Did you know that we waited for you when it rained...our noses pressed firmly against the front window?
We watched for your car and listened for your footsteps, the booming voice that calmed the lightening and made us safe.
Did you know that small hands traced the pattern of your hair, etched into the worn leather headrest of your favorite chair?
Miniature feet practiced walking in your shoes...and we carefully placed them back afterwards, into the darkness of your closet.
Did you know back then, that your anger crushed us and that the cool smoothness of your belt on our skin made our throats taste bitter and hot? We cowered in the wake of your disppointment.
You were our very first dance partner... our feet carefully placed on top of your toes as we circled the living room... our eyes watching your every move.
Do you recall the feel of our hands in yours as we led you to early morning Christmas gifts, and small helpless winged birds, and crowns of dandelions?
Your arms held us high above the ground... safe from harm, and skinned knees, and bee stings. Your shoulders cushioned our sleeping heads.
Do you recall the moment, the day, the year.. when you walked beneath the weight of a load we did not understand and that you could no longer bear?
Monday, October 26, 2009
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Sister Of Mine
My sister was born twenty three months after me.
She made her entrance into my life as a small, screaming bundle - presented to me with a smile by my parents. My earliest memory is seeing this baby nursing at my mother's chest and immediately sensing that my territory was in serious jeapordy.
For the next seventeen years of my life, that same baby girl would be my cross to bear. She was frustrating in her "little sister" ways and stuck to me like glue. We were the best of friends, we were the worst of enemies.
During our childhood, she made a good playmate - this sister of mine. We played house and baby dolls and all sorts of little girl games. We found mischief together. We climbed the tall trees in our front yard and pretended to be gymnists as we hung from its branches. We performed skits and magic shows for our parents.
She was my partner in a childhood full of memories.
We visited Florida's sunshine and coastline for the first time when she was four years old. The beach was like nothing we had ever known. An unfriendly flock of seagulls visited us there and stole my sister's socks. She was left screaming, ankle deep in salty water, beneath their winged escape. We collected small sand crabs in our water buckets and kept them overnight in the hotel bathtub. My sister and I woke during the night to hear the scraping, clawing sounds of crabs on porcelain. We spent the night holding hands in the darkness.
We shared many years of magical Christmases. We watched the dark, starry nights together - waiting for Santa's sleigh - listening for sounds of reindeer hooves. We endured the slow crawl to daylight for the moment when we could wake our parents and open the gifts beneath our tree.
We dyed Easter eggs, side by side, and then hunted them in the shade of our grandparents' back yard. We wore matching Easter dresses with oversized bows in our hair and smiled for family pictures.
We ate Thanksgiving turkey and played with our cousins as generations grew into the next.
Throughout all of my memories, I see my little sister. The child made up of my same blood - yet so different from me. She was pitifully thin, dark skinned, and loved being outdoors in the humid heat. I was a pale, chubby child - content with reading books and playing with baby dolls. She was hyper and fidgity. I was calm and quiet. We fought like cats and dogs.
She was, in those early days, a constant torment in my life. In every way, my sister's shadow followed me - from elementary school to my teenage years. She was there, always asking to play, always asking to follow, always wanting to participate. My sister never tired of tagging along.
I shared a bedroom with my sister until I was a teenager. Eternally, and by day, she was my forced playmate and often enemy. Occasionally at night, in the quiet of our room, her presence comforted me. Many times our late night giggles and squeals would bring our father to our room, his face set in grim determination to silence us. We were - sometimes - partners in crime...this sister of mine.
In my haste to lose her, I never quite realized when the echo of her footsteps disappeard from mine. They have been gone a long time.
Now, years after sisterly fights and shouting matches have ended, we are living on opposite sides of the country. A span of a thousand miles stretches between us and yet her image is as close as my next heartbeat.
Today we are connected through long distance phone calls, and cell phone pictures, and facebook. Several times a year we are inseperable. There are slumber parties and shopping binges, all night talks and endless stories of "remember when". We are together for what passes like an instant.
My sister and I have shared a lifetime of secrets and tragedies, triumphs and bitter failures. Together we have witnessed the miracle of life and the mystery of death. We have felt the touch of human tenderness and the brush of fate.
This sister of mine... Our lives were forever entwined, long before I knew how much I loved her...and before I knew that my story could never be written without her.
She made her entrance into my life as a small, screaming bundle - presented to me with a smile by my parents. My earliest memory is seeing this baby nursing at my mother's chest and immediately sensing that my territory was in serious jeapordy.
For the next seventeen years of my life, that same baby girl would be my cross to bear. She was frustrating in her "little sister" ways and stuck to me like glue. We were the best of friends, we were the worst of enemies.
During our childhood, she made a good playmate - this sister of mine. We played house and baby dolls and all sorts of little girl games. We found mischief together. We climbed the tall trees in our front yard and pretended to be gymnists as we hung from its branches. We performed skits and magic shows for our parents.
She was my partner in a childhood full of memories.
We visited Florida's sunshine and coastline for the first time when she was four years old. The beach was like nothing we had ever known. An unfriendly flock of seagulls visited us there and stole my sister's socks. She was left screaming, ankle deep in salty water, beneath their winged escape. We collected small sand crabs in our water buckets and kept them overnight in the hotel bathtub. My sister and I woke during the night to hear the scraping, clawing sounds of crabs on porcelain. We spent the night holding hands in the darkness.
We shared many years of magical Christmases. We watched the dark, starry nights together - waiting for Santa's sleigh - listening for sounds of reindeer hooves. We endured the slow crawl to daylight for the moment when we could wake our parents and open the gifts beneath our tree.
We dyed Easter eggs, side by side, and then hunted them in the shade of our grandparents' back yard. We wore matching Easter dresses with oversized bows in our hair and smiled for family pictures.
We ate Thanksgiving turkey and played with our cousins as generations grew into the next.
Throughout all of my memories, I see my little sister. The child made up of my same blood - yet so different from me. She was pitifully thin, dark skinned, and loved being outdoors in the humid heat. I was a pale, chubby child - content with reading books and playing with baby dolls. She was hyper and fidgity. I was calm and quiet. We fought like cats and dogs.
She was, in those early days, a constant torment in my life. In every way, my sister's shadow followed me - from elementary school to my teenage years. She was there, always asking to play, always asking to follow, always wanting to participate. My sister never tired of tagging along.
I shared a bedroom with my sister until I was a teenager. Eternally, and by day, she was my forced playmate and often enemy. Occasionally at night, in the quiet of our room, her presence comforted me. Many times our late night giggles and squeals would bring our father to our room, his face set in grim determination to silence us. We were - sometimes - partners in crime...this sister of mine.
In my haste to lose her, I never quite realized when the echo of her footsteps disappeard from mine. They have been gone a long time.
Now, years after sisterly fights and shouting matches have ended, we are living on opposite sides of the country. A span of a thousand miles stretches between us and yet her image is as close as my next heartbeat.
Today we are connected through long distance phone calls, and cell phone pictures, and facebook. Several times a year we are inseperable. There are slumber parties and shopping binges, all night talks and endless stories of "remember when". We are together for what passes like an instant.
My sister and I have shared a lifetime of secrets and tragedies, triumphs and bitter failures. Together we have witnessed the miracle of life and the mystery of death. We have felt the touch of human tenderness and the brush of fate.
This sister of mine... Our lives were forever entwined, long before I knew how much I loved her...and before I knew that my story could never be written without her.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Letting Go...
As a mother, there is so much "letting go" to do... Some I have been ready for... eagerly anticipating... Other times, the "letting go" has felt like a scab being slowly torn away from a large wound.
I remember "letting go" when my oldest daughter started kindergarten. For weeks we had encouraged her, described the classroom, ensured her that the teacher would be kind and would help her to learn many things. We bought fat crayons and safety scissors and a Barbie lunch box. We picked out her first outfit a week in advance. "Big sisters go to school. You will have so much fun", we told her.
I tried to remember all of the reasons why kindergarten is important. I wanted to recall the necessity of such an act but simply could not on that first day of school. Holding her tiny hand in mine, we walked down the large white hallway together. It smelled faintly of wooden pencils and chalk and Play Doh. The echo of laughter and "show and tell" activity bubbled around us.
We entered the classroom and were greeted with welcoming smiles and an eager young teacher. Pretty Miss Clark led my daughter away to hang her backpack. Her blonde ringlets and bright blue eyes faded into a sea of children. As I retreated down the cheery corrider - alone, an enormous lump found its way into my throat and the walls began to close in. I made it to the safety of my car before I broke down. Hot tears scorched my cheeks all the way home.
Now, so many years later... "letting go" still takes me back to that day. Her new classroom is her own life in a far away city. I still hold her hand until departure time. She humors me by letting me have that action. More for me now - than for her. She often pats me and tries to comfort me by telling ME not to cry. (Which I seem to always do in the circle of her arms during our last embrace.)
Even now, when I watch her leave, my heart lurches in my chest. Her curls and bright blue eyes are often enveloped by a busy airport or a departing vehicle. The sound of her laughter still echoes in the air - long after she is gone. There is no pretty, young teacher to keep her safe until she returns to us. Just a promise that she has told me many times over... "Mom, I am exactly where I am suppose to be...living my life and learning so many things about myself."
This particular letting go has not come easy to me yet...
I remember "letting go" when my oldest daughter started kindergarten. For weeks we had encouraged her, described the classroom, ensured her that the teacher would be kind and would help her to learn many things. We bought fat crayons and safety scissors and a Barbie lunch box. We picked out her first outfit a week in advance. "Big sisters go to school. You will have so much fun", we told her.
I tried to remember all of the reasons why kindergarten is important. I wanted to recall the necessity of such an act but simply could not on that first day of school. Holding her tiny hand in mine, we walked down the large white hallway together. It smelled faintly of wooden pencils and chalk and Play Doh. The echo of laughter and "show and tell" activity bubbled around us.
We entered the classroom and were greeted with welcoming smiles and an eager young teacher. Pretty Miss Clark led my daughter away to hang her backpack. Her blonde ringlets and bright blue eyes faded into a sea of children. As I retreated down the cheery corrider - alone, an enormous lump found its way into my throat and the walls began to close in. I made it to the safety of my car before I broke down. Hot tears scorched my cheeks all the way home.
Now, so many years later... "letting go" still takes me back to that day. Her new classroom is her own life in a far away city. I still hold her hand until departure time. She humors me by letting me have that action. More for me now - than for her. She often pats me and tries to comfort me by telling ME not to cry. (Which I seem to always do in the circle of her arms during our last embrace.)
Even now, when I watch her leave, my heart lurches in my chest. Her curls and bright blue eyes are often enveloped by a busy airport or a departing vehicle. The sound of her laughter still echoes in the air - long after she is gone. There is no pretty, young teacher to keep her safe until she returns to us. Just a promise that she has told me many times over... "Mom, I am exactly where I am suppose to be...living my life and learning so many things about myself."
This particular letting go has not come easy to me yet...
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Happy Anniversary, Baby.... Got You On My Mind!
Tomorrow, unbelievably, I will celebrate twenty six years of marriage with my husband. A man I have known since I was eleven years old. We have survived the blur of our teen years, the knock of hard times, scraping rock bottom, hidden joys, tremendous blessings, and the parenting of two grown children.
Where did all that time go? The sand in our hourglass. The moments racing by at lightening speed. Just yesterday we were young together... no worries, we had our youth, our life sprawled before us and we were... invincable. I don't recall much of my world before he was in it. If I close my eyes, it all comes back... the girl I use to be... and the boy who shares my story....
Every once in a while I can even catch a glimpse of that boy I use to know... He hides behind a few handsome laugh lines and sexy gray hair... and occasionally behind a pair of very distinguished-looking reading glasses. He stares back at me sometimes in the moonlight from our bedroom window and across Sunday dinners. I've seen him in darkened theatres and on Christmas mornings.
In fleeting moments, that remind me of all we are and all we have become, I get to see images of the boy I once knew. In deep sleep, his face peaceful, he surfaces. In the tilt of his head while playing guitar, his mouth set in grim concentration, the boy appears. He arrives at odd hours, in the middle of snowball fights and Wii games, in the heat of summer afternoons, and over bonfires late at night.
I see him... that boy... and I remember.
He was wild and fearless... and experienced in all the right things. He made me laugh, and made me shiver, and taught me to play frisbee. We sang songs and drank beer and he taught me how to smoke. (Me... the girl in the shadows... holding a cigarette between trembling fingers.) We slow-danced with no music, his touch burned my skin, and he gathered all my secret dreams and knotted them with his own.
The boy easily stole my heart... and, now, so many lifetimes later, we celebrate.
For first loves and old friends, from high school to middle age and beyond, for all the promises we've kept, and for all the struggles... For choosing each other over everything else... for believing that together is our only way to stand and for making a lifetime of memories.
Here's to forever and always!
Where did all that time go? The sand in our hourglass. The moments racing by at lightening speed. Just yesterday we were young together... no worries, we had our youth, our life sprawled before us and we were... invincable. I don't recall much of my world before he was in it. If I close my eyes, it all comes back... the girl I use to be... and the boy who shares my story....
Every once in a while I can even catch a glimpse of that boy I use to know... He hides behind a few handsome laugh lines and sexy gray hair... and occasionally behind a pair of very distinguished-looking reading glasses. He stares back at me sometimes in the moonlight from our bedroom window and across Sunday dinners. I've seen him in darkened theatres and on Christmas mornings.
In fleeting moments, that remind me of all we are and all we have become, I get to see images of the boy I once knew. In deep sleep, his face peaceful, he surfaces. In the tilt of his head while playing guitar, his mouth set in grim concentration, the boy appears. He arrives at odd hours, in the middle of snowball fights and Wii games, in the heat of summer afternoons, and over bonfires late at night.
I see him... that boy... and I remember.
He was wild and fearless... and experienced in all the right things. He made me laugh, and made me shiver, and taught me to play frisbee. We sang songs and drank beer and he taught me how to smoke. (Me... the girl in the shadows... holding a cigarette between trembling fingers.) We slow-danced with no music, his touch burned my skin, and he gathered all my secret dreams and knotted them with his own.
The boy easily stole my heart... and, now, so many lifetimes later, we celebrate.
For first loves and old friends, from high school to middle age and beyond, for all the promises we've kept, and for all the struggles... For choosing each other over everything else... for believing that together is our only way to stand and for making a lifetime of memories.
Here's to forever and always!
Saturday, October 3, 2009
Pieces Of Me...
I love music. Almost any kind... from gospel to country and everything in between. Music moves me and touches my soul. I have felt the stir of God in the beat of my music.
I love to read. I feel that something is missing in my life if I don't have at least four or five books waiting for me to pick them up. Books transcend space and time for me. I can lose myself in the words of an author.
I love to write. I always thought that I would write a novel someday. Something deeply personal and heartfelt, written under a pseudonym - just to be safe - in case people hated it. I've found, over the years, that I don't have the patience or the heart to author a novel - at least not yet. My mind and my words are better served in short bursts.
I am a self-proclaimed "purse-a-holic"... I crave handbags of all shapes, mostly in the color black. I am a sucker for fine leather or rich cloth on the outside, well-lined interiors, and silver hardware accents. Everywhere I go, in any city, or on any trip - I am drawn to the handbag department of every store, each mall, or shopping entity. It is a sickness. My reputation for this weakness is well-known by all who know anything about me.
I have a love affair with briefcases/work bags, Vera Bradley tote bags, and journals. (Apply words from above paragraph.)
I am a journal junkie. I carry one with me at all times. I can spend hours analyzing the benefits and drawbacks of journaling possibilities. I love my moleskines but I have a fondness for Fiorentina paper with leather covers. I need thick cream colored or ivory paper but it must be sturdy - preferably lined but squared may also work. I am always in search of the next greatest journal for my expanding collection.
I absolutely love office supplies, paper supplies, and writing supplies. I can spend hours looking at them, testing them, and pondering the purchase of them. I anguish over the perfect pen but it must always be red ink - broad point, please. (1.4 or 1.6 mm tip seems the best for me)
I love children and young adult books. I have a collection from when my girls were small. We read together until the pages of their favorite stories were withered and yellowed. These are now my treasures. Someday I will read them to my grandchildren.
Housework and laundry beckons now... More pieces another time.
I love to read. I feel that something is missing in my life if I don't have at least four or five books waiting for me to pick them up. Books transcend space and time for me. I can lose myself in the words of an author.
I love to write. I always thought that I would write a novel someday. Something deeply personal and heartfelt, written under a pseudonym - just to be safe - in case people hated it. I've found, over the years, that I don't have the patience or the heart to author a novel - at least not yet. My mind and my words are better served in short bursts.
I am a self-proclaimed "purse-a-holic"... I crave handbags of all shapes, mostly in the color black. I am a sucker for fine leather or rich cloth on the outside, well-lined interiors, and silver hardware accents. Everywhere I go, in any city, or on any trip - I am drawn to the handbag department of every store, each mall, or shopping entity. It is a sickness. My reputation for this weakness is well-known by all who know anything about me.
I have a love affair with briefcases/work bags, Vera Bradley tote bags, and journals. (Apply words from above paragraph.)
I am a journal junkie. I carry one with me at all times. I can spend hours analyzing the benefits and drawbacks of journaling possibilities. I love my moleskines but I have a fondness for Fiorentina paper with leather covers. I need thick cream colored or ivory paper but it must be sturdy - preferably lined but squared may also work. I am always in search of the next greatest journal for my expanding collection.
I absolutely love office supplies, paper supplies, and writing supplies. I can spend hours looking at them, testing them, and pondering the purchase of them. I anguish over the perfect pen but it must always be red ink - broad point, please. (1.4 or 1.6 mm tip seems the best for me)
I love children and young adult books. I have a collection from when my girls were small. We read together until the pages of their favorite stories were withered and yellowed. These are now my treasures. Someday I will read them to my grandchildren.
Housework and laundry beckons now... More pieces another time.
Friday, October 2, 2009
Fri-Daze
It's 6:30 on Friday night and I just got home from the work day that almost never ended. My head hurts, my neck and shoulders are tight, and I have just breathed my first sigh of relief.
It started as a usual week day... hitting the snooze button for twenty minutes, struggling up from the warm embrace of my bed and the feel of deep peace. Prying my eyes open, I stepped in the shower and the day went immediately downhill. My razor broke, the water turned cold, and I was running late. (Have you ever tried to shave your legs with goose-bumps on them? Not a pleasant experience!) Somewhere between my clothes not fitting right (when did they shrink?) and my hair having its own agenda, I began to realize that today might not be all I had hoped for.
As I headed out the front door - some twenty minutes later than I should have - I caught a brief survey of my house. Dishes piled high, crumbs all over the counter, shoes scattered across the living room floor. Adding insult to injury, I realized that one of the dogs had eaten a pair of my hose AND left a gift by the back door. Could it get any better???
Let's try bumper to bumper traffic, lots of red lights, and stupid slow people who obviously had nowhere to go today!!!! (And, I am NOT on my period!)
Work did NOTHING to improve my disposition. Fearing that the entire day would be a wash, I half-heartedly made a promise to myself to "make this day better"... I forced a smile on my face while walking down my office hallway. (I pretended not to notice the pudgy image of myself in the window glass.) I paid no attention to annoying co-workers - in fact, I hummed quietly to myself, blocking out negative thoughts. I thought I might actually have a chance to overcome the bad start to my beloved Friday...
It was not to be. Crushing deadlines, staffing emergencies, grumpy bosses, and countless headache-inducing conversations later... I realized that I had no choice but to endure and count down the hours until it ended. The afternoon stretched into one long strip of frustration. Relief and happiness eluded me until 6:30...
Now, I'm home.
It started as a usual week day... hitting the snooze button for twenty minutes, struggling up from the warm embrace of my bed and the feel of deep peace. Prying my eyes open, I stepped in the shower and the day went immediately downhill. My razor broke, the water turned cold, and I was running late. (Have you ever tried to shave your legs with goose-bumps on them? Not a pleasant experience!) Somewhere between my clothes not fitting right (when did they shrink?) and my hair having its own agenda, I began to realize that today might not be all I had hoped for.
As I headed out the front door - some twenty minutes later than I should have - I caught a brief survey of my house. Dishes piled high, crumbs all over the counter, shoes scattered across the living room floor. Adding insult to injury, I realized that one of the dogs had eaten a pair of my hose AND left a gift by the back door. Could it get any better???
Let's try bumper to bumper traffic, lots of red lights, and stupid slow people who obviously had nowhere to go today!!!! (And, I am NOT on my period!)
Work did NOTHING to improve my disposition. Fearing that the entire day would be a wash, I half-heartedly made a promise to myself to "make this day better"... I forced a smile on my face while walking down my office hallway. (I pretended not to notice the pudgy image of myself in the window glass.) I paid no attention to annoying co-workers - in fact, I hummed quietly to myself, blocking out negative thoughts. I thought I might actually have a chance to overcome the bad start to my beloved Friday...
It was not to be. Crushing deadlines, staffing emergencies, grumpy bosses, and countless headache-inducing conversations later... I realized that I had no choice but to endure and count down the hours until it ended. The afternoon stretched into one long strip of frustration. Relief and happiness eluded me until 6:30...
Now, I'm home.
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