MEMORIALS

J’s combat boots are currently sitting on the top shelf of my closet. In about two weeks, I will be taking those boots out of the closet and packing them into the camper. I have grand visions of me in my pink tool skirt, wearing those boots and taking pictures in stunning places like the Grand Canyon at sunset or Bryce Canyon at sunrise. My vision of what I want from the photos is probably better than what I will actually be able to photograph, but my goals are set and I’m going to do my best to honor those damn boots.

For some of us, every day is Memorial Day.

I have a love hate relationship with this photo project idea of mine. I love the idea of it as a way to honor J, but I hate that there is a need to honor J. I have our National Parks Pass ready to go into the truck but I am already cringing at whatever response will come from flashing it to the park rangers as we enter the parks. Inevitably someone is going to say “thank you for your sacrifice” and my gut reaction to that is always a big “Fuck you.” Then a whole rant of ‘protecting your freedoms to sit on your fat ass drinking your supersized Coke and eating your supersized McDonald’s meal and you still have to take your shoes off at airport security’ flows through my brain. I clinch my teeth to keep the words from escaping my brain and I am amazed with how much anger I still have over this loss. I know you mean well when you thank my family for our sacrifice. Truly, I do. I’m just saying that those words do not make any of this easier.

This photo project also makes me nervous. It is going to require me to be on point with my photography skills, to be patient and take my time setting up equipment. I cannot rush this, which is something I tend to do when in travel mode. This means remembering to breathe while taking pictures. Sometimes I hold my breath while capturing an image. Basically I am going to just need to get out of my own head because at the end of the day it is the intent of why I am doing this project that really matters. I’ve gotten good at taking lost loved ones on road trips. I’ve done this before and maybe that is where some of the nervousness comes from because this is the first time I’m doing something like this for J. What if it doesn’t turn out as I imagined it would? Again, something else I’ve done before. Play the What If game. I’ve played it enough times to know that the ‘what if?’ can not be predicted. Every action (or inaction) has consequences and consequences are neutral.

But the truth is, I’d rather be photographing J in his own boots.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

National Memorial

5 Likes, 1 Comments - Cindy Maddera (@elephant_soap) on Instagram: "National Memorial"

It's Thursday and I'm sitting here racking my brain for some poetic and thoughtful phrasing on gratitude. This is how it is for most Thankful Friday posts. I get to the end of the week and I can't think of anything more than the possibility of taking a nap sometime over the weekend or going to bed at 8:30 PM on a Friday night. I also can't help thinking about all of the things that I need to accomplish before Sunday afternoon and how that's going to interfere with nap times. Ridiculous problems. Of course, there's always found gratitude and by the time Friday morning rolls around, I have most of my entry written. 

Today I am distracted by images my friends have posted of the Murrah Federal Building. Twenty three years ago, I was sitting on a couch in the lobby of my college dorm along with half of the other girls. We were all glued to the TV as we watched the news reporting on the bombing of the federal building. My roommate spent hours on the phone trying to get through to her dad. He was supposed to be at the federal building that day for a meeting or something, but he'd either been late or it got canceled. The how and why didn't matter as much as just knowing that he was safe. I remember how we all looked shell shocked and how the air crackled with uncertainty and confusion. Bombing? Oklahoma? Terrorists? What? This was an event that any person ever raised in the state of Oklahoma could never have fathomed as possible. Our disasters are nature born. We lose houses to tornadoes. Power goes out because of ice storms. Acres and acres are scorched from wild fires. We do not lose people and buildings to moving trucks filled with explosives. Yet, there we were, watching the whole horrific event unfold, watching as rescuers pulled people from the rubble. By the time it was all said and done, six hundred and eighty people would be injured and one hundred and sixty eight people dead. Nineteen of the dead, were children. This was the deadliest terrorist attack in the United States until the attacks of 9/11. 

I know that this doesn't seem or feel like a topic for thankfulness and gratitude, but it is one of the reasons why I will always be an Oklahoman. No matter how many times I am frustrated and embarrassed by the politics of that state or have to roll my eyes at some of the ignorance that rolls out people's mouths, I will always be an Oklahoma girl. The red dirt of that land is caked into my skin. It was part of the clay that molded my first thirty five years of life. Even though, I claim a new state for a home, my first home and loyalty is with Oklahoma. I can't help it really. Thirty five years allows you to collect more than things and I have a collection of framily and family that keep me tied to the place, but I was also a witness to what happened in the days following that horrific bombing. I watched as Oklahomans came together, took care of each other and comforted each other with a resilience and determination not normally witnessed. We take care of each other even if we don't agree with each other. The Murrah bombing linked us all together in a way I fail to have words to explain.

So, today, I am thankful for life I had in Oklahoma. I am thankful for the family I have in Oklahoma. I am thankful for the framily I have in Oklahoma. I am thankful for you.