My church choir is planning a trip to Italy for late April / early May 2013.
I am delighted at the prospect of returning to Europe.
I’ve not been to Italy yet and am eager to see it.
OK, quite honestly, the travel committee had me at the mention of Florence.
I became transfixed on the idea of Florence after reading E.M.Forster’s novel, A Room with a View, and seeing the exquisite 1985 film with Helena Bonham-Carter and Maggie Smith. Pure magic! I’ve been longing to visit Florence ever since. Perhaps like Lucy Honeychurch and her cousin Charlotte Bartlett, I am seeking an adventure, but I’m afraid I don’t travel smartly without my Baedeker.
Of course, there are other exotic places on the tentative itinerary that draw me in as well. Dreamy locales such as Venice, Milan, Cortona (Tuscany) and Rome – these certainly add to my momentous excitement. Truly, I think I could be ready to leave tomorrow if necessary.
I have a little book of quotes that I update with favorite lines I hear in a film or on TV, read in a book or catch in a conversation. Tonight, I wrote down another good one. It was in the movie Something Borrowed.
This was my second time watching the film, and as before, I was crying throughout a couple of scene. One scene in particular touches me for some reason. Rachel and Ethan, two close friends, are discussing Rachel’s recent love life turmoil and how she feels like second place or the runner up in her relationships, and Ethan decides to bare his soul and tell Rachel how special she is to him...
Rachel: “I want to be someone’s first choice.” Ethan: “Yeah. You are…You are home for me.”
It’s a sweet moment. However, Rachel and Ethan don’t go off into the sunset together. She loves another and doesn’t feel the same for Ethan despite his heartfelt confession. But his simple line telling her that she is “home” for him, moves me deeply. I want that.
I don’t like all the aspects of Something Borrowed. The main characters are flawed and make some selfish choices, hurting each other along the way. It’s not always pretty or neat and tidy. But that is, after all, what REAL life is like. It’s messy, and we’re all stumbling to get through it as best we can. In a way, we're all searching for our ideal "home" - whether that is found in a location, a person or something more...
On Friday night, I went to see the ballet of Swan Lake featuring the Voronezh State Ballet Theatre of Russia. This was my first viewing of the actual ballet. My only experience surrounding the Swan Lake story was through the film, Black Swan, and so I was rather curious about seeing the full ballet and learning more. I was not disappointed.
I've seen several other ballets over the past few years, but this was by far the most prestigious and advanced company I have seen perform. I was fascinated by the prima ballerina, Svetlana Noskova, as her Odette/Odile floated across the stage. She made it all seem so effortless. The fact is that the entire company danced impeccably throughout the evening. I was struck with their precision and the beauty and passion that seemed to emanate from their movements.
I was mesmerized by Tchaikovsky's music and discovered that I knew more of the score than I thought I did. It was hauntingly familiar and beautiful.
After the show, it took us nearly 3 hours to get home from Wabash due to the accumulating snow on the roads, but I think it was well worth the effort to see such a sensational performance and to experience the beauty and music that is Swan Lake.
I grew up secretly dreaming of becoming a ballerina. My sister and I would twirl around our living room floor and practice our “moves.” It was a rather silly pipe dream now when I think about it.
My parents were against dancing. I don’t think they would be morally opposed to going to a ballet themselves, but they never would have allowed their daughters to take ballet lessons. Ballet is after all a form of dance.
I have no natural grace or elegance. None. No kidding. I’m a chunky klutz that always dreamed of being more lithe and airy than I truly am.
I have no “moves.”Seriously, have you ever seen me dance? Few have and lived to tell about it. I’ve got no sense of rhythm or general idea of how to move to music at all. Never have had. It’s rather sad.
So, truth be told, I don’t really think I missed “my calling” to become a dancer. I just think my thoughts on becoming a ballerina were merely a dream aspiration - one that I couldn’t pursue even if I had wanted to. I'm not bitter or angry about it either. It was just NOT meant to be, and the world is not weeping over the loss of the next Pierina Legnani.**
A few years ago, I went to a few ballet performances here in Indianapolis and loved every minute of it. I finally got the see The Nutcracker live and more modern works like Dracula, etc. It was mesmerizing and wonderful! I was ecstatic!
Soon after my friends and I opted to purchase season tickets to the ballet. This was our first time buying season tickets for ANYTHING, and it was exhilarating! We went to one magical performance on our season pass, and then the Indianapolis Ballet Company went bankrupt and closed down. It was so sad. (SIGH!)
But when I think back on it, it was also rather hilarious. It was certainly NOT hilarious that a company went under, we lost our investment, most importantly dancers lost their jobs, etc. But it was comically ironic that the first time we had ever paid for season tickets for anything, the company goes under. Hmmmm...perhaps this is why I’m still hesitant to buy season tickets for anything else?
Tonight my friends and I are headed to see another ballet, Swan Lake, and I confess, I am giddy with excitement and anticipation. I've been twirling around my apartment all morning in preparation for this evening's performance. However, I now consider myself a patron of the arts rather than an active participant, which I think works out best for everyone.
**DISCLAIMER: I have not become a ballet history expert in the past 24 hours. I just googled something about ballet yesterday, and Pierina's name was mentioned as one of the greats. So I'm still not ready for the ballet category on Jeopardy! or anything like that. HA!**
Breaking up is hard to do…especially when you don’t recall how you got hooked up in the first place. Odd as it may seem that day is rather a blank slate for me. One moment I was free and untethered, carefree as a bird. The next moment, everything changed. Suddenly my whole world revolved around him, and we have been cosmically connected from that day on.
Isn’t this what every woman dreams of? To find that special someone who comes in and sweeps her off her feet? To be pursued and chased? To be loved for herself alone? Naively, I thought that was what I wanted, too, but I’m not so sure about that any more. It always looks blissful in the movies, but it’s much less romantic than Hollywood lets on, believe me.
You see, I had my doubts about him from the beginning, but he seemed so sure about us. He was convinced that we belonged together, and his confidence was alluring. I found myself falling under his mesmerizing spell. Call it karma or fate, I was drawn to him. What is a girl to do?
I tried to end our relationship three times. I tried to make it clear that there was no room in my life for him, On my third attempt, I thought that he understood and got my message loud and clear. I was sure it was the end of us, and I breathed a sigh of relief.
But then he showed up 4 days later, acting as if he had never left my side, and despite my best attempts to ward him off, I could feel myself being drawn in yet again. He’s a stubborn brute really, and I’m not sure what the attraction is that pulls us together, but I know of it's power. Even now, I think we’re done, but I know that he might reappear at any minute reminding me once again that we are one, and I’ll be putty in his embrace once more. I’m weak. I can’t fight him off anymore on my own.
Thus, I finally opted to seek out some more professional help. It was time to admit that I couldn’t sever ties with him on my own. I felt trapped and needed help in removing him from my life and putting boundaries in place to keep him from returning once more.
And so today, I visited an ENT, who gave me great hopes that together we can rid me of this immortal sinus infection. He believes we can take preventative measures to keep my infection from returning and end this vile parasitic relationship. I am thrilled. Sadly, this is my longest-running relationship in like forever, but, alas, it really needs to end. Honestly, I’ve never been quite so ready for a breakup. BRING IT!
I'm me. Tried to be someone else once. It didn't fly. So you're stuck with me…
That’s my opening line on my Twitter profile. Sure. It’s kind of odd to start there, but it is reality. That is the way I’ve been viewing my life for the past couple of years.
I’ve started showing my real self. I’ve stopped faking, stopped trying to be someone else, stopped trying to please other people, stopped trying to blend in and stopped trying to be like everyone else.
In exchange, I started to focus on pleasing the only ONE who matters. And when I let go of caring about the rest, I was FREE. Free to be real. Free to be open-minded. Free to listen and form my own opinions. Free to love. Free to disagree with those that I love. Free to be myself. Free to see myself as HE sees me.
It’s not pretty all the time. In fact sometimes, it’s downright ugly. But seeing that reality prompts me to step back, allowing HIM to transform me and truly set me FREE.
I came across this video on another blog. Some might call it random, but I don't believe in accidents. I resonate with A LOT of what the speaker is saying here. It's thought provoking stuff.
I particularly liked this line that he said about the church: “It’s not a museum for good people. It’s a hospital for the broken.”
Sunday, January 1, 2012
I’m a Showtime series junkie. I can’t handle all of it, mind you – just the shows that make me think and go deep or make me feel alive. The writing on a couple of Showtime’s series is phenomenal, and I’m a fan.
I’ve watched Dexter from the beginning. Season 1 still is my favorite, but I’m rather obsessed with seeing what else Dexter will get into with each new season. I love it. It’s raw, edgy and brilliantly crafted, and the acting is superb.
Now, I’m guessing that some of my friends and family members would be surprised that I watch Dexter. Admittedly, it is not a family show, not in any way, shape or form. Nearly every show has nudity. Yes, I think the show could do without it. Personally, I don’t get men’s obsession with the female form, and I don’t ever think I will. In addition, the language on the show is often foul. I don’t generally cuss like a sailor (at least not in public), but most scenes with the character “Deb” involve ready access to the “F” word. It’s her calling card!
But despite what some may call “flaws,” I find the show gripping. I’m reeled in time and time again with the plot twists, sitting on the edge of my seat breathlessly waiting for more. I find myself connected to the show and its quirky characters. AND that, I believe, is the real draw – the human connection.
This December, I caught up with a new Showtime series, Homeland. A co-worker (a fellow Dexter aficionado) recommended it to me, and so I checked it out for myself. I was hooked from episode 1. The show is a lot different from Dexter, but the top notch writing is vividly portrayed by the incredible acting of all the key players.
The show would almost fit in on one of the basic primetime networks. I said ALMOST because in truth, I think it is best left on Showtime right where it is. I don’t think primetime viewers are ready for it quite yet. I found the plot rather intriguing and the questions raised compelling. I like hearing other perspectives and having to own the reality that my own world view is limited and tainted by my own experiences and learnings. No one has all the answers. That is humbling and real. I liked it.
Reflecting back on our European adventures this past May, I find it curious how expectations can really get in the way...
Our first day in Brussels was a bit rough. I think we were all tired and a bit cranky and getting on each other’s nerves quickly. We got settled into our hotel, explored a bit of the surrounding area, and then had a welcome meeting with our tour director followed by a multiple course dinner. I was so tired I struggled to keep my eyes open during the introductions. Everyone was very kind and several people tried to pull me into conversation, but I wasn’t very engaging or much of a conversationalist at all. I tried to be as polite as I could be, but inside I felt miserable and desperately wanted to flee.
You see, it wasn’t what I had imagined it would be like. It was quite different, and my expectations were quickly dashed, and reality crept in. The bottom line was that everyone in our group was much older than I was. The majority of them had been married for longer than I had been alive. They were grandparents and many of them were great grandparents. I wasn’t sure what to think. I didn’t have anything in common with these people and wondered what I had gotten myself into! Would I have anyone to talk to?
But one good night of sleep did wonders on my psyche. I woke up determined that I was going to see and experience as much as I possibly could on this trip. I was going to enjoy every minute with my parents and my aunt. I wasn’t going to grumble or complain because things weren’t quite what I had imagined they would be. I was in Europe, for goodness sakes. This is where I had long dreamed of being, and here I was. I refocused myself, embraced the reality and felt much more invigorated and ready to have my own adventure, and boy, I sure did.
I became enchanted with Brussels and some of that old world charm thawed my disappointed heart. And I promptly found myself conversing with my fellow tour members and getting to know them despite our age differences, and surprisingly, I discovered many kindred spirits. Dick and his wife Audrey were incredibly sweet and warm. Dick and I would take turns pointing out good photo opportunities to one another and rushing around to get the perfect shot. George and Marilyn were another couple that I quickly grew fond of in Brussels. He kept me laughing and guessing at what he would say next, and Marilyn was a delight to watch as she kept her husband George in check.
And once we got on the cruise, it was quickly noted that I was “the baby” passenger on board, but I didn’t mind. I just grinned, laughed and went with it. In one sense, I think the great age difference between myself and most of the other passengers gave me a sense of freedom and relaxation. I didn’t have to be “on” all the time or act a certain part. I wasn’t out to impress. I could be as silly, frivolous and animated as I wanted to be. In fact, the more personality I exhibited, the better. It wasn’t an act or a ruse. No performance was needed. I just let my extroverted side out and no longer cared who saw me being myself.
I made friends quickly. I became known as “the girl,” and this girl didn’t know a stranger. I started conversations on my own without imagining what others were thinking of me. I sought people out. I would see 1 or more people standing off to the side on their own, and I would approach them with a friendly: “Hi there. I’m Melanie.”
I became “the photographer” – repairing or adjusting camera settings for people, jumping in and offering to take pictures, asking people to pose for my own camera, insisting on group shots, etc.
I became a motivator, encouraging people along and practicing patience. I tried to keep track of those in need of special care in our group, and I would make sure they didn't get left behind.
I got to know the staff and crew as well. I learned names, figured out who did what, asked lots of questions and joked with the serving staff. I exchanged sarcastic comments with the tour guides and learned quickly that sarcasm is not just for the British or American persona.
But who was this girl? Who was this carefree stranger? She was fearless. She was real. And I’m trying to keep track of her even now...I don't want to lose the joy and passion of just living that I experienced for those 3 full weeks. I want to discard the mask altogether and be the crazy, vibrant, energetic person GOD made me to be. I was in my element there on that boat, amongst those dear people, and it felt good.
This past weekend a thought came to me, and I quickly made it my Facebook status to capture the thought – My greatest fear? That my tombstone will declare: " Here lies an accomplished reader..."
First of all, it’s not actually my greatest fear. Outside of eternal separation from GOD, spiders would probably be at the top of my list. (shiver)
Secondly, I’m not ordinarily morbid or so focused on my impending end. In fact, most of the time, I don’t think about stuff like that. But for some reason, it came to mind this weekend as I surveyed my life.
Fact is that I’ve been spending a lot of time on my own again lately. This isn’t a ploy for sympathy.I love it. Solitude is addictive! I crave it. I long for it. I need it. And my solitude isn’t lonely. I’ve been spending my time reading. I opted to put my Netflix account on hold for a while and get caught up on some books I’ve been collecting, and I’ve really been enjoying every minute. Nothing quite like getting wrapped up in someone else’s imagination! It’s pure joy for me.
As innocent as reading is, I have to be careful. I know me. If I let it, reading can so easily replace relationships for me, which is dangerous. Sure, I can enjoy books, but I need to be around people – real live, flesh and blood people, too. I need to be interacting with others. I need to be involved in making the lives of those around me better. I need to actively participate in my own story.
Frankly, I’m not embracing my mission if I select fiction over real life. Lots to ponder…
