Okay, time is running out so I have to go to press! I am currently working on this article as I watch the Ohio State Big Ten championship game with Indiana. As I write, OSU is ahead 10-6.
In the last commercial break was an ad for "The Ohio State University" in which an older male voice said with conviction, "At Ohio State we are the 'never afraid to innovate teams.' Then I heard something close to, "We're committed to bringing it home."
I thought, and for those who might not already know I am an Ohio State alum from 1987, "That works for me."
*****
No matter how it goes over, I have to finish the personal side of my book and I have been having the HARDEST time of it! Here are just a few takes at it lately:
The biggest takeaway from my trip to my hometown of Loudonville, OH on October 17 is that it really felt like home--like no other place I've ever lived. After all, having moved there from Akron at age 10, this is where I developed who I was--my personality, my beliefs, my convictions, my tastes, my affinities, my dreams.
Sure, I was afraid of things then but nothing like today, because I wasn't trying to protect anything really. Rather, I was trying to become something for the future. I wasn't sinning anything remotely near what I am today. I was, in fact, pretty innocent, as well as naive.
Getting off at the Sunbury exit of I-71N was when the journey home, after a 24-year absence, really started to take hold of me. I knew that road because of how many times we took it to Columbus and back.
*****.
Driving home to Loudonville after a 24-year lapse (!!!) couldn't have come at a better time. I figure I might as well have driven through the Rockies.
In fact, I thought to myself as I drove the roads inside the Mohican Forest (the same ones I constantly bicycled as a teenager and college student), "My day-long odyssey drive inside the Grand Canyon, from glorious sunrise to sunset, wasn't as special as this!"
At long last, I was reunited with the super-hilly roads I knew by heart as a cyclist. Fortunately, everything came back to me in the most rewarding way, truly bringing back childhood and who I really am--the me that never, ever could have imagined living the life I went on to live.
Now, I have to remind you from Sunday's post that I had just read an article about near-death experiences and told myself, "I have to live like my life is really close to almost being over if I'm ever going to accomplish the things I want for myself before I die."
Anyone who counts me as a friend knows that I've been FOREVER working on a book about my church and its teachings. The reality is I was "writing" this book even before my dad died very suddenly one month after 9/11 in 2001.
In fact, my second to last phone conversation with him was the SAME Saturday night he fell in his home and proceeded to treat his broken hip with injectable shots of the heavy-duty painkiller Talwin.
My dad, a medical doctor with his own private practice in Loudonville (1974-1994), kept all kinds of hard-core medicine on the lamp table and bookshelves nook next to his reclining chair. He wanted to be ready for anything I guess.
He asked me that night, "Are you working on that book?"
My last conversation with him was only a few hours before his death! It lasted for three minutes tops. It was just before he was being prepped for found out he was being prepped for surgery and I said, "I'll be praying for you." He said, "Do that." That was our end!
*****
Okay, now I've got to break in with this detail from my visit to Loudonville. I turned left onto Loudon Avenue from the same block on Route 60 where we lived at 525 Union St. and could not believe that next-door to the EXACT spot where my dad's office, since torn down, was located is now a cannabis dispensary with the name Klutch!!!
In a way, and I'm not endorsing marijuana, etc., nothing could somehow be more ironic. In our time in Loudonville my dad gained a major reputation as a "diet doc" who would give all kind of strong drugs in his sincere desire to help people curtail their hunger. He also wanted to help those with stress and anxiety.
Patients would drive sometimes from 70-90 miles away just to see my dad and have him set them up with some "good stuff."
I realized I'm a military man's daughter. That was my thought in the return from what I made a "near-death experience." I want to "die in the battlefield; die in the war."
*****
I prayed that I would have my own near-death experience to make me realize in the most penetrating way that my life is close to being over and could even only be a few years away if I am fortunate enough.
When I neared the town limits of Loudonville, coming down that last big majestic, forested hill on Route 3 as you near Mohican State Forest, I knew I was truly, truly home, as in, if I can request one last road to drive on, this forest would be it. (If I had one last activity it would be swimming in the Atlantic at South Beach, Miami, just at the same stretch I first swam in at the age of 5)
Nobody but me and my Savior know exactly what it meant to me all the bazillion times I rode my bicycle through the forest. I remember times when I was so sad climbing those hills I didn't know how I would go on with life. I remember all the dreaming and imagining, too, that went on during the rides.
Making the turn onto Route 97 was one thing for my emotions, but then when I turned onto the forest road leading to the Clear Fork Gorge and the Fire Tower my soul was fully engaged. I might as well have been at the Grand Canyon, or inside Big Sur, or cycling the Blue Ridge Parkway--all things I've done by myself and found very memorable.
Seeing the heavy pine needles on the berm, just exactly like when I would climb that first initial hill in the thick heavily dark woods on my bicycle, I was transported back like a soothing balm from heaven to my high school years when I first discovered my addiction for riding all through this forest.
Of course, I could hardly contain my excitement to reach the gorge, recognized as a Natural National Landmark. As the historic site sign at the place where you first see the amazing landscape informs, the gorge, filled with white pines and towering hemlocks, is 1,000 ft. wide and 300 ft. deep.
"The seclusion has preserved a rare forest community," says the sign. "The gorge has changed little since pioneer legend Johnny Appleseed tended his apple orchards nearby."
Oh, yes, my old "secret friend" Johnny. Unlike during my youth, now many of the highways in and around Loudonville have official road signs that read "Johnny Appleseed Scenic Byway."
Absolutely nobody knew that I used to regularly think about Johnny as I rode my bike all through the territory. I knew it was THE territory he covered!!!
Definitely more to come on Appleseed and how he really became a MAJOR disappointment.