sentio hero

12.13.16

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I’ve been thinking a lot lately about seasonal traditions, how we’ve incorporated the one’s I grew up with and added new as we went along. For instance, apple picking has become a regular thing for us in October.  I never knew this was a thing until I met my sons father who grew-up in central New York where there are apple trees growing in backyards and orchards all around.

Christmas has always been my favorite time of year. I’m not sure why, I’ve just always looked back childhood Christmas with fondness.  I can’t really remember ever having a bad Christmas at all.  It was also the only holiday that we celebrated consistently every year (I pretty much stopped trick-o-treating when I was about nine and Thanksgiving wasn’t really a thing in our family).  Christmas was that one tradition that I remember having any kind of real anticipation attached to it. There was turkey, mom’s gravy, my dad’s southern styled potato salad (lots of pickle juice, lots of mayo, a little bit of mustard), sometimes extended family would visit.  We would also dress-up. Like, really dress-up as in fancy dinner suit/tie, dressy dress type of stuff.  In fact, it was pretty much the only day of the year we would all be in the same room wearing fancy stuff. Then there were the traditional Christmas themed movies to watch. Although this didn’t really become a thing for me until I moved to the states right before I started high school.  A Muppet’s Christmas Carol and A Christmas Story were probably my favorites.

I’m glad that Liam gets to experience Christmas in much the same way I did. There’s something very comforting about sharing those same traditions. Although he doesn’t really like my dad’s potato salad very much, he is a huge fan of my mom’s gravy.  He also loves A Muppet’s Christmas Carol as much as I do but has never really likes A Christmas Story.  He was about seven when he watched it for the first time and he seemed to find the scene with the neighborhood bully, Scut Farkas, to be a little disturbing.

Liam and I have slowly added new traditions as the years of have gone by.  I usually always buy him a Christmas themed book every year. This year I bought him The Polar Express by Chris Van Allsburgh.  This was partly to coincide with a trip we took this past weekend to Utica where we actually caught The Polar Express Train Ride :-). The train ride is provided by the Adirondack Scenic Railroad Company. The kids had a great time riding in a vintage train.  It was dark outside so they weren’t able to see much of the scenery but that didn’t seem to matter.  There was plenty going on inside the train.  The Coco chef’s served up cookies and hot chocolate while everyone listened to the audio book. Then we stopped at the North Pole (otherwise known as Holland Patent) and Santa boarded the train. He spent time talking to each child as we rode the train back to Utica.  By the time we got back, the snow was really coming down and everything around us looked and felt so Christmas-y.

 

10.27.13

Write

Mirrors and memories

Click!

Did I win this time?

You yelled louder.

Or was that me?

There were sounds,

less like words and more like convulsions,

symptoms of a lingering disease.

Let’s call it a draw.

I’ll pocket my urban dictionary.

Find a corner

breath, hug my knees

and deal with yet another invasion of disembodied memories.

Ones filled with blue flowers painted on white silk

and a handful of kisses waiting in the dark.

I clench my jaw around my rage,

tight like a tourniquet, release it and my screams will flow

like a brand new rhapsody.

My fury is my only comfort now.

It rocks me to sleep at night,

kicks my ass to work the next day.

I promise myself a blank page tomorrow,

one you and I can fill with our own personal palette of bitter and sarcasm.

Laughable. Tragic. Calamity.

You and I

and the cracked stories we choreograph

in the self-reflecting mirrors of our minds.

8.21.13

Write

5am, strong coffee and generally good intentions

There were grand plans this morning to get a head start on my last post-grad course, but something went awry and I ended up babbling this in my journal.  Most of it’s too cheesy, even for a Hallmark card but here’s to 5am writing, strong coffee and generally good intentions.

 

I am a woman (or a lady…depending on the day and how full the swear jar is).

I am a mother, someone’s daughter, a sister, a friend.

I am a teacher, a learner, a creator.

I am sometimes strong, sometimes no so much.

I am sometimes wrong, sometimes right and most generally clueless.  But I’m always ready either way.

I believe in kindness and compassion.  In love and acceptance. In soft warm mushy words and a gentle light touch.

I believe in mistakes, and learning from them.  I believe in “I’m sorry” and five minute make-up hugs.
I believe in cute distractions, like kittens on laundry piles and excited six-year olds with Minecraft/Lord of the Rings mash-up stories.
I believe in waiting it out.  I believe in second chances.  Sometimes thirds.  But never fourths.  I believe in walking away and “don’t look back, you’re not going that way.”
I believe in choosing, and the responsibility that follows.

I believe in knowing when to let go and when never to give-up.  I believe in those who told me so.

I believe in smiles, and hello handshakes. I believe in short goodbyes, long deep breaths and bolting the door behind you.
I believe in now and loving each moment.  I believe in what’s here, instead of more more more out there.

I believe in tomorrow and the hope that follows.
I believe I’m enough, you’re enough, we’re all enough.  I believe, my side of the fence is just as good as yours.

I believe in me and always forever in you.  I believe in together, the strength it brings and oh the things we can do.
I believe in the beyond, the secrets it holds and the experiences that await.

I believe in finally getting there and the push, excuse me…the ass-kicking it might take.

10.12.12

Write

It comes out of nowhere.

You neglect to notice someone you probably should of,

   content with letting them blend into your own personal landscaped background,

      until one day they walk past and you watch them unlock the door to their office. 

                   And then you notice it.

                         And then you feel it.

                               And then you despair.

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