A Broken Shovel

Sometimes I want to write the truth but in doing so I might hurt other people. I've had a lot going on since last August and have had to self-censor my writing. I just couldn't write what was on my heart because it was either not my story to tell or because I was not allowed to write about it.  I'm going to try and tell my story without the details that might hurt others. Excuse the use of this swear word but really, it involves a lot of *shit.*

I recently got back from an adventure vacation with my oldest daughter and a dear friend. We visited some great spots in the Eastern Sierras and ate delicious meals. I should write a post about it because there were so many lovely places that you should go. But not today.

Today I'm going to talk about life. And how it is precious. I've been reminded several times in the past 6 months and today I had yet another *aha* moment while trying to reassemble a backpacking tool that I broke. I discovered it's kind of useless for backpacking but can be used when I go snow camping next season. In hard granite dirt it won't work. The tool is a small shovel for digging cat holes. For those not in the know, that is the polite way of saying a hole for poop. In the high sierras you have to frequently carry the poop out in a wag bag, which is not for dogs. It's for human excrement. If you are fortunate to be in an area to dig cat holes, count yourself lucky. My daughter had a heavy shovel and in a last minute decision I bought a lightweight one while we picked up our wilderness permit. But it broke within fix minutes of purchasing it and I knew when I got home I would try to fix it for next winter.

Anyhow, since my last posting on this ancient blog lots has occurred.

My job: it was my most difficult year ever. More difficult than my first year of teaching, which was my second most difficult year. My first year was tough because I have high standards, I was a perfectionist and never felt like I had "arrived" as a teacher (in time I learned one never arrives; if you feel that way you probably should move on to another job as you're either boring or not giving it your all and even when you are, it is a stressful being creative, balancing academic standards and doing what is developmentally appropriate for the age you are teaching, making it both challenging and fun, building relationships all while being current and fresh). This year was not awful with the kids or with parents (except maybe one who was challenging if I'm being honest). I can't tell you why it was awful but believe me IT WAS AWFUL. I worked during lunches, after school and on weekends to try and do what I felt was in the best interest of my students and help make the situation better. I lost sleep. I lost time. I lost workouts. I gained weight. IT WAS STRESSFUL. And I am trying very hard to hit the restart button for next year. I am taking a summer off, something I have rarely done. I know next year will be a key one for me and for our school. I know I need a more balanced life and I've started to brainstorm what that might look like as I begin again in August. I have ideas. I know it will be better.

My family: I love them. I have one member who celebrated one year being cancer-free only to have another member diagnosed weeks later. We were devastated and shocked. Both of them are role models to me for so many reasons. The one who is battling cancer now is someone I want to be more like in my life. She is humble, kind, generous, loving and a quiet leader.  She is spiritual but not preachy or religious and she has been my biggest cheerleader the past 12 years. I feel like time with her is HOLY. She is married to a man who is energetic and the two of them are constantly setting the bar of what I hope to achieve if I marry again. They put the other first, have great amounts of laughter and teamwork. They are not perfect but know how to say they are sorry. They love their families, live within their means and are making a difference in the world.

I think of her in my garden as we've spent time together working in it every year. I think of her when I'm in my little cottage because she has come over and we like being together here because it is almost like a doll house for us now that we are grown-ups.  And I think of how she is listening to her body and sleeping and being with a few select people only when she is able and I want to be like her. I want to make my home my safe haven and spend time here nesting and then going out in the wilderness for camping and hiking and biking and kayaking and then come home again. Home. I've learned I have a home that can be my respite.

My life: In one weekend in June another family member, my niece,  lost all of her belongings in a Chicago apartment fire. Everything. She and the others in the building were lucky to escape but I keep thinking about her and how that must feel. I think of her every day as I make various little decisions; which shoes or earrings or dress I want to wear. She does not have that choice or luxury of what stuff to wear or toss. It is all gone. We were all in a state of shock as we read texts about the fire in the early morning and then we flew down to my youngest child's graduation.

My mom and I rented a car and on Highway 5 we were hit from behind by an 18 wheeler minutes later.  We spun around and around and around and across several lanes. As I was spinning, my first thought was to try to relax as much as I could while trying to regain control of the car. I had learned in bike clinics to do this when falling and thought in a fleeting moment this would be helpful.  I could see cars swerving to avoid us in my rear view mirror and knew we were headed in the direction of the median strip. The second thought was, "This is not how I thought I would die." I thought we might die. We had another impact on my side and my window broke with glass pieces imploding on the inside. We stopped somehow facing the correct direction. I grabbed my mom's hand with mine and gave it a strong, silent squeeze. And then I said, "THANK YOU JESUS. THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU" (I was thinking of my niece and now us).

My eldest daughter summed it up by stating we were either the luckiest family or the unluckiest. My children's dad, a retired assistant chief for the fire department, shook his head in amazement and said how usually people do not walk away from being hit by 18 wheelers, they get run over. I had to recount what happened to yet another insurance adjuster two days ago and cried in the retelling of it. I guess I've learned to be grateful and realize it is not my time to go, my mom's or my niece's. Not yet. I must have really needed this drilled into my head and heart because a few weeks ago while driving a local freeway I was frightened by what sounded like a nearby gunshot. It was another 18 wheeler, the tire blew and flew on my windshield. Miraculously I remained in control and my window was not damaged and the truck swerved and avoided me. Okay, I get it. It really is not my time.

My children: My kids are okay. In fact they are more than okay. They have all graduated from college and two have launched into their careers. One has had a rough time this year. The saying that you are only as good as your unhappiest child is true in many regards. I think of my mom, my sisters and brother and friends who have had or have children struggling right now. As parents we want to fix it, and make everything better. But in short, we can't. It is up to our children. This is the hardest parenting lesson ever I think. We must let them go and find their inner strength.

I was recently up in Tahoe and one of my kids and I were having a miscommunication on the phone. It was upsetting. A few minutes later I looked out and there was a coyote who came right up to the window as I was thinking about our discussion. He was looking at us, eating a mouse or a scrap of food. This was not normal behavior, right up against the house's living room window. I had trouble sleeping and in the middle of the night I remembered a few years ago texting a friend who had found out his son had been killed in a drunk driving accident. Another child of mine was in a crisis mode and I was distraught, even more so for my friend. I was sitting in the exact same spot near the window where the coyote had visited and where I was sitting when the father and I were texting. At his son's funeral, the father had told all of us when we see a coyote we should say hi to his son. I believe that night the coyote visit was a pointed reminder of no matter how hard communication or the struggles are with my kids or how I am concerned for them, I need to be thankful that I have them and can witness their struggles. Our time in this life is limited.

My broken cat hole shovel:  I stood in my laundry room with my shovel and tried to reassemble it. It took time and a few innovations but after a great deal of persistence I fixed it. I remember a few years ago I had started to date a man and my bike tool kit fell apart. I jokingly said it was the key to my heart. He was patient and determined and fixed it. That man touched my heart, maybe even more so after we broke up because I recognized he was creating and living a new life after a nasty divorce. From what I can read and see he is in love and happy and evolving as a person.  It is a visual reminder that one can evolve as a person for the better, even at our age.

I thought of my life of late; my job struggles, cancer, accidents, struggles of my children and that the lesson I think I've needed to learn, I mean, REALLY LEARN is that I have the know-how that can fix a broken tool. I guess that means I have the key to my own heart. My time on Earth is limited. I will make the most of it.