NEW GIRL AT SCHOOL part 1

 The sky held no dark, foreboding clouds on that crisp spring day in March of 1955 when my family moved from our urban, third floor, two-bedroom apartment across town into the spacious, suburban, two story, three-bedroom-two-bath, dream house that made Dad’s spirit soar.  And as my sense of adventure had eagerly held hands with Dad’s—which was so palpably transparent as to have been contagious—my future seemed too secure to fret over friends left behind.

Upon reflection, I can still feel the surge of positive energy buoying my spirit’s sense of positive focus on this first day at our new school when Mom, hugging my little sister, Lauren and me goodbye, left her precious offspring with the principal, who, having welcomed each of us amiably, led both of us from his office into each of our classrooms.

I imagine myself hugging Lauren, who will have been clinging to me in hopes of extending our hug for several seconds before she bravely follows the voice of authority into her first grade classroom.  However, my imagination bows gracefully to memory as I recall my new teacher, Miss Stone, smiling kindly while introducing me to her fifth grade class.

Without so much as a worry as to what fate might write upon the next chapter of my life, I can clearly see a socially secure, self confident smile on my face while I walk down the aisle toward the desk to which I’d been assigned, and without a care in the world, I slide onto its seat and busy myself with getting settled in readiness for my new adventure to get underway.

Once my new text books, three ringed notebook, crayons, tempera paints, scissors, paste, ruler and pencil case have been neatly stored inside my desk, my eyes sweep the classroom until I spy an uncommonly pretty girl.  Then as my gaze lands upon two blue eyed, blond, ten year old—guys, whose desks are side by side, my instinct to check out the rest of the kids in the classroom dissipates as I sense that that which has been sought has been found. (As to why most of my new classmates are only ten while I’ve already turned eleven?  Patience, my friends.  Detailing memorable facts while writing non-fiction takes time.)

Annie

VICTIMS NEED VILLAINS

 BOOK ONE CHAPTER 2—BULLY FOR ME Part 1 VICTIMS NEED VILLAINS

Hi.  Glad to meet you.  My name is Annie.  I’m ten years old.  And I’ve leaped off the historical time line to tell you my story.  However, before we get started, there’s one thing in need of clarifying:  You may think me older than my years, because I’ll be talking through the adult I’ve become, whose voice has a tendency to override mine, from time to time.

For example, a kid would not say:  Don’t ya just hate it when you meet someone, and the first thing you hear is that person’s story of woe?  I mean if misery likes company then why do people go on and on about themselves instead of letting you top their sad tales with a whale of a tale of your own?  In truth, misery just wants listeners to agree that life should not be so unfair for someone as intelligent, caring, personable, hard working, and fun as—you.

Perhaps misery needs listeners to agree with 'woe is me' for this reason:  We know that life can be a slippery slope.  But when the person sliding downhill is oneself, we tend to believe that the reason for our slide is someone else's fault, because—Every victim needs a villain to blame when misery just won’t quit.  At least that’s what we tend to believe is true until a growth spurt toward emotional maturity shines the spotlight of insight upon the necessity of holding oneself accountable for one’s own words, actions and deeds once we’re adults.  The primary issue being that too many adults remain blind to those times when they ‘act out’ like undisciplined children rather than acting like self disciplined grown ups.

On the other hand, each time an unexpected situation arises, twisting a child's self-confident voice into tongue-tied knots, that child—Whoops—I forgot that this particular child wants to speak for herself.  So begging your pardon for my interruption, let's welcome young Annie back and listen intently to that which she feels need to say, today ...

At five, I'd patted crying classmates on the back, reassuring them that our moms would pick us up at the end of our first day in kindergarten.  You see, during the 1940’s most of us had not been enrolled in preschool, and daycare was a word not yet coined.  In fact, if Rosie The Riveter had children, they were most likely cared for by grandparents, who’d lived with our families after emigrating from ‘the old country’.

At ten, I'd stamped my foot on the playground at recess and refused to play until my friends stopped bullying the new kid at school.  Though I’d been unaware of my budding leadership skills, Mother Nature had empowered MY VOICE to ring out ‘loud and clear’ with my peers concerning whatever I’d intuitively felt at my core.  And clarity concerning my socially secure status in school remained mine until we moved to the suburbs where an emotional storm cloud darkened my pre-teen years in such a terrifying way that the confounding nature of my new reality felt too unbelievable for my sense of clarity to bear.  (In case you’re thinking:  Here starts the misery—I mean mystery—concerning the dizzying aspects of Annie’s deeply conflicted relationship with—herself, please stop your mind from jumping to conclusions, because the mysterious nature of my conflicted relationship between self-confidence and insecurity had actually experienced sound reason to develop during the fall of 1946 when I was not quite three at which time the fickle finger of fate had unleashed tragedy to trample all over my family’s sense of safety, not once but twice within less than two months time … and now, having clarified the fact that I was just a tot when a double dose of tragedy ran interference with my personal sense of safety at home—we’ll leave 1946 in the past so that when next we meet, eleven year old Annie can continue to tell you what happened to her in 1955 when her family moved to the suburbs, where she and her six year old sister, Lauren, began to go to a new school  at which time our protagonist faced experiences that proved so confounding as to have silenced the voice of her budding leadership skills, which, over time, felt so bewildered and parched as to dry up and wilt …

RUNNING ON FUMES OF MENTAL ACUITY

Though my heart is happy to have spent this past week enjoying our family, my head doesn’t have the energy to engage in activities and conversations, day after day.  And as my brain has become too tired to write insight-driven posts, I’ve decided to back-track kind of randomly through stories penned and posted in order to offer up excerpts to you until the intuitive portion of my processor feels naturally re- vitalized.

And being that today is the last day of Steven’s and Ravi’s vacation with us, I’ll close for now knowing that my plan concerning reposting portions of stories will pave our way forward until my sense of mental acuity regains the clarity to offer up insights, which have not been spotlighted  as of yet.

Annie 

SAVORING THE MEMORY OF FAMILY PICTURES

 Marie’s friend, Nguyet, is a the photographer, who took our family pictures, yesterday, as we’d gathered within one of the parklike settings in full bloom throughout the resort.  Thank goodness, Barry had thought to order and assemble a wheelchair, allowing me to participate with as little discomfort as possible, being that I remained seated whenever a photo was taken that did not include me.

The fact that Nguyet’s attitude was enthusiastic while providing our group with a natural flare for professional acuity made our photo shoot a pleasure in which to partake.  And once the proofs are ready to view, you can be sure that I’ll be eager to share them with you.

Today, Will and I appreciate the fact that the weather is so delightful as to entice most of our offspring to take off for the county fair, situated several blocks from Joey’s house, after which I imagine big, medium and small fry will return to the resort so as to feel refreshed upon leaping into the pool followed by the adults enjoying some naptime on shaded lounges while the kids swim, tirelessly, till rumbling tummies, wrapped in towels (from head to toe) stand next to their parents’s lounge chairs clamoring aloud—what’s for dinner?  We’re starving!

At this very moment, while Will and I rest up, gazing ever so peaceably over the calming expansive ocean view as clearly seen from our fifth floor veranda, serenity washes over me as I picture our progeny wandering, together, through the fair, enjoying yet another idyllic vacation day within each other’s company.  And with that vision seeming like a snapshot worthy of framing within my memory, my spirit smiles serenely for this reason  as well:

 Although a life threatening illness impedes me from enjoying my family at the beach or the fair, my sons’ desire to vacation, together, will last long beyond my years.  And as my spirit longs to savor that heartfelt thought concerning strong bonds of friendship drawing our sons and their children toward seeking each other out as often as possible, I’ll tell you how Bryce became our sons’ fourth brother once the intuitive portion of my mind opens the door to that heartfelt memory/story.

As to who was stung by the bee, please have patience with the easily wearied state of my mind since my intuition will decide when to tell that true tale, as well.

Family photo shoot during our vacation six years ago

Annie

INSIGHT INTO WHY LIVE IN THE MOMENT

 How are you feeling?  That’s what everyone asks.

‘How are you ‘feeling’ differs from ‘how are you’ in this subtle way:  Whereas—how are you feeling—implies something has been wrong—how are you—on it’s own—is commonly considered a polite way to convey a friendly interest in the current state of another person’s life.

No one has asked me ‘What’s up?’ (conveying interest in what a person has been doing) in years.

Why not?  Because everyone who cares about me knows full well that, over these last three years, I’ve been thoroughly engaged in a fight for survival, and though I have given this supreme challenge my best shot, repeatedly, ‘stage four’ indicates that my winning streak has turned a corner where malignant tumors, awaiting silently to attack my body’s healthy cells, will eventually overcome my best efforts to withstand poisonous infusions of chemo, which, in addition to killing unwelcome tumor cells, attack my body’s healthy cells until so much of me succumbs to this powerful medication that my circulatory system breaks down, indicative of the fact that chemo will prove to be every bit as dangerous to my blood cells as the tumors, themselves.  And once chemo ends, the tumors will win.

So whenever I’m combatting both cancer and chemo, simultaneously, how do I answer when asked—how are you feeling?  I say—I’m feeling happy to see you, and as my heartfelt response is 100% true, smiles appear, based in the natural emergence of positive attitudes, which are often contagious, all around.

This post spotlights insight into how best to live in the moment—most especially when the moment is peopled with loved ones and pretty much pain-free.

As I’m not combatting the weakening effects of chemo while we’re enjoying these balmy resort weeks with our family, I feel very tired but have very little physical discomfort.  And as the contagious nature of my smile is always ready to emerge whenever a loved one’s eyes meet mine, we are all enjoying as many positive moments as we can stuff into these five weeks so as to carry home as many positive memories of family togetherness as can be stored and then retrieved whenever buoying our spirits with inner joy seems in short supply, down the road.

                Enjoying Ray’s 11th birthday party

Annie

ALL TOGETHER—DAY ONE

 As Steven and Ravi arrived, last night, and Bryce arrived at the condo, this morning, everyone’s here now, except for Celina, whose presence will be missed.

My brain can only engage with others for about an hour and a half, after which, my head feels too heavy to remain in an upright position above my neck, so by the time big and small took off for the beach, I was more than ready to lie down and read while resting quietly throughout the afternoon.

As soon as everyone returns from the beach, our plan is to meet at the pool and order dinner from the grill.  Though all will be in bathing suits, I’m wearing a navy sweatshirt over a navy/white polka dot turtle neck and navy leggings. Being old and feeling cold doesn’t mean I have to dress my age.  In fact, as soon as I tie the laces on my navy converse sneaks, Will, my walker and I will be ready to enjoy dinner, poolside, with all of our offspring.  

And as I just received a text saying everyone has returned from the beach and all await our arrival at the pool, that’s all for today!

Annie

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, RAY

 With Friday having offered more social interaction than we’ve experienced over these past three years and Saturday being our grandson Ray’s 11th (outdoor) birthday party, which saw 9 or 10 active boys enjoying the largest bouncy house with attached slide and pool that I’ve ever seen, Will and I sat off to the side in the shady area of Barry’s spacious front yard (an extensive pool excavation is underway in his backyard).  We stayed less than an hour, because, following our ambitious day on Friday, Saturday saw me even more weary than usual, suggesting that my head felt too heavy to remain upright atop my neck.  So back to the condo we went, both feeling relieved that Will (who’d tweaked his back—first time on the driving range in three years time) and I could stretch out along the length of the living room couch—his head at one end mine at the other where I wondered—how in the world did I go from an active Gramma who’d kept up with my grandkids to this lady with a walker, whose smile is always keeping an eye out for a place to sit down ….

Though the temperature remains in the low 70’s, I’m sure swimming will be at the top of our family’s agenda, tomorrow, being that all ten of us will have arrived in Newport Beach by sometime this evening.

As for Ray’s 11th birthday party  I’d have thought bouncy houses would have been left in his past until I saw the gigantic size of the one that had so easily accommodated the exuberant energy surging so naturally from deep within 9 or 10 prepubescent boys, all of whom were enjoying themselves— thoroughly—as can be seen in the video, below …

  🎂Annie