You Move Me

I can remember being in the third grade and standing in my kitchen in Somewhere, USA. The house was all but empty, the refrigerator stood strangely naked of its usual eclectic covering made up of mine and my siblings artwork, the cabinet doors concealed nothing but empty shelves, the floor held the marks from my roller skates that Mom let me roll around the table in. I heard the voices of strange men and women in my front yard laughing and talking with my parents. And all around me, I could feel the air settling. It was a strange feeling that still sends chills up my spine. My family was moving. After a few moments of solitude, the door swung open with all the force my brother could muster. It slammed into the wall, and for once I didn't worry that it would leave a hole in the wall.

"Come on! We're waiting for you!" he yelled; not unpleasantly, but with all the excitement he couldn't conceal.

I gave the room one last sweeping glance, grabbed my book bag, and ran outside as I heard the screen door squeal and bang behind me from excessive use for the last time. I felt my little white sandals fill with sand as I ran across the dirt driveway. After a short prayer for safety, my brothers, sisters, and I climbed into the strange van. I scooted across the long bench seat to watch the only home I could ever remember disappear in a cloud of dust the tires kicked up, and so began our journey to a new house I'd never seen.

Today (yet again), I have been reading Sylvia Plath's unabridged journals. Sylvia Plath; Aunt Sylvy. She makes me think things that I never have considered. I feel things that I have never felt. She saw the world so differently, and I am just a student, awe-struck by her voice. She has a way of writing exactly what I feel, finding the words that seem to elude me, and yet, she was so dissatisfied with her work and her life. I was reading one of her entries today about how much she wished she were as talented as a peer. If only she could have seen herself through different eyes...maybe she'd still be alive today.

I've never wanted to meet a poet/writer so badly before I began reading her work. I realized this afternoon that because of Aunt Sylvy, I feel as if I've crossed a threshold. There comes a point in each of our lives when we realize that things will never go back to "normal." One of my favorite bands, The Goo Goo Dolls, has a line in their song "Iris" that I always think about when I feel the present becomes history. They sing, "And you can't fight the tears that ain't coming, or the moment of truth you realize. When everything feels like the movies, yeah, you bleed just to know you're alive." It's hard to unlearn something or to actually learn it for the first time.

As children, we are fascinated with the world around us. The changing colors of the trees or the little green sprouts bursting through the warm earth. We don't understand all the scientific and cultural rules yet, and everything is exciting--and somewhat magical. Aunt Sylvy writes in her stream of consciousness journal entry:

After being conditioned as a child to the lovely never-never land of magic, of fairy queens and virginal maidens....To go from this to the world of "grown-up" reality. To feel the tender skin of sensitive child-fingers thicken...to become aware of school, exams (the very words are as unlovely as the sound of chalk shrilling on the blackboard,) bread and butter, marriage, sex, compatibility, war, economics, death and self. What a terrible blighting of the beauty and reality of childhood. Not to be sentimental, as I sound, but why the hell are we conditioned into the smooth strawberry-and-cream Mother-Goose-world, Alice-in-Wonderland fable, only to be broken on the wheel as we grow older and become aware of ourselves as individuals with a dull responsibility in life?

But despite this feeling of "new-ness," I can't help but feel a level of excitement. I have been so desensitized and callous toward so many words, thoughts, and ideas lately--that her voice has hit me like an unexpected rainstorm in the middle of a drought. Although she scares me, I know that some of our greatest experiences are born out of fear...or rather the conquering of that fear. Aunt Sylvy and I have a lot of life, love, and thoughts yet to discuss, but one thing I know for sure is that with each word of hers, I am changing.

And sometimes I get nervous when I see an open door. Close your eyes, clear your heart, cut the cord. --The Killers "Human"

Oh but you move me

You give me courage I didn't

Know I had

You move me on

I can't go with you

And stay where I am

So you move me on

--Susan Ashton "You Move Me"

A Cup of Tea

There are few joys in life that measure up to the innocence and pleasure of a hot cup of tea. There is something so cleansing and refreshing in such a small and somewhat trivial ritual. I think I first began drinking tea when I was 10 or so. My dad, an avid tea and coffee drinker, brought home some green tea. He asked if I wanted a cup, and before I knew it, I was hooked. My sisters appalled the taste, but I knew, even then, that tea would become very special to me.

One summer I had the opportunity to work on the leadership team for a summer camp. I was so excited about the chance to serve in such a capacity, but reality set in faster than I could ever have imagined. Before the first week was over, I was struggling with fears and frustrations. I was the youngest one on leadership and I had one of the most challenging groups the camp had ever seen. How was I supposed to lead a team of women when I didn't feel adequate?

After a particularly trying day, I broke down in the office and wept. Thankfully, I was greeted with a dear friend's sympathy. She made me a cup of tea, and we talked about everything that evening. From our hopes and dreams, to our vices and failures. I had known her from the year before, but in those moments, I knew we had passed an invisible barrier from friends to much, much more. Occasionally, I feel homesick as I sip a cup of Tazo Passion tea--homesick for her.

I have one set of living grandparents, but they don't even know my name...sad really. I wish daily that I had grandparents, especially a grandfather, I would have loved the tar out of him. I don't live near any family either, so the first time I went to my mentor's house, it was an new experience for me. She doted on me like I see grandparents and aunts dote upon their beloved family members. She made me biscuits and listened to me tell silly stories of little importance. It was so lovely I could have cried. The last thing she did before she kissed me good night was make me a cup of piping hot peach tea. I curled my fingers around the over sized cup and breathed in the fragrant steam. The world seems to soften when seen through the steam of a cup of tea.

I read an article in high school about a woman who associated letters with colors. She remembered people's names because she remembered their colors. (I did the same things as a child, so I knew immediately what she was talking about.) And I had a friend tell me, "We don't remember everything that people tell us, but we do remember how they make us feel when we are around them." What a wise statement. I merge the two ideas about people. I often think of a particular color or sensation when I think about a person, but sometimes the feeling I get when I think of a friend is more than just a memory of how their hands feel when they pat my back. Sometimes, I get the dearest feeling sensation when their name arises...the intimacy of sharing a cup of tea.

As I sit at my computer, sipping my peppermint tea and composing these last few sentences, I realize that their are few people that I feel close enough to share this sacred experience with. Just as a woman selects who she will take wedding dress shopping with her, so I select who will be invited to share a cup of tea with me.

"Tea! thou soft, thou sober, sage, and venerable liquid,... thou female tongue-running, smile-smoothing, heart-opening, wind-tippling cordial, to whose glorious insipidity I owe the happiest moment of my life, let me fall prostrate. " ~Colley Cibber, Lady's Last Stake

"You can never get a cup of tea large enough or a book long enough to suit me. " ~C.S. Lewis

Yes, I'm 5'10'', and I Wear Heels

It's true. I love being tall. There is something so freeing about being able to reach any book on the shelf in the library. My bestie likes to shop with me because I can get clothes from the top racks for her (she 5' 5''...Oh yeah, and because she loves me).

I remember being in 3rd grade and being the tallest one in the class, even taller than the teacher. We had raised butterflies in our class from caterpillars. When their wings were finally dry enough to fly, Mrs. X let them fly around the classroom. (An incredible thing when you're 8). Unfortunately, we had ceiling fans, and the butterflies just couldn't stay away from them. Being the tallest in the class, I was summoned to stand on the desk and pull the tiny chain to turn them off. I was pretty much a class hero for the rest of the year. Good times...good times...

I can't say that my height doesn't bother me at times, though. There are times I wish nothing more than to be an average height. For instance, riding in someone's matchbox size car is always a challenge. Taking pictures usually results in my standing in the back or bending down so the photo will look more "symmetrical." Even in class or at the movies, I feel terrible for wanting to sit in the front; I always seem to be in the way. Yet, I think I could deal with all of that if it were not for the dating aspect.

Being somewhat taller than average poses a problem in the dating arena. Dating someone shorter than me always embarrasses me. I try not to let it show, but honestly, its horrible. I don't know if he is ever bothered by it, but I know I am. What girl wants a date with a guy who comes all the way up to her shoulder? (Answer: Not many...possibly none). Then the jokes start pouring in...the "Amazon Queen" joke is over used. There isn't anyone as of late who has caught my eye. I realized about 3 years ago that 1.) I live in a small town 2.) I go to a small school 3.) AND I'm 5'10''--Three strikes, and I'm out. I'm not actively searching for someone, but if he comes along, I won't complain. In the mean time and between time, I'll proudly wear my heels to class.