top knot 12

Processed with VSCOcam with 5 preset

 “Top Knot 12”
gifted to me, by my dear friend Bailey ♥

by Elizabeth Mayville
on Etsy

I’ve been thinking about spring lately, in the simplest most nostalgic of ways. I’ve been thinking about flowers and summer fruit, and the way the sun feels on your skin when the wind is gentle and calm. I want to throw the windows wide and hear the birds singing, wear skirts and thin sweaters, no socks with my shoes. I’ve been thinking about the picnic table and walks in the city, while the sun shines strong, pink skies, pretty hues. I want to take a nap with my book in the hammock, feet strung over the edge and the night far away.

I want spring so badly,

To enjoy it and smile,

Hands in my pocket,

All the way to sweet June.

Strawberries, short sleeves, top knots, and beach days.

Oh, take me on a bike ride to June.

a special thank you for miracles.

Last year, right around this time, I posted my dad’s story. The story of his life threatening accident and his incredible road to recovery. This past fall, I took a “picture in writing” course at my elementary school. The art teacher offered it to teachers and I jumped at the chance to do a class with her. She is an incredible teacher and person, one that inspires absolutely everyone around her. The theme of the workshop was “family stories”, and it was offered to teachers who enjoy writing, who wanted to tell their own family’s story, but also for those who might be interested in exploring this type of writing in their classroom. First, our pictures were done by creating textured paper through the use of watercolor. From there we cut and pasted our papers to create several collage pictures, which in turn helped us map out and write down our stories. It was amazing. Most teachers told the story of their ancestors and the hardships they faced while immigrating to America. These stories, with their words and pictures, were all incredibly and heartbreakingly beautiful.

I chose to write my story about my dad.

We were asked to write the piece in the 1st person, from the perspective of the main character. At first, this was difficult for me, but as I dug my heels deeper into the story it became completely natural and satisfying.

I gave this story to my dad for Christmas and I could see it on his face how much it meant to him that I wrote it all down. He sat quietly reading it and I sat nervously hoping he would like it. He did, very much, he said. With tears in his eyes, these four words were all I needed to hear to know he loved it, “Wow, Anna. Thank you.”

I am choosing to share it here so that my family and friends can get a peak at it, too.

This is for you, Dad. I love you.

The house on Ackerman Ave is where my story starts. It was just an ordinary house that sat on a hill in an ordinary city, filled with ordinary people. And for a long time, I was just an ordinary guy. Known by many, loved by all, and knuckle-headed often by my older brothers. Those brothers! They called me “Red”, and the color of my hair explained it all.

There was happiness in that house. And family love and contentment and routine. I fit right into my life, and into the small little world where I lived. I was “Red” and I liked it. “Red”, the one with the smile on his face and a laugh not far from his heart.  Growing older, with my basketball in my arms, I laughed throughout my days and I felt happy. Just an ordinary guy who had no idea that he would live to tell an extraordinary story.

The snow was falling and falling hard on that late December morning in 1973. I was 20 and it was the start of my holiday vacation. Bliss and freedom roared through me like a firecracker. It was the morning my friend Billy and I went out in his jeep to pick-up the best Christmas tree we could find. It must have been the promise of Christmas in the air. We had four days before the presents and food would be right at our fingertips. Just the thought made our eyes wide. They warned that snow was coming, but in winter, in Syracuse, snow is always coming. And with Christmas Eve around the corner, we welcomed it. The anticipation of the holidays was finally here. Christmas! We picked up the tree, all prickly with needles and sticky with sap, then we jumped in the jeep and sped off for home.

As we drove back home the snow started to pick up. The sky turned gray as the white flakes poured down in balls from the sky. We drove on with the music and the white. I remember being surrounded by white. The white snow on the road and the white flakes in the sky swirling and swirling, spinning circles in front of my eyes. We couldn’t see the other car slip as we came around the corner. We couldn’t see it hit the ice and turn out of control. We couldn’t know that within seconds we would crash, and suddenly, my white world would go black.

I was thrown from that jeep that day. Thrown from that jeep where I flew through the white, through the snow, through the air, and landed on my head.

I laid in a coma for 3 months.

In the dark.

In the black.

They said the damage to my brain would be too great to recover from. They told my family that I might not survive. They told my family that they would likely have to say goodbye.

I wonder what it was like for them. To wait and wonder and stand around and hope and pray and cry.

But then came the miracle where I survived.

I survived.

+

When I woke, I was scared and broken. I was alive, but I couldn’t walk or talk. My right side was paralyzed from the impact of the fall and my mind was compromised. I don’t remember much about those days, but what I do know is that I couldn’t have made it to where I am today without my mother and her faith and perseverance. She loved me too much to let me slip away. I needed to re-learn everything. Everything. How to eat, how to walk, how to talk. My mother put her life into helping me recover and I still can’t express the gratitude I feel for her love. She learned “patterning”, which is a specific type of rehabilitation for people with traumatic brain injuries. She patterned me every day, several times and day and taught everyone around to help too. I was patterned each day by 4 or 5 people at a time. Slowly, slowly regaining my strength and my speech, and most of all, the old “Red” I used to be.

One night, a year or so after the accident, when I was still recovering and using a wheelchair, I was at a bar with my brother Dean when I met a girl. Her name was Sandy. It wasn’t anything really, just an acquaintance, a friend of Dean’s, but over the next several years we kept crossing paths. We’d see each other here and there, at a wedding, during a night out with friends. A year passed. And another. One day Dean came home, so excited to tell me that Sandy had been asking about me. “She wonders how you are,” he said. “You should ask her out.” Not knowing what to do or how to act, I waited on my pursuit. I was shy. And unsure. And still clueless when it came to dating. A few months later when I saw Sandy on school vacation, I finally got a feeling in my gut to ask her out.

For our first date I had a “buy one, get one free” pass to the Old Stone Mill in Skaneateles. Upon picking her up I told her we couldn’t get any drinks or dessert. She probably thought I was crazy. And you know what? She married me despite it.

We were married in August on a warm summer day surrounded by family and friends and I have never felt more extraordinary than I felt on my wedding day.

From that day on, we have spent our days together.

We laugh and have a good time and most of all, I always love how she loves me for me.

Today, I am alive and well. I walk with a limp, and my speech isn’t perfect, but my mind is sharp, and my laugh, stronger than ever. Without the help of my family and friends, I don’t know where I would have found the will to survive. They stuck with me, they guided me, they kept me going and going and going. They helped me back into the man I was and the man that I now have come to be. I still live on an ordinary street in that same ordinary city, but I am no longer an ordinary man. Sandy and I have lovingly raised two daughters, and could not be more proud and humbled of the strong, kind, compassionate women they are today.

We still talk about my story together often, among other things, like the days we spent together in our house as a family. We have memories that could fill a book, days at the lake, and on family road trips, and of Christmases singing in church together. More than anything we always smile and give thanks. Thanks for each other and for our health and happiness.

And always, a special thank you for miracles.

remembering

For me, it’s important to reflect on this day, to remember back to 10 years ago to the lives lost by the horrific attacks on our country. I didn’t think I would be writing a post about this to be honest, but the news coverage this week has left me all kinds of emotional and so it seems right that I say a little something here instead of just letting the day pass by blank and empty.

I, of course, remember exactly where I was when I first heard of the two planes striking the Twin Towers. I was a freshman in college, it was my second week of school. I was walking back up “the hill” from my early morning Children with Disabilities class. Cindy Sutton was my professor. We left the class at 10:10, which means the attack had already happened, the Towers already were aflame. I began to walk back to my dorm, like any other day after class, but halfway there a girl stopped me on the grass. I didn’t even know her. “Did you hear about what happened?!” she said in a panic. I remember being confused. Who was this girl? Why was she so out of breath? “Two planes crashed into the World Trade Towers. It’s all over the news.” Then she ran away, and I actually never remember seeing her again. Ever again. I stood there not really getting it. I was 17. Away from home. And before that moment, the world revolved around me and my life. Still not completely understanding, I went on my way, entered the hallway of my building, and got pulled into a friend’s room who had a TV. She didn’t even say anything to me, she just pulled me in and planted me in front of the screen.

That’s when I got it.

I stood there, shocked, for the next… hour? two hours? I have no idea.

But I had seen what happened (over and over and over again it was replayed), and it’s like everything stopped. I understood. And it was unbelievable.

Over the years I have often stopped the think about that day, that moment. And I still can’t quite wrap my head around it. I have a picture of me when I was about 13 with the two Twin Towers standing tall behind me. I was visiting the Statue of Liberty on a trip to NY and I was posing in the sunshine with the city behind me. The towers are standing so tall, like pillars connecting the sky to the street. It’s a strange picture to see now, but one that always makes me stop and reflect.

I reflect on the families that lost loved ones,

the spouses that lost their partners,

the children that lost their parents,

the parents that lost their children,

the FDNY workers and police force who worked on 9.11 and every day,

the people of NY,

the people of Washington D.C.,

the people of the United States of America.

I reflect on the terrorists too,

and the importance of a hate-free country, and world.

How I want to teach my first graders tolerance, and acceptance, and empathy.

I reflect on the people who serve our country,

who fight for us each and every day.

THANK YOU. Thank you. Thank you.

And I reflect on those that lost their lives on that tragic day 10 years ago.

In the planes, in the Towers, in the Pentagon, and in the surrounding streets of the attacks.

I reflect on the survivors and heros,

and on our beautiful country,

filled with people who are patriotic, and proud, and brave. ♥

Light.

light

Light.
To feel the sun on my face
And the heat in my bones
And the warmth in my heart
And joy in my soul.
This is the light of summer evenings
As the sun sets
Down
Down
Down
In the sky.
This is the light
That I Love.

Linking up with Mama Kat via Beaktweets! I decided to try out Mama Kat’s (pretty much world’s famous) writer’s workshop tonight. The prompt I chose was to write a poem inspired by a picture I took last week. This picture was taken up Halibut Point in Rockport, MA. It was a gorgeous sunset because of the clouds and I’m so pleased how I captured the light.