love – Page 89 – hannah ananas

For the common good… -ish

I was thinking about death last night (It makes sense, I promise.), and I came to an interesting idea. Someone was discussing how she couldn’t understand why someone so amazing as the friend who just died could die. Why would God take away someone who brings so much to the world? she asked, rhetorically.

And what came to mind almost immediately, was, ‘Because it was time for that good to spread.’

Now that that person is gone, all of the people in her life who found her to be spectacular, now have a sense of powerful, willing obligation to carry on a This or a That from her life. This way, although this one person only impacted so many people directly by living, the desire to keep good in the world drives those people to carry on her good to others, directly affecting more people than she ever even met. Whenever we lose someone we love, it is common and natural for us to carry forward consciously and intentionally something that person would say or do in life. We already do a good amount of that unintentionally, of course, but the death of a person affects us in a different way, often calling us to even note inpactful action in our lives. And so, losing someone so wonderful can almost feel like the world saying, ‘Okay, it’s time to increase this good influence on the world exponentially.’

Kind of cool, I think. It’s an idea, nonetheless.

Post-a-day 2017

at night

“Y’all have a good night,” I sat in a casual, comforting, and somewhat raspy and deep, womanly voice.

“You, too… be safe,” they both respond, accompanied by a casual wave, a smile, and a dip of the head by both of them.

This happens as I walk out of the school, close to 10pm, after the theatre production. These two men are the police officers on duty.

I love this…. these kinds of interactions. The men would have been ignored in so many other places I have lived and visited. They are sometimes ignored by people here. But it is also normal for that little interaction to take place, especially around here.

Yes, I love this, I think to myself with a smile, as I walk to the car. I love living here. I love the South.

Post-a-day 2017

Book nerd much?

You know that feeling of finding a book you really love? Not necessarily after you finish reading it, though that’s always awesome, too, but when you’re so into it as you read it, you can’t seem to stop reading. I’ve just finished a good audiobook (Bitter is the New Black, Jen Lancaster), which I loved almost every step of the way (just one little bit that had me frustrated, but the rest was way awesome), and I, therefore, had to find a new read for my commute from and to work. I use this awesome website, http://www.goodreads.com , to keep all of my book information organized, so I went on there to see what books I had on my to-read list. After a quick glance at the first page, I checked my library application for the audiobook of one of them. I tittered with delight as soon as the book began to download – I could hardly wait to start listening.

Once I was in the car at the end of work, I was engulfed by the book. It almost instantly became a near-addiction for me. Now at home, hours later, I just had to force myself to turn off the book. I even listened with headphones while I cooked this evening, and then listened again while I got ready for bed just now. Then, I was lying in bed for a while, just listening, until I managed to turn it off to write this. I need to get sleep while I can, and the book will be ready for me tomorrow morning. Hey, perhaps it’ll help me get myself out of bed in the morning – the sooner I’m up, the sooner I can start listening… not a bad idea, really.

Anyway, I’ve got to get to reading my actual bedtime books, so I can snooze out ASAP. Sweet dreams, this half of the world, and good morning to the other.

Post-a-day 2017

Today’s bumps, I guess

Two not-so-great things happened today at work. 1) I hid under my desk again (second time so far here). 2) I took a stupid typing test, and only got 60 words per minute.

For the desk thing, it’s just a whole new world, working here with these kids. Education that has felt like second nature to me most of my life, is a piece of education that has somehow eluded a good chunk of these guys, thanks to stereotypes and income levels of families. The first time I hid under my desk, I think I just wanted to be alone, after a good hour or two of kids being kids, unable to handle sitting in a classroom, even for five minutes at a time (we get up and about in the room a lot during class, excluding test and quiz days). Today, it was a bit of that, but mostly my distaste at the unfortunate lack of capability of many of these high schoolers to do basic addition, subtraction, multiplication, and division. I took these same classes at their same ages, and yet I flew threw most of this stuff. Not only was I good at math, but I had friends and family to support me with it, whether I needed the help or not. These kids just plain don’t. So, I’m not sure if it was so much the annoyance at the kids being restless today, as it was their social and educational backgrounds that really just have me wanting to curl up and cry, and go away… but ‘out of sight, out of mind’ has never really been one of my supported phrases in life.

And, for the typing test, it was stupid. It was for doing Aesop’s fables, including their titles and an introduction. I didn’t have a single error in the final product, because I corrected as I went, but the flow was difficult, because it was different formatting with the titles and such. Aren’t typing tests traditionally of paragraphs? Perhaps my belief in that is a false one, but it makes more sense to me for a general standard test than what I had today. Anyway, it was some free online test, so I don’t expect it to be the best standard… it was just kind of annoying. Hopefully I am right, and my typing speed is actually faster than just 60 words per minute. I didn’t even have a comfortable positioning of the keyboard and everything, either, so I don’t really see why I’m upset about it. I guess I’m just tired and feeling ill today, and that’s bringing me down in more ways than one right now.

Post-a-day 2017

That Jacket

Tomorrow, I get to wear my brother’s pirate jacket, and I am thrilled(!). At long last, I am granted not only the occasion, but the permission and the ability to wear the jacket, and it looks mighty fine with the ensemble, I dare say.

My brother bought it at this cool resale shop called Lucy in Disguise, in Austin, Tx. When my mom had asked him what he had paid for the jacket, he said that it was “a bill”. I thought he was just being funny, saying that he had handed over some bill of cash money, and the change came back to him, because he didn’t really remember what he’d paid for it, or because he was thrilled at having spent so little on it, that it was a five- or ten-dollar bill, maybe even a twenty. However, as their conversation continued, I quickly discovered the term as being a vernacular synonym for the hundred-dollar bill. That my brother would have paid such a price for something like that meant that it must be, it necessarily was outstanding. And, truly, this jacket it. I envied him for it from the first time I saw it. I don’t even really love pirate-y things. Yeah, they’re cool, but I don’t ever want or need them. But this jacket was like (the cheesy tie-in of) treasure to me. It is just that wonderful.

And I finally get to wear it. Yippee! 😀

Post-a-day 2017

A hug of love

Tonight, at an event, I came across a student whom I taught for a grand total of eight days, and whom I haven’t seen since those couple months ago. When she saw me, her delight was noticeable instantly, and her desire to hug me was almost palpable – she was almost shaking with the anticipation and desire, similar to a puppy wagging its tail as it waits desperately to be pet and loved on by its human. When she saw that I was okay with her hugging me, we hugged. It was a real hug, and not the common ‘meh’ version that feels like a required pleasantry instead of a genuine gesture of care for someone. She cared, and it was for me.

I almost began to tear up, but for the intense joy and ease that filled me and flowed out of me afterward. In that teaching job, I was incredibly myself with the students, and this was the kind of impact I left after only a single week. This impact, where a student can hardly wait to hug me upon sighting me, and declares fervently, “We miss you,” despite our having not seen one another in months, was clearly a powerful one. And I am grateful for the grace and strength I had to provide it in being myself. I was truly honored tonight.

Post-a-day 2017

Hmm…

I have felt recently as though I am at one of the most quizzical times in life. The feelings of being young and twenty-something are being contradicted by simple counting and addition, and the unofficial job status of ‘semi-wanderer’ seems more and more out of place. To add to it all, I didn’t even know the year when I was putting the date on a paper I was signing this morning.

Every other day, I have new feelings and ideas about the direction I want to pursue now and next in my life. Today, I consider one thing. Tomorrow, I am excited and content in pursuing that same thing. The day after tomorrow, that idea seems somewhat bleak. And then, the day after that, a new idea arises, and the cycle repeats itself.

For now, I think I need to stick with today and tomorrow, and what I will do with myself then. I will put forth my own good effort, and do well and good in the world around me. For some reason, that always had a wonderful result for everyone around me, including myself. As for the other things, I think they will slide into place as I take each of those daily steps that seem right for today and tomorrow. And, day by day, my life will be filled with such love and joy, shared with the world, as I never could have imagined from where I am right now. Baby steps and hope, as I learned from “What about Bob?” and “The Shawshank Redemption” (I plan to read the short story by Stephen King soon enough.).

Post-a-day 2017

Photography Skills…?

I don’t know what it is, but I apparently am great at photography. My cousin and aunt said that I really just have a great eye for it. I see what they mean, but I keep wondering if it is only for certain circumstances that I am any good at it all, that I only have an eye for specific photo situations and events. Sure, I had great ideas for a couple weddings, and a handful of other events in recent years, but they all shared in their nature-tied, almost rustic themes. Part of me wonders if I just choose to take photos of things that are already awesome, and I am merely documenting those things, as opposed to my taking whatever is in front of me, and documenting it in an awesome way.

That being said, there is another part of me that wants desperately to agree with them wholeheartedly, go find a good quality camera, and start promoting myself as a photographer. This is the part that tells me how I am always just a very harsh judge of myself, and the standards I hold are far beyond the usual standards for people, thereby making what I consider to be mediocre work of my own to be spectacular by regular standards. And I so want to believe this part of me…, but I don’t want to be wrong.

Then again, why do I not want to be wrong? It looks like I want not to be embarrassed for thinking that I have taste, and being called out about it, because I don’t actually have good taste like I’d thought. Also, that I want not to cause people to believe I am cheating them in any way…. and it looks like that’s about it. Huh… Well, I know that I have taste. Especially seeing as how I frown at professional photos that I see all of the time, because I am disappointed that the photographer would allow such photos to be paid for. As for finding an appropriate value for my “work”, let’s call it, I guess I can easily enough ask different people for guidance, and always verify with the “client”, shall we say, regarding an agreed upon value of the work. And, regarding my earlier concern/wondering, I could always just do photos for those similar settings, if it turns out that I’m only really great at those types of setups. Well, that’s too simple, almost.

Fortunately, the key word there is “almost”.

So, I guess that means that I am looking for a camera now, because my phone is not satisfactory for anything above instagram quality. 😛

Post-a-day 2017

Family and music

I love my family. And I miss getting to spend time with them. I had somewhat forgotten the existence of one of my cousins, because I hadn’t actually seen him in so long. I knew he existed, of course, but it was as though I had accepted that it wasn’t ever an option to see him. And so, it was a wonderful surprise – though I knew in my head that he would be here ahead of time – actually seeing him and spending time with him tonight.

One of the things I love about spending time with him is his musical gift. He can be given any instrument, and, whether he has ever played it before or not, can be playing lovely music on it within a maximum of a few minutes. We always end up humming and whistling and singing beautiful music together, whether we have an instrument or not (though we often have at least a guitar).

Tonight was no different. He pulled out one of my favorite songs, and early on in the visit. Oddly enough, I hadn’t listened to or sung/played the song in years, and so it was a fun surprise. I had to look up the words, because it had been so long, but it was too good of a song not to get all the words right (“White Man” by Michael Gungor Band).

As he fiddled around on the guitar, my mom and I sat with him on the porch, listening to him play, and working on our puzzle/mystery boxes we were creating for his brother’s wedding reception this weekend. The kind of music he was playing reminded me of why I ever wanted to learn to play guitar in the first place. I want to play John Denver and Jim Croce music, and other things similar in style. It has always been my long-term, distant future goal, since it really isn’t the easiest music, but there are plenty of things I can learn as stepping stones (and I have learned a good bit of them). I just don’t play when I don’t have the company of someone else’s music.

When I am with my cousin, we almost always take the time to sit down and teach me something new and, of course, beautiful to play. Now that we are back living in the same country, we might actually be able to set up semi-regular music meet-ups for the two of us. We’ll see.

Gosh, I love my cousin.

Post-a-day 2017

The stairs attacked me

I fell on the stairs tonight. More specifically, I fell up the stairs.

You see, I was carrying up my laundry, for which I had no basket. There were bunches of socks in the pile, and I had strategically hugged myself to the pile, in order to keep the many socks from falling to the ground. Unfortunately, as I was stepping up to the top of the stairwell, I found myself suddenly stemmed to the ground with a loud s-smack!

I knew that I was on the ground and that I had somehow tripped, but had almost no brain capacity beyond knowing that. I realized that I was about to cry terribly, and wanted my mom got help, in case I were injured. I managed to call my mom with a very calm voice before I broke into an almost hysterical blurriness of tears.

For some reason, I was filled with a warm feeling of something truly special and loving at my mom’s response. She was on the phone with family, and I heard her say, “Let me call you back in just a few minutes,” immediately after I called her. There was little panic in my voice, but she had heard the splat.

When she arrived, I was crying on the cat-pee-infused floor, – she ripped up the carpet a while back, but still hasn’t gotten the particle board part replaced – on top of my laundry, half-sprawled on my forearms and knee, with my left leg lifted slightly in the air. She asked me what had happened, but I couldn’t speak at first, and couldn’t move almost at all for the pain. She said that she didn’t know how to help me until I could at least show her where I was hurt. After a good set of seconds, I finally forced myself to sit in my right side, and pull my left leg around for her to see in the narrow landing of the top of the stairs.

She instantly could tell that my knee was swelling already. I finally could speak a little, and pointed out that my toe was bleeding. It was slow to begin, but then blood just seemed to be pouring out of it. By the time I was able to stand myself up, and attempt walking, – it hurt – my sandal was getting covered in bright red.

Half an hour later, I am lying here on my bed, occasionally shivering/shuddering in pain as another throb goes through my toe. The ice is helpful, but the weight of it seems to make things hurt more (as is so often the case with an ice pack). I’ve already felt around, and, though it was painful, it seemed like my toe is all in one piece. But that is not so much the point of my sharing this – that I had a big fall, but I am okay.

You see, it reminded me of this other occasion, when I had a similarly odd experience, and it was here, too, at my mom’s house.

Several years ago, – I think it was in high school – my mom had made some soup for dinner. The soup was ready in a pot on the stovetop, and she had told me to go serve myself. I grabbed one of the black ceramic bowls we use, and ladled some soup into it. The next instant, there was soup and shattered ceramic all over the place around me. It covered the floor. I was still holding the ladle, I think, even, but the bowl was gone, in pieces on the floor.
I was paralyzed with shock and fright. I couldn’t immediately comprehend how things had happened, but I knew that the bowl I had been holding was now all over the floor, and that it was dangerous to move. I likely was barefoot or in sandals, making it that much more dangerous to move. I couldn’t comprehend the full situation, and that was an additional scary factor to the shattered ceramic around me.

I began to cry. My mom was already walking over to me from the living room. She told me that it was okay, and she held me while I cried and said that I didn’t know what had happened.

She cleaned up everything, and then brought me soup on the sofa, where I had settled physically to help me settle emotionally. And she wasn’t even the slightest bit upset or annoyed at any of it. She was just there for me, and she took care of me. She loved and cared for me, with no contingencies. I felt like a five-year-old in what I had done and how I had responded, and was initially almost ashamed that I was actually around 17. But my mom didn’t seem even to consider that. Age wasn’t on her mind, even. I needed help, and she gave it. I needed love and care, and she provided. And without hesitation.

Tonight was the same. Usually, her phone calls are not cut short, but she tells the person to ‘hang on just a second’ or just whispers a, ‘What?(!)’ to me as she holds the receiver away from her face a bit. In tonight’s situation, even though it turned out to be my grandma on the phone, my mom instantly responded to my need, ending the phone call immediately – she didn’t even wait for my grandma to finish what she was in the middle of saying at the time -, and coming to help me. Again, I had made what felt like a childish error, and again did she seem not to care less about that fact. I was in need, and she took care of me, without hesitation.

That experience of love is one of the most beautiful ones I have ever known. Talk about being ashamed or at one’s worst, and being loved anyway…

Post-a-day 2017