Like a Child in Adult Clothes

I have so much that I need to say but I feel speechless. My stomach is knotted and I want to sleep until everything is okay. I know that will never happen. I know that I think too much. I know that I need to just drink my water and take some deep breaths....its not working very well.

Anxiety. It feels like my nerves are on fire, like something has shocked me inside.

Child-like. I feel so immature. I'm desperately trying to be more of an adult, and I think I have succeeded so far these past six months. Why is it that turning eighteen is making me dig my heels into the ground? I wish that I would stop acting like a child when it comes to dealing with you. I feel awkward, embarrassed, and upset that I'm acting this way. I'm ready to throw my hands up and make a decision that I will regret. But I will not. I must stop, breathe, and think of my options logically. I wish I could tell you what I need to say precisely but  instead I only tell you a tiny fragment of my thoughts. I end up feeling like a fool no matter what happens next.

Put a joker's hat on me, and watch me entertain this cruel court.

A Reflection on my Idaho Detour

I am deeply afraid that if I close my eyes again I will forget. A fear that all the stories and incredible trinkets of wisdom will erase. Or, perhaps, that these beautiful things they have given to me will disappear like sand in a storm. All of this makes me want to cry, but instead I have pushed these thoughts into the back of my mind.

I will forever be grateful to my mother. Despite the incredible distance and the lack of communication, I feel like I still grew up with my great-grandparents. Her immense love and respect for them has merely seeped into my own cells, my own love. After all of these years I have been given the chance to visit my great-grandparents feeling like the term "distance" had no say. I came to them not as a stranger within the family, but as someone who is dearly close to them. Now, I have also discovered for myself the roots of my mother's love and respect. At times I wished that my mom would have been with me on my trip, everyone spoke of her so much and she was everyone's favorite. In a way it was sad, but it also made me smile. After these (unfortunately) rather short visits, I know now. I understand more deeply who my mother is because I see and hear and listen to the people whom were so significant to her. I am beginning to see the roots of my mother when she isn't even her.

Last Tuesday, I went over to my great-grandma and grandpa Pond's home (Lois and Gaylen). Grandpa showed me his journal in which contained the copied entries from a small diary he kept hidden in the Navy. It accounts for all the places he went to and what happened while he was in WW2's Pacific Theatre. It even held photographs that he took himself of the Hiroshima aftermath. He made me a copy of his own reference to the Pearl Harbor attack as well.

Later, Grandpa Pond let me pick out three new necklaces that he had made. [For a 80 something year old man, you'd never guess he like to make jewelry. He seems too tough.] They are all gorgeous and it was difficult to choose. We played progressive rummy that night and Valerie stopped by for dinner. The next morning, we walked back to see the old Anderson house. According to my grandparents, the Andersons lived in a dug out of a hill for two years before they made the house. We also went into town for a while, and I discovered that Grandpa can be a crazy driver.

He also told me a story about a duck he raised when he was a boy. He had named it "Happy" and for six months it followed him everywhere. When he went inside, however, the duck would sit on the porch to wait, and then crap on the front steps. This upset his mother so much that finally, one Thanksgiving my great great grandmother had made duck instead of turkey for dinner. When he put the pieces together, Gaylen was so upset that he says that Thanksgiving is still his least favorite holiday.

I have so much more to tell but my head hurts. I hope that I can remember it all.