All Lives Matter…Even Furry Ones!

Last Friday, I decided to read through a few recent articles before I started to work on my writing assignments.  Unfortunately, once more nothing but bad news appeared on my computer screen.  I read about cop-involved shootings, protests, natural disasters, and other sad events.  After a while, I finally pushed myself away from the computer with a sigh.  I stood up, stretched, and walked into the bathroom as I thought about…

“OH, DOGS!”  I cried out as I saw the mess that was left on the cool, tiled floor.  We have a huge, fenced-in, lush backyard and puppy training pads laid out in the front room, and yet the dogs still choose to make their messes right in front of the bathtub.  With a groan, I quickly cleaned up the bathroom and then thoroughly scrubbed my hands.

After drying off and hanging the towel back on the rack, I left the bathroom and walked into the living room where two of our three dogs, Friskie and Cowboy, were comfortably snuggled down into the big, soft, cushiony pillows that make up the back of the sofa.  They like to climb up on top of the couch and then plunge their little bodies down into the pillows as if they are falling into quicksand.  Only their sweet, round, dark eyes and cold, wet noses are visible.  The third dog, Starburst, was cuddled up in a little, round, furry ball on the big, brown puppy pillow by the television.

“Alright, dogs,” I call out to them as I clapped my hands together to get their interest.  Starburst lazily raised up her head and scootched her furry, white and brown body forward.  Friskie and Cowboy slowly and clumsily pulled their bodies up from the cushions like lazy, little swamp monsters.  Once I had their full attention, I pointedly asked, “Who made the mess in the bathroom?”

Of course, none of the dogs would confess, even though Starburst and Cowboy looked directly at Friskie, who had lowered her head back down into the pillows.  Otherwise, Friskie refused to admit any wrongdoing.  “Alright, fine,” I answered, surprising myself by how much I sounded like my own mother.  “None of you did it.  The mess just made itself.  No, no, don’t get up.  I got it all cleaned up.  Just go back to sleep…”

And that’s when I suddenly noticed a large, nasty, runny, orangey, thick fluid on the carpet just a mere two inches away from the puppy pads.  I stared at this new mess in shock for a few seconds wondering which dog had been sick.  I was suddenly spurred into action, however, when little Starburst suddenly moved forward from her comfortable position on the puppy pillow and prepared to clean up the chunky fluid by licking at it.  (I know that’s really disgusting—but that’s the way it happened!)  Once again, feeling absolutely revolted, I quickly cleaned up this new mess as the dogs once more settled back down to sleep.  I was sincerely and totally grossed out.  I never had children, so I never had to deal with projectile vomit, gross diapers, and disgusting messes.  Fate sure was catching up with me now.

Finally, after the orange mess was cleaned up, I walked around the room and checked on all three dogs to make sure they were not sick.  When they seemed to be all right, I walked back to the bathroom to thoroughly scrub my hands clean once more.

A few minutes later, I decided to go to the kitchen to get some iced tea.  I walked through the living room…

…and that’s when I heard it…

I stopped for a moment and looked around the room.  What was that noise?

And then I heard it again…

UUUUHHHHH!

What was that?

UUUUUUUHHHHHHHH!

Oh, my gosh.  The noise was a very loud, low, deep sound with a scratchy-throated screech at the end.  It sounded just like a person gagging for breath as he or she was choking.  Choking?

I looked around and that’s when I noticed little Starburst.  She had now moved off of the puppy pillow and was lying on the hardwood floor of the dining room.  The deep, guttural noise she was making continued to get louder.

UUUUUUUHHHHHHH!  UUUUUUUUUUUHHHHHHHHH!

Oh, my gosh, Starburst was choking!  The dog was choking!

“Star?” I called out as I ran over and knelt down beside her.  I reached out my hand and gently touched her side.  But before I could say or do anything more, she yanked away from me as if my touch had hurt her.  She moved away and crawled underneath the table.  Even though she was further away from me, her gags had gotten louder.  I crawled underneath the table after her.  Now, when she saw me, Starburst suddenly lifted her right paw out as if she was reaching for a lifeline.  But her paw quivered twice before the rest of her body began to shiver violently.  Oh, my gosh, the little dog was starting to convulse!  Her whole tiny body was now shaking as she continued to gasp for air!

In a panic, I got up and grabbed my phone off the table.  I quickly pushed the touch-screen buttons to call my sister-in-law, Mary, who is the actual owner of the dogs.

“Hello,” Mary answered her phone sweetly and I felt horrible to have to give her such bad news.

“Mary, it’s Jamie,” I screeched.  I didn’t wait for her to respond.  “Starburst…”  I stuttered, “Starburst is sick.  She’s choking.  She can’t breathe and she started convulsing now.  What should I do?  Where are you?”

“Oh, my God,” Mary gasped.  “I’m nowhere near home right now.  I’m babysitting the grandkids.  I can’t leave them.  But I’m going to call someone to come help you, okay?  I’ll get someone over to the house really fast.”

“Okay, okay,” I answered as we hung up.  God, I had studied and taught abdominal thrust, CPR, and first aid for years, but would those techniques work on a little dog?  Could I possibly call 911?  I crawled back under the table.  Starburst now let me touch her, but I think it was just because she didn’t have the strength to pull away.  “Starburst,” I whispered to her.  “Little Starry…Baby…it’s going to be okay.”

UUUUUUHHHHH, Starburst replied to me.  She was still gagging and her little body was convulsing terribly.  I reached out and pulled her gently towards me.  I raised her head and stared down into her little face.  Oh, my God…Starry’s beautiful, soulful, brown eyes were completely unfocused now!

Oh, my God…  Her left eye stared lifelessly ahead while her right eye had rolled off to the far side.  Then both eyes suddenly began to roll to the back of her head.

That was it!  I pulled the dog out from under the table and held her tightly.  I got up from the floor with little Starburst in my arms and grabbed my keys off the table.  I was going to take the dog up to the vet’s office that was just a few blocks away on State Avenue and 78^th street.  It was after 5 o’clock already, though.  I didn’t know if the office was still open but I hoped they would have some kind of emergency information posted somewhere by the front door.  I had to do something to help this tiny dog.  I love this dog so much.  “God, please,” I prayed as I ran into the living room.  “Please, God, please let this little dog be okay.  Please, God, don’t take this dog.”

UUUUUUUUHHHHHH!

I squeezed little Starry close to m y chest as I ran and prayed.  “Please, God…please, I love this dog.”

Just as I yanked open the front door, Starburst’s body suddenly stopped shaking.  There was one more hard UUUUUUUUHHHHHHH…

….and then silence.

No more movement…no more noise…

…just stillness… and silence…

And then the dog coughed.  She coughed.

“Starry?” I called to her as I held her away from me to look at her face.  I stared down at the little dog and suddenly saw her small mouth move.  She suddenly worked her furry jaw up and down in a chewing motion

…. and then she swallowed.

She swallowed…

And then Starburst opened up her eyes and looked directly up at me.  I stood very still and stared down into Star’s sweet, funny face.  We just stared at each other for a moment.

And then Starry took a deep breath and whimpered.  “Ummmmmm  ummmmm”

It was so different from the loud choking sounds of a few seconds before.  This sound was soft and tender and heartbreaking.  Starburst now feel limply against my chest as she started to whimper uncontrollably now that her horrible, scary ordeal was finally over.  I held her tight to me and cried right along with her as I gave thanks that she was now miraculously okay.  I sat down slowly on the couch and tried to sit Starburst on the floor but the little dog wouldn’t leave my arms.  We cuddled together for a while until her cries finally calmed down.  I placed Starburst carefully down on the floor.  “Oh, Star!”  I sighed as she ran over to the dog dish and began to eat.  “Seriously?”

After her near fatal choking crisis, she was now snacking on dry dog food.  I don’t know if the whole ordeal had just made her hungry or maybe she just wanted to show me that she wasn’t afraid to eat again.  Yes, she had been through a bad choking experience but she showed no lingering fear as she chomped on the food.  I just shook my head at her and laughed.  Then, once she was satisfied, she crawled back up into my lap.  For the rest of the evening, little Starry  followed me around the house and wouldn’t leave my side until we both exhaustively fell into our own beds and went to sleep.

The next day, I came home from work and checked on the dogs to make sure they were okay and there were no messes to take me by surprise.  I went into my room and turned on the computer to catch up on the news.  More deaths, more disasters…

And suddenly there was a knock on my door.  I got up and opened my door to find Starburst waiting patiently in the hallway.  Now as she saw me, she jumped up and down, daintily dancing on her tiny, white, hairy paws.  Starry would run towards me and as I stepped forward she would joyfully jump up and back and spin around before prancing back towards me once more.  I laughed as I playfully chased her back into the living room where Mary was cuddling with Friskie and Cowboy on the couch.

“Starburst wanted you to come out and play with her,” Mary informed me.  “You don’t’ have to if she’s bothering you.”

“She’s not bothering me at all,” I told Mary.  “I’m just so relieved she’s all right.”

“Yeah, I am, too,” Mary sighed.  “I think you are her best friend now.”

“Yes,” I agreed.  “We are very bonded.  We’re best buds now.”  I got down on the floor as Starburst rolled over onto her back so that I could rub her pale belly.

I had told Mary the details of what had happened the day before.  Now my sister-in-law stated, “I think when you picked her up yesterday from under the table and held her tight, you probably dislodged whatever was in her throat so she could start breathing again.”

“Probably,” I answered, “but I don’t really know what happened.  I just remember holding her and praying…”

I stopped talking and Mary and I just smiled at each other.  Mary got up from the couch then and called, “Come on, dogs.  Time for dinner.”  I think all three dogs understand the word “dinner.”  They all trotted after Mary into the kitchen as I walked back into my room and sat down at my computer once more.  After a few minutes, there was a knock at my door again.

I got up and opened the door.  Starburst walked into the room and over to my chair.  I knew what she wanted.  I picked her up and placed her on my lap after I sat back down in my chair.  I rocked her back and forth as I looked at the articles appearing on my computer screen.  Nothing but bad news.  I clicked off the computer and pulled Starburst close to me as I realized that it really doesn’t matter how much money we have or what job we do or what kind of cars we drive.  When it’s all over, the only thing God will want to know is how much compassion we displayed and I how much love we gave.  Because all life, no matter how small and furry, is precious in the eyes of God.  In God’s glory, all lives matter, I thought as I cuddled tiny furry Starburst close to me and once more gave thanks for God’s sweet mercy.

 

 

 

 

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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.

 

 

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.

Tiny Dog Security Team–Episode 1–Independence Day

Usually, during rainstorms, our three dogs go crazy whenever it thunders.  They run through the house with their little paws slapping frantically against the hardwood floors.  They scratch impatiently at my door until I finally let them into the room.  Then, they scoot quickly under the bed and hide until the storm is over.

Because of the dogs’ response to thunder, I was concerned how they would react to the fireworks on the 4^th of July.   I imagined that the dogs would be running around in circles and barking hysterically once the fireworks began.  However, to my surprise the dogs were holding it together much better than I was.

Once the fireworks started, I jumped in surprise every time I heard the loud sizzles, cracks, pops, and rumbles that echoed around the neighborhood.  It has been 25 years since I have experienced a Kansas 4^th of July holiday. For the last 11 years, I had been living in the deserts of Southern California.  Personal use of fireworks is illegal there due to the dryness in the region.  Fireworks are a huge fire hazard in such an arid environment and can only be used in professional displays like at baseball games and theme parks.  While I lived in California, my Independence Day celebration was quiet and calm.  I wasn’t used to hearing the constant explosions happening all around me now and was growing more unnerved as the loud booms continued late into the night.  Every now and then, I ran to the front door to peek outside.  I wanted to see exactly how close the fireworks were to the house.  It sounded like the explosions were happening right outside the front door.  I worried for a moment if I needed to move my car to a safer location.  Was the house secure?  Of course, I was worrying needlessly but the deafening roars of the fireworks continued to unnerve me.  I apprehensively shut the front door.  The light from outside flickered about the dark room and made me feel anxious.  I walked back into my bedroom, shut the door, and took some long deep breaths.

And then….

Oh, goodness, I could hear the dogs thumping down the hallway to my room.  Then, of course, they were soon scratching at my door.  “Okay,” I sighed.  “The dogs are freaking out now.”  I got up from my seat at the desk and opened the door.  The dogs didn’t run into the room, though.  Instead, all three dogs stood in a straight line on the threshold and stared up at me with concern in their eyes.  Then, they came slowly into the room.  But instead of scooting under the bed, they circled around me and looked at me hopefully.  I walked back to my chair and sat down heavily.  To my surprise, the three small dogs surrounded me and stood at attention.  I suddenly realized then that the dogs weren’t looking for comfort; they had come into the room to protect me!  Had they sensed my anxiety?  Did they realize that I was uncomfortable?  Could these three small, incredible dogs actually read my emotions?  They had come into my room not to hide but to unselfishly take care of me.

Once I began to settle down, Cowboy and Friskie returned to the front room.  Only Starburst remained in the bedroom with me.  Starburst is a tiny, older, furry-all-over, white-and-brown female mutt who usually is very calm and low key.  Tonight, however, she stayed on alert.  Though she began to spread out and relax under my chair, whenever I jumped due to another loud crack of fireworks, Starburst would leap up on her four stubby little legs and walk around my chair; she marched around the room as if she was on patrol.  She growled and hissed at any noise that threatened my sense of well-being.  Slowly, she would settle back down beside me again.  She would relax until the next boom occurred just a few seconds later.  And then once again, “Officer Starburst” was back on patrol.  Starburst stayed with me for most of the evening.  She only left my side when I finally turned off my computer and got up from my chair.  After telling Starburst thank you for taking care of me, I closed my door after I thought she had gone back into the living room.

A few minutes later, I opened my bedroom door as I was getting ready for bed.  Oh, my gosh!  To my surprise, I found all three dogs standing sentinel in front of my doorway again.  I was so amazed that the dogs were still protecting me throughout the night.  Little Starburst seemed to be the commander of the Tiny Dog Security team.  She remained stretched out in front of the door as if she was blocking entry into my room.  She looked alert—poised and ready to attack any threat to me.

I suddenly laughed out loud as I got down on the floor.  I happily wrestled and played with the dogs for a few minutes before assuring them that I was fine now even though the fireworks continued.  Though Friskie and Cowboy wandered back off to their bed in the living room, Starburst remained with me throughout the night.  Starburst is Friskie’s mom and I guess when she thought I was scared, her mother instincts took over.  She was, for that night, my protector and defender.  Friskie and Cowboy also continued to check up on me throughout the night.

So with Starburst remaining outside my door, I settled down into bed.  And though the fireworks continued to rage outside, I fell into a peaceful, calm sleep, knowing that I was protected by pure kindness and unconditional love.

Pleasant Days

“I really don’t care for the big things, the big moments,” my sister-in-law, Mary, told me.  “I always tell everyone I don’t need to have big surprises.  I just enjoy the kind things people do for me.”

I smiled at Mary’s words as she continued to talk about the things that were important to her in life.  Her words made me smile.  Life can be so simple if we recognize the things that truly make us happy and hold on to those things regardless of other people’s negative comments or actions.

I was more open to Mary’s thoughts at that moment because I was having a very good day.  I woke up around 9 am and spent the morning sipping a diet coke and catching up on my reading and studying.  I spent the majority of the time in quiet contemplation as I studied my inspirational books on angels and new age teachings.

When I was finally ready to exercise my body and not just my mind, I got dressed and drove to the gym.  I parked in front of the building, but before I got out of my car, I looked out of the windshield and noticed a large, brown, beautiful dragonfly hovering right in front of me.  I smiled when I saw it.  Though I was already familiar with this theory, I had just been reading that morning that butterflies and dragonflies are always symbols of a loved one who has passed over.  Whenever a dragonfly or a butterfly appears, someone on the other side is sending a message of love and support.  I thought about my mother as I watched the dragonfly dance on the breeze for a moment.  I had just been thinking about my mom that morning as I prayed and studied.  Slowly, I got out of my car, but even my sudden movements and the slamming of the door did not chase the dragonfly away.  It remained around my car, circling slowly from the front to the sides and back around again.  I started walking across the parking lot to the building.  Once I reached the front door, on a whim, I turned and looked back at my car.  The dragonfly had not moved away.  I could still see the creature, just a small floating dot now, still dancing around my car.  I smiled again, feeling at peace and walked inside the building.

Over an hour later, I walked out of the gym, and to my surprise, the dragonfly was still there!  It hadn’t flown away from my car.  The insect continued to float lazily around the front of my vehicle.  I climbed into my car and watched as the dragonfly now situated itself directly in front of me as I stared out through the windshield.  I could clear see the creature’s four fragile, gossamer wings.  Again, I thought of my mother’s delicate and sensitive nature and felt her presence beside me.  I started the car and began to ease out of my space and drive across the parking lot.  As I rolled up to the exit, I tapped on the brake at the stop sign…and suddenly, there it was again!  The dragonfly was once more hovering in front of me!  I felt so blessed and grateful.  I was loved and at peace with my life.  I knew that everything was going to happen for the highest good.  I had Mom supporting me from the other side.  I drove away then from the parking lot and headed for home.

That evening, Mary and I decided to visit my brother, Tony, at his job and take him out to dinner.  It would be a surprise for him, just a way of letting him know he was loved and appreciated.  As we waited for Tony to finish work, Mary and I decided to walk around the outdoor outlet mall for a while.  It was humid and hot, so we soon decided to get something drink at the small pretzel shop.  Mary was gracious enough to treat us both to a diet coke.  We then stepped outside and sat on a silver iron bench in the shade as we sipped our cold drinks and talked.  Our discussion was inspiring as Mary talked about the things she considered important in her life.  I couldn’t help but grin as I listened to her.  My smile must have grown very wide because Mary suddenly stopped talking and asked me, “What is it?”

I told her then about my incident with the dragonfly that morning.  “And look at this,” I said as I quickly reached into the pocket of my jeans.  I pulled out a shiny, sparkling penny and showed it to her.  I’m a big believer in “pennies from heaven.”  Every time, I find a coin on the ground, I know someone in heaven is thinking about me.  “Look…while you were paying for our drinks at the pretzel shop, I had walked over to grab some straws and I had kicked something across the floor.  When I looked down, it was this penny.  So I had my dragonfly this morning and my coin this afternoon…I have been thinking about Mom all day.  And I know now for sure that she has been thinking about me, too.”

Mary looked at me with her eyes grown wide with wonder.  She didn’t think I was crazy!  She believed me and agreed that my mother was around me that day.  Mary and I then shared amazing stories about superstitions we acknowledge and moments were we had true clarity in our lives.  Mary then stated her philosophy about the importance of basic kindness as opposed to big gestures.

After a few minutes, Mary and I returned to my brother’s workplace and we all went out together for a great meal and a relaxing, fun evening.  I spent the rest of the night reflecting on what an amazing day I had just experienced.  This had been one of the best days of my life.  I was content.  I was relaxed.  I was loved on earth and in heaven.  And I knew that I was so fortunate.  I don’t need to be always traveling the world or getting praise for my work or being the center of attention.  I just need dragonflies and coins, thoughtful conversation, and moments of kindness.  I will always be willing to trade one great, busy, remarkable day for a hundred days of pleasant.  It’s the little things that always make me happiest, too.

Unconditional Love

Friskie has not been a happy dog lately.  When I come home from work, she no longer jumps up excitedly.  She doesn’t wag her tail or bark happily.  Instead, she just continues to lie on her large brown puppy pillow.  She just glances up at me as I walk into the room.  Her big brown puppy dog eyes plead sadly with me for just a moment.  Then she lowers her head back down, rolls over, and goes back to sleep.  I stare at her for just a moment and think about all the fun we used to have together.  Friskie and I became fast friends when I first moved into my brother and sister-in-law’s home.  I considered Friskie my first real friend when I returned to Kansas from California.  The dog and I used to wrestle around the living room together.  We used to play tug of war with her toys.  Any of the toy I would toss across the room, she would fetch and bring back to me with her little tail waggling and laughter glowing in her eyes.  We used to cuddle and laugh together in bed at night before drifting off to sleep.

But now, she is silent and still.  I think she is depressed.  She is sad; sorrow is reflected in her eyes and joy no longer radiates off of her sweet, furry, brown and white face.  She whimpers for a moment now and then settles down and goes back to sleep.  And though she can’t tell me in words, I know why she cries.  I know why she is upset, but I can’t really do anything about it right now.  I tried to explain the situation to her with gentle, loving words, but, of course, she doesn’t have any idea what I am trying to tell her.

“Friskie,” I try to reason with her as I stand across the room from her fluffy puppy pillow.  “I love you but I can’t pet or cuddle with you right now.  I can’t take you into bed with me.  I’ve been so sick.”

And it was the truth, but I don’t think Friskie believes me anymore.  I had been working a lot of additional hours over the last few weeks, and though I was tired, I was feeling good….until last Tuesday.  Tuesday morning, I awoke feeling good until suddenly my stomach began to twist around in circles and I found myself in the bathroom hoping that my suddenly queasiness and vomiting would pass quickly.  Even though, I felt better after a few minutes, I was still feeling achy, dehydrated, and exhausted for the rest of the day.  That was just the beginning.  For the next five days, I was horribly sick with flu-like symptoms.  I continued to cough, sneeze, and vomit.  I suffered from diarrhea, nausea, and horrible prolonged headaches.  My muscles ached and I felt unable to control my movements.  In the middle of summer, I was freezing and couldn’t seem to get warm.  I was shivering horribly and yet would get up from the bed to find my pajamas and the sheets soaked with sweat.  I had absolutely no energy, mainly because I couldn’t eat anything.  Even the thought of food made me feel nausea and queasy.  I stayed completely behind the closed door of my room, only stepping out when I needed to use the bathroom.

As I struggled to heal, I stayed away from the sweet family pets.  I didn’t want to get any of the dogs or the cat sick.  I don’t know if the animals could catch any viruses from me but I didn’t want to take that chance.  I was too exhausted to deal with the animals.  I was too hot to cuddle with the dogs who are covered in hot, sticky fur.  I left the animals completely alone…and I think I hurt Friskie’s feelings.  Though the other animals seemed to understand and take the situation in stride, Friskie looked hurt and upset.  She seemed to be lonely and sad.  I don’t think she could understand why I had turned my back on her after we had been so close.  A few nights, I could hear her tapping her little paws down the hallway and coming to a stop right in front of my bedroom.  I would lie in bed fully awake as I listened to her scratch at my door.  Then my heart would break as I heard the dog start to whimper and cry to be let into the room.  I tried to ignore her.  I didn’t want to be around the tiny dog while I was so sick.  I really wanted to open the door, but I couldn’t pull my achy body out of bed.  My muscles just would not respond.  I couldn’t get up and walk to the door.  So I lay in bed and listened to my lovely furry friend crying for most of the night.  I wanted to call out to her to soothe her, but didn’t want to risk waking up the rest of the family.  As bad as I was feeling, hearing the dog cry made me feel even worse.  But there was nothing that I could do about it.

Finally, slowly, after five long days, I began to get back on my feet by Sunday morning.  Though I was still weak, I began to feel better and was finally able to get out of bed and move around a little.  But now, Friskie wanted nothing to do with me.  For days, I had ignored her.  For days, I had not played with her or pet her.  For days, I locked her out of my room and refused to cuddle with her.  I had broken her little puppy heart and now she was done with me.  She wasn’t happy to see me when I walked into the room.  She wasn’t excited or playful even as I grabbed some of her toys and tossed them across the room.  She just stared at me, her little doggy eyes watching me closely and suspiciously as I walked across the room and retrieved her toys myself.  I held them out to her but she refused to take them.  She had been my best friend and I had let her down.  She no longer trusted me.

I felt as if I had just lost my best friend and I couldn’t even begin to explain to her what had happened.  I wanted to just grab and cuddle with her, but she would wiggle away from me.  She refused my offers of food and comfort.  We ignored each other for several days, both of us with broken hearts and not sure how to fix this situation without the ability to talk out our feelings.  I began to realize that I would just have to be patient.  I had to let Friskie slowly come to trust me again at her own pace.  I didn’t force her to be with me.

And slowly, it began to happen.

Finally, on Wednesday, the fourth day of recovery, I sat on the living room couch with my nose in the book and pretending that I wasn’t concerned about the dog.  I tried not to make any sudden moves as I realized that Friskie was slowly climbing up onto the large square padded ottoman where I had my feet comfortably placed.  Friskie stopped for a moment and stared at my stockinged feet.  Slowly she reached out her paw and patted the top of my foot before quickly pulling away.  I put my book down and we stared at each other for a moment.   Once more, Friskie reached out and patted my foot.  As I looked up at her again, she seemed to smile shyly at me for a moment.  I turned back to my book.  Friskie slowly climbed up and used my legs as a bridge to cross over to the couch.  Tentatively, she climbed until she was cuddled in my lap.  I wrapped my arms around the dog slowly and cuddled her close as she playfully licked at my hands and fingers.  Then she nestled in close to my chest as she settled down to sleep.  After having her heartbroken, she had started to trust me again.  Over time, Friskie started to come into my room again.  She sits on my lap as I work on the computer.  She cuddles in bed with me at night.  I don’t know if she will ever know that she was turned away because I was sick.  I don’t know if she will ever understand the reason that she had been so rejected.  But regardless of the reason, she has trusted me again.  She is loving me again without question.  She is putting her heart on the line one more time in order to feel and know love.  Friskie, like so many other animals, has returned to love me without question or without asking for anything in return.

Why are humans the only creatures on earth that have to make love so complicated?  Love should be pure, giving, kind…love should be without question…love should be trusting and understanding…love should be the willingness to have your heartbroken.  I want to love as purely and simply as animals do.   Too bad all my relationships aren’t this forgiving, this loving, this kind…maybe I need to learn to trust when I want to run, to love when I want to fight, to give when I just want to take.  To love without fear or ego…and maybe God put animals on earth to teach us about unconditional love.

My Favorite Mistake

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I think I may have made a terrible mistake.  I did it out of love, though, so it can’t be that bad, right?  But my actions are beginning to backfire on me now.  Though I may have some regrets about what I did, I still am unable to stop because, even though it may be wrong, it still makes me feel warm and safe and loved.

Over the last several months that I have been living with my brother and sister-in-law, I have bonded with their three small dogs.  I love animals and couldn’t resist letting their pets become part of my life.  I haven’t had a pet of my own for several years and so the bonding is now a wonderful blessing for me.  I love the dogs and I think, or I like to believe, that they love me too.  I love the way all three dogs excitedly bark and dance around me whenever I walk in the front door.  I enjoy the way the dogs cuddle up to me when I’m just sitting on the couch.  I love the way they suddenly flop over onto their backs exposing their bellies for a quick rub every time I walk by them.  So, you get the idea, the dogs and I usually love hanging out together.  I would hang out with the cat, too, if she liked me.  I’m never quite sure how the cat feels about me.  She sits on my lap and plays with me one day and then hisses and snarls at me the next.  Of course, because of the cat’s ever-changing attitude, I have grown closer to the dogs.

Lately, when the dogs get lonely, they knock on my bedroom door and ask if I want to build a snowman or ride bikes or something.  No, not really, usually they just want to come into my room and hang out with me.  They hide under my bed; they sleep under my desk; they dance around the room as they sniff and explore the area.  The dogs especially love sitting on my lap when I’m on the computer.  Of course, even though the dogs are small, I can hold only one at a time on my lap, which usually causes the dogs to fight with each other.  They growl, snarl, and nip at one another which causes me to immediately send them out of the room for a time out.  They are allowed to come back in to my bedroom again only when they promise to behave and get along.  But, for the most part, when I am writing my blogs, novels, or emails, one of the dogs is usually cuddled up on my lap.  I really enjoy these moments.  It makes me feel really good to be holding an animal, especially a beloved pet, while I’m working.  Whichever dog I’m holding usually likes to lean against the desktop and look at the information that is on the monitor.  The dogs like most of my blogs.  Their little tails start wagging back and forth and their tongues slid out to one side of their mouths.  They will turn around to look at me with serene expressions on their furry faces.  I usually have to be careful with the dogs if I’m sending emails.  Several times, the dogs have leaned against the keyboard and sent out an email before I have completed writing it.  None of the dogs seem to like my poetry, though.  I think it puts them to sleep.  They will lean against the desktop, look at the monitor, yawn widely, and then curl up on my lap and fall asleep again.

So, it is rather obvious that the dogs and I are best friends.  But lately, the friendship may have gone a little too far.  One of the dogs has started to take advantage of our relationship.  But it is really hard to tell her no sometimes.  Friskie is a lively, happy, playful dog who is covered in white and brown fur and has large, brown eyes.  She is a small dog, probably weighing no more than 15 or 20 pounds.

So, a few weeks ago, when I was feeling lonely and a little down, I welcomed Friskie into my bedroom as soon as she scratched on my door late one night.  I picked the dog up and placed her on the bed.  I had never put any of the dogs in my bed before.  But tonight, feeling sad, I decided to make an exception.  It took a little time for the dog to get comfortably situated.  At first, Friskie wasn’t sure what to make of her sudden good fortune and she roamed around the queen size bed for a moment stepping gingerly across the mattress and scratching at the sheets.  She began to settle down into the far corner of the mattress until I crawled into the bed, picked her up, and placed her down in front of me.  We both were settled on our right sides as I cuddled Friskie close to my chest.  I began to relax as I felt warm and comforted.  I began to scratch along the dog’s back, side, and chest.  Soon, we both started to dose off.  After about twenty minutes, however, I picked up Friskie and walked her to the door.  I sat the dog down in the hallway.  She looked up at me in surprise for a moment before I told her good night, threw her a few kisses, and closed the door to my room.   A few minutes later, I could hear her little paws padding down the hallway to the living room where she normally sleeps.

The next night, once again feeling sad and lonely, I invited Friskie into my bedroom and placed her once more on my mattress.  And again, after we had a few minutes of relaxation, I picked Friskie up and placed her outside my bedroom door.  Again, I told her goodnight, gave her kisses, and closed my door.  I listened to her slowly making her way back into the living room.  This soon became our routine several nights a week.

But now, every evening around 9 pm, Friskie knocks on my bedroom door.  Or sometimes if the dog sees me walking through the living room, she chases me down the hallway and races into the bedroom ahead of me as soon as I open the door.  She tries excitedly to jump up on the bed but it’s too high for her.  She never gives up, though.  She continually runs and jumps, hits the side of the bed, tumbles backwards, and then runs and jumps again.  She tries several times to get up on the bed.  Finally, I pick her up and place her on the mattress.  It makes me laugh that she is familiar with our routine now, even though, I don’t think I should keep her in the bed.  I hadn’t actually meant for this activity to become an every night habit.  But now, I’m not sure how to tell the dog no after I have spoiled her.  So, I let her into the bedroom and up on the bed.

Well, to be honest I enjoy the comfort, too.

Friskie and I cuddle together under the blanket.  We again both sleep on our right sides.  I am behind her and wrap my upper body protectively around her.  I hold her and scratch her chest and tummy.  It makes me laugh when I pull my hand away and Friskie reaches out with her little paws and bats at my hand as she demands a few more pats.  We lie quietly together and watch old episodes of Survivor on Amazon Prime on my computer.  We giggle girlishly over Jeff Probst and debate who should be voted off the island next.  We both soon drift off to sleep.  A little while later, I’m awake and I again begin the ritual of moving Friskie off of the bed and out of the room.

But this is where we now have developed a little problem.  As I try to move the dog off of the bed, she refuses to leave.  She whines and sighs heavily.  She presses her tiny, furry body deeper into the mattress.  She digs her little paws into the blanket.  The dog refuses to budge.  She refuses to give up her safe, warm place on the bed.  Again, I get out of bed and pick her up; however, when I try to lift her from the bed now, she suddenly goes limp in my hands.  Even though this can be a little frustrating, it always makes me laugh out loud.  I have seen children refuse to go somewhere with their parents.  Their only defense is to suddenly let their bodies go completely limp.  They become heavy, dead weight as they force their parents to try to lift and carry them.  I always laughed over the way children just seemed to instinctively know how to do this.  All children seem to know this trick.  It must be an innate defense tactic that is written directly into the DNA.  However, now I have discovered that animals are born knowing this very same trick!  Friskie always goes limp now to avoid being thrown out of the warm, comfortable bed.  Picking up this little, 20-pound mutt now feels like I am trying to lift a 100-pound pit bull.  I struggle to pull the dog up and carry her over to the door.  She lays wilted over my arms.  I hold her by her mid-section as her head and paws dangle stiff and heavy down towards the floor.

I struggle to hold on to Friskie as I open my bedroom door.  As I gently try to place her in the hallway, I feel like I am trying to throw a heavy sandbag in the middle of a flood-inducing rainstorm.  She is heavy and drooping, and she has completely refused to help me in my dastardly deed of sending her away.

When I finally set her outside my door, she stands for a moment in the hallway looking up at me with large, puppy dog eyes as she continues to whine and beg to come back inside my room.  She dances around in circles and barks loud enough to wake up everyone in the entire house.  I usually have to pick her up and carry her into the living room where her dog bed is located.  I put the dog down on her large, square, brown “puppy pillow” and cover her with her favorite, tattered blanket.  I kiss her on the head and go back to bed.  Throughout the night, though, she comes to my bedroom.  She scratches at the door and cries.  I lie in bed and regret that I ever let her in my room in the first place.  Then I get up out of bed and open the door.  I cuddle with her for a few minutes.  I pet her, kiss her, and tell her I love her.  I let her cry it out before I finally carry her back to her own bed and she sleeps peacefully.

The next night, though, she is at my door again; all has been forgiven.  She scratches and begs to come into my room, and I am so happy she still loves me.  I really don’t know who needs whom more.  I’m just happy she is there for me once more.  And maybe this is what people mean when they say that their pets love them unconditionally.  Too bad we don’t always forgive and forget and choose to love again with other human beings.

So maybe I have made a horrible mistake with the dogs.  Maybe I should have never let them into my room or let Friskie into my bed.  But I guess we are all co-dependent.  I know there will be more nights when Friskie and I will lie side by side, watching Survivor, giggling over Jeff Probst, cheering on our favorite contestants,  and cuddle each other close; both of us feeling warm and loved….and, honestly, most nights, I don’t feel like I made any mistake as I cuddle the dog close.  I have no regrets at all.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Angels on Earth

The most amazing thing happened to me today.  No, I didn’t get engaged or win the lottery.  Something much better than that took place.  I left work at 3 pm and started to drive to the gym.  I really wasn’t feeling too well.  I had a terrible, throbbing headache that made me feel a little dizzy.  I think I was just feeling tired and overwhelmed, but, whatever the case, the headache convinced me that I probably needed to take a break.  So, instead of going directly to the gym like I normally do after work every day, I  decided to go to the local McDonalds, get a cup of tea, put my feet up, read my book, and allow myself at least a half hour of relaxation.

Fifteen minutes later, my plan had gone into effect.  I had a cool cup of iced tea on the table, my book opened in front of me, and my body slouched down in a booth at the back of the restaurant.  Thankfully, no one else was around.  It was quiet and peaceful and I was able to concentrate on my reading.  I felt my whole body relax as I started to take deep breaths.  I was beginning to feel a little better, but my head continued to pound.

I had only been hunkered down in the booth for about fifteen minutes when a group of young girls suddenly walked into my tiny private oasis   The four girls appeared to be about thirteen-years-old.  They were dressed in colorful tank tops and cotton shorts.  Each of the girls had her red or blond hair pulled back into a ponytail.  Well-worn baseball caps were perched on the top of their heads.

Of course, being young kids, they were prone to running, yelling, and laughing hysterically over nothing at all.  The girls giggled innocently whenever boys’ names were mentioned and they shrieked with excitement as they pushed and tickled each other.  It was a little difficult to tune the girls out.  They were sitting in a large booth directly across the aisle from me.  Surprisingly, though, all of the noise didn’t bother me.  I guess I was so relaxed that the clamor didn’t really disturb me.

But instead of staying focused on my book, my mind drifted back to something that had happened a few months ago.  Again, I had been relaxing with my book at McDonald’s when two young boys came into the restaurant.  The boys were loud!  They screamed and yelled and cursed each other rudely.  I had to literally bite my tongue not to respond.  I was especially irritated when one of the boys kept purposely sliding across the floor making a loud screech sound that sent my nerves jangling.  I tried to overlook it but the “tennis-shoe screeching” was impossible to ignore.  I started to pack up my books and get ready to leave even though I had only been at the restaurant for twenty minutes.  But suddenly I came to a sliding stop before I had scooched all the way off the bench of the booth.  I was brought to stunned silence as one of the  boys began to sing.  His voice was deep and rich and absolutely beautiful as he sang the words to a gospel hymn.  I don’t know what had inspired the boy to start singing out loud, but I found myself smiling and taking long deep breaths.  Then I settled back into the booth, opened my book again and completely relaxed as the boy continued to sing.  Once he finished the song, he smiled brilliantly and the two boys left the restaurant.  They  left me in peace and feeling calmer and more inspired than I had been a few minutes before.

So now, I took a deep breath as the young girls laughed and played around me.  Suddenly, one of the girls got up from the table and walked towards me.  I watched her out of the corner of my eye as she approached my booth.  I started to panic for a moment as I began to wonder how much cash I had on me.  I thought at first she was going to ask me for money or that she and her friends were selling Girl Scout cookies and wanted me to buy a box.  I couldn’t think of any other reason why this young girl would suddenly be standing directly in front of me.  I remained sitting in the booth as the girl stared down at me.  I slowly pulled my eyes away from my book and looked up at her.  Then the girl smiled brightly at me and said, “Hi.  How are you feeling today?  Are you having a good afternoon?”

“Yes,” I said, shocked by her politeness.  “I’m having a really good afternoon.

“Good,” the girl answered, “I just wanted to check.”  And then she turned and walked away.

“Thank you,” I called after her.  I was completely touched by the girl’s kind gesture.  “That was so sweet of you.”

The girl just turned and smiled at me before joining her friends at the table where the girls again behaved exactly like thirteen-year-olds normally do.  I continued though to wonder at the girl’s behavior.  Why would a young girl out with her friends even bother with an “old” woman like me?  I had just been sitting there reading my book.  I couldn’t imagine what had ever inspired the girl to talk to me.  But it didn’t really matter.  My headache was gone!  And I couldn’t stop smiling as I turned my attention back to my book and sipped my iced tea.

Twenty minutes later, I decided I was ready to go to the gym.  I got up from my table and walked over to trashcan which was next to the young girls’ table.  “Have a good afternoon,” I said to them as I threw away my cup.  “Bye!  Bye!” the girls started screaming in their excited, high-pitched voices.  I turned around and walked across the restaurant to the door.  I stepped outside and thought about those young girls as I walked to my car.  I said a silent prayer that God would bless and keep the girls safe.  I thought about what the future held for those girls who probably didn’t know yet that they were experiencing some of the best moments of their lives right now.  They were young and silly and happy…and that’s what I hoped life continued to offer to them.

I got in my car, started it up, and backed out of my parking space.  I drove towards the exit but came to a sudden stop when I saw the young girls skipping across the parking lot.  I stopped to let them safely walk to the grassy area on the other side of the lot.  Suddenly, one of the girls looked at me and smiled.  She shouted “Bye” at me as she enthusiastically waved her hand towards me.  This movement got the attention of the other girls as they all now excitedly waved to me and called out good-byes.  I waved back as tears stung my eyes.  Such beautiful young girls…I prayed once more for their protection as they walked across the grass towards the houses on the other side of the street.

So, see, something wonderful happened to me today.  Four young girls were kind to this “old” woman and it made my head and my heart feel so much better.  This is another moment in my life that I will hold on to and bury like treasure deep inside my soul.  For even though I have had so many momentous occasions in my life, it is these random acts of kindness that create my most precious memories.  And the fact that this moment was created by thirteen-year-old girls gives me great hope that the world will continue to experience kindness in the midst of so much chaos.  There are angels still on this earth…I meet four giggly, happy,  silly  ones today!

Those People

What was I thinking!?  I thought to myself as I stood inside one of the stalls in the small bathroom.  Why was I so anxious?  This moment hadn’t been a surprise.  I had spent the last several weeks reading through all of the Facebook posts describing the details, the “what, where, when, who, and why” of this event.  Each post made me feel alternately excited and depressed.  I couldn’t make up my mind what I wanted to do.  I debated continually back and forth.  I couldn’t decide if I really wanted to participate.  Because I was so unclear, I sought advice from many different people to give me some direction.  Unfortunately, I continually received the very same response from everyone without any diversion or counterpoint.  “God, why would you ever want to do something like that?  I never will.  Why would I ever want to see Those People again.”  “I wouldn’t go.  I couldn’t stand Those People.”  “  Well, you know, all of Those People were rude and mean.  They treated me horribly.  I never want to be around Those People again?”  The answer was the same again and again though everyone was talking about a different group of people.  But it was absolutely clear.  Everyone seemed to hate Those People….no matter who they were or where they came from.

And for a while, honestly, that’s how I felt, too.  It had been 35 years now seen I had seen Those People of mine!  Why would I even think about going back?  Well…maybe it was just curiosity…morbid curiosity, at best.  Maybe I just felt a horrible need to belong somewhere.  Maybe I just needed to reconnect with the past in order to move on with my life.  Maybe I just needed some closure.  Maybe I just wanted to show off that I had survived my teenage years…High school hadn’t killed me as I imagined it would at the time.  Had it made me stronger?  I can only hope so, but I do know this:  for good or bad, I have certainly come a long way since my high school days.  So, whatever the reason may have been, I was now standing, (oh, alright, I’ll be honest!), hiding in the bathroom  of St. John’s Catholic Club in Kansas City, Kansas, as I psyched myself up to join my classmates for our 35^th high school reunion.

As with most people, high school had been a traumatic experience for me.  I always felt unattractive, stupid, and awkward.  Gym class certainly didn’t help me gain any confidence.  Instead, the class seemed to reinforce  my negative feelings.  Many times, I was chosen last when deciding teams but, honestly, I can’t blame my classmates for this.  I wouldn’t have wanted anyone as uncoordinated as I was on my team either!  I believe I was the main reason my team always had to run laps around the gym for losing volleyball matches.  I would cower away in terror from any ball that came rolling, spinning, or zooming my way.

I fared no better in the actual classroom environment.  I was extraordinarily shy and quiet.  I never wanted to speak up in class and would continually play dead if the teacher called out my name.  I just could never seem to find my voice in a room full of people.  Giving presentations was torture for me.  I usually pretended to be sick on presentation days.  If that didn’t keep me out of the classroom, I would beg my teachers for any additional assignments to replace the presentation.  Many of them refused; they explained that the experience would be a good confidence builder for me.  It actually didn’t work.  I would stand up in front of the class with my paper shaking and rattling wildly in front of my face as I  mumbled through random information for the allotted five minutes of time.  I didn’t care about the grade; I just wanted to get through the experience without being laughed at or teased by my fellow classmates.

My social experience of high school was routinely painful.  I was the kid who continually seemed to have the runny nose, the drooping socks, and the untied shoelaces no matter how I tried to present myself.  I was overweight and wore thick, heavy glasses.  Every weekday, I just put on my green plaid school uniform, my sagging socks, and my arch-correcting saddle shoes (for my flat feet), and went off to school where I walked around with my head down and my shoulders protectively wrapped around my upper body.

In my senior year, I begged my mother to let me quit high school.  I am relieved and grateful now that my mother rejected all of my arguments for dropping out.  She refused to allow me to leave school until I safely had my diploma in hand.  But for years immediately following graduation, I failed to see the benefit of this at all.  I swore I would never go back to school or see any of those people ever again.

But there is one problem with the word NEVER.  It has a friend named KARMA.  Because no matter how much we hate certain experiences in our lives, they all happen for a reason.  And no matter how often we say NEVER, life has a way of recycling lessons until we learn them.  For example, even though I swore I was finished with my education, after a few years of working minimum wage jobs, I suddenly found myself drifting back to school.  I began attending Johnson County Community College and loved the experience of learning so much,  I transferred to the University of Kansas and found, quite literally, that the whole world slowly began to open up for me.  Over the next several years, I found myself in all kinds of interesting jobs and positions.  I worked as a model, a reporter, and a photographer.  I traveled the world, even waking up one morning to find myself in Thailand and soon I was backpacking by myself across Malaysia.  I lived successfully in New Mexico, Tennessee, and California.  After high school, I went on a 35-year journey to find myself.  I finally stumbled my way back to my hometown in Kansas last year.

I proudly put the information of my return on Facebook and was amazed that a lot of my old high school classmates reached out to me.  That was fine.  I could handle Facebook relationships.  But four months after my return, posts began to appear about our upcoming 35-year reunion.  I was surprised because it seemed a little ironic.  How was it possible that I would return to Kansas the very year a reunion was scheduled?  Maybe…just maybe…it was KARMA challenging my never-ending use of the word NEVER and my reluctance to see Those People again.

I was NEVER going to attend a high school reunion.

For years, I had agreed with Jase Robertson of Duck Dynasty when he said, “Do I go to high school reunions?  No.  If I haven’t talked to you in over 25 years, there’s probably a reason.”  For the 10, 20, and 30 year reunions, thankfully, I continually had the excuse of being “out of town” to avoid the events.  But now, I no longer had any excuse.  So there I was on Saturday night, April 23, 2016, in Kansas City, Kansas, at my 35-year reunion, hiding in the bathroom at St. John’s Catholic Club.  Of course, this brought back even more unusual memories of my high school experience.

Once a month, my school sponsored a mixer for all of the students on a Friday night.  I never wanted to attend these dances with Those People.  My mother forced me to go.  She thought it would be good for me to get out and mingle with my classmates.  I hated it!  I wanted to stay home and watch Donny and Marie.  I had a huge crush on Donny at the time, which I think my mother considered somewhat unhealthy.  It would be a good thing for me to get away from my teen idol for a while.  Mom and I would argue about the mixers before and after the events, but every month, I was expected to attend.  Once I was at the dance party, I would spend the first few minutes standing around the refreshment table before retreating to the bathroom where I would hide in a stall until it was time to go home.  I never danced and I never talked to anyone.  I would just stay in the bathroom and wish that I was at home watching Donny.  Though I have seen him in Vegas, I no longer watch Donny now.  I have traveled all over the world.  I have published.  I have modeled.  I have had my own business.  I have taught struggling students.  I have had an amazing life.  But here I was, at the reunion still huddled in a bathroom stall instead of facing my former classmates.

I took a deep breath and willed myself to leave the bathroom and yet I continued to linger.  I may have stayed in the bathroom all night if I hadn’t thought of Janice and began to feel terribly guilt.  Janice had been a good friend to me during my awkward elementary and high school years.  I was fortunate to  reconnect with her several years ago on Facebook.  Janice had confessed to me that she too had debated about attending the reunion.  But then she said something that really got my attention.  “If I don’t go,” Janice had stated, “I’m afraid I’ll regret it later.”  Her statement made complete sense to me.  What if this was my last chance to make amends?  Janice was right.  We decided then to go together so we would each, at least, have someone to sit with during the event.

Since I was still relearning my way around Kansas City and, especially, Strawberry Hill where the event was taking place, Janice offered to drive us to the reunion.  Because sections of the I-70 were closed, we got a little lost on the way to St. John’s and ended up in downtown Kansas City, Missouri.  If I had been driving alone, I would have used “getting lost” as an excuse to just go back home.  Janice took it all in stride, though.   She stayed completely calm; methodically and strategically, she  found the way back into Kansas.  She did a great job navigating the one- way streets and the closed roads to find St. John’s Catholic Club.  She never gave up.  She never got upset.  I need to be more like Janice.  Because now I realized that while Janice had gotten us to the reunion, I had suddenly deserted her to go hide in the bathroom.  What a horrible friend I am!

With that thought in mind, I forced myself move out of the stall.  I walked over to the sink and washed my hands while I stared at myself in the mirror.  Oh, God, what have I done?  My make-up didn’t look too bad, but my hair was a stiff, unnatural, badly blended mess.  I usually don’t fuss with my hair.  I tend to just brush it and run, but tonight I wanted to look good for the reunion.  So before I met up with Janice, I had taken the time to carefully curl and style my hair, which is something I never really do.  Once I had my hair in the design I wanted, I had grabbed the hairspray and didn’t stop spraying until I was sure not a single strand of hair would dare to move out of place.  Though I began to choke on the fumes, the spray hadn’t been enough to ease my hair anxiety.  I also had a can of spray-on hair dye to touch up my roots.  (Yes, I dye my hair to cover the gray…what of it!)  I didn’t have time to dye my hair earlier and I didn’t want any of my (gray!) roots to show.  I thought I would just touch up my hair with the red spray.  I had tentatively tried the dye on a thick strand first, and when that looked okay, I went crazy spraying the dye in a solid line down the center of my head.  Oh, my gosh, it wasn’t until I was at the reunion that I realized that the spray-on dye didn’t match my hair color at all.  The color from the can was much darker than my normal (I said normal, not natural) lighter strawberry blond color.  The spray had turned the center of my scalp horribly bright red.  I looked like I had a badly oozing wound on the top of my head.  Seriously, it looked like I had split open the top of my skull and blood was seeping out.  But I couldn’t wash it out now.  I would just have to make sure that no one could stare down at the very top of my head.  Man, I need to stay away from hair products when I’m in the midst of a panic attack.  Hair products are the bane of an anxious woman…well, at least for me.  I always go overboard in order to hide my scars and imperfections.  I try to save myself from ridicule but just tend to make everything worse and much more noticeable.  So, now, I was already at the reunion and had no choice.  But what was I really worried about anyway?  I just needed to get through tonight and then possibly NEVER see those people  again.

I took a deep breath, turned away from the mirror and walked out of the bathroom.  I stepped into the main room of the Catholic Club.  The lights were down low and a soft golden glow filled the room.  Ten tables were lined up parallel on both sides of the room and covered with white tablecloths and black beads.  There were several people standing around in small groups up by the stage.  And suddenly to my surprise, I began to smile…and it felt natural…and it felt good.  My smile did not feel faked or forced or strained.  For some reason, there was an energy about the room that made me feel excited and happy.  I don’t really know what brought on this feeling.  I had expected to find myself standing on the outside of any gathered group and out of my own comfort zone, but that’s not what happened.

Instead, I felt relaxed and happy when Cindy walked up to greet me with a hug.  I felt comfortable in her presence, but in all honesty, Cindy wasn’t a challenge.  She looked radiant and her personality always sparkles and shines as much as her physical appearance does.  She has always been welcoming and charming.  She makes everyone feel like a friend.  Cindy was my very first Facebook friend from high school and continually communicated with me through that medium for the last six years.  We had already met for dinner twice before this reunion, so I already thought of her as a friend.  I was pleased that she was the one of the first people I saw at the reunion that night.  That situation helped set the mood for the rest of the evening.

After a moment, Cindy moved away and I found myself talking to Gregory.  His soft, gentle voice and easy-going manner put me right at ease.  After talking to Cindy and Gregory, the rest of the evening suddenly became easier and, to my shock, I found myself connecting, hugging, and talking to many people I hadn’t seen in over three decades!  The conversations came easily, the hugs were heartfelt, the emotions sincere.    I talked to more people that night than I did in my four years of high school!  It was a surreal and unusual situation to see everyone again.  Most of the people looked just like older versions of their high school selves.  I felt completely disoriented whenever someone’s seventeen-year-old face suddenly superimposed itself over his or her current, older facial features.  Remember, I had never seen the adult version of any of Those People.  I only knew them as teens.  I felt for a moment as if I was in a time-travel movie.  Maybe I was actually traveling forward in time.  I suspected that I would wake up the next day and it would be 1980 once more.  But for now, it was fun to see everyone again after so long.

There was Julie looking as young as she did in high school.  And Mary who always had a great sense of humor.  She was a little more serious now, but still putting out positive, good vibes.  Joan still retained her good heart and sweet smile.  Teri continually displayed enthusiasm and pride in the school and her classmates.  Karen definitely had to be the most honest of all of us.  She confessed that she didn’t remember Janice or me at all.  Her candor made me laugh.  While some of us ran around the room trying to remember everyone, and cheating by deviously reading name tags first (well…I did…),  Karen was refreshingly open and straightforward, which was greatly appreciated.  I couldn’t help but smile when Brian suddenly sat down next to me and talked about his family.  And I was comfortable when Jeff did the same later that evening.

Most of my former classmates gave me sweet compliments on the way I looked that night and congratulated me on publishing my first book.  The most consistent compliment I received from Those People, however, was for my Facebook page.  I was completely stunned to hear people mention this.  After a few months of posting comments and statements about my life, both positive and negative, I decided that I wanted my Facebook page to be encouraging and motivating.  I have posted only positive quotes and stunning artwork on my page for the last five years.  I am not trying to be pretentious.  My Facebook page is my creative attempt to keep myself inspired and focused on the optimistic aspects of life.  I was thrilled that so many of my classmates, especially Therese, Terri,and Melissa, expressed their appreciation for my posts and asked me to keep the positive thoughts coming.  I was pleased that so many people felt inspired by my Facebook page.

Everyone happily conversed and engaged with each other, but sitting in a small group of five women later in the evening was a surreal moment for me.  I never had children and so as my former classmates talked about their families, I had nothing to add to the conversation.  But that didn’t matter to me.  I didn’t care.  I was absolutely fascinated by their words.  Thirty-five years ago, the conversations had been about tests, classes, homework, and teachers.  It was an unusual experience to listen to my classmates talk about their grown children.  “They just don’t get it.”  “I have been encouraging them to move on.”  Every comment was made with a mixture of joy, love, concern, worry, and stress.  There was no doubt that these people absolutely loved their children and wanted the best for them.  It was incredible to hear these same sweet teenage voices discussing grown-up issues.  I just sat there mute and quiet as I usually was in high school.  Only this time, I was fully attentive and could have listened to them all evening.

I also enjoyed seeing Steve, Jeff, Duke, Aldo, Nick, Joe, Chuck, Keith, Michael, and Brian again.  I think I talked to the “boys” more that night than I did through the four years of attending Bishop Ward High School.  This was an extremely bizarre moment.  What happened to all of the boys from my class?  And why was every one of them so tall?  They were not scrawny, little kids any more.  Now, I was surrounded by fully grown, handsome, strong men.  If I had realized that was going to happen, I would never have left Kansas 35 years ago!  I smiled as I looked around at all of these incredibly tall, incredibly attractive, older men.  I just prayed that none of them would suddenly look down on me and notice my “oozing” painted-red scalp.  That became one of my challenges of the evening.  I strutted around and kept moving just to make sure that my wayward vanity would not be discovered.

It had been a real challenge trying to make sure no one could look down on my red scalp.  Maneuvering away from tall men became easier when I got out on the dance floor where I was now  too happy to worry about my “bloody” hair.  Now, I could shimmy and move and turn without looking like I had to go to the bathroom.  Yes, I danced!  I was actually out on the dance floor with several of my classmates as we threw our hands up in the air, spun around, and kicked our legs.  I was not hiding in the stall now as I did at the mixers 35 years ago.  I was wiggling around in the middle of the dance floor.  I was actually dancing!  Look at me, Momma!  Look at me!  And I didn’t care at all what anyone else thought of me.  I didn’t care if I made a fool of myself.

The evening was perfectly summed up by Natalie’s comment about me.  “When we were in school, Jamie, you were so shy and quiet, most people didn’t even know you existed.  But look at you now.  Look at all of the amazing things you’ve done!  It’s incredible!”  I couldn’t help smiling at her statement.  I felt completely different than I did in high school.  And as I looked at my former classmates, I realized that we had all grown into a successful, good-looking, kind-hearted group of people!

And that’s when I suddenly realized something.  I was not the only one who had changed.  All of my classmates had grown up, too.  None of us were the same people we had been in high school.  As much as I have grown and changed, so have they.  How could I ever hold anyone responsible for what they said or did as teenagers?  I wouldn’t want anyone judging me now based on my 16-year-old self and I wasn’t going to do that to anyone else.  Those awful high school years when I felt so battered…well, I suddenly realized now that most of my scars had been self-inflicted.  It was my own reserved heart and negative mindset that had kept me locked up and hidden away in bathroom stalls.  But now, we were all (a little?!) older and a whole lot wiser.  And we were beginning to connect on a whole different level.  We were no longer the jocks, or the brainiacs, or the geeks, or the cheerleaders, or the nerds, or the loners.  Those were just labels we gave each other as we all struggled to find the place where we belong, as we all strived to find our own identities.  Those titles are laughable now and certainly don’t reflect who we have become…

And the strange thing was…I really wanted to keep partying with my former classmates because, on this night of the reunion, I truly loved those people…

So, at the end of the evening, I proudly gathered with my classmates for a group picture.  I was a little concerned when my high school crush walked over to me.  Oh, my gosh, he could still make me shiver as if I was sixteen-years-old again.  I quickly maneuvered myself away from him, though, and moved to the other side of Janice.  Well…okay, maybe a few insecurities still remain.  I just didn’t want my old crush to think that I was still clumsy enough to injure myself.  “Help, someone!  Jamie’s bleeding from the top of her head!”  So, yes, I definitely needed to move away from him.  I may never see him again and didn’t want that to be his last impression he had of me.

Hopefully, that will not be the last impression anyone has of me.

So here is my advice.  Do NOT go to your 10^th or, even 20^th, reunion.  Wait for the 30^th or 35^th reunion.  Do not see anyone from high school for at least 30 years.  Wait until everyone has had the chance to experience life.  Give everyone the opportunity to grow up.  See everyone again when they are seasoned, when they are weathered.  Become friends with high school classmates after everyone has had the chance to experience life.  Give each other the chance to experience life as God intended.  My classmates are people…real people.  People who are raising their families, working their jobs, and suffering their losses.  People who have cried and laughed and loved and hurt and grieved.  We are all really not that different after all…

Even though we had originally debated about going, now Janice and I really didn’t want to say good-bye.  We finally left the reunion around 10:30 pm because, unfortunately, I had to work early the next morning.  As Janice and I walked out of St. John’s Catholic Club and into the dark night, we turned right to walk down the steep hill to her car.  Suddenly, I gasped and had to catch my breath.  I stared at the scene in front of me.  From the top of the hill, I saw the beautiful, white, round moon shining down on the bright Kansas City skyline.  It was an amazingly beautiful image.  The sight filled me with wonder!  I now suddenly realized I was home.  I knew where I belonged.  I was loved.  I was safe.  The past had been put to rest…well, it had been put into perspective.  And the future, for my classmates and me, seemed even brighter now than it did 35 years ago.  Beautiful days loom ahead of us.  And though I may not always now where I am headed , I certainly now know where I have been, and where I come from…

I feel united and am proud to say I am one of Those People.

 

 

 

 

 

Beautiful Belgium

 

Several years ago, as I was packing to travel through the southern part of America, my mother asked me what was my hurry to leave Kansas again.  I had lived in New Mexico, Tennessee, and California.  I had traveled extensively throughout America, driving cross-country on many occasions.  I had lived in England and traveled throughout Europe, Thailand, and Malaysia.

I thought my answer to Mom’s question was very honest and logical.  “Because, Mom, there are so many great things to see in this world.  God’s created so many wonderful landscapes and it’s also amazing to see what people have accomplished.  But, you know, there are always wars and disasters.  What if we run out of time?  What if we don’t get to experience all of the many wonders of the world before they are all destroyed by man or nature?”

Before I had finished my heartfelt statement, Mom was already packed and waiting in the car for me.  We would travel throughout America together and I’m so happy now that we had those special moments.  My mother entered heaven six years ago…and most of the beautiful world has been destroyed…not by nature or God, but by the will of man.

I was heartbroken last November when terrorist turned romantic, enchanting Paris into a battle zone.  Now, today, my heart is again splitting in two as I read the news reports about the suicide bomb attacks on the airport and train in Brussels, Belgium.  At least, 30 people were killed and many were injured.

My prayers today are with the people of Belgium.  I had been in that lovely country at a very innocent time.  When I was traveling the world, there was no fear of terrorist attacks.  I was in Belgium at a time when the country was joyful and peaceful.  I did not visit Brussels, unfortunately.  I was in the lovely, enchanted city of Bruges, just sixty miles northwest of Brussels.  Bruges is a place everyone should take the time to see someday, if there is still the opportunity now.  It is a fairy-tale, charmed city that still maintains its centuries-old architecture.  Most of the structures have been standing since medieval times (around the thirteenth century).  Visiting Bruges is like stepping back in time.   I am grateful I had the opportunity to experience this amazing city.

I had been living in England for just a month when the college I was attending arranged a trip to Bruges, Belgium, for all foreign students.  We would be taking an overnight cruise on a Thursday and returning the following Sunday.  Though the trip sounded enticing, several of my American friends debated if they should miss classes to go on the trip that was scheduled to leave on Thursday afternoon, November 26, 1992.  They didn’t want to miss classes on Thursday and Friday.  I thought I had the perfect solution.  “But Thursday is Thanksgiving,” I stated.  “You won’t be missing classes.”

“Um, Jamie,” the other American students informed me.  “They don’t have Thanksgiving in England!”

Oops!  My mistake!  Of course, I knew that.  I had just forgotten where I was for a moment.  But I decided not to feel stupid.  And I absolutely refused to feel guilty for skipping classes.  Though I always believed school was important, I absolutely was not going to miss the trip to Bruges!  I had come to England for the experience, not just the education.  I wanted to see all that I could see.  Any opportunity that presented itself to visit other countries, I’d be damned if I was going to pass it up!  This would be my first trip to Europe and I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.  Unfortunately, now, that world is slipping away.  I’m so pleased I decided to go on the cruise.  I didn’t give my classes a second thought.  I didn’t know if I would get another opportunity like this.

I had never been on a cruise before and loved being on the boat, even though, through another small bout of idiocy, I almost missed it.  I had taken a taxi to the port early and arrived before any of my fellow American classmates or our faculty advisor, Tom, had appeared.  I had been worried about missing the boat so I was content to arrive almost an hour early to meet up with everyone.

Slowly, my fellow travelers began to drift in until there were about thirty students sitting with Tom in the lobby waiting for the call announcing that we could board our ship.  However, before we could get on the boat we had to fill out an immigration card.  Card…what card?  Oh, yes, that thick, little, yellow card we were given by the university when we signed up for the trip and I had just thrown away in the port lobby trash can while I was waiting to board because I didn’t think it was important.  Now, I suddenly realized I wasn’t going to be able to get on the boat without it!

I wasn’t alone in my error this time, however.  Most of the American students did not have their cards either much to the annoyance of the small customs officer guarding the gate.  The officer was a short, skinny man with sparse gray hair, a loud voice, and a total lack of patience.  He appeared to become even more aggravated and annoyed with each of the students who tried to pass through his gate without the appropriate documents.  Explaining that the yellow cards had to be completely filled out before we could board, the officer loudly pronounced each student “Idiot” or “Moron” as he handed out additional cards and pens.

Suddenly, it was my turn at the customs desk and I was added to officer’s “moron” list.  I took the card and the pen he handed me and ran over to a little bench against the side wall to fill out the document.  I put down all of the necessary information: my name, where I was from, what country I was traveling to, and when I expected to return.  I noticed that my fellow classmates had now boarded the boat and I was the last one left.  I hurriedly applied my signature to the card and ran back to the gate.  The officer snatched the card out of my hand and said, “You finally finished.  You’re leaving the country.  Good, we can all celebrate now that you’re gone.”

And all of a sudden, out of my mouth came the words, “Funny.  That’s what they said when I left America, too.”

The customs officer suddenly stopped and stared at me for a moment…and then laughed out loud.  He smiled at me so beautifully, wished me a great trip, and told me he hoped I traveled safely.  He stamped my card, handed it back to me with a squeeze of my hand, and pointed out which direction I needed to go next.  He walked me to the gate with an arm across my shoulders before telling me good-bye and returning to his desk.  It was so strange to me that just those few words that popped right out of my mouth made the officer so kind and warm.  It was a great start to the trip to Bruges, Belgium.

It got even better, too.  We were traveling over night and one of the first things we did upon boarding the ship was enter the dining room for supper.  My gosh, I have never seen so much food in my life!  All kinds of food was lined up on every available counter space and steam table on the far side of the large room.  The food was endless.  People were lined up everywhere, grabbing first, second, and third platefuls of fish, chicken, steak, potatoes, vegetables, and rich, creamy deserts.  The counters were never empty regardless of how much food the passengers seized.  I imagined that all of the food could probably have feed hundreds of families for the next five years.  As starving students, I don’t know if that fact occurred to us at the time as we continued to go back to the buffet tables for additional nibbles of the entrees.  The food was there and we continued to indulge, our stomachs almost as deep and endless as the North Sea we were crossing.

About ten pm that night, while many of my fellow students were at the on-board bar, disco, or movie theater, I stood out on the deck and looked out into complete, never-ending darkness.  Every now and then, I would see a small ripple of water, but I couldn’t believe how lost I was in the total blackness.  There were no lights at all from the sky or the sea.  I was just drifting away, alone, with no one or nothing to hold me down.  I stood for a long time sailing away in the darkness, contemplating what would happen if I fell over the side of the boat.  Now, this was very different.  I wasn’t contemplating suicide, but I was being seduced by the nothingness and silence of everything around me.  I just fantasized slipping into that darkness and letting myself drift peacefully away, floating into eternity.  Finally, exhausted from the day, I breathed deeply into the blackness a few more times before finally going off to bed and letting the gentle currents rock me into a deep sleep.

The next morning, I woke up early and went for a morning run around the ship before meeting up with my classmates, Melissa and Sheilah.  We walked around the ship singing “My Girl” at the top of our lungs.  I was just so in the moment, feeling the sea breeze against my skin and the rocking of the ship under my feet, that I sang out loud in full voice, something I don’t usually do with other people around.  I didn’t care who heard me that day.  I was happy, carefree, and at peace.

After a few hours, we finally docked at the Belgium port and prepared to leave the ship.  Most of us from Hull University got off the ship easily but had a long wait on the bus that was going to take us to our hotel.  I couldn’t imagine what was taking so long for us to leave.  Everyone grew more concerned as Tom left the bus several times to run back to the docked ship.  After forty-five minutes, we were finally given some information.  One person from our group was missing.  The absentee had been found but there was another problem.  He was too drunk to get off the ship.  He had partied so much the night before, that officials were working relentlessly and furiously that morning trying to revive him.

For many of the students, this was one of their first moments of freedom, away from home, family, and school, and they took full advantage of it.  It certainly didn’t help to be on a ship that had several bars, restaurants, movie theaters, discos, gyms, and food and drink everywhere.  It was a boat full of temptation everywhere a person turned.  Many people were enticed to indulge without limitations.

It was finally decided to leave the student behind and once he sobered up, he would join us in Bruges.  He finally came stumbling out of a taxi in front of the hotel late in the afternoon.  At least, he did make it and had the opportunity to see such a glorious city.

…And glorious it was!  I fell in love with Bruges.  It continues to be one of the most fascinating places I have ever been.  I watched a Christmas holiday parade that proudly presented Saint Nicholas riding into town on a donkey.  I took endless pictures of the unusual architecture and brick twisted streets.  I’m fascinated with architecture and have countless photos of buildings and city views.  I actually explored the city on my own.  Everyone else opted to party at night and sleep the day away. I was just the opposite.  I explored the city continuously during the day, walking through the gorgeous courtyards, dancing down the cobbled streets, daydreaming by the river, and fantasizing about being a princess in the thirteenth century.  I went to bed early every night, so I could wake up to enjoy the sun rising over beautiful Belgium.

On the very last day of our time in this great country, I actually took on the role of tour guide for several late-night-partying students.  I showed them the many highlights of the town before getting on the bus to head back to the docks.  Several people later told me how much they regretted not experiencing more of this beautiful city.  I have no regrets at all.  I took full advantage of exploring Bruges on the limited time I had there.

It was a rough journey back to England on the ship, though.  On the way to Belgium, the cruise had been very smooth and comfortable.  “That’s because we are fighting the currents,” Tom informed me when I expressed my surprise at the rough rocking and tossing of the ship this time.  That made sense.  I could understand that but then he continued, “I’m really surprised we got to go at all.  Last year, the crew forgot to shut the doors in the bottom of one of their passenger ships.  The bottom filled with water and the whole boat capsized.  Hundreds of people drowned.”  Way more information than I needed.  I went to bed that night, agonizing and praying over every bump and wave.  I was relieved when we finally made it back to England the next morning.

But that scare did not stop me from believing that my time in Bruges, Belgium, was one of the most magical adventures of my life.  Gorgeous, amazing, wonderful Belgium…my heart is breaking for you now.  I pray for your recovery and I’m saddened for all of the people who never got to experience your majestic, enchanted atmosphere in the past.  Visiting your amazing country has been one of my best memories.  God bless Belgium and all of her people.