Last year I had the blessing, and luxury, to meet one of the most amazing women. When I met her, Maxine was 98 years old, strong, out spoken, and willing to share her laughter and story with me. I find it a connecting force when the barrier of age can be broken by listening. Maxine's story had its trials and tribulations, but she always focused on the good in life (wether it be the birds out her window, her caring neighbors, family, or Jazz basketball) and what she could do with her life. And she did many things. It was an honor to listen to her tell tales of growing up in a time when women didn't have the rights granted to us today. To hear how she helped mold education in this state. It was eye opening to my own life to hear how this women took life by the horns and did what she wanted to do (PhD at age 65). And it was warming to know that instead of focusing on all the hardships, in her later years she really wanted to talk about all the fun and the people that had been so kind to her.
I hope I find my perseverance and attitude as heartfelt and open as hers was.
Yesterday, I received notice Maxine passed away, almost one month before her 100th birthday. Today I find my thoughts on the time we were able to share together sitting on her couch in her living room looking out that big window, her story, and her personality, her smile, and how quickly a person can touch your heart. I hope she has grown wings, taken flight, and is now back with her parents, husbands, and son. To her I say, "Thanks for sharing your story."
Wednesday, 30 March 2011
Tuesday, 15 March 2011
What I've Learned About Myself...
... in the two weeks that lead up to "THE IDES OF MARCH!!!"
O.k. so the exclamations were used for dramatic effect. And though I am no soothsayer, I feel as though anyone who says "Ides of March" should do it with gusto.
Anyway... in this post, I would like to discuss a few words that apparently describe myself.
"Chatterbox"
This word was provided by friends. They said the one word that came to mind when they thought of me was: chatterbox. I am not wholly sure how this came about, seeing as I find myself to be a very quiet and shy person. Obviously, my interpretation is incorrect, because when I began to defend myself I realized, a whole slew of words were escaping my tongue, and said friends could not get a word in edge wise.
"Worrywart"
This is the one word I feel best describes me.
I am not a patient person (I don't like waiting, I like acting), and I see in no way how patience is a virtue (it seems like procrastination to me). Without patience though, a person can constantly find themselves worrying about things (i.e. money, career, relationships, family: you get the idea). It's a control issue. And patience (I must sadly say), I am doomed to learn over and over again. But while I work on patience, I was told my mom is working on her "humility." Maybe one day there will be a story written on when Patience and Humility get together (I'm still waiting for that narrative :)).
"Gryffindork"
This incorporates both "chatterbox," "worrywart," and my nerdy-ness.
May I just say, "There is nothing anyone can do about this!" I seem doomed to talk about Harry Potter for the rest of my life. And to those people who are so kind to deal with me on a daily-basis, may I request, please be patient with me (for I know you all carry patience unlike myself). I promise to bake you cookies every now and then. You can even request a cake when I go on for hours, but please don't abandon this "chatterbox" of a "worrywart" just because I'm a "Gryffindork." (And please, oh please, don't end me like Julius Caesar).
Beware the Ides of March!
O.k. so the exclamations were used for dramatic effect. And though I am no soothsayer, I feel as though anyone who says "Ides of March" should do it with gusto.
Anyway... in this post, I would like to discuss a few words that apparently describe myself.
"Chatterbox"
This word was provided by friends. They said the one word that came to mind when they thought of me was: chatterbox. I am not wholly sure how this came about, seeing as I find myself to be a very quiet and shy person. Obviously, my interpretation is incorrect, because when I began to defend myself I realized, a whole slew of words were escaping my tongue, and said friends could not get a word in edge wise.
"Worrywart"
This is the one word I feel best describes me.
I am not a patient person (I don't like waiting, I like acting), and I see in no way how patience is a virtue (it seems like procrastination to me). Without patience though, a person can constantly find themselves worrying about things (i.e. money, career, relationships, family: you get the idea). It's a control issue. And patience (I must sadly say), I am doomed to learn over and over again. But while I work on patience, I was told my mom is working on her "humility." Maybe one day there will be a story written on when Patience and Humility get together (I'm still waiting for that narrative :)).
"Gryffindork"
This incorporates both "chatterbox," "worrywart," and my nerdy-ness.
May I just say, "There is nothing anyone can do about this!" I seem doomed to talk about Harry Potter for the rest of my life. And to those people who are so kind to deal with me on a daily-basis, may I request, please be patient with me (for I know you all carry patience unlike myself). I promise to bake you cookies every now and then. You can even request a cake when I go on for hours, but please don't abandon this "chatterbox" of a "worrywart" just because I'm a "Gryffindork." (And please, oh please, don't end me like Julius Caesar).
Beware the Ides of March!
Monday, 14 February 2011
Walking Life's Path
So tonight, I decided to do something a bit different with all those random videos I tend to take while on vacation. Hope you enjoy!
Music taken from Tom Hagerman's CD.
Thursday, 3 February 2011
Dreams, Fears, and a Girl's Desire
This year, Phil the Groundhog popped his head out to the light on February 2 and did not run in fear of his shadow, marking an early spring. This small act of stepping forth to confront ones fears made me realize, maybe I should take note and crush the ever "creeping shadow" that grows each year in my life come February.
I am of course talking about, the dreaded "pink aisle" (see Feb. post in 2010), in which I found myself reluctantly the other day while purchasing the ingredients for my miracle cure chicken noodle soup. Lets just put it simply: I stared at all the pink heart balloons, sniffled my stuffy nose at each of them, and resisted the urge to deflate each happy heart that relayed messages such as, "Be Mine," "Kiss Me," and "Lover Boy." Instead, I quickly shuffled my feet out of the aisle and sneezed all the way home.
A few days later, I found myself relaying a memory to a friend while we were having coffee. It was a memory of my Nonna, and I began to realize why the "pink aisle" has such an affect on me while I told it. You see, my Nonna had become sick. My Mom, myself, and a few aunts and cousins (all girls) went to see her in the hospital. She was coming out of the anesthesia when she looked at my Mom, grabbed her hand, and said, "Lori, I just want to dye my hair red, put on a red dress, and have Pino take me dancing."
She was 80 years old. And the dream in her mind was still the dream of a young woman. The dream to feel pretty and special. The dream to twirl through life with that special someone on your arm. Truly, I am beginning to realize this is the dream and desire of every girl whether they're 16, 22, 31, 60, or 80. All we want is to connect and feel special, appreciated, desirable.
Repeating the memory to my friend, I understood the "pink aisle" had become my foreboding reminder that I was the only girl who didn't get asked to the dance. And in truth, all I wanted was to dye my hair red, put on a foxy red dress, and have a special gentleman twirl me around this dance-floor we call life.
So, like Phil the groundhog, I took my first steps into the light (the modern realm of the dating world) and blocked away that ever looming shadow.
You might ask how this has found me? And I have to say, thus far it has brought smiles and laughter, and maybe, just maybe, a dance is in the cards of my future. But I can truly say, the next time I find myself in the "pink aisle," I will not sniffle my nose at it, but instead, buy a red heart shaped box of chocolates and eat every piece with the thought of my Nonna in a red dress, red hair, dancing with my Nonno eternally, and smile.
I am of course talking about, the dreaded "pink aisle" (see Feb. post in 2010), in which I found myself reluctantly the other day while purchasing the ingredients for my miracle cure chicken noodle soup. Lets just put it simply: I stared at all the pink heart balloons, sniffled my stuffy nose at each of them, and resisted the urge to deflate each happy heart that relayed messages such as, "Be Mine," "Kiss Me," and "Lover Boy." Instead, I quickly shuffled my feet out of the aisle and sneezed all the way home.
A few days later, I found myself relaying a memory to a friend while we were having coffee. It was a memory of my Nonna, and I began to realize why the "pink aisle" has such an affect on me while I told it. You see, my Nonna had become sick. My Mom, myself, and a few aunts and cousins (all girls) went to see her in the hospital. She was coming out of the anesthesia when she looked at my Mom, grabbed her hand, and said, "Lori, I just want to dye my hair red, put on a red dress, and have Pino take me dancing."
She was 80 years old. And the dream in her mind was still the dream of a young woman. The dream to feel pretty and special. The dream to twirl through life with that special someone on your arm. Truly, I am beginning to realize this is the dream and desire of every girl whether they're 16, 22, 31, 60, or 80. All we want is to connect and feel special, appreciated, desirable.Repeating the memory to my friend, I understood the "pink aisle" had become my foreboding reminder that I was the only girl who didn't get asked to the dance. And in truth, all I wanted was to dye my hair red, put on a foxy red dress, and have a special gentleman twirl me around this dance-floor we call life.
So, like Phil the groundhog, I took my first steps into the light (the modern realm of the dating world) and blocked away that ever looming shadow.
You might ask how this has found me? And I have to say, thus far it has brought smiles and laughter, and maybe, just maybe, a dance is in the cards of my future. But I can truly say, the next time I find myself in the "pink aisle," I will not sniffle my nose at it, but instead, buy a red heart shaped box of chocolates and eat every piece with the thought of my Nonna in a red dress, red hair, dancing with my Nonno eternally, and smile.
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