Sometimes, All It Takes Is A Memory (Or Two)

I'm not sure if it's because of summer finally arriving in all her sunshiney glory, distractions around the house, or general lethargy, but my writing has been unceremoniously shoved onto the back burner lately. And so, this morning, I decided I needed to go on the search for some much-needed inspiration.

Step one, as usual, involved coffee. (Don't judge me. Caffeine sometimes jump starts my brain into that "be creative and funny" space that orange juice just doesn't accomplish.)

Brain cells active after a cup (or two), I sat down at my computer, opened up Spotify, and pulled up my new favorite playlist. It's titled "Take Me Back." And it's filled with 90s radio hits. And it makes me giddy.

2Pac and Green Day and Train...Oh My!

Tunes rockin' from the speakers, I clicked on my internet browser and headed over to Abby Gabs. Confident something blog-worthy would smack me in the face, I opened up a new document. And sat there for 20 minutes, the white page staring starkly at my caffeinated face.

For some reason, in the nano-second before I clicked the red X and gave in to my writer's block for the day, I was struck with the sudden urge to give it one last college try. I took my coffee and headed for one of my several book shelves. And there, on the top shelf, covered in an embarrassing layer of dust, was the book that I thought might solve all my problems.

A graduation gift from a high school sweetheart, and we're back in business, baby!

Filled with faith that Shel would help me out of my writing funk, I wiped the dust from the jacket and headed back to my desk. I began to thumb through the pages, smiling at the pencil sketches, giggling at the silly rhymes. Memories of my younger self, sitting in the floor of my dorm room, this same book in my lap, flooded my brain. I flipped to my favorite poem in the book from memory, barely noticing the small slip of paper that floated down to land in my lap. I wiped a tear away as I read about Deaf Donald:

Source

And then I closed the book. As I stood to return it to the shelf, the slip of paper that had been hiding between the pages fell from my lap to the floor. Curious, I picked it up. And found a carefully preserved, slightly wrinkly artifact from my childhood that stunned me.

It was a ticket stub from the one-and-only New Kids on the Block concert I've ever attended, way back in 1990. I was 9 years old, and I still remember the way my stomach lurched when the house lights went down. I can close my eyes and hear the roar of the teenage crowd as the group took the stage. I remember dancing in the aisles with my little brother, waving our homemade signs around with certainty that they'd be seen. I even remember catching a glance of my parents, smiling and singing along with the music that became the soundtrack for my childhood. It wasn't just a concert, it wasn't just about the boys in ripped jeans.  It was a life experience. And it's one of those memories that I'll always cherish.

As I held the ticket stub in my hand, I wondered how it had wound up hidden between the pages of a book that was given to me at my high school graduation. I trailed my finger along its battered edges, reading every letter of print, marveling that such an insignificant little thing as a used ticket stub could hold so much meaning. I slipped it back between the pages of Silverstein, marking the page for Deaf Donald, and cradled the book in my arms as I took it back to the book shelf in my bedroom. And knew that each time I passed that book on my way to bed each night, at least for a little while, I would smile with the knowledge that it was there, hidden among the words that had inspired me for much of my life.

And suddenly, a blog was born.

Confusion: A Lack of Clearness Or Distinctness

There are a lot of things about life that don't make much sense to me. I could list hundreds of them. 


For example, I don't understand the importance of learning calculus. In the grand scheme of things, only about 1.7 percent of us will ever apply calculus in the real world. (I made up that stat. Not because I'm too lazy to research it, but because math makes my face hurt, so I just make up numbers willy-nilly. I choose to believe it's use of my writer's licence.)


I also don't understand why coffee from a Keurig tastes so much better than coffee from a regular coffee maker. (I don't have to understand it. I just have to enjoy it.)


You can just color me confused when it comes to the following things:  the media, how they get the little marble in the spray paint can, the process of bread-making, most conservative politicians, and the purpose of the M+/M- key on a calculator. Oh, and can someone please tell me who first looked at this weird fruit and decided it was probably edible?

I look at it and think, "ALIEN!!!"  (source)

(That's a Rambutan, apparently. Grown predominately in Malaysia. It's name literally means "hairy." Ew.)


Anyway, I spend a lot of my time scratching my head, pondering the universe, how it works, and why people do and say the things they do and say. Usually, I can come up with a plausible reason for something. Occasionally, I have to throw in the towel and just "agree to disagree." 


But sometimes, something is so mind-bogglingly confusing that I just can't stop obsessing about the reason for its existence.


Case in point: the poke app on Facebook.

Hi. I'm your friend. And I'm going
to virtually poke you in the eye now.  (Source)

For the life of me, I cannot figure out why this social media megalord feels the need to revert us all back to kindergarten--the only time in our lives when "poking" is socially acceptable behavior. Once upon a time, while wandering back to your classroom after lunch, a poke was like a hello, how are ya, how's your family.  As adults? It's likely to start a fight. 


Seriously. Think about it. When was the last time somebody poked you (since you turned 6) that wasn't the beginning of a fight?


(Yes, tickle fights count.)


Let me just put it this way. Poke fights landed my brother and I in big trouble when we were kids. And my mom didn't mess around. We didn't get sent to our rooms or grounded or beat with a broom. When Adam and I were fighting with each other, we were forced to sit on the couch, side-by-side, holding hands.


Which is why I only ever poke him on Facebook now. 


It's like long-distance sibling rivalry.


Oh, wow. I totally just figured out the purpose of the Facebook poke app. Gee, blogging is so enlightening, isn't it?

Love Expressions

My husband and I share the kind of relationship that tends to cause reactions. If you're a hopeless romantic, you'll think we're adorable, bordering on saccharine sweet. If you're a member of the "I Hate Lovey Dovey Couples" club, you'll most likely gag and look away.


Those who know us have witnessed this first hand. We text each other constantly throughout the day, we have silly little sayings and phrases we use, and we don't hesitate to be affectionate in front of other people. I'm not saying we suck face in public (much), I'm just saying that it's apparent to anyone around us that we're not just married, we're not just in love, we are two halves that make a whole.


Expressing my feelings came very easy to me from a young age. Being surrounded by love does that to a person. One of my fondest memories is sitting on my grandfather's lap, singing "A Bushel and a Peck." (<---not me, but she's rootin' tootin' adorable)

My Paw.

I was very young, but I remember the smell of his cologne, the way his laugh sounded. And feeling utterly and completely cherished. Not every child gets to belong to a family that makes them feel that way. I was lucky enough to have it, and I never take it for granted.


My parents were always very affectionate with me as well. I wasn't the kid who shied away from kissing my Mom in the mornings when she dropped me off at school. I adored my father, and all my friends knew it. When my brother and I would get into a fight, we weren't sent to separate rooms to fume. Mom would put us on the couch and force us to hold hands. (Yes, it was a small torture.) But by the end of it all, we'd put away our mad, and inevitably would end up giggling and poking fun at each other again. Love was just the way our world worked.


By the time I met my husband, I'd been through some heartaches--the kind every young girl goes through in the act of searching for love. I'd become a little more reserved in how I tossed around the "L" word. I held it close to the vest, and didn't use it for just anyone. When I felt myself falling for B, I remember feeling exhilarated, but also leery. Would this be for good? Or would he break me the way the others had? I held back for days before telling him how I felt, and when I did, he expressed his feelings for me as honestly as he could.

We've held onto that honesty, that simplicity, in the years since. And we share our feelings in as many different ways as we can think of...text messages, emails, notes and letters and cards. 

Translation, coming soon.

When you're young, and in love, and still have a bit of that hopeless romantic inside, you tend to get creative with love expressions. Brian brought "I Love You To the Moon and Back" to the party. I channeled that feeling from the memory with my grandfather and added "With a Bushel and a Peck and a Hug Around the Neck" to the mix. The ever popular phrase "No Take Backs" from our childhood was added, along with the ever-popular Buzz Lightyear phrase, "To Infinity and Beyond." Now, our daily love expression, which we have learned to abbreviate (shown above) is: "I love you to the moon and back, with a bushel and a peck and a hug around the neck, NO TAKE BACKS!, oodles and oodles and oodles, The End, That's All Folks."


You may think it's cute. You may think it's vomit worthy. But...it's how our marriage works. I want him to know, without a shadow of a doubt, every single day, that I'm madly in love with him. Just like I know, without a shadow of a doubt, every single day, that he's madly in love with me.


That became even more important last year when we discovered Brian's cancer. The moment we didn't think we'd have to face until we were old and grey was pushed in our faces before we'd had a chance to really live. When you're faced with the possibility of losing the person who fills your life with light, everything else in the world falls away. The most important thing, above anything else, becomes making certain that your person knows the very essence of the feelings you have for them. And in those moments, more often than not, the words and phrases and notes and text messages aren't needed. 


For 17 terrifying days, and 17 sleepless nights, my entire existence was about holding his hand. Watching him worry. Pushing my love toward him, around him, into him. To buoy him up, to give him something to latch on to. To help him survive.


And on that 18th day, when the sun rose and the tumor was out and the doctors said he wasn't just fine, he was remarkable, we were surrounded by that love. And we smiled.


Our love expressions remind us to never take it, all of it, for granted. So yeah, it's a little silly. And it's a little excessive. But now that the storm has passed, it feels good to be silly, and excessive, and more in love than ever before.

For B.

Sunday Funnies

When I was a kid, Sunday mornings were reserved for three things: 1) the Family Breakfast Smorgasbord--scrambed eggs, bacon, fruit salad, homemade biscuits, cheesy grits and orange juice--2) Bugs Bunny and Friends, and 3) reading the paper with my Daddy.


Now, these memories are from when I was probably about 8 years old, so I don't think I was reading the Finance section of the Salisbury Post. But Daddy would spread the paper out on the coffee table, and I would snuggle up beside him on the couch, him with the sports section, me with the Sunday funnies. 


It's one of my fondest memories.


So Sundays on Abby Gabs will be dedicated to comic strips that make me laugh. And make me reminisce about my childhood Sunday mornings--the smell of bacon cooking, the sound of the tinny music of the cartoon in the background, and the feeling of absolute security and love in those special moments spent with my father.


Without further ado, our first Sunday Funnies feature, and just in time for Valentine's Day: Pearls Before Swine. (Click the picture to see the comic in it's original size, especially if you need glasses to see anything bigger than 24 sized font, like me.)

For more comic-y goodness, visit www.comics.com!