Endings are Just the Start of New Beginnings

The post below WAS actually posted ON the date I left.  It was written/posted in the wee hours of the 17th and I didn't realize it.  As is typical, my best intentions to get a commemorative post on here didn't happen. I am posting one now.

It took a year but the travel blog is finally done.  I stalled out on completing it back in the fall.  I just could not continue then.  All along, I carried the need to finish what I started and so, a year later, I did.  I am glad.

So as not to be completely redundant in a similar post on my travel blog, I will post what I had planned to post here about it.  It was an incredible journey, from start to finish.  What was amazing was the end, when I finally made it, over thirteen hours later of driving straight home and in the stupor of the events on the way home,  I 'asked' if it was all real, did it really happen?

It was when I took a 'wrong' turn (I learned even our 'wrong' turns are purposeful) and found a Chic-fil-a that I got my answer.  I had not eaten or had anything to drink since early, somewhere in Louisiana.  I HAD to stop, to get something wet and cold, and to be among 'normal' and people, and sounds other than my own sorrow.  I had asked the above questions over and over, as I pulled into a parking space and nearly tumbled out of the car. I asked it silently at the counter, while also welcoming the always friendly faces of those that work at Chic-fil-a's everywhere.  I asked it again as I found an empty table closest to the door, deciding that I just could not bring myself to get back in that car yet.

It is when I sat down and noticed this, sitting on the table, abandoned by someone but left there, just for me:

Here was my answer, in a kids' meal toy.  I didn't know they were doing a series on Road Trips around the country.  All of it, sealed and confirmed in such a simple thing.

I made it home.  I stumbled out of the car into my garage, greeted by three of the most important people in my life.  I could barely stand, bones and muscles seemingly absent.  I kissed each one once on the forehead (remember Cloud Kisses?) and entered into a new phase of my life.

It has been such a year.  There have been new things to arise, and some confirmation of things given back then.  I don't understand it but have been shown to Trust.  So trust it is.  I have to.

Still Wanna Go to Beautiful

This is to commemorate that a year ago tomorrow I set out on my solo road trip. This song remains as one of my favorites of all time, as well as the anthem for the journey. I will write a brief post tomorrow, July 17th, to mark the day. Meanwhile, get out a map, find a place you dream of going to, close your eyes, listen, and be there.

Dave Matthews Baby Blue With Lyrics and Tabs

Just had to share this amazingly soothing song. I am waiting with baited breath to get to see DMB July 27th on a date night.

Preoccupation

Onto another shell story from Gulf Shores. Another day on a long walk with no end in sight, I spotted this large, dark scallop shell (my favorite!!) with a blot of red, like a wound left to bleed. It was broken almost completely in half, with jagged edges and a new obsession ignited: shells split decidedly in two. Suddenly my radar was on and I spotted these 'half shells' everywhere. This was an all day endeavor. I couldn't get enough of them. I was greedy to find them and then wonder briefly if I might possibly pick up 'the other half' of one of the partial halves, kind of like that feeling you get when you are face down in a patch of clover thinking, "If only". Here is what sparked my craze:



On and on I searched, and then spread them out over and over, matching the different halves together looking for each piece's puzzle perfect fit. I wonder about myself sometimes. My family wonders about me at times. "Why are you gathering all these fragmented shells?" I couldn't answer except, "I have to!" So a sampling of my collection:


Later the same day, I scrambled down to the beach to watch the sun set. I carried my favorite beach chair, my ipod and a lovely Diet Cocacoconut beverage down to soak in more of the day's vitality. At the beach, I can't get enough of most everything, including the sun, even as it dips low and melts into sand the color of merlot. I had perched there for a bit just watching every inch of day fade and this lady with her son walks by (I'm plugged into 'tunes' and probably singing...) and she comes over cautiously and asks, "Are you okay?" Popping one earbud out like a cork, I smile big, "Yes, I'm great! Just enjoying the sunset and some tunes!" Good grief. I really MUST be nutty as a decade-old fruitcake or I am just so crazy in love with life that I appear wacky to the rest of the population sedated by it. Either that, or I really do need to contain my singing to the shower. No matter. Here's what I got to witness (taken by my camera on my phone):




See the star I was tracking in the sky? Amazing this little phone camera picked it up.




Sunset wine


This is when a song came on that made my crazy split shell obsession make sense - Baby Blue by Dave Matthews. The line:

my one true broken heart, pieces inside of me

Gotta love Dave Matthews.

Assignment #1

We were given a scenario of a crowded subway train at rush hour that stops in between stations. Pressed against 3 or 4 other people, we have to describe the situation and these people we are next to.

First attempt...just throwing it out there

Assignment #1

It had been a day like slogging through a dense marsh. All I could think about as I entered the train was my comfortable chair and a glass of good red. That wish is now a quickly fleeting dream, as the subway comes to a screeching halt nowhere near the next station. At evening rush hour, we aren't rushing to get anywhere.

Pressed together in a corner with three other people, it is getting hot, sticky and stale. Although not prone to claustrophobia, the urge to breath fresh air inches up my chest like a case of summer hives. Closing my eyes, I will for an opening. Please. Open a door. A window. An opening to breathe.

"I cannot believe I yelped in the middle of the board presentation meeting."

My eyes fly open and I look around to see who had spoken to me. There were people crammed in this train, tight like pencils in an aluminum can. No one appeared to be attempting to get my attention. Then I noticed the young businessman, one of the three pressed up into my space, his hand grasping the pole just above my hand.

"I started yelping, and couldn't stop. How could I have let that happen? I may have ruined everything for this new project."

His gaze went beyond my shoulder in a frozen stare of exhaustion. His eyes bore the look of a deep sadness layered by a wisdom beyond his years. In an attempt to shift his weight, he looked down at me, the sad blue eyes, sparking a smile for a second, and then he returned his stare into nothingness.

For this time, I could hear others' thoughts around me, and 'know' about their lives. This man suffered from Tourette's syndrome and was trying to survive daily in the competitive corporate world. I could hear him mentally berating himself on his way home.

Next to him, there is a small, older woman nestled beside a young girl in her teens. She is wearing a thin beige cardigan, although the heat of the day is still pressed around us. Despite the heat, she smells of that familiar 'older woman' perfume - a mix of powder soft as pillows and lavender. I do not hear her thoughts, for she has mastered the art of stillness, both in body in mind, but as I look at her, I see her story etched on the life map made plain on her face. She never married and works every day down at the bookstore at the corner of 7th and 15th. She dutifully takes this ride daily, an umbilical cord tethered to a life of duty, to take care of her disabled mother. Her hands are folded around her purse. She accepts this life she leads.

"My mama's gonna be mad. I ain't home yet and she'll be late for work. I got two tests to study for and a paper to write tonight. Please let this train go."

She is no more than about fourteen. She exudes the air of nonchalance but internally, is conscientious and has a world of burden to bear at her young age. On the outside, she is any teenager, popping gum, smelling slightly of pencil shavings and strawberry lip-gloss. Her headphones block out the world and she avoids eye contact to keep her distance. Inside, she is fiercely independent and musters up the resolve from somewhere beyond herself to make it through a day of high school and get home, only to begin the chore of taking care of her five siblings while her single Mom works the night shift. She does this every day.

What began as a plea to escape became a lesson in living in the moment, even the uncomfortable ones. The train lurches a few times, and the lights blink, and the sound of the subway hisses us back into motion. But not before I make sure that before each one leaves the train, I smile at each one sending hope that they find one instant of rest tonight.

Potpourri Postings

I had hoped to try and follow some sort of chronological order for posts here. That won't happen. I'm just not going to attempt to try. The things that go here will be akin to putting your hand down into a bag of trail mix. You just won't know quite what you'll get in each handful. I thought that I MIGHT also share some of the 'assignments' that I have to do for my class. I just turned in my first one last night (or should I say this morning at 2:00 a.m.?). They are short snippets with a directed 'theme' or focus. I might also reach way back and pull things from our trip to Gulf Shores, or even further to my childhood. Then there may just be those things that go here that won't have any rhyme nor reason at all. But isn't that the beauty of gliding in a hammock, leg dangled over the side to push, as thoughts slide from one thing to another?

I Finally Did It

No, I didn't quit my job, sell the house and head for the nearest farthest remote patch of sand in an foreign culture (but I continually give that idea a thorough ponder!). I registered for my first writing class. I started tonight, and I cannot begin to express how that felt to be 'back' in the swing and swirl of the tangled curl of letters and words. Due to the nature of my job and life as it currently is, I found a place that offers writing courses online. I can 'meet' in class when my time suits me, and work on the projects given throughout the week on my time schedule.

As I alluded in an early post, I recently met with several areas in my life that seemed to be slipping away, or that I was possibly running from for one reason or another. Writing was just one of those areas. I was caught in the middle of a dichotomy of both running as in a sprint as far away from it as I could possibly distance myself (my will to leave it, indefinitely) and a free fall, plummeting away from it from the loss of any worthy words or inspiration that had graced my life in a while (against my will in the form of lost 'ability'). Then, before hitting the ground, or seeing writing as a distant trace of myself again, I reached out and stubbornly held to the various words that others had 'thrown' my way in the past, that served as simple encouragement then, but acted as a life ring now.

So this class is my 'hanging on for dear life' to one of the few things in this life that I can call my own. I just felt that if I was 'forced' into a situation where I had to put one letter in front of the other, I could stubbornly declare that I had not given up. There is a vulnerability in stepping into this arena of strangers from all corners of the map, but also the 'feel' of home to be nestled within words again. So with an enigmatical comfort of being wrapped in solo piano chords around my ears like a most-loved blanket, I find solace in the written word again.