--the identity of a person
--the qualities of a person
--the condition of a person
As an former English major and avid reader, I love words. I love to delve into their meanings...implications...connotations. I can get lost in the pictures painted by an author's skill with words and my own active imagination. I love the feelings I get and the emotions that are stirred when I read something by a talented wordsmith. I love to try to figure out what a writer is trying to convey through the words they choose and how they craft them together to tell a story. I just love the power and majesty of words.
So when my niece Taylor suggested "Being Pamela Rae" as a temporary blog title I have to say...it really gave me something to think about. I liked it a lot...because I'm trying to discover just who Pamela Rae really is. In a way I hate to say that because it sounds so cliché and mid-life-crisislike but honestly -- most things that become clichés do so because they contain an element of truth. Therefore (for the time being) I'd like to leave the title of this blog "Being Pamela Rae". If at some point I figure out who she really is we'll adjust.
I have long thought about doing a blog because at this stage of the game (I turned 50 this year) I thought I might have some wisdom to share. I also am about to embark on a life changing journey and want to share my story with others who might need to find someone to relate to as they make their own choices and decisions. My hope is to be able to make this thing funny and interesting enough that other people might want to actually read it besides those friends and family members that might feel obligated. I guess we'll have to see! A special thanks to my incredible niece Taylor Lauren for giving me the tools and the help to get this started. I love her so and appreciate her more than she'll ever know.
So with that said..and as is a good idea with most stories...I will quote Julie Andrews in "The Sound of Music" and simply say -- let's start at the very beginning.
My story began on a bitterly cold North Dakota winter day in January of 1965 after 28 hours of labor and a big fight over a pot pie. My young parents (ages 22 and 23) were stationed in the wilds of North Dakota courtesy of the United States Air Force when they welcomed me to their little world. My parents were never perfect people but I always knew I was loved. My mother always likes to talk about how smart and inquisitive I was as a little girl and she was my first, best teacher. My home was loving, secure and safe. (How sad that we have to leave the cocoon and safety of a loving home to take on the big bad world!)
I never lacked for love, care or attention and I basked in that spotlight. My dad's single soldier buddies often ended up at our home on holidays and for special events -- my mom was and still is a FABULOUS cook -- and I was the belle of the ball as their surrogate baby sister or daughter. (In many ways, I think it programmed me with a sometimes unhealthy need for attention but that's a serious subject for another day). At any rate, during those first years being Pamela Rae was a pretty awesome thing.
I enjoyed my status as an only child until March of 1969 when my brother Jason arrived. You would think that I would have felt jealous, or angry, or slighted at having to share my parents' love and attention with my new baby brother but that was the furthest thing from the truth. As a matter of fact, my mom often shares that on the day they brought Jason home and picked me up from the sitter, her feelings were hurt because I was not the least bit interested in seeing her....I just made a beeline for that new baby. Even at the age of three I felt a fierce connection and love for this new tiny member of my little family and all I knew was that -- just my like my parents-- he was MINE.
And thus Pamela Rae -- the caretaker -- was born.
Amazing first post!
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