Lessons

It's high time I took some advice. I've been told to be more open about these, "feelings." Perhaps I'll regret it but I'll never know until I try. That's one of the things I'm figuring out as I go. When do you take the leap and when do you hang back? Sometimes you don't have a choice. Sometimes you get thrown into a learning experience head first.

I've always hated that sickening feeling when you suddenly try to remember if there's another step after the one you just took on the stairs. You're hovering for just a split second unsure if you'll be safe the next moment or flat on your face. It's the feeling of losing hold of the rope someone told you to hang on to; that second after it slips away. The feeling of knowing something's gone. And no matter how hard you run or jump or pray or beg, it's never coming back.

The last few months I've been running. I've been jumping, praying, begging, raging and desolate. I want something back. I opened my arms wider than I knew they could go. My heart learned it had space it never had before. I was scared but I was ready. And then, just like that, I was empty. My arms were empty. They would stay that way forever. And there was nothing, absolutely nothing, I could do about it.

It's taken this long to learn that being a control-freak doesn't mean you have control. I have no control. Oogway (Kung Fu Panda. Don't judge me.) was right. There is only the illusion of control. I can plant the seed but I can't make it the kind of tree I want. And, I learned, I can't even make it grow unless it was meant to.

That's a good lesson and all but I would have been ok not having to learn it. I never asked for so much hurt. I never even asked for a seed to lose. But I got one anyway. They say God never gives you more than you can hold. I felt like He did, I'm still resentful, but I learned. There is no reason to cut my nose off to spite my face. I lost. I hurt. I may as well get a lesson out of it.

I learned that my arms weren't empty after all. They were full. Full of a husband who proved yet again his compassion, patience and kindness. Full of parents who love me and wish they could protect me. And friends who would be there for me if I'd let them, and some who worked their way in anyway when I didn't. I learned I made myself a very strong little family. And yes, I want it a little bit bigger. Just by one little person. But it's still dear to me without one.

I'm so grateful. I'm thankful for things I had missed. I'm still sad. I'm still angry and resentful. But I'm also full of love. Love that was given to me by others.

Someday maybe a different seed will make it to a tree. Though I've learned that even if it does I can't control if it's cut down young or in its old age. All I can do is give it the love that's been given me and try to pass on the lessons I've been taught. I want her back and I always will. That empty feeling probably won't go away. And I'm learning that's ok too. It doesn't have to be my whole life, it can just be a reminder that she happened. She was there and she was loved. Someone who was loved should be missed.

Well that's that. It's time to move on. It's easy to get stuck in grief and stew for years or even the rest of your life. The more you love something the more "moving on" sounds heartless. What we fail to understand is that you can take them with you when you go. If you put down the burden of guilt and anxiety and pain, all you have left is the memory of something full of love and promise. That is light enough to carry with you, close to your heart, always.

So come on Chloe. We have more life to explore.

Life Choices

Sometimes we make a life choice which makes no sense. Other times we think them out to the very last little detail. I feel like my life has been a hilarious mix of both. Coming to Goshen was both well thought out and completely out of the blue. My friends here say I came to meet them, my parents say it was for my career, my boyfriend reminds me I did it to make sure I could. And I can. But now that I know I can, I don't want to. I've certainly valued my time here and the lessons learned.

As my poor mother is well aware, I took formal education as torture. I felt like it was some strange form of punishment for being young and impressionable. Even when I was very young I knew why I had to be in school; I was learning every day, and someone somewhere was determined I learn what they deemed important. Being judged is never fun, especially when it's done by a total stranger. Don't get me wrong. I love the education I got. It made it possible to express myself with relative ease, made it possible to get a decent job, and even taught me life lessons though I felt at the time as if life was passing me by. No doubt about it. A form of standardized education is the socially dictated way to achieve success in life. But... Is this really all there is to it? Is sitting in a classroom learning from books and scripted conversations all there is? My career is not the normal one. I'm doing something with a very different culture. With an environment totally alien from our own. It's often phrased as a different world, and I tend to agree with that statement.
Switching gears from the hearing culture to the Deaf and back again is, and always will be, challenging. As I study my brain is learning two channels to run thoughts through which honestly is not something I thought could happen. But it's a thrilling process and I love it with every fiber in me. But once my hour and forty minutes of signing are up, I'm back to hearing culture again. And honestly, it's not quite as interesting. That's why I'm making another life decision. I like to think this one is thought through and the perfect option for me. If it isn't I'll just look at it as I've begun to look at everything, it will be a completely new experience and I'll learn something from it no matter the final results. I'm sure you readers know what the life changing decision is already, but I like saying it anyway.
In a Word document which has been saved and locked up for the night there lies a letter of interest. What am I interested in? Well a job actually. The jumbled mess of words in that document will hopefully give me the opportunity I've been too shy and frightened to take up to this point. In fact, to be brutally honest, when it came down to applying to work at this school for the Deaf or moving away from everything I knew, I chose moving; thinking I would get the experience I would need, then come back later and ask for a job. As it turns out I'm not getting that experience here. I am getting a huge quantity of information on the structure of ASL, the syntax of ASL, and the book version of the culture, but what I need now is all this knowledge to be put to the test. I need to know what I'm getting into and I'm not going to learn that here. Schools will always be around to learn how to interpret, but as time passes more and more Deaf schools are closing their doors due to a massive movement to mainstream Deaf children. Austine might be on that list and I can't let this time pass me by.
Maybe it's because it's so close to home that I need to be a part of it. All I know is that I do need to be a part of it. Just for a while at least. I plan on getting my degree (really), but not right now. That's not what I need right now. I need some time to come back to Earth. College is a surreal place full of the idea that this is somehow "real life." I beg to differ. Real life doesn't make food for you. It doesn't slap your wrist for being late or give you positive feedback when you need a kick in the pants. If you show up for class with a hangover no one notices. If you show up for your real life job with one you're next to fired. I want reality back before I get too used to this easy lifestyle. And I want to be surrounded by the language and culture I've grown to respect and love.
Through the decision making process I've cringed at what others may say. Perhaps they'll see this as copping out, that I was unable to make it. But what I came to understand was, Jeroth knows what this means to me. My parents know what this means to me. The people I value and respect the most are the ones standing behind me and telling me to do what I will with my life. At this point copping out would be staying here. Moving back will be even more intimidating and challenging than moving out here. But the rewards will be much greater if I can stick it out. And I can't wait for the lessons (some of which will kick my ass) that are waiting for me.

Homeward Bound

Isn't it funny that all the bustle, all the stress and strain of a semester is wiped out with one word? The blissful promise of "Finals." When it's first muttered under a pile of textbooks a few weeks before the actual end of the semester, it gets quickly stifled by other students who suddenly become jumpy and twitch a little more than usual. Usually when it is whispered it's whispered in fear. A great and binding fear. But suddenly that fear evaporates like your breath on the chilly wind that last day of class. And you can think about it, 'last - day - of - class.' Two more exams and you're free; one more... No more exams. Then what?
I can tell you what. There's a party in every room on every floor on the whole campus. People you've never met are wishing you a Merry Christmas, and are wishing you a fond farewell as if they've known you all your life and can't live without you. I guess they forget how short a three week break really is. But that doesn't matter right now. If you ask that girl, who last week was in tears over her exams and an essay, this was in fact the best semester of her whole life! Or the guy who decided that studying was important after all and so has stayed up for the past three nights thanks to the convenient and constant supply of Red Bull. He will inevitably come to the conclusion that studying isn't so hard, and next semester (which he invariably can't wait for) will be infinitely better than the one just ended.
In effect we're washed of our scholarly sins in one day. All the late papers, skipped classes and nasty cafeteria food melt away into that blissful sentence, "I'm going home later."
Now if you'll excuse me I should pack. I'm going home later.

Girl makes Fire!

Hey! Long time no blog, but moving will do that to a person. I guess I didn't really consider it moving, the only moving I've done so far has been once across a river and occasionally helping friends. But I really have moved! I'm realizing that slowly by those times when I want a tuna melt and am meltless... When I'm having an insane craving for Sushi but there is no New Fortune or Lillian to rescue me. My silverware is white and plastic, and my method of getting into bed is my desk. I share a bathroom and can no longer wander around in my bathrobe (at least not after noon when we have boys on the floor) or crank my music and sing at the top of my lungs. If I want food it's a trek all the way across campus (and you'd be amazed how big this campus feels when you're hungry.) There is always noise here. Always. But the random outbursts of screeching and hysterical laughter have, over time, turned into nothing but background noise.

Yup, college life was a change. But I'm adapting pretty nicely. I have learned a few tricks of the trade to help me through the days:

• Firstly, NEVER use the second shower stall if you're in any way attached to what they call, "water pressure."
• If people in the hall are being far too noisy and you need sleep desperately, the crowd can be dispersed by loudly sighing, "OHH, WHAT THE FRELL?!" (change curse word as needed)
• The eggs at the Rot (cafeteria) are for decoration only!
• Never venture near their tacos. They're nothing but little bombs of hell in a tortilla.
• Go to said Rot only at 12:30pm for lunch and 6:45pm for dinner. Yes, it closes at 7, so you may be cutting it a little close. But if you want to get your food with as minimal shoving/running into folks as possible, stick to the off hours (just make sure to remember it closes at 6:30 on Fridays).
• Breakfasts are always safe. This is college.
• The printer will never work right before class. Don't even try.
• Teachers never call in sick when you want them to, especially if there's a paper due.

And if you do forget the Friday hours for the Rot, you can just use the fire I invented! Ok, maybe I didn't invent fire, but it felt that way at the time. See, my amazing and wonderful parents sent me here with a single serve coffee maker, I assume it was intended for coffee. But it's now used for tea and instant oatmeal as well! It was one of the most exciting moments since coming to Goshen when I dipped my spoon into the freshly made mug of heaven and it came out with perfectly cooked oatmeal on it. I now no longer fear the odd Rot hours, I shall overcome.

Now my friends I will try and keep a better blog, but right now I have a couple papers to work on and a test to cram for, so if you'll excuse me...

"OHH, WHAT THE FRELL?!"

Did you ever feel as if you were being watched? As if some beady eye was following your every move? I got that feeling today as I was on my way to my car. Something hostile was in the air. Not only a feeling, but literally something hostile was in the air, I could see it up on the phone wire.
My whole life the word Chickadee has brought to mind a friendly little bird hopping to and fro in merry abandon. Never did I imagine the tiny ball of feathered wrath that now faced me. Or half faced me. Thank God it's not a predator since the glare of one of those eyes was enough to strike healthy respect into me, I don't even want to think about the affect of both at once. It made me feel a little too akin to that bit of bug it has sticking out of its beak and the nasty grainy picture is due to the hasty (but completely dignified) removal of myself from that particular bit of land.

Now, just like everything, there are two sides to every story. And to be fair, this birds is much more important than mine.

See this house?

Well, huddled up in this little wooden box are that chickadee's prides and joys. I don't know how many since it would be a pretty huge risk of life and limb to try and see inside. But I was reassured of their presence as I was retrea- umm... As I was practicing my speed-walking, by their endearing little squaks when they heard their parent nearby. Probably what they heard was a warning through its stuffed mouth, "Mpkids! Pshhhh! thhhere's mah hoomin walkin by!" and a worm lamenting having risen so early to become some thing's dinner. Alright probably, all they heard was "Dinner." Either way they were excited and were urging the parent on at the top of their little lungs.

Later in the day I was able to go back and get what I was after when my feathery foe had gone off to hunt some more.

You, dear reader, may have noticed a lag in blog posts. Well, you know how new love can be... Taking over every aspect of your life, inserting itself into every thought and moment of the day. I want to introduce you to my new love.

Meet Maggie. Or Bonny, or Margo... Or "Get up the hill you stupid *insert favorite curses here*". I'm undecided as to names yet, but she needs one. This and all the circumstances tied to my sudden affection for it is why I have not been blogging. I have instead been traipsing through Greenfield and Turners on bike-paths or breakdown lanes. Unfortunately I've forgotten my camera every trip so far... So no pics of the rides as of yet. But let me say the views I've seen from my bike are spectacular. Especially on the Turners bike-path that leads right down by the canal.

There are lots of birds down there including a particularly amorous set of Redwinged Blackbirds. I happened on a male whose pick up line involved turning hunchbacked and squalling as loud as he could. I was on my way to work and couldn't stop to see if his display got any results, but I mean really... Who could resist?

Really being on my bike has introduced me to something of a sub-culture. Dad has been biking forever, so I knew about that culture already (though the postal worker at work took it to a new level), but there's a whole set of people who make the bike-path a part of their daily routine whether they ride, walk or sit in their car. It's a strange thought to think I'm now a part of that. Here's an example of the people I've seen since starting to ride my bike.

It's early in the morning at the Fish Ladder in Turners. The mists that promise a warm day are rising from the water over by the dam and spinning off into the air shadowing the giant green bridge and red brick buildings. The water curls and laps against the haughty concrete walls and the only sounds beside that are the cars picking their way through the fog and the occasional bird who feels it has something to say. Life is scarce down here at this hour except for the squirrels and a series of ducks. There are three cars in the parking lot beside my own. One, a sleek silver car, the other a van, and the third a red car whose owner sits at the same picnic table with the same kind of pastry and the same brand of cigarettes every day.

In the silver car is another middle aged man. He sits for a few hours in the morning doing nothing but read a piece of newsprint and cast dirty looks at the ducks in the pond. Honestly! All morning he will stop his reading to glare at the four ducks while they swim.

In the van is a woman who does nothing but scribble. Her hair is tied up in a tight bun and she wears her glasses half way down her pinched nose which is perched on a pinched face. She looks like the kind of librarian who would hit you with the nearest ruler for speaking or laughing. I've never seen her look up from the notebook always propped up on her lap against the steering wheel. She does have a wedding ring though, so perhaps this is the only time she can write between work and her family. I wonder why she always writes in her van though. The weather is warm and the picnic tables are all vacant. But to each their own.

Down by the actual beginning of the bike trail there's a playground. And in the sandbox of that playground there are two police officers with bare feet practicing martial arts. Every morning they go and twist their arms and stomp their feet in a ritual that's silent except for the occasional "FWAH! HYAH!" that issues from them to punctuate a particular strike. By the time there's anyone to see them there's already a rough dark rectangle etched into the sand by their sliding feet. I wonder if they remember when they played there so many years ago. And if they see how closely related the two types of play are.

The morning crowd anywhere is my favorite. But especially on the bike-path. From the busy little grey haired woman who walks fast with a little orange book in her hand, to the swaying man with a cart on his bike that has a flag with the word "Deaf" on it. From the police to the man with the pastry, and from the glaring man to myself. Though we'll probably never speak to each other (as is the custom in most daily routines) we all have this one thing in common. We have the hour in the morning by the water when we could all be catching an extra hours sleep. And it's become my new favorite game to try and guess what brings us down there.

But now I'm going to go play with my new helmet. Ain't it shiny?!

See ya'll later!

Cute! In a foamy kind of way...

Or as it was to be titled, "In which I battle the bloodsuckers!"
But the new title is much more catchy... Don't ya think?


Today was the day I was going to keep my word and go get blood drawn. I'm not going to lie and say I was excited, or even willing to go, but it was just one of those things that needed to be done. Besides, I couldn't suppress my curiosity at what my NP was looking for. She scheduled tests for me that made the tech sigh and express her impatience with those little known diseases she needs to search for in the computer's database.
I arrived at the office relatively early and burst through the double doors to face my challenge. Actually it was more like easing them open with great force since they were automatic and apparently protesting against neurotic youths in a hurry (I'd protest too if one side of me was perpetually freezing from Air Conditioning and the other half was baking under summer sunlight). I got into the queue of nervous looking elderly people and waited my turn to be sapped. Fortunately my Gerbil got a day off and could join me there to keep my hands busy signing until my time was up and I was called into one of the little gray padded cubicles of mental anguish. It seems like time flies and I actually enjoy the wait when I'm using ASL with someone. It's my secret calming weapon and as usual it worked. Then my name was called. I stood up bravely, turned to face the life-fluid removal technician, and in a strong clear voice, asked if Gerbil could come too. She snickered and accepted the extra audience member.
For someone who has donated blood and been pricked a number of times recently, I get insanely nervous when it comes time to have more blood drawn. Something about it just makes my insides feel like they're squirming in an unnatural and mildly disturbing way. The only redeeming part about having blood drawn is that it always goes relatively quickly. Usually. Suffice to say that it wasn't my best blood draw ever and there better be some good news at the other end of it or they're getting a strongly worded letter.
After my brave moment for the week I felt... Well... Drained. Drained and downright bitchy. I hadn't had any coffee or food all morning and my closest friends all know that means "RAWR!" So the intelligent ones supply me quickly with nourishment. Gerbil is one of the bright ones and got me some nice icy coffee from a little coffee shop near by. He probably saved his life. And it was a darn good coffee.
When my hostility had been appeased we set off to find someplace to hang out and ended up by the local fish ladder. There was a lot of people there enjoying the view and talking with their friends. We found a nice shaded picnic table and settled down to watch the ducks nearby. Or at least I started watching the ducks nearby, but as usual ended up watching the people as they passed, and then one particular person who didn't pass, but sat at a picnic table across from ours. He was probably in his mid-sixties and was alternating between consuming large chunks of a pastry from Dunkin Donuts and large mouthfulls of cigarette smoke. He was paying attention to neither, but rather staring out at the water or absentmindedly eyeing the people strolling by. Usually people who sit like that for hours look the part. They always seem to have some reason for being there. Perhaps they're waiting for a friend, or remembering a friend who sat beside them. Maybe they're retired and bored, homeless or crazy, happy, sad, content, nervous and so on. But this was a pretty healthy looking man who was well dressed and had nice sunglasses. It wasn't lunch time yet, but wasn't really breakfast so unless he worked somewhere with amazing cigarette breaks he probably wasn't working. His posture wasn't dejected or listless, and it wasn't quite upright. So what led him to sit next to a river on this particular day? Why did he sit so near people if he wanted to be alone, but give a hands-off vibe when someone happened his way?
Things like this always interest me, and on a different day I may have ventured over to mention the weather to him just to see the reaction. But today I let him keep his peace (or lack thereof) and reluctantly said 'see you later' to Gerbil and headed off to work.

I bet at this point (if you're still reading) you're pretty much about to give up on the foamy part, right? Well hang in there!

Shortly after returning home there was a bit of a commotion up by the hen house. Not made by the hens mind you, but by my mom who swore she saw something on four legs moving by the yard. I'll admit, I had my doubts. After all, the hens were quiet and they start up at nothing. I learned today that means they don't start up if it actually is something, since on closer observation...


Prepare for an "awwww" moment...

This baby raccoon was out by the chickens. They didn't care one cluck about the masked marauder and kept on scratching for bugs. The raccoon however did care about them, though I think he was so young he didn't know why just yet. Hopefully he was so young that the fact he was out in broad daylight is forgivable as opposed to a sign of a scary illness. A person just can't deny that face as adorable though. Chicken eater or not. So wherever it is, I wish it good luck and good health.

The evening was wrapped up with my grandparents coming over for dinner, a great detailed discussion of my workplace and a most awesome toad I found on the steps while walking Gerbil to his car:

After saying goodnight to my human companion I raced in the house and snagged Mom's camera, then ran back out to stalk my prey. Unfortunately it was dark by that point and I almost gave up on finding him again, but then my finger rested on the capture button and an amazing thing happened! A small red light came on and illuminated a small section of the ground in a very convenient manner! I used the light and came across the toad in hardly any time at all. Unfortunately he was covered by the low growing bushes and grass in that spot of the garden. This called for drastic measures. After all, I'm a blogger now right? And bloggers need pictures. But no matter how many times I reminded him of this, he kept burrowing further and further into the undergrowth and was in serious danger of vanishing completely without ever making a debut online. That was a tragedy that could not occur, so over the railing I went in search of the toad. It wasn't as disturbing as I thought to watch my feet and ankles get swallowed by the dark green foliage, and honestly I was so wrapped up in the hunt that I almost completely ignored the prickers I found myself in. There were multiple attempts to corral the toad and eventually one method worked and I lifted him up and over to the mowed lawn to photograph him. I can't find his name anywhere. If anyone knows the type of toad this is please let me know! He's very cool and was reasonably good natured about having his picture taken.

Now it is late, and tomorrow is another day to try and find something interesting to write about. I could get used to this blogging thing. :)
Night!

Gerbil Neglect

There's something about waking up, stretching out and knowing that I have absolutley nothing to do during the day I just found myself in that makes me grin as if I was eight and it was the first day of summer vacation. Well, nothing minus the usual routine when house-sitting. I.e. walk the dog and feed the cat. But these tasks are minimal in the grand scheme of things and could even be looked on in this instance as a treat!

Walking the dog is never a particularly bad experience, but today it had whole new meaning. I dragged myself from under the comforter of the basement guest bed, walked upstairs wincing at the humidity, coaxed the dog from his basement lair (I couldn't blame him for wanting to stay down there in the dark and cool) and with a heavy (but not quite emo) sigh, I opened the door to face the glaring heat.

In an instant the summer morning sun had shot past me into the mudroom and made the dog shine. The grass was shimmering with the mist it had gathered overnight and the leaves were dancing with light. The flowers too had been sprinkled with water the night before, and now bravely cupped what was left with their purple and yellow petals. Everything was lush, green and glowing. It's a shame I didn't remember my camera until the dew was gone.

I took a leisurely walk, or as leisurely as you can get with a bouncy berner at your heels one minute and tripping himself in front of you the next, up to the chicken house and down the road a little ways. Finally the sun was a bit too much so early in the day and the dog looked hungry. 'Hungry... Hmm... I'm kind of hungry too, and there's something about that...' I pondered a moment. 'Oh well. Time to feed the pooch.' And down I went to the house.

Now, neither of the animals that live in the house have simple eating habits. Everything has to be done a special way. This morning I had forgotten Owen's special way, so I called Mom for a refresher.

Ok, full scoop of kibble and some water mixed in. Got it. We talked for a minute about her mini-break, and about the weather, and about how nice it is in our basement (which stays nice and cool even with no AC in the house) and how nice it is to sleep down there. Just talking about it made me sleepy. "I think I'm actually gonna go back to bed when I'm done on the phone with you." I said, blinking hard and rubbing my eyes. It had been a long movie night with much ice cream, soda and candy. Sleeping hadn't been a big part of it. "But I thought you were going to meet Gerbil this morning for breakfast?"

>_<

DOH!

I bet the ice cream was laced with some intense forgetting drug. Today was the first time I not only slept late, but completely forgot I was meeting my favorite boy. I got off the phone with her and gave my Gerbil a call. He was OK with the whole thing (thank goodness for easygoing young men). He was in G-town already and waiting. I was still pretty much fresh from the covers and not in any fit state to be seen, so I told him to come up to the house for breakfast since by the time I got ready and got down there he'd need to be at work anyway. Once off the phone ran to get spruced up at breakneck speed.

We had a really nice breakfast even in spite of my tidying up before, during and after the meal. I made some pretty descent eggs for once (which I make all the time, but an audience always spells disaster for some reason) and some coffee. I get a serious bit of satisfaction sending Gerbil off to work with a full stomach. Something about the mental picture I get of a fat fluffy rodent makes me snicker. And maybe offering him dinner tonight with my parents will make up for the forgetfulness of the morning.

Otherwise today has been relaxed in the extreme. I spent the rest of the morning watching Planet Earth which is narrated by David Attenborough and snuggling with my very content cat. (Honestly I was sucking up to him from earlier in the day when he happened to place his paw square in the middle of one of my eggs and was banned from the table for the rest of the meal. He is a very sensitive beast and needs uber amounts of affection to make up for any affront. And you'd be amazed at just what counts as an affront.) Next on my agenda is watching some of these Alfred Hitchcock movies I got last night. It's a pack of 20 movies for six dollars. How could I resist?

Later!