Wanderings of a Muse: An Anthology

by R. Stachowiak

1A book is a world in and of itself. You are reading a book. In it are contained the secrets of the world. A book can enrich a life or bring destruction to it. They can take you away from your troubles or cause new ones.

  Time travel, magic, space, history, all of these and more are contained within a books covers. To many people books are hope. Hope that something more awaits them than the tawdry details of their lives.

  To me though books are a way of life. A way to see things I wouldn’t normally see and experience more than what is around me. I need books as much as I need air to breath and food to eat.

  That’s what a book is.

  Coffee

  1Coffee? What is it? There is no doubt that the caffeine contained within the bean is supportive of life. But why?

  Is it because coffee wakes us up? Is it because caffeine was banned from religion? Because it was once a stolen plant? After all these years of access is it possible that we enjoy the brew because of its association as a luxurious sin?

  Or is it more simple than that. Is coffee or the caffeine the wonderful flavor of life?

  Legend has it that a goat herder discovered the coffee plant after his goats weren’t able to sleep after eating from a specific tree. The goat herder told the local abbot who made a drink of it and found he was able to stay awake for long hours of prayer. Thus the beginning of mankind’s love/hate relationship with this beverage. In the late middle ages and early modern era coffee was as highly valued as beer. In some places it is still valued more highly than tobacco.

  What causes this? Is it something about the flavor or scent? Or is it the often mystical capability to wake us from the deepest slumber and stimulate our minds? That is the true question, isn’t it?

  Memories

  Goodbye

  1Memory is a funny thing. It can simultaneously take you back to your worst day and your best. It can pinpoint where childhood ends. There are times that you can smell every little detail of a day. I have a day such as that...

  It was mid to late September 1993. It was a comfortable indian summer night. My parents had been arguing for days and my dad had taken a walk earlier that morning. I watched him leave from the upstairs window, with his duffle bag in hand. He had told me to go upstairs because he didn’t want me to see him go. This wasn’t the first time he had pulled this stunt.

  My mom and aunt had just smoked their drug of choice as my siblings and I sat watching a rerun of the X-Files premier. There was a knock at the door. The rail thin form of my mom said, “Rosey, answer the door.”

  Shrugging my shoulders, I looked out the cracked front window. “Mom, it’s grandpa. And the cops are with him,” I told her with a hint of sorrow in my teenaged voice.

  “See what your father did this time,” mom demanded as she slunk off to the bathroom.

  Shrugging my shoulders at the inevitable reply from her I opened our creaky front door and stepped onto the rickety screened porch that was attached by a miracle. “Grandpa, what did dad do this time,” I sighed resignedly.

  Grandpa’s aged features looked older than I had ever seen him and the cop at his side shook his head. Grandpa’s deep voice was heavy with tears as he ordered, “Rosey, I don’t care what you have to do, but I need you to get your mom out here now.”

  This wasn’t the first time I had seen Grandpa angry, but it was the first time I had ever seen tears in that stubborn old man’s eyes. “Okay,” I answered as I nodded my head.

  I went back into that little ramshackle house with its paper thin walls and walked to the bathroom where my mom was sitting on a pile of laundry that needed to be done. “Mom,” I began, “Grandpa says he needs to talk to you, now.”

  Her dark, stringy hair shook with her head as I reach out and pulled her to her feet. I slowly forced her to walk to the door. Opening that creaky door I stepped onto the porch with her. I had every intention of standing by her side while she decided what to do with the current mess my dad had gotten himself into. That was no to be as I was told to go back inside and watch t.v..

  After I sat back down it wasn’t but a few minutes before I heard my mom scream, “NOOOOO!” The four of us siblings looked at each other and then at my aunt. She got up and went outside. Barely a few minutes later I heard my aunt yell, at the top of her lungs, “Are you happy now, you bitch! He’s dead!”

  We sat there not understanding. Eventually we all went to bed in that house with its paper thin walls.

  The next morning, we found out the truth. Our dad had been murdered and my aunt had screamed at a neighbor that my dad often feuded with.

  I was thirteen years old at the time and my world had ended. Today, twenty - two years later that day is but a sad memory in my life. I can remember the talk we had the day before he died and I can still see what he looked like in his coffin. I can still see the chunk of skin missing from his cheek. All of this I can still see and more.

  Today I try to focus on the good memories in hopes that someday, the pain of that dreadful day will fade a bit more.

  Life Altering

  1 I don’t remember almost a week before the hospital. I don’t remember the high fever, diarrhea, vomiting, or the severe cramps. I don’t remember arguing with my husband about going to the hospital. I don’t remember being admitted to the hospital with severe sepsis. Later the cause of the sepsis was determined to be salmonella.

  I don’t remember telling the nurses I was having trouble breathing. I don’t remember them intubating me. I don’t remember the ice baths to bring down my fever or the spinal tap. I don’t remember the restraints. I don’t remember receiving my newest teddy bear, Mr. Cuddles - or naming him. (True fact about Mr. Cuddles – he went on to write a book!)

  What I do remember is them pulling the tube out of my throat and saying, “Call my husband.” I remember that first breath of air half pulling me up from a lying position. I remember my husband walking into the ICU room and reaching down to hug me and plant a kiss on my greasy hair. I remember him asking me where we ate that we didn’t share a meal. I remember telling him where we ate.

  I remember the nurses thickening my water until they were sure I could swallow again. Then they gave me straight water. This was followed by applesauce, cereal bars, and juice. I had responded to the antibiotics fast enough that they were moving me to a room on the seventh floor by the end of the night.

  The next day I saw my doctor in the room and he said at the rate I was going that if I pushed it I could be home in four days. I remember promising them I would be out on that Thursday. That evening the nurses came helpfully showed me some exercises that I could do to strengthen my legs so that when Therapy came in the room I would be able to stand with a walker.

  Sadly, the next day was Sunday so I would have to wait until Monday for the Occupational Therapists. But the nurses and their aides helped me from my bed to the chair in my room. For the first time in two weeks I was sitting in a chair! That was the same day my best friend came up to see me. Later in the week my sister-in-law came up to see me. My husband was there daily.

  My next memory is seeing my husband’s face when he came in the room to ask me how I was doing. The joy, awe, and love expressed there is something that will be forever etched into my mind.

  The look on his face when I pushed my hospital table away from the chair to stand up and give him a hug was one of the most beautiful sights I will ever see. I tell you now, feeling his arms encircle me for the first time in a good two weeks is a feeling I will never forget.

  The nurses and their aides would take me for walks around the ward multiple times of day. The stopped to talk to me. One of the aides I met put a piece of my childhood to rest. Something I will never be able to thank her enough for.

  A nurse from nutrition came to tell me to order more food. I had been placed on the seventh floor not because I was a cardiac patient, but because I needed the extra eyes they could provide in case of an emergency. No food restrictions for me, what a relief!

  My husband wasn’t
there when they told me I could go home as scheduled so I had the privilege of telling him that. That was also the same day he brought me a copy of Ivanhoe so I had some reading material in the hospital.

  I remember them taking out the PIC line. After resting they helped me to get dressed in clothes that my husband had bought me. For the first time in roughly two weeks I put my teeth in my mouth. Now that was a real accomplishment.

  My husband went to bring the truck around to the front of the hospital while the nurses helped me into the wheelchair that would take me out side. The aid talked to me and wished me well in my recovery. She also told me that it was a pleasure to see someone fight an illness as hard as I had.

  When they pushed me outside into that warm fresh air, I felt invigorated. The songs the birds were singing, even the sounds of traffic was music to my ears. Some normalcy had been returned to me. It was early spring in everything was in bloom! There was color everywhere! They helped me into the truck and I was off.

  As we drove through the warm streets my husband and I talked and talked. He had bought me a new blanket for the couch, as well as some new tank tops to work in once I got stronger. Falling asleep in his arms that night was a treat. Finally, I would get some real sleep.

  I needed a walker and my husband’s arm for the first week or so. Something as simple as going to the bathroom or taking a shower had become a team effort. Slowly though I became strong again, walks in the yard and through the garden helped.

  What they didn’t tell me at the hospital was long term effects from the salmonella and sepsis. They didn’t tell me about PTSD, increased arthritic pain, or losing most of my hair. They didn’t tell me that both illnesses could exacerbate issues I already had.

  The increased pain started almost immediately, it’s decreasing now. The PTSD is manageable. I don’t question eating out as much now. I still get minor panic attacks when something from the deli isn’t right.

  When I started to lose my hair I didn’t know what was going on, so I researched it. Turns out the high fever from the sepsis caused some of it to fall out. It’s growing back nicely now.

  I fear my breathing will never be the best now. Before the illness I was prone to bronchial infections. Today walking gets me so winded that I have to sit to catch my breath. I find that walking slow and steady helps.

  Some days I’m wobbly with my balance, but certain exercises have helped with that as well. I’ve dealt with feeling useless and a burden to thinking that I’ve become pretty damn strong.

  The last clear memory I have before the illness is me asking my husband if he thought I should wait to publish my next book. Glad we decided not to wait. Otherwise it would have been over a month before it hit store shelves.

  Here it is a year later and while there have been bumpy patches we are still here. While I still have things to watch out for great things have been accomplished. I am whole and working again, part of the house has been remodeled, and I have published three more books.

  We’ve had friends over and cook outs. Even done some traveling. We’ve seen the Old Quarter in St. Augustine as well as the pirate ship there. We’ve even been to Chattanooga to see the train. We’ve seen mountains and flowers, rain, snow and sun. The point is that we’ve seen all these beautiful things.

  Earliest Memory

  I am taking for granted that most people have a happy memory as one of their first. I don’t.

  I was maybe five years old and my parents were in the middle of one of their notorious arguments. Needless to say we were hiding from the loud voices. Anyway, my dad was as angry as we had ever heard him when he turned around and stormed out the door.

  There were no blows struck – there never were.

  After he left we came out of hiding, my sister and I came out of hiding. My mother pulled me into her arms and as her tears fell she wailed, “What am I going to do now?”

  She needn’t have asked because he came. Dad always did.

  Until he died anyway. But that’s another memory.