pretty much been able to tweak my blog to be exactly how I want it using html. But there's one thing that I can't stinkin' figure out...how the heck do I get my main post font to be any color but black?!?! I've tried everything from editing it in the 'fonts and colors' page, to manually changing every color possible in the html code. But no dice! Ah well, I guess I will live. I finally got the title of the blog to be some color other than black, which makes me happy.

Marla has been on my mind a lot lately as this Saturday will mark one year since she passed away. Today Nathan found this article on the Baker City Herald website, and it made me feel just how much I really still miss her. Before that, he found this article about Marla and her cooking. I read it while standing in the kitchen that use to be filled the smells and tastes of her Italian heritage and I cried.

I'm really not sure how I'm going to react or feel on Saturday. It still doesn't seem possible that she's gone...deep down, I think that I still believe she's simply on a really long vacation. The actual reality of it just hurts too badly. It wasn't until just a couple of days ago that I deleted her email address from my address book and her phone number from my cell phone. I tried not to feel that too much. The worst moments are when I stop by the cemetary in Pendleton on my way to Portland and stand at her headstone. At those times, there's no denying what my heart and mind don't want to believe.

I still remember the moment she told me that she had ovarian cancer. I was driving from Hillsboro to Forest Grove, because I had class that afternoon. I remember going cold and then instantly breaking into a sweat. She promised me that it wasn't a big deal, that she would be just fine, and I believed her. I believed her so completely that, at the time, it didn't even enter my mind that she would be gone within a year.

My mom was there when she died. I didn't get to see her for the last two days because mom wouldn't let me, said she wouldn't recognize me and it would be too hard. In a way, I'm thankful for that. It's been a year, and I have to to work up the courage to ask my mom exactly how she passed. Part of me wants to know, while a greater part of me begs to be sheltered from the idea of her being in any more pain than I had already seen.

I try my best to remember her as she was before the cancer hit. Even with all the health problems she had before the cancer, she still seemed invincible to me. But the Marla that is stuck in my minds eye is one I knew at the very end. The one weak and staring death in the eye. That's not how I want to remember her.

I want to remember this Marla:

She taught me how to jet ski. Every chance we had, we were up at Phillips Lake, boating and jet skiing. Somehow she survived being a second mother to me during my teenage years, without the prepping of my early childhood. She was rough around the edges, but loved fiercely. I've never seen anyone hold a grudge like she use to...must be the Italian in her.

We once forced her to let us paint her toe nails, for no other reason than to make her squirm. I only saw her wear a dress twice...my Marla was more at home in gym shorts and a sweatshirt. She was one of the most stubborn people I've ever met, and I absolutely loved that about her. Marla was the only person I was ever willing to admit was as good of a cook as my mom (and in some areas, better). We use to camp in the back of her Expedition, and somehow she always made even camp food taste gourmet.

When she got really really cold, she would break out in huge hives, so she always had to wear a wet suit while jet skiing/swimming/water skiing. To her, flipping you the middle finger was showing just as much affection as giving you a hug. She was my travel partner, and we strongly believed in Travel Karma (treat people like crap, your flight gets delayed...be patient and kind, somehow things always work out).

But beyond all that, the thing I loved the most about her is that she never apologized for who she was. She never denied who she was. She was continually working to better herself, but never compromised the person she was deep down.

I love you Mar Far, and I'll never stop missing you.