Love is Love

Why am I so fascinated with romantic books and movies set in another time period?

It arouses my curiosity to another time and place, but what I always come back to the is idea that love is love.

No matter the time, the place, the characters or the setting.

Love is constant.

Unrequited love. Passionate love. Romantic love.

Love is love.

Fear of the Playground

I had two horrible playground accidents as a child. I am not sure how old I was when the first one happened, but I think I was maybe 5 or 6 years old. My family was visiting my mom's cousins and all the kids walked to the local school playground for the afternoon. There was one of the old-fashioned, really tall slides made completely of metal. I remember climbing really, really slow up the ladder portion of the slide. When I got to the top of the slide, I remember just standing there thinking about being up so high. I wasn't afraid of the height, I just remember feeling emptiness and space around me.

And I remember falling. Falling, backwards towards the ground. Not sure what happened when I stood at the top of the slide, maybe I closed my eyes to feel the wind on my face, I don't know. I still remember the feeling of falling, and how the air rushed around me, and I felt breathless. I don't remember hitting the ground.

Apparently, I passed out when I landed. The children in the group walked me back to my great-aunt's house, and I played inside the rest of the day.

The second accident occurred when I was about ten years old. On the school playground, during recess, I was sitting on the parallel bars when I lost balance and hit the back of my head, just above the nape of my neck on the other parallel bar. I don't remember the actual accident, but I do remember the pain. I was taken to a hospital and observed for a concussion. I distinctly remember reaching around to touch the back of my head and it felt, the best, but yet the grossest way to describe it, spongy. Apparently, it was filled with blood. Even today when I touch the back of my head, I can imagine the pain I felt as a fourth grader.

So how did my two playground accidents affect me as an adult?

I have very few vivid memories of my childhood and I suspect it is partially as a result of these two accidents. I can look at pictures and my sister will tell me stories of our childhood, but I can't honestly say I remember the actual event.

The other impact it had is my fear of my children getting injured on playground equipment. Although they are all older now, when they were younger, it was very hard for me to watch them play at the playground. There was a park we use to go to once a year up north that still had an old, large metal slide and I still remember Madeline climbing up the ladder, and how I felt dizzy watching her.

But I kept my fear inside, because I do remember how fun it was to slide towards the ground on the shiny metal. To let them enjoy the fun of slides, swings and monkey bars, and not to let my fears spoil their fun, Ben willingly took them to the playground.

I Love Andy Warhol

A year ago, our family took a trip to Indianapolis to see a Titanic exhibit at the Indiana State Museum. And although the exhibit was touching, I was so excited when we visited the Indiana Museum of Art, and the staff was preparing for the Andy Warhol exhibit opening the next day.

Although everyone in the family did not want to see the exhibit, I convinced enough members of the family, to stay an extra day so we could go.

You see, I love Andy Warhol.

His art. His quotes. His hair. He was a master at marketing his art.

Not that I would surround myself with the art of his world, I just appreciate it. I don't think I stopped smiling throughout the entire exhibit. I think I was just in awe to be near his work.

I think some people are surprised that I do love Andy Warhol because his work is so extreme compared to my taste. But how can you not smile when you are standing in front of a silk-screened Marilyn Monroe?

Yes, I love Andy Warhol.

Did She Have Passion?

"You know the Greeks didn't write obituaries. They only asked one question after a man died. Did he have passion?"

- Jeremy Piven, in the movie, Serendipity

Passion. Does everyone have it? Or, do some spend their entire life trying to find it? Or, is even more likely that we go through phases in life, and our passions fluctuate with the years?

I think most people, if asked, will adamantly say they have passion. Some may define it in their passion for their career they have chosen in life. For another, it is the children they have brought into the world, or their family life. For someone else, it may be their talents.

So going seriously against the mainstream, at a risk of shocking the conformists of the world, I am prepared to share what could be perceived as a negative opinion.

I can honestly say, deep breath here, at this stage in my life, I don't really know anymore what my passion, in the sense of personal passion, really is. Would I be considered a unpassionate person? I don't think so. Just honest.

You see, maybe I don't think of just one thing as my passion. I would like to think I am passionate about everything I do. I often tell family and friends that I can't multitask since I like to give 100% to what I am doing at at given time.

Maybe your passion can only be defined after death. Someone else will look back at my life, and they will define what I was passionate about. They get to pick.

I like that idea.

The Smell of Fall

Although people who live in Michigan have a tendency to complain about the weather all the time, I for one, appreciate the changes of the seasons. The autumn months are beautiful with the changing color of the trees, and considering my olfactory senses are strong, the smell of the air. Although there are still many green trees, some are already starting to drop their leaves. The leaves on the ground just adds to the sensory experience of being outside, and the crunching sound reminds us that Fall is here.

Temperatures are a bit unpredictable, as for the last few days the thermometer is reading close to 80 degrees. The end of this week is suppose to be in the low 60s. Sunrises and sunsets are phenomenal - and the moon at night and in the early morning hours is beautiful. This morning when I was taking the boys to school, we walked out to the driveway, and the sky was clear. The stars were bright and I pointed out to Benjamin the belt of Orion over our roof top.

Although I sympathize with the people who only like the summer in Michigan, I choose to embrace the change, maybe because I love the smell of Fall.

Growing Pains

It is always so exciting to me to hear my children's point of view. Having three teenagers at different stages in life, gives me the unique opportunity to share their exposure to different forms of literature, opinions, movies, current events and politics.

My daughter took center stage at the dinner table today, sharing her thoughts on Martin Luther, history of the Catholic Church and leadership, along with her opinions of President Obama.

My middle son shared his reading of the short story "The Lottery" by Shirley Jackson, the symbolism in the story along with his opinion of teaching of health at school.

My youngest son was quiet at the table this evening. I was standing in the kitchen yesterday morning and when he walked by I noticed a change in his height. Could he already be almost as tall as I?

Every birthday, the height of each child is recorded on a board and they sign their name next to their height. Yesterday, when we measured his height, I realized he has grown close to two inches in three months.

I guess when your body is busy growing, you don't have the extra energy to share your thoughts. Or maybe, his sister's chattering was non-stop at the table and he couldn't get a word in. Either way, I missed hearing about his day.

He Loved Me More Than Food

I have always loved animals. Growing up, it seemed like there was always a furry friend living in our house, so it seemed natural when I was older to have pets. My first dog was a Golden Retriever who I promptly named Clifford, after one of my favorite children's books, Clifford the Big Red Dog. He was a college graduation gift from my husband, Ben, and I was faced with the responsibility of taking care of a new puppy. He was the biggest puppy in the litter and was a deep, dark red. When he was older, many of times people would ask if he was an Irish Setter.

Little did I know the responsibility I would be faced with! Ben and I worked with him taking him to puppy classes to socialize him, always trying to do the right thing so we would have a well-behaved dog.

After having Clifford for a year, we went to the local anti-cruelly society to drop off some donations. Since I wear my heart on my sleeve, I decided to wait in the car. Within minutes, Ben returned and informed me that he couldn't resist the temptation of looking at the adoptable dogs. He told me about a light-color golden retriever named Buster, who was being fed hot dogs since it would be his last day before he would be euthanized, due to lack of space at the shelter. Of course, we headed back in and promptly adopted the affectionate dog, who we renamed Biscuit.

Sadly, Clifford developed kidney disease around the time he turned three. Our veterinarian tried for a few weeks to save him, but the most humane thing to do would be to end his short life. I was sad to let him go, and returning home to see Biscuit without his companion in tow, was difficult, but I knew it was for the best.

Biscuit was a wonderful dog to have with three small children. I still remember when my youngest was teething and decided to climb upon Biscuit who was sleeping and chew on his ear. As I turned around and saw what was happening, I was fearful Biscuit might snap at my small toddler. Biscuit looked at me with his big brown eyes, whimpered a small sound and didn't move. He was the most gentle dog I have ever seen.

Of course, it was heartbreaking to see him age. I would help him up the stairs when he could no longer walk, and spent many nights sleeping on the living room floor by his side. Eventually, I was faced with the decision of ending his life humanely.

About a year after Biscuit died, even in a house surrounded by three children, I was lonely for a dog. I searched for a new puppy to join our family and I applied to a Golden Retriever rescue society and because of my experience with Goldens, I was fortunate to be moved to the top of the list to adopt a puppy. Although we had to drive to the other side of the state, with three small children, we all immediately fell in love with the last puppy remaining. Of course, like my first dog, this dog was the largest in the litter and his foster family named him Fatty.

I always liked the name Carson, after the author Carson McCullers, and since I wasn't brave enough to give the name to one of my children, bestowed the name upon our new puppy.

Carson was such a sweet dog. As he aged, he mellowed out like all Golden Retrievers do, and spent many hours curled up in a chair in my foyer. Once I proclaimed that Carson loved me more than food. Of course, my husband put it to the test and my friend, Carson, didn't let me down. He turned to me and did what I loved about him.

He hugged me.

He would push himself as close as he could to me, and look up at me with his knowing eyes. Yes, Carson loved me more than food.

I could sense his time with me was getting shorter over the past year. The look in his eyes changed and once he was diagnosed with bone cancer, I knew the time we had together would soon end. Although I loved my first dog, Clifford, and his companion,Biscuit, Carson was the most special dog to me.

As I was by his side at the end of his life, I whispered to him that we would see each other again. He looked up at me with his amber eyes, and I believe he understood. At that point I knew, Carson would hug me again someday.