In 1989, I fell madly and hopelessly in love with a 1984, steel blue, Dodge Daytona. A two-door beauty with black and white race checkered seats, sparse metal dashboard, and the word turbo-charge stenciled on the console. I believe I was the third owner of this stunning machine and I found myself filled with a mixture of pride and delight each time someone commented on its beauty.
When I was in the fifth grade, my parents and I moved to Presque Isle, renting a home we hoped to purchase. This dream did not come true for us but during that year, I attended Gouldville Elementary School. Looking back over my school years, I have to say that the fifth grade is one of the most memorable.
I would rise in the darkness, comforted by the sound of my parents whispering in the kitchen while my mother packed our lunches in rugged, gray dinner pails, their strong silver latches dancing in the dim light.
She sat alone on a weathered bench, just to the side of the storefront. As I exited the store, she raised her head and we made eye contact. I smiled at her, more from habit than from recognition, and she lowered her eyes toward her lap.
Lesson 34: When you are well into your 50s, remember that you are at the cusp of a journey like no other. You are wise. You are seasoned. You know how to love. You are beautiful. You are cherished. Skip over those lines in your face and the occasional twitch in your back. It is your time to glow.
I write frequently about my battle with cancer for many reasons. Becoming acquainted with cancer has altered my life forever and I believe I am much better at sorting through what is and what is not important in my life. One of the strongest medicines I have been given is the opportunity to share these lessons with you and for that, I am eternally grateful.
To this day, when I see the sign announcing the arrival of the Northern Maine Fair, I am instantly elated. Though it has been years since I have attended the fair, I can assure you a piece of my heart wanders on the midway.
Caribou Gardens is a lovely apartment complex on Sweden Street in Caribou and it is built on the site of the former Church of the Nazarene, the same church I attended as a child. I have occasion to visit Caribou Gardens, and each time I enter the building, I recall an evening church service of long ago that consisted of a clueless little girl, a rather spacious bathroom, and a classic Beatles song.
This planet we exist upon is a scary place. Babies who disappear in the night. Men and women who have had their lives taken by another, with no regard for humanity. Children, who, as this is being written, are being abused; often by their own parents or by someone who is supposed to love and protect them.
Though this tale has been told many times and in many different ways, the lesson remains the same. Here is my version.