Life With CoVid-19 Take - 2

So, end of November 2019 it seems, a new unidentifiable flu strain comes out of the province of Wuhan, China. It very rapidly spreads and China, as near as any one can tell (it is China after all, how forthcoming are they really?) shuts down all travel into and out of Wuhan. Soon thereafter many other provinces in China are forced to follow suit. Many nations around the world begin a shut-down of all air travel from China. By January South Korea and Iran are hard hit with what is now identified as Corona Virus 2019. South Korea and Iran quickly follow a lockdown/quarantine procedure. There are many, many more in China who acquire the virus and deaths are becoming extremely numerous.

End of January, early February, Italy becomes the epicenter for the virus in Europe and the dead are so many that burials are banned. All residents must stay indoors. As of mid-April, Italy has 51 medical doctors dead. An aged population, lack of physicians, ventilators, and hospital beds are all too common in many countries as the virus is declared a global pandemic.

Here in Germany all non-essential businesses, schools, universities, and worship are closed (essential being gas stations, grocery, apothecary, and home repair like Toom). Restaurants may only offer delivery or pick up, until 1800 hrs. Emily, a HS senior at the DoDEA school Ramstein, has just found out all her choral concerts and drama productions have been cancelled, as have all sporting events.

March 12, 5 of us depart Luxembourg to Scotland. Thank goodness we flew from Lux because Great Britain has banned all flights from Germany. We hear, 2 hours into our journey, that DoD is restricting all travel from Germany for all DoD, active duty, civilian, and dependents. We stay in Scotland for our mad cap adventures, meeting 7 others flying in from all over the US.

We are all a bit anxious as we keep up with reports of continued deteriorating travel. By March 16, as we are flying back to Lux, we know that the German border is closed to all but citizens, those with worker visas, and DoD with SOFA stamps. We are paused at the border but continue home. We all “self-quarantine” for the recommended 14 day period. All 12 of us arrive safely back to our places of residence. After our quarantine period we are all 12 of us healthy.

Meanwhile, DoD schools are closed beginning that Monday, March 16 through the end of the school year. Thursday the parents become teachers as on-line distance learning is the “new normal”. Parents are highly frustrated, teachers are ill-equipped to “teach” via internet, zoom, or google classroom. All are struggling as teachers miss their students, kids miss their teachers and peers, and parents try to navigate fifth grade math. 10 days later I hear Virginia has followed suit as school moves to online learning. myRiley Roo is heart crushed. Her senior prom was to be that Friday. Her choir, drama, even walking for a graduation ceremony are all finished. 

CoVid-19 (officially now called SARS 2 Corona Virus-2019) has forced the entire world into a “new normal”. Terms like Social Distancing, Covidiots, Quarantine, and Self-Isolate are common language use now. The DoD has mandated that all persons entering the base must wear masks, not for our protection but for community protection, in case we are infected and don’t know we are. We cannot meet in groups of more than 2 and we must maintain 6 ft. separation. If that is unavoidable then we must wear a mask. Tedley works as a team of two, even days (the silver team) that they alternate on so no more than one is in the office on any given day. He teleworks the other days. We zoom our bible study on Tuesday mornings and livestream church. I haven’t been on base except for one time since returning from Scotland. I am not enjoying the “new normal”.

 

I am keeping busy with the Bible study, bible journaling the Lenten Scripture passages, a 25 Daily Drawing Challenge, and #DrawWithRob. I play XBox, and games on my phone. I am very bored. We did FaceTime the kids and play Clue on Saturday evening (afternoon).

 

There is some good from this. Pollution is way down in the countries where smog was the highest. The hole in the ozone is gradually getting smaller. Climates seem to be readjusting to prior green house effect years. People are cooking at home more, coming up with creative activities to do with their children, eating at the dinner table. Small gifts are being left at door stoops. In Italy, folks are singing together from their balconies. 

There is some bad as well. Hoarding of cleansers and disinfectant materials as well as toilet paper (of all things). Crime is rising as police departments are hit with the virus and deaths from the virus. Medical professionals are exhausted and stretched way too thin. Economies world wide are impacted as many have to draw unemployment. And cases continue to spread, deaths continue to increase, and there seems to be end in sight.

 

 

 

I am pretty sure the world will never be the same again.

The “new normal” will become the “norm”. 

Life will go on, but in a much different way.

Extroverted Introversion

This is the time of the Sars-Corona Virus-2 2019 (CoVid-19). I write this just as a document of what is going on in the world - yes the world. 🌎 You see this is a pandemic, a global pandemic. As of today there are now 208 countries affected by this virus which causes pneumonia that leads to death in those who are aged and immuno-compromised.

The illness began in Wuhan, China (or believed to, how transparent China has really been is yet to be determined) the end of November or beginning of December. It rapidly spread from there though China took almost immediate actions to restrict movement. South Korea and Iran were the next two countries that were hit hard but both had counter measures in place. Poor Italy, with an aged population and little in the way of medical equipment and staffing (or so it seems) has been overwhelmed. They have the most deaths per capita and have lost 51 doctors throughout the months of February and March. Germany has the fewest deaths per capita at this moment with the US just a few numbers above us. The US could have been sitting pretty if the democrats had stopped fighting President Trump every step of the way since early January.

So Germany closed every non-essential business, travel, schools, and events early March. The US has just, this last 14 days, followed suit. Some states have closed borders. New York seems to be the epicentre now though Washington state was in late February. My niece, Riley, has missed out on everything “senior” at HS from prom to her choir and drama, senior trip, spring break in New York, off-broadway at Chrysler Hall. And she won’t get to walk for graduation. It is simply heart crushing.

I am an extrovert. Extrovert forced into the life of an introvert. No church. No Bible Study (we get to zoom which is absolutely terrific!), RE (we got to hold a zoom class for the first time Palm Sunday), no ROSC activities, no Bazaar meetings, Tres Dias met via zoom as well (thank God for the internet). No Bunko, no interactions closer than 6 feet with persons who do not live in my household, it’s hard.

I repeat ...

It’s hard!!!

So, life will continue. We are living a “new norm”, those who aren’t “covidiots” that is.

There are bonuses - the earth is recovering. Greenhouse gases are falling, pollution has reduced dramatically in places where it was the worst, like China. Climate Change has taken a slight reversal and weather patterns are somewhat normalising. People are praying more, they are eating at the table and they are cooking as a family. Parents are spending time with children, forced to since all schools are closed. There is creativity abounding as parents come up with new and inventive ways to entertain and educate.

How long this will last is anybody’s guess. Chancellor Merkel has suggested the end of April but the Passion Play has been postponed til 2022! The Olympics, which were supposed to be in Japan in July, are postponed until 2021.

I do believe God’s hand is at work, taking what has been meant for harm and using it for good.

I am drawing every day, and bible journaling. I have joined an online paint party that meets twice a week. We played Clue via FaceTime with the kids. Life is slower. It’s good. I will get by.

I will survive.

Slice Of Life: A Daily Story

Day 11

Monday, July 2nd

The Line

The line was rather long, the one of the three that we stood in that is. We were in the second line, the one in the middle of the hall, admissions. The first line was counseling. The third was financial assistance. There were like ten folks in our line ahead of us, five behind. Counseling had none when we arrived but now there about five. Financial assistance, well that line was like way the longest line ever. So glad we didn’t havta stand in that line. Our ‘rents were very well off. Unfortunately that meant we qualified for no financial assistance. Fortunately it kept us outta that ridiculously long and time consuming line. Yay for being economically healthy, boo for not being eligible for any state or government assistance of any kind. We aren’t an ethnic minority, we don’t fall below the middle class economic line, and we are residents of the state and country citizens. Ah well.

A girl approaches the line, leans in to like speak with another girl that is standing in our line like four people ahead of us. “I know her”, my sister whispers to me. “Really, from where” I ask her, not really whispering ‘cuz I really don’t care who overhears us. “We were in middle school together.” I look carefully at the girl. Well, she is like vaguely familiar but doesn’t stand out in my recollection. She should though since my sister and I are twins and attended the same schools together since like pre-kindergarten classes at Miss Bonnie’s St. Mary’s Star of the Sea School three year old class. But nope, this girl triggers no memory in my brain. “She went to CN High,” she continues whispering. Curtis Normell High School, not exactly our rival school academically but pretty much our competitor in the Arts departments. “How’d ja know that?” I still don’t whisper and slightly elevate my volume hoping the girl like overhears us. “She looks like a CN.” I look intensely at my own face looking back humorously at me and laugh out loud. The folks ahead of us in line turn and give us a scowl. We stifle our laughter to a chuckle. “Are you ready for this,” I ask my sister. She nods her head with a big bright smile. “Of course you are”, I reply. “You thrive in any environment!” She looks at me and the corners of her lips turn up slightly. “That’s only ‘cuz I am a whole two and half minutes older than you.”  I smile back. “Yah, like that’s it.”

After twenty minutes of line standing a lady approaches the person who is now first in line. We’ve moved up to third in line. We hear her asking the young lady what she needs to have done but we don’t hear the girl’s reply. The lady tells her that she is in the correct line and moves onto the man in line directly in front of us. He’s older, by quite a bit; at least his gray hair implies that he’s quite a bit older. She asks why he’s in line. He responds but really I don’t listen to what he says…something about re-enrolling in the school, at least that’s what I think he says. Then she approaches the two of us and looks directly at my sister and asks “Why are you here?” “Registering,” my sister responds. “Have you already applied for admission?” “Yes we have…” “But we’re not sure what to do next” I interrupt. “Have you taken the placement tests?” She is still looking at my sister. My sister and I look at each other. “Uh, no,” I say. “Well, you should go up the hall to room 122 to take the placement tests and then go to room 132 for the orientation class which you must take before going to counseling.” We look at each other again. The woman looks at the line which we are now like second in. “But,” she continues, still looking at my sister, “since you are so close to the front of this line just stay here.”  “Oh, ok,” we say in unison. The girl behind us snickers. “Seriously,” I say to my sister. “Am I invisible?” The line all around us chuckles softly.

The man before us in line is called into the room. We stand at the open doorway. I try not to peer in, trying to respect the privacy of the two already in the room but I’m curious and can’t help myself. I lean in. There are actually four ‘cubbies’, two are dark and empty. There are two open windows that are occupied. I can hear the man speaking to the woman behind the admissions window number two fumbling with the answer to the woman’s question. The question seemed simple enough. “When did you graduate?” But he seriously seemed unable to answer the question. She remained patient and offered, “Last spring?” “Yes,” he replied. “Do you still have your student I.D.?” “No,” he said. “Do you have any I.D. on you?” He pulls something out of his wallet. She begins to say something to him but I can’t hear the conversation any longer because my shirt is being forcefully pulled upon by my sister. “Stop that.” She looks at me a tad bit annoyed. “What,” I say. “I was just curious.” “Curiosity kills the cat,” she recites. “But,” I mimic the sing song style, “satisfaction brought him back.” She laughs at me. The girl behind us in line chuckles again. After another minute or two the man walks out the door and we hear “Next in line.” 

“Wow, thirty-three minutes. Is that like some kind of line record or what?” The girl behind us as well as the two men and the mother/daughter duo behind them all laugh out loud. I smile broadly and follow my sister into the room.

Slice Of Life: A Daily Story

Day 10
Sunday, July 1st


Bond

Lost mother.
If found, tell her of her daughter.
She mostly forgets.

Slice Of Life: A Daily Story

Day Nine

Saturday, June 30th

Shell Shocked

I don’t have a lot of time so this is going to be a quick message to whoever is out there to read it. The thundering sounds of the shells are all about me. And the sky alights as if the fourth of July. Already there are reports of massive outages throughout the city, Upper James, Prince George, Victoria, Kings Ford, Raleigh and South Princeton all without any power. I fear that we will be hit all too soon and then I will be unable to transmit any information to whoever might be there. I pray that there are still others out there. Internet is still working, but it’s spotty at best.

I can now hear the rat-a-tat-tat of the machine guns right outside of the window; I’ve dimmed the lights so as to not attract their attention. They have invaded; there is no doubt about it now. I can hear the roar of the tanks rumble down the streets interspersed with the bombings. In the brief silence I can hear the voices, arguing at times, cajoling at other times. And occasionally a female voice rises above the din. They are too near. I have locked the doors, just in case the soldiers were to try the handle.

Wait, a flash of light, coming through the drawn curtains. A flashlight. I’m crawling under the table with my laptop. As I promised, I will stay on here as long as I can. I pray to God that someone is catching this chat window. Someone somewhere, please dear God, please someone be alive to become a witness to these horrific abuse of militia gone awry. Someone is at the door. The handle is turning. Wait, wait ….

It’s alright; I believe they have passed on by. I can breathe easier ag

Slice Of Life: A Daily Story

Day Eight

Friday, June 29th

Undeveloped

The little boy was brilliant but emotionally exhausting. I wept for him. Being brilliant is not a gift, it is a curse. There are those who want to take advantage of the brilliance, those who don’t understand the brilliance, those who shun the brilliance, those who ridicule and taunt and persecute the brilliance. And I wept for the plight of the brilliant little boy who was enduring all of those and so much more. And adult trapped in the body of a seven year old body. Life, at times, seems so unfair. Genius in a child is no different than retardation in an adult. Both are the subject of awkwardness.

Fred was unpretentious. He was a quiet child and incapable of harm but harm was very capable of finding him. He was lost though he didn’t know it. During the moments of childishness he was quite adorable though. The way he smiled, his laughter, his wide eyed curiosity for the world, Fred was a very contagious soul and a sheer joy to be around. I found myself mesmerized by him yet unsure if I like that or not. I like the kid but I was afraid, so terribly terribly afraid – both of him and for him. He just wasn’t ready for the cruelty that would/ could befall him. If only he had been better supervised; life would have been for Fred if only he hadn’t of been so undeveloped. But instead he was misled and misguided and wounded … battered, beaten, and left behind. The conditions coupled with his injuries proved too much for him. He was found alive but his little heart stopped beating on the way to the hospital. Such a waste, such brilliance, and he was gone in one thoughtless, careless moment. 

Slice Of Life: A Daily Story

Day Seven

Thursday, June 28th

I Think I Can’t

“I can’t do this!!” Katelyn threw the cards across the table. Robert, Kip, and Cindy stared at her, jaws dropped. Katelyn stood, hands balled into fists, jaw clenched, tears forming and just beginning to roll down her cheeks. The three risked fearful glances at each other and stood at their seats. Katelyn turned toward the wall, keenly aware of how her outburst made her appear and of course she felt quite a bit of embarrassment tossed in with a tad of humiliation. “I’m sorry” she mumbled. She turned back to her friends, “I just don’t get this stupid, dumb, idiotic game!” Katelyn was whining but right at the moment she didn’t care. She had lost every hand since they began playing two hours earlier. “You said this was an easy game” she continued on. “But it’s not!” Robert and Kip looked at Cindy dumbfounded, a look Cindy knew all too well. It was the ‘YOU do something with her!’ look. Cindy shrugged slightly and walked towards Katelyn. “Ya do know that you’re overreactin’, don’ja?” Katelyn stared at her, eyes unblinking, tears still streaming down her face. She didn’t want to admit it but she did know that Cindy was right. “You just aint gettin’ the luck of the draw” Cindy crooned, wrapping an arm around Katelyn’s shoulders. “Com’n back ta the table and we’ll have a nother go at it.” Cindy led Katelyn back to the table and sat her in the chair. Robert and Kip mumbled something about drinks and snacks and darted off to the kitchen. Cindy shook her head as she watched them depart to the dining room. “Men,” she said. Katelyn kind of chuckled at that. “Ya wanna tissue, Katelyn,” Cindy asked. Katelyn nodded her head and watched as Cindy left toward the bathroom to retrieve the box of Kleenex. ‘Stupid, stupid, stupid’, Katelyn scolded herself. ‘Why do you always have to behave like such a baby?’ Robert and Kip returned with a bowl of Mexi-chips and salsa. “Here ya go, Katelyn,” said Kip. “Dive in,” Robert finished. Cindy returned with the box of Kleenex and Katelyn took one and wiped the tears from her cheeks. She grabbed a chip and dipped it deep into the bowl of salsa. “Okeh” she said, stuffing the chip into her mouth. “Let’sh try thish again.” The three looked at her and said almost in unison, “Huh?” Katelyn laughed and repeated, “Let’s try this again. Robert, shuffle those darn cards.” Robert, Kip, and Cindy took their seats and an easy chatter began once again among the four friends. “Ok” Robert said as he dealt the cards. “Let’s try this again and this time Cindy will help you each step of the way.” “Better yet” Kip cajoled, “all cards face up fer the next two games.” Katelyn smiled big, glad for her friends who understood her so well.         

Slice Of Life: A Daily Story

Day Six

Wednesday, June 27th

Incapable

“I’m on disability” she said to me. “Why? Oh, because of your back?” She shakes her head slowly. I lift an eyebrow in curiosity. She takes her right hand, points to her head, and slowly makes a circle with her index finger. I get it, mental health issues. “I’m not seeing my therapist any longer” I say with a bit of pride. She smiles, “Really?” I smile back at her, “Yah, guess I’m ‘fixed’”, I reply with a slight chuckle. “I saw my therapist just before we left but I won’t see him again until the ninth. I get back in town and he goes to Arkansas.” Arkansas, I think, what’s in Arkansas? I don’t ask. “I’ve had two nervous breakdowns” she continues. I say nothing. After a bit of silence she says, “My back is still giving me problems, I have another slipped disc. And my foot is still bothering me.” I lift my eyebrow again and she continues. “It still slips out after I broke it. And right after I had the cast off, I was at Mike and Missy’s house and fell and broke it again. It was in a cast again for weeks.” “So, it’s very weak”, I say. She nods. “Yah so my doctor said that I’m not allowed to work.” Not ‘allowed’, I ponder but just when I’m about to ask her why she’s ‘not allowed’ her grandson comes up to her. I bite my lip. We never have the opportunity to continue the conversation as Missy shouts “Time to go my children, come dry off. We have to leave in the morning.” Linda turns from me and heads to the pool steps.

I have a couple of friends and family members that are on disability. I think of them as being weak, but I’m sure that I judge them far too harshly. Some people just don’t have the coping skills. Still. There have been many times that I have longed to be that selfish and fall into my label within the mental health community and be declared disabled. I haven’t…ever. I’m not that weak. I have my husband and children who keep me grounded if not sane. And while I do at times long for the escape of a hospital ward or a nervous breakdown, I just can’t allow myself that dependence. I have never been that dependent on anything or anyone, not even my husband – much to his dismay. I watch Linda as she dries the pool water from her leg. Linda … whacky, fluffy, tubby Linda; she has always been the kooky one in her family. We are similar, she and I. She bears the brunt of the jokes in her family and I in mine. While not as gullible as I, she can nevertheless be made to believe a lie quite easily, if you can keep a straight face when telling the tall tale. Linda used to work, at one time. She worked in the community hospital, laboratory I believe, though I’m not really sure. I never truly knew what she and her husband’s jobs entailed, I only knew that they worked at the same hospital.

“Jim’s retiring soon” Linda had whispered to me while we sat at the kitchen table. I had arrived late in the evening to see them, knowing that they would only be in town for three more days. She and Missy were making beaded bracelets. I hadn’t connected the dots at that time. “Really”, I had said. “That’s cool, what’s he going to do?” “He’s still going to be at the hospital, part time. They really wanted him to come back.” “Yah,” I begin to smile but notice the apprehension in her eyes. I didn’t understand then. Now I do. Disability isn’t a lot of money and with Jim retiring and working part time – well, finances could be tough. While I’ve always refused medication in outpatient care, I do know how expensive they are. I have no idea how many different medicines Linda is taking, but I understand the worry. And to top it off, she may require another back surgery. Could she be feeling incapable? I had the distinct feeling that she was worried about not seeing her therapist until the ninth. Is she so deteriorated?

Our mental health was another shared bond that we had. I drove with her to an appointment once, many years ago now. She talked gaily about her diagnosis. I spoke apprehensively about mine, which I never really agreed with from the moment I was labeled. I hate labels. I hate being defined by a label. I am who I am. Linda had seemed almost proud of her many and varied diagnosis labels. I have an acquaintance friend who is the same, Michele. Michele wears her mental illness on her sleeve, literally, and on her chest and back; a t-shirt that lists every mental illness to be found in the DSM-IV. She will proudly point to her shoulder and proclaim ‘this is one of mine’, or her left breast and tell anyone who will listen ‘this is my favorite diagnosis ever’. She is wackier than Linda. Michele is also far more disabled. I heard that she and Mark, her husband of over thirty years, have divorced. Jim and Linda have remained together for over forty years. I don’t see them divorcing any time soon, but I don’t see them often enough to know the dynamics. Not any longer. We used to see them twice a year, sometimes three times a year. Now it is down to once a year. She seems unchanged, really, in all the years that I have known her, for nearly thirty years now. Does mental illness do that to people? Linda, Michele, Renee … oh, you don’t know Renee?

Renee is an extreme case, lost in her depression, her PTSD, her anxiety, her suicidal ideation, her other selves. When I first stumbled upon Renee, twenty years ago now, I believed her to be so strong. She spoke eloquently, she wrote masterfully. She lived alone, took no bull from anybody, and adored her therapist and her cat. Then she met Eric and, after a quick engagement, was married and pregnant. Jordan was born with many a disability herself, autism and retardation. Renee was crushed. She seemed to go into rapid decay and as the years past and Jordan aged, Renee became more and more incapable. There is a revolving door on the state mental hospital, on several hospitals actually. Anytime Renee feels ‘unsafe’ she checks herself in. At one point her depression became so severe that she willingly, almost wantonly, endured seventy plus electroshock therapies. Crazy? I’d say certainly. I guess Renee actually has changed over the years, from competent to incompetence, capable to incapable.

I am no longer connected to these, my comrades of mental health. While I am not sane, I’m not ‘insane’. I have learned coping skills and have found an internal strength that Linda, Michele, and Renee do not seem to have. While Linda is the most capable of the three, there is just something about the term ‘disability’ that implies a lack of. Linda is incapable after all. And while I espouse my own capabilities, my own competence, my own sanity, am I? Really? Are any of us truly competent, capable, sane? 

Slice Of Life: A Daily Story

Day Five

Tuesday, June 26th

Nothing

Meribeth stood beside the bed. The beeping had ceased. The fervor disappeared. She hugged herself and stared down at the bed. The tubes remained yet in her arms. Life ends so suddenly. Walking closer to the bed, Meribeth stared down into the face of her mother. It wasn’t as she expected … death. It was so brutal, almost cruel. There was the look of terror on her face just before a bubbling, gurgling sound. Her eyes open wide, moving erratically, almost in frenzy, almost like she was fleeing, or trying to. Death didn’t come peacefully to her mother. Death came forcefully and her mom tried desperately to escape its clutches. Why? Why Mom?

Meribeth lightly reached out her hand, brushing her mother’s hand ever so lightly. It wasn’t cold like she expected. It wasn’t anything, actually it just was, just is, well, there. That was it really. All that was left of her mother was just, well, there. There lying in that bed as nothing; just a body, a bag of bones and flesh and nothing more. But oh mother, where have you gone? Not in this bag of flesh. This isn’t you any longer. Meribeth pondered as she stroked her mother’s lifeless hand. Mom seemed so extremely terrified of death that surely she hadn’t seen the bright light and walked a path where family members greeted her warmly and the love of God surrounded her. So where did you go, mom?

What happens to the soul after it leaves the body? Does it “hang around” here, completing unfinished work in the afterlife? Does it go into a form of “purgatory”? Are there levels of heaven that each soul has to work up through to reach God? Or is there nothingness, sleep eternal that seems but a moment in time. Is heaven for real?  Are you there Mother? Can you look down upon me, cheer me on, weep with me? But would you be so frightened of heaven? Could you be in hell? Was that the final look that I saw in your eyes, wide and frantically searching for a way to get out?

Meribeth shivered. The thought of an eternal hell sent chills down her spine. There would be no knowing. Her mother lay dead in the bed and could never come back and tell her. That is the way of death. It is to remain ever a mystery. Philosophy wasn’t something she enjoyed, theology even less. No Meribeth lived in the reality of the physical world, that which can be touched and seen. There were things that needed attending to now, arrangements that needed to be made. “We all die. The goal isn’t to live forever; the goal is to create something that will.” Good ole Palahniuk. While she didn’t believe in any form of immortality she did like to ponder that which would outlive all of humanity. The cockroach, it will definitely be the cockroach.

Meribeth reached up and closed the still wide open eyes, closing the terror that she still saw lurking behind the glazed over globes. A nurse walked into the room. The funeral home had arrived for the body. She nodded and stepped away from the bed, taking one last long look at the body lying in the bed. After all, that is all that it is. There is nothing; nothing but a bag of bones and flesh. Her mother was not there, not any longer.

Slice Of Life: A Daily Story

Day 4
Monday, 25 June 2012

Blown Away 

     The leaves are literally being ripped from the willow tree! How is it going to survive this? The gush of wind is whipping around the house, howling through windows that are barely able to keep the wind out on mild days. The tumultuous rains slash through the air at an angle almost parallel to the nearly flooding yard. The houses across the street have become nearly invisible; the evening is now dark as night. I am worried. I have not yet experienced such a storm as this; lightning piercing the sky, thunder rumbling in a low growl, and hail mixed with the rain pelting the roof and angrily slamming against the windows. I hear a crack and watch the splinter in the glass crawl its way up. A broken window. This is more than worry, this has quickly become fear, I have never felt so alone. 

     The phone rings and I startle, turning quickly in the direction of the sound. Brr-ring.

"Hello?"

"Hey hon."

"Hi, are you on your way home" I ask too quickly.

"No ..." he pauses slightly. "I can't get out of here in this just yet. Looks like another half and hour."

I turn and look out the window. Through the splintered crack I can see the flooding of the road. Flash flood, I think.

"Swell. Get home safe."

"I will."

"Bye" I say. Nothing...no reply comes through from the other end.

"Hon? Honey?" Nothing. Are the phones down? I hang up the line and click it on again - no dial tone. Fear has progressed to terror.

     The outside door in the laundry room flings open, the wind driven rain rapidly soaking the floor. I run quickly in and slam the door shut, sliding the bolt in place and turning the lock on the handle. I breath out slowly and place my head against the door. I can hear the rain bearing down heavily on the other side. And another sound, louder and harsher. The hail, I think, and slowly turn away from the door. Water, leaves, and melting ice pellets lay before me. I walk to the mop and take it from the wall. Before turning to tackle the wind blown mess I glance into the kitchen and freeze. Muddy shoe prints track across the floor toward the dining room. My jaw drops open. My eyes grow big in horror. I drop the mop and back away slowly towards the now bolted and locked door. Escape is just a twist and a slide away, but can I do it before the owner of those large muddy shoe prints walk back this direction? I turn to the door, to the lock. The handle lock wont turn. I'm fumbling and my fingers feel fat and slow and sluggish. Finally the lock turns. Now to lift the bolt and slide it left. I draw a deep breath and hold it, forcing muself to concentrate. Through the pelting rain i hear another sound. Footsteps. Horror rises to panic.

     I begin to breathe heavily as I glance over my shoulder, a shadow slowly growing on the kitchen floor cast by the light from the dining room that I know I didn't turn on. I turn back to the lock, tears begin to well in my eyes, my breathing becomes erratic - the lock won't move. Come on, come on, come on, I try cheering myself on. The sounds behind me become louder, I don't turn to look. Finally I lock frees and I pull the door open, which practically flies from my grip as the fierce wind rips the door inward. I step out, preparing to run, when I feel a hand upon my shoulder. A scream escapes my throat and then two firm hands turn me abruptly and I look up into the eyes of ...

"Hey Hon." Recognition begins to flood into my brain. Anger replaces the terror. I pulmmet his chest before collapsing to it, allowing his strong arms to envelop me.

"Oh my God" I say wearily into his shoulder. "You scared me to death!"

His hand comes up to my head and he strokes my hair, entwining the length of it trough his fingers.

"Not yet" he whispers throatily. "Not yet."

Slice Of Life: A Daily Story

Day Three

Sunday, June 24, 2012

Driven

Finally, the road stretched before her. Tunes played on the radio and she sang along merrily. She loved driving, almost more than anything else that she did. There was just something about being on the road, hands gripping the steering wheel, foot on the pedal, and of course the tunes playing on the radio. The hum of the tires beneath her during the silence between songs was somewhat soothing, rhythmic and somehow comforting.

The traffic moved steadily, she set her cruise control – don’t want to risk a ticket, now do we?  The two lanes opened up to three as she approached the incline, the third lane allowing over the roads to pass each other. She gripped the wheel tighter, looking up at the driver of the fuel tanker as she passed him by. She was always overly cautious when passing the might trucks, especially since her life was almost lost due to a near collision with one as a teenager.

It was a small highway, four lanes that cut through the desert straight as an arrow. She was inexperienced behind the wheel, just received her license in fact. The drive from the DMV toward home took her onto the highway at speeds she was just learning to manage; seventy was fast even for experienced drivers in the mid ‘70’s. She came upon the semi-truck driver quickly, too quickly. She signaled and swung into the passing lane much too sharply, but she maintained control of the car. Looking into her rearview mirror, she saw the car approaching so she swung back into the right hand lane, too soon. Too close to cutting off the giant semi-truck, who laid on the horn and quickly applied the brakes. She sped up, seventy-five, eighty…her heart beating too quickly in her chest, she didn’t realize she had been holding her breath until she began climbing the mountain and headed through the pass. She missed her turn to home.

But that was now thirty odd years and about half a million miles ago. Now she was quite an accomplished driver. She realized that her thoughts had been wandering and the third lane was now merging into two, into her own. In her reminiscent mind travel she had not noticed the large truck that had been forced to merge into her lane, flashers blinking brightly to warn of his slow forty-five mile per hour speed, far slower than her own sixty-five mile per hour speed. She slammed into the back left corner of the merging trailer, throwing her left where she bounced off the right rear quarter of a passing van. The steering wheel was ripped from her grip as the wheels tried to grip some road width as the car spiraled first on the interstate and then off and down the edge of parkway. She lost count of the number of times the car flipped as she rolled down the mountain towards the valley below her. She once caught a glimpse of the road above her, the semi-truck trailer hanging precariously over the edge, the guard rail damaged, dented, and totally gone where her own car had gone through it. She could almost make out the look of horror on the faces of those who had stopped their cars and watch her tumble down the side of the mountain.

At last the car stopped rolling and slid to a stop, the driver’s door flat upon the ground, the steering wheel pinning her thighs to the seat. She reached up to grip it and listened to the spinning of the wheels of the tires.  There was just something about being on the road, hands gripping the steering wheel, the hum of the tires beneath her was somewhat soothing, rhythmic and somehow comforting.

Slice of Life: A Daily Story

Day Two

Saturday, June 23, 2012

Bumping Into

It’s very difficult to bump into old “friends”. I’m not even sure if I can call them “friends” – at least not any longer. At one time in my life, they were very close “friends”; and what I mean by that is that I confided many personal things to one or more of these bumped into “friends”. My life was impacted by them in various ways, good and bad. And as I said, it is very difficult to bump into old “friends”.

But here I am, standing awkwardly with many thoughts running through my head. Things like, ‘gosh, what am I supposed to say to her?’ or ‘do I give them a hug?’ and even ‘I wish they were still a part of my life.’ Time and distance does that, builds awkwardness into a once casual closeness that was not lost on either me or them. But now? Now I stand here uncomfortable and longing to get away.

There are things left unsaid. Does she know how healed I have become? Does he know how much he rooted me and gave me security? Can he ever understand how his being fallibly human enabled me to approach authority figures? Probably not; nor is this the time or place to discuss such things. And so I look away and watch my feet and smile and make small talk and recognize the longing within myself that sought more. More from each of them. I was needy then, maybe I still yet am. Maybe that contributes to the awkwardness, this recognition that I’ve not changed as much as I believed. The story moves forward.

She did look good, not seeing us as she scanned the crowd far above our heads. If it hadn’t of been for my companion she would have disappeared altogether without ever noticing me. But her attention was drawn to us by the shout of my companion. And she looked at her. And then she saw me. And I stood. I had to; she was after all coming towards me. And so I stood. I hugged her lightly – at least I believe I hugged her lightly. It’s hard to know if I did or didn’t for you see right at that moment I was lost in the longing of myself and the past and who we were together in friendship. We chatted idly, about the wedding, about her daughter’s wedding album(s), a mention of her son and then she was off. I fumbled with items in my bag, drawing a deep breath; my companion nudged me and mentioned that he was waving at us. I looked down upon the floor and yes, there he was, standing where he sits every year that we are here, smile as big as his face and arm waving wildly. I smile back and wave slightly and then the moment was past. They looked toward the stage and I resumed fumbling through my bag. I don’t feel regret and yet there was something. Maybe it is the realization of the loss of the friendship, the recognition of that which was and can never be again. The story moves forward.

And then we are off to lunch, my companion and me. I sat in the seat of the bus, staring out the window, stopped at a traffic signal near the place that we were to be let off. They came into my vision, I focused and I saw them. I said nothing. At least I believe I said nothing. Once again I was lost in my own thoughts, the past met the present in the longing of myself. However this relationship was never as close or as strong as the relationship between me and the two sitting on the floor of the center. Ever. In fact the relationship between me and the he of these was much more volatile than any relationship I had ever experienced with and by a person of authority. I learned a lot from this relationship, from this friendship, from him; I learned that it is alright to argue with authority, it is ok to question authority, I can raise my voice to authority, and that those in position of authority are not above me and not better than me. And so I exited the bus and as I did we paused; all four of us saw each other at the same time and we hugged lightly and smiled gently. I tried to keep the pity deep behind my eyes so he could not see that that was the feeling I now held for him. We chatted briefly about lunch, where to eat, what was good, did he treat us to the Mexican restaurant just last year or was it two years ago. And then we parted, they boarding the bus and we off to lunch. The feelings were far more muted than I thought they would have been, should they have been? The friendship, if truly there was “friendship”, seemed entirely past. And I suppose that is as it should be. After all, they are not in my daily life any longer.

I have moved on…that much was made plain today as I bumped into old “friends”. I am no longer the person I was seven years ago or eleven years ago, or even fifteen years ago when I first moved to Virginia. I am more confident of who I am in my own skin, of my own opinions and of my own feelings. While I am ever grateful to them, they are not integral to the development of me any longer. Bumping into them made that blatantly obvious. I am, apart from all of them, more complete.    

Slice of Life: A Daily Story

Day One

Friday, June 22, 2012

She

She walked upon the stage, haltingly, cautiously, almost wearily. The weeks have been long and difficult – moving does that at times and all the packing is taking a toll on her already weakened body. Illness does that at times. She was still young and unwilling to believe that she was no longer vital. What is vitality anyway? Well, if your career involves speech and one has lost the power of speech then obviously vitality involves the ability to talk. So I guess I am no longer vital, she thought to herself. She breathed deeply and placed one foot on front of the other, forcing herself forward across the stage. Recognition for achievements seems all but mundane in the face of the loss of her job, her career, her calling. YOUR calling God, she thought, YOUR call upon my life. Arriving mid-stage, she stopped and listened to her name echo through the sound system around the giant space that is the civic center. Accolades for a job well done, for all of her accomplishments, for all that she has done for and given to the church, the constituents, the conference. She dropped her head – not out of embarrassment, more out of shame. A feeling of failure seemed to seep deep into her bones and settle there. And then the Bishop approached her, hugged her, whispered into her ear – “there is more for you to do; God isn’t finished with you yet.” The tears began to well within her eyes. The applause began subtlety and began to grow. By the time she was released from the Bishop’s embrace the entire room was upon their feet and applauding. A standing ovation, for me, she thought. The tears fell. She slowly walked off the stage, escorted and aided down the stairs, she exited the room. Around the corner, out of sight, hidden from all the eyes – pull yourself together girl. She returned to the hall, walked to her seat. She held her head high.

Pride, isn’t that one of the seven deadly sins? She didn’t care; she was going to make sure that retained her pride in the face of her bitter loss. She had heard the call from God while still a young adult in college; it challenged her and urged her to change her major life course to that of a minister. Being a minister is a tough job, ridiculously tough as a female; the perspectives of many older congregations were not aligned to the acceptance of women in the pulpit, even now. Had she miss heard? Maybe she had misinterpreted? She completed seminary, began her ministry as every woman in the conference had, in the small rural church of the Shenandoah Valley. The Valley was the truest test of the preaching abilities of the women – if rural Virginia could tolerate you in the pulpit, then a successful career in the pulpit was assured. And she passed, with flying colors, and was moved to a very urban community. Things were going wonderfully and then she was struck – unable to speak; as debilitating as a construction worker becoming a quadriplegic. She was left bereft, broken, and feeling abandoned by God. Friends encouraged her, prayed with her and for her, uplifted her. Words of comfort and care surrounded her. And she knew the value of the words, and for the most part agreed with each sentiment. Yes, she knew that while God closed one door he would open another. Yes, she knew that God would walk with her through this period in her life. Yes, she knew that great things would come if she trusted in God. Yes, she knew … At times she just wanted to scream, but she didn’t even have the ability to do that any longer, did she?

She sat in her chair, on the floor of the civic center, with her head held high, and the tears streaming down her face; and those around her offered yet another platitude, another sentiment. They placed their arms around her shoulders and they gently hugged her and they encouraged her to hang in there, hold on, and wait upon the Lord. And she smiled bravely, with the tears streaming down her cheeks, and nodded slightly with each passing word and touched each hand lightly. And within, within she was screaming.   

Slice of Life: A Daily Story

I have found my next big  365 day adventure. Ruth and Stacey at Two Writing Teachers encourage readers to reflect on a moment of a day, 31 days specifically, March 1st to March 31st — bring a small slice into focus, and consider it as a writer. So, I have decided to utilize their challenge, take a small slice of each day for a year (ack! Am I crazy?), consider it and write about it. Look for this crazy adventure not only here in this blog but also on facebook where I'll be posting them in notes. I'll be starting in exactly 67 days, since there are 66 days remaining on my 365 Daily Photographic Gratitude Journal. Hard to believe a year is almost complete. It went by far too quickly.