I have this habit of... well, it depends on who you ask. If you ask me it's being truthful. Others call it self deprecating humor and I'm sure there are plenty who think it's just a bid for attention.
In the last few years I've noticed sweeping changes in the great Who I Am. In my grade school days I was never one of popular crowd, often teased, picked on, forgotten about and fantastically invisible. Some of that was a product of my own perception but ingrained perception like that comes from somewhere solid, know what I mean? As I got to the college years I had a dawning realization of having gained the title of Doormat (bred from an overwhelming desire to please and like everyone and have them like me in return), yet I found it nearly impossible to find the strength of character, the self value to change that status.
A few years ago my world rocked enough for me to put my foot down and grow a spine. I had to unmake a difficult decision in, unfortunately, a very ungraceful way and I had made a friend who ultimately made me realize I wanted to be anything in the world but like her. These two large events, combined with the beauty of growing up, drove me to change my fundamental operations in the choices I made, the people I associated with, the things I thought and said, how I treated others and most importantly how I treated myself. At first I didn't have high hopes that I could actually change myself so drastically, it had been so hard in the past, but this time around I was surprised at how easy the changes were.
The biggest and, in my opinion, most notable change had to be in my self assurance and esteem. I have struggled to evolve from a weak willed, insecure person to something better. And I do mean struggle. Yet, here I am today a much, MUCH happier, thankful, optimistic, peaceful and strong, though with it remains a bit of residue from the past.
A few months after I first started training capoeira I traveled with our instructor and some fellow students to New York to what I call our "sibling school". We have no direct affiliation other than being from the same training style but geographically we're close-ish and travel back and forth to support each other. I was very green and the workshop that was being given was geared toward slightly more experienced capoeiristas. It was apparent in moments that I was bad apple of the bunch. Being overweight and out of shape I often struggle in highly active environments. Exercise induced asthma, terrible joints and unforgiving muscles compound my weight issues, but by gracious, I try! I try as hard as I can until I struggle for air and my body screams and it is NOT a pretty thing. My fellow capoeiristas at home are far more forgiving than they were up north and I realized if I had tried to learn capoeira -any-where else I never would have returned after the first class. The New Yorkers were more intense, less forgiving and quite obviously made it known that I was That Girl, the one no one wants to get stuck training with. Quite soon I shifted myself to the furthest corner of the room as I could, like a pariah, hoping no one would notice me and I could survive the rest of the workshop in silent efforts to keep myself from sobbing. Naturally I was discovered by a graduated student who pulled me to the middle of the room, in front of the Masters, where I floundered in hot, red-skinned mortification for all to stare at. For the first time since I'd made my great change my new foundation of self-assurance almost broke out from under me.
Before that trip, and certainly since then, I suppose I've made it an unintentional point to make sure the populace knows that I am not delusional. My commentary is met with responses generally saying I'm silly and over exaggerating, but there's method to my madness:
1) At the very least to me it is truth. I am overweight and out of shape and usually when I struggle in my physical activities it's because that is my fact. Ex: the other night in training I took a foot to the arm, not in a painful way but enough for it to shake my balance. Afterwards I thought about how I missed seeing her kick, I had been staring at her (upside down and between my legs) before I realized my backside is big enough to cause a sizable blind side. I don't say that because I'm trying to have someone tell me, "No! You look great!" or think I'm just being whiny, it's because I have a wide load!
2) Something about saying it out loud guilts me into trying to be better about doing something about it. If I get angry enough at myself for struggling so much with the simplest things then maybe, just maybe I'll take bigger and better steps to fix it. Believe it or not every time I acknowledge my wide-comings I have the desire to eat a salad and hit the gym. I don't always follow through and DO those things but my track record is improving, albeit sloooooowly.
3) I want to beat someone else to the punchline. This one stems the most of childhood years being picked on and tears over not understanding why or how to make it not hurt. Someone telling me I'm fat would hurt, a LOT, even if it is true. If I say it first if leaves less ammo for someone else to use.
What I can't figure out after all of this pondering and analyzing is whether my mechanism helps or hinders me. I'm sure it's a little of both though it certainly feeds my strength to feel calling myself out leaves me firmly in control of the situation, and that, in some twisted sense makes me feel stronger.
Friday, December 2, 2011
Friday, November 18, 2011
Simple Daydreams
As I neared high school graduation I found myself spinning in questions about what my next life step would be. College seemed inevitable yet inappropriate at the same time. I had no idea what area of education I wanted to pursue that would feed into a desired career. During my search for something that Felt Right I ended up in an army recruiter's office before being told in no uncertain terms if I found the need to sign up for a branch of the military it better be the Airforce (though I was more highly encouraged to not sign up for anything). My parents understood something about me I tried to ignore back then: my love of my country was not at all in question but my physical, emotional and mental ability to cope with that kind of environment was. My intentions were in the right place, my ability to deliver was askew.
Giving up on the idea of a stint in the military somehow gave way to a dream of moving to Scotland or Ireland for a year to live in the country and work on whatever farm would hire me. I dreamed of sparse lodgings filled with necessities and a small fortune of books to pass the time, lively neighborhood pubs, rousing song and flying dancing feet, lush green hills rolling from my feet and days getting filthy on the farm. I would have missed my family in painful ways but deep down I knew it'd only be for a year and the experience and education that came from it would be incredible. I'm married and settled now so such a year is no longer anywhere in my future but I still day dream about it now and then.
Just this past week I stumbled across a new blog site and in classic OCD fashion I've been reading the entire thing from the very first post. At first I thought that the main source of entertainment would come from the fantastic photography and irresistible coyote subject. As I got into some of the meatier update posts, however, I was shocked to discover that the main draw of the site for me had become more about the woman writing it and the life she seemingly picked up one day. I don't know anymore about the author of the site than what she shares in her posts but I feel like I can imagine her character; bold, confident, independent, ambitious, adventurous, motivating and inspiring. Reading about her life in the wilds of Wyoming has sparked in me a dream I never could have imagined for myself.
Much like my year abroad this dream will never come to fruition but I've been enjoying the wishful thinking. The author brings to life the image of a modern pioneer woman, shoes I've been pretending I could fit into. Her existence is simple and basic to the point of having seasonal running water and a wood stove to bake bread. Her farm seems to grow one animal at a time (cat --> coyote --> dog --> cow, a horse somewhere in the mix), as do her self sufficient capabilities. Living off the land has a growing appeal to me as I've gotten older, peaked now by reading her seemingly effortless ability to become one with a beautiful land. This post and this post in particular struck several notes with me and I was surprised at how moved I was by them and my desire to have experienced them first hand.
I love my life just as it is and wouldn't truly want to change it for anything in the world. I feel, however, that I should be able to wonder what might or could have been if I'd gone down a different path.
Giving up on the idea of a stint in the military somehow gave way to a dream of moving to Scotland or Ireland for a year to live in the country and work on whatever farm would hire me. I dreamed of sparse lodgings filled with necessities and a small fortune of books to pass the time, lively neighborhood pubs, rousing song and flying dancing feet, lush green hills rolling from my feet and days getting filthy on the farm. I would have missed my family in painful ways but deep down I knew it'd only be for a year and the experience and education that came from it would be incredible. I'm married and settled now so such a year is no longer anywhere in my future but I still day dream about it now and then.
Just this past week I stumbled across a new blog site and in classic OCD fashion I've been reading the entire thing from the very first post. At first I thought that the main source of entertainment would come from the fantastic photography and irresistible coyote subject. As I got into some of the meatier update posts, however, I was shocked to discover that the main draw of the site for me had become more about the woman writing it and the life she seemingly picked up one day. I don't know anymore about the author of the site than what she shares in her posts but I feel like I can imagine her character; bold, confident, independent, ambitious, adventurous, motivating and inspiring. Reading about her life in the wilds of Wyoming has sparked in me a dream I never could have imagined for myself.
Much like my year abroad this dream will never come to fruition but I've been enjoying the wishful thinking. The author brings to life the image of a modern pioneer woman, shoes I've been pretending I could fit into. Her existence is simple and basic to the point of having seasonal running water and a wood stove to bake bread. Her farm seems to grow one animal at a time (cat --> coyote --> dog --> cow, a horse somewhere in the mix), as do her self sufficient capabilities. Living off the land has a growing appeal to me as I've gotten older, peaked now by reading her seemingly effortless ability to become one with a beautiful land. This post and this post in particular struck several notes with me and I was surprised at how moved I was by them and my desire to have experienced them first hand.
I love my life just as it is and wouldn't truly want to change it for anything in the world. I feel, however, that I should be able to wonder what might or could have been if I'd gone down a different path.
Friday Groove
Today's offering actually has a story behind it. Whether or not I'll get to that story in a timely fashion, well, who knows but I'm going to try!
In the meantime sample a song that seemed to pop up fatefully during plethora of some of my more shadowy moments (and try to ignore the fact that it's Christina >.<).
In the meantime sample a song that seemed to pop up fatefully during plethora of some of my more shadowy moments (and try to ignore the fact that it's Christina >.<).
Friday, November 11, 2011
Monday, October 31, 2011
Hallowed Hauntings
When I was in middle school my brother and his friend, Tommy, had this idea to build themselves a haunted yard for Halloween. They collected and dried oodles of bamboo to construct a formidable wall to cover a wimpy chain link fence and used strategic landscaping and a white Christmas light lined plywood tunnel to funnel their victims, I mean, trick or treaters, along the side of the house. At the end of the narrow side yard was a detached garage, in front of which was a hefty tree stump that held a cauldron of candy. Tommy stood in a floor length cloak and creepy old man mask with a walking staff perfectly still right behind the cauldron. You were too worried about him to pay attention to the stuffed body they had rigged to fall from the tree as you got close to the candy. One year they simply let a noose hang empty over the bowl, swaying ominously in the breeze and let your imagination fill in the rest.
The front yard was riddled with white crosses made of scrap wood and quickly nailed together. Donald drove his car up into the ditch in the yard and left the car doors open, hazards flashing. Also flashing were enough strobe lights to stock a Disco and somewhere I believe I recall a fog machine. Creepy music played and one year there was the not-so-smart idea of making a white body outline in the street with something more permanent than chalk. If memory serves it looked like a crime scene on the driveway weeks into November.
When I was old enough to handle the creep factor (debatable, I still can't handle creep factor) my parents would drive me to trick or treat after I'd made my usual rounds in our neighborhood. Donald and Tommy I think delighted in my arrival. I squealed spectacularly and the fact that I was blood related meant all bets were off when it came to going for the Big Scream. One year we packed my youth group up in the church van to visit the house and Tommy ended up chasing me squealing in panic down the entire street, into and through the van.
Around high school I was too old to go door to door, or more interested in playing with the big boys. I got the invitation to join Donald and Tommy in their yard slinking and couldn't have been more excited. I dressed in head-to-toe black,d borrowed a great skull mask and slinked my heart out. My memories of being chased through this very yard by my ghoulish sibling came flooding back to me at the sight of a 4-year-old Superman peeking hesitantly through the tunnel I sat on the other side of like a spider waiting for prey. He was too young for our antics, though and so I turned my glowing skull face and held my breath, hoping desperately to blend enough with the shadows that he wouldn't notice me. Blending failed! After seeing me sitting there in arms reach he decided the candy was SO not worth the trip through the tunnel. I ended up taking my mask off and reaching out a hand to guide him the rest of the way down the lane to get his treat. Tommy seemed to understand the unbridled fear in this poor super hero and maintained his statue-stance instead of going for the scream factor.
Years later I own a house and am determined to build the best haunted yard in the neighborhood. It has been slow going, this year marks our fourth Halloween and our second without bells and whistles. Two years ago we didn't even hand out candy, Clif instead having the unpleasant task of tending to me and my horrific bout of swine flu. Last year we were on, though, and in the great tradition of yard slinking I donned all black and a spectacularly creepy skeletal mask and sat amongst our tombstones in a smothering fog from our smoke machine. I would turn my head ever so slowly to watch the kids come up our driveway, only half of which even noticed my existence, much less that they were being watched. They would greet Clif sitting on a cooler by the front door in my full-hooded Half Moon cloak with black mask and red glowing eyes warning the kiddies of dangers around the corner. By the time they came off the porch I'd be crouching around our hedge bush, forcing them to walk right past me, allowing me to give chase.
One little observant girl spotted me half way up our drive and dug her heels into the black top. Even her fathers encouraging nudges couldn't move Snow White and she backpedaled herself right back to the street, foregoing candy at our house. The boys she was with were oblivious to our encounter and moved on to the next house without a second thought. I felt bad for Snow White, she reminded me of Superman from years ago. I got a good handful of candy out of our bowl and walked across the street to stand next to Snow White's mother while she waited for the kids to finish at the door. I asked if I could give Snow her candy since she was obviously not up for working through her fear (a feeling I know oh so well) and mom obliged. When Snow turned around and saw me standing there her dad REALLY had to give her a hand or she would not have budged from where she froze half way across the yard. Still in my mask I made a show of covering my skeletal face and turning away, stretching my candy-filled hand out to her. I wasn't looking so I'm not sure if she took the offering or her father took it on her behalf but as I strolled silently back to our house I couldn't stop grinning ear to ear at what I hoped would become as great of a story for her as it would be for me.
My philosophy is if you build it they will come. Much like in my youth I am convinced that if we build our yard a little every year eventually the kids will start talking and we'll be the coolest house around at Halloween. Sadly this year our decorations have been buried in the farthest corner of our storage room behind the meat of our bathroom renovation project. On top of that Clif is taking classes on Mondays, including tonight, so he won't even be home to enjoy tormenting the neighborhood kids. I'll spend my evening with Rocky Horror and The Great Pumpkin, day dreaming of ways to make up lost ground next year.
Happy Halloween!
The front yard was riddled with white crosses made of scrap wood and quickly nailed together. Donald drove his car up into the ditch in the yard and left the car doors open, hazards flashing. Also flashing were enough strobe lights to stock a Disco and somewhere I believe I recall a fog machine. Creepy music played and one year there was the not-so-smart idea of making a white body outline in the street with something more permanent than chalk. If memory serves it looked like a crime scene on the driveway weeks into November.
When I was old enough to handle the creep factor (debatable, I still can't handle creep factor) my parents would drive me to trick or treat after I'd made my usual rounds in our neighborhood. Donald and Tommy I think delighted in my arrival. I squealed spectacularly and the fact that I was blood related meant all bets were off when it came to going for the Big Scream. One year we packed my youth group up in the church van to visit the house and Tommy ended up chasing me squealing in panic down the entire street, into and through the van.
Around high school I was too old to go door to door, or more interested in playing with the big boys. I got the invitation to join Donald and Tommy in their yard slinking and couldn't have been more excited. I dressed in head-to-toe black,d borrowed a great skull mask and slinked my heart out. My memories of being chased through this very yard by my ghoulish sibling came flooding back to me at the sight of a 4-year-old Superman peeking hesitantly through the tunnel I sat on the other side of like a spider waiting for prey. He was too young for our antics, though and so I turned my glowing skull face and held my breath, hoping desperately to blend enough with the shadows that he wouldn't notice me. Blending failed! After seeing me sitting there in arms reach he decided the candy was SO not worth the trip through the tunnel. I ended up taking my mask off and reaching out a hand to guide him the rest of the way down the lane to get his treat. Tommy seemed to understand the unbridled fear in this poor super hero and maintained his statue-stance instead of going for the scream factor.
Years later I own a house and am determined to build the best haunted yard in the neighborhood. It has been slow going, this year marks our fourth Halloween and our second without bells and whistles. Two years ago we didn't even hand out candy, Clif instead having the unpleasant task of tending to me and my horrific bout of swine flu. Last year we were on, though, and in the great tradition of yard slinking I donned all black and a spectacularly creepy skeletal mask and sat amongst our tombstones in a smothering fog from our smoke machine. I would turn my head ever so slowly to watch the kids come up our driveway, only half of which even noticed my existence, much less that they were being watched. They would greet Clif sitting on a cooler by the front door in my full-hooded Half Moon cloak with black mask and red glowing eyes warning the kiddies of dangers around the corner. By the time they came off the porch I'd be crouching around our hedge bush, forcing them to walk right past me, allowing me to give chase.
One little observant girl spotted me half way up our drive and dug her heels into the black top. Even her fathers encouraging nudges couldn't move Snow White and she backpedaled herself right back to the street, foregoing candy at our house. The boys she was with were oblivious to our encounter and moved on to the next house without a second thought. I felt bad for Snow White, she reminded me of Superman from years ago. I got a good handful of candy out of our bowl and walked across the street to stand next to Snow White's mother while she waited for the kids to finish at the door. I asked if I could give Snow her candy since she was obviously not up for working through her fear (a feeling I know oh so well) and mom obliged. When Snow turned around and saw me standing there her dad REALLY had to give her a hand or she would not have budged from where she froze half way across the yard. Still in my mask I made a show of covering my skeletal face and turning away, stretching my candy-filled hand out to her. I wasn't looking so I'm not sure if she took the offering or her father took it on her behalf but as I strolled silently back to our house I couldn't stop grinning ear to ear at what I hoped would become as great of a story for her as it would be for me.
My philosophy is if you build it they will come. Much like in my youth I am convinced that if we build our yard a little every year eventually the kids will start talking and we'll be the coolest house around at Halloween. Sadly this year our decorations have been buried in the farthest corner of our storage room behind the meat of our bathroom renovation project. On top of that Clif is taking classes on Mondays, including tonight, so he won't even be home to enjoy tormenting the neighborhood kids. I'll spend my evening with Rocky Horror and The Great Pumpkin, day dreaming of ways to make up lost ground next year.
Happy Halloween!
Friday, October 14, 2011
Family Ties
I remember a road trip when I was younger that I spent in the backseat of my brother's green Saturn. I think we were going skiing (the ski trip I managed my most epic wipeouts ever, stories later) and my sister was riding shotgun. I have a vivid image of sitting in the seat behind her, staring at the cd cover of DMB's Under the Table and Dreaming. Satellite came on and I started singing along as quietly as I could. The High Note (you know the one) came and Donald turned to look over his shoulder, "Was that you? Did you just hit that note?" I smiled back in confirmation and felt this swell of pride that my older brother, whom I'd spent my life looking up to and admiring, thought something I'd done as simple as singing in a range fitting for a pre-adolescent girl (no offense, Dave) was mildly impressive.
Before I loved DMB for their own merit I loved them because my siblings did. As was the case with the vast majority of the things I loved. My brother and sister are 10 and 7 years older than I am, respectively, and I spent my childhood looking up to them so hard my neck is still sore decades later. If they loved Metallica, so help me I would ROCK that Master of Puppets tour shirt once it reached hand-me-down status, even though I was too young to appreciate the music the way they did. Mario and Zelda drown me with waves of nostalgia, not because I dedicated my hours to playing them but because I couldn't think of anything I'd rather do than watch my siblings play. Graphic novels line my bookshelves that I hold as dear as treasures because they were important to my brother first. JMU will always be special to me because it's where my sister went to school and therefore the college I dreamed of attending.
Unfortunately my age made it difficult to keep up with them. In my infancy to toddler years we were all of an age where I made a great dress up doll and photography test subject and they were happy to take advantage when it suited. By the time I was old enough to want more than anything to go out with them and their friends to do-whatever-the-big-kids-do I was too young to participate and they were too old to want me along. There was one Friday night in particular I closed myself in my bedroom, peeking through the blinds as they both got in the car, heading on some great Cool Kid adventure, while I stayed home to watch TGIF through tear-filled eyes. I don't remember any other time that stands out so vividly as that one where I was so upset I cried until I couldn't anymore.
Last night Laura called and asked if I'd go with her to a show at a live music coffee shop in Vienna. Vienna is close enough to Sterling that you can make that kind of last minute trip without a lot of preparation but far enough to make it An Effort to go when it's pouring and past 7:30 pm on a work night. A friend of hers and my brother's (Todd) who had been in a band called the Excentrics that they followed dutifully in high school and college was playing and she wanted to see it, but not if it meant flying solo. I couldn't blame her, some activities just aren't worth it if you don't have company.
Initially I resisted, hoping that someone else out of their group of friends would be in attendance. When I got the call around 8:00 that no one else was up for the task I admit I had to willfully drag myself out of the house to go. The weather made a long-ish but simple enough drive turn into one filled with u-turns when each of my subsequent route options turned up flooded. Try number three was the one and I made it to Laura's house 45 minutes after we thought the show had started. Luckily it was only 2 miles down the road and we were not so easily deterred.
The show was great for so many reasons. Laura got to have a change of scenery and be overwhelmed with teenage flashbacks. The strange thing is, so did I.
I recognized the music because it had been a presence during my most impressionable years. My brother, the amazing artistic talent that he is, designed the album art for 2 Excentrics cds, which to me made my brother akin to celebrity. Not only was he friends with the band members but his work would live forever in a piece of their history. Maybe not such a big deal when you reach a certain age but I hadn't reached that age yet, wouldn't for years and was easily impressed. I'm still easily impressed.
During the show I had flashes of memories of Donald working hard on delivering great art, Laura going out with friends to local hang outs to catch their shows, years later playing the albums for the first time for myself and falling in love with the music the way both of them had years before. It didn't hurt that Todd looked so much like Donald it felt like he was well represented even though he wasn't there with us.
Laura mentioned something on our way out that I had already thought about inside about half way through the show. We ended up leaving before we got a chance to say hi to Todd, something I'd been hoping to do. I wanted to smile at and shake the hand of someone who resides in little bitesbof my memory because of his relationship with two of my most favorite people in the world. I jokingly thought and Laura jokingly said out loud that he would probably just be confused having never before heard or known that a third sibling even existed in the Bullach family. Over the years I talked about my siblings to my friends all the time because they were SO COOL! Their stories were my stories and I'd get high just from telling them. I wouldn't blame Donald or Laura for never thinking to mention me much in their conversations with their friends, we were far enough apart in age and worlds that the two just wouldn't have naturally passed, but there's a part of me that will always hope in some tiny way I was as much a rock star to them as they always will be to me.
Before I loved DMB for their own merit I loved them because my siblings did. As was the case with the vast majority of the things I loved. My brother and sister are 10 and 7 years older than I am, respectively, and I spent my childhood looking up to them so hard my neck is still sore decades later. If they loved Metallica, so help me I would ROCK that Master of Puppets tour shirt once it reached hand-me-down status, even though I was too young to appreciate the music the way they did. Mario and Zelda drown me with waves of nostalgia, not because I dedicated my hours to playing them but because I couldn't think of anything I'd rather do than watch my siblings play. Graphic novels line my bookshelves that I hold as dear as treasures because they were important to my brother first. JMU will always be special to me because it's where my sister went to school and therefore the college I dreamed of attending.
Unfortunately my age made it difficult to keep up with them. In my infancy to toddler years we were all of an age where I made a great dress up doll and photography test subject and they were happy to take advantage when it suited. By the time I was old enough to want more than anything to go out with them and their friends to do-whatever-the-big-kids-do I was too young to participate and they were too old to want me along. There was one Friday night in particular I closed myself in my bedroom, peeking through the blinds as they both got in the car, heading on some great Cool Kid adventure, while I stayed home to watch TGIF through tear-filled eyes. I don't remember any other time that stands out so vividly as that one where I was so upset I cried until I couldn't anymore.
Last night Laura called and asked if I'd go with her to a show at a live music coffee shop in Vienna. Vienna is close enough to Sterling that you can make that kind of last minute trip without a lot of preparation but far enough to make it An Effort to go when it's pouring and past 7:30 pm on a work night. A friend of hers and my brother's (Todd) who had been in a band called the Excentrics that they followed dutifully in high school and college was playing and she wanted to see it, but not if it meant flying solo. I couldn't blame her, some activities just aren't worth it if you don't have company.
Initially I resisted, hoping that someone else out of their group of friends would be in attendance. When I got the call around 8:00 that no one else was up for the task I admit I had to willfully drag myself out of the house to go. The weather made a long-ish but simple enough drive turn into one filled with u-turns when each of my subsequent route options turned up flooded. Try number three was the one and I made it to Laura's house 45 minutes after we thought the show had started. Luckily it was only 2 miles down the road and we were not so easily deterred.
The show was great for so many reasons. Laura got to have a change of scenery and be overwhelmed with teenage flashbacks. The strange thing is, so did I.
I recognized the music because it had been a presence during my most impressionable years. My brother, the amazing artistic talent that he is, designed the album art for 2 Excentrics cds, which to me made my brother akin to celebrity. Not only was he friends with the band members but his work would live forever in a piece of their history. Maybe not such a big deal when you reach a certain age but I hadn't reached that age yet, wouldn't for years and was easily impressed. I'm still easily impressed.
During the show I had flashes of memories of Donald working hard on delivering great art, Laura going out with friends to local hang outs to catch their shows, years later playing the albums for the first time for myself and falling in love with the music the way both of them had years before. It didn't hurt that Todd looked so much like Donald it felt like he was well represented even though he wasn't there with us.
Laura mentioned something on our way out that I had already thought about inside about half way through the show. We ended up leaving before we got a chance to say hi to Todd, something I'd been hoping to do. I wanted to smile at and shake the hand of someone who resides in little bitesbof my memory because of his relationship with two of my most favorite people in the world. I jokingly thought and Laura jokingly said out loud that he would probably just be confused having never before heard or known that a third sibling even existed in the Bullach family. Over the years I talked about my siblings to my friends all the time because they were SO COOL! Their stories were my stories and I'd get high just from telling them. I wouldn't blame Donald or Laura for never thinking to mention me much in their conversations with their friends, we were far enough apart in age and worlds that the two just wouldn't have naturally passed, but there's a part of me that will always hope in some tiny way I was as much a rock star to them as they always will be to me.
Friday, September 2, 2011
Friday Groove
Mmmm, sounds like velvet...
Seriously not enough words my love of his voice, his style and this song in particular.
Seriously not enough words my love of his voice, his style and this song in particular.
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