Fire, as my roommate Scott so adeptly pointed out this evening, makes me thoughtful. So, as I sit here on the patio swing in front of the fire pit, I find it fitting that I indulge the desire to write.
I have successfully resumed work at the prison, and this last week has been... well, it's been interesting. On the one hand, it's so nice to start falling back into a routine. I missed these people. Well, most of them at any rate, lol. And the work I missed. Doing the Army detainee training reminded me of that. I like my job. I had forgotten that before I left. I got so caught up in the bullshit and drama that I had forgotten that I liked what I did for a living. But, my return to the prison reminded me that I hate who I work for. The manipulative, hypocritical administration is... well, it didn't take me long to remember why I was so anxious for a break, lol.
Life outside of work has been crazy as well. I've been trying to no avail to get a loan to buy a new truck. It seems that someone under the age of 30 that doesn't have a huge mortgage is considered a high-risk loan candidate, even if they have decent credit. Asinine. I'm not giving up on it yet. But it's still frustrating the hell out of me.
But, despite the madness that is my life of late, I find myself completely in awe of how lucky I am. And that, will be the focus of my writing tonight.
Scott joined me for fire time and wine earlier, and as we enjoyed being outside in what has turned out to be a perfect night for a fire, we talked about our lives and the people in them... specifically family. And as always in such conversations, my mind drifted to memories of home.
I was ten, and I was excited. Camping was a huge adventure, and I was getting to go -- without my parents, or my brother, who at that age was the total bane of my existence. My maternal grandparents were taking me to Wells, Maine to spend a few weeks in their old pop-up camper, in a campground just minutes from the beach.
When we arrived at the campground, we settled in, and made it to the beach in time to watch the sunset. As the sun went down, I played catch with my grandfather on the sand, while the surf rolled in, and my Nana watched from her beach chair, laughing. I can remember thinking then that they would be around forever, and that we would spend every summer for eternity playing catch on the beach. It would be several years before I would understand mortality.
A few days later, Gramp started the evening tradition of building the camp fire after dinner. I had watched this process every night, and thought I had it pretty well figured out.
"Gramp, can I help?" He stopped crinkling up newspaper and smiled.
"Well, I guess you can, dear. Come on over here." So, I crouched on the ground next to the fire pit, and meticulously made the log teepee that I'd watched him make every night. It wasn't perfect, but he didn't touch it. Instead, he handed me some newspaper, and together we crinkled it up into little balls and tucked it inside the teepee, and placed a few slivers of kindling on top of it. When we were done, we sat back and looked at our handiwork.
"Well, I think that's a mighty fine looking setup we've got here. What'dya think?" Downeast Maine was thick in his voice. Looking back it's one of the things I remember most distinctly about him. And one of the things I miss most.
I smiled. "It's great!" As his laugh rang out into the twilight, he handed me the matches.
"Well, do the honors, then." As I struck the match off the stone of the pit like I'd seen him do dozens of times, and would see him do countless more, I felt a tangle of emotions that at ten years old I had no hope of understanding. But as the fire lit, and the flames rose, I knew that moment was special, but I had no idea that it would be a memory that would stick with me well into adulthood. Nor did I care, as I was handed my skewer for marshmallow roasting. A young girl had to have her priorities, after all...
My summers that I spent camping at the beach with my grandparents are some of my favorite memories from my youth. As I got older, though, and life took over, I grew apart from my grandparents, and two years ago, my grandfather passed away. With his death, I found myself remembering more of the little things about him, and regretting the loss of the closeness we had shared in my childhood. Hindsight truly is 20/20.
Tonight, as I meticulously set up my teepee of firewood, I smiled, and thought of Gramp. I can't recall a time when I haven't made my fires the way I learned from him. Some lessons stick with you, even without realizing it, and those lessons keep the people that imparted them with you long after they're gone. So, tonight as I sit here, I think of Gramp and the other colorful characters that have imparted lessons in my life, I realize how truly blessed I am to have so many wonderful people that have shaped the person I am -- and how blessed I am that they stick with me, even when I'm unintentionally neglectful because life gets in the way.
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