Friday, August 27, 2010

I Am From

I am from ‘Dairy land” in Artesia, from a classic 60’s style tract house, from Saturdays of pulling weeds and rocket ship to the moon sheets, and cow tongue sandwiches.

I am from Sycamore tree leaves piled high in the back yard, and 3 tiered rose beds and Concord grape vines. I am from fearlessly riding the waves at Bolsa Chica beach and climbing crushed shell sand mountains back to our blanket holding tight to daddy’s hand; sisters closing our eyes in bed at night and feeling the waves all over again.
I am from duckies on the service porch and bunny hutches in the yard. From a beloved pet turkey and soft, sweet poodle doggies. I am from blanket and clothespin tents in the yard and playing ‘I spy’; giggling under the covers at night until the stern “knock it off” came calling down the hall.
I am from canning fruits, jellies and relish. From my beloved Dad and Mom. From picking and eating sweet, warm apricots every summer until our tummies were full to bursting; from tent camping, “birdies have to have some pancakes” and “just slush and flush”, and little round balls in the bottom of warm milk.
I am from diligent, hard workers. Skillful hands fixing our car on Saturdays, teaching me to change my oil and lube. From doing whatever it takes. From “keep your chin up” to “see you in the funny papers” and “keep ur nose clean”. From the smell of new mown lawn on faces buried in a clean, white T-shirt; crisp white linen hankies always available; “is there kee kee in ur bellybutton?”
From “Quit ur bellyaching” and “Quit clowning around” and “I love you’s” and menu night. From standing on a box, learning to iron napkins and pillow cases at the age of six. From sewing and knitting, from the sounds of “2 crack” and “3 bam” at naptime; cottage cheese and pineapple. From puttering in the house to tinkering in a garage clean enough to eat off of the floor.
I am from the Hecht Clan. German blood flows through my veins, with a touch of Scottish. I am from Granny B’s giant gingerbread house, homemade dresses, lovingly hand knitted sweaters and crocheted afghans. I am from cinnamon rolls to die for and good farm cooking. From pancakes with gravy, hot dogs with mashed potatoes on top.  From Dalihas proudly grown.
From a generation that survived the dust bowl and wars and the depression.
I am from a home with steadfast love. I am from a dark battle – won – lost – and won again. From Life Abundant. From “I have come to give you a Life and a Future”.  From “Is there dust upon your Bible” to “The Old Rugged Cross”; roaring fires in the fireplace and endless games of crazy 8’s.
I am from black and white photos, lovingly retouched with color and from suspenders snapped. From memories recalled and whispered between sisters. From recipes handed down and treasured. From dog piling on Dad. I am from Eternity, where my story has always been known and my days recorded before even one of them came to be.

Where are you from?

Going Back

Ok. So to begin, I must go back. I am finally at the point where I can do that.  I will not tell the whole story in this first blog, but I will catch up to the present quickly. Hope that makes sense!
We have all heard (maybe too many times) that life is a journey.  That is true, so I will stick with that for now.  This journey can take many paths, mostly depending on the choices we have made.  But sometimes it is the cards we are dealt (ok, corny but you know what I mean).  Sometimes we think we have it (the all powerful 'it') all together.  That we are doing things right; we are humming along with what is expected of us. But, sometimes on this journey, we can hit speed bumps (not so bad), pot holes (um, no more please) or those dreaded Valleys.  Marriages fall apart, precious babies grow up and make bad (really bad) choices.  This despite all you have poured into them (geez!). And those random estrangements from people that you never saw coming.

Our journey then begins to become a process, a grieving process, a letting go.  How do we cope when life presses in from all sides? Recovery can be grueling...these times of transition, times of sorrow and can suck sometimes.  But so can the alternative.  So, once again, those choices.  We can become overly busy, numbing our pain, denying our feelings...or we can choose to heal from things we never chose to go through in the first place.  Neither choice is easy. Healing is hard, painful work.  But I have found that even in the darkest of nights, I can find greater meaning and understanding if I surrender to what there is to learn. Exceptional things! Life changing things!

So, tomorrow, my journey takes a twist I never would have expected - ever....