Lost and Found

Lost.  The end. The beginning. The experience.

Yes, we did have a Lost party.  Yes, we did watch the two hour review just prior to Lost that helped build up the Lost excitement. We also watched the hour after Lost where they interview the Cast, but most importantly we watched the two and a half hours of the episode where all was not revealed - or was it?

After being enthralled with direct Lost quotations for over five hours straight, it's no surprised that after I went home and attempted to sleep my dreams were vividly controlled by Lostmania. As I lay in bed, after consuming way too much junk food and a Monster Java, my brain refused to turn off and I found pieces of the Lost puzzle floating around in my mind. The answers all seemed there if only I was conscious enough to put them together. 

Something was telling me how important Lost was.  How important was it?  No idea, but in my dream Lost was the asnwer to everything, the ending was the key to all the questions of humanity. In a Matrix-esque ending I was left to ponder on the meaning of life, death and the world in between.

What has Lost left us with? (*spoiler alert* I think) The idea that all of us could die and continue living and experiencing things such as vivid as pain, love and heartbreak can be both intimidating and relieving.  I like to think that all emotion doesn't end when we die.  Death for me has been a mixture of a friend and foe, something I've longed and dreaded when things have become extremely difficult.  Lost seemed to open the possibilities that there is something there and it might be something we have never realized but might actually have to work for and come to love.  All of the couples at the end were happy with the person they found, (after?) they died. It was as though in life they couldn't discover them in the way they were meant to and so in death they were led to them, someone they could be happy with and learn to truly love.  I guess it gives me hope in some strange silly way that the fear of death isn't necessary  if it's just another kind of life.

I wasn't happy with the ending at first, it left so many questions - Michael and Walt? What was up with them?  Why were the others after the children all the time?  What was up with the golden showers (he he)?  Why the Jacob vs. Smoke Monster story?  Was it all just a spiritual manipulation created to force people like Jack and Locke to believe in something greater than themselves?  Was it all just a tool to test the existence of faith in each person? To see at what point they would believe or give up?

And then, the question is, did they leave all the questions unanswered so that we could interpret everything in our own way?  Are we meant to apply the island to ourselves personally...to examine what impossible feats seem required for us to accomplish? To believe in? Are we are very own smoke monsters? Our own Jacobs?  And do we fight amongst ourselves, trying to release or contain the bad?  I'd like to think we are.  The idea of placing ourselves in a situation that will test us in ways we never see coming is the very essence of Lost, and it makes us think outside the box in a new way for every new episode.

I hate to claim such a blasphemy, but in many ways it seems that God has done the same to us.  We all are on our little island, fighting the "others" that we see, trying to determine who we can trust and who is looking to betray us. What we determine is ultimate evil (smoke monster) we discover may have a story of their own, and our reactions to it could be good or bad.  Yes, we all believe that Jack was good throughout, but he seemed to make stupid decisions sometimes.  He was too faithful at points (the bomb - "none of us can die") and not faithful enough at times ("the island has chosen you"). Aren't we all that way?  Do we learn to over-apply faith sometimes and under-apply it other times? I know sometimes I do.  Sometimes there is that constant reassurance "everything will be okay, that doesn't matter" that makes me placated, and I have to force myself to fight for something instead of become dormant. Other times I'm so full of doubt that I just want to roll up into a ball and forget that I'm even alive.

In the background there is always the belief that I'm special, but someone seems to be arguing with me in my head.  My smoke monster says "no, no one is special, that's just a cheat to make you believe in something" and my Jacob "No, you were meant to be here, you are a candidate, you are special"...

They are Always fighting.

I am Always Lost,

Just waiting to be Found.

Maybe it's just about finding myself...

A Day in the Life of a Crazy Woman...

It really isn't too far away, I thought to myself as I grabbed my purse, daughter and iPod and got in the car.  The nearest Grocery Store was only a few blocks away and I just wanted something quick - milk, carrots and cookies, yummy! I put on my sunglasses and turned on the car, contemplating which direction to take.  I was terrified of being seen at the local grocery store, but driving seven miles to not been seen seemed a little crazy. I could pop into the local gas station, but they were so overpriced.  Maybe I could wear a hoody and no one would realize it was me.

I made my way the entire six blocks and parked between two other cars so no one would realize I was there.  Damn that I had a stupid snow rack on my car, I was so easily identifiable. I parked and quickly jumped out in one of those wanna-be-ninja moves, nearly running into my own car in an attempt to get around it and followed closely by my trotting six-year-old.

We wandered through the aisles as quickly as possible, an arm popping out now and then to grab the necessary items. Maybe my sunglasses would hide me from someone - just a delusional hope that gave a mild amount of security.

And then..

There she was - someone I knew. I barely caught her out of the corner of my eye and kept walking, attempting to make a strategic movement around the tiny store without being seen by her. I reorganized the items in the basket on my arm, hiding the cookies and ice cream so no one would see them. I checked both sides of the open aisle before walking in, dragging my distracted child along with me.

So far so good, she had been in the hygiene section checking out shampoos - I should be safe.  I skittled into the nearest checkout counter, positioning myself so that she wouldn't be able to see me over the gum kiosk. Luckily, I was short so she probably wouldn't be able to see me behind it. I loaded all my food on the moving counter, junk food first so it would be the first to be bagged. I held my breath.

My daughter was chatting something to me about kittens or gum, but I wasn't paying attention, Starring forward, I focused on my peripherials. Please let me get out of here before she stops looking at her shampoo bottle! An older man steps in line behind me, at least my rear is protected now.

No!

I could see her over the top of the aisle. It had to be her, she had been the only customer on that side of the store, and her wavy gray and white hair was unmistakable. Shit! What now? I could feel myself cowering as she made her way to the counter.  When surrounded one only has so many options. All of a sudden I was totally engrossed in my debit card - look at the pretty colors on the label, see how it shines when the light hits it? So pretty!

Only a minute more and my groceries would be safely tucked away in my bag and I could run...er...walk ever-so-calmly back into my car.  I was starring forward now, what a lovely cashier, how perfect of a smile, these bags were so white, how nice everything was. I could only put it off for so long though...

That dirty whore. Can you believe this is where she is? After what she did to my husband, I can barely endure the sight of her! And look, she's bought cookies and ice cream. Ha, fat cow.  I thought she was trying to lose weight.  Some good that will do her, she's just like her mother, fat and useless. I can't believe my husband was ever involved with her. 

I could tell that's what she was thinking.  Her words were coming at me as though bricks were being thrown at my head. All the words seemed to be brimming out now, but I had to ignore them, long enough to escape.

Skank

Breathe. It will go away. I grabbed my bags, almost making good my escape when my six-year-old smiles and points.  I can't ignore it, that would be too rude.  I breathe in deeply, cringe and turn around.  There she is.  I fake a small smile and nearly unidentifiable wave, and see her return one of the same degree. Doomed.  I failed utterly in the attempt to pretend she wasn't there and that the voices in my head didn't remind me how much she must hate me.  Or worse.  Maybe I wasn't even good enough to hate.

I scurry out of the grocery store, breathing hard and trying to shove down the feelings that are emerging. One of the top fifty people I didn't want to see on a daily basis.  Can't wait for Sunday where I get to see twenty more of them.

People wonder why I hate church, why I hate people, why I shop online. I don't hate church or people, I just hate the voices in my head that remind me of how much I deserve to be hated.

Cappuccino Is My Best Friend

This is an image that keeps me sane and holy in this world - the cappuccino I had this morning.  Sadly, it wasn't a Starbucks *tear*, but it was quite tasty. Despite the gas valve on my car not clicking off while I was getting it, therefore flooding the ground with $15 of unused gas - a small part of me still believes it was worth it.

Now, after being up since 4:30, devouring a cappuccino and a Mt. Dew, I can feel the caffeine high dripping slowly out of my system, leaving my arms limp and sleepy.  Yes, my arms get sleepy, they didn't get enough rest last night and are very sensitive to moonlight. (similar to werewolves, but not as hairy)

This Writing Conference is long...really really long.  I have precisely 8 minutes before the 3rd Workshop and all I really want to do is find my hotel room and curl up in my bed.  Do I want to fix all 98 problems from the two pages of my story, that we critiqued around 7 am this morning?  Not in the least.  Do I ever want to look at my story again? I'm having my doubts.  Did the five minute inspirational Powerpoint they showed at 11 am help inspire me to become Legendary - yes, but I'll think about that tomorrow :P Damn, I may need another soda to keep me alive for the next two hours...two hours...TWO HOURS...how will I ever survive? :P

J/K - I'm lovin' it! *wink* :P

There's Something About Maud...

When I was nine years old my mother bought me the Anne of Green Gables bookset. She was excited over the idea that I read it, although she had never read it herself.  I suspect she thought it would be nice to get me involved with the classics.  I picked up the first book and read a few pages...dull...boring.  I put it down.
Over the next few months I remember picking up the book and starring at the girl with freckles and long red braids and thinking how utterly happy she looked - cheesy even. Not my kind of book.  Too many words.  When I was five I had furiously fought against reading and although it was four years later, a book of an entire 307 pages seemed like an eternity. I shook my head, I would likely never come to understand why the red-headed girl was so happy.

Sometime later I picked up the book and started reading.  Before I knew it I was half-way through the book, laughing over the most common of bonds - school, friendships, crushes.  This was my world, but in a most softer calmer tone.  It was wholesome and told of days when women wore aprons and girls had braids in their hair and had to wear hats to "keep their complexion", something I surmised must have been their skin-color.  The world of Anne opened up wide for me, embracing me in the arms of a childhood that no longer existed.  I was homeschooled in fear of government propaganda and potential kidnapping.  My family was paranoid the end of the world was coming, but somehow in this lovely world the people had no fears like that.  They worried over things like their hens not laying or their harvest not being gathered.  They were afraid the heathen would die unchristian and had things like collection boxes and foreign missions to Africa.

I came to love Anne in the way she wanted to be loved, for her childhood naivety and her simple love of beauty.  Some have told me Anne of Green Gables was a romance, I laugh at that.  Anne is a true painting of an entire world that doesn't exist.  The books were never solely about Anne...no...no...no, they were about Marilla and her lack of forgiveness, they were about Matthew and his love of solitude, they were about Rachel Lynde and her never-forgotten gossip-lust.  They were about a million other characters, men and women, and their simple natures, their loves and losts, their hates and quarrels, and about a world without TV and Ipods, but also without murder, rape, mutilations and all the other fears that plague us daily.

Over the years, I did become obsessed with Maud.  To this day, those who aren't kindred spirits have still laughed when I tell them my favorite author is Maud, but they are not part of "the race that knows Joseph".  They don't know what Miss Cornelia did after Marshall Elliott cut his hair, or have dreamed of what the long hair of haunting Leslie Moore looked like.  They have never laughed over the funny thought of Gog and Magog flanking the dearest of fireplaces, nor have they thought of Little Nan Blythe crying over the thought that her mother isn't her mother.

Then, they never cried when Matthew died or refused to give up hope when Little Jem went missing.  They never heard the Piper's call or imagine Walter following it.  They never dreamed of the small frog the Japanese Prince gave to Emily or what would have happened if Emily and Teddy had never picked stars together.

Maud's books are romantic, poetic, tragic, dramatic, sweet, sarcastic, but most of all I think of them as real. Her characters lived and breathed somewhere and she understood the human spirit more than any other writer.  I don't believe in love at first sight, but Peter Penhallow and Donna Dark certainly did.   I haven't lived in a lighthouse but I feel as though I've looked out across the sea waiting for Lost Margaret like Captain Jim. I remember Marigold, terrified of great-grandmother, but obediently using her name - Edith.

  Her stories aren't all love stories.  Nothing brings me the aching yearning to just wander the shores and forests of nature like reading a Maud book. Maud isn't a romance - she's a love story - love of life and happiness and LIVING.  What more would Valancy, who understood better than any of us, tell us about life?  "Live every day to the fullest and wait for that bend in the road." That was what Maud wrote about. If I could design heaven it would be the inside of a Maud book.

Chocolate

Aw...yes...the joys of chocolate.

Chocolate and I first became friends when I was a teenager.  As a small child we were mildly acquainted, but the relationship didn't really take off until Aunt Flo came to visit on her regular schedule.  Up until that time Chocolate was just an ordinary treat - I actually had a preference for pink colored ice cream with yellow and blue dots.  The lust for chocolate grew as my taste became more developed.

Lindor balls were my first love affair.  Their hard but creamy outside could easily be smoothed into a delicious liquid of ultimate perfection, cherished for a solid five minutes. After sucking on one the world seemed a better, sweeter, brighter place filled with endless possibilities and hopeful awakenings.  Lindor Balls are one of the greatest chocolate creations - simply perfection.

From there the ripe impression of chocolate became an addiction that was nearly impossible to deny.  On normal days it was just a background voice, calling to me subtly, but as Aunt Flo arrived, a ravenous hunger seemed to come with her, and both of us would frantically search the halls of the local supermarket, unearthing quarters within the confines of the couch just to feed the craving beast.

Since then chocolate refreshments seem almost a requirement, but more forms are now permitted.  Ranging from the cheap and icky (snickers bar) to the more refined and elegant (ferrer rochers) chocolate in most of its forms can be consumed for the survival of all womankind out there. This relationship has been considered sacred since the dawn of time (or at least the 20th Century).  Guilt is a necessary part of this relationship, we all know that without it Chocolate wouldn't taste so good. 

Brushing Your Teeth

The weirdest thing happened to me today.  I went to go pick up my toothbrush and as I did, I consciously looked at all the toothbrushes in our toothbrush holder and realized I didn't distinctly remember which was mine.  The one I grabbed I hoped was mine, I recognized it, but I wasn't certain.  I felt as though the toothbrush gods were trying to leave a veil over my mind and the memories my brush and I shared together were gone forever.  Then I remembered that was definitely my toothbrush.

Apples...

Today, I'm going to be blogging about Apples.  Apples are not one of my favorite fruits.  They are probably not even one of my top five favorite fruits, but they look simply lovely in this picture.  I think apples, especially large ones are far too large for one sitting.  I find that I usually have to cut them in pieces and share them with my daughter (or guinea pigs, who simply love them). I do enjoy them with peanut butter (something that was introduced to me, not by my peanut butter loving father, but from one of my best friends when I was in my twenties (I was truly awed by the goodness thereof).  I do like them cut up and put in pancakes occasionally, and I also like them with cinnamon. Generally though, I much prefer peaches.