My Laptop's Death

A week or so ago I received a phone call from Texas. It seemed my beloved laptop had died a slow water-y death. Somehow there was "liquid damage." I don't know when. I don't know how. I only know that the cost to repair was nearly the cost of replacing my beloved little white machine.

As a writer, not having access to my most favorite tool has been sad. I have oodles of stories to write. Ones about adventures in Maui (over one month old) or of my children growing, myself evolving. I have been procrastinating bringing my computer in to the Mac Store because I could sense the news would not be happy.

The death of my laptop has sad because it symbolized a gift from someone four years ago. This individual saw I was a busy mom with three children and one computer. At the time, we each had to wait our turn to get online. I had already cooked and cleaned in my home both before school and again later, taught in a classroom all day, driven numerous routes in the carpool lane to various sports' practices, games and more, corrected homework for my own children as well as over 65 students and then cooked and cleaned some more. And then I had to wait my turn to type away.

My beloved laptop was an unsolicited present and totally unexpected. It was given to me during a lunch and with an explanation that there were no strings, expectations or hidden meanings. It was a gift to a writer from someone who understood.

That machine helped me to create stories of my family, myself and friends. It allowed me to create a DVD for my entire immediate family of our history set to music with a myriad of photos. It brought comfort to all of us while my dad fought his cancer courageously. I will never forget watching the DVD as a giant audience in my sister's living room in April of 2007 with tears of sadness mixed with joy and laughter. A year later we edited it for his memorial service. I had photos of my children's most recent events. I journaled. I emailed. I poured my heart and soul onto the keys of that little engine that could.

The friendship has shifted and though we keep in touch on rare occasions I have always appreciated the spirit with which the computer was given. Time moves on and so do people.

Yesterday I took money out of my limited savings and went to the Apple Store. I purchased a new little silver machine. I have high hopes for more writing, with some more ideas and sites and avenues brewing. And though my white machine has died, my friendship has shifted I continue to be optimistic about what is around the next bend.

Thank you for reading...

Deleting Contacts

Today I was talking with a friend. He had just deleted all the emails from a woman he'd been dating, getting rid of her contact information from his phone and his computer.

It caused me to pause and reflect upon what I've learned about people's personalities. That is, timing, is everything.

Are you the kind of person who clears closets, empties picture frames and removes all memorabilia right away? Do you purge and eliminate all evidence of a person's existence? Do you want to move on?

Or do you gather all traces, putting them in a box tucked away deep in the inner recesses of  your garage, basement or stairwell closet? Is it avoidance or are you allowing time to process events to reflect upon at a later date?

Perhaps you are the kind of person who wears the t-shirt he gave you from his work, favorite sports team or a trip he took. You keep the emails in a folder on your email account so that when you need to read them they are there, as is his contact information or the multiple drafts from emails you chose not to send. But you are still sitting in the hurt or grief or alone-ness, allowing yourself to feel the emotions, until they pass. Knowing they will.

It does not seem to matter if it is death, divorce or the break-up of a loving relationship. The pain is still there to deal with at some point in time.

I know when I gave away my favorite pair of oh-so-comfy-fire-department-newlywed-purchased sweat pants from my ex-husband to our youngest daughter the acute pain had subsided. It took many years.

Deleting both my dad's name and another girlfriend who had died around the same time from my list of phone contacts and my email list was brutal. I waited until I felt keeping them hurt more than deleting them.

Today, inspired by my friend I opened a file on my computer with emails from a past love. I pressed delete.

Delete.

Delete.

Delete.

Then I made the  mistake of opening up a few and reading them. I began to selectively delete. I could see, clearly, how much I've grown and changed in the past four years. I wanted to take the time to reflect upon all that I had learned. I was running out of time. I went to the trash file and moved them all back into the original file labeled, "XX." I'm almost ready to do it. I just need a long night to do so.

Sometimes it's hard to throw everything away with just one delete. I've learned I need to wait a little bit longer because timing is everything.

You Are Home To Me…

Dear XXXXX,

I love you. You are home to me.

In the living room, music is playing. Here, in my mind’s eye, I see both your home and mine; separate but jumbled together. It began with James Taylor’s soft ballads & Norah Jones’ sweet melodic vocals followed by Rascal Flatts. There are Ocean Melodies in the background & as I look up at an arched window I remember a Monterey memory. I see a misplaced man texting a woman at night while she grieves for her dad, lying on a mattress while friends are visiting from out of town. Music frequently leads to slow dancing, concerts with a piano leads to laughter, and salsa dancing in the City ends with a wee bit of jealousy. Colbie Caillat’s song, “Realize” and a live performance leads to being reunited. There are so many that seem to speak to us: “1,2, 3, 4” and “Say hey I love you,” as well as others. In the living room sits the piano & a man who is writing a song using mainly 4 notes…it is unfinished but it is going to be beautiful, I just know it. Will I ever hear it?

The kitchen and dining room have memories of a turkey dinner that was a challenge we conquered together, chocolate strawberries & Champaign, salad suppers, blueberries, yogurt and almonds…it is a metal chair with two people. In this room, I see the Viking school lesson & the repeated performance with you and I. I see restaurants with chicken Caesar salad, salmon, mozzarella, tomatoes & basil or bruscetta appetizers coupled with a glass of Rombauer chardonnay & a lemon drop. The kitchen is place of conversations & meals & food & family & friends. It is 2 people trying to feed their children healthy meals. It is a place with a newly begun tradition of Sunday suppers. There’s lots of laughter at a table with a black bench & a bouquet of flowers. Mainly there is love, even more palatable than the meals served upon the tables we both own.

The family room consists of games played, movies watched, basketball & CAL. It is symbolic of STOMPing, cowbells & cheering. It is triathlons. It is shooting hoops. There are sleepovers for friends. Climbing onto roofs, building zip lines & hammocks outside, an extension of the family room. Walks along the beach, drives to vineyards and other places left to explore. Family rooms are for cozy corners on couches. Reading, learning, watching inspirational speakers or asking difficult questions all take place in the family room. I see barbeques with friends and family. There are bikes; one is alone & sometimes joined with a pack of others or a reluctant teenage rider. The second bike is joined by two more, both smaller in statue. Never the first. With that, I am left wondering why.

The bathroom is for caring for a toothache, sore knees soaking in a tub & shaving in the early morning. It is filled with vitamins & supplements that are lovingly shared & small travel-sized samples. There are towels that are gently used to absorb evidence of time spent together. In the closet a black hair dryer resides. The scene is as varied as the rooms in which we traveled: Monterey, Carmel, Napa, the City, Hawaii, XXXXX Road & XXXX Street.

In the bedroom there are a multitude of conversations; some from habit, some with urgency & some just because. It is honest. It is real. It is painful. Loving. Learning. Exciting. It has a Kennedy boy shirt, gray sweatpants, a variety of pj’s, silk and more. It has a favorite spooning position, “Position A.” It is sensual. It is messy. It is shopping for mattresses, the removal of pillows and 300 thread count cotton sheets. It is plastic bottles of water replaced by glasses that are environmentally friendly. There is the sound of the clicking of clock radios being turned on and times adjusted and a ticking watch. There is tender love, sometimes candles or music and soft lights. Love in this room in particular is new for the girl. She feels safe, secure and wanting to learn more, experience more and be together more. Always there is love.

And so…

Lastly, I think of an object, not a room. A computer. Computers. All white, all Macs. It is where this home was built, on an Internet highway. We’ve shared ideas, reflections, photos & ponderings. We’ve sought advice, friendship and decided to marinate or reflect. Together we’ve seen the death of a father and a company, the birth of our relationship & the continued ones we share with our ex’s because of the five greatest accomplishments we've created together, our children. We’ve both written poetically, metaphorically & in a brutally honest fashion without the intent to hurt or maim. So it would seem, that our “home” would end here on the computer as well. I have loved building it together with you. I suppose we missed the key piece. Our foundation. Mine is solid & you are discovering whether yours is built on sand, dirt, pebbles or cement. I sincerely wish that you will find a place to call, “Home Sweet Home.”

Love to you and yours,

XXXXX