<![CDATA[LaurenceMullaney - blog]]>Tue, 04 Feb 2025 05:52:32 -0800Weebly<![CDATA[Dale's Candle]]>Thu, 29 Aug 2013 17:40:49 GMThttp://www.laurencemullaney.com/blog/r-i-p
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I live in a townhouse so every morning my neighbor’s hacking cough comes through the wall and wakes me up.  After my initial annoyance wears off I have a moment of compassion and think “she’s really gotta quit smoking.”

Last night was payback when I was up till three in the morning sobbing like a schoolgirl watching General Hospital. After three trips to the bathroom to blow my nose I finally brought the toilet paper back to the bedroom so I could finish bawling while presumably giving my neighbor nightmares of a shrieking phantom.

Why was I sobbing so heartily you might ask? Well, what began as a general sense of self-pity and emasculated frustration over the unfairness of life ended up being something much larger.  I had a sudden insight into an event I experienced last summer. I was visiting my mom and her husband at their lake house.  At around 10 that evening her husband started having breathing difficulty.  We called the ambulance and waited.  Twenty minutes later they arrived to take him to the hospital. He died on the way.

As I remembered that experience I felt tremendous shame over how I had handled it.  Up until now I had deluded myself into thinking that I had been an innocent witness to a tragic event.  In reality that was the exact problem.  While I offered him words of encouragement during his ordeal I now realize how much more helpful I could have been.  As this man laid there struggling with his last breaths I stood there emotionally frozen and unable to generate sincere comfort for him.  As silly as it seems, the one thing I regret was that I didn’t start rubbing his feet.  That would have been nice.  He would have liked that.  

But instead I tried to reassure him with vague, empty words as I stood numb to his suffering.  I guess the reason it bothers me so much is that I really loved him.  He was a beautiful man.  You’d have liked him.  An hour prior to his death we sat in the living room and had a very detailed conversation on the beauty of the wood ceiling.  Then we finished off the last two bowls of ice cream together.  Being around Dale always felt good.

As I sit now and process this discovery I realize that forgiveness is in order.  Dale would understand my mistake.  He would forgive me.  Now I have to forgive myself.  And with that forgiveness comes a lesson learned.  When people need help, give it.  If the day ever comes when my neighbor’s hacking cough turns into a 911 call I won’t be watching from a distance.  I'm going to step in and start rubbing her feet.

I love you Dale.

]]><![CDATA[Fear of The Great Outdoors]]>Sun, 25 Aug 2013 02:44:34 GMThttp://www.laurencemullaney.com/blog/fear-of-the-great-outdoors
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That's a pretty photo huh?  It's from a recent backpacking expedition I took on the Appalachian Trail.  That glow in the upper left corner is the sun setting over the western ridge.  That cabin-ish looking building in the foreground is where I spent a night of terror as I waited for the Earth to slowly spin its way back into the light of dawn.  

Camping solo in the middle of the woods seems like a wonderful idea right up until you do it.Then, as midnight strikes and you lie there gently crying, you realize how much you love being around people.  Suddenly, waiting in line at Starbucks seems like a wonderful way to spend an afternoon.  Sitting in rush hour traffic becomes an opportunity to trade in your anger for some kindness and sharing.  You begin to realize that being part of that hectic and overcrowded experience we call civilization isn't such a bad thing after all. 

Some of my fear was justified.  Camping involves a few legitimate concerns.  At one point I snapped wake when an acorn hit the cabin roof.  An acorn can indicate danger.  Perhaps a squirrel was carelessly climbing in the tree above.  What if a branch breaks off and comes crashing through the 12" reinforced oak rafters?  What if that squirrel falls with it?  What if that squirrel has rabies and knows Jui Jitsu?  Who knows, maybe it wasn't a squirrel after all. Maybe its Sasquatch off in the distance lobbing stones in an effort to lure me out of my huddled position in the corner.

Now, looking back it all seems so silly.  As I sit in the comfort of my own home with doors locked and a gun by my side I think "Sasquatch...really!  Everyone knows he lives in Canada."  And even if that squirrel did know Jui Jitsu who's to say he would have won. Maybe I would have distracted him with a peanut and then grabbed his tail and beaten him against the picnic table until his brain turned to soup.  And don't get me wrong, I love squirrels but in a fight to the death I'd be relentless.  I'd fight with every ounce of Girl Scout in me just so I could have one more opportunity to experience a holiday sale at Target.  One more opportunity to complain about the slow downloading speed of my library's internet connection.  One more opportunity to spend time with the people and experiences that drove me to the woods in the first place.


Life...I'll take it.





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