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feelings

belated mother’s day

abby mumford

as you’re all aware, mother’s day was on 5/12, but we didn’t celebrate it until 5/26 because that’s when sister J, sister E, and myself had all invaded mom’s house and could offer hugs and kisses and breakfast in bed* like proper daughters.

*by breakfast in bed, i mean dinner at the dining room table.

i’ve written about my mom a lot on this blog, so much so, it would take me hours to link to all the posts, but here are some of my favorites. one, two, three, four, five, six, seven posts, plus one more that includes a bunch more links inside. however, just linking to the posts seems like a bit of the lazy woman’s way to say HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY, MOM. YOU ROCK AND ARE THE AWESOMEST AND COOLEST AND HIPPEST MOM EVER.

and so, i’ll see you those eight posts and raise you one more. (my mom likes cards, i have to stick with that metaphor.) (cards, yes. gambling, no.) (unless she has a secret gambling addiction she’s kept professionally hidden all these years?)

where was i?

oh yes, my mom.

she’s the person i’ve known the longest in my life. i’ve known her longer than i even remember, but the memories we’ve made since i’ve been a so-called adult have been my favorites. she still manages to be there in a motherly fashion when i need her but those times are interspersed with moments where i’d call her my friend. it’s one of the few side effects of adulthood i actually enjoy.

in fact, mom, as friends, we should probably invent a secret handshake or something. maybe like this:

thanks for being my mom and my friend and willing to drink a bottle of wine or a cup of coffee and taking walks and cracking jokes and eating dinner and making dinner and listening to me and dispensing advice and pushing me out of my comfort zone and letting me dream and encouraging me and always being there. at the risk of repeating myself: YOU ROCK AND ARE THE AWESOMEST AND COOLEST AND HIPPEST MOM EVER. i love you.

general

foreign pearls of wisdom

abby mumford

because i only speak english, i’ve long been enchanted by foreign idioms. i love the word play of literal vs. figurative and how a combination of seemingly normal words can mean something totally different.

bulgarian: big cloud, little rain. (translation: all bark, no bite.)

brazilian: i have nothing to do with the fish. (translation: beats me.)

montana: all hat, no cattle. (translation: all bark, no bite.)

german: aller anfang ist schwer. (translation: all beginnings are difficult. the first step is the hardest.)

argentine: es un papa. (literal translation: it’s a potato.) (figurative translation: piece of cake.)

italian: in bocca al lupo. (literal translation: into the wolf’s mouth.) (figurative translation: good luck! break a leg!)

french: coup de foudre (literal translation: a bolt or flash of lightning.) (figurative translation: love at first sight.)

do YOU (yes, you) have any sayings i can add to my vocabulary?

book club

BOOK HUNGRY: gone girl

abby mumford

who says you have to be crowded into the living room, kitchen, and/or dining room to hold a book club? we are ladies of the 21st century. we don’t need no stinkin’ couches. so pull up a blog and join in the conversation.

the members of the BOOK HUNGRY are (alphabetically): patty blount, kelly breakey, blake leyers, karla nellenbach, and myself. we pick a book to read. we discuss via phone. we post a review on our individual blogs the 3rd thursday of the month. click on their names above and enjoy.

this month’s BOOK HUNGRY selection is: 

GONE GIRL by gillian flynn

what it’s about from amazon: 

Marriage can be a real killer.
One of the most critically acclaimed suspense writers of our time, New York Times bestseller Gillian Flynn takes that statement to its darkest place in this unputdownable masterpiece about a marriage gone terribly, terribly wrong. The Chicago Tribune proclaimed that her work “draws you in and keeps you reading with the force of a pure but nasty addiction.” Gone Girl’s toxic mix of sharp-edged wit and deliciously chilling prose creates a nerve-fraying thriller that confounds you at every turn.
On a warm summer morning in North Carthage, Missouri, it is Nick and Amy Dunne’s fifth wedding anniversary. Presents are being wrapped and reservations are being made when Nick’s clever and beautiful wife disappears from their rented McMansion on the Mississippi River. Husband-of-the-Year Nick isn’t doing himself any favors with cringe-worthy daydreams about the slope and shape of his wife’s head, but passages from Amy’s diary reveal the alpha-girl perfectionist could have put anyone dangerously on edge. Under mounting pressure from the police and the media—as well as Amy’s fiercely doting parents—the town golden boy parades an endless series of lies, deceits, and inappropriate behavior. Nick is oddly evasive, and he’s definitely bitter—but is he really a killer?
As the cops close in, every couple in town is soon wondering how well they know the one that they love. With his twin sister, Margo, at his side, Nick stands by his innocence. Trouble is, if Nick didn’t do it, where is that beautiful wife? And what was in that silvery gift box hidden in the back of her bedroom closet?
With her razor-sharp writing and trademark psychological insight, Gillian Flynn delivers a fast-paced, devilishly dark, and ingeniously plotted thriller that confirms her status as one of the hottest writers around.

my opinion:

this book is SO not up my alley. it’s darker and seedier and more haunting and less laugh inducing than the books i normally choose to read. plain and simple, this book is unbelievably effed up and i hated the characters, but I FREAKING LOVED THIS STORY.

the characters are so vivid and unrelenting and flawed and malicious and wild and raw and not nice, but they remain entirely true to form throughout the whole book. it’s something i value — when the author lets the characters shine through which in turn blots out any hint of their own voice or agenda. these characters are mean and ugly and hideous and i’m sure they were delicious and horrible for gillian flynn to write. it takes some major guts to write characters that are this unlikeable and unrelatable. BRAVO, gillian flynn. BRAVO.

my very favorite part is the ending. it’s completely creepy, but absolutely spot on and exactly how the characters should/would/could have acted. i might have laughed* when it was over because i couldn’t believe flynn pulled off something this insane, this intense.

(*said laugh was of the menacing variety and also one born out of relief because if the book had gone on, it would have crossed a very dark line and i don’t know if i would have recovered from that.)

if you want a book that will take you on an incredible ride (from part II on), read this.

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convos with strangers

conversations with strangers #59

abby mumford

i occasionally talk to strangers. here’s the reason why.

i’d just finished my crossfit workout and was headed home. i was walking, balancing my water bottle in the crook of my arm, and typing on my phone. (i’m not normally one to type on my phone whilst walking, but i had to put in the details of my workout before i forgot them.) i came up upon the crosswalk of danger.*

*this crosswalk is named as such (by me) because, when driving, it’s incredibly hard to see pedestrians waiting to cross, so it appears they pop out of nowhere causing you to slam on your breaks to avoid (a) hitting them and (b) breaking the law of not yielding to pedestrians in the crosswalk. having been on the driving side of that, i’m usually petrified to cross there on foot. i’m very tentative and don’t usually cross until cars have stopped completely or there’s an vast gap between cars and i can sprint to the other side.

so, back to the moment. i looked up from my phone to check the status of the cars. one was headed towards me, so i turned my attention to my phone while i waited for it to pass. two voices caught my attention. i glanced up and two men were in the crosswalk. i looked back at the car. it didn’t appear to be slowing. i stared at the men. they were continuing boldly on. i looked at the car. it may have slowed its speed a touch. i studied the men. they studied me. i studied the car.

i figured “what the heck” and stepped into the road.

man #1: we’ll protect you.

man #2: we’ll stop him.

me: THANK YOU. *walks in path between two bodyguards*

my thanks was of the sincerest variety because after the workout i’d just completed, my arms were nothing more than cubes of jello and wouldn’t help in whatever precarious situation a crosswalk + a blind spot + a speeding car could create. also, that was the first time i’ve felt safe as a pedestrian on that portion of the road. thanks to those guys, maybe it’s time to rename the crosswalk of danger?

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feelings

your voice

abby mumford

a writer friend once told me about a poem she teaches to her creative writing classes. i’m usually not much for poetry, but it stuck with me then and is still with me now.

The Journey

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice —
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
“Mend my life!”
each voice cried.
But you didn’t stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do —
determined to save
the only life you could save.

-Mary Oliver

“and there was a new voice/which you slowly/recognized as your own.” GAH. those words. so amazing.

i originally wanted this post to be about that because it is those words i am aiming for — to hear and recognize and utilize my own voice both while speaking and writing, but then i realized i’m in a self-imposed writing break as i try to figure myself out, so this post can’t be about that.

then, it hit me.

those words are also relevant for college grads (yay, mina!) who are now finished with their degrees and are headed out into the big, bad world. they’ve spent four (or five or six or two) years researching and reading and listening and watching and living and learning and doing all with the goal in mind of finding their voice.  some may have discovered it, but can’t hear it over the reverberations of expectations. some may have figured it out years ago and followed it to this exact point. some may be afraid of it. some may be proud of it. some may think it’s in another language. some may be.

some may need more time. some may find it in writing, some in mathematics, some in motherhood, some in underwater basket weaving, some in athletics, some in more school, some in cooking, some in teaching, some in whittling, some in engineering, some in music, some in luxury, some in combat, some in foreign lands, some at home.

some may call it a conscience. some may call it attitude. some may call it confidence. some may call it id or ego. whatever it’s called and whatever it is and wherever and whenever you find it, i hope you embrace it. we can’t wait to hear you.