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Recently I came home from a trip to Denver, one of many this summer, and one of my goldfish had died. I immediately texted Shawn, the only person that would understand my huge attachment issues to a fish, and told him what had happened. He said he was sorry for my loss and commented that he was sorry he wasn't around anymore to keep up the fish population. At first I was confused and then I remembered Johnny. A few years ago, after Shawn and I had moved into together, I had relentlessly begged for a goldfish, realizing I would never get my seahorse with the red, felt top hat. One day I came home and Shawn had bought me a goldfish. I appropriately named him Johnny. He would be our first of many. His sisters were Jobeth and Mary Rose from one of my favorite children's books, "Help I'm a Prisoner in the Library". Jobeth and Mary Rose were cloud fish and enjoyed swimming around the huge tank Shawn had bought following Johnny. My one rule was that the tank must always be clean and that I was not to be the one to clean the tank. I loved the fish, but not the smell or the misery of messy fish life. He consented. After several years, I was watching TV one night when I noticed that Johnny was not swimming around much like his jovial self. I went to the tank and began tapping it and moving it, trying to get a response. Johnny would move a little bit, but tended to be swimming on his side. I tried to convince myself that he suffered from a sprained fin, but the look on Shawn's face foreshadowed the inevitable. He rose from the couch and got a smaller fish bowl, which became Johnny's hospital room for the night. I watched over that bowl intently, convinced by Shawn's telling me that maybe he just needed to be alone for awhile. The next night was my late night at work and as soon as I left and got into my car I called Shawn. "How's Johnny?" I asked, hoping for the best. But I was met with silence on the other end of the phone. I asked again. "Johnny didn't make it honey. I'm sorry." He said. I immediately burst into tears. "What did you do with him?" I asked, knowing that Johnny had met his maker in the toilet. "I took care of it." Shawn said. "Did you say anything to him before taking care of it?" I asked. There was a pause on the other end of the phone and I could hear Shawn sigh. "I said, you've been a good friend Johnny. We'll miss you." And even as I write this now, tears roll down my face. Not really for Johnny, though I do miss him and he was a good friend. But for that time in my life. When a simple thing such as a goldfish made me happy and that I found solace in believing, even at thirty, that a fish bowl could serve as a hospital room. I guess I'm a little embarrassed writing this, but I think it tells of the kind of person Shawn was. Is. Alot like my father actually. The funny thing is, after this latest goldfish died and I received the text, I was blindsided by the honestly that Shawn had been buying fish to replace the ones that had died. And I had never known. He had kept the mystery and the magic alive for me all those years. That is love. It truly is. Fish probably don't belong in tanks anyway. They belong in lakes and streams and oceans. But I'll probably always have one or two, and now I'm cleaning the tank. And maybe that's why they keep dying. Or maybe fish don't live that long anyway, I don't know. I guess I always thought that fish lived forever. Or maybe, until recently, I was under the misconception that everything did. I think as I continue on this journey, it's really about returning to that childhood innocence for me and remembering, well, just remembering what's really important. Such as catching lightening bugs in a glass jar in the summer, hot chocolate on snow days, putting out cookies and milk for Santa Claus, and good friends like Johnny. So the truth is, I do care, I just don't know how to make it all work out anymore. And just like Shawn, who as hard as he tried, could never keep up our fish population, eventually, I just have to let some things go. But I'm not entirely ready yet. And maybe I never will be.
I've been thinking a lot about death today. My death in particular. Well, actually that's not true. I've been thinking a lot about my life. It's funny that I'm learning along this journey that for every thought, there is an opposing thought which resonates within me. Therefore, death makes me think about life. I was thinking about my mom's death tonight and how on that last night, as we all gathered around her, what her life represented, and if she had been aware that it was the end, would she have been content with how she had spent her time here. I don't think it really matters if someone wins the Nobel Prize, works at Taco Bell all their life, or is a hobo, hopping from train to train, as long as they are fulfilling their dreams and making themselves truly happy. My mom used to always say that we're all on borrowed time and how true that is. I've never realized it more until recently. I was watching my dog Griffin the other day. If it's sunny, he likes to sleep in the window, the sun on his back, warming him. If it's raining, he likes to sleep on his chair, or hidden underneath my comforter on my bed if I allow him. Recently, he's been scurrying under the bed while I sleep and I can feel him under there messing around. But I looked at him and I said, "Griffin, all you do is sleep all day." He perked his little head up and looked at me. I had already taken him out about ten times that day, and I wasn't taking him out any time soon. He looked at me for a second and fell back on his side, sighing. "Yeah, I guess if I could just sleep all day, I might." I said and walked away. He cracks me up. Sometimes I put on "Finding Nemo" or "Charlotte's Web" because he likes the sounds of the characters. And that makes him happy. He's content. Really content. So maybe I don't need to win the Nobel Prize, but I also don't want to sleep all day like Griffin. Quite frankly, he doesn't have a lot of options. So today, I've been thinking a lot about what things I want to still achieve in my life and if I suddenly found myself on my deathbed, would I be content with how things had ended. Because, it really was that sudden for my mom. One day she was walking up the hills of the Smoky Mountains and two months later she was in a hospital bed until the day she died. I'm not sure what I want to do. I know I need to finish my book. I would not be ok if I didn't complete that part of my journey. But past that, I think I really just want to make a comfortable home, eat great food, smoke some cigarettes with friends, drink black coffee while standing watching the rain, laughing and crying with friends, having more late night talks on patios, developing strong relationships and memories, and reading some really great books. Well, and probably finding out how the hell Lost is going to end, if it ever does. But past that, I think I'll be ok. I think I could die and feel content that I had lived an awesome life. To me, people and relationships make the difference. I had a friend tell me tonight that he had never been in love. Another friend told me last week that she thought the statement, "better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all" was crap. Both make me sad. I've loved. I've lost. And I've won. It's all part of the journey and I wouldn't trade any of it in. Not one damn second. I've had some awesome times and if something comes to an end, as much as I hate it, well, that's how it goes. I'm on borrowed time anyway and I better make the most of it. It's kind of like being at the fair and realizing it closes in an hour and trying to fit all the things in one last time before it ends. Well, I just want to walk down that main street, eating a bag of kettle corn, sipping a fountain coke, laughing and smelling the corn dogs and hearing the kids ride the rides. I just want to have been there and experienced it at whatever cost. I don't mind losing sometimes. That's all part of it. You can't borrow something...without having to give it back eventually anyway.
I woke up today and it was the clearest, bluest, summer day I've seen, well, probably all summer. Or maybe it was because I actually got about 9 hours of sleep last night, which is much more than the typical four or five I'm used to these days. But as I've spoken of before, the bitter and the sweet, while I was thinking of what a perfect, state fair, summer day it was, I was also reminded that summer was almost over. So, I decided to invent a new holiday. Present Day. Present day can be once a week or once a month, or whenever you feel like it. I have a feeling for me, Present Day will come more often than not. The rules and celebration for present day are that you buy yourself something that you don't really need, something that you wouldn't normally buy yourself, but you also have to buy something for someone else at the same place you bought your present. So, I went to the bookstore with the intention of buying this Malcolm McLaren "Paris" CD, which is impossible to find. They didn't have it. I then remembered that my favorite author, Stewart O'Nan, had published a new book recently, so I tried to find that. They didn't have it. Then I went into the children's section, because yesterday I had bought all these crazy stuffed animals for my couch at my new place, and being that I'm a recovering addict, thought I needed more. Needless to say, the selection they offered bored me. But looking around, I suddenly came upon this book I had loved as a child. In fact, I had loved it so much that Shawn had bought me a copy, which I had lost. So, I bought it again. The book, "Summer", by Alice Low, is a definitive must have for all lovers of summer. I then walked around the finance section...very boring...looking for a few books for a good friend of mine, the reason I had gone to the bookstore in the first place. After making my purchase, I walked out and went to my Mom's house, which is where I'll be moving at the end of October. It was a beautiful night outside and I opened the back patio. I could hear the cicada outside, which my dad had always said meant it was time to go back to school. I looked through several CD's and finally put on the soundtrack of "To Kill a Mockingbird". And I realized. Summer is almost over. It will get cold, and just like Scout and Jem, the kids will go back to school. But really, isn't summer a state of mind? I mean all of the things I really love about summer, I can find in any other season. But for some reason, maybe the music, or the thought of Scout and Jem and Dill playing made me sad. Really sad and I lost it completely. Lost it like I hadn't cried in a long time. And then like a miracle, one of my mom's best friend's, her Pi Phi sorority mother from Denver, called me. "So, you've been out here four times this summer and you haven't called once to see your old Aunt Susie?" And she had me laughing again, like all those times that she and Dory and Carrie would come to visit in the summer. And we'd all stay up late at night, having Pi Phi cookie shines and singing the old Pi Phi songs. And Carrie and I would crawl into my mom's room and scare she and Susie until we fell asleep laughing on the floor. Those are the things of summer. Those are the things I remember. The Indiana State Fair with the baby pigs, playing ghost in the graveyard, checking out fifty books from the library but only reading one, craw dad hunting and wading in the creek behind our house, sleepovers and watching The Newlywed Game late on Friday nights, Love Boat, Fantasy Island and Charlie's Angels, those cheap fruit drinks that come in plastic barrels with aluminum on the top, mosquito bites, the sound of the crickets through my bedroom window, my dog Benji, swimming all day, and later, smoking Camels with my friends, drinking Boone's Farm and Purple Passion, stealing real estate signs and construction cones and putting them in our friends driveways and driving around until curfew. Those are all the things of summer. So maybe Present Day is really about keeping memories alive, and making new ones. But this all goes out to a new friend, because he was the reason I walked into that bookstore today anyway. And he's the reason I remembered all of this. It's not much, just a new friend, but that's a lot these days. And I'll remember how we got cokes at Speedway late at night and drove around smoking cigarettes getting to know each other. And I hope he doesn't read this before I give him his books. But, in case no one reads "Summer", which would be a complete shame, I'll leave you with my favorite part. The end, which is funny, because I hate endings to everything, as all of my friends know. But here it goes. "We ask a farmer, will you stop and let us ride back home on top? We let the fireflies go away. The moon is out. It lights our way. We hear the horse go clop-clop-clop. Our pup goes fast asleep on top. We stay awake and think of things...the happy things that summer brings!"
I always find wisdom in the strangest places. One of my closest friends, Hiram, is probably the wisest person I know. His wisdom is in the simplicity of how he sees the world. The other day I called him and asked him what he was doing and he said he was watching the tv, "but mostly, it's watching me." I called him today for some advice and he said he usually just sits back and waits for a situation to unfold before making a decision. If only I wasn't so reactionary. I asked him how I can become as wise as he is and he said, "awe, I just share my experience and hope someone gets something out of it." Truly wise. My friend Paul is the same way. He always seems to be able to translate the world to me in a way that I need to hear it at that exact moment. Today I was complaining that I had been thinking about things too much lately and that sometimes it felt like a curse. He said I was a deep thinker and that wasn't a bad thing. But then he said, "You know, there's some poor girl, pregnant and working at Hardee's all day. And she can't wait to go home to her husband who's smoking and drinking a beer and they'll have bologna sandwiches for dinner. And she loves him. She really loves him and she's happy because she doesn't know any better." And I commented that sometimes I wished I was that girl. "No you don't" he said. And he was right. Because as much as it hurts to be reminded of all that I've gone through and all that I've learned and will learn, it's the bitter and the sweet that makes life so wonderful. So, I was sitting around bored tonight and I decided to go and get a cup of coffee at the gas station. And there's this kid that's always working in there on third shift. When I walked in, he was making new coffee and I poured some of the old into my paper cup. I took it up to the counter while he was asking me how I was doing. I said fine and started to get out my money. He said, "No smokes tonight?" and I shook my head. "Man, the coffee's on me, it's been sitting there since I got in anyway." And I smiled. Bologna sandwiches, right. But it made me really happy, because, truly, there's a lot of wonder to be found in a hot, day old, free cup of coffee late at night. And it was the best damn cup of coffee I've had in a long time. I came home and turned off the lights, lit some candles, turned on the classic country station and lit a cigarette. And I slow danced around my place, blowing smoke rings in the dark, just dancing and remembering...and smiling...
Malcom McLaren's "Paris, Paris"...Walking around Las Vegas late at night...night swimming naked under a full moon...first kisses...brand new white sheets...french menthol cigarettes in black packs...patagonia coats and three day beards...feeling my toes in the sand at the beach...sleeping all day and staying up all night...complete candor...sitting on my best friend Paul's "love" patio drinking coffee in the hot Denver sun...driving around in his jeep with the doors off jamming to old Kelly Price, my feet dangling out the side of the jeep...babies smiling at me in the grocery store...someone running their fingers through the back of my hair...finishing a really good book and giving it to a friend...looking at old pictures...being surprised by small things, which doesn't happen often...seeing cardinals and small white fluff sailing through the sky...my dog griffin scratching his back on the carpet or trying to keep his eyes open until I'm ready to go to sleep...driving late at night with nowhere to go, playing favorite music I haven't heard in a long time...The Cure, The Smiths, Joni Mitchell, Bob Dylan, The Grateful Dead, Julee Cruise, Shalimar, Joseph Arthur and Willie Nelson...Walking on cold concrete in my bare feet...being winked at, gets me every time...gummi worms...going to see horror movies late on Sunday nights in the middle of winter and it's snowed while I'm in the theatre...masculinity...smoking a really good cigar and drinking really black coffee in the summer...dreams and trying to fall asleep to have that dream again...blue...pajama pants with no shirts...movie nights with everyone on the floor...not having to go home...asking me to stay over...the jackson county fair...secretly reading a children's book series...bamboo plants and white stargazer lilies...the smell of the islands...underwear as a gift...new jeans that feel old...men in workboots, faded jeans, expensive fleece coats, green tee shirts and baseball hats...staying in suites...taking a nap, naked, on a hot afternoon, after a cold shower, with the fan blowing around my feet...childhood innocence...the last five minutes of "To Kill a Mockingbird", "My Dog Skip" and "The Color Purple"...small towns...stopping at truck stops and buying stuff I don't need...staying up til 6am talking...asian spice incense...flying first class...driving in a foreign country and listening to their radio stations, especially in Antigua...receiving cute random texts...crying unaware...talking to my cousin Caroline on the phone while driving to my office...having sudden new ideas for stories...matchbooks...beaded jewelry and leather bracelets...fresh, hot donuts...doing nothing on a Sunday, but feeling like the day was not wasted, because we went to the book store, drank coffee, walked around and ate an early dinner in a small, mexican restaurant before going home and diving into bed...Lime and Vinyl in Denver...and moments of realizing that the Truly Sweet are everywhere I look...
I'd like to say it's been one of those grey mornings that rains and rains and rains and doesn't get any better, but 
honestly, the weather was beautiful, sunny and hot. And that didn't make it any better. From the time I got up this morning, I couldn't hear a song that didn't make me tear up or think of things from the past that didn't remind me that maybe I've taken a detour off of my path. Late last night I found an ad for the State Fair, something my ex boyfriend Shawn and my Mom, always went to every year. It caught me by surprise, much like the big things in life that pummel you when least expected. I brought out pictures of the two of them and smelled my mom's watch, something I've begun doing, because it's the only thing left that smells like her. I've found, for me, that in the moments of true sadness, I allow myself to sit in it and feel it, to remember how it is and how things are supposed to be. Feelings are good, no matter how bad they hurt. I talked to Shawn today, and I guess I never expect how those conversations are going to go. Sometimes, I just want reassurance that maybe someday down the road things will work out and somedays and I just want a friend, but most days I miss him driving next to me, laughing as I sing the wrong lyrics to songs. And most days, I miss my mom so bad that I put in her favorite music and sing to Bob Dylan or Crosby, Stills,Nash and Young and feel her presence in the car with me. I think most people think I'm doing ok, and maybe I am, but not really. Not really at all. But you know, I don't think many of us are. I've had a lot of loss this year and I keep trying to find it's significance, and somedays I think I have, like learning to tie your shoe and then the laces just fall apart at the end. It's just not that easy and it's constant. And then I got an email from one of my closest friends, Krissa, who now lives in Berlin. Blindsided. I sent back some random memories and sent pictures of what I look like now, as if that could fill her in on how I am, but the funny thing is, no matter how long until I see her again, almost eight years now, she knows. And I said, "I'd like to see you again sometime before we die." And the funny thing is, as bitter and morose as that sounds, I meant it. Maybe just for an afternoon, to laugh and remember, before it's too late. And I guess that's what I'm realizing on days like these, it's the small moments, the clouds of the blue mornings, that I better look up, capture and remember, because baby, they fade fast...
It's strange how when you least expect it, exactly what you need to happen, happens...at least, that's how it always works for me. I got a late start to Tennessee and was probably driving between 80 and 90 the entire way, talking to my friend Clara who had just nearly escaped the hurricane in Brownsville, Texas with her four cats and her husband. After several hours, I stopped and got a fountain drink and was speeding on, when all of a sudden I came over a hill and there was three lanes of stopped traffic. For miles, all I could see was the red tail lights of semis and midnight travelers. Panicked, as I don't like being stuck on the interstate, I slid over to the far right lane and stopped, with the other cars. After twenty minutes, people starting shutting their cars off and turning their headlights off. Out of nowhere, this young kid, probably 17, comes up to my window and asks me if I know what's going on. I tell him I don't and he says he going to ask one of the truck drivers. A few minutes later, he comes back and tells me a motorcycle rider was killed and we could be there for some time. He goes back to his friends, two girls, and I can see them in my rear view mirror taking pictures and laughing. After a while, I light a cigarette and jump out of the car and walk to the edge of the road, where it drops off into some kind of dense woods. The kid and his two friends come over and start talking to me. Telling me that they just went to a fair about an hour from their home and how the one girl is going to be late to her curfew. After awhile, the two girls begin to eat Fun Dip, and tell me how the older girl, who had already graduated from high school, had met a guy that worked at the fair when it was in their town, and so they drove the distance to see him again. After several minutes of talking to these kids, it was obvious they were truly good kids, just out for a fun night of carnival rides, laughing in the backseat, taking pictures, eating fun dip and having crushes on each other. The boy looked up at the stars, which looked like they were hanging directly right over our heads and said "what a beautiful night", which it was. Stuck on the side of the road, with three kids, who didn't even realize how they were making me miss my old summers, wanting new ones and realizing the importance of this night. I asked them if I could take a picture of them, which they allowed, but I've decided not to use it, because for me and for them, I want them to always have that night, and not have it to detailed or too specific. Because I know, five or ten or twenty years down the road, where I'm at now, when they don't even talk anymore or know each other, they'll look back, just like I am, and remember it just how they want to. And that's how it should be, me looking back, remembering sitting in the back of my friend's Michelle and Margaret's station wagon, with Nicole and Jenny and Mick and Dana, singing American Pie as the summer lights speed past, all of us in sync, smiling, smoking cigarettes, drinking orange crush...at least, that's how I remember it...
