I literally tried to count my blessings, and it's just not possible. I understand now what it means to lead a blessed life.
It's not something I've always known; I used to take for granted this fact. And it's not something I woke up one morning with the epiphany of. It's something I've learned, come to realize, over recent years, with certain events bringing it more and more to light.
I won't deny that I've felt that naive, immature feeling that life has slighted me in some ways. There have been times when I've felt like I deserved something that I'd been cheated out of, or that I'd missed opportunities that I should have been handed more easily. But if I've learned anything over my 26 years, it's that life is what you make of it, and that you should always remember the positives.
My parents are largely to thank for how wonderful my life is. I would guess that at least 90% of the positive in my life is due to what they have bestowed upon me, either directly or tangentially. Be it experiences they have given me, or doors they've opened for me through their own hard work and advice, or even just the characteristics I've inherited from their teachings and genetics, they have made it possible for me to lead a fulfilling life.
Not that my life is always a walk in the park. I've had plenty of stressful times, and moments where I've felt so overwhelmed I didn't know how I could move on. But I've always sprung back, and I thank my parents for helping me be the kind of person who doesn't let the bullshit keep them down.
I'm blessed by the other people I've met and known as well. Even the relationships that were not good helped me become who I am today. I am grateful to have some of the most fantastic people in the world as my friends. Through good times and bad, fun and worry, they have been there, and knowing that you have such a support system does such wonderful things for your mental well-being. Though time and distance may separate us, there are so many people whom I care deeply for, and I know the feeling is reciprocated.
And all of the amazing things I have seen! Phenomena both natural and man-made... sights, sounds, smells, tastes, feelings that words can never hope to convey. Things that every being should be able to experience, at least in some small way.
That is what I hope to accomplish. This world, and our lives, are such miracles. I want for everyone to appreciate just how spectacular life is, even in the lowest of lows and the hardest of times. Each of us has some magic in our lives, some beauty. I beseech every one of you to look at what you have, really look at what you've seen and done, what you have, and see the wonder of it. We all share in our hurts, but we all share in our blessings. Remember those blessings always.
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Butt-Buster Booger Hill
This winter being such a snowy one, a tale of woe and tragedy from my childhood has been coming to mind quite frequently... My father is going to be endlessly surprised and tickled by the fact that I've chosen to share this, but I feel I must get this story out, so that future generations may benefit from my distress.
I have no idea how old I was when these terrible events transpired. I must have been no more than eight. I would hope so, anyway; you'll understand as you read on.
We had just gotten a good little snowstorm, and my family was heading out for a day of sledding. With blue plastic toboggans and Thermos of hot chocolate in tow, we headed out to the Assunpink Wildlife Management Area, where dwells a fantastic hill. My little sister and I vibrated with ill-contained glee and excitement.
Now, before I continue, I need to impress upon you, my precious readers, just what this hill entails. It is steep. I mean epic steep. In snow, most cars cannot climb the road up it. It is also heavily wooded in parts. A stream lies at the bottom of it. And as I discovered, above all, it is a fickle mistress.
When we arrived, my parents marched us up the hill in a safe spot, right near the road. The trees were a little thinner there, and there were a couple of clear paths to sled down. No need to steer, really, just kick off and slide down. These paths were fantastic for little Melissa and littler Jenny... especially the one that let out onto the snow-covered road, and offered a particularly lengthy ride. Truly bliss for two little be-mittened girls.
But not enough for the mad mountain man... my father.
This barbarian, with his animalistic desire for adrenaline, wanted... nay! Needed to find a grander adventure than these bunny slopes. Fervor lighting his eyes and spittle flecking his beard, he found an optimal spot. Trees barred the way, treacherous obstacles to maneuver about. Beyond that, the route was shrouded in mystery. Uncertainty was the only certainty on this deranged descent. He had to do it.
But he would not be going alone.
Swept up in his frenzy, innocent, unsuspecting, and trusting, I found myself in front of my dad on the sled, pointed down a new direction. "It's going to be fun!" my father promised. "You're going to love it!" I wonder to this day if he truly believed that, and that the tragedy was all just an accident... But I tend to think it was the sickness in his brain that spoke those words.
The ride started out just fine. Weaving through the trees, my own infant addiction to adrenaline was being fed; I was thrilled. We picked up speed...
...and then... the worst.
I don't know if it was root or rock, but whatever we hit sent us airborne. My father, heavier than I, was deposited squarely (and I almost hope painfully) on his posterior in the snow. This left me, careening even faster now that I was alone, hurtling through the trees toward my certain demise. It was then I saw the stream approaching at break-neck speed... But before that lay the branch. Such an enormous branch I had never seen before; what behemoth of a tree could have sprouted that monstrosity?
But I didn't have time to think of these things at that moment. Before I could react, the sled hit the branch, instantly dropping from the speed of sound to a dead stop. However, I was not so fortunate. The branch had two effects on me. Firstly, the sudden decrease in speed caused the contents of my rather stuffy sinuses to empty all down my face. And secondly, I was launched ass-first into that barely-frozen stream.
By some miracle, I remained relatively dry, aside from the torrents of snot the had been knocked out of me. The soreness, both of body and ego, was where the real damage had been done. As I laid there, shocked and crying, I looked up to see...
...my devoted father...
...laughing his ass off.
The moral of this story, children? Dads are dicks!
I have no idea how old I was when these terrible events transpired. I must have been no more than eight. I would hope so, anyway; you'll understand as you read on.
We had just gotten a good little snowstorm, and my family was heading out for a day of sledding. With blue plastic toboggans and Thermos of hot chocolate in tow, we headed out to the Assunpink Wildlife Management Area, where dwells a fantastic hill. My little sister and I vibrated with ill-contained glee and excitement.
Now, before I continue, I need to impress upon you, my precious readers, just what this hill entails. It is steep. I mean epic steep. In snow, most cars cannot climb the road up it. It is also heavily wooded in parts. A stream lies at the bottom of it. And as I discovered, above all, it is a fickle mistress.
When we arrived, my parents marched us up the hill in a safe spot, right near the road. The trees were a little thinner there, and there were a couple of clear paths to sled down. No need to steer, really, just kick off and slide down. These paths were fantastic for little Melissa and littler Jenny... especially the one that let out onto the snow-covered road, and offered a particularly lengthy ride. Truly bliss for two little be-mittened girls.
But not enough for the mad mountain man... my father.
This barbarian, with his animalistic desire for adrenaline, wanted... nay! Needed to find a grander adventure than these bunny slopes. Fervor lighting his eyes and spittle flecking his beard, he found an optimal spot. Trees barred the way, treacherous obstacles to maneuver about. Beyond that, the route was shrouded in mystery. Uncertainty was the only certainty on this deranged descent. He had to do it.
But he would not be going alone.
Swept up in his frenzy, innocent, unsuspecting, and trusting, I found myself in front of my dad on the sled, pointed down a new direction. "It's going to be fun!" my father promised. "You're going to love it!" I wonder to this day if he truly believed that, and that the tragedy was all just an accident... But I tend to think it was the sickness in his brain that spoke those words.
The ride started out just fine. Weaving through the trees, my own infant addiction to adrenaline was being fed; I was thrilled. We picked up speed...
...and then... the worst.
I don't know if it was root or rock, but whatever we hit sent us airborne. My father, heavier than I, was deposited squarely (and I almost hope painfully) on his posterior in the snow. This left me, careening even faster now that I was alone, hurtling through the trees toward my certain demise. It was then I saw the stream approaching at break-neck speed... But before that lay the branch. Such an enormous branch I had never seen before; what behemoth of a tree could have sprouted that monstrosity?
But I didn't have time to think of these things at that moment. Before I could react, the sled hit the branch, instantly dropping from the speed of sound to a dead stop. However, I was not so fortunate. The branch had two effects on me. Firstly, the sudden decrease in speed caused the contents of my rather stuffy sinuses to empty all down my face. And secondly, I was launched ass-first into that barely-frozen stream.
By some miracle, I remained relatively dry, aside from the torrents of snot the had been knocked out of me. The soreness, both of body and ego, was where the real damage had been done. As I laid there, shocked and crying, I looked up to see...
...my devoted father...
...laughing his ass off.
The moral of this story, children? Dads are dicks!
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