"No longer forward nor behind,
I look in hope or fear;
But grateful take the good I find,
The best of now and here."
-John Greenleaf Whittier
Sunday, November 6, 2011
Saturday, November 5, 2011
My Best Friend
Today is my best friend’s birthday.
I met Rochelle almost twenty years ago when I interviewed her for a position at Wayne State University. She was late for the interview because of the weather, but I was working late anyways, and told her it was fine.
Little did I know on that day, her career would begin at the university and I would for the first time in my life, have a best friend.
I had been married less than a year, with no children. She had been married for a while and it turns out was pregnant with her first child. I eventually would leave the department we both worked in and take a position in another building, but we would often meet for lunch. A year later, fate would have it I took a position down the hall from her office. Almost every morning we would meet in my office to eat breakfast together and visit.
She eventually left the university, we both added to our families and we stayed in touch. There were a few years when we did not talk as much as we both would have liked, but I knew if I ever needed anything, she was a phone call away.
As our children grew, they developed a cousin relationship with each other and our families have shared vacations, weekends and birthdays together. She and I have shared many laughs and just as in any great friendship, we have shared our sorrows also.
We laugh because we are different, yet our strengths and weaknesses complement each other. She teases me about my glue, crayon and glitter obsessions, but I know she will keep the promise to sprinkle glitter all over my coffin and grave site if I should die first. The other day, she had me laughing so hard when we were talking about cleaning out my closet, and she looked at me and said “You have a completely different relationship with your clothes than I do.”
She shares with me the books she is reading for her book club, knowing me well enough to know if I would like a particular book, or not. She was patient enough, with Ben’s help, to teach me how to play Euchre. We talk about our children and families, along with the joy and tribulations that come with being a daughter, wife and mom. My children love her as an aunt, and have many wonderful memories of the times they have shared with her.
Although we live much closer to each other now, then when our friendship first began, we still both not so secretly wish we were next door neighbors. A thirty-five minute drive is not that far, but when you need to see your best friend, it may as well be five hours away. We talk about when we are older, we will go to each other's house and sit on the porch. We will talk about all the fun we have had together, and look back on our friendship and smile. Of course, the houses will be right next door to each other.
To my best friend in the world, I wish you the happiest of birthdays! I am so blessed to have you in my life. You are the bestest, and always will be. I love you.
I met Rochelle almost twenty years ago when I interviewed her for a position at Wayne State University. She was late for the interview because of the weather, but I was working late anyways, and told her it was fine.
Little did I know on that day, her career would begin at the university and I would for the first time in my life, have a best friend.
I had been married less than a year, with no children. She had been married for a while and it turns out was pregnant with her first child. I eventually would leave the department we both worked in and take a position in another building, but we would often meet for lunch. A year later, fate would have it I took a position down the hall from her office. Almost every morning we would meet in my office to eat breakfast together and visit.
She eventually left the university, we both added to our families and we stayed in touch. There were a few years when we did not talk as much as we both would have liked, but I knew if I ever needed anything, she was a phone call away.
As our children grew, they developed a cousin relationship with each other and our families have shared vacations, weekends and birthdays together. She and I have shared many laughs and just as in any great friendship, we have shared our sorrows also.
We laugh because we are different, yet our strengths and weaknesses complement each other. She teases me about my glue, crayon and glitter obsessions, but I know she will keep the promise to sprinkle glitter all over my coffin and grave site if I should die first. The other day, she had me laughing so hard when we were talking about cleaning out my closet, and she looked at me and said “You have a completely different relationship with your clothes than I do.”
She shares with me the books she is reading for her book club, knowing me well enough to know if I would like a particular book, or not. She was patient enough, with Ben’s help, to teach me how to play Euchre. We talk about our children and families, along with the joy and tribulations that come with being a daughter, wife and mom. My children love her as an aunt, and have many wonderful memories of the times they have shared with her.
Although we live much closer to each other now, then when our friendship first began, we still both not so secretly wish we were next door neighbors. A thirty-five minute drive is not that far, but when you need to see your best friend, it may as well be five hours away. We talk about when we are older, we will go to each other's house and sit on the porch. We will talk about all the fun we have had together, and look back on our friendship and smile. Of course, the houses will be right next door to each other.
To my best friend in the world, I wish you the happiest of birthdays! I am so blessed to have you in my life. You are the bestest, and always will be. I love you.
Friday, November 4, 2011
Sleep
I think tonight is one of those nights where I just need a good night sleep to clear my head. I have suffered from insomnia on and off for at least the past ten years. It hasn't been so bad lately, but I am always fearful it will return.
Thursday, November 3, 2011
Forever Friends
"Pooh, promise you won't forget about me, ever. Not even when I'm a hundred."
Pooh thought for a little.
"How old shall I be then?"
"Ninety-nine."
Pooh nodded.
"I promise," he said.
Pooh thought for a little.
"How old shall I be then?"
"Ninety-nine."
Pooh nodded.
"I promise," he said.
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
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.
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.
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
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!)
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!)
Monday, October 31, 2011
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!
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!
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