We're All In This Together

   

  Sometime last Fall, before there was any talk about COVID-19 or stay at home orders, I had a thought of a story I wanted to write. It was a rather vague idea but the title was going to be We're All In This Together. I think I was seeing connections from one area in my life to another - family, work, friendships, activities, random conversations and songs on the radio. Now I fear that even if I ever write that story, I can't use the phrase that has become so strongly attached to the pandemic that has changed life as we know it.

    It's time to sit down and do a jigsaw puzzle.  I have these random thoughts and story ideas that float to the surface of my mind as I'm driving around and I think I have to do a story about that and sometimes it's just a title. By the time I get back home and pull out the laptop and the stuff I've dictated into my phone, I have trouble actually pulling a story together.

     There's something about jigsaw puzzles, or most any creative activity, that bypasses the logical part of the brain.  I am always amazed when I'm in the middle of a pile of puzzle pieces and some part of me that I can never identify, and don't need or want to, says " Hey, that squiggle with the blue blurry color goes on the right side of that house". And I pick up this random piece that I wasn't even looking at and Whoa! - it fits. In the same way I might have a question about where to vacation next, or do I need get out and walk more, or maybe I should call someone I haven't talked to in a while, and I'll get related messages about these things from a dream, or a song I hear, or a memory that surfaces.

     We are all connected was the theme of the original piece, but today I guess I want to talk more about where I've been these last few weeks since life has turned upside down.  I am one of the fortunate "essential workers" that gets paid to leave my house most days to deliver auto parts on less crowded roadways, so that the really necessary folks can keep their cars in good repair to get to the hospitals or police stations or grocery stores. I leave my apartment weekly to go to the laundromat and I am grateful to be able to walk the trails near my home for quiet diversion and exercise. I have also been trying to support local dining establishments by ordering take-out once or twice a week, so in a lot of ways I don't feel life has changed that much.

Route 202 on a weekday afternoon!

     On the other hand, my Mom turned ninety-six last month and a dozen of us spread out in the field behind her home to sing Happy Birthday, instead of taking her out to dinner or having a party. I have only visited her three times since the stay-at-home started since she had just completed treatment for cancer, and I am out among the public, however limited, and don't want to risk infecting her. My sister, that Mom lives with, is working from home and feeling isolated and stressed and I feel bad that can't stop by as much to see them.

     A part of me is truly grateful that I have not been in total lock down, but I have mixed emotions. I am concerned about trying to protect myself and others by social distancing, hand washing and cleaning my work and personal cars, as well as my apartment and I get aggravated when I see others being what I consider to be careless. I'm glad that I get to be outdoors, driving around for work and yet feeling guilty that I am not heading to the hospital or home care visits I would have been doing in the past.

     When this whole thing started and people were not going out to get their cars fixed, we needed to cut back the hours of service for a few weeks, but this has changed again, so I have not had much difference in my income. We changed our routine to include disinfecting the cars between shifts and how we do deliveries in the shops we service, but again, I am so much more fortunate than friends or family working from home or working longer exhausting hospital shifts or unable to work and still waiting on Unemployment Compensation.
 
     Summer is coming and I would love to be planning vacation or attending concerts, fairs and festivals, but all that is currently on hold until this situation lifts. In the meantime I'm staying grounded as best I can by connecting by phone and Zoom to family and friends, and talking a lot to God about what I'm thinking and feeling and asking for help and guidance.

     We are all in this life together, so  share what you can to touch lives nearby or far, send your light out to the world. Whether you're working or stuck at home you are a part of the whole of life. Peace and love to all.
 
   So that's where I am today.  I hope we can soon start to resume a more normal way of life.
   

To The Ocean and The Mountain and Back Again

 

  Back when I  was in my late twenties, my husband Jack died from a heart attack the day after Christmas. He had been diabetic since he was thirteen, back in the nineteen fifties, and never got good control of his blood sugars. Though he had developed high blood pressure six months before, I was totally shocked by his death.  I had never lived on my own before and grief turned into heavy drinking and darkness. Eventually I  was living in a very small world, basically going to work and the bar and home again, day after day.
     When I began to have panic attacks at work or most anywhere other than home, I started seeking help to get back to a more normal life. In time, I was able to stop drinking with support of  others who have been there, as well as professional folks. It took some time before I was able to expand my world and after a while I began to feel a yearning to watch the sunrise over the ocean. My first time going to the Jersey shore after I began to clear up was with a guy I had met about that time. He had to go down to talk to someone about a painting job and we combined that with an overnight stay. I was up early the next morning and walked out to the beach to wait for the sun to come up. Similar to my coming out of my darkness, the sunlight gradually grew and colors brightened into pinks and yellows until it was daylight. 
     I'm not sure how long it was after that, but either later that year or sometime in the next, I drove to Ocean City, New Jersey  alone to see the sunrise over the ocean again. Though less than a hundred miles away, it was the farthest I had gone on my own in quite some time and I was hopeful I would not have a panic attack and need to turn around and go home. I made it, and have been to the shore many times since. I have probably taken hundreds of pictures of the sun coming up out of the ocean but I framed the first one and it still hangs in my living room to remind me of that experience of coming out of the darkness, overcoming fears, and going after my dreams.
     In time, God brought another man into my life who would become my second husband. Joe and I and his son Sean took many vacations to the shore and I found myself wanting that seaside lifestyle more and more. We were able initially to purchase a small rental property and then an old vacation apartment turned condo in Wildwood. The fear I had felt those many years ago was forgotten as, together or alone, I made the drive down and back on a regular basis. It became such a routine part of my life that I stopped recording sunrise over the ocean, though I always think of it when I hear the lines from an old Easter hymn about "the sun from out the waves".
     Joe  battled with cancer for a year and a half and died of a stroke after we had been together for thirteen years and Wildwood became my home away from home that summer as I took a three month leave of absence to heal. There were many walks on the beach at sunrise as well as during the day. And many meetings with folks in that town, as well as my hometown,  who helped me get through the darkness without having to return to drinking.
     The following year, I attended a Body, Mind and Spirit Expo and had a session with a woman medium who gave me a message that was clearly from Joe. A short time later I saw an ad for a South West Spirit Quest tour with this same woman and I signed up. I flew from Philly to Albuquerque and met up with Lino and a dozen other folks for a full ten days of travel through New Mexico and Arizona to many Native American sites and healers, as well as red rocks and vortices in Sedona. The last day of the tour, I declined the trip out to Taos Pueblo and opted to spend the day walking around Santa Fe instead.

     Over the next six years or so, I would get the thought to go back and visit Taos. It kept calling me, sort of like the feeling of wanting to see the sunrise over the ocean had all those years ago. I booked a casita near the Plaza and flew out to New Mexico again, this time on my own. I had been to the Southwest with the group and visited my son in San Diego the year before, but this was the first time traveling father than the shore on my own. I had dinner with a friend of a friend when I arrived in Albuquerque then drove north the next day to Taos. The feeling of freedom was incredible. I had come so far since that first solo trip to Ocean City and there I was traveling up wide highways and narrow winding mountain roads with only God keeping me company. It felt like such a miracle.
     I had researched Taos and chosen where I wanted to go, but the first sighting of Taos Mountain as I drove north from Rancho de Taos was beyond exhilarating.

I spent four days in Taos, visited Taos Pueblo, one of the oldest continually inhabited sites in North America, crossed the Rio Grande Gorge bridge, the second highest bridge in the US Highway system, and walked around the Plaza shopping and listening to music. Since it is an artist colony, the town is filled with galleries and I did visit a few of those. I stopped in a book store and chatted with the shop's cat, and ate at the local diner. It was just a small taste of the area, but another big adventure for me.

     On the return trip back to Albuquerque I drove the Turquoise Trail, a beautiful country mountain byway,  stopped in another artists village, Madrid, traveled about twenty miles of old Route 66 and had dinner at Diner 66 on my last evening in the Land of Enchantment. Maybe one day I'll take a longer trip on The Mother Road.

  A couple months ago I was feeling tired and stretched thin. I booked myself a room in Wildwood and took a weekend to just get away and watch the sun rise over the ocean again. It did not disappoint.

2020 The Year Of The Book

 

 It's been over two months since my last blog post. I wish I could point to one thing or another as a reason or excuse for not writing, but I'm not sure what's been holding me back. Some changes are going on with a couple of family members which I'm not going to get into here but I just have not felt moved to write about anything in particular. Maybe that's the thing with a blog about daydreams, memories and random thoughts. I don't have a single focus, just scattered ideas.

     The one thing that's been percolating in the back of my mind is my book idea of Gravy Every Sunday. I've started a few chapters as blogposts and have a general outline of topics to include but as far as the actual writing of a book I've been stalling. I finally renewed my Microsoft Word subscription in an effort to get a more professional look to my writing. I missed last month's Memoir Writers Circle meeting because I just was not able to write or even talk about writing. So this is an effort to prepare for next weeks gathering.

     When I first started writing The Friendship Tree back in April of 2018 I was excited to just put my thoughts out for sharing with no expectations, Then as I felt more comfortable writing about my life and my experiences ideas seemed to flow on a regular basis. People responded positively to my words and all in all I was having fun.

   
     Somehow as I plan to write my first book, because that's how I think about this endeavor, it is becoming work. When I first started down this path a fellow writer suggested I read the book "On Writing Well" by William Zinsser. I didn't get too far in reading it, but the first chapter spoke of writing as a vocation versus an avocation. Hard work compared to easy fun. I remember telling my friend that I was having fun telling stories, while he was doing the hard work of professional writing, around the equally hard work of his day job.

     I started working a part time job a little over a year ago and have even talked about it in my blog a little bit. Now I'm trying to figure out how I can schedule writing around afternoons of delivery driving and actually make progress on getting this book out of the dream stage to actual concrete pages and chapters.
   
     In the blogs about my family I've talked about my Mom being one of nine siblings that I remember when I was growing up. Now there are only two left, Mary and Vivian, both in their nineties, and I feel an urgency to get this project finished while they can both read it. So the only time pressure at this point is from me. No deadlines or publishers pushing me forward, just my expectation for my self to do a good job of recording my family's story for my generation and those to come. My goal is to finish writing and see it published  before these last two sisters are gone to join Grandmom Carmella and the rest of the brothers and sisters. I had a psychic reading after Uncle Tony passed and he said he was fine but he missed the gravy.

      Wish me luck.