Tag Archives: daydreams

Alaska

Yugen

  1. Important concept in traditional Japanese aesthetics. “Dim,” “Deep,” or “Mysterious”
  2. Awareness of the universe that triggers emotional responses too deep and mysterious for words.

In 1996, Jon Krakauer, the author of Into Thin Air, published an amazing, thoughtful book entitled Into the Wild.  This book tells the true story of Christopher Johnson McCandless who, after graduating from college, spurned his former affluent life and the bright, comfortable future ahead of him.  Motivated by books he read by Jack London and John Muir, McCandless dedicated himself to a personal vision quest that began in the western and southwestern regions of America.  Changing his name to Alexander Supertramp, McCandless gave his savings of  $25,000 to charity, abandoned all his possessions, left his car in the Mojave Desert, and burned all of his cash to ensure that nothing would hold him back from his journey.  Looking for his own personal paradise on this earth, McCandless even threw away all of his maps and traveled only by his intuition.  In April 1992, McCandless hitchhiked into Alaska and walked into the vast cold wilderness north of Mount McKinley.  For a while, McCandless found shelter in an abandoned old school bus.  Four months later, however, his body was found by a moose hunter.

No one knows what ultimately motivated McCandless’s careless journey.  Questions still remain about a young man’s need to walk away from a rich and promising future to live homeless and starving  in the barren wildness of Alaska.  Some people claim that McCandless had a death wish and a need for self-destruction.    Others just dismiss McCandless’s actions as foolish and innocently reckless.

Well, I guess I am foolish and reckless too….

I don’t claim to know what was in McCandless’s head or why he choose his particular lifestyle, but there is a core element inside of me that feels so connected to his story.  In response to Krakauer’s consistent questions in the book about McCandless’s journey, I think I understand.

There are so many of us on this earth who don’t always feel that we belong in a world that overwhelms us with violent, materialistic, opportunistic situations.  Some of us who struggle to cope, do not medicate ourselves from the stress with alcohol, food, cigarettes, sex, gambling, or prescription drugs, but we do experience a deep and compelling lust all the same.  Wanderlust and the need to move, to travel, to create a universe of our own existence is a hunger that is rarely satisfied.

Restless, never able to settle down, I constantly look for opportunities to escape my existence.  I have no intention of doing this through self-harm.  I just have a relentless need to be lost.  When I travel, I rarely call or text anyone.  I love driving alone down deserted highways  without a single person knowing where I am in that exact moment.  I enjoy the solitude, the drifting away from my reality.  This has been my lifestyle for the last thirty years.

In July, 2016, I finally had the opportunity to realize a lifelong dream.  I spent time this summer exploring Alaska.  This was an amazing turning point for me.  I had made a vow to myself that I would drive through every state in America.  Alaska was the last state I needed to visit in order to satisfy this goal.  However, I refused to celebrate this accomplishment.  I didn’t post notices about it on Facebook.  I didn’t write blogs about my experience.  I just didn’t feel the need.

While I was in Alaska, I felt inspired to go completely off the grid.  I wanted desperately to be lost.  I wanted to cut off all communication to my former life.  I didn’t call or text anyone.  I only posted a few pictures on Facebook when I felt overwhelmed by the incredible scenery of glaciers, waterfalls, mountains, and animals.  But I only posted about 20 of the 350 photos I took.  I haven’t posted any more pictures or information about Alaska since I returned to Kansas.  There is a deep part of me that just needs to keep it quiet and hidden.  To experience so much of God’s amazing wilderness was so profound and awe-inspiring there was no way of putting it into words.  Even the beautiful pictures I have seem bleak when compared to the Alaskan landscape itself.  To this day, two months later, I have no desire to tell people about all of the amazing things that happened to me in Alaska.

However…

I think constantly of running away again to the “last frontier.”  I want to hide in her vast beauty and get lost in her majestic environment.  I want to run with her wilderness and dissolve into her endless splendor.

My life’s purpose was  redefined in Alaska.  I came into contact with who God intended me to be.  I was never meant to have the things of an ordinary life.  I was not meant to have a great job, or a wonderful marriage, or an incredible home.  My only life’s purpose is to grow closer to God.  To know him by his world, by the beauty that surrounds me.  I don’t have to be anything…in Alaska, I can just be…

I don’t care about success, or a home, or money.  Just knowing in my heart and soul that I can move and explore and witness God’s glory is enough for me in this lifetime.

I don’t know Christopher McCandless’s motivation for his journey.

I didn’t travel from this life as far as Christopher did.

But there are times I really wish I had followed him.

 

 

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History Lesson

In the end, it is not the years in your life that count.  It’s the life in your years.–Abraham Lincoln

I have always found history fascinating.  I enjoy watching documentaries, reading textbooks, visiting historical sites, and looking at old, black-and-white photographs.  I don’t really know why I am fascinated with the past.  Maybe I just like the idea that there was life before I was born and there will be life after I leave.  History reminds me that time is never ending.  Maybe I like the idea that everything we say and do now will become the memories we turn to in the future for guidance or comfort.  Maybe our history is proof that our time hasn’t been wasted, and maybe, just maybe, there was a purpose to our collective lives and consciousness.  History demonstrates a solid cause and effect that can be mapped out as life progresses and our drama continues to unfold.  History reminds us who we are, where we came from, and the connection we all share to life.

So, if I truly honor past events that have created life as we know it today, why, every year, do I always dread August 21?  I don’t enjoy celebrating my birthday for several different reasons.  I don’t always like all of the attention.  Sometimes, I prefer to go unnoticed.  I also don’t feel comfortable accepting presents.  I don’t want people to spend their money on me when I know they may be financially struggling.  Or maybe…

Okay, to be honest…

I hate celebrating my birthday because I don’t like turning a year older.

There I said it.  I hate getting older.  It bothers me because I don’t see myself the way other people have started to view me.  In my heart, in my soul, I still see myself as a spritely, physically strong, highly capable, intelligent, attractive, young woman.

I’m amazed how many people disagree with me.

I was horrified the first time I was offered a senior discount at the movies.  But…but…I’m a young woman!  Why would I be offered the discount?  My brother, Tony, tried to calm my anxiety.  “Jamie, every person who works in retail or fast food thinks anybody over 30 is a senior.”  His explanation didn’t help.  How did I possibly go from being carded to being offered senior discounts?  What happened to the in-between years?

And I almost went over the edge when I received my first offer to become an AARP member.  I stared at the letter and magazine in abstract horror before I manically shoved both pieces of literature into the paper shredder.

I cringed in terror when I tripped the other day at work and one of my colleagues stated, “You have to be careful.  At your age, you could have fallen and broken your hip.”  I was shocked when I was informed by personnel at the school where I was teaching that my health insurance was going up by twenty dollars a month because I had crossed over into the “older age” category.  I’m always surprised when websites and applications ask my birth year and I have to scroll further down now to find the date.  And just how is it possible that people born in the year 2000 are getting their driver’s licenses now?  Why am I looking at the younger generation and saying things like, “Well, when I was growing up, we were taught to show respect…”  Isn’t that what my grandmother used to say?

I have tried desperately through the years to prove to other people that I am still a young woman.  I buy skin products like anti-wrinkle creams believing that each “magic elixir” holds the secret to eternal youth.  I put in hair extensions and dyed all the gray out of my hair.  Each gray strand reminded me of each day ticking off my life.  I go to the gym constantly and try to convince myself that I am in better shape now then when I was a teenager….if only my knees would stop popping.  I exercise and stimulate my mind by reading, writing, and studying…well…history!  Why do other people so quickly point out and joke about my gray hairs, the lines on my face, my momentary memory losses, and my thin, frail body?

For these reasons, I have let several years pass by without celebrating my birthday.  I didn’t plan on celebrating this year either.  I was just going to go to work, go to the gym, and not deviate from my usual day’s routine.

But then…

Ignoring my request to let August 21 just pass by this year, my family surprised me with dinners, sweet gifts, nice compliments, and a visit to the Kansas City Zoo.  And I was shocked how many people posted wonderful birthday greetings and blessings on my Facebook page.  The good wishes were heartwarming and made me feel connected to so many amazing people who had guided and supported me throughout the years.  Today, Tuesday, August 23, I received a twenty-dollar bill tucked inside a birthday card from my aunt Nancy in Florida.  The card and money made me smile as if I was eight-years-old again…and I think I appreciated the gift more now than I did as a child.  I understood the sacrifice my aunt made by sending me the money and I was touched by her generosity.  The money made me smile, too, because it reminded me of my mother who also sent money through the mail regardless of the risk of loss or theft.  My aunt and mother are women of grace; beautiful, trusting souls who saw the simple good in life, an attribute that only comes…

…that only comes with age!

And that’s when I realize that birthdays are a true blessing!  This year, I thoroughly enjoyed the attention I received from my family and friends and loved the birthday celebrations.

I suddenly realized that my birthday really wasn’t about getting older.  It was a commemoration of how far I have come in my life.  It was a reflection of the connections I have made and the friendships I hold dear.  As I went about my day on August 21, I didn’t feel a year older.  Instead, I felt surprisingly blessed.  I was so thankful for every day of my life and all of the amazing experiences I have had over the years.

Now, I have years of experience and knowledge that only comes with age!

And with age comes a carefree sense of self.  I walk around in my pajamas and go out in public without makeup or brushing my hair and I don’t care.  I say what I feel and don’t worry if it’s not the popular opinion.  I hold on to the things that I like and don’t worry if other people think my ideas are stupid.  I sing out loud and dance with spirit even though other people think I have no talent.  I hold on to my beliefs and refuse any pressure to become someone different.  I try to handle my stress and don’t insert myself into other people’s problems.  I’ve learned to live my life free, accepting the person that I am without fear of what other people think of me. I have grown comfortable in the person I have become.

And I know that all of those who offer me the senior discount and fear for creaking knees will not know this until they too have reached the age of “old,” the age of wearing pajamas in public and dancing when there is no music.

I am more of myself today than I have ever been.  I haven’t grown old.  I’ve grown up by growing strong and growing joyful and growing free.  Among the many great presents I have received over the years, I appreciate the gifts of humility and wisdom the most.  And this year, I learned that every day is precious and every moment needs to be celebrated.  My best birthday gift in 2016 was to see every year as one more blessing.

Though I now have my own unique past, I still maintain my childish heart.  I still have dreams and still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up.  But I also have stories to tell and wisdom to share.  I have lived a full life of travel, adventure, successes, failures, heartbreaks, laughter, and tears….

Now, I am older.  I have a history….

I am history.

Renaissance

I love going to fairs and festivals.  I love to see places where people gather to enjoy a shared passion.  I don’t care if it’s history, art, music, sports, crafts, or baking.  I enjoy events where people are allowed to express their true spirits and share a piece of themselves and the things that make them happy.  One of my favorite festivals to attend is the Renaissance Fair in Bonner Springs, Kansas.  I became enchanted with this festival about 20 years ago when I decided to attend just on a whim.  I think that is the best way to experience new things.  I had no expectations and no personal gain.  I just attended this festival because my heart and soul led me there.  There is something about the event that just seems to resonate with my heart and soul.  The celebration of Renaissance times always seems to soothe my spirit and places me in a different realm of existence.  I feel transported back to a time and place that seems so familiar to me.

I have been totally awed and captivated by the rustic nature and splendid design of the entire event since my first visit.  I am so enchanted that I have been to the festival about 15 times since it began in 1977.  It was one of the main events I truly missed when I moved away from Kansas in 1996.  Though I have attended other Renaissance Festivals in other cities, none can compare in scope and pageantry to the festival in my hometown.

ThIMG_0082 IMG_0073 IMG_0068 IMG_0065 IMG_0014 IMG_0008 IMG_0061 IMG_0072 011 021 029 034 038 040 032 046 039 057 059 063 055 070 069 079 072 084 091 097 090 093 098 128 133 137 139 136e Kansas City Renaissance Festival is presented every weekend during the months of September and October.  It’s the perfect time for the festival.  This year, I roamed around all of the booths and attractions with the golden leaves falling like raindrops over the acres of festival ground.  After living in the desert of Southern California for the past eleven years, I was as enchanted by the autumn presentation as much as I was intrigued the festival’s dancers, singers, actors, magicians, and musicians.  It was a magical moment in a magical setting which was so refreshing to my soul.  I believe in magic.  I believe in fairies.  I believe in angels.  I believe that the world is blessed and beautiful, so beauty is normally what I find everywhere I go.  Maybe I’m too much of a dreamer.  Maybe I need to get my mind focused on more practical things.  But festivals, fairs, angels, elves, and fairies make me so happy.  Why would I ever consider living in the “real” world?

Several months ago, I went to a friend’s home for a much overdue visit.  My friend, Jane, and I sat in her living room and sipped iced tea while we talked.  Jane was frustrated and upset.  She signed heavily as she told me, “I was called up to my daughter’s school the other day.  The teacher and principal wanted to speak to me.  They had a lot of concerns about Maria.”  Maria is Jane’s beautiful, spirited, charming 5-year-old daughter.  I couldn’t imagine what this adorable young girl had done to upset anyone.  With a roll of her eyes, Jane told me the problem.  “Last week, all of the students in the kindergarten class were asked to pick their careers.”  At my wide-eyed, surprised expression, Jane informed me that the school was encouraging their 5-year-old students to seriously consider their future occupation.  Each child had to select a career, write a paper about it, and then present the information to all of their classmates and teachers.  Five-years-old…really?  I am MUCH older than that and still don’t know what I want to do with my life.

“All of the other children picked solid careers, you know, doctor, nurse, policeman, teacher.”  Jane paused to take a long sip of her tea as if she needed some kind of liquid courage.  “Only my daughter…” she sighed dramatically and shook her head.  “Only my daughter claimed she was going to grow up to be a princess!”

“A princess!?”  I repeated as my eyes lit up and a smile spread across my face.  “Really?  Maria said she was going to be a princess!?  That’s so COOL!”  I suddenly stopped as I noticed Jane’s exhausted, horrified expression.  The expression was a mixture of confusion, anger, and annoyance.  “Oh,” I now whispered as I settled back down into my seat, “that isn’t cool?”

“Of course, it’s not cool!”  Jane answered.  “The teachers, the principal, and I tried to explain to Maria what a career is but she just kept insisting that she was going to be a princess.  I told her she needed to choose an actual profession like a teacher or a lawyer, but she refused.  I told her she couldn’t be a princess when she grew up, but she wouldn’t listen to me.  My daughter is adamant that she is going to be a princess when she grows up!”  Jane sighed heavily and shook her head before saying, “I even asked her why she wanted to be a princess?  Maria said, ‘Because I’ll get to wear pretty clothes and people will do things for me.’  Can you believe it?  I don’t know what I’m going to do with that child?”

II just nodded my head now in obedient agreement with Jane.  I didn’t say anything, but I had an answer.  I know what I would do with a child like Maria if she was my little girl.

We would go to the Renaissance Fair.  We would dress in classic full long skirts and laced corsets.  We would have tea with the Royal Court, and visit with the Queen, King, Prince, and Princess.  We would chase after the fairies and play games with the jugglers.  We would wander through the glen and marvel at the colors of autumn.  We would try to catch the golden leaves as they fell from the trees.  We would eat turkey legs and drink punch as we marveled at the parade of knights in heavy armor riding strong horses as they made their way to the jousting arena.  We would cheer on our victor as he fought in the joust to defend our honor.  We would buy small crystals to plant in our home garden and daydream as we listened to the flute and harp music.

Later, we would go to museums and art shows.  We would dye our hair purple…or pink.  We would stare at the night sky on clear evenings and watch for falling stars.  We would play in the rain and jump in puddles.  We would love and respect all people, especially those who struggled to fit into society but believed in their souls they secretly were royalty. We would daydream in endless fields of wildflowers and look for four leaf clovers.  We would believe that life is fun and should be fully enjoyed.  We would believe that the world was full of endless possibilities.  We would continually count our blessings and be grateful to God and his universe for creating such a grand design.

If my daughter was a princess, I would behave like a queen.  I would love and respect myself so my daughter would have a living example of a confident, strong woman.  I would admit my mistakes and learn from them.  I would be artistic and let my imagination create a fantasy world that does not contain the tragedies of the world we currently know.  I would make solid decisions and take on new experiences and challenges so my daughter would have an example of courage.  I wouldn’t spend a single day living in fear.  I would not want my daughter to experience a single day of anxiety or depression.  I would not want my daughter to know the agony of contemplating suicide.  I would not want my daughter to experience a single moment of shame or guilt over her body, her thoughts, or her emotions.

But maybe I would not have to be a queen…isn’t this what all good mothers already do…

I don’t know…I don’t have children…I don’t know if I could advice my child on a profession like Jane had to…How could I help my child….I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up…

…But I do know this…

I go to Renaissance Festivals and art shows.  I dye my hair and wear long skirts.  I dance in the rain and believe in angels, fairies, and elves.  I live in a world of art and magic and imagination.  I don’t fit in to society.  I am the outcast, the one on the outside, the loser…I am laughed at, mocked, teased, and ignored.

But it really doesn’t matter…because in my heart…I truly know…that deep inside myself I am a princess and destined to be queen.

Possessed

Nothing is yours.  It is to use.  It is to share.  If you will not share it, you cannot use it.” –Ursula K. LeGuin, The Dispossessed

Unnecessary possessions are unnecessary burdens.  If you have them, you have to take care of them!  There is great freedom in simplicity of living.  It is those who have enough but not too much who are the happiest.  –Peace Pilgrim
Over the last few years, my brother, Tony, has been asking me to move back to our hometown of Kansas City, Kansas.  I grew up in Kansas and, to this day, my immediate family still resides there.  My brother and sisters are settled, happy, at peace.  They’ve raised their families, worked hard, and created nice homes.

I have always been the wanderer, flitting from place to place, living periodically in apartments, hotels, and cars. I owned nothing but a few books, some CDs, TV, computer, and a change of clothes.  I don’t own a home.  I won’t buy furniture.  I don’t hang pictures on the walls of rented spaces.  I hate clutter because it makes me feel like the walls are closing in on me.  Funny, but when I am “settled” in an apartment, I tend to have frequent panic attacks.  To remain calm, I usually don’t keep many things around me.

Many of my friends didn’t seem to mind my lack of furniture when they came to visit me.  They always happily sat on the pillows I would toss around on the floor.  We would sip hot tea or coffee.  We would talk and laugh without distractions. We would look into each other’s eyes instead of glancing around the room.  Many friends originally thought my lack of furniture would feel awkward.  To their surprise, they usually discovered that my home was warm and inviting.  Friends were always welcomed and honored in my home even if they didn’t have a comfortable place to sit.

My last apartment was in Palm Springs, California.  To say I had a simple decorating style would be an overstatement.  I had decorated the apartment in the “Early Wal-mart tub” style.  Seriously…I had just purchased plastic tubs from Wal-mart to hold my CDs, books, papers, and underwear.    I slept on an old army cot.  I explained my decorating style to my friends this way.  “When I have to leave again, I don’t want anything holding me down or holding me back.  I just want to be able to throw my things in my car and drive away.  I want to be able to leave at a moment’s notice and not have to worry about things.”

Possessions have always been a problem for me.  In the distant past, with my first apartments, I did try to create a sense of home by purchasing appliances and furniture.   But when the urge and opportunity came upon me to move, I didn’t know what to do with everything I owned.  I didn’t want to pack it and move it.  I didn’t want to deal with it even if I was just moving ten miles away.   I would just give my things away.  That was a very strange situation.  I would call my friend, Julie, and tell her I had a vacuum, microwave, TV to give away.  She would answer, “I really would love those things, but I’m too busy with the kids right now.  Can you bring them over?”  So I would load up my car and drive the things over to Julie’s home.  Then my friend, Sara, asked for some of my things.  I would load up my car and drive the items to her house.  Next thing I knew, I was delivering random stuff to all of my friends’ homes.  Why didn’t I just move everything to my new apartment!?  I was moving the things all over town anyway!  I don’t know.  I honestly don’t know.  I just kept given my things away without even considering taking them with me.  For some reason, this odd ritual just made me feel free and unburden and I would repeat it with each move.

Until recently…

A few years ago, things changed a little for me.  I thought I would finally settle down in Southern California.  I had a good job and was making extra money.  I still wouldn’t buy furniture; that was too big of a commitment.  But I did indulge in buying additional books and CD, which really make me happy.  But a strange thing happened.  Staying in one place caused me to accumulate more things.  And the worst part…I got attached!  Seriously, I became very attached to my books, my CDs, my DVDs, my clothes.  I became selfish.  I didn’t want to give anything away.  I wanted my things…the things I had worked so hard to acquire.

So, a few months ago, when Tony again asked me to move back to Kansas, I responded honestly.  “I don’t want to give up my things again.  I always give things away every time I move.  And Kansas is a thousand miles away from California.  I don’t want to give everything away.”

“You don’t have to give your things away,” Tony laughed at me.  “Why would you do that? Bring it with you.  Hire a U-Haul, get a van, hire a moving company.  You don’t have to leave it behind.”

But still, I resisted the move for a while until I finally decided last month that it was time to return to the Midwest.  I decided that Tony was right.  I didn’t have to give away anything I wanted to keep.  I would just pack it all up, put it into storage, and then hire a company to move it to Kansas when I was ready to return to the Midwest.  I soon notified my leasing company that I was leaving my apartment and began to pack my “things.”  Now, as many times as I have moved, I still don’t know how to pack.  That’s because I never took the items with me before.  Now, I just went to Home Depot and purchased a stack of boxes and some tape.  I just started throwing random pieces of my life haphazardly into the boxes and taping them up.  I placed the boxes into a small 5 X 5 storage unit.  For some odd reason, I was pleased that my whole life could fit into the smallest space available.  I think it was reassurance to me that my life wasn’t cluttered.  I wasn’t hoarding anything.  i really wasn’t attached.  I began to breathe a little easier as I closed and locked the door of the storage unit and drove away.  For several weeks again, I traveled unburdened through Northern California, Oregon, Washington, and Canada.  I was totally unencumbered.  I was able to breath and feel free once more.

And then…

I was ready to return to the Midwest.  Before making the journey, I first had to meet the movers at the storage unit.  I apologized a few times when the movers complained that the boxes loaded with books were so heavy, but I didn’t really worry about it.  I just watched with relief as the two large moving men placed my 24 boxes, the sum of everything I currently owned, onto the truck and took it all away.  I had my freedom and I would have my things.  Tony was right.  I didn’t have to give anything away.  I was able to keep my possessions….and I was able to drive back to Kansas without feeling the weight and heaviness of my possessions.

But then…

Once I was in Kansas, anxiety began to build up in me.  Twelve days later and my possessions had still not arrived.  All kinds of thoughts and worries hammered away at my brain.  What if the moving company had been a scam?  What if the movers were going to hold my things for ransom?  What if my items had gotten lost, damaged, or stolen along the way?  What if the only time the moving company could deliver I was scheduled to work at my new job?  The “what if’s” built up with endless anxiety.  “Stop it,” I tried to tell myself.  “It doesn’t matter.  It’s just ‘stuff’.  Let it go.”  But the stress kept me awake at night.  Yes, stress…over ‘stuff.’

Finally, I received a call from the movers letting me know that they could deliver the items the next day…well, night.  They would not be arriving in Kansas City, Kansas, until 9 pm.  I told them that was fine.  I didn’t care if they didn’t arrive until midnight.  I just wanted my items delivered and the whole thing over with.  The movers didn’t show up the next evening until around 10:30 pm.

Tony had just gotten home from work when the moving van arrived.  I was fortunate to have him there.  The delivery was a little rough.  The truck driver actually passed up Tony’s house and was halfway down the street before realizing his mistake.  He suddenly brought the truck to a loud screeching stop and then backed up with lights blazing and the annoyingly loud reverse “ding” sound echoing around the neighborhood.  The noise brought several neighbors to their front doors.  Tony’s next door neighbor, an elderly woman dressed in a purple bathrobe, fuzzy slippers, and pin curlers, stepped out onto her front porch.  I couldn’t quite hear what she was shouting at Tony, but my brother answered, “It’s okay.  It’s fine.  It’s just a moving van. They are delivering to my house. “

The elderly woman shouted to Tony again.  After he reassured her that the van was there make a delivery, not to rob the neighbors’ houses, the woman went back into her home and quickly shut and locked her door.  Tony and I stared at each other and then turned our attention back to the delivery truck.

“Oh, my God,” Tony suddenly declared. “What is that driver doing?  He doesn’t know what he’s doing! He doesn’t know how to drive that truck!”  Tony went running out into the street as he watched the driver steer the truck right up into another neighbor’s yard.  Tony tried to flag down the driver and get him to turn in the other direction.  Tony walked up to the side window of the truck and after some discussion, the driver finally stopped the truck in the middle of the street.  Tony walked back to me shaking his head.  “Oh, man,” he sighed, “the neighbors are not going to be happy when they see their yard tomorrow morning.”

I just stared at my brother in surprise, completely incapable of responding.

The large, red-haired driver now climbed out of his seat and walked to the back of the truck.  He pulled up the door and I was suddenly staring at all of my boxes…all of my crumbling, smashed, opened, mauled, tattered boxes.

“Did you pack this stuff?” the driver asked me.  I just shook my head yes.  “Man, way too heavy.  Those boxes weren’t strong enough for everything you packed.  And the tape you used…absolutely useless.”

“It was books,” I answered meekly.  “I packed books…”

I didn’t know what else to say as the man now began to gather together the ripped boxes and throw them down off the truck.  Several of my books fell out and scattered across the driveway.  I was so thankful to have Tony there.  As the mover threw the boxes off of the truck, Tony and I gathered together the pieces.  Tony placed the boxes on his dolly and rolled them into the garage.  Many of the boxes were so heavy, the two men had to lift them together just to get them onto the dolly.

“Way too heavy,” Tony shook his head at me.  “Why did you pack everything this way?”

I could just shrug my shoulders helplessly.  I wanted my things this time, I just remember thinking.  I just really wanted my things.  I didn’t want to give them away again.

Finally, the 24 ripped and tattered boxes were inside the garage.  I paid the mover and thanked him for his help, even though Tony did the majority of the heavy lifting and hauling into the garage.  When the mover drove away and the neighborhood was once again quiet, Tony and I stood in the garage together staring at the boxes that were open and/or fallen over.  I was shocked, surprised, and speechless.

Though I truly appreciated Tony’s help, as I stared at all of my possessions, I didn’t feel happy or relieved.  I didn’t feel excited or elated.  No.  Instead, I felt humiliated.  I felt embarrassed.  I was absolutely horrified.  All of that fuss. All of that upset and worry and stress.  All of the annoyance to the neighbors and all the work Tony suddenly had to do…for this! For this dilapidated, falling over, crushed, and scrambled pile of boxes.  All of that work and worry for all of my absolutely worthless material things!

I felt myself burn with shame.  I was so angry that I had let material things own me, control me, and load me down.

Tony was incredibly gracious about the whole mess.  It was as if he knew that this was the total sum of my net worth.  He had more respect for the remnants of my life than I did.  He smiled.  He said he would find stronger boxes for me.  He said he would help me repack everything and make sure it was all there and all safe.

I just wanted to throw everything in the trash now and forget about it.   I wanted to sell it all on EBay.  I wanted to place all of the boxes in the front yard and let someone just walk off with them…if he or she could even lift the boxes!  I wanted to have a garage sale and sale everything at discounted prices.  I wanted to pack everything up into my car and deliver to the homes of my friends.  After all of the struggle and all of the fight over all of my junk, it just didn’t seem like it mattered anymore.

Two weeks later, and all of the boxes are still sitting in the garage.  I haven’t unpacked them.  I hadn’t even looked at them.   I haven’t gone through any of the boxes or rearranged them in any way.  I have an aversion to looking at them or touching them.  The boxes make me cringe.  They remind me of my once horrible attachment to things that didn’t even really matter in the first place…I just want to get into my car now and drive away from the whole, God awful mess.

I want to live out of my car again.  I want to sleep in the backseat and keep battered paperback books on the passenger seat beside me.  I want to listen to music on the car stereo and cruise through small ghost towns throughout America…alone and free.

But for now, I’m buried under a mountain of junk that keeps me trapped and weighed down in a quasi-normal life.  Why did I insist or believe that I couldn’t move without my things this time?  Was I just using my things as an excuse not to move again?  And now that I am in Kansas, will I ever run free again?  Maybe I just want to feel love…love of life, love of thought, love of spirit…Maybe I just want to feel love instead of taking cold comfort in material things.

I remember reading in a Buddhist book about the theory of attachment.  I paraphrase the thought, but it basically said that it was okay to have things but don’t become attached.  You must know that all things are impermanent.  Have things but don’t allow yourself to become sad or disappointed if they are lost, stolen, or broken.  They are not the sum of your life, of your existence.

I don’t know why I let myself, for a period of time become so attached to my things. Maybe I just needed it for a time to feel like I was accomplishing something.

But now, I think I could just walk away and leave everything behind…and I would be okay.  Yeah, I would certainly be okay.

My Personal Independence

Why do these things keep happening to me?

That’s not a complaint.  I’m not whining or asking for sympathy.  I know that I have been blessed.  I know that I have had a good life.  The question is of the straight-forward, searching-for-answers variety that would bring understanding to my chronically crazy life.  I am just looking for some perspective, some meaning for the series of strange events that have occurred in my life lately.  Does everything really happen for a reason?  If it does, than what has been the purpose of incidents happening in the last couple of years?

In particular…

I can’t seem to stop living out of my car!  For the past ten years, I have rented a variety of apartments throughout Southern California.  Yes, it is true…I have moved about seven times since I arrived in Palm Springs, California, in October of 2004.  I have moved so many times that one of my friends told me that she always dedicates a full page of her address book just to me because she knows she will have to make constant updates.  She made the comment, “You move more than someone on the lam.”  She’s right, I suppose.  I do move around a lot.  Is the change due to my constant restlessness and wanderlust?  Actually, no….

There is a deep part of me that dreams of settling down somewhere.  I dream of setting down roots, having a family, becoming a familiar face in the community.  But circumstances have continually caused me to move, not into a house but into the bucket seats of my 2010 Toyota Scion.

Before the Scion was home, my main residence was a 2002 Toyota Tacoma.  Every time I think of that pick-up truck, I get a horrible case of homesickness.  I have more feelings of “Home” for that truck than any place I’ve ever lived in California.  I have never stayed anywhere else long enough, I guess, to get attached to a particular structure.

I moved into my first California apartment in 2004.  I was there for eight months until the owners decided to sell the property.  I was told to either by the rundown, ‘70s decorated one-bedroom place or get out.  I got out…and moved into my truck.  My next apartment was a small studio where I stayed for almost two years until new management refused to repair leaky air conditioners, fix broken windows, and control the roach problem…and then doubled the rent! Back into the truck I moved.  I stayed in the truck until I rented my next apartment in Oceanside, California.  I had been offered a new position with higher pay.  Within six months, however, the Oceanside company folded.  Thankfully, my old job in Palm Springs took me back.  Unfortunately, I couldn’t commute four hours a day nor pay for two separate apartments, so I stayed in my truck until the lease on the Oceanside apartment had ended.

The next apartment I had in Palm Springs was my favorite.  I stayed there for almost two years until my mother moved to California and into the apartment with me.  Suddenly, the studio apartment seemed much smaller.  Mom and I didn’t move into my truck.  Instead, we moved into a two-bedroom apartment that featured a multitude of lizards running around the courtyard.  Little lizards were always waiting on the porch to greet us every time we opened the front door.  Mom and I lived in that apartment for eight months until I lost my mother to colon cancer in March 2010.  I couldn’t maintain a two-bedroom apartment by myself.  I didn’t move back into the pickup this time.  Instead, I was living in a 2010 Toyota Scion which had replaced the truck the year before.  Man, I miss that truck!

Later, I moved into a one bedroom apartment determined that I would make it a home…which I did for two and a half years until mice moved into the walls.  The owners of the building just laughed at me when I complained.  “You’re living in the desert,” they said.  “You’re going to have snakes, mice, lizards, and roaches in every apartment no matter how clean you keep it!”  Oh, the apartment was also haunted.  The manager couldn’t seem to explain away the spirits, which actually didn’t seem to bother me.  My friend, Olga, always laughs at this incident.  She says, “You stayed with the ghosts, but moved with the mice.”  Well, yeah, mice are scary!  Thank goodness, my car doesn’t have mice…or ghost.

My last California apartment was in Palm Desert where I lived for 18 months until more little critters chased me back into my Scion.  Maybe I should have stood my ground and not little the creatures push me around.  Maybe I should have demanded that the critters leave, especially since they weren’t paying rent.  Being nervous about confrontations though, I ended up being the one to move out.  I threw all of my things into storage and sadly moved back into my Toyota Scion, feeling like a complete failure.

My friend, Terry, helped me move the last of my possessions into the storage space on July 4th, Independence Day.   I was really not happy about the situation when Terry placed the very last item into the bin and I shut and locked the door.  My whole life awkwardly fit into a tiny 5 X 5 space.

Suddenly, Terry looked at me and said excitedly, “Oh my gosh!  Happy Independence Day!  You’re free!” I turned to look at her in surprise.  “This is so great for you,” Terry continued to say.  “I wish I was like you.  Without the apartment and lots of possessions, you have no obligations.  You’re so free.  You don’t get held down by anything.  You just travel and go whenever you want.  What an amazing way to live!”

I stared at her for a moment.  It was an interesting perspective she just presented to me.  I could whine that I didn’t have a home or I could celebrate my freedom.  It suddenly dawned on me that every time I switched apartments, I actually did celebrate.  After I left the first apartment, I drove through Southwestern America.  When I left the second apartment, I drove cross country to the Northeast.  After the third, I think I ended up in Pacific Northwest.  I suddenly began to think about all the great places I’ve been when I was in between homes.  With freedom and my home life contained in my car, I usually just drove everywhere my wanderlust encouraged me.  Now, my sudden new liberty was filling my head with dreams of the very last American state I had to visit—Alaska!

“Yeah,” I smiled back at Terry then, “you’re right.  I do have a lot of freedom.”

“Independence!  Happy 4th of July!” Terry cried as we hugged each other for a moment.  “I want to be not only free but brave like you!  I’m proud of you.”

And that’s maybe why I don’t have a home.  Maybe that’s why these things keep happening to me.  Maybe there is a reason, a purpose, a plan.  Maybe I am supposed to be on the road discovering God’s beautiful land.

I’m not totally free.  Alaska will have to wait a few more weeks because of my job.  But as I lie down every night in the back seat of my Toyota Scion to sleep, I continue to dream of Alaska and my incredibly bright, unknown, unpredictable future and I know I am home.

How a Little Critter Taught Me About Life

“I just moved into my new house last month and I’ve already found one mouse, three rattlesnakes and two scorpions,” my friend Debra told me as she casually took another sip of her raspberry iced tea.  Her voice was calm and smooth as if she was just discussing her last meal or her usual sleep patterns.

I stared at her in silent shock for a moment before finally asking, “You found snakes…in your house?”

Debra gave me more specific details then.  “Two rattlesnakes were in the yard about a foot away from my front door.  The third one was in the garage.  The mouse was just inside the back door and the two scorpions were in the fire place.”  Debra sat back with a sigh and then laughed at the look of utter horror that must have been gracing my face at that moment.

I’m not a prissy person.  My hair is usually unkempt and flying out in all directions even when I’m standing still.  My make-up is minimal and though I buy fingernail polish I have yet to turn my natural pink and white nails into shimmering shades of green, blue, or gold.  As far as my shoes and clothes are concerned….well, I’d rather buy books.  I haven’t even bought a new pair of jeans in three years.  But there is one thing that makes me a complete and total girly-girl: I have a complete aversion to anything that crawls, slithers, creeps, scratches, or scuttles.

Now, I do love animals, and I certainly would not hurt another living creature, but bugs and I just don’t mesh. I also have an extremely low tolerance for snakes and mice. I think my repugnance is because I don’t like surprises.  I don’t like anything sneaking up on me.  Bugs, mice, and snakes can be sneaky.  I mean I’m going to know if there is an elephant in the room.  But I don’t always see bugs until they suddenly come scuttling right up beside me.  Bugs and mice have that surprise factor that completely unnerves and terrifies me.  For this reason, I always try to keep my home clean and organized.  There will never be dirty clothes on the floor or last night’s dishes left in the sink.  I’m not a clean freak; I am bug scared.

I didn’t explain this to Debra.  I think I was too embarrassed to tell her that critters frighten me while she appeared cool and confident about the creatures invading her home.  I tried to keep myself from shivering as Debra went on to tell me about all of the miniscule beasts that have wandered into her various homes in the high desert of Southern California over the years.  Debra took a momentary break in her horrific tales of leading the reptiles away from her home like St. Patrick leading the snakes out of Ireland.  She had to have noticed my complete shutdown.  Debra laughed and now confronted me directly, “Well, Jamie, you do know that since we live in the desert we have to expect these things.  My goodness, it’s only June and we already have had 110 degree temperatures.  When was the last time we had rain?”  Her question was actually rhetoric. Southern California is experiencing one of the worst droughts in over 5 years.  Not a single raindrop has fallen in a good six months.

Debra laughed and said, “That’s what I mean.  Because of this horrible drought and extremely high temperatures, everything is dying.  There’s no food or water for the animals anywhere.  They all are coming down from the mountains and up from the sand to try to find nourishment.  It’s the price we pay for living in paradise.”  Debra laughed again while I fought off another shudder.

That night, I went home to my apartment in Palm Desert, California, and saw a notice on my front gate.  An exterminator was coming in to all of the apartments in my building to do a screening.  Oh, good, I thought, I began to relax a little.  I was pleased that the apartment management was being proactive.  I was even more relieved when I found another notice on my gate the following day.  This notice informed me that the exterminator was coming back tomorrow to patch up any holes in the walls.  Again, I sighed deeply.  I was again pleased that the management team was thinking ahead.

The following week, I began to relax a little more in my apartment.  I felt safe and secure since the exterminator had come to my home.  I thought I was safe.  I thought wrong.

The next Saturday afternoon, I was seated at my computer putting in some extra work on my novel.  I was getting a little stuck here and there but was determined that I was going to complete at least 5 pages before I stopped.  Maybe I needed to get rid of distractions.  Turn off the television and the phone…

What was that?!

I stopped typing for a moment and glanced around my apartment.  I didn’t see anything unusual and everything was silent for a moment.  I turned back to my keyboard and started typing again.

Wait a minute….What was that noise?

I stopped working and pushed back away from my computer.  I sat silently for a minute or two…

Oh.  My.  Gosh…I stood up slowly and walked over the wall that separated the kitchen from the bathroom.  I jumped back as soon as I heard a loud scratching noise coming from within the wall!  Oh, my gosh, some critter was in my wall!  In a panic, I ran to my cell phone and punched the numbers for the management office phone line.  It took me a while to get connected.  I couldn’t get my hand to stop shaking.  I listened to the office phone ring over the sounds of the scratching that was coming from inside my wall.  Dang!  I just got the answering machine.  I pulled the phone away from my ear and glanced at the time.  5:15 pm.  The office closed at 5 on Saturday afternoons.  I hung up the phone and quickly dialed the emergency phone number.  The phone rang once, twice, three times…and finally someone answered with a gruff, “Hello.”

“Um, yes,” I said, “is this the emergency number for the apartment complex in Palm Desert?”

“Yeah,” the deep voice replied.

“Um,” I hesitated, not sure what to say, “um, there is a scratching sound coming from inside my wall.  I think there is something crawling around…”

“Oh, yeah,” the man said. “That’s the rat.”

The phone suddenly began to slide out of my hand and for a moment I had to juggle my cell phone quickly from hand to hand to keep from dropping it to the floor.   All I could stammer when I brought the phone back up to my ear was…”Wh…wh…what?!”

“Yeah, the rat,” the man said. “That’s why we had the exterminator do the screening and patching.”

I didn’t know there was a rat in the building!  Nobody told me!  I thought the management team was just being very proactive! I took a deep breath and said, “Okay, but the r-r-rat,” I swallowed deeply, “is in my walls and someone needs to get it…”

“Nope, sorry, nobody’s here who can help ya,” the man said casually.  “Everyone’s already gone home.”

“But this is the emergency number, right?” I countered.

The man answered, “A rat ain’t an emergency.  Well, see, with the drought, the animals are coming inside.  We’ll probably get a few more before the summer is over.  Nothing we can do about it until the exterminator can be contacted again.  Thanks for calling, huh,” the man said politely before hanging up the phone.  I was left in dead silence…except for the scratching in the wall.

Oh, Nooooooo!  I quickly ran around the apartment scooping up my backpack filled with novels and notebooks.  I turned off my computer and the air conditioner.  No way was I staying here for the night.  I opened the door and stepped quickly outside shutting the door firmly behind me.  I ran to my car and climbed inside.  I stared the engine and then began to drift listlessly down the street.  I had no idea where I was going but I was not staying in that apartment.  I ended up at the local McDonald’s, sipping on an iced tea and furiously writing in my journals.  I was there until the restaurant closed and I was forced out into the warm night air.   I slowly drove back to the apartment.  Was I brave enough to go back inside?  No, I slept in my car.

The next day, I went to the office to talk to the apartment manager.  “Gee,” she answered after listening to my rant, “I’m sorry that happened.  But we are in the desert during a drought so it is very common for animals to come…”

“I know, I know,” I cut her off.  I understood that animals were coming inside now but I really didn’t want my apartment to become Wild Kingdom.  “I can’t go back in that apartment,” I told her.  “Is there anything you can do for me?”

The office manager handed me the key to the model apartment and said, “I can let you stay in the model for tonight, but that’s all.”

I was grateful for that much.  I thanked her and walked over to the apartment that was set up to entice potential renters into the complex.  That space should certainly be rodent free!

I went into the model apartment, sat down on the couch, and flicked the remote to turn on the TV.  The television wouldn’t come on.  I don’t know what was wrong with it.  The screen would just light up gray for a moment and then turn off.  There was no stereo either.  With nothing to distract me, I got out my notebook and began to write.  Before I knew it, I had written 15 pages non-stop.  Oh, my gosh…it was exhilarating!  I was able to finish a short story I had started a few weeks ago but couldn’t figure out the ending.  Now, I had it completed and my heart and spirit were completely renewed.  I laid down on the couch in the living room of the model apartment and drifted off into a peaceful sleep.

And then something strange began to happen…because of the critter living in my wall, I didn’t want to go home.  I was completely thrown off of my usual routine of work, gym, writing, and home.  Now, I looked for excuses to stay out for most of the night.  I accepted invitations from friends I hadn’t seen in a while because I was “too busy.”  I would stay up late hours at a café or diner, drinking iced tea, as I hand wrote my novel and short stories.  On evenings when I was bored, I would wander into casinos and just people watch.  One night at the Spotlight 29 casino in Indio, California, I saw a notice that Charlie Daniels was performing in concert.  Oh….The Devil Went Down to Georgia…that guy… I didn’t want to go home.  I bought a ticket.  Charlie Daniels was amazing and I spent the evening laughing, dancing, and enjoying myself.  I hadn’t been that incredibly happy in a long time.  That was fun…I wanted to go again.

The following weekend, I drove up to Laughlin, Nevada, to see Lorrie Morgan in concert.  The trip was fun and it got me away from my problem at the apartment and……

Wait a minute…

Oh, my gosh….

Why wasn’t I living like this every weekend?!  Why wasn’t I out seeing people and dancing and laughing and traveling?  Why wasn’t I sipping tea in cafés and writing good short stories every night?

My life had become incredibly routine and it took a rat to show me what I had been missing!  The rat actually drove me out of my apartment and into a happier, more exciting life!  I kind of wish God had found a different way to pull me out of my routine…but I couldn’t miss the significance of the moment…

Then I had even better news.  My apartment complex was graciously letting me out of my lease four months early!  I had been planning to take a road trip and then move back to Kansas as soon as my lease was over was up in November.  Now I was able to move on with my life 16 weeks earlier thanks to a little creature living inside of my walls.

Last week, I went into the apartment management office to turn in my required 30 day notice which was really just a formality due to the situation.  “We’re really sorry this happened,” the apartment manager stated.  “But in the desert during a drought, the animals come inside.  We even had a possum in the laundry room last night.”

I laughed with the manager over this situation.  Though I don’t want to live with critters, I could certainly respect them.  It took one of God’s tiny creatures to show me the beauty of life and help me move along my path.  I will be forever grateful to the California desert critters…

I just really don’t want them moving in with me….

The Source

I am still struggling to understand a strange occurrence that happened to me two weeks ago.  I was working a new schedule at the community college where I have been employed for almost seven years.  Due to offering 5-week terms to our students, my work schedule changes every 35 days.  A few weeks ago, I was assigned to an early night schedule.  I was only teaching one night class and could leave campus at 8 pm instead of the usual 10:30 pm.  The college was in the third week of the new schedule when this strange event happened.

It started after I dismissed my evening class at 7:50 pm.  I cleaned up my classroom and organized my file before leaving the school around 8:15 pm.  I walked across the parking lot, got in my car, and started the engine.  I drove away from the campus and was soon on the I 10 east heading towards Palm Desert.  I have driven this route thousands of times before, but tonight something felt different.

At first, I couldn’t understand it.  I just had a feeling that something had changed.  It wasn’t a bad or uncomfortable feeling.  In fact, it was a rather pleasant experience.  I actually felt happy, peaceful, and comfortable.  I had a feeling of renewal, of rejuvenation…and then suddenly I realized what was different.

Unlike the previous evenings, tonight at 8:30 pm, the sky still seemed incredibly bright.  Yes, this was the very end of May.  I know summer always offers long, sun-filled days.  But this was the first night that I noticed how light the world still was after 8 pm. The world was still light like the quiet dusk of an early evening.  It was an amazing, bright, and beautiful night.

Oh, my gosh, I suddenly thought, what if I had made a horrible mistake with the time and had dismissed my class early by accident!  I was horrified for a moment and then laughed out loud.  That was a stupid thought.  I remembered every moment of the 2-hour history class that started at 5:45 pm.  A quick glance at the dashboard clock confirmed the time of 8:45 pm.  It was just a beautiful, shiny evening that made me feel deeply grateful…

…And then suddenly, the world went dark all at once as if it had been covered by a heavy, wool blanket.  I watched in amazement as twinkly sparks of light suddenly began to peek through the darkness.  I continued driving down the highway as the forthcoming stars and full round moon now guided my way home.

Then, to my surprise, I suddenly felt the presence of other beings though I was alone in the car.  I smiled as I suddenly thought of angels pressing in the cramped space all around me.  I felt my mind and spirit begin to float away, completely transcending the current moment.  My breath became soft and steady as I drifted away with the angels….

…Oh, my gosh…no, wait….i was still driving down the highway!

I shook myself to pull back from this out-of-body moment and focused my attention back on the traffic.  I asked the angels to guide and protect me and not to distract me as I drove up the Washington Street exit ramp.  Luckily, I was able to stay connected with my driving until I had finally stopped the car in my apartment complex parking lot.  I turned off the engine, grabbed my bag, and climbed out of the car.  I walked up to the door of my apartment and opened it up.  I stepped inside the inky blackness of my living room.  I don’t leave a light on in my home.  With my morning and night classes, I am usually away from home from 7 am to 10:30 pm.  I don’t want to leave a light turned on from over 13 hours.  I shuffled carefully over to my kitchen to turn on the ceiling light.  I don’t have any lamps in my living room.  I actually don’t have any furniture.  Honestly, I sleep on an old army cot, but that’s okay.  I feel blessed anyway and tonight proved it.

As I shuffled in the dark towards my kitchen, I suddenly screamed and jumped back!  My dark studio apartment suddenly lit up like a fireworks display!  Whit golden brilliant light began shooting all around the room as I looked on in wonder.  After a minute or so, the display stopped as quickly as it had begun.  I quickly ran to the kitchen but before I could reach the light switch a small but bright beam of light started glowing in the far corner of the living room.  I stood in stunned silence as the light suddenly sailed over my head and into the opposite corner of the room where it suddenly disappeared and I was standing in darkness again.

Oh, my gosh…a shooting star! I suddenly thought.  I love shooting stars…I have seen several of them over the last few years…

…Wait a minute…I suddenly realized I wasn’t outside.

I just saw a shooting star against the ceiling of my apartment.  Now I flipped on the kitchen light and glanced around the apartment.  Nothing was out of place and nothing could have created that amazing light image.  Maybe it was just a passing car, I wondered.  But my apartment sits back further from the road and is surrounded by a 62-inch brick wall.  I’ve been in this apartment for 18 months and have never seen car headlights shine through my big front picture window.  Also, the light was a brilliant golden white and not the dull haze of car lights shining through the windows of a house.

Though I felt a bit nervous because I could not identify the light source, I could only come to the conclusion that it was light from the Source, from the One, from the Universe, from God.  As I got ready for bed that night, I thought about everything that had happened that night—the lightness of the night as I was driving home, watching the stars and the moon arrive, the transcendence of the moment, feeling the presence of angels, the light display in my apartment, and my very special shooting star.  I knew than that life is blessed and that God and the angels are always surrounding us.

Coffee Talk

Last Monday, I received a phone call from a close friend of mine.  “I really need to talk,” she had said.  “Can we get together this morning?”

I eagerly agreed.  I didn’t have anything planned and I thought it would be fun to spend the morning talking with a friend over a cup of coffee.  We agreed to meet at 10:00 pm at a local McDonald’s.

I got to the restaurant about half an hour early but that was okay.  I had my books with me and would just relax and read for a while until my friend arrived.  I was really surprised, though, when I walked into McDonald’s.  The place was packed.  Every table was taken and a line of people waiting to order stretched across the lobby.  Wow!  Why was the place so busy this morning?  As I looked around at all of the people, it suddenly dawned on me.  Coachella Fest!  All of these people were on their way home from the big music festival that had taken place last weekend in Indio, California.  Instead of being aggravated as I took my place in line, I found myself smiling.  I am a notorious people-watcher.  I loved seeing all of the young, excited, dusty, dirty, colorful, beautiful people that were gathered all around me.  It was difficult not to get caught up in their excitement and peaceful happy exhaustion.

It took me a few minutes before I was finally able to get my hot cup of coffee.  HHhhhmmm….now to find an empty table.  Just then, a table right up front by the counter became available and I ran over to claim it.  I sat down and glanced around.  I wasn’t really happy at this table.  It was too close to the front where people were walking back and forth to the counter.  In between reading pages of my book, I kept glancing around for other open tables.  Oh, another table just became available closer to the back of the restaurant.  I grabbed my coffee cup and books and raced over to now claim this table as my own.  I sat my books on the table and then sat down.  Okay, this was better but I was in the center of the room, which usually makes me a little uncomfortable.  Over the pages of my book, I kept my eyes focused on the booths around the sides of the room.

Just then a young woman walked by me.  She was about 20 years old with pretty, waist-length long, dark hair.  Black plastic glasses were perched on her small nose.  She was dressed in respectable khaki shorts and a black Coachella Fest T-shirt.  The woman was carrying a tray of food over to a table beside the large picture windows.

“Excuse me,” I heard her say to the elderly woman who was already sitting there.  The older woman had been quietly reading the newspaper and sipping from a coffee cup.  “Do you mind if I sit with you?”

The elderly woman glanced up from her paper for a moment and stared at the girl over her silver wire-framed glasses.  The girl then explained.  “All the other tables are taken.  I have nowhere to sit.  Do you mind if I share your table so I can eat?”

The elderly woman now smiled at her and started to stack up the scattered sections of the newspaper that had been strewn across the table.  “Oh, that’s fine,” she answered.  “Please, sit down.”

The young woman said a pleasant “Thank you” and took a seat as the elderly woman turned her attention back to her newspaper.  They were silent for a moment and then the older woman began to gather the pieces of the newspaper again.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” the young woman responded.  “Am I in your way?”

“Oh, no, no,” the older woman answered.  “I was afraid I was in your way.”

“No, you weren’t,” the girl responded before she giggled.  Suddenly, the two strangers stared at each other and then started to talk like old friends.  I turned my attention back to my book but I could hear a few scattered comments about Coachella Fest and visiting Palm Springs.  I felt tears burn my eyes as I thought of the two women and wondered why both of them had been alone in a restaurant filled with groups of friends and family members.  Strange that they had found each other and seemed to make a peaceful connection.

After a few minutes, the elderly woman stood up from the table and said good-bye to her momentary companion.  The young girl smiled and said a shy good-bye as her “friend” walked across the restaurant and out the front door.

Both women had been so kind to each other, I felt particular touched that I had witnessed this interaction.  Suddenly, the young woman stood up and walked passed my table on her way to the soda fountain.  After refilling her cup, she started to walk back to her table…

And that’s when I made my mistake.

As the young woman passed by my table, I called out to her.  “Excuse me,” I said, “I know it’s none of my business, but I thought you were very sweet to that woman at your table.  You were very kind.”

The young woman started at me for a moment as if she didn’t quite understand my words.  Her face didn’t register any expression.  Then she just mumbled “thank you” and returned to her table.  Man, I’m an idiot!  Why did I say anything to her?  It was not my place to say anything, and, in fact, I think I may have embarrassed the young woman.   She didn’t expect any praise for her behavior.  In fact, she didn’t need my comments at all.  I should have kept them to myself.  Without comment, without praise, without pretension, without congratulations…that young woman is just who she is…and who she is beautiful…but she doesn’t need me to tell her.

A few minutes later, my friend arrived.  She walked over to me and we hugged each other warmly.  As she sat down, I felt blessed to share my table with someone.  I said a silent prayer of thank you to God for blessing me with so many people who came into my life that day for either just a brief moment or long enough to enjoy a hot cup of coffee with me.

Good Friends

A few weeks ago, I ran into an old friend I hadn’t seen in a while.  We didn’t have a falling out or any upsets.  Our lives had just started to move in different directions.  Due to families, jobs, tragedies, responsibilities, and blessings, we had just gotten involved in our own lives and lost touch for a while.  I believe our surprising reunion wasn’t a random incident.  We tend to weave our way in and out of each other’s life in perfect union with God and the universe.  We were destined to see each other again.  This moment had been divinely orchestrated.

I was on break from my job and decided to fill my car with gas before returning to the campus.  I had pulled up to one of the pumps in the Sam’s Club parking lot.  As I pumped gas into the tank, I was just mindlessly glancing around at the cars and people that surrounded me.  Suddenly, I noticed a small blue car sitting right on the other side of the pump I was using.  My attention was drawn to the white stencil that covered the back of the window.  The curvy lettering joyfully advertised the services of a puppeteer.  Smiling, little, white childish faces decorated the bottom of the window.  Oh, my gosh, I know someone who drives a car just like that! I turned slightly to the right…and there she was, my friend, Jane.  “Jane?” I called out to her.  Honestly, that was all I had said and suddenly I found myself wrapped in her embrace and we were talking again as if we had never been apart.

As our gas tanks continued to fill, Jane and I excitedly shared updates about our lives.  Jane was still doing her puppet shows and had gotten married again.  I was still teaching at the college and had published a book.  Both our lives had stayed the same and changed so much.  Jane asked me if I would like to come to dinner at her house one night.  I agreed and she informed me that she would contact me through Facebook soon.  Our tanks were filled and our hearts were open and we decided to go our separate ways before we held up the line of people waiting patiently in their cars behind us.

A few days later, Jane contacted me and we arranged a time to meet.  I happily went over to her house on a Friday night.  Even though some things had changed, there was a warm familiarity to Jane’s home. I love Jane’s house, which is filled with pictures and mementos from a life filled with love, obstacles, successes, and journeys.  I love homes like this.  I’m not a snoop.  I only go into rooms I am invited into and I only look at items that are out in the open, not hidden away in drawers or cabinets.  But I love to see the pictures and memories that create a life.  In any friend’s home, i usually will gaze at the family portraits on the walls.  I’m the guest who will joyful look at all of the photo albums and baby books over hot coffee or iced tea.  I respect and treasure my friends’ memories as if they were my own.

Jane’s home is a special treat.  It is clean and fresh, but filled with items that signify a well-lived life of love and blessings, of obstacles overcome and dreams yet to be fulfilled.  I stood in Jane’s living room and looked around at the dolls and toys, afghans and doilies, pictures and books.  “Oh, don’t mind the mess,” Jane stated as she waved her hand.

“No, it’s fine,” I assured her.  “I think it’s much cleaner than my apartment.”

“I had a friend over the other day,” Jane told me.  “She looked around the room and said ‘Oh, Jane…are you a hoarder?’  I said, ‘No, I just need a bigger house!’”

I looked at Jane and started to laugh.  “No, seriously,” Jane tried to defend herself.  “I do!  I’m not a hoarder.  I just need a bigger house.”

I couldn’t have thought of a more perfect response.  Life really is all about perspective now, isn’t it?  Does anyone else really know the treasures we hold in our hearts?  People are constantly looking at each other from the outside and being so critical.  Do we ever really look at another person from the inside?  I looked around Jane’s living room again, feeling the love and the kindness that permeated the sacred space.  I thought the room was beautiful.

The whole evening was warm and comfortable as I had dinner with Jane and her husband, played with their blind cat, and explored Jane’s massage room.  It was obviously clear to me.  Jane was not a hoarder.  She is not owned or ruled by things.  She is guided by memories and emotion.  She is buried under kindness and compassion.  She is her own person living her own full life.  Jane’s home reminds me of my favorite saying:“You weren’t meant to fit in; you were made to stand out.”  Jane stands out and I really hope other people see Jane’s happy and determined personality throughout her home and in her life.

At the end of the evening, after a great homemade meal of salad and lasagna, I hugged my friend and her husband good-bye and climbed into my car.  I waved at my friend as I drove away.  We promised that we would stay in touch and not let so much time pass by before we saw each other again.  That was three months ago.  Jane and I have stayed in touch through random messages on Facebook.  We are trying to arrange another time to get together.  She and her husband have gone to Vegas, had relatives visiting from out of town.  We both had holidays, friends who needed our assistance, and work responsibilities.  It doesn’t matter, though.  Jane and I are connected in a cosmic way.  I know Jane and I will see each other again and, over glasses of iced tea with honey, there will be more pictures to look at and many more stories to tell.  We are contradictions and undeniable truths.  We will show each other how we stand out and belong together. But above it all, for now and forever, we are good friends.

Spot on the Sun–A Short Story

Something strange happened to me last week.  I don’t know why or exactly how it happened.  All I know is that it did.  It all started this way.  It was Monday, just a Monday, like any other Monday ever since time began.  This Monday was behaving the same as any Monday would.  I am used to it, but, I have to admit, I wish that Mondays would behave like other days of the week.  I would like Monday to become more like a Sunday, reverent, quiet, and lazy.  Or maybe Monday could become more Friday-like, with wild, carefree fun.  But Monday can’t be anything other than a Monday.  And I can’t be anything more than what I am.  I am Stephanie, a quiet woman, a philosopher, a poet, an explorer…the one who looks underneath while everyone else is over the top.  I see things most people don’t see…and that’s exactly what happened last Monday.

It was a typical, sad, lonely Monday, a day of little energy and, even worse, little emotion.  Nobody cares about anything on a Monday.  Everything felt off balance like it normally does on a Monday.  So, this particular morning of hazy sunlight and visible rain didn’t really make an impression on me.  I would expect a Monday to be like that.  I wasn’t really happy about it.  But again, what am I gonna do?  Mondays are going to come around again whether I want them to or not.  They are just always there like an unwelcomed relative.  At least, Mondays know when they have overstayed their welcome and leave after 24 hours.

That certainly isn’t like my cousin John who came to visit me one afternoon, and now, two months later, is still sleeping on my living room couch.  I could hear him snoring as I got out of bed and walked down the hallway to the bathroom.  I could usually hear him snoring anywhere I was in the apartment.  The noise never ends.  He is loud and obnoxious and I wish he would stop.  But he doesn’t.  I almost prefer to hear him snore because then, at least, I know where he is and what he is doing.  It’s when he’s quiet that I panic.  He likes to sneak up on me.  I don’t know why he does that and I really wish he would stop.  Sometimes, I don’t think he realizes that he is doing it.  John just seems to exist wherever John is.  He doesn’t think about anything.

So this particular Monday, I woke up around seven in the morning, rolled out of bed, and walked into the bathroom.  I needed to get ready for work.  I used the toilet and then quickly showered.  After drying myself off with the one good clean towel, I got dressed.  Getting ready on a Monday doesn’t take much thought.  I just put on the same clothes I wear every Monday.  Life is easier that way.  Why complicate a Monday with concerns about what to wear?  Monday will always be Monday regardless of whether I wear pants or a skirt.  Why do people stress over what to wear or what day it is?  Very simply, it was Monday, so I would wear my comfortable black pants, white short-sleeved blouse, and black pumps.  I sighed as I looked at myself in the mirror.  Monday was a cruel manipulator.  It always dictated what I wore and how I felt.

So, even though, it appears that I was off to a great start, it honestly takes me a little longer to get going on Mondays.  I’m always late for work every Monday.  It’s not that I’m lazy or hate to work.  No, it’s just hard for me to get focused after the weekend.  I have a hard time getting in the mindset to go to work on Mondays.  I get easily distracted.

For instance, last Monday, I was twenty minutes late because I stopped to watch a leaf floating in an inch of water in the storm drain down the street.  I can’t tell you why this actually caught my attention but it did.  I just stood there on the sidewalk and watched the leaf swirling around in the dirty water until it was finally swept down into the storm drain with the excess fluid.  Though my body moved on, my mind was still stuck.  I walked to work contemplating how the leaf had fallen so far from the tree and ended up in the storm drain never to return.  So, that’s what happened.  I was twenty minutes late to work last Monday because I was watching a leaf.  The week before I was counting the cracks in the sidewalk and before then I was noticing how much the grass had grown in the courtyard outside my apartment.  So, yes, I’m always late on Mondays.  I usually am not completely focused until Wednesdays.  Then I’m usually fifteen minutes early to work for the rest of the week.  But come Monday, I am late again, and people in the office are beginning to notice.

That Monday, Linda, who works at the desk next to mine suddenly looked at me when I walked into the office and commented, “Well, I guess some of us need extra time to recover from the weekend.”

I hate Linda.

I wish I didn’t have to work next to her.  She is very mean to me.  She constantly makes rude comments to me since I became the Administrative Assistant to Mr. Davis at the law office a year ago.  Maybe she’s afraid I’m going to take her place as Senior Administrative Assistant, as if that is something I really aspire to be.  Maybe she thinks I’m not smart enough for my job.  But whatever the reason, she is always making rude comments.  The data entry clerks in the office are always laughing at the comments Linda makes at me.  I don’t know why the two clerks always laugh at Linda’s remarks.  The comments are never funny.  I think the women are just terrified of Linda.  She can be really scary…

And she loves to eat.  There are always snacks at her desk.  Linda especially loves to eat corn chips.  I can hear her crunching throughout the day.  The smell is disgusting.  I never know what to say to Linda about the food or her rude comments.  One day, I’m going to tell her to stop and leave me alone, but for now, I just prefer to keep my distance.

I pulled my long blond hair back in a loose ponytail and put on a few splotches of make-up before picking up my wide red plastic-framed glasses and sliding them onto my face.  When I was ready, I opened up the bathroom door.  I walked back to my room and grabbed my purse and keys.  I guess I was ready to go.  Maybe I could make it to work on time today.  But it was Monday, and it had been raining since early this morning.  Who knows what manifestations may distract me on my walk to the bus stop today?  Anything can happen, though, I guess.  Maybe that’s what makes life so interesting.  I sighed deeply as I walked out of my room, down the hallway, and…

“AAAHH!”  I suddenly screamed jumping back.  I took several deep breaths and stared at John who stood directly in front of me.  God, I was so caught up in my thoughts about Monday and Linda, I hadn’t noticed that the snoring from the living room sofa had stopped.  John was standing quietly in front of me.

“Geez, Sis,” he stated, tossing back the long, straggly, blond hair that was hanging in his face.  “You need to calm down.  What’s wrong with you, Sis?  You need to relax.  You’re always screamin’.”

I stared at John for a moment.  He always says he doesn’t purposely try to scare me.  He claims he only startles me so easily because I’m never paying attention…

He may have a point…

It’s not fair though…I do pay attention…just not to the things other people think are important.

But I didn’t want a lecture on the art of relaxation from John right now, even though I know he is an expert on doing nothing.  I didn’t want John to tell me about relaxing when I am the one working hard to support both of us.

And I wish he would stop calling me Sis!  I don’t know why he does that.  I am not his sister.  I am his cousin.  Yet, he always says Sis no matter how much it irritates me.  It sounds dismissive to me as if he is just patting me on the head and pushing me away.  I’m beginning to think that he says it on purpose, just to upset me.  One of these days, I will demand that he calls me by my real name—Stephanie Ann Davis.  And then, I’m going to tell him he has to leave.  And then, I’m going to ask for the hundred dollars he owes me…

Just not right now.

I needed to get to work.  Besides, I didn’t want to talk to John about my life or my job or money or anything really.  Talking to John was like talking to a parrot.  He just repeats back what he hears but doesn’t contemplate anything.  It’s amusing for a while, but ultimately pointless.  I push past John and walk into the living room.

“Not even a good morning today,” John called out sarcastically from behind me.  “You can at least say good morning.”  But I was too shocked at the mess I saw as I entered the living room to say anything to him.  Clothes were all over the floor, and a few paper plates of food and several cans of coke were sitting next to the couch.  The place was a disaster.

“John, why did you make such a mess?”  I asked as I pointed to his clutter in the living room.  John stared at me for just a moment as if he thought I was somewhat ridiculous.  I didn’t care about that, though.  I was past the point of worrying what John thought about anything.  I just sighed dramatically.  I had to admit that I was a little irritated when John just chuckled and shrugged his shoulders at my question.  I knew that the mess would wait until I had time to clean it up when I got home from work.

“Yeah, yeah,” John was saying to placate me.  “I’ll get it cleaned up.”  He said the words in a lazy monotone without much commitment.  “But I got stuff to do today.”

I stared at him in shock for a moment.  “What could you possibly have to do today?  You don’t have a job.  You don’t go to school.  How can you be too busy to clean up today?”  I turned away, and walked to the door, but John followed closely behind me.  “Leave me alone, John,” I said to him even though my words didn’t sound threatening at all.  Instead, my voice came out of my dry throat as a bit of a squeak.  So, of course, it didn’t stop John from following me to the front door.

I opened the door and stepped outside into a usual Monday morning.  The sun was just beginning to break through a few of the lingering dark gray clouds.  Large, dirty puddles covered the steps and sidewalks.  I found myself leaping widely in an effort not to splash through the puddles as I made my way down the four wide concrete steps to the sidewalk.  Well, this is different, I mused.  This wasn’t like any other Monday or most rainstorms.  I wasn’t jumping into the puddles and enjoying them like I usually do.  This morning, I was sidestepping the puddles and fighting to keep my thoughts focused on just moving forward.  I didn’t want to get distracted right now.  Any place I stopped to contemplate life, I would have John right beside me.  I wanted to him to leave me alone, but he continued to follow me.  I hoped that the wet morning would deter John, but it didn’t.  He continued to tag along behind me as I walked out the door, down the steps, and onto the sidewalk.

A nasty little thought occurred to me then.  Did I lock the apartment door?  I don’t remember if I had turned the little button on the knob before it swung shut behind us.  I wickedly hoped that I had locked John out of the apartment!  Here was John following me outside while he was wearing the soft flannel blue shorts and white t-shirt that he usually wore to bed.

…And he always tells me that I am oblivious.

Didn’t he realize that he was walking outside in his pajamas?  I hoped we got further from the apartment before John realized that there could be a problem.  I wondered how many people would see John in his pjs.  The thought made me laugh and I was momentarily happy before I began to feel a little bit guilty.  John is not a bad person, I tried to tell myself.  He’s just very misguided and a little selfish.

Hey, maybe I could be a role model for him…

My brilliant idea dissolved into dread as John followed me across the apartment complex parking lot.  Oh, man, he was asking me for money again!  “Just twenty dollars,” he was saying.  “Could you just give me twenty dollars to see me through the week?  I’ll pay you back.”

“You’ll pay me back,” I laughed.  “You already owe me a hundred dollars.”  I glanced back at John who looked rather hurt that I had the nerve to keep track of the money he had borrowed from me over the last few weeks.  I just shook my head at him.  He had no right to feel insulted after he was has been living on my sofa for two months now.  “When are you going to pay me back, John?”  I asked.  “How are you going to pay me back?  You don’t even have a job.”

I didn’t want to give John any more money.  I know how John operates.  He’ll stay with me for a while, bleed me dry, and then move on.  I tell him things like “I’m short on cash right now” or “I haven’t gotten paid from work yet this week.”  I don’t think he believes me.  I’m not an effective liar.

Why don’t I just tell him what I think?  Why can’t I just be honest with him?  John, I should say, just get your crap and move!  I don’t want you sleeping on my couch anymore.  I don’t want you eating all of my food.  You need to contribute.  But instead, I keep my mouth shut and just hope that he will somehow realize that he is no longer welcomed in my home.  But John seems just as oblivious to the things happening around him as I am.  We are family.  Neither one of us really pays attention to anything other people think is important.

John continued to follow me across the parking lot to the opposite sidewalk.  I don’t have a car right now.  That is a bit of a relief.  I know John would ask to borrow it if I had one.  He wouldn’t think anything of taking my car for the day and leaving me stranded, without a way to get to and from work.  I actually take the bus every day.  It’s kind of a hassle…but, at least, John doesn’t get to use my car…if I had one, that is.  The plan backfires sometimes, though…

Two or three times, I had to stay late at work and I missed the bus.  I had to humble myself and ask Linda to give me a ride home.  She was mad, but she eventually did it.  She drove me three blocks and asked me for ten dollars in gas money!  She even lives in my apartment complex!  It wasn’t as if she had to go out of her way to take me somewhere different.  I gave her the money, though.  I didn’t know how to say no.  I was scared to say no, but, honestly, what would she have done?  Driven me back to the office and left me over night?  I don’t know.

I hate Linda.

Now here was John trailing after me down the sidewalk and still asking me if I could please give him twenty dollars…twenty dollars, he claims, is all he needs.  I only had 30 dollars to get me through this week.  That was just for my lunches and bus fare.  I tried to walk a little faster but John was right on my heels.  I could hear his voice behind me.  “C’mon, Sis.  I really need the money, Sis!”  I could feel tears of frustration burning my eyes.  I couldn’t argue with John any more.  I just needed to get away from him.  Now, I hoped I hadn’t accidentally locked the door.  I would have preferred it if John just went back inside the apartment and left me alone.  But, no, matter how fast I walked, he was still there stalking along behind me.  Finally, as I approached the bus stop, I irritably reached down into my purse, pulled out a few dollars, and turned around to face John.

I turned around angrily and probably with more energy than I had intended.  I spun around…and walked right smack into him!  I hadn’t realized that he had been quite that close.  My face collided with his left shoulder.  I felt a sudden whoosh as air spilled out of my lungs and my glasses were knocked off my face.  I caught my breath as I heard my glasses fall onto the sidewalk with a scrapping thud sound.  Oh, man, I hope I didn’t break my glasses…

As I bent down to retrieve my glasses, John did the same thing, and we suddenly cracked our heads together with a hard, loud thump.  The head bump was so hard it caused me to stumble backwards for just a moment.  Before I fell back on my butt, though, I suddenly felt myself being pulled in the opposite direction and back up on to my feet.  I righted myself and then noticed that John was standing in front of me, holding on to my left elbow to prevent me from following over.  I didn’t want to thank him for his help.  I would have preferred to fall on my butt than to feel obligated to John.

Once I had my feet back under me, I yanked my elbow out of his grasp.  John looked at me for a moment as if he expected a reward for his help, maybe like twenty dollars.  When I didn’t respond, John bent down and picked up my glasses from the sidewalk.

“I’m sorry, Sis,” he was saying as he held my glasses out to me.  I bit my lip because I didn’t want to cry and I didn’t want to scream at him.  “Sis,” John was saying.  “I really am sorry…uh, can I have the 20 bucks now?  It’s cold out here.  I want to go back inside my apartment.”  I glared at him for just a moment.  The fact that I had to squint to see him put more menace into the look I shot at him.  “I mean your apartment,” he mumbled.

“Just give me my glasses,” I screeched at him as I reached out my right hand towards him.  I am practically blind without my glasses and feel very vulnerable without them.  At first, John held my glasses away from me.  I heard him laugh once or twice as he yanked them further out of my reach.  “That’s not funny, John!”  I shouted at him.

“Geez, alright, Sis,” John stated.  “I was just playing.  You really needed to relax, Sis.  Why are you always so uptight?”  I continued to stagger around, slashing and sliding through puddles as I batted blindly at the air around me.  I heard a grunt of laughter from John.  I had this strange feeling he was going to hold my glasses hostage for a twenty-dollar ransom.  But, instead, I suddenly saw his blurred image up close as he stood directly in front of me and dropped the glasses right down onto my face.  I jumped back for a moment at the sudden sensation.  As John put the glasses on me, I felt a little cold sliminess settle across the bridge of my nose.  Oh, man, the glasses must have fallen directly into a puddle and John didn’t care enough to wipe them off.  “I’m sorry, Sis.  I really am,” John was saying.  He was quiet for a moment and then added, “I really need the 20 bucks…”

I blinked several times trying to adjust my vision.  Something didn’t seem right here.  I staggered around and then looked up….and that’s when I saw it!  I had glanced up at the sky just as the sun began to shine through a few of the dark clouds.  But the sun wasn’t complete and perfect as it usually was.  Instead, the brilliant golden orb now had a round dark spot right in the center.  Why was this happening?  Oh, my gosh, was this an eclipse or something?  No, no, it couldn’t be that.  The sun wasn’t a solid circle this morning.  Instead, the dark spot on the orb was a small blip with jagged uneven edges.  Could this morning’s storm have washed away the center of the sun?  While John continued to beg for money, I just stood there in front of him, staring up at the sky, and contemplating the sun.  I couldn’t believe that John continued to talk and other people just continued walking down the sidewalk while such a phenomenon was taking place.

And everyone thought I was oblivious…

Why didn’t these people look at the sun?  Why didn’t they notice that the sun was slowly dissolving into a black icky mess?  I wanted to grab people’s arms and yank them over.  I wanted to point up at the sky and demand that they look at the sun.  I wanted everyone to see what I was seeing.  I wanted to share this spectacle with the rest of the world.  This wasn’t just a leaf caught in a storm drain or grass growing in the courtyard.  This was a happening, a miracle!  Why was everyone else ignoring it?

I didn’t reach out to anyone though.  I just continued to stand there, quietly staring up at the sky and studying the sun.

And suddenly, I realized that John had stopped talking.  He was no longer begging me for money.  Instead, he was suddenly standing by my left side.  His gaze had followed mine until he, too, was staring at the sun.  I suddenly felt myself filled with so much joy.  I had never felt so close to John in my life.  My cousin John and I were standing together on the sidewalk just a few feet from the bus stop staring up at the phenomenon of a black spot on the sun.  It felt for a moment like the planet had stood still as John and I stood together in silent communion staring into a far-off world.  I had suddenly slipped into my contemplative mood as I wondered what would happen to the world if the sun dissolved.

And then suddenly, I heard someone shuffle up to stand just to my right side.  I didn’t turn around to look.  I was scared that if I took my eyes off the sun I would miss something.  I just had the sense that there was a person standing beside me.  I didn’t know who it was or what he or she looked like.  I didn’t know if the person was male or female, short or tall, heavy or thin.  I didn’t know if he or she was black or white or Asian.  I didn’t know if he or she was Muslim or Christian or Jewish.  I didn’t know if his or her hair was black, or brown, or blonde.  I didn’t know if the person was gay or straight.  I didn’t know if he or she was college educated or a high school dropout.  I didn’t know if he or she was rich or poor.  All I knew was that the person stood beside me as we stood together staring up at the sun.

Then I felt someone else standing to my left directly behind John.  And again, I didn’t know who it was.  I still couldn’t turn my face away from that spot on the sun, so I didn’t turn to look at the person.  I didn’t see his or her face.  I didn’t know if this person was male or female, short or tall, heavy or thin.  I didn’t know if he or she was black or white or Asian.  I didn’t know if he or she was rich or poor.  I could just feel the person standing to my right staring up at the sun.

Then I could feel someone standing directly behind me but I didn’t turn away from the sun to look.  I could just feel warm breath on the back of my neck and the heat of a body warming me in the chilly Monday morning air.  I didn’t know if this person was male or female, heavy or thin, tall or short, rich or poor…and I really didn’t care.  I was just so happy to be spending this moment with these people.  I hadn’t had anyone share my contemplations with me before and this moment now made me smile.  For the first time, people were seeing the world the way I was!  What an extraordinary and exhilarating moment!

I could feel someone now standing in front of me, but with my eyes turned up to the sun, I was looking right over the top of his or her head.  I could just see a soft fuzziness below my face.  It could be a hat, scarf, or hair.  I couldn’t tell if he or she was heavy or thin, rich or poor.  It didn’t matter.

I could feel the heat of a hundred souls around me.  The sensation warmed me and made me feel safe and loved.  I had never before felt so connected to other people.

Like a magnet, our quiet, calm moment caused more people to gather around John and me.  There were so many of us that we filled the sidewalk and drifted into the street.  There were so many people I couldn’t tell where I stopped, and they began.  I could feel a variety of people on my right and on my left.  There were people in front of me and behind me.  I didn’t know who they were.  I didn’t know if they were male or female, tall or short, rich or poor.  I didn’t know their race, religion, or culture.  It didn’t matter.  Everyone was looking up, staring in one direction.  All of us united in one common goal: to contemplate the phenomenon of the dark spot on the sun.

And I felt so much love for the people around me.  I could feel John standing a little forward on my right side.  My sweet cousin.  I loved him so much.  My heart swelled as we stood together contemplating this occurrence.  We stood together, sharing a phenomenal moment of witnessing something so unique and original.

As I stood there, basking in the warmth of the human experience, I suddenly heard a child’s voice break the silence as he loudly asked, “Mommy, what are we looking at?”

“We’re looking at the storm clouds,” his mother answered.

Though a multitude of voices began to sound all at once, each one rang out as a separate solo in our unique symphony.

“Clouds?” a male voice suddenly echoed.  “I thought we were staring up at the trees.”

“No, no, no,” another female answered, “there is nothing in the trees.  We’re looking at the roof of the building across the street.”

“The roof?  There’s something on the roof over there?  Why would we just stare at a roof?” a different woman shouted.  “No, no, we’re watching for planes.”

“Planes!?” a male voice asked angrily.  “Why would we all just stand around waiting for planes to go by?  That’s stupid.”

“Well, I don’t know what we’re looking at,” a female voice admitted.  “I’m just looking because everyone else is.  What is it?  What are we all looking at anyway?”

Now, to my surprise, most of the people were saying the same thing.  “I don’t know what we’re looking at.”  “Everyone’s just staring.”  “What is everyone looking at?”  “What is it?  Why are we here?”

What was wrong with these people?  I wondered.  Couldn’t they see?  Why didn’t they know?  How could they not see it?  And then I realized something.  We weren’t united in the same experience as I had imagined us to be.  I was alone in my contemplation of life while others just stood around lost and oblivious.

Now, there was a quiet moment as everyone turned to stare at each other.  Everybody was searching for an answer.  Tension began to riffle through the crowd as everyone was trying to figure out why they had just wasted several minutes of their busy Monday morning staring at nothing.

“You were here first,” a couple of people suddenly said as they looked at John and me.  “You started this?  What were you staring at?”

“I don’t know.  I have no idea.  I was just looking because she was,” John said as he casually pointed at me.

“And I was just looking because you were,” another voice answered John.  Several other voices responded in the same way.

Oh, my gosh, I thought, they really didn’t see it!  They didn’t understand.  Nobody else understood the magnitude of the situation.  Before I could think of anything else, John suddenly said, “Yeah, it was you, Sis.  You started all of this, Sis.  What were you looking at?”

Now, I could feel all of the eyes turning away from the sky and focusing on me.  It was completely silent, except for the shallow breathing of the people around me.  “The spot,” I whispered, “the spot on the sun.”  I didn’t turn around yet to face the people gathered around me.  I felt safer staring directly at the sun.  I slowly pointed up and said again, “I was looking at the spot on the sun.

“The what?”  And I suddenly could hear the different voices of the people around me.  I looked away from the sun then and at the people gathered on the sidewalk and in the street.  Where we were all one before, now I could see their race and culture and religion.  Where we were all in silent communion before now there were angry, confused expressions on their faces.

…And, oh my gosh, what was this!?  Every face I saw seemed to be missing a particular feature.  There was one face with a hole where the nose should be.  Another with an eye missing.  As I turned around, I noticed a woman’s face with a hole in her forehead.  Oh, my gosh, what was happening?  Everyone’s face was beginning to dissolve into darkness as the snarky voices continued questioning me.  “What is happening?”  “What do you see?”  “What is it?”  “A spot on the sun?”

My confidence and excitement was beginning to vanish.  I didn’t know what else to say.  I continued to repeat myself.  “It’s the spot on the sun,” I said again, but in a softer voice.  “Right there.”  I pointed up at the sky.  “There’s a black spot on the sun.”

I turned to look at John now, my eyes silently begging him to back me up.  But instead, he looked at me with a really odd expression.  Oh, my gosh, he seemed to have a hole on the left side of his face.  I stared at him, trying harder to focus on his features.  I couldn’t make myself look away.

John was staring at me incredulously.  And then he said, “Oh, for God’s sakes, Sis!  You have something on your glasses!”

Before I could stop him, he reached out and grabbed the glasses off my face.  He glanced at the lenses for just a moment and then started to laugh.  “Sis, look,” he stated.  “Your glasses got dirty when they fell into the puddle.  There’s a small piece of grass or a leaf or something on them.”  John rubbed the lenses on the front of his white flannel shorts.  Before I could protest, he plopped the glasses back on my face again.

“Oh,” I said as I was now able to see clearly.  I glanced up for a moment.  The sky was beginning to clear of the dark clouds and a brilliant, clear, whole sun was shining through.  “Oh,” I whispered, “I guess the sun is fine then.”  I giggled for a moment to hide my discomfort and embarrassment, but no one laughed along with me.  Instead, everyone stood around me in complete awkward silence.

Everyone was quiet for a moment.  And then suddenly one voice shouted out.  “This was a damn waste of my time.”  “Stupid,” another voice called.  “Idiot,” I heard someone else say.  “Damn fool,” was another comment that stuck in my brain as I felt a bright blush rushing up into my face.  My eyes began to burn as I struggled not to show any tears.

“Well, if I’m such an idiot, why were you all following me?” was my weak reply.  Nobody answered.  People were brushing roughly against me, almost knocking me over, as they walked away.  They were waiting to see a miracle, not realizing that they had already created one.  For on that dreary Monday, a miracle had occurred.  For one brief moment, everyone had been united.  People had joined together and contemplated the world.  It did happen.  Why was I the only one to notice?

Why did this happen to me?  Why couldn’t I see the world the way other people do?  Why do I always have to see the earth through my own imperfect eyes?  I had felt so close to these people just a few minutes ago.  It hurt now that they would call me names and laugh at me as they walked away.

In just a few minutes, John and I were the only two people left standing together on the sidewalk.  I struggled to fight back tears as we looked at each other.  “That was really stupid, Sis,” John said as he stared at me.  “You had everybody all confused.  You were an idiot.  How could you not figure out that it was just a spot on your glasses?  Sis, you really embarrassed me,” John said then as he shook his head.  “Why did you do that?  You need to start waking up and paying attention to the real world.”  He paused for just a moment and then said, “Can I have the twenty bucks now?  I want to go back to the apartment.”

I just stood there staring up at John hopelessly.  But we were one, weren’t we, John?  I wanted to ask him.  But John just stood there looking at me like I had lost my mind.  I stared at him quietly for a moment, seeing him clearly now, too.  “No,” I said in a small voice then.

“What?”  John asked as if he didn’t hear me…or didn’t want to hear me.

“No,” I said louder now.  “No, you can’t have twenty dollars, John.  I will not give you any more money.  I want you to pay me back what you already owe me.  A hundred dollars, John.  ”

“Oh, c’mon, Sis…”he started to whine, but I was having none of it.

“No, John,” I was all fired up now.  “I may have made a ‘stupid’ mistake.  But, I’m a good person.  I try to help people and I think about life.  I don’t need people standing around telling me that I’m stupid.  I don’t need people in my life to hurt me.”  Maybe I wanted to believe in another world.  Maybe I was looking for a miracle.  And then that’s when I did it.  I turned to John and told him that he had to leave.  “You need to be gone, John.  I want you to leave my apartment…You’ve mooched off of me long enough.  I want you to pack your crap and leave…NOW!  Not tomorrow and not later.  NOW, John.  I want you gone!  Get your things and go.  I want you gone by the time I get home from work tonight.” I stopped for a moment and took a deep breath, before adding,  “You need to go.”

I turned around and walked away from him then.

“Hey, Sis?”  John called out after me, but I wasn’t going to turn around.

“Leave, John,” I said as I walked down the sidewalk.

John still screamed out behind me.  “C’mon, Sis.”

“And stop calling me Sis!”  I demanded.  “My name is Stephanie!”

I continued on my journey without looking back at him again.  I had missed the bus, but that was okay.  I felt like walking anyway.  I walked the three blocks to work.  I splashed through puddles and didn’t care if I arrived late, wet, and dirty to my job.  This is who I am.

This Monday, I walked into the office half an hour late.  Of course, Linda had something to say about it.

I hate Linda.

As I had walked in the door of the law office, Linda looked up from her computer screen.  She started to make a few comments as I walked over to my desk which was right behind hers.

“Well, look who finally decided to show up for work today.  Late again?  It must be Monday,” Linda stated as the two data entry clerks looked up at me from their computer screens.  They didn’t even try to hide their giggles.  They always seemed to get excited when Linda made fun of me.  “My God, what happened to you?  You’re wet.  You look like a drowned cat who…”

“Stop it, Linda!  Just shut up!”  I said.  The data entry clerks suddenly looked away and found something important to do on their computers.  The deep, patient tone of my voice even scared me.  “Leave me alone.  I’m a good person and I do work hard, so just back off!”

Linda stared up at me.  Her eyes were wide and her mouth hung open.  My own words were even a shock to me.  I had never talked back to Linda before.

In the eerie silence that followed I continued.  “Why do you always have to make fun of me?  What have I ever done to you?  I don’t want your job.  I don’t want to hurt you.  I haven’t done anything to you.  Why are always making fun of me?”

Linda just looked at me for a moment.  And when she finally found her voice again, she said, “Would you like a doughnut?”  I stared at her as she picked up a large pink box that was sitting on the corner of her desk and held it out to me.

I wanted to stomp away from her but my hunger won out.  I didn’t get anything to eat before I left the apartment earlier.  This morning’s adventures made me really hungry.  “Yes, Linda,” I said.  “I would really like a doughnut.”

I reached into the box then and picked up a perfectly round, shiny, glazed doughnut.  I looked it over once before I bite into it.  “Thank you,” I whispered to her as I chewed.

Usually, Linda just ignores me throughout the rest of the day.  To my surprise, though, today, she continued to talk to me, asking me if I had any questions or needed any help getting the rest of my work completed.  It was a little uncomfortable at first, but slowly I began to relax into our comfortable truce.  I was surprised how pleasant and friendly Linda could be.

I like Linda.

…Today.  I don’t know about tomorrow yet.  We’ll just have to see.

Our pleasant camaraderie that day made the time pass very quickly.  Soon, five o’clock arrived and another Monday was over.

As Linda and I closed the office, she suddenly looked over at me.  “Do you need a ride home?” she asked.

“No,”  I answered her in a shy whisper, “I’m taking the bus.”  Honestly, I thought that muggers on the bus would be safer than being with Linda in her Toyota Scion.

“It’s no problem,” Linda said.  “I can drive you home.”  She looked at me for a moment and I couldn’t turn away.

And then she smiled at me!  Linda actually smiled at me!  Though at first I tried to fight it, I couldn’t help smiling back at her.  “That would be great, Linda,” I said, as I glanced out the window at the dreary evening.  Though the sun had started to come out that morning, the rest of the day had dissolved into dark clouds and heavy rain.  I couldn’t help but feel that the weather was my fault. Had I embarrassed the sun to the point that it no longer wanted to show its face?  I reminded myself that that was an awful way to think.  I know that the world didn’t revolve around me and that I certainly didn’t possess that kind of power.  But I couldn’t help feeling a little bit guilty for ruining everyone’s day.

But then again, whose choice was that really?

So now, I had a choice to make.  “Yeah, Linda,” I answered.  “I would appreciate a ride home.  But I really don’t have any extra money this week to give you…”

“Money?”  Linda asked as if in shock.  “Forget about it.  It’s not necessary.  The weather is just so bad, I don’t want to see you walking to the bus stop.  Besides, we live in the same apartment complex!  It’s okay.”

I smiled as Linda and I walked out of the office, locked up, and ran in the rain over to her car.

I like Linda.

As Linda drove us home, we just made general small talk about projects in the office…until we came to the corner of Third and Madison.  The atmosphere in the car suddenly seemed to change.  Linda suddenly became very quiet and took a deep breath as she pulled up to the stop sign.  Finally, she said, “This is it.”  She breathed in heavily.  “This is where I lost my son two years ago.”

I turned to look in shock at Linda.  Her revelation took me by surprise and all I could think to do was murmur, “What?”

“It was a motorcycle accident.  It was on a day just like today.  Dreary and dark and rainy.  A Monday just like today.  Mike was on his way home from work on the bike he loved so much.  A car headed the other way didn’t stop and ran right into him, killed him instantly.  I didn’t even get to say good-bye.”  And then she suddenly turned and looked at me.  “He was just about your age.”  Linda was quiet for a moment as she stared out through the windshield.  The atmosphere in the car was grown thicker, so I turned to look out my passenger side window.  I was contemplating the row of houses in the neighborhood and wondering who were the people who lived in these decaying, aging homes.

“He used to have your job,” Linda’s soft voice was strong enough to shock me out of my reverie.  “Yeah,” Linda continued, “He had just turned 21 and needed a job.  He started working with me in the office.  Then one day, he left the office about a half hour earlier than I did.  I was driving home and I saw him there, lying on the side of the road.  The paramedics were already working on him, but it was too late.  The driver of the car took off and left my son lying in the gutter.  I lost my son, and then two months later, you took over his job in the office.”

I shivered as I looked at Linda with more insight now than I had experienced in all of my moments of contemplation.  I began to understand Linda’s animosity towards me.  It really had nothing to do with me.  Linda’s world did not revolve around me either.  Wow, even though I contemplate life, I guess I’ll never really know what another person has been through until they tell me.  I suddenly found myself reaching over and giving Linda’s hand a quick squeeze.  She just offered a faint smile and slowly drove through the intersection then.

Suddenly, Linda started to talk again, “For a while, I refused to believe it.  For months, afterwards, I still called his cell phone.  I would tell friends that I couldn’t go out because Mike needed me at home…even after he was gone.  I was just crazy then.  It’s a little embarrassing now.”  She gave a small giggle then and shrugged her shoulders.  “I used to…I used to see Mike walking down the hallway of my home late at night even after he was gone.  I saw him.  I know I did.  It sounds so crazy.  But he was there.”  Linda just rolled her eyes then before saying, “I was just…just crazy.”

I let Linda’s words sink in for a moment before I finally said, “Linda, this morning…the reason I was late…I thought there was a spot on the sun.”

Linda turned to look at me briefly before turning her attention back to the road again, “What are you talking about?”

“Well, this morning I was walking to the bus stop and I had gazed up at the sky…and I swore there was a spot on the sun.  I thought the sun was dissolving.  I don’t even know why I would have thought that.  I think I’m always looking for the unusual…I don’t know,” I paused before I told Linda the rest of the story.  “Several people stopped around me and they were looking, too.  But they weren’t seeing what I was seeing.  There was nothing there.  I had just dropped my glasses in a puddle.  My glasses were just dirty.  There wasn’t a spot on the sun.”  I gave a little hurtful laugh then.  “What an idiot, huh?”

I cringed, waiting for Linda to make some snarky comment at me.  Instead, her face glowed with a gentle smile that I had never seen before.  “No,” she answered slowly.  “I would love to see the world the way you do.”  She smiled then as she turned into our apartment complex parking lot.  “My son…he used to see things like that, too.  He used to talk to me about aliens and ghosts.”  Now she cringed a little.  “Not in a crazy way, I mean.  Sam wasn’t crazy.  He just lived in a world of possibilities.  He believed anything could happen.  He always saw the most amazing things in this world.  He thought he would live forever.  He thought he was invincible.”  Linda sighed deeply as she pulled the Toyota Scion into her assigned parking space.  “Miracles hurt sometimes,” she sighed.

We both climbed out of the car.  I walked around to the front and thanked Linda for the ride home.  “It’s okay,” she whispered.  We didn’t say anything more.  It was still raining.  With a quick smile and a “See you tomorrow,” we both headed to our separate apartments.  I was really grateful that Linda didn’t laugh at me when I told her about the spot on the sun.

I like Linda.

I unlocked my apartment door and took a deep breath.  What am I going to say to John if he’s still here?  What am I going to do if he is angry with me?  I nervously pushed open the door and stepped inside the apartment.  “Oh, my gosh,” I breathed slowly as I walked inside and looked around.  I walked through the living room and into the kitchen then back to the bathroom.  The whole place was completely clean, except for a single sheet of paper lying on the dining room table.  I walked over and picked it up.  Underneath the paper was a single hundred-dollar bill.  “Oh, my gosh,” I sighed before I read the note.

“Dear Stephanie,” the note began, “I cleaned up the apartment and packed up my stuff.  Thank you for letting me stay with you for the past two months.  Here is the hundred dollars I owe you.  I will be staying at Rob’s place if you want to contact me.  I have a job interview tomorrow at Von’s grocery store and I’ll start looking for my own place.  Thanks again, Stephanie.  You’re the best!  John.”

I didn’t know where he got the money.  I wasn’t going to ask.  I placed the note and the money back down on the table.  I walked back into the living room and sat down on the couch.  I picked up the remote from the coffee table and turned on the TV.  Oh, my gosh, I sighed as the picture on the screen flickered on and a strange gray light filled the darkening room.  I stretched my arms up over my head and kicked my legs out straight in front of me.  I swung my lower body up on the couch and lay down.  I had my couch back!  It was all mine again!  And I can watch anything I wanted to on TV now.  I didn’t have to watch just John’s favorite shows.  I picked up the remote again and flicked through the channels.  I sighed deeply…

I miss John…

The following Monday, I woke up and stretched as I got out of bed.  I walked down the hallway to the bathroom.  I showered and then went back to my bedroom.  Today, I decided to wear red.  I pulled the bright red, full-skirt dress over my head.  This Monday felt special, as I knew all Mondays would feel from now on.

I walked back into the living room and smiled as I saw John lying on the couch.  He was breathing deeply in his sleep.  John had moved back in with me again.  But this time, I just knew it would be different.  He got the job at Von’s and he had agreed to pay half the rent and buy all his own food.  I’m glad he is living with me now.  I feel safer with John around and it’s nice having help with the rent.

I walked over to the door and quietly opened it up.  I tiptoed outside and pulled the door shut behind me.  What a great morning!  I thought as I took a deep breath.  A cool breeze was blowing over me…and the sun…well, the sun was full and bright and complete.  I ran down the steps and walked across the parking lot.  “Good morning, Linda,” I called cheerfully.  “How are you?”  I approached her car, feeling happy and warm in the glow of our new friendship.  Linda has offered to drive me to and from work while I was saving up to get my own car.  I have already giving Linda a few dollars for gas…and, funny, it felt good this time when I handed the money to her.

I walked over to where Linda stood quietly beside her car.  “Are you okay?”  I asked her as I looked at her with concern.

Linda looked up at me again and smiled, “Ants,” was all she said.  I followed her gaze back down to the asphalt of the parking lot.  In one of the zigzagging cracks of the pavement, a small, brown, sandy anthill had been created.  Now, Linda and I were suddenly squatting down and watching the ants as they worked.  Tiny, black ants were scurrying back and forth, in and out and around the hill.  The ants appeared to be incredibly busy as they ran around in circles.  Their day would be full and they would be as busy as most people I know.  I wondered if they ever stopped to notice the whole large world around them…the ants, I mean.  I already know most people are oblivious.

I thanked God then that I have always been able to see miracles.  My world and the people in it had suddenly grown so precious, all because, one glorious Monday morning I had seen a dark spot on the sun.  After a few minutes, Linda and I looked up and smiled at each other.  I laughed as I realized we were both going to be very late for work on this Miraculous Monday Morning.