Bye Bye

 

Boy oh boy! What a month it has been. May of 2013 has taken "spring cleaning" to a whole different level. I have dusted off the shelves and "re-visited" my first true heartbreak. I've taken out the trash surrounding me that had only left an unpleasant aroma more often than not. I have lost a few things and people that meant the most to me. And as cliche as it sounds, I have discovered things about myself that I never knew existed. But let me tell you. I could not be happier than I am now to know that in a matter of hours, I will be able to turn the page in my handy dandy planner to a new month.  

So take a short stroll with me down memory lane. A not-so-pleasant one at that.  

On your first right you will see a series of events and conversations that left me immensely confused yet at the same time very happy. I could have seen it coming. And I probably could have prevented it from happening. (Let me apologize ahead of time for not sharing all the juicy details.) But now that I think of it, if I had done everything in my power to resist it, I would be lacking a few important life lessons that have since then been added to my repertoire. Although re-learning lessons that were difficult to learn the first time was not enjoyable, I feel as though it was necessary. I obviously hadn't grasped the initial concept.  

A couple blocks down the road on your left is the home of great loss. No, I am not talking about the loss of my favorite pencil, or the loss of six inches of hair from the front of my face (I GOT BANGS!). I am speaking of the loss of not only one, but two family members that has left two gaping holes in the world where they used to live. Keep in mind that both of these tragic events occurred within the same two weeks. Kind of hard to process and extremely overwhelming. My Papa (Mom's dad) and my Nana (Mom's grandma) will always hold a special place in my heart. I have been very fortunate to grow up in the family that I have. And they are partly to blame for that. Their contrasting personalities created a perfect balance that hosted a pretty decent (that's an understatement) childhood. Thank you Papa, and thank you Nana. 

  

By the time I have finished this blogpost, there is approximately one minute left in the month of May and I'm not sure if the smile on my face could get any bigger. June will be full of surprises. I just know it. And I am so ecstatic to discover what the next 30 days entails. 

-lils

Papa-1, Cancer-0

Long time no blog! Things have been busy busy busy in this quaint town. Between the end of the school year, friends, and family emergencies, I have not had much time to really sit down and write all of my thoughts out. 

Unfortunately, amongst the list of reasons why I have not had the time to write to you, was family emergencies. I have experienced things this week that although not desirable, have changed the way I see things in life. For the better. 

The world lost a gem of a person 8:15, Wednesday morning. James Scott Copeland. Also known as one of my two Papa's, my mom's dad, my grandma's husband, and Everly's great grandfather.  For those of you who had never met my Papa, you missed out on one of the most peaceful humans this world has ever known. Yes, I have learned a lot and will continue to learn a multitude of information from my educators. But no one else could have taught me the things that he did. And by the end of this blogpost, my goal is to have given you a glimpse into the life of a man that left behind a legacy of commitment and pure love.

Papa was diagnosed with Glioblastoma on Thanksgiving day of 2010. This is the most common and most aggressive malignant primary brain tumor found in humans. Kind of ironic timing isn't it? It is hard to be thankful when a close family member is labeled with a disease that has the capability to be fatal. It is even harder to comfort your sorrowful grandma when she learns that the amount of time left with her soulmate is decreasing by the minute. But he never saw it like that. I was sitting in a chair with Granny when the doctor came to deliver the not-so-great news (I believe the doctor had the hardest job in the world).  Despite the sudden expression of devastation coming from us all, Papa simply chuckled. You heard me. He laughed. And he responded to Granny by saying "It's okay girl, I'll be fine." If that was not a perfect representation of the type of life he led, then I don't know what is. He was not scared. He did not fret. It was evident that he was content with the way his life had played out and he had accepted the fact that essentially, he had no control over the direction that things took from there. If it happened, it happened. If it didn't, it didn't. 

My mom bought Papa a book a while back called "A Father's Legacy". It was a blank collection of pages that hosted questions that would spark the recollection of memories and life lessons. He was to fill them out month by month. And he did just that down to the very last page. 

His handwriting will always be my favorite.

I got the privilege Wednesday of reading through his favorite memories and events in his life. It was almost as if I could hear him saying the words I was reading as I read them. Every prompt was completed almost to the very last line on the page. Except one page. The question was to the effect of "Is there anything that you were afraid of as child growing up and is there anything that you are afraid of now?" And although I despise one-word answers, this one was perfect. He simply wrote, "No!" He was not afraid of anything. He did not allow fear to occupy his thoughts. I feel as though most people might respond with the general answers of spiders, the dark, or maybe snakes. I would have written all of those things plus a few. But not my Papa. 

It is kind of difficult to reminisce on every memory I have of him at the moment. My thoughts concerning him recently have been mournful considering the fact that I have to accept that I can no longer ask him for one of those little, white, spearmint lifesavers after church every Sunday. Or that we can no longer sing one of my favorite songs from my childhood that he taught me, Skidamarink. But I have to come to the realization that we must smile because of the fact that we were so privileged to have had him in our lives rather than cry because he is not with us anymore. And although most people will say that he lost his battle with cancer, I strongly disagree with you on that one. My Papa won. He did not allow such a negative thing to occupy the remainder of his life. Nor did he let it determine the way he would spend the remainder of his days. 

The blessings I count tonight all pertain to you Papa. Your ever-present smile. Your contagious laugh. Your true love for Granny and our family. Your conisistent walk with God. Your comforting peace. And it is because of the peace that you so gracefully displayed in your final days with us that I am able to sleep tonight. I love you. 

Skidamarink a dink a dink. 
Skidamarink a doo. 
I love you. 

Skidamarink a dink a dink.
Skidamarink a doo.
I love you.

I love you in the morning. 
And in the afternoon. 
I love you in the evening. 
And underneath the moon. 

Skidamarink a dink a dink.
Skidamarink a doo.
I love you.

The art of chaos

I realize it has been a while since I wrote to you last. "A while" being a week. Sorry about that. I have been preoccupied with lavishing my precious Everly with love. Her piercing giggles are quite distracting.

I have always had an ever-present fascination with cities. The ringing honks. The crazy street performers. The fast-paced life of a place that never takes a breather. Also known as CHAOS. Along with rain, this is somewhat of a lullaby for me. This might be because I have grown up in a town where the most noise you will hear in one night is the occasional passing of a F-18 Hornet. ( I don't really know what that is, I had to ask my dad. But I know that it is a jet that rattles the windows every time it chooses to make an appearance.) Or maybe because I grew up in a house where anybody and everybody played some sort of instrument therefore there was always noise. I'm not really sure of the root of my obsession with noise. But it is definitely there. My mom could vouch for this. She is constantly flustered by my need for music at all times. Yes, that includes studying. 

 I have watched hundreds of movies and looked at thousands of pictures in my 17 short years of life. The most appealing of these have been the ones that included epic chase scenes throughout the many mazes of skyscrapers in this world or the complicated portrait of a well-known skyline. Why? Besides the fact that scenes such as these usually involve a muscular, heroic, and always fine specimen, it is the constant movement that draws my attention. 

There is a particular art in all of this. There is an art in chaos. According to www.dictionary.com, art is "the application or expression of human creative skill or imagination". Some of you may be wondering who, what, when, where, why, and how this applies to chaos. But just think about it for a moment. An ambulance passes, you imagine where it is headed and to what kind of accident it is reporting to. You see an eclectic street performer showcasing his/her best talents for all to see, and you imagine where they are from and what their story is. You notice a stranger wearing what looks like shredded fabric that has been dipped in mud crouched beside a newspaper stand holding a tin can, and you attempt to imagine what occurred in their life to put them in such a predicament as that. Notice I used the word "imagine". I did that on purpose.

In this case, MY definition of art would be "the application of human imagination". And all of these things require you to fill in the blanks using your own imagination, then apply it to the current situation. Ta da! You have art! Each street sign, each taxi license plate, each crushed can on the sidewalk, each angry customer yelling at a business owner, each frantic business man running to his next meeting, each screaming baby is a different colored stroke on the broad canvas that makes up the hustle and bustle.  It all contributes to the authentic setting of the city. You will not go anywhere else in the world and experience the same sort of chaos as Manhattan. Boston. Chicago. Bucharest. Brasov. Amsterdam. Seattle. Los Angeles. To each their own. That is what makes these places so wondrous in my blue eyes. 

 

I wish I could say that I have checked every single one of those intriguing destinations off of my bucket list. (Although I have been to Amsterdam, Bucharest, and Brasov. After all, the picture above was taken by yours truly in an alley in Brasov. One of my absolute favorite places on this planet. That is a story for another time.) But let's face it, I am in love with people I have never met and cities I have never been to. And I look forward to being in awe of, enamored with, and infatuated by the many masterpieces this world has to offer. 

avec la pluie, vient le changement

I have spent the past five hours listening to the echo of a million rain drops bouncing off of my windowpane. At certain moments, it sounded as if the rain was capable of bursting through my window and flooding my cozy room. As opposed to most people in this town who hope for sunny weekends that they can spend at the beach, I look forward to days like today. Every once and a while, beach days are great. But I would choose the serene lull of rain and Bon Iver over a southern anthem of beer and tractors any day. Call me crazy.  

It is on days like today that I have the opportunity to actually hear my own thoughts. And occasionally my room gets a good cleaning. Today was a special occasion, but only because it was getting unbearable. (It must be really bad for me to say that). Before I began the adventure of sorting through dirty clothes and Reese's chocolate wrappers, it was nearly impossible to see the taupe color of my shaggy carpet. 

 Back to the thinking thing. Too often, I find myself listening to the opinions of others more than I listen to my own. That is not always a bad thing. But essentially, I am the one who will have to deal with the outcome in the end. So I think listening to my conscience might be more beneficial. 

Believe it or not, I spent the majority of my day thinking about something that I learned in my 8th grade English class (Ms. Paris would be so proud). While reading the novel, The Secret Life of Bee's, there was a pivotal moment in the storyline that followed a heavy rain shower. My teacher explained to us that in mostly every form of literature or entertainment, rain symbolizes change. If you think about it, that makes perfect sense. Rain causes flowers to grow, the bottom of your jeans to become drenched with water (I hate that), and of course, rainbows to appear. All of which are not the same circumstances as they were before the rain came. So with that little tid bit of information on the back burner all day, I couldn't help but wonder if THIS rainy day was going to bring about change for me. The more I pondered that, the more I wished it would. I wear the same colors to school every week. I drive down the same roads every single day. I fall asleep to the same playlist on my iPod every night.  It is about time for some change.  

"avec la pluie, vient le changement."= with rain, comes change in French

A post about a guy

So I know that I promised I would not spill all of my thoughts to you. I have to protect a decent amount of my integrity and there is an amount of privacy I wish to keep. But I just couldn't help myself with this one. 

Many of you may be hoping that this is one of those intricate, juicy love stories that reveals my prince charming. NOPE. Guess again. 

I have an incredible sister. She has been the perfect combination of brutal honesty and inspirational pep talks that I have needed so far in my life to help mold me into the person that I am and will be. But there is more to come about her later.  

Meet Zachariah Mark Walker.  

 Also known as Zacharoo, Bubba, Zachary, or just one of my favorite people to walk the face of this earth. He is mentioned in my conversations at least 10 times daily. Yes, he is that great. 

Let me just begin with the disclaimer that contrary to siblings in other families, I have always been fond of him. Maybe not as fond as I have been lately, but he has always been one of my favorite people. 

There is a box at the end of our hallway that is the home to a handful of VHS (I might own the last few in the world) home videos. It has been emptied and refilled numerous times because of my fetish with rewinding and re-watching my past. In these nylon reels of memories you will find an interesting collection of Christmas morning surprises, family vacations, and other 5-guest occurrences that apparently just couldn't go undocumented. If he was in the frame of the camera, it was not long before I crawled my way in to join him. Needless to say, I believe that we were two peas in a pod. Of course I was very young, so memories are somewhat vague from that point in my life. But he is a memory that has never been far from my mind. 

I could leave it at this picture and say nothing more. But I will keep going, if you insist.

Zach and I have spent hours arguing on life lessons or what band we think has the best bass drop. We have gone weeks without talking for reasons that were never really established. And there have been moments when I don't think I have ever been so angry with one person. I refer to them as moments because they probably only lasted for 5 minutes at the most. But it is because of those moments that there is more space available for us to become even closer than we already are. If that is possible. 

I have watched him grow. And I have watched him change. Therefore I feel as though I have a pretty good grasp on why he is the way he is and the ways he has affected my life.  I have him to thank for my impeccable taste in music. I have him to thank for bringing Sarah, his gorgeous bride and one of my most trustworthy friends into my life.  I have him to thank for the fact that if any given situation calls for it, I know what part of my hand to use and where to punch someone in the face if I need to get rid of their loud opinion quickly. (My mom will love that one). 

I always love to interject when someone makes a comment to the affect of "I wish I had  brother" is said. Correction. You wish you had a brother like MY brother.  Somebody who protects you from any situation (I was convinced at a young age that he was my guardian angel). Somebody who looks past your flaws and stupidity because of the simple fact that they love you, no matter what. That is what you want. And that is what I have. I am bragging.

So Zacharoo, if you are reading this, thank you for being you. Thank you for teaching me those life lessons that no one else could pound into my brain. Thank you for spending time with me when I know I could not have more unpleasant to be around. Let me repeat myself. You have been and will continue to be one of my favorite people. Ever. 

Prepare yourself Jennie, you're next :)