Autumn Wonder!

There’s just something magical about fall. I love it. Minus the cold rain and the endless football season, it’s a delightful time of year. To me, even the word autumn is whimsical.

I love the cooler air even though it stings my eyes a little on a frosty morning. I revel in the sounds of autumn—munching on a crisp green apple or running through crunchy piles of leaves. The smells of fall enthrall me as well—the freshly mowed slick wet grass or that unique smell of pumpkins. There is just so much to enjoy about fall—apple cider, candy corn and caramel apples; hayrides, bonfires and hikes. Simply marvelous!

This past weekend I got to spend some time out in the open air for a couple of hours. It was a cooler weekend with highs in the mid 50’s, and while the weather man kept predicting rain, it was a pleasant cool but sunny day for a girls’ outing to a local winery.

The drive provided us with wonderful views of the bright fall foliage. Isn’t it amazing how quickly the leaves turn colors? I know it’s a chemical thing. The leaves are simply doing what leaves do, but it’s no less miraculous.

At the winery, we were warmed up from the inside out as we sampled new varieties. I discovered that some wines actually do taste as they are described. In my limited experience, I’ve been baffled with how wines are supposedly flavored. I read the label and am discouraged that I can’t taste what I am supposed to taste.

Soft oak finish or a hint of oak: Huh? Am I buying kitchen cabinets or alcohol? Do I want to taste wood when I am sipping wine?

Reminiscent of berry, violet and spice: OK. So this was made in memory of berries, violet and spice? How touching!

Raspberry and watermelon: Wow! So, were the raspberries and watermelon merely within a 3 mile radius at the time the wine was made or what? Did someone forget to put them in the wine?

Caramel and nuts: Really? Where? Is there ice cream?

Well, this weekend I discovered that blackberry wine actually tastes like blackberries, and I was thrilled at this new discovery! I didn’t have to use my imagination or lie about it. It was good stuff! I actually tasted the blackberries, and I couldn’t stop gushing about it. It was impressive. I’m not saying I’d want it every day, mind you, but every once in a while wouldn’t be bad.

And while my friends shopped at the winery, I explored the great outdoors. Camera in tow, I walked down to the lake and admired the tranquil setting. I enjoyed the pumpkin displays and the vividly colored floral arrangements.

Afterwards, we drove to Bloomington and visited the IU campus. My friend Sara, an IU alum, gave us a tour of the grounds as we enjoyed the crisp fall air and marveled at the brilliant foliage. I took lots of pictures of nature’s classic beauties amidst the stately grandeur of the historic buildings. Wonderful!

We finished up the evening with a tasty meal at a local pub that is fast becoming a favorite of mine. Fried pickles are rather sublime!

It’s moments like these that I need to savor—moments of pure joy in my current state of affairs. Maybe that’s why I take so many pictures, why memories are so important, and why it is vital to me to capture each moment—I like to remember. Not so that I can be depressed because that exuberant day is over, but rather on a future gloomy day, I can once again relive this prime moment and see all the beauty and joy that my life has afforded me. And be reminded again of how blessed I am...

Can't go back...

I know we can’t go back and have a re-do of our lives or of the relationships we’ve built and destroyed along the way, but there are times I wish for the opportunity to do just that…

I wish I had taken the time to tell more people what I really thought of them. And we’re talking good stuff here. I mean there have been moments where I’ve wished I had taken the opportunity to ZING someone with a quick retort, but those aren’t the moments I think back on with regret…

I worked for 2 college summers with this guy named Clay. He was a tough guy, a brute to most people, and OH my word, he was sarcastic! We rarely had a sarcasm-free conversation or talked without him cutting me down to size, but I knew that there was more to him. Several times, I saw his gentleness, his compassion for those less fortunate and his strong character. And I wish that just once I had told him that I admired him just as he was. I wish that I had tried to pierce that armor and those walls he had built up around him and had told him that I knew the truth—he had a heart of gold.

I often wonder what became of Clay and where he is today…I wish him well and hope he has found happiness and peace, and I hope he hasn’t completely lost that sarcastic edge either. I found it rather amusing!

I wish I had given and openly received more hugs and kisses and taken help when it was offered. I was never big on affection until the last few years and even then it’s just taken some huggy people to get me to come around. And when it comes to allowing people to help me or accepting their kindness, it’s really been hard for me to accept it.

My Mom says that even as a baby, I wasn’t much of a cuddler. No gentle rocking for this baby! I simply wanted to be placed in my crib and left alone to get to sleep. I think back on my childhood, and especially my teen years, with more than a twinge of sadness because I didn’t like hugs or kisses. I’d tolerate them from grandparents and the older people in my church, but I would push my Mom away when she would try to hug or kiss me.

If I ever got hurt, I’d push people away when they would try to assist me. I wanted to get up on my own two feet and not let anyone see me weak. I’d turn nasty and send people running away with a glare or a hasty “Leave me alone.” I didn’t accept the kindness of others, and I’m not sure why. I’m guessing it was just pure stubbornness.

My nieces and nephews get lots of affection from their Aunt Mel now. And I like getting together with girlfriends and getting hugs all around—in fact sometimes I actually initiate hugs now, which is huge if you knew me from 5, 10 or 15 years ago. I think all of us do need affection more than we realize. I’m also still trying to work through the whole accepting of kindness thing. It’s difficult for me. I tend to initially balk at compliments or completely disregard them, and I’m learning to see how rude and hurtful that actually is.

We can’t correct the past or erase past wrongs, and sometimes we don’t get that second chance to tell someone what we really feel either. But we can take advantage of the here and now and change the moment we’re in. I can tell those near and dear to my heart right NOW how much I appreciate them. I can give free hugs and kisses all around to my family and friends. In the days ahead, I hope to live with an appreciation for the blessings I have been given and a heart of gratefulness for where I am…

Stepping in her shoes...

I went to see In Her Shoes this weekend. And while I couldn’t identify with all of the elements of the story such as the part where one sister sleeps with her sister’s boyfriend out of spite and just because she can, I did identify with that delicate balance of sisterhood. There is a closeness, a bond that we share that is hard to describe and even harder to understand.

My sister and I haven't been able to swap shoes since I was in 5th grade or so. She's 2 years younger and at least 5 inches taller, but we have had our fair share of growing pains in our relationship. As young girls we fought over dolls, toys and that strategic middle line in the backseat of the car. [You know…that imaginary dividing line between her side and my side.] As young adults, we moved on to disagreements over clothes, boys and time in the bathroom. After college, our heated discussions were about dating and marriage, spiritual things, etc.

We've had our moments of heated debate, but there has always been that delicate thread woven between the two of us that has yet to be broken. It’s been tugged and nearly snapped in two but never frayed beyond repair.

When I look back at those rough periods, I find it interesting how much has transpired and how those spats and fights are so insignificant now when at the time they seemed so huge. GOD has pulled us through some hard times and brought us closer to each other and HIMSELF on the other side. It's amazing how wonderful forgiveness really is. My sister and I don't view each other with those past wrongs in front of our faces every time we talk or get together. She's not remembering the hurtful things I've said and done, and vice versa when I talk with her, those things are far from my mind as well.

And if imperfect sisterly love covers such wrongs, just imagine how incredible GOD's loving forgiveness really is! The fact that a perfect and holy GOD chooses to forget and forgive all of my bad, evil and ugly deeds, words and thoughts is just incomprehensible! That HE sent HIS beloved SON to stand in my shoes, as it were, and bear my punishment for me. All HE requires is a humble and broken heart that is willing to confess those sins, ask for HIS forgiveness and accept HIS gift. It takes my breath away... How can I be less than grateful?

Numb and Speechless...

Speechlessness is not something I encounter on a day-to-day basis, but there are just some things I don't know how to respond to. A point that I reach where there are no words, where I actually have nothing to say. I'm struck dumb as it were.

My dear friend was raped last week in the middle of the night. A man broke into her home and raped her. This dear "sister" of mine is a treasure. She's a vibrant life force that has seen a lot more of the world than I have. I admire her courage, her bravery and strength in the midst of adversity. She's a force to be reckoned with.

Not only is she strong and courageous, but she is also warm and loving. She's one of those friends that always seems to know when you need a shoulder. She makes herself available even when she's crazy busy. She's extremely thoughtful and likes to surprise you. She once sent me a Valentine's bouquet just because she could, and she signed it from "Howard," which was a joke between the 2 of us. She's a wonderful loving mother to her 2 children, as well. They are a delightful priority in her life!

Her sense of humor continues to amaze me. She makes me laugh at some of the oddest moments. We've spent hours together laughing and harassing each other. We play fight and start arguments over the silliest things just for laughs! We're real with each other as well. She's called me on the carpet a couple of times just as I have her.

And behind the laughs, I've been blessed with a dear friendship. She and I clicked from the first day we met. We really did. We connected in one of those moments straight out of a movie or a book...we instantly understood each other and still have the capabilities with just one look to say volumes!

...And so with something like this plaguing her life, I'm left without words. I just want her to know that she is loved.

Tick! Tock! TICK!! TOCK!!

There are moments and I confess more than a few when there seems to be an incessant clock methodically counting off the minutes in my head and reminding me that time is getting short. Yes, my biological clock is alive and well and getting louder and louder with each passing year. And sometimes I'm not quite sure what to do about it...

I like children. I’ve been around kids most of my life. My Mom had a day care in our home from my entry into kindergarten through my 4 years in college, and so there were children in our home all year round. There was never a shortage of younger children to play with and entertain, and so my sister and I were always active—playing games, coloring, taking walks, enjoying the park. It wasn’t a bad set up really. OH! we had our whining moments about having to give up our own rooms during afternoon naptime or struggling to find a quiet retreat away from the “little kids” who clamored for our attention, but looking back now, it was rather fun! Never a dull moment in our home, that’s for sure.

Because of all that daily experience with tiny babies through 8 year olds, I started babysitting on my own at 11. I loved it. For me it was hours of pretending to be a grown up. Not only did I get to play with the children, but I got to cook dinner on my own and get the kids ready for bed. I’d get them all snuggled in for the night—getting them their final glass of water or reading countless books to them. And once they were all asleep, I’d start cleaning up the kitchen. I’d do the dishes and tidy up the house. I guess I enjoyed just being a “Mom” for a few hours and dreaming of the day when I too would have a home and a family of my own to care for.

I became an aunt when I was almost 16. I was delighted to hold this dear sweet little creature in my arms and realize that I was her “aunt.” It was very exciting. And when I graduated from high school 6 months early, I went to live with my brother and his family for 2 months as a nanny. I took care of my young niece as she underwent a rigorous medical procedure. I’ve become an aunt 7 more times since then, and it’s one of my greatest pleasures to be “Aunt Mel.”

In college, I had some interaction with children on the campus, but I really seemed to find my niche working at a weekend and summer camp for children and adults with special needs. Being a cabin counselor afforded me that opportunity of being a “Mom” for a week—getting my girls to breakfast on time, tidying the cabin, entertaining and interacting with the campers, etc. I was back in my element.

After college, I tried to find a job that would utilize my writing degree, and instead, I found myself working in a day care as an infant care supervisor [glossy title for a job of changing diapers, making bottles, etc.] It took its toll on me quickly. It was hard to get good helpers, and I ended up caring for the 8 babies on my own, which proved to be too much for me. After 16 months, I found a more suitable professional position and took a break from direct involvement with child care.

I plugged into my career and my future. At first I think I assumed that all of my interest in becoming a Mother had departed and that maybe those long months in the nursery had changed me for good. But after a few months, I found myself again wishing for a family of my own.

And today, 8 years later, I still do. The dream is still there inside of me. I wrestle with the desire to be a Mother and a wife. I chat with GOD about it often. I know WHO created me and gave me this motherly instinct and this drive to have a family of my own. HE gave me this desire, and I struggle with the fact that I’m not able to fulfill this GOD-given desire as I’d like.

However, I have found that I can use my gifts in other ways…I try to be a good aunt to my 3 nephews and 5 nieces. When I’m with them, I take great delight in spending time with them and hopefully helping to mold them into the loving and strong persons I’d like to see them be. And while, I would love for my nieces and nephews to have another uncle and have a family of my own, I find that it’s still good here. Those that can’t be Mothers can still use their gifts, their “twinkles” if you will, for the power of good. When I spend time with friends and family, I still find myself drawn to the children in the room. I want to hold the babies or chase after the toddlers; I want to play games with the kids or find out what’s new in their lives.

I’m 31, and I don’t know what the future will bring. Sometimes I wonder will the ticking stop when the possibility of motherhood ends? Maybe at 40 or 45? What will I hear in my head then? Hmmmm…

So while I don’t know exactly what’s in store for me in the days ahead, I do know that my Heavenly FATHER has it under control!! For now, my family is what I make it. I’m blessed with a wonderful sister and brother-in-law that include me as part of their own family even on vacations and family outings. I have several fabulous female friends that are my “sisters”—we talk, laugh, cry and travel together! And there are numerous other people that I could include in my growing “family,” and so most days, I consider myself blessed. Life is seldom the way we’ve imagined it, and while reality is not always better than our dreams, it is an incredible adventure…

I’m a self-diagnostic…

Basically this means that I tend to self-diagnose symptoms or occurrences, which makes me rather dangerous. Maybe not so much a danger to others, I imagine, but definitely a hazard to myself! And my cynical, slightly pessimistic outlook often helps to build the drama...just ask my sister.

For example, one day I started experiencing spots in my vision and I was unable to look into the light, and the next thing you know, I'm sure that either I'm now a diabetic and going blind or perhaps I'm turning into a vampire! AHEM!! In actuality, I was starting symptoms for a severe migraine headache.

Or the numerous times that my car has started making a new noise, and after 10 minutes of Internet research I was sure that I had a blown head gasket or needed to replace the serpentine belt or have the engine rebuilt. Yes, nothing thrills a mechanic like a consumer acting like an expert and self-diagnosing their car's engine when the truth is that this same consumer struggles to remember how to pop the hood up or where to replenish the windshield washer fluid. I just know that my mechanic feels I should be committed.

I've stopped watching Dateline NBC or 60 Minutes and other shows like that for similar reasons. Seeing some horror journalistic story about some new fatal flu or learning about a horrendous accident involving a kitchen blender or hearing about the brown recluse spider that was found nesting under the toilet seat lid--well, these are just stories that I don't need to see or hear about. Trust me!

On the plus side, I have been right a time or two. Like the time I knew that I had Bell's Palsy in college, and my doctor was sure couldn't possibly have it. Well the tests proved me right, but that was purely an educated guess, and I'm quite sure that my odds of getting things right since have not increased.

I guess you could say that I like gaining knowledge and learning more about a subject, but that doesn't make me the master of much. Little snippets of information to a slight hypochondriac and a rampant arachnophobic personality along with a vivid dramatic imagination can be more than dangerous...yes, it can be downright perilous!

I often wonder why my parents named me Melanie, which means courageous. I know that nothing happens by accident, but really, that is just too ironic. I'm not courageous at all. Hmmmmm...