A year since . . .

It's been almost a year since writing down any of my thoughts. As always in life, changes have happened in my life during that time that I should write down in a journal, diary or just as notes in Outlook.

 

I don't want to make promises to myself, or anyone else, but I am going to try and write some of those random thoughts/changes down here on a more regular basis. Perhaps create an unofficial documentary of my life in words. No promises; just desire.

RING! RING! "HOW ARE YOU?"

"Oh yeah, before we hang up . . . how are you?"

Have you ever been pleasantly surprised by a phone call and half way through you realize that it really isn't a call meant to catch up on a friendship, or to check on the status of upcoming holiday plans, or even to see how your health is?  Half way through the conversation you suddenly realize that you are being "pumped" for information about what someone said about someone else, about a certain situation, or even about trying to elicit confidences they believe were placed in your care.

This is not a call about you, the inquirer and your relationship. It is simply a deceptive way of trying to get information without being honest and up-front about the caller's ulterior motive.  It is not about you, or even them . . . but about information that once it passes from your mouth into their ear and then out again becomes "gossip."

So . . . what do you do?  How do you handle it at that moment when you realize that this "friendly" conversation is just a ploy for information? Why don't they come right and say "I was talking to so-in-so and he said such-in-such. Have you heard anything about it?" Why is it always such a secret to find out what you know without just coming out and asking?

At the very moment you realize that the caller cares not one iota about your health, the holidays, or catching up on what you've been doing lately, should you say something?  "Oh, that's why you called me. You're really not interested in who I am or what I've been up to. You just want to know what I know. Well, I try to not pass on information that has been provided to me in confidence so it can become gossip."  

Should I do that? At the risk of creating a chasm in an already shaky relationship? Is the answer different if it is a friend or a family member?  How do you handle those situations? 

Great Spirit

You know how you wake-up and you realize that you have had the most incredible dream, but darn you can't remember it? And, if you do remember anything about it, it is just a fleeting color or one line or a distance picture?

I had one of those incredible dreams the other night. A dream so vivid that when I woke up the hair on my arms was standing up. A dream that made me feel warm and comfortable, yet somehow I realized that I needed to do something right away. But what? I couldn't remember anything - no colors, no pictures. What did I need to do? And why, if it was so important, couldn't I remember it?

I stretched into the inner layers of my memory. Nothing. I worked on it all day as I went about my normal tasks. Nothing. By evening I had put it to the back of my thoughts. By bedtime, it was a distant memory.

When I awoke the next morning, there it was. One line only.

"And the Great Spirit said to me: 'You don't get a do-over. You need to do it right the first time.' "

Slowly fading . . . .

Remember the photo in "Back to the Future" that keeps fading when "Michael J. Fox" messes with the past? That photograph is exactly how I've been feeling lately. Slowly fading away . . .

Not sure I can explain . . . maybe tomorrow.

Fireflies

I'll be back . . . . just sorting out the fireflies that are dancing around in my head. As soon as I get them turned down a notch or two, I'll be back to write again. Co9Mom

Another busy day has begun . . .

It’s 6:40 AM on a warm spring morning and I’m enjoying a peaceful sleep.

As I begin to awaken, my dreams keep pulling me back into that soft early morning slumber. My early morning dreams are the most vivid. Colors swirl with smells and sounds. Greens and reds, blues and oranges entice me back into this vivid dream world. The smell of dew on the early morning grass, coffee brewing, and the soft sound of dainty wind chimes hung next to the birdhouse in the tree outside our kitchen door.

I know a busy day awaits me, but slumber keeps pulling me back. The sweet smells begin to grow musty and irritating in my dreams. I’m lost in a world between dreams and the coming day.

What is the real world and what is part of my dream slumber?

I slowly open my eyes to the beginnings of a new day and am face-to-face with a long-haired teenager walking down the hallway outside my bedroom door. I close my eyes. The smell is pungent; an un-bathed teenager, no doubt about it. I am now rudely awake, but I close my eyes hoping only that my sweet dreams have not dissolved and that I can make the pungent odor go away.

Then I hear voices . . . . voices of children. They are whispering, but it is so loud inside my head that I try to imagine soft veils being drawn across the early morning stars for protection.

It is now 6:45 AM. Hopefully, sleep will overtake this rude awakening.

No luck.

I now realize that these whisperers are standing a few feet from the foot of my bed trying to fold blankets and whispering, whispering, whispering. I wait, hoping they will finish and return to play in the early morning sunshine and dew. Talking, talking, talking. I leap out of bed and banish them to the grass & trampoline in the backyard.

Another busy day has just begun.

A Wink and a Smile . . . or was it?

I met him one night over a campfire. We were part of a special archeological dig. Up at 5am, at work by six. Days were over by 3pm. Hot summer days. Humidity hovering near 97% . . . damp, wet, sticky days . . . and nights.

They were long, intense days of surveying, mapping, digging, screening and cataloging. The shade tarp cut the hot rays of the sun, but also blocked what little breeze there was. This wasn’t the hot southwest sun where the drying sweat cools the skin. Here it just soaks your clothes, sticks to the skin; the salty liquid runs and burns your eyes. Always wear a headband you were told. Take salt tablets. Drink lots of water. Carry an extra headband in your pack.

Early in the morning, a cup of coffee, a light breakfast. Grab your gear, jump on the jeep and head down the trail to the site.

A full day of work. Pick ax, machete, trowel and line level. You will need them all. Digging, surveying and mapping the open pits. Cataloging the artifacts. Mapping each one. A long, intense day . . . but each day goes so quickly. There is much to do. So much to learn.

At the end of the day a cool shower, clean tank and shorts. Or a quick swim in the river. Just watch for cottonmouths. Their bite can be nasty. Requiring a trip to the emergency room. Perhaps an overnight stay. Just leave them alone and they will, hopefully, leave you alone. Some mosquito repellent. A full dinner. Chicken fried steak, biscuits and gravy, some greens and sweet tea. A small piece of cake. Little conversation. Everyone is exhausted, hungry and thoughtful about the day’s work. Introspective.

Then it’s time to get work gear cleaned and ready for the next day of digging. Lay the next day’s work clothes out so you can just jump into them before dawn.

Nothing takes more than a few minutes, then it’s time to wind down. Start the campfire, set half dozen chairs out. Everyone gathers. Make sure the cooler has ice, soda, water and beer. Put your feet up. Grab a drink, take a deep breath and relax. Dusk. Just a couple hours ‘til that hard cot looks like a feather bed. Deep sleep awaits a tired body.

. . . And then he arrived. A new worker. He knows one of your digging companions. He will only be here for a few days. Shy and handsome. A sweet smile. Not yet sunburned. Muscles not exhausted from heavy, hot digging. He’s anxious to get started. He smiles and winks at you across the campfire. No one else noticed? Or if the do, they aren’t saying.

Up before dawn. Grab some coffee and a quick breakfast. Pull the lunch you made the night before out of the cooler. Head down the trail by 5:30. Digging by six. They’ve assigned the shy new stranger to your work crew. A hard worker. He’s done this before. Knows the ropes. Another wink and smile. Lunch comes at 10am. He asks if he can sit in the shade with you to eat. Of course you say “yes.” Polite talk. He asks few questions, but seems to instinctively know you. You are from entirely different worlds, but for this strong love of history you have in common.

That evening he’s back at the campfire again. This time he finds a chair next to you. Some whispered comments. A walk down the trail before bed. A kiss on the cheek goodnight. Digging days come early.

On your day off he invites you out to eat. You learn he has family just a few miles from the dig site. A drive in the countryside. A quiet cool dinner in a little diner. A strong connection begins to form. From this moment on you are inseparable.

Four more days, long nights of listening and learning. He returns to the city to work. In three days you will leave and drive the 17 hrs back to your home and job. Three empty days. Even the digging doesn’t make up for the loss. How can you miss someone so intensely that you just met?

Will he call? Will you see him next summer? Was it all just a dream of a wink and a smile?

More to come . . . .