I had the most bonkers dream last night. Allow me to set the stage by telling those of you who do not know that my parents live in the middle of nowhere, in the thick of the country, surrounded by trees and wildlife. So there's that. Harris and I went to go visit this past weekend, where I know we talked some about bear sightings, and my Mom definitely mentioned her snake boots at least once. Probably these things were floating in the back of my subconscious as I was going to sleep last night. However, it dawned on me this morning, as I was rehashing this crazy dream, that the dream was my version of an Aesop's Fable. A Ligon Fable, if you will.
In my dream, it was nighttime and I was in the woods behind my parents house. There is an old dried up pond back there (at least I think it is dried up - it has been some time since I have ventured to those perimeters), but in my dream the pond was overflowing with water. I am not sure why I was running, or where I was running to, but in the dream, I ran up to the pond, jumped in, and waded through. I ran a bit more, and then, for some reason, had to turn around and go back. This time, though, when I got to the pond, I heard my Mom cautioning me about snakes, (and I also thought about that one scene in Lonesome Dove - if you've read the book or seen the film, you know what I am talking about), and took time to think before just jumping in recklessly and making it to the other side as I had done before. In the course of my thinking, the water got clearer, and I saw these massive snakes (like the really grossly wide and long ones) laying in the bottom. As I continued to contemplate how in the world I was going to get back across with the (now) knowledge that these creatures were laying there just waiting for me, one snake jumped out of the water and bit me in the leg.
At face value this just seemed like a fear of snakes manifesting in my dreams after spending a weekend in the country. After further evaluation, I have determined it might be telling me something more along the lines of: sometimes it is better to leap before you look.
There has been something in life that I have been hesitating on, trying to chart out all the courses, sending up lots of prayers, making pros and cons lists, so on and so forth, and it dawned on me that maybe, in this instance, it is just time to leap. Stop worrying about all the possibilities. Stop trying to count up the snakes, and just leap into the water and swim like hell.
Showing posts with label wisdom. Show all posts
Showing posts with label wisdom. Show all posts
Thursday, January 30, 2014
Thursday, January 9, 2014
Wisdom of our Mothers
It dawned on me today, after picking up some dry cleaning (more to come on this) that, the older I get, the more like my mother I become. Shocking, I know, because don't most of us become our mothers, to some extent, at some point in our lives? I think each generation tries their very hardest to take on the absolute best characteristics of the generation before, while simultaneously tweaking some of the things they think could have been better, and what we end up with is this endless journey of, hopeful, improvement, but also the passing along of traits and quirks that make us who we are, and give our stories a bit of family history.
It makes my heart happy to grow more and more like my Mom, and I like it when other people point out to me that I am like her. I spent much of my youth rebelling against the idea of being like my Mom, mostly because I didn't understand adulthood/motherhood/wifehood. Now that I am an adult and a wife, at least, I feel like I understand the woman of my childhood quite a bit more than I did back then. Funny how that works, huh? Mom, I know I don't say it nearly enough, but I am so proud to be your daughter, and thankful for all the things that you have instilled in me over the years. And, now, just a few of the quirks passed along by my Mother:
1. A deep and unnatural hatred of wire clothing hangers. Growing up I didn't understand why my Mom bemoaned getting my Dad's shirts from the cleaners and the mass of wire hangers that came along with them. As an adult who picks her husbands clothes up from the cleaners, and then, subsequently gets annoyed by those hangers every darn time, I can more fully appreciate her dislike of them. But, would I dislike them so if it weren't for remembering my Mom's absolute dislike? Only God knows, but I do know that I have learned how to deal with my hatred of them: upon picking up clothes from the dry cleaners, immediately bring them home and transfer them from wire hanger to white plastic hanger, and throw wire hangers back in dry cleaning bag for "recycling". Problem solved. See, each generation does get a little bit better!
2. A distrust of water from a faucet. Now, granted, this is probably more because of my overall childhood than just because of my Mother, but I cannot seem to drink water from a faucet. We had well water (read: my parents still have well water) out in the country growing up, and bottled water made everything from our drinking water to sweet tea to koolaid. No joke, I ran out of bottled water last week, and tried to drink a glass from the tap. I almost vomited in my kitchen. If we go out to dinner together, you will notice I hardly touch my water (unless I am about to thirst to death and/or my food is exceptionally spicy). This is one of my husband's least favorite things about me, but it just is what it is!
3. That you really do sleep better in a made bed. As a teenager, and in my early twenties, a made bed was the absolute last thing I cared about. Really, I could sleep just as well in a bed that was freshly laundered and made as I could on a tangle of sheets that hadn't been straightened in a month. My mother bemoaned (I have her bemoaning a lot here don't I?) the fact that I never made my bed (or cleaned my room for that matter - my organizational skills were top notch back in the day - both Mom and Erica can vouch for this), and always said, "but you sleep better in a made bed". My Dad didn't really buy into this logic, and neither did I. But man oh man, let me tell you - it is Gospel truth. At the absolute bare minimum, I have got to straighten the sheets, arrange the pillows, and pull the covers back. I have even called hotel front desks before when I have gotten back in the early afternoon to discover my room has not been cleaned (bed has not been made) just to make sure they are going to get around to my room before I have to succumb and make the bed myself.
Ironically, Mom called just as I finished typing up that last little quirk there. This is how the conversation went:
Me: Funny that you are calling me right now because I am writing a blog post about you.
Mom: Oh, God. Why? What bad things are you saying?
Me: Just a little something about all the things you have instilled in me over the years that have made me into the crazy person I am.
Mom: Ooooooh great!
Me: No, no, just like, you know how you hate wire hangers. That's my first point in the post.
Mom: I do hate wire hangers!
Me: I know, so I wonder if I would hate them as much if it weren't for you.
Mom: Good point. Send me the link when you get done. This should be good.
Millions of ways my Mom has helped make me a better person, and billions of things she has taught me, thus far, in this life. I love you, Mom. Thanks for making my life less filled with wire hangers, more fill filled with plastic bottles and made beds, and overflowing with love.
It makes my heart happy to grow more and more like my Mom, and I like it when other people point out to me that I am like her. I spent much of my youth rebelling against the idea of being like my Mom, mostly because I didn't understand adulthood/motherhood/wifehood. Now that I am an adult and a wife, at least, I feel like I understand the woman of my childhood quite a bit more than I did back then. Funny how that works, huh? Mom, I know I don't say it nearly enough, but I am so proud to be your daughter, and thankful for all the things that you have instilled in me over the years. And, now, just a few of the quirks passed along by my Mother:
1. A deep and unnatural hatred of wire clothing hangers. Growing up I didn't understand why my Mom bemoaned getting my Dad's shirts from the cleaners and the mass of wire hangers that came along with them. As an adult who picks her husbands clothes up from the cleaners, and then, subsequently gets annoyed by those hangers every darn time, I can more fully appreciate her dislike of them. But, would I dislike them so if it weren't for remembering my Mom's absolute dislike? Only God knows, but I do know that I have learned how to deal with my hatred of them: upon picking up clothes from the dry cleaners, immediately bring them home and transfer them from wire hanger to white plastic hanger, and throw wire hangers back in dry cleaning bag for "recycling". Problem solved. See, each generation does get a little bit better!
2. A distrust of water from a faucet. Now, granted, this is probably more because of my overall childhood than just because of my Mother, but I cannot seem to drink water from a faucet. We had well water (read: my parents still have well water) out in the country growing up, and bottled water made everything from our drinking water to sweet tea to koolaid. No joke, I ran out of bottled water last week, and tried to drink a glass from the tap. I almost vomited in my kitchen. If we go out to dinner together, you will notice I hardly touch my water (unless I am about to thirst to death and/or my food is exceptionally spicy). This is one of my husband's least favorite things about me, but it just is what it is!
3. That you really do sleep better in a made bed. As a teenager, and in my early twenties, a made bed was the absolute last thing I cared about. Really, I could sleep just as well in a bed that was freshly laundered and made as I could on a tangle of sheets that hadn't been straightened in a month. My mother bemoaned (I have her bemoaning a lot here don't I?) the fact that I never made my bed (or cleaned my room for that matter - my organizational skills were top notch back in the day - both Mom and Erica can vouch for this), and always said, "but you sleep better in a made bed". My Dad didn't really buy into this logic, and neither did I. But man oh man, let me tell you - it is Gospel truth. At the absolute bare minimum, I have got to straighten the sheets, arrange the pillows, and pull the covers back. I have even called hotel front desks before when I have gotten back in the early afternoon to discover my room has not been cleaned (bed has not been made) just to make sure they are going to get around to my room before I have to succumb and make the bed myself.
Ironically, Mom called just as I finished typing up that last little quirk there. This is how the conversation went:
Me: Funny that you are calling me right now because I am writing a blog post about you.
Mom: Oh, God. Why? What bad things are you saying?
Me: Just a little something about all the things you have instilled in me over the years that have made me into the crazy person I am.
Mom: Ooooooh great!
Me: No, no, just like, you know how you hate wire hangers. That's my first point in the post.
Mom: I do hate wire hangers!
Me: I know, so I wonder if I would hate them as much if it weren't for you.
Mom: Good point. Send me the link when you get done. This should be good.
Millions of ways my Mom has helped make me a better person, and billions of things she has taught me, thus far, in this life. I love you, Mom. Thanks for making my life less filled with wire hangers, more fill filled with plastic bottles and made beds, and overflowing with love.
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