Aug 18, 2012 |
Lately, I’ve been rediscovering lost memories. I’ve been chatting with old friends on Facebook. Looking through old photo albums. Reading old journal entries and blog posts.
I’m not one to reminisce. I’m either in the moment or living for the future. The past is the past. It can’t be changed. And while I have solid childhood memories, I don’t often allow myself the luxury of recalling those favored moments more than once in a great while. This is also because I have a tendency to relive emotions that come with certain memories.
Because of this, I can write amazing character profiles. I associate more than just memories. I associate music and ambiance and flavor and fragrance and sound and texture and feelings. I incorporate entire experiences.
But sometimes, triggers can bring me back to more than I bargained for.
Over ten years ago I was engaged. I shouldn’t have been. But I was a single mom with a young girl. I was lonely, and felt alone. I met a man who showered me with affections. He was not cruel. He was not mean. We just were not a good match. People told us so. We didn’t listen, and after months of dating he proposed. I eventually broke up with him when it was clear we weren’t going to be able to work out some of our more important conflicts. It was the smart thing: to let go. But it was painful. And once again, I felt alone. But more than that: I felt like I deserved to be alone. I’d ignored those who loved me enough to tell me why this wasn’t good. I’d turned my back on the advice of family and friends. I’d asked them to embrace my choice, proclaiming that I knew best.
But I didn’t.
So I deserved to be alone. And hurt.
Or so I thought.
He’d taken me to see the movie “Autumn in New York”. I can’t begin to list the reasons why I love this movie. It’s by no means a classic. It didn’t win any awards. But it had me from the moment the first leaf fell in Central Park to Diana Krall’s “Let’s Fall in Love”. I had the CD soundtrack that I annoyed people with day after day after day. It was, for me, the perfect experience.
And then we broke up. And because I had not just memories but experiences associated with Autumn in New York, I could no longer listen to the music. I never wanted to see the movie. I could never think about someday going to New York.
I just couldn’t.
It pulled at me like sticky spaghetti strings. With any real force, the draw would be broken. I was thankful to live here in the desolate desert where I didn’t have to smell crisp autumn winds or see colored leaves. I could pretend the movie never existed. Because to admit that not only did it exist, but that I liked it, was to admit that I wasn’t perfect. That I longed for something I couldn’t, and shouldn’t, have. It was to admit that I’d failed with my family and friends. And that was the most painful loss of all.
This is the thinking pattern I held to for most major disappointments. I could no longer watch this, hear that, go here, eat there. All because it brought back bad memories. And pain. And shame.
Until eight years later. I just made a decision to change my way of thinking. This part puzzles me, because for all my experience-association, the only thing I remember about this moment is feeling empowered. I’d decided several things in that moment.
I’d decided I wasn’t going to hold on to bad memories. I would recognize them, but no longer let them hold me hostage.
I’d decided I was going to allow myself to remember without experiencing every moment.
I’d decided I wasn’t going to let the memory of a long-ago man dictate how I continued my life without him.
I’d decided it was time to stop avoiding old memories, and instead replace them with new ones.
I’d decided to order the DVD from Amazon.
The next four days were filled with a new excitement for me. It was almost a combination of meeting an old friend and going on a first date. I was finally allowing myself to be me. And to be happy about it.
When the DVD arrived, I wasn’t disappointed. I worried that I’d built it up in my head to be a wonderful theatrical production. It wasn’t. But I already knew that. It was just what I remembered it to be. And it felt good to remember.
Since that moment, I no longer run from my memories. I change them. I don’t let them haunt me and keep me subdued. I make new memories. This is still my town. This is where I live. Work. Love. And have family and the same friends.
I refuse to let an old memory take that from me.
The movie is no longer associated with that man. It’s associated with my love for New York. The restaurant we used to frequent is no longer associated with him. It’s associated with friends and great conversations and possibilities.
Life isn’t something to keep running away from or locked in a closet. It’s something to be treasured, exhibited, and put on display.
Life is something to be proud of. The weaknesses that let others be strong for us. Even the parts that make us stronger for ourselves.
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!
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Jun 6, 2012 |
June is my Exodus. I’m making it so. Months ago during prayer, I felt God telling me to hold on until June. Things will get better in June.
The last year, the last month have been the proverbial one thing after another and now that it’s June, it’s time to put on a new hat and a new attitude… and get outta Dodge!
Change doesn’t have to be dramatic or traumatic. It can come simply by looking in a different direction. Seeing the shadows dance on the wall instead of hiding in the corner. Watching the leaves blow in the breeze instead of counting the ones already fallen to the ground. Making pies out of mud and reclaiming that childhood wonderment when the world wasn’t any larger than the backyard.
But even with change, some things stay the same. Like the love I have for my family. And the love we have from our Head of Household. Even in these very difficult times, God has been with us, loving us, caring for us, comforting us.
And He will continue to Lead us.
EXODUS
[originally written June 14, 1999]
Stay where you are, here with me
Leave the dirt behind
Don’t you know who I am?
I am the God of your Fathers,
I am the God of You.
I know your troubles, I’ve seen your pain
But your destiny is greater
I am bringing you to a better place
Just put your trust in me
I’ve been with you so far, so far
Will I not stay until the end?
I am the God of your Future
I am the God of You.
I am the Wonderful Everything
I send my angels before
Leave behind what is behind
Look on to me ahead
Don’t you know who you are?
I have chosen you, My people
Let me be the God of you.
I want to be the God of you.
I am the God of you.
You may also be interested in reading Filigree Frosting.
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!
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Feb 28, 2012 |
Remember when we were young and our imaginations let us be anyone, say anything, go anywhere? We held an altruistic view of life. We played Hide-and-Seek. Tag. Used crayons more than pencils. We jumped on the furniture and clung to walls so we wouldn’t get burned by the floor that had become lava in our minds. The only dangers were those we chose to create.
A friend was a friend. We had differences, we disagreed, we even quarreled now and then. But we were still friends. Our families were our safety nets and the place to try out new attitudes before going out in public. (“Seriously, you want to wear that to school today?!”) We knew our community was a safe place. We could walk to the corner market without adults, without being afraid. And we colored the world with rose-colored glasses.
What happened? It seems the world I live in now is full of darkness. People telling me I can’t make up my own mind. That I don’t always know what’s best for me and my family. That I just don’t understand how things should be done.
I don’t like to stir the waters. I don’t want to offend people or ignite fires when there needn’t be any. I respect opinions and others’ rights to think and feel. I like to keep the very important opinions to myself and my family.
Pick a topic, and the variety of responses are as abundant as there are people: Love, Hate, Tolerate, Accept, Disagree…
Politics.
Abortion.
Religion.
Economy.
Food.
Animals.
Love.
Parenting.
Working.
Playing.
Praying.
What I don’t get, is the two main thinking patterns that seem to be infiltrating our media today. The first is, if I disagree with you, I must be wrong. Period. The second is, in order to keep the peace, I must placate everyone. Everyone. Not just a few. Not just the majority. Everyone.
Being “politically correct” seems to mean we just don’t rock the boat. But sometimes the boat needs rocking. Sometimes we’re in stagnant waters and we need to fight our way upstream or get stuck. We’re so busy making sure everyone on the ship is having a good time that we don’t see the rocks we’re heading for.
I don’t mind honoring the rights of others, as long as it doesn’t mean taking away my own rights in order to do so. There’s a permeating sense of selfishness in the world today; a lack of personal responsibility; a lean towards entitlement. People wants what they want, when they want, how they want. And the louder the grumpy ones get, the more noticed they get.
It’s the quiet peacemakers that don’t make the headlines. The ones who we don’t pay attention to, who are really suffering. The outspoken ones, whether right or wrong, are the ones who get the attention.
We can’t trample on the rights of the few, so let’s suffocate our own rights in their place. It hurts someone’s feelings to be that honest, so let’s tell little white lies.
We live in a “One Size Fits All” World Market. The problem with that is, I’m not a world traveler. And I’m pretty sure my clothes aren’t the same as yours.
I think it does a great disservice when I see a trend in children’s sports to “reward” everyone. What are we teaching our children? That there are no real losers. That it’s okay if you don’t try hard enough, you’ll still be praised. Encouragement is fantastic. We all need it. But in order to have real winners, there has to be real losers.
We’re told to learn from our mistakes, to grow, but then we’re told our mistakes don’t really matter. So does it matter if we learn? Or can we just keep on doing the same things over and over, not really changing? Alcoholics Anonymous calls that the definition of insanity. How’s that for politically correct?!
People watch and read the news everyday, and are waiting for someone else to make things better, to come save the day. We’ve forgotten how to be our own Super Hero. Conflicts, falling economics, rising unemployment, hatred, racism, intolerance, attacks. Bloodshed. And some people are using any means possible to manipulate the masses. I see a lot of blame. A lot of scapegoats and excuses and finger-pointing. I don’t see a lot of responsible leadership.
Fear tactics are becoming a favorite of mainstream media. Story after story about how things are going to be. Not might be. Not could be. Are. As if we have no choice.
And we’re being trained like Pavlov’s dogs to just roll over and take it.
No wonder neighborhoods don’t know each other, trust each other. People are out to protect their own. We’re kicking in those survival instincts and taking care of ourselves. And only ourselves.
Community isn’t what it used to be.
But I refuse to believe I can’t make a difference. And I refuse to believe my opinion doesn’t count. Mostly, I refuse to believe that my corner of the world is going to hell in a handbasket because I choose to use common sense over false friendliness.
There are good and bad choices. There are better and worse things in life. There are black and white situations. And in between there is a lot of gray.
I don’t have the answers, but I don’t think any one person or group does. And I don’t think they should. I think we all contribute to the goodness around us. Or at least, I think we can, if we try. If we remember, we’re all in this together. For the good of the community. If we remember, that sometimes, not always, but sometimes, it is about them instead of us.
What goes around, comes around.
I’m gonna try to color my world a little better from now on. Don’t you dare tell me to stay inside the lines!
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!
Feb 3, 2012 |
We’ve all heard it before. You can’t predict your life. Things happen. What you have designed for your life is not what God has designed for your life.
Blah.
Blah.
BLAH.
When I was a child, I lived in Michigan and planned to live in California and become a famous actress. Or a teacher. And I’d write about my dreams.
When I was a teenager, we moved to California and I planned to work at Disneyland. Or marry John Stamos. And I’d write about my dreams.
When I was in my 20’s, I went to college and planned to become an award-winning news journalist. And I’d write about my dreams.
When I was in my 30’s, I was a single mom trying to make ends meet. I planned to marry rich and spend the day being a carefree housewife. Or live in New York. And I’d write about my dreams.
Now I’m in my 40’s.
I thought by now I’d be married. I thought by now I’d be published. I thought by now my name would be known. I thought by now I’d be fairly debt free, fairly financially stable, fairly living where the grass is greener.
Life.
I still live in California.
I’m still a single mom.
I still believe in God.
And I still write. About my dreams. About my memories. And everything in between.
I write.
All the time.
“Life is what happens when you make other plans…”
I always tell people, I was born to write. I have ink instead of blood. I keep my fingernails clipped short to make it easier to type. I always carry a notebook and pen wherever I go. I have my own brand of shorthand, and I know how to write in the dark.
I can be inspired to write a sonnet by looking in a landfill of trash.
When I go to a movie, it has to be a really good one to keep me from being distracted with thoughts of “I could write that better” or “this scene should have been written this way”.
I have yet to make a living with my writing. I don’t have any national awards on my resume yet. People aren’t sending me fan mail. Yet.
But this I know:
I’m not settling for a change of plans.
I was born to write.
And I am really good at what I do.
I’m just waiting for the rest of the world to realize it.
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!
Nov 30, 2011 |
Well it’s been a few weeks. I had to change a few things up around here!
First, if you go to my actual blog (not read this in an email), you’ll see that I changed my background for the season. Happy Holidays!
Second, I started using my new ZipList software for my recipes. I really like the formatting. Of course, I’m brand new at it, so I’m sure after I learn some more tricks and tips, it will become even better. Look for some, if not all, of my recipes to be reformatted and reposted in the month of December.
Thanksgiving’s behind us, but never stop giving thanks. The last week has certainly been out of sync with my love for stability, but I also love surprises… well, good ones anyway.
By the time you read this, I’ll prob’ly be in the middle of a big winter storm. The kind of storm that So Cal doesn’t usually get; and certainly not this early in the season. I’m thankful for the touch of midwest winters that I still miss, thankful for a full pantry, thankful for the warmth of cookies baking in the oven and a log on the fire.
With the not-so-good surprises and life-as-we-know-it moments, I kept thinking about my blogfriend Andrea and her daily posts about seeking peace in the midst of a busy life. I don’t think she knows how much she really inspires me. Lately, when I find myself about to over-react, I’m reminded of her posts and they touch me, sooth me, calm me. God works… even through the blog words of a stranger. [She’ll inspire you, too. Check out her blog, Quiet Mom-ents, here.]
Life is always going to throw us curveballs. What matters is that we take the swing… but only when we’re supposed to. Striking out too early is just as bad as being stranded at the plate.
So my goal for December is to not only embrace change, but actually instigate it. I know. Me. ME. A creature of habit, a lover of stability. I figure what the heck. I only have one life. Why get it stuck in a rut?
So. Bring on the storm. I’m ready… I think…
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!
