The Game of Life

My weekend is almost at an end. It has been great. We didn't really do anything spectacular or noteworthy but.....it was filled with the little things. Jace had a couple of friends over for a sleepover in honor of his birthday so my living room was filled with giggling, wiggling boys. This evening we went out to eat at El Que Pasa, complete with Guerin and Savana (wish we could have had Darian too) so that was a  whole lot of wonderful. I did more loads of laundry today than I can count and the last load is finally in the dryer. I made pasta salad to snack on this week and have everything I need to throw together smothered burritos at a moment's notice.  I've picked out my clothes for work tomorrow and I even know what I'm packing for my lunch.

I feel successful.

But with all of that said, we got some tragic news early Saturday morning. A friend (Greg Budd) from Wisconsin was killed tragically while riding his motorcycle to meet his wife (Lesa) so they could celebrate their anniversary together at campmeeting. A deer plowed into him and, though he was able to call 911 and text his wife, he was brain dead shortly thereafter.

And so, though my weekend has been fabulous, in the back of my mind has been this running thought: while I am laughing and enjoying the sunshine, a family I know has been desemated. 

While doing the dishes on Saturday afternoon, I couldn't help but stare out my kitchen window and wonder: Does every breath that Lesa takes ache?

When I helped Roy with the truck for just a few minutes as he has been working relentlessly to get it in tip-top shape so that when Darian takes it to college in the fall it will be trustworthy, I felt that nagging thought come tumbling in: Lesa is all alone now. Her husband is no longer by her side.

It's utterly tragic. How does one cope with such tragedy? with such a senseless death? How do we make sense of it all?

Greg was one of those men who was genuinely kind, the rock of his family. And so people have been posting on Facebook. One of my previous students who is now a mother of three posted: Why do such awful things have to happen to the best people?

Earlier today I was watching a tv show--a fictional drama--and a young girl who was, in the show, recently converted goes to a boys' home to talk to them about hope. One of the boys sneered and said, If God is so good, why did my family die, leaving me alone?

It is the age-old question that leaves us grappling with the why's of life for which there really are no answers. We can't make sense of more things than we can, frankly. All we can do is keep putting one foot in front of the other and forging our way through the darkness until, finally, a glimmer of sunlight can be seen somewhere out in the distant fog.

I've been there--maybe not like the blackness Lesa is experiencing tonight. But I've been flat on my back before, screaming why into echoing stillness. I've grappled with questions that left me filled with gut-wrenching agony. My path hasn't always been paved with gold. At some point in life, we will all be there. It's inevitable.

But that reality doesn't make Lesa's any easier to bear. And though she doesn't know it--and most likely never will--I am holding her close in my thoughts tonight. I am rooting for her to keep moving forward, to keep breathing. Most likely that's all she can manage to do right now--just breathe.

And meanwhile, I am going to soak in the moments of my life. On Saturday, a precious friend of mine, Erin, came in to visit for a bit when she dropped off Josh to stay the night with Jace. We were talking about family dinners -- those wholesome moments when we all join together around the table for a meal. Sometimes, these past four years, I feel badly because our family dinners which were once so routine and every day have become...well, a relic of the past. But Erin, in her sweet, empathetic way told me how she refused to feel guilty anymore about not meeting the ideals of her own childhood but, rather, embraced the way life worked for them. And so, if they managed to have family dinner one day a week...well then. Hoorah! Be grateful for the one day! I like that philosophy. It's easy; it's kind to one's self. And today? Well, today I think that's important to remember. Life is short. There are no guarantees. So be kind to others and...be kind to yourself.

I haven't exactly figured out what mealtime is going to look like around here now that I have an 8-5. I haven't quite mastered the art of grocery shopping (other than giving a list to Roy since he is on summer break), nor have I conquered all of the goals I have for myself. The hutch in my dining room is still more cluttered than not. I have a lot of dirt in places that taunts me.

But tonight I am grateful for problems that leave me searching for answers because I am alive to search. I am grateful for laundry that is piled high because it means my family is active and well. I am grateful for dirt that beckons because it means that, barring a tragedy, the day will come when I will clean it, feeling proud and accomplished.

I am thankful that blood flows through my veins, that I have a job to go to in the morning, that I haven't figured out all of the answers to life's greatest questions because it means I am alive. I am a part of this whole human experience that is both beautiful and agonizing. We all share the common bond of tragedy. But we also share the common bond of laughter, of hope, of dreams. We have no right to judge because, really, we are knit together as one. We are all soldiers in this game of life, doing the best we can.

Hugs to you, dear Lesa.

Worth the Wait

In eleven days I will be heading to Florida for a seven day cruise. In eleven days I will be experiencing my dream vacation--something I have wanted to do since I was engaged and contemplating how I wanted to spend my honeymoon.

But in those days--way back in the day--we were poor as church mice as we were college students with student loans. We got married on Sunday, August 2, and Roy's contract officially started on Monday, August 3. Since we didn't really have the money for a honeymoon, we decided to do the smart thing and drove straight to Colorado and he started on Tuesday. I will forever remember how the Campion Academy staff threw us a surprise wedding shower that Tuesday evening, complete with a picnic supper and a wheelbarrow decorated with ribbons and filled with gifts. Once all the gifts were opened, they made Roy push me around in it--but I don't remember the reason for that. But it was a joy-filled party and I basked in all of that newlywed attention.

We got quite a bit of money of money from gifts from others and after setting up our little home with all of the necessities of living with the exception of a vacuum cleaner (I borrowed one from the girls' dorm--trekking over and asking the dean if I could use it; carried it back to the apartment; vacuumed; carried it back to the dorm), we had a whopping $100 left.

Campion Academy is nestled at the base of the Rocky Mountains. We quickly discovered this heavenly drive up those majestic beasts to this little town at the very top called Estes Park. It was a bit of a tourist attraction and we absolutely loved it there. They had this grand all-white motel complete with pillars that we drove by on every trip up and we both longed to stay there--just one night. We dreamed about it so much that I called to see what it cost. A whopping $100.

And so, since we had foregone the honeymoon for practicality, we decided that gosh, wouldn't it be fun to just be carefree for a minute and spend a night in that luxurious motel?! And so we booked an evening one weekend, packed our suitcase, and headed up the mountain for a night of romance and splendor and pampered glory.

But on the trek up, I started thinking about that vacuum cleaner and my regular treks to the girls' dorm. We were still so poor. Roy made a whopping $17,000 (still remember that figure), and I was a college student so every penny counted. And so, with a heavy sigh, I said, You know, we could buy a vacuum cleaner with that $100.

And so we went to Estes Park, walked around, enjoyed the day. And then we headed home, stopping by Walmart on the way so that we could put that $100 to use on something practical.

I've never regretted it.

A couple of months later, the principal of our school, Hal Hampton, told Roy that there were a group of kids that needed a ride to Wyoming for homeleave, and since we hadn't taken a honeymoon, he offered that trip to Roy, claiming the school would provide the vehicle and the gas and the motel so go enjoy yourselves.

And so we did, dropping the kids in Wyoming on a Wednesday and then trekking through Mount Rushmore and Yellowstone National Park. It was a fabulous trip and we both loved every minute of it. And other than our food? It was free.

But my dream vacation still beckoned. We always talked of how someday we would take a cruise. About the time we could finally afford one as we were both teaching full-time, I discovered I was pregnant with Ciara. My mom came to live with us to help care for her, and Roy's mom visited often. It wasn't long before I was pregnant with Savana and so, in the early days of my pregnancy with her, Roy and I decided....you know, we're about to have two babies. We should take a cruise now while our moms are here to care for Ciara. And so, we booked it. We even put a few hundred dollars down on a cruise that sailed out of Las Angeles. That's all that I remember other than the fact I dreamed and imagined and hoped that day would arrive quickly as I simply couldn't wait.

But...as each day got a little closer...and closer...to the actual boarding of the ship...Roy and I both got cold feet. Ciara was such a fragile baby and her life was no guarantee. I'm not sure which one of us suggested that maybe we should cancel the cruise, but I do know that once those words were out, the other of us leaped at the idea. We cancelled, losing our down payment in the process, but no matter. We couldn't bear leaving our precious baby girl.

And so we opted instead to spend a couple of nights in a motel nearby. That way if our moms called to say there were problems, we could whisk home on a dime. Roy's mom had already made plans to be there the week of the scheduled cruise so Ciara had plenty of care.

We packed our bags, booked the motel, and headed out one evening for two nights and three days of splendor, freedom, stress-free living.

But...I can't even remember how many times we called home that evening we were away from Ciara. We'd never left her before for more than a couple of hours and I had a difficult time trusting anyone to care for her as I did. She had problems breathing, and since she was kind of a loud breather, I could hear her stop taking a breath from anywhere in the house. She's not breathing! I would call, and whoever was holding her would massage her chest a bit, and she'd gasp. I was always listening for that when I was home.

And so, we called. A lot. How's Ciara? Is she breathing? Has she had any seizures? Is she okay? Should we come home?

But of course...everything was fine. Our moms happily answered all of our questions, assuring us that she was just fine and we should feel free to enjoy ourselves.

We went home early the next morning.

And then, of course, we had Savana...and a couple of years later we had Darian...and we trekked across the country on a teacher's salary, moving from place to place while I worked part-time as I couldn't bear to be away from my babies for too long. We went on plenty of trips through the years but most of them involved visiting family and such as we couldn't really afford much more...but honestly, those were good times and I don't regret any of it.

But now? Life is different. The girls are grown. Jace will be happily playing at camp. We have nothing to detour us. The cruise is officially paid for.

And so, on July 6 we are going to sail away. We're going to laugh and dance and watch the sunset from our balcony. We're going to explore St. Thomas and St. Marteen, walking hand in hand along the beach.

Totally carefree.

It has been worth the wait.

Breathing

Yesterday I modernized my bookshelves that are housed in the living room. I did a search on Pinterest and found several that I copied so that I must admit: It looks a lot better. Same books. Same stuff. But I like it.

Anyway, in the midst of all of my re-organizing, I came across a book entitled A Dummy's Guide to Keeping Life Simple. It made me chuckle a bit. I can't even tell you how many years that book has been there, practically under my nose, yet I completely forgot about it. And so I picked it up, browsed through the pages quickly, and put it back--saving it for a day when I have a bit more time for such things.

On the same shelf were two small notebooks with cute, decorative covers. Inside each I had started a list: a bucket list and a list of best memories. Great idea, Vonda. Too bad you didn't get beyond the first page.

But honestly, just seeing those notebooks and the Keeping it Simple book inspired me. They inspired me to dream big, to declutter, to live healthfully and simply, to not spend, to cherish, to take long walks and breathe. They inspired me to live my life with purpose and free from regrets.

This past weekend, we drove to Myrtle Beach to spend Saturday evening with friends who were headed there from Wisconsin. We arrived early in the afternoon and since they weren't going to be there 'til later that evening, we had several hours to spend together. Roy isn't exactly a beach person as he grew up on the beach and worked hard, long hours on boats both in and out of the ocean. And so seeing this wide expanse of water and running his toes through cool, smooth sand doesn't exactly breathe heaven to him. But a storm had just passed through and so the temperatures had cooled a bit. I grabbed his hand and said, "Come on. Walk the beach with me." And he did. And gosh it was fun--just the two of us walking hand in hand and watching young families build sand castles with their kids and toss their squealing babies in waves (holding them dearly the whole time).

On Sunday we picked up Jace from camp as he has been gone all week (I missed him so much). He was swimming in the pool with a bunch of other kids and I thought, How am I ever going to find him in that herd? But suddenly I heard, MOM!!!!!  And there he was, clinging to the fence with such a big, cheesy grin on his face. Mom! I missed you! 

As soon as they let him out of the pool area, he clung to me in a bear hug. This boy who normally won't touch me when his friends are around lost all inhibitions and just clung to me.

Breathe that in for a minute...

And then, completely out of the blue, he said, Mom, I really miss Darian.

I do too, Buddy.

Yesterday, after we got home, I did simple things around the house. I decluttered an upstairs closet. I no longer have to worry about what will drop on my feet when I open that door. That's a good thing. And I watered my flowers, picking a random weed as I went along. I encouraged a couple of plants to keep on keepin' on as they are floundering a bit and I'm not sure why. Too much sun? Poor things.

Life is filled with so much good to cherish. Sometimes I am filled with frustration about things that annoy me: a messy kitchen or drivers who hug the left lane or people that say things to me that are hurtful, leaving me nursing my wounds for far too long. But the truth is, I have a choice. I can focus on those frustrating things that absolutely exist. Or, I can focus on the simple that exists as well.

Today? I'm choosing simple. Today? I'm going to just breathe.

Nature Calls

I work on the second floor of a building that is nestled in the midst of buildings on all sides. It is a gallery of concrete in downtown Asheville. The room that I work in is wall to wall cubicles--so many, in fact, that they don't have room for another. And so, the little place I call my own in this huge room is a desk that is sprawled across two walls and looks directly out...a window. It definitely has its own disadvantages: a large post is smack-dab behind the desk which makes things a bit awkward and limits freedom in rolling my chair around; and directly outside the window is a parking garage. But regardless, I have a glimpse of grass and flitting birds, people laughing, sunshine. It is a bit more than four walls of a cubicle.

Jace is gone to summer camp this week and so Roy and I have the week to ourselves. Of course, this is also my first week of "work" so that impedes a lot of true time together but...that's okay. We made plans for each evening that so far have been obliterated as when I get home, one of us doesn't feel like  doing whatever it was we'd planned for that particular day.

Yesterday, my sweet friend Joy told me about this Mexican restaurant that she and her family love. Unfortunately, I have this unnatural obsession for Mexican food. When Mom and Dad split up back in the day, Dad would always take me to Mexican food when I would stay with him on Wednesdays. And then when Roy and I started dating, there was this little Mexican restaurant by our school that we visited on a regular basis--and it's gone from there. No matter where we've lived, we've found a Mexican fiesta nearby. Here in Asheville our claim to fame is Papa's and Beer, but we're always up for something new. And so I called Roy around noon when I was on break to say: Hey! Joy told me about a Mexican restaurant that is her family's favorite. We should give it a try.

Of course, the underlying meaning was: Let's go this evening! But he didn't bite. He simply said, That sounds good! We'll try it on Friday evening (as that's our traditional eat-out day to celebrate the end of the work-week). I did one of those inward groans that I do when I hate being responsible...and resigned myself to making dinner at home. And that lasted until....well, until I got stuck in traffic one mile before the exit. Dead stop traffic. Eating the rear-end of the car in front of me. Heavy sighing.

And so, I pulled out my phone and sent a text (no worries--I never do this unless it's a dead-stop): Be ready when I get home.

When I finally pulled into the driveway, Drew and Ryan met me at the door as Drew is in a desperate search for a motorcycle and wants Roy's help. He found one a couple of days ago that Roy didn't approve of and he'd come over to bargain with Roy as to why it was a good deal after-all. It's beautiful actually--looks sharp and sounds tough as it's loud and obnoxious. But Roy spied too much rust covered up by fresh paint and a host of other problems and told Drew that it was going to cost him far too much money in the end to get it working. And so Roy has been searching the Internet, looking for a deal for Drew. And of course...he found one. And so,  as I walked in the door, Roy said, Here's the deal, Drew. You go look at this motorcycle with me this evening and if you don't like it, you can buy the other one you like and I'll help you fix it up.

And then Roy said...Ready?...looking at me. And off we went for Mexican food. It was, of course, delicious. Afterwards, we met Ryan at Drew at a nearby CVS where they parked their vehicle and joined us for a thirty mile drive to look at another motorcycle for Drew.

The drive was breathtaking. We wound up and down, in and out and around through mountainous terrain that left me staring in wonder. I want to live here someday, I said to Roy. He nodded in agreement.

We finally found the address. It took us awhile as it was up a steep incline--a narrow drive that wound up up up to a little plateau that housed a garage and house nestled there in the midst of the mountain.

Drew purchased the motorcycle.

And then? We headed home at sunset.

It always cracks me up when new moms, talking about their toddlers, say, "He/She just loves nature," as though it's so surprising. Their child is so unique! But the reality is, all little kids love nature. They love throwing rocks and jumping in puddles and playing outdoors. There is something about nature that brings serenity, quietude, God.

And living here in North Carolina? It's a little piece of God every day when I look out my living room window. When I am feeling stressed or experiencing too many thoughts all at once, I love to hang out on my swing and watch the cardinal who claims ownership of our bird feeder. Walking down Holcombe Cove Road--my attempt at exercise--keeps me grounded as I shake my head at looming trees and towering mountains just ahead.

The other people in my office where I work feel secretly sorry for me. I can't hide behind the walls of a cubicle but, rather, am at a desk for all to see as it is right by the door that one must use to exit the room. But in my opinion, it's the best place in the house.

It's a little piece of serenity any time I need a quick break: I can just look outside a window at a little patch of grass, a little splash of sunshine.

A New Day

Today begins a brand new adventure. I still haven't exactly wrapped my thoughts around it--I think I'm numb actually.

When Roy and I first got married, I had three years to go before I graduated from college. We moved to Campion Academy in Colorado and I finished my schooling in Greeley at a public university which was about 20 miles away. However, the academy hired me to be on a supervision team, thus beginning my academy work at the ripe old age of 20. And it has continued through the years--always part-time, always at an academy (well, mainly...we did the public school scene for three years in California). But as of today, my academy work is officially at an end. I find it baffling.

On Friday, Roy and I went to my office and started the cleaning-out process. I have 24 years of accumulation in there: a card Darian made for me in kindergarten; letters from past students; hundreds of files of activities; vocabulary workbooks; artwork students have drawn; family pictures through the years; a collection of anthologies and teaching materials and books; pictures of friends come and gone...

It was a bittersweet process--and there's still so much to accomplish.

I have always felt I was born to teach. It's in my blood. I come from a family of teachers: my parents, my sisters, my aunt, my uncle. It's all I knew growing up and it's all I've known in my married life--the world of education. What's it like to work 12 months out of the year?

But it's more than that. I've loved the relationships that have been forged through the classroom.  I thrive on watching these kids come to academy as freshmen and grow before my eyes into young adults ready to take on the world. Youth energize me. Teaching has given me purpose.

And so, as I cleaned out my office, all of those thoughts swirled around in my head. I couldn't stop the tears with the realization that this world is no longer mine. But honestly, that's okay. It's impossible to walk away from a job I have loved for 27 years with no hesitation.

But here is my new reality. I will never again (unless, of course,  I choose to come back) have to grade another paper. I will no longer bring stacks of notebooks home that I am obligated to forge through as my family lazes around doing menial things. I no longer have to scour the internet, searching for a way to make The Scarlet Ibis meaningful; no more scrounging for tactics that make the boys realize the beauty of poetry; no more required Sundays or faculty meetings during the hours when I would normally be heading for bed.

It is somebody else's turn.

And honestly? That feels pretty good. That's exciting and makes me heave a big sigh of relief.

And so, last night I packed my lunch for today and it's waiting for me on a shelf in the refrigerator. I picked out the clothes I am going to wear. I polished my nails and took it off and polished them again and took it off and polished them  again...and finally took it off. I polish nails like a kindergartner. Good grief.

Maybe I'll get a manicure this week.

This morning at 8:00 I will get in my car and head to a building downtown where I will learn all about what it means to be a paralegal for Buncombe County. And honestly? I'm excited. I can't wait to have my own desk and a never-ending pile of projects to wade through. I am excited to learn a new skill that pays well and creates a future for my family financially. I am excited to have a career.

It's a new journey, a new day, and I can't wait to begin.

Color My World

Life is all about perception. I remember when I was in the ninth grade and my English teacher Bickell introduced this concept to me. It was life-changing at the time--something I'd never heard before. He talked to his often about seeing things from different angles, never accepting our reality as fact but, rather, a perception that changed based on who was looking.

Recently I was talking to a friend who happens to be several years older than me. She was telling me about an experience she's had where she feels rejected by someone whom she dearly loves. I made an off-handed comment that it's all perception. She suddenly stopped me. "It's what? What does that mean? Stop! Tell me about that!" She'd never heard that before...it blew her away.

But it's a concept I think about a lot. Life is made up of perceptions that aren't necessarily--or usually--reality. We view life through the lens of our experience, beliefs, and values. Our agonies and joys culminate into a perception of an event, causing us to create meaning that may be 100% our own rather than reality. And that is why a single event can scar one person while another walks away unscathed.

The perceptions of others make us vulnerable. There have even times when I've considered just hiding away in my house because one never knows how others will perceive one's words or actions. If I think about it too much, it can throw me right over the edge.

But that is what brings truth to the reality that, when people are hateful or rude, or mean...or viciously talk about you behind your back...well, it's about them, not you. It's their perception; their reality. And since I can't control others...well, sometimes I just have to remind myself that I can't control how others perceive me.