Posts: 4

1. Homecoming

   23.May.07, 15:28 EDT
   
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   This weekend, my sister, mom, and I packed up the 2 babies and headed to Jacksonville, NC. We were going to meet my brother as he returned from a nine-month stint in Iraq. His return had been delayed several times and even as we left I don't think any of us really believed he was coming home. We decided to leave at midnight and drive through the night to minimize the amount of baby-in-the-car drama… despite the fact that we had all put in at least a 10 hr day at work. I won't get into the details… but it wasn't pretty. Sephira did stop crying about 3:00 and we managed a few peaceful hours of driving.
   Somewhere around 6:00 am my mom decided to stop consulting the directions and got us nice and lost. Which was awesome. We ended up on these back, country roads and the sun was just starting to show through the trees and this incredible fog was all over the ground. It was beautiful.  It was so thick you couldn't see through it. It came off the roofs of the houses, which made them look nice and cozy and warm, and made me jealous of all the people inside snuggling under their covers and sleeping in on a Saturday morning. We pulled into Jacksonville about 8:00. As soon as we got to the edge of the Marine base, it became apparent that we weren't the only ones anticipating this homecoming. Signs hung from windows and fences reading "welcome home daddy" and "we're proud son".  Against my absolute better judgment, I immediately got all teary eyed. 
   I've long had my own opinion about the military and about the Marine Corps in particular. Much of this opinion has been shaped by my experience with my brother and his portrayal of what a Marine should be. I've mostly assumed a sort of ignorance to belong to this blood hungry, violent pack of drunks. I was sure that all of them were there to satisfy their desire to kill somebody or were simply unable to find and maintain jobs in the real world. My brother always insisted that God gave certain men the desire to do what they do so that everyone else didn't have to. I think now I kind of understand that. After this weekend I can certainly say that it is I who has been ignorant… incredibly so. I can barely believe how differently I thought 48 hours ago.
   What I knew then but understand now is that these men are sons, husbands, and brothers. These men have sacrificed seeing the births of their babies. They have missed birthdays, weddings, funerals, first steps and first words, hugs, and kisses, not to mention hot showers and home cooked meals.  Each of them have been missed by someone every second of every hour that they were away. Moms have worried and fretted, wives have not slept.
   On base, hundreds had gathered to welcome home these men. Families hung out with coolers, blankets, and beach chairs. Hand painted signs hung from every railing, windowsill, and roof.  Cars were painted and draped with flags and banners. Speakers had been set up and intermittently blared music and announced the landing of the flights and departures of the buses that held the troops. Inside the barracks, every door was decorated and homemade cookies sat on every bed. It was then that I realized the gravity of what was happening. Every person here had been holding his or her breath for the last nine months. It was as though the entire crowd was now breathing a huge collective sigh of relief. 
   When it was finally announced that the boys were at the main gate of the base everyone went crazy. It was amazing. As the buses rolled up the noise was deafening. Even Sephira had both her arms in the air and was waving frantically. In front of me, a wife had one hand on her very, very pregnant belly and with the other she held a sign with her husband's name. Left and right woman pushed strollers with babies that were about to meet their fathers for the first time. Every wife and girlfriend here had thought for weeks, even months about what they would wear on this day, how they would look, and what they would say. Now they stood proud, dressed to the nine and shaking with excitement.
   And then the chaos began. Men began to pour out of six different buses searching desperately for a familiar face. They screamed at the top of their lungs with excitement as they found their families.  People were jumping up and down. Tears were streaming down everyone's faces. I have never seen such an open display of emotion in my life, most of it coming from the soldiers themselves. The energy was SO intense it was hard not to cry. I watched as babies tentatively reached out to strangers they called daddy, unsure of what to do. Younger kids who were old enough to remember clung tightly to their fathers, arms wrapped around necks. I witnessed some of the most passionate kisses ever. Sons embraced fathers and grandfathers and every face beamed with pride. It is a moment that will stick in my memory forever.
   Eventually, we packed everyone up and took my brother to the hotel to get the first real shower he had had in a long time. He smelled so bad! Most everyone staying at the hotel had come in to pick up a family member so the whole place was vibrating with excitement. I'm sure the hot water bill for the place hit a record high this month.
   The rest of the weekend was equally as emotion filled. Everywhere we went people stopped my brother to thank him for his service. We'd be sitting at a red light and people would be honking their horn at him (of course our car was decorated). And I have to say I was actually proud to be seen with him. It was the first time in my life that I wasn't embarrassed to say my brother is a Marine.
   I know that my brother's time over there wasn't what he expected it to be and that while he was there he learned a lot about war and politics. But I've learned a lot myself while he was gone. I was angry when he left because I didn't feel he understood this war well enough to fight in it. But no one understands this war anymore and I think we were fooling ourselves if we ever thought we did. What my brother did understand, though, was that there was a chance, even if just a small one, that one day it might not be safe for his mother or his sister or his niece to get on an airplane or to get into a bus without being afraid. And that was the thing he left to protect. That was and is the thing that all these men leave, fight, and die to protect. And for that I am proud.

2. A bad day

   17.May.07, 01:23 EDT
   
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    The south has offered me a different perspective on a lot of things. But one of the most baffling things yet is the blatent sexism and racism. I knew it existed but I guess I wasn't really ready for it. So yesterday, I was at Wal-Mart, running errands for work. I'm standing in the "20 items or less" check-out line which was sort of merging itself sloppily with another "regular" check-out line due to the massive overflow of spender happy consumers. I'm holding Sephira and waiting patiently for my turn when suddenly I hear this commotion behind me. Standing there... or should I say swaying there... was this older guy clutching his case of Milwakee's Best and loudly berating this Mexican family. His voice is escalating into a scream as he insists to this woman that she is not in the right line. He continues to yell at her that she has more than 20 items. And can't she count and to get her ass out of the line. This poor woman is shopping with her children and speaks English but is obviously flustered and embarrassed and had turned bright red and is being utterly humiliated in front of eveyrone. And the place was packed. And she is trying her best to defend herself and explain to this man that she is in the right line (and she was) but the stupid man is drunk and won't listend and furthermore doesn't care to hear so he keeps on screaming. So the woman feebily continues and finally gives up and tries to ignore him, fixing her eyes on the ground but the jackass just keeps on yelling. But the thing about it all... the thing that pissed me off more than anything... is that not a single person, employee or customer, did a single thing. Everyone just stood there watching. And as this continues on I am thinking surely someone will call security. So I sort of waited, having had my fair share of exchanges with drunk men and also taking into consideration the fact that I am holding my 10 mo daughter in my arms. But when it became obvious that no one else was going to, I stepped in and did my best to explain to this very drunk, beligerant and ignorant bastard that she was not in the wrong line but that he was reading the wrong sign and should just come and get in line with us and leave her be... knowing that it was pointless but at the very least hoping to detract some attention from this woman who was trying to maintain any last shred of dignity in front of her children. I can only imagine how this day will stay in their memory and what it said to them about their place here on earth. And when the white girl with the baby stepped in... and only then did someone finally call security, which infuriated me even more. They were content to stand there and let this man yell this woman into the ground as if they somehow believed she deserved it. It so rocked my world that I got into my car (looking over my shoulder for the duration of the walk)  and cried. Not because he had yelled at me but because of the pathetic state that humanity has arrived at when we do nothing to help each other out (ok, and also because I'm very hormonal these days).
   Of course, all of this is the climatic point in a recent discovery that pointless evil... evil without provocation or cause... exists in the world. That same evil which I have named "monster" keeps me from restful sleep each and every night. And the event that tipped the scale for me, that made me give monster it's name is as follows: Recently, some local mothers that I met told me a story of a woman not much older than myself who was traveling with her family. She was walking out of a restaurant in Georgia, pregnant and with her daughter in her arms (who was less than a year old) when she passed a man in the parking lot. She gave the man a polite nod and continued on her way. This same man proceded to get into his pick-up truck and back over mother and daughter. And then her pull forward and do it 4 more times. The baby in her arms did not survive. Amazingly enough the mother and her unborn child did. When asked why he did it, the man replied that he had been having a bad day. I look at my daughter, the epitomy of innocence, and cannot imagine the agony this woman must have experienced. To lose a child in an accident, a mishap, is sad enough. But to lose a child to the grasp of unrational and inexplicable malice is beyond comprehension.
   So my world has been a little off kilter lately. My steps are a little unsure. And I am now a little more untrusting of the man who stands next to me at the check-out counter. Of strangers who smile at my daughter... perhaps I even flinch when they step too close. I am now faced with the task of raising her to survive in this world. Of teaching her to believe the best in people while cautioning her of the worst. I do not know if the two can be done and in the end I cannot tell which lesson will best preserve her life. Should she live a life a fear for the sake of life itself or a life of naivety sustained by the mercy of this monster?

3. Notes from the car

   11.May.07, 23:32 EDT
   
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   I'm sitting in my car because Spehira fell asleep on the way home and if I take her out she will wake up and if I leave her alone she will freak out. gotta love wireless
   
   ok.... first to answer questions- Espionage was my first choice in a major but sadly UNCA just got rid of it. Apparently enrollment was low which I can't really understand... I don't know anyone who hasn't entertained the idea of being a spy. So I will have to settle for something else. I have been tossing and turning at night because I can't decide between English teaching (the safe practical child-friendly career- home by 4 and summers off) or politlcal science (the lofty change the world career in which I pretend that I can make a difference if I get the right major). I really want to work for an NPO- but in the upper ranks of things where I actually have a say and where I have influence and can change things. Honestly, now that I'm a single mom and relying on "the Man" for my means I have a greater appreciation for our welfare system and with it a huge dream to reform it. It simply does not work as is (and that's my lecture). But these days you really have to have a masters to do anything so big. I don't know. I have a hard time dealing with the anxiety of not knowing whether I can buy diapers tomorrow or pay the bills. And I don't want to raise Sephira under that kind of stress. I don't need a lot of money but I do need the certainty of a pay-check. And working for change the world kind of situations usually negates that. There are days when I think I'm just going to pack us up and join the Peace Corps but even that you have to have a degree for now. So for now I have contented myself with the idea that I will major in one and minor in the other although that probably won't happen because I'm not sure I can do that and really be a good mom at the same time. Honestly I think I just like to distract myself with indecision.
   
   
   Sephira's dance style... consists mostly of a frantic waving of the arms while simutanously rocking the upper torso back and forth. The bottom half of her body has not yet figured out that it too can join in but I have faith that it will soon enough! She is simply one of the happiest babies I know. Except that lately she has demanded to be held ALL the time. Of course, if I comply she goes right on being the happiest baby in the world. If I don't.... doom.... very sad... many tears... breaking of mommy's heart. I have a feeling she might be getting a bit spoiled because I cannot stand to hear her cry and there is no one around to balance me out. Oh well, I can think of worst things.
   
   Alright, onto the city question. I do like big cities... for short periods of time. But I do not get the appeal of Philly. I guess though when I really think about it, I do enjoy that art and the scene a lot. There is a huge creative flow there. However, the weather makes me suicidal (as does Pittsburgh... where there is much less art so it sucks even worse) and apparently the weather makes everyone else suicidal too... at least as far as my take on Philly goes... a bunch of depressed jaded grumpy people who are nice for awhile in the summer.

4. 05-10

   11.May.07, 22:49 EDT
   
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   Ok, let's see... I just moved to Flat Rock, NC, which is seriously one of the best places ever. I LOVE it. I live in this little cottage that used to be used for vacation rentals but went out of business and have been sitting empty for years. So we are trying to bring life back into them and in return get to live here for free. There are lots of spiders in my bed all the time and sometimes late at night I am convinced that Sephira is going to get bit by a black widow or that the scary mystery monster that lives in the woods outside our bedroom window will come in and eat us... I have too big an imagination to be allowed to live alone (it's not the dying that's scares me... it's the fearful process of being killed?). Anyway, my sister bought me a foghorn the other day and it makes me feel a little better although I'm not really sure who would hear it. At the very least it could cause the monster to go deaf.
   
   Our house is about two minutes from Carl Sandburg's house (the poet... if you don't know him look him up), which sits on some 200 amazing acres. Lately I have been taking Sephira over there to walk in the evening and I pretend we are living a hundred years ago. It is my Breakfast at Tiffany's in the country. There's this perfect space of time right after the sun sets and the air starts to cool and this foggy steamy stuff comes up off the lake. His house is this big white thing that sits perfectly on top of this hill that thankfully they don't mow and so all this big tall grass just ripples from the edge of the water to the top of the hill. Like I said... magical. And they have goats, which Sephira loves and this big fat cat named Tiger that comes and sits on the bench outside the barn and let's Sephira pull his tail. And this adorable little garden. Of course, Carl Sandburg is dead but the state pays these people to do a really good job at making things look like he might pop back in at any moment. If he did I'm sure we would be friends.
   
   It's funny that you compare your life to a James Bond movie... I think my life is much like Sex & the City minus the sex or the city (or the expensive shoes and glamorous dresses, make-up, hot guys, big apartments, night clubs and oh yeah, the friends).
   
   The thing about this place is that it's everything I dreamed of having when I "settled down". It's in the mountains and there's room to lay roots and I'm only 1.2 hr from this artsy smallish but growing city. The only thing is I'm missing all the other essentials pieces to "settling". It's really hard to meet people here because it's so small and even if it weren't I'm still jumping that hurtle of leaving Sephira. It's just a strange and foreign space for me... to be so very socially isolated. I've watched more tv these last 10 months than I have my entire life combined. But alas I think I have finally decided to return to school this fall and I think we will move to Asheville for the duration. I'm not down for the 1/2 hr commute. All these decisions.
   
   I have a feeling this letter might be a bit rambling and disconnected. I've had to get up about 20 times now to distract S. It seems the longer she's alive the shorter her attention span grows. Right now she's clawing at the screen door and crying for me to take her outside. For some reason she thinks I am her ride everywhere. She danced for the first time this morning. It was the coolest thing. It's funny how the human body just instinctively reacts to music. That or she was imitating her weird mommy.