Some Idle Wednesday

"Don't worry about the future. Or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubble gum. The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind, the kind that blind side you at 4 PM on some idle Tuesday."

True, Mary Schmich, true. Those are lines taken from her hypothetical commencement speech, Wear Sunscreen, that was published in the Chicago Tribune in June, 1997.

It wasn't a Tuesday, but close. It was Wednesday. The chest x-ray showed a large mass in his chest. I watched as his face whitened and disappeared into some underground foxhole, as the doctor calmly explained the different types of cancer it might be, the different treatments that might be applied, and explaining that now he needed to go get additional ultrasounds, blood work and CT guided biopsies. I was trying to be his ears and eyes, because I knew this was skimming his surface. But I couldn't hear all that was being said very well either. There was a loud pounding sound making it hard to hear. I think it was both of our hearts.

Blindsided - yes and no. You know these things are coming. One day. Or another. You know it happens every day to so many people. Just not you. Or the people you love. And all of a sudden, life as you know it, is no longer anything that you've ever known. All the plans you've had get shaken out in front of you, like that party game, Total Recall, trying to remember what all was there. You frantically grab for maybe a couple of the really important pieces, because now you just know, there might not be time to get to it all. To make the plans a reality. Afraid to go forward, to see what might be up ahead, you start working backwards. In little baby steps. Looking and stepping back on wasted years, wasted relationships, wasted careers, wasted time. And it's hard not to go there, but you do know that this negative thinking will get you nowhere! Right? Yes, yes, refocus, pull it all in. Gather your courage. Soldier on. I'm mean, really, it's just life, right? Those words ring loudly now in my head. How many times have I heard that? How many times have I said that? It's just life. Like it's no big deal. But oh my, it is such a big deal.

Life - I read that without an end, life really wouldn't have any meaning. that if our lives went on forever our choices would be without ramifications, utterly without meaning; life without death would be meaningless.

So I lie next to him, in his restless sleep, and I close my eyes, clasp my hands together and go to that place where I go when there's nowhere else to go - sending out my thoughts, concerns and requests to hopefully, a God that is listening. And as I send my wimpy, apologetic airmail to the heavens, "Yes, I know, I only come here when I'm desperate, I'm sorry. But what am I supposed to think? Why would you grant me any favors? One out of three deal with this, and with all the mountains of suffering in the world, why would I be special?" I'm not. But I will try anyway to use all of my bargaining powers, this for that. A fair trade.

Then once I am sure he is in a deep sleep, I quietly sob. I know sobbing is usually a noisy affair, but I do it very quietly, under the covers, holding it in, while my body does a few convulsions rivaling that of some Russian contortionist. And then I compose myself, give God the benefit of the doubt, and hope that I might have caught him in a moment of weakness.

State Street Prophet

When I was younger I thought God lived in the mountains and made his home in the pine trees ~ I knew when I inhaled deeply and smelled that fragrant pine and could hear the crunch of the cones beneath my feet, that I was in his home.

Last December, with the chill in the air and the Christmas lights sparkling, God was walking down State Street. Michael and I had taken a spontaneous trip up to Santa Barbara to buy a piece of furniture we found on Craigslist. But with the holiday spirit beckoning us to stay in town a little longer, we decided to go have a drink. We entered the Canary Hotel ~ ended up at the Chase, dining on Chicken Piccata and Caesar salad. The streets were pretty empty being that it was a Monday night and colder than usual in Santa Barbara. But there was something magical and surreal about the night, you know, like a holiday Christmas movie. The only thing missing was a light snowfall.

We were walking back to our car and crossing the street when Michael saw something in the sky, high in the sky, bright red and green. He called to me to come and see it. I walked into the middle of the street not even looking to see if there were cars coming from either direction and looked up.  It was as if the world had stopped, everything was in slow motion.

I could see the bright colored object in the dark cold sky. All of a sudden we were joined by a man, a black man, Carl, who at first glance you would easily peg as homeless. He held a plastic bag in his hand and wore a bulky coat. He wanted to see what we were looking at. Of course, when he looked up into the sky it was gone. He laughed and accused Michael of trying to get us killed by a car. Accused him of looking for UFO’s.

As we walked back to the curb he came with us. He started saying to me that Michael was a keeper.  That he had a childlike way about him, that he was authentic and real. He told Michael to stay that way and informed him that that was one of the things I loved about him. He kept telling Michael how he was so real and authentic and was original with his childlike wonder. He reminded me again that he was a keeper. He told Michael that I was still analyzing him.

He then turned his attention to me and was quite insistent. “He is not them” he stressed “Quit testing him, he did not do it” ~ he told me over and over again. He went on to tell Michael that the men that had been in my life before had been intimidated by me and warned Michael not to control me. I burst into tears. He had hit a nerve. How did he know anything about us? And how did he know anything about my past or present relationships?

Carl kept saying he had to go, as if he were in a hurry, like he had somewhere important to be. But as soon as he would start to cross the street he would turn and come walking back to tell us “just one more thing.” And one of those things was that he was delivering this message from God. Carl might have made me a believer.