May I just share with you how much I love Up, the movie? Okay, good. I love the movie, Up.
I remember standing on the hardwood floors of my kitchen, helping my mom load the dishwasher, telling her the story of Up. And I cried. I really cried telling the story back to her. She may have cried, too, actually. And you know what part got us? No, not when Russell squeaks across the blimp’s glass. Good guess, though.
You know what part I’m talking about.
I love Up because it’s about life’s adventures, and how they’re never quite how you first dream them. Mostly because they’re so much better than that. I love Up because it’s about having a purpose and friends no matter what age you are. I love Up because it’s about never being too late to make a change, to go after that old adventure, or to find a new one.
I also love Up because I saw it first, in 3-D, with one of my very best friends, one of my Rachels: the Italian one. (I have two Rachels. I love them both dearly (which means I will owe my Norwegian Rachel a post), and I don’t think they know that I call them “my Rachels.” Oh, well)
Why do I love my Italian Stallion (Rachel)? Where to begin? I think it’s necessary to point out the fact that no matter how many times I make a donkey’s heiney out of myself, Rachy loves me anyway. I’m the Carl Frederickson to her Russell. Although if I’m being honest, I’m probably the Doug to her Kevin.
The first time I met Rach (that I remember), I was in the seventh grade, and I immediately accused her of being in the Italian Mafia. I’m pretty sure I wrote something about it in her birthday card that year, a birthday I was late for, no doubt. In fact, I believe for three years in a row, Rachel called me to see if I was coming to her birthday party that started three hours earlier, which, of course, I was. I just was in my pajamas acting like I had forgotten all about it. I’m a really good actor.
The moment I knew my Italian sista was a bosom friend and kindred spirit had to be at some point in the eight grade, when we became Australian Olympic Sports Reporters at the lunch table. So obviously, Rachel and I tied for homecoming princess the next year.
Rachel and I have gone on many adventures together: seen in these blessedly preserved school projects (1 & 2). And now, she is my neighbor. Wooo!! The kind of neighbor that lives an hour away, but still, wooo! She’s the kind of neighbor that brings homemade pineapple salsa to your pool party.
I could go on about Rachel, about how she is a brilliant little artist, and is going to USC for a Master’s in Architecture! Get it, girl! Or I could tell you about the time I was looking through old pictures and found a little girl that looked an awful lot like her at my fifth birthday party. (It was her.)
Or I could say, “thanks for the adventure, Rachel” but that makes me sound like I’m dying (the depressed reader just said: “we all are”) . Maybe I’ll just say, “Adventure is out there!” And add I’m so glad I have my “girl who doesn’t make me want to hurl” to share them with. This sounds really sweet in my head because the song from Up is playing (bah-dat-dah-durrr-bat-dat-dah-durrrr-bah-dat-dahhhh-bah-dat-dahhh-dah-durrr)