I went rogue this week and picked from the middle of the deck. Gasp! And the question is:
I’m Mindy–just Mindy. It’s not short for Melinda or anything else. And I am such a Mindy.
I have always felt like my name is one syllable shy of sophistication. And, at a low-talking 4 feet, eleven inches, I can use all the help I can get. If I were Eloise, say, I could rule the world. Or, at least the room. Eloise. Look at all those vowels. She has to be a storybook heroine. Quirky, poetic, amazing.
I love Clara, too. It’s my two-syllable exception. Maybe it’s the wishful ballerina in me. She just sounds so graceful. And tall.
And I coveted the name Felicity for a while, when the show was big. But there’s a lot of pressure when you’re named for an emotion or word that’s full of promise. Like this gal.
Disney Digression
Ah, Belle.
Maybe Mindy is just right.
The girls weighed in, too.
My sister Lindsey says:
What’s in a name?
My name is one that was really popular in the early 80s – so there were a lot of other “Lindseys” in my classes- not a way to feel very unique. The various spellings are problematic with my name too: Lindsey, Lindsay, Lyndsey, Lindsy, and so on. I’ve mostly gotten used to constantly correcting people on the spelling. Though it was always kinda heartbreaking as a kid to go into one of those touristy shops where they put your name on everything only to find that Lindsey with an “a” was the only thing available.
I always thought having a unique name would be fun. Something recognizable so you only need the one – a la Madonna, Beyonce or Cher.
Since I’ve been Lindsey, or Lins for a little over 30 years now – it’s hard to imagine being anything else.
I’ve often thought about this. I like my name — Lindsay — but it’s pretty common these days. Actually, can I tell you all a secret? A couple years ago I went on a solo shopping (more like browsing) trip to Anthropologie (swoon). I picked out a few things to try on and headed to the dressing room. A younger, trendier associate asked, “How many do you have?” I told her. She picked up a marker and stopped at a dressing room door, “And your name?” “Violet,” I told her. She wrote it on the door in purple script. I shut the door and started laughing. Why the heck did I do that? I didn’t end up buying anything that day. But I left with an overwhelming sureness that we can be anyone we want in this life. I felt a little indie. A little artsy. A little punk. A little sassy. A little sweet and a little bit classy. I like it. I’d definitely be a Violet.
Have you ever wished for another name? I want to hear it.
It’s already Table Topic Tuesday. I’m pumped because I have a few new voices on the panel this week.
And here’s the question:
I am a Pisces.
Disney Digression
Mermaids are fish, right? Pisces are. Twin fish. There is a duality to us Pisces–a yin and yang. Supposedly, we alternate between the conscious and unconscious, awake and dreaming, reality and fantasy. Guilty as charged.
It’s a water sign and, in my rosy conceptions of myself, I would say that I have a fluid personality. I go with the flow, I mold to the situation and conform to the room I’m currently swimming in. Some may say this shape-shifting is shifty and slippery. I like to think I’m flexible? Or a fickle little fish.
Pisces are feelers–emotion is everything. They want to wallow in their own feelings and yours, too. They are givers, gentle, gullible givers, easily taken advantage of. Spiritual, impressionable, artistic.
And, if I believed in this stuff, I’d be the Pisces Poster Child.
My friends played along, too. Meet Ashlie, a fellow Piscean and one of my bestest friends. She says:
Ahhhh….Pisces. Fishes swimming in a circle…so sensitive, so intuitive, so INDECISIVE I can barley reign my thoughts in to figure out which qualities I have and to what degree. I have always enjoyed saying I’m a Pisces, and I believe in astrology to at least some degree. Of course it is in my astrological nature to believe in such things. I like to believe that I, as Pisces tend to, “See all others as being one and connected to each other regardless of race, culture, or sex.” It is this that is said to be the reason why Pisces may be “psychic, spiritual, and compassionate.” Now that sounds nice. I hope that I have those qualities. But these qualities are also those of my demise. Being able to see all sides of a person or situation can make it virtually impossible to really ever DECIDE on something because I can talk myself into circles (insert Pisces fishes chasing their tails) about almost any situation. See how I had to even say “almost any?” I have to leave a loophole because I can almost never say YES or NO. Ahhh…Pisces.
I’m a Libra. A scale. A lover of natural beauty and the promoter of peace and tranquility. HA. I just made that up. I don’t know anything about my astrological sign. It sounds like a bunch of Scientology hocus pocus to me. But knowing what I know (read: my sign is a scale), I’d say I’m a pretty balanced person. I work hard at the balance of work and life — never letting one get heavier or more dominant than the other. It’s something I’m still getting used to in the post-college life and something I think I’ll always be working on. Thing have been going pretty well so far. My stars must be aligned.
Now meet my favorite sister, Lindsey. She’s a Pisces, too, but we could not be more different. (Minus our small obsession with The Happiest Place on Earth–the place where dreams come true. Maybe we are true Pisces.) She says:
I must admit I’m not sure what the characteristics of my astrological sign (Pisces) are – so I did a little recon. I’m not one to believe that the stars or signs have much to do with personality – mainly because your sign can change depending on the calendar of origin you’re referring to (tropical astrology Pisces feb 19 – march 20 which includes me and sidereal astrology pisces march 15 – april 14 which does not include me). Per the ever reliable source, Wikipedia, pisceans are perceptive, emotional and reasonable. Also highly sensitive, desperately afraid of ridicule and susceptible to change (as Pisces is a mutable sign). As it stands, I think being emotional and reasonable are difficult to achieve simultaneously. Highly sensitive and desperately afraid of ridicule? That sounds like most women. I decided to check another source and found Pisces strength keywords: compassionate, adaptable, accepting, devoted and imaginative. Weakness keywords: over sensitive, indecisive, self pitying, lazy and escapist. Again, it seems counter intuitive to be both adaptable and indecisive or devoted and lazy. Suffice to say I think a few key words from any sign could probably fit most personalities. Perhaps a better indicator would be birth order. Now that description of me (middle child) is always textbook.
If ever a Table Topic question was designed just for me, this would be it. I’m fascinated by astrological signs. Well, I guess that’s not completely true. I’m completely fascinated with my astrological sign, and I suppose it’s because I identify with it so much. Every quality it lists is a quality I feel I possess and demonstrate on a regular basis. Whomever determined the traits of this particular zodiac sign must’ve had me in mind…and I truly believe that (even though I know these were created way before I graced this Earth with my presence).
I’m sensitive. I’m moody. I’m totally vulnerable. I have a hard outer shell and a hard time showing my true feelings to others. Once I put my trust in you and let you in, I’m loyal to a fault, but as soon as I feel betrayed or hurt, I shut down or retreat back into myself and I don’t soon forget. I love my home. I love being in my home. I am somewhat introverted even though I do enjoy people. My home is my safe place, and I could spend hours there by myself and be totally fine with that. Would love that actually. There’s no better weekend plan than rejuvenating at home without entering the outside world.
And while I put a lot of faith and trust in the power of the zodiac, I take daily horoscopes rather lightly. I find myself not reading them until the day is done just to see how true or correct they turned out to be. Nine times out of 10 they fail miserably, but I like to take the positive, general messages from them to build me up and keep me moving forward. It’s a light-hearted way to end the day, and with an extra emotional and sensitive gal like myself, I need all the positive reinforcement I can get.
Well, there’s no way I can pick one favorite. So, here are a few highlights.
I heard a football coach say once: If your feet touch the ground, you’re tall enough. I kinda could’ve kissed him.
Before he was my husband, Jeff said: I wanted you the second you ordered banana and pecan (pee-can) pancakes. I did kiss him.
And here are sage words for work–that I can’t always follow while I’m at work. You can take it literally: write on red wine, edit on coffee. I also read it this way: write on right brain, edit on left brain (if I only had a left brain). Or even: write in a creative cloudburst, edit in a bright quiet.
I have to include a few from the Disney persuasion, of course.
There’s something sad but very hopeful in this quote. Of all the people that smile at me during the day, how many of them actually feel happy? And how many times have I done that: faked an emotion I didn’t believe in? When I first read this I thought, “That’s so effing true.” We are our most honest selves when we’re alone — when no one is watching. If we can find that happiness when we’re not pressured to, we’ll have found something truly great.
Yep…that’s probably the only quotation I can think of that could be considered a “favorite” of mine. It’s also one of the few quotes I could think of that a) I can recite from memory, b) I think worthy to use as an answer to a question like this, c) I hope makes people stop and think, and d) most importantly, that I try and live in my everyday life.
It’s such a simple statement. It doesn’t beat around the bush or take hours to decipher the meaning. There’s beauty in simplicity and there’s beauty and honesty in such a profound statement. I know for a fact that I do not have the life experience, the wisdom, or the self-assured attitude to believe I am more in the right than anyone else in any of my ideas or actions. That I can pass down judgements on those whom I don’t agree with or identify with.
But…were it only as easy to practice as it is to read or say. Oftentimes I start down the path of forming an opinion (mainly regarding something in the negative), and I will stop myself midway to remember, “Judge not, lest you be judged.” Do I want people to form the same types of opinions about me? Do I want them to hold a negative or incorrect view of something I did or said? I can guarantee you that I do not. I ultimately try and live my life viewing everyone and everything around me at face value. I don’t look for hidden meanings. I don’t believe people are something they’re not. I hope that everyone truly has good intentions in both word and deed.
Perhaps it’s why I’m so gullible. I believe everything and believe in everyone. Some people may think that naive, but I wouldn’t want to live in a world where I had to believe otherwise. Life just wouldn’t be as sweet. So try it out every now and then…quoting to yourself, “Judge not, lest you be judged.” Give people the break you would hope they give you, and believe they also have nothing but the best of intentions.
I know you have one, or five, favorite quotes. Tell me!
When I was young, I wanted to be a ballerina. I started dance when I was just two. By the time I was in middle school, I was dancing in a ballet company and in a studio. Six days a week, my mom drove me to lessons. I loved the blonde wood floors, the echo of quick taps, the light drumming of toe shoes. I held the barre like I was holding everything. I know. It was a little intense. But the studio mirror was the only one I’d met that I didn’t mind looking in. I was a good dancer–a decent technician and a better performer. I was a flood of restless rhythms and choreography harnessed them, polished them and sometimes made them poetry.
Disney Digression
Then, I started high school. I still loved dance–I was still a jazz-hands master–but I had peaked. And I hadn’t grown. My mom knew that I wasn’t tall enough to be a professional ballerina. Somewhere, I knew that too. But Mom loved me enough to say it out loud. I wrote a poem about the conversation when I was in college (judge accordingly).
TINY DANCER
It might as well have been
the red sea, no Moses in sight.
I sat tapping the toes of my pointe
shoes against the hardwood floor.
Mom & Grammy sat across from me
wearing identical looks and a perfume
with an oriental name–flowery, floating
light as a Japanese kite, my favorite smell.
“You’re beautiful, smart.”
“But you’ll never be an Amanda.”
Amanda was the company’s prima ballerina–
Coppelia, the Sugar Plum Fairy–with long
limbs and arches high as the Brooklyn Bridge.
I just hadn’t grown yet.
I had led the sea of lemonade across
the stage, tiny bourre’es against the hard black.
“You’d make a great cheerleader.”
I didn’t answer. Just pulled the bobby pins
from my bun and dropped them to the kitchen
table one by one.
I traded my port de bras for rah rah, cleared
a space in my closet for poms. I stuffed
blood-stained toe pads against the worn
wood, wound ribbon around the frayed
satin and placed the box on the top shelf.
Up there, I found a picture of Mom.
She wanted to be a Rockette.
She was sixteen, thin in her drill team
uniform, her legs looked longer in
the white boots that came up to mid-thigh,
her foot well above her 5’2 frame in
a perfect kick.
So, spoiler alert, I did not become a ballerina. Thank goodness. Because, in the background of ballet, I was always writing. There are stories scribbled in my elementary-school notebooks. I was co-editor of my high school paper, editor of my college paper, sure I was going to be a serious journalist, a newspaper woman. See, there are still restless rhythms in me and retelling other people’s stories harnessed that.
Then I fell into advertising by surprise, so I become a writer when I grew up. In writing, height doesn’t matter. All 4-feet-11-inches of me can always grow and never outgrow it. As long as I have pencil and paper and passion.
Plus, now I have more fun dancing than I ever have when Tucker and I have living-room Just Dance battle royales.
I hate to reference a movie — and a teen movie at that — but Jessica’s graduation speech in one of the Twilight Saga movies pretty much nailed it. I went from wanting to be a Disney princess {and I got close in college when I interned in Magic Kingdom for six months} to a doctor to an astronaut to a volcanologist to I-have-no-idea-and-my-college-applications-are-due-next-week. Then my parents finally exhaled when I landed on Interior Designer. I watched every episode of Trading Spaces and Extreme Home Makeover. This is what I had to do! I traveled with this dream to college, but after one intro class, I realized it was not for me. I think what I really wanted to do was buy curtains and match them to bedspreads. Dreams die hard. Then new ones come about and they come out of nowhere. Enter: my current job. But i’m not giving up hope of one day ruling my own castle.
As sad as I am to say it, every little girl on the planet probably had the same ideas of what they wanted to be when they grew up as I did. The possibilities are endless, yet we still end up wanting the same things it seems. Until reality hits us. It did for me through several of my future occupation phases.
First, I wanted to be a veterinarian so I could work with animals…until I realized all of the unpleasantness associated with poor, sick kitties and puppies. Heartbreaking. Then I wanted to be a dolphin or killer whale trainer at Sea World so I could swim with them every day…until I realized that I hated science and was horrible at it. From there I went through my “adventuresome” Indiana Jones phase and wanted to be either an archaeologist or paleontologist…dusting off artifacts and old bones from a millennia ago. I completely blame my obsession with Jurassic Park for that little whim. But then I realized that lots of school would be involved, and I just couldn’t imagine an academic life.
Advertising was never a blip on the radar until high school, and surprisingly enough that little blip stayed with me at the back of my mind. After declaring “history” as a major when I entered college, I quickly changed it to Advertising and have stayed with it ever since. It’s funny how it all works out in the end…I feel fortunate to have found something I was passionate about and I suppose you could say something I wanted to be…when I grew up.
Your turn! I want to know. What did you want to be when you grew up?
I always like to find a secondhand, love-worn book. I especially geek out over a hardback with a slippery, crinkly dust jacket. My favorites are marked with double or triple inscriptions. Like this one.
A dear professor gave this beautiful old book to us as a wedding present. It was first gifted in 1979. I’d love to know where this story lived between ’79 and ’03. So, books that are old enough to smell? Check.
I’d also like to find a typewriter. A pink one, maybe? And I don’t want a shelf-sitter. I’d like one that actually works–one with cheerful-clicking keys and a “ding” that sings.
But the best yard sale would have old, limited edition Disney pins. Of course.
Disney Digression
(I’m in the market for an Esmeralda pin if anyone has a hot tip.)
Yard sales are one of my favorite weekend adventures. But I don’t go looking for them. They’re much more special when I happen to run into one while strolling the neighborhood. The best thing I’ve ever found at a yard sale — my ten year old self will tell you — was a stuffed dog, colored purple and pink pastels. I thought I’d hit the stuffed animal jackpot. I’m not sure what happened to that dog over the years, but I hope he’s making {yes HE — never mind his feminine coloring} another little girl just as happy. Now that I’ve grown out of my stuffed animal collecting days, I get really excited when I find signed books at yard sales. First editions signed by the pen-masters themselves. Against a book full of Times New Roman, I love seeing what their signature really looks like. All caps? Swirly or straight Js and Ys? Cursive? Totally illegible? How does this author’s grocery list look on the weekends? Is this how he signs a check? I like to know these things. I think handwriting tells a lot about a person.
I’ve been an HGTV and DIY watcher for at least the past decade, if not longer. I love to see the before’s and after’s of various home renovations or room redecorations. I could spend hours watching these seemingly – although more likely misleadingly – easy transformations. New living room in 30 minutes? Sure. Brand new home purchase in under 10? Of course. I think it’s because I love the idea that perhaps I could be this DIY’er myself, and maybe I have some hidden talent like faux finishing or decoupage. It’s this secret daydream that one day will come to fruition…or at least I like to think so. What does this have to do with yard sale finds you ask? Well, I suppose if I accompanied my grandmother on one of her yard sale adventures, I’m sure I’d be scoping out some diamond in the rough something-or-other that I could turn into something amazing…something I could proudly display. I’d have house parties or get togethers and guests would comment on it and gush over how beautiful or exquisite it is. I would give a little chuckle and regale them with every detail – from the fact I paid less than $5 for it to how I transformed this little gem that otherwise would’ve gone in the trash into something everyone would love to showcase in their own home. But alas, it’s all mine. Go find your own. So while I may not have anything specific in mind, that truly is what I would love to find at a yard sale – a possibility. I guess I should start looking…
Okay. You’re up. What’s your favorite yard-sale find?
My answer depends on how I feel and who’s asking. My first favorite book go-to is Jane Austen’s Pride & Prejudice. I’ve loved it since the first time I opened it–from the first sentence. There’s the humor, the romance, the letters. And even though we’re far removed from that social structure, the characters are still so beautifully ambivalent, full and real.
The language in Zora Neale Hurston’s Their Eyes Were Watching God woke me up. I read most of that book sitting on my feet, ready to pounce, because I could not keep still. Toni Morrison’s Sula jostled me in the same way.
And I love re-reading C.S. Lewis’s Chronicles of Narnia to the boys. Peeling through each page and layer kindles more meaning than it ever did before.
Nonfiction? I’ve worn the pages thin in Anne Lamott’s Bird by Bird. Recently, I’ve read, re-read, read once more A.W. Tozer’s The Pursuit of God. If God has a bat phone, Tozer’s prayers will get you straight through.
I really haven’t met many books that I didn’t like. Movies, too. I will always watch the latest Pride & Prejudice when it’s on. For a light & fun mood–and who’s ever not up for that?–I love Almost Famous. And Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind deserves a mention, too.
For Christmas? It’s a Wonderful Life. For family lines? The Princess Bride. For nostalgia? The Sound of Music, Mary Poppins and My Fair Lady.
We could be here a while. I can’t let you go without talking about my favorite Disney feature. There are so many magical options. But I have to choose the bookworm. The girl who’s “nothing like the rest of us.”
Ok. First of all, we all know that this question does not have an answer. It has “hmmms” and “haws” and pause-for-thoughts and moments of silence. But no simple, definitive answer. It gets asked on bad first dates. It’s the icebreaker on the first day of school during “get to know your classmates” when teachers have nothing else planned other than to review the syllabus. It’s the question that stumps any and every parent who think they know their kids inside and out. It’s the most mysteriously simple question with an infinite amount of answers. Any time I get asked this, I reply with probably the most annoying answer on the planet: “That’s a good one…I don’t know.” And it’s true. I don’t think I have one favorite book or just one favorite movie. But I have favorite genres. If we’re talking books {and I’ll always talk books}, I love biographies, autobiographies and sports the most. I just finished reading a book written by one of my all-time favorite tennis players, Johnny Mac. His story was pretty incredible, and it was awesome to learn about what was going on in his life behind the scenes. Movies? I love action. But not gory, gruesome action. I like movies that make you think: Italian Job, all the Bourne movies, Ocean’s Eleven. See? The answer is never easy — or short.
I feel I must complain to the “Table Topic” gods on this question. Because it’s two questions in one. And I’m not a fan. What do these two questions mean when put together? Are they even related? Is it just asking me separately what is my favorite book and what is my favorite movie? Or are they asking what’s my favorite book made into one of my favorite movies? The possibilities are endless. If I’m allowed to have input, I prefer a little more directness and clarity in my table topics. But alas, no one asked me.
So I choose to answer this question as “what’s my favorite book made into my favorite movie?” It’s a little easier to narrow down the options. So without further ado, I must say that Pride & Prejudice ranks pretty darn high on my list. I’m a huge Jane Austen fan, and I could read her books over and over and over. The funny thing is, I had never read Pride & Prejudice before seeing the movie with Keira Knightley and Matthew McFadyen. It’s one of those things I hate to admit, because I’m such a book nerd and would so much rather get swept away with the words and characters I create in my mind. But in this instance, I love them both. The movie touched me, and to this day I can watch it whenever it’s on and recite most of it word for word. It was also the impetus that started me snatching up all of Jane Austen’s books and devouring them one by one. So for that, I’m forever grateful.
So why did I love the movie so much? This is the scene that did it for me. Mr. Darcy comes striding across a field on a crisp, cold, early morning as Elizabeth Bennett watches him. They come together and profess their love for each other, and it’s magical.
If your feelings are still what they were last April, tell me so at once. My affections and wishes have not changed, but one word from you will silence me forever. If, however, your feelings have changed, I will have to tell you: you have bewitched me, body and soul, and I love, I love, I love you. I never wish to be parted from you from this day on. – Mr. Darcy
Does this happen in real life? The single gal in me can only hope. (swoon)
It’s your turn, friends. What’s your favorite book? Movie? Book-turned-movie?
Today’s question is perfect because we’re out in LA, filming a Thanksgiving commercial for Publix. So turkey has been top-of-mind.
I love Thanksgiving. It’s my favorite holiday. Thanksgiving stars the best food. Stuffing.
Thanksgiving kid crafts are the best. Hands-down.
Thanksgiving time at Disney is the best. Cooler temperatures. Lighter crowds. Pumpkin Mickeys. C’mon.
Disney Digression
Thanksgiving traditions are the best.
What was Tuck thankful for last year? Jeff. (Known as Dad).Thanksgiving Tree
From the feast to the football, it’s an unassuming holiday. Thanksgiving has no agenda. It’s a day when you do nothing productive and everything important.
It’s the one day that we only have one thing to do. Give thanks.
My friends love Thanksgiving, too. Here’s what they say.
If I answered with “the food,”, would that be too obvious? My family never makes a big fuss over Thanksgiving. Over the years our Thanksgivings would rotate locations as we all moved up and down the east coast — a bunch of gypsies, we are. If we traveled around the holiday, we’d bring the festivities to the closest family member’s neck of the woods. Pies and smiles in tow. So, I’d say that’s my favorite thing about Thanksgiving — the uncertainty of whose dining room we end up in. This year? Well, it’ll be a mystery until about a week before we say Grace. And I can’t wait.
Thanksgiving…seriously one of my favorite holidays. Actually, it is my favorite holiday. Better than Christmas, better than Labor Day, better than all other holidays in my opinion. And I’m not quite sure why. I’m not a huge foodie. I’m rather quite picky when it comes to food. I don’t even like turkey all that much. But there’s one thing I absolutely love, and I usually only eat it one time a year. And that one thing is stuffing. I love stuffing. Specifically, my grandmother’s stuffing. It probably stems from the fact that my grandmother spoils me, as all good grandmothers do. She has her own recipe, but every year due to my pickiness, she’d make a special separate stuffing all for me that left out all the things I wouldn’t eat. She was really too good to me. Nowadays, my taste buds have improved slightly, and I’ll eat the stuffing everyone else eats. But I know that she’d still make a special version for me, if I wanted her to, because she’s the best grandma. And her stuffing is the best. If you ever want to make her special version, here’s the recipe. I promise you won’t be disappointed.
You’re it. What do you love about Thanksgiving dinner?
My first thought was that there isn’t any incriminating evidence of my ridiculous fashion path–not digitally, anyway. But just in case–just for you–I asked my Mom if she had any pictures of my bangs. She did.
See, I’m a child of the 80s.
Disney Digression
I layered a neon spectrum of scrunchy socks. And I still love fun socks.
I rocked the Blossom hat. And I still love wearing hats.
I pulled my T-shirts through a plastic circle to lock them in place. That tee tie may have been a fashion fail, but it was pure function.
And then there were the bangs. It started in elementary school.
And they got bigger.
Now, my Mom is a classy-chic lady. She’d never steer me wrong. No. Back then, those bodacious bangs were everything.
Don’t feel guilty about laughing. I pitched a silly over this one. My bangs were so big, they had their own shadow. Minus that, I love everything else about this picture.
I remember curling half of the bangs back and half of the bangs forward and then cementing them in place–on purpose.
I know that fashion is full-circle, but let’s hope this style wonder never comes round again.
Now that I’ve admitted my tress distress, it’s Lindsay‘s turn:
In my early years, I was quite the trend-setter… or so I thought. Before baggy jeans were cool, I sported them. Before the original black and white-striped Adidas sneaks were sported by every hipster in the halls, I told my mom I just had to have them. And waaaaay before those plastic, stretchy choker necklaces were coveted by all middle school girls, I made them happen — even in gym class. Yes, my style has evolved quite nicely over the years, and I’m sure I’ll look back in 10 or 15 more years and curse the day I bought wedges. But you just never know.
This is a fun question. I’ve officially been driving more than half my life. Gulp. So, there were a lot of roads to retrace. Highways, tunnels, bridges, dirt roads, non roads. And there’s a lot of beautiful in my rear view.
Salt-of-the-earth simple. The biggest quiet you’ll ever hear. Yummiest air you’ll ever breathe.
Now that I’m gone to Carolina in my memory’s lane, let’s go to the South Carolina Low Country. Here, we were lucky locals. We drove down the Battery, but we also biked it, at least once a month. This street is the stuff Southern stories are made of.
“Beautiful” is flexible word, right? I think I can stretch it to cover this guy.
Seeing him means we’re en route to reunite with family or friends.
And I’m always in awe every single time we drive into THE city.
Although my best drive, as a passenger, was in a Tomorrowland Speedway race car. That was a beautiful thing.
Disney Digression
Now as a Floridian, I feel like all of Florida is one palm tree-lined postcard. Even my commute is lovely.
And, shocker, I’m going to totally sap out. But there’s one road I’m always the most happy to turn down and that’s the one that goes home.
I love and dislike this question. It makes me thankful for all the beautiful places I’ve been lucky enough to visit, but sad because all I really want to do right now is hop in my car and pay them a visit again.
One of my favorite drives to take is down the 1 mile private road to my grandparents’ lake house in New Jersey. The lake off to the right. The houses to the left — some hidden on a hill or behind the trees. The sun trying to shine through the canopy of trees that cover almost the full mile. It says, “Welcome home. Welcome back.” every time I make the drive. Even if just for coffee in the morning. Twenty summers in a row I spent there. Driving back and forth, back and forth. Up and down the lake road — my lake road. The one with a 17 mph speed limit and stone pillars guarding its entrance. The same stone pillars after which it was unofficially accepted and expected that you take your seat belt off and enjoy the lake road breeze. We always say our camp has the best spot — second last on the one mile road. And I never fully appreciated that drive until the past few years when I could no longer spend a full season soaking it up. Estling Lake Road means a lot to me, and it’s the most beautiful and wonderful road I’ve ever traveled.
Your turn. What’s the most beautiful drive you’ve ever taken?
I’m a sucker for strum-able strings. From hymns to hip hop, I love the way everything sounds on an acoustic guitar. Ukulele, mandolin. My love language.
Disney Digression
But I’d rather be the audience than the player.
If I could master any instrument, I’d have to choose my voice. I already wail in the car, in the kitchen, in the shower. I sing lullabies every night. I hum–often unconsciously, often in public. Since singing is second nature, I’d love to have a gift.
I’ve always wanted to play the piano, and when I say always, I mean always. I remember wishing my mom would send me to piano lessons, but being as painfully shy as I was, I didn’t have the courage to ask her or tell her it’s what I wanted. If I did mention it, it was probably a passing comment and she thought nothing of it, a phase perhaps. Needless to say, it’s a major regret. I did learn a few songs here and there when I was younger – Chopsticks and Mary Had a Little Lamb – even the theme to Jeopardy at one point. But alas, these fingers never tickled the ivories in a manner I would’ve liked. And in the grand scheme of things that’s probably okay, as I was never one to put myself in front of a crowd – piano recitals, no thank you.
To me, the sound of a piano can be magical. It’s a sound like no other to me, and when I hear the different notes coming together to make such a masterpiece of music, it’s beautiful. The well-known musical pieces from Beethoven and Bach are wonders to the ears, and I jealously watch as other people’s fingers move so swiftly and effortlessly across the keys. It’s such a talent, and one I wish desperately I possessed. So perhaps I’ve added something to my bucket list – piano lessons for adults – surely that’s a thing right?
I like to think of myself as a creative person. I’m a writer. I have at least three pens and two Sharpie markers {in varying colors} with me at all times. I doodle during meetings {don’t tell on me}. And I belt it like Beyonce in the car on the way to…anywhere. But if there’s one thing I can’t do, it’s play instruments. I tooted the recorder in elementary school, I tried the soprano saxophone in middle school, and I think my mom finally gave up on me in high school. I wish she hadn’t because if there’s one instrument that I’ve always wanted to play like an angel, it’s the piano. My mom is a great piano player — aren’t all moms really great at playing the piano? That’s totally a mom thing, isn’t it? I have great memories of her playing songs from “Phantom of the Opera” and “The Sound of Music” when I was younger. Then again, who wouldn’t want to be just like their biggest and best role model?
my ft.notes 