Tag Archives: work

Moved to the Country

A few years ago, I made a blog post announcing that I had become a homeowner.  At the time, the house I bought was considerably bigger than I needed. But I was planning ahead for something that would be not just for me, but also for my girlfriend, that later became my wife, and her two teenage children.  It was a beautiful 4-bedroom house with tons of space.  And it was in an area that I wanted to be in.  Since 1990, I had lived just a few miles from the beach on the Florida Emerald Coast, except for one year when I lived about 15 miles north of the coast.  It had always been a wonderful area to live. 

The Brick

I was 19 when I first moved to Fort Walton Beach and I was at the beach every day I could make it.  At that time, my life revolved around making time for the beach.  All my kids grew up going to the beach, one of them was even a paid beach lifeguard for a season.  The kids loved the beach, the waves, the sand.  I always enjoyed taking them.  As they grew up, I went to the beach less and less.  They had their own rides or, eventually, drove themselves.  Today, I can’t remember the last time I went to the beach.  Probably when my sister came for a visit a few years ago.  But as I look back over the last 10 years, there are plenty of entire calendar years that I didn’t even step foot on the sand.  All while living maybe 10 minutes from the beach. 

The area I once treasured as paradise outgrew itself and was no longer desirable to me.  My wife and I decided to move out to the country and found a terrific house on a small lake.  It’s a much smaller house, but much bigger lot, and on a lake.  Did I mention the lake?  We can still go to the beach, but it would take at least an hour to get there.  Unless it’s tourist season, then it might take two hours or more.  But now I can walk out onto my back deck and enjoy the lake view any time I want.  No tourists.  And that is part of what makes it a great view.  The lake itself is beautiful, but the peace and quiet make it close to perfect. 

Living out here is a little different.  Not like the old Chevy Chase movie Funny Farm (1988) when he moved from New York City to the country. But there are some quirks and a lot of dirt roads. There’s plenty of farmland and most of the people here move at their own pace.  Up the road within a couple miles, there are horses, cows, and pop-up produce stands.  And we do have a favorite pop-up produce stand.  We’re about 7 miles north of a small town that has a lot to offer.  I love the mom-and-pop restaurants and shops, local activities, and I especially love living in an area that takes things slower. It’s much better than living in a more populated area.  Speaking of slow, we even still have a Radio Shack in town.  Time must have slowed here quit a bit, I thought all of those stores closed years ago.  And slow is perfectly fine with me.  I’m not in any hurry.

Radio Shack. Can you believe it? Open 6 days a week.

Since I had to quit my “real” job a few years ago for medical and health reasons, I do gig work like Door Dash, Uber, and other things.  Out here I do Door Dash.  There is almost no demand for Uber.  The only good Uber trip I’ve taken since moving here was a 60-mile, one-way trip going north into Alabama.  That was one of three Uber trips I’ve taken since moving.  There’s just no demand for it here.  But Door Dash is busy, as long as I drive south towards town.  Many of my Door Dash trips have taken me down one-lane dirt roads.  One of my trips even took me across a one-lane wooden bridge.  And in just the first two months I did Door Dash after moving here last year, I had already delivered more alcohol and pregnancy tests than I had in the 3 previous years of dashing.  Actually, I had never delivered a pregnancy test until I moved here.  You’d be surprised how many of those get ordered in this area, usually getting picked up from a Dollar General store.  Maybe it has something to do with the copious amount of alcohol people order for delivery out here.  There could be a connection between those two things, who knows?

(L)One of the many one-lane dirt roads my Door Dash travels have taken me. (R) A paved road that turns into a one-lane wooden bridge. Always an adventure out here.

This was a good move to come out to the country.  My mental health hasn’t been this good in years.  My wife was able to transfer with her state job and is now closer to work than she’s ever been, so that worked out extremely well.  Being retired from the military, I don’t have to keep a full-time job to survive and provide.  That’s why I like doing gig work; I make my own schedule and work when I’m able to, usually two or three days a week.  I do a lot around the house and in the yard, when my body allows it.  I’m cooking more new things than I ever have, exploring recipes that I would have never tried before.  I’ve become more active with the VFW (Veterans of Foreign Wars).  And I’ve been writing more.  And I have really missed writing. 

Life is good, y’all.  I’m living proof that no matter how bad the past was, no matter the pain, bad memories, or failures that dragged you down, you can get back on top of life.  And I thank God everyday for where I am now, not just where I live, but who I am.  I’m glad you stopped by Story of My Life today.  Good day, God Bless.

Dave

Did I mention the lake?

The Condo

In a recent blog post I mentioned that in 2018 my mind began to clear from a three-year fog.  Life was beginning to come back in to focus.  I started to feel a little normal again.  Well, at least what was to be a new normal for me at that time.  I was beginning to accept that the new me was as good as it was going to get, compared to what and who I was before.  And coming to grips with that was a huge turning point for me in my journey of recovery.  There’s no exact date I can reference in 2018 where I felt like I was righting the ship, but instead it was a process.  A few steps forward, a couple steps back, and so forth.  But I was making progress.  It was a busy year, both good for a lot of reasons, and bittersweet for other reasons. 

Leading up to 2018, there was a significant event in 2017 that helped me along.  But first, let me backtrack a little further.  In late 2016 I went to stay with my sister and her husband for a couple months in Louisiana.  But I couldn’t stay that far away from my kids who were in Florida.  So, in early 2017, I stayed with my mom in Alabama for a few months and commuted an hour and a half each way to work in Florida.  An hour and a half on a good day.  Sometimes the trip would take two hours each way.  It was tiring, but I was on the right track.

I called about a little condo that was for rent that was close to both work and my kids.  I found out they were planning to pull the listing for the rental and sell the unit.  But they offered to show it to me and if I wanted it, they would rent it to me.  I went to look at the condo and loved it.  I told them to give a few days and that I would let them know.  I was basically broke.  I was working again for the first time in a year but had nothing other than whatever was on the next paycheck.  I wasn’t sure I could pull it off, but I had to try. 

When I called to let them know I wanted the condo, the lady said, “Great!” and told me to meet her after work with the deposit and she would bring the lease and the keys.  She went on to say that it was perfect timing because they were going out of town the next day for the rest of the month.  Uh-oh.  My checkbook was in Alabama where I was living and I was at work, in Florida.  To my surprise, she said that was not a problem.  She told me to come get the keys, sign the lease, and I could mail the deposit and the first month’s rent.  And they let me move in mid-month without charging for those two weeks.  This was already going better than I imagined it could.

The first time I looked at the condo, I asked how much of the stuff in the condo was staying.  There were beds, a dining room table, plates, cups, cookware, wall art, towels, linens, and much more.  No couch, chairs, or any other place for sitting.  But it had almost everything else.  She assured me that it would all be gone if I decided I wanted the place.  I explained that I was going through a divorce and only had a couple things to my name.  She said they would leave anything I needed.  No extra charge.  Even better.

When I showed up to sign the lease, the lady had brought back clean linens and towels that had been in the condo from when I first looked at it.  That’s the kind of people I was dealing with.  Awesome, terrific, people.  This was amazing.  I couldn’t believe how much they were going out of their way for me; how generous I felt they were being.  They didn’t know me.  They had no idea what I was going through and that in reality, I didn’t know myself if I was going to be able to maintain a job and pay my bills.  Why would they do all this?  Half month rent free.  Trusting that I would actually send the deposit and rent checks within a couple weeks.  Mostly furnished without charging extra.  Washing the linens and towels for me.  God was blessing me in a big way and using these awesome people to do it. 

And that little condo was awesome.  It was perfect for me.  Surprisingly inexpensive and it was on the bay.  My unit faced the pool, but I could walk around the other buildings to cast a fishing line, watch the sunset, or just relax by the water.  As great as it was, I was still financially unstable.  Shortly after moving in, I emptied my change jar so I could buy new underwear and some skid-resistant shoes for my job.  I went to one of those coin machines and dumped in the coins.  And to avoid the 4% fee of using the machine I opted for an Amazon eCard thing, which made the coin-changing process free.  I hate ordering shoes online, but at that time, I had to save every penny I could.  And a few months later, I saved enough to buy a used couch and a chair at a thrift store.  One of my kids still has that chair, eight years after I bought it used.

The place was shaping up nicely.  And even if most of the furnishings belonged to the landlords, it felt like home.  It felt like my place.  I was comfortable there.  It was a good place to be while continuing my mental recovery.  It was less than 10 minutes to work and just 3 miles to my kids.  They could come hang out on the weekends and enjoy the pool, play games, watch TV, play tennis, or sit by the bay.  I was still mostly broke, both emotionally and financially, but I could see the light at the end of the tunnel.  I was struggling, but I had become determined to overcome it all.

At the end of the first year, I texted my landlord and ask if I needed to do a new lease.  The one I signed was for 1 year and that was coming up fast.  I would certainly understand an increase in rent.  I was already paying far less than anywhere else outside of renting a mobile home somewhere, and even many of those listed for more than I was paying.  And I knew they had talked about selling before I took the place.  Maybe they wanted to move forward with that.  The response I got floored me.  She asked if I wanted to pay more for rent.  Of course, I said no.  She said, “Well, let’s just do month to month with the current price until you decide to leave.”  That was the kind of wonderful people I was dealing with. 

Three and a half years I lived in that little two-bedroom, one bath condo on the bay.  For three and a half years I continued to recover, continued to write, continued to work, continued to be close to my kids.  It was a good time in my life in a lot of ways.  And without the landlords taking a chance on me and letting me move in, I don’t know if that three and a half year period would have been as helpful.  I’m not sure I would be where I am today without them.  I feel like their generosity and grace gave me a solid foothold on life that I desperately needed at that exact time. 

There is a long list of people who helped me when I was down and out back then.  And the grand majority of those people are people I am related to, or served in the military with, or have known on a personal level prior to being at an all-time low point in my life.  But my landlords helped me as a stranger, a risk, a man who was trying to keep from drowning in the tidal waves he had made for himself.  I told them when I moved out how much I appreciated them, but I don’t think they have any idea to what extent they truly helped me.  I seriously doubt I would be where I am now without their help.  I don’t know if my life would have had the opportunity to be as good as it is now without them unknowingly helping me get here.

Sometimes we do things for people and don’t think it’s a very big deal.  And it may never cross our minds again.  But to that person it might mean the world.  It might be life changing.  You never know.  Do good when you can.  Show grace when you can.  The smallest or easiest gesture can make a huge difference to someone else.  Debbie and Johnny’s kindness changed the course of my life for the better.  And I am forever grateful to them.

Thanks for stopping by today.  Don’t give up on yourself.  Something good is coming.  Good day and God bless.

Dave

The view.

The chair.

The Brick

I bought a house.  Way ahead of schedule for what my original plans were.  I thought it would be at least a couple more years before I was in a position to buy, but sometimes things work out.  It’s a great house, built in 1972, and had only one owner until I bought it last month.  The gentleman that bought the house almost 50 years ago passed away in January.  It does need a few minor things taken care of, but it got a brand-new roof and a complete electrical re-wire before closing.  The seller was extremely accommodating in selling the house she grew up in.

The move was a huge pain, not fun.  The closing had to be moved back a week, so I was worried about getting out of the condo I was renting by the time I said I would.  On top of that, Hurricane Sally was approaching the Gulf Coast.  And to make matters more stressful for me, I was the on-call guy at work for the week that my closing got pushed to.  We got our stuff moved in just before the weather deteriorated, all while working in between moving loads of stuff from one place to another.  And then the storm hit.  I worked a total of 17 days in a row.  I haven’t even come close to getting settled in yet at my new home.  But, I’m here, and I’m happy.  Things will fall into place as they will.  No hurry.

During my move I found many memories while packing.  It’s amazing to find stuff you haven’t seen in years and relive old times while going through closets and boxes.  One thing I found was a brick.  Just a simple, red brick.  It has no monetary value.  It’s not pretty or decorative.  But it might be the last one left of the bricks that were part of my grandparents’ house which was destroyed by Hurricane Katrina in 2005.  They had already sold that house at the end of Beach Bayou Rd in Biloxi, Mississippi years before, but my childhood memories of it still remained.

Grandma had all the Tupperware you would expect in a house during that era.  She had a tan sugar dish with a lid that opened on both sides.  Open one side and it pours out from a small hole; the other side was big enough to put a spoon in.  Of course, she had the orange pitcher with the push down lid.  Is Tupperware even a thing anymore?  Grandpa had a music room where he composed.  I don’t know if he did his paintings in there as well, or just his music.  I have all his music somewhere in a box that hasn’t been unpacked yet.  I always loved his music.  I have a number of his paintings as well, at least one of which is already hanging here at my new house. 

From when I was a child visiting my grandparents’ house, I can remember looking at the stars with my uncle out in the yard and him taking me on the water in his blue fiberglass boat; only time I’ve caught a shark.  I remember my aunt and cousins living in the next house up the road.  We had way too much fun as kids jumping ditches up and down the street.  Grandma would always fuss at us for that because of the snakes in the ditches.  We never got bit.  I remember the times my sister and I would spend the night at the red brick house on the bayou.  So many wonderful memories.  And all that’s left from that house is a brick. 

In 1969, Hurricane Camille devastated the Mississippi Coastal area.  At that time, it was one of the most intense hurricanes to make U.S. landfall.  It was a Category 5 storm. Camille brought 7 ½ feet of water into my grandparents’ home.  When the water receded and the sun came out, they cleaned and rebuilt.  As far as fixing the damage to their home, they left only the watermark in the detached laundry room as a reminder of how high the water had come.  Basically, their house was underwater except for the roof.  In 2005, when I finally got through on the phone to my grandparents after Katrina, I asked how it compared to Camille.  My grandfather told me Katrina made Camille look like an afternoon thunder storm. 

My first opportunity to go to Biloxi after Katrina was in early in 2007, for my grandfather’s funeral.  While there, I took my oldest boy and explored the area, giving him a glimpse into an early childhood chapter of my life.  We went by the old house on Beach Bayou Rd.  As we drove down to where the road disappears into the bayou, I couldn’t see the house.  It was gone.  Only the foundation and a few bricks that still made a small corner of the house remained.  I wanted to cry.  It was all gone.  Only the memories remain. 

I took a brick that day.  I still have it.  It just sits on a window sill in my bedroom at my new home.  It’s place at the condo I moved from was on the window sill in my bedroom there.  Before that, it was on the very top of a small wall unit in my now ex-wife’s house.  There’s no elaborate display for it.  No fancy case.  No markings as to where it came from or how it got here.  It’s just a brick.  But it’s all that’s left from some of my most cherished childhood memories.  It mostly stays out of sight, I barely notice it’s there.  Most days I don’t even think about it. 

Maybe our memories are like that brick.  Out of sight, out of mind.  Then once in a while we notice.  Something prompts us to take a walk down memory lane.  Hopefully good memories, but it can go both ways.  I hope your memories are like my brick, mostly good.  Thanks for enjoying my memories with me today.  Good day, God bless.

Dave

I Miss the Old Me

It’s been quite a while since I’ve posted to my blog. Almost a year and a half now. I’m not sure where the time went. I know that when I paused my writing, it was only supposed to be a short pause. The first month or two was just to take a break from writing. Maybe a time to refresh my mind, think of new topics, or expand my creativity. By the third month of not writing my brain was nagging me about it. Friends that followed my blog were asking if I were still writing and if I were ok. Then somewhere around six months without posting, it simply became easy to ignore it and not write. I miss writing.

But missing writing isn’t what this post is about. First, let me catch you up on the last 17 months. The divorce went final. The army medically retired me. The Department of Veterans Affairs finally acknowledged some of my claims they had been declining even though I had documentation. I tried to be in a relationship again. That didn’t work. I got a “new” truck. Bought it used, but it’s pretty nice. I’m still at the job I started just before I stopped posting here. That is going very well. My New Orleans Saints were blatantly robbed of going to the Super Bowl a year ago. But on a more recent and triumphant note, my LSU Tigers are now the undisputed heavy weight champions of the college football world. Geaux Tigers.

Back to the reason for this post. I miss the old me. There were things I did back then that I can’t do as well now. There was a confidence from the core of my soul that seemed to faded over time. I had unlimited potential until I hit rock bottom. I feared nothing. I could convey my thoughts easily and not struggle to put the words in the right order like I do sometimes now. My memory was intact for the most part, now it’s hit and miss with everyday things. And I don’t ever remember having anxiety or serious bouts of depression years ago. While the debilitating moments of depression rarely visit now, anxiety is still a daily battle, but not bad.

I started sharing my thoughts and stories here in 2016, of war, suicide, PTSD, and all the things that go with those side effects of my life. It was a form of self-care and personal therapy, a way to get it all out and explore what was going on in my head. It turned into more than I ever imagined it would. And it was good for me. I wrote almost every week. Sometimes it would be a couple weeks in between posts, but for the most part I stuck to it. It was my outlet. I needed it; it became part of me. And I miss that.

Is missing the old me bad? I’ll never be the person I was before. I’ve lost some things, both physically and mentally. I will never get back some parts of the me that have vanished over time. Some of it is from going to war, some it is from getting older. The toll war took on my body and mind certainly amplify the effects of getting older. But I think much of what I deal with and have dealt with the last 6 years is from going to war. I refuse to accept that everything I am going though is from getting older, but I know that plays into it. And of course, growing up is not an option. I don’t plan on doing that.

Ultimately, I accept that I am different and will never be the same man I was before my life changed; changes coming from going to war and other changes attributed to the pains of getting older. But you want to know something cool? I embrace it. Accepting it is one thing, but I embrace it. This has been a new challenge in life that I look forward to each day. And that took a while, years actually. But I now embrace that I am not who I was. And I love the new me. I am learning things about myself that otherwise I never would have known. I’ve never been a fan a change, but if I fight it, it will only be harder on me. That, my friends, is from personal experience and I believe in some cases you just have to roll with it and accept change. Not gonna lie, it was scary, and still is.

I miss the old me. But I also love the new me. I wish I could do some of the things I used to be able to do. But I have new challenges each day and opportunities to learn about myself, to explore my new limits, to continue the journey of me. Sometimes I fail, sometimes I feel like I conquer the world. But I’m at peace with the past and with what the future holds, even if I don’t remember all of the past and have no idea what’s coming. I miss the old me, I love the new me. Life is good.

Thanks for stopping by Story of My Life. Good day, God bless.

Dave

I’ll Do My Best

I finish many of my conversations by saying “I’ll do my best.” Usually when someone tells me to have a good day, sleep well, have fun, or some other well-wishing suggestion, I respond with, “I’ll do my best.” And I mean it. It is a misnomer of sorts, in that I can’t always achieve my best, but I try and that’s the point. Sometimes my best is pretty good and sometimes it falls way short. I think “my best” can be characterized as an ultraviolet light wave. It goes up and down; and depending on where I’m at in the wave cycle depends on what “my best” will be at any given time or circumstance. And, like the ultraviolet light waves, it’s invisible to the naked eye. Sometimes I don’t even know what “my best” will be until it’s time to find out.

Doing my best isn’t always easy. And sometimes I fake it, or I realize during an event that I need to not lose my cool and adjust to a situation. That happened a couple of times last month. First, I was rear-ended on the job. I stopped at a red light, the young lady behind me did not stop in time. It was very minor, barely worth mentioning, but since I was in a city truck for work, a police report had to be made. I watched in the rearview mirror as smoke rose from the road because she locked up her brakes and the tires screeched. I prepared for impact. It ended up being just enough of a jolt to shake my truck. I was momentarily enraged. I’ve written many times here that traffic and driving are a trigger for my PTSD. But by the time we pulled off the road I calmed myself and handled the situation well.

More recently, as I had laid down one night to go to bed, I heard a commotion outside in the parking lot of the condo complex I live at. After about five minutes of listening to the yelling, I decided to go outside and see what was going on. I wasn’t happy about this. When I got outside I saw a young man holding a baseball bat and two young ladies walking away from him. At that point I went from being not happy to thinking I might have to take the bat from that guy and beat him with it. And in my mind as I saw him, I had already disabled the threat. I walked straight up to the guy staring at him the whole time. Two steps away from him, he dropped the bat and put his hands up by his shoulders. He continued to yell until the cops arrived despite my suggestions that he shut up and go back to his condo. Right before the cops showed up he bent down to pick up the bat. I was very calm and clear, but firm and direct in both tone and language, when I told him what the consequences would be if he picked it back up. Fortunately, especially for him, it didn’t come to that.

In both of those instances I did my best. I had to work on it very hard in a very short amount of time. I had only a few seconds each time to realize where my mindset was going and change course. I did good for the most part. But here’s the side effects of doing my best sometimes when I’m not ready to. After the minor wreck and all the waiting and paperwork was over, I had a splitting headache the rest of the day. Forcing myself to calm down in that situation created a lot of stress and anxiety that I carried the rest of the day. I handled the event well, but the rest of my day was horrible. As far as the baseball bat incident goes, I kept my cool enough to not harm that guy even when he bent over to pick up the bat again. After the cops interviewed me about what I saw, I filled out a police report as requested, and was free to go back to bed. The problem was I couldn’t fall asleep. My adrenaline was still going until 1 a.m. I kept replaying it all in my mind, even the part about pulverizing the guy which never even happened. I only got about four hours of sleep before I had to be back at work.

I understand why I dealt with those two events the way I did and had “side effects” afterwards. That’s how I, and many others, dealt with things at war. Focus, get the job done, keep your cool, don’t go crazy, know your surroundings, know all the rules of engagement. But when an incident or attack happens we end up with loads of energy and adrenaline spikes coupled with not knowing the outcome of a situation as it’s happening or having to be prepared to fight at any given time, whether we’re needed or not. It’s stressful. Unlike the two things that happened last month where I could process the events shortly after they happened, I waited until coming home from Afghanistan to process it all. That was dangerous, but I hardly had a choice. And the side effects of waiting until I got back from war were catastrophic. Failed suicide attempt, diagnosed with PTSD, depression, anxiety, unsociable, jumpy, anger issues. The list could go on and on.

Some days are harder than others, but I’m getting there. And I’ll end here as I do many of my conversations, I’ll do my best. Thanks for stopping by. Good day, God bless.

Dave