Last year for the first time in my 30 years, I spent Christmas on my own alone—yep, just me and my plants hanging out. I talked to my family on the phone for a few minutes, watched a couple of favorite movies and ate one of my favorite foods—fried chicken! It was a great day! I had no stress, no worries. I had peace and quiet and amused myself. It was all good to me.
But to some of my family and friends, my independence and decision to stay home alone on Christmas Day spelled trouble:
Is she depressed?
Is she suicidal?
Was this really just a desperate cry for help?
Did someone need to intervene?
[Nope. None of the above.]
Then there were the other questions:
Is she secretly dating someone?
Is there a guy staying at her place?
[Alas, no, but don't I wish…]
Somehow by choosing to remain on my own on Christmas Day, I scared people. They seemed to think that something had to be wrong because I chose solitude.
Ah, but nothing was wrong. I wasn’t going crazy or losing my edge. I wasn’t cutting myself with a knife or sobbing hysterically. There was no crime or heinous act being committed. I was simply enjoying the day on my own. [GASP!]
Since becoming an adult, I’ve been like a window shopper at Christmas. I’m peering through the glass at others’ celebrations, but I’m not an active participant myself. I’ve spent past Christmases watching my nieces and nephews open gifts, and it’s been marvelous to watch their eyes light up with sheer delight at what was inside each package. I’ve hung out with other friends for a large family style dinner, and I’ve felt blessed to be right where I was at that time. But while everyone always does their best to make me feel welcome at their holiday celebrations, I always feel like something is missing. IT IS. I’m the one who’s missing. I’m not celebrating. I’m observing.
I want to have my own Christmas traditions—special moments that entirely belong to me (and maybe my family of 10 houseplants). I can’t help but wish for something more personal that belongs to me—for my own way of celebrating the day that the Savior of the world was born! I don’t feel that the holiday is any less simply because I spend it on my own.
And this Christmas, I’m feeling more of the same. I’ve spent days and weeks leading up to the holidays with lots of friends and family. We’ve watched Christmas movies together, we’ve spent a day baking Christmas cookies, we’ve had gift exchanges and attended holiday parties, and we’ve shopped till we’ve dropped. So now, I’m ready to celebrate…on my own!
This holiday season, for the first time, I’m planning to attend one of the Christmas Eve services at my church. I’ve heard that it’s a very special service, and I’m looking forward to it with great anticipation. So I’ve got my own plans on Christmas Eve now.
And after that? I don’t know yet. I haven’t made any definite plans. I’m sure I’ll make the trip North to spend time with my sister and her family. I wouldn’t miss that for the world. And closer to the New Year, my parents and 4 siblings and their families will all get together and exchange gifts and have a meal together at my brother’s house. It will be a fun-filled, busy day of gifts, games and food. Highly enjoyable!
Yes, I’m looking forward to celebrating Christmas this year. Alone or with family and friends, I won’t be lonely! It will all be good...
Thursday, December 22, 2005
Monday, December 19, 2005
Cookie Time!
There are moments of pure delight with my nephew Jacob that make me forget any of my current worries or problems and just remind me again of the simple amazements that make life a blessing! I visited him and his family this weekend and together, we made and decorated lots of cookies. He totally got into rolling out the sugar cookie dough and making the cut-outs, and then when it came to frosting them, he had his own unique style. I could have sat there and watched him all day as he savored each moment.
I think sometimes we forget the simple joys, the childhood delights...but when we see them again in the face of another 3-year-old, it rekindles again some of those old feelings. Life is good!
Wednesday, December 7, 2005
My Own Personal Snow Globe
I’m totally thrilled it’s winter. I don’t enjoy driving in snow or on ice. I can do without that, thank you very much. But I do love the colder temps and seeing my breath when I walk outside. It’s sweater weather, turtleneck season, hot cocoa time. There is something magical about winter. I just caught myself staring out the window here at work, just watching the snowflakes whimsically dance along as they drift downward.
It reminds me of 20 years ago when I loved tramping around outside in the snow and staying outdoors in just about kind of weather. There my sister and I would stay all day when we could. We’d bundle up and go sledding in the ditch. Our ditch was our own private kingdom. It was a small city-owned drainage ditch that ran along our property, and we loved to explore it. There was a creek at the bottom, of course, and so we’d slide down into the ditch and break the ice in the small creek or attempt to cross the icy terrain.
And of course, playing outside is always better when you have a vivid imagination, and the Bradley sisters always had that! One day we’d be Indiana Jones exploring a frozen jungle, and then next day we’d be the next greatest figure skater as we glided along the ice in our moon boots. We’d stay out in the cold until we’d hear “Mel-anie! Barb-bra!” echoing across the neighborhood as my Mom would call us home for dinner from our own back door. That was a bit embarrassing at the time, but it’s a rather fond memory now.
Four years in South Carolina didn’t change this Midwestern girl. I still like having a real winter and enjoying 4 distinct seasons. Yes, as an adult, snow now requires more work, but I am still quite content with winter. And somewhere deep inside me there is still a little girl just dying to head back home to Michigan and go exploring through the snow-covered ditch again.
It reminds me of 20 years ago when I loved tramping around outside in the snow and staying outdoors in just about kind of weather. There my sister and I would stay all day when we could. We’d bundle up and go sledding in the ditch. Our ditch was our own private kingdom. It was a small city-owned drainage ditch that ran along our property, and we loved to explore it. There was a creek at the bottom, of course, and so we’d slide down into the ditch and break the ice in the small creek or attempt to cross the icy terrain.
And of course, playing outside is always better when you have a vivid imagination, and the Bradley sisters always had that! One day we’d be Indiana Jones exploring a frozen jungle, and then next day we’d be the next greatest figure skater as we glided along the ice in our moon boots. We’d stay out in the cold until we’d hear “Mel-anie! Barb-bra!” echoing across the neighborhood as my Mom would call us home for dinner from our own back door. That was a bit embarrassing at the time, but it’s a rather fond memory now.
Four years in South Carolina didn’t change this Midwestern girl. I still like having a real winter and enjoying 4 distinct seasons. Yes, as an adult, snow now requires more work, but I am still quite content with winter. And somewhere deep inside me there is still a little girl just dying to head back home to Michigan and go exploring through the snow-covered ditch again.
Monday, December 5, 2005
Every year it’s the same...
I languish long and hard over what to put into my Christmas newsletter, better known as Mel’s Monologue. Do I include this or that? Do I pretend that all is rosy or do I go with gutsy honesty? How should my tone read—sanguine or sarcastic? Who will my letter offend this year? Such worthy dilemmas…
The truth is that I don’t consider my life all that significant to anyone else other than myself. I mean, I’m happy I’m alive and still kicking. I like my life personally, and I find it exciting enough for me. It's a full life to me, but I wonder what is worth sharing each year with others. And it all comes back to comparison. In comparison to the lives of those around me, I think my life must appear to be rather dull and not worth reading about…
I didn’t buy a house this year or make a big move. I’m still living in my one-bedroom apartment—killing every spider or bug I find. But you know what—I love my apartment. It’s just right for me. So what that I’ve been here for 5 years now! This is home!
No big news this year about my having a baby (miraculous conception indeed) or finding myself a man! Yeah, the baby really would be more than a surprise! And OK, so John Cusack is the only man I’ve been seeing of late. But that’s just because I’ve been re-watching all of his movies and once again loving his ability to play quirky characters and wondering where are all the good men gone…
I spent a lot of my time on my own this year at home (in my one-bedroom apartment). I opted to pull out of a singles group at my church that seemed to be dying off and decided to back off some other social activities as well. I wouldn’t quite say I am a total recluse yet, but I’m definitely enjoying life alone. But I did add myself back as a volunteer at the IMA, one of my favorite places in the city, and so that should be another point in my favor. OK, so I still watch a lot of movies and read a lot of books and write a lot—all on my own. But if I’m happy and content with the way things are, who am I hurting? Am I supposed to pretend that there is more to life than what GOD has already given me? YEAH! I’m done with that. This is as good as it gets for me…at this time. I'm not complaining, and so why should anyone else complain about it?
I’ve made lots of cards and scrapbooked a great deal this year. Truth is that I probably made well over 500 cards this year, and I’ve loved it. I’ve given lots of them away, and that’s part of the joy of making them. And as for scrapbooking, I still have my own personal style. I’m not into fluffy or pretty scrapbooking. For me it’s still about the story behind each picture and not the pretty paper or specialty items to coordinate the scene. It’s still about the story behind each smile…
And so as I start to compose yet another newsletter, I smile a wry smile and savor the delights of being alive. [JUST BREATHE!!!] Yes, this is enough… Maybe it's not enough in the mind of someone else, but my CREATOR and I are the only ones that it should matter to. They have their own lives. GOD gave me this one. I'm grateful, and I'm sticking to it.
The truth is that I don’t consider my life all that significant to anyone else other than myself. I mean, I’m happy I’m alive and still kicking. I like my life personally, and I find it exciting enough for me. It's a full life to me, but I wonder what is worth sharing each year with others. And it all comes back to comparison. In comparison to the lives of those around me, I think my life must appear to be rather dull and not worth reading about…
I didn’t buy a house this year or make a big move. I’m still living in my one-bedroom apartment—killing every spider or bug I find. But you know what—I love my apartment. It’s just right for me. So what that I’ve been here for 5 years now! This is home!
No big news this year about my having a baby (miraculous conception indeed) or finding myself a man! Yeah, the baby really would be more than a surprise! And OK, so John Cusack is the only man I’ve been seeing of late. But that’s just because I’ve been re-watching all of his movies and once again loving his ability to play quirky characters and wondering where are all the good men gone…
I spent a lot of my time on my own this year at home (in my one-bedroom apartment). I opted to pull out of a singles group at my church that seemed to be dying off and decided to back off some other social activities as well. I wouldn’t quite say I am a total recluse yet, but I’m definitely enjoying life alone. But I did add myself back as a volunteer at the IMA, one of my favorite places in the city, and so that should be another point in my favor. OK, so I still watch a lot of movies and read a lot of books and write a lot—all on my own. But if I’m happy and content with the way things are, who am I hurting? Am I supposed to pretend that there is more to life than what GOD has already given me? YEAH! I’m done with that. This is as good as it gets for me…at this time. I'm not complaining, and so why should anyone else complain about it?
I’ve made lots of cards and scrapbooked a great deal this year. Truth is that I probably made well over 500 cards this year, and I’ve loved it. I’ve given lots of them away, and that’s part of the joy of making them. And as for scrapbooking, I still have my own personal style. I’m not into fluffy or pretty scrapbooking. For me it’s still about the story behind each picture and not the pretty paper or specialty items to coordinate the scene. It’s still about the story behind each smile…
And so as I start to compose yet another newsletter, I smile a wry smile and savor the delights of being alive. [JUST BREATHE!!!] Yes, this is enough… Maybe it's not enough in the mind of someone else, but my CREATOR and I are the only ones that it should matter to. They have their own lives. GOD gave me this one. I'm grateful, and I'm sticking to it.
Tuesday, November 22, 2005
I love Thanksgiving...
It’s just the best holiday ever—-delicious food and favorite family recipes, splendid time playing board games and boundless laughter, high-handed schemes and faulty attempts to hide the TV remote just to annoy my football-obsessed elder brothers, etc. Ahhh! What could be better!
Normally, my Mom and I bundle up my nieces and nephews after our delightful lunch and brave snow, hail or wind all for the 3-block walk from our family home to the village library. Here in this small Midwestern town, the city yearly maintains a life-sized manger scene complete with Mary, Joseph, baby Jesus, shepherds, the wisemen, and farm animals. There we enjoy a visit with Baby Jesus, and I utilize my own paparazzi-like skills to take as many pictures as possible to capture these fleeting moments of whimsy. I try to suppress my laughter as one niece gives Joseph a kiss, and another sizes a shepherd up to see if she has grown taller than he this year. My nephews climb all over the animals and pose for funny shots as they straddle a camel or cow.
Next we march over to the Croswell Swinging Bridge, the 2nd stop on our annual pilgrimage. I usually bolt across the suspension bridge chasing after my 2 eldest nephews, while my Mom lags behind a bit and manages to hold the hands of my younger nieces and nephews as they timidly cross the wooden bridge—trying not to look down at the muddy waters below.
The playground near the bridge is always a highlight of our visit. The kids scramble up and down, in and out of the various amusements. My Mom tirelessly pushes a couple of her grandchildren on the swings while I keep an eye on the others and attempt to keep them from hurting each other and themselves.
Afterwards, we trudge back through the elements homeward bound, ready to return indoors and enjoy some hot chocolate and other treats. It’s truly an enjoyable experience, and one I do look forward to every year. What fine memories we have made!
This year, we’re not going home to Michigan for Thanksgiving. We won’t have our traditional walk to look forward to this season, but I am confident that we’ll have new delights to revel in. We’ll still have most of the family together in one house, and so that’s a blessing! We’ll still enjoy some family game time, and I have no doubt there will be plenty of photo opportunities as well.
Yes, I’m anticipating another fine holiday season…
Normally, my Mom and I bundle up my nieces and nephews after our delightful lunch and brave snow, hail or wind all for the 3-block walk from our family home to the village library. Here in this small Midwestern town, the city yearly maintains a life-sized manger scene complete with Mary, Joseph, baby Jesus, shepherds, the wisemen, and farm animals. There we enjoy a visit with Baby Jesus, and I utilize my own paparazzi-like skills to take as many pictures as possible to capture these fleeting moments of whimsy. I try to suppress my laughter as one niece gives Joseph a kiss, and another sizes a shepherd up to see if she has grown taller than he this year. My nephews climb all over the animals and pose for funny shots as they straddle a camel or cow.
Next we march over to the Croswell Swinging Bridge, the 2nd stop on our annual pilgrimage. I usually bolt across the suspension bridge chasing after my 2 eldest nephews, while my Mom lags behind a bit and manages to hold the hands of my younger nieces and nephews as they timidly cross the wooden bridge—trying not to look down at the muddy waters below.
The playground near the bridge is always a highlight of our visit. The kids scramble up and down, in and out of the various amusements. My Mom tirelessly pushes a couple of her grandchildren on the swings while I keep an eye on the others and attempt to keep them from hurting each other and themselves.
Afterwards, we trudge back through the elements homeward bound, ready to return indoors and enjoy some hot chocolate and other treats. It’s truly an enjoyable experience, and one I do look forward to every year. What fine memories we have made!
This year, we’re not going home to Michigan for Thanksgiving. We won’t have our traditional walk to look forward to this season, but I am confident that we’ll have new delights to revel in. We’ll still have most of the family together in one house, and so that’s a blessing! We’ll still enjoy some family game time, and I have no doubt there will be plenty of photo opportunities as well.
Yes, I’m anticipating another fine holiday season…
Friday, November 11, 2005
There is something about Jane Austen that makes me long for England...
The English countryside has always been my favorite future destination for as long as I can remember. I picture myself meandering along the green hills and keenly admiring the estate homes and gardens…camera in hand, of course.
My sister has more than once reminded me that the England of movies is far from the England that tourists encounter, and that perhaps my visit to England is best left to my romantic impressions from literature and my vivid imagination.
After all…
1. There won’t be any swashbuckling gentleman vowing for my hand in marriage or escorting me to wonderful parties. This is really a shame, need I say more. But then I too like Jane have stayed single because I have yet to meet my own beloved Captain Wentworth or the ever-elusive Mr. Darcy.
2. I won’t be found waltzing along a ballroom floor. We all know this girl can’t dance. I have no rhythm—just ask my sister, who became my own personal metronome when I was learning to play the piano. And as for my dance moves, I’ve watched myself in the mirror, and it’s not a pretty sight. Picture the moves of The Egyptian, The Robot and The Funky Chicken all rolled into one grotesque scene. Rather tragic in of itself.
3. I can’t elegantly cantor across the countryside on a horse. I don’t resemble anything slightly elegant on a horse, and I don’t sit nicely in the saddle. (Actually, I’m not sure what that means, but I know I don’t qualify.) My horse riding abilities are rather limited, to say the least, and I usually end up practically strangling the horse by my tight grip on the reins. I’m far too engrossed in my mere survival astride this massive beast to consider my posture or “seat.”
4. My walks across the countryside would be more than slightly inhibited by the fact that I am completely out of shape. I would certainly not keep up with Lizzie and her delightful daily romps at Rosings Park. Yes, I think Lizzie would have to abandon me along the path after about 3 miles as I suffered yet another near fatal asthma attack brought on by far too many carbohydrates in my 31 years and my lack of regular exercise. I’d be winded and wheezing—a pathetic sight indeed.
5. And then there’s the idea that everyone seems to state—doesn’t it rain a lot in England? Maybe so, but the sun does shine sometimes—even in England, right? I’m convinced it does, and so while I’m cooped up indoors awaiting more pleasant weather for touring the countryside, I can re-read my favorite parts of Jane Austen’s books and be struck anew with the freshness and vitality of her words 200 years since she wrote them.
Maybe not today, tomorrow or even next year, but someday I plan to take that trip to England. Until then, I can revel in the magic of British literature, television, theatre and movies so accessible to me. And tonight I will get to see the newest rendition of Pride and Prejudice on the big screen. [SIGH!] Happy thought indeed…
My sister has more than once reminded me that the England of movies is far from the England that tourists encounter, and that perhaps my visit to England is best left to my romantic impressions from literature and my vivid imagination.
After all…
1. There won’t be any swashbuckling gentleman vowing for my hand in marriage or escorting me to wonderful parties. This is really a shame, need I say more. But then I too like Jane have stayed single because I have yet to meet my own beloved Captain Wentworth or the ever-elusive Mr. Darcy.
2. I won’t be found waltzing along a ballroom floor. We all know this girl can’t dance. I have no rhythm—just ask my sister, who became my own personal metronome when I was learning to play the piano. And as for my dance moves, I’ve watched myself in the mirror, and it’s not a pretty sight. Picture the moves of The Egyptian, The Robot and The Funky Chicken all rolled into one grotesque scene. Rather tragic in of itself.
3. I can’t elegantly cantor across the countryside on a horse. I don’t resemble anything slightly elegant on a horse, and I don’t sit nicely in the saddle. (Actually, I’m not sure what that means, but I know I don’t qualify.) My horse riding abilities are rather limited, to say the least, and I usually end up practically strangling the horse by my tight grip on the reins. I’m far too engrossed in my mere survival astride this massive beast to consider my posture or “seat.”
4. My walks across the countryside would be more than slightly inhibited by the fact that I am completely out of shape. I would certainly not keep up with Lizzie and her delightful daily romps at Rosings Park. Yes, I think Lizzie would have to abandon me along the path after about 3 miles as I suffered yet another near fatal asthma attack brought on by far too many carbohydrates in my 31 years and my lack of regular exercise. I’d be winded and wheezing—a pathetic sight indeed.
5. And then there’s the idea that everyone seems to state—doesn’t it rain a lot in England? Maybe so, but the sun does shine sometimes—even in England, right? I’m convinced it does, and so while I’m cooped up indoors awaiting more pleasant weather for touring the countryside, I can re-read my favorite parts of Jane Austen’s books and be struck anew with the freshness and vitality of her words 200 years since she wrote them.
Maybe not today, tomorrow or even next year, but someday I plan to take that trip to England. Until then, I can revel in the magic of British literature, television, theatre and movies so accessible to me. And tonight I will get to see the newest rendition of Pride and Prejudice on the big screen. [SIGH!] Happy thought indeed…
Wednesday, November 2, 2005
Crushing and Dreaming...
I’ve had a slight crush on the single guy in a Christian musical group for a while now. This group visits my church yearly, and so I’ve become a bit of a fan. I think the crush really started when I checked out their website, and his profile cracked me up. He was able to laugh at himself and use sarcasm well, and that’s a huge positive in my book. Plus there was the music factor. Not only does he sing in the group—he is the main musician. He plays the piano extraordinarily well and also works the keyboards, etc. So needless to say, he’s very talented.
Well, this past weekend was their annual visit to my church. And this time, the group had some news about the single guy’s marital status. He had recently gotten engaged. I was happy for him and even happier for the girl now sporting a ring, but I’d be lying if I denied the little inward sighing on my part. Now this crush, like almost all of my crushes of the past was just that—a crush. This was no burgeoning romance, no broken heart, no tears or resentment.
As I drove home that night from the concert, I started laughing at myself. What was that sigh for? It wasn’t like I had thought of him more than twice in the past year. How would my life be different now that I knew he was engaged? It wouldn’t be. Would there be anything missing from my life? No. It wasn’t as if we’d been corresponding or communicating in anyway. We’re strangers to one another.
Fact is I’m a chronic dreamer, and I tend to imagine even after a brief meeting what it would be like to get to know someone better. A random act of kindness or a chance encounter has me pondering the what-ifs for hours. Spending an hour in conversation with someone I find mentally stimulating has me curiously distracted as I contemplate how to arrange a second meeting. More than once or twice A WEEK, I contemplate what life would be life with that man, this other man or that guy over there.
I’m fickle. There is no consistency in my day dreams. It’s not that all of these men are blonde or tall. There’s no special attribute that all of these men have in common really either—with the exception that there was something about them that intrigued me.
Well, this past Sunday night as I drove home after the concert, there was one thing that I realized about my day dreams that I think is harmful. This musician I thought rather remarkable has a life on the road probably 40 out of 52 weeks a year. I was imagining how fun it would be to travel on tour with the group. Well, the truth is that one of us is home 40 out of 52 weekends in a year, and while touring might have some glamorous appeal, I’d probably prefer to be home in my own space rather than on a cramped tour bus any day. I’m not the type of person that would want to be put on the spot or brought out from the shadows on display as the group traveled from church to church either. I’m a behind the scenes person. I wouldn't like life on the road, and I'd definitely not be a trophy wife.
And what about all the others I’ve daydreamed about in the past? The same is true. See, I tend to imagine my life in their world as if a relationship was a way to escape my own world. I’ve been picturing me in their lives, but I can’t really imagine them in mine, which is rather ironic. It seems to me that THAT would be something that would need to be a match! What is so wrong with my own life that I feel I need to move on to another life rather than looking for someone to share the life that I’m living?
Something is wrong with that picture…
Well, this past weekend was their annual visit to my church. And this time, the group had some news about the single guy’s marital status. He had recently gotten engaged. I was happy for him and even happier for the girl now sporting a ring, but I’d be lying if I denied the little inward sighing on my part. Now this crush, like almost all of my crushes of the past was just that—a crush. This was no burgeoning romance, no broken heart, no tears or resentment.
As I drove home that night from the concert, I started laughing at myself. What was that sigh for? It wasn’t like I had thought of him more than twice in the past year. How would my life be different now that I knew he was engaged? It wouldn’t be. Would there be anything missing from my life? No. It wasn’t as if we’d been corresponding or communicating in anyway. We’re strangers to one another.
Fact is I’m a chronic dreamer, and I tend to imagine even after a brief meeting what it would be like to get to know someone better. A random act of kindness or a chance encounter has me pondering the what-ifs for hours. Spending an hour in conversation with someone I find mentally stimulating has me curiously distracted as I contemplate how to arrange a second meeting. More than once or twice A WEEK, I contemplate what life would be life with that man, this other man or that guy over there.
I’m fickle. There is no consistency in my day dreams. It’s not that all of these men are blonde or tall. There’s no special attribute that all of these men have in common really either—with the exception that there was something about them that intrigued me.
Well, this past Sunday night as I drove home after the concert, there was one thing that I realized about my day dreams that I think is harmful. This musician I thought rather remarkable has a life on the road probably 40 out of 52 weeks a year. I was imagining how fun it would be to travel on tour with the group. Well, the truth is that one of us is home 40 out of 52 weekends in a year, and while touring might have some glamorous appeal, I’d probably prefer to be home in my own space rather than on a cramped tour bus any day. I’m not the type of person that would want to be put on the spot or brought out from the shadows on display as the group traveled from church to church either. I’m a behind the scenes person. I wouldn't like life on the road, and I'd definitely not be a trophy wife.
And what about all the others I’ve daydreamed about in the past? The same is true. See, I tend to imagine my life in their world as if a relationship was a way to escape my own world. I’ve been picturing me in their lives, but I can’t really imagine them in mine, which is rather ironic. It seems to me that THAT would be something that would need to be a match! What is so wrong with my own life that I feel I need to move on to another life rather than looking for someone to share the life that I’m living?
Something is wrong with that picture…
Tuesday, October 25, 2005
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...
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...
Tuesday, October 11, 2005
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…
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?
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?
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