change is gonna come (CHANGE)

Earlier this evening, I gave away part of my past. The futon I had since my days in Okinawa, a custom piece made in South Korea for my boyfriend at the time, is now gone. I swear, the room I had it in now has an empty feel to it, even though that room still has furniture in it. I almost thought I heard an echo.
I also gave away my stoneware which I had purchased in Okinawa and used for almost three decades. I had bought it just a little ahead of my "permanent change of station", or PCS, in 1982, wanting to get a few good items for the Navy to ship for me. The maker was Ranmaru, style Lotus White, color "Soft Petals". A lovely, graceful service for eight, with dinner plates, bread plates, saucers, teacups, salad bowls, a serving bowl, and a meat plate.
As I recall, the cups and saucers were given to Goodwill some years ago, as I did not use them. The dinner and bread plates, as well as the bowls, were all used regularly and some were broken along the way. Eventually, I was down to two bowls, five bread plates, and four dinner plates. The dinner plates and four of the bread plates left this evening to help someone who lost all in a fire. I do hope they will bring her as much pleasure as they brought me.
I have kept the odd bread plate, the two chipped bowls, the serving bowl and the meat plate. I may give them away, too, one day, but not quite yet. I'm not done with those memories evoked by the pattern: shopping on Gate 2 Street, so many meals shared with family and friends, packing and unpacking for each move.
The futon served me well and was, as I said, a custom piece. A modified double bed, it was sectional and folded into a neat loveseat, waiting to be unfolded on a tatami mat for the evening. I always received "outstanding" awards for my barracks room there on The Rock. The futon was constructed as separate foam cushions which fit in the zippered compartments of the washable cloth cover. I'm telling you, it was a wonderful piece of furniture! I never saw anything like it here in the States.
After a couple of decades, the zippers on two of the compartments wore out and jumped their tracks, refusing to be set right. Still, the futon itself carried on as an emergency guest bed for many friends and even some family. If not for the comfortable mattress in the sleeper sofa, I might have held on to that futon forever.
But the sleeper sofa DOES have a comfortable mattress. And the sleeper sofa looks good in the guest room and makes the term "guest room" more meaningful, somehow, than an odd futon with busted zippers. And I have noticed that those who partake of the guest room enjoy using the space as a sitting room as much as a bedroom. That's nice, to be able to offer the feel of a suite to a single room.
Still, it feels like such an end of an era. No more Korean futon. No more Ranmaru stoneware set.
Change IS gonna come - CHANGE!

feeling taller

No more pap smears! Woohoo! The doc looked under the hood today and declared me good to go! Whew!
Very good to know. On January 2nd, I had a sneezing marathon and pulled an abdominal muscle. I was in SUCH pain. It was bad. I was popping 800 mg ibuprofens like they were manna from heaven. I limited myself to no more than two a day, but sometimes, a third one would sound like a really good idea. The pain went on for a week and then, one fine day, I woke up and the worst of the pain was gone. I still had an ache, but at least I didn't feel crippled by the monster.
I had wondered if I should return to the doc, have him check around and make sure all was well. After all, the day of the sneezing fit was just shy of three weeks post-surgery. But I told myself that if my bowels still worked as they should, then I had pulled a muscle, not anything more serious, so going to the doc wouldn't help. If the bowels were NOT working, then I would have to go and see what I had damaged by my full-body sneezes. And my bowels DID work, so I kept to an ibuprofen regimen until all was much better.
I did mention all of that to the doc today and he listened and seemed to indicate that I had done the right thing. And all checked out just fine - I'm "all healed up!" he said! I just have to remember to "go slow and easy" for a while, listen to my body, let it tell me when I've pushed too hard.
I can do that. Hey, did I tell you I feel taller? I do!

what a long strange trip it's been

These were taken fourteen years apart.
The upper photograph was taken in my Grandparents' back yard in Waycross in 1975. I'm fairly certain it wasn't any later than that, or earlier either. After all, my youngest brother looks about eight years old.
The lower picture was taken on Labor Day, 1989, at my stepdad's house. We had all gathered, as was the custom before Mama's death, for a cookout and family get-together on that holiday weekend. The day was winding to a close and we were goofing around, being silly, when that moment in time became frozen for eternity.
Somehow, when the fourteen-year mark rolled around in 2003, we missed the opportunity. We were all a little scattered two years after Mama's death and the youngest was living in Baton Rouge that year (and several after, too).
I hope one day to have another image of the four of us to post here, but it may be a while before that can transpire. One of us (my middle brother) had a near-death experience last fall, so time does seem to be of the essence, as it so often does. Another (the youngest) is currently not in a position of freedom of movement, a definite hindrance to picture-taking. 2017 will mark another twenty-eight years (twice fourteen) since the last group shot; will we be able to mark the occasion?

letter

Today, I received the letter I had written at the Bowl Burning Ceremony last year. I had wondered what had happened to it, as I had thought it was to be returned to me around Thanksgiving. I knew there were some of my forecasted changes which had not occurred, so I was expecting to read those parts and either grin or grimace. And so I did.
But, surprisingly, there were other parts which I had forgotten. I had written of how much I had enjoyed going to Las Vegas with Paul and Cathy and how much I closer I now felt to Cathy. True!
I had written of going to Myrtle Beach with my bird and how much I had enjoyed that experience. True! I had also written of my feelings for him and I was a bit surprised at what I had said. I'll certainly have to give that more thought.
The biggest change I had forecast apparently got lost along the way. I was going to straighten up the house and have folks over more often. More dinners, more get-togethers, game nights and such. Never happened. Hmmm. THAT definitely SHOULD happen... and I'm going to see that it does.
One of the good things I did last year was get a lot of STUFF out of the house. eBay has been quite helpful with that, even paying for my airfare to San Francisco and home from Las Vegas. I think my total items vamoosed is more than 200, which is definitely an accomplishment.
I even cleared out enough that I have an actual GUEST ROOM, which has been successfully used by friends and family. AND, when my bird flew here to nest, I not only helped him locate some furniture for his new nest, but I also supplied him with a chest of drawers. An EMPTY chest of drawers - that's right, I had managed to empty out four drawers full of STUFF. Again, rather impressive doings, as my tendency is more toward pack rat than neatnik.
So, in retrospect, I have done rather well at accomplishing most of the goals set forth in my letter to myself. Now, to invite folks over more often... definitely doable!
And I would follow the advice of Erma Bombeck, one smart cookie! "IF I HAD MY LIFE TO LIVE OVER
I would have gone to bed when I was sick instead of pretending the earth would go into a holding pattern if I weren't there for the day.
I would have burned the pink candle sculpted like a rose before it melted in storage.
I would have talked less and listened more.
I would have invited friends over to dinner even if the carpet was stained, or the sofa faded.
I would have eaten the popcorn in the 'good' living room and worried much less about the dirt when someone wanted to light a fire in the fireplace.
I would have taken the time to listen to my grandfather ramble about his youth.
I would have shared more of the responsibility carried by my husband.
I would never have insisted the car windows be rolled up on a summer day because my hair had just been teased and sprayed.
I would have sat on the lawn with my grass stains.
I would have cried and laughed less while watching television and more while watching life.
I would never have bought anything just because it was practical, wouldn't show soil, or was guaranteed to last a lifetime.
Instead of wishing away nine months of pregnancy, I'd have cherished every moment and realized that the wonderment growing inside me was the only chance in life to assist God in a miracle.
When my kids kissed me impetuously, I would never have said, "Later. Now go get washed up for dinner."
There would have been more "I love you's."
More "I'm sorry's."
But mostly, given another shot at life, I would seize every minute...look at it and really see it .. live it and never give it back."
Good advice for a new year!

here we go now (Mama's gonna worry)

Life is getting better. Slowly, but getting better.
Today, I went to the jail, in search of my driver's license. You see, when I had gone there on Sunday to visit my youngest brother, I had surrendered my license, as is the requirement for such visits. When I departed, I had retrieved what I believed to be my license... but I found out yesterday that it was most definitely NOT mine. Oh, no!
As I tend to stay a bit befuddled, post-surgery, I could not think of where it might be. Had I actually given it to a waitress and she had returned the wrong license to me? Was that at the beach? In Bluffton on Sunday? WHEN???
Then, last night, just as I was drifting into slumber, the thought materialized: Check the jail. But of course! That was the last place I KNEW I had my license. When I had left, there was a shift change or something going on and the new person must have given me the wrong license. Fine, I would go there first thing and check it out.
And so I did. And there it was. And I didn't need to spend half a day, and more money, at the Department of Motor Vehicles to get a replacement. Whew! (I had turned in the license I had erroneously received to DMV and hopefully they will send it to its rightful owner.)
With license newly restored, I felt safe to drive again. Off I went to the beach to take care of my parking citation. I had hoped the City of Tybee might credit the fine amount toward the cost of a parking permit, but, no. Nonetheless, I went ahead and purchased the permit anyway. I'm glad I did! Now, I can tool on down to Tybee anytime I want, stay however long I want, park in any lot I want, with no fear of a parking fine until after January 31st of 2012.
You bet I'm going to do just that, too.

dagnabbit

What a start to a new year. Truly.
Today the American Legion Post to which I belong was having a fundraiser for nursing scholarships at the beach. I've never been to this function and, as my bird had to work, I decided that would be a quite lovely way to begin my year: at the beach, doing good for others.
So, after breakfast, and a couple of episodes of The Twilight Zone, off I went. And a beautiful blue sky day it was! Warm, too, needing only a light jacket to ward off the cold-tinged breeze. Ah, yes!
But I had the directions wrong. Somehow, I thought the function was to be near the pier and pavilion, so that's where I went. The parking meter refused to accept my credit card, but I noticed someone else having the same problem and decided to go ahead and seek out my Post.
And things just started falling apart. I walked up and down the pier, looking for the Legionnaires. No success. I decided to go visit the marine science center at the foot of the pier. It was closed. So, I headed back to the car, only to find the parking police had beat me there and left me a $35 citation. WHAT?! For lack of a $3 slip of paper I was being hit up with a fine that was more than tenfold that amount?? No, no, no, I was going to wait by the parking police vehicle, right there in the parking lot, until he returned and I could show him the meter that refused my credit card and led to this mistaken fine.
And I waited. And waited. Apparently, he had just started his rounds and had a lot of other vehicles to cite, as I waited almost exactly an hour for his return. And even so, I very nearly missed him. The speed with which he approached and entered his vehicle was amazing. Nonetheless, I stepped quickly in front of the vehicle and to the driver's side door. He came out to speak with me and I started with my complaint about the meter and my card. He countered with no one else had said anything about a broken meter, at which point I pulled out my card and pointed out the offending meter and asked him to see if HE could get the machine to give me a parking slip. Taking my card, in a trice he had the machine do that very thing! He could tell from my face that I was completely taken aback, so he said he would adjust the charge of my citation. Numbly, I gave it to him and he scribbled on it. (I'm still unclear whether he took $20 off or whether the charge is now $20.) Then I repeated that I had come to the beach in the first place for the American Legion fundraiser and he says "That's at the other end of the beach. It's almost over now."
And that's when I lost control and the tears rolled down my cheeks. What a terrible start to the new year! I had missed the fundraiser and the chance to get to know some of my fellow legionnaires better. I had missed my chance to start the new year helping others. I had missed it ALL... AND I had been penalized, to boot. I was inconsolable. But I was also determined to utilize the parking slip I had just received. I had until 5:26 PM before I HAD to move my car and , by golly, I was not moving it before then! Dagnabbit!
And so I stayed. The day was losing its warmth and the wind was picking up, but I persisted, blotting my tears with the sleeve of my jacket. I wanted to sit in the sun and look at the ocean and listen to the waves. But, no. Both swings were occupied. So I leaned on the lifeguard station and waited. And wept and waited and rocked myself. And eventually the sound of the lifeblood of this planet got through to me and calmed me. And eventually the young people in one swing left and I was able to sit there and rock myself.
After about fifteen minutes of that, I was cold and calm and ready to get warm. I drifted into Fannie's, remembering the hoppin' john from two years ago - or was it only last year? There, I received the nurturing I needed to turn the day around. Hot coffee, fresh chips and salsa. Crayons on the table to leave my mark. Hoppin' john, with greens and a warm doughy biscuit. And a waitress who kept showing up at the right time, with a kind word, a warm smile, a touch up of coffee. Ahhhh.
And all was again right, or at least right enough, for this first day of 2011.
The time was 5:21 PM as I pulled out of the lot. Time to spare.

so, i sez to the doc

Dearest Mama,
A week ago Wednesday, the railroad ties were removed from my traintrack. No one had said anything to me about any anesthesia and the procedure was to be done in the doctor's office. As a preemptive measure, I took an 800 mg ibuprofen, just to dull the edges of any forthcoming pain.
As I was lying on the table, the doc told me the staples were definitely ready to be taken off. My body was hard at work rejecting them, pushing with all the strength the surrounding cells could muster. I told him I was regarding the site as my personal Polar Express traintrack. He paused and looked at me and said he had never heard anyone refer to it as that, but he liked it because that story was one of his family's favorites. I told him it had been one of yours as well.
So, he starts removing hardware. And removes more, moving from one side of me to the other to get a better grip on some of them. I ask what will be done with the staples and he asks if I would like them. After the briefest pause, during which I wondered if he might think me mad, I replied "sure!" Then I mentioned that I had some nephews who might get a kick out of them, but really, truly... I wanted them for ME. I wanted to be able to hold them and count them and examine them, these bits of metal which had been protecting the sutured site beneath.
Eventually, the doc tells me that the last few might hurt a little. He was impressed that I had taken measures beforehand to minimize any pain. Then he set to work, freeing those just above the pubes. Sure enough, that DID hurt, but not overly so. When he asked me if I was okay with the pain, I told him the truth: it really wasn't that much different from plucking hairs from my chin. He looked at me to see if perhaps I was joking, saw that I wasn't, and told me he had never had a patient tell him that before, either. I thought it a good comparison to liken the staple removal to facial hair maintenance. It certainly made the whole procedure more tolerable and put it into the proper perspective. You know?
All in all, not a bad experience. I think this gyn doc (David Byck, who is also Susan's gyn) has a different impression of me now and I hope he might share it with his wife, who just happens to be MY general doc. She'll get a kick out of my revelations!
That's all for now. I just wanted to share that story with you before it dimmed from memory. I know how you always loved my stories!
miss you still and love you always

postscript: In case you wondered, there were fifty-seven bird-shaped staples removed. Those silver birds are now safely caged for display!