Nineteen Years of Keeping It Real

Posted on November 12, 2013 by Jennifer Wolfe

pg 18 of The Velveteen Rabbit. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

“Real isn’t how you are made,’ said the Skin Horse. ‘It’s a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.’

‘Does it hurt?’ asked the Rabbit.

‘Sometimes,’ said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. ‘When you are Real you don’t mind being hurt.’

‘Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,’ he asked, ‘or bit by bit?’

‘It doesn’t happen all at once,’ said the Skin Horse. ‘You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.”
— Margery Williams The Velveteen Rabbit

Thanks for nineteen years of keeping it real. Happy anniversary.

Jennifer Wolfe

Jennifer Wolfe, a writer-teacher-mom, is dedicated to finding the extraordinary in the ordinary moments of life by thinking deeply, loving fiercely, and teaching audaciously. Jennifer is a Google Certified Educator, Hyperdoc fanatic, and a voracious reader. Read her stories on her blog, mamawolfe, and grab free copies of her teaching and parenting resources.

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Into The Fog: The Sweetheart Murders

Posted on November 6, 2013 by Jennifer Wolfe

Fog (Photo credit: rchughta)

They disappeared into the fog that night.

Months of preparation for the play culminated on a foggy night on December 20, 1980. I hadn’t really noticed how in love they were with each other-we were too busy with the mice, party guests, Chinese and Russian dancers running about backstage. Just turned 15, I felt the delicious taste of freedom that comes with a job and being out at night.

I sometimes wonder what would have happened if we’d traded places that night…if instead of climbing into our warm old Volvo with my mom in the parking lot, what if I had been Sabrina? No one in our tiny town would think twice about stopping to pick up ice cream with your boyfriend and heading off in the tule fog to a birthday party.

Our town is safe.

Was safe.

They named them the ‘Sweetheart Murders’ after they found their bodies a few days later, 30 miles away in a ravine. They died together, tragically, painfully, unnecessarily. I remember seeing his sister at school; she was a normal kid. Just like everyone else, except for this one thing. I wasn’t sure what happens to you when you die, but I knew what happened to everyone else.

John and Sabrina, Sweetheart Murders

Only 18 and full of life and love and promise, they left our little college town absolutely shattered. For years we lived in the shadow of their memory, wondering who among us could have the capacity to snuff out two lives so gentle and innocent. We settled back into our lives, and we picked up the bits and pieces of our memories and went on. We endured the theories, the false leads, the abrupt endings to arrests we thought would show us the answers to that night and bring us back to that time of innocence, the time of well-being, when all our parents felt safe letting us out on a foggy night. Their families never recovered.

Thirty years later, their killer has been tried and convicted. The children still gather on the same stage to celebrate the season, unaware of the love that was lost that night. Volvos still rumble through the parking lot, scooping up Clara, the Mouse King and flower dancers after rehearsal. We have our own children now, and watch them find their way through the world with a caution we never knew before that night. We think of John and Sabrina and hug each other a little closer, remembering how easy it is to disappear into the fog at night.

This post was inspired by The Last Winter of Dani Lancing, a novel by P.D. Viner. Twenty years ago, college student Dani was murdered but her killer was never found. Now a promising new lead may change everything. Join From Left to Write on November 7 as we discuss The Last Winter of Dani Lancing. As a member, I received a copy of the book for review purposes.

Jennifer Wolfe

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Dia De Los Muertos Memories

Posted on November 1, 2013 by Jennifer Wolfe

“To live in hearts we leave behind is not to die.”

― Thomas Campbell

Frida Kahlo, “My Grandparents, My Parents and I”

“We all have an inner voice, our personal whisper from the universe. All we have to do is listen — feel and sense it with an open heart. Sometimes it whispers of intuition or precognition. Other times, it whispers an awareness, a remembrance from another plane. Dare to listen. Dare to hear with your heart.”

― C.J. Heck, Bits and Pieces: Short Stories from a Writer’s Soul

Charlotte Bronte

“I think it is all a matter of love; the more you love a memory the stronger and stranger it becomes”

― Vladimir Nabokov

A favorite Nicaraguan memory

“Silently, one by one, in the infinite meadows of heaven,

Blossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots of the angels.”

― Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Evangeline: A Tale of Acadie

“The worst part of holding the memories is not the pain. It’s the loneliness of it.

Memories need to be shared.”

― Lois Lowry, The Giver

Do you celebrate Dia de los Muertos? How do you share your memories?

Jennifer Wolfe

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A Mother’s Love

Posted on October 28, 2013 by Jennifer Wolfe

A mother’s love isn’t easy to express

without a multitude of cliches cropping up

or trying to sound like I know something special.

The idea of a mother’s love, to me,

is commitment, dedication, and respect.

It’s a thankless, painfully difficult job

if you do it right.

A mother’s love is confrontation, holding firm, letting go and

trusting things will work out.

It’s boundaries

celebrations

hand holding, back rubbing and

tear wiping.

It’s believing in your child, their potential

and unlimited possibility.

A mother’s love is taking a backseat to their dreams,

driving them to be courageous

grateful

and kind.

It’s balancing everyone else’s needs,

and when those needs come head to head,

backing down or finding another way around.

A mother’s love is smiles, bubbles, long walks and road trips.

It’s doing whatever it takes to get it done.

It’s growing up, facing responsibilities, and

allowing them to fail.

It’s knowing what’s wrong and right and when the lines get blurred.

It’s holding them close, pushing them away, and

reeling them back in again.

It’s setting an alarm to get them out of bed,

and another to make sure they’re safely home at night.

A mother’s love is cooking, singing, digging, traveling and

trying to keep up with their emerging and varied personalities.

It’s holding their hand during a shot, caressing their feverish forehead and

wiping away tears of regret as they slide down their cheeks.

It’s nurturing dreams and quietly cultivating new ideas for their future.

It’s harnessing talent, releasing failure and helping navigate life’s lessons together.

It’s teaching them to trust and to love, to find joy and dare to be themselves.

A mother’s love is perseverance. Dedication. Honor.

Whatever it takes to bring forth a human who can walk through this world

with grit, grace and courage.

It’s convincing them they are worthy of everything the universe has to offer.

It’s showing up to life.

This post was inspired by The Dinner, a novel by Herman Koch. Two brothers and their wives sit down for a tension filled dinner to discuss a tragedy that can change both families’ lives forever. Join From Left to Write on October 29 as we discuss The Dinner. As a member, I received a copy of the book for review purposes.