“… It Would Change My Life, Forever….”



Nothing prepared me for this day.


Nothing told me this was going to happen.


How could anything have done that?


I didn't know I was going to find something to love.


I didn't know I was going to find something that felt like it loved me.


I just didn't know.  I didn't.  I couldn't have.


As close as I can remember it, it was a day like any other day.  It had work in it, and bills in it, and a dodgy car and a strained relationship and too little in checking.  (Or maybe it was a strained car, too little in a relationship and dodgy checking.  Memory fades.)

The traffic was the traffic.  Lunch was on the run.  The boss was okay and the pay was good, but the work load could be brutal and it was Friday, and I really just wanted to get home.  Start the weekend.  Not have to get up and do it all over again, in the morning.  Two days off.  Yay.

And, oh yeah, there was supposed to be 'good tv' on tonight.  A new series the critics were already talking about.  It started at eight.  Time enough for the long drive home in rush hour traffic, and to grab a deli dinner from the store.


There was nothing, nothing in that day to tell me that I was going to change, forever.


There was no huge sign, in my driveway. (THIS IS THE DAY!)


There were no placards by my parking place at work. (ONE OF THE BEST THINGS YOU'RE EVER GOING TO SEE IS JUST HOURS AWAY!)


My computer did not boot up with mysterious messages from the computer gremlins. (DON'T YOU DARE MISS THIS!) or (EVERY FRIDAY FOR THE NEXT COUPLE OF YEARS IS GOING TO BE A THING YOU LOOK FORWARD TO, THANKS TO WHAT HAPPENS TONIGHT!)


The fax machine didn't come across with HOPE IS GOING TO GRAB YOUR HEART, AND NOT LET GO!

Or anything like that.  It was just a day.  A day I was looking forward to for several reasons, (it was Friday.  50/50 it was payday.  I was looking forward to the show, but I had no idea what it would start to mean to me then, nor what it would become to me, later.)


And then eight o'clock came.

I didn't know it then, but by nine I was someone else.

(I was that 'Cathy beginning to change' person.  A little blind.  A little scared of this or that, but realizing there were so many better possibilities out there, for a life.)

I wanted to see it again.  I waited impatiently all week for the next episode, and raced home, full of anticipation, and something like joy.  This was good.  This was really, really good.  I wanted more.  A lot more.

I think I changed in one hour increments, every Friday (well, most of them, the ones where the show was on), for the rest of the season. 


Or, if I didn't “change” exactly, I was persisting in something.


Love.  And hope.  And believing in those.


The things that had been wearing me down slowly stopped doing that.  The things that had been trying to lift me up started gaining steam.  It was better.  I was better.  Somehow, some way, in the hyperbole driven and hyper-cynical 80's, I was going to learn to believe in something that started with "Once Upon a Time in the City of New York."

And in ways I still can't explain or qualify, believing in that was going to allow me to believe in a whole lot more.


I was enriched.


Welcome to September 25th.  I don't know what this day will bring you.  Probably many of the same things it usually does.


But ... Vincent-like ... will it change your life, forever?


I can't say.


But a long time ago, a September 25th happened to me.  And it really did just that.




No matter where you are in your own fairy tale, I wish you love, ~Cindy

September 25, 2015