The Caw of the Wild

The mission was simple, get to the library and focus on writing while John researched net mending and jewelry making online.  We parked, and began packing the computer bag. Then it started.  Corky jumped up to the window immediately to answer the big black bird taunting him from the light post.

“Caaaaaaaaaw!”

“Arf!”

“Caaaaaaaaaaw!”

“Arf!”

We laughed hysterically at the scene and shared a knowing glance. We stopped chuckling long enough to kiss, then broke into giggles once more.

The raven laughed back at us, “CAW CAW CAW CAW CAW!!!!

We responded in unison, twice as loud, “CAW CAW CAW CAW CAW!!!!!

The raven mocked us once more, his laughter raining down on us from his high perch.

Allow yourself to be silly

We lost control, cawing from our diaphragms, randomly, pointedly, loudly, and oddly seriously for joking back with a two and a half pound bird. I even caught myself reaching my face towards the sky on my very tip toes, “CAW!!! CAW CAW!!!” after spinning around numerous times, all while flapping my arms wildly. John was cawing right there with me, his hands folded on his belly as he bellowed deep rumbling raven laughter of his own interpretation. This went on for a while. Eventually a cyclist rolled down the sidewalk and let out a snicker of his own, nodding approval as he jumped down from his bike.

“I totally get it!” he chuckled, placing his bike into the bike rack.

We smiled and followed him into the library, hand in hand, overflowing with loving energy.

There’s simply no excuse nor explanation necessary to legitimize paying attention to your inner child!

Live, laugh, love, caw, dance!

Related stories:

Sharing Social Senselessness

What is “The Wonders of Fun?”

Inner Peace After War Pt II “The Reaction”

People are sometimes intrigued by my jewelry. They ask questions often about where I got them, what they mean, and how long I’ve had them. To me, the beauty of each piece is the story behind it. Every once in a while I’m asked which one is my favorite. This happened to me a few weeks ago after an incredible trip down the river.  I was chit chatting in Mandarin with a Taiwanese couple from LA about my time at DLI, my time in war, and my subsequent life change.  They were interested in knowing more, and we had begun to draw a decent sized crowd, so I switched over to English.

When they asked me which piece was my favorite, I paused.  I hadn’t told the story to anybody but one couple at the very beginning of the season this year.

I looked at them solidly and said simply while holding the peace sign hanging from my neck, “This one for sure. How I got it’s an intense story, but if you’re into it, I’d love to share it with you.”  They nodded enthusiastically.

A few more people gathered, and I shared THIS story with them (If you haven’t read it, NOW would be the time).

By the end of the story, the couple who had asked had their mouths open with slight smiles playing on the corners of their lips.  The wife told me in English I had given her chills.  They gave me a few, “I’m glad you made it here,” and a, “Thank you for sharing that.”

Another woman had hesitantly approached to listen when I started the story.  I recognized her immediately as one of the passengers from my boat; the lady who was seeking “the guide with the most experience on the trip.”  I had been certain she wasn’t excited about having her request answered by being brought to the boat with the teenage punk looking girl with crazy curly pink and blue hair, 20 bracelets, and a blue bandana.  She had asked me dryly where she could sit to avoid getting wet. When I told her she probably wouldn’t get wet since it’s not a white water trip, she then asked where was the safest spot to sit, and how many years I’d been doing my job. She hadn’t been smiling at that moment, and although I saw her face light up several times and even halfway relax in the raft,  neither was she smiling in this moment.

She was standing completely still sans her wringing hands. We locked eyes, hers brimming with salty puddles of bubbling emotions.  Saying nothing, I walked to her and embraced her. We stayed that way for a while, while announcements were made. I let go of her and looked her in the eyes, nodding. My name was about to be called off, and everyone was about to be directed to look our way. I stepped back as Ben made a flamboyant gesture which I matched in flamboyance.  The crowd laughed and cheered.  Another announcement was made, and the tourists were released to go find their guides and “thank” them personally for their trip down the river.

I looked back at her as soon as the crowd turned away from me and she said, tears now streaming freely down her cheeks, “My son committed suicide a year ago.  If you feel it getting too difficult, please talk to somebody. Ask for help.” She was sobbing now.  I hugged her for a long moment, while the other passengers began to create a line to tip and thank me.

I gave her this website and thanked her for her courage. I assured her that although I’ve had tough moments, there was never a threat of suicide in my mind, nor did I ever plan to have one.  She smiled sadly and hopefully before promising to read this blog.

So this is dedicated to the woman who touched my heart that day on the dusty banks of the Chilkat River.

Although I’m not a big supporter of titles and have since forgotten her given name, I haven’t nor will I ever forget the intensity of the knowing moment we shared before she walked onto the waiting bus nor the lasting imprint she left on my heart.

Thank you.

To me, there’s nothing stronger in this world than a woman who continues on after the loss of a child.

If you’ve been so lucky as to never experience a loss of that magnitude, remember, tomorrow’s not guaranteed.

Be as kind to those you love as you possibly can, and NEVER pre-judge a person’s reluctance to trust, because you NEVER know what they are fighting inside until they choose to share.

Inner Peace After War

I saw him a few days before it happened.

I recognized the look the first time I saw him again last year.  It stopped me in my tracks. I had simply asked about his day.  His response wasn’t odd.  It was a typical answer to a typical question.

What was different was the look behind his eyes.

I put down my dry bag in the guide room and walked directly over to him, arms open.  We stood in the familiar embrace of old friends long parted, though we’d only known each other a year at that time.

“Rita, you’re a bright light on a dark day,” he whispered, pulling back from my arms to look at me with tears in his eyes, “Thank you.”

I understood.  I pulled him close for another long hug.  We remained there, sharing the moment until I realized my gear truck was going to leave without me if I didn’t get moving soon. I gave him a reassuring smile, and eased out of his arms.

“Kev, we’ve gotta talk, soon. Let’s get together,” I said over my shoulder as I moved towards the truck.

He nodded.

That was Sunday.

Monday I received an email from a soldier in Afghanistan; a woman I trained over the course of three years.

It rocked my foundation, hard.

It read:

I am tired sister. Afghan is totally getting to me. I am constantly tired, hungry, and sick of dealing with situations quickly turning into worst case scenario. I am getting ready to go to the mountains again and I am dreading it. Last time we got ambushed, beat up, and spent days “on the run” I am not looking forward to it. A couple nights ago, I was laying in bed trying to psych myself into believing this is worthwhile and you came to mind. I love that you are enjoying life, singing, dancing and being free! Seriously, it is my solace when the this place is getting me down. I don’t have a ton of time so…Run for me! Drink some EXCELLENT wine and remind me that being surrounded by mountains can be a good thing…love ya sister.

I was sitting in the Haines Public Library when I read that message, and by the end I was sobbing, somewhat loudly, without regard.  I had been where she was; feeling the same way, laying on my bunk listlessly, looking vacantly at the photos of family and friends I had tucked into the bottom of the bed above mine for hours on end after missions, wondering why I was there, why we had been so cruel to the locals, reflecting on being ambushed and the things I’d done, trying to get motivated to go back out into the mountains again.   I remembered charging up a hillside, throwing myself to the hard earth and desperately wishing I was on mom and dad’s old ugly green couch, wrapped up in that familiar smelling checkered blanket from my childhood, sipping on chai tea with milk and cinnamon as I flinched at the incoming rounds that punched into the ground mere inches from my nose.  I remembered the three rounds that tore through my backpack, through my water bottle, miraculously missing the two mortars I had been carrying; missing me. I remembered how I shook uncontrollably the entire night, pumping adrenaline from the simple reality: Less than one inch to the left…If he had breathed differently….Anything different in his shot…Anything different in my movement.  It was all so damn close. I saw the whites of his eyes. How could he miss?

Monday night was hard for me. I didn’t know to whom to talk. My friend, Andrew, had invited me to a bonfire on the beach, but I didn’t want to be around people. Nobody was at the cabin, but I wasn’t sure I trusted myself to be alone. I couldn’t figure out if I wanted to call someone simply to have a big spoon next to me, or if I wanted to be the big spoon to a tequila bottle.  John and I hadn’t quite become one yet, and I felt awkward calling him to hold me while I sobbed about my experience, the fucked-up-edness of the world, and my soldiers.

The one thing they don’t tell you when you enlist is that it’s not over when you get out. As long as those with whom you’ve worked and trained remain overseas, you’re still not completely free.

I ended up spending the majority of the evening in a bar.  I was talked out of hitting the first bar by my manager, but he didn’t happen to be passing by when I walked into the second.  I made it home and drank some more. I don’t remember that night incredibly well.

Tuesday morning I received a text at 7:30AM on my way to work.

It read:

You weren’t the only one who had a hard time last night.  Kevery did too, one of the worst kinds. The kind you don’t wake up from. You should be proud of yourself for being so strong.

I reread the text again and again and I realized I was repeating the same word over and over, louder and louder, ” No No No NO NO NO NO NO NO!!!!”

I pulled over, across the oncoming lane, at picture point on the way to town and screamed.

It couldn’t be true. I saw it, on Sunday, but I knew he’d wait to talk with me. Of course he’d hold out…we had to talk! He was my hope! It’s all supposed to get easier!

I called the office immediately. Sherry answered.

“WHAT HAPPENED TO KEVERY?” I screamed into the receiver.

The line was silent for a moment, “…I…We…I’m sorry…I can’t discuss that over the phone.”

I hung up and screamed again. Tears were streaming down my face at this point, the snow capped mountains blurred over the shimmering ocean.

“FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” I started driving again towards the office. I had a double shift. I had to make both trips an amazing experience for these tourists who had absolutely no idea what I had just learned.

And I did.

I went down the river on two back to back trips that day.  That was the only day I don’t remember feeling privileged to be at work in a raft on a beautiful river in the largest bald eagle preserve in the world.

Wednesday and Thursday the office was kind enough to give me some time off.

Thursday was the beginnng of the SE Alaskan State Fair. I had committed to teach Zumba with the lovely ladies of Haines that afternoon on the main stage. I showed up, after two days of wracking sobs ready to pull myself out of the hole.  Fern had come to visit all the way from Pennsylvania, and I had promised her an amazing vacation. It was time to deliver.

In typical Haines style, the Zumba class wasn’t just a Zumba class. It was a dance jam, involving Zumba AND NIA. The warm up got me going, and by the time it was my turn to teach, I was back in Hurricane mode.

I was dancing, jumping, sweating, and laughing. I looked back at the crowd, and they were doing the same. The energy had skyrocketed!  It was EXACTLY what I had needed. I brought my hands up for another excited clap above my head, and when I brought them down, I realized one of my twenty bracelets had broken and was dangling, ready to fall. I grabbed it and tossed it onto the stage, thinking nothing of it.  I finished my portion of the class and felt whole again.

After the dance jam, I grabbed the bracelet, shoved it in my pocket to fix later, and decided to wander the vendors.  Each year people come from all over to sell their wares at the fair.  You never know what type of treasures you’ll find from hand crafted wooden puppets to Guatemalan alpaca hats.  I found a vendor that was selling necklaces and leather wallets.  I found myself drawn to a particular rack of peace sign necklaces.  The one hanging in front was hand carved bone, with five beads climbing the black strings to each side.  I asked the price.

“Normally $12, but for you $8,” the vendor said hopefully.

“Right on,” I put it around my neck, nestling it neatly between the sand tiger shark tooth I’d picked up in Dominican Republic and the painted porcelain feather I’d picked up at the wolf “sanctuary” outside of Mt. Rushmore. I loved the way it made me feel to have a peace sign hanging from my neck. It was my first since I’d left the army. I paid the man.

Proud of my purchase, I walked back to the benches by the stage and sat down, remembering the bracelet that had broken in my excitement. I pulled it from my pocket, intending to fix it and reunite it with the other 19 pieces of flare accenting my wrists, but when I saw the amber centerpiece shining up at me in the light, I froze.

I sat perfectly still, the hairs on the back of my neck at attention, as the magnitude of what had just happened sunk in.

This was the second time that particular bracelet had broken off. According to my personal rules, that meant it was never to be tied on again.

I was holding in my hand the one and only bracelet I’d been given in Afghanistan.

A simple amber rectangle in the center of a string of black beads.

The one piece I’d brought home with me…

From war.

I looked around me, scanning faces excitedly, expecting everyone in the fairgrounds to be looking back at me in silent awe and approval, but nobody seemed to feel the world slip slightly from its axis.  Nobody appeared to feel the shift in energy of the Universe replacing my last physical tie to war with a new handcrafted dedication to peace three days after dear Kevery, a haunted Vietnam Veteran, shot himself through the heart. I smiled. It was my own moment. I was just a girl with blue hair in a crowd of Alaskans without blue hair, wearing a peace sign around my neck and no sign of war around my wrist.

I knew then. It would all be OK.

Not just OK, but amazing.

And finally it made sense. I had lived through it all to tell this story.

My story of inner peace after war.

So I did.

 

Reliving Love’s Beginnings

When I rescued myself from Uncle Sam and arrived in Haines, full of hope and ready to start over in a life of love, I realized it was one of the most pristine settings I’d seen to date, so it was only logical one of the first men I’d meet would end up being the man custom designed for me, my soulmate, and ultimate life partner. We were surrounded by towering, snow capped mountains, gently flowing clear blue, hours-old glacial water, and ambitious cottonwoods and alders, reaching for the high Alaskan sun with bright green branches, eager with the excitement of warming spring, It was the perfect setting for a love affair to bloom. Sexy, bearded Alaskan manly man river guide trainer and skilled carpenter and the newly freed Chinese speaking, sultry latin dance instructor slash wounded vet turned wandering gypsy future river guide fall in love as he teaches her to read water, row a boat confidently, rescue swimmers, and most importantly, how to love a man unconditionally without sacrifice.

And it did happen, almost exactly that way.

We just didn’t know it yet.

Better stated, we weren’t ready for it yet.

Now don’t get me wrong, I DEFINITELY wanted the man I knew as Binger in my life. I couldn’t stop thinking of him, watching him, or looking for him, no matter the time or place.  That didn’t mean I was ready to expect him to feel the same, nor that I was ready to admit to him my feelings.

That was over two years ago.

I had a lot of healing yet to do. A lot of quiet moments to have staring at the waterfall across the inlet from my cabin.  A lot of Rita loves Rita time.  So, when he approached me at the Pioneer Bar asking if I was interested in anyone in town, I answered with a quick and final, “NO!”

I answered the same way when he looked at me in disbelief when I responded the same to his following question, “Really? NOBODY? ARE YOU SURE? Not ANYONE?”

“NOPE. NOBODY.”

Oops…

It took the entire summer, winter, and following spring for me to catch the memo I missed that day.  The realization came all at once, the same day I got back into town last year when he not only accepted my offer to have dinner together, but at dinner asked me to sail from AK to San Francisco with him.

Wait..What? Huh? Really?

Mmmmm…I bet he’d be sexy on a sailboat….

I digress……back to the story…

And in an instant it all came together. Sailing together? Small sailboat, just us (and the man who owns the sailboat)…

Holy crap. He wants me!

Even after that supposed moment of clarity, I didn’t quite get it.

Hell, I didn’t realize our first date was going to be a date until he texted me about an hour before we were supposed to meet up and told me he was showering.

Binger showering? This is a BIG deal! AAAAHHHHHH!!!!!

And suddenly Binger was in my life.

Our first date was the second showing of the children’s play, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, preceded by an unexpected dinner at the Halsingland Hotel.  It was natural, easy, and fun to be with him watching the kids prance about the stage in their costumes, reacting to the dark humor of the plot. (It was an absolutely brilliant show!) We sat side by side, our elbows touching, our legs brushing here and there like old lovers, without shyness. We glanced at each other often, bright eyed, enjoying the show and each other’s company.

This past Monday, we relived that night.

Well, sort of, but this time it wasn’t Charlie and the Chocolate factory, and this time we came with the benefit of knowing we are inseparable soulmates, understanding that we love each other openly and unconditionally, and realizing that we have nothing to hide or defend from one another.   I’ve already explained to you our lifestlyle in Simply Living Simply Loving (If you haven’t read that piece, read it now!!!!).  We’ve been in Haines now for five weeks, and this past Monday was the first time we’ve gone to a restaurant for dinner.

We ordered one bottle of wine, one duck confit salad with shaved red onion, candied walnuts and gorgonzola cheese tossed in a blackberry-balsamic vinaigrette, and one hand cut ribeye steak with wild mushroom-red wine butter, parsnip-potato puree and sautéed greens dinner. We shared all three.

The two of us sat shoulder to shoulder at a table for four, hovering over the same plate, which we split down the middle in advance to protect John’s food from my appetite, and  spent the evening laughing, loving, planning, brainstorming, and remembering; all while looking out at the low snow line on the mountains that seem to grow from the placid water beyond the dock.  We toasted to our love; to the simple fact that the Universe made us for each other, and to the beginning of the rest of our lives together. It was a fantastic dinner overflowing with great memories of our firstawkward moments, the ones that make us chuckle about how we could have been so blind to something as glaringly obvious as being soulmates.

We even shared wearing some of the wine I spilled towards the end of the bottle.

After dinner, we made our way back to the Chilkat Center, where we sat swaying, hand in hand to  the twice Grammy nominated blue grass band, Blue Highway.

We swayed, bounced, hummed, and laughed our way through the concert.  It was a perfect celebration of a return to where it all began, Haines, the Halsingland, and the Chilkat Center. It was a simple reminder of our love for each other, for music, and for life.

And so, I thought to remind you…never take a moment for granted, for it’s never too late to relive love’s beginnings, until, of course, it’s too late.

Take advantage of the time you have; don’t forget, TOMORROW’S NOT GUARANTEED!

True Riches

Yesterday I finished my taxes. No surprise, right? ABSOLUTE last minute…

But guess what!

I qualified for all the poor people tax breaks!

When I saw my final figures I laughed.

Loudly.

My tax guy, Jame (Yes, I spelled that correctly), smiled as I convulsed in chuckles.

“Ha! $11,500 this year, huh. That’s WELL in the poverty range, isn’t it?” I grinned wildly, “Funny, this year I’m the poorest monetarily that I’ve been since 2001, but my life has been so incredibly bountifully blessed in richness!”

He understood and quickly said, “That’s because you’ve got it right!”

I thought back over 2011 and realized that with the meager $11,500 I claimed from river guiding, teaching Zumba and Masala Bhangra, and freelance writing, I had been able to LIVE a very INCREDIBLE year.

• I spent January through May enjoying time with my family in Pennsylvania.

• I danced in NY, NJ, MD, VA, and Washington DC during that time.

• I sold and gave away the vast majority of my “crap.”

• I spent 2.5 weeks in February in the Dominican Republic where I attended the first ever international bachata festival on the island (and Carnaval of course!) Oh, and don’t forget isolated beautiful beaches

• May-July I took a 6 week road trip with an old high school friend across the United States
  •  up into Canada
  •  Back down into Michigan’s peninsula
  •  through Minnesota to the Badlands
  • around Mt. Rushmore
  • through Colorado to visit Ms. Arnold
  • to Vegas to run the Run With the Devil 50 Miler
  • the coast and driving it up to Oregon
  •  to Vancouver where I kayaked, hiked, and learned about photography on my way to Alaska

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• I spent July – October in Alaska living in the float cabin with my pet bears roaming around the tidal flats in front of my home rowing boats down the glaciated rivers that just so happen to be located within the largest bald eagle preserve in the world. No big deal. 😀

• I took a short break in August to celebrate the wedding of my brother and enjoy family in Florida.

• Spent an extra month in Alaska to house sit a beautiful house in Haines and hang out with a super cool pup

• Drove back down the coast to meet with John in Vegas

• Climbed and camped in Red Rocks and Lone Pine

• Enjoyed empty hot springs

• Danced in San Jose, Monterey, Houston, Portland, and Seattle

• Attended the Seattle Salsa Congress over Thanksgiving weekend

• Met John’s family in Texas

• Visited Marydale in Atlanta

• I ran the World’s Toughest Mudder on my birthday weekend, and sent the next few weeks traveling the area, acquainting him with my environment.

• and brought the new year in with INCREDIBLE friends back in PA again. 😀

I’ve met my soul mate and surrounded myself with people I love and who love me, the authentic ones.  I’ve spent time loving myself first and doing exactly what I want to do, when I want to do it.  I’ve had the freedom to enjoy each moment as what it should be, a moment of mine to enjoy how I please.

That’s why I laugh at the concept of being considered poor enough to need a tax break.

Impoverished?

Never.

I’m the richest person I know!

Absolute Rapture

My first Masala Bhangra Class in Hana was perfect.

Picture this:

The studio is a building the size of a double wide trailer, the roof leaks, the paint’s chipping off the warped walls, the screen on the back door is ripped, though the wooden floors are in good shape and the wall of mirrors is intact.  The doors are open, the air is humid, the fans are running, men and women are smiling, laughing, sweating profusely, and practicing their “Come hither” sultry looks, all while dancing to the elevating sound of the Dolbi.

I’m completely in Hurricane mode.

Those of you who have had me as a dance instructor or river guide know what I’m talking about; the excitement of the moment takes over and my energy sky rockets. My hair gets so sweaty it sticks to my face, my eyes come alive, and I feel like I could jump to the moon.

And I smile.

Hard.

So hard my cheeks ache.

That’s what she said… 😀

I’m doing what I love the most in this world in one of the most pristine locations in the Universe: moving, sweating, dancing, being silly, and sharing energy after a quiet afternoon relaxing on Red Sands Beach in Heavenly Hana where I dedicate 14 hours a week to picking exotic flowers and pohole ferns sided by side with the love of my life in exchange for a private cabin overlooking the ocean on a self-sustaining organic farm.

Everyone in the room is trying something they’d never tried before: openly dancing choreography for a Bollywood performance in front of several other people, making silly faces, and getting a workout at the same time.

Everyone is smiling.

Everyone is involved.

No one is still worried about being judged.

No one is making ugly faces and judging others.

Everyone has let go of the social stigma, and embraced the moment.

Everyone is actively sharing Social Senselessness.

I belt out an energetic, “Balle Balle!!!!”

They respond, “BALLE BALLE!!!!”

I glance in the mirror and catch John’s steady gaze. He was watching me with a look of intense surprise and radiating the beaming light that reaches out to the world from a satisfied soul.  His eyes were glowing just like mine.

He was giving me a special come hither look of his own.

Everything I love most in life combined into a single moment of absolute rapture…Can you picture it?

In my first Masala Bhangra class in Hana, I got to relive the excitement of every dance class I’ve ever taught. I felt infused with a surge of energy from my connection with the authentic people in my life; my previous students, friends, family. I was buzzing with electricity simply because they exist.

The Universe told me through my ecstatic state of being that I’m doing the right things for me.

My questions to you are:

Are you doing the right things for you?

What do you feel inside that makes you certain they’re right?

Then…

How can you do them more often. 😀

Live, laugh, love, dance, and remember, tomorrow’s not guaranteed.

Custom Designed

The light rain whispered in my ear, stirring me from a full, undisturbed night of sleep in the comforting, protective arms of my soul mate.  I pulled open my heavy lids and immediately got my morning dose of love in his gaze. Every morning that I wake, no matter where or how we sleep, the first thing I see is him watching me open my eyes…

Correction…

The first thing I see in the early morning light is the reflection of myself watching him watch me open my eyes while wrapped in his embrace. I swear the man was custom designed by the Universe to find me and love me, as I was created for his love. We smiled, kissed, and easily expressed our desire to greet each day in each others arms for the rest of our lives, as we do almost every morning as soon as I catch up and become conscious.

I shifted my face to better hear his heartbeat, and promptly fell back asleep to the rhythm of this world’s sweetest lullaby of strength, health, love, and beauty. The second time I pulled myself out of the depths of dreamland, it was to see that the sky had cracked open into a beautiful, full rainbow, and the rain had become a fine, cool mist, which, combined with the crisp upcountry morning breeze, beckoned, promising another perfect greeting to yet another brilliant day.

I jumped into the shower on the deck, and let the heat of the water envelope my body in the cool air as the mist continued and the rainbow burned brightly over the shimmering foliage.  I waited to put my head under last, allowing the steamy drops surprise my scalp and send chills of ecstasy down the length of my body.

After a thorough wash and some idle time standing with my face turned towards the shower head with my fingers interlocked behind my neck, I turned it off, and wrapped myself in a big, fluffy red towel. I leaned against the railing and stood smiling at the view for countless minutes as steam rose from my skin. The lazy breeze was cool and welcomed.

I walked towards the door to grab my clothes, and my lover met me there, beaming. We looked at each other in the full length mirror, making faces at one another, laughing.

Him fully dressed, Me in my borrowed towel.

I walked barefoot through the airy house after dressing, and sat down on in the front lawn on a flat rock while John made some yummy energy balls with Tarah. Who knew walnuts, coconut oil, dates, salt, and cacao nibs could taste SO DAMN GOOD! (The man feeds me!!!)

I sat and observed quietly. I felt the welcoming warmth of the sun’s love on my back, and again sweet goosebumps sprung out to remind me of the beauty of life in its simplest form.  The mist felt like tiny, pleasant needles on my skin.

I thought, if acupuncture feels anything like this, I’d be the first in line.

I was thrilled…brimming with love and happiness…and the silent tears came immediately.

It had only been 24 hours or so since I had posted Shared Silence, and the hint of sadness that accompanies the thought of my lost friends and their suffering families knocked on the door to my soul.  I sat, allowing the moment to infiltrate me completely, refusing to ignore it, all the while offering positive energy to the Universe for her blessings, hoping those struggling with loss could feel at least some of that light.

First, Coconut came to visit, purring and sharing his love in kitty style. (That made me miss you, Cat!)

After a while, John came outside to sit with me.  He told me he could tell by my posture exactly what I was thinking. I smiled at him, and in his eyes saw the reflection of blue skies and white clouds behind my silhouette.

This would be yet another day to not take for granted.

Live, laugh, love, and remember tomorrow’s not guaranteed.

Shared Silence

A mist sat over the water, making the heron’s reflection on the silent surface a shadowy neutral as if the world had been sketched in detailed gray-scale. It looked like it was going to be a chilly day. I sat on my porch a while longer watching the tide subtly rise. It was nearing time to head to work. However excited I was to head to a job I enjoy, I was hesitant to leave the perfect secluded silence of my sanctuary.

My home.

I slowly stood, called the dogs, and started my day.

Things began normally enough on the job. I look forward daily to groups of cruise ship passengers interested in seeing Alaska from a different perspective than cruise ship sponsored jewelry stores and fake gold rush building facades. Each passenger is told something about the person who will meet them at the dock for their adventure on the largest bald eagle preserve in the world.  Some are told that I was a veteran before they meet me, some are told I’m a salsa teacher, some are told I received a purple heart, some are told I’m Rita, wearing red hot Latin flavor, but this entire group had been told my name was Karl, and I was tall and funny looking.

Huh.

They definitely walked past me at the dock, and seemed thoroughly confused as I herded them in like wayward kittens. I tried to convince them that they were with the right person.

The jokes ensued.

No. My name is not Karl.

Yes, I’m funny looking.

No, I’m not tall.

I had seven passengers in my raft for the actual float trip. There was a family of four in the front, including two daughters 21 and 23, an older pair of sisters in the back, and a single woman from Pennsylvania that sat directly to my back left. As I introduced them to my office, looking towards the incredible scenery, I was asked what brought me all the way up to Alaska. I gave an abbreviated version of my story, laughed, and made a sweeping gesture towards my office’s interior decorating.

Duh.

I told nobody about my service, about being wounded, about my passing up government work for freedom, nothing. I said simply that not everyone has as much time as they think they do in life, and so why wouldn’t I spend mine in a place as breathtaking as Haines, rowing down a calming glacially fed river with magnificent views of glaciers, eagles, bears, wolves, salmon, terns, otters, and life as much as I could?

I then turned the question on them.

“Why are you here?”

The family in the front responded with a simple, “Why not Alaska?”

The sisters in the rear said that they wanted to get there before they ran out of time because they were tired of waiting.

But it was the lady from Pennsylvania that truly caught my attention with her response. As soon as I asked, I realized that subconsciously I already knew the answer. There aren’t too many reasons an elderly woman would be found alone with a glint of sadness in her eyes on a cruise ship and by herself on a romantic rafting tour of the largest bald eagle preserve in the world.

“My husband and I always wanted to come to Alaska. He, too, realized he didn’t have as much time as he thought…He would have enjoyed this so…so…” she trailed off before finishing, “very much,” she nearly whispered with tears welling, “This trip is for me, for us, for him.” She trailed off, looking quietly into the distance. The boat went silent. For several moments, nothing was heard but the soft rustle of silt against rubber; the soothing sound of the river gently caressing the bank, tempting it to let go, tumble down, and be swept away, and finally a quick slide and a splash. A small shelf freed itself from the confines of structure and embracing freedom, rode the current in a million separate particles.

There was nothing to be said. We all understood.

I understood better than they could ever have imagined.

I fought back tears as my mind raced through memories of friends who would never again get to see something so incredible as the Cathedral Peaks, Kicking Horse Valley, or a twelve pound bald eagle shredding and devouring a salmon within feet of a raft.

There were four young men that came to mind instantly. The picture used at their memorial still weighs on my mind. Four sunglasses clad, healthy men…three of which were still in their young twenties, who loved each other like brothers, always insisting on being in the same truck with one another, posing for the camera in different tough guy positions. One with both hands in the air, looking to the sky seemingly asking for deliverance, all four of them silly and tough. All four of them radiating youth and promise. All four of them no longer on Earth. Their truck was barely recognizable when it was towed back to the FOB and left on display in the “graveyard.”

A young father who lost his life two weeks from before seeing his newborn son for the first time over mid-tour leave.

A boy, now over five years old who never had a chance to meet his father.

A boy shot by a sniper through his temple on his 20^th birthday.

A boy next to whom I sat, discussing how lucky he was to be coming to our FOB as opposed to his COP. I told him he was lucky to get to work with the CIED team. It sure would beat his other job. Days later he was crushed under the vehicle when it hit an IED.

A group of young men burned alive inside an MRAP.

A boy who thought he could stop a truck from tumbling down a cliff and keep himself out of trouble, but ended up going down with it.

A boy dies of “non combat related injuries” towards the end of the road with less than a month left in Afghanistan.

None of these guys will ever be able to celebrate life as we can…in this world. They can only live on in our memories.

“I need to travel more before I, too, run out of time,” my passenger from Pennsylvania told me as she stared in awe, mouth slightly agape, at the small salmon stream that opens up into a view unparalleled of the vast alluvial fan and towering mountains capped with fresh snow. “I need to do many things.” We all do. Many things need to be done.

Everybody dies. Only a handful of people truly live. This woman from Pennsylvania cried for her husband as I’ve cried for humanity. She touched my heart as I can only hope to touch others in time. We shared a moment on the raft, eight of us, contemplating the beauty of being capable of living each day how we choose. It is truly a gift to live, and that day every single soul with me on the boat understood that. Embrace each moment as is it’s your last, as you never know when the last may come. Remember, tomorrow’s not guaranteed.

There’s a Rat in Da Kitchen!?

The first time I recognized it fully was in the back seat of the gear truck this past summer.  I was sitting next to a guy that I didn’t particularly like, and he was getting on my nerves.  He was being himself: loud and obnoxious; at least that’s how I was viewing it at the time. I was reading a book with my headphones in and I could still hear him saying nasty things about a co-worker.  He was speaking about ten decibels louder than necessary with gestures too big for the truck, especially when three of us were crammed into the same seat. I could feel his knee pressing against mine, and it was distracting me because I didn’t want him to touch me. I wanted to move my leg, but I left it where it was because I didn’t want him to win the space.

I was growling at him in my thoughts, telling him in all types of prettily decorated choice words about how I didn’t like him.

Then I saw it.

I couldn’t ignore it any longer.

Before he sat next to me I had been humming softly to myself and reading with a slight smile on my face. My mood was light. I was excited for the day.  None of that remained while he was there.  I had taken a day full of nothing but promising moments, and begun to kill it.  My mood turned sour, my thoughts negative.  My temperature rose and my head pulsed ever so slightly by my temples. My breathing had become erratic, and my hands felt tingly. I was clenching my jaw and not noticing a bit of Alaskan scenery. I was staring past the words in my book without reading any of them. I wanted to strike him, strangle him…MAKE him be quiet. I wanted to scream, “SHUT THE FUCK UP!” and seethed at him for being such an irritating asshole.

I wanted to destroy him, but I was only destroying myself.

He was still just being himself. He hadn’t a clue that I was furious and hating him at the moment; that my rage had an intoxicating feature that restricted my ability to focus on anything else.

He was enjoying telling his story and I was hating him for it.

So I stopped.

I simply stopped.

I stopped…

And I smiled.

It was so clear.  I finally TRULY understood! Anger, irritation, and aggravation really DON’T affect ANYBODY else like they do the person harboring them. Anger truly is like taking a poison for the sole purpose of killing someone else. It simply isn’t logical.

I wrote a poem when I was still in Afghanistan, two and a half years ago, in a flash of anger and sadness. I was trying to express how the feeling took over my body. It’s interesting that I could see so vividly how anger was like a poison coursing through my veins, yet I didn’t make a single effort to end it.

It was called:

Fragility of Existence

It read:

Pain – raw, unreigned
Fuelled by disappointment
Engulfs,
Devouring,
Ravaging ardor.
Hope, desire, light
Dimming,
Dimming,
Dark.
Starved, silently seeking sustenance
Hungry, aching, shriveling
Becoming frantic, Pain meets
Absolute obscurity.
No single sentiment dares remain.
Satisfied, Pain, too, departs,
Pursuing another soul feigning happiness.
Elsewhere destruction ensues,
For nothing exists in the absence of light.

I read that now, and I can’t believe the state of mind I must have been in to write that. I remember the moment completely. The overwhelming feeling of sheer pain in those words. I was looking outwards for help. I wanted the people who were treating me poorly to stop. I wanted to stop hating what I was doing.

Then, I thought…I could be happy.

If THEY would fix THEMSELVES, I could be happy.

If THEY would just APPRECIATE me or give me CREDIT, I could be happy.

If THEY would just TRUST and RESPECT me, I could be happy.

If THEY would at least ACCEPT me, I could be happy.

If I could just be SOMEWHERE ELSE, I could be happy.

If I could be with SOMEONE ELSE, I could be happy.

If I had a little more FREEDOM, I could be happy.

If, if, if….then, then, then.  There were so many conditions to my happiness!

Now having been where I was then and where I am now, I will simply recommend you choose love, acceptance, and happiness.

Step away from self consuming anger, sadness, and hate.

That’s the only way to live without concocting your own toxins! Do you really want poison in your system?

The only moment that matters is the one you are in, don’t destroy it over a grudge…

Holding a grudge is like sitting still while being eaten alive by one rat when you could simply stand up, brush the damn thing off, and chase it out with a broom.

Challenge yourself today. Chase away the rat.

Embrace this moment.

And.

Smile.

Remember, tomorrow’s not guaranteed.

The Art of Surprise: The Binger’s Birthday Edition: Part One

I generally shy away from the title “Artist,” simply because, well, I’ve always grown up watching my sister create amazing things with her hands, since we were children.  Sure, I get it, we are all artists inside…yeah yeah, but have you seen Rosa’s art? Have you seen her paintings? Her candles? Her drawings? It’s amazing.

(I was going to insert a link here, but I don’t know one….)

That’s art.

I’ve been corrected before.

“Dance is art.”  “Photography is art.” “Writing is art.”

OK, sure. I’ll accept that… but in accepting that, I will ask you to accept this.

Surprise is an art. Adventure creation is an art. Laughter is an art.

Yeah. I said it. If you’ve been victim or privied…maybe privied is a better word than victim…

If you’ve been privied to my surprises, jokes, tricks, scrapbooks, or trips, you know what I mean.

Yesterday was my lover’s birthday.  You’re picking up what I’m throwing down, yeah?

So, John and I have spent just about 24 hours of every single day together since November 9th, when I picked him up in Vegas. (If you don’t know that story, get out of the mustard and Ketchup HERE!!!) We don’t have transportation aside of our feet, one long board, and our thumbs. We don’t have cell phone reception, nor an address that wouldn’t require a trip to town to pick up anything delivered to the post office. It would be hard to make an excuse for a trip to town to a person who truly knows EVERYTHING that you MUST do, show back up with a package to store in a small cabin the two of you share. and have no questions asked.

So, how did I get the love of my life on a private night of fishing at the pier in Hana Bay, transportation, equipment, and everything without his being the wiser?

Very carefully.

A beautiful union indeed

You see, John and I share everything. Emails, Facebook messages, phones, texts. Everything. There are no secrets, no hiding.  Nothing isn’t shared.  We exist as a single being in many ways while maintaining our strengths and individuality. It’s quite a beautiful union, actually.  So, surprises must all be organized face to face with all parties involved.

I like to talk.

That makes things easier for me. 😀

So, the afternoon before Johnny McBirthdayBoy turned 35, after a sunny day spent playing in waves and reading The Fountainhead (Yes, we’ve been working on that book for a W-HILE now. It’s freakin’ 700-something pages!) on a towel on Hamoa Beach, where I announced several times that we’d have to be back by 4:00 to start dinner, we made our way back to the farm barefoot and smiling.

You see, there are a few things here. One, there’s no way we’d be back by 4:00 if I didn’t press it, so I gave myself an out on dinner. Two, even if we did get back at 4:00, we are on Maui Time now, so there’s no way I’d get started cooking within the hour: my a second out. Third, there are only two burners in the kitchen, so if they were taken, I had a third out. I was covered thrice over.

I went so far as to collect the ingredients for a big dinner I knew I didn’t have the time to prepare and bringing them up to the kitchen cabin, before sitting down on the couch in the corner and pouting that the other housemates were making a communal dinner, using both burners (a communal dinner they and I had discussed earlier the same day right before I left to meet John on the beach).

I sulked and reluctantly relented to retreating to the cabin.

Sighing, I said, “Fuck it. Maybe I’ll just spend the night reading you The Fountainhead.” He looked at me like he wanted to help but didn’t know quite how.  I grabbed the book listlessly and began to read.  We are going through the buildup for the Cortlandt Trial at the moment, so It’s pretty exciting stuff.

I read for a while…Until Eileen’s voice floated lightly through the screen windows, “Rita?”

“Yes?”

“Rene’s ready!”

“Sweet! Thanks!” I turned beaming to John, whose face was somewhere between complete puzzlement and recognition of having been had.

“Rene’s ready?” he questioned.

“Yup. Get dressed. We’re going fishing.”

“What? Now? It’s sunset, almost dark.”

“Yup. Now.”

“Wait so…all the disappointment? The dinner? That was all fake?” his eyes were disbelieving, he thought about it a moment and concluded, “You’re good. Wow.”

“So I’ve been told. Happy birthday, lover,” he laughed as I wrapped my arms around his neck and planted a fat kiss on his lips.

The night was perfect.  The Moon is obviously waxing in all Her glory, sending all the positive vibes she could possibly muster to those open to receiving and multiplying them.  We sat side by side, dangling our feet from the side of the pier, meditating by the light of the moon to the soft sounds of water lapping against the pillars; the same water that carried with it the sustenance we sought; the same sustenance that would offer itself to be used for our own energy; the same energy we’d be offering to each other and the Universe in return.

What a beautiful cycle.

I packed us a snack. The day before I had baked mini loaves of gluten free cinnamon raisin bread with a vanilla almond drizzle in preparation, disguised as an experiment with extra dough.

And this is how we passed the evening: eating good food, enjoying energy shared with the Universe and each other, and catching fish.

Out of the blue, John says, “Wait, so…really? Dinner? You never meant to make that dinner? Because if we’re fishing…that means…”

“Yup.”

“Wow. You ARE good!” I can see his smile, bright in the moonlight, an image I’ll never forget.

Another image I'll never forget

We caught plenty of fish.  John began to call me the Silent Killer, since I’d interrupted his sentences a few times with, “Could you hold that thought a moment? I’ve got another fishy. (Insert voice from tough guy in Deuce Bigalow) Hey fishy fishy fishy!”

Rene gave us lessons on what each one was called and how it was best prepared.

We decided to return to the farm after three hours of fishing.  We had a quick, yummy snack, and left the fish on ice by the refrigerator.  We were exhausted and fell asleep after recounting excitedly what a great master of deception I can be.  Or maybe that was just me bragging…maybe I’m still just bragging. 😀

Stay tuned for Part Two of the Binger’s Birthday Series….The Big Day.