GOODBYE, LOVE

I don't particularly want to write this post, but I can't not write it.  My friend died very peacefully, but very suddenly on March 9th, and nothing I write or don't write will change that.  My neighbor gasped on the phone that Sunday morning, "Kathy's gone", and I find I repeat that phrase daily in my heart, in my head, and out loud to similarly shocked friends.  "Kathy's gone..."

Del Webb sells his homes by neighborhood.  Early in 2003, his corporation began building and marketing homes in what would become the "Havasu" division.  Within mere months, 170 homes were completed--landscaping included.  Life within a Del Webb community leans toward egalitarianism.  Mr. Webb happily mixes Classics, Cottages, Premiers and Estate models throughout his neighborhoods, and those living within mix just as cheerfully.  I don't know that that is important right now, but I'm trying to say that we all moved into Havasu within two or three months of each other.  Everyone was new...some to the community, others to the neighborhood.  It means we bonded quickly.  We became a cohesive, close-knit neighborhood and we remain so today.  Kathy's death has left a gaping hole on our street.

Obviously, we're an older adult neighborhood.  It's a retirement community for heaven's sake.  We know a little about life.  Many of us are on our second marriage.  We've learned that spouses die, love dies, things fall apart.  We've all experienced decades of life--good and bad.  Why did we feel so insulated here?  Why were we so shocked when death crept into our midst? 

Because no one is ready for death.  Whether it's a painfully slow decline or a sudden horrific accident.  Death surprises us, and shocks us, and leaves us weak.  Even at our age, we don't know how to respond, how to comfort and, especially, how to feel.  We're sad, we're stunned and we're a bit afraid.  We all know it could have been us.

But it wasn't.  It was Kathy.  Kathy, sitting in her little (perfectly sized) comfy chair, "frou-frou" coffee at her side, daily devotional in her lap.  It was Kathy, who loved sparkles, created elaborate and beautiful greeting cards, knit dozens of dainty scarves, and painstakingly beaded unique, much-admired jewelry.  Kathy, who sang in the choir, made pastoral visits to those who were housebound, greeted new members, and was a pillar of the churchwomens' groups. 

But most of all, it was Kathy who loved Jim.  Kathy, who loved her family, her friends, her church, her neighborhood.  Kathy, who never failed to let us know she was there for us.  No--actually, it was Kathy, who was always there for us.

While I was standing outside of her house the morning she died, various professionals inside doing what they're charged to do, my next door neighbor turned to me and said, "She was my best friend, you know."  I don't think I'd thought about "best friend" vs "friend" for a long time.  But Kris' comment stayed with me and  yes, in many ways, Kathy was my best friend, too.  The following week at church, Kathy's absence so glaringly painful for everyone there, I continued to hear similar echoes.  Kathy...my friend...our friend...we miss her...so sad...friend...

Oddly enough, I've always been fascinated by epitaphs--those spoken, as well as those chiseled in stone.  I've always worried a little that mine might turn out to be: "Oh, so that's who that was."  But over the past week or so I've come to believe that Kathy's will be the best epitaph anyone could hope for, because in its simplicity it goes so deep and so wide and touches the soul that abides in us all:  "Kathy was our friend.  We will miss her always."

Good-bye, Love.

PHONE PHOBIC

I glance at the clock on my car's dashboard.  It reads 18:57...I drive a cool British car...but that time means I'm nearly late.  Not now!  I've come too far to be late.  I double check the address and, sure enough, this is it.  A tired brick school building slumped on the edge of an asphalt parking lot/playground.  I pull in under one of the few lights, take a deep breath, and walk toward the building.  There's not a star in the sky. It's chilly with a bit of wind, and the whole scene couldn't be more daunting.  But...If I don't do this now it will never get done.  Do it!

I run up the steps, tug at the door, and find a long hallway as dim as that parking lot.  But, slightly ahead and to my right harsh fluorescent light is pouring out from an open classroom.  Do it!  Go for the light!  I suck in  my tummy, throw back my shoulders and begin the long walk.  Dear God, the room looks just like I feared.  On my left, an ancient coffee-urn is sputtering and spitting.  Everyone is balancing a Styrofoam cup while dragging a really disgusting  folding chair into a circle toward the middle of the room.  Don't run away.  Do it!

I spot a few smiles and a welcoming glance here and there.  I pour a little coffee laced with grounds, reach tentatively for a chair and join the circle.  Everyone looks my way.  "Hello," I manage.  My voice quivers just a bit and I'm breathless.  "My name is Margie and I'm a Phone Phobic."

WHAAA?

Yes, I'm a Phone Phobic.  And, yes, I'm as confused as you are.  I spent virtually all of my teen-age years with a 20 foot phone cord wrapped around myself chattering on the family phone.  My father reluctantly agreed to let the telephone company install that cord so that I wasn't tied to the tiny phone niche located in our hall.  With 20 feet, I could carry that phone into my bedroom, the family bathroom, my parents' bedroom and the dining room.  Our phone number was 539.  When dial reached Dodge City, our number changed to HUnter 3-4453.  I remember feeling terribly New Yorkish when that happened.

But sometime between those glory days and now I became a Phone Phobic.  I think it came on gradually.  I don't remember being especially traumatized by the phone at any point in time.  I dialed with impunity all during my 20s.  With three daughters sharing one phone I fought hard for my phone time during my 30s.  Maybe it started in my 40s?  I think it worsened in my 50s, and became downright debilitating in my 60s.  It hasn't helped that I live with BC.  BC loves the phone.  BC happily calls his daughters, his son, his brothers, his friends from early morning until well into the evening hours.  He's happiest when he's holding a phone.  BC "butt-calls" virtual strangers, and generally ends up with a new best friend.  BC, unfortunately, is an enabler. He is more than happy to make the calls I dread.  BC has fed my habit. 

So, even though I haven't told my Life Coach that I'm a phone phobic...outgoing only,  I'm fine with incoming...I decided I had gathered enough tools to begin working on this problem.  Today, I had a difficult phone call to make and BC is fishing in Oklahoma.  Obviously, I  was in trouble

I began to pace from one end of the house to the other proclaiming, "I am enjoying calling my friends and visiting with them."  Over and over and over.  Then...I did it.  I called a friend who is experiencing a difficult time.  I told her how I was keeping her in my heart.  I promised to offer a prayer now and then for her.  I listened.  She cried--just a little.  She told me how grateful she was that I called.  She was grateful that I called?  Not nearly as grateful as I was that I called.  She has no idea that I'm a Phone Phobic or how hard it was for me to tap those buttons.  But I do.  And I feel so grateful that I was able to help her through her day.  And, I have kept her in my heart all day and I have whispered a few prayers heavenward for her.  And I will continue to do that.  A promise is a promise.  That one won't be hard to keep.    

EXPLORE, DREAM, AND DISCOVER

This familiar quote is attributed to Mark Twain, and a version of it is propped on my little 104 year-old writing desk:

TWENTY YEARS FROM NOW

YOU WILL BE MORE DISAPPOINTED

BY THE THINGS

THAT YOU DIDN'T DO

THAN BY THE ONES YOU DID DO.

 

EXPLORE.

DREAM.

DISCOVER.

 

I had been dreaming about starting a blog for months.  Or, more honestly, for years.  But each time I made a wild stab at it, I backed myself off.  What if I couldn't do it?  (Blogging oftentimes stretches my technological skills in a painful way.)  What if I could do it, but nobody read it?  (Well, guess what?  I've learned I can survive that.)  What if (the worst here) my friends and acquaintances laughed at me, or just smirked in a superior way, or just thought I was really stupid.  It was definitely time to play it safe and step back from the dream.

 

But Mark Twain's arrival, following a shopping trip at Target, close on the heels of  my 66th birthday combined to create one of those sea changes that seems to leave in its wake either the best of all worlds or the worst.  I took the plunge.  My very first post--which turned out to be not one entry, but two,  because I didn't understand how to place two pictures in the same post--arrived on September 25, 2010. I've continued stabbing at it (on an irregular basis) ever since, and 9.9 times out of 10, I am filled with great joy when I push the "publish" button.  This is where I live.  Well, for a few hours a week anyway.  They're always happy hours (sometimes I crack myself up), but not necessarily easy hours.  I hope they are hours well spent.

 

Recently (70 is approaching this year), I've really begun to realize that if I don't do it now, I'm not going to have the chance to ever do it--whatever "it" turns out to be.  There will be a point when my energy will flag, my eyes will dim, and the cognitive skills I'm trying so hard to hold onto will go to hell.  It's now or never. 

 

To that end, I have begun working with a Life Coach.  Yes, really.  And, I think, this will be the best thing I've ever done for myself.  Even BC was approving...and hopeful, poor soul.  I was nervous as a witch before my first visit with Jay, but he made it so easy the hour flew by.  I took copious notes and religiously followed my list of suggested exercises.  Actually, the exercises weren't suggested.  We decided together as to what I would work on and I am accountable for that.  I'm really much more disciplined when I'm accountable.  I hope that doesn't sound onerous because it's not.  I promise.  It's all good, definitely eye-opening, and up to me.  I like that.  There is a certain feeling of wonder and--even though I'm a bit afraid to think it--power in creating a great life. 

 

At the same time, I'm taking classes that are helping me figure out this whole blogging business.  While I love blogging, I definitely need to do it better.  There is a way and I'm busy with that.  Remember a few paragraphs up when I mentioned that I was afraid my friends might look at me askance if they knew I spent an inordinate amount of time in front of my computer composing little thoughts and stories?  Well, I approached that problem by not telling them.  Simple, huh?  Of course, the whole point of blogging is to have readers, preferably an increasing number of readers, plus lots of followers, and commenters, etc...  I kind of skipped that part in this whole process.  So, now I'm practicing saying:  "Hi, I'm Margie and I'm a blogger."  "I blog for..."  I'm working on that last part and I have notes galore.  It will come.

 

You know, it's not all bad to be closing in on 70 and still excited to see what each day brings.  It's just now 5:00 p.m., and  I think I'll go toast to that thought.