Wandering.

I’m feeling a little helpless these days. Now that my mom is feeling so good, it’s almost as if I have no job to do other than to make sure she eats a lot and to help her with bandages at the end of the night. Even during the day she’s so much like herself it’s as if I’m wandering around looking for something to do, so I constantly ask her how she’s feeling, ask her if I can get anything for her to eat or to drink, or ask her if she needs anything at the store. Thanks to her recent healthy appetite, there’s usually always a grocery run that I can make, but besides that, I wander the house while she does stuff with her Internet business or talks on the phone or pays bills or whatever. I feel trapped here by my own responsibility to make sure my mom has everything she needs. At night, when it becomes too much for me to handle—-when I become too much for myself to handle—-I go for a drive.

Tonight I went to Burlington. I didn’t intend to go there. I did intend to go to the grocery to pick up more berries and cream cheese. But suddenly I found myself in Burlington on Church Street wandering around with a cup of coffee in hand. I had no purpose being there, other than to walk around other people. All the stores were closed, the bars and restaurants filled. It was a little strange and lonely walking around, feeling the absence of Dennis, a presence that is always by my side, always someone solid to hold onto. I stared at faces and looked in store windows. I listened for a minute or two to a band playing outside of Red Square, a bar on lower Church Street. But, like it’s been for the past two years in Brazil, I was mostly quiet, mostly observant. I longed for friendship, for a rowdy crowd of friends. But this is what happens when you move away and lose touch, and while I wouldn’t for a second regret moving away, I do regret losing touch with friends. Going to Burlington used to mean meeting up with people I hadn’t seen in a while—”a while” meaning a few months. But now, it’s an exercise in people-watching, an activity among strangers. I do love Burlington, and I do love Church Street. But it’s always so much better sharing that place with other people.

I did see one person I knew, Liz, a girl I’d graduated from high school with eleven years ago. I hadn’t seen her in a long time and it was really nice to cross paths again. She’s entering her first year of teaching in September and I was reminded briefly of the summer before my first year of teaching. Nothing is quite as special as the very first class you have as a teacher and so I am excited for her to experience that magic in her first fifth grade classroom.

I also saw my own fifth grade teacher this morning in the coffee shop in my little town. We were in each other’s company for a few minutes while we each ordered our coffees and then suddenly I looked closely at him and nearly shrieked with joy. I threw down my change on the counter, nearly spilled my coffee, and hugged him. I can’t remember the last time I saw him—-well over ten years ago, maybe even fifteen!—-and we talked for a little while. On the drive home I thought about how much I adored my teachers, how they hung the stars when I was younger. And I was surprised by how joyfully I reacted when I recognized my teacher and how he, squinting at me for a split second, confirmed my recognition by asking, “Gina Coggio?” I feel really lucky to be in a position in other kids’ lives to help them feel so positive about school and about learning and about themselves. Often when I’m teaching, I find myself thinking back to some of my middle school teachers, this one in particular, and I remember assignments they gave or jokes they told in class. I feel lucky to be teaching at the middle school level again knowing that my own memories of that time are vivid.

So I guess I’m not entirely alone here. My heart is missing my friends who were the touchstones of my youth, who made my growing up as full of stories as it was. They’ve all moved elsewhere, gone exploring the world just as I have. It was nice, though, to come back and see new old faces. It feels like I am growing up.

Took a hike.

While my little mom was entertaining guests yesterday  afternoon, Dennis and I took off for Stowe, where we thought we’d go for a hike. We drove up and through the Notch Road, the tiny, windy seasonal road that goes between Smugglers’ Notch and Stowe, two towns on either side of Mt. Mansfield, the highest mountain in Vermont.  I’d had it in mind to find a trail that leads to a series of little waterfalls, but because I hadn’t been to that particular trail since I graduated from high school, it was a challenge trying to find it again. So rather than spend our time driving back and forth along the Notch road with our eyes peeled for what may have been a trail, we just parked and found a real trail up Mt. Mansfield.

In 1999, I spent the spring and summer living in Jackson, Mississippi and working for the state Geological survey as an intern. We worked during the week down on the coast in Hancock, Harrison, and Jackson counties, in the little towns of Bay St. Louis, Lakeshore,  and Waveland, and in the larger towns of Pass Christian, Biloxi, and Gulfport, the same towns that would be destroyed in the wake of Katrina just six years later, from the Louisiana state line over to Pascagoula. We mapped the coastline by walking the entire length of the three counties, and East and West Ship Islands,  carrying GPS mapping gear on our back, sometimes two or three times if the gear didn’t pick up a signal the first time around. Back in Jackson, we imported the data into our computers and built maps from them. That summer it was flat and hot. It was filled with a lot of silent walking from just after sunrise until just before sunset, with a break for  po’ boys and sweet tea at lunch time. It was about plotting the shape of the land beneath me on the beach and out into the hot Gulf waters swarming with jellyfish. It was about charting the flatness and the movement of the sand for miles and miles, on public white sand beaches and in the waist-high wetland Spartina bordering the Pearl River.

Finally, in August when I returned to Vermont, I was so hungry for topography, so hungry for a deep, dark green environment, I spent day after day hiking to the top of Mt. Mansfield by myself just to drink the altitude in. Spending a summer in the flats of the South, where the land didn’t rise to more than a couple hundred feet, had been more than my body and my eyes could take. Coming back to Vermont was like being born all over again and sitting on top of Mt. Mansfield and breathing deep that clean cool air was like taking my very first breath of real life.

I was reminded of that Mississippi summer yesterday as Dennis and I plodded our way up the Stowe side of the mountain. The air was thick and heavy and cold. The day promised to storm and we knew it so we went out expecting to hike for just a little while. Fog had settled down over the mountain and rested on our skin. The ground beneath our feet was muddy and dark, rich with nutrients and with an overpowering earthy smell. Back in Brazil, the land is so dry and smoky it’s a rare thing to smell the lushness of a deep green forest. The smell, the air, the closeness of the trees on the trail made me dizzy. It was a lovely, full feeling.

After an hour or so we turned around and headed back home. The rain had begun to come down with intent and our stomachs grumbled with the same determination, so we wound our way back over and through the Notch toward home, stopping on the way for black bean burgers and beer. Before we knew it we were home and fast asleep, our bodies indulging in the satisfaction that comes after a good hike and a good meal. I hope to hike some more this summer, making it to the top of Mt. Mansfield and looking down on my town from above.

Blog absence.

Sorry I’ve been less than attentive lately. I’ve been busy on my mom’s blog helping her document what’s going on with her medical messes. Although these past two days have hardly been messes. This woman is up and at ‘em every minute, bossing me around like usual, and being her joyful self. It’s wonderful to see her turn around like this, although keeping an eye on my mom is very tiring. I wake up early to make sure she’s awake and then we sit and talk while she wakes up. I make breakfast for her, make her take her meds, make the bed for her, do laundry and chores around the house. It’s not an easy thing, but I have nothing else to do this summer so I’m glad to be doing something. In fact, toward the afternoon, when she’s feeling fine and watching TV or paying bills or whatever, I feel kind of useless. So today I took a long, long nap which I needed, and then went to Burlington with Dennis for some Ben & Jerry’s and some Burmese noodles. We went to Church Street and I looked only half-heartedly for some pants, and then we settled down at a little table at a restaurant called Pacific Rim. This restaurant is GREAT and serves perfect sized portions of Asian noodles for only $6.00! I love America!

I’ll do my best to write something of substance later this weekend. I am an idiot and forgot my computer charger in NY, so Dennis will send it to me when  he goes back to the city on Sunday. Then it’ll be a long distance thing again with us. But VT-NY is much more tolerable than Brazil-NY. I think I can hack it.

I have to write this.

I am writing to document the fact that, somewhere and somehow in the past five hours since I have been away from my house and my mother, some magical thing happened. I walked in the door and heard her voice in the background, loud and clear coming from her bedroom as if in mid-conversation on the telephone. I breathed a sigh of relief at that sound.

And when I walked into the bedroom to check on her, there she was: sitting upright at her little desk, staring into her computer screen, with a phone in one hand.

PEOPLE. SHE IS TALKING TO TECH HELP  ABOUT SPYWARE ON HER COMPUTER. THE WOMAN IS SICK, SICK, SICK, AND YET SHE IS CHATTING AWAY ABOUT VERMONT’S WEATHER IN 2007 TO A MAN SHE DOESN’T EVEN KNOW WHO IS HELPING HER FIGURE OUT SOME COMPLICATED PROBLEM ABOUT HER COMPUTER.

I am eavesdropping through the wall and am hearing the life in her voice, this beautiful energy, this determination even through the coughing. I don’t know what happened but I could not be more thankful for this moment. This is the mama I know.

Please, I want to say, Please don’t let this ever end.

A few words only.

I hope to sit down one day soon and write about what it’s like to come home to a place like this at a time like this. My mom came home yesterday from the hospital, and it felt very strange to see her. Hard to see her body sunken, her skin once so firm and glowing now hanging from her bones. Her eyes are deeper, darker, wider. Her back bent forward, her steps small, her voice tired. It isn’t easy to see my mom like this. She stood so tall and strong, a granite pillar, a statue of determination and force. In truth I am afraid for what’s to come and I am afraid to hear my mother speak so truthfully about what she thinks is to come. It is not an easy time. But we manage. Because we have to. Because we have no other choice.

Today our day is one of rest and fresh fruit. it is a day of chores for me, bustling around the home trying to make it what it once was: clean, organized, fully stocked. It is a day of smoothies and sweeping. A day where five of us in this house move about each other with care. Today is a day where the little things count: waking up early, talking over coffee, reading cards, talking about plans. Dennis asks if I want a bagel, but before he asks me he asks my step-father. Twice. I cry at that kindness. We agree to having bagels while my mom is in the back room sleeping. The four of us out here together, where we wouldn’t be if things were “normal.” This is how we manage because we have to because we have no other choice.

Only a few words today. They haven’t come easily.

 

From Home to Home.

We spent our first night in our new apartment last night. It was a last minute plan and really more of an adventure because we didn’t have a thing in our apartment that would allow us to sleep other than a mattress. So at nearly 10pm, we found ourselves at Target (yay!) just a few miles from our home (yay! yay!) and purchasing apartment necessities including a blanket, sheets, plates, and toilet paper. By the time we returned home, we barely had enough energy to put the sheets on the bed before falling asleep. 

But at 7:45 this morning, I woke up and felt the need to explore. At first I felt trapped, thinking somehow that I didn’t know where I was and couldn’t get around without Dennis’s help, but while he lay sleeping it occurred to me that I didn’t care if I knew where I was because the thing I did know what that there was a Starbucks nearby and God help me if I couldn’t find it. So a few minutes later, I was out of the house and walking on this sunny warm summer day five blocks to the East and found myself the neighborhood Starbucks. I took my time walking back, peering into shops, seeing old men sitting at bars drinking down their pints at 8:15 in the morning. 

Later we bought a couch and drove to CT. 

Now we are on our way further north to Vermont, where we should arrive in five or so hours. So we’re off again on our never-ending travels. Will touch base again when I’m up there.

Thanks all of you for your warm wishes and welcomes. It feels so good to be home. 

Keep On the Sunny Side.

Never have I settled into a place as quickly as I have these past two days. Already I have: 

• a new phone (a BlackBerry. I’m in it for the long haul. It’s a serious phone) and new phone number (917!)
• had nachos and sangria with friends (with real salsa! and real sour cream!)
• gone shopping for summer clothes (at Marshalls where I will return them all because they’re awful)
• SIGNED A LEASE ON A NEW APARTMENT (in Sunnyside! Home!!)
• gotten an oil change for Dennis’ car
• visited my new school
• gone to Starbucks twice

 

Looking at that list doesn’t seem very impressive, but trust me, doing any one of those things in Brazil would have taken an entire day on its own, so I’ve packed quite the adventure into my first days home. 

And speaking of home? Home. Sunnyside. With a view of Manhattan and any number of restaurants nearby: Romanian, Italian, Irish, Turkish, Asian Fusion, Japanese, seafood, McDonald’s. All within two blocks. Starbucks is a bit farther, but I’m not complaining. Our home is freshly painted, nice and clean, and very well cared for. We’re in the process of getting rid of the furniture left behind and starting with a clean slate and a design that’s all ours. Top three things on the list of purchases: a couch, a bed, a dining room table. 

Tomorrow we go to Vermont to visit my mom. I think she comes home from the hospital tomorrow. It’s been a good couple of days for her, tiring, but good nonetheless. So maybe she’ll feel even better once she’s at home in her own space. 

I guess that’s how my summer will go: visiting home when I can, and creating a home however I can. I’ll either be in Vermont or Sunnyside, two very good places to be. 

 

A few of my favorite things.

No turbulence on an airplane.

Needing to use the lav only once during the 10 hour flight.

All of my bags arriving nearly at the same time.

Hearing the customs officer say “Welcome Home” (even though this time it was a bit less dramatic than I’d hoped.)

Hugging Dennis upon walking out of the gates.

Drinking a grande white mocha on the drive home.

Hugging Dennis’ family.

Talking to my step father and hearing the excitement in his voice about my mom’s condition today, or as he calls it, a “Plus Plus Day”.

Talking to my mom.

Hearing her voice sound strong and good and alive for the first time in a long time.

Knowing she has the determination and the support to beat the bad guys.

 

And on the superficial front:

Getting a new cell phone complete with Internet capability and a camera (to blog easily while I’m in the City, I suppose.)

And eating a Subway Veggie Delight with enough spicy peppers to make my eyes melt out through my nose. 

 

 

Today? Was a very. good. day.