Harmonygirl as a Meez

I want to help him earn his smackers as well as because I admire his desire to help others.

I believe that Harmonygirl has courage and compassion, very honourable qualities in this day and age.

I completely understand what she’s going through. I was married for over 15 years. A couple with my ex for over 17 years. It’s difficult to get over someone, but writing helps. I stopped writing over 8 years ago, but shortly after my divorce I began writing again.

I’m praying and rooting for Harmonygirl. I’m wishing her much happiness.

A question people often ask me is why I left Florida and moved to Kentucky. The short version of this story is that I am starting over from the hurricanes. However, sometimes I feel it is worthwhile to really tell the reasons, if I feel the person is receptive and if more importantly, I get a nudge from the Holy Spirit to take a risk and do so.

I lived in Florida all my life, starting off with ages 0-18 in Miami. I never felt comfortable there, and for various reasons, I ran away from home at age 18, to Orlando. I had a college scholarship waiting for me, so there I went / fled. I rarely made it back to Miami once I left, and for a time, I was content with my surroundings again.

Once when I had an unusual case of homesickness, a college professor told me, You just wait. In 10-15 years, Orlando will be everything you love and hate about Miami. Forebodingly, he was right. Around that timeframe, the high prices, skyrocketing crime rates, and overall unpleasantness became very apparent to me in my new hometown. After college and in my mid-20s, I had bought a small house in what I thought was a solid middle-class neighborhood that just happened to be racially diverse. Myself, I am color-blind and I can love and get along with anyone. However, my neighbors did not often feel the same way, sigh.

I tried to make things work in that neighborhood to no avail. The gangs, drugs, and crime got out of hand, culminating in a string of home robberies. I got an alarm system, a dog, and a gun. It’s weird how things escalate a little at a time and begin to feel normal, because you’ve arrived to that place in paces and not leaps. I found myself afraid to leave the house at night, which was difficult because I had started working at NASA which required a 125 mile round trip commute each day. So basically, my day consisted of getting up before dawn and hopefully arriving at home before dark. It was even difficult to grocery shop in my neighborhood because of the high level of crime and well, vulnerability at that point.

Then, August 13, 2004 came with a bluster. Hurricane Charley. I still don’t even like saying it. A tornado hit my house a few hours before the eye actually passed over Orlando. I wrote about that experience in a poem on this site. The tornado sucked all the water out of my swimming pool in an instant. It caused structural and roof damage, leaving me more vulnerable to the actual hurricane that was on the heels of my city.

After the storm passed, things happened that are still hard to discuss. I did what I had to do to survive, defend, and preserve myself and my household. Then, two more hurricanes came, all within 44 days. Again, more losses, and more stresses that are difficult to even own as my own.

Christmas time arrived, and I really didn’t feel like celebrating. My mercurial boss at work was trying to give me some free leave off the books, and I didn’t feel I could accept it, because it wasn’t his to really give. I plainly told him so, and he screamed at me, as I willed myself not to cry in front of him. Those were the last words I exchanged with O., a man who I really admired and hoped I would be as talented as one day if I tried really hard. Unfortunately, O. was having problems of which I was ignorantly unaware. He went home on that weekend and committed suicide. To say I was devastated does not even do justice to the breaking of my heart.

Then, 2005 arrived. With O.’s funeral behind me, I was trying to rebuild everything I had lost. Yes, I was still living in the house without a proper roof, with unreliable utilities, and improper cooking facilities. I felt like I was camping and often would retreat to my SUV for luxuries like AC power and air conditioning. Feeling desperate, I had given a local church my insurance money because I was unsuccessful in getting any reputable contractors to commit to fixing my house. They had promised to find people to do the repair work and supervise it to completion. Instead, I don’t know what they did with the money, but I did not directly benefit from it.

Time passed, and 2005 brought more hurricanes and stress. With a break in the clouds, there was a glimmer of delight when a developer at my job, D., caught my eye and I think I caught his. We were working closely together, and I enjoyed his smile, his wry sense of humor. I anticipated many months of slowly getting to know him and revealing who I was to him. God had other plans, however.

I came into work the last Monday of September, 2005 and was stopped at the door. Silly me, I thought I was being fired. I wish I was, instead of what actually was the reality. D. had been murdered that weekend, and my coworkers did not want me to find out alone by reading the email announcement. I remember feeling all the breath in my body leave me, and then I really don’t recall anything more than happened for the next few hours. I imagine I cried, because my eyes were red and my nose was tender. I imagine I hurt, because my heart was full of pain. But I think I just sat, still like a cold stone, unfeeling and unconductive. Finally, something broke in me, and I started to pray.

For a long time, I knew that I had to consider leaving Florida if I wanted the kind of life I felt I deserved to have, but could no longer afford in the “sunshine state”. I had been rationally looking at different areas, using geographical surveys and doing internet research, even following weather patterns. Nothing seemed to fit me—either there were no jobs, or no affordable housing (i.e., under $200k). On that day, I didn’t care. I told in my prayer, something like this: God, I am truly ready to follow your will. I’ve known I’ve needed to leave for a long time, but I truly haven’t known where to go. If You tell me, I will go. But You need to tell me, very clearly, because apparently I am not a good listener. You need to send me a sign directly to me, that I know is for me, with a clear location and direction. And if You do this, I will go unquestioningly. Please God, help me now.

The very next day, I got an e-mail … not from God, but from a technical recruiter for a job at Fort Knox. I did not even know where Fort Knox was, but it sounded like the perfect place for me: safe, secure, defensible. I took this as my answer to prayer, and booked flight plans right after D.’s funeral. (Did I mention that I was terrified of flying?)

I immediately went to my new boss and said that I needed all of next week off, because I was flying to Kentucky. She thought she misheard me and asked which day I needed off, and I said the whole week. She was stunned, she knew I was afraid to fly and wouldn’t fly even for business reasons. She wanted me to see a counselor on site, I think she thought I was reacting to D.’s death. Even though I had worked there nearly five years, I was willing to let it all go. I told her that I really needed the time, and that it was important enough for me to resign if that was necessary. She asked what was so important in Kentucky, and I simply said that the Lord was telling me to go there immediately. She was not a believer, and got a funny look on her face. I know she told others in the department that I was unstable, and for the remaining days before my trip, everyone treated me with kid gloves and snickers that they thought I could not hear.

In the days before D.’s funeral and before my trip, I contacted several churches and realtors. I figured that I needed to start researching to see if this new city was my new spiritual destination. I was very disappointed at the time that only one church and one realtor answered my queries. However, that was also in God’s plan. The realtor and pastor emailed me daily in the days leading up to my arrival.

Then the day is here! I fly into Kentucky, tolerating the plane ride better than I anticipated. I get my rental car at the airport and proceed to get lost in the bad side of town. There is a shooting, I panic, I flash back to the gangs and drugs in Orlando and get very confused. I call the realtor and get her voicemail. I manage to not get shot, not get the rental car shot, and get pulled over by the police. They are kind when they realize I am not a threat to them, and they direct me back to my hotel. They give me ideas on where to look for housing and warn me to stay away from the west end. Then, they give me a warm welcome to my new city—my first one. :-)

I get to the hotel, and there are messages waiting for me from the mortgage lender, realtor, and pastor. I return calls in that order, and I find I am easily approved for a mortgage even though my hurricane hut in Florida is not on the market. The realtor assures me the west end area is contained, and that the city is very safe. The pastor prays with me and gives me a pep talk, encouraging me to leave the hotel and get some dinner and do some exploring.

In the five day visit, I do a lot of exploring in fact. I look at 24 houses in 3 days—all of them far exceeding my expectations and being very affordable by Florida standards. There were even more houses to see, but I was getting overwhelmed.

On Sunday, I go to church, and my soul is fed in a way that it has never been nourished before. It is a spirit-filled church, the pastor informed me before my visit, and explained what that meant. I was a little nervous, because being new in the faith as well as having a Jewish background, this concept is totally foreign to me. However, I had an experience there that really defies proper description. Basically, what I heard in my head and heart, was the pastors speaking in Hebrew. I was in fact sort of miffed that they did not tell me, because I could have brought my Hebrew-based prayer books along. I mention this to the senior pastor after the service, and he smiles wide and asks the associate pastor to join our conversation. He asks me to repeat to her what I said to him, about hearing Hebrew in the church. She explains, Neither of us speak Hebrew, dear. and gives me a big hug. I instantly know what I need to know.

The next day, I ask the realtor to show me my favorite three houses again. Simply, I buy one—on faith. I have no job here, I would be leaving my secure government job in Florida, and taking out a second mortgage on the hurricane house in order to have down payment money for this new house. I care not; I do it all.

I return to work, giddy but secretive. I refuse to answer questions about my “vacation” because I want to tell everyone everything. But it’s not yet the time. I promise to tell the details “later”, and I get several sideways glances but the subject is dropped.

The pastor attends the home inspection in my place. There are problems, negotiations to be made, I am fearful I will lose the deal. Instead, the owners give me everything I ask and more. They treat for termites, they regrout the shower, they relay all the bricks on the front porch. They even wash and iron the curtains in the windows and supply all kinds of finishing touches, unasked.

I send resumes, make phone calls, and bide my time. I get a nibble on my resume, and an offer to fly back for an interview. I take the day off and again, board my fear on a plane and travel back for the interview. Two days later, I get an offer—and this is a week before my house is going to close in Kentucky! I beg the mortgage lender, please please let me give notice at my job now, I can’t wait any longer! He rushes my credit checks through and tells me, go do it.

For years, people at my job have begged me to move away from my unsafe neighborhood. Every time I got robbed or harmed, they cringed. Every time I took time off for a court case, a parole hearing, I know they ached for me because I was going through this alone. I commuted from such a distance, except by phone it was difficult for my friends to truly offer in-person support away from work. I decided to give notice in this way: I told my boss’s boss (because my boss was out that day) something like this: I have some wonderful news! I have found a new place to live. It’s on over a 1/3 acre, it’s a huge brick house with hardwood floors, a large basement, a white picket fence. It’s got an enormous fireplace, beautiful crown moldings on the ceilings, even a window seat in the dining room. It’s at the end of a dead-end street, and the neighborhood is clean and quiet. It’s got everything I ever dared want and so much more. Of course, I was asked how I could afford such a house like this with the high Florida prices on my salary. I said, Well, that’s the thing. It’s a bit farther from work than my old neighborhood ….

I don’t really think anyone thought I was truly leaving until I started giving away my office possessions and showing them pictures of the new house. I then flew back to Kentucky for another single Friday in November to close on the house and sign paperwork for the new job. I was excited to fly that time, and the whole section of the plane was following my story and giving me phone numbers and prayers.

The owners embraced me and told me they were so glad I was buying their home. They said they knew I was the right person for it and would love it as much as they did. I had never met them before, but it was like meeting old friends. I bought an air mattress and slept on the floor that night in my new home. I ate picnic foods on the floor. I walked from clean, dry room, from level to level, in amazement that it was all for me. I reveled in my open spaces and possibilities for a new life here.

I then returned to Orlando, finished out my last week on the job, and in between started to assess what I could and couldn’t get repaired on the house to sell. I got a realtor to represent me, and I finally decided to do an as-is sale. I left debris in the garage, roof shingles in the bottom of the swimming pool—it no longer mattered.

On Sunday November 27, 2005, at 5 AM, the trip begins. I load up a 75 lb Labrador, 6 cats, 1 kitten and their items. I put my duffel in the car, with 4 changes of clothes, 2 pairs of shoes, and my purse. I have a small extra bag of personal mementos. I have my loaded .38 revolver under the seat, in its usual place. I am ready to depart.

I stop several times for coffee and fruit, even sharing bananas with the dog—he likes them so very much. The cats are quiet, and the dog sits in the front passenger seat, content to be close to me. I drive listening to music, or sometimes hearing the quiet. I often stick my arm out of the driver’s window as I’m speeding down the highway, feeling the tug of God’s direction guiding me and holding me steady. I call church during their morning service, and they put me on the speakerphone. I can hear the small congregation cheering me on and giving me blessings. I am invigorated.

I stop in Marietta for the night. I eat Cracker Barrel breakfast for dinner and go to bed early. The dog snores and the cats are meowing, but I sleep anyway. I pack us all back in the SUV early in the morning, check out of the hotel, and continue the journey. More coffee, more fruit, more roadsigns. I know I should enjoy the scenery more, but I’m racing to get home. Home.Home!

I’m there, I’m there, I’m finally there! I’m supposed to call the pastor as soon as I arrive, but I can’t bring myself to do it. I unpack the cats, the dog, setup food and water for them, and walk everyone around the house. I pace around the yard, the sun is setting. I keep closing and opening my eyes, waiting for the dream to dissolve but it blissfully doesn’t. It’s real!

I then call the pastor, who calls someone else at church to come meet me at the house. They come to help me unpack, and are sad to realize it’s already done. There was so little to bring, it doesn’t take long to put away an armful of possessions. I ask if they can take me to Sam’s Club so I can buy a mattress and boxspring and they agree. I buy a top-of-the-line set and high end sheets, pillows, everything. They haul it home and set it up in my family room, in front of the fireplace. Why not, I think, it’s the biggest room in the house! The ladies make up the bed and insist I sit down and rest. It’s getting close to 8 PM and I am very tired. They all leave, offering first to light a fire in the fireplace for me, but I decline. I want it empty for now. There will be time later for new fires and experiences. I climb into bed, the animals circling and sniffing. It doesn’t take long to fall asleep.

She is the wife of one of my friends at work, who I confided in about the situation with R. He confided in his wife, who is TygerLily. She has been a blessing and pillar of support to me, despite all her other commitments. I am truly lucky that she decided to reach out to me at this time in my life.

This is not really a story but a poem I wrote about Hurricane Charley and my experience riding out the initial wave of the storm. It’s also an experience I had with God, so I called this poem “Gathering Psalm 23”.

Official instructions from the radio
become lost in the panicked noise traffic
in bracing limb to limb in the hallway
gathering the words, to speak scripture to the storm forces
acknowledging the mission of the tornado outside
and the fright cyclone raging behind my eyes.

Staring into your wide canine eyes
hearing the violent winds shred the roof
crouching in the hall
fair fingertips touching padded paws
through the black bars of your safety crate.

Counting striations in your brown panting eyes
broad with my mirrored dread
wanting to crawl in the crate with you
exchanging role of terrified pet parent
for comforted canine child.

Speaking to the squalls through You
the hall became my green pasture
as the sky ruptured the roof overhead.
Your promise calmed me in quiet waters
while my soul trusted in Your restoration
amid the unstilled storm outside.

The winds blew me into the valley
but You stood in the gap with me
quivering in the cleft, covered by Your hand.

Your rod and staff knit the shattered rafters
to stand fast in the roaring winds, until it was over
extinguished as quickly as it started.

My ragged breaths even
canine companion staring vacantly
as we clutched paw pad to fingertip
through the crate bars
low whimpers betraying us both.

The eaves creak outside and
my wide eyes crumble and
hand blanches against the gripping green leash as the
brave brown-eyed dog barks at the
glittering rain-spattered roof, rakishly askew
like an angry beret.
The sun stares defiantly and the
shadow falls silent.
Shaking knuckles rest on my chest
my shuddering heart overflows.