Santa Fe Post #4 Moving to NM   Leave a comment

Since deciding to move, and not writing my weekly newspaper column, my head seems  filled with just moving details – finding a buyer, finding a job, getting boxes, seeing friends and family, scheduling a truck, changing the oil in my car, last haircut with the perfect stylist, calling the vet about Prozac for  my dog, transferring accounts etc. I can’t seem to write anything that matters or even read the latest book I bought, “The Map of Love” by Ahdaf Soueif. It’s a good story if I could concentrate on it. Other than Obama producing his birth certificate,  kidding, right? And hearing the celebrations that Bin Laden is dead, I can’t settle down to hear the news, and just felt sadness not elation over how many people have died since the U.S. used Bin Laden’s evil work as an excuse to attack a different country than Bin Laden’s.  Why not send special forces to seek out Bin Laden instead of causing how many deaths of young men and woman, how many families have no father or mother, how many head injuries and traumatized people have forever altered lives, how many people have been imprisoned without trial, how many tortured, how many Iraqi and Afghan children have known nothing but war to base their view of how the world works and conclude that revenge is a normal life goal. Creating terrorists is easy.  Just kill someone’s brother or children’s parents and call yourself liberators. Moving details cause less anxiety than the news.

Moving continues to cause odd memories to surface. This morning as I packed books, I thought of a young girl in Washington State.  I met her shortly after moving there. I think I was with her just one afternoon, can’t remember her name, but her face remains fresh in my mind. Cute kid with chin length dyed-blonde hair, dark roots, dark eyeliner, tough talker. She coughed up blood and clutched her stomach, said she had an ulcer and it seems there was no mother or person to phone for help. I always had someone to call. I think she may have been in a foster home. It may be good that we don’t know what happens to all the people we’ve met. Too many stories would weigh heavy.

When my mother was 38 years old and I was 10 she told me that she was going to have a baby. “You are? Oh, good!” I said.

She smiled at me,  “I knew you would be the person who would be happy at this news.”In the previous two years, my mother had a full-term  stillborn baby boy and before that my handsome little red-haired brother was born when I was eight.  I can’t blame my grandmother for not being excited that her daughter who already had four kids and not much money or security was adding to the mix. I think my mother did not want the red-haired toddler to grow up without a close-in-age sibling. Our oldest brother would be 17 years when the baby was born, my sister 15, I would be 11 and the little red-head would be three. It’s good to have someone in your family stand behind you even if your decision may not always be what they think is a wise choice and even if your support is just a ten year old’s enthusiasm.

When talking with my daughter about my move to Santa Fe, she said, “I feel like you will finally be living the life you were meant to live.”

Is it possible to not live the life you were meant to? Our gut wins out, good or bad, right or wrong, the gut wins. Choices trick us up, but the gut rules. Maybe following your gut results in following your bliss. My mother had no regrets over her last three pregnancies. She wished that Baby Thomas had lived.  But against others seemingly better judgment, she had another cherished baby. She followed her gut with no regrets, hard times and all, because why not?


Posted May 4, 2011 by strongjacksonpoet54 in Uncategorized

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