Joyful Moment #612

I collect joyful moments like some people collect stamps. I put most joyful moments in a small book. Some of my joyful moments are also written on this blog. I had another joyful moment today. It was #612. It happened as I wrote in my journal.

I have been a journal writer since I was a child.  I’m not perfect at it, but I try to write once a month. As I was writing today, I felt joy on reflecting  why 7-year-old me set the goal to record the events of my life once a month.  I set the goal, because of a conversation I had with my father’s step-dad.

Grandpa Adams picture

Grandpa Adams was sick and his health was deteriorating.  This is how most visits to the grandparents worked at that age. I would say hi and then run as fast as I could past Grandma and Grandpa to play outside. This time was different though.  Grandpa asked me to sit by him for a minute. He shared that he kept a journal. He asked me if I kept a journal. I told him no. Grandpa looked at me and then solemnly gave me two promises. He told me that if I kept a journal I would remember my childhood. Grandpa also said that if I kept a journal that I would have a happy life even if sometimes I had bad experiences.

It was a deep conversation to have with a little kid. It made an impact on me. That night I asked my parents to get me a journal from the store. The brown book with the brown flowers is the journal my parents bought me.

My journals

As I was writing in my journal today, I felt joy that I can record my ordinary life. The act of writing it down somehow makes the ordinary turn into “extraordinary”. I get to be the hero (and sometimes the accidental villain) in the great story called my life.

Grandpa Adams’ words came true. I remember many things from my childhood. I also believe that I can have a happy life even if sometimes I have bad experiences.

 

The Worst Valentine’s Day Ever (no, it’s not this year)

It’s a strange thing to be single again after years of being part of a couple. It defiantly brings up a lot of feelings. This morning, while putting on my makeup, I had the thought that this was the worst Valentine’s Day of my entire life.

Luckily, I remembered my actual worst Valentine’s Day. It happened when I was six.

The night before my school Valentine’s Day party I discovered small, red bumps all over my stomach. They itched. They seemed to multiply every time I looked at them. I debated if I should tell my mother about the funny looking bumps.  I was afraid she would say I was sick. I was really afraid she wouldn’t let me go to school the next day.

She didn’t let me go to school the next day.  I had the Chickenpox.

No matter how hard I cried, Mom said no school. I even told her that no one would notice I had Chickenpox. My plan was to wear a hat and a mask all day.  Mom still said no school.

  I spent Valentine’s Day at home watching more of those itchy, burning bumps pop up all over my skin. I didn’t get to make the heart wreath, watch the Valentine’s Day movie, do math problems with candy hearts or participate in any of the other fun activities. It was very tragic for a six-year-old.

My brother David did not help the situation. He came home from school, and promptly told me his class party was the best day of his life. I was filled with righteous 6-year-old anger. It wasn’t fair. I thought about yelling at David, but then I had a better idea. My little plan made perfect sense at the time. Mom had told me the Chickenpox were contagious. My brother was annoying me. So, I gave him the longest, hardest hug I could. David wiggled away from my grasp and ran down the hallway. He was screaming the whole time. “Amee touched me. I’m going to get the Chickenpox.”

David got the Chickenpox.

Unfortunately, my plan backfired on me.  David had the Chickenpox over my birthday.  It impacted who could come to my party.

The Chickenpox Valentine’s Day was the worst Valentine’s Day of my entire life.  In between itching my bumps, I cried a lot that day. I somehow survived it.  I’m sure that I will somehow survive this Valentine’s Day too.

Happy Valentine’s Day, Everyone.

heart-picture

 

Joyful Moment

When I was nine, I decided I wanted to be smart. I didn’t know how to be smart, so I asked the smartest person I knew for advice.  Grandmas know everything when you’re a kid.

Grandma told me to get a library card and read one book a month.

My library card

I’m happy to report that I’ve followed her advice with a monthly trip to the library. My library card has brought me a lot of joy over the years.

Thanks, Grandma.

Grandma Adams

My life has been blessed by listening to you. What advice have you been given that has blessed your life?

 

 

 

 

 

 

Random Thoughts on the day before

I’m turning 39 on February 27th. It’s kind of weird to be turning 39. I don’t know what to expect for my 39th year of life. When I was 15, I wrote my life history.  It wasn’t your normal life history. Instead of writing about my past, I wrote the life history for my future. It was 25 pages long and included a month by month analysis of my life from age 15 until my 20th year high school reunion at 38. I ended my life history at 38.  I had quite the epic life that included normal dreams like going to college, getting married, having twins and some not-so-ordinary plans like being an ambassador to Russia and fighting aliens in order to save the world. The last line on my life history was this. “She retired at 39 from her job at the space station. Amee’s little family, which included her handsome husband and their four kids, moved to a tropical beach paradise planet where they lived the rest of their lives in absolute happiness. The End”. It sounds delightful and I only have one more day to make it all happen.

When you are young, you know you will grow up but it’s a far-away fantasy thing. You believe anything is possible including intergalactic space battles and two sets of twins.  I am now twenty years removed from writing my life history. I still have a dreaming heart, but I’m old enough to realize that some things will probably never be. Unless there is a quick miracle in the next 24 hours, I won’t be fighting aliens above planet Earth or be the mother to four children.

I’m not really, really old yet but I’m not young anymore either. I’m standing in the middle land staring at my future that I never thought to imagine when I was 15. The future is really unwritten from this point on.

Amee on the path

I love this photo of me. My very talented Aunt Marla took it  when we were on a hike. I’m on the path but I can’t see behind the curve. I have to just keep going on and hoping that the view and journey will be marvelous.

Life is kind of like that sometimes. Here is my future. Unwritten. Unexplored and ready to be beautiful.  I hope to make it a good one.

 

 

I got my sticker.

Once upon a time there was a little girl who loved stickers. She collected them and put them in a book. It was election day. The little girl’s mother packed up all of her children and took them with her while she voted.  There was a mean lady named Linda working at the polls. Linda had short black hair, large silver glasses and a purple dress with green flowers printed on it.  She gave the little girl’s mother a voting sticker but she didn’t give the girl a sticker. Of course, the little girl never forgot. Thirty-three years later, she thinks about how she didn’t get a sticker every time she votes.

I voted sticker

She thinks about the issues too.