stories before me

It seemed like my parents were alive for a hundred years before I was born. Then, all my siblings came along and lived what seems like decades before I finally joined them. But, the advantage to that is that there are a thousand tales that have been passed around about all the things that happened before me.

So as the story goes, when my mom was young, her mom and her were home alone one hot summer day. Grandma was outside and found a pack of cigarettes in their front lawn and so grandma did what any sensible mom would do, she smoked a cigarette with her young, innocent daughter, my mom.

That's really all there is to the story. But, I find the mental image immensely amusing.

My grandma died of cancer a year before I was born. No need for worry, it wasn't lung cancer, and from what I understand, the shared cigarette from that summer day was the only cigarette that my mom or grandma ever smoked. But I have taken the pictures I've seen of her and the stories I've heard about her and have created quite an image of this woman--my Grandma--in her Ohio home.
And I smile every time I think of this mysterious grandma of mine smoking a cigarette with my little formidable mom.

crossing into awe

It’s not a bad thing, this numbness. It’s slightly exhilarating, a little terrifying, mostly unreal. I am stepping into something profoundly new. I am doing something I’ve hoped for, wished for. I’m sitting back and watching me get blessed.

I am prone to bitterness. It’s one of my countless flaws, but one that shows its ugly personality at inopportune moments that call for me to be happy for those who are happy when I just don't feel like smiling. But when I haven’t gotten what I’ve prayed for and when I watch others repetitively get the very thing I felt certain I deserved, I am bitter. I am very human and very weak.

So, the fact that I’m getting something so tangible, so real, so exactly what I asked for is a little overwhelming. I’m used to getting all the little things I want but never the big things. Never that. Never this. I’m realizing that this numbness is in fact awe. I’m realizing that I’ve been answered.

she.

She sat alone. Blue sweater, blue eyes, blonde hair. She was focused on the screen, on her work, on whatever distraction was pulling her away from her work in that moment. Her left hand wrapped a coffee mug, her right hand rested lightly on the computer’s keys. Her knees bounced gently to the music that poured in through ear buds. She was alone in a crowd of loners. Working on solo projects, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder, screen-to-screen, all utterly separate in purpose and task. She offered the occasional polite smile when her eyes accidentally wondered into the line of vision of another café loner. But, it was obvious to others, whether she meant it or not, that she was to be left alone.

But in truth, she wasn’t here for the coffee. That’s merely the price one pays for afternoon companionship. Her work was quiet, individual, self-governed and stay-at-home but, sometimes she missed the rush of a morning commute, the buzz of office conversation, the bonding over silly, petty, nothingness that exists in every work place. So, on those days, when the freedom of working at home felt oppressive, she came out to sit beside the co-workers she’d never met and settled into a tiny café desk to feel a part of something human.