A tangent of unnecessary sorts…

Ever so slightly, this is beginning to feel like life again.  The vacation is over.  Employment has begun and the boxes are dwindling to a few scattered towers that may as well say ‘find home for me’.  I forgot how much stuff I have.  Simply that – stuff.  But this is it.  This was everything I had asked for.

Before I moved, I had a customer in Florida tell me that home is not going to be as good as I had remembered or even expected.  Well, this man was right.  I am not going to sit here and say it is better because that would be dripping in sarcasm.  There have been moments marked with tears and questions.  I have sat in my apartment, staring at the boxes wondering what have I gotten myself into.  I have wondered if this is even right.  Then today happened just to remind me why I moved back here.

I started work.  Great.  Splendid.  I am slowly creeping into a routine and though it is not my ideal schedule (mornings…), it feels as life is beginning.  It certainly relieves a great deal of stress knowing that rent will be paid, shoes can be purchased, and Skordo will have a new bag of food to eat.  But with employment and a new schedule comes something I had forgotten about: the joy of not being at work.  Tonight, I had that aha! moment.

As work ended tonight, I knew Skordo would be itching for a long walk.  A dear friend of mine called as I was leaving said place of employment and as she and I both have dogs, we decided to take the pups for a run tonight.  Well, my running is sorely out of shape as I am even more out of shape but we tried.  Either way, all it took was running down Naito Parkway along the riverfront to remind me why I came home.  And as we walked the dogs the last leg through the blocks of downtown, climbing our way back to my apartment, a semblance of home and accomplishment washed over me.  This was right.  The boxes were worth it.  The tears were worth it.  This damn city is perfect.  And the year away from here was ever so necessary.

I moved to Florida to accomplish something, we all know that.  Well, it took three days of being home to finally know without a shred of uncertainty of heart to know that this body of mine is no longer feeling the weight of Berlin wading through its bones.  Even after seeing him and possibly shedding an unnecessary tear (I haven’t the slightest clue where the waterworks come from but I will embrace this change of heart and show of emotion), I know that wall is no longer a part of me.  I tore my own wall down and finally forced his out.

But back to today after my excessively truncated tangent of a sorely unnecessary night in my life (though freeing, I must say).  I am home.  It finally feels real.  And as I sit here typing these words, I can glance up, see the city lights out of the many windows of my apartment, and know this is what was supposed to happen.  As alone and strange as it feels, just to sit barefoot at my table, a cup of green tea at my side, Skordo on my feet, and Olive perched in her window, reminds me to never lose sight of this again.  I had my Gretel moment.  I scattered the breadcrumbs of what I could have sworn to be irrevocably broken, only to gather them up one last time simply to say I am home.  The next time this heart breaks, I’ll invest further in vacuums, less moving equipment.

Great expectations…

The nightmares returned last night.  I don’t know how long I had been devoid of their presence as sleep over the past few weeks had been spotty at best.  But last night, they were there in their finest of gore and fullest of pretense.  In the middle of the night when I woke up, shaking in fear, I could have sworn to you that the towel hanging on the back of my bedroom door was a blood soaked man coming after me.  In my defense, and in defense of the blood soaked man, the towel is burgundy to begin with.  Clearly my 4AM eyes are starting to get the best of me.

In these dreams and nightmares, I had friends involved, past partners, odd acquaintances, and a random bartender from a previous life.  Normally my midnight hauntings do not involve those I know, but this mass murder occurring in my sleep involved I believe almost everyone I have ever known.  It was like The Five People You Meet in Heaven, only hell with groupings and chain saws.  But there was a point.  I think.

So removing the murders and gore, the end to this bizarre series of events made a very strange semblance of sense.  I was transplanted suddenly to the coast of Maine, into a house that I have long known.  The inside was different entirely.  It was as every ounce of color had been removed and exchanged with only the brightest of white.  Nothing was out of place.  All furnishings were new and white.   In these rooms of bright and ease, there were scattered photographs of memories outlining the best times.  Every room had a story.  The white made sense.  No, I was not dead and this was not heaven.  This was what I had chosen.  In fleeing the mass murder in the Home Depot gardening section (I can’t make sense of it either…I don’t possess even the slightest of green thumbs), I picked the safest place to be and that ended up being my vision of perfection in New England.  All memories of the murders were quickly erased.  I was left only with my house, my white walls marked with strategically placed photographs, and the Atlantic Ocean crashing against a seawall I still carry scars from falling on barnacles.  I looked outside, Skordo alert next to me on the deck, and the lobster men were gathering their treasures for the day.  I smiled.  Skordo barked.  And then I woke up.

It left me with strange hope.  No, not for a mass murder.  No, we can entirely remove that part from any future story of my life.  But that idea of perfection.  The lives I encountered along the way only furthering and giving that reassurance of strength to remind myself to say over and over again I’m not done yet.  To go into everything now with only the greatest of expectations I suppose, would be what I gathered.  I doubt I will ever look at the Home Depot gardening center the same way again, but I’m sure I can get over that, then someday, achieve the white walls.  Not yet, not this move.  But a future move, maybe decades removed.  So for now, just build it as I can.

Mary, this station is playing every sad song.
I remember like we were alive.
I heard it Sunday morn’ from inside of these walls.
In a prison cell, where we spent those nights.
And they burnt up the diner where I always used to find her.
Licking young boys blood from her claws.
And I learned about the blues from this kitten I knew.
Her hair was raven and her heart was like a tomb.
My heart’s like a wound.

I saw tail lights last night in a dream about my first wife.
Everybody leaves and I’d expect as much from you.
I saw tail lights last night in a dream about my old life.
Everybody leaves, so why, why wouldn’t you?

Mary, I worried and stalled every night of my life.
Better safe than making the party.
And I never had a good time, I sat by my bedside, with papers and poetry about Estella.
Great expectations, we had the greatest expectations.

I saw tail lights last night In a dream about my first wife.
Everybody leaves and I’d expect as much from you.
I saw tail lights last night in a dream about my old life.
Everybody leaves, so why, why wouldn’t you?

It’s funny how the night moves.
Humming a song from 1962.
We were always waiting… always waiting.
We were always waiting for something to happen.

I saw tail lights last night In a dream about my first wife.
Everybody leaves and I’d expect as much from you.
I saw tail lights last night in a dream about my whole life.
Everybody leaves, so why, why wouldn’t you?

The Gaslight Anthem – Great Expectations

“What to do about Mary?”

Preface:  This will be the last post regarding The Month of Bill until next year and even then, I cannot imagine writing of him in such great detail as this year.  Maybe next year, I will just give a bit of a progress report.  And a warning to A, grab a tissue.

As I have mentioned, my father kept a journal chronicling his illness.  Many of the posts were rather vague, describing only his symptoms, treatment, etc.   But the last one, the one you are about to read, gave more.  It was haunting.  I remember being 16 and crying my eyes out the first time I read it.  Simply put though, they were the perfect last words.

Tuesday, March 19, 1991

Up at 6:00.  Breakfast at McDonald’s.  Doctor L at 8:00 – several scenarios including surgery.  Doctor S – surgery definitely a possibility, depending on metastasis, involvement of blood vessels.  CAT scan today, angiogram tomorrow, surgery maybe as early as Friday.  Trying to find me a bed.  We’re both scared, but realize this is my only real chance.  Our faith in the doctors is strong.  Our faith in Jesus will see us through.  What to do about Mary?

Before I dive in, I will give a brief background on the events that happened next.  They found him a bed.  He went into surgery on the 22nd to remove as much of the tumor as they could.  After the 15 hour surgery, the doctors told my mother that the monstrous mass of a tumor could not be completely removed.  They had removed almost all of the small intestine, pancreas, stomach, gall bladder, spleen, and part of the liver.  It was a near abdominal evacuation.  My father was also in a coma after this surgery.  They told my mother to prepare her goodbye to him as he would probably not wake up.  Well, my father woke up.  He could not talk but was writing on his leg to my mother.  From this surgery though, he began to bleed internally.  He was losing blood at an alarming rate and on the morning of the 23rd, they took him in for a second operation to try and stop the bleeding.  After five hours, they seemed to have stopped the bleeding but anyone with an even slight medical background will tell you survival is just not probable after this point.  He had fallen back into a coma and my mother was faced with her final farewell.  He woke up at one point, against all odds of the doctors, blinked responses back to her, then fell asleep again.  At 2:30pm on March 23rd, the machines that had been keeping him alive were turned off.  My mother held his hand as he died.

I remember getting the news.  My aunt had flown out to be with me in Corvallis while my mother and father were at the hospital in Seattle.  I remember that day clearly.  I remember the brass plate on the back of our door as she knelt down to tell me he had died.  I remember my friend’s dad bringing over chocolate covered cherries.  I haven’t had one since that day.

But I didn’t choose to write this today to tell you about the worst parts.  With his last words, “What to do about Mary?”, he left us a challenge.  I think we are still trying to answer that but I suppose we have already come up with something.  We Burger Women, as we like to call ourselves, have spent the past two decades trying to create some semblance of life that is right.  We have failed miserably at times, but have had our world-conquering moments of great achievement.  I know we’re not there yet, but we have something amazing: each other.

This past year has been a year that for some cosmic reason, my mother and I are spending together.  We have fought like Skordo and Olive, we have laughed with the best of them, enjoyed Friday night date nights, and I know we have grown as women out of this.  We have learned of the best sides of each other, the brilliance of our relationship, and that quite frankly, we are stronger than we ever believed we could be.  I’m sure we may do a little bit too much for him or because of him, but I think we are still trying to make this brilliant man proud.  And to be honest, I think we have.

We carry the best parts of him wherever we go.  I think one of my best days here was a day spent at the beach, wearing his plaid flannel shirt.  It was like I brought him with me while all the while, learning to let him go.  The past 19 years have not been a perfect process, but each year marks a new found success within ourselves.  I am still trying to answer What to do About Mary, but you know what, A?  We have something pretty perfect here.

My father in our favorite shirt

Taking the shirt to the beach

“Enough.  Enough now.”

Love Actually

Bullets for A…

My morning so far has consisted of coffee, dog food, dog crap, and dog blood.  I love Skordo, I really do, but he has been a bit of a handful this morning.  Allow me to elaborate:  we are running our same route that we always do every morning.  He stops to do his business and my iPod (always on shuffle mode when running) turns to the perfect song at the perfect moment.  For all that are not familiar with Alkaline Trio Radio, I recommend you take a listen and you too will laugh just as audibly as I did on a very busy road while scooping up dog shit.  It was perfect, minus the dog shit in a bag.  After we arrived home, I noticed scattered blood spots on the white tile in the shape of paw prints.  Needless to say, somewhere on the 100ft. of gravel that we ran on, the boy must have cut his paw and he was now attempting to recreate Hansel and Gretel with bloody paw prints.  I found him, cleaned up the blood, and am now enjoying coffee #2.  Skordo, you are a pain at times.

That paragraph has virtually no consequence over the remainder of this post but I felt the need to share it anyway.

Every Friday night, my mother and I have ‘date night’.  It is the only night we have off together every week and we usually go to our favorite sushi restaurant and follow it with Borders/movie or watch a movie at home.  We skipped the Borders/movie and chose to watch a movie at home instead.  Over dinner though, she asked me a question that I knew I would have trouble answering immediately.  A, here are your answers:

“Mary, what have you learned from moving here?”  (to avoid very long paragraphs, enjoy the bullets)

• I am shockingly content being alone.  While I know many of my posts leading up to The Move were about my quest for solitude, simplicity, and calm, I could never have understood what I was getting myself into until I actually did it.  And it was awkward…at first.  I have found that as I drift to sleep at 10pm, I awake refreshed, comfortable, and though not taking part in the normal scene of my age group, I am able to find an awareness of self that I would not have had if I hadn’t imposed this need for solitude.  To be quite honest, there is a sizable level of complication missing from my life and I am OK with that.
• I have found that my love for music dives deeper than the sheer enjoyment of sound.  It is an absolute need in my life.  Every moment seems to have a song attached to it and maybe it’s just me constructing a twisted, self-fulfilling soundtrack for my life, but I need those words, those rhymes, and those notes.  I remember driving across the country unable to listen to certain music (my favorite, my blood, my passion) because his name was attached with such force of memory to those words.  I now find myself listening to those very songs again with only a smile for having known such a feeling, and even more of one knowing they are my songs again, not his.
• I look at myself differently in the mirror now.  I had a boss once that said women don’t know who they are until they turn 27.  Well, though I am nearing 25 (in three weeks…insert panic and mild excitement at the ability to rent a car in all 50 states), I feel I am on the way there.  If I had stayed, I would have stayed in a strange bout of unrequited love with someone that would have only hindered any level of progress I could have made.  I am not 100% yet of who I am, but I certainly know myself better than I did nine months ago.  And that checklist of requirements for a future partner has only grown, but is now omitting details that I once carried with such weight and absolute desire.
• My overall view of what I want in life, that whole “what do you want to be when you grow up?” question has not really shifted, but certain parts I have removed.  My answer was always to be happy.  That was it.  But I assumed that happiness would involve a partner, a great job, a child, etc.  I may have said this before but as the years continue on and I see my high school friends get married and have children, while I look at their lives in happiness, I don’t envy them.  I am elated that I am not married right now and in an effort of honesty, I don’t see myself having children.  Ever.  Maybe in 10 years I might bite my tongue at that comment but it’s not something I want badly enough and I don’t think I am the right woman for the job.  My mother was and is (she is incredible), and I could never compete with that.

There are many other things that I have gathered since moving here, but I’ll save them for another time.  There is one other thing though…I know I moved here to move to Key West and to be alone on my island with my dog and cat.  Well, I thought I needed that island to find the simplicity and calm I was looking for.  I didn’t think I could find it here, in this strange part of South Florida, living with my mother.  The truth though, I did find it and I know now how to create that image wherever the animals and I may end up.  And in an effort of honesty, I did find my island, it just took me a few months to realize (and a few trips to Google Maps) where I was for the community that I work on, Deerfield Beach, is very much so an island.  After careful consideration, maybe that image of perfection isn’t quite as cookie cutter as you once believed it to be.  I didn’t make it to the island I thought I needed to be on but I did get to one, and I made it mine.

The next step…

Where to begin…again.  I imagine I could take you through the mundane events that encompass my day but that would be a bit redundant.  Skordo still barks at ducks, is currently nosing my arms away from my keyboard (constantly begging for attention which he never lacks…except now maybe), Olive has found a friend in my mother, and I am still swimming with thought bubbles in wonderment of what to do next.  The truth is, I know exactly what I want to do next, it’s just a matter of getting it done.  Oh follow through, you are a heartless bitch.

It took this move to realize a few things.  If I hadn’t driven across the country in such blind, broken-heartened fashion, I never would have realized what home is truly defined as.  As adulthood looms (if some has not already passed when I was flying under its radar with a bottle in hand or as I was planning a wedding to a man I know now to not to be the right man), I think I have found something that has become more vital than at its first presentation would believe.  I needed to learn to read not just the simplicity of words, but what they are there to say – what they actually mean.  I needed to formulate a plan that was my own and with a heart that does not possess one beat of belonging to another.  I needed to be selfish for the last time, but for the most important time.

My mother and I often have this conversation: “Mary, what is your plan?”  It’s all in black and white now and the conversation does not loom with as much eye rolling as it once did.  It is at this pause in conversation though when I am often reminded of the difference in our early twenty experiences.  The difference being if I had been my mother, I would have been married for four years at this point in an act of luck or fate to the perfect man.  I don’t know if I necessarily believe in those two words (luck and fate, well, maybe perfect man too but that is simply an act of defiance and humor).  Maybe it was that everything happens for a reason and the reason between those two people finding each other at such a young age was fate of sorts, as he would be gone a mere 15 years later.  Maybe I need to learn to find that level of happiness alone first before I can piece in the partner part.  Maybe I don’t even have the answer for that yet…

So what did I learn from this fleeing of Oregon and now present plan to return to her?  Pieces of it were an effort to find home, to build a life that was mine, and relieve the heart that was shattered.  I did all of that.  I learned not to be so scared, to stop and breath every now and then, to let the dog bark sometimes as that’s just what he needs to do, and no matter how challenging it may seem, do something to further myself everyday.  And in all of this, it will lead me right back home.  Again.

No alligators today…

I woke up this morning smelling like dog.  Really.  Thankfully, there is a reason for this.  For those that have noticed on the weather forecasts, Florida is in the midst of some strange arctic weather.  It has been in the 30s in much of South Florida.  Yes, we are cold.  Very cold.  The average temperature for this time of year is in the 70s…where did the heat go?

Before Christmas, Skordo’s crate was moved from the den into the garage as to allow more room for company.  This worked out just fine when the weather was ‘normal’ but once it hit the 40s at night, I knew Skordo was going to have a few choice words for me.  Needless to say, yesterday morning I woke the boy up and he was shivering.  Last night, I let him sleep in my bed with me.  The things we do for dogs…

About two weeks ago, I proved to my mother just what extent I would go to in order to take care of an animal.  Thankfully, this animal was not my own as Skordo has been trained not to do this.  Also, he is afraid of water…best dog fear ever I have come to understand.  What did you do, Mary?  We’ll get there.

My mother loves Amazing Race. Yes, the reality show.  I really do not enjoy reality shows in the least bit and my mother (love you, A, I really do) thinks this is an excellent show.  She wants to fill out an application for us and believes that we would be absolute characters on this show.  I am inclined to agree that characters we certainly would be.  Picture this:  my mother standing at the bottom of some Vegas casino watching her daughter – her only child, the light in her life, her will to live – scale a building.  I am attached to harnesses and ropes cursing ever being born, my mother for making me do this, and reality television for ever existing in my mother’s nightly channel line up.  Any running expedition, I would be doing.  Any heights and/or rollercoaster activity, I would be attempting.  Anything involving the consumption of strange food or frog testicles, I too would have to do.  Yes, this is a great idea, A.  Get right on it.

Getting back to the story at hand though.  About two weeks ago, my mother and I were on the sofa watching TV one evening and we noticed that our neighbor’s Golden Retriever was swimming in the lake again (side-note: we live on a lake, and not the kind of lake you swim in as there could be alligators anywhere in Florida).  We go outside and sure enough, about 12 of our neighbors are making attempts at coaxing this dear dog out of the lake.  We join the parade and bring Skordo out.  Nothing is working.  My mother (being the talker that she is) has had a long conversation with what turns out to be our neighbor’s dog-sitter and sure enough, this dog-sitter (first day on the job) did not attach the choke chain properly, it slipped off, and off the retriever went, swimming with all her might, into the middle of the damn lake.

After 20 minutes of shaking dog treats, throwing bones, letting Skordo bark around the edge of the water (smart dog, he wants nothing to do with water), it is beginning to get dark, the dog is getting tired but is still swimming circles in the middle of the lake.  I look around the lake and realize not one person is making any active effort to get the dog out.  Shit.  “A, get me a towel.”

I ask the uneducated dog-sitter for the leash and jump in the water.  To be honest, it wasn’t very cold and I purged all thoughts of alligators, duck feces, and whatever other marine wildlife or bacterial infections could be lurking in our lake.  I swim out to the middle, grab the dog by the harness, and make a speedy return for land.  If there are alligators in the lake, they kept away from my toes that night.  The dog was returned to its dog-sitter and I proceeded inside for the longest, hottest shower of my life.  I scrubbed so hard I looked like a tomato by the time I got out.

After finding my place on the sofa again, my mother looked at me and said she was proud of me for taking action while everyone else was sitting around, twiddling their thumbs.  I looked at her and said “Well thank you, A.  And this is why we would win Amazing Race.”

Coffee with my confusion…

I fear this may be a bit forced tonight.  I embrace the moments when inspiration comes to me and dwell on the moments when I am without.  Right now, I am somewhere in between the two.

I tried to write yesterday.  I had the morning off and I piled my books, laptop, and beach towel into a bag and went in search of water.  The air here has been cooler and it is almost bearable to sit in.  Needless to say, I found water but I did not find the words.

As the air finds its breeze here, the humidity level drops.  I stepped outside two morning ago and was slapped in the face by wind and an initial chill.  The air was deceiving in that for a moment, I felt as though I had stepped out of my old apartment, onto my old porch, and into my familiar Portland streets.  I had almost forgotten I was in South Florida and it was at though the palm trees were there to remind me that I am a long way from home.

With this change, I have found myself in a peculiar situation.  I am surrounded by high school students five days a week.  My students, or my kids as I prefer to call them, have challenged me and I, in turn, have challenged them.  It is shocking but I am finding a strange level of patience for these children.  I am amazed everyday by their words, curiosity, wit, and overall zest for life.  I am tested by them and tonight was particularly challenging.  I find though that as their curiosity seems to get the best of them, I can give them a little bit of life to learn from.

I never expected to be here.  I still have to shake Oregon from my bones every day and the past few mornings have certainly created a level of confusion mixed in with my morning coffee.  As I bundle myself in my now unpacked boxes of scarves, boots, and flannel shirts (for you Oregonians reading this, feel free to be ashamed that I am bundling to go into 65 degree weather…), I am reminded of wearing these same clothes and wandering about my blessed city, her bone chilling rain, and the scenery of an everlasting Christmas tree farm.  Oh Oregon, you were good to me.

It will be a sweet level of salvation when I get back to her.  Though I have found calming waters here and the life I knew I needed to experience in order to find the simplicity and calm I was looking for, I don’t think I was level headed enough at the time to realize I possessed these things all along.  I was selfish – I still am – but I will go back to her with a better appreciation of life, those around me, even if that presence is simply a stranger.  Most importantly, this move will allow me to further myself and allow me to live with distraction as it nettles its way into my days.  Never again will I disappear from all I know because of a broken heart.  I guess I am learning to live with less running.

Mission accomplished.

I’m caught
Somewhere in between
Alive
And living a dream.
No peace
Just clicking machines
In the quiet of compazine.
The walls caved in on me.

And she sings
My bird dressed in white.
And she stings
My arm in the night.
I lay still
Still I’m ready to fight.
Have my lungs
But you can’t take my sight.
The walls caved in
Tonight.

And out here
I watch the sun circle the earth
The marrows collide in rebirth
In God’s glory praise
The spirit calls out from the caves.
The walls fell and there I lay
Saved.

Jack’s Mannequin – Caves

A black dress…

Instead of wearing a white dress, I wore black tonight.  Instead of borrowing my grandmother’s pearls, I borrowed a strand of my mother’s black pearls.  There was not a something old, new, or blue – just borrowed.  At least none of this old, new, and blue was in the figurative/apparel sense.  Today was not my wedding day.  Today was the day I celebrated something else: a new life.

My mother took a few of our close friends and me out to a wonderful dinner tonight.  I had a very awkward conversation earlier in the week with the restaurant as I was making our reservation.  The manager asked if this night was a special occasion and if we were celebrating something in particular.  My mother, her friend, and I looked at each other as I repeated the question out loud.  There was a brief moment of laughter then I loosely explained to the man the story.  I gave the quick two sentence explanation and he replied that he had never had a reservation along these lines before.  Needless to say, we were served champagne and a very delicious desert.  There was still a toast and a moderate cake cutting.  Combine dancing and we almost had a reception…just a reception of a different kind.

I don’t know how I really anticipated to feel today.  I didn’t know if I would be wallowing in my sorrows or rejoicing for the fact that my life is completely different from whatever plan I had initially put in place.  I did not cry.  I did not truly laugh today.  I did not mope but I found no true moment of parading joy either.  It was if anything just another day, marked by moments of reminiscing, questions, and a very filling dinner.  And thankfully, the day is almost complete.

I do have the something old, something new, and something blue.  I leave out the something borrowed as I am still wearing my mother’s very nice strand of black pearls…I need to return them.  Easily I could elaborate on all of these items in great detail but I will keep it simple.

My something old is the life I once had and drove away from three months ago.  I look back at my something old – my heartbreak and my Oregon – with nothing but a smile.  I know in time this will all be a ‘something present’ but until then, I will find strange simplicity and calm in what I now call my something new.

The something new is simple – life here – for that is what it truly is: new.  I found an opportunity for something new and I ran with it.  I still have yet to find whatever it was that I had been so yearning for.  Maybe in time I will find it.  Maybe it is something as simple as going back to Portland after a year, rejuvenated, and with a new appreciation for her and respect for my own life.  Only time will tell…

Something blue is a bit more difficult to pin point.  I could take the easy road out and call it my new-found Atlantic waters.  They are some of the bluest waters I have ever seen and truly a mark of the majestic.  It could also be the broken heart that I am pulling myself out of still.  Maybe my attitude and overall state of mind has been blue for months.  Then again, I don’t know what other color I am searching to be.  Maybe purple…that seems peppy.

But my friends, I made it through the day.  This was but one challenge, one day, that I was trying to hide from with all of my might but alas, I cannot stop the days from passing.  I am here though.  I am wearing a moderate smile and a comfortable level of ease.  This is getting better in some ways.  Life is no longer just drifting by as though I am bopping about, waiting for something to happen.  Progress is on the forefront, and I am feeling a sense of strength pass through this bloodstream that for so long felt weak and fragile.  I came here for a reason, and reason I will leave with.

My feet is my only carriage
So I’ve got to push on through
But while I’m gone, I mean…
Everything’s gonna be alright

Bob Marley – No Woman, No Cry

Starting over. Again…

It feels as though today marks my first day of life in Florida.  Yes, I have been here for over a month now but up until this point I have not been living.  I have just been stagnant at my mother’s house, bonding with my dog, and aimlessly bopping about attempting to make plans for the future.  Not anymore.  I am gainfully employed  (I start next week), unpacking boxes, and feel surprisingly excited.  Not so much about the still living with my mother part but that’s not permanent.  Skordo, Olive, and I will venture to life on the beach soon enough.  Look at me go…

While discussing this change of plans with him (still working on a better moniker than tour guide…), initially there was an air of disappointment in his voice.  He knew how excited I had been to live on my island, write my book, and begin life.  I made it quite clear that was still the plan but due to other circumstances, I would just be postponing it a bit.  I cannot stress this enough but I have to take pride in this move.  I won’t feel complete if I know it was handed to me.   It seems only fair.

My mother was a bit surprised when I told her of my changed mind.  At first, she was hesitant and kept reiterating but this is what you wanted. I made the same point to her as I did to TG but I stressed the part of not wanting her money.  Before I left Portland, I had a conversation that raised a lot of questions regarding my selfish behavior.  If anything, I am taking that conversation with me and am making daily attempts at selfless actions.  While I am still relying on my mother more than I would like to right now, taking something from her only to further myself when I know I can do it alone (albeit with a longer time line) seems all too selfish.  And this is my mother – not just a random person to enter my day.  Her life and stability mean more to me than a few months.  Shit, maybe I really am getting old…

With this change of plans though I just feel a weight of relief.  It’s all too strange but over the past two days, I feel as though life has shifted into some level of routine, rather than a constant discord and struggle for air.  Maybe just making the commitment to stay in one place – even if it is for a few months – is just the right amount of stability that I need right now.  Maybe challenging myself to live in a town where I feel entirely like a foreigner will only allow me to grow.  Maybe taking a chance on this new and unplanned life with bring another great presence into my life.  I don’t know yet, but I am enjoying my unknown future.  Though this marks a strange moment and shift in my life, I am welcoming the unfamiliar and will take in as much as I can.

When I count the seeds
That are sown beneath,
To bloom so, bye and bye –

When I con the people
Lain so low,
To be received as high –

When I believe the garden
Mortal shall not see –
Pick by faith its blossom
And avoid its Bee,
I can spare this summer, unreluctantly.

Emily Dickinson

Letting go of Gretel…

I have come to a decision. One that I am proud of, believe to be the best, and most reasonable. This may come as a bit of a surprise but then again, I have never shied away from spontaneity. My friends, I am postponing my journey to Key West.

After spending the day apartment hunting there yesterday, I came to a realization: I did not earn this. I mentioned a few weeks ago about a discussion and an offer from my mother. I’m sure the offer may be apparent but in the case it is not, allow me to elaborate. After I moved here, I sporadically worked for a week. My income was spotty and my mother had already financed half of my move here. For the past few weeks, I have been making only meek attempts at finding work here (in Boca) for the fact that the money to move had been offered. I wavered initially at this offer as I believed it to be the easiest way out then finally, after a week of thought and debate, I accepted my mother’s offer. I then began the task of job and apartment hunting in Key West. Last night, I changed my mind.

I knew coming here that I did not intend to create a life in Boca. The majority of people come here to die, I get it. Well, this was always supposed to be transitory and I still intend on it being so. I am not going to rush this transition anymore and I am going to earn my way out of this town. Looking at apartments yesterday was not full of joy and excitement. I love the area and believe me, I will get there, I just have to do this on my own. I cannot have Key West given to me. Unfortunately, this is going to take months longer than the initial plan but quite frankly, this will be a move that I will take a strong sense of pride in, rather than taking my mother’s money as though I am entitled to it and this new life. I know right well I am not. I fought enough to leave Oregon. I fought enough to drive here. I fought with myself once I got here. I am done fighting. I am ready to live now.

My freshman year of college, I had the opportunity to interview a Vietnam veteran. Those that have family members or friends who served through that experience will know that many will not share their memories, battles, and scars of that time. I did not pry but this man, this retired Marine, fought through tears to tell me what he had gone through in graphic detail. He served three voluntary tours as a sniper in Vietnam and came out with a very changed man bearing scars and visions that he will never rid from his dreams. When I asked him why he went in two voluntary times after his first tour (he was drafted first) he described something I will never forget. He said when he went back the second time he had to write a statement explaining why. He wrote about his friends that were killed the first time, how he did not feel he was serving his country if he was still stateside, and that as long as other men were there, he should be there too. This was a long, detailed statement and gave every possible reason and explanation. I asked what he wrote the last and final time he went and he said to me that he wrote only four words: I’m not done yet.

I have kept that statement with me for the past six years. Though I have had a tendency to run when the breadcrumbs scatter with the breeze, I cannot run anymore. I look at Key West as a vision of life that I must achieve all on my own. I cannot run away from a town that I despise simply because I have the finances that were given to me. I am not entitled. I will earn this. There is life to be had anywhere. I will make life here and when the time comes and I am ready and not running, I will go. But quite frankly, I’m not done yet.