Last week, we had our first big snow of the season. I had grumbled about the constant rain all day, and was dreading the arrival of the white stuff. I have lived in Indiana my entire life, I know how this all works by now, but I never fail to be disappointed when it arrives now that snow no longer means a possibility of not having to go to school. Then, it started, and it was calming and beautiful...for about two hours, until I had to drive home. I'm not what one would consider a "relaxed driver". I am constantly yelling at other cars and white-knuckling the steering wheel...one might even describe me as "completely irrational". Needless to say, when road conditions are less-than-favorable, I become a tense, stressed-out mess. On top of it all, my car is currently inoperable and I was driving my mom's car, a vehicle foreign to me even in the best of weather. While Black Betty (Bam-ba-lam) isn't exactly great in the snow herself, I am, at the very least, familiar with her and know how to handle her in all conditions.
I trudged out to my car, after I finished work, swatting at the snowballs raining from the heavens, which were smacking me in the head and face...and messing up my cute hair. By the time I had the entire car cleared off, I had to re-clear the front and side windows. I felt overwhelmed and frustrated, I knew it was going to take me awhile to get home, and I knew I was probably going to start crying, and I knew I was probably going to feel stupid for crying about not wanting to drive home in the snow. I'm not too proud to admit I have a flair for the dramatic. It's who I am, and I have no problem owning up to it...with a flourish, of course.
Anyway, it took me much longer to get home than it normally does, as expected. I was driving about 25 mph on a slick and snowy country road, threatening bodily harm to the car every time I felt it begin to slide. I was hoping and praying that once I reached State Road 38, it would be better, but it wasn't. I finally exhaled (and growled a little bit) once I pulled up in front of my house. I stomped up the front steps, with wet and sticky snow flying from each squishy step. Just as I was about to stick my key in the door, I heard "You're ridiculous", which caused me to stop and look around. I didn't see anybody standing behind me, for it was the sane and level-headed portion of my brain that said it, but what I did see took my breath away. My porch, decorated for Christmas (quite adorably, if I do say so myself), was framed on either side with snow-laden branches from my lilac trees. I felt as though I were inside a winter wonderland, and I felt happy. I was beginning to forget about the beauty and magic of the season. I'm glad I reminded myself.
"Snow, I long to clear a path and lift a spade of snow...Snow, Oh to see a great big man entirely made of snow..."
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Eyes
Old West Northmarket Street, never suffered from a shortage of kids to play with, each one of us different from the next. However, despite the occasional war, most of us played rather well together. At some point, we developed an affinity for some morbid activity.
For instance:
Favorite place to play: West Lawn Cemetery, picking up flowers that had blown off the headstones and putting them back in the place from which they came.
Favorite book to read: Anything dealing with ghosts, urban legends, or things that go bump in the night.
Favorite Halloween costume: Anything we had previously dressed up as when we were kids, with the word "dead" in front of it. My sister Dana, for instance, was once a dead cheerleader.
There was a cabin at the local park, outside of which, for a short period of time, lay a pile of clothes and an empty liquor bottle. We, of course, came to the logical conclusion that they belonged to a couple that had been camping, when a horrible fate befell them and the man with the yellow eyes, who lived in the woods surrounding the park, murdered them...or ate them...or something.
I have always looked back on this dark turn our overabundant imaginations seemed to take, with a half-hearted eyeroll and a chuckle. I've never been particularly disturbed by it, nor am I currently disturbed by it. I wouldn't consider us as having been obsessed with death. I think we were just trying to scare the crap out of each other...you know, all in good fun. I take comfort in the fact that we have all grown into adults that are just the perfect amount of normal. We're not too normal, because that would be boring, but as far as I know, none of us are serial killers...active or aspiring.
I used to think our flair for the macabre was unique to our little gang, but, this past Sunday, while having Thanksgiving dinner at my Grandma Mary and Grandpa Dale's, my cousin's little girl, Brienna and my other cousins's little boy, Chayse, came running up to me warning me of a horrific "blood monster" that threatened to kill my entire family with his "blood teeth". He later became a "one-eyed blood monster". My attempts at making him sound a little more proper by dubbing him a "cyclops blood monster" was shot down by both Bri and Chayse. Please do not worry though, Chayse gave me super powers to kill the villain by only looking at him. That, combined with Bri's power to kill him by yelling at him, and Chayse's power to eliminate him by chasing him into the garage, provided safety for my family that day.
Something else for which to be thankful.
For instance:
Favorite place to play: West Lawn Cemetery, picking up flowers that had blown off the headstones and putting them back in the place from which they came.
Favorite book to read: Anything dealing with ghosts, urban legends, or things that go bump in the night.
Favorite Halloween costume: Anything we had previously dressed up as when we were kids, with the word "dead" in front of it. My sister Dana, for instance, was once a dead cheerleader.
There was a cabin at the local park, outside of which, for a short period of time, lay a pile of clothes and an empty liquor bottle. We, of course, came to the logical conclusion that they belonged to a couple that had been camping, when a horrible fate befell them and the man with the yellow eyes, who lived in the woods surrounding the park, murdered them...or ate them...or something.
I have always looked back on this dark turn our overabundant imaginations seemed to take, with a half-hearted eyeroll and a chuckle. I've never been particularly disturbed by it, nor am I currently disturbed by it. I wouldn't consider us as having been obsessed with death. I think we were just trying to scare the crap out of each other...you know, all in good fun. I take comfort in the fact that we have all grown into adults that are just the perfect amount of normal. We're not too normal, because that would be boring, but as far as I know, none of us are serial killers...active or aspiring.
I used to think our flair for the macabre was unique to our little gang, but, this past Sunday, while having Thanksgiving dinner at my Grandma Mary and Grandpa Dale's, my cousin's little girl, Brienna and my other cousins's little boy, Chayse, came running up to me warning me of a horrific "blood monster" that threatened to kill my entire family with his "blood teeth". He later became a "one-eyed blood monster". My attempts at making him sound a little more proper by dubbing him a "cyclops blood monster" was shot down by both Bri and Chayse. Please do not worry though, Chayse gave me super powers to kill the villain by only looking at him. That, combined with Bri's power to kill him by yelling at him, and Chayse's power to eliminate him by chasing him into the garage, provided safety for my family that day.
Something else for which to be thankful.
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Does Anybody Ever Actually EAT the Cranberry Sauce?
I remember a time when Thanksgiving was merely four days off school. As a kid, I didn't really care much about the dinner part. I enjoyed getting to play with my cousins, of which I have many, but the "giving thanks" part of the holiday never crossed my mind while I was choosing ham over turkey, bypassing the cranberry sauce and trying to find the biggest roll in the basket. I just wanted to finish my food, eat as many desserts as possible before my mom made me stop, and get upstairs to begin the important part: playing mansion with my cousins, or watching television. After which, we would go to my other grandparent's house, to play with our other cousins, and eat some of my grandpa's famous rolls, and my grandma's famous mashed potatoes.
My grandparents on my mom's side have a big, beautiful old house. While it is big, it is not even close to being a mansion, but four kids with big imaginations can make anything happen. Our "mansion" consisted of three rooms on the second floor of the house. We used an old compact that belonged to Great-grandma Frances as our telephone because it had squares of mother-of-pearl on the front, which, to us, resembled a telephone keypad. The inside held a flip-up "video screen"...because we lived in a mansion, we were really rich. Basically, we came up with tiny cell phones and Skype before anyone else did. Occasionally the mansion play would become boring and we would spice it up by becoming spies. While I don't remember the parts we played, I do remember that Matt was always the dog, by choice. As we grew out of imaginary play, we began converging in my grandparent's bedroom to watch television after dinner. Doing our part as the typical antisocial, sullen teenagers. Upon adulthood, we remained with the adults, downstairs, talking about grown-up stuff. Now most of the older kids have kids of their own, and we are seeing the old cycle repeated, with their own stories and scenarios.
Until several years ago, after leaving my mom's parent's, we would go to my dad's parent's. My dad has a brother with 4 kids. They don't live in Hagerstown, so we usually only saw them on holidays, and we were always anxious to squeeze several months of playing into a few short hours. My grandma had a drawer in the bathroom full of old makeup that us girls would always slather on our faces, after which we would go through the box full of costume jewelry and wigs. Looking back, we looked a little hooker-y, but back then, we thought we looked beautiful. Occasionally we would all watch a movie, and grandpa would get the big pillows out of the coat closet for us to lay on. As we got older, we would gather around the kitchen table to play board games...a particular favorite being Taboo. My grandpa ended up getting a job that required him to work on Thanksgiving day when the oldest of us were in our teen years. At which time we began having dinner the Sunday before. We now sit down to a much bigger table, as we have grown with spouses and children. We don't really play games anymore, because watching the kids play with the same toys we used to play with is so much more entertaining.
At both dinners, you can always find the men in the family room, watching football. Without fail.
Now, after the Thursday dinner, I go to my mom and dad's house, where we have snacks and watch Christmas movies. We've started our own tradition.
For the longest time, I held onto the old traditions, not wanting anything to change...but things do change. People grow, new people come, and some people go. Once I learned to accept that, I realized that change is a good thing, for if we refuse to do so, we fail to evolve. The world will not end if grandma forgets to get the delicious pumpkin roll out of the refrigerator while everybody is there. If you're lucky, she'll send you a couple slices in the Tupperware you left at her house.
My grandparents on my mom's side have a big, beautiful old house. While it is big, it is not even close to being a mansion, but four kids with big imaginations can make anything happen. Our "mansion" consisted of three rooms on the second floor of the house. We used an old compact that belonged to Great-grandma Frances as our telephone because it had squares of mother-of-pearl on the front, which, to us, resembled a telephone keypad. The inside held a flip-up "video screen"...because we lived in a mansion, we were really rich. Basically, we came up with tiny cell phones and Skype before anyone else did. Occasionally the mansion play would become boring and we would spice it up by becoming spies. While I don't remember the parts we played, I do remember that Matt was always the dog, by choice. As we grew out of imaginary play, we began converging in my grandparent's bedroom to watch television after dinner. Doing our part as the typical antisocial, sullen teenagers. Upon adulthood, we remained with the adults, downstairs, talking about grown-up stuff. Now most of the older kids have kids of their own, and we are seeing the old cycle repeated, with their own stories and scenarios.
Until several years ago, after leaving my mom's parent's, we would go to my dad's parent's. My dad has a brother with 4 kids. They don't live in Hagerstown, so we usually only saw them on holidays, and we were always anxious to squeeze several months of playing into a few short hours. My grandma had a drawer in the bathroom full of old makeup that us girls would always slather on our faces, after which we would go through the box full of costume jewelry and wigs. Looking back, we looked a little hooker-y, but back then, we thought we looked beautiful. Occasionally we would all watch a movie, and grandpa would get the big pillows out of the coat closet for us to lay on. As we got older, we would gather around the kitchen table to play board games...a particular favorite being Taboo. My grandpa ended up getting a job that required him to work on Thanksgiving day when the oldest of us were in our teen years. At which time we began having dinner the Sunday before. We now sit down to a much bigger table, as we have grown with spouses and children. We don't really play games anymore, because watching the kids play with the same toys we used to play with is so much more entertaining.
At both dinners, you can always find the men in the family room, watching football. Without fail.
Now, after the Thursday dinner, I go to my mom and dad's house, where we have snacks and watch Christmas movies. We've started our own tradition.
For the longest time, I held onto the old traditions, not wanting anything to change...but things do change. People grow, new people come, and some people go. Once I learned to accept that, I realized that change is a good thing, for if we refuse to do so, we fail to evolve. The world will not end if grandma forgets to get the delicious pumpkin roll out of the refrigerator while everybody is there. If you're lucky, she'll send you a couple slices in the Tupperware you left at her house.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
The Great War - A West Northmarket Gang Tale
Back on old West Northmarket Street, you had two kinds of people. Grown-ups, and kids. The kids played outside all summer long. Instead of video games, they used their imaginations to create new places and things...at least until Josh and Joe moved to the neighborhood...they had a Nintendo. Even then, though, outside was our domain. Be it Josh and Joe's garage, or Tasha and Cory's grandma's front porch, or our backyard, we were never bored, especially after my mom and dad installed a pool. We did, however, tend to get on each other's nerves every now and then.
We had some epic battles on that little street. I would be surprised if that many kids together in one place everyday for three months didn't spark some kind of disagreement. It's inevitable. On the days of a great war, you could feel the lack of joyfulness before breakfast, even if none of the other kids were around yet...the air was thick with it. I always knew, when I woke up on such mornings, that I would be screaming "I HATE you!" at some point in the day. The battle lines were drawn before the sun dried the dew off the grass. Base camp was either my house, or Tasha and Cory's grandma's front porch. Lunch was eaten quickly and in secret so as not to give the other team an opportunity to mess with our food. Bicycle routes were chosen carefully depending upon whether or not we wished to infiltrate enemy turf. Peace was usually reached by afternoon snack time.
There was a steadfast rule, enacted by the adults, who always remained safely tucked inside the houses: NO HITTING. We often found ways to inflict bodily harm without hitting, however. I remember one particular time, having a cooler thrown at the front tire of my bicycle. It was that day I made an argument that pulling hair was NOT hitting, nor was pinching, clawing or biting. I don't recall whether or not I won said argument, but I am sure I gave it everything I had.
I have no recollection of a single issue that ever sparked any of these passionate disagreements. I don't even have the ability to imagine what kids our age might have fought about back then. What I do remember, however, is that the fights never lasted more than one afternoon. We always arrived at our meeting places the following day with no mention of the things which had transpired less than 24 hours prior. We would say horrible things to each other. We would scream, and throw things, and pout, but the next day they would all be forgiven and forgotten. No hurt feelings, no grudges. I try to put myself in my childhood shoes when I find myself upset as an adult.
I ask myself:
"Will this matter tomorrow?"
To which my answer is usually "No".
We had some epic battles on that little street. I would be surprised if that many kids together in one place everyday for three months didn't spark some kind of disagreement. It's inevitable. On the days of a great war, you could feel the lack of joyfulness before breakfast, even if none of the other kids were around yet...the air was thick with it. I always knew, when I woke up on such mornings, that I would be screaming "I HATE you!" at some point in the day. The battle lines were drawn before the sun dried the dew off the grass. Base camp was either my house, or Tasha and Cory's grandma's front porch. Lunch was eaten quickly and in secret so as not to give the other team an opportunity to mess with our food. Bicycle routes were chosen carefully depending upon whether or not we wished to infiltrate enemy turf. Peace was usually reached by afternoon snack time.
There was a steadfast rule, enacted by the adults, who always remained safely tucked inside the houses: NO HITTING. We often found ways to inflict bodily harm without hitting, however. I remember one particular time, having a cooler thrown at the front tire of my bicycle. It was that day I made an argument that pulling hair was NOT hitting, nor was pinching, clawing or biting. I don't recall whether or not I won said argument, but I am sure I gave it everything I had.
I have no recollection of a single issue that ever sparked any of these passionate disagreements. I don't even have the ability to imagine what kids our age might have fought about back then. What I do remember, however, is that the fights never lasted more than one afternoon. We always arrived at our meeting places the following day with no mention of the things which had transpired less than 24 hours prior. We would say horrible things to each other. We would scream, and throw things, and pout, but the next day they would all be forgiven and forgotten. No hurt feelings, no grudges. I try to put myself in my childhood shoes when I find myself upset as an adult.
I ask myself:
"Will this matter tomorrow?"
To which my answer is usually "No".
Thursday, November 3, 2011
Giving Thanks
"A lot of things have happened, since the last time we spoke; some of them are funny...some of them ain't not joke; and I trust you will forgive me, if I lay it on the line; I always thought you were a friend of mine..."
Music, as I have previously mentioned, is kind of a big deal to me. I associate a song with each event, each feeling, each disappointment. "My Thanksgiving" has sort of become my guidebook over the past couple years. It reminds me of what is important, what is taken for granted, and what is not given enough appreciation. It whips me back into shape at a time of year in which I tend to find myself overcome with frustration and annoyance. I have quoted this song several times in previous posts because so many lines from it resonate with me, they mean something to me personally, and give me reassurance that I'm headed down the correct path in my life.
"Sometimes I think about you; I wonder how you're doing now; what you're going through"
Sure, in this day and age, it's hard to wonder about much. The answers to most of our questions are literally at our fingertips. Most of our long and forgotten friends can be found on one or more of the many social networks available out there, and I think some people still actually use telephones to communicate. There will always be somebody, however, that you can't seem to locate, no matter how many times you enter their name into a search engine. I have had a few of those on my mind lately...
"The last time I saw you, we were playing with fire; we were loaded with passion, and a burning desire; for every breath, for every day of living, this is my Thanksgiving"
When you play with fire, you'll likely get burned, but sometimes, you can manage to douse the fire and walk away before it gets out of hand. We don't always learn from our mistakes the first time we make them, especially when our heart is involved, but being honest with yourself is the first step in being able to fill the bucket with water.
"Now the trouble with you and me my friend, is the trouble with this nation; too many blessings, too little appreciation; and I know that kind of notion, well it just ain't cool; so send me back to Sunday school; because I'm tired of waiting, for reason to arrive; It's too long we've been living, these unexamined lives..."
"Too many blessings, too little appreciation..." I observe far too many people strut around each day with an undeserved sense of entitlement. I have noticed that respect is severely lacking in our society lately. Perhaps, it bothers me so, because it was the main bullet point my parents stressed to me as I was growing up, which has resulted in my own expectation of it as an adult. It just seems that everywhere I look people are disrespecting something. Be it their country, their loved ones, or their own selves, it's almost as if it has become "in fashion" to treat the things we are supposed to love, as if they are garbage...garbage that owes us something. I may not have a lot by way of monetary possessions, but I am wealthy in the knowledge that I appreciate everything I have, and I respect my parents for instilling that in me at a young age.
"I've got great expectations; I've got family and friends; I've got satisfying work; I've got a back that bends; for every breath, for every day of living, this is my Thanksgiving..."
I do have great expectations, and I fully intend to realize those expectations...I believe I have already started down the path toward doing so. A dreamer is only a fool if they do nothing but dream. My family and friends are not WHO I am, but they are the backbone supporting me to be who I am. I assure you, I never fail to thank God each night for each and every one of them. My job satisfies me, it saved me from the abyss, and because of my job, and the wonderful people I work for and with, I can safely say that my back does bend...some days better than others.
"And have you noticed that an angry man, can only get so far; until he reconciles the way he thinks things ought to be; with the way things are..."
It seems as though, every time I log into my social networking site of choice, I am inundated with people complaining about something, people pissed off about something, or people threatening to kick sombody's ass. Anger is a natural emotion experienced by everybody. However, it is the way one chooses to channel that emotion which declares the kind of person they are and the distance they will travel in this world. These people need to read the above verse and really contemplate the meaning. I am willing to bet it holds true more than most would even deign to admit. That's the tricky part, because you have to admit you're wrong before you can set about making things right. This life is a gift, a privilege. Anyone who fails to recognize that shouldn't be expecting to be handed everything they want.
"Here in this fragmented world, I still believe; in learning how to give love, how to receive it; and I would not be among those who abuse this privilege; sometimes you get the best light from a burning bridge..."
I do my best to not take anything or anybody for granted. I think it is one of my biggest struggles, because, as someone who has been single and has lived alone her entire adult life, I have a propensity toward self-centeredness. I sometimes have to make a conscious effort to show those I love how much I appreciate merely having them in my life. I believe in giving what you get. I also believe that when you give you should never expect something in return, but relish in the satisfaction of doing something for somebody else. However, when you give and give and give, and are only met with disrespect, disappointment and hurt, it is imperative to walk away. I burned a couple bridges this year...and I have to say, the way they lit up the sky was beautiful.
"And I don't mind saying that I still love it all; I wallowed in the springtime; now I'm welcoming the fall; for every moment of joy; every hour of fear; for every winding road, that brought me here; for every breath, for everyday of living, this is my Thanksgiving..."
I am truly thankful for every moment I experience, even the bad ones. I am thankful for the years I was at my lowest, for had I not experienced such dark days, I may never have realized the full magnitude of what it is to be grateful. I am thankful to now be able to put that period of time in perspective, because it now drives me in the opposite direction. I have learned something from each helping hand, from each broken heart, and from each wrong turn. I have learned that focusing on the bad diminishes the good. I have learned that fear can no longer hurt you once it has been conquered. Most of all, I am thankful for tomorrow.
For my readers:
"For everyone who helped me start, and for everything that broke my heart, for every breath, for everyday of living, this is my Thanksgiving."
Music, as I have previously mentioned, is kind of a big deal to me. I associate a song with each event, each feeling, each disappointment. "My Thanksgiving" has sort of become my guidebook over the past couple years. It reminds me of what is important, what is taken for granted, and what is not given enough appreciation. It whips me back into shape at a time of year in which I tend to find myself overcome with frustration and annoyance. I have quoted this song several times in previous posts because so many lines from it resonate with me, they mean something to me personally, and give me reassurance that I'm headed down the correct path in my life.
"Sometimes I think about you; I wonder how you're doing now; what you're going through"
Sure, in this day and age, it's hard to wonder about much. The answers to most of our questions are literally at our fingertips. Most of our long and forgotten friends can be found on one or more of the many social networks available out there, and I think some people still actually use telephones to communicate. There will always be somebody, however, that you can't seem to locate, no matter how many times you enter their name into a search engine. I have had a few of those on my mind lately...
"The last time I saw you, we were playing with fire; we were loaded with passion, and a burning desire; for every breath, for every day of living, this is my Thanksgiving"
When you play with fire, you'll likely get burned, but sometimes, you can manage to douse the fire and walk away before it gets out of hand. We don't always learn from our mistakes the first time we make them, especially when our heart is involved, but being honest with yourself is the first step in being able to fill the bucket with water.
"Now the trouble with you and me my friend, is the trouble with this nation; too many blessings, too little appreciation; and I know that kind of notion, well it just ain't cool; so send me back to Sunday school; because I'm tired of waiting, for reason to arrive; It's too long we've been living, these unexamined lives..."
"Too many blessings, too little appreciation..." I observe far too many people strut around each day with an undeserved sense of entitlement. I have noticed that respect is severely lacking in our society lately. Perhaps, it bothers me so, because it was the main bullet point my parents stressed to me as I was growing up, which has resulted in my own expectation of it as an adult. It just seems that everywhere I look people are disrespecting something. Be it their country, their loved ones, or their own selves, it's almost as if it has become "in fashion" to treat the things we are supposed to love, as if they are garbage...garbage that owes us something. I may not have a lot by way of monetary possessions, but I am wealthy in the knowledge that I appreciate everything I have, and I respect my parents for instilling that in me at a young age.
"I've got great expectations; I've got family and friends; I've got satisfying work; I've got a back that bends; for every breath, for every day of living, this is my Thanksgiving..."
I do have great expectations, and I fully intend to realize those expectations...I believe I have already started down the path toward doing so. A dreamer is only a fool if they do nothing but dream. My family and friends are not WHO I am, but they are the backbone supporting me to be who I am. I assure you, I never fail to thank God each night for each and every one of them. My job satisfies me, it saved me from the abyss, and because of my job, and the wonderful people I work for and with, I can safely say that my back does bend...some days better than others.
"And have you noticed that an angry man, can only get so far; until he reconciles the way he thinks things ought to be; with the way things are..."
It seems as though, every time I log into my social networking site of choice, I am inundated with people complaining about something, people pissed off about something, or people threatening to kick sombody's ass. Anger is a natural emotion experienced by everybody. However, it is the way one chooses to channel that emotion which declares the kind of person they are and the distance they will travel in this world. These people need to read the above verse and really contemplate the meaning. I am willing to bet it holds true more than most would even deign to admit. That's the tricky part, because you have to admit you're wrong before you can set about making things right. This life is a gift, a privilege. Anyone who fails to recognize that shouldn't be expecting to be handed everything they want.
"Here in this fragmented world, I still believe; in learning how to give love, how to receive it; and I would not be among those who abuse this privilege; sometimes you get the best light from a burning bridge..."
I do my best to not take anything or anybody for granted. I think it is one of my biggest struggles, because, as someone who has been single and has lived alone her entire adult life, I have a propensity toward self-centeredness. I sometimes have to make a conscious effort to show those I love how much I appreciate merely having them in my life. I believe in giving what you get. I also believe that when you give you should never expect something in return, but relish in the satisfaction of doing something for somebody else. However, when you give and give and give, and are only met with disrespect, disappointment and hurt, it is imperative to walk away. I burned a couple bridges this year...and I have to say, the way they lit up the sky was beautiful.
"And I don't mind saying that I still love it all; I wallowed in the springtime; now I'm welcoming the fall; for every moment of joy; every hour of fear; for every winding road, that brought me here; for every breath, for everyday of living, this is my Thanksgiving..."
I am truly thankful for every moment I experience, even the bad ones. I am thankful for the years I was at my lowest, for had I not experienced such dark days, I may never have realized the full magnitude of what it is to be grateful. I am thankful to now be able to put that period of time in perspective, because it now drives me in the opposite direction. I have learned something from each helping hand, from each broken heart, and from each wrong turn. I have learned that focusing on the bad diminishes the good. I have learned that fear can no longer hurt you once it has been conquered. Most of all, I am thankful for tomorrow.
For my readers:
"For everyone who helped me start, and for everything that broke my heart, for every breath, for everyday of living, this is my Thanksgiving."
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