Growing up, my Grandmother would let me eat Stove Top stuffing for breakfast when I stayed the night at her house. I really loved that gop of seasoned bread. She would make it just the way I liked it, nice and mushy. It was an added bonus knowing my mother would be really mad if she knew Grandma had given it to me. Every child likes to feel like they have one up on their parents every now and then.
Grandma made the best pork chops ever, wonderful chocolate no-bake cookies and a variety of other tasty treats. Once she was making me some of her delicious, coveted buttered noodles, only to hand me the bowl and dash my dreams of yummy goodness. The noodles were swimming in milk. I knew right away it wasn't some lame attempt to cover up an absence of butter in the house because as I looked at my beloved noodles bobbing in the milk, I saw the little yellow bursts of butter exploding at the surface. Immediately I informed Grandma of this mistake. Her response? "You love milk in your noodles." Not wanting to hurt her feelings, I gently reminded her that POLLY, my sister, loved milk in her noodles, I however, did not. Immediately Gram looked hurt. The guilt of being such an ungrateful little brat washed over me. I ate the noodles and learned to keep my mouth shut when someone tried to do something nice, even if I didn't like it. I never asked for noodles again.
A few years later, Gram discovered a new cookie recipe. I never did find out exactly what all was in it, but the cookie appeared to have a chocolate outer ring encasing brightly colored marshmallows. This creative confection was then rolled in coconut and baked. She called them Church Window Cookies. Gram loved the bright colors and unique appearance of these cookies. Oh boy, I thought. The chocolate was a great idea, but I hated both marshmallows and coconut.And I do mean HATED them! When they were fresh out of the oven, Gram eagerly gave me a cookie, the excitement in her face gleaming as she just knew I would love this tasty, sweet creation she had made for us grand kids.
I wanted to barf.
As I put the cookie to my mouth, I said a silent prayer pleading for the strength to eat it without showing a look of thorough disgust that would betray my face of gratefulness. I will never forget that disgusting, spongy yet dried out, baked marshmallow taste, rolled in equally dried out coconut. My mouth ceased the production of any and all moisture as that horrific taste penetrated every taste bud.
Forcing a smile, I said "Oh, those are good. Thank you Grandma!" and I tore off out the front door, cookie in hand. There was a good sized crack between the porch and the front step. I stuffed that sucker in there so fast I scratched my fingers. I never did figure out if there was ever any correlation between that cursed cookie and the ant problems at the front of the house.
Church Window Cookies became one of Grandmas treasured traditional cookies, especially at Christmas and Thanksgiving. Luckily, I learned quickly that the way to avoid them was to just blend into the crowd as the family gathered. Throwing in a "everything tastes really good, Gram!" was an additional assurance to avoid those horrific things.
When I was 18, I joined the Air Force. Grandma was kind enough to send care packages to help quell my homesickness. She would send lovely little cards with loving, encouraging words, a few dollars to buy something and little updates from home. At Christmas, among the gifts she sent was a cute little tin. Growing up in a family that loved tins, you just knew something home baked would be in there. Immediately I got excited as I thought about chocolate chip cookies, chocolate no-bake cookies, and maybe some homemade hard candy. I excitedly pulled of the lid, hearing that little "clang" pop, peeled back the wax paper and stared with mortification.....Church Window Cookies. Now don't get me wrong, she put the good ones in there, too, but thanks to the close quarters of the sealed tin, the taste of those Church Window Cookies had contaminated the entire contents. I tapped one of the "window panes" of the cookie. Geez, it was like a ceramic tile. That damn coconut had overpowered the oatmeal in the chocolate no-bakes and completely deconstructed all flavors of the chocolate chip cookies. And the smell....stupid Church Window Cookies.
As I dialed Gram's number and she answered the phone, I told her that the package had arrived. "Thank you for the cookies Gram, they are wonderful!" making sure I conveyed how much I appreciated her thoughtfulness. She asked if they had arrived okay or had they broken up? Seizing the opportunity to prevent any future waste of perfectly good cookies, I told her overall they were "pretty good, but a little crumbly from all the jostling." I followed with the suggestion that perhaps she could separate them and wrap them in small bundles next time. It worked! For the next 18 years or so, I received loving, edible, care packages from my thoughtful Grandmother. I did however make an error in judgement shortly after I married my husband. I revealed to Grams that he liked the Church Window Cookies. She doubled the amount sent.
As I sit here today and remember Gram's love for her family, excitement around the holidays, and her thoughtful support for those far away, something occurred to me about those Church Window Cookies. As much as I couldn't stand those cookies, they symbolize a special love. A love from a grandmother in her kind gesture of making them and a granddaughter's love by not hurting her feelings and showing sincere appreciation for her thoughtfulness. When you think about a Church Window, stained glass comes to mind. It's a beautiful thought, thinking of those cookies and making the comparison between the two. You cannot see through the glass but if you look at it in the beautiful bright light, it is bursting with vibrant, beautiful color, perhaps even a sun beam ray illuminating the room. This is how memories of my Grandmother make me feel, as I bask in the warm glowing memory of her love.
Thursday, November 22, 2012
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
Fate and Circustance...a Personal Reflection of an Unexpected Gift
I was just reading over my posts. Counting them, actually.
This blog was started as a class assignment for my College Composition class. We are required to submit at least one entry per week for the entire duration of the class. I think I'm one or two short, most likely due to some of the recent events in my life lately. This is not about those events.
It's funny, as I read over my original post, the original "Fate and Circumstance", I remembered the original intent of this blog. To entice the readers to share their own stories, both the trivial and seriously life changing stories, and I noticed something. Along the way, I received a few emails and phone calls alerting me to the fact that several people had TRIED to post, but the page just wouldn't accept their replies. I still thanked them and truly appreciated the fact that they tried.
Guess what? Due to a computer glitch, operator error or who knows what, each of you are a part of my current circumstance. As I sit here and think about the original intent of wanting to both share and receive, I see that fate, for some unknown reason, dictated a little differently.
Originally, I thought it would help me feel less insecure posting personal thoughts and experiences by inviting others to join in. It was terrifying opening up for the world to see. My class was never required to share our blog outside of the classroom but a few months ago a friend posted a little quote on Facebook. It simply read something about accomplishing your dreams. Then a few days later, again on Facebook, I saw a quote made by Eleanor Roosevelt that really inspired me, too. Since I don't have a great memory, I personalized it a bit and turned it into "Do something that scares the hell out of you everyday". Now, I don't mean the play in traffic or stick your tongue in an electrical outlet kind of scary, but something that challenges you personally.
Writing is very personal for me. I've always loved to write but several things have happened over the years that stopped me. You know, the kind of things that make you feel like you played with fire and got burned, the kind of stuff that makes you back off of something because it hurt so bad.
The day that I wrote the first blog, I was in a frenzy of emotion. Writing about Tom, I laughed at memories of him at work, cried at the loss of him and missed his treasured friendship deeply. Thankfulness for knowing him kept me motivated, and seeing him in my mind's eye, throwing up his fist in triumph as he often did, was such a release of emotion for me. He would always say to everyone "do what makes you happy". What sage advice.
As I debated at launching the blog publicly, my finger lingered over the enter button, contemplating whether to send it. Would I face ridicule? Did I sound stupid? Would I offend anyone?
I thought of good old Eleanor Roosevelt. Time to be scared. The theme from "Jaws" rang in my mind...da da, da da, da da, da da da da da da...SEND!
In an instant, I had faced a huge fear and knew there was no turning back. "Well, that's that!" I thought and felt both liberated and worried. Did I do the right thing?
A few hours later, I checked my Facebook. Many familiar names were glaring at me from the screen. John, Nancy T., Steve, Leigh, Christine, Bobbi, Tammy, Beverly A and Beverly W, John, Alexandra, Kathy, Jeff. Encouraging, kind, and loving comments were written below. "Great job!"" Loved it!" "You made me cry!" were just some of the comments. Several others sent me private emails, sharing how much it touched them to read this tribute to Tom. To say I was overwhelmed and grateful is a sincere understatement.
I have been blessed to have many people from my past and present, new friends and complete strangers email me and post responses to my blog. Several people have stated that the posts have struck a cord with them, made them laugh or made them think. Thank you to each and every one of you who has now become a part of my life, inspired me and helped rediscover my passion for writing. You are all a wonderful, inspiring and appreciated fate to have!
This blog was started as a class assignment for my College Composition class. We are required to submit at least one entry per week for the entire duration of the class. I think I'm one or two short, most likely due to some of the recent events in my life lately. This is not about those events.
It's funny, as I read over my original post, the original "Fate and Circumstance", I remembered the original intent of this blog. To entice the readers to share their own stories, both the trivial and seriously life changing stories, and I noticed something. Along the way, I received a few emails and phone calls alerting me to the fact that several people had TRIED to post, but the page just wouldn't accept their replies. I still thanked them and truly appreciated the fact that they tried.
Guess what? Due to a computer glitch, operator error or who knows what, each of you are a part of my current circumstance. As I sit here and think about the original intent of wanting to both share and receive, I see that fate, for some unknown reason, dictated a little differently.
Originally, I thought it would help me feel less insecure posting personal thoughts and experiences by inviting others to join in. It was terrifying opening up for the world to see. My class was never required to share our blog outside of the classroom but a few months ago a friend posted a little quote on Facebook. It simply read something about accomplishing your dreams. Then a few days later, again on Facebook, I saw a quote made by Eleanor Roosevelt that really inspired me, too. Since I don't have a great memory, I personalized it a bit and turned it into "Do something that scares the hell out of you everyday". Now, I don't mean the play in traffic or stick your tongue in an electrical outlet kind of scary, but something that challenges you personally.
Writing is very personal for me. I've always loved to write but several things have happened over the years that stopped me. You know, the kind of things that make you feel like you played with fire and got burned, the kind of stuff that makes you back off of something because it hurt so bad.
The day that I wrote the first blog, I was in a frenzy of emotion. Writing about Tom, I laughed at memories of him at work, cried at the loss of him and missed his treasured friendship deeply. Thankfulness for knowing him kept me motivated, and seeing him in my mind's eye, throwing up his fist in triumph as he often did, was such a release of emotion for me. He would always say to everyone "do what makes you happy". What sage advice.
As I debated at launching the blog publicly, my finger lingered over the enter button, contemplating whether to send it. Would I face ridicule? Did I sound stupid? Would I offend anyone?
I thought of good old Eleanor Roosevelt. Time to be scared. The theme from "Jaws" rang in my mind...da da, da da, da da, da da da da da da...SEND!
In an instant, I had faced a huge fear and knew there was no turning back. "Well, that's that!" I thought and felt both liberated and worried. Did I do the right thing?
A few hours later, I checked my Facebook. Many familiar names were glaring at me from the screen. John, Nancy T., Steve, Leigh, Christine, Bobbi, Tammy, Beverly A and Beverly W, John, Alexandra, Kathy, Jeff. Encouraging, kind, and loving comments were written below. "Great job!"" Loved it!" "You made me cry!" were just some of the comments. Several others sent me private emails, sharing how much it touched them to read this tribute to Tom. To say I was overwhelmed and grateful is a sincere understatement.
I have been blessed to have many people from my past and present, new friends and complete strangers email me and post responses to my blog. Several people have stated that the posts have struck a cord with them, made them laugh or made them think. Thank you to each and every one of you who has now become a part of my life, inspired me and helped rediscover my passion for writing. You are all a wonderful, inspiring and appreciated fate to have!
Friday, November 16, 2012
One Brown Shoe the Other One Black
It's funny how an everyday, seemingly insignificant event can change a person's perception on life.
After many years, I have realized something about myself. I'm a fixer. Not cars, not computers or plumbing, but people. Absolutely nothing goes without my notice. Sad person? Make them happy! Worried? Let's calm those fears! Scared? Ahh, there are no monsters under the bed. Little problems, big problems, it doesn't matter,there is a solution to every problem and by golly, I'll help find it. It is the right thing to do and I'm one of those people obssessed with doing the right thing.
I'm not just your average fixer, either. I am hard core. Just ask my husband how many animals, causes and even people have been drug home by me. The man is a saint when I look back and realize just how many times in 25 years he has sucked up my need to fix something and been gracious enough to view it simply as my being a "good hearted person". He has gracefully sacrificed both financially and personally for me in my quest of ridding the world from any negative activity. He just accepts it because it's the right thing to do.
You see, in my own little world, everyone needs to be happy. Mickey Mouse, Barney, and The Cleaver family from Leave it to Beaver REALLY know how to live. No hurt feelings, everyone is mannerly and kind to one another. Everyone does the right thing, all the time. Life is so grand, it's disgusting by many peoples definition.
Now you might think this is a nice trait to have, trying to be a perpetual ray of sunshine, righting the world from wrongs, but it has recently come to my attention as to where a huge source of my everyday stress stems from. It really drives me nuts to have things "not right". Whether it is someone not being full of bliss at home or even a complete stranger who is down on their luck, this compulsion to have everything perfect comes at a cost.
The way I came to realize this odd, compulsive aspect of myself came about a few months ago while consoling a friend who was having a rough time. It hurt my heart that she was depressed so I decided to give one of my best pep talks. Oh yea, we were going to get rid of all this undeserving misery my friend was feeling. Turn that frown upside down! The sun will come out tomorrow! Everything will be just fine, honey. This whole conversation went on via Face book chat, back and forth and back and forth.
Trying to help paint a realistic picture for her and ease her worries, I typed in the words "Perfection does not exist". I hit "enter" and suddenly, the words just sat there on the screen. I stared at those four words for what seemed like hours. It hung in the air like a cloud. "Perfection does not exist" I read over and over and over again. I wrote the phrase for her, but somehow it kept echoing back to me. It was the oddest feeling to sit there looking at something that had sprung from my own fingers, yet it appeared so foreign. I said the phrase out loud and something clicked.
The past two years have held a multitude of challenges, losses, and life changing events for me and my family. As much as I desperately tried to fix things, it all seemed to avalanche. No matter how much I smiled, did nice things, helped someone out, I could not stop the slew of unwanted life events that were unfolding. With no breaks between these events, that feeling of helplessness climaxed a few months ago when my beloved dog Timmy again started to have seizures. He spent two days having Grand mal seizures about every two hours. I slept on the couch to help him through these horrific episodes. I had very little actual sleep during those two days.
When I went to work the next day, my boss stood there looking at me strangely. She said "Amy" and looked at the floor. Confused, I said "What?" She again looked at the floor in front of me. I looked at the floor and still it did not register. The lack of sleep must have affected my thought process because I started to think, "there must be a snake down there!"
Roberta is one of those very kind, gentle hearted people. She will give the "gentle nudge" to call attention to something that could be considered a delicate situation. She finally lifted her eyebrows and said "your shoes". I looked down, and sure enough, like a beacon blazing through the darkness, was one brown shoe on my left foot and one black shoe on my right foot.
I stood there staring at my feet. Exhausted, overwhelmed, and feeling helpless from life's recent trials, I had a flash of pure mortification. Oh my gosh, I look like a fool! Oh no, I made a mistake! Oh heavens, my boss hired an idiot! The mask of goodness, correct decisions and happiness were ripped from my face. What on earth would June Cleaver think of this horrendous debacle? Could the floor please open up and swallow me whole?
Suddenly, in my minds eye I saw the words "Perfection does not exist". Hmmmm. "Perfection does not exist".
Shit.
I started to laugh. "Perfection does not exist" ran through my mind again. "I'm really wearing two different color shoes" I thought.
Fully realizing I was sleep deprived, I made sure I didn't let loose with the laughter that was in my heart, but in my head, I relaxed. I mean, I really and truly relaxed. All of this pent up responsibility I felt to save the world of every woe flew out of me like a thousand doves taking flight into the heavens.
I cannot stop life's miserys from happening. Life is not perfect and a person can only do what they can do. I am not perfect. Never have been, never will be. Perfection does not exist. So what if the dishes sit in the sink for a while? Who cares if someone chooses to be mad at me? If I don't get the A on that Essay, the world will not fall off it's axis. It's really okay that perfection does not exist.
Now don't get me wrong, I really do like to try to be a nice person, do the right thing and help people but I have come to realize that I cannot save the world nor do I want that responsibility. That's pretty darn presumptuous and impossible, anyway. I actually feel a little ashamed of myself with all of the "helping" I've done over the years. Albeit well intentioned, in a way, it's easy to ask why on earth I would ever think I possessed such super powers that everyone would even want my help?
Sometimes life throws each of us a circumstance that we can control, others not. The difference is how we receive each of these events and our willingness to accept them.
For all of you fellow world savers out there, and if you read this through, there is a good chance you're one of them, I wish you the gift of looking upon your feet and finding one black shoe and the other brown.
After many years, I have realized something about myself. I'm a fixer. Not cars, not computers or plumbing, but people. Absolutely nothing goes without my notice. Sad person? Make them happy! Worried? Let's calm those fears! Scared? Ahh, there are no monsters under the bed. Little problems, big problems, it doesn't matter,there is a solution to every problem and by golly, I'll help find it. It is the right thing to do and I'm one of those people obssessed with doing the right thing.
I'm not just your average fixer, either. I am hard core. Just ask my husband how many animals, causes and even people have been drug home by me. The man is a saint when I look back and realize just how many times in 25 years he has sucked up my need to fix something and been gracious enough to view it simply as my being a "good hearted person". He has gracefully sacrificed both financially and personally for me in my quest of ridding the world from any negative activity. He just accepts it because it's the right thing to do.
You see, in my own little world, everyone needs to be happy. Mickey Mouse, Barney, and The Cleaver family from Leave it to Beaver REALLY know how to live. No hurt feelings, everyone is mannerly and kind to one another. Everyone does the right thing, all the time. Life is so grand, it's disgusting by many peoples definition.
Now you might think this is a nice trait to have, trying to be a perpetual ray of sunshine, righting the world from wrongs, but it has recently come to my attention as to where a huge source of my everyday stress stems from. It really drives me nuts to have things "not right". Whether it is someone not being full of bliss at home or even a complete stranger who is down on their luck, this compulsion to have everything perfect comes at a cost.
The way I came to realize this odd, compulsive aspect of myself came about a few months ago while consoling a friend who was having a rough time. It hurt my heart that she was depressed so I decided to give one of my best pep talks. Oh yea, we were going to get rid of all this undeserving misery my friend was feeling. Turn that frown upside down! The sun will come out tomorrow! Everything will be just fine, honey. This whole conversation went on via Face book chat, back and forth and back and forth.
Trying to help paint a realistic picture for her and ease her worries, I typed in the words "Perfection does not exist". I hit "enter" and suddenly, the words just sat there on the screen. I stared at those four words for what seemed like hours. It hung in the air like a cloud. "Perfection does not exist" I read over and over and over again. I wrote the phrase for her, but somehow it kept echoing back to me. It was the oddest feeling to sit there looking at something that had sprung from my own fingers, yet it appeared so foreign. I said the phrase out loud and something clicked.
The past two years have held a multitude of challenges, losses, and life changing events for me and my family. As much as I desperately tried to fix things, it all seemed to avalanche. No matter how much I smiled, did nice things, helped someone out, I could not stop the slew of unwanted life events that were unfolding. With no breaks between these events, that feeling of helplessness climaxed a few months ago when my beloved dog Timmy again started to have seizures. He spent two days having Grand mal seizures about every two hours. I slept on the couch to help him through these horrific episodes. I had very little actual sleep during those two days.
When I went to work the next day, my boss stood there looking at me strangely. She said "Amy" and looked at the floor. Confused, I said "What?" She again looked at the floor in front of me. I looked at the floor and still it did not register. The lack of sleep must have affected my thought process because I started to think, "there must be a snake down there!"
Roberta is one of those very kind, gentle hearted people. She will give the "gentle nudge" to call attention to something that could be considered a delicate situation. She finally lifted her eyebrows and said "your shoes". I looked down, and sure enough, like a beacon blazing through the darkness, was one brown shoe on my left foot and one black shoe on my right foot.
I stood there staring at my feet. Exhausted, overwhelmed, and feeling helpless from life's recent trials, I had a flash of pure mortification. Oh my gosh, I look like a fool! Oh no, I made a mistake! Oh heavens, my boss hired an idiot! The mask of goodness, correct decisions and happiness were ripped from my face. What on earth would June Cleaver think of this horrendous debacle? Could the floor please open up and swallow me whole?
Suddenly, in my minds eye I saw the words "Perfection does not exist". Hmmmm. "Perfection does not exist".
Shit.
I started to laugh. "Perfection does not exist" ran through my mind again. "I'm really wearing two different color shoes" I thought.
Fully realizing I was sleep deprived, I made sure I didn't let loose with the laughter that was in my heart, but in my head, I relaxed. I mean, I really and truly relaxed. All of this pent up responsibility I felt to save the world of every woe flew out of me like a thousand doves taking flight into the heavens.
I cannot stop life's miserys from happening. Life is not perfect and a person can only do what they can do. I am not perfect. Never have been, never will be. Perfection does not exist. So what if the dishes sit in the sink for a while? Who cares if someone chooses to be mad at me? If I don't get the A on that Essay, the world will not fall off it's axis. It's really okay that perfection does not exist.
Now don't get me wrong, I really do like to try to be a nice person, do the right thing and help people but I have come to realize that I cannot save the world nor do I want that responsibility. That's pretty darn presumptuous and impossible, anyway. I actually feel a little ashamed of myself with all of the "helping" I've done over the years. Albeit well intentioned, in a way, it's easy to ask why on earth I would ever think I possessed such super powers that everyone would even want my help?
Sometimes life throws each of us a circumstance that we can control, others not. The difference is how we receive each of these events and our willingness to accept them.
For all of you fellow world savers out there, and if you read this through, there is a good chance you're one of them, I wish you the gift of looking upon your feet and finding one black shoe and the other brown.
Sunday, November 11, 2012
The Girl Who Grew Up In the Attic
I'm not sure why, but I've been reminiscing about something all day long. It is something that happened a long time ago, maybe when I was seven or eight years old, but it was a circumstance that impacted my life substantially.
As my great-Grandfather aged, he chose to live in a nursing home. His daughter-in-law, my Grandmother, would visit him several times a week, always taking him chewing tobacco and candy.
Grandma always took one of the grand kids with her, and on this particular day, I was the one to accompany her. Truthfully, I was a little frightened by my great-Grandfather because he would speak harshly to me sometimes. Not wanting to risk any chance of upsetting him, I decided to slip out in the hallway while they visited.
As I stood outside the doorway, I noticed a very small woman holding some dolls. I remember smiling at her and saying hello. She just stood there and stared at me, a very cold stare that scared me. Thinking I had done something wrong, I hightailed it back into the room and sat there on the bed, waiting for the visit to end.
When Gram and I entered the hallway to leave, the little old lady with the dolls was again in the hallway, looking at me. Not wanting to be rude, I told her goodbye. She continued to coldly stare at me.
When we got in the car, I asked Gram "why does that lady carry baby dolls? Does she have granddaughters?" Grandma simply replied "No. She doesn't have any granddaughter's." Gram said nothing more.
Hmmm. That just didn't make any sense.Why would a grown woman have dolls if she had no granddaughters? On top of that, Gram had stopped talking. Why had she stopped talking? Gram NEVER stopped talking!
I looked at her and said "then why does she carry baby dolls around?". This was just sheer craziness, adults don't play with dolls! Gram saw the confusion in my eyes and took a deep breath and said "Amy, her name is Haddie and she doesn't have any family, so she carries the dolls." Huh? NO family? Stunned and utterly confused, I asked "you mean she is an orphan?".
Normally a very quiet child unless something interested me, Gram knew if I was curious about this lady, I would not stop asking questions.
Gram looked at me and said "When Haddie was a little girl, she wasn't very smart. Back then, if a child was different, families were ashamed of them. Her family was embarrassed that Haddie was not like other children, so she grew up in the attic, away from people. She never learned how to talk."
Now, it was common knowledge Gram could stretch the truth a bit at times and this just sounded like a big old fib. I stopped talking and thought "I'll ask Grandpa. He always tells me the truth".
I waited for Gram to be out of earshot when I cornered Grandpa and whispered "There is a lady at the nursing home that carries dolls. Did she really grow up in the attic?". Grandpa looked at me with those sky blue eyes, full of sadness and thoughtfulness, and replied "Yes, baby, she did."
To say I was an extremely sensitive child is an understatement. When Grandpa told me it was true, I started to cry for the lady. How horrible! I imagined a little girl, scared and lonely, all alone in a dark, scary attic, with only a baby doll to love. To this day, I have a hard time believing that those types of occurrences happened more frequently than people know.
After I learned of Haddie's upbringing, I vowed that I would be her friend and love her, because everyone needed someone to love them.
Gram silently knew that I wanted to help this woman. Wanting to encourage this compassion in her grandchild, Gram started taking me every time we went to see great-Grandpa. I would pass by the nurses station, asking about Haddie. She would always quietly appear, standing there just staring at me, holding that doll on her shoulder. I would talk to her, my heart breaking at the cruelty this person had endured. Our eyes would lock and the cold stare silently gave way to a look. Sometimes, she would point at something and grunt. I don't know why, but this did not scare or unnerve me in any way and I understood she was trying to tell me something.
One day, for whatever reason, Haddie wasn't there. The nurses knew I was worried. As Gram and I finished visiting my great Grandfather, we entered into the hallway. Haddie suddenly appeared with her doll. With immense relief, I told her I was sorry we hadn't been able to visit and I would see her soon. She appeared to give what I thought was a smile, touched my arm to stop me and put her doll upon my shoulder. She then reached in her pocket and gave me a little crocheted circle. It was red and about the size of a half dollar. I was stunned.
That memory still touches my very soul. The fact that she trusted me enough to let me hold her beloved baby doll and then to give me a gift overwhelmed me with emotions. For some reason, it gave me such an overwhelming feeling of hope and love that I still can't completely articulate nor understand to this day. As far as the little red crocheted circle goes, I don't know if she made it, found it or where it came from but the fact that someone who had been so mistreated in life trusted a little girl and offered a friendship is a testament to the power of the human spirit. In that moment, Haddie changed my life forever.
Over the years, I have met some downright miserable people. Some are rude, some are mean, some have taken great pleasure in hurting others. One thing Haddie taught me through her silence is that people are not always what they seem. They may have been a victim of abuse, mistreated, or maybe have suffered immense loss in their lives, but when given the chance, they will share the beauty that lives within all of us.
When my great Grandfather died, we stopped going to the nursing home but I never forgot Haddie. I know the nurses continued to watch over her and treat her well, but I still missed seeing her. In my heart, I always hoped she knew that someone genuinely cared enough about her that they missed her.
The true irony of this story is the fact that a well intentioned child set out on a mission to be charitable and change a little old woman's life, and in humbling reality, Haddie changed mine. May each one of you that reads this be fortunate enough to have someone like Haddie impact your lives with such powerful, loving emotions that no words are necessary.
As my great-Grandfather aged, he chose to live in a nursing home. His daughter-in-law, my Grandmother, would visit him several times a week, always taking him chewing tobacco and candy.
Grandma always took one of the grand kids with her, and on this particular day, I was the one to accompany her. Truthfully, I was a little frightened by my great-Grandfather because he would speak harshly to me sometimes. Not wanting to risk any chance of upsetting him, I decided to slip out in the hallway while they visited.
As I stood outside the doorway, I noticed a very small woman holding some dolls. I remember smiling at her and saying hello. She just stood there and stared at me, a very cold stare that scared me. Thinking I had done something wrong, I hightailed it back into the room and sat there on the bed, waiting for the visit to end.
When Gram and I entered the hallway to leave, the little old lady with the dolls was again in the hallway, looking at me. Not wanting to be rude, I told her goodbye. She continued to coldly stare at me.
When we got in the car, I asked Gram "why does that lady carry baby dolls? Does she have granddaughters?" Grandma simply replied "No. She doesn't have any granddaughter's." Gram said nothing more.
Hmmm. That just didn't make any sense.Why would a grown woman have dolls if she had no granddaughters? On top of that, Gram had stopped talking. Why had she stopped talking? Gram NEVER stopped talking!
I looked at her and said "then why does she carry baby dolls around?". This was just sheer craziness, adults don't play with dolls! Gram saw the confusion in my eyes and took a deep breath and said "Amy, her name is Haddie and she doesn't have any family, so she carries the dolls." Huh? NO family? Stunned and utterly confused, I asked "you mean she is an orphan?".
Normally a very quiet child unless something interested me, Gram knew if I was curious about this lady, I would not stop asking questions.
Gram looked at me and said "When Haddie was a little girl, she wasn't very smart. Back then, if a child was different, families were ashamed of them. Her family was embarrassed that Haddie was not like other children, so she grew up in the attic, away from people. She never learned how to talk."
Now, it was common knowledge Gram could stretch the truth a bit at times and this just sounded like a big old fib. I stopped talking and thought "I'll ask Grandpa. He always tells me the truth".
I waited for Gram to be out of earshot when I cornered Grandpa and whispered "There is a lady at the nursing home that carries dolls. Did she really grow up in the attic?". Grandpa looked at me with those sky blue eyes, full of sadness and thoughtfulness, and replied "Yes, baby, she did."
To say I was an extremely sensitive child is an understatement. When Grandpa told me it was true, I started to cry for the lady. How horrible! I imagined a little girl, scared and lonely, all alone in a dark, scary attic, with only a baby doll to love. To this day, I have a hard time believing that those types of occurrences happened more frequently than people know.
After I learned of Haddie's upbringing, I vowed that I would be her friend and love her, because everyone needed someone to love them.
Gram silently knew that I wanted to help this woman. Wanting to encourage this compassion in her grandchild, Gram started taking me every time we went to see great-Grandpa. I would pass by the nurses station, asking about Haddie. She would always quietly appear, standing there just staring at me, holding that doll on her shoulder. I would talk to her, my heart breaking at the cruelty this person had endured. Our eyes would lock and the cold stare silently gave way to a look. Sometimes, she would point at something and grunt. I don't know why, but this did not scare or unnerve me in any way and I understood she was trying to tell me something.
One day, for whatever reason, Haddie wasn't there. The nurses knew I was worried. As Gram and I finished visiting my great Grandfather, we entered into the hallway. Haddie suddenly appeared with her doll. With immense relief, I told her I was sorry we hadn't been able to visit and I would see her soon. She appeared to give what I thought was a smile, touched my arm to stop me and put her doll upon my shoulder. She then reached in her pocket and gave me a little crocheted circle. It was red and about the size of a half dollar. I was stunned.
That memory still touches my very soul. The fact that she trusted me enough to let me hold her beloved baby doll and then to give me a gift overwhelmed me with emotions. For some reason, it gave me such an overwhelming feeling of hope and love that I still can't completely articulate nor understand to this day. As far as the little red crocheted circle goes, I don't know if she made it, found it or where it came from but the fact that someone who had been so mistreated in life trusted a little girl and offered a friendship is a testament to the power of the human spirit. In that moment, Haddie changed my life forever.
Over the years, I have met some downright miserable people. Some are rude, some are mean, some have taken great pleasure in hurting others. One thing Haddie taught me through her silence is that people are not always what they seem. They may have been a victim of abuse, mistreated, or maybe have suffered immense loss in their lives, but when given the chance, they will share the beauty that lives within all of us.
When my great Grandfather died, we stopped going to the nursing home but I never forgot Haddie. I know the nurses continued to watch over her and treat her well, but I still missed seeing her. In my heart, I always hoped she knew that someone genuinely cared enough about her that they missed her.
The true irony of this story is the fact that a well intentioned child set out on a mission to be charitable and change a little old woman's life, and in humbling reality, Haddie changed mine. May each one of you that reads this be fortunate enough to have someone like Haddie impact your lives with such powerful, loving emotions that no words are necessary.
Sunday, November 4, 2012
How my Disney Obsession Came to Be
People often wonder why a grown woman loves Mickey Mouse and Disney as much as I do. Some people ask me, so it makes me think some others might wonder but feel rude asking. Seeing as I have a lot of "life" worries going on right now, I think this is a good time to share my love for The Mouse and the joy Disney has added to both my personal and my family's lives over the years.
When I was little, Walt Disney (including the actual man) would air every Sunday night at 7:00 pm. It was the rare time that my sister and I would actually get our jammies on and sit together on the floor without fighting. There was something very special about that.
Mr. Disney would come on and talk a little bit, giving a quick story or give a little introduction of the movie he was presenting that night. Tinkerbell would sprinkle her pixie dust over the castle and the show would begin.
Disney movies have always contained a virtuous message. Good conquers evil, honesty prevails, be true to yourself, be loving to others, be kind to animals and so on. Being a child who had a vivid imagination, loving animals, and wanting the world to just be a happy place, I ate this up. For that one hour every week the world was perfect.
When I was 13, Gram and Grandpa flew me to Florida for a visit and took me to Walt Disney world. It was truly magical. The artistry that goes into anything Disney is beyond words. Attention to detail, with an emphasis of turning fantasy into reality. All the cast members (this is what a Disney employee is called) are wonderful and friendly. The parks are clean and authentic beyond description. Walt Disney has stated "I don't want the public to see the world they live in while they're in the park. I want them to feel they're in another world."
Today, Walt Disney World in Florida has four completely different themed amusement parks, and two amazing water parks. Then there is the music, entertainment, Broadway class shows, and world class shopping at Downtown Disney. I absolutely adore the street performers Disney hires that are located throughout the Downtown Disney area. You can't imagine how much of a total escape it is. From the celebrity inspired Planet Hollywood to a Cuban night life scene charged with Latin music and food, there really is absolutely something for everyone.
Did I mention the all new bowling alley, movie theatre, House of Blues, Cirque Du Soleil or Disney Quest that features every variety of video game from the 1980's through today's virtual reality games? Not to mention Disney Quest's build your own roller coaster!
The resorts on Walt Disney World each have a theme. There are value resorts, moderate resorts and deluxe resorts. You can stay in budget rooms that feature Animal King and Nemo, or try the Pop Century Resort for an all American experience. Love sports? All Stars resort is a complete indulgence for these folks. Moderate resorts vary from beach themes to sprawling mansions set in the old south. To experience a completely elegant amazing resort, the Deluxe rooms might be for you. Imagine having your own private balcony that backs to a African Safari or a Polynesian luau complete with amazing dancers from all over the world. I guess I should mention the amazing Tree houses, too. All of the above mentioned resorts (and this is only the tip of the iceberg of the amazing selection) have heated pools. Most resorts have multiple pools to ensure a close proximity to your room and prevention of overcrowding.
The food at Walt Disney World is unbelievable. Every cuisine you can imagine and some you never knew existed. Epcot is a foodies Utopia. One of my personal favorites is Morocco. Not only is it 100% authentic in decor (Disney flies in experts from each of the countries for both architecture and cultural adherence) they feature belly dancers throughout the day. You can select from Italy, France, Canada, United States, Japan, Mexico and England just to name a few. Around the world in a day or two!
Epcot is also home to my favorite attraction experience, Soarin'.
Imagine standing in line for an attraction and being entertained while you wait ( I don't want to give it away for those who are looking forward to trying this for the first time but want to share in the Disney difference). Your pre-attraction experience involves music, graphics and movement. As you approach your final wait time, you are ushered to your appropriate line for your "flight instructions". You watch a short, very entertaining, clip prior to boarding. With Disney, it's not just a ride, it's an experience!
After you board your hang glider, you are safely buckled in and then whisked up in the air. You hear squeals of delight all around you. The clouds suddenly appear and you are flying over oceans, orange groves, and aircraft carriers just to name a few of your views. Smell-o-vision? Oh yeah, Disney's got it! When the ride ends, you will want to experience it again and again.
What about a trip into space? Mission Mars will shoot you right up there, either with full G-force or with the mild version, your choice. Again, you are fully trained prior to your blast-off in a fun filled, star laden mission brief that creates a total submersion in the experience. You are even assigned a role to play while "in space". It's a real thrill hearing families yelling to each other and bonding while using their imagination. Everyone exits with excitement in their voice!
For a milder ride, but equally engaging for both children and adults, hop on a giant clam that takes you under the sea with Nemo and friends. Dora will also accompany you with computerized graphics custom designed for each rider and is fun for kids and adults alike. Kids are amazed when they see Nemo and his friends appear in life like form just for them.
As you can see, I love Disney and the amazing family fun it offers. My family has visited Walt Disney World multiple times and each trip has been amazing and built wonderful memories to treasure and we consider it an investment in our family together time.
As many of you know, I signed on to become a travel planner that is dedicated to Walt Disney vacations. Hopefully now you'll understand why I love it so much and want to share my knowledge and love of Disney with anyone who will listen. Treasured memories keep me going back and spur me to plan trips that other families will treasure for a lifetime. Call it fate, it you will, but I sure love that Mouse and would feel privileged to answer any questions you have or to assist you in planning your trip to Walt Disney World.
I plan to write more later about Walt Disney World and all it has to offer, but if you would like more information on how to take advantage of my Disney experience, please feel free to contact me for further information regarding "The Happiest Place on Earth"!
amy.mcvaugh@mymickeyvacation.com
When I was little, Walt Disney (including the actual man) would air every Sunday night at 7:00 pm. It was the rare time that my sister and I would actually get our jammies on and sit together on the floor without fighting. There was something very special about that.
Mr. Disney would come on and talk a little bit, giving a quick story or give a little introduction of the movie he was presenting that night. Tinkerbell would sprinkle her pixie dust over the castle and the show would begin.
Disney movies have always contained a virtuous message. Good conquers evil, honesty prevails, be true to yourself, be loving to others, be kind to animals and so on. Being a child who had a vivid imagination, loving animals, and wanting the world to just be a happy place, I ate this up. For that one hour every week the world was perfect.
When I was 13, Gram and Grandpa flew me to Florida for a visit and took me to Walt Disney world. It was truly magical. The artistry that goes into anything Disney is beyond words. Attention to detail, with an emphasis of turning fantasy into reality. All the cast members (this is what a Disney employee is called) are wonderful and friendly. The parks are clean and authentic beyond description. Walt Disney has stated "I don't want the public to see the world they live in while they're in the park. I want them to feel they're in another world."
Today, Walt Disney World in Florida has four completely different themed amusement parks, and two amazing water parks. Then there is the music, entertainment, Broadway class shows, and world class shopping at Downtown Disney. I absolutely adore the street performers Disney hires that are located throughout the Downtown Disney area. You can't imagine how much of a total escape it is. From the celebrity inspired Planet Hollywood to a Cuban night life scene charged with Latin music and food, there really is absolutely something for everyone.
Did I mention the all new bowling alley, movie theatre, House of Blues, Cirque Du Soleil or Disney Quest that features every variety of video game from the 1980's through today's virtual reality games? Not to mention Disney Quest's build your own roller coaster!
The resorts on Walt Disney World each have a theme. There are value resorts, moderate resorts and deluxe resorts. You can stay in budget rooms that feature Animal King and Nemo, or try the Pop Century Resort for an all American experience. Love sports? All Stars resort is a complete indulgence for these folks. Moderate resorts vary from beach themes to sprawling mansions set in the old south. To experience a completely elegant amazing resort, the Deluxe rooms might be for you. Imagine having your own private balcony that backs to a African Safari or a Polynesian luau complete with amazing dancers from all over the world. I guess I should mention the amazing Tree houses, too. All of the above mentioned resorts (and this is only the tip of the iceberg of the amazing selection) have heated pools. Most resorts have multiple pools to ensure a close proximity to your room and prevention of overcrowding.
The food at Walt Disney World is unbelievable. Every cuisine you can imagine and some you never knew existed. Epcot is a foodies Utopia. One of my personal favorites is Morocco. Not only is it 100% authentic in decor (Disney flies in experts from each of the countries for both architecture and cultural adherence) they feature belly dancers throughout the day. You can select from Italy, France, Canada, United States, Japan, Mexico and England just to name a few. Around the world in a day or two!
Epcot is also home to my favorite attraction experience, Soarin'.
Imagine standing in line for an attraction and being entertained while you wait ( I don't want to give it away for those who are looking forward to trying this for the first time but want to share in the Disney difference). Your pre-attraction experience involves music, graphics and movement. As you approach your final wait time, you are ushered to your appropriate line for your "flight instructions". You watch a short, very entertaining, clip prior to boarding. With Disney, it's not just a ride, it's an experience!
After you board your hang glider, you are safely buckled in and then whisked up in the air. You hear squeals of delight all around you. The clouds suddenly appear and you are flying over oceans, orange groves, and aircraft carriers just to name a few of your views. Smell-o-vision? Oh yeah, Disney's got it! When the ride ends, you will want to experience it again and again.
What about a trip into space? Mission Mars will shoot you right up there, either with full G-force or with the mild version, your choice. Again, you are fully trained prior to your blast-off in a fun filled, star laden mission brief that creates a total submersion in the experience. You are even assigned a role to play while "in space". It's a real thrill hearing families yelling to each other and bonding while using their imagination. Everyone exits with excitement in their voice!
For a milder ride, but equally engaging for both children and adults, hop on a giant clam that takes you under the sea with Nemo and friends. Dora will also accompany you with computerized graphics custom designed for each rider and is fun for kids and adults alike. Kids are amazed when they see Nemo and his friends appear in life like form just for them.
As you can see, I love Disney and the amazing family fun it offers. My family has visited Walt Disney World multiple times and each trip has been amazing and built wonderful memories to treasure and we consider it an investment in our family together time.
As many of you know, I signed on to become a travel planner that is dedicated to Walt Disney vacations. Hopefully now you'll understand why I love it so much and want to share my knowledge and love of Disney with anyone who will listen. Treasured memories keep me going back and spur me to plan trips that other families will treasure for a lifetime. Call it fate, it you will, but I sure love that Mouse and would feel privileged to answer any questions you have or to assist you in planning your trip to Walt Disney World.
I plan to write more later about Walt Disney World and all it has to offer, but if you would like more information on how to take advantage of my Disney experience, please feel free to contact me for further information regarding "The Happiest Place on Earth"!
amy.mcvaugh@mymickeyvacation.com
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