Called Home

Sorry for my long silence. I was called home early. Family emergency. Everything is okay now. Trying to adjust to being back in my dreaded Ohio. Thankfully we've been having absolutely gorgeous fall days. The kind that make me wish I could A.) Bake a pumpkin pie and B.) Liked pumpkin pie. Maybe Ohio is trying to make up with me? We'll see how I feel when the first snow falls. 

Traumatic Iritiis

I shouldn't be accident prone. Ten years of ballet, I do Yoga...You'd think I'd be the picture of grace and poise. Not so much. I injure myself on a fairly regular basis and always in the most ridiculous way. I sprained my ankle falling off a tricycle...I was thirty-five. Fractured my wrist walking by the meat cooler as a cook was violently kicking it open. (I have to add that even though he kicked the door into my wrist I didn't drop the case of beer I was carrying). I slipped on ice and hurt my knee. Exactly one week later I fell down a flight of icy stairs and hurt my shoulder...I should really stay off ice...I had four surgeries from those two falls...ice sucks. Anyway. You get the point. I'm accident prone. 


My most recent injury involved a therapy band, a doorknob and my eyes. When I tied the thick band around the door knob I thought it didn't look too secure but surely I'd notice if it started to slip? Nope. It hit so hard and fast I was on the floor writhing in pain before I knew what had happened. I was terrified to look. I expected to find copious amounts of blood and bits of exploded eyeball oozing down my cheeks. I didn't see any of that. Mostly because I couldn't see. Piper got ice packs for me. Alex lamented that it didn't get caught on video. I could have been on Tosh.O...gee, sorry I missed that! The eye doctor told me I was extremely lucky. A blow like that could have cost me my vision. Traumatic Iritis. That's just a fancy way of saying the colored parts of my eyes were swollen. Made the pupils look weird and hurt like hell every time they adjusted to light. He sent me home with steroid drops and orders to rest.


Rest... 


Rest is something I've never been very good at. Sitting around is not in my skill set, that's why I have a physical job. But you don't fool around with your eyes. So  I had an unexpected day off and I couldn't take the kids exploring. I couldn't do anything. I figured I may as well read one of the twenty books I'd lugged to NC. I picked up the one I was reading at the bed and breakfast. It's a very good book. I don't know why I hadn't already finished it. Every time I'd reach for it something stopped me. But now. Now I had a whole day to fill so I read the whole thing. Good thing weeping didn't hurt my eyes. This book is about a spiritual journey and I swear I could have written it. I'd been raised southern baptist. Loud, frightening preachers who banged pulpits and damned our collective souls to the eternal fires of hell. Very dramatic. I remember looking around church searching for a face that mirrored mine. Someone I could meet eyes with, roll them and shrug like, "Pfft...do you believe this guy?" It was a vain search. What I saw were enraptured faces. These people were not only buying into what was being said, they really felt something. And I felt nothing. It made me feel defective. The older I got the more skeptical I became. I went to pastors, friends, family with questions. When you tell people you don't believe in God, they look at you like you've said you enjoy murdering puppies. After years of feeling like a hypocritical phony I stopped going to church. I stopped pursuing anything spiritual and even developed a disdain for it. But I missed believing in something. Here, in the pages of this book, I'd found the God I believe in. I'd gone on this North Carolina journey to find my way out of the darkness and thanks to getting the hell knocked out of me I'd found light. A light that had been closed off to me for years. A light I'd closed off. 


It was a real eye opener, pun intended. 

Charlie's Kabob Grill - Wake Forest, NC

We found Charlie's after a particularly stressful day. I met the kids and the ex at a lake after work. Work for me involves physical labor. I scoop adults up out of beds, stand them on their feet and help them walk. I don't mean I'm holding their hands and cheering them on. I am supporting a good deal of their weight and am sometimes moving one leg for them. I'm tired at the end of the day. Just plain tired. But I met the kids at the lake for swimming with the intent we'd all go out to dinner after. Except the ex forgot to bring dry clothes...

An hour in a car with wet hungry kids? I don't think so. 

We went to Walmart, bought dry clothes and then tried to find a restaurant everyone could agree on. Boy and Ms. Finicky agree on something? What was I thinking? The arguing and the whining started. The ex found Charlie's on Yelp. More whining but I didn't care. My sister tells me all the time you can't negotiate with terrorists and she's right. "We're going to Charlie's, you two don't have to eat! Now shut up and get in the car!"

The kids pile into my car, we're following the ex since he has a GPS. It took us to the back of a strip mall. Are we supposed to knock on one of the doors and give a password to get the kabobs? We continue to follow him around the block...twice. Alex and I are laughing and wondering if maybe we should indeed try a password in the alley. The ex turns right for the third time, I turn left. I found it.
  

At this point, I wasn't expecting much. It's a strip mall, how good can it be? The gentleman behind the counter, who turns out to be Charlie, greeted us right away. Charlie is a delightfully pleasant man. He joked with my kids as he took our order. There's a picture of his new baby on the cash register. We talk about his kids, his wife...very friendly, very personable. As we're eating I notice Charlie greeting everyone else that comes in. He knows details about all of them, asks about their wives, business...This is the kind of place where I like spending my money. A genuinely nice man who loves his job and makes a hell of a falafel. My kids ask what baklava is so I go to the counter and ask for two pieces. Charlie insists I take four and won't hear of me paying for them. I stood and argued with him for a moment but he won. I took the baklava. If you're ever in Wake Forest, give it a try and an fyi, go to the front of the strip mall cause you can't get into Charlie's from the back.

The Ex

It was extremely nice of the ex to bring the kids to me and it was very nice that he was willing to come check the area out to see if he'd like to move here. All I will say is that ex's should NEVER. EVER, EVER live under the same roof. Even if it's only a week. Just not a good idea. That's all.

Fields

"I think it pisses God off if you walk by the color purple in a field somewhere and don't notice it." Shug Avery. 


This is hands down my favorite line in Alice Walkers book, The Color Purple. I'm sure it does piss God off when we don't notice things. "Hello, I've made an entire field of flowers! Put your smart phones down now or I will smite your asses!" To avoid the smiting, I make sure I not only notice fields of purple I admire them. Let's face it, I've made God mad enough...I need all the help I can get! And admiring flowers is easy, especially purple ones. But one day when I was on my way home from the hospital I passed a field of a different color. This field was so beautiful I'm sure not noticing it would've been grounds for immediate smiting. And it wasn't even purple! I was coming around a curve on a country road. The sun was low in the sky but still shining brightly. To my left was a field of what I've decided must be soybeans. 

Every leaf was illuminated by the angle of the sun. It was the most brilliantly vibrant field of green I've ever seen. It made me so happy. When I passed it the next morning the angle of the sun was just about the same. Same glow, same vibrance. I looked forward to passing this field every morning and evening. I wondered what was it that made me enjoy this field of green so much? It's never been one of my favorite colors. Why did I smile every time I drove by? (It's a 45 minute commute...what did I have to do other than ponder fields?)


This is my conclusion. When I looked at this field of plants I did not have dreams of tofu scrambles. I saw how very alive, how vital it was. Green, the color of spring, of life and renewal. I saw plants, new life. I saw the rebirth of myself. A 42 year-old woman who has shrugged off winter and is ready for spring...

The Beyu Caffe

http://www.beyucaffe.com/

The thought of my last post, regarding death, and now this one about food brings a bemused smile to my face. Maybe it seems an odd jump but I witnessed a woman's love for her family. It was beautiful and I appreciate beauty in all forms. In a painting, the pattern of raindrops on the window, in the above cup of coffee.

I was drawn to the Beyu Caffe because of the name. Be you. Poetic. I've eaten there three times. Once with Bran, once alone and once with Boy and Ms. Finicky...not a crime fighting duo. Brandy was immediately turned off by the ladies room. Someone had shaved in the sink. I was so enthralled with the smells and sights I didn't care. For heaven's sake...they didn't shave in the kitchen! 

This is the place I'd been looking for. Decadent vegetarian food (yes decadent and vegetarian go together), chocolate and coffee. Woo hoo! I was so happy I didn't mind the inept waitress. Poor thing, I swear there was a thought bubble above her head with things like, "Wonder why those ladies are looking at me? I wish I had a sparkly ball. Hmm...did I remember to shave both legs or did I do the left leg twice again?" Goat cheese quesadillas with avocado cream are worth this to me. I'm that easy.

The second time I was alone. It was the day Brandy left and I wanted a pick me up. I got there around brunch and sat at the bar intent on drowning my sorrows with coffee. The bartender told me the special...something with eggs, mushrooms, cheese and peppers. It was so fabulous I forgot I hate mushrooms. The woman sitting beside me struck up a conversation about one of my biggest loves in life, dancing. She was on break from an all day dancing seminar. I got the scoop on where to do Salsa and Swing if I was ever inclined. What could have been a sad little meal turned into a delightful experience.

The third time I took Boy and Ms. Finicky. We'd just walked out of a place a block away because horrors...there was no kids menu! (I didn't feel like anything on their menu either.) Beyu has no kids menu but they have a gorgeous dessert case when you first walk in. They were sold because yes, my children will sell their principles for a piece of chocolate cake. Our lovely waitress skillfully led Ms. Finicky to the most appropriate choice for children, she loved it. Boy got wings...it's hard to mess those up. They both want to go back. Incidentally I saw the waitress I had the first time and I swear I heard her mumbling something about a sparkly ball.

A Glimpse of Dying

Crying used to make me uncomfortable. No matter who was doing the crying, me or someone else, I hated it. I spent years avoiding doing it, even viewed it as a weakness. Until I became a therapist.

Therapy is a safe place for my patients. All emotions are free to flow. Anger, fear, resentment, even tears. Their recovery, ability to stand, to walk has been placed into my hands. They have to trust me. If they want to be mad at their disease, fine, be mad. If they want to take it out on me, I can take it. I've been cussed at, thrown out of a room, had objects thrown at me. I always come back with a smile on my face. Let's try again. I've given funeral home recommendations and held hands while someone cried about their impending death. I feel honored when a patient talks to me about their death. They're sharing a huge moment with me. I don't take that lightly and I never try to change the subject.

As I approached the room of bed number one I could see she was asleep. Curled into a ball, buried under a mountain of blankets. The only visible part of her was her colorful knit hat peeking out of the blankets. I knocked. "Hey, you ready for therapy?" She woke and flashed me her ever present smile. She has one of the pluckiest, sweetest attitudes. "I guess I'll try." We walked down to the unusually empty therapy gym. "So are you prepared to go home tomorrow?" We'd been working for a week to rebuild strength lost by chemo. The plan was to go home the next day and return the following day to begin another round of chemo.She sighed. "I'm ready to go home yes. I'm not ready for another treatment. I'm so tired. I try to stay positive for my son and for my husband..." Then she very matter of factly tells me. "I'm going to cry now." And with that she did. She cried out of anger for having cancer, fear of leaving her family, resentment and fatigue, she wanted to stop fighting. This brave, tiny little woman didn't want her family to know how scared she was and how ready to be finished with the fight. I sat while she cried it all out. I didn't offer platitudes. I offered the only thing in my power at that moment. My ear and a box of tissues. 

It was enough.