Teachers

I really appreciate that my parents were well spoken and well educated. And even though I complain about not being able to draw or maybe write stories, I am able to express myself in rambling posts like these pretty well. It's also a therapeutic way for me to focus my thoughts and it relieves some anxieties.

I love that when I was young they didn't simplify or dumb things down for me but made sure I could understand. If there was a word I didn't know, I was always encouraged to ask and when I needed a definition, I got the dictionary version and not the thesaurus version. I was explained what the word meant, how to use it, where it came from. So I could use it again on my own. I won't lie and say that I always appreciate this, or that there weren't times I rolled my eyes and snapped "just tell me what it means!" But I can absolutely look back and see where my talent, we'll call it, for expressing myself came from.

I was also encouraged to do just that, express myself, when I was angry and all I wanted to do was shout "Nevermind" or "Whatever" or "I hate you!" I was encouraged to take a deep breath and explain what was going on. What I wanted. When I wanted to go to a friend's house but this would require a drive into town, I didn't always get a yes right away. Sometimes I had to make a case for why my dad, on his Saturday off from work, one of 2 days of the week he didn't have to make the commute into town, why he should make that drive just so I could spend a couple hours dressing up and giggling at Emma's house. The poor man, I guess it was his desire to raise smart, well spoken children, but it must have been exhausting hearing "Oh my god, NEVERMIND, I'll sit in my room ALONE!" and still calmly (not always ;-P) explaining that he wasn't saying no, but that I had to make my case. ... Oh crap! Maybe he was trying to make lawyers out of us... and instead he got a teacher, an economist and a veterinary technician... oh sigh.

But really, it wasn't just my dad, I had a lot of incredible teacher types in my life, my mom was just as smart, and well spoken, and so easy to talk to. I had a wonderful care taker, Sandra, who always encouraged make believe, story telling and reading. Parents of close friends and extended family, too. Wow, how blessed I am to have been raised like that, in such a loving environment where education, whether in school or out, was so highly valued. I guess this may be sounding a little cheesy but its something I guess I don't think about too much because that was my life, I didn't know another kind. But I get annoyed with people on the phone, who ask questions I think they should know the answer to if they have a lick of common sense, and then I worry, "God, do these people have kids?" What are they missing out on because nobody taught their parents any better? Now, I know I sound judgmental and that's why I'll stop at that, but I am reminded on a semi-regular basis that I am who I am and where I am, because of the people who helped raise me, and to them I am forever grateful.

Falling Short..

Blagh, do you ever feel like despite your best efforts you always fall a little short... or maybe a lot short. I seem to be capable of dreaming big things, beautiful stories, awe inspiring images but when I attempt to bring them to fruition, I fall so, so short. I don't know that I find much else, more infuriating. On a daily basis I can't quite put what I'm meaning to say into words, but on a slightly less regular basis, I attempt projects that just fall short of what I was hoping for. Now, I realize this sounds very pitiful and a little like I'm whining, but it really does bother me on a pretty deep level. I do wonder though, if most of the time, the reason things don't look like they should, or when they don't on the first try, I give up out of laziness, and really, with a bit more patience I could make something half decent out of what I've started. But I also feel a little bit trapped by my lack of skill, I'd give anything to be really good at one thing, maybe drawing, painting, or even writing, to get across the things I'm thinking, not because I think they are earth shattering-ly profound, but because maybe it could help someone else understand what's going on in their mind, or help them understand what it is that's been eating at them.
One way I might convey the frustration, is I dream really vivid dreams, sometimes which play out like movies, and I wonder if they might have something to them that could make for a good story. But then when I try to write down what happened, or worse, try to tell someone, it just comes out lacking. Some movies have touched on fancy futuristic technologies that go into your mind and either link you to someone else, so they can move about in your memories. Or like in Start Trek with holograms, God I would give anything to have at my fingertips, some kind of program that I could slowly piece together ideas, talking it out, and it would lay them out in real form, and bit by bit, I could mold them into what it is I saw.
 Sometimes when I write like this it helps, but I still know, that all my life, I could write just fine, but my endings were always terrible. Even if the ending didn't matter, even if it was a summations of points already made... I could never get it flow just right... Maybe I don't want the discussion to end, maybe I want to leave it open-ended, or is it simply I just don't have the patience to bother.