I Cannot Look Away...

I love a good story.  I love telling stories.  I love reading a good story.  I especially love watching a good story.

Going to a movie theater is somewhat akin to visiting a house of worship to me.  I know that's really blasphemous, but when you grow up in a town of 2,000 where there are 15 churches and 0 movie theaters, your priorities can get a little skewed.

Going to the movies as a kid was a special treat.  Before I was 6, we lived in a slightly larger town that had a theater.  Every Saturday, my dad would drop my brother and me off to watch whatever animated movie was playing at the matinee; it was one of the few things I can remember my brother and I agreeing upon in life.  When we moved to Clarendon, America, the nearest theater was 60 miles away, and if we were making that long of a trip, we weren't typically going to waste 2 hours in a theater.  But when my oldest brother and his girlfriend (my future sister-in-law), Tammy, would come to visit, I knew I could count on her boredom to guarantee a trip to the movies by at least Day 3.  She'd stuff her purse with contraband snacks and sodas, and we'd theater-hop all day on one ticket.  It really didn't matter what we saw, it was just the act of going that thrilled me.

I'm still a movie junkie.  I don't go as often anymore, but there are certain movies that when they come on, I cannot turn the channel.  To me, movies hold the same sort of memories that good music does.  If it's a special one, I can still tell you when and where I saw it for the first time -- what theater, who I was with, everything.  It's a weird and useless gift.

Here's a (most likely incomplete) list of movies that I will never change the channel from.  If you're at my house when one comes on, I hope you like it.  Or that you have other plans.  They're not in any particular order because I don't think I could choose.

Steel Magnolias -- This movie is all about what it is to be friends with other women.  It wasn't until I was older that I truly understood the value of such a friendship.  It's not always pretty, but it's necessary.   My favorite moment of the whole movie is at 1:25 of this clip, and it's what usually happens in the hardest of moments with my friends -- the cracking of a highly inappropriate joke in order to break the tension. (Special shout-out to my childhood pal, Christel, who is the closest thing I have ever known to a real-life Ouiser.  I love ya more than my luggage, friend).


Hoosiers -- I'm all about underdog stories.  Always have been.  But this movie is also about second chances and redemption.  My favorite moment begins at 2:10 of this clip.


Field of Dreams -- I am a baseball romantic.  I fully admit it.  In truth, there are few baseball movies I won't watch.  But when this one comes on, I'm in a puddle of tears for most of the movie.  My favorite part has nothing to do with the cornfield but rather with Doc Graham.  "I didn't realize that was the only day."


Bull Durham -- Again with the baseball.  Again with the Kevin Costner (although I liked him oh-so-much more in this one).  The first clip is pretty classic.  It has language that's NSFW and swagger that's not safe for women who swoon easily.  Oh, my.


I also love this scene.  "We're dealing with a lot of shit here."  It always tempts me to buy everyone candlesticks for their wedding.


Additonally, I love A League of Their Own, The Bad News Bears, and The Natural, but I'm going to cut off the baseball movies here.  It could really go on a while.

Say Anything -- I feel like I am still on the hunt for Lloyd Dobler.  His awkwardness is so honest, it's painful.  But it's also sort of charming.


Almost Famous -- I've got a thing for Cameron Crowe movies; it's true.  The characters, the music, the story... it all just works... even when it doesn't.  William Miller is painful and funny and horribly uncool.  I adore this in a character.


Other Cameron Crowe movies of note:  Singles, Elizabethtown, and Jerry Maguire.  And... pretty much all of them.  Like I said, even when it doesn't work, it still works better than most.

Sleepless in Seattle -- Tom Hanks.  Isn't that enough?  Sigh.


Dead Poets Society -- This is a movie I watch at least a couple of times a year.  I love this scene because I was Todd Andersen, and I attempt to be Mr. Keating on a daily basis.  "You have a barbarian in you after all."


Good Will Hunting -- Robin Williams as a mentor again.  That's not lost on me.  But it's all friendship in this one.  The scene about regret is one of my all-time favorites.  It's just perfect.


Dazed and Confused -- No movie signifies a friendship in my life like this one.  It is always associated with Haley and Beth.  We watched it so often that we could (and still can) quote every line.  There are far too many good scenes to pick as my sole favorite, but I do love the entrance to The Emporium.  Wooderson, Pink, and Mitch stride in to Dylan playing.  Even the pink jeans look good.


Dirty Dancing -- If there was ever a movie that stuck in my pre-adolescent brain, it's this one.  I can clearly remember going to someone else's house to watch it (and I didn't even really like this person) just to see what all the fuss was about.  There were a ton of references I didn't really "get" (HELLO, Abortion), but it didn't matter -- Johnny Castle took his shirt off and fell in love with a plain jane wallflower.  Man, Francis Houseman gave hope to awkward girls everywhere.


She carried a watermelon, y'all.

And just because I can...


It's just so melodramatically awesome.

So there are some of my favorite "cannot-look-away" movies.  Tell me yours.  Maybe I forgot one.

30 Days...

There's a theory out there that it takes 21 days to build a good habit.  I don't know how reliable that science is, but it's a number, and I like having numbers as a goal.

I've been blogging daily for 30 days now.  There have been a couple of days in the world of no internet where I had to cheat a little and just link to an old post, but I think that's okay.  I didn't really start sharing my writing with many people (via Facebook or Twitter) for almost a year.  If you were reading in the early days, you are either really close to me or you stumbled onto my little section of the 'net by chance.  Those old posts need some love, too.

That's fairly characteristic of me.  If people were to step into my classroom or watch me on the court or at camp, you'd never believe that I am actually pretty painfully shy.  Life and career have forced me out a bit, but I spent a great deal of my childhood being silent and hidden behind my mom or dad.  They'd always have to grab me by the hand and push me out in front.  

I still blush very easily.  I don't take compliments well at all.  And I hate speaking publicly in front of anyone over the age (or maturity level) of a 14 year-old.  So the thought of sharing my thoughts -- whether they be deep and personal or shallow and random -- still vaguely terrifies me each time I go to hit the "publish" button.  But I've done it 217 times now, 30 times in a row.  I think it's a habit that I kind of like.

I started blogging out of a simple curiosity and love for writing.  That's been my reasoning all along, but I found that it also just made me feel better.  It helped me sort my thoughts and make sense of my feelings.  My intent was only for me, but somewhere along the way, it helped me re-connect to some of you.  And I found that sometimes it made you and I realize that maybe we're not the only ones carrying that load. That's what has kept me going, I think.  One of my best school friends, Al, told me that he felt like we'd been having daily conversations this past month.  I loved that; it's amazing what validation one simple sentence can carry.  Thanks, Alfredo.

Whether you've been here from the beginning or whether you're just stumbling by for the first time, thanks.  I know that this site isn't very user-friendly in leaving comments, but please know I appreciate each and every thing you take the time to write to me -- Facebook messages and comments, tweets, and texts.  Some of you have even taken the time to share the link to certain posts in your own statuses or to re-tweet the links as they come through your Twitter timeline.  It may not seem like much to you, but it means a great deal to me.

Each day, your kindness and support take me by the hand and lead me out of my hiding spot.   Thanks for not letting go.

Until tomorrow... a little Paul Westerberg.

Holdin' Hands

I love to hold hands.  I always have.  There are very few feelings that give me more comfort or strength.

This is how I spent my afternoon.  Just holdin' hands.

I took in a few smiles, too.

Thanks for the comfort, Kellen.  I needed it today.

Honesty is the Hardest Policy

People tell you that "honesty is the best policy".  I've always thought those people were full of shit.

Not that I'm a big ol' liar or a cheater, but typically those people saying that are the people who seem least interested in the truth.  They're the types that will ask you how you're doing but never really want more than a "Fine. And you?"  And you know that you're hoping they're fine too.

But lately, I've been thinking.  Why do I really hate that saying?  Sometimes honesty is NOT the best policy.  Guys, if your girl asks you if those pants make her butt look fat, are you really going to say "Absolutely"?  Because if you do, you run a very good chance of not getting those pants (or any other pants) off of her any time soon, and it ain't because they're too tight.  If you don't say those pants are terrible, and she already knows they are, you're screwed too.  (I feel for you, guys.  I really do.  We're a tricky damn bunch.)

So maybe it's not that honesty is the BEST policy.  Maybe it's that honesty -- real honesty -- is the HARDEST policy.  It's as hard to hear that someone feels lousy as it probably is for him to say it.  It's a delicate tightrope to help your girl figure out how those pants increase or decrease her ass size.  It's hard to say "yes" when you really want to say "no".  It's hard to just let your truth out.

Because when you are honest, there's a good chance you're going to hurt someone's feelings.  Honesty can be sharp and abrasive, messy and confusing.  But I've found when I'm not open and forthright, I still feel terrible.  My lies, however small and unassuming, tend to weigh a thousand pounds on my shoulders.  Yet I'm a good Southern girl, and good Southern girls don't make a fuss.  They don't impose upon others.  They make others feel comfortable and at ease.  They are polite and placating.

I'm not a boat rocker by nature anyway, so all the good Southern training and people-pleasing and no-fuss attitude just tends to clump together in a big pile of fibs and falsehoods.  Therefore, I always will tell you "I'm fine" or "I don't need any help" or "It's okay" because I just don't want to hurt your feelings or cause you worry.  I might say that "I don't feel good" because I just don't want to go with you.  I'll stay late or serve on a committee that I hate because I don't want to put it upon others.  And I'll stew and seethe silently instead of just telling you to "Stop it.  That hurts me."

But I'm sort of tired of being polite.  It's all fine and good to be that sweet Southern girl, but it's a short walk from being a good hostess to being a doormat.  So while honesty may be the hardest policy for me, I'm trying really hard to practice it when it's appropriate.  You've been warned.

I won't tell you that your ass looks fat though; that's a lose-lose conversation.

But you might have some spinach in your teeth.

Stand By Me...

Several years ago, I was telling a story to a colleague at work.  She was always a great listener -- the kind of person that you tell a story to once, and she remembers all the characters' names and roles, the twists and turns.  I referenced my best friend, Courtney.

She interrupted, "Wait... I thought Heather was your best friend."

I replied, "She is."

She looked at me quizzically, "So how can Courtney be your best friend?"

"She just is.  They both are.  Along with LJ (Laurie)."

She sighed and said, "But shouldn't the term 'best' mean 'one'?  Like the top one?  The one that stands out above everyone?  Your whole life is words; I'd think you'd choose a different one --  a more specific one."

I thought for a moment before I spoke.  But when I did, I said the only thing that made sense.  "They're all my best friends because they help me feel the best about myself.  I think that's how we all make each other feel.  Like the best version of ourselves."

I've always had friends in my life that were special to me.  In fact, I have all sorts of best friends -- best childhood friends, best work friends, best camp friends, and best life friends.

I had dinner with my best life friends last night to celebrate one of their birthdays at our favorite restaurant.  It was just the four of us, and as usual, we found ourselves closing down the restaurant.  We'd just spent 3 days on a mini-vacation together less than 2 weeks ago, and here we were again, spending 3 and a half hours still talking.  Then there was another 15 minutes in the street and parking lot, still talking.  We are always talking.

Last night, I thought about another trip we'd taken several years ago where, for my birthday, they surprised me with a weekend trip to Camp El Tesoro -- the place we'd all become friends.  We had another friend, Faith, with us (Faith is one of our 3rd generation camp buddies).  It was her first time to visit ET and probably one of the first times she'd spent an extended period of time with all of us together, at once.  She's pretty quiet normally, but she seemed even more so, so I asked if everything was okay.

She laughed and said, "I'm just taking it in.  Y'all are too funny.  Your conversations start, wander around, people jump in and out and switch topics, and then all of a sudden, you're back to the original story, but someone else is finishing it.  And you're laughing and talking over one another and one memory triggers another memory which starts a whole new story...  It's like each of you knows exactly what the other one will say at any given time.  It's confusing as Hell, but it's cool to watch.  I'm just watching."

I'm fairly sure that was just in the 30 minute car ride.  And I was blindfolded.  I wasn't even with all my conversational senses at full strength.

But it's true.  We are always in each other's head.  We are always in each other's hearts too.  We read each other like we read our favorite books, over and over.  And even when you know every piece of the plot, you still manage to find something new to appreciate.

These are the people, these best life friends, who know every single thing about me.  They know me better than any other friend and better than my family (by a country mile).  They know my faults and fears and secrets, and they've never run away from them.  They know my successes and joys and challenges, and they've never failed to celebrate them.  And I know all of theirs.  Courtney's and Heather's kids are all of our kids.  Courtney's and LJ's husbands didn't just marry Courtney and LJ, they (hopefully) understood that they come with other people in tow.  Their parents are my parents; their sisters are my sisters.  We are friends, but we are family, too.  They are my light, my lifeline, my life-savers.

It's not to say we are perfect -- we all have our annoyances and quirks, and we can piss each other off in a heartbeat if we so choose (although through growing up, we've learned how not to press those buttons so easily).  Being so close can be messy and irritating and joyful; many people probably would think it's weird, but I think that's just jealousy.  Or maybe it's just bad luck that they aren't so blessed, I don't know.  But we are perfect in our imperfections.  Those kinds of friends are hard to find, and they're even harder to hold onto.  It takes work and effort to be in each other's heads and hearts.

While on our mini-vacation to the ranch a couple of weeks ago, Laurie put on the movie "Stand By Me".  She'd never seen it, but she bought it knowing it was one of those 80's movies that the rest of us probably loved.  And it was true, Heather and I kept spouting the lines and laughing at the jokes even before they were told.  If you've never seen it, here is the final scene.  I always tear up at the final scene.  The writing is perfect; the cinematography is genius and haunting.



As the last words -- "Jesus. Does anyone?"  typed across the screen, and the music started up, LJ simply said, "We do."

And she was right.  Again.  And I'm so glad, so blessed, to have them standing by me.

I love the original recording of this song, but this one just seems to fit even better.  I love it.


*The first link I have to Courtney is from her blog -- "Musings from Suburbia".  The linked post is one of my favorite things she's ever written, and it so perfectly captured how I feel about her and our friends that I always feel that anything I say will be insufficient.  Also... her blog is full of funny (and honest) looks at parenting and GORGEOUS photos.

**There are many links to other posts in here, but they are still not all of the posts that mention my beautiful and wondrous friends.  There are simply too many.  But these are some of my favorites.

***At dinner last night, I promised to make an addendum to Laurie's birthday post (which I did) but will also proclaim it here:  Laurie Johnston Garner is NOT terrible at accents, but she is terrible at resisting the urge to parrot them back to unsuspecting foreigners and country folk.  She doesn't even know she's done it until we hurriedly stop her or let it play out and then fall apart laughing.

****This post, much like our conversations, doesn't seem to want to end.  Seems about right.  But here's my wish for you:  If you have some best life friends, call them.  Hug them.  Tell them what they mean to you.  Go to dinner and stand in the parking lot.  You won't regret it.  I promise.

The Greatest Thing...

I saw this video this morning, and I knew that I just didn't have any better words than this.  

"What's the greatest thing?"

"Love."

Choosing Change

Today in "News That's News to Nobody":

I don't like change. I really don't.  I'm afraid of it.  It's uncomfortable.  It's uncertain.  I especially hate change just for the sake of changing, and that so often seems like the only reason people institute it.  

But sometimes, it's important and necessary.  Sometimes it's the opening of a window instead of the closing of a door. Sometimes it leads you to things you didn't even know that you wanted or needed.  And sometimes it's the change that you've been screaming for in a world where no one was listening.

I went to a work meeting yesterday.  I didn't want to go because I'd spent the last two months stewing in fear and anxiety and distrust.  For once, my greatest worry was that nothing would change.  But I'm glad I did because afterward, I felt good, and I saw other people feeling good.  And, this morning, I woke up with a light heart and a smile.  It's been far too long since that happened.

There are big changes happening for so many people I care about.  Some sought out that change and others had it forced upon them.  How that change happened is critical to how they might feel about it.

But here's what I have had to learn:  it happened.

I cannot change its happening, but I can have a vote in what happens next.

I can choose how I accept it.  I can drag my feet, or I can hit the ground running.

I can choose how I attempt it.  The horizon can be the end of the world, or it can be adventure into the undiscovered.

I can choose how I see it.  Do I see the sunset or the sunrise?  The dark or the dawn?

But I can choose.

And that was news to me.  I hope it's not to you.