a drop of water

Sometimes, a different perspective is needed.
This is definitely one of those times.
Yesterday, my first niece, my outlaw Melinda, and I spent five hours setting right the house of my little sister's dad. What a totally depressing afternoon.
I spent most of that time gathering bed linens, toweling, clothing, then evaluating the items. Salvageable? Too badly damaged by body fluids?
I also worked in the kitchen, loading the dishwasher twice, unloading it three times. Why? It had not yet been unloaded from a previous time when he had washed dishes.
I had it easy.
Christina and Melinda had the horror show in the main bathroom and the front bedroom.
Even so, the work, and the atmosphere in the house, took its toll on me, mentally, spiritually, and physically. One of the downsides of getting older, a downside that no one really talks about, is that of helping those dear to you bury their parents and siblings.
My dear Jo, from my high school days, lost her youngest brother on New Year's Day. Still no word on when his funeral will be, due to legal complications.
Sue's dad is again in the hospital. Word is that he may never come home again. We were there yesterday trying to make the house habitable before Sue arrives in a few weeks.
I doubt she will actually be able to stay there.
The smell of cigarette smoke swats you as soon as the front door is opened. It's engrained in the furniture, the carpeting, the very paint on the walls, even the air and the ice in the refrigerator. Even keeping the house open the entire time we were there could not dissipate those many years of smoke inhalation by the furnishings.
We have one more trip to make there, to haul the carpet to the dump.
I wish I was done with it.

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, jetsam 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.