Things to be thankful for

1. We made the drive safely
2. We don't ever have to make it again!
3. I spent the day with my father yesterday, and it was good.
4. My pups are settling in (slowly) to their new home.
5. It's a beautiful day.
6. My friends haven't forgotten about me yet.
7. I will see my sister this week.
8. And my other sister.
9. My in-laws are being so kind and generous to me.
10. My in-laws are kind and generous to the pups.
11. I haven't gained any weight this past week!
12. My plane tickets are still valid.
13. J is still excited about me coming.
14. My friends haven't forgotten about me yet.
15. My relatives have actually picked up their phones to call me.
16. I spent some time with the one set of nieces and nephew this weekend.
17. I didn't have to kill any of them.
18. I got some new clothes on SALE!
19. I can sit outside and enjoy a nice breeze.
20. My friends haven't forgotten about me yet.
21. Only seven more days until I catch my plane!

Michigan

The drive was awful, but we made it. Yea!!

It's real now. Like really real. It was just kind of an abstract idea before. But we have moved out of our house, we are in Michigan, I am living out of a suitcase, and I am making arrangements to see the relatives one last time before taking off. It's real. Wow.

Now's when the butterflies start to set in. Oh, my goodness. I'm moving to Korea. I'm moving to Korea to live with my beautiful J. I'll get to fall asleep next to him again. I'll get to wake up smothered by his huge arm wrapped tightly around me. I'll get to see his blue, blue eyes turn clear like a summer sky or smoky like a winter evening as I stare at him. I'll get to feel his touch--soft, demanding, calming, electric--and the exact moment when I melt. That moment comes before he touches me, even. Before he looks at me. Before I hear his deep as molasses voice. It will happen the next morning as I make the bed and pull up the blankets on his side of the bed. As I smooth out the indentations he made in his pillows. As I tuck in the sheets that his long, strong legs have pulled loose from the end of the bed. It will come as I realize that I am finally back with the man whose love I breathe in with each sweet breath until my heart is filled with peace.

It's real. It's really real. I'm going home.

Waking up new

It's Sunday morning. It's a new day, and it's a new me.

Actually, it's the old me. The one I like. The one who smiles and looks ahead to all that's waiting just over the horizon. The one who realizes that each person does what they are capable of doing and that it's just unfair to ask or expect any more than that.

There's a few things on my list of chores to accomplish today. I'll get some of them done and then take a break and go do something fun with the pups. I think I'll take them for a nice drive this afternoon. Maybe stop and get them an ice cream cone. Boy, oh boy, do the pups love ice cream! Then I'll do a few more chores this evening.

My movers will be here in the morning. All of my "stuff" will be crated and carted away. Although part of me wishes that my friends were able to give me a little more support, it doesn't really matter in the long run. I'm still leaving. They've still been my friends for three years. And when I look back and think of them, I'll remember the good times and forget the bad.

Time to go get started on this new day. . .a day that shines bright with promise and brings me closer to J. And what better way to start than with a leisurely stroll with my precious pups.

Happy Sunday!

the crabs

It's official--the crabbiness has set in.

I don't like this. I'm not by nature a crabby or depressed person. I'm upbeat, content, always smiling. I'm the person everyone goes to when a pick-me-up is needed. I occasionally get upset, but I don't stay that way for long. It just requires too much energy to stay angry. And that's energy wasted!

But I'm definitely crabby tonight. Not really going to say why because I'll have to think about it which will make me even crabbier. So I guess I'll just use this Saturday night to get a little more cleaning done. Never mind that it's my last Saturday here. Never mind that I'd asked my two good friends repeatedly if we could do something tonight. Never mind that even earlier today they both said that they had things to do tonight. Never mind that they are both sitting home right now not doing anything. Just never mind it all.

I'm going to get a little bit more done tonight and catch some sleep. I need to get rested for my road trip Tuesday, anyway.

Definitely crabby.

Warning label attached

There was a sign hanging outside my house this week that read:

Warning--Volatile creature inside. Enter at own risk!

Ok. So maybe the sign wasn't really out there. But it should have been.

To say that this has been an emotional week for me would be an EXTREME understatement. I'm excited to be leaving Fort Polk--for too many reasons to recount here. I'm thrilled that I will be not only seeing J but living with him again soon. And nervous. I can't explain why. Every time we are apart for a while, I always do this little thing right before we are back together again where I wonder if I'm going to be a disappointment to him. Kind of like when you have your heart set on ice cream or pizza, and it's all you can think about, but once you get it, it doesn't taste as good as you hoped it would.

What else? I'm preoccupied with all that I have to get done this week. Someone will be talking to me, but all I'm hearing is the mental checklist I keep running down and crossing off items. There is a bit of paperwork to be done and appointments and shipping and packing and making sure the right things are put into the right piles because if something gets packed that shouldn't, we won't see it again for a year or two. There's backing up of all the paperwork just in case it gets lost in one place. Backing up the computer in case something happens and files and pictures get lost. (OH NO!!)

There's a little sadness at leaving some of my friends who, now that I'm about to leave, want to spend time with me...time that I need to use to get all my other tasks done. What the heck. These are my friends. I'll just take off with them for a bit and stay up later to finish my work.

Which leaves me extremely tired. I can count on one hand the total number of hours of sleep I have gotten this week. It's kind of scary to fall asleep standing in the middle of the kitchen debating whether to clean the counters or refrigerator and wake up a few (?) mintues later with the cleaner and cloth in hand, counters freshly wiped. Or fall asleep looking at the clothes you've decided to take with you and wake up to see that you've packed your suitcase. I don't know if exhaustion technically qualifies as an emotion, but it does for me this week.

There's bitterness about things that were said and things that were not done.

There's heartbreak every time I look at my pups. Knowing that I must leave them to be with J is totally unfair. I want to stomp my feet and pull my hair and kick and scream and cry. These are my babies. I can't leave them. Yet somehow, I must.

There's the feeling that I am betraying their trust. They don't like the packing. It makes them nervous. And they keep following me around and looking at me, asking if everything is ok. And I give them their scratches and kisses and tell them not to worry...everything is ok. And I'm lying. I'm leaving them, and they know it. And I hate it. And I hate me for doing it.

And then I look at the picture of J on my computer and know that I'm going home. I think about this new adventure we are about to start. I'm happy. I'm ready.

And I'm frustrated with some of my relatives. I call to tell them when I'm going to be in town just like a good little niece/cousin/granddaughter should. I'm travelling fourteen hundred miles (that's 1400!) to see you before I get on a plane and leave, and you won't drive two miles to come meet me somewhere!?

There's anticipation for the two days I will spend with Rebecca and her husband and my nieces and nephews as we all hang out at the hotel and swim and eat pizza and laugh and joke and play and show how much we love each other.

There's hurt feelings for my other sister who has decided that she doesn't want to join us.

There's dread at the upcoming drive. I hate driving. It's just distasteful to me. It's the equivalent of me serving someone a bowl of worm soup. Yuck. And I've got 1400 miles of road to cover.

And then J calls to tell me about our apartment and how he's looking forward to me getting there and showing me things and going here and there and just being together again, and that makes me catch my breath and remember why I'm doing all this. When he says, "I'm so glad you're coming, " I get little butterflies in my stomach. I would cross to the ends of the earth for this man, and HE'S glad to see ME.

The packing is done now. Now, I just get through the weekend. Movers will cart my stuff away Monday, and I leave here on Tuesday. I wonder how many times I'll cry between now and then?

What's briefer than brief?

This update. Let's just say I'm tired. And it's rather late. And the packers will be here in the morning. Been going pretty much nonstop this week to make sure I have everything ready before they come.

Okay. That's it for now. Time for a few quick winks before it's up and at 'em again.

--you know you're tired when...

you fall asleep walking down the hall, wake up in the next room, and wonder how you got there!

to my surgeon

Dr. Foxworth,

When I walked into your office a year ago and asked you to perform my surgery, you hesitated. This is a big step, a drastic one. There's no going back. You really put me through the hoops. I had to work in those interviews to prove to you that I knew what I was asking. This is my career. I have to be able to justify this. You made me recite facts and figures and symptoms and side effects and pros and cons. What do you know about Lupron? What do you know about Danazol? And I had to show you the research I had done, show you that I understood the disease I was battling and the weapons used to fight it. But I'm 36, and I KNOW that I still want children. You made me look you straight in the eye and tell you that I had given up hope, that I already considered this chapter closed. And are you prepared for the "after?" We're taking away 25 years, and your body won't understand. I told you that I wouldnt' make the next 25 years living like this and was prepared to deal with whatever happened.

I could see it in your eyes; you were going to say no. Knowing there was nothing more for me to do, I stood up and looked you firmly in the eyes as I proffered my hand for a shake and said thank you for the meeting with a sad smile. You shook my hand...and you paused. And as I turned to leave the office, you told me to wait. I met your eyes squarely. A long exhale, and you asked me to have my husband join us. September 28. I'll put you down. Go home, read these papers, and come back next week. From that point on, we worked together to find the best solution.

You warned me before surgery, and then again after surgery, that I had a long road ahead of me. It was going to be rough, and it was going to hurt, and things would never be the same.

Thank you, Dr. Foxworth. You were right. Things aren't the same, and I pray that they never are. You gave me a second chance. You gave me a new life. Over the years, I forgot some of the joy just living brings. Now I find it every day. There's joy in waking up each morning not feeling like a prisoner in my body. There's joy in being able to move however I want. There's joy in not being in constant anticipation of the pain.

Sitting in your office again yesterday, we discussed the surgery. The smile in your eyes as you gave me the thumbs up was genuine. Echoing a year ago, I stood up and proffered my hand with thanks and turned to leave. And like a year ago, you stopped me. Hey...good luck. I met your eyes squarely. We both exhaled and gave each other a silent nod.

It's time for me to go start my new life now.

Thank you.

A brief update

I did see my surgeon on Friday for a short checkup. All in all, she's very pleased and feels that the surgery was the right decision and was successful. I received the standard cautions about the possibility of recurrence and the importance of checkups--although I now only have to have them every two years--as well as another offer for prescription medications...which was met with another refusal.

We're not worried about the numbness that still covers a section of my abdomen. It should come back, and we're hoping it does, but it's just not that big of a deal if it doesn't. There were only a few itty-bitty concerns that we're just going to play wait and see on. Recovery takes a year for most and longer for some. I'm at ten and a half months.

Things are good. I still have a green light for Korea. (Yeah--like she could stop me, anyway!)
Thanks, Dr. Foxworth!

Charity gone wrong

I firmly believe that no matter who you are, you will need help of some kind at some point in your life. And it is our duty to provide help to others when they need it if we are in a position that allows us to.

I received a phone call last Saturday. It was from a stranger. I'm not sure how she got my number, but I'm assuming it was from the ad I placed about the flowers I was selling. I don't often answer the phone from numbers I don't recognize, but this time I did. On the other end was this stranger asking for help. She told me that she was desperate...desperate enough to call a stranger. She had three children ages 9, 3, and 1 and was pregnant with the 4th. She was living alone in an apartment without a single piece of furniture. Her children were sleeping on the floor. Their clothes were on the floor. They ate on the floor. She had no family close by to help and no money to buy furnishings. She was looking for help.

If she had asked me for money, I would have hung up. I'm naive but not stupid. But she wasn't asking for money. She was asking if I had any extras...extra pillows, extra blankets...even extra dressers or mattresses. Anything I could spare would be a blessing. I was a bit taken aback. I told her that I don't have any children, so I had nothing for children to give her. And I don't have any extra furniture. She got quiet on the other end, and thanked me for at least not hanging up on her. I told her that I would see what I could come up with. I couldn't promise anything more than a phone call back, but I would, indeed, be calling.

I sat and thought for a while. And I prayed. I wanted to know what I should do. As I sat outside thinking just what my responsibility here was, I noticed that a neighbor was hauling out his old metal futon. I asked him what he was doing, and he said that he got a new one and didn't need this one anymore. I took that as my sign to help the stranger.

Over that night and the next day, I rounded up a queen sized futon which would make a nice bed for the kids, a washer and dryer, two dressers, a single mattress, and five bags of food. I also was working on some clothing and toys for the kids. When I called S(tranger) back to tell her, she seemed very happy. Her enthusiasm faded a bit when she asked if the items were new or used. When I told her used, she responded with an "oh." I told her that I only needed her to find someone with a truck to come pick it all up. I didn't see how this would be a problem since she had told me about the church she attends. She agreed. This was Sunday afternoon, and she had church later that day.

I called her on Monday to see if she had found a truck yet. She said that she didn't "feel like" asking anyone; isn't there someone I can ask? I told her no and that I can't hold onto these items very long. I talked to her again Monday evening. She still hasn't checked with anyone. She told me that she would hang up the phone to call the pastor right then and give me a call right back.

But she didn't call me right back. And she didn't call Tuesday or Wednesday or Thursday or Friday. I tried calling her but got no answer. Meanwhile, another neighbor has told me that her friend is looking to buy a washer and dryer and wants to know if I will sell these to her. I told her that they were already spoken for. But Saturday afternoon, when the furniture is still in my house and I still haven't heard from S, she asks me again. I told her that I will give S until the end of the day to return my calls. If I don't hear from her, I will sell the washer and dryer to get back what I paid for them. So I do.

Saturday night at 11:53 p.m. my telephone rings. I check the caller ID, and it's S. Calling me at midnight. Not appreciating the hour of the call, I don't answer. She leaves this message:

"uh...I'm trying to reach K! This is S. I'm calling about my stuff, so you NEED to call me back!"

I'm not very happy. First, she doesn't call me back after saying that she will. Then she doesn't return MY calls. For a week. Now, she's calling me at midnight. And leaving a rather rude message on my phone.

She starts calling the next morning. I don't answer the first time because I'm just not composed enough yet to talk to her without losing control. This message goes like this:

"uh...hello, K! This is S, again. You haven't returned my calls. Did you go out of town without telling me?! You REALLY need to call me back about my stuff!"

And this was followed by five more phone calls. And four more today.

I'm not feeling charitable any longer. I feel foolish. And used. And I've already found other people that need the items I bought and collected for her, so I'm getting them to people who are sincere in their need.

I hope she doesn't call again tomorrow. Because I just might answer the phone this time. And I don't have anything good to say to S right now.

"Smaller" smiles

I went shopping today. I needed some clothes before I leave for Korea. I woke up feeling refreshed (I'm not sure how on only four hours of sleep), I had some nice messages waiting for me on the computer, and even my hair was cooperating...so I decided to take my good mood and go clothes shopping.

This has never been anything I particularly enjoyed. Not for a long time, anyway. But I told myself to just take it easy. No expectations here; we're just looking for a couple of new outfits. I head for my favorite store in town. This store is my favorite for three good reasons: 1) I like their clothes, 2) I like their prices, 3) they are a combination misses and plus sized store, so I don't have to walk into a plus size only place to shop. This last reason is actually pretty dumb because it's depressing to know that one whole side of the store is off limits to me. I guess it just makes me feel good to be near regular sizes.

So in I went. I know that I've lost some weight. When clothes fall off, it's a pretty good indication of this. But I'm still trying to not have any expectations or visualize any certain outcome. I'm just going to go inside and try some things on, and I'm not coming out without at least three outfits, and I'm NOT going to CRY.

But I did cry. I cried when the first size I tried on was too big. And I cried when the next one was still too big. And I cried when, fueled by newfound hope, I reached for the size I had always hoped to get into...and it fit.

I spent three hours wandering around the store--the OTHER half of the store--choosing clothes with color and shape and style like I had always wanted but wouldn't wear because of being too self-conscious about how they would look on my hips. And I bought six outfits. Then I went to another store and bought three more.

I may not be stopping traffic anytime soon, but I no longer have to be referred to as the girl who's "kinda big but has a great personality." And that's enough to make me smile.

A deeper gold

A friend of mine recently bought herself a new ring. It's actually a new wedding set. She came over to show off how shiny and sleek and flawless it is. I made the appropriate oohs and ahs. Then she asked me why I don't trade my old set in on a new one. After all, I've certainly EARNED it. "I don't think so," I said. "I like mine just the way it is."

That's how she looks at life, though. She likes things shiny and new. When some of the sparkle starts to wear off, she's out looking for something to replace it. She looks at my rings, my two simple bands, and sees their age, sees their flaws and how they're no longer perfectly round. To her, they're just old.

I look at them a little differently. One wedding band is mine; the other is J's grandmother's. I wear them side by side and see continuity. There are small scratches in the gold now. The color has deepened from the glassy color of new rings to a warmer, richer, and deeper gold more like the color of brushed bronze. And the shape is no longer perfectly round but has formed to the contours of my finger.

I look down at my hand and see rings that have stood up to all I've put them through. I see the way the small scratches reflect the light a little differently but into beautiful and unique patterns. I like the warmth of the color of this deeper gold. It speaks of life and love. And I like the way this ring has taken on the shape of my finger. It has become fitted and a part of me. On the rare occasion when I take off my rings, they have the look of rings that have been well worn. It's obvious that they belong to someone and that they are part of someone.

These are my rings. They speak of me and of my marriage. They speak of a relationship that isn't shiny and new and perfect but of one that is has endured scratches, turned deeper, and changed shapes until it's a custom fit for the people who wear it. They show continuity, endurance, and the special beauty of things that have been strong enough to bend under pressure without breaking.

Like everything else in her life, when her rings lose that new sparkle, she'll be off to trade them in on something new. She'll never appreciate seeing a well worn ring on her finger and knowing that they're not beautiful in spite of their flaws but because of them.

Love Letters

In organizing things for the move, I came across old love letters J and I have shared over the years. What is it about those few words written on a page that touches so deeply?

It's interesting to read letters that are many years old and then read newer ones to compare them. The "more" that we've grown into over the years is reflected in the letters. As wonderful as new love is, it doesn't even compare to sharing history with someone.

I am so in love with this man. He is with me in everything that I do. There is no place he could go that I would not follow him. There is nothing I would not give up to be with him. To be with him, touch him, laugh with him, love him is heaven. I would wait all my days to look into his eyes once more.

to my darling J,

you are the fire that makes me burn
and the peace that calms my soul.
you are every great adventure.

Friends

When I started writing my journal, I didn't figure anyone would ever read it. It was just a way for me to cope with long nights. It also helped me sort through some of my feelings; it's therapeutic to write. But one day, someone dropped by and said hello. I figured it was a fluke--something that was destined to happen sooner or later but just once and just by accident. It wasn't, though. I actually have friends who take a few minutes out of their day to stop by and see what I might have rambled about the evening before.

I don't know what to think about this. I'm happy and humbled. And hopeful. Some of the people who glance past here I would have to consider friends. And unlike the friends that I am leaving when I leave Fort Polk, I don't have to say goodbye to my blog friends. The Internet will travel with me, and I can stay in touch with every last blogger. As a matter of fact, the only thing that will change is that my journal will contain entries from Korea and sappy descriptions of how great it is to see my best friend every morning again.

I actually find it comforting to know that I can take all my new friends with me. And I can share my new adventure with all of them. So if you're one of them, and if you're reading this you most likely are, thank you. Thank you for making me part of your day. Thank you for your encouragement. Thank you for waving to me as I leave.

BUT...
don't wave so hard--I'm just switching locations. It's not that easy to get rid of me! Have you learned nothing from me yet?!

Bare walls

If anyone had asked me a few days ago, I wouldn't have thought that we had much "stuff" in the house. I don't like a lot of stuff or clutter. My walls were decorated simply with an oil painting here, a tapestry there, wrought iron sconces scattered throughout. But my walls are bare now, and the simple decorations I had are even more noticeable now that they're gone.

My packers come next week. Much of the work I am doing now they would do when they got here, but I simply don't trust them. Everything would end of packed for sure, but not the way I want it. I'm just a little particular about things, especially MY things. I want it all packed just a certain way and in a certain order. And since there will only be one of me to supervise the five or six packers they normally send, I have work to do ahead of time so that I make sure things get done the way I want them to.

So far, all of my closets have been organized and sorted into categories. So have the three storage units. My walls are now clean and clear. I had my yard sale this past weekend, so all of my extra "stuff" has already been dealt with and removed. I sent six boxes to Korea today. Just little things that I would like to have with me. Little touches to make our new apartment a home.

J was supposed to sign for our apartment today. He's a little late in calling, and I'm hoping it's because he's meeting with our new landlord and getting a set of keys.

Have to give Cokie and Weezer some extra special attention tomorrow. I was gone all day running errands, and now their house is being taken down around them. They are a little nervous. I don't know how I love those dogs so much, but I do. They've been with me for the past ten and a half years. They've been there during deployments and schools and everything. I'm thinking of things I can do to make them feel extra comfortable and loved when they go to stay with grandma and grandpa.

My list of things to do is getting shorter and shorter. Now that I'm down to bare walls, I can cross one more thing off the list.

Time Out

So what happens when you go and go and go without stopping? When the list of things you need to do, should do, and want to do is longer than the time you have? And when the months of little sleep lead to three days of no sleep at all? The body just shuts down, that's what.

It was a long week. I managed to get several things marked off my master list but at the expense of sleep. I was up all night Wednesday and all night Thursday. I thought I would get to take a nap on Friday, but my ad in the paper for the flowers from the yard meant that I had people in and out from 8:30 in the morning until 6:00 in the evening. Then there was a cookout Friday night. I would have skipped it except that I had volunteered to bring food, and I didn't want to let them down. (They were really counting on my famous baked beans and deviled eggs!) So I went to the party figuring I would only stay an hour or so. Once there, I was having fun and forgot about being tired. I remembered around 1:30 a.m. as I made my way home. J called to see if I'd made it home and to say goodnight. As I was on the phone with him, gunshots rang out. They sounded as if they were coming from the apartment above, but I couldn't be positive. I hung up with J to call the MP's, and before I even finished giving all the information to the desk sergeant, my neighborhood was lit up with so many spotlights you would have thought it was daytime and filled with more MP's than I'd ever seen in my life.

J called me right back and said he wasn't hanging up until he knew what was going on and that I was okay. This whole ordeal took a couple of hours. By the time the police and swat team left and I calmed down and J felt comfortable hanging up, it was 4:30. Now, Saturday morning was supposed to be my garage sale. Around here, saling starts at 6:00...and yes, that's in the morning. By noon, most people have called it quits and gone back indoors because it's just too hot to sit out in the sun hoping someone will come by to buy your old coffee cups and college sweatshirts. So I drive to the Shoppette for a cup of caffeine--I mean coffee, and start setting my things up for the sale.

Sure enough, my first customers arive at 5:30. In the morning. In the dark. Whispering because the neighbors are still alseep. They leave with about $35 worth of crap--I mean things that I no longer need. By 8:30, I've sold everything I cared about selling and decide to call it quits. I had already called the Women's Shelter in the next town over and told them that I had clothes to donate and asked what else was on their list of things they needed. Some of the little odds and ends I was getting rid of made their list, so I gathered it all up and loaded it in my Jeep. The lady a couple of houses down from me was having a sale, too, so I bop over there real quick and grab up some of her games and stuffed animals to take in, too. (Having to leave home in the middle of the night is rough enough. Kids should at least have games and stuffed animals to help comfort them.)

I get home from the shelter about 12:00. My neighbors see me come home and run over to say that they are taking their dog and going to the beach and want to know if the pups and I want to go with them. Now, I'm tired. Very tired. And running around in my bathing suit with my young hunky neighbor and his young, hunky friends...and their younger, perkier girlfriends and wives...doesn't sound all that appealing. But I look at Cokie and Weezer who seem to have somehow undertood the invitation and have a quiet look of hope in their eyes and hear myself saying, "We'd love to go! Thanks for inviting us!!"

I change into my suit and wish I'd spent the past three nights of not sleeping doing situps and leg lifts but realize (and hope) that the hunks and perky girls will be too distracted by all their nubile, exposed flesh to pay much attention to me. After about four hours of sunning and playing, my pups are exhausted and ready to go home. As soon as we are loaded back up in the Jeep, they both pass out. And I realize that I'm not far behind them. On the drive back home, I have to fight to keep my eyes open. I grab my phone and call my sister and tell her to please talk to me and keep me talking. (Don't lecture me about talking on the phone while driving. It's much more dangerous to fall asleep at the wheel.) She talks to me until I reach home safely and makes me promise to go inside and go to sleep.

I go inside and put out dinner for the pups. I'm trying to decide what to make for myself when J calls. I sit down on the couch to talk to him and only hear a few more words of what he is saying. It's 6:15 Saturday evening, and I have been going nonstop since 7:00 Wednesday morning. And sitting here on my couch after an afternoon in the sand and sun, with a blanket around my shoulders, a cool breeze from the ceiling fan, and J's warm voice tingling its way across the phone lines, I fall asleep.

Actually, I think I was the one talking when I went down for the count. I passed out. Shut down. No more time left on the play clock. And I didn't wake up until 9:15 this morning in exactly the same position as when I went to sleep. That's fifteen hours of sleep. And the pups and I aren't doing much today, either.

I do have some phone calls to make and some letters of thanks to write and some more packing to do; however, a thunderstorm is moving in right now. I think I'll go outside and watch as it rolls in and smile at the sky.

You're in a better place, I've heard a thousand times
And at least a thousand times I've rejoiced for you
But the reason why I'm broken, the reason why I cry
Is how long must I wait to be with you

I close my eyes and I see your face
If home's where my heart is then I'm out of place
Lord, won't you give me strength to make it through somehow
I've never been more homesick than now

Help me Lord cause I don't understand your ways
The reason why I wonder if I'll ever know
But, even if you showed me, the hurt would be the same
Cause I'm still here so far away from home

In Christ, there are no goodbyes
And in Christ, there is no end
So I'll hold onto Jesus with all that I have
To see you again
To see you again
--"Homesick" by Mercy Me

My mother's marker is finally done and in place. Is it closure for me? No. I'm not ready for closure.

Sleep well, mom. I'll see you in my dreams.

You've got to give a little

There's always an ideal. In any situation, there's a perfect outcome. But then there's what realistic and what's acceptable. I had to make some adjustments in my expectations today. I wasn't happy at first. But in the end, I'm okay with it.

Someone came by the yard today and made me an offer. The offer was that she did all the work of removing the wood and flowers and in exchange got to take anything she wanted for free. I initially refused. I couldn't begin to estimate how much money is tied up in my yard, but I know it's well into four figures. And I thought her offer was ridiculous. But I did tell her that I would allow her to remove the one flower garden (I have four) and take what she liked in exchange.

She went to work clearing out the garden. The agreement was that she didn't just get to take the flowers she wanted; she had to completely clear the garden and then reseed it with grass. Meanwhile, three soldiers (thank you Jeff, Chris, and Jesse) came out to start dismantling the fence and deck. If I was scared yesterday by what I saw in the wood, I was mortified tonight. With every piece of wood moved, my heart sank further. The bugs were disgusting, sure, but the spiders will be haunting me for a few days.

Jennifer didn't mind the spiders. She stood right in the middle of it all and reached down into that ground with her bare hands. Me? I was standing on a chair in the middle of the yard. I made my pups go inside. There were more spider nests that I would have ever thought possible. They kept asking me what I thought would happen when I put wood on the ground and left it there for three years. Honestly? I didn't think about it. I just made a fence because it was pretty. So did the grass spiders, the wolf spiders, the black widows, and the brown recluses.

So I was standing in the middle of my yard--the yard I used to view as a peaceful retreat--and watching the wood being put into a huge pile and listening to the four of them wonder at the number of spiders in the garden Jennifer was clearing. And I realized that this wood would be sitting here until I found someone to come get it. And I realized that I had three more gardens to clear on my own. I thought about what would be lying in wait for me in the other gardens.

I also thought about what would happen if I got bitten. Three years ago, I was bitten by a normal, everyday, non-poisonous house spider hiding out in a shoe. In slipped my foot. I didn't feel the bite, but within two hours, my foot was swollen to the point of having to cut the shoe to get it off. An hour later, I couldn't walk on that leg. That evening, my foot was discolored and purple. That night, my entire body had stiffened; I was sore and was running a fever and freezing. A trip to the doctor revealed a punture wound on a toe and the prognosis of "severe serum reaction." Not an allergy because I didn't stop breathing, see. A serum reaction. That was followed with a week's course of steroids and antihistimines and the advice to not be in the position of getting bitten again.

I'm supposed to leave here in two and a half weeks. I don't have a week to waste being laid up with a paralyzed limb. But what if I'm bitten by the widow or the recluse? Will I notice it in time to get to the hospital? How long will I be in the hospital? Most people don't know they've been bitten by the recluse until they see the telltale bulls-eye mark. By that time, my father had collapsed, the doctors were hoping to save his life and debating amputating his leg.

I made a deal. Jennifer is taking the wood--every last piece of it. And some of the flowers. In return, she is to finish all the yardwork by tomorrow night. Every garden will completely cleared. She will plant the new seed. She will weed and mow and restore my yard to its pre-occupancy blandness. And me? I do nothing more. I will provide the tools and the ice water. But I don't step into the yard again.

Is it a fair deal? Maybe. I paid a fair amount for all the wood. It's got some weathering as it's been out in the yard for three years, but it's still worth something. But I get it all out of my yard andI get the rest of the work done without touching the dirt again. And she is buying some of the flowers from me. So I'm giving a little. Maybe it's not ideal, but I've got a plane to catch.

Asking for help is hard

I had my first inspection yesterday. I'm not worried about the inside of the house. There's no damage, and I keep things pretty clean so the final wipe down shouldn' be bad at all. The yard's another story.

My yard is a source of pride to me. Over the past three years, I have done so much work to it that it no longer resembles government housing. I have a landscape timber fence around the perimeter. It's just for decoration so it's three timbers high. And in the back corner of the yard, I've built a (drop) deck for our patio furniture. I did this all myself during J's various deployments and schools. I've also planted hundreds of flowers. Hundreds. I found out yesterday that everything must be removed from the yard. Every last timber and every last plant.

I went today and put an ad in our post newspaper advertising the flowers and timbers and fencing that I will no longer be needing. Then I went outside to get started on the removal of the wood. I have to get it done within the next day or two because I have to have grass growing in those places before I can leave.

It's hot in Louisiana. So hot. But the wood has to be moved. So one by one, I pick up timbers and move them to my cement patio until someone comes to get them. I managed to move 17 of them. 17 out of about 100. And I can't do anymore. It's not the heat; a bottle of ice water will cool me off. No, it's something much worse.

My wood has been sitting out in the yard for three years now. And in three years, it has become haven for spiders. All sizes and shapes and of various venomous potencies. And I tried so hard this morning. I had on long jeans, a long sleeved shirt, a hat, gloves, and glasses. Every inch of skin that could be covered was. But it didn't matter. I just can't move that wood. I can't move any more. I would pick up a piece and check it carefully. If it was infected, I dropped it and ran away. If it looked clean, I would gingerly grab hold and carry it to my patio. And maybe I could have kept going that way until I noticed that I would get to the pile of "clean" timbers only to see spiders crawling over them. Which meant that the ones I had touched, the ones I had held close to me, had actually had spiders in them that I hadn't seen.

I can't do it. I want to. But I can't. And I feel so stupid. I have to go ask someone for help--something I'm not particularly good at, anyway--and I have to tell them that the reason I can't do it myself is because there are spiders out there.

I don't want to ask for help. But I don't want to die, either, and if one of those things touches me, all that is good and happy and full of love inside of me will wither up die for sure.

J called this morning and told me not to touch the wood. He told me to call for help. I didn't even tell him that I had tried to move it already. He just knew. He must have felt my heart splinter all the way in Korea because he woke up in the middle of the night to talk to me, comfort me, and tell me he had been thinking about the back yard and he didn't want me touching the wood. "I want you to call someone," he said. "I don't want you out there." Then he got really quiet and said, "I'm sorry."

I knew what he meant. He's sorry that this is something I can't handle.

So am I, J, so am I.