A Lovely State of Somewhere In Between

 

Thirteen was a lovely state of somewhere in between. Lean and brown and nimble, on the edge of something unknown, precariously teetering between my childhood and my womanhood. I had nowhere to feel comfortable. No place seemed to totally claim me, not my past and certainly not my future. That familiar little, knocked kneed girl with the dirty face and tangled hair,too quickly, it seemed, was slipping from me. That summer I had noticed my cutoffs were beginning to hug in a new way. My tan legs showed curious new curves, forgetting the gangliness that ten and twelve had brought. Long dark hair had taken on a thick healthy glow and flowed as soft as silk whenever I tossed my head.

The neighbor boys had begun to snicker and elbow one another, speaking when they thought I couldn’t here. “Ha, you see our little tomboy lately? I think she’s wearing a bra!” They had started to call now in a different way, requesting long walks or slow bike rides on warm spring nights. Gone were evenings of ramping bikes or running races. Each one showed at my door, shyly and awkwardly, at different times to sit on my porch and chat.

Bewildered and incensed, I wanted to shout at them, to grab their necks and shake them awake.  Please, see me! I’m here, still just the girl next door, the same one who grew up beside you, who knows every little annoying thing about you. Don’t try to tease me or grab me or hold my hand. Leave me alone. I don’t want to grow up. But that certain power that turned my face to red also crept within my body, spreading its warmth.

Body emerging with softened angles and mysterious allure, I pedaled my bike on that old paper route and contemplated this certain power I dared not use. Men, grown and with hair all over their bodies were straining necks, whistling out their car windows and honking horns. In my girlishness, my face burned as I pedaled faster. I didn’t know this attention and yet it gave me a secret warm glow.

I broke a window that year, on my birthday. A mixture of feelings, I always seemed to be fighting lately, swirled through my mind and body. I was sad and lonely and I didn’t know why.  I wanted to run and play with my brother and his friends but I wanted too, to be grown up and experience a first real boyfriend. I didn’t want men to look and honk but it did feel nice. I threw that last newspaper a little too hard and slam! It broke the glass on that door. I burst into tears, how could this happen to me on my birthday? Mortified, I rubbed away those tears and stomped up to the door to apologize and offer to pay.

In my dark mood, I jumped from my bike and ran into my house. There in that bright warm kitchen, my favorite meal of spaghetti and chocolate cake and colorful, papered presents awaited. There too, my big sis, Amy and her little babe, Laura, who I often babysat. I opened my presents and found things a thirteen year old would appreciate; perfume, cool colored undies with the days of the week printed on them, a pair of jeans with a sweet design on the pocket. My family had gathered around the table and my sister had come home just for me. My mood shifted. I felt okay again, comfortable again, there with my  family’s love showering around me.

I hung there, in that lovely state of somewhere in between, for at least another year. I learned things, secret things that you just come to know. Things that I now know happen naturally and sweetly. The real power of a woman, the true heart of men, all of those things were far ahead. But that year, that year I got a little glimpse of what was to be. And so it was, as easy as a baby’s sigh, with my family’s love there to steady me, I set aside my little girl ways. I began to move gently and gratefully into my own womanhood.

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Blessed Blue Aura

blue christmas

blue christmas (Photo credit: rojam)

I started this post before Christmas. I just got busy and never finished…thought I”d go ahead and put it out there even though it’s past due.

Such a busy month looming right ahead of me! Starting this weekend, the first weekend of December 2012, holiday cheer will be spread every weekend of the month. I should be cleaning and scrubbing and doing the wash. But I keep feeling a memory tugging at me. It began at work. The gym of the school, decorated like a huge Christmas fantasy by the custodian, contains a tree decked out in solid blue lights.

Oh my! The impact that solid blue lights have had on my life. It’s the most magical of all magics dreamed up in my childhood. My mother adorned our tree every year that I can remember in all blue lights. Sometimes as a wee girl,I really wished for multi-colored lights. But now as an adult, I so cherish the feeling of a solid blue tree. The bulbs of my childhood were huge and cast a beautiful hue that filled that darkened dining room where our tree stood each year. I remember staring at it and blurring out the world as all my hopes and dreams of Christmas night danced in my head. The excitement it created in my little heart blooms every time I see such a sight to this day. The feelings are so old and familiar but somehow I cannot recreate them until the blue lights catch my eye.

The blue lights create a holy aura and I reflect on Mother Mary and her newborn babe, Jesus. Such a peaceful calm overcomes me and a deep love of my life and my family surrounds me as I cast back.  I remember the Christmas Eve car rides with mom and dad to see all the pretty Christmas decorations of our townsfolk. I remember mom running back into the house for some forgotten thing after we were already packed into the station wagon. We never figured out that she was Santa,  working hastily to pull things out of her closet and place them just so before running back out to join us in the car.

We only knew that upon returning home we would find that Santa had paid a visit. I remember the wonderful brown paper bags scattered around the tree, each with a name for every one of us children.  Those blue lights bring the ecstasy of reaching into those brown bags and finding that special gift. We never realized that many times they were hand me down toys from some other child. A toy was a toy and we didn’t care if it had some dings or imperfections. It was prized in it’s newness to us.

We opened gifts from each other and the torn, discarded wrapping paper would pile so high that it was thrilling in itself.  Excitement revealed itself as board games and new dollies and walkie talkies and books appeared. Mom and Dad would share a glass of Egg Nog, spiked just a tad, and mom would kiss his cheek. We snacked on nuts and tangerines and hard candy as we shared our gifts with each other all evening until it was time for Midnight Mass.

Even now, as I see solid blue lights adorning some house,  my memory flashes to our old Christmas lights in that dining room. It seems to me we were illuminated in a blessed soft blue aura swirling around us,  pulling us closer and binding us to one another, forever.

God’s Angelic Author

She bore twelve children and we just called her mom. We never realized that she was a young woman once, with dreams all her own. We’ve glimpsed old photos of her with sassy pigtails and a tiny waist. But those old photos never whispered the ambitions and aspirations she relinquished to give us life. We only know that our father came home from the war as a young man to find his best friend’s little sister all grown up. Beautifully, she came walking down the steps. Stunned, he looked up and said, ” Why Mary Ellen! You’re all grown up!”  Her blush was to be the very beginning of a beautiful 52 years of life together.

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Such a simple lady, living amongst her children, serving her husband, toiling beside him there on that sweet land they loved. A dreamer was she, a lover of words. Many a play day echoed with the sound of her old typewriter clackity-clacking in our ears. Through her writings one could easily realize that when she looked her eyes saw that the dirt was gold, and the trees were majestic, the wind, that blew the leaves, the warm breath of God. Hers were mystical words that created an amazing world.

Her writings were actually little pieces of art. Words and sentences wove together to form one grand masterpiece. When we cut them apart to search for quotes to adorn photos at her funeral, we found that each small sentence was somehow a great piece of wisdom. So beautifully carved  and laid there before us, were they, that we didn’t even realize she was gone. It seemed to me that she was there, just above our shoulder, nudging us and whispering to us.

My niece and I poured over her old photos and simultaneously mused through her writings. Brittany would pull out a photo and magically the sentence I was reading would seem to match right up to that picture. We felt such a closeness to her as we toiled away on our little project. We wanted to stay there drowning in her words and memories. Let tomorrow and tomorrow come and go while we drank her words and relived her life. We felt happy and sad. We felt her presence.

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Maybe she had finally reached her highest ambition. The Alzheimer’s fog  would have cleared for her now and  I could imagine her making little memos of the rippling, swooshing wings she witnessed. I could hear her laughter as she scribbled precious words to her Lord. I imagined the twinkle in her eyes as she took note of his incredible creations, painting all of Heaven with her beautiful words.   Perhaps finally she was there at the throne, God’s angelic author.

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Lego My Heart

Times are indeed tough and the economy is scary. We all are feeling it in some way or another. Because I am a Teacher’s Aide by trade, and unemployed in the summer, lately I’ve been struggling just to make my bills each month. In an effort to supplement my income, I’ve been finding creatives way to generate money. Ebay has been handy in selling a couple old antique’s that I’ve had in storage and never use. Local online garage sales have been great tools in reselling clothes, furniture and my daughter’s wedding paraphernalia.

Last night while checking items I have for sale online, I saw that one woman was in search of Lego Blocks to buy.

I sat and stared at the screen for a few seconds and let my mind wander into the closet in my small half bedroom. There, set up high on a shelf, are several toys that my children have outgrown. These toys have traveled several states with us and have seen many new homes as we  moved over the years. But always they have been there to bring comfort to my babes. I specifically let my mind creep around the edges of the huge plastic pretzel jar that contained Lego blocks.

Just for kicks I instant messaged the lady and asked if she were in search of the large ones or the small ones. Somewhere in my heart, I know I was hoping she would reply” the large ones”. Then I could breath a sigh of relief and the Legos would be safe and sound on their closet shelf.

But when she replied that she was indeed in search of the small ones, I reluctantly checked out the going prices of used Lego blocks on Ebay. I took the huge jar from it’s place on the shelf and dumped the legos on the ground for a picture. I felt my fingers type a reply to her stating that I had 11 lbs of Lego blocks for 40.00. I accompanied it with the picture.  I hoped it would be too much for her and I could abandon this endeavor.

But no, she promptly answered that she would take them.

So began my descent in to melancholy.

All day, I thought of my oldest son and the many winter hours he spent clicking together such unique creations. I remembered how each Thanksgiving I would venture out and brave the maniacal crowds on Black Friday to snag a bucket or two of these precious blocks that would be on sale so cheap for that one day. Winters were for Legos.  That’s when my little family would lie on the floor and put them together and talk and bond. I recalled how my older son broke his younger brother into the magic. How they would work on a project together and argue and fuss a little but still manage to come up with some really amazing drag cars or space ships. The pride and commradery these two brothers felt despite the ten-year age difference would sparkle in their eyes and could be heard in their voices.

So just a half hour before I was to meet the Lego Lady and finalize the deal, I asked my self if I really wanted to do this. I felt like I was betraying my boys, selling a little piece of their childhood. I got down on my hands and knees and searched my heart as I scooped up the huge pile lying on the floor.

“Wow!” I thought, “This really is a huge mess to pick up!” And then it all came back to me. I cringed as I heard the echoes of fussing and arguing over who had to pick up the blocks, rubbed my foot as I recalled the many cuts received from accidentally stepping on a forgotten block, oh and the countless times I was startled as the vacuum snuffed up one of the pieces with much clicking and clacking.

“Heck,” I murmured, “There’s not going to be any little boys around here for quite a few years anyways.” The first grand baby due in November is to be a girl.

I grabbed the now full jar,  jumped into my jeep and whisked a way with my sons’ memories. I promptly handed it over and noticed the dust on the jar as I listened to the Lego Lady explain that her son was now bed ridden with crutches. She had bought him a few new box sets of Legos and  his daddy had helped him put them together. Much to his daddy’s chagrin the little guy was hooked and was going to be so excited to see this huge amount.

My heart melted and I felt a little relief. My sons’ memories were safe in each of our souls. The blocks were only material things.  From my boys’ hearts to another’s, the beloved blocks were finding a new home, a boy who would appreciate the art of Legoing and a daddy who was building memories.

My Poetic Heart

What is this horribly heavy thing
Inside my chest.
Why is it that I do this
Time and again?

A melody sweet and true
Somewhere in my heart
Distant and haunting
Longs to ring out.

My free spirit rides the wind
Laughing with abandon
Carefree and  taunting
Beckoning mischief

But the storms do rage
The savage wind blows cold
And I grasp for love
Blindly seeking shelter.

Who can catch this little girl
Running in my mind?
Who will catch her, tame her
Make her his own?

~Sara Jane~

Again

I pray the Lord
I do this right.

I pray the Lord
To give me insight.

I pray the Lord
For I have no fight.

I pray the Lord
While I take flight.

~Sara Jane~

Inside “I”

Inside “I”
Are good things
Looks, thoughts
Understanding

I keep “I”
Close to myself
Cause “I”
Is easily harmed.

Inside “I”
Is the  way I am
Feelings and ideas
Inside “I”.

~Sara Jane~

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