Freedom

Freedom.  I felt it.  My mind was empty of all worries and my soul felt like it could fly.  Freedom.  I could taste it.  I could feel it.  I was alive.

Such a simple thing we too often take for granted.  Hop in the car and run get groceries or run to the bank or, oh yeah, i forgot to get salt...hup, in the car, turn the key and seconds later you have what you need.  Driving brings with it freedom and simplicity.  Everything is easy when it takes no effort to achieve, which having a car affords us.

I miss driving.  I mean, I sincerely miss it.  Whenever I used to feel down or discouraged or happy or high, I'd jump in my car, turn on some music depending on my mood, and drive...sometimes to my favorite quiet spot, sometimes shopping, sometimes just take whichever road I first passed.  It always made me feel good, driving, especially out on open Wyoming roads.

Since living in Europe, having a car has been a luxury in place of a necessity.  The first year I lived in Nederland, I had no vehicle.  I did have a bike and public transport, and came to rely upon both to get me where I needed to go.  When I was in active labor with Jari, we got our first car.  Erwin still took the train to work and I had use of the car, but still tended to bike or walk, especially with a newborn and stroller, it was easier to just walk.  But, still, the car was always at my beckoning call, and I was free to use it at my every whim.

When we moved to Belgium, the car came with us.  Erwin's transportation became a bus service which left at the ungodly hour of 5:30am, but he was always home early.  I still had the car, and it became useful for me as I explored our new home, Belgium, Limburg, as well as keeping in touch with old friends in Holland.  In our corner of Belgium, public transport is present (busses, no train), and it's round the clock available, but getting places is almost a chore.  In what would be a 20 minute drive, it takes me  more than an hour by bus.  Just saying...

But back then, I still had the car and was still free to come and go as needed, though I still used my bike for the short distance trips, as I came to discover biking is 1) enjoyable  2) fast  3)  gives no parking headache  4) cheaper  and 5)  healthy.  But on those gray and rainy Belgian days (many)  I could still turn the key and come out on the other side safe and dry.

And then, Erwin's bus service quit running.  He needed the car for work, to provide for our family.  It was a necessity for him, and my luxury was stripped from me.  In the blink of an eye, my freedom was gone.  Having a car is freedom, and nobody can tell me differently.  Hop on a bike and feel the wind on your face, yes, it too is freedom, but limited....

And so, I have become a passenger in life where I used to be a driver.   I no longer have transportation to allow me freedom, which I have had since my 16th birthday...

and I have felt crippled without a car.

And Saturday, I had the car, I had the music, I had my two boy passengers and I had freedom.  And boy, did it feel good.

Home Movies

Home movies on the tv. Seems like such a fun experience, bringing back moments in time, remembering our kids as babies, special times shared with those we love. It's an experience to watch these videos, thinking how much has changed since that long past day.

For me, though, home movies are not a piece of magic. I watch those long ago moments and wonder where I went wrong, what more I could have done. When I see my husband and son walking together down a wooded path holding hands, my little boy lughing and smiling and playing and jumping as little boys are supposed to do, it tugs at my heart in a way that nothing else can. It becomes an ache that claws away until inevitably tears begin to fall and I feel failure with a capital F creeping into my every bone. What happened to make those magical moments disappear? How did we go from loving, easy-going family to the point we have now reached?

Yesterday, oma and opa came for a visit. It wasn't a visit that turned out the way we always hope they will. Kaeden ended up throwing a tantrum, to a degree they have yet not seen. The extent of damage one mound of anger and disharmony creates is something that can't be turned around. It stands the test of time, in a manner which we'd rather it didn't. Such behaviors, such words and complete uncontrol, are not soon to be forgotten. The tremebling fear holding their littlest grandson in his own fearful tremor takes a piece of your soul and rips it to shreds. Knowing what is happening, seeing it first hand rather than living it through stories, is not something I can take back, no matter how much I wish I could. Nobody should have to be victim to that feeling of helplessness and pain.

We watched home videos. Erwin asked Kaeden to clean up the tools he used to make a mess in the freshly cleaned porch outside. Kaeden didn't want to and left the room in anger...to his bedroom, where we left him to chill out. When he had enough time, I reminded him he wouldn't have dinner until he was done cleaning up. And then it all began. The disrespect, anger, spitting, threatening. And it wasn't quick to stop.

The home movies played on. Scenes of happiness from another time, another place threw laughter out of the speakers, as screams and crying and dirty words flew presently around our home. The laughter and smiles contined to play on. And on and on and on. Soon, nobody was watching. The air in our home was stripped of life-giving oxygen as we all held our breath. Only the happiness from the tv continued to breathe.

My scared little boy, my angry husband, my hopeless self and a non-existant Kaeden swallowed up in his own little world of pain..along with my in-laws, standing by horrified, wanting to intercede, but me stopping the further round of aggression.

Still the home movies played on. Later in the evening, after a sort of settling had taken place in our home, a calm after the storm, but still lingering, this tension, this secret of which nobody wanted to speak, I sat with Kaeden, the home movies still flashing across the screen. He laughed at the little boy he was, the little kid climbing rocks, his beautiful face covered by blonde hair with a plastered on smile, a smile and a sense of complete joy, which never left him. Kaeden laughed, as the boy on the screen before me and the young man next to me, and I cried. The pain of all that is lost, all that has been swallowed by the passing of time. And the home movies continued to play on.

Running Away?

Yesterday I was cleaning up and suddenly had a memory. It's something I haven't thought of in years, maybe even since it happened. It happened when I was 16 years old. During the period of my school years when I frequently 'missed' a class, be it that I was really sick or just'sick'. I had good grades, was active in school sports, and also took part in the school newspaper and a couple of other clubs. I worked for my parents at their store, and didn't really get up to too much trouble. I was a pretty average high school kid, not anybody popular, not totally cliqued into the 'jock' group, not part of any clique really. I just was, attending classes and trying to do what I had to do to be done with it all. I never really found my place during highschool. In fact, I think that's something I have carried with me throughout my life. I always have plenty of acquaintances, but true friendships are harder for me to come by. And so the friends I do have, are people I truly treasure.

Anyway, back to my memory. I had a friend named Becky. She was having a hard time at home, and was also very involved with her boyfriend, someone a bit older, not attending high school, and not from our town. I don't remember exactly where he came from, but it seems as though he was working construction, kind of just paving his way from place to place, a bit of an orphan. Becky was head over heels in love with him, but her parents were not. They forbid her from seeing him, which of course she rebelled against. I had recently gotten my driver's licence and drove to school each day....and also drove Becky around to meet up with her boyfriend, whether during or after school hours.

At one point, her Beau was skipping town. I don't know the reason, but Becky planned to follow him. I remember there being talk of them getting married, and I also think that the possibility that she was pregnant was also a factor involved. In any case, she asked for me to assist her in running away.

At the time, I didn't consider what my actions would mean. I just agreed to help my friend. On the day of her departure, we met at school, loaded her bag into my car, and off we went to the local airport. At the time, I remember asking her if she was sure she wanted to take this step, if she was sure he was someone she could trust. But, I didn't try to stop her. In fact, I was an accomplice in every step of this journey.

When we got the airport, Becky checked in, and we sat and talked waiting for her plane to arrive. She made a phone call to her boyfriend so he'd know she was on her way. And then, when the flight began boarding, I hugged her goodbye and waved as she headed through security. As soon as she entered the security gates, police surrounded her.

The look on her face was of complete shock. Tears began streaming down her cheeks as she was taken into custody. She looked my way and yelled at me to call her boyfriend. I didn't know waht to do. I stood there, watching my friend being hauled away by the police, her bag still sitting where she dropped it. An officer finally came to me in the waiting area, suggesting I get myself back to school before I also found myself in loads of trouble. He mentioned they would be in contact; e already knew who I was from my parents business.

I was embarrassed, scared, and sad. Instead of returning to school, I drove straight to my mom's store, where I poured out the entire story. I was in tears, and felt so helpless. I wasn't sure what would happen, or where to go from here. I stayed home from school the rest of that day, just relishing in my time with my mom, glad that she was someone I could count on.

The story ends here. I know that Becky went to a counseling center for teens and that she kept in contact with the boyfriend. I know that she made further plans to leave home. What I don't know is if she succeeded. After all of this, our friendship evaporated once she changed her focus to running away from home. I have never seen her again.

I don't know from where this memory came, but it makes me wonder about teenagers. My son is a teen, but I can't imagine him being advanced enough to make plans such as these. I can't imagine him driving a friend to the airport, packing a bag to run away from home, handling being confronted by police officers. He is autistic. And as much as he creates plenty of other problems, these would not be something I would have to deal with as the mother of a teenager.

Interesting what little experiences we come across in our book of life, and how those little things may never be thought of, but always and forever remain a part of who we are.

Pictures

Pictures are something I absolutely love. Even as a kid, I always had a camera with me, taking pictures anywhere I went. I'm not sure how my love for photography developed, but when I was nine I received my first camera from Santa Claus. I had begged and pleaded to get a camera, whispering in Santa's ear that he just had to make my dream come true. On Christmas eve that year, I was sick. I couldn't sleep and had a tummy ache. After getting sick in the bathroom sometime in the middle of the night, my mom by my side, she pulled me over to the Christmas tree bulging with surprises from Santa, yet undiscovered by our little eyes. She picked up a box from under the tree and handed it to me, saying: Here, maybe if you get to open one surprise, you'll feel a little better.

My mom and I sat there underneath the lights of the tree as i slowly opened the box. Inside was my dream come true. A camera! With a roll of film and batteries and a little case all perfectly filling the little box. I was speechless, and I looked at my mom, her eyes wide with happiness. "I think Santa knew just what would make you feel all better," she told me. I hugged her hard and we did a little dance, just the two of us sharing a special moment far too early that Christmas morning.

As she tucked me in, my little box full of camera snuggled tight beside me, I finally fell asleep. Yet, morning couldn't come early enough, and as my brothers and I made our way to see what surprises Santa had in store for us, I had already inserted my first roll of film and was capturing the first of our Christmas moments to be forever captured on film. It was a little girl's dream come true.

I enrolled in photography classes throughout junior high and high school, learning better lighting and capturing modes. I learned darkroom techniques and solutions and loved removing my rolls of film to take them into the darkroom, hold them under the solution, watch an image fill the paper, pick them up with a tweezers and hang them to dry, awaiting the moment when those images became something I could grasp onto and call my own work of art. I loved those classes. And I did well in them because of my love for photography.

Fast forward a few years. I still always had my camera, always took photos, and then ran them off to the pharmacy where I could pick them up later and see the results of my work. I collected thousands of pictures, but after taking them, they were always left to sit in the little envelope in which they were returned to me. I never made photo albums or scrapbooks, just stored them in a box, all those memories coming alive again and again when I would open up the box and like my first camera, thumb through them awestruck.

I still love photography. I wish I had taken my love for it further, learned more, used my talent to latch onto something I could have turned into a career. But I didn't. Instead, I play with pictures, filling my digital viewfinder with the things I find most important, my family my desired subjects. I love having digital images in which I can immediately relive all those wonderful memories. My husband purchased an external harddrive to store all of my captured memories, as I can't control myself when a camera is in my hand. I feel freedom and happiness, and when I get one really terrific picture out of a hundred i took on any given day, I am ecstatic. I can look through my online albums for hours without ever getting bored. I can remember back to the moment that picture was taken and awaken with it the happy (or sad) experiences that it evokes inside me.

Someone commented not long ago that they love to watch me when I take a picture. As I align my subject in my viewfinder, the passion on my face, and then, just as i click, my lips form into a smile, and as I review the image, I cock my head with a little smile on my lips as I see this creation which I will always have to carry with me. I didn't know I did this, but since it has been brought to my attention I am more aware of my photography style, and it is indeed true. I just love knowing that I'll have that moment captured to remind me forever of that one moment in time.

Photography. One of the greatest loves of my life. And one in which brings happiness to many more than just me alone.

Kaeden is 14.

From This......

To This.

And it only took 14 years to get here. Happy Birthday my Riley Boy. I don't know how it happened, but I love you even more today than all those years ago when we first met.