Fandango’s Friday Flashback: July 24

Inspired by Fandango’s Friday Flashback: July 24

Wouldn’t you like to expose your newer readers to some of your earlier posts that they might never have seen? Or remind your long term followers of posts that they might not remember? Each Friday I will publish a post I wrote on this exact date in a previous year….Why don’t you reach back into your own archives and highlight a post that you wrote on this very date in a previous year?

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The following post was originally posted on July 24, 2018

(my blog, still a baby, was a mere 5 months old)

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Diaries Revisited – 2018

 

diaries line up

My writing life started with diaries – the kind with the tiny keys. Keys implying a privacy that wasn’t actually possible. But which gave a 9 year old a sense of importance. Tucking away private thoughts in a safe space. A comforting fantasy. Trusting that the key really worked.

As I got older, diaries (keys long gone) were followed by small spiral lined notebooks (written with an orange Flair pen – this was, after all, the ’70’s). Next… black hardcover “blank books.” And then back to small spiral notebooks and thick journals. I actually preferred the printed lines to guide my sometimes erratic handwriting; angled in anger or loopy with emotion. I went through a calligraphy stage in college and carefully inked my thoughts with spaced precision. An art form! And since I was the sister who was NOT the artist, I felt mighty proud about that.

My good friend Debbie gave me a new 8 1/2″ x 11″ black blank book when we were both 20 and about to start sharing an apartment – a first for both of us. We would finish up our last 1 & 1/2 years of college together.

She filled the first page:

Here is the book you wanted. It means so much to have a book like this…to write down thoughts, feelings….watch how you grow, how your feelings change and how much more aware you become when you read back through it… 

The second and third pages contained Pink Floyd lyrics from “Dark Side of the Moon.”

Breathe, breathe, in the air…Don’t be afraid to care…Leave, but don’t leave me…Look around and choose your own ground…. 

I followed Debbie’s directions and kept filling that journal off and on for almost 18 years. (It didn’t come with a key. I wonder if it should have.) I was as open with my written words at 20 and 25 and 30 as I was at 9 and 10. Kind of shocking really. And now sometimes embarrassing – and painful – to see my heart splayed open on the page over and over, year after year.

Entries became sporadic and eventually just covered major life events – or the night before major life events – as I pondered their significance. Marriage. Career. Parenthood. Family dramas. Joy. Grief. Loss. I started and stopped various notebooks, journals and blank books. A brand new one always a hard-to-resist invitation to begin again. Maybe it was the fresh, smooth paper & its possibilities…like getting new notebook paper, pens and pencils for the start of school each September.

At the ripe old age of 27 – about 2 weeks before the birth of my first child I wrote…

It seems that the older I get, the faster life goes by…We Are Going To Be Parents!!…It will probably be the most important thing we do….”   

The next entry (in that journal) was 10 years later when I had a weekend away by myself.  By then I had a second child and a consulting job. I was still in my thirties. The 4 page summary began with…

Motherhood has changed my life more than anything else before it. 

And ended with…

After all these years I’m finally starting to acknowledge that there’s another side of me that’s been buried – perhaps a more creative side – I’m not sure…”   

Looking back, I was spot-on about the motherhood thing.

…I also have several well worn notebooks filled with stories of all the amazing, funny, and truly one of a kind things my 2 children ever said or did.

Truly like no other kid ever in the history of the world. Obviously. For example: How many 8 year old boys do you know who can make an earring out of a Cheerio?  And whose mother wrote a story about it?

I couldn’t help myself. It was such fun….

Polished

polish heart

 

Express Lane 12 Items or Less:
I emptied my basket onto the conveyor belt.
Milk, orange juice, salad, tomatoes, bananas.
A quick trip to the grocery store.
Or so I thought.

The cashier, a woman probably about my age, dragged the juice carton past the scanner, paused…looked at me and asked:
Do you have children?

My purse open, digging for my wallet, I looked up.
Yes I do.

How old are they?

Still searching for a ten dollar bill, I mumbled….
Umm…37…31….

She began filling my blue canvas bag.
You don’t look old enough to have children that age!

Okay well I don’t know about…

As she weighed the bananas…
You must have had them young.

Ummm…no not really…

She took my cash…turned towards the register and added…
I was 40 when I had my son. I didn’t think I was going to be able to have any children.

As she handed me my change, I offered…
Wow that’s hard to have a baby at 40.

She smiled.
Yes it is!…Have a nice day!

I had never seen her before in my life.

This happens often. Random, sometimes personal, conversations initiated by complete strangers in the grocery store. I wonder why. Do I look smart? I’m not that smart. I really don’t know why detergent pods can leave holes in your laundry. But apparently I can commiserate as to why Proctor & Gamble won’t make it right.

Back to the cashier…and how “young” I looked…

Is there really an age-appropriate way to look…after raising 2 “old” adult children?

Let’s face it – the story of motherhood is unique to every woman. How much we all age – or appear to age – is the sum total of many experiences (…never mind genetics and health).

Not just motherhood.

However, that being said…
Motherhood does jump start the process. From day one…when you may stumble around bow-legged like you’ve ridden a horse for too long…after birthing an almost 10 pound first child. Swearing there will be no more. Until you change your mind.

I will admit…motherhood carves out a chunk of your heart and holds it forever. It also forces you to grow up. For real. The shock – to your entire system – of a love so epic. Slamming into a whole new reality: It’s not all about you anymore.

The Rite of Passage to end all others.

Before parenthood, your self…still rough around the edges.
Still young.

There is real pain along the way.
The birthing. The sleepless nights. Sleepless days.
Endless decisions and acts of faith.
Stretching…reaching deep down…for patience…
You didn’t know you had.

Embracing the joy. The fun.
Taming the worry.
Searching for answers. Finding courage.
Hoping you know what the hell you are doing.
Because you love them so damn much.
Even when they cut away and move on.

You’re stronger for it.
Much stronger than you ever dreamed.
Braver…
And, yes, older.
Rough edges smoothed…
Polished.

More than ready…if you’re lucky…for the next level.

Grandparenthood.

 

books

 

This post inspired by V.J.’s Weekly Challenge #41: Polish

 

Diaries Revisited – 2018

diaries line up

My writing life started with diaries – the kind with the tiny keys. Keys implying a privacy that wasn’t actually possible. But which gave a 9 year old a sense of importance. Tucking away private thoughts in a safe space. A comforting fantasy. Trusting that the key really worked.

As I got older, diaries (keys long gone) were followed by small spiral lined notebooks (written with an orange Flair pen – this was, after all, the ’70’s). Next… black hardcover “blank books.” And then back to small spiral notebooks and thick journals. I actually preferred the printed lines to guide my sometimes erratic handwriting; angled in anger or loopy with emotion. I went through a calligraphy stage in college and carefully inked my thoughts with spaced precision. An art form! And since I was the sister who was NOT the artist, I felt mighty proud about that.

My good friend Debbie gave me a new 8 1/2″ x 11″ black blank book when we were both 20 and about to start sharing an apartment – a first for both of us. We would finish up our last 1 & 1/2 years of college together.

She filled the first page:

Here is the book you wanted. It means so much to have a book like this…to write down thoughts, feelings….watch how you grow, how your feelings change and how much more aware you become when you read back through it… 

The second and third pages contained Pink Floyd lyrics from “Dark Side of the Moon.”

Breathe, breathe, in the air…Don’t be afraid to care…Leave, but don’t leave me…Look around and choose your own ground…. 

I followed Debbie’s directions and kept filling that journal off and on for almost 18 years. (It didn’t come with a key. I wonder if it should have.) I was as open with my written words at 20 and 25 and 30 as I was at 9 and 10. Kind of shocking really. And now sometimes embarrassing – and painful – to see my heart splayed open on the page over and over, year after year.

Entries became sporadic and eventually just covered major life events – or the night before major life events – as I pondered their significance. Marriage. Career. Parenthood. Family dramas. Joy. Grief. Loss. I started and stopped various notebooks, journals and blank books. A brand new one always a hard-to-resist invitation to begin again. Maybe it was the fresh, smooth paper & its possibilities…like getting new notebook paper, pens and pencils for the start of school each September.

At the ripe old age of 27 – about 2 weeks before the birth of my first child I wrote…

It seems that the older I get, the faster life goes by…We Are Going To Be Parents!!…It will probably be the most important thing we do….”   

The next entry (in that journal) was 10 years later when I had a weekend away by myself.  By then I had a second child and a consulting job. I was still in my thirties. The 4 page summary began with…

Motherhood has changed my life more than anything else before it. 

And ended with…

After all these years I’m finally starting to acknowledge that there’s another side of me that’s been buried – perhaps a more creative side – I’m not sure…”   

Looking back, I was spot-on about the motherhood thing.

…I also have several well worn notebooks filled with stories of all the amazing, funny, and truly one of a kind things my 2 children ever said or did.

Truly like no other kid ever in the history of the world. Obviously. For example: How many 8 year old boys do you know who can make an earring out of a Cheerio?  And whose mother wrote a story about it?

I couldn’t help myself. It was such fun….