Dear Fall Semester 2009,
You have been the bane of my existence, the scourge upon my land, the plague upon my house. You have made me short with my husband, snap at my child and unreachable to my friends. I have been unable to do all the things in life that make me happy and calm because I have been too concerned with papers and tests and quizzes and required blog posts.
Now, I understand that you were set up as a sort of scapegoat by Spring Semester 2009 and Spring Semester 2010 in that the classes I was required to take during your time are not available during the spring. I also understand that the classes I was required to take were of a magnitude that deserved a separate semester devoted to each individual class. I understand that you have nothing to do with my choosing said classes but I did and you were the placeholder for said classes and now my vengeance shall be brought down upon you!
It will forever go down in the history of Jessie that you were the semester that she hated from the start. From the very first day we met, there was a torrential down pour setting the tone for what you would put me through. The very first day of class, I arrived soaked to the bone and angry. The class loads and difficulty levels followed me day to day, never giving me a break. I especially enjoyed when you saw fit to make EVERYTHING due at once. There is just nothing like having two papers, a test and a presentation due within two days. I appreciate how you enjoyed torturing me with assignments.
Finally, the day of reckoning came. It was the last day to be under your rule. The light was bright at the end of that tunnel. I could almost taste sweet freedom. I walked out to my garage this morning with a spring in my step ready to put the nightmare that has been you behind me. What did I find this morning when I opened my garage? RAINING AGAIN! Imagine that! It was as if you just wanted to take one more jab at me. So you ended much the way you began. My feet were cold and wet and I was mad as hell. Thank you Fall Semester 2009 for making the last three months of my life hellish and terrible.
If you were a man, I’d insult your manhood. I’d say something about the length of your days or your lack of performance but you’re not a man are you? You’re simply an entity that I’ll never have to have contact with again. I hope you see me somewhere down the road with Spring Semester 2010 and see the satisfied look on my face. I’m sure I’ll be smiling and going from class to class with the air of confidence that you tried to stifle. Know this. It’s not me, it’s you.
Jessie Davidson
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
A Tin Can, A Paper Towel And A Rubber Band
I thought I was fine, that I had worked through most of the sadness. I can drive past Grandma’s house without breaking into tears. I can even talk about her to classmates when they want to know some of my history. I’ve used some of her sayings as examples when people need to know the “real southern way” to say something. All in all, it’s been a pretty emotionally stable past month. That is, until tonight.
Brian called from work needing his eye drops with a side of Laffy Taffy. Even though those two things go together like peas and ducks, when Brian calls in need, I come running. I convinced Thor to pause “The Nightmare Before Christmas” right in the middle of Jack’s Lament and with surprisingly little fuss, we loaded into the car to head to Lowe’s.
Freshly wiped lawnmowers glistened in the setting sun. Grills of all sizes and types were aligned like soldiers guarding the entrance doors. Thor made commentary on everything he saw in his rapid fire style that always mesmerizes me. The doors slid open with their mechanical welcome and a burst of cool air hit us like a wave. Hand-in-hand we made our way into the bustle of the afternoon crowd, down the cool grey aisle, searching for the man we both love.
Thor’s shyness seemed to be directly proportional to the distance we traveled into the store. At five feet inside the building, he started to bury his head in my hip. At ten feet, both arms were around my waist and he was begging me to “Hole me Mama, Hole me”. Lifting a 42 pound 3-year-old isn’t an easy task but it’s doable. He wrapped his legs around my hips and twisted his arms around my shoulders, burying his head into my neck. We continued on our journey and finally made it to the appliance department. Brian was there, eyes red rimmed but relieved.
When Thor was comfortable enough to disengage the death grip he had around my torso, he leapt immediately into his daddy’s awaiting arms. They sat down at the cluttered desk and Thor’s shell began to crack. He started pressing buttons on the phone and then typing in a language native only to preschoolers. When I asked him what he was doing, his round eyes trimmed in dark lashes, deep with thought darted quickly to meet my gaze. “I’m woukin’ Mama! I godda make sum monies”. I laughed. How many times had he heard that saying from Brian or me? The shrill chirp of Brian’s department phone shattered our moment of pretend play. Brian had to leave to take care of a customer issue at the front of the store so we had to make our visit short.
I asked Thor if he would like to get a cart and ride around. I needed to price some flower bulbs, since the planting season is quickly approaching. With much relief, he easily agreed and we made our way back to the front of the store.
Red Cart----Check!
Thor secured in Red Cart----Check!
Making our way to Outside Lawn and Garden---Check!
The smell of fertilizer and potting soil hung heavy in the damp evening air. The sun’s rays were barely peeking over the horizon, showering everything in a pink haze, making labels difficult to read. Thor and I glided slowly around the perimeter of the department. Huge pots loomed above us in all of their highly decorated glory. Stacked bags of rocks shocked me with their prices and made me proud of all of the rocks I had “acquired” for free this summer. Aisles of do-it-yourself this and do-it-yourself that were splayed out before us.
After rounding another corner and admiring a gargoyle garden statute that would surely be mine, I found myself among the numerous bags of bulbs. Each bag contained an array of small brown cocoons that promised to bring forth some form of beauty the following year. I began to take in the pictures of the different varieties of flowers. Hyacinths of purple and pink looked extremely promising when I noticed that they just don’t take that much care. Tulips of all sizes, colors and shapes seemed to pour out of the top of the crates they were attempting to be contained in. I picked up a few of the bags and studied the information on the back, trying to decide if I could keep them alive.
Our cart circled to the back of the bulb section and I was bombarded with pictures of daffodils and irises of all types. My throat suddenly grew tight and tears began to burn my eyes. I bowed my head immediately and tried to take some clearing gulps of air. Thor noticed and asked “You ok mama?” I said I was and asked if he was ready to go. As if he knew what was happening, he didn’t make a fuss. He agreed to go to the car and I lifted him to my hip making my escape to the parking lot.
I fastened Thor into his car seat through tears that were now burning my cheeks. I thought I was past this point. I thought that I had made it to the spot where the pain of loss is numbed with a little time. It was obvious that I was not at that spot, not even close. I sat in the car and sobbed quietly.
The pictures on the bulbs danced in my memory and mixed with the memories of Easter dinners at my Grandma’s house. Then, her yard had been covered in hundreds of daffodils and irises of all types. She viewed her arrangement of the bulbs as an art form and she excelled in their upkeep. Flowers were her passion and taking care of her garden was what brought her great peace. When the weather grew muggy, her grounds were brought to life with aroma. The heavy fragrance of so many flowers would cling to your hair and clothes seeming to saturate their very fibers. At the height of her floral growing season, Grandma would bring the family small bouquets. They were always arranged in an empty tin can with a paper towel wrapped around the outside, secured with a rubber band. I’m sure there was some type of functional purpose for that other than decoration but I always considered it very “Grandma”.
In the summer and fall since my Grandma’s death, I have planned how to arrange her flowers in my own planters at home so that I never forget my past and the woman who was always such a huge part of it. Being bombarded with the feelings of loss and anguish while looking through the bulbs at Lowe’s, caught me off guard. I saw the bulbs like little promises of old memories and new memories alike. The very memories that I find so important in defining my heritage, I realize Thor will not have. That makes me sad but determined at the same time. I will carry on my Grandma’s memory in the best way that I can think of. I will continue the tradition of empty tin cans, a paper towel and a rubber band. Sometimes it’s the simple things that are the most defining of a person we’ve lost.
~Written 08/05/2009
Brian called from work needing his eye drops with a side of Laffy Taffy. Even though those two things go together like peas and ducks, when Brian calls in need, I come running. I convinced Thor to pause “The Nightmare Before Christmas” right in the middle of Jack’s Lament and with surprisingly little fuss, we loaded into the car to head to Lowe’s.
Freshly wiped lawnmowers glistened in the setting sun. Grills of all sizes and types were aligned like soldiers guarding the entrance doors. Thor made commentary on everything he saw in his rapid fire style that always mesmerizes me. The doors slid open with their mechanical welcome and a burst of cool air hit us like a wave. Hand-in-hand we made our way into the bustle of the afternoon crowd, down the cool grey aisle, searching for the man we both love.
Thor’s shyness seemed to be directly proportional to the distance we traveled into the store. At five feet inside the building, he started to bury his head in my hip. At ten feet, both arms were around my waist and he was begging me to “Hole me Mama, Hole me”. Lifting a 42 pound 3-year-old isn’t an easy task but it’s doable. He wrapped his legs around my hips and twisted his arms around my shoulders, burying his head into my neck. We continued on our journey and finally made it to the appliance department. Brian was there, eyes red rimmed but relieved.
When Thor was comfortable enough to disengage the death grip he had around my torso, he leapt immediately into his daddy’s awaiting arms. They sat down at the cluttered desk and Thor’s shell began to crack. He started pressing buttons on the phone and then typing in a language native only to preschoolers. When I asked him what he was doing, his round eyes trimmed in dark lashes, deep with thought darted quickly to meet my gaze. “I’m woukin’ Mama! I godda make sum monies”. I laughed. How many times had he heard that saying from Brian or me? The shrill chirp of Brian’s department phone shattered our moment of pretend play. Brian had to leave to take care of a customer issue at the front of the store so we had to make our visit short.
I asked Thor if he would like to get a cart and ride around. I needed to price some flower bulbs, since the planting season is quickly approaching. With much relief, he easily agreed and we made our way back to the front of the store.
Red Cart----Check!
Thor secured in Red Cart----Check!
Making our way to Outside Lawn and Garden---Check!
The smell of fertilizer and potting soil hung heavy in the damp evening air. The sun’s rays were barely peeking over the horizon, showering everything in a pink haze, making labels difficult to read. Thor and I glided slowly around the perimeter of the department. Huge pots loomed above us in all of their highly decorated glory. Stacked bags of rocks shocked me with their prices and made me proud of all of the rocks I had “acquired” for free this summer. Aisles of do-it-yourself this and do-it-yourself that were splayed out before us.
After rounding another corner and admiring a gargoyle garden statute that would surely be mine, I found myself among the numerous bags of bulbs. Each bag contained an array of small brown cocoons that promised to bring forth some form of beauty the following year. I began to take in the pictures of the different varieties of flowers. Hyacinths of purple and pink looked extremely promising when I noticed that they just don’t take that much care. Tulips of all sizes, colors and shapes seemed to pour out of the top of the crates they were attempting to be contained in. I picked up a few of the bags and studied the information on the back, trying to decide if I could keep them alive.
Our cart circled to the back of the bulb section and I was bombarded with pictures of daffodils and irises of all types. My throat suddenly grew tight and tears began to burn my eyes. I bowed my head immediately and tried to take some clearing gulps of air. Thor noticed and asked “You ok mama?” I said I was and asked if he was ready to go. As if he knew what was happening, he didn’t make a fuss. He agreed to go to the car and I lifted him to my hip making my escape to the parking lot.
I fastened Thor into his car seat through tears that were now burning my cheeks. I thought I was past this point. I thought that I had made it to the spot where the pain of loss is numbed with a little time. It was obvious that I was not at that spot, not even close. I sat in the car and sobbed quietly.
The pictures on the bulbs danced in my memory and mixed with the memories of Easter dinners at my Grandma’s house. Then, her yard had been covered in hundreds of daffodils and irises of all types. She viewed her arrangement of the bulbs as an art form and she excelled in their upkeep. Flowers were her passion and taking care of her garden was what brought her great peace. When the weather grew muggy, her grounds were brought to life with aroma. The heavy fragrance of so many flowers would cling to your hair and clothes seeming to saturate their very fibers. At the height of her floral growing season, Grandma would bring the family small bouquets. They were always arranged in an empty tin can with a paper towel wrapped around the outside, secured with a rubber band. I’m sure there was some type of functional purpose for that other than decoration but I always considered it very “Grandma”.
In the summer and fall since my Grandma’s death, I have planned how to arrange her flowers in my own planters at home so that I never forget my past and the woman who was always such a huge part of it. Being bombarded with the feelings of loss and anguish while looking through the bulbs at Lowe’s, caught me off guard. I saw the bulbs like little promises of old memories and new memories alike. The very memories that I find so important in defining my heritage, I realize Thor will not have. That makes me sad but determined at the same time. I will carry on my Grandma’s memory in the best way that I can think of. I will continue the tradition of empty tin cans, a paper towel and a rubber band. Sometimes it’s the simple things that are the most defining of a person we’ve lost.
~Written 08/05/2009
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