...and then there were four.

I truly envy those who can simply sit and think about absolutely nothing. Me? Seems all I do is think. And think. And think.

The past few days have been some of the most physically exhausting and emotionally taxing for me in recent memory. It began just a few moments after I arrived home from work on Tuesday evening and has continued through to tonight, a thousand wants and hurts and discontented huffs resulting in a thrum of upset, an undercurrent of some sort of emotional something that I can't even sort out at this point.

Tuesday night to late Sunday evening... that's five days. I can hardly begin to believe it's been that long. In that time, I've sat on airplanes and in cars, three airports and two rest stops, traversing almost four thousand miles of airspace and highway, having no real concept of how fast it was whizzing by.

Time. How strange that it seems to be this unending resource that will always be replenished. I feel old sometimes, and of course, those who are older than I am laugh at my paranoia, but I suppose beneath my fussing over the gray hairs that keep creeping in and the sore joints that get stiff and creaky if I leave them in one position for too long, I always thought I'd stop aging at some point and just be "old" forever. But yesterday, seated among mourners in a somber sea of black, staring at the still form of someone who'd been ill for quite some time, but who I also figured would never really die, I was hit with the reality and the finality of it. Yes, there is comfort for those who believe in life after this, but ultimately, whatever private hope any of us held was eclipsed by the knowledge, and the acknowledgment, that for one person, today was the end of time.

No more Christmases, no more summer cookouts with singing and hammocks and silly games. No more weekend visits sprinkled with stories of my grandparents who I never really knew. And no more of the disagreements that always seemed to crop up in this tumultuous clan. Realistically, it was bound to happen. I've never seen the family crest, but if I could design it, I'd probably (forgive me) sneak a golden mule between the diamonds or crosses or whatever other symbols heraldry is usually adorned with. I'll be the first to admit that we are a strong-willed and stubborn folk. It's really inevitable that we end up butting heads.

It wasn't all tears and sadness. I can't deny that there was an exhilaration in my veins when the tires first hit the tarmac at Logan, that I didn't feel a big jolt of happy when my big brother wrapped me in a bear hug as soon as I came out of the gate, or a childlike thrill gazing around at the neighborhood where I grew up on the drive back. We stopped for lunch at the little Greek restaurant we always used to go to on Friday nights, and Mom stopped at Mann's for the one thing I'd requested while we were in the area: fresh-picked apples. (We don't have apple orchards in Florida, and if you've never eaten an apple fresh off the tree, you're missing out.) Even at the services, I felt happy through the hurt that permeated the room, seeing aunts and uncles I hadn't seen in years, cousins that had somehow grown up when I wasn't looking, and friends I hadn't realized how much I'd missed until I saw them again. And Dad, who I don't call as much as I should and who I don't see nearly often enough. I was there for my own grief, but a very large part of the reason I'd come all this way was to be a shoulder for him, to try to buffer the same pain I saw him go through eleven years ago. Not wild horses, nor exhorbitant emergency airfares, nor pelting rain or frizzy hair or the ever-looming constraint of time, could have kept me away.

But we did sit and mourn and cry and grieve, because while life is a thing to celebrate, the end of it is, for the living, always a source of pain. And while it feels good to laugh and smile through the tears, the tears too, in their own way, are also a good thing. It's proof that what we have lost was really something worthwhile. I thought about so many things as I sat listening to the prayers and the shared memories and the musical selections. I glanced around at the people I'd never known who were here because she meant something to them. I saw an empty chair and felt a twinge of anger for someone who should have been there, and wasn't. I recalled vivid sights and sounds and scents that I'd never again experience because she was no longer there. I felt comfort knowing that her struggle was over, and a faith I'd thought was long dead, a certainty that she was with her parents and her brother. And I had a keen awareness of time. Perhaps it was a bit morbid, but I gazed at the faces of those gathered and thought about how many days any of us has left. Each and every last one of us will have our turn in that box. And it's going to happen sooner than we think.

That thought, all by itself, was sobering. And of course, it got me to thinking about what I've been wasting, how I'd been putting off things I want to do with my life, because I figured I'd always have time. But the problem I had two years ago has not resolved itself, and likely never will. There's no way to win on all counts, so I've got to find an arrangement I can live with.

After less than 48 hours in New England, I boarded a plane and left. It wasn't without a great deal of frustration. If there was any phrase I uttered more in the past few days than, "It's good to see you... I wish it weren't under these circumstances," it was, "I wish I had more time." There were friends and family I wanted so much to see, and it was maddeningly frustrating that I couldn't spend any time with them while I was there, when they were there within just a few miles' reach. A part of me briefly entertained trying to steal a few brief hours to see even one or two of them, but now that the dust is settling and the exhaustion is catching up with me, I can see what a poor choice that would have been. I'd already stretched myself so thin, I don't think I could have fit in much more. I attempt to console myself with the dangerous notion that so many of us take false comfort from: there'll be another time.

I've always hated Sundays. Funny, I didn't really get the chance to hate Sunday today. Despite how much I love and miss home, I was glad to be back in my space, my room, and am looking forward to sleeping in my own bed tonight. I do wish I had a day to myself, to relax and unwind and take a breather. I didn't ask for it, though, and tomorrow, I'll face the alarm again. The second hand traces an unrelenting, unforgiving path around the face of the clock, each tick a measured reminder of how close tomorrow is. For tonight, for me, time has run out.

But all complaints aside, I can be grateful in knowing that for me, at least, there will be a tomorrow.

Faith's Top 5 Things I Love Lately

Really deep thought #327: Life is a thing to be enjoyed. I forget that sometimes. I think we all do. And since I'm always attempting to make an effort to enjoy life a little more, I've been thinking about things that I'm getting little bits of happy from here and there. These, in no particular order, are the little things I live for.


1. Ivory Soap.
More than anything, Ivory soap reminds me of my grandmother. Now that she's not really who she used to be anymore, anything that reminds me of the way she used to be hits a bit of a soft spot for me. Gram used to actually use Ivory Snow detergent, the old kind that came in the box. And when she couldn't find that, she would actually shave up bars of Ivory soap and wash her clothes with that instead. I loved her improvisational way of doing things. I wish I could be that resourceful. Anyway, I'm not really sure what possessed me, but I was feeling a little nostalgic recently, and I picked up a few bars of Ivory at the store about a week ago and have been washing my face with it ever since. I'm trying to limit myself to once a day (I read an article in Prevention magazine not long ago that said that washing your face more than once a day can prematurely age your skin), and it's become my favorite part of my bedtime ritual. It's funny, for all the money I could spend on fancy soaps with moisturizers and anti-aging complexes, there's really nothing that could compete with that classic, clean scent.



2. Fitness.
I'd be the last person in the world to say that I love working out. I still can't really wrap my head around people who spend half their lives in the gym. That said, a couple of months ago, I started noticing that I'd gotten a little soft around the middle. My pants were starting to feel uncomfortable, my sides were sagging, and I felt jiggling in all sorts of places whenever I walked. I got bummed out whenever I looked in the mirror, and I hated that. So I made a decision. I started getting up an hour earlier every morning to work out, and worked out for another 35 minutes or so when I got home from work at night. Before long, I was forced to buy new sneakers. I was elated. After four years with the same pair of sneakers, I'd managed to wear them out in three weeks. So I bought a nice pair of Nikes with the promise to myself that I'd make it worth the investment by keeping up my routine every day. After six weeks, I'm hardly ready to run a decathlon, but my butt is smaller, I've stopped jiggling, and the only thing that's sagging is the waistline of my pants. Sometimes I'll pull my muscles as taut as I can possibly get them just to feel how strong they're getting. I don't know that I'll ever be able to call myself "athletic," but if I keep at it, I may at least tack a few years onto my lifespan.



3. Finding my smile.
Like I said, life is a thing to be enjoyed. It sounds like such a simple concept, but it never was for me. It was so much easier to scowl. And a lot of times, it still is. There are so many things I still frown or pout or glower about, because I'm scared or angry or sad. But I'm learning not to dwell or pine or waste time wishing for things I simply have no control over. There's a lot to be said for that whole serenity thing. Do what you can, let go of what you can't. And watch a lot of stupid sitcoms. It really is good for the heart.



4. Grapefruit.
I was reading about the health benefits of grapefruit and citrus... Vitamin C, antioxidants, etc., and I thought I'd give it a whirl. I've never really been a citrus person, so I thought I'd probably try it for a week or so and ditch it. More and more, though, I really enjoy having half of one each morning. They're just bitter enough to be tangy with enough sweetness to take the edge off. Fringe benefit: they're supposed to help with fat burning. And I eat them with those special grapefruit spoons with the serrated edges. One more thing that reminds me of Gram.

5. Falling into bed.
For most people, bedtime is merely the punctuation at the end of the day. You lay down, head hits the pillow, roll over into your favorite position, and that's pretty much that until the alarm rings. But I think I've discovered and almost perfected the fine art of climbing into bed. It's a slow, deliberate process that's as relaxing as a long, hot bath. I kneel on the sheets, rolling over onto my back, and I feel myself sink into the mattress like it's an ocean. I let out a long, slow breath and arch my back, stretching my limbs as far as they'll go before letting them fall limp and heavy. Bonus points if I manage a yawn here. Then I turn over onto my right side (your methods may vary here, of course) and nestle my head into the pillow. It's a very brief thing, but it's immensely satisfying, and I still maintain that it puts me in a much better position to wake up in the morning. Speaking of which...

Faith's Top 5 Things I'd Like to Learn

Trying a little something new here. For a while now I've wanted to be able to blog via Facebook. That was the one feature of MySpace I actually preferred. Now that I've got a link between Blogspot and Facebook, I'm saving myself a step. Now maybe I'll actually use this thing a little more often. That said, on to the list, in no particular order:

1. Latin
I suppose I should have taken the opportunity when I had the chance back in seventh grade when it was offered, but at the time I figured the only real practical uses were in hospitals and seminaries, and since I didn't plan on being a doctor or a priest, I figured there wasn't much point. Now, though, for some reason, I've taken an interest in it. It's the foundation of so many other languages, so much so that if you know a word in Latin, you may well recognize it when you hear it in another tongue. Unfortunately, learning a new language takes a lot of time and effort, and I'm not certain I can justify devoting the attention to it that it deserves when I've got so many other things that need to be done.


2. Piano
I started taking lessons when I was about nine years old. Ever since I'd started plunking away at my grandmother's cherry-red upright when I was barely old enough to reach the keys, my grandmother had made the suggestion to my mother that I get lessons. She said I had a natural ear. Unfortunately, though, the ear is only half the battle, and it can even hinder the formal teaching process. I was a major slacker, and as a result I didn't learn anywhere near as much in five years' worth of formal training as I should have. When it comes to theory and reading anything in the bass clef, I'm practically illiterate. Thanks to the ear, though, if you hum a few bars, I can fake it. (For the most part.)

3. Flying
This one's kind of a pipe dream. Small planes are dangerous. Just ask John F. Kennedy Jr., or John Denver. (Come to think of it, maybe it's just the name "John" that's dangerous.) Of course, not to speak ill of the dead, but when you're going to pilot an aircraft, the best defense is preparedness. When I was younger, I was actually rather terrified of airplanes. Having a mother in Florida and the rest of my family in Boston, though, I've had to get used to the idea of flying at least twice a year or so. The only trepidation I've really got left is when turbulence hits. So the way I figure it, taking flying lessons and dealing with rolls and stalls and simulated emergencies and the like will either make me fearless, or it'll make me wish I'd never attempted to defy the law of gravity in the first place. Considering how expensive flying lessons are, though, I've either got to hit the lotto jackpot or start seeing a pilot socially. Looks like it's time to start buying lottery tickets.

4. Sewing
This is one of those classic ingrained female skills that we're all just supposed to know. My grandmother was a whiz at this stuff -- probably because she worked for Singer for umpteen years -- and my mom and my aunt are both pretty good with it -- but I've never really learned. Sure, I can put a button in, patch a little here and there, slap a patch onto a backpack, but I can't hem a pair of pants or put together even a basic pattern. I can bake, and I can apply that to my non-dessert cooking skills, so I'm not concerned there. But I'm going to really need to learn my way around a sewing machine someday if I ever want to throw together an outfit for Halloween or make costumes for my kid's second grade play.

5. Drawing
Every now and then, I sketch in my margins. I've even doodled a few cartoon characters into existence. (Well, existence that doesn't really go outside my sketchbooks.) I've even dabbled in caricature. But I've never been able to put pencil to paper and create something truly realistic the way I've seen some people do. My brother is one of the most gifted artists I've ever seen (although he'd swear up and down that I'm wrong), and I once dated a guy who gave me a framed sketch of myself that he'd done off a photo of me for Christmas. It's occupying a place of honor under the bed until I can bear to look at it again (I need to allow a little time for the not-so-good memories to fade out before I can hang it), but I don't think I could ever part with it. I'd love to be able to turn around and do that for someone else.

So there you have it. If you possess any of these skills and wouldn't mind taking an uncoordinated novice under your wing, I'd be happy to offer a few lessons in cookie or cake making in exchange.