Taking Only My Memories

Change is hard for me, and there sure has been a lot of change in my life the last year and a half. I know, I know. The only thing constant is change, right? Sometimes though, I wish things could stay just as they are.  Maybe it isn't really change that I struggle with. I guess I'm mostly bothered by change that impacts me emotionally, but that I'm powerless to control. 

Today while reading my mom's blog, New Beginnings are Full of Both Hope & Sadness, her words really hit home. I've been excited for Amy's move, focusing only on the positive side of her new beginning and hopeful about her having a fresh start in a new place. It hadn't occurred to me that the next time I visit her it will be in a different place. Her house holds many happy memories for me. It's hard to imagine not going there again. 

Colorado has always been my second home, and my sister's homes were as familiar and comfortable to me as my own. I've already said goodbye to Julie's place, closing the door on adding to my memory bank of occasions and happy times spent there. I'll probably never again go to Proto's, our favorite spot to grab a drink or a quick bite to eat. It was just around the corner from Julie's apartment. For a while the three of us were very familiar faces there, and we raised our glasses together for more than one of my birthday toasts at their bar.

Gone too are the times spent lounging poolside or in the hot tub at her apartment pool complex. We relaxed there in the freezing cold of winter, and after finishing our first half marathon together.  Other times, we spent long, lazy summer afternoons sunning ourselves, dozing and laughing, just enjoying being together. 

The three of us at Proto's - 2009

My friend Aimee, me, and Amy celebrating my 40th at Proto's

Amy's house, a straight shot across the highway and only 15 minutes away from where Julie's was, is even more full of memories. Having driven from my house to hers more times than I can count over the last ten or so years, I know almost exactly how long it takes from my driveway to hers, including two short pit stops.

My niece Hannah was born not too long after Amy moved to Erie.  I stayed there for almost a week, waiting impatiently for Hannah's arrival.  My mom and I walked around the neighborhood numerous times with a very pregnant Amy, hoping to bring on her labor.  In her kitchen, I prepared a shot of cod liver oil that Amy bravely drank in another failed attempt at jumpstarting labor.  I can still picture Amy sitting on her couch in the lotus position, while my mom and I left her alone for some quiet time to focus on inducing labor.  We laughingly left her house, teasing her to hum the mantra "open, open, open" and to visualize giving birth.  She didn't think we were funny.   I did get to see Hannah's birth, and remember vividly her first hours at home, with her dad snuggling on the couch with her cradled in his arms.

Nearly every spring and summer, Gillian and I would spend some time at Amy's.  Our kids have spent many nights together in her basement, laughing and giggling, finally falling asleep on the blowup mattress or in a fort they built.  Together Amy and I have played the Easter Bunny, filling Easter baskets late at night for the kids to find in the morning.  We've celebrated the 4th of July there, birthdays, Fall Break, Christmas and New Year's.  After my divorce I went there for the Christmas holidays, seeking refuge and comfort, and found it, laughing and talking with my sisters together at Amy's.  The three of us used to lie in Amy's big king-size bed together and watch t.v.  Amy's husband would come home from work late at night, finding us there, usually giggling, and roll his eyes that we'd taken over his bed.

Amy in her kitchen showing off her 4th of July blueberry pie.

Julie & Amy belting out tunes in Amy's living room , with candlesticks as microphones.

Many of the happiest moments of my life, and some of the saddest, have happened at Amy's yellow house on Woodson Drive.  I've run through her neighborhood, happy, carefree, content, soaking up the view of the Flatirons in the distance.  I've also run through it full of sadness, with tears flowing freely, sobbing, in the early days after Julie's death.  Her back deck is a favorite gathering spot in the summer, and we've all spent many pleasant summer evenings together there.  It's also where I sat and wailed, screaming, demanding, insisting "I need to see my sister! Now! I'm not waiting any longer!" three days after her death, when I was told I had to wait one more day to see her body. In every single room, behind every door in her house there are memories--some bad, most of them good. Some of the most formative times and events of our lives happened while she lived there.  Our kids have gone from being babies and pre-schoolers to pre-teens and teenagers.  We've both gone from being married to being single and having to learn how to make a new life on our own.  

There's a song called The House That Built Me that makes me think of how I feel about this move.  It starts out "You know they say you can't go home again".  It's true.  You can't go home again, and Amy's house isn't even my home.  But, it is home to some of my most precious memories.  It's knowing that I can't go back there and revisit the memories that makes me wistful.  Knowing I'll have them in my mind doesn't seem like enough.  I want to be able to see, touch and feel the place where the memories were made, like a touchstone for my life.

When Amy walks out the door of 447 Woodson for the last time, I understand how hard it will be for her.  It's going to be hard for me too. Along with many others, I'll be holding her in my heart on that day, and looking forward to making new happy memories together in her new home.

Click here to listen to The House That Built Me.

Me & Gillian - ringing in the New Year at Amy's

Easter at Amy's - 2007

Julie's birthday at Amy's - Easter 2007

Hannah, Gillian & Atticus shucking corn on Amy's back porch

Family in Amy's front yard - Summer 2011

Finding Peace in the Midst of 12 Million People

As the saying goes, “My how time flies…” Almost a year ago I wrote a post about my then recent trip to Bangladesh. As the one-year anniversary of my return from that trip approaches I’ve been reminiscing about my experiences there. So, here’s more of the story.

Our first day in Dhaka was spent getting familiar with the city and shopping for some traditional tunic tops for Aimee and I. First, though, we needed to go to the ATM for some taka. It was weird to make a withdrawal for 25,000, which was the equivilent of about $325.00 U.S. dollars. Then it was off to the bank for change. In Bangladesh, they don't like to give out small bills. Luckily, the bank employees were feeling friendly that day, took mercy on the American tourists, and broke our large bills into smaller denominations. 

After a couple of days exploring in the city, the six of us loaded into our chartered van and headed to Srimangal, the tea capital of Bangladesh. We weren't the only ones leaving the city. Eid al-Ahda (the feast of sacrifice), a major Muslim religious holiday was being celebrated the next day. Many people return to their villages to celebrate Eid with their family, so traffic was crazier than usual.  People were literally packed on the top of buses and trains that were already filled beyond capacity. The streets were filled with people leading goats and cows home in order to sacrifice them the next day. I felt sorry for the animals, many of them brightly festooned with flowers and paper garlands, being led unknowingly to their fate. 

Here's a video clip to give a sense of the street noise in Bangladesh.

Travelers packed on top of a bus.

The drive to Srimangal was kind of harrowing. Roads in Bangladesh are notoriously dangerous and accidents are common. The posted speed limit on most highways is ridiculously low, and everyone drives as fast as they want.  Narrow highways are shared by large buses, trucks, cars, CNGs, rickshaws, bicyclists, and animal-pulled carts. The center line on two-lane divided highways is driven on like it's a third lane!  For most of the drive I put my head down trying to focus on reading and attempted to tune out the frequent exclamations of "Oh my Hell!" and "We're going to die!"around me. At one point a car coming from the opposite direction passed so closely it tore off our passenger side mirror. Here's a video clip from that day.

The drive was worth it though. Srimangal was amazing! We stayed at a small eco-cottage on a lime plantation. The thatched hut cottages were the perfect mix of rustic and civilized. There was running water (although the promised hot water never worked), indoor plumbing and electricity. All of our meals were prepared and served in the main house, which was just up the path from our cottages. The food was amazing, and I looked forward to the delicious sweet, hot tea served at the end of every meal.  

The front porch of our cottage.

The main house.

Celebrating Eid with sweet pastries from our host.

My brother and sister-in-law had stayed there numerous times and become friends with the owner. He  invited us to witness the Korbani (sacrifice) that would be performed the morning of Eid. Because this is a sacred Muslim religious ritual, it was very kind of him to allow three non-Muslim strangers to witness the Korbani. On the morning of Eid we walked across the street to his home and went around back where the ceremony would be performed. The whole thing was much more quiet and calm than I expected. Other than the death rattle of the cow, which was awful! I stood back, hiding behind my camera, snapping pictures and trying not to think too much about what I was witnessing.  

Preparing for the Korbani.

After the Korbani, we went back to the cottage where our host brought us a plate of traditional sweet treats prepared for Eid by his wife. After eating our snack and letting our minds recover from what we'd just witnessed, we headed up the road to explore the village. The atmosphere in the village that day was festive. Everyone was dressed in their best clothes with most of the young girls in bright new Eid dresses. Many of the women and girls had fresh Mehndi on their hands and feet. Everyone greeted us cheerily with "Eid Mubarak!" (Blessed Eid). It was a happy day of celebration, and everyone we met seemed happy to have us share it with them.  

As we walked through the village a young girl waved to us from her window. We pointed at the Mehndi on her hands, motioning that we liked it. My sister-in-law, Sam, could understand the girl and turned to us to tell us she was asking if we wanted her to paint some Mehndi on our hands. Of course we did! The six of us crowded into the small house, which was already full of family and friends there for Eid. Neighbors gathered in the doorway and peered in through the windows to see the six Americans, and to watch us have henna applied to our hands. We laughed and chatted with the kids, many of whom knew a few English words and were excited to show the Americans what they knew. I treasure my memories from that morning--the welcoming villagers, the generosity, and the feeling of warmth and kindness from nearly every person we met.   

A work in progress.

Curious kids watching us get Mehndi.

Aimee, Sam and I with our Mehndi artist.

The three days and nights we spent at the eco-cottage were so relaxing. Our days were spent exploring and sightseeing. Evenings were spent chatting on the porch of our cottage drinking cocktails made from our makeshift, limited bar. Dark came early, and every evening by 7 p.m. I was ready for sleep.For the first time in months I slept soundly, cuddled under heavy quilts, surrounded by mosquito netting. Early every morning before sunrise, I'd lay drowsily half asleep listening to the morning call to prayer being broadcast over loudspeakesr. The chanting soothed me, and I'd drift back to sleep to the sound of it.  

Our makeshift bar. 

Jon clowning for the camera while Atticus & Sam shop for snacks.

Before arriving in Bangladesh, I was worried about how I would cope with the poverty and beggars I'd see. I live a very comfortable middle-class life and I'd never before been confronted with such extreme poverty. Beggars and physically handicapped, disfigured people are everywhere. They surround you on the streets and swarm around cars stopped at intersections. Luckily, Jon and Sam educated us all on how to deal with the beggars, helping me be comfortable with the nearly constant onslaught. It was fun to watch them interact with some of the children that begged at a particular intersection.They had developed relationships with some of them and the children knew not to ask every day. With a few, they'd negotiated a deal that Jon and Sam would give them money every few days, if they in turn respected their space and didn't beg every time they saw them. One of the many reasons I love Jon and Sam is the respect they have for people, regardless of their circumstances. They've taught me so much about accepting people from all walks of life, seeing them as equals deserving of the same human rights, dignity and respect as anyone, regardless of material circumstances. 

While the women shopped, Jon & Atticus found some fun.

Sam buying a dress for a young beggar girl.

Jason & Jon bought dresses for some beggar girls we'd grown fond of.

One day near the end of my visit, we were walking down the sidewalk, followed by a crowd of curious locals as usual. Aimee and I were talking about the trip, and how we still had to pinch ourselves to believe we were really there. We'd done it! We hadn't just talked about how nice it would be to go, wishing and dreaming, but not acting. We made it happen. We were talking about everything we liked about Bangladesh, and getting a little misty-eyed at the thought of leaving. That's when it occurred to me, right there on a crowded, noisy sidewalk somewhere in Dhaka. I was at peace. Finally, after months of functioning under a cloud of sorrow and grief, I was living again. For over a week, I'd traveled and explored, never once afraid of memories lurking around a corner or in a particular house or place. There were no memories there for me. Everything was new. Not a single place or experience there reminded me of Julie. Until that moment I hadn't realized how heavily my memories had been weighing on me. Somehow, unconsciously, imperceptibly, I'd turned a corner while I was there. I remembered how to live in the moment, looking forward to new experiences and adventures.  

There are so many things I love about Bangladesh. The beautiful, friendly people, the history, the green rice paddies, the food, the clothes, the tea, the noise, the chaos, the savvy, entertaining beggar children, and relaxing evening rickshaw rides through Dhaka. But more than all those things, I'll always remember and be grateful for the way being there helped heal my soul.  

Me enjoying a rickshaw ride.

Tasting 7-layer tea.

Dressed in saris for a night out.

Me and my brother Jon.