AND THE LIGHT OF GOD SHOWN ON ME TWICE

We decided to splurge for brunch on our last day in Canada.  Never had I eaten at so lavish a restaurant with such a spectacular view.  The panorama that is Niagara Falls was beyond compare.

It had been our first vacation in a long time and having our two best friends with us made it even more enjoyable.  Ray had gotten seats by the window and although the sky was gray and overcast, the majestic power of the falls took my breath away.  I kept thinking to myself all weekend that God really must live here.  Even though I believed God was everywhere, I seemed to sense His presence here more than I had anywhere else.

Savoring my last cup of coffee, the events of the previous day started to fight for attention inside my head.  Bruce had been robbed and held up at gun point. Had it not been for Ray, the situation could have been a deadly one.  At this point in my life, this seemed to be mild in nature compared to the way things were going.

Ray and Pam had us over for dinner two nights before the trip and we excitedly planned our Canadian adventure.  The last few vacations we planned fizzled out.  It was either Bruce getting into an accident, one of our cabs breaking down or some new or old bill that just had to be paid that seemed to keep us from fulfilling our dream escapes.

The conversation then turned to the events of the day.  Ray who is a policeman was telling us about an incident that took place while he was working.  Bruce and I both being cab drivers always had a story or two to match his.  Tonight we talked about how to disarm bad guys.  Most criminals never expect you make a grab for their guns.

Ray went through his routine, as he always did when there was a gun on the table.  The empty chamber was exposed.  “Does everyone see that the gun is empty?”  Accidently killing a friend was just not on our agenda.  We then proceeded to practice disarming each other.  Lucky for Bruce, he paid attention.

The day before our trip, Bruce went to the bank and withdrew 400.00, our spending money for Canada.  He then went back home and put it away and the money he made for the day too!  On his very next job he was held up by a very nervous crook.  

As he demanded money, the gunmen’s hands shook and he wedged the gun deeper into Bruce’s neck.  We have always discussed what we would do in this situation.  Always, give them the money; nothing is worth your life.  Well, this bad guy wasn’t satisfied with the 35.00 Bruce handed over.  He demanded more.  As Bruce offered him the change from his changer, their eyes met for a moment.  Bruce saw murder in those eyes.  

In our business, we have learned to always trust our first instincts, Bruce grabbed for the gun and as he did the hammer went down and caught him on the fleshy part of his hand, between his thumb and finger.  I don’t know who was more surprised, Bruce or the robber.  He jumped from the cab and started to run, coincidence would find a policeman just behind the cab and he nabbed the thief a moment later.

It was Pam who startled my thoughts, forcing back into the present.  Look at all this rain coming down; it’s a mess out there!  We had hoped that the rain would hold off long enough for us to enjoy the boat ride, Maid of the Mist.  This boat takes you in very close to the falls.  Rain or not, we were going; nothing stopped our little group from fulfilling plans.

I excused myself so I might call my Mother in Florida and wish her a Happy Mothers’ Day.  It had only been five months since my brother died and he was born on Mothers’ Day.  I knew it was going to tough for Mom today.  As she answered the phone, I could hear the strain in her voice.  I tried to cheer her up with news of our trip and the adventure that was yet to come.  We spoke briefly and then my Dad picked up the receiver.  

He immediately began to chew me out.  It seems my Mother’s card did not arrive in time for Mothers’ Day and he was very angry at me.  I tried to excuse myself by putting the blame on the US Mail but the true fact was that for eighteen years my parents lived eight blocks from my house.  The holiday practice was always one where we brought our cards and gifts to each other’s homes.  

Since my Mom and Dad moved away, I wasn’t used to sending out cards in enough time.  Anyone who lives in Florida can attest to the fact that they have the worst postal service in the entire country.  While I tried hard to appease my father, it was to no avail and he hung up on me.  For a few seconds I left the phone by my ear, waiting…. The dead silence brought tears to my eyes and I couldn’t help myself and started to cry.

Pam tried had to console me and I went to the ladies room to pull myself together.  As I caught my reflection in the mirror, I felt like a drowning person, one who sees their whole life pass before them.  It wasn’t because my Dad hung up on me; it was the last 20 years of my life that were haunting me.  My brothers’ recent death at the age of 28 had also left its scars on my already broken heart.

As a false smile lit my face, we left the hotel and descended the deep stairway leading to the dock.  With rain pounding our bodies and as usual no umbrella, we boarded the ship.  We were handed heavy black fireman like overcoats with hoods.  Our sunglasses protected our eyes from the constant spray.  Looking around I noticed that the boat was only half full.  Not too many adventures today, I thought.  

As we made our approach, I watched as this wonderful phenomenon started to overwhelm those people around me.  Grown men let down their defenses and called out accolades to its glory.  The boat goes in so close you seem to lose sight of your own importance.  Behind my sunglasses, I cried.  The incident with my father worked as a catalyst, like the old movie you watch when you need a good cry.  I was feeling sorry for myself and I felt I had good reason.  Separating myself from the others by thought, my mind began to drift again to other times back several years.

I was not abused as a child but something happened to me at sixteen and turned the tides of my life dramatically.  Always an attractive young woman with a song in my heart and on my lips, I became addicted to food and cigarettes.  At one time I weighed nearly 400 pounds and smoked eighty cigarettes a day.  For 20 years, I shut out all music from my life and painted and wrote very little.  Even though I functioned as a wife and mother, the spirit that was truly me was lost and I thought it was lost forever.

It was my best friend Ray who inadvertently saved my life.  While having dinner at his home, he slipped a Sony Walkman on my head,  “Wait until you hear this Nan”, he was more than excited.  “The newest thing to hit the market and its great.”  The sound seemed to envelope you and you became the music.   Although it would prove to be a turning point in my life, I feel I was just beginning to start a pivot towards wellness and the music served as the lever I used to pry off the cortex that lead to my salvation.

The next day when I awoke, I looked into the mirror and saw this stranger staring back at me.  I shouted out loud, “who are you?”  I was 387 pounds, my blood sugar was well over 400 and asthma labored my breathing.  I was 33 years old.  Looking in the mirror again, I asked myself a very important question, “Do you want to die?”  Thank God, I answered in a loud resolve, NO!

Bruce had been shaving and came into the bedroom with the shaving cream still on his face.  What’s wrong, he questioned?  I’ll never forget my first response.  “I’m mentally ill.”  “Come on Nan, why do you say things like that?”  I implored him to look at me.  “Look what I’ve done to myself, look what I’ve become!” Only a person who is mentally ill would go about systematically destroying themselves.

It was on this morning, almost ten years ago, I told Bruce that I was not going to smoke anymore and I didn’t.  I also bought myself a Sony Walkman.  The music was starting to flow again through my ears around my heart and into and out of my body.  I started to love myself again. I had really missed the music.  After I didn’t smoke for two weeks and didn’t kill anyone, bite my nails or die, I figured I had it licked.

A few days later, I was driving the cab during a Doctors Convention and picked up several doctors and told them about how I stopped smoking.  I also mentioned that I had cut back on my eating but I wasn’t losing much weight. They all asked the same question, “Are you weighing and measuring your food?”  No I wasn’t.  They also asked me if I was writing down what I ate and counting calories.  No I wasn’t. I went home that night with many thoughts swimming around in my head and one of them was dieting….

No one was home and I just felt like drawing a tub bath, I never tub bathe but never say never.  I also poured myself a glass of wine while I waited for the tub to fill and looked over at the joint sitting in the ashtray.  Sure thing, brought that to the edge of the tub too! I very seldom drink anything let alone wine but something was pushing me this day.

I went into my bedroom for one more thing, my Walkman.  Raymond had made me a two hour tape with so much good music on it, I just felt I could use the music to chill out, I needed to think.  I stopped smoking and that was the bomb but I really needed to lose weight. 

I settled in the tub and the water felt great.  I reached for the joint, lit it and took a hit.  I was feeling very comfortable as I reached for the glass of wine.  I took a sip and wiped my hands as I hit the button on the Walkman, which had stopped somewhere in the middle.

I couldn’t believe it – it was playing a song from Fame and the music and the words ran through my body so fast, I got the chills.   “I sing the body electric, I celebrate the me yet to come, I toast to my own reunion, when I become one with the sun!

That was it for me, I took a big sip of wine and toasted to my reunion with myself and never looked back.  I knew I was going to go for it. Even though, I kept a diet of counting calories and weighing and measuring my food, this addiction took me 16 months to actually kick!  I don’t know why or how the smoking addiction left me so quickly and without a struggle but I believe it was because I liked smoking pot and couldn’t smoke cigarettes too! It had to be either or.

When you give up two heavy duty addictions you feel like you should win the lottery of life.  Well, I had 10 years of the most horrendous bad luck you can imagine.  I worked 12 hours a day, 6 days a week and 8 hours on Sunday and always under considerable amounts of stress but I had no choice.  I needed to keep my children’s heads above water and keep our family together.   

Bruce was a heavy gambler and didn’t stop until we had lost almost everything.  When he did stop he was tested with 8 accidents in ten years, none of which were his fault. We lost so much more money.  I felt like I was being tortured slowly.  Still, I maintained a 250 pound weight loss and didn’t smoke.

I tried to fight back as much as I could.  I wanted to learn to play the piano and could not afford to rent one, let alone buy one.  So, I taught myself to play piano on a piece of cardboard that I designed to mimic the keyboard and it worked.  Just as I was beginning to blossom, my world was caving in.

We lost our house and our cab and then with more heartache and expense bought them back.  I was going out of my mind. I suffered for 18 years with my addictions and then 10 more years without them.  I had hives so bad that I took 5 Benadryl’s at once as soon as I awoke with four cups of coffee just so I could go out to work.

It’s hard for a person like me to live in such un-happiness; I thrive on a song, needing very little money to make me happy.  By the time I was in Canada, on the Maid of the Mist, I was in desperate need of some inner piece.  I did not have a decent day in ten years and I am not kidding.

On the boat while I cried and no one knew, I asked God to show me a sign.  I wanted to write a book to help others who suffer like me.  I couldn’t understand why I had come all this way just to be plowed under by the pressure.  Again, I asked God to show me a sign.  For a moment a pinhole of light pierced through the gray rainy sky and shown directly on me. I couldn’t believe it and thanked God for the sign.  I did not mention it to anyone but the great feeling of peace that came over me showed throughout the rest of the trip.

When we returned home, another catastrophe struck.  The air swelled with financial ruin.  It seemed to me, anytime I went anywhere or bought anything, I was punished for it.  I was working at the time this news reached me and very close to where my brother was buried.

I went there and threw myself on top of his grave.  I was hysterical and cried out in desperation for God’s help. Again, a pinhole of light perforated the gray sky and shined directly on me.   This time not only did a feeling of peace come over me but one of fear.  A fear that God had chosen to shine his light on me twice and I had better not let Him down.  

I resolved there, that day on my brothers’ grave; to love and help all my brothers with all God has given me. To fight those who abuse children, fight for clean air and water, to never stop writing, to make music always, to bring to life all the dreams that live within my mind and sketch pad and most of all to love myself always.  

WHY ISN’T SHE HOME YET?

I watched from my bedroom window, as the wind whipped through the trees, while angry rain pounded its fists against the roof.  Thunder broke and as it did the flash of lightening temporarily blinded me. I fought hard to adjust to the white spots that now clouded my vision. 

Why isn’t she home yet?  When is she coming?  I prayed the answer would be soon.

As the flash of yet another lightening bolt lit the sky, the darkness of my room became evident.  Somewhere, the lightening had met with resistance and created the dark emptiness that surrounded me. I groped along the wall towards the light switch and was not surprised when it did not respond. My legs started to weaken as perspiration slowly crept its way around the collar of my shirt.

I loosened my top button, allowing the rising heat to escape, while fighting hard to keep my thoughts collected.  I knew what had to be done and I didn’t want to do it.

I would have to leave my room, go down the stairs and then into the basement to put in new fuses. 

The basement was one of the worst places ever, and I didn’t want to go there.  The smell of dampness fills the air as soon as the door opens and the congestion on the floor causes need for a map, just to get from one side of the room to another.

 My heart pounded heavily and seemed to be pushing its way towards my throat.  I swallowed hard and placed my hand on the banister.  The steps leading into the living room were long and I counted each one as I descended.

I held my breath, as the trees outside our window cast menacing shadows along the wall of the staircase.  Once clear of the steps, my eye caught the glint of the gold chain lock that hung limply by the side of the door.

My mind raced backwards and as it did dizziness overwhelmed me; I knew in my heart that I had definitely fastened that chain bolt when I arrived home.  It had become a habit, I practiced ever since Mother started to work.  My fright held me motionless, and it seemed hours passed before my feet would respond to my command to move.

My savior the telephone lay just within reach standing like a beacon, lighting the way to safety.  I ran towards it and stumbled over a potted plant that lay hidden on the floor.  Cursing softly, I grabbed for the receiver. Nine one one. Nine one one and then nothing.  I tried again 9 1 1 .  

Why? Why, I kept asking myself?  My hand ached with the heaviness of the phone, and I started to cry as I realized the line was dead.

Why isn’t she home yet?  Fear held my eyes riveted to the clock, which sat quietly upon the mantel place.  Seven thirty.  Seven thirty. Why isn’t she home yet?  Where is she?  Mommy, Mommy please, my mind called out, afraid to let the words tumble from my mouth for fear that someone would hear me.  

The basement door was opened slightly, and its entrance blocked my clear path into the kitchen.  The wind and rain seemed louder now almost as if they were inside the house.  My mind whirled and I couldn’t decide which path I should choose.  Should I go down in the basement or run outside in the rain to our neighbors?

The decision seemed easy as I rehearsed it in my head; there was no way I was going down to the basement.  No way!  As if a weight had been lifted from my body, I raced toward the front door, feeling light and airy, almost safe.  As I took each step, my mind kept wondering about the lock.

As I reached out to grab the doorknob, a hand yanked hard at my shirt collar and I felt myself slip backward onto the floor.  My screams and cries were so loud they became deaf upon my ears, and I couldn’t hear them.

Mommy help me.  Mommy help me.  Mommy please.

My mothers face looked down on me with an eerie silence and for a fleeting moment my heart felt the safety one knows when your mother is nearby.  Then I saw it, large, long, and shiny, the knife.  She held it high and without a word she struck.  It pierced my arm, my neck, my chest.  Over and over again.  Funny, at first it felt like she was punching me.

Why mommy? Why?

I spit the question from my lips while the blood tricked from the edges of my mouth and as my life’s blood flowed from my body, I thought I heard her say, 

“Because”.

Nan©

The Summer House                      

The end of summer is evident by the chill that permeates the air.  Everyone knows their job, preparing the summer house to address winter is important. Memories of this wonderful time help make the work easier. 

I cry out, break, the rush to the den resumes, as if it’s a childhood game of musical chairs.  Dad produces a shoebox full of new photos; everyone is hungry to see them.  The best part of vacation is the Lighthouse and we have the pictures to prove it. 

The Lighthouse path viewing area, is intimidating but worth the risk.  It appears underneath the tree canopy, leading to the stairway following the front of the cliff, escorting you to the best panoramic view.  Island and harbor visions continue to evaporate my breath every time we’re here.  We pass around the photos, smiles emerge.  We’re ready to leave, longing to stay!

Late sun kissed course laid sand, bringing soft light to the surrounding sea, tickling the shore.  A sapphire tinted ocean with white capped waves welcomed swimmers, those who surf, sail the water or the sky all summer, encompassing the view from our summer house.

Wind reaches out its boisterous hand unexpectedly attacking our curtains, twirling them in circles, forcing them to cling to the moldings edge.  I walk to the balcony with intent to fasten the French doors, when the sweetness of melodies mixes with the softening sun, orchestrating a composition to rival the best of composers.  

Nature saturates the sounds of welcome, bringing happiness to my heart but also re-awakens my thoughts.  I suffer the remembrance of the time, the day, the end of summer. Suddenly, the wind becomes a gentle hush, disappearing as if by magical enchantment.

To forget, is made easy, as joy caresses my ears filling my soul with a renewed peace, as the serenade of remaining birds begins.  I pull up a chair as another performance is set in motion.  Mom joins me with glasses of sweet tea, herself drawn outside by the sounds of pleasant harmony. 

One sip and my hand magically floats' above my head; I become the conductor.  With inbound flight of another voice added, the concert begins again; the price of admission, free!

Sun prepares to set as dinner reaches the table.  We sit suspended in time between packing and relaxing in these precious days before summer declares herself completed.  I excuse myself, passing through the doorway to lean against the balcony railing.  Eager to funnel this landscape into my mind’s eye, I gaze at the muted color palate of blended sky, while my head rotates slowly downward towards our backyard.  

A whispering ocean murmurs softly in the midst of our garden, echoing the suns earlier warmth, bringing forward the growth and splendor that embraces the surrounding view.  Pleasant, how the summer sun set the blossoms to lie against the picket fence in random rows, weaving their way to the open gate, giving welcome to approaching friends.

All summer, we sat at the garden table with neighbors who admired the antique watering cans hung from the branches of our grand old tree.  Mom picked flowers that could handle growth in shade, hanging them in the center with containers of bird seed and water at either end.  Birds loved to perch there which made for a pleasurable lunch, seasoned with the beauty of butterflies and the delightful melody of our feathered comrades.  I will miss this, truly.

Our Coy pond although an artwork during the day, is much more appealing at night.  Lights inside make the waters diverse colors add brilliance to the sky.  The influence of fish is even more beautiful than the lights.  I count them as they swim by, more than ten now and growing. 

Sam spots me and hollers to come down.  We look at the coy pond and then each other smiling, both loving to look at and catch fish.  We plan a morning fishing trip and ask Dad to join us, our last time to fish together this summer.

Although early, it seems like we’re on a nature walk, taking a detour thru the woods to the lake. The tackle box is heavy but I don’t mind.  

Sam tries desperately to balance his pole in one hand while reading his journal and smacks me in the head twice; I retaliate, of course.

Daylight breaks the lingering fog forcing its way into sunbeams dancing along the lake, twinkling like stars establishing a new residence. Still air lies upon the water, it transports my thoughts present. Catching the big fish, Dad’s been hoping for, would make the day perfect. I glance at Dad, hoping I grow up to be just like him.  As if reading my mind, he looks at me and smiles. 

We arrive just in time to see a moose up to his neck in water pushing our canoe downstream.  Nothing to do but laugh, tears run down our faces!  It’ll be the bridge for us, not our top secret location on the lake.

“This bridge is 100 years old; look at it, built to last,” Dad repeats for the umpteenth time. Sam and I position ourselves in the middle of the bridge feet dangling between two wooden slats, fishing poles by our side. Dad decides to stand. 

Sam plants his pole in a worn wood niche supported by a rock. He picks up his notebook and starts writing.  “What are you doing,” I ask pole in one hand, sandwich in the other.  “I’m writing and fishing.” “Aren’t you going to eat your sandwich?” “Later, I just had a thought and want to get it on paper.” 

Abruptly, the sky decides to unlock its clouds; rain splatters everywhere.  We run for cover under the bridge, I grab lunch; Sam his notebook.  He reads me the beginning of his poem; I’m amazed, my little brother is a poet and a good one. We look up; Dad is still on the bridge, rain fills the brim of his hat and spills over every time his head dips.

The weight of Dad’s rod becomes extreme, it arches with each tug.  Leaning forward, I catch a glimpse of his opponent; he’s huge and jerks the line, with the strength of a barracuda.  Realizing Dad has him we hurry to the top of the bridge in less than a heartbeat, tackle box in hand.  

Sam grabs the measuring tape, 14.5 inches, weight six pounds, our cheers are deafening.  The camera captures the moment, Dad, the fish and the Lighthouse plays as a background bonus. We stroke him only a moment and with a careful hand Dad removes the hook, suddenly he’s gone. 

Turning back, we witness his leap of victory.  It’s the only catch and release of the day but we return to the summer house happy, feeling ready for the long drive home.

For our family, Lighthouses are our passion; our drive home is planned around visits to Lighthouses, educating ourselves to their histories, who built them and kept them burning during the best and worst of times. 

Finally, our home in sight we realize winters promise has touched the trees, undressing their foliage making for a beautiful carpet of fall colors, leaving only a hint of green, a reminder of a lost summer. 

My walk down the path that leads home begins with my eyes, then my feet.  A light smell of snow plays in the clouds, awaiting their turn. Still present, the sun continues casting her shadows.  How much I have missed this visual wonderland is not yet realized, until the home of my youth, moves closer addressed by line of sight.

All too quickly, Thanksgiving is upon us. Mom prepares the banquet; I arrange the table, brought to life by our finest linens, plates, and silver.  This Thanksgiving, gives us the pleasure to enjoy the abundant fruits of our labor. Previous years were not as kind but together we worked through it.

Dad places the Cornucopia, giving notice to its bountiful delivery.  It spills from its basket and like dancers waltzes across the table. Everyone laughs and sits at the same time as I rescue the last rolling gourd from becoming squash.

Sam is the first to speak, asking for a moment to read from his journal before the dinner begins. Not waiting for a reply, he begins in a hushed and melodic tone.

It’s all there, the entire summer, everything that binds us as a family. Everyone remains still, drinking in every poetic phrase, letting it wash over us as he describes our love of the sea, the lake, the lighthouse, the summer house and our family.

Creating memories in our mind, in photographs and now in poetry gives us even more to be grateful for; we join hands and praise Sam’s poetry and God’s help for making this home and family one of love and strength that knows no limit. Wishes for a Happy Thanksgiving echo around the table along with a shout for Dad, to cut the turkey!

Nan©

The Man In The Flower Market (NFT20)

The fragrance of the flowers helps lift his spirit and 

give ease to his burden, he struggles to rise with 

the help of his sisters.  No matter how heavy the 

load, he smiles with anticipation of a wonderful 

market and the thought of keeping his family well 

fed.  He is an average man with a strong back and 

a dedicated mindset that nothing will stop his 

eager work ethic.

The light has vanished from the day as he returns 

home with packages presenting the fruits of his 

labor.  It was a good day but before they begin to 

enjoy the meal, they sit proud with upright 

posture, and hold hands to express their thanks in 

prayer.

Midnight Lady (NF111)

The opera was wonderful but it’s the party after that gets this Midnight Lady in high gear.  Everyone that’s everyone is there and the champagne is flowing non-stop.  She’s dressed all in black to match the midnight fun. 

The ladies send out a soft gasp as she removes her hat and muff but when she sheds her coat a few fellow’s faint!  Her evening gown clings to her sculptured body in all the right places but still leaves the mind free to invent a few fantasies.  It’s midnight and this lady is ready to party!

Nan©

Paris Night (NF110)

April in Paris isn’t the half of it.  The night is full of love and good intentions.  The best hotel, the best champagne, the band is in full swing and I’m happy.

We dance closer than ever and before I know it the morning brings the light of day and threatens to make the night a lost memory.

We sit at that small outdoor cafe’ outside the hotel. The smell of fresh coffee snaps us backwards into the present and we know that what happened last night is real.  We are truly in love with each other and with those breathtaking Paris nights.

Nan© 

The Ballerina (NF131)

She wakes from her dream and is surprised how the reality of it has inspired her to dance the life of a ballerina.  She sees everything clearly now and the path clothed in brilliance leads the way to her Tree of Life.

Gentle blossoms fall around her, each with their own story, as she stands amongst them poised for greatness. With each dance comes the knowledge of how each step is rehearsed over and over again until it is perfected.

Although the journey is difficult, she is ready for the task at hand and the hard work it takes to bring her dream to truth.

Nan ©

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View here - 250,000 Miles

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