The ABC’s of Me

K

Kentucky

 

I bet you thought I had fallen off the blog wagon again, didn't you?  I got stuck again, and then it was Daryl's birthday and Father's Day and well, time just got away from me.  And while I'm handing out excuses, I will just say that I have no idea why, when published, part of this is in one font, and then part is in another.  It doesn't look like that as I type it!  Anyways....onward....

 

My parents are both from Kentucky, and as a child, all of my grandparents lived in Kentucky.  Every Thanksgiving, and once during the summer, we would pile in the station wagon (back when you didn't have to have car seats and seat belts and you could lay the back down, line it with sleeping bags and toys and enjoy your ride....also back when there weren't TVs in cars!) and make the 8-9 hour trip to Louisville, KY.  Although I get carsick, and in general hate car trips, just reflecting on these trips brought back so many good memories.  So good, that I spent four hours trying to find pictures of my grandparents' houses on Google, and in the process got a little teary.  My grandparents all live in heaven now, but the memories remain.

 

To me, everyone in Kentucky is old.  I know they really aren't in my head, but in my 9 year old kid brain, they were.  We spent the entire time in the company of people 80 and older--in various stuffy apartments, old houses, nursing homes.  Other than old people, though, other images come to mind.

 

Singing Debby Boone's "You Light Up My Life" with my grandmother, along with her album, played on her turntable.

 

The Kentucky Derby.  Even though we never went, my parents had, and still have, a Derby Party every year on Derby Day.  I have such fond memories of those parties and all of my parents' friends in the house.

 Riding past vast green fields with horses grazing.  This is not a sight we would see on the way there, as we always traveled there by night and traveled home during the day.  My grandmother lived on a very small farm, and I remember knowing we were there when we drove over the bumpy spot on her drive meant to keep the cows from crossing.

 Houses like this.  This isn't my grandmother's home, but it, to me, will always be a "Kentucky house."  It faced Hillcrest Avenue, a busy road, and we used to play in the front yard. (Why we didn't play in the back yard, that was fenced and flat, I don't know)  I remember the formal furniture, the squeaky real hardwood floors, the smell of cheese grits, and my great grandmother uncoiling her long white hair in front of the mirror.  So many more good memories (all in black and white in my head), too many to list.

 And at the end of our trip, almost as if to show us that young people do live there, there was our annual trip to the mall for "one new outfit" and a picture with Santa, followed by meeting Dad at Shoney's.  I'd always order the spaghetti and never eat it all.

 

I could go on and on about these trips, and maybe someday I will.  I need to, want to remember these precious parts of my life. 

The ABC’s of Me

J

I had a hard time coming up with something to write about for this letter, thus the lack of a post yesterday.  The first one that came to mind I recognized as way too transparent, and not something I really wanted to delve into in front of all of the internet (as if all the internet is reading this...yeah)  So I thought about a few different ones....

 

Jobs- I'd write about all of the jobs that I have had over the years.  From babysitting, to McDonald's, to day care, to bartending and waitressing, to teaching, to cleaning a church, and back to teaching again.  Eh...boring.

 

Josh-I'd write about the man child that he has become and what it is like to have your beautiful baby boy grow up into this awesome man and have someone else fulfill the role of favorite woman in his life.  But then, I would have to go back and do Charlotte for C and Daryl for D.

 

Jail- I'd write about how I know all the rules about visiting someone in jail, what its like to visit someone in jail, and what I learned from those experiences.  But then that took me to places where my children might not be comfortable.

 

Um, Jellybeans?  Jelly?  My first boyfriend ever, Jeff Sanders?

 

So then, it brought me back to the transparent one.  So hear it goes.

 

Jealousy

I have always been a jealous person.  Not in the sense that I wanted things that other people had, per se.  I never coveted people's homes, or their clothes, or the toys they had.  Nope, I skipped right over that part and just wanted to be them.  It started in fourth grade, right after we had moved to Alabama.  I wanted to be Becky Cardwell.  I grew my hair out like hers (and wouldn't you know, she cut her hair right after I achieved the long hair), and wanted to be just like her.  Because in my mind, she was perfect.  She was gorgeous, thin, outgoing, sweet, popular, and everyone loved her.  She was also my friend.  Throughout the rest of my life, I morphed myself into different versions of myself to be like other people.  To be what I thought other people wanted me to be. 

 

As an adult, it took a different form.  It wasn't so much that I envied what people looked like, but the qualities they had.  They were more confident, more outgoing, not afraid to speak their mind.  Others were more disciplined, happier, more fun.  Still others were more spiritually mature, more giving, more positive.  More organized, cleaner, more pulled together.   Better cook, better housekeeper, better wife.   I always wanted to be more like someone else.

 

This summer, at the ripe old age of almost 45 (argh), I have come to finally realize that I can not be anyone else.  I can not force myself to be like anyone else.  I am me.  Wonderfully and fearfully made.  With all of the many flaws and weaknesses.  And the best I can do is not be more like someone else, but to be the best me.

 

Eat healthier and exercise to be a healthier ME.  Keep the house cleaner adn stay on top of things so that I would feel better.  Accept that I am not outgoing and not loud and would rather be holed up with a book than out at a party.  Accept that I need work in certain areas of my life and work on those to better myself and bring glory to God. 

 

God loves me just because I am myself.  My husband didn't fall in love with the prettier, spunkier, more organized, better housekeeper.  He fell in love with me.  My children love me.

And when I think about it that way, being me is pretty wonderful.

 

 

The ABC’s of Me

I

Italy

When I graduated high school, my best friend, Karen Cachussie was going to Europe with her mother as a graduation gift.  She had already been to Europe on school trips before, so it wasn't such a big deal for her.  She asked me to go with her.  For me, it was a HUGE deal.  So I asked my parents, and surprisingly, they said yes.  I didn't get to walk in graduation, which wasn't a big deal because we had moved my senior year and it didn't mean much to me to walk with my classmates.

 

So the day I was supposed to be walking across the stage in graduation, I was on a plane by myself, heading across the ocean for a ten day whirlwind European tour.  We traveled through England, France, Belgium, Germany, Switzerland, the Netherlands, Monte Carlo, Lichtenstein, and Italy.  Out of all of the places that we went and all of the amazing things that we saw, Italy was by far my favorite.

 

I loved Venice, even though it was touristy and cheesy.  I loved sailing down the canals and seeing all of the old houses along the way where people lived.  Being serenaded by a gondolier in a striped shirt.

I loved Rome and the history.  I have pictures of the teenage me standing in the Colisseum.  And kittens.  There were lots of kittens.

 We went shopping in Rome, and I sat on the Spanish Steps, where a young Italian man gave me a rose.  Right out of a movie, right?

 Climbed to the top of the Tower of Pisa.

Stood under this fountain in the Gardens of Tivoli. 

I loved Italy so much, that when it came time for me to choose a language in college and I saw that Italian was one of the choices, I didn't have to think twice.  Never mind that it was a relatively useless language.  I took two years of Italian with an eccentric professor who told me, and I quote, so please do not think I am crude, that when I said "gli elletrodomestici" he "creamed his pants."  I had the opportunity to go to Italy and study for a semester, but turned it down because I was in luuuv.

 

It was the opportunity of a lifetime, and I am so grateful to have had the opportunity to visit. 

I really hope to someday return.  To see all of these places with fresh, mature eyes.  Because, really, as a teenager, I was more interested in the Italian boys and no drinking age than learning and experiencing the culture.  I think as an adult I would appreciate it so much more.

 

Una ragazza può sognare, giusto?

(A girl can dream, right?)

The ABC’s of Me

H

Hannah

 

I told myself when I started this that I wasn't going to take the easy way out and use Daryl and the kids for any of the letters.  And even though technically I'm using Hannah, I'm really not.  Make sense?  Let me explain.

 

See this handsome guy below?  When I was pregnant with him, I poured over baby name books and came up with the names that  I liked.  If he was a boy, he would be Joshua Walton.  If he ended up being a girl, he'd be Hannah Kathleen.

Well, you see how that turned out.  My only  boy.  Needless to say, we did not name him Hannah.

 

So when I got pregnant with this beauty, I looked through the baby name books again.  If she was a boy, I had no clue.  Maybe Luke, maybe Jonathan.  If she were a girl, her name was going to be

Hannah Kathleen.  Hannah because I still loved it, and Kathleen after my sister.  But then I saw her on the ultrasound, and I thought, "There is my princess!"  Hannah didn't seem right any more.  Sarah means "princess."  And there you go...Sarah Kathleen.

Then, surprise!!!!!  Here came girl #2.  And she was going to be Hannah Pauline.  Hannah, because I still loved it and Pauline, because it was my grandmother's name.  But then when we were going through the baby book name and we couldn't agree.  My husband at the time didn't like Hannah anymore, so we went through the book and circled the ones we liked.  The only one we both liked was Madeline.  Madeline Pauline.

(btw, she hates her name.  She doesn't like Madeline, says it sounds too "old."  And that Pauline is just strange.  I keep telling her what an honor it is to be named after her grandmother, but she doesn't really remember her, so doesn't really agree!)

Fast forward 9 years.  We had been trying for #4 for 3.5 years.  I was frantic.  What was wrong with me?  I had always gotten pregnant so easily...why was God doing this to us?  My husband, on the other hand, was quite confident and calm.  "I am fully confident that we will have a baby.  It isn't a "no" from God, it's a "wait."  And of course, he was right.  It was a resounding WAIT.  After we had learned to be married to each other, defined our family of five, done some work for the Lord, some work on ourselves (OK, on myself) we got pregnant not even trying.  When we found out it was a girl, there was never a question.  She would be Hannah.  First it was going to be Hannah Grace.  Hannah because, well, you know...I still loved it, and the irony of Hannah in the Bible praying for so long for a child.  Grace because of God's mercy and grace in answering our prayers.  Then Daryl's sister, Denise, had a recurrence of her cancer.  I was awed and humbled by her grace and strength and faith in the Lord during it all, and I knew there could be no greater honor to us than to name our baby after her.  Finally my Hannah.

Hannah Denise.

And just because I couldn't NOT have a picture of Charlotte after having pictures of all the rest...

Charlotte Elaine. 

 

The ABC’s of Me

G

Grease is the word....

 

My all time favorite movie, without a doubt.  I can remember sitting in the theater in Sylacauga.  It was afternoon.  I was sitting in the seat closest to the curtain against the wall.  I left that theater wanting to be Sandy.  Not the slutty, curly headed Sandy.  The sweet, pure, bobby sock wearing Sandy.

 I can quote the movie from beginning to the end.  I can sing every song, complete with dance moves (and yes, it is as pathetic as it sounds).

 When my big kids were little, I must have showed them the movie twenty times.  No, I didn't realize how crude and inappropriate it was until about ten years ago.  I also really thought that Fonzie slept on that pull out couch.

 I know that all of the actors and actresses were in their 30's, playing high school kids.  I know that it was a knock off of the Broadway show and that in itself should make me hate it.  I know that Olivia Newton John has little acting skill and even fewer dance skills.  Doesn't matter.  Still love it.

 No matter what kind of day I have had, not matter what has happened in my life, no matter what anyone has said or done to me, this movie makes me happy.  Just hearing the music makes me smile.  Just looking at these pictures make me a little bit giddy and longing to see the movie again.

 

 Think what you want....In the words of Rizzo, "There are worse things I could do...."

The ABC’s of Me

F

Fear

 

Dale Carnegie once said, "Fear doesn't exist anywhere except in the mind." My life, unfortunately, has been a testament to this statement.  I have been in a constant battle with my mind for as long as I can remember.   

 

As a child, my mother says I would practice any new skill in the basement before doing it in front of my friends.  I'd fall off my bike without training wheels a hundred times in the partially unfinished basement to avoid falling off in the street in front of our house.  Later in my childhood, I developed a crippling fear of dogs after getting attacked by an Irish Setter.  Then it was tornadoes and my parents getting a divorce.  Mrs. Poole, my fourth grade teacher with the giant afro and the gold front tooth and fire, when a string of arson fires were set in the surrounding woods around our house.  Probably most irrational was my fear of being executed.  Never mind that I was probably the most obedient child ever, and that I always followed the rules. 

 

As a young adult, my fears were mostly based on what others thought of me.  I hated being the center of attention, hated to do anything that brought attention to myself, hated to meet new people.

 

Until this point, most of my fears were unfounded.  Except the dog attack, none of the things that terrified me had ever happened.  I had never been in a tornado, my parents were happily married, and the closest I ever came to the electric chair was a string of speeding tickets.  No one ever laughed at me for doing something stupid, and most everyone who I met liked me.

 

Then I turned 30.  There is nothing magical or maniacal about that age.  It just happened to be the age I was when my entire life was upended.  My husband left me.  I lost my home.  I was unemployed and had three small children to provide for.  For the first time in my life, people were talking about me.  I was doing things that I thought I would never do, seeing things I thought I never would see, going places I swore I never would.  But throughout it all, I kept it together and stayed strong for my children.  I wanted to keep their childhood as stable and fear-less as possible.

 

Just when I had made it through the hardest times and was starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel, the fear consumed me.  This time, there was no momma to drive me to the bus stop so I didn't have to face the dogs, or school nurse to assure me that I was OK and could return to class, or book I could disappear into to avoid other people.  This time, the fear gripped me so tightly that I could not function.  I took care of my children, put them in bed, and retreated to my bedroom where I would fight through the fear, one debilitating panic attack after another until morning light.

 

Fifteen years later, and I am still fighting through the fear.  I no longer suffer panic attacks, due partially to medication, partially to my wonderful husband and the stability he has provided, and mostly due to my faith and a loving and merciful heavenly Father.  Dogs do not scare me any more, nor do tornadoes.  I am fairly certain that my parents will remain married, and that I will not die in the electric chair.  I do believe, though, that just as some people are born with brown eyes, that I was born to bear this burden, as part of God's plan for my life.  

 

"I am not afraid of tomorrow, for I have seen yesterday and I love today."
William Allen White

 

The ABC’s of Me

E

Elin Hilderbrand

 

It all started with this book, this love affair I seem to be having with Elin Hilderbrand's books.  I picked it up at the grocery store, and started reading about noon.  By nine the next morning, I had done nothing else that wasn't absolutely necessary, including sleep, and it was finished.

 I went on to read every other book that she has ever written, and in the process have fallen in love with her writing and the very idea of living in Nantucket.  I've never been to Nantucket, mind you, but all of her novels are set on the island, and before you knew it, I found myself googling rentals there.  Of course, it doesn't mention in the book how outrageously expensive it is to live or vacation there.  All of her characters are just normal people with normal problems, just with the beach in Nantucket as the background.

My very favorite book that she has written is The Blue Bistro.  I love the detail that she put into the book and I think having worked at a restaurant for a few years in college, I was on familiar turf.

 Her next book is due out on June 26, and I've already pre-ordered it for my Nook.  I can't wait!

I'm desperately looking for a new author to read.  A year between Elin Hilderbrand books is just too long!