the sins of my youth

There is something about transitions– moving, marriage, break-ups, deaths, births, –that makes us examine ourselves, or causes memories, thoughts to surface, and we have to deal with them. Some of them I’d rather ignore, like too many lost weekends in college when the freedom I truly thought I already knew was far more than I could handle– keg parties, skipping classes (not for long), being the farthest from my family than I had ever been and that first Easter I could not get home. I was beside myself.

Not many of these have escaped my thoughts and generally surface in the wee hours, 1, 2 or 3 a.m., when there is nothing but dark, which may be the kindest time, with no glaring light to overexpose them into the garishness they were, or are now that I know better. Bad choices in relationships and hanging on too long, disrespect toward my mother and father, not to a degree worthy of incarceration but such that I feel remorse and now can do nothing about. Opportunities I did not take for whatever reason, that I sometimes wonder, what if?? or if only…

The worst of these have been my fears and indifference. Situations I allowed to escalate because of fear of making things worse and did not step in, or times where leave well enough alone was the best course and I did not, mucking about until it became distorted beyond its original chaos. The indifference is what scares me most I think. Times when I became dispassionate about something very important to me because my meager efforts had proved fruitless and I became discouraged or, worse, decided whatever I could do would not be enough and therefore did nothing.

Sometimes we have no idea I think of the effect we have on life. I know much has been said about the “butterfly effect” where something so seemingly insignificant as the blithe flap of a paper wing creates a tsunami on the other side of the world. Who knows? We rail and beat ourselves silly about things that do not matter much, and barely give a nod to those that do. Or we agonize over choices we make, never knowing the outcome or consequence or result of that which is not chosen, and wonder if the choice we made would matter as much as the one we did not.

Isaiah 30:21

Polar geyser??

So we are in a polar vortex. Not as bad here as many places but cold enough. If we’d had the rain last night that we got 2 nights ago we’d have a skating rink. Mid to upper 20s this morning. I forgot about the vortex. I could not understand why my fingers were completely numb when Lily and I took our walk, or why the birds didn’t come to the deck railing for their breakfast first thing. Even the squirrels left the sunflower seed feeders alone.

So I’m wondering what the opposite of a vortex is. If anybody knows please tell me. No online dictionary has it, they all say “no definition found”, and even the Oxford English, which is the only dictionary I have access to since my other ones are all packed and this one’s too big, offers no help: “a situation where persons or things are steadily drawn, from which they cannot escape”. Well, then a geyser by virtue of its spewing out, violently, would to me be the natural opposite, right? But there is no such thing where the weather is concerned, that I know of. A geyser creates an emptiness which then needs to be filled and nature abhors a vacuum. Weather is present no matter what. Every day we have sunny weather, rainy, snowy, cold, windy, or some sort of atmospheric condition that fills up our world. A vortex just sounds so terrible. You imagine black holes, the bottom of the universe falling out, something drastic, catastrophic even.

I remember when I lived in Florida in late winter there would be really dense fogs some mornings. I walked my dogs down by the St. John’s River and we’d wander out along the dock. One such morning I took a picture of Savannah, a border collie I had at the time. I had no idea it would turn out the way it did (early on in the age of digital photography). There she stood, gazing alertly into the deep river water at something only she could see, enveloped by misty grey thickness that I had not seen through the lens when I took the picture. “Savannah in the vortex” I called it.

Words are so powerful. We have to be careful how we use them.

Finesse

I am probably one of the clutziest people around. I can be in a wide open space and somehow fall over the only fencepost or stumble over a smooth sidewalk. Learning to ice skate was terrifying but I loved it once I got it. Horseback riding was no problem because I wasn’t doing any of the work. And I really love horses. They are very smart, take no guff from anything or anybody. You know where you stand with a horse, he either likes you or he doesn’t.

I am also, as I get older, way too outspoken. It may be a matter of my mouth running ahead of my brain, or maybe part of my brain tries to out-think the part that really wants to use discretion, for the sake of time. Whatever, I say way too many things that I truly wish I could say differently or even not say at all. Sadly, as we all know once something is said it’s there. You can’t unsay it, the vibrations, they say, float around in the air forever. Somebody once told me even George Washington’s voice is still somewhere in the atmosphere. After all these years I can only imagine how distorted that would sound.

Anyway maybe I’m not alone in this. I hope not. But I wish I were more careful about what I say or even how I say it. That can make a difference in total meaning as anybody knows who’s seen that thing where people move commas around in a phrase. Makes the whole thing mean something else entirely.

For that matter as far as it goes I guess letting things roll off our backs is probably the best thing. At least that way something somebody said that could potentially annoy us we can just let it go.

So I guess grace is a handy thing to have either on the receiving or the giving end.

2 Corinthians 12:9

The end of time

When I was little daylight savings time was such a gift. Hours of day stretched out before me through the summer. Days my friends and I played kick-the-can till everything was grainy-gray or till a parent yelled out the back screen door to come in, “Now!” Days we could watch lightning bugs twinkle in the evening shadows, soft summer winds playing with our hair.

I look forward now to the day each fall when I get that hour back. Somehow now, when that clock hand turns back in spring all I can think of is when I rise at 5 or 5:30 in the morning it’s really 4:30, and when I go to sleep it’s only 8. But the last night of dst brings a restful slumber, partly because I sleep much better in cold and by now our temps are playing with the 30 degree range. Also because I know that when I wake up next morning and look at the clock and I see 6 a.m. it really is 6 a.m., not 5.

Maybe it’s something to do with being honest about things and I really don’t like pretending, even about something as neutral as whatever hour it is or if it’s day or night. People who travel a lot must not be bothered at all by this because wherever they go the time is vastly different from wherever they left, depending on where they go or where they live. Say I went to Israel. Well, being on the US east coast, it’s 7 hours’ difference, ahead of me. Or Alaska? Four hours earlier, 5 in some parts. And Arizona does not observe daylight savings time at all. My business used to deal with a small company there, near Flagstaff and on one occasion I asked the young woman I spoke with over the phone about it. She laughed.

“Honey, we don’t need any more daylight out here!”

Space

I don’t mean the final frontier. I don’t mean between the lines. I don’t mean the area within one’s personal (or as my son calls it- panic -) bubble. I mean the kind of space that happens when you hear news you more or less expected but didn’t. The kind of news the hearing of which so overwhelms you with what must subsequently happen that your mind totally blanks.

My real estate agent called. Two weeks ago the first 3 houses I had liked went under contract minutes before my offer was made. A little over a week ago one of those houses came back on the market and I made an offer, again. Apparently it was timely because a counter offer came back the next day. So my real estate lady and I discussed a counter to their counter and made the offer. Not sure really what I expected, if anything at all but when the phone rang and my real estate lady, in her unflappable, non-aplomb lilting voice said, “They accepted your counter” I probably should have squealed with delight, or skipped through the house, at least pumped a fist in the air. Not a bit of it. All at once the entirety of: packing, movers, address changes, accountant and tax office notifications, inspections, marketing my own home, renting a van to move plants, fragile and important items –and then some– came bursting into my head. I think I mumbled something of a thank you when she told me she’d be forwarding the paperwork for me to sign and then we signed off.

Then I sat, pen in hand with my mind as empty as the pad of paper before me, to make lists. In the last 10-12 years I have moved house 5 times. You’d think this would be old hat. Evidently not. Because each time was for a reason other than my preference– a job, or to be close to home. This move is completely and entirely of my own choosing– the place, the house, the time. I am beside myself with it.

I hope I snap out of this soon. Evidently my close date is the first week of December.

Ecclesiastes 3; Lamentations 4:19-21

Costume or facade

Halloween always fascinates me. Sure, I remember living out fantasies when I was a little girl– being a clown or a cowgirl or Bugs Bunny (do I need to put the (r) after that??). My brother being a cowboy or … well I can’t remember anymore what he went as. It was the excitement of being brave enough to go to the door of a perfect stranger and knock on it, expecting tons of butter fats and sugars which we got. For me it was not so much the candy (though I had a few cavities to prove I enjoyed it), as it was the hiding behind a mask, no one knew it was “that little girl who walks the cute Westie every day after school). My first experience with anonymity I suppose, within the confines of a parent-approved activity. Now I wouldn’t recommend it unless you know absolutely every neighbor, or there is a neighborhood-sanctioned party for the little imps. But my neighborhood is relatively safe. Every year there is a steady parade of costumes to my door. And my neighbors hang ghouls and ghost-shaped sheets from their trees and put up real-looking tombstones. I know that every year there is a contest for the best illuminating Christmas decorations. I guess it’s the same for Halloween. Some yards are very elaborate, like whole cemeteries with a few abandoned souls trying to crawl up out of the ground.

What I don’t get are the dog costumes. For all of you who love these little things I am sure the elastics in those or the snaps or buttons or however they are affixed is such that it is non-binding and the dog can get out if s/he wants to. But really, those dogs in the ninja get-ups or the tutus or the fake devil ears? Some of them look pretty miserable while others actually seem to get a kick out of it. Especially chihuahuas. They look like they are thriving on the attention.

I tried to put a birthday party hat on my Lily last year and she looked like someone put a cone on her head. We skipped it this year when we celebrated our birthdays. I think the not wearing the hats greatly enhanced the taste of our red velvet cream cheese-filled cupcake and ice cream.

Allergies and colds

Every spring and fall, and usually through winter some as well something sprinkles into the air to inflame and inflate my sinuses. Pine pollen, flower dust, dust mites, leaf mold, ragweed… there are any number of culprits. Yet my last visit to an allergist turned up no allergies to anything. No foods, dust, molds, pollens, fungi, or pet danders. So what are these allergies from??

The clearing of the vaguely sore throat, occasional coughs, stuffy nose, Hall’s soothing vitamin c drops (sugarfree) all become part of my normal daily routine. Sometimes even head aches or fever, but those are rare. And if I lose my voice altogether Lily my faithful puppy appendage looks at me turning her head this way or that, trying to figure out whose voice that is coming out of my head.

Even though it sounds like (and sometimes feels like, even with the chills and achiness but no fever) a cold it isn’t, I keep being told. Nothing contagious they say. Confounding and uncomfortable, yes. Infectious or dangerous, no.

No matter where else I live, whatever grows there does not pose this problem. Coming back to where I was born is guaranteed to produce this symphony of squeamish sounds. Life is full of little trade-offs and I guess this is one of mine. Weighing the pluses and minuses always proves out favoring my staying here despite the stockpile of Puffs tissues, honey and herbal concoctions and benadryl. But to me it is worth it. Which I guess is all that matters.

Malachi 4:2; 1 Corinthians 12:9

No place like home… if you can find it

So my 2 weeks’ sojourn into the housing market was nipped in the bud of an offer on a house when my dog pulled a muscle. She is frequently impatient with my occasional dalliances on our walks, or choice of direction and springs into the air to try to wrest the leash-handle from my hand. This time she twisted in a very wrong way, yelped, and could no longer do the 16-step staircase walk up to our little beach rental. So we returned to my current house-in-residence, while en route my realtor phoned to tell me the house I had liked very much and was working up an offer for had had an offer made that very morning. I am not one to get into a bidding war, so we agreed to let things cool a bit, my dog heal, and resume at a later time. Consequently I lost the 2nd weeks’ rent for the little beach place, and my dog’s vet said she does not think Lily did any serious damage, gave her pain pill and anti-imflammatory prescriptions with instructions to cut the pain pills in half if they were too much.

One day’s dosage: Lily staring at me, catatonic. Second day I cut the pain pills in half as directed and Lily appears to be none the worse for pain and her alert self so we stuck with this regimen.

We return to her vet this week for a re-check. Not sure at which point I might make a new foray into the burgeoning housing market. I like this little town because it has a nice, slow pace, is small enough to be close to everything yet large enough to have options and it is a seaport. What with everything going on in this country, no, the world, these days somehow being near to the ocean has a clean and safe feel to it.

Off-season

Beach towns are fun places to be, in the summer. Labor day closes the summer door, catching wisps of sunscreen-scented beach towels. My dog and I walked the beach late Sunday morning, stopping occasionally when someone who wanted to pet Lily and chat amiably. We sauntered along enjoying the warm sum until a police suv pulled up alongside to let me know the beach restricted dogs through September, and the fine is $250.00. Thankfully he let us off with a warning but did follow us off the beach.

Monday morning after walking Lily along the roadside I bought a newspaper to see what the town had to say for itself when I heard a lot of seagulls crying outside our house. I looked out the front window to see my neighbors had thrown a pizza on their driveway and the gulls were battling the crows for it. The crows won.

Since we were not welcome on the beach we walked the public access ramps on the creekside where the boats are. The boat’s wakes and the small tidal surge on that side of the island creates tiny waves that lap on the sand. Enough anyway to raise Lily’s curiosity, until one of those little waves lapped an inch or two closer than the others. Lily sprang up to avoid getting her dainty paws wet. How dare this thing be aggressive to her. Still it fascinates her.

The best way to find out about a place is to chat with passers-by. In a beach town occasionally someone comes along with time on their hands only too happy to talk about the area. It seems the city hall are keeping things in something of a stranglehold and make working on your beach house complicated. I have a curiosity about towns that are so worried their townfolk have no sense of decorum or such a longing for nonconformity there will be little eccentricities popping up along every street. Little eccentricities are what make a place have character to my way of thinking. Not much fun in having everything look the same, I think.

Power corrupts; absolute power corrupts absolutely.

Stranger in a familiar land

When I came back home if was more for familiar things- the scent of pine trees, streets and neighborhoods I know, Most of my friends have moved but I have always loved where I was born so decided to move back here. Thomas Wolfe may have been right when he said you can’t go home again. The scent of pines is still here, but the people are gone. My people, my family, friends. The familiar has become foreign in its unpersonalness.

Three years ago I mentioned to a neighbor I thought of moving again to be in a place where I could begin again. She and her family moved a few months later. Never said a thing. Then another neighbor mentioned she and her husband were thinking of retiring to another area. They were gone after a year. A couple 3 houses away moved a few months after that. With all my things in boxes for all this time I have been the readiest person to move and am still there.

For the next 2 weeks my dog and I are on the coast of my homestate of North Carolina. We will look for a house. I have a realtor who is helping me. I do not know if, in 2 weeks, I will find something I like. The rest of my family are in Houston. Why don’t I just find a place in Texas? Since my brother declined a job offer someplace else the suggestions by his wife for my moving there have completely stopped. In fact, I have not heard from them since then. Why is this not easier than it is?

I have rented a house, rather half of a house with some other people downstairs which my dog does not like at all. The realtor who rented the house sent me a list of things the house did not have for me to bring. So I brought them and the house has everything I was told to bring. What it does not have are a tea kettle and wifi. I found an unsecured link which does not worry me. Maybe it should. Maybe more than my dog barking or that my car is ungaraged or that there is no tea kettle. But there is air conditioning, and there are ice trays. And an ancient mocrowave that has more power than my brand-new one at home which, thankfully I did not bring.

I just wish I could decide what to do.