Sweet Baby James

Today, I wandered down a trail of blogs until I came to a halt at this one: Sweet Baby James.

I'm still processing my feelings from it. Amazement at the faith of these parents and their "reminders to self" to keep said faith. Hopelessness at the medical trials, tests and speculations, given the ending. Suspicion at God for leading this couple along such a path. Fear that if I marry and have children, this may "randomly" be part of my lot. Closeness to Jesus, knowing that He does care--for this couple, for their children, and for me.

Morning

I really am a firm believer in roughing it. Last year, friends camped at a park; I joined them for socialization time, then headed back to the cabin to sleep. It turned out to be a good choice, since it rained that night and my friends slept in their cars. (I had offered the cabin, but they were determined to stick it out.)

So here I am, in what's basically a studio apartment at the lake. I'm not sure whose wireless I'm picking up, but it really makes it hard to think I'm roughing it. I suppose for me, that term involves the concept of "packing up all my necessities and lugging them to my overnight point of interest." Having to use trial-sized shampoo. Pre-planning and packaging the food I'll need. Once, the water heater didn't kick in soon enough to give me more than a tepid shower. Horror, I know.

Despite having most of the comforts of home, this place is unique for me. Last night's creature notwithstanding, I breathe relaxation when I walk in the door. The lake-side wall is mostly windows, which means I can sit practically anywhere and see tall grasses, cottonwoods waving, the blue of the lake, and sky. For whatever reason, I awoke around three this morning. Moonlight streamed in through those lake-side windows and echoed geometric shapes on the floor. Had I been conscious, I would have enjoyed it more, but the incident was poignant enough for my memory to retain until I got up.

Birds and trees; wind and sky. Geese that passed overhead last night rise up from the lake this morning. Fall, apparently, is here.

It's a Lonely Ol' Night...

It's a good night, really. I'm staying at E&C's cabin by the lake, which is a fantastic spot. I arrived here hours after planning to, plopped down and read for a bit, then went up to the main house for a visit. After seeing other friends, I came back in the dark...to darkness, having forgotten to leave a light on for myself.

I'm not a big fan of darkness and being alone, especially in non-home settings. This being the case, I made sure I was on the phone when I returned. SOMEone would know if something happened to me in the 40 feet between my car and the cabin. I got in, checked the corners, then hung up with my friend. Safe. Inside. Alone. Content.

It was when I went for my salad that I realized I had no water. There were water bottles aplenty in the car...but none inside... Eleven pm. Who could I call? I tried two friends, but neither answered. I texted another. Nothing. 40 feet. It was only 40 feet...in the dark...next to the lake...40 feet...I could do it...

I unlocked the door. Stepped onto the porch. Rustlerustlerustle went the grasses and brush by the corner of the cabin. I froze, alarmed but not wanting to look stupid. (a) An animal would care? b) An attacker would care?) As serenely but quickly as I could, I stepped back inside the cabin then closed and locked the door.

WHAT was big enough to make those sounds? Not going out again.

I sucked in some tea and some milk, but really missed water. It wasn't worth braving the ferocious rustling sound, though. NOTHING was.

Soon, however, the Warrior texted back, and I called him to explain the matter. His voice gladly accompanied me to my car, and I talked loudly enough to drown out or frighten away any local creatures.

Along the way, I noticed the moon rising over the lake. It's turned the water white, in a path that leads, well, straight to my door. It's a beautiful ol' night.

Update, 12:01 am:
Something just walked across the porch. It seemed to be cat-sized and didn't make much noise. Have I told you about the giant, prehistoric raccoon I saw out here a couple of months ago? I wonder if that was it. I wonder if it was rabid. I wonder if it can smell salad.

And I'm supposed to sleep here?

Six more hours 'till dawn...

Mmm...

A few nights ago, I sat with a friend in his roommate's hot tub. He had three chapters to read for school, so I pulled out _Jurassic Park_ and we slid into the bubbles. Nerdy, but good. When we were sufficiently broiled (not quite through a whole chapter), out we went. A pause, though; "When I grow up, I want one of these," he said. I agreed.

Today, I had another "When I grow up, I want..." moment. A coworker sent out an email asking if anyone wanted fish. She and her husband had put in a koi pond and didn't realize that having koi meant having more koi...and more koi... I followed her home at noon, and the place is just luscious! There are perennials along the perimeter of the property, and a big, old Victorian house with a 3/4 wraparound porch. The koi pond parallels two of the sides--so it seems to just keep going. I took the few steps up onto the porch and was astounded. It was a windy afternoon, and I could just imagine sitting there in the shade, being rocked in the swing... Then came the "I want this moment:" at the southwest corner of the porch is a stairway going out to the yard. The stairs drop you off at a bridge that runs over the koi pond. A bridge with a point! You know the "ballroom stairs" moment? Like in A Cinderella Story and others of that sort, in which the princess character descends with flowing gown? I'm not a very flowy gowny sort of person, but I felt like a princess as I descended those steps. It was a beautiful feeling!

When I grow up...

I Got Dumped--AHGAIN!

Same guy.

I hadn't written back to him because I hadn't figured out a tactful way to tell him off. You know, lovingly, kindly...but not too lovingly or kindly. A week later, I got an email saying he wondered if he had jumped the gun, and was open to discussing issues that had come up. I had just decided to not write a telling-off (nicely) message. He still wanted communication? Not knowing what to do, I did nothing. He wrote again on Sunday, wondering if I had gotten his email. Yes...but to say I'd gotten his email would mean I should respond. Again, I didn't know how to respond nicely. And then life got busy. I was out of town, inservice began, we had Back-to-School Night...

Tonight's message was simple: my name, followed by "I'm not going to pursue anything in regards to you. Take Care," followed by his name.

So, nice...but presumptuous. After two weeks with no response, did he think I was interested?

Chivalry Is...

...a guy friend hauling your kayak out of your car for you, even though you're quite capable of doing it yourself.

...a friend opening the oven door for you to take out caramel rolls.

...a friend's friend standing up to greet your father...and tactfully trying to not notice the underwear hanging on the clothesline.

...a friend bringing you pizza for your lunch break during classes on your birthday.

...a new friend taking your water bottle from his car into a friend's place--because you may want it.

...a friend's roommate opening your car door for you, even when you're the one driving.

...a friend coming over to get a dead thing out of the yard--a dead thing so mangled that the only reason you know it was alive is because you know most certainly that it's dead.

...a friend removing the moonroof from his truck so you can climb in through the hole (after stargazing in the truckbed) without having to put your cold, wet socks and shoes back on (after running through puddles in the springtime). Bonus points: it took another 15 minutes to get the moonroof replaced. (It was an old truck.)

...your new friend's husband grilling your cheese sandwich for you because you are completely inept when it comes to cookouts.

...when your friend lends you the stocking cap off his head as you sit in the outdoor hot tub on a -10' January day--especially because he had offered you one earlier and you had refused.

...your faithful friends who answer every conceivable question you may have in regard to cars and technology.

...a friend's friend taking your 5-year-old friend for a horseback ride on his birthday.

Life is good, and thank You, God!

Benalmadena, Costa del Sol

A bombing in Spain today... I was there--Benalmadena--just after I graduated from high school. I wonder what the bunch of us would have done if it had happened when we were there. And on the flip side of the desk, I wonder what I, as the teacher, would do with my group of 12 students.

70 x 7

My grandparents recently left after their two-month stay in my hometown. Gramp and I had bonded. He found a table that we dragged home and I began refinishing. I made him sit through both "National Treasure" movies, and he didn't gripe about them too much. I made a special point of getting pizza for the family and including Pepsi (at Grandpa's previous request). Gram has supplied me with a stash of hot pepper (home-dried and crushed), of which Gramp and I are the only ones who partake.

This, compared to all other years, was good. We had two conversations in which he tried forcing his views upon me, but at the end of both of them we agreed congenially to disagree. I wasn't cornered this summer. It was good.

As we said our goodbyes yesterday, Grandpa walked directly toward me with a kindly look in his eyes. Soft. He liked me. He approved of me. This hard, at times legalistic, previously abusive man was finally my loving grandfather.

Hands on my arms, face in front of mine, he said, "If I were a younger man..."

Yes? I smiled, having heard the line from other sweet elderly people.

"I would look for a lady who wears less makeup and lets her God-given beauty shine through."

An excellent parting shot. True to form. His clincher was, "Keep the faith," then he walked to the truck and got in.

All sorts of responses came to me later. "If I were a much older woman I wouldn't _want_ a man like you to look at me..." "You don't deserve my Gram..." "I am _not_ my cousin (who wears no makeup and is inhibitedly conservative)..." "The next time you see me, I'll be wearing so much makeup that I could be confused for a member of KISS..."

The ironic part was that Mom had been put off by something Grandpa had said the night before--and even the day before that and the day before that. He's a crusty, grumpy man around family. Yesterday morning, I had listened to a song that talked about being Jesus to others, and mentioned it to Mom in regard to her frustrations. Despite his rudeness and proclaimed faith, my grandpa needed to be shown Jesus, too. An hour later, did that still apply? A day later, does it still apply?

I spent time with my mom and grandma today, and Mom began telling Gram of a rough time I'd had with my paternal grandma in my teenage years. I, never intoxicated, ever-the-virgin, had become the black sheep of the family despite my pregnant teen, underage drinking cousins' existence. Things came to a good resolution before my grandma died, but the emotion of hurt came back quickly today.

Gram looked across the table at me and admonished me, lovingly, to remember the good things. She said that my grandma may have acted upon unfounded advice, but that she really had loved me dearly. Then Gram told me that _she_ loves me dearly, and if there ever comes a time I don't believe that, I should talk to her about it. If I don't, she'll take me outside and...invoke some sort of bodily punishment reminiscent of discipline when I was a child. I laughed and said it was nice to know she loves me enough to smack me around. Then I went around the table, hugged her, and almost burst into tears when she whispered fiercely, "I love you!"

All I could get out was a "You, too," before I escaped. A tear shot out of my eye--not a nice, little, drippy one, but a real shot--something that would have a "boing" sound effect.

I think that being loved hurts almost as much as feeling unloved does. Maybe because self-worth comes into question? Maybe because there's responsibility attached? Maybe because there's the potential (inevitability) for loss? It's a good hurt...just not one I'm used to feeling.

I Got Dumped Last Night...

The funny part is that...I didn't know I was dating anyone... Before there's a relationship to end, you'd think the guy would know the girl's last name, and have had at least one phone conversation with her...

In one of my emails from the past three weeks of communication with a match, I mentioned going to a bar with a coworker who had asked me to join her at least seven times already. I want to cultivate a friendship with her, and accepting someone's invitation seems a progressive way of doing that. The match then asked my thoughts on drinking and on dancing. I told him that I choose to not drink, and that, as a member of my church, I'm also committed to not drinking. Some people can drink quite nicely, and others can't. I wouldn't be comfortable if my significant other chose to drink on occasion, but it wouldn't be a hill I'd be willing to die on, either.

I wouldn't initiate going to a bar with a friend (despite our lack of alternative entertainment in a small town), and it's not the sort of environment I would choose to spend time in, but I don't have a problem with crossing the threshold.

As far as dancing goes, I'm so uncoordinated that only slow dancing works for me. Due to its nature, I would only want to engage in said activity with someone I was very comfortable with and probably somewhat interested in. Based on P's previous comments (in our three weeks of communication), I knew he was conservative but wanted to make sure he wasn't rigidly so. I mentioned that, yes, dancing can bring up thoughts that are not conducive to purity, but so can words and photographs. Should we shun those things as well?

Somehow, out of all of that, the only thing he understood is that I don't have a problem going to a bar with a coworker. He wrote that he wouldn't want to be in a relationship or marriage in which his wife went to bars or went out dancing. What if we went to a bar and someone else asked me to dance?

Oh, for pity's sake...really? I'm monogamous even in my crushes (generally). There is no way I would go dance with some random stranger and leave my boyfriend/husband spinning around on a little stool!

He flipped the scenario--what if he were the one at the bar, and someone hit on him, flirted with him, encouraged him to drink? How would that make me feel? A) I'd expect it. B) Where does personal responsibility come in? I expect to be in a relationship with someone I can trust to hang out with a coworker at a bar and not succumb to flirtatious whims. I would hope he would expect he were getting the same in me.

I was amused by his "drawing the line" and saying that things were over between us if I didn't subscribe to the idea of never setting foot in a bar and never getting jiggy with it. Now, though, I'm just ticked off. When I am in a relationship, I want it to be with someone who respects my integrity--and probably even knows my last name.

I'm still reluctant to enter the world of chatting. It's enough of a struggle to get cohesive thoughts without having them be interrupted by people saying hi. Not that that's not nice, but it usually doesn't end with just "Hi." For some reason, I didn't turn off the chat feature when I switched to the "new" version of Yahoo mail--and an acquaintance messaged me tonight.

H was having problems getting downloaded photos onto Facebook; after a few back and forth messages, I gave her my phone number and we walked through a few steps until we figured out the problem. Then she told me that the photos were from her son's funeral, and wondered if they were appropriate to share on Facebook. She said that since I'd helped her, she'd share them with me and get my reaction.

I'm still teary. It was only about sixteen photos, but they showed a mother's grief--naked, wrenching emotion from as far deep in the soul as one can get. There was her husband, trying to hold back the emotion of losing his son. Little girl who would never teach or run with her brother. Young cousins who noted the seriousness of the event with solemn eyes. The father's mother standing behind him, with her hand on his shoulder... That green, fake lawn that covers the hole... Tiny white casket...

Maybe it's the educator in me that sucks everything in and processes it, but I thought the pictures were fine. They show the grieving process. Hopefully, they can help someone else who's been through the same situation. That reminds me of why I blog--to process things, but also to encourage someone else who's following a parallel trail. It's not always pretty, but it's not always morbid. It's, well, life.