It seems that Hallmark does not have a card for every occasion. I wandered the aisles for quite some time yesterday trying to find a card that would be at least moderately appropriate and ended up walking out with two 'Blank Inside' cards. I suppose their lawyers would argue that since blank cards can be used for any occasion not covered by cards with pre-printed messages, their slogan is still true.
Perhaps some occasions are just too personal to commemorate with someone else's words. After all what does one say to mark the end of a grieving process that began more than 25 years ago? There are no trite sayings to celebrate the naming of babies that were born into the next life rather than this one.
Most of you know that I have 3 brothers and 1 sister, but our mom had 7 pregnancies. Sam was born 2 ½ months premature as the result of a car accident. After that mom had a tubal pregnancy followed by a miscarriage. She was devastated.
It was roughly 6 years after Sam's birth that she gave up hope and got rid of all the baby stuff. And then promptly discovered that she was pregnant. She understandably waited pretty far into the pregnancy before making any serious announcements.
I was only 7 when she told me the news, but, nearly 25 years later, I still clearly remember the glow about her as she told me, the smile on her face and the laugh in her voice. It is my earliest memory of my mother happy.
As the perspective granted by increased age allows me to look back and see the threads of time that have woven together the beads of events, I come to suspect that God reopened my mother's womb when He did to give her the cushion of joy she would need to not come undone during a very knotty stretch not long after Ben's birth.
It is also interesting to me (and presumably beneficial to my children) to consider how these events shaped me and particularly how they shaped my understanding of motherhood. A child does not judge her reality because she has no other experience to compare it to. It is not good, it is not bad, it just is. This period during which a child simply accepts her reality as 'normal' seems to go a long way toward defining how she will live out her own life. And so I must consider that the image of motherhood passed on to me is an image of motherhood depressed. Perhaps that, more than years, is the real gap between Sam & I and our younger 3 siblings.
With this awareness comes a responsibility to consider my own parenting and what image of motherhood I am passing on to my own children.
A few weeks ago, my mom returned from a retreat she was required to attend as part of her orientation to volunteer at Rachel's Vineyard, a ministry that primarily helps those grieving babies lost through abortion, but the program is relevant to those who have lost children in other ways as well. At this reteat she discovered how much her two neverborn babies meant to her and how deeply she still felt the loss of them.
The look on her face the other day as she told me that she had named my two neverborn siblings, Desideratus and Desiree - desired ones, and read me the letters she had written to them had the same glow of joy as her announcement of her pregnancy with Ben almost 25 years ago. I hope that in another 25 years I will remember this one as clearly as I remember that one now.
That glow of joy spoke of an occasion that warranted acknowledgement. And perhaps that acknowledgement is not one that can be given through a cheesy Hallmark poem.
The two cards that I walked out of the store with had simple everyday images on the covers, but they were images that brought tears to my eyes in light of the occasion they are being used to celebrate - a little girl in a tutu leaping so she practically soars along a beach and another little girl, no more than 3 years old, seen from behind wearing angel wings walking along a garden path leading into the unknown distance unattended by any visible being.
It has been strange for me in the wake of my mother's release of unknown grief to find myself in an unexpected period of mourning. I am not quite certain what I am grieving for except perhaps what might have been. Mingled with my grief however is also a joy, even a sense of triumph I can't quite explain, to have the lives of Desideratus and Desiree acknowledged and to realize the impact they have had on me though I have never seen them. I have no memories of them and yet I look forward in hope for the day when I will join them on the other side of this life, where they were born the elders and I will be the younger.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
A Beginning
Near the dawn of time, when many things were that have ceased to be and many things that are were not yet, the Starwatcher tended the unhatched stars. When the time was ripe, the fathers and mothers of the peoples-to-be came to the Starwatcher's Garden and each chose the star egg that would hatch and serve to aid in guiding his or her people.
The Starwatcher watched with great curiosity as one father selected his people's star and, in its place, left a tiny barely formed star egg that had not come from the Starwatcher's garden. Even more curious, the Starwatcher saw that this star egg would exactly match another of the star eggs in his garden once it was ripe.
It came to pass that two sisters came to the Starwatcher's garden in search of stars. They were twins, exactly alike in form and manner. It is a truth that no matter how perfectly matched a pair of twins may be, one will always be the older and one the the younger. The elder of this pair, Maiora, saw the barely formed star egg and its match and knew that these were the stars for her sister and herself. Her face full of wonder, she showed these two stars to her sister, Minora, and told her they must return again when the younger star was ready.
Minora did not have the wisdom of her twin though and jealousy was born in her heart for she saw that the younger star, which would be hers, was not so well formed as its match. While the eggs around it were round and seemed to swell with light til they looked almost as if they would leap off the ground with the joy of it, this star egg was small and dull and sat heavily in the snow.
Even as she and her sister turned to leave, the seed of jealousy in her heart sprouted into a stem of anger that she should always be treated as inferior to her sister, always receiving the lesser share.
Though they had not spoken to him, the Starwatcher had seen the two sisters in his garden and had known, even as the older sister had, that the twin stars would go to the twin girls. He took up the two stars and brought them to a small side garden where he could care for them until the strange newcome star egg was ready.
He studied the barely formed egg for some time. Never before had there been a star egg that had not come from his garden and he wondered about this strange star's nature and origin.
With a sigh, he gently places the baby star egg at the base of a tree in one corner of the garden. He watched as the star and the tree greeted each other and the tree lifted itself so that the star could burrow into the warmth of its roots. He laid its match in a nest of grass nearby, turned and went into his cottage.
The Starwatcher watched with great curiosity as one father selected his people's star and, in its place, left a tiny barely formed star egg that had not come from the Starwatcher's garden. Even more curious, the Starwatcher saw that this star egg would exactly match another of the star eggs in his garden once it was ripe.
It came to pass that two sisters came to the Starwatcher's garden in search of stars. They were twins, exactly alike in form and manner. It is a truth that no matter how perfectly matched a pair of twins may be, one will always be the older and one the the younger. The elder of this pair, Maiora, saw the barely formed star egg and its match and knew that these were the stars for her sister and herself. Her face full of wonder, she showed these two stars to her sister, Minora, and told her they must return again when the younger star was ready.
Minora did not have the wisdom of her twin though and jealousy was born in her heart for she saw that the younger star, which would be hers, was not so well formed as its match. While the eggs around it were round and seemed to swell with light til they looked almost as if they would leap off the ground with the joy of it, this star egg was small and dull and sat heavily in the snow.
Even as she and her sister turned to leave, the seed of jealousy in her heart sprouted into a stem of anger that she should always be treated as inferior to her sister, always receiving the lesser share.
Though they had not spoken to him, the Starwatcher had seen the two sisters in his garden and had known, even as the older sister had, that the twin stars would go to the twin girls. He took up the two stars and brought them to a small side garden where he could care for them until the strange newcome star egg was ready.
He studied the barely formed egg for some time. Never before had there been a star egg that had not come from his garden and he wondered about this strange star's nature and origin.
With a sigh, he gently places the baby star egg at the base of a tree in one corner of the garden. He watched as the star and the tree greeted each other and the tree lifted itself so that the star could burrow into the warmth of its roots. He laid its match in a nest of grass nearby, turned and went into his cottage.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Regrets
In various internet media and the getting to know you stage of many relationships a question that comes up not infrequently is 'What is your biggest regret?' I have always responded that I have no regrets since the choices I have made, whether good or ill, have shaped me into the person I am today and I like that person rather too much to go tweaking her past.
I have decided however to admit one regret, if only because it is so small but still keeps jabbing at my mind from time to time. Considering the winds that guided the course of my life, I very much doubt that this one flap of a butterfly's wings would have made much difference in the person I have become, but it also demonstrates a character flaw I am still working to eradicate today.
I know you're bursting with curiosity, so I will get straight to it - What is my biggest regret?
My biggest regret is not having participated in a Shakespeare competition I had the opportunity to participate in one year in high school.
Well, that's a silly regret I can hear you saying. And I agree, which is largely why I allow myself to regret it. However, as seems to always be the case, there are extenuating circumstances that make it a little less silly.
When I was 10 a new girl came to my school who had certain things going for her that made me intensely jealous of her. Mainly, her parents supported her desire to pursue a performance art career at a young age and at 9 she already had an agent and not only roles in plays at theatres, but at theatres that people had actually heard of. Doors opened to her and occasionally a friend or two of hers that no one had realized weren't solid walls before she came along. I was not lucky enough to be a friend of hers, so I watched jealously over the wall as she breezed along and the gatekeepers fell over themselves to open their doors for this little starlet.
We, of course, both pursued theatre as an extra-curricular and while she didn't even have to show up to auditions to get the lead, I kept finding myself in the dance chorus with the occasional solo or walk-on. It seemed that everytime a larger part opened up to me, fate stepped in to snatch it away. Atypical snowstorms cancelling too many practices causing parts or entire productions to be cut became the norm for me.
In music class, we both took advantage of opportunities for extra credit via solo vocal performances. And though we both scored above 100%, I was always 5 points behind.
I didn't even try out for choir in high school, I was growing tired of being so frequently reminded that the most I could hope for was second best.
But, then, this Shakespeare competition came along. And one of the conditions for entry was that you could not have received any remuneration for a performance in the past year. This immediately disqualified Miss First Place. At last, here was my chance to bring home the gold.
Enter character flaw, stage left. I wanted to do such a performance with this one chance. I didn't want to use one of the suggested monologues that any number of other competitors would use. I wanted to find one that was just right. One that was obviously a challenge but not beyond my abilities. One that resonated with me so that I could bring it to life, ringing clear and bright as a bell, wowing judges and competitors alike. And I wanted to bring it to life in such a way.
I wish that I could say that I spent weeks poring over Shakespeare hunting for this brilliant monologue, but here enters another character flaw. My perfectionistic desire to dazzle is delibitatingly coupled with laziness. O, I pulled out my Complete Works of Shakespeare a few times, skimming my favorites for likely monologues. I even found a couple that had potential that weren't on the suggestion list. But the deadline for entry came and went while I dreamed of first place and failed to find a monologue that satisfied and never submitted the form.
I regret not working harder to find a monologue that was just right. I regret not lowering my standards and entering the competition anyway with a good monologue when a great one couldn't be found. I regret throwing away a chance at being Miss First Place. I regret that I let such a silly thing cast a shadow over the numerous times I have been Miss First Place. I regret that I'm not content enough with being Miss Went Out And Did It to have more chances at being Miss First Place.
I have decided however to admit one regret, if only because it is so small but still keeps jabbing at my mind from time to time. Considering the winds that guided the course of my life, I very much doubt that this one flap of a butterfly's wings would have made much difference in the person I have become, but it also demonstrates a character flaw I am still working to eradicate today.
I know you're bursting with curiosity, so I will get straight to it - What is my biggest regret?
My biggest regret is not having participated in a Shakespeare competition I had the opportunity to participate in one year in high school.
Well, that's a silly regret I can hear you saying. And I agree, which is largely why I allow myself to regret it. However, as seems to always be the case, there are extenuating circumstances that make it a little less silly.
When I was 10 a new girl came to my school who had certain things going for her that made me intensely jealous of her. Mainly, her parents supported her desire to pursue a performance art career at a young age and at 9 she already had an agent and not only roles in plays at theatres, but at theatres that people had actually heard of. Doors opened to her and occasionally a friend or two of hers that no one had realized weren't solid walls before she came along. I was not lucky enough to be a friend of hers, so I watched jealously over the wall as she breezed along and the gatekeepers fell over themselves to open their doors for this little starlet.
We, of course, both pursued theatre as an extra-curricular and while she didn't even have to show up to auditions to get the lead, I kept finding myself in the dance chorus with the occasional solo or walk-on. It seemed that everytime a larger part opened up to me, fate stepped in to snatch it away. Atypical snowstorms cancelling too many practices causing parts or entire productions to be cut became the norm for me.
In music class, we both took advantage of opportunities for extra credit via solo vocal performances. And though we both scored above 100%, I was always 5 points behind.
I didn't even try out for choir in high school, I was growing tired of being so frequently reminded that the most I could hope for was second best.
But, then, this Shakespeare competition came along. And one of the conditions for entry was that you could not have received any remuneration for a performance in the past year. This immediately disqualified Miss First Place. At last, here was my chance to bring home the gold.
Enter character flaw, stage left. I wanted to do such a performance with this one chance. I didn't want to use one of the suggested monologues that any number of other competitors would use. I wanted to find one that was just right. One that was obviously a challenge but not beyond my abilities. One that resonated with me so that I could bring it to life, ringing clear and bright as a bell, wowing judges and competitors alike. And I wanted to bring it to life in such a way.
I wish that I could say that I spent weeks poring over Shakespeare hunting for this brilliant monologue, but here enters another character flaw. My perfectionistic desire to dazzle is delibitatingly coupled with laziness. O, I pulled out my Complete Works of Shakespeare a few times, skimming my favorites for likely monologues. I even found a couple that had potential that weren't on the suggestion list. But the deadline for entry came and went while I dreamed of first place and failed to find a monologue that satisfied and never submitted the form.
I regret not working harder to find a monologue that was just right. I regret not lowering my standards and entering the competition anyway with a good monologue when a great one couldn't be found. I regret throwing away a chance at being Miss First Place. I regret that I let such a silly thing cast a shadow over the numerous times I have been Miss First Place. I regret that I'm not content enough with being Miss Went Out And Did It to have more chances at being Miss First Place.
Friday, October 5, 2007
Even Monsters Can Turn Into Muses
I was always a little self-conscious when playing the piano. Well, I was always a little self-conscious in everything, even walking down the street! I had never let that stop me from doing it, though I generally preferred not to be able to see my audience.
I was consequently thrilled to find the music hall empty one balmy September night. Everyone else on campus was at the monthly swingfest and I could have the grand piano all to myself in carefree solitude.
I hauled a hefty stack of sheet music into the hall and planted myself for the night. I played through book after book - Janis Joplin, Simon & Garfunkel, Mozart, the Phantom of the Opera, heck, even the Little Mermaid!
The door to the quad was open, and I could hear people out there, but I couldn't see them and they couldn't see me. All was well with the world!
Then it happened. Somewhere round about Miss Saigon 'He' came in. I was pretty sure he just wanted to use the piano but was a little too drunk and surprised to find a lowly freshman in his way. There were six other pianos on campus, why couldn't he go use one of them? Maybe he thought he was somebody. Or wanted me to think so.
He shuffled around near the stage for a few minutes sipping and sloshing a plastic cup of wine while I pretended I was too absorbed in my music to realize he was there.
"You almost done?"
I pretended to jump, surprised to find someone there, then pretended I didn't care that he was. "O, probably not. Why don't you use the piano in Mellon?" I was here first! Go away! I yelled in my head.
"Eh, it's a long walk and I wanted to use this one. What are you playing anyway?"
"It's Miss Saigon. Have you heard of it?"
"Yeah. Why are you playing that?"
"Well, because I like it." When will he leave?
"Do you ever play anything original?"
"Not since I was 8, I just don't have it in me." I laughed to brush off my bitterness.
"What's the point then? Do you really only play other people's music?!"
Is what I'm doing pointless?
O God, he's right. I'm no musician. I'm just a hack. A pretender leading others to believe I'm something I know I'll never be. I'll never play with an orchestra. At least not one anyone's ever heard of. And I'm hopelessly unoriginal. I have no music of my own, just what I've taken from others and pasted onto myself to hide my nakedness. What is the point?
"Here, can't you play a blues progression?"
I don't know how he did it, but the intruder had taken over half the bench and I was relegated to the lower registers, playing a basic chord progression while he fiddled out a melody over top.
I faked a yawn, thanked him for the lesson, dragged myself and my trove of other people's talent back to my room where I heaved them in a corner and barely touched a piano for ten years after.
I hate that moment. Hate that I was that fragile. Hate that one careless selfish utterance falling from the lips of a stranger could rob me of something that had brought me joy (albeit not
unmixed) for my entire life prior. Hate that beauty can disappear like dandelion seeds in the slightest adverse breeze, leaving behind a dead and colorless stalk.
I hate that I may do the same thing to others and never even know it.
I can only hope that those seeds find soil and bloom again.
I was consequently thrilled to find the music hall empty one balmy September night. Everyone else on campus was at the monthly swingfest and I could have the grand piano all to myself in carefree solitude.
I hauled a hefty stack of sheet music into the hall and planted myself for the night. I played through book after book - Janis Joplin, Simon & Garfunkel, Mozart, the Phantom of the Opera, heck, even the Little Mermaid!
The door to the quad was open, and I could hear people out there, but I couldn't see them and they couldn't see me. All was well with the world!
Then it happened. Somewhere round about Miss Saigon 'He' came in. I was pretty sure he just wanted to use the piano but was a little too drunk and surprised to find a lowly freshman in his way. There were six other pianos on campus, why couldn't he go use one of them? Maybe he thought he was somebody. Or wanted me to think so.
He shuffled around near the stage for a few minutes sipping and sloshing a plastic cup of wine while I pretended I was too absorbed in my music to realize he was there.
"You almost done?"
I pretended to jump, surprised to find someone there, then pretended I didn't care that he was. "O, probably not. Why don't you use the piano in Mellon?" I was here first! Go away! I yelled in my head.
"Eh, it's a long walk and I wanted to use this one. What are you playing anyway?"
"It's Miss Saigon. Have you heard of it?"
"Yeah. Why are you playing that?"
"Well, because I like it." When will he leave?
"Do you ever play anything original?"
"Not since I was 8, I just don't have it in me." I laughed to brush off my bitterness.
"What's the point then? Do you really only play other people's music?!"
Is what I'm doing pointless?
O God, he's right. I'm no musician. I'm just a hack. A pretender leading others to believe I'm something I know I'll never be. I'll never play with an orchestra. At least not one anyone's ever heard of. And I'm hopelessly unoriginal. I have no music of my own, just what I've taken from others and pasted onto myself to hide my nakedness. What is the point?
"Here, can't you play a blues progression?"
I don't know how he did it, but the intruder had taken over half the bench and I was relegated to the lower registers, playing a basic chord progression while he fiddled out a melody over top.
I faked a yawn, thanked him for the lesson, dragged myself and my trove of other people's talent back to my room where I heaved them in a corner and barely touched a piano for ten years after.
I hate that moment. Hate that I was that fragile. Hate that one careless selfish utterance falling from the lips of a stranger could rob me of something that had brought me joy (albeit not
unmixed) for my entire life prior. Hate that beauty can disappear like dandelion seeds in the slightest adverse breeze, leaving behind a dead and colorless stalk.I hate that I may do the same thing to others and never even know it.
I can only hope that those seeds find soil and bloom again.
Thursday, October 4, 2007
Numero Uno
Every journal must have a first entry.
I figured I'd eliminate pressure by merely stating the obvious and then moving on to the completely unintimidating entry #2 arena.
I figured I'd eliminate pressure by merely stating the obvious and then moving on to the completely unintimidating entry #2 arena.
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