tradition and what-not

what makes a traditional girl? i heard that word come across my morning and it sat around with me in my mind this afternoon as my hands were dripping in thirty pounds of peaches, ears filled with alicia keys on the speakers, the scent of steeping lavender about to go into the jam i was making. i was never one to fit into any role, and that word rolled around in my thoughts as i did things some call ‘traditional’, that i just call ‘stuff i like’.

i am dealing with a bit of a conundrum in my own heart and mind lately, wondering how to get where i want to be.  at this point in my life, there is something beautiful evolving as i find my creative outlets being encouraged and appreciated and flowing out of me in the most interesting ways.  i am having these delicious conversations and feeling something that makes me smile from ear to ear, something that both intrigues me and gives me this lovely sense of calm that i can’t quite put my finger on.  a story waiting to be told, a song waiting to be sung.  and i am reminded of my own world again, my own dreams, and how the pieces of the puzzle shall sort out.

the conundrum?  how to reconcile within myself the things within me that clash. my life has been full of dreams but never has tradition entered into the mix.  i’ve always been a combination of thoughts and ideas and visions and pictures.  a girl who climbed trees but wore a polka dot dress while doing so.  a girl who hung out in the school lot smoking cigarettes in her pointy boot and black eyeliner, but still managed to pull on a blazer and work a full time job the other half of the day.  a girl who got her own place early on but always knew that independence was the choice until there was someone who made her want to open her arms.  a woman who traveled alone but made friends as soon as she landed.  a woman who always wanted that silly white dress yet only if it was with a man who would not need the church that went with it.  a woman who wants to quit her day job and make chocolates and grow a garden and be in a family for once, yet not feel like she’s any less steinem than the next girl.  maybe hearing something silly, like this, would do the trick…

What is it you want, Mary? What do you want? You-you want the moon? Just say the word and I’ll throw a lasso around it and pull it down. Hey, that’s a pretty good idea. I’ll give you the moon…Well, then you could swallow it. And it’ll all dissolve, see. And the moon beams that shoot out of your fingers and your toes and the ends of your hair…Am I talking too much?

or envisioning something even sillier and sweeter, like this…

it doesn’t really matter because in the end, as long as he makes you laugh, loves your mind and kisses you til you feel all la-la, tradition means little…


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