Patchwork of Love

Today, when driving in to work, I heard a phrase on the radio that I completely fell in love with. Two women were talking about their parents and how the relationship between their parents had shaped their lives. One of the women described seeing her mother and father exchange loving, tender glances. She stated that such moments helped build and shape a patchwork of love that would endure into her adult life.

Patchwork of love. Such a beautiful thought. When I heard the words, I immediately imagined a huge, intricate quilt with vivid and unique patches, woven together with a myriad of different threads. I imagined that my own quilt could stretch far across the sky, wrapping the Earth itself in a warm, comforting embrace.

There would be patches of the strangers who darted in and out of my life and yet left an indelible mark of kindness.

Patches of animals and pets, their fuzzy souls making everything more fulfilled and complete, their friendship filling a gaping hole of loneliness through so many heartbreaks.

Patches of friends, those I can touch and those I can only speak to through words on a screen, but all of those who reached out and whom I reached out to for a lasting connection of laughs and tears, shared happiness and fears.

Patches of memories. Of Pawpaw. Of vacations to Florida. Of Easter egg hunts and Christmas mornings. 

Patches of the family I so adore, the blessing of a lifetime, the genesis of my own patchwork of love, the memories shared, the bond of blood, the certainty that if I ever need them they’re always just right there.

Patches of the man I love, the partner and friend. Patches of his hugs and kisses and the comfort of his smell and the sweetness of his heart. Patches woven together across great distances with a strong thread that cannot be broken or cut or torn apart.

I am blessed with patches of many shapes, sizes, and colors, but as beautiful as my own quilt is, I find myself even more marveled and mesmerized by the patchwork of love of others, by the differences I see in each. Because truly, the most incredible thing about a patchwork of love is that not everyone's will be built the same or look the same. 

Some will be sewn together later in life, past the dark days of an undeserved childhood, past the void left empty by those who should love you the most. Some love has to be built from the ground up with a family that may not be from blood but is instead from the heart. The threads of this patchwork are like steel.

Some, the lucky ones, are born with a patchwork already started for them. From the moment they are conceived, so is the soft quilt that will envelope them through childhood and on.

Some will endure rips, tears, burns. Some may even begin to unravel at certain times, but they will be sewn back together. They will from this darkness be stronger than ever.

Some patchworks...most I would say...will revolve around family. Families of all shapes and sizes and colors. Families brought together by the only thing that really matters: Love. These are the patchworks that will be so alike and so different. These are the patchworks that we all must embrace because of that common thread, that universal thread that bonds us all, regardless of race, ethnicity, religion, or gender. 

Patchwork of love. Such a beautiful thought, and the even more beautiful thought is that each person carries with them a patchwork of love and that each one is stunningly unique and yet always tying us together with that common thread of love. 


What does your patchwork of love look like? 

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To the Mother

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To my Mama, who kissed away tears and hugged away fears, who taught me to love, to be kind and respectful, who shared everything with me from wisdom to wishes, who stood hand-in-hand with my Daddy and made me who I am today.

To his Mom, who raised such a selfless man, who raised such an intelligent man, such a goofy and loving man, who raised the man who would be my soulmate, my best friend, and my partner.

To the Mommy, who kisses a toddler's boo-boos, who looks at him with her heart in her eyes, who found the love of her life and the sweetness of a child's hugs.

To the Mother, who didn't have to be a mother, who chose to be the best mother they could ask for, who chose to raise them right, who chose to love them with her entire heart.

To the Mother, who is yet to be, who waits patiently and wishes and hopes and dreams, who will one day be who she is meant to be, will one day love the child she is meant to love.

To the Mother, who has gone away, who watches out from above, who is always in your heart, wishing all the best for you and loving you from far away.

To the Mother, whose chicks have flown the nest, who wrestles with her babies having grown up, who is always there for you even when you're the adult she dreamed of.

To the Mothers, who struggle everyday, who juggle everyday, who stress and worry and love anyway.

Happy Mother's Day

Boring

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Truth is I’m boring. An ordinary twenty-nine year-old woman hiding behind fantastical stories and characters I can only dream of knowing. I grew up in an ordinary hometown. Was raised by two ordinary, if not amazing, parents. Had an ordinary, if not happy, childhood.

I’ve not traveled very far, no further than my own country for sure. My most exciting vacations have occurred in Florida: Orlando and St. Augustine, Pensacola and Cape San Blas. I’ve been to Texas, California, Illinois…and no further.

Truth is I’m a bit of a homebody.

My simple pleasures in life are eating a good meal, cuddling on the couch with my husband, tending a small vegetable garden. Nothing too exciting, pretty ordinary and boring I guess.

I wonder sometimes how it could all fit together. An ordinary woman from an ordinary town writing, or at least trying to write, extraordinary non-fiction and fiction. I don’t have a vast well of exciting experiences to draw from. I’ve not been in many relationships. I’ve not even had that many friendships. I’m pretty much a loner with loner tendencies attempting to weave together words in an appealing and interesting way.

All of my heroes had fascinating and exciting lives. They were expatriates and war heroes, serial womanizers and alcoholics. They traveled extensively and walked on the fringes of society. They were the Hemingways and Faulkners, the O’Connors and Poes.

They were tortured and unstable. Artists driven by pain and passion.

I’m cheerful. Happy-go-lucky.

Lower middle class.

Average.

Ordinary and boring.

The closest I come to tortured and unstable is with social anxieties and neuroses. And yet, I write…just like they did. I’m driven to…just like they were.

Not all writers write from dark places. I understand that. Not all writers lead romantic, sensational lives. I understand that as well. But these heroes of mine did, these extraordinary talents who inspire me and whom I aspire to be like were never ordinary or boring…at least by this fan’s approximation.

So how does ordinary, boring me expect to follow in their footsteps? Where can I find inspiration and passion that’s equal to theirs?

The answer is…everywhere.

In the twisting limbs of the ancient oak tree that grows just down the street, watching generations come and go and change with the wind.

In the smiling, toothless grin of the construction worker who’s working hard to bring air back into my office building.

In the laughs and shared secrets between me and my husband, whispered late at night to the summer song of crickets and hoot owls.

In the ordinary, boring days that drag on too long and yet never last long enough.

In the ordinary, boring life of a woman chasing her dream and catching handfuls of wishes-come-true along the way.

I don’t have to travel the world (like Hemingway). I don’t have to drink through pain and sorrow (like Faulkner). I don’t even have to marry my cousin (like Poe). I just have to live life and perhaps look a little closer for my inspiration…because what may first appear to be ordinary and boring may actually be pretty extraordinary after all.  

Where do you find inspiration? In grand adventures or everyday blessings?


Speaking of extraordinary, have you visited yeah write yet?

Mouse-Earing the Pages

150 days. 150 days stand between me and a Disney World vacation.

Although I’m counting down, I won’t wish this time away. The precious days leading up to our trip will be spent preparing, planning, and looking forward.

Basically, I will be turning into what those in the Disney know call a theme park commando.

You know my type. I schedule bathroom breaks between rides on Splash Mountain and Big Thunder Mountain Railroad. I map out the perfect route to Toy Story Midway Mania, so that when the ropes drop I’m first in line. I peruse the various restaurant menus, picking out the perfect entrée, beverage, and dessert.

It’s all pretty obnoxious. In fact, I think it’s safe to say that I get on my own nerves with all the Disney-centric talk, research, and all-consuming preparation.

But I can’t stop. Like a woman-possessed, I pore over Disney World-related websites, print out planning guides, gobble up secret tips. I’ve even started buying clothes for the trip, carefully selecting t-shirts and shorts that will be both comfortable and cute. There’s a special section in my closet where they all hang, tags still intact, waiting for their big day.

The really sad thing is (and there are many sad things here) that once I get to Disney World all of this planning will have been for nothing. We basically do whatever we want to when we want to, which is how vacation should be in my opinion, but up until that moment when we do arrive, every minute of the trip will be scheduled and overscheduled and rescheduled and back again.

And y’all, I don’t even have kids. This is a trip just for me and my husband, a fifth-anniversary celebration to the most magical place on Earth and one of my all-time favorite vacation destinations.

It may seem pretty strange at first: a childless couple in their twenties choosing to go to Disney World on vacation. Isn’t Disney World for kids, you ask? Well, yes and no. It’s for kids, but it’s also for grown-ups. For the adults who refuse to give up fun and goofiness and everyday magic.

Even Walt Disney himself believed that Disney shouldn’t be intended for kids alone, saying:  “You're dead if you aim only for kids. Adults are only kids grown up, anyway.” And I guess that’s what Jeremy and I are: kids at heart with obsessive compulsive vacation planning tendencies.

At this juncture, I’ve just about exhausted all of the planning and preparation options available to me, and believe me, there are a lot.

So this weekend I’m going to begin what I refer to as the Disney World Extravaganza notebook, a compilation of all of the menus, planning tools and tips, reservation confirmation documents, and other Disney World odds and ends, all combined stylishly in a pretty green notebook that matches our even prettier green Disney luggage.

After that, we will have around 145 more days to fill with excitement and anticipation, and therein lies my problem. When I’ve already done everything there is to do to prepare, what else is going to be there to get me pumped about the trip?

Ugh. See? Obnoxious.

What do you do to prepare for vacation? Are you a vacation planning maniac? Any tips on how to best enjoy the preparation and counting down?

This post is part of the Disney Blog Carnival. Just click on the link for great Disney-related articles and blogs!

I Was There

I was there...

...as a little girl, tucked tight with you in Mawmaw and Pawpaw's guest room, kicking you awake constantly with my flailing legs and arms. You probably hated having to share a bed with me, your annoying little sister, but I loved those nights; excitement would rush through me, the thought of a slumber party with my big sister would nearly overwhelm me. We'd lie awake and whisper to each other, sister secrets shared in the dark and away from adult ears.

I was there...

...helping you decorate for prom. Ducking behind you when your cute friends would come around. I lived in awe of your high school world, crushing on boys way older than me and worshiping you as the princess that you were. I was always just on the outskirts of your world, separate but a part of it because you allowed me to be a part of it. And those times when you didn't allow me to be a part of it? Well, I'd just tell on you like the brat that I was...and still am.

I was there....

...as we grew older, the nine years separating us became fewer and fewer, though the physical distance between us expanded. Friendship blossomed, and we were there for each other in new ways. Georgia Tech games, trips to Disney, phone conversations that would last for hours. Tough times came and went, and we had each other through it all; sisters and best friends. No one understood us like we understood each other, through both joy and pain.

I was there...

...when your water broke and a new adventure began. Labor didn't stop you from doing loads of laundry and offering to drive yourself to the hospital. You've always been strong like that...even when you think you're not, you are. The strongest person I know. And then you gave us Garrett, sweet, unique, handsome little Garrett, a new bond between us, another branch of love.

I was there...

...to watch you become a mother. Years of practicing with me, offering love and guidance, made you a pro. You handled the transition like a champ, though stresses would come and go. You began raising a polite, caring, and very nearly perfect little boy. Jeremy and I would talk about your skill and patience with him, the way you seemed to be born to be his mother.

I was there...

....and I am there. Through it all. Thick and thin. We're sisters. Alike in so many ways and just enough different to make it all more interesting and fun. I know I can call you anytime. I know I can count on you for pep talks and sharing tears. Miles may still separate us, but no distance could dampen our friendship and support of each other. Thanks for being the best big sister. Thanks for putting up with me when I was an annoying tag-a-long and tattletale. Thanks for seeing me through heartbreak and sadness. Thanks for sharing the many happy moments that build our lives.

And happy birthday!

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