When I was a little girl, like many other little girls, I had dreams that were far and wide, as well as straight and narrow. I knew the social stigma's of living in the South, and I saw numerous females marry and have children before 25, I knew that was not the dream for me. Hyde County was an amazing place. Does it have high rise building, Wal-Marts, or McDonalds...no. It has heart. When you take the statement " Home is where the heart is" every person from Hyde County can identify. You start kindergarten with the same 25 faces, and at 18 years old on the Mattamuskeet High football field you wipe tears of joy and sadness and wave goodbye to the same 25 faces. I go back now, almost 9 years later, and things have still not changed. That place, those back roads, that lake, that football field and softball field, those ponds and cornfields, those 25 faces were all defining moments in my life.
These people made me who I am.
My sophmore year of high school, my brother was a freshman at NC State, and I can remember like it was yesterday, the first time I rode onto campus, and walked into Owen Hall to see my brothers dorm. The same dorm I traipsed in and out of as a freshman in college myself to visit those home town faces. Or that same year, when I went to Washington, DC during Mrs. Dunbar's English class. Something in that year changed me, and as much as I loved home, I wanted to be in the city, I wanted the culture, and most importantly, I wanted independence.
Not from my parents, not from rules. I wanted the independence to make my own decisions, make my own way, and most importantly make my own mistakes. To me, staying in Hyde County, or going back after college, just meant making other peoples mistakes, all over again.
Life is simple at home. There is no corporate rat race, there are no strangers, you never have to wonder if this person is trustworthy or not, you already know, you have always known.But here, each face is not these 25, strangers are truly strangers. Mistakes are your mistakes. Every single day you make your own choice as to what shoe to put on and what lane on HWY 40 to drive.
With all that being said, what I see as one my greatest opportunities...others may see as a great failure.
I am 26. And I am single.
Not only am I single, I refuse to settle for anything less than butterflies. Yes, I have been extremely picky in choosing the guys that I date, and whom I allow myself to get close with...but due to my own fears of commitment and my desire to make a name for myself before I take another's name have left me exactly where I want to be.
Chastise away, thats fine. If you want to think something is wrong with me because I damn sure do not need a man to hold my hand for all life's ventures, thats fine. If you want to judge me because I am 26, and completely single in the South, thats fine. I went to Meredith, I know plenty of females that lived out that same social stigma, with the perfect little house, the perfect little dog, the perfect little job, and the perfect clothes. I know some still married, I know some already divorced.
Why should I marry perfection, when imperfections are much more beautiful.
I'm not perfect. I wear nail polish until it chips; sometimes I hog the bed; I hate taking out the trash; I like to drink a glass of wine and watch tv alone; sometimes I play dress up with my own clothes; I do not like sharing the DVR, I leave my clothes on the bathroom floor, and forget to take out coffee filters. I would rather cook for one because the meals last me longer, I want a dog, but won't get one because I couldn't come and go as I please. I do not want to share my closet and like ALL my t-shirts. I have vacuuming. I like leaving the house and not telling someone where I'm going.Sometimes I poot profusely in the morning (tmi, get over it), or burp really loudly, or shove too much food in my mouth. I chew on my cheeks and bite my nails. I like going to my best friends house and staying till midnight, and nobody is calling asking where I am. I am TERRIFIED of being a mother.
To me, there is nothing wrong with these imperfections, because at the end of the day they make me perfect.
One day I may find Mr. Imperfect, I may never find him either. But I will not convince someone to love me, I will walk away, I'm not scared to be alone. If his parents hate me, I will walk away. If my parents hate him, then they see something I do not. If my friends hate him, then he is probably SOL. I will not try to convince other people we are perfect. If I can't be myself with him, when he finally does see the real me, he will hate me and think I have changed. If he is never himself, I will think he is crazy the days hes shows his true colors. If he is not my best friend, then why spend the rest of my life with a person that doesn't know my weakest links. If my heart doesn't do a little tap dance when I see him now, then what happens when he's old and wrinkly and we have had kids and the kids are out of the house and we haven't even liked each other in 30 years.
Images do not matter. Gusto does.
I'm not settling till I have gusto.
I refused to settle 10 years ago the day I knew there was a far bigger world than the beautiful cotton fields and intoxicating Hyde County air.
But just because I chose this life, do not think I am any less of a person.
Plus, haven't we all watched Sex and the City, and I don't see people hating Samantha.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
the devil wore prada...now he wears walmart
Life on a budget.
The 4 failed words no mid-twenties something girl likes to hear.
Reality ... yes
Fun ... No
Someday's I wake up and wish I was like one of the people that graduated college and went straight into some amazing career, and had already put in 4 hard years in a career, worked my way up from the bottom, and well on my way to the big leagues....
Oh, wait, never mind I did do that..And I'm fairly certain I lost my soul in the process.
But now, here I am, starting over,slowing putting the pieces back together, so slowly the there is a turtle and a snail in a race with each other, and not even Jimmie Johnson can figure out who is making a left turn.
There were 2 subtitles in that statement, but only a select handful will understand.
Budgeting encompasses every aspect of your life. I long ago traded my Dior mascara for Maybelline and gave up all hopes of driving a car without 200,000 miles and tings and tangs all over the place. I once had a '91 Ford Escort station-wagon, hatchback. I was 3 different shades of burgundy, the hatch had to be held up with a stick, and if you could imagine a car part breaking it probably did. I once drove it an hour with only 1st,3rd, and 5th gear...and it was a manual. And once you had the car in 5th, it would not come out.
On the note of cars, I must take my car to every bitterly poor person worst fear...the mechanic. And face the deep breath in/deep breath out multiple anxiety attacks that will follow...... Will my car make it to the shop? Oh, God its going to die! I've killed it, somebody better teach me how to take the bus. Then once, in your mind, the car has "coasted" into to garage, you realize they now have to look at the issues. And quote you the ill-fated price. The quote that will cause you to sell you soul to the devil. Its not even a price your crack can cash...
And then, once you have scraped your chin off the ground, wiped away the stinging tears, and regained your composure, you tell them to fix it...but you'll be waiting in the dish pit at McDonalds because god knows your really going to need 2 jobs now.
Maybe I can bat my eyes and get a discount....
Doubtful.
But I am not opposed to flirting with a grease monkey.
Plus grease monkeys do not mind if you bought your pants at Goodwill and shirt at Wal-Mart...if you have all your teeth and have the ability to hand him a Budweiser he is probably happy.
The 4 failed words no mid-twenties something girl likes to hear.
Reality ... yes
Fun ... No
Someday's I wake up and wish I was like one of the people that graduated college and went straight into some amazing career, and had already put in 4 hard years in a career, worked my way up from the bottom, and well on my way to the big leagues....
Oh, wait, never mind I did do that..And I'm fairly certain I lost my soul in the process.
But now, here I am, starting over,slowing putting the pieces back together, so slowly the there is a turtle and a snail in a race with each other, and not even Jimmie Johnson can figure out who is making a left turn.
There were 2 subtitles in that statement, but only a select handful will understand.
Budgeting encompasses every aspect of your life. I long ago traded my Dior mascara for Maybelline and gave up all hopes of driving a car without 200,000 miles and tings and tangs all over the place. I once had a '91 Ford Escort station-wagon, hatchback. I was 3 different shades of burgundy, the hatch had to be held up with a stick, and if you could imagine a car part breaking it probably did. I once drove it an hour with only 1st,3rd, and 5th gear...and it was a manual. And once you had the car in 5th, it would not come out.
On the note of cars, I must take my car to every bitterly poor person worst fear...the mechanic. And face the deep breath in/deep breath out multiple anxiety attacks that will follow...... Will my car make it to the shop? Oh, God its going to die! I've killed it, somebody better teach me how to take the bus. Then once, in your mind, the car has "coasted" into to garage, you realize they now have to look at the issues. And quote you the ill-fated price. The quote that will cause you to sell you soul to the devil. Its not even a price your crack can cash...
And then, once you have scraped your chin off the ground, wiped away the stinging tears, and regained your composure, you tell them to fix it...but you'll be waiting in the dish pit at McDonalds because god knows your really going to need 2 jobs now.
Maybe I can bat my eyes and get a discount....
Doubtful.
But I am not opposed to flirting with a grease monkey.
Plus grease monkeys do not mind if you bought your pants at Goodwill and shirt at Wal-Mart...if you have all your teeth and have the ability to hand him a Budweiser he is probably happy.
Monday, February 14, 2011
a conglomeration of pointless facts.
1. I get muscle cramps in my calves frequently while sleeping..this is probably has a central medical cause, like a lack of potassium or some other vital nutrient. I do take a potassium supplement, which quite often counteracts this. But I am fairly certain there is a softball in my leg that is about to hit a grand slam at 3 am.
2. I strongly dislike water on my hands. Maybe it was an excuse not to wash dishes as a child, but I just don't like the feeling of my hands being dripping wet, and immediately feel the need to dry every nook and cranny before moving along.
3. My phone has an obnoxiously short battery life. I'm sorry phone developers, but if you are going to make a high power phone, please make a batter that can last more that 2.5 hours, it is quite annoying.
4. I like eating orange sherbet when I'm hungover. Or any other time I don't feel well.
5. Valentine's Day is 100% absolutely, positively, without a doubt....STUPID. And this is not because I am single, its because I hate chocolate, allergic to bullshit, and the smell of flowers always toy with my sinus's this time of year.
6. I run...I run fairly frequently...4 + miles that is...I HATE RUNNING. I do it for the mental test.
7. I'm a perfectionist in many areas. But I could care less if my bed is made dishes are washed or room is tidy.
8. My closet is color coordinated. I can't sleep if the color scheme is out of balance.
9. Sometimes I dream about insurance claims and dropping an entire tray of drinks on people at the same time.
10. I had a childhood doll, his name was Bubbles, he was a clown, we were inseparable...I hate clowns.
11. I have been both a Girl Scout and a Boy Scout in my lifetime.
12. Most likely, I will become an old cat lady. If not, the person that convinces me to fall in love with them had better be a Greek god. I have loved once, and for me, that was enough.
13. Yes, I just stole #12 from The Notebook.
14. I have to move in 2.5 months. I am getting a 1 bedroom apartment with my own lease, and the electric/cable bill in my name. Hell will surely freeze over that day.
15. I HATE, HATE, HATE, HATE, HATE...did I mention HATE...talking on the phone. I'm not sure how I survive on a daily basis except knowing it pays my bills...but I HATE talking on the phone.
16. And I screen calls.
17. My brother has a dog, or tiny terror, his name is Hank and he is the best face to come home to every day. He loves you, . I know the minute I open the door there is going to be this cute face ready to attack, and hug, and lick, and play. And he is one good cuddler.
18. Screw love, I'm getting a dog.
19. I secretly, well secretly until now, LOVE the McChicken Sandwich at McDonald's. I'm not sure why, but its on of my silent indulgence's.
20. You cannot make people do things they do not want to do. While they may do it, they will essentially resent you.
21. I'm not sure how you spend your whole life anticipating it to follow a certain standard or guideline and in a split sent all the rules are out the window, but it happens everyday.
22. There is beauty in the breaking.
23. It takes 10 alarms and coffee just to lure me out of bed in the morning. Even then I hate the world.
24. Every person should have good towels, the kind that wrap around your entire body.
25. Why pay for a pedicure, when you can just walk on the beach.
26. I crave the feeling of sunkissed skin all year.
27. I have accepted the fact I will never be skinny, and I'm ok with that. I can run 5 miles, eat healthy, enjoy life, and occasionally score cute companions.
28. I have a to do list for this year. 1 and 2 coincide ... finish the book and visit Savannah, really...the rest are just details.
29. Who is the tool that calls me from a restricted number.
30. Whoopi was right on many of life's lesson.
2. I strongly dislike water on my hands. Maybe it was an excuse not to wash dishes as a child, but I just don't like the feeling of my hands being dripping wet, and immediately feel the need to dry every nook and cranny before moving along.
3. My phone has an obnoxiously short battery life. I'm sorry phone developers, but if you are going to make a high power phone, please make a batter that can last more that 2.5 hours, it is quite annoying.
4. I like eating orange sherbet when I'm hungover. Or any other time I don't feel well.
5. Valentine's Day is 100% absolutely, positively, without a doubt....STUPID. And this is not because I am single, its because I hate chocolate, allergic to bullshit, and the smell of flowers always toy with my sinus's this time of year.
6. I run...I run fairly frequently...4 + miles that is...I HATE RUNNING. I do it for the mental test.
7. I'm a perfectionist in many areas. But I could care less if my bed is made dishes are washed or room is tidy.
8. My closet is color coordinated. I can't sleep if the color scheme is out of balance.
9. Sometimes I dream about insurance claims and dropping an entire tray of drinks on people at the same time.
10. I had a childhood doll, his name was Bubbles, he was a clown, we were inseparable...I hate clowns.
11. I have been both a Girl Scout and a Boy Scout in my lifetime.
12. Most likely, I will become an old cat lady. If not, the person that convinces me to fall in love with them had better be a Greek god. I have loved once, and for me, that was enough.
13. Yes, I just stole #12 from The Notebook.
14. I have to move in 2.5 months. I am getting a 1 bedroom apartment with my own lease, and the electric/cable bill in my name. Hell will surely freeze over that day.
15. I HATE, HATE, HATE, HATE, HATE...did I mention HATE...talking on the phone. I'm not sure how I survive on a daily basis except knowing it pays my bills...but I HATE talking on the phone.
16. And I screen calls.
17. My brother has a dog, or tiny terror, his name is Hank and he is the best face to come home to every day. He loves you, . I know the minute I open the door there is going to be this cute face ready to attack, and hug, and lick, and play. And he is one good cuddler.
18. Screw love, I'm getting a dog.
19. I secretly, well secretly until now, LOVE the McChicken Sandwich at McDonald's. I'm not sure why, but its on of my silent indulgence's.
20. You cannot make people do things they do not want to do. While they may do it, they will essentially resent you.
21. I'm not sure how you spend your whole life anticipating it to follow a certain standard or guideline and in a split sent all the rules are out the window, but it happens everyday.
22. There is beauty in the breaking.
23. It takes 10 alarms and coffee just to lure me out of bed in the morning. Even then I hate the world.
24. Every person should have good towels, the kind that wrap around your entire body.
25. Why pay for a pedicure, when you can just walk on the beach.
26. I crave the feeling of sunkissed skin all year.
27. I have accepted the fact I will never be skinny, and I'm ok with that. I can run 5 miles, eat healthy, enjoy life, and occasionally score cute companions.
28. I have a to do list for this year. 1 and 2 coincide ... finish the book and visit Savannah, really...the rest are just details.
29. Who is the tool that calls me from a restricted number.
30. Whoopi was right on many of life's lesson.
Saturday, February 12, 2011
nasal dripage
Sinus = a pitfall in society.
Currently, my sinus have felt the need to drain in a largely obnoxious manner. If I could have tripped myself running this morning to end the brutality I probably would have. But instead, I decided to suffer in silence. Well, maybe not silence considering in had lost all ability to breath out of my nose and the Victoria Falls of snot had decided to drip down my face. Endearing, I know.
As I watched all the Nike clothing and tennis shoe clad people pass me, I quickly wondered why I was the only person stopping to blow my nose every 5 minutes, and everyone else was running blissfully with the face of a runners high.
Quite frankly, it was pissing me off.
Apparently my nose hates me, not that I have much control over that, but I do not prefer running with a wad of tissues or chance drip-page seeping into my chest cavity because I keep sniffling. MMMMMMMM.
I suffered through 4 miles, I suffered in pain. By the end my cheeks even heart.
And now, all I have to say....I better beast this 10K in March.
And there better not be drippage, or else I'm taking DayQuil and Sudafed at the same time and running the 6 miles on sheer adrenaline.
Currently, my sinus have felt the need to drain in a largely obnoxious manner. If I could have tripped myself running this morning to end the brutality I probably would have. But instead, I decided to suffer in silence. Well, maybe not silence considering in had lost all ability to breath out of my nose and the Victoria Falls of snot had decided to drip down my face. Endearing, I know.
As I watched all the Nike clothing and tennis shoe clad people pass me, I quickly wondered why I was the only person stopping to blow my nose every 5 minutes, and everyone else was running blissfully with the face of a runners high.
Quite frankly, it was pissing me off.
Apparently my nose hates me, not that I have much control over that, but I do not prefer running with a wad of tissues or chance drip-page seeping into my chest cavity because I keep sniffling. MMMMMMMM.
I suffered through 4 miles, I suffered in pain. By the end my cheeks even heart.
And now, all I have to say....I better beast this 10K in March.
And there better not be drippage, or else I'm taking DayQuil and Sudafed at the same time and running the 6 miles on sheer adrenaline.
Monday, January 24, 2011
Hangnails and Broken Nails
Quite frequently I have hangnails and if not a hangnail, then I have completely shredded off those testy pieces of skin that surround my nail with my teeth. I'm fairly certain a phsychologist would consider me to have an "oral fixation." This taking into consideration that I have a tendency of chewing the insides of cheek's to shreds as well. But if you are friend or family, you know this by now. It's like my mouth is a bad scene of Sister Act, but it was never able to break the habit. Whoopi was a better showgirl than nun anyway. But big ups because she did teach Lauryn Hill that if she wanted to be somebody and go some where she better wake up and pay attention. I'm assuming this was a hard knock to take considering she disappeared after her mis-education. Its all quite ironic. Whoopi taught her have her own voice, and The Mis-education of Lauryn Hill made her famous.
Wycleaf Jean has nothing on Whoopi's dreads.
And if you have no idea what I am talking about, then quite obviously you have never watched Sister Act 2, and the lyrical genius of "Doo Wop That Thing" and you never understood how something could kill you softly.
Back to hangnails.
Hangnails and brokennails, like life, are nothing but oddities. You spend days, weeks, months, or even weeks growing these long beautiful nails. You keep your hand well moisturize and keep your cuticle trimmed. Your dainty fingers have the image of perfection. You frequently change the nail polish and file them into quaint squares or ovals. You spend hours, and sometimes hard earned money, to ensure your fingers do not look like nubs, and then in the blink of an eye, it's gone, the ever so feared jagged nail. You have no choice but it cut it and start the process all over again.
They tend to show up at the most inopportune times, like when you have no file or when you get the nail that rips on its own accord, you have no control over it, but it rips to the quick and it leaves that dainty finger exposed, and feels like you are repeatedly pouring salt in an open wound. You have to meticulously trim the remaining nail to not expose to much damaged skin. And hangnails emerge showing this hardened, dry layer that is not a shield, as it to has to be trimmed away leaving your finger exposed. You trim to little, the skin is still there, you trim to much and feel the coolness of fresh blood.
Like life, you wake up each morning given the chance to breathe and reinvent yourself. You get to paint on a fresh coat every morning and trim up the edges of your being. Maybe it is all for image sake, but each day we have the opportunity to reinvent ourselves. And all it takes it one wrong move and your inner being is exposed, and you trim up the edges to protect yourself, to make yourself whole. There is a tough outer layer, a layer you use to as a shield, if you trim to much you are left broken, if you trim to little, you never feel the joy or happiness of smooth skin.
And like hangnails and broken nails, at the end of the day life can piss you off.
Wycleaf Jean has nothing on Whoopi's dreads.
And if you have no idea what I am talking about, then quite obviously you have never watched Sister Act 2, and the lyrical genius of "Doo Wop That Thing" and you never understood how something could kill you softly.
Back to hangnails.
Hangnails and brokennails, like life, are nothing but oddities. You spend days, weeks, months, or even weeks growing these long beautiful nails. You keep your hand well moisturize and keep your cuticle trimmed. Your dainty fingers have the image of perfection. You frequently change the nail polish and file them into quaint squares or ovals. You spend hours, and sometimes hard earned money, to ensure your fingers do not look like nubs, and then in the blink of an eye, it's gone, the ever so feared jagged nail. You have no choice but it cut it and start the process all over again.
They tend to show up at the most inopportune times, like when you have no file or when you get the nail that rips on its own accord, you have no control over it, but it rips to the quick and it leaves that dainty finger exposed, and feels like you are repeatedly pouring salt in an open wound. You have to meticulously trim the remaining nail to not expose to much damaged skin. And hangnails emerge showing this hardened, dry layer that is not a shield, as it to has to be trimmed away leaving your finger exposed. You trim to little, the skin is still there, you trim to much and feel the coolness of fresh blood.
Like life, you wake up each morning given the chance to breathe and reinvent yourself. You get to paint on a fresh coat every morning and trim up the edges of your being. Maybe it is all for image sake, but each day we have the opportunity to reinvent ourselves. And all it takes it one wrong move and your inner being is exposed, and you trim up the edges to protect yourself, to make yourself whole. There is a tough outer layer, a layer you use to as a shield, if you trim to much you are left broken, if you trim to little, you never feel the joy or happiness of smooth skin.
And like hangnails and broken nails, at the end of the day life can piss you off.
Monday, December 6, 2010
Much deeper than should be allowed on a Monday...
I have never been a poet, nor have I been a writer. When in college I wrote about topics that someone else chose for me. For the most part, I was given thesis ideas and asked to expound on them. I often struggled in Religion and English classes to look far past the metaphysical and find some inner being for the struggles or tribulations a character faced or find symbolism in a tree, or an apple, or any object that could have a far more in depth meaning that the author described.
My inability to look this closely into stories was directly linked with the fact I was a "factual" person. I find it much more exhilarating to research a historical topic, and base my own ideals around what happened and form my own stories about history. See with history it is a well known fact that the victors write the history books. They tell the story as they see fit, but is often forgotten how the "losers" came about, as they only tell their story. That is why we have lost societies, the losers were not left to tell their tale, their faults, their defense. We just let the kings and nobles and historians to depict them in whatever light, whether negative or positive, they see fit.
I have officially strayed far from what I had on my mind to write. With history, I can quickly veer off topic. Needless to say, I'm neither a creative or symbolic writer, but recently the symbolism behind a certain animate object has struck a far deeper yearn inside of me.
The symbolism behind a bird. What is a bird?
According to Websters', there is the literal meaning behind a bird: any warm-blooded vertebrate of the class Aves, having a body covered with feathers, forelimbs modified into wings, scaly legs, a beak, and no teeth, and bearing young in a hard-shelled egg.
But then if you look down farther it also notes a bird as an airplane, a peculiar person, something you eat, an obscene gesture or ridicule. And then come the numerous idioms correlated with the word, such as, killing two birds with one stone, or the birds and the bees.
This one five letter words, with numerous meanings, and yet literature,movies, and songs (i.e. Free Bird) have their own portrayals.
In Forest Gump, Jenny prayed to be like a bird so she could fly far, far away.The movie began with a simple feather fluttering through the air as young Forest got on the bus, later as Jenny made her prayer, black birds flew out of that corn field and later her father passed. As the movie progressed, she attempted to jump of a balcony, had this of happened she would have been that bird, she would have flown up, and quickly come back down. Throughout the movie she fluttered in and out of Forest's life, much like a hummingbird as they come and go with the season, always finding you when the weather is sweet and days are warm, singing you beautiful songs. After she passed away you see the birds flying into the sky behind the old oak tree. And finally, the same fluttering feather lands at Forest feet as their son steps on the bus.
Was Jenny a bird her whole life? Was that feather in the beginning always Jenny? Was her childhood prayer her simple plea to God to make her bigger than this world and give her wings that she was never able to spread. It was the 70's and the drugs and alcohol could essentially make you feel like you are flying. Was that the entire essence of the movie though. Was Forrest merely flying through his life creating his own recollections of stories. Was he writing his own history book since Jenny had already flown away and was not there and able to write. Symbolically, had Jenny already flown when sitting in that field and her story went unwritten. In this setting a bird was a beautiful holy object there in a feeble attempt to save one from themselves.
One cannot write about a bird though and fail to mention the movie "The Birds." Alfred Hitchcock created his thriller with a predisposed meaning in my opinion. He took a factual story of a mass bird death in California and created a story of numerous bird attacks on this one girl. A girl who went to a small island an the birds, from the minute she stepped on the ferry, wanted her gone. The movie leads you to wonder were the birds in fear the Melanie was the next apocalypse. Did the birds smell Revelations in the air, and attack Melanie in attempt for her to leave town? Also, the were never beautiful or valiant or heroic, they were crows. Black birds. Pesty little creatures that my grandmother used to stand on her doorstep, beating her cane on the porch, trying to get the out of her yard. We never look at a crow in the same manner as we look at a dove or an eagle. They are dirty, dark objects. Even in Peter Pan, James Barrie depicted Peter crowing after killing Pirates, the crow that caused the pirates to fear, and the Lost Boys to cheer. Nothing could correlate with a crow.
But then, in moments of bleak sadness, we find the beauty of two doves. They are rare in themselves, but if seen together is symbolically refereed to as an everlasting love. They will never falter. Newlyweds will set them free at their wedding to show they unwavering commitment to one another.
There are also to cardinals, most ofter referred to as love birds when seen together. Old wive's tale's say that when you see two cardinals together to make a wish on them and you will be with you one true love the rest of your life.
And finally, the Eagle. A strong majestic symbol of hope and faith and power. For Christians they symbolize redemption and salvation. For governments, it is a symbol of protection, power and heraldry, depending on what ever direction the tips of the wings are pointing. By no means was the US the first society to use this a symbol of power and strength. There was Nazi Germany and the Third Reich and Napoleon and the Romans. We were by no means creative in placing this majestic bird in conjunction with the word e pluribus unum. Out of many, one.
In terms of the foundation of this statement, and how it was derived to be the seal of the US government, it was meant to show the foundation to be created between the 13 colonies to develop one government, one people. People that have immigrated from so many lands, and created their own states, but are able to be one body, one protector, one symbol of power and the strength. No wonder our founding fathers paired the eagle with this statement.
But on the opposite side of this, the eagle as the the American symbolism of power, is a fake in itself. The land was stole from the Native Americans, and the the Native Americans, they believed God chose the Eagle as the Master of the Sky, a leader because it can fly higher and see better than all other birds. Their feathers are sacrad to Native Americans are a treasure. Some tribes have Eagle dancers in their outfit, and if a feather falls of their regalia it is to be watched over in order to properly cleanse the feather after the dance has ended.
And yet, we stole the land and we stole this symbol of faith and power.
And hell if you made it this far, the birds and the bee's ... power and love that will sting the crap out of you and peck you at the same time. Its all relative my dear.
My inability to look this closely into stories was directly linked with the fact I was a "factual" person. I find it much more exhilarating to research a historical topic, and base my own ideals around what happened and form my own stories about history. See with history it is a well known fact that the victors write the history books. They tell the story as they see fit, but is often forgotten how the "losers" came about, as they only tell their story. That is why we have lost societies, the losers were not left to tell their tale, their faults, their defense. We just let the kings and nobles and historians to depict them in whatever light, whether negative or positive, they see fit.
I have officially strayed far from what I had on my mind to write. With history, I can quickly veer off topic. Needless to say, I'm neither a creative or symbolic writer, but recently the symbolism behind a certain animate object has struck a far deeper yearn inside of me.
The symbolism behind a bird. What is a bird?
According to Websters', there is the literal meaning behind a bird: any warm-blooded vertebrate of the class Aves, having a body covered with feathers, forelimbs modified into wings, scaly legs, a beak, and no teeth, and bearing young in a hard-shelled egg.
But then if you look down farther it also notes a bird as an airplane, a peculiar person, something you eat, an obscene gesture or ridicule. And then come the numerous idioms correlated with the word, such as, killing two birds with one stone, or the birds and the bees.
This one five letter words, with numerous meanings, and yet literature,movies, and songs (i.e. Free Bird) have their own portrayals.
In Forest Gump, Jenny prayed to be like a bird so she could fly far, far away.The movie began with a simple feather fluttering through the air as young Forest got on the bus, later as Jenny made her prayer, black birds flew out of that corn field and later her father passed. As the movie progressed, she attempted to jump of a balcony, had this of happened she would have been that bird, she would have flown up, and quickly come back down. Throughout the movie she fluttered in and out of Forest's life, much like a hummingbird as they come and go with the season, always finding you when the weather is sweet and days are warm, singing you beautiful songs. After she passed away you see the birds flying into the sky behind the old oak tree. And finally, the same fluttering feather lands at Forest feet as their son steps on the bus.
Was Jenny a bird her whole life? Was that feather in the beginning always Jenny? Was her childhood prayer her simple plea to God to make her bigger than this world and give her wings that she was never able to spread. It was the 70's and the drugs and alcohol could essentially make you feel like you are flying. Was that the entire essence of the movie though. Was Forrest merely flying through his life creating his own recollections of stories. Was he writing his own history book since Jenny had already flown away and was not there and able to write. Symbolically, had Jenny already flown when sitting in that field and her story went unwritten. In this setting a bird was a beautiful holy object there in a feeble attempt to save one from themselves.
One cannot write about a bird though and fail to mention the movie "The Birds." Alfred Hitchcock created his thriller with a predisposed meaning in my opinion. He took a factual story of a mass bird death in California and created a story of numerous bird attacks on this one girl. A girl who went to a small island an the birds, from the minute she stepped on the ferry, wanted her gone. The movie leads you to wonder were the birds in fear the Melanie was the next apocalypse. Did the birds smell Revelations in the air, and attack Melanie in attempt for her to leave town? Also, the were never beautiful or valiant or heroic, they were crows. Black birds. Pesty little creatures that my grandmother used to stand on her doorstep, beating her cane on the porch, trying to get the out of her yard. We never look at a crow in the same manner as we look at a dove or an eagle. They are dirty, dark objects. Even in Peter Pan, James Barrie depicted Peter crowing after killing Pirates, the crow that caused the pirates to fear, and the Lost Boys to cheer. Nothing could correlate with a crow.
But then, in moments of bleak sadness, we find the beauty of two doves. They are rare in themselves, but if seen together is symbolically refereed to as an everlasting love. They will never falter. Newlyweds will set them free at their wedding to show they unwavering commitment to one another.
There are also to cardinals, most ofter referred to as love birds when seen together. Old wive's tale's say that when you see two cardinals together to make a wish on them and you will be with you one true love the rest of your life.
And finally, the Eagle. A strong majestic symbol of hope and faith and power. For Christians they symbolize redemption and salvation. For governments, it is a symbol of protection, power and heraldry, depending on what ever direction the tips of the wings are pointing. By no means was the US the first society to use this a symbol of power and strength. There was Nazi Germany and the Third Reich and Napoleon and the Romans. We were by no means creative in placing this majestic bird in conjunction with the word e pluribus unum. Out of many, one.
In terms of the foundation of this statement, and how it was derived to be the seal of the US government, it was meant to show the foundation to be created between the 13 colonies to develop one government, one people. People that have immigrated from so many lands, and created their own states, but are able to be one body, one protector, one symbol of power and the strength. No wonder our founding fathers paired the eagle with this statement.
But on the opposite side of this, the eagle as the the American symbolism of power, is a fake in itself. The land was stole from the Native Americans, and the the Native Americans, they believed God chose the Eagle as the Master of the Sky, a leader because it can fly higher and see better than all other birds. Their feathers are sacrad to Native Americans are a treasure. Some tribes have Eagle dancers in their outfit, and if a feather falls of their regalia it is to be watched over in order to properly cleanse the feather after the dance has ended.
And yet, we stole the land and we stole this symbol of faith and power.
And hell if you made it this far, the birds and the bee's ... power and love that will sting the crap out of you and peck you at the same time. Its all relative my dear.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Childlike wonder
Tonight, as I was baking a mountain of made from scratch cookies, it yet again caused me to look back upon my life. You see, in my house, Christmas was a magical time. I suppose in most homes it was. But me, I was one of those peeing-in-your pants, Santa Claus is watching me through the heat ducts, eat every cookie in sight kinda kid. And a tree with bright white lights and ornaments made out of Popsicle sticks and twist-ties was for more majestic and holy than any Martha Stewart Christmas catalog could summons. And that day, that one beautiful Autumn day, where the pinecones littered the ground and the air was crisp and smelled of football and red hot dogs..the day the Sears and JC Penny Christmas magazine came in the mail! Any child that does not recall this day, I feel sorry for you. At no other time in my young life did I have access to pages and pages and pages of toys, shoes, clothes, bedspreads, and everything else you could imagine...and yes, I could mark every single page and then write 10 5-page letter's to Santa Clause... and Santa Clause never judges.
Maybe I had a teacher once write in a "proposed" letter from Santa that if I wanted one of the lifelike Michelle from Full House dolls that I should ask my parents about making one, because unfortunately she was old and did not know I truly wanted a doll, not a baby sister.
And maybe, I had someone in the high school band try to give me a present my mother had bought through Tom-Wat which subsequently showed up on Christmas morning,
And maybe, when I got older, I sometimes wondered why my Dad was always able to fix my handmade Doll House that Santa bought me..
But through all the maybes, I never faltered in my childlike wonder. Even into high school I was unable to sleep on Christmas Eve, and now know if I stop "believing" Santa will stop coming.
As an adult, I miss baking cookies for 2 days, playing bingo and board games Christmas Eve night, having Christmas trees in every room, and seeing the quaint stocking hung under the Magnolia and decorated house covered mantle, or quietly hovering in my brothers room until finally, the most amazing sentence any pee-in-your pants kid wants to hear... "Fine, fine, we'll get up" from your parents, knowing that Santa just went to sleep an hour earlier, the piles spread across the living room in our respective chairs, and Christmas breakfast with half dead parents at grandma's house, nanny trying to burn your presents, and grandma forgetting to give you yours (not once, but twice), and then playing until finally your eyes were heavy and December 25th had turned into the 26th....and let me just tell you, Dec 26th has always been a bummer to me, so much anticipation for this one day and the next morning is just another morning.
I used to often wonder what other families Christmas's were like, and now I realize that at heart, I'm still ready to pee in pants at the first sight of a Christmas tree and Santa in the Macy's parade and dream of homemade cookies. The only Christmas that matters is the one we create for ourselves and our family, because that Christmas is one you carry in your heart and feel the warmth, like peeing in your pants, whenever you want...or forget to hold in the excitement.
Maybe I had a teacher once write in a "proposed" letter from Santa that if I wanted one of the lifelike Michelle from Full House dolls that I should ask my parents about making one, because unfortunately she was old and did not know I truly wanted a doll, not a baby sister.
And maybe, I had someone in the high school band try to give me a present my mother had bought through Tom-Wat which subsequently showed up on Christmas morning,
And maybe, when I got older, I sometimes wondered why my Dad was always able to fix my handmade Doll House that Santa bought me..
But through all the maybes, I never faltered in my childlike wonder. Even into high school I was unable to sleep on Christmas Eve, and now know if I stop "believing" Santa will stop coming.
As an adult, I miss baking cookies for 2 days, playing bingo and board games Christmas Eve night, having Christmas trees in every room, and seeing the quaint stocking hung under the Magnolia and decorated house covered mantle, or quietly hovering in my brothers room until finally, the most amazing sentence any pee-in-your pants kid wants to hear... "Fine, fine, we'll get up" from your parents, knowing that Santa just went to sleep an hour earlier, the piles spread across the living room in our respective chairs, and Christmas breakfast with half dead parents at grandma's house, nanny trying to burn your presents, and grandma forgetting to give you yours (not once, but twice), and then playing until finally your eyes were heavy and December 25th had turned into the 26th....and let me just tell you, Dec 26th has always been a bummer to me, so much anticipation for this one day and the next morning is just another morning.
I used to often wonder what other families Christmas's were like, and now I realize that at heart, I'm still ready to pee in pants at the first sight of a Christmas tree and Santa in the Macy's parade and dream of homemade cookies. The only Christmas that matters is the one we create for ourselves and our family, because that Christmas is one you carry in your heart and feel the warmth, like peeing in your pants, whenever you want...or forget to hold in the excitement.
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