Soul sister where you least expect
I have this friend in the town I used to work in. She's kind, gentle and is concerned about her future, much like me. I can go a whole year without seeing her, but we hit it off at our next meeting like it's nothing. Oddly enough, she's 45 years older than me. Let me explain.
Carol and I met about six months after I moved to Illinois. She was the "newcomer lady." She owned her own business in the town I used to live in for more than 20 years that involved her welcoming "newcomers" to the neighborhood with a gift basket filled with goodies from local businesses. She was also a part-time nurse at a nursing home before she retired this summer.
She read my column in the newspaper I wrote for and sought me out to give me a basket. And we hit it off right away. I ended up writing a story about her (not surprising, huh?). After the story, we met up one time for lunch. And then, being the social butterfly she is, I would bump into her every few months when I covered social gatherings for the newspaper.
She's thin, drives a minivan and keeps her hair its natural color white. She doesn't try to look younger than she is, but her cheerful demeanor expels a youthful glow when she smiles that is not common in women pushing 70. She keeps a photo of her cat on her cell phone. And she texts, too.
Her husband died a few years ago. The only time I can see her age is when she talks about him because she gets a very sad look— like she's searching through time for his face, laugh and smell. I don't ask about that subject.
She and I met for supper in late October, after I got the new job and only had a week left at my old job. It was more than a year since I met her for lunch, but only a few months since I last spoke with her since she attended a city-wide picnic I covered. I shared the story of my engagement with her (see below if you missed it. It's a good one!), showing her photos on my cell phone. I told her about my new job and lack of wedding-planning. She told me about her son, her recent retirement and her new kitten.
Then the subject turned serious. She said she was considering moving closer to her son or brother. In Illinois, she is completely away from her close family. And at 69, she's concerned about her future. Now that she's retired, she wants to move somewhere where she can enjoy her time. And more importantly, she wants to make this decision while she still can— before it's too late.
"In 11 years, I'll be 80," she told me during our two-and-a-half hour dinner. "I mean my God, 80. I don't feel 11 years away from 80."
That's when I realized, her perception of 11 years is so far away from my perception of 11 years. Eleven years ago, I was practically HALF my age. Eleven years from now, my life will be much different from it is now— still married with hopefully (God bless) children. I have no idea where I will be or what I will be doing. During the next 11 years will be the start of my adult life.
But for her, 11 years from now will be the start of the end of her life, and she knows it. The woman moves very well, can drive, doesn't wear glasses and is a quiet charismatic, but she knows that 11 years from now she won't be the same. Considering the rate she's going, she most likely won't be in poor health, but she's worried about her mobility and her mind. She's lived through six 11-year periods. I barely reached two.
She asked me, in the most sincere and wide eyes, if I thought she was making the right decision to move closer to her family. We weighed the pros and cons. I stressed how smart I thought it was for her to be making this decision for herself. My mom worked as a home health nurse, and I've seen how families think they're doing the best for their loved one when in fact they're making it worse. She is a smart lady and will do what is best.
Her son lives in California, but it's too expensive to live there. A plus is that she could spend more time with her grandchildren, but she admitted that she doesn't live for her grandchildren like other women her age do— she has her own life. We settled on Her brother who lives in Iowa where his grown children are.
So anyhoo, walking away from that dinner, I was amazed at how easy it was to talk to her and how meaningful it was to share stories with her. She never, ever, offers me advice I don't ask for. She never makes me feel as though I'm a child (although, we're more of the age range of a grandmother and granddaughter. But my grandmother is more than 14 years older than she is, so she can be like my cool great-aunt.) We listen to each other. We laugh with each other. And we communicate honestly and openly— which is hard to come by no matter the age.
It really doesn't matter how old you are or when you find each other. Your soul sister/brother is out there. You may have already found her, or you might have a dozen. The point is that it's never to late to connect with someone. Because that, my friends, is what life is meant for— impacting others, and hopefully letting others inspire you.
Listings
I'm taking a trick from my friend Kelli and making a easy-to-write list of things I like or don't like about my life right now. In case you cared. But since you're reading this, you must.
Cool things
- Long weekends with Rayce
- Water parks
- Homemade ice cream
- Summer dresses
- French braids
- Archer (it’s freakin hilarious)
- Charity classical music concerts
- New clothes that don’t cost me anything (thank you Rayce)
- New workout shoes (from Rayce)
- New workouts (bodyrock.tv)
- High-fives for liking Cowboy Bebop (from a coworker)
- Getting lost in the diamond on my left hand
Uncool things
- Learning how unaware you are of friends’ lives
- Learning how unaware you are of current events
- Job search
- Anxiously waiting
- Biting my fingernails (it’s a horrible habit I have)
- Meatless Seattle Sutton Monday meals (the food I get changed their menu to include it’s three-day Monday pick up plan as the “vegetarian” option… It’ll change in January and is probably better for me, but damnit to hell)
- Realizing I don’t have any water in my apartment after the local grocery store closed
- Akward families
The Proposal
It was just another day at the beach for me. Rayce woke me up the day after our five-year anniversary with a smile on his face. He rubbed my back, like he always does to coax me out of sleep. I opened my eyes to sunlight streaming through the French doors directly in front of my bed. I smiled at him, sat up and looked straight out of the doors to the beach that lay outside. We were on vacation with his family in Gulf Shores, Ala., and it was time to drink some French vanilla coffee.
The day before, like I said, was our five-year anniversary. I woke him up that morning in the room across a living area from mine. We didn’t share the same room when we stayed with his family, because we’re not married. We didn’t do much the day of our anniversary, since it was the first full-fledge sunny day at the beach after one day of straight rain and then cloudy skies. Rayce and I hung out at the beach the entire day with his family. We held hands; we even walked down the beach to look at the fancy houses in a gated community just passed the 11-room rental beach house in which we were staying.
That night, Rayce and I dined out at a restaurant in Orange Beach. I love his family, but it was nice to just be with him for a little while. That night, I begged him to spend the night in my room since it was our five-year anniversary and his family would never know. He told me it was against the rules, so I went to bed while he stayed up and talked with his cousins. I didn’t mind that much, because I love him.
But all that was on Tuesday, our anniversary. On Wednesday, July 20, 2011, the day after our anniversary, my vacation took a drastic turn which sent me on a roller coaster of emotion, because of which I couldn’t be happier.
After I ate some breakfast casserole his family made, I took my French vanilla coffee to the porch swing. The days prior, Rayce and I sat out on the second-story swing to read the news on our phones, while I finished my second cup of coffee. The swing faced the road and was outside of Rayce’s bedroom, which he shared with his male cousin and his cousin’s golfing buddy. I told him on this day that if he asked me to marry him within the next year, we could share a bedroom on the next family vacation. He laughed, and I didn’t mind because I love him.
We made it out to the beach around 10:30 a.m., which we discovered was a little too early because the breeze hadn’t kicked in. I wore my new Victoria Secret bikini, which I only bought because I thought it would make my boobs look good—which it did. It’s the only bikini I own with sequence on it. It’s a light turquoise color, and I deemed it my Princess Jasmine if-she-was-a-stripper bikini.
I wanted more of a tan, so I sat my beach chair out in the sun, while Rayce lounged underneath an umbrella. I downed a bottle of water, and he went through two beers. I was pretty eager to go on our walk, which we determined we’d do every day to get some exercise, because I thought it would help cool me off. I didn’t want to get in the water, because I worked so hard earlier coating myself in SPF 30 sunscreen. I asked Rayce a few times if he was ready to go on our walk, and he told me later. But I didn’t mind, because I love him.
***If you’re in a hurry, this part can be skipped. It just shines a little light on our relationship***
Almost to noon, Rayce walked back up to the beach house to use the bathroom, and he told me we would go on our walk when he returned. I fell into sort of a heat-induced coma at this point. I heard his mother’s cell phone go off a few times, but didn’t think much about it because I was too hot. I was too busy fighting the urge to pee, configuring in my head if I could hold it until after our walk or not.
I turned and asked his mother how long she thought it took her son to pee, because I was ready to go on our walk. She laughed; his cousins didn’t. The three of them—two cousins and his sister all in the early to late ‘20s—hadn’t spoken to me much the previous three days at the beach. I spent three solid years with his younger cousin and sister, and I couldn’t figure out why they were acting so distant. Whatever.
When Rayce returned, I informed him that I had to use the bathroom because he took so long. When I was walking back to the door after leaving the bathroom, I eyed a banana. I figured—well he made me wait, so he can wait a little while. I took my time eating the banana in the kitchen, while talking to his grandmother about my bikini.
When I returned to the beach, Rayce was already standing and pointed in the direction we walked the two previous days. I told him maybe we should walk in the other direction to see the other part of the beach. He said he likes to look at the big fancy beach houses, because he likes to dream. He also jokingly accused me of going “number two” because I took so 
long in the house. But I didn’t mind, because I love him.
Rayce stood closer to the water and took my left hand. He told me as we started our walk that we didn’t hold hands enough the day before on our anniversary. I said “Hell yes, you didn’t hold my hand enough.” I’m pretty sure I did a little skip as I said it, too.
***People in a hurry, continue reading here***
As we walked past the big beach houses in the gated-community, we talked about what we liked or didn’t like about each one. There were about 10 beach-facing houses we evaluated. We agreed on the one with a greenish Spanish-tiled roof and a large bay window as our favorite. After the last house, the beach turns into a wildlife sanctuary. A little barbed wire fence expands the length of the sanctuary, of which we walked a good ways past. We 
saw a snorkeler who was meandering his way in the same direction as us just a few feet into the water. Rayce seemed very annoyed by his presence.
Because the wildlife sanctuary was behind us, there were a bunch of heron birds, some as tall as to my shoulder, watching for fish as the waves came in. I found these creatures very distracting, as I was both fascinated by them and scared of them. Rayce said he’d protect me if one would come after me, which I thought was cute. Rayce spotted a log and suggested we sit and rest there. I thought that was a splendid idea, that way I could get better pictures of the herons.
The day before when Rayce and I took our walk down the beach, I collected a few seashells. When we were sitting on the log, he spotted a shell right behind him he thought I’d like. I mean, sure it was in good condition—not too broken or anything—but even with it sitting halfway in the sand, I could tell it didn’t have anything special to it. I need a wow-factor, some kind of cool design or odd coloring, to pick up a shell. So I told him I didn’t want it. He kept egging on, like “Are you sure?” I didn’t mind, because I love him. But I didn’t take the shell.
Then he turns around and points out a cork sticking out of the sand near where the non-impressive shell was.
Oh my God, I completely nerded-out at this point. I got so excited that we found a bottle buried in the sand—just like in the movies! After I dug it out with my hands, I even took a picture of it. I saw there was a little note inside and thought “Oh boy, it’s going to be a letter, and we’re going to respond to the letter and bury it back!”
I told Rayce maybe we should wait to open it at the beach house so we could share the surprise with his family. He said it could be a love letter or something not meant for us, so we should open it there and return it if needed. I was too excited to argue. And I didn’t mind, because I love him.
He opened the bottle for me, because I couldn’t get it open. When I had the little rolled-up note in my hand, I remember laughing while saying, “Oh my God, look! Psh, someone burned the edges to make it look old. But clearly it’s not old because it’s wrapped up with a bread twist-tie.” I’m a little bitch sometimes.
I was confused when I first opened the note, because I was expecting a letter 
format. But it wasn’t. It was a few sentences written in seemingly familiar hand-writing which read, “Five years ago, I was hopelessly trying to figure out how to ask you out. Now for the past few months, I’ve been going crazy waiting to ask you this…”
The first thing that popped into my head as I was reading the note was, “That’s weird. Somebody’s trying to ask someone out on the freakin beach.” When I turned to express that thought to Rayce, he was down on one knee with a little black box in his hand.
He could see my deer-in-headlight eyes through my sunglasses. For a split second, I remember thinking, “That better not be earrings in that box!” He then asked, “Kera, will you marry me?” as he opened the box to reveal a ring.
My heart started racing, completely shocked at what was taking place.
“Er… Are you serious?” were the first words that came out of my mouth. Yes, when being proposed to by the man I love, I say that. Mais jamais.
He goes, “Don’t I look serious?” And then I really looked at the ring, a marquee-cut yellow gold diamond ring. Mind you, we hadn’t previously looked at rings, but I made it quite clear since the spring what I wanted—a marquee-cut diamond in yellow gold; not a three-stone ring,
but not a solitaire.
I stared with my mouth open and started crying and laughing.
He goes, “Well, you need to answer my question.”
And I yelled, “Yes, yes, yes! I’ll marry you!”
We hugged, kissed, and I brushed the sand off of my hands in order for him to put the ring on, which fit perfectly. We then sat and discussed whether or not we were ready for this, how he couldn’t wait for me to find a job in Bloomington and how he’s been scheming since the fall of last year. He had the ring since March. He asked my for my parents’ permission to marry me when he went down to Louisiana by himself at the beginning of May for a friend’s wedding. My family had to keep it a secret when I visited them at the end of May for my birthday.
Everyone at the beach house knew. EVERYONE, which explains why his cousins and sister weren’t really talking to me—they didn’t want to let it slip! His mom’s phone kept ringing because the people in the house kept asking questions, and they were trying to coordinate our walk with unannounced visitors. He got up at 6 a.m. to write the note; his stepdad burned the edges, and he and his mom buried the bottle that morning. We walked down the beach the day before so he could scout-out a spot and get me used to taking mid-day beach walks.
I tried to contain my composure as we walked back to the beach house. I kept thinking, “I’m engaged!”
Yea, that composure—I totally lost it as soon as we stepped through the beach house doors and everyone yelled in celebration. Rayce’s mom came up and hugged me and I cried, hard. I showed the ring to his family and we took a few pictures, even though I knew I looked like a hot-mess with my red nose, puffy eyes and falling-apart braid. Then Rayce reminded me I needed to call my mom, because she knew to expect a call after 1 p.m.
I could barely work my touch-screen phone because my hands were shaking so much. I called my mom and it just kept ringing. I said out loud, “C’mon Rita Mae,” while thinking, “This is a very important call. Pick up the phone!” and not looking forward to having to explain the whole experience over the phone.
Just as I was getting impatient, my mother, father and sister rounded the corner of the kitchen. My mouth dropped open. God damn it, he did it again.
I cried for what seemed like a thousand times more as I hugged my family, who traveled from Louisiana in secret that morning to share in my engagement. Rayce was scheming with my sister, Jena, to make it happen. Rayce’s dad even showed up!
I reread the note for everybody to hear, but I got choked up when I read the second sentence, to which I informed them through my tears, “Oh, you can read it.” I called my friends to tell them the news before they saw Rayce’s cousins’ posts on Facebook.
And that’s it. We had our engagement party later that evening. My parents stayed at the beach house over night and left the following evening after spending time on the beach, watching Jena and me parasail and eating ice cream. Jena stayed with me until Saturday, when we left for Illinois and his family drove back to Louisiana.
Since that day, I’ve been in awe of Rayce and the amount of effort he put into the proposal. He takes great care of the things he loves, which is evident by this story. I knew he loved me, but that proposal showed the extent of that love, which I am honored to have, and how far he’ll go to prove that love through time and effort. I never thought a man could love me that much.
I gotta tell you, I notice everything I do with my left hand now because of the ring. I find myself staring into it at times, amazed that he kept it from me for so long in order to give it to me at just the right moment. It’s the most perfect ring I never imagined owning. It doesn’t get caught in my hair when I run my hands through it, which I do often. It’s pretty noticeable, but classy. And it’s beautiful, like his love for me.
We don’t have a date set (I don’t even know what season I want to get married in). We don’t know where the ceremony will be (somewhere in Louisiana, but our families are three hours away from each other, which could be troublesome). Regardless of our current cluelessness, I’m sure it’s going to be a great, surprise-filled journey together.
Which I don’t mind, because I love him.
Daydream
Think of the sun warming your face, and smile
When a light breeze would catch you by surprise
Sweat running down your back
And you didn’t mind because it was summer.
The thoughts weave in and out of your day
You retreat to them as you stare out the window
Like returning to a former lover
Comforting and familiar
An escape from your own bitterness
But the sun is a tease
Of reminder of what could be, but is not
Your eyes narrow as you exit your thoughts
What the fuck, it’s almost May
And flannel sheets are still on the bed
GTFO Russia
Yea, Russian spammers somehow found my blog. I know you're out there. And I will destroy you, blocking one IP address at a time if I have to.
So get ready.
Allergy culprit identified
I am seriously allergic to my entire home-state of Louisiana. Every time I visit my parents, I end up sneezing and sniffling up a storm. I’m allergic to one of the most common trees in Louisiana (pine); the most common grass everywhere (crab); and the most common household allergen (dust). I was fine with constantly battling snot as a child because that’s all I knew. But now that the Illinois’ fall and winter seasons have me, for the most part, sneeze-free, I’m very fond of it.
I need you to understand that I was a very sick child growing up. In daycare, I’d watch the other kids play in the grass while I sat under a tree. I carried a nebulizer to school with me. I took allergy shots once a week for five years.
My mom, a nurse, is the sole reason I was never hospitalized for my asthma or allergies. She’s also the reason I’ve never slept in a tent. And the reason I developed a taste aversion to grape and cherry flavors thanks to ingesting large amounts of Dimetapp and cough syrup in my youth. Well, it’s not her fault. I blame dust.
So a break from the constant sneezing and sniffling was a God-send when I moved to Illinois.
But last summer, there was definitely something in Illinois I was allergic to. June and July had me constantly sneezing, and to make matters worse, I didn’t know the culprit. The last allergy test I had was 20 years ago, and they tested me for Louisiana trees, grass and most common allergens. When I moved to Illinois, it introduced completely foreign allergens to my system.
I met with an allergist last Friday to conduct an allergy test and refill my asthma inhalers. Along with all the other things I already knew I was allergic to — blue and crab grass, cats and dogs, dust mites, ragweed and mold — there was a new item to add to my allergy list. Want to guess what it was?
Wait for it … Wait for it …
Corn pollen.
That’s right. I’m allergic to corn pollen.
My initial reaction to this news was a very Homer Simpson-like “Doh!” to the thought of moving to a state completely COVERED in corn without realizing I was allergic to its pollen.
But with all things considered, I only have two months of concern in Illinois, whereas I had 12 months in Louisiana. And now I at least know what affects me during the summer. Unfortunately, there is absolutely no way to avoid it. I can just stare out at the endless fields of corn through my car window when I’m driving thinking, “I know you’re out there. But this year, I’m ready.”
Armed with two fresh respiratory inhalers, a prescription nasal spray and over-the-counter antihistamines, I can face this summer with my head held high, and hopefully with less tissues.
But on the bright side, I am now officially out of the running to be our unofficial OD Corn Editor. It’s hard to be the editor of something you’re allergic to. Too bad, so sad.
***Photos stolen from Google
The old Britney Spears
Now there's no real reason to respect this weak version of what was.
Sinking Ship
Do you ever feel like you’re on a sinking ship
With your hands so sweaty it’s hard to grip
Onto the things that used to make you smile
When you think back to those moments every once in a while.
Do you ever feel like you’re on a sinking ship
With your back broken and your arms limp
From carrying the weight that you believed in so much
But was easily broken by a foreign touch.
Do you ever feel like you’re on a sinking ship
With your heart bursting and about to rip
Out the memories that you hold so dear
But all that’s left is an impending fear
Do you ever feel like you’re on a sinking ship
With the words “I love you” strung across your lips
Because what you worked so hard for is near its end
And it’ll soon be just a memory of a long-lost friend.
Snow, it’s time to go
I very much dislike snow.
I was wrong. It was not easy. And it was not a piece of cake. It is the end of February, and I fucking hate snow.
My reason for this blog post is because of the stress I’ve induced today. It really wasn’t bad, actually. In fact, it hasn’t even snowed… Yet.
You see, we had more than five inches of snow hit us on the very first weekend of December. Oh, it was so pretty, and I was so excited. I felt prepared and ready. I was actually praying for snow so that I may send out my Christmas cards with pictures of my boyfriend and me in the snow.
And we got it, fast. That was the night I slid into another person’s garage when trying to take a curve on the way to my boyfriend’s house. It was scary how fast the snow was coming down and sticking to the road. I will never forget that feeling of “Oh shit, fuck! Fuck, FUCK!”
The snow hit faster than Rayce and I had ever seen! But, luckily it came on a Friday night, and we just staying in all weekend, gawking in amazement. Then we took our Christmas card picture with the beautiful white snow behind us. Sha. We were so naïve.
Then it snowed twice a week for the next two months. I mean, I was actually able to come home once during the week and every weekend (thank God, because I may have lost my sanity), but it has definitely been a pain in the ass. It’d be like two to six inches every week.
Now take in mind, last winter really wasn’t that bad. It was hella-cold, but it snowed like once every two weeks. Psh, that was nothing compared to this.
And then… Oh, the doozy happened. Snowpocalypse 2011 hit Illinois on the first few days of February. I mean when Jim Cantore from the Weather Channel is about an hour away from you, you know it’s going to get bad. I covered the blizzard for the newspaper I work for, reported from home, took photos around my neighborhood. All that jazz. It was fun, looking back on it.And then it hasn’t snowed since. The two feet of snow that accumulated in a few hours took three weeks to melt and dissipate. And this evening called for five inches of snow.
This five inches of snow stressed me out because I had an evening interview, which was supposed to be right when the snow would hit. So the thought of being on the road right when the snow starts to stick reminded me of my “Oh shit, fuck! Fuck, FUCK!” incident.
But, low and fucking behold, it still hasn’t snowed.
That’s another thing I hate about snow, besides it just being a big fucking mess—It’s sneaky. You don’t hear it when it’s falling. It makes everything very quiet outside. Cars are muted (mostly because they’re going slower), people are quiet (b/c they’re cold and need to indoors), and the birds and insects aren’t out. So, everything just goes eerily quiet.
It’s pretty to watch snow fall, just as long as you don’t have to go very far (in a little car with “all season tires,” like mine). Because it's not fun.
So because it’s the end of February (two blizzards, thunder snow and countless snow showers later) and I haven’t seen the sun in four days, I can honestly say that I’m ready for winter to be over. Wake me when it’s April.
***Photos by me
My 2011 bucket list
In case you don’t already know, I made my friends’ Valentine’s Day card this year. I spent about six hours in a span of two day pouring all of my creativity into the cards, and I’m very proud of them. But most of you don’t know why.
Here is what I wrote about it in the Jan. 6 edition of Ottawa Delivered.
“1. Sleep in a tent — I had very bad allergies as a child and my mom was a nurse, so I’ve never slept outside in a tent or at an overnight camp. Plus, my dad is not a Boy Scout or a hunter, and neither is my boyfriend. Maybe my boyfriend and I will attempt an overnight stay in one of the many local parks, but I doubt it. So I plan to buy a tent and set it up in the back yard. Hey, I’m all for baby steps.
3. Make my own Valentine’s Day cards — I don’t think this one is very shocking. My valentines in school were all store-bought. But I made my own Christmas cards this year, so why not tackle the holiday I despise the most for the sake of tackling a resolution?
4. Utilize a public laundromat — Another one that surprised Greta. Excuse me for always having access to a clothes washer and dryer. Technically, my apartment even has a washer and dryer on site that is shared among eight apartment residents, but I’ll let Greta take me to the one she goes to. It’s called staff bonding. That’s how we roll.
5. Ice skate — I’m not sure how I missed this one, honestly. My friends had ice-skating parties when I grew up, but I always seemed to miss them. But since I now live in the frozen north, I’m pretty sure I can’t get away this one for very long.”
So, the goal of my Valentines-making-adventure was to create childish-looking Valentines to make up for never making them in school. Just for the record, my “Dinosaurs” Valentine’s Day cards were a hit in school, even if they came from Eckerds (pre CVS Pharmacy where I grew up).
I wrote an original poem that was hand-written on each of the 10 cards to express my feelings towards the holiday. “Roses are red, violets are blue. It’s Valentine’s Day … Whooptie-freakin-do. Because just once a year is really not the way. So I hope you know I love you, each and every day.”
Yea, I think they’re bad ass, and I’m pretty proud of them.
Another of my resolutions goals that I can scratch off the list is visiting a laundromat. I went with Greta two weeks ago and documented our adventure. It wasn’t that exciting. It was really cold that day, and we were both bitching about work. But I can say I’ve been to one now, and that’s all I wanted.
That’s all. Nothing fancy.
***Photos by me
