Dear Me.
I'm writing from a place far in your future. 10 years may seem like a lifetime away; I know you feel as though you are molding in loneliness waiting for the 'best' part of your life to begin. Right now, you've never driven a car, never loved a boy, never had a true best friend and never been left broken-hearted. You have so much in your future just in the year that stretches eagerly before you that I have to pause to even consider where to begin.
I think we all have regrets; for the most part, I try not to. What's the point? But since the purpose of this is to give you advice, I suppose for the moment I can divulge a few things that bite at my heels.
First of all, dump your current boyfriend. He is of no use to you and your future; only scarring you and succeeding at making you feel small like him. You are loud, rambunctious and spirited; revel in every second of that energy and life. Becoming an adult tames that spirit; and while that blue flame ignites in me every once in a while, for the most part it's shelved in my past. So don't let him make you feel ashamed for being the loudest person in the room; it's what draws them all to you--like a moth to a flame.
You will find in your life that people want to be your friend, because you are a good one. Hold dear to that cluster of girls that you have accumulated; they will be your life-raft in rough waters, even after you graduate. Sure, one day you will move on and up in the world, either geographically or into distant phases of unparalleled lives, but you will always have the memories and the pictures that you made. Those girls, that friendship, made you who I am today.
Stop wasting moments in your life by longing for your one great love. It will happen in it's own time--you will fall in love and it will be great, for a while. But like most things, great loves are more satisfying in the movies. Instead, realize that great loves can come in all shapes in sizes--from the dog whose life you saved to the girlfriends who get you through times that are not so great. It is so hard to see for the anticipation clouds your vision--but enjoy your life as it is, without the complication and responsibility that love brings. You have plenty of time for complication in the future; enjoy the simplicity of the moment--because it too will quickly pass.
And when you meet him, you will be blindsided. He will be nothing you thought you wanted and everything you needed. And just when you find yourself completely dependant on him and your future is dangling by a thread, he leaves you. Some days I would warn you to avoid him at all costs; to not allow yourself to believe that you have a lifelong future with him. When he leaves, you will be destroyed. But, but, you will also be left with a valuable life lesson. You may not love as all-encompassing anymore, but you will love logically, healthily and in the end, more genuinely. You will find power in a love that makes you independent--love shouldn't cripple you, shouldn't make you feel inadequate.
But I want you to love him--to feel the unique joy of a first love. Your heart is open and pure; it's the only time in your life you'll be that away, aside for the love you feel for your own child. Enjoy that slow dance at prom and those first glorious days during spring where you soared with the heightened transformation of new love. It's an amazing time in your life. Feel the wind in your hair of those great heights--don't rush through it--because soon enough the gravity of love and growing up will force you back down again.
You will learn so much from him that I will risk the devastating pain in order for you to learn those lessons. I believe we are who we are from the circumstances before us and how we overcome them. Your heart will still be open--it remains so even today--you will bounce back quickly.
You will find that when life gets hard--you get stronger. Knowing that about yourself is half the battle.
On that note--I do want to advise you to listen to that small voice. Know yourself enough to know when it's time to say goodbye. I believe you missed out on a lot senior year of high school as you grasped on to a future that wasn't meant to be. As impossible as it may seem, let him go. You know, it your heart, it's over--trust yourself and watch the boys fall out of the woodwork--there will be one in particular you will always wonder about.
Relish every moment on stage. Audition for Crimson despite what anyone tells you. When you sing without fear, you're not half bad. Don't let any one's doubt crack a hole in your self-esteem. Become OK with disagreeing with your parents; just because they believe something differently doesn't make you wrong or them right. Once you over-come the obstacle of their acceptance--it's when they will truly accept you.
Stand in a mirror and really see yourself. You will look back at photographs and marvel at how beautiful you were. Cut your hair short, I mean really short, but only after homecoming senior year.
When you graduate, take all that money and put it in a savings account--don't blow it decorating your apartment. Apply to Oglethorpe but go to Georgia State your first year--regardless of what your boyfriend's plans are. Go into the City and get lost; over come your fears. Your directional sense and independence in that regard will be a huge chunk of your identity when you get older.
Don't live at home--live in the dorms. Never tell Mom where your really going--it's all part of being in college. You are responsible and mature; trust, trust, trust yourself.
No matter how foolish it sounds--write, write and then write some more. Forget psychology (still double major in sociology though--those classes speak to the very core of who you are and validate you as a person). Don't be so concerned with making money; instead, be concerned with being content. Major in something like creative writing. It's our belief that life will work out that makes it so. Believe, write and keep skipping those classes. Your college days pass in an unbelievable blur.
Of all the regrets I stew over in my mind, marrying Anth at such a young age is not one of them. Sure, life would have been easier; I could have lived pretty much carefree from my apartment under my parents--but what kind of life is that? It's the hardships and the challenges that sharpen you, that transform you, whether for better or for worse. That, well, that is what you choose--whether these things will make you best version of yourself or the worst.
But of all the advise I've just given you, you must take this one piece to heart: ignore most of what I've told you. Don't change one step in a different direction; otherwise I may be writing you from a very different place right now. Life with a different perspective may not have led me to Anthony and then inevitably to Oliver--and that is not something I would ever risk. And no matter what I preach--you will never be able to get to where I am without passing through those treacherous woods of adolescence. Sure, I look back with regret because I didn't know better. Now I do--it's the seemingly unfair contradiction of growing up.
Just know that your life in the future is small but meaningful. The plans we felt so sure about scattered to the wind but our life is a charmed one. Just plan to be surprised. Plan to be happy.
I'm sure I'll write you again in another ten years. Have fun in high school and trust me--things will get easier.
Love always,
Me.
Monday, December 28, 2009
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Sometimes I write and it feels so good. My words, my mind--they're in sync and I can't doubt my dreams.
A little bit of what I'm talking about, Willis.
Writing is so much fun.
It wasn’t about having him all to herself, she decided, as she settled in the last row of the library, where she knew she would be undisturbed. It was knowing that Mason couldn’t have both—her and them. It was the innocent look in his deep brown eyes that pained her; there were politics in the works that he couldn’t possibly be aware of and he surely wouldn’t understand; not yet anyway.
They would make him choose.
He could either have them—a huge variety of friends and a thousand different memories in the making: prom, parties, dates, senior trips and a strong friend base. Or he could have her, just her; sharing the unbearable, miserable curse of being an outcast. He couldn’t have them both and there were no compromises in this area. Mason may have been unbearably naive but Ellie knew how things worked around this school.
Ellie couldn’t blame him for the choice he would inevitably make; she only resented his ability to have one. She never got the option.
Being alone, she finally let the tears come. She cried for Mason Riley and the impossible connection they shared; she cried for the way things were in her life and the desire for change that never seemed to realize; she cried for a future she felt would never come; but mostly she cried because she was unhappy.
When Ellie finally gained composure, a small part of her felt the tiniest bit relieved. Because in those small, insignificant hours, Ellie discovered through Mason Riley that she was in fact still a human capable of love, capable of intense emotion. Sometimes she couldn’t help but become the creature the rumors swirled about—cold, unlovable, inhuman. She lived life in a constant state of numbness because of how she was treated. It was a vicious cycle. Life was just too painful.
But she wasn’t cold and she wasn’t dead. No, behind her exquisite beauty and hard, bitter exterior, Ellie believed in love. She longed for a love that would change her; that would save her from the unfortunate circumstances that fate had bestowed upon her.
Ellie would never admit to this; but something stirred inside her like a great wind. It was a tiny voice in the back of her mind, telling her that she was meant for something more. She felt a great, majestic power in the blood that pumped through her veins. It was an instinct that pushed her to fight against her cold reality; that whispered secrets of a better life. She was exceptional and she knew it. Yet it was as if she wasn’t created to live in this world; she was designed for another that she couldn’t quite find.
It was the only explanation Ellie could come to as to why she was treated the way she was. It went against human nature to reject someone so beautiful. She should be adored, respected and coveted. Instead, she was isolated—like the only one of its kind on an alien planet; she felt as if she were a different life-form.
Ellie constantly boiled on the frustration of it all; she felt as if the entire truth was told to her every night in her dreams; yet in the morning, all the words she understood in her sleep made no sense in the gray breaking of the dawn. She could feel the ticking of time passing on her bones, wasting precious time; her life was wrong and every misstep added more weight she couldn’t bear.
Ellie always envisioned herself as a wild cat born into captivity. Sure, she was cared for and complacent; but something just wasn’t quite right. It burned in her mind, never ceased, never decreased in power; but she couldn’t quite jump the confining walls of her life. She didn’t know how.
If only she had someone to show her. Maybe then she could escape to the life, the world, she was created for.
Ellie would never admit this, no, because despite what her instincts screamed at her, she couldn’t help but believe in its foolishness. It was a far-fetched and outlandish fantasy; one Ellie believed in only to get her through each day.
But unconsciously she hoped; it is much easier that way.
Mason stirred things in Ellie that she wasn’t able to deal with. He opened doors that were bolted shut; roused emotions that baffled her. She hurt in a way she never had before; because she couldn’t deny that she felt something, a strong and penetrating and meaningful shock to her system. It was ridiculous and illogical, but it was real, whether Mason felt it or not.
As she settled at the long wooden table that stretched along the back wall of the library, Ellie wiped away the remaining tears and exhaled. At least she was still able to love, to find a connection in this world she didn’t belong in.
Ellie at least could take comfort in that.
A little bit of what I'm talking about, Willis.
Writing is so much fun.
It wasn’t about having him all to herself, she decided, as she settled in the last row of the library, where she knew she would be undisturbed. It was knowing that Mason couldn’t have both—her and them. It was the innocent look in his deep brown eyes that pained her; there were politics in the works that he couldn’t possibly be aware of and he surely wouldn’t understand; not yet anyway.
They would make him choose.
He could either have them—a huge variety of friends and a thousand different memories in the making: prom, parties, dates, senior trips and a strong friend base. Or he could have her, just her; sharing the unbearable, miserable curse of being an outcast. He couldn’t have them both and there were no compromises in this area. Mason may have been unbearably naive but Ellie knew how things worked around this school.
Ellie couldn’t blame him for the choice he would inevitably make; she only resented his ability to have one. She never got the option.
Being alone, she finally let the tears come. She cried for Mason Riley and the impossible connection they shared; she cried for the way things were in her life and the desire for change that never seemed to realize; she cried for a future she felt would never come; but mostly she cried because she was unhappy.
When Ellie finally gained composure, a small part of her felt the tiniest bit relieved. Because in those small, insignificant hours, Ellie discovered through Mason Riley that she was in fact still a human capable of love, capable of intense emotion. Sometimes she couldn’t help but become the creature the rumors swirled about—cold, unlovable, inhuman. She lived life in a constant state of numbness because of how she was treated. It was a vicious cycle. Life was just too painful.
But she wasn’t cold and she wasn’t dead. No, behind her exquisite beauty and hard, bitter exterior, Ellie believed in love. She longed for a love that would change her; that would save her from the unfortunate circumstances that fate had bestowed upon her.
Ellie would never admit to this; but something stirred inside her like a great wind. It was a tiny voice in the back of her mind, telling her that she was meant for something more. She felt a great, majestic power in the blood that pumped through her veins. It was an instinct that pushed her to fight against her cold reality; that whispered secrets of a better life. She was exceptional and she knew it. Yet it was as if she wasn’t created to live in this world; she was designed for another that she couldn’t quite find.
It was the only explanation Ellie could come to as to why she was treated the way she was. It went against human nature to reject someone so beautiful. She should be adored, respected and coveted. Instead, she was isolated—like the only one of its kind on an alien planet; she felt as if she were a different life-form.
Ellie constantly boiled on the frustration of it all; she felt as if the entire truth was told to her every night in her dreams; yet in the morning, all the words she understood in her sleep made no sense in the gray breaking of the dawn. She could feel the ticking of time passing on her bones, wasting precious time; her life was wrong and every misstep added more weight she couldn’t bear.
Ellie always envisioned herself as a wild cat born into captivity. Sure, she was cared for and complacent; but something just wasn’t quite right. It burned in her mind, never ceased, never decreased in power; but she couldn’t quite jump the confining walls of her life. She didn’t know how.
If only she had someone to show her. Maybe then she could escape to the life, the world, she was created for.
Ellie would never admit this, no, because despite what her instincts screamed at her, she couldn’t help but believe in its foolishness. It was a far-fetched and outlandish fantasy; one Ellie believed in only to get her through each day.
But unconsciously she hoped; it is much easier that way.
Mason stirred things in Ellie that she wasn’t able to deal with. He opened doors that were bolted shut; roused emotions that baffled her. She hurt in a way she never had before; because she couldn’t deny that she felt something, a strong and penetrating and meaningful shock to her system. It was ridiculous and illogical, but it was real, whether Mason felt it or not.
As she settled at the long wooden table that stretched along the back wall of the library, Ellie wiped away the remaining tears and exhaled. At least she was still able to love, to find a connection in this world she didn’t belong in.
Ellie at least could take comfort in that.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Just a little something I'm working on...
...don't be too hard on me yet...just a little piece of fiction that stemmed from a dream I had...in the early very rough stages of writing...figure if I put it out in the universe, good things will come... So I guess I'm practicing the secret now...
Eleanor Von Dee often wondered how God could make her so extraordinarily beautiful yet so ordinary. She didn’t wonder this out of vanity as she combed through her long, dark hair, sweeping it effortlessly behind her porcelain shoulder. No, Eleanor wasn’t vain nor was she conceited.
She was lonely.
Eleanor noticed at a startling young age—the tender age of five—that she was different than everyone else. She was aware of the world by the age of two and grasped a third language by three. She was faster, taller, stronger and smarter than anyone she knew. But what alienated people from her—what made people gasp and shuffle away—was not what she was capable of. No. Unless you were a first hand witness, Eleanor would never make a show of her abilities.
It was the perfect proportion of her body; the beautiful curve of her cheek; the sparkling blue of her eyes; the purple-black-brown tint of her hair. Every aspect of her physical appearance blended together so perfectly passerby’s often questioned if she was real, if she was alive.
Because of this—because of her perfect beauty—boys were too utterly intimidated to talk to her and girls despised her immediately—regardless of how amiable Eleanor was. The truth of the matter was—they all feared her, knowing she was much more than what she seemed. She was exceptional, brilliant, well spoken and remarkably beautiful yet humble and serene. Perfection in one person—well, lets just say perfection makes more enemies than friends.
But, as Eleanor would often argue with herself, she was not perfect. She had one visible blemish—a birthmark in the shape of a diamond, just on the inside of her wrist. Like a tattoo, it was many shades darker than her creamy, ivory skin tone. It was ruddy and unremarkable; Eleanor took great comfort in this. Something about her was normal; she too had flaws just like everyone else.
Yet all attempts at a normal life were in vain—because Eleanor was not a normal girl.
Only it was not time, not yet, for her to discover that.
So she remained lonely.
Eleanor sighed at her reflection, so perfect, even in the dim light of the morning. Even though she was beautiful, it didn’t please her. Like every morning, Eleanor wished she could look just like everyone else.
She took one last look at her bedroom for the day, perched high in the attic of the old house. The walls were blue and fading, the dark lines of the white-washed wood seeping through. Doubled glass doors led out onto the widow’s peak; from there she could admire the dark shadow of the ocean. Her bed was large and plush with hand-sewn pillows and a white down comforter that seemed to call to her on this particular morning.
Eleanor’s bedroom was her favorite place to be even if it constantly reminded her of what she was sorely missing.
The walls were bare; no heart-throb posters or collages of friends. The only pictures were stuck in the corner of the extravagant white rod iron and mosaic mirror that stretched floor to ceiling. The first picture was one of her entire family; the only people that shared her blood and loved her. Her Mother, Rosaline and her Father Patrick were casually lounging on the beach not a block from where Eleanor’s room overlooked. They were laughing; she could hear the boom of her Father’s voice in her thoughts even though it had been a decade since she last heard it. A car accident took his life and the easy happiness he brought.
In the picture, Eleanor was in her Father’s arms, squirming as most 5 year olds do. Her brother, Michael, was 15 and prosaic. Even awkward and lean, he seemed majestic, especially to Eleanor. Ever since her Father’s passing, Michael was but a ghost to her and her Mother, only visiting once or twice a year. She didn’t hold it against him. Even Eleanor felt the heaviness of his presence within the four walls of the home and in the memory of their Mother.
“Ellie!” Her mother, Rosa, called urgently up the stairs.
“I’m coming” She mumbled as she finished dressing.
She scurried lightly down the wooden creaking staircase that led from her bedroom to the bottom floor, three flights down. Her hand glided along the banister, enjoying the smooth feel of the worn wood. She hated leaving her home, begging her Mother for years to let her be home schooled. Eleanor knew it was an improbable option, especially since graduation was only two months away.
Rosa waited impatiently on the bottom floor. Even though Eleanor saw her Mother every day, she was still sometimes taken aback by her mother’s beauty. Her Mother was a ray of hope; striking beautiful, like Eleanor, she lived a normal life with many friends. Eleanor hoped one day she would be as loved as her Rosa; she dreamed of college where her life would inevitably change for the better. For things couldn’t get any worse.
Rosa Von Dee shared her daughter’s sparkling and intimidating eyes. But her hair was ash blonde and silky and long and flowing, unlike other mother’s her age that had cropped theirs short. Like Eleanor, there was nothing average or quaint about her.
“You’re going to be late” Rosa scolded her absentmindedly, her eyes scanning the length of her daughter’s body, “Is that what you’re wearing?”
Eleanor rolled her eyes, “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”
“Could you dress a little drabber?” Rosa sniffed. She shuffled through her metallic bag, “Here, at least put on some lip gloss”
Eleanor shuffled self-consciously underneath the baggy sweatshirt but because it was so large, her movement was hidden. She looked down at her jeans and black sneakers with very little shame; she did whatever she could to blend it. She ignored Rosa who returned her lip gloss with a frustrated sigh.
“It won’t help” Rosa commented, seemingly able to read her mind, “You cannot hide who you are, my love”
Eleanor stomped out, discouraged by the fact that her mother was right. Regardless of whether she wore the dumpy sweatshirt for the third day in a row or the beautiful form fitting turquoise cashmere sweater that hung unworn in her closet—her mother was right. No one would talk to her yet everyone would notice her.
The sky was an undiluted blue, the clouds a frothy pink tint to yellow sunlight that fell happily down. It was going to be a cold yet beautiful day. Rosa drove hastily down twisting, slick roads but Eleanor didn’t flinch. She had long grown used to her mother’s chaotic driving.
Eleanor stiffened when her brown brick high school rose out of the green trees. She dreaded this moment and the hours that followed every day. Relief of leaving at the end of the day dissipated as the next loomed. It was a terrible way to live.
After cutting three people off, Rosa swerved and stopped quickly in front of the school. Eleanor had to stop herself with her hand from flying into the windshield. “Goodbye, Rosaline, behave today” Eleanor joked forlornly.
Rosa smiled sadly, “Have a nice day, my love.”
Eleanor grunted in response and hoisted herself out of the low-lying car. She heard a few honks in the distance behind her and Eleanor knew, without looking, that her mother was gone.
She shuffled wearily into the crowd of students that walked numbly around her. It was the start of another school day, one that seemed as familiar as the day before. Eleanor had learned to ignore the glances that flickered her way; she snuffed out the hope that these momentary looks of interest would lead to something more; but alas, no one talked to her—just like the day before.
She sat in the first row, her assigned seat in homeroom. Eleanor groaned at the thought of assigned seating; she hated being treated like a child.
Her teacher, Mrs. Green, looked over the roster, checking to see which students were absent. Her eyes stopped on Eleanor before quickly moving away. Even the teachers were uncomfortable around her.
“Um, Eleanor?” A hesitant voice called behind her.
Eleanor jumped in shock; unused to having her name spoken during these set hours. She spun around quickly. A boy looked at her with wide, alarmed eyes. His pupils dilated, as most boys’ did when their thoughts turned to her, but his face was red with alarm.
“Yes?” Eleanor asked hopefully. Her voice was high, like the tinkling of a bell.
“Your chair is sitting on my book bag” He mumbled, afraid. Eleanor looked down in disappointment; sure enough, her chair sat on the black strap of his bag. Behind him, the class had grown quiet, inordinately interested in their interaction. Eleanor frowned as she picked up her desk and the boy removed his bag. He returned to his seat without a backward glance.
What have I ever done? She asked herself angrily. Why is everyone so scared of me?
She replayed countless years in her mind as she did most mornings—as if trying to solve a riddle that didn’t make sense. She grew up in this small school, had class with the same people every year. Yet nothing ever changed; they eyed her with suspicious awe and kept their distance.
Even new students avoided her. Eleanor recalled the first day of school for Bridgett Pickett, the blonde head cheerleader. She sat at Eleanor’s empty lunch table; sure that Eleanor was someone to know. Before the end of their first conversation, Bridgett was so nervous she couldn’t finish her lunch. The cafeteria had all but stopped and was observing them as if they were in a glass tank at the zoo. Bridgett fled before the lunch bell rang and never looked in Eleanor’s direction again.
“We’ve got a new student.” Mrs. Green announced, halting all side conversations. “Mr. Riley, will you please stand so I can introduce you”
All the heads in the class turned and a low hushed murmur broke out. Eleanor didn’t even bother turning her head, what did it matter to her anyway? She buried her face into her arms, shielding her eyes and thoughts. A new student meant one more person destined to ignore her.
Mrs. Green’s voice, although muffled, still penetrated her thoughts, “Class, this is Mason Riley. Please go out of your way to make him feel at home. Mr. Riley, would you like to say something about yourself?”
He laughed hesitantly; something familiar drew her attention. Eleanor lifted her head and slightly turned. He was blocked by a row of girls perched higher than the rest—almost jumping out of their seats to get his attention.
Just great, Eleanor thought miserably, fresh meat.
She couldn’t see his face, only the slender muscles of his arms and the ivory color of his skin. Even though she knew better, her interest piqued. Jen Smith’s red head shifted slightly and Eleanor got a quick glimpse of him. He was tall—taller than Eleanor and the rest of the boys at school—with messy dark hair that had a golden tint. He had a square jaw but skin that seemed worn for his age and tone. His eyes carried a wisdom that intrigued her. He looked older than 17; wiser than a senior in high school.
Eleanor gasped as she took him in; he was unequivocally the most beautiful male she had ever seen. It was no wonder the girls were practically wagging their tongues at him. He was a stunning tribute to perfection. She was happy to admit that his beauty rivaled hers.
Although impossible with the excited chatter, Mason seemed to hear her intake of breath.
His eyes flickered to Eleanor. She waited for them to leave her, to see the familiar look of fear and awe, but they didn’t. His gaze held steady, a flash of recognition registered and then left, but their eye-contact never broke.
Eleanor thought her heart would split down it’s seam. Only seconds had passed but it felt like hours. Mason smiled at her, so small, that almost no one noticed.
Almost.
Jen Smith turned around and scowled at her. Eleanor smiled in response. Even being hated was better than being ignored.
Shaken and unnerved, Eleanor quickly ducked her head as she slid further down into her seat.
What is a matter with you? She asked herself harshly as she fumbled with a pen between her fingers. He’s a new student. Of course he’s interested. But don’t think his interest will hold. But there is something about him…
In that moment, Eleanor knew she was doomed.
She convinced herself he wasn’t looking at her; it would be easier to deal with the disappointment later if she convinced herself that the moment that passed between them was a figment of her imagination…
The homeroom bell rang and the students around her buzzed excitedly. A new student was big news—especially when there was so little to discuss in the small coastal town. Eleanor didn’t dare look in his direction as she slowly collected her things, but she could hear the gaggle of girls surrounding him and pelting him with superficial questions. He seemed disinterested as he tried push through them.
Lost in eavesdropping, Eleanor dropped her book. It landed with a sharp smack against the floor, causing several of her classmates to look in her direction. Embarrassed, she bent to reach for it but it was already gone. Instead, a hand held it out for her.
Holding her breath, she took it, knowing who stood before her without looking. No one else would have thought to help her. No one else would have even noticed.
“I think you dropped this” His said, amused. Eleanor was afraid of drawing her eyes up.
She stood and smoothed out her sweatshirt. She winced, wishing for once she had chosen to wear the dress instead. She took in a deep breath and looked him square in the eye. He smiled at her, completely comfortable and at-ease.
“Thank you” She whispered nervously.
“Um, Mason” Jen’s hand was on his shoulder, “Why don’t I walk you to your next class?” She asked; her tone heavy with provocation. Eleanor stuffed the book in her bag, her face hot with embarrassment. She scolded herself for allowing herself to hope, if only for a second, that this new guy would be any different from all the rest. The general weariness of the student population made her the high school equivalent of the plague.
Eleanor pushed past them, her eyes on the floor in front of her.
“Thanks, uh, what was your name again?” Mason asked absentmindedly, his eyes following Eleanor.
“Jen” She answered indignantly.
Mason shrugged out from under Jen’s hand, “Could you show me where my next class is?” His hand reached out and grabbed Eleanor’s arm just before she was out of reach. Eleanor paused in shock, her eyes on his long fingers that gripped her sleeve.
She summoned all the anger she could stand and shot him a scathing look.
It will hurt less if you push him away. She thought to herself. You know how this will end regardless.
She swung the strap of her bag over her shoulder as she yanked her arm away. Eleanor was out of the classroom and away from him in a few seconds. Or so she thought.
“Um, excuse me, Eleanor?” Mason was matching her frantic pace step for step, “I kind of blew Jen off so if you could show me to my next class, I’d really appreciate it. It’s chemistry with Mr. Cobb.”
Eleanor stopped and looked furiously around, “OK, what is this, a dare? A trick?”
She searched down the hall in the direction from which they came, “Something to initiate you into their little popular club?”
Mason was startled and dumbfounded as he struggled to catch on. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re the first person I’ve talked to”
“Other than Jen” Eleanor scoffed as she crossed her arms.
“OK, let me rephrase. You’re the first person I’ve wanted to talk to”
Eleanor smirked darkly as she came to a realization. “Ah, so it’s ignorance.” She turned on her heel and continued down the hall. Mason followed, still baffled in her wake.
“Eleanor, I don’t know where I’m going” Mason called over the hoards of students that tried to separate them in the crowd. He continued following her onto the next hall. She abruptly stopped and turned, fire burning intensely in her eyes, “Here is your class. Have a nice day! And by the way, not that it will matter to you, but my name is Ellie”
“Did I do something?” Mason asked. His mouth turned down into the hard line of a frown.
Her hard exterior cracked a little as he looked helplessly into her eyes. “No, you didn’t do anything. I’m just doing you a favor” She mumbled weakly.
“By being unfriendly?”
Eleanor bit back a smile. “After your next class, I promise you won’t want to be my friend anymore”
“And why is that?”
Eleanor struggled to find the right words for the reason. Everyone mulled about them seemingly distracted but she had the distinct feeling all sideward glances were on them, “Let’s just say I’m not the person you want to befriend if you want to be a social climber”
Mason eyes sparkled, pleased to receive a non-hostile response. “Let’s say I’m the kind of person who doesn’t care about rank.”
Eleanor shied away from him but inside was an internal battle. Part of her knew better than to trust his kindness; it was surely fleeting. But the other half wanted to get lost in his warmth, to trust his interest. “You must care a little, if I’m the first person you sought out to talk to”
Mason shook his head as he held up his hand, “Wait a minute, I’m confused.”
“I’m going to sound conceited…” Eleanor blushed, “…but I think it’s safe to say that the only reason you talked to me was because I’m beautiful.”
“Well, I suppose part of that reasoning is correct. No one could deny that” Mason rubbed the back of his neck uneasily, “So, connect the dots for me. I’m still a little confused”
“You say you’re not a social climber yet you seek out someone who fits the conventional mold of popularity. I’m beautiful therefore I must be popular…” Eleanor forced back tears, determined to keep her voice steady and unemotional.
“My, you’ve thought this out”
“Let’s just say you’re not the first new guy who didn’t know better” She said bitterly.
“And what happened?”
“Take a wild guess. I’m not exactly surrounded by friends now am I?” Eleanor’s voice wavered just a little.
“Maybe it’s your warm welcoming” Mason suggested dryly, with just the hint of a grin.
Eleanor couldn’t help but laugh, “Maybe”
They stood awkwardly together in silence.
“I think you’re nice.” Mason said sheepishly, “And you’re beautiful. I don’t know why anyone wouldn’t want to be your friend.”
Eleanor shrugged. That was a question she often wondered herself. “Go to class and I’m sure you’ll get an earful.”
“Will you show me to my next class?” Mason asked hopefully.
Eleanor turned from him, pretending to look down the hall when really she was wiping away a single tear. “You won’t want that. Trust me.”
“Wait for me here.” Mason pled. His hand reached up and touched the edge of her chin, forcing their eyes to meet. Eleanor fought back her suspicions, her doubts, and her fears and let herself be overcome with hope. Maybe she had found a friend after all. From the alarming warmth that spread over her body, she deduced she may have found something more.
“I’ll be here” Eleanor whispered. With a wink, Mason disappeared into the crowded classroom. Watching him walk into the buzzing room filled her with instant dread. Eleanor hoped he would keep his word.
She watched through the small square window that was perfectly center in the door. Jen had a seat open next to her and she eagerly encouraged Mason to sit. When her lips began moving rapidly, Eleanor pulled herself away. She didn’t have to guess as to who Jen was warning her about. Now it was all up to Mason.
The dark reality of what would probably happen tugged at her thoughts. If he wasn’t waiting for her, if Mason passed her by as if he didn’t know her, just like many had done before, Eleanor knew it would hurt her deeply. Anger flared up quickly, unable to believe she had allowed herself to be so vulnerable, especially with someone she just met. But she was unable to resist him; and if her predictions were correct, as they so often were, her heart would be utterly crushed into a thousand sparkling pieces.
Eleanor Von Dee often wondered how God could make her so extraordinarily beautiful yet so ordinary. She didn’t wonder this out of vanity as she combed through her long, dark hair, sweeping it effortlessly behind her porcelain shoulder. No, Eleanor wasn’t vain nor was she conceited.
She was lonely.
Eleanor noticed at a startling young age—the tender age of five—that she was different than everyone else. She was aware of the world by the age of two and grasped a third language by three. She was faster, taller, stronger and smarter than anyone she knew. But what alienated people from her—what made people gasp and shuffle away—was not what she was capable of. No. Unless you were a first hand witness, Eleanor would never make a show of her abilities.
It was the perfect proportion of her body; the beautiful curve of her cheek; the sparkling blue of her eyes; the purple-black-brown tint of her hair. Every aspect of her physical appearance blended together so perfectly passerby’s often questioned if she was real, if she was alive.
Because of this—because of her perfect beauty—boys were too utterly intimidated to talk to her and girls despised her immediately—regardless of how amiable Eleanor was. The truth of the matter was—they all feared her, knowing she was much more than what she seemed. She was exceptional, brilliant, well spoken and remarkably beautiful yet humble and serene. Perfection in one person—well, lets just say perfection makes more enemies than friends.
But, as Eleanor would often argue with herself, she was not perfect. She had one visible blemish—a birthmark in the shape of a diamond, just on the inside of her wrist. Like a tattoo, it was many shades darker than her creamy, ivory skin tone. It was ruddy and unremarkable; Eleanor took great comfort in this. Something about her was normal; she too had flaws just like everyone else.
Yet all attempts at a normal life were in vain—because Eleanor was not a normal girl.
Only it was not time, not yet, for her to discover that.
So she remained lonely.
Eleanor sighed at her reflection, so perfect, even in the dim light of the morning. Even though she was beautiful, it didn’t please her. Like every morning, Eleanor wished she could look just like everyone else.
She took one last look at her bedroom for the day, perched high in the attic of the old house. The walls were blue and fading, the dark lines of the white-washed wood seeping through. Doubled glass doors led out onto the widow’s peak; from there she could admire the dark shadow of the ocean. Her bed was large and plush with hand-sewn pillows and a white down comforter that seemed to call to her on this particular morning.
Eleanor’s bedroom was her favorite place to be even if it constantly reminded her of what she was sorely missing.
The walls were bare; no heart-throb posters or collages of friends. The only pictures were stuck in the corner of the extravagant white rod iron and mosaic mirror that stretched floor to ceiling. The first picture was one of her entire family; the only people that shared her blood and loved her. Her Mother, Rosaline and her Father Patrick were casually lounging on the beach not a block from where Eleanor’s room overlooked. They were laughing; she could hear the boom of her Father’s voice in her thoughts even though it had been a decade since she last heard it. A car accident took his life and the easy happiness he brought.
In the picture, Eleanor was in her Father’s arms, squirming as most 5 year olds do. Her brother, Michael, was 15 and prosaic. Even awkward and lean, he seemed majestic, especially to Eleanor. Ever since her Father’s passing, Michael was but a ghost to her and her Mother, only visiting once or twice a year. She didn’t hold it against him. Even Eleanor felt the heaviness of his presence within the four walls of the home and in the memory of their Mother.
“Ellie!” Her mother, Rosa, called urgently up the stairs.
“I’m coming” She mumbled as she finished dressing.
She scurried lightly down the wooden creaking staircase that led from her bedroom to the bottom floor, three flights down. Her hand glided along the banister, enjoying the smooth feel of the worn wood. She hated leaving her home, begging her Mother for years to let her be home schooled. Eleanor knew it was an improbable option, especially since graduation was only two months away.
Rosa waited impatiently on the bottom floor. Even though Eleanor saw her Mother every day, she was still sometimes taken aback by her mother’s beauty. Her Mother was a ray of hope; striking beautiful, like Eleanor, she lived a normal life with many friends. Eleanor hoped one day she would be as loved as her Rosa; she dreamed of college where her life would inevitably change for the better. For things couldn’t get any worse.
Rosa Von Dee shared her daughter’s sparkling and intimidating eyes. But her hair was ash blonde and silky and long and flowing, unlike other mother’s her age that had cropped theirs short. Like Eleanor, there was nothing average or quaint about her.
“You’re going to be late” Rosa scolded her absentmindedly, her eyes scanning the length of her daughter’s body, “Is that what you’re wearing?”
Eleanor rolled her eyes, “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”
“Could you dress a little drabber?” Rosa sniffed. She shuffled through her metallic bag, “Here, at least put on some lip gloss”
Eleanor shuffled self-consciously underneath the baggy sweatshirt but because it was so large, her movement was hidden. She looked down at her jeans and black sneakers with very little shame; she did whatever she could to blend it. She ignored Rosa who returned her lip gloss with a frustrated sigh.
“It won’t help” Rosa commented, seemingly able to read her mind, “You cannot hide who you are, my love”
Eleanor stomped out, discouraged by the fact that her mother was right. Regardless of whether she wore the dumpy sweatshirt for the third day in a row or the beautiful form fitting turquoise cashmere sweater that hung unworn in her closet—her mother was right. No one would talk to her yet everyone would notice her.
The sky was an undiluted blue, the clouds a frothy pink tint to yellow sunlight that fell happily down. It was going to be a cold yet beautiful day. Rosa drove hastily down twisting, slick roads but Eleanor didn’t flinch. She had long grown used to her mother’s chaotic driving.
Eleanor stiffened when her brown brick high school rose out of the green trees. She dreaded this moment and the hours that followed every day. Relief of leaving at the end of the day dissipated as the next loomed. It was a terrible way to live.
After cutting three people off, Rosa swerved and stopped quickly in front of the school. Eleanor had to stop herself with her hand from flying into the windshield. “Goodbye, Rosaline, behave today” Eleanor joked forlornly.
Rosa smiled sadly, “Have a nice day, my love.”
Eleanor grunted in response and hoisted herself out of the low-lying car. She heard a few honks in the distance behind her and Eleanor knew, without looking, that her mother was gone.
She shuffled wearily into the crowd of students that walked numbly around her. It was the start of another school day, one that seemed as familiar as the day before. Eleanor had learned to ignore the glances that flickered her way; she snuffed out the hope that these momentary looks of interest would lead to something more; but alas, no one talked to her—just like the day before.
She sat in the first row, her assigned seat in homeroom. Eleanor groaned at the thought of assigned seating; she hated being treated like a child.
Her teacher, Mrs. Green, looked over the roster, checking to see which students were absent. Her eyes stopped on Eleanor before quickly moving away. Even the teachers were uncomfortable around her.
“Um, Eleanor?” A hesitant voice called behind her.
Eleanor jumped in shock; unused to having her name spoken during these set hours. She spun around quickly. A boy looked at her with wide, alarmed eyes. His pupils dilated, as most boys’ did when their thoughts turned to her, but his face was red with alarm.
“Yes?” Eleanor asked hopefully. Her voice was high, like the tinkling of a bell.
“Your chair is sitting on my book bag” He mumbled, afraid. Eleanor looked down in disappointment; sure enough, her chair sat on the black strap of his bag. Behind him, the class had grown quiet, inordinately interested in their interaction. Eleanor frowned as she picked up her desk and the boy removed his bag. He returned to his seat without a backward glance.
What have I ever done? She asked herself angrily. Why is everyone so scared of me?
She replayed countless years in her mind as she did most mornings—as if trying to solve a riddle that didn’t make sense. She grew up in this small school, had class with the same people every year. Yet nothing ever changed; they eyed her with suspicious awe and kept their distance.
Even new students avoided her. Eleanor recalled the first day of school for Bridgett Pickett, the blonde head cheerleader. She sat at Eleanor’s empty lunch table; sure that Eleanor was someone to know. Before the end of their first conversation, Bridgett was so nervous she couldn’t finish her lunch. The cafeteria had all but stopped and was observing them as if they were in a glass tank at the zoo. Bridgett fled before the lunch bell rang and never looked in Eleanor’s direction again.
“We’ve got a new student.” Mrs. Green announced, halting all side conversations. “Mr. Riley, will you please stand so I can introduce you”
All the heads in the class turned and a low hushed murmur broke out. Eleanor didn’t even bother turning her head, what did it matter to her anyway? She buried her face into her arms, shielding her eyes and thoughts. A new student meant one more person destined to ignore her.
Mrs. Green’s voice, although muffled, still penetrated her thoughts, “Class, this is Mason Riley. Please go out of your way to make him feel at home. Mr. Riley, would you like to say something about yourself?”
He laughed hesitantly; something familiar drew her attention. Eleanor lifted her head and slightly turned. He was blocked by a row of girls perched higher than the rest—almost jumping out of their seats to get his attention.
Just great, Eleanor thought miserably, fresh meat.
She couldn’t see his face, only the slender muscles of his arms and the ivory color of his skin. Even though she knew better, her interest piqued. Jen Smith’s red head shifted slightly and Eleanor got a quick glimpse of him. He was tall—taller than Eleanor and the rest of the boys at school—with messy dark hair that had a golden tint. He had a square jaw but skin that seemed worn for his age and tone. His eyes carried a wisdom that intrigued her. He looked older than 17; wiser than a senior in high school.
Eleanor gasped as she took him in; he was unequivocally the most beautiful male she had ever seen. It was no wonder the girls were practically wagging their tongues at him. He was a stunning tribute to perfection. She was happy to admit that his beauty rivaled hers.
Although impossible with the excited chatter, Mason seemed to hear her intake of breath.
His eyes flickered to Eleanor. She waited for them to leave her, to see the familiar look of fear and awe, but they didn’t. His gaze held steady, a flash of recognition registered and then left, but their eye-contact never broke.
Eleanor thought her heart would split down it’s seam. Only seconds had passed but it felt like hours. Mason smiled at her, so small, that almost no one noticed.
Almost.
Jen Smith turned around and scowled at her. Eleanor smiled in response. Even being hated was better than being ignored.
Shaken and unnerved, Eleanor quickly ducked her head as she slid further down into her seat.
What is a matter with you? She asked herself harshly as she fumbled with a pen between her fingers. He’s a new student. Of course he’s interested. But don’t think his interest will hold. But there is something about him…
In that moment, Eleanor knew she was doomed.
She convinced herself he wasn’t looking at her; it would be easier to deal with the disappointment later if she convinced herself that the moment that passed between them was a figment of her imagination…
The homeroom bell rang and the students around her buzzed excitedly. A new student was big news—especially when there was so little to discuss in the small coastal town. Eleanor didn’t dare look in his direction as she slowly collected her things, but she could hear the gaggle of girls surrounding him and pelting him with superficial questions. He seemed disinterested as he tried push through them.
Lost in eavesdropping, Eleanor dropped her book. It landed with a sharp smack against the floor, causing several of her classmates to look in her direction. Embarrassed, she bent to reach for it but it was already gone. Instead, a hand held it out for her.
Holding her breath, she took it, knowing who stood before her without looking. No one else would have thought to help her. No one else would have even noticed.
“I think you dropped this” His said, amused. Eleanor was afraid of drawing her eyes up.
She stood and smoothed out her sweatshirt. She winced, wishing for once she had chosen to wear the dress instead. She took in a deep breath and looked him square in the eye. He smiled at her, completely comfortable and at-ease.
“Thank you” She whispered nervously.
“Um, Mason” Jen’s hand was on his shoulder, “Why don’t I walk you to your next class?” She asked; her tone heavy with provocation. Eleanor stuffed the book in her bag, her face hot with embarrassment. She scolded herself for allowing herself to hope, if only for a second, that this new guy would be any different from all the rest. The general weariness of the student population made her the high school equivalent of the plague.
Eleanor pushed past them, her eyes on the floor in front of her.
“Thanks, uh, what was your name again?” Mason asked absentmindedly, his eyes following Eleanor.
“Jen” She answered indignantly.
Mason shrugged out from under Jen’s hand, “Could you show me where my next class is?” His hand reached out and grabbed Eleanor’s arm just before she was out of reach. Eleanor paused in shock, her eyes on his long fingers that gripped her sleeve.
She summoned all the anger she could stand and shot him a scathing look.
It will hurt less if you push him away. She thought to herself. You know how this will end regardless.
She swung the strap of her bag over her shoulder as she yanked her arm away. Eleanor was out of the classroom and away from him in a few seconds. Or so she thought.
“Um, excuse me, Eleanor?” Mason was matching her frantic pace step for step, “I kind of blew Jen off so if you could show me to my next class, I’d really appreciate it. It’s chemistry with Mr. Cobb.”
Eleanor stopped and looked furiously around, “OK, what is this, a dare? A trick?”
She searched down the hall in the direction from which they came, “Something to initiate you into their little popular club?”
Mason was startled and dumbfounded as he struggled to catch on. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re the first person I’ve talked to”
“Other than Jen” Eleanor scoffed as she crossed her arms.
“OK, let me rephrase. You’re the first person I’ve wanted to talk to”
Eleanor smirked darkly as she came to a realization. “Ah, so it’s ignorance.” She turned on her heel and continued down the hall. Mason followed, still baffled in her wake.
“Eleanor, I don’t know where I’m going” Mason called over the hoards of students that tried to separate them in the crowd. He continued following her onto the next hall. She abruptly stopped and turned, fire burning intensely in her eyes, “Here is your class. Have a nice day! And by the way, not that it will matter to you, but my name is Ellie”
“Did I do something?” Mason asked. His mouth turned down into the hard line of a frown.
Her hard exterior cracked a little as he looked helplessly into her eyes. “No, you didn’t do anything. I’m just doing you a favor” She mumbled weakly.
“By being unfriendly?”
Eleanor bit back a smile. “After your next class, I promise you won’t want to be my friend anymore”
“And why is that?”
Eleanor struggled to find the right words for the reason. Everyone mulled about them seemingly distracted but she had the distinct feeling all sideward glances were on them, “Let’s just say I’m not the person you want to befriend if you want to be a social climber”
Mason eyes sparkled, pleased to receive a non-hostile response. “Let’s say I’m the kind of person who doesn’t care about rank.”
Eleanor shied away from him but inside was an internal battle. Part of her knew better than to trust his kindness; it was surely fleeting. But the other half wanted to get lost in his warmth, to trust his interest. “You must care a little, if I’m the first person you sought out to talk to”
Mason shook his head as he held up his hand, “Wait a minute, I’m confused.”
“I’m going to sound conceited…” Eleanor blushed, “…but I think it’s safe to say that the only reason you talked to me was because I’m beautiful.”
“Well, I suppose part of that reasoning is correct. No one could deny that” Mason rubbed the back of his neck uneasily, “So, connect the dots for me. I’m still a little confused”
“You say you’re not a social climber yet you seek out someone who fits the conventional mold of popularity. I’m beautiful therefore I must be popular…” Eleanor forced back tears, determined to keep her voice steady and unemotional.
“My, you’ve thought this out”
“Let’s just say you’re not the first new guy who didn’t know better” She said bitterly.
“And what happened?”
“Take a wild guess. I’m not exactly surrounded by friends now am I?” Eleanor’s voice wavered just a little.
“Maybe it’s your warm welcoming” Mason suggested dryly, with just the hint of a grin.
Eleanor couldn’t help but laugh, “Maybe”
They stood awkwardly together in silence.
“I think you’re nice.” Mason said sheepishly, “And you’re beautiful. I don’t know why anyone wouldn’t want to be your friend.”
Eleanor shrugged. That was a question she often wondered herself. “Go to class and I’m sure you’ll get an earful.”
“Will you show me to my next class?” Mason asked hopefully.
Eleanor turned from him, pretending to look down the hall when really she was wiping away a single tear. “You won’t want that. Trust me.”
“Wait for me here.” Mason pled. His hand reached up and touched the edge of her chin, forcing their eyes to meet. Eleanor fought back her suspicions, her doubts, and her fears and let herself be overcome with hope. Maybe she had found a friend after all. From the alarming warmth that spread over her body, she deduced she may have found something more.
“I’ll be here” Eleanor whispered. With a wink, Mason disappeared into the crowded classroom. Watching him walk into the buzzing room filled her with instant dread. Eleanor hoped he would keep his word.
She watched through the small square window that was perfectly center in the door. Jen had a seat open next to her and she eagerly encouraged Mason to sit. When her lips began moving rapidly, Eleanor pulled herself away. She didn’t have to guess as to who Jen was warning her about. Now it was all up to Mason.
The dark reality of what would probably happen tugged at her thoughts. If he wasn’t waiting for her, if Mason passed her by as if he didn’t know her, just like many had done before, Eleanor knew it would hurt her deeply. Anger flared up quickly, unable to believe she had allowed herself to be so vulnerable, especially with someone she just met. But she was unable to resist him; and if her predictions were correct, as they so often were, her heart would be utterly crushed into a thousand sparkling pieces.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Last Few Thankfuls
Thankfuls:
20. Facebook: It connects us all and eliminates the awkwardness of small talk. Even if you haven't seen them in years, you know that they went to the doctors last week or whatever. I love that we can all keep tabs on each other, see pictures of each other's kids and be apart of each other's lives--even if it's from a distance.
21. The Holiday Season: This year I feel all warm and fuzzy and I find it much easier to slow down and enjoy it. I have become Christmas crazy at home--decorating for a 10.5 month old who has no idea what's going on. He loves the lights in the windows, though, and screams at them (that's how he tells us he wants something--he screams). Anyway, its an excuse to get together, to have heartwarming moments with your family and to tap into your inner child.
22. Burt's Bee's Lip Balm
23. A strong, healthy body: It's amazing what our bodies are capable of. I grew a child with ease, bore it and was able to clean house two days later. Although I wasn't a huge fan of pregnancy, my body handled it beautifully. I'm hardly ever sick and I tend to hang on to weight rather than lose it, but I still love my body--fat shelf and all. I think of my friend Sara always at this time of year--she was the healthiest person I knew--ballerina, so happy and full of life--yet died from leukemia--she was so young. It makes you appreciate your body your health--and realize that all of it can change in an instant-- you're healthy until your not.
24. Two old friends that recently came back into my life--Brandi and Michelle. I am thrilled to be in contact with both of them. Holes were filled I didn't know existed--my life feeling so well rounded with them in it.
25. Indoor plumbing, central heat and air, a roof over my head and the ability to feed my child.
26. That I was donor conceived. I know most would find this an odd thing to be thankful for--but I find that I feel special because of it. Plus, the possibility that I may find siblings (a sister!) one of these days is something I forever hope for and look forward to. There is a sense of mystery to my heritage--and a sense of curiosity I think about all the time. So many men probably think I'm checking them out in the check-out line, but instead I'm pondering, "Could he be my father?"
It's not to say I feel incomplete--I'm not looking for another father. I'm mostly curious.
27. The feeling that I'm being called to do something--finally on the right path, things fitting neatly into place for the first time in years, no more floundering and the faith that it will all work out for me (oh, how I've missed you, faith) I am more myself--I found that hope, that dream, that confidence that so long as been missing.
28. Photo books. I love them--they take up much less room, look uber cute on a shelf and contain a years worth of photographs in one tiny little book
29. My job--sure, sometimes I complain--but it could be so much worse (right, Mom?) My supervisor and I get along personally very well. I don't dread coming to work--and when things are slow--I can write. The pay is decent and the job is easy and there is hope of promotion on the horizon. I understand I was put in this job for a reason. Plus, its something interesting Anth and I have in common--to come home from work to discuss aspects of cases we've worked on. It's a pretty cool thing.
30. "Fall Into Me"--the manuscript I'm working on, getting better and better by the day. It is the first project I've ever obsessed over--I feel like I already know how to write, that I have killer instincts (please don't judge me from this blog--its verbal vomit on here) and I am unlocking every thing I know with every page I write. It is a glorious thing--to have something that gives you a glimpse of your future.
20. Facebook: It connects us all and eliminates the awkwardness of small talk. Even if you haven't seen them in years, you know that they went to the doctors last week or whatever. I love that we can all keep tabs on each other, see pictures of each other's kids and be apart of each other's lives--even if it's from a distance.
21. The Holiday Season: This year I feel all warm and fuzzy and I find it much easier to slow down and enjoy it. I have become Christmas crazy at home--decorating for a 10.5 month old who has no idea what's going on. He loves the lights in the windows, though, and screams at them (that's how he tells us he wants something--he screams). Anyway, its an excuse to get together, to have heartwarming moments with your family and to tap into your inner child.
22. Burt's Bee's Lip Balm
23. A strong, healthy body: It's amazing what our bodies are capable of. I grew a child with ease, bore it and was able to clean house two days later. Although I wasn't a huge fan of pregnancy, my body handled it beautifully. I'm hardly ever sick and I tend to hang on to weight rather than lose it, but I still love my body--fat shelf and all. I think of my friend Sara always at this time of year--she was the healthiest person I knew--ballerina, so happy and full of life--yet died from leukemia--she was so young. It makes you appreciate your body your health--and realize that all of it can change in an instant-- you're healthy until your not.
24. Two old friends that recently came back into my life--Brandi and Michelle. I am thrilled to be in contact with both of them. Holes were filled I didn't know existed--my life feeling so well rounded with them in it.
25. Indoor plumbing, central heat and air, a roof over my head and the ability to feed my child.
26. That I was donor conceived. I know most would find this an odd thing to be thankful for--but I find that I feel special because of it. Plus, the possibility that I may find siblings (a sister!) one of these days is something I forever hope for and look forward to. There is a sense of mystery to my heritage--and a sense of curiosity I think about all the time. So many men probably think I'm checking them out in the check-out line, but instead I'm pondering, "Could he be my father?"
It's not to say I feel incomplete--I'm not looking for another father. I'm mostly curious.
27. The feeling that I'm being called to do something--finally on the right path, things fitting neatly into place for the first time in years, no more floundering and the faith that it will all work out for me (oh, how I've missed you, faith) I am more myself--I found that hope, that dream, that confidence that so long as been missing.
28. Photo books. I love them--they take up much less room, look uber cute on a shelf and contain a years worth of photographs in one tiny little book
29. My job--sure, sometimes I complain--but it could be so much worse (right, Mom?) My supervisor and I get along personally very well. I don't dread coming to work--and when things are slow--I can write. The pay is decent and the job is easy and there is hope of promotion on the horizon. I understand I was put in this job for a reason. Plus, its something interesting Anth and I have in common--to come home from work to discuss aspects of cases we've worked on. It's a pretty cool thing.
30. "Fall Into Me"--the manuscript I'm working on, getting better and better by the day. It is the first project I've ever obsessed over--I feel like I already know how to write, that I have killer instincts (please don't judge me from this blog--its verbal vomit on here) and I am unlocking every thing I know with every page I write. It is a glorious thing--to have something that gives you a glimpse of your future.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Thankful #19
Thankful #19: Target
Michelle and Me, Target, Circa 2003
Among my girlfriends, my Mom and I, we have a tradition, one that has been carried on for years. It's a simple thing--admission is free--if you can avoid the temptation.
It all starts with a simple question, "Want to go walk around Target?"
It has become a form of physical activity as well as bonding for me and countless friends. Before I had a baby, I used to get up early and be at Target as soon as the doors opened. Then I would bumble for an hour, enjoying the smell of clean, new merchandise and the small, simple pleasure of walking aisle to aisle without bumping into anyone, just waiting for those delightful orange tags to catch my eye. It's how I Christmas shop all through the year. It clears my head. It helps me think. I stalk the employee's who are tagging new markdowns. And when I leave, I usually walk away with $10 worth of victory--boosting my spirits.
Yes, I am an abuser of retail therapy and it feels so good.
I have been known to travel to every Target within my area (that would be Newnan, Fayetteville, Camp Creek, Tyrone and sometimes Douglasville if I'm really desperate) in one weekend on a clearance bargain hunt. I get obsessed. The longest-running one was the blue basket hunt of 2007. I ended up buying too many, most of which are stacked within each other, empty and unused (for now...)
And I can tell you which Target has the best deals depending on what you're looking for.
For example, Newnan has the best clearance on clothes, hands down. Usually there are racks upon racks, ranging from 30% to the coveted 75% off. My heart thumps harder just thinking about it.
(Anth says I get a wild animal look--My eyes become crazed with the adrenaline of the hunt--he knows to step back and hand over the money--because nothings getting in the way of me and a good deal)
Campcreek has the best deal on seasonal decorations after the season is over.
The one at Lenox (two glorious levels, mind you) has a great selection of hip maternity wear (well, they all do--but Lenox seems to have the most--and if you're bigger like me, a lot of our sizes since Lenox-shoppers tend to be very thin)
And once a year, season's deviating, if you're really lucky, you'll happen to be in store when they mark down all the shoes. Racks upon racks of in-season shoes. I've never had the pleasure. Amanda has been lucky enough to experience such a delight. I shook my fist in envy when I got the message from her. Alas, by the time I made it, the best shoes were gone.
I have memorized the exact location of clearance for each department--one I dare not divulge to you lesser of Target customers--why should I share years of learned knowledge with novices? You might get the last of the clearanced things--the one thing I didn't know I needed until the neon orange told me otherwise. I'm a fierce competitor in the shopping arena as well as a biter so watch out.
My face should be plastered on a sign as you walk in--I've contributed to keeping Target afloat in a bad economy. I could be a Target-consumption expert. On the other hand, I could be a cautionary tale: the woman who raised her baby in Target.
But come on...can you really blame me? Target is that fabulous.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Thankful #18
Thankful #18: 10 Months W/O Sickness
Oliver has been nothing but healthy his entire life (Can you hear that? I'm knocking on wood)
He's had no ear aches, colds, flu, throwing up, allergies (can you imagine what a disaster that would be with 4 animals in the house?). His colic was brief and lasted from 6 pm to 8 pm for maybe a month. He had a little jaundice when he was born...that cleared up within a few days. He has healthy lungs, a swiftly growing body. Being such a big baby, he slept through the night at 2 months old. We never had a problem feeding him...he's always willing to eat and he's not terribly picky.
He's never even had as much as a fever.
We've never had to stay up all night tending to a sick crying child (not yet, I'm sure we're over-due)
He eats well, he poops well and the worst problem we've had is a constant fight against diaper rash (Bordeaux's Butt Paste is where its at, BTW). He is the happiest baby I've ever seen and adjust's easily to changes. He's is a child designed for a mother like me.
I know I am jinxing myself...I'll probably go home to find Oliver suffering from all of the above at the same time.
It's something to be thankful for, when so many other babies are faced with certain problems from day 1. We've never had to worry about his health (other than the usual 'parents worries').
On that note, I'm thankful for my access to health care. Anth and I were talking about this the other day, how horrible it would be to be in another country and to watch your child starve (OK, I know that happens in this country too but if you can drive to a hospital, no one will turn you away)
I'm thankful for having a $25 co-pay and the ability to call 911 should a problem arise. If Oliver gets sick, I have the comfort of knowing I can take him to one of the best children's hospitals in the country.
It stops me in my tracks, when I worry about Oliver, to think about parents who don't have the access/ability/money to care for their child. It breaks my heart--the agony they must feel knowing that they can't prevent their child from suffering. I can only imagine how they feel--I am thankful this is not a reality for me.
Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you, God.
Oliver has been nothing but healthy his entire life (Can you hear that? I'm knocking on wood)
He's had no ear aches, colds, flu, throwing up, allergies (can you imagine what a disaster that would be with 4 animals in the house?). His colic was brief and lasted from 6 pm to 8 pm for maybe a month. He had a little jaundice when he was born...that cleared up within a few days. He has healthy lungs, a swiftly growing body. Being such a big baby, he slept through the night at 2 months old. We never had a problem feeding him...he's always willing to eat and he's not terribly picky.
He's never even had as much as a fever.
We've never had to stay up all night tending to a sick crying child (not yet, I'm sure we're over-due)
He eats well, he poops well and the worst problem we've had is a constant fight against diaper rash (Bordeaux's Butt Paste is where its at, BTW). He is the happiest baby I've ever seen and adjust's easily to changes. He's is a child designed for a mother like me.
I know I am jinxing myself...I'll probably go home to find Oliver suffering from all of the above at the same time.
It's something to be thankful for, when so many other babies are faced with certain problems from day 1. We've never had to worry about his health (other than the usual 'parents worries').
On that note, I'm thankful for my access to health care. Anth and I were talking about this the other day, how horrible it would be to be in another country and to watch your child starve (OK, I know that happens in this country too but if you can drive to a hospital, no one will turn you away)
I'm thankful for having a $25 co-pay and the ability to call 911 should a problem arise. If Oliver gets sick, I have the comfort of knowing I can take him to one of the best children's hospitals in the country.
It stops me in my tracks, when I worry about Oliver, to think about parents who don't have the access/ability/money to care for their child. It breaks my heart--the agony they must feel knowing that they can't prevent their child from suffering. I can only imagine how they feel--I am thankful this is not a reality for me.
Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you, God.
Thankful #17
Thankful #17
A friend with a forgiving heart. Who knows your heart and your regrets; can truly forgive and move on. That is a real friend.
I am lucky to have one of those.
I'm striving to be one of those.
A friend with a forgiving heart. Who knows your heart and your regrets; can truly forgive and move on. That is a real friend.
I am lucky to have one of those.
I'm striving to be one of those.
Monday, November 23, 2009
Thankful #16
Thankful #16: My Niece Brooklyn
Although she hasn't made her appearance yet (she's due the day after Thanksgiving), Brooklyn is already someone to be thankful for. My brother Tony and his wife Julie wanted a baby so badly. It was a wonderful surprise when they traveled to visit early this year to announce that they were pregnant. I am so happy for them--now that their dream has become a reality. Becoming a mother is an amazing experience.
Not only will I have a brand spankin' new niece to spoil, Oliver will have a cousin that is less than a year younger than him.
I have all these visions playing out in my mind--of my new little niece. Summers where the kids play, visits with presents tucked away in suitcases. Little Brooklyn is so special to me, being my own brother's little baby girl.
You see, Oliver looks very much like his Uncle Tony. I only hope Brooklyn resembles him as well. I can't wait to share this with Tony...the joys and woes of being a parent. This is something I've wanted for them so badly...for them to experience it all.
This has been a very wonderful year. Julie has had a very easy pregnancy as far as I can tell. She adjusted to it much easier than I did. I know she's impatient...when you're that pregnant it's hard to think logically--chances are, this time next week she'll be home with Brookie. But when you're that pregnant--a week feels like a year. I understand exactly how she feels. And being told that "The baby will come when she's ready" helps no one. I'm just saying.
Anywho, I wanted to give a thankful shout out to my little niece. You've brought our family closer together, little Brooklyn, and you're not even here yet!
I really hope, that the day after Thanksgiving, Anthony, Oliver and I will be traveling to Memphis because that means the baby has come! It doesn't seem real yet.
PS: I'm sorry for the torture you're cousin Oliver will put you through. Boys are a little meaner, you see.
Although she hasn't made her appearance yet (she's due the day after Thanksgiving), Brooklyn is already someone to be thankful for. My brother Tony and his wife Julie wanted a baby so badly. It was a wonderful surprise when they traveled to visit early this year to announce that they were pregnant. I am so happy for them--now that their dream has become a reality. Becoming a mother is an amazing experience.
Not only will I have a brand spankin' new niece to spoil, Oliver will have a cousin that is less than a year younger than him.
I have all these visions playing out in my mind--of my new little niece. Summers where the kids play, visits with presents tucked away in suitcases. Little Brooklyn is so special to me, being my own brother's little baby girl.
You see, Oliver looks very much like his Uncle Tony. I only hope Brooklyn resembles him as well. I can't wait to share this with Tony...the joys and woes of being a parent. This is something I've wanted for them so badly...for them to experience it all.
This has been a very wonderful year. Julie has had a very easy pregnancy as far as I can tell. She adjusted to it much easier than I did. I know she's impatient...when you're that pregnant it's hard to think logically--chances are, this time next week she'll be home with Brookie. But when you're that pregnant--a week feels like a year. I understand exactly how she feels. And being told that "The baby will come when she's ready" helps no one. I'm just saying.
Anywho, I wanted to give a thankful shout out to my little niece. You've brought our family closer together, little Brooklyn, and you're not even here yet!
I really hope, that the day after Thanksgiving, Anthony, Oliver and I will be traveling to Memphis because that means the baby has come! It doesn't seem real yet.
PS: I'm sorry for the torture you're cousin Oliver will put you through. Boys are a little meaner, you see.
Thankful #15
Thankful #15: No Time to Write Thankfuls
I've been remiss so I apologize to those few people who actually read my blog (OK, one person--Mom)
Like I told her, I've had no time to write thankfuls. After considering that for a bit, I decided that I'm thankful for that.
I've gone into the whirlwind of phase two of my story writing. I go through phases where I am absolutely obsessed with it--to the point that I zone out of conversations because I am creating plot lines--and annoy the heck out of Mom with psycho-analysis of each individual characters (if so and so was raised this way, do you really think she'd do that?) I have been typing so much my hands ache constantly and I couldn't be happier. It's like a testament that I am doing what I'm supposed to be doing. I love it so that my body wears from it.
So, when I'm not typing/constructing/editing/bothering my Mom until the wee hours, I am taking care of Oliver, who is a feisty, busy, healthy 10 month old. He's in to everything all the time, is a ham who is in constant want of my attention.
My time is consumed by so many things:
A decent paying job; so much family that I have to divide my time with; friends always calling, with exciting and different things to do. A husband to carve out quality time with.
I often complain about not having enough down time. I often complain I'm too busy. What an absurd thing to complain about when the alternative would be so depressing. Family that doesn't want to see you, no friends, no love, no child. There are so many people who love me that my cup runneth over.
A girl is lucky to have a plate so full
I've been remiss so I apologize to those few people who actually read my blog (OK, one person--Mom)
Like I told her, I've had no time to write thankfuls. After considering that for a bit, I decided that I'm thankful for that.
I've gone into the whirlwind of phase two of my story writing. I go through phases where I am absolutely obsessed with it--to the point that I zone out of conversations because I am creating plot lines--and annoy the heck out of Mom with psycho-analysis of each individual characters (if so and so was raised this way, do you really think she'd do that?) I have been typing so much my hands ache constantly and I couldn't be happier. It's like a testament that I am doing what I'm supposed to be doing. I love it so that my body wears from it.
So, when I'm not typing/constructing/editing/bothering my Mom until the wee hours, I am taking care of Oliver, who is a feisty, busy, healthy 10 month old. He's in to everything all the time, is a ham who is in constant want of my attention.
My time is consumed by so many things:
A decent paying job; so much family that I have to divide my time with; friends always calling, with exciting and different things to do. A husband to carve out quality time with.
I often complain about not having enough down time. I often complain I'm too busy. What an absurd thing to complain about when the alternative would be so depressing. Family that doesn't want to see you, no friends, no love, no child. There are so many people who love me that my cup runneth over.
A girl is lucky to have a plate so full
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Thankful #14
Thankful #14: Anna Swir
Her words touch something in me. Always an inspiration.
Great humility fills me,
great purity fills me,
I make love with my dear
as if I made love dying
as if I made love praying,
tears pour
over my arms and his arms.
I don’t know whether this is joy
or sadness, I don’t understand
what I feel,
I’m crying,I’m crying,
it’s humility
as if I were dead,
gratitude,
I thank you, my fate,
I’m unworthy, how beautiful
my life.
— Anna Swir
Her words touch something in me. Always an inspiration.
Great humility fills me,
great purity fills me,
I make love with my dear
as if I made love dying
as if I made love praying,
tears pour
over my arms and his arms.
I don’t know whether this is joy
or sadness, I don’t understand
what I feel,
I’m crying,I’m crying,
it’s humility
as if I were dead,
gratitude,
I thank you, my fate,
I’m unworthy, how beautiful
my life.
— Anna Swir
Monday, November 16, 2009
Thankful # 13
Thankful #13: Small Town Life
I love Fairburn, the city where Anth and I live. I grew up in this town. While living most of my life outside the city limits, my past is entangled with Fairburn's. For starters, my Mom and Mema had an antique shop in Fairburn (in three different buildings throughout the years...2 in Fairburn and one just outside the city limits). I went to elementary school, middle school, high school and attended church in this town. Needless to say, I know everyone in one way or another.
The Old Home Place Antiques was one of the first antique shops in Fairburn and my Mema worked to get others here. I grew up in that antique shop, playing in the storage room when others were in preschool. I spent my afternoons after school with my Mema listening to B 98.5 and talking to all the quirky regulars that came in (explains a lot about why I am so "old"...with my thousand island eatin', sweet tea drinkin', antique collectin' way). I SWORE I would never have antiques in my house. If only I had been a little older--I would have been able to appreciate the time spent there more. Then again, if I had been older, I wouldn't have spent so much time there.
So ending up living in and working for the City of Fairburn was an interesting and unexpected twist. Starting here, I knew or knew of many of people, our histories linking in one way or the other.
And then Anthony became involved in the Neighborhood Watch. It helped him, at first, being married to me. A lot of those people in the neighborhood watch either were friends with my Mema or went to high school with my Dad. But then, Anthony being Anthony, everyone started to love him, as people can't help but do.
It's a nice feeling, driving to work, where I spend my day relaxed, talking to my co-workers--some of who feel like family.
Or going to Oz and seeing at least 3 people I know from when I went to church in Fairburn/went to middle school/high school/work with or have known most my life.
This kind of connection to the place in which you live probably isn't important to most people but to me, it is something I've very proud of. I love to meet someone new, who's lived in Fairburn for fifty years, and find out what their connection is to me, to my family. Inevitably--it is there whether through family relations--or school ties.
Sometimes it's a little awkward--like when someone you went to school with gets arrested and you are present for their first appearance in the jail. Yeah, that's happened a couple of times.
But there are so many perks, so many people who make you feel loved--like the jeweler, who usually fixes my jewelry for free because he's good friends with my Mema, the owner of the antique shop who gave me a killer deal of a set of Franciscan Star Burst dishes for the same reason. Or the neighborhood watch, who came together and bought us a high-chair when Oliver was born. Our neighbors, most of who we've never met, dropping off cards of congratulations, usually with money inside. Or our Mayor--who I'm sad to see go in January--who used to be my Sunday school teacher--who wants to know if I have my baby in the car every time she sees me.
Where as most people have 6 degrees of separation, for me in Fairburn, it's more like 1 or 2. I like this, feeling so inter-connected, being apart of something bigger. Making friends with people much older than me (seems to be the pattern of my life) because we all want the same thing for the town we love--to make it better. Fairburn connects us all, regardless of race, religion, age, etc.
One day when we move, I will be so sad to leave our little community. It will be like leaving a little part of me behind--but then again--I guess that's why we all come together in the first place--to leave little bits of ourselves in something that will be around longer than us.
I love Fairburn, the city where Anth and I live. I grew up in this town. While living most of my life outside the city limits, my past is entangled with Fairburn's. For starters, my Mom and Mema had an antique shop in Fairburn (in three different buildings throughout the years...2 in Fairburn and one just outside the city limits). I went to elementary school, middle school, high school and attended church in this town. Needless to say, I know everyone in one way or another.
The Old Home Place Antiques was one of the first antique shops in Fairburn and my Mema worked to get others here. I grew up in that antique shop, playing in the storage room when others were in preschool. I spent my afternoons after school with my Mema listening to B 98.5 and talking to all the quirky regulars that came in (explains a lot about why I am so "old"...with my thousand island eatin', sweet tea drinkin', antique collectin' way). I SWORE I would never have antiques in my house. If only I had been a little older--I would have been able to appreciate the time spent there more. Then again, if I had been older, I wouldn't have spent so much time there.
So ending up living in and working for the City of Fairburn was an interesting and unexpected twist. Starting here, I knew or knew of many of people, our histories linking in one way or the other.
And then Anthony became involved in the Neighborhood Watch. It helped him, at first, being married to me. A lot of those people in the neighborhood watch either were friends with my Mema or went to high school with my Dad. But then, Anthony being Anthony, everyone started to love him, as people can't help but do.
It's a nice feeling, driving to work, where I spend my day relaxed, talking to my co-workers--some of who feel like family.
Or going to Oz and seeing at least 3 people I know from when I went to church in Fairburn/went to middle school/high school/work with or have known most my life.
This kind of connection to the place in which you live probably isn't important to most people but to me, it is something I've very proud of. I love to meet someone new, who's lived in Fairburn for fifty years, and find out what their connection is to me, to my family. Inevitably--it is there whether through family relations--or school ties.
Sometimes it's a little awkward--like when someone you went to school with gets arrested and you are present for their first appearance in the jail. Yeah, that's happened a couple of times.
But there are so many perks, so many people who make you feel loved--like the jeweler, who usually fixes my jewelry for free because he's good friends with my Mema, the owner of the antique shop who gave me a killer deal of a set of Franciscan Star Burst dishes for the same reason. Or the neighborhood watch, who came together and bought us a high-chair when Oliver was born. Our neighbors, most of who we've never met, dropping off cards of congratulations, usually with money inside. Or our Mayor--who I'm sad to see go in January--who used to be my Sunday school teacher--who wants to know if I have my baby in the car every time she sees me.
Where as most people have 6 degrees of separation, for me in Fairburn, it's more like 1 or 2. I like this, feeling so inter-connected, being apart of something bigger. Making friends with people much older than me (seems to be the pattern of my life) because we all want the same thing for the town we love--to make it better. Fairburn connects us all, regardless of race, religion, age, etc.
One day when we move, I will be so sad to leave our little community. It will be like leaving a little part of me behind--but then again--I guess that's why we all come together in the first place--to leave little bits of ourselves in something that will be around longer than us.
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Thankful #12
Thankful #12: Tybee Time
A little saying
slowing down
no agenda
doing what you wantwhen you want.
One time a year
when we clear our schedules
clear our minds
and be together.
Sometimes the house is full
other years
a handful
doesn't matter
as long as we bring
a little Tybee Time home
with us.
Because you don't have
to be on Tybee
to be on Tybee Time.
It's like the shells
we collect
or a sea stone
we carry
always to remind us
of the one week a year
when we bring our dogs
and leave our worries.
We bring Tybee Time home.
We smile and we sigh
and we dream of Tybee Time
on Tybee.
Thankful #11
Thankful #11: My Mother's Favorite Hobby
I'm known to have a horrible memory. Luckily, I seemed to have surrounded myself with people who can remind me of different times of my life. Brandi in middle school, Michelle and Kayleigh in high school and Amanda all the time after. These people with minds like steel traps. I don't know how they do it. Sometimes they recall a hysterical story in which I played a major part and I shrug my shoulders, unable to believe that I really did that, lived that, because I can't remember. It's my least favorite thing about myself. Some time's it feels as if I never lived at all.
I am much more beautiful in pictures than I am in real life and I'm perfectly fine with that.
I'm known to have a horrible memory. Luckily, I seemed to have surrounded myself with people who can remind me of different times of my life. Brandi in middle school, Michelle and Kayleigh in high school and Amanda all the time after. These people with minds like steel traps. I don't know how they do it. Sometimes they recall a hysterical story in which I played a major part and I shrug my shoulders, unable to believe that I really did that, lived that, because I can't remember. It's my least favorite thing about myself. Some time's it feels as if I never lived at all.
Its a genetic thing. My mother can't remember anything and neither can my Mema.
I think that's why my Mother took up photography so that she would never forget the smiles on her children's face, each impossibly awkward phase captured and cherished for always.
I wonder about the future, a hundred years from now. I hope our love of photography is passed down from my children to theirs and so forth. If our pictures are well preserved, future generations will have a very detailed look at my life. My Mother has documented my life with a precise dedication, whether out of habit or because she knew, like her, my memory was doomed.
I grew up with a camera in my face. While her skill have tremendously improved over the years, every stage of learning to me was amazing, her talent only growing, passing expectations I never had.
Every Christmas morning, my brothers and I would have to get up, brush our hair and wait for her to get the camera ready. Then we would have to file down the stairs, one at a time, and make great exaggerated faces of surprise at what Santa had left. These pictures are hysterical now and I foresee myself doing the exact same thing to our children.
I have always been beautiful in my Mother's pictures. Growing up knowing your photograph could be taken at any moment, you learn a defense mechanism of being ready at all times.
I am much more beautiful in pictures than I am in real life and I'm perfectly fine with that.I am much, much more beautiful in my Mother's pictures. Probably because it's nothing but love coming forth from her, enjoying her hobby as much as she enjoys capturing me and my family and my friends on film. My own child, captured with such a delicate beauty, I can't help but think how lucky I am to have this gift in my life.
It's her way to blend in, to have a part in all the chaos without actually having to be a part of it. A way to get to know people through the safety of her lens. An outside observer,
a creative eye. These things are all my Mother.
I know so many are thankful for her talent and her selflessness in sharing. Her friends and their family,, every season captured on film. My best friend, her adopted daughter, her wedding captured forever, her presence an important part. So much she has done with this gift yet she is neither boastful or self-important. It is never enough in her eyes. Yet in ours, it is everything.
So I am thankful for all the things I remember through the eyes of her pictures, because without them, those memories would leave my mind like a wisp of smoke, dissipating as the years wore on.
It is more than just photographs. They are pieces of her for me to cherish and pass on. She is in every picture just as much as I am.
I, like her, have my identity based in photographs. Something to leave behind, a proof of our having lived; documented happiness.
Because even forced, exaggerated smiles turn into rolling laughter, perfectly recalled stories and a history that will link us all together.
I will never be able to thank her enough.
Thankful #10
Thankful #10: A Big, Fenced in Backyard
It's what drew us to this house.
There is no feeling like releasing the hounds and then locking the door (they've figured out how to open the backdoor. It scares me how evolved they are)
It's beautiful and green in the spring. A pink Mimosa blooms in the fall.
I love our back yard, if only for providing an escape from being a dog owner for an hour or two.
When Oliver's old enough, he will love our back yard, as long as he's careful to avoid the poop.
It's big and safe and sometimes, as I rock on the back porch swing, I marvel that it's all mine (well, Anthony's too)
Every year I have big intentions of gardening. Maybe this year will be the year.
Even without my help, it's lush and warm and wide.
I love love LOVE my back yard.
It's what drew us to this house.
There is no feeling like releasing the hounds and then locking the door (they've figured out how to open the backdoor. It scares me how evolved they are)
It's beautiful and green in the spring. A pink Mimosa blooms in the fall.
I love our back yard, if only for providing an escape from being a dog owner for an hour or two.
When Oliver's old enough, he will love our back yard, as long as he's careful to avoid the poop.
It's big and safe and sometimes, as I rock on the back porch swing, I marvel that it's all mine (well, Anthony's too)
Every year I have big intentions of gardening. Maybe this year will be the year.
Even without my help, it's lush and warm and wide.
I love love LOVE my back yard.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Thankful #8
Thankful #8: My Converse
If I were in that shoe commercial, you know the ones where each shoe represents a different person? Well, I'd be a black chuck taylor.
They represent, to me, the essence of who I am. Pretty silly, I know, to find personal meaning in a shoe. But I love them, especially when I slip them on with work clothes, quietly hiding under my gray dress pants. It's a way to feel like myself in an environment that is so void of personality.
My Ma-chelle gave me my first pair. Red in color with our own personal doodles. I wore them everywhere, including white water rafting. They worked like a charm when it came to wedging my feet under the raft but the shoes, well, they weren't designed for extreme sports. They were so filthy and torn by the end of the trip I had no choice but to throw them away.
I have wanted (longed!) for a pair ever since, never quite being able to bring myself to pay the $40 for them. Such a low amount for something I wanted so fiercely.
I never had the money when I saw them in the store and when I did have the money, they never had the size, color, etc. I asked for them for multiple Christmases and birthdays. When I was pregnant, I even intended to buy a pair to wear in my maternity pictures. By that point I was too tired to walk across a parking lot much less pick out a pair of shoes.
It wasn't until my 24th birthday last year that R&A finally got the hint and bought them for me. I love those shoes, wearing them daily.
They make me feel young. Ridiculous, I know, coming from a 24 year old. Yet when I feel the weight of my life bearing on my shoulders, my shoes help me feel a little more like myself. A little cooler. A little more hip.
Right now my shoes are sitting on the kitchen table, absolutely filthy from wear. This rainy season has proven a formidable opponent to my shoes but my soles will have to talk when I walk before I throw them out.
Now I'm off to google if I can throw them in the washing machine or not....
If I were in that shoe commercial, you know the ones where each shoe represents a different person? Well, I'd be a black chuck taylor.
They represent, to me, the essence of who I am. Pretty silly, I know, to find personal meaning in a shoe. But I love them, especially when I slip them on with work clothes, quietly hiding under my gray dress pants. It's a way to feel like myself in an environment that is so void of personality.
My Ma-chelle gave me my first pair. Red in color with our own personal doodles. I wore them everywhere, including white water rafting. They worked like a charm when it came to wedging my feet under the raft but the shoes, well, they weren't designed for extreme sports. They were so filthy and torn by the end of the trip I had no choice but to throw them away.
I have wanted (longed!) for a pair ever since, never quite being able to bring myself to pay the $40 for them. Such a low amount for something I wanted so fiercely.
I never had the money when I saw them in the store and when I did have the money, they never had the size, color, etc. I asked for them for multiple Christmases and birthdays. When I was pregnant, I even intended to buy a pair to wear in my maternity pictures. By that point I was too tired to walk across a parking lot much less pick out a pair of shoes.
It wasn't until my 24th birthday last year that R&A finally got the hint and bought them for me. I love those shoes, wearing them daily.
They make me feel young. Ridiculous, I know, coming from a 24 year old. Yet when I feel the weight of my life bearing on my shoulders, my shoes help me feel a little more like myself. A little cooler. A little more hip.
Right now my shoes are sitting on the kitchen table, absolutely filthy from wear. This rainy season has proven a formidable opponent to my shoes but my soles will have to talk when I walk before I throw them out.
Now I'm off to google if I can throw them in the washing machine or not....
Thankful # 7
Thankful #7: The Hubs
I was first drawn to him due to how outgoing he was, how talkative. It's funny now, those who know me, know us, I'm sure are shocked to hear that, especially since I send R & A into quiet hysterics in the back seat when Anth's quick story turns into a 30,000 word novel and I shift, aggravated, before rudely telling him to hurry it along, we don't have all day...
We have one co-worker that spouted off once about the job being the most important thing in his life. More important than his family, his wife. Anthony told him he was crazy. You see, my Anthony is not a self-important man. He loves his job but his family comes first. He dedicates himself to dangerous situations and long hours to better his family. He is loved and respected by everyone he meets because he is deserving. He respects everyone and treats them with kindness and decency. I have had people come to the window to pay a speeding ticket that Anthony wrote, only to tell me how nice and friendly he was.
It's the easy silence of knowing what the other is thinking, the freedom to just be, to not have to fill any one's expectations of wife or mother, to know when to take the baby because my nerves are shot...it's all these things that make life with Anthony so complete.
OK, now I know I already gave Anth a shout out in a previous post, but after further consideration, I think I owe my husband, my friend, the father of my only child more than a few lines. He is, after all, the catalyst that brought me to this very point in my life, the beginning to the happy ending, plus I have all these great pictures to share and many a thankfuls to make up for (I am running so behind...)
Maybe I should start at the beginning. It's hard to put into words the feelings about the man I share my bed, my life with.
I met Anthony through a mutual friend he was dating. I was immediately enthralled, telling my mother I wanted a boyfriend just like him (mine at the time was sorely lacking).
He and his girlfriend broke up and, with only a slight manipulation on my part, we set up a 'date' for him to show me around campus at Georgia State, where he currently attended and where I was set to begin my sophomore year that fall.
I was first drawn to him due to how outgoing he was, how talkative. It's funny now, those who know me, know us, I'm sure are shocked to hear that, especially since I send R & A into quiet hysterics in the back seat when Anth's quick story turns into a 30,000 word novel and I shift, aggravated, before rudely telling him to hurry it along, we don't have all day...I digress...
He was open and kind, friendly, light. His butt looked great in jeans. He had broad, strong shoulders, was taller than me, physically bigger than me (my mom was thrilled. Up until that point I usually brought home short, skinny guys...).
After that first time, when Anthony so enthusiasticly showed me around Georgia State, I was smitten and I knew, I knew, he had to be mine. After, maybe a week, probably only a few days, I called Anthony up, impatient as always (some things never change, right Anth?) and asked him out (I think my exact words were, "Because I don't have anything else to do") I'm not so sure, looking back, that that was the best approach, but Anth laughed it off and the next day the rest of my life began.
We drove to the north side of Atlanta, where the Chattahoochie opened up spectacularly. He made some hokey excuse to hold my hand and I let him, all a-twitter. By the time we braved the traffic in his 1985 Delta 88, it was dusk. Not 5 minutes after we got out of the car, I kissed him, if only to get it over with, because I knew it was inevitable.
We sat in the middle of the hooch, fog streaming up river around us, eating poorly made (and terribly dry) sandwiches that Anth had made (we laugh about those sandwiches to this day).
By the end of our first date, I knew I was going to marry him. It was almost biological, maybe even spiritual, the connection I felt to him. I know it sounds crazy, but looking at him, this relative stranger, I knew he was the guy I was supposed to have kids with, like some crazy chemical reaction telling me I had found 'the one'. It's weird, I know, my mom thought so too when I came home that night and told her I was going to marry him. She rolled her eyes.
You see, I had recently gotten out of a very serious on-again-off-again relationship and everyone thought we'd eventually end up together, like Carrie and Big (we were really into Sex and the City) so, I admit, my credibility was a little shaky to say the least.
I didn't care what anyone thought.4 months later we were engaged.
Now, I'm not saying that everything has been perfect. Lord, no. We had a period where we fought like cats and dogs before we were married. Anthony and I had to get used to each other, both with fairly strong personalities. I needed to grow up a little and Anth had a fierce temper. I like to think of that time as us carving ourselves out, like water through a canyon, so that we fit better together. We had a lot of learn.
We married New Years Eve 2005.Those first few years were hard. We were pretty poor but didn't seem to notice it much. Chet lived with us then and every spare moment was spent with him and R & A. God, we were so young. Even though it was only a couple of years ago, it feels like centuries.
We're at a nice place now in our lives, Anthony and I. Reminiscing about the past is nice and all, but it pales in comparison to where we are now, as people and as individuals.
I'm going to go ahead and say it: I'm a pain in the ass. I'm demanding, selfish, bossy and conceited. If you were to ask me to name 1,000 faults in myself, I could easily. Anthony, on the other hand, maybe I could name 5, and 4/5 of those traits I share.
He's a good man. That is so over-simplifying things its ridiculous, but it's a good place to start. He's a good man who loves his country, his family and his job. He works in a job that tears people down mentally, where divorce rate is more than common and your outlook is considerably darkened by being faced with the worst of what the world has.
Yet.
Yet, he's still bright. The only change in him I've seen from this job is that he's not as silly as he used to be. This man dressed up in pencils and handed them out in the Fayette pavilion once upon a time. Now, he's a little more serious but so am I. But his outlook on life, his faith in humanity, it is still so deeply rooted in him. Anthony is a man who rarely changes, he is as steady and faithful as the sun. The things that are deeply rooted in him do not change. So I don't worry about him losing the light, the good, faithful servant of humanity. He is who he is.
We have one co-worker that spouted off once about the job being the most important thing in his life. More important than his family, his wife. Anthony told him he was crazy. You see, my Anthony is not a self-important man. He loves his job but his family comes first. He dedicates himself to dangerous situations and long hours to better his family. He is loved and respected by everyone he meets because he is deserving. He respects everyone and treats them with kindness and decency. I have had people come to the window to pay a speeding ticket that Anthony wrote, only to tell me how nice and friendly he was.The thing about Anthony is this: he creates a stable environment and in that I blossom. I've been in emotionally unstable relationships that have turned me into a sniveling, pathetic version of myself.
Anthony always commends me on how strong I am yet he doesn't understand that I derive my strength from him. If our life, our love, wasn't so stable, I'm not sure if I could be so steadfast. I've grown tremendously as a person during the years we've been married and I'm not discounting what is innate in me. I'm sure, even without him, I would have found my way to being the strong, confident, silly, conceited girl I am today. I guess it's kind of like the grass that springs up in the concrete. It grows in the concrete and it grows in the dirt. They both grow, one just has an easier time of it. 
And it helps to know, even when I'm wrong, he's my silent supporter.
We have a marriage that I'm proud of. We have no traditional guidelines; I can say with absolute certainty that our marriage is an egalitarian one. We perform roles and tasks because it works for us not because of gender. That is so important to me, that he sees me as a person and is not shrouded with that old-fashioned world view of 'where a woman belongs'.
We work in very backward careers...law enforcement...the good ol' boys society. Some of them are good, decent guys like Anth and I would consider them my friends. Other's I think look down on Anthony for 'not controlling his wife'. I've gotten into it with a couple of those 'good ol' boys' and where I think most men would be embarrassed, Anth was proud. He doesn't care if his co-workers make fun of him for not fulfilling the manly stereotype that they feel so compelled to fill.
His love, you see, like his morals, is unwavering. I have the secure knowledge that his love for me is steadfast and strong. So much so, that he often lets me get away with things he shouldn't. I'm a slob and I'm messy and I often let my crafts or whatever whim I'm involved in the moment to spill all over the house. My clothes are everywhere. Draped on the back of chairs, scattered all over the bed. It is absolutely against my nature to pick up after 
myself.
myself.He seems blind to my faults or at least too aware of the pride I tend to float on to call me out on these things.
Anth seems to get me, even in silent unspoken ways. Sure, we talk about everything, usually rehashing our day on the back porch swing while Oliver complains in his crib. Yet there are things about me, about my nature, that Anth seems to understand without any further explanation. We tease Anth for how oblivious he is about life yet he has come to understand me in a way few do.
He understands the importance of girl time, how sometimes I need to talk to A, to be with just her. I wonder if he sees the crazed look in my eye or the way I tend to gravitate towards the door. He knows that she is the greatest (platonic) love of my life, my very best friend in the whole world and just as much as he and I are united, she and I are also. He gets that about girls and he gets that about me.
Anth allows me to be. We go hours without talking while we're apart. He usually has no idea where I am and I like that about our relationship. The trust is secure and the space is welcomed. I like the freedom of no one keeping tabs on me (the result of parents who kept too many tabs...), of never having to answer the question, "When are you coming home?" for he knows I will come home when I'm ready, too soon and I'm no good.
It's the easy silence of knowing what the other is thinking, the freedom to just be, to not have to fill any one's expectations of wife or mother, to know when to take the baby because my nerves are shot...it's all these things that make life with Anthony so complete.And a new kind of love developed when we had Oliver. My Mom told me you love your husband in a new different way once a child is born. That couldn't have been more true. Anthony is the father and partner I always dreamed of. I brag on his fathering sk
ills to anyone who will listen. This guy doesn't 'baby sit' (he scoffs at that term, BTW) but parents. He told me that nothing will ever be more important than taking care of his child (this was, of course, Halloween, when I thought our night was ruined and Anth cheerfully volunteered to stay home and watch the baby after dropping me and A in Atlanta...knowing how important it was for me to escape that night...must have been that desperate look...). He is a better father than I am mother in this phase and I know as our 
children grow, so will our roles.
And that silliness that I missed? Well, it's still in him, emerging in funny impromptu songs and nicknames intended to provoke a smile out of our 10 month old. He loves our son in a way that will make him a good man.
ills to anyone who will listen. This guy doesn't 'baby sit' (he scoffs at that term, BTW) but parents. He told me that nothing will ever be more important than taking care of his child (this was, of course, Halloween, when I thought our night was ruined and Anth cheerfully volunteered to stay home and watch the baby after dropping me and A in Atlanta...knowing how important it was for me to escape that night...must have been that desperate look...). He is a better father than I am mother in this phase and I know as our 
children grow, so will our roles.I have never known the feeling of being over-whelmed for longer than say, 20 minutes, because Anthony has always been there to take O when I couldn't take it anymore. Whereas I am impatient, Anth's patience lingers on and on. The patience of Job, he always tells me smugly. And it's true and it works.
And he never makes me feel bad for my faults, his love for me seemingly as endless as the ocean.
He deserves a better woman than me.
I'm just thankful he doesn't agree.
Thankful #6
Thankful #6: The Bert Show on Q100
I have listened to this station since before it was really a station. I remember being in the shower, listening to music (just music)...no dj's, hardly any commercials...and then one day, there they were...the Bert Show...
I was in 10th grade the year they started and I have made a habit of listening to them every morning that I'm able.
It's funny how you feel like you know people and in a sense, I guess I do. To me, they are more open and less hokey than your typical morning show. I really admire the vulnerability and the humor (especially the humor, first thing in the morning)
When A and I commuted to Georgia State together, we listened to them every morning. They made us laugh and gave us topics of discussion when we were brain-dead from class.
This is kind of a silly thanks, but they deserve it. They make my day better, give me something to look forward to and add a little color to this grey 'cubicle' life...
Now, if only I could win those New Moon tickets...
I have listened to this station since before it was really a station. I remember being in the shower, listening to music (just music)...no dj's, hardly any commercials...and then one day, there they were...the Bert Show...
I was in 10th grade the year they started and I have made a habit of listening to them every morning that I'm able.
It's funny how you feel like you know people and in a sense, I guess I do. To me, they are more open and less hokey than your typical morning show. I really admire the vulnerability and the humor (especially the humor, first thing in the morning)
When A and I commuted to Georgia State together, we listened to them every morning. They made us laugh and gave us topics of discussion when we were brain-dead from class.
This is kind of a silly thanks, but they deserve it. They make my day better, give me something to look forward to and add a little color to this grey 'cubicle' life...
Now, if only I could win those New Moon tickets...
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Thankful #5
Thankful #5: The Twilight Saga
It physically hurts me to be one of the crowd, but I can admit that I am, in fact, a Twi-hard (the first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem, right?)
When Kat first suggested I borrow her copy of Twilight, I scoffed.
"I don't do Vampires" I said condescendingly.
Inevitably, I took her copy, only for the fact that I was 7 months pregnant with nothing to read at work. My job, my life had become painfully slow waiting for the arrival of Oliver. I needed something to help pass
the time.
I have to admit, I wasn't a fan of Twilight after the first book. I read the second only because Kat had it on hand and I was mildly curious as to where the story would go. I wasn't even aware of the mania that had transpired over this book.
By the end of the second, I was hooked. I couldn't put it down and then, when I finished it, with tears running down my hormonal face, I waddled to Target the second it opened and bought the third. I read this book at work, at home, even in the car with friends. It got to the point where I thought R,A & A were going to have to do a Twilight intervention.
The 4th was much the same. I read that 800-odd page book in a day and a half I believe. I'm just thankful I started the series before Oliver was born, otherwise, well, he might not be as well taken care of.
But you see, these books mean more to me than just a series I obsess about. I don't adore Robert Pattinson (although, at the Big Wicked, there was a guy dressed up as Edward and I almost squealed. Almost.) These books, then and now, provide me with an escape from everyday life. I still read them on a constant rotation and even though I know the books by heart, I find comfort in knowing they wait for me at the end of the day.
The other night, laying in bed, me immersed in Eclipse for the 100th time, Anth leaned over and started talking about fixing our electrical issues or something like that. I held up one finger and said, "We don't talk about life when I am reading Twilight"
When I was pregnant, the Twilight series became a life saver. Something akin to the feelings of falling in love all over again, it was what I felt as I fell in love with the characters. Stephanie Meyer's writing isn't the best sometimes, but her characters and plots are utterly consuming.
And even now, they give me something to look forward to, a place to escape in my mind, where money worries, dog hair, the constant demands of being a working wife and mother, well, don't exist. All I have to worry about (and envy) is Bella's love triangle and the constant danger she puts herself in.
Something about the mood of the books inspire something in me. I started penning another story that has nothing to do with vampires, werewolves or hapless females, yet the mood of the Twilight saga follows me.
You make think me lame but I can't deny how these books have affected my life. Even reconnecting me with an old friend, Brandi. We met for the first time in years to see the first movie and ever since have been talking, visiting more. It provided a common area when our lives seemed so different. Finding out, after taking a closer look, we have more in common than I could ever imagine and the physical distance between us doesn't seem so important anymore. At the last premiere I was pregnant and at New Moon she'll be the pregnant one. Its a nice tradition we set, our dates to the movie premieres. Anthony is not allowed to come with me due to his constant mocking. And I couldn't take any kind of criticism. Criticism is not allowed in that world.
So New Moon is coming out in a few weeks and I could go on and on about how excited I am except that I'm a little embarrassed about my enthusiasm. It's nice though, to have something to look forward to, something that makes you feel 13 again even if your bordering 25.
So, I'm thankful for the Twilight Saga for allowing me a place to escape where hunky werewolves and rich handsome vampires fight over you, even if, in reality, you are seven months pregnant and big as a house. For creating a reality so vastly different from my own. And for rekindling a friendship that has proven to be a highlight in my hum-drum life.
Now, for the question I know you have been dying to ask: Team Jacob or Team Edward?
Well, who says a girl has to choose?
Like Bella, I'll take them both.
Because that, dear friends, is what fantasy is all about :-)
It physically hurts me to be one of the crowd, but I can admit that I am, in fact, a Twi-hard (the first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem, right?)
When Kat first suggested I borrow her copy of Twilight, I scoffed.
"I don't do Vampires" I said condescendingly.
Inevitably, I took her copy, only for the fact that I was 7 months pregnant with nothing to read at work. My job, my life had become painfully slow waiting for the arrival of Oliver. I needed something to help pass
the time.I have to admit, I wasn't a fan of Twilight after the first book. I read the second only because Kat had it on hand and I was mildly curious as to where the story would go. I wasn't even aware of the mania that had transpired over this book.
By the end of the second, I was hooked. I couldn't put it down and then, when I finished it, with tears running down my hormonal face, I waddled to Target the second it opened and bought the third. I read this book at work, at home, even in the car with friends. It got to the point where I thought R,A & A were going to have to do a Twilight intervention.
The 4th was much the same. I read that 800-odd page book in a day and a half I believe. I'm just thankful I started the series before Oliver was born, otherwise, well, he might not be as well taken care of.
But you see, these books mean more to me than just a series I obsess about. I don't adore Robert Pattinson (although, at the Big Wicked, there was a guy dressed up as Edward and I almost squealed. Almost.) These books, then and now, provide me with an escape from everyday life. I still read them on a constant rotation and even though I know the books by heart, I find comfort in knowing they wait for me at the end of the day.
The other night, laying in bed, me immersed in Eclipse for the 100th time, Anth leaned over and started talking about fixing our electrical issues or something like that. I held up one finger and said, "We don't talk about life when I am reading Twilight"
When I was pregnant, the Twilight series became a life saver. Something akin to the feelings of falling in love all over again, it was what I felt as I fell in love with the characters. Stephanie Meyer's writing isn't the best sometimes, but her characters and plots are utterly consuming.
And even now, they give me something to look forward to, a place to escape in my mind, where money worries, dog hair, the constant demands of being a working wife and mother, well, don't exist. All I have to worry about (and envy) is Bella's love triangle and the constant danger she puts herself in.
Something about the mood of the books inspire something in me. I started penning another story that has nothing to do with vampires, werewolves or hapless females, yet the mood of the Twilight saga follows me.
You make think me lame but I can't deny how these books have affected my life. Even reconnecting me with an old friend, Brandi. We met for the first time in years to see the first movie and ever since have been talking, visiting more. It provided a common area when our lives seemed so different. Finding out, after taking a closer look, we have more in common than I could ever imagine and the physical distance between us doesn't seem so important anymore. At the last premiere I was pregnant and at New Moon she'll be the pregnant one. Its a nice tradition we set, our dates to the movie premieres. Anthony is not allowed to come with me due to his constant mocking. And I couldn't take any kind of criticism. Criticism is not allowed in that world.
So New Moon is coming out in a few weeks and I could go on and on about how excited I am except that I'm a little embarrassed about my enthusiasm. It's nice though, to have something to look forward to, something that makes you feel 13 again even if your bordering 25.
So, I'm thankful for the Twilight Saga for allowing me a place to escape where hunky werewolves and rich handsome vampires fight over you, even if, in reality, you are seven months pregnant and big as a house. For creating a reality so vastly different from my own. And for rekindling a friendship that has proven to be a highlight in my hum-drum life.
Now, for the question I know you have been dying to ask: Team Jacob or Team Edward?
Well, who says a girl has to choose?
Like Bella, I'll take them both.
Because that, dear friends, is what fantasy is all about :-)
PS: The pictures I added are from Twilightbarbies.com. I had to add them, because even as a Twi-hard, I can't help but laugh at how ridiculously lame and absurd these pictures are. I just didn't want anyone to think I added these pictures seriously :-)
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