the stubborn one

she doesn't have facebook, she probably has never heard of blogger or something i like to call sarandipity. she doesn't drive, nor like too much TV.  vocabulary is an outlet just like the cross puzzles she loves so, and for this...home i go. okay, enough with the rhyming. poetry was never my thing.

family is an interesting thing, a complex thing. just because someone is family does not mean that you need to get along. it doesn't mean that you need to be as close as the sand and the sea, or the cake and the icing. it means that through blood you are connected. it means you have similar genetic make up. hell, maybe it's your hips, eyes, nose or feet and well sometimes it can be nothing more than just that. i feel as though every family has a story. perhaps it is made up of an individual that may be a thorn in ones side, or simply presents challenges too great to mask. one cannot choose their family, it is god's plan for whose presence we are blessed with enough to share a name. so, get over it.

now, with all of that said, family can be just the opposite if you're lucky. i, i am lucky.

i have women in my life that are special, unique and incredibly similar to me. similar in mannerism, similar in thought, similar in attitude and similar in anxiety level. thank you family genes! sure, there are fabulous men in my life, family alike sure, but that can be for another post. there are women in my life particularly that i am very thankful for. i am blessed to call them my own.... as in, family.

i have an amazing mom. kind, gentle, passionate, slightly crazed ;), and very pretty...among other things of course. i have an aunt who is strong, sarcastic, honest, stressed but ever classy. i have a best friend who is well, the best rock a girl could ask for, need i say more? i have a godmother who is special, contagiously funny, slightly laid back and ever supportive. i have one grandmother who is delicate, quiet and simply elegant, timeless if you will. this of course brings me to my other grandmother, my mom-mom if i may...
before i give insight into this amazing woman, i have two quotes which stare me in the face every day as i log onto my computer...both from exact times i couldn't tell you, but they made such an impact at that moment that i needed to write them down to remember forever;

"I told you, go for what you want. Don't let people sway you. People may try and stop you, because they think that have a better idea, but don't forget you have good ideas too"

"Like my grandmother used to say to me... if you knew how hard you were going to fall, you would just sit down"

this woman is raw in her honesty, strong in her drinks and her wisdom is something i aspire to portray as i age. she is humble. and, IF you listen closely, you can get a glimpse into a world that is vivid and told from experiences i cannot completely grasp. she is southern slow and northern "matter of fact". she is to me, the best kind of family. the kind of family that marries the meaning of what family CAN be, IF you let it.  i see myself in her craziness, her stress and her strong passion for things she can only voice. and well, i love her. deeply.

so with a little insight into that unspoken bond between a woman and the women in her life, there is a granddaughter and grandmother that make family all it CAN be and i couldn't be more blessed to have her call me, her own. her first. always.

so home i go, and not for anything more but a little family time. much needed family time.

my 25th year...

[stream of consciousness post - beware]

holy shit. my 25th year begins tomorrow. 10:43a i think it is...dad would know, apparently the "trophy" the hospital gave him which sits proudly on dresser display states the date, time and weight...regardless, my 25th year. no, this doesn't mean i'm turning 25...and for all of you who may be confused by this, don't feel bad because is spent 23 of my wise years arguing with a man who insisted that at the last blow of a birthday candle, he would state "now you're going on your X year"....[what the eff?] this was only to be returned by a confused and puzzled face. thanks dad!

well, now, i get it. and, well, i'm going on my 25th year. holy fuck! that is a quarter century. that's 1/4th the way to 100! and hell, if i live to 100...bahah! yeah right. sorry, pardon the french.

now, at 25 where did i want to be? i'm sure it crossed my my adolescent brain that i wanted to be a home owner, probably married and living happily with a puppy and traveling the world.... well, maybe not the world but at least be well traveled. god, what was i thinking? good joke sar.

so...uh, where am i in comparison? let's take a look. and puhlease, this is no pity party, i promise!
i  say this because yes, i realize that the blog can be semi negative and a little bit of a debbie downer, but tough.. sometimes i wanna be a debbie downer. and...it's my birthday so there! (nanny nanny boo boo! *sticks tongue out*)

anyway, I am not a homeowner. I have simply spent thousands in shitty shitty rentals. i am not married, not married in the least. i am in a long-term relationship with no ending date or place in sight. perfect...not. I do not have a puppy.  welp, tried at least, but that fell through.  i have not traveled the world. i am not very good flyer, i have found that heights and well, lack of control aren't really my thing.

welp...

anyway, when it think 25, i think fabulous! i think fun! i think pretty! and i think composed! now, i can absolutely have that...just gotta get some things figured out. pretty par for the course, so cheers to that...oh and i'm not 25, i'm only 24, well, soon...so that means i get an extra year to do just that, right? the confusion continues.

oh and i've heard the 30's are the best anyway. so, 20's you're overrated. *rolls eyes*

something about a

there is something about a funeral. there is something about a place in time where life stands still. where life as we all know it sits in a purgatory of sorts, yet not of the one that has passed but to those that have to say good bye. interestingly enough, this purgatory of sorts is not a place of loneliness or solitude. it is a place, in this instance at a funeral where a generational timeline is seen and support runs rampant.


i open by saying that my thoughts and prayers are with those that have loved and lost, those that hurt and that will continue to search for what may grant them serenity in times of need and may they find what you are looking for.


i have seen my fair share of pain. i have witnessed and felt loss at many levels. i have collapsed to my knees in grief and i have stood strong in support. and, with all of these experiences under my belt, i have yet to feel or think like i have recently upon the loss of another.

as the line creeps and tears are swept aside, i begin to contemplate the moments and the time that has been placed in front of me. usually in instances like this, one is captivated by thoughts of what to say, how it may relate, how to act, or even where to sit. however, perhaps considering my presence is more as support, i can't help but relate on a level of observation.

condolences are shared, and hugs are exchanged. we sit. silent. anxiousness continues to fester.

i cannot help but scan the beautiful church pews. one by one, each person with a different connection. each experiencing loss on a different level. each coping with a distance they have no means to control. each struggling in a silent fight. the doors close and we rise to our feet. the atmosphere is tense, heavy. i am stuck in a moment watching the pain that deafens the room of a husband who has lost his HS sweetheart, a son who is numb, a fiancé who can only be so strong and lastly, a mother. a mother who is sickened with grief, who's face is tired and heart is broken. i am immediately humbled by their loss and i begin to think about generations.

here you have a husband who has lost his pillar, his partner, his wife and a son who's only woman in his life has up until this point been his mother. now, in such turn of tragic events a son is left clinging to his fiancé, and a father is left alone with no shoulder to turn too or cheek to comfort. and i turn to see what had hit me so hard... a mother, there's a mother who has no lessons to teach or guidance to give, yet is being taught the most difficult lesson life can give.

its stunning while looking across a church with choral hymns being sung at perfect poise and with such robust emotion i am able to capture so many  thoughts. in these moments,  it's as if there is no sound coming from any of those who's tears seem to shatter to the floor. its a silent pain that each person is dealing with differently and as they grasp to the person next to them for support, there is a father and a husband who is left gripping the pew in front of him, defeated. her absence has left him alone, with the support and love of many yet the comfort of the one no longer to be found. its as if there has been a generational gap. his partner in this time frame is being "woken from her sleep" and he is left clinging for strength. meanwhile, his son is left to look towards the only other woman in his life who fits the perfect mold. and a mother is left hanging to what remains.

life is precious and can be touched in so many ways. it is through experiencing things like this as an observer that i am humbled and reminded of what it means to be loved, what it means to love, and how strong it really can be to have both. it is through pain that strength is found and through life that love can exist and after another unfortunate reminder, i find that there is something about life that becomes more valued, even in the wake of death.

the perfect hug

a hug from my dad is one of my favorite things in life. my dads hugs are warm, strong, long and well, if you don't mind me saying,  he gives "the perfect hug". they are the best prescription to any little girls heartache, headache, annoyance or frustration. they are the best remedy for whatever is unwavering. and i mean, whatever is unwavering. so through bad grades, fights with friends, stress at work or an absent heart, this quick fix is always one for the book.

sure as hell better than any little pill...

with my dad being a big guy he tends to wrap his whole heart, soul, arms, chest and body into his hugs... at least with me. my dad is one  of those people who is real with what he shows... anger and love alike. equal passion in both are very evident. however, with that said, i think as his daughter i can speak on behalf of something no one else can. a dads hug, my dads hugs more specifically are unlike any other.

these things are incredible. they are encompassing, almost filling and well, at times they even make it hard to breath (the good kind of course). sure, it might be my awkward height and his strong arms, or well... that he will say things like "harder!" and squeezes until my face is red,  if for some reason he can't feel the real-ness, yah know, can't feel that i'm showing him the love he may deserve in that moment.  his hugs are just long enough to make a girl who has been so far away, feel right at home... no matter the zip code of which they may take place.  sometimes i think the strength behind them is to make up for all of those times as a little girl he literally would have strangled me if he'd hugged as hard as he does now.. so maybe he is just making up for lost time? his hugs symbolize comfort, security and love as they should, because after all...a girls dad always provides big shoes to fill. (especially with hugs like his)

so, i thought it best to share that i admire that... i love that my dad actually calls me out (to no ones surprise i'm sure) if the hug is not up to par. i'm thankful that he has and always will force a better hug...because, sometimes...all you need is a hug from your dad.

ps. i'd love a hug from my dad.
goodnight.

Europe

what is it about Europe? is it old world charm? cobble streets shimmering after an afternoon rain? is it the lovely pubs that line the streets or is it simply the history, or well, the style? you know THAT style. what is it about Europe that has us Americans so wound up and excited? even i have a soft spot in my brain and maybe my heart for a place that i have never been. sure, i have experienced it through friends studying abroad or well, facebook. but, what is it about across the pond that allows for such an idealistic thought of.."oh, i could live in that cottage with that super tiny fridge and no oven! it would be charming!"....uh? no. doubt it.

regardless, London, home of the 2012 summer Olympics and an absolutely perfect backdrop for all of those wanna visit, yummy pub and oh the beautiful pictures i could take thoughts. it makes for a little bit of jealousy when seeing those who are working the summer Olympics, literally getting to experience something unlike no other. but, with great experiences comes cost, and with cost comes bills and with bills come stress. and with that, comes my mindset. oops, just call me debbie.

surely it will be great to experience those things on my own time, because mark my words, i will. and until then we have the Olympics. a global combination of athleticism, patriotism, pride and respect...a wonder to watch from afar. and until my trip across the pond, i will find comfort in the fact that things won't be overpriced due to the Olympics being in town. #win #alwaysthinking

The iconic phone booth, oh and big ben!

a little irish man, oh wait, i mean pub! 

Real life castle...duh.

U-S-A!

down by the sea shore

There is something interesting, captivating even about the beach, or better yet the shore. Those who know me best know that the beach is a place that makes me feel whole. It's the perfect spot for just about anything and is always a safe haven whenever one may need. [if you haven't sat on a lifeguard stand during sunset, you have not lived. #markmywords]

The beach is great for many things including relaxing, thinking, tanning, crying, swimming or just plain people watching.  with that said, there is one thing that is specifically interesting to me about sand lined shores. This would have to be people's need to shell search. Little girls, teens, moms and grandmothers alike are drawn to them.

I absolutely love watching people scour the sand in search for that perfect shell or even better yet, an LBI piece of sea glass. Some carry plastic bags and pick very carefully, others dig their hands in, do a little shake and wash, and then just stare at the wonder that is in front of them, wishing for the chance at hitting the shell jackpot. you know the kind...a full conch shell, or a beautiful purple clam.

you see, not everyone who shell searches is a crafter or even an avid collector. not everyone really even needs them, or will have a place for them once the day comes to a close. however the urge to pick up and collect these small treasures is like an act the arm can't control. It's amazing to me that no matter what the age, shell searching makes you feel like that little ponytail kid you once were. It has a sense of youth attached to it unlike anything else. It's romantic, addicting even. quite honestly, it is the perfect remedy for when you are indeed 23 and well, just want to feel like that little kid back on the beach, ready to show your small discovery to mom or dad...a very proud moment for sure....you know the kind.

so, with that, happy shell searching.

pen and paper

i used to write in notebooks, college ruled and metal bound. i used to write when it was a rough day, i was upset or even when i just simply had something to say and didn't want to tell a single soul. it was therapeutic. kind of like what a blog has become, however the trick with the blog is that you open up the pages for people to see.

you see, this is all very very different from the notebook sheets i'd tear up and throw out in thought of some one catching a glimpse at something that i wouldn't dare say in person. it was just something that served as an outlet however i have found that outlets in a hometown were in abundance where has here, not so much. hence, the blog.. i guess? i have wanted so much to find a spot, find a windy road or a "wawa" that i could drive too just to, well, just to drive too. i have wanted to find a parking spot, or a park that is safe and serene for when its too early to go to bed, but too late to well, do anything else to just sit, windows down, rain or shine.  i find myself in this in between phase where i could probably go to the gym, but already went in the morning. i don't want to go to work well because i spent 10 hours there already, and i don't want to go to the store and shop, well, because i have no money... and well., gas is too expensive to drive to the beach whenever I'm restless. so, insert blog.

now, problem with that is that i could get gritty, nasty, super sappy and even too miserable at times for a blog...hence why good ole pen and paper is still best. so, now, the question is does it have the same effect as it did years ago... is it as therapeutic to pick up a pen, tear out a piece of wrinkled paper from a bound back notebook and just write. not tell a story, not reflect on something that you had experienced during the day...no. just. write. the best kind of writing is unguarded, its unhabitual and it is natural, something that i have found is the opposite of an every day blog post.

sure, when it just comes to you, it can be good.. kind of like those really good songs that just hit an artist, but, for the average sally like myself, it can be taxing. it invokes a thought process, like eh, should i REALLY put that out there? should i actually be saying this? i mean, its the internet, and well.. there are people that i work with that have the ability to click and walk into Sara's world...scary part, i'd have no idea.. i'd have absolutely know idea that if when i saw Mary or Harry they had the night before read every little word and judged till there was nothing else to judge. yet, wouldn't say a word too you about it anyway... kind of scary right? yeah, i think so too.

but, maybe thats the rewarding apart about getting older, getting more comfortable and well, being true to yourself. sure, a pen and a paper is always good, and probably always best, but a free form of thought which could be shared or interpreted will serve a purpose bigger than i may really know, and that is kind of cool. so as i sit here, too early to go to bed, and too late to go to the only other place where the shoe fits (wonder where that is?)... i find myself tearing out a piece of paper and clicking  a pen..... however, today, the keyboard just felt like a better fit.

reminded me of a song: Anna Nalick, Breathe. perfect for pen and paper, but when you don't know the rest, a blog post will do. am i right ashley kunkle? ;)

"cus these words are my diaries screaming out loud and i know that you'll use them however you want too.."