Moments of Time 2 Lifelong Memories

I was sitting at the kitchen table conversing with my client about family history and as she shared her memories from over 50 years ago and I shared mine, I wondered what makes certain moments lifelong memories or just simply the moment?

Why do we remember certain things while other moments are simply that, moments in time?

We spoke about sugaring, homemade donuts, bread pudding, sugar on snow and I pulled from my memory rolodex distinct moments of sitting at the counter at my grandma's farm house having homemade donuts and sugar on snow among my cousins. I distinctly remember passing around the boxes of Graham Crackers and Honey Combs as we all ate breakfast together. I distinctly remember the blankets on the bed in the farm house, I distinctly remember all the books that were always around. I distinctly remember the bathroom and how I found the tub unique for some reason. Why are these the things or moments that are boldly placed in my memory bank? Will they always be here or will they vanish? Is it hard to recap memories as they continue to step further away year after year?

I always use to say that I never want to be old, but as I sat at the table, I realized that I would rather struggle to recap my memories and still be able to pinpoint the feeling of happiness, than never have the time to make such special moments memories.

I watched this women use her hands to show me the location of the stove, the counter, the piano and as I watched her and looked into her eyes as she revisited a home that she once loved and spent so much time in, I saw that same look. The same look I saw upon my Grandma's face so many times when she was trying to explain to me those special moments that turned into lifelong memories. The football game, the colors of their jersey's, why do these things stick? Who ever knew that a smell and color would make such a significant impact on our always absorbing minds.

I blog and journal a lot because sometimes I feel as if I can't keep track of one day to another, but after being an avid writer, I find it interesting and motivating to see where I was 5 or 6 years ago on paper. The feelings, the thoughts, the emotions, the moments that at that time were crucial and life altering. I know once I get older that the dates or chronological order won't be as significant, but it will always be a nice thing to look back upon.

My 15 year old memories compared to her 50+ year old memories, weren't all that different; remembering the position of a certain kitchen appliance, remembering the thin material of the comforter on the top bunk, remembering my uncles collecting the snow and packing it into buckets to carry back to us, snowmobiling one random afternoon with my uncle, these little moments that for some reason become indispensable and are shared for the rest of life.

Don't try so hard to make memories, they will form on their own.

The Things We Do

Sitting outside Uncommon Ground under the hot sun watching the dark clouds loom in the distance. Barney sits on my lap and it's hard not to become distracted by the many people that walk by the table we sit at. Had a great weekend at Ausable Chasm in NY. Summer is here and my days consist of long bike rides, nights under the stars in a tent, drinking in front of the fires we make, sitting out in the sun, coffee breaks mid day, running along the waterfront, grilling with friends and days out on the boat, needless to say the summer looks promising. 

My days remaining in VT are limited and as I began to look for apartments I realized that I would like to leave within the next 6-7 months. The options are endless. I could take after a close friend, drive across the country and find a place in California, I could go back to the city or a different city, I could go find a job somewhere in Europe, I could stay here, but for some odd reason I don't think sitting here on Church Street for another year or two will be as appealing as it is now. The endless redneck, no class conversations that take place within ear distance are amusing, comical if you will. "Rumor has it Susan is going to get me beat up," "Titttiieessss" The rasp of a lifelong smokers voice. The too fat, too tight, white trash people that stand outside the downtown mall. The endless amount of drama about who started shit first. Okay, okay. Maybe I'm being judgmental... maybe a bit too harsh. But in the end, do these people even care? As I ask myself this I wonder, why should they care? Are they going against the "norm"of society? Or do they feel like this is the crowd they fit into and to become anything more, or to want anything more would be stepping out of the only crowd they have known. Is this the same idea for those who are rich? For those people who have their cocktail parties, the endless banquets, and their yachts, if they ever wanted more or less would they go against their "norm?" 

Are we so worried about our peers judging and not accepting us that we will follow the crowd that we view we fit into the most? 

Will all the kids follow the cool kid in the sandbox to not be picked on? Will all the teenagers shop at American Eagle and Abercrombie and Fitch because those are seen as the "cool clothes" around the halls of their high school? Will all the college kids purchase fake ids and take shots with fellow classmates to not seem "lame?" Do these characteristics and simplified ideas follow us throughout our lives and into our careers?

Will we wear similar clothes to fit in with our friends? Will we try to impress our boss at a job we want by laughing at his jokes or speaking to him about indifferent matters?

When do we stop trying to fit into a certain crowd and stop searching for acceptance and just be? When do we stop waking up in the morning and putting safety pins through our eyebrows, short skirts around our waist, business suits upon our bodies? Do we need to do these things to get to where we want to be? Whether that be on a street corner or president of a large company, will we ever stop trying to fit into a certain crowd? 

A secret smile. She walks by and it makes me feel great about what I'm doing. I look at him and feel Barney on my lap. The  recognition is becoming obvious, the tries and changes are evident, it's a chance to make ones self better and I'm all about it, an advocate if you will. Everyone needs a little time for themselves every now and then and what better way. 

The clouds are coming and the wind has picked up...Barney has fallen asleep and it's time for me to continue on with me day..

Honey Hive

A moment it hits, a moment it is gone. A noticeable melody, a slap in the face, a diversion of the mind. Divert the thoughts to the present. Clear the blurriness with visions of the second hand. A quick hit, and an attempt to retreat. Stuck in the sticky honey, surrounded by the hive. I'd rather be stung for a quick instant than stuck here in the depths of this honey hive.

Always want the fight, the drama, the obsession. Why are these obviously negative things deemed so attractive? When do we learn that these obsessions are merely that, obsessions that leave us addicted to an imaginary thing.

I recently consoled a friend over a break-up. Nothing drastic, a few weeks together, a few great times, but obviously nothing meant to be. How do we fall so quickly for people that are unmistakably so wrong for us? Are we blinded by the excitement of a new adventure? Are we more apt to engorge the good and lessen the bad to fool ourselves into making it seem better than it really is? Are we so afraid of being alone that we will fall for those who we wouldn't date otherwise?

It's been a while since I've blogged. Things have changed of course, as anything would over time, but absolutely no regrets. 

It's funny how in the moment of a second I wonder, 'is this...' and then I hear it and it is. Is it soothing, distracting, indifferent or something untouched? I guess a bit of all. It's hard to ignore when it is there, in my ears, surrounding my body, putting chills on my skin, but once it has ended and has been replaced, the memory, the feeling, the chills all end, my skin smoothes, my vision clears and the road in front of me extends and I continue.....

Significant Moment Forgotten...

Maybe that's the way it should be... or that is just the way it is. Over a month since she has passed, over a month since I was in Dublin, Ireland and I received the call. My family has been sorting through her house and cleaning it out and they found a piece I wrote about a significant moment in my life. It had to do with my grandfather, my grandma's husband. A time when I was asked upon to go to the doctors office with my grandma and grandpa to help walk my grandpa in because he was too weak from the cancer taking over his mouth. Although I wrote about this moment, I had forgotten about until I read the piece. My mom mentioned that she had found this piece and briefly told me what it was about and I couldn't quite find the memory stored. 

After reading it and remembering it I wonder why I had locked that memory away. Have I done this with many others? Will I do this with the remaining and most recent memories of my grandma? I guess it is better to remember my grandpa as the strong man he was rather than the frail man I had to help walk into the doctors office that one morning. I just wonder where I put it, the memories that make my eyes water and heart hurt when addressed. Am I the only one that does this?

My trip to Europe was amazing and filled with many fun and exciting moments. Again, I learned so much about myself and feel I grew more and more each day I woke. My grandma passed the day after I flew out of the states, but she passed on the same day my grandpa, her husband died 5 years ago. I wish I had been there like I was for my grandpa. I wish I was holding her hand as she took her last breath. The thing that gets me is that people complain day in and out about not wanting to be alone, but I think the thing I've realized is that we die alone, we take our last breath alone, we feel the last bit of pain alone and the thing I wanted the most was to hold her hand and stand by her side so she would not be alone when she took her last breath. I wanted that so badly, I wanted to be there for her so badly and it still pains me to know that I could not have been. It angers me but it happened the way it did for a reason, I just wish and believe I will always wish I had been there. 

My first few days back from Europe I could smell her. Maybe it was just me, but I felt like she was still there. The poster boards that were presented at the funeral still sat in our living room and I peered at them the first night back. I sat down and clenched my jaw hoping to fight back the tears, why did I have to miss it? I can keep going over this question time and time again, but it will never hold an answer that satisfies my sadness. 

I don't know what to say about it, it's still hard and it's still so here, in this moment, on my mind and in my heart. I guess I'm just not that good at letting go...

Shed the Skin

Sit sit sit, shed shed shed. As I gaze upon you and the ability to react dissipates another layer is shed. Reaching into the cupboard to grab you a sweet treat, something you never turn down, you ask, 'how will you get across.' I pause as I reach for the Oreos and respond, 'across what?' 'The field,' you say. A complete lack of reality and the present moment, I try to enter your world and respond with a witty phrase that may make you laugh or come back to me. 

In and out, in and out you shift from an exciting sentence that holds only the beginning and no intention of being finished. Frustrated you become as I continue to ask what or who. Should I not try to understand what you are saying to me? Is it only making you frustrated and angry? 

Moments that no one can understand, moments that I do not want to share with others in fear that it may put them in an awkward position. Still grateful to be here with her, by her side and still happy that in brief instances she sees me and comes back. If it's those brief instances we have left then I want them all. 

I feel as if my skin is being peeled off of me. As if I had a horrible sunburn and the dead, burnt skin is finally peeling off to be replaced by the fresh new skin. I envision this skin just shedding off of me. These moments of loss, her inability to connect with reality, her inability to comprehend a situation, her inability to be the woman I know she is, are on me as I sit with her at the table, but as I close my eyes I feel the skin peeling back, I feel the skin shedding. These moments of her last few days won't be the ones to stick, because in my heart I know that is not who she is. 

I guess the only way to be the closest to death without dying is to see someone take their last breath, I had hoped I would be here to see it like I was with my grandpa. I know it won't happen but sometimes I just wish I could change the way things were going to be. 

It's like a flash of clarity when she comes back. She looks at me, eyes glazed over from the medicine we have her on to prevent the pain of the massive tumor taking over her soul, unmindful of what she was beginning to say or what we were talking about, and then the second hand moves once more and her eyes clear, she looks at me with a smile and I hold on to her gaze as the clock ticks and my heart beat becomes steady. Stay with me, stay with me I plead silently. I feel no words can be said when she finds that clarity, afraid it may shift her back into the unconscious  state. It's too late to write what I wanted to write and read it to her, I fear that if she stays like she was last night for the remaining time, it will not register. 

A few times in the past week I've wanted to run early, to take the nothingness that I have packed and just go. Step away from the challenges that face me and into the sweet serenity of exploration. Soon enough, but not before I take these challenges head on as to not worry, question or contemplate decisions made when I leave. 

The only way to conquer the demons are to face them without fear.

Shed the Skin 

Intimate Nod

Sitting at my desk filling out checks for parking tickets, applications to apply for health insurance, emails to inform people I will not be at the meeting and searching the web for some spark of memory of the museum I am writing about. Contemplating going to the gym, but unsure whether or not I can muster up the energy at 10 pm. 

The night has been interesting, mostly spent in the kitchen trying to piece together a puzzle and visit with my grandma. It's uplifting to know that we can all still make her laugh and laugh together. It's encouraging. 

Caught this afternoon with an abrupt realization that sometimes what people say does not always live up to what they tend to do. A glimpse of the past hit me as I grabbed the stew out of the microwave and remembered all those things I mentally noted that I did not want. I did not know that it would occur to me that quickly, that all the things I learned would instantly pop to the front line of my train of thoughts and mentally remind me, that hey, this is something you do not want or do not like. An intimate nod of appreciation between myself and I that those moments did teach me something and this moment was something I could go without. 

It was a contradicting feeling. Shocked at the words that not too long were pronounced and then denied after the statement, yet satisfied with my quickness of my own comprehension. Why say something or promise something if you are unsure that you can live up to those promises or words? A questions that always has baffled me. A simple request of not to promise anything you know you can not fulfill, promises evoke hope and if this promise is not fulfilled or broken it results in disappointment. Why encourage these contradicting feelings when they can be easily avoided? Make a promise if you know you can fulfill it, and if not then hold that hope to yourself and smile when you do secretly fulfill it.  

Another weekend where the house will be filled with guest to visit my grandma. We had a scary night on Monday and I woke up Tuesday morning uncertain if she was still alive. Gladly she was and we have been blessed with her presence and smile until a higher spirit feels it is time.

God Bless. 

I Fall 2 Become Stronger

There I stood, here I stand with the inability to hold on to something concrete. Situations, objects, feelings attack my stance allowing my stability to become unstable. 

From the first mention of it, from the first mention that it was going to occur the next day, a sheet of concrete fell in front of me. I began to push, I began to hide my tears in your chest, I began to swallow my feelings and be everything but what I was feeling; an emotionless wall that began to fall apart bit by bit in my heart.

I walked into the house with family but entered a whirlwind alone. The moments, the chats, the laughs, the sandwiches cut into quarters, the dust-buster,

the crayons, the barbies, the hiding behind the nook of the couch, the sleep overs, the days I saw you at your weakest, the days I watched him through the window 

on the back porch, the many birthdays, the ice cream cakes, the love, the cookies, the gum, it all quickly spun around me and made the wall

thicker. Here I was at a house I have known my whole life as yours, and here we were about to go through it all and pick what we wanted to carry with us through

the rest of our lives. Materialistic things that we wanted to keep that had sentimental value to us and we could cherish the rest of life. I picked and poked through

things but didn't truly find anything that had much sentimental value. Is it my stubbornness to let go? I don't want some object or piece of furniture that was yours,

I want you and him to still occupy this house, I want you and him to still occupy our lives. I can keep these objects and always know that they were yours, but in

the end, my memories are my most sentimental values.

I kept one of his shirts because he always wore it, I distinctly remember seeing him in it when I close my eyes and envision him, that's the shirt I see him wearing

and I'm making many quilts out of your clothes for me and the rest of the kids. You and I both know anything I take will never mean anything of what I am looking for, because what I am looking for is you. It was not easy

nor will it ever be. I had not been there since we dropped you off after our Vegas adventure, the house was dead. It was merely a building. You made it alive,

you made it warm, you made it the place I loved. Walking in to the empty, dark, cool house made it more apparent that it is no longer a home, but merely a place

that houses your belongings and sentimental things you carried with you throughout your life. The storm did not seize to stop when I walked out, it only intensified

my despair and sadness for the harsh truth that lays in the living room.

I pushed them away, I became the quite, reserved person and I secretly fell apart inside. I cleaned my room, found my fish to be eaten by the fierce cat and fell

the wooden floor. I tried to hide my quivering voice as I told her about the cat eating Fin, but I couldn't anymore. The wall dispersed, my head and shoulders shook

with the pain that fell through my eyes. Helpless, I sat on the floor with my head supported by her shoulder, angry at myself for breaking down but happy that

it had begun. 

I guess if we never break down, we can never become stronger.

I was lying in bed last night contemplating the thought of, can we make love, if we are not in love? I guess love has been a reoccurring theme recently, well I

guess love is always a reoccurring theme. She's been informing me of the confusion that has encircled this phrase, maybe confusion is a bad word for it, but the

uncertainty of whether or not he has said it or if she feels it. She defined her uncertainty with often feeling an immense amount of emotion for him, overwhelming

often enough, but then other moments where she is questioning whether it is love or not. Is it too soon?, she questions. Why is love associated with time? Why is

it that when we feel this overwhelming emotion and depth for a person we instantly associate the length of time we have known or been with this person?

Is love determined by how many days we've been sleeping with a person? Shouldn't it be based upon our feelings, our moments, our laughs, our happiness?

Love should not be determined by the days, love should not be questioned because the amount of time you've been with someone does not seem adequate

enough time to love a person, it should be based upon the depth of our feelings.

Although my question was about making love and being in love, I never really got around to answering it. It became a thought by what he had said. It became

a question by what he said, an inspiring person that makes me want to better myself for the sake of me.