Love Grows Where My Rosemary Goes

This is a project that I worked on for the Red Clay Writing Project this summer. The idea came to me at the very last minute while sitting at the Botanical Gardens during one of our writing marathons. My sister, Allison, was gracious enough to work with me on it, and it ended up being more meaningful than I even imagined. I enjoyed putting it together and sharing it with my family and the other writers in the institute.

I hope everyone who watches enjoys it. We all love our Rosemary!

Nana's Song

During the writing project I wrote this piece during our writing marathon in downtown Athens. While having a conversation with friends that day, we got on the topic of grandmothers. We all agreed that all of our grandmothers take us back to our childhood and remind us of who we are. As we exchanged stories, I mentioned that my Nana had been one of the first women in Lawrenceville to start wearing pants. Niki stopped and said, "Write that line down!! That is so cool- start your writing with that today!" and so I did. I was already writing a few pieces about her that I consider a collection (like the previous post), and this was added to it that day. Forgive me for using the same picture; I just love it. In case you wonder while you read, the stories are true.

My great grandmother was one of the first women in Lawrenceville to start wearing pants. When I think about her as a young woman, I think in sepia toned snapshots, old photographs that come alive in my head while keeping their same shades of brown. I know she was beautiful. It is both obvious from pictures and engrained in my mind as a fact of life in small town Lawrenceville. While visiting the many elderly people my grandmother checked in on even in her old age, they would get a dreamy far off look and tell me my grandparents were the best looking couple in town. It didn’t take much to convince me, even with white hair and wrinkles covering her face she was one of the most beautiful people I’d ever seen. Her beauty came from a deep place- what might have been surface level grace in her teens grew into every cell of her body, bringing joy, mercy, peace, and wisdom along with it. She wasn’t perfect, but who can even define the kind of person they would label that way? She talked a lot, and always commented on everyone’s weight. I was always too skinny or slightly pushing it. It was okay for her to be overweight, she explained, because one day she would be too old to eat and would need the extra cushion. Every Christmas, for the last ten years of her life, she would announce that this would probably be her last. Eventually we told her just to hush. But the idea of death didn’t bother her, she continuously talked about how rich her life had been. She was ready to go, and even when she did, her story was beautiful.

When she was in hospice, I had the chance to talk to her by myself. With tears filling my eyes and a heavy heart, willing my nerves to calm down, to focus, I spoke. I told her she had been the perfect example of a Christian in my life, someone who really lived out what she believed. She was kind to everyone. Age, race, social status, money—none of that mattered to her. She saw it and saw through it into who a person truly was. She had an unparalleled ability to comfort, the wrinkles on her brow moving in all the right places, the care shining through her eyes. She taught me what it meant to love others, to dance, and to laugh, but never at someone’s expense. She was both gentle and strong, one of her greatest strengths being her fierce love. When I told her what a great example she was to me and held her frail, wrinkled hand, she stirred. She looked over at me and with a humble smile managed, “I hope so.” I kissed her hands, told her how much I would miss her, and I left hysterical that day, unsure if I would speak to her again. Fortunately, I did.

The next weekend my brother got special permission to roll the piano into the room. He played her favorite hymns, and we all sang from the hymnal. We sang with joy because Nana would have it no other way. She hadn’t moved or spoken in days, but we knew she would enjoy it. Some glad morning when this life is o’ver, I’ll fly away. Her eyes fluttered as our unified voices rose together, ringing over her hospital bed. To a home on God’s celestial shore, I’ll fly away. Mom went to her side, Nana’s hands clasping hers. I’ll fly away, Oh Glory, I’ll fly away in the morning. To this day the most beautiful thing I have ever seen is this loved ninety year old woman sitting up in bed and singing with all her strength When I die, Hallelujah, by and by, I’ll fly away.

At her funeral, there were only a few people wearing black. Wearing black at funerals didn’t sit well with Nana. As she said, we should be celebrating. And also crying a little. But celebrating through our tears. So we all bought colorful new dresses and wore them with her church hats. She had closets full of colorful hats from over the years, and we brought them in boxes, asking every woman to wear one and take it home. It was a lovely sight. The sun was shining, and my sister and I read a tribute we wrote for her. She would have loved it, and I hope that she did. For the longest time, I cried when I thought of her. I wondered and wrote poems about where the love between us went now that she was gone. I have faith that she still holds it, but also it is engrained into every fiber of who I am, a trace of where I’ve come from and who I hope to be.

Nana

What were you wearing when Papa gave you this?

When he asked you to marry him, did he get down on one knee?

And what did he say and how did he say it?

Did he give a long eloquent speech?

Or was he like when I knew him in his old age: quiet, sincere, strong, and sweet?

Did you cry? Did he?

Or did you use the word “reckon”?

What did your folks say? Were they relieved, you a 16 year old girl, unable to care for you themselves?

Or did part of them die, knowing you’d move on after their too soon deaths?

Did you sneak off and kiss?

Or did circumstance cause you to grow old before it was time?

Was your beauty from wisdom, or from a carefree and joyful heart?

Did you make each other laugh?

Did that twinkle in your eye make him melt?

Did his good looks make you stay?

When you miscarried, did twirling this around your finger bring you comfort?

When your twins died, did Papa hold this and your hand in his?

When grandma was born, did this ring gently caress Papa’s face, hopeful for the future?

Nana, did you ever want to throw this at Papa?

Pack up the kids, and move along?

Or did it remind you why you must stay, the love, like the ring, never ending?

Nana, did you know the love this ring symbolized would birth so much?

Would bring a family together, hold the family like mortar long after your death?

Did you know you’d be a legacy, a love that would never die?

Did you know your great granddaughter would wear the ring everyday, treasuring your memory in her heart forever?

Did you know how much she loved you? Did you?

Heavier Things

Words said
Words withheld
Thoughts spoken
before their time
Falling out in broken pieces
never to be made whole
No one puts the pieces together
No one can

There is wisdom in silence
but even then
all guaranteed
is some interpretation
Or none.

90's music

I love 90's music. And I'm not a snob- I'll take almost any of it. Even Hootie and the Blowfish, which my cousins (I think) told me not to like when I was a kid.

I always wondered if I'd be like my parents and just like whatever was on when I was a kid, and in a way that sort of came true. Music takes you back. Part of the nostalgia is the relaxation of just not being an adult.  When I listened to this music I was concerned about my friends, watching movies, laughing hysterically with my sisters and brother in the living room. We watched TGIF and ordered stuffed crust pizza, inviting our best friends to come over and hang out. I never had that adult-like pressure I feel too often now that comes with having to be mature for most of my day.

So when I was sitting, trying to write without success today, this great 90's song comes on my Pandora playlist. Before I re-introduce you to this song, I think it is interesting to tell you that the thought in my head that wouldn't jump onto the paper had to do with the power of words. There are too many thoughts flying around in my head to pin them down, or the second I get really serious about pinning them, they all fly out of my head. So this was a weird song to hear in the middle of my frustration with writing. I have heard this song about a thousand times without ever noticing the lyrics. I'll include the first verse, too:

 "Hook" by Blues Traveler
It doesn't matter what I say
So long as I sing with inflection
That makes you feel I'll convey
Some inner truth or vast reflection
But I've said nothing so far
And I can keep it up for as long as it takes
And it don't matter who you are
If I'm doing my job then it's your resolve that breaks

Because the hook brings you back
I ain't tellin' you no lie
The hook brings you back
On that you can rely


I never realized that song was such a trick; John Popper got me! But I was only 7 in 1994, so he shouldn't be too proud. I mean, would you feel high and mighty if you tricked this face?

  Of course not. I was already a real loser. But now that I'm an adult and actually listened to the lyrics it really is a great song. It reminds me of a trick I used to play in middle school where I'd tell a joke with no real punch line and start laughing hysterically. Nine times out of ten the person with laugh along with me, not admitting they didn't get it. I swear I wasn't a bully- I don't know why I did it. A guy at work tried the same thing on me though, and I was not fooled. Sort of a Slumdog Millionare moment.

 The song makes me think of things that I thought when I was little that just aren't true. For example, I thought all your food went into different compartments of your stomach. I thought Snow White loved to clean, and that I would love it one day, too. I thought My Best Friend's Wedding was an awesome movie. I thought the show "All That" was funny. I didn't realize how creepy Mr. Rogers was.

I know the song works on multiple levels. I'll let you have the fun in breaking it down if this piqued your interest like it did mine. Chances are you already knew all about this song, but it was a fun little realization for me. Like when I realized half way through my calculus course at UGA that I didn't even need it. :)

Every name has a story.

I think of my name as high class 1980’s because that was what my mother was when she named me.  Check out this picture of her about a year before I was born (that's my older sister). See? 1980's classy. They actually hung that picture in the photography place, and why wouldn't they? I won't show you her Glamour Shots only because I don't have them, but you would see how awesome looking she really was. Her smoldering facial expressions and the popped collar say it all. Sorry, mom, Glamour Shots are funny in retrospect no matter how beautiful and wonderful the person in them. 

Many women choose names they find both classy and not overly common, and this is what my mom's intention was. Unlike other women who think they are being different, but end up picking a name that is actually trending in that same time period (so how could they have known it would actually be common?), my name stayed a rare name.

In fact, one baby naming book my cousins and I glanced through for fun described the name Audrey as being "so far out it will always be out." Ouch. That was pretty hard to hear as a pre-teen. During my early years, I hated the name Audrey. I have a vague memory of asking my mom if I could go by "Marie" in middle school, and she said yes, probably realizing I'd feel weird and wouldn't go through with it. 

 

I hated that my name was so unique. I wanted pencils and coffee mugs from Six Flags with my name on it- if my name was Tiffany or Brittany, I would have the cool accessories those girls had in class. I ran to every key chain stand in stores, and if my name was on whatever cheap piece of plastic they were selling, I would gladly spend the money. Thankfully, it was a rare occurrence.

In middle and high school, Audrey Hepburn became a sort of chic person to like, a classier Marilyn Monroe, so I told people I was named after her. I wasn’t though. If I told you that in the past, I'm sorry. You were deceived. She did inspire me to like my name though, because she wore it so well. The only other Audrey's I met were about 80 years old, and she would have been, but it was her iconic young image that survived.

In high school I carried a purse with Audrey Hepburn's picture on it, maybe hoping people would connect me to that same classy face. As one of the only other people to share my name (besides the occasional "Oh! That's my great aunt's name!"), I took it upon myself to learn about her. I still have several books about her, and it turns out she was a great person for me to learn about as I was growing up. Mom wanted a name for me that was classy and feminine. She was. Looking at these quotes by her, you can see she wasn't the worse role model for a teenage girl such as myself:

Her inspiring words still sit with me today; I still resonate with themes of trying to see beauty not as outward but as inward, striving to care more about others, seeing sense of humor as an essential quality in myself and others.
 So, thanks, Audrey Hepburn, for helping me like my name.

I also liked that the name's meaning was "noble strength." I liked the idea of that. It made me think of  gentleness. We often think of strength as being a dominating quality, but coupled with wisdom and gentleness, you get a sort of noble strength. Doing the right thing when it doesn't feel easy. Helping other people. Speaking words of encouragement or hard words of truth, and holding your tongue when that is what is right. When my faith became my own around the age of 16, I wanted to fit my name even more. I still hope that I do.

To end on an awesome, silly note, I did find my mom's Glamour shots. I don't think you're ready for this:

*My mom is a trooper and I did get permission for this. Not only does she look awesome, but she has a pretty great sense of humor.

What's in a name? Actually, a lot (although I won't talk about it in the same context as Shakespeare).

Names have personalities all on their own. For example, let's look at this name: Elberton Dipplefippy. What do you think of? A guy so cool you are afraid to even be near him? A small, blond toddler?  The nerdy guy in school who makes it big later in life? A hippie? The answer is:
the guy who is so cool you are afraid to even be near him. But you wouldn't think so, right?

Names have personalities of their own before even connect them to a person. This is why authors spend a lot of time deciding on character names, why couples have conversations about their future children's names way before they get there. I wonder, are our personalities affected, shaped even, by our names?

Everyone's name has a story, a meaning. Everyone has an opinion of their name, and they should. You have to wear that thing for the rest of your life. Here are some discoveries, thoughts, and reactions I've had when talking to people about their names:

• I've heard people say that the name they have is not the one they would choose for themselves. While I'm sympathetic to the thought, how could that work, though? Not have a name until you can talk? Then you're name would be something ridiculous like "Strawberry Shortcake" or "Mom." 
• Every family has a strange name story. Ours has more than one. My great grandfather's name was "W.L." and the entire time I was growing up, I heard "Dubyell." Those two intitials as his name were literally on his birth certificate. Also, I have distant relatives on my mother's side where a man named Jule married a woman named Jewel. What did they name their two children, a boy and a girl? You guessed it. Jule and Jewel. So the whole family had the same name, which then required nicknames. He became Brother Boy and she became Baby Jewel.
• This brings me to nicknames. People love them or hate them or feel weird about them and can''t decide. A girl I know named "Elizabeth" said that people are always trying to shorten her name when she likes it the way it is. Others hate their real name so they gladly welcome them, or they see them as a term of endearment. It's not cool to make up nicknames for yourself. I think we can all agree here.
• Being named after people has some issues that go along with it. Sometimes people don't end up being anything like the person they were named after, and feel strange because of it. I've heard people say that they felt a weird pressure to live up to that person. Others love it. I'm sure my sister, Mary Lou, loves it because our grandma rocks and so does she. We call her Lou because my brother started it, and that is what our grandpa used to call our grandma, which we all saw as playful. It suits her well.
• People grow into their names. I didn't like my name when I was little. I do now. My sister said the same thing. I think we go through phases where we learn to wear our skin a little better; maybe that goes for our names as well.
•  It's annoying when people get your name wrong. It's so important to be good with names, and everyone's been in that awkward position where they can't remember someone's name they really should know. Or been called the wrong name but it's gone on for too long and you can't stop it so you avoid them at all costs. Names are personal, part of our identity- that's why I hate it when people pronounce my students' names wrong, and why I ask a million times the first week of school if I am saying it right.

For the sake of keeping it sort of short, I'll stop. I'd love to hear of any other realizations about names you might have, or if you like your name.  I wrote a bit about my own name for class that I'll probably tweak and post tomorrow.

By the way, I made up the name Elberton Dipplefippy- it literally doesn't exist. I googled it, and this is what I saw:

Something New

Although I have thought about creating a blog for some time now, I never give myself enough time to work out the technology, nor do I trust myself to get into a normal routine. I'm still not great at technology, and I may abandon this in a few weeks, but I thought, why not? I can mark it off my bucket list, and see if I like it enough to keep going. Right now I am part of the Red Clay Writing Project at UGA, so for the next 3 weeks I'll have about two hours of scheduled writing time in the afternoon (pretty awesome, right?).

I came up with the idea for the title of the blog in the very same 68 seconds I decided to write a blog. 
I wondered what I would write about, and then I thought about something my dad used to say when I was growing up. He'd ask me what I learned at school, and like I'm sure my students do to their parents, I would shrug and say, "Nothing really." He would look at me like I was crazy and say, "You learn something new every day."


Why I Choose the Title "Something New"

• The word "new" has a great connotation- a new outlook, new day, new season, they even have a new car smell crayon.
• "Something New" doesn't lock me in to anything. In fact, it will give me more to write about.
• I write all the time and don't share it- the sharing part will be new to me, even if only my mom reads it. Hi, mom. I knew you'd read this :)
• It's a good reminder to look for new things, do new things, create new things, meet new people, take on a new challenge
• This is one of my favorite pictures I have taken, and I love it because of the message it sends. It represents something new.  Every time I see it, I want to jump on the bike and go somewhere new. 
•  I'm ready to turn over a new leaf, start something new. This was a challenging year for me, and it's always refreshing to have a new start.
•  The Christian faith is full of themes of newness: becoming a new person, renewing your mind, singing a new song, a new covenant through Jesus, receiving new mercy every morning (thank God (literally) because I need it), new life, etc.
•  The first verse that came to my mind with this title is one that has been very encouraging to me in the past. In difficult seasons, I resonate with this, and it brings me comfort: "My beloved said to me, 'Arise my darling, my beautiful one,/ See! the winter is past; the rains are over and gone/ Flowers appear on the earth/ the season of singing has come, the cooing of doves are heard in our land.'"

Things you may or may not see on my blog: things I wonder about, a brief thought, random lists, poetry, new experiences, old experiences (I'm not knocking the old- writing about it will be new), bizarre/funny/stunning/interesting things I see or hear, fiction pieces I try (keyword: try), an occassional grammatical or spelling error even though I teach English (did you catch it?), and other stuff.
*You will not see food because I cannot (or rather do not) cook, and it is mean to show you food when you cannot take it out of the computer and eat it.
I'll try to post daily, and I'll try to keep it short. Hope I get a few readers- right now I've got three (my mom, my husband, and my sister, Allison). Hi, Allison, I knew you'd read it, too. :)