Fairytale endings

Sleepless in Seattle came on TV tonight. I love, love, LOVE that movie. To me, a good movie is one that you can watch not once, not twice, but three times in a row. And thanks to TBS and their mini-marathons, it actually is possible to watch this great movie times three. Seriously, best movie ever. Along with While You Were Sleeping. Another great mini-marathon flick.

Emily laughed at me every time this movie came on. I am a hopeless romantic comedy sap. She'd tease me to no end about fairytale endings and happily ever afters and how nothing ever happened like that in real life. She played the cynic... yet she always sat and watched it with me. She'd never admit it, but she loved it as much, well... almost as much... as I do. I know that real life rarely tends to play out like a sappy Meg Ryan movie. That life doesn't keep floating along perfectly after the movie's ending credits. But it's an escape. For two hours I can lose myself in the fairy tale where everyone does, in fact, live happily ever after. Emily got that- even if she didn't want to admit it.

I actually haven't seen it in a long time. Not since Emily died. And even though I've seen it hundreds of times, can quote lines verbatim, and could probably play Meg Ryan's part... it hit me differently tonight. Tom Hanks' character is dealing with the loss of his wife. And I never really paid attention to the lines about grief and loss.... simply because I'd never been there. But one line grabbed at my heart. When his character was asked what he was going to do, here's the line in response:

"Well, I'm gonna get out of bed every morning... breathe in and out all day long. Then, after a while I won't have to remind myself to get out of bed every morning and breathe in and out... and, then after a while, I won't have to think about how I had it great and perfect for a while."

Sounds rather familiar. Hauntingly familiar actually. She touches everything. It still takes me by surprise how intertwined she is in so much of me. Even in something as simple as a sappy movie. Thankfully though, this isn't one of the more painful realizations. It's one of those things that sparks the flame of her memory a little brighter, without getting burned in the process.

I have discovered the antidote to taking yourself too seriously.

Move in with a fourteen year old.

Back to the world of grown-up clothes?

I had a job interview this morning. An administrative assistant position for the executive director of the Columbia Jewish Community Center. Last night I frantically started tearing through my closet trying to find something to wear. It's amazing how you can have a closet full of clothing and absolutely NOTHING to wear. As I discarded outfit after outfit, I cursed myself for not having lost the 20 pounds or so I need to in order to fit into most of my "grown up clothes." No skirts, because then I'd have to wear panty hose. And it never fails that I always get runs in them no matter what I do. And not knowing the company policy, I needed shoes to cover the tattoos on my feet. Dress shirts didn't look right, sweaters were too casual..... my room was quickly becoming a disaster zone.

I finally pulled out a business suit I've kept in my closet, hoping I'd fit into it again someday. Holding my breath and praying with everything I had that those pants would fit... I tried them on. Someone must have heard me 'cause they fit. Guess all that moving and hauling and running around I've been doing has helped a little.

As I ironed my shirt this morning, (you don't have to check your glasses mother. You read right- I can iron. :), anyway.. as I ironed my shirt this morning I decided to go for broke and pull out the fancy black Steve Madden heels. I don't often wear them. It is the epitome of unfair to give a love of fancy high heeled shoes to a girl who is 5'11 (and a half-ish). I've always been sensitive about my height, and people love to make stupid comments highlighting the obvious. "wow, you're tall!" Gee, like I didn't know. But every once in awhile I decide to embrace the tall girl and wear the shoes.

As I looked in the mirror at the girl with her hair done, make-up on, business suit, and high heels, I almost didn't recognize myself. I so often only see the messy ponytail, the faint trace of mascara (if I think about it), ripped jeans, and a comfy hoodie that the woman in the mirror seemed like a stranger. Then I went downstairs and Rachel's eyes widened in shock. This was the first time she's seen me looking like a grown up. I felt pretty confident. Guess I do clean up pretty good.

It's amazing what an outfit can do for your self-confidence. As I walked to the car, I prayed that this would be a scene to be repeated for many mornings to come. Walking out in nice clothes, heading to work. I've missed my grown up outfits. It's been awhile since they've been used.
On the way home from the interview, I stopped in at the vet to pick up some medicine for Laurie's cat. Breezing in and out of the building in my fancy clothes, I pretended I was running errands on my lunch break. Stopped to get gas and didn't mind the guy at the next pump watching me. Pathetic, isn't it?

Later on, after the suit was hung back in the closet and my jeans back on, my high heels swapped for a pair of flip flops, and my hair pulled back out of my face, Rachel and I went to Starbucks. I watched as a woman in a suit and yakking on a cell phone came in. People sure reacted differently to her than they did to us. I envied her, her job, her obvious haste to get back to wherever she'd come from.

Confession. I do not want to work at Food Lion down here. The thought of starting there next week makes my stomach feel queasy. I hate the thought of putting on that ugly shirt and forcing myself to make nice with the general public. I really enjoyed the people at Food Lion in Greencastle. They knew me. They knew me and liked me because Emily was my sister. Because my mom works as a vendor there. I was used to getting my way when I needed it, and being able to make the schedule work for me. No one knows me here. No one knows my sister. And honestly, I'm just plain tired of being a cashier. I should be grateful to have it. But the reality is that I want to wear my grown up clothes again.

I should hear something within a week. I'm trying not to get my hopes up. And I know that this isn't the only job out there. And that if it doesn't work out, it just means that it's not the right one. But it sure would be a load off my mind to get hired soon. I want to get to know that grown up in the mirror a little more.

Boxes, speed dials, and neon signs

Over the last month I've started and stopped at least four different blog posts about the latest change heading my way. I got to a certain point and then I couldn't find a coherent thought to tie it all together. I think in a way I couldn't write about it, because I still hadn't completely sorted out my feelings on it. Then before I knew it, it's come and gone, and I haven't posted a word.

Are you confused yet? I tend to do that.

I've moved to South Carolina. A week ago today, actually. It's been a long time coming- since.... well, about 2005 when Laurie first made the offer. The timing never seemed right. I'd get close to making a decision and then I'd get scared and change my mind. When the economy tanked, I told myself it made no sense to quit a perfectly good job (albeit one that I hated), and head off to a whole other state without one. Then suddenly I found myself without my perfectly good job, and out of excuses. So after alot of agonizing, going back and forth, fretting, and worrying "can I really do this", I decided to do it. And so I did. Packed up all my earthly possessions into a 6 x 12 U-Haul trailer and headed down the road. (With my parent's help of course.)

And now I found myself here a week later with my stuff for the most part unpacked and put away. (How is it that what took about three weeks to put into boxes, only took about three days to take out of the boxes?!) I woke up thinking this morning, "oh man, it's Friday... the week is almost over." Then I realized that this is not a vacation, and I don't have to go home on Sunday.

I find myself thinking of that word, too. Home. A few days ago I was updating my information on my cell phone. Speed dial number 2 has always been set to "home". Speed dial number "8" has always been "Laurie's house". But where is home now? For me, wherever my pillow has been has always been home. Home to me is my childhood in Alabama, the last ten years in Pennsylvania, Laurie's house even before it became my house too. I've even been known to say on vacations that I was ready to go back home, yet meaning the hotel or beach house we were staying at. But the question of how to organize my cell phone stumped me. Do I keep speed dial number 2 as "home", as in where mom and dad are? Or do I change it to where my pillow happens to be and make "home" my new phone number? Argh. As insane as it sounds, it's been quite a quandary for someone like me, who has a nasty habit of resisting change. Even on something as ridiculous as a cell phone.

I've finally stopped referring to my room as the "guestroom". With all my stuff in there it looks like my room. And with Rachel's help I have my fish tank set up, so now it even sounds like my room. My coats are in the closet, my DVDs on the shelf, my magnets are on the fridge, and I even have stuff in the attic. I physically feel like I'm home, now I'm just waiting to wake up and not feel like I'm on an extended vacation.

I've been searching and even applying for jobs already. Food Lion transferred me to a store here in Columbia, but I missed being on this coming week's schedule. So I've got another week stretching ahead of me with not a whole lot to do. I'm trying not to stress about finding a job. After all, I've only been looking for three days. I still have many months of unemployment coming in before I have to worry about "needing" a job right away. But I'm so tired of not working, and I'm feeling rather impatient. In some ways I feel like if I'm actually working, rather than sitting on my duff for most of the day waiting for Rachel and Laurie to get home, then I'll somehow feel useful. Moving here has been a long time coming. I've wanted to be here, and despite my whining, I really am excited to be here. In alot of ways I think this is where God wants me to be at this moment in my life. So I'm simply trying to remember that, and trust that since He's brought me this far, He won't suddenly leave me out to dry.

So here I am. Suddenly in this pattern of waiting again. Seems like the last six months that's all I've done. I waited for the Poland trip. I waited for moving day. And now... I'm waiting for a job. Waiting for a clear sign that says, "MELISSA! HERE IS WHAT YOU ARE GOING TO BE WHEN YOU GROW UP. AND THIS IS WHAT YOU NEED TO DO TO MAKE THAT HAPPEN."
(Flashing in very bright colors so that I can't possibly miss it.)

Does it ever really happen that way? I think it should.

Beauty in the light

I love fire.

I love the way the flames seem to dance. I love the way the colors are so distinct, yet at the same time seem to blend so easily into one. Reds, yellows, oranges, blues.... fire can be so beautiful.

I spent this past weekend at a campground with my aunts and my cousins. Sitting around the campfire on Saturday night, I found myself just staring off into the flames. Thinking about how blessed I am to have such incredible people in my family. Thinking about Emily. Thinking about how things are going to be changing so much pretty soon. Just generally getting lost in thought.

I really miss Emily. In some ways, I miss her now more than ever. I wonder if now that the numbness has started to wear off, it's really hit home that she's never coming back. And as I sat staring into those flames, I just plain missed her.

When I was in Poland, we toured the All Saints Cathedral. While we were in the sanctuary, there was a place to light little votive candles. (I'm sure there is an actual term for this, but I can't remember what it is at the moment.) There were three tiers of candles. Most were lit. The church was semi-dark, and the beauty of the candles flickering against the backdrop of that centuries-old church took my breath away. And even though I'm not Catholic, I lit one for Emily. Not because I held any beliefs that by lighting that candle it would "do something." But just out of a need to still have something of her to hold onto. Something physical to represent her. Something I could see.
I know that it's long since burned out by now. But it was there, flame flickering and light dancing for all to see. Lending it's little light to the bigger picture. Kind of symbolic for my sister's life. It doesn't matter that the candle is no longer there. What matters is that it was. Each of those lights represented something. A prayer, a person, a memory. And each person who sees those lights I think carries a bit of the person it honors with them. Not necessarily by knowing who the light shines for. But just in knowing that it's shining.

And for me, that's enough.

A candidate for anger management?

I never realized how many commercials there on TV these days that are related to diabetes. After Emily was diagnosed, I obviously paid more attention when they came on. But it wasn't until after she died that suddenly those commercials were on every five minutes. Ads for glucose meters, test strips, etc. All being hawked by perfectly healthy looking people who made it seem like diabetes was just a slight inconvenience that could be cured by having a color coordinated blood sugar meter.
*sigh*

The latest irritant is a commercial by Bayer.

The commerical bothered me so much I threw a pillow at the TV.

But it wouldn't go away. So I threw another one.

And another one.

When the thought crossed my mind that maybe throwing a remote would make it go away, I realized that there is a distinct possibility that I may slowly be losing my grip on reality.

I could picture myself trying to explain:
"Mom, Dad... your TV has a gaping hole in it because the TV commmerical made me mad"

My parents are very understanding people. I've gotten away with quite alot in my 26 years. But yet, I don't think my being cute and adorable would have gotten me out of that one.

I'll stick to throwing pillows. I have a feeling I'll be seeing those commericals for a good long while.

Random Sparks

It's funny how random little things will spark a memory.

Facebook has opened a whole new world. I haven't spent this much time on the internet since I was a teenager and ICQ was all the rage. (Does anyone even use that anymore?!) Facebook definitely leaves ICQ in the dust. Photos, updates, links, videos, quizzes (which quite honestly I have no interest in, but they're out there), stickers..... it's mind-boggling really all the things you can do. One of the features is that you can create a "fan" page-- you can pretty much be a fan of everything. People, places, restaurants, toys... and food. I saw one this morning for "Dunakroos". Anyone remember those? They were all the rage in the early 90's. They are little cinnamon graham crackers in the shape of kangaroos, and they come with frosting you dip them in. Vanilla with sprinkles or chocolate. They were our absolute favorites. And surprise, surprise.... the icing was the best part. Mom used to get so irritated because we'd eat the icing and not all the crackers. I laughed this morning. It's the little things like this that make me miss Emily so much more. If she was here, I'd have picked up the phone and called her, "Em do you remember....?!?"
But then again--- if Emily was still here I likely still wouldn't be on facebook and never would have even seen the silly things in the first place.

*sigh*