It's that scene where Tom Hanks is pulling away from the island where he landed after a terrible plane crash. He was a Fed Express employee, and was there on that island trying to make due for years, I believe. He had the pocket watch his fiancé gave him. The one with her picture. Then one day he made a raft and he left. He faced the wind, and the unknown, and he left. I know it's Hollywood. I can envision 700 people on the sets next to him with fans blowing the water around, yet I am still moved by the music. I am always moved by the music. I can still hear it when he realizes that "Wilson" his beloved volleyball, that kept him company for years is lost at sea and he has to go on without the constant companion the he had.
Funny how we place ourselves in positions where we focus on the things that don't perhaps matter, but we think we can't do without. The things we believe help us go on. My feet are currently wrapped in the quilt my mother almost finished before her death. She hand sewed each stitch, and then after she died, when it was obvious she was not going to finish another stitch my father had it bound for me and I sit, with the warmth of this blanket wrapped around my feet, knitting on the side, while on the side, watching a silly Hollywood movie. Yet despite the absurdity of Tom Hanks finding comfort in a Wilson volleyball, I too find comfort in the absurdity of small things.
I see piled on top of the window sill, 12 inches deep, the bowls that my daughter bought to take pictures of her baking. It brings me joy to see them drying on the window sill, knowing that she finds joy in baking, and these simple bowls, that most likely we had in 1st grade, make her delicious treats look scrumptious to others on the internet. That the baking that started her realizing how amazing she is, truly lead her to a field of social work. I truly believe that she will make the difference in life that I knew she would on the day that I brought her home, 4 lbs. 8 oz.
I see my 6 year old in her black Fedora and her denim jacket that she wears every single solitary day, and I know that she brings a different kind of laughter to our lives. When we go outside the house, call her name, and up from high in a tree we hear her call our name. I can see her challenge whatever she views as unfair. I can see her putting animals before herself, as she is passionate about every animal that has crossed her path, and not afraid of helping those that are in need of dire care. It seems at 6 1/2 she understands that we all deserve dignity.
Today I got my hair cut off to barely nothing. I no longer do it because i think it particularly looks attractive. I do it because I know that I won't' have to do it again for two or three months. But I see my 14 year old sit in the chair with her blue hair, knowing that she is thinking exactly as I thought when I was her age -- it wasn't what the picture looked like. But I know she will get home put her hands through it i her own way, adding her individuality that I adore so much, and it will bring her joy. The simplicity of a haircut, fixed by her own hands, will bring her joy. She will bring that same joy to those around her, as she laughs with the older geriatrics with Alzheimer's that we "care" for twice a week. She will bring them a difference in their life the day they see her, and the days that follow, because she is just that kind of young woman.
Lastly, I get a copy of a 30 minute movie of the horrendous movements of a man named Joseph Kody who murders, rapes, and steals the children of Uganda, posted on Facebook, by my 18 year old. She is so moved that she posts this on Facebook and I know I too will be moved because we are so similar. I think, I know, that as she grows she too will make the difference in the world that her sisters will, but differently because they are all so different. Something I never, ever expected. I thought they all would be the same. They all would be exactly as I raised them. But she will stop others, and make them look, and make them think before they act. Because she has for me, for almost 18 years. She is no different from her sisters.
Whatever they do, they act in passion and with truth, with energy. Yet, their passions will continue, long after I am gone, and I will look down from wherever I am, and know that I really believe that Bob and I did it. We raised these wonderful, special, amazing, young women to believe in the truth, to climb trees when others may not, to dress as they believe -- to have the courage to stand up for their beliefs. To speak of the horrible when no one wants to hear the horrible, they will speak the truth, and they will act for those who cannot act.
I am reminded of all this just from a movie about an island, a lost love, and a volleyball.
Perhaps this mother, who cannot seem to contain her pride for what she saw today -- a love from her daughters that maybe she had a small hand in instilling in them, whether I am here to see it all come to fruition, or am somewhere off with Wilson.
Funny how we place ourselves in positions where we focus on the things that don't perhaps matter, but we think we can't do without. The things we believe help us go on. My feet are currently wrapped in the quilt my mother almost finished before her death. She hand sewed each stitch, and then after she died, when it was obvious she was not going to finish another stitch my father had it bound for me and I sit, with the warmth of this blanket wrapped around my feet, knitting on the side, while on the side, watching a silly Hollywood movie. Yet despite the absurdity of Tom Hanks finding comfort in a Wilson volleyball, I too find comfort in the absurdity of small things.
I see piled on top of the window sill, 12 inches deep, the bowls that my daughter bought to take pictures of her baking. It brings me joy to see them drying on the window sill, knowing that she finds joy in baking, and these simple bowls, that most likely we had in 1st grade, make her delicious treats look scrumptious to others on the internet. That the baking that started her realizing how amazing she is, truly lead her to a field of social work. I truly believe that she will make the difference in life that I knew she would on the day that I brought her home, 4 lbs. 8 oz.
I see my 6 year old in her black Fedora and her denim jacket that she wears every single solitary day, and I know that she brings a different kind of laughter to our lives. When we go outside the house, call her name, and up from high in a tree we hear her call our name. I can see her challenge whatever she views as unfair. I can see her putting animals before herself, as she is passionate about every animal that has crossed her path, and not afraid of helping those that are in need of dire care. It seems at 6 1/2 she understands that we all deserve dignity.
Today I got my hair cut off to barely nothing. I no longer do it because i think it particularly looks attractive. I do it because I know that I won't' have to do it again for two or three months. But I see my 14 year old sit in the chair with her blue hair, knowing that she is thinking exactly as I thought when I was her age -- it wasn't what the picture looked like. But I know she will get home put her hands through it i her own way, adding her individuality that I adore so much, and it will bring her joy. The simplicity of a haircut, fixed by her own hands, will bring her joy. She will bring that same joy to those around her, as she laughs with the older geriatrics with Alzheimer's that we "care" for twice a week. She will bring them a difference in their life the day they see her, and the days that follow, because she is just that kind of young woman.
Lastly, I get a copy of a 30 minute movie of the horrendous movements of a man named Joseph Kody who murders, rapes, and steals the children of Uganda, posted on Facebook, by my 18 year old. She is so moved that she posts this on Facebook and I know I too will be moved because we are so similar. I think, I know, that as she grows she too will make the difference in the world that her sisters will, but differently because they are all so different. Something I never, ever expected. I thought they all would be the same. They all would be exactly as I raised them. But she will stop others, and make them look, and make them think before they act. Because she has for me, for almost 18 years. She is no different from her sisters.
Whatever they do, they act in passion and with truth, with energy. Yet, their passions will continue, long after I am gone, and I will look down from wherever I am, and know that I really believe that Bob and I did it. We raised these wonderful, special, amazing, young women to believe in the truth, to climb trees when others may not, to dress as they believe -- to have the courage to stand up for their beliefs. To speak of the horrible when no one wants to hear the horrible, they will speak the truth, and they will act for those who cannot act.
I am reminded of all this just from a movie about an island, a lost love, and a volleyball.
Perhaps this mother, who cannot seem to contain her pride for what she saw today -- a love from her daughters that maybe she had a small hand in instilling in them, whether I am here to see it all come to fruition, or am somewhere off with Wilson.
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