Home is supposed to be a sanctuary, a place where one goes to feel safe, a nest of sorts. It's supposed to be a niche in time where family life is cherished, and where, if you want to eat a bowl of ice cream while watching television on a Sunday night, you should feel free to partake. Last night, our sanctuary was invaded, for the second time in four years of living in this town of high taxes, bad roads, and abundant illegal drugs.
The incident happened at around 8:30. Sparkle Girl and I were sitting at the kitchen table, happily noshing on leftover Mother's Day cake and ice cream, while the hubby relaxed on the couch, settling into a bowl of ice cream and a Joel Osteen program (it's his thing). Suddenly, the peace in our home was shattered by the sound of hard pounding on the front door, followed by a strange man bursting into our house. At first, I thought the man might be a former employee of my husband. Given our locale, finding reliable, somewhat normal people to work in the construction industry can be challenging. Over the years, we've had the pleasure of working with numerous half crazy people, and I live everyday with passing thoughts that one of them might come back here to rob us. South Florida is a transient state and lots of folks come here to escape from somewhere else. This makes the population interesting, to say the least.
Thankfully, my hubby sprang quickly into action, wrestling the man out of our house and securely locking the front door. He then proceeded to our neighbors' home to warn them of the danger, and he and D searched for the lunatic guy together. I phoned the police,who showed up soon afterward, but, aside from a panel of our fence which was snapped off when the invader vaulted himself over it to take off through our back yard, there was no evidence of where the guy had gone. At last glance, he was running shirtless through our neighbors' back yard. After that, he disappeared into the night like some crazed zombie.
My hubby and I have spoken often about living in South Florida. It's no secret to anyone within our circle of friends and acquaintances that I'm tired of being here. In fact, I've been tired of being here for several years. The absence of four seasons, the rude people, the crime and drugs, the sky high taxes, and the cost of living (which has been steadily increasing) all contribute to my feelings of impatience and restlessness. Last night's fiasco only solidified this unease. I grew up in a somewhat small New England town. The area where we lived boasted good schools, and safe, tree lined streets. It wasn't perfect, but when I return there I lament that we can't raise our child in an area similar to that. No child should have to go to bed in fear that someone might try to break through the door again. Our daughter was badly shaken last night, and I felt anger surge in my belly at the thought that we feel so stuck here due to my husband's company. South Florida is a whole world away from the type of town I was raised in. At times, it doesn't even feel like it's on the same planet.
The police on scene last night, along with some friends, have advised us that a drug called flakka has hit the streets; it's possible that last night's unwelcome guest had imbibed some of this garbage prior to his evening rampage. The narcotic creates feelings of paranoia, hallucinations, and super human strength; recently a man was apprehended running down the street naked but for a pair of tennis shoes. He told the police that he was running from the people who'd stolen his clothing, though there were no pursuers in evidence. Over the past year or so, the flavor of our neighborhood has been changing, partly due to the fact that a man purchased a home across the street and decided to rent rooms to anyone who would pay. His decision to use his home as a form of income has lead to all manner of unsavory characters visiting our neighborhood, including a drug dealer who showed up to make a delivery to one of the women who live there just a few days ago. The city of Hollywood has no ordinances which prohibit people from using their homes as hotels; the best one can hope is that the homeowner in question is conscientious about researching his/her renters. Apparently, the fellow who owns the flop house across the way isn't. Adding to this problem is that the demographic of Florida in general is such that sketchy neighborhoods and nice neighborhoods exist in close proximity to one another. Just up the road, there are apartments that host a constant flux of changing inhabitants. The people who live there use our street to cut through to a local supermarket. Some of them are just normal people, and some of them are not so nice. On at least one occasion, I've caught some of these folks in our yard, peering over our fence to get a look at what goods we have that they might like to steal.
I'm trying to start today feeling as positive as I can, but it's hard.
Yesterday was a beautiful Mother's Day, and I felt so grateful through every hour of my Sunday. Seriously. I remember back, years ago, pre-baby girl, when I'd watch other parents with their children and wonder if I'd ever know what it meant to be a parent. Now, here I am, and it's more than I ever dreamed it could be; scarier, fuller, wondrous, amazing, filled-to-the-brim heart magic. I awoke to cards on the table, gifts from my daughter, a new table and chair out in the garden to make my morning coffee more comfortable (usually I sit on the step outside the garage, which is okay too). I spent a relatively lazy day reading and taking the hours slowly. I spent a little time with McGregor goose, who thoughtfully wandered into our yard a little after noontime, warming my heart with his feathery affection. This affection is not given lightly, and I don't take it for granted. For the most part, he's given to attacking anyone who comes around me, and it took me a long while to gain his trust myself. He's sweet, though, and looks almost exactly like a small statue I bought years ago in Home Goods, a goose who sits by our hearth. I bought it because I was wildly attracted to it for some reason (I do love swans, so maybe the similarity motivated me to bring it home), but I think it funny that now we have an actual goose living in the lake behind our house, who has become a friend of sorts. He has helped me through some tough times, and I think it's important to remember on Mother's Day that Moms come in all forms. Some of us are mothers to human children, some are mamas to animal children, and some are mothers to the earth. Some are moms to all of these things. I feel sometimes like the desire to nurture could be an earth saving quality, if more folks could embrace that side of themselves. As well, if we look at nature as a mother, who cares for us and benefits greatly from our affection and attention, we might be slower to engage in devastating earth practices. Anyway, our goose has connected me more deeply to the land directly around our home, and I needed this rootedness as much as I think McGregor needed a friend after his companion goose mysteriously passed away about a year ago. Most of the people around me know that, in my heart, I want to return to New England, to the mountains, woods, and cooler climate. McGregor has helped me to stay in the moment more, to appreciate what is directly in front of me, right here in my own back yard. He's helped me to heal from hurts nobody else has been able to reach, something a mother does; the earth Mother has soothed my soul through this fierce but also gentle creature, and for that I'm grateful.
Yesterday concluded with a satisfying dinner with my family at The Cheesecake Factory, accompanied by a friend of my daughter. Their giggles and general silliness through dinner deepened my happiness at being a part of the parenting scene. I've watched both girls grow over the past few years, awed by how quickly the time passes and at how much kids change in the early years of their lives. This is truly a journey I'm glad to be a part of.
The first post of any blog is more challenging than the ones to follow. What do you want to say? And how do you start this thing without coming off the wrong way (Look at meeee!!!!!)? I guess I'll start by introduction. I'm a Mom of magical persuasion, homeschooling a daughter who, at first writing, is ten years old and rapidly exiting the world of very young childhood. Actually, she's left that world already and is making a quick ascent to the teenaged years, something I find baffling in that it seems only yesterday we were nervously buckling her into the car seat in my old Kia for the first time. My husband and I own a family based construction business and live in humid, swampy South Florida (I'll try not to complain about that too much, but, being a northern girl who loves the cooler air, mountains, and New England in general, I will probably digress from time to time). I'm a writer, and an artist, a lover of nature, and a mostly vegetarian (try being a vegetarian when you're married to a Cajun-I dare you!). I've been involved in some or other sort of Pagan lifestyle since the late 80's, when the Goddess culture had begun in earnest, and I met a guy in college who'd met a girl who was a witch of sorts and who both passed along some of their knowledge to me, who'd never before been exposed to such things and was intrigued. My path to date has been a wonderful and eclectic one indeed, at times confusing, at other times liberating. I find the challenge of following a path and living a spirituality not widely understood by the general public to be an exercise in fierce independence, though nowadays I think there is a bit more open mindedness and understanding among some folks than there used to be.
What I'd like from this blog is to share and connect. I'll post creative ideas, homeschool stories, spiritual blips...whatever comes to mind, basically. I hope to learn from other magical parents, to grow in my own life through the catharsis of putting ideas to virtual paper, and have a little fun.
Until later, namaste!
