Jamie

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Jamie’s Thoughts

 

Chile miners rescue

Wednesday, October 13th, 2010

I normally don’t watch TV in the morning (with the exception of a few minutes of the Weather Channel), but I’m making an exception this morning. Drew switched on CNN last night so we could see the beginning of the Chilean mine rescue. I unfortunately didn’t keep up to date with this current event. I knew there were miners trapped and were going to be rescued soon, but that was the extent of it. When we turned on the TV, it became more real.

We watched as one brave, crazy man stuffed himself into a shoulder width capsule (escape pod, as one of the commentators called it), and descended into the earth. I can’t even begin to imagine the 15 minute trip into the core of the earth in this tight little thing. I’m not typically claustrophobic, but if I was ever going to be, that would be the time!

I learned all the things I had failed to keep up with about this amazing story. How 33 miners had been trapped in a 500 square foot space for 69 days. How people from all over the world had come to help, including NASA, who was invaluable in their psychological help for the miners. How Germany gave a tough cable that is used on their ski lift for use on the escape pod. How some of the miners had to jog and exercise to be sure they’d fit in the capsule. How they had to have a liquid diet (the kind NASA gives to astronauts) before ascending in the capsule so they wouldn’t feel nauseous. How the Chilean president was right there for the rescue.

There was a camera in the mine, and as the brave rescuer finally arrived, we watched as all the miners embraced him. There was a Chilean flag in the mine, as well as a light, the only source of light they had. Then, the first miner was suited up with extra clothes (the mine was 90 degrees and on the surface it was cold… being winter in Chile) and sunglasses (to help their eyes adjust to the bright lights) and stuffed into the capsule. For a very long 15 minutes, the world watched, the TV commentators talked about anything they could to kill time. The crowd gathered nearby waved flags and sang the national anthem.

I told Drew it was hard to watch. My stomach was in knots. It felt real, but it also kind of felt like a movie. I had to remind myself it wasn’t a movie, and that things could go wrong. This may not be the miraculous recovery we all envision. Drew then told me they are on a 30 second delay feed, just in case something goes wrong, they can cut the feed. Yikes.

Fifteen long minutes later, we were still waiting. I had to pee, but wasn’t going to budge until that miner was safe. Finally, the wheel stopped turning, and the capsule emerged from the ground. The first miner stepped out, looking a bit dazed and confused. His wife and son stood nearby, and the son, who had remained composed while waiting, burst into tears at the first sight of his dad. He embraced them, the crowd cheered, the President beamed; it was a glorious moment.

We didn’t want to turn the TV off. It was awesome. We finally made ourselves turn it off, as it was nearly midnight. We turned it back on this morning and found that nine miners had been freed. Now, as I watch it, 12 have been freed. So far, all has gone perfectly. They showed some old feed from previous miners that had been freed, and one emerged from the capsule and opened a bag and handed out rocks from the mine as souvenirs to the crowd. He held his arms up in victory.

I love stories like this. After so many sad news stories about war and death and rape and murder and drugs and all things sad and overwhelming, it’s wonderful to have an uplifting story with a happy ending. As I watch the miners reunited with family, I tear up.

It also reminds me of how good I have it. These poor men have been stuck in the harshest conditions for three months. I have a hard time sleeping if my memory foam isn’t settled just right. They’ve been sleeping on rock. How spoiled I am.

I’m having a hard time tearing myself away. I’d sit here and watch this all day, if I could.

Misty walk

Monday, October 11th, 2010

Although these aren’t the best quality pictures (taken from my phone), I wanted to share the misty morning walk I just enjoyed.

As I walked, I could tell it was fall. Which is comforting, as the last couple days have kind of lost that fall feeling here in Tallahassee. Near record high temperatures in the 90s have made me almost want to burst into tears. I just can’t take any more heat. But a coolish morning with the fog settling in over the trees makes me let out a huge sigh of relief. Summer is on it’s way out, and fall is pushing it’s way on in.

I watched one lone little leaf twirl down to the ground with a quiet little plop. It made me almost squeal in delight. Which is weird, because that little leaf just died. It just fell off the tree and plummeted to it’s death. Yet, in that lone leaf’s death, it signifies fall to me and reminds me of all the things I love about it. So call me morbid, but it excites me.

I know many people get depressed by foggy mornings. I know several people in the Pacific Northwest, where fog is practically a daily occurrence. They long for near record high temperature sunny days. I know if I had to endure fog on a daily basis, it would definitely lose it’s allure. Since I don’t, I love them. I don’t see them as depressing. Rather, it’s quiet, calm, and mysterious.

As I’ve been walking these past few fall mornings, I’ve noticed I’m not the only one enjoying the cooler weather. The birds and squirrels have gotten quite frisky. I hear more chirping and the squirrels seem to be running even faster, like the squirrel from Over the Hedge that tried caffeine. I’ve also noticed the bird seed disappearing even faster from our feeder. I’m keeping careful tabs on it to see how fast it disappears this week.

Now with all that rambling, I’m off to finish my pumpkin spice coffee.

A journal entry

Saturday, October 9th, 2010

I’ve been feeling out of it all day. Feeling defeated, frustrated, overwhelmed. Teared up a couple times today with no idea why. Tried to pull myself out of the funk, to no avail.

We went out and got dinner, then went for a bit of a drive. It was twilight, and the glow of the pretty much already set sun was peeking from behind the horizon. We drove through a low lying area next to a swamp (maybe a lake), and the glow on the water was beautiful. Hard to tear my eyes away. NPR was on, very faintly, in the background. All I could hear was the whistling s’s of the Prairie Home Companion host. I was curious to what he was saying, but was also being lulled by the softness of the almost inaudible voice. As if reading my mind, Drew reached over and turned it up and we caught the tail end of a story; some man sneezing so hard that he pulled his back. Though I didn’t really understand the story, having come in in the middle, I was still entranced. I leaned back in the car seat, took a deep breath and let myself be lulled once again by the sound of his voice. I felt like a little girl being put to bed after successfully begging her daddy for a bedtime story. As I listened, I gazed at the faint outline of the passing trees, still luminous from the twilight all around.

The story wrapped up and was followed by a brief piano piece. It was simple, peppy, and relaxing. Drew reached over and took my hand, and we drove in silence along the deserted country road. I took a few more deep breaths and felt a little more tension fizzle away. Canopy roads enveloped us, but every now and again we caught a glimpse of the slight sliver of a moon in the sky.

Another short story followed, then the show was wrapped up by the musical guest for the day, an acoustic duo. They did a song entitled Paradise Lost. It was a song with acoustic guitar and harmonizing vocals. The lyrics were simple and reflected on the times when we could play for hours in a field and run thru the woods in our backyard. How everyone longs for a home on the hill with a view of heaven. Now all that is concrete and buildings and no trespassing signs. During the song, I was truly transfixed. When it was over, I simply thought, “Wow.” I was really touched by it in a way that no music has touched me in a long time. After a moment of silence, Drew commented on the song, saying that it was really captivating. It really was.

We arrived home shortly thereafter, and stood in our dark front yard (we’d both forgotten the porch light) and looked up at the stars. We held each other for a few moments, and I hesitated, not quite ready to go inside yet. I hugged my husband a little tighter.

I came home a little more whole.

Missing my friend

Wednesday, October 6th, 2010

I am feeling a strange sense of loneliness this morning. I am missing a dear friend, and although I often have moments where I’d love to meet up in a coffee shop with her, the urge is especially overwhelming today. The problem is, she lives clear across the country in Washington state, an entire world away from my humid little Tally town.

She and I met on tour with the African Children’s Choir. We spent fifteen months galavanting across the country and then the world. When we had days off together, we jumped for joy and would explore new territory, scaling mountains on the backs of golf carts and cramming ourselves into small elevators on their way up to the tops of monuments. The memories we have together are countless, and when recalled upon, usually leave the two of us howling with laughter, and the rest of the world staring at us quizzically.

She is the friend that I can completely be myself around. I can drop all pretenses and know that she will absolutely love the vulnerable, insecure little thing underneath. I know, because it’s the same way with her. I think the reason we get along so well is because we’re so alike. I’ve loved the conversations we’ve had together, some heart wrenching, and some just surface level and silly. She is also the friend that I can be completely goofy around. I think she taught me how to snort when laughing.

She is also the friend that first inspired me in my love for anything coffee. I remember being on tour and her buying me a mocha, to start me off easy. I remember sipping it thinking, “I can still taste coffee.” Now if I have a mocha, I think, “Is there any coffee in this???” Thanks, friend, for fueling the addiction.

She and I were married within a year of each other and bought our first house just months apart. I jokingly told her not to get pregnant yet, cause I wasn’t yet ready to follow her into that uncharted milestone. We’ve had gut wrenching conversations over the phone about compromises in marriage, unconditional love, sex, fights, and home improvement joys and nightmares.

Last year she flew to Jacksonville, and I drove over to meet her. We spent a girly weekend sipping coffee, browsing gift shops, giggling, drinking sweet tea and scrap booking. (I recently found some pictures from that weekend that would go great with this post, but I don’t think she’d appreciate me sharing them… In fact, I wouldn’t appreciate it either. ) It was blissful, and we agreed to do it again this year. We decided it was my turn to fly to her corner of the world. We’ve tossed e-mails back and forth regarding it, and I’ve been promising to look at cheap plane tickets. We have yet to nail down a date, and craziness at work has prevented me from following through with that cheap ticket promise.

I have been reading a book that she sent to me a few months back: Writing Down the Bones. I’ve taken my time reading it, trying to absorb all the good writing encouragement that is within the covers. I’ve only got a few chapters left. I searched her blog this morning, remembering that she had talked about this book there. I wanted to read her thoughts on it. As I searched, I ended up reading several older blog entries, and the loneliness of daily life without my special friend hit me hard.

It’s time to nail down that weekend. I need giggles, coffee, and lots of gut wrenching catching up my friend.