Viva Las Vegas, Part I

Yes, I actually heard this song in Vegas - how appropro I thought as I walked towards the dancing waters of the Bellagio Resort and Casino - Elvis sang me over the pedistrian bridge while the mist of the water cooled the stiff, hot night air.

One of my resolutions for the year 2007 was to go to Vegas for my 40th birthday. My new BFF Tiffany helped to not only make this a reality, but a great trip. We didn't get wild. We didn't dance on any tables. However, two moms disappeared in the desert for a few days, emerged on the strip and stayed up all night and slept all day. We didn't have to cook dinner (we only ate two meals while we were out there), wash clothes and didn't have to take care of anyone but ourselves. It was a great escape with a great friend and a great way to celebrate turning 40.

Our trip began with teary daughters not wanting to send their moms off without them - it tugged at both of our hearts and for me, it was especially hard - I had never left my daughter to go on a trip - for me - without her. Heartstrings were taut with guilt and having to let go a little. But we put on our shades and drove towards BNA.

The plane ride was LONNGGG but we met Vicky from Virginia - who spilled Jack Daniels on her jeans three rows back - and we heard about it all across the Midwest skies. Her husband was "invited" to a poker tournament in Vegas - he was a "professional poker player" (aren't they all) while Vicky supports them working in the E.R. at a Richmond hospital. She found out 1) it was my birthday and 2) I was the only other person drinking on the way to McCarran and then 3) a Crown and Coke arrived courtesy of the poker playing house-husband. When I looked back to thank them - they were making out - Grosser than Gross! We promised we would look her up at Harrah's (yeah right) and glimpsed the lights from the Las Vegas strip from our window to the world on the plane.

The first thing we saw after we hopped off the plane were slot machines in the gate area of the airport. It was a surreal experience. The luggage area was a trip - the huge ads for the Aussie "Thunder From Down Under" greeted us not to be confused with the Outback Steakhouse dessert of the same name (except it's chocolate-enough said!)... .

I loved seeing all the cheetah spotted luggage on the baggage conveyors and the collectors of said luggage who thought they were true pussycat dolls. At another row a California surfer dude was picking up the bright red "American Tourister" suitcase he must have borrowed from his grandmother. It was 11:00 when we landed and baggage claim was as happening as any casino on the strip for a Wednesday night...

South on Hillsboro Road

The collapse of my marriage was a scary time. I don't really remember at times driving from Point A to B. I had so much weighing me down, so many worries, so much pain and sadness. I didn't know where my our lives were heading and I have never felt so lost and alone. I would be overwhelmed by the fact that all my daughter had to get her through life was simply me. The thought paralyzed me at times.

I turned to my mother for refuge and we moved in with her for a brief time. To get to her house was a one shot deal south down Hillsboro Road. I would drive out of the Vanderbilt enclave, cross I-440, run the gauntlet of traffic through afternoon rush hour of Green Hills, meander through Forest Hills and make a brief appearance in Brentwood as I crossed Old Hickory Blvd. Passing the Forest Hills Baptist Church meant I was almost home free from all the issues chasing me. So many times I would pass the sign marking the Williamson County line and I would breathe a sigh of relief, I could escape into the lush, green hills of forest and fields and no one could find me.

Her neighborhood felt safe for me and I would retreat upstairs to the second floor and just "be" in one of her two guest rooms. I did this for months. We slowly began getting back out in the world, but I never ventured far from this radius off Hillsboro Road.

After a few months passed we moved to another area for a brief period of time - this time to the neighborhood I had grown up in. It still felt like home and I would do tours of the old high school stomping grounds, take my daughter to the park I used to play in and I rekindled some old friendships and visited with a lot of my friends' moms that I ran into in the grocery store. I even drove by the home of my high school sweetheart a time or two for the comfort it gave me. I came to realize that I had outgrown this part of town and moved on.

I quickly found my way back down Hillsboro and bought a home of my own and settled us in a spot close to my mom. At the close of each work day, I brighten when my commute takes me past the sign announcing my entry into Williamson County. I say my prayers regularly and give thanks for our safe home, school and "village" as my little one calls it. I rarely drive the interstates anymore - I have no reason to - going South on Hillsboro Road leads me to all the places I need to go - including the most important place - home.

Dad, Thanks for the Bird House

I can't avoid thinking of our dad when June rolls around - his birthday is this month and of course, the Father's Day golf and fishing displays, greeting card aisles and television commericals scream out out for notice in the weeks preceding both of these events. The past few weeks have made me wince when the event was brought to the surface. And not just because our father is no longer around to receive the obligatory card either.

In the past when I would read the verse on the cards, I resented that the lovey-dovey lines about the dad always there for you - words not applicable to the type of relationship we shared.

I always wanted to ask Hallmark if there is a card that says - "Hey dad, Mom did a helluva job raising us all by herself - we turned out great in spite of you being voluntarily absent from our home. Aren't you proud?? Happy Father's Day" ??? There are many other angry, bitter, and sarcastic questions that could easily be posed but I'll stop with this one - it all comes down to underscore this same point.

It wasn't until I became a parent that I realized the mistakes that parents make aren't on purpose - it's a learn as you go process. That life is full of decisions and you don't always make the right choice. As a parent your strengths and weaknesses seemed magnified in the eyes of your child - you would rather die than let them down - however, your child will overlook them just to be loved by you. Maybe our father thought his transgressions were so great that they were unforgivable.

On the other side - just to be in our father's presence meant the world to me - when he showed up for the birth of my daughter and came to see her after the surgery she had as an infant - his absences at my dance recitals, performances at football games, car wrecks, heartaches, awards night and even at my wedding were instantly forgiven.

Every time I make a mistake in a life choice that inadversely affects my daughter - I wish I would have had the chance to talk about this point with my dad as an adult, but I never reached that level in our relationship. I never had the chance because it was hard for me to talk to him without reverting back to that little girl afraid of her father and I would always break down and cry.

The night we came home from the hospital and stood over her on her changing table the enormity of the responsibility of having a child hit me like a seismic wave. My parents did this three times - oh my gosh - how did they do it?

Even though my father's absence in my life was hard to live with - I knew he was out there on the periphery - if I had a need - I think he would have come through for me. I kept telling myself because his father died when he was so young maybe he just didn't know how. He had to be father figure to his three sisters - when his three daughters came around - maybe he was just tired of it all and knew under the tutelage of our mother - that we would survive it somehow.

A few years before he died, I was walking in my backyard in Kingston Springs and I heard an unfamiliar noises - silent-like screams and peeps and little mini-hubbub going on. Hanging from a tree was a birdhouse he had given me and it was filled with the sounds of a young little family - three little birds ready to eat - waiting for their parents to come back to the nest. A beautiful blue-jay approached and warned me away (dive bombed me more like) - I quickly backed off as to not invade the sanctuary of their home and watched from our deck as the parents flew back and forth bringing sustenance to their little babies.

The birdhouse was one that he had built - one of the few gifts I had from him at my home - and I cherished it. I was thrilled that the birds had finally made a home in it, so I picked up the phone and called him and told him how fitting it was that the day was Father's Day - and the little bird family was literally thriving in a house. Just like my sisters and I thrived in the house built by our parents - the baby birds had shelter, they had food, they had love and protection -and they were gonna be just fine.

Not Ready for Swimsuit Season

I was recently pushed into the deep end of the dating pool by a beloved friend long before I was ready for it. After I pulled myself back out of the cold water - I realized that it was both surprising and fun to be pushed in and not only that I found that it was actually quite refreshing... . That first experience over and behind me, however, has led me to decide that wading in slowly is much, much better. Is anytime ever a good time to start back? Probably not. Am I ever going to be ready to pushed into the pool?

I haven't done this in 15 years. And although I enjoyed my dating years when I was younger I don't know how to do this anymore. At this point in my life I always simply envisioned myself just being "mom" - my central and proudest role in life to date. Not "mom" going out on dates, giggling on the phone late at night, hoping to get an email in my inbox and daydreaming of where this could lead or even worse the terrible self-recrimination we put ourselves through and second guessing myself by secretly wishing I looked younger and was actually getting invited out on dates and should I be doing this at all?

Not dating at all just solved these afore mentioned problems because you don't have to deal with it - being a harmless flirt is so much more fun and less problematic.

So my first plunge - albeit shocking and exciting and a little letdown now that it is over before it really got started is behind me. I guess I'm kind of relieved.

I can still do this - the old chops are still there - however, it is not like riding a bike cliche - pick up where you left off ... and so I find myself feeling like an alien? Who is this person inside my skin? I don't know her. It feels "pizarre" as my little one would say. These feelings have lain dormant I now do not know what to do with them.

Some of the feelings feel the same, but some are different. I'm working out of a whole different SOP manual than I used to now that I'm a mom and it's throwing me off my dating game.

It's like standing in the dressing room trying on different swimsuits and hating looking in the mirror - you're looking for the right style that best fits your body shape, but after much self-analyzing you finally have to throw your hands up and say - I just need something suitable to swim in... . I guess dating is going to be like that now - be yourself, have fun and realize that nothing lasts forever, it's just swimsuit season - being thrown in the pool every now and then just simply swimming is not so bad.

Beginnings are scary.

Endings are usually sad.

But it's the Middle that counts the most.

-- Hope Floats

Lost and Found at the Met

A recent Saturday found me with a day in Connecticut all to myself. Been there, done that...I needed to extricate myself out of Connecticut for my daughter was attending her father's wedding. I thought putting myself as far away from the trainwreck unfolding might be the best thing, because for whatever reason I found myself slightly humilated at the spectacle he was creating on his third trip to the altar.

I had thought of more than a few of my New England friends to join me on this day, but it was something I needed to do by myself. A certain, independent rite of passage and most certainly, a great adventure for any Southern Girl and to do it alone was like bungee jumping. I took a deep breath and made my decision. I was going to the city via the train and visit the new Greek and Roman Gallery at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. And in retrospect, I couldn't have spent a more fabulous day to get my mind off of the events unfolding.

I woke up, had a fabulous cup of coffee, borrowed a car and drove an hour over the NY state line to the MetroNorth Station in Katonah. The train station was the crossroads of the city ... quaint coffee shops, stationers, bistros, funky and expensive boutiques lined the picturesque town where Martha Stewart served her in-home sentence.

Taking the train into Grand Central was a breeze. I didn't play tourist too much, after arriving I got a quick visual of my surroundings, information desk, restrooms, foodcourt, newstand and headed outside to the taxi stand. The maize colored cabs streamed through the streets, I looked up and saw the Chrysler building and my heart really did skip a beat - I had arrived safely in Manhattan.

Should I go to the Empire State building? Should I walk down Madison Avenue? No, come back when you can share it with Katie and play tourist then - stick to your plan, I told myself, don't get overwhelmed. My turn came quickly in the cab stand, my senses were on sharp alert as I listened to the different dialects and didn't smell that landlocked city smell. The day was bright and the breeze was light. I humped in and gave the address - followed the street signs on the pocket sized map in my hand.

We whizzed through the city streets, I got tickled at the back and forth video-like game the cabs played with each other. I tried to glimpse down corridors passing by in blur and see the neighborhood flavor but before I could take in too much we had arrived. I was deposited at the steps of the Met paid my fare and stepped out into the bright day. I quickly gobbled down a hot dog from a bona fide street vendor and had to make myself sit down and take it all in. I did it. I HAD arrived. I tried to look cool and not appear to be too dumb-founded and act like Gomer Pyle - well, Gol-ol-ly, I was in NEW YORK CITY (channeling both Gomer and the salsa commerical at the same time here).

People-watching on the concrete steps was something I could have done all day, but galleries of famous and not so famous art awaited me. I had referenced a few pieces from this new exhibit in my research paper I had turned in the week before and presented some images of the collection in a graduate study presentation. I had discovered the new and improved collection from the NY Times that inadvertently sat on my desk for days, so I was extremely exciting about seeing it in person.

The first thing I noticed upon walking into the Grand Hall was that the place was buzzing. People checking bags, waiting on friends, talking on cells, inquiring minds at the information desk lent their voices to the white noise that echoed off of the arched ceiling.

After fumbling around at the information desk and audio tour station, I made it to the Greek Gallery right away - I wanted time to enjoy the entire collection. I got chills seeing some of the pieces we had only viewed in various multimedia collections. The funerary vases from the Geometric period were so much larger in life than I had expected. The expressions on the grave steles were so somber and personal that up close. I loved wandering from piece to piece and marveling that the works of a stonemason lived on these many centuries past.

Finally, I saw the many images of the Greek Gods - Herakles, Aphrodite, and the mighty Zeus. I may as well climbed Mt. Olympus than the steps of the Met.

Ascending to the 2nd floor, I found myself viewing the 19th century & European collections. Matisse, Monet and Van Gogh - nothing compares to seeing them in person. I wandered back down in search of the elevator I kept appearing at the front of this gate in the Medieval collection...

Like Dennis the Menace in the Family Circus comic strip, no matter where I wandered or followed the map or way-finding directions, I ended up back in front of this map, if I had redpaint on my feet they would have criss-crossed and landed at a big X. In a way I was lost and kept coming back at this crossroad. If I went to the left, right or went through it - somehow, I got turned around and landed at the open gates.... it was a minor frustration but resulted in showing me some of the other galleries that didn't particularly interest me. If not for standing in front of the gates and letting fate play it's course I would have missed some spectacular pieces.

Highlights of the day included the infamous Jackson Pollack piece, sculpture Gallery, the China exhibit, Egyptian tombs, and the rooftop garden...

The rooftop was particular exciting - seeing the West Side of Central Park stretch out across the vastness of the green space caused me to pause and realized I had never seen this part of NYC.

I wandered a bit more - sometimes I would sit and look at the details - seeing Washington Cross the Delaware was impressive and I appreciated the art students scattered throughout the gallery making notes and sketching away. What a wonderful classroom this turned out to be for all of us visiting that day. I found that I learned a lot about myself on this day as well.

Upon leaving I browsed in the gift shop but couldn't find anything that came close to representing the precious hours I had spent behind the Ionic columns of the museum's facade. I descended the steps, bought a kitchsy t-shirt for my girl and jumped in a cab & headed to Serendipity III.

I wanted to catch the Ford Escape Cab that looks like our car but couldn't get myself aligned correctly in the cab stand line. After assurances from my English speaking cab driver that I would be able to get a cab on this street, I jumped out to find a yound crowd gathered outside. The wait at Serendipity was 2 hours long - "Not bad," chirped a 20something from Long Island-probably drawn to the place like many - since it had become famous on the silver screen.

I couldn't wait that long - I went out to the curb and threw my hand in the air and yelled "Taxi" and tried to sound as commanding as possible, OMG - I actually hailed a cab all by myself!! One shrieked to a stop at my feet - wow - what power! I jumped in and headed back to Grand Central - tickled with myself - I longed to buy from the street vendors but played it safe and just headed back to my original destination.

Since this cab driver did not speak English - I kept my thoughts to myself - and I realized that I had been voicing an internal conversation with myself all day. I had really enjoyed spending the day with myself and doing something that in another time I would have been told that it wouldn't have been possible.

Back at Grand Central, I puttered around in the news stand - loving being surrounded by all those books, magazines and newspaper headlines, the words caught my attention and I circled the shop and read everything - downstairs I replaced the Frrozen Hot Chocolate craving with an even better piece of NY cheesecake. The girls behind the counter assured me I could go get a Starbucks and make my train in 12 minutes. "We told you," they laughed as I whizzed by 6 minutes later.

Heading northbound on the Harlem line, I relaxed and watch the stops roll by. I saw cars waiting for their loved ones to embark from the train, the dinner hour in full swing at cafes that lined the city centers and finally the quaintness of Katonah came into view. I was relieved to have found my way back safely. And not just to my destination either.

Writing's Power to Heal

Writing's power to heal lies not in pen and paper, but in the mind of the writer.

--APA

Sharing our stories can also be a means of healing. Grief and loss may isolate us, and anger may alienate us. Shared with others, these emotions can be powerfully uniting, as we see that we are not alone, and realize that others weep with us.

--Susan Wittig Albert


It's been a year since I started this blog. I started writing again so I could do something positive with all the emotions I had inside my mind. To try and figure them out so to speak. The address I haven't publicized, but rather shared with only a chosen few...putting posts out when the mood would strike me - not blogging for the sake of blogging but just using it when I needed to examine something and see where it was going - why I was thinking about it or rather trying to decipher some confusing feelings and dreams.

For a time I couldn't write - the words simply would not form for me like they used to - but time is a powerful thing and a year ago I was able to let the keyboard sing again. Like most, I worry about my writing and if I will be judged for what I put down on paper. However, this format enables me to let my thoughts go in an anonymous world and in doing so it has saved a part of me and gave part of me back to myself. Finally I can love the giver - myself.

My writing has allowed me to finally get mad at my ex-husband! It has allowed me to walk on a hiking trail I traveled on long ago. It has allowed me to remember and cherish a special person I love deeply and have lost touch with... It has allowed me to love my old self and build a new self. It has allowed me to define the new space I live in...realizing that it's a good space after all.

This weekend I dreamed I was riding on a train in a antique passenger car... I knew my fellow passengers but I didn't know them...We were all content to be headed in the direction we were going. After I opened my eyes and going throughout the day, I realized that these dream was telling me that my life is heading in the right direction. I had been off-track for a while, but now I'm back on the right course. It is the greatest feeling to realize this feeling of contentment.

What a difference a year has made for me - I'm enrolled in a Master's Program and yes, I have the confidence finally to hold my head up and be a Single Parent (after calling everyone and checking in with everyone else first - yes it's okay, okay). I have a healthy, terrific, smiling, singing, skipping daughter who loves me and my mom and sisters are absolutely fabulous. And my friends, my chosen family - the ones I call on via a rotation basis so too many crisises doesn't overwhelm just one - well, there's not adequate words to describe the roll they have played in helping me build back my live and my self-confidence. They love me for me. They are there for me for my tearful "have to go sit in the car and cry" lunches and are there to laugh and call to make sure I'm watching our favorite team in the NCAA Sweet Sixteen this year.

A month and a half ago life was finally able to break through and make me realize how blessed I am with the life I have re-built and since that day the peace that I have prayed for so long has been present.

So now without my thoughts being clouded by worry I can continue observing things in life that touch me and record them here - my very special healing space.

Home Improvement

I began tackling another room makeover project - with great intentions I selected paint colors and began shopping for new fabrics to redo my bedroom. With a Saturday free, I made the hasty decision to remove the wallpaper in the master bath and paint the bathroom first. I thought it should only take what an afternoon?

I peeled wallpaper for 10 hours over the past weekend. The wallpaper is winning - half of it is still up on the walls, my back is shot and my fingernails still have sticky paste lodged underneath. That's what I get for thinking I would tackle the easiest job first. My oversized master bedroom would be painted by now.

It's amazing the inner dialog you carry on with yourself as you spend that many hours in one of the most utilized rooms of your home. I listened to music. Sang old songs to myself. Thanked myself for thanking myself and talked to the putty knife and magic wallpaper scrapper more times than I care to admit.

Earlier in this online journal I reflected on a lot of self-discovery in Putting on the Primer where I worked on a similar wallpaper removal project in my kitchen. I finished that project that had two stubborn layers of wallpaper (they were much easier) so I know I can do this. I couldn't help but remember the self-reflection that came with that project. This one is no different. So much has happened on my personal journey since then...

While I stripped wallpaper of less than a half inch in length from the wall - I grew frustrated about how long it was taking me - I had given up my weekend for this?!? As I sprayed and sprayed the solution on the wall and scrapped and scrapped I related this act to how long it takes to peel back any layers and see what's underneath. And when you do peel back one layer - sometimes you are only scratching the surface.

Recently, I stumbled upon a peaceful place in my post-divorce life. Days have passed when I don't think about attorney's, court or even attorney's fees. The familiar feeling I have walked around with like air has been let out of a balloon has momentarily left me. Am I finally getting over this?

The spring air has brought me back to the night four years ago when I didn't sleep and knew that when I left my home the next morning it would tragically be my last night there in the home & life that I cherished and loved.

In my conversation with self - I have pondered why I took this route and didn't do the easiest room first. I certainly didn't follow the path of least resistance. Sometimes that's a hard road NOT to take. I tried that in my marriage and it backfired on me.

I have slowly and steadily worked to refortify the foundation that crumbled underneath me. I'm still building and reconstructing - that foundation that I'm now responsible for will remain a work in progress - because I have learned that nothing, not even the colors of the walls, stays the same.

Doughnuts for Dads, Daughters and Dachshunds

They had donuts for dads this morning at school... my daughter got upset and started crying last night saying "daddy hasn't come to anything since kindergarden" - I just let her cry while I held her and told her how much that I loved her hoping that it would ease her hurt a little bit (her dad moved 1,000 miles away four years ago). I told her that I was sure there were some dads who were out of town and couldn't be there and then other kids like her - but to be strong and she would have another special time with her dad.

Then we went to church and in kids and adult worship they had Aash Wednesday service. For me it was very reaffirming when the minister put the ashes on my forehead in the sign of the cross and said "In the name of Jesus Christ you are forgiven" - hearing those words I felt both a sense of spiritual and physical relief wash over me - and I was glad I had made the effort to go the service because the path I have had to take this past year has been both clear and confusing and I'm trying to just look ahead and not look back. When I picked her up from children's worship she had ashes on her forehead also and she was tickled that we both had them

So early this morning - I made a sign that said Doughnuts for Dachshunds - and our dachshund was cooperative and acted crazy - jumping on her owner and biting her toes to wake her up and running like a banshee under the bed and into the bathroom at breakneck speed (at least for a dachshund okay)...and wouldn't stop until she got a mini doughnut...and that chilled the crazy pooch out by the time we left for the day ... so I walked my daughter into school in the midst of all those fathers and said I was going to storm into the principal's office and ask why they couldn't have "Moonpies for Moms" and she loved that and held my hand and was swinging it. So we circumvented the doughnut event and I kept us busy with a classroom project I am assisting with for Read Across America and got her to help me with a tape measure - then we saw a classmate and his dad from the beach this summer and the dad took one look at her instantly caught on and was so wonderful to talk to her about their moonlit hunt for crabs on the beach at night and she was beaming. Internally, I said a silent thank you to the dad - it meant so much to me.

My mom is taking her to her favorite doughnut shop, The Donut Den, this afternoon for a special doughfilled treat.

However, tomorrow is another day - Doughnuts for Dads P - Z. For now I'm taking one moment at a time and hoping that in the morning a crazy dachshund will provide some more much needed licks, laughs and pleas for doughnuts.

How Did My Life Get So Off Track?

Did I got too far?
I can never turn back.

Two moments in my life
That got off track.

Will I always regret
the loss of civility?

With two people that I loved
that hurt me deeply.

I lashed out in anger
tired of being hurt.

To prove myself
to state my self-worth.

What am I trying to prove?

I made my statement
loud and clear.

They had both discarded me
No longer held me dear.

Did I reach my unstated goal?

Did I pull even?

Did I change my role?

Did I achieve the direction
I was trying to gain?

If so, why do I still
feel so much confusion and pain.

I made my statement
now what do I do?

Retreat to my safe place
and lick my wounds?

I wonder...

Will I ever get past this?
Will I ever heal?

These two episodes in my life
ever fresh and surreal.

Am I standing up to another father
so he won't do the same thing to his little daughter?

Their rejection was my story,
my life's underlying theme.

Do I just want someone held accountable
to give rise to my self-esteem?

Going Back to College to Get More Knowledge

This summer I took a giant leap of faith in myself and applied for graduate school. For fear that I wouldn't get accepted I told no one what I was attempting. I did a serious self-evaluation in writing my personal statement, acquired my recommendation letters and closed my eyes when viewing my long forgotten transcript and GPA from my undergradute days. Still unsure of myself, I dusted off my portfolio from all my acquired work from the past 18 years, remembered the tips from my mock interview with my sister and went to an interview with the Dean of the program.

Two weeks of holding my breath later, I GOT AN ACCEPTANCE LETTER via email! I was schocked beyond belief and weak with relief. Before I would not have had any doubt of my abilities, but my shaky confidence wouldn't allow me to get my hopes up.

My undergraduate experience was some of the best four years of my life. I now found myself wondering what I had gotten myself into? At my first orientation for graduate students, I felt like quite the granny compared to some of the young kids sitting around me who weren't born until the (gasp!) 1980s. When my first paper was due, I discovered that I had forgotten the MLA rules of style and had to ask an 80s baby to refresh my clouded memory. Mrs. Estes, my AP English teacher from McGavock, would be appalled if she knew of my lapse in MLA brain cells.

Combining classes and work make for some long days and nights for me - but I know the end result will be worth it. This experience has already worked wonders for my battered self-confidence. I know that going after this degree would not have been an option for me in my former married life and I remind myself each time I walk to class what a privilege this is to take part in. More importantly, I feel like an important member of the community I find amongst and I didn't realize how much I needed to belong to something like this. My goal of obtaining this master's degree has given me a new purpose - one that I will be proud to accomplish.

The one night away a week is probably hardest on my daughter. When I first told her I was going back to school and it was going to take me three years to complete my degree this way, she burst into tears. "Mommy, you are leaving me for three years?" She interpreted it to mean I was leaving her behind literally going away to college. I quickly explained that this was not the case. "Why do you have to go back to school?" she asked. And I found myself evaluating my personal statement once again in a way to explain it to my seven year old.

Basically, I just told her that no matter how old you are learning never ends. I wasn't content to just read books on my own - that I wanted to study, examine, discuss things, be challenged and earn a higher degree for myself. I'm doing this for us, I told her, so I can get a better job and be a better person, a good example for her. Where this landed in her comprehension I'm not sure, but she loves that I have homework too, assigned readings and papers and research on the internet and was eager to see my "report card" at the end of the semester. I try to do my homework when she is doing her assignments.

Over the years, my reading has saved me - it has let me escape and taken me to places that I will never see. Already my graduate student experience has given me so much - courage to believe in my abilities again, finding my voice to express my opinion amongst other learners and realize that it counts.

During my interview with the Dean I told him - that if I were accepted that I would complete the program, because I always start what I finish and that was my sincere intention. This isn't only a quest for knowledge and accomplishment or a piece of paper to hang on the wall - it represents so much more for me at this point in my life.

My daughter came home one day with a new rhyme she learned on the playground it goes something like this... "Girls go to college to get more knowledge ... Boys go to Jupiter to get more stupider". I wince when I hear this last part from growing up in a household where we were not allowed to say anyone was stupid or dumb it pains me to hear the latter part of this phrase repeated. The former president of Harvard, Lawrence Summers, would definitely debate me on the merits of the statement as well. But I love the first part - Girls go to college to get more knowledge. I can only hope and dream my daughter will follow in these footsteps - I've learned in my life that it's truly not about the destination, but the journey that leads you there.

And I'm Going to be Forty

Sally: ... and I'm going to be forty.

Harry: When?

Sally: Someday.

Harry: In eight years.

Sally: But it's there. It's just sitting there like this big dead end.


-- When Harry Met Sally




2007 - this year I turn 40 (gasp!)

Actually I can't wait to embrace fortydom! No dead end for me - it represents a new beginning - with the drop of the ball on New Year's Rockin' Eve my countdown officially began! Goodbye tumultous thirties! Hello 40 and Welcome Back Home Sabrina!

My celebratory goals for the first year:

--continue to work on my Master's Degree.

--celebrate my official entrance into adulthood (Finally I feel like I'm going to be a bonafide adult).

--hike Mt. LeConte.

--go on a fabulous Girl's Trip to commemorate this milestone.

--have a fabulous party in honor of my family and friends that got me here!

--help my other friends turning 40 this year to enjoy it just as much as me.

--count each and every blessing.

--buy myself a fabulous birthday present.


This is going to be the year of living fabulously. No looking back - just straight ahead!



Watch out world - here I come!

"Dear George, remember no man is a failure who has friends.

Thanks for the wings, Love Clarence."

I Lost it at Starbucks

After my 6th trip in one hour to the big box stores in search of a hot Christmas item for KK, I stopped at the Starbucks counter at Target on my way to the parking lot. I couldn't score the elusive game I was in search of, but a latte was

available for my consumer consumption. Instead of the normal overeducated coffee baristas that normally man the counter, two older ladies who seemed transplanted from Jersey took our orders and had plenty of wisecracks and Christmas cheer to spare.

I must have looked miserable as I moved to the pickup counter to grab my white chocolate mocha, Tina looked at me and said "Are you okay hon?" She stepped out from behind the counter and gave me a hug and without even knowing what was bothering me gave me a squeeze and said "you know everything is going to be okay." I quickly gulped in a deep breath of hair, grabbed my to go cup and blindly ran out of Target. The kindness of a stranger was again overwhelming and I lost all composure - everything I had been trying to hold in for the past week came pouring out.

I called the manager later in the day - I'm sure he was rushed and harried - but I had to impress on him how much it meant to me that at 9:00am the customer service at my favorite store was over the top - they probably think that lady in the red sweater is whacked - but I don't care. I got weepy again trying to stress how much it meant to me. His impatience finally broke and he said he would make sure he would pass on my sincere thanks. I hope he did - the wisecracker from Jersey had the biggest heart and the warmest hug.

I Want to Be a "Rock Star" Mom

I always find comfort when I hear movie stars, professional athletes, physicians and others in the public eye (who have demanding jobs and schedules) say that their most important job is that of being a parent. Julia Roberts (she's my age : 0 ) went on Oprah recently to tout the most important role of her career, motherhood. I guess it makes me think - wow, a person living a privileged life - wants exactly what I do - to be the best mom or dad. If they accomplish that all these other accolades fade away. I realize that maybe I'm not missing out on anything after all.

A few months ago, I dropped my daughter off at school on a Monday morning. She skipped off to the front door wearing a zippy white, brown and plaid skirt, her Mary Janes and an Old Navy t-shirt that said "My Mom is Rock Star". I felt like a rock star that day... the night before I had prepared her snacks, filled out permissions slips and water bottles, ironed her clothes and laid out her lunch money, library books & ballet bag for the entire week. We arrived at school on time and I felt good about myself. We had our act together and were both prepared for another week in the world.

Four hours later, I was eating lunch at my desk and got a phone call from the school nurse. My daughter had thrown up in the school cafeteria! Did she have any other symptoms? Could it be strep? Has anyone else in her class been sick or gone home early? My mind raced to calling the pediatrician's office on my speed dial, getting someone to cover me at work for the rest of the day and thinking of what would I do about the next day - she couldn't be at school in a 24 hour period after getting sick.

I drove to her school quite dejected thinking of the shirt she was wearing and how what a joke it was - a mockery now because I was feeling quite unlike a "rock star" super mom at the moment. When I arrived she confessed that she had eaten ranch dressing on a chocolate chip cookie. Maybe it's a stomach bug and the combination she had eaten was too much to take I thought, but I still worried about the rest of our week and how it would unfold. I couldn't bear to look at the sassy shirt any longer.

We went home and changed out of school and work clothes and she was imprisoned on the couch for the rest of what would be a low-key afternoon. I had to talk myself out of beating myself up from worrying about my boss and job, and slowly began to realize that it's okay to come out of overdrive and just simply be mom for the afternoon.

As a parent, I worry everyday over parenting her - that I don't get to spend enough time with her - that I don't read to her every night, that she is living in a single parent home, that she eats a good breakfast and enough fruit and vegetables each day, what would happen to her if I died early, not having $$ to have decent life insurance to leave behind if something did happen to me, making sure she goes to college, not having a father figure in her daily life, that she lives a good, moral life with me as a role model, that I don't have enough $$ in my bank account for an emergency fund, that if she could she would be a night owl, that if I accept a movie invite from a friend that I feel guilty spending time away from her. Sometimes all that alone is so overwhelming to me.

So to hold it together I try to keep everything moving forward in one direction at a safe, speed. Try to keep us on a routine so our family life runs smooth and we don't notice the person missing from the picture. We had to paint a new photo of what our family looks like and we are both finally getting used to it.

Who doesn't want to be a "rock star" mom that has fun with their child and makes super parenting decisions. I do. I want to be on top of everything in her life, give her piano and violin lessons, get her a math tutor, be involved in her community and set a good example at all times and want the correct words to come out of my mouth in teaching moments. But in a total "rock star" mom fantasy world, I would love to fly her to Chicago and treat her to lunch at the American Girl Place and spend the afternoon looking at the dinosaurs at the The Field Museum. Or take her to Serendipity's in NYC so she can have a Frrrozen Hot Chocolate and jump on the piano at FAO Schwarz. Or watch her swim with a dolphin on a Disney cruise.

Like any parent, I naturally want to give my daughter the world. But naturally all she needs is a mom who is loving, patient, and kind (especially after hearing chocolate chip cookies dipped in ranch type confessions). It's intrinsic that we know this, but good to remind ourselves that your child doesn't care if you are a rock star or a person of privilege to be able to provide the basics - love, boundaries and a happy home.

The Kindness of Strangers

There have been many instances in my journey where I have had to rely on the kindness of strangers. In all of the instances, as the receiver of these acts of kindness, the acts directed towards me always touches me to my very soul.

In the months that followed our separation, my car started a rapid decline in health. The Jeep Grand Cherokee, which had once been a status symbol of our financial union, had over 270,000 miles on it. It had served me well. The SUV was medium sized not monster sized and I loved to drive it.

At 270,000 it started having some minor aches and pains and in a car like this they were not always the most inexpensive fixes. I found a local dealership that would help me. The car and I would limp in, I would drive it through through the service bay and get out and hand my keys to the assistant service manager. Over the months that ensued I found myself driving the familiar route once or twice a month and a few times, AAA would be summoned for transport.

I'm not sure how the service manager found out, but somehow he knew I was going through some hard times. Once I arrived at the end of the day to pick up my Jeep, walked up to the window to collect my bill and all the service fees had been waived and I had only been charged for the parts. Knowing the bill was wrong, I asked for the service manager. He quickly appeared inquired if everything was alright with my car and I told him my concern. He laid a hand on my shoulder and told me that "Yes, the bill is absolutely correct." Trying to hold back tears to save us both the embarrassment, I could barely mouth my "Thank you so much" out to him before blindly walking to my car. This happened more than once.

Once one of the mechanics said in passing, the black Jeep is back again? And I saw the Service Manager cut his eyes at him and I'm sure that later he got a good dressing down. How did this service manager get to be me and my Jeep's personal guardian angel?

One morning with my 4-year-old belted into her car seat, I pulled into the familiar bay and I saw him give a nod to the mechanics and they surrounded my car. I hadn't even turned off my engine yet. Two young men had opened my car doors, taken my keys, filled out my service report, gently unbuckled my daughter, removed her car seat and back pack and upon seeing my eyes water with grateful tears they quickly shuttled me and my belongings to the front of the Courtesy Car line ahead of many those waiting. It was like I had my own personal pit crew everytime I arrived. I could almost hear the paging system blaring "Woman about to cry in service bay - take care of her fast!!" If I wasn't so desperate at the time, it would have almost been comical.

It meant so much to me at the time, because I did need the extra help, but I didn't understand why they were helping me and not the next person. Needless to say, thanks to the continual breakdown of my car, the men in the service department didn't stay strangers for long. However, their kindness touched and humbled me in a way I can't describe.

It doesn't end there - I have had gift cards appear mysteriously in my mailbox, help with odds and ends and a group of nameless friends at church knitted me a prayer shawl. My family supports me in a never ending fashion. I have been stripped and humbled in ways that I didn't know possible; maybe this is the lesson in all this for me. I once had been hopeless and I found my way out. Through the help of my family and the kindness of strangers, my faith and hope have been miraculously restored.

Continuance

Stuck in limbo
Caught in between
So much legalese
I don't know what it means.

My BP is rising
Anger is spiking
Hopes are dashed
Emotions splashed

I'm so disheartened
Feels like no one cares about my plight
my futile disgusting one woman fight

So much of my life feels at stake
Lady Justice is not only blind
but on a prolonged coffee break.

My Grandmother's Quilt

I automatically reach for my quilt every morning when I wake up. To ward off the coolness of the morning I cover my shoulders for a few more minutes. The quilt gives me physical and emotional comfort that no other covering can. As I feel its softness and the worn pieces of material that hold it together, I always think of the love that was put into making it. Every morning it's like I get a hug from someone that loves me.

You see the quilt was made expressly for me by my grandmother when I graduated from college. She brought it all the way to Knoxville from Big Rock, Tennessee. I remember her handing me the bulky package to unwrap and although I knew what was inside I was surprised when I opened it and saw how beautiful it was. So many quilt pieces and so many sweet stories from the clothes that made the blocks upon blocks of my quilt.

It would have been a surprise, but during one weekend visit my grandfather swore my to secrecy and tiptoed into the room and pulled back of sheet and my quilt was revealed. He grinned sheepishly, I think he even giggled mischeviously - loving that he let the cat out of the bag and that I was so thrilled. It wasn't until years after he had died that I told my grandmother that story. She loved hearing about his trick and she smiled and called him a rascal. Just another piece of the quilt that made it so special.

I have slept under the quilt now for 17 years. Sometimes when I'm away from home I just don't rest as easy without it covering me. The weight of the materials against by body is perfect. When I fled my marital home in fear, it was the only possession besides my contact case and solution that I took with me. I slept through many restless nights in the days, weeks and months that followed but the quilt gave me a comfort that nothing else could.

Today, I treat it gingerly. I spot clean it. Each morning I fold it up carefully and put it on the cedar chest at the foot of my bed. I reach for it everynight when I finally decide to let go of the day and lay down. Some of the quilt pieces are loose and the edges are becoming frayed. I probably should have taken better care of it and appreciated it more.

A few months ago, I realized that the quilt had become fragile like my grandmother. It's not holding up as good as it used to but I do what I can to piece it back together. The maker of this beautiful quilt has suffered a stroke and heart attack in the past weeks and we had to make the painful decision to move her into a long term care facility. She has a few items in her room, remembrances of her family to give her comfort, but nothing as special as the quilt she made for me.

Every weekend when I change my bedding I examine my quilt and I notice a little bit more wear and tear, a few more pieces trying to break free and wonder how much longer it will last. Every time I visit Grandmother, she's a little bit more confused. She's always happy that I'm there and I always make sure I take the time to just sit with her and hold her hand, and I'm always comforted by her warm and loving touch.

Andrew's Bald (elevation 5860 feet)

The day I spent hiking up to Andrews Bald was one of the best days of my life. How could I consider this short hike in The Great Smoky Mtns. National Park one of the greatest days of my life and place it on my personal best list? It's wasn't a momentous occasion like the birth of a child or a wedding or a job celebration or even finishing a marathon. Just simply a day spent in the quiet company of a good friend in a place with the most spectacular views.

Have you ever had a day that you would like to relive? Do it over to make the memory last? I haven't gone back to this trail but I think about it, and the day spent on it, often.

We both needed a break from school and had made a last minute decision to go to the mountains for the day. We entered the park and drove by the Sugarlands Visitor Center. As we headed up the mountain we cruised by the visual landmarks - The Chimneys, Mt. LeConte, Newfound Gap - we had briefly discussed hiking to Alum Cave Bluffs, but decided to head as high as we could and see what we could find.

We found the trail leading from Clingman's Dome on a lazy fall day. The mist that normally surrounds Clingman's Dome eluded us here. The Red Spruce and Fraser Firs that lined the trail and ringed the bald artfully framed the bottom of the beautiful vista. The trail was relatively easy - a four mile round trip hike - two miles in we came what I can best describe as a meadow on a mountain top. Not rough or rugged but grassy and smooth - no trees that blocked the views of Fontana Lake and the North Carolina mountain range that faced us. The day was sunny, the wind was light & both gently brushed our faces.

We didn't talk about anything earth shattering rather I think we were both aware that my friend was graduating the following spring and we both knew that our joined paths would soon branch away from each other. We talked about nothing in particular. At times we sat in silence and just took in the view. We pointed out things the other didn't notice. For a while we sat back to back propping each other up. I looked at the wildflowers and wondered how this place existed without my prior knowledge to this day? It was so beautiful. I soaked up my Vitamin D quotient for the rest of the year.

I don't know why I get so nostalgic when I think of the day. Maybe it represents the transition my life was getting ready to take. Maybe it just simply represents the happiness that I was experiencing in my life.

Andrews Bald is definitely one of my "Wide Open Spaces" - a place in the clouds / a foundation of stone / But what it holds for her, she hasn't yet guessed.

In my journey to find the pieces of myself I have lost - I'm finding comfort in returning to the places I have loved the most. The beach - the mountains - old friends I have lost touch with - letting new friends into my life. If I could relive that day - I would pay more attention to the path that led me to the meadow - the stones I stepped on - the protectiveness of the trees. And I would have opened my eyes wider to path that led me away from this mountain top that I have always loved.

Andrews Bald - elevation 5860 feet - the memory of this day helps me to revisit the elevations of my life and find the simple girl who I used to be.

Where you stumble and fall there you will find the gold.

Sam Keen