Have you ever stopped to think about the people who come in and out of your life? There are those who for reasons sometimes unexplained, we have a connection with for a time to fit the purpose for that moment, and then those people are gone only to be remembered years later with a smile and kind word or thought. Then, there are those with whom we seem to be thrown into interlocking soul bonds. Those are the people who even after years of separation, the conversation and connectedness picks up exactly where it left off - no time seems to have elapsed, and no walls seems to have been constructed. Each person adding a piece of the human you become in the time specified for the addition.
It seems that I reflect on these groups of people often lately.I have categorized them into groups of men; fathers, sons and brothers, and husbands/lovers... oops was husbands plural? Never-the-less, I will explain - or at least attempt an explanation. Sons and brothers are those who know you enough to do some damage if they ever let the skeletons out of the closet, but because they love and want to protect their sisters/mothers they observe and only use the skeletons to tease and taunt - wait is it protection? Or, is it a bribe for later in life? Hmmmm interesting thought. Interestingly enough these guys are also observers- they watch and tactfully intimidate those who could never be good enough for their sisters/mothers, and - if all goes as planned- they observe the poor fellows walking away. If not as planned, the watch them walk right into the lives of their sisters and mothers and these guys soon become husbands or lovers. The brothers and sons have fought a losing battle.
Husbands/lovers/ significant others- call them what you may, they are an interesting group. In some regard, they are like the sons and brothers, because they too are skilled in bribery. These men often find a means to coax what they want from their women even if all they want is a little time for pleasant conversation. Sadly, they lack the insight that sons and brothers have and must work harder than any group to get to the heart of a woman and find the mechanism that pushes and presses the woman to give back to these men. However, what they lack in insight and skeletal luggage, they make up for in product yield if they make the initial investment of time and true effort. Once they prove they can grow this unyielding product, they must nurture and cultivate it in order to continue benefiting from the yield.
Fathers-- of fathers- there is no group like that of fathers. They are the of all other men. As young girls we look at our daddies and say, "Daddy, I want to marry you when I grow up." How sad it is that we don't listen to our inner little girl and find a mate who loves, honors, and protects us like our daddy. His eyes see past us and into the little girl he helped create, the young women he molded, and the adults we grew into. He hands guided- though sometimes no so gently- as we took those first steps and then as we stepped into the world. His words reprimanded but also offered wisdom we sometimes didn't recognize until years past the time of disbursement. Most significantly- his arms... dad's arms provide a firm tug to steer us or a strong grasp to hold us. They offer protection and shelter. Again though, sometimes we act like silly females and don't realize all those arms offer.
If the brothers and sons are merely slightly younger and lesser experienced mirror images of fathers, why must the husbands/lovers be so far removed at times. Are they not also either brothers, sons, or fathers themselves? Of course, if we would cherish that protection and that purity in love from that original Knight in shining armor of our lives- if we would hold our fathers as a measuring stick that all other men must be compared, our hearts and minds would be more content and more fulfilled. Don't underestimate the power of the father. These men can set the precedents for almost all other relational skills a woman learns in life. Glean the knowledge and relish that love and the memories other men must slave to try and duplicate the heart of the girl who feels secure in her love.
Monday, June 7, 2010
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Just Successions...
It has been many months since I visited this blog to add my thoughts and Pearl's adventures. Successions of Somethings is being printed and will be available soon. I must admit, the wait is excruciating, but I am sure that "this too shall pass," and I will be stronger for the waiting. Like being patient with the printing and release of Successions, the latest new adventures have been overshadowed by life's many twists. Jason and Elli are still planning their nuptials, but my mind needed clearing of anything "nuptialistic" for a bit, so we will catch up with the marital adventure later this summer. For now, I will focus on simple blogging in it's truest form. No book, no chapter, no adventure of Pearl and her excursions into the past hurt while healing int he present will be posted for a few weeks. Instead, you will get the meandering thoughts of Mary's mind... hmmm scared yet?
It's difficult sometimes to figure out what needs to be blogged as fact or fiction, but in the end the past is the past, and somebody's fact is another body's fiction - isn't it? The truth is, we fight every day to make the "what if's" a reality - the fiction turns to fact, because the current present is not what we planned for our future. Sadly, yesterday only has a fifty-fifty chance of surviving as fact as well. Life- is it stranger than fiction? Or is it a step into fiction-and an avoidance of reality?
I chose this week to live in my fiction- or to play "what if" . Imagine a whole week of "what-if". I played in a creek with my youngest daughter, watched my youngest son hit a home run, hugged my oldest daughter before she walked down the aisle, and toasted my eldest son saying he was a super lucky man to have a bride as wonderful as his. I sat under a huge ancient oak with a friend while sipping tea and talking, and reminisced about my childhood with a fellow California native. I planned family vacations, and birthday presents for the kids. I planned get-a-ways and escapades in Italy. I rehearsed for an imaginary vocal exhibition, and I fell asleep on a boat on the river. I spent a fall in Michigan at the Great Pumpkin Festival with my mother, and I ate date nut bread with my dad. I wore wooden shoes and shared oliebolens with my brothers, and I slathered on my big sister's lipstick. What a week- a wonderfully interesting week of laughter and love. Does it have to end? Was it all fiction?
Funny how those moments from the memory become somewhat distorted and make their way into our minds as perfect factual bliss. If my smile has a chance to remain, I say let this fiction live. True successes are found when one accepts the reality of fiction and smiles through it while thanking God we have the escape.
It's difficult sometimes to figure out what needs to be blogged as fact or fiction, but in the end the past is the past, and somebody's fact is another body's fiction - isn't it? The truth is, we fight every day to make the "what if's" a reality - the fiction turns to fact, because the current present is not what we planned for our future. Sadly, yesterday only has a fifty-fifty chance of surviving as fact as well. Life- is it stranger than fiction? Or is it a step into fiction-and an avoidance of reality?
I chose this week to live in my fiction- or to play "what if" . Imagine a whole week of "what-if". I played in a creek with my youngest daughter, watched my youngest son hit a home run, hugged my oldest daughter before she walked down the aisle, and toasted my eldest son saying he was a super lucky man to have a bride as wonderful as his. I sat under a huge ancient oak with a friend while sipping tea and talking, and reminisced about my childhood with a fellow California native. I planned family vacations, and birthday presents for the kids. I planned get-a-ways and escapades in Italy. I rehearsed for an imaginary vocal exhibition, and I fell asleep on a boat on the river. I spent a fall in Michigan at the Great Pumpkin Festival with my mother, and I ate date nut bread with my dad. I wore wooden shoes and shared oliebolens with my brothers, and I slathered on my big sister's lipstick. What a week- a wonderfully interesting week of laughter and love. Does it have to end? Was it all fiction?
Funny how those moments from the memory become somewhat distorted and make their way into our minds as perfect factual bliss. If my smile has a chance to remain, I say let this fiction live. True successes are found when one accepts the reality of fiction and smiles through it while thanking God we have the escape.
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