You are currently browsing the monthly archive for July, 2007.
It’s official. We now have five acres and a home in Lee County. It’s complete with electric service, a telephone, and a post office box for mail. Now the fun begins.
Our new place needs some work. A lot of work. I keep jumping to step 67 (rearrange furniture) while Alan just wants to concentrate on step 1 (mow down the overgrown bushes) and then move on to step 2 (de-critter the place) before jumping ahead to step 3 (pull out the damaged kitchen cabinets). It’s a fun process.
I’ve been a little put off lately that Alan hasn’t taken me up on my
offer to come down and scrub the walls with bleach while he removes and replaces the kitchen floors. As I was making the three-hour drive down there today, it dawned on me just how much he looks like a six year old on Christmas Eve. He’s really excited about his new project, and in the back of his mind, I think he considers this his Charles Ingalls moment when he gets to build a house for h
is family with his own two hands.
I like this in him. It is pure masculine energy at it’s best. And in my book, there is nothing sexier in a man than his ability to intuitively know the square footage of a room and exactly how many 87 degree angles he will have to cut in the laminate flooring. Or the proper tire pressure for a 1967 Mustang. Even if my brain sits there thinking, “Huh?”, my heart just thumps out of my chest when he starts talking about socket sizes.
The really cool part of all this is that through his sweat and swear words and incredible engineering genius, he is doing something for us. That’s a priceless feeling. It takes me back to when we first met and spent $10 taking silly pictures in the photo booth at Lakeland Square Mall. (If you know my husband, you know he totally did the goof-ball thing for me.)
Now we just have to figure out the semantics of actually living together full-time after seven years of a long distance marriage.
I’m exhausted right now, and I’ve only been awake for 4 hours. The problem is the 2 hours I stood inside the Social Security Administration building (and I mean stood) felt like an entire day inside a middle school classroom. For one thing, every time an employee called for a number, you would hear a beep followed by the number. Considering the amount of time we were all spending there, you would think people would listen intently in the hope their number would be next. Instead, the conversations grew louder so they could be heard over the interrupting employee. This is not unlike students at the end of the day who miss out on their bus change because they were too busy talking over the announcement.
Another favorite moment today was when the security guard announced that anyone parked behind the building without a permit would be towed. People started throwing questions and complaints at him. “But I parked on the side of the building!” “Is it okay if I parked out front?” I had flashbacks of assigning homework. “Complete questions 1, 3, 4, and 5 for homework.” “What about 2? Do we need to do 2?” Don’t get me started on the number of minutes we all lost to people who didn’t use their wait time wisely enough to complete the paperwork before they reached the counter. (Can anyone say, write your name on your paper as soon as you start the assignment!)
So in the end, I did something really mean today. One guy, dressed in his work attire of button-down cotton shirt and black trousers kept complaining about how he didn’t have time to sit there and wait. I don’t know how many times the security guard reminded him that he had to wait his turn just like everyone else (including the people who lined up at the door at 6 a.m.). He was really antsy as we finally neared my number, and he canvassed the room to find out how many people with a number before his were actually there. I happened to have 2 tickets, 2 numbers apart. I gave the second one away from someone who I knew was before him.
And it felt good.
In the end, I will say that I do not begrudge the federal employees when they take their union mandated twenty minute break even when there’s a line out front that makes the fire inspector chew his nails. After all, they spend all day dealing with people like me who are irresponsible enough to lose their social security card and then complain about the wait to get a free replacement.
I had a difficult time getting to sleep last night even though I was exhausted. I let one of the dogs sleep in bed with me so I had a warm body nearby. I’m sore today. My forearms ache from my death grip on the steering wheel. I think I pulled a muscle in my right forearm; I can’t hold anything (like a coffee cup) without some pain. Perhaps I should stop before I start to sound too geriatric. I am, however, feeling very fortunate and thankful for a mother and grandmother who pray for me daily. My ordeal last night could have been far worse.
It’s a good thing I didn’t really have any plans for today. So far, I’ve sorted through my photographs. I had already planned to do this and bought some gorgeous hat boxes the other day just for this occasion. I’m amazed at how much I hold on to and why I feel the need to keep doubles of just about every picture. I’m also glad I have so many photos because they tell so many stories, like the time I took my nephew to the zoo and sprained my ankle on the way in or the day at the beach where I told my husband that he was going to marry me (and stood there dumbfounded that I didn’t run him off with that prediction). The look in my mother’s eyes tell the status of her mental health. Hugs and kisses and smiles are all reminders of how much I am loved.
I’m also throwing away a lot of photos. I cringe each time I place another one in the trash, but this is as good a time as ever to purge my memory box. My grandmother and I have started going through her family photos, and that process has given me a new perspective on what really is a keeper in the photo album world. There is no reason to hold on to baby photos of my friends’ children or blurred photos of half a dog’s head. And you know what? I actually like looking through each picture and deciding if I like it enough to make it part of the baggage I’m about to lug to Fort Myers. There might be a life lesson in there.
The clock tells me that Pretty Woman is about to come on the t.v., and that seems like an ideal movie for me to continue my reminiscing and purging. (I like to have on something I’ve seen enough so I don’t have to devote all my attention.) I’ll leave you with a sight I just caught from outside my window here. I don’t think I’ve ever before seen an aloe plant bloom.
I was on my way to Lakeland tonight for Rachel’s birthday, happily singing along with Amy Grant (I told you I sang Amy’s songs on drives) when I heard the pop. Now, a pop when you are driving is never a good sound. And it’s even worse when you discover that you no longer have control over the vehicle. Which I didn’t. This is what happened.
Several people stopped on the side of the road to make sure I was okay. They heard the pop and saw me go sliding through the muck. My favorite remark was from the guy who told me I was a really good driver and then offered me some water.
Just in case you can’t tell from the photos, I was in the middle of nowhere on the main road in and out of Kissimmee. That’s swamp land there, and it wasn’t a pleasant experience standing there in flip flops. Then the rain started.
The tow truck driver finally arrived. That was a show in itself because the tow truck almost ended up in the muck.
I’m still recovering from the shock of it all with visions of flying brush in my head. This is the first time in my life something of this magnitude has happened to me. For that I am grateful because I know not everyone can say that, especially someone who drives as much as I do.
I offer my thanks to all the people who stopped to make sure I was okay, called 911, guided me out of the vehicle, and my dear in-laws who stayed with me. There presence was such a great comfort to me. So now I have a million phone calls to finish, some Xanax to take, and convince myself that I’m not suffering from mortal internal injuries.
I packed my china today. It’s all wrapped in the guest bathroom towels and tucked away in boxes. I was high enough on that accomplishment that I packed up the kitchen cabinet filled with coffee cups and stowed our coats and jackets in a suitcase. I’m spreading out the packing and taking my time. This seems to ease my sadness at leaving my home. I do love my home, especially now that the carpet has been replaced and the broken furniture has been laid to rest. Here is the current version complete with my favorite rocking chair in front of the bay windows.
Right now I’m marveling at how God speaks to us. I’ve mentioned that I know this move is the right thing to do. The circumstances so far have been mind boggling, to say the least, and so much has happened in the moments when I thought there was no way for it to all come together. Even now, the woman we are buying the property from is steadily moving out. My greatest fear, though, has been saying good-bye to the place that has been my home for the last five years.
I don’t like to say good-bye. I even consulted a therapist once for advice on quitting a job that I absolutely hated. Imagine how much worse it is when I actually like the place, so I really have dreaded leaving my current position. Like I said, God has a way of speaking to us, and He did so for me today through my former supervisor. After being chastised today for turning in my notice so close to the start of the next school year, I had all the energy I needed to clean out the rest of my classroom and turn in my keys.
Once again, I know this is what I am supposed to do. It’s an incredible feeling. I’m still terrified of how we’re going to make ends meet, but I know that we will. This has been an amazing lesson in taking life one step at a time. After all, it’s all any of us can do—use the moments we have. I’m reflecting on this with each box I pack. It will all get done, one box at a time. One moment at a time.
The human body fascinates me. I am a believer in the idea that our muscles hold an emotional memory of what happens to us, and that part of healing is working through that muscle memory. Make a point of noticing your body’s stance during an emotional moment sometime. Chances are, you’ll feel tension in certain areas, whether it’s a furrowed brow or clenching your rear.
I went to my massage therapist today. While she worked my SCM muscle (along the side of the neck going down to the collarbone), I had two very distinct reactions. On the left side, I just cracked up laughing. This was completely an emotional reaction; it wasn’t ticklish at all. On the right side, though, I felt nauseous. I really thought I would throw up right there. We talked for a moment about the reactions. She said that nausea (without a medical cause) is a bodily reaction to fear.
I’m thinking about this. We all have physical reactions to what happens to us, and we all have bodily cues that tell us something is not right. It’s an amazing built-in security system. Perhaps I’m ready for something life-changing to finally sink in for me. It’s time I start paying attention to what my body is saying. At the most basic level, it means eating when I’m hungry and stepping away from an emotionally charged argument. It also means taking notice to my anxiety and embracing it and releasing it. This could even lead me to showing more love to those around me.
I’m listening! Right now, this set of bones and muscles says it’s time to go to bed.
And the voice you need to hear is the true and the trusted kind
With a soft, familiar rhythm in these swirling, unsure times
When the waves are lapping in and you’re not sure you can swim
Well here’s the lifeline
(“This is Love”/Mary Chapin Carpenter)
Several months ago I started putting together my life story in the form of a scrapbook. Tonight, I pulled it out again and took a lovely stroll through my memory. I reached for the last set of pictures to go in the book and stopped at the very last one–my high school graduation.
The event was a little different for me. Basically, I withdrew myself from high school after the first semester of my junior year of high school. Between my mother’s deteriorating mental health and my desperate attempts to hold together the family I had left, I could find no significance to sitting in American Government discussing upcoming football games. High school life seemed so self-absorbed and meaningless…exactly what it should be. On top of all this, I was harassed daily in class and the hallways by someone, and it was just too much to deal with.
I worked full time during the day and finished my few remaining courses at night school. Those few months are still a blur, but in my typical fashion, I pushed myself to get everything done in record time. I held my high school diploma in my hands seven months early.
The adult school had a special “graduation” ceremony for students who earned either their diploma or G.E.D. Although, it was nice to be part of the event, I could help but feel depressed, wondering just what I had traded in my haste. While my friends were still writing term papers and going to club meetings, I was earning a paycheck. I was no longer a part of their club that consisted of study sessions and parties and summer plans. What did I have to show for myself?
On top of all this, this graduation was more low-key than I had envisioned. There were no caps and gowns or alma mater singing, but my entire family was there. My cheering section also included three of the most amazing people I’ve ever known–three of my best friends since junior high. I had no idea they would be there. It meant the world to me to see them there…to have them participate in the ever-so-important teenage rite of passage.
That’s what true love is all about. It’s standing by someone even when they don’t make decisions that seem right or logical to you. It’s holding tightly to relationships, and knowing that the camaraderie we share sustains our souls. It’s cheering for the milestones. It’s crying together in the depths of sorrow. And it’s that kind of love that I know twelve years later will last forever.
Today we had one of those glorious Florida summer afternoons filled with lots of booming thunder and rain that forms sheets so thick you can’t see through them. I drove in it on my way to a movie theater. Learning to drive in this kind of weather made driving in ice and snow a piece of cake. The movie was a blast and my friend was the perfect companion for this girls night out.
On the way back my husband and I were talking on the phone about the upcoming move. He’s feeling apprehensive about our growing to-do list. We’ve divided up our worrying responsibilities well–I take care of fretting that our coughs might be signs of tuberculosis and he takes over for me about how we’re going to get “it” all done. My well-rehearsed response is, “We just have to take it one piece at a time.” And for the record, I really do believe that line. I wish he would, too.
We hung up with mounting tension, and I reached to take sip of my chai tea. At that moment, the lid came off, sending a waterfall of chai tea right into the side of my center console. My lips spread into a straight line. There was no reason to stop because the side of a Florida highway during rain is more dangerous than walking the streets in Tijuana. I kept driving and thought, “You know, life really is all about the choices we have in front of us in that moment.”
My choice in that moment was to curse the tea and the guy behind the counter at Barnie’s or just deal with it. There was nothing I could do to change the fact that my car is now chai tea scented or that I will be spending some time in the morning scraping away the stickiness. It’s a done deal. The same can be said for our move–the wheels are in motion. That’s life. We choose. We accept. We do the best we can with the cards dealt to us.
Right now, nothing…nothing in this world compares with the peace I feel right now in my soul because I looked at the options in front of me and picked the best path I could see. Things will change because they always change, and when they do, I’ll adjust my scope. For now, I have some chai tea to mop up.
Dear Lord God in Heaven,
As I sat in the dentist’s chair today, contorting my face into Cirque du Soleil positions during each poke and prod, I realized that I must take a moment to thank you. So here it is. Thank you for blessing me with such glorious teeth. Although I have a few fillings and a crown, they are in remarkable shape, especially for someone who hates the dentist as much as I do. You know my phobia, and I am grateful that the hygienist actually believes that I brush my teeth three times a day and floss daily. We both know the truth about that. Thank you for not giving up my secret and for teeth that must have their own built-in supply of fluoride. Not everyone can go for three or five or fifteen years without a dental cleaning and still remain cavity-free. I love them.
My cousin, Rachel, and her almost-four-month-old baby spent the weekend with me. We both needed the down time to sleep and laugh and pour out our hearts (something we’ve been doing since we were 10 and 17). Rachel is one of my kindred spirits who embodies an amazing ability to accept you as you are but not let you walk all over her. It’s one of my favorite qualities in her.
As our time together neared it’s end, we landed in an extremely emotional discussion about choices and consequences and the human spirit. At one point, my faced scrunched up and I yelled, “Why do we have to be so mean to each other?” She looked at me and said, “We all forget that we’re human and don’t like the reminder that we all make mistakes.”
Think about that one for a minute while I compose myself.
There was a time in my life when I sat in my own ivory tower and passed judgment on those around me. I could spot a sin a mile away and rested in the knowledge that I could point out such flaws in others because I didn’t indulge in those behaviors. Although I didn’t say it, I frequently thought, “I’ll never…”
Real life settled in, and I discovered that my ivory tower was made of cardboard. It’s conveniently easy to say, “I’ll never” until you’re faced with those decisions. Moments build and circumstances sometimes within and sometimes beyond our control join forces. Reason doesn’t always triumph emotion. Emotion doesn’t always triumph reason. I can sit here and tell you that I would never have an abortion, but you what? I’ve never been in a situation where I had to make that decision. I’d love to announce that I would never rob a bank. Again, I’ve not been desperate enough to attempt such a scheme.
So I’m left here with my fury and frustration at the human race. How can we sit back and look at someone in distress, ridicule and berate them, and then justify our actions with a simple, “They made a mistake and deserve the pain”? I just don’t get it. It’s only by the grace of God that I’ve not been forced to face more drastic consequences than I have. It’s only by the grace of God that I’ve made it through the consequences I have faced. Who am I to do anything but show that same grace to my fellow man?
