Don't Need To Be No Rich Hand...

I slept on my couch the other night. It was uncomfortable, my back still punishes me with every move these few days later, and rest didn't exactly come easy. I just felt safer on the couch, less alone. My bed is only a full, but as I stood there gazing upon it that night, it may as well have been a king. A big, empty king. The very thought of sleeping in it made me feel exposed and vulnerable. A feeling very similar to how I feel right now, discussing this with all of you. I'll go through these spells on occasion. Not surprising, given the fact that I've always slept alone. Even if you think you don't need it, and you've done your best to convince others that you don't need it, you will always find yourself longing for human contact when you least expect it. Big arms around you, to swat away the pests of the day. Clearing the way for a peaceful slumber. I sleep restlessly, waking up several times during the night. I feel I have to remain alert at all times, since I am the only person available to defend myself if the need should arise.

It's not that I'm looking for something to keep me off the couch at night. That isn't what this post is about. I was raised to be an independent woman. Someone who doesn't rely on anybody but myself in order to live my own life. I am constantly mediating between the side of me that refuses to let anybody help with anything, and the side of me that says "Okay, I know how to take care of myself, now somebody take care of me for a little while". When I think that, I hate myself, and then I question why I should feel bad for thinking such a thing. It's a vicious cycle and it's beginning to slowly erode away my otherwise reasonable self.

While the life I live is rich and fulfilling, the fact remains that, at the end of the day, when I leave the many people who contribute to making my life so full, I am still coming home to an empty bed. It's a petty complaint, I know, and something I don't often dwell upon. However, when I stand in the doorway of my bedroom, looking at the vast, empty surface of my bed, and I feel that hollowness down to my very core, it doesn't seem so small, or petty. Instead, I look back on all the things I feel, in that moment, I should have done differently. All the people I should have given a more thoughtful look. It's okay to be alone, but I don't feel we were designed to be. Otherwise, why would we desire a hand to hold onto? As I type this, though, I feel somewhat foolish. I don't exactly make good choices when it comes to this sort of thing. I keep waiting for that click, and when I don't feel it, I give up. Or, I feel the click, but only on my end. I always end up realizing I have been searching for something in a place nothing exists to be found. Then again, maybe I have just read too many books. Maybe I am still waiting for my Bru, having not yet realized I should be searching for my Gus...you know, if I were actually searching at all.

Something tells me, I'll sleep on my couch again, even knowing in advance how awful I'll feel when I awaken. The simple fact is that I want someone to come home to. I don't necessarily want him right now, but I want him someday. If I run into you somewhere, and we begin to talk. I'll likely brush off the "are you seeing anyone" question. I'll flail my hand with a "Pfft", to indicate I have much more important things to worry about. I'll probably even mean it at the time, but I'm not above recognizing that nobody wants to be alone...not even self-sufficient, independent...me.

What You Need...

"Out of sight, out of mind"...what a wondrous and terrifying notion. Sure, it's nice in theory, but when that thing, the thing that has managed to run free of your every thought simply because you are no longer looking at it, when it inevitably steps back into your line of sight, brace yourself, because there is going to be an earthquake...or something. I, for one, have never been very good at putting anything that has seriously affected me out of my mind, whether it was standing in front of or behind me. I manage to see reminders everywhere I look. Each of my senses at the ready for a sound, or a scent. Music seems to be the most sinister culprit, as I am the type to associate a song with everything that has ever occurred in my life.

I have been a little lost lately, having difficulty figuring out what I'm supposed to be thinking about or acting upon. I try to follow my instincts, but find they are as out-of-whack as my thought-process. Opinions which were formed long ago, are proving difficult to let go of, especially in the wake of unsurety as to whether or not said opinions deserve to be reimagined, or kept at their current status. If we can't forget, can we really and truly forgive? For that matter, if we put something out of our sight, in order to keep it out of our mind...how can we manage to find the wherewithal to forgive? How are we able to not forget something we have apparently banished from our mind? Furthermore, do these two sayings actually go together, or have I just managed to put them together for the sake of this post, solely in an attempt to prove, or disprove, some mundane point? Lost indeed.

Of course, then there are those things which we hope to never forget, even though they are gone, and we have no chance of ever seeing them again. Our foremost goal is to keep the memory alive and real, and we make a steadfast attempt at not allowing it escape our mind. To accomplish this, we fill our lives with pictures and mementos, almost forcing ourselves to take a walk down memory lane each time we glance upon them. Remembering, even something painful, isn't a bad thing. The reaction to remembrance is the thing you must be careful with. You have to be willing to let go again and understand that this moment is fleeting and it will come again someday. We shouldn't all be happy all the time. There has to be some kind of balance with emotions, otherwise how can we truly know when we are happy?

I guess the point I'm trying to make is, if you care about someone, or something, enough to force yourself to make a conscious effort to forget, you'll never really forget them, even if you can't see them. Alternately, if you are able to put something out of your mind, without a second thought, did you ever really give a damn in the first place?

Perhaps the goal should not be to forget, but to listen to Mick, and accept that we can't always get what we want. I think we all know that if we try sometimes, we might find...eh, you know the rest.

Head South!

I've lost loved ones in my short time on this earth. None of those losses, however, quite compare to the unexpected and untimely death of one of my oldest friends. I had lost great-grandparents prior to Jason's passing, but I had never experienced something so stunning and life-altering up to that point. My dad lost his best friend when I was very young. I will never be able to get the sound of his sobbing out of my head. I didn't even know what was happening at the time, but I knew it was bad. I had never heard that sound before. Even at my very young age, I felt the pain and anguish in his cries. Twelve years ago, on this day, I heard my dad cry again, as he was telling me my own dear friend had died.

I don't remember the first time I met Jason, as we were babies. Only a few months apart, our mothers had been in high school together. He was one of my first friends, and would continue to be a big part of my life all through school, and after. The four of us, Joanna, Kevin, Jason and I, were a unit, and then Kevin and Joanna left, both of them heading to the same school in Pennsylvania, while Jason and I remained in Hagerstown. We spent a lot of time together in that last year. We were hanging out with the same people. Sometimes, he would come pick me up at 2:00 a.m. and we would ride around for hours, just driving and talking. Everything seems like so long ago, yet at the same time feels like it could have occurred yesterday. Occasionally, I'll forget what his voice sounded like, or what his crushing bear-hugs felt like, and I panic, but it always comes back to me. I figure it's his idea of a joke, taking it away and giving it back just as quickly, and I smile as I hear his laugh in my head. In the grand scheme of things, his presence will have been but a blip, but he was such a big, larger-than-life person, I can't imagine what my life would have been like without him.

Sure, he could be exasperating. I spent my fair share of hours reasoning with him and listening to him complain about one thing or another, but he also logged the same amount of time with me. I'm grateful for every single minute we shared. The day he died, I walked down into his bedroom and my eyes immediately went to the bulletin board hanging on his wall. Tacked up there, along with numerous other pictures, was my senior picture, the back of which I had addressed specifically to him, as is typically the practice with such things. I felt my breath catch, and the wind go out of me. Just a couple weeks prior, I had been in that very room. I don't remember who, but there were a few other people present. At some point, he said to me "Lindsey, look at that bulletin board. You see your picture up there? I will never take that picture down, because we will always be friends". In that moment, I realized that he had kept his promise, but only because he never had the chance to break it.

When someone who has always been there is suddenly gone, someone you had never even entertained the thought of being unable to call at any time, it uproots everything you have ever known. Suddenly, you realize that nothing in life is certain, anything can be taken away in the blink of an eye. Life is constantly changing and veering in directions you never dreamed it would. You have to mourn, but you also have to move on. Your life can't revolve around someone who is no longer there, and that person would never want that for you.

I see my friend everywhere I look...in the snow, on the hills where we used to go sledding; in the cracked marble counter-top at my parent's house; in the number 70. I can't help but smile when I'm at Kroger in New Castle and see the big propane tanks outside the front entrance; or when I eat Velveeta Shells and Cheese, or a frozen pizza; or when I smell cigar smoke; or hear a tornado warning. Even now, 12 years later, I don't think a single day has gone by in which he hasn't crossed my mind, if only briefly. On days like today, I get sad and feel the loss of him down to my very core, but mostly, my memories of him make me smile. Remembering Jason is to be reminded of how fortunate I was to know him for the brief time I did. Rest In Peace, my unforgettable friend.

Riddle Me This...

I suppose, those of us that have managed to convince the world we have everything figured out can have something come out of the blue to prove the theory wrong. We all have baggage...things we can't get over...mistakes we have never managed to learn from. We keep going back for more, and we continue to get burned. We somehow manage to forget how much pain it caused, while at the same time vowing to never fall again. I often wonder when it will finally stop. At times, I feel as though it has, but something always pulls me back in, repeating the same cycle. Each time the resulting wound a little more shallow. It has come to the point where I know the itinerary by heart. I know how it feels right before everything falls apart. I'm a wonderful swimmer, but a terrible wader. I just jump right in, never checking first for sharks.

I am a person with an overwhelming tendency to hold onto her past for dear life. I try to maintain a death grip on traditions and nostalgia. At times, it can be a good thing, but not always. I occasionally have to remind myself to evolve. I mean, I still spell out every single word when I text. Seriously, I send three-paragraph text messages to people. I sincerely hope this aspect of my personality will never change. You will never catch me LOL-ing. I will never use the numeral 4 in place of the word "for". I simply cannot do it. The very thought of it makes me cringe.

I watch the world change around me, and I remain standing in one place. I do this by choice, but I have yet to fully understand the reason why. Maybe I feel the world is becoming too generic and impersonal...or maybe I feel left out because I'm a 31 year-old single girl watching her two younger sisters have babies and start families before I've even given myself a chance to fall in love. I certainly have plenty of other things to keep me busy. I have a full and wonderful life that I enjoy to the fullest. That being said, however, it's difficult to not feel a little left out of social norms of which I've never been a part...of which I may never be a part. This isn't something that makes me sad, but merely leaves me with a sense of longing.

I know, deep down, I'm not finished with this thing of which I've been unable to let go. Someday I'll allow myself to sort it all out, for even though I can't seem to resist the call, I can manage to keep it at an arm's length. Sometimes emotions override logic...and sometimes that can be a good thing.

The Nose Knows

Have you ever caught a whiff of something that took you by the hand for a stroll down memory lane? This concept has always fascinated me. I think the first time I noticed it, was while I was sorting through my personal belongings before we moved into a new house. I was deciding between what to pack and take with me, and what to throw out. I was digging through my closet, which was not an easy task (I have never been known for my organizational skills), and found my Caboodle. For those of you who weren't becoming teenagers in the 90's, a Caboodle was a brand of extravagant, tackle-box-esque, makeup cases. I had one far before I actually wore makeup on a regular basis, and after awhile it took up permanent residence in the darkest depths of my closet. Mine was pink, purple and teal...if I remember correctly. I pulled the box out and opened it. Instantly, I was transported to sixth grade. The scent of Wet n' Wild makeup and Tribe perfume swirled around my head in a cloud of frosty shimmery goodness. When I finished coughing, I was struck by how it seemed almost magical, like a form of time-travel. Who needs a DeLorean when you have a half-empty bottle of perfume from the early 90s?

After that, I noticed the feeling much more frequently. Evergreen trees, of course, remind me of Christmas, but more specifically they remind me of being a child helping my parents decorate for the holiday. It was always my favorite part of the season. We would choose one night, during which we drank hot chocolate out of green and red mugs with white snowflakes on them. Dad always had the strings of lights unraveled on the living room floor, and our favorite part was each of us getting to pick the placement of our own "Baby's First Christmas" ornaments.

The aroma of pancakes sizzling on a hot griddle take me back to Saturday mornings at my grandma Mary's house. She would always let me sit on the counter-top, in the kitchen while she made them. The surface of my temporary perch was always cold on the back of my legs when they first touched, but would warm up the longer I sat there. When she wasn't looking, I would stick my finger in the batter to taste. She always mixed it with a wire whisk, in a white plastic measuring bowl that had a spout which made it easy to pour the perfect round pancakes. Occasionally, she would make them with chocolate chips, but I liked them best plain.

I don't remember what happened to the Caboodle...for all I know it was thrown away long ago, perhaps even that very day. Maybe, if I ever find myself walking into a cloud of Tribe perfume, it will all come flooding back to me...

Lindsey & Ann Like Red

I grew up with the luxury of having a grandmother who was also a librarian. Aside from West Northmarket Street (Click here for that saga), the Hagerstown Jefferson Township Library was my favorite place to spend my time. I loved to visit my grandma Cecilia on the days she worked, which were Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays. I had first dibs on new books and knew all about the secret candy stash in the cabinet behind her desk. I read American Girl books before they had overly-priced dolls to accompany them. I fell in love with the likes of Fudge, Margaret and Ramona & Beezus among the shelves of that place. My biggest dream was to begin a Babysitter's Club. I wanted to wear purple everyday, just like Jessica Wakefield.

In the very beginning, though, I wanted to wear red, I wanted everything I owned to be the color of a fire truck. When I first learned to read, I found a book titled "Ann Likes Red". It was an Early Reader, and it was about a girl (Ann), who liked the color very much. I would read it over and over until the pages were worn. When it would become time to take it back to the library, I would check it out again. As the years went by, I graduated to other books, but I never forgot about my soul-sister, Ann. On Christmas Eve 2009, I was digging into my stocking at Grandma Cecilia's house. She always puts something wonderful in them (aside from the orange Tic-Tacs and Mentos, which are a staple and requirement). It is typically a memento that once belonged to Great-grandma Frances (please click here to read more about her). I have come to look forward to these little surprises. The beautiful gold and turquoise Coty compact that sits atop my dresser still has the powder puff in it, still has traces of the powder she would put on her face, powder that still smells like her. So, on this particular Christmas eve, I was eagerly anticipating my heirloom, when my hand brushed what I immediately knew was a book. I pulled it out to see Ann, with her pigtails and red dress staring back at me. She had aged quite a bit, and some of her pages were torn and taped back together, but it was the very same copy of "Ann Likes Red" that I had loved so much as a child. I stared in disbelief. I never thought I would see my old friend again, and now I would never have to return her. Grandma Cecilia had been keeping it for years, waiting to give it to me. I think she picked the perfect time.

When I was going through Confirmation at church, we had to complete community service. Without hesitation I volunteered at the library. I was able to spend several Saturdays there, covering books and straightening shelves with Josey, who was in high school. I thought I was pretty cool when a senior would say "Hello" to me every time she passed me in the hallway. More than a decade later, in desperate need of some extra money, I took a job cleaning the library after-hours. This opened up an entirely new world for me. As I would dust the shelves, I obsessively perused the thousands of books occupying them. I felt at peace there, I felt home.

My grandma Cecilia has been long-retired from her post as the guardian of the children's department. My mom actually holds the post now. It fills me with pride to have been exposed to the wonder of reading at such an early age. It fills me with even more pride that the tradition is being carried on for future generations. My nephew, Cooper, will have the same experience I did. It is my greatest hope that he will look at books as something containing an adventure, rather than something unimportant and tedious. How many of you have been to your local library lately? How many of you actually check out books instead of movies when you do go? If you haven't made the trip lately, I suggest you try something new. Stop in to see Nancy or Karen, check out a book (it's free!) and get to know some new people. Maybe you'll find your own Ann.