"And they lived happily ever after!"

♥

Life's Inspirational Valiant Endeavors

~ "And they lived happily ever after!" ~

 

 

Let's see if I have this right. The prince wanders too far from the castle one night seeking good deeds to be done and a good time, inadvertently crossing paths with a witch of a woman (it's always a woman) that's just stumbled out of crazytown looking for a wayward prince she can undo (in the philosophical sense). Calling on her extensive knowledge of the black arts and the widely accepted truth that amphibians are a buzz kill in the bedroom, she promptly turns the young, impulsive, wet behind the ears prince into a toad. When asked why all the hostility, she grumbles, "...because, Dearie, I can." 

Cue the dewey-eyed, virginal prin-cess: merciful, sincere and a free spirit. This trusting, but clever young thing too big for her britches, strays too far from the watchful eye of those who practice common sense (her royally wary parents) searching for true love in the form of anything-not-resembling-a-toad... and a good education. 

The prin-cess falls head-over-heels for the toad.

The prince/de-cursed and reformed toad is humbled by his good luck.

They are wedded, bedded (in that order) and wake to a Whole New World where they all too soon stand facing the true meaning of marriage, parenthood... and, as is the way of the world and gravity,  inevitably a mid-life crisis in the halls of an empty castle, no longer ripe with their own youthful, wide-eyed optimism and the sweet anarchy which their children so generously delivered. But, glory be, if their luck has held out, they still have each other and all is well enough.

The witch still creeps about wreaking havoc on unsuspecting travelers, and kids with candy . The murky depths of the swamp still  shelters a toad or two. And dewey-eyed prin-cesses continue the search for themselves in fairy tales. Life goes on. The world still holds its place, inexplicably, in the universe. A moral can still be found in a good story.

"And they live happily ever after!"

Here's what boggles my mind, and disrupts my calm. The closer I inch toward the end of my life... Married: check. Babies: check. Empty castle: looming... the less infinite it becomes. (Why yes, I am married in my mid-forties with babies who are all grown up with one foot out the door. Why do you ask? ) 

People, please... for argument's sake:  If any point in an infinite universe, whether real or imagined, is in fact the center of that universe, does the fact that I recognize my own mortality, in my shriveling womb, somehow explain why I no longer feel like the center of my own universe? And if so, why'd I have to go and have a mess of kids that are, ultimately, just going to fly the coop ( the castle, in which, I live ) with their little royal tail feathers dancing in the winds of their own storybook universes, following dreams of their own making in search of their own happy endings? Is this circle of life thing meant to leave us doomed-to-be-empty-mortgage holders floating aimlessly in one gigantic, but limited, universe wishing for our carefree toad and prin-cess days again... and not merely as the victims of the stereotypical characterization and plot?

Searching for the answers to nonsensical questions like these keep this forty-something year old prin-cess up at night. I find the most reasonable path to sanity is to simply take a deep breath, place my head on my pillow, and try to think happy thoughts.

Like this one.

 

When my little prin-cess was still a little girl, I tucked her into bed listening as she, in her still infinite universe, stalled her bedtime with her own questions.  


"Mom," she asked, "what would you do if you were adopted by aliens?"

"I guess I'd ask 'em for a new spaceship," I answered. Why not, I thought. Isn't that what any prin-cess might ask for when presented with their new storybook alien parents?


She looked relieved. "So, you could come back to Earth then... anytime you wanted," she asked.
 
I realized then, of course, what she'd meant was "abducted". What would you do if you were abducted by aliens... not adopted. Not taken in by those who would give you your very own spaceship, dote on your every prin-cess need or whimsy, but rather those who might tear you from this world of castles and toads and fairy tale endings, thereby introducing you to real terror. 

And... there it is. The answer to my question. The very meaning of life all wrapped up in a little girl/prin-cess poised, ever so delicately, in the center of her infinite universe on the very edge of reason. 

Frightened by what tomorrow might bring, it is in our very nature to try to predict what may happen next week or next year or when we're old as dirt... as our light in this Great Big Universe passes on. Will evil ("the nasty old witch") reign? Will someone ("the strong and handsome prince") come to our rescue? Could I ("the equally strong and lovely prin-cess") summon the strength to rescue him right back? As children we are in constant motion, exercising our bodies and our senses, observing our world around us, asking questions... writing our own stories and our own endings. 

How often I do find myself lost in a fairy tale of my own making, and asking this question... Is my life a comedy or a tragedy? Well, I guess I'd better get busy writing!

Peace My Friends

... and happy writing!

“The best way out is always through.”

~ Robert Frost

 

*Life is in the journey!* ~ Whatever It Takes!

♥

Life's Inspirational Valiant Endeavors

~ Whatever It Takes! ~

 

We, the storytellers, delight in bringing illumination to the greatest of lies, and when we’re feeling particularly disagreeable with the way of things, as we are sometimes wont to feel, we especially find our peace in the unraveling of those festering subtleties of truth. And though we accomplish this by introducing our own truth, our own voice to the page, our actions offer the same to those who do not have a voice or are, not-so-simply, afraid to use it.

I think often about the subject of my writing, whether it serves as entertainment (I can dream) or even for the purpose of raising awareness, but never do I wonder about the reasons why I write. There is only one answer to that question, and it sure doesn’t feel as though it’s of my own making. Though, I often wish my inner voice was more prolific on the page, I realize, it just is what it is. Or is it? The thing is – I don’t know the answer to that question.

Today, I find myself wondering who does. Writing certainly does take a heaping heart full of stamina. Well, and the capacity for boldness, restraint when it’s called for, and a whole lot of mettle.  As writers, we know this. But what they don’t tell ya when you first pick up a pen to write your story, is that you’ll more than likely experience more than your share of heartache, leaving you with – and to steal a most famous line – the audacity of hope.

This past Saturday, April 28^th, was a birthday of note. Pulitzer Prize-winning author, Harper Lee, turned 86. Her novel, “To Kill A Mockingbird” is not only my all-time favorite but it remains for me after all these years, a beacon of hope…yes, but more so, of faith; the belief in myself that I can achieve in my writing, what I long for in my dreams – To make a difference and to be heard. 

Nelle Harper Lee is, no doubt, a tough act to follow. What set her "coming-of-age" story apart from the rest was that it didn't end with her characters, Scout or Jem, Atticus or Boo Radley. She had something spectacular to say, and boy did she say it; dropping out of law school, devoting eight years of her life to finishing the story inside of her. 

I guess in the end, that is the answer to my question. Do I have what it takes to drag my story out of me, kicking and screaming like the child that it is? It's soul-stirring questions like these that my great grandfather's words come back to me, gently nudging me forward, with a boot in my rear! 

"Whatever it takes, I happen to have it!"

~ Grandpa Willie Ball 

Now, that's some mettle I'd like to wrap my brain around!

Peace My Friends!

“The best way out is always through.”

~ Robert Frost

*Life is in the journey!* ~ A Dream Is A Wish!

 

♥

Life's Inspirational Valiant Endeavors

~ A Dream Is A Wish! ~

 

 

Thanks for the wish come true, Babe!

Some luck lies

in not getting what you thought you wanted

but getting what you have,

which once you have got it

you may be smart enough to see

is what you would have wanted

had you known.

~ Garrison Keillor ~

When I was young I spent hours sitting in the clover. Soft, cool grass pricked the underside of my bare legs and tickled the tops of my feet, while I searched through a small green patch for four leaves, not three. A journal lay beside me; its pages opened in the shade of our maple tree to neatly pressed rows of little green wishes. Luck seemed to be just a bit too chancy for my tastes. Wishes, on the other hand, well they were perfectly attainable as long as I believed in them.

Four-leaf clovers, shooting stars, eyelashes and wishbones; a full moon, dandelion puffs or pennies in a fountain. Perhaps it's not the totem you choose, after all, that heeds your wishes and answers your prayers. I believe the magic we are searching for is of our own making, even in times of darkness and despair... Especially in times of darkness and despair. When good fortune seems to skip right over your head, without so much as a "duck, duck, goose", and your wishes leave you feeling a bit like Cinderella's ugly step-sister... perhaps it's time to get busy with a little spring cleaning. Clear out the cobwebs. Open a few windows. Sing a gay little song out loud for all of the forest animals (and the neighbors) to enjoy! After all... a dream truly is a wish your heart makes. Why not dream big!

Listen to your intuition. 

Open your eyes, and your mind, and your heart to possibility. 

ACCEPT responsibility, 

IMAGINE good fortune and...

EXPECT happiness. 

The secret to Life is no secret. 

It is simply to SHOW UP.

 Where luck is random,

and lacking ambition;

a WISH,

made in earnest...

is fearless,

resolute,

and undeniably

of your own making.

The world is a big place, ripe with compassion, charity, and good will; as it is also with anger, greed and general discontent. And though it is, oftentimes, a very scary place to try to live and grow and prosper, our wishes be damned, it is all we have for now. Despite the capacity for resiliency and beauty residing inside each of us, we humans tend to cling desperately to those attitudes and beliefs which we've convinced ourselves to be safe havens, forgetting that it is this very determination that sets us apart from the vegetables. No offense to carrots and broccoli and Brussels sprouts! (Well, maybe to Brussels sprouts.)

It has been almost six months since my return to this blogging community ~ a world in and of itself, dedicated to searching for the answers to Life's most difficult questions in the name of Peace. In that time, I have been introduced to so many beautifully creative, funny, talented and loving spirits. It may be only a small piece of the pie, but it is abundant with fresh perspectives, clean sparkling ideas and enough optimism for us all to turn over a new leaf. And if that leaf happens to be of the four-leaf variety, then let us close our eyes and make a wish... quickly now; for as much as wishes never run out, and never expire, they do have a tendency to wilt when our imagination is out of focus. 

There are really so many of these individuals who open up a space for me, and others, to share in their dreams and wishes, and fears and insecurities ~ mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters ~ Life's students of all ages really, who want simply to be happy and to always follow a path of Peace. All of them wishing. All of them taking charge of their dreams. Stop in and say, Hi. You won't regret it.

♥ 

 My Friends

Catherine@ Catherine Denton

Em@ 35 Jupiter Drive

Intricate Knot@ My Blog & Role Fantasy

Mark@ Aloha! Mark Koopmans says hi from HI

*(4-leaf clover photo: Rick Stokes)

Peace My Friends!

“The best way out is always through.”

~ Robert Frost

*Life is in the journey!* ~ Origins

♥

Life's Inspirational Valiant Endeavors

~ Origins ~

“What are YOUR origins?”

Hi and Howdy! 

I'd like to say, Thank YOU!, to DL Hammons (Cruising Altitude 2.0), Katie Mills (Creepy Query Girl), Alex J. Cavanaugh and Matthew MacNish (The Quintessentially Questionable Query Experiment) for hosting the ORIGINS blogfest today!

 *Tell us all where your writing dreams began. 

It all started somewhere and we want you to tell us your own, unique, beginnings.*

Life is in the journey!

To LIVE with eyes wide open, 

inspiring ourselves and others, 

finding the courage to do so, 

as we strive toward a greater purpose...

This is my journey!

The first time I heard the question, “So I hear you’re writing a novel,” I wanted to crawl into a hole where I would, first, be free to contemplate the imminent tongue-lashing (followed by much kissing, of course) of he who must be named – my cheer-leading husband – for ever having mentioned IT to anyone *not on the list*... and second, a place of solitude where I could count the multitude of foolish, foolish dreams which had led me, oh so willingly, into this predicament.

For the record, those few brave souls *on the list* were to be read the following disclaimer upon their induction into this writer's (yes, that just happened) circle of trust: “I, (that's me) being of questionable mind and weakened spirit, do hereby admit to writing something, resembling but not limited to anything, of which will be referred to from here out simply as, a book, and of which, I do not expect (lie) to actually be considered (lie, lie) by any reputable agent (liar, liar pants on fire), because I know in my heart that, even though I am a wonderfully nice person (three weeks out of every lunar cycle), everyone knows (I want names) that publishing is likened to winning the lottery (I want names and I want my happy place back)!”

My love for writing began the moment I broke in the binding of my first paperback romance, at the tender age of thirteen. A whole new world opened up to me, teeming with Love, Loss and Lust. I remember the look on my mother’s face as she passed by my bedroom where I sat, huddled, with my head buried between the pages. It was that same look I gave my daughter when she first discovered Stephanie Meyer’s, “Twilight”. I was instantly hooked on the language of storytelling. Words were my new love, and to quote Edward Cullen, “… like my own personal brand of heroin.”

Raging hormones aside, publication or even the light of day eluded my characters once real life happened.  Stacks of writing journals, ripe with cliche characters and weak plot outlines, sat idle and stuffed into bottom drawers throughout my roaring twenties (which were rather dull actually, unless wandering from state to state in search of myself is considered roar-worthy). My characters, my make-believe, turned out young women, lost like me, but who had found the courage to fight for their truth and their voice. Women stronger than me. Women defined more by the fight within than their insecurities. 

By the time I hit my thirties, I had fallen willingly into the life of a devoted, though painfully lost, mother to three little monsters and, as such, had neither the time nor the energy to pursue what was still my dream ~ to write stories. 

My writing journey, my origins, are what’s given me my education. For that, I am grateful. And though I dreamt (yep, still do) of being whisked away to the land of publishing by a fairy godmother (a reputable agent) ~ because I'm just that good ~ it is simply telling a good story that drives me to spending hours, days... nay, a LIFETIME of pulling at my hair and holding my breath, as I hover over my keyboard in light and in darkness. Stepping outside of myself to captivate an audience, attempting to master the English language (Ha!) in the details... There is the true magic. And if it just so happens to irrevocably change the course of another human being's existence, then win-win.

As much as I have struggled over the years with the fear that I am not good enough to call myself ~ A Writer ~ I think I have finally accepted the truth of my calling. It matters little, really, that I keep up with the big boys and girls. Winning the trophy is oh, so nice, I won't lie, but the path, in which I continue to discover more about myself in search of that road less traveled, is truly the reward in itself. It's in the journey that we discover who we are and who we want to be. Not the destination.

Happiness, contentment, and fulfillment 

are found in the enthusiasm we carry for Life.
Here and Now. 

To write, is to dream.

To dream, is to let in hope...

opening up your world and the world of others 
to infinite possibility.

It is in our lifelong search to achieve,

Life’s Inspirational Valiant Endeavors, 
that we are most alive.

And there is nothing greater in this world 
than finding You Are Not Alone, 
within the pages of a good story.

*Life is in the journey!* is a weekly series here on Scarlett’s Tattoo.

Please DO join in the conversation!

Every voice matters.

“The best way out is always through.”

~ Robert Frost

*Life is in the journey!* ~ "You Can"

 ♥

Life's Inspirational Valiant Endeavors

~ “You Can” ~

 

This is the story of Rick and, his father, Dick Hoyt.

Born without the ability to move or speak, Rick is the inspiration that has moved his father to run for him for over two decades. Among the oldest, out of thousands they have competed against, Dick Hoyt has pushed, pulled and carried his son in over 950 races, 60 marathons… and 6 iron man competitions (That’s a 2.4 mile swim, carrying his son along with him, a 112 mile bike ride with his son leading the way and a 26.2 mile run, ending only when they crossed the finish line.)   

“I may be disabled, but I live a very fulfilling life.”

~ Rick Hoyt

Hero, defined by Merriam-Webster, might lead one to believe in fairy tales.

a: a mythological or legendary figure

often of divine descent endowed with great strength or ability

b: an illustrious warrior

c: a man (or woman thank you very much) admired for his/her achievements

and noble qualities (Okay, getting warmer.)

d: one who shows great courage (…warmer still)

 I like to think it is the man, woman and child who show great love, respect and devotion every day for their son and brother. 
Dick Hoyt is a Hero by most standards.

He loves his son.

So he runs.

What defines this father as, Hero, in my heart is this…

Rain or shine, he shows up.

Life is in the journey!

You Can!

~ Life is in the journey! ~

 

Joy My Friends!

"The best way out is always through."

~ Robert Frost

Towanda!

 

  

 

 

My Little Girl

 

 

"You don't have to dumb her down."

The best parenting advice I ever received was to take the time to love and cuddle my kids. And, even though I thought this would be the easy part – the part where I would overlook a tantrum, a child’s artwork on the living room furniture or a lie – following this simple instruction has been the driving force behind my love affair with them.

I naively followed those who came before me into the insane world of Mommy, like a lemming to a cliff. I jumped with both feet onto that hallowed ground, prepared to embrace parenthood with a bear hug, where some fell into it with an ambivalent nod. But, somewhere along the way, I found my own footing and set out with my husband on a road less traveled . It is with few regrets that I confess I have followed that advice to the best of my ability – most days.

As the mother of three, I watch now as our oldest child balances precariously on the edge of manhood, while our youngest is determined to squeeze a lifetime of fun into his dwindling childhood. Then there is our little girl, the very center of my universe. Sandwiched between one brother who keeps a watchful eye out for her honor and the other who keeps a disapproving eye on his missing wardrobe, she lives and breathes with an abandon most envy. Unfortunately, for her, I think, this free spirit is a bittersweet reflection of me in my eyes.

Me

This brings me to the second best parenting advice I ever received. If I have absorbed anything in my years of raising kids, it is that wisdom is often found in the most unconventional and unlikeliest of sources – and so it was with a smile and a wink, that my nephew, still a kid himself in his mid-twenties, leaned in to me, nodding toward our daughter and said, “That one there, she’s somethin’ special!”


In my failings as a mother to my daughter, and honestly as a woman in my own right, I dismissed his thoughtful praise before, even I was aware that the words had come out of my mouth.

“Yeah, she can be a real handful,” I confessed. (Maybe he’ll see that I’m embarrassed by the compliment, I harbored silently. Quick – say something, anything. You know he thinks you believe, she is the most perfect child on the planet. If she is perfect, then you are perfect – and you, my dear, are not perfect!)
 
“She’s a hard headed little thing, that’s for sure,” I offered as an apology.

He grinned then and nudged me, his shoulder against mine. My nephew is a strapping six foot, five inches, give or take – with a smile so genuine that one does not have to look twice to feel it land on their heart with a thud. The youngest of three boys, big brother only to their younger sister, I would say he knows plenty about wild and free.

“You don’t have to dumb her down,” he offered with that smile. “She is awesome, just the way she is!” There it was – the moment I had been waiting for, since I first recognized myself in my daughter.

The bond, born between mothers and their daughters, is like no other. Often plagued with hostility and mutual discontent, the two cannot help but see themselves in one another. Mothers, still little girls themselves, in heart, search for their own fulfillment through impossibly difficult and unrealistic expectations they place on their daughters – as their daughters spend a lifetime trying to be something other than their mothers.

“If you’re looking for me I’m in the closet.”  ( A note from my daughter ~ 8 years old)

 
Through my sons, I am reminded of how right it feels to be strong in character, to seek the courage of my convictions and to accept who I am with honesty, a few tears and a good, hardy sense of humor. And, though my daughter is equally strong, courageous, independent and positively sparkling with wit, it is she, who I am eternally grateful – for unlocking my wounded heart, healing my jaundiced eye and indulging my love of self.

Through my little girl, I've learned that forgiveness waits within.

She is me, as I was once as she.

Now, if I can only convince her to clean her room.

Enough said.

 

"My Life"

(By Colleen, age 10)

I am from the soft warm covers

And dressers cluttered with toys

This is my safety from my brothers, or the boys

From the turtle tank to the messy floor

And my brothers knocking on the door.

I am from Home ~ where privacy is hard to find.

I am from the sweet smell of honeysuckle in the summer

And chickens scratching in the dirt

While watchin’ butterflies flit and flirt

From dogs barking, to watching ponies run and play

And watching my sweet kitty lie in the sun all day.

I am from Home ~ where wildflowers grow.

I am from fiddle tunes and Cardinal games

And down the highway a bluebird sings

From the home of The Arch to Jefferson City.

I am from Home ~ Home-Sweet-Home.

I am from the country of Freedom

From the Statue of Liberty to the Liberty Bell

And freedom rings, can’t you tell

From the American flag to the White House

And the Mississippi River runs swell.

I am from Home ~ Freedom.

I am from German, French, Scottish and Irish

Don’t forget, I do speak English

From Kentucky to Missouri, my family is all here

And to me they are all very dear.

I am from cars, bikes, airplanes and rafts

To flying cars and hovercrafts

From love and happiness, the future is true

And the best part is it’s up to you.

Towanda!

Oh, Boy!

I once heard my son, our first born, emit a deep throaty noise (maniacal laugh, maniacal laugh) as he posed for a Father’s Day photo shoot – wielding his dad’s chainsaw, his dad’s blow torch, his dad’s chair, his dad’s truck and even his dad’s Beloved Ibanez, and live to tell about it.

This is his Dad's chainsaw.

This is his Dad's blowtorch.

This is his Dad's chair.

This is his Dad's truck. (Yes, licking it)

This is his Dad's Beloved Ibanez...

... Up Close and Personal.

 

 

THIS is his DAD.

 

 

 

A chuckle,

A growl,

A sigh,

A “sweeeeeet!”

I’ve seen and heard it all.

This Thanksgiving I, a boy’s mother, witnessed the joy of ownership…

...in a giggle.

Oh, Boy!

Are You Awake?

On any given night, in this house, uninterrupted sleep is something we only dream of.

"Am I keeping you awake with my breathing,” I ask, readjusting my pillow – better to feel his breath on my face.

"No, honey, your talking is", he answers, feigning a smile.

The house is still, but for the quiet, rhythmic thumping of a foot on the little girl's bedroom wall.  "Wait for it", I sigh aloud, shifting my legs to breathe above the covers.  "There is no such thing as, 'a last goodnight' in this house", I say too loudly. 

Her younger, less tactful sibling answers the call with a resounding thud on the other side of the barrier between them.  Indeed, he is still awake – unless mommy sticks her head in the door, then he is asleep, but breathing heavily under the covers.

"If this is allowed to continue,” I think aloud, "one of us is going to have to do something."

A choked snore escapes my exhausted husband, who when prodded insists that he is, "...not sleeping, only resting his eyeballs", and is ready to go back downstairs as soon as I am, so that we may at least pretend we have a life.

I touch his warm foot with my cold one. "Are you too tired for 'that'", I offer shamelessly.

One eyelid cracks open to determine the validity of that offer, then lazily shuts again. "I'm never too tired for that" he says, playing along with this ruse.

It's early on a week night and this is our life – stealing sleep whenever possible, making promises that tomorrow night, when the kids are in bed, we will do something, anything creative.

We will draw.
We will paint!
We will write!!

We will discuss sex, religion and politics in an opinionated, but friendly manner, say we're sorry for that last comment and then change the subject. I will finally match up that pile of socks, searching in vain for mates that vanished into thin air– or embroider them into sock puppets. We will sit down, he in his chair to sketch his next masterpiece of a family that is growing too fast, I with my book, my computer, my needle and thread.

"Are you still awake", I whisper.

"No", he answers.

"Love you."

"Me too."

When the lights are turned out for the last time, thick open-mouthed boys breathe soundly, having finally given in to their drooping eyelids. Their quiet rumblings are the only response to the persistent thumping still resonating against the little girl's bedroom wall.  I pay no mind, minutes later, to the familiar creeping at the foot of our bed.  She eases her head between my pillow and her daddy's with a stealth that would impress me, if I were more alert at this hour, and lies perfectly still, trying not to breathe, until I pat her on the cheek.

"Tonight", I whisper.

'Tomorrow is another day,' the child quietly, wisely ponders.

Furry members of the family yawn and stretch, as they begin their nightly routine of wrestling from room to room. On the hunt, they will miss the small mouse taking up residence in our kitchen, attacking the toilet paper instead, dragging it out through the hallway and down the stairs, stopping to cry outside of the closed shower doors for a drink – a personal favorite of my husband's.

This nightly ritual reminds the biggest critter with the smallest bladder in the house that she has to go outside – Right now!  So begins an uncharacteristically early bedtime in our house.

Like I said, on any given night, in this house, uninterrupted sleep is something we only dream of – if we're lucky.

“Get to bed said Sleepyhead,

Wait awhile said Slow.

Put on the pot said Greedy Gut,

We'll eat before we go." 

First

Night

Saint Louis,

Missouri

12*31*2010

source 

When I was a little girl, I believed in magic. Christmas always brought snow for Santa’s sleigh, and at the stroke of midnight on December 31st, the New Year would arrive with a promise, late into the night, of a taste of sparkling cider and a host of wishes to be answered in the days to come. As I grew older the bubbly in my glass matured, as did my wishes, but the magic remained. Where I once anxiously awaited the clink of a plastic glass and the thrill of boisterous laughter, now I anticipated a kiss.

The New Year offers each of us a clean slate, a fresh start. True magic reveals itself in new opportunities and gently reminds us of those still there for the taking. Even as we dream of changing attitudes, set in stone only moments before the countdown lands on ‘Happy New Year!’, feelings of inspiration and motivation seep into our hearts and our minds, luring us in, if only to say to ourselves, “What if?”

What if – I could summon the courage to Forgive, to Love, to Live my life with eyes wide open? 

The year was 2010 – New Year’s Eve. The plan was – there was no plan. My husband and I would wrangle the kids into the living room once again for a raucous game of Win, Lose or Draw, maybe some shrimp, some wings, some punch – well, maybe something easier than punch. On second thought, what’s easier than punch, I ask. A few cans of silly string would then be revealed outdoors – for this lesson we learned long ago – and all would hoot and holler as we ushered in the New Year. Not long after midnight, the lights would be dimmed and the lot of us, furry and otherwise, would fall asleep to a movie, making our way upstairs much later to lock doors, tuck in a stray kid or two, and retire to that place, where we just might follow through with that promise the adults made to each other hours ago when they were more awake and enthusiastic about the late hour – or maybe not.

In our efforts to prove to our kids that we are not stagnant or dull human beings after all, my husband and I searched secretly, frantically, to find the perfect New Year’s Eve celebration with less than twenty-four hours to do so. Somewhere affordable topped our list – warm and dry would be nice. Well, two outta three ain’t bad! What we found, in our city and in ourselves, was the magic we were looking for.

"Fantasea"

 source

 

In 1991, St. Louis organized its first community wide New Year’s Eve celebration. Nineteen years later, the people continue to gather along the outskirts of North Grand Blvd. in the hopes of creating memorable experiences with friends and loved ones, through the visual and performing arts of First Night.  This year’s theme, “Fantasea” transformed the Grand Center District into a playful ocean of glow-in-the-dark bubbles, bigger-than-life jellyfish floating on air, a forty-foot wall of wishes, shared in post-it notes painting an undersea mosaic, a fifteen ton sand sculpture of Neptune, numerous performers who sang and danced and entertained us all into 2011 – and two spectacular fireworks displays over the city!

*Fireworks!*

source 

First Night’s mission was to broaden our horizons and to deepen our appreciation of the arts, to share a cultural experience, in and with our own community, and to make it as accessible and affordable as possible. This evening, the evening after, I can honestly say, they achieved their goal with our family, despite Mother Nature’s efforts early on to send us home, with cold rain seeping into our shoes and chilly winds whispering at the backs of our necks.

Nearly seventeen years ago we moved further west of St. Louis with our first child, out of the city life and away from the madness of crowded streets and neighborhoods. Our small family of three grew to five over time, and though rich in our new rural community with friends, and opportunities wide open spaces provided – our simpler, more modest way of life kept us so comfortable, so out of touch, that we missed out on a few of the more extraordinary, remarkable experiences within that madness.

With the exception of many affordable trips to the St. Louis Zoo

(Free Admission)

The St. Louis Zoo

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and more than enough to the St. Louis Science Center and Planetarium

(Also, Free!)

The Planetarium

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 and lets not forget the Art Museum, where my children, literally, climbed the walls

(Yep, Free As Well!)...

The Art Museum, St. Louis, Missouri

...we’ve missed out on the excitement and the cultural growth to be found in

 *Here*

The Muny, St. Louis, Missouri

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 *Here*

The Fox Theatre, St. Louis, Missouri

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*Here*

Powell Symphony Hall, St. Louis, Missouri

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and *Here*

The Repertory Theatre, St. Louis, Missouri

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...and numerous other venues there for us to experience, and join in with our world community. 

This New Year’s Eve, our very first First Night, welcomed us onto the streets of St. Louis, lit with the enthusiasm of the performers and the crowds, there to celebrate the harmony within us all, each uniquely the same. After snagging a free parking spot close by we headed north up the boulevard.

Jeff, The Juggler

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Jeff, the Juggler lured us in quickly beneath the Fox Marquee and the dancing jellyfish, entertaining the crowd that had gathered with his interactive comedy and flaming batons. Huddled together beneath the warm brilliance of the stage lights and a very tall, blue man on stilts, who easily accentuated my shortness, I knew it was going to be a good night.

St. Francis Xavier Church, St. Louis, Missouri

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Accompanied by a host of street performers, we eventually turned our damp brood southeast, aiming for the main stage and looking for St. Francis Xavier church. A man with a smile and a steel drum played island music beneath the eave of a building as we passed, while another stood on a box as a human statue, entertaining a break in character only when a passerby dropped a show of appreciation into his cup. The light rain hurried us on past the diver in scuba gear enveloped in a life size bubble, as she floated her way down the boulevard, stopping to touch hands with a small child in a little pink coat. That was us once, I thought.

There are moments in a life when something just sticks – a kid grows up, a cold rain seeps into more than just a coat, perhaps even a shared experience that moves you on a special night. We accept an active role in our world, among the human race, when we participate. We made new friends along the way when we met up with the family of our oldest son’s girlfriend. Who would have thought our kids would be setting us up on play dates? Gone, are the days when our little boy would have weaved and ducked a girl’s attentions. Spying her hand in his, as the lot of us welcomed the New Year, I was reminded yet again that he had grown into a mature and loving young man. My husband and I shared gentle nudges, some not, throughout the night, painfully aware of two more of our children who would follow soon enough. Once we have teenagers, birthdays aren’t the only thing that reminds us of our age or disposition. Here I am – that place I thought was too far in my future to ever become reality. Happy New Year to Me!

Start Over!

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Our New Year’s Eve ended brilliantly to music and dancing and pageantry in the streets. However, it was our attention and our appreciation, which we gave to...

 The Reventones

when they shared harmony in their guitars and voices. 

 Buckets and Tap Shoes

when they entertained us all with their witty, distinctive talent.

Creative Pandemonium, Justin Kredible, The Cadence, and so many more we would love to have seen! Their energy and showmanship drew us in and will keep us coming back for more year after year!

My New Year’s Wish
for You and for Me
  ~This year I want to know Peace,
through exhilarating dance that will move my feet,
inspiring music that will move my soul
and passionate,
sidesplitting theatrics
that will move me to laugh.~

"Nobody can go back 

and start a new beginning,

but, Anyone can start today

and make a new ending."

~Maria Robinson