Lone Ranger Post # 65

The day we never believe will happen finally came.   When the kids are in diapers, or we are going from one activity to the next; with us (the parents) as their chauffeur and maid, it seems unending.   The past few years flew by in a whirlwind of being a band parent and theater mom.  Shan was in so many community plays and there was always a rehearsal, an intermission to cater - which she oversaw - or a show.  The house was full of music - Shanon's music.  Playing her instruments, singing, jazz music, and 1920-1940 era music.  It was a happy home and I had always wondered,    "What am I going to do when the music stops!"

     The music stopped on August 21 when I dropped her off a college in Staten Island.  During the two-day ride back to Alabama I kept checking my phone to see if she called or texted.  The many calls to her went to voice mail.  She had never not answered before!  Many thoughts went through my head.  'Doesn't she miss me?  Does she really not need me?  What if something happened to her?  Is she safe?'  As much as I hate to admit it, I was kind of disappointed that she adjusted so well.

 For the first time in my life, I live alone with the closest family member an hour away, the next one three hours and then 1200+ miles for the rest.  Walking into the house for the first time, knowing that my baby may never live at home again - barring vacations - was eerie.  Each room echoed with happy voices and songs of days from the not-too-distant past, and the imagined sounds ricocheted off the walls, hitting me when I least expected it in moments of loneliness and purposeless. Instruments played, voices sang, a theatrical scream would wake me out of a dead sleep - but only in my mind.

     The first month I was dazed and in shock, wondering aimlessly about and marveling that just one person (me) could be so high maintenance.  There were dishes to do, paperwork to be done, and floors to be swept; all things that for some reason I thought would go away when the kids grew up. There were still meals to be cooked, but only for one.

     But the hardest part, is sitting on my porch, hearing the afternoon band practice coming from the two local high schools, both just blocks from my house, one of which is Shanon's. On home-game nights,  the bands celebrate each touchdown and the halftime shows calibrate through the air and I distinctly remember sitting in the window of my apartment  across from the school - before buying this house - three years ago and wondering what I would do when Shanon was no longer among the kids coming and going to school.  And yet, once again in my life, only a curtain separates that day and now and if I pull it back I'll be there and by closing it, I'm here.

     One day, driving down the street feeling pretty much nothing but despair, I opened the console.  And what to my wondering eyes should appear?  Ten CD's in homemade covers.  Curious, I pulled one out and put it in the player.  The first song was, "The Stars Fell On Alabama", followed by "What a Wonderful World", then "Slow Boat to China", then "Summertime" by Billy Sundae, and so forth, all of which was Shan and my favorite music.  Ah!  Then I remembered her telling me she was going to make me some CD's for when I miss her.  It was at that moment the vale had lifted.  The music was back!  I began to re-engage in life and suddenly it occurred to me that, basically, I can do whatever I want now!  

   

Renovation 2014 - turning half into master closet & moving door to align with kitchen door.  2014

All those years of, "If I didn't have to worry about the kids I would do..." were gone and suddenly I was here!  No more excuses!  It is time to live and love life again.   First on my list was to create a beautiful outdoor space.   After some rearranging the back part of my house shortly after moving in, the back door was moved 6 foot to the right, which meant there were now steps that led to a wall and concrete blocks for steps at the back door, leading to a large patio.  From that back door to the yard, the patio was a barren space and I rarely used it.

Part of my patio before this project

So I decided to have a 12x12 deck built and the patio enclosed with a 4 foot lattice fence, an arbor doorway, and a decorative wall on one side to make it more like a courtyard.   The construction took two weeks to complete.

After - not finished decorating

     I'm in the middle of painting and staining the whole contraption.  Something I found out the hard way, when you see lattice, remember, somebody had to paint that stuff!  The construction was completed two weeks ago.   The man (Cecil) who did the work had approached me about doing it at cost because he knew I was anxious to have a beautiful space but financially it wouldn't have happened until next spring.  He had built a deck on another property for me and we had talked about it then.   As it turned out, he had recently learned he was sick and didn't have long to live and this was something he wanted to do before he died.  He  passed away one week ago (a week after finishing the project) from pancreatic cancer.

Looking out back door after pic

Loving my wall

Outdoor LR - not done yet

Wk in progress for dining area

New outdoor living area

View from back yard

Next is landscaping around fence

    Through the emotional roller coaster of yet, another fall season of loss and change, I have learned something.   Sometimes, when we feel dead inside, a simple gift can kick-start us back to life.  And a labor of love can be the gift that keeps on giving and sometimes the footprints we leave are like passing the torch of life on to someone else when we can no longer continue.  It was as though Cecil handed me his torch and said, "I won't be here much longer but you go and love your life!  Live it to the fullest!"    And that is just what I intend to do.

Little Girl - The Transition from Childhood to College Post # 64

My baby girl just turned 18 and is soon heading off to college 1200 miles away, in Staten Island.  She has been unusually moody, and may I say, a bit sassy.  But one thing I have learned, both professionally and personally, well into early adulthood, 'kids' often have a hard time expressing what is truly going on in their world, in their heads, and in their hearts.  But Shanon wrote this tonight and, for those who are facing the same transition accompanied by a slight change in personality, maybe this will shed some light.  It's a little lengthy but worth the read.

The Little Girl

I am a little girl.  I am a little girl trapped inside the body of an adult, with adult intelligence, adult control, adult responsibilities, and adult crushes. 

I am a little girl who likes rain.  The smell of it.  The way it looks in the sun.  Or in the midnight pitch black.  Lightly sprinkling down on me when I can count each drop as it hits my skin.  Or soaking me during my three second dash from the car to the front door.  I like the way it hits my windows and the way it looks as it travels down my windshield.  The ripples it makes falling into water.  The way it wakes me up gently and rocks me to sleep sixteen hours later.  The way that muddy puddles feel on my bare feet as I’m dancing across hot pavement during monsoon season.  The lazy days when I run through a downpour because I don’t feel like showering.  But I’m an Adult and Adults don’t have time for rain.  And when you’re an Adult who indulges in rain, your joy is lonely.  Adults know that rain is just that inconvenient thing that gets your hair wet on the way to work and makes your car act up. 

I am a little girl who likes mugs.  I have a collection.  New York City.  Puppy Dog.  Pretty Pink with “I love you” written on the bottom.  Snoopy.  Christmas colored paw prints.  “You asked for half a cuppa coffee” half mug.  “The only Superman I know is my dad.”  Each mug is a representation of something about me.  But I’m an Adult and Adults don’t have time for mugs. Adults know that mugs are just a frivolous excuse to spend money.  Adults use paper coffee cups.  Grab & Go & Throw it out.   

I am a little girl who likes flowers.  They’re the only thing that is sure to bring happiness into my

room.  I like the dark colors.  Violet daises, scarlet mums.  I like the contrast between them and the light pink roses and white daises in the bouquet set next to them.  I like looking at fields of flowers.  Single roses.  Wild flowers.  Paintings of flowers.  I like to get lost for hours daydreaming about sleeping in a field of flowers and planning my future garden that’ll run on for eternity.  I like to daydream about getting lost in that garden.  But I’m an Adult and Adults don’t have time for flowers.  Adults know that flowers are expensive.  Adults don’t get lost in gardens because Adults don’t want dirt under their nails and pollen in their nose.  Adults don’t dry dead bouquets, they throw them out with the coffee cups.  

I am a little girl who likes chick flicks.  I have seen The 27 Dresses twenty-seven times.  I know every word.  I’ve even watched it in French.  The leading man is dreamy.  I know now that a girl in love has super powers, such as jumping an incredible distance in heels from the pier to the ship that the love of your life is on, though it defies the laws of everything.  I also know that everyone has a soulmate out there who, of course, is going to coincidentally end up stalking them for a completely unrelated reason, which will lead to their life-long union.  But I’m an adult and adults don’t have time to watch their favorite movie twenty-seven times, maybe not even once.  Adults know that love is rarely magical. Adults know that, even when you do find love, it rarely falls into place as it should.  Adults don’t need a feel-good movie, because Adults have Adult control over their own emotions.  

I am a little girl who likes hands and feet.  I like to hold hands and play footsie.  I like to inspect each finger; each joint, each crease.  I like the soft part of the hand at the base of the thumb.  I like to rub it when I’m stressed out to remind myself that there is still part of me that is still soft even though I’ve had seven cups of coffee and the rest of me seems to be deteriorating from mental burden.  I like when someone’s toes can fold over mine and when someone can fit my fist in their fist.  I like to feel the edge of nails of the fingers entwined in mine and the nails of the toes I am battling.  Feet have never grossed me out.  I like to spend hours with these details.  But I’m an Adult and Adults don’t have time for footsie.  Adults don’t sit around and giggle because of hand holding.  Adults go on real dates, with real money.  Adults have held too many hands to understand that hands are magical.  Adults keep their shoes on because Adults know that feet are stinky and gross.

I am a little girl who likes exploring.  I go on adventures in my mind to places most only go to

online.  I bike through France to eat through Italy, straight into The Vatican, where I start my pilgrimage to Jerusalem, from where I hitch hike with a caravan of camels to India, so I can wash myself in the Ganges and am thus fit to climb the Alps, which lead me to Constantinople (because that’s more fun to say than Istanbul), but I have to flee suddenly and end up in Russia, where I take the Trans-Siberian railway back to the west, working my way from Scandinavia to Switzerland (where I will ultimately always return to because it’s just so peaceful), and then I head to Belgium

because I want truffles and waffles and Brussel sprouts and fancy lace to match the fancy red salsa dress I’ll buy while enjoying the architecture in Barcelona, but I leave Spain because all the bull fighting is making me nauseous, and I go to Andorra, which was a huge mistake because their national dish is pretty much meat medley and I can hardly stomach one type of meat, so I go to Lichtenstein and Luxembourg, hoping to meet a rich bachelor, but I speak English and I can’t make them fall in love with me in broken French, so I go to the UK and then Ireland to visit the Giant’s Causeway, which I’ve wanted to do since I first saw a picture of it when I was 7, and I take off from there on a canoe to travel through the Bermuda Triangle in hopes of seeing another dimension on my way to Canada, where I spend a year backpacking with my best friend, a mousse.  And that might not make any geographical sense but you don’t need a map when you are traveling via imagination.  But I’m an adult and Adults don’t have time to globetrot.  Adults have careers and bills and commitments.  Adults vacation, Adults don’t wander.  Adults take an itinerary, not a backpack.

I am a little girl who likes music.  I listen to old music and pretend I’m a teenage flapper who

blossoms into a graceful lady who swing dances in cupcake dresses.  I listen to symphonies and operas and dramatically act out the plot (which almost always involves a sword fight with a kitchen spoon).  I listen to Gershwin and pretend I am Mrs. Gershwin, because nobody else sounds as desirable as my George.  I listen to Broadway and I am that character, be it Lord Farquad, Mama Rose, or just a backwoods Barbie.  I listen to rock and I suddenly know the meaning of life – which is peace and protest and self-loathing and self-righteousness all pressed into one epic air-guitar solo on the kitchen counter.  But I’m an Adult and Adults don’t have time to give in to music.  Adults know that music does not change who you are.  Adults know that music is not an answer.  Adults know that there’s no point in pretending to be the star you aren’t.  

I am a little girl who likes food.  Carbs don’t matter.  Butter fixes everything.  Organic food is preferable so that the government cannot brain wash me from the inside out.  I like the simplicity of chocolate milk, I like dipping my chocolate graham crackers in chocolate, and I like finding new ways to accompany every meal with chocolate.  I like sparkling juice.  I pretend that I am drinking champagne, but I keep a mischievous smile on my face because, though I blend in with the fancy bubbly drinkers, I know my carbonated apple juice tastes much better.  I like the crunch of the burnt outside layer of a marshmallow.  I like that Lays barbeque chips don’t have MSG, allowing me to consume that heavenly flavor without any headache following.  I like that there are a million ways to change up salad and I like that dried fruit tastes like candy and I like that horseradish cheese makes grilled cheese even better than it already was.  I like to open the jar of pesto just to smell it.  I like the way peanut butter slowly runs down the sides of a Presley sandwich.  But I’m an Adult and Adults don’t have time for comfort food.  Adults know that calories CAN add up.  Adults know that you can’t make a real meal out of appetizers alone.  Adults know that, just because the chocolate is dark, doesn’t mean you can eat three bags a week.  

I am a little girl who likes the way a ball point pen feels in my hand when I write long passages late at

night.  I like my dog’s nose touching mine and her little body breathing next to me all night, making me so aware of how alive the world is when it’s quiet.  I like antiques, they’re always in style.  I like “Starry Night,” especially with Snoopy laying on his dog house edited into it.  I like the sparkle of Marilyn Monroe’s eyes (and the stars Frank Sinatra puts in mine) more than the sparkle in her diamonds.  I like the way my mother feeds off of my weirdness in the same way I feed off hers.  I like my teddy bear, Mr. Purple, who I used to think was sent by Jesus to watch me.  I like that I have sweeter dreams after listening to church choirs.  I like how my best friend never ceases to amaze me with her ability to juggle every responsibility imaginable and still be a nice person.  I like the foam on top of my coffee more than I like the actual coffee.  These are all things that make me very simplistically happy, because little girls can always find a way to be happy.  

But I’m an Adult.  I’m barely an Adult but I already know that time flies.  And now that I’m technically an Adult, I am living in fear.  Fear for the day that the rain is just an annoyance seeping into my new leather business shoes.  Fear for the day that I start to drink my coffee in disposable cups even though I made it at home.  Fear for the day I don’t stop and smell the roses.  Fear for the day that The 27 Dresses starts to skip and I don’t replace it.  Fear for the day that I have finally memorized all the lines and all the veins and all the joints in my loved ones’ hands and the shapes of their toes.  Fear for the day that I move to New York City and the world begins to absorb me rather than me absorbing it.  Fear for the day that Ella Fitzgerald doesn’t bring tears to my eyes and Stevie Wonder doesn’t bring movement to my feet and I wonder if music was the right career choice.  Fear for the day I decide to go on a diet because I’m a freaking size six.  Fear for the day that I am not once stopped by a simple action or object or thought that I suddenly realize is much more amazing than I ever gave it credit for being.  Being an “Adult” is scary.  

But, when I’m a little girl, I am fearless (except for the fact that there are definitely monsters under my bed AND in my closet).  So, if you don’t mind, I think I’ll stay this way a while more.  Or maybe forever. I’ll be the youngest person ever to live for an entire century.  

I know that, when you’re eighteen, you’re expected to shape up.  But the fact is that I can only mature in so many ways in such a small amount of time.  Sometimes my emotions just aren’t there yet.  And sometimes you just have to believe I am trying my best to be my best.  And sometimes you just have to be okay with the fact that that best is still a little girl sometimes.

Summer Solstice 2016 Post #63

Happy Summer Solstice my Sweet Summer friend.

As we walk our paths called life, may we:

Cherish those who are in our charge
Live life to the fullest
Embrace every day
Love each moment
Laugh often
Forgive easily
Look forward to where our paths lead, wherever that may be.

Though memories become whispers in the cobwebs of our minds,
Never forget those we've lost by death or by distance, or perhaps by some ill-fated fate;
As we all dissipate into mist called the faraway past

And always remember, once again my sweet friend, come summer, fall, winter and spring, we will meet again,
If only to say hello and to wish each other a Happy Summer Solstice!

Happy Summer Solstice, my sweet Summer Friend.

Arizona for Valentines Day Post # 62

          After becoming Scott's Valentine, he never let a day go by without calling to say good morning and good night, at the very least.  Each morning I awoke to a sweet text, yet our communication stayed on neutral ground and I appreciated that he didn't try to take it to a level anyplace other than where we were; a friendship potentially blossoming into a partnership; something that we both just knew, yet didn't talk about.

        By late January, it was evident still that Scott  would not be able to travel so he invited me to go out to Arizona for Valentine’s Day.  My close friends and family know that I was never the type to jump on a plane and/or travel alone, yet something in my spirit told me that this was exactly what I needed to do.  I flew in on Thursday, February 12, 2015, certain that destiny awaited me on the other end.  Throughout my travels, Frek and I talked with anticipation that we would finally be seeing each other for the first time in 30 plus years.

       The flight arrived in Phoenix 45 minutes early so naturally, Frek was not there yet.  I had pictured this robust man sweeping me into his arms and swinging me around, my feet flying through the air in the levity of serendipity. Okay...Not really to that extent.  What happened was anything but, and every horror story ever told of people developing a potential relationship before meeting in person went through my head.  By the time he arrived, my baggage was in hand and I was waiting at the entrance.  He didn't jump out of the vehicle like I thought he would, and for a moment it seemed I was supposed to put my own luggage in the back and just get in.  After a moment, he go out very slowly and walked around the vehicle, his foot in a medical boot, and silently lifted my bag into the back.

I was unprepared for the frail, thin man that greeted me and my first thought was that this

must be his father.  He barely said a word on the drive home and my mind was racing as I tried to align this meek, shy man with the guy on the phone.  I was stuck here for 11 days and had to make the best of it, then I would leave and we would be friends.

        His house was clean and I was surprised at how well decorated and homey it was.  He showed me to the guest room and, looking around, it was evident he’d gone out of his way to make it comfortable and beautiful for me.  There was a vanity with a make-up mirror  a new, empty dresser just for me.  The closet was empty with hangers ready and the night stand by the bed had the latest months decorator and natural health magazines; things we had talked about and he knew I loved. The bedding was beautiful, brand new, freshly washed and extremely comfortable.   Looking around, it was easy to picture the man on the phone doing all of this.

       Having traveled all night, I was exhausted and we opted to take naps in the living room, in recliners that sat about 4 feet from each other.  It was only around noon and we slept till about 2:00.  When we awoke, he suggested we go grocery shopping so I could pick out the food.  We went to a whole foods type of store and I, being budget-minded, was being very selective but Frek had remembered from previous conversations many of the things I like and he would quietly slip away and come back with items from our phone conversations.  We had a $200 bill there and just after we put it away at the house, he offered to take me out to dinner but I suggested cooking there, which we did.   He seemed a little anxious that I may be too tired or feel 'slave-driven' on my first night.

       As we cooked dinner, Frek was still very quiet.  By this time, he had mentioned a few times how much weight he had lost over the previous few months and it dawned on me that the impact of his physical appearance was a strain on his self-confidence; which was why he was so stand-offish.  Not only that, but when he stood up, it took him a minute to get his balance, hence the reason he didn't leap out of the car, and especially why my fantasy of our first meeting didn't come true.  Another epiphany came to me.  It was really a good thing that we had talked for months before meeting because, in all honesty, had I seen him before knowing his spirit, I may have passed on by, missing out on - what turned out to be - the love of my life.  We all tend to make assessments of people we know nothing about and this made me wonder how many would-be great friendships and relationships never happen because we won't venture past our own superficial standards if the person doesn't fit the 'profile'.

       

During dinner, Frek ran down a whole list of things he wanted to do over the next 10 days; things that he knew I would enjoy.  By the time we cleaned up and sat down for a cup of coffee before an early bedtime ( I had gotten 2 hours of sleep in the previous 48 hours) the man sitting four 4 feet away me in our respective recliners was slowly merging into the man on the phone.  I went to bed much earlier than him and as I melted into a sound sleep I had feelings of peace, comfort, and hope.