Life Decisions

Family. Such a strong word; and one that brings a different image to everyone.

Just some of my story:

When I was just barely 30 my first husband and I separated . . . and eventually divorced. We remained good friends and shared responsibility for our three young children. We both loved them with all our hearts and knew the other parent did also.

The two older ones remained with their Father in order for them not to have to change schools or take them away from their friends. Plus, we were living in a most extraordinary location - a 21,000 acre ranch. An immense playground of possibilities for growth. They were old enough, 8 and 10, to care for themselves while their Father was at work. We lived just a few steps from his work at the ranch. They would spend weekends with me; or, in the beginning, I would spend weekends at their house.

The youngest, still in diapers, and I moved into a small house in Santa Fe, NM - 60 miles from the ranch.

Together, as loving parents, we had decided that this arrangement was the best for the children. It was not what either of us truly wanted; but we both knew we would be able to care for them, spend time with all three and both of us still work. It was a mutual decision; but one that the court did not approve of. When our final divorce was signed, the Judge added the words that at any time that the Court, or I, felt that it was not working that I could have full custody of the children. That option was never utilized.

It was another time; a time when the Mother was primarily responsible for the upbringing of the children. The Father was the breadwinner. But their Father was a good man, a good father, and I knew that he too loved his children with all his heart. They would be raised differently, but they would be loved.

At 30 it was going to be a struggle for me. I had never worked at a job a day in my life, I had only a little education beyond high school and virtually no formal job skills. I had spent eleven years caring for children and a family; eleven years supporting my husband in his many art endeavors; eleven years baking, washing & ironing, helping children with homework, cleaning a home, shopping - all the things a "homemaker" did.

There was no money. My parents loaned me a little to start my new life. I soon got a contract job which later turned into full-time work. I worked hard and built some basic working skills. My youngest son went to day care. I spent as much time with my older children as I could. It was a hard time for all of us.

Today, many years later, I realize that, although my husband and I made the decisions in partnership, and both of us with the sincere desire to do the best for our family it was probably one of the biggest mistakes of my life. I will never be able to bring back the loss. To one of my children I will always be Mom, but never a parent. I lost that respect when I left. I will never have the opportunity of having a close older-parent/adult-child friendship with her. I will always be unknowingly resented for "leaving." I will always be an outsider.

Our decisions have affected our lives beyond anything we could have imagined.

I love my children, now grown, with all my heart . . . but that will never be enough. I will never be able to bring back the past so I must accept it and move on.

Sweet at dawn . . . .

"How sweet at dawn to roll over in the warm hollow

. . . left by your dreams." (c) 2010 - R Conine

Fishies

I love my fishies!

Captain of our own boat?

Today I received a forwarded message from a friend on the other side of the world. It said:

“Imagine writing an email of what you want to the Universe . . . . know that the Server of the Universe is an automatic system, and it doesn't question email requests. Its job is simply to fulfil every request. . . . . Once you Ask, know that the Server of the Universe is an automatic infallible system that never fails, and expect to receive your request!”

So, I thought about it for a minute or two . . . and then I responded:

"I do not believe that we can ask a great email server in the universe to fulfill our every wish and desire. It is not automatic. It is up to us, each one of us, to make our “wants” manifested. We each are the captains of our own boats; the sailors of our souls. Each one of us was given the opportunity and privilege of living a life; but how we live it and what we want from it, is entirely up to us.

So, I believe that "you have to participate relentlessly in the manifestation of your own blessings." (Elizabeth Gilbert) Stress comes from asking and expecting someone else to make our lives rich and fulfilled. Only we can do that. If we believe in organized religion, or even of a God, then we must know that he/she has done their job. We each are here. Now it is up to us to sail that boat.

In addition, I believe that part of the privilege of sailing that boat is helping others find their blessings. We must make sure that those around us have their 'wants and desires' fulfilled to the best of our abilities."

What do you think?

Pay it Forward

I read an online news article a few months ago about a person in a drive-thru line paying the check for the car behind them. Total strangers. Why? Just because they wanted to; just to 'Pay it Forward.' The idea has intrigued me ever since.

I have always wanted to do something to 'Pay it Forward,' but was never quite sure how or when was the right time and place to do it. Would opportunity knock?

Yesterday I heard the knocking growing loud and clear. Like an African drum beat. Here's your chance, here's your chance, here's your chance.

I was sitting in a restaurant by myself. At the table across from me sat a young woman in her early 30's. She smiled a small smile as I sat down. I returned the smile. As I sat there reading my menu, ordering food and beginning my meal, I noticed that she seemed pre-occupied by her phone and a distant look in her eyes. A woman from another table came over, squatted down beside her chair and gave her a hug. The talked quietly for a moment or two. Then the young woman burst into quiet tears. They talked and hugged for a few minutes until the second woman returned to her table.

As I sat there quietly eating my meal, I wondered what had caused her such distress. A death in the family? A broken relationship? A serious health problem? My heart ached for her. She obviously was having a very bad day, but was trying to keep her composure. I wanted to help her, but it was really none of my business. How could I help without interfering?

In the back of my mind the slow beat of the drum grew louder and louder: pay it forward, pay it forward, pay it forward. As it continued to grow louder, I realized what I needed to do.

I finished my meal quickly, picked up my check and took it to the cashier up front. I inquired as to whether or not she could tell from my check where I was sitting. "Oh, yes!" she said. I pointed out the table next to mine in the back of the restaurant where the lone woman still sat. I said, "She's having a really bad day. I do not know her, but I'd like to pay her bill. Can you do that?" Although she looked at me a little strangely, she pulled up a copy of a 2nd check on the register. She showed it to me, and said "Are you sure? Is this amount ok?" "Absolutely!" I replied. I paid the two bills, added a generous tip and left the restaurant quickly.

I felt good. I know I couldn't take away her hurt, but at least I hope I was able to make her day just a tiny bit better. Maybe someday she will have the opportunity to 'Pay it Forward' too.

Hilda, where are you?

When I was just six I went to school in Okinawa. It was an American school, and although we were living on an island in the China Sea, it was just an American school a long way from "home." To this day I am not connected to any of the adults who were children in the school that I attended so long ago.

I remember one name only - a seven-year-old girl named Hilda Nunamaker. A girl from South Carolina. Her father was stationed at the same military base.

The military quonset huts that our families occupied were directly across the dirt road from each other. Hilda and I were best friends while we lived there. Once our fathers' tours of duty were over, and both our families returned to the States, I never saw her again.

But my life was touched forever by the time I spent with her. To this day my speech is laced with a slight southern twang because of the time I spent with Hilda.

I often wonder if she remembers me and how her life turned out. I will never forget her name. Hilda Nunamaker, where are you? Patti Nuckolls is asking.

Okinawa - Normal School?

I remember getting on the school bus when I was in the second grade. I wasn't quite six years old. It was the first time I'd ridden a school bus with other children. It seemed so strange, and yet, for the time and circumstances, it really was quite normal.

In the first grade I had ridden with my Mother to a small country schoolhouse twenty miles east of where we lived. She was a teacher in that school. The only teacher. It was a small one-room school with 12 grades and about the same number of students. She taught them all. They were the children of farmers and cattle ranchers. Children who lived far apart and only came together for a few hours each day to attend school.

I started school at 5 so I could go with my Mother while my Grandmother took care of my younger brother. You see, my Father was stationed overseas for a year - in Japan - and we were staying with my grandparents for that year.

Now here I was, almost six years old and starting 2nd grade, riding a school bus for the first time on a military base in Okinawa to an American Military School. On the front of the bus was a military policeman (MP) and on the back of the bus was a second one - both with rifles (loaded I assume!)

You see, my Father was stationed in Okinawa soon after the end of WWII. There were still frightened young Japanese soldiers (who didn't know the war was over) hiding in caves in the hills. MP's were always around. Always armed. It was just a natural daily occurrence to see them everywhere that families went.

My 2nd grade school year were spent in a school with guns. Guns to protect us. Protect us from young men who were probably as frightened as our parents were. Young men who didn't know that peace had been declared. Young men who were still willing to fight to defend their country.

I now look back and wonder which of my first two years in elementary school was normal. The one room schoolhouse on the flat eastern plains of Colorado with one teacher and twelve students in twelve grades? Or the military school on the Ryukyu Islands in the East China Sea?

Both of them helped shape my future.

A Hole in My Heart's Puzzle

Today I saw a grandson that I never see. . . . across the street. My heart breaks into a thousand pieces when his image floats through my mind. He is a red head. I think of him often. When I try to put my heart back together, there is always a piece missing. I would so much like to be part of his life . . . even a small part.

Time is passing so quickly and we will never get it back. He is now part of another family's reality. Unless that reality hits his father, I will always have a hole in my heart's puzzle.

Someday I hope he knows how much I have always loved him and how much his Nana has truly missed being part of his life. I hope when he does, it isn't too late.

I love you Landon.

Way Off Course

Have you ever ended up somewhere that you weren't going?

I have, even though I have a fairly good sense of direction.

Sometimes I get off course because I lose sight of my destination. Does that ever happen to you? Or sometimes someone beside the road asks me "why you are headed down that way? why not go this way?" . . . and I begin to wonder . . . why am I?

It then takes some back-peddling to get back on the upper road that I was traveling.

And then sometimes I realize that I totally missed a turn that I thought was a shortcut to my goal. So I step backwards and turn right and BANG! I'm way off course! It wasn't a shortcut after all! It was a road to somewhere else.

I've always had a destination in my dreams, but somehow I missed the sign that told me the bridge was out. I missed the signs that I need to stop and rebuild the bridge, so I can cross and continue my journey.

That's what I feel like today. Way off course. So tomorrow is a building day!

Lessons Learned

Today I've been pondering the loss of a dear friend. We'd been friends for the last sixteen years. That's longer than I spent with either of my husbands.

I was there by her side as she passed on. In those last few moments I kissed her forehead and told her how much I loved her. Even though I knew it was coming, I still wasn't prepared for the loss or the completely & totally empty feeling I would have.

She had been ill for awhile. Medication had kept her feeling fairly good, but it just wasn't enough to continue to keep her here. Each day that she got weaker and lost more weight I knew that it was just a matter of time. Her Dr. continued to treat her with every aid that science could provide. Yet with very little success.

Please let her go peacefully; please don't let her suffer.

I shall miss her forever. No beating heart can replace her. No love will ever be the same.

Rest well TaiChi Kitty; rest well.