Thank GAWD for College!

I was going to my first fraternity house. I wasn’t in college yet, my friend’s brother was, so we were going to go see him. I worried about only knowing two people there. I worried that I was too young to be there. I worried I would spend the night up against a wall, by myself.

But then they heard me speak.

I don’t remember what I said, but before I knew it, there was a crowd of fraternity boys surrounding me asking me to, “Say something else!” because they loved “that New York accent!” Never before had I thought I had an accent, but evidently I was entertaining these boys from around the country with some sort of intonations that set them reeling with joy.

I gave them the typicals, the “tawlk” and “caw-fee” but I didn’t know what else to offer. My pseudo-celebrity status was disconcerting when even after I thought the show had ended I would catch some eyes looking at me in envy. “Am I saying things wrong?” I asked.

“No, it’s AH-some!” they would say, but I still wondered...

Years later, after spending time working in Manhattan, going to a college that was local, but attended mostly by students from all over the country, without intending to, my New York accent slipped by the wayside. In fact, I didn’t even realize it until one day I thought I’d share a video of my Sweet 16 with my boyfriend.

I thought it would be nice if he could see me on my big day.

As the video played he looked at me in horror. And I, on the other hand, couldn’t tear my eyes from the screen. I recognized the girl on the screen. I could even remember her thoughts as the images played before me, but what was she saying? The Staten Island/New York/Italian-American accent that now causes me to cringe when I catch snippets of Mob Wives or, lord help me, The Jersey Shore was coming out of my mouth.

“I will tell you right now, if you sounded that way when we met, there’s NO WAY I would’ve asked you out!” and there it was. From my boyfriend, now husband, a judgement placed on me based on the speech of my home. It was what I had expected from the strangers in the frat house, not from the man I loved.



This post was written in response to this week's RemembeRED writing prompt on the Write On Edge blog. 

This week’s RemembeRED prompt is: Write a piece of creative non-fiction in which turns of phrase, dialect, slang, or colloquialisms feature prominently.
Choose ONE moment and explode it. Please, no laundry lists of phrases. This is a memoir, not the urban dictionary.

My Title and Tagline

The following is my response to the Write On Edge RemembeRED writing prompt of the week:

We’re doing something short and sweet for this week’s RemembeRED post.
Imagine your life, or a part of your life, as a title and tagline.
That’s it. Give us the title, and give us the tagline.

 



Hindsight is 20/20 Even If I'm Not
by Nicole D. Rivera
 

One woman's look back at her beautiful, imperfect life filled with love, loss, family, teaching  and two broken eyes.

I miss my childhood

This post was written in response to a writing prompt for  RemembeRED from Write On Edge. This is this week's prompt: 

Photo courtesy of weheartit.com

This week’s prompt is to use this image for your inspiration and begin your post with those words…”I miss my childhood…”

Let’s keep the word limit to 500

I miss my childhood,
with its four-poster bed,
lace bedding and
Victorian style nightgowns.

I miss my childhood,
with flowered handkerchiefs,
grandpa-made furniture and
family portraits.

I miss my childhood,
with weekend trips to antique shoppes,
bed times before M*A*S*H and
nightlights.

I miss my childhood,
when art stores felt like Candyland,
fingers dancing over crayons, pencils and
beautiful papers.

I miss my childhood,
with Sundays at Church,
holding hands by the duck pond and
rolling down the leaf-littered hill.

I miss my childhood,
with a little brother,
a Mommy, a Daddy,
a family of four.

My Melancholy Monet Memory

This post was written in response to a writing prompt for  RemembeRED from Write On Edge. In an apparent attempt to make us all need some major happy pills after writing this week, this is this week's prompt: 

We all have them.

Memories that we wish we could forget…things that we wish we could banish from our minds.

Imagine that writing down your worst memory will free you of it.

What is it?

Why does it haunt you?

What could you have done differently?

Write it down and let it go.

Let’s keep it to 600 words or less.

 


I thought I would be haunted forever. I thought this time would live in my mind more vividly than any other in my 29 years. I thought I would relive it over and over in my mind for the rest of my existence.

I was wrong.

Instead, I was scarred. The outcome, everyone knows, but the details - oh those stubborn old details. My healed and scarred soul allowed only formless, broad coverings of the worst attack it has ever seen. Only a few power images force their way through to build this impressionist view of the most life-altering event of my life.

Sometimes, though, that scar itches.

**

The first day, a Thursday, the skies turned black and opened whole, ready to swallow me. They threw water at me. They shouted with thunder. They blinded with lightning. They left me behind saturated and beaten to battle with their elements as I gave the only give left giving... bring her home.
I was her rock. For the love of all things heaven and Earth, I promise you, this is what she said to me the day before. “You have always been my rock. You have to bring me home.”

**

“Help me,” she said weakly, but her frail frame, her eyes and soul screamed  it. We were alone in the hallway, in the middle of the night . She tried to go to the bathroom by herself. A reminder that she, too was eroding on this trip.

“I will.” This night, I believe my words. I believe in my power. The rock has only begun to be battered by the winds of defeat.

**

Hospice arrived with the chisel of reality. I feel the debris fall to my feet and wonder how long the rock will last. I make a phone call before it is too late. I call the Pastor and tell him, “You must do what needs to be done.”

**

I check on her incessantly. I bring her ice. I bring her morphine. I touch her hair, her arm, hold her hand and rest my head on her shoulder, remembering a time, pre-rock, when that is where I belonged. That is my spot.

**

I cried in the shower. There wasn’t enough water to wash away the tears. I would emerge a clean, water-beaten rock. A little more eroded, but shiny all the same.

**

“Help me,” I would hear her whisper, now lips cracked from lack of fluids, as the evil inside her stole everything we gave.

“I’m trying.” A new response as the evil inside also stole my confidence, my power, my hope. I began to understand that no matter the size of this rock, the erosion will win.

**

“Help me,” no longer words spoken, but now just mouthed and I’m the only one lip reading. Tears hot in my eyes that I hope her yellowing eyes can’t see, my mind screams back, “I can’t!”

**

And then a self-inflicted avalanche, “It can’t be much longer, can it?” Guilty to want to keep her. Filled with an unnameable darkness within realizing granting her reprieve meant wishing her death.

**

It took ten days for my mother to die after I brought her home. She was widowed with two children at the age of forty. For 29 years she never let me go hungry, cold, or want for a damn thing. She was my rock. While I know, if she were here, she would tell me that I did everything I could have, all I know is that my worst memory will always be being helpless when it really mattered.

My Book Is On TV!!

This post was written in response to a writing prompt for  RemembeRED from The Red Dress Club. This week's prompt is as follows: 
TV is something that people either watch a lot of or have definite feelings about. This week, we want you to think about tv show from your past. Maybe you watched it, maybe you didn't and it was just something that everyone else talked about.

What feelings does the show evoke? What memories does it trigger?


Stories. They are my passion. Whether I hear them, read them, watch them or create them - at all levels I have always loved them. This is the story of when I first began to understand that a story can be more than just words in a book.


It was 1986. I was ten years old.


I loved the Mets, the outdoors, playing softball, my family (especially my six-year old brother), and I loved books.


My school was involved in the Troll Book Club. When we got a catalog I'd come home with my favorite selections circled to show my parents and begin the ritual of begging for books. This is how I got The Mouse and the Motorcycle by Beverly Cleary. When I read the book I was captivated - it was fun, hilarious and I loved Ralph. The book was such an adventure. I told my brother about it explaining how this little mouse would ride around on a little motorcycle and I would see his eyes light up. "I can't wait until you can read this!" I would tell him. At school we'd talk about it too. We all loved Ralph.

Of course, in the bumbling brightness of childhood all things fizzle and new things captivate. Ralph was remembered, but no longer center stage. Then, a little more than a week after the Mets World Series win, my brother and I shuffled down to the basement to watch the ABC Weekend Special. That week's special was called "The Mouse and the Motorcycle"!
 

I had never seen a book becoming a movie. On the screen I saw my visions, my imagination, the pictures, the movements - all there to share with everyone. My brother could now share in this fantastic story with me. He understood what I loved about it, he could SEE how Ralph could ride a motorcycle - not a BIG one like people ride, but a mouse-sized motorcycle.

I yelled up the stairs to my parents. I told them they had to come down and see it as I held the book in my hand. I flipped through the pages as the movie went on - I couldn't believe it was happening - the words had become pictures. 

My parents were amused by my excitement and told me about all of the other movies I had already seen that were books first: ALL OF THE DISNEY MOVIES, The Wizard of Oz,  and even TV shows like The Little House on the Prarie!


How did I miss this? Every time I had seen a book with a movie title, I thought the book was made after the movie - I had it backwards! This was wonderful! As I sat with my book on my knee, imagining all of the universes I had visited through my pages coming to life on the screen, my brother sat on the floor with a toy motorcycle zipping it through the legs of the chairs, the table and throughout the house.

"It's just like you said, Nicole!" He was right, because it was just like I had imagined.

My book came to life. Someone read the book, imagined Ralph and then MADE HIM - not like Beverly Cleary did, which was the first act of creation, but made a physical, photograph-able, talking, moving form of him - just like when I drew him, but 1,000 times better! And, according to my parents, this was happening all the time.


One thing was for certain: I would never read a book the same way again.

4 Great Ways to Get Your Blog Writing Going

You are sitting in front of your computer. You are ready to write for your blog. You've even managed to carve out a nice space of "me time" to accomplish this task, but then it hits you - what the HECK am I going to write about today? Since you have little time to waste, let me tell you about some of the fabulous resources out there to get you juices flowing.

Share Your Knowledge/Learning 

Do you have a skill, a hobby or something else you can teach your readers? Have you just gone to a class, watched a movie or read a book where you have learned something? Take a post to teach us! Here are some examples of some great teaching posts that I've run across:

• 6 Ways to Start An Art Collection Without Breaking the Bank Using what she knows from being an artist's wife, Ginger teaches us some tricks of the trade so we can all add that glitz and glam to our spaces no matter what our income is!
• 4 Heartstopping Myths On Drowning Every Responsible Parent Should Know When Alison learned about what drowning really looked like, she knew she had something to share. It was an extremely important post and, because of that, it went viral. Do you have some important knowledge that you should be sharing with the world? Don't take it for granted that everyone knows what you do!
• Lemonade Pie Kristl of The Budget Diet blog had a fun, yummy recipe from her childhood that takes only four ingredients and some chill-time. She shared it with her readers who are always interested in fun things to do, make or get for a bargain!
• How to Wash Windows from The Damsel of the Old School - Self Reliance 101 blog. The Damsel is one of my great online teachers, this is just one example of her fun and funny teaching style that leaves you begging for more. ...and this is a post about washing windows. Moral here: inspiration can be anywhere - you just have to be up to the challenge of writing about it!!

Challenge Yourself

Pick a challenge, either for yourself or for your blog and write about it. This can be a lot of fun and an easy path to finding material to write about. Here are some challenges you might want to think about:

• Go Meatless! This past November I found out it was World Vegan month and decided, in honor of that, to go meatless every Monday for the entire month. I documented it on my blog Searching for Sustenance and it gave me an easy day of writing for six weeks of Mondays. I also couldn't help but occasionally refer back to it from time to time, so it continues to be a source of writing inspiration. Here is my wrap up post What I Learned from Meatless Mondays.With this challenge you'll examine ethical eating and your blog will benefit from it as well.
• 31 Days to Build a Better Blog Do I write about this enough on this blog? I love this challenge. I am going through it again right now. If you participate with a community like I am (shout out to the SITS Girls!), then not only does the eBook give you tons of ideas for writing, but so do your fellow participants! You will be improving your blogging skills and you'll have something to write about every day! Here's a fantastic look at one of the most content-heavy days in the challenge From Eileen of the Web Design School blog: Tips and Tutorials for Bloggers Day 6.

• Couch to 5k Program This is a nine week program to go from couch potato to 5K runner. It is a program designed for people who have often thought most exercise, especially running, is a far away dream. Dream no more! MAKE IT HAPPEN and take your readers with you on the journey! You will transform yourself, inspire others and be able to write about the program, your ups, your downs, your runs, your falls - there is SO much to write about here... (I keep dreaming of the day my IIH takes enough of a back seat for me to try this one!)
• 30 Day Challenges In general there are a lot of various types of 30 day challenges out there - fun ones, fit ones, financial ones, a quick search on Google will send you on your way to finding one that fits for you. One post about 30 Day Challenges that caught my eye was 10 Thirty Day Challenges No One Wants to Take.

Causes
Many causes need people to be talking about them. If you have a cause, or an action that is near and dear to your heart, then get writing! You'll feel better about it and you can engage your readers in discussing important issues. Here are some examples of blogs writing with causes in mind:

• Conversations on Giving  This is a segment on the Do Good blog where the act of giving whether through charity, kindness or self is discussed. It is a simple idea that can be written about in so many different ways.
• 365Give This blog fascinates me. It is about giving every single day. It doesn't have to monetary, it doesn't have to be huge, but it is making the commitment to giving at least once every day and then writing about it. Imagine you made this commitment. Imagine you had to write about it. How would this change you? How would it engage your readers?
• One-Shots Stay in the loop with your special causes to find out if there are any special events or petitions floating around that need some publicity. Don't forget that your blog can be your podium when necessary. For example, this week I am trying to get people to let the Girl Scouts know I would like some gluten-free cookies! To that end, I wrote this post: Tell the Girl Scouts How Big the Gluten-Free Market Is! (if you have a minute, you should totally check this post out and sign the enclosed petition!).

For the Art of Writing

• The Red Dress Club Every week these ladies provide two writing prompts. The prompts could be as simple as a word or a picture, or they could even be specific lines to be included in the writing - they change all the time and I check in every week. If you write on one of the prompts, you can return to the site to link up your post to share with the Red Dress community for concrit. It's pretty awesome.
• One is called the Red Writing Hood prompt and can usually be either fiction or nonfiction and is typically limited to be anywhere between 600-700 words. Here are some of my prompt responses: Detour in "Off My Trail", Someone who drives you crazy in "One Lucky Turtle" and Fightin' words in "Someone Stole My F-ing Car" (*warning: this one is angry)
• The other prompt is called RemembeRED and is a memoir prompt and has the same types of length restrictions. Here are some of my prompt responses: Forgiveness in "I Forgive You", A positive from a negative experience in "Wash Away My Normal" and something you are proud of in "My Teaching Appreciation Day" 

• The Writer's Toolbox This is an offline resource that I actually found in the Barnes & Noble bargain section years ago. The box comes with a timer, a number of different tools (sentence sticks, sensory cards and the protagonist game, for example) and  book describing different ways to use them in conjunction with each other to find inspiration.

There's More!


There is definitely at least second post in here about how you can write about what's going on in the news, how you can join blog communities like Blog Frog or SITS Girls or even Twitter parties like #CommentHour to see what other people are writing about and write a reaction post to it and link up. There's still even more, but to be honest, I think I am taking up too much of your time because you really need to get to writing!
 

My Teaching Appreciation Day

I loved more deeply than I ever thought possible. I gave my everything - my heart, my soul, my free time, my thoughts, my money, my dreams, my creativity; my best. Every day I showed up ready to share all that I knew and I prayed that they could understand. This is what I mean when I say I was a teacher.

My students weren't my biological children, but they were all my kids. I cried for them and with them, I fought for them and against them, I cheered for them and supported them and I held their hands as we walked through the dangerous valleys and peaks of high school mathematics.

It was my calling. It was what I was put on this Earth to do. I know this because it was amazing,  I was amazing. Not every semester, of course, or with every class, but when the chemistry was right I simply could not deny that I was walking the path God had set out before me. It was beautiful, it was euphoric.

No one could stop me from pouring my entire soul into every lesson, every question, every activity and every child on my path. I would walk around the hallways with hand-written math problems hanging around my neck, I would invent fictitious civilizations that we would have to save with our math, I would stay up all night answering e-mails, updating blogs or websites and printing full-color worksheets, homework calendars and "goodies" for my kids and I would wear every ridiculous, nerdy math t-shirt I could get my hands on (or create!). My goal was to shred the fear and anxiety surrounding the subject I had come to love and to build a community of shared learning where we could all discover new techniques in problem solving. 

There were connections outside of the classroom as well. I tutored after school, chaperoned the prom, played paintball, bingo and dodgeball with students on their Senior trip, and spent countless days of my life at all types of sporting events (including the wildly popular Thanksgiving Eve Basketball game) and supported our theater and music program each season. And then there were the clubs... of course I advised the Math Tam/Math Club for years, but then there were others - Asian American Awareness Club, Karma Club, Anime Club, Animal Rights Club and the funniest one of all: Video Game Club.
  
At the end of the year, when the state tests came, I would call every single house of every single student I had to tell them their grade - good news or bad news - and have our last conversation before summer. It was the last of many, because I had the annoying habit of calling up the houses of my kids (especially the forgetful ones) for all types of things, "Hey, how's that homework going?" or "Any questions about tomorrow's test... Yeeeess, the test is TOMORROW," or, my favorite, "Hi Mom/Dad/Grandma/Grandpa, did your child tell you how awesome he/she was in class today?"

Teaching is the single most rewarding profession on this planet. The only thing that I can imagine holding a candle to it is parenthood. I am proud I was a teacher. No, let me rephrase that: I am proud that I AM a teacher ~ whether I am ever healthy enough to be able to re-enter the classroom, or achieve the greatest I once so mindlessly lived in, I don't believe anything can take away the teacher's soul within.


This post was written for a RemembeRED Prompt.

"Tell the story (without any trivialization or modesty) of something in your life that you are proud of."

Look easy? I'm guessing it will be a bit tougher than you think.

We are so used to downplaying ourselves, of apologizing for pointing out our own accomplishments. And? We'll have none of that here!

Your word limit is 700 words.

Wash Away My Normal

Water is the building block in our survival, but as I'd seen many times in news footage around the world, it could just as easily unleash its wild force to devastate nations. She's a tricky one, our liquid love, but I've learned one thing in my dealings with her - no matter how she travels your way, whether through a peaceful pass of a glass to quench your thirst or a ferocious flood to level your status quo - it is her journey we are on, not vice versa.

My lesson came quietly on a Tuesday morning in March 2010. We heard and saw nothing until a single splash. We both stood.

"Something fell."

"No, I heard water."

We discovered we were both right. There was brown water past the first step of our basement and a bag of laundry had fallen into it, but there was so much more down there than laundry. It was a finished basement with a living room, a bathroom, an office and the laundry room with a pantry and a workbench.

As a child, the basement was the realm of my brother and I. The office was a playroom with a floor to ceiling bookcase. In the living room we'd watch cartoons and Star Wars over and over again. We'd play hide-and-go-seek, build enormous forts, play video and board games and hang out with friends.  Besides our backyard and the outdoors, it probably holds most of my childhood memories.

Here it was in all of its disgrace.

I had to look at it. I had to know what was going on. Where did this water come from? How were we going to get it out? But through it all one question kept penetrating my brain:

How did I let it get this way?

Because without all the sewage and water causing things like The Monster At The End of This Book, to float by me I was faced with one harsh reality - this basement was a mess long before the flood. 

In fact, truth be told, I was a mess.

Besides storage bins my husband moved in with and had yet to deal with, the basement was largely filled with my memories. Memories I was hanging on to with a clasp of desperation that no longer held sentimentality or love; only fear. Fear of complete and utter loss of all that I ever loved. This house and all it contained was the last place that evidence our family of four ever existed.

During the cleanup I was on a turbulent ride down memory lane, filled with happiness, nostalgia and loss. I had no idea how to face everything, or what to do with it. Then, without warning, I found two  bins of baseball cards that my father and I had collected together. That was our thing.

I stared into one bin. How could I let this happen?  I remember collecting all of these... and yet, I haven't looked at them for years.

More water came - salty, cleansing tears - I realized that's what I had always been missing. Seeing and holding the cards didn't make the memories any more real than they already were.

Memories and relationships are forever - things hold no domain over them.

There was so much water that week - rain, flood, tears - but it was all cleansing. It was a painful, brutal and merciless cleanup (my wedding dress was destroyed), but, without question, I needed it. The year that passed since has been one of change, renewal and upheaval. Learning to let go of my past in order to embrace my present was exactly the lesson I needed.






This post was written for a RemembeRED Prompt.
This week we want you to recall something in your life that seemed terrible at the time, but looking back, brought you something wonderful.

A positive from a negative experience.

Permission to Say "No"

Driving home I simply couldn't believe how sunny it was. It must have been an amazing day to be outside to enjoy the end of the Spring. It was June 1998. I had graduated college only a couple of weeks before and started working as a substitute teacher.

When I pulled up to my house I saw my mother. She was in her denim shorts, a tank top, flip flops and, of course, she had a bandanna tied around her hair.  She was watering the grass, the bushes, the flowers and trees. This was a sure sign that I had missed one great, sun-filled day.

My mom saw me, "Hi Honey," she was so happy and shiny, I imagined she must have been gardening in the backyard all day, "how was it?" All smiles.

"Well," I smiled back, "today I will say I got paid for that."

 "Oh! You got a check already?"

That would have been nice. "No Mom, today is the first day I wouldn't have done this for free. Today is the first day it was a job. It was so sad and horrible. I know I am not supposed to, but if that school calls again, I think I am going to say no." I sat down on the front steps. I was exhausted by the mere thought of my day.

"Were the kids that bad?" Mom put the hose down in the grass and came over to me.

"It wasn't the kids. The kids were... Oh God, I didn't like that school." I had somehow made it through the day without allowing myself to feel this, "OK, here it is. I had Special Education classes all day. The kids and I got along and we got work done, but they were numb and I couldn't blame them - by the end of the day I was too. Mom, they had all the Special Ed classes in the basement. I had no idea the sun was even out until the day ended. How could they do that to those kids?"

I think I would have cried if my emotions weren't stunted from my day in the dungeons. There is a special kind of joy that comes from sunlight, from seeing the outside world. I could not conceive of the fact that I was deprived of it for one full school day. However, in the end, I still had my escape. These children, who, for one reason or another, had already been deemed as having difficulty with school, learning, or development were going back the next day and had been there all year.

"They had no windows?" my mother loved the sun and being outdoors no matter what the weather. (She once had me go sell school candy during a hurricane when the eye of the storm passed over. She said people would be desperate for something sweet, and it would be like an "adventure." She was right, on both counts.)

"They had one stupid small window like we do in our basement, but I think something was covering it, because it did not look sunny at all."

"And what school was this again?"

"No, Ma. I need to find a job at one of these schools in September." I could tell her wheels were spinning. She was planning  a letter writing campaign, a furious phone call, or, perhaps, some visit to the next PTA meeting from a "concerned citizen."

"I guess you're right..." I could see a little fire go out in her eyes, "but you will not go back there! You say no the next time they call and do not give them your resume."

I had the folder in my hand, "I didn't. I couldn't."

"That's my girl," her fire reignited this time with pride, "they just lost their chance at best math teacher on Staten Island! Now go get changed, dinner will be in about a half hour."


I did exactly that. I grabbed some shorts, a t-shirt and, shoeless, I walked around the freshly watered grass. I was filled with glee, my mom had agreed with me: I would say, "No."




This post was written for a RemembeRED Prompt. This week's prompt is the photo of the hose in the grass. Here are the instructions:

In 700 or fewer words, show us where your memory takes you.

Remember that this image is merely inspiration. Your piece needn't have a hose in your piece, but we need to easily see how you were inspired by it.

I Forgive You

Do you remember that day?

It was just like today. It was Spring - sunny, but still a bit breezy. Mom brought you outside. I knew exactly what she was going to do, so I went with her.

We talked about those fantastic peaches we used to get off our old peach tree. How juicy they were, how delicious, and how numerous. We couldn't believe such a fruitful tree could be destroyed by an overgrowth of Lamb's Ear! We had the damn tree for so long, even dad got to enjoy the peaches when he was alive.

We sat there over a pot of soil, just like we used to do when I was a child. It was a beautiful moment. We prayed together over the soil as we dropped in the last remaining seeds from the fruit of that tree that she had secretly been saving. As we placed the soil, so carefully, over each one of you with our blessings and all our hopes to share in your fruit once again I had a morose realization - Mom didn't believe she would ever have one of your peaches.

Do you remember what happened next?

She thanked me for helping her, she gave me a kiss and, weakly, rose to her feet to go back inside. Then we were alone - you and I. I bent back down, real close and I told you, "Prove her wrong!" (I told God, too, but He is not a part of today's conversation). And then I asked you for something much simpler, "Just give her hope... just sprout for her."

Does any of this sound familiar to you?

I'm asking because it seems my requests fell on deaf ears. Not only did all five of you lay dormant throughout her suffering, but you continued to lie lifeless in the ground when I needed hope in the days, weeks, months and years after Mom died. As if it was not enough to go to the cemetery to visit both my parents in the ground, I then had to have my heart broken again each time I would squint into that pot, remember that day and see that there lay death as well.

For a long time I was angry with you. You, too, abandoned me and my family. But lately I had stopped thinking of you all together. Of course, as this is the unpredictable play of life, it was today, when you were far from my thoughts, that I found you.

As I selected a neglected pot in my backyard to use its soil to contribute to the beautiful life cycle of earth in my first ever compost bin, there you were... all five of you. Once I stumbled upon the first one, my hands instinctively knew where to pluck the others. Not one of you had moved. Not one of you had changed. And not one of you had a single sign of life. And yet...

I forgive you.

Your turn to watch ME grow.

Here's why:

No matter how delicious your fruit might have been, I understand now, that, to me, they would forever taste bittersweet (I imagine you knew that already). 

Your presence in the pot, for much longer than it should have, gave me hope.

Perhaps most importantly:

Your lack of growth shall never steal the times or memories I gardened with my mother, shared fruit with my family or laughed under a tree. But planting you that day with Mom did remind me how important each of those little things are.

This post was written for a RemembeRED Prompt. This week's prompt is about forgiveness.