Amanda van Scoyoc

It was lovely. I think that Mark Schueler’s photos show exactly how lovely it really was.

Eli and Tom

Isaac the littlest ring bearer

Amanda and Stu walking down the aisle

Getting Married

Avoiding Seeds

First Dance

During Tom's Speach about Eli's Childhood Imaginary Wife

Cutting Cake

Eli, Amanda, Goat.

Bridal Party

Families and Party

Eli and Amanda in a Goat Barn

Amanda and Eli

I’m not certain about too many things in life, but I’m sure of this and it is wonderful.

Eli and Sparrow at the kitchen table.

Eli spinning.

On Glen Lake in Michigan. The morning before he proposed.

We’ve moved into our new house. It’s a townhouse, but so much more of a house than anywhere else I’ve ever lived. In our new house Eli can be upstairs and I can be downstairs and we are not forced into continuous interactions. I have a feeling that this is the beginning of getting older and I’m having a bit of a hard time letting go. I like our new house. I like that all of our shit fits into the closets and that there is the potential for not having piles of stuff everywhere. This house can stay clean. This house doesn’t have holes in the wall or so many mice that everyday we have to check mousetraps and clean up mouse droppings. It’s functional and that’s just a little weird for me. 

You have to understand that our old house was Eli’s bachelor pad. It was there before I existed to Eli, and when it became my house, we became a couple. I’ve always liked that Eli found a house that I would love before we knew each other. I like that the old house reflects who he was before me, but ended up reflecting us as well. 

But the era of our heat leaking crappy house came to an end. Eli is not sentimental the way I am, and he wanted out a long time ago. I pushed him to stay there for as long as I could, and then at some point the mouse droppings piled up, the stove started to smell like burning mouse droppings every time we turned it on, I made scones and had to drive them to Erin’s house to bake them, and I converted to his belief that the house was pretty crappy and that we had to get out. 

But yesterday was the last day and I went back one last time on the very last day that it was ours. I loved that house. The light. The corner where we first kissed on the crappy couch that I certainly will never let Eli be rid of. The porch where I’ve watched baby birds with delight (they’ve watched me with complete terror.) It was hard to leave.

Eli on our old porch, leaving for his first day of being a full time employed web designer.

 

IA final meditation in the mouse droppings kitchen.

 

Up against the wall where we had our very first kiss.

 

The windows that let in the light that woke us up for the past three years. One final thought and I then I shut the door.

I’ve wanted to go strawberry picking for years. I am proud to live in an agricultural state with fertile soil and plentiful sun, and I feel that I should partake in agricultural activities as much as possible from growing our own food to taking advantage of locally grown foods.

Picking strawberries seemed like a romantic Saturday afternoon adventure into the fields. As it turns out, strawberry picking isn’t the feel good agricultural experience that I had envisioned. It’s backbreaking and exhausting. Also, I just had a mole removed from my back and don’t feel up to bending and stretching the broken skin right yet. For me and my sewn up back, strawberry picking was an exercise in squatting and waddling along the aisles. For Eli it was an opportunity to constantly compare my measly collection of misshapen strawberries to his overflowing flat.

In good news, we found an apartment that we LOVE! In bad news, 3 other couples love it too. We’ll find out tomorrow if we get it. I’m hoping, but trying to not worry about it too much. 

 

Eli Picking Strawberries.

 

The Farmer Who told Eli to "Take Care of that Little Girl Now."

Just some photos of the two men I spent today with.