It's Friday, after a long, long week and I am watching Taken. I've wanted to see this movie for awhile now because I have a severe crush on Liam Neeson. Severe.
Now, if you don't know me, you may not know that I enjoy action flicks. I like the shoot 'em up, tough guy with sensitivity. Yes, thanks to my Dad, I am a sucker for a good guy with a heart of gold, who has just a touch of bad in him. The fellas I Love are not surprised by this, are you guys? Neither are my closest girlfriends. Hopefully, I'm raising my daughter to be smarter.
But, who can resist a good looking man with a sharp mind; hard muscles all around? Not to mention, Liam's time-honored quest to protect his daughter, in this movie. He takes extreme measures, to be sure. I find that I am both disgusted by the violence and empathetic regarding its use. If my child was threatened there is absolutely nothing I would not do to secure her safety. Though it is clear that I would not have the means or methodology to overcome a situation like his in the movie, I gain a sense of empowerment from watching a fictitious parent take a stand.
Perhaps, because I feel as if I take my stand everyday, in every way that I know how. I sacrifice and make deals with my God for the womanchild's happiness, her success, her survival. I am primal in my Love for her. There is no logic, no patience, no temperance. It is all that I have. Maybe you understand that, maybe it sounds overdone.
Anyway, Liam knows...
Friday, June 12, 2009
Tuesday, June 09, 2009
Magnolia Dreams
Before my house was built, before the land was cleared, my friend Ted and I walked through the trees. I whispered my thanks to them. I was so thankful for that little piece of land and everything that grew upon it. I thanked the trees for their strength and towering beauty and for the sacrifice they would make so my family and I would have a place of laughter and Love and shelter.
In the midst of the giant pines and oaks was a majestic magnolia. It was tall and full; it was lush. Ted encouraged me to ask the builder to save that tree and I did. I marked it and asked him to make sure he kept it. It was far enough away from the house site that it didn't need to be removed. But, as you have already guessed, when the land was cleared the magnolia was cleared along with it.
We moved into the house in February, when everything was grey and bare; the land slept deeply that winter and it would not be until the spring that I would notice the little twig of magnolia. It was no more than 2.5 feet tall, with its full and dark green leaves. It was growing right next to a mighty oak and I thought the roots of the oak would likely strangle the little offshoot of magnolia.
Each spring, acknowledging that it had made it through the winter, I willed it to bloom. All the magnolias in other yards, on other grounds would be filled with blossoms in late spring. The scent would fill the surrounding air and evoke images of lovers and lazy southern nights. Those tall and fragrant trees always made me remember the tree I had lost to the builder's short term memory or, if I was feeling unkind, to his broken promise. I wanted that baby magnolia to assert itself, to be gaudy in its display of flowers, to be whole.
Over the last 11 years, the tiny tree has been my touch stone. It sits just outside my bedroom window at the start of the treeline. On evenings when I felt the weight of the world crushing in on me with fears of losing my business (when I was consulting) or of losing my mind (when I began a 9 - 5 in the public sector), I would look out at that little magnolia and smile. Because, dwarfed as it was by the trees around it, small as it was standing against the winds and storms and droughts, barren as it was, still, it was always there. Its survival gave me hope of my own ability to carry on.
Jorge left a comment a few weeks ago and he labeled me resilient. It was an interesting adjective, one that I had not associated with my self before. And, I liked it. I have survived and I am not jaded or inert. I am still trying, still learning, still putting one foot in front of the other. I have not the brilliant blooms of some or the authority of others, but, I am still here.
Like my magnolia.
Last week, I awoke as the sun was beginning to rise. The trees are so tall they block the sun for several hours but, the light makes its presence known. And in that early morning light of intermingled greys and blues, my little magnolia shrugged in the breeze and offered me a glimpse of her first bloom.
It brought tears to my eyes.
In the midst of the giant pines and oaks was a majestic magnolia. It was tall and full; it was lush. Ted encouraged me to ask the builder to save that tree and I did. I marked it and asked him to make sure he kept it. It was far enough away from the house site that it didn't need to be removed. But, as you have already guessed, when the land was cleared the magnolia was cleared along with it.
We moved into the house in February, when everything was grey and bare; the land slept deeply that winter and it would not be until the spring that I would notice the little twig of magnolia. It was no more than 2.5 feet tall, with its full and dark green leaves. It was growing right next to a mighty oak and I thought the roots of the oak would likely strangle the little offshoot of magnolia.
Each spring, acknowledging that it had made it through the winter, I willed it to bloom. All the magnolias in other yards, on other grounds would be filled with blossoms in late spring. The scent would fill the surrounding air and evoke images of lovers and lazy southern nights. Those tall and fragrant trees always made me remember the tree I had lost to the builder's short term memory or, if I was feeling unkind, to his broken promise. I wanted that baby magnolia to assert itself, to be gaudy in its display of flowers, to be whole.
Over the last 11 years, the tiny tree has been my touch stone. It sits just outside my bedroom window at the start of the treeline. On evenings when I felt the weight of the world crushing in on me with fears of losing my business (when I was consulting) or of losing my mind (when I began a 9 - 5 in the public sector), I would look out at that little magnolia and smile. Because, dwarfed as it was by the trees around it, small as it was standing against the winds and storms and droughts, barren as it was, still, it was always there. Its survival gave me hope of my own ability to carry on.
Jorge left a comment a few weeks ago and he labeled me resilient. It was an interesting adjective, one that I had not associated with my self before. And, I liked it. I have survived and I am not jaded or inert. I am still trying, still learning, still putting one foot in front of the other. I have not the brilliant blooms of some or the authority of others, but, I am still here.
Like my magnolia.
Last week, I awoke as the sun was beginning to rise. The trees are so tall they block the sun for several hours but, the light makes its presence known. And in that early morning light of intermingled greys and blues, my little magnolia shrugged in the breeze and offered me a glimpse of her first bloom.
It brought tears to my eyes.
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