Monday, May 14, 2012


Alex Cavanaugh has suggested using today as a First Loves Blog. His ‘inquiring mind’ wants to know what our first love was in movies, songs, books, and person.

You can find a list of participatingblogs here.
First Loves is a topic can cover pages. Alex said we couldn’t take pages, drat the man anyway. So I must do the best I can in fewer words. Keep in mind; falling in love with something isn’t the same as loving it. It’s a first.



I’ve loved a lot of movies. Everything from Call Of The Wild to Star Wars, but the movie I have to say I fell in love with enough to watch countless time and know much of the dialog is Princess Bride (in that context, I’d have to say my second is Star Trek, The Voyage Home). One reason I love Princess Bride is because it takes a common theme of fairy tales and mixes it up. It tells the fairy tale backwards—it begins where most fairy tales end—the commoner becomes the princess and is slated to marry prince charming. Great twist.  There are so many scenes in this movie I admire—just love the layers in this story. There’s Vizzini’s use of inconceivable, the battle of wits between Vizzini and Wesley, Inigo Montoya’s mantra, and I could go on, but here is a scenes I absolutely love.


When it comes to music, it’s basically the same, too many songs I’ve loved. As a kid I fell in love with a musical storyteller. I loved the stories this man sang. Trust me, when I say, he packed a lot of emotion, conflict, heroes, and villains into a 4-minute song. Marty Robbins sang songs that I could listen to repeatedly because they were good stories. One of my favorites, was Big Iron (a funny anecdote to this is when I was little, I thought it was Pig Iron. My dad heard us singing it and corrected us, lol! Teased us unmercifully for years later).

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The first stories I remember hearing, as a little kid, Hiawatha (loved the rhythm of the words) and Heidi. This is how I was introduced to Treasure Island, My Friend Flicka, Big Red, and The Call of The Wild. I would beg for those stories. My mother never read cutesy stories to me; she read books, an installment at a time. I’ve always been a voracious reader and I have a list longer than I am, of books I loved. I have to say, the series I fell in love with was The Dragonriders of Pern, by Anne McCaffrey, a fine Celtic storyteller. I found The White Dragon and read that one first. When I realized it was #3, I went back and bought the first two volumes. I’ve read every book in that series that Anne McCaffrey wrote—didn’t like the ones her son wrote as much.  There are times I go on a Pern vacation. I love the characters and the setting. I LOVED the dragons and Master Robinton—I cried when he died and I still do. The second series I fell in love with is Roberta Gellis, Roselyn Chronicles—ah those were the joyous epic historicals I loved.


You know? I can’t remember my first crush as a grade schooler. I think part of that was my parents’ directive and the fact I was a tomboy. I was much too busy running around with the guys and working with my dad to deal with crushes. But I do remember my first crush as a teen. His name was Paul and he was a senior when I was a freshmen and he lived up the street from me. French, six foot one, blue black hair, gold eyes, and a smile that would melt an igloo.  Parents squelched that quickly. Didn’t want their barely 15-year-old hanging around with a guy who was almost 19 and with ideas they didn’t want me to have. Can’t say as I blame them.

But I do have a first love of a person that is precious to me. The day I looked into my son’s dark eyes I fell in love. Children can do that to you. But for me, it was even more special. You see, I had lost several babies prior to my son’s birth. Ten years worth of anquish and loss. I had always wanted to be a mother and with the difficulties I had carrying a baby beyond the first trimester it was fast looking like it would never happen. The last one I lost, at four months and too young to live crushed me in spirit. I remember praying; Father, if I can’t carry them, please don’t let me get pregnant again. My heart can’t take anymore.

This my son and I from a couple years
ago, before I got sick.
That prayer was on February 25, 1993. My son, Jake, was born February 24, 1995. Almost to the day. It was a scary pregnancy and I was terrified something would go wrong. There were some problems, but this time, a miracle. A healthy baby boy, 7 lbs. 12 ozs, and 21 inches long. Great joy then, with my little man, great joy now. And this is also why Mother’s Day is very special to me—more than any holiday. I celebrate this holiday because of the greatest gift ever given to me, my son. I got the title of Mom.

Nothing can beat that in this life.