a dandelion field

okay,
so Im intimidated. and it's more than a bit overwhelming, but really,
it's just another place more opportunity,
more people,
more experiences to make me grow, i mean..just think
if I used all of that intimidation,
all of that fear would there be a limit to all that one could do? i really don't think so.
because really
life
is just a field
of dandelions
and we're
meant to disperse

Sisterhood

Time passes life happens. distance separates. children grow up. jobs come and go. love waxes and wanes. men don't do what they're supposed to do. hearts break. parents die. colleagues forget favours. careers end.
BUT......... Sisters are there,
no matter how much time and how many miles are between you. A girl friend is never farther away than needing her can reach. When you have to walk that lonesome valley and you have to walk it by yourself, the women in your life will be on the valley's rim,
cheering you on, praying for you, pulling for you, intervening on your behalf, and waiting with open arms at the valley's end. Sometimes, they will even break the rules and walk beside you..
Or come in and carry you out. Girlfriends, daughters, granddaughters, daughters-in-law, sisters,sisters-in-law, Mothers, Grandmothers, Auntie's, nieces, cousins, and extended family, all bless our life! The world wouldn't be the same without women, and neither would I. When we began this adventure called womanhood,
we had no idea of the incredible joys or sorrows that lay ahead.
Nor did we even begin to know how much we would need each other.

15th August 2007

Today is my mother's birthday.
We tend to turn back the clock and review and ponder the years we have travelled through, when there's a birthday!
Last weekend my sister and I sat at Fishermans Wharf in Monterey having dinner, overlooking the ocean, listening to seals bark in the sunset, and we reviewed our childhood, our growing up years, and how fortunate we were to have the mother we did.
. We chatted about all the various things she has been and done through all the years, and how at different times we have done for her.
Its not easy watching our parents grow older and more frail each year, its not easy being the caregiver to the person who has nurtured and cared for you all her adult life. My sister bears that responsibility relatively single handedly right now, and while my mum is far from being incapable, the burden however light is surely felt, from all parties.
Our story is special to us. My sister and I were both adopted at birth, and she is all the mother we have ever known. We have, at various times of our lives sought our birth mothers in a half hearted way, when we had children of our own I think the need suddenly arose. My mum always gave us as much information as she could, and let us do with it as we pleased. We made brief enquiries...nothing, that door had been firmly shut, and we have never had the urge to look again!
Our childhood was as perfect as any could be. We grew up in a tiny village in Swaziland, in the heart of rural Africa..on a small farm swarming with ducks and chickens, cows and horses, and a plethora of dogs and cats! We roamed wild during school holidays, exploring nearby streams (swarming with bilharzia, which we never contracted because we knew to swim in cold flowing water only) and waterfalls, picking wild berries and swiping fruit from the neighbours farms. We walked barefoot along dusty roads and allowed our young imaginations to run as wild as our little growing bodies.
At night we climbed into clean comfy beds with white cotton sheets, sometimes darned, always ironed and crisp....
We went to boarding school at a young age, I was 11 and my sister was 8. Over the years, it made us yearn for home all the more and made the bonds with our parents that much stronger.
We came home for half term breaks and school holidays only, and so we lived for the tuck boxes my mother packed so lovingly, we craved the the milo bars and tins of condensed milk, yearned for the home made rusks and the chocolate drinks.
The tuck never lasted the term because we never ever mastered the art of rationing!
Its difficult to put all that love and nurturing onto one page. To recall all the little things done with love, from the home made clothes to the painful task of sewing on name tags on to every single item of clothing we needed at boarding school. The jerseys and scarves knitted and the rips mended in stockings to protect us from the bitterly cold winters on the South African Highveld. Her energy then and now, is incredible!
And then, oh the wonderful holidays at home.
The late sleep ins, the special breakfasts, the toast done just so, the grapefruit halved and segmented, with just the right amount of sugar, quietly prepared before leaving for a long hard day at work.
Our favourite dinners, appeared like magic and there was always time for long conversations, she coped calmly, seemingly, with a house which always seemed to be overflowing with people. Did we grow up spoiled? With love..certainly!
But while we always had enough, we were never over indulged with material things.
There arent enough words to say thank you mum,
there isnt enough time for us
to ever show you how grateful we are
that you loved us enough to make us
your priority,
and because of that love and guidance,
we are the best women
and the best mothers we can possibly be.
We have stable happy children
inspite of exteme hardships through our lives,
because you showed us
how to overcome adversity, and grow strong
through the trauma's.
You showed us what unconditional love is truly all about,
and because of you they too will be better people and parents.
And so your legacy lives on
and on and on......
and as the ripples flow outwards to your friends and neighbours
encompassing a whole community,
it also drips right down and seeps into the souls of your grandchildren and great-grandchildren.
Your love will surely multiply and grow
and the end will never be known,
because your goodness and your love knows no bounds...

~ Only when we look back, can we clearly see which way we are going forward ~

Monterey

Ok, I guess it all needs to be said...even though as I sit here and type, Im still grappling with the stupidity of it, and am severely fumbling for words that will make some sort of sense.
Here it is.. briefly...
I was offered the job in Monterey on Thurs which I accepted immediately. They told me I needed to go for a drug screen test on Fri. However I was sick (I mean really sick, sent home from work sick, couldnt breathe a thing through my nose or hold my head up sick!) and could not go, but I went to the lab on Sat morning instead and... it was closed!! I called Monterey human resources and left a voicemail. Monday I called again, and was told the job is no longer available as I had missed the drug screen appointment, it HAD to be done within 48hrs of the job offer!!! WTF???? I was floored...
Needless to say I fell apart somewhat (along with my computer) at various points during the weekend...
It makes no sense to me, (and maybe someone else can explain it) why a drug screen is so vital so soon after the job offer..and not perhaps just before actually starting employment!? They paid out a fortune to fly me there, and put me up in a fancy shmancy hotel for 4 days...and they can't reschedule a drug screen? If I wasnt drug free on Friday..surely i wouldnt be drug free on Monday either...?
Anyhow, its Tuesday afternoon now, and I do feel better, much support and ego stroking from my other half helped, its just karma he says...and perhaps he's right. So many times in my life when Ive really wanted something so badly I have ignored obvious signs that this isnt meant to be, and this time I think I just have to accept that this isnt where I was meant to be at all. We have decided though, that Vermont should not be the 2nd choice either, just by default. I left there for some very specific reasons, and none of those issues have changed. (I will reconsider when there is less than a dusting of snow every winter perhaps...)
Nope, we are definitely looking for sea and beach and a bit of sunshine, the west coast preferably, closer to family..somewhere maybe with some mountains nearby with snow if we need it, or a river for fishing and boating. Somewhere with a hint of easy living.
I really dont think thats asking too much...

silk and denim

It was cream silk, with a gathered waistband.
It was daringly off the shoulder and although the hemline fell just below the knee, I used to hitch it up under a belt and wear it short too.
I sometimes let it fall off one shoulder, sometimes both..either way I loved the feeling of the cream coloured silk on my skin. I loved the way it fitted and moulded around my body, the way it showed off my skin tones and shape of my hips.
I felt glamourous, feminine and grown up.
I wore it with high heels, and with flat sandles, I wore it barefoot.
I wore it in every season, with jackets and without, to dine in and to play in, and to classes. I think I slept in it on a few occasions. I bought it with my first pay-cheque when i was 17 as a first year student nurse, and and I wore it for almost 10 years.
Long after I had given birth, breastfed and burped three children I discovered I loved that dress even more with baby puke on the shoulders.
I bought that dress the same year I bought my bib overalls, those I wore with white t-shirts and white sneakers..never with anything else Im not sure why.
I rolled up the legs when it warm, and left them down when it was cold. Those dungarees wore straight through the knees and the buttons came off the sides, and I kept them hanging on the end of my bed for ever, waiting for the day i would find time to mend them and sew the buttons back.
But I never did.
My hair was always short in those early student days, I drove an old blue 1200 Datsun with mismatched hubcaps, into Johannesburg to college all the way from the East Rand. A commute of about 30mins in dense traffic, music blaring. I loved the sense of bohemian freedom, and the sense of responsibilty of my studies never weighed too heavily on my shoulders.
I was doing what I loved, and the rest would take care of itself.
Those were the days of late nights and little sleep, nights spent listening to live renditions of the Mama's and Papa's with friends in the then Ambassador Hotel in the middle of Hillbrow, the hub of Johannesburg's nightlife.
They were the years of Rag queens and all night float making, the grand Rand Show and weekends spent travelling back to Swaziland to visit the folks.
The years of gathering stuff from flea markets and acquiring my eclectic taste in furniture and fabric.
My years of silk and denim.
Of sitting through the Rocky Horror Picture Show four times in four days, of LM radio and the crazy crazy voice of John Berks.
Those were the years spent pouring over anatomy and physiology books late into the night before exams, and taking patients home with me in my head after each shift at work,
it was about the tears shed for the homeless man who had lice and bedsores because he had lain in the gutter for three days before being admitted to hospital,
of becoming personally involved with a child who had been purposefully burned with a cigarette butt by her own mother and then testifying in court.
It took me years to learn distance and objectivity.
Im still not good at it.
Those were the years when I hadnt yet learned that every action
has a reaction,
even though some actions have a really remarkably long time between their execution and their come-uppance.
The years before personal pain and true loss.
It took years for me to realize
that I had gained more,
learned more,
retained more
in those years
than I would ever have believed possible.
My silk years swathed in denim....

a river runs through

The store room is at the far end of the corridor, a refuge for me on shifts like these. This morning the view from up here through the towering palm trees is serene and peaceful.

Its early, the sun is just peeping over the mountains, I watch as the sky starts to pink up and colour the clouds. The smell of rain pungent after a brief early morning shower. I lean forward open the window, the humid air rushes in and I breathe deeply!
Home to you cant come quick enough.

As I open the door I hear your excited little shuffling on the tiles by the front door, and as soon as the door opens you hurtle into my legs, your body contorting with joy at my homecoming, you grin widely.

Our love knows no bounds. I make a fuss of you, talking silly to excite you even further, I put my keys down on the table and reach for your leash. We climb the small fence at the bottom of the garden and escape into the desert.
The early morning air feels wonderful on my face, a slight breeze whips strands of hair from my hairclip, and the first ten minutes are brisk and excitable. We walk the dry river bed today, not something we do often as I fear for the snakes and scorpions you may unearth, today however I need the solitude, the sand beneath my feet the wind in my face, and the sun on my shoulders.
It isnt easy walking in river sand, and soon Im breathing deeply, straining to get a grip in the places which are soft, struggling over the areas which are rocky. It takes me by surprise with the suddeness of it, but exhaustion and lack of sleep for days, and one of the worst shifts at work ever, lower my resistance. All the fear, pain and disappointment of the past few days..weeks..well up and the dam within me bursts forth.
Great big hacking sobs stop me in my tracks and rip through my body, buckle my knees and I sink into the sand. I struggle briefly for control and feel slightly embarrased at my lack of ability to do so. I give up, and just cry, and I cry as I havent cried in a long long while. The tears pour down my face as wave after wave of emotion renders me helpless. Its not pretty!

The pain is incredible, and I struggle to breathe, gasping frantically with the force of it all, but unable to deny these tears passage. I sit and rock quietly until the agony subsides and slowly regain an essence of composure.
I am drained and empty, the quiet in me returns, there is no sound to be heard in that once dry river bed. I sit quietly for a long while watching you ferret out the lizards and desert hares in the distance. My eyes feel swollen and scratchy, my throat dry, and Im sure there are streaks down my cheeks.
The sky is still there,

the wind still on my face,

but something deep inside of me has been altered.
Im not yet sure what it is.
I stand up slowly and dust myself off.

Some Days..

..I cant see the wood for the trees!

a weekend in Monterey

I hate flying.
It isnt just a silly phobia..its a real fear..each time I get on a plane I always feel as though its the last thing Im ever going to do. I sweat, my tummy knots...and I try an concentrate on the book Im reading just to get by. Landings are worse than take off, but its the time in betweeen thats more than a little disconcerting. Silly I know, but once long ago I went through an awful awful thunderstorm (back in SA) in a small plane, we were thrown around mercilessly..and the fear has escalated ever since. Soo the trip this weekend was fraught with fear, there and back..but that truly is another story.
I really went to have a look see, have a job interview and find an apartment, and generally get a feel for the place. It all went well, I mean who doesnt like an all expenses paid time away from the humdrum of daily life!
I fell in love with the place...
The weather is much cooler on the pacific coast, the fog rolls in each day..burns off by lunch time..and then the the California coast is revealed in all its glory. I drove up and down the coast, explored little twisty roads in the country. I met up with a 360 friend Laurie, for breakfast in Carmel, meandered through some art galleries..had dinner at Fishermans Wharf with my sister who drove up from Bakersfield to spend a night with me, and dipped my toes in the freezing ocean. I slept with my window open and awoke to the sounds of noisy seagulls and the smell of fresh sea air.
I sat in the sun on Monday afternoon, on a little stone wall high above the beach, and watched folk on kayaks out in the waves, listened to children laughing in the rocks pools below, and took enough happy snaps to sink a battleship...and felt invigorated by surroundings and totally sure this was where I wanted to be.
There is always a curve ball though. While the interview there went well, and I wait for the paper version of the verbal job offer I received, I have had a call from Vermont in the interim, (from the hospital I used to work at. ) Sue is desperately ill now, on a ventilator and the need for someone who knows the unit to step in and start immediately is pretty obvious. They have offered me a very lucrative position but... this would mean a looong trip back east, away from family and the sea...a change in plans for him and me, not that its something we cant work out, but a change for sure. Yes it would be back to dear friends, and the area is absolutely beautiful...but you cant take the winters out of the equation, a huge factor in my leaving in the first place!
Things have a way of working out for the best though, and so I will wait a day or two and see what develops.
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