"Do not assume that she who seeks to comfort you, lives untroubled among the simple and quiet words that sometimes do you good. Her life may also have much sadness and difficulty, that remains far beyond yours. Were it otherwise, she would never have been able to find these words." ~Rainer Maria Rilke
The other day, a friend said to me, "so, Bean! What’s with these ‘Beanstalk Chronicles’ that I’m reading? What does that even mean?"
Indeed. What does that even mean? I probably should have begun with this entry, but that would have been too easy! [LOL] Back to the point at hand. There is so much in the name, at least for me. The title of my blog and the blog itself means this:
It is something I’ve created as a vehicle through which I can feel re-connected to the world outside of my home; it’s a means by which I can continue using a degree that I spent a lot of years and my parents and I spent a great deal of money working toward; and, it’s an effort to restore some structure to a life that was interrupted by illness and injury that, in effect, sidelined me from being part of the 9-5 crowd.
I’m a writer. It’s what I’ve identified myself as being since I was a young girl. For me, It’s not so much about being paid for writing, though, that was always a nice perk. As a writer, I find it’s more a desire to have people want to read my thoughts and ideas. Writing is a passion for me. It’s not about money or fortune. It’s also not just about having something to say, but having what you say mean something to someone – touch them in some way; teach them something; enlighten them about a subject that they had no prior understanding of, or simply just to entertain them. Any achievement of one or combination thereof of these elements is a good thing, if you’re a writer. I’ve been through some stuff in my life. I have some stuff to say. Whether you want to read it or not will be entirely up to you.
With regard to the name. There is a lot of symbolism in the name. Part of it comes from a nickname friends call me. My closest friends know me as Jhillybean, [Jhilly] and Bean. To one very special friend, I’m a.b., but that’s a private joke, and should she ever read this entry, she’ll recognize herself. Symbolism is a big thing with me. Numbers have special significance too, as do words. It’s just the way my brain works.
There are also some hidden meanings in the blog’s name that just seemed sentimentally right. My grandparents, who were the best grandparents any kid could ever hoped to have had were farmers. As a child visiting them in the summer, it was an adventure for us [my brother, sister, and me] to go out into the fields with my grandfather and help him pick crops. It might not sound like anything special or fun to anyone us, but for us it was the best! Sometimes, the best adventures in life don’t cost a dime and truly can occur right in your own backyard. My grandparents backyard was a smorgasbord of adventure and fun. So, while "Bean" refers to a nickname of mine, the beanstalk is my homage to two people who not only meant the world to me, but also taught me so much about life and getting along in the world by their respectable yet unassuming example. Rest assured, there will be future stories about them here for anyone who’s interested.
The beanstalk name has a dual purpose. Have you ever seen one? Like all the plants I’m aware of, it grows upward, reaching beyond itself for nourishment from outside sources – the rain; the air; the sun – those things which help it grow. It keeps moving forward in a direct path due north, as if it’s reaching to the breadth from where it is currently, to where it wants to be: in a place that’s constantly striving to receive grow-able [my word] nutrients. This is the nod to my spirituality and belief in something greater than myself – that which sustains me. One thing, however, that I notice about a beanstalk from pictures that I’ve seen as well as in person, is that a beanstalk doesn’t merely look like it’s growing upward. It looks as if it’s rampantly climbing, because it can’t get fast enough, to that source which makes it hearty and healthy and capable of nourishing something else.
Finally, the word ‘chronicle’ is my way of acknowledging the degree in journalism and communications that my parents were benevolent enough to provide me with. However, there’s much more to the importance of that word for me. It’s a word that makes me think of a story. We all have one. Each one is important. Some stories are told by people who are fortunate enough not just to have lived them, but who were able to archive them in their memory bank to share with others. It is a gift.
My grandfather was a wonderful story teller. He could have you anxiously on the edge of your seat, waiting for the next thought he was about to tell in a story that was always good for a bellylaugh or, on occasion, quiet reflection. My grandmother was an avid reader as is my mother and brother. I don’t know if that can be classified as a hereditary passing on, but I came by my love of books, and reading naturally. I love an enjoyably satisfying tale. I love telling them too.
So, that’s what’s in the name. I hope someone out there wants to climb the beanstalk with me. I hope there are individuals who anxiously await a new entry of mine, the way I use to hunt the newspaper for Erma Bombeck’s latest column years ago. Will it be an adventure? Journey’s always are. Will it be insightful? I guess it depends on what you’re looking for. My hope is that it will make you think–ponder–reflect. If it makes you laugh, all the better. If something makes you cry, well, tears can be cathartic sometimes too. It’s all good! I hope that’s what you’ll find here – things that are good and beneficial in some way. I hope that you’ll always be glad you stopped by my little world to see what’s going on where the beanstalks are growing. I hope that after you read, you’ll feel the way I did when I left my grandmother’s table: very grateful and always satisfied.
Happy climbing!
Written by: Jhill Perran
June 24, 2011
Friday, June 24, 2011
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
A Heartsong for Today
"The soul at its highest is found like God, but an angel gives a closer idea of Him. That is all an angel is: an idea of God." ~Meister Eckart
Mattie J. T. Stepanek, Author & Peacemaker
Have you ever met an angel? Do you believe in such things? Well, I have, and I do. My encounter occurred on a very notable date: November 22nd. The year was 2003. Most people, when they hear that date, think to themselves: that’s the day that President Kennedy was assassinated. For me, that date has a more personal significance. It’s the day that my best friend from middle school died. It is also the day, when one year later, I met Mattie "J. T." Stepanek, a poet and a peacemaker.
As with every story one tells, there is always a back story that holds the key to the miracles we experience in our lives. I also believe in those, but I’m a realist, you see. I prescribe to that particular philosophy of Anwar Sadat’s, another peacemaker, who said "you’re not a realist unless you believe in miracles." But, I digress...
For a number of years, my husband and I lived in the suburbs of Washington, D.C., just outside the city of Rockville, Maryland. Tom received his master’s degree in special education from the University of Maryland at College Park, where Jeni Stepanek also earned her doctoral degree in early childhood special education. I’ll never forget the evening that Tom came home and said that he’d had the most amazing afternoon, because he had seen Mattie wheeling down the halls of the Benjamin Building.
"Hi! You’re Mattie, right?" he asked, surprised to see him there.
"Yep!" he replied, good-natured with his mega smile as he sped on down the hall in his wheelchair, with a seemingly intended and important purpose on his mind.
Jealousy is not an attractive trait, but in my husband’s telling of that moment, I felt a tinge of it. I’d always admired this young man who had the insights and intellect of a wise, old sage manifested in the body of this affable pre-teen. I would have very much liked to have had the opportunity to say hello to him as he wheeled down the halls of the Benjamin Building.
So, imagine my delight when my husband, who worked part-time, during those college years, at Borders Books and Music/Germantown, Maryland, came home one night in the autumn of 2003 and told me that Mattie was going to be at a book signing there on Saturday, November 22nd. I looked at him and gulped. He knew the significance of that day.
"Do you want to go?" he asked me.
I remember feeling tears come to my eyes. "Do I want to go?" I repeated, laughing. "Boy, do I!" Then, I remember feeling something intense that came over me when I looked at Tom and expressed the profound thought that was running through my mind: "What are the odds?"
He gave me a hug of understanding, then we anxiously awaited the book-signing.
Saturday, November 22, 2003 was a beautiful, crisp, cool autumn day. It was a far cry from the previous year when the day was gray and dismally chilled – the foreshadowing of the noon phone call I would get from my mother telling me that Sheri had passed. The remainder of that day was spent in sorrowful reflection with a lot of shed tears for my friend who had died far too young at the age of 38. However, the first anniversary of that sad day dawned with bright sunshine and the excited anticipation of something wonderful about to happen.
We arrived early, and I looked through Mattie’s books of Heartsongs, picking out about 10 that I wanted to give as Christmas gifts that year for special people: Sheri’s mother; her father; her daughter and husband; me and a few other friends. I, then, got in the line, relatively close to the signing table, holding my stack of Heartsongs when one of the employees discretely came through the line and asked everyone to limit the number of books we asked Mattie to sign to one or two, so he wouldn’t easily tire. Of course we should do that! Absolutely!
Still, my eyes widened like saucers and my mouth hung agape as I looked to my husband for input as to who would win "the lottery" of a signed book of Mattie’s on, of all days, that first anniversary of Sheri’s passing? Of course Sheri’s daughter, Aliya, would receive one. Yet, which parent would I choose to give the other book? Sheri was close to both of her parents who had been divorced for a number of years. I felt, suddenly, sick as I stood in the line trying to decide who would get the special remembrance.
"Maybe he’ll sign two for you and two for me. That way, both parents are covered as is Aliya and we’ll get a book signed for you," Tom suggested. "The other six will be gift enough."
I hesitated. "Would they let us do that?"
"We won’t know unless we ask," he told me. "Besides, I think if he knows what this day is, he might make this exception for you."
I didn’t like being an exception to rules. Other people look at you funny; some glare; others want to know who you are that you got some special treatment that didn’t apply to them? However, in this case, if it allowed me to get those four meaningful books signed, then I would be the exception to my rule of not liking to be the exception to rules. I stepped in front of Tom and waited for my turn with Mattie.
Meeting this young man was as magical as I thought it would be. He was very engaging, focused and interested in what each person said to him. I told him how lovely it was to meet him on a day that, one year prior, had been such a sad one for me. Like a gentle therapist, he looked at me curiously and politely asked if I wouldn’t mind telling him what had happened a year earlier. I told him all about Sheri. He listened intently, expressing his condolences. Then, he spoke of loss and mentioned his sister, Katie, and his two brothers, Stevie and Jamie. None of them lived to be older than three. He mentioned the sadness of that as it related to his life, but looked at me and said, "you know, death is only the beginning of so many wonderful things that we can’t even imagine, but I know it’s beautiful. I’m sure your friend is there where beautiful things are happening."
I stood before him and wondered how this child had such words of consolation to offer a 40 year old woman? He spoke with a calm certainty. His words were comforting, and I felt that I was in the presence of something greater than just a 13 year-old young man. [And, I was!] To tell you how special Mattie Stepanek was, he signed all 10 of my books, over my protest.
"You bought them for special people," he noted. "I’m sure you would like to have them signed."
"Yes," I agreed. "But I don’t want to tire you out," I told him. "You have lots of books to sign today!" I added, glancing back at the long line of people patiently waiting their turn to spend a moment with him.
He smiled and assured me it would be alright as he signed each one. "Who is this one for?" he asked with genuine interest.
He seemed pleased and curious to hear a little about the intended recipient of one of his books. When he got to the last one, he asked who he should sign it to, and I told him I didn’t know yet, but it was for someone very special. I asked if he would just sign his name and date it? He smiled, understanding my sentiment. He seemed to both like and appreciate that I had a feeling of a connection that I’d not yet made, but knew was out there. It would be a special connection for me – for whom that date was significant. He was an amazing, gracious, funny, eloquent, young man. I was enthralled by him.
As I left him, I squeezed his hand gently and thanked him. I told him he didn’t know how much it had meant for me to meet him. He smiled and said that it had meant a lot to him as well. "Oh, Jhill!" he called. I turned back wondering if I had left one of my books behind in all the excitement of the moment. He pointed to me and smiled as he reminded me of his philosophy. "Don’t forget to play after every rainstorm!"
I laughed with him and assured. "I won’t Mattie! I promise!" Then, I walked out of that place feeling like I’d been in the presence of something so pure and reverent that it gave me pause. I had never felt anything like it before.
"I think we were just in the company of an angel," I told Tom in complete seriousness.
"He’s quiet a special young man!" my husband agreed.
I felt a peace come to me when we left with all of our signed treasures. It did not leave me for days. It was a full-circle, profound experience - the five hundred, twenty-five thousand, six hundred minutes that had spanned from one November 22nd to the next. It’s true that sorrow, given time, can move into a joy of sorts, if we are open to it. It was a joyful day when I met Mattie Stepanek.
Needless to say, my Christmas gifts were a hit that year because of the magnificent story that accompanied it. It truly was a gift of love....from the writing of the poems to the story of how it came to be purchased, to the signing of each book and the conversation that went on in between all of those significant details. Everyone who received one of them treasure it like I had hoped. I think that everyone who ever came in contact with Mattie "J. T." Stepanek or who was touched by him in some way, knows how priceless the moments spent with him were. I think those who received the gift by that small degree of separation know it as well.
It was with a heavy sadness that my husband and I listened to the news on June 22, 2004 and learned that Mattie had finally gone to join his brothers and sister. We hugged each other and cried, not because we were sad for Mattie, he had started another beginning in the continuum of life and life beyond, in that beautiful place that he’d told me about the year prior. We cried because something magical and loving and rare had left us with his passing. It was a loss. No matter how you looked at it, Mattie’s departure was a loss for the rest of us. How fortunate, however, we were to have glimpsed, for the briefest moment, the amazing grace that was Mattie "J. T." Stepanek, and been in the presence of it.
The world learned a lot from this young man who came and went like a shooting star. For me, he was an angel here on earth. He wasn’t solely a peacemaker. He was one of the most brilliant, splendid, magnificent ideas to come from God. We [the world] were blessed to have seen his light for the13 years that he was here! He did in that short span of time what most people don’t accomplish in an entire lifetime. Still, his song goes on, kept alive by all who were blessed to have been touched by him in some capacity.
Whenever I see a rainstorm, I think of Mattie. I don’t always play after them, because I, myself, am disabled now, and I think he’d give me a pass because of that, but they make me pause and think of him – the gift he was to this world – the gift he is wherever he is now. I’ll always cherish those few moments I got to spend with him on that crisp, autumn day, when he offered words of comfort and encouragement to a woman old enough to have been his mother. I still remember them to this day. If it’s true that an angel is just an idea of God, on that day in the fall of 2003, God’s thoughts were never more beautiful....
©Written by Jhill Perran
June 22, 2011
In remembrance of Matthew Joseph Thaddeus Stepanek
July 17, 1990 – June 22, 2004
Have you ever met an angel? Do you believe in such things? Well, I have, and I do. My encounter occurred on a very notable date: November 22nd. The year was 2003. Most people, when they hear that date, think to themselves: that’s the day that President Kennedy was assassinated. For me, that date has a more personal significance. It’s the day that my best friend from middle school died. It is also the day, when one year later, I met Mattie "J. T." Stepanek, a poet and a peacemaker.
As with every story one tells, there is always a back story that holds the key to the miracles we experience in our lives. I also believe in those, but I’m a realist, you see. I prescribe to that particular philosophy of Anwar Sadat’s, another peacemaker, who said "you’re not a realist unless you believe in miracles." But, I digress...
For a number of years, my husband and I lived in the suburbs of Washington, D.C., just outside the city of Rockville, Maryland. Tom received his master’s degree in special education from the University of Maryland at College Park, where Jeni Stepanek also earned her doctoral degree in early childhood special education. I’ll never forget the evening that Tom came home and said that he’d had the most amazing afternoon, because he had seen Mattie wheeling down the halls of the Benjamin Building.
"Hi! You’re Mattie, right?" he asked, surprised to see him there.
"Yep!" he replied, good-natured with his mega smile as he sped on down the hall in his wheelchair, with a seemingly intended and important purpose on his mind.
Jealousy is not an attractive trait, but in my husband’s telling of that moment, I felt a tinge of it. I’d always admired this young man who had the insights and intellect of a wise, old sage manifested in the body of this affable pre-teen. I would have very much liked to have had the opportunity to say hello to him as he wheeled down the halls of the Benjamin Building.
So, imagine my delight when my husband, who worked part-time, during those college years, at Borders Books and Music/Germantown, Maryland, came home one night in the autumn of 2003 and told me that Mattie was going to be at a book signing there on Saturday, November 22nd. I looked at him and gulped. He knew the significance of that day.
"Do you want to go?" he asked me.
I remember feeling tears come to my eyes. "Do I want to go?" I repeated, laughing. "Boy, do I!" Then, I remember feeling something intense that came over me when I looked at Tom and expressed the profound thought that was running through my mind: "What are the odds?"
He gave me a hug of understanding, then we anxiously awaited the book-signing.
Saturday, November 22, 2003 was a beautiful, crisp, cool autumn day. It was a far cry from the previous year when the day was gray and dismally chilled – the foreshadowing of the noon phone call I would get from my mother telling me that Sheri had passed. The remainder of that day was spent in sorrowful reflection with a lot of shed tears for my friend who had died far too young at the age of 38. However, the first anniversary of that sad day dawned with bright sunshine and the excited anticipation of something wonderful about to happen.
We arrived early, and I looked through Mattie’s books of Heartsongs, picking out about 10 that I wanted to give as Christmas gifts that year for special people: Sheri’s mother; her father; her daughter and husband; me and a few other friends. I, then, got in the line, relatively close to the signing table, holding my stack of Heartsongs when one of the employees discretely came through the line and asked everyone to limit the number of books we asked Mattie to sign to one or two, so he wouldn’t easily tire. Of course we should do that! Absolutely!
Still, my eyes widened like saucers and my mouth hung agape as I looked to my husband for input as to who would win "the lottery" of a signed book of Mattie’s on, of all days, that first anniversary of Sheri’s passing? Of course Sheri’s daughter, Aliya, would receive one. Yet, which parent would I choose to give the other book? Sheri was close to both of her parents who had been divorced for a number of years. I felt, suddenly, sick as I stood in the line trying to decide who would get the special remembrance.
"Maybe he’ll sign two for you and two for me. That way, both parents are covered as is Aliya and we’ll get a book signed for you," Tom suggested. "The other six will be gift enough."
I hesitated. "Would they let us do that?"
"We won’t know unless we ask," he told me. "Besides, I think if he knows what this day is, he might make this exception for you."
I didn’t like being an exception to rules. Other people look at you funny; some glare; others want to know who you are that you got some special treatment that didn’t apply to them? However, in this case, if it allowed me to get those four meaningful books signed, then I would be the exception to my rule of not liking to be the exception to rules. I stepped in front of Tom and waited for my turn with Mattie.
Meeting this young man was as magical as I thought it would be. He was very engaging, focused and interested in what each person said to him. I told him how lovely it was to meet him on a day that, one year prior, had been such a sad one for me. Like a gentle therapist, he looked at me curiously and politely asked if I wouldn’t mind telling him what had happened a year earlier. I told him all about Sheri. He listened intently, expressing his condolences. Then, he spoke of loss and mentioned his sister, Katie, and his two brothers, Stevie and Jamie. None of them lived to be older than three. He mentioned the sadness of that as it related to his life, but looked at me and said, "you know, death is only the beginning of so many wonderful things that we can’t even imagine, but I know it’s beautiful. I’m sure your friend is there where beautiful things are happening."
I stood before him and wondered how this child had such words of consolation to offer a 40 year old woman? He spoke with a calm certainty. His words were comforting, and I felt that I was in the presence of something greater than just a 13 year-old young man. [And, I was!] To tell you how special Mattie Stepanek was, he signed all 10 of my books, over my protest.
"You bought them for special people," he noted. "I’m sure you would like to have them signed."
"Yes," I agreed. "But I don’t want to tire you out," I told him. "You have lots of books to sign today!" I added, glancing back at the long line of people patiently waiting their turn to spend a moment with him.
He smiled and assured me it would be alright as he signed each one. "Who is this one for?" he asked with genuine interest.
He seemed pleased and curious to hear a little about the intended recipient of one of his books. When he got to the last one, he asked who he should sign it to, and I told him I didn’t know yet, but it was for someone very special. I asked if he would just sign his name and date it? He smiled, understanding my sentiment. He seemed to both like and appreciate that I had a feeling of a connection that I’d not yet made, but knew was out there. It would be a special connection for me – for whom that date was significant. He was an amazing, gracious, funny, eloquent, young man. I was enthralled by him.
As I left him, I squeezed his hand gently and thanked him. I told him he didn’t know how much it had meant for me to meet him. He smiled and said that it had meant a lot to him as well. "Oh, Jhill!" he called. I turned back wondering if I had left one of my books behind in all the excitement of the moment. He pointed to me and smiled as he reminded me of his philosophy. "Don’t forget to play after every rainstorm!"
I laughed with him and assured. "I won’t Mattie! I promise!" Then, I walked out of that place feeling like I’d been in the presence of something so pure and reverent that it gave me pause. I had never felt anything like it before.
"I think we were just in the company of an angel," I told Tom in complete seriousness.
"He’s quiet a special young man!" my husband agreed.
I felt a peace come to me when we left with all of our signed treasures. It did not leave me for days. It was a full-circle, profound experience - the five hundred, twenty-five thousand, six hundred minutes that had spanned from one November 22nd to the next. It’s true that sorrow, given time, can move into a joy of sorts, if we are open to it. It was a joyful day when I met Mattie Stepanek.
Needless to say, my Christmas gifts were a hit that year because of the magnificent story that accompanied it. It truly was a gift of love....from the writing of the poems to the story of how it came to be purchased, to the signing of each book and the conversation that went on in between all of those significant details. Everyone who received one of them treasure it like I had hoped. I think that everyone who ever came in contact with Mattie "J. T." Stepanek or who was touched by him in some way, knows how priceless the moments spent with him were. I think those who received the gift by that small degree of separation know it as well.
It was with a heavy sadness that my husband and I listened to the news on June 22, 2004 and learned that Mattie had finally gone to join his brothers and sister. We hugged each other and cried, not because we were sad for Mattie, he had started another beginning in the continuum of life and life beyond, in that beautiful place that he’d told me about the year prior. We cried because something magical and loving and rare had left us with his passing. It was a loss. No matter how you looked at it, Mattie’s departure was a loss for the rest of us. How fortunate, however, we were to have glimpsed, for the briefest moment, the amazing grace that was Mattie "J. T." Stepanek, and been in the presence of it.
The world learned a lot from this young man who came and went like a shooting star. For me, he was an angel here on earth. He wasn’t solely a peacemaker. He was one of the most brilliant, splendid, magnificent ideas to come from God. We [the world] were blessed to have seen his light for the13 years that he was here! He did in that short span of time what most people don’t accomplish in an entire lifetime. Still, his song goes on, kept alive by all who were blessed to have been touched by him in some capacity.
Whenever I see a rainstorm, I think of Mattie. I don’t always play after them, because I, myself, am disabled now, and I think he’d give me a pass because of that, but they make me pause and think of him – the gift he was to this world – the gift he is wherever he is now. I’ll always cherish those few moments I got to spend with him on that crisp, autumn day, when he offered words of comfort and encouragement to a woman old enough to have been his mother. I still remember them to this day. If it’s true that an angel is just an idea of God, on that day in the fall of 2003, God’s thoughts were never more beautiful....
©Written by Jhill Perran
June 22, 2011
In remembrance of Matthew Joseph Thaddeus Stepanek
July 17, 1990 – June 22, 2004
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Friday, June 17, 2011
Blue Lights in MY Basement
Background to the title of this blog entry:
Years ago when my husband and I lived in Maryland, we listened, on Saturday afternoon/early evenings [4-7 pm on WPFW/89.3 FM] to an addictive show of Andrea Bray's called "Blue Lights in the Basement". Andrea's show is an eclectic mix of oldies but goodies, great, rhythm & blues, soulful jazz classics. Her soothing, sultry voice encouraged us to sit back. Relax. Enjoy, as we dusted off the cobwebs of some long-ago gems and fondly took a look back and a listen to. Since then, I've affectionately adopted the sentiment, "Blue Lights in the Basement" to include old movies, t.v. shows, or great works of literature. Which leads me to this blog post:
Years ago when my husband and I lived in Maryland, we listened, on Saturday afternoon/early evenings [4-7 pm on WPFW/89.3 FM] to an addictive show of Andrea Bray's called "Blue Lights in the Basement". Andrea's show is an eclectic mix of oldies but goodies, great, rhythm & blues, soulful jazz classics. Her soothing, sultry voice encouraged us to sit back. Relax. Enjoy, as we dusted off the cobwebs of some long-ago gems and fondly took a look back and a listen to. Since then, I've affectionately adopted the sentiment, "Blue Lights in the Basement" to include old movies, t.v. shows, or great works of literature. Which leads me to this blog post:
I wrote this piece three years ago when a band of Genie Francis' supporters created a group called "Genie's Angels" to fight to get her back on General Hospital. It was a successful campaign and one that Genie has appreciatively acknowledged. With the recent cancellation of two beloved soaps, and the looming threat of losing a genre that has been a part of my life since I was old enough to recall memories, [hm hm years ago] a friend recently asked if the LnL fans, that's Luke and Laura, for those of you not in the know, could say something nice about them. I reached back into my files and decided to dust this off. It's the nicest thing I can say about a couple, who, in my mind, will go down in history as one of the greatest romantic duos ever created. I will never be able to thank Genie Francis & Tony Geary enough for the many years of entertainment and joy that they have brought me. But, this is a start... Sit back. Relax. Enjoy!
An Epical Ode to Luke and Laura & a Love Never Forgotten
©Jhill Perran
August 10, 2008
For me, it began as a slow, simmered "Rise",
while the story unfolded through those incredible eyes.
The anguish, the longing, the heat of their stares,
kept me fanning myself, on the edge of my chair.
There was intrigue and mystery and passion that oozed -
between two, star-crossed lovers who were torn and confused.
And, we saw in the glimpse of that one, awful night,
how one man’s human foible made him a strange kind of Knight.
Luke’s remorse and despair cut to the depths of our soul,
and redemption began from the trust that he stole.
Yes, we rooted for him, and we rooted for her.
It was them who we hoped had a committed re-birth.
Because they suffered and struggled over their formidable love.
It was hard-fought and hard-won - but it fit like a glove.
We could not get enough of their angst-filled, raw, passion,
They were genuinely flawed, yet it was poignantly rationed.
Their story, as told, showed a unique kind of grace.
Luke found his absolution from an unlikely place.
The woman who received his most brutal attack,
found forgiveness within, and she offered it back.
In that moment, we couldn’t have cared for them more,
It was them who we cheered for! It was them we adored!
And that glorious summer, when they went on the run,
when they brought down the mob, without the use of a gun.....
Who’d have thought that one story could bring such fun-filled, pure joy-
than the one that was told through the Left-Handed Boy?
It was short-lived! We knew when that cigar band came off,
We were in for LONG days, but we were in for the haul....
We bore witness to some of the most powerful scenes
of a love that was spoken through the lines in between....
The unuttered words and their subtle nuance,
clearly showed their desire - the profoundness of want.
How is it that two people could make love without touch?
It was all in their eyes, and their eyes said so much....
We felt tingles and shivers and were giddy each minute,
in the way that they told it and how well they did spin it....
And the heat was turned up during summer number two,
diamonds, a yacht - a tropical island to boot.
There in their glory was Luke and his gal,
and his good-looking, sexy, Australian pal.
Yowzah, we thought! Who could ask for much more?
There was a starlet, a "mad" guy and bad guys galore!
Port Charles in the deep freeze, in August no less....
What a yarn that was spun with that name "Ice Princess"...
In the fall, finally! Finally! we all got the dream!
Luke and Laura united with the exchange of a ring....
Like Camelot, the magic was gone much too quick,
Something precious was lost in that cold, foggy, thick...
Oh, I cried when our Laura disappeared in the night,
And, for me, that’s when GH lost its most luminous light.
Luke without Laura? - Too painful to watch it back then,
But I watched in ‘83 when our ship sailed again....
I was there holding on......and holding my breath,
when they finally connected in that earth-moving caress...
In his arms, Laura jumped as Luke screamed out to God,
it was a path only made for Angels and Heroes to trod.
It was splendor and wonder and grace personified,
when those two saw each other, when they embraced and they cried.
One knew in that moment, that fairy tales do come true,
If you believe in such things, and I assure you I do!
It was magic, I tell you - seeing that miracle unfold,
Watching Laura and Luke spinning more tales of pure gold.
True love, it endures. It survives. It abides...
You saw it so clearly when you looked in their eyes.
Nothing and no one would keep them a part!
You can sever one’s ties but you can’t sever their heart!
And therein and throughout, lies the crux of it all,
One heart shared by two lovers can’t be arbitrarily recalled...
No one could keep Laura on an isle with a cool, hunk of steel,
No one would stop Luke from protecting his Angel from evil.
Thus, commenced an odyssey of adventure and fun,
Luke and Laura were together - happily, back on the run...
And the following year, we got the Aztec Adventure,
With that most special scene: the telling of a new, baby Spencer.
Then, they left us to go live their lives off the screen,
but we knew they’d return.....can you say "Halloween, 93"...
Oh, Happy Days! Happy Days! Happy Days, don’t you know!
Luke and Laura were back with their Lucky in tow.
What followed can only be summed up like this:
It was JUST as it was when we last saw them kiss!
The magic still sparked, in the whirl of their dance.
Down the Triple L aisle, and the heat of their glance,
and the way that they touched and the way that they moved,
Made our hearts pitter-pat as we swayed with their groove.
We giggled over hijinx, watched sorrow amidst happier times.
The birth of sweet, Lulu and news of a son: Cassadine.
There were struggles, separations, and severe growing pains,
Yet, through all of those lessons, it reinforced their one, great strength:
Love. Always love. It was love from the start.
Every obstacle faced couldn’t tear them apart.
Yet, the unthinkable happened - papers signed for divorce,
No! No! No! No! No! No! That’s not REALLY their choice!
"Why DID we get divorced?" Tony asked Genie one day.
She replied with regret, "Cuz they wrote it that way!"
Then, we watched them discover what WE knew all along,
It was there with each other where they truly belonged.
They must marry again. It was destiny’s fate!
Luke and his Laura would forever be bound as soul mates.
But, the other shoe dropped, and it blew all apart,
not only our story but these two lover’s heart.
It was disbelief, horror and I gasped "Holy crud!"
When that candlestick hit Rick, then fell with a thud.
What happened in that attic isn’t really that clear,
all I know, was I knew it was my worst kind of fear....
Genie leaving? Laura crazy? Please say it ain’t so!
It felt helpless and hopeless - it was the worst kind of low!
The one thing I felt was how unbelievably wrong,
it was to hush the splendor of their incredible song.
We love her! He needs her! Don’t take her away!
Luke’s humanity. His Angel. PLEASE! God! Let her stay!
Yet, it wasn’t to be and we all watched just how,
These two said their goodbyes in that sad, attic-vow.
Those vows, oh those vows....they serve to remind,
We were gifted with not one but TWO one-of-a-kinds!
When Luke lovingly said "just my Sweetheart and me,"
There was a crumble within and I went weak in the knees.
She was courageous! Outrageous! He said that’s what she’d need,
To throw in with a guy from the wrong-side of Elm Street.
Then, he marveled again at her beauty and grace,
as he vowed his true love, as tears streamed down his face.
I remember that look, when she looked in his eyes,
and she cried in her truth: it’s there she felt safest inside.
Laura told him with knowing, with a sincere, true-love grit,
that he lived in her heart....right in the center of it.
Then, she broke from her hero as he fought not to weep,
he lost all that had mattered. Had Luke sown what he reaped?
Had the chickens come home to finally roost on past sins?
That’s the seed that took hold of his demons within.
In the past, she had seemingly taken each hit,
for the payback that had Luke Spencer’s name written on it.
There was Mikkos, Stavros, Nikolas too,
Laura suffered because Helena sought to punish her Luke.
And if that weren’t enough, we mustn’t forget,
What it cost her because Luke chose her over Jennifer Smith.
As I went into mourning because Laura was gone,
still, my heart dared to hope she would, one day, come home.
And the memories of past times, when their love was in bloom,
kept me buoyed from the despair, disappointment and gloom.
In my mind, "Fascination" memories of a pink-feathered lift,
made my heart smile again, as I cherished the gift,
That Gloria Monty gave us, when she paired up these two,
and made history with daytime’s most-beloved, dynamic duo!
Years past, as we waited and prayed for a fix,
And the magic returned in the fall of ‘06.
Hallelujah and glory and Hallelujah again!
Laura’s back! She’s awake! From ear to ear spanned my grin.
It was wonder and heartfelt - nothing better than this,
when the name "Luke" was called out from those once-quieted lips.
And, we watched sheer relief as Luke turned in pure awe,
once again, gold was mined in the love that we saw,
as he knelt and he looked and he cried "is it you?"
And her hands traced his face as a small-smile broke through.
"Yes, it’s me!" she declared. She’d been there all along,
They could take her away but not silence their song!
It’s too powerful, this love - this story - this pair.
That’s evident! It’s been 30 years. 30! Years! Still, we care!!!
There was a moment - a happening, at Beecher’s Corner’s when they...
went to dance....it was a most sacred, revered interplay.
When her arm went around him and she buried her head,
there was so much unspoken yet so much clearly said.
When Luke held her and stroked her with such sweet tenderness,
It was Tony who assured Genie in that gentle, utterance:
"I know, Baby!"
It was all staring at me, but the lines clearly blurred.
For a moment, I wasn’t certain who it was I had heard?
I can tell you I saw much resolved in that embrace,
It was one more REAL moment of their beauty and grace.
Time had stood still. It had waited for them.
Four years disappeared; wiped away - a faint dim.
The story played out - in the span of mere weeks,
all the love and the longing and the wanting for keeps...
It’s a love story that’s been so much a part of the lives,
not just for the fans but those who breathed it to life.
Once again, we strapped in, for a wonderful ride,
that ended too soon - in the blink of an eye.
What’s the matter with those who are running this show?
Can’t THEY see when they’re holding an ace-in–the-hole?
It boggles the mind that we lost Genie again,
Especially when Tony declared HE wanted his friend,
to return to her home where they had more gold to mine,
but it fell on deaf ears. All requests were denied.
It was too much to bear, being deprived of what’s golden,
How was it that ABC didn’t feel the least bit beholden -
To these actors and their fans who once saved this show from ruin,
from a cancellation stamp when rating-troubles were brewing?
Could they have truly forgotten who put GH on the map?
It was raised up by an unsuspecting Angel and her unlikely Chap!
We still loved them and missed them and wanted them back,
it was humanity and grace that our show sorely lacked.
Thus began an uprising: "Genie’s Angels" campaign,
We weren’t taking this lying! It was clearly insane!
When a show’s lost it’s heart, it’s goodness and luster,
Is change-in-direction really THAT hard to muster?
It appeared so, but we demanded OUR voices be heard,
They could solve so many problems if they’d just bring back our girl!
Clean up the mob-violence - write it again as sub-text,
Get rid of the dead weight! That’s the thing to do next!
Give us love, and joy and some stories with passion:
Luke and Laura, family values, how bout hospital interaction?
That’s what we’ve longed for, prayed for, yet when hope seemed MOST lost,
that she was not coming back, no matter how much the cost...
Something magical happened....in the kindliest knack,
Someone heard us! Praise be! "Mama" Laura is back...
It may be a brief moment with regard to this stint...
But within it, there’s hope that’s much more than a glint.
There’s a story - a sunset - that sets NOT solely on him!
Every road, we all know, leads us right back to them.
LukeandLaura: it’s one idea, one love and one tale.
For the die-hards, this love story is OUR Holy Grail!
We won’t rest til the ending matches up with the truth,
with the narration that was told in the days of our youth.
See, some of us believe fairy tales can come true.
For the fans, there’s one ending: it’s Laura with Luke....
The song that started it all: Rise/Herb Alpert http://youtu.be/ennMD1fPtXA
Genie & Tony dance to Fascination/2006 http://youtu.be/3bUwiEvRaRw http://youtu.be/SduZbULyu1I The Promise/LnL video by Hypno
http://youtu.be/AThYV3_Or04 Laura's Incredible Video: The Story of my Life
http://youtu.be/H7DuBm7kJ3Y - Eternally Luke and Laura
The song that started it all: Rise/Herb Alpert http://youtu.be/ennMD1fPtXA
Genie & Tony dance to Fascination/2006 http://youtu.be/3bUwiEvRaRw http://youtu.be/SduZbULyu1I The Promise/LnL video by Hypno
http://youtu.be/AThYV3_Or04 Laura's Incredible Video: The Story of my Life
http://youtu.be/H7DuBm7kJ3Y - Eternally Luke and Laura
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Monday, June 13, 2011
If It Looks Like a Duck...
July 20, 1939-June 10, 2011
I was saddened to learn over the weekend that someone who I have admired, laughed with and loved, left us on Friday, June 10, 2011, and has gone to The Next Place. Jeanne Bice was the size 12+ woman’s best friend! She was old enough to be my mother and for 16 years, she lovingly dressed me. She was the Big, Beautiful Woman’s Coco Channel, with the added flair of whimsey and a huge dose of fun tacked on for good measure. I adored her, because she made me feel good in the clothes I wear and will continue to wear despite her recent exit from this playground.
It’s not only that she made beautiful and playful clothes for plus-size women, as well as the regular gals. Jeanne Bice brought style, color, and chic to us bigger ladies, when the fashion industry seemed to forget about us. She did it with sparkle and shine. She did it with grace. And, most of all, and most importantly, she did it with good humor. Her philosophy about clothes pulled me to her like a bee to honey. Basically, it was the thought that we should never take ourselves too seriously, because life is serious enough as it is. She wanted us to have fun with our clothes, and boy, have I! I’ve been out in restaurants or on vacation, when a lovely woman whom I’d never met before came up and whispered gently into my ear: "Quack! Quack!" And, with a wink and a laugh, I knew she was part of "the sisterhood". She knew the secret handshake. She was part of the private joke, and it was delicious to share that with someone you didn’t know except by the shirt on their back. And, because of that particular shirt on their back, you did know them! That is the magic of Quacker Factory!
I think one philosophy that I appreciated most from Jeannie is that she conveyed to the world that big girls could look nice in their clothes and feel special in them as well. With her loving assistance and guidance, she helped so many of us feel that way! She gave us our battle cry: "if you can’t loose it, Honey, slap some sparkle on it, and stick it out there to shine for all the world to see! Be proud of yourself because you know you look good!" Thank you for that, Jeannie! It has been my mantra for many a year now. I’m more confident being a plus-sized woman because of you!
This is not to say that my quest to get back to my "fighting weight" isn’t still a burning desire within me. However, Jeannie made it okay for those of us who have a + sign next to our size number, to still feel good about ourselves no matter what. Whatever the number on the scale reads, one way to interpret it, as we go through whatever process we are going through regarding our weight issues, is this: there’s a lot of you to love! Don’t ever forget it! You are special just as you are! Always remember it!
Jeanne in no way endorsed a lifestyle that promoted being overweight. What she did was make it alright for the overweight woman to accept herself regardless of her size. She made it okay for us to splash loud patterns and bold colors on our oversized frames, because she wanted us to be proud of who we were as women, no matter what the scale said or the dress size read. It’s a liberating philosophy, because it allows us to accept ourselves in all of our grandeur, and make NO mistake: where Jeannie Bice was concerned, plus size women are grand! We’re fierce; we’re beautiful; we’re fun, we are no less than because we weigh more than...
Her life was not always an easy one, but she was truly an inspiration. She lived the words of Thoreau: "Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life that you have imagined."You did that, Jeannie Girl! Now, rest peacefully among the angels and know that you left us looking good! "Quack! Quack!" and love for always...
Quacking Through Eternity
Jhill Perran
June 13, 2011
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