The Moment I Rethought My Life Choices, This Week...

The last two days in the mail truck have been, well, less than fun.  

I have a loaner from the plant, as mine was taken for routine maintenance, which basically means they might put washer fluid in it and will promptly return my mail truck complete with it's current exhaust leak and bald tires in tact. 

And as you would expect, the loaner is FILTHY, but after several lysol wipe downs and a quick trash run, I was off to run the route.  Making my way to the first box, I notice several spiders have hitched a ride to nowhere along side me. Yes, I killed the ones near me, I am after all, allergic to most bites. I left the light brown one on the ceiling though, as he was over the tray side, not bothering me, and honestly I could not reach him.  Anyhoo...

Driving along and I start to smell something.  *sniff, sniff*  It's melting plastic. The heavy, thick, headache worthy, pungent smell of burning plastic.  Yet, I see no smoke, so I carry on, realizing only later that it was the dashboard getting so hot it was starting to get soft. I debated etching some memorable quotes into it, but refrained.  

I arrive at my first group of mailboxes that I have to get out to deliver for, a campground with a small petting zoo.   I save my morning banana peel for the goats as it is a favorite of theirs. It was so hot that all but one wouldn't come out of their house, and the one that was lounging on the picnic table four feet from me wouldn't even get up to meet me at the fence. 

Lazy bastard.

Wait.  

I take it back. 

I would also be totally laying on the picnic table doing nothing if I could.

But I can't.  There's mail to deliver and only one crazy me to do it.  

So I drive on... bill, bill, grocery flyer, package... box to box... until...

The three day old road kill. 

I hold my breath upon the approach, but the bread line of traffic to reenter the road forces me to inhale at an inopportune time.  Which is when I noticed it.  No smell.  None.  No flies either. I think the sun has actually cooked the raccoon's insides. So gross.  And yet, scientific.  

Moving on...

My brand new scanner overheats.  The buttons no longer work.  Which means I can no longer accurately pinpoint where everyone's package lands on their property, or get signatures when required.  Unfortunately, management can still track my whereabouts with it, so I carry on...

...and that's when it happens.  

That spider that wasn't bothering me before?  

Falls from the ceiling of the truck into my mail.

Dead.

As a doornail.

Right there.

One minute doing his spider-y business, swinging from his web, then.... plop!

Spiders survive nuclear war, floods, fire. And yet, the heat of the mail truck did him in.

And I still had three hours to go.

Lord help me.  

13 years and 2 months until retirement...

How's The Weather? Now With Pictures!

The August heat here has been unbearable.

The mail truck is like an E-Z Bake oven, powered by the sun, and after 4-5 hours, I am cooked beyond perfection.  By week two it felt more like a portable crematorium.  I swear one of these days they will open the door and find nothing but a pile of ashes in the driver's seat. Needless to say, it sucks the life out of me, and when I get home there's not much energy for anything other than a shower.  Truthfully, it's not even the heat really, but the humidity. And with dew points in the high 70's, it's, as the weathermen say, air you can wear.

The past few days though, we caught a bit of a break in the humidity, and things started coming together in a more normal fashion.  Thursday I got home early and with both boys working, the husband and I had not much to do but go for ice cream.

On the way home he decided to "swing by" to see a friend of ours who was photographing a sunset at at the beach.  Now if we lived in a landlocked state, the beach, would be easy to find.  But no, we live near 559.6 miles of beaches, according to Google.  So finding said friend on the "beach" could be difficult.  If only we had some sort of hand held device that could let him know we were coming, or even where he was.  But no, husband just had to go old school. So we drove for about 25 minutes until we came to a cross street and just like in the movies, there he was, zipping by us on his way to the beach. 

The look on his face was priceless as we finally caught up with him in the parking lot.  The beach was all but empty.  Just a few stragglers from the day.  Clearly someone had spent some extensive time here today though...

I love the shell "stonework" and the feather barricade.  It feels as though the castle might be impenetrable.

The sun was ridiculously bright, but eventually started to go down...

There are still a ton of boats in the water.  I suspect with the heat wave no one will pull them out until well after Labor day this year. From the foot prints in the sand, I suspect this beach has a well used volleyball net as well...

And because I'm a dork, I had to see if I could get the sun in the hole in the post.

Turns out I could.  And now I'm just a teeny bit blind...

The sun kept going... and going....

I was so quiet. 

And buggy.

I bailed out shortly before dark, as I am tasty, and the bugs had officially claimed me as their own.   The moon was equally as beautiful last night, with Mars in clear view down to it's right.  I have no pictures of that though since at the time I wasn't sure if it was Mars or just residual retinal burn from the post picture.  It was Mars.

Living in New England we complain about the weather.  It's in our dna, like not pronouncing the letter r, and including Dunkin Donuts as a food group. 

But last night there was not much to complain about.

Except maybe the bug bites.

Wordless...

My Great Aunt is 91. She lives in a convent and is in failing health.  Everyday when the phone rings at an unusual time, I get a twinge in my belly that it is my mother with the news that she has past. 

And yet, that call has not come.

But the phone has rung.

To tell me that a friend of ours has had a massive heart attack while on his way to work.  He has four kids under 13.  No wild sorted history of shenanigans that would affect his health.  No indicator that there was an issue.  He was just going to work.  At forty three years old, he dropped on the T.  He is for all intents, okay.  He woke up a few days laster and even remembers the paramedics using the paddles on him.  He was lucky.  As is his wife, three daughters and baby boy.

And yet, the phone rang again.

This time the news was not lucky.  My friend, my co-worker, lost her husband today. While he had a history of heart issues, I don't think anyone saw it coming.  Course, does anyone in their early fifties?

She and I, while in different circles, went to High School together and knew all the same people.  Reconnecting in our late 20's at work was like old home day.  I was fresh off my divorce, struggling to raise the boys on my own, she was pregnant with her third child, in a relationship that was hit or miss at best. 

Through the years our friendship has cycled through.  We've done girls weekend in Nantucket, and many dinners out. We've taken time off when we were in different places. Last month we went for ice cream and reflected on the old days which now, seems like a lifetime ago, and laughed about how since our husband's are at that age (in their early-mid 50's) it's no longer selective hearing, but actual not hearing us entirely, and we end up in the grocery store yelling about buying double stuff or regular Oreos.

She has had a rough go over the years, some just a series of bad breaks, and others of her own doing.  But when she met her husband eight or so years ago, he seemed to give her balance.  They had the same sense of adventure and bit of a wild side, but he was down to earth and kept her grounded.  He was good for her kids, and a solid foundation for her. At the end of the day they counterbalanced each other really well, like peanut butter and jelly, or Mac-n-Cheese.

It took them what seemed like forever to get married.  Their engagement was only 2 months long.  The week before their wedding he had a massive heart attack, and yet they were not deterred.  He was released from the hospital, married in the living room, and he went back to bed.

Their 1st anniversary would be Sunday. I remember this because it is also my anniversary. And I find myself deeply saddened, and for the first time in a very long time, not finding any words.

And that's the thing, right?  Because in times like these the right, or the wrong, words are what you need.

I remember years ago, I was sitting at my desk, tying up little baggies of Hershey kisses with curly red ribbon.  They were Valentines, for the boy's preschool. I was trying to get them done so they'd be done for the next day's festivities.  This was common for me to go big when they were little, partly because it was a rare moment to utilize my creative brain, and partly because I was desperately trying to overcompensate for not being the mother I thought I should be.  So there I sat, curling the red sparkly wire ribbon with confetti hearts around a pencil to get just the right curl while my friend finished setting up her mail for the next day. We talked about the kids, her recent separation with the father of her youngest daughter (see above not so-great- relationship), single motherhood, and just stuff in general.  She watched me filling the bags, tying and twirling each one, and when I was done said "You are the mother I always wanted to be."  

Now, I have no idea if she remembers that day, or if she even meant what she said.  But in that moment, those were the words I needed to hear more than any other words in the world. It's been 12 or 13 years and those nine simple words have stuck with me more than any other conversation we have ever had.

Nine. Simple. Words.

And now, when she's going through one of the most difficult times in her entire life. 

I have none.

Sailing Ships...

Him: "I just want to hang on to whatever time left we have to do things as a family"

Me: "I think that ship may have sailed honey."

Him: "No.  No it hasn't.  I refuse... you're coming with us."

Me: "So even if I'm not on the ship, but the rope is wrapped around my ankle, and you're dragging me behind it?"

Him: "Yup.  You're coming with us."

A year.  It's been a year since my last post.  When I left you last, Youngest was a Freshman, navigating the halls of High School, Oldest a Sophomore wrestling with first love, Bonus Boy, the step son, was struggling against the tide of adulthood. It seems like a lifetime ago.

Sunday is our 7th wedding anniversary, and remarkably, neither one of us is itchy in the slightest.  We are still in love most days, but more importantly, genuinely still liking each other.  And while it's been only 7 years, the last 15 years we've enjoyed each other's company is something in itself to be content with.  Our relationship has changed considerably since the boys were 1, 2, and 8 ish.  The everyday all consuming tasks of parenthood have been replaced by independence and self sufficiency.  This of course means that while we've done a relatively good job in raising decent human beings, it leaves us with gaping holes in the fabric of our everyday, that honestly I am having a tough time mending.

BBoy is full time at the grocery store where he works.  Last year, we took him to the dealership and he bought, off the lot, his first car. Shortly after that he got promoted to supervisor, and about 2 months ago he moved out of his mother's into an apartment with friends, about 20 minutes from here. While slow, it seems that once the ball of adulthood started to roll, it caught some momentum. He'll be 24 on Saturday and he finally seems happy.  Now if we could just get him to cut that hair of his and maybe get a shave....

Oldest and I have been touring colleges as he starts his Senior year in eight days. While he will likely apply via the common ap to 6 colleges just to increase his options, he has narrowed it down to his top two, Worcester Poly Tech and Wentworth. He is planning a major in Mechanical or Civil Engineering, with a minor in college girls and off campus parties, because that is how he gets a rise out of me. He forgets as he throws out these off-handed, instigating comments about prospective college life, his instinctual decisions have more to do with academics and structure, so in my heart I know he'll be fine.

He earned his varsity letter for Track in javelin last year and continues to make the honor roll.  He has had his heart broken several times in the last year, mostly by girls that were not right for him, and once by one who was. The road of relationships is long and winding with many potholes and avalanches along the way, unfortunately you have to get hit by a lot of rocks before you learn to look up, duck, cover, and sometimes get off the road all together.   He's working two jobs this summer, and he's struggling to balance time with friends, the jobs, summer school work, and his own interests. I rarely see him to be honest, and when I do it's to ask if I'm cooking dinner.

And in roughly 80 days he will no longer be a child.  My first baby will be 18.

Youngest, on the other hand is 16, and oh what a full year he has had.  He won a $500 scholarship as runner up for the National Boys and Girls Club Youth Of The Year.  He got his permit and is slowly, ever so slowly, learning to drive.  He has a girlfriend, at least I think that's where this friendship is going, because he doesn't say much and what he does say is an incoherent mumble.  He earned his second year on the Varsity wrestling team last year, and continues to wrestle for a private club.  He works out 3 hours a day and recently completed 2 of the three races in a Spartan Trifecta.  If you're not familiar, a Spartan race is an extreemly hard core mud/obstacle race varying in lengths of 3-13 miles long.  It's insane and he loves every second of them.

He finished his Eagle Project and is now an Eagle Scout.  His Scout friends are following suit and I suspect that he'll stick with it until his friends are also done or until he ages out.  He and I are starting to tour colleges next week.  His career choices have ranged from Plumber to Armed Forces, and from Engineer  to Sports Science.  Also under consideration is the ever popular, but less profitable Hobo Studies, also known as riding the rails and eating tuna from a can. Most likely he'll fall somewhere in the middle, working his way through a local, affordable college as a plumber's apprentice, and then getting a job working for Spartan designing obstacles for insane races world wide, thus seeing the world, but being able to afford the good tuna from a pouch rather than a rusty can.  In the meantime, he is also working two jobs over the summer, trudging through school summer work, balancing friends, wrestling, finishing driver's education, and random scout outings.

Which brings me back full circle to the ship sailing on family fun.  The husband bought these concert tickets months ago.  Months before coordinating 4 jobs of the two in house boys and the full time wacky retail schedule of the one who doesn't live here. Months before we both had a new Postmaster, new supervisors, and new rules of taking time off. Months before we all had these enormous things on our plates and we forgot all about said tickets.

But there there were.  Real tickets, not even eTickets, sitting right there on the table. Which lead me to booking a hotel, the boys coordinating their schedules, and rearranging appointments.  It was quite a big deal, but it was doable. 

And then, five days before, I was not given the time off.

And I was left with the choice of going, or not.

I struggled with this for days.  So much so that I flaired my diverticulitis and had to switch to a nearly all liquid diet for 3 days.  I considered not going at all, which the husband wanted no part of.  Regardless, this ship was sailing, and in the end I really wanted to be on it. 

So I went.  We took 2 cars.  Youngest rode with me down and we talked the whole way. Real, articulated words.  The two hours flew by.  I drove back just after midnight with BBoy and Oldest in tow.  Oldest just wanted to sleep in his own bed and I think BBoy just wanted to be home as well. Husband and Youngest stayed the night, a smart choice on their part since the husband had been up for 22 hours, and Youngest knew there was no breakfast food at home. They arrived home, after gorging themselves on the casino's buffet, around one that afternoon. As for me, I had about 3 hours of sleep before heading back to work all day, in oppressive weather, worsened by the easy-bake-oven of a mail truck I deliver out of for 5 hours a day.

It was less than awesome.

But as I think back, looking down the row of them all singing together, containing themselves just short of dancing in the seats, it was worth strapping myself to the sail of this family's ship, regardless of where we we go, or how rough the seas may be when I get home.