Three Years of JIP

I started collecting thoughts about my life and how I'm living here on Journey In Place three years ago. Since then, Journey has become a buzzword (that is bordering on cliche), so I'll just assume that all those celebrities who are "on their journey" have read and loved my blog. 

I've published 89 posts, but I really thought I'd write more. 

In those three years, I've changed jobs twice, seen the passing of my beloved Aunt Gini and Grandma and my faithful companion of 16 years, Primo. I've traveled to the Gulf of Mexico, the Gulf of Alaska, the Pacific Ocean, the Atlantic Ocean, and the Bay of Fundy, and various point in-between. I starred in and produced a couple of plays. I've seen scores of professional theater, a few symphony orchestra concerts and a couple of rock concerts. I've been an arts reviewer and music reporter. I've spent time doing lots of fun things with my nieces and nephews. I've hosted over a hundred traveling artists in my hostel. I've made substantial investments in my home and "suburban prairie." I've saved a lot more money than I've spent. I've tried probably fifty new recipes. I've sustained a few injuries and a nasty parasite. I've connected with old friends. I've drifted away from some friends and am considering cutting the anchor from a few others. I've allowed myself to grow in ways that benefit me without feeling guilty of how this would affect others. I've quit social media several times. I quit drinking. (One year ago 12/5.) I've started and quit running twice (quit both times due to injury), and am starting again tonight. I've written three books. I've sent seven carloads of house crap to Goodwill. I've taken on art projects with mediocre results but loved the process. I've read scores of books. I've watched too much Netflix. I've worked at being a better partner. I took a hold of the thing that took a hold of me in 1989. I yearned for happiness and learned mindfulness. 

I've considered whether keeping this journal is worth the effort, as I often feel repetitive. 

I've decided it's always worth it to remind myself of the good times and to express myself when feeling down and out.  I've decided to do it more often. 

Gratitude: Sweet Soul, Strong Heart

I heard this story on NPR today about how expressing gratitude helped patients recover from existing heart conditions. 

No surprise here! Since starting this Journey In Place three years ago, I have felt the positive effects of not only recording those things for which I am grateful but also in revisiting the entries years later. Because of this practice of recording "The Little Big Things," I experience them multiple times--once when they're happening, again when I write about them, and again, again, and again when I re-read the entries, which means that recording such memories gives your soul a gratitude nuclear half-life! Is it no wonder that between a healthy diet, an active lifestyle, and practicing gratitude I have completely kick ass cholesterol and triglyceride numbers? 

My last entry echoed a sentimental lyric called "I Hate to See October Go," written by the late, great Johnny Mercer. (Barry Manilow finished the song at Mercer's late wife's request and recorded it in the 80s.) There is no doubt a sweet melancholy in saying goodbye to those warm, dazzling silver, blue, and gold afternoons, which will give way to damp, drizzling, brown, and grey afternoons. And yet, a couple of weeks into the Drizzling Brown month, I feel myself getting excited about my favorite family holiday, Thanksgiving. 

As kids, my grandma would have us (Earl, me, Todd, Chad) over the night before. She'd take us to Burger Chef or make us TV Dinners (Oh, the luxury!), and we'd play Aggravation or Yahtzee, watch TV, play in the basement, and help her get ready for the big dinner the next day. On Thanksgiving, we'd wake up early and start racing around in excitement. After dinner, we'd play outside, wearing ourselves completely out in the cold air, and some years our moms would drop us off at the movies! 

In my teen years, the night before Thanksgiving was always a silly night out with friends in one of our various basements, our imagination bursting through the seams of our little town. We'd watch MTV, make our own videos (RunDMC, for some reason), play ping pong or darts, and just enjoy being young and having great friends. Sometimes we'd drive down by the beach, the echoes of our summer nights still whispering in our ear. 

I had a sort of Gap year, although it was hardly glamorous. All my friends either went away to college or were still in high school. (I was someone who could be friends with anyone and had friends in every grade, which some people thought was weird, but screw those snobs.) I was going to a local college and working a fun job at a tanning/fitness salon, trying to figure out what the hell to do with my life. I loved my friends, music, my bedroom, and my mom, but I knew I had to get out of there. Shortly after the T-givng of my "Gap" year, I enlisted in the Air Force.

My first T-giving away from home was pretty fun. I had graduated boot camp end of October and was flown to Denver to complete my technical training. A few weeks on base, and I already friends and a very cute boyfriend from California. I loved my dorm room and communal living and was working hard in tech school, making friends from all walks of life. In 1988, the drinking laws were a bit strange in Colorado. I was in some sort of grandfather clause that allowed me to drink 3.2 beer, which was a BIG DAMN DEAL, because it meant I could go to certain clubs. However, I hadn't been on base long enough to actually have such off-base privileges, so the rest of the newbies and I had a giant party in the dorm, no supervision in sight. I missed my family, yes, but the chow hall did serve a nice dinner, complete with shrimp cocktail, and it was fun going over in a big group. This was an exciting time for me! I was about to have off-base privileges in about a week and couldn't wait to go my first night club! And yet, I was also having fun being stuck on base that last night.

The next year was much different. I had been in England since the summer on my first real assignment, and life and my job had been pretty rough, and I had just moved in to a new dorm. I guess I wasn't feeling totally confident. I was totally surprised when two really cool and really cute guys I worked with unexpectedly invited me to a concert in London on Thanksgiving night, which of course is not a holiday for England. I'd never heard of The Primitives, but I knew these guys loved good music, and they were determined to get me out of my "classic rock" roots. 

At this time, it was not completely unlikely that the IRA would bomb London, and we had to consider this in our travel. Just a week or so before, a UXO (unexploded ordinance) had been discovered in Kensington. Terrorist attacks on London had tapered a bit in the late 80s, but would pick up steam again in the early 90s.

I had no cool clothes to wear to a cool concert in London with two west coast guys! I drove (yes I was one of the few people who had a car in England!) to Bury St. Edmunds and found a shirt in the men's department of Marks & Spencer that said Dizzy Bopper on it, and I guess was going for a Tom Girl kind of look, pairing it with a long black skirt and black flats. I actually got compliments on it. They picked me up and off we went to London, riding the tubes to various stations, and choosing Chinese cuisine for our Thanksgiving dinner. I missed my family, but I was so excited to be running around London with two great guys who looked after me and made sure I had fun. The concert was at Town & Country in Kentish Town, and Pale Saints opened. We bought Tshirts and posters and waited for the band in the alley after the concert and got to meet Tracy--whose sister would become famous in a few years for starting a band called The Cranberries. By the way, life got much better at RAF Lakenheath, England, after that night. I made wonderful friends and went on many adventures all over England and Europe! 

I spent the next Thanksgiving in Operation Desert Storm, living in tent city in Taif, Saudi Arabia. All I remember is working the usual 14-hour shift that day and listening to boot leg tapes and reading The Stand by Stephen King.

The next year, I was stationed in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, and I can't really remember what I did, except that I had sweet potato pie for the first time. Maybe I had some friends visit me from another base or I went to see them or maybe I hung out by myself.

The next year, I was engaged and was living with my fiance in an apartment in Salt Lake City. I went all out and made my first Thanksgiving meal all by myself. I quickly learned that he hated all holidays, especially Christmas, and would just as soon that we not celebrate. A few years in, I decided it would just be easier to join him in his hate of holidays, especially Christmas, with Thanksgiving a close second as it preceded Christmas. Even after we divorced, fourteen years later, I still could not let go of the learned disdain.

By 2009, however, something clicked. I was spending Thanksgiving in Michigan with my parents, and none of my siblings made the trip, and the gathering with the extended family had been cancelled due to illness. My dad threw some steaks on the grill, and I remember having a wonderful day with them, realizing I had turned a corner after years of holiday-associated depression. I was working, single, not dating anyone, had my wonderful dog, Primo, and kitty Abby, and lots of friends, and a good life. 

Things really clicked with me when Earl and his family moved back to Michigan, and suddenly, there were children again. It started out by taking them to the park after dinner and running around like fools. Then I started taking them out the day after T-giving, seeing movies, going out to eat, playing on the beach and bluff, visiting my grandma. The next year two years we had slumber parties. In 2012, Larry I took our first trip to Cape San Blas, leaving crack of dawn Friday. That was a wonderful trip!

And this week, I'm starting to get excited about Thanksgiving again! Earl and I are going to take the kids rollerskating on Thanksgiving Eve. I will probably take them to the movies day after. I know I don't have many years left with them. Luke and Grace are full-on teenagers, and in the blink of an eye, Daniel and Lauren will no longer be giving me running tackle hugs. But for now, they're still here, and they make me happier every year.

I'm grateful for so many things. I felt immensely grateful walking into work this Monday morning, happy to have a job. Abby and I spent a happy weekend at Larry's. Friday I went to a Ladies night, and Saturday Larry and I joined our good friends Brian, Deb, Eric, and Michele at a fun place called Bonge's then had them all over for dessert and games after. 

I was sick for a couple of months following our trip to Canada and Maine. I'll explain later, but I'm fine now. I had all new windows installed last week, one more step towards making my home my castle. 

A while back, I wanted to start a series of blogs with the title "Say Nice Things About..." as part of a self-care journey I was on. I didn't really follow through in writing things out, as I was pretty sick. I wonder if I could commit to these gratitude exercises, however.

I'm healthy, I'm employed, and I'm loved! I'm rarely all three things at once, so it's good to put it into writing.

Here I go now. Gonna harvest my garden of gratitude.

The Primitives: Crash

And When October Goes...

"And when October goes-
the snow begins to fly.
Beneath the smoky roofs-
I watch the planes go by.
The children running home
beneath a twilight sky.
Oh for the fun of it,
When I was one of them.

And when October goes

The same old dream appears

And you are in my arms

To share the happy years

I turn my head away

To hide the helpless tears

Oh how I hate to see October go

I should be over it now I know

It doesn't matter much

How old I grow

I hate to see October go."

This lyric belongs to Johnny Mercer, who died before he could put it to song. His friend Barry Manilow put the lyrics to music and recorded it in 1984. 

I was introduced to the song via a redubbed mixtape from the pen pal of a good friend at the time named Michelle. (What it didn't have was a label, so I didn't know the titles or artists of the songs. You couldn't just look things up back then. Some 25 years later, I heard a song on one of my Pandora stations and tried to place where I knew it? Turns it was Joan Armatrading singing "Love & Affection," and it was one of the songs on the mystery mixtape. And with that, by then in my forties, I discovered a new love, even though Joan had been around for decades.

Remember pen pals? Did you ever have one? I had one named Betsy from Cleveland Heights, which at the time I imagined must be even bigger than Cleveland, being all skyscrapers--"heights." Funny how the young mind is so literal. Michelle had something like 100 pen pals. She got mail every day. The envelopes were always elaborately hand-decorated, and the stationary was always covered in glitter, drawings, and calligraphy, and other types of "mixed media" that a budding artist/writer could find lying about the house. 

Pen pal-ing was a fairly organized yet non-governed subculture with its own traditions and acronyms, mostly perpetuated by girls, who longed to learn and share and step outside their zip code. Life was a lot more insular back then. TV, with its generic omnipresent "California" backdrop (all filmed on sets and back-lots) offered few clues to those of us whose curiosity about our world needed to be filled on a personal basis. 

A pen pal would share with you their culture, and yes, I do believe that cities had more distinct features and culture back then than they do now because we simply were not so easily exposed. I think social media has homogenized everything from fashion to slang. We also shared a lot of music! My little city had several radio stations, but they consisted of current/top 40, stoner rock--i.e. stoned guys playing entire albums by bands, such as Head East and Rush, country, 50s, talk radio, and generic stations that played random pop and rock--a precursor of those "Jack FM" stations that would play Lynard Skynard, Bee Gees, Madonna, John Fogerty Band--just random stuff. 

Under Betsy's tutelage, I was way ahead of the curve in music tastes. She'd tell me all the latest bands, and I'd ask Michelle if any of her friends had sent her tapes, and we'd listen in her bedroom, while thumbing through her rock mags. The things my friends would rave about years later when they went to college....pishhhhh....I'd heard of that old stuff ages ago! I remember living in England in 1990, and Depeche Mode had just released their first "pop crossover" album Violator. I recall feeling a bit righteous and nervous about my small town back home hearing this band for the first time on Rock 107, and in my mind, ruining my edge!  How dare the cool kids try to do something that I already liked! Hahaha!

Pen pal-ing created the first iteration of FB. It's true. We used to send FBs--Friendship Books to a pen pal. These were handmade little books, made with construction paper and staples and photos and drawings and lyrics and poems and a little bit about ourselves. We'd write our address on the last page. We'd send it to a pen pal, and she would fill out a page and her address and send it to a pen pal, and so on. Then maybe several months or a year later, you'd get your book back, full of all new pen pals. I loved seeing the creativity and thoughts of strangers. Sometimes they'd send you a special wish or just include a poem. ("Stay Gold" by Robert Frost was huge at the time due to the fact that most girls our age had read The Outsiders by S.E. Hinton.)  

Here' a picture of a random FB I found on the internet. Trust me, ours were elaborate and so cool!

I wonder if young girls who are creative and curious about the world they will soon enter still have pen pals. Even when I was growing up, Michelle and I were the only people I knew who had pen pals. I don't have any of those letters or Friendship Books. I wish I'd kept just one. My guess is that Facebook has taken over FBs, and Twitter has overtaken actual letters. And maybe girls would get bored waiting weeks or months to get a letter back. Or maybe they wouldn't. Maybe they would see that letter writing is not only an artform, but also a type of travel! You get to "travel" to another person's life--another person you would probably never meet in real life. You have a new and exciting friend! Michelle did get to visit one of her pen pals--in BOSTON--by TRAIN! I remember being regaled by her solo travel adventure across the country, and how much fun she had!

For fun, I'd like to imagine what my first pen pal letter might have looked like. For starters, I would have carefully chosen paper. I always liked lined paper. Second, I would write several drafts and work on my cursive writing and drawings before sending the final draft. Third, I would have to include song lyrics that spoke to me.

Hi Betsy!

I'm Amy, middle name Suzanne, from St. Joseph, Michigan. I'm thirteen years old, and I'm in 7th grade, and I go to Lakeshore Junior High.

I live on a farm. My dad is an engineer and my mom is a newspaper reporter. My dad always wanted a farm, so he bought this place when I was six. I have two older brothers and one older sister, and we all take care of the animals and the gardens.  We have horses, cows, rabbits, geese, turkeys, chickens, a raccoon, sheep, and goats, but they are actually more like pets. We also have dogs and a cat. We have a big barn, and upstairs we have a hayloft and a basketball court and a stereo and punching bags. I had a party for my twelfth birthday up there, and it was fun. In the fall, we have bonfires, and my dad takes us on hayrides. We have forty acres and there is a forest behind us, and I walk there every day after school.

We live close to the beach on Lake Michigan. There are huge sand dunes, and we play hide and seek, an in the winter we go tobogganing down the steep dunes. Sometimes we ride our bikes there.

I play softball and run track. My best friends are Michelle, Caroline, Sheila, Janis, Janan, and Amy. We play volleyball (I am team manager), softball (I play third base), and run track and cross country. In the summer, I show animals in the fair. 

We don't have a TV, but I love to buy records and listen in my room.  I like Fleetwood Mac the most, plus the Eagles, REO Speedwagon, Olivia Newton-John, ELO, Pat Benatar, Commodores, Earth Wind & Fire, Journey, Styx, plus so many others!

Who is your favorite singer?

In school I like science, art, and anything with writing! I also play clarinet in the concert and marching band, but I wish I played the drums.

When I grow up,  I want to be a psychiatrist or a cruise director or own a record store!  I want to live on the Atlantic Ocean when I grow up. What do you want to be when you grow up?

We went to an amusement park called Marriott's Great America last week. It's near Chicago, which is just ninety miles from where we live. We went on a roller coaster called The Demon and all the water rides. We ate Belgian Waffles.

I like to go visit my aunt on the shore in Delaware. We play on the beach and hang out on the boardwalk. We play pinball and drink birch beer and eat grinders! We went to Colonial Williamsburg and Busch Gardens and stayed in a motel with a pool! 

Now, tell me about you! Do you like your school? I like mine. We are the Lakeshore Lancers. I like my friends. We are always getting in trouble for laughing. We are all in wood shop class together, and Mr. Husek does not like girls! I like drafting but not the saws. 

Well gotta do homework! 

AWB!!!!

(Always Write Back.)

But, I wonder what a first letter from me today would look like? How about I write that tomorrow?

Well, I started this blog thinking I'd simply recount what I've been up to in October, but instead i went down memory lane and visited an antiquated and charming past time. 

Even back then I was taking a Journey in Place!

Say Nice Things About...September and My Adolescence

I sat on this for a couple of days, feeling a bit insecure to talk about my insecurities. But since it has a happy ending, then maybe it's something someone can relate to in a positive way. 

For many years, I have been under the impression that, unlike most people, I do not like autumn. I roll my eyes when people proclaim happily that "It's 'sweatshirt' or 'good sleeping' weather." (I still do not understand what is so wonderful about having to wear thick bulky clothes instead of tank tops and shorts.)

This October has been so warm and breezy and sky-blue perfect, however, that I realized that it is only September who makes my bliss a hit or miss. September is the cicada-song skeletal scrap of succulent, sonorous Summer. 

Every September when the wind whistles through the brittle leaves, my brain short circuits to my muscle-memory emotions of the 70s and 80s and the anxiety that returning to school created for me. (Around the Aughts--05, 06, 07, I short circuited to the emotions I felt leading up to and following the divorce. 08 and 09 were marked by Overinvolvement and Undersatisfaction.) When the dry warm September winds kick up the dust, and grass crunches beneath my feet, I feel that familiar sense of dread all over again. 

Why was I anxious in school when I was a fairly good (if not always motivated) student? I felt like I was starting most years alone, without benefit of a clique. "Will I make friends?" was a question that always left me fraught with nerves. No, I didn't change schools a lot, but I somehow meandered in and out of friendships and relationships on at least a yearly basis. 

By junior high, best friends from elementary school turned into cheerleaders, and by high school, jr. high pals turned into serial-daters-of-upperclassmen (read: doting and long-suffering jock's wives by the age of 15--Y.U.C.K.), and my lack of connections to help them in their social upward mobility would be grounds for dismissal. (One example: a junior high best friend cited the following reason for not wanting to hang out with me in the hallowed halls of high school: "You don't have very nice clothes." (This was not completely true--I simply did not badger my mother to spend her hard-earned salary for an updated wardrobe every two weeks, and I, gasp, wore the same clothes often.) 

I also dealt with a fair share of users--girls in a trendier social circle would suddenly want to befriend me and spend the night at my house. This happened the summer after my brother "feathered" his hair and got bulky from playing football and turned into something a reluctant stud.

I saw through these bitches instantly. Sometimes, my brother's friends would show off by running up to me and picking me up, literally, or they'd affectionately put their arm around me. My friends would watch and smolder and want to know how I knew them. I thought nothing of these high school mating rituals. Of course they were showing off just to get the attention of freshman/sophomore girls who were supposed to go all ga-ga for them. And they did. And then they'd suddenly want to hang with me, only they didn't really give a crap about me, and I always knew it, and sometimes called their bluff, and I actually enjoyed that part! 

I seemed to make better choices my Junior and Senior year, but nevertheless, it seemed I was mostly a free agent and clique-less, and that might have been by choice. I do remember a certain feeling of independence taking root in me. I couldn't quite define who I was because I was many things, and perhaps sticking to just one set of friends felt like limiting possibilities of discovering whom else I could be. 

I did have some great friends in high school--Katie, Melissa, Michelle, Sue, Frank, Jessica, Jennifer, Maureen, Jay, Tim, Tom and some wonderful times. Despite spelling out what caused me anxiety (people), there were key friends who made my adolescent years happy and unconventional, and they accepted me the way I was.

It is worth considering the source of anxiety, however, to possibly re-wire my brain. It's human nature to remember the bad things, because it's the bad things that cause us to evolve, and if not evolve then at least protect ourselves from suffering again. 

A recent and unexpected note from aforementioned friend Sue made me re-think the years that have brought this nuclear half-life of September Anxiety. She wrote of a shared high school experience so differently--friends, learning, movies, dances, activities, riding bikes, going to the beach. I did all of these things too and often had fun doing them. But she speaks of them fondly. I do not. It is possible that I was not as anxious, lonely, or sad as I had previously thought? 

The truth is, I often *chose* to go places alone or to opt out of activities where "everyone" would be. I always wanted to see what else was out there. If I look at my adult life, I see that I was merely embarking on my journey of my life *becoming* a journey very early in life--I was an explorer, and you can't explore if you stay in the same surroundings! But exploring can be lonely and daunting. Perhaps the undertaking of exploration caused its own brand of anxiety that I have lumped in with social anxiety.  

Looking back, I now see that I had exactly as many friends as I wanted. And despite not making the school annals for having perpetual boyfriends or making the list for "best dressed", "Most Popular," or "Prettiest," the truth is, my social standing was pretty damn good. 

By the time graduation came around, I found myself invited to "open houses" of friends who hadn't really spoken to me in any meaningful way in a number of years. I went to a few, but one stands out in particular. I had a best friend in junior high. Oh my goodness we had so much fun together. But she so easily brushed me off like dust on her feet when social politics ousted long-standing friendships. She was a friend I sort of fought for. I'd had other girls do this to me, but I never thought she would. But she did. And she was none too subtle about it. It hurt for a long time but I moved on. She took the path of "wifey" by the time she was a freshman. When her jock "husband" graduated, she seemed alone and like her life had hit a pause button. Every once in a while I'd see her witnessing me with my friends--those moments when we were especially having a great time, and I'd see something cross her face, a subtle shade. Once in a while, she'd approach me to tell me how happy I looked. But we didn't rekindle the friendship.

As I was leaving her graduation party, she chased after me. She stopped me and started crying. She told me she was sorry that she didn't appreciate me and that I was the only friend who was ever true. I knew what she meant even though she didn't say it. Her best social-climbing girlfriends whom she chose over me all seemed to take turns betraying her by sleeping with her boyfriends, and this devastated her. 

At this moment, I didn't really feel a lot, except for pity for her. I was no longer upset that she had ditched me or jealous that she had so many boyfriends. Instead I realized how much she missed in her adolescent years. I never got to experience that feeling of being swept off my feet by an older guy. She never got to experience pure fun with true friends.

I see her sometimes when I go back home. She wound up marrying her jock boyfriend. They are both very kind to me and always happy to see me. She values me in a way she never did growing up. This is not such a bad way for things to turn out, is it?

A few years back, I was entertaining some of my adult-phase-of-life friends in my hometown for a beach and winery weekend. For some small town kicks, we decided to go to a local karaoke bar. I moved away before I was old enough to drink legally, so I have never bar-hopped in my own town. I figured it would be fun. I'd be an outsider, wouldn't know anyone, and that would make it fun. Nope. It wasn't long before I was recognized by my best friends from elementary school who all became cheerleaders and subsequently by contract could no longer associate with me. The irony sunk in quickly--I was in that karaoke bar as a spoof. They were in there because that really was their life now--being aging queen bees in a small town bar. They loved high school, and it will always be the highlight of their lives. I don't envy them so much anymore.

One of them pulled me aside and apologized, flat out apologized for the way she treated me, stating that she always felt bad. Again, I was stunned. Did I gloat? No, of course not. I told her not to worry, that I never thought about it (pretty much true, but not completely). The truth is, the apology did mean something to me. It is not easy to apologize. She didn't have to do it.  Despite her actions to the contrary, she did value my friendship, and she still thinks  of it fondly. And she was a big enough person  to admit it. Perhaps she felt safe to open up to me because I am the kind of person who is easy to approach truthfully.

I am now suddenly proud of the person I was. 

I also recently saw a best friend from high school with whom I never had a falling apart or harsh feelings. She went to a prestigious university out of state, and I joined the Air Force. We both got married, and we lost touch. Social media helped her find me decades later, and on a whim, we wound up visiting her while we were on a road trip this fall. 

Our lives took such different paths. She got a first rate education and made all new friends and married a well-to-do attorney in Northeastern city. I went military, married a military man, divorced a military man, and moved to a big city in the Midwest, pursuing a more artistic and less conventional life. And yet, over twenty-five years later, it was like being in high school again, sitting in her kitchen late on a Saturday night, eating popcorn and talking about our night and our friends and where our lives might go. 

It was a great visit, and it was good to be reminded that I sought out good people in life. Later she sent me a text that was very meaningful to me. Very simple words. "It was so good to see you again. I had forgotten how down-to-earth you are and how easy it is talk to you." 

Those aren't really words that people fantasize about at a young age. Instead you fantasize that they might say, "successful, pretty, exciting." But being praised for being authentic and honest and easy to talk to you is about the best outcome that a bright, confused, easily-hurt, and constantly-searching young girl could hope for.

So, September, why do you try to put me in a tail spin every year? You were simply part of the scenery that contributed to my larger journey and helped me become who I am. And I'm pretty good with who I am.

Hey, A Lost Post! ...Say Nice Things About...

From the Midsummer Mindset, sometime July or August
(forgot to finish?)
Found this lost post that was unfinished, so I tried to finish it.


Thrush. That's the first word that popped into my head as I pondered summer. It made me think of the wood thrush whose flute-like clear-as-a-bell song could be the soundtrack of growing up in and around the woods. It sounds like "rush," with the "th..." slowing you down, reminding you take in the details. It's a truly fine word to say, so I looked up the meaning to see what it means.

Well, it is actually the name of genital venereal disease, it turns out.

So strike all that, and I'll start over.

Flooowuuushhhhhh. Here's a sound, not a word, suggesting flight or flash motion and putting on the brakes at just the right moment. (And no painful burning or itching "down there.")

So here I am, trying to slow things down a little bit, which is not easy for someone like me, who has Type A guilt with Type B personality...meaning, I feel like I should be a task master, but I've been a daydreamer since I can remember. It's hard for me to discern sometimes if I am relaxing and regrouping or if I'm just off in la-la land. Meanwhile, the taskmaster takes her list and checks it twice.

This summer, I failed at gardening. AGAIN. I used to rock this, but ever since I purchased my current dwelling 15 years ago, my gardens have been infecund! Yes, that is a word. I typed non-productive into thesaurus.com, and this was an entry, and what an entry, since fecund is all about fertility.

***Here is where the post abruptly ended. I will attempt to finish it although it will veer from the original Post title "Say Nice Things About..." which was going to be a post about a super fun trip we took to the Motor City this past July. I'd rather finish the post when I have photos. Wait, I didn't take many photos because we went to a lot of museums, and pictures aren't allowed.

I remember I left off the "Detroit" part (this a somewhat of a grassroots PR campaign that caught on and is working) because I remember distinctly wanting to say more nice things in life, about life, particularly mine. I like that sentiment, so I'm glad I found this post.

I've decided that Say Nice Things About [My Life] will be my campaign for the next thirty days. That's a charge that Type B Daydreamer should be able to pursue while keeping Type A Taskmaster happy.

A Year without You

I awoke in the middle of the night to your loud cries. We were at my parents' house for my grandma's funeral. I found you in their living room (I couldn't coax you into my room that night) half-paralyzed and terrified after losing control of your bowels. It would be the third time in about two weeks I found you unable to get up from the prone position, and I knew. I knew you couldn't go on in this pain, humiliation, and fear. I knew that leaving you alone ever again would be out of the question. I got you up and tried to calm you. Just then Larry came through the door, also having heard your cries. He took you outside in the cool October air to help you stretch your legs and get you calmed down. I stayed inside to clean up the mess. My dad awoke and looked in shock at my mother's white carpet, now completely brown. I begged him to go back to bed, and he reluctantly went. I knew that her carpet would be the last thing she would worry about, as she is a dog lover, and also loved Primo. I cleaned it up anyway, and went outside.

You were laying down again, in a shallow puddle, Larry standing beside you, and I was afraid you had passed away. "Is he alive?" I tentatively whispered? "Yes," Larry said looking down at you in love. "He's just resting." "The water probably feels good," I said, reaching down to pet you. You had worked yourself into such a frenzy. Who wouldn't--not being able to get up. Of course that is terrifying. We stood there in the blackness for a long time as I listened for your breathing to slow down. I looked up and saw Orion's Belt, crystal clear and dazzling, and I knew what I had to do. 

"He can't go on like this," I gulped. "I know." Larry said. He knew too. 

I think I remember every second of that day. As your life passed around 3:30 pm, my life, at least as I knew it, stopped.

The truth is, it hasn't really started again and I feel as empty now as I did when I had to place a terrible phone call.

I've been to some nice places since you moved on, but you're always there with me. I go to Eagle Creek all the time--one of your favorites. Larry and I often visit the spot where you jumped from a cliff down to the shore of the reservoir, and that funny look on your face, as if you were saying, "Look what I did! You guys should try it!" When I'm with Larry, the memory will elicit a smile, but when I'm alone, a tear is more likely to present. 

We've done a few camping trips. You loved hiking and getting to eat "camp food," but you didn't really love sleeping outdoors. You would look at me and seem to portray confusion as to why the hell we were sleeping outside on the ground when we had a perfectly good house to sleep in. 

Before Larry came along, you and I sometimes camped together for hashing events, sharing my tiny tent and air mattress, and you seemed to love it. Funny thing when Larry came along--you were not willing to give up your rightful place on the air mattress.

The first month or so after you died was the worst. I hated waking up, going to sleep, coming home, or leaving. I broke the habit of looking in the window as I drove out, where once your beautiful head would sit on the window sill, breaking my heart with your "Why can't I go?" stare. Just the other night, I was making salmon croquettes, and as I was spooning out some the juice from the can into Abby's bowl, I remembered how salmon was your favorite food. 

Abby misses you too. At first, she kept looking for you, meowing, looking me in the eye, as if to say, "Where's Big Fella?" I don't know if I should tell you this or not since you were always so jealous of her, but she has been a very good kitty since you left. I think she also feels lost without you and needs constant companionship to help her get through. 

Remember the day I brought Abby home from the Humane Society? December 20, 2001. I let you sleep on the couch because you were pretty upset at having this new creature in your house. When I brought you home April 1, 2001, you met my first cat, Tabitha, and you did not seem bothered by her at all. Tabitha died that August. But Abby bothered you, probably because she loved you and kept trying to cuddle with you. You were so mad! You barked and growled at her. Soon she decided that if you were going to be mean to her then she was going to frighten you by staring at you. 

I always knew when she was staring at you. If I were anywhere else in the house, you would come and tattle. You make me come and see what she was doing to you. Sometimes she'd attack you. She'd hang by your neck and bite you, and even though you did not like her, you never hurt her. You were always gentle with her. Sometimes you'd try to nibble on her back. Sometimes you'd take out your biting frustrations on the couch, bed spread, or Turkish rug. But you never hurt that poor mangy cat who was so sick she was nearly dead. 

Over the next years, I would think of you both as my roommies, maybe even my kiddos. On cold nights, we'd all sleep in my bed. I really loved waking up wedged between the two of you. I felt like I had the best life because I had you two.

You and I had so many great times. Remember hours-long walks on the Monon Trail and canal tow-path? You were so popular that strangers knew your name and would call to you on sight. 

I haven't yet been able to wipe your nose prints from my car windows, bedroom window, and sliding glass door. One of the smudges even has some of the yogurt you would like from otherwise empty containers.

I miss the way you always made me laugh. When I had hardwood floors installed, you followed the installers around and laid on their equipment. Abby of course followed you following them around because she was your little sister. They called to me, "Amy? We're really sorry, but would you mind moving your pets?" Then when I had the gas fireplace installed, you followed them around, keeping any eye on them or maybe hoping for a gentle chin rub. Then when I had the security system installed, you followed them around too. Once you decided that they were okay, you laid on their tools and gave them constant eye contact. When I had events in the Beat Lounge, you gently tried to herd everyone in to one room where you keep an eye. Your work done, you'd sit atop the steps, playing sentry. People who wanted to go downstairs would have to step over you. You didn't move a muscle.

Everyone loved you, even non-lovers-of-dogs. 

Remember all of our road trips? Our first was to the Smokey's where you had your first raccoon encounter. Then we spent a week at Tybee Island, and you held court on the screened in front port, questioning all passers-by of their business. Later we spent some time on Appalachian Trail--far too little as far as you were concerned. Remember the light house tour and running on the beach at Van Buren State Park and the joys of licking the cup from our Sherman's ice cream? Remember our trip to Cleveland? I bought you a bone so you'd stay occupied while we were out exploring, and the bone drove you to insanity as you desperately tried to hide it. Remember our week at the beach house in Cape San Blas? One day, you just jumped the gate and took off on your own to the beach. 

We used to walk about five-six miles a day together. People always wanted to stop and pet Lassie, but you were so funny. You sometimes hated particular kids. I always wondered why. You didn't like every single person you met. You were an excellent judge of character. Except for in the case of my neighbor, Roy. He is a really good guy. When you really like someone, you try to put your butt in his or her lap. When we went to Atlanta for my show, you loved Dave and Linda's youngest son. I think you noted that he was gentle, like you. 

Remember eating all of Larry's Christmas cookies and pretending like you had no idea why he was mad? Remember the huge messes you would make with the trash, and Larry covering for you? 

Remember our trips to Michigan, and my nieces and nephews you constantly petting you? You were so good to them.

Remember going to certain events, and kids would just flock to you? They'd lay on the ground with you and pet you, and you'd take it all in.

You were 3 when you adopted me, and you died at 16-1/2. I thought I'd have you for longer, I really did. That last Christmas, I thought you'd had a stroke, but it was just vertigo, and I really thought I'd lost you. I ran out and bought you a new bed that day. I'll never forget how excited you were to get a new bed. I'll also never forget how excited you'd be when Larry presented you with new toys--Buzzy Bee, Mr. Fishy, and Larry Bird. 

We started planning vacations around you, picking dog-friendly places. We picked a place back in Cape San Blas, renting for two weeks instead of one. You died just a week or so before our departure. I saw all the places you liked to run and play on the beach. When we were planning a trip to Glacier or Acadia, we looked for houses that accepted dogs. 

I don't walk nearly as much since you left. It took months for me just to get back out there, and I still feel lost sometimes not having those twice-daily walks to mark the start and end of each day. At night, you'd get restless if I waited too long to say, "Wanna go for a walk?" and you'd pace and grab one of my belongings in my mouth. You'd snort and prance.

You loved sleeping under the Honey Locust tree in the back yard. I still see you curled up at the base of the trunk. I still see you curled up in the corner of the living room. And beside my bed. And when we sit down to dinner, I see your head on my lap or peaking through Larry's bent arm, hoping to get just a bite.

It's been a year, and I am surprised how quickly the tears come if I spend more than a few minutes thinking about you. I think because of that, I haven't spent long periods of time thinking of you. I miss you so much, Primo. 

You were there for me every second of those 13-1/2 years. You saw me through the divorce and the merciless depression that followed. During the divorce, I was told to find a home for you. I didn't. I kept you. During my depression, I wondered if you might be better off with a married couple than with a single woman. I even had a couple in mind, but thankfully, I couldn't do it. I needed you so much. You greeted me warmly when I'd return from a crazy trip around the world. You kept Dave company and cheered him up, and you were so great to him that he even got two dogs of his own. And you LOVED Kara and Mercy, especially Kara. Wasn't Dave good to us? Primo, I wish I hadn't gone on those trips sometimes. But knowing that you brought Dave such joy, maybe it was okay? I did miss you terribly while I was gone.  

One time, I was catching a flight in the morning, so I dropped you and Abby with the Dave the previous night, and for the first time since leaving the Air Force, I came home to a come to an empty house. No one greeted me. I was still unstable at that point, and I fell to my knees realizing how much love you gave me.

I got you four months after Phoebe died. And now it's been a year since you've died, and although I've looked and I've visited other dogs, I haven't been able to do it. I keep thinking that no one will ever be as good as you are. I know I'm right. Someday I will adopt again. And someday, I'll lose him or her too. 

And someday, I'll come to the Rainbow Bridge, and Phoebe, you, and maybe someone else will all be there to greet me with kisses. 

Primo, you gave me 13-1/2 wonderful years. You gave me more years maybe than you actually wanted. In human years, you were well into your hundreds. You were deaf and blind, but allowing you to also be lame seemed cruel and selfish on my part. I often wonder if you can understand why I did what I did, and if you can forgive me? 

One day, when I feel a bit stronger, I want to post all your pictures here. One day when I can look at them longer than five seconds without crying.

Today we're going to Eagle Creek to think about you. Then I'll sit beside the tree we planted for you. And I'm going to tell you how much I miss you.

Slip Sliding Away

Oh June and July, you've been hiding, from my life and my blog!

It hasn't felt much like summer this year. It rains constantly. Half of IN is in a flood state. We haven't been able to go camping since the first weekend of May, and with our trip just six weeks away, we really need practice!

Summer 2015 has looked like this:

Memorial Day Weekend, I was a workaholic around my house. I painted the fence around my back yard, I stained my deck, and I planted my garden. I also hosted several people in my artist's hostel that weekend. We also managed to check out my friend Curtis's show "Sidewaze Rain" at OnxyFest.

I had some friends that I haven't seen in a long time over for dinner on separate occasions.

I got an annual pass to Eagle Creek, and we go there whenever there is a window between storms. On sunny evenings, I love riding my bike there after the traffic dies down, staying long enough to watch the sun begin its descent over the reservoir, and pray that the guy who sings and plays banjo is not there to ruin the beautiful silence with his Appalachian songs that would sound fine on the porch of his own house. Just because you know how to play banjo does not mean that people want to hear it when they are out in the park. Some weirdo guy was playing a banjo on the Sheltowee Trace trail that runs through the Red River gorge, and coupled with the hillbillies and grody hipsters bivouac "back country" camping along the side of the river, it made for an unsightly passage. 

I spent a couple of weekends at Larry's, where we grilled, biked, and hiked--and got rained out each time. Twice we've been hiking in the forest when the heavens opened on us--and the green rain was so beautiful and peaceful.

I finally checked off an item that has been appeared on my annual to-do list for several years now:
See Lucinda Williams in concert!

The plan was to couple the concert in Bloomington with a weekend of camping. But guess what? It rained!

We met friends Deb and Brian at Upland and talked so long and laughed so hard that we lost track of time. GA seating would insure long lines and being stuck in the back of the theater, where I would no doubt be meant long lines. Being friendly meant I learned of a super-secret back entrance. Super secret back entrance meant we were 10th in the door. I ran for the stage and did not move from that spot for the next five hours. My throat was like sand, and I needed water, but I was afraid someone would take my spot at the edge of the stage. Larry was a trooper and hung right behind me the whole time, smiling and rocking out. After the concert, I realized he was right under the only working A/C vent.

It was hotter than balls that night. A storm was due but didn't quite land, so the air felt like bricks on fire. After two great opening acts, solo artist Matt someone from Austin, and Lucinda's band Buick 6, I tried to wait patiently for my first ever live-glimpse of The Queen of Lyrical Confessions, the master of the kohl eyeliner, the long legged, husky voiced, oft-rumored-to-be-moody Lucinda from the galley, and when she appeared, I audibly gasped! Thankfully she does not buy into this "make them beg for it" bullshit and didn't make us wait too long.

She started the set without fanfare, "Something Wicked This Way Comes," but seemed visibly agitated, and kept calling out the stage manager (without interrupting the performance.) I started to worry that maybe she was in one of her famous "moods." A few songs in, she finally threw her arms up and addressed us: "Hey guys. I'm sorry. It is hotter than f*ck in here!" She went on to tell us that her husband and sister were in the audience, and played one of my favorites, "Crescent City," a beautiful lyric about her life growing up and around the Highway 20 area of the Delta. It was then that she started to pick up on that vibe of Hoosier Hospitality, and it was a greeting she began to return in spades! 

I've read mixed reviews of her performances. Some have complained of surly, slurry, drunkenness, but I was always questioned that last part. Lu is a perfectionist about her music and her voice, and alcohol is an enemy of the vocal chords. I didn't believe it for a moment. Because she is someone to pour out her heart in lyrics without censure and then work herself into quite a frenzy in the studio, I can absolutely forgive her for not "leaving it all out on the floor." 

I know that for a very few singers, it's the song, the lyrics, and the music--not the production gimmicks and certainly not peacock-ing and posturing through a bombastic performance. She is definitely more comfortable in the studio where she she doesn't have to put her emotions on display.

She surprised me by referring to binder of lyrics for most songs, but later I learned that her stage fright has led her to forget lyrics, and she doesn't want to be in that predicament there. I connect completely with someone who does not love show boating, but who still wants to connect with her audience. As the night went on, she got more and more comfortable, and when she traded her acoustic guitar for her electric guitar, I knew what we were in for:

HONEY BEE!

And she totally rocked it, and then one of the best things that has ever happened to me in my entire life happened. I was rocking out in the front row, smiling ear to ear, loving it all, when she turned to me, smiled, nodded, and pointed at me! Yes, ladies and gentleman, I received the elusive Lucinda endorsement. I'm positive she meant, "I like you, girl!" Her guitarist, Stuart (who looked a lot like Steve Buscemi) was also really friendly and smiled at me all through the performance. I just marveled through his licks and chops, and I think he just noticed me appreciating his talent, and appreciated me appreciating it.

My favorite is when they singer tells you a little bit about how they wrote their songs. She gave us vivid accounts of the stories behind "Pineola," "Drunken Angel," "I Lost It," "Change the Locks," and "West Memphis," and more than ever I was fascinated by her process.

Encore: She sings "The Rising" by Bruce Springsteen.

Second Encore, she lets out this little love letter--"This here, this is so unusual. It's hotter than two rats fucking in a wool sweater, we're sweating our asses off, and you're rocking the roof off! And just a minute ago, we saw a huge cockroach in the galley. This here. This is a rock n roll experience! This is a gift that you're giving to me. We felt your energy right away, and Stu whispered to me three songs in, 'There's something about this crowd. They just really get it.' We needed this so much, and we will be back!" 

Then she added that, in case we're interested, as far as politics go, she's thinking that Bernie is looking pretty good.

We drove home at 1 a.m. after standing for five hours. She rocked us for almost two hours. I don't need to see a concert ever again. Larry was awesome, and became a true fan. He'd never heard of her until a few months earlier when he gifted me with her record Album "Down Where the Spirit Meets the Bone." He asked me to compile some songs that I thought she might sing at the concert so that he could sing along and really enjoy it. He listened to everyone of my CDs, read every jacket and liner note, and every article he could find on her. Like me, he did not like her instantly, but rather she grew on him slowly. It is truly wonderful to share something that is so my pertinent to my life--to my heart and mind--to the person who has my heart. We share a lot of interests, but we've never shared musical tastes. Now we do!

Thank you Lucinda! I can die now!


The next weekend we planned on camping in Yellowwood, but guess what? It rained like a son of a bitch, so we stayed in Indy. We pitched the tent Saturday night because it miraculously didn't rain, and we slept outside, trying to practice for our big trip. It took us a long time to set up the tent, and I had to text our pal Brian several times for tips and pointers. I made some really awesome camp food that I will never be able to duplicate out in wilderness, but oh well. The next day we decided to hike in one of our favorite IN parks, Turkey Run. It was flooded and muddy, and full of bored fat people who, judging by the dumpsters, all ate their weight in junk food that weekend. It was depressing. I really do no like IN camp grounds! They are parking lots of people who just sit there in their chairs and eat and drink. 

The next weekend I had Friday off for Independence Day! We headed to MI to see my family and have a mini-vacay on Thursday afternoon. I made up a dinner of French Meat Pie and Baked Macaroni & Cheese so my mom (who is still recovering from shoulder surgery--note! Do NOT EVER have shoulder surgery!) wouldn't have to cook. Afterwards we took a walk on the beach, or rather, what is left of the beach. :(  The lake is so high that there is almost no beach. 

Fri we walked the pier and Silver Beach and around St. Joe, and tried some wine samples at a new winery. (Not very good, oh well.) Then we headed down to Pier 33 to see if Larry's buddy was Mark was around. We found him on his new boat after we were waiting for him on his old boat, which he had sold. Ooops! It was fun surprising them and hanging out. Then we went back to my folks' house for a cookout then headed to the fireworks in Baroda with mom, Earl, Lori, and kids. 

We had a lot of fun at the fireworks. I never thought I'd say this, but we had to go to Baroda to get away from the white trash on Silver Beach. That place is just getting depressing on Fourth of July. Anyway, it was a really fun show, and we had fun doing some redneck watching in their ridiculous loud trucks. In the distance we could hear a honky-tonkish country-ish garage band, and something sounded so familiar. I finally realized they were singing "Super Freak" and Earl, Lori, and I cracked up. The kids (minus Luke of course, who sat in the car, just so embarrassed at being with his family in such a visible way) and I had a dance off, and we laughed so hard. 

Saturday we we exploring and found a cute little beach in a cute little town called Lakeside. How did I grow up in the area and never hear of it? We walked a couple of hours. Larry got heat stroke or something--dizzy, and nearly passed out. I asked a nearby family for some ice, and they gave us water, fruit icees, granola bars, and put up an umbrella over him. Unbelievable kindness! Once he felt better, we started back (We walked nearly to New Buffalo), when a cop on a four wheeler came up behind us. We thought maybe he was going to tell us on were on private property, but instead he wanted to escort us after the lady who helped us told him that Larry might need some assistance. Really nice people!

Saturday night we went to my Aunt Vickie/Uncle Dave's for a cookout and to visit with Brad and Kari and their respective families. It was really fun because the kids and I played in the alley where Earl and I used to play some forty years ago! I walked down a few houses to see my grandma and grandpa's house, and all of a sudden started crying. A lady came out and asked if I needed something, so I told her why I was crying. She was so sweet! She said that years ago, an old man had stood where I was standing, and was also crying, and told her that he had helped build that house as a boy and later moved into it with his wife. She told promised that she would always love and take care of the house--and she kept her promise. It's painted green with white trim and has flowers everywhere. It really does look cute!

Sunday we went to Grand Mere for a beach day. Packed a lunch, books, an umbrella, and had a wonderful day!

It wasn't quite as fun as the time we went a couple of years ago because we didn't have our bikes and we didn't have as much time, but I truly loved spending time with my nieces and nephews. My mom and I had some really nice late night talks too.

The next weekend we planned on camping in Yellowwood, but guess what? Rains caused flooding, so we couldn't go. Instead we went to the Fever game Friday night, preceded by wonderful pizza in the piazza at Giorgios! We had so much fun at the game, then walked around downtown afterwards. The weather was actually pretty nice. Saturday we took a really fun bike ride to Eagle Creek. We just laughed and talked and felt like kids. We stopped by the store and bought stuff for a cookout and cracked up trying to manage the grocery bags on our handlebars. 

My urban prairie looks great, but my garden is is sad sad shape. :( I've lost my ambition to start the projects I couldn't wait to start all winter. This is all my fault. Time slipped away--between bad weather and working quite a few weekends, I think I threw in the towel on myself. The few times that I found really great things to "trash-dive," I was walking and they had been claimed by the time I returned. I've started and quit many books because my mind is kind of racing and kind of set one thing, and I'm not quite sure what that one thing is.

On the upshot, I have been pretty loyal about my "getting in shape for hiking the Rocky Mountains" routine of long walks and cardio. I've made progress in other areas of my life, too. I don't know if I'll ever want to talk about that here, but I've been proud of the steps I've taken.  I don't want to act as if I have been doing nothing. It's just that you can't actually see the changes. I do hope, however, that people might notice a change. (There's a difference, honest.)

So Summer 2015, you have sort of slipped through my fingers, but then again, it's been quite wet. I still enjoy the quiet nights on my deck with iced tea or La Croix (I'm STILL not drinking!) and a book and notebook and the trees and my wonderful wonderful wonderful pet hummingbirds and my beautiful beautiful beautiful flowers.

One way to slow you down is to keep writing and to keep reading. I'll write more. I won't wait until I think I have something important to say. I'll let myself be surprised by what wants to be revealed. But I have to make the first move.

Okay, my turn!