They Called Her Sunshine

Preface: This entry has been drawn from my own personal experiences, conclusions, and past.

Today, I was thinking back. I have no idea what has propelled me into these memories so quickly, but alas, here I am., back in time, searching myself over.

No doubt, the “grunge era” as we so frequently called it, was the best time to be a teenager. We braided our hair, stayed out all night, strummed our guitars, and felt the freedom of new voices. Voices that reached out to us over airwaves and backdoors. Through music and conversation. Through books and new ideas about the future.

We burst forth into a lifestyle that seemed fool proof, and embraced it. Each day was a new kind of adventure, filled with magic, laughter, and the great wide open. The unknown. Rolling with each moment, seeking out new ways to kill the boredom of small town living.

And kill it, we did.

Piercings and Green hair (Hello Michael!!!), shooting pool and “loitering”. Braiding the guys hair until my fingers felt as though they were going to fall off any second. Deep discussions regarding purity versus one night stands, religion, and of course, love.

There was loss, but we learned and gained.

There was strife, but we hugged and loved, in the end.

I think that, in many ways, we were a whole lot wiser than we ever gave ourselves credit for. Especially to be so young.

Back then, we were urged to think and search. Conclude for ourselves. Obsessed with lyrics, as I have always been, I think back to the music that dripped around our lives, back then.

“love and hate get it wrong
she cut me right back down to size
sleep the day let it fade
who was there to take your place
no one knows never will
mostly me but mostly you
what do you say do you do when it all comes down”

And somehow, we understood this? Well, yes. That was part of life, back then. Deciphering the meaning from the meaningless. Then making meaning out of just about anything we could wrap our minds around.

Propelling an entire generation into what is now, the 30-somethings. A new breed of lovers, dreamers, free spirits, nomads, and open minds.

Sometimes, we have difficulty finding an exact niche. The younger individuals who never experienced this type of camaraderie seem to expect so much more than we ever did…despite the fact that yes, some of the members of the “grunge era” bought their flannel at Abercrombie And Fitch. That never mattered…not then.

We just WERE who we WERE.

And gladly, still ARE.

“Must be your skin
I'm sinking in
must be for real
cuz now I can feel
and I didn't mind
it's not my kind not my time
to wonder why everything's gone white
and everything's gray
now you're here now you're away
I don't want this
remember that
I'll never forget where you're at
don't let the days go by…”

In loving memory of Jonathan Alan Jackson.
February 6, 1978 - July 5, 2000
(Not a day goes by that you don’t make me smile.)

Don't Take One Single Step For Granted.

The weather was quite brisk for a North Carolina July day. This quickly catapulted her into a quick realization. Time goes by so quickly, bringing the details along for the ride.
But the details? They are either the things most easily recalled and remembered or the things most easily forgotten. It all depends upon how one looks at life. Do you see it as a puzzle or as one giant photograph?

Since she was a child, she had kept a journal. Details and stories of what was, what could be, and the prayers she prayed with such sincerity. The day held little to be desired outside of her home. The chill in the air combined with the clouds made for a perfect excuse to read over these little slices of the past. Snippets of life caught and documented on paper.

And there is where the details were discovered.
Saint Petersburg in the dead of summer, watching fireworks from atop the Bank Of America Building.
Breakfast at the Jekyll Island Club Hotel.
Trips to Richmond and DC.
New York City.
Recording Studios.
Jet ski’s and boats. The wind so overwhelmingly breathtaking as she spent days on the lake.
The scent of airports, as she pulled her luggage to the curb to wait for her car.
3...2...1 and ACTION! “CLICK!”
The sound of the camera shutters as photographers directed her to position this way and that, while pretending to enjoy the way the sand felt as it made it’s way into her bikini…
Writing at Kapps Mill, sitting on Jonathan’s front porch and strumming guitars until conversations eventually took over.
Camping at the New River with the gang, water fights, canoes, tubing…
Listening to the startling boom of artillery at Fort Bragg at all hours of the day and night.
The excitement of new college semesters.
Even the smallest things like the scent of a fresh new book.

There is not one individual who can go through this life and NOT have their own list of details. A collection of memories that ultimately make us who we are. Guide our perceptions and write our chapters.

Unfortunately, it is easy to go through this life and become distracted from these details. The very things that make life worth it all. These little gifts that remind us of just how fortunate, blessed, and happy we are.

As Bush sang it back when she was running around with a pierced belly button and two tiny braids at the front of her hair, bleaching the sky every night, and spinning around two howling moons… “It’s the little things that kill…”

Well, I disagree with that particular statement.

It’s the little things that revive.
That create beauty.
That give us reasons to be grateful.

To know that life is, and always will be, beautiful.

Hang onto the details. In the end, they're what matter the most.