My Default

 I wish I knew how to make the font Times New Roman the default font on Word. I’m sure there is a way to do it, I just haven’t figured it out; and it’s weird, but I dislike Calibri (body) because it’s the “go-to” font for everything.

I guess the morning hours are supposed to be about writing what comes to mind. If the font in Word is the first sentence then either I’m problem-free, not very intelligent, or avoiding something. I’ll go with the latter, but who knows?

I spent the better part of three hours trying to get to sleep last night. It could be because I play silly games in my bed, sitting askew on my pillows until my shoulder starts to hurt, and then try to fall asleep. I can’t seem to get anything to pull me away from the game. It’s another way to avoid things, I suppose. My heart starts to pound so fast in some moments that I think something is wrong and random pictures come to mind and I start to panic.  Then I inhale through my nose, long exhale out of my mouth a few times and my heart calms. Then I get scared that it calmed too quickly and oh no, what if it stops?

What is that? I mean, I know it’s anxiety but why?  Is it because I’ve failed to write every day – essentially gave it up for a few years in the early morning hours and because of that, my brain rewired itself to have panic be the default emotion?

I recall my early mornings before the kids got up, before the sun stretched it’s arms and yawned, before the birds peeped. Of course, my early morning consisted of a couple cigarettes and some big cups of coffee. It also included many words on paper, mostly about love and sharing kindness. It was my way of finding gratitude without mentioning gratitude or the need to find it.

I love that the Buffalo Bills players have the phrase Be Love on their helmets. I recall saying something similar. Show love, give love, be love. I remember using my label maker to write out the phrase and paste it to my refrigerator so I would repeat it a few times a day. It was so the kids read it too.

It seems a bit naïve now – 10 or 12 years later, but I don’t think it is. I think I was at a place in my life all those years ago where I needed to grow and from all the ignorance I had as a young(er) adult came the knowledge that I was imperfect, vincible (is that the opposite of invincible?), mortal and in need of a shit ton of love.

All those years ago. All those lessons I learned. That faith. It was so strong, so real, so necessary. I fell back on faith and landed softly.

Was I still a nervous fool? I think I was, but I don’t recall fretting over a lack of sleep. But I probably did.

I miss cigarettes right now. But at 51, it’s a habit I can’t have, especially since I’m so out of shape.

Yeah, I’d write, smoke, sip coffee, find faith, spout love and kindness and then I’d greet the children with joy, get them off to school, and start my day. I’d work out, get ready for work and be in the office vibrant and happy – even if I was broken inside, I always showed nicer. 

Kind of like Calibri and Times New Roman. 

For the past few years, Calibri has been my default. It’s fine. It’s convenient, it shows up regularly, it’s a bit rounder, and it’s what the majority of people use because it’s conveniently the default. But I don’t really like it. I tolerate it, sure. I use it conveniently, lazily. But Times New Roman is where it’s at. It’s slender, tighter, and reminiscent of my “finding Carrie” days. 

I’m going to switch it to be my default, minus the cigarettes.

Forever Here

 Fifteen years ago. Everything changed.

The morning was pleasant. Working on a Dream was released. Bruce was going to sing at the Superbowl halftime show. The kids were at pre-school. I was at the Verizon office, and then out to lunch Jessica for her birthday.

Then Kathy called.

Jeff had a stroke.

My flight was booked. The kids would go with the ex.

Buffalo was in the midst of a snowstorm. Chuck picked me up at the airport. We went straight to the hospital. I lugged my suitcase in, up the elevator to the ICU. Everyone was in the waiting room – Cor, Cliff, Jim, Mom, Dad, John, Dana, Lynn…

Jeff. On life support with a breathing tube, swelling in his brain, bleeding.

Everything changed.

It’s okay that I’m sobbing. It’s okay. It means that I loved. That I love. That love exists in this world. It still exists because I feel the pain of my siblings, my mom. I hurt and love all who love Jeff, who remember him as a solid, vibrant, laughing, generous, broken soul.

Forever changed. Forever carrying grief in my heart like a tattoo. A tattoo that spreads to my head, swirling in the madness of loving and losing, wanting, and needing, disguised by time, cracked open in moments like this when I allow myself to remember, to feel and taste the pain again, to grieve.

It will linger through the day, through the rest of this month and next month. The memories of those six weeks when he was in the hospital, fighting for his life, offering hope and dismay, and hope again.

The smell of the hospital room, the tension in the waiting room. The notebook where we shared our thoughts. The doctor whistling in the elevator, the tune: “If I only had a brain”.

The kids greeting me at the hospital, their little suitcases trailing behind them. Their faces as they tried to understand why mommy was so scared, and sad, and hopeful, all at the same time.

My headphones playing Queen of the Supermarket, marveling at the line where her smile blows the whole fucking place apart.

The waiting room sofa where I attempted to sleep; across the room from Cliff.  When we gave up trying to sleep and getting a cup of black coffee in the early morning hours. Scared. Aware that something big had shifted, that maybe we’d never go back to how it was. How the family was whole. Intact.

The days that followed and then the weeks, and then plans for my birthday weekend. I would spend it with my brother in the rehab facility. I didn’t want to be anywhere else.

That Tuesday morning. The phone call from Mom. Falling to my knees and screaming “No.”

Maybe it’s not healthy to dwell. Maybe it’s not healthy to recall all these painful memories. Maybe it’s not right to know that even fifteen years later the pain is just as piercing, just as present, just as new as it was then. The pain of loving and losing and knowing love. Always secure in knowing that I hurt because I love. And because I love, I’m living. And because I love fully, he’s still living. In my heart, in my head, in the pain that grips me now.

He’s here and he’s still alive.

                                       

The Wolf Man

I was able to spend some time with work acquaintances last night. The Virginia Wireless Association held an event, and my coworker invited me to join. It was fun. I got to see some people I haven’t seen in a while, and more importantly, I got out of my pajamas and socialized.

As usual, when I think of my career in the wireless industry, I think back on my first couple years at Insite where I met Bryan Wolf. I got to know him as a boss when he would score my lease drafts with a red check or if I did a great job, a check plus.  There weren’t many checks without the plus after the first one.  During that time, we became great friends.  Then I got married and had a couple kids.  We still hung out, but not as often.

When the marriage was falling apart, Bryan called me out of the blue and asked if I needed some part time work. He didn’t know I was heading into divorce and the job I had at the ex’s company would soon be over. (Side note: I remember my resignation letter from that job. “I quit. The owner, my husband, is cheating on me and I feel it is a hostile work environment.”)  Bryan hooked me up doing Title reviews and offering reports on how to cure Title. He took 10% off the top and gave me the remainder. I made a lot of money for about six months while the contract lasted.

After that, we saw each other more often. We’d grab a beer on a random Tuesday evening (the one night during the week I didn’t have the kids) or we’d meet up with my neighbors on a weekend night I didn’t have the kids. We laughed. A lot. When you meet a decent human being who is fundamentally good and kind, you tend to gravitate toward them.  That was Bryan.

He died last August. It was a complete shock to all of us, and my heart broke in another place. I spent three sleepless nights crying and asking why.

Last night I met with my coworker, and she said she had run into another friend of mine who was very close with Bryan. He told her to say hello to me. I told her he was also a great human being and that we had a mutual friend who had passed recently.  Of course, I got somewhat emotional – swallowing back the tears that threatened to escape.  She nodded and said, yes, he mentioned it. He had to swallow back the tears as well.

I thought of a title for a story: The Wolf Man. I’m not sure where I’ll go with it or if I’ll even write it, but the protagonist is going to be this very tall, very kind, always smiling man. A man who loved his children beyond measure. A man who helped everyone and formed a social group that met once a week for years on Fridays for Happy Hour. I wasn’t part of the group, but I was always invited.

The last time I saw Bryan was in late June. We met up for a beer and made plans to see each other more regularly. He had invited me to his yearly summer fest and I regularly attended but had to miss this year – I was in Boone with Paige for college.

If I had known…

The Wolf Man.

I miss you, Bryan.

Fair Trade

I awoke early again, but was able to accomplish a deep sleep for nearly five hours. That’s triple the hours I slept over a span of forty-eight. Actually, I don't know if it's triple the hours. I tried counting but I suck at math. 

And I'm tired.

I suppose it’s okay to sometimes embrace insomnia. It won’t necessarily kill me to be up before the dawn. I used to do it all the time.

During my adolescence, I spent many nights tossing and turning – thinking about my siblings and my parents. For the most part, my parents got along, but inevitably they argued, sometimes quite vocally. Bickering sometimes erupted into insults that spewed through the air, landing hard on the surfaces around them. It was tough to sleep on the nights they had a blowout. Didn’t every child who heard their parents fighting fret about the marriage’s demise? I guess some people never heard their parents argue so fretting was over something stupid, like a boy. 

My point isn’t about my childhood. It’s about the reasons why we inadvertently lock ourselves inside insomnia’s cage.

In college, my schedule was erratic. In bed by midnight, up by 7 or 8, in classes; and then the power naps where I’d go back to the dorm or the apartment, lay on my back and shove my hands into my arm pits and fall asleep like a chicken tucking its wings. (It’s quite comfortable).

In law school, I spent a few all-nighters with the music blaring while I wrote legal briefs or research papers. I don’t even remember sleeping but I must have done it.

And then maturity and adult decisions. Where to live. Who to love. What to drive. What do for a living. What to do, period. If you marry and have children, the decisions you make include your spouse’s desires or your children’s needs, so consistent sleep is laughable.

Maturity does to sleep what infidelity does to a marriage. 

It fucks it all up.

I wanted to say it destroys or obliterates it but that’s not true. It devastates and damages it, but with help and sleeping pills (necessary for sleep or being crushed by your spouse’s behavior), you can overcome.

And I guess that’s my point. I’m running on about seven hours of sleep over a period of seventy-two hours (again, I suck at math), but for the second day in a row, I watched the sun rise over the waters in front of me. 

Trading some shut eye for that every once in a while is okay.

It’s better than okay. 

It’s dandy.

Insomnia

I’m dealing with the second day of no sleep. Last night I went to bed at 10pm, fell asleep quickly and then woke ten minutes later… wide awake. I took melatonin. Nothing. I took a Benadryl. Nothing. I drank a glass of almond milk which always worked before. Nothing. I tried counting Bruce concerts I’ve attended. I tried thinking about book characters and plot lines. One of these always worked. Nothing.

NOTHING. I was up until 5:45am, tossing and turning. And cursing. And nearly crying.

Second day – very similar. Went to bed at 10pm, slept until 12:35am and I’ve been awake since. It’s now 5am and the coffee is brewing.

It’s been a rough couple of months. I was laid off in June, moved in July, got a new job in July and finally sold my Maryland house last week.  The new job has slowed to a crawl. Telecom (my industry) has had massive lay offs and defunding so I may end up unemployed again soon. Oh, and my husband got laid off. He got a severance package, along with about 750 other people in his company, but still.

The unemployment, the stress of moving. 

Small stuff. 

My windshield got hit by a rock, cracked down the middle. 

Small stuff. 

The mower broke. The boat broke. The faucet shot massive amounts of water. All small stuff.

One of my closest friends died last week. It was unexpected. I’ve known him and adored him for 23 years or so… just saw him in June. We laughed a lot. 

Big stuff. 

Big, big stuff. 

I cried for days, and I’m still shaken by it. 

It's why I’m not sleeping.  Every time I try, I think about him and his son & daughter and their children – his grandchildren, whom he adored. I will dearly miss my good friend. Always.

It’s still dark out and I’m awake. The sun will rise shortly, and I will see it peek over the trees in front of me as I write. It will glisten off the water and light will bob in the lake waves. The insects will fly so low over the water, touching it so lightly that it looks like it is raining.

I moved from bustling Maryland to a sleepy town in Virginia – a small town, and our house is on a cozy lake. My office faces the water. An office that was built from scratch on one side of the basement. An office I absolutely adore. It has my books, my pictures, my plants, my decorations… all mine.  Sometimes I daydream about Reese Witherspoon interviewing me for my bestseller and I will bring her down here and show her around. There’s a lot to take in… inspiration from how-to write and edit books, best sellers, classic authors, poetry. I have it all. And it’s mine.

I lost a job. I lost a couple nights sleep. I lost a good friend and consequently, I lost another little piece of my heart to the ether.

I have my family. My work. My writing. My books and my health. I have a dog superior to all dogs. I have children and a husband I feel very much the same about.

Ah, insomnia. If I’d been sleeping, I wouldn’t have written this.  

Ah, gratitude. I needed it. I found it.

It brought me back to me.

Desensitized?

No! We cannot be desensitized by these school shootings. Nine year olds, teachers, custodians… our friends, our family members, our officers…

Sadness, love, grief, memories…

Let us not be desensitized by the latest school shooting… the latest mass shooting … the latest heartbreaking death. 

Dear God, never let me be desensitized.  

Another Year

 I took the day off today as a gift to myself for my birthday. Everyone should do the same. I awoke to Tony touching my shoulder, whispering "happy birthday" before he got in the shower to get ready for school. He placed my gifts next to me and waited for me to open them - sleepy-eyed and still remembering a vivid dream about my dad - which is a really great gift to get on your birthday.

After a hearty cup of coffee, and a conversation with my mom (who was the first to call me today) and a whole lot of pestering from Dovi, I laced up my sneakers and we headed to the trails for a walk.

.I had the music playing in my ears, shuffling my favorites - Springsteen, the Stones, Sofi Tukker, Houndmouth, Cage the Elephant and a little Tom Petty to make it more of a sing-a-walk-along. The trails were empty. We walked among fallen trees, bushes, briar and vines. Dovi was off leash and jumping in the pond every chance he got. Filthy Animal. 

After about two miles, we ran into a father and son on their bicycles. Actually they weren't on their bicycles. The father was splayed out on the wooden stairs that lead from one trail to another. He fell and cracked his tailbone and was still moaning in pain when we happened upon them. I asked if he needed help, if I could call someone, but he refused and said he just needed to rest a moment. They wished us a great day, and the adventure continued.

Then I saw a patch of blooming Daffodils situated in a circle amidst the leaves, vines, mud and dead branches. Very beautiful indeed. After that, I noticed all the beauty around me. Rather than the brown and gray of the winter trees, I saw birds marked with white or blue, heard the barup barup  of the bullfrogs, and watched Dovi go dizzy chasing the squirrels around the trees. And two raised hands waving at me - the father and son were back to riding on the trails.

It was the first time in about two months that I didn't feel a heaviness inside. January, February and a little bit of March are tough months for me - tough for my family too. The darkness creeps inside my bones and it's tough to shake. The sun hides behind the dark clouds and it takes quite a bit of effort to feel it on my face.

Then, my birthday comes and I feel okay. I made it another year. I have my gorgeous children, the LOML to spoil me, and a whole lot of family and friends wishing me a great day. 

And I have Dovi. He is nothing but a source of joy in our lives. Always happy.  Love pours out of him with every movement, every look he gives and every sound he makes.

Unless he's exhausted. Like he was last night, and will be tonight. I walked 4.5 miles today. He ran, jumped, splashed and zoomed the entire time. This is what I can expect from my source of joy this evening: 

He was snoring and snorting... my baby boy. 

Take a walk on your birthday this year, and make sure you don't go to work either. Love.