Ode to Gilbert Blythe

{ note: In memoriam of the one year anniversary of Jonathan Crombie’s passing, I revamped my original post dedicated to his most prominent role: the untouchable Gilbert Blythe. }

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Can we put life on pause for five minutes’ time to swoon over the beauty that is Gilbert Blythe? In a modern world where the likes of Christian Grey, Gideon Cross, Edward Cullen, and Travis Maddox are incessantly praised, I like to revert back to a time when simply being a gentleman was enough to hasten a girl’s heartbeat.

Don’t get me wrong – the Greys, Crosses, Cullens, and Maddoxes of the world have some appeal, but there’s just something that tugs on my heartstrings about an Anne of Green Gables setting, the simplistic lifestyle, the motions of courting back in those days. Money wasn’t as blinding, a proposal could be made without ever even having shared a kiss, handwritten letters were (exquisitely) the norm. It was common to marry first and in love (if at all) later. Most lived in comfortable harmony and a fondness for one another formed out of deep respect, admiration, and companionship more than anything else.

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But like a rose that blooms unexpectedly and out of place within a crack in the concrete, somewhere out there in those years of modesty and propriety, are the few and supremely real Annes and Gilberts – a great and true love, not something that just closely resembled something like it.

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Ode to Lorelai Gilmore

 

Nobody can deny the pull that Gilmore Girls had during its original run. I was twelve when it first aired and I can distinctly remember thinking I had never seen anything like it. A television series centered on a ravishing, caffeine-addicted, adorably loquacious single mom raising her bookish, delightful, charmingly beautiful sixteen-year-old – the age the mother was when she birthed her? And people liked it?

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Ode to Kelly Clarkson

{ A Mile in His Daughter’s Shoes – Pt. II }

My phone has a message on it.

It’s Rema.

“Btw, have you watched Kelly Clarkson’s performance on Idol? I never heard the song until she performed it on Idol and I instantly thought of you <3”

There’s a link. Intrigued and completely unaware of the song’s subject matter, I click on it.

Big mistake.

It’s 7:15am and I have precisely forty-five minutes to feed and prep my children before the school bus pulls up.

Am I doing any of that? Hell no. I’m curled up in a ball on the couch, half sobbing, half assuring my boys Mommy is so not crying.

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Ode to Mark: All Roads – They Lead Me Here

{ Originally written 2 years ago.
I still mean every word. xoxo}

For my [^1]14th post, it’s only fitting that I dedicate its content to Mark. Nearly 10 and a half years later and I haven’t once found myself at a loss for words in all the times I’ve declared my unending love for this man.

I used to think being incapable of truly being in love with someone was a deformity, a genetic trait that had passed through the blood flowing through my veins. For years I was under the impression that somewhere in my ancestral make up, the wire that connected one’s heart to its soulmate’s was sliced away, floating into the ether forever searching for the connection it was meant for. Determination for better did its best to bury the alarm six feet under because more than life itself, I wanted to finally shake the loneliness that shadowed me no matter how desperately I ran from it.

There was a looming presence of sadness that took residence in our household after my father left. I truly think it had gotten comfortable there until the day my son was born and only then did it drain of life.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. Keep reading.

Ode To A Best Friend Broken

I wrote this in 2010. I’m reposting it here, today, because I think she needs reminding.


“Take a minute, girl, come sit down and tell us what’s been happenin’
In your face I can see the pain, don’t try to convince us that you’re happy, yeah
We’ve seen this all before but he’s takin’ advantage of your passion
Because we’ve come too far for you to feel alone,
You don’t let him walk over your heart
I’m telling you…”

My mom once told me that when it came to loyalty, I resembled an anchor; that when I cared, I cared with all of me. I would get frustrated running myself ragged, desperately trying to claw my beloved’s burden off his/her shoulders, only to place it heftily upon my own. This is my gift and my solemn curse. Many a time it’s been used against me, a hypothetical gun pointed at the bridge between my eyes. The fingers wound around it? My own. I shake my head at its existence but I refuse to apologize for it. Because caring that deeply is love and why would anyone feel the need to express regret over that? Keep reading.