Twists, turns, ups, and downs

Life is full of twists, turns, ups, and downs--much like that of a bicycle tour; although a bicycle tour was not made this year. Maybe the past 10 cycling years has prepared us for this year. Starting with a family death, followed by transitions of property (still be be completed), then retirement, followed by paperwork . . . and paperwork, then the "fall", the dreaded subsequent rotator-cuff operation to put all right again, and the pain of recovery. One doc says that there will be no riding for at least four months while the PT (physical therapist or pain and torture guy--take your pick) gave us hope when he said maybe a month. Although the pain will ultimately be the guide. The anchor of home held us in place to make all right.

Surrealism has hovered over the house. We had not been at home in the summer for 10 years. It has actually been quite refreshing while odd at the same time.

OK, now we're recovering . . . getting it all right again. The anchor is getting lighter and lighter. We're fluffing and spreading our wings. We're getting there.

Who am I?

That has been a question that has popped up again and again and again in my life. When I was a child, it was a very concrete question to be answered with my name. When I was a teenager, and after suffering years of verbal abuse from my mother and seeing the degradation of my father slip away in a flask of whiskey, I sought out a more spiritual answer as I dove into a deeper understanding of Christianity which left an emptiness in my soul. I then followed my drive to find out who I was in Eastern religions. The meaning of who I was became even more lost since in order to find Nirvana, one was to lose oneself in the true meaning of the universe. My life floated back to a more concrete meaning as I found love, my soul mate. At this time, I did not want to lose myself, but rather keep myself as solid as possible. Me-has become love, a love relationship. Who am I? Am I defined by my age of 51? Am I defined by my health? Am I defined by my successes or my failures? I am defined by having an established, loving relationship of 34 years. Yes. I am probably defined by my energy; I have a lot of it. Contrary to all this energy, I am a very patient person who likes to figure out puzzles, crochet, embroider, and cannot let go of a problem until I solve it. The last bit is sometimes a curse. The puzzle solving has given me an education, both academically and in life. I pursue things that I want to solve. I am an oxymoron: an energetic patient person in search for her soul while not trying to lose her identity which I don't know what that is. Probably by the time I'm stumble on the answer, I will have become one with the universe as my molecular structure once again spreads out.

Story One: The Girl (5) Where am I?

The man was standing right outside the door. He had his hand extended in an invitation and a smile stretched out across his face. Once seen as an adversary, this man was now a friend? She looked beyond the man and could not believe her eyes or her ears: the street no longer existed and city sounds disappeared, replaced by rolling, grass-filled hills and the sounds of happy, singing birds. A panic welled up inside her chest. She looked back and the warehouse was GONE, replaced by the countryside scene. What happened?

Story One: The Girl (4)

At the end of a row of boxes to her left, she could see a faint line of light. It must be a door. She wanted to leave, needed to get out of here, but didn't want to leave the way she came in. She knew that the crowd of the street, however disinterested they were in her, offered more protection. This place was a trap. She felt her way past the boxes. It was a door. She put her ear to hear the outside world. People were walking past, cars manuevering around the corners. Her hand was on the knob, she took a deep breath and . . .

Story One: The Girl (3)

Where was she? This place was so dusty, almost like it had been years since someone had been in. She finally stood up and ended up coughing from the dustdevil stirred up by her movement. There was no need to be silent since 'he' knew she was in here. She squeezed past the boxes in front of her. It was like a maze and she didn't want to get physically lost although she felt emotionally lost and physically drained. Her hands were shaking and knees were suffering from the post effects of the adrenaline surge. What were all these boxes? It was too dark to read the labels. With what light there was, she could tell they were piled nearly to the ceiling. She saw light! She pushed herself through the cracks of more boxes. Yes! Light! It was a window. It was so dirty that she couldn't see outside. She tore a dangling remnant of her torn, and now dirty white blouse and tried to clean the window enough to see outside. She was looking at the busy street she had been chased down. Life just went on as normal. No one cared that moments before she was running for her life. Where was he? This man who had chased her, who had torn her blouse?

Story One: The Girl (2)

She could never get a good look at him. He just lingered in shadows, waiting. She first noticed him by a tree in the park where she jogged early in the morning. Then, she noticed that he was there every day. It was a coincidence; at least that is what she kept telling herself. Then she saw him other places. She called the police but they were too busy, besides, he hadn't done anything and she couldn't identify him. She tried to approach him one day, but a woman bumped into her. By the time she got her bearings, he was not to be seen. Although she knew that he was there, somewhere.

There! A door ajar. She pushed it open, closed it behind her and fumbled in the dark to lock it. Exhausted, out of breath, heart pounding out of her chest, sweat pouring down her face, she slid to the dusty floor. He never came to try the door. She never heard anything from the other side. She knew he saw her escape into the cracked door. Her eyes began to focus to the lack of light, her brain began to slow and take in her surroundings. There were boxes piled high, all around her.

Story One: The Girl (1)

The girl raced down the alley, her heart was pounding as she gasped for breath. No time to stop and rest. The man who had been following her for a month had changed his tactics. Up until today, he had kept consistent distance; but today, he closed in--he grabbed at her and caught the sleeve of her blouse as she came out of the grocery store. She, literally, tore away, the sleeve ripping from the seams and down the back as she ran to save her life. Why had he been following her? Why is he now chasing her?

To be continued . . .