Fun fact about me: I’ve never watched A League of Their Own all the way through. Oh sure, I’ve seen bits and pieces here and there, but never the whole thing. Of course, I always seem to catch Tom Hanks’ infamous line–
Where am I going with all of this? This post actually has nothing to do with that movie, other than the fact that old Tommy boy’s line has lodged itself into my subconscious, and as this new month beings I keep telling myself, over and over, “there’s no crying in February.”
January was a rough month–always is, always will be. The holidays are over, the weather is THE WORST, and everybody seems to be in a bad mood and taking it out on everyone else. I think I cried, on average, three days out of every week in January. Some days it was warranted, other days it was not (like the time I broke down in my office because I needed to reschedule the location of a meeting–really??).
It all reached a boiling point last week, when I went into The Fresh Market, a Whole Foods type grocery store which had just opened up a few months ago. I walked in, looked around, and immediately started tearing up. Granted, I had somewhat of a good reason–as kids, it became a tradition for us to always go to TFM while visiting my Grandma in Williamsburg. It was a short walk away, and we would go and get a free sample of coffee and a treat from the bakery. Naturally, at eight years old, I felt like the epitome of sophistaction.
This past March, my Grandma passed away unexpectedly, and it’s still difficult to think/talk/write about. As I walked into the Fresh Market for the first time since the funeral, countless memories came rushing back, all with the realization that I wouldn’t be going to TFM in Williamsburg for a long time. I managed to pull myself together, because I detest crying in front of strangers, but it was on my mind the entire time. When I went to checkout, the cashier gave me a single red rose (insert Bachelor reference here), and I have no idea why I got a rose for free. Maybe it was some sort of promotion, or maybe she noticed I was loading up on carbs, cupcakes, and wine, so she figured I needed it. Whatever the reason, it made think of my Grandma, and how she hated to see me cry.
Any time I would cry over something silly in front of my Grandma, she would gently remind me it wasn’t worth crying over. She never said it just to get me to stop crying, she always meant it–my Grandma lived a long, full life, and she knew the difference between things worth crying over, and things that weren’t even worth your time.
|This picture was taken during my last year of college. The caption read “heavens to Betsy, is this all the champagne that’s left?!” CLASSIC.|
This is the only goal this month–there’s no crying in February.