I came home from work yesterday and after several short drives back and forth on the island I finally reached a point where all the errands I could get done were done and all I could think to do was buy a 6 pack of beer and find a place to enjoy a few of them. (The post office had closed at 12 so I could not mail the two packages I intended to but I assumed the world would continue turning despite my small disappointment)

Disappointment which was neutralized when I arrived home and found new books in the mail box. I had been fretting for WEEKS about the arrival of this package, stalking the "order status" page and obsessively tracking the shipment, especially when I realized that I had placed the order when we were in our old condo and we had since moved. Yesterday morning I asked Rob to go to the island PO with the shipping information in an effort to increase the chances of them holding it there or delivering it to our forwarding address -- Rob later called and said the man had written a few things down and gave him comforting assurance (intended for me I'm sure) that the person assigned to our route was "a good lady who usually catches those things."

Why I didn't give Rob the two packages I wanted to mail to my mother and brother is beyond me. I guess I saw my day panning out differently and certainly didn't think about shorter hours on Saturday. But I occasionally cling to tasks that I want to be done because I know that if it isn't done, no one has to experience Rachel's disappointment except me.

My best friend for the last two years, Kristina (and her family), lives about 5 miles from us. We're mid-island and they're north-island. If we were south-island it would add a whopping two miles to the distance but the point is I never get tired of appreciating that we live so close to each other and are such good friends. I don't try to but have always had one best friend at a time, and it seems to take me a long time and odd circumstances. I suppose that gives it character. hehe. Kristina and I were an extremely unlikely pair to become friends and I still remember how quirky it felt I was when I realized we genuinely enjoyed each-others company. I thought we couldn't stand each other. We even exchanged heated debates at work about patient care--looking back I think both of us were right. Both of us passionate about the people we cared for. Then sometime weeks later when there was a lull in our combat, I texted her from a dermatologists office asking if she would mind being my emergency contact because it made sense for a good nurse to be an emergency contact in an place where I was about to go through a painful laser treatment--she laughed (in text) and said she'd be honored and asked me if my vaccinations were up to date and what my advance directives were.

Anyway, this entry is getting longer than what my mind imagined. But that's the nutshell of how we became friends.

I went to her house after my errands yesterday and any time I go there I'm usually happily sucked into to their household chaos of neighborhood kids running in and out, Kristina yelling about the back door being open, spontaneous board games and their slightly stinky but sweet little dog, Charlie. And we usually end up trying to figure out what to order out for food so that Dan doesn't get cranky and Rob has a reason to come hang out with us when he gets off work. Last night was no different. Kristina and I ran through hours of entertaining each other with elaborate stories of the PTSD we have from our last employer, she recreated hilarious stories about working in hospice, I described the latest odd pet-walker sighting on our street (a very old woman wearing ONLY a hot pink raincoat) and presented at least one re-enactment of a laughable event that was mortifying at the time it was actually experienced. Basically our only goal is to make each other laugh, even if sometimes we end up crying.

On the way to her house I saw a kitten that had been hit and killed. It was right in the middle, right on the yellow line and it was very young--a soft gray, orange and white little tabby. It was pouring rain and I imagined the driver either never saw it at all or tried in vain to avoid it, although the latter honestly should have resulted in moving it from the road--I do try to give us humans the benefit of the doubt in such situations. I didn't tell Kristina about the kitten until we were about to leave and I asked if we could borrow a shovel. Rob said he had one in his truck and we would get it up if it was still there on our way home.  Rain was still peppering down and I don't like driving after dark or in the rain if I can help it, so I was following Rob as we headed home in separate cars. He drove slowly all the way to the end of the street so we wouldn't miss seeing the kitten. When we approached the place where I'd seen it earlier, there was no kitten--but the mother cat was there. I knew it was her. She was grey and orange, sitting in the oncoming lane in the rain. As we passed she shuffled to the side of the road and sat back down on the shoulder. I cried the rest of the way home--for the kitten, and for a mother's undeniable, stunning grief from the loss.

I started reading Gaiman's novel this morning (I have no intention of reading it in one sitting--that seems gluttonous) --and I already read the forward online so I leafed through it to chapter one. The boy receives a kitten on his 7th birthday....a special little creature who later is the unfortunate victim of an auto driver (who is not kind). Thinking it out loud on a screen here I always feel like I have to explain that I realize it's a fictional story -- but to me they may all be real and they often make more sense anyway. Chapter one freshened my sadness from last night, but in it's odd little way was also comforting--a hand from the universe reaching in to gesture these things we share.

The sun was out for 30 minutes or so. Long enough to hear children squealing by the pool across the hedge behind our lovely condo. It sounded like wind but I realized it was rain as the rushing sound started moving across this part of the island toward the marsh. The people at the pool scurried to put their things away and get inside and its pouring rain again. I originally wanted the sun to stay out so I could go to the beach, and the cats aren't thrilled if I leave the patio door open when it's raining -- but it does make for an excellent background on this Sunday morning.

Chapter two

The view from here--what Father's Day means to me.

The story of my life is, like most, rather multifaceted. So it's difficult to adequately give credit everywhere that it's due. And like most, here are many influential people in my life--my mother undoubtedly in the lead.  But as Father's Day approached this year, it got me to thinking. In my life, as a child of this Earth, what has "Father" meant to me in my life? The simplest version is I lost a good Father and later I gained a good Father. The other version that has stuck in my head since I began considering it, is that I have had the amazing fortune of knowing and loving three very significant, very important Father's of mine. Their stories are all novel-worthy to me, but I'm operating within the parameters of what this blog will allow...and so it goes. Here is my ode.

My Father, William Jay Barnes 
From the time I was born until a little after the age of twelve, I had a wonderful father who nurtured my imagination and prodded my intellect (sometimes to a fault). He guided me and taught me during all those strange, wild and new years of life. I couldn't imagine having a better Father during those years. He gave me knowledge to get through all the fantastic complexities of young life and a giant lot of what I would learn to appreciate and use throughout my entire life.

My Papa, Louis Herman Oalmann
What a guy. During my fantasy childhood, through tragedy, headlong into the vicious confusion of teenagedom and all the way through college. He taught me and he showed me the meaning of hard work, bravery, perseverance (and stubbornness), gentleness, commitment to family, Cajun food and the uncommon grace of unconditional love.

My current Dad, Wayne Hubert Matthews
Just as the years when the tricky stuff of learning to be a successful adult began to seep in, then flood, then take over, Mom met and later married Wayne. Years after my father passed away I would think to myself that one thing I would miss out on the most was having the opportunity to sit at the dinner table and carry on an adult conversation with my Father. Wrestling faith, politics, finance and social issues--and in turn becoming a stronger individual. I haven't missed out on that at all. Wayne and I have enjoyed evening conversations that last well into the morning hours. He taught me about good bourbon and scotch (and the proper way to enjoy them). He bought me my first Apple laptop when I was a senior in college. He serves as a sounding board when I have big decisions to make and empathizes with his own experiences when I tell him about my mistakes. He takes interest in my writing and talks to me about it. He is sensitive to and embraces the history of my family. He cried when our family cat, Plato, passed away--and drove mom (and the cat--lovingly swaddled and kept on ice) to South Carolina for a proper funeral and champagne toast. He walked me down the aisle when I was married and stood as my brothers Best Man when he was married a few months later. He has even surprisingly begun entertaining the notion of having grandchildren around someday (and no longer only refers to such hypothetical little creatures as noisy destructive miniature human nuisances).  He knows my deepest dreams and my darkest secrets. He adores my mother, my brother and me.

Father's Day means this to me--my fathers passed on and instilled in me how to live life--and I'm an incredibly fortunate and grateful child. Happy Father's Day to all the good Dad's out there. And to those with us in spirit.

island sightings

seen in a shop window on the way home from breakfast yesterday

my [1st grade] heart is pretty

thank God parents save stuff like this --  I still feel the same way about my mom -- but as an adult, I couldn't put it into such words :)