My Soul, Born in the South

Werther-porch

Tonight my favorite movie is on and though I’ve seen it a hundred times, I’m watching it again. I was one of those that watched the movie before I read the book, Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe. I read it from cover to cover in one sitting, as my little kids played around my feet. While they ate their meals. While I changed their diapers. While I bathed them. And after I put the to bed.

The children grew older, and as they did, we bed shared. For comfort, yes, but also for closeness and for me the possibility that I might get a full nights sleep so I could function at work the next day. Often, the cats and a dog or two would crawl in there with us.

After the little ones settled and fell asleep, and before I’d drift off, I’d grab my dog eared copy of Fried Green Tomatoes and devour a chapter. I knew every word, yet the story continued to resonate within me. Was I born in the South in a previous life? Why did the story of Ruth and Idgie effect me so deeply?

I began to know every word of the story, yet I couldn’t put it down. The book fell apart, yet I continued to read it. I would jump from story to story without missing a beat. I felt the promise of new life when Buddy was born, and the sadness of love lost when Ruth died. I felt anger so intense when there was racism, and when Idgie was accused and tried for murder I cried.

As my children grew older and took to their own bedrooms, I continued to read the book. It was now in pieces and I had to tape most of the pages together. I swear to you some nights when I read the stories, I could feel the heat of the day on my skin, while tendrils of my hair blew in the humid Alabama air. Train whistles blew and sweat poured down my back. I was dressed in white cotton, sitting on my front porch, and drinking sweet tea. When I’d finally fall asleep, I’d dream I was as tough as Towanda, that brilliant woman unafraid to bait her own hook and love the woman that was meant to be hers forever.

The kids are grown now, and the copy of my book is long gone. I think about replacing it, but something always sidetracks me. Maybe it’s the fact that I can’t get that time back. Or maybe it’s the fact that I want to write like that, but can’t. Or maybe I can write like that, but I’m afraid to fail. All I know is I’ll watch Fried Green Tomatoes tonight and it will make me feel all the things I used to feel. Maybe I’ll finally start that book. Or maybe, I’ll just know that my soul, it was born in the South, and it will have to be enough.

Advertisements

Insignificance

SPARKLE!This is not going to be a Debbie Downer post. It isn’t.

I disconnected this weekend. I stayed away from Facebook. Steered clear of WordPress too. Until Sunday when RG and I put the finishing touches on a story that we’d been writing for a few weeks.

I kept to myself. I enjoyed the rainy days and the January thaw. I watched bad movies.

I laid on the couch on Saturday night. Snuggled close to the husband and watched (Ick!) football. Peyton Manning was playing, so I didn’t mind it too much. I think he’s such a damn doll. Funny too. Give me a funny man and I melt. The Wonder Schnauzers draped themselves all over us. We went to bed at 10:00 pm. Slept in till 8:00 the next morning.

I went to the movies with Roger Darling on Sunday. Zero Dark Thirty (go see it!). Did an early dinner. Folded clean laundry. Wasted time. Drank coffee. Got food around the week. It’s time to eat healthy again.

I have to tell you, it was probably one of the best weekends I’ve had in a long time.

When I logged into Facebook this morning, I didn’t feel the draw to it I usually do. I didn’t feel it too much when I was on WordPress either. I checked my work email a bit and I’ve been working on reimbursements and all kinds of other office paper work. I’ve stayed off of my iPhone too.

My mind isn’t racing. My thoughts aren’t scattered. I’m breathing easy and not anxious. There’s no depression; anger. For today anyway. I’m smiling. Not apprehensive. My soul is quiet. Not tortured.

I’ve come to the realization that I’m but a speck of sand on a beach. A mere ripple of wave in a vast sea. I must quell my need for significance.

I’m here to get on in this life and live the best I can. To love those around me.

It’s nice when you realize your own insignificance and fade into the background.

To let go.

Love and kisses, An insignificant Sparkly Girl (and I really am okay with that.)