Solar Rehab

Thanks

.... for an existence that is not mundane.

.... for better health than I deserve.

.... for loyal friends that would and have been there in a second's notice.

.... for two healthy, messy, loving, intelligent, spoiled children.

.... for doctors who are wrong (we were told my dad had six months to live -- a year and a half ago.)

 

.... for the losses that have taught me to take nothing (and no one) for granted.

.... for a capable mind.

.... for an unfaltering memory.

.... for blueberry pie that had help missing my daughter's mouth (thanks, Uncle Shane).

.... for a heart that loves too much.

.... for laugh lines.

.... for dreams that I remember in the morning.

.... for honestly believing that the best is yet to come.

 

The Next Chapter

I remember his words as if he spoke them last night. We were sitting on the patio enjoying the twilight hues of the late June evening, conversing about the stars, the songs of crickets, and the inevitable probability that he was, not in the too distant future, going to die.

"You are the love of my life... but I am only a chapter in yours."

He said it matter of factly and honestly. We had become friends, at last. My husband and I were not friends until he was staring mortality in the face.

I tried to offer solace, to smooth the wrinkles out of a truth that he knew as well as I did.

"Did you hear me? Do you understand what I'm telling you?" he asked. Those sapphire eyes looked through and into me, and I could not deny him.

"I don't want to think of other chapters right now. But I hear you, yes." I swallowed hard and avoided his gaze. I was not ready to even entertain the thoughts of another life, of leaving behind the father of my children, the only man I'd ever truly loved, my best friend.

A week later, I was still not ready. Even as I made funeral arrangements, made the necessary calls, ordered floral arrangements and chose his casket, I was not ready. I wasn't ready the day he was buried.

Time... What a numbing creature it is. Its anesthesia cannot be bottled or simulated. I have dreamed of him many times, of course, that blue-eyed handsome man, my best friend. Always in those dreams he has comforted me, shown me the warmth of his arms until dawn stole my unconsciousness.

Last night it was different.

Beneath the cloak of dreams I crept, looking for him, and as always, I found him there. But something was amiss. He did not open his arms to me as before. Instead, I reached for him.

"No," he whispered. He pushed me back without a touch, without harshness, without a hint of regret.

I did not understand at first. And then those sapphire eyes looked through and into me... and I could not deny him.

"Turn the page..." He said it quietly and slowly, as if to remind me of something that I should have already known. And I did know. I remembered.

The next chapter... It cannot begin unless I turn the page, of course. I am not sure what I've been waiting for. I'm not even sure which story I'm in, much less which chapter I'm beginning. But I will know when I find it.

Better yet, perhaps I'll write it myself...

Opportunity

I've got that old sneaking suspicion that things are about to change... I've been offered an admirable position on a cardiac unit in Greensboro, North Carolina.  The pay is better than average.  It's day shift.  Three 12-hour shifts a week.  Benefits are awesome.  There's only one problem.

I live in Pennsylvania...

Like I said, change is coming.  Big time.  I'd have to relocate, of course.  Not just down the street or to the town next door, but three states away.  The kids would have to change schools.  I'd have to get used to different scenery, different sounds, a different weather girl on the local news in the morning.  Yes, I think of minor details like that.  Weird, I realize.

What is it about change that freaks us out?  I've thought about it since this new "opportunity" arose.  I think that it's the uncertainty.  The mystery.  And of course, not knowing exactly what life will be like in a year's time, in a new place. 

And that's where faith steps in, I suppose. 

Let's face it -- I'm not going to be offered an opportunity here like the one in North Carolina.  First of all, I need a day shift position.  I simply cannot leave my kids by themselves at night.  And I won't leave them with relatives 3 or 4 nights a week; that's just not fair to them (or the relatives!).  I can't begin to recollect all the times in the past 5 or so years that I've said that I'll go south again one day.  I am a southerner by birth and blood, by destiny and dialect. 

I'm sure change will come.  I'm sure it won't all be rosy twilight and smiles.  It'll be different.  The kids will be homesick for a little while.  Maybe I will be, too.  The kids are actually excited about the prospect of moving to a better climate, however.  They even anticipate a great new school where they can be the cool new kid. 

And so, I've made up my mind.  It is finally time to go.  I've accepted the offer in North Carolina.  The next few weeks will be a bit crazy, I'm sure. 

Wish us luck.

In Search of That One Particular Harbour

I'll be catching a plane to Florida at 4pm tomorrow.  Sunday, my fellow comrades and I will sail away into a week-long Caribbean feast of hedonism.  I can't believe it's finally time to go...

Wastin' away again...

~ A.C.

Nobody's Fool

Where did March go?  The last four weeks or so have rumbled by like a runaway train, it seems.  The busier you are, the quicker time passes.  I'm not complaining.  I haven't decided yet whether or not March was well spent, but I managed to accomplish quite a few necessaries. 

I am still an honor student (magna cum laude, thank you) after four years of the most rigorous program of study I've ever fathomed.  I find it sort of funny -- I'm a thirtysomething honor student.  Then again, that's actually a feat in itself.  Unlike the traditional university student, I have a home and property to manage (by myself), two kids to nurture and care for (again, by myself), bills to pay, dinners to cook, and laundry (lots of it) to tend to.  I'm my kids' chauffer several nights a week.  I'm attending elementary school plays, band concerts, PTA meetings, and odds and ends of various miscellany that  a 21 year-old doesn't usually worry about.   

Despite everything, I'm swimming with the current.  Sure, there are moments when I feel like I'm back on Shit Creek; trust me, it's a real place.  I've not only paddled it, but I've waded through it barefoot.  But those trips don't last long, I've learned.  I've realized, after all this time, that I'm actually pulling the whole deal off with more grace than I knew I had.  I am doing better than fine.  I am kicking ass and taking names.  Rawr. 

And I have every confidence that things will only get better.  My optimism can either be described as determined... or just simply stubborn.  I like to think it's a bit of both.  There's a bit of shabby  Buffett-philosophy in there somewhere, too... 

The first day of April is an innocent sort of sultry; warm and wet, but not yet bold enough to take either too seriously.  I am nobody's fool today or any other,  however.  I may unwillingly pay a visit to that infamous creek again one of these days, but I'll know throughout the trip that all bodies of water, even that particular one, lead to the vast and waiting sea...

 

 

Weekday Locks, Weekend Lessons

Easter break is over, but there are a few eggs that were hidden too well that will begin to putrify with the warmer weather, I'm sure.  Forgotten Easter eggs aren't the only things that can stink to high heaven...

I left my house for 4 days.  I made a round trip from Pennsylvania to Virginia to North Carolina to Virginia and back again to Pennsylvania in that time.  Whew.  The oil gods and gas gurus are laughing at my expense.  When I came home last evening, I discovered, to my utter shock, that someone had shampooed my carpets.  Someone had rearranged the things on my kitchen table.  Someone had taken it upon themselves to scrub out one of my cupboards.

And someone listened to the messages on my answering machine...

This is the usual, random bullshit that I've come home to before.  The perpetrators of these intrusions are not strangers; I know them perfectly well.  I've trusted them too easily in the past (which explains how they still have a key to my back door).  Although they insist that they are just trying to "help" me, I see through the smiles and implications of kindness.  This is nothing more than nosiness and power tripping.  And I'm sick of it.  The locks will be changed on my doors quicker than they can sneak out an old key. 

And then I'll surprise them by packing up everything we own and getting the hell out of dodge.  Yessirree.

While someone was cleaning my carpets and listening to my personal messages (I'd venture to bet that they read my mail, as well...), I was enjoying a bright Easter weekend with my family and friends.  I always manage to escape with a few lessons, some of which I will gladly share:

• Do NOT pass a cop on the interstate, even if you are going the speed limit.  Passing them pisses them off even more than speeding, apparently.  I had my cruise control set at 65 miles per hour, passed the cop, and a moment later, the lovely blue lights were in the rear view mirror.  Resist the urge to pass.  No exceptions.
• Never pay attention to exit numbers on the interstate, either.  These change more often than you think.  Watch for the route numbers and you'll be fine.  Exit numbers be damned.  The mapquest gods lie like rugs.
• There is at least one man out there (who is neither married, gay, or dead) who will pay for dinner and not expect you to be dessert later that night.  Score! 
• Chocolate Rain by Tay Zonday (one of the youtube dudes) can and will be sung repeatedly by children who think it's as funny as I think it is irritating. 
• Expect the unexpected.  Seven months ago, we didn't expect my dad to live more than a few weeks.  Although he is still afflicted with liver disease, he has surprised us all by returning from the brink of death.  He is doing fine, mind and body intact. 
• Don't give anyone a key to your house unless you are prepared to change your locks at later date.  See above...
• Time flies when you're having fun; that's not a euphemism.  It also creeps by like molasses when you're not.  Isn't it May yet?!

Rural Legends

My hometown of Richlands, Virginia is just a speck of rural geography on a map.  It's a rather secluded little place.  It's an hour's drive to an interstate highway, and even further to an airport.  There are people there that I know personally who have never seen an ocean, met a black person, or explored any part of the country (much less the world) beyond rural Appalachia.  As a teenager, I could hardly wait to leave Richlands in the dust to find bigger and better places. 

I left my hometown before I was 19 years old.  I've explored a bit of the world thus far, just as I'd hoped to.  I've flown over oceans and met people from all over the world.  Although there are certainly places bigger than Richlands, I've come to understand that better is a thoroughly personal opinion.  I now actually miss being surrounded by seemingly endless mountains.  I miss hearing the southern-spoken English from the mouths of my fellow "folk."  Although I left that speck of rural geography over 15 years ago, I still consider it home. 

Many talented and mysterious people hail from rural Appalachia.  The folklore is quite amazing, as well.  The tales from the mountains are some of the best storytelling fodder I've ever heard.  Simple, yet captivating. 

Someone sent me a link to the following video.  I recognize every landscape and building in it.  No surprise, really...    

17 Years

17 years.  It's been an eternity and the blink of an eye all at once.  It is, now that I think of it, half my current age.  I suppose there are many people who would say that it isn't a very long time at all, not in the scheme of a lifetime, anyway.

It was 17 years ago tonight that I met Mark, the man that I would marry, the father of my children, my buddy, the love of my life.  We spent that Groundhog Day of 1991 getting to know each other (way into the hours of February 3).   We married a year and a half later, and 9 months after that, our son was born. 

Being married to a Marine wasn't easy at first; I moved from my hometown to Virginia Beach...where I didn't know a living soul.  Mark would sometimes be gone for as long as 6 months for the USMC while I was at home in our small apartment with a baby and a biweekly letter or phone call from only God knows where.  I have letters from Dubai, Athens, Rome... They all ended the same, usually.  I love you, mama.  I'll be home soon.  Semper Fi...

Five years into our marriage he left the Marine Corps and we moved back to my hometown, then to Pennsylvania where he got a federal job, we had another baby (Savannah), and I finished up my college degree.  Our relationship was never perfect -- far from it.  We were both ardent and headstrong individuals; our upsets were always like fire and gasoline.  There were many times that I wanted to rip his head off or claw his face, but we managed to make up before I had the chance. 

Mark began to feel bad in 2002... A lot of unexplained pain and what not.  He was losing weight.  The color faded from his face.  It took more than a dozen physicians to finally find the cancer, which had been destroying his body for several years by that time.  He endured the amputation of a leg, inpatient chemo, and the ravages of the monstrous disease in early 2003.  I was with him until he took his last breath.  His fight ended on the fourth of July. Leave it to a Marine to die on Independence Day...

The last thing he ever said to me was "be happy."  Well, I'm trying.  So far it's working out okay.  I suppose everything takes time.

Leading to tonight, it's been 17 years.  No, I suppose it's not a lifetime.  But it's been enough time.  Enough to make a lifetime worth of memories, of remembered words and distant voices, of happiness and undying love. 

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.

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.