YOU ARE MY SUNSHINE

LASDI ©

It’s a celebration, a love song, a lament, a lullaby, a singalong, a weeping, a rejoicing, heartwarming, and heartbreaking all at the same time. It is a song written in the 1930s long before I was born and has been timeless ever since, and much like its name, it continues to shine.

I first heard it when I was a child and my grandfather would strum his guitar and sing it to me, smiling. He was so handsome; his skin was soft, his hair white and slicked into a pompadour, and he smelled like Old Spice. When he sang that song to me, I truly felt like I WAS his sunshine.

In elementary school, it was the first time I experienced singing in a choir. The auditorium we practiced in allowed my small class to sound as though we were a thousand voices and also created a much tighter harmony in my ears somehow.

As I grew up, I heard it in movies. Most of those flicks were the kind set in the 30s or 40s in the back woods of some southern town with a pretty, barefoot, and scraggly-haired girl walking away down a dirt road toward a woven overhang of oak trees in the distance. Her cream-colored dress would be sprayed with little yellow daisies, blowing in the warm breeze and emphasizing that they didn’t wear slips back then. There would be a film that had a pie cooling on the windowsill of an old farmhouse, or one with a group of sisters sitting on the front porch swing and cascading down the porch steps as the sun was setting, sounding like an ensemble of songbirds as they crooned the song together to the sound of an old banjo.

Many times during my childhood - and up to this very day - I loved to sit outside on a sunny day, hearing the trees rustle and perhaps the sound of a droning airplane far into the sky, looking at the clouds and hearing that very tune ring in my mind. There is something about it that brings an intrinsic peace and internal joy, but also a melancholy feel and grave consciousness; a juxtaposition much like the song itself.

To impress The Hubster with my gifts and talents and prove I was a songstress, I would sing it from time to time when we were courting. It wasn’t often, but it was during specific times of camping or at the lake, or maybe just a forlorn, rainy day that I would impress upon him that he was, indeed, My Sunshine and that he made me extremely happy; especially when skies were grey.

When my children were babies, I would rock them in my arms and quietly sing it to them, professing my maternal love verse after verse, chorus after chorus, until their eyelids would slowly blink, and they closed in slumber. I would still lightly hum it as I transferred them from my arms to their crib so as not to wake them. I would hum it as I tiptoed backward out of the room, making my voice do the old-fashioned fade out, shutting off the light with a soft smile.

As The DAUGHTS grew and we realized she had the gift of song, we would often harmonize it at family events, with everyone gathered around to hear us sing to-and-with each other. As we reached the end they would burst into applause as my heart burst with delight.

It was the song I sang in agony the day The Middle Little was curled on his side in a hospital bed, his back to me and his knees lifted to his tummy as the needle went into his spine over and over again for the lumbar puncture. I stroked his curls and sang with intention so he wouldn’t hear in my voice the tears that were flowing down my cheeks.

The Kid would hear it when he was watching me cook. He would ask questions about what meal I was creating, tell me I was such a “good cooker”, and ask me to sing that song about the sun shining. I was impressed at his request nearly every time and would love to watch him lay his arms from his elbows to his hands on the counter, intertwine his fingers and rest his head on them, close his eyes, and rock his head back and forth as I sang. It made me feel somewhat nostalgic and sorrowful, even in those moments of happiness, knowing he was the baby of the bunch, and we were watching them all grow into adults so quickly it made our hearts spin.

Now The Grittles hear the song all the time. Not only from me but from their Momma, who remembers HER Momma singing it when she was a child. The song makes them feel a bit of wonderment, listening to the rich sound of her serenading them and then sharing the memories of how SheShe would sing it to her, and with her when she was their age.

It’s a warming sound of lyrics set to a sweet melody that is imaginable and akin to life itself: it’s a celebration, a love song, a lament, a lullaby, a singalong, a weeping, a rejoicing, heartwarming, and heartbreaking all at the same time. It is a song written in my heart and kept in the vault of my existence. It’s a part of my legacy that has been timeless in my life, and much like its name…

…it continues to shine.

JUNE BUG

©Artwork by: Kiren Garcia of The Captivated Canvas© (copy or usage prohibited)

Have you ever seen a firefly? Or perhaps you know it as a lightning bug. They are spectacular. They are kind of a crazy creation, in my opinion. And perhaps that’s the opinion of others, as well. Their bodies light up from deep inside and they have their own season in life. They don’t sting, and they don’t bite. They don’t eat crops or bother anyone’s garden.

There is even a phenomenon in Southeast Asia, as well as in The Great Smokey Mountains in Tennessee in June when they actually synchronize their flashes!

To their credit, their beautiful light actually releases a dangerous toxin that makes them taste bitter to predators or those species brave enough to attack their brilliance and go for a taste. The defensive steroid they contain makes them unappealing once attacked, which is ironic because their magnificent shine is what makes them tempting in the first place.

There are some sad facts pertaining to these peculiar beetles. They are on the decline. Mostly because of us humans. Yep. Not only capturing them in jars until their lights dim and their short-lived lives are even shorter, but also because we are tearing down their habitats, building our own.

ALL THEY WANT TO DO IS SHINE THEIR LIGHT.

Let me be clear: THIS IS NOT A PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT REGARDING LIGHTNING BUGS. Rather, this is a story about how these creatures compare to us - primal nature versus human nature.

Every June, I think of my childhood in New York where fireflies were rare, but they were there. And yes, not knowing any better and being a kid from the projects who rarely got to capture nature, I “captured nature.” Every June I think of my time here in Texas out in the dessert country where they abound and quite frankly light up the sky bigger and better than the stars. Every June, I wonder where they are as I sit in my darling little suburbia, keeping the memory of their wonder very wistfully in my heart.

I recently tried to explain lightning bugs to The Grittles. They are 6, 4, and 3 months, and none of them have ever really seen one, minus on the youtube, of course. I started wondering where the insects have gone and asked The Googla if they are even still around. “They are,” said Google Assistant, “but are quickly vanishing and will one day only be considered folklore.”

I felt a little forlorn for my winged-and-lighted friends. Or maybe it was a self-imposed sadness based entirely on my selfish desire to recapture my youth. As I sat pondering the idea in its entirety, I found myself comparing the life of the firefly to my very own.

I’m kind of a crazy creation, in my opinion. And perhaps the opinion of others, as well. I definitely find myself lighting up from deep inside with joy from my faith, even in some of the darkest times. I know all about seasons in life, believe me. I have seen good times, tough times, scary times, angry times, sad times, and happy times. Though I know those times all depend on circumstances, innate joy continues to be a light in my heart and in my soul.

I have seen the seasons of friends that come and go, regardless of the reasons why. I have seen the seasons of sickness and health, no matter the eventual outcome. I have seen seasons of life, and I have seen seasons of death. Whatever the case, I know that is my lot in time, and my season in life.

I don’t sting, and I don’t bite. You’re welcome. I have taken some beatings in life, albeit not just physical. I have been imprisoned in toxic relationships, held captive by unkindness, and trapped by the exploitation of those in the position of power or authority.

I have never bothered the crops of anyone else’s life intentionally, nor can I say I’ve ever eaten from someone else’s garden without invitation.

Though I certainly don’t fancy myself a phenomenon of any sort, I definitely try to stay in synch with those closest in my life, like The Fam. #WeStandUnited. Whatever flashes are going on in any of The Kiddos’ and Grittles’ lives, as well as The Hubster’s, I try to make certain we are all doing our best to be together, supportive, and encouraging.

I, too, have suffered at the hands of predators or those brave enough to attempt to put out this little light of mine, and to my credit - though I don’t sting or bite - I can definitely emit a defense that can be viewed as unappealing once the attack has begun. The poignancy of that never ceases to amaze me, since it is my magnificent shine that made me attractive in the first place.

I have felt the tearing down of the habitat of my very emotions, my heart, from those wishing to only build up themselves.

ALL I WANT TO DO IS SHINE MY LIGHT.

I exist. I exist now. I am presently here, but I know in a hundred years anything I have said or done has the possibility of only being folklore, if even that. While I’m here I can shine the light inside me to as many people as possible, no matter my lot in time, or how short my season here will be. At the very least, I can leave a legacy that will shine on through those who have received it, and in turn, they shine it onto others as well.

Even as I write this, I am considering going somewhere in June that I know those bugs will be doing what they were designed to do. I want to see them while they still exist. I won’t imprison them in a jar or try to clutch them in my hand. I will simply capture it in my memory and hold it in my heart.

NO MATTER THE SEASON, IF YOU CARRY LIGHT INSIDE YOUR HEART, LET IT SHINE.

BY THE BOOK

LASDI©

I am not known for being a Rule-Follower.  The Hubster is a Rule-Follower.  One of my closest friends is a Rule-Follower.  In fact, several people I know are Rule-Followers.  They are the type that HAVE to follow the rules or else they get all freaked out or their throats close up.  I've seen upper lip sweat occur at the very thought of breaking a rule.  Everything for them has to be 'by the book'.  For each person, it's a different book, with different chapters.  

I'll give you an example:  If Adrian (the aforementioned Hubster) is making pasta (a rarity in our home, as it were) and the instructions on the box say "bring six cups of water to a boil", he will measure out exactly six cups of water, because that is the rule, whereas I would simply fill the pot about halfway or so and move on.  He goes 'by the book'.

So then, who is the author of this 'book'?  Who decides what the acceptable rules are across-the-board?  I don't mean the lawmakers, though there are still some old rules on the books that say "Humming on public streets is prohibited on Sundays" or "Bowling is forbidden", both of which are still documented as actual laws!  I wonder what my Rule-Follower friends and relatives will do when they find out they've not only broken those rules, but broken the law!   

There are the rules of the law, or the laws of morality, and the every-day-back-of-a-box-of-pasta kind of rules.  But who gets to say what is going 'by the book' in this life, and what is not?  Who is the author?

Though I am not exactly a renegade, I do believe in a more bendable point-of-view.  I'm a bit more colorful in my thoughts and behavior about getting things done, though I find the black-and-white way of looking at things quite fascinating, and necessary to the life/people balance.  There is room for both or else we would all be exactly the same.  Can you imagine how boring THAT book would be?

I guess that means we author our behavior ourselves, whether it's exactly 'by the book' or perhaps not.  And though the Book I try live by (written by the Author of my life) is not one that everyone shares a belief in, I have a confidence that we, as individuals, do share the belief that there are seasons in life that bring us emotions we must deal with; sometimes there are wonderful seasons, and sometimes there are dark or stormy seasons.  And those seasons are almost never black-and-white, and there are no rules to follow, or how-to's when we deal with them.  There is no 'by the book' process to our emotions.

This is one life we've been given.  We have one life to live, whether we live it within the measurements of every single rule, or a tad bit outside the boundaries of the rules, how we do it creates the legacy we live and leave behind.

Though I certainly don't have all the answers, I do strive to make my legacy something that will make an impact. 

I have lived a life with the wonderful seasons and the dark and stormy seasons, and my 'by the book' is finding light in the dark in order to survive, while not taking this life for granted or letting it slip by me in sorrow or self-pity.  My 'by the book' is my own - one that I authored.  It is called 'A Life Of Flavor', presented by Life As She Does It (me, She Gar-C!).  It is a book of finding joy in life's hard times.

In the long run, whether we think in black-and-white or in color, how we deal with the peaks and the valleys is what creates our distinct flavor of who we are and how we live our lives.  Do you find joy when the hard times come upon you?  When a loved one gets sick, or a job is lost, do you try to see the light through the darkness?  It's never too late to try.  Never.  

Whatever is your distinct 'by the book' - BUY THE BOOK!  

Click on the photo below to purchase Life As She Does It presents: A Life of Flavor! (published by LUCID BOOKS)