The Army Way

Hurry up and wait.
I spent yesterday waiting. Waiting to get information on a shooting. waiting to hear what happened. Waiting to see if the people who are my extended family were OK. Waiting, waiting, waiting, Hurry and wait. It's an old army saying.. and its true to every letter. I spent many a day standing around all day waiting on a mission to be accomplished before I could start mine. It's rather ironic how it follows you everywhere.
After all that waiting, I heard from my people. Some were hurt, all were OK and alive. Waiting stopped and relief stepped in. That actual full breath and actual full release of tension you didn't know you were carrying. You know that feeling, right?
Finally, I spoke to one of my injured friends and I asked matter of factly how they were. The response still makes me smile: "Everyday above ground is a good day."
I don't pretend to know much about any other branch life but Army. I was born into it from a long line ahead of me, and made the choice to continue it in my own life. When I say I bleed green, I am fairly certain I really do! I am proud of every person who joins the armed services, its a great gift they give to their Country, but I will admit, I play favorites with the Army. They are my kind of people. They are the people who are trained to be expert shots, who can pull apart and reassemble a weapon in quick time. Who can sleep on rocks, sleep on rumbling trucks, wear the same clothes for a week straight. They sit in foxholes, march in the dark of the night, bang down doors and train in the rain. And here is the best part: in all of that, in the misery and the dank, you can still hear laughter. Hearty, happy laughter. The spirit endures. Not looking at the reasons to be mad and annoyed, but finding happiness in the moment.
"Everyday above ground is a good day"
And that's the Army way.
Hooah.

hello sun

I am a sun worshipper. This should not be a secret. I am very vocal about it. I can sit in the sun all day and it makes all the nerve ending of my body feel alive! I love the way it beats down on my back and makes me feel relaxed and calm. I consider myself a Californian, simply because I have spent the most formative years of my life here, however, my home is in Arizona. My roots are deep there. All my familia lives there and occasionally, when I cant remember what it is to take a deep cleansing breath, the desert is where I run to find who I am again. Arizona sun is a force all of its own. In the dead of summer, I jokingly call it the face of the sun, and its an accurate description. However, the sun there is plentiful. I think its why I am the sun worshipper I am. I am a desert girl at heart.

The favorite part of my sunny days is the dusk time frame. When the warm sun is heading towards the horizon and the rays beat shadows on everything it touches. In my opinion, there is no prettier time of day. I love the way the sun kisses a romantic look to peoples faces and hair. How the air starts to cool down here in my dock by the bay, how the shadows lazily stretch.

All the important parts of my life, have this exact time frame of the day as a memory. I recall my grandfather coming home from work with the sun on his back, a smile on his face because he was so happy to see me. I remember sitting under my grandmothers rose bushes, feet sunk into the mud as she went through her rows of rosebushes watering them. Playing with my cousins in the dirt, waiting on dinner... oh the cousin memories are precious. In my later years, I remember the way the Golden Gate looked as the sun hit it as I drove across it, making me fall in love with this place. Waves slapping on the rocks in Bodega Bay, the sun glistening off the water. Laughing in a car with my friends, sun visors down. In my adult life, long road marches home at this time of day. Gear filthy, boots covered in dirt, strides less lengthy than earlier in the day, body slightly limp, rifle lightly carried, but the glorious sun streaming on our bodies casting shadows, pointing the way home. Cowboys sitting on a fence line. Rushing to the hospital to give birth to my son with slanted streams of sun coming through the windows. Watching my kids play in the sandbox as young children while I read books on how to become a writer. All of these memories carry the one common denominator, the evening sun that I love to worship.

I guess you could say, I find my zen in the setting sun.

Life and its funny little changes

14 years ago, on a day not unlike today.... I was diagnosed with a deadly disease. In that small moment, from one second to the next, my life was changed forever. I suddenly became a fighter. I suddenly became less innocent. I suddenly knew real fear.
One moment, I was living a life without a care in the world. Honking at a bad driver. Yelling at screaming kids. Mad at the lady taking too long to write her check. Then the three words.... " you need chemo" changed it all.
In that moment, I started to live. I saw colors I had never seen. Morning light exploded. Dusk crept into night hood in silent colors. Screaming children became musical chimes. Watching people live their life became a past time, something I could not do, but ached for. It was like standing still in a fast forward film, where everything flew by you, people living, happy, laughing, running, and you were standing. Cemented in. Screaming inside to let me live, too weak to open my mouth.
Tomorrow, someone can look at you and tell you that everything you are, every moment you have lived is no more. In that moment, you will have to stand and join me. You will have to stand and fight. Fight for all your lost dreams. Fight for all your hopes. Fight to live a normal life. You will want to shake the people who fail to see how waking each day is precious. You will want to scream so loud that your voice can not be heard. You will want your whisper of prayers to echo throughout the heavens. In that moment you will become like me.
Life and it's funny little changes. When I became the fighter that you see now, I learned to mantra to myself it will be OK. I learned to mantra my own belief. I learned real hope. I believed if I had to go, that I would leave people smiling and strong. And in that, found strength. Found me. I lost my hair, but I found a new person. I will live every day of my life like its my very last.
And I will beg every one to do the same. To hug the ones you love and tell them why you love them. To tell your person everyday how beautiful they are in case one day your voice can't be heard. To laugh as often and as freely as you can. To eat the things that make your smile. To feel the sun on your face and savor it. To drive with the windows down. To feel your hair whip about you. To wear the Mary Jane shoes to the market. To tattoo your body in things that make you happy. To sing regardless of your voice. To write your heart onto paper. To love as fiercely as you can. To hold tight to you. To get back up after you fall and try again. To not let something as simple as fear stop you. To run to your happiness and if you can't find it, run in the direction you think its in. Stop standing still. Death is still. Life is moving forward... no matter how painful it can be.

Life and its funny little changes taught me that. Today, in spite of that fateful news, I stand before you a Survivor. I am a proud, strong Survivor of Cancer. I won. But, I keep its lessons close to my heart, and can never go back. "Don't tell me that I'm dying...cuz I don't want to know" I hope you all learn from me now..... everyday is the first of the rest of your life.

If you have...then I beg you ... now...
Run wildly.

In the direction of your dreams.

This is for for my fellow fighters, the ones who stand with me, the ones who didn't make the fight, the families who silently stand beside and watch, the friends who shave their heads and hold the basins, and the ONE that gave up her fight for me to live. I live for you June.

I found it.....

I miss my family. I miss how when I am lost and wandering, they circle me in their love and hold me tight. I miss the loud laughter of gatherings, cousins running in and out of the house. I miss arms wrapped around each other and 17 people sprawled out on a bed. I miss how they look at me and all they see is me, the little goofy girl in pigtails and buck teeth. I miss that feeling of pureness that comes with utter acceptance. I miss the love that lies in being called Mija.
I miss my sister. I miss the hysterical laughter that finds its way to us after a cry. I miss laying watching TV together. I miss the innocence of our time together. I miss how she looks at me and only sees the older sister, beautiful and smart. I miss how she understands my pain and my loss. I miss looking at her and seeing perfect ringlets and smiles. I miss her pureness, the whispers of secrets, the sharing of ideas and dreams. I miss her so much that I feel like I could fall apart on a daily basis.
Somedays are really harder to get started than others. Somedays, you can't hear you whisper to yourself to get up and start fresh. Somedays you need to scream it. Somedays the soft drip of the coffee maker can not rustle you up out of the sheets. Somedays, it takes and act of the almighty to get there. Luckily, I find the strength on those days, on those early mornings where I miss my sister more than my heart can hold. On those sleepless nights where I ache for those who are gone from my life. On those dusky days where my family seems light years away. I see a red head peek out and smile to me, holding my hand. I see a brown haired toothless grin rubbing my back as he hugs me tight. All the strength I once had, somehow, I put into my children. And they give it back to me when I need it the most. And in that moment... I found it.

Live well

In life, you get dealt an even hand. You get bad experiences that kill a moment and damage your soul. They ruin your chances of ever looking at a situation the same, and you never get that innocence back. However, if you are very lucky, not long will pass before a good experience which will heal a said mistake occurs. Sadly, sometimes it takes years, decades even before something happens that will change it for the better.
Oh! But the wonder of it all when it happens. No matter the span in between. That awaking and knowing that you have turned a corner, you have made it through your personal hell. So many of us don't even realize there is a personal hell we are living because it has become so normal and routine... the going through the motions becomes a part of your life until you are blessed enough to run smack into the wall of reality.
Personally, I hate that feeling.
And I love that feeling.
Letting go is one of the hardest things. The crutch that sometimes you use to justify your actions. The pain you felt which in turn you use to keep you from feeling. Its easier to blame than to feel it, face it and move through it. But when you find it within yourself to move on through, its like coming out of a fog. Clear skies await. Beauty is in everything. Color drips from the world. And you can look yourself in the mirror and know that, indeed, you have walked your plank and survived.

So, for all the people out there who have found their way: whether by a new love, a new religion, a new life, a new hope, I say this: Live well, believe in you. Only you can make it a better day.


This is me, feeling the zen.

What change really means.....

Tomorrow history will be made. Regardless of who you voted for, there is no denying it will be a sight to be seen. The biggest inauguration to date. History is in our hands. And no one seems to know it better than my youngest son. The fact that a 7 year old is so interested in the race and was so over joyed with the outcome is, all by itself, something worth mentioning. I admit there were times I would stare at him as he got excited overhearing Obama speak and visions of Alex from Family Ties would fill my head. (come on, you remember that don't you???) But in the next hand, I was proud that I have been able to hand down the sense of thinking outside ourselves to my children. We are a split house, canceling each other out in the polls, but I vote. And I make sure my kids see me doing it. I speak at the table about things I hear on the news, I chat on the phone and push my girlfriends to research the causes before voting.
I guess some of it has rubbed off.
But, I wasn't aware of it until a trip to the bookstore. I admit, I jumped on the Twilight bandwagon. After much complaints, I opened the book up and rushed through it one day. I was then very antsy to get the rest of the series and went out the next day to find it. This turned out to be harder than it sounds. All the bookstore were sold out and I ended up dragging AJ from place to place in search of the series. Finally, at the local Borders, I saw a display near the front of Twilight and went immediately to it and in search of the others. I stood there enveloped in vampire books and I saw out of the corner of my eye my youngest move to the table next to me and gasp in excitement (and as loud as possible)

"MOM! Look! Obama wrote a book!!!!!"
I stood there with my hand wrapped around a teen vampire book and was so proud. I did it right. I made a difference. I don't know how. I am sure it wasn't by that particular example. But I did it. It doesn't matter to me who he votes for, what political side he chooses, what matters to me is that he sees it as a part of normal life, that he is excited by it and he is making the choice now. And regardless of what anyone says, this Presidential election was a big part of that.... it changed history already. People sat up and payed attention. People were passionate again. People voted. I am glad I already got to see it in our future.... I somehow feel stronger. Because, really.. history is made today, and I was a part of it.

Little Pink Houses

Every now and again you can catch a song on the radio from John Cougar Mellencamp and if you listen to it, it is always glorifying small town America. Somehow, these songs bring out an endearment and nostalgia for close knit communities and small town feelings. I hear them and I find that I myself have a soft spot for them. But the feeling generally passes. You see, like many other living in a big city life now, I am "from a small town". I didn't grow up there perse, but I did grow there. And I certainly didn't look back when I left there.

Small town America is just that.. small. But all the things that you find in a big city occur in small towns, just usually at a slower pace, and with more people watching closely. There is crime, even if it is simply robbing the quick stop for beer. There is traffic problems, even if it is at the school pick up area. Cruising, vandalism, their own version of gangs, it all happened. And, there is gossip.. usually rampant. I lived in a small town, worked in it. We bought a house there and had kids there. Life has a funny way of turning sometimes, and when it does, its not always welcomed to have people watching it. Naturally, in a small pond every fish is visible. And so, we ran from that small town and went on with our lives.. building something bigger and better and leaving behind all the memories that made up our small town America. We kept our house, rented it out to small town people who worked big time jobs and didn't look back.

Until last month.

6 years had passed since we left that house, and our renters finally had enough of the town too and cut rope. Needless to say, we had to head back to re-rent the house. Back to small town America. The disdain oozed out of us. But it was something we had to do, so we put our heads down and went.

Isn't it true that this is usually when something magical happens?
With a skeptical eye, I went in to my little town, ready to prejudge. Entering my home, a flood of memories and nostalgia came racing back and then I noticed how much work was needed in this house where my children were born. Walls needed repainting, sinks needed replacing. Yada, yada. And so, off to small town hardware store we went. And then it happened that the magic started.

As we drove threw town, people waved. People leaned against their fences and trucks talking with neighbors, chatting with friends. Kids rode bikes up to the 7-11 for slurpies and sat outside laughing and chewing gum. The walmart was filled with people laughing and talking as they shopped. And as we pulled up to our house, armed to the tee with renovating materials.. there was a knock on our door and there are people who were part of our lives before we left. People who I hadn't had much contact with. People who stayed behind while we forged our way out of that town. There they were, and standing tall and strong in our front entry way with a smile on their face and a ready hand. They replaced sinks. They helped with doors and mostly, they helped with healing the heart.

Small town America is more than a song. Those little pink houses have at last found their way back into my heart. They reminded me of who I am. I used to wave at my neighbors. And borrow sugar or ketchup in my pj's over the fence. Game night was a weekly thing. Beers in the garage were a must every Friday. Ready hands, open hearts and homes are a way of life. No one is alone in a small town, even when you want to be.

And so, once again, Winslow has given me something to think about. It gave me back a friend who remembers who I am even when I don't. It has given me focus to whats important in life. It replaced old memories with fresh and happy new ones. And, its given me pride. Pride in me. Pride in my family. Pride in my little pink houses.