My brother-in-law took this when we were on Cape San Blas. The little guy is my nephew, Dash. Note how empty the beach is, and it was 4th of July weekend, but it is usually like that at CSB, so I don’t think it was really attributable to the oil spill.
Would be mighty cool if life felt like this all the time.
I watched my children play in the sand while a storm came in, never quite reached us, but left us a rainbow that spanned the trees and the beach and gulf, all the way to the horizon.
I listened as my children discussed whether the pot of gold was in the forest or in the deep blue sea, and where did the leprechaun live?
I walked the beach at sunset and found the largest shell i have ever found in my whole life.
I sat in my beach chair, and thought about how many times I had sat on the Gulf in my life and thought about how small it made me feel.
I petted my dog’s velvet ears on the screened porch while having drinks with my husband and listening to music.
I had coffee with my sister while our kids played trains and chatted happily with each other.
I poured tequila at nine a.m.
I watched as the kids ignored the big ocean for the small tide pools and then rolled around in the mud. I didn’t worry a bit about the sand and the dirt.
I chased my nephew on the sand, and I clutched my hat to my head as the wind tried to take it from me.
I held hands with my little girl and walked on the docks. We dangled our feet over the edge, watching as sailboats came in, and we waved at the people and the dogs on board. We saw a crab on a pylon and we laughed at him.
I waited for hurricane waves to carry me in, and I scraped my knees on a thousand shells, and the ocean turned me upside down like I was in a washing machine. And I liked it and I laughed a true laugh and my raw, bruised knees felt good. It still feels good. I hope it doesn’t go away.
I stepped barefoot up a hundred iron spiral steps. I heard them clang and I heard the wind whistle through them. I got my bearings. I yearned to climb even farther and see how it all works. I saw beauty in the way things used to be made, and I saw that they could last.
I promised myself that I would try to convince Todd to let me paint the porch ceiling blue.
I wondered what it would be like to live 250 yards from the sea, in a time with no electricity, no gas, no artificial light, no corner grocery. I wondered what it would be like to live there and batten down the hatches. I wished I could have seen it then.
I gazed on an American flag flapping sharply in the wind, and I thought how very lucky I am.
I watched my husband stand alone in the ocean, staring out to sea. I thought to myself that he is the most wonderful person I have ever met, and that is the way it should be.
I pointed out pelicans flying in a perfect vee to my nephew and he pointed to them, too, and then looked at me to make sure I saw.
I saw my children and their cousin laugh and splash in the ocean, and I saw them put an arm around him when a big wave came, and I knew for a moment that I was doing something right.
I sat and waited until the last moment for the storm, a great wall of dark gray, to come ashore, and I got soaked, and I didn’t care. I danced under the awning with my husband and my children while it rained. And then we went right back out for more.
I sat on the beach with only my husband and we talked and laughed and listened to music in the sun.
I napped in the afternoon and woke to the voices of my family.
I felt sunbrushed and ate too much pizza.
I sat steps from the bay, and I watched her people gather, and I listened to their sweet southern voices. I sat next to my son and waited for the sun to set over the water. I listened to the pop of roman candles from the beach behind me, and I watched red and white fireworks pop up in the distance over the cape. I waved my flag and I watched a parade of lighted ships. I wondered what it would be like next year.
I heard the gasps of children and the sighs of grandmothers. I thought of the night many years ago now that I sat with my grandma, Alzheimer’s really starting to get her, and we watched fireworks, and a tear rolled down her cheek, and she whispered, “They’re beautiful,” and “I’ve never seen fireworks before.” And I knew she had seen them before, and that she just couldn’t remember it, but I was happy that she was experiencing them like a child for the first time, and I was happy to be holding her hand.
I thought, too, of sitting with friends and my children in a field in Chamblee last year, and knowing my Grandfather was not long for the world, and being overwhelmed at the sight of the fleeting bursts in the sky, and being moved to tears.
I listened to my children describe the sight and tears brimmed at the edges of my eyes.
“That one’s like a flower blossoming,” and “That one’s like Saturn,” he said, and “they perfectly lightly up the sky!” she exclaimed.
I held my son’s body on my chest, and rested my cheek next to his, and put my arms around him over his chest, and smiled when he reached up to clasp my arms with his hands. I felt him there past the brink of child and onto boyhood. I felt his weight get heavier and more substantial in the way that children do when they are bone-tired from good play and sun. I watched as he fell asleep and began to snore in the car on the way home, fireworks still lighting the sky over the bay.
I saw my sister relaxed and happy waiting for us, and it made my heart happy. I walked with my husband down the boardwalk. I stood, skirt snapping around my legs, and watched more fireworks, up and down the beach, and heard the raucous shouts of those shooting them off carried over to us across the sand. I laid down on the wind worn wood and we looked up at a million stars, and we watched a satellite traverse the sky above us.
I pondered the wonders man had made, and too, the horrors he had wrought.
I thought of the sadness and fear and anger I sensed from the people who make this place their home. And I cursed those who threatened them, and I cursed us all for the way we live. I lamented the fact that we have taken it all for granted until it might be too late.
I thought of a lifetime’s memories there – fishing and nets and swimming and sandcastles. The exhilaration of being away from my parents for the first time. Falling in love. Running on the beach. Watching the sunrise with my future husband, and bonfires and sweat lodges and drunken wrestling with friends. My sweet puppy, now an old dog, romping in the sand. I thought of the first time I ever saw my children play in the surf together.
I left it there yesterday, still pristine, still untouched, and I questioned if I would ever see it this way again in my lifetime, this place that captured my heart and soul.
I wondered if my children would remember it at all.
I just spent an hour on hands and knees, scouring the floor for the diamond from my engagement ring. The big middle one, of course. Little side guys are still intact. I am pretty sure that I had it this morning, because i think i would have noticed the empty setting, or it would have caught on something.
I did laundry this morning and seem to recall feeling a pull on the ring. Noticed it missing not long after. Stood, gaping at my own finger, the missing diamond as shocking as if my whole finger had just been amputated.
Just unfolded, gently shook out, and refolded every piece of laundry I folded this morning. Had kids down on all fours searching for “shiny things.” Checked the soles of everyone’s shoes to make sure no one stepped on it and picked it up in their shoe.
Cried on the phone with my sister.
Called Todd to tell him. Got pretty choked up.
Basically, I am freaking out.
I am not vain. I don’t give a shit how many carats the thing is, how brilliant it is. I never even cared a whit about having a fucking shiny rock until Todd surprised me with one. But now it is one of my most prized possessions. I will never forget the night Todd gave it to me and asked me to spend my life with him, sweat pouring down his forehead, kneeling in front of me. I will never forget showing it to my Grandma Palmer, and her suddenly coming out of her Alzheimer’s fog, and with tears in her eyes, looking at me and gripping my hand hard in the way she always did, and whispering to me, “Cherish this.”
And now I have lost it, and I know it is stupid to feel bereft at the loss of a rock, but I am. I am heartbroken.
My in-laws are comin’! Running around like a chicken with my head cut off, but needed to post a little something this morning about my favorite nephew. He turned two and we attended his birthday party on Saturday.
Little Birdman is Two!
How can he be two? Seems like just yesterday I held him for the first time. I can’t believe that I love something so much, almost as much as my own two kiddos. But I look at him and I see my baby sister, and it is one of the sweetest feelings I have ever had.
Icing on the Thomas the Tank Engine cake? I got to sit in a chair with this little guy sleeping on my chest.
Afterwards, watched USA in the World Cup (sad game) with friends and no chilluns (always fun). I ran into a friend from high school. I went swimming in my clothes. I drank Red Bull and Vodka (a decidedly for-the-childless concoction). Best Husband ever (and I am not kidding here – how, again, did I find one that can put up with me and my shenanigans?) picked me up and took me home at the perfect time. Spent Sunday with him and the family at the pool – the perfect balm for my slightly aching head.
In-laws come in today to bring me my new (used) freezer (frozen veggies!), and then we go to the beach on Friday. Feels like a great week. Hope everyone else’s is the same.
They were fighting five minutes before this and not five minutes after, but for a few moments this morning, my kiddos were snug as two bugs in a rug.
So, I signed up for a sprint Triathlon at Lake Lanier. I signed up early, because sometimes they fill up, and then life did what it does: It got crazy. T-ball and swim team. End of school programs and parties and gifts to buy. Todd’s new job that has already sent him to NYC twice and which keeps him away from us a lot. My bout with depression, which is ironic, really – I get depressed when I don’t work out. I was too depressed to get my shit together and work out. I didn’t work out, which increased my depression. Cue endless cycle. Feeling much better on that front.
Anyway, i thought about just bailing on the whole triathlon thing. I did some workouts for my training, but my heart wasn’t in them. I skipped others. But when it came down to it, I just couldn’t bring my self to skip on race day. So I went. And I am glad. There is a singular and unique feeling of having completed a race or triathlon; not much compares to it.
However – If you don’t get in all your training beforehand, or more specifically, if you don’t get in much training at all?
IT IS PAINFUL.
I knew i would finish. I had done one before, and i hadn’t died. I had done the same (almost the same) course before. I even had some grand ideas about beating last year’s time.
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
It was so not funny.
I wasn’t nervous before the swim. Although there are many people who freak about the swimming portion, i really like it. Kind of peaceful almost. Cool lake water, 8 am. I kinda like it. Plus, fat girls can hold their own with skinny girls in the swimming portion. But when I got towards the end of that, and got ready for the run to transition, I just knew: This was gonna hurt.
So, I hoofed it up to transition. I changed to my bike stuff. Still feeling fine, but just not feeling REALLY fine. Hopped on the bike, and headed out. I could tell almost right away – my lack of time in the saddle really hurt me. (Not to mention some ridiculous humidity.) The coolest part of the bike is probably crossing the big bridge at Lake Lanier Islands. Very fun to haul ass across that bridge on a bike. Not so fun? Big curving hill on Holiday Rd., and the killer on New Prospect Rd. I admit it – I thought about getting off and walking it. I thought i was gonna die. The rest of that out and back is pretty easy. A few rolling hills, but mostly flat and wide, with bike lanes and well-directed traffic, pretty scenery – farms and tractors and fields, mixed in with the crappy subdivisions, and roadside ditches dotted with Queen Anne’s Lace, which always reminds me of walks with my great Aunt Virginia, whom we all called Bubba.
I got passed a lot. A LOT. Not a good feeling.
I think my goal for the summer will be to try and get a bike ride in at least every weekend. And to find some riding partners, because I need someone to keep me honest, and get me up and out early. Also? Safety in numbers.
My son is reading my blog over my shoulder. Spooky.
Now he is laughing.
He is a bit of a goober.
More laughing.
Stop it, Rollie.
Anyway, I made it back and rounded the last corner. I saw Todd and the kids sitting on the sidewalk.
It raised my spirits.
Got back to transition, put on my hat, and headed off. I was already feeling kind of done. Managed to run past the bulk of the crowd (shame is a powerful motivator for me) and then walked a while. Made a deal with myself that I would run downhills and flats, and walk the hills. I had some water in transition, so I skipped the first water station, thinking i would get water at the next one. Thought it was odd that it was unmanned and there were only larger water bottles (they were like 40 oz bottles of water, i think – huge-looking.) Last year, on the run, there were water stations at the end of the out-and-back. Not this time. No water. Broke my deal with myself to not walk when I got to the end and realized they had changed the course, and it wasn’t the end, and there was no water there either.
Saw my friend Megan (Tucker Represent!) and we walked awhile and she gave me some of her water. It was hot as hell by then, and most of the run was in full sun. Got back to the water station and all of the water was gone.
FUCK.
Walked for a while again. Started to see the light at the end of the tunnel, knowing it would be over soon. Saw the last hill, and ran it. Nice spectators along this portion gave lots of support. You just can’t slow down when you have people calling you out by number. “Go, 93! You got this!” and crap like that, really does help you when you are toast.
I was toast.
I rounded the corner to transition, and finally hit some shade. Came out of the woods to see my kids and Todd cheering for me, and Tiller ran out on the course and tried to run with me, which was cute, but I had to make her go back, which was kinda sad. Just running across the parking lot to the Finish line was about to kill me, and seeing my time, well, it was bittersweet. I was ten minutes slower than my last time, and last time I had a very time-consuming bike chain issue. But on the flip side, last time was much easier. This one was not fun. it was hard. I wanted to quit, numerous times, and did. (I count walking as quitting, I’ll be honest.) But I finished. It was by far the harder of the two triathlons I have done, and I finished. There is something very much of value to be garnered from overcoming the sincere desire to quit, the cramp in your side, the thirst gone unquenched, the numb feet, and most of all, the negative dialogue you have with yourself in your head.
There is something to be said for going through with something, because you know you will be better for doing it, even though you know it will suck some serious ass.
And in the end, what you gain from it is usually way more than what you gave on the course. What you gain from it is yours, all yours, and cannot be taken away. Ever.
Tiller asked me today, when we were laying on the bed reading after a day of waterlogging ourselves at the pool, “Mama? Where is Daddy? Is he lost?” He is out of town on business. So, we texted back and forth with Daddy for a while, and then she wanted to send him a song.
So, she sang this , on the fly, for me to record for him. First and only take.
Tiller had her music program today. I was on the verge of tears the whole time. I sat over on the side, but about three rows back from the altar, and she ended up standing on the very end, closest to me, and she knew exactly where I was, because i happened to sit right by the area reserved for her class.
She towers over all the other kids in her class, like a Bowie-haired, silk-purse-out-of-a-sow’s-ear little tomboy. Her hair is growing out, but it is taking it’s sweet time, and as my own friend and hairdresser put it so succinctly, she is “looking like a little lesbian.” So, we actually stuck a bow in her hair this morning (we even brushed it!) and stuck her in her pretty Shank hand-me-down dress, and she picked out her little sandals, and she looked half girlie.
They sang three songs. One was about being a pizza (?), one about a dog named “Rag.” But one, it was called, “I love my home” or something like that? The verses included I love my dad, I love my mom, I love my dog, and I love my cat.
It absolutely fucking tore me up.
She can’t say “L”s very well, so she makes the “W” sound instead. “Love” sounds like “Wuv.” I could hear it over the other kids. She sang with this sweet little smile on her face, “I wuv my Mom,” watching her teacher do the hand signs for cues, and then ever five seconds, she would look straight over at me, and her smile would get just a little bigger when she saw me looking back at her, and she would sing, looking me right in the eyes, and then turn back to her teacher to stay on track, and then turn back to me to light up when she realized i was still watching her.
It was one of those priceless parenting moments that you know you will never forget, no matter how old she gets.
And in an odd twist, I would never have gotten to have the moment if I had remembered my camera or my video camera, and had one of them stuck in my face the whole time.
So, all i have is these couple of iPhone pics, and my sweet memory.
Tough questions this morning from Tiller.
Tiller: Mom, where did Quint come from?
Me [distractedly, and before coffee]: The pound.
I realize what’s coming.
Tiller: What’s the pound?
Me: It’s a place where the government puts dogs and cats who live on the street, so they won’t starve and they won’t bite anyone. Then, people can come look at them and adopt them. [should have stopped there.] If they don’t adopt them, they put them to sleep.
Tiller stares at me.
Me: Do you know what that means? To put them to sleep?
Tiller: [still staring, but now slowly shaking her head no]
Me: Well, they give them a shot that puts them to sleep forever. They go to heaven.
Tiller: [looking sad for a moment, then gets an idea] But we saved Quint! And he’s the best one!
Me: Yes, Tiller. Yes, he is. I wish we could save all of them.
Tiller: But we can’t.
Me: No, baby, we can’t.
And then, while i was watching the news and CNN was covering Immigration.
[The TV is showing footage of people trying to make it over the border, and police dogs, and officers with guns.]
Tiller: What are those people doing?
Me: Well, they live in a country that is having a lot of violence problems, and it is right next door to the U.S. and they want to come to the U.S. to make their lives better.
Tiller: So they come here?
Me: Yes.
Tiller: What’s that fence for?
[Wow. Good question.]
Me: [Sigh] Well, when they come over, they are supposed to get permission first, but because they are desperate to help their families, some people just come over without permission.
Tiller: What’s desperate mean?
Me: It means they are poor and can’t feed their families and they are probably scared of the violence. So, when they come over without permission, it can cause a lot of problems for the hospitals and schools because they get overcrowded and don’t have enough money to pay for everything, so some folks in our country get mad about it, and so they put up a fence to try and keep them out.
Tiller looks at me kind of scared.
Me: They aren’t bad people. They are just trying to help their families. There’s nothing to be scared of, but it is a very complex subject. That was a very good question, Tiller.
[she sits in thought, then looks up quickly at me]
Tiller: Can we watch Dora, now?
There is a reason i haven’t posted much on Dogwood Girl lately. I have been heartbroken. I barely managed to brush my teeth and get the kids where they need to be and hold up my end of meaningless conversations.
I went for a run the other day. It was the worst one i have ever had. It was only supposed to be about 30 minutes and an easy run, but my heart wasn’t in it. Usually, when I run, it helps me de-stress. I think about the things that are bringing me down, or frustrating me, and I come away with a plan for fixing them, or put them in perspective and realize that they just aren’t that important. This problem? This problem just beat me down. I just wanted to cry and scream and lay down in the road. I was just so tired of feeling raw and angry and sad, that I just wanted to lay down and have someone come pick me up so i could sit on my couch, watch Joan of Arcadia (a world of order and obvious purpose), drink wine, and eat peanut butter Bowls of Shame all day.
The things that have been getting me down won’t be so easily put aside by a run.
I am hurt. I am angry. I am resentful and feeling betrayed. I don’t think this is what I was meant to feel in response to the actions of someone else, someone that I love very much. I don’t think that they set out to hurt me. They are just doing their thing, being themselves. But their actions have caused me no small amount of pain, anger, depression, and a very twisted feeling of shame – A sense of “How could i have let someone make me feel this way?” The only thing i can compare this feeling to is the first time you have your heart broken. There is a hopelessness and a sense that nothing will ever be the same again. You vow to yourself that you will never. let it. happen. again.
I should point out here, that this post has nothing to do with my marriage, or romantic love. Things are wonderful with me and Todd. He is everything I ever wanted in a husband (minus the snoring, and maybe could be improved if he enjoyed giving nightly back rubs). This post has to do with trusting someone to be honest, fair and sensitive to the feelings of other. It has to do with being able to put your heart in someone’s hands for years on end, and knowing that they will not crush you. It has to do with having faith in another person that they will do the right thing and then having them live up to that.
It has to do with giving someone your all for 30 + years, buying into something – an idea of honor and tradition and loyalty – because you thought you were some kind of team and you had the same values. It has to do with the fallout when that person turns out to not be who you thought they were, and does not have the same respect for you that you have always given them. It’s about what it feels like when the majority of your life feels like one big huge lie, perpetrated against you in some sick, sick cruel joke.
This is a post about what would have happened if Gone With the Wind had ended differently. What if Gerald O’Hara said, “Why, land is the only thing in the world worth workin’ for, worth fightin’ for, worth dyin’ for, because it’s the only thing that lasts,” to Scarlett her whole sixteen years, and then everyone went to the BBQ and found out the war had started and Gerald had pulled Scarlett aside and said, “Sweetie, I know you aren’t going to like this, but there’s a war comin’ and we better just go ahead and sell Tara now.”
The thing is, though, there is no way out of this situation that will end well. When you are 20 years old and a boy breaks your heart, you can move on. Cutting a person out of your life is not that hard. There is no collateral damage in that situation. You have no responsibilities and can spend every waking moment on a couch in a bar with friends, drinking until the pain is just a blur and then one day you sober up and realize the pain is only a distant memory, and you really didn’t need that person to give you an identity, to help make you who you are.
But what do you do if it’s your family? If you can’t just cut people out of your life like dead weight? This is a post about finding a place for yourself, and your relationships, that you can live with.
Mostly, it is a post about finding forgiveness. How do you find forgiveness when your heart is like a stone in your chest, and the thought of forgiving someone who has so grievously wronged you makes you feel physically ill? How do you heal a sorrow that feels like it will never, ever go away?
Have you ever forgiven someone when you thought you never could? How did you do it? Is there a roadmap for forgiveness? Is there a practical method for finding your way to a place where you don’t feel like a walking, gaping, open fucking wound?
Because I am so not there yet.
