Off the Shelf

I am not a one book girl: never have been, never will be. I'm not happy with my reading life unless I have multiple books at once scattered throughout the house, stacked precariously beside the bed, or piled atop one another at my desk. So what's been keeping me up at night lately? 

Yeah...not really exaggerating about the books keeping me awake. Sure, true crime books aren't for everyone, and many people have expressed to me that they find the genre distasteful. If you do, I can appreciate that; however, I've always been fascinated with true stories that delve into the human psyche. Hard to swim in deeper depths of the mind than with this type of tale. But it's not the only one:

(Okay, fine, there's a distinct theme here.) This particular book combines the study of traumatic brain injury with the thoughts and confessions of various serial killers. A young man, Tony, who suffered a TBI began writing to serial killers as his hobby, only for many of them to write back with detailed confessions and revelations about cold cases. Watching Tony learn to control his own thoughts through his interactions with some of the most despicable men in the world is an intriguing study in how the mind can be both broken and rebuilt.

Some absolute purist readers may consider me a sell-out because I do, indeed, have an eReader. But to me, a book is a book is a book, and one benefit of my Nook is the deeply discounted selection of stories I find.

Some great literature-centered nonfiction, a biography on the next figure to grace the $20 bill, and a Neil Gaiman collection: I bought all four in one night for less than $10 total. I've been dipping into all of them in little sips, luxuriating in finding the one on which I'll next focus my attention. Don't think that I disregard fiction, though...

This is the first year I've actually taught The Great Gatsby, and until I began re-reading it, I forgot what a tremendous story it is. Not only do I get to share the story and talk about it with students, but I getting paid to sit and read this glorious book. Ain't life grand?! If you're willing to journey through a story (or twelve), yes, yes it is. Happy reading, friends.

Fear Itself

I am absolutely terrified of many, many things: clowns, being in a plane crash, jellyfish, losing one of my senses...a lot of irrational fears that can make some basic experiences a bit challenging. However, when it comes down to it, the most intense fears I have are the ones that fall under one main umbrella: being alone in a crowded world.

In looking at a challenge to choose three legitimate fears, I didn’t have to dig too deep into my psyche to find the heart of what in this big bad world truly frightens me.

1. People have a tendency to leave; by nature, it’s what we do. We move, we grow up, we die...all necessary steps in life. What it also requires, though, is leaving someone behind, and I am terrified of being left behind .

    I do what any self-serving paranoid person does, then: I push people away. I’ve done it with family, friends, significant others...everyone. If I haven’t already done it to you at least once in life, chances are I will. If I push and you leave, you wouldn’t have stayed anyway. If I push and you stay, well, you’re the rare sort.

    It’s not right to behave that way, and I regret nearly every time I’ve done so...but man, that fear is so hard to overcome.

2. Am I afraid of the dark? Um, yeah, aren’t you?! The darkness is inherently frightening because of what it hides: ghoulies, ghosties, and things that go bump in the night. True, those things usually turn out to be monsters of the human variety, but that doesn’t make them any less scary; if anything, it makes them all the more horrible because they are real. So if you knock on my door after the sun sets, yes, I will ninja-roll behind the furniture to peek through the blinds to determine if it is safe to open the door. Hear the stereo? See the TV screen glowing? Don’t care -- there are far too many scary things lingering in the dark. And isn't that the way: I'm afraid of the unknown.

 

3. Perhaps what frightens me the most, though, is insignificance, not mattering, or being forgotten. I write to share my thoughts. I teach because I love the camaraderie and sharing ideas. And what if in all my reaching out to the world, the world doesn't reach out for me? 

      One of my favorite books in high school was a teen thriller called Remember Me (hmm...seems important...), and the final lines of that book have always stayed with me. At the risk of minimizing any impact my words might have, I'll borrow from the end of that book because, sometimes, there's just no better way to say it:

You can only come to the morning through the shadows. - J.R.R. Tolkien

20 Questions

1. If you'd ask me to choose a favorite book, I'd never be able to choose just one, but I'll gladly provide a list of my top 10 or so.

2. I still use an ancient iPod that has thousands of songs, but I keep fewer than 50 of them on regular rotation.

3. The only television shows I watch regularly are Once Upon a Time, The Walking Dead, and Survivor.

4. Beauty and the Beast has always been my favorite Disney movie, primarily because of the incredible library in the Beast's castle.

5. I'm a dog person who is terribly allergic to cats, but my daughter's bizarre love of felines has me certain I will have at least one pet cat sooner rather than later.

6. I have five tattoos and am hoping to increase that number by at least three by the end of this summer.

7. I am a Virgo on the Libra cusp with an overwhelming number of the defining characteristics being overwhelmingly accurate...but I'll act like I find astrology, fortunes, and good or bad luck ridiculous.

8. I'm fairly certain water chestnuts are a food of the devil.

9. Brian proposed to me on Easter Sunday with a huge Easter basket loaded with goodies, including a slip of paper asking me to marry him by checking "'yes' or 'yes'".

10. I once pulled a muscle in my back while walking through a haunted house because of how vigorously I ducked from the "monster" that jumped out at me.

11. I wouldn't say they're better, but the film versions of To Kill a Mockingbird, A Time to Kill, and The Green Mile are as good as their source material.

12. Unless my bath or shower water is hot enough that it turns my skin red, it's too cold.

13. I want to skip this one because I'm uneasy about the number 13.

14. The only broken bone I've ever had was the result of slipping in dewy morning grass while wearing rubber flip-flops. It earned me a rod and several screws in my right wrist.

15. If given the opportunity to relive my high school days, I'd never do it...which some see as strange considering my occupation.

16. Talking to strangers and speaking in public always give me sweaty palms and knots in my stomach.

17. I'd love to travel across states in a van with friends chasing concerts of some amazing band or artist...too many possibilities to list here.

18. One of my favorite memories ever is attending Philadelphia Wizard World with my brother and riding the elevator with Lou Ferrigno...and then going back the following year to get our picture taken with him.

19. I watched one of the Nightmare on Elm Street movies as a 5-year-old by hiding behind the couch when my parents thought I was asleep; I'm still freaked out by anything resembling a boiler room.

20. I'd be perfectly content to never cook or clean, and I do both as infrequently as I can manage.

It Goes On

Saying goodbye, moving on, learning how to live a new life without someone: one of the toughest parts of the whirlwind of life. Necessary, though, because as we all know, life does go on.

Today was the memorial service in which my family and other loved ones said a public farewell to Pop. Yet, for all the ways in which the day could have been (and okay, actually was) difficult, the most resonant part is how fantastic the people in my life are.

Oddly, it started with the people who either couldn't attend but let me know they were holding my family and me in their thoughts OR the one (my girl Katie!) who continued to go above and beyond to help with absolutely anything.

From there, the kind gestures overwhelmed me with the knowledge that, while I've been so preoccupied with my life, others have been selflessly thinking of me. For instance? The gorgeous flowers from my husband...

...the beautiful note, booze, and DARYL DIXON KEYCHAIN!!! from my best girl Katie...

...or the food (nomnomnom) that Angie and Ryan prepared for us.

Afterwards, my family went out for lunch together. As a point of pride, I'd like to add that my dear friends Katie, Keith, and Nicole came along because they, too, are family.

And once I returned home and squeezed in a nap? The love fest continued. As has become our tradition in difficult times, Katie and I shared a long-distance shot "To Bob!"

Each and every one of the gestures today, large and small, helped me remember to keep breathing, to keep putting one foot in front of the other. Yet as always, none were quite so profound as my reason for it all:

So it goes...and I am so very ready to carry Bob and his memory in my heart as I see where life takes us next. Carpe diem, friends.

Everything Old is New Again

I've found myself in an unintentional time warp lately. I'm leaning more heavily on my mom and brother because of a loss, I'm in touch with people I've not seen or heard from in years, and I'm feeling a restless itch to do, see, and experience new things. Call it a mid-life (I hope not!) crisis or an existential dilemma, but I'm contemplating the world pretty heavily right now.

Mom, Jeremy, and I dealt with it initially via beer and fried foods. A bit simplistic, perhaps, but human. After all, aren't some of our greatest comforts as little ones a cool glass of milk with a warm grilled-cheese sandwich? If a drink and snack can't cure our life woes, well, what can?! 

It's not just the external that's taking me back in time, though. For reasons far too long and foolish to articulate (essentially, I'm an idiot), I spent years not talking to one of the very best friends I've ever had. Through the (sometimes positive!) workings of social media, I'm once again able to be in touch with someone I loved, lost...and continued to love through the woefully neglected times.

Then there's the bonding that occurs purposefully, even if time doesn't allow it to happen as often as we'd like. Amber has been my friend for longer than I can remember. It touches my heart that she is the only one of my friends who met my dad before he passed when I was six. She lives out-of-state, has three little boys, and a life far different (farmer's wife with three boys) than mine. Yet, whenever I see her, it's like time stands still...even with my attention-starved daughter photo-bombing our pictures.

But for the feeling that time hasn't passed when we visit with one another, there is the undeniable proof that the pages of the calendar do indeed continue to flip, much more quickly than I'd like to admit. After all, if Amber and I were still the same girls we were in school (elementary, middle, or high...take your pick), it wouldn't be possible for our kids to play together, would it?!

Perhaps even more substantially, if time wasn't passing, it wouldn't be possible for Amber and me to tease her mom and my mom, now would it? Especially since Amber and I became childhood playmates partially because our moms were childhood playmates, as well...not that they can remember it in their old ages... 😂

Isn't it something how time passes, seasons change...and life remains oddly constant? If I look back 10, 20, even 30 years ago (yikes!!!), I have my family, my friends, and my hopes for the future. And if those are the only three constants in a world of inconsistencies, well, that's alright with me.

Welcome to Brazil

It's no secret that day-to-day experiences have been difficult lately. That's not to say, though, that I've forgotten that life goes on because, of course, it does. The sun rises and sets, flowers bloom, and obligations continue. Today, for instance, I had a hair appointment after work...but it was of the non-traditional variety. 

Ah, yes, the fine hair wrenching experience of a Brazilian wax. A bit excessive, you might think, but I come from hearty German stock. About the only physical attribute sturdier than my child-bearing hips is my thick and oh-so-dark hair that's, like, everywhere. So yeah, paying money for someone to rub hot wax over my hair and rip it out with cloth strips? Totally worth it. Even if it meant I had to do this...

That's right, I engage in the process. I hold my leg up for optimal...spreadage. Oh, and if you're judging? 1. Leg hair was the least of my concerns, and 2. Yes, yes I am like the clueless guy who keeps his socks on for...intimate...activities. It's cold in the room (for practical wax-salvaging purposes)...step off, okay?! Oh, but that's not the only delightful stance:

Wowza, that is an accommodating position, no?! Thank God for the flexibility I've garnered through my minimal yoga excursions...whew! It almost (almost) distracted me from the ripping sound and feel of hair being yanked out by the root. But for all the seeming pain (honestly, it's not a big deal) and humiliation (I'm not too proud; have you met me?!), there are a few outside factors that make it more than worth every single second. The first is obviously the end result:

Come ON!!! Even I'm not that shameless. Secondly, as always, is the person with whom I undergo the experience. Meet Fran: this is Fran, smiling and delightful (after the process, no less!). 

We love Fran (I do, of course, but I assure you, you'll love her, too). Need a wax or skin care treatment? See Fran at Salon ArtTiff. She'll make the procedure quick, painless-as-possible, and remarkably pleasant. It's minor, of course, but a bit of self-indulgence helps to make for smooth (HA!!!! Get it?!) sailing during rough seas. And if we can ease the sting in any way during tough times, well, isn't that what it's all about?

Smooth waters to you, my dears. 😉

Radio Silence

As a lover of words, of language, I've recently become afflicted with one of the most deadly conditions: writer's block. My daily classroom lessons are uninspired, my (not-fit-to-be-published) blog posts are gathering dust, and the eulogy I'm supposed to be writing for Bob's memorial service is languishing in various notebooks scattered throughout the house. And for the utter silence that's befallen me, I can't ignore how very loud it is.

There's something absolutely piercing in the complete silence of the words I just can't produce. It's not for a lack in my mind, though; rather, there's a bit of a logjam of the things I so desperately want to say...but I can't. 

I've resorted to cheap and easy tactics to get the muse to put out: forced writings (never, ever good), fried foods washed down with a cold glass of water (okay, no...rum, it's always rum), 24-hour shopping binges (since I don't really sleep, "late night" is irrelevant), and absurdly loud music during my near-daily walks. All it's gotten me is stacks of lousy ideas, a few extra pounds and hangovers, a painfully depleted bank account, and a near-certainty that I'm suffering dramatic hearing loss.

It all brings me back to why I read, why I write, why I've devoted my career to teaching English to high school students who almost invariably hate the subject. The language matters; our words matter. After all, sticks and stones may break my bones...but words can hurt forever.

Perhaps it's just one way I'm processing all that's happening right now, but I'm overcome with the gravity of what we say. What I say has the chance to resonate well beyond my time on this earth, and there's a distinct pressure in that notion: What if I don't use the right words? What if I can't convey exactly what I mean? What if I hurt someone with what I say? The "what-ifs" are nearly as pressing as the silence.

Words might not mean much to everyone, but they mean everything to me...so I may as well say them now. Hope to talk with you again soon...😊