The Detour

When I first started this blog, it was supposed to be, I think, about my life in travels. Because I have always seen myself as a gypsy, because I have always lived away from people dear to me, which always required travels, because, for some reason, I have always been in love with things that are far away from where I live (England when I was in Romania, the ocean and the mountains when I lived in the foothills of North Carolina, Montana, Arizona, California and Colorado, now that I live in Utah), I pretty much knew that if I were to tell a story about my life, I would tell a story about my travels. 

I sometimes forget places I ate at, foods I had - all I remember is that they were memorable enough, so I come to the blog and re-read my posts to remind myself of what was. I always thought I'd keep this travel diary to remind my old age mind about where I have been all my life. I kind of look forward to each year's travels, in January, because I can see the new pages I'll fill up with stories, people, pictures, foods, smells, music ... 

But this year is different. This year, we'll step aside from the nice, lovely, straight road, and we'll take the grassy road that wants wear and go on to have our heart surgery next. That will be followed, if all goes well, and all should go well, by a long process of recovery and rebuilding my new body, with new heart parts in it. A new valve. A new part of my aorta. Some re-positioned blood vessels to bypass the sick ones. You know, old age "stuff". This is what this year's posts will be about, along with how I get out and see the world during it all.

I have struggled in the past few  months with the overwhelming severity of my condition, the risks, the possible complications, the strange state I live in and the scarce amount of good medical care. I have been at the very bottom of the hope bucket. I have cried, and been depressed and sad, and feared for my life. I could not bear the thought of not ever seeing my family, my husband, my life as I know today ever again. 

But knowledge is power. I talked myself into learning and researching, meeting people like me online, researching the best surgeon possible in this darn state. Love is power, too. I have been listening to people who know and love me and who pulled me back to the shore from my deep, deep waters of confusion. And you know I needed help, 'cause I can't swim. 

So today, only a bit over 12 hours before surgery starts tomorrow, I am ready. I am ready for this, as I have never thought I could be before. I don't know much about medicine and what my body will decide to do during the surgery. I don't know much about God's plans, either. I just hope He agrees with mine. But I do know that deep in my heart, I am not ready to end it here. As I have mentioned in my previous 2 posts, I got stuff to do! I am ready to start plan it, just as soon as this surgery and its recovery is over and just as soon as it's safe again to be out there. 

This is not sad, to me. I am grateful, because this condition, for now, is fixable. I am grateful that I have a surgeon who gives hugs and tells me the truth about everything, no matter how bleak, while cheering me on that I can do it. I am grateful for friends and for my rock solid husband who will not let me fail. I know this. 

I am hopeful and ready. This is my big detour. That is all. Sometimes it's necessary, you know. And as the poet knows, and we know now to be true, "that will make all the difference". 

Talk at you folks, in some time. But we will talk! 
 

Perspective

I was told I was born a “big baby”. I am told I am a “small woman” now. It’s all relative and a matter of perspective, I guess.

I was born in another world. Quite literally. It was called Romania then. I call my world North America – occasionally Romania now. It’s a giant leap and not only in geography!

There was no email 40 years ago. No World Wide Web, either.

No iPhones, iPads or anything “Apple” for that matter (well, of course, outside The Beatles, but that’s another story).

Microsoft was founded only 5 days before I was born. Countries like: Russia, Slovakia, Moldova, Armenia were not sitting on their own on the maps of the world.

Same sex marriage was not recognized by any country in the world, and I was born under a dictatorship. Today, I live in the allegedly most democratic country in the world. Allegedly. There is always perspective, you see,  and interpretation.

The original World Trade Centers were barely 2 years old! You know where they are today.

Cell and cordless phones were not commercially available. I grew up with rotary phones and phones lines that “coupled” people (strangers) on the same numbers. So, you had to “yield” if your neighbor was making the call before you got a chance to.

I was born in a blizzard, in April, in a poor family, and my parents were full time students. I was born in a world were dads were not allowed in the maternity room at delivery time. I probably saw my dad days after I was born, and I was cleared to have contact with the outside world. Or rather, he saw me …

It was a small world. A bleak world. A far away one. But full of fire. Full of potential, desire, brains, and drive. To some extent, a world with a limited horizon, except if you were my parents. My parents knew that their kids will have the power to dream – and they were there to encourage it and to kindle the fire under our dreaming, so we can take off. And as with everything, they, of course, were right. We did take off.

I still hear my mom say “40 years is a lifetime”. And you know what, looking back from where I am standing now … it really is! I am seeing myself through these years, growing, maturing, succeeding, but most of all, most importantly, failing, and failing hard. I took some royal falls, that cannot be mended with a band aid or cured with an aspirin! But I also had amazing dreams come true, wild, insanely unrealistic dreams become reality. I have watched people’s extreme happiness and deepest sadness all the same, and all of it dug deep wrinkles in my forehead and even deeper in my heart.

I lost people that helped me grow, that tended to me when I was too small to take care of myself – all my grandparents, relatives that helped my parents raise me and my sister. I lost dear friends to horrible diseases. I lost pets I loved like my children. But I also gained amazing love and wonders in my husband, and my nephews. I gained renewed strength and built memories with all the friends that I have made over the years. Friends I have known and loved since middle school. And high school. And college. And since I moved to the US, 17 years ago.

My great grandparents never left their counties, or sometimes their cities. They never saw the sea, or jumped on a plane. My grandparents never even dreamed of leaving the country. I have seen half of Europe, one Asian country and have seen half of the US and the East Coast of Canada. And I still think I have seen nothing compared to most!

I remember when my parents could not figure out how to get back in touch with their best friends from college or high school, just to catch up. I can reach mine, with a click of the keyboard, through Facebook. My friends live nowadays anywhere between Armenia and the UK, Denmark, Italy, Canada and France. “Imagine there’s no countries” is becoming a reality, I suppose.

Looking back, I can tell you, you learn a lot in these 40 years. You can’t help it! Even when you defy learning, learning forces itself onto your throat … And you grow. And you know. Or at least you pretend you do. You gotta show something for this gray hair, I tell ya that much!

I know now that not looking back is a gift. Use it often. Move on, remember, but don’t wallow! Second looks are for losers. And as the song goes, “there is no time for losers”.

Life won’t give you second chances much … er … at all. So, don’t waste your time giving them to others. Trust me – people will disappoint you every chance they get!

Once in a long while, someone will leave you speechless with their generosity, love and, yes, even sanctity! Embrace it, and thank God you met them! Then, try to return that favor.

Always be honest with yourself, even if it makes you bleed! Lying to yourself is the biggest, most hopeless hole you can get dig yourself into, and no one will ever give a damn to pull you out of it! 

Don't ever, and I mean, not even when you're craving that big mansion your sister just bought, or that stupid car your co-worker is leasing for more than your mortgage, don't ever chase someone else's dreams! Just 'cause the world has to have 3 kids, a gray dog, a white picket fence, a house with a basement and a fireplace doesn't make it right for you. And what is right for you is the only thing that matters. Be brave and stubborn enough to figure out what that is! Stop cheating and comparing notes! That's a waste of time! And time is what you can't let to waste ...

Don’t attach strings to anything you give. Give freely. And like a boomerang, life will give it back to you even faster and stronger! I promise that with all my might!

The more you let go, however painful it is, the more you have. I know, it makes no sense, but it’s true.

I never spent much time worrying if I am perfect, so I won’t start now. I know that I am unique, as is everyone else. And that suffices!

I know now that I love cats and dogs much better than most people. And that’s more than just a cliché.

I have always been grateful for the fact that I grew up in communism, and for the rare disease I was born with. The fact that I survived both and am sitting here today, 40 years later, across the world, typing my words in a device few people dreamed they would own one day, 40 years ago, makes me a believer in faith, human strength, loving people and luck. Much luck!

I still won’t spend more than $5 in Vegas, though! I believe in luck, but I am not stupid. Most days, anyway.

I’d still rather buy a book than a pair of shoes. And 17 years of consumerism in America has not changed that!

40 years taught me to say “I love you” often. I say it every day. To my husband, my cat, every time I speak to my family, every chance I get to people that have established themselves in my heart … Time is precious!

The next blink of our eyes could be too late. Again, that is not a cliché. Just think about it: you float on this blue bead of soil and water into the universe. Something sneezes up there, in the whole scheme of the world, and you’re gone! Your being, dreams, hopes, plans for tomorrow, even your most favorite chair positioned just so in front of your fireplace. Poof! Gone. Be mindful. Touch this table, in front of you, and really, really feel it … Remember: this touch, now, is all you got for sure and for real. Make no assumptions!

There are people in the world who are really, really shitty, sick f*cks! But for every one of those, there are hundreds that make this journey worth it!

There comes a day in your life when you realize the fact that your burger was cold at the steakhouse last night is ridiculous; you realize that the new shampoo you just bought that makes your scalp flake is just a gnat in your daily journey. You realize that every breath you take is more important, more sublime and supreme than every time someone broke a promise to you … And you get perspective. And you revel in the amazement of it all!

The one, truest thing I have learned though during this mammoth amount of time came from my dad. He says: “The secret to succeeding in life is to be five seconds smarter than life”. And it’s different for every one of us what that means.  But if you crack that code, I tell you this much: there are no doors! Only possibilities turned into life. 

PS: and you want to hear something else crazy?! I don't feel old yet! Who knew?!

An (Undramatic) Dream Came True

“Hey man, I'm alive
I'm taking each day and night at a time
I'm feeling like a Monday but someday I'll be Saturday night... “

I’ll give you one guess at who said that! One guess, because I know that no matter your age, social class, country, or amount of rocks you’ve been living under, you know that those lyrics are belched out by Jon Bon Jovi!

I can’t even remember the very first time I knew about Bon Jovi. It could have been in my middle school years (that’s around 1985’ish), but because that was the tail end of Communism and the worst years ever under that regime, I doubt I would have heard of them underneath that iron curtain.

So, it must have been high school – most likely after 1989 … But that seems too late!

Needless to say, I feel like I was born and was raised on their music, much like I was on that of The Beatles’ and Elvis’s. I can recognize Jon’s voice on the radio any time, even if it’s a song that I have never heard before – if such a thing is still possible!

They’ve been such a mainstay in my life, that I never even thought about actually wanting so badly to see them live. I felt like, in a way, they’re everywhere. How much closer to them can a live performance get me?!  

I remember I listened to them on my 10^th grade graduation retreat, on my summer breaks in the Romanian mountains, in my very hot flat, during college summer nights, at mom’s home. I remember reading about what a great big deal was when he chopped off his hair. I remember him on Ally McBeal! To me, they’re as American as Bruce Springsteen, and as lovable and popular as a white zin amongst the wines or a golden lab amongst the dogs – they just go with everything and lick everyone’s hand! There is something of the “boy next door” familiarity about these kids, I tell you this much. A timeless, ageless flair.

I finally got the chance to be under the same roof as them about 3 weeks ago, in Salt Lake City. And what do you know?! I was not truly, deeply moved! It was like seeing old friends. It was probably the only live show I have ever been to where I felt like I knew every song – there was an eerie intimacy to it. What I knew about them (except for Sambora who was missing that night, replaced by a new Canadian guitarist, apparently) was all there. Same voice, same crazy running up and down the stage, same solos, same focus on delivering plain, good, clean music. Same black leather vest.

There was nothing spectacular, out of the world shocking (like Aerosmith showing up an hour late to the show, with Steve and Joe Perry screaming at each other in a spat) or Gene Simmons stuffing his tongue down some chick’s throat at a KISS show; or Melissa Etheridge demanding a Persian rug be on stage before she could start playing, during a downpour in Deer Valley! It was just plain, good, synchronized, clean music. Same ol’ – same ol’. And flawless! There is lots to be said for exactness and non-drama in this crazy rock-n-roll business, for sure. Except, of course, for the fact, that their famous front guitarist didn’t show. I guess that’s the bit of the chance in this business.

I have many Bon Jovi favorite songs. When I plug them into my car cd player, I sing along with every tune, all the way to work. But I lived for hearing Bed of Roses live. It played at my wedding and it’s just the most peaceful rock ballad I know. And I would not be opposed to playing it at my funeral, too, if someone will remember this.

And that night , for this song alone, will stay in my memory as one where a dream came true – because he, the man from Jersey, the un-dramatic, “clean” rocker did that for me. With one song! So, I guess, I was moved, after all. Moved that not only did I hear my favorite song one more time, but that he played it live. For me. And I got a live recording of it. All mine.   

Enjoy – funny interlude and all:

Far Away, So Close. A Weekend Blog

At one time in my life, my idea of happiness was to run away from civilization and buy several acres of bare land in Montana (yes, I was specific about the state), with a run down, fixer up log cabin on it, and just live off of potatoes and corn. If corn makes it up there. If not, woods berries and mushrooms would do!

As I have lived in the middle of booming and Yankee invaded North Carolina for the past 11 years or so, I have learned that no matter how much I love my “me” time, and my mountains, I love human contact, various cuisines, shopping centers, libraries, and the ocean just as much! Variety is the key word!

I say this as I am thinking of a very blissful weekend that just passed. My sweetie and I have explored anything from sushi on Tate Street in the UNCG Campus, to the trails of Stone Mountain, from The Mellow Mushroom pizza, in Downtown Greensboro, to the two immense stories of great Swedish finds at Ikea, and the Swedish meatballs, of course, in Charlotte, from the kitchen stores at Friendly Shopping Center to the delicious fried pickles at The Penguin Drive-in in the Queen City.

The proximity to both larger cities and the mountains from Greensboro, along with the never ending gift that Greensboro itself is, are such conveniences on weekends like these: with many days to fill and no specific plans!

There is always something to do, socially, sure, like standup shows, and plays and bands to see, or a newly open food joint in our hopping downtown, but the independently planned play time is what both me and my guy favor! And we never seem to be lacking ideas on how to comfortably fill our weekends!

I might be too tired to travel and explore new cities and foods and trails on 85 degree hot summer days in 75% humidity, one day. Maybe I will prefer the coolness of Montana or Colorado remoteness from the world, at some point in my life. But not in the near future!

No pictures of Ikea nor of the sushi, but for the rest, visit The Labor Day album, and make plans (hopefully) to visit your neighborhood!

The Carrot Joke

Did you all hear "the carrot joke"? Did you? Well, if not, here it goes:

Two carrots were walking down the stairs together. One of them was paying no attention to the steps, and he tripped, fell down the stairs and hurt himself really badly. The other carrot called 911, and took the hurt carrot to the emergency room.

After a few hours of surgery and medical investigation, the ER doctor comes out to talk to the healthy carrot and he says:

"Well, I have good news and bad news."

The healthy carrot was waiting with bated breath to hear the fate of his poor, hurt, friend ...

The doctor continued: "Well, the good news is that Mr. Carrot will be OK: he will live, the fall didn't threaten his life. The bad news is ... he will be a vegetable for the rest of his life".

So, now you're supposed to laugh. Or at least think the joke was cute... Yeah, I know: it IS a silly joke, indeed. Nothing amazing about it, right??

The amazing fact about the silly joke was the man who told it to me. My group of volunteers was wrapping up a dinner preparation and serving for Urban Ministry, a homeless shelter, and the man who told us the joke as we were walking out from the charity event was a security guard at The Shelter. This was a man who sees the worst, darkest side of life, every day. No, not death. But struggle. Need. Hunger. And hopelessness. And even despair.

And yes, in the midst of all that, he found energy and purity in his heart, I thought, to tell us "the carrot joke". His laugh was loud and plenty. He told us his 9 year old daughter woke him up that morning to tell him this joke, and he found it so funny, he wanted to share it! I can only imagine that little girl's curly head swaying as she tells her daddy the joke, her giggles getting the man through his hard day, at The Shelter! Such a blessing!! And how his paying attention made his day easier to take on, maybe?!

And that was one of the life's biggest lessons for me, and made my (lately) incredibly pessimistic and negative self snap out of it, and wonder: am I wasting precious time on trite matters, and is life really not too short to worry about small things like co-workers' moods, and managers' inadequacy, and the state of North Carolina being short on cash and me not getting the tax return till June?!

Made me really wonder: did I miss a day in which I did not smile, if not laugh out loud, healthily and happily, as that security guard, at the simple, little things that are plenty around us, IF we pay attention?! And was that not such a shame and waste if I did?!

This silly joke, and the tall, dark, uniformed man visibly in love with his daughter, or with what she brings to his life, an island of happy, and calm, and love, in the midst of chaos and despair, made me stop for a moment and re-assess.

And I just wanted to share, as I thought we all could use a silly joke. Lately.

11 Years Ago Today

“You have to stand against the world although you may have to stand alone”.
(Mahatma Gandi) – this is my calendar quote on today’s calendar.

Back when I used to read fairy tales, it always intrigued me how every prince (not princess – those were still patriarchal times, you see), when they turned 18, they left their parents’ home to look for their “fortune” in the world. The authors never told you what they were exactly looking for, and I always wished they did tell me what it was that they were looking for. They would always set off, on a horse, leaving their parents old, teary and sobbing, to look for their fortune, their meaning, it seemed, their sort in the world – you were told. And then the search, and the hardships, and the conquests and the final settling down with a beautiful princess would follow.

I guess that’s what I did myself, 11 years ago today, when I jumped on that plane from my home country to come to the United States. Unlike the princes in the stories, though, I was not yet 23. Not many people approved of if (none comes to mind), but I knew … that was my life, and I had to go find it. Powerful things happen when one goes out to meet their destiny, you know: like you pay no attention to your sobbing parents that have given you shelter, love and food for all your life, and you never turn around, but you just set off, curious what life, your life, has in store for you alone.

If you asked me then what was I doing coming here, and leaving home, I would have probably said: I am looking for my fortune, or my sort and meaning in life. If you asked me today what I was doing – I would probably tell you the same thing. And to this day, the answer is the same every single morning, when I set out the door. I am still looking. Not in the “never grow up” sort of way, but in the “what indeed is it that makes one so happy and fulfilled to say they’re done?!” sort of way.

I can only tell you: it was not “the American dream” I was after, like you might think. After 11 years of living in the country that still makes my dad’s most coveted dream to move to, I will be happy to report that I found out that there is no such thing as “the American dream”. I don’t believe there is one dream that’s all American, that every American lives for to accomplish. I think “the” life dream of anyone is personal, and is different for each one of us – and that is just a universal premise, not solely an American one.

Maybe, if there were such a thing as “the American dream”, then that would be to accomplish our individual dream, or dreams, unhindered, and in freedom. To be whoever we are, and to live the life we each see fit. And for Society and the Government to have little to say about that. Again: this could be any nation’s dream – but it’s easier to achieve in America.

I guess for me, my dream is just like 11 years ago: to just live right, with respect towards everyone and everything I come across, to be happy, take one day at a time, and see where the next plane takes me.

Sure, there are accomplishments (a relative term, I believe) to speak of: I have married, and divorced, I have had step children to take care of, I have still never rented, and owned alone or jointly about 4 homes so far, I have made a home, for me, and my loved ones, when they’re around, I have loved and been loved, I have more than doubled my income since my first job here, and the most wonderful accomplishment of all: I have managed to stay alive, and lead a healthy (again, relative term) life, despite all the medical predictions; I have made friends, and lost some, I have lost family and loved ones, I have become an aunt and a godmother one more time, I have bought and sold cars, totaled one too and survived it, I have cared for the sick, and helped the poor, I have rescued animals, I have traveled, and most importantly: I never forgot where I started.

During the 11 years of being far away, I feel still as close if not closer to my family, and as close to being Romanian as I’ll ever be, I hope: I still respect all my church given feasts, and I still think, just like Eliade thought, that the Orthodox faith is where all my strength lies, I cook 90% of my meals from scratch, just the way grandma taught me. I sew my own buttons, I knit my own scarves, and I hem my own pants!

There is little regret in this all. If I had to be given the same chances again, I would pursue them with the same enthusiasm as I did the first time around. It’s been a great journey, and one that I would say has been mostly on my own. I have met some wonderful folks along the way, and some of them helped me go in the direction I am going now, whether they knew it or meant to or not. But at the end of the day, I do believe, I have gotten here because of me, my choices, my tears, my laughs, my ambition, or lack of it, my calling – whatever that might be.

With my head full of curls and questions, still, just like 11 years ago, I still wonder what my sort is, and what my fortune will be, and wonder when I’ll find it. But I am happy to say that I would be thrilled to know there is no end to this search, and the search itself is what someone might call “my fortune” one day, when I’ll be long gone and forgotten.

For now, I am enjoying making plans for my next plane ride – and that’s how far I’ll ever want to go with my true “planning” and deadlining. As they say in Yoga: I forever want to stay a beginner: because beginners … will try anything.

And as always on this day: I want to thank my new country for having me and my family for loving me no matter how far I went, just like they promised then. This journey would not have been possible at all if it weren’t for those two mainstays in my life.