Sad, Mad, Half-crazy and Ugly

It's funny how quickly plans can change. It is also funny what can change in a year. I say this all the time. This time last year, I was in NYC with a few of my close friends celebrating our 30th birthdays. We got there, I believe, on my sister's birthday, April 23, stayed out on the town that night eventually coming back to our hotel to make signs for our morning show split, as all good tourists do. Two of us like the Today show, two of us Good Morning America. Sarah and I, the two going to GMA, had the chance to be a part of the live taping in the studio. We also got to meet Diane Sawyer, Chris Cuomo, Sam Champion and our favorite, Robin Roberts. That day, April 24, was my Mom's birthday, so my sign paid homage to her. What that all meant, was that I was missing their birthdays.

Originally, this past weekend, I was going to a make-up bowling birthday celebration on Friday night and I had plans to host a baby shower on Sunday. I had nothing in between which, to be honest, is rare. Before I knew it, after one phone call to my Mom and some Facebooking with my sister-in-law, I was going to LR in two days with a birthday cake and guacamole fixin's. It also worked out that I could stay two nights and make this trip without my kiddos.

Let me explain a little bit about myself concerning a car, a road trip and music of my choice all to myself. I could never ever get bored. I might get sore, I might need a bathroom and a Diet Coke, but, never bored. I set out late afternoon with my bags packed and on this trip, a Diet Mt. Dew. My camera was riding shotgun along with the cake for what I knew would happen almost half-way into this trip.

After driving for over an hour, I saw the sign on the highway - Coal Hill, 6 miles. It's about 4:30 p.m. When I exit, I roll my windows down and find myself turning the music off out of reverence, I guess. I pass over South Dirty Creek, then Patsy Creek. I know when I see the high school of this town with a population of 1,001, that I am about to make an immediate right. I know no street names.

Up the hill, less than a mile, I see Shrygley cemetery. This is where my father is buried. I turn left on the dirt road and park near his grave.

The only thing I can hear is someone mowing their lawn down the hill, the chirp of birds above and besides that, silence. I went around to the passenger side and got my camera because I've done this before, although it's been years. Before when I've come alone, if I sit alone with nothing to hold or distract me, I feel awful sad. So, my lens cap is in my pocket, my camera is in hand. I walk to his gravestone and squat beside it.

Something inside me seizes up and I'm a little frustrated because this is not what I want to feel right now. I begin taking photos. The Razorback key chain is still there. It's been years since I left that. The American flag, even longer. The flag was bent at the stake and tattered. I feel shameful that I didn't think to bring something else even though I know where his soul is.

I try to bend the flag back into place and stick it back into hard earth. The key chain, I do not touch.

Moss has started to grow on the granite stone. I don't really know what I'm doing, but I try to pick some of it off, I guess just to let others know that we still care. It becomes uncomfortable for me because like I said, this is not what I'm wanting to feel right now.

Back in my car, I remember having the thought that it was nice to be there visiting my Dad's grave site alone. But, at the same time, I feel intensely lonely.

Realizing that it was 5 o'clock and that I needed to get on the road so as not to hit Conway at peak traffic-time, I head out, retracing the path which got me there. I passed two young boys pushing their bikes up the rolling hills on the way in. On the way out, I saw one of them pushing his bike up his dirt-road driveway and I wonder what people do here for a living. The music is still off.

Nearing Clarksville, the Diet Mt. Dew has caught up with me. I really like to make this trip without stops and having already made one, I try to hold out for the Pilot in Russellville. I get there and it's not what it used to be. I gas up and go.

Almost to my destination, I cross over the Arkansas River and see someone jet-skiing. Do they want to die, I think to myself? Exiting Cantrell, I head east. I make it to my brother's house only after one wrong turn. I'm bothered that I do not know this city like I used to.

Our family party was good. My sister's divorce was final that day. This is another reason being at this birthday celebration means something to me. We talk a lot about it and at times, I can't believe what I'm hearing. My niece is a tender and needed distraction. After dinner, Michael shows me his Christmas gift from Lynn's parents, saying that he knows I'm going to be jealous. I am. They gave him a guitar and then later an amp. He can't find a pick for me to try her out. I just happen to have one in my backpack. I tune her, I play. It has been 10 years both since my Dad died and since I had my own guitar. I left mine in Estonia. I guess I thought I'd be back and if for some odd reason I wouldn't be, someone else could use it. Other family matters come up and later, I'm out.

Saturday was spent with friends. I sometimes feel strange when I come back to Little Rock, like it should feel like home, but doesn't. Sometimes, it's painful to be there. But this Saturday, I'm seeking clarity, even demystification and although feeling half-crazy, I'm good. I visited some of my favorite places and found myself trying to take in all that's changed too. There's a lot, but, I'm still good.

Knowing I'm giving a baby shower in Fayetteville, Sunday afternoon, I wake up first thing, pack and am in the car just after 8 a.m. Although it's not my favorite, I know where a Starbuck's is not far from where I am. People are in there dressed in church clothes. I'm crossing back over the Arkansas River at 8:30 a.m. sharp.

I start out listening to happier music. I set cruise control and am past Conway in 20 minutes. Then, I listen to Feist, the whole album, because usually, I am only in the car long enough for two songs here, three songs there. I wish to be one of the back-up clappers in the band. I feel a little sad because it's mellow. Traffic is light on the highway. At first, I set cruise for 76 because I can't get another ticket. It creeps up to 78 and then 80. I'm making good time.

Back in Little Rock on Saturday, I went to my favorite store. It used to be Run-of-the-Mill. Seven years ago, it became Box Turtle under new ownership. The owner remembers me because of my aunt who used to shop there often. We chat about it and I tell her that is makes me feel close to my aunt to be in that store. My friend with me tears up. She tears up.

Changing the subject, I ask her after seeing a poster in her store for the band that played at my wedding, if they play much around town. She said they were playing outside on the lawn at First Thursday, a gathering the local businesses put on after hours. I tell her that they played at my wedding almost ten years ago and she puts their album on for me. Excited to know about it, I bought it for $12.

About an hour from my destination and after the last song on the Feist album, feeling a little mad that I'm sad, I unwrap Boondogs' Fever Dreams and put it in. Toward the end of the record, I'm on I-540, the last few songs sink in a little. One song, "Goodbye and Godspeed," is mellow and at first I appreciate its' sound. The thought crosses my mind that I'm proud of them and that it felt good to know that a band that you believed in all those years ago had done well.

And then, a flood of emotion rolls over me. A little stunned, I realize what I felt squatting by my Dad's grave two days earlier when I had seized up. I found myself consumed in tears that the person I felt was most proud of me, who believed in me in the big and the small, who cheered me on in all things and who understood me, wasn't here for me anymore. I'm angry about it all. And, I'm angry that my aunt, who I felt similarly about, that she saw potential in me that even I didn't know was there, is gone. I'm longing to feel understood in this and not alone in this and it makes me cry harder. I had done so well all weekend. It's hard when you don't feel like you can stop tears.

I'd collected myself and then I looked in the rear view mirror to wipe away the wetness around my eyes and pooling in my sunglasses. Putting my sunglasses on top of my head, I see my eyes that turn a bright greenish-blue when I cry, with red bags underneath. So now, I'm sad, mad, feeling half-crazy and ugly. This unexpected tidal wave has got to stop.

Nearing the tunnel, I find that if I think about it all, I cry. This isn't like me. I roll down the windows as I see the north and south towers of Old Main. This helps me not think. I can't, however, stop listening to Fever Dreams. As soon as I walk in the door, the house is empty. I take my bag and my stuff back to my room. I wash my hands and start cutting fruit for the shower.

It's funny how life goes on. I guess it's responsible to try to make sense of it and irresponsible not to. Finding balance is key, I guess. I mean I know that driving in the ditches isn't good. Ditches are hard to get out of, you know? I've been in a ditch before and it scares me at the thought of being back there. But, it's hard because the second you let yourself feel, you feel, ya know?

Anyway, this got long. I knew it would. I'll end this whole shebang with a shameless plug for the Boondogs. If you live in the Little Rock area, go see them! They're a great band and some of the nicest folks you'll ever meet. I'm proud of them. If you do check them out, let me know. Out for now.