My Heart Is Bleeding

People occasionally ask me, or ask generally in groups I am part of, “how is everyone?”. And today more than ever I am grateful for people like that who stop to ask. I am finding out more and more each day that it’s harder and harder to think of others, which is quite the opposite of what the world needs now. If anything, we need more compassion, more togetherness, less vile-ness and definitely, infinitely more respect. So, if you’re reading this: how are you?! Drop me a note, comment on this link – whatever you feel comfortable with … How are you?

To answer those who have asked: we are doing fine. Our hearts are bleeding and our minds are wound up with concern and worry and fright of what tomorrow might bring or how today might morph into something worse, but we are, generally speaking, in the scheme of things, fine. We have been grateful that we and our immediate families are healthy, protected from harm and those of us who work have kept their jobs. These are not small blessings.

But my heart is bleeding, a little more each day. I just cannot believe that all the evil of the world has decided to all come out at the same time all in one year. Every day I am more and more stunned by how everything, and everyone is falling apart. I knew the world needed “a  moment”, needed an inspiration, needed a hero, and a purpose, but  I never dreamed that that moment would be all evil, all dirty, all dark and inhumane, all hopeless, a big whirlpool of vitriol, poison, and desperation.

Tonight is one of those nights where I cannot stop my blood pressure from climbing because my heart is bleeding for everything around me … These are only a handful of things that I can think of right now that make my heart bleed. Every day. 

My heart’s been bleeding for the soul of the American nation, for the loss of the values they hold dear. For how our troubled past is following us into our present. A past that I thought we left behind for good.

My heart has been bleeding for the loss of humanity and respect in our country, at every level but especially at the leadership level. There are days when I see no end to it. My heart’s been bleeding for the injustices I witness every day, whether viewing them on TV, or reading about them, or hearing them retold by my friends. My heart’s been bleeding for all the innocent people being killed and gassed in our streets; my heart’s been bleeding for the death of the belief that “every person is innocent before proved guilty”, the policy of firing a gun to everything that stands in one’s way before better judgement is applied. My heart has been bleeding for the useless violence in our world. Every day.

My heart’s been bleeding for those who die or suffer life-long complications from Covid19. My heart’s been bleeding for not being able to see my family. Not being able to know when seeing my family will eventually be possible. When this exile will end.

My heart’s bleeding for all those who have kids to feed and lost their jobs to the Covid19 depression. My heart’s bleeding for every business owner closing their business, their dream, because they can’t pay the bills anymore.

My heart’s been bleeding for all those who take a knee.

My heart’s bleeding for all those killed in fires caused by a raging climate. My heart’s bleeding for all those who try to teach us to be better and get laughed in the face, dismissed.

My heart’s been bleeding for those stuck at the border, trapped in cages like animals, with no respect to their humanity. When all they wanted was to be free …

My heart’s been bleeding for all the babies dragged away from their parents …

My heart’s bleeding for all those who don’t read anything except for Facebook and Twitter … Especially those who also have the power to change things for good.

My heart’s been bleeding for the loss of our critical thinking. And of compassion.

My heart’s been bleeding after driving around in several counties this weekend and seeing 80% (my humble estimation, it could very well be more) of the electoral signs having the wrong person’s name on them. It’s not the wrong person because it’s wrong to me. I seldom, if ever, make an absolute truth statement, but this is an absolute truth statement: it is the wrong person, if you have one ounce of decency and humanity left in your body. 80%. My heart and eyes are bleeding ….

My heart is still bleeding for losing John McCain. My heart bleeds for losing RBG.

And tonight, I add my beautiful Armenian friends to this list of horrible tragedies that make my soul bleed and my heart stop … I have worked with the folks from our Armenian office for close to ten years now. They are beautiful, smart like I have never met before, selfless, and fragile people. The thought of losing coworkers or their families to their mandatory draft to fight the recent war against Azerbaijan there makes me scream … Some of these people are close friends, part of a larger family I hold dear to my soul. My heart bleeds for them tonight, too … Regardless of which side you're on, the civilians of a country, the ones who ultimately suffer more because they didn't invite the evil in, are always the wrong ones to pay the cost of it. And that makes my heart bleed ... 

I don’t ask “what else can go wrong this year”, because I know: a lot can still go very, very wrong. This moment, I don’t ask for much. I just watch everything helplessly and pray that humanity will find its way …

I was in an online seminar recently and they reminded me of something that I think about tonight, as I write this: “When I despair, I remember that all through history the way of truth and love have always won. There have been tyrants and murderers, and for a time, they can seem invincible, but in the end, they always fall. Think of it--always.” (Gandhi)

Tonight, I think of this. And I pray that I one day, in my lifetime, I see this become truth …

 

 

10 Years

It's been 10 years since I wrote this (http://wander-world.blogspot.com/2008/02/missing-you.html). A lot happens to us in 24 hours, so you can imagine that a lot has happened in these 10 years.

I have become an aunt, I have a husband, I have lived clear across this continent and then I came back, I got a 'redesigned' heart, I saw some other countries, and the list can go on a mile long. And yet one of the same three cats is sitting next to me as I write this, 10 years later, and probably the same black dog would recognize him again if he ever came back home. So much and yet so little can happen in a lifetime!

The one thing that's remained a constant through all this time has been my daily thinking and missing him. There are things that remind me of him every day, and that is not an exaggeration. I think of him when baseball season starts; I think of him particularly in March, with Spring Training, and in October, with World Series on. I think of him every time I see Pringles and Milano Cookies on the shelf at the grocery store. I think of him when I watch Comedians in Cars Getting Coffee, and I wonder if he would have liked it. I think of him when I hear about a newspaper laying off people or folding. Every such news feels like a piece of my flesh is ripped away from my body. I am sure it would feel the same to him, too.

I miss him when I see a black dog, a random mutt-like, black lab-looking dog, because it reminds me of Floyd and his bond with him. I miss him when the Phillies lose, but I get especially sad when they win!

I miss his wit the most. I still use phrases he taught me and chuckle inside when I meet with a situation that I know how he would have received. I almost know exactly what words he would have used. I still picture his mouth grinning, pushing the dimples deep to the sides, his head tilt, and incredulous stare when I speak about liberal politics.

Lately, I have missed him a lot in this political mess of ours. I wonder daily what he would have thought about this headline or the other, because, boy, you can be sure he would have had a strong opinion on everything. On the other hand, I am glad he was spared the true disgrace and despair that followed some years later. I think it would be safe to say he would hurt for America today.

I thought of him relentlessly when I went through my heart surgery. He was so brave in the face of a forlorn diagnosis, he fought with dignity, with hope, with the eyes wide open of the realist that he was, and – most of all – with grace. I wished, in my direst moments, to have had the grace that he showed in his last year of life.

The huge empty spot he left behind 10 years ago is still left open, like a gaping reminder that he was there. Like all of us, he was unique. He was singular. But only like some of the most special people, did he make a meaningful dent into all our existences. It's the sign of a good life, of a well-lived destiny, however short, when you leave a scar this deep.

Yes, it's been 10 years, and as 10 years show, a lot can happen in that time. But really, all we have on this side of the dirt is not years. What we have is barely minutes. Seconds. Short and shallow breaths! He showed me, and all of us, that not a blink needs to be wasted if we want to have a life to show for ourselves when we're gone.

I saw this quote somewhere and it reminded me of him so. Because, in the end, he was ultimately not afraid: "It is not death that a man should fear, but he should fear never beginning to live."  And in the end, he lived. 

Miss you today, more than any other day, my dear friend, and hoping you're gracing a better place with your presence today, and forever ...

The Longest Shortest Flight. And the Life Questions It Bore

Besides making me chuckle and making me feel like I am looking into a mirror (she is born one day after me, after all) Anne Lamott's books always make me evaluate my life. They always make me ponder upon such things like “where am I?”, “where am I going?”, “have I made the right choices so far?” (in case you are wondering, they are all “right” choices), and “are my thighs the right size?”. You know – the important stuff.

But this one time in particular, recently, I was reading an Anne Lamott book (“Some Assembly Required”) on a flight from Montreal to Toronto and I was not only forced to ask the questions, as usual. I was forced to answer them, too. After all, I had plenty of time. That plane was not going anywhere.

So, by now, you probably think I am crazy, because the flight from Montreal to Toronto should not be long enough to ponder one's existence. Oh, but you are mistaken. Pilots and airports lately can make the shortest distance seem never ending. The Toronto airport, as big and international, and “key” as it might sound, had only ONE (it calls for all caps here) runway open. ONE. That was it. When we arrived in the Montreal airport, several flights to Toronto were canceled because of early morning fog. Then, later flights (ours included) were being delayed, because they could only fly one airplane in at one time, and let one fly away, after that one. Given that Toronto is a super busy and super international airport, there were tens of planes queued up to land and take off.

We boarded the plane in Montreal and waited for the go from Toronto that we could leave. We waited for an hour, I think, on the ground, in Montreal. Then, the pilot let us off the plane because there was no sign that we would be given the OK to approach Toronto any time soon (the flight is about 35-45 minutes, if that!). We waited at the gate for another hour. Then, we finally boarded and we flew towards Toronto. We're all giddy with life and anticipation by then.

And we make it, we are told, to the capital of Ontario, but we cannot see land. We are all en-wrapped in clouds, and we are hovering. We can really feel like we are not moving forward, but just going around in circles, or just hovering. And we hang there. For another hour and a half, or more. A flight of 30 minutes took about two and a half hours from gate to gate. I have flown over the Atlantic many a times, but a flight never seemed so long as this one. When you're thinking you're there in a spell and you're not, the seconds linger and extend like balls of warm chewing gum between a finger and a thumb … So, then, during this time, with nothing to look at but sleeping people all around me, I am forced in mandatory confinement, just me, myself and Anne Lamott. Pondering life and meaning of it all.

Many a things came to my mind. Things I am happy about – like the fact that I made it on this other side of open heart surgery and I lived to tell the tale with only two or three maybe brain cells missing; like the fact that I have shelter, and a job and food good enough to eat at the end of every day; and the fact that my husband is there to catch me every time I fall, on my face, or otherwise; the fact that I had just visited my nephews who take my breath away with possibility and unbounded dreams; the fact that the war has not started just yet.

But then, there were the dark thoughts, too. Things I am not so happy about. Like the fact that some days I feel physically exhausted with putting up an appearance anymore – to live in Utah as an 'outsider' will do this to you after seven years. For those who know me well, you'll wonder why I bother with the appearance, since I never seemed to get the hang of it before. I am not sure I do now, either, but I have to earn my living, so putting up an appearance it is; or at least trying my damnest to do that. Some other things that I questioned during my confinement were: I miss my friends, I miss North Carolina, I miss the Ocean, and life is too short to not have what you want nearby, especially when you could, theoretically. I also am tired of having no friends, no real friends, close by … you know the ones you could call in the middle of the day on Sunday and just go out to the drive-in for ice cream, or something …

I never live for regrets, so being here in Utah for the past seven years has not been a bad thing at all, but it's like a circle that never completed. It's missing a big chunk of it, and it's starting to collapse into itself.

Then, I questioned my job, my role on this planet. I have felt a book, maybe several coming to me over the years, but now, that I have literally seen death, I should get the memo and the ultimatum that time is precious. And books are not written from the grave. Lots to think about it here. Huge sigh!

Like any Lamott book would do, it made me reconsider and redefine my relationship with my parents. As always, there is a lot of complicated “stuff” there. Lots and lots of love, with many a disappointment mixed in. But to quote my mom “it's a sad day when your kids judge you.” But what if they don't leave you any choice but to judge them? What if they can't see that? I know, I know … there is always a choice … blah, blah, blah – it does not make it easier, because we're human and they raised us smart and questioning, so we judge them … I know now not to let their lack of care for themselves make me cry and make me lose sleep. It's still hard, because, like I said, there is lots of love and lots of wanting them to live forever, but … I cannot pity them anymore. That is just it: my pity meter has gotten stuck on empty. And the refill station has closed for business. I hope for the best, but I have a life, one fragile, solitary life of my own to live, too … so I won't poison it with my frustration to their disregard of theirs. But it hurts, and it bleeds, and it makes me sad …

When we made it to the other end of the runway, I felt like I used to feel after confession: like all my worries were left behind me, washed away by some divine hand. And it's only going to be the straight and narrow from here on out.

Doubtful. But one thing I know for sure now: when in doubt about your life, impose some kind of confinement on yourself, and focus on something that centers and anchors you. Leave those waves alone to wash you clean of good and bad. And just remain solid, pure and unmoving – like the Gibraltar rock. Just cleanse your system and restart. With all the thoughts cleansed, your mind, your heart, the core of your being will be ready to fill up again with new possibilities. And just like that: restart. 

After the smoke starting clearing - above Toronto, ON

My Bucket List Now

(I pray that God is listening and finds me worthy of granting these wishes ...)

I don’t know many people who don’t love the movie “The Bucket List”. Even my husband, who finds it depressing, loves it. How can you not?! If we can’t make fun of our mortality, how else can we muddle through to the end, right?!

These days, I think a lot about my “bucket list”. And I am thinking that with every day, it keeps changing. As I think it should. Every day is different. Like the proverbial onion, every day peels off another mystery which triggers more opportunities to explore, learn, get involved, and grow ... There are big things on here and small things and just rightly sized things. They are my things and I treasure them as my heart children.

Here is my “bucket list” today - not in a specific order. 

Tomorrow ... well, that’s another story ...

1. To see my nephews graduate and have families
2. To show my nephews the world, the way I saw it, and sought it
3. To see Australia
4. To camp in our new camper till it falls apart and all it's good for is firewood
5. To ride across  America in our camper
6. To see Alaska and shoot the glaciers there and the bald eagles
7. To move to my retirement place, wherever that is: Florida? North Carolina? Oregon? Somewhere with green lush trees,  mild temps, and clean air
8. To see Ireland
9. To write a book (at least one)
10. To scan all my negatives into digital format, to leave them to my nephews
11. To retire
12. To go to Hawaii at least one more time
13. To go on a cruise
14. To see Los Angeles and walk on Venice Beach
15. To visit Graceland (Elvis's home)
16. To be really, really good at yoga, again
17. To shoot Yosemite, the redwoods in California and the Grand Canyon
18. To eat lobster in Maine while looking at whales in the Atlantic, and hike in Vermont
19. To eat sushi in Japan
20. To order bayou shrimp again at Village Tavern in Greensboro, NC
21. To see The Vatican and Jesus's tomb in Israel
22. To paint really well
23. To celebrate at least my 25th wedding anniversary and maybe my 50th, too, with my husband right next to me
24. To take my sister on some trips, just the two of us
25. To win more trophies for making a difference
26. To go to Colorado Springs, CO and hike at least a little bit of Pike's Peak
27. To hike The Wave in Utah
28. I want to camp in the desert, sandwiched between the starry skies and the red rocks
29. To spend a week on the North Carolina beaches with my girlfriends one more time. And bring my sister along this time
30. To spend many Holidays with our families, together, somewhere
31. To take my husband to New Orleans and get lost in the French Quarter, lead only by the smell of food and the sound of zydeco music
32. To live in a cabin in the woods
33. To live small
34. To speak about cholesterol and heart disease to whomever will listen
35. And more than anything: to survive my open heart surgery with a functional life ahead to allow for all these
36. To write a lot more lists like this, after this one is accomplished.

Happy Old Year!

“For last year's words belong to last year's language
And next year's words await another voice.” -  T.S. Eliot, Four Quartets

For as long as I can remember now, at the end of every year, my wish for all is "may the new year be happier/ better/ healthier/ more plentiful/ etc-er". But this year, for the first time, I feel like it would be hard to match, let alone surpass, the joy, happiness and peace that 2015 has brought us, personally. When the world has twisted and turned into more turmoil than ever, in unrest, violence, hunger and war, our lives seem to have thrived and given us plenty more than we probably deserve.

For that, I am grateful, and I can only hope we were kind enough to Karma so that she can continue her kindness to us. 

I hope we all make the New Year right, and we enjoy the ride while we're at it. 

No idea what the next 366 days will bring, but right now, in this moment, looking in the rearview mirror of the year passed, this is kinda how I feel. I thank my husband most of all, for being by my side in this journey, and my family and my friends for making it all special. It's all of you that keep me going, searching, smiling, giving ... Thank you!

Happy New Year, all, and to all a better tomorrow! 

A Time to Eat ...

The sausages were the last ones. Not sure why, but mom and dad always made sausages at the very end of the cooking day. We lived in this 3 bedroom, maybe 1000 sqf apartment, on the 3^rd floor of this high rise, with stores at the ground level – it’s what’s common back in Eastern Europe, I guess, for city living. And they would cook, every day, 365 days a year. Even when we went on vacation – it had to be somewhere with a kitchen.

Around Christmas, they would buy a whole pig, or maybe just half, whatever they could afford that year. And the animal came with everything – guts and feet and all. About two weeks before Christmas or so, they would stuff the intestines with ground meat and spices. And we, kids, helped. Mom and dad would spin the handle on the sausage making machine and my sister and I would form them, and twist the intestine at equal intervals. I remember this was always done at night. I think it might have been because it was such a messy job, the kitchen was unusable after this! But I could be wrong!

Then, we would dry the sausages in the cold winter air, on a laundry line, in our balcony, till right at Christmas, when we would fry them. But this is how the Christmas cooking marathon began!

Nowadays, although I shortened the cooking time, and I made a lot of adjustments to eat a bit lighter,  I still make what by American standards is considered a lot of food around The Holidays. I don’t buy a whole pig, or even half. Matter of fact, except for the HoneyBaked Ham, I don’t have any pig at all! But I still cook till the fridge looks lopsided. Mom and dad, however, are hardly impressed with my amounts! They have three fridges and a freezer, and they stuff them full around this time. They might make anywhere between 20 to 45 courses of food, for the whole week between Christmas and New Years – depending on how many people are announced to show up.

My “minimarathon” of cooking lasts for about 2-3 days, compared to their “weeks”. And this makes me feel lazy!

Following a suggestion of a dear friend (also Eastern European buddy who knows what I am talking about – maybe?!), I have written this post, to summarize at least my Christmas menu this year. There is a new one for New Year’s but let’s eat Christmas first!

It started on Saturday morning, on the 22. From back in the day of my single life, I have always had a get together for my friends the week before Christmas or so. I have no family around, usually, and I know everyone does, so I try to "see" them before their family obligations kidnap them "the day of". 

For this pre-Christmas gathering, I do try to make mostly "American friendly" foods. No pig's feet or guts in the menu. This time, it was not all homemade foods, either: I did get some help from the store, in the form of some mini-quiches that you just bake for 15 minutes or so to warm up! Those things are the best! Any store might have them, but I get the party size boxes, at Costco. 

Let's call this "semi-homemade" (sorry, Sandra Lee!): these are turkey smokies wrapped in turkey bacon. Yes, you can tell the difference, but they are delicious nonetheless! Took maybe 20 minutes to wrap these and another 20 to cook, maybe?!

A Christmas tradition: HoneyBaked Ham sandwiches, this time in croissants.
Need I say more?!  I believe that mustard, mayo or other condiments ruin this sandwich, so I serve it naked! You spoil at your own risk if you use all this other "stuff". 

Fingerling potatoes medley, with herbs, garlic, green onions and (turkey) bacon. All you do is wash the potatoes, cube them, toss them on a cookie sheet with the above ingredients and olive oil, salt and pepper, and roast them in the oven till the potatoes are soft. This was the side for the ham sammies. 

I had two pots of soup, too. They were both hearty, but very different: the first one was a Southern potato and bacon soup, which was passed on to me by my lovely Virginia best friend. She knows her recipes of slow cooking onions and bacon in the Dutch oven, let me tell you. This soup is a winner if you want sometime rich, starchy and comforting! It cures whatever ails you!
 The second one came from a former NC co-worker, and it was an Indian chili - almost at the other end of the spectrum from the potato soup: several kinds of beans, corn, ground meat, peppers and onions spiced up in tabasco sauce. So good for cold winters! 

The meal was complete with my husband's shortbread cookies, which, no matter what he says, they are delicious! No pictures of those ... but trust you me - they are insane! Also, what's a Christmas party without the eggnog?! It was delicious, if I say so myself. 

I seem to be copying recipes from everyone I know, and I make the eggnog somewhat similar to one of my NJ friends: I pour it in  a bowl and I mix in vanilla ice-cream and lots of nutmeg! I don't whip it, or anything - I just let the vanilla scoops float till they melt. Then, I add the rum right when I am getting ready to drink it, right in my glass! This way, the rum doesn't "evaporate". The richness of the ice-cream (like you needed more richness, right?!) makes it so smooth and warming ... just coats you inside. 

I have never seen this brand of eggnog till this year - but it is delicious. And no, you absolutely cannot tell it is low fat! No way! Absolutely recommend it! 

I took a break on Sunday, but then the cooking extravaganza continued on Monday, the 24th. A couple of people at work asked me whether I do Christmas breakfast or Christmas dinner. Well – I do both, and Christmas Eve dinner, too! But, again, this is nothing compared to how I grew up! Christmas is 3 full days back home, plus the Eve! So, we do three breakfasts and 4 dinners for Christmas, with some lunches thrown in between. Somewhat the same thing for New Years!

But let’s not digress!

So, on Monday (Christmas Eve, for those of you following), I cooked for “us” – meaning for my and my husband's Christmas Eve, Christmas breakfast and dinner. I'll have to warn you, though, this time things would get more adventuresome. I did squeeze in at least one Romanian mainstay or two! 

The day started with prepping for my Christmas breakfast casserole. This year, I made my bread - ground turkey - salsa - egg - and - cheese casserole. I always mix everything together the day before, and refrigerate it till before I put it in the oven. I always use my magic ingredient (coriander) for sauteing all my ground meats! 

This is the finished product, alongside a tomato and cucumber salad. It's a very, very simple recipe, but the salsa gives it the intricacies you'd least be expecting. 

One of the sides I made for the ham was my Romanian peas. The peas are fresh or frozen, and they saute in onion, olive oil and dill for a while. Then, I add tomato sauce and let them get soft. At the very end, I add crushed garlic and let them be, till they're ready to eat. They are very similar to Greek green beans, if you ever had those. 

This is the one dish I was craving painfully this year: turkey in aspic! I don't think there is one holiday, one birthday, one funeral, whatever ... in Romania without aspic on the table! This is just the turkey carcass boiling. The pot is full of water in the beginning. By the end of it all, it's about a third of the pot, and the meat comes easily off the bones. 

At the end of it all, you add a whole (peeled) onion and some chopped carrots to the pot, along with some extra non-flavored gelatin. You strain the soup through a colander in a Pyrex dish, and you pick just the meat and carrots from the pot, and add them to the soup. Put in the fridge (not freezer!) and in a couple of hours it looks like this. I forgot to say: at the very end of the cooking process you a add lot, and I repeat, an insane amount, of crushed up garlic to the mix! It needs to be supergarlicy - as garlicy as you can handle! 

I have this jar of crushed garlic in salty water on hand at all times in my fridge, because virtually every Romanian food except sugar cookies ask for garlic - I added about half of it to that third pot of turkey "soup". 

I try to make "something new" every year, and this was my new recipe, courtesy of Alton Brown, on Food Network: a "throw away" cheese dip. You look in your fridge for ANY kind of old cheeses. It could be aged, or fresh - it won't matter. Cut the rinds and old parts off the aged cheeses, and cube the good parts. Add any cheese, really (cream cheese, fresh goat cheese was OK for us!) and add butter, a clove of garlic, some fresh herbs if you have them and half of a cup (or whatever you think is right) glass of white wine. Mix everything in a food processor for about 2 whole minutes (needs to be really creamy!). Spread this on crackers and pass out! Let me tell you - Alton knows his stuff! 

Another tradition I copied from my NJ friends is mimosas on Christmas morning. We just cannot open presents without them! And really, with all this food and presents for excitement, no one will ever know how much you spent on that champagne! 

And what would Christmas, and any holiday, dinner or meal for that matter be without ... mashed potatoes! I can promise you, unless I have Alzheimer's, I will make these forever and again, right next to any meat, fake meat, non meat you can think of. This is an oath!  

After writing all these, I can tell you one thing: almost every person that has touched my life in any significant way, has left a food print in my kitchen! If you recognized yourself in any of these dishes it's because we shared a special time, and you will be with me, no matter how far I'll travel and no matter how long it'll be till you hear from me. 

Because of my family and their heritage of making not only food, but cooking such an intrinsic part of living, my heart will always be connected to those I love and those that love me back through the foods we share, on special times like Christmas.  

I hope you find some traditions of your own, in your immediate family, or even among your closest pals that you can enjoy, and share forward with those you love! 

Happy Eating Season, everyone. I hope everyone had a bountiful, flavorful weekend, and here's for more good food and good people, in the New Year, too! 

Forever

He would have been 40 today. In a strange, prophetic way, he always knew he won’t make it, though. And that, I think, makes it even sadder.

For over three years now, I have been thinking about him every day. And praying, as promised, for his strength, wherever he may be. I hope he has that … What we have here, after 3 years, is still less light, less spirit, a black cloud when we watch The Phillies win, or the Cavaliers lose, or …

I have thought of writing about today all day long, and I am still at a loss for words. A sense of deeper than deep unfairness that he didn't live to see today chokes me up! And how could it not?!

He is still very much alive, and very much, painfully gone, every day … It never gets easier. What they say about time healing wounds doesn’t work when someone slashes your throat to its core with pain, unfairness, helplessness …

The lessons he taught me in strength, friendship, forgiveness, courage allow me to move on, somewhat – but his loss is still crippling. Taking our loved ones for granted is not excusable anymore …

It’s hard to find the right words, because for a person like he was there will never be words big enough. The void left, too deep of a crater to fill … even with sentences …

The only things I could say have been said before – some of them in this song that one of his best friends sent me after the funeral. This song, and its lyrics “carried me through” the past years. Thank you, R.D. – you, as always, came through!

Rest in peace, my dear friend, and I hope you make another world out there brighter and happier just like you did ours …

All of my dreams
Seem to fall by the side
Like a discarded thought
Or the day's fading light
But I know that if I could just
See you tonight
Forever!

At times we may fall,
Like we all tend to do
But I'll reach out and find
That I've run into you
your strength is the power
That carried me through
Forever!

Your kindness for weakness
I never mistook
I worried you often,
Yet you understood
That life is so fleeting,
These troubles won't last
Forever!

Inspired me truly
You did from the start
To not be afraid
And to follow my heart
There's a piece of you with me
They can't tear apart
Forever!

In times we may fall
Like we all tend to do
Your strength is the power
That carried me through

Forever …

Forever I'll find you, forever we'll be
Forever your power and strength stays with me

(Dropkick Murphys – Forever)

Letting Go. A Pep Talk

In typical Aries manner, I always, and I mean always, jump head first in the river without realizing that I can’t actually swim. All of a sudden, I find myself in the deep midst of it, and then I go: “Oh, s^it! Now what?!” …

That’s pretty much how moving to The States felt like. And that’s pretty much how moving across America, 12 years later feels like, too. Moral of this story is: I never learn.

I moved to UT in May of this year to follow my heart. Just like moving to The States a while back, I have zero regrets. Usually, I try not to have any regrets about anything. A dear friend of mine says regrets are for weak folks, and an Aries will never admit weakness. I say that everything is a lesson and everything an adventure, so I have enjoyed thoroughly the good and the bad of the last few months …

But when I jumped in that car to come to The West, I had no second thoughts about what I left behind. With eyes wide open and perpetual curiosity, I was just happy about the unknown ahead. The places and people I was leaving behind – I was just happy to carry them in my heart and I figured we would always be close, as true friends are. I never expected I’d be missing them, or worse that I might never hear again from most. After all, we were so tight. So close. So … present … Nothing would change, other than we might not see each other, but we’d write. And talk. And of course, Facebook, too. But as life would have it – sometimes, one is wrong.

Every day a small jab of missing-ness shows up in my ribs just as a painful reminder that the world is too fast and too busy for living in the past. A small jab to remind me that things are what they are and will never be the same as they were 2000 miles away from here.

It’s tough to realize that what the day to day life used to be like in North Carolina can no longer be. I had friends there, and groups I associated with. A social life, and a “personal” life, if you will, that are missing here, because the people and circles that made that life possible are missing now.

I know – this is just common sense, and I should not take a couple of hours of my life to write about something so trivial. But truth is: you always hope that life and relationships matter more than they end up mattering. After all, you put time, and soul in every one. At least I do. Plus, I have some Romanian left in me, and things, and people and memories attach to me, like algae to rocks, staining them.

With every day that passes when I don’t hear from people I loved there, the jab in the ribs is more and more painful, it seems. Am I that easily forgotten? Are they that busy that they cannot email me at least once a month to check on things? Are 12 years of friendship that volatile to them? I did write to them first … but the wait of a response for days and sometimes weeks became too much to bear. So … now, I wait … Disappointment …

And then, there is the house that I left behind. A house that I loved, and that now feels like a huge burden. Every day that passes where I don’t get a call from the realtor that I might have had an offer of purchase, I feel the jab in the ribs hurting a little more … I feel like one more day on the market means one more day of neglecting the house. Bigger assuredness of having to jump on that plane waiting for me in Salt Lake with destination Greensboro to go check on it. One more drag in the past … One more worry … Guilt …

But this past week, when I decided to go out here and seek out new groups and new people and new opportunities, it dawned on me. There is a whole new life here, too, that I am missing out on. With every person I meet that has at least one thing in common with me, I feel a little bit less lonely. With every single loving thing that my husband does, I feel a bit less alone. With every single thing I find here, too (a favorite store, a favorite food, fried pickles on a menu, or a bag of Munchos in the grocery aisle), I feel a little bit more home.

As for those I left behind, people have lives too. Lives that don’t include me anymore, and that’s not their fault. I chose to leave. They didn’t kick me out. If all I will be is a memory to them, I am fine with that. I hope I would be a pleasant one. As with anything: I have control only over how I treat them, not the other way around. And I will always be here for whomever needs me … Should that ever happen … The house will do as houses usually do: it will sell, or rent, in its own allotted time … That is not for me to decide. Only for me to accept.

But I do have control over what’s around me now, and what will be a new memory tomorrow: there is a whole new world out here, in the mountains. There are fun people, and beautiful days to be filled. There are mountains to be climbed and birds to feed. Gardens to plant, movies to go to and groups to join, here. And now.

The past is called that for a reason. A door closed and I need to be aware of it, keep it closed and just welcome flashbacks from the past as they happen, if they happen. And most times, we just need to live with the volatility and futility of it all. Even if that all is ourselves. It's just life and the nature of humanity - passing.

In one of my more recently read books, one of my favorite authors says that when we move on in life, it feels just like someone pushed us off a bridge into a fast moving stream. Our first impulse is to grab on to the grass and twigs and branches along the banks of the river and hang on tight, because the stream is such foreign territory to us, used to the stability and familiarity and peace of the banks. But with time, the river wins. And we start letting go of the blades of grass and the twigs, little by little, until we hold on to nothing anymore and we start moving along, learning to swim in the new environment, and learning to let go and trust the new medium to take us to yet another safe shore … Every day, our fingers let go of one more blade of grass, until we have none left and the old shore is nothing but distant, and nothing but a memory.

I am still letting go of the last few twigs. The last one will be the house, for sure … but until then, I am practicing this swimming deal. And learning how it goes. After all, I jumped. And it’s either learning to swim or drowning. And the last thing an Aries wants is to accept defeat!