A Bit About Me and My Blog – Page 2

May 31, 2019May 25, 2019

Stories From Childhood, Part 4: Wayne

Standing and looking out the living room window, I could see the mountains. And in between the here and there was a small house, sitting alone. My grandfather’s house. I did not know him. If I met him in the street, I would not smile and say hello, for he was a stranger to me.

My mother- how she loved him! In later years, she told me how she visited him in the hospital as he lay ill with whatever stole his life from him, and us. They had a wonderful conversation, then he asked, “Now what did you say your name was?” When she told him, he turned his face to the wall and did not say another word. That was the last time she saw him. Her Daddy. His name was Wayne.

May 29, 2019June 30, 2019

Stories From Childhood, Part 3: Best Friend

She lived just a short distance away and her parents were old. She had a sister who was already an adult. Her teen-aged brother had long hair and played the drums. She slept without underwear and used the term “BM”, both of which were a mystery to me. At dinner, she was made to finish a tall glass of store bought milk; she took hers with ice. We created many theatrical dramas together, most set to the song “Que Sera”. We spent hours rehearsing in her garage. Her parents traveled the world I guess and brought back porcelain dolls in plexiglass cases. She was even allowed to watch Sesame Street. Her mom drove her to elementary school in “town” rather than have her attend our small school just a few miles away. I think her family was rich because they had orange shag carpet.

I sometimes spent the night at her house. She did not stay at mine.

May 27, 2019May 25, 2019

Stories From Childhood, Part 2: Neighbors

Our closest neighbors were liars. “Don’t talk to them. Don’t play with John and Connie”, mom said. The family on the corner had all girls. I liked to hang out there and watch the mother put intricate braids in her daughters’ hair. One time I found a tick burrowing in the oldest girls’ foot. The mother screamed and threw a balled-up pair of socks. She was folding laundry.

The quiet man down the road- the one with no wife and two kids, got in his car one day, started the engine but never left the garage. Not alive anyway.

May 25, 2019

Stories From Childhood, Part 1: The House

Note: The following is the first of a handful of childhood memories I have written about. None are complex, yet there is a deeper truth within each.

I left The House 40 years ago. I did not go back. In my mind I have always had a very clear picture of The House as it sat, parallel to the road. Recently I asked my husband to drive me by The House. I did not want to go alone. The House is not parallel to the road. I asked him to go back. “Turn around,” I said, “drive more slowly.”

I think they must have moved it. I know The House was parallel to the road. Maybe I’ll ask my sister.

September 28, 2018November 11, 2018

The Title of This Blog

I have so much that is good and beautiful in my life. To name a few: I’m married to an amazing man and we have the privilege of being the parents of 3 incredible kids; I have a sister and brother who love me unconditionally; I have a small but priceless group of friends who hold space for me with kindness; and I have purpose.

So why “The 8th Hard Thing” you might ask. Well, it’s a long story and I will piece it together in future posts. But for now, I will give you a summary.

A few months ago, the blog title “A Treacherous Path Called Life” came to me. And while the words certainly ring true, it was, I don’t know, a bit dramatic.

Recently, one of my siblings was diagnosed with a serious disease. Now, my family of origin is no stranger to such events, but it just felt- like so many things before- like TOO MUCH. Too much hard, too much sad, too much pain. And yet life is asking of us to add this to the long list of what has already been endured. Thus, “The 8th Hard Thing” (though the number 8 is a symbolic rather than accurate adjective).

Please do not hear me say that my list of hard things is any worse than yours or that of someone you know. It’s not ever my intention to compare, or to minimize the suffering of someone else. The world is truly filled with stories of human pain.

My intention is however, to share my experience here so that we can walk together. So you won’t feel so alone. And neither will I.

September 28, 2018October 8, 2018

The 8th Hard Thing

I decided to begin again, today. To start a blog. And then I came upon this, my old (very small) blog and a new decision needed to be made: start new or continue the old?

I don’t really know the right answer, like I don’t know much of anything, not anymore. So, here I am, adding a stream of consciousness post to my old (very small) blog.

There are many days when I believe I have nothing new to say. But there are also the occasional days when I’m sure that I do.

I sometimes write poetry that I sometimes want to share. Maybe I’ll continue to do that here. But I think it will be more. I think this blog will be, for me, a place to express in words, how life has been from my perspective. I probably need a place to do that, a place that’s mine, a place where I use my voice regardless of who is or isn’t listening.

I hope to motivate my mid-life brain to learn how to do this well, this online sharing in this particular format. So hopefully I’ll add a picture here and there and maybe figure out how to make my page look inviting.

Yet my goal is not aesthetics; I want for the odd human who stumbles across what I share here to not feel so alone, as if they are the only one. And if many visit and read and find solace, all the better.