I’ve been in a Simon and Garfunkel kind of mood lately, or Cat Stevens. Watch, tomorrow I’ll be in an Elvis Presley mood. Anyway, lately I’ve been going through some stuff and I won’t get into what it’s about but it has been a struggle. Maybe that’s where Simon and Garfunkel and Cat Stevens fall into play because their music is so melancholy at times– but I love it.
In some round about way the struggles have led me to the thought of how I can’t do this on my own. I told a friend today that it’s like I can’t be a good person with out him. I think of the type of sin I’ve been dealing with and how easy I could fall into it but then what I find in the midst of that thought is the fact that I’ve been redirected to a better path– like I’m walking towards the edge of a cliff and then I see a really cool flower and I stop and I’m like “what was I thinking? I was gonna go over that cliff! Ha! What!” I’ve been diverted. Instead of peering out across a vast landscape full of error or my own misdeed I look to a small flower. Modest in stature but beautiful and inviting and its roots grow deep, and I take ahold.
So I’m glad my heart has been taken over by Jesus. He’s changed me quite a bit. He’s changed me for the better and I’m so thankful. If there was a bigger better word than thankful then I would say it.
Love. Maybe that’s better. Ha, yeah, that’s better.
Today was a hot one, sticky and varnished with humid sweat. It just sits here in the South baffled at the idea of you being upright and productive. It all settled down when it dumped buckets as my parents and I rode down the road from North Carolina on highway 25 and little droplets started plopping down on the windshield. We rode in a minivan that my dad is planning to sell and it just reminded me of all the years I use to sit shot gun in Jodie’s minivan as we all noodled through each lane in the highway and my stomach would drop quickly from us sailing down a hill. I remember Jodie’s long, black, curly hair and her cackle. I remember when I fell down off the side of a concrete wall all from a dog wrapping his leash around my legs, tripping me up and how quickly she pulled me into her van and ripped open the glove compartment shoving brown, old napkins into my bloody hands all while telling me I was okay. I remembered the rain falling on the windshield and how I didn’t think I was ever gonna forget this moment. The rain started to pummel my Dad’s van by the time we got back into town. My Mom decided that since it is basically monsoon season over here that she would go throw around a bag of castor oil mixed with “botanical” ingredients into the lawn because of the moles and/or voles that have been wrecking our garden. They love sunflowers. She grabbed an umbrella and I pulled on my rain jacket. She dug white plastic cups in the bag of ingredients and we ran outside. The rain blew and we were drenched at the end of our battle amongst the voles/moles. I remember looking up at our fig tree toss and dance with itself in the monsoon-ish storm and thinking I wish I could capture this moment. Possibly stay in it. The rain was soaking my dress and naked legs but I could’ve stayed for quite a while.
After my shower I made a plate of hors d’oeuvres, i.e. pimento cheese and crackers and instead of reading like the good student that I am I watched Almost Famous. I watched it and the rain hailed on my window. It blustered and shook its fist and hollered. I wanted to cry watching this film, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t because I was too busy smiling. Here’s what I texted to a friend immediately after finishing the film: It just makes me want to be more honest with myself and others. Like it was such a good movie. There were parts of it (since it was set in the 70’s) that made me oddly nostalgic over my first year at school- like the classes and the feelings I got from watching a really good movie and it just transported me… It was a coming of age flick, and coming of age flicks make me warm and fuzzy anyway.It made me nostalgic over a period of time where I learned a lot about myself. It was a period of time where I learned a lot about humanity. I remember walking into my first class in college and sitting next to Emma, Sam, and… well, I honestly don’t remember the other dude’s name but that doesn’t matter. Emma was my Penny Lane and Sam was my Russell Hammond. Granted, they didn’t sleep together but they were my protagonist and antagonist and I could feel life about to Van Halen high kick it into gear. The rain soon slowed to a plip plop and gave up, and I just couldn’t stop thinking about Harold and Maude and anything Francoise Sagan related and the weird French teacher we had who loved to center his lectures on the idea of La petite mort. College was a trip– and I don’t care what feelings you might have against antagonists- or your friends mom’s- or old friends who you no longer talk to, but they move the story along. They get the real blood moving. They make the odd, fascinating, crappy things that seem to show up in life go forth. They can suck, and I mean they can really suck but if you’re lucky and you get to reminisce about the path you walked down then you see that person and you think life would’ve been a lot more boring had it not been for them.
The rain has stopped now and I’m sitting here listening to the Almost Famous soundtrack thinking that it all comes down to this: I’m super thankful God has given me all the memories I’ve lived through. Frankly, I’m thankful for being able to remember and to imagine and enjoy movies and rain. I’m just thankful for God.
I love telling stories. I don’t do it because I want to enlighten neurons in your brain or to slowly waste my breath that just filters in and out of my lungs but I tell stories because I want to relate. That’s my way of relating to everyone I come into contact with.
“Oh, you went to the beach last Saturday? How was it? Oh great! Yeah, I love the beach, this one time when I went…”
That’s me. I hope it doesn’t sound boastful or like I don’t want to hear your memories and good times but when it comes to me I just randomly spew my knowledge through my experience. I’m a doer, I learn by doing, and if I want to help I try to let you know what I went through to also share in on the same key note of understanding.
That’s why I want to cram my life with weird, adventurous details so I can learn. Life is boring if you’re not learning or putting yourself through the rigors that God sets out for you. I feel like that’s why we can’t escape difficult situations. They shape us, like little rolls of dough– but that’s another tangent for another cloudy day.
Go create stories, share them, and don’t let anyone tell you your stories aren’t worthy for telling.
Today is pretty dreary with a side of hope. It rained last night but only enough to wet down the top soil. Most of the clouds are stubbornly sticking to their spots in the sky. It’s cool enough that my Mom and I planted a ton of flowers in hope of some sticking with us this summer. I planted sunflower seeds and hopefully not in vain. They’re usually a hearty seed but not strong enough for ants to sink their jaws into. Last summer I planted so many and watered an empty hole repeatedly but hopefully this summer it’ll be different. All I’ve got is hope, guys.
Well, since I’ve got all this time on my hands from work being so slow I’ve decided to go on more day trips. Upon entering the real world and graduating college, God put traveling on my heart-and actually this blog was suppose to be a travel blog, but I never really went anywhere consistently. I went to London. I went to Los Angeles. I talked about Charleston, SC- I think. Travelers Rest, heck, even western Pennsylvania.
And then I stopped. Life just got in the way, but here I am ready and willing to say I’m gonna be doing that again, even if it is in smaller ways. Baby steps, guys, baby steps. I’m trying!
And don’t forget to check out instagram for some updates as well! @thedarlingloon
I think I’ve come to the conclusion that I love to work. The harder the better.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I hate waking up after the said hard day when my back feels like it’s broken and my feet have been replaced by open nerve endings and I can’t seem to place them anywhere. I hate that- but when I think back onto the hard day and what I’ve accomplished I feel good. I feel beautiful even. Strong.
I think maybe that’s why I like to go on hiking trips and camp. I don’t mind getting my hands dirty and I don’t mind getting sweaty. But I love when I can wash away the grime and dried sweat and just be able to relish in what I’ve possibly done for the day. It feels good. Especially now in the season (working retail during the holidays) where I can make someones day with helping them choose a gift or even finding that said gift, or just going the extra mile for them.
I might regret later all that I’m saying in this post but for right now, I’m excited for rest, I’m excited for nourishing myself and I’m excited for what I’ve come to learn.
Have a happy Thanksgiving, everyone!
So I went and saw Fantastic Beast tonight and as I was perusing the interwebs for fandom I stumbled across this. Check out what JK Rowling is doing with her charity Lumos. Instead of hating on everything wrong with the world look for what you can do to help it.
If there was one thing I could remember of James I would say he was calm. He loved us and we loved him. He did my makeup for Beaux Arts then went on to work for The Walking Dead. How awesome is that? He was talented, hardworking and always there, always supportive, and will always be my friend.
After graduating from UNCSA together, James and I spoke here and there and caught up from time to time. I remember at my best friends wedding we rode from the reception to the “after after party” and what a gentleman he was. I just remember sitting in the hotel lobby and chatting. I don’t remember what we said, I don’t remember what hotel it was or even the color of his tie- I just remember his presence. His calm. His lack of judgement on anyone and the utter interest he had in what was around him, even if it was a tired bridesmaid with swollen feet.
He was smart. He was brave, and he understood. I hate to say was, because that just identifies someone to be in the past but what’s so great about remembering is that you can keep that person with you. You can pull them into the present and sit with them again with swollen feet in a hotel lobby at 1:00 in the morning.
I wish I had a picture of her. She was wearing this vibrant yellow skirt and a floral top with a thatched floral yellow purse. Her name was Wilma. She was 84 and the most eclectic older woman I’ve ever met. I learned her whole history within the 30 minutes talking to her today. I learned she had cancer. I learned her husband died 9 years ago, and that she calls herself a hillbilly. I also learned that she was so unafraid to be herself.
It was awesome.
I want to be like that. I guess it may come with age-the older you get the cooler you become. The less you care about what people think. I also imagine you have more stories to tell too. Her bottom middle teeth were missing but she lit up every time she spoke about her family. How amazing it must be to just be who you want to be and say whatever. Thank God for Wilma.