Today I went for a walk downtown. I can't paint a picture with words to describe how beautiful it was.
As I strolled down Independence Ave, I noticed this family of kids. Three little kids holding sticks. A girl, about 5 years old, and two boys, maybe 3 and 4. They were swinging their sticks around in the air and the little boy sent his into a trajectory that ended in brute force with his older brother's torso. The stick broke and the older brother diverted his attention to poking his sister. I expected this brother to begin crying or carrying on. Instead, the younger brother cried out, "my stick, no more! it broke!" he was crushed, even though his brother had borne the blow of the attack.
He just carried on and on, I couldn't help but laugh. I just wanted to sit him down and give him a little lecture but i couldn't decide whether i would say, "and that's why we don't hit people with sticks," or "you need to be nice to your brother," or "yeah, that's what we call speaking softly and carrying a big stick."
because i think often in life, i'm like that brother. i do things or say things and expect something to happen, and when the outcome is different that i think it should be, i'm dumbfounded. i think i need to be more flexible. i think i need to not swing tree branches around as if i might conduct and orchestrate the events of my life with a broken stick.
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
nostalgia
Sometimes I am struck by feelings of nostalgia- for seemingly no good reason. Last night I went to cvs to get face wash and a new razor. Somehow I walked out having spent $45.
I bought a box of Whoppers. Not sure why, I don't particularly like them. I just remembered the sensation of sucking the chocolate down to the grainy core and letting it dissolve on my tongue. It reminds me of Grandpa Will. When he lived in Ventura, he always had a carton of whoppers in that side pantry in the kitchen. I remember he would sneak over there, pop the carton open and pour a handful into my outstretched hand. We would eat them quickly, before his terrifying doberman, Missy, could snatch the melting treats from our fingers. Part of what is so funny is that I don't remember ever eating whoppers at any of his other houses, just the Ventura one.
I ended up with shampoo in my cart; though it was a laborious process determining which bottle to buy. I considered the expensive kind that makes my hair smell so good every time the girl at the salon does it. Then I picked up the Dove. Katie used to use that in our McComber Creek apartment. It always smelled so fresh and so clean. Finally I grabbed the Pantene, it was on sale. I popped the lid open to make sure the scent was acceptable. I was suddenly taken back to my apartment in Courthouse, I closed my eyes and remembered riding the metro to work, and walking through the park to my school in Northeast. That dirty old classroom that was so hot and humid, my hair was completely limp and shapeless by the time I arrived at school. Hopefully Pantene will be better to me this time around.
I bought some scar gel to try to erase the damage done to my stomach from the last surgery. Should've used that last time. Reminded me of last time. When my surgeon was a woman, the scars were so much smaller and precise. I don't think the old man who cut me open was quite so concerned that I might care to don a bikini ever again. But, I'm healthy. So I guess it's okay.
I bought some face wash, but I bought the newest product, pink grapefruit. Time to make a new association with a fresh new scent.
So I guess that was what yesterday gave me: the sweet reminder of nostalgic days I've know, and the hope that there is always something new on the horizon. My same old neutrogena face wash, but with a new scent. Things once old, may surprise us with a new aroma. And taking the time to remember the past isn't such a bad thing.
I bought a box of Whoppers. Not sure why, I don't particularly like them. I just remembered the sensation of sucking the chocolate down to the grainy core and letting it dissolve on my tongue. It reminds me of Grandpa Will. When he lived in Ventura, he always had a carton of whoppers in that side pantry in the kitchen. I remember he would sneak over there, pop the carton open and pour a handful into my outstretched hand. We would eat them quickly, before his terrifying doberman, Missy, could snatch the melting treats from our fingers. Part of what is so funny is that I don't remember ever eating whoppers at any of his other houses, just the Ventura one.
I ended up with shampoo in my cart; though it was a laborious process determining which bottle to buy. I considered the expensive kind that makes my hair smell so good every time the girl at the salon does it. Then I picked up the Dove. Katie used to use that in our McComber Creek apartment. It always smelled so fresh and so clean. Finally I grabbed the Pantene, it was on sale. I popped the lid open to make sure the scent was acceptable. I was suddenly taken back to my apartment in Courthouse, I closed my eyes and remembered riding the metro to work, and walking through the park to my school in Northeast. That dirty old classroom that was so hot and humid, my hair was completely limp and shapeless by the time I arrived at school. Hopefully Pantene will be better to me this time around.
I bought some scar gel to try to erase the damage done to my stomach from the last surgery. Should've used that last time. Reminded me of last time. When my surgeon was a woman, the scars were so much smaller and precise. I don't think the old man who cut me open was quite so concerned that I might care to don a bikini ever again. But, I'm healthy. So I guess it's okay.
I bought some face wash, but I bought the newest product, pink grapefruit. Time to make a new association with a fresh new scent.
So I guess that was what yesterday gave me: the sweet reminder of nostalgic days I've know, and the hope that there is always something new on the horizon. My same old neutrogena face wash, but with a new scent. Things once old, may surprise us with a new aroma. And taking the time to remember the past isn't such a bad thing.
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Mountains
The deepest and darkest valleys can only exist in the shadow of the tallest and most jagged of peaks. The mountains, shaped by God's fingertips, carved when his calm breath caused torrents of icy water to carve a path through the landscape. Yes, these mountain offer the most breath taking of views, the most exhilarating inhalations of purity, of beauty. So if one wishes to ascend to the highest of heights, he must also be willing to descend into the depths throughout the journey. Sometimes the crevasses require ropes and pulleys, zip lines, leaps of faith. When the world appears to vanish beneath your feet, those ropes suspend- offering grace, requiring faith. For at times the peaks are too far apart to leap across. And what would a life be if one spent his entire existence on the same hilltop?
Woman
When I was ten we planned a vacation to go to the Olympics in Atlanta in 1996. I dreamed of how grown up I'd be; in high school, able to drive, perhaps even with a boyfriend. That day came and went, I was still a little girl.
I dreamt of college, of independence. I thought of being grown, able to make my way in the world. Perhaps I'd even be beautiful. I walked across the stage, received my diploma, but was still a girl.
I dreamt of my wedding day. When that white dress would finally make me a woman. But even on that day I looked into the mirror and smiled, for I was still just a girl.
I moved across the country, I earned a paycheck, I bought a designer dress, looked in the mirror, and still saw a girl.
Recently a friend called me a woman. I thought about it for a while and tried to see myself as a woman rather than a girl. And I realized that the choice was mine to make- I could chose to live as a girl, sporting my flip flops and clunky bags, or I could chose to be a woman, wearing those flip flops, but standing a little bit taller, perhaps swinging my hips a bit more with the bag slung over a shoulder, and holding my head high. I finally see myself as a woman, no longer a girl.
Choices are mine to make, they don't make me. I'm still learning to live with discerning how to make good ones. But I like being me.
I dreamt of college, of independence. I thought of being grown, able to make my way in the world. Perhaps I'd even be beautiful. I walked across the stage, received my diploma, but was still a girl.
I dreamt of my wedding day. When that white dress would finally make me a woman. But even on that day I looked into the mirror and smiled, for I was still just a girl.
I moved across the country, I earned a paycheck, I bought a designer dress, looked in the mirror, and still saw a girl.
Recently a friend called me a woman. I thought about it for a while and tried to see myself as a woman rather than a girl. And I realized that the choice was mine to make- I could chose to live as a girl, sporting my flip flops and clunky bags, or I could chose to be a woman, wearing those flip flops, but standing a little bit taller, perhaps swinging my hips a bit more with the bag slung over a shoulder, and holding my head high. I finally see myself as a woman, no longer a girl.
Choices are mine to make, they don't make me. I'm still learning to live with discerning how to make good ones. But I like being me.
Hungry
I hadn't eaten in over 24 hours, and still had 24 to go before my surgery- I was hungry. I ran a few errands at the mall, a bottle of water handy to appease my growling insides. I noticed that my sense of smell was especially keen. Outside the library in Shirlington the aromas wafting from the row of eateries were easily distinguishable. At the mall, Sbarro looked incredibly appetizing. The piles of fried and stale foods- disgusting, unhealthy, greasy- they suddenly looked like the most decadenct treat I might every place upon my tongue. Every food stand became nearly irresistible, though on a normal day such food would never tempt me. I realized that starvation lead to a terrible lapse in my judgement and perception. Why do we starve ourselves?
Thursday, August 13, 2009
inspired.
I wrote this earlier in the summer and saved it to drafts:
I haven't felt inspired. I've have nothing to say, nothing to write. It's quiet inside. I wonder if perhaps it's too quiet. Has part of me died, or simply gone into hibernation. Or am I like a caterpillar that grew too fat in the comfort of its larvae state, and is now trapped in a cocoon that only taunts me with wings to fly?
I remembered feeling this quiet when I moved four years ago. Indeed it was different, more expectant perhaps. The knowledge that the phase was temporary, had a specific purpose, and must be endured at all costs. Now I fear I've become paralyzed with not knowing what the next phase of life holds.
I've allowed my assets to become toxic, filled with receipts for tomorrow without record of yesterday or today's exchanges.
Today:
This week Mr. Bernake announced that the economy has show symptoms of growth.
Likewise, I'm feeling a bit more inspired. I want to have a purpose, but not just for the sake of having a purpose. but perhaps that is ultimately selfish. do i want to change the world because it makes me feel good? i don't know, maybe.
And so I guess I look at the indicators, they're promising. And I commit to living today for today. To spending $35 on a pedicure because it makes me feel beautiful, and to saving $5 by eating mac and cheese instead of dinner out. For taking the time to chat with the old guy in starbucks who laughs that i ask to put my own tea bags in the cup, secretly stashing one in my wallet so i can come back the next morning, ask only for a free cup of hot water, and stretch my one cup into two. I hurry through my chores, or neglect them completely to enjoy the beauty of the day outside.
I haven't felt inspired. I've have nothing to say, nothing to write. It's quiet inside. I wonder if perhaps it's too quiet. Has part of me died, or simply gone into hibernation. Or am I like a caterpillar that grew too fat in the comfort of its larvae state, and is now trapped in a cocoon that only taunts me with wings to fly?
I remembered feeling this quiet when I moved four years ago. Indeed it was different, more expectant perhaps. The knowledge that the phase was temporary, had a specific purpose, and must be endured at all costs. Now I fear I've become paralyzed with not knowing what the next phase of life holds.
I've allowed my assets to become toxic, filled with receipts for tomorrow without record of yesterday or today's exchanges.
Today:
This week Mr. Bernake announced that the economy has show symptoms of growth.
Likewise, I'm feeling a bit more inspired. I want to have a purpose, but not just for the sake of having a purpose. but perhaps that is ultimately selfish. do i want to change the world because it makes me feel good? i don't know, maybe.
And so I guess I look at the indicators, they're promising. And I commit to living today for today. To spending $35 on a pedicure because it makes me feel beautiful, and to saving $5 by eating mac and cheese instead of dinner out. For taking the time to chat with the old guy in starbucks who laughs that i ask to put my own tea bags in the cup, secretly stashing one in my wallet so i can come back the next morning, ask only for a free cup of hot water, and stretch my one cup into two. I hurry through my chores, or neglect them completely to enjoy the beauty of the day outside.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Hours
Do you ever wish days were longer? Not so much the hours between 8:00 and 5:00 on Monday through Friday; twelve and thirteen year olds have the ability to make minutes feel like hours. But the ones on the weekends. I would love to push the pause button sometimes, or maybe just slow motion. Those hours spent with friends seem to fly by so much faster than the ones when I'm stuck in a meeting or grading papers. It's when I'm enjoying life the most that it goes so fast. How's that for fractals?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
