Today my Father is eighty years old. I really can’t believe it, and I’m sure he can’t either. I want him to know on this special day, how grateful I am for the relationship we have had all these years, and that I still think of him as the fixer, even after all this time.
When I was newly married, and a silly girl of 19, I asked my husband to fix my broken necklace.”Fix it?!? Nah, we will just have to get you a new one, or take it to get fixed.” I was stunned. “But, my father always fixes my broken jewelery.” “Well, take it to your dad then,” was the reply. No disrespect to my husband, he was only 25 at the time, and since then has proved that he can fix almost anything that can, and does break in a home, and he can even build the home itself.
I guess what surprised me was that not all men are like my father. Not every man can fix anything that needs fixing, or wants to. Not every man knows the answers to impossible questions like, “which one is worse, a heart attack or a stroke?” Or, “is a tornado worse than a hurricane?” Or, “who is Dow Jones?” And not every man will take the time to explain the answers to a little girl who still remembers needing to know, 40 years later. Some men do not care to be subjected to the Little House on the Prairie series, all eight books of them, read aloud by a fumbling, bumbling eight year old beginner. Some men do not stay up late to fashion the best polyhedron ever, for a girl struggling in geometry, or spend an afternoon teaching her how to stop and start on a hill with a standard, so that she no longer avoids stop lights on an incline.
My father and I spent a lot of time together when I was growing up. He was usually puttering around outside, and I often tagged along. We spent a lot of time just hanging out, not necessarily saying much. It wasn’t about what was said, it was the fact that he enjoyed spending time with me. A little girl learns a lot from a friendship with her father, most importantly she learns how she wants to be treated by men in the future. I’m thankful for the ease of our relationship which many little girls do not have with their fathers. Sadly, some have grown up with a distrust in men; they were not the fixers they should have been in their lives, they were the breakers. I’m thankful that he set the bar high, and that my husband has lived up to those expectations, except for maybe fixing that broken necklace.
Webster’s dictionary defines wanderlust as a “strong longing for, or an impulse toward wandering” and wonder, as “a cause of astonishment or admiration.” In the case of travel, it seems these are very closely related. Why else would a rational person spend sometimes thousands of dollars, only to return home exhausted, constipated, sniffly, and possibly back, leg, and footsore, if not in search of wondrous things? Why indeed? I ask myself this question right before we leave for every vacation, as I’m frantically stuffing (my husband rolls his things, I stuff) my whole life into a 12 X 24″ canvas rectangle on wheels, or worse, a well-intentioned, but now ridiculously small backpack. “I guess I’d rather just stay home,” I always think to myself, or as I said to my mother the night before my husband and I departed for Europe, “I think I really just want to take a day trip to Greenville instead.” She laughed, but she knows exactly what I mean, because she has said something similar herself.
All those dreams of grandeur, so many months ago, when I perused the world, or the country on my laptop, searching for the perfect spot, dreaming of wandering, wondering and marveling at new sites, my equally amazed and jovial partner at my side, have suddenly evaporated into a mist of palpable folly, a reality smack in the face, as my husband and I quibble about who will be responsible for the liquids, who has to stuff my flatiron into their already bulging bag, and why do we have to take all of this damn candy? Sort of an emperor’s new clothes situation, where everyone says how wonderful it is, and only the honesty of a child or a simpleton (née genius) will reveal the truth; that planning and execution are two very different things.
The joy of planning and the anxiety of packing aside, in this day of social media, there is at least the pleasure of plastering smiling selfies everywhere, Facebook proof that we are having a wonderful time!!! My husband complains that we always look the same in every selfie, and that we could easily get away with using only one picture with multiple different backdrops. I can only attribute this statement to the undeniable fact that my face looks decent from only one angle, something my daughter calls “a snapchat face,” and the sad truth that my husband does not know how to fake a smile without looking like a psycho. Thus, we look the same in every shot as far as pose, but with a smorgasbord of emotion plastered on my husbands face, depending on what day of vacation we are on. His countenance runs the gamut from bemused and tolerant on day 1, to somber, midway through, to downright surly by the end. See what I mean?!?Me? Every shot shows me with my head turned slightly to the side, a knowing half-smile, meant to portray confidence, yet fun! fun! fun! on my face. Don’t get me wrong, I do enjoy the trip itself, or else what is the point? But I, like many travelers before me, have reconciled the fact that there are, and will be multiple annoyances, including, but not limited to the traveling companion, along the way.
Maybe it’s the way my husband and I attack our vacation. First of all, our destinations thus far, have not been conducive to peace, harmony and rest. We tend to pick bustling cities (Rome! Florence! NYC! D.C.!) or amusement parks ( Six Flags! Disney! Bush Gardens!) where the goal is to see as many things as you can, and really get our money’s worth. We pounce on each trip as if we are contestants on the reality show, “The Amazing Race.” Striking forth purposefully, a trusty backpack on someones back, which is loaded with drinks, money and a selfie stick, we march forth. We cover at least 10 miles a day, often closer to 15, seeing the sites, taking photos as evidence, and then on to conquer the next wonder. So much time is spent on foot, that my only consideration when packing footwear is comfort, and my only consolation is the fact that I always lose weight while on vacation. We pride ourselves on never using public transportation even to the point that my husband and I recently bickered about taking Uber to the airport. It’s true, it was only 3 miles from our hotel, BUT, we had already walked 13 miles that day, AND there was the little matter of navigating the interstate, backpacks on our backs, looking like a couple of well groomed hobos. I won this round, Thank God!
I think we must like this, since we keep planning the same kind of get-away. Certainly anyone who suffers from, or who is the loved one of someone with ADHD, knows that this is necessary for the sanity of both people. No leisurely cruises or lying prostrate in the sand for us. The shore is not the friend of a person who must perpetually move, unless hang gliding, scuba diving or possibly deep-sea fishing is involved. Also, a vigorous march, enough to produce a sweat, and a horrible case of chaffing, in search of interesting items vomited from the ocean must be accomplished until the sunburned, cranky and sandy bottomed family returns home; the parents having vowed not to return next year.
I just realized that I must seem like a Negative Nelly, or a Debbie Downer (Suzie Sunset he just called me when I read this to him). I’m really not, I’m actually a rose-colored glasses kinda girl, an eternal optimist, a “Suzie sunrise.” So much so, that even on the way home, an overstuffed backpack at my feet (the very one that caused my bag to be emptied and searched because I forgot about a few items that were supposed to be declared) because he couldn’t stuff it into the overhead, a nicotine withdrawing husband at my side, and an 11pm flight, after we just hiked a half marathon, we started planning our next trip. No matter that we always lose at least half a day to a sullen silence while we are “enjoying ourselves” born from too many days together, or that we just spent a pile of money so that we could be excited to go home. No, there is something about traveling that although uncomfortable, stressful and intolerable at times, makes you want to do it all over again. There is a natural amnesia that I liken to childbirth. The planning is great, the execution can be brutal, but minutes after it is over, the bad stuff is history, and by the time you want another, you’ve forgotten most of it. It’s a travel bug, and we have it. We lust for new adventures and new places. It’s a wanderlust I guess, or maybe just a wonderlust. Either way, there will be more traveling in our future, if only to provide anecdotal fodder for my blog. Stay tuned.
“Don’t be ‘a writer’, be writing.” ~William Faulkner
Today marks one year since I started a blog. “Happy Blogday!” My husband said when I told him, although we both agreed that “blogaversary” sounds better. In any event, this is my 58th post, so I’m averaging about one a week. That’s a lot of words, and I’ve yet to run out of them. Actually, it has only wet my appetite to write more. It’s almost like other good-for-you good habits like exercise and eating right; they are both hard to start, but once you do, it almost becomes an addiction.
“To write something, you have to risk making a fool of yourself. ” ~Anne Rice
I had five viewers on my first post, a year ago. Two of which, were my views I think. Of the other three, I think one was my husband, one was my sister, and one was my niece, all of the members of this OG trio have been tireless cheerleaders this past year. My last post by comparison, has had 498 views so far. My blog has 109 followers on Facebook now, I have 115 e-mail followers, and I’ve had views from people in 39 countries, some of them quite surprising (hello, Kazakhstan and Guyana!). This is really nothing in comparison to some bloggers with thousands of readers, who can make a living on blogging alone. I must say, to get paid to write would be a dream come true, but I have no plans of giving up my day job of nursing. I wonder if people who get paid to blog have editors or if they have to still rely on their own skills. Boy, that would be something. I try my best, but the fact that I slept through my sophomore honors English class has become woefully apparent over the past year. My apologies to those of you out there cringing at the lack of commas, misuse of colons and semicolons (I can never get those straight!) or out-and-out wrong words, such as last week when my mother pointed out after I had posted that I wrote “feint of heart” rather than “faint.” Oh well, one of the first hurdles I jumped when I started, was the feeling that I should only post something if it was perfect. I decided right from the beginning, that I’m not an editor, nor perfect, and my blog won’t be either, and that I wouldn’t let that stop me. However, I’m not embarrassed or upset if someone wants to point out my errors. I welcome constructive criticism.
“Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.” ~William Wordsworth
Even more than that, I welcome all the wonderful comments, on Facebook, on my site and in person. The fact is, I would write anyway, it’s gotten to be a necessity for me. I don’t post everything I write, a lot of it is therapy for me, and not intended for the public. But, I do put alot of personal things out there, because I believe that good writers are honest writers. It has been the things that I write that make me emotional as I write them, that people have responded to the most. Some have said that they’ve cried when they read certain ones, some have said that they have laughed. To have someone say that they felt something, good or bad, from what I wrote, is the biggest complement I could ever receive.
“No tears in the writer, no tears in the reader.” ~ Robert Frost
Reflecting over this past year, I’m very grateful to my family and friends who encouraged me to start a blog. My goal, a year later, is the same as when I started, which is to get my thoughts out of my head and on paper, hopefully for someone to enjoy, but as an oulet for myself if nothing else. I would love to write a novel, and to that end, I have pinned about a hundred inspirational quotes on a Pinterest board, from some of the world’s greatest writers. As I’ve yet to write one word of this future best-seller, I might have to stop pinning and start doing. Hmmmm, that reminds me of that pallet swing I want my husband to get going on. Anyway, as most writers do, I do my homework (ha!) by reading for pleasure. But mostly, I just observe and notice. I try to remember to smell, feel, look and listen wherever I am, and whatever I’m doing, because stories are everywhere, something my poor family and friends have learned over the past year. Be careful what you say in front of me, because it might end up in print!
“My aim is to put down on paper what I see and what I feel in the best and simplest way.” ~Ernest Hemingway
My first post is below, and as only five people saw it, well, possibly only three, I decided to show it again.
My first post ( I’m sorry this is ridiculous but I had to start somewhere)!
Posted on
Well, this is exciting! My first post! I found my way here by literally googling “how do I start a blog” this morning. My desire to write and to share my life has finally outweighed any reticence I have felt about this strange new world. Currently I am befuddled by terms such as widget, gadget and cookies. I know this is pathetic but if you are out there and are miraculously still reading, please be kind and offer any insights and pearls of wisdom that you may have. In the meantime, I will carry on, stumbling through the blogosphere like a virtual Mrs. Magoo, blind and clueless, but basically harmless. No doubt, many blogging blunders await as well as an occasional social gaffe. But like thousands of explorers before me, I will plunge in and forge ahead, secure in the knowledge that at least for me, movement in any direction, even occasionally backwards, is better than sitting around and waiting for something to happen. Thank you for reading.
Me? Every shot shows me with my head turned slightly to the side, a knowing half-smile, meant to portray confidence, yet fun! fun! fun! on my face. Don’t get me wrong, I do enjoy the trip itself, or else what is the point? But I, like many travelers before me, have reconciled the fact that there are, and will be multiple annoyances, including, but not limited to the traveling companion, along the way.
