StacyCelia.com

I grew up on Maidstone Lane in Beachwood, Ohio. I can still remember the shadows that stretched over the green lawn in the front yard, the navy painted milk shoot by the front door and the carpeted kitchen that overlooked the family room (or is it living room, I never get them straight). Every inch of that home is tattooed in my memory.

During my younger years, we had a live-in babysitter named, Kristen. She was my buddy. Mamie, too, who was the cleaning lady twice a week. I can still remember the way she transported her lunches in a narrow orange newspaper bag, closed by a knot at the top. Anyway, while Kristen lived with the Bogarts, I shared a room with my older and more mature sister, Jamie. My only sister. Four bedrooms, six residents, one dog and one blue, white and silver bathroom that had no windows and saved me during thunder storms - all on one floor. The house never seemed crowded to me, but maybe that was because I loved the company.

Jamie would offer me three strikes before kicking me out of our room at night. The poor girl wanted to sleep, while I only wanted to talk. And talk. And talk. I wanted to know what made her so cool, which boy she liked, why she had so much homework from Mrs. Lewis and most importantly…who her favorite bus driver was. (While we went to different schools, we had the same bus drivers…I loved that we had this in common.) Jamie was not interested in anything but sleep.

One, two, three strikes…I was out.

Fast forward twenty years. Now I share a bedroom (and bed) with Jason. The poor man wants to sleep, while I only want to talk. And talk. And talk. And talk some more. I want to know when we can play the mummy game, what he is most excited for on the honeymoon, which toe is his favorite and most importantly…I want to pretend we’re in a movie (act out first kisses, pretend we just woke up from a one night stand, whatever improvisational skit unfolds). He is interested for about ten-fifteen minutes each night, but ultimately apologizes profusely and begs to go to bed.

“I love you, Stace. I’m sorry, but I gotta get some sleep.”

“I love you, too.”

“But what does Google know anyway,” I ask, referring to the evidence he found stating that one year anniversaries involve paper (WHAT?) and not diamonds.

“Four seconds,” Jason says. He counted how long I could go without speaking. Then he laughs and suggests that I blog since it has been “too long.” And here I am…while I hear him snoozing.

One, two, three strikes…I’m out.

I wondered on Maidstone Lane, just as I do here on Pine Grove Avenue, who in the world wants to sleep when your best friend is right next to you?

The more things change, the more they stay the same.

Good night.

Really, it was.

I have a handful of incredible friends. Some live in Chicago, most don’t. I talk to some daily, some weekly and one monthly. Without them, life would be dull, confusing and way less entertaining. My mom always said that a person can only have one best friend. I disagree. I’ve got more. One that sets me straight (”Stacy - are you kidding? You sound ridiculous!”), one that is completely herself (no matter what the situation is), one that has my back at all times (it runs in the family, even her brother stood up for me years ago), one that is most honest (”that outfit makes you look prego”), one that always understands (”should we just drive around screaming Alanis?”), one that reminds me of the “old days” (belzabub), one that is family (aside from blood relation, you tell me how we’re different), and one that makes me always feel at home, even when we’re out (she even lets me move in to hers when I need to). Truth be told, most do most and are most to me.

I’ll never tell which is which.

I am very different than many of them, yet so much of the same.

One thing that I know for sure is that my life would be worse off without these women. There’s nothing like them. They understand (usually), make me smile (almost always) and keep me entertained at all times. If only you knew the stories…When I can’t fall asleep, I just think of a certain friend and laugh…drama! (In a good way.)

My lips are sealed. My heart is full. So lucky.

Later.

PS - Mom, you are my bestEST friend. And you are the only one with that title.

I have always wanted a traditional Jewish wedding. I am hoping that not only do I take Jason’s breath away, but that my father loses his too. It is important to me that we follow religious rituals and customs because I would only want to begin my life with Jason through symbols of our shared roots. But…must I give up my last name?! I am all about tradition, but this one is a lot to swallow!

I love the name Bogart. Growing up it was Bogart, as in “don’t Bogart that joint.” Now it’s, “This is Stacy Bogart…as in Humphrey.” Everyone understands immediately. In 96 days, it will be Bohrer. Not as in the animal and not as in boring. Bohrer as in TWO syllables with no obvious association to it (or spelling of it). For the last nine months I have joked that he will become a Bogart, that I will not give up my name. I pretend that it is offensive as a woman that my dad would give me to Jason like an object. (While I do understand that perspective, it is not mine.) As the wedding inches closer and closer, this joke is surfacing as a monumental gulp in my throat - it is not Bogart that I am sad to lose, however, but instead it is what the last name represents that has my mind running a marathon. It just seems impossible to move into this next chapter without recognizing what I am leaving behind. My childhood identity is made up of mere memories now. It is a strange feeling when you leave key parts and people of the past, well, in the past. It is as if I am beginning a part two of my life, not just another chapter. (I even get a new confusing last name.) While the first half was almost predictable, this half does not feel that way. I have been blessed with a typical sequence of events thus far and I hold my breath hoping that this next half gives me the same fortunate circumstances. Lots of love, few losses and tons of fun.

It has recently dawned on me that my new last name is not forcing this reality, but instead time is. With or without Jason, I realize, I am simply growing up and fast. Suddenly what feels like yesterday, was actually a decade ago; what felt like a decade ago was actually a lifetime ago. I am lucky to love my past enough to miss it.

Nearly everything is imperfectly perfect right now and I just wish I could stop the clock and keep it exactly as it…daily romance, two parents, high spirits and a rich life. But I cannot freeze time, so instead I will just appreciate it. Stacy Bogart did not always count her blessings. So…

Bohrer, it is…as in my best friend and husband, Jason.

I can just hear myself now…”B as in babies, O as in outstanding, H as in Happy, R as in Rich, E as in eternal, R as in ready for anything.” Everyone should be so lucky.

Yesterday I had a horrible pounding headache. Ugh, I couldn’t stand it. I climbed into bed around 2PM in an attempt to save my sanity. I closed my eyes and shortly thereafter heard my cell. It was my Dad, so I picked up. I told him that I was not feeling well, so he offered to sing me a song.

“Name a group.”

“The Beatles, please.”

And so he began singing “Can’t Buy Me Love” in its entirety. After that I requested a “Beach Boys” number. He sang and sang well. With enthusiasm. Finally, he wrapped up the call with a tune from the current play he’s in. I loved it.

I swear the headache alleviated.

In two and a half weeks, I will be walking to benefit suicide prevention. I have thus far raised $830 dollars. I am blown away by the generosity of others - I know a lot of good people.

Last week a 23 year old in the building next door jumped to his death. It really took a toll on me. Depression is a challenging and heart breaking disease, but I do believe that it can be alleviated and treated with awareness and education. Through my fundraising I have learned that depression is an illness that impacts everyone - either people have been depressed or have loved someone who suffered from depression. Each phone call I made to thank donors, I heard stories about why this walk means something to them. Thank you to all who donated. Opening ceremonies begin at Soldier Field at 7PM on the 27th and end at 5AM the following morning. We will walk through the dark and into the light, hopefully as our donations will enable those in pain to do.

If you have not donated, but would like to, please click on the link below. Thank you for your support.

http://www.theovernight.org/index.cfm?fuseaction=extranet.personalpage&confirmid=10014620

In the meantime, I just want to mention that I love my friends. I am blessed to have so many wonderful people in my life.