Sweet Home Alabama

Isabelle and I drove out to camp on Sunday afternoon to bring the guys lunch. Clay and our good friends, Len and Mark were having a "plumbing party" and installing the necessary pipes that will go into camp for the bathroom, kitchen and sewer. Eventually even a stackable washer and dryer for yours truly (yes, this will not be your basic, rustic yooper camp, boys and girls).

It was one of those fall days where the weather could not decide what to do with itself. Giant blue/black clouds stacked on top of one another would occassionally mist down rain, only to allow sunshine to break through mere seconds later, but then a very cold wind would blow red, brown leaves across the hood of the Commander. Only days since the loss of our beloved cat it was no surprise to me when Isabelle told me she could see Nib up in heaven as she gazed up at those same enormous clouds. I once more had to reassure her that God would not let her beloved kitty fall from up above and that if he was busy then I was sure great grandma or great grandpa would be only too happy to look after him for us. It was with some relief that I pulled into sight of the beautiful distraction of our camp.

I was pleased to find the men nearly finished with their project after a steady mornings work and in no time we were grilling hot dogs and brats, munching on chips, and having a few beers to celebrate yet another phase in the Peterson project. It was as the guys were standing on the front porch (doing their male-bonding as men do) while the meat sizzled on the grill and I was sweeping up some of the mess (and happy to do so after their hard work) that I finally started to breathe. I know you are wondering what I mean, but for the last few days it had been a bit of a struggle to just be normal and not let Isabelle see how truly upset I was about Nib and I was just tense and tired and .... sad.

Then a funny thing happened. Life went on. I remember looking out our window at the beautiful expanse of field starting to turn gold, Clay, Len, and Mark leaning against the porch, casually holding their drinks and sharing a laugh and then Isabelle running in the door to me as Lynyrd Skynyrd's 1974 classic, "Sweet Home Alabama" started to play on the radio. As its unmistakable sound filled the cabin, I spontaneously told her to turn it up and I dropped my broom. We danced around the scraps of pipe and in the sawdust on the floor. I told Isabelle to show me her moves, watching my four year old swivel her hips and shake her "booty" and could not help but laugh. I put my arms in the air and spun around, shaking my own hips, grabbing my daughter's hand and twirling her around me, finding the lyrics of the song on my tongue. I felt myself smile, my heart beat, my lungs breathe in air, and it was good to be alive, in this place, in this moment, with these people.

Do I still feel sad? Sure, and I will probably grieve the loss of my cat like some people do the loss of a family member because for me he was. But life goes on and sometimes all you really need to get you moving again, get you out of your funk and remind you that you are okay, is a really good song.