Where Are We Going

*** Entry Preface ***

This entry will also be used for the final column/article I wrote for the San Diego Reader. The title "Where Are We Going" is play on a Dave Matthews song titled "Where Are You Going." During my two months of writing with the Reader my life has taken on many new meanings. I found writing coming from inside of me that could only be inspired by my friends, family, and most importantly my wife.

The assignment to write for the Reader was exciting at times as well as trying thru others. In late May Judith Moore, the editor at the Reader who asked me to write the column, passed away before she was able to read all of my submitted work. I never had the opportunity to completely thank her for the wonderful opportunity. Wherever you are Judith...Thank you.

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Where Are We Going

It’s 5:39 a.m. on the day of the rehearsal dinner. I’m sitting here typing what will be my last blog before my wedding and subsequent honeymoon.

I’m tired. My feet are swollen and my knees are ready to crack with then next subtle bend. My hands and elbows burn with brittle suggestion that arthritis may soon be setting in. My neck and shoulders are not yet relieved of the fatigue from carrying my head through yesterday’s hours. My eyes are tired and bleary. My ears sensitive to even the slightest sounds.

The last week has consumed me with both it’s random tasks and specific purposes. Prepping the house for visitors, finalizing the gifts for family and friends, and making last minute substitutions. The details are tedious yet necessary. Twice we’ve had to find someone to watch the dogs on the day of the wedding, replace the stale and rotting mulch that accents the landscape of our house, and framing pictures for sisters and grandmothers. Picking up laundry, dry cleaning, and bridal jewelry. Finalizing vendor payments and plans. Meetings with wedding coordinators, hair dressers, and postal employees. Each task seemed to be followed with yet another. All important and one by one crossed off a list that leads to tomorrow evening.

Today is paramount. We’ve been at this wedding planning table on and off for eighteen months. Yet the next 36 hours will be the key to putting everything together. Drawing boards and game planes are props at this point. Time is short and polish has been issued for application to every detail that remains incomplete. I’ve got nearly every minute appropriated between now and 4:30 this evening. It is a day for finishing touches, hair cuts, and collecting tuxedos.

Tonight is practice. A puzzle of sorts. Family and friends have been conversing and debating for months on end about this wedding. For those family and friends their previously envisioned landscapes and ocean backdrops will be repainted into a wedding site that many of them have never seen before. They will all be told where and how to stand. They will be told when or when not to proceed with their piece of the wedding puzzle. The unfinished spaces in filling that puzzle will be placed carefully tonight so that a picture of tomorrow is complete.

Tomorrow is the day. It is a day that for me begins with a lull. The morning is slated to provide a rested and relaxed start. I won’t need to be anywhere or be doing anything until nearly noon. And from there I will be consumed into a whirlwind of activity that will culminate in a joyous celebration of matrimony. Mothers and fathers, aunts and uncles, sisters, and friends will witness a union of two people…two souls. Glasses will be raised and music, dancing, and blessings will follow. Pictures of smiles, hugs, kisses, and maybe a few happy tears. Memories will be created and forever written into our minds.

Sunday a new life begins. When I used to envision myself in the future I always saw myself alone. That vision has evolved. Now I stand alone and someone appears at my side and grasps my lonely hand. It is unknown just where we will go. It is known who will be there by my side. This person I love and cherish gives me comfort and understanding. She gives me reason and rationale and balances me out. She makes me smile even when she is in a different room. She gives me strength and a deep sense of belief and belonging. She loves me unconditionally and does not judge or belittle me for the decisions I make. She makes me laugh and love. Yes indeed, a new life has begun. Her life and my life are now “our life” for today and always.

Vow Incited

The serrated blade squeezed through the bread and slid into my skin. My heart leapt, I jumped up in pain, dropped the knife, and clasped my finger with the opposite hand. A single crimson drop of blood formed at the tip of my left pointer finger.

Suddenly it felt like an ice pick was pressing into my chest. My hands turned numb, my vision blurred, and my stomach brewed with nausea. Beads of sweat formed on my forehead. My arms dropped to my side all but incapacitated. My head bobbed into unconscious. A ringing pierced my ear drums and then curtailed into a deep silence.

I could hear someone saying my name. A familiar voice, it seemed distant.

“Jeremy. Jeremy. Are you ok?”

I knew the voice, but in a daze I could not place it exactly.

Again the voice called out, “Jeremy. Can you hear me? Are you ok!?!”

Finally my senses returned. “That voice is Rhiana’s,” I thought. A slight smile grew slowly on my face from the sound of her voice. “Yes. Now things are returning to normal.”

A third time Rhiana asked, “Jeremy. Answer me. What is going on?”

Like I had just been woken from a trance I muttered in a hushed monotone, “I cut my finger slicing the bread. It’s not bad, but I’m going to pass out. Get me a chair I don’t want to fall. And can you turn off the oven?”

Rhiana agreed, “I will get you a chair but first you have to sit down on the floor.”

My incoherence placed me into a fogged state of confusion. “No. I can stand up if you just get me a chair and turn off the oven.”

Rhiana turned to get a chair. I stood and glared at the lime green digital numbers on our pearl white stove top range. The numbers read, “350.” My mind raced with the thought of the over heated oven. “I just have to turn it off. It’s only a few steps away. I will feel better once it is turned off.” One step towards the stove top and the digital numbers danced like fireflies on a hot summer night. One half step and the numbers swung into a streak of lime green lightning.

Darkness ensued.

I felt the cool kitchen floor tiles on my face. The hum that resonated from the refrigerator motor was slightly louder than normal. I rolled to my back, placed my hand on the window sill, and pulled myself against the wall. My sweaty hands slid on the tile as I propped myself into an upright position. I was then sitting and facing the very stove that caused me to fall. The white cabinets and appliance appeared jumbled together in a white clouded blob before me.

I heard that familiar voice again. “Jeremy. Jeremy! What happened? Are you ok? Why couldn’t you just leave that stupid oven be?”

Crouched on the floor I held my head up. Immediately it sank back down and the nausea in my stomach nearly elevated to a heave. Again I tried to hold up my head and again it fell back in between my shoulders.

Frantically Rhiana demanded answers “Are you ok? Can you hear me? What happened?”

I mumbled once more about the stove and then as the nausea nearly overcame me I said, “Call 9-1-1.”

Rhiana left the room and returned with the phone. She dialed a few chirps and dashed thru the operators query, “Hello. Yes. Medical please. My fiancé cut his finger, he passed out, and I think he hit his head on the way down. Okay. Thank you.”

She also returned to the room with a cold water soaked hand towel. She pressed it to my face, “Can you hold this on your head?” “Let me see your finger. You are bleeding everywhere.” She lifted my limp arm from the floor and folded my unscathed fingers down and out of the way. “You need to hold this hand up. Hold this paper towel on it and keep up the pressure while I get the bandages. Why didn’t you listen to me and just sit down?”

Coming back to my senses I persisted, “Did you turn off the oven?” She was still out of the room.

Returning again and this time agitated by the repeated question she snapped back, “Yes. The oven is off. Keep your hand up!”

It was then that I could here the rumble of diesel engines rolling onto our quiet street. The engines grew loud and bombastic and then they idled off into silence. Rhiana opened the door and I could hear a scanner radio screeching out updates over the emergency radio band. The voices of several men talking in the drive grew closer accompanied by the thump of large protective boots. I could see the silhouette of a firemen’s hat standing just outside the door. Rhiana stepped out to greet them.

As the crew began to fill the kitchen Rhiana leaned down and looked into my dazed eyes. “You know that whole ‘in sickness and in health thing’? We haven’t agreed to that yet, so try to not do something like this again for another couple of weeks. Okay?”

Okay.