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Pages from the past …

November 14, 2008 By Kimber View Comments

She takes the boxes of sweaters down from the top shelf. Last night’s cool breeze reminded her of her warm, yet worn grey cardigan. As she slides the boxes off the ledge she sees something drop from the corner of her eye…a flutter that catches her interest.

“What could have possibly been hidden there these last few months?” My mind races with thoughts of forgotten treasure, high school time capsules and hope chests. I wonder if it is something I put away to remember or something I hid away to forget?
As I set down the boxes, I look to where I think the item had landed. Now, where can I find something that looks like it wasn’t there before. I know “something” fell down from that ledge…but what. I sit quietly looking from the top shelf to my current position on the floor. Hmmm…if I were a something how would I fall? Almost as if cued I notice a stark white piece of paper folded in fourths. Its corners doglegged and worn. Must have been something I had tucked into one on my purses or files. Why would I stick it under those boxes….my mind still draws a blank, but my tummy starts to tingle.
I open the gently folded page and look to the top to see what the letter could possibly regard. The first lines bring a smile to my lips. “How many kisses do you want per day…” Secret wishes and dreams flutter across my mind like a summer shower. Every sensation triggers ripples and waves of emotion. Warmth begins to spread form the tips of my fingers as they grip the page, to my very core. I sit and enjoy the escape for a few moments longer. Transported to a different time, a different place, a different me.
The buzzing of my cell phone reminds me I am late for my meeting and my e-mails continue to pop up on the laptop teetering on the bed. Life is so full, yet so empty. The page begins to pulse anew, this time revitalizing me and spurring me into action. I tuck the page into the folds of my skirt. Just touching it hidden there so close to my skin, makes me feel a little stronger. I know what lies at my feet…mine to take if I chose. “Not yet…” I whisper to myself. I have things to do, things only I can take care of…but soon.
Grabbing my coach, shoes and keys I head for the door. My sunglasses hide my damp lashes as I grab the grey cardigan. Happily ever after is waiting and I can’t disappoint. I grab my diet coke and lock the door.

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RECOVERY & REPAIR

November 12, 2008 By Kimber View Comments

Sitting in bed, home sick & bored. Clicking between VH1 & CNBC I find myself hypnotised by the sheer drama of the stock market. “Recovery & repair is what we need to focus on…” I hear as clearly as the market bell.
They are discussing the “instability” of our economic future, triggered by our housing market tumble. TARP is the current “bailout” to save GM & the other American car makers. Why should we give federal aide to car makers because Americans don’t want to buy American? Because they support 400 million households that work in that industry. They of course can’t pay their own bills because gas prices are making people buy foreign more energy efficient cars not, American Gas guzzlers. Why can’t we afford gas? We have to pay an extra $1 per gallon, yet due to slow economy make less income. Increased oil prices impacted everything from shipping to grocery shopping to changing jobs due to down sizing. The market needs profit so if costs go up they must cut expenses…eventually, jobs. Even the strongest, proudest American can’t pay their mortgage if they lose their job, have nothing left in home equity & no matter what he sells, he owes more than he can ever pay.
So Recovery and Repair is urgently needed. How we can do it the actual question. Yes, the housing market is answer. Land is always the solution.
Our nation was built by people who braved deserts, floods & wild animals in search of a plow & 50 acres. ‘A man’s house is his home ,’ or God bless America, LAND that I love…
We MUST remember our country is the greatest in the world. We have freedoms & pride no other fledgling nations can compare to. Our homes must be our homesteads.
We must band together & support our country, our communities, our neighbors. If we don’t walk away, fight for our legal rights we can save our homes. These banks can & must negotiate. Until they do & loosen the purse strings, we will not succeed. They must help keep people in their homes or let new homeowners buy at reasonable rates.
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Veterans Day

November 11, 2008 By Kimber View Comments

This morning as I began my daily routine of making every day special: I thought about standing next to my father at the Veteran’s Day ceremony at Veterans Park.
My mind began bursting w/images from Hollywood movies like Pearl Harbor, Time magazine covers & Molly the riveter. I remembered the America of my parents & the great depression they lived through. Times must have been tough but they all seemed so calm, sticking together in support of our troops.
I decide to dress like a WWII war bride. I feel a little tingle relating my long distance love affair w/that of hundreds of American military wives. As an Army brat I’ve always known that duty & work come first. We were always there when our men came home. So I picked out what I felt would be the perfect outfit.
My dad said he didn’t get the parades or support they did in WWII but he’s just as proud. He stood shoulder to shoulder w/Korean War vets that sharedhis comments. As I stood watching all the vets from all walks of life I realized that they are the best & bravest of us all.
One of my tenants stood next to my father & told him what a good girl he raised. Still in uniform he tipped his hat at my mother as it was announced that he had served in Afganistan, was a military recruiter & was on his way to Iraq the new year. 3 Realtors from the office, retired yet too used to work to rest, stand tall as they represent our new generation of Veteran. A female officer no more than 29 addresses the croud to let them know, “I was proud to serve & I’ld do it again. That’s all I have to really say.”
I realize they are part of an invisible nation. Patriots who work & toil but ask for nothing in return. I didn’t realize the other 3 men working in my office were heros of war. Never before have we been so honored to be surrounded by so many men & women who have seen war & death and survived.
Veterans young and old gathered together today near a small lake under a moss covered mighty oak tree, honoring the men & women that built our country.

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Work to Live not Live to Work…

November 10, 2008 By Kimber View Comments

  My favorite part of the week has got to be the weekend!  LOL… Even when I was still in school I loved the weekends.  Not just for the late nights, partying and no work but everyone getting together without worrying about having to get up early.  No stress…just for the fun of it.  My entire work week is focused on what must be done today, what I ran out of time to do yesterday and what I know I will have to do tomorrow!  Not until Friday do I feel that rush of freedom known internationally as TGIF!

  Going back and forth from Europe to the US has given me a special insight on things I used to take for granted.  My friends in Europe say American’s “Live to work, not work to live…”  I thought about this and didn’t really understand why until I began sharing my days with my fiance Morten. 

  In order to keep him as much a part of my life as possible, I send him pictures and messages updating him on what I am doing, going and basically just what’s on my mind.  Honestly, it has become almost second nature now, clicking pics from my cell phone and uploading it to Face Book or kimberanna.com.  Giving him play by plays of movies I watch, events I attend and even virtual “to do” lists.  As I began reviewing what I was doing I began to see a pattern.  I spent most of my day working or helping others.  I spent very little time sleeping or doing “me” things.  I began to look around and noticed that the majority of my friends do exactly the same.

  When asked what my plans are, my first answer always involves work, “I’m off,” or “I work late..”  Other countries don’t seem to structure their lives around the few moments they can’t find something work related to squeeze into.  When they go home, they are home.  Very few people keep their cell phones by the bed in case a client calls!  There is no, “I’ll take it all home and look it over to see if there’s anything else we can do to it!” They know that whatever is wrong can wait until the workday begins tomorrow.  They have the patience of a nation that has thrived for hundreds of years.

  Our views on work are so different that I find myself wondering how this big difference effects our views on life.  In America our country was built on blood, sweat and tears.  The strongest survive, when the going get’s tough/tough get going, and of course the American Dream of rags to riches.  We may be a notion obsessed with success and money but even more so, we have deep roots of pride of country, honor and work ethic.  We are a hungry young nation created by the best and brightest people from all over the world.  An international melting pot that produces a culture contantly changing to keep up with the demands of the present and challenges of the future.  Our hunger to compete and succeed on the global scale is what continues to drive us.

  So when people say, “Americans live to work and not work to live…” I do not feel very slighted.  It’s true!  What makes us “Proud to be an American!” is the spirit passed down from our founding fathers.  Anyone from any walk of life has the oppertunity to become whatever they dream to be.  “If you believe it, you can achieve it!”

  Now, more than ever I see that spirit in the eyes of my community.  My friends and family working to help our community not only weather this storm but overcome the struggles and rise above the crowd.  No only do we work for personal success, we work to help our neighbors, county, state and country get through these lean years.  We’re a young nation but our history has been scarred by extreme highs and tragic lows…through them all we have remained steady and come out a stronger nation for it. 

  Like our parents and grand parents did before us, we continue to work.  Work at the office, work at home, sometimes work two and three jobs.  We do this because we know deep down, if anyone can do it…we can!

YES, WE CAN!!!

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Sausage & Pepperoni Pizza

November 1, 2008 By Kimber View Comments

“Have you ever discover something that made you question reality?”
I guess as a parent you really do view your children through “different” eyes. That’s what my mother called it. When she see’s an ugly baby/toddler in a beauty pagent/talent show she will always exclaim, “poor thing, it’s so ugly it’s cute!”
Let me explain my mother was Korean, so she has a distinct asian wisdom behind her statements. I learned this long ago as she told me Korean “fairytales/fables” before bed, translation is a very sardonic mistress. Unquestionably the Hans Christen Andersen of Korea: she had spun webs of reality where baby frogs buried their mother by the sea shore out of love and sisters were washed ashore still embracing after being lost at sea. Very heavy material for a four year old, but always with a lesson. Love comes at a price: hard work, patience & usually some type of suffering, just for good measure, lol.
I remember always wondering why all her stories were so sad. Many times while telling the stories she would cry. I always wondered if she was crying because she was sad the frog’s mommy died. Didn’t she know it was only make believe?
As an adult I realize that maybe that’s not the reason she is crying. I came to this realization at 4 am, after opening a box of Pizza my son Jeffrey had ordered for lunch. I haven’t been sleeping well worried about work/economy/election/Jeff and especially my mom’s recent strokes, so I figure the pizza will at least put me in carb coma for at least a few hours.
“Sausage & pepperoni?” I mutter as I open the box. Who could have possibly have ordered this I wonder, before I remember Jeff had. “So my son’s favorite pizza is actually sausage & pepperoni…after all this time” I mentally review. Jeff always tries to make people happy so “goes with the flow,” in most situations. I realize I do the same by always ordering a pizza I think he likes. The Danish irony is, we are both eating pizza that’s not our favorite & pretending it is to make the other happy.

As I took a bite of Jeff’s pizza, I thought about how scared I still was about losing my mom. This pizza was a perfect example of what she always conveyed in her bedtime stories. I realized that those last few nights in Denmark actually put me in my mother’s shoes for once. I was a strange person in a foreign land, surrounded by people speaking a language foreign to me, missing my mother & family who could be ill or even dying, but tied steadfast by the love for her husband.
By the second bite, I knew why my mother always cried when she told me bedtime stories. Telling me bedtime stories was the one time she felt safe sharing her fears, joys & pain. In her web of reality she would weave the pain of missing her mother, fear of her possible death, joy of motherhood and hopes for tomorrow. I realize now her children were possibly her only audience at the time due to the huge cultural gap at the time. Fairy tales the perfect way to explain grown up thoughts to tiny minds & still have a happy ending.
My mother always ended her stories by telling me she loved me and that she wished my grandmother were here to see me. “She’d go crazy if she see’s you,” she’d say because we were all so beautiful/smart/good. That was her way of saying, “totally overcome with emotion.”
Reality is perception. I realize life really is a circle. I am my mother and my mother was me. I still have so much to learn and teach but wonderful mentors to guide me.
I throw the rest of the pizza in the trash. It’s served it’s purpose and fed both my body and mind.
“I’m going to ask more questions and actually listen more.” I promise myself. I don’t want to regret what I didn’t do or say. I want to try to “walk in the other persons shoes more.”
I click off the kitchen light.

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