Which is CRAZY. Because it's MY birthday!
I act like my birthday is New Year's (well, they're very close together, so I can get away with it). Not in the "Drunken brawl and smooching at midnight aspect" (although ... heehee ... there have been times ...) but in the "making resolutions" way. Instead of thinking, "Well, in 2011 I'd like to do the following" I think of it more as "In my 35th year, I would like to do these things."
I've always done this, but a few years ago, an excellent doctor told me that she wanted me to make a bucket list -- she wanted me to SEE that I had things I was still excited about and wanted to do (I was in bad shape. She's a genius... it was a really brilliant move on her part, because first? I'm so OCD that I was excited about making a list, period. I love lists... yes, I have issues).
I made the list... and then I went through it twice, adding, changing, colour-coding. It took the better part of a Saturday, but it was a thing of beauty. Cross referenced. Annotated. Neatly organized.
Achievable.
That's the thing about making a birthday resolution rather than a New Year's resolution, I think. NO ONE sticks with a New Year's resolution... it's chic to make them and equally as chic to break them. A birthday resolution is more -- serious, perhaps? It's as though I'm making a plan to DO something to set this year apart, to make it remarkable... and I'm making the promise to myself, rather than just a general resolution.
It's a present. From me to me.
So what are my resolutions for the big 35?
Here they are, in no particular order:
1. The blogging. Every day.
2. I've been talking new tattoo for ... like, three years. This year. THIS IS THE YEAR! (What do I want? I need to decide by ... erm. March)
3. In my 35th year, I will THINK before I speak. Who knows? Maybe it will catch on :)
4. I'm going to try for healthier living in all ways... which means I'm going to have to let go of some things and take on some new things. I didn't say I would succeed ... just that I'd try.
... and that's it. I'm not going to change the world, per say. I'm just going to change mine, just a little bit. I'll let you know how it goes.
Monday, December 27, 2010
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Grace In Small Things -- Sunday, December 26
1. The knowledge that some people will always love you. Period. Even if you are sometimes a little obnoxious.
2. The realization that you TRULY have nothing to regret.
3. The laughter of children on Christmas morning.
4. Macaroni and cheese. (So cheesy. So macaroni-y. So tasty)
5. Birthday cards that have glitter on them.
2. The realization that you TRULY have nothing to regret.
3. The laughter of children on Christmas morning.
4. Macaroni and cheese. (So cheesy. So macaroni-y. So tasty)
5. Birthday cards that have glitter on them.
Saturday, December 25, 2010
Saturday Photos (oh, but in VIDEO form!)
In October of 2009, I went to Boston on vacation. That trip made me decide to move home, which I did exactly one year later.
I have never been happier.
Merry Christmas.
I have never been happier.
Merry Christmas.
Friday, December 24, 2010
Christmas Eve
I love Christmas Eve. In some ways, I actually like it more than Christmas. I feel like Christmas morning is always gone so quickly, passing by in a blur of wrapping paper and tape, followed by a overwhelming desire to take a nap.
Christmas Eve is special to me for the memories I have of going to church and having candlelight service; singing "Silent Night" in the flickering light and watching for Santa on the car ride home. It's dinner with family. It's feeling the love without feeling the stress of trying to figure out if people like their gifts, will they be offended if I take that back, how does this gadget even work?
There could -- and often would -- be family arguments and drama on Christmas. There was never any on Christmas Eve.
I often feel like Christmas Eve is more pure than Christmas. Like Christmas is the pretty sister, the one everyone wants to take to the prom, but Christmas Eve is her big sister, the one everyone wants to hang out with -- less showy, thoughtful, and actually more beautiful, but in a quieter way. Christmas may get all of the attention -- the bells! The sleigh! The reindeer! -- but Christmas Eve is where it's at.
It's where the magic is. Scrooge changed his mind and saw his ghosts on Christmas Eve. The Grinch decided to bring everything back on Christmas Eve (of course, his heart didn't grow until Christmas, but that's okay). Santa does his best work on Christmas Eve, I'm told.
See?
Magic.
I hope your Christmas Eve -- and your Christmas, too -- are completely magical.
Christmas Eve is special to me for the memories I have of going to church and having candlelight service; singing "Silent Night" in the flickering light and watching for Santa on the car ride home. It's dinner with family. It's feeling the love without feeling the stress of trying to figure out if people like their gifts, will they be offended if I take that back, how does this gadget even work?
There could -- and often would -- be family arguments and drama on Christmas. There was never any on Christmas Eve.
I often feel like Christmas Eve is more pure than Christmas. Like Christmas is the pretty sister, the one everyone wants to take to the prom, but Christmas Eve is her big sister, the one everyone wants to hang out with -- less showy, thoughtful, and actually more beautiful, but in a quieter way. Christmas may get all of the attention -- the bells! The sleigh! The reindeer! -- but Christmas Eve is where it's at.
It's where the magic is. Scrooge changed his mind and saw his ghosts on Christmas Eve. The Grinch decided to bring everything back on Christmas Eve (of course, his heart didn't grow until Christmas, but that's okay). Santa does his best work on Christmas Eve, I'm told.
See?
Magic.
I hope your Christmas Eve -- and your Christmas, too -- are completely magical.
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Don't Ask, Don't Tell
I remember when a friend of mine, someone I loved very much, came out to me. It was a bit of a surprise -- I hadn't really wondered about his sexuality, because of the eight thousand, one hundred and seventy-seven things I loved about him, who he was or was not attracted to was not on the list. Didn't care. Not concerned.
To make this story more interesting, we'll give him a name. Not his own, because he's not out to everyone he knows, I don't think. We'll call him: Albert.
But when he came out -- which he did in a very funny, very typical, very Albert-y way, at the wedding of a mutual friend, I DO remember thinking, "Why is he looking at me like that?" And when he called me the next day, which he rarely did (talking on the phone wasn't something we did often, as we saw each other every day), he suddenly asked, "Are we cool?"
What? I thought. "What?" I said.
"I was just worried ..." his voice trailed off. There was a moment of silence on the phone. I remember that his breath sounded a little ragged, and then he said, "I wasn't sure how you'd react." Silence. "To me being gay."
"Oh honey, " I said, "I don't care, unless someone is being horrible to you and I have to beat them up and ruin my manicure. Then I'll be pissed."
He laughed and we were fine. Just like that. Two weird kids on the same side of the playground, like nothing had changed.
But to be honest, something had changed... and that something was me. Not because I didn't still love Albert and want to have dumb, wonderful adventures with him ("Wanna go to the park, jump onto the stage, and sing songs?" "Isn't there a chance we'll get arrested for tresspassing?" "Well ... yeah." "What time?") because I did. I always would. Nothing would ever change that.
The problem was that he was afraid that there would BE a problem. That he was afraid my love was conditional. That I would look at him and not see Albert anymore ... that instead, I would look at him and see something else, something that might be bigger than all of the Albert-ness that I loved, instead of just being a component of the puzzle that made up Albert.
It broke my heart a little.
That's what I think about when I think about Don't Ask, Don't Tell, or laws banning gay marriage, or any sort of act of discrimination, really. It's Albert, and the fact that he knew that people -- even the people who loved him -- would stop seeing all of who he was and just see ONE thing about him, as though that one thing defined the totality of him, and would base their treatment of who he is, and what he deserves as a human being, based on that one thing.
I don't think anyone deserves that. I know Albert didn't. The thought that he thought that might be what I DID think, or how I would react, made me worry that I was a bad friend, as though I seemed unaccepting or judgemental. It still bothers me.
Albert and I have long since lost touch with each other, which makes me sad. I know that life is like that -- that some of our travelling companions are not meant to be by our sides forever, but only get to share a little bit of the journey before seeking alternate routes. I do know this: he taught me to make sure that my heart, and my mind, and my arms are always open to my friends, and not to fail them or let them down. Through watching Albert negotiate through other friendships and relationships as he came out to more people, I learned when to fight and when to shut up... and I learned that someone who will not stand up for a friend is no friend at all. I learned strength and grace, and they were incredibly valuable lessons.
The repeal of don't ask, don't tell was long overdue. The fact that we still have so far to go in this country when it comes to equality and compassion is, frankly, shameful. But tonight, I'll take this victory... and I hope that, wherever Albert is, whatever he's doing, he sees it too, and is hopeful for change. I hope he knows that I'm still his friend... and I hope that he knows that I'm still rooting for him.
Rock on, Albert. I miss you.
To make this story more interesting, we'll give him a name. Not his own, because he's not out to everyone he knows, I don't think. We'll call him: Albert.
But when he came out -- which he did in a very funny, very typical, very Albert-y way, at the wedding of a mutual friend, I DO remember thinking, "Why is he looking at me like that?" And when he called me the next day, which he rarely did (talking on the phone wasn't something we did often, as we saw each other every day), he suddenly asked, "Are we cool?"
What? I thought. "What?" I said.
"I was just worried ..." his voice trailed off. There was a moment of silence on the phone. I remember that his breath sounded a little ragged, and then he said, "I wasn't sure how you'd react." Silence. "To me being gay."
"Oh honey, " I said, "I don't care, unless someone is being horrible to you and I have to beat them up and ruin my manicure. Then I'll be pissed."
He laughed and we were fine. Just like that. Two weird kids on the same side of the playground, like nothing had changed.
But to be honest, something had changed... and that something was me. Not because I didn't still love Albert and want to have dumb, wonderful adventures with him ("Wanna go to the park, jump onto the stage, and sing songs?" "Isn't there a chance we'll get arrested for tresspassing?" "Well ... yeah." "What time?") because I did. I always would. Nothing would ever change that.
The problem was that he was afraid that there would BE a problem. That he was afraid my love was conditional. That I would look at him and not see Albert anymore ... that instead, I would look at him and see something else, something that might be bigger than all of the Albert-ness that I loved, instead of just being a component of the puzzle that made up Albert.
It broke my heart a little.
That's what I think about when I think about Don't Ask, Don't Tell, or laws banning gay marriage, or any sort of act of discrimination, really. It's Albert, and the fact that he knew that people -- even the people who loved him -- would stop seeing all of who he was and just see ONE thing about him, as though that one thing defined the totality of him, and would base their treatment of who he is, and what he deserves as a human being, based on that one thing.
I don't think anyone deserves that. I know Albert didn't. The thought that he thought that might be what I DID think, or how I would react, made me worry that I was a bad friend, as though I seemed unaccepting or judgemental. It still bothers me.
Albert and I have long since lost touch with each other, which makes me sad. I know that life is like that -- that some of our travelling companions are not meant to be by our sides forever, but only get to share a little bit of the journey before seeking alternate routes. I do know this: he taught me to make sure that my heart, and my mind, and my arms are always open to my friends, and not to fail them or let them down. Through watching Albert negotiate through other friendships and relationships as he came out to more people, I learned when to fight and when to shut up... and I learned that someone who will not stand up for a friend is no friend at all. I learned strength and grace, and they were incredibly valuable lessons.
The repeal of don't ask, don't tell was long overdue. The fact that we still have so far to go in this country when it comes to equality and compassion is, frankly, shameful. But tonight, I'll take this victory... and I hope that, wherever Albert is, whatever he's doing, he sees it too, and is hopeful for change. I hope he knows that I'm still his friend... and I hope that he knows that I'm still rooting for him.
Rock on, Albert. I miss you.
The Lion Sleeps Tonight (... and I am SO Jealous)
I have periodic bouts of insomnia.
Here's the thing with insomnia -- I never know when it's going to strike. There's no way to predict it. I was told that I should have a standard, pre-going to bed ritual, so I have a kind of routine for getting ready for bed. I was told I shouldn't drink coffee after 2 PM, so I don't. I was told I should cut back on the Diet Coke, so I did.
I did everything.
And every night, I go to bed and fall asleep. Insomnia (for me, at least) has nothing to do with being able to FALL asleep.
It's about being able to STAY asleep.
Some nights, I sleep for two hours... and then it's all over. I'm awake for the rest of the night. If this happens for a few nights in a row, I become a little bit -- off. (Hey, you would too if you went three or four days with only two or three hours of sleep per day.)
The good thing about insomnia -- if indeed there IS a good thing -- is that I have a lot of time to think. I decided to make a narrative of some of the things that bopped into my noggin during my most recent sleepless night. (The things I do for you people).
10:30 PM"... finished the whole Twilight series. The last book was a little confusing to me for two reasons: First, biologically? I don't think male vampires can have sex because they don't have a working heart OR circulation, per say. The second? The author made such a big deal about the fact that vampires lack standard body fluids (sweat, tears) that I'm thinking pregnancy after the impossibility of sex seems VERY unlikely. But for all of that -- yeah, those books were kind of bad, but in the best possible way. They weren't the worst thing I've ever read, that's for sure ... what IS the worst thing I've ever read? Are there any books I've really hated? There was that Maggie's Diary thing that I read in grad school. That was BAD, REALLY bad ... I wonder if that lady is still writing? How come she has published a novel and I haven't? Oh, well, I've never actually finished a novel. That would probably help... how do people find the time to write? Or do anything? I guess I could be writing right now, I'm just laying here. Awake. I wish I could fall asleep. I'm going to be cranky tomorrow. I should just get up. I mean, if I'm going to be awake, there are things I could be doing. Like writing. Except I'd have to put my glasses on and I don't feel like that. Plus my bed is really warm and cozy. I love flannel sheets. I should buy some more flannel sheets. God, I spend a lot of time at Target. How many times a week do I go there? Seriously. That's ridiculous. I must go there two or three times a week. I need to stop shopping. After the holidays, I'm going on a budget. I'm going to sit down and write myself a budget, that's what I'm going to do. After the holidays. Yep. Oh Lord, Christmas is this weekend. I need to finish wrapping presents. I am such a bad present wrapper. All of my presents look like they've been handled by Fezzik in The Princess Bride. I bet he's a bad Christmas present wrapper. I love that movie. I should have picked it up when I was at Target, actually. I haven't watched it in a while. Although, I have seen it and there are so many movies that I've never seen ... I should buy a movie I HAVEN'T seen... no! I should join Netflix, that's what I should do. Then I could watch whatever I feel like watching. Except that I would have to do that AFTER the budget. Right. Riiiiight ... I keep thinking I want to get a tattoo on my right wrist. I need to just make an appointment. Wait, not 'to just' ... should be 'just to make'. Stupid split infinitives. Why do I correct my grammar in my own thoughts? And how come I haven't internalized the split infinitive issue? That's just weird. I'm just weird, I guess... You know what's weird? Those car commercials that had the toys -- sock monkeys and stuff -- driving cars. I thought that was funny, but I didn't get it. Car commercials are weird to me. There are a LOT of perfume commercials on at Christmastime... do perfume sales spike at Christmas? Who buys perfume based on an ad? I don't think anyone is watching tv thinking, 'Wish I smelled like that hot sweaty naked chick' ... wait, I TOTALLY bet people are thinking that. I SO wish I was asleep. I wonder what time it is now?"
10:32 PM
Here's the thing with insomnia -- I never know when it's going to strike. There's no way to predict it. I was told that I should have a standard, pre-going to bed ritual, so I have a kind of routine for getting ready for bed. I was told I shouldn't drink coffee after 2 PM, so I don't. I was told I should cut back on the Diet Coke, so I did.
I did everything.
And every night, I go to bed and fall asleep. Insomnia (for me, at least) has nothing to do with being able to FALL asleep.
It's about being able to STAY asleep.
Some nights, I sleep for two hours... and then it's all over. I'm awake for the rest of the night. If this happens for a few nights in a row, I become a little bit -- off. (Hey, you would too if you went three or four days with only two or three hours of sleep per day.)
The good thing about insomnia -- if indeed there IS a good thing -- is that I have a lot of time to think. I decided to make a narrative of some of the things that bopped into my noggin during my most recent sleepless night. (The things I do for you people).
10:30 PM"... finished the whole Twilight series. The last book was a little confusing to me for two reasons: First, biologically? I don't think male vampires can have sex because they don't have a working heart OR circulation, per say. The second? The author made such a big deal about the fact that vampires lack standard body fluids (sweat, tears) that I'm thinking pregnancy after the impossibility of sex seems VERY unlikely. But for all of that -- yeah, those books were kind of bad, but in the best possible way. They weren't the worst thing I've ever read, that's for sure ... what IS the worst thing I've ever read? Are there any books I've really hated? There was that Maggie's Diary thing that I read in grad school. That was BAD, REALLY bad ... I wonder if that lady is still writing? How come she has published a novel and I haven't? Oh, well, I've never actually finished a novel. That would probably help... how do people find the time to write? Or do anything? I guess I could be writing right now, I'm just laying here. Awake. I wish I could fall asleep. I'm going to be cranky tomorrow. I should just get up. I mean, if I'm going to be awake, there are things I could be doing. Like writing. Except I'd have to put my glasses on and I don't feel like that. Plus my bed is really warm and cozy. I love flannel sheets. I should buy some more flannel sheets. God, I spend a lot of time at Target. How many times a week do I go there? Seriously. That's ridiculous. I must go there two or three times a week. I need to stop shopping. After the holidays, I'm going on a budget. I'm going to sit down and write myself a budget, that's what I'm going to do. After the holidays. Yep. Oh Lord, Christmas is this weekend. I need to finish wrapping presents. I am such a bad present wrapper. All of my presents look like they've been handled by Fezzik in The Princess Bride. I bet he's a bad Christmas present wrapper. I love that movie. I should have picked it up when I was at Target, actually. I haven't watched it in a while. Although, I have seen it and there are so many movies that I've never seen ... I should buy a movie I HAVEN'T seen... no! I should join Netflix, that's what I should do. Then I could watch whatever I feel like watching. Except that I would have to do that AFTER the budget. Right. Riiiiight ... I keep thinking I want to get a tattoo on my right wrist. I need to just make an appointment. Wait, not 'to just' ... should be 'just to make'. Stupid split infinitives. Why do I correct my grammar in my own thoughts? And how come I haven't internalized the split infinitive issue? That's just weird. I'm just weird, I guess... You know what's weird? Those car commercials that had the toys -- sock monkeys and stuff -- driving cars. I thought that was funny, but I didn't get it. Car commercials are weird to me. There are a LOT of perfume commercials on at Christmastime... do perfume sales spike at Christmas? Who buys perfume based on an ad? I don't think anyone is watching tv thinking, 'Wish I smelled like that hot sweaty naked chick' ... wait, I TOTALLY bet people are thinking that. I SO wish I was asleep. I wonder what time it is now?"
10:32 PM
Monday, December 20, 2010
The Times, They Are A-Channnnngin'
Some days, I just feel really old.
I just re-read the above statement and think that, actually, it's not precise. I don't feel old. I know I'm not old. However, some days, I am keenly aware of the passage of time. James Taylor sings that the secret of life is enjoying the passage of time, and perhaps that is true, but there are days when I feel like tracking Time down and kicking his sneaky ass.
Here's what brought this on. I was at Target the other day with Flinkie and we were standing in the middle of the Big Christmas Extravaganza when I had a flash to my younger self at Christmas time. Every year, my mom's friend Leona would give my sister and I Lifesavers StoryBooks.
They were AWESOME.
First, they were shaped like a book! Second, TEN ROLLS OF LifeSavers! Third, the flavours! Cherry. The original Five Flavours. Wintergreen. Peppermint. And Butter Rum.
(if you have no idea what I'm talking about right now? Go here: www.candywarehouse.com/lifesavers-christmas-storybook.html )
It was a book of JOY. My sister and I loved them.
Right then in Target I thought: I have to have one. I've had the Christmas Blues, I've been a little Grinchie, and I need me some Lifesavers.
Thus the quest began. Because, like everything else I decide I must have ... they were nowhere to be found.
Apparently, the StoryBook idea has taken off, and there's a whole line of Wonka candies available in a book. Laffy Taffy. Sweet Tarts. Lik-em-aid (which, seriously, how that works in the fun book box, I have no idea). Then I stumbled across LifeSavers GUMMIES in a Storybook, but my childhood self stared at my adult self and said, sternly, If you buy that, I will harm you. Gummies? Get serious.
I was thinking about giving up (or going to Walmart, because it's across the street) when I spied them. The familiar red box with Santa on the front, eyes twinkling, delicious, glorious, hard candy Life Savers inside. The StoryBook! It was mine! For a mere $2.99! My Christmas memories were restored!
Well, they were SORT of restored.
There used to be 10 rolls of Lifesavers in the book -- five rolls on each side. Now there are six rolls, total. Which seemed weird to me, but then I thought, my sad slow adult metabolism doesn't need ten rolls of LifeSavers. So not a big deal.
There used to be five different kinds of flavour options. Now there are three.
This was when I felt sort of like an old person describing her youth to a young whippersnapper "You see, sonny boy, in MY day we had all sorts of flavours! None of this original, cherry, and tropical nonsense! We had two kinds of MINT! WE HAD BUTTER RUM! You kids ... you have no idea what you're missing ..."
Because I do miss them. I miss the minty goodness (and the spark in the dark!) of the wintergreen. I miss the icy, frozen mouth sensation of the pepp-0-mint. I miss the warm, almost toffee gloriousness of the butter rum.
But it's more than that, isn't it?
Of course it is.
We miss things -- like the LifeSavers StoryBook, a beloved stuffed animal, a favorite swimming hole -- not because we loved the thing so much, though I suppose that sometimes we do. It's because we love what we associate with the things, isn't it? It's because we adored the person who gave us the book, who we were when we received that stuffed animal, who we were holding hands with when we jumped into the water. We invest the thing with the meaning, so it's more than simply a silly box of candy... and when we go back as an adult, in a different time of life, isn't it always disappointing? The lake where you had your adventures is revealed as a tiny pond. The stuffed animal that featured in your stories is a sad, one-eyed bear. The box of candy that seemed like such a treasure is just a cardboard shell filled with the wrong flavours and missing the secret ingredient which made all of those things magical.
As my friend Annie told me one day, in a near-whisper: "The secret ingredient is LOVE."
Without the secret ingredient, it's just a box of candies that some marketing guru has reworked until it little resembles my childhood memories, making me feel ... keenly aware of the passage of time.
However, I did have a happier thought. When my nephew is old enough to have candy, I'm getting him one of these. Every year ... and I will make sure that it is full of the secret ingredient. Some childhood memories are too sweet not to pass on.
I just re-read the above statement and think that, actually, it's not precise. I don't feel old. I know I'm not old. However, some days, I am keenly aware of the passage of time. James Taylor sings that the secret of life is enjoying the passage of time, and perhaps that is true, but there are days when I feel like tracking Time down and kicking his sneaky ass.
Here's what brought this on. I was at Target the other day with Flinkie and we were standing in the middle of the Big Christmas Extravaganza when I had a flash to my younger self at Christmas time. Every year, my mom's friend Leona would give my sister and I Lifesavers StoryBooks.
They were AWESOME.
First, they were shaped like a book! Second, TEN ROLLS OF LifeSavers! Third, the flavours! Cherry. The original Five Flavours. Wintergreen. Peppermint. And Butter Rum.
(if you have no idea what I'm talking about right now? Go here: www.candywarehouse.com/lifesavers-christmas-storybook.html )
It was a book of JOY. My sister and I loved them.
Right then in Target I thought: I have to have one. I've had the Christmas Blues, I've been a little Grinchie, and I need me some Lifesavers.
Thus the quest began. Because, like everything else I decide I must have ... they were nowhere to be found.
Apparently, the StoryBook idea has taken off, and there's a whole line of Wonka candies available in a book. Laffy Taffy. Sweet Tarts. Lik-em-aid (which, seriously, how that works in the fun book box, I have no idea). Then I stumbled across LifeSavers GUMMIES in a Storybook, but my childhood self stared at my adult self and said, sternly, If you buy that, I will harm you. Gummies? Get serious.
I was thinking about giving up (or going to Walmart, because it's across the street) when I spied them. The familiar red box with Santa on the front, eyes twinkling, delicious, glorious, hard candy Life Savers inside. The StoryBook! It was mine! For a mere $2.99! My Christmas memories were restored!
Well, they were SORT of restored.
There used to be 10 rolls of Lifesavers in the book -- five rolls on each side. Now there are six rolls, total. Which seemed weird to me, but then I thought, my sad slow adult metabolism doesn't need ten rolls of LifeSavers. So not a big deal.
There used to be five different kinds of flavour options. Now there are three.
This was when I felt sort of like an old person describing her youth to a young whippersnapper "You see, sonny boy, in MY day we had all sorts of flavours! None of this original, cherry, and tropical nonsense! We had two kinds of MINT! WE HAD BUTTER RUM! You kids ... you have no idea what you're missing ..."
Because I do miss them. I miss the minty goodness (and the spark in the dark!) of the wintergreen. I miss the icy, frozen mouth sensation of the pepp-0-mint. I miss the warm, almost toffee gloriousness of the butter rum.
But it's more than that, isn't it?
Of course it is.
We miss things -- like the LifeSavers StoryBook, a beloved stuffed animal, a favorite swimming hole -- not because we loved the thing so much, though I suppose that sometimes we do. It's because we love what we associate with the things, isn't it? It's because we adored the person who gave us the book, who we were when we received that stuffed animal, who we were holding hands with when we jumped into the water. We invest the thing with the meaning, so it's more than simply a silly box of candy... and when we go back as an adult, in a different time of life, isn't it always disappointing? The lake where you had your adventures is revealed as a tiny pond. The stuffed animal that featured in your stories is a sad, one-eyed bear. The box of candy that seemed like such a treasure is just a cardboard shell filled with the wrong flavours and missing the secret ingredient which made all of those things magical.
As my friend Annie told me one day, in a near-whisper: "The secret ingredient is LOVE."
Without the secret ingredient, it's just a box of candies that some marketing guru has reworked until it little resembles my childhood memories, making me feel ... keenly aware of the passage of time.
However, I did have a happier thought. When my nephew is old enough to have candy, I'm getting him one of these. Every year ... and I will make sure that it is full of the secret ingredient. Some childhood memories are too sweet not to pass on.
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