Chapter 32: Exit

It was our annual trip to the pumpkin patch.  But this year, I was alone.  What we normally did together as a family, was now me doing as a single parent.  The difference was huge and noticeable.  It seems that with each holiday, each tradition, each little-thing-that-we-always-used-to-do, the change is glaring.  The aloneness is jagged and sharp.

I have determined to keep moving.  To count my blessings.  To go through the uncomfortable feelings.

And the best example of this came in the form of a corn maze.  Yep, that’s right.  A freakin’ corn maze - with a Batman and Robin theme, no less.

It had been years since I had been in a corn maze.  The kids?  Never.  They had talked me into buying the whole experience: the pumpkin cannon, the petting zoo, and the corn maze.  

“How hard could it be?” I thought.  We entered with excitement.  Hands stamped, map out, camera ready.

“Ok, here we go!  Now, turn right.  Good. Then, we’ll follow the curve to… Wait.  Uh.  Well, let’s just keep going.  We’ll figure it out!” I laughed with fake-enthusiasm.

Perhaps this was not a good idea.  The reminder that I have no sense of direction and no ability to read a map sunk in.  We were lost.  And I was in charge.  

Panic stared at me as I reminded myself that I can do this.  I’ve got this.  I can make it.

Fortunately, we weren’t alone in the maze.  As soon as I saw a group that clearly knew where they were going, I asked if we could tag along.  The grandfather of the group assumed the role of guide and kindly pointed out where we were on the map with each turn.  Each curve.  And finally, within sight of the exit.

I have never been more relieved in my life.  We. Made. It!

And like the maze, I realize that there will be an exit to this chapter.  That without the help of others, I undoubtedly would be lost.

Divorce is not easy. There are days overflowing with doubt.  There is a sadness for not only what was lost, but for the future-that-never-was.  

And yet I hold onto the hope that we’ll make it.  Me, my kids.  One broken and beautiful family.  

Chapter 31: Appearances

The restaurant was called Remy - a nod to an authentic French restaurant.  Nevermind that we were nowhere near France.  Nor land, for that matter.  We were on board a Disney cruise line, in the middle of the ocean.  And, the chef was exactly what you would imagine when casting a French chef: rudy cheeks, round belly, and mischievous eyes that sparkled against his accent. 

We decided on the full 8-course dinner.  Each course served on an actual silver platter.  The waitstaff would line up, circle around, then present each of us at the exact same moment.  Perfect choreography cueing a perfect, impressed response.  I think we actually cheered the first time.

Over three hours, we oohed and ahhed over the presentation: the drizzled sauces, the intricate cuts, the precisely plated entrees.  We savored the flavors and exotic tastes.

From the outside, it was exquisite.  A private room.  Wined and dined.  Surrounded by family.

But inside, I was crumbling.  A week before our vacation, news had surfaced and things had changed.  My marriage was falling apart, and I remember sitting in my black dress at the white-clothed table - in what should have been an unbelievably romantic experience and feeling nothing but emptiness.

Things are not always what they seem, are they?  Like the French restaurant.  Looking in, you could have been fooled into thinking it was real.  But really, it was just an imitation.  It was alluring and appealing from a distance.  Inside, strangely hollow.  

It was the strangest combination.  A full stomach paired with a broken heart.  

Chapter 30: Devils Punchbowl

The Oregon coast is more Wuthering Heights than MTV Spring Break.  It is stormy and rugged in a romantic kind of way.  Think galoshes and raincoats instead of flip-flops and sarongs.  So while most of the country followed the sun south, we drove straight west.  Over the Cascades, through the fertile valley, and into the windy, rocky edge of Oregon.

We visited lighthouses, got queasy on a fishing boat, giggled at sea lions, creeped by The Goonies house, and ate way too much clam chowder.  But my favorite part was seeing Devils Punchbowl: a giant rock formation whose waters swirl with the incoming tide, before emptying out into the ocean.

The path down to the beach (and bottom of the punchbowl) was inconspicuous.   Had the yellow, Do-Not-Cross tape not been strung across the entrance, we would have driven right past.  Do Not Cross?!  More like, Welcome, All who Dare to Enter.

Duke and Eloise raced down the path only to stop abruptly at the sidewalk’s tragic end.  A landslide of sorts had taken out the pathway - requiring only the truly committed to grab a rope and swing/slide down the rest of the way.

We took turns scaling down the cliff before scrambling across the barren beach, leaping over little inlets, the sand squishing beneath our feet.  Then, we stopped.  Not only were the sides of Devil’s Punchbowl made of rock, but so was the bottom.  And rock + water = algae.  It was like Trolls meets Dr. Seuss: the algae was a furry, neon green, with red/orange/brown worlds growing in between.  Fairy dust and moon craters.

We crawled across the slippery rock, before Duke insisted we go back, worried that the tide would suddenly burst in and we would be dragged out to sea.

A safe distance from the Punchbowl, we wandered around the tide pools.  Still slipping and leaping and exclaiming.  We saw sea urchins and alien-like-life-forms.  We got slapped by the spray of the waves and laughed at each other’s reactions.  The moment forever captured in my mind.

The sun faded into the horizon as slowly as the tide came rolling in, so we turned one last time toward the rising water in the punchbowl before trudging back.

It’s hard to say why this moment, more than any other, stands out from our trip.  Was it because it was so unexpected?  So new?  Was it because of the sense of urgency, knowing that we had a small sliver of time to see it?  Or because the world was filled with color and light and wonder.  Perhaps, it’s all of the above.   A mix of emotions and sights. 

Like punch: swirling and stirring around.  

Chapter 29: It's Summer Somewhere

You always want what you can’t have.  When it’s summer, you complain of the heat.  When it’s winter, you whine of the cold.  Inside, you get cabin fever.  Outside, you get, well, tired-of-being-outside.

Inevitably, there’s something you wish for.  And in Bend, in January, that something is warmth.  

I thought it would be important fun to deed a day, It’s Summer Somewhere.  So that’s just what we did.  For one day, we ignored the 20-something degrees and snowy outside and imagined an 80-something degrees and beachy inside.

We made sand castles and put on shorts.  We had a picnic in front of the the TV, playing a one hour loop of a green, grassy park.  We swam at the (indoor) pool and had a bubble-gum-blowing contest.  We grilled burgers and toasted with pina coladas.

It was a perfect cocktail of Fourth of July and Tropical Vacation.  Summer and silliness.  Sweet and salty.

Viktor Frankl said, “When we are no longer able to change a situation, we are challenged to change ourselves.”  He’s right.  Sometimes you can’t change your circumstances.  You can’t wish the cold away.  But, you can change your attitude.  And pretend.