Telephone

My love affair with the telephone began when I was in fifth grade. I would talk to my friends for at least an hour. By the next year, my phone conversations (which now included boys!) would last for a couple of hours, and going into my teenage years, I could spend as much as eight hours on the phone, talking to the same person about essentially nothing. Thank goodness for call waiting! Of course, it was more exciting when some of my friends picked up three-way calling...it was all so high-tech.

I knew a couple of friends with cell phones back in high school, the huge archaic ones, which were SUPPOSED to be used primarily for emergencies. I, of course, did not get a cell phone until my senior year in college, and by then, they were pretty prevalent (though texting wasn't). I'm not quite sure what I would do without my cell phone--being able to call anywhere is essential since I live thousands of miles from all of my friends and family.

The phone calls I remember most involve more or less the same subject. Last year, when I was spending a lot of time with doctors trying to figure out what this lump on my neck was all about, I remember sitting in the waiting room where I had my CT scan. I saw the technician giving me a worried, sad look...interesting, because he didn't seem too concerned about me BEFORE the scan. He asked me to wait until he got a hold of my doctor, and when the doctor called back, I heard the technician (though he was in the other room) say something about lymphoma. I was called in to speak to my doctor (on the phone), where I was told that I had some news--did I want to come into the office? He apologized for telling me over the phone, but the scans revealed that I had lymphoma. They weren't sure about the exact diagnosis, but decided that they needed to perform an excisional biopsy (they cut out the whole lump) to figure it out. It wasn't until three days later that I received a phone call--"You have Hodgkin's lymphoma."

Of course, my diagnosis involved other phone calls, telling my family and friends about it. I actually only called the people that knew I was going to the doctor in the first place...and my mother beat me to it in most cases. But I also wrote about it in one of my blogs...I just figured it was easier that way. And from that, I received another memorable call, from one of my best friends--the one I would speak to for eight hours at a time when we were in junior high. When she asked if it was true, and I said yes, immediately, she started crying. No one had cried about this yet. And for the first time since I heard my diagnosis, I started crying too.

simple.

i don't do simple. in my life, nothing is simple. in my writing, nothing is simple.

yet i love simple. some of the most beautiful/heartbreaking/profound words i've ever read are simple.

langston hughes, one of my favorite poets by far, does simple quite masterfully:

"i loved my friend/he went away from me/there's nothing more to say/the poem ends soft as it began/i loved my friend."

simple. but you can't tell me that you don't get the point...

Ocean

Today I'll deal with today's Sunday Scribblings prompt with a few odds and ends about "Ocean":

• If I had to choose between the mountains and the ocean, I would, every time, pick the ocean. Sounds slightly odd, since I can't swim. But to me, ocean denotes warmth (though clearly not all oceans are warm) and mountains denote cold (which i hate above all else). Mountains also make me think of Colorado---while it may be where I love, it is NOT home. And never will be.


• Our family didn't take a lot of trips to the beach when I was growing up. Sad, bc we didn't live too far--maybe an hour and a half drive? When we did go, it was always a day trip, never spending the night (except that one trip to the Outer Banks). What did the ocean always remind me of? Lots of sand stuck to my body, and a blistering sunburn (no matter how much sunscreen I used...I always missed a spot, and I never tan). Sand and sunburns? Quite a painful combo.


• One of my most memorable trips to the beach was the weekend after 9.11. yes, THAT 9.11. i went with some of my former dormmates for a house retreat. and while it was nice, i don't remember it being fun. i just remember being super reflective. it was SO peaceful out there on oak island--how could something so dreadful have happened, and so recently? even worse, as i was looking out onto the ocean, watching and listening to the waves crash on the sand, i envisioned planes going down in flames. but i also remembered how fortunate i was to have so many special people in my life--and i felt grateful for the love i had.


• I so wish i didn't burn so readily. bc one of my favorite things to do (on the rare occasions when i am able to do it) is to sit on the sand and watch the ocean. the combination of sun and water...honestly there is nothing better. and when the ocean is as beautiful as it is in the caribbean? well, even better.

i miss the ocean.

Crush

over the past 20+ years, i've had numerous crushes. some memorable, some not so memorable. some requited, most of them not. but all of them are stories to tell...here are just a few:

the first crush:
his name was konrad. he was in my kindergarten class. not necessarily the cutest kid around (back then, my idea of mr. dreamy was michael damian from the young and the restless...yes, i watched y&r when i was 5), but konrad had charisma. he made me laugh. it made me feel good. to this day, a sense of humor is still the number one i look for in a crush. thanks to konrad.

the big crush:
i had plenty of crushes after konrad, but the big one came when i moved to nc in the fifth grade. that's when i met jc. jc was short. really short. he wore baggy pants and one day he wore a funny-looking fishing cap to school. i thought he was the cutest thing i'd ever seen, even though he was a bit of a bad boy. and no, i've never been into bad boys. the crush lasted for a good year and a half, until seventh grade. he sat behind me in math class, and i got to know him a little better...enough to realize i was SO over him.

the anonymous crush:
after many more crushes (some big, some small), i got to high school. on the first day, i saw this beautiful boy in the cafeteria. tall, dark and handsome with the most beautiful eyes i'd ever seen. i became infatuated, i would get excited every time i saw him in the hallway, i would go to basketball games to see him play (or sit on the bench). and no. i never spoke to him. i wasn't ready for that crush to die.

the pseudo-celebrity crush:
when i was in college, the basketball players were definitely the big men on campus. and being the shy girl i am, i couldn't dare talk to any of them. i didn't even bother crushing on them, bc they were so popular with everyone else. except one. he was in one of my classes--the first time i saw him, i thought he was kind of cute, but i didn't realize he was a basketball player. perhaps if i had never realized it, i would not have been too shy to speak. perhaps we could have been great friends. but what can i say, i was terrified of him! my biggest embarrassment: one day after a game, he came up to me and said 'hey sweetie.' my response? i said hello and kept right on walking. let's just say he never tried to strike up a conversation again.

the grown-up crush:
is there really such a thing as a grown-up crush? i mean, i may be a grown-up (26 SHOULD be grown up, right?) but while i still crush, it feels oh-so-childlike. shouldn't i be over the whole 'i wonder what he's doing right now' curiosity and the excitement when he walks into the room? is it still necessary to feel giddy when i hear his voice or smell something that reminds me of him? honestly, i hope i never outgrow a crush...especially when it comes to the person i want to spend the rest of my life with.

Passenger or Driver?

From this week's Sunday Scribblings prompt:

"I don't want to be a passenger in my own life." (Diane Ackerman)

For the first 21+ years of my life, I was a perennial passenger. Really. I didn't get my driver's license until just two months before my 22nd birthday. While on some level, I was embarrassed not to be a driver, I was deeply relieved. The thought of driving TERRIFIED me. Of course, having a psychotic driver's ed teacher who didn't trust me to hit the brakes didn't help...how can you learn if you're not allowed to make mistakes? **And by mistakes, I don't mean slamming into the back of another car, but perhaps stopping a car-length behind the vehicle in front as opposed to stopping two car lengths behind.**

But then the time came when I HAD to be the driver. I was just out of college, looking for my first real job and I had no one to rely on but myself. Even my first long drive (four hours, which is not so long now, but back then, was an eternity) was a solo trip--a car accident which left my mother with a broken collarbone and no vehicle left me driving to my new home all alone. Yes, it was scary...but before long, I relished the thrill of driving. I love being in control, moving at the speed that suits me best (and I'll admit it, I curse at those who impede my speed), going where I want, when I want. I love being the driver.

And up until that point in my life, I had often been the passenger in my life as well. It was around that time, when there were so many other changes already going on in my life, that I had my heart broken. The kind of heartbreak that makes you wonder if you can get out of bed in the morning. The kind that makes you forget to eat and not even remember what it feels like to be hungry. I had so often let other people control my life...not only in relying on them to help me get from point A to point B, but also in telling me what I should do and who I should be.

Now I do what I want to do. Is it what I always thought it would be? Probably not. Is it always what my parents imagined for me? Definitely not. But it is what I want. And all because I refuse to be a passenger in my own life.

*****
I'm not feeling creative enough to incorporate my favorite quote into this prompt, but I did want to share (at least one of them). There are SO many to choose from, some insightful, some simply inane, some that make me cry, some that just make me laugh. But the one that's been in my head the most lately is from Sheryl Crow: "There ain't nothin' like regret/To remind you you're alive"

Oh, and while I'm quoting Sheryl Crow (she is, after all, very quotable), I'll end with some of the lyrics from one of my favorite songs, 'Crash and Burn'...

Antigone laid across the road
And let a Mack truck leave her there for dead
Just because her lover split the scene
Well love might be great
But why lose your head?

Morning

It's easy to miss him when I am out on the town at night, searching hard to find that next new man, wishing that there was someone worth my time.

It's easy to miss him when I go shopping at his favorite store, or hear our song on the radio, or watch the movie we rented on our first date.

But there is no time that is easier to miss him than in the early light of the morning...when I wake up to find the sun streaming through my window, but no head resting on the pillow next to mine. There is no arm slung across my stomach, begging me to stay for just five more minutes. There is no one proposing we turn on ESPN so we can watch Lee, Kirk and Chris dissect the upcoming action on College Gameday. There is nothing in my bed but me and a sad little teddy bear, trying to take the place of its giver.

It's easy to forget that I ever loved him, but it's not easy to forget he was ever there.