Creative Imagination=Lifetime Scar

Part of my journey has been taking the time to reflect on my childhood. For some reason, I am finding it to be an important part of the puzzle. As I mentioned before, I remember only bits and pieces of it. Some of the memories I do have I think are really either my sister's or my parent's memories of a particular event from their point of view that they have shared with me. Therefore, it is hard to distinguish their memories from my actual memories.

For me, I seem to mostly remember the traumatic memories.

Until I was in fourth grade, my parents moved multiple times. I vaguely remember a house they rented having a very large fenced-in yard. I think this house was before we moved to Pennsylvania, so I must have been younger than three years old.

What I remember was it was warm day and I was playing in the yard. I suppose you could say I had a creative imagination. I was pretending our large dog was my pony.

After trying to climb on the dog multiple times with no success, I had a brainstorm of an idea. I could walk the dog, over to the folding lawn chair, hold him steady while I climbed onto the lawn chair, and easily saddle my pony. Seemed like a great plan.

Things sometimes never work as planned when you are three. I remember convincing the dog to come near the chair. I remember climbing onto the chair. I remember the chair closing as I tried to climb on my pony. I remember the dog moving. I remember falling.

And then I remember tasting blood and crying. I remember getting the stitches.

Today when the light hits the area between my lower lip and chin, I see the scar from the stitches where I bit through the skin when I fell.

The scar reminds me it is not a good idea to stand on a lawn chair to try and climb on the dog’s back. However, even with the scar, I still think it was a good idea to pretend he was a pony.

11:11

Years ago, one of Madeline's friends was with us for a weekend trip. The young girl was very quiet, and almost whispered when she spoke. Imagine my surprise when she yelled out "11:11!" We all looked at her, she smiled and sheepishly explained the concept of 11:11.

She told us we needed to make sure our feet were not touching the ground, and as long as the clock said 11:11 you could make as many wishes as you want until the clock changes to 11:12.

Wow. As many wishes as I want just for keeping my feet off the ground for one minute? Sure seems like a deal to me considering I only get one wish while blowing out birthday candles. I'm in!

Whenever the clock says 11:11, my usually bare feet leave the ground, I smile and start wishing.

Happy 11-1-11. (Gosh, I can't wait for 11-11-11!)

His Stories Are Timeless

I was so pleased when my youngest son, Benjamin, came home from school today, reciting the opening lines to The Raven. I turned and said to him, "Hey, that is The Raven!"

He told me they read two "interesting" (his choice of words) stories in school today by Edgar Allen Poe. I asked what the other one was.

He said he couldn't remember the name of the other story, but "It was really creepy. It had to do with this guy and how he didn't like another guy's eye, so he killed him. But he kept hearing his heart beat even after he killed him and I think he went crazy."

I said, "That story is The Tell-Tale Heart. What did you think?"

He looked at me with those big blue eyes, and said, "It was creepy!"

I think Poe would be please to know, 162 years after his death, a twelve year old boy thinks his stories are creepy. Talk about timeless.

Happy Halloween!

Afraid of the Dark

With Halloween upon us, it is time for me to reveal my fears. I am afraid of noises in the middle of the night. As an adult, I avoid reading scary books or watching horror movies. And you know what really scares me? Top two fears. Being trapped in the dark and haunted houses.

When I was growing up, I don't remember not being afraid of the dark. When I was about four years old, my family lived in Pennsylvania. It was a coal mining town, Pittson, and the streets were very hilly. We lived in an apartment above a building on the main street. The main floor was a store front, and it was mentioned a few years ago that my parents intended on opening a day care center, but never did. I do remember the basement of the building. The basement was dug out, the walls were actually black coal, cold to the touch and it was very dark. I would never go down there by myself.

My mom's brothers came to visit and the grown-ups decided to play a prank on an unsuspecting uncle of mine. He was the youngest brother in the family, who was closer in age to my sister than his siblings, so I think he was around eight years old.

Somehow, the grown-ups convinced us we needed to go down in the basement. With my young uncle in the lead, we descended the stairs into the dark, chilly basement. I remember being so scared, and huddled with my young uncle and sister as we went down the stairs. When we reached the bottom of the staircase, out stepped a person, flashed a light and revealed a skeleton face.

We all screamed, and stumbled over each other to climb the staircase. I was so scared, fell, and we all tumbled over each other. I remember the pounding of my heart, and the fear I would never leave the dark basement, and I would have to stay with the skeleton.

In all fairness to my parents, to this day they attest they warned my sister and I about what was going to happen. I don't doubt that they did, but maybe my four year old brain was too young to handle the concept. Maybe this was the first time I was ever scared.

Later in life, when I was about eight years old, my dad convinced me to go in a haunted house with him. Not sure why I ever agreed to go inside since haunted houses are traditionally dark, and everyone knew I was afraid of the dark.

I remember clinging to my dad. He walked in front of me, I held tight onto his back and buried my head in his jacket. I knew I would be okay since my dad would take care of me, but I was really scared. My face stayed buried until we walked into the last room. It was dark and lightening flashed. There were skeletons hanging down from the ceiling and you had to walk though them to get to the door.

My dad kept assuring me it would be okay, and I am sure by this time he fully regretted encouraging me to go through the haunted house with him. As we worked our way across the room, the people in front of us closed the exit door. The room was dark and then the lightening flashed. I remember my dad's voice, with a hint of panic, asking aloud to anyone who would listen, "How do we get out?"

His voice became angry as he reached the wall and started searching for the door. I clung onto his jacket with my heart beating. The door eventually opened, but the damage was done. Now, not only was I afraid of the dark, but haunted houses were also added to my list of fears.

Entwined into A Beautiful Melody

“Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door —
Only this, and nothing more."

-The Raven by Edgar Allen Poe

Oh, how I love Edgar Allen Poe! I love the way he takes words, and entwines them into a beautiful melody when you read them aloud. And when you think about it, it is some pretty scary stuff!

Color Outside the Lines

"To live a creative life, we must lose our fear of being wrong.”

-Joseph Chilton Pearce

I was very fortunate to be raised by a woman who let me color outside the lines.

She raised her daughters singing and playing the guitar to us, and always made the time to read aloud. She has a beautiful range to her voice. Her artistic talents and tastes are different than my own, but she always praises and complements every thing I do.

I remember once my daughter was coloring a coloring book picture at my father-in-law's house. As he watched her, he kept pointing out that she needed to color inside the lines. Unable to bite my lip any longer, I smiled and gently told my daughter "It is okay to color outside the lines."

I learned that from my mom.

Alliance with Patience

I continue on my journey.

I see my life as a series of paths, and I am faced with many choices. When I speak of this journey, it is not as if I am ignoring my family and friends, but it is more of a journey within myself. A journey for me to determine who I am, who I want to be and who I will be remembered as.

What I have learned, thus far, is it isn't going to be easy, and my journey would be better served by entering into an alliance with patience.

I now need to find the path where patience resides.