Mama, everything you do affects us. When you’re unhappy, we’re unhappy. When there are consequences, we feel them, too.
Mama, think of us.
We love you, Mama. Think of us.
Carefree and Campy
During our “break-up” talk, my now ex-boyfriend did everything he could to hurt me. One comment, however, had entirely the opposite effect.
“You’re kind of…offbeat,” he said, in a tone clearly not meant to be complimentary.
“Yes, I am,” I replied with a smile. Truer words were never said.
A junior high crush worded it differently, and at the time, it did hurt. “She’s different,” he told my friend when she asked the crucial question, “do you like her?” I felt like an outsider then.
As part of my offbeat side, I’ve always been drawn to the campy. While my wardrobe is actually fairly conservative, in fact, at this point, one might say, boring, I easily could have become known for a flamboyant style. Back in high school my life-long love of classic films began, particularly the Fred Astaire/Ginger Rogers films of the 30s. Their second to last movie with RKO Pictures, Carefree (1938), featured Ginger in a couple of outfits I desperately wanted to emulate.
Carefree is not the best Astaire/Rogers film, either in plot or dance numbers, but this sweater caught my attention. It’s actually a bit, well, tacky, compared to what Ginger normally wore, but is true to the character, who has the hearts & minds of a variety of men and can’t make up her mind whom she cares for most.
If you can’t tell from the picture, it’s a picture of a heart with numerous arrows aimed straight for it. It also has what is, on me, a flattering neckline, and slightly puffed sleeves, a look I favored for a time in my teens (hey, it was stylish then, I swear.)
I probably wouldn’t wear it today, but the sweater still makes me smile. It reminds me of a time in my life that, like the title of the movie, was carefree. Yes, I had my concerns and burdens. It was not an easy time in my life. But when it comes to adult responsibilities, I had few.
Life was ahead of me. Choices were exciting, opportunities were boundless. There are still choices and opportunities for me, but my life no longer stretches in front of me. My health limits me at times.
Still, I look for that desire in my life to create something new and exciting, modified for the times yet not compromised. Perhaps it’s time to watch Carefree again.
Back Where I Started
Every few months I plan a trip to drive the 657 miles from my home to my mom’s. I don’t mind long drives, even though I’m worn out at the end (at least the drive home). I’ve gotten to know the radio stations in each city, what areas have no phone reception, and where to stop for both gas and a meal.
I’ve also learned to spend that time reflecting, pondering, thinking about things I don’t have the energy to commit to working through on a day to day basis. I pray and sometimes plead with God, and discover answers I didn’t expect.
Life is a journey, and sometimes, for me, it takes a road trip to put it all in perspective. I can live a lifetime in those ten-hour excursions, only to end up right where I left…literally. But the time on the road has changed me.
And it’s the subtle changes that bring me joy.
Photo Credit: © olly – Fotolia
Say it Loud…
Send a Note, Plant a Seed
A couple of years ago I volunteered to manage our church’s Facebook page.
There were two things I said I wouldn’t be responsible for: all of the pictures, all of the time (I simply can’t be everywhere), and responding to the messages. That, I felt, should be church leadership. I still feel that way, but our church is small, and our priest is on sabbatical. So I’m handling the messages as best I can, which usually means referring them to someone else.
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Last Sunday we got several messages asking if our church (which, although small, is very active in the community) was going to hold a vigil for the victims in Orlando. I sent out an e-mail to any and all I thought could help, and the man who’ll be preaching this Sunday responded. His sermon won’t be addressing this tragedy, he told me, and it’s important to him the church does, in whatever way we can.
I have to admit here the shootings didn’t have the same personal impact on me they’ve had on so many: the LGBT community; Orlando citizens, past and present; the Latino community; and others, such as minorities, who in one way or the other have felt disenfranchised during much of their life. But I felt compelled to pursue this, and I’m glad I did.
We agreed the local Interfaith Alliance would be a good next contact. We’re members, in fact our priest helped found the organization, and the alliance is always looking for ways to bring the community together.
Next thing I know Rabbi Rob has pulled together a community-wide vigil, held in front of the museum. I alerted the media, and they responded generously. Rob, Issa, Diego and the others did a remarkable job in a short amount of time.
Diego, a self-described “queer Latino,” is an advocate for the LGBT community at our local rape crisis center. He spoke eloquently about growing up “queer” in El Salvador, hiding his true self from others, and finding refuge and solace in the bars that would play the same music that was playing that night in Orlando where 49 people were killed and dozens of others lay wounded. He was hurting.
He and another young man read the list of names of those who died that night. The list went on forever. Forty-nine suddenly seemed like a much greater number.
I asked him if the vigil was at all cathartic, and he said it was. He spoke for those who died in a way I never could, and it reached people. It reached me.
Today I sent links to the news coverage to Rabbi Rob and Sandy, the man from my church who helped get the ball rolling. Sandy responded by saying he’d forwarded those links to his son, who, as a gay man, was deeply affected by the shootings. I didn’t even know he had a son, and I was pleased to have been part of something that may have bonded the two of them.
I sent a message to those who’d first contacted us through Facebook as well. “You may not hear this from anybody else,” I wrote, “but you can be proud of the fact that it was your message, along with a similar message from someone else, that kicked off the chain of events that led to the vigil. Thank you for your concern.”
One woman wrote back, “my daughter is always wanting to do something for the community. I’m glad I can tell her little things can grow.”
Send the note, plant the seed, make the suggestion. Maybe that’s all you can do, but the person who receives the message may know the people who have all the right contacts for desired end result.
It’s good to be a link in a chain of healing.
Image Credits (Top) © Graphic Stock (Bottom) © Bigstock
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