Week 14

I'm the most fickle person I know. I'm constantly changing my mind; my thoughts are constantly bouncing around in my head. I can't even decide on an outfit in the morning; usually what I wear is a product of running out of time to get dressed. But I also find pretty much everything interesting, and I adore research. When I'm interested in something, I want to know everything about it. I submerge myself in in and become very passionate, very quickly.

I remember being a little girl, I always begged my mom to let me take dance lessons. With my big feet and big hands, I never saw myself as much of a dancer. But whenever I watched television shows of people dancing, I always got a little twinkle in my eye. A natural klutz, I could never imagine being able to do the things with my body that these dancers do. They look so graceful, so beautiful. When my mother finally got sick of my begging, she told me she'd let me choose between soccer or taking dance lessons.

When I was younger, I was always compared to Cindy. In every way, shape and form. And I learned quickly that the easiest way to obtain approval was to act like Cindy. Cindy was a class clown, so I was too. Cindy was a tomboy, so I was too. Cindy played basketball, so I did too.
Cindy played soccer, so I did too.
I kicked the dancing dream (literally) because I knew that soccer was would make me more like Cindy.

Now, I'm much older and I have accepted that it was never beneficial for me to try and be like my sister.

But I sometimes wonder how differently things would have gone if I had pursued dancing instead of soccer.

Soccer is probably my favorite sport to play. It's difficult, and I'm not very good at it, but it is a fun sport to play. But it never sparked my passion, per se. But when I joined Drama Club and Chorus, I loved them both, and realized that I definitely had a certain flair for dramatic expression.

So, I've made a mental note to return to that secret passion inside my head. And that secret passion is dance. Considering I was voted class clown in high school, I know I'm not exactly the most graceful person on the planet. But, I still would like to learn the basics of certain dances.

The Tango

Probably one of the steamiest ballroom dances out there is the Tango. The authentic Tango originated in Argentina, and is a saucy, sexy form of expression.
Whenever I see this dance on movies or on TV, I feel the need to get up and move around, because it's just so darn inspiring. I like to think of the Tango as the original Dirty Dancing. Before nobody put Baby in a corner and before the 'bump and grind' age of today where girls just shake their ass and wait for a guy to choose her out of the group and rub himself all over her.
The Tango is different. The Tango can almost tell a story. A man and a woman, heated with passion and desire. The man leads the woman, sometimes the woman leads the man. It's a dramatic tale of love and often times betrayal, all set to music. What's not to love?! 
With it's Latin spice, swishy dresses and hot-hot-hot intensity, the Tango is a dance that I dream about taking lessons for someday.

Swing Dance

Now, if a dance can bring you to life, it's swing dance! There's something about jazz. Something sensual, something, fun, something very American and alive.
Swing Dance is used to describe the styles of dances that is usually done to jazz. It originated during the 1920's-50's, during the times of war and the Great Depression. During a time before social networking, the internet, cell phones or extreme mass media. A simpler time where dancing was all you needed.
Because of my old soul and obsession with things that happened before my time, I think swing dance would be something  I'd strongly enjoy. It's high-paced, doesn't really have much flow to it, and is basically all over the place. Sort of sounds like life! ;) Many people who dislike jazz say that it's too hard to follow. There is no flow. But maybe that's exactly what's so wonderful about it. Jazz sounds like the inside of my head on a busy or a relaxing day. Jazz can either soothe me to sleep or make me feel awake.
And swing dance... The way the people move and soar across the dance floor looks like it's easy and anyone can do it. They look happy while they dance like that.
The swing dance isn't like the Tango. It's not as intense; not as formal. Swing dance is just a couple of people, some music and a common goal to just let loose.
Because of my 5-day-a-week work schedule and constant 'to do' lists, swing dance is something that I think would do good for my body and my mind.




The Foxtrot

Classy, slow, graceful and cautious, the foxtrot is one of the most widely known ballroom dances. This big-band dance was premiered in the early 19-teens.
Growing up in the middle of the woods, I'm not exactly the classiest person you'll ever meet. I like to eat with my fingers; I crave cheeseburgers that practically swim in grease; I am known to let rip a mean belch. But sometimes, just sometimes, I feel a little classy and wish I could slip into a ballroom gown and stroll across a ballroom floor.
The Foxtrot is a dance that was originally set for being danced to ragtime, but as it evolved in changed to big band music, which is similar to what Swing Music is danced to. Foxtrot dancing is very slow with long steps and arm movements.
To me, this dance is much about love. The man and the woman dance together very slowly, always touching, always together. They have plenty of time to hold eye contact and maybe even whisper little words to one another while they slide along the dance floor.
Although this dance isn't as fast-paced as the others, it still is one that I'd love to learn more about someday. It's graceful and beautiful, classy and smooth. It's very out of character for me, but it's still a skill I'd like to acquire.





So there you have it. Some facts at a glance about a few dances that I've always been interested in learning. Someday, when I have the money, hopefully I'll find the opportunity to take some lessons. I don't play soccer anymore, but I always still wonder if I'd be a dancer by now if I would have chosen dance.

Week 13

A man and a woman meet in high school in Rhode Island. He secretly gambles behind the school to get money to buy her a milkshake. They get married, he joins the army. After spending three years in and out of the hospital, he returns home and moves to Waite, Maine to start a farm with his young wife. Having one of their children die of leukemia at the age of 9 nearly tears the family apart. A family of equally hot-headed people and hitch-hikers and wanders who come and go, there are endless comedic tales of mishaps that occur on the prosperous farm in the middle of the Maine woods.

Meanwhile, states away, a young Registered Nurse and a young army man go to a community dance with two separate dates, but leave together. They start a life together, building from the ground up, for both of them were products of extremely poor families. Living in Detroit, Michigan and moving to Calais, Maine, the couple goes through tribulations trying to start a family, and are unable to have kids. They adopt a baby girl and a toddler boy and raise them on the craggy coast of a bay near Calais, Maine. A daughter who got into some trouble here and there and a son who had a witty in-put for every situation, this family has heart-warming tales of growing up and learning about love and life.


Both of these very different life paths lead, eventually, to two people meeting at a bar in Calais. This book is about all of the things that occur before that; the things both families endure, the lessons they learn and the stories they have to tell. Each of them have unique tales that are different and yet unique .

All of them come down to love.

The love that a husband and wife share, even if it means driving her crazy like when Don used to torture Jean by poking fun at her Italian back ground. Or when Jim bought Catherine a diamond, and when she lost the diamond from the ring, he went out and bought her a new one. Even though she found the diamond while vacuuming, Jim only smiled and said, "Well now you have two rings."

Or it's the love that siblings share, even in the midst of tragedies. All of the stories in the book lead up to when a new chapter begins. The stories remind you of the value and the purpose of life, and they teach you the importance of family and how it truly is the most important thing in life.

Week 12

The Field

A soft breeze makes the long, long un-cut grass in the field bend and sway ever so slightly. It plays with my hair; makes it tickle my face. I walk alone, quietly. It's one of those moments where I prefer the silence; I don't want music, I don't want talking.

The sun is shining in the field in a way that makes me wish I had my camera; makes me wish I could take pictures with my eyes.

The talls pines shade me from that hot sun. I read somewhere, recently, that 90% of Maine is covered in forests like this. The most of any state. Interesting. It makes me wonder how many other forests hold secrets like this one.

As I continue on, I think of the times my sister and I snuck friends out here to get drunk. Or how many times I escaped in this field. The hours I spent laying on my back, staring at the stars in the sky.
I sneak out into this field to think. The forest helps me breathe.

This time, I'm just visiting an old place I haven't visited in a while.

The path opens up to a clear part in the field, and in the middle of that clear part is a small thicket.
One lonely bench sits next to a tree; a small blue hand-painted birdhouse hangs on a pine tree above the bench. My grandmother made that and hung it there 15 years ago.
On the ground underneath that tree is a marker. A marker of life; a marker of death.

Grampy.

I took a deep breath and sat down next to Grampy. Christmas had passed, my birthday had passed, life had passed... and it had been a while since I visited him.

"I'm sorry if you got lonely."

I sat there and thought about everything I had heard about Grampy. All the stories. All the times he drove Gram to complete madness. How hard he worked.
But, mostly, just how much he loved his life.
Old friends of his would always shake their head when they met me, saying, "He was quite the man."
I don't remember much about him. I was 4 when he died; at an age where everything was new and my memories became real. I remember he always smelt of smoke from a woodstove. I remember the sound of his voice and his laugh.

I smile when I think of his laugh. So low and raspy... it almost sounded like a cough.

I curled up on the bench, bringing my legs close to my chest. Oh, how badly I wished he was apart of my life.

Sometimes, when I come here, I like to think of what it'd be like if he'd just appear next to me. When I was young I'd like to ask him to meet me in my dreams somewhere. Sometimes he did.

Before I moved away from home, I used to come here and talk to Grampy when I had a problem of some kind. Even if he wasn't listening (I know he was, I know he is), it was nice to talk out loud.

I closed my eyes and begged for him to appear next to me. Even if it's for only five minutes.
Imagine if he appeared next to me all those times I came here to ask for help.



"Boys are dumb, Grampy." I said angrily, crossing my arms and swaying my feet back and forth as I sat on the bench. I wasn't quite tall enough to reach the floor yet.
Grampy shifted in his seat next to me. The hard wood hurt his hips. He let out a low grumble and placed his hands on the big beer gut he kept strapped in with suspenders, "They won't ever change, Holli. They'll always be this dumb."
I sighed, "Well what do I do? He wasn't very nice to me, Grampy. He made me cry during recess."
He shook his head, "Make him cry back!"
I looked at him, eyes wide. He was smiling, and it was big enough to reach his blue eyes, "I can't do that, Grampy!"
"Why not?" He cried, "Your grandmother is the toughest old broad I've ever known, and that's exactly why I married her. Don't ever let anyone make you cry, Holli."
I bit my lip and thought for a moment, "I'm not mean enough to make anyone cry, though."
"I don't mean you have to make anyone cry." He chuckled, "I just mean don't let them treat you like that. Bergins don't get mad. They get even."
And just like that, I heard my father calling my name very loud. It echoed through the fields, like it did every day at dinner time.
"Oh, no. I have to go, Grampy." I said and looked over at him.
"Okay." He said and patted me on the back, "Go, quick, before your dad eats it all."
I smiled and slid from the bench. I looked over at Grampy, his blue eyes were observing me. My smile faded as I looked at the scar on his face from right before he went to heaven.
He laughed, knowing what I was thinking.
"I'll still be here the next time you need to talk." He said and winked. "I'm not going anywhere."
I shrugged, "I guess I get a little scared you won't be here."
He leaned forward, "I'll always be here."
I grinned and quickly hugged him, taking in the scent of the woodstove. I said goodbye and took off running.
Before I got to the path that lead to my house, I turned around and he was still sitting there. He looked at me and waved. I waved back, but didn't leave right away.
He looked so content sitting there.
I heard my dad's voice yell for me again.
But I didn't want to turn around.
Grampy was looking out at the field. Dad told me that this field was his favorite place in the whole world, and that's why he stays here now. He says whenever Grandma's time come, she'll come here and be with Grampy too.
I didn't blame Grampy for this being his favorite place. It was so beautiful when the sun was out. Every blade of long grass had a sheen to it; every wildflower bright.
Dad yelled for me one more, and last, time. Judging by the sound in his voice, he wasn't happy.
I smiled at Grampy and finally left; running down the path and excited for the next time I'd have a problem I had to talk to him about.


And now, I'm a 20-year-old woman, and I still wish my Grampy would appear next to me in this old field.

"I have a million and a half problems, Grampy." I said out loud, praying my voice didn't crack, "And they're not as simple as boys making me cry at recess."

Just boys making me cry myself to sleep.

What has happened to my life since I was that little girl? I had scuffed knees and big dreams. Big glasses but a big heart. I'd save a dying bird that fell out of a tree, and then cry and bury it next to the other animals I tried to save but couldn't.
My Grandmother told me a story once. She said that, the day Grampy's ashes were delivered to us, everyone was crying while we went to the field to choose a place to lay him to rest. I was 4, and I tried to get everyone to stop from crying.
"Look at how beautiful this day is! Grampy would love this. Don't cry anymore! There's a deer over in that side of the field, and the sun is shining! Grampy loved days like today."

My grandmother said that that's when she knew I was one in a million.

"I need to fix my life, Grampy." I said outloud, "I know you can see what I've been up to, and I'm sure you're not impressed."

The past two years have been intersting for me. I've made bad decisions, I've experimented, I've actually ended up in the hospital once because I drank a bit too much tequilla.
My stomach turns at the memory.
I left with my ears pierced and 0 tattoos. I'll return home this May and I have 8 piercings and a tattoo on my foot.
I have more secrets.
I'm not that little girl anymore. The world destroyed her; the world tamed her. Put out her fire. And it hurts to realize that she's gone.

She's not gone...

The thought fled through my mind quickly. So quick I almost lost it.

Sort of like how Grampy isn't gone either.

It's amazing in life how some things can change so much; others so little. The field, for example, never really changes. The grass gets longer, the trees go along with the seasons. But at any given point in time, the field looks exactly the same as it did a year ago.
I'm not like that.
I was different a year ago today. I'll be different a year from tomorrow.
And ever since I was a little girl, I realized that I never did anything in moderation. And change wasn't excluded from that.

I exhaled sharply and decided to start from the beginning.
"I moved out in mid-August two years ago. I guess at that point, I was still very naive. I had high hopes, Grampy. Big dreams. I guess I was always like that up until now. But when I moved out, certain things happened that made me change. And I guess, in the midst of all that change and all that growing, I left that little girl behind. It all started when I realized I had no idea how to drive in the city ... "