 I’ve written with fondness about my childhood several times in this space. I am so grateful for the wonderful life my parents provided for me and my younger brother growing up. It certainly wasn’t perfect, but there was far more good than bad.
I had a chance to celebrate both of my parents this weekend, with my Daddy’s birthday on Saturday and Mother’s Day on Sunday. They are divorced, but still friendly, and I have a close relationship with each of them. They have given me many gifts over the years, and continue to do so all the time. (Not just financial, although there were plenty of those, too. Being a single mom would have been MUCH tougher without their help in that department, l'm here to tell you.) Yep, Mother and Daddy have given me innumerable gifts of affection, support, understanding and wisdom, all of which I will never be able to pay back. I love 'em both to pieces, and this weekend’s festivities got me to thinking about what aspects of my own personality I’ve inherited from them.
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 It’s getting green out there, thankyoubabyJesus. And I don’t mean drive-a-Prius-and-recycle-gum-wrappers green. You’ve probably noticed that spring weather is finally starting to transform the browns and grays of winter into emerald hues and colorful blooms.
It’s about friggin’ time. I may have mentioned once or twice how much I loathe the cold. So right now, I seriously feel like a grumpy bear coming out of hibernation. This ol’ bear is hongray — for the sun on my shoulders, the warm pavement beneath my bare feet and the scent of peonies wafting under my nose. I’m SO ready to dig out my straw pool bag, fluff the beach towels and inspect my raft for leaks. Some of my happiest memories from childhood are set against the backdrop of sunbeams and sticky summer weather, so I always get a little nostalgic at the first chance the temps allow me to hang up my winter coat. Perhaps even a little over-eager, but what the hell.  One of my favorite late-1980s science fiction movies is an under-the-sea adventure, called “The Abyss,” starring Ed Harris and Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio. Most of the action takes place on an oil rig resting on the Atlantic Ocean floor.
There’s a scene where Harris’ lead character, Bud, has to dive into ridiculously deep waters to save the crew from certain death. To survive that insane depth, he has to employ a special suit with a weird breathing device that aspirates liquid instead of air. At first, Bud fights against inhaling the strange, milky fluid. As it enters his lungs, his body violently rebels. But then he relaxes a bit and starts to get used to this new way of breathing. Pretty soon, he’s good to go.  There is no deal lucrative enough to ever motivate me to shop on Black Friday. My serenity is worth a hell of a lot more than a $250 rebate on a flat screen TV at Best Buy. Just sayin’.
All you nutty people who get up long before the ass crack of dawn to wait in line for the latest kids’ toys and other trendy gifts can have at it. The crowds, chaos and confusion are more than I can tolerate. That being said, I don’t mind shopping on a normal day. Depending on the circumstances, I have been known to actually enjoy it. I am a girl, after all. In fact, on Small Business Saturday this past weekend, a fabulous new girlfriend and I spent hours browsing shops along Bardstown Road and Nulu. Each store was bustling, but none were so crowded as to incite a panic attack. (Being very petite, I get claustrophobic in large crowds, sometimes to the point of breaking out in a rash.)  This is the time of year when lots of folks voice their thankfulness in a very public way. They send cards, buy gifts and post on social media. Hell, some people even take out paid advertising.
Yes, cynics who complain all year long about all that’s wrong in their world are suddenly the epitome of humility and gratitude. (I can say this without enmity because I used to be one of them.) I am grateful to have a much more positive outlook on life these days, but I think I am most grateful to get a month-long break from these Negative Nancys’ incessant bitching. SIGH. Nope, I haven’t engaged in any of the public lists of thanks this year. I think I haven’t felt the need because I am privately grateful all year long. I frequently write gratitude lists in my journal, or send short daily prayers of thanks up to my ol’ HP (higher power). I actively count my blessings every day because taking that action plays a major role in keeping me sane, serene and sweet. For realz.  I put on a Halloween costume for a party this weekend. What’s significant about that statement is that I dreaded the aforementioned party for two weeks, right up until the moment I applied a final swipe of glitter to my cheeks and sauntered my sequined ass out the front door.
When it was all said and done, I looked fabulous, danced my ass off and had a wonderful time, but getting there was daunting. For one thing, I have not, historically, been particularly creative in my sporadic bouts of costumery over the years. The last costume I donned about four years ago was Sookie from True Blood, and I chose her because she was easy. I ordered a Merlotte’s T-shirt and apron from the online HBO store, added black shorts and tennis shoes, put my hair in a ponytail, slapped a plastic fang bite and some fake blood on my neck and called it a day. |
About Amy HiggsA former newspaper columnist, Amy takes her random, slice-of-life stories to the web. After 12 years, she's still just saying. Archives
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