The Story of my life in 250 words … )
Is a writing challenge presented by, Jenni, author of the blog, StoryofMyLifeTheBlog.blogspot.com. She wills us to write about our life in the next 31 days. Our task, should we decide to accept it, is to write about specific items each day. Her outline, found in this post, http://storyofmylifetheblog.blogspot.com/2013/04/blog-every-day-in-may-challenge.html, defines the specifics.
It was my daughter, M1, author of the blog, ZuPlusTwo.com, who inspired me. M1 is taking on this challenge. I thought I’d try, too. I’ve been listed as AWOL for several months now, occupied by several life changes, but never forgetting how much I miss my friends, their words, their lives, and their inspirations. Come along as Jenni (and all who offer themselves up on this quest). Take the plunge. Come dive into the water, deep, someone will be here to grab you if you begin to sink (me), cuz…well, I’m good at sinking, and my friends and family are great at helping me reset my sails. I promise to prop you up if the tide gets heavy. My snorkel vest is right here. It’s yellow.
Day one offers the challenge of writing about one’s life in 250 words or less. Something in this request reminds me of my earlier ToastMaster days, where a public speaking course http://www.toastmasters.org, directed us to our first assignment; The Ice Breaker. Knees shaking, voice quaking, I stood before a group of AA (American Airlines, Plane Talkers), and delivered my story. Those words, written and delivered at age 31, came from all those life experiences I felt had shaped me, or at least had brought me to where I was at that time.
At age 60, this little story is titled, The Ice Cube. It takes shape from where I thought I was, to a place, uncharted. That fork in the road, the one less taken, but only because it’s the one cast upon oneself, and not the one we had dreamed we’d travel. But, alas, I digress. Let’s get to that ‘ice cube’ before it melts. Shall we? Come along with me, and while you’re traveling in the seat beside me, at an altitude of mercy, please understand the value of your own story, and the need to tell it. The month of May is a gift to my children, M1 and M2. They may learn a few things I had hoped to share, but never did, or they may learn things they wish they had not been privy to, but in the end, discovered. I value the chance to tell it, even if it causes me to cringe, blush, cry, or toss marshmallows against the glass wall. I promise to dialog with M1 and M2 should they seek clarity or understanding. Therapy may become part of their request. (Good Lord, please let me be joking.)
It began in the elevator of the hospital.
Far northern Colorado, beef region. Three weeks, later, I crossed the ocean in an airliner, making the Hawaiian Islands (Hawaii, Oahu and Maui), home for the next six and a half years of my life.
As a Navy brat, we relocated to the farthest southern tip of the state of Texas upon my father’s retirement. I’m now seven.
Colorado beckoned to those parents of mine, native to those parts, they felt home calling them. My dad played sheriff for a while, in a town even further north of beef country. Heck, let’s just say we were breathing Wyoming air. Then a more progressive employment opportunity arose. We moved to Boulder and lived around the county until another prospect led my father to move us to Texarkana, TX. I can’t begin to tell you how broken-hearted I was. I had my first boyfriend and I was a cheerleader in high school. Did this man not understand I couldn’t move? I sulked all through the two-day car ride. Refused to eat for a week. I was having a protest with a party of one.
After Texarkana, high school, and a broken heart by flame #2, I headed back to Colorado, living with my sister and her family. I thought I was back, home, for good, but at nineteen you have about as much sense as a garden snail. That old flame in Texas wouldn’t give up, and in a vulnerable moment I decided I wouldn’t either. I headed back to Texas, married him and settled in until the flames ignited an inferno that burnt our whole world down, scorching both of us in less than two full years.
I worked, I struggled, I read, rode my bike, walked the soles of my shoes off, but I found myself forward, eventually.
A couple of years would pass and I would remarry. Ten years later I’d have my first daughter, M1, and seven years later, M2.
This is my universe.
(I’m over the 250 word count. There are other details, but you get the drift.)