A Lovely Redemption


I have decided that I have been using the word “lovely” in a sardonic sense far too much lately when scooping up my Kelly Dog’s lovely poops when dealing with the lovely pleasantries of unpleasant people, and when massaging that lovely nervous stomach flip I get when watching lovely political advertisements do their part to keep fear alive.

Everything is lovely.

I don’t really remember much of this, but when I was very young, I was not allowed to watch the news. I would get physically ill and cry, confused by the chipper voices that talked about hearts breaking the way my mother told bedtime stories. The ban became more severe after I broke down during a Feed the Children commercial and again when I walked into the room where my parents were watching Full Metal Jacket. I burst into tear and ran out of the room because someone in the movie was being beaten (don’t ask me who. I still haven’t watched it). That actually must have been much later than the news banning because I distinctly remember my dad trying to sooth me with, “It’s ok. He’s a bad guy.” and trying to explain through my sobs that it wasn’t ok. Mom gave me a hug and said, “Ignore the lovely movie.” It wasn’t the first time she used it that way, but it stands out.

Lovely has long been my method of describing things that anger me, confuse me, hurt me.

Everything is lovely.

Cancer is awful, but remission is lovely. Learning the name for my favorite smell in the whole world through an episode of Doctor Who is lovely. It’s “Petrichor” by the by. Feeling my darling dog wiggle up beside me on the bed to cuddle closer is lovely. It is lovely to have friends who care enough to worry and still more lovely to have friends who encourage adventures. Lovely is eating an apricot that I picked with my own hands from a ladder because I am the only one around who isn’t afraid of height. It is even lovely to think that there is something in the world that cannot leave me tense with fear or apprehension, and even better to think of how close that thing is to flying.

And just like that, I’ve rebranded “Lovely” for myself.

Have a lovely day, everyone, after reading this sappy little blog post.

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About charliegreenberry

I grew up in the wilds of New Mexico in a strange combination of free and restricted. Now, as I stumble unwillingly into adulthood, I find memories resurfacing. So I dust them off, sand them, slap on a coat of paint and display them with the hopes that at some point they'll make sense and pull the room together. The blog is a space for writing, for sharing, someday sharing without worrying about who is reading it, and a place to practice. Virginia Woolf said, "A woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction." Well, here's to having a room at least.
This entry was posted in adulthood, day dreams, dogs, history, inspiration, politics, quirk, self, writing and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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