This July 4th felt a little icky.
I’ve been thinking about it, trying to nail it down. I know it began with the Election Season last fall and the toxic atmosphere online that caused me to take a step back from the news and finally be ready to quit Facebook.
My big kids are out of town staying with their aunt, and I have been home alone with the Littles. Granted, I was only alone with them for one day, Tuesday, since Monday was a travel day. Today, the Chaplain had off for the holiday and was here to help me out.
But Tuesday was the day I needed to recover from that traveling over the weekend and using a TON of social and emotional capital that I didn’t really have to spend. By the last day of the trip, I was feeling full of the meaning that comes from spending time with people with whom you have shared memories and a certain understanding.
I was also completely exhausted and had lost my voice.
And once we were home, my First Day Back was home alone with the Littles.
Above, one of the photos from our Immigration Interview Photo Album.
When the Chaplain and I got married, we’d known each other for about 60 days. He had lived in the U.S. for a number of years as a college student. Since he was supposed to be leaving for seminary to become a Catholic priest at the end of the summer we met, he was here on a student visa.
When he dropped out of that program to marry me, he lost his status as a student. When we were deciding whether or not to get married, we knew if we didn’t get married, he’d have to go back to Tobago. And he already had bought the ticket to go back home.
My wise Grandma reflected when she heard that we were eloping that she had always said you should know someone through every season before tying the knot. She figured since it’s always summer in Tobago (with temperatures in the mid 80’s year-round, a rainy season and a dry season, I think in this case North-easterners can afford to generalize a little) and we met in the summertime, that we had covered our bases. I have always been grateful for her gracious perspective.
I remember watching Green Card, the 1990 rom com, with my family around that time with my new husband, and it was heh heh funny, not haha funny.
I was out in front of our house wearing flowy pants and a t-shirt. I was picking up our empty recycling bins and taking them to the back of our house after garbage day.
She was a decade or two older than me and walking down the sidewalk on the other side of the street.
She smiled when she saw me, made eye contact, and said, “Hello, Love.”
I smiled back and said hello, and hauled my recycling bins back up our driveway.
It stopped me in my tracks, though. I came inside and wrote it down. “Hello, Love.” One of my kids saw it written on a scrap of paper at my work station in our kitchen and asked me about it. It was hard to articulate.
It felt like in that warm smile and two words that I had been seen and accepted without condition.
I first heard about Michael Pollan’s book, How to Change Your Mind: What the New Science of Psychedelics Teaches Us About Consciousness, Dying, Addiction, Depression, and Transcendence, on NPR’s Fresh Air podcast.
I was immediately interested.
I’ve never experimented with drugs. My dad was a pastor in a small-town community when I was growing up. When I was 16, he took me with him to a hospital visit of a woman who was dying of liver failure after a lifetime of drinking. When I saw her tiny, emaciated body in that bed, her body falling apart while she was still relatively young, it was an image that burned into my brain.
When I was in college, my favorite cousin was visiting our family on Long Island one summer. During that stay, the family went to the beach. She and I were doing our own thing. We wandered down the beach, talking to one another and enjoying the summer freedom and sea breezes.
As we walked, we came across a pick-up soccer game in the sand. The players had pulled up garbage cans to use as goals. Some of the players noticed us and smiled, gesturing for us to join them.
We hesitated.
