During a recent family gathering in which the conversation lead to a discussion on material possessions, I was asked, “Do you get attached to stuff?”  My answer was a quick and easy, “No.”

Oh, I am by no means above wanting things.  Just check my Pinterest boards.  But I do not attach sentimental value to things anymore.  I don’t think I’m cold about it.   What has turned me apathetic to my belongings has been all the moving Fiancé and I have done in the past few years.  When you have to pack all your stuff, you realize how much you don’t need.  And how much you hate to pack it.

Fiancé and I live the simple life when it comes to our stuff now.  If we’re not using it, we’re donating it.

He who dies with the most toys still dies, right?  Stuff is just stuff!  With one exception.

I do have a material possession that I am attached to. My “one thing.”  Everything else precious to me is intangible – in memories and thoughts – except my one thing.

Cootie.  Cootie the bear.

Mom and I made Cootie when I was young enough to still go crazy over stuffed animals, but not too young enough to help.  Mom found a pattern, sewed him together, and I stuffed him and helped sew him up.  His last seam is all too easily noticed, reflecting my talents as a seamstress/bear maker.  His eyes are slightly misaligned.  But, he can look happy, tired, angry and confused.

As I near 30 years old, Cootie still goes with me on all major treks in life.  He moved with me out of my parents home, out of state, out of that state, and all the way back again.  He gets seat belted, because my “one thing” has to be remain safe.  He takes care of me at night by keeping danger away.  True story.

Even though he is made of materials found in Walmart’s craft section, he is worth more than gold.  He represents the bond between my mother and me.  If I have a daughter, Cootie will be placed in her care, to make sure she is safe and watched over.  Somehow, through his misaligned eyes, she will be watched by me and my mother.  It gives me comfort to know that Cootie will be with her in the future.

After I die.  I still need him for a while yet.  He’s my Cootie, my “one thing.”

Think about it!  Do you have one material possession that means more than the others?  If so, comment below!

“How often have I lain beneath rain on a strange roof, thinking of home.” 
— William Faulkner

Three and a half years ago, I left my home state in the firm belief that I would not move back again.  Heading west, I knew I would return to New Mexico for visits, but that was it.  Now I am back in the Land of Enchantment for the foreseeable future.

The time I spent in New Mexico while living elsewhere was richer.  I became more aware of the differing cultures and my own roots.  Even the desert landscape seemed more vibrant.

I moved away for the sake of following opportunity, and I have no regrets for doing so.  I feel everything happens for a reason and I leave it to God to direct me to rewarding successes and mistakes to learn from.  I returned for family at a time when my family faces new challenges and my last opportunity came to an end.

The decision to move back was not easy emotionally, but it was an easy one to make.  Fiancé and I knew it was time to start over, to be with family and carve out a new path.  Time to step back, take stock of what is really important, and start again from a firm foundation.  It is also a time to look forward  years down the road and think of what we would regret more – moving closer to family or staying away?  Staying apart from family still kept our thoughts with them.  We couldn’t help but think that we should be helping, doing something, if only by being closer.  Sleep was difficult and the feeling of being orphaned was prevalent in each day.

There is a lot to do and figure out.  A lot of work ahead of us.  We are not home quite yet, at least geographically.  What I have developed is a sense of home apart from a place, but in a person.  Fiancé is my home, no matter where I am.  We’ll move forward together…no matter where we move.

With this attitude of awesomeness, friends and acquaintances ask me about why I don’t do this or that.  Well, I am stopped in some cases by little childhood traumas.  My stories usually start with, “Well, I was traumatized when…”

I do hope to overcome not my fears, but my very valid concerns, to once again take up activities that gave me pleasure or could in the future.  In the meantime, for reference, I find it might be helpful to list a few of the things I don’t do until that beautiful day, when I can do them.

Why I don’t…

Mountain Bike
I was a late bloomer when it came to learning to ride a bike, but after my dad finally accomplished what then seemed impossible and taught me to ride a bike, I was always on it.   My parents decided to take me to the mountains so I could bike on some of the easy roads.  I think I was about nine or ten years of age.  Tender youth.  Mistake number one was one my dad admits to – we overfilled my tires.  Mistake number two was underestimating the decline on the road.  My parents got in their truck and were going to lead me down the road.  So, I see the truck start to move forward, and I get on my bike.  Truck picks up a little speed, and the bike does to without any effort.  Then, all I remember is seeing dust behind the truck in front of me, and a blur where the pedals usually are.  I couldn’t catch a pedal, so my legs were in the air.  Speaking of air, I had so much coming at me that I can hardly breathe, but between gasps I started screaming for Mom and Dad to stop and save me.  We reached the end of the road, the truck stopped, and I jumped off my bike to the ground.  I was furious.  I started yelling at my parents for foresaking me.  Mom looked surprised, and Dad said they had no idea I needed help.  I said,

“Didn’t you hear me screaming?”

Mom replied, “We thought you were singing!”

“The ‘Mom, Dad, Stop, I’m Going to Die’ song?!?!?”

More than being scared, I was offended that my parents thought my vocal talents were on par with hoarse screaming.  I could have died that day.

Go to the Zoo
Oh yes, they’re pretty and exotic, but some peacocks are pure evil. 

Let me start by explaining that I was raised on a racehorse training facility that had all manner of animals, not just thoroughbreds and quarter horses.  I was a very small child when this happened, but I remember it as if it ’twas yesterday. 

Dad was building a chicken coop, and I was supervising the project.  He was hammering nails.  It was a sunny day.  Dad was wearing a white “work” t-shirt and had just turned to focus on hitting the next nail on the head when…

WHOMP

I felt a huge weight on my shoulders…literally.  I looked at my shoulder and saw a huge claw.  Then came shooting pain in my forehead.  Next thing I remember is being swept up by Dad and he ran into the house.  What had happened (explained to me later) was that a forocious monster of a male peacock known for chasing people without reason (other than his evil inclination to do so) landed on my shoulders and started pecking my forehead.   

Dad sat me on the counter and began to use his shirt as a compress.  I don’t remember pain at all, but facial wounds spurt out a lot of blood.  The sight of the blood, Dad trying to fix the problem and obviously failing (my conclusion because I was seeing blood), had me screaming “MOM!!!” 

Nowadays, when I am dragged to the zoo, I show no interest in the peacocks.  When I see one, I may take a few steps back.  Peacocks are always just everywhere at zoos, so if the zoo lets them run free I am out.  No Sunday at the zoo for me, thanks.  I could have died that day. 

Go Horseback Riding (with a Dog)
The thought of riding a horse with your best friend trotting beside you is a wonderful thought, right?  Well, I’m about to tell you how it can go horribly wrong.

I was a small child on the ranch.  There was a horse named Ernie (see I remember these details so I know they happened).  One of my childhood friends came over and we begged to go riding.  So Dad takes me and my buddy to ride Ernie on the race track.  Just a walk, Dad leading the horse. 

Dad had a white German Shepherd who was a nipper.  Ernie was spirited.  Race track dirt is deep and includes multiple soils to make it “cushy.”  Do I even need to tell the story?  So, Dad is both training Ernie and the dog to BEHAVE.  Well, needless to say, the dog starts nipping at the horse, the horse bucks us off.  My friend is fine but I go head first into the track.  I remember flight, and then an immediate feeling of darkness and suffocation.  Before I can think, I feel Dad’s arms wrap around my waist and tug.  Takes effort but I am pulled out.  Mom is there already.  I  have sand packed in my mouth, up my nostrils and in my eyes, so I was spitting, snorting and blinking like crazy.  Once she realizes I am completely fine, she starts laughing to tears.  Tears of relief, possibly.  But I’m sure the fact that I played an ostrich in real life had something to do with the humor effect.  It took days to get the sand out.  It was in my pores.  I could have died that day.

Ski
The last time I went skiing I believe was before I entered kindergarten at age four.  I remember feeling cold, hearing crunchy noises and seeing lots of knees.  No mom.  Mom wasn’t the one that took me. I had no childhood friends yet, and I was excruciatingly shy.  Now at, uh, my age,  I just have this feeling that I will be left on the side of a mountain by myself, scooting down on my bum for at least half a day.  Less a feeling than a prediction.  Skiing before kindergarten without Mom?  I could have died that day.  If there would have been a peacock there – certain death. 

In closing, I better start trying some of the above things before my future kids ask me to take them.  I’ll be outed for sure if I try taking a gun into the free-range peacock exhibit.  What from the above list should I try first?  I think I’ll try swimming.

“It has that thing – the imagination, and the feeling of happy excitement- I knew when I was a kid.”
–Walt Disney

My grandfather loved the Jungle Cruise.  Mom said that he got a “kick out of it.”  I could sense that as we waited in a relatively short line (by Disney standards) for an old and original ride, she went back, just a moment, and he was there with us, anticipating climbing on board.

Most families have Disney moments.  That trip to Disneyland with magical memories.  For me and my mom, it’s not a tag line or a commercial.  We make our way back to Disney to reconnect with simple pleasures.  The feeling of being a kid, where anything is possible.

We wonder why anyone in their right mind would take CHILDREN to DISNEYLAND?  Poor parents with strollers and heat and screaming and expense and lines.  Being adults gives the advantage of weaving in and out of crowds, forsaking argument for fun and choosing to eat a pickle for lunch instead of waiting in line for an actual meal.  That pickle was amazing by the way, I regret nothing of paying $3 for it.  Delicious.

Mom remembers going to Disneyland as a kid, way before I was even a thought in her head.  It was fun and exciting!  The first time she took me, I was six years old.  I remember colors, colors in water, the pool at the hotel and then…the trauma.  I was scared to death of the characters.  I  remember knowing that there were people in the costumes, but that didn’t really result in rational thought or behavior for me.  Mom took not only me, but my older friend, two years my senior, who I bothered relentlessly.   She, on the other hand, loved characters and had her autograph book ready.  So, when a character came into view, she shot in one direction and I shot in the other.  This drove Mom nuts, because my friend was running up to a character far away and I was hiding behind the nearest trash can.  How we didn’t get lost is a testament to my Mom.  Now, I don’t why Mom thought it was a good idea.  Maybe it was easier, I don’t know.  But she decided to take me to hell.  The Disneyland Character Breakfast!  I was just about to eat the biggest, most delicious stack of pancakes, and then…I saw him, heading our way.  Goofy.  My heart started racing.  I told Mom and my friend to be quiet and I ducked under the table.  The I heard it.  The sound of betrayal.

“She’s under the table.”

All I saw was a flash of plastic whiskers.  I don’t remember anything after that.  Mom said I screamed.  So, this first trip showed that my mom and I were different kids.  Mom was a calmer kid, apparently, and I was a bit sheltered, a little spoiled perhaps.

Three years later, second trip included Dad.  I had the stomach flu.  We lost the car one time, and Mom and I lost Dad many times, but he kept popping back up with ice cream.  Dad was vacationing from health that trip, which resulted in me and mom getting on him about eating too much ice cream, and then me complaining about my stomach, and it was tough.  But, Dad wasn’t a Daddy Downer after all because we took him to the opening of Toon Town.  We decided to check out Chip N’ Dale Treehouse…of Horrors!  We were immediately pushed into a line soon realized was meant only for small children.  Then the stairs somehow became narrower at the top.  We were told to slide down the tube slide.  First me.  Whoosh.  Then came Mom.  Whoosh.  Then we waited.  And waited.  Did Dad already come out and go find ice cream?  Then we started hearing voices from inside the treehouse and they seemed perturbed.  Then we saw them – boots.  Cowboy boots, no less, slowly inching their way down the slide.  Inch by excruciatingly slow inch, grunt by grunt, Dad finally emerged.  I think Mom and I just stood there with our mouths slightly open in shock.  No need to explain we weren’t from California.  That was a true magical memory.  If you say “treehouse” Mom and I burst into hysterical laughter to this day.  If you say “character breakfast”, only Mom does.

Mom and I went back in 2005 to mark the 50 year anniversary of the park’s opening.  Going as adults was the best! Sure, a child’s imagination lit on fire through real encounters is a great thing to behold…yes…but, I am a huge Walt Disney fan, so thinking about the grand opening of the park from a historical perspective and what it has meant to our family was a wonderful experience as an adult.  We were free to do what we wanted when we wanted without the fear of losing people!

This past trip, just a few weeks ago, Mom and I went back to Disneyland because we needed some old fashioned happy.  Work and stress and all the responsibilities of being an adult take their toll.  Mom turned into a kid.  Laughing and screaming.  She actually clapped her hands using only her palms after riding Big Thunder Mountain Railroad.  I was jumping up and down saying, “Omigod, omigod, omigod!”  I pulled her into the 45 minute wait for California Screamin.  She screamed, I laughed.  Our picture showed me covering my eyes laughing and her looking like the Bride of Frankenstein (her words) from the hairspray overuse.