‘Thriller’ memories

Today a flood of memories came at me as I was walking through town with Ellie, just the little things that I use to do when I was younger.  Grandma pushing me on my bike to get me a nice good start so I wouldn’t fall off as fast, falling on the lawn of our neighbor with my bike while she came out yelling she was going to call the ‘piggy police’ on me if I didn’t get off her yard, raking the leaves at Grandpa and Grandma’s, swimming at my other grandparent’s house,  burning my hot dog over the fire, and reading to Grandpa while Grandma was going through pictures or baking something.  Those were just a few of the memories that came flooding back,   I must say that I have a treasure trove of memories filed in my brain, and sometimes they seem to pop out at certain times, or certain smells will remind me of them.   This week has been a monumental week of memory making.  My friend and I have decided to learn the Thriller dance, and so far I’ve accomplished learning it, of course it’s not perfected and I have yet to actually dance it to the ‘fast’ version, I’m only on the slow version right now.   Hopefully we can learn it by the time our mutual friend’s wedding comes up on Saturday, maybe we’ll dance it.   Fingers-crossed.   Sunday night Janelle, Jon and I were moving her bed to her apartment.  Now she has a queen sized bed, which use to be my parents, somehow she inherited it to which I still have yet to understand how that was accomplished.    Well we got the top mattress to the apartment without any problem,  I drove mom’s van which has ample amount of room in the back.    When it came to putting  the box spring mattress in the van, there seemed to be no room in the inn.    So we had a dilemma of which we solved quickly, well Jon and I solved quickly.   We decided to put the mattress on top of my Malibu, the only problem was we didn’t have any rope.   So I rolled down the windows, and all three of us held on to the mattress while I drove 20 mph down the road to the next town.   All the while Janelle is literally sobbing hysterically while laughing saying this was a stupid decision, we never should have done it.   I’m laughing so hard tears are rolling down my face, plus my arm is freezing and numb.  Jon is comforting Janelle saying it will be alright that we haven’t gotten pulled over yet, while also encouraging me saying that I’m doing a great job driving.  All I can imagine is how we must have looked like a bunch of hicks driving down the road, a box-spring mattress on top of a Malibu car with arms hanging onto it and sometimes Jon’s head sticking out the window too.  Luckily no cops stopped us or went past, and I made it safely with the mattress and all of our arms and one head intact.  Oh my, it was exciting and hilarious.   I wish we could have gotten some photos or videos of us doing this.   I can’t describe in words how Janelle sounded hysterically sobbing and laughing, of course I can mimic it really well if one day you want to hear how she sounded.  🙂  So Jon and I gave each other a great high-five at the end of this adventure, saying that was a good decision to do it and get it over with.  I must say that even though I didn’t think about the repercussions of our decision until half-way to our destination I’m glad we made this memory, because it’s one that I will laugh about every time I think about it. 

I love making memories.

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simply irresistable

I honestly don’t know why I’ve signed up for a new blog on the internet.  With everything going on and being so busy how can I have time to even do this?  (When I’m procrastinating is when you’ll find a new post on here…like now)   The main reason though is so I have a chance to read my aunt’s posts and comment whenever, and to have a new beginning for my trip.  I’ve decided that when I leave for England this will be my main update page on everything happening, well actually depending if I have a little free time when I get there.   

I went running outside tonight.  At times it felt a wee bit chilly, and then all at once a warm blast of air would hit me.   Of course as I was dying trying to breath I was thinking about how life passes by so quickly.   I can still see myself sitting on the floor next to my bed writing in my journal the day before we left for our vacation at the beach, or sleeping in the tent with Jodi and Janelle outside Grandpa and Grandma’s house,  all those memories so strong it feels like I could step in and relive it all over again.    Time, how fast it passes.   

I was thinking about Tom earlier.  About how much I had wanted to see him again, even planning on visiting him around this time.  I decided to take out the book he had recommended for me to read.  “Letters To  A Young Poet” by Ranier Maria Rilke and turned to Letter 8

 

Letter Eight
Borgeby gard, Fladie, Sweden
August 12, 1904

I want to talk to you again for a little while, dear Mr. Kappus, although there is almost nothing I can say that will help you, and I can hardly find one useful word. You have had many sadnesses, large ones, which passed. And you say that even this passing was difficult and upsetting for you. But please, ask yourself whether these large sadnesses haven’t rather gone right through you. Perhaps many things inside you have been transformed; perhaps somewhere, deep inside your being, you have undergone important changes while you were sad. The only sadnesses that are dangerous and unhealthy are the ones that we carry around in public in order to drown them out with the noise; like diseases that are treated superficially and foolishly, they just withdraw and after a short interval break out again all the more terribly; and gather inside us and are life, are life that is unlived, rejected, lost, life that we can die of. If only it were possible for us to see farther than our knowledge reaches, and even a little beyond the outworks of our presentiment, perhaps we would bear our sadnesses with greater trust than we have in our joys. For they are the moments when something new has entered us, something unknown; our feelings grow mute in shy embarrassment, everything in us withdraws, a silence arises, and the new experience, which no one knows, stands in the midst of it all and says nothing.

It seems to me that almost all our sadnesses are moments of tension, which we feel as paralysis because we no longer hear our astonished emotions living. Because we are alone with the unfamiliar presence that has entered us; because everything we trust and are used to is for a moment taken away from us; because we stand in the midst of a transition where we cannot remain standing. That is why the sadness passes: the new presence inside us, the presence that has been added, has entered our heart, has gone into its innermost chamber and is no longer even there, – is already in our bloodstream. And we don’t know what it was. We could easily be made to believe that nothing happened, and yet we have changed, as a house that a guest has entered changes. We can’t say who has come, perhaps we will never know, but many signs indicate that the future enters us in this way in order to be transformed in us, long before it happens. And that is why it is so important to be solitary and attentive when one is sad: because the seemingly uneventful and motionless moment when our future steps into us is so much closer to life than that other loud and accidental point of time when it happens to us as if from outside. The quieter we are, the more patient and open we are in our sadnesses, the more deeply and serenely the new presence can enter us, and the more we can make it our own, the more it becomes our fate; and later on, when it “happens” (that is, steps forth out of us to other people), we will feel related and close to it in our innermost being. And that is necessary. It is necessary – and toward this point our development will move, little by little – that nothing alien happen to us, but only what has long been our own. People have already had to rethink so many concepts of motion; and they ill also gradually come to realize that what we call fate does not come into us from the outside, but emerges from us. It is only because so many people have not absorbed and transformed their fates while they were living in them that they have not realized what was emerging from them; it was so alien to them that they have not realized what was emerging from them; it was so alien to them that, in their confusion and fear, they thought it must have entered them at the very moment they became aware of it, for they swore they had never before found anything like that inside them. Just as people for a long time had a wrong idea about the sun’s motion, they are even now wrong about the motion of what is to come. The future stands still, dear Mr. Kappus, but we move in infinite space.

How could it not be difficult for us?

And to speak of solitude again, it becomes clearer and clearer that fundamentally this is nothing that one can choose or refrain from. We are solitary. We can delude ourselves about this and act as if it were not true. That is all. But how much better it is to recognize that we are alone; yes, even to begin from this realization. It will, of course, make us dizzy; for all points that our eyes used to rest on are taken away from us, there is no longer anything near us, and everything far away is infinitely far. A man taken out of his room and, almost without preparation or transition, placed on the heights of a great mountain range, would feel something like that: an unequalled insecurity, an abandonment to the nameless, would almost annihilate him. He would feel he was falling or think he was being catapulted out into space or exploded into a thousand pieces: what a colossal lie his brain would have to invent in order to catch up with and explain the situation of his senses. That is how all distances, all measures, change for the person who becomes solitary; many of these changes occur suddenly and then, as with the man on the mountaintop, unusual fantasies and strange feelings arise, which seem to grow out beyond all that is bearable. But it is necessary for us to experience that too. We must accept our reality as vastly as we possibly can; everything, even the unprecedented, must be possible within it. This is in the end the only kind of courage that is required of us: the courage to face the strangest, most unusual, most inexplicable experiences that can meet us. The fact that people have in this sense been cowardly has done infinite harm to life; the experiences that are called “apparitions,” the whole so-called “spirit world,” death, all these Things that are so closely related to us, have through our daily defensiveness been so entirely pushed out of life that the senses with which we might have been able to grasp them have atrophied. To say nothing of God. But the fear of the inexplicable has not only impoverished the reality of the individual; it has also narrowed the relationship between one human being and another, which has as it were been lifted out of the riverbed of infinite possibilities and set down in a fallow place on the bank, where nothing happens. For it is not only indolence that causes human relationships to be repeated from case to case with such unspeakable monotony and boredom; it is timidity before any new, inconceivable experience, which we don’t think we can deal with. but only someone who is ready for everything, who doesn’t exclude any experience, even the most incomprehensible, will live the relationship with another person as something alive and will himself sound the depths of his own being. for if we imagine this being of the individual as a larger or smaller room, it is obvious that most people come to know only one corner of their room, one spot near the window, one narrow strip on which they keep walking back and forth. In this way they have a certain security. And yet how much more human is the dangerous insecurity that drives those prisoners in Poe’s stories to feel out the shapes of their horrible dungeons and not be strangers to the unspeakable terror of their cells. We, however, are not prisoners. No traps or snares have been set around us, and there is nothing that should frighten or upset us. We have been put into life as into the element we most accord with, and we have, moreover, through thousands of years of adaptation, come to resemble this life so greatly that when we hold still, through a fortunate mimicry we can hardly be differentiated from everything around us. We have no reason to harbor any mistrust against our world, for it is not against us. If it has terrors, they are our terrors; if it has abysses, these abysses belong to us; if there are dangers, we must try to love them. And if only we arrange our life in accordance with the principle which tells us that we must always trust in the difficult, then what now appears to us as the most alien will become our most intimate and trusted experience. How could we forget those ancient myths that stand at the beginning of all races, the myths about dragons that at the last moment are transformed into princesses? Perhaps all the dragons in our lives are princesses who are only waiting to see us act, just once, with beauty and courage. Perhaps everything that frightens us is, in its deepest essence, something helpless that wants our love.

So you mustn’t be frightened, dear Mr. Kappus, if a sadness rises in front of you, larger than any you have ever seen; if an anxiety, like light and cloud-shadows, moves over your hands and over everything you do. You must realize that something is happening to you, that life has not forgotten you, that it holds you in its hand and will not let you fall. Why do you want to shut out of your life any uneasiness, any misery, any depression, since after all you don’t know what work these conditions are doing inside you? Why do you want to persecute yourself with the question of where all this is coming from and where it is going? Since you know, after all, that you are in the midst of transitions and you wished for nothing so much as to change. If there is anything unhealthy in your reactions, just bear in mind that sickness is the means by which an organism frees itself from what is alien; so one must simply help it to be sick, to have its whole sickness and to break out with it, since that is the way it gets better. In you, dear Mr. Kappus, so much is happening now; you must be patient like someone who is sick, and confident like someone who is recovering; for perhaps you are both. And more: you are also the doctor, who has to watch over himself. But in every sickness there are many days when the doctor can do nothing but wait. And that is what you, insofar as you are your own doctor, must now do, more than anything else.

Don’t observe yourself too closely. Don’t be too quick to draw conclusions from what happens to you; simply let it happen. Otherwise it will be too easy for you to look with blame (that is: morally) at your past, which naturally has a share in everything that now meets you. But whatever errors, wishes, and yearnings of your boyhood are operating in you now are not what you remember and condemn. The extraordinary circumstances of a solitary and helpless childhood are so difficult, so complicated, surrendered to so many influences and at the same time so cut off from all real connection with life that, where a vice enters it, one may not simply call it a vice. One must be so careful with names anyway; it is so often the name of an offense that a life shatters upon, not the nameless and personal action itself, which was perhaps a quite definite necessity of that life and could have been absorbed by it without any trouble. And the expenditure of energy seems to you so great only because you overvalue victory; it is not the “great thing” that you think you have achieved, although you are right about your feeling; the great thing is that there was already something there which you could replace that deception with, something true and real. Without this even your victory would have been just a moral reaction of no great significance; but in fact it has become a part of your life. Your life, dear Mr. Kappus, which I think of with so many good wishes. Do you remember how that life yearned out of childhood toward the “great thing”? I see that it is now yearning forth beyond the great thing toward the greater one. That is why it does not cease to be difficult, but that is also why it will not cease to grow.

And if there is one more thing that I must say to you, it is this: Don’t think that the person who is trying to comfort you now lives untroubled among the simple and quiet words that sometimes give you much pleasure. His life has much trouble and sadness, and remains far behind yours. If it were otherwise, he would never have been able to find those words.

Yours,
Rainer Maria Rilke

 I love the fact that when sadness comes and starts to seep into my day I can go lose myself in God.   He is my ultimate comfort.   And I love how Rilke says perhaps you have undergone changes through this sadness.   YES!   Through every one I have changed, I have grown, and I have survived.   As I was running, I kept thinking how it was just like my life.   How each house I passed is a different story, whether run down or beautifully built they represent a different chapter of my life.   Sometimes it’s scary to start a new chapter, to get out of the comfort zone, to leave the familiar, and then I remember all the other chapters of my life when I did and think “Oh boy, what will God do next.”