In plain view, some things I overlook. When I glance this direction, sometimes I touch the curls, sometimes I feel the wood grain. Other times I feel the frame. The post card, however, I’ve been overlooking. I don’t remember now the circumstances of how it came to be with me. It’s been a part of my home for a bit of time.
I like the card. Not for man-bashing reasons (which I don’t care for), but rather because the post card reminds me even back in the Days of Golden, we were encouraging ourselves to be our own person, whomever and whatever that may be.
There are times we need to be stone deaf to certain things, which requires a brand of courage. When we create, we tune into a frequency that perhaps no one else hears. For some time in my Days of Olden, I didn’t tune in. I marveled at others when I caught them moving along on their own beaten path, all the while I was standing still and counting on a sign post that might tell me where I was and in which direction I should venture.
One of the tricks I am late in learning is that these sign posts are everywhere.
You knew that already?
A couple years ago, I was back home for the holidays. A spread-thin stretch of days. Mom asked me to race with her for one last errand before the stores closed. She wanted my help in picking out a gift for my sister and for myself: figurines depicting qualities she felt matched each of us. I was drawn to the figurine of a girl curled up, holding her heart close to herself, but Mom was sure this was not *me*. She picked out the one she had wanted to buy all along, telling me that when she thinks of me, this is what she sees:
We took it back home and she wrapped it so I could unwrap it the next day.
So yeah. The next day, I unwrapped it and acted surprised.
But then, I was surprised.
On the bottom of this wired-winged angel was a label:
I want to share one more photo to kinda share my mom with you,
but I didn’t want to get too carried away with personal sentiment.
I realize she’s never overlooked me.