Yesterday, I had a day full of notable moments. I went to work, an art sale, the movies, had meaningful conversations, ate dinner with my family, enjoyed the beautiful weather, and then slept quite well after a full and fulfilling day. And, you know what, today was like that, too. And I’m hoping tomorrow will be, as well.
That’s one of the most magical parts of summer — each day allows for multiple events, adventures, and activities, creating notable moments on a daily – even hourly – basis. It’s not always the activities that help to achieve these moments, but the people making the moments notable – family, friends, the like.
Though school days are filled to the brim with action (running around campus becomes my full time job), I sorely miss the days full of notable moments, of adventures always around the corner, when caught in the minutiae of school. It doesn’t have to be like this, and I try to enjoy each day for what it is, but the lack of these moment of notability often make me stall out, feel like I’m not living life to the fullest, or not taking advantage of each and every day.
It has taken me awhile to come to terms with what exactly makes me struggle to maintain my positive outlook when at school, but I’m slowly putting together the pieces. Notable moments happen far more often (at least right now) during the summer than at school, and they truly do make a difference for me.
I saw Obvious Child today and found the soundtrack to be perfectly fitting. This doesn’t happen often – The Secret Life of Walter Mitty is my most recent example before Obvious Child, and maybe Julie & Julia far before that – but it really enriches the film experience when it does. The main song coursing throughout the movie was, fittingly, Paul Simon’s “Obvious Child.” Enjoy!
Woah. Currently nearing the end of my goal, a month of posting on Daisy & Spruce every day. Yay! So far, it’s been awesome to carve out the time each day to write something, whether it’s sharing a short poem or working through problems by writing them out. Though thirty days might not seem like a long time, it means a lot to me, especially because the last month has been nothing short of amazing! I’ve had the chance to spend time with family and close friends, exercise more regularly, enjoy the time away from school, meet new people, and even start a job that I really, really like. In addition, I’ve been wanting to write on a more public forum since about, hmm, eighth grade. I have finally mustered the confidence to do so, and so far it’s been a great experience.
You might be wondering whether or not I’ll continue posting on Daisy & Spruce, and the answer is yes! Though I plan on starting a new, likely more time consuming writing project soon, this project has taught me so many lessons, especially to MAKE the time for writing, even when it would be easy to watch an extra hour of television or mindlessly surf the Internet. For that, I’m very appreciative, and I plan on posting daily for as long as I can!
Thanks for reading!
This video was released yesterday, though I didn’t see it until after I had published my post. It’s kind of amazing how relevant this is to my experience yesterday, and although the video is currently going viral, I thought I’d bring it to your attention, just in case you haven’t seen it.
“But space is for boys!”
Today, one of my campers was determined to convince me that she and her friend couldn’t play a game about outer space.
Though I applaud the slew of companies that have recently encouraged tool boxes and Lego kits for girls, my camper’s comment made me realize that the “I shouldn’t like this because I’m a _______” mentality still very much exists in children. Have there been efforts, particularly in the last few years, to encourage kids to believe that they can do anything, no matter their gender? Yes. Are four-year-olds still affected by this mentality? Absolutely.
Topics like math and outer space, dinosaurs and soccer shouldn’t be avoided by young girls because they think they’re “not okay for girls to like.” Similarly, dressing up, playing with dolls, picking flowers, etc. shouldn’t be off limits for boys. However, it’ll take time to reverse the mentality that has been so engrained in generation after generation. Hearing what my camper said today really struck a chord, not only because she thought outer space was somehow not okay for girls to be interested in, but also because it makes it clear that a new message hasn’t been successfully instilled in the next generation, leaving these stereotypes vulnerable for a full-circle ending once again.
Scientists have found that accessing memories ultimately change them. Is there a way to remember something completely as it happened? Is it possible to keep an archive full of unaltered memories, negatives that never lose their clarity?
Another favorite poem of the day!
The other day I was ricocheting slowly
off the blue walls of this room,
moving as if underwater from typewriter to piano,
from bookshelf to an envelope lying on the floor,
when I found myself in the L section of the dictionary
where my eyes fell upon the word lanyard.
No cookie nibbled by a French novelist
could send one into the past more suddenly—
a past where I sat at a workbench at a camp
by a deep Adirondack lake
learning how to braid long thin plastic strips
into a lanyard, a gift for my mother.
I had never seen anyone use a lanyard
or wear one, if that’s what you did with them,
but that did not keep me from crossing
strand over strand again and again
until I had made a boxy
red and white lanyard for my mother.
She gave me life and milk from her breasts,
and I gave her a lanyard.
She nursed me in many a sick room,
lifted spoons of medicine to my lips,
laid cold face-cloths on my forehead,
and then led me out into the airy light
and taught me to walk and swim,
and I , in turn, presented her with a lanyard.
Here are thousands of meals, she said,
and here is clothing and a good education.
And here is your lanyard, I replied,
which I made with a little help from a counselor.
Here is a breathing body and a beating heart,
strong legs, bones and teeth,
and two clear eyes to read the world, she whispered,
and here, I said, is the lanyard I made at camp.
And here, I wish to say to her now,
is a smaller gift—not the worn truth
that you can never repay your mother,
but the rueful admission that when she took
the two-tone lanyard from my hand,
I was as sure as a boy could be
that this useless, worthless thing I wove
out of boredom would be enough to make us even.