Every day is a winding road. I get a little bit closer.*
Monday. Monday morning. Some Mondays I’m rollicking with energy after a somewhat decent sleep or sleeps from the weekend. Other Mondays are simply: Monday. Like today. I seemed to be running a marathon all night in my head, dreaming of this person and that person, feeling emotions that I cannot put into words but you know the ones, hidden Freudian thoughts popping out here, there, and everywhere. This, intermingled with two trips to my backyard in the ohsodark hours so that my poor dog, Percy, who is having an increasingly difficult time with pottying, could relieve himself. (I just found out a week ago that he more than likely has a disease called “Cushings Disease”, and this is one of the symptoms-bugger.) Then, waking at my usual 5:00AM to feed both pups (Percy the Grandpa, Louisy the Grandma), get coffee ready, make Maycee’s lunch, then head back to bed for what feels like two minutes but is really a full hour of additional sleep before my alarm goes off at 6:30. Whew. Nope, the energy wasn’t flowin’ this morning.
However, I had a particularly neato day to look forward to: I was meeting with the pastor from the local church that I plan to check out once Maycee begins school here in town. I’ve known Pastor A. for over a year. I visited his church quite a few instances prior thinking I was ready to leave where I’m at now. Hmmmmm, but in typical Kasey fashion….”…nnnnooooooo, you can’t make me…..nooooooooooo……God……nooooooooooo…….I’m not ready yet….. nooooooooo!” I changed my mind and decided that since Maycee was still going to school in the same city as my home church, we’d stay put. The congregation had been there for me during that horrific period during which I had to literally rebuild my entire life from dishes and water hoses up to being able to make it through a day without feeling like killing myself. The man I mentioned in earlier blogs whom I sold my former life and livelyhood and moved up to the Central Coast to be with who ultimately put us through hell in the household. This is the church family that had my back, as we don’t tend to think perhaps the righteous can; they made sure this person would not bother me or my daughter, gave me advice, helped me get what few belongings I could out of the said household. You name it, they did it. They didn’t hold back their own emotions towards this person, either-right or wrong-and I didn’t have to suppress mine. If I had any slight remaining doubt or lingering thoughts about “religious intentions”, my church put those to rest. I wasn’t ready to leave them, not then.
Today, I met with Pastor A. He is a jovial dude. And, yes, he is a dude. A young man, married, with two sons, and he is real. REAL. No B.S. but all pastor. He wears blue jeans, hooded sweatshirts, and sandals (no socks). He drives what could be construed as an archaic Mercedes Benz wagon; he confessed, over 300,000 miles on it. The engergizer bunnies of vehicles. I connected with him a year ago, and I connected with him today. I told him my latest story, the reasons why I believe it is now time for Maycee and I to “move into the neighborhood”. He will be there for us, and so will the new church. He has some ideas, too, of how I can bridge the gap between our two places of worship so that I don’t have to leave my church behind completely. He even has a “surrogate” grandma and grandpa in mind to meet Maycee and me who live right here in our mobile home park, along with two other families. Right here. Fabulous. We had fun catching up over burros-hey, talk to the restaurant owner, that’s how they were listed on the menu! A little over an hour later, while heading back to work, I felt calm. I felt some more peace settling in my soul. Change. It’s a word I tend to grapple with and wear in “Kasey” fashion often, but this change, it feels right. Like the dots are FINALLY connecting.
Back at my office, I get in and sit down to my computer. I open my email. Nothing different, nothing out-of-the-ordinary. Wait. Yes, there is something….an email…written at 6:20AM… from R.M. (the MAN referenced in paragraph two). It reads, and I give you a direct copy:
Every day is a faded sign. I get a little bit closer to feelin’ fine.*