The Inclination to Run

I've always had it in me to run.  And not in the 40 yard dash kind of way.  Whether I was watching Runaway Bride or listening to Wide Open Spaces I was always fascinated with getting away.  Away from all of those people who just wouldn't stop.  Who always had a comment, because apparently nothing I did ever warranted a simple smile in acceptance.  When I was in the fourth grade I found my first escape.  My cousin was over, and I had simply had enough. I asked her to just leave me alone.  She refused.  I locked myself in my Grandmothers guest bathroom, and got lost in a book called Lily's Crossing.  She knocked, yelled, and slipped notes under the door.  But I didn't respond, because I wasn't there.  I was on the South Carolina shore, helping Lily solve a mystery.  In middle school I found my need to be somewhere else constant.  In the seventh grade I read Wicked, five times.  I carried it with me to every class in a gallon sized zip lock baggy, to keep it free from pencil marks.  In Oz, it didn't matter that I never understood my math homework or that today my best friend decided she didn't want to me my friend anymore.  There no one could tell me that I had a bad attitude or that I didn't try hard enough or that I'd never amount to anything special.  Looking back I know that the only way I made it through was because I knew how to run. Recently I heard a story about a man who dropped out of college because he couldn't find a parking spot one day.  I couldn't help but think that sounded like something I would do.  There comes a point when you just can't take it anymore and you have to get out.  Most people are taught that running is bad.  You hear that nothing good comes from leaving your problems in the dust.  Those people are wrong.  It's a way to survive. Forgetting is the hardest thing in the world to do.  But I know how. If I had to pick my favorite book, I would chose The Secret Garden.  It's the story of a miserable little child.  She has a bad attitude, she doesn't try hard enough, and it just so happens that she turns out to be extraordinary. She finds a place that she calls her own, where she can go to escape.  Eventually she shares her secret world with a few special people, and they find that they enjoy the escape too.

Would you like to run away with me?

Cemetery Trip

Every now and then the fam and I like to hop in the car and venture around Lexington.  Today we found ourselves at Lexington Cemetery, then across the street at Calvary Cemetery, and finally at Bluegrass Memorial Gardens.  Here are some of my favorite pictures I managed to snap.

I hope you had a beautiful Sunday and I thank you, whoever you are for taking a moment to look at my blog! :)

Fish Aren't For Everyone

     Once upon a time, I was seven years old.  I wanted a fish.  The thing is, I don't like fish, they are gross.  My mama told me I wouldn't like a fish, and that I would kill it.  But then when I won one at the fair, I was so ecstatic that she just had to let me keep it.  And keep it I did.  For twelve minutes.  When I got home I put the fish in a plastic cup and filled it with water.  But the water was cold, and fish can't wear sweaters- so I decided to warm him up in the microwave.  Poor fish didn't last ten seconds in there.  So he died, and the smell of fish sticks filled the house.  I hate fish sticks. 


*I found this on a sheet of lime green paper stuffed in between two folders in the back of my closet.  I think I wrote it sometime in middle school.  I mean, I think I'm pretty freakin' hilarious. And no it's not a true story.  But yes, I do hate fish sticks. 

Lucille Writes

Last night while going through a box of old things I came across some notes handwritten by my Great Aunt Lucille.  Many of them are poems or small blurbs, some are funny, and almost all of them are pretty darn insightful.  I'm guessing they are things she came across in magazines or the newspaper, but who knows- maybe she wrote some of them herself.  I thought I might share some every now and then. 

This first one was written on Sunday March 22, 1981 and is titled, "Rain." 

Into each life some rain must fall

by poets we are told

That's why they make umbrellas for

the young and for the old

The fact that you are young in years

Is not a certain sign

That you'll escape the heartbreaks or

your world will always rhyme

For God somehow sees to it all that

we all will have our share

And somehow on this road of life

we'll have a cross to bear

Some folks are glad to carry it

they always wear a smile

While others make an awful fuss

and providence defile

So why not learn this simple prayer

And say, "Thy will be done"

Then you'll not need a raincoat when

your rainy seasons come

I say we all try to be the type of people who always wear a smile, because really what bad can come from it?   I thank Lucille for writing this and the others down, and I thank my Great Uncle Jimmy for finding them, taking the time to read them, and passing them over to me.  

And to those who are reading this, as Lucille always says...  "Luli loves ya!"  And Lauren loves you too.  :) 

Little Brown Boots

I hate shoes.  I don't care how stereotypically Kentucky it is, but I would have no problem walking around barefoot on any given occasion.  When I was small the only pair of shoes I would keep on my feet for any length of time were my little brown boots.  Growing up I was at my Grandma's house just about everyday, and at the time my uncle lived with her.  He had long hair, drove a little red pick up truck, and always smelled like cigars or freshly mowed grass.  He always wore boots.  I can hardly recall him ever being inside the house.  He could always be found in the garage or out in the yard.  He could fix anything, and put up a fence, redid the deck, and built a shed in the backyard like it was nothing at all.  He was close to his mom, paced when he listened to music, liked taking pictures of flowers, and sometimes just needed to be left alone.  Sound familiar?  Little did I know I would grow up to be just like him.  There's a lot of talk now-a-days about kids of divorces.  I can honestly say that I never felt like I missed anything by not having a father, because I had something better.  I had a Dave.  He bought me my first bike, let me jump around on his waterbed, and always made my Grandma put me down so I could explore things on my own.  He no longer lives with my Grandma and he ditched the mullet long ago, but he still drives that little red truck.  We don't talk much now, but we're not really the talking kind.  Deep down I know that I'm still that little girl wearing a pair of little brown boots, wanting to be just like my uncle.    

A Letter to Emily

Emily has been pestering me about a new blog post, so I decided to dedicate this one to her.

Ten things I would tell you, ETT if I could go back to 2005, the year we first met:

1.  All those hours spent watching Grease will soon pay off.

2. Enjoy playing cards while you still can, for in the future the sight of a queen of spades will illicit mouth twitching and extreme pain in the muscles of your arms.

3.  Take every opportunity you are given to talk to that lady in office, for her smile will be taken from us entirely too soon.

4.  Always pack detangling spray in your dance bag.  You never know when those thick locks will become unruly from too much hairspray and endless hours in a bun.

5.  Be kind to children; they will flock to you and always return a smile.

6.  Remember that sometimes walking away is a lot harder, and braver, than staying put.  Change is not always bad.

7.  Take a lot of pictures.  Good times can never be repeated, but can always be remembered with a smile.

8.  Really take a good look at that number on the wall at Regata counting down the days until the Equestrian Games.  They will be here and gone before you know it.

9.  Your memory is a powerful thing.  People will notice that you are one of those gems who actually listens when spoken to.  A good friend never has to be told something twice.

10.  Be you.  Be you, and everyone around you will be encouraged to follow suit.  You might just find a friend a little older than you, and a little quieter than you that finds your company the escape she was looking for.  Warning: Silliness will ensue.

Sincerely,
That blonde girl in your dance class