Sickness and Snow

This could be the most boring post ever, so I'm at least adding pictures!








Today was the first time I've left my house since Monday. Kentucky has been smacked with an ice/snow storm that has left thousands without power or water. My parents (both sets) are without electricity and one is camped out with an aunt and uncle (I think), and the other set is making due with a wood-burning stove and fireplace.

My office has been closed for the last two days--our very first snow days ever! We get delays and stuff but never a shutdown like this. Which has been wonderful because I've been sick as a dog (I hate that expression, but still, it comes out) since this past weekend.

I hate being around other people when I am sick and feeling my most vulnerable so it hasn't been that bad. On the other hand, I desperately need to see a doctor. I keep running a fairly high fever and I think I have either strep throat or bronchitis or whatever, either way, it's nothing good. If I need antibiotics (I rarely do, it seems to just be a once-a-year deal for me) I wish I could just get them. I am making due with Tylenol and hot tea, but on the whole, the last few days have been fairly miserable.

But, being off work has helped tremendously and I'm so glad that if I have to be sick, I got sick right now. Today though, I had a friend come to fetch me and take me to Rite-Aid and then actually helped me scrape inches of ice off my car in case I can venture out tomorrow and go to work or the doctor...it was nice to get out and get some air, it actually made me feel better.

It's been an interesting couple of days and I realize how grateful I am to be "connected" virtually through Facebook and blogging, etc because with no one to talk to (not that I had a voice anyway) but my lovely little kitten, it can get old. Fast.

Grateful to be connected to friends, not quite as grateful to be connected to work, which carried on as usual thanks to webmail.

And glad to be with power, with heat, and with tylenol :)

What is it about this time of year that awakens my senses and heightens my awareness at all levels? I have so much to say that it is hard to know where to start—I guess that’s a cliché for a reason. I keep thinking about Obama’s impending inauguration, which is alternately thrilling me and scaring me into a rushed sense of “let’s-just-get-this-overwith-so-it-can-really-be-real-and-can’t-be-somehow-taken-away” urgency. I want to savor this precious point in history, which waits on the brink of…greatness? Hopefully. The unknown—certainly. A new day, new beginning.

This is one of those times when I miss living in DC. Many times that city crosses my mind, dances in and out of my consciousness when I hear a certain song or clutch a cold beer. At work when I still catch myself looking around for former co-workers to tell them a funny story. But this—oh this excitement is something that can’t be matched anywhere else but right there. Right there in the crowded and small and cold downtown with its white marble etched with names of those long ago gone.

Etched with memories for me, on every block.

I remember when President Reagan died, and his funeral processional was to pass through downtown DC on its way to the Capitol to lie in state for a few days before burial. Work let us go early that day, in a nod to the historic nature of the event, which was extremely out of character for my boss. But she relented and we jumped on the metro and ran to sidewalks to bear witness to history.

I stood with my friend beside a tree, among a huge crowd but somehow I was in the front. I waved at Nancy Reagan who stared forlornly out the car window before waving back at me. I stared at the casket of the man who was President when I was born.

It slowly passed by and we watched it until it turned the corner. We patted ourselves on the back for participating, and then I’m sure, went off in search of beer.

I felt a sort of energy in the air that day, and during the many days when I had the chance to watch history unfold before my eyes before casually walking back home to heat up a frozen pizza.

But this is the time to be in DC, and I am not. I have a twinge of regret about this, but it is okay. I will watch on TV with the rest of the nation as we place a black man in our nation’s highest office and I'm not sure I will be able to hold back the tears. I will think about the symbolism of that moment, but also about the reality beyond the racial barriers being broken in front of my eyes. I will think about the reality of a nation awakening to change and advancing toward a new kind of future. I will think about how, on a warm day in November, the nation overwhelming responded YES to a promise of hope.

And I will think to myself, maybe for just a minute...what a wonderful world.

Sigh

There are some nights where sleep will not, can not, come. Last night was one. I fell asleep late, woke up on the hour, every hour and then had to awake for good at 6 to begin my work day after two whole weeks off.

It appears that tonight is another night like the last. Anxiety has a grip on me, depression is sitting beside me although it hasn't quite climbed into my lap. I hate feeling this way--especially with no real reason at all.

Christmas is over. Thank god! So I will take down the tree tomorrow, tape up the christmas box and replace the calendar on my refrigerator and try to shake off the vacation haze that has surrounded me and remember to get back to the daily grind.

The birthday present for Dad (posted below) was delivered in DVD format to the birthday guy--he absolutely loved it, and my whole family did too. I am happy about that. It's been an interesting past few days and blog subjects aplenty are right on my fingertips...ruminations and reflections to come, soon. But not tonight.

Tonight I need my thoughts to skip along the surface of the water of my mind and settle on the other side so that I can have dreamless sleep.

Happy New Year. 2009 feels like a lucky one...

Birthday Gift

I've been working on this slide show for nearly a year, compiling old pictures, scanning, arranging & rearranging. It was supposed to be for my Dad's 60th - in a couple of weeks, he'll be 61. I was sick last year and couldn't finish it, but somehow, I think it's good that I waited.

If you'd like a sneak preview into the life of "SJ" :), click below. The first part is all my Dad, and his life before me. The second part, with the baby, is all me. My step-sisters are introduced halfway through (everything is in chronological order), and then finally, the last part is all my step-mother, me, and my step-sisters with their three total kids between them.

A small glimpse - and of course, a much glossed-over version of life as I knew/know it. After all, anything set to music sounds better than it actually was :) Things are better now though. Things are - dare I say it - good. Still the day-to-day messes of course...but for his birthday, we will celebrate only the good things. And mostly, there are good things.

We will celebrate the good in him, and the good in us.

Photo and video editing at www.OneTrueMedia.com

Satisfied

A month ago, my step-grandmother died. Now normally, I don’t bother putting the term “step” in front of how I define my relationships with my various family members—many, or maybe most, of those I surround myself regularly and have grown up with since the age of 5, have been related to me by these social bonds rather than blood. For those who may not know, my parents divorced when I was 5, and by the age of 8, I was living in two families (complete with two brand-new siblings each), every other week. And every other week, I adjusted to a different family, and tried to find my place in it.

But, back to my step-grandmother. She was a good woman, strong and proud, and knew every single person in her county’s business. She developed early-onset Alzheimer’s, and even though she may ask you over and over and over again who you are, her first question would always be what your last name was, so she could figure out which “ridge” you were from. I never really knew her, beyond those simple and quick childhood interactions, but she was a good woman and will be missed by many.

My relationship on that side of the family has been strained as of late, due to misplaced hurts and anger that has either side solidly convinced that each is right. The details are not such that I will delve into on this blog—it would probably take all night to walk you back through those years that have led up to this inevitable break on my part to certain parts of my past. But there are three parts of that piece of my life that I can’t seem to break with—my two nieces and nephew, who are 13, 11 and 10. But, to me, they are all forever three years old =)

The funeral was a few weeks ago, and was held on a Sunday morning. It was the first time in about six months that I had seen any of these family members, and I sat there in the funeral parlor feeling overwhelmed by the sight of so many familiar people and amazed by how much time has marched across all our faces. All my old insecurities came flooding back within the first few minutes of walking in the door, and I was trying very hard to ignore my shaky hands, take deep breaths and remember why I was there and remind myself that today was not all about me.

I got word that my oldest niece was going to be singing—which made me panic in the way that a stage mother might panic, or in this case, a stage aunt. She is 13—an age in which I was terribly awkward, but she is not. She is steady and confident, but not in a conceited way that 13 year olds tend to be. I am desperately proud of her, but was worried at the same time that she might mess up and be forever scarred, or that she would freeze, only to grow up to document the entire incident in a best-selling memoir someday =)

It is so like me to get hysterical over things in my mind, while I sit calmly in my seat.

It was a country funeral, not unlike a country church service, where the eulogy turns out to be a sermon calling folks to accept Jesus and eternal life, should you ever want to see your loved one again. It was at the same time comforting and frightening, to hear familiar words spoken but seemingly out of context—there wasn’t so much spoken about her life, her family, the things and people she loved. It was a message of one simple hope—to see our loved one again, and to have eternal life ourselves—we must find God.

While I don’t disagree with these statements, and know that I have in fact found God myself, I’m going through a period in my life where I don’t go to church and find myself with many questions that maybe I’m not ready to have answered for me. I think spirituality is an on-going journey of enlightenment, and sometimes along that journey, you take a turn into the wilderness. And sometimes, that’s where you should be at that moment.

The service was almost over and my niece stood up to sing. She opened her mouth and proceeded to, a capella, sing an old gospel song I’ve heard only a handful of times in my life – “It Satisfies Me.” A million thoughts raced through my head during this song, and I know I’ll never hear it in the same way again.

“In the garden of Gethsemane, I can see our Savior there, as He talked to His Father in earnest prayer…He said if it by thy will, let this cup pass from me, but if not Lord, it satisfies me”

I prayed to God that she would get through this, simultaneously helping my other niece hold the video camera, while dimly noting how fantastic she sounded up there.

“Now if it satisfies you Lord, then it satisfies me.”

I couldn’t keep my eyes off her, her sweet and innocent face captivating everyone.

“If you’d have me on a mountain, or in a valley on my knees, either way Lord, it satisfies me”

Could I say the same for myself? Was I satisfied in any way?

“… if I go by the grave, or in the Rapture your face I see, either way Lord, you’ll satisfy me”

When I was 13, I think I figured the Rapture to be some sort of dinosaur.

“And if it satisfies you Lord, then it satisfies me. These few words may my prayer ever be.”

It was incredibly hot in the room and I could hardly breathe all of a sudden.

“If you’d have me on a mountain, or in a valley on my knees, either way Lord, it satisfies me.”

Deep, soothing breathes. I could get through this.

“And if it satisfies you Lord, then it satisfies me.”

I reached over and covered my niece’s trembly hands over the video camera, my own hands steady now.

She was nailing it, and people were starting to sing along, clutching Kleenex and programs in their fists. The minister closed the message, and everyone filed out, leaving just immediate family, of which I was counted among. Everyone was crying and I felt strangely numb and disconnected, but my tear-free face led my nephew to creep back to me and hold my hand, probably feeling out of place himself since he wasn’t also dissolving into hysterics.

We drove the thirty minutes through rural roads to the burial site, where we watched as Granny was placed where she longed to be—beside her husband again, four years to the day since he was buried. Being in the bright sunshine and cool air changed the mood, and it was almost jovial as we walked back to the cars. I spent the rest of the afternoon eating too much dessert and supervising the kids as they picked wild grapes off the vine and we stuffed them into our mouths, spitting out the seeds.

For a moment, for an afternoon, the tension had gone. I’m not naïve enough to think it over, no, just more appreciative of the moments—whatever the occasion—that prompt a truce. I drove home that night and watched the sunset become a mosaic of colors through the sky and wondered about the future. Would our family dynamics ever shift and change, or would old habits win out in the end? What role would I play in their lives going forward and what role would they continue to play in mine?

Will I ever know the answers to any of my questions, or will life continue to be a mystery to me until that day when I’m on a mountain, or in a valley on my knees?

Either way, it satisfies me.

Embracing the Gray

What a fantastic weekend this was. I've had a lot of good weekends lately, filled with family and friends, both new and old, and I'm grateful for it. I crave both alone time and 'not alone' time, in equal amounts, and to have balance in my life, I have to find balance with others and also with myself. When one outweighs the other, I start to feel restless and/or confined, and need the perspective check that the other brings.

This weekend I went to my parent's house--by that I mean my Dad and step-mother's house, in the county where I grew up half-time (as children of divorce do). It's the first weekend of deer gun season, and all the men in my family flocked to our family cabin to do the manly ritual of killing things, drinking beer and grilling up steaks. And cursing. There was probably lots of cursing. So the guys did their manly things, meanwhile my sisters (both step-sisters to me, that I have known since the age of 7 (they were 6 and 3) and their babies came over to my parents house, and we had a magical time.

My parents loved it. They absolutely love it when they have all their "girls" at home, with all three babies, and no one else to share us with. One of my sisters has a 2.5 year old daughter and a 1 year old daughter, and the other has a 1 year old son, so it was baby central at our house. We rocked, watched Disney movies, filled sippy cups and bottles, lost and located passies, got a lot of kisses and dealt with a lot of tears and temper tantrums. By 10pm, everyone under the age of 3 was asleep, my parents called it a night and my sisters and I cracked open some beers and talked. And talked, and talked and talked. Sneaked outside for cigarettes and whispered like teenagers outside in the cold and stared at the stars while we exhaled slowly.

3am came too fast.

This morning we went to church. My old childhood church, that I haven't stepped foot in since I was around 10 years old. We sat with my grandmother in the same pews we had sat in almost 20 years before; the same pews she sits in every Sunday. The hymnals were the same; the people were different. The same picture of Jesus - a white man with light brown hair :) - above the alter...it wasn't hard to feel 8 years old again, putting pennies in the "Birthday Bank" for offering and running up and down those same aisles.

When I got home, my parents were sitting on the couch, withequally somber faces and told me that my little gray kitten Charlie (newly acquired from the humane society) couldn't be found. I've had him for about 6 weeks now, and I brought him with me this weekend because my little neice is in love with him and keeps a running commentary to anyone she meets about him - "I love Charlie. Charlie loves me so much. I love to hold him. He is so fuzzy. He lots of fuzz all over. I love Charlie. Charlie loves me so much...." You get the picture.

Long story short, we found him. My little gray kitten, found on this gray but radiant day, is sitting in my lap right now in my own little apartment, watching me type. He's probably thinking of the little girl that accidentally got maple syrup in his fur this morning. I'm thinking about her too. I love those little ones and I am so grateful that I get to be in their lives here and now. And for 3am beers with sisters on the porch, talking about when we were girls not much older than the ones inside asleep.

Sometimes I get so restless here. The beauty of these rolling Kentucky hills is clouded by the fact that McCain won by 17 points, and the simple easy way of life often lends to my own yearning to have more pavement under my feet. But weekends like I just had reinforce the feeling of peace that I have for being here right now. This isn't forever, but for now, my little neices and nephews know who I am and that I love them. They never doubt that I will catch them coming down the slide and I will bring them little gray kittens to play with on a cold Saturday.

They will know this, and will hold it against them as they grow, and as life changes and rearranges. As we all move on.

And I will too.

YES he (we) did!!!!