Stop the Madness!

Oh the beauty and angst of a tiny little heap of metal called a cell phone- excitement dwelling up inside of you as it vibrates, chirps, sings, announces or PROCLAIMS someone is thinking about you! Yippee! Who could it be? What do they want? The questions begin to swarm around one’s mind as you think of all the possibilities- the job offer you’ve been anxiously anticipating, the significant other who’s been on a long trip, the family member calling to tell you Baby is on his way, the doctor relieved to deliver great news to worried individuals, the new crush you’ve been desperate to take out, your grandchild’s delightfully squeaky first words. 

You finally get to talk to them- the soft sound of their voice on their other end, carefully sharing with you the news. You’re hanging on every word anticipating the next, desperate to hear the end of the sentence, the crux, the climax  and then . . . silence. 

Hello? 

Heeelllllllooooooo?

 HELLO? 

Where did you go? What happened? 

There are no sweet sounds on the other end. The phone cuts out. How could it be!? You quickly try and press re-dial but get sent straight to voicemail. Another attempts serves no variance. Yet another attempt gets you a ring but no one picks up (why!? Because they’re trying to call you back!) And then you wait- ever so patiently, frustrated, excited, angry, and joyful ALL AT THE SAME TIME simply because one could not finish a conversation on a cell phone that someone sold you once upon a time by telling you you’ll have crystal clear service and be able to hear a pin drop at the other end of the line. . . if you actually stay on the line long enough for the pin to hit the ground!

All of this because of the invention of the cell phone. 

Did you know people used to write letters to each other to communicate? Ya, go figure- real letters, words slowly, methodically, and gracefully  strung together written by hand. Black ink across a paper sharing hopes and dreams, humor and laughter, journeys and destinations. People had to wait months to receive these letters, but once you had them you had the complete story from beginning to end, no interruptions, no false anticipation, no emotional MADNESS! 

I feel like plucking leaves off a flower- My cell phone loves me, it loves me not. My cell phone loves me, it loves me not. My cell phone loves me, it loves me not. . . 

The Space Between

Looking out the window all you can see are reflections of the kitchen, beyond the window we are met with darkness, indicating the late hour. We’ve just finished watching a movie. Entertaining at best, but it accomplished it’s purpose. . . To keep us all from loosing our emotions on the eve of a sad departure. All three of us are right at the cusp of opening the flood gates to our sadness, desperately trying to avoid it at all costs. 

And so we clean- oh the invaluable distraction of cleaning. Works like a charm. 

Sort of. .. 

I found my friend washing the dishes with tears running, not trickling nor gently sliding, but running down her face. I gently rested my head on her shoulder as if to say “It’s going to be okay”. Words didn’t seem appropriate in the heaviness of the moment. I pick up a towel to dry the dishes.  

In an effort to escape the tears, my friends asks me how my sister is, what I’m doing tomorrow, if I know what the weather will be like this weekend, anything to keep from discussing the sadness, all questions asked through blowing noses and wiping tears from her face.

“I hate cleaning utensils, do you mind?” No, of course not as we switched places. And I find my self washing a spoon over and over, getting lost in the rhythm and repetition. The spoon sparkling, shinny was cleaned 5 minutes ago. I look up at my friend in an effort to answer her question, which I apparently didn’t hear, only to find myself being met with, “Please don’t- I can’t handle it right now”. Damn- she had noticed my eyes were moist. “What is it about the kitchen sink tonight? Seems to be the catcher of never ending tears” as she desperately tries to bring humor to the situation. A little chuckle from us both however half-heartedly it may have been. Both trying to be strong for the other. 

I quickly gather my belongings, believing the best thing is to leave as soon as possible. I know I can’t keep it together and all my friend needs is for my eyes to stay dry. On my way home I receive a text message inviting me out for a drink- it’s late, I’m tired, I’m emotional, and all I can think is “Thank God, yes, I’ll be there in 5”. 

The next day I awake early to the sound of silence- the beauty of a Saturday morning is that most are sleeping soundly in the beds, catching up on much needed sleep. I jet over to my friends house to help them put the last of their boxes in the car. We make breakfast together- a little sausage left over from earlier in the week, a few eggs they can’t take with them, the last 3 slices of bread desperate to be eaten. There’s no warm, rich spell of coffee filling the kitchen as all coffee makers are packed away. 

Its finally time to go. Standing by the door my feet do not seem to move. They are glued to the floor. My arm is heavy by my side, feeling like a million pounds, unable to reach for the door handle. My friend fixes the ruffled collar on my shirt, desperately avoiding eye contact. I look at the beautifully bleak white wall beyond her.

 “It’s hard, emotional,” she confesses, “But that’s good- it means our time here in Colorado was blessed.” Her eyes begin to moisten. “Ya,” a softly say. Both trying to stay composed not for ourselves, but for the other. We both know how difficult this is, how grieving is healthy, but not now- not when her and husband need help getting out the door, into the car, and on the road. And so the moment becomes one of great love as we stay in it- silence hung frozen in the air. Not wanting to leave each other, to say good-bye. 

“This is my favorite song,” as she notices the back ground music from the computer. Divine Romance plays softly and quiets both of our screaming souls. We listen, standing motionless in the door way. 

A quick hug and I run for the door and exit- yes, run. For the music had helped the lump in my throat disappear and I needed the space to do what she needed me to do- leave dry eyed. 

Her husband was by the car, organizing the last of the boxes. “I’ll see you soon, P” I tell him.  “Ya, see you soon”. . . A hug that lasts a little longer than normal as it shares the tenderness of words that can not be uttered. He walks me to my car, “It’s hard. It’s emotional, but it’s right.” Confessions of where his heart is at- again, the glance that meets and holds mid air. Please don’t lose it, please don’t lose it, please don’t lose it. I hold my breathe, reach for the car door and sit. He shuts it for me and walks away. . . turning once as though to check on me and make sure I’m okay. Hands gripped on the steering wheel, memories of laughter, instances, conversations, life flood my memory. There will be more, but in different ways. 

The space between .  . . between desire and need, hope and sadness, gratefulness and fear. They hang in a moment. Sometimes all we can do is experience it, not respond to it (at least right then), nor react to it. The desire becomes not only to survive it but to embrace it for what it is, for it won’t last long. It may feel like an eternity, but there is always light in the morning. 

Rilke, one of my favorite writers, puts it perfectly. These words have been swimming around in my head and heart all day. I hope you enjoy them as much as I:

“try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language. Don't search for the answers, which could not be given to you now, because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer.”

-Rilke

Have you Ever Tried to Teach a Woman Anything?

When I was a kid I always used to ask my dad his opinion on various different matters:

“Dad, what do you think I should do about xyz?”

“Dad, what dress do you think I should wear? The blue one or the green one?”

“Dad, if you were in this situation, would you choose route A or B?”

My dad would then proceed with a beautifully eloquent reason what he would do and why. Typically, it was a pensive response, requiring thought on his behalf as he  tried to figure out the best way to guide his moldable and impressionable young daughter.  

After a lengthy explanation from him and deep heartfelt listening on my behalf, I would immediately proceed to set out and accomplish whatever it was that was bothering me, content that I had a brilliant answer, direction or response. 

Inevitably, it was the exact opposite of whatever Dad said. . .Always. 

Mind you, I never wanted it to be that way. I did not intend to ask his opinion and then immediately ignore it. I mean, let’s face it, what he probably heard, however unintentionally it was, was “Thanks for the input, Old Timer,  but you are totally, completely, and horridly mistaken and I, no matter how young I may be, actually know better than you. So see ya later, Senior!”

Not knowing exactly what just happened to him, he usually would sigh, cross his arms in front on him as if to as “I’m invincible” and then moved on with life, not necessarily looking forward to the next time I would strike again. . . 

I don’t believe Dear Old Dad is the only person to fall into this inevitable trap- boyfriends do as well. 

 Their beautiful, young new sweetheart asks them to teach  them something. Honored that their beau would request such a thing, they puff out their chest, push their shoulders back, straighten their backs ever so slightly, as if to say, “Watch out world, I’m going to impress her! Here’s my moment to shine!”. Settling into a teaching mode, they dress themselves with patience and humility, reassuring their Baby that no question is a stupid question. They look gently and confidentially into their Lovely’s eyes  as if to say, “I’m safe, Honey.” The girls softly bite their lower lip as they bravely listen and try to learn all their Heartthrob has to offer. She looks up at him in anticipation and excitement and hangs on his every word. 

At the end of the lesson the young, sturdy guy is proud of how he handled the situation, believing his Sweetheart is completely satisfied; however, tender moments such as these usually end up with a, “Thanks, Honey. I thought about doing it that way, but I think my way is better!”

And all he could think is, “What!? Are you kidding me?!”