entertaining infinity

5

About this time 5 years ago, I was standing in a hospital room holding my mom's hand, waiting.  The doc said it was only a matter of time ... an hour, maybe less.  When he came downstairs to the surgical waiting room he'd told us: We can't put her back together, and I remember thinking he was talking about Humpty Dumpty, only he was talking about my mother. I know the docs busted their humps to make things right, going to great lengths to save her, but she was tired and there had been one complication on top of another, and meanwhile, the cancer was still quietly doin' its thing. 

One of the interns cried when he saw me come upstairs to the room where they'd moved her; he'd fallen in love with my mom (as many did) and like so many others who loved her - he was clinging to that slim bit of hope, even though he later told me I shouldn't have; I knew better. 

I was alone with her when she died; my father and brother had gone downstairs to wait for my sister to arrive, and even though Mom wasn't awake, I talked to her, just in case she could hear.

That morning she asked me to come to the hospital early; she wanted me there before Dad and Bean arrived because she knew she might not make it out of surgery and she wanted to talk.  We'd always talked a lot, and there had been lots of conversations about what might come after we'd shuffle off this mortal coil, even before she got sick.  That morning she told me that she wasn't concerned for herself: If I wake up dead, I wake up dead, she laughed; it's all of you that I'm worried about.

But we'd be OK I told her; not that we would like it, but we'd be OK.  I said it that morning, and I said it again in that room with the curtains drawn.  And we are OK.  We miss her; her absence is always felt, but we have done OK. We keep on keepin' on; what else are you going to do?   

And while I thought about it today (hard not to on the anniversary), I wasn't overcome with huge waves of sadness just because it's the day.  Sometimes I get sad about it for no particular reason, but today it just hung around like a mist.  It's there, but you can see through it.

And I guess it helps that I get something in a way I've only fully gotten since the sun rose on March 31, 2004: That until the day when you wake up dead, you wake up alive, and you get on with it. 

 

beyond the mara

Back in Joisey.

The week immediately following the mara, I was in Florida hanging out with Dad and I couldn't seem drag myself away from the beach or pool long enough to give a blog-recap.  But now, with a little distance (and no pool to sit by), I've made some the time.

What an experience. 

January 25th ... up at 4:30 am - Dad had driven down from his sister's place in Ft. Lauderdale at 3:30 am to meet me at the hotel ... then came with me where the Pancreatic Cancer Action Network team gathered at the American Airlines Arena under a big-ass promotional poster of Julio Iglesias for a photo op (this will always be etched in my memory, and now, if anyone mentions julio, i will think of gathering there [but wondering: does anyone actually mention julio anymore?] ...) (but i digress ... ).  After wishing me well at the team photo, Dad went back to my hotel room for a little nap (smart dad).

Reports say there were over 15,000 participants in the marathon, and the Pancreatic Cancer fund-raising team comprised just under 45 of those.  Together we - and our supporters - were able to raise over $144,000 to contribute to pancreatic cancer research. (not too shabby) (thanks again supporters; you are fabulous.)

As I've said, I don't run-run, I run-walk, and I did probably 85% of the mara at a fast-walk pace, the other at a slow-jog, but I was mostly happy with my time - 3.23 (according to the cool little chip you attach to your sneaks that clocks when you cross the start line, and then stops when you cross the finish line).  For a woman who was 30 pounds heavier this time last year and who most people would laugh their ASSES off if they ever heard that I was participating in a half-marathon, I say again: Not too shabby. 

The route itself was pretty amazing; in addition to the drag queen and cigarette smoking cafe goers I mentioned in my audio-posts, there were Boy Scout troops and other random volunteers handing out Gatorade and water at the mile markers, cheerleaders shaking pom poms, cops holding traffic back all along the course (some, like this fabulous woman, really getting into it), high school drum corps banging out rhythms to keep us pumped ... and always, the beauty of the course (over cause-ways, through south beach, water, water, everywhere ...). 

Around mile 12 my legs were starting to feel like lead and I was cursing the times I'd stopped to take photos, slow down to send an audio-post, help a woman figure out her iPod, or hug a volunteer who'd yell out "Go Cooperman!" (the name was on my race 'bib') ... I cursed all these little detours cause by then I was pretty sure I was going to go over my goal of a 3.15 finish time.  But then I came upon a band perched on a corner singing 'Eye of the Tiger' ... I couldn't decide whether this was cheesy or inspirational, but since a little inspiration never hurts (and i've never believed that cheesy could not also be inspirational), I shook my groove thing as I jogged past and pushed it out. (at one point, mid-way through the race, i was jogging and keeping pace with a woman who said: i'm not sure why i run at all, since my running pace is no better than my walk pace, and i could totally relate, but somehow, it felt like running was the only sane response to the lead-leg feeling and 'eye of the tiger'...)

And of course, through it all, I'm thinking of Mom.  She's the reason I did it, the reason I wish I didn't have to do it.  And glad as all hell that I did. 

At a post-race lunch, the members of the PanCan team gathered to celebrate our little victories, but we couldn't stop talking about the people we'd lost - the ones we had run for.  It was inspiring, and it was damn sad.

I'm still trying to wrap my head around the whole experience and wondering what I'm going to put my attention on now that it's over and I'm back to life without this central focus.  Bro's talking up a 5K this summer, but I never got into this to become a runner ... although I might do it anyway, since I find myself appreciating the gift of a goal and the longer distance work-outs.  But I'm not sure what it's all going to mean when the dust settles.  Or if it's supposed to MEAN anything at all ... or just be what it was.

What I do know is that I walked and ran 13.1 miles on January 25th, and I (and my fabulous supporters) raised almost $7,500 for pancreatic cancer research.  The rest, I think I'll figure out as I go. 

And since I've learned that I get a lot of really good thinking done when I walk/run, there will be more miles ...

mara update (playlist giveaway)

I haven't been writing much lately.  Not here, and not as much in my daily practice either.  But boy, do I write a lot in my head when I'm walking round and round the track at the gym.

Several friends have asked why I'm not blogging about my training for the mara, and I think it's a combo of things.  One was that I had an extended holiday from work from December 24 through January 5th, and though I'm usually a daily writer, I was thrown completely off my routine, and the writing practice suffered (blogging is an offshoot of that practice/routine).

But the other reason - and the bigger reason, really - is because I don't know if I can actually articulate what I'd like to about the experience, and I think I'll sound stupid or silly or something if I try.  Because this mara - and the decision, and the training, and all that's happening around it - has been a wildly profound experience for me, and it's hard to write about such a process as it's happening.   

When I think back on my decision to do this (in october; not that long ago ...) it was made in some mix of desire to do something to raise money for pancreatic cancer research, to honor my mom, to set an audacious fitness goal for myself, and to keep up the whole fitness/improved health track that I've been on for about a year.

I never expected it to be the sort of grounding force that it's been for me. 

It blows my mind that I've raised over 6,000 dollars for pancreatic cancer research; it blows my mind that I walk an average of 20 miles a week now; it blows my mind that I know what my ideal training heart rate is; it blows my mind that I chose to do something to try to make a difference and wound up - just by showing up and saying: hey, this matters and I want to call attention to it by making this crazy physical gesture - raising more money than I could have imagined and really feeling like I am making a difference. 

No little thing, this stuff.

And at the same time, I think about some of the things my mother and I had in common - one of them was a bawdy sense of humor, one was an easy way with people, and one of them was shame.  In spite of some outward signs of success and independence we both had, we both had a huge sense of shame around a weakness we shared - hers manifested in an inability to quit smoking (she tried countless times, and for a woman with a will of steel, there was no will powerful enough to fight the cigarette demon), and me? ... my weakness has been around my weight.  From the time I was in my late teens, I've fought the yo-yo battle.  Up 10, down 5.  Up 20, down 10.  Up 30, down 20, up 20 down 10, up 25, down 5, up 10, down 15 ... for over 30 years now. 

But somehow, galvanized by this desire to help with the disease that killed my mother, I'm locking in a new way of being.  And I'm doing what she was never able to do: I'm changing a destructive pattern and finding an inner strength I didn't know I had, and a surprising love of a physical discipline.  And I'm sure I'm doing it with her help.  In this effort to be an instrument to make a difference, I feel her with me - sometimes I can hear her in my head: Keep going Baboo, you can do it, as I go around and around the track.

I'm still not able to run for an extended stretch without sucking wind and getting up and out of the target heart rate zone, but a year ago, this wasn't even something I would have thought possible.  And now I walk 10 miles in two and a half hours, no sweat.  When I first signed up for this thing I had no idea how I was going to do it.  Really, no idea.  I was starting to work out some, and I'd lost close to 30 pounds in the previous year, but I was by no means in good physical shape.  And now, I'm still not in stellar shape, but in just 3 months, I'm on my way, and confident that I'm going to cross that finish line in the neighborhood of 3 hours - give or take.

I knew when I signed up for this thing that crossing the finish line in Miami would just be gravy, but I really had no idea what I was in for.  I'm so glad I did it.

~     ~     ~     ~     ~

And for those of you who have written (as blog comments or emails) to say hey and wish me luck and cheer me on and/or donate, I really can't thank you enough (and i encourage you to keep on; i love it).   A few weeks ago, I was looking over the list of names of people who have donated, and I just felt my heart expand with gratitude, and I decided they're all coming along: I've made up a list with all of their names on it that I'll carry in my running belt on the 25th.

And for those who still want to, there's time to get on the list and help me make a difference; ANY amount is welcome.  (our soon-to-be sworn in president obama sure understood that a lot of little donations add up to a lot of money to make a difference!) 

And not only is the donation tax deductible and you'll feel really good about it for its own reason, but I'm also offering a contest to those who donate during the home stretch. 

I don't know how I would have made it through the training without the fabulous, inspirational, and get-up-an-boogy tunes I've put together on my iPod; the songs just keep me kicking ... they make me feel like I can keep walking when - 'specially during the first couple of miles I'm thinking: This is so boring, let's just do one more spin around the track and then go home - so I'm going to give away a copy of my ultimate mara movement playlist.  Donate here - any amount - and I'll do a drawing the week after I get home from the mara.  Winner gets a CD of the playlist.  Guaranteed to get you to shake your groove thing.  And who knows, maybe you'll be inspired to some profound movement too.

the fabrege organics theorem to end pancreatic cancer

I've been thinking about it ... 'threatening' ... wondering if I could actually do it.  And now I've gone and done it.  I've registered for the January 25th, 2009 Miami half-marathon in order to raise money for pancreatic cancer research.

I don't think anyone who knows me would consider me an athlete (they may actually be laughing just thinking about that concept ...), but ever since my mother died of pancreatic cancer nearly 5 years ago, I've wanted to do SOMETHING, and it turns out, this is the something.

For the longest time after her death, on top of being sad and shocked, I was pissed off ... with about the shittiest odds of any cancer out there, I soon discovered there had been little progress made with this disease in over 30 years.  There's no early detection ... none (that's n-o-n-e, none), and by the time symptoms show up and the disease is diagnosed, it's usually too late to do anything about it.  75% of the people who get it are dead within 6 - 9 months.

My mother soldiered on as best she could through her last year, but it was one nasty-ass way to go.  After she died, I found myself taking every incidence of pancreatic cancer in the public consciousness personally (patrick swayze, pavarotti), and suddenly I started hearing from other people (my father/my uncle/my friend/my sister) ... there were so many people out there like me who'd lost loved ones to this disease, and we all felt so helpless.  I gave some money to the cause, but it always felt like a drop in the bucket when it was a sea-change that we needed.

Then, this past year I (and so many others) became acquainted with the story of Randy Pausch – the Carnegie Mellon professor, husband and father of 3 young children who delivered his inspirational 'Last Lecture' soon after being diagnosed with pancreatic cancer.  This man walked his talk like nobody's business (we cannot change the cards we are dealt, just how we play the hand) and just days after being hospitalized for congestive heart failure and renal failure as a result of months of chemotherapy and diminishing heath, he rallied to Washington DC to advocate for more money for research funding.  He wanted to call attention to the fact that even though pancreatic cancer kills as many as those who suffer with breast or lung cancer, it is way, way lower on the totem pole in terms of funding.  Part of that reason, as Paush noted just months before he died, is that nobody survives long enough to take on the role of spokesperson/advocate for it.  (we don't have a michael j. fox because people die too fast, he said.)

For those who read here with any regularity, you know that I followed Pausch's story closely and checked in on his personal website regularly for any hopeful news about his prognosis ... sadly, he lost the battle in late July.  But through my regular check-ins, I learned about this marathon/fund-raiser, and in time, I couldn't figure out what was stopping me from doing it.

I'm doing this now because I can.  OK, so I'm no athlete, but I can walk (the event is 'walker friendly'), and I'm actually shooting to run at least some of the course.  I've been working to get myself in better shape this past year, and having a goal like this lights a fire under my work-outs. Me crossing the finish line is a big goal, and it will be a great achievement, but the real goal and the greatest achievement will be when one day a family hears "pancreatic cancer" and it will no longer be a death sentence ... there will be hope.

You know what's coming now, right?  I'm asking for money.  Yeah, yeah, I know the economy sucks and I probably couldn't think of a worse time to be asking, but even if you just give a buck ... and then let some of your peeps know about it, it'll help.  If you tell two friends, and they tell two friends ... and so on and so on and so on (you know i love that old fabrege organics shampoo commercial )... those dollars will add up.  It's social networking at its most brilliant. 

No amount is too small (big gifts are good too!) ... just click here to go to my personal web-page on the PanCan Action network website and donate.  (tax deductible, of course)  One buck, five bucks, fifteen bucks, fifty bucks, five-hundred bucks; whatever you can afford ... I will be hugely grateful.

And please pass the word in the blog-o-sphere ... if you tell two friends, and they tell two friends ...

randy pausch (july 25)

Ever since I first heard about him - when my brother emailed me a link to his Journeys Lecture  (aka 'the last lecture') on YouTube nearly a year ago - I've been following Randy Pausch's story.  If you don't know about it/him, there are plenty of places on the web (including his own page) where you can read about his accomplishments, and the inspiring lecture that made him an accidental celebrity. 

Like most people who saw it, I was charmed and delighted by the talk and Pausch's infectious enthusiasm and passionate call to dream big, live with wonder and joy, and to push through the tough stuff to really live fully.

But it was the news that he had pancreatic cancer - had been diagnosed a year before (and he underwent the same experimental surgery that my mom had) - and it had come back with a vengeance just a month before his presentation, which gave the lecture a resonance and weight it might not have had otherwise. 

And it was this connection - knowing in some small way what he had gone through and was facing - that had me looking in on his 'status update' page at least once/week, and feeling a huge attachment to this stranger and his family. 

Pausch understood the desperate need for research, and he allowed himself to become a "poster boy" at a time when most people are just hunkering down with their families trying to get more good days than bad.  His grace and humor - his ability to walk his talk (we cannot change the cards we are dealt, just how we play the hand) - and how he used the media attention around the Lecture to bring attention to this ruthless disease was just amazing. 

Over a month ago, his status page - which had grown sparse with updates on how he was doing - suddenly went completely quiet.  I'd look in every couple of days, bracing myself.  And yesterday, I saw the sad and inevitable news. 

I didn't know him, but it feels like a friend has died.

white space

(side note: the lusgarten foundation finally put links up on their site to their fund-raising walks ... october 12th in boston looks like a strong possibility ... and pan-can's 1/2 marathon in miami in january?  maybe both ...)

more on that damn pancreatic cancer

In a few days my family will mark 4 years since my mom died of pancreatic cancer.  I'm hoping to join in on the Long Island fund-raising walk this summer (if only i can, since there's no link on the site to get involved yet, and no one with the parent organization can get me in touch with the organizers until they load up their site ... daaamn), but in the meantime, just take a look at this - the fabulous Randy Pausch testifying before a congressional subcommittee on the need for more funding for pancreatic cancer research.  Knowing what pancreatic cancer does to ones body (watching my mother and my 2nd cousin go through it), and the complications he's dealing with now, I admire this inspiring man with a ferocity I can't quite describe.  A reluctant 'poster boy' for pancreatic cancer research, he is using his surprise celebrity to bring awareness to this hideous disease (oprah, good morning america, cbs news, and kqed public television are just a few of the media outlets who have covered his story).  Never met him; LOVE HIM.

damn it (now what?)

I'm not a Patrick Swayze fan.  Not that I didn't enjoy him in movies from time to time, but I never understood the rabid love so many members of my sex have for Dirty Dancing ... and that "love scene" in Ghost practically ruined Unchained Melody for me.  But god damn it, I take this news personally.  Shit, shit, shit ... one more person diagnosed with pancreatic cancer ... one more person blindsided by a disease that doesn't get much research money because nobody survives long enough to take on the role of spokesperson/advocate for it. 

This disease took my mother, it took my cousin Michael ... it took famous and talented people like Pavarotti and Michael Landon, Joan Crawford and Rex Harrison and Donna Reed and Juliet Prowse.  It's also kicking the ass of the fabulous Randy Pausch (the guy who you may have heard of when he became a media sensation last year for his "last lecture" at carnegie mellon university) and now it's got Patrick Swayze too. 

While we're all aware that we don't get out of this life alive, if you get the pancreatic cancer diagnosis, you pretty much know what train is taking you out.  (you also know it's going to be relatively fast ride, and it won't be pretty.)  And even though it's up there with breast and lung cancer in terms of how many people it kills, pancreatic cancer gets way less research funding.  I read an article just the other day where a doctor said his colleagues wondered why he went into pancreatic cancer research: People didn't think there was any hope, he said. That's because there aren't any early detection tests, and by the time symptoms show up and the disease is diagnosed, it's usually too late to do anything about it.  Some people, like Randy Pausch (and my mom) are able to have surgery that may help the odds, but even with the surgery, only a very few survive to 5 years after the diagnosis.  The majority of people don't find out they have it until well past the point when surgery is an option, and they wind up dead within 6 - 9 months.  My mom lasted 10.  Much of it sucked.

Who'd want to put their energy and money into something that has been considered a losing battle for years? But how will that change if nobody puts research dollars into it?

My apologies for the bummer-ish nature of this post ('specially after nearly 2 weeks of quiet), but I've been thinking about this stuff a lot lately, since my mother will be gone 4 years at the end of this month.  And somehow, hearing this news today about an actor (who i'm not even a big fan of), I'm suddenly incensed.  In the four years since my mom died there's very little that's new in the world of pancreatic cancer research and the diagnosis is still - for all intents and purposes - a death sentence ... makes a girl wanna go raise some money.

Watch this space ...

thank-full 07

Without the commercial or religious overtones that the other winter holidays have, Thanksgiving is the celebration of the season for me.  I get to cook and bake, have a few days away from the office, hang out with family and friends and use that time to consider and appreciate all of the good things in my life and in the world. 

Some of those ... in no particular order:

The Fam.  The Beaners. (the twin beaners celebrated their 5th bday this past week ... ohmygod, the days just fly by.)

My friends, near/far.  And friends who are family.

Good music/my iPod.  (and these cool things that i'm looking into buying so i can transfer old cassettes and albums to said iPod.) (cause seriously, where else are you going to get the defranco family singing heartbeat it's a lovebeat?  not on iTunes ... bummah)

Tissues (i have a wicked, bad cold ... daaamn).

Work that challenges me, uses many of my gifts, keeps me in a mix of very cool people, and is keeping me flush.

Dunkin Donuts coffee.

How going green seems to have reached a tipping point. (which is making it easier to keep improving in that arena myself ...)

A warm and comfy home.  (an emphasis on warm too: it's bloody cold out there; i can hear the wind whipping outside the windows and i'm toasty, thank god.)

This wonderful contraption that is on its way to me even as we speak. (i said i wasn't going to live through another winter without one ...)

Writing. 

My writing groups (and the women who have hung in there and been patient with me, still wanting what i offer, even as i have hosted so few sessions this year).   

Other people's writing (i've been reading like a wild-woman lately; a huge variety of stuff. LOVED this.  only part-way through, but digging this one at the moment).

Listerine's cinnamon breath strips.

Time outside. (i get so much less of it in the winter cause i don't tolerate the cold well, but yesterday was scary global-warming-sorta-warm [in the 60's] and i got to sit out on the back deck for my coffee and morning writing; yum.) 

My digital camera.  (and the pictures i get when i use it: exhibit a: beaners, above; exhibit b: a tree, below.)

Old Calvin and Hobbes cartoons that are still wonderful after the skillionth read.

Barack Obama.  (i really believe this guy is trying to change the political conversation and i fucking LOVE THAT.)

Dr. Bronner's peppermint soap.  (the soap itself, as well as the wonderful rants on the label: all-one! all-one or none! do not drink soap! dilute! dilute! OK?)

The alarm clock that wakes me up to the sounds of the sea.

Growth, even when it's hard.  (as i've been known to say: oh goody, another fucking growth opportunity.) (or perhaps, as the christian writer catherine marshall put it a bit more poetically than i: often god shuts a door in our face, and then subsequently opens the door though which we need to go.)

Soft clothes. (aka - schlub clothes: my fluffy yoga pants and the you-wouldn't-catch-me-in-public-in-it sweatshirt that i've had for nearly 20 years but is the coziest thing i own ...) (and yes, i'm wearing that outfit now, and thank god you can't see me ...)

My plants.  (life all over the house)

Tissues (yeah, i know i said it already, but this cold really, really sucks).

My computer.  The internet.  Google.  (how did i survive? how did i connect and find stuff i need and keep up with friends all over the place before these fast double clicks?)

Making recipes that have been passed down.  Since my mom died (damn, it still sucks to write that.  i wonder if it ever won't ...) ... since she died, every Thanksgiving I make her famous creamed spinach.  It's not hard to make, and I don't know that there was anything hugely unique about the way she made it, but it was hers.  I even remember writing it (and it's still on the same scrap of paper in my recipe file) leaning against the counter in her kitchen as she stood washing dishes, dictating.  (so glad i have so many of my mom's recipes ...)

This poem.  This one too.  And this one. (i've reading a lot more poetry these days; always looking for luscious recommendations; send 'em on if you have favorites ...)

This view outside my home office window. (speaking of poetry)

And finally, I'm thankful for this little corner of the cyber universe, where I write whatever I feel like whenever I feel like it ... and to you folks who come by to visit/read/make up my community.  As C.S. Lewis said: We read to know we are not alone.  That's a big part of the reason why I write too.  Thanks for keeping me company.

Thank-full.

earthquakes

Back in the late 90's when I started to tell my friends about my decision to move from Joisey to California, most were supportive (although all professed to be broken hearted about it, of course), some were envious, and more often than not, the subject of earthquakes would come up.  (mostly along the lines of: doesn't that scare you a little?)

I suppose if I really thought that I'd wind up dangling on the Bay Bridge like some people did in the Loma Pietra quake back in '89, I might have rethunk it, but most of the time, I'd shake it off ... remind myself (and them) that there are natural disasters everywhere, and skillions of ways to die in each of them (and, as evidenced on the fabulous six feet under, many ways to go in general).  So I was playing the odds: How many days go by without The Big One? ... and how great is the life and the weather out there?  And what are the chances that The Big One will come when I'm on one of the area's many long (5 mile-ish) bridges over the Bay?  (ok, maybe my odds were higher than many, cause i went over this one - the richmond-san rafael bridge - several times a week on my way to work.) (and from time to time i WOULD find myself halfway across - saying: don't let the big one happen now ... but i was playin' the odds.) 

There were quite a few earthquakes when I lived there - none of them particularly significant (you get used to a lot of little and medium sized ones) - and after a while I started to think that this was one of the things that makes the people in California unique: there's a spirit that prevails when you know the ground can shift under you any time, and with that possibility always there, you'd better dig in and enjoy it while you can.  (loved that about my CA peeps.)

So back in Joisey a little over five years now (good god, has it really been that long?) I'm reminded time and again that earthquakes can happen even if you don't live in the beautiful Bay Area on a fault line. A phone call comes, planes fly into buildings, you get downsized ... something shifts and the world as you know it gives way and there's no retrofitting and no "emergency preparedness kit" on the market for these sorts of quakes.

Had one of those recently.  About three weeks ago someone very close to me went to the doctor to get a little problem checked out ... and it turned out to be a really big problem.  In the days that followed, the words surgery, chemo, radiation and prognosis were part of the daily mind-swirl. 

And even though I knew that the odds with this particular "brand" of cancer were good, it was hard not to flash back to my mother's experience; but (thank god) this is not her brand, and this time the news is good (if you're going to get cancer, i guess this was the kind to get) - there was no involvement in lymph nodes, no invasion in other organs, and for all intents and purposes, he's now cancer free.

So, we've escaped The Big One ... another earthquake gotten through; another reminder of impermanance, fraglility, beauty and how great life is (even when it sucks) ... and that you better dig in and enjoy it while you can.

And once again, I turn to The Gospel of Pop Culture for some inspiration and wisdom, and invite you all to sing along:

Sha la la la la la live for today ... your life is now ... so make the best of this test and don't ask why ... any day above ground is a good day ...(ok, that was an obscure one, but indulge me the aussie reference ...) eat, drink and be merry ... what a wonderful world ... it's such a lovely ride.

white space

on the road again ...

The boxes are starting to pile up - even though I've barely begun and there's still a way to go until things are completely dismantled - but things ARE being dismantled. 

Yep, I'm at it again; Willie Nelson's got nothing on me: I'm on the road again.

When I moved to COTU, I knew it was a temporary thing.  Once TGFKAS and I decided to split in March of '06, I wanted to get out of the place we'd shared as soon as possible (not that things were miserable, but once you've decided to split, why stick around longer than you have to?) and LMD offered to have me come stay in her home for a while as I sorted things out. 

We'd been friends for years, but there's a big difference between being friends (no matter how dear) and sharing space with them - particularly at our ages; I figured it would be a month - maybe two - while I looked for my own place without the big time pressure.  But within no time (really, it couldn't have been more than two weeks after i'd moved in) LMD was saying: You're not leaving; you're never leaving. 

We got on so well it was almost magic.  We hung out together and gave each other space.  During the summer, we'd come home to COTU after work, throw some dinner together, light candles and sit out on the back deck talking and laughing until someone yawned and we remembered that there was work again the next day.  A consultant friend of ours from Connecticut came to stay with us a couple of times/month when he was working on a project nearby and on those nights we'd stay up even later.  On the weekends we'd often have a friend or two over and suddenly it would be a party.  Even when LMD started seeing someone late in the summer, he slipped into the rhythm of COTU seamlessly.  The winter came and there were fires in the fireplace, long weekend days cooking and hanging at home.  Sometimes she and I would be busy with work and life and a stretch would go by where we'd barely see each other.  But then we'd get a night together and catch up and get that wonderful girlfriend perspective on whatever was going on in each other's life.

At various times we've both said we couldn't imagine how it could have turned out better.  We were both going through some personal and professional changes during this time, and living together - sharing support, perspective and laughs - was invaluable as we weaved our way through it all.

And we had no conflicts.  None.  Really.  We DID joke about the differences in our decorating styles: she decorates (and these are her words, not mine) in "Old Italian Grandma," and even though most of my stuff is in storage, my corner of the house (and the additions that i've brought to the main part of the home) look like (in her words again) "IKEA/Pottery Barn/plants and candles."  But decorating styles aside, we made an incredibly comfortable home together.   

And still, we knew it couldn't be permanent; COTU was her home, and eventually I'd want more of my own space, but the situation was so wonderful and we got on so well that neither of us was in a hurry to change it.  We fantasized about having me buy the home next to hers (COTU's a duplex) and breaking the wall down between the dining rooms, expanding the deck and having the best of both worlds.  Barring that possibility, we were going to enjoy our grown-up's "college dorm" for as long as we could. 

Then, recently, a friend tossed out the idea of having me live in his soon-to-be-vacated house (he was moving) for a year while he waited out the sluggish NJ housing market.  My first reaction was to say no.  His house is lovely, and it was tempting, but I just couldn't imagine why I'd want to do that.  Hadn't I moved enough in the last 5 years?  Why would I move, only to move again once the house was sold next year? (even if it didn't sell right away ...)  Besides, the organization I work for is going to be relocating early next year; I figured I'd stay with LMD at COTU until then, and then I'd draw my little 'acceptable driving radius' on a map and start looking for my own place.  Nah ... I was going to stay put. 

But then a little voice started rising in me saying: You can't turn this down; you've got to do it.  And while I could easily argue for both sides of the "do it"/"don't do it" debate, I just couldn't bring myself to pack and move again ... even if it was a great house and a sweet deal and it would help a friend and I would get all that luscious personal space - nope, things were great w/LMD.  I was staying put.

But damn that little voice, it keep tapping at my brain.  I tried to ignore it, but I knew what it was capable of - it had gotten me to move once before.  And a bigger distance than this. 

I'd been living in the Bay Area about 3 1/2 years when it started ... this little voice (ok, so not really a 'voice,' more like an intuition ...) nudging me ... making me look east and suggesting I might want to move back to NJ.  The thought made no sense, so I ignored it.  I loved my life in California; I had a great job, great friends, a side business that was growing, weather I LOVED ... why would I want to move?  No way I was going back to New Jersey.

But the nudging wouldn't go away.  I kept ignoring it, but it kept coming back and coming back, and eventually it didn't even feel like a choice anymore - it felt like an internal directive.  Call me batty (and some do), but I began to think that something bigger was calling and I had to listen.  And act.  It pissed me off in the biggest way, but still I did it. 

Sold a lot of my stuff, left my job, my friends, my life, the growing biz, my beloved beach, the greatest massage therapist and Thai food ever, and drove back across the country again.  Every now and then, as more and more miles came between me and the Bay Area, I'd think: What the hell am I doing?

Then, just a little more than a year after I'd settled back in NJ, my mom was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer; she died 10 months after that.  During those 10 months, I lived within easy driving distance from her; not a 5 1/2 hour plane ride away.  Thanks little voice.

But when the recent You should do this stuff started bubbling up around my friend's house, I tried to look the other way again.  Move?  Uh uh.  Not doing it.  Just did it a year ago.  And I'd only been living with TGFKAS for a year and a half before that; it doesn't make any sense.  (you should do it - the space is going to be good for you)  Shut up shut up shut up I've moved enough in the last 5 years; I'm staying here until the office relocates.  (you should do it) I'm not moving this spring and again next spring.  I'm staying put.  (you really should do it) 

I'd put my figurative fingers in my psychic ears: Nahnahnahnah; I'm not listening; I'm not listening!  (come on deb ... you NEED to do this ...) 

(damn, damn, DAMN!) 

And so (whad'ya know), I'm moving.  It seems the universe has another plan for me (again).  (damn it)

Having said all that, it's not like I'm doing this out of duress; my friend's house is beautiful and charming and warm; it's positively lovely.  It also gets me WAY closer to the Beaners (10 minutes away), and 15 miles closer to my job; it's a walk to the NYC train ... it's got TONS going for it.  It also has space - something I haven't had to myself for quite a while - and I'm looking forward to reacquainting myself with all the stuff I've been keeping in storage and decorating in my "IKEA/Pottery Barn/plants and candles" way once again.  (and yes, i really DO decorate like that ...)

But I hate pulling up stakes again ... unsettling what's settled.  And I'm going to miss LMD like crazy.  Ever since I made the decision, we've been bracing ourselves, and in the mornings when we get our coffee and move into our days I know we're both trying not to think about what it's going to be like when we don't have that anymore ... it's going to be hard for me to say good-bye to our happy little home here at the Center of the Universe.  Yes, we'll still see each other and yes, we'll still hang out; but it won't be the same.

The other day she told me: You could change your mind; you could still stay.  But I can't; this feels bigger than logic somehow.  I think it has something to do with the something that's coming that I talked about a while back and I feel like I just have to go along for the ride.  LMD tells me she admires the way I listen to my intuition and don't shy away from the opportunities and challenges it often leads me to, and I know it's one of my strengths.  I just wish it didn't involve pulling up stakes and relocating as often as it has in the last decade.  Sometime I wonder if I'll ever get to settle down again.  I hope so; I know I'd like to.  I just know it's not today.  Not yet. 

On the road again.