Aug 31, 2011 |
by Molly Jo Realy @MollyJoRealy
When I get to New York
It will be in the fall
When the leaves turn red and gold and yellow
And drop precariously all around.
When the crisp air carries
A promise of change
I will arrive on a train
Through Grand Central Station
And before I even enter the City
I will shop
And eat
And people-watch.
I will take a yellow taxi cab
To Central Park
And run along the paths
Before I buy a bag of roasted nuts
And sit on a green bench
To enjoy the sights, sounds, and smells.
I will think of the movies
And the songs
And the stories
That have filled my head and heart
With such wanderlust
That brings me there.
I will wait until the sun sets
And make my way
To Broadway
Where I will stand on the sidewalk
With arms open wide
And voice lifted high
And people will stare at me
But most will smile and applaud
In understanding.
I will quiet myself as I enter
The theatre
And hum quietly along
As I take it all in
And vicariously live a musical.
I will find a street vendor
For exhaust-flavored hot dogs and coffee
And stroll through the streets
Through the night
Until I find myself
Like Holly Golightly
Looking through early morning windows
At Tiffany’s
And their beautiful blue boxes.
I’ll lay my head on a pillow
At the Plaza
And wake to look over
The City that Never Sleeps.
I’ll walk underground
And ride the metal beasts
Of the Subway
From one end to the other.
I’ll go to Yankee Stadium
And cheer out loud
For my team.
I’ll ride the ferry
To Ellis Island
And remember how this Great Country
Was, is, and will be.
I’ll tread lightly at the Library
And smell pages and pages
Of History
Fantasy, Reality, and Life.
I’ll stroll through the Village
And eat treats unheard of
And pretend I belong in Soho
If just for the day.
I’ll skate at Rockefeller Center
And laugh when I fall down.
When the lights come to life
I’ll find myself exiting
The elevator on top
Of the Empire State Building
And again I’ll sing songs
While holding my breath
As I look over the expanse
And make more dreams
Than I knew I could hold inside me.
I’ll awake with my muses
Flying rapidly about
Onto paper and thoughts
And take myself to the MoMA
To let it all in
And let myself out.
I’ll sit on a bench
And instead of writing
I’ll look around
Until
I’ll close my eyes and see it all
I’ll open my ears and hear whispers
I’ll speak later, when I find my words.
I’ll walk in a daze
Down 34th Street
And find myself
In the miracles of Macy’s
And all it has to offer.
I’ll listen to street musicians
And tap my tennis shoes to the beat
Until my dancing feet
Take me
To Times Square
Where
In the midst of possibly everything
I will finally just stop
And stand there
In awe
Of neon lights
And honking horns
And tourists
Just like me.
I will buy me a keychain
And a statue of the Statue.
Then I will make my way
Home
And write it all out
As bits and pieces
Come back to me
Until
I
Come back
To it.
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!
Aug 30, 2011 |
by Molly Jo Realy @MollyJoRealy
My favorite hymn is I’ll Fly Away. I particularly love the Jars of Clay version. In fact, when I die, I want everyone at my wake to gather together and sing it loudly and repetitively. I just love this song!
That really doesn’t have much to do with this post, except the title. Well, maybe just a little more than that. The title was inspired by a great story from my friend, Corrie. She even provided the photos.
It was earlier this summer when a baby bird fell out of its nest. Pushed, probably, by its momma who wanted it to fly. But the bird wasn’t ready. And so it fell. Ker-splat. Onto the ground. Corrie’s daughter, Amber, found the baby bird and rescued it. They gently placed it back into another nest with other babies and a new momma bird. The new momma bird looked after the baby, adopting it as its own. But again, when the other babies were pushed out into the world, this baby bird still wasn’t ready.
Ker-splat. Ker-splat. Each time, Amber found the baby bird. Each time, the baby bird followed Amber. It began to follow Amber around the yard. It became as tame as a wild sparrow could be, allowing Amber to pick it up and hold it often. Each evening, Amber put it to bed in the nest.
A few days later, the new momma bird kicked the babies out again. And while this baby bird knew how to fly, it didn’t want to. It wanted Amber. But this particular day, it couldn’t find Amber right away. So it did what any lost bird would do. It went looking for her… in the house.
It was Amber’s birthday, and the house was decorated in celebration. She wanted bright and colorful owls. She also got a bird. The baby bird. It made an appearance, sang its Happy Birthday chirps to her, and let her put it back outside.
A day or two later, after enough urgings from New Momma Bird and Momma Amber, the baby bird finally flew away into the world. It was strong enough, and secure enough, to make its own way.
The joy it brought to Corrie and Amber formed memories they’ll keep forever, and keep sharing.
This story got me thinking about how many times we think we’re in the right place, when really we should be some place better. The environment we sometimes find ourselves in, while even loving and safe, is not where we’re destined for. How often are we led astray, by others, by ourselves? How often do we resist the help of others to get us back on track?
Sometimes through circumstance we find ourselves in a new nest. Sometimes we fight too hard to stay where we don’t belong. We hold onto to what we know is good and safe, and forget we’re designed to move on and explore.
There are grand horizons just waiting to be crossed. So spread your wings and take the chance. You may fall. But know that if you do, there’s plenty of people willing to help you get back up, and get you where you need to be.
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!
Aug 29, 2011 |
by Molly Jo Realy @MollyJoRealy
Some years ago, I was having a conversation with my friend, Jenny. We were comparing our concerns and To-Do Lists when she noted, “Boy. You really have a lot on your plate!” To which I quickly replied, “Yes, but it’s not mine, and I’m being force-fed!”
Humanity is in the business of catering, but sometimes we overload ourselves. Do you ever feel that you’re carrying too much on your plate? I’m not talking about stacking spinners five plates high… all that does is turn you into a circus act. I’m talking about adding more to your one plate than what you can [should] healthily manage.
We’re all trained caterers in life. From a very early age, we learn to make other people happy, to be selfless and give more. We give our time, money, attention, emotions, and sometimes, parts of ourselves that we shouldn’t give away. It’s very fulfilling to help others. And sometimes that means taking things off their plate.
But what happens when others take advantage of that? Skooch those veggies over, time to make room for someone else’s share. They heap it on; more on your plate, less on theirs. And when word gets out that you’re a polite eater, the next thing you know, you’re eating three kinds of pie with homemade whipped cream, and you can’t even see the roast beef that you selected.
Catering to others is a good business, but like all businesses, you have to have a plan for success, or else you’ll sink.
It’s not selfish to say no to those extra sweets that just pack on the pounds. These are the people who talk so nicely to you and sugar you up, just to get what they want. The ones who manipulate you into thinking it’s all good, when deep down inside you know too much of a good thing is… just too much.
I personally don’t like beets. Beets are those bitter bleeders that seep and discolor the other food on your plate. I can manage them in tiny doses, but any more than that and … no thank you. Funny how they usually appear around the holidays. Beet People are those who slowly take over and bring their brand of flavoring to other foods. It’s always all about them. Those creamy mashed potatoes and gravy? A tad red now, a tad sharp.
Then there’s the Salad People. These are the people who know how to maintain a very healthy lifestyle and aren’t afraid of telling you what you’re doing wrong. The more sweets and carbs you load up on, the more green they dish out. Full of advice and fiber. Just stop the bad eats, and have a leaf. You’ll be fine. They do it. So can you. Unless you’re allergic to their brand of dressing. Unless you want more in your life than just rabbit food. Unless you want to eat the not-so-good-for-you stuff, just once in a while.
My favorite dish is the Meat and Potatoes. You know, the main course. These are the people who add sustenance to life. Sometimes it’s not quite flavored the way we hope, but add a dash of this and a pinch of that, and soon enough, it’s delicious. The reason we’re all here. Main Course people are your family, your best friends. The ones who are just comforting to have around and who help nourish you even when you don’t realize it.
Spices are those little extra touches in life. Salt for seasoning and preservation. Pepper for attention. Some flavors mix well, some don’t. Some you can take in large amounts, others notsomuch. Spices are anything, or anyone, in life. People. Money. Jobs. Entertainment. Distractions. Hopes. Dreams. Fears.
The funny thing is, I’ve never seen anyone use every single spice all at the same time. And some spices just don’t belong on certain foods. You wouldn’t pepper a pound cake, would you? Or dip an ice cream cone in gravy? I think not.
Being in the catering business means knowing what flavors blend, and what ones don’t. It means knowing proportions are just as important as presentation. You can’t serve an entire menu on one plate, or even at one function. We are all called to help each other, to cater to each other’s needs.
It’s okay to add seasonings and sustenance, and to enjoy their offerings as well. In fact, we’re called together in this potluck of life, to share and celebrate. To try new flavors, new foods. But that doesn’t mean ignoring our own needs for their sake.
It’s important to know that it’s also okay to say no. It’s okay to say, “This is my plate, and this is what I need,” or even “I’m allergic.” And when others start to heave their helpings upon you, it’s okay to say, “No thanks, I’ve had enough.” You know what you can take and what you can’t.
So sometimes you just have to set the big plate down and reach for dessert: that finishing touch that just sets things right. I’ll take the tiramisu over there, please. And a coffee. Thanks.
My date with Bocelli.
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!
