Money, honey. It's all I can think of these days. Which, I think for most people, is usual for this time of year. I'm constantly balancing in my head how much I've spent on each of my Christmas giftees, keeping a mental tab on my "credits" versus my "debits". I know there are fancy little apps that help a girl with all that jazz, but I'm organic (and prone to user error). And, as most things, likely to download or buy one and never use it at all. Precisely the biggest part of my problem! Money can burn a hole in my pocket faster than these guys can burn down the house. I'm constantly talking myself into, and then out of, and again into a good deal. "But those marvel hero's cookie cutters are 20% off! It doesn't matter that I never make cookies from scratch, or don't have a clue how to frost Spiderman's mask. Someday I might need that!" I'm an ad exec's dream come true, so easily convinced of a deal I can't afford to miss! At a time when I should be focusing on what really matters, it's so easy to get distracted by the glitz and glam of a good sale! Or just the glam of the season. Fortunately, for me, I have a grounded family, a generous fiance, and a humble child (well, sort of). We're not prone to requesting gifts we know we can't afford, or expect anyone to go into debt trying to fill the spots under the tree. We know Santa's sleigh makes a pretty big delivery on Dec. 24 1/2th, and so we're conscious of how much space our bag takes up.
That said, it's always nice to get little reminders here and there of how others give. I pay close attention to those moments when they catch my eye. It's not only inspiring to see it, but, in my experience, it's sustaining. It reminds me that there are good people, doing good deeds in the world, and any effort I make isn't in vain. There are individuals who exceed expectations and rise above the bar which has been set so low by our society's greedy, glammed up, manipulative market for giving. One such experience happened last week. I was in church...early for a change, having just dropped Michael off at Sunday School. Jim and I sat down and as the pews filled up, a woman assisting an older woman sat in front of us. I couldn't help but notice how affectionate and attentive the younger woman appeared to be, and quickly discerned that she was there with her mother (it also helped that she said 'Mom' several times). She kept her arm around her Mom, rubbing her shoulder, helped her find the page, and follow it. When it came time to kneel, she whispered "I'll kneel for both of us, Mom," a smile never leaving her face. I don't know why, but it struck a chord with me that's been ringing ever since. It's not abnormal to see these kinds of relationships, especially in a church. Lots of people care for ailing and elderly parents and family members, helping them to do those daily tasks which we so easily do and take for granted. Lots of people come to church as a family, helping each other, worshipping with each other. I even know a few who do it despite a difference in beliefs...just because they love their parents or grandparents that much. I couldn't tell you what it was about these two women, their heads close together as they whispered prayers, and love back and forth, a daughter holding her mother close, and a mother leaning on her daughter....that made me so emotional. Maybe it reminded me of my Mom and me...maybe it reminded me of how tricky life is, and how quickly it goes, reversing the roles of 'parents' and 'children' as we age and our needs change. Or, maybe, I'm just a big sap with a heart that's easily stirred. Probably all three. But, regardless, I spent most of that mass praying for the two of them, that both daughter and mother; caretaker and patient; giver and receiver, may feel rested, loved, and whole.
In this season of giving, it's easy to let the chatter of the world drown out the whispered signs which are sent our way. I'm just glad for that day, that moment: a reminder that the most precious gifts we receive, and the most priceless gifts we give....aren't found on black Friday. A moment like that is something I definitely can't afford to miss.
Monday, November 28, 2011
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
This one's for the lonely.
Come on, friends, get up now you're not alone at all.
I am a faith filled person. For all my jabs and jokes, I'm not kidding when I say there is nothing that sustains me like faith. When I was going through a difficult time in my life, and had fallen away from faith, I was flailing for answers, completely lost. I had allowed it to become marginal, an afterthought. My soul's immune system was weak and feeble, and so I easily gave into the illnesses which plagued it...resentment, jealousy, greed...eventually becoming indifferent to my environment. When finally I was knocked down, it didn't take long for me to confront the real root of my heart ache, and it had more to do with spiritual dehydration than it did anything else I had done, or had happened to me. I began to pray. I imagined my heart with missing a half, like a torn piece of paper with jagged edges. Each time I went to mass, each time I prayed, each time I reached out to another person, those missing pieces of my heart would regenerate. I told myself that it would take a long time before my heart would be strong, and complete. It might even be a lifetime journey. After all, 'Rome wasn't built in a day.' But every day, I pictured it. I closed my eyes, concentrating where I had left off the day before, and imagined my heart being filled, expanding to bridge the void which had been left by sadness, regret....apathy. That time, as all time, blurs out of focus the farther I move from it. I always think of it, though, as a reminder of how far my faith has come, and how blessed my life has been.
You see, I've never known what it is like to feel truly lonely. I'm sure I haven't. I don't know how it feels to have not a soul to call my own, a friend to hold my hand, or a parent or sibling to listen and soothe. I owe that to my faith. Because what I finally realized from all that praying, and envisioning my beating heart, is that I have the most invaluable asset in the entire universe. I have ME. I was gifted with the cognizance to recognize my strengths, with my weaknesses, the people who've been given me to enhance those strengths, and patch those weaknesses. I have the innate ability to pick myself up, and dust myself off, and keep moving. There is no greater gift than the gift of love, and I can love myself. Once I learned that--really learned it, I more clearly understood the responsibility we are each tasked with: loving ourselves, loving others as ourselves, when they've strayed from self-love to self-loathing. We have our work cut out for us. I work in a place fraught with people who don't love themselves. They treat their bodies and their lives with no respect, which results in the crimes they commit, and the hatred and indifference they show to their community and its citizens. But I wouldn't even need a front row seat in the courtroom to be exposed to the likes of such people. I would need only to live in our world--it's splashed across headlines each day. My heart, whole it now is, hurts for all those who suffer at the hands of callous individuals, but it hurts for those individuals, too. Because I believe, with my whole heart, that there is no such thing as good and evil people...only good and evil acts. Each of us has the chance, the talents, the strength, an inherent spark to rise up and meet the low times in our lives, and rebuke the temptation to hurt ourselves and others.
I don't picture my heart anymore in order to heal it....because, thank God, and right now, I don't need to. I ask, instead, for more room, more strength, more time. I know it's in me...it's in each of us. As we all prepare to go off and celebrate a day of thanks, I ask myself why giving thanks gets only one day to be recognized. We should be thankful every. single. day. We should be recognizing what our gifts are, and then using those gifts to help the 'lonely' and the 'lowly', each other, and ourselves. I can tell you with absolute certainty that 'it IS in giving that we receive'. If only each person in the world took the time to have faith, will faith, and give faith through whichever path we follow!! Can you even imagine the outcome!?
We could build Rome in a day.
I am a faith filled person. For all my jabs and jokes, I'm not kidding when I say there is nothing that sustains me like faith. When I was going through a difficult time in my life, and had fallen away from faith, I was flailing for answers, completely lost. I had allowed it to become marginal, an afterthought. My soul's immune system was weak and feeble, and so I easily gave into the illnesses which plagued it...resentment, jealousy, greed...eventually becoming indifferent to my environment. When finally I was knocked down, it didn't take long for me to confront the real root of my heart ache, and it had more to do with spiritual dehydration than it did anything else I had done, or had happened to me. I began to pray. I imagined my heart with missing a half, like a torn piece of paper with jagged edges. Each time I went to mass, each time I prayed, each time I reached out to another person, those missing pieces of my heart would regenerate. I told myself that it would take a long time before my heart would be strong, and complete. It might even be a lifetime journey. After all, 'Rome wasn't built in a day.' But every day, I pictured it. I closed my eyes, concentrating where I had left off the day before, and imagined my heart being filled, expanding to bridge the void which had been left by sadness, regret....apathy. That time, as all time, blurs out of focus the farther I move from it. I always think of it, though, as a reminder of how far my faith has come, and how blessed my life has been.
You see, I've never known what it is like to feel truly lonely. I'm sure I haven't. I don't know how it feels to have not a soul to call my own, a friend to hold my hand, or a parent or sibling to listen and soothe. I owe that to my faith. Because what I finally realized from all that praying, and envisioning my beating heart, is that I have the most invaluable asset in the entire universe. I have ME. I was gifted with the cognizance to recognize my strengths, with my weaknesses, the people who've been given me to enhance those strengths, and patch those weaknesses. I have the innate ability to pick myself up, and dust myself off, and keep moving. There is no greater gift than the gift of love, and I can love myself. Once I learned that--really learned it, I more clearly understood the responsibility we are each tasked with: loving ourselves, loving others as ourselves, when they've strayed from self-love to self-loathing. We have our work cut out for us. I work in a place fraught with people who don't love themselves. They treat their bodies and their lives with no respect, which results in the crimes they commit, and the hatred and indifference they show to their community and its citizens. But I wouldn't even need a front row seat in the courtroom to be exposed to the likes of such people. I would need only to live in our world--it's splashed across headlines each day. My heart, whole it now is, hurts for all those who suffer at the hands of callous individuals, but it hurts for those individuals, too. Because I believe, with my whole heart, that there is no such thing as good and evil people...only good and evil acts. Each of us has the chance, the talents, the strength, an inherent spark to rise up and meet the low times in our lives, and rebuke the temptation to hurt ourselves and others.
I don't picture my heart anymore in order to heal it....because, thank God, and right now, I don't need to. I ask, instead, for more room, more strength, more time. I know it's in me...it's in each of us. As we all prepare to go off and celebrate a day of thanks, I ask myself why giving thanks gets only one day to be recognized. We should be thankful every. single. day. We should be recognizing what our gifts are, and then using those gifts to help the 'lonely' and the 'lowly', each other, and ourselves. I can tell you with absolute certainty that 'it IS in giving that we receive'. If only each person in the world took the time to have faith, will faith, and give faith through whichever path we follow!! Can you even imagine the outcome!?
We could build Rome in a day.
Friday, November 18, 2011
Yo Momma so Hipster...
she's where GOODWILL donates clothes. #stuffkidswillsomedaysay
Happy Friday!! It's almost Thanksgiving!!!!! I plan on sharing a short story that I wrote next week (DEEP BREATH).....and since I said it blog loud, now I will feel pressure to follow through on that. In the mean time, I'm thankful for the following:
this song and this song, too
a blessed life
a job
a good education
Panera's mac n cheese
redheads named Michael
green eyed guys named Jim
a giant network of love/family/friendship
my head
my heart
Portland (thank you for the music)
working legs
grilled cheese and tomato soup
Jam Jar
Faith
a Faith community in which to share
raw fish
sweet tea
flats
yoga skirts
summer lovin'
marriage
my beautiful engagement ring (well, I am)
my beautiful engagement
an ocean-times-infinity of love for my child
and right here. so I can vet the world, and the world can vet my dreams/ hopes/ aspirations/ loves/ thoughts/ words/ prayers/ opinions/ bad yo momma jokes.
Happy Thanksgiving, friends and family :) I'm overwhelmed with how beautiful and happy and blessed this year has been for me. I have so much to be thankful for...and I'm thankful for that most of all.
My Love to all....
MM
Happy Friday!! It's almost Thanksgiving!!!!! I plan on sharing a short story that I wrote next week (DEEP BREATH).....and since I said it blog loud, now I will feel pressure to follow through on that. In the mean time, I'm thankful for the following:
this song and this song, too
a blessed life
a job
a good education
Panera's mac n cheese
redheads named Michael
green eyed guys named Jim
a giant network of love/family/friendship
my head
my heart
Portland (thank you for the music)
working legs
grilled cheese and tomato soup
Jam Jar
Faith
a Faith community in which to share
raw fish
sweet tea
flats
yoga skirts
summer lovin'
marriage
my beautiful engagement ring (well, I am)
my beautiful engagement
an ocean-times-infinity of love for my child
and right here. so I can vet the world, and the world can vet my dreams/ hopes/ aspirations/ loves/ thoughts/ words/ prayers/ opinions/ bad yo momma jokes.
Happy Thanksgiving, friends and family :) I'm overwhelmed with how beautiful and happy and blessed this year has been for me. I have so much to be thankful for...and I'm thankful for that most of all.
My Love to all....
MM
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Freud Green Tomatoes.
In my parallel life, I'm a psychologist. I obsess over decoding human behavior. I even pride myself on my accurate predictions when the feelings/fears/flaws/hopes/denials of my kindred are related to me after they are finally realized. Because, (like any good pseudo head doctor) you can't just come out and be direct with the object of your analysis. They have to figure it out for themselves! I keep my opinions to myself, listen, love and support, and give myself a private pat on the back if my thoughts are proved correct.
It's been my experience that each of us has these territorial wealth's of knowledge; subjects on which we feel, or have been deemed experts. I especially find this to be the case for my peers. Now 4, 5, and 6 years out of academia, some more recently with advanced degrees, we're all working in different industries, having been well-Christened in our various crafts. Some of us are nurses, some on the way to being doctors, some lawyers, teachers, engineers, personal trainers, some Moms and Dads, some law enforcement....the spectrum is wide and diverse. And some of us (ahem, Dr. Laughlin does have a nice ring to it) feel perfectly at ease asserting ownership over our hobbies. That's what it really is, isn't it? These little parts of the world that we feel we own, we've purchased the "rights" to. Whether it's the music we love, or the parts of the world we're from, our jobs, even relationships we've had and things that have happened to us...we each assert part of ourselves to those things, and those things to parts of ourselves.
I live in the south, but I've never claimed ownership over being southern....most of my friends who might call themselves such would probably laugh at me if I did. But it's always been fascinating to me, that dynamic of the deep south. I grew up in in the Midwest, but have *almost* reached the point where I've lived here longer than I lived there. And while most would agree that you have to go north to go really south, that southern culture resonates loud and strong in certain parts of Florida. Rather than proselytize my opinions on what the south has come to represent in modern pop culture (based on living among self-proclaimed "Southerners" for almost 12 years), I'd rather explore it as I've come to know it through literature and music. And, it's my contention, that it's a beautiful, dark thing...and has very little to do with geography. There are so many great artists and writers and musicians who chronicle the southern experience, and they're not all cowboys and country stars, y'all. I wouldn't define the south through a country singer, but through a melancholy one. That person could come from Los Angeles, CA, Piedmont, N.D., Birmingham, AL....or Chillicothe, IL. The history of the south is so marked with hate and tragedy. We all know that. And the south is still so defined by all those events that sometimes it becomes difficult to separate history from reality. It's easy to become entrenched in the romantic ideals of the past. However; it has passed, and it's in that space between memory and actuality that I've found my niche...for now.
I've done some evolving over the past 11 1/2 years. I've invented and reinvented myself, and reinvented myself again. An I'm not even 30. But...as much as I love the Midwest...I've come to know myself as a southerner. I'm flawed and I know it. I live with the mistakes I've made. I've been hurt, and persevered nonetheless. In our modern world, reinventing yourself isn't just a good idea, but an essential one. That popular phrase 'go big, or go home', which so many 'round these parts proclaim, isn't totally accurate, in my humble opinion. Evolve, or go home. Who we are and those pieces of this world we own, aren't always synonymous. If we want to progress, if we want to be relevant, we can't rely solely on the past and on what we used to do, or maybe even what we want to do. I watch these individuals who are 'occupying' Wall Street, and I understand the anger and frustration they feel. We live in big, bureaucratic society and it's easy to feel suffocated by its nature. But I can't say I believe their path is the truest one to change....mostly because I don't believe change is an urgent or even tangible thing. Change: evolution: reinvention....if there's one thing I've learned, it's that these things don't happen over night, and they certainly don't happen with out movement and action. I've planted my feet in times of crisis, and I can tell you with total sincerity, it's never born me any fruit. Get up...enact change with a voice, but don't expect anyone to speak for you, or hand you an answer. Be who you are, but do what you must to survive...to evolve. I'm a corn-fed, farm-lovin', liberal minded, southern girl. I accept the melancholy that life throws my way, because life and happiness aren't always synonymous either, despite our fevered pursuit of both.
Maybe, someday, those occupiers will realize that.
It's been my experience that each of us has these territorial wealth's of knowledge; subjects on which we feel, or have been deemed experts. I especially find this to be the case for my peers. Now 4, 5, and 6 years out of academia, some more recently with advanced degrees, we're all working in different industries, having been well-Christened in our various crafts. Some of us are nurses, some on the way to being doctors, some lawyers, teachers, engineers, personal trainers, some Moms and Dads, some law enforcement....the spectrum is wide and diverse. And some of us (ahem, Dr. Laughlin does have a nice ring to it) feel perfectly at ease asserting ownership over our hobbies. That's what it really is, isn't it? These little parts of the world that we feel we own, we've purchased the "rights" to. Whether it's the music we love, or the parts of the world we're from, our jobs, even relationships we've had and things that have happened to us...we each assert part of ourselves to those things, and those things to parts of ourselves.
I live in the south, but I've never claimed ownership over being southern....most of my friends who might call themselves such would probably laugh at me if I did. But it's always been fascinating to me, that dynamic of the deep south. I grew up in in the Midwest, but have *almost* reached the point where I've lived here longer than I lived there. And while most would agree that you have to go north to go really south, that southern culture resonates loud and strong in certain parts of Florida. Rather than proselytize my opinions on what the south has come to represent in modern pop culture (based on living among self-proclaimed "Southerners" for almost 12 years), I'd rather explore it as I've come to know it through literature and music. And, it's my contention, that it's a beautiful, dark thing...and has very little to do with geography. There are so many great artists and writers and musicians who chronicle the southern experience, and they're not all cowboys and country stars, y'all. I wouldn't define the south through a country singer, but through a melancholy one. That person could come from Los Angeles, CA, Piedmont, N.D., Birmingham, AL....or Chillicothe, IL. The history of the south is so marked with hate and tragedy. We all know that. And the south is still so defined by all those events that sometimes it becomes difficult to separate history from reality. It's easy to become entrenched in the romantic ideals of the past. However; it has passed, and it's in that space between memory and actuality that I've found my niche...for now.
I've done some evolving over the past 11 1/2 years. I've invented and reinvented myself, and reinvented myself again. An I'm not even 30. But...as much as I love the Midwest...I've come to know myself as a southerner. I'm flawed and I know it. I live with the mistakes I've made. I've been hurt, and persevered nonetheless. In our modern world, reinventing yourself isn't just a good idea, but an essential one. That popular phrase 'go big, or go home', which so many 'round these parts proclaim, isn't totally accurate, in my humble opinion. Evolve, or go home. Who we are and those pieces of this world we own, aren't always synonymous. If we want to progress, if we want to be relevant, we can't rely solely on the past and on what we used to do, or maybe even what we want to do. I watch these individuals who are 'occupying' Wall Street, and I understand the anger and frustration they feel. We live in big, bureaucratic society and it's easy to feel suffocated by its nature. But I can't say I believe their path is the truest one to change....mostly because I don't believe change is an urgent or even tangible thing. Change: evolution: reinvention....if there's one thing I've learned, it's that these things don't happen over night, and they certainly don't happen with out movement and action. I've planted my feet in times of crisis, and I can tell you with total sincerity, it's never born me any fruit. Get up...enact change with a voice, but don't expect anyone to speak for you, or hand you an answer. Be who you are, but do what you must to survive...to evolve. I'm a corn-fed, farm-lovin', liberal minded, southern girl. I accept the melancholy that life throws my way, because life and happiness aren't always synonymous either, despite our fevered pursuit of both.
Maybe, someday, those occupiers will realize that.
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Happy New Day!
It's never too early to start thinking about New Years Resolutions...and if I can think about them now, why do I have to wait until January 1st to act on them? I think exercising your soul is right up there with exercising your body...after all, the former is what needs to be in good shape when I die....or so I believe. And, admittedly, I'm not very good at exercising my body or my soul. So one of my resolutions is to find ways I can improve. How can I be a better person? The list is long...but I had to start somewhere.
They say that your sister is your best friend....and I'm happy to say this rings true for my sister and me. From a young age we shared many things....red hair, freckles, subsequent sunburns, clothes (much to her chagrin), barbies, dress up clothes, and an affinity for performance. I always thought we were best described through this song. (A fitting description, I might add). The actual scene from the movie is so much better, but youtube didn't deliver so....guess you'll just have to watch it at Christmas time!! You'll thank me later. After spending some quality time with my sister this past weekend wedding dress shopping (insert EEK! Her visit also accounts for my 9 day blog hiatus), I got to thinking about what makes a sisterly dynamic great. For us, we talk often, we're honest with each other, and we're forgiving of each other's flaws and bad habits.
I'm a believer that while your sister can be your best friend, your best friends can also be your sisters. Each of us is connected somehow, even if simply on the base level of our anatomical bond of gender. We each know what it's like to be a female. Past that, we're admittedly entirely unique, from the red, blonde, brown, black, grey, and maybe the occasional pink and purple heads. And still further we differ with emotional attachments, skills, education, family lifestyle, life experience, cultural paradigm. There is one thing, though, as a female, that I just can't escape. The gossip ring. You may also know it as the grapevine, small talk, meddling, chitter chatter, pick-a-little-talk-a-little, telephone, prattle, the dirty laundry, and hearsay for the elitist crowd (ba dum CHA). It's not the first time I've referenced my Achilles heel for gossip. Almost every circus in which I travel, there is a gossip ring: school Moms, work girls, my friends, my family, at the gym (well...the few times I've been anyway), even in my church I'm ashamed to say. And who can forget the world of digital gossip invited by social networking?? That's a lot of tongue wagging.
As I did some self reflection, I became a little discouraged. Girls, we're witches sometimes! And that's not even my word of choice....but I do try to keep my blog PG. I thought of all the ways in which I have initiated or participated in criticizing my fellow women and I began to feel downright awful. No one deserves my judgment, my small-minded opinion. I don't care what she's done to me, or how she's behaved in front of me. And truth be told; more often than not I issue critiques on people I don't even know about things that don't even matter; hair, clothes, makeup, shoes. The fact is, if we are so different from each other, than we should let ourselves BE different from each other without the footnotes and asterisks. I can't control what those around me will do or say, but I can certainly make a conscious choice to say kind things...or...if I don't have anything nice to say, I just won't say anything at all. An oldie, but a goodie.
So, that's my resolution. Since 2011 is getting a little long in the tooth, I'll call it my Old Year's Resolution....for New Wednesday! Footloose and Gossip Free.
And...in case you're wondering...I did find a wedding dress :) It's beautiful and perfectly me :)
They say that your sister is your best friend....and I'm happy to say this rings true for my sister and me. From a young age we shared many things....red hair, freckles, subsequent sunburns, clothes (much to her chagrin), barbies, dress up clothes, and an affinity for performance. I always thought we were best described through this song. (A fitting description, I might add). The actual scene from the movie is so much better, but youtube didn't deliver so....guess you'll just have to watch it at Christmas time!! You'll thank me later. After spending some quality time with my sister this past weekend wedding dress shopping (insert EEK! Her visit also accounts for my 9 day blog hiatus), I got to thinking about what makes a sisterly dynamic great. For us, we talk often, we're honest with each other, and we're forgiving of each other's flaws and bad habits.
I'm a believer that while your sister can be your best friend, your best friends can also be your sisters. Each of us is connected somehow, even if simply on the base level of our anatomical bond of gender. We each know what it's like to be a female. Past that, we're admittedly entirely unique, from the red, blonde, brown, black, grey, and maybe the occasional pink and purple heads. And still further we differ with emotional attachments, skills, education, family lifestyle, life experience, cultural paradigm. There is one thing, though, as a female, that I just can't escape. The gossip ring. You may also know it as the grapevine, small talk, meddling, chitter chatter, pick-a-little-talk-a-little, telephone, prattle, the dirty laundry, and hearsay for the elitist crowd (ba dum CHA). It's not the first time I've referenced my Achilles heel for gossip. Almost every circus in which I travel, there is a gossip ring: school Moms, work girls, my friends, my family, at the gym (well...the few times I've been anyway), even in my church I'm ashamed to say. And who can forget the world of digital gossip invited by social networking?? That's a lot of tongue wagging.
As I did some self reflection, I became a little discouraged. Girls, we're witches sometimes! And that's not even my word of choice....but I do try to keep my blog PG. I thought of all the ways in which I have initiated or participated in criticizing my fellow women and I began to feel downright awful. No one deserves my judgment, my small-minded opinion. I don't care what she's done to me, or how she's behaved in front of me. And truth be told; more often than not I issue critiques on people I don't even know about things that don't even matter; hair, clothes, makeup, shoes. The fact is, if we are so different from each other, than we should let ourselves BE different from each other without the footnotes and asterisks. I can't control what those around me will do or say, but I can certainly make a conscious choice to say kind things...or...if I don't have anything nice to say, I just won't say anything at all. An oldie, but a goodie.
So, that's my resolution. Since 2011 is getting a little long in the tooth, I'll call it my Old Year's Resolution....for New Wednesday! Footloose and Gossip Free.
And...in case you're wondering...I did find a wedding dress :) It's beautiful and perfectly me :)
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
On Ghosts.
I can't claim to be Halloween's number one fan. I am, say what you will, a Thanksgiving/Christmas girl through and through. When Jim and I started to get serious about each other, I immediately disclosed my feelings that I would someday be a "day after Halloween decorator" (because those kinds of disclosures are telling and necessary). You know the people I'm talking about. You do. I'm the girl who watches White Christmas at least 15 times before the season's end and has Nat King Cole on repeat from Thanksgiving until almost Valentine's Day. It's heartwarming and nostalgic and all kinds of cheese (my favorite thing).
But...I'm not going to talk about holiday cheer, or holiday cheese for that matter. I really am going to talk about ghosts; my least favorite thing. I am a slight Phasmophobic. I think it's related to a lot of factors...fear of the unknown, or unseen...early exposure to too many bad movies about hauntings and rings and such....the 1950's radio shows my Dad would force upon us on long, late summer night drives from Canyon Camp to Chillicothe. Throw all that together with an easily beguiled girl, and you've got one well-fueled phobia. But, regardless of its origins, my fear is there. So why (you might be asking yourself) would I want to write about them?? Every Halloween I'm forced to confront my fear, or at least sort of confront it. I can pretty well avoid the spirit world 11 months, 3 weeks, and 6 days a year, but on that last day of October, and especially now that I'm marrying a horror movie enthusiast, I usually have at least one encounter of the 3rd kind. Or sixth kind. Or whatever. This year, though...this year.....well. Read for yourself.
I started my day at work…a normal Monday, except for the dreary rainfall and the office buzz about costumes and candy and all things Halloween. The day passed, the rain passed, and eventually I made my way home. We had gone all out for Halloween this year; threw a party, put up cob webs and a graveyard, hung a dead guy from our porch, splattered fake blood (red finger paint) on our doors (not our best idea)…even left our rotting pumpkins out to complete the effect. The green light bulb which had been swapped for our normal porch light, cast an eerie, fuzzy glow over the props, making our scene complete. (I always did love a good set). After venturing out for our own trick or treating, we retreated to our base, and sat ready for the witches, and goblins, and superheroes that might come. And OH, did they ever! In groups of ten and more, faces painted, masks secured, having long abandoned their swords and wands to the care of their vigilant mothers so they could better hold the growing weight of their candy bags and pillow sacks. I decided to wait out the rush on the front steps, rather than maintain a revolving door. As the night deepened, the costumes weakened, my bowl emptied, and it seemed only the straggling teenagers were left, I decided to head inside. I tidied up my kitchen, did a little laundry, turned away the last and latest trick or treaters with ‘I’m sorry, we’re out of candy’ and ‘yes, you may have a cup of water, and isn’t it getting past your curfew??’, before finally extinguishing my lantern (which hung from an outdoor post) and turning off all other lights for bed. And just as I turned to go to my bedroom….one last knock. Frowning, and pausing in my steps, I turned, surprised and annoyed at this person who would have the nerve to approach a completely dark house and ask for candy. Peeking out the blinds, I couldn’t see anyone, so I assumed some teenagers thought they were being funny, and turned to leave again. Rap, rap, rap, rap, rap, in rapid succession. Not a slow knock, but an urgent one. A knock that said, answer now, I’m panicked. Thinking of my own baby, and what I would want a neighbor to do if he were in trouble, I rushed to the door and flung it open without even looking. I won’t say there was no one there…I couldn’t see anyone on my now darkened street. But I felt it. I felt it the way you feel a hair on your arm, or a bug on your leg. Like my Mother’s icy hand in winter on my back. And then, catching my breath, I froze. Just stood there on my front steps with a quickened pulse and paralyzed legs. My lantern had been relit. I was sure, sure, MORE THAN SURE, that I blew it out. Even watched the smoke as it curled to the sky. So I did what any sane person would do; I blew it out again, and rushed inside, locking the door behind me. Then I turned on every last damn light in that house.
Halloween 2011?? It got me good.
But...I'm not going to talk about holiday cheer, or holiday cheese for that matter. I really am going to talk about ghosts; my least favorite thing. I am a slight Phasmophobic. I think it's related to a lot of factors...fear of the unknown, or unseen...early exposure to too many bad movies about hauntings and rings and such....the 1950's radio shows my Dad would force upon us on long, late summer night drives from Canyon Camp to Chillicothe. Throw all that together with an easily beguiled girl, and you've got one well-fueled phobia. But, regardless of its origins, my fear is there. So why (you might be asking yourself) would I want to write about them?? Every Halloween I'm forced to confront my fear, or at least sort of confront it. I can pretty well avoid the spirit world 11 months, 3 weeks, and 6 days a year, but on that last day of October, and especially now that I'm marrying a horror movie enthusiast, I usually have at least one encounter of the 3rd kind. Or sixth kind. Or whatever. This year, though...this year.....well. Read for yourself.
I started my day at work…a normal Monday, except for the dreary rainfall and the office buzz about costumes and candy and all things Halloween. The day passed, the rain passed, and eventually I made my way home. We had gone all out for Halloween this year; threw a party, put up cob webs and a graveyard, hung a dead guy from our porch, splattered fake blood (red finger paint) on our doors (not our best idea)…even left our rotting pumpkins out to complete the effect. The green light bulb which had been swapped for our normal porch light, cast an eerie, fuzzy glow over the props, making our scene complete. (I always did love a good set). After venturing out for our own trick or treating, we retreated to our base, and sat ready for the witches, and goblins, and superheroes that might come. And OH, did they ever! In groups of ten and more, faces painted, masks secured, having long abandoned their swords and wands to the care of their vigilant mothers so they could better hold the growing weight of their candy bags and pillow sacks. I decided to wait out the rush on the front steps, rather than maintain a revolving door. As the night deepened, the costumes weakened, my bowl emptied, and it seemed only the straggling teenagers were left, I decided to head inside. I tidied up my kitchen, did a little laundry, turned away the last and latest trick or treaters with ‘I’m sorry, we’re out of candy’ and ‘yes, you may have a cup of water, and isn’t it getting past your curfew??’, before finally extinguishing my lantern (which hung from an outdoor post) and turning off all other lights for bed. And just as I turned to go to my bedroom….one last knock. Frowning, and pausing in my steps, I turned, surprised and annoyed at this person who would have the nerve to approach a completely dark house and ask for candy. Peeking out the blinds, I couldn’t see anyone, so I assumed some teenagers thought they were being funny, and turned to leave again. Rap, rap, rap, rap, rap, in rapid succession. Not a slow knock, but an urgent one. A knock that said, answer now, I’m panicked. Thinking of my own baby, and what I would want a neighbor to do if he were in trouble, I rushed to the door and flung it open without even looking. I won’t say there was no one there…I couldn’t see anyone on my now darkened street. But I felt it. I felt it the way you feel a hair on your arm, or a bug on your leg. Like my Mother’s icy hand in winter on my back. And then, catching my breath, I froze. Just stood there on my front steps with a quickened pulse and paralyzed legs. My lantern had been relit. I was sure, sure, MORE THAN SURE, that I blew it out. Even watched the smoke as it curled to the sky. So I did what any sane person would do; I blew it out again, and rushed inside, locking the door behind me. Then I turned on every last damn light in that house.
Halloween 2011?? It got me good.
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