Writing and other joys

My youngest child says to me this morning, "If I were to create a blog, it would just say, Save the Planet!"

I love to write. I always have. I have kept creative journals since I can remember. I have documented the fun times and the most painful events and it has shown me an aweful lot about people and myself. Somehow, writing it all down seems to help me make sense of it.

It can sometimes be easy to find my path has altered course a little at a time until my destination seems unrecognizable. This happens for my benefit and sometimes for my detriment.

If I had never altered my course at all, I would be an engineer in a research laboratory somewhere. At one time, I thought it was a good idea to get a job in the field I was studying and soon after, nixed the engineering course. Yes, I still would like to make a great discovery, or create a better version of something already in use, but I did not relish spending the greater majority of my time with more computers than people. I changed my direction. My writing showed me both that I felt isolated with so few people around, and that I really do still like the scientific process. I found more confidence in myself, not failure.

I don't even need to explain why dating requires altering ones course. I mean really. If I had married the first or second or hundred and fourth guy I went on a date with, who knows where I would be today.

I can say that I am making changes that will benefit my family and the planet, but if I look through my journal and seem the same, "maybe next time" statements, I know that I am not doing enough. It is accountability. It is peace of mind, it is a reminder that I am growing. It is self awareness that at one time in my life I loved chocolate and detested popcorn. It is a reminder that pitfalls in life are not the last chasm of doom. Most importantly, it has been a reminder that no matter what, I have made it through. I am not alone. I am heard. I am loved.

Each person I take the time to get to know, makes an imprint on my path. Some people have influenced me to try things that seemed completely beyond me. Some have reminded me of the value of a good friend. Human contact is precious to me. I am not "enough" on my own. I bend to my own will, I listen to my own judgement. Other people remind me of what is true. Other people remind me that I am not the smartest, nor the creator of all.

Imagine just how aweful I would be.....without my friends and my stories of them in my blog. I need a little of their stardust dropped on me often. I can write about it, and remember later when I think that all is lost, or that I am so special that "God is picking on me".

Because I am surrounded with the love of others, their stories of hope and pain, and their gentle reminders, I know that I am not so unique.  I am not the only one who has ever gone through this struggle and gift we call a life.  I know that I am not alone. I know that God is not picking on me.  Life is what it is.  It is sprinkled with joy, hope, calamity, excruciating pain and plenty of mystery.
 
Fortunately for me, mine provides plenty to write about.

Crack People

    Crack people is a term one of my aunts used to use.  She was in a crossroads in her own life when I first remember her using the term.  She had given up her stable career to pursue a completely different career.  While she was in college, she said once that she was now considered a "crack person".  Too poor to afford what she needed, but since she had her own home and a modest income, she did not qualify for food stamps or any other assistance.  She had fallen into a "crack". 
    Okay, so I really am not there. Yes, I did quit a very good, very stable job to pursue another career.  Yes, my new income is a mere percentage of my previous income, but I'm not there financially.  I can still afford not only what I need, but choices.
    However, her terminology did get me thinking.  I was born a citizen of the United States.  When I was a small child, I moved to Europe.  I went to Department of Defense Dependents Schools. (DoDDS) I spent my daytime around other Americans and my evenings and weekends with my English neighbors. I graduated from school there.  I loved it, although I was always the American girl.  I moved here, and yes, I am an American, with a US Passport, but I felt like a foreigner here. 
     Twenty years later, I still get "homesick".. When I say that, I mean for England.  Scientists believe that soon after birth, animals 'imprint' their mothers.  (I'm sure if I did a search, someone else has perhaps made this comparison.)  When a baby animal is around another species during that 'imprinting' time, it can be 'improperly' imprinted.  That is, the duck may believe it is really a gorilla. 
    I'm wandering a bit... Okay, so I do not believe I am either a duck.... or a gorilla. That is sort of my entire point.  I know I was born in this country.  I even have memories of living in Florida, Texas and Las Vegas, but the things that feel "normal" to me are very very English.  Living in a home with doors to to into the living room, kitchen and dining room feels normal to me, not confined or broken up.  Feeling a light mist in the air feels completely normal to me. Driving down a winding road with trees forming a beautiful archway for miles feels completely normal.  I was not English.  I was American, but my normal, and my memories are all English.  I  don't mind if my drink does not have ice.  A jar of pickled eggs on the counter does not phase me, nor does a multi colored Mohawk with multiple facial piercings.
    I have lived here for twenty years and there are still things that seem cartoonish to me.  Giant cowboy hats and big belt buckles absolutely perplex me.  I know there is something to it, but I don't understand. I don't suppose there are really words to properly describe the entire meaning of anything cultural.  I have tried to explain some things to my husband, but he simply has no point of reference.  What do you mean you had on demand hot water as a child?  Yes, thirty years ago, we had on demand hot water tanks on the wall. It is not new technology.  Those things just make me sigh.
      Drive thru windows with one for payment and one for pickup still seem silly.  In my mind it is like we are all cartoon cars zooming ahead a few feet and stopping... There is a lot of that here. Also, I don't mind nudity in itself, but do find myself disturbed by violence. (I don't shield my children from human bodies, but I do shield their eyes from shootings or explosions.)  I am used to both beaches with pebbles and beaches with sand am I am always surprised when someone comments on them.  I do see the bonus of having my own car, and also see the greed.  How many opportunities to make new friends have I missed by not being able to take a train? 
    I guess if I am honest. I do not really belong to either country.  My husband will say sometimes that I am too English in my attitudes.  My English friends would probably have said the reverse.  When I was in England, I looked forward to our trips to the "states".. I would buy American style clothes and ship them to myself in boxes.  I would buy American candies to share with my friends.  It was a novelty.  Now, I feel the same about Pickled Onion Monster Munch, Cadbury Flake and Kinder Eggs.   I could fill a suitcase with those things.. Oooooh.. and Smarties... I miss Smarties...
     Ahhh.. but my point is that I believe I may be a "crack" person.  I was born on a tropical island. I live in the most unusual weather climate I have ever visited, and I grew up in England.  I may very well end up living in other places before I leave this planet and I doubt I will ever be able to answer the question, "Where are you from?" without a bit of hesitation.   I don't really fit perfectly into any answer, but I can also see the tremendous benefits of my life.
     I have had stability for twenty years. I have lived and visited more places than most of the people I know.  I am not afraid to try new things. I am not afraid to try new foods.  I had friends who were born in locations all over the world.  I was exposed to so many cultures and beliefs.  I may not know how to answer the questions about where I am from, but I do know who I am.  I do know what I like.  I also know that I have an enormous amount of compassion. 
    So, I may be a "crack person".. neither from her, nor there. I have memories from both sides of the Atlantic.  I have played in deserts, on beaches, and in castles as a child.  I am very grateful for my "crack" background. It has made me who I am today.  I have traditions in my own home that come from both countries. In a way, I am sharing my own childhood with my children.  Someday, I hope to be able to take them on a tour of my childhood homes.  Well, let's not be ridiculous... It took me a lifetime to get to all of them.. perhaps just a sample would do.  Besides, they have their own lives and their own memories to build.  I wouldn't want to get in the way of their own personal journey.  My children still live in the state that is listed on their birth certificate.  In some ways, I guess they are also "crack" people as their dad is not "from" here either.  Ahhh.. well, it is what it is. They will be better able to answer, "Where are you from?" when they live somewhere else. 
    Yes, I do say that my children will probably live somewhere else. Perhaps another part of my 'imprinting' is that for me, it is much more normal for children to move out into the world on their own.  It is not my 'normal' to think that children live with their parents or in the same area as their parents once they have reached adulthood.  We shall see... either way, I am just a phone call away and that is what truly matters. 
    Ultimately, nobody really cares where I am from... It is just a conversation starter; a pleasantry.  What really counts in this lifetime is that whether we have lived in the same house for forty years or if we are "crack" people, we make the time for those pleasantries.  Those little half hearted questions have lead to a lifetime of wonderful friendships for me.  So, get out there and ask someone where they are from, what their favorite restaurant is....whatever you feel like. Be receptive to answering questions from others. You never know when you will be able to add another really good friend to your life.  No matter where I live, no matter where I travel, I know that I have a good friend just a phone call or email away.
   Thank you to all who have taken the time to have a fun conversation with me.

And this is how it happens....

     In these times, we get information as it is happening.  My grandmother has said that most of the things that happen are not really new. They have been happening since the beginning of time.  She tells me, "Read the bible, there have always been thieves, whores and murderers. Don't let anyone blame your generation for all of the evil."
    My grandmother is a smart woman.  I hear her words when I watch the news.  I try to remind myself that nothing is new when I see so many earthquakes, tsunamis, hurricanes, tornadoes and other disasters. I try to remind myself that nothing is new... that we have survived all of this before..
    So, this brings me to today's nonsense.  I live in what I consider to be a rather extreme area of the world. I'm sure it is not the most extreme, but it is the most extreme place I have ever lived.  Let me explain, step by step.
     In the winter, often there are extreme storms that leave thousands without electricity. I understand that my uncle has snow drifts above his roof line, and I will agree that is extreme.  We do not usually get much snow.  We get ice.  It literally rains ice. Once that ice lands on the streets, it makes the roads useless.  It is simply dangerous. As the ice falls, it weighs down the power lines and tree limbs.  Eventually those collapse and cause power outages as well as trees crashing into cars, roofs...etc.. You get the idea.. This happens often, not once every twenty years or so.
     Once the ice melts and things begin to thaw, rapidly we approach tornado season.  The first week of May seems to be the worst.  Now, most people who live here are used to them, in that there is usually not panic involved when the sirens sound, usually.  There are jokes about people standing outside watching them go by. This is true.  We have the best weather warning system in the world and we can see exactly which street the tornado is headed for. It is amazing.  It is also deadly weather. 
     Their are also regular storms, although calling them 'regular' seems a little misleading. I have lived here for 20+ years and do not use an umbrella for 99% of these storms.  Why?  Is it because it is just a little light rain or mist? NO.  In Oklahoma, when there are storms, there is usually a LOT of wind and lightning. When I say wind, I am not talking about Portland, Oregon or Pensacola, Florida where they issue wind advisories when it is over 20 mph.  (PUHLEEZE )  I am talking about crazy 50-80 mph winds that will tear off a roof just as easily as  a tornado.  The lightning is just as bad.  I know so many people who have had their houses struck by lightning. Some of those have just had to purchase all new appliances and electronics and have their houses rewired. Some have had to rebuild. Oh, are you wondering about the umbrellas?  Yeah, watch the people from out of town with their umbrellas. First of all, there is LIGHTNING... the real stuff, not the stuff in the Internet photos.  Second... well, unless you purchase the large vented umbrella, you are really wasting your time.  The wind blow the rain so hard here that it is often sideways.  Yes, sideways.  So you are going to be drenched anyway, even if your umbrella does not turn itself inside out from the winds.  Why bother.   People often joke after they move here that you need to learn to drive in the wind, since it really is work to keep your car on the road when it's over 50 mph.
    Okay, so that gets us to the summer. We have two choices here.  Either really hot and humid or unbelievably hot and parched.  There is no mild summer here. If you prefer accommodating temperatures, do not stop here. This summer, we had a break in the weather last week and 96 degrees felt LOVELY.. Can you imagine a day when 96 feels wonderful? Exactly. It had been well over 100 for days and the 96 was quite a drop.
    So, we have ice storms that can trap us in our homes for days, we have tornadoes and other violent storms, we have severe lightning and super hot summers.... I feel like I am leaving something out. Oh yes, HAIL.. Hail sounds so explainable scientifically.  It seems to require very specific conditions to produce.  I am telling you that hail comes often here. For no apparent reason.  The first few years I lived here, I actually believed it was only associated with tornadoes.  We have had a lot of hail the last few years.
    Now, why in the world did this come up today? I will tell you.  My husband and I are talking about different places we are considering moving.  He is not from Oklahoma either, but apparently he has forgotten what it is like to live anywhere else.  I told him the monthly climate averages in a couple of the other areas, told him there were no more earthquakes than there are here. (We get them, but they are no big deal.)  I told him it doesn't get too cold in the winter, and rarely reaches 100 in the summer. Tornadoes are extremely rare and no hurricanes.  He looked at me as if I must be lying.  He even had me compare statistics with our town.
    He has not lived here as long as I have, but he firmly believes that everywhere is as extreme as this area.  Well, I told him I still believe there are places where the weather is not terrifying.  I lived somewhere for 11 years. I never saw a tornado, (they have had a hand full of them), never felt an earthquake, and never saw more than a few snowflakes.  There certainly were no ice storms.  Once there was a violent lightning storm and a couple of houses burned down. Once.   I believe there are still places on this planet where I would not assume I will use my house insurance.  He does not. He acted as if there was a 'catch', or some fine print.  So, we will be taking a few trips. 
        My first storm in Oklahoma, I was completely unprepared and uneducated about tornadoes.  The sirens went off and I took a cordless phone, a $20 bill and my car keys to the closet of my apartment and called my father.  "What do I do now?" I asked...   He shouted back, "Get off of the phone!" and hung up on me.
    Needless to say, he has laughed a lot about that day.   He grew up in Oklahoma and Kansas, so he knew. He had seen.  I could never have imagined the things I have seen the weather do here. It is almost as ridiculous to try to explain what it is like here as it is to explain to my Oklahoma friends what it is like to just have regular light rain often.  No crazy wind, no lightning, no floods.. just a little rain.  
     It is an amazing world that we live in...and there is a reason that people study weather here.  It is quite the sampler platter.  I cannot imagine anyplace where you would see more variety.  So I remind myself, this is nothing new.  We have survived so many disasters and rebuilt our lives and homes.  Still, I find myself wondering what it will be like in the next place that we live. 
        One thing is for certain. No matter where we end up, we will certainly be prepared.  Even if it has a more extreme winter, or a more extreme summer, this new place certainly will not have both.  I am crossing cities off of our list if they could possibly have both.  I know what to do in an emergency situation. I have had plenty of practice.  I can pack all of my daughters meds in an orderly fashion  in seconds.  (My daughter has an entire kitchen cabinet full of medications.)   I know what to do in a variety of situations.

Anything Can Become Normal

     Ask someone who has survived long term abuse, or a recovering drug addict or alcoholic.  Anything can become normal.  Reality shows about hoarding are popular because most of us have a train wreck type reaction.  We don't want to look, but we just cannot help it.  We are so curious. How did it happen?  When was the turning point? 
           I say this because, I spent my entire life with something that did not seem so unusual to me, until one summer afternoon when I was 38 years old.  I had been seen many times for a variety of symptoms, but since I seemed athletic and healthy when I was younger, my heart was never checked... Looking back, I can see there were times when I should have spoken up a bit more.. and having the same doctor for more than a year or two may have helped.  Ultimately, it is what it is.
          One morning I woke up and things were definitely worse.  I was not able to breathe.  After several minutes, I finally was able to take shallow breaths and I thought I was going to be okay, but things quickly changed and I needed to go to the hospital.  
        Typically, there is one hospital I trust in this area.  It was written on my information at work, just in case.  My husband has always known about this and was turning the car to drive in that direction. I was not able to take in air.  I could feel that I was losing this particular battle. There was one tiny problem with the hospital I trust, it was at least a 30 minute drive and I was not sure how much longer I could remain conscious.  I whispered to him, "Turn right, I won't make it."
     I'm sure that seems just a bit over dramatic, yes?  I don't know.. Looking back, perhaps I should have made a bigger deal of my symptoms many more times. Either way, it is what it is.
      This was actually the first time I would go to the E.R. for this. I had many episodes where my heart had raced or I had trouble breathing. I had been diagnosed with panic disorder or asthma or a long list of other things.  This time was different.  I actually stopped breathing. 
       While at the hospital, they began to stabilize me. First with oxygen, then my heart rate was over 250 so they wanted to bring it down.  As the medication began to work, I held on to my husband's hand for dear life.  It was the most terrifying feeling.  The doctor said I should start feeling more relaxed quickly and he was sort of correct. 
        Here is what I mean when I say anything can become normal.  My entire life I had episodes of a racing heartbeat.  I was told I was high strung, or had panic attacks.. Honestly, any of those things could be true, but I also began to brush them off at an early age.  I would tell myself, "Suck it up" often.  "Just keep putting one foot in front of the other."  
       I do not know the technical terms behind what happens to the brain during these episodes, but I can tell you that my body and brain were not used to 60-70 beats per minute.  Dropping rapidly from 276 down to 60 felt as if my life was slipping away.  I felt like I was watching the bars of my personal battery life disappear. Worst of all, I felt as if I was going to just drift off to sleep.  That might have felt good if I had not known of people who literally bottomed out on this medication and died.  I was terrified.  I have always had to fight to sleep, I had never "drifted" unless under anesthesia and I was scared.  So I held my husband's hand.  Both to let him know that I was still conscious, so that he would know when to get help, and to help myself not be so alone with my fear.  Ultimately, I did lose consciousness for a couple of hours.  I jokingly referred to that afternoon as my "dirt nap" and went to work that night.  The doctors warning of the possibility of "sudden cardiac death" seemed a little over dramatic since, like I said, I had felt my heart race before...many times.
     Anything can become normal.  For 38 years, my heart rate was too high.. Many times each day, my heart rate was over 200. It was normal to me.  It was only scary a few times.  A few months after that day in the ER, I had the surgery that interrupted the defect in my heart. 
     A little over a year ago, I watched the heart monitor for hours in amazement as my heart rate remained steady.  I could feel what others felt. I could breathe better than I ever had before.  Now..a little over 15 months later, that is just normal to me.  I can breathe. I have more energy than ever.  I do not look into the mirror in the morning and tell myself that I will live through this day.  It has become normal to simply FEEL like I will live through the day.
     Now, my ulterior motive for writing this.  I know there are so many people who see the TV, the news, the magazines and what they see just seems so foreign. Good or bad.  Either you cannot imagine living that badly, or you cannot imagine a life so wonderful.  Either way.  Just remember that anything can become normal.  A seemingly normal person can become a drug addicted prostitute in a short amount of time. A prostitute can turn their life around and become a law student.
     Even with my own experiences, I struggle with anything outside of my own "normal".  I have done what is acceptable to me.  I cannot understand someone allowing things that are so absurd or destructive to become their "normal".  I do not understand people who throw away kindness, gifts and talents for the high of drugs and alcohol.  I do not understand the slippery slope of excuses it brings. 
     Or maybe I do. Maybe that is really what is bothering me is that I understand more than anyone that ANYTHING can become normal.  I do not tell myself I will live through the day anymore because now, it is just normal to wake up breathing fine.  It is something I take for granted. 
      Maybe while I am praying that this person finds an end to this horrible path and telling this person they can do something other than destroy this gift of life, maybe I should also remind myself that each day is a gift.  Each day that we can tell each other we love each other is precious. 
      I should also remember when I am resistent to change my habits that ANYTHING can become normal.

Perhaps it is a family curse, or perhaps it is rust.

    When I was a very small child in England, my parents had interesting transportation choices.  There were two motorcycles and a Morris Minor Traveller.  Commonly called a "woody". 

(Photo by Michele Hamer)

I do not remember exactly what model the motorcycles were.. There have been many over the years, but if you look at the photo, you can see that even at the age of 7, I had questions about this particular car.  I still do not know why they had this car.  Did they think it was novel? Was it a collector's item?  Was there a car shortage the year we moved to England?  Did somebody give it to them?  I don't know.  Honestly, if the answer mattered at all, I would ask.   The car in the picture is a 1964 model, and I'm sure ours was not much younger.  There is one difference between the car in the photo and the car we owned.  Our car was actually driven as a family car in England. 

    England is lovely. The climate is temperate. There are no sudden shifts to ice storms nor temperatures soaring to 110 degrees Fahrenheit.  England is an island. A wonderful island with salty sea air.  Our car had a fair amount of rust, as did any car more than a year old.

     One morning, we drove the 19 miles to the military base in the fog. It was very dense fog in the early mornings and I often wonder how long it took my mom to get used to the fog there. How long did it take her to become comfortable driving on the left side of the road, driving in fog and finding her way around after living in Oklahoma, Texas, Nevada and Florida.  (Places not known for dense fog nor winding roads.)

     Anyway, so it was about 6 o'clock in the morning and just as we could see the security gate on the back side of the base, the car seemed to drop and come to a pretty sudden and noisy stop.  (I do not remember all of the exact speed limits, but I know that 55 mph seemed slow when I moved here.)  It was still pretty dark out as well as being extremely foggy, so we really had no idea what had happened.  Looking back, even in broad bright daylight, I'm not sure we would have guessed correctly.

   We got out of the car and took a look.  The front of the car looked just fine, so we apparently did not hit anything.  However, we all noticed the car was leaning at about the same time.  We looked toward the back and the rear of the car was actually sitting on the ground.  The rear axle, with the tires still attached was behind the car.  Now that I am older and have lived through many more ridiculous calamities than could possibly seen normal or average I wonder: Perhaps it is some sort of family curse that causes such ridiculous events to surround our family, or perhaps it was just rust.

    Of course, my brother and I thought it was cool.  To us, it was the same as pulling the axle off of our Hotwheels or Matchbox cars.  Mom was not clapping or cheering at all. 

    I'm not a little kid anymore.  I can only imagine being new to a foreign country, finding my way around in the fog on the side of the road I was told NEVER to drive on, trying to get to work on time and not get lost.  I can imagine having to call my boss or commanding officer to report that I would be late due to THAT situation.  Who would believe that BOTH wheels fell off of the car?

     Well, all of that salty sea air meant that we went through several cars while we were there. The car immediately following the "woody" was a MGBGT..  Google that.  It certainly seems like a logical vehicle choice for a family of four, right?  Like I said before, I have no idea what made my parents chose a car.  I don't ask about any of them.  The cars have all had their own oddities.  The last car my mom owned before she moved back to the US was a 1988 Limited Edition Wimbledon Mini... My dad was 6'2" and I was 5'7".  Somehow, I actually fit comfortably in the back seat.  That car was like the Tardis and had wheels the same size as our lawn mower, but it also got 52 miles per gallon of gas.. That is pretty impressive.  They do not make Mini's like that in this country.  There are extra pesky safety features that weight the car down and change the fuel economy.  Sigh...   Maybe that car made sense... Ugh, no... cause careening around the corners at 80+ mph in something that squished easier than a soda can does not make sense to me.  I'm sure there was a reason. Maybe someday I will ask about the Carmen Ghia, MGBGT, Woody, Mini and many others.  There has to be a story there.