scars

I've taken to a new police show, mostly because it features that fellow from "My Name Is Earl" and because it's set in Memphis, a town I'd like to visit for several reasons. In tonight's episode, more than one character espouses the following aphorism: The scars of our youth never go away.
Well, OF COURSE the scars never go away! The only way to be rid of a scar is to involve a plastic surgeon and much money. That would result in removal of the scar, but hopefully not the lesson learned when the scar was obtained. Because THAT is the true measure of a scar: the very personal life lesson imparted at some point in one's own history.
That small one on my forehead, near the hairline? That was from chicken pox when I was just in my teens and my youngest brother shared the malady with me and my brothers. That lesson was don't mash facial bumps unless you KNOW what they are.
The faint line across the back of my left hand was the result of a burn obtained in the chow hall kitchen during service week in boot camp. Yeah, I should have checked the temperature of that rack near the rolling oven BEFORE I tried to push it out of the way.
The inch-long ovoid on my upper left arm? Well, that's the result of having a mole removed.. and removed... and removed. No, it didn't grow back; it just took that many swipes with a surgeon's blade to get down to skin free of abnormal cells. Wear sunscreen! It's not just for the fair-skinned.
The four little marks, midway down, on my right torso? Those are from the eviction of my gallbladder three years ago. The lesson there is know your family history. Both maternal AND paternal, because both have a hand in YOUR future medical aches and diseases. My father's sister had that same surgery, at about the same age as I did, but I didn't know because the family had lost touch with her. (Not any more!)
Scars remind us of foibles on our path to become the person we are today. Wear them with pride - they are the proof of your resiliency.

love lost

Just last night, I attended a musical unlike any I have ever seen. Titled "The Last Five Years", it dealt with love found and love lost. The playwright approached this common enough theme in a most unusual manner, using time and perception to examine the theme. Here's how it went: in each scene, the two characters interact, but are out of synchronicity with the event at hand. For the male, time progressed forward, from the moment of first love to the end of the relationship. For the female, time passes in reverse, allowing us a vision of the end in the opening scene of the play.
Quite a different approach to exploration of the interactions of men and women. This is a fairly new play, having its debut in 2001, a scant decade ago. It is also set in the modern day, rather than some other time frame.
But, the most unusual part of this theatrical work is this: it is a musical. Yes, you read that correctly - a MUSICAL! I have loved musicals since I was a girl, whether they are tragic or light or inane, so this drew my attention right away. I had deliberately not read any reviews or history of the play, so it could present itself to me unshaded by the bias of others. And I completely enjoyed it, though it was terribly sad on occasion. I know I will go to this play in the future, when some other theatre puts on the show and it'll be interesting to see how my knowledge of its workings will alter my interpretation. Theatre is such a LIVE creature, mutating with its players into a slightly different beast with each outing!

spots

Just a few days ago, whilst searching for something else, I stumbled upon a very interesting blog of a fellow in Utah. In turn, his writings led me down the rabbit hole, so to speak, to an even more interesting site with contributions from him and his coworkers. What fun! Disney Princesses that kick butt (i.e., as Tarantino would have them do!) had pictures that begged me to comment... so I did.
Then it was onward, deeper into the madness, until I came upon Twilit and this particular post that didn't "get" the attraction to Edward Cullen. I responded that it wasn't the man's appearance that was the attraction, au contraire mon frere. No, the reason women (and girls) were swooning had everything to do with the words emanating from those full, kissable lips, the romance dripping from every utterance of the character. As I said then, and say now, even if I come off as a cougar because of the disparity in our ages, I find myself attracted to the CHARACTER, not the actor. And, as the CHARACTER is a couple of centuries old, youthful appearance aside, then, in truth, I am more like a kitten than a cougar.
I had always thought it would be cool to be a cat, grace in every smallest motion. That is, until I actually owned a cat and found it to be every bit as much of a klutz as myself. The beast persisted in trying to leap onto shelving, knocking off gizmos and breaking more delicate items. So much for the stereotype!
I do find myself looking more like some of my favorite cats of the wild: tigers and leopards. Their coloration is beautiful! Stripes of varying width or spots of all sizes, arising in stark contrast to the tawny coat below... I always thought it would be nice if people could have such great color schemes, with each person having their own special mixture. There would be no more differentiation of races, and THAT would certainly be a refreshing change. Can you imagine a society void of racial strife? Nor can I, but I can continue to hope for the best in the future.
Meanwhile, I have become more and more like a variegated beast as the years have passed. I have always, since my birth, been a spotted animal, with my moles and freckles. And in the past couple of decades, some of those moles have changed and had to be removed, leaving different spots in their stead. Various bouts under a surgeon's knife have given me small stripes in several places on my body and right foot.
Giving the matter more thought, I realize: I have been the mythical spotted and striped being all my life! As well as the moles and freckles I have had my whole life, I've also had tan lines, too! Well, in that case, I cannot be regarded as just one color, can I? I think not! The next form which asks which race I belong to, I'm going to respond "other" and write in... leppard.

"nothing" is NOTHING

You hear folks say it all the time: "Oh, that's nothing."
The scientists with the Hubble telescope wanted to see if that was true. Specifically, they wanted to see if a place in space that LOOKED empty really was. That is, a space that looked empty not just to our bare eyes but to those of this powerful lens. So, back in 2002, they pointed the magnificent instrument toward just such a place near the constellation known as Ursa Major. For ten days - TEN DAYS - of valuable time, the scope was pointed at "nothing", collecting data from "nothing", in an experiment which many thought to be a waste of resources.
But, when the collector plate was developed, the "empty space" was FULL of galaxies. There wasn't 'nothing" there, there was a lot of SOMETHING.
To paraphrase Jack Skellington, "Just because I cannot see it, doesn't mean I can't believe it!" The only thing which has nothing is a vacuum... but it's difficult to get a true vacuum that is completely void of all molecules.
The same holds true for space. When we see a velvety black spot amid the twinkling bits of starlight and moondust, that spot is actually full of stars - no, of entire galaxies of stars - that our eyes cannot detect. Just because we cannot detect something with our five (or even six) senses, doesn't mean something isn't there.
The scientists repeated their experiment two years later, this time pointing at a different bit of darkness and allowing the collector to gather data for three months. That's right, THREE MONTHS of the scope doing ONE experiment. The results are the Hubble Ultra Deep Field. Amazing... and quite humbling to those who are only too well aware of our bumbling efforts on this one, truly special, magical planet. We are so blessed to be living in such a heavenly site.

well, hell

If there's one thing I've learned after all these years on this lovely orb, that one thing would be: Everything is subject to change.
Not even a week after my last trip to this oh-so-peaceful shore, I found myself on the road again. ON THE ROAD AGAIN. After pledging NOT to do so for a while.
Ya see, it's like this. I've been seeing my bird since early March of 2009 and I had not yet met ANY of his family. True, none of them live IN Charleston, but he does have a sister who lives just an hour away. I did get to talk to her on the phone once, but we have not yet met. Nor had I met anyone he's known for more than a few years. But he HAS met almost all of my people. So you see the disparity.
Well, when he phoned to "remind" me of the family reunion in Atlanta that was coming up on the 3rd of July, I told him that I would not be going. First, reference this. Secondly, it wasn't even HIS family reunion, it was that of his brother-in-law's family. Ergo, we would be reunion-crashers. AND I was dealing with surgery jitters and other medical maladies. (I had brought a brown recluse spider back from Tennessee, apparently, and it had bitten me near my navel. No, I had not yet seen my doctor about it, but I had an appointment with her on the 6th for a different matter and thought I would bring up the bite then. Meanwhile, I was taking very good care of it.) I also still felt like part of my getting lost in my travels was somehow my bird's fault, for not being with me, so I had some misplaced and undeserved - admittedly, but nonetheless - anger in his direction.
So, there I am, on the phone trying to nurse this grudge and he says: "it would really mean a lot to me for you to come with me. I really want you to meet my baby sister." I'm telling ya, if you had heard him, you would totally understand why I couldn't say no... and while I didn't say "yes", I did say MAYBE. He had to make sure it would be okay if his sister brought not one, but TWO reunion crashers, and make all the arrangements before I would say okay.
And he did. And we went. And I had a great time! I really enjoyed meeting his sister and her husband and their granddaughter. I really enjoyed meeting their cousin and his wife, also crashing the reunion. I really enjoyed time spent with various members of the brother-in-law's family, participating in the scavenger hunt (and helping the winner succeed!), eating some mighty tasty ribs, and... singing karaoke. That's right, I got behind that microphone and SANG and thoroughly enjoyed myself, beginning with "Rockin' Robin"! Once the Soul Man knew I would sing, he kept asking me to come on up, and you betcha I did. I remember doing "Stop, In The Name Of Love" and seems there was at least one other before my finale of "Lean On Me" just before we departed. Mind, these weren't songs I selected. Oh, no, these were chosen FOR me by the karaoke host. But of course I knew the songs - they were all classics I had grown up hearing, right here in this Southern city by the sea.
Yeah, it meant a lot to my bird to have me flying alongside... and it meant a lot to me to be there, too.