Guilt

How ironic is it that I am finally being paid to write, and now I don’t have time to write? That’s sort of what happened, though. And there is some guilt. I have a job in marketing as a writer. I have been here almost two years now. They treat me well. I enjoy the work. I don’t mind coming in each day. These things have never coincided before in a job. Oh, yes, but the guilt.

I used to teach. I taught English at a community college. I primarily taught students who were coming back to college, but they needed some remedial help with English before they could tackle composition classes. I loved it, and I loved them. I was young, and I got bogged down in my own ego and success. I was successfully climbing the ladder, but the higher I went the worse I felt. I hated it up there. The air was putrid. But, I didn’t climb back down a few rungs. I’m not entirely sure why I didn’t, but it was mostly due to my own ego. That fucker will trip you up every time. There’s really no nice way to say that.

So, I left. I took some time to figure out what would make me happy because I was pretty miserable. I stumbled upon my current position and took a leap. I was pretty sure during the first few days that I had made a huge mistake. Why was everyone smiling all the time? Where was the palpable stress hanging in the air? It wasn’t there. It still isn’t.

Most days are filled with writing, editing, and planning. I love all of those things. People will ask me what I do, and I proudly tell them. But, what’s my purpose? So far, it seems like my purpose is to be happy, and I do like that. However, who am I helping? There’s no crisis each day. There’s no fire to put out. There may be a rush job for printing, but there are never tears. Did I trade helping others for my own happiness? And this is where the guilt comes in.

I’m not entirely sure where I will go from here. I’m finding some new ways to get that feeling of helping others through some volunteer work. I do know this. I’m still Marching Fourth.

The Day Sam's Club Broke my Spirit

I didn’t feel well. Al didn’t either. We didn’t really need anything, but Al wanted them and I could only get them at Sam’s Club. Normally, I use our business membership to Sam’s Club. This means that I can go as early as 7:00 a.m. No one is in the store, and the checkout is really easy. Again, though, I didn’t feel well and had slept in that morning. If a man could plead with his eyes for organic fig newtons, then this is what Al was doing. So, I set off for Sam’s Club at 11:00 on a Saturday morning.

The parking lot was rockin’. No big deal, though. I found a place to park and hoofed it to the door. As soon as I entered, there was a gentleman ping ponging himself through all of the carts. I would go for a cart, and he would shoot in front of me. Perhaps he thought I was going to get the best one? After two attempts, I said excuse me. He appeared a bit miffed, but he moved to the side. I got my cart, and I left the gentleman to his cart antics.

I flashed my Sam’s card at the lady and boogied towards those organic fig newtons. Netwon mission accomplished! I’m thinking to myself, “This hasn’t been that difficult.” I swooshed over to the fruit section to see what was available. The grapes looked fantastic, so I picked some out. I remembered that Sam’s carries those little balls of lip balm called EOS. A friend’s kid was having a birthday, and I knew that the kid loved those things. So, off I sped to the beauty aisle. If the kid likes one EOS, she’s bound to love them in bulk. Done!

I turned towards the cash registers. I didn’t have to move much. The lines were unreal. I selected a line, and I began to wait. And wait. And wait. Throughout the wait, I would look in my cart and think, “Do I really want any of this?” Then I would remember Al’s pleading eyes. And, the kid would probably be pretty happy, too, so I stayed in the line. As I inched closer, I began to wonder if this was what the intake line for hell is like? Perhaps. I finally managed to get close enough to put my three items on the conveyer belt. Whoop! Whoop!

At this point, I was close enough to hear the cashier talking to the customer in front of me. This customer was the only thing standing between me and getting home. I checked out the customer’s selections. There was an assortment of cheese so large that I probably wouldn’t poop for a month if I ate it all. There were chips piled high like crispy treasures. Mmm. Also, there was a lot of red meat. I counted 10 packages easily. I noticed that the customer in front of me was ready with debit card in hand. He wanted out of there. But, his selections weren’t moving very quickly from conveyor belt to buggy. What the hell?

“Oooh! You sure are buying a lot of chips. Are you having a party? What kind of party? Am I invited?” This is what I heard coming from the cashier. She would select one bag of chips, and then she would carefully and painfully read all about each bag. Each. Bag. After carefully inspecting all of the chips, she moved on to the massive pile of meat. “How many people are you going to feed with this meat? Do you have kids? How many?” Umm, I had been in this line for 30 minutes, and this is no exaggeration. I could tell the customer in front of me was irritated with the cashier. As the cashier was handling a giant package of red meat, I saw her thumb punch through the plastic. I let out an audible gasp. The customer looked shocked. The cashier looked at it, scanned it, and put it in the buggy. She had punched her thumb through the plastic wrap on the meat, and she was going to try and ignore it. Of course, the customer had to get another package, and then a manager came over. It took forever.

It was finally my turn. I looked at the conveyor belt that still had some red meat juice glistening on it, and I watched as the chatty cashier slowly dragged my grapes through the red meat juice. I began to cry. It wasn’t a sob. There really wasn’t any noise. Silent tears just fell down my face. The cashier had broken me. She looked up at me and immediately asked me what was wrong. With tears still flowing down my cheeks I said, “You are so bad at your job that you have made me cry.” And then? She stopped smiling.

I choked out why I needed some new grapes because E. Coli? No thank you. She hurled my tiny amount of groceries into the cart with such force and energy that I believe I saw my hair blow in the breeze her activity was creating. I was a bit shocked she could move that fast. I paid for my purchases and went to the car.

I made it home, and Al was pleased that I had managed to find his favorite fig newtons. He asked, “What took so long? You didn’t get much.” I told him my story. He gave me a hug, and I felt him chuckle. He said, “Sam’s Club broke your spirit.” It was really silly when I thought about it. It wasn’t that big of a deal–a minor inconvenience.  Why had I cried? I think I just didn’t feel good, and the stress from the week had caught up with me. I will March Fourth, though, and I’m betting there is another trip to Sam’s Club in my near future. Damn it.

Meet the Mutts: Part 2

We didn’t choose Bailey. We didn’t find him. We didn’t even really know we wanted him. I was working at a community college at the time, and I had heard that our beloved Provost had a dog that he needed to find a home for. We all loved this Provost and would pretty much do anything for him. Al and I had been thinking of getting another dog, but we hadn’t put any serious thought into it. Dr. B, our Provost, heard through the grapevine that I was looking for a dog. He showed up at a meeting with a small book of pictures—they were all of Bailey.

Say cheese!

I’ll be honest. Bailey was not what I imagined adopting. At the time, we had a ratty terrier with lots of attitude. I had thought we would just adopt another ratty terrier with lots of attitude. But, then there was Bailey. He was black and sleek with fabulous, luxurious curls. He had a long nose and a very narrow chest. Oh, and no tail. He was beautiful and bizarre looking all wrapped up in what I would soon learn was a crazy package.

A prince

Dr. B brought Bailey over to the house. My dog at the time, Nola Jane, promptly attacked him on the front porch. We pushed forward and let them get to know each other in the house. Dr. B and his wife left Bailey there that day. I could tell they were attached to him, but at the time, they just couldn’t give him the kind of attention he really needed. They loved him so much that they found him a place where his every need and want would be met. That wouldn’t be because of me. That’s all Al.

It didn’t take long for me to realize that Bailey was Al’s dog. They were and are two little weird peas in a pod.  Bailey loves me, too, but not like he loves Al. I don’t think the man has had one moment alone since we got that dog. If I can’t find Al in the house, I just call Bailey. Then I ask Bailey to tell me where Al is, and he will trot off and take me right to him.

He’s also a bit of a dasher. We learned this the hard way. You can’t let this dog off leash unless you are in an enclosed space. I let him off leash at a park one time, and he chased an airplane. Over a mile. I had to get in the car and search for him. He also loves snow. When we do get a decent amount, he will hunker down low, open his mouth, and start running. He’s like a black, curly snowplow. And? He barks at snowflakes. It’s pure joy.

Bailey is getting old now. We think he’s about 10 years old. Al got a little choked up the other night. I asked him what was wrong. He said, “Look at my dog’s face. It’s white. He’s aged so much.” And, he has. He’s still full of energy and is still known to spot a plane in the sky and start chase. For a dog I never even knew I wanted, he has brought so much to our family. Love, protection, laughs.

Gimme.

 Dr. B and his wife brought me the best gift that day. They brought me Bailey, who in turn showed me how much my husband can love and laugh. The unexpected packages are always the best. Keep Marching Fourth…

Jubilee

My friend Lee has been gone now going on two years. Everyone who loved him is learning life without him in it. I often think about those that were the closest to him—his children. There are three of them. He had two boys and a daughter. It’s my feeling and belief that they need more support in their grief over their father. The support they do have is strong and from afar. I have so many hopes for them all, specifically for Lee’s daughter, Jubilee. I put her name in this entry in the hopes that she one day “Googles” herself and finds this. Here’s what I want to tell her about her father and about Marching Fourth.

Lee wasn’t perfect. I’m sure you’ve been made aware of that. He made so many mistakes when he was a younger man. Some of it was age. Some of it was because he loved with no fear and thought that everyone else did the same. Some of it was simply bad luck and poor choices. Here is what I can tell you for sure. He learned from his mistakes and his missteps. This was all behind him when I met him, yet he still told me all about it. All of these events in Lee’s life had made him who he was—loyal, forgiving, and compassionate. Throughout all of his stories, there was one thing that always came through. He loved and wanted you and your brothers so much that I think it actually made his chest hurt. His heart couldn’t manage all of the emotion he had for you guys. He told me on several occasions, “They are my heart from my chest.” You and your brothers made him a better person. You were his reason for being a changed man. And a changed man he was.

Love...

and more love

Lee had scrimped and saved to make sure you were taken care of. I know you won’t see evidence of this. I’ve seen it, though. He had gone to great lengths to secure a future for you and your brothers. The only thing I know to tell you is that sometimes adults can only look out for themselves. Once your father wasn’t here anymore, then it was a lot more difficult to ensure that you received everything you were supposed to. My hope for you is that you have the work ethic and the determination that your father had. If you do, you will do well in life. You carry him with you. When you need that strength, you call on him. He’ll hear you.

Lee was a fierce and loyal friend to me and to my husband. As a kid, we rarely pay attention to or get a chance to see our parents with their friends. I want to share with you what your father was like as a friend. Your father loved nature and the trees. It’s why he was an arborist. He had his own business, and the trees were how he connected with people. I initially met your father through Penny. I know you remember Penny. After that initial meeting, he showed up in my front yard and gave me some advice on my very old oak trees. And, then he met my husband. My husband and your father became fast friends. Your father had a knack for what I call collecting people. He loved people, and he loved to help them.

At one point, I found out that I was very sick. Rather than ask me what he could do for me, your father just started doing things. I can remember being very ill and not being able to get out of bed. I woke up because it sounded like someone was on my roof! It was your father’s boots that I heard. He had come by and decided that my gutters needed cleaning. So, he cleaned them. He did things like this all of the time. He would take time away from his business to help others.  There was another time that he just showed up at our door with food. He had decided that we weren’t eating enough vegetables to stay healthy, so he came over with a healthy dinner to share. That was your father. Lee was fiercely loyal to so many.

I wish I had some advice for you that would solve the situation you find yourself in. No child should lose her father before she is even in double digits. I think about you a lot. I think about your brothers a lot. I wish and hope for so many things for all of you. I hope you can remember your father’s laugh. I hope you can remember how he would smile so big that his eyes almost closed. I hope you remember how much he loved Penny and what a supportive partner he was to her. That’s how boys should always treat you. Don’t forget that one. I hope you are able to feel his spirit with you when you really need it the most. I know he’s there.

My hope is that you know it’s ok to be angry. Feel it. Work through it. But don’t let it overtake you. Don’t get stuck in it. My hope is that you know it’s ok to feel heartbroken. My hope is that you can still feel how much your father loved you because I witnessed how much he did. My hope is that you know your father didn’t disappear from your life just because he isn’t physically here with you. Even if no one else in your life ever talks about him, know that it’s ok to love him and miss him. It doesn’t mean you love anyone else less. Know that there are other people who will forever miss your father. We talk about him all of the time. We will all be here for you and your brothers, if you one day decide you want to know more about Lee. My hope is that you know your father’s family and friends would love to see you and be in your life.

There is a song I listen to a lot. It reminds me of how your father talked about his relationship with you. I’m going to leave that song here for you. It's by The Avett Brothers, and it's called A Father's First Spring. Take care.

Just Dance

March 2000. That’s when I found it. It being the Clemson Jazzercise Center. My sister had actually introduced me to it. I had gone to visit her, and she made me get up and go with her to a class on a Saturday morning. I begrudgingly liked it—a lot. I left that weekend and had already found out that the Clemson Jazzercise Center was about a mile away from where I was living.

I showed up to my first class at Clemson Jazzercise and was a nervous mess. I was first greeted by a woman who immediately welcomed me and got everything ready for me to join. Her name was Nancy. I was then approached by the instructor for the class that day. I didn’t know it at the time, but this was also the owner. Her name was Verna. I was very young and really had no idea that these ladies would not only be a part of changing my life, but they would still be with me today. But, I’m jumping ahead.

I had always thought of aerobics as dated. This thought was overpowered, though, by all of the fun I was having. When I attended a class, it was like being an In Living Color Fly Girl. I couldn’t be stopped! And no one wanted to stop me! I had just started graduate school and had become engaged. I was very stressed. As the weeks went by, I began to use Jazzercise as my stress release touchstone. I knew I could go to the center and for 60 minutes all would be right again. All was not right with the rest of my life. I was engaged, and I knew from the beginning that it was probably not a good fit. But, I was too scared to ever say anything. As usual, I was determined to just make it work. Didn’t everyone feel like this? Graduate school was so hard. It wasn’t the content so much as the faculty. Again, though, Jazzercise came to the rescue. Just as I was feeling pretty hopeless about making it through graduate school, one of my professors showed up in Jazzercise. I had a connection. It was like a lifeline for me. Jazzercise was the vehicle that let me see my professors were more than just professors. I could talk to them. They wanted me to succeed. And, we had seen each other in spandex. That always lightens the mood!

Years went by. I bought a home. I advanced in my career. I ended up getting a divorce. Through all of this, Jazzercise was there. When I went there, no one cared that there was a major failure on my record well before the age of 30. I came to dance. And, they let me dance. Throughout this time, I had some major adjustments to make. At times, this meant that Jazzercise wasn’t on my list of priorities. I wasn’t forgotten, though. I would receive postcards from the center letting me know that I was missed. This wasn’t just mass-produced. Verna and the other instructors would always write a personal message for me on those cards. I still have them.

I got through those tough times, and I met a man who would become my husband. Life was good. It was going to change. I was diagnosed with cancer. I was scared. I wallowed in uncertainty and fear. I also beat it. The first thing I did when I started to feel like a living person again was go back to the Clemson Jazzercise Center. I showed up with a little bit of hair on my head and just looking a colossal mess. This is how I felt, anyway. Verna and all of the ladies greeted me with literal open arms. They even introduced me to another jazzer who had fought and survived cancer—Sue. She probably has no idea how much I depend on seeing her at class, but I do. Just her presence sets me at ease. Watching Sue lift heavy weights and smile as she bounces around to the music, reminds me that cancer doesn’t have to stop you in your tracks. You can move forward and be strong again.

Going back was not as smooth as I had hoped. I bumped along for a good year. My immune system was shot, plus there were major changes happening in my life…again. Job changes, family obligations, losing loved ones—all of these things were excuses I used to not exercise. Finally, one day, my husband remarked that I was always the happiest and least stressed when I jazzercised. I had been exercising. I would run. I would lift weights. But, it always felt like a chore. He really encouraged me to go back, and I did.

Today, I’m much older than I was in 2000. My body doesn’t look the same, and it doesn’t move the same. Jazzercise doesn’t care. Just show up. All of the women I exercise with have their own stories. They all show up for their own reasons. For 60 minutes each day, I let go of the everyday chaos and stress. I’m part of something so much bigger than an exercise center. Jazzercise and the ladies who make up my center have saved me so many times in my life. They have pushed me forward. They have kept me Marching Fourth. Actually, they have kept me dancing. Thank you, ladies.