Part of Her World

 My sister and I weren't really kids at the same time.  She was nine years old when I was born.  By the time I had grown enough to have memories of our time together, she was a teenager; stuck somewhere between childhood and the grown up world.

Early memories being what they are, I don't have many of her that are clear. There are images of dancing for her friends, and playing games in the car. But, mostly I have vague recollections of general wordless sentiments.  With my adult vocabulary, I can now label those feelings.  I thought she was glamorous. In my mind, she had status, and I wanted her approval. I remember exaggerating my cuteness to invoke reactions from her.  I remember watching her get ready for her day, and teaching me how to apply makeup.

Perhaps my favorite memory, was our sleepovers.  Every now and then, she'd invite me to spend the night in her room.  I'd bring my Little Mermaid sleeping bag, and we'd lay on the floor.  I don't remember if we talked much. With our age difference, we couldn't have had a lot to discuss. At least nothing of substance.  However, I do remember that she sang to me. We had one song in particular, that was our song.  She'd sing it to me, while I laid in the dark admiring my big sister.

Now that we're both adults, this song still makes me think of her.  It brings me back, and projects me ahead at the same time. I recall falling asleep to my big sister's singing, and I think it's so great that I'm finally a part of her world.

Presque Vu

Lately I feel like I'm just on the cusp of saying something profound. Only, I can't figure out what it is. You know that feeling? Like something is right on the tip of your tongue. You just know that, if you give it a moment, when it comes out it will be incredible.

Except, most of the time it never makes its way out.  It gets lost. The thought slips off the back of your tongue, and falls into your subconscious; never to be shared with the world.

That's what I'm experiencing, but on a meta-cognitive level. It's as if I am about to make an immense proclamation that will, at last, resolve the jumbled mess in my mind. This revelation will tie up some of my loose ends. It will bring peace and order to my semi-chaotic life. 

For this reason, I feel compelled to force it. I think I should shut myself up in a room with some melancholy music and  a glass of wine. Maybe I should go for a soul-seeking late night drive down a back-country road. Afterwards I'll force a cry by watching a beautifully tragic film.

However, I know it doesn't work this way. Thinking about thinking will not cause thought. Exposing myself to more of the same, will only bring about redundancy. I guess for the time being, I'll have to just relax and wait. I will not force empty pronouncements in search of the one which escapes me. Instead, I'll attempt to be comfortable living my life on the brink of epiphany.

Stay tuned...

Blessings from Beyond

Before I tell you this story I must provide a caveat.  You need to know that I would not classify myself as religious, or spiritual in any way.  I don't really put much stock in "signs," ghosts, angels, or a higher power.  I'm not saying that this stuff doesn't exist, but none of it really makes a whole lot of sense to me.  That being said, let me walk you through my last 24 hours or so, to bring you to an unexpected spiritual experience that has just occurred.

"Fort Awesome"

I had a final exam today. So, naturally I spent the entire day studying yesterday. Well, all except for for one brief break that involved a glass of wine and building a fort with a good friend.  -- Stop judging me.  It's a perfectly acceptable way for two grown adults to spend a Monday afternoon.--

Around 5pm, I came home to get some dinner before heading out to a  five hour study group.  When I arrived home, I found a note from my apartment manager explaining that they would be installing new cabinets and drawers the next day, and I was expected to have them all (kitchen and bathroom) emptied out by the morning.  This irritated me.  I know the policy is 24 hours notice before entry, but when it requires me to uproot my entire residence, I think it warrants at least considering an extra day notice. I mean...right?

Nevertheless, after riding my bike home (uphill, in the cold November air, carrying a 20lb backpack) at 11pm, I stayed up in order to empty out all my drawers and cabinets.

Today, I awoke to a developing sinus infection, which made navigating my morning routine amongst all of my items in boxes on the floor or strewn about on counter tops all the more bothersome.  It was a nuisance, and not an environment conducive to studying. In an attempt to avoid any unintentional cranky attitude with the nice cabinetry installers, I left for the day. I spent the day downtown studying in preparation for a test that I was sure to do poorly on.

Despite all those irritating circumstances, my day was actually quite lovely. The sun was shining (which is a rare occurrence for a Portland November). The air was crisp, and the trees were a delightful variety of fall colors.  All things I adore. I spent the morning and afternoon studying and giggling with a pair of lovely ladies.

Then came the exam, which was as highly stressful as I had expected it to be. However, on the MAX ride home, I took part in a cathartic debriefing that was beneficial to my mental well-being.

Before re-entering Portland city limits, I received an e-mail announcing that my score was available.  I was pleasantly surprised to learn that I had gotten an A!  This was entirely unexpected, as I my previous exam results in this class were...um....well...let's say: "less than great."

At this point, I had almost completely forgotten about the whole cabinet and drawer debacle. While I searched for my keys in the hallway outside my unit, I prepared myself for the headache of seeing my apartment in shambles over a cosmetic "upgrade" that was not needed.

Imagine my astonishment, when I encountered some very aesthetically pleasing new additions to my kitchen.  And...

...a few random items not belonging to me.  These were mostly throw-away items, like a receipt for Crate &  Barrel belonging to a previous tenant, a few unidentified ziploc bags, an old tag from an item of clothing which was probably also belonging to a previous resident...and this:

My initial thought at seeing this was, "how sweet, my apartment manager left me a birthday card." (FYI tomorrow is my birthday).  Then it occurred to me that this did not happen last year.  So, now I'm confused.  I then open it up to read this:

"My lovely Granddaughter - I think of you with much affection and love. Have a wonderful birthday. With my love and blessings, Grandma F."

Now, I'm utterly bewildered.  I swear to you, that is my late Grandma Francis's handwriting! I also promise you, that this card is exactly the type of card and message that I received from her every year of my life until I was 18.

The logical, grounded, agnostic in me is compelled to point out that obviously this coincidental. It was found amongst a pile of garbage, that had clearly been discovered while reinstalling the cabinets and drawers.  It means nothing.  For goodness sake, it was included with a receipt to a store I have never visited, some busted-up garbage ties, and a few wrinkly old ziploc bags!  It's nothing.

However, another part of me can't help but feel overcome with emotion.  I don't know what this means, but it seems like something. Is it a sign?  I mean, it's as if my deceased grandmother is here with me, and trying to tell me something.  I know that she wasn't, but I just can't shake feeling, like she visited my place today, and I just missed her.

Is that absurd?  Has anything like this ever happened to you?

Putting It All Out There

For nearly a year now I have been interested in tracking my blog statistics. Given that I apparently want to be famous when I grow up, my statistics are not as great as I would like them to be.  This perplexes me. I mean, I think I have something to say, and that it is worth taking two minutes out of your Facebooking routine to read.  However, it's becoming increasingly evident that I am wrong about this.  I'm not happy with this realization, and I would like to change the circumstances that have led up to it.

I thought that maybe emulating my most popular posts might be a good place to start.  So, I did a little research.  I was surprised, and subsequently embarrassed at what I found.  My most popular (by far) post, is from a few years ago. It's a neurotic little rant about a crappy day that I had when I was underemployed.  I definitely consider it to be a sub par post. It's poorly written, and I'm actually quite disappointed with it. In fact, I'm not even going to link you to it. That's how strongly I feel about this.  However, and this is completely beyond my comprehension, it has drawn a lot of attention. This particular post (find it on your own if you're so curious) surpasses all of my others in readership.

Now, I find myself in a blogger's predicament. Do I replicate that whiny uninsightful window into my past just to gain attention? Or do I stick to my plan, muse about the world and the various aspects of growing up within it, while simultaneously coming to grips with my less than desirable reader counts? I mean, who is this really for?

I find it especially hard to make this decision when the only feedback I receive comes from my mom. Her unfailing support is nice, but not exactly helpful (love you mom). So, I've decided to do something that makes me completely uncomfortable......

I'm just going to put it out there, and ask for your attention for a moment.

If you find yourself clicking on my link today can you help me out? First, thank you for momentarily abstaining from your Facebook addiction.  I know how hard that is, and I appreciate you for doing it.  Now, leave me a comment.  Tell me what you thought.  If you truly like it, subscribe. If you're not sure, click around.  See what I have to say. Here are some posts I'm especially proud of:

Expose Yourself
Meaningful Moments
Steve the Housefly
My Own Personal Undertoad
My Anonymous Childhood Boyfriend


After you've done that, and you just can't stand to be away from Facebook any longer (let's face it, that's what's really going on here), go ahead and go back.  But, when you do: share a link to your favorite post (it'll make my day), or "like" and follow Mindy's Musings. Because if you don't do one, or any, of the above...I might have to do something even more obnoxious to get your attention, but I promise that it will bother me more than it bothers you.

Evolution of A Childish Aspiration

When I was just a little girl, I wanted to grow up to become a chemist. I wasn't entirely sure what that meant, but I knew I liked mixing things together to see what happened. So, I told everyone that I was going to go to Stanford, and one day I would impress the world with my chemical skills.

Later on, I adjusted my dream. I began to participate in community theater. I pranced about a poorly ventilated room, in a stifling cowardly lion costume in the middle of a heat wave, and told myself that one day I was going to be discovered. Filling various background and secondary character roles, I made believe that I was astonishingly important. I told myself that someday, someone incredible was going to see me and know that I was destined for the world stage.

In my adolescence, I began to sing. I was in choirs, and the occasional musical. Every so often I'd have a brief solo, but nothing momentous. Mostly, I just stood in the front row (for height reasons  ̶  don't get excited), and blended the discordant voices. Nevertheless, I had my dreams. In my world, a famous relative of a classmate would pick my voice out from the chorus, and ask me to sing with them. That, or an unknown music executive would hear my latest Car-eoke session (it's a thing), and think "give that girl a record deal." After all, I am a rock star behind the steering wheel.

Now I'm an adult, and I'm pursuing a grown-up career. I've moved beyond my childish dreams of fame resulting out of mediocrity. Instead, I'm electing to make an impact on a smaller, less appreciated, scale. Meanwhile, I'm going home to my computer, and writing about my experiences. I post my thoughts, and interpretations to a blog, and link it to the social media world in the hopes that someone, somewhere, will notice and appreciate my skill.

But, that's different.