One Can Never Go Back, Maybe

I was outside helping Mom with her gardening, mostly spreading fertilizer (which yes, there is a joke there somewhere), when I was struck by the changes in my old neighborhood. Just small changes, like a house newly remodeled, or a tree taken out. That led me to reflect how much my Texas hometown had grown in the past couple of decades. Old dirt backroads are now four lane avenues, what were once fields of corn and cotton are now shopping and medical centers, the old mom and pop hangouts of my high school youth are long gone and replaced with law offices or the like. Changes are inevitable, of course. With changes come some serious realizations.

Can one ever go back to….anything? I used to think so. There was a time I thought of going back to Puerto Rico, if only for a few months every year. Now, that thought is alien to me. Not that I dismiss my home, but rather that I no longer recognize my home. What I used to know is long changed, or just outright gone. Dad would send me lots of photos of my native hometown, and beautiful though they were, my first thought was usually, “That wasn’t there when I was growing up.” Sometimes the thought was “OMG how could they paint that house in that color??” but that’s pretty on brand for me. I now truly embrace the adage, “Nice place to visit, but I wouldn’t want to live there,” and it applies to ALL the places I’ve called home. And it’s not just places, either. This applies to people, too.

I think that’s the hardest thing for me to acknowledge. It’s not the changes we go through that makes things hard. It’s the knowledge that we don’t go through changes together that really makes it difficult. I recall coming back for the summer after my first year in college and getting together with my old circle of friends from high school. Six of us reunited for a picnic to talk about our first year away from high school. Only…. the talk was all about our last year in high school. I sat listening and when asked why I hadn’t said anything, I replied that it had been a while since I thought about high school. The silence was pretty damning, and I was not invited to the get-togethers after that. I saw that I had changed outside of their sphere of influence, and that didn’t mesh well with them. One of them went so far as to block me on social media once he found me there, 20 years after our last encounter.

Changes are inevitable. The soul grows wiser as the body grows older. But some things do remain the same, whether it’s the town traditions on special holidays, the habit of Friday night football, or even the principles that make one mature. Reminiscing of old times while being grateful for the new can bridge that chasm, and though we can’t go back, we can certainly move forward by learning from what used to be. 🙂

The Best Man I Ever Knew

I can’t say he was the greatest. That term isn’t very flexible, and it strikes one as being placed on a pedestal. That may be fine for some people, but not him.

I’m referring to my Dad.

Dad was one of the most humble people I’ve ever known. He never tooted his own horn, so to speak. He would tell us stories about friends, coworkers, family members, but personal things like his experiences growing up? We had to ask. He just wasn’t the type to share stuff unless someone was genuinely interested. Back in my early teens, he was just Dad. As I grew older, I begin to learn more about him from others. And my amazement never stopped growing.

I recall one time I was visiting family in PR. I was 16 years old. My cousin and I were at the local basketball game and a very prominent looking gentleman came up to me and asked, “Are you (Dad’s) daughter?” Now, I look a lot like my father, so I wasn’t that surprised. I affirmed it and he asked me to say “Saludos” to Dad. I turned to my cousin and asked who he was. It was the Mayor. I asked myself, just how many people knew Dad?? Turns out the answer was EVERYONE. My dad was instrumental in establishing a gifted program at the local high school, and brought physics as a permanent addition to the curriculum. Why physics? Because of NASA. He worked there for years before coming back to his hometown to be a teacher, inspiring several students to go into the space sciences. Some of those students still talk about Dad to this day. Several years ago, several graduating classes held a tribute to him. His surprise was genuine and he made sure to tell them that the tribute is theirs, because they went on to achieve great things.

He taught me things you can’t find in books. He took a leap and came to Texas to work, bringing his family to a new frontier, literally. We were excited, but it was still a bit jarring. Dad made sure we assimilated but also to never forget our culture. Culture had a pen, not a pencil with an eraser. We added to it, never taking anything away. He never told us Life was fair. The older I get, the more I appreciate his IDGAF attitude. He really did not care about anyone’s opinion because it didn’t impact him. It took me a looooong time to get to that point. But he was right: an opinion isn’t carved in stone, and shouldn’t be weighed as if it were. He taught me that mistakes were just more steps to success. His was not the eye-roll so much as the closed-eyes-raised-eyebrows. That said far more than words ever could. He laughed with his whole being, a warm contagion that overtook anyone in its proximity. His disapproval, short-lived though it would be, could not be borne. Such was the measure of his profound character.

Now, the last chapter of his story has been written. This past Monday, a bit of the light in our hearts was dimmed with his passing. Memories will keep that light burning, but it won’t be as bright. Grief is love unexpressed, and the vessel holding it will expand to accommodate it in time. For now, it overflows and washes over like water on the sand.

Te quiero mucho, mi querido viejo. ❤

There Were Bees in the Cab!

That was my answer to a writing prompt posted on social media: write a story about *this* in six words or less. I know, should be “fewer”, but it wasn’t my prompt. I like the challenge of writing prompts. They force you to summarize and be concise.

That began my thought process over other prompts, not just those for writing. In Life, we are often given prompts. Some are short, very easy to manage: daily chores, work obligations, emails, etc. Some are not so easy: family ties, keeping up with old friends, letting go of parental habits. A friend is traveling and is having a tough time letting her adult progeny be in charge. She knows they are capable, but the apron strings are a bit tight. To her credit, this is helping her observe them as adults and it helps her feel a certain freedom, but it is difficult!! My prompts tend to be on the remote circle side. Sometimes I am reminded I haven’t reached out to old friends and extended family. The recent loss of a dear friend still burns with guilt. So I began to listen at my inner voice (the calm one, not the weird neurotic one). I recently called my aunt out of the blue, and was overjoyed at her pleasure. She will be receiving a tiara soon, too. Her daughter is planning a 60th birthday party, and I aim to attend. It will be 40 years since we saw each other, so it should be fun.

Life throws prompts at us daily, hourly even. Don’t ignore them or put them off. Just like Time, Life stops for no one. Remember that next time you find yourself prompted. 😉

Ow(n)ing Time

So much for trying to write twice a week. But I can be forgiven for letting Life intrude.

I was perusing the Book of Faces when I saw a status of a HS friend complaining about calling a friend, who told him he had no time to talk, then seeing the same friend replying to several posts of mutual friends on the site. My friend felt slighted, almost as if his friend had purposely lied to avoid him. No matter what a person says about not having any time to talk, sometimes it can be revealed that they do indeed have time to talk on social media. That got me to thinking about Time, and the perceptions attached to it.

Last year, an old friend was chatting about how he wanted to get back into his old hobbies, but lamented how Time was his enemy. I told him that Time was just Time, and that he was the one stopping himself from pursuing his goals. We don’t own Time, and can be forgiven for failing to set aside some for others. Some people don’t manage giving time to others very well and others, like myself, give far too much of it and reserve very little for themselves. Either extreme is a bad habit, in my opinion. I have been described as an anchorite and sometimes I am waaaaaay too seen with that descriptor. That whole “making time” thing is nebulous. Setting time aside for fill-in-the-blank? That’s more tangible. Not easier, mind you. Just more likely to incentivize one to move towards a set goal.

I don’t necessarily think people are owed time. I do think that we owe it to ourselves to use our time to help establish and upkeep our social connections. We are social creatures, after all. Even my hermit friends enjoy touching base with humanity once in a while. Sometimes it’s difficult to stay in touch with old friends and with family. It feels like the longer you wait, the harder it is to just talk to an old friend. It has been my experience that giving time to reaching out tends to dissolve the awkwardness. It’s the same with hobbies and new goals. Taking the first step can be daunting, but knowing you have set aside time to take it helps one overcome the reluctance.

And with that, I must beg off. I set aside time for some stitching. 😉

Zen and the Art of Monotony

There is a certain satisfaction in the monotonous. Sounds a bit odd to say, but I do find it calming to do a monotonous task.

I used to volunteer to cut up ALL the Box Tops for the local schools. I’m talking THOUSANDS of Box Tops from dozens of teachers at three campuses. I would sit at the breakfast table and make two piles per teacher: those to trim correctly, and those that were unusable. Once that was done, I would put on Vivaldi and begin the task of trimming each itty bitty coupon. It only counted if you cut on the dotted lines!!! Many parents would tear the entire top flap of the cereal box or include the whole can label. Still, I was in the zone, my Zen was unshakeable. Once done with one pile, I would write the teacher’s name, room number, and school on a zip bag. And I would finish just in time to start dinner and deal with pandemonium.

Monotony can serve to clear the fog. I can sit and do a repetitive task and feel my mind clearing, the thought process sharpening. Of course, that can make me a bit dangerous. One time, I ended up rearranging the furniture in the den, twice in one day. That isn’t…. right. And of course, there was the time I decided it was a great idea to take a machete to the loquat tree. Admittedly, I’ve done that often, but not in the rain.

I am a big fan of monotony. Some people find comfort in the repetition. Others like it because they don’t have to deal with the unknown. But for me, it’s the focus. It helps me center myself as it helps me to relax. I was often called boring when I was young…er. I would like to think that it developed into serenity, something which used to be fleeting but now I see as eternal. Finding your Zen is important, not just mentally but overall. Luckily, the search isn’t difficult.

But trust me, you may not find it in Box Tops 😉

The End of a Tunnel

Last week found me grappling with the loss of a long-time friend. We hadn’t visited in ages, and kept mostly to social media. But her unexpected passing has reminded me harshly about taking Life for granted. I have been doing so of late, thinking I have plenty of time to do X, or go see Y, and maybe even visit Z.

The truth is harsh: we don’t ever know how much time we have.

I have a List of Things to Do Before I Die (which I wrote when I was about 17, waaaaaay before the film “The Bucket List” came out, thus the long title), and have achieved/seen/consumed/appropriated quite a few items on it. A few will never be realized (Number 14 being “To own a pair of shoes made by Daniel Day Lewis”), and some are too extravagant to attain (Number 62 being “Wear a Harry Winston necklace”). But the List exists for a reason: motivation to do things and see the world. In reality, the majority of the items on the List are attainable things, affordable, and even stuff I can get done within a 50 mile radius of where I currently reside. And it wasn’t until my friend’s passing that I realized why I kept putting some things off for later.

Burned

Burned.

Some time ago, someone I considered a friend decided our friendship was too much of a bother. All communication was cut. No explanations, no apologies. I spun scenarios in my head, trying to determine how I messed things up, what I did to cause such a rift to happen. Nothing made sense, every recollection seemed normal. I worried I had hurt feelings, made possible transgressions that were not easy to forgive. In public the banter is still friendly when our paths cross, adding to the confusion. It seemed disconnected, forced.

And then I realized that all I had done wrong was offer an ear. I’m a big believer that a trouble shared is a trouble halved. I lent my shoulder and my ear, and perhaps sharing was something akin to breaking a confidence. I’ll never know. It’s a habit of mine to reach out and try to help others when they are distressed or sad. I’ve offered total strangers the comfort of my shoulder as they grieve for a sick relative. This time I got burned. But unlike other people who would learn a lesson from it, I refuse to let it dictate reaching out to others in the future.

There’s Bactine for that 🙂

It’s My Pajama Party And I Cry If I Want To

This is no secret: I love pajamas. I mean, REALLY love pajamas. If I didn’t care about winding up on the People of Walmart site, I would wear them everywhere. Cotton, flannel, modal, fleece….. love them all. I do have my favorites, but they don’t seem to care. They are patient, awaiting their turn to be donned and appreciated.

Yes, those are wine bottles and glasses on the PJs. Don’t judge me. Anyway, one thing I have noticed is my overabundance of PJs. They are the one item of clothing I seem to overlook when cleaning out my closet and dresser. Ok…. I overlook it because I can’t bear to part with them. But when you are digging around for a set to wear, and find the sets from high school still in the drawer… you know it is time.

So today I will knuckle down, grab a box of tissues, and start to cull the PJ herd. It will hurt. Some of those babies have been my besties through the worst of times, and the best of times. There’s the set that spent time with me in isolation at the hospital, and the set that saw me through the next door neighbor’s fire, and the set that was with me when my brother was born….

He will be 33 this year.

I said don’t judge me!

I better go rip this Band-Aid™ off before I end up crying my eyes out in a pile of PJs like a crazy woma– never mind. It’s too late and y’all know better 😉

How I Stopped Fretting, and Learned to Love the MRI

Yesterday was a fun day for me. And by “fun”, I mean at least I didn’t cry.

Full disclosure: I have back issues. Last January, I managed to do something that aggravated my lower back, specifically my lumbar region (I was born with fused vertebrae in the lumbar region). I was in pain for a few days, and after it lessened, I discovered that my lower back now liked to crack like it was Knuckles Malone. My back now hurts more periodically than it used to, specifically when I bend or sleep in an awkward position. So, I made an appointment with my provider to be seen. He suggested I take a steroid (NO!), ibuprofen (CANDY!), and Lidocaine patch (…..wut?). I will say that patch does relieve the pain rather nicely. He also scheduled me for a back X-ray and…an MRI.

Sigh…. I am not a fan of certain enclosed spaces. I can hide in a closet just fine, but can’t wear a scuba mask. I knew there was a chance I could get the open MRI is there was no wait list. I called, begged, pleaded, and finally they told me they could fit me in.

In August.

That wasn’t going to work, so I chucked it up and made the appointment for the old-fashioned tunnel of despair. And so it began.

I get there with plenty of time to check in, only to be told they are running 30 minutes behind. No worries, that just gives me time to breathe deeply and not freak out. In what seemed like a few seconds but was actually 35 minutes, I was escorted out to the dressing area and asked questions about my affinity for metal. I told them I get my metal from Sirius XM. Satisfied, I am instructed to get into scrubs ten sizes too big and wait in the lounge area. Sooner than later, they walk me back to the gallows MRI. It looks like a tunnel to nowhere. I am given earplugs and a button to press in case I have issues with the procedure. As I lay down, I ask if I can have a bolster for my back, as I can’t lay straight without a considerable amount of pain. They tell me sorry, but no can do since that’s the area they need to scan. Fine….FINE!! They slide me inside the coffin, and the scanning begins.

BANG BANG BANG!!!! Sounds like some kid is hitting the outside of the machine with a hammer. I concentrate on counting the holes in the speaker so as to distract me from the fact that I am now a sardine. All goes quiet, and then I begin to pray my thanks to the Almighty God for the earplugs, because it begins to sound like my head is inside a semi truck’s engine while the trucker is blasting his horn.

Meanwhile, my back is beginning to let me know she is about to stab every single nerve. I am trying my damnedest to stay still when suddenly, I remember my ablation procedure and begin to panic because I HAVE COILS IN MY FALLOPIAN TUBES!!! I feel my heart thudding while I picture the coils being ripped out of my abdomen and sticking to the sardine can in bloody splatters. This is when I calm down enough to remember the freaking button in my hand and press it. Scan is stopped and I explain my dilemma. I hear the tech laugh and tell me that it’s ok, the X-ray shows it isn’t metal. Well,  of course it isn’t. Momentary lapse of reason due to panic. The adrenaline rush isn’t the only pain I am experiencing by now. And before I can stop myself, I move juuuuust a teeny, tiny, weensie, itty bitty bit. I’m talking micro-milli-meter here. I realize what I have done and pray the techs don’t notice.

Yes, I laughed too. After I got home and had taken a pill and drunk a margarita.

Due to my slight movement, I had to repeat the procedure. This time I begged for a bolster under my knees to help with the pain. The obliged, and even though it was a small bolster, at least it was something. Second time was the charm, and finally I was able to go upstairs to wait fifteen minutes for a CD of the scan to take to my provider, who as we all know can’t read it, but whatever. I’m just glad it’s over for now. I can stop fretting over it and move on to fretting over more important things.

Like wondering when the rain will stop 😉

Though Seasons May Change

I am starting to realize that changes in Life are a mixed bag. Some changes are simple and require nothing but an acknowledgement before one moves on: a change in hairstyle, the falling of leaves, etc. Some changes come as mixed blessings, and though part of the change is bad, invariably it enhances the good.

The other night I sat down to watch A Charlie Brown Christmas. It has been a tradition in our home since before kidlets came along.

I love Peanuts™. Growing up in Puerto Rico, it was a BIG DEAL when their specials came on (had maybe three channels, and cartoons were not their forte). It became an even bigger deal after I learned English. They are timeless, and ageless as well. But this last time I came to the realization that I sat there, alone. And it wasn’t the first time I sat alone to enjoy a family tradition. Kids are growing up and away, becoming on their own, Hubby is stationed away so our youngest can remain in this school district, and youngest is busy with band and theater and myriad other activities. One would think that leaves me time to write, but actually the opposite is true. I can’t find the motivation to write fluff when it feels like loneliness is weighing down on my heart. Some days the absolute silence in the house reminds me of how the kids used to fight hammer and tongs and me screaming for them to SHUT IT. Now I wish I had that opportunity again, just to let them fight it out Coliseum style.

I can’t wait for Christmas 🙂