First Post

I honestly never thought I'd tryout a blog, but here I am! Thanks to my long-lost friend who I recently just found again, after 14 long years of missing her.

What kind of rambling thoughts will I write about? Life stories. The past. The present.

Recently I've started a new hobby of genealogy, and it's really reinforced the importance of family history to me. I would love to be able to read stories of my ancestors written in their own words...and hopefully some day stories of my life will be interesting to my children and their children.

I enjoy looking back to more innocent times, as I can see myself with two completely different sets of eyes: the eyes of a child, and the eyes of an adult. I cherish that child's point of view, and I don't want to forget it.

An example that leaps to mind is a memory from when I was about 4-or-5 years old. We (my parents and I) lived in a small two-bedroom apartment in Indiana at that time. One of my favorite things was a large turquoise-blue tricycle...it was definitely larger than an average tricycle because even at that age my dad had to duct-tape wooden blocks to the pedals for me to reach them with my feet, and I was quite tall for my age.

Anyway, there wasn't much room to ride it around in front of our apartment, so mom would take me one street over and walk beside me as I rode. There was a hill at one point, and I would insist that she hold on to the back of the seat so I wouldn't roll down it too fast, which terrified me.

One day...she let go. I screamed like a banshee all the way down that hill at breakneck speed, trees, mail boxes and flowerbeds rushing by me in a blur of color. I coasted to a stop at the bottom, sobbing hysterically. My mom caught up and comforted me, although I could tell she was hiding her amusement at my stark terror.

Years later as an adult, I revisited the site of that horrible memory. I fully expected to see a hill of enormous proportions...a steep and treacherous grade. Instead, I found a slight little decline in the blacktop road. I laughed out loud, it had seemed like such a big hill when I was a kid! No wonder Mom had been so amused at my reaction. (She later admitted that she did it on purpose! Oh, the betrayal!)

That little hill has ended up being a sort of metaphor for my life. Obstacles that seem so big and terrifying, things that feel like I'll never conquer them, end up looking quite small and harmless once enough time has passed and I have more experience and wisdom on my side.

Of course...knowing that doesn't make new obstacles seem any less threatening in the moment.

Ah...so there you go. My first post.

Pamela