The Reason

You probably know that I’m a librarian-currently without a library (I have the degree and everything.)  I talk about it all the time.  Talk about programs I held-Have I told you that we made snow globes? It was Awesome! I still get excited just thinking about it.

I think I was always going to be a librarian.  I’ve loved books since I was old enough to read (I used to steal my brother’s Encyclopedia Brown books) and loved to tell anyone who would listen about this great book I’d just read—I still do that.  Now I also push the audios that you can download from your library’s website.

What you may not know is that I’m also an artist.  When my Dad died I decided to go back to school-he was so disappointed that I had dropped out.  I started slow at the local community college-made up some of the credits I failed (getting back financial aid) and went to Berea to finish college.  I jumped in head first into Art.  I found sculpture long ago and really wanted to learn how. In my senior year at Berea I met Derrick; he was in all my art classes (I had a huge crush on him) and my friends kind of absorbed him into our group.  Because of Derrick, I met Edith (she and her husband at the time were sharing a house with D.)  They used to have game nights every now and then.  D would invite people from Berea and Edith would invite people from University of Kentucky’s School of Library and Information Science.  It wasn’t long before Edith recognized me for what I was—a born librarian.  It didn’t take much to lead me into the MLS program.

Long story short I spent some time at an Art library-where I met some people in the art world. Had some shows, sold some art.  Switched to a public library (I missed the variety of topics) and slowed down with the art.  It’s hard to sculpt stone without a studio.  When I was in Cincinnati, I tried to work out of my garage and it worked for a time but there were so many other things I had to do like paint my bedroom and mow the lawn. I got out of the habit of sculpting.  Oh, I still made stuff: crafts, barrettes and knitted stuff; I just wasn't working the hammer and chisel.  Until someone very recently reminded me that I like to sculpt and that some people like my work enough to pay for it.

So today when one of my very kind and generous neighbors took cake of the lawn so I wouldn't have to, I got myself organized and spent some time sculpting on a piece I started over 3 years ago.

You may not have recognized it from my tale above but fate likes to show me things and push me places.  Or to put it another way…Everything happens for a Reason.

I've been struggling to find The Reason for some stuff that happened a couple of years ago.  Is The Reason supposed to be a renewed perspective on life?  Reconnecting with people from home?  Learning to appreciate what I do have?  Picking up my sculpture tools again?  All of those have happened… mostly.

So I've been exploring myself (get your mind out of the gutter) while I look for that library job, watching for The Reason I’m here.  Have I missed the sign?  Then I realized one day that it may not be MY Reason.  Maybe I’m here because someone else needs me to be here.  Maybe it’s not all about me.

I’m also wondering if I will know when I've said or done the thing.  Will I know that I've found The Reason? Or will I have to wait until fate pushes me again?
I hate when fate pushes me-it doesn't usually go well.

June is a Terrible Month.

For the last several years, June has been a notoriously bad month for me.  Let me go back to the beginning. 

I was living in Louisville as a college dropout.  A friend and I were sharing a crappy one-bedroom walk-up on Taylor Blvd.  She got the bedroom because “It [was her] apartment” she was just letting me live there. It was true, her name was on the lease, but I paid half the rent.   I worked about 4 blocks away at a little gas station (where I got held-twice-jerks.)

I was 21, and like I said the other day, had the bottom half of my head shaved; I would pull the rest- dyed black-back into a barrette at my crown, of course.  I wore lot of black-basically I was Goth before it was called Goth- funky jewelry, makeup and all. 

I drove the afore mentioned 1979 AMC Spirit-I loved that car.  Went to Rocky Horror-in costume, drank gallons of coffee nightly with friends at Denny’s, played Magic The Gathering and hung out with friends a lot.  I basically lived a carefree existence-no longer a child but not quite an adult.  Then…

In the beginning of June 1994, my Dad died unexpectedly-it had to do with a heart problem that they found when he was in High School-doesn’t matter.  I was caught complete off guard, because quite honestly with Mom being a Brittle Diabetic, I always expected her to pass first (soo many health problems.)

My beloved AMC Spirit had died and I had no way to get home.  My friend Lori (hi Lori) came home from college to make sure I was okay and take me to my brother’s in Lexington so I could ride the rest of the way with him.  The rest of my family members who passed in June of various years were all elderly.  That’s not to say that they were expected, but they were less of a shock.  

I was a mess for the first year… sullen, sarcastic and bitchy- like I am now but far less fun because I cried a lot.  Dad looked like Santa Clause, so the Christmas in July commercials broke my heart.  The first Christmas without him was hard-we sat arround drinking and "decorating" the tree.  The lights and garland stayed bundled and were tossed into the branches and an empty can served as tree topper.  We laughed and cried and we got through it.

I moved back to live with Mom to finish teaching her and my sister how to drive-it’s hard to get anywhere here without driving.  I took classes at the local Community College, because I knew he wanted me to and because I wanted it.  Then after that year I went away to college at Berea then on to Lexington for more schooling. 

Each year day-by-day I would get a little better till out of nowhere, I would be reminded and have a mini breakdown; I remember being in the Design studio at Berea waiting for class to start while one of my friends told me something his Dad said or did that upset him.  I reminded him that he should appreciate his Dad while he had him and that he was just doing his job. Then the tears welled and I couldn’t push them back.  It’s the moments when I’m not expecting it that I get the sucker punch to the gut.  Most of the time I’m fine and can talk about him and tell stories, but I don’t talk about him being dead-it makes me cry. (Don’t worry and rush to call me-by the time you read this I’ll be back to fine.) 

So, there the grief is, lurking behind the everyday, just waiting for its turn to ride the Merry-go-round.  I always expect that grief to make its appearance during the first of June and hang out for a week.  Well, that didn’t happen this year.  I was going through the motions of the everyday when I realized it was half way through June and didn’t have my usual “OMG! It’s June!” moment. I didn't prepare for the depression and crying, get extra tissues, chocolate and anything else I might need.

After realizing that I had forgotten to wait for the sadness to overcome me, I was filled with guilt.  I know I shouldn’t.  I should be living my life and enjoying what I have, but I can’t help it.  Inside I’m a very sensitive person so I feel deeply. 

It has been 18 years and more than a week, and I think I might be getting past this grief-next I get to work on the guilt for not feeling the grief as much.