Words We Need

As of January 1st 2014 there were apparently 1,025,109.8 words in the english language.  The millionth word was ‘Web 2.0.’  Language is fascinating.  It often allows us to communicate so explicitly, exactly what we are thinking.  And yet there are still so many things, feelings, emotions, situations that remain nameless and indescribable.

I’ve decided to make a list of some things that I think need a word to describe them, as I believe that they may be universal experiences.

Disclaimer.  I don’t know all 1,025,109.8 words (what is that .8 anyway?) so there is a potential for redundancy here.

1. The feeling you get as you try to describe something important to you to someone else, and slowly come to realize that no one will ever begin to understand it’s significance to you, or its significance, period.

2.  When you snooze your alarm and proceed to fall back asleep and dream that you get out of bed and do all the things that you’re supposed to be getting up to do.

3.  When someone says exactly what you were thinking.

4.  The feeling of beginnings.  Knowing that you’re in a place that your future self will envy, and not knowing if you are taking full advantage of it.

5.  The overwhelming urge to do something out of character, but ultimately resisting despite the desire.

6. Not loneliness- but simply wanting someone to share a beautiful, or astonishing, or incomprehensible  moment with.

7.  The belief and realization that even in this world where everything seems to already exist, and be named and accounted for; you could create something unique.

 

That’s all I’ve got for now.  I’d love to hear your own ideas!

 

 

A (falling out of) Love story

In between her best summer, and possibly her worst summer, were nine months with Ivan.  That first summer, she refused to consider them to be a couple, but to any outsider they unquestionably were.  He’d drive for hours down the congested freeway on the weekends when he had work off in Boston, just to see her on the Cape.  During the first few visits when his truck crunched in onto the seashell driveway of her grandparent’s house late at night, they’d greet each other tentatively in hushed voices; as if afraid they might scare away the dreamlike feeling they shared.  During the day it didn’t seem so fragile.  They’d go to drive-in movies; they found a secret trail leading to the top of the dunes overlooking a beach still miraculously undisturbed by loud tourists.  They built a sandcastle.  They slept together in the trailer park in Wellfleet until dawn when she’d quietly go back to her own bed.  She’d look at him sometimes during these visits and wonder how she got so lucky that her best friend had become this not quite boyfriend; and here they were in this place where an air of exciting possibility seemed to be leaking out of every corner of space.

September came quickly as it always does, which meant they would both be returning to their homes just two miles apart from each other in Vermont for their final year of high school.  Their time together was no longer just a precious weekend; it was whenever they wanted.  So things inevitably changed.  She realized that the reason she never wanted to admit their togetherness was that it automatically meant the leaving behind of the blissful phase in their relationship. It was an acknowledgement of the expiration date. If it never started… it couldn’t end. The difficulties that face most couples started to peek into theirs; jealousy, fear, annoyance.  But she managed to hold that idealized memory of their time together on the Cape close enough to hide from who they were becoming.

There were fights, and roses brought to her house in search of forgiveness, tearful arguments in cars late at night, and uncomfortable drives the next morning on the way to school, each too full of regret and contempt to say what they should have. I’m sorry.

She knew, although never admitted that they wouldn’t date into college, because he had faults that she couldn’t ignore forever. But he was also charming, and funny, entertaining, and very uniquely, Ivan.

Later on she’d wonder how on earth they made it last so long. Their love was based on a summer’s magic that was long gone as soon as the first frost fell. She had fallen in love with how she felt during those two glorious months of 1,000 first dates. Ivan’s gift of being able to make people at ease and relaxed immediately by his presence caused the two best phases of a relationship to happen simultaneously. It had been both novel, and comfortable.  It was like everyone’s favorite sweater that even when it was brand new, felt lived in; soft at the seems and effortlessly beautiful.

The next summer was treacherous. She somewhere deep down thought that maybe they could get the magic they first had back with the shift in scenery to the Cape. That they could do it all again, and leave off on a good note as they went their separate ways for college. It only took one visit from Ivan for her to know that it really was over for good. Immediately she took his presence for granted. They were too used to each other and frustration between them built quickly. It was delusional to hold onto that miserable interaction as anything more than something that would have been better off not happening.

It was simply the length of time that they’d strung themselves along for that prevented her from moving on less painfully. Too many looks full of meaning from across the room, too many reassuring hugs after a long day, and kisses goodbye, too many I love you’s, and conversations about things they could never say to anyone else. In the end it did mean something. All of it did. It always does.

 

 

On Wrong Turns

The car was packed, and directions were printed.  I took a mental inventory before departing; two full Nalgenes, enough food for a week, my sleeping bag and mat, hammock, climbing gear; I had even remembered my old tape gloves from my last trip to Joshua Tree in the unlikely case that we did any crack climbing…  I was suspiciously ready for a single night camping in Rumney NH, and a day full of climbing the next day, especially considering I had agreed to go only an hour before.

After having been on the road for five minutes or so and utterly fed up with trying to jam the obnoxiously buzzing mosquitos into the dashboard while somehow managing to not crash the car, I swore under my breath realizing that I had forgotten to pick up the guidebook from my neighbor who was trying to meet us there the next day.  What’s another 10 minutes, I thought to myself as I pulled off onto a side road to turn the car around.

15 minutes later, and on my way again, I glanced over into the passenger seat at the printed list of directions from google maps, merge onto 93 North in 5.2 miles.  I hated reading written directions.  Usually anytime that I need to get anywhere and don’t know the way, I rely on Siri’s reassuring voice to tell me to proceed to the highlighted route… but I didn’t want to waste my phone battery, because for the next 24 hours, I’d have nowhere to charge it.

The sky was now an inky black, and in early June that means past nine o’clock.  I wondered momentarily if I’d even be able to find the campground in the dark.  I’d never been there before.  So to silent my doubts, I gave in and pressed start on the maps app on my phone.

As it loaded, I felt uneasy.  Rerouting… No! I realized I had mistakenly gotten onto 93 SOUTH, instead of NORTH, and continued to drive on it for 3o minutes!  How could I have been so stupid!  I pulled off at the next exit, into an empty Market Basket parking lot and sat there long enough to rip up the directions I had printed, and ask myself why I never bothered to 1. learn my way around my own state, 2. learn how to read a map, and 3. simply check which way I was going.  Mentally kicking myself, I realized that I had let 20 minutes pass, and at this point wouldn’t be getting there until nearly 11.

I hated admitting it to myself, but I knew it wasn’t worth it to drive up that night anymore.  I just couldn’t get over how frustrating it was that I had been well on my way (or at least I had thought I was) and would have been able to spend this one night camping with friends.  Such an easily avoidable mistake was what it really came down too.

I managed to navigate myself from that dark Market Basket parking lot, to the highway, and finally home.  And it all turned out okay of course.  I drove up early the next morning with a friend and we all spent a beautiful day in the sunshine; climbing and enjoying each others company.

So what’s the point? What did I learn?  More than I thought I would from a wrong turn and a missed night with friends.  I learned that I’m certainly not too old to get a mapping lesson from Dad, that FOMO (the fear of missing out) wont kill me, and that I’m still going to make those stupid mistakes and its not worth beating myself up over them; I’ll leave that to other people.

 

 

 

Old Words with New Meaning

Sometimes stories gain importance over time.  In our own writing; thoughts, feelings, unacknowledged fears or hopes can manifest themselves without us even knowing of their existence.  This past fall I wrote a short story about the end of a dogs life.  Nothing personal, I told myself at the time.  It’s just a topic that a lot of people can relate to.  But now, after loosing my own dog this winter, it’s easy for me to see that choosing that topic was personal.  Subconsciously, I think I may have wanted to spend some time working through the feelings that loosing the dog that I grew up with- the dog that I couldn’t remember a time before he existed- would bring.

So here’s the story that became a little bit more to me than what it was originally.  Hope you enjoy.

 

I felt her muffled heartbeat through my sweatshirt, her warm yellow fur brushing up against my neck. I felt as if I couldn’t hold her tight enough to me, while at the same time she felt so fragile that I feared I would crush her. 14 years is a long life! I repeated over and over in my head, but it was of no use, I could no longer hold back the tears that had threatened to come every time I thought about losing Marmalade, except now… it was real. I knew it. It’s hard to say goodbye to something that so clearly loved you, more than it loved itself. Mom and Dad sat, each with a hand on Marmalade on either side of me on the old couch embedded with her fur and scent. I knew once I let go, she would be gone. I could have sworn her heartbeat was getting weaker by the second.  I kissed her on the soft top of her head, and she nuzzled back ever so gently looking up towards my face, as if to say goodbye.

***

            An infinite spectrum of colors fly past me at a speed I have not yet experienced; this is my first car ride! I shift and let out a yip to let them know I’m still there in the backseat. Mother told me about car rides before my new “parents” took me. Car rides can either be very good or very bad, I learned. It all depends on where they want to take you. But I know my first one just has to be good because I can smell that my new family is as excited as I am.

“Marmalade.” Ellie half says half sighs from the passenger seat of the car, with a faint smile on her face.

“What was that?” Eric replied, turning towards his wife.

“Her name is Marmalade.”

In the beginning, it’s just the three of us; I know right away that they both love me. My days are filled with walks around the cul-de-sac that we live on, which I can’t ever get enough of, and treats for doing silly things like sitting or lying down, or, Eric’s favorite, he demands “shake” and I hold out my paw and he shakes it. That always leads to the most treats and never goes without a “what a good girl!” They let me run loose too. I bring back gloves from the neighbors’ garages, to show that I love them as much as they love me. The word family suits us perfectly. At night, Ella tosses me popcorn from the shiny silver bowl as she reads in bed. I curl up around Ella’s feet, and rest my head on her ankles staring up with curiosity at her belly that seems to be growing larger and larger.

My life is lonely at first because of the tiny human. I cry because Eric and Ella rarely ask me to shake, or do other tricks anymore. Even though they were senseless, I loved them because of how proud their smiles made me feel. I have to wait longer between walks, and often am scolded for trying to get a better look at the incredibly small human. I miss the times when it was just the three of us, a family where I like to think I contributed so much to their happiness. That’s all I really ever wanted to do, make them happy.

The tiny human’s name is Jane. It doesn’t take long for us to become best friends once she becomes a little less tiny. One of us is always following the other. She often grabs a tuft of my fur and giggles; I lick her face. Sometimes, much to my chagrin, she will dress me up in people clothes. It really is my least favorite game, uncomfortable, restricting, and humiliating, but she is so delighted by wrapping Ella’s scarfs around me, or putting her hair bows on my fur, that I put up with it.

I hate thunderstorms. Tonight they left me alone in the basement. I only want to be good for them, but sometimes fear is impossible to ignore, even for those you love. The thunder grows louder and seems to shake the entire house. Rain is pouring down the windowpanes, and flashes intermittently light up the basement in an eerie white light. I feel trapped, instinct takes hold and I begin feverishly to rip through the drywall that I imagine must be between the outdoors and me. When I reach the pink fluff of insulation I become aware of the pain that is shooting through my nails, but worse than that pain is the thought of the shame that will be inevitable when my family arrives home. No sooner had I thought that, I hear the familiar rumbling of the opening of the garage door, and feel my tail immediately lower. The door clicks open and I hear Ella inhale sharply as she flicks on the light. Jane is asleep in her arms.

“Oh Marmalade, what are we going to do with you?”

An unfamiliar sound and a sense of unease awake me from a nap one day. Sun pours in through the front window, illuminating tiny specks of dust in the air; I know it must be afternoon. I follow the source of the noise down the hall, my nails clicking on the tile floor, and find Jane crouched on the floor crying, I couldn’t believe I didn’t hear her come in from the bus. She’s old enough now that Eric and Ella trust her to come home to only me, but I questioned their judgment. Unable to know why she is so sad, I sit down at her feet and stay until her tears dry.   It makes me anxious that she is upset, so I nuzzle up to her and lick her hand in an effort to comfort her, and to say “I will always stay by your side.”

I sleep in Jane’s room nearly every night now. The stairs are too much for me to climb to Eric and Ella’s room on the second floor. Gone are the days of chasing the mailman’s truck all the way to our house from the bottom of the hill… I guess I’m an old dog now. But with this new territory of being old, I’ve come to realize the happiness that things as simple as napping in the sun while watching Jane read a book can bring.  There’s a certain upholstered couch that belongs only to me that is a particularly good spot to observe them from.   They must think it’s unappealing since it is the only piece of furniture in the living room that they let me sleep on anymore and I shed more than I used to. Jane still makes the most time for me out of the three of them, even after they got her the little kitten a few years ago. It puzzles me to think about life without Jane. But I don’t think I have to. She’s still only a relatively small human, really.

***

            It was not so long ago that Eric and Ella drove me to my new home with them on the hill, and yet it was a lifetime ago. I feel wholly content, as Jane holds me now. I think back to how small she was when I first met her; it amazes me that she has grown to be nearly the same size as her mother and father. They are here too, I feel their warm hands brushing my fur, but my eyes are heavy with sleep; a new sleep that I feel wrapping around me like a blanket, warm and safe. I feel Jane kiss me on the head; and am overwhelmed by my intense adoration for her. I wish I could tell her not to be sad as I look up at her and nuzzle back; but I think she might have understood my thoughts, because through her tears she lets out a laugh and smiles at me.

I am happy.

 

 

Short video about a really nifty small business I just stumbled upon! I Love the inspiration behind her unique line of bags. It’s so cool when people are able to combine aspects of things that they are passionate about and turn it into a living, thereby sharing their passion with others.

Makers: Forestbound

Advice From a Novel

I love when I finish a book and it leaves me with a good story, but also some ideas or suggestions relevant to my own life.  I recently finished reading Humans by Matt Haig which was exciting in and of itself because it was one of the few books that in the past year I read of my own choosing, and not because it was assigned for a class.  Although it would probably be considered science fiction for the presence of alien beings and magic, it was in some way believable, and not at all childish (I am usually not a fan of science fiction- although it’s close relative, magical realism, I love).  It was similar in many ways to Kurt Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse Five.  So if you were a fan of that one and are looking for something similar, I think you’d enjoy it.

Screen Shot 2014-05-28 at 6.46.24 PM

 

Here are some of my favorite pieces of advice from Humans:

-”Don’t worry about your abilities.  You have the ability to love, that is enough.”

-”Sometimes, to be yourself you will have to forget yourself and become something else.  Your character is not a fixed thing.”

-”Tragedy is just comedy that hasn’t come to fruition.  One day we will laugh at this.  We will laugh at everything.”

-”If you are laughing, check that you don’t really want to cry, and vice versa.”

-”You can’t find happiness looking for the meaning of life.  Meaning is only the third most important thing.  It comes after loving and being.”

-”You don’t have to be anything.  Don’t force it.  Feel your way, and don’t stop feeling your way until something fits.  Maybe nothing will.  Maybe you are a road, not a destination.  But make sure it’s one with something to look at out of the window.”

I think that those should speak for themselves.

EG