I’m aware it’s early days, loveables, but there’s no time like the present to confess to a scene best forgotten by those who had the awkward misfortune of witnessing it. By way of preparation, a brief digression is meant to acclimate you to the frontier I’ve stumbled across…(I’m hoping you’ll settle with me a while 🙂 )
You may or may not be aware that, back in the day, singer/actress, Cher, sported all manner of bead-dazzling jumpsuits, barely-there wear, sky-high headdresses, and enough body glitter to eclipse a galaxy of disco balls. Never a shrinking violet, even those who wondered—“What was she thinking?”—had to admit the question was moot; for, she was nothing if not revealing. Having said that, I haven’t seen (Bob Mackie) hide nor hair of Cher in some years now, so I don’t think it’s discourteous of me to make this public announcement.
Lovelies and Lads, since the make-a-scene-queen has decided to get out of Dodge, there’s a new Cher-riff in town. Not a (high-noon) moment too soon, here comes Over-Share—Queen of the Wild Wild Zest! Admittedly a dubious achievement, pardoners, my claim to lack-of-refrain is as follows:
It was this past Christmas morning, and, surrounded by three of my favourite people in the world (Justin (human) and Frosty and Jubilee (dogs)), I unwrapped a final gift.
Now, please bear in mind that it was really, really early; and—having (for once) not peeked, prodded, or questioned—the previous and wonderful surprises had already reduced me to near melting. Having uncovered this last thing, my heart was a chest of buried pleasure; and, filled to bursting, it became unhinged…as did I!
As I stared down at my lap, I was startled—then startled again by an ensuing eruption of sentimentality so intense that it swept my breath off its feet, and caused my eyes to gush like synchronized fountains of youth! Possessed by good fortune, I spouted incoherent gratitudes and explanations as my shoulders heaved with seismic shudders.
What was it that racked me so? You are certainly justified in wondering.
It was a trilogy of Pippi Longstocking stories, all in one glossy hardcover book!!! I swiped my insistent tears away until I could confirm the titles—Yep, all there…“Pippi Longstocking”, “Pippi Goes On Board”, and “Pippi In the South Seas”.
Now, given that I know my heart like the back of my hand—having cried at least a billion happy tears—and, yes, having endured countless emotional and psychological pains that sorely tested my resolve to remain an optimist—this happy surprise should have been able to find its rightful place in my heart, blind-folded.
However, the magnitude of my gratitude was infused with a foreign, otherworldly quality. Verging on painful, perhaps even unbearable, it was a tangle of bitter- sweetness the likes of which I’d never known.
Emotionally-overwhelmed, I gave up trying to explain what I couldn’t comprehend just then; and was reduced to silent bawling…no quiet dignity in sight, mind you…my mute lack of composure was bold as brass…all the finesse of a bull in a china shop.
Thankfully, although I couldn’t have known what was in store, my husband and dogs are the souls of discretion, and of unconditional love. So, it went without saying that, as co-owner of this particular shop, I could afford to put my fragile wares on display.
Having had time to reflect on it, and having experienced the same momentary intensity/inaudible wailing a few times since (although, always on my own), I think I get it. When tied to frames of reference that originated in my youth (such as beloved books of childhood…or songs spanning several decades), the enormity of how far God has brought me becomes staggering.
As an adult, I realize how blessed I am. My hard-won/magnified sense of (physical, emotional, psychological) security; sense of mastery and control; sense of who I am (and, was always meant to be) places me in the enviable position of being able to say, “There, but for the grace of God, go I”. I have benefited from many saving graces, while others have not.
I also believe that these watershed moments incorporate the unexpressed grief that, not fully-recognized and/or remembered, is now, courageously finding its way to the healing light.
In those moments, it’s as though a curtain has been drawn back; unleashing a revelation akin to the knowing that, as with the Wizard of Oz, the old pains are imposters who, in actuality, never had the authority to deny me a sense of belonging and wholeness and home.
And, as intense as it is, the bitter-sweetness that follows (residual pain, relief, and release) is a transformative gift…it hurts as it leaves, but is no longer frightening–and as it waves its last goodbye, it feels like freedom.
So, there you are, dare devils. You took a risk, and here’s where you found me…making myself right at home where my vulnerabilities are housed…a glass dwelling where sheers are favored—given my desire to let the light in.
Having said that, I also recognize the importance of allowing room for protective and strategically-placed windows coverings, so as to keep certain things from view. Unfortunately, the stockroom in my aforementioned shop is sometimes limited; requiring that I do some high and low window shopping for just the the right curtains with just the right shielding properties for just the right areas. Today, shopping was not on my list.
So, lovelies, that’s that…guts spilled. Thank you for generously listening…and, if you are a shopper, too (can relate on a personal level), all the better…I’m glad you didn’t have to go it alone, today. You know where to find me should you need a retail therapy companion in future . 🙂
P.S. Sorry that I’m a day late…processing can’t be forced. A really busy work-week left my mind tired; and it’s inhumane (and wasted effort) to drag a horse to water and then expect it to think.
Also, context…Bob Mackie was Cher’s clothing designer of choice.