All posts tagged: Love

Remembering Yourself in Moments

In a perfect world, I would have posted this on Mother’s Day. It’s not a perfect world, and I didn’t really see the significance behind the picture (other than it being one of my favorite pictures) until the tail end of the day, once the Bloody Marys were bottomed, the bacon was gone, and long after I strong-armed my dear mom into a promise that she’d watch The Martian. I’ll willingly confess that The Martian made me cry. It’s been a long while since a movie made me feel that many things, so I figured it was worth forcing upon a woman who notoriously hates space movies. Sorry, Mom… The photograph above has always been one of my favorite pictures of my sweet mother. I stole it from a photo album years ago, and it has accompanied me to the various cities and apartments I’ve called home. Usually, it sits tucked in my nightstand drawer, along with a photo of my dad playing softball, a photo of my brother, a photo of my parents when they …

Stop Motion Memories

“Do you have any good memories?” My mom delicately asked, in almost a whispered hush.  I knew she wanted me to say yes. I knew she wanted me to spill my soul in the parking lot of the mall where she had just purchased my 25th birthday present. Without hesitating, I answered. “What?” “Do you have any good memories from your childhood?” I understood what she was asking, and realized I had become that person who asks, “What?” when they heard the question the first time. “Not really, Mom. I mean, I have memories! I have vibrant memories of random things. Little slivers that come and go.  I remember my purple bedroom, and it didn’t have a door, so we hung that big woven blanket up at night. I remember picking out stickers for Josh at the doctor to put on his bed at the nursing home. And I remember making a dream catcher at the hospital when Josh was sick, and how much I loved that dream catcher…” My voice trailed off as I …

I Left My Heart In New England.

Hi. Remember me? No, that’s okay. I’m not offended. I barely remember me, also.  It’s like I stepped into a UHAUL, which was actually a portal to another dimension called New York City. This other dimension was a strange mix of excitement, heartbreak, stress, and opportunity. It was also home to strange, pungent, terminals called subways, where large foreign creatures scurried between its tracks. These creatures, which could only be described as something between a hamster and a cat, secretly ruled the city and plotted to take over this other dimension when it’s native beings were not paying attention They were called Rats. HUGE rats that I still can’t deal with. Every time I see one  scampering  between the subway tracks, it’s an internal struggle of amusement, intrigue, and complete disgust. I think most of my amusement and intrigue comes from deep down hoping they are running off to fight a bunch of  talking turtles. This weekend, I decided to get out of the city for a few days, with hopes of defragging my mind, …

Something To Celebrate

I’ve always been the bomb at giving presents to my family. Let’s see… There was the year, around age twelve, that my dad gave me twenty five dollars to go Christmas shopping with, and I bought EVERYBODY candles. Mom? Overbearing pink rose scented candle. Dad? Layered blue “sea breeze” candle. Aunt? White candle that smells nothing like clean cotton, but is labeled as so. You may know by now that I’m PRETTY health conscious. I was too busy eating pop rocks and rapidly consuming Dunkaroos when I was a kid, (oh my GOSH remember Dunkaroos?), to worry about sugar content.These weren’t even cotton wicked soy candles. They were most likely lead wicked, artificially dyed, poisonous pots of wax that I bought for $1.99 in the clearance section of Kmart. There was the year that I was six and the concept of money did not yet exist to me, so I cut out pictures of animals from magazines, glued them on colored construction paper, and wrapped each one individually. There was the year I gave my …

“Timshel”

“This is something we don’t do very often, but we love the acoustics in this theater, but we’re going to need you all to be very quiet.” Quiet? Yeah right. “We are going to sing without our amps and microphones, just the four of us.” Asking a theatre full of drunken Irishmen to be quiet was like asking a group of five year olds to be quiet, if the five year olds had each been given a liter of soda and sugar filled pixie stix. I’m sure you can figure out what to substitute in this scenario, a pint of Guinness or five. Still, Marcus Mumford insisted. Blake and I stood together in disbelief. The crowd became loud with excitement, hollering over the balcony and pumping their fists wildly in the air. The four members of Mumford and Sons stood tall, side by side, completely unplugged. No amps, no microphones, just an acoustic guitar and four voices. The theatre began to still, and four voices melodically rose to the highest rafters of the small theatre …

Ten Things I Learned From My Father

A few months ago, I featured a post titled “Ten Things I Learned From My Mom.” I’ve spent the last few weeks reflecting, and decided that I also wanted to feature a similar post dedicated to my father. I’m fortunate enough to have two loving parents that I am very close with, and I hope some day that I can take everything I’ve learned from them, and apply it to my own parenting techniques. 1. Kick ‘Em Where It Hurts In first grade, I came off the school bus hysterically crying. My dad met me at the top of our driveway, tried to console the sobbing little human peeking timidly up at him from underneath her bangs, while clutching her ninja turtle lunch box. After he asked me what was wrong, I explained that another boy on the bus had been saying mean things to me. My dad told me to nicely ask the boy to leave me alone, and to tell the bus driver if he didn’t listen The next day, Dad met me …