A Bedtime Story

I'm in an awful mood and I can't sleep. Figures. I'm exhausted from the weekend and I can't get the 8 hours I'll need for a long Monday tomorrow. Oh well. Someday I'll learn how to handle my crazy tendencies to hate myself to the point of staring at the ceiling and wondering why I think stupid things and why I project onto others... Regardless, this is not what the post is about. My mom told me a story about my grandfather again not too long ago and I wanted to use that plus some creative license to fill in the gaps from what I don't know. I hope it's good.

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Keeping my Promise

It had been months. Months since I'd seen her face. Months since I had held her soft hands, watched the way she set her brown curly hair each morning, kissed me goodnight and shyly winked at me from across the dining room. It had been months since I was home. I'd love to say I knew what I was getting into when I set off to this war, but I don't think anything could prepare someone for this. On either side. Doesn't matter if you're German or American or any of the allies on both sides. You don't know what this is until you are knee deep in it. Since D-Day I have made and lost friends. I have questioned and reaffirmed my faith in God. I have made peace with the uncertainty of my time left on this Earth, and I have silently begged for the opportunity to see my wife again. My wife. It's still new to me. It hadn't been long that we were wed before I shipped off to Europe. War doesn't care about timing and neither does Love. But I did promise her I'd come back home.

Our company was in the midst of trudging through the hills and forests of Germany. Sometimes I felt that our hikes were aimless and futile. But I always knew there was a purpose. There was a war to win here. A great one. One for the history books. I hoped I would live long enough to read one. Barely 20 years old and I've made peace with the fact that I might not live through this. But I'd never tell my Mil that. I promised I'd come home. We have a family to start after all. Would be somewhat difficult to do if I were not present for it. The thought made me chuckle.

Today was a good day I decided. The sun was out and the wind was not so biting. We hadn't seen the German army for a few days now, and we were set at a post for a few more days on these hills. It finally felt good to exhale. It's funny that sometimes you have to remind yourself to breathe in and out. Too many other things to think about. I looked towards the heavens and calculated the time. Somewhere around noon. The company set up at the top of a familiar hill looking over three small farms. We had the high ground, so it was easier to relax and enjoy a not so hot meal. I set down my gun and pack and began to unwrap a two day old sandwich. Down the hill I spied the barn door of one of the farms swing open slightly. Instinctively I grabbed my gun and crouched. My men did the same. Out of the barn walked a young boy. He immediately saw us and raised his arms up in the air in surrender. He could be no more than 5 years old. We scanned the area around him... nothing. Not a trap. We were called at ease and set our weapons down. The little boy just stared up at us... curious... unafraid. With as much determination as he could muster, he began to slowly walk up the hill towards us. His palms faced outward in front of him and each step was carefully calculated as to not raise an alert.

When the boy came closer I was immediately taken in by him. He had a wash of light hair, marred with dirt and straw. It looked as though the barn was his long-term hideout. His clothes were dirty and the hollow of his cheeks were prominent. He was starving. Most of the men were back to eating lunch, with a few keeping a wary eye at the farmhouses below. I kept watch of the boy as he continued to slowly move up the hill towards us. He caught my eye and greeted me in German. From the very little I picked up in my months here I reiterated the greeting and offered him part of my sandwich. He gave me and my gun the once-over but the growling in his stomach won out. By the look in his eyes, I could tell that the scrap of leftover sandwich I offered was worth his short life. He sat a few feet from me and let me toss him half of the meal. "Danke" he whispered and smiled slightly. I smiled back. Millie wouldn't believe this. The boy didn't stay very long. He finished the sandwich and took a swig from my canteen. Then without another word he wandered back down to the barn and shut the door behind him.

We set up watch for four more days waiting for the rest of our company to arrive with supplies. Each day at around noon we perched up on the open hill and ate lunch. And each day the boy would emerge and trudge up the hill to me. He spoke to a few of the other soldiers who knew more German than I, but he refused to sit by anyone but me. I found out that his mother was down in the barn as well, but had fallen ill. He ventured out to us alone each day for food and eventually a medic who offered to check on his mother. Each day that he came to see me all I could do was think of my wife. I wrote to her on that first night.

Millie,

What would you think of having a son, Mil? There is a little German boy here who has been sharing my awful lunches with me. He has a mother but no father to speak of. I wonder if he is on the other side of enemy lines. I wonder if we've met already. He looks like I did at his age. Mil, you would be amazed. He shows no fear to us. He is friendly and unabashed by our presence. I think he's lonely. We leave in a few days. I fear for him. I hope if his father is our enemy, that we do not meet and that he returns home for his boy. As I have to return home for you. And when I do come home, I wonder if you would entertain the idea of starting our family. I want a son, Mil. What do you think?

As big as the universe,

Al.


It had been months. Months of watching men fall. Months of wandering through this unfamiliar land. Months to think about what my life could be. I spent 5 days with this young boy. I don't even know his name or what became of him. I would like to think that he made it through this war unscathed and that he felt no ill will towards us. I'd like to think that his father returned to care for him and his ailing mother. I'd like to think nothing but the best for this little boy who shared my lunch. It had been months since the last letter made it to me, and it would be another month still before I heard from my Love. But when I did I was elated. Two letters arrived at once. One updated me on my family, and the happenings back home in Jersey. It was postmarked two months before. Millie had fallen ill for a time but was on the mend now. The more recent letter was postmarked a few weeks back. I still have this letter...

Al,

I miss you love. The days grow longer and longer. I can't believe it has been 4 months since you left. I found it funny that I started on this letter a few days before I received your last one. My faith in God has never been as steady as now. I say this because I think your little German boy was a sign. A sign that good things are to come. I have news for you. I would have told you sooner but I feared the worst when I fell ill. Al, you're going to be a father. I am four and a half months pregnant. Of course I cannot guarantee that I will be able to give you a son. But I can guarantee that you will be an amazing father. I did not write about this before because I feared that I had lost the child when I was sick. I did not want you to worry or fear. When you come home... and God willing it will be soon. You will be a daddy. Keep your promise to me and I'll keep mine to you. Come home safe. I love you Al.

Yours,
Mildred

Five months later my son, Albert Latwinas Jr. was born. Five months later I was a father. It would be months still. Months upon months before I would come home again. Months before I would see my new family. Months before I would hold him and kiss him goodnight. But I would. I would hold him and kiss him. I would watch her curl her hair and look shyly at me from across the room. I would tell my wife that I love her with my little boy wrapped in my arms. I would keep my promise to her.

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That was a long one. I hope it was alright. <3

Meg

Starting to Write Again

I take so long to update. It's funny too because there are nights that I lay in bed with my laptop with this page open and I just don't know what to say. I can always talk about the trivial little things that happen to me day to day, but what are you really getting out of that? I'm not Confucius by any stretch, but I would like to write with some meaning.

Speaking of which I have been working on writing some nonfiction short stories about my family. These people are far too interesting to NOT write about them. That and I realized that I had forgotten my Pop-Pop's birthday. Which made me terrified of forgetting the stories he used to tell me. So I thought as a little taste test, I'd write a quick vignette here. My mom and I were reminiscing about Pop-Pop not too long ago and we chatted about his trains and our visits down to Florida when I was young. So here is a memory I am sharing here:


It was as it always had been. Every time I arrived it was the same scene. A comfort to know that stability existed; even if I had to fly 4 states South of my home to see it. I'd arrive at Nanny and Pop-Pops after an hour drive from the Tampa airport. Getting out of the car I'd walk halfway up the driveway with my head down and eyes scanning the concrete path. "HA!" Found it. There lying face up in the cement was a 1988 nickel. Pop-Pop had the driveway and sidewalk redone when they moved down to Florida and to commemorate the event he stuck what was in his pocket at the time into the fresh cement. It happened to be that lucky nickel. And I, without fail, would try to pry it up out of the cement every time I came down. Drat. Still stuck in there. Standing back up I dusted myself off and patted the head of a small statue near the front walk. A young man with 1920's attire holding a lantern that I'm sure at one point functioned. But as the years flew by, weather had battered and beaten the statue to it's current state. The light no longer worked and the paint came off of his hat into my hands. All the same, the stone man still smiled and offered up his lantern as a guide to home.

I could hear the TV from the front porch. Old age and poor hearing with the absolute refusal to get hearing aides resulted in the news being blasted at full force. If I stood at the other end of Goldcoast Avenue I'm sure I could still hear the 10-day forecast. Shuffling in with my backpack and duffel bag, I kicked my shoes off quickly and hopped in the parlor. Pop-pop was sitting in his recliner with a blue and cream crocheted throw covering his propped up legs on an old 70's ottoman. He looked up over his shoulder at me and a thousand watt smile spread across his face. (You'd never know he had dentures. I always just thought he had perfect teeth growing up!) "Blue eyes!" He slowly swiveled his chair around and tossed the blanket over the armrest. With a soft grunt the man pushed himself up off the chair with arms outstretched. Pop-pop's hugs were something to behold. Though the man stood barely over five and half feet, he was strong and purposeful. He pulled back after a few seconds and kissed my forehead; dead center as always. "Come in! Come in! You're room is all set. Hurry though, I want to show you my new Lionel." Nanny was shuffling around in the kitchen. "Wash your hands Megan! You don't know what you brought in from that big old air-jet." Perhaps this is where my affinity for hand sanitizer comes from...

After tossing my bags into the small back bedroom, I came back to meet Pop on the back porch. He was already there digging through a new UPS box with packing peanuts flying out both sides. He pulls from the box a blue engine; small and sturdy, with bright yellow lettering down the side: Santa Fe. My Pop-pop was a model train collector since well before I was even a thought in my parents' minds. He had trains from every era and they were all arranged around the porch on homemade shelving units that circled the room. To the left was a large fish tank with 5 Oscars bobbing around. Next to them was the masterpiece. It stood around 3 feet tall and over 12 feet long...taking over the entire left side of the room. For years Pop was building an elaborate train platform for his top engines. The platform needed paint and greenery, but all the track was laid perfectly. He even threw in some extra capital to get a working covered bridge that swayed open for passing ships. It was epic. Every time I visited he had a new boxcar or engine and a new part of the platform complete.

Pop took the new Santa Fe to the platform and hooked it up to an existing 6-car set on the track. A few switches and a rather loud whistle blow later the blue gem was on its way around the track. I'd only seen photos of what my grandfather looked like as a young man. He was a devilishly handsome Lithuanian American with a mop of wavy blonde hair and sparkling eyes the color of a clear sky. He retained all of his good looks even into his 70's. Not a stitch of gray hair invaded his golden locks and his eyes still twinkled behind a pair of fairly modern bifocals. His age was beginning to show as the wrinkles took over and the sun spots emerged. But the second that train started its trek down the platform, a completely different look appeared on his face. His grin was almost childlike, and his arthritic back straightened as the train took each curve of the track with ease. He was a happy man. You would never ever know to look at my grandfather that he had fought in a world war, seen people he loved die and struggled with a poor immigrant family through the Great Depression. Life was not an easy road for Pop-pop. But his smile never had a tinge of bitterness to it. Like the statue at the front walk, my Pop-pop was aging and weather-beaten, but he still had the same genuine smile and still stood as tall as when he was younger and stronger. When I was graduating high school and knee deep in my parents divorce I asked my granddad how he had managed to stay so positive for so long. That's when he told me about his time in the War. And that is a story for another day...

Love,
Meg

Ramblings.

These need to turn into something soon...


It'll never be the same again
The frigid heart of what once was a friend.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The words are poisoned with hate,
I'll never be sorry for feeling this way.
Been cut to the core,
and sad to say it's far too late.


~~~~~~~~~~~~
Windswept and weary,
Lost; not needing to be found
Perfectly content on this road
No lines, no lights, no sure way home.
The sun breaking lower...
The trees start to shiver...
A path becomes more clear,
Wondering where to turn;
Where to go from here.


~~~~~~~~~~~
I had to learn how to love before I could learn how to hate.
Thank you for showing me both.
Fuck you for making the latter stay.
I need to learn to forgive, before I learn to replace.
Thank you for losing it.
Fuck you for leaving me this way.


Okay, so I realize how some of these sound. They are simply honest, and not reflective of how I feel RIGHT NOW. LoL. But of course these thoughts occur. So before any of you think I'm off the wagon or thoroughly depressed; I'm not. I am just human. Life is good, but I still need to write. It's been far too long and I have a lot bottled up from years of love, pain, hate, fear, respect and confusion. It's all going to come out soon. I hope to keep posting things like this and eventually turning them into something whole. Don't ninja my stuff as your own or I'll hunt you down like a turkey at Thanksgiving. TYVM ;)

Megs

Your Pain is a Gift

I always hope to be better at this. Writing comes naturally to me so I'm not sure why it's so hard for me to post more frequently.

Life has been taking interesting twists and turns. Some good, some not so much so. But I guess that's why life is said to be a roller coaster right? I got a job interview for a full time spot at NOVA. I haven't heard back yet, but at least I know the interview went well for me. I also met with the chair of another PhD program and he was very insightful. I think I may have been barking up the wrong tree. Go figure I'd find out a year later. I hope I've not been wasting my time. Kimmie got married in the Keys and I was honored to be one of her bridesmaids. Weddings make me so happy because I can still see love left in the world... but then I also think back to my past and realize that many of my decisions have been overwhelmingly wrong. Enough on that today. That's a fight for a different day. More good stuff is that K and I have started our summer concert-going and baseball-watching. :) Concerts always do something extraordinary to me. After them I feel much more inspired to write and listen to music extremely LOUD. I've been playing Shinedown nonstop for a while now. Always been a top band of mine, but lately the songs off their new album have offered more of a cathartic experience for me. I support catharsis.

I've been missing people lately. I think because the seasons are changing again and the semester is winding to a close. I'll miss some of my students. They have really been awesome and supportive this semester. I needed the ego boost (a teacher of the year award didn't hurt either!) I'm also missing people who are not a part of my life anymore. I have got to start working on letting things go. Especially when I have NO control over them. That's always been one of my fatal flaws. I don't forget anything and I dwell constantly. Nothing about that can be healthy.

Regardless, I need to start working with what I have. My successes and failures can all benefit me if I use them correctly. This summer I resolve to start writing again. Not just on here, but my stories and songs again. I used to write everyday... but somehow over time I've lost faith in the craft and gave up. Time to stop hesitating all the time.

-M


"I never heard such a haunting melody. Oh, it's killing me. You know I can barely breathe. Just like a crow chasing a butterfly..." -Shinedown

Little Pieces of Home

It's not hard to realize that I'm from a very different place than where I live now. I grew up on the Eastern Shore of Virginia. There are only about 13 traffic lights from the Maryland state line to the Bay Bridge Tunnel and just now are they getting a Walmart. No Starbucks, no malls, no traffic, no buildings over four stories high (including the hospital). It's quiet, simple and underdeveloped at home. I grew up on 12 acres of field and woods with a creek that winds through my backyard and to the Chesapeake Bay. The home I lived in is well over 100 years old and three stories high. I know I could never live on the Shore again before retirement and be successful as there are no colleges to teach at. But I do now miss it. In high school I was so ready to be gone. It was boring to me then and everyone knew everyone's business. Those of you from small towns know exactly what I mean. But after undergrad, and now after graduate school I am starting to miss home. There is a stillness on the Shore that is lost up here in NOVA. Don't get me wrong, I do like it up here... but it's not the same. Everyone has places to go and things to do. I drive through 13+ traffic lights just to get to GMU. I can't even count the number I drive through to go to Woodbridge. I don't know my neighbors and I have no backyard. Home is a third story apartment that backs a drainage pond that I like to call a "lake." It's busy and prosperous and there are Starbucks as far as the eye can see. And I like it. I do. But sometimes, I ache for the quiet. I want to see familiar faces in my neighborhood.

This has often been my issue with being out here. It is so incredibly different. But then again, it isn't different at all. On days like today I can see little pieces of home peek through the facade of industry and progress. So today I drove home from Woodbridge and I took the back way through Old Clifton (about a 45 minute drive). A student from class recognized me on the drive and waved emphatically at me. It made me smile to see a familiar face for once. After getting further away from the traffic near DC, I made my way to the back roads. The back way cuts out lights and multiple lanes of pavement. It's a two lane, 40mph bumpy, windy road. There are FIELDS back there, and horses... annnnd 1.8 million dollar homes, but beggars can't be choosers. I can smell honeysuckle bushes along the ditches. It was glorious! I turned the AC in the Jeep off and cranked the windows down. I put some old Breaking Benjamin in the cd player and turned it up as loud as I could stand it! To top off the drive, I sipped on a $1.05 sweet tea from McD's. It was quiet and still... aside from Ben Burnley screaming through my speakers. ;) When I got home and got out of the Jeep, a breeze blew by me and rustled the few cherry blossom and dogwood trees in my complex. Petals flew all over the place and the perfume they made was heavenly.

I decided to take a second before going in and hopped up onto the burning hot hood of the Jeep. I laid back for a minute and just listened to the trees and felt 90 degrees burn into my pasty pale skin. Of course it wasn't like my old house where I could hear the sounds of the Bay and seagulls squawking. I heard a far off ambulance, kids hopping off a school bus, and some lame guy in his modified Honda Civic trying desperately to look "badass" in his "sports car." That's a post for a different day. But comparatively, it was quiet. It was still. Most everyone else is still at work so the parking lot is not full of cars for once. The sound of a very large motor made me open my eyes and hop off the Jeep. Driving by was a good ole' southern boy driving a jacked up 1990's Chevy Blazer with some rather large Micky Thompson tires. :) He tipped his camo hat at me and kept driving. The day was now complete. I saw a bonafide redneck up here and he politely said hello to me; a complete stranger. I grabbed my stuff and trudged up the stairs to my apartment where my cat was sitting by the door waiting for me just like my old cat Cleo used to at home on the Shore. Unlike here, I'd never lock the door behind me. But regardless of the differences: the people, the scenery, the animals, the sounds... it still has pieces that make me feel like I'm not so far away from home. And on days like today, it is almost perfect.

-M

Anyone out there?!

So who actually reads this blog? I'm curious to know. If you do read regularly would you "follow" the blog for me? I'd hate to think that the same three people that hear me bitch about life all the time are the only three reading this shindig. So if you are out there, let me know. Leave a comment or something. :)

I'll have more updates this week, but right now there is a chicken parm sub that is screaming my name. I must answer the call. ;)

-M

I was only looking for the shortcut home

It feels like Spring again. I'm amazed at how warm it is right now considering the first official day of Spring was only yesterday. But I'll certainly take it. My mood tends to improve as the weather does. I stood out on my balcony last night and watched the sunset while listening to my favorite Lifehouse songs. It was as peaceful as I've seen up here in NOVA. Not silent, but peaceful. I've been hearing optimism escape my lips lately and it doesn't taste as bitter anymore.

Life is about to get very busy again, but I'm welcoming it! Most of the things I am doing in the upcoming months are going to be fun and needed. A few concerts are lined up, as well as Orioles games, two weddings in Florida and a few extra days in the Keys to catch up on some R&R. I'm also hoping that Dad and Joan visit soon for the cherry blossoms. Mom is coming up to visit my sister in PA next week, so I'm going to try to make a trip up to see them. My family has been having a rough go of it lately, so I am thinking of them often. Mom is dealing with a possibly serious diagnosis so if you would, keep her in your prayers. My sister is having a hard time job scouting in this economy, and poor Joan is swamped with work that others should probably be handling. My father is of course carrying loads of stress around with him but always with a shit-eating grin on his face. I swear he is my hero. lol. I do wish I could be more like him.

Regardless of the stress and drama, I can see things looking up. I still don't know where I'll be next year or what I'll be doing, but I know I'll at least be working towards a goal. It may be further off than I would like, but honestly that'll only make it sweeter when it is reached. And it certainly will be. All of our goals will be met in some form... even if it's not the way we expect them to arrive.

We make plans and set deadlines and sometimes they just pass us by. Other times they are taken from us or changed without our permission. Pouting about it or sobbing over the speed bumps won't help any (trust me, I did that already as you all are well aware). What truly counts is how you adjust your course and regain your bearings. I'm looking forward to that honestly. Life is constantly changing around me (and I mean more than education/job stuff). And some of it I might not see as a positive addition to my existence... but at some point it will become just that. It's just fighting to get there.

On the other hand we also have to know when to just let something go. I'm soo bad at this. I'm always clinging onto dead dreams and relationships that are unable to be revived. It's a curse of mine... but I do know I'm not the only one. So often we want to believe that people can change or that they'll become the person we know they can be. Other times we see them become that person with our help, only to be shunned and forgotten in the end. How can we let go? Of course I'm speaking personally, but I say "we" because I know at least a few of you reading this can relate. There are still songs I can't play and places I can't visit without painful reminders of what was and will never be again. I've gotta find that way to let it (or them) go.

I'm hopeful though, that someday I can look back on all these things and feel no spite, no hurt, or perhaps just nothing at all.

"Too long we've been denying. Now we're both tired of trying. We hit a wall and we can't get over it. Nothing left to relive... it's water under the bridge. You said it, I get it, I guess it is what it is" - Lifehouse

-M