Fondly remember where I’ve been

I like dreaming.
I make no apologies for dreaming.
Just like I don’t apologize for living.
Because dreaming is breathing.
Every new dream, a new breath…
of air; fresh and new.
And dreams do come true.
I fasten them onto myself.
Hold them close to my heart.
Keep them in the compartments
of my brain.
Ready to be looked at,
admired,
altered,
kissed.
I know where each dream lay,
Inside a secret and lovely place
that only God and I know about.
Some times I share them,
like a bite of cake with a friend.
Many of my dreams are on a shelf
standing and waiting to take hold
of me
of you
of all of us.

But we have to dream them first,
in order
for
dreams
to
come
true.

They are not wild imaginings.
No. Dreams are real.
Set in another time,
not too far away,
on the shelf,
waiting.
Wild imaginings make us scream.
Wild imaginings hurt our eyes
when they’re closed.
They make us cringe
and
other people too.
Some times, our dreams,
if they squeak out, may
make others cringe. Right in front of us.
Those dreams are not their dreams.
My dreams might make you cringe.
Your dreams might do that to me.
But I won’t say so.
Because dreams keep us alive,
for days,
for moments,
for months
and sometimes for years.

And then when you are
carrying the laundry through
the house
Poof! A box opened
and you saw your dream came true.

That’s how dreams are.
They are special that way.
You are in them, dreaming along,
as they are coming true.

I write my dreams on paper.
Just in case I might not recognize one,
One day
when it comes true.
Because I have so many dreams.
and not enough shelves
or compartments
or boxes
or fasteners.

And they will all come true.
That’s how dreams are.
Special that way.
But we have to dream them
before
they can
come
true.

...a dear friend who was once a daily part of my life and now is somewhere in the outer edges of the periphery. I’m remembering him fondly: the laughs, the lunches, the walks, the discussions, the teasing, more laughter. He’s so much in my mind today, has been for several days, and memories keep coming back, not in a flood, but in a steady constant stream.

Life changes, shifts happen, and time marches on. We connect briefly every now and again, and I count it a blessing that we are still in touch. Wherever he is, whatever he’s doing today, I pray he has a smile on his face.

To get the story from the beginning, click here and then here.

Enter local cops. One of which is young and buff and absolutely delicious.

Joined by two members of the local constabulary, one of whom was so easy to look at, the night seemed a bit less desolate. And when the six of us crammed into the tiny hallway between the boiler room and carport door, and S explained that we hadn’t actually gone behind the water heater, things got even more interesting. OlderCop had poked his head behind the water heater and realized he couldn’t comfortably squeeze behind it, when HotCop started unbuckling his gun belt, threw his shoulders back and his chest out, and said, “That’s ok. I’ll drop belt.” The three girls all risked whiplash from turning our heads so quickly, just in time to watch him literally drop his belt on the ground and strut into the boiler room. As he squeezed behind the water heater, the evening was really beginning to look up for us. S is convinced that it was absolutely unnecessary for him to take his belt off, and he just pulled out his best stripper move because Babsy and A and I were ogling him but, hey… we certainly enjoyed the show.

Much to our chagrin, HotCop simply confirmed that someone had been sleeping back there before putting his belt back on, and OlderCop informed us they weren’t at all surprised to find remnants of our uninvited guest in our vacation home. Because there are so many guest houses in the Outer Banks, and most of them are unoccupied before the tourist season really picks up on Memorial Day, teenagers and “budget vacationers” often break into the unoccupied houses and make themselves at home until the paying guests arrive. Knowing that it happens all the time didn’t make us any more comfortable. And when the OlderCop said, “There’s no sign of forced entry. He probably got a key made. I’m not giving a professional opinion, but if I were you I certainly wouldn’t stay here until the locks are changed,” that decided it for me. There was absolutely no way I was staying in that house for what was left of that night. At this point it was three o’clock in the morning.

After the policemen left, because it was so late and we were suddenly bone tired, it was decided by majority rule that we’d just stay there and deal. Our vagabond knew we were in the house and probably wasn’t coming back, and even if he did, there were four of us and one of him. We were so tired and grumpy we could just look at him and it’d scare him away. We had all returned to our rooms and started going through the motions of getting ready for bed, when there was another shriek from upstairs. Behind the TV in the master suite, where S and A were staying, there was a dried up crusty piece of evidence that our guest had a dog that didn’t get walked quite often enough. This led to further investigation of the house, and we discovered urine on the bathroom floor around the toilet. And hairs of the short curly variety in the bedsheets.

This was the last straw. The three others agreed with my consensus that this was no place to spend the night, and we piled into S’s car and drove up to the Comfort Inn in search of a room. They were able accommodate us, and we paid way too much money for a room approximately the size of the boiler room our vagabond had stayed in. It was outfitted with two beds crammed so close you could almost roll out of one and into the other without ever touching the floor, and just enough extra space in the room to walk from the door to the bathroom without bumping into a bed. In a word, it was cozy. We decided that the fates would have us be best friends, so the four of us sleepily changed into our pajamas and fell into bed sometime around 4am.

I’m not very good at falling asleep, especially with so much excitement, and long after I heard Baby’s odd sleep noises, and the even breathing of S and A, I lay cramped in my 18-inch slot between Babsy and the wall, trying to shut my brain off. At some point in the night, as I tried to move into a more comfortable position, Babsy, with a surprising degree of strength for someone who was sound asleep, punched me in the back so hard it left a bruise.
“Oww! Geez, Babs! What are you doing?”
“Hm? Sorry… I thought you were a bug. Srry… I… bug.” She mumbled a few more apologies and drifted back to sleep.

At some point, I also slipped into a restless sleep because when the alarm went off at 8am, I woke up, sat up in bed, and groggily tried to remember what I was doing in a cramped hotel room with three other people, two of whom I’d just met. Everything came back in a jumble of snapshots: the drive, meeting S, the vagabond, HotCop and now this hotel room. A was up getting ready, and told us we needed to meet the locksmith at the house in an hour. Quick shower, quick breakfast, and we were back at the house feeling relatively refreshed and knowing that things could only go up from here.

How wrong we were…

For some reason, I’m stuck on childhood memories lately, so I’m just gonna go with it. And I promise this one won’t be a novel.

Best Memory Ever:

Lying in bed the night before a big holiday (Christmas, Thanksgiving, July 4th, Church picnic, you name it), falling asleep to the sound of Mom making glorious creations in the kitchen. Cupboards opening and closing, pots and pans clinking now and again, water running as dirty dishes are rinsed in the sink. And waking up the next morning to the same sounds. I sometimes wondered as a child if my mother even slept on nights like that.

This past Mothers’ Day, I got home from the grocery store late on Saturday and put things away while my parents were already in bed sound asleep, and then woke up with the sun to start getting things prepared so we could have dinner ready immediately after church for all the Moms in the family. It wasn’t until that morning, exhausted from the night before but doing what needed to be done to make the day special, that I realized just how much love Mom poured into all those special holidays of my childhood.

Thanks to all the Moms out there who run on love and caffeine when it’s required.

♥

In order for this story to make any sense, you have to understand that Awesome Sister and JJ and I grew up close. She was my best friend, and he was my hero, and the three of us kept our parents young (or aged them too quickly!) with our antics. Because Dad’s job moved us around the country so much, my parents decided we’d get a more consistent education if they homeschooled us rather than dropping us into this school or that smack dab in the middle of the school year. Now, I understand there’s a certain stereotype that goes along with homeschooling, and I understand it’s often for good reason, but I promise you: we weren’t those homeschoolers. We had way too much fun for that.

Our house in Maryland, where we lived when I was 11, Awesome Sister was 13 and JJ was 15, had the best school-room setup of any of our houses. Picture a walk-out basement, with a room tucked away in the back, complete with a door to the backyard (which we never would have dreamed of sneaking out in the middle of the day when we were supposed to be doing school!). The stairs squeaked a bit, so we could hear if anyone came down them, so by the time Mom got to the back room to check on us, we always had our noses tucked studiously in our books, working away like the angels we pretended to be.

The schoolroom was set up with one long table – a six-footer, which JJ and I shared as our desk. He sat facing the door on one side of the table, and I sat with my back to the door on the other end, and there was a clearly marked line of demarcation between, which each of us fiercely guarded. Over by the door sat Awesome Sister, in the school desk she had purchased second-hand with her own money, and sanded and spray painted bright blue and was ridiculously proud of. God forbid that either of us take a pencil from her desk, or be found sitting in her chair – it was hers, by golly, and she had paid for it with her own money, and we had no right to it. So there.

...

One afternoon, I had gone upstairs in the middle of the day on one pretense or another, and when I came back I found that they had closed up my book, all neat and tidy, and put everything away as if I hadn’t been in the schoolroom all day. We had a laugh, they each blamed the other, and the day progressed. Before long, JJ left for a bit (probably to read a Louis L’Amour novel), and Awesome Sister and I got to thinking how fun it would be to pay him back since (as she said) it had been his idea.

We took all of his books and paper and pens and pencils, scattered them across the floor, placed thumbtacks pointy side up in his chair and placed a cryptic note that said, “You better check yo self before you wreck yo self,” on his desk. (Don’t hate! Who didn’t love Ice Cube in 1993?!) When he walked in the room, we kept our heads down, pretending like there was nothing in the world more important than the math problems we were solving, before finally bursting into laughter.

He cleaned things up, called us a few choice names, and the day continued with no further excitement. Until Awesome Sister left the room. I have to wonder what possessed her to leave after seeing – actually being involved with – what had happened to JJ and I. And knowing full well who we were. But leave she did. Her chair was still warm when JJ and I came to the conclusion that it was she who instigated the entire event, and so she must be paid back in full.

We removed each and every item from her precious desk, hiding her pens in one place, her books in another, and all her various and sundry school items in different places throughout the room. Her desk we stashed in our dad’s work room, and her chair went in the heater closet, tucked behind the water heater. I swear, we’d make a grand cleanup team: she was gone without a trace! Then all we had to do was wait.

We heard her coming down the stairs, then down the hall, and could barely contain our laughter until she came in the door. The minute she walked in and stared blankly at the spot where her desk once stood, all three of us erupted into laughter! Awesome Sister fell on the floor laughing, and there were tears streaming down all our faces. Then we heard a step on the stairs and the three of us flew into action, putting everything back together just exactly the way it should be.

...

By the time Mom, hearing the ruckus, came down to see what was going on, we all had our heads in our books, choking back laughter.

“What’s going on down here?”
“Nothing.”
“What was all that noise?”
“Oh, nothing. Awesome Sister just said something funny.”
“Ok, well let me know when you’re done with your work.”
“K. We will.”

...

gales of laughter, and not much work done

...

Thank God for those squeaky stairs!

...getaway I’ve just come back from. I know, I know – it seems like I do nothing but frolic and roam the earth, but I promise this is my last getaway until June when I go on my annual vacation with my best friend.

Long story short: Thirty ladies from my church rented two houses on a nearby lake and we have spent the past three days having a marvelous time, laughing and shopping and eating and doing all sorts of things that ladies love to do. For me, (that this will come as no surprise) that meant chiefly relaxing. Ohhh, it was spectacular! I was in charge of lunch on Monday (which was, I admit, just a bit nerve-wracking; there were 30 of them, and some of them are amazing cooks in their own right) and breakfast yesterday and today, and snacks for the entire trip. Now, I’ve gotta be honest, aside from lunch, it wasn’t nearly as much work as you’d imagine. They set up teams to actually get everything ready for the breakfasts, so all the running around like a crazy person all last weekend doing prep certainly paid off.

When I wasn’t getting yelled out for laying out plates of cookies, I was curled up in a comfy spot reading a book or chatting with one some of the finest people I know. A lot of them went out shopping all day, but not I – I set my mind to rest, and rest I did. Ah… Divine!

And one very unexpected, but very much appreciate residual bit of lovely happened after I got home a few hours ago. My mother was on the trip as well, and as you may or may not know, our relationship has hit a rough patch for the past, oh… I dunno… 12 years or so. Well. Everyone adores her. And I have to tell you – she’s an excellent lady. Anyway, after we got home and were sitting on the couch relaxing a bit and chatting about the trip and all the wonderful conversations and fellowship that took place, we fell into into a pretty long and healing conversation of our own.

We covered everything from menopause (when I swear to God I thought she was losing her mind), to where our relationship went sour, to how we both want it to be better, and what we can each do to move in that direction.

All in all, it’s been a lovely few days, and I’m happy and tired (what?! I said I relaxed, I didn’t say I slept an awful lot) and going to lay down for a nap so I’ll be fresh as a daisy (well…fresher…) when I get together with an old friend tonight that I’ve not seen in a decade or so.

_{Cynics be warned: I’m a girl and this story is about a boy. What follows contains quite a bit of romantic drivel.}

We had walked in the pub and were looking around for a clean table, when I locked eyes with the man who changed my life…

He was standing at the bar, watching me. Not staring intrusively, just watching. He seemed to know what he was about so I asked, “Do we just sit anywhere?” He smiled a little bit, pulled out the barstool next to him, patted the seat and said (with that intoxicating Irish brogue), “This is where you sit. Right here.”

Well then! He intrigued me and it was a public place and there was a certain electricity crackling in the air, so I sauntered over and sized him up as we started chatting.
(I’ve got to interject here: I had just been through a grueling 3-year relationship that reduced my self-confidence to less than zero and the idea of ‘sizing up’ a man and boldly flirting with him in a pub was way beyond my comfort zone. But something happened, and there I was, perfectly comfortable in my own skin for the first time in years.)

Within minutes, the whole wide world changed. We connected in a way I’ve never connected with any man. This seems so cliched, but it felt like we were two parts of a whole, and had somewhow just found each other after being separated for a long time. My best friend (who I had forgotten all about, but who was right beside me the entire time) told me later she’d have paid money to see us that night, because it felt like she was in a romantic movie, right in the middle of the scene where the protagonist meets her man for the first time.

We shared dinner and sat at that pub talking for hours, then wandered across the street to another pub and talked and laughed and laughed and talked for hours and hours more. Shortly after we arrived at the second pub, I took my scarf off and laid it on the bar. My new dear man picked it up, folded it neatly, and laid it on a chair behind us. As we shared our life stories, I learned he had lived in the States, just a few hours from my house, for ten years! And here, six months after he returns to Ireland, we run into each other in a pub. Funny old world, isn’t it?

Hours later, when Mindy and I finally headed back to our holiday cottage, I was in the stratosphere! I remember very little of the drive back home, except that there was lots of laughter and lots of smiling and lots of declarations that, “I’m sure I’ll never see him again – but it’s a great memory to take with me!” To which Mindy always replied, “I saw the way he looked at you; you’ll see him again.” And in keeping with the long tradition of infatuated women, I didn’t sleep a wink that night.

The next morning, as we prepared to get going for the day, I realized my scarf was missing. My favorite scarf, that I’d purchased and the Cliffs of Moher and worn at the pub last night. Awwww, darnit! After agonizing a bit, I decided the thing to do was use the email address I’d been given last night and ask if he’d noticed it after I left. And so I did.

He replied not long after and told me he hadn’t noticed it, but gave me the phone number of the pub and suggested I call and ask them about it. I asked, they had it, and I picked it up the next day. Emailed him again to say thanks. Figured that would be the end.

Within 18 hours, we were friends on Facebook. Whatever, I thought, it’s just a friend request.

And then he sent me a message.

Because of my travel plans and pre-existing weekend plans he had, we didn’t see each other again while I was in Ireland, but we chatted in a friendly way each day. It felt so nice to have this connection with a nice guy who clearly thought I was something special. A few days later, my vacation came to a close and I sadly boarded a plane back to the States.

Each time I travel, I’m always happy to come home at the end of a wonderful adventure – except this time. I kept hoping something would happen, a flight would be delayed or canceled, or we’d be held up for some reason, or we’d miss the flight – anything to keep us in Ireland for a few days longer. Alas, it wasn’t to be… Everything ran as smooth as silk, and as we soared over the Atlantic, I snapped one last picture of my favorite place on earth before it disappeared behind a cloud.

Oh, well, I thought, that was a lot of fun, but it’s over now. I’m headed home, we’ll lose touch and it’ll be just a wonderful memory.

Wrong again.

It’s been nearly six months, and we continue to talk nearly every day. I have no idea if or when or how we’ll meet again, but I’m not too worried about that right now. I met a guy who sparked something in me that I didn’t know was there. He’s allowed me to see myself in a way that I couldn’t even imagine before. All the things about me that I tried to hide or change for ‘fix’ in order to make my previous relationship work, he has accepted and embraced. He makes me feel like I’m ok – I’m better that ok, I’m special and wonderful. He makes me smile. I make him laugh. He jostles me out of the blues when I’m stressed, and I cheer him up in turn.

It makes absolutely no sense. It’s doomed from the beginning. But you know what? I don’t care. What’s life, if you don’t take risks?

And this man… He’s a risk worth taking.

Yesterday after church, I asked JJ if I could borrow one or all of his daughters to keep me company Sunday afternoon while working on a bunch of things around the house. I was really hoping he’d loan me Niece1, because she’s a little older than the others (turning 12 this summer – where has the time gone?!) and I feel like she needs a little extra love and attention because so much of her time is spent helping JJ and EL with the other kids. Instead, he gave me Niece2 (aged 9), Niece3 (aged 7) and Niece4 (aged 5). (Yes, my brother has 4 daughters. And 2 sons. And a baby on the way. He wanted a big family…)

Oh, what a time we had! We went by a bridal salon to pick up my bridesmaid dress for a wedding this summer, and they adored browsing through all the pretty dresses while waiting for the clerk to find my dress in the stockroom. Then we went over to a candy shop and each of them picked out a piece of chocolate to take home and have after lunch… You should have seen the care with which the three of them chose their own favorite! Niece2 kept picking up the $10 chocolates and $17 chocolate bunnies and $12 chocolate ballet slippers and asking (very nicely and politely) if she could have that (instead of the $1 – $2 chocolates I told them they could choose from). We eventually each found our very own piece and went on our way.

Now… before you write Niece2 off as selfish, you have to also hear this story: On the way from church to the bridal salon, Niece3 sat in the front seat because she had asked first. On the way from the bridal salon to the candy shop, Niece2 sat in the front becuase I think it’s only fair to change it up. As we left the candy shop to head to the grocery store, Niece3 was all prepped and ready to hop back in the front, when Niece2 said, “No, it’s Niece4’s turn.” Now… I had thought Niece4 was too little to sit in the front. But they assured me (right or wrong, I don’t know – right, I hope!) that she’s allowed as long as she has her booster. Note: I just looked up the laws; they’re a little vague, but it looks like no laws were broken in the making of this story.

After everyone had their appropriate time in the front seat, we made it back to my house and got going for the day… Seriously, how are these girls so cute?!

We had a lovely lunch banquet (so named by my niecelets, who set the table with flowers and candles and china), and pretended we were on a grand vacation and spoke with fake accents and chatted about the sights we’d seen on our excursions. We even employed a band (thank you, pandora.com!) and cleared the floor for some after-dinner dancing. And somehow, in the midst of all this laughter, I even managed to complete the tasks I’d assigned myself around the house.

I love different personalities and characters of each of my Niecelets and Newphewlings! When we weren’t all engaged in some group activity (dinner, baking brownies, having tea, etc), Niece2 was right at my elbow all afternoon, helping to sort laundry and washing dishes and doing anything else that she could find to do, while Niece3 was curled up on the couch in a book and Niece4 flittered around making everyone smile.

When the brownies were ready, we had tea and brownies in the sunroom, using a tea set I bought while on vacation in England several years ago. I’ve used those teacups several times with friends and guests, but I’ve got to admit: they’ve never sparkled and shone quite as much as yesterday in the hands of my nieces.

At the end of the afternoon, I was as sad to turn them back over to JJ and EL as they were to go. Someone even floated the idea of a sleepover, but that dreadful thing called work precluded that idea. I do think it would be fun some weekend, though, and I’m going to tuck it away for a rainy (or hopefully, sunny!) day.

I’m looking forward to taking Niece1 sometime, but I have to say I’m glad JJ loaned me the younger three yesterday, and we made memories that each of us will enjoy for a long, long time.

...called me up the other day on the phone. I answered, and she said, in a sing-song voice, “Then their hands touched, and their lips met- and their lips met- and their lips met- and their lips met…” And then we both dissolved into laugher.

Allow me to explain.

When we were kids, we had a cassette tape with loads of silly songs on it, and she and JJ and I must have listened to it thousands of times over the course of our collective childhood. It had “Boy Named Sue” and “They’re Coming to Take me Away” and even a song that started something like this: “A funny sneezy ragman once came riding thorugh the town, he sneezed and sneezed and sneezed until he sneezed things upside down! Achoo, achoo, achoo, achoo, ACHOO!!” Hours and hours of laughter and dancing around the room and singing crazy songs at the top of our lungs (much to the delight of my mother, I can on only imagine!) ensued. Ever the romantic, my favorite song on the whole cassette was the sad tale of the Indian brave who fell madly in love with a girl from a warring camp, and they swam across a raging river to meet in the middle before the current dragged them down and they died in each other’s arms. Heh. Great stuff for romantic little 4-year old me, don’t you think?

And right in the middle of this tragic song, somehow when the record was being converted to a cassette tape, the record started skipping on the words ”...and their lips met…” and it played that phrase four of five times before continuing on with the song. As kids, we didn’t care – I honestly don’t think we even knew the difference – and so that’s how we sang it.

My childhood self would play the song, rewind the tape, play it again, rewind the tape, and play it again until something more important like freeze tag or tea with my dolls broke the spell.

I have no idea what ever happened to that orange cassette tape, and hadn’t thought of it in years until last Friday night when it randomly popped into my sister’s head and she called one of the two people in the entire world who would know immediately what she was talking about.

This vignette set me thinking about the shared memories and secret codes of childhood – all the playground promises and sleepover dramas that help form our character. Now that I’m on this line of thinking, old memories keep popping into my mind and I laugh or smile to myself, grateful for the friends I’ve had along the way, and for those that are still in my life.

To be honest, because my family relocated so much while growing up, very few of my vivid childhood memories involve anyone other that my brother and sister. And here we are, all grown up with lives and families of our own, and we’re still as close as we ever were. I think this weekend I’m gonna find some time to spend with each of them and find some way to let them know how much they mean to me.

It was a perfect day.

My traveling partner Mindy and I toured Ballinalacken Castle early in the morning, and had the entire day free.

As we stood chatting with Ann (our dear, dear landlady) about what we had planned for the remainder of our holiday, a thought struck me. On a whim, I asked what she would do if she had the day free. She recommended Ennis, and after we chatted about if for a few minutes, she made a point to tell us, “Make sure you stop into Brogans. Everyone knows the place; the dinner is really lovely.”

Armed with that guidance, we jumped in the car and pointed it toward Ennis. A half hour later, we found ourselves in a cute little town, put money in the meter at the car park, and set off for a day of browsing adorable shops and grand cathedrals.

As the clock ticked away the hours, we bought some souvenirs and took some touristy photos and even stopped into the local library to use the internet. Somewhere around five o’clock, we found ourselves ravenously hungry and realized we hadn’t eaten a bite all day, with the exception of a divine creation we snagged at a pastry shop hours and hours ago.

Do you ever find yourself so hungry and tired that you’re nearly incapable of making a decision? That’s where Mindy and I were. Do we just to back to the cottage and make dinner when we get there? Do we stop in to a coffee shop and grab something to tide us over for a few hours? Do we find a restaurant and get a real bite to eat? Oh! Brogans! Right! Ann said we have to eat a Brogans.

But we’re tired, and we want to get a relatively early night because we’ve got an early start tomorrow. But she did say that we have to eat a Brogans… What the heck, why not, right?! So off we went down the street to Brogans.

We had walked in the pub and were looking around for a clean table, when I locked eyes with the man who changed my life…

(more to follow)