Helping to Chart a Lost Continent

Helping to Chart a Lost Continent

by Linda Albert

Every woman

is part of

a lost continent

that flourished once

like Mur, Lemuria,

Atlantis,

until some ancient

cataclysm

swallowed it whole,

submerged

each woman's story

under the sea.

Fathoms deep,

we slept away

our pain for eons,

hinted at, but

best forgotten.

Now, despite that,

everywhere you look

another speck

of land appears,

thrusting itself upward

after a long and arduous

labor.

It is a delicate business,

helping to birth

a continent,

requiring every

woman-voice

to make the new

/old landmass whole

and seamless,

a foolish, fearless

heart

to chart it.

Sweet Dreams

I had a dream about my dad last night. In the dream, we were at the home that I grew up in and it must have been a Sunday morning because my mom was frying bacon. She was making breakfast for my dad and he was getting ready to go to work. I could sense the urgency for her to hurry--he had to leave and was trying to get directions to where he had to go. I spoke to him in this dream, which was unusual because in most dreams I have had about him I'm just a spectator--watching him as if I am, in fact, in a dream. But not in this one--I was part of it. He was sitting at the computer and was talking to my mom. They were talking about where he was going and he said he couldn't find how to get there. I spoke to him and told him about a Web site to visit and he said that the computer was not functioning properly so I fixed it so he could get his directions. Then, the scene changed. I was at a banquet with Jon and we were going to watch someone get an award. I think it was a school function because a little boy whom I had taught in second grade came up to me. He said, "Can I have a hug?" This particular child and I had bonded that school year because he lost his mother to an illness, similar to the illness that killed my father. This little boy always reminded me of my dad--his appearance, his personality, his wit, his ability to agitate--all of those things reeked of my dad and I had told his grandmother that on many occasions. So in the dream, I looked at the little boy and said, "Come here, baby." I hugged him and he held on to me so tight. I hugged and hugged and hugged him and I didn't want to let go. He didn't want to let go of me, either. You see, his grandmother had told me that I reminded him of his mother. I look similar to the way she looked, our personalities were similar, and the way I carry myself is just like she presented herself. In that dream, that little boy and I were consoling each other. We were taking the place of the person to whom the other had lost and for a moment, we felt like we communicated with our lost loved one. Then, the dream was over.

Semper Fi

The Fourth of July is tomorrow and it always reminds me of my dad who passed away nearly four years ago. My dad was an ex-Marine and he was a Devil Dog to the core. While most teenagers have the luxury of sleeping in on the weekends, my brother and I were typically awakened by the horns of "Stars and Stripes Forever" and "The Marine Corps Hymn" blaring through the house from the speakers of our sound system. My dad wasn't much on setting aside time to sit down and impart widsom, but rather taught by example. He didn't tell us that we should love our country, fight for what is important in our lives, and take care of your family--he didn't need to because he showed us these things each and every day in the manner in which he lived. He loved his country and because of him I, too, am very patriotic.

Every Fourth of July we take the kids downtown to watch the parade and every time I see the soldiers marching I begin to well up with tears. I become overwhelemed with a feeling of pride for my country and an appreciation for the freedom that I have that so many men and women have died for over the years. Inevitably, I think about my dad, how he fought in Vietnam when he was a young adult and how he had to watch his friends die on the battlefield--that is when I can't hold back the emotion as tears begin to roll down my face. The sacrafices that he and so many others have made for me and the rest of the country is made real at that precise moment.

Before my dad died, I had a special gift made for him to show my appreciation for not only his service to our country but also to show him what he meant to me. That gift was a set of dog tags that reads his name and the words, "Vietnam Veteran and hero to his family." When he opened the gift, he seemed almost bewildered as if he had no clue of what an impact he had on my life and he began to cry. I don't think he realized what he had imparted on me (or the rest of our family) and how we recognized the sacrifice he had made for us.
Now, I have his original dog tag and the one that I had made for him. Every now and then, I will place it around my neck and put on one of his Marine Corps T-shirts and reminisce about days past and try to hear his voice. I miss him each and every day and there isn't a day that goes by that I don't think about him. What I wouldn't give to have him wake me up just one more time by playing a John Phillips Sousa song or by banging a pot and hearing him shout, "Revellie, revellie, revellie!" One day I will see him again, but until then I'll keep cherishing the memories that I have and try to instill a love of country to my own children as my dad did for me.

My Family

Last weekend my sister-in-law, Dana, her daughter, and one of her friends came to visit us for the weekend. We had a blast going to the beach (even though there was a shark attack that day), spending time at the pool, going to dinner, and bowling. We went down to the riverfront where Dana took this picture of me and my family. Look at those children--aren't they precious? Jon and I enjoyed spending time with Dana and the girls loved tagging along behind the teenagers...you know, our girls think they're teens in training. I'm relishing these days of playing dress up, Barbies, and family night because before I know it, these little ones are going to be grown. For now, they're our little ones, and little is just fine with me.

(Not-So) Lazy Days on the Beach

Although it is not officially summer for a few more days, summertime here in Southeast Georgia begins in about April. The heat starts to intensify which spurs our first beach outing. This year, things are not quite as relaxed as they have been in previous summers due to the precious little ball of energy pictured here. Eve (who thinks she is applying sunscreen) is keeping us on our toes this summer, particularly while on the beach. Never have I seen more sand in a diaper nor have I experienced the pleasure of changing a diaper from a baby who has spent the previous day eating sand. She, like her older siblings, loves going to the beach and the pool, and although I get my daily exercise, I love taking her. If she could just quit eating the sand, I'd be really happy.

Cardboard Testimonies

Watch this.

Happy Feet

In April, I broke my right foot while walking across the street. Yes, I said I broke my foot while walking across the street. I know, it sounds like a dramatic story, but it is true. Jon and I were walking back to the truck after attending a local festival and as we were walking across the street he warned me to be careful walking up on the curb because there was a slight drop right in front of the curb. I replied, in a not-so-nice way, might I add, "I see it!" Just as soon as the words rolled off of my tongue I felt instantaneous pain shooting through my foot. Voila! The foot was fractured! Well, after being in a boot for six weeks I am finally free to walk about allowing my toes to breathe in their short, chubby (but oh-so-cute) glory. I learned a valuable lesson with this whole ordeal: watch what you say. If I could turn back time, I would have bit my tongue instead of inserting that foot in my mouth and maybe I wouldn't have broken it!