A little girl sits on the couch, in a trance from the scene on the television. She begins to sing along to the song playing through the speakers.
"Look at this stuff, isn't it neat? Wouldn't ya think my collections complete? Wouldn't you think I'm the girl, girl who has...everything. Look at this trove, treasures untold, how many wonders can one cavern hold?"
As the song plays on she makes her way from the couch, glides over to the coffee table and pushes herself up on it, shouting out..."part of your world!"
No, this is not a scene from AFV (although I am sure it could have easily made the cut). I watched The Little Mermaid time and time again as a little girl. I could repeat the movie forwards and backwards and sing along to every song along the way. When I would go swimming, I would hold my legs together and dolphin kick, pretending that I was off on an adventure in an underwater kingdom with my best buddy Sebastian, looking for treasures and dodging sharks.
This is why I am thankful for movies and literature. Because for that 385 pages or hour and a half, I am lost in another world, living in another person's shoes. I am able to be whoever I want and let go of whatever else I have going on around me.
"He's not relaxing is he?" I watch the Devil's Snare curl around Ron's body. "I've got to do something.....Devil's snare, devil's snare...it's deadly fun but will sulk in the sun."
"I live my life a quarter mile at a time. Nothing else matters; not the mortgage, not the store, not my team and their bullshit. For those ten seconds or less, I'm free."
"Why didn't you write me? Why? It wasn't over for me, I waited for you for seven years. But now it's too late."
Ariel....Hermione Granger...Dom Torretto...Ally... who and where will I be next?
Monday, May 23, 2011
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Memories Live On Through Color && Shades of Grey
Glancing through my Facebook photos, I come across a picture dated July 11th, 2007. It is a
picture of Jacob, Tristan and I at the hospital, our first picture as a family.
For me, to look at a picture is to travel through time. I am taken back to that moment in my life,
reliving every bit of it; thoughts and emotions.
July 11th, 2007 was the first happiest day of my life. Looking at this picture, I am once again
on the fourth floor of Newman Regional Health, nineteen years old and a first time mom. I
remember the overwhelming emotion that overtook me as Tristan’s first tiny cry escaped. The
feeling of warm tears falling down my cheeks is both an old and new sensation because thinking
back to this moment, I begin to cry. I remember an eighteen year old boyfriend who not once left
my side in our three day stay. This was the same boyfriend that would sneak our baby out of his
bassinet or from beside me in the hospital bed during the middle of the night to hold him close
while they both slept.
There is a school picture of me, taken in probably the second or third grade, sporting a badly
scraped up nose. My family was living in a trailer south of Emporia and the roads that ran
throughout the park were gravel. One day while riding my bike, I seemed to overlook a good
sized rock in the road. My front tire struck it and I was sent flying over the top of the bike’s
handlebars, landed in gravel and felt the trickle of blood down my face and over my hands.
Wouldn’t you know? School picture day was just a few days away. Looking back at this picture,
my nose begins to hurt only to be followed by my hurting eyes. I was wearing a t-shirt with the
word “groovy” written across it in bright green, pink and purple lettering.
On the top of my mom’s dresser sits a picture frame engraved with the year 2004. The light
wooden frame holds a picture of myself with my Grandmother and three of my great aunts;
Babe, Janice and Betty. The picture was taken after breakfast on Christmas morning of that
year. The women in the picture are holding up frames with a poem about the three of them
written by yours truly. Ever since I was a little girl, these three women have been an inspiration
to me. I wrote this poem in the hopes of giving them something that might mean as much to
them as they mean to me.
These are just a few examples of why photography is so important to me. It enables me to relive
a moment time and time again. They say a picture is worth a thousand words but to me it is so
much more than that.
picture of Jacob, Tristan and I at the hospital, our first picture as a family.
For me, to look at a picture is to travel through time. I am taken back to that moment in my life,
reliving every bit of it; thoughts and emotions.
July 11th, 2007 was the first happiest day of my life. Looking at this picture, I am once again
on the fourth floor of Newman Regional Health, nineteen years old and a first time mom. I
remember the overwhelming emotion that overtook me as Tristan’s first tiny cry escaped. The
feeling of warm tears falling down my cheeks is both an old and new sensation because thinking
back to this moment, I begin to cry. I remember an eighteen year old boyfriend who not once left
my side in our three day stay. This was the same boyfriend that would sneak our baby out of his
bassinet or from beside me in the hospital bed during the middle of the night to hold him close
while they both slept.
There is a school picture of me, taken in probably the second or third grade, sporting a badly
scraped up nose. My family was living in a trailer south of Emporia and the roads that ran
throughout the park were gravel. One day while riding my bike, I seemed to overlook a good
sized rock in the road. My front tire struck it and I was sent flying over the top of the bike’s
handlebars, landed in gravel and felt the trickle of blood down my face and over my hands.
Wouldn’t you know? School picture day was just a few days away. Looking back at this picture,
my nose begins to hurt only to be followed by my hurting eyes. I was wearing a t-shirt with the
word “groovy” written across it in bright green, pink and purple lettering.
On the top of my mom’s dresser sits a picture frame engraved with the year 2004. The light
wooden frame holds a picture of myself with my Grandmother and three of my great aunts;
Babe, Janice and Betty. The picture was taken after breakfast on Christmas morning of that
year. The women in the picture are holding up frames with a poem about the three of them
written by yours truly. Ever since I was a little girl, these three women have been an inspiration
to me. I wrote this poem in the hopes of giving them something that might mean as much to
them as they mean to me.
These are just a few examples of why photography is so important to me. It enables me to relive
a moment time and time again. They say a picture is worth a thousand words but to me it is so
much more than that.
Monday, May 2, 2011
Love A Little
Is it too much to ask for a simple thank you? Does it take too much effort to relay a positive message than to let negativity seep through? Lately it seems like every time I log onto Facebook or overhead a conversation, all I see and hear are negative things. In my twenty-three years, I feel like I have a lot to be thankful for. I'm not saying my life is perfect, it throws curve balls at me just like everyone else, but negativity is not something I want to have constantly hanging overhead. So for the next week, everyday I am going to blog about something or someone I have thankful to have in my life. Some of these things will seem obvious but others may surprise you.
I am thankful to wake up to an amazing husband and a wonderful son. They give me a reason to smile and laugh every day. Although at times they can both drive me crazy, I wouldn't be the same without them.
Jacob and I met when we were sixteen. That way six years ago. In six years we have been through many things together; high school, a break-up, teen pregnancy, his mom's diagnosis of cancer, my parent's divorce, becoming a young married couple and most recently, the search for a home. Not to mention all the the memories crammed in between.
Becoming a mother at nineteen was definitely not something I planned. At first I wasn't sure how things were going to pan out. I was in my freshman year at Emporia State and Jacob was a senior at Northern Heights. He could have ran, he could have doubted me, doubted us, but he didn't. Not once. He was at every doctor's appointment, he rubbed my head when I had trouble sleeping, wiped away my tears when I was scared and unsure.
It's amazing how two people can create such a little miracle. Now at almost four years old, Tristan is the light of our lives. He had our hearts from the moment he entered this world. It's the little things he does that pull on my heart strings; the way he gets excited by trains, cars and monster trucks, his goodnight hugs and kisses, his chuckle when he's being tickled. I can't help but smile when I think about the positive change he has brought to our life. Parenthood is really a blessing.
No, I don't know what the future holds but I have complete and total faith in the three of us. It may take a little work but these two are completely worth it!
I am thankful to wake up to an amazing husband and a wonderful son. They give me a reason to smile and laugh every day. Although at times they can both drive me crazy, I wouldn't be the same without them.
Jacob and I met when we were sixteen. That way six years ago. In six years we have been through many things together; high school, a break-up, teen pregnancy, his mom's diagnosis of cancer, my parent's divorce, becoming a young married couple and most recently, the search for a home. Not to mention all the the memories crammed in between.
Becoming a mother at nineteen was definitely not something I planned. At first I wasn't sure how things were going to pan out. I was in my freshman year at Emporia State and Jacob was a senior at Northern Heights. He could have ran, he could have doubted me, doubted us, but he didn't. Not once. He was at every doctor's appointment, he rubbed my head when I had trouble sleeping, wiped away my tears when I was scared and unsure.
It's amazing how two people can create such a little miracle. Now at almost four years old, Tristan is the light of our lives. He had our hearts from the moment he entered this world. It's the little things he does that pull on my heart strings; the way he gets excited by trains, cars and monster trucks, his goodnight hugs and kisses, his chuckle when he's being tickled. I can't help but smile when I think about the positive change he has brought to our life. Parenthood is really a blessing.
No, I don't know what the future holds but I have complete and total faith in the three of us. It may take a little work but these two are completely worth it!
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Finding A Lost Passion
An empty page stares at me from a spiral notebook. After twenty minutes of looking at nothing, I find myself totally and completely frustrated and confused. What happened? I used to write so freely, I used to have more than enough to say.
From a young age I found writing to be the easiest and best way to express my thoughts and feelings. Many hours were spent with pen and paper in hand, lost in a moment. To be honest, I'm not sure why the last few years have been tainted by a lack of passion. There have been plenty of memories and experiences to write about and yet I could never find the words. Maybe they got lost somewhere in the transition from a carefree high school graduate to a married young mother, from working part-time to taking on a full-time job to provide for my family. But yesterday, as I sat browsing through Facebook, something changed. I found my inspiration in the words of a friend.
He mentioned the idea of blogging. Anyone remember Xanga? I sure do. Back then I blogged because it was a trend at the time, not because I truly cared to share my thoughts with others. So I navigated away from status updates and photos to his recently written post. While I was reading his words I found what I'd been searching for : a reminder that your words, whether they are mere ramblings or a well thought out idea, holding meaning and have the ability to touch others.
So today, I have vowed to begin down the road of rediscovering a lost passion, writing. I too will begin a blog, letting out my thoughts and expressing who I am and the things that I believe in.
To you my friend, I thank you. I also want to say that no matter what today has confronted you with or how routine your life may feel, you have helped someone. You have helped me. You inspired me and not matter how silly it may sound, you are helping me to rediscover something that I thought may have become forever lost.
From a young age I found writing to be the easiest and best way to express my thoughts and feelings. Many hours were spent with pen and paper in hand, lost in a moment. To be honest, I'm not sure why the last few years have been tainted by a lack of passion. There have been plenty of memories and experiences to write about and yet I could never find the words. Maybe they got lost somewhere in the transition from a carefree high school graduate to a married young mother, from working part-time to taking on a full-time job to provide for my family. But yesterday, as I sat browsing through Facebook, something changed. I found my inspiration in the words of a friend.
He mentioned the idea of blogging. Anyone remember Xanga? I sure do. Back then I blogged because it was a trend at the time, not because I truly cared to share my thoughts with others. So I navigated away from status updates and photos to his recently written post. While I was reading his words I found what I'd been searching for : a reminder that your words, whether they are mere ramblings or a well thought out idea, holding meaning and have the ability to touch others.
So today, I have vowed to begin down the road of rediscovering a lost passion, writing. I too will begin a blog, letting out my thoughts and expressing who I am and the things that I believe in.
To you my friend, I thank you. I also want to say that no matter what today has confronted you with or how routine your life may feel, you have helped someone. You have helped me. You inspired me and not matter how silly it may sound, you are helping me to rediscover something that I thought may have become forever lost.
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