I think I’ve mentioned that I used to sing to my sons each night after stories and before bed (and before they would start goofing around with each other, climbing up and down the bunk bed, “Mommy, he won’t stay in his bed”, “Tell him to be quiet”, “Mommy? Mommy? MOOOOOOOOM!!!”). They typically picked ‘When You Wish Upon A Star’ or ‘Somewhere Over The Rainbow’. I dreamed about this last night. Their bedroom was decorated in a way that I wish I could have afforded, the lighting was different than the reality. But those boys? They looked as magical as little boys do, smelled of Johnson & Johnson shampoo, and were fetching in their He-Man pajamas. I woke up with a wet pillow that I was holding so tightly I didn’t recognize at first what it was. But I’m very glad it wasn’t a kid – I would’ve smothered him (or awoke to some serious screaming).
When Aaron and Theresa married last year, he and I met on the dance floor for ‘our’ dance. And he whispered in my ear, “Mom, I’m gonna get you”…He did, he does, he always will..
I posted this on my Facebook page and shared it with my friend Rhonda, who loved it as much as I did. I know I’m a little nuts posting all this music, and one of these days I may surprise you by forgetting how to do it for a while. But it’s a rainy, cool Monday afternoon – an afternoon for the blues. Friends – meet Koko London…
A lesson for today – at least for me. I am guilty certainly of being foolish, feeling more than is good for me (sometimes I see the world only in primary colors, which can give you a migraine after a while), suffering my losses and not acknowledging my wins. There are days when I cry over nothing, my emotional strength sapped and my ability to get out of my way completely ineffective.
Conversely, when I am wrapped in joy – as one would be a really fabulous terry cloth robe – I don’t think about it as something to cherish, to protect or celebrate. I delight in the moment, and do little to protect it from the harsher judgments that may later follow. My friend Lori calls it the little green monster that jumps up and down on her shoulder, whispering the words of self-doubt and harsh judgments that can force us into a box we don’t want to enter. I love her visual – and imagine that mine is more like a hyperactive Captain Hook (parrot included). Regardless – they do the same damage – not just to your shoulder, but to your psyche.
What saves us from ourselves? The delicious reality that we are – all of us – silly, frightened, impulsive sometimes and thoughtful other times, heroic in our hopes and dreams and timid when taking our first steps in a new direction. We break – our exteriors not necessarily reflecting all the cracks that we have re-glued and secured with sufficient emotional scar tissue.
As I have written about protecting the child within us, so too must we tip our hat to the wondrous fool that should not be silenced, or diminished or devalued by our ever-present voice of ‘should have, didn’t, and can’t’. Would we react to our days differently if we cherished the fool with the same reverence with which we listen to our Capt. Hook? If we remembered that both sides of who we are are of equal value and worth?
Lucky for me, this song came up on my iPod at the gym this morning. Typically, the music I listen to while working out is not this mellow, so I’m convinced that this was not serendipity – I needed to hear it. There is little that moves me like music – and those who know me recognize that this has been my ‘go to’ since I was a child. It can drive my mood, steer my thoughts, set my course for the day (far better than any GPS).
In my office at the firm, there was always something playing in the background. People would come in just to hear what genre was moving my moments. And there is really nothing I don’t like, which makes picking favorites difficult – although I do have certain people and bands that get a heavier rotation than others.
Something about the words to this song, the visual of hanging out at the ‘gratitude cafe’…hearing angels sing a chorus that’s just exuberant. My only wish is that I posted this earlier this morning, with the hope that you heard this as part of your day’s beginning. That it made you feel good. My plan? To make sure I make this day mine. Let me know what you think…
I watched this video this morning, and began to wonder what I would say to my twelve-year-old self. My first thoughts were “the bullying will stop”, “you’ll get better looking”, “you’ll never use advanced math so don’t worry about it”…I think I would also advise myself that some things will also get worse, hurts change, though they hurt just as much. Perhaps I would be philosophical and suggest that time is going to accelerate at some point, that no season is really as long as it seems. I wonder if I would think I was just another obnoxious twelve-year-old, self-righteous and theatrical. I don’t think I would have sought much advice, for I always felt like I was getting too much of it anyway.
The truth of the matter is, I talk to the kid inside me all the time. It’s where certain adult wounds cut deepest, for there don’t seem to be the right kind of band-aids, where my greatest feelings of inadequacy are under-protected despite my years of learning how to hide them. I am certain I wasn’t as prescient as this guy was as a twelve-year-old boy, to even think of making a video before videos were ubiquitous.
So I pose the question to you – if you had the chance to talk to your twelve-year-old self – is there anything you would want to say?
If this doesn’t begin your day with a smile, some serious toe tapping, and maybe even a twirl or two (put down your coffee first) – then nothing will. Here’s to those who make joy so easy…
I have FINALLY figured out how to download a video – yes, I am stereotypically blond, technologically infirm, and unforgivably late in coming to the table. Yet there is no better way to start this new element of my adventure by sharing this with you. It’s why we’re here..
How silently gorgeous! The sun is hinting of the days ahead, the streetlights are tiring of their nightly vigil. Thank you Anake Goodall for another magnificent photo!
The sun is going to rise in a little while, and rather than inviting us outside, will be daring us to see how long we can remain in her company. We will see each other in brief spurts today, for I do better with relationships when the intensity knob is not always set on ‘high’. Lately she’s been giving me a lot of heat, taking my sweat and blistering my flowers. I think that gorgeous orb has a bone to pick with us and she’s making sure we know it.
For those of you who are spending your Saturdays with this uncensored communique from the sun, I hope your day includes cool air, wonderful music, maybe a good read and a nap, laughter and love..always love.
Yesterday I did a really stupid thing (I do stupid things on a fairly frequent basis) – I looked at my blog stats. It was interesting to me that I have more followers than I ever thought I’d have, more ‘likes’, more comments, etc…And yet, the number of people who check out the blog on a daily basis has gone down since the crazy days of May and early June. It bothered me – albeit briefly. I realized that the select group of people who really do visit, are those who have become incredibly important to me. People who I look forward to reading and hearing from. I anxiously await their perspectives, smile when I see their name in my inbox and welcome them with invisible hugs which are so strong, I wouldn’t be surprised if on occasion, you felt it – wherever you are. So damn the numbers – I have some inspiring, smart, funny, humble, insecure, confident, fretful, contented, beautiful friends (even those who would argue the last point with me – you should know by now, not to do that).
And so it was ironic and timely, that my buddy Rhonda – the glorious writer of HelpMeRhonda.com accorded me with this Reader Appreciation award. Rhonda’s writing is a sensory treat – for it is more than the written word that is eloquently placed. She informs her work with passion and zeal, her pictures burst with color, her laughter audible even though we are states and states removed from each other. When you laugh with Rhonda, you laugh with your belly, and should she be having a day with tears, I find them streaming down my cheeks as well. She knows me well – and prefaced this award with a quick message which acknowledged that she wasn’t going to call on me for one of these awards, but…
So I want to thank my friend Rhonda – for the generous praise which I don’t deserve, but will work to earn – but more importantly for her exquisite timing. I’ve become part of a small, close, transparent community – though all that I can see of it is with my heart.
I’ve got a question for you – well really, it’s a quote from Satchel Paige:
“How old would you be if you didn’t know how old you were?”
Peter Chang – self portrait (Photo credit: chaos80129)
My own personal answer is neither firm nor absolute. Initially, I thought the age I am now. I am freer, wiser, less frantic, more accepting. I don’t drive myself crazy believing that a work legacy is anything other than illusory and fleeting. I have time for friends – old friends that I thought I would never see again and new friends that I never thought I would find at this stage in my life. I’m smarter – or at least I think I am. I hold onto things for far less time, and leave the perseverating to people who enjoy it more than I do. The ghosts from my past don’t jump as high on the bed anymore. They’ve gotten smaller, or I’ve gotten braver. I am still ridiculously immature, do silly better than I do serious and have no intention of growing up. I figure this intractability is ultimately a good thing – it worked for Peter Pan.
I didn’t like being a little kid, though I would give an awful lot to be horseback riding with my dad again. I did a lot in my twenties – the best parts of it were giving birth to my sons – the rest of the decade was pretty much a disaster. I definitely looked a lot better then. I was fallow for most of my thirties, hiding behind my little boys while I nursed some of my open wounds. But my sister got sick then and the mere thought of those days fills me with dread and fear (and a little nausea). I can’t go back there, ’cause I need her here.
By the time Andy and I got together, I was closer to my forties. Andy made me less afraid of grown-up love. I inherited a sister and brother-in-law I love deeply and wonderful parents-in-law. I loved my forties – though my children became teenagers, needing to separate and return, a dance with no rhythm and what felt like no end. I got sick in my forties. Still looked pretty damn good – or so I’ve been told. My dad’s decline was steeper, my mom’s anxiety heightened. Yes, I was rocking the professional arena – and somehow that has become a footnote.
So I’m here – and I suppose this is where I would want to be – with a few caveats. I wouldn’t mind losing the chronic pain for a few days, and sometimes wonder what will be in the future if my body is acting like such a renegade now. There used to be an ad on tv with the tag line – “when I grow up I want to be an old woman”. It was a good ad – lots of old women dancing around, doing lots of crazy and silly stuff – I imagine myself that way in years to come (hell, I do some of that now). I’m determined to sparkle. Life deserves some sequins and a feather boa. I don’t like the implications – that more is behind me than ahead. Other than that, I’ll take it, and don’t intend to go quietly into any good night. I’m too lousy a sleeper.
Waiting for the Karma Truck 