...a sense of loss



While on my walk this morning which I hadn’t done lately for a multitude of reasons, laziness being one of them as well as time constraints, or it’s too darn cold in NC, etc… the word ‘loss’ truly just inserted itself into my head like a zit pops upon your face; it’s just there! I was like ‘whoa, where did that come from?’


We as humans are capable of suffering from various types of loss; loss of a job, loss of a loved one, a loss of freedom and there’s also a loss of mobility. There is loss of independence as well as a loss of eyesight or hearing. The only loss I can think of off-handedly that brings joy is a loss of weight!

While there are a host of definitions contained in the Dictionary Merriam-Webster Online, one definition of loss is the decrease in amount, magnitude or degree.

This is the description I’ll focus on since this is the one that plagues me and this is the reason why. I discovered on Friday through a dear friend that a valued companion of ours has cancer. Indeed she is in shock since hearing the news and most likely suffering from the loss of which I speak.

I wonder when her thoughts travel hither and yon in her mind, if the word cancer has robbed her psyche of the lack of restrictions from a previous stated amount of safe and secure beliefs flowing within. I wonder if she’ll catch herself needing to remind her of the uncertain future that lies ahead. I wonder if she’ll experience loss and if so, what kinds? I question if there is anything her support systems will be able to do to replace this sense of loss in her heart.

On the other hand, perhaps the sense of loss is what I’m feeling particularly when unfortunate events and ill-fated news permeates the life of a loved one. Conceivably loss is more a lack of control that the world can embark its ugliness at any given time and place and to whomever it may please.

Regardless, Roseanne Cash once said, ‘Loss is the great unifier, the terrible club to which we all eventually belong."

Times are A-Changin'...

…and this was truly evident last night as I spent the hours scrapbooking.

I came upon the photos I had taken of Nicholas in his Halloween costume last year: a character from a horror movie he’s never even seen nor has a desire to. This year he is portraying an Ohio State Fan; well that’s original now, isn't it?

More significantly as a mark of transformation is not WHAT he chose to be but the time and dedication we launched with each and every costume he displayed.

From the time he could articulate his wants and needs Mother and son spent an exorbitant amount of time in October searching for the ‘perfect’ attire. Most often this required me manufacturing his get-ups. What cherished moments we experienced entering the fabric store. We peeked through endless pattern books to generate ideas and choose the material as well as all the flawless accessories. How I adored the time spent together as Nicholas would touch the material to his cheek to check for softness to match the gentleness left in my heart. When I sewed he sat upon my lap and used his tiny hands to guide the material through the machine shouting with glee as we approached the finish of each dressing.

As you stroll through just a spattering of costumes you’ll not only find visual support that times have been altered, but reinforcement within the heart of a mom. Halloween was a treasured time when Mother and son exchanged thoughts and ideals, wishes and fun through a body covering.

Fireman Nicholas...his Sit and Spin was his fire truck.

Nicholas wanted to be Little Foot the dinosaur so this was our version.

Buzz Light Year...to infinity and beyond...

 

This was our favorite..Ice Dragon~



Arrghhh, Mighty Pirate....



Count Dracula...

He’s since given up homemade costumes and chosen the likes of Harry Potter and Scream, but how I would love for him to ask me to create more memories through a Halloween outfit.

Time, which changes people, does not alter the image we have retained of them. ~Marcel Proust

Remember when....

“Remember when…”

I catch myself saying that phrase quite frequently as of late: Remember when we all use to try out and make our school sports team just for the fun of it? Remember when we were able to leave our doors unlocked when we left the house or even at night while sleeping? Remember when our world was not darkened by hatred and violence? I know you’re all shaking your head in agreement.

I recall my grandparents and parents speaking the same exact utterances and viewed it as a group of words that old people muttered as I grasped to appreciate the essence of comparing a new-fangled world with the previous outworn planet. I designated the expression as insignificant to wonder or ponder.

But more specifically and closer to heart, I stumble upon my muttering …Remember when teaching use to be fun?

Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy the relationship with my students-the opportunity to share a laugh or smile at their innocence when they remark about personal experiences. I definitely laugh at their quips of life as well as take pleasure in the instances I’m privileged to observe with their learning and discovery.

But when did the amusement fade away?

The question actually has quite a simple answer, or perhaps I believe it’s uncomplicated. Our ‘Government’ and ‘Powers to be’ decided that children need to be taught what to think, instead of how to think. They are skilled at reading questions and selecting a bubble to shade.

Children’s learning now requires rigid and staunch guidelines that leave little room for enjoyment or pleasure on both accounts of teacher and student. If there is delight within a classroom teachers need to fill out a paper ten times over to justify their every movement and thought, so rather than teachers creating, we’ve become robotic and mundane in our actions.

We meet to talk about our meeting and talk about our thinking. We give explanation and rationale to each and every deed. We gather to fill out papers as well as validate our accomplishments. We convene, assemble and gather…

Remember when teaching use to be fun…?

Hey, it's me, Angel-Kitty!

Hey, it’s me Angel-Kitty!

Heavens to Betsy, you will never believe what happened at our house this morning.

…and it was ALL Hurricanes’ fault!

Seriously, it was-I’m not lyin’ so here’s what went down…

Like every morning, Hurricane and I were summoned to the back door to be given our ‘guilt treats’. I call them that since I know we obtain these delicacies as a result of our humans feeling bad they leave us by ourselves to go do whatever it is they do. They think we’re sad and lonely, blah, blah, blah…but little do they know we perform our happy dance once they pull out of the driveway.

Anyway, true to form Hurricane sat patiently and to anyone watching will display those sad puppy dog eyes cocking his head ever so slightly. Oh PUH-lease…if they only saw him boogie down once they’ve left the vicinity. In any case, the alarm is set and the silence settles.

But ahhh, this day was a bit unusual! I was bored so I sauntered casually into the hallway where Hurricane was dozing. I positioned myself whisker to whisker gazing into his eyes just daring my brother to give chase.

…and we’re off! …up the stairs (I cheated, I scurried through the railings; a benefit of being small!) in the guest room, under the bed, to the TV room-behind the couch, then on the couch! “Awww, I’m telling Hurricane. You are NOT allowed on the sofa!” Next, I head into the closet, under the clothes, through the racks, on the bed and under the bed, down the hallway and down the stairs with my lovely mane blowing in the wind.

PHEW!!! I thought I had escaped when he bounded down the last five steps- “Crap, I think I’m a goner!” However, I find respite on the dining room table-WHEW! I’m safe now; deep breath!

As I take a break I take a momentary look out the window. Ohhh, look at those pretty red and blue glowing lights! Ummm-hey that nice looking man in the uniform is looking intently at our house; hey, what’s he doing ringing our doorbell?

“See, Hurricane? I knew you were in trouble for climbing on the furniture!” Hurricane is so nervous at the sound of the ding-dong his shrill bark raised my hackles although I knew that kind policeman would help me.

All of a sudden, I see Dad pull up in his car and talk to the pleasant officer. When he turns to walk toward the house he has his mad face on; UH--OH! He storms in and shouts, “which one of you set off the alarm?!”

I think I’ll go upstairs now and pretend I’m asleep…

Happy New Year!?

Happy New Year!

You’re right, it isn’t even November yet so what am I doing mentioning the new year?

Well, I have to come clean- the past few months have been anything but suitable regarding the economy, the outlook of the American people, the approach of my job and the pressure permeating my soul that more often than not I could pay no heed to however, I haven’t been successful as of late in brushing aside the pessimism enveloping me.

As well, I’ve abandoned consistent activities that bring peace of mind: writing particularly on my blog, allowing negativity to overtake my thoughts and steal the joy I desperately seek in the minuscule.

More so, I’ve busied my days with insignificant tasks to avoid thinking and to distance the world and those in it, all the same it’s grown old and impersonal.

Therefore, I thought I’d instigate the ideology and optimism, the cheerfulness and hopefulness that one tends to grasp when the proverbial door closes as another one opens. In my mind, the tiny fuses are anointed as the fireworks burst; streamers spout as resolve to begin anew resonates within.

So on this day, October 15, I bid myself and YOU if appropriate a Happy New Year!

“The object of a new year is not that we should have a new year.

It is that we should have a new soul. “

By G.K. Chesterson

a letter to Hurricane Irene...

Dear Irene,


Geez Louise, someone or something must have really ticked you off for you to be acting as you are; thrashing about and whirling around causing panic, anxiety and disappointment to countless people. It’s not OUR fault you were scorned and left for another. It’s not OUR fault you are PMS’ing and it’s not OUR fault you experienced a bad day!

You know Hurricane Irene, I always heard you catch more flies-- or is it bees with honey? Anyway, you are more likely to get your way when you are nice and pleasant with others; certainly not by creating enormous waves that cause beach erosion to our lovely coastlines. And while we are discussing your outcomes, how about those anticipated downed tree and power lines that will most likely wreak havoc to numerous communities? Just as important Irene, the flooding that may occur as a result of your insidious winds and rains? Is that really what you want? If I were you, I may re-think my behavior at this point in time before it’s too late.

You DO have worthy and valid reasons to be angry--we humans don’t treat planet Earth very respectively. I do understand that because numerous times when I’m really pissed at the world, I desire a good old-fashioned explosive thunderstorm that projects and conveys my feelings of humanity by lashing out with fierceness and intensity. However, I must admit when I long for a tumultuous cloudburst, it doesn’t ruin property OR anyone’s vacation.

You see, that is what I am most furious with. Call me selfish but our vacation at the beach is a time when we get to eliminate worries and struggles of everyday life and just be…be with our family where the peaceful waves and vast beauty invites calm and serenity within. The ocean has a way of settling our insides and brings forth peace of mind to our psyches while encouraging full presence to our surroundings.

Irene, the infinite sands and sea incites refuge from the hustle and bustle of our daily routines and provokes inner harmony with our God and each other. So please understand, this is more than a vacation; it is sanctity.

So in closing Irene, I just felt a need to relay these thoughts to you. If you find it necessary to invoke such fury, please take it out east and release your troubles elsewhere.

Sincerely,

The Spaine family

Dismissed, but not Unscathed...

Thursday I returned to work as the judge instructed me.


The jury duty summons was tucked in my calendar as a daily reminder to call August 14th to see how my civic duty would materialize. Sure enough, Juror # 78 would need to report on Monday. Although uncertain of the specifics, I was confident and assured as I entered the jury room with 355 strangers. Orientation promptly began and the jury selection process was set in motion. I, along with approximately 70 unknown humans was corralled into a court room.

Upon taking my seat in the juror’s box, I eyed two sets of attorneys before my eyes settled upon a man with strawberry blonde military type haircut, black rimmed rectangular glasses wearing a blue short sleeved button down shirt. He sat attentive flanked by his legal representation while an elderly couple which I presumed to be his parents sat in the first row of the court gallery.

Behind the second set of attorneys was a young woman whom I now know to be the mother of the infant murdered. How she sat in his presence, I will never know.

The excitement of being able to actually hear a trial quickly dissipated when the Honorable Judge laid out the specifics of our case: a capital murder charge with childhood sexual abuse was being sought against Joshua Stepp. I’m certain my mouth visibly dropped to the floor as past memories settled into my body bringing anxiety in the form of nausea.

Because of the nature of the case, we would be individually questioned which gave rise to abrupt and rapid anger within manifesting itself in fitful sleepless nights, the inability to eat, and impatience of all those around me along my need to articulate this experience to everyone I encountered. There was no ‘normal’ as I endured the three days of torturous waiting for my face to face inquiry with the judge.

The 45 minute meeting happened early Wednesday afternoon as my views and beliefs of the death penalty were sprawled out before the people within the court room. I was asked of my ability to focus on the evidence of the case rather than what I may or may not have heard about this particular case that occurred in 2009. I was grilled on following the law given by the judge and not personal judgments as well as my ability to give up 4-6 weeks of my life. (ohhh, not certain of this one; my trip to the ocean in jeaopardy?)

I was sensing I may be anointed ‘juror’ as alternate #3 when the interrogations shifted to the childhood sexual abuse. His initial question: ‘Have you or anyone close to you been sexually abused?’ to which I could only reply with a nod of the head, then instructed to speak into the microphone.

I was quickly dismissed when the judge inquired about my ability to separate the facts of this case with my own personal experiences. Is that actually possible? I couldn’t give a definitive answer. In my heart of hearts I really didn’t know of my ability with this aspect.

I completed the necessary forms for check out and rapidly took cover in the sanctity of my automobile. Once there, I got on the internet and surfed the name: Joshua Stepp which brought up his case of accusations of sexually assaulting and murdering his ten month old step-daughter, Cheyenne. I repressed the urge to vomit yet couldn’t escape the horrendous facts throughout the drive to the safety and security of my own home.

Overjoyed and thankful, yet repulsed; this case continues to plague my existence. So as the judge directed, I may be continuing with my normal routine yet little Cheyenne Yarley is never far from my thoughts.