Echo Challenge Melody

Thursday, January 14th, 2010 by Alyice

“Life is like a beautiful melody
that grows and blossoms over time.”
– Alyice Edrich

It’s echo time! This time the prompt is “melody”. From the moment I read the word, I knew just what I wanted to write about. All my life I have been awe-struck with how a simple sound can stretch the imagination, heal the soul, and soothe the savage beast. Melody is everywhere and its pitch is infinite—from the whispering sounds of trees on a windy day, to waves crashing against the ocean floor, to the underwater calls of whales, to a group of instruments playing together in unison as they form one amazing chorus after another. Music and melody go hand-in-hand.

When I was a little girl, I loved to sing. I loved everything about music, the way it lifted your spirits after a bad day, the way it allowed you to release pent up sadness, the way it brought hope, and the way it seemed to unite people. Sadly, my mother didn’t like my singing. She’d often tell me to quit singing, explaining that my high pitched voice hurt her ears. For years, I was ashamed of my voice, often struggling to even get the words out of my mouth when asked a question. But one day, all that changed.

When I gave birth to my children, they didn’t see my voice as hurtful. They didn’t find the tone of my voice deafening or horrible. They didn’t tell me to stop singing or to lower my voice. In fact, it was quite the opposite.

They loved my voice. They loved hearing mommy read them stories, and they couldn’t wait for mommy to teach them another rhyming activity like Patty-Cakes or This Old Man, and they giggled and sang right along when mommy made up funny songs. And the most precious moment of all was when they’d fall asleep in my arms as I sang them a lullaby.

As my children grew older, I grew more and more confident in sharing my voice with the rest of the world, even going so far as to join a church choir—in which my mother would later agree with my choir director that I had a lovely voice.

But it’s the long road trips I cherish most—when my children, my husband, and I would drive to far off places simply for the pleasure of the drive. We’d get in the car and hit the open road, then crank up the stereo and have such a good time. It didn’t matter if some of us sang better than others, it didn’t matter if we sang off key, and it didn’t matter if we couldn’t get the melody down correctly—all that mattered is that we were singing and having fun.

Today, my children are teenagers and it still brings joy to my heart and a smile to my face when I hear them whistling or humming a tune, or singing to songs on the radio. It tells me that they are comfortable with their own voice, and in their own skin. And it tells me that they are happy. And there is no greater joy than knowing your children are happy—and healthy.

Until next time…

Posted in Echo Challenge | 4 Comments »

Thanks For New Year Tradition

Friday, January 1st, 2010 by Alyice

Call me a fuddy-dud, but for as long as I can remember, my New Year’s Eve has consisted of Dick Clark’s Dropping of the Ball and New Year’s Day has started with The Tournament of Roses Parade.

When I was a little girl, my mother and I would watch the parade together. It was the one time of year I truly felt a bond with her; it was the one time of year that was just about “me and her”. She’d wake up early to make a New Year’s Day meal which often consisted of red kidney beans and hammock with corn bread, and I’d sit in front of the television anxiously awaiting the start of the parade.

Since my mom worked for American Honda, at the time, she’d build up the excitement by having me keep an eye out for their float. She’d tell me what she learned about the float, and what to expect. During the parade, we’d talk about what we liked best about each float, and whether or not we liked last year’s float better; then we’d do our own voting on which float we thought was the best and why we’d rate it the best.

After the parade ended, we’d head over to Roz’s house (her best friend at the time) for homemade collard greens, black-eyed peas, and pork. Black-eyed peas were a tradition in Roz’s house as they were said to bring prosperity and good luck into the New Year. What I loved about going to Roz’s house, was the camaraderie amongst friends—her home was always filled with conversation, laughter, and good food.

When we moved out of the projects, we continued the tradition of watching the parade together, and sharing a meal of beans and cornbread, though we never got into cooking collard greens and black-eyed peas as my mom wasn’t fond of the fowl smell that often came from cooking collard greens.

Fast forward a few years. Married, with a family of my own, I was excited to carry over the tradition. Unfortunately, my husband and children just never “got it”. They’d rather sleep in than watch a bunch of “boring flower covered floats” with “lame announcers trying to make lame jokes”. And though you can now buy yummy collard greens in a can—without the smell—they’ve never been fond of collard greens or black-eyed peas. In fact, I’m lucky I can get them to watch Dick Clark’s Rockin’ New Year’s Eve celebration—which my daughter enjoys due to all the entertainment.

That being said, we found a compromise. New Year’s Eve is about staying home, playing board games, and bringing in the New Year as a family—with Dick Clark on the sideline. New Year’s Day is about letting the kids sleep in while I watch the parade, then letting hubby watch a bit of football before we all head out to the local theatre to watch one of the year’s newest films. And if I’m lucky, we get in a few card games, like Pinochle, Poker, and Solitaire Frenzy.

It’s sad that they don’t like the parade. It’s not as fun watching it alone, and though mom and I tried to watch the parade together, via the phone, it just wasn’t the same. Still, I can’t “not watch” the parade. It’s a tradition—even if I have to do it alone. And while some of the magic has disappeared since I was a child, I still get a kick out of seeing what they come up with year after year.

Did you know that the first Tournament of Roses Parade took place in 1890, along a 5.5 mile stretch on Colorado Boulevard in Pasadena, California, with horse drawn carriages covered with flowers? It still amazes me that the first float started out without any computerized gimmicks, just a love of flowers. Or that the parade has continued to grow and prosper all these years and is now over 100 years old.

Today the parade includes marching bands from around the globe, equestrians, and spectacular computerized/mechanical floats covered in exotic natural materials. The festivities include a pre-parade equestrian showcase, a post-season college football game, a one-day post-parade viewing of the floats, and the official judging of the floats. Each float is judged on creativity, computerized animation, thematic interpretation, dramatic impact, and floral craftsmanship and every inch of the float must be covered with all-natural material— bark, flowers, nuts, plants, seaweed, vegetables, etc.

Though I was lucky enough to go behind the scenes one year and put a few flowers on a float, I’ve never actually seen the parade in person. One year, I’d like to do that. But for now, I’m quite content with watching it on the television, in the warmth of my own home, surrounded by those who matter most.

What are your family traditions?

Give thanks…

P.S.

May this year bring you contentment, joy, happiness, good health, and yes, prosperity.

Posted in It's Gratitude, Dude! | Comments Off

Thanks For Having My Back

Monday, December 21st, 2009 by Alyice

There are a lot of things about growing up in the projects I do not miss—but then there are some things that I do miss, like the fact that I had so many people watching my back. One of those people was Miss Benita.

Benita was five years older than me, quiet, yet very outgoing. There was no reason for her to take me under her wings, no logical reason for her to hang out with me, but she did. We’d known each other since I arrived in the projects, but it wasn’t until she became my sitter that we grew close.

She was the best sitter we had back then as she truly looked out for us. She didn’t host parties the minute my mom left the house, she didn’t make us sit in a dark room the entire time my mom was gone, she didn’t try to defile us, and she was safe and fun and a joy to be around. But sadly, her reign as sitter didn’t last long for one day my mom arrived home early to find us jumping on the couch bed, laughing, and having fun. That simply was not to be tolerated as we had a 7 o’clock bedtime and how dare she enjoy her job!

After that, Benita would stop by to request permission to take me with her to visit a friend, or watch her play softball, or to just hang out at her house. One thing she was great at was making me feel safe and wanted—even when a few of her friends made it very clear that they didn’t like the idea of her spending so much time with me. (In fact, one day when I needed to get out of the house, I stopped by Benita’s and knocked on the door to be greeted by one of her friends—a friend who had made it clear on several occasions that she did not like me. She told me that Benita didn’t want to see me anymore then slammed the door in my face.)

One thing Benita liked to do with me was bake. We’d make lots of brownies, so many brownies that eventually we grew tired of eating them. But we never grew tired of baking them. So she came up with a solution to pack the brownies in a basket, tie a rope to the basket, and lower them from the balcony down to the kids below. We’d make them, they’d eat them. It was a win, win situation.

Then one year, when I was thirteen, I decided to have a birthday party and invite all my classmates. Sadly, nobody showed up. I was devastated. I knew I was shy and quiet, but I really thought my classmates liked me and couldn’t understand why they wouldn’t come to my party. A few hours later, Benita arrived at my party to see how things were going. When she found out nobody showed up, she was just as heartbroken as I was. She told me to get dressed up and to wear something really nice, because she was taking me out to dinner. And thus began our annual birthday dinner to Sizzler’s.

Then, when 9th grade prom arrived and nobody asked me to go, she insisted that I take her boyfriend as my date. Talk about trust! Of course, I didn’t take her boyfriend, but it said a lot about her character (and quite possibly mine). Instead, we made an agreement, I would go to the prom stag, and do my best to socialize; then after the prom, she and her boyfriend would pick me up in style, and we’d hang out the rest of the night.

After 9th grade, neither one of us lived in the projects anymore. We didn’t spend quite as much time together, but we managed to stay in touch. One thing we loved to do was call each other up on the phone and watch movies together. Sometimes there’d be long pauses where neither of us would say a word, then you’d hear one of us say, “Can you believe…” or “Oh no watch out”. Personally, I think that was her way of checking up on me—but I didn’t care. It was nice to know that I wasn’t so easily forgotten once we didn’t live next to each other.

During my high school years, we weren’t as close. By then she’d had two children and was living “the adult” life but she always found time each month to hang out or talk on the phone. And I got to do a lot of babysitting—which I absolutely loved!

Then one day, after graduation, I told her I was interested in joining the police academy. She didn’t tell me that I was crazy because I was too timid and shy. She didn’t tell me that it was insanely dangerous and I probably wouldn’t like all the violence that comes along with the job, either. No, she supported me.

She’d get up every morning, at the crack of dawn, to train with me! Which was a good thing because I have never been a morning person and without her commitment, I probably would’ve went right back to bed. Instead, she had me pick her up so we could then drive to the high school and run both the track and the bleachers. Once we got out on that field, the crabbiness lifted and we both found that morning routine to be challenging and fun. (Unfortunately, the riots scared me right out of the police academy. I passed the mental tests and the panel interview but never went to the physical.)

Fast forward a few years, to the day I met my husband. Benita, knowing nothing about this guy, insisted on chaperoning our first date. If he passed, we could date. If he didn’t pass, we’d have to talk. Without saying a word, he knew that she was the key to winning my heart and so on our first date, he catered to her. Needless to say, he passed.

Though we still stay in touch, our relationship has drifted apart over the years. It’s hard, we’ve found, to maintain a close relationship with someone when you live hundreds of miles apart. And yet, there are days when I miss knowing that she had my back, when I miss feeling so loved by someone that she would make personal sacrifices just for me, when I miss going shopping with her, or watching a movie via the telephone, or chatting over a cup of hot tea with cream and sugar.

And for these reasons, and so many more, I must say thank you, Miss Benita, for making me a part of your life—and your family. I would not change one moment of the times we shared together.

Give thanks…

Posted in It's Gratitude, Dude! | 7 Comments »

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