Solar Rehab

Auld Lang Syne

2007 has not been easy, but it has been more than memorable.  I have finished another year of nursing school, four clinical rotations, and several dozen textbooks.  I've managed to maintain magna cum laude status regardless of the chaos that is my normal life.  Being a widowed mother of two is no easy task, I assure you.  July of 2008 will see the 5th anniversary of Mark's death; I have changed so entirely since then.  For the best, I think (I hope).  Still, the path that leads to strength is not a journey to be taken barefoot.  I am mother and father, breadwinner, cook, counselor, maid, chauffeur, and referee.  I often forget what silence sounds like.  My car has not been what I would call clean for several years.  And I don't care.  I'm too tired to care most of the time.  And when I'm not, I have better things to do than sweat the small stuff...

I have learned to take most things in stride, really.  I have no false perceptions about my flaws and limitations at this point.  I am a procrastinator and a daydreamer.  Although I recently turned 34, I feel no different than I did when I was 17.  Maturity really doesn't change your personality.  Neither does loss, gain, grief or joy.  They may change your attitude, but not you.  Then again, I have learned that attitude is almost everything, so... Perhaps I'm just the odd one out.  Despite everything, however, I still feel like a kid.  For the most part, I see that as a blessing.

I am not a kid, though.  I am beginning to see the slightest traces of laugh lines around my eyes these days; those are a sure sign that time is going to win... eventually.  That's fine, too.  There's not much I would change about my life, honestly.  Sure, it's difficult at times.  I've learned to handle it.  Still, I'd like to have a normal life one day in the not too distant future.   I'd like to have a husband and good kids and eventually, grandkids.  Won't it be a hoot?  I'll be somebody's grandmother and still feel like a 17 year-old.  I'll be the coolest grandma ever; wait and see...

Until then, I have 2008 to conquer.  I think the coming year will bring change, good and bad.  I think it will bring adventure.  I think it will see me passing boards and getting a killer job as an onc nurse.  Thanks to the seemingly horrific lessons of fate and life itself (and a helluva tough marine), I am ready.  At last.

Cheers... and Happy New Year.

Sol Sistere

...sol (sun), sistere (stand still).  Winter solstice.  Midwinter.  Meán Geimhridh. It is the longest night of the year.  It's easy to view Winter as a blustery revenant that forces mother nature into a seasonal coma, but it is actually considered the rebirth of nature in most cultures.  It is quite a poetic notion.  And even a bit romantic, really.  If you can manage to stay warm. 

Happy solstice.  May the long night renew us all...

Sacrifice

My life as a whole has, for the most part, been happy.  I was a content, dreamy child.  I have always felt compassion and affection toward people in general.  This is a characteristic of my spirit that I am grateful for; it has led me down a path of humanitarianism and giving, in my career and in life in general.   There are times, however, when I feel the burden of this gift hanging over my head.  I have always been a caretaker.  I've been a calm, neutral presence in the midst of familial chaos and tragedy. When the proverbial shit hits the fan, I am the one who is usually called upon to either take care of it or make everyone feel better about it.  And I always do.  I feel obliged to do so.

Sacrifice is often a double-edged sword, I've learned.  It has taught me humility and granted me a few pearls of wisdom for future reference.  It has also made me a crutch of sorts, one that is leaned upon far too conveniently by some.  I cannot help but wonder if I am being taken advantage of at times, especially when I am drained of every ounce of energy and emotion I have left in me.  This crutch is ready to snap. 

A discernful dream I had last night has made me realize these things.  In this dream, I wanted something so badly that I could literally feel the tactile sensation of it underneath my cloak of unconsciousness.  Yet, as in waking life, taking what I wanted would ultimately hurt someone else.  Even in dreams I am faced with those sacrificial choices.  Do I take what I want so badly and be happy, although my happiness may ultimately hurt another?  Do I let my own desires slip away only to appease and keep peace?  When is enough.... enough?  What do you do when someone seems to depend on you and you alone for their contentment?  I am not willing to entertain that brand of responsibility. 

We are responsible for our own happiness.  I know this for certain.  I am, as I have always been, a true humanitarian.   And I will always be. But I will not be a crutch.  The weight of everyone else's needs is simply too much to bear alone. 

Provoking Destiny

At long last, the seemingly endless parade of another semester has come to an anesthetic end.  I'm finding it difficult to feel the sweet sense of release that I've anticipated; perhaps that eluding pathos will find me at the end of next semester.  It will, after all, be the last.  I have nearly a month off for Christmas break.  The first snow of the season graced my neck of the woods a few nights ago; it was gone within a few unseasonably warm days. 

I am attempting to get into the "spirit" of the season against my ostensible lack of holiday semblance.   I just don't feel it this year, and I'm not sure why not.  Perhaps it's the grave predicament my father is in.  Perhaps it's the dire solitude that I have a love/hate relationship with.  Perhaps it's the weather.  More than likely, it's a medley of all of the above. 

I need an escape.  I need a change of scenery and sound.  My senses seem to crave something novel and unexplored.  Fresh blood, so to speak.  Cryptic thoughts course through my veins at times like these.  It is such thoughts that provoke destiny, I believe.  I desire the long lost taste of the arcane.  The undiscovered continent.  I long to know for certain that distance is a mere technicality...

Happily Ever After

I'm not sure what it is about the closing of the year that brings out the melancholy and retrospection of days long past.  Perhaps it's the holidays.  Perhaps it's the weather.  Regardless of the cause, it happens.  Last night I dreamt I was still a child.  This subconscious vision was completely surreal; I saw my grandmother (who's been dead for 15 years), my parents were still together, my brother was bopping around with his Greatest American Hero pajamas on.  The dog was barking -- he's been a memory for more than 20 years, as well.  It was Christmas eve.

For a brief interlude, I was an innocent 4th grader again.  I could smell egg nog and fresh coffee and pies.  The decorated tree was not something that I dreaded taking down come the first of the year; it was a magical symbol of the season, a guardian to the presents underneath.  My thoughts were quick, yet simple.  Honest, yet uncertain.  The idea that my grandmother would someday be gone was not a thought that I entertained.  My parents would always be young, in love, and happy.  My brother would wear those silly pajamas every night until he got married -- which I never foresaw, either. 

As for me, however, I dreamed of poetry and music.  Life was to be lived in the greatest of beauty; I expected  that even then.  I knew for certain that one day I would be carried off into the sunset by a handsome prince to a place where life would always be beautiful.  My castle awaited.  And happily ever after  was a mystic, far off destination where my perfect children would be raised.  I would spend my days writing poetry and my nights dancing under a velvet heaven with my prince. 

The waking world steals my innocence.  I am soon to be 34; the 4th grade is a gray memory now.  My grandmother has indeed passed on.  My parents are divorced; my father is ailing.  My brother is a man who's been married -- and divorced.  I have never been rescued by a prince, nor does my castle await.  My children are not perfect; my son, although intelligent, has ADD and an attitude.  My daughter is sweet but too sensitive.  And I am no poet.

I still dream of poetry and music, however.  Some things never change.  The opposite of innocence is wisdom, I believe.  Wisdom is not cheap.. and it does not come easily.  Although my innocent visions have been somewhat tainted, I still know that life is beautiful.  That is the lesson of wisdom.  It is the very lesson of life, if we allow it to teach us. 

There is no happily ever after.  There are only moments of clarity when the fragments of youthful innocence manage to pierce our thoughts.  It is those moments when wisdom and innocence take a cordial bow and dance together under a velvet heaven.

December's Advice

November has retreated into a gelid oblivion, and I can't say that I'm going to miss her.  In fact, I'm glad she's gone.  My time has been mostly consumed by research projects, presentations, mandatory busy work, and more research projects.  And the kids, of course.  And their friends (which I'll mention later).  I'm an optimistic work in progress, so the only grand news to report is that, finally, December has settled in for a long winter's nap.  I can smell the twelfth muse in the air.  The return of December means that this long, vicious semester is almost over. 

Thanksgiving break was relaxing (although short); I had a little more than a week to catch my breath and take a trip home to see the family for the holiday.  My dad hasn't made an improvement, unfortunately, and we really don't expect him to.  We visited him on Thanksgiving day; he recognizes us, but he knows nothing about us beyond our names.  He doesn't realize that he's terminally ill; he seems rather apathetic about the entire thing.  He watches TV and eats ice cream all day.  As with all dementia related conditions, the process is usually harder on the family of the person with the disease. 

More recently... My daughter had a friend stay over last night.  Most of the kids that frequent my house are good kids, and this friend of my daughter's is no exception.  There's only one problem: I can't afford to feed her.  This kid comes to my house and literally eats everything in sight.  I'm not sure if it's because she can't eat that way at home, or if it's just her usual eating habits.  Last night, she managed to scoff down three huge pieces of chicken parmigiana that I'd made, two bowls of spaghetti, several ginger ales, a few yogurt cups, and a piece of pie.  The grand finale happened to be two entire boxes of mint oreos (the empty boxes of which she attempted to hide under my daughter's bed).  That's the thing with this girl; she knows that she stuffs herself; she attempts to conceal the evidence.  I was livid.  This 11 year-old girl ate four times as much as me and my own kids combined.  The real kicker of this scenario is that the girl happens to be a type I diabetic.  It's no wonder that she wakes up some mornings with a blood sugar over 450.  I informed Savannah that we're going to have to limit her friend's visits.  As I said, I simply can't afford to feed her. 

December's first day is bright but frigid;  perhaps the symbolism is an omen of what's to come.  Perhaps not.  I often think too deeply into things; I always have.  Although it may seem eccentric, these symbolic observations have often come to pass.  I suppose time will tell; it always does.  There's always a lot going on this time of year.  Good things, usually.  I'll more than likely be heading home again for the Christmas holiday.  My birthday is on the 27th, so perhaps I'll spend it home, as well.   I informed my brother that I expect a birthday party this year.  Because my birthday is so close to Christmas, I've never had a "real" party.  I suppose that's how it goes when you're competing with Jesus for a bit of birthday fun. 

There's more than three weeks to get through before then, however.  I have always put up our Christmas tree and decorated the house on December 1st.  I admit that it sort of snuck up on me this year.  It's almost a pleasant surprise, really.  I suppose that would be my advice for the season... Don't plan too much; let the season itself make the rules.  Don't envision the unattainable perfect holiday; it only leads to disappointment.  Just go with it.  Drink your egg nog (or your spiked punch!) and remember what's important to you.  I have discovered that memories will never let you down.  And always, as much as possible, give.  I don't mean gifts and the like.  Give freely of yourself.  Your spirit.  Take graciously and in moderation.  And always, as much as humanly possible, be kind.

Even to the incredibly rude and obnoxious holiday mall salespeople, bad drivers, and kids that eat you out of house and home...