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Musings from the laundromat – Lightning Crashes edition
I sat outside under the night sky last night – feeling the thunder vibrate through me – smelling the rain that did not fall. Lightning flashed in random ‘peek-a-boo’ fashion, making clouds temporarily visible.
And I was contemplating.
Nic goes to England in just 3 days. For a month at least – perhaps indefinitely, if it is to be his path.
I’ve had so much on my mind lately, time slipped by on cat feet. Quickly and quietly.
Just what am I going to do alone with my thoughts? Probably have more of them.
As I stepped inside, ironically, ‘Lightning Crashes’ was being performed acoustically on the tv. Live was providing my thoughts some background music.
As if my thoughts need them.
My internal tangents have theme songs and a cast and crew … lighting and screen writers – production staff and catering. It’s quite heady really. Independent tangents of course, we have a budget you know.
But, a tangent was born. The song reminded me of someone I dated. He was in a band (shocking, I know.) He played the bass and when his band performed that particular song, he would come down from the stage and slow dance with me until he had to join in.
The drums and bass aren’t involved until the end of the 2nd verse of the song – and that is when my dance ended. Then up on stage he would go and I would find my seat.
I seem to have so many stories like that – but no book. So many ‘almosts’ but no ‘ever after’. I’m to blame for most of them, I know. I pushed people and opportunities away. So stubborn. And never willing to settle.
I’ve always had big dreams of what life and love is supposed to be. I still do.
When you’ve seen what I’ve seen and experienced what I’ve experienced, life gets bigger and so does your soul and heart and dreams.
And I still will not settle. I will wait. I will wait for the man with the broken heart and haunted past – who is meant for me.
The first I knew of true love – unconditional, pure love was when I gave birth. They say that will be the case to first time mothers (and fathers.) “The minute you lay eyes on that baby, THEN you’ll know what love is.” ‘They’ were right.
Although, if I’m being honest, when Nicholas Avery Charles was laid in my arms, and when I looked down and said my first word to him “Hi.” I didn’t feel that intense burst of love right away.
I felt like a terrible mother then – wasn’t there supposed to be internal fireworks going on? A sudden and profound new-found feeling of the maternal variety?
I was madly in love with my son when I carried him. I loved every hiccup, every kick. I spoke to him – I caressed my belly and imagined what my baby would look like, what he or she would sound like. I chose not to know the sex of my baby – I found out (obviously) when the doctor announced “It’s a son.”
I missed being pregnant for a little while after he was born. I truly missed it. Perhaps it felt safer carrying him inside of me – where he was alive and mine and protected from the world. I don’t know.
Oh, the postpartum love came. It came like a love tsunami – my heart was filled to overflowing.
I barely let him sleep in his crib at home. I would ‘accidentally’ bump into it so that he would wake up. “OH! Are you awake? Let me hold you.” And for hours I would breathe in the scent of him as he fell back asleep on my chest.
I loved my son with a heart I didn’t know I had.
I would lay down and die for my son if need be.
I would do anything to ensure he has a chance for a life filled with memories, love, hope, dreams and wonder.
And … I would send him away from me.
And I am.
And I hope that he finds those things on his journey. I’m giving him all I have to give, an opportunity. A ticket to see more than his small home town. A chance.
Perhaps years from now, he’ll sit outside as a storm brews and recall this upcoming adventure – lose himself in thought with a smile on his face. Then go back inside of his home and share a story with his family.
Enough
The 29th was my 44th birthday. It was unlike any other.
Other than the fact that I spent it alone after work, I just felt different.
Okay, if I’m being fair, the quiet house and the importance, to me, of the special post I wrote that night was a pretty awesome way to spend my birthday.
Up until this year though, it seemed no matter how many birthdays I’ve had, I always experienced that twinge of excitement either the night before or morning of.
That warm, fuzzy, childlike moment when your head tells you “It’s my birthday!”
Not this year.
I’m glad I was born, don’t get me wrong. And I am grateful for life every day.
Flashback time … gather ’round. Little story for you.
When I was 9 or 10, and living in England, I had a rather complicated appendectomy. It resulted in staying in hospital longer than the other children. They went home minus their appendix and I waved goodbye, wishing I was going home too.
My poor (now 40-year-old) Teddy had to have an appendectomy too. I performed it. We had to match 😉
A while after that surgery, (and after I finally got to go home) I became very ill. I was misdiagnosed with gastric flu.
I got sicker.
My mum, deciding it was ridiculous that I could not even keep a drop of water down, walked me to the doctor. (Yes, we walked. We didn’t have a car, we walked everywhere.)
When she got me inside the practice, the doctor took one look at me and said something along the lines of “Oh God, she’s in trouble.”
An ambulance was called.
I remember being very aware of my surroundings. I was so excited to be in the ambulance! It was my first time after all! I remember chattering on and on to the doctors and nurses when we arrived at the hospital.
My mum had promised me I could have Ribena (A blackcurrant drink in the UK) I specifically recall telling them this as they wheeled me down a hall on a gurney.
I also remember wondering why they didn’t seem to care! LOL!
Their faces were serious and they were in a hurry.
Turns out, scar tissue from my mucked up appendectomy had grown around my intestines, resulting in strangulation.
Also turns out, due to dehydration and the seriousness of the diagnosis, had my mother not brought me in, I would have had died within half an hour.
I lived. (Obviously. That always cracks me up, when someone is telling a serious story and it gets to a dangerous and life threatening part and the listener, with wide eyes, asks, “Did you make it??”)
The surgery was a success. I recall the doctor telling me that he cut me so that I could wear a bikini and the scar wouldn’t show. (Dude! I’m 10!)
I used to hate that scar! I even got my belly button pierced years ago so that the jewelry would be the first thing I noticed while looking at my naked body, instead of the scar.
I still rock the piercing, but I look in wonderment and respect today at my scar, my reminder of how near to death I was.
Then came the partying. SO much partying. I treated my body like a carnival for a while. Albeit a carnival in a bad part of town with really crappy rides … but a carnival none the less. (Debauchery Soup people, Debauchery Soup.)
I lived.
Ever wonder why? “Why am I here?”
I have throughout the years pondered that question.
Was I spared for Nicholas to be born? Is he to be someone great?
Obviously as his mother I can tell you he already is someone great, but you know what I mean.
Like a Terminator type ‘great’ – “He will save the world in the future! So you shall live to bear this child!”
That kind of great.
On a serious note, a friend of mine lost her partner the other day – whenever I would call her to chat, or get advice, I could hear him in the background saying “Tell her she’s enough!”
Tonight my friend Samantha had posted on her wall: “People who tell you how to be a better person, offer advice, point you to their path or try to fix you, don’t realize that they are already enough.”
I liked that.
I like the thought that everyone is right where they are meant to be. And not only am I enough, but so are they. Just as they are.
(And if no one has told you today, “You are enough. And you are loved.”)
Lately I’ve been feeling like more than enough. I’m filled with a magical, mystical sense of hope and life.
I feel every experience I have had in these 44 years is soon to reveal a purpose. A destiny. A bell has been rung.
And thank God I’m ready for that! Because I am so very grateful for everything I already have. I do not want for anything. I have shelter, food, family, friends.
I have passions and causes.
Dreams and desires.
Yes, something has been awakened in me.
It truly has been a week of birth.
Photo therapy
Lay in bed this morning with not a fiber of my being wanting to get up.
I am in a funk of all time funks for a myriad of reasons. But life goes on.
Laundry was skipped last weekend due to my tooth pain – blah, blah, blah – I’m so over talking about that. But, fact is, I had to do laundry today.
I milled about the house, crawled back into bed. Found myself watching ‘The Shahs of Sunset’ reunion show on Bravo. What the hell? I don’t even watch the show – no clue who the people were. But evidently, reaching for the remote and changing the channel wasn’t in the cards.
Get up Amanda.
I sat outside.
I haven’t been reading as often lately, tried to read a few pages. Haven’t picked up a paint brush in a while either, nor my camera.
“Go do laundry, and take some pictures” a voice in my head told me. From where I sat, I could see fog over the river – the mountains looked beautiful.
Okay. Get dressed and just DO IT!
So I did it. Shoved our laundry into a couple of washing machines and took myself and my camera off for some quality time.
Heads up – I’m the Queen of zoom and crop. Whereas, my son captures a subject and leaves in the surroundings, whether aesthetically pleasing or not, and his photos end up amazing. I love that about him. He doesn’t edit life. I just have a problem not editing my mouth.
Without further ado:
The reason I took my camera. Fog is rare here in the desert. It called to me. The Colorado River creates it from time to time, and every time it does, its gorgeous.
Decay and growth. I loved the juxtaposition of the two.
And here too. The area I was shooting in is prone to fires. The tree in the back obviously burned and the new growth in the foreground just made such a pleasing image.
Love the curl of this metal.
Beauty and the desert beast
The reservations irrigation system.
Looked like a mirror – or a framed picture to me
Gawd I loved these
Spent shell – wonder what was on the receiving end of this?
He’s a rocks rock
On my knees in rams head weeds to get this shot, pretty sure I have a couple of puncture wounds – but worth it
Home now – this little guy is growing through the steps. I won’t go into that metaphor. But I was proud of it and that little flower inspires me.
On the way home from the laundromat a song came on that for that very moment in time, couldn’t have been more apropos. Every word spoke to me. And I don’t know when this funk will break – but I know it will. I know this. But I’m nothing if not authentic, and I never ‘fake it til I make it’. I’m not going to plaster a smile on my face. I don’t feel like smiling just yet. I have big decisions to make, big changes to consider and time is slipping by quickly. I am sad, scared, 50 shades of blue and deep in thought. But life is still beautiful. I am still grateful. And tomorrow is another day.
Here’s that song.
Bigger than this
I tossed and turned last night. I wanted to keep reading a book I was so close to finishing, but it was way past my bedtime. I begrudgingly shut off the lights and closed my eyes.
Deep in thought, couldn’t get comfortable – dog (of course) was staring at me. I flopped about like a fish on the deck of a boat.
Then from nowhere (in mid-flop), bigger than my irritation at not finding sleep, a sense of assurance. A voice. I was being given answers to questions I wasn’t asking. I was not being ‘still’ but I was knowing God.
“Yes, there is more than this” “Look for the bigger picture” “Find me”.
There were words and shame on me for paraphrasing whoever was speaking, but … how to explain? It was more of a feeling than a dialogue, although, there were words. I’m conveying here the gist of those words.
Almost felt like whatever was ‘talking’ to me was lovingly chuckling. The way we might as we watch a toddler try to accomplish something the hard way because they don’t know better. Or because the item is too big for them.
There were no other prerequisites other than ‘getting’ that there was ‘more’.
PHEW! Because I am of no particular religion, I consider myself ‘spiritual’. I believe in a power greater than me and I believe in love. That’s about all I can swear on my life that I believe to be true for me. I don’t want to fake a Faith in something so important just because I’m afraid to go to hell.
Now, whether that was God, or some internal, wise facet of myself speaking, (although, I don’t know what the heck she was doing up past our bedtime) it was very clear that I needed to hear that message.
This morning, I was peering into my pantry and my eyes took in the canned goods. I saw my pantry in a different light. A dimmer light that I knew not so very long ago. The thought of being jobless crossed my mind out of the blue and suddenly, the cans didn’t seem like enough. I was meting out meals in my head.
On the drive to work, I was taking in the buildings, the cars, an emergency vehicle approached, lights flashing and sirens screaming – another voice. “This is not what it’s all about’.
Another assurance there’s more. This time here – important and valuable, but a place we’re passing through to get to another destination none the less.
Why these thoughts??
Either I’m losing that final marble or …
I know I have an overactive imagination (or do I? ‘ Who’s to say?). I had a vision as I started my drive to work this morning of being very sick. Alone. Nic a young adult and I was dying. Going to work anyway.
I wasn’t in a somber mood – no idea why such a morbid thought would play itself out in my head.
The other night had my mind playing out my death-bed scene. Nic asks if I’m afraid to die. I tell him no. “I’m not afraid to die, I’m afraid I’m going to miss you!”
And that’s it in a nut shell for me. The good times here are SO good. I am SO glad I was born. I love the colours, the sounds, the creatures, the smells, the endless things to discover and I love dreaming and loving and laughing.
And there’s something bigger than THIS? I’m in.
Debauchery Soup 