I have just had the most moving experience. From Tulsa, Oklahoma to what I am going to rename Gratitude Beach. But for the sake of geography and Google search for when you want to come here, I live in Destin, Florida.
(My new home.)
Destin used to be a fishing village. Today, when the million plus tourists aren’t flocking here between June and September, it has a modest population of just under 20,000 people. My county of Okaloosa has just over 200,000 people while the city of Tulsa, my home for most of 50 years boasts a headcount of 400,000.
I like the smallness here. The potential for greater intimacy. The intrigue of a possible Peyton Place Syndrome, where your business is everyone’s business. I am going to be on my best behavior with the hopes that I won’t be somebody’s “Did you hear about…” punch line. I do have a history rich with sentence completion that does not make me proud. But I am happy to report, that is way the hell back in the rear view mirror, somewhere around 1985.
This move has had many moving parts. I downsized from a three bedroom house to a one bedroom apartment. Could have been a daunting task, but the reward at the end of the journey being a zip code on the Emerald Coast was quite the incentive to be thorough and to only to keep those things that I needed or that continue to bring me joy.
In that process, I sold some antiques. And that was a fond farewell. I wrote about Beulah here, the dry sink that was a fixture for most of my life as my parents were big antique lovers in New England and New Jersey back in the 1950’s, both of whom are now deceased.
The last antique treasure to go that I still had affection for was the church pew. This piece of wood that has held together for well over a hundred years with not one nail was like a member of my family. It always lived where my mom was until she was no longer living, at which time, it came to live with me in my marital family home. And when that family was no more, the church pew, much like a good loyal dog that sees you through hard times, followed at my heel and moved twice with me.
Once I had custody, it went from empty and welcoming, to whimsical display of my fancy shoes and wind up toys, an ever changing display of the whimsy that I insist in surrounding myself with.
Well the universe is a generous kind place, filled with generous kind people and a friend here in Florida bought the church pew from me when I shared the Craigslist post on my Facebook while I was still in Tulsa, with the plan that I would deliver upon my arrival here. He even paid $25 over my asking price, which was welcome, as the move was not cheap and the funds were required. I was happy to know that I would know what loving home it went to. Much like my furniture art, I get attached to things that bring me joy, and this church pew has done that over time.
A week ago today, when that friend showed up to help two others unload my life as it is now, from the innards of a big yellow truck and up three flights into my tree house apartment in paradise, that same friend, after learning the story about the bench and what it meant to me, gifted it back to me as a house warming present. I gotta tell you, God Is Good, All The Time, if I am just paying attention.
(My new theme)
Now I move again. This time, forward. Into whatever and whoever God has in store for me. To know, to love, to be in relationship with, to serve. All the top priority of each and every day that I continue to be gifted with. Which is my truth. That every day IS a gift. Pandemic or no pandemic. Worldly calamity or World peace. NO MATTER WHAT. My life is a gift. Every day, when I wake up, I get to open a day like a present. And I get to spend my time, energy and money in ways that I hope are pleasing to the universe and the God that I intend to serve in whatever ways I can be useful.
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t always come from a place of gratitude. In fact, last night, was just the opposite. After a week of being driven to unpack everything I own and nest, I was exhausted. I had hung over a dozen pictures, unpacked and broke down at least that many boxes.
I was angry that ATT wanted me to pay them an additional $50 for my last month of TV and internet. Something about my “12 month special” rate expiring and leaving me with the final month at a higher rate. And I am not proud of the manner in which I spoke to the innocent woman on the other end of the phone. It was not her fault that I had not read the fine print, but, no. I wasn’t paying without a fit. And I had one. But at the time, because no one was watching, I justified my bitchy tone on the phone by telling myself, “My words were not unkind.” But if you were to rate my tone of indignation on a 1 to 10 scale, it would have easily hit 9.75. I was not nice. And I knew it and I felt it and I cleaned up my mess just as fast as I made it. “I realize this is not your fault. I know my tone is cranky and I am sorry.” But not before I got in another jab at ATT for, I don’t know, not teaching me to read the fine print first? “I just have always had trouble with ATT and their poor communication.” What an ego I have on me at times!
Her name is Elvira, by the way, my ego that is, if you are new to my stories here. You know, the one with the big boobs and big black bouffant to match. She really has a mouth on her. And much attitude, coupled with little to sometimes no patience. She is a justification queen. Suffice it to say, I finally decided that my serenity was worth $50 bucks. Besides, I owed it. I just didn’t like it. And more important, I was not in a good place when I made the call, or should I say, when Elvira insisted on picking up the phone to channel her frustration at the latter part of the afternoon. She and I both were quite tired and sore from unpacking and acclimating. To a third floor walk and a town where there are no mask mandates for the public, except for those local or national chains who won’t allow customers or employees to be present if a face mask is absent.
This has been a scary scene for me in that respect. Moving from Tulsa, where there was a mask mandate for all public anything to a state that has achieved ranks up there with the big apple for viral cases. Two weeks ago, a friend died from the virus and another here in Destin, who required hospitalization, thankfully, just recovered. And for me, social distancing and wearing a mask are mandatory because I don’t want to give or get a sickness that is a stealth by nature.
This, coupled with all that goes along with a major life change, be it positive or negative, I really just needed to vent. But to a friend, not passive aggressively getting it out to an innocent call center employee who, for all I know, is as done with pandemic life and being stuck at home for work, as I am sure are many people, when I dare to think of others above myself.
These are teachable moments to me. These ugly actors in my behavior. And I look to others who are of a similar mindset to be of service and do the right thing in their walk of life to tell me what they see. So when I was about to take a dive in the deep end of self pity last night, I reached out to a friend who is very uplifting and positive and just plain fun. Truth be told, I wanted a commiserator. Someone to wallow with me. Just for a minute. Instead, again, thanks to a generous Universe, what I got was an unexpected gift. Here is the text:
ME: “I got to tell you it’s almost cruel to be living in such a beautiful place and shut into my apartment. I’m having a little bit of pity here. I won’t stay there though cuz it’s going to take a minute before this s***’s over with.” (Start the violins and call me a wambulance.)
ME: “Hope you’re having a good Friday! Hate to end anything in a pouty tone. LOL.”
FRIEND: “I don’t expect you will sit there long. LOL. We are too blessed to sit in pity.”
Those words really hit me hard. In a good way. I was at a crossroads. About to choose how the rest of my gift of a day was going to go. And because of the suggestion of looking at blessings that I heard there, I took that as the Universe using this person to kindly remind me I have so much. So much. So much. To be grateful for.
I love the way God uses people if I only allow them in. In my ugly moments. In my times of sometimes repulsive to me neediness.
And I love the saying:
(Miramar Beach-Where I go every morning)
I just came back to this post to publish, after taking the afternoon to do my art, which I do with intent every Saturday afternoon. Just as I began to sit to do my art, I saw that sitting after writing for a time needed to be interrupted. So I went to the floor to stretch and I hurt my back. Bad enough that it scared me to think that I might need to go to the ER. But I just took a breath between the ones that the wincing was taking from me and I reached out to four people who walk the same spiritual path that I do. Two are doctors and two are not. All are a part of my family of choice. And every one of them offered their service, with one bringing my gimpy ass self the Tylenol, Motrin and heating pad that were recommended by someone who knows more than I do, loving me out loud and with action. Acts of service is a love language you know.
So tonight, I will order a pizza to be delivered to my third floor tree house apartment in paradise and bask in the love that the Universe has showered me with in just these last twenty four hour, never mind the last week.
I am indeed grateful. For everything. The pleasure of having eyes that can embrace the beauty of the beach as I go there every morning to see God and fill my cup as well as the times when I hurt with pains of change or pains of moving or pains of missing my daughter because those are the things that move me to grow in my spiritual life. Through those I know in human form who I like to call my God Squad. The ones who tell me the truth in kind and gentle ways. And I am grateful for all of the pain and difficulty that makes me need more than just me. And when I turn those needs to a power greater than what I have, I am consistently richly blessed in ways that you have to know are beautiful.