The Ugly Dream

Last night I had a nightmare. I don’t often remember my dreams, never mind have nightmares. It woke me up out of my sleep at a little after 4AM. Struggling to go back to bed, I couldn’t help but analyze what it meant. It was a very graphic dream, in many way revolting and repugnant but the analysis proved worthwhile even if I lost some sleep.

The dream started off at night. I was out with some friends at a rock club seeing a band play. Not real friends, dream friends. The kind where you are best friends in the dream and you wake up realizing you have no idea who they are in real life. It was very dark, kind of Goth-like. We decided to leave the club and walk around the city. That brought us to a subway. We descended the stairs onto a dank subway platform. The walls were streamed with condensation and the lights were dim. Grime lightly coated the walls from floor to ceiling. There was no one there, just me and my dream friends. We decided to jump from the platform onto the tracks. We started walking away from the subway station toward the black tunnel of the underground subway system. Surprisingly, I was not afraid. It felt exhilarating. Into the dark we went. We found a dimly lit hallway to the left of the tunnel. As in most dreams, suddenly my crew of friends disappeared and I went into the hallway by myself, curious by the noise I heard down the corridor.

Wide-eyed, I walked toward the noise. I realized as I was walking that the walls had turned to dirt. Everything was dirt. The sides, the ceiling, the floor, all dirt. As if someone had just started digging and made this hallway. The scene never changed. The entire cavern was dirt and it was lit by construction lights all the way through. The noise was getting louder. I started passing people. At first they looked disturbed and possibly homeless. Not unusual I thought for a makeshift hideaway in a subway system. I kept walking, a little on guard but still eager to see what lie ahead.

What I encountered as I came to a room at the end of the hallway was, to say the least, unnerving. There were people everywhere in this large dirt room. In fact, the hallway wasn’t really a hallway but a passage way to an integrated system of hallways and rooms. I looked around the room at people in varying degrees of decay and death. Some grotesquely injured, eyeless, horribly wounded but they were still living. I know this as they were all talking but I couldn’t make out what they were saying over the collective noise they were making. It looked like a battle scene after a bomb explosion. I kept walking onward down the hallway. The corridor system only went one direction, downward. It got darker and dirtier as I went. Dust hung in the air and I somehow lost my shoes. Barefoot, I went on trying to avoid decaying people, blood and human excrement. I was horrified by what I was witnessing but I needed to see what lie ahead. It was like a bad car accident, you want to look away but you can’t.

As I walked on the hallways got narrower and darker. The construction lights were farther and farther apart and it was hard to see. The rooms got more and more crowded with people. This time they were not decaying, they were angry. Posters and defaced pictures of families hung on the walls. The posters were scrawled with accusations and profanity, hastily written and fastened to the dirt walls. The pictures of happy families had similar writing on them and images written over the faces. The people were yelling at me, pleading their case for why they were there. Their behavior was disturbing, they chaotically ran about, yelling, trying to be heard and pointing to the posters and pictures for me to see. I was trying to read them, to take it in and hear their complaints but my mind was rushing about. The hallways and rooms were so small, it was hot and I was starting to panic. My head turned right and I saw a teenage boy, hair black as pitch and dirty trying to play a broken black electric guitar.

My mind slowed down and I came to. I had to get out of there, a girl was yelling at me as I turned around and started running. I had to find my way back. The people and the very walls of the caves were telling me that I couldn’t get out. There was no way but I didn’t listen. As I found hidden stairways, I went up. I knew if I went down, going up would get me out. I was desperate to find my way back to the city streets. As I found stairs, I used them, ignoring the voices that told me I couldn’t leave. Desperate to be spared I cried out to God, “Lord, please save me! Please get me out of here!” My last staircase brought me to a train station but I was not on the platform, I was in a baggage room and I had to squeeze through a tiny door where your luggage comes out to be free. It didn’t look like I’d fit but I was desperate to try. I was not alone others had found their way out and they were getting through. I scrambled to the doorway and stuck my head in. It was a struggle but I made it. The next thing I knew, I was in a courtyard of an outdoor shopping center. It was filled with tourists on cruises who had ported for the morning. They were all walking around discussing how great their vacations were going with one another. I walked up to a vendor selling wind chimes and bought a gigantic wind chime made out of kitchen utensils and pot lids. (Okay, this is a dream don’t forget) I took the wind chime and started walking home, barefoot and dirty, toward my parents house. I was anxious that they would be worried as it was now 8AM in the dream and I had been gone all night without so much as a phone call.

I woke up feeling unsettled. What could all that mean? I was so glad that I was able to get out in my dream. Most dreams like that involve running in circles and into dead ends until you awake with a start but in this one, I saw it out to completion. I was saved by God. He showed me the way out. I lay in bed, eyes open, wondering where all this came from. The decaying, disfigured people, the posters and pictures, the shouting. What did it all mean? I started to drift off again when my mind began sifting through the images like a shoe box of postcards. I saw what was there and I heard what the people were saying. They were grief-stricken by their lives. The accusations on the posters were about them and what they thought their loved ones had done to cause them such pain. The defaced pictures were their families, and the writing and the images on them was a constant reminder to the people in the caves that the smiling faces of well put together families, to them, was a lie. The injuries and decay I saw was the outward manifestation of how the dying people felt on the inside. The cave was their hell, their entrapment in their pain. There was a way out but they didn’t know it was there. They never bothered to find it. They had resigned themselves to the dark, dirty cave. They sealed their fate in their own mind. Prisoner to their grief.

That really is just it. So many people do this. I see them every day. They create internal, mental “hells” for themselves and almost subconsciously imprison themselves. As they stay in it, they get worse, never better. Downward they go, angrier and sadder they get. Unable to understand, there is a way out.

Grief comes in all forms. Deaths of loved ones, lost relationships, dysfunctional families, innocence of childhood lost, all kinds of grief. It is as simple as people mourning something they can’t have back or fixed. I found the way out in my dream and in my life. I cried out and asked God for help.

I find myself in the barrenness. Hot, solitary, looking for rest. One foot, the other. The sand scorching with every step. No matter what direction I look, it all looks the same. No view is different. I lose my sense of balance and orientation. I keep walking, where is the end? It will be a long walk. I prepare my mind. I sit down and ponder. If it's all the same, what direction is one better than the next? Out of the darkness of night it comes. I am walking, I can see it. At first it doesn't seem real. I look, take it in and smile. If it is real, just a drink. I can't stay long. I sip, pour it over my body and feel it run. Every line and corner it finds. Cooling, comforting. Another sip and then I must go.

I need to find the way out of this vast emptiness.The water, it feels so good! I take more in. Another splash to my parched face. A trickle down my neck, it finds my heart and seeps in. The refreshing is almost too much. Surely I will awake tomorrow and find it gone. If it will be gone, should I dive in? It looks so peaceful. To feel the water surround me, saturating, taking the heat and the sting of sun away. What will happen when I have to go? Walk on and find a way out of this desert? Walk on to find the end or is the end, the way out through the water? Oasis or new life?

Without thinking, I sit down at the water's edge. The moon's reflection ripples with the wind. Dazed by it's beauty, I put my feet in. The water feels better than I hoped. I"ll walk in just a little I think. It feels as though the water and I become one with each step forward. I want to lower myself in but I wonder, what is beneath the surface? I can't see the bottom. Should I turn back? Get out while I still can? I think it's not too late but I can't move. I need the water. Frozen still, I stand. Contemplating a dive, I try to weigh the outcomes. The hot breeze and walking on or a swim in a beautiful pool of water in the middle of all this nothingness. In mid thought, I dive in. I plunge beneath and almost inhale. The cool tingle of the heat leaving my skin and a long exhale under the water. I don't want to surface.

Why I Hate Norman Rockwell

For the second time in one weekend I found myself in maternal bliss, fawning over my beautiful daughter and being mesmerized by her smile. Not just any smile but a grin so big that it takes up her whole face. She was having a great time. I love those moments. They are the memories that you want to capture in a thousand pictures and the feelings you have that say "this is why I became a mother".

The first time was at the Miami Children's Museum. We took a long ride up to Miami from The Keys of Florida on Friday afternoon. She did beautifully in her car seat in the back. She watched her DVDs, chirped questions to me as I drove and in no time we had made our 3 hour journey. We checked into the hotel and Carli was thrilled to press the buttons on the elevator and see our room. She ran around the hotel room very excited about her "Special New Building House". I told her we were going to the Children's Museum in the morning and that they had big toys that we could play with. She was over the moon. So over the moon that she didn't go to bed until 9:45 PM and woke up at a startling 5:30 AM. I tried to talk her into going back to sleep and gave up at 6. I knew that without enough sleep her mood could go either way. We got to the museum and she was so happy to play in their playground on the swings until it opened. As soon as 10 AM came we scurried in the front door. Paying our fare we started in. She was in heaven and I was snapping pictures as fast as I could and as long as she could sit still. A Norman Rockwell moment, we were playing and talking like we were a harmony in a song. Maternal bliss.

As we were winding down our tour Carli wanted to take pictures in the instant photo booth. I am not sure what happened between paying for the pictures and sitting down but my special little angel turned into a fire breathing meltdown of a dragon. Thankfully her screaming in the booth looked like smiles in the photos and my toothy grin was actually a grimace trying to hold my flailing dragon still during the photo op. I waited impatiently for the photos as she was crying and screaming that they were hers and she wanted them. I gave her half and kept my half which made her shrill so loud you'd have thought I slapped her across the face. I grabbed my little monster by the wrist and told her we were going home. This seemed to jar the tantrum loose but by then I was done. We left 5 minutes later and she cried and whined aside from a brief 45 minute nap in the car, all the way home. I parked my car in front of my landlord sitting on her porch while I practically dragged my over tired, crying, screaming dragon up to the apartment so I could quickly get her bathed and to bed. What a day. How did that Norman Rockwell picture look again?

Today was going to be a good day. It is my late husband's birthday and I wanted to keep things upbeat. Church started earlier than usual for us because I wanted to go to bible study. A new and dear friend was teaching and she had text messaged me about coming. I hurried into the shower with my little buddy close on my heels as usual. I scarcely shower by myself any more. Not that I mind, at least I know where she is and what she is into! I ran some shampoo through her hair, a little soap, shaved my legs and we were off. The class was wonderful, service was great. I picked up a beaming Carli at Sunday school and we went off to the grocery store, which is our favorite errand to do together. Next we planned to make sugar cookies. Carli had been nagging me to make them with her since she keeps seeing this recurring commercial of a little girl making cookies with her mom. Why not? This will be great! Some of my fondest memories of my mom and me are baking in the kitchen. We made pretzels once together with my little brother. It took a while but we had a great time doing it and it seems that baked goods are always better with a little extra love in them from your mom. I ferreted out all the necessary cookie supplies and started off creaming butter and sugar. I was explaining everything as I went. Next was mixing the dry ingredients. I gave Carli the cup of flour and told her to pour it in the bowl. The first cup went great but the second cup went everywhere when I took too long handing her the cup and she jerked it out of my hand. I cleaned it up, handed her another one and decided this would be a great lesson in cooperation and working as a team. That went right by her as by now we were rolling out dough and cutting out cookies when she yelled at me for cutting one without her. I sternly informed her that if she couldn't cooperate, she'd be done helping mom make cookies. Next were the sprinkles. I told her she could put the sprinkles on the cookies. Multi-colored sprinkles like you would put on ice cream. She was very excited to be the "Sprinkle Girl". The first sheet went well. There were more sprinkles on some and not on others but mom quickly fixed that. I can't help it, I have Monk-like OCD sometimes. Everything has to match and be level and symmetrical. I am trying to let that go, but I digress. The second sheet happened so fast I had no time to react. I put the second sheet down in front of the Sprinkle Girl and she took the top of the sprinkles off and dumped them on the first cookie. Sprinkles rained everywhere from the jar. I grabbed the container from her and tried to pick up sprinkles and evenly distribute them to the other cookies, never mind what was on the floor and counter. A terrible thought shot across the bow of my thinking. Without warning the statement "she ruins everything" came to mind. I thought of her lack of cooperation during cookie time and the meltdown and car ride home yesterday. I stopped myself mid-thought. Why would I think that? She doesn't "ruin everything" she is 3 years old, a baby still. She is just doing what people her age do. Then I got to thinking, what was it about her behavior that caused me to think like this? It was my ideal that unfortunately a lot of us try to live up to. These picture-perfect, June Cleaver moments where everything is pristine, wholesome and good. No one acts up, spills anything or has meltdowns because they are over tired. In the Norman Rockwell paintings everyone is exactly the way perfect would be. Lovingly looking at each other, happy. A captured time forever framed in glass in a gallery. Wouldn't life be wonderful it were just like that? A frozen perfect moment on a canvas that everyone could look up to and say "why can't my life be just as it is in this picture?" Because it isn't. Life is full of bumps, crying, and unexpected things. Tired kids, traffic, that appointment you forgot about until just now, that bill you forgot to pay happens to everyone. No one in a Norman Rockwell painting has these problems because one moment is stilled by paint into an ideal for us to admire.

My black -and-white thinking is the bane of my existence. It isn't all bad because one unexpected thing happens. Sometimes it takes an ugly thought to pry open my mind into looking at my own behavior. Carli loved the museum, the hotel and the ride up to Miami. The cookies came out great, she told me they were good and we had a lovely dinner after we baked them. Near-perfect, precious time spent with my daughter and a splash of life thrown in. Just like it is supposed to be. I hate Norman Rockwell.

Mother's Day Blues

Everywhere I turn are signs for Mother's Day. "Remember Mom", "Send flowers for Mother's Day", there are countless commercials on TV and radio these days, clamoring for everyone's Mother's Day business. Normally, I'd be anxious about Mother's Day but for different reasons than this year. I am sad and anxious this Mother's Day because it is the first one I will be spending as a single mother. Oh sure, Carli will make me a card or something and her school is having a Mommy and Me Tea Party this Friday but it isn't the same. No one will be shopping for me on Carli's behalf for sappy, heartfelt cards and presents. There won't be any dinners to be taken out to this Sunday for me. I guess what is sticking in my craw is no surprises this year. What ever is done for me this Mother's Day will really be done by me for Mother's Day. I am not feeling sorry for myself, mind you and it isn't about the presents. It is about who is missing to celebrate it with me, Greg, my late husband.

Greg was not a good present giver. This always bothered me. I would lament about Mother's Day, birthdays, Christmas every year. I would hope that one of these times, he would do something really special, that he would go all out and really "wow" me. He never did. My friends would get jewelry, trips to the spa, and surprise weekends away. Not me. I usually got whatever he could pick up last minute or gifts from BJ's Wholesale Club. One year I got a space heater for Christmas. Practical? Yes. Romantic? No. I never let on that I was disappointed. He was very sensitive and I didn't want to hurt his feelings but the lack of planning and forethought always made me feel like I wasn't worth it. It wasn't the intent but it was the result.

We had problems communicating because we needed to feel loved in different ways. I like presents and physical touch. He liked compliments and time spent with him. This was very difficult for me as I didn't think I needed to fawn over him and bring in a marching band in my house whenever he did his quarterly dish duties and getting me to sit down and watch twenty year-old reruns of Magnum P.I. when I had laundry to do and lunches to make was nearly impossible and it made him sad. I didn't see the value in what he wanted. Being the kind of Plain John kind of guy he was, he didn't see the big deal about presents and surprises. He thought I was being silly or materialistic. It wasn't that way for me but I couldn't get him to see it. He didn't see the value either. I often wondered why he wouldn't just do it to make me happy, I am sure he felt the same way. Hindsight being what it is, I spend a lot of time thinking about these things when special days come up now.

I can't beat myself up, it's over. I have often longed for a day when I could just yell "DO OVER!" like when I didn't like the outcome of something when I was a kid. You don't get those as an adult. Life is unfair that way. When I sold my house I had to pack up all of my belongings and what ever was left of Greg's, along with our daughter Carli's prized possessions, most certainly her play kitchen. I was having lots of flash backs about things that I packed. One of those things was a lifetime supply of bath salts and bubble bath courtesy of BJ's Wholesale from my husband for Christmas. That was about all he got me. I was really upset at the time but I didn't let on. Bath products?! Well, I do take a lot of baths in the winter to warm up, but still. I laughed as I packed up what was left of it. I did enjoy it after all. He knew it was something I'd use. He liked to give practical gifts, things that were useful. He just wanted me to use what he'd given me instead of wearing some trinket once or twice and banishing it to the jewelry box never to be seen again. I do that a lot actually. He made fun of all of my handbags and scores of jewelry. I have too much of that stuff and I tire of it easily. He paid attention to my habits. More than I knew. Carli's play kitchen was the first real project of a gift that we gave Carli. Christmas Eve we put it together after she went to bed. No problem we thought, it should take an hour or two at the most. We poured drinks and got busy. As I kept pulling parts out of the box I started to see that the parts were lettered into the triple letters. This was not a good sign. A few drinks and four hours later we were almost done. Alas, one of the last parts was missing drill holes that it needed to finish the job. Greg wanted to put it back in the box and return it but we came too far. "Go get your cordless drill" I demanded. I was so tired, I just wanted it to be over and go to bed. Up from the basement he came with drill and drill bits in hand. He fumbled around with the bits, trying to figure out what one to use. "Just stick the drill bit into the hole the screw is supposed to go into in the other piece of wood and then you'll know what size bit to use", I couldn't believe he hadn't thought of that. "Well, excuse me Bob Villa" he shouted, feeling a little sheepish that his wife had outsmarted him in the Tools department. He did as I said, we completed the kitchen and Carli's Christmas was saved. She loved it then and she still does. Every time I see her play with it, I remember all that it took to put it together.

I gave up on presents and surprises and the last Mother's Day Greg finally got it right. He did get me a practical gift but it was also very meaningful to me. He got me a potted Gerber Daisy plant. He knew I loved them and he wanted me to be able to plant them so I could enjoy them year over year. I cried. I thought it would be wonderful to be able to water my daisies and tell Carli how she and Daddy had given them to me so many years ago. It was the nicest thing he ever got me. It showed me that he was thinking about what I really like and what I would enjoy. Not to mention, he really wanted me to get on that flower bed out in front of the house. Okay, so he had an ulterior motive but it was still really thoughtful. I cherished that plant. I will never forget that Mother's Day. I was my last one with Greg and my most memorable. Thank you for thinking of me, Honey.

There will be new memories on Mother's Day, I know. This one will be hard but they'll get easier, right? What I will do is dress me and my lovely daughter up and go to a nice Mother's Day brunch after church. I might even ask someone to take a picture of us at the table. Maybe a walk on the beach afterwards and call my mom. Then it will just be another Sunday.

Dads, Kids, Significant Others please, make it as special as you can for Mom. She deserves it. You just don't know how many of these you will be celebrating together so treat it like her last, for me and for Mom.

Paradise Found or Lost?

I am trying to remember how I got to the part where I arrived in Key West for the first time. One of my close friends was getting married, or at least she was engaged and told me it would be a destination wedding. It was so far off at the time, I agreed to be there for the beachside nuptials. I did remember throughout last year that I was going to Key West but honestly, I was just thinking "Florida" and I wasn't really all that geared up for it other than to see a friend marry. I couldn't picture how grand it must be and why everyone was making such a big deal out of it when I told them I was going there. I guess having left the country for a lot of my vacations I couldn't see how another state could be all that unforgettable.

Flash forward, my husband dies about 5 months before the wedding. We had discussed going and if we could use our timeshare before he passed but he wasn't that anxious to go either. He had other reasons for not wanting to go but still, he was not eager to get things moving in terms of securing our timeshare in Key West. As time got closer I debated on going to the wedding at all. I didn't know if I'd want to sit through a wedding having just buried my husband months before but I also needed the time away. Sun, sand and sharing a wonderful time in a friend's life, I suddenly found myself needing to go instead of just wanting to go. I booked my trip during lunch at work, happy to find the deal of a lifetime on expedia.com

I went back and forth on the trip from there. I even bought traveler's insurance just in case I wanted to back out. I couldn't even explain my flip-flopping. I was just so unsure about going somewhere to just have a good time. The day came and I got on the plane. I was anxious to see what Key West looked like for the first time since the trip got mentioned. The flight was uneventful until my boss kept calling me about issues at the office and I had to stand on the tarmac at Miami Airport outside my puddle-jumper trying to explain what needed explaining. Now I was stressed. I got on my little plane and looked out the window the whole way there. Beautiful turquoise water and lots of little islands. Palm trees that I love so much were waving everywhere below. Someone please land this plane already!

I got off my little plane and walked in the teeny tiny airport. I was laughing as it reminded me of the airport on the 80's sitcom "Wings". They even have Cape Air there! Seems odd but true. A short cab ride and I was at my hotel, which was about a billion light years from downtown. I discovered the reason why all the hotels in downtown were so booked. Turns out if you are planning a wedding, try to plan it not on Parrot Head week. The drunken, mid-life parrots had booked everything within reason on the main street. I checked in and headed towards Duval St. It was not at all what I thought. It was lined on both sides with people and bars. I needed to wait for my friends so I sat down at a little outside bar called The Tree House. So appropriate. I ordered a drink and people watched. As far as I am concerned I could people watch for hours so I was not watching my time at all but eventually my friends made their way over to where I was after several text messages.

The best day was the day I spent by myself actually. I got a massage and a facial and went shopping by myself. I felt as though I really got to take this little 4x2 island in and I fell in love with it. So much goes on here. Art, Culture and an eclectic mix of people and tourists. It keeps walks around Key West interesting. I love art and there are plenty of galleries to stroll around in. The only thing that annoyed me was the cliche Wyland galleries.

The wedding was beautiful and the bride was glowing. It was a very small beach wedding but the intimacy of the whole thing was very special. Palm trees were right on the beach and the water was calm. If you want a beach wedding, this is the place to have one. You couldn't ask for better scenery. She had what she wanted for her wedding and that was what was important. Another thing to love about Key West. Beautiful sandy weddings and they happen on Smather's beach nearly every day. Brides line the beach. Some weddings elaborate and some very small. Doesn't matter, everyone looks perfect. I am always happy to see couples marry. So much hope for the future in those faces as they stand across from each other holding hands.

Now I am here for the 3rd time in a year. I've been here for 3 months. The novelty of being here in The Keys has worn off some. Maybe because it is just getting "normal" for me to see the things that enchanted me before. The people watching is still fun. It always will. be. There are at least two cruise ships full of clueless tourists that get dumped off to wander around for hours aimlessly. If you don't mind darting around them and saying "excuse me" a lot it is kind of entertaining. Although, waking up to palm trees, roosters and beautiful flowering trees and vines do make the day start off fresh. Maybe I need more time at the beach, not sure. Maybe I need more friends or some more focus. Could be that. I am hanging out where most people long to vacation. Imagine that? How can you love to visit but feel so "same ole, same ole" if you spend more time here? My opinion will probably change tomorrow but for now Key West is a beautiful place that feels like it is getting ordinary. Nevertheless, the chickens keep me and Carli pretty occupied on our walks and I love being warm and having some color on my skin.

The Profoundness of Loss

Loss is not describable. Not in the sense of loss of a loved one. I've lost my keys, my checkbook, important paper work many times. That is momentary panic followed by anger at one's self for not putting things where they belong. This is different. It's profound. An intangible feeling and sense that can't be duplicated. Those that have it can feel it, touch it, see it, taste it but it can't be described. I think that is why we seek out others who have shared our experiences. We are anxious for those who can relate.

I have, in my short widowhood, found many who have shared my sense of loss. It is a sad comfort. I need to know that others have suffered as I, and some more. It gives me a sick sense of belonging. I am an unfortunate member of a permanent club of which I cannot revoke my membership as all my dues are paid in full whether I like it or not. The thing about loss is it takes from you. It takes a piece of your soul and sense of reality. Others who have shared loss can see it in the faces of other members. We just know. When I think of this, I think of a friend I met a few years ago. Beautiful, smart, seeming to have it all, at least all that most would want but I sensed a longing in her. There seemed to be a sadness that shrouded her smile. I didn't know what it was but she shared it with me when I lost my husband. Her beautiful daughter was taken unexpectedly. In a moment, gone. Irrevocable, just like my Greg. No matter what happened the day before, what was intended, gone, forever.

The funny thing about funerals and people who have had profound losses is people will say the darnedest and seemingly sincere things. Many will talk to us about a sense of greater love and appreciation for loved ones. Lie. It is only emotionalism and sentimentality run riot. Give these speakers a few weeks and it is back to resentments and fueled distain for the intolerance of family members' shortcomings. Ask any married couple who shared with me a sense of greater appreciation for one another and a taking of marriage more seriously how that is going these days and it I bet it is, more or less, back to the same old thing.

I don't think, unless you have walked our path of loss, that it is possible to have that greater sense. I have it. It is like The Matrix. I took the Red Pill. I didn't know what I was taking but here it is. I live in an alternate universe. My sense of reality and life is so remarkably different than anyone else's. I wish they could know. I wish I could download my brain and help people see. All this, everything you have, everyone you know, everything you do, all that you make, all your investments, possessions or lack there of, everything is temporary. The sense of security in things and people that everyone has is false. It can be wiped out in an instant. I don't worry about these things any more. Not like I used to. I can't. I know better now. It is actually freeing!

Take for instance my house. It sold in about two weeks. Not my expectation but that is what happened. Instantaneously everyone wanted to know what I'd do next. Where would my stuff go? How long would I be in Florida? Would I be in Florida forever? Where would I be permanently? I kept answering "I don't know" and "I'll know when I get there". Not what most people wanted to hear. People without profound loss need to over plan. They need that sense of "I need to know what is going on". I know that doesn't always work that way. I am not worried. What works out will work out. Don't panic. Try explaining that to others.

For me, I am better than before. It is funny how life works that way. We have to experience pain to grow and be better people. My "Zen" is real. It is real because I trust in a God that sees the whole picture not the little, self-centered picture that I can see. No matter what, I can't get it wrong. The end result is His and His alone. What a sense of security in that!

Next up, I close and pack my house...stay tuned...

The New Chapter

As I sit amongst humidity and palm trees on this pleasant little patch in the ocean, my mind is on Boston. I put my house on the market before I left on my road trip, fully thinking it would take some time to sell it and that I might not be able to take as long as I wanted if I had to keep paying my mortgage for an extended period of time. Financial responsibilities were definitely a factor, as they should. Much to my surprise, my house was on the market for less than a couple of weeks. My mind then went to how I would get back to Boston, when did I want to go there, and what to do with my "stuff". I have a lot of stuff. Some mine, some my late husband's, some my baby girl's. No matter where I ended up, it is sure to not have 2 living rooms, a dining room and 3 to 4 bedrooms. What was I going to do with all of this? Another answer to prayer. I am downsizing and the buyer's are upsizing. They will take whatever stuff I don't want. Marvelous! Things are really falling into place and quickly. I can hardly keep my head straight with it. I am amazed at how fast things are moving. I keep reminding myself and others that I am not pacing this adventure, rather it seems to be pacing me. I am just going with the flow and seeing what happens. It is exhilarating and terrifying all at the same time. Major change does that.

Speaking of change, I was desperate for it. Sitting in my home, the house Greg and I made was depressing. He loved that house, in fact, he bid on it without telling me and we won the bid on the offer. He was so excited when he told me that they accepted the offer and we got the house. I was so furious that our first big purchase together was made without my knowledge. Truth was, I didn't love the house, he did. We moved in and I did end up liking it some or at least living with it but a split-level in the middle of no where and an hour from my friends and family was not what I had in mind as far as settling down. I decorated around the ugly teal tile floors and gross turquoise counter tops. Yes, you read that right. I should be on "Design on a Dime" I feel like I managed to decorate around the worst of flooring and counter faux pas. The size of the house and the remoteness of almost 2 acres of land and no neighbors within a quarter mile in any direction made me uneasy being by myself with a 3 year old. If anything happened to us, no one would know. I wanted to be around people who would know to knock on my door if they hadn't seen me in a few days and a little less isolated so that others would know who should or would come and go from my house. I had none of that and I can't use the riding lawn mower any way, nor do I care to. I wanted something manageable and quaint.

This leaves me with today. I am glad the house is sold. I am glad to be out of Rockland, MA. and I am glad to be on to something and where new. That doesn't mean I am not sad to let go of the past. It is not easy to change no matter how much it is needed. I am reflecting a lot. I am pondering all that I need to do and what needs to go where and realizing that as of April 12th, I will probably never see that house again or at least not like I used to. The old really is passing away and it is making way for the new. It's a good thing, but it isn't a good feeling. It means I really am moving on and making a new life. There is part of me that wishes I didn't have to do that and part of me that wants to plow forward and make all this worth something in the end. I am conflicted. Most people are when there are where I am at. I am not afraid to change, I've done it many times and always come out much better in the end. It's just the "I can't see the whole picture" part but then again, that is what I trust God for.

Next up, hopefully manatees with cousin Laurie.

Stay tuned....