More than perhaps any other time in my life, this summer is a time of change for me. I won't go into details--sufficed to say I'm on the move--but it has gotten me thinking about that age-old adage, the more things change, the more they stay the same.
Which is why I am announcing a new sister blog to this 1, focused specifically on getting back to 1 of the things I love, talking about books. Nerdy? Sure. But I think it'll breathe new energy into this whole blogging thing for me & hopefully LB, who I haven't told about any of this quite yet (sorry LB).
Anyway, this sister blog "Turning Pages--Off the Shelf" will be pretty much what it sounds like, musings on the latest reads, from me & if she's willing LB. I'm also hoping to include a reading wishlist, & would love to in the future include reader recommends.
But never fear, my goal is to continue this blog with random ramblings while I have more time, & to really try & pick up some steam on here again.
Anyway, the link to the new blog will be available on this blog as soon as it's up & running. Gotta go tell LB what I've done now.
Later,
~AC
Showing posts with label change. Show all posts
Showing posts with label change. Show all posts
Roots
I miss Sunday mornings at breakfast, the same five restaurants, the same five dishes. I miss Wednesday afternoons, coffee perking as Mama, Amz and I sit on the porch and discuss the day, the coming and goings. I miss Thursday nights, watching the latest Swamp People while we eat the blizzard of the month, or the tried and true brownie and ice cream.
I miss the cold, snowy days where chili or vegetable soup were often. I miss making hot chocolate--my own experimented recipe--for my sister and I. I miss the winter days when rain would fall and the snow would melt, if only for a little while.
Spring days too, I'll long for. The days where we'd wait not-so-patiently for the first thaw to bring up the irises and daffodils. For the warm day when we could finally till up the soil. For Chet, lovable Chet, to run headlong down the fenceline, shaking his winter coat.
For summer barbeques, for Dale Hollow and the jet skis. For my niece riding her bike, without training wheels. For weeding and mowing, for the dinner picked up after at the Frosty Boy's.
For fall harvest, and the many, many days of canning, canning, freezing, and pickling. For failed sauerkraut. I miss the smell of cinnamon and freshly-made apple butter. I miss orchard trips and the cornfields.
I missed things I never got to see, I'll never get to see: Manny, the nephew, learning to walk, birthday parties, my niece Jazzy shooting her first gun. Card parties and camping trips. The many, many, many games of Yahtzee with cookies and coffee after work.
I've traded them in for a chance to find my place. My family, my home, things that can never be replaced. Closeness to all I've known and loved.
I've traded them for Christmas eves wearing matching pajamas at the boyfriend's parents' house. For Saturday evenings in the balcony at Seven Dolors, singing with John and his parents at mass. For vicious games of Monopoly with his parents.
I've traded them for Monday night bar shifts with my favorite regulars. For dinners with Kenny and Annette--family friends whom I've known since I was a child.
For independence.
For roots.
Funny thing is, the thing I'm finding out is that I had them all along.
I am my mother's stubborn, hard-headed daughter. The girl who's finding her way. My father's child, a woman with habits that mirror his own. The one who has searched so long to find whatever was missing, and to find it when she wasn't expecting to.
I've been gone over six months now, and I'm still not sure how I feel about that. I love Minnesota, I do, but looking at all I've missed--it strikes a chord deep within. In Indy, I had family. They may not always be there, but they stood up for you when it counted. Here, I've found out that family isn't always that. The family you thought you knew and could trust can still stab you in the back. And the ones you wouldn't expect to have your back, do. In John's family I've found one like my own--something I am forever blessed for. And in mine, I've found that perhaps I trust too easily.
Therefore, I'm going back to my roots. All I've learned in my twenty-three years of life will help me now. To stand up for myself.. All my father's conviction, my mother's determination. Add to my sister's stubbornness and sass. These are my weapons, my family is my shield, and I am ready to jump to the next step.
I miss the cold, snowy days where chili or vegetable soup were often. I miss making hot chocolate--my own experimented recipe--for my sister and I. I miss the winter days when rain would fall and the snow would melt, if only for a little while.
Spring days too, I'll long for. The days where we'd wait not-so-patiently for the first thaw to bring up the irises and daffodils. For the warm day when we could finally till up the soil. For Chet, lovable Chet, to run headlong down the fenceline, shaking his winter coat.
For summer barbeques, for Dale Hollow and the jet skis. For my niece riding her bike, without training wheels. For weeding and mowing, for the dinner picked up after at the Frosty Boy's.
For fall harvest, and the many, many days of canning, canning, freezing, and pickling. For failed sauerkraut. I miss the smell of cinnamon and freshly-made apple butter. I miss orchard trips and the cornfields.
I missed things I never got to see, I'll never get to see: Manny, the nephew, learning to walk, birthday parties, my niece Jazzy shooting her first gun. Card parties and camping trips. The many, many, many games of Yahtzee with cookies and coffee after work.
I've traded them in for a chance to find my place. My family, my home, things that can never be replaced. Closeness to all I've known and loved.
I've traded them for Christmas eves wearing matching pajamas at the boyfriend's parents' house. For Saturday evenings in the balcony at Seven Dolors, singing with John and his parents at mass. For vicious games of Monopoly with his parents.
I've traded them for Monday night bar shifts with my favorite regulars. For dinners with Kenny and Annette--family friends whom I've known since I was a child.
For independence.
For roots.
Funny thing is, the thing I'm finding out is that I had them all along.
I am my mother's stubborn, hard-headed daughter. The girl who's finding her way. My father's child, a woman with habits that mirror his own. The one who has searched so long to find whatever was missing, and to find it when she wasn't expecting to.
I've been gone over six months now, and I'm still not sure how I feel about that. I love Minnesota, I do, but looking at all I've missed--it strikes a chord deep within. In Indy, I had family. They may not always be there, but they stood up for you when it counted. Here, I've found out that family isn't always that. The family you thought you knew and could trust can still stab you in the back. And the ones you wouldn't expect to have your back, do. In John's family I've found one like my own--something I am forever blessed for. And in mine, I've found that perhaps I trust too easily.
Therefore, I'm going back to my roots. All I've learned in my twenty-three years of life will help me now. To stand up for myself.. All my father's conviction, my mother's determination. Add to my sister's stubbornness and sass. These are my weapons, my family is my shield, and I am ready to jump to the next step.
Sitting on a Graveyard Shelf
I have an addiction to Pinterest. There, I've said it. Honestly, anyone who knows me, knows this. When I say I'm tired and going to bed, it possibly means I'm tired, and yes, I'll be in bed, but I'll also be looking up a thousand and one images for my fantasy wedding that's nowhere near soon. Or looking up recipes for 'healthy meals' that--no offense, healthy eaters--I just don't have time for. Trust me, the next day, I'll still be mowing down on a breakfast of coffee and cookies with cheese puffs as my mid-morning snack. So sue me; I haven't keeled over from them yet.
But anyway, back to Pinterest. If you're not on, you should be. (Yes, that means you AC). It's a great place--so many nifty things! Plus, you can learn a lot about a person from their Pinterest boards. Alas, that's not actually the reason I'm writing this post. Actually, my post has to do
with something a lot of people tend to avoid.
Cemeteries.
Proper topic, considering we're finally into October and it's coming up to Halloween and all that jazz. Now, most people, like the boyfriend for example, don't have a fondness for graveyards.
Something about being creepy or something like that. Not this girl--I love them. Granted, there are still a few of them you won't catch me in at night, or give me the heebie jeebies as I drive
past them, but as a rule, I find them fascinating. Seeing the names and the dates--it creates so many questions for me. Who was she? How did she die? The young ones especially--they
break my heart.
Just this Sunday my cousin's wife and I took a drive to Buckman, MN to visit the graves of my grandmother's parents, and a few of her sisters. Steph and myself, along with her three children, made the rounds. It's been on my list to do since I moved to MN--to visit the graves--and now I can mark it off the list. I can also make the circuits for memorial day, like I did back home with
Mom and Amz.
I guess I've always been fascinated by cemeteries--one of my favorite poems growing up was Robert Frost's "In a Disused Graveyard". If you haven't read it, please do. More so lately, there's a beautiful song by Sara Bareilles that uses fantastic graveyard imagery. It's called
"Chasing the Sun" and it's phenomenal. My favorite part of the song, in particular, goes,
It's a really old city stuck between the dead and the living
so I thought to myself sitting on a graveyard shelf
and the gift of my heartbeat sounds like a symphony
played by a cemetery in the center of Queens
I love it. I just envision this silent,overcast afternoon, and the only sound in the singer's ears is her own heartbeat, sounding like drums, surrounded by the dead. How utterly alone would you
feel? But yet, how...not. Though they may be dead, there may be no physical representation around, you're not alone. And in New York City, a place filled with so much history, good and bad, equally tragic and wonderful, to be surrounded by all those people, dead or alive--it's hard to comprehend. It's mind-boggling to a point, and I love it.
See, my theory is, the dead never truly leave us. Granted, we may feel alone, but they're always there. More so what I take away from the song (and you will too if you listen to it) is that you have to embrace life. Like the phrase, "the gift of my heartbeat". Life--it's a gift! And what's the best way to thank a person for a gift? By using it! By living everyday to the fullest, by making mistakes and taking chances and screwing up--because you probably will--but learning
from it!
Two days ago marked the one year anniversary of my Godfather's death. Uncle Charlie was younger than Daddy when he died, and it's been hell on his kids. His wife passed away the year
previous, and as you can imagine, it's been difficult. I get that--I can't possibly imagine losing both my parents within such short space of a time. The thing that gets me is how they don't take
the time to move on from it. I'm not saying the pain will go away, and I'm not saying it's going to be any easier, but look at it this way--they lasted as long as they did. They lived, they loved, God saw it was their time, and now we're left to carry on. And sure, those left here can get stuck in the past, refuse to change things (regardless of whether they need changing or not) because 'that's the way it's always been done'.
No!
For the love of yourself, make a change. Put the dishes in a different spot, get rid of those old coffee cups that nobody uses anymore. I get keeping mementos, but making a shrine won't bring somebody back. The best way, in my eyes, to honor their memory, is to live your life to the fullest, to take each day as a new adventure, to use each skill and lesson your loved ones' taught you to make this world a better place for the future.
...whoops, I spiraled a lil' bit, didn't I? Not that I've been building that up for awhile.
I digress. I'm not saying you should get rid of everything. I carry an old black and white photograph of my grandpa in my wallet. Steph and Karl were kind enough to give me Grandma's crafting supplies, because they knew I'd appreciate and use them. I have a cute little red-stone cat brooch Aunt Evelyn gave me before she passed away. Little mementos--I
understand. They help us to know: the dead are always with you. Though it may feel as though they're gone, they're always looking out for us. At least, that's what I like to think.
Can you guys see why I love cemeteries so much now? Well, I suppose it's the dead in general. Hope this doesn't make you too worried for the ghosties to come out this Halloween!
Remember, as Daddy always told me, "The dead can't hurt you."
~LB
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