letter to a friend

Dear Sam,
What a day this has been! As you may very well know, I had thought to contact the National Transplant Assistance Fund a couple of months back to alert them to your demise. After all, those monies weren't going to be of use to you any more, so I was hoping someone else could make use of them. I suppose YOU are the one responsible for that thought in my head? You know you are! Anyway, I had left a detailed message on the website, and I think I had also called. As I said, it's been a while and I'm the girl who seems to ALWAYS have something goin' on.
Jump to today. My cell goes off while I'm busy talking to Smitty about work stuff, so I just ignore it and let it go to voicemail. I could tell from the ringtone - What's This? What's This by Jack Skellington, himself - that it was someone I didn't know, just ringing me up. After Smitty left, I went ahead and listened to the message... and it was NTAF, calling to thank me for letting them know and to tell me that your fund would be used for grants for other patients. I took down the number and waited for a while, trying to decide whether or not to call back. I finally decided that I should, just in case they needed to speak to me in person.
The woman in Patient Services, Judy, was just as sweet as she could be and was genuinely thankful that I had let them know about your passing. I just lost it after that, trying to control my sobbing and the catch in my voice, not being very successful at the attempt. Kind of like now, as I write this. You know how I am. Anywho, she proceeded to explain the usual course of action with accounts such as yours. When someone is fundraising for a needed transplant, once they reach a certain goal, NTAF adds some grant money. Depending on the goal attained, the first grant is $500 and the second is $1000. Given the monies raised on your behalf, that will supply several grants, all of which will be memorial grants in your name. how great is that, kid? You really ARE Superman, helping several others get new lives from your generous spirit.
And I miss you so much.

anticipation

Last Saturday, January 2nd, I did something I've been intending to do for some few years now. I always managed to find something else to occupy my time, but this year, well, this year I PROMISED myself I would attend. I am so glad I did!
The church I frequent has an annual Anticipation Celebration and Bowl Burning Ceremony. It's a very spiritual affair, meant to start oneself out on the right foot in the new year, by literally lighting a flame to habits and ideas one wishes to shed. Narrow strips of paper, a pen, a fire, and a safe repository for the ashes are all that one needs for the Bowl Burning - well, those are the only physical requirements. I was given one slip on which to write, one slip to be cast aside, one slip to contain those things from which I wished to be freed. Amazing how much that narrow slip could hold! And what a sense of satisfaction to watch as it burned, the flame devouring the inscriptions, melting them into thin air. Even more amazing was the feeling that a load had, indeed, been removed from my shoulders and my mind - a piece of baggage I no longer carried.
The second part of the ritual was much more involved. Again, the only physical items were paper, a pen, and ... a self-addressed, stamped envelope. For the Anticipation Ceremony, I was tasked with writing a letter to myself, a letter which would be put away safely until post-Thanksgiving when it would be arriving in my mailbox. In the letter, I was to congratulate myself for the changes I had made in my life in some respect. What? Sure, I write to/for myself all the time, but to do so as an "Atta Girl!" missive for things I had not yet, and might not ever, accomplish? How to even begin such a thing without being totally self-conscious? And why did I have so many sheets of paper before me?
The leader of this exercise, talking softly and almost in a hypnotic monotone, began giving us a list of ideas and suggestions on how we might flesh them out, what points to include... and a thought took hold and I began, not really listening anymore, much as I am when I am at my beach here, much as I am at this moment. Actually, the same phenomenon occurs when I read books or watch movies. I fall into the story, taking it in as quickly as it will allow. When I am writing, I fall into the words, my fingers scarce keeping pace with my thoughts, forcing me to slow down, to stay coherent. So it was as I wrote my anticipatory letter of congratulation. Before I knew it, I was well into the second page and the leader was saying we needed to wrap things up, bring our letters to a close... and I just happened to be at that very point. How did she know?? I closed, placed the script into the envelope and sealed it shut.
I wonder if the echoes of my words will ring in my ears as the year progresses or will those words fade? Will the new me remember what the old me wrote? Rest assuredly that the me which receives the letter will not quite be the me which wrote it, and cannot be. I have already planted the seeds of change in my life and now I will water them with time and nurture the growth of those new bits springing to life. A new habit takes thirty days to become fixed, just as an old habit takes thirty days to cease, regardless of whether the habit in question is life-affirming or life-destroying. Hopefully, I can stay with good habits for the needed passage of time... that fire in which I burn.

still here!

Oh, my goodness, my glorious bit of sand and surf still exists! I have been dreaming about this oasis of mine, this place to unclutter my thoughts, to make sense of the goings on around me. Sure, all the usual excuses abound for my absence, but believe me when I say this: my beach is always present in my mind, tugging on the edges of my thoughts, whispering the call of the sea, enticing me toward the gentle curl of the waves.
So many times, so very many times, a thought will arise that prompts me to seek out my beach and explore the path before me. But the physical world bids me do this, do that, so I make a few notes for later and I'm off to do whatever is demanded of me by others. I am now surrounded by bits of paper, lagan floating on the surface of my desk, waiting patiently for recovery. The trick now would be to regain the thoughts lost in the depths of these simple notes.
"Trick or treat!" proclaims one scribble, "I do make a difference in chemistry! One of my students from 2000-2001 flagged me down at Spanky's to tell me so!" Oh, to recover the deeper story behind this bit of jetsam. I know I had an entire treatise in mind, and I'm sure I could recall its essence if I had the time. However, 'tis the season and I have not.
Another bit, torn from an unwanted postcard in a magazine, has a quote from Olivia Newton-John: "Nature is my church." So, if I give 5% of my pay to the man-made place of worship I've been known to frequent and 5% to environmental causes, does that satisfy the command to tithe? Just a stray thought, but I think I could have given it a good home and might yet.
"That young lady needs to work out her own salvation." This said by one of my Shekinah sisters to another, but it really struck a chord with me. After all, who else can save me but myself? Every twelve-step program out there is based, first and foremost, on the desire of the attendee to effect a change for the better in their lives. As any addict will attest, no change is possible if you don't sincerely want to work for it for your sole benefit. And, consequently, for your soul' benefit. Oh, yes, I could SO have waxed rhapsodic on this one! And may one fine evening, but this is not that night.
And another torn bit of a Jekyll Island program, no doubt scribbled on whilst I was homeward bound from the Shrimp & Grits Festival has two tidbits moored for safekeeping. The first says "can use music, smells, to time-travel to the past - we can try to predict the future - feet are still in the PRESENT time." Nice! I really like where I was going with that and look forward to diving in another time, but this next one... ah, that one begs for exposition! It says simply: "constellations of my world: school, job, friends, family, movies, theatre, music, lovers." To be always surrounded by such structures, whether visible or not, much like the starry constructs distant from this wondrous planet... reassuring, is it not?
The last bit for now is a page taken from the March issue of skirt! Alessandra H, a graduating senior at Savannah Arts Academy, advises "You can't be afraid of making mistakes - it's the only way to create something original." I'm looking forward to seeing what she offers to this world!
And now, time has come for me to say... later.

hat trick

What a curious phrase, but I find it was the first one that leapt to mind last Wednesday. Although the sport of hockey is the one I associated with the term, it apparently is also used in quite a few other sports, including marbles. The term, dating back to 1879, was originally associated with cricket, a game I've never witnessed and cannot fathom. Hockey, on the other hand, is a game I enjoy watching, no doubt ever since Paul Newman brought it onto my radar with Slap Shot in 1977. Raunchy, action-packed, and hilarious - and me, newly in the Navy, away from home and discovering THE WORLD! Several years later, while stationed in San Diego, I attended my first game in Los Angeles, with a Canuck as my guide to the finer points. I've even cheered the South Carolina Stingrays, live and in person in Charleston, several times now and try to be at the Savannah Civic Center for the college games in January. Good times! But I digress.
My "hat trick" has naught to do with sports of any kind. Rather, it's more on the order of performing an act of love for each of my three brothers. I had not intended to try to perform three kindnesses for my three brothers. The cosmos just arranged for the scenes to be set and for me to recognize the magnificent opportunities afforded me. Incredible and great serendipity.
For my eldest little brother, I agreed to represent his presence at the home of our long-lost cousin in Augusta. Not in so many words did I agree to this act. he asked what I was taking and I told him of the cake and chocolate pecans. He had been smoking turkeys all day for various friends and neighbors and he rather spontaneously made an offer of half a very large bird. And so, I accepted and transported his gift of cherry-wood-smoked turkey, even completing the cooking of it and making sure it arrived warm and fragrant.
My middle little brother was there at the smoker, too, having been dropped off by his boss to quaff a few beers and serve as a taster with the other fellows from the old neighborhood. When I went to leave, he had no ride, so I offered to take him to his place, and along the way we talked about SAD and how it affects our family. I even treated him to dinner with me and we were graced with a very sweet waitress at IHOP that evening.
As I dropped him off at his apartment, I was thinking about how great the evening had been and I noticed it wasn't yet 7:30pm. Quick as a shot, it occurred to me that I had long postponed a promise made to my youngest little brother. I had gone to visit him for his birthday and he had said that ten dollars a week would mean a lot to him. I had relayed the message to family members and my stepmom had given me the money for five weeks for his account. Several weeks had passed and I had not yet made the deposit. (Head hangs down.) So, down Chatham Parkway I went, conscious now of my need to fulfill this promise to him, my need to do a kindness for each of my brothers, my need to complete this cycle on this night. Done!
I felt that my steps had been guided that night. Thank you to my angels for helping me SHOW love to those I love. Especially at the time of Thanksgiving.

safety

I am so very thankful that my beach is not subject to the ravages of nature. This lovely blue and green planet with its swirling white streaks can be devastating at times. One of the beaches I visited this summer at Nags Head was basically a Brazil wax bit of sand in July. I can only imagine what will be left there now. The walkway from the condo will lead to...where? Open water? A few rocks? Will there even be that wooden walkway?
Then there's Virginia Beach, a fun place from a few years back. What will become of it after the 10-foot surges and the 8 inches of rain and the 60-mph winds? How much of that sugary sand will remain to be graced by beach towels and colorful chairs? How about the shops and little eateries nearby? Will they weather the storm or be wiped clean from their foundations?
I do realize that nothing lasts forever. Even the beach I visit here will exist only until the ether on which it rests disintegrates out from under it. Still, I hope that day will be very far in the future, beyond the time that I walk this plane. I want to feel free to enjoy the rolling surf here for a long time. Maybe I should come visit more often, to listen to the waves shushing over the fine grains below, to feel the warmth of the golden orb on my skin, to smell the salt tang. I wish I could be here every day, but I cannot yet. One day...

quote

"Today only happens once." Jeff McDermott

Yesterday was spent in the company of my ex-husband. He was in town to bookend his vacation week in Charleston, hoping to maximize the number of friends he could catch up with while away from Mississippi. I count myself fortunate that I was included in that list and that he, like myself, had left the schedule open for the day. Sure, we both had other events that we COULD have done, but we CHOSE to not have other people lined up for our time. Nice.
So, we met for breakfast, with an eye to following that with the 11:15am service at the church, partly so he could reconnect with friends there, partly to see the progress of the renovation. We never made it there, preferring a leisurely-paced visit together to be of more importance.
We talked mostly about the present. Sure, there was the usual catching up of the events in the lives of family and friends, but mostly the talk was about the events in our own lives in the last few months. You know, experiences in the real world with other people. That's a big issue: allowing ourselves to trust someone else with our hearts. Hell's belles, that is THE issue. No doubt that will continue to be THE issue for some time, but, given enough time, it will go back to where it belongs: just one issue to be considered among others.
I think it was remarkable that we could talk as we did. I know so many divorced couples who hold such animosity toward each other. We still love each other and we will always be a member of each other's family, but we are no longer a couple. We ARE long-time friends, having shared many adventures together in almost two decades. I do hope we will have this friendship for the rest of our lives. He is a remarkable man and I truly do hope he will let happiness find him. He deserves a much better life than he's been allowing himself to live. Even though the picture above was snapped on a whim, its meaning is serendipitous. The picture illustrates his looking toward the future (that vast ocean of possibilities and fish), away from the past (events that cannot be changed). Nice.
As he himself said, today only happens once. Enjoy it, embrace it, engage in it fully.

dingbat

Yep, that's me. The problem with burning one's candle from both ends is you eventually run out of wax and the flame goes out. I've been trying to shovel as much as I can into each and every day and my body has let me know in NO uncertain terms that said nonsense MUST stop, at least for a little while. Between the insomnia (driven mostly by my desire to catch up on my email and facebook before getting to bed) and the stuffed-full social calendar I've had for too many weeks, not including my work responsibilities... well, you get the picture.
Since Tuesday, I've had the sniffles and stuffy nose and cough from getting too cold too often and due, in large part sad to say, to my beloved Savannah Film Festival. The Trustees Theatre is SO cold (how cold is it?), it's so cold that Eskimos feel right at home. Seriously. I took two vacation days this year, Tuesday and Friday, so I could partake of the rich banquet only available at this festival. By Tuesday evening, even though I had my scarf and heavy jacket with me, I had the stuffy nose starting. Wednesday, I got up and sprayed the bed with Lysol, and have done the same for the past few days. Wednesday evening, I gave the students a "paper" lab ( gave them the data rather than have them collect it) and we were all out of there by 8pm. I took my tired self home, had chicken soup and called it an early night. Thursday, I woke up feeling more rested, but sounding awful. Progress! More chicken soup, more ealier nights.
Friday, I awoke a new woman, then spent the day at the Festival, in the Trustees and the Lucas, bouncing out every two hours to check the car or get lunch or pick up my Geekend materials. So, cold and hot and cold and hot... And of course I insisted on going to the keynote speaker address at Geekend, a last minute change/addendum to the program. Aaron Drapsin, former snowboarder of Michigan, current logo designer extraordinaire, was able to take over when the originally-scheduled speaker was delayed until Sunday. This guy happens to have worked on some incredible projects, including the logos for two ARRAS-related items: the website recovery.gov and the DOT's Transportation Investment Generating Economic Recovery program. Pretty interesting talk, sprinkled with lots of fun stories of lessons learned along the way.
Still, by the time the talk was done, so was I. I was cold and thirsty and worn OUT. So, I got home by 10:30pm or so, turned on my bed, then had some heated lemon water for about an hour. I crashed out, not even bothering to set an alarm. I would simpley get up when I got up. Yeah. I finally got up about 1:30pm today and here in the house I remain. I had several talks I had looked forward to at Geekend, but my body told me to STAY HOME AND REST. Sounds like resonable advice to me! Time for some chicken soup, maybe with rice this time instead of pasta...