duality

Light is known in scientific circles to have a wave-particle duality. Light appears on the horizon, then washes over the world with the brightness of a new day before receding back into the darkness. But light also consists of photons, tiny invisible particles capable of exciting electrons into outward-bound, dancing leaps of measurable energy. Waves of brightness composed of tiny particles of energy, just as the ocean consists of waves of hydrogen-bonded particles of dihydrogen monoxide.

I choose to believe that time, also, has a wave-particle duality. "Time is the fire in which we burn" says one of my favorite actors, Malcolm McDowell, as a Star Trek villian who attempts to harness a nexus wave of time to regain a happier portion of his life. Unfortunately, time only exists as such a viewable ribbon in the movies. Time proceeds ever forward, ever into the future, regardless of the events in its wake. All we can do is attempt to control it by marking its invisible passage with years, days, nanoseconds. Memories are the packets of time recorded in our minds, condensing the present moment's people and events into stored bits of energy which can be recalled by a word, an odor, a vision, a sound, a taste.

I choose to believe that goodness, too, can have a wave-particle duality. We witness small single acts of goodness every day: a phone call from a friend, a smile from a stranger, an unexpected gift from a loved one. But those single acts can foster other acts of goodness, larger displays of charitable intent which benefit not just one, but many, not just the recipient, but also the donor. Giving blood is one such act of goodness with far-reaching effects. Giving blood is a gift one provides to strangers in need, strangers who will never know the author of that life-restoring act of goodness. I choose to believe that the receipt of such a gift inspires a desire to impart further acts of random kindess. I HAVE to believe.

gifts

I am so blessed! Today, I received a link to a photo album from my family in San Diego. Wow! I could just HEAR the shredding of paper and shrieks of happiness from their children!!! Christmas is magical for such little children: they go to bed and the next morning, they find presents galore awaiting their eager fingers. Presents they didn't even know they wanted, gifts to delight and overwhelm the senses. The children, ages 6 11/12, 6 1/12, and 3 5/12 (she'd want her 12ths, too!), are still very much believers in Santa Claus, and I hope they continue to be for years. I still believe, most of the time, though life can sure put that faith to the test sometimes. Santa Claus represents the giving side of humanity, the loving side, the wanting to share what one has with those dear to you, to make sure they know they hold your heart. But Santa Claus also represents the forgiving side, the part that allows one to overlook the transgressions during the year in favor of the moment. The side that knows who's been naughty or nice, yet has gifts for all, whether a lump of coal or a sparkling jewel.. or simply a word of forgiveness.

refreshed

Ahhhhhh... well worth the trip! Waking up at Mystic Dunes on Christmas Day was marvelous. No need to be any particular place at any particular time. No one needing me to do anything for them. No, indeed, the day was all about ME. Nice! I went to the pool, I watched new movies, I ate garlic cheese spread with fresh sourdough bread (yum, even if it wasn't lactose free!). I debated on whether I wanted to go to Sea World (nope) or Universal Studios (nope) or Arabian Nights (still nope, though it was a tough call). Actually, I did nothing that required me to use the car, which still left plenty available. The steak house (Kenzie's) at the clubhouse was very nice and just down the hill from the 2-bedroom condo I had. The clubhouse also had pool tables (yeah!) and air hockey (I can do that!) and video games and a bar (with lovely margaritas). Good fun with folks vacationing just like me.

The drive back to Savannah was at my own pace, stopping as I saw fit and not at the frantic pace of Wednesday night. No, I made a detour to Daytona Beach to have sushi at my favorite place there... Alas, 'twas not to be! The place was closed for remodeling. Publix to the rescue! Then, after lunch, I decided to stay on the A1A for a while, enjoying the blue skies and warm air and leisurely pace. Watching the ever-cresting breakers off to my right as the palmetto-dotted dunes reached for me and the saltspray-laden air engulfed my senses. Oh, yeah, I could drive like that forever. Truly.

And now I'm home again and that's a good thing, too. I'm refreshed, I'm ready to see and be seen... and the email will wait for another day.

what to do

I think I'm running away tonight. First, of course, I'll tend to my familial Christmas Eve responsibilities, but then I'm heading off to Orlando. I had purchased a week at a fine location, to which I have never been, for my best friend and her family. She isn't able to go, so I then offered it to other good friends, none of whom have been able to take me up on it, all with different reasons. So, since the money (better than $400) has already been spent, and I have no particular place to be for Christmas Day, I think I'd like to wake up in Orlando. The place has a nice name, too: Mystic Dunes. Yeah, let me go and pack now... I'll let you know how it all works out!

anniverary

Yesterday marked the one-year anniversary of the loss of my fifteen-year marriage. Rough day. I truly could have been happier freezing on the beach rather than being in a quasi-warm house, but I was so wrapped up in my pity party that the thought of going to my refuge didn't occur to me. Not that I stayed home all day. Oh, no, I did, indeed, venture out not once, but thrice yesterday.

I first went to the church I have been attending since April of 2004. Getting ready for church is when I first noticed the day's date: December 21. Last year, it was a Friday, so I wasn't truly prepared for it this year. I was running late, so I didn't dwell on the significance of the date, just wrote the check, grabbed the gifts for the designated Christmas charity, and sped off to church. I arrived just as the minister was beginning his sermon, so I gave the bags of gifts to the church rover and hurried in to find a seat. While listening to the sermon, I decided to step out after the offering, as I had several errands to run before a holiday open house that afternoon. And so I did, leaving and riding out to the cemetery (my Mama's grave). The weather had chilled greatly, so, instead of going to the grocery store (a task already put off all the previous week), I returned home and had a bowl of soup, then set about wrapping more presents for the family gathering to be held on Christmas Eve. Still okay, mostly.

My second outing was to my Weight Watchers meeting... and that's where things went seriously awry. The scale put me at +10.2 pounds. I was prepared for a gain, as I've been badly constipated for the past five days (same as last year AT THIS SAME TIME, as if my body was rerunning a particularly bad program for me). Even knowing that most of that weight would soon be flushed from my body did nothing to soothe me. Rattled, I went in to the meeting room and sat down, late again. The meeting was about food and emotion, of all things. I started to cry and just couldn't stop. Could NOT stop. Wanted to, but could not. So I excused myself and went out to my car, letting all the frustration rush out of me, so I could regain control and get back home. Total disaster.

My counselor last year had said that when feelings of grief wash over me, I should let the flood occur, just go ahead and get it out of my system. Keeping all that torrential energy pent up would be a danger to my health. What truth is in that simple advice.

And, following that prescription enabled me to have a good time at my third outing of the day: the church Christmas party. Of course, it helped that I was amongst folks I knew, all with hugs of greeting, most oblivious to the meaning the day held for me. What a relief to be able to be with people who did NOT know me so well, who did NOT ask me how the day had treated me. Sometimes, acquaintances can be more reassuring than friends, allowing you to be experiencing just another day, much like any other day.

Breathe, dear one, just breathe.

loss adjustment, 2

One reason my foot ceased being a heat-seeking missile was the addition of a heated mattress pad to my bed. The bed is king-sized; the mattress pad I purchased is only a double. After all, why heat the entire bed? So, in addition to saving money, I also had a bonus: my questing foot would run out of warmed area in its search for company. Ah, sleeping through the night, what a treat! I simply turn on the mattress pad about thirty minutes before I get in... and am enveloped in comforting warmth. That's definitely a way to beat the blues.

loss adjustment, pm

Adjusting to life as a soloist after being part of a duet for a third of one's life is a daunting prospect. Especially late at night, when all else are snug in their beds and your only accompaniment are the gurgles of the refridgerator and hum of the computer. I have found a few ways to help make the change a little easier and I'm constantly finding new ways.

The first helpful thing was a suitcase, amazingly enough. The reason the suticase even came into play is my need to travel. Sometimes I desperately need to escape life as I know it, so I drive off and wake up somewhere new. Sometimes it's a town to which I've traveled many times; sometimes, it's a first adventure. Upon returning home from one such trip, I left my suitcase on the other side of the bed and made a discovery the next morning. I HAD SLEPT THROUGH THE NIGHT. For the first time in weeks. My companion-seeking foot, governed by my subconscious mind, had found the suitcase and lodged against it, content that I was not alone, that all was well in the household. I let the suitcase have the other side of the bed for quite a while, until I found didn't need to distract my foot any more.

why beach?

The beach has always been the place for me to go to restore my soul, to commune with God, to drown my sorrows. I have never returned from the ocean feeling more down or more alone than when I arrived there. Sure, there are plenty of times I've traveled there to have fun, to bask in the sun, to throw myself against the waves. Happy times, without doubt, in all senses of the phrase.
But sometimes, it just isn't feasible to journey to the beach. Not enough time, not the right time. I can't very well drive out there in the middle of the night, now can I? Not if I intend to return unscathed. So this is to be my beach, of sorts. Let's see how well that works out, shall we?