Carl & Arielle; A Love Story

Usually I don't hear anything about Arielle's boyfriends until A. they are no longer in the picture, in which case it's a moot point or B. she's fallen head over heels for them and it's too late for me to change her mind should I want to.

With Carl it was different. I heard about Carl almost right away and although I didn't get to meet him for quite some time (because I was still living in Florida) I heard a lot about him.

Here's how one of our first conversations went; "Hi Mom, I met this guy... His name is Carl and he's tall and really handsome. He has beautiful blue eyes. He's had cancer and he's smart and funny and..." I interrupted her, "I'm sorry Arielle, what was that last one?" "He's funny, she says? "No not that one." "Oh," she says, "He's had cancer?" "Ummmm, Yeah.... that one!

Now I've had my run in's with cancer and from my experience, it's not something you ever want to mess with if you have a choice. In fact, if you have a choice you really should run like hell! However, because the "apple doesn't fall too far from the tree" and Arielle can be as stubborn and as hard headed as her Mom, she was not going to let a little thing like cancer stand in her way. No way. She liked this "Carl" guy and it was on... cancer better step back.

During the first few months cancer behaved itself and took a back seat to this new forming love. I heard more and more about Carl and it sounded to me like this was getting serious. I understood why, he was handsome and he did have beautiful blue eyes and who knows maybe, just maybe this was meant to be.

Unfortunately, cancer got bored with talking the back seat, and in just a few months it reared it's ugly head and came back with a vengeance.

Carl and Arielle took the news in stride... not a lot or fuss or bother. They were just two young people, in love, just starting out and yes ok... they just happen to be dealing with cancer.

Promises and plans were made, dreams were shared and in between chemo therapy appointments, their life together was being mapped out.

The next few months were void of any good news, things got worse. Hope seemed to be running out, but they both carried on. One just as as strong as the other. Life threw them lemons, they made lemonade; life put up roadblocks, they found detours. It was as if they were growing closer and moving forward together as a couple in spite of this cancer.

Weeks went by and the situation became more serious and no matter how much in love they were, how young, how determined how much they fought it... in the end at 4:06AM on December 23 Carl (and Arielle) lost their battle with cancer.

It was the most difficult thing I have ever witnessed... watching my child, my baby, deal with such an enormous loss and such unbearable pain. There wasn't and still isn't a thing I can do to make it better.

Yes, this was a sad story about young love, loss, life lessons and a mother's perspective of the pain her youngest daughter has had to experience at a very young age.

I hope and pray that I never ever have to write this story again.

A rock by any other name....

Anyone who's been to my house has seen for themselves that I have a... well let's just say I have more than a fondness for rocks. Yup, rocks!

Small, medium, large. Light, dark, speckled. Smooth, bumpy, flat. I have an unexplainable, perhaps somewhat abnormal fascination with rocks.

You can imagine my delight when we moved to Brighton, England where I discovered the entire beach, as far as the eye can see, is covered with nothing but "rocks." It is the most amazing thing I have ever seen. Especially for me, coming from Florida where the beaches are covered with fine, white, hot, pristine sand, this is totally cool, if not a little weird!

So the way it happens is, I just walk down the beach, on any given day and rocks (the special rocks) just jump out at me, begging to be taken home! I swear they do! They call out to me, making it impossible for me to ignore them. I am obliged to stop, pick them up and take them home.

We might be on our way to lunch or maybe the movies, but if our route takes us by the sea, you can be sure I will have a pocket full (well at least 1 or 2) by the time we reach our destination.

I have rescued rocks from all over the world; the UK, Italy, France, Germany, Switzerland, Sedona, Key West Key West, Pensacola, Seattle and so on, and so on, and so on.

The rock in the photo below took me a little bit by surprise, but it came home with me anyway! What does it look like to you?

So the next time you accidently kick a rock, stumble across a rock, have a particular rock "catch your eye," take the "hint." It may be speaking to you... calling your name... looking for a new home.

Praise Without Joy?

Did I mention we went to Christmas Eve Midnight Mass at Winchester Cathedral?

It is an amazingly complex structure with stained glass windows, beautiful sculptures, large intricate archways, upon archways upon archways... it's magnificent, really!

So you can imagine how disappointed I was to find Christmas Eve, mid-night mass totally and absolutely void of any emotion, joy or spirit!

There were hundreds of people out at 11:30 PM to praise their Lord and give thanks for everything they have in their lives... but the space was empty.

We sat on the side, looking in towards the center pews and I watched the congregation stare blankly at the Vicar delivering the sermon. Their eyes dead and faces blank of any emotion. They dutifully repeated and responded appropriately to his words (which even he didn't seem to be to excited about!) "Peace be with you," he would say, "...and also with you," was the robotic, monotone response.

The choir sang angelically. Their amazing voices reverberated through the archways like the sweet smell of the incense, but still the congregation was not moved. They sat, staring blankly at the alter.

I closed my eyes and tried really hard to feel "it." You know, that sense of joy, peace, well being. I just wanted on this holy night to feel "Christmas," but nothing.

The next day, wandering around the town, in the early hours when most everyone was still at home, we came across The Church of St Swithin Upon Kingsgate. A very small unassuming structure that could have easily been missed if one had blinked!

We walked up a short, narrow flight of old wooden stairs and pulled open a door (which weighed a ton) and stepped into a small, simple, empty space that immediately demanded our full attention.

It was nothing more than white plaster walls, simple wooden pews, two stained glass windows at either end of the room and some beautiful rustic wooden beams in the ceiling.... but this room was filled with history, peace, joy and yes the holy spirit was present! I had found "Christmas."

You could sense the joy, sorrow, praise and doubt. You could almost see the weddings, funerals, baptisms and feel the emotions of the hundreds of people people who have passed through those doors in the last 750. If that room could talk.

We stayed for many minutes, not talking, not moving... just looking and listening to the quiet and feeling the peace within the room. We took a few photos and left, leaving a generous donation so that they can hopefully keep this wonderful joyous place open to the public!

I know it's after the fact but "Merry Christmas" I pray that you find the joy and peace of "Christmas" throughout the new year!

"What we've got here is a failure to communicate."

I don't know why I stopped "blogging?" I found it relaxing, cathartic, fun even and it provided me with an awareness of myself that I didn't usually have on any regular basis.

It's only when we stop, listen and take a good hard look at ourselves, do we get tiny glimpses of that vaguely familiar being, who sits there right on the very edge of our consciousness. You know the one, she (or he) has sat there forever right there, right there inside our head.

It's the "real" us, the one who sits in there watching, listening and judging everything we do or say and in my case, usually shaking her head making comments like, "What a load of bullshit!"

Well it's New Year's Eve and time to make another commitment that I may not keep, but of which I have the highest of intentions; lets' Blog!

My "blog" won't have a theme or any sense of order, so once again it will be titled "Organized Chaos." I like it. It sums up my life in two, small insignificant words.

So here we go again, all the "stuff" that swirls around in my head, written down on paper (so to speak) and on display. It will be here. If you're totally bored with everything else you've read on Facebook take a look... it may make you laugh, it may make you cry. In most cases it will make you even more certain that I've lost my mind... but if it makes you feel anything, you'll realize you're alive!

Peace, love and light in 2011

M

We're off to see the wizard....

What if you were? ....off to see the Wizard that is... and what if you could ask him for anything! What would you ask him for?

I've thought about this since I was kid. What would I ask him for? I already have a pretty good heart and I have a brain that works (on most days) and if nothing I am courageous... I guess I could ask to be home, but that seems silly since most of the time when I am home, I'm dreaming about being someplace else.

Don't get me wrong I love my home! I love my house. It's safe and warm and comfortable. It holds so many good memories. It's weird to realize that there are people (people I love) who have stayed in my home, that no longer walk on this earth. Sometimes when I walk into the guest bedroom or into the den, I feel their presence. Or do I just want to feel their presence? I'm never sure.

My home has always been a place of comfort and refuge for me. A place to which I can always escape. ....but still, I always feel other parts of the world calling me "home." Places I've never visited, are calling call me "home." How can that be?

Nepal, Jerusalem, that place in Finland (or is it Iceland) where you go to experience the Aurora Borealis? Italy always. France for sure. Obscure places like Easter Island, Stonehenge, New Mexico... the "outback."

Maybe it's true, home is where the heart is... it's just that my heart is over the place. I want to see and experience all of it!

Maybe that's what I would ask the Wizard for! A one way ticket around the world!

Right now I'd settle to be on a flight to London. I'd settle to be on a flight to anywhere! Instead, I'm sitting on the floor of the Miami airport, Gate J15, listening to not so cool jazz, freezing and wishing I were anywhere but here!

A heart is not judged by how much you love; but by how much you are loved by others. ~ The Wizard of Oz

"Arif my Friend"

Arif Kazi is my friend. He is from India. He is bright, he is funny, he is articulate and he just happens to be Muslim. His choice of religion is not a big deal and normally would not even be noteworthy, but I don't think I've ever known anyone who was Muslim... and after all my years on this earth (and the fact that there are approximately 800 million Muslims in this world) I think that's pretty amazing!

I love talking to him about his religion... the traditions, the origins and all the similarities to Catholicism and Judaism blow my mind! It is really interesting stuff!

Arif is animated about his beliefs and devote in his practice. He eats only "halal, which are foods seen as permissible according to Muslim dietary law (Sharia) and he attends the obligatory Jummah (Friday afternoon service). When prompted, he talks about his faith with passion and seems to enjoy playing the part of the "Ustadz" (teacher). He is going to bring me a Koran, written in English, so I can learn more.

Arif and I are from opposites ends of the earth. He's a male, I am a female. He was born in India I was born in the US. He is young... I am not. He is Muslim, I am spiritually open... Yet with all our differences, we are good friends. We like each other, we respect each other, we enjoy each others company and we like talking about the differences between us. We embrace the differences that we find in each other and oddly enough we do it easily. It seems like the most natural thing in the world to do.

What I don't understand is why it's so difficult for other people to do the same?

Joy

What is joy?

For me it's the feeling I get when I'm with my Grandson. This amazing, 11 year old, dynamo stirs emotions in me that I never knew I had.

Don't get me wrong, I love my children. My girls are wonderful, amazing, really fantastic, but having a Grandchild is indescribable!

I think when you have kids you're so worried about doing everything right and not screwing them up... you miss a lot! You love them, you enjoy them, but there's this underlying tension and worry. This weird anxiety like your forgetting something or that you've missed something.

Not to mention the fact that you don't ever want them to see you for who you really are! God forbid. You need to keep the grand facade going that you're this all knowing, all powerful, perfect "parent." Even though they know... and you know, you're not. You never were.

With my Grandson, it's different, it's all about love. Unquestionable, unconditional, undying love.

I look at him and I see bits of his mother, sure that's easy... but more than that I see my Dad, my Mom, traces of Uncle Charlie... and I see me. In him I see what must be traits and characteristics of the many generations of my family that came long before me. I also see the future.

After I'm long gone, he'll still be here. He'll hopefully have a wonderful life and a family of his own. He'll have memories of me that don't include my disciplining him, or punishing him. He won't think about the times I messed up or made is life miserable, because it never happened. He won't blame me for things that have happened in his life, or worse blame me for the things that didn't happen. His memories and judgement of me won't be clouded by that whole painful parent/child, love/hate thing.

Nope, after I'm dead and gone... he'll be left with memories of "Grandma." ...and with any luck at all he'll be overcome by a feeling of unquestionable, unconditional, undying love and feeling of joy.