by Jillian @ http://blueshelled.com . May 6, 2009 . 12:14AM
Sometimes just the recognition of humanity in others reminds us of our own humanity. This brought a smile to my heart and I wanted to share it with you in the hopes that it might lift you as well. Have a wonderful day.
If you can’t see the video, please click here.
by Jillian @ http://blueshelled.com . April 25, 2009 . 5:52AM
Yesterday, AJ came into the living room and yelled joyfully, “Mama! I found a caterpillar!!” I remember the joy of childhood in which a “willyworm” could be hours of entertainment. I would watch them cross roads, pass over sticks and climb trees and stare in fascination. I grew up on a farm and often the bugs and critters I would find would be the best sort of day-passing activities for a kid who didn’t have cable television. I didn’t grow up on Disney or Zoom. We had rabbit ears and fuzzy stations.
Most kids that grow up on farms get to work. I was lucky, or spoiled depending on your view, in that I didn’t. I had pet chickens, that eventually became dinner and caused me to avoid eating chicken for 18 years. I had a pet goat and a horse. Several dogs called me owner but none of them stayed around long. I played in a chicken coop and a barn and a pasture. I ate fresh berries off the vine and peas straight out of the pod. Hot watermelon opened by cracking it on the steps of the back porch still tastes best to me. Blackberries and mulberries bursting off their vines, full of luscious ripeness, call to me.
All because of the thought of a caterpillar. AJ’s enthusiasm was contagious. I watched the caterpillar creep up his arm and search for escape. “Harold” was aptly named because he or she looked like a Harold. AJ began making plans for a long and happy life with Harold in which Harold could live in his room and eat carrots and lettuce (what AJ assumed Harold would enjoy eating) and Harold could live in a tank just like fish. When I explained how this would affect Harold, AJ’s face fell. He took a minute to process him and slowly marched outside.
When he came back in he melodramatically explained to me, “I let Harold go because it would make him happy. He deserved it.”
Don’t we all?
Harold
by Jillian @ http://blueshelled.com . April 20, 2009 . 5:30AM
When we’re children, we don’t appreciate the adults in our lives who bestow that amazing wisdom upon us that we would vacuum up as adults. In fact, we often view them as stuffy, old, or not the type of people that we want to spend time with. I don’t know that I ever really felt that way about my great-grandmother, Lucille, but I know that I didn’t understand how precious she was until long after she was gone.
My great grandmother as a young adult.
One of the things I remember is her piano. She never played it for me, rather she allowed me to plunk away on it as my mother made excuses for me and begged me to stop “ruining the piano.” My great-grandmother, in her love and her excitement over my musical happiness just blew it off and allowed me to slam, bang and make some horrible noises from that poor piano that played some beautiful hymns when her gnarled fingers would touch it’s aging keys.
As I got older, I recognized the importance of visiting her often, but it never felt like enough. When I moved away from home and got married, she was one of the few people in my life who supported me and my decisions completely. The first time she met Husband she gasped and blushed and said, “Oh my, he is a LOOKER, isn’t he. So tall and handsome.” She continued to gush until she made us all quite uncomfortable. Now, almost 10 years later, I grin and am glad she approved. See, at the time, it was impossible for me to realize that she had once been a young woman.
In Lucille’s later years, my Aunt lived with her. In 2007, after my Aunt’s passing, we found an old photo album of Lucille’s in my Aunt’s belongings. The pictures of my great grandmother and her life, in the late 1920s and early 1930s, simply took my breath away. Besides being amazing and bold, my great grandmother had such spirit within her, even then.
Lucille in Berlin on her honeymoon
My great grandmother had not been doing well for years. Cancer was overtaking her, but I was unable to visit her because I was 9 months pregnant and couldn’t make the drive to go back to my hometown and see her. I got the call that my great-grandmother had passed 3 weeks before AJ was born. I couldn’t attend the funeral, so I think there will always be a lack of closure. I carry her and her messages, with me, however, including the wisdom that, in my youth, I’d always tossed aside as something from the “old people.”
One Easter, I remember she came for dinner and under the table passed me a beautifully wrapped box. She whispered that I should wait to open it because she didn’t bring one for everyone. I’ve rarely felt so special in my life because everyone knew Lucille didn’t play favorites–she loved all of us immensely. Later that day, I opened the box and found a gold pin with the word JOY in cubic zirconia stones. At the time, I liked it because she gave it to me, but didn’t wear it because it was something of an “old person gift.” I would give anything to find it now. Anything. She taught me that joy can be found in the little things in life: The smiles of my child, a late night with friends, a cuddle from a sweet puppy, fresh lemonade. With all the things in life I strive for, joy is the one hope she had for me. I find it when I think of her.
Life is like a game. We all have challenges, thoughts, opinions and beliefs. Often, it feels like something out there, life, karma, catty people, or blue shells (for the Kart lovers), seeks to bring us down. Luckily, we always get up. This is where I wear my heart on my sleeve and my foot in my mouth.
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