Parades and Fireworks: Memories of Passed Grandparents

It's difficult to remember my grandmother, my father's mother, whose laugh and humor dubbed her the name funny grandma. I was ten when she died, too young to truly comprehend the meaning of death. She had short blonde hair and a radiant smile that would light up an entire room. Her daughter, my aunt, looks exactly like her. The only thing I inherited from her, looks-wise, is her petiteness. I'm the smallest one in my immediate family full of giants, or at least to me they are. A variety of home movies triggers memories I do not hold clearly. My memories are like broken pieces of film I can only see snippets of. I have stronger, more vivid memories of my grandfather, my mother's father. He died when I was twelve. And while I don't recall having a better understanding of death within the two years, I remember feeling more of an emotional weight with his passing, probably because I was older. I still get emotional when I hear James Taylor's "How Sweet It Is" because it's my grandma and grandpa's song and it played at his funeral. I also think of him when I watch "The Price is Right", which he watched almost every day at ten in the morning. My grandpa served in the Navy for a bit after he and my grandmother got married. Certain smells and sounds will send me back to moments with the ones that I love who are no longer here. Fireworks remind me of nights in Iowa, sitting next to my grandma on a blanket, covering my ears from the loud sounds. American flags take me back to a parade down the driveway of my grandparent's house in Maine, my grandpa leading the way waving an American flag with my sister conducting the whole thing, screaming at the top of her lungs. I remember them fondly and hold them close to my heart. Thinking of them today as the seasons change once again.

Aging: Overcoming Childhood Fears

As children, we all have fears  those overwhelming fears that 
consume us whenever we're forced to face them.
Some kids hate the dark, while others hate large bodies.
I hated the dentist, absolutely loathed it.
But I had a good reason to despise the dentist.
At age twelve, I had three wrong teeth pulled.
Not one, not two, but three.
I'll save you the long story by saying
the horrible experience scarred my view of the dentist.
I've had to get a lot of dental work over
the years due to what happened.
I had braces twice, first for three years, 
second for four and a half years.
I have four implants and one bridge.
I also had a jaw surgery seven years ago this month.
I know my mouth forwards and backward.
I know how to articulate my needs and concerns
to the people working on my teeth.
It's both a blessing and a curse to know
my teeth as well as I do.
During all of this time, I never quite
got comfortable with people working on my teeth.
There were many tears along the way.
My horrible experience left me with a fear
that haunted me with each dental procedure.
When getting my implants and bridge put in, they gave me
Valium and put me to sleep every step of the way.
I developed anxiety as a teenager and was anxious
for many years, not just at the dentist.
But the dentist always made me shaky, 
no matter how calm the Valium made me feel.
As an adult, I'm not as anxious as I once was.
I have a good relationship with my dentist,
he makes me laugh and understands my concerns.
Today, I had to get a filling done.
I don't like getting numb because when I had my three
wrong teeth removed, they numbed the right places.
The last time I had to get a filling, 
I got emotional over having my teeth numb
and cried during the whole thing.
This time I was determined to have it be different.
And it was different.
My dentist assured me that this would be easy,
and so I stated I didn't want to be numb.
He said okay and I didn't need it after all.
Walking out after the simple procedure,
I was reminded that I can go to the dentist without crying.
I can overcome my childhood fear, for the most part,
and leave the ghost in the past.

Out with the New, in with the Old.

There's something comforting about nostalgia.  It's like a fuzzy blanket on a cold night in March. Embracing what you're already comfortable with is easier, and sometimes more enjoyable, than expanding your views and trying something new. There's been a pattern these past couple of years with reboots. Bringing back stories from the 80s and 90s have become very common. From Boy Meets World and Full House to the X-Files and Heathers, people seem to be yearning for stories they watched as a kid.

As comforting as it is to watch television shows I grew up with make a comeback, I can't help but wonder what that says about us as a society. What about television comebacks makes the child in people come alive? Is it the feeling that nothing has changed in the twenty-plus years since the show has been off the air? Or that we can return to a simpler time before our society began to fell apart with the introduction of social media and our current political climate?

I'm not going to deny, I love watching the shows I watched as a kid now and see how the characters changed since we parted ways years ago. It's like seeing an old friend you thought you would never see again. Though, I also want to meet new characters and see a different universe than the one I'm very familiar with. I want to see new stories with new dynamics that are pushing the limits of what the audience is used to. I'd wanted to see shows about people who stutter or a story about young people asking difficult questions about what they want out of life and defining the odds. I'm conflicted between embracing new stories and cuddling up to the ones I already love. 

Like My Father

I feel like my father, 
for I can only hear out of one ear.

He's deaf in his left ear,
while my right is currently clogged.

A virus found me,
a present for finishing the semester.

It's an odd sensation,
to only listen out of one ear.

As though half of the sound is cut off,
like a traffic detour to the same destination.

You get the message,
but it all gets directed to the good ear.

While the bad ear gets nothing,
or muffled, distorted sounds at best.

I'm lucky,
for my congestion will eventually clear.

All the ear wax will drain on it's own,
and I will be able to hear as I've always been able to.

I can only imagine what it's like,
to only be able to hear half of everything around you.