A Brave Gal’s World

♥ Because I’m getting Murray for Christmas!!!! ♥

“Because by now Elinor understood this, too: A longing for books was nothing compared with what you could feel for human beings. The books told you about that feeling. The books spoke of love, and it was wonderful to listen to them, but they were no substitute for love itself.”  Cornelia Funke Inkdeath

I have had a love of books and reading since I was a child. I remember listening intently as my mother read us such books as The Chronicles of Narnia, and Little House on the Prairie. The first book I learned to read was Hop On Pop.Thus, my mother is responsible for infecting me with the book geek virus.

Ever since then, the written word has been a source of magic to me. It takes me to worlds both known and unknown, introduces me to characters both familiar and unfamiliar, and feeds me knowledge and dreams. Many people call reading a form of escapism, and I guess that’s true, especially for me. I have hidden inside the stories of many books, inserting myself into lives that seemed much more exciting than my own. That’s the magic of the written word, it pulls you into a story that’s not your own. Just turn a page and you can become a wizard, a dragon rider, a fire breather, a hobbit, or anything else your imagination can make you.

Lately though, I have been thinking that I spend too much time in a world not my own. Right now, my life seems stuck in a very boring holding pattern. I have no job, not many friends nearby, and I constantly long to be in another place. I want to be in Scotland, with my boyfriend, Murray, and my others friends there. I feel this longing in my heart that never goes away. Even the magic of the written word can’t banish it for long. I can disappear into another world, but my heart calls me back.

I think that’s what Elinor has come to realize in the quote above. Books can take you anywhere you want to go, make you anything you want to become, but they can’t replace human beings. A book cannot hold my hand, it can’t kiss my lips, or look at me as though I’m the only woman in the world. Books are my friends, yes, but they can’t talk to me, they can’t include me in activities, or give me a shoulder to cry on when I need it. A book can describe love, but it can’t give to you.

I love my books, they are a comfort to me. You can look at my bookshelf and tell which ones are my favorites because they’re falling apart as a result of being read so much. As much as I value my books, I value the people in my life even more. I’ve always loved my family, but now I know a different kind of love. I’ve read so many books that talk about true love, but nothing I’ve read compares with the real feeling.

I know I’ve probably rambled a bit here, but that’s what blogs are for, rambling. I’m a dreamer, I always have been. I’ve imagined myself in countless stories created by others, so often ignoring my own story. Now, as I look at my life, I see an exciting story that’s still unfolding. How it will unfold is anybody’s guess. How I live it, and react to the events that come my way is my choice. After all, who writes the stories of our lives if not us? I know people say God does, and I believe He does have a plan for everyone, but we make our own choices, we determine our own attitudes, and we create our own characters.

I encourage everyone to read, and want everyone to love it as I do. That’s why I’m studying to be a librarian, because I’m at home among books, and want to spread their magic to others. All the same, I must remember not to lose myself so completely in another’s story that I ignore my own. You all remember that too, readers. Books are not substitutes for humans, reach out and love those around you with the power that only real people can.

I was a 22 year old woman, working as a member of AmeriCorps that day. My job was an assistant to the elderly, and I didn’t really like it, as it made me very uncomfortable. The man I was caring for that day was bedridden, and spent most of the day sleeping. As I pulled into the driveway of the house where my job was, I heard these words on the radio, “We’ve gotten word that a plane has just hit the World Trade Center in New York City.” I brushed it off, thinking it had to be a joke or some small accident. I went on into the house and prepared to watch television and keep an eye on my patient.

I was watching Little House On The Prarie, and trying to do some schoolwork when something happened that I had never seen before or since. The broadcasting on TBS was interrupted by a news Special Report. Normally, cable channels like TBS don’t have news coverage. My attention was drawn away from my work to a scene of terror unfolding on the television. I believe the first tower had just fallen when the Special Report came on. I sat and watched in complete shock and confusion as the second tower fell, and the reporters told of a hit on the Pentagon. At that time they were still tracking the plane that would eventually crash in Pennsylvania. Eventually the wife of my patient came home, her comment on all that was happening seemed very casual to me, for all she did was exclaim that she was glad I was watching the news too. I got in my car and went on to my next patient, a very sweet elderly woman who let me leave early, telling me I needed to be at home on a day like this.

Many things stick out in my mind about that day, but the strongest is the powerful feeling of aloneness that I had. There I was at a stranger’s house watching the world change forever, and there was no one to help me understand. My family was scattered in different places, my parents at work, my sister and brother in another city. I had to face this immense tragedy on my own. I remember the fear I felt as I drove home. The radio was full of news about the attacks, and I kept looking up at the sky, expecting a plane to come crashing down on me. It was as though my car had a huge target painted on it. I have never been so relieved to get to my house before. I sat on the coffee table and watched the news, waiting for my mother,a school teacher, to come home. When she finally did, I jumped up and gave her the biggest hug. I wasn’t alone anymore.

I remember that she and I went grocery shopping after that, the only normal thing that occurred that day. I found out that one of the kids in her class had a father in Washington DC that day, his mother came and got him out of school, his father was not harmed. I also found out that my grandmother had been going crazy with worry about my uncle, a pilot with American Airlines. She finally got a call through to him after hours of trying, he was at home. He had that day off, which was lucky for him, as he sometimes flew the route from Boston to L.A. (I may have that wrong) that one of the planes used for the attacks was traveling.

It was many weeks before life returned to a semblance of normalcy for me. I was one of the lucky ones who knew no one who had been killed. I was glad I had no children to try to explain all that had happened to. How could I explain to them what I could not understand myself? Any innocence I had left, any belief that America was invincible, and right to take it’s role as the world’s policeman, was shattered that day. My carefree life was forever changed. It took over 3,000 people dying to strip our country of it’s invulnerable shield, to reveal to it’s citizens that their government was not perfect, and that they opened the doors of hate with their decisions.

I still remember September 11, 2001. I will never forget it. But, I refuse to let that memory serve as a platform of support for the misguided belief that we are AMERICA and the world should do what we say. We share this planet with billions of other people. We should work together to heal ourselves and others who suffer as a result of past actions and mistakes. We shouldn’t use the deaths of our fellow citizens to condone rash, foolish decisions that only result in thousands more lives being lost. Let us all work for peace, and remember September 11, 2001 as the day when the world drew together, instead of the day when it split apart.

I honor all those who died that day, and the ones who have given their lives since then. I thank you all for giving the “last full measure of devotion”, and I pray that soon no more will have to give it. Let us all remember the words of Ghandi, “An eye for an eye, and the whole world goes blind.”

I had a job once. It seems like it was many years ago, although it’s only been a year and half since I quit working. I was working as a paraprofessional (aka teacher’s assistant) at the local elementary school. I worked primarily with special needs kids, and I enjoyed the job. During that time of working, I had a thought one day that I could run the media center at the school as well as anyone. This thought developed into a career decision. I decided I wanted to go back to school to get a Master’s Degree in Library and Information Science. So, I enrolled at Valdosta State University, and am taking part in their online degree program. I’ve enjoyed it so far.

This decision resulted in me not going back to work at the school. I thought I wouldn’t have enough time to devote to my studies, that having a job and being in school would distract me from both. I had proven this theory earlier in my college life. When I tried to work and go to school, I found that one or the other took up the majority of my effort. It’s hard for me to balance the two things, being ADD and easily distractable. Either work or school had to be eliminated, I chose work.

So, what does a person do when they haven’t got a job, and their schooling doesn’t require quite as much time as they thought it would? How does one occupy oneself day in and day out? I’ll tell you. First, they devote at least a day or two (or more) to useful endeavors. In my case, I started volunteering at a couple of libraries in town. This has the useful aspect of getting me out of my house, and providing me with good work experience. Second, the person learns how to clean house. One spends an endless amount of time vacuuming, sweeping, scrubbing, dusting, mopping, and washing clothes. This is useful in that it’s healthy to live in a clean house, and, even if one is not paid for this labor, at least it gives one something to do. There is also yard work for the more ambitious among us. Third (this is my favorite step), the person spends time getting to know their television set very, very well. Now, most people who know me know that I can watch the same movies dozens of times and be perfectly content. Is it a bad thing to be able to quote an entire movie word for word? I think not, I think it sharpens my memory skills. (No comments from the peanut gallery!)

Imagine my surprise when I began to tire of watching the same movies over and over. How could this be? A movie good enough to watch once is surely good enough to watch 50 times. Alas, that is true only if you space out those 50 times. I was faced with a dilema. By virtue of not having a job, I couldn’t go out and by more movies, and our rental store is not exactly the best. What to do? It didn’t take me long to think of a plan. I knew my grandparents were using Netflix, so I decided to try it out. I bless the people who thought of Netflix, I get four movies (or tv series) at a time and can keep them as long as I want. I don’t have to pay for every movie and I don’t have late fees. It’s the perfect system. I no longer have to be bored with my movie selection. I can refresh it occasionally. Netflix is helping me keep my sanity. This may make me a geek, but I was born one so that’s ok. I love Netflix and I think you all should try it,

Readers, remember to get out of the house every once in awhile. Go to your local library, the grocery store, or the park. Enjoy the outdoors. Also, get a treadmill. Nothing better than mixing exercise and television!