Ode to April

Guess what! I did it! And what's more, I'm not the only one! I think all of my friends who took on the Poetry Month Challenge made it through the whole month. None of us missed a day - how cool is that? Especially for everyone else who managed it, I mean, it was probably much harder for my friends than for me. They all wrote full poems - one a day - and they had school and jobs to balance on top of that! Seriously, I'm sending you all virtual air-fives right now. What you managed to accomplish is amazing. I'm so proud of each of you!

So, other than feeling really cool at the end of the month, what is the point of the Poetry Month challenge? Honestly, I think my friends and I started it just for the sake of the challenge. We were in Jr. High, we didn't care about learning stuff back then. But now, there is a reason we keep trying to do it, despite our hectic adult schedules. Put simply, we do it because it's hard, and none of us are very good at poetry. Well, maybe we are now, but you know . . .

As a writer, there's a lot to be said for poetry. Forcing yourself to work within a certain rhythm, or constrain yourself to words that rhyme, or try to tell a story or evoke an image in a limited number of lines - let's face it, that's hard to do! It's these limits that forces us to stretch our creativity and build new ways of thinking for ourselves. And doing it everyday for a month - you'll be hard pressed to lose what you've gained.

And let's face it, writing one poem a day for a month - that's hard to do. It's almost worth doing just for the bragging rights.

Though, truth be told, I feel I went a little easy on myself this month. Limiting myself to a one haiku a day - though it had its challenges - seemed almost too easy sometimes. After all, they're only three lines. I did have days where I considered dropping the haiku idea and just writing whatever type of poetry I wanted, but I stuck with it anyway. You know why? Because it was different. I'm terrible at poetry! I can't work with rhythms and meters - and let's not even get started on rhyming. So, I may have skipped the rhyming thing, but I wanted to challenge myself to work in meters anyway, and let me tell you, it was hard. The meter of haikus is 5-7-5, but apparently all of my thoughts come out in even numbered syllables, so I was always wanting to do 4-6-4. Finding new ways to phrase my thoughts within the meter was just the kind of creative challenge I needed. It was hard sometimes - even a little frustrating. But I'm glad I did it.

I can't say that I'm a better poet now than I was at the beginning of the month. Indeed, I think one of the biggest things I've learned is that I'm terrible at haikus. And I think I could do better at evoking imagery. I didn't know that before. Now that I do, I can work on it - I can fix it and become a better writer. It's so nice to be able to pinpoint a fault in your writing. It makes bettering it so much simpler. Oddly, it also makes me excited for next April. I wonder what I'll do then . . . Should I try forcing myself to rhyme everyday? Oooo, scary.

Congratulations to all those who made it through this challenge! Even if you didn't - you tried, and that's amazing. This is the first time I've made it through the whole month without missing a day. I think it's the first time for a few of my friends too. What a cool month! Best of luck on all your future writing endeavors. :)

Day 28

Waiting is the worst.
With no visible end seen -
like an endless storm.

Day 27

When speaking with fools;
Words, they will not understand,
for their eyes lead them.

Day 11

Upon the mountain,
Gilded white will sigh away
'til it's time repeats.

Day 10

The demon voices
across the tranquil moors, blow
vanquished cries again.

Ted: My Childhood Buddy

Ted was my favorite stuffed animal. He was small - just a beanie baby in fact. He was a dog - er, perhaps 'puppy' is a better term. He was a puppy with brown all across his top and white fur across his underbelly and his legs. His ears were short and pointy and when you pressed them down into his head, it made him look like he was sad. His best friend was named "Fred" - another beanie baby puppy I had - and Fred's beanies were always coming out of a hole in his foot. So, Fred was a cripple and Ted would take care of him. Ted was nice to all the stuffed animals and he protected all of them from the evil, grey rat/mouse that used to wrap it's tail around Ted's throat and drag him around. He always escaped and saved the day. Naturally. Ted's favorite trick to do was when I'd hold him by the head and throw him high in the air and he'd just spin and spin so fast and then I'd catch him before he hit the ground. It looked so cool to me. All my friends loved Ted too.

I don't remember when I first got Ted. It as if I've always had him. I do remember walking through a store and seeing a soft, fresh version of him sitting on a shelf. I begged my mom to buy him for me. I went through many Teds. Somehow, I always seemed to lose mine. That's what happens when a kid carries a stuffed animal around with them everywhere. I don't remember what happened to the original. Indeed, I don't even remembering losing it. I don't remember losing any of them. I just remember I went through quite a few of them. I only know this because I have lots of random memories of Ted's fur being so soft - then I'd dunk him in a bucket of water or run through the sprinklers with him and his fur would become flat and smoothed down forever. It seems strange to me to think that Ted was ever soft and fuzzy. He's always had a rough exterior to me. When I think of him, I don't see the plush version I saw in the store, I only remember the weathered little puppy who would fly in the sky with me.

Ted was my buddy through thick and thin. There was one time that I couldn't find him and I was desperately searching everywhere for him. In the end, I found him in the freezer. His head was frozen in a glass of water and his legs were splayed out and coated in ice above him. My sister, Angie, had put him in there out of revenge for something bratty I'd done. I probably deserved it, but that moment was very traumatizing for me. I thought Ted was ruined forever - like I had lost my best friend. But of course, I hadn't really. We got him out of the freezer and he was fine. Another time - well, many other times - I can remember taking him to school with me. It was first grade, and I was close friends with two boys. One was J.T, the other, Jeffrey. JT and I were "funny buddies". At recess, Jeff would follow us around and we'd do silly things that would make him laugh. Sometimes I'd bring Ted to school and we'd play with him too. I remember showing Jeff Ted's favorite trick would always make him laugh so hard. I think Ted was the only stuffed animal I brought to school with me. He was also the only stuffed animal I ever shared with my friend, "Aubrey". In a way, that is. She knew how much I loved Ted, and one day, she found one of him at the store too and bought one. I don't remember what she named hers, but we used to have play-dates with our two Ted puppies and it was so fun. My Ted was the best, of course. You could always tell them apart, because Aubrey's still had fuzzy fur.

Looking back, I think Ted has been the only friend I've had who has stuck with me through all my life. It sounds so silly to say, but you know how attached kids can be to their stuffed animals. Now, I think of Ted, and all I have are the happy memories. True, there are the scary one's like when I found him in the freezer, but I can never remember being without him. I know I lost him a number of times and I know my parents' always bought me a new one, but I don't remember losing him. I don't remember the time in between Teds. I only remember having him. He was my constant buddy; the one that never left.

Now, he sits on top of my dresser, along with many of my other stuffed animals that I couldn't bear to put in storage. He sits beside Fred, so he can always keep an eye on him. I couldn't separate those two if I wanted to. Though I'm now an adult, Ted is a remnant of my childhood that remains with me. He's still here. Though I don't play with him like I used to, what he does for me hasn't changed. He's a symbol of happy memories and better days. He reminds me of innocence and laughter. When I feel really low, I look at him and think that I have a friend that has never left me behind.

That's why I kept him, I think. It wasn't just that I couldn't bear to throw away such a precious childhood toy, it was that I couldn't bear to lose everything else. Maybe it's silly that an inanimate object can mean so much, but that's okay. How empty would life be without a little silly? I'm really lucky to have had a little friend like Ted growing up. Not only did he bring me hours of joy then, but he reminds me of the joy now. Those memories, in times when I can listen, remind me that things will get better. They give me hope. Through everything I've lost while becoming an adult, I still have Ted. I'm lucky that not all of my childhood was left behind. If it was, well, who knows what I'd be?

Crying is the Same at All Ages

When I have panic attacks, there's always one thing I end up doing. I'll sit somewhere secluded, rock myself back and forth, and make shushing noises. At some point during this, I invariably find myself wondering why I'm doing that? I never had an answer and I couldn't even tell if it helped, but I always ended up doing it anyway.

But guess what! I know why I do it now!

On Sunday, my mom, my sister Kimberly, and I were chatting after church. As Kin is still hugely pregnant, we naturally got onto the topic of babies and Kin told us about one of the new things she had learned. It's called "The 5 S's" or something like that.  If I remember right, the 5 S's are swaddling, sleeping, swinging... something else, and shushing. She told us about how when a baby is crying you need to shush louder than they're crying so they can hear you, and rock them back and forth more vigorously if they're crying harder. It sounds odd, and likely the mental picture this gives you is also odd, but it is apparently very soothing to the baby. Saying, "Shhh, shhhh," over and over calms a baby down.

After Kin mentioned that, I had a moment of, "Oh! That's why I do it!" Thinking back, whenever I do start shushing myself when I'm panicking, it does stop my crying. My sister mentioned that shushing is also soothing to an adult. Why? I have no idea. When I picture someone shushing me when I'm not upset, it seems like it would be obnoxious, but when I'm in tears, it's not. Weird. I suppose it's just something that stayed with me from my baby years. It calmed me then, it calms me now. Maybe it's relaxing because when someone is saying, "Shhh," the noise is loud enough that you can hear it past your tears, and it thus reminds you that someone is with you and watching over you.

I feel slightly cool that my natural instinct when I'm panicking is clinically proven to be soothing. It's also nice that I won't have to wonder what the heck I'm doing next time I have a panic attack. Yay!

Growing Up

I'm beginning to notice more and more these days just how much an adult's perspective of the world differs from a child's. It tends to be darker and more pessimistic - or the preferred term "realistic". Some of the wonder of the world is lost as you grow. Sometimes I think about how much I miss being a child and being so carefree and innocent. But then I think, if I were a child again, what would I lose? Growing up may take away some of the simple joys, but it gives you new ones, if you're willing to be brave and think optimistic thoughts. Sometimes they're realistic too.

What I've noticed most recently is that there are things we carry with us from childhood that we sometimes need to be retaught when we grow. They're different for everyone. For some they may have to re-discover their faith, others relearn their beliefs, while others may have to repave the road to their goals. Sometimes the things we learn growing up don't fit quite so cleanly with what we may've known as a child. Does that mean they're wrong? Or is it simply a chance to become like a child again and learn with new eyes the things we always knew?

Maybe we shouldn't spent all our adult years mourning the loss of childhood. True, adulthood doesn't give the same simple joys as youth - it has different ones. It has the chance to learn things fresh, to see the world more, to actually live adventures instead of acting them out in your backyard with your friends. Sure, it'll be hard and scary sometimes, but it wouldn't be worth it if it wasn't.