Riding the Bike with One Pedal.

Category: moving forward (Page 4 of 4)

Well, That Wasn’t So Bad…

I turned 40, and nothing fell off, broke, or careened off-kilter.

In the spirit of moving forward, I’m going to start blogging over on my website. It’s not done, it’s not even close, but hey – we’re all friends, and why wait for something to be “done” before having friends over, huh? So, if you would be so kind, grab a paper cup of the box wine perched over on that pile, and redirect your browser, bloglines, blog reader, bookmark, and links to here:

http://lawrencem94.sg-host.com

Ta-Da! We’ll be eating cold pizza and potato chips for a while, as I have a jammed-full couple of weeks, but eventually, some of the other pages under the plazajen.com umbrella will actually have some substance and order. Until then, (glug, glug, glug) have some more of that tasty wine, won’t you?

Revisionist History

I used to want to be Madeleine Kahn when I grew up, because she wasn’t a standard measure of beauty or aspiration. Of course, she was beautiful, but mostly she was hilarious. The sort of gal who would throw you for a loop when she opened her mouth and cursed like a sailor or something, but you didn’t have time to be shocked because you were already laughing. Then she died at the very young age of 57.

So, now I want to be a blend of a couple other atypical women. Swoosie Kurtz reminds me of Madeleine Kahn, to some extent, and Kathy Bates is flat out talented, funny, and scary as hell if your name is “James Caan”.

I know, I’m going to always be… ME. I’m ok with that. But I get flashes of the women who’ve influenced my life, and who I want to become as I age (gracefully or not), and I am keenly aware of how Hollywood makes women my age “disappear”. I’m just not comfortable blending into the wallpaper. I never have been. It’s a joke I love to say, “I’m shy.” Of course, I can be, I can dislike talking or dealing with people or situations and want/need time to myself, but I’m the girl who wants to charge forward when something feels scary or intimidating. Beat it down and smile like a fool.

In other good news, I think it’s finally safe to announce it: I’m capable of truly being happy. I made small talk with a stranger at Sweet Tomatoes the other night and laughed and realized from the inside out, it didn’t have an iota of “cover” or lie in it. You wouldn’t assume it to be true – I’ve cried more the past two days, between blog posts and NPR stories (oh my god, you have to listen to this one – I had no idea, and it’s so heartwarming. And such proof that one person can make all the difference in the world.)

But I think a part of me is finally buying into the idea that it might, after all, be ok. I know I’m going to have my dips, my nose-dives, my hull will drag on the sandbar and I will be buffeted into rocky outcrops. But in the end, I want to be someone who made a difference, and didn’t give up. Always with some laughs along the way.

Oh, Time.

I remember being about 7 or 8, and my father, who never quite grasped the concept of treating me like a child, informed me that one day, indeed, he would die. And in his atheist belief, that upon death, there was nothing more. He would be gone. I felt terror, and it must have been evident on my face, as I cried, and told him I didn’t want him to die, ever, that I didn’t want him to leave me. He was the one who was always there for me, no matter what.

He told me, in a mixture of reassurance and dogged adherence to reality and a promise to never lie to me, that we were all going to die, and he couldn’t change that, but that he would do his best to be around for a long, long time.

I wish it could have been more than 32 years, but I did have those years. The memories of this time, two years ago, flooded me last night, and I felt every last nuance of sadness and pain. I used to relive those moments every night; now I think I’ve learned that I’m not going to actually forget them. They can feel as real and present as if they just happened – the film is etched onto my soul.

But so are the good moments. I’ll never stop loving you, Dad. I miss you from the bottom of my heart and I ache from the pain of missing you, sometimes. But there is balance as time moves on and puts more minutes on the other side of that day, June 10, 2006. And so, I add a new label to all this that I put out there: Moving Forward.

Dad Grins

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