doctoral candidate in rhetoric and scientific and technical communication
love
sisters
0I was well on my way into life when she came around. I had been surrounded by boys for most of my life and didn’t really know anything about girls. She became mine. I took her under my care.
I was 10 years old when my sister was born. I can remember the day she came into this world, grey and cloudy, cold Montana winter day. I remember the first time I set eyes on her and thought she was amazing. I’d only had brothers…what did I know about being a sister?
I loved her with a passion that I’ve only felt for one other person, my niece. My sister was someone special to me.
We grew up in different worlds, though. We were relatively poor when I was growing up. Our parents were younger and with me being the oldest, I was the guinea pig. I was a Navy brat and lived in too many places to count. She, on the other hand, got to live most of her life in 2 places, moving to our current town when she was 7 years old (she’s now 25). She was the youngest of four, the baby of the family.
I regret that I may not have been the best sister there could have been. I was gone when she was eight. I was in college and trying to live my own life. I barely remember the years she was growing up because I was going through my own growing stage. I don’t have a lot of memories of things we did like I do with my brothers. We didn’t make a connection in the same ways.
We’re older now, she’s married and pregnant with her first child, and I weep for the missed connection. I’ve tried to get closer to her but so much has happened that there always seems to be a barrier between us.
I want that kind of a relationship where my sister is my best friend…where I can call her up and invite her to a movie and it’s just us…no one else. There is always an entourage when we go somewhere…like she’s afraid to be alone with me. I don’t think I’ve ever had lunch with her where it was just the two of us. The only time we were able to make that connection was when we joined Weight Watchers. That, to me, became our special time. When she got pregnant, she was told she could no longer come and we lost our connection again.
I want a relationship with her that is as special as it was when she was a little girl. I want that connection back. I want a sister that I can tell my secrets to without having them told to our mom and then, from there, to everyone else.
I miss my sister…and she’s right here.
baseball
0Baseball is a game about going home. And in that way at least, it is a game that mirrors everything, because everything in life is about going home again. It is about leaving home, and going out to a place where home is far away, and then doing the things you must to get home again, some of them simple and routine, some of them occasionally heroic and glorious.
(from The Game: One Man, Nine Innings, A Love Affair with Baseball)
I have a love affair with baseball. I can’t remember a summer in my life when baseball didn’t play some kind of a role. Baseball is a religion to me. It is about warm summer days with the sun shining bright above us, the soft, sweet-smelling green grass below us. Chalk lines are drawn and the dirt is tapped down. It is perfection at its best.
I watched every minute of the 2001 World Series. I love the Diamondbacks. All acounts say that the men on that team are some of the genuinely nicest guys you could meet. They give back to the Phoenix area constantly.
My long-shot love affair, though, belongs with the Cubbies. I cheer them on every year.
When I was a kid, I was crazy about the Dodgers. I could tell you the stats for that team inside and out. I knew everyone’s name, their position, their averages, their ages, their marital status, how many kids, etc. I knew everything about them.
I would go to the Padre’s AAA league team’s (The Las Vegas Stars) games as much as I could. I NEVER missed an exhibition game when the Padre’s came to town. There was nothing like sitting out in left field on the grass and watching baseball. Nothing in the world is like that.
When the team changed, though, so did my alliances. I moved on to the beloved Cubbies and they now share that position with the D’backs.
I do not favor the American League. My heart is with the National League completely. I cannot imagine why someone would want to play a game where your strongest AND weakest players don’t play. I love it when I can cheer a pitcher getting on base. I want to know he’s a well-rounded player. I want to know that he will take it as well as he gives it.
I get teary-eyed when I think of the Boys of Summer. I remember the days of my youth when I would yell at the Reds or scream at the Dodgers…when Reggie Jackson was one of the best and Pete Rose was still playing with his heart…when the Yaz was the epitome of what baseball was about and Steve Garvey gave me inspiration to be a better first base player.
The click of the lights, the smell of popcorn, beer, and hotdogs filling the air as the crowd slowly winds up for the exciting game ahead never fails to entice me.
Take me out to the ballgame,
Take me out to the park…
quote of the day
09 years ago
“The way the night knows itself with the moon, be that with me.” ~Rumi~
dysfunction?
0I am such a sad sap, sometimes, I think. I’m reading an online bulletin board and I find out that an ex is getting married. Not only getting married but having a child.
Now, normally it wouldn’t bother me. I’ve always been able to get over things and move on.
I think, though, that I’ve reached a point in my life where I’m ready to go to the next step. I want to share my life with someone. I want to, perhaps, procreate, if that’s in the cards for us.
It makes me think.
Was I that bad that I couldn’t be the one? I don’t want him anymore but I can’t help but think why he didn’t want me.
Was he ashamed of me? I mean…I’m not a bad catch but why would he not even consider me.
I think another reason I’m bothered by it is that it has been less than a year that we’ve been apart. We’re not teens…far from it. We’re mature adults (I hope!) and I hope that we are more careful about things that we rush into. Did he take time? Does he really love her? Will he be a good father?
I hope the answer is yes to all of those.
But I can’t help wondering.
I know, in the end, I can’t change a thing. I don’t really want to. We weren’t compatible on the level I desire for a life partner.
But it still makes me think.
power
0Everything comes down to this for me. The earth is my constant. She speaks to me. She allows me to see beauty and wonder and allows me to understand that while I may be mortal, she is not. She wreaks havoc and mayhem wherever she may. And yet, she also introduces us to astounding sights that capture our attention.
On Boxing Day, I stood at the shores of her greatest body of water. I rolled up my jeans and waded into her cool waters. I felt the sands beneath my toes wrapping around me. I smelled her scent in a way that reminds me of why I love being near her shores. She soothes me. She cleanses me. She reminds me of what is important.
I looked into the eyes of my niece, on her first trip to the Pacific, and smiled. Her joy was immeasurable as we stood there, the surf pounding upon Huntington Beach, the surfers riding the waves.
I knelt and collected sand, driftwood, and shells to make a gift for my Beloved. I wanted to share her with Him. She had reminded me that He was there with me, even if not physically. I could feel Him there, wading, laughing, having fun in her waters with me.
On New Year’s Day, at approximately 12:15 a.m. (while fireworks continued to go off in my time zone), she once again showed me her wonders. The skies finally opened up and the first snowfall (albeit it VERY late) of the year showered down upon my sleepy town.
I looked up in the wide-eyed wonder of a child, belying my years. She always impresses me in these displays. And again, I was aware that He was there with me. She graced my cheeks with soft flakes of snow but it was His finger tracing my cheek that I felt.
He knows that my spirituality is based upon the earth. Perhaps that is what brought us together at a deeper level. He understands that I’m at my happiest when I can feel the earth around me. Her scents and sounds and powers surrounding me.
And perhaps that is why, when her hand touches me, I feel His, also. We are connected, inexplicably, by this ever-changing, ever-revolving place called Earth.
more from the road…
0My travels always bring me inspirations to write about, whether it is the way a shadow falls across a valley or the simply driving methods of others along the way. This trip was no different. I was driving home after spending time with my brother in Southern California. I left early, missing all of the holiday traffic and making it out of the Los Angeles metropolitan area (from a beach city) in less than 1 ½ hours.
I don’t remember much of the trip. It went by in a blur. I only know that I made it home in 6 hours when it usually takes me 6 ½ to 8 hours, but I don’t think I ever went over 100 mph as I’m known to do on occasion. chuckle Yes, yes, I know, I’m a speed freak. I like the adrenaline rush. Please, no lectures, I’ve heard them all before. Most of the time I don’t even realize I’m going that fast until I’m already up there and then I get busy slowing down. It usually happens when I’m trying to get out of the middle of one of those bunches that the Californians seem to like to drive in. I like the open rode, no one around me. I hate being in the middle of a bunch of cars.
I’m kind of disappointed that I didn’t notice the landscape but, on the other hand, I had time to think about things. I think best when driving, gives me time to sort things out.
I thought of Susie and how she, too, loves to travel. I thought of how much fun we would have traveling and picking out landmarks to share or stories to relate.
I thought of the look on my brother’s face as we sat at lunch the day before and he told me that he thinks I’m beautiful. I burst into tears, there in the restaurant because one of the men that I respect and cherish most in this world thinks I’m beautiful. He also told me to quit living for my mother and start living for myself because it’s my life and not a second chance for her. He is, I think, one of the best friends I could ever ask for in life.
I really feel loved right now. I’m surrounded by love. I’ve never completely felt it in this way and it’s amazing. There is peace in that kind of security. I’m overwhelmed by it, sometimes.
I have amazing friends. I know that they would traverse the world for me if I needed them. I know that they will be there when I’m happy and sad. I don’t speak to them everyday. We don’t need to speak every day to know that we love one another. When we do, though, we are always sure to say, “I love you.” It’s important. I hope that the ones who read this know how much they are treasured, how much they are loved.
I thought of the cork, here, and how people are ridiculed when they come online and express their newfound loves to the rest of us. I wonder whom we are to judge them. Perhaps they love easily. I know I do. Perhaps they love with a carefree that we wish we had. Maybe we have become jaded. Maybe we don’t believe in love that way anymore. And if we don’t, doesn’t that say more about us than them?
I thought of past relationships. I can finally listen to the Dixie Chicks sing “Cowboy Take Me Away” without bursting into tears. Instead, I smile and I remember some really fun times. I also think that song still relates to the person I am, wanting something wild and free growing in a space without tall buildings blocking my view. I can finally go to the Pacific Ocean, drink her in, and not feel like screaming. I can drive past the exit to Lake Havasu City and not feel weak and stupid. I can go to Tempe and not be petrified to enter a certain part of town.
I’ve learned that it’s ok to forgive those who hurt us. And it’s ok to recognize the pain that we may have bestowed upon others and to learn to change that part of us so that we don’t hurt others again. I can forgive and agree to be a friend to an ex. But that doesn’t mean that I have to be his best friend.
I was thinking about the people who’ve said “I love you” to me this week. Wow. I’m so fortunate. It is given without it being expected in return and that’s when it feels the best.
There are things that make me feel giddy, girl-like, and ready to shout from the rooftops. Is that love? Is that being in love? Maybe. Why do I hold back, then? Mostly because I’m afraid of unintentionally hurting others, by being blinded by my own good fortune and joy.
cathelin, wonderful lady that she is, told me to love freely, to let go and let love happen. She even backed it up with a quote from a favorite author:
You know, what are hearts for? Hearts are there to be broken, and I say that because that seems to be just part of what happens with hearts. I mean mine has been broken so many times that I have lost count. But it just seems to be broken open more and more and more, and it just gets bigger. I remember saying to my therapist, “You know, my heart by now feels open like a suitcase. It feels like it has just sort of dropped open…It feels like that.” Instead of that feeling of having a thorn through your heart…you have a sense of openness, as if the wind could blow through it. And that’s the way I’m used to my heart feeling. The feeling of the heart being so open that the wind blows through it. I think that’s the way it’s supposed to feel when you’re in balance…”
–Alice Walker
I’d like to think that’s what my journey is about opening my heart wider and wider, loving more and more as each heartache fades into a memory, leaving me only with the joy of having loved.
I do love…deeply, passionately, and hard. I love to the bottom of my being and all points along the road.
And maybe soon, I’ll share a newfound love, marking yet another milestone as I continue my journey.
I climbed the hills and descended into a valley, and across the way, I saw my snow-covered mountain peaks welcoming me home from 150 miles away. I waved hello and smiled as they slowly slid behind another, closer mountain.
I knew I was home.