Snail Snacker

Today she turns 40- that second sister of mine. My favorite childhood memory of her is that time as a toddler when she was crawling around the patio during a summer backyard BBQ. We had this very slippery patio you see. As pre-teens, on a hot summer day, we’d throw our swimsuits on- altogether us sisters and cousins too, run the garden hose over it and slip-n-slide. At the end of a good session, our knees would be rubbed red and bruised. We didn’t care- fun was all we knew. There were no plastic slip-n-slides and if there were- our parents didn’t have the money to buy one. We did what we could and played with what we had. What we lacked in money we made up with in creativity. But I digress.

Back to my sister. She was crawling all over that slippery patio while Dad BBQ-ed some type of delicious meat. I remember we had those windows in the kitchen that opened up to the patio and we’d pass the carne asada raw and cooked back and forth through that window. The meat always marinated in this giant, mint green tupperware bowl. Man, every time I saw that bowl- I just knew it was going to be on. So there went my sister – maybe 18 months old and she’s crawling around that slippery patio and hardly anyone is paying any attention to her until- PLOP!– she picks up a nice, juicy slug of a snail and just throws it in her mouth. I’m not quite sure who noticed first that she seemed to be crunching away on something not right. Next thing you know- they ran right over to her and took it out of her mouth or what remained of that little insect and washed that mouth out with water and Lord knows what else.

I couldn’t look at my sister in the same way for a few months after that. Every time I thought of her- I thought- there she goes- a snail snacker. The only way Mom and Dad explained it was you know your sister- she’s always getting herself into something- she can never sit still- that one.

And so she remains to this day. Mother of four, husband to one, full-time working momma with a side business – making homemade, personalized sugar cookies, cupcakes and party planning. She planned her own 40th birthday bash a few weeks ago and it was spectacular- tequila shots, 90’s music in a cottage along the beach. She just finished baking personalized cookies/cake pops for our niece’s 15th birthday party. She always goes over the top and she can never stand still- constantly moving and plotting her next move. She gives her entire heart to her others. I worry about her sometimes as I do with all of them in different ways- that she gives too much, does too much and not enough time is spent on herself.

She is brilliant, talented, and full of life and love. I hope she remembers that today- a celebration of her 40 years on this earth-  and always. As her big sister, I will try to remind her of that. Love you Mel. Sisters forever.

Fear

I’m writing. I just hopped onto the WordPress site for the first time in a long time. I kind of don’t recognize the person who wrote all the articles here. I have taken a long break from my blog and writing. I don’t even know if I will publish this quite honestly. What I do know is that I must write and create because it is killing me inside, quietly and softly- not to.

Last December, I attended a conference at the Japanese American National Museum for a local organization here in town that focuses on art policy throughout the state of California. I sat in the large audience of people and then we were assigned break-out groups that we would share the morning with. My break-out group consisted of about 20 women ages 45+. I did not know a single soul there- all of them strangers. We were asked to introduce ourselves- you know the drill- tell me your name and a little bit about yourself and why you are here. For some odd reason, I felt compelled to be completely honest with this group of strangers. I think it’s because I didn’t know anyone personally and didn’t care if they judged me or thought me absolutely insane. But I was shocked by the words that came out of my mouth and I instantly regretted saying them the minute they came out but then what followed was a surprise. What I said was the following:

My name is Elizabeth and I have no idea really what I am doing here. I am a mother of three, husband to one, juggling my three children’s lives, active community volunteer, struggling professionally around ideas of identity and how to move forward and I love to write and tell stories but for some insane reason, I have not written one word in almost a year and I know that what is holding me back is FEAR. I am so afraid of moving forward into whatever lies ahead of me. Fear is holding me back from living my life.

When I uttered that word- Fear- there was a large collective GASP from every woman in the room. It was quite unbelievable. I had just tapped into what we were all feeling – despite touting backgrounds and experience and validation as to why we were there in that room. I was as shocked as everyone else was in that room by my words. Until that moment- when I announced that to the group- I had finally released what I had been feeling for quite some time but had not verbalized out loud to myself or others. But apparently I am not the only one carrying around this fear. From there, we engaged in an open dialogue as to what fear does to us and how it holds us back from living the best lives we can. I am grateful that my open honesty was met with sincere openness. Given another room full of different people- it could have turned out another way.

And so I will write. I will live some days in the shadow of my fear. Other days, I will step out of it. But I’m gonna write- yes I am. I will tell my stories again. I can’t guarantee that I will publish all of them- in fact- I know many of them I will not. I need to write and create- of that I am certain. How I will share my stories with the world remains to be seen. It will be a journey and process of that I am sure.

What are you afraid of? How is it holding you back from living your life?

Not Settling

I am the woman who follows her own crooked, muddy, rocky path. I enjoy climbing over the many rocks, branches and mud in my way- it’s like a game to me – walking, weaving in and out and running to avoid falling. I am the woman who will wear bright colors in a sea of pale neutrals. I am the woman who is independent and will question the obvious. I am the woman who seeks out people who are different because she seeks to understand human nature that is not like her own. I used to be that girl who says yes to avoid conflict, who would go to the bathroom with large groups of women, afraid of shadows, truths, authenticity and being alone. I will never be that girl again. I would rather be the solitary woman than that girl surrounded by people who call themselves friends.

This past week was a tough one. M and I in particular we fell into that sad place. Homesick and missing friends. Tuesday night we attended M’s first Boy Scout Troop meeting. I sat back and observed the group dynamics and how M was received. We went home disappointed and deflated. M commented on the ride home “Well, that was the loneliest Boy Scout meeting I ever attended.” I wiped back my tears in the dark, once again, this time consoling him- saying- “it’s okay bud- I understand.” I woke up angry the next day- angry that back in California our Boy Scout troop was filled with boys who are friendly, outgoing, and fun and parents who are involved, organized and creative. And that we are no longer a part of those things. Feeling sorry for myself and for M. I went about my day- trying to shift my thinking to focusing on those things that make me happy. Grateful for: