Hi All!
Well, the job search is SO frustrating! :) Figured I'd take my mind off it and write a bit. A story about a soldier and a nurse during WWII.
Alexander Davidson was born and raised in Glaouster City, NJ. He and his 11 brothers all played baseball in town and every one of them was VERY good. Al was a pitcher and so good he was drafted to play semi-professional baseball in Louisiana. However, Uncle Sam got him first and Al was sent to Pine Camp for soldier training. The Army, knowing how good he was at baseball immediately signed Al up to pitch for them while he was training. According to Al, the other soldiers weren't very fond of the ballplayers, b/c they got special treatment, but Al was different...he had a car. Al lent his car out to other soldiers while he was practicing or soldiering and the other soldiers were forever trying to set him up on double dates, so they could see their girls.
Sgt. Al Davidson was in the 8th Armored Division as a truck driver. He was friends with "a greek guy from National Park, NJ". This guy was dating a nurse in the WAAC up the road and in one of their only two stints in K.P. said he wanted to fix Al up with a friend of his girlfriend. Al said no, he wasn't interested. Just wanted to do his time and play baseball. Al finished his time in the kitchen and headed to get his mail.
Billie Burchell was born in Manchester, KY. Billie's father had alot of land in town and had held many prominent positions in Manchester. Around the time of WWII, Billie left home and joined the Women's Auxiliary Army Corps (later change to Women's Army Corps) and was sent to Camp Campbell, KY. Billie was training to be a nurse while with the WAAC. As part of their "duties", the women attened dances sponsored by the USO. It was at one such dance Billie met Pvt. Al Davidson. Billie and Al had a wonderful time at the USO dance, but Al informed Billie he was supposed to be sent overseas shortly afterward. (Not alot is really known about the length of "relationship between Pvt. Davidson and Billie.) Billie wrote Pvt. Davidson a letter and sent it on to Pine Camp.
Al got to his mailbox and found a letter, addressed to him from Billie Burchell at Camp Campbell in KY. he returned to his "greek friend" and said, "The women your girlfriend wanted to set me up with, her name wasn't Billie Burchell by any chance, was it?" "Yeah, how did you know? I never mentioned it." Al explained he had gotten a letter from her. He opened it up and read it. He knew right away the letter wasn't meant for him, but Al became excited by the fact Billie named people in the letter he had known in training and never knew what happened to them. He told his friend to go ahead and arrange the date, Al wanted, if nothing else, to find out what had happened to his friends.
Billie hadn't heard from Al Davidson and became disheartened. As it was a small unit, everyone knew who you were going with, and they all knew Al hadn't returned Billie's attempt at communication. A friend of Billie's approached her and told her her boyfriend was coming up to go out and he was bringing Al Davidson! Billie was so excited, she couldn't wait for the day!
The big day arrived and Billie was aflutter. She almost ran down to the waiting area to see Al. when she got to the room, her heart sank. The man sitting on the couch was NOT PVT. Al Davidson! The man sitting on the couch was SGT. Al Davidson and he was holding her letter! Billie almost backed out of the date, she was so heartbroken, but being a woman of her word, she trudged along.
It turns out, PVT. Davidson must have been shipped out just before SGT. Davidson arrived AND none of the men in Billie's letter were the ones SGT. Al Davidson knew. In hearing this story, it's amazing these two people...the city mouse and country mouse, or rebel and yankee as they're affectionately known...ever got together. How many things had to fall into and out of place to align these stars? Hearing this story renews, just a little, the old saying "everything happens for a reason". It inspires us to believe that things work out the way they are supposed to and there might, just might be that little thing called Fate and Destiny we all try and believe in.
No one knows what happened to Pvt. Davidson, or if the "greek guy from National Park" and his nurse ever worked out, But 55 years later, Al and Billie are still going and loving, although a little slower and a little different due to age. And everytime our family gets together, we ask my grandmom and grandpop to tell the story of how they met. And every time, we smile a little brighter, love a little stronger, and believe.
Tuesday, October 29, 2002
Thursday, October 24, 2002
More "Soup"....Just warning, this one made me cry. It reminded me of my Uncle Wayne and what he was like as a child, and hope.
BATTER UP, DAD
My father was an avid baseball fan. I grew up in New York City and was able to see the greats play at the Polo Grounds, Ebbets Field and Yankee Stadium. Many a Saturday was spent with my dad cheering on our favorite team. As much as I loved the game of baseball, alas, I was born female at a time when girls watched more than they played. Whenever he could, Dad took me out to the park where the neighborhood Little League played and pitched balls for me to hit. We played together for hours, and baseball became a big part of my life.
One day at the park, a woman pushing a young boy in a wheelchair stopped to watch us play. My dad was over to them in a flash to ask if the child could join our game. The woman explained that the boy was her son and that he had poilio and wouldn't be able to get out of the chair. That's didn't stop my dad! He placed the bat in the younster's hand, pushed him out to home plater and assisted him in holding the bat. Then he yelled out to me on the mound, "Anne, pitch one in to us."
I was nervous that I might hit the child, but could see the delight in the boy's eyes, so I aimed at the bat and let the ball fly. The ball made contact with the bat with an assist from my Dad and the child screamed with joy. The ball flew over my head and headed for right field. I ran to catch up with it and, as I turned, I heard my Dad singing "Take Me Out To The Ball Game" while he pushed the wheelchair around the bases. The mother clapped and the boy begged to be allowed to continue the game.
An hour later we left the field, very tired but very happy. The boy's mother had tears in her eyes when she thanked my father for making it such a special day for her son. Dad smiled that wonderful grin that I loved so much and told the mother to bring the boy back next Saturday and we would play another game.
Dad and I were at the field the next Saturday but the mother and son never came. I felt sad and wondered what happened to change their mind about joining us. Dad and I played many more games of baseball, but never saw the two again.
Twenty years passed and my beloved father died at the tender age of fifty-nine. With my Dad gone, things changed so much that the family decided to move to Long Island. I had very mixed emotions about leaving the neighbohood where I had grown up.
I decided to take one last walk around the park where Dad and I spent so many happy moments. I stopped at the baseball field where we played our Saturday games. Two Little League teams were on the field just about to start a game. I sat down to watch for awhile, I felt the sting of tears in my eyes as I watched the children play the game that I loved. I missed my Dad so much.
"Jeff, protect your base," one coach yelled. I cheered the runner on when the ball was hit far into the outfield. One coach turned and smiled and said, "The kids sure love a rooting section, Miss." He continued, "I never thought I'd be a coach playing on this field. You see, I had polio as a child and was confined to a wheelchair. One day my mother pushed me to the park and a man was playing baseball with his daughter. He stopped when he saw us watching and asked my mother if I could join them in their game. He helped me to hold the bat and his daughter pitched to me. I was able to hit the ball with the man's assistance and he ran me around the bases in my wheelchair singing the song 'Take Me Out To The Ball Game.' I went home happier that night than I had been in years. I believe that experience gave me the desire to walk again. We moved to New Jersey the next day - that's why my mother had taken me to the park, so I could say good-bye to my friends. I never forgot that man and his daughter or that day. I dreamed about running around the bases on my own two feet and the dream, with a lot of hard work, came true. I moved back here last year, and I've been coaching Little League since then. I guess I hope that someday I'll look up in the stands and see that man and his daughter again. Who knows, I might find him on one of the fields pitching to one of his grandkids - alot of years have come and gone. I sure would like to thank him."
As tears ran down my face, I knew that my Dad had been thanked and even more I knew every time I heard "Batter Up!" my dad would be right beside me, no matter where life took me and the family. That simple act of kindness that spring day had changed a life forever, and now, twenty years later, the memory of that day had changed my life forever. "Batter up, Dad" I said as I left the field, "I know you're still playing the game we love."
-Anne Carter
"This field, this game, is a part of our past. It reminds us of all that was good and could be again." -James Earl Jones as Terrance Mann in Field of Dreams
BATTER UP, DAD
My father was an avid baseball fan. I grew up in New York City and was able to see the greats play at the Polo Grounds, Ebbets Field and Yankee Stadium. Many a Saturday was spent with my dad cheering on our favorite team. As much as I loved the game of baseball, alas, I was born female at a time when girls watched more than they played. Whenever he could, Dad took me out to the park where the neighborhood Little League played and pitched balls for me to hit. We played together for hours, and baseball became a big part of my life.
One day at the park, a woman pushing a young boy in a wheelchair stopped to watch us play. My dad was over to them in a flash to ask if the child could join our game. The woman explained that the boy was her son and that he had poilio and wouldn't be able to get out of the chair. That's didn't stop my dad! He placed the bat in the younster's hand, pushed him out to home plater and assisted him in holding the bat. Then he yelled out to me on the mound, "Anne, pitch one in to us."
I was nervous that I might hit the child, but could see the delight in the boy's eyes, so I aimed at the bat and let the ball fly. The ball made contact with the bat with an assist from my Dad and the child screamed with joy. The ball flew over my head and headed for right field. I ran to catch up with it and, as I turned, I heard my Dad singing "Take Me Out To The Ball Game" while he pushed the wheelchair around the bases. The mother clapped and the boy begged to be allowed to continue the game.
An hour later we left the field, very tired but very happy. The boy's mother had tears in her eyes when she thanked my father for making it such a special day for her son. Dad smiled that wonderful grin that I loved so much and told the mother to bring the boy back next Saturday and we would play another game.
Dad and I were at the field the next Saturday but the mother and son never came. I felt sad and wondered what happened to change their mind about joining us. Dad and I played many more games of baseball, but never saw the two again.
Twenty years passed and my beloved father died at the tender age of fifty-nine. With my Dad gone, things changed so much that the family decided to move to Long Island. I had very mixed emotions about leaving the neighbohood where I had grown up.
I decided to take one last walk around the park where Dad and I spent so many happy moments. I stopped at the baseball field where we played our Saturday games. Two Little League teams were on the field just about to start a game. I sat down to watch for awhile, I felt the sting of tears in my eyes as I watched the children play the game that I loved. I missed my Dad so much.
"Jeff, protect your base," one coach yelled. I cheered the runner on when the ball was hit far into the outfield. One coach turned and smiled and said, "The kids sure love a rooting section, Miss." He continued, "I never thought I'd be a coach playing on this field. You see, I had polio as a child and was confined to a wheelchair. One day my mother pushed me to the park and a man was playing baseball with his daughter. He stopped when he saw us watching and asked my mother if I could join them in their game. He helped me to hold the bat and his daughter pitched to me. I was able to hit the ball with the man's assistance and he ran me around the bases in my wheelchair singing the song 'Take Me Out To The Ball Game.' I went home happier that night than I had been in years. I believe that experience gave me the desire to walk again. We moved to New Jersey the next day - that's why my mother had taken me to the park, so I could say good-bye to my friends. I never forgot that man and his daughter or that day. I dreamed about running around the bases on my own two feet and the dream, with a lot of hard work, came true. I moved back here last year, and I've been coaching Little League since then. I guess I hope that someday I'll look up in the stands and see that man and his daughter again. Who knows, I might find him on one of the fields pitching to one of his grandkids - alot of years have come and gone. I sure would like to thank him."
As tears ran down my face, I knew that my Dad had been thanked and even more I knew every time I heard "Batter Up!" my dad would be right beside me, no matter where life took me and the family. That simple act of kindness that spring day had changed a life forever, and now, twenty years later, the memory of that day had changed my life forever. "Batter up, Dad" I said as I left the field, "I know you're still playing the game we love."
-Anne Carter
"This field, this game, is a part of our past. It reminds us of all that was good and could be again." -James Earl Jones as Terrance Mann in Field of Dreams
Wednesday, October 23, 2002
In Honor of the MLB Most Memorable Moments (which I think is a crock and horrible marketing ploy, but whatever), The following is my edited list (I only included the ones I agreed with, or thought you all might, with astriks next to my favs!) of a story taken from Chicken Soup for the Baseball Fan's Soul:
So Many Thing To Love About America's Game
I Love baseball stadiums, especially old ones in old parts of town.
I Love baseball cards, for the right reasons, not the money.
I Love the fact that sixty feet, six inches, three strikes, nine innings and ninety feet are still perfect after all these years.
**I Love the echo of baseballs being hit during batting practice in any empty stadium
I Love watching windbreaker-clad pitchers run wind sprints on the outfield warning track during exhibition games.
I Love a beautifully dragged infield, and a pitcher's mound carved just so with the resin bag in back.
I Love the ivy at Wrigley, the Green Monster at Fenway, the subway that practically drops you off at home plate at Montreal's Olympic Stadium.
I Love the Baseball Hall of Fame.
I Love the Minor Leagues.
**I Love finding a game on the radio when driving a lonely stretch of highway late at night.
I Love the fact that Yogi Berra didn't say half the funny things he's credited with saying, but the stories are just too good to let go.
I Love the fact that a grizzled sportswriter can still cherish the memory of Willie Davis, thirty-eight years after he last saw him play in person.
I Love batboys, ball girls and P.A. announcers with pizzazz and a clue.
I Love shagging fly balls. Still.
**I Love seeing kids' faces light up when a ballplayer says anything to them. Anything at all.
I Love watching men so incredibly gifted that they can swing a stick at a tiny, speeding, rock hard sphere and make it fly great distances.
**I Love watchingsecond basemen fly over sliding baserunners to complete the double play.
I Love bullpen cars and fould poles that are in fair territory and dugouts truly dug out of the earth.
I Love a deserted clubhouse decorated with freshly laundered uniforms hanging in cubicles filled with the working tools of ballplayers.
I Love Edgar Martinez's swing.
**I Love Randy Johnson's fastball.
I Love Junior Griffey's smile.
**I Love a center fielder flagging down a fly in the gap, a shortstop coming up throwing from the hole, a blurry-fast relay from the outfield that nips a runner at the plate.
I Love meal money, tips for the clubhouse attendants and visiting players who take the time to say something to put the bat boy at ease.
** (of course) I Love Bull Durham, Major League, and A League of Their Own because they captured on film the incredible joy and agonizing pain of trying to play a game for a living. (sidenote: try For Love of the Game for a good spouses opinion)
I Love that harry Caray was loved by fans because he loved them, the Cobs and baseball. Not necessarily in that order.
I Love bratwurst with Special Sauce at County Stadium in Milwalkee.
I Love crab cakes at Camden Yard in Baltimore - I'm sure of it, though I've never eaten crab cakes and never been to Baltimore. (It's a QUOTE. I have and have, but it's the idea of loving something truly "hometown" in a hometown stadium because you're supposed to! )
I Love keeping a scorecard.
**I Love the Seventh-Inning Stretch.
**I Love drinking a cold beer in a distant seat in a minor league stadium I've never seen before.
"These moments are the soul of baseball: The ball perfectly hit, perfectly caught, or perfectly thrown...we can unwrap the moments later, when it's quiet, and enjoy them all over again." -Alison Gordon.
So Many Thing To Love About America's Game
I Love baseball stadiums, especially old ones in old parts of town.
I Love baseball cards, for the right reasons, not the money.
I Love the fact that sixty feet, six inches, three strikes, nine innings and ninety feet are still perfect after all these years.
**I Love the echo of baseballs being hit during batting practice in any empty stadium
I Love watching windbreaker-clad pitchers run wind sprints on the outfield warning track during exhibition games.
I Love a beautifully dragged infield, and a pitcher's mound carved just so with the resin bag in back.
I Love the ivy at Wrigley, the Green Monster at Fenway, the subway that practically drops you off at home plate at Montreal's Olympic Stadium.
I Love the Baseball Hall of Fame.
I Love the Minor Leagues.
**I Love finding a game on the radio when driving a lonely stretch of highway late at night.
I Love the fact that Yogi Berra didn't say half the funny things he's credited with saying, but the stories are just too good to let go.
I Love the fact that a grizzled sportswriter can still cherish the memory of Willie Davis, thirty-eight years after he last saw him play in person.
I Love batboys, ball girls and P.A. announcers with pizzazz and a clue.
I Love shagging fly balls. Still.
**I Love seeing kids' faces light up when a ballplayer says anything to them. Anything at all.
I Love watching men so incredibly gifted that they can swing a stick at a tiny, speeding, rock hard sphere and make it fly great distances.
**I Love watchingsecond basemen fly over sliding baserunners to complete the double play.
I Love bullpen cars and fould poles that are in fair territory and dugouts truly dug out of the earth.
I Love a deserted clubhouse decorated with freshly laundered uniforms hanging in cubicles filled with the working tools of ballplayers.
I Love Edgar Martinez's swing.
**I Love Randy Johnson's fastball.
I Love Junior Griffey's smile.
**I Love a center fielder flagging down a fly in the gap, a shortstop coming up throwing from the hole, a blurry-fast relay from the outfield that nips a runner at the plate.
I Love meal money, tips for the clubhouse attendants and visiting players who take the time to say something to put the bat boy at ease.
** (of course) I Love Bull Durham, Major League, and A League of Their Own because they captured on film the incredible joy and agonizing pain of trying to play a game for a living. (sidenote: try For Love of the Game for a good spouses opinion)
I Love that harry Caray was loved by fans because he loved them, the Cobs and baseball. Not necessarily in that order.
I Love bratwurst with Special Sauce at County Stadium in Milwalkee.
I Love crab cakes at Camden Yard in Baltimore - I'm sure of it, though I've never eaten crab cakes and never been to Baltimore. (It's a QUOTE. I have and have, but it's the idea of loving something truly "hometown" in a hometown stadium because you're supposed to! )
I Love keeping a scorecard.
**I Love the Seventh-Inning Stretch.
**I Love drinking a cold beer in a distant seat in a minor league stadium I've never seen before.
"These moments are the soul of baseball: The ball perfectly hit, perfectly caught, or perfectly thrown...we can unwrap the moments later, when it's quiet, and enjoy them all over again." -Alison Gordon.
Tuesday, October 22, 2002
Hi Guys!
It's funny, I always think of tons of things to write about and then somehow between that time and logging on to my computer, things happen that change my thought patterns. Sometimes leaving me blank. Tonight however, I'm going to take a moment to reflect on the death of an apparently sweet 11 year old child.
According to all reports, the day started out pretty normal for Greg Katsnelson. Got up, did whatever his normal morning rituals were, caught the bus and went to Marlton Middle School - Purple House for a typical Marlton Middle School 7th grade day. Greg caught the bus home and went to his house. According to reports, Greg loved school. He absorbed whatever they would give him and was always looking for more. Greg got off the bus in the King's Grant development of Marlton, went home and did whatever it was he did when he first got home. About 3:00 or so, Greg's friends came to get him to play. He declined, saying he wanted to finish his homework first and he'd catch up with them later.
Unbeknownst to Greg, at the same time he was declining his friends' invitations, Richard Pituch, 26, was in a neighboring town tying up his 5 year old niece and killing his 62 year old mother for not buying him cigarettes. Richard proceeded to flee his and his mother's house stopping briefly to assault a neighborhood woman and fleeing town on his dirt bike. Greg finished his homework about 4pm, called his mom at work to tell her he was going to play with friends and left his house. At 5:30pm a couple walking along a path in the woods found Greg Katsnelson's body floating in a shallow part of the lake with part of a kitchen knife protruding from him. Richard Pituch turned himself in to Medford police 15 minutes later.
The community of Marlton is still in shock. And Greg's development, my development is stunned. How could this happen in our town? Our town, which hasn't reported a murder since I graduated from high school. Our town, whose biggest fault is people with bad hair pretending they have money and displaying their lack of poilte and unselfish nature. our town, who is turning out in drove to show support for the Katznelson family. (We may not have all known Greg, or his family, but we try and understand how WE would feel in their situation and mourn for their loss as if it were our own.)
The last few weeks have been tentative for those in the East, but especially for my friends in the Maryland/D.C. area. People, going about their everyday lives, suddenly at risk for being killed in the blink of an eye. Home Depot one minute, gone forever the next. Easterners suddenly confined to their homes, afraid of running errands, or traveling near or on highways. Easterners held afraid at the whim of one other person. One person whose whims and fancies could erase our existance forever.
A year and a month ago, two planes crashed into the World Trade Center. A third plane crashed into the Pentagon. At least 50,000, it was initially thought, could perish in an "attack" of such magnitude. Two towers, often thought to symbolize New York City (especially to those who crossed from the Jersey side over), were suddenly reduced to rubble. The headquarters of our military and national defense suddenly bare and exposed to the world through the giant whole left by the entry of one plane. How could this happen in our nation? In a nation where thanks to the kindness of strangers the Fireman and EMT's were fed and cared for, the citizens fleeing the scene were taken in, cleaned up, housed, and encouraged to reach out to family and friends to account for their well-being. Where our citizens on planes which had been rerouted, or grounded, were taken in and fed and clothed by strangers. Where a group of people, worried about their own lives and the lives of other innocent citizens band together to overtake terrorists and, while saving many, lost their own lives in a field in Pennsylvania.
These things may seem widescale and untouching any of our lives. So, while these things affect all of us, how are we affected?
The night of Greg Katznelson's murder, I sat down and was reading an article. In the wake of alot of tragedy, I was feeling pretty down and missing Neil. He always made me feel better, made me feel safe. Even in the wake of my "forceful cuddling" experience, I felt like nothing bad would happen to me because Neil was there. Now, I'm sure part of it was the "I was faced with terror and survived" theory of many people I spoke with following my "forced love", but the other part was the feeling of safety we,as women, (Can't speak for the men, b/c I'm not one, but I haven't ever heard this as a relationship point from men) feel when we're with that special person, and one we look for in relationships. So, I was reading one of many various articles and began reading one about Buddism. Well, not about Buddism exactly, but about a principle of it. (Now for those of you who are wondering how senseless murder can lead me to Neil I have two thoughts...#1 Everything always leads me to Neil and #2 I may be taking the long way, but I'll get to a point eventually! :) )
The author's wife left him for another man. He was devestated. Never even saw it coming. Someone called him and told him to mourn, grieve, be angry, whatever. I'm a little shakey about how he got to this part, but it's called his 2 question choice. The first question is "What am I feeling?" And the second is "Can I be with it?" Well, I could completely relate to him until we got to the questions. How stupid is that?!?! I mean seriously, can you just ask yourself a question and overturn feelings? Mourning and Sorrow are not that easy! If one or two questions could change the way we feel, doesn't that mean our feelings aren't that deep?
Well, as any good sitcom/cheesy drama predictor knows...when the girl is running in heels through a dark forest being chased by the bad guy, she will always lose her shoe. The next day, I found myself sitting at the computer, staring at Neil on IM and knowing he was at his desk and not writing to me and that stupid question popped up..."What am I feeling?" So, I sat talking to myself (in my head, not out loud, of course) and said..."I feel rejected and unloved and stupid for believing in him and empty and hurt and angry astonished at how he could not miss me." Then, as the bad guy always catches up to the girl with no shoe...question number two emerged..."Can You Be With It?" "No," I said to myself, "I'm sick of being with it. He doesn't have to be with it, so why should I?!?!?" And ironically, just like that it was gone. Not the feelings themselves, exactly, but the weight they had taken on.
In reflection, I'm not sure it was those stupid questions themselves. (Hey, I'm not EVER gonna admit stupid questions helped me with anything.) I think it was more the times. I began thinking to myself, I love him and miss him, but if a terrorist hijacks a plane and I'm on it, or in the building he crashes it into, what would anyone have to say about me? "She used to be a fun happy girl, but ever since Neil got married..."
Or, what if I go out to buy the great pumpkin color I want for my bathroom and after two steps am shot and killed by a sniper just out on a whim? Will I really die knowing I have lived up to MY potential? If God's plan for us, doesn't necessarily involve our reaching our dreams, but our lives having an impact on other, who's life have I touch moping and wasting away over a guy who could care less about me and has moved on and married?
If I run across some guy in the woods who isn't taking his medicine and has just killed his mother, the only thing anyone could say about me lately is that I was quiet and kept to myself.
I've been thinking alot about Erin lately. Apparently I am not the only one. All "our" friends have been asking if anyone has heard from her and when I called her last night, her voice mail box was full. I sent her an e-card tonight hoping to find the return receipt in my mailbox soon. Erin is a wonderful person! She is the type of person you meet and immediately find all thr qualities you wish you possessed...her love of life, spontinatey (?), energy, zest...it's so hard to explain, yet so easy to get wrapped up in her whirlwind and jump on board. Erin may never have a "career", "find her way", marry, have kids, or live the "American Dream" (although knowing her, she will outlive us all!), and I don't know if she will be upset if she doesn't get there, or hopes she gets to live out the typical female "fantasy", but I know my life will never be the same, no matter what the outcome, for what she is going through now.
One of the things so frustrating right now in my life is knowing what I want (essentially, not descriptively) and not being able to get there. Like the child on the street tugging their parent toward the toy store THEY want to go in, because they want to go NOW! Nevermind, parking the car, getting yor purse, paying the meter...they want to go NOW!
When I think about all the people who died on September 11, 2001, or all 10 or so people the "Tarot Card Sniper" has claimed, or Greg Katsnelson, who so diligently sat and did his homework before heading out to play, or Greg's mother, who told him to be careful and she'd see him when she got home, or Erin, I feel so guilty for being in such a hurry. At least I have another day, to see if maybe I WILL fall in love again, have kids, enjoy a career (or have one)...so, should I really be in such a big hurry to have it NOW? Then again, imagine all the things Greg might have done if he'd known that his life was going to end just hours after he stepped off that bus.
The world is gonna miss what you might have been, Greg. Let us not leave others to think that about us.
It's funny, I always think of tons of things to write about and then somehow between that time and logging on to my computer, things happen that change my thought patterns. Sometimes leaving me blank. Tonight however, I'm going to take a moment to reflect on the death of an apparently sweet 11 year old child.
According to all reports, the day started out pretty normal for Greg Katsnelson. Got up, did whatever his normal morning rituals were, caught the bus and went to Marlton Middle School - Purple House for a typical Marlton Middle School 7th grade day. Greg caught the bus home and went to his house. According to reports, Greg loved school. He absorbed whatever they would give him and was always looking for more. Greg got off the bus in the King's Grant development of Marlton, went home and did whatever it was he did when he first got home. About 3:00 or so, Greg's friends came to get him to play. He declined, saying he wanted to finish his homework first and he'd catch up with them later.
Unbeknownst to Greg, at the same time he was declining his friends' invitations, Richard Pituch, 26, was in a neighboring town tying up his 5 year old niece and killing his 62 year old mother for not buying him cigarettes. Richard proceeded to flee his and his mother's house stopping briefly to assault a neighborhood woman and fleeing town on his dirt bike. Greg finished his homework about 4pm, called his mom at work to tell her he was going to play with friends and left his house. At 5:30pm a couple walking along a path in the woods found Greg Katsnelson's body floating in a shallow part of the lake with part of a kitchen knife protruding from him. Richard Pituch turned himself in to Medford police 15 minutes later.
The community of Marlton is still in shock. And Greg's development, my development is stunned. How could this happen in our town? Our town, which hasn't reported a murder since I graduated from high school. Our town, whose biggest fault is people with bad hair pretending they have money and displaying their lack of poilte and unselfish nature. our town, who is turning out in drove to show support for the Katznelson family. (We may not have all known Greg, or his family, but we try and understand how WE would feel in their situation and mourn for their loss as if it were our own.)
The last few weeks have been tentative for those in the East, but especially for my friends in the Maryland/D.C. area. People, going about their everyday lives, suddenly at risk for being killed in the blink of an eye. Home Depot one minute, gone forever the next. Easterners suddenly confined to their homes, afraid of running errands, or traveling near or on highways. Easterners held afraid at the whim of one other person. One person whose whims and fancies could erase our existance forever.
A year and a month ago, two planes crashed into the World Trade Center. A third plane crashed into the Pentagon. At least 50,000, it was initially thought, could perish in an "attack" of such magnitude. Two towers, often thought to symbolize New York City (especially to those who crossed from the Jersey side over), were suddenly reduced to rubble. The headquarters of our military and national defense suddenly bare and exposed to the world through the giant whole left by the entry of one plane. How could this happen in our nation? In a nation where thanks to the kindness of strangers the Fireman and EMT's were fed and cared for, the citizens fleeing the scene were taken in, cleaned up, housed, and encouraged to reach out to family and friends to account for their well-being. Where our citizens on planes which had been rerouted, or grounded, were taken in and fed and clothed by strangers. Where a group of people, worried about their own lives and the lives of other innocent citizens band together to overtake terrorists and, while saving many, lost their own lives in a field in Pennsylvania.
These things may seem widescale and untouching any of our lives. So, while these things affect all of us, how are we affected?
The night of Greg Katznelson's murder, I sat down and was reading an article. In the wake of alot of tragedy, I was feeling pretty down and missing Neil. He always made me feel better, made me feel safe. Even in the wake of my "forceful cuddling" experience, I felt like nothing bad would happen to me because Neil was there. Now, I'm sure part of it was the "I was faced with terror and survived" theory of many people I spoke with following my "forced love", but the other part was the feeling of safety we,as women, (Can't speak for the men, b/c I'm not one, but I haven't ever heard this as a relationship point from men) feel when we're with that special person, and one we look for in relationships. So, I was reading one of many various articles and began reading one about Buddism. Well, not about Buddism exactly, but about a principle of it. (Now for those of you who are wondering how senseless murder can lead me to Neil I have two thoughts...#1 Everything always leads me to Neil and #2 I may be taking the long way, but I'll get to a point eventually! :) )
The author's wife left him for another man. He was devestated. Never even saw it coming. Someone called him and told him to mourn, grieve, be angry, whatever. I'm a little shakey about how he got to this part, but it's called his 2 question choice. The first question is "What am I feeling?" And the second is "Can I be with it?" Well, I could completely relate to him until we got to the questions. How stupid is that?!?! I mean seriously, can you just ask yourself a question and overturn feelings? Mourning and Sorrow are not that easy! If one or two questions could change the way we feel, doesn't that mean our feelings aren't that deep?
Well, as any good sitcom/cheesy drama predictor knows...when the girl is running in heels through a dark forest being chased by the bad guy, she will always lose her shoe. The next day, I found myself sitting at the computer, staring at Neil on IM and knowing he was at his desk and not writing to me and that stupid question popped up..."What am I feeling?" So, I sat talking to myself (in my head, not out loud, of course) and said..."I feel rejected and unloved and stupid for believing in him and empty and hurt and angry astonished at how he could not miss me." Then, as the bad guy always catches up to the girl with no shoe...question number two emerged..."Can You Be With It?" "No," I said to myself, "I'm sick of being with it. He doesn't have to be with it, so why should I?!?!?" And ironically, just like that it was gone. Not the feelings themselves, exactly, but the weight they had taken on.
In reflection, I'm not sure it was those stupid questions themselves. (Hey, I'm not EVER gonna admit stupid questions helped me with anything.) I think it was more the times. I began thinking to myself, I love him and miss him, but if a terrorist hijacks a plane and I'm on it, or in the building he crashes it into, what would anyone have to say about me? "She used to be a fun happy girl, but ever since Neil got married..."
Or, what if I go out to buy the great pumpkin color I want for my bathroom and after two steps am shot and killed by a sniper just out on a whim? Will I really die knowing I have lived up to MY potential? If God's plan for us, doesn't necessarily involve our reaching our dreams, but our lives having an impact on other, who's life have I touch moping and wasting away over a guy who could care less about me and has moved on and married?
If I run across some guy in the woods who isn't taking his medicine and has just killed his mother, the only thing anyone could say about me lately is that I was quiet and kept to myself.
I've been thinking alot about Erin lately. Apparently I am not the only one. All "our" friends have been asking if anyone has heard from her and when I called her last night, her voice mail box was full. I sent her an e-card tonight hoping to find the return receipt in my mailbox soon. Erin is a wonderful person! She is the type of person you meet and immediately find all thr qualities you wish you possessed...her love of life, spontinatey (?), energy, zest...it's so hard to explain, yet so easy to get wrapped up in her whirlwind and jump on board. Erin may never have a "career", "find her way", marry, have kids, or live the "American Dream" (although knowing her, she will outlive us all!), and I don't know if she will be upset if she doesn't get there, or hopes she gets to live out the typical female "fantasy", but I know my life will never be the same, no matter what the outcome, for what she is going through now.
One of the things so frustrating right now in my life is knowing what I want (essentially, not descriptively) and not being able to get there. Like the child on the street tugging their parent toward the toy store THEY want to go in, because they want to go NOW! Nevermind, parking the car, getting yor purse, paying the meter...they want to go NOW!
When I think about all the people who died on September 11, 2001, or all 10 or so people the "Tarot Card Sniper" has claimed, or Greg Katsnelson, who so diligently sat and did his homework before heading out to play, or Greg's mother, who told him to be careful and she'd see him when she got home, or Erin, I feel so guilty for being in such a hurry. At least I have another day, to see if maybe I WILL fall in love again, have kids, enjoy a career (or have one)...so, should I really be in such a big hurry to have it NOW? Then again, imagine all the things Greg might have done if he'd known that his life was going to end just hours after he stepped off that bus.
The world is gonna miss what you might have been, Greg. Let us not leave others to think that about us.
Wednesday, October 16, 2002
Hi! Anyone out there? "Are you hiding? I'm coming?" (a quote from mom's favorite movie! :) )
I've been meaning to write for some time, so there's alot I've wanted to say. Guess I'll just have to write more often.
Anyway, spent the last 2 hours on here searching for an old "friend". Many songs some to mind in relation to this..."Rainy Days and Mondays"; "Reminiscing"; "Ships"...but the one that triggered this hunt was "Wonderwall" by "the greatest band that ever lived" (SNL skit) "Oasis".
It's funny that one reminds me so much of him, but I guess the timing of the release and some of the lyrics are fitting for him. he was a lacrosse player at Salisbury. We had a class together my Freshman year. He and a couple other people in my class used to study together. I remember thinking how smart he was for a lacrosse player. (Remember, my only exposure to lacrosse players so far when I met him were Scott Kelly and Rex, the guy who destroyed a chair with the handle of a lacrosse stick one night b/c he'd been drinking and fighting with his girlfriend.) I saw him occasionally in and out of the training room in the next 3 years, but never to say anymore than Hi and some small talk during treatments, etc. I was actually more friendly with his girlfriend, Tracy, becase she lived with Shawna on eyear...but I'm getting off track.
The next time I saw him outside of our Gym was the Wild Turkey/SSU clinic-reunion night in January of my Senior year. We all ended up at the Flying club (a moment of silence) later and he and I began talking. I don't know how long we talked or what was said...(see the Wild turkey comment above)...but I DO remember the brief conversation with one of his teammates before I ended up leaving for the night. Very foreshadowing.
Once Spring semester started, I saw him occasionally in the T.R. and usually out at the Flying club or Pickles (another silent moment). What happened next occured at the Flying Club and involved a dare...I'll tune the next details down for the saintly in the viewing audience...and resulted in he and I spending more time together. I would usually go to his games when I could on Saturday and see him Saturday night. It was a strange, wonderful relationship. We both just enjoyed it for it...without pushing for more, or labeling, etc. We talked about our futures (individually, not together), and careers, friends, etc. He didn't like Mav all that much (this is when Mav was still a little cat! :) ) and Maverick didn't like him b/c he stole my attention. :)
He even met my mom once. Quite by accident. The week after the dare thing, I was headed to Greensboro for an interview for a G.A. Position. My mom was coming down, taking me to GSo, then we were driving back so I could be a model for comps, then heading to the LAX game. Mom was coming to the TR to get me after the model thing and I came out of the locker room and saw her and told her I'd show her the TR. As I opened the door, I ran smack into him! I was a little stunned, but regained my composure, said Hi and then he introduced himself to my mom. asked if she was coming to the game, we wished him luck, he winked at me and we all went on our way.
He was so sure Greensboro was gonna be wonderful for me. And just knew I could do anything I ever wanted. He was headed to the CSCS exam to be a strength and conditioning coach and headed back to New York. I always thought he wanted to coach LAX, but he never mentioned it outright. The last time I saw him was at Seacrets after graduation. It was an ending fit for a movie. I'd heard through the grapevine he was coaching at a college in NY and was SO happy. There is not one thing about him or that relationship I ever think about except that it was one of the best ones in my life. Every time I hear that song on the radio, I think of him, smile and my whole insides get warm and cuddly type happy.
It's funny how there are some people in our lives that come so briefly and bring us so much joy. Who once they're gone we can think of with nothing but happiness and love for what they meant to us. And others who leave and we always wonder what if? Whether they're around every minute of every day, for a month or years it never seems like enough.
With Mr. LAX, he seemed to reach in and touch my soul and just know what I thought, how I felt, etc. And when he left, I knew our relationship was like no other and appreciated the little bit of time we'd "found" each other. It wasn't exaclty deep, no real "love" was shared, and without words we both understood the boundries, limits, and terms of what we had. What is it about certain people that they can reach in, without either one even knowing it's being done and touch your soul and just "get it"? Is it this weird cosmic connection that defines a soulmate?
Cosmic connections are strange - the feeling that you've known someone a lifetime, when you've only just met; the intimacy you share with another without ever experiencing "intimacy"; the closeness or "at home" feeling you experience with another person for no expainable reason. But, does this connection have to be a romantic one?
The feeling I had with Mr. LAX, was very different in somw ways than the one I had with Neil. I never had any misgivings about Mr.LAX being my soulmate. In fact, I doubted very much if it came right down to it to label or define us, I could have, or would have wanted to, but the sense of just looking at each other and knowing about the other one was extremely satisfying. The comfort level I had with him was different, but yet in many way the same as with Neil. With Neil, there was always a sense of urgency, a rush to be together; a sense of missing something until we were together again. Then, a calm. Even watching t.v alone seemed empty without him there, as if I'd forgotten something. Can you experience this feeling with two different people at different times? Can a person have multiple soulmates?
In the movie "The Contender", Joan Allen says (something like), "Principles only mean something if you stick by them when it's difficult". If we believe someone is our soulmate, then something happens to them or the relationship, can there be another person we connect with on a soul level, or would the next person along be settling for less than what we had, because what we had is over? If we believe a soulmate to be the one true person who completes our other half, then nothing will ever be what it was with our "soulmate". But, what if we're wrong? What if we only THINK someone is our soulmate, but then after it ends realize HE couldn't have been our soulmate because we have just FOUND our soulmate! It reminds me a little of Neil's friend Brian. Every time Brian began seriously dating someone, he'd call Neil and say, "I think this is 'The One', Ave". In the five years I was there, Brian had 6 or 7 "The One"s. When do you trust what you feel about someone being "the one" or your soulmate, or one true love, or however you phrase it and not always think, well, maybe out there someone where is one more right than this one. Maybe I only think this is "The One" because I don't know better yet. Or, does the notion of soulmates exist at all?
I've been meaning to write for some time, so there's alot I've wanted to say. Guess I'll just have to write more often.
Anyway, spent the last 2 hours on here searching for an old "friend". Many songs some to mind in relation to this..."Rainy Days and Mondays"; "Reminiscing"; "Ships"...but the one that triggered this hunt was "Wonderwall" by "the greatest band that ever lived" (SNL skit) "Oasis".
It's funny that one reminds me so much of him, but I guess the timing of the release and some of the lyrics are fitting for him. he was a lacrosse player at Salisbury. We had a class together my Freshman year. He and a couple other people in my class used to study together. I remember thinking how smart he was for a lacrosse player. (Remember, my only exposure to lacrosse players so far when I met him were Scott Kelly and Rex, the guy who destroyed a chair with the handle of a lacrosse stick one night b/c he'd been drinking and fighting with his girlfriend.) I saw him occasionally in and out of the training room in the next 3 years, but never to say anymore than Hi and some small talk during treatments, etc. I was actually more friendly with his girlfriend, Tracy, becase she lived with Shawna on eyear...but I'm getting off track.
The next time I saw him outside of our Gym was the Wild Turkey/SSU clinic-reunion night in January of my Senior year. We all ended up at the Flying club (a moment of silence) later and he and I began talking. I don't know how long we talked or what was said...(see the Wild turkey comment above)...but I DO remember the brief conversation with one of his teammates before I ended up leaving for the night. Very foreshadowing.
Once Spring semester started, I saw him occasionally in the T.R. and usually out at the Flying club or Pickles (another silent moment). What happened next occured at the Flying Club and involved a dare...I'll tune the next details down for the saintly in the viewing audience...and resulted in he and I spending more time together. I would usually go to his games when I could on Saturday and see him Saturday night. It was a strange, wonderful relationship. We both just enjoyed it for it...without pushing for more, or labeling, etc. We talked about our futures (individually, not together), and careers, friends, etc. He didn't like Mav all that much (this is when Mav was still a little cat! :) ) and Maverick didn't like him b/c he stole my attention. :)
He even met my mom once. Quite by accident. The week after the dare thing, I was headed to Greensboro for an interview for a G.A. Position. My mom was coming down, taking me to GSo, then we were driving back so I could be a model for comps, then heading to the LAX game. Mom was coming to the TR to get me after the model thing and I came out of the locker room and saw her and told her I'd show her the TR. As I opened the door, I ran smack into him! I was a little stunned, but regained my composure, said Hi and then he introduced himself to my mom. asked if she was coming to the game, we wished him luck, he winked at me and we all went on our way.
He was so sure Greensboro was gonna be wonderful for me. And just knew I could do anything I ever wanted. He was headed to the CSCS exam to be a strength and conditioning coach and headed back to New York. I always thought he wanted to coach LAX, but he never mentioned it outright. The last time I saw him was at Seacrets after graduation. It was an ending fit for a movie. I'd heard through the grapevine he was coaching at a college in NY and was SO happy. There is not one thing about him or that relationship I ever think about except that it was one of the best ones in my life. Every time I hear that song on the radio, I think of him, smile and my whole insides get warm and cuddly type happy.
It's funny how there are some people in our lives that come so briefly and bring us so much joy. Who once they're gone we can think of with nothing but happiness and love for what they meant to us. And others who leave and we always wonder what if? Whether they're around every minute of every day, for a month or years it never seems like enough.
With Mr. LAX, he seemed to reach in and touch my soul and just know what I thought, how I felt, etc. And when he left, I knew our relationship was like no other and appreciated the little bit of time we'd "found" each other. It wasn't exaclty deep, no real "love" was shared, and without words we both understood the boundries, limits, and terms of what we had. What is it about certain people that they can reach in, without either one even knowing it's being done and touch your soul and just "get it"? Is it this weird cosmic connection that defines a soulmate?
Cosmic connections are strange - the feeling that you've known someone a lifetime, when you've only just met; the intimacy you share with another without ever experiencing "intimacy"; the closeness or "at home" feeling you experience with another person for no expainable reason. But, does this connection have to be a romantic one?
The feeling I had with Mr. LAX, was very different in somw ways than the one I had with Neil. I never had any misgivings about Mr.LAX being my soulmate. In fact, I doubted very much if it came right down to it to label or define us, I could have, or would have wanted to, but the sense of just looking at each other and knowing about the other one was extremely satisfying. The comfort level I had with him was different, but yet in many way the same as with Neil. With Neil, there was always a sense of urgency, a rush to be together; a sense of missing something until we were together again. Then, a calm. Even watching t.v alone seemed empty without him there, as if I'd forgotten something. Can you experience this feeling with two different people at different times? Can a person have multiple soulmates?
In the movie "The Contender", Joan Allen says (something like), "Principles only mean something if you stick by them when it's difficult". If we believe someone is our soulmate, then something happens to them or the relationship, can there be another person we connect with on a soul level, or would the next person along be settling for less than what we had, because what we had is over? If we believe a soulmate to be the one true person who completes our other half, then nothing will ever be what it was with our "soulmate". But, what if we're wrong? What if we only THINK someone is our soulmate, but then after it ends realize HE couldn't have been our soulmate because we have just FOUND our soulmate! It reminds me a little of Neil's friend Brian. Every time Brian began seriously dating someone, he'd call Neil and say, "I think this is 'The One', Ave". In the five years I was there, Brian had 6 or 7 "The One"s. When do you trust what you feel about someone being "the one" or your soulmate, or one true love, or however you phrase it and not always think, well, maybe out there someone where is one more right than this one. Maybe I only think this is "The One" because I don't know better yet. Or, does the notion of soulmates exist at all?
Thursday, October 10, 2002
Hi Guys! PLEASE keep yourselves safe from the Sniper! I worry about you two (you know who you are) everytime I hear about another "spree"
I went back to see Phyl today. I must say I'm a complete enigma to myself. :) Today was a Neil focused day, but I reflected alot on Ryan. I tried parallelling the two relationships. I realized how wonderful it made me feel to talk about both of them. I know that sounds strange, but even though the conversations were more focused on what went wrong, the emotions were focused alot on what went right.
After leaving my appointment, I felt almost as giddy as if I were in love. For a person who cries whenever she talks about this love of her life who broke her heart, it was all I could do today to keep from dancing around the room while talking about him. Phyl asked me why I couldn't be angry with Neil...why through all this I haven't gotten angry with him for the way he treated me and the things that happened. I think it's because I knew him. Think about a two year old who steals the cookies jar to get the cookies. You can't get REALLY angry at him/her because you know how a two year old thinks; that they don't think about the consequences, don't think about defying you, they just want cookies, because they taste good. In the same respects I think it's hard to get mad at someone you love for their actions when you know the thought processes behind them. For those of you who remember Ryan, you'll remember I had his thought process for "why" things happened down before he told me I was right. We were separated for one month and I "knew" everything that he'd done, thought, and had happened. The similarities in the ending of the relationship are So similar. The "why" and "how" this keeps happening to me is a mystery. I know break-ups happen, and even some of them similarly, but I guess I just think the circumstances are so unusual how could they happen to any person more than once AND how do you stop it from happening, when if you could control it, you wouldn't let it happen to begin with!
Phyl and I began talking about what I loved about Neil. I could feel my face begin to shine (like the top of the chrysler building! Sorry childhood reversion! :) ) and that warm very full feeling started taking over and words just began gushing out. One of the first things I was attract to was his inhibition and cockiness. (It was a front, but by the time I found out, it didn't matter.) The way he'd dance without caring who thought what about it...because he liked music and dancing. The look on his face....:) He looked so silly doing his little toy soldier dance, but you could tell he was having so much fun. And the way he would get so full of himself...:)
The absolute thing I loved the most was that look on his face...full of love and warmth and innocence and joy. Kind of a crude example, but like the boys in school who figure out that your armpit can sound like farting. Or the look on the face of a two year old realizing the joy of "using the potty" and how excited it makes his parents. (and no, I don't have a thing for little boys! :) )
It was all the "inner Neil" spilling out. The one who brought me breakfast to the office when I was hungover, or made me breakfast in bed when I was sick, or bought me a cheese grater from the dollar store because I needed one, but really, for no reason at all, or who got me the pearl drop earrings I'd looked all over for because he thought I'd like them and not because he knew I'd even been looking for them, or who kissed me in the kitchen making tacos because the site of me cutting lettuce and tomatoes urged him to, or the "early" days when it was all he could do to sit through lunch with me and not write off the whole day of both of us working to stay home and be together. And I have a feeling it's the same Neil who made chocolate chip cookies with his brother when he was 5, who felt the need to take care of his mom and didn't want to go to college and leave her all alone, who was homesick his whole first semester at Wake, who sang lead in a Run DMC "kareoke" in a mostly black high school, who calls his cat doodlebug and gets upset when the one he's had since 16 dies, who doesn't like funerals, sings Sound of Music (specifically Lonely Goatherd) songs with me, knows the South Park theme song and knows where to be quiet so I can sing my favorite part, who reads me Cat in the Hat b/c I was reading in bed and he should be reading too, who eats his pickle last to "clense his palate" and who gets upset ever June 11th because another year has passed and he's still no closer to the life he "wants" for himself and who fears he may be too old soon to ever get there.
The shell that's around this Neil, "my" Neil is thick and more often than not the one you all hear me talk about. The one who hurts me, himself and others, who drinks and carouses and keeps "my" Neil where he is in life. The one I feel is slowly killing "my" Neil. It's hard to explain, but "my" Neil touched a place so deep and special in me that even thinking about "him" lights me up like a suburban neighborhood at Christmastime.
This may sound odd, but it's the look on his face that helps me to get through the days I'm not sure I can get through. The days everything seems to be collapsing all over me, that face, that look jumps into my head and there is a peace. There's a couple "scenes", but one in particular I'll spare you all, but I wrote to him in a card I had Mike give him after I left. He was just standing there, with that "I'm so proud of myself" look on his face tell me, "You wanna laugh. I know you wanna laugh." And I did wanna laugh, or hug him or kiss him...but I was trying to discourage immature behavior. :)
Kare, I know you'll understand this...but I get so upset because I don't understand how someone I love SO much and think is SO wonderful doesn't see it in themself. And how the "shell Neil" can kill "my Neil" and nothing can be done about it. And everytime I try and convince myself that maybe "my Neil" has finally won and is blissfully happy , the part of me still connected in some way to that part of him warns me it's not the truth. He's not the way he was...more "mature" maybe, but not as much "fun".
And realizing this, and feeling like this, and "awakening" the part of me that is still SO in love reminds me how much I truly WANT to feel like that again. So, maybe all hope for me is not lost. I don't believe Phyl, though. I do believe there are such things as happy endings.
In FYI news:
I turned down a temp job yesterday after interviewing b/c it was a job, but farther away from intelligent and any type of career I'd want that I could ever imagine and it's about time I stop taking "jobs" and start trying to form a "path". It felt good. I got a call from Manpower today asking if I'd be interested in temping at a start-up company in Marlton similar to a Sylvan Learning Center. The job starts Oct. 21st. (which brings me to...)
My Aunt Lois is going to Florida Monday or so and had been asking my mom to take off and drive with her and keep her company for a few days. If she is willing to let me, I think I might go, spend a week in Orlando, hand out resumes and relax a bit.
Tomorrow the Flyers start their season. We're hoping for a somewhat full house to enjoy the kick off of mom's favorite holiday. Pizza and junk food galore! :)
I'm off to bed. Good Night, Good Day (and have a pleassant tomorrow ;) ).
I went back to see Phyl today. I must say I'm a complete enigma to myself. :) Today was a Neil focused day, but I reflected alot on Ryan. I tried parallelling the two relationships. I realized how wonderful it made me feel to talk about both of them. I know that sounds strange, but even though the conversations were more focused on what went wrong, the emotions were focused alot on what went right.
After leaving my appointment, I felt almost as giddy as if I were in love. For a person who cries whenever she talks about this love of her life who broke her heart, it was all I could do today to keep from dancing around the room while talking about him. Phyl asked me why I couldn't be angry with Neil...why through all this I haven't gotten angry with him for the way he treated me and the things that happened. I think it's because I knew him. Think about a two year old who steals the cookies jar to get the cookies. You can't get REALLY angry at him/her because you know how a two year old thinks; that they don't think about the consequences, don't think about defying you, they just want cookies, because they taste good. In the same respects I think it's hard to get mad at someone you love for their actions when you know the thought processes behind them. For those of you who remember Ryan, you'll remember I had his thought process for "why" things happened down before he told me I was right. We were separated for one month and I "knew" everything that he'd done, thought, and had happened. The similarities in the ending of the relationship are So similar. The "why" and "how" this keeps happening to me is a mystery. I know break-ups happen, and even some of them similarly, but I guess I just think the circumstances are so unusual how could they happen to any person more than once AND how do you stop it from happening, when if you could control it, you wouldn't let it happen to begin with!
Phyl and I began talking about what I loved about Neil. I could feel my face begin to shine (like the top of the chrysler building! Sorry childhood reversion! :) ) and that warm very full feeling started taking over and words just began gushing out. One of the first things I was attract to was his inhibition and cockiness. (It was a front, but by the time I found out, it didn't matter.) The way he'd dance without caring who thought what about it...because he liked music and dancing. The look on his face....:) He looked so silly doing his little toy soldier dance, but you could tell he was having so much fun. And the way he would get so full of himself...:)
The absolute thing I loved the most was that look on his face...full of love and warmth and innocence and joy. Kind of a crude example, but like the boys in school who figure out that your armpit can sound like farting. Or the look on the face of a two year old realizing the joy of "using the potty" and how excited it makes his parents. (and no, I don't have a thing for little boys! :) )
It was all the "inner Neil" spilling out. The one who brought me breakfast to the office when I was hungover, or made me breakfast in bed when I was sick, or bought me a cheese grater from the dollar store because I needed one, but really, for no reason at all, or who got me the pearl drop earrings I'd looked all over for because he thought I'd like them and not because he knew I'd even been looking for them, or who kissed me in the kitchen making tacos because the site of me cutting lettuce and tomatoes urged him to, or the "early" days when it was all he could do to sit through lunch with me and not write off the whole day of both of us working to stay home and be together. And I have a feeling it's the same Neil who made chocolate chip cookies with his brother when he was 5, who felt the need to take care of his mom and didn't want to go to college and leave her all alone, who was homesick his whole first semester at Wake, who sang lead in a Run DMC "kareoke" in a mostly black high school, who calls his cat doodlebug and gets upset when the one he's had since 16 dies, who doesn't like funerals, sings Sound of Music (specifically Lonely Goatherd) songs with me, knows the South Park theme song and knows where to be quiet so I can sing my favorite part, who reads me Cat in the Hat b/c I was reading in bed and he should be reading too, who eats his pickle last to "clense his palate" and who gets upset ever June 11th because another year has passed and he's still no closer to the life he "wants" for himself and who fears he may be too old soon to ever get there.
The shell that's around this Neil, "my" Neil is thick and more often than not the one you all hear me talk about. The one who hurts me, himself and others, who drinks and carouses and keeps "my" Neil where he is in life. The one I feel is slowly killing "my" Neil. It's hard to explain, but "my" Neil touched a place so deep and special in me that even thinking about "him" lights me up like a suburban neighborhood at Christmastime.
This may sound odd, but it's the look on his face that helps me to get through the days I'm not sure I can get through. The days everything seems to be collapsing all over me, that face, that look jumps into my head and there is a peace. There's a couple "scenes", but one in particular I'll spare you all, but I wrote to him in a card I had Mike give him after I left. He was just standing there, with that "I'm so proud of myself" look on his face tell me, "You wanna laugh. I know you wanna laugh." And I did wanna laugh, or hug him or kiss him...but I was trying to discourage immature behavior. :)
Kare, I know you'll understand this...but I get so upset because I don't understand how someone I love SO much and think is SO wonderful doesn't see it in themself. And how the "shell Neil" can kill "my Neil" and nothing can be done about it. And everytime I try and convince myself that maybe "my Neil" has finally won and is blissfully happy , the part of me still connected in some way to that part of him warns me it's not the truth. He's not the way he was...more "mature" maybe, but not as much "fun".
And realizing this, and feeling like this, and "awakening" the part of me that is still SO in love reminds me how much I truly WANT to feel like that again. So, maybe all hope for me is not lost. I don't believe Phyl, though. I do believe there are such things as happy endings.
In FYI news:
I turned down a temp job yesterday after interviewing b/c it was a job, but farther away from intelligent and any type of career I'd want that I could ever imagine and it's about time I stop taking "jobs" and start trying to form a "path". It felt good. I got a call from Manpower today asking if I'd be interested in temping at a start-up company in Marlton similar to a Sylvan Learning Center. The job starts Oct. 21st. (which brings me to...)
My Aunt Lois is going to Florida Monday or so and had been asking my mom to take off and drive with her and keep her company for a few days. If she is willing to let me, I think I might go, spend a week in Orlando, hand out resumes and relax a bit.
Tomorrow the Flyers start their season. We're hoping for a somewhat full house to enjoy the kick off of mom's favorite holiday. Pizza and junk food galore! :)
I'm off to bed. Good Night, Good Day (and have a pleassant tomorrow ;) ).
Tuesday, October 08, 2002
Hi guys!
First I'd like to say Football sucks! My picks are sinking me lower and lower and each week they look REAL good before the games start! :)
Now, on to other stuff. As you all know, or should, I am unemployed again. I had an interview today with a company my temp agency sent me to, but I had to turn them down. The job was basically shuttling papers from one department to another and I couldn't justify it to myself. I know having income is a good thing, but lately I feel like I'm moving further and further away from my life. Not that I have a plan or goals or anything, I just feel like I'm moving completely backwards in life. Pretty soon I'll be wearing diapers and gurggling again! :)
My nightmares are back. (for those of you keeping score at home! :) ) Very cyclical I'm starting to think, but I have no idea what triggers them.
I was watching John Edwards last night and he was reading a woman who was hearing from her late husband. She was young, probably 40's somewhere, and he was saying she had moved on and was seeing someone new. John said the husband was saying her being with someone new was a gift; like a tribute; She loved what he and she had together so much, she wanted to feel like that again. What a nice thought. I was so happy to hear that, then I realized...I want pain. :) I want remorse for leaving and aching b/c he misses me. I want him never to feel like he did with me again with anyone else...ever. so, maybe you get nicer when you're dead! :)
In any case, I'm blowing off the gym today, heading to the grocery store and then to get my hair chopped. Not quite sure how, but something drastic and different. Studies show when women are bored or going through changes or need a jump start in life, they change their hair! :) So, I'll try and get a picture and send it through email, for those of you who won't see me in the next week or so.
For all others, happy non-Yankees and Braves Playoffs! (Sorry Hank, Kare and AJ...but hate in rivalry runs deep! ) And Keep your fingers crossed my football picks get better. Night!
First I'd like to say Football sucks! My picks are sinking me lower and lower and each week they look REAL good before the games start! :)
Now, on to other stuff. As you all know, or should, I am unemployed again. I had an interview today with a company my temp agency sent me to, but I had to turn them down. The job was basically shuttling papers from one department to another and I couldn't justify it to myself. I know having income is a good thing, but lately I feel like I'm moving further and further away from my life. Not that I have a plan or goals or anything, I just feel like I'm moving completely backwards in life. Pretty soon I'll be wearing diapers and gurggling again! :)
My nightmares are back. (for those of you keeping score at home! :) ) Very cyclical I'm starting to think, but I have no idea what triggers them.
I was watching John Edwards last night and he was reading a woman who was hearing from her late husband. She was young, probably 40's somewhere, and he was saying she had moved on and was seeing someone new. John said the husband was saying her being with someone new was a gift; like a tribute; She loved what he and she had together so much, she wanted to feel like that again. What a nice thought. I was so happy to hear that, then I realized...I want pain. :) I want remorse for leaving and aching b/c he misses me. I want him never to feel like he did with me again with anyone else...ever. so, maybe you get nicer when you're dead! :)
In any case, I'm blowing off the gym today, heading to the grocery store and then to get my hair chopped. Not quite sure how, but something drastic and different. Studies show when women are bored or going through changes or need a jump start in life, they change their hair! :) So, I'll try and get a picture and send it through email, for those of you who won't see me in the next week or so.
For all others, happy non-Yankees and Braves Playoffs! (Sorry Hank, Kare and AJ...but hate in rivalry runs deep! ) And Keep your fingers crossed my football picks get better. Night!
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