YESTERDAYS (A-Z April Blog Challenge)

There’s a certain safety to “yesterdays”.  See, I’m a worrier and a pessimist by nature; and yes, a bit of a control freak as well.  So, “todays”…well they are something that I always feel the need to be on top of.  In control of.  It’s often hard for me to keep up to the speed of today – to stay abreast of the minute to minute happenings.  And today, well that rolls easily into the “tomorrows” with the constant  worry of what’s to come, what choices will have to be made or the stumbling blocks that lay yet unseen.    

Yesterdays are done.  They are out of my control.  They are someplace I go to give my heart, my mind, my thoughts and emotions the luxury of time to absorb.  Without a doubt, I spend way too much time in my yesterdays. 

I made it a personal mission to visit some point of my “yesterdays” with each blog post for the A-Z challenge.  Each post needed to carry some thread from my younger years my present.  And overall I’m satisfied with the outcome.  I can see the finish line and am confident that April 30^th will end with a completed challenge. 

The plan I had for completing the posts flew out the window from Day 1.  Each letter seemed to take on a mind of its own until I came up with just the right ONE WORD to write. Many, many drafts were tossed because I felt I wasn’t being honest to the mission I gave myself.  Yes, I could write about a topic, and hey, I’m a writer, I could weave a tale or two and work something in.  But that wasn’t what I needed.  Part of the mission, was to see if I could write about myself. Honestly.  My history.  My yesterdays.  And I did.

And in full disclosure, was View-Master a big sharing of myself?  Hardly.  It was a fun and light piece.  At the other end of the spectrum, writing Once … well that was like cutting into my soul.  The rest fell somewhere in-between.    

The final part of my mission was to gauge my comfort level in sharing my writing.  It took a lot for me to reach out before the challenge started and invite people in an email explaining what I was going to do. I like to write, but it’s very hard for me to get past the self-deprecating editor on my shoulder, much less throw my writing out there in front of moving traffic.  But I did.  And some completely ignored it.  And some visited every now and then.  Some were faithful and supportive.  And then some went above and beyond.  They commented.  They followed my blog.  They wrote funny or upbeat remarks.  They wrote remarks that were incredibly insightful, kind and empathetic.  The support and encouragement from the GBE2: Blog On group has been humbling.

Many of the yesterdays I visited surprised me.  There were things that held much greater significance than I ever realized.  And possibly the greatest surprise was the prevalence of the presence of my mom.  Never before this month have I felt so shaped by her hands as I do now. It’s both a pleasant and not an altogether comfortable feeling, but certainly one to mull over as I visit more of my yesterdays. 

BARBIE (A-Z April Blog Challenge)



Photo credit:
http://www.fashion-doll-guide.com/
Vintage-Barbie-Extravaganza.html



Looking back, the penchant I had for biting off the fingers and toes of every Barbie doll I owned was a strong sign.  Of what, I don’t know, but I’m sure it wasn’t good.  What I do know is that Barbie never wore a swimsuit or a pair of short shorts and a tank top.  I mean, really… without any fingers or toes, she just didn’t have “the look” any more.  I was all about putting her in the long sleeved gloves that reached past her elbows, or little white ones with frilly cuffs.  She wore boots or heels – never sandals.  

Barbie lived a simple life and wasn’t surrounded by all her store bought hype and perfection.  There was no fancy pink car, no motor home, no mansion.  She rode around town in a cut out toothpaste box.  Her house was tastefully decorated with the Sears & Roebuck catalog as her bed which sported one of my dad’s hankies draped over it as her bedspread.  Her living room furniture was a variety of deodorant can tops for chairs, and other household items that worked for couches and end tables.  The rugs were easily changed out with whatever color washcloth I had on hand.  Pencils marked walls, hallways and doors.   

I never felt lacking that I didn’t have the fancy extras - it was all part of just playing Barbie and letting my imagination take over.  And it was great.  Many years before, Nana Wood, the grandmother I never knew, sewed beautiful custom outfits for the Barbies my older sisters played with.  Those clothes and the Barbies got handed down to me.  So mine was a real dichotomy, dressed to the nines with no fingers or toes, entertaining in her pencil lined living room as her guests sat on rolled up socks for bean bag chairs. 

So about those missing fingers and toes……………

1994 was a tough year for me.  I lost about 70 pounds, got down to a weight lower than I ever remembered being in my life and permed the hell out of my long, blonde, fine, bone straight hair.   It was my outward manifestation of working on some intensely personal and emotional issues.  And to hide what was going on inside, I made myself look totally unlike me on the outside.  I looked like Barbie. (Absolutely unattainable figure measurements not withstanding – let’s be real, NO ONE can look like Barbie in THAT way!)

For Christmas that year, my sister gave me a sweatshirt, meant in the most loving way, that I cherished.  It read:  I want to be just like Barbie.  That bitch has everything.  

Well, everything except her fingers and toes I guess. I’d purposefully ruined her perfection.  I’d carried Barbie’s dichotomy with me all those years, always projecting one person on the outside while another, different me, was hidden underneath. Over time, just like with my Barbie, I covered my flaws and scars.    

Since ’94, I’ve done my best to become more honest with myself.  To search out those flaws and scars, resolve or accept them and find a sense of peace.    

In Barbie-speak I guess you could say that the gloves have finally come off.  This summer you might even find me in sandals…………

The Capes That Carry Me...

When I saw this drawing, two specific people came to mind.  There have been a lot of good and loving people who’ve had a positive influence in my life.  But this isn’t about that whole group of people.  It’s about THOSE TWO specific ones.  But before I share why, and who they are, I’ll share who and what they’re NOT.  They’re not super heroes.  Super heroes are for comic books and fiction stories.  Super heroes possess capabilities beyond the human realm.  And I don’t see them as heroes either, because honestly, in my mind, I think a hero is more of a moment in a person’s life ~ it doesn’t comprise who they are, but more of an action. Many will disagree with me on this point, but that’s not what this is about, so I’ll tackle that subject another day.

Like I said, this drawing reminded me of two specific people – they have impacted my life and I have seen their capes.  A way of life.  A moral code.  A life lived by example.  With no thought of reward, recognition or anything other than just living their life in the way that’s the right thing to do.  A life of goodness that builds on itself for them and for those around them.

They are not saints.  Not heroes.  They have flaws and they make mistakes.  But they are good, honest people to the core who live their life by a moral code that is as natural to them as breathing.  I don’t know that I’ve ever told them of the impact they’ve had on me, so it’s about time I did. 

In my 20’s, I met Patricia Harpster, aka Trish Dish.  (Don’t ask me where the nickname came from, I don’t remember!) We were receptionists in a doctor’s office and she was the first person I ever met and still know who lives her life, every day, as a Christian.  Yes, she was Catholic, but I don’t mean she lived her life by the Catholic religion and its rules and practices.  I mean she is a Christian.  She had a relationship with her faith that was just simply a natural part of her actions, her words and her who she is. Her marriage, her family life, and her friendships reflected a sincerity and truth that were grounded in her faith.  She made me want to be a better person, to be a Christian, and was the person I looked to emulate long before I embarked on my own spiritual quest.  Today, 15 years after I stopped working with her on a daily basis, she still affects me and the person that I strive to be.  I don’t feel I’ve nearly come close to her example, but she is who keeps me trying.

Those who know me will not be surprised to hear me name the second person as my husband, Steven.  If our marriage of the past twenty nine years had been “perfect”, I would not trust my judgment.  It’s because of the imperfections (otherwise known as those things that sometimes drive me to aggravating distraction) that I see his cape flow so brilliantly.  There have been people’s lives who he’s touched that would call him a hero.  As a paramedic, he’s saved people’s lives - as a firefighter, he’s entered burning buildings in search of someone trapped – as a friend and coworker he’s made a difference in a suicidal idealization.  But it’s not those things I refer to.

Steve is a black and white kind of guy.  There’s right and there’s wrong.  And no middle ground.  Not for him.  The right way he sees is to be the person who’s there.  Who helps with a sincerity behind it that’s unmatched.  Who steps in to do a job because it’s just something that needs to be done for the greater good.  Who strives to be a better man on a daily basis. He stays when others would walk away. He wears a lot of hats:  son, husband, father, friend, mason, and confidante to name a few.  We often clash as his black and white ways and my gray area ways collide. And although I don’t always agree, I can always acknowledge that his actions and decisions are always done with the best of intentions and integrity.  He inspires me to search deep within myself for the same type of qualities and actions.    

I don’t put Trish or Steve up on a pedestal.  They are everyday human beings.  And I can lump us all together as good people.  Like many other good people around us.  And yet to me, they stand out.  They probably don’t know they nudge me to push myself a little further…to dig a little deeper.  And someday, because of them, I believe I’ll catch a glimpse of my shadow and see a little something waving in the breeze behind me.  Thanks guys.