Wow! Another year has passed. This one seemed particularly long, while passing quite quickly.
One of last year's resolutions was to write more, and I got off to a great start. As do most resolutions. As you can probably guess from the name of my blog, this one has mainly been a place for me to vent; often with humor, sometimes with pain, and mostly dripping in sarcasm. But I also made a resolution to be a kinder, gentler version of myself. This presented a conflict of interest. It became increasingly harder to do both of these well and, well, the writing suffered. Add to that that I became involved with a GREAT group of young people this year. People who look up to me. People who make me want to be positive and really think about what I say and write. (Thanks, guys!)
So, I am carrying over those two resolutions (choices, improvements) from last year. I will to write more this year, whether it be here or in my food blog. While I am hoping to control my venomous tendencies, I will continue to write from my heart, raw emotions and all. I believe it's important to keep being honest and true to myself, while challenging myself to do it better.
I'm choosing to continue to grow. There's still many layers to this onion, but I'm committed to peeling them back and chopping it up! If I know one thing, it's that you can't shut it back up once you've started. It just doesn't work! Pain is, well, a pain, but it does have it's positive aspects. I've connected with a great group of ladies this year who are going through this same process. While our stories may not be the same, our journey really is.
I'm choosing to continue to temper what I say. I'm not saying everything is going to be filtered. Come on, you know me. That's so not going to happen. But I am going to remember those looking to me for leadership and guidance. I don't want to let them down or turn them into me. (The world isn't ready for that!)
Last year I also resolved to let people know how I feel about them, positively. I pretty much rocked this one! While this one was/is really hard for me, it got/gets easier the more I do it. I was often surprised at how people reacted to this. I am reminded everyday of how important this is. Tomorrow is not guaranteed. I never know when it might be too late.
So, Happy 2014!
Tuesday, December 31, 2013
Monday, September 23, 2013
Chicks Fledge Regardless
Being a parent is hard. Not just the sleepless nights and terrible twos. Not the painful adolescence or awkward teen years. Those are horrible, but nothing compares to seeing your child in pain. I'm not talking about scraped knees or bloody noses. It's the letting them go, allowing them to make potentially bad choices-- within reason-- to let them learn and grow.
When my daughter moved out at 17, I had concerns. But I also had hope. She was mature and responsible. "We had raised her that way", I say, thumping my chest. Okay, not quite, but there is a certain sense of accomplishment when your child does well. And a sense of self-doubt when they falter. Overall, she is doing well. Perhaps even thriving. But her success is not mine, just as her failures aren't.
My son has yet to fledge. He sits, perched, upon the edge of the nest. Until now, he's been content to just let his foot dangle over the edge while being securely nestled in the nest. Now he wants out. He stands on the rim, longing to spread his wings and soar way above where we can see. This is scary, to him (not that he would admit it) and to me.
You see, it feels like I have more invested in him. Now don't go getting all up-in-arms about loving your children "equally" and "treating them all the same". That's not what this is about. I do love my children equally. She is my favorite daughter, and he is my favorite son. But any parent who tells you they treat their children exactly the same is lying right to you face. My children are individuals and, as such, must be treated differently. I'm not talking about favoritism, and now I've hopped down a rather curvy bunny trail.
Back to my point. I had one such gut wrenching experience today as my son took another lurch toward the edge of the nest. He bought a motorcycle. That's not the horrible part. That came when it didn't all turn out like he hoped. It's nothing that can't be resolved (I hope). It just broke my heart to see him struggling with the thought that he might have made the wrong decision. And it angered me to think someone may have taken advantage of him. That person is not someone you want to be, believe me.
I coached him through the steps he needed to take, even though he tried his best to get me to do it for him. I took the steps beyond what he was able. Then, when I got a chance to breathe, I began to question myself. Had I let him down or ill-prepared him for this situation? No, not at all. But it didn't make it hurt any less. You see, growing up isn't easy. Not for the child, and not for the parent. It gives me a whole new appreciation for what my parents must have experienced.
Tomorrow is another day, and he is one step closer. Soon he, too, will soar. Just like his sister. And I will once again thump my chest with pride.
When my daughter moved out at 17, I had concerns. But I also had hope. She was mature and responsible. "We had raised her that way", I say, thumping my chest. Okay, not quite, but there is a certain sense of accomplishment when your child does well. And a sense of self-doubt when they falter. Overall, she is doing well. Perhaps even thriving. But her success is not mine, just as her failures aren't.
My son has yet to fledge. He sits, perched, upon the edge of the nest. Until now, he's been content to just let his foot dangle over the edge while being securely nestled in the nest. Now he wants out. He stands on the rim, longing to spread his wings and soar way above where we can see. This is scary, to him (not that he would admit it) and to me.
You see, it feels like I have more invested in him. Now don't go getting all up-in-arms about loving your children "equally" and "treating them all the same". That's not what this is about. I do love my children equally. She is my favorite daughter, and he is my favorite son. But any parent who tells you they treat their children exactly the same is lying right to you face. My children are individuals and, as such, must be treated differently. I'm not talking about favoritism, and now I've hopped down a rather curvy bunny trail.
Back to my point. I had one such gut wrenching experience today as my son took another lurch toward the edge of the nest. He bought a motorcycle. That's not the horrible part. That came when it didn't all turn out like he hoped. It's nothing that can't be resolved (I hope). It just broke my heart to see him struggling with the thought that he might have made the wrong decision. And it angered me to think someone may have taken advantage of him. That person is not someone you want to be, believe me.
I coached him through the steps he needed to take, even though he tried his best to get me to do it for him. I took the steps beyond what he was able. Then, when I got a chance to breathe, I began to question myself. Had I let him down or ill-prepared him for this situation? No, not at all. But it didn't make it hurt any less. You see, growing up isn't easy. Not for the child, and not for the parent. It gives me a whole new appreciation for what my parents must have experienced.
Tomorrow is another day, and he is one step closer. Soon he, too, will soar. Just like his sister. And I will once again thump my chest with pride.
Sunday, September 22, 2013
It's not me, it's you. Or is it?
I live right across the street from a church. That means when I come home from church each week, I can't park anywhere near my house. This aggravates me to no end! It's bad enough that they take up their side of the street, their parking lot, all the side streets AND the school parking lot. Do they have to park immediately in front of my house? For all three services. Today, I came home and there was a car parked in my grass. Not an easy feat since he had to jump the curb to do that. You'd think he would have noticed something like that.
So, I just went outside to walk the dog and the guy parked in my grass was getting something out of his car. I toyed with saying something about being in the grass, but decided better. I thought he was leaving. Then I realized he was going back into his church! We had made eye contact, and he turned and went back into his church. Really? No "sorry I'm parked in your grass" or "sorry I've been taking up your parking for 3 hours". My irritation started all over again.
This irritation grew as I walked the dog. Everywhere I went, I encountered people coming out of this church, all wanting to pet my dog. I just wanted them all to be gone. To go park at their own house, and leave me alone. What a great person I am, huh?
As I was coming up the last block, I noticed a small woman getting out of her car. There was a little girl with her. Then I saw she was also carrying a pretty large, sleeping toddler. I watched for he to go into the house where her car was parked. Instead, she struggled down the street, carrying her sleeping child and trying to keep hold of the little girl. She walked the whole way down the block, then half-way down the next street before she finally turned into her house.
I was angry for her. These church people had parked in front of her house, too, majorly inconveniencing her. Then I heard the voice. "And you're angry because you had to walk across the street, all by yourself, carrying nothing but your purse." I began to feel about an inch tall.
It's interesting how quickly my attitude can change when confronted by someone who could honestly be justified in their anger at the same event. Now, I don't know what was going on in this woman's head, and that's not the focus of this blog. It just helped me to look outside of myself for one minute. It doesn't mean I'm not going to get ticked about the lack of Sunday parking. But it does mean I will be more aware that I have no clue what is going on with other people.
So, I just went outside to walk the dog and the guy parked in my grass was getting something out of his car. I toyed with saying something about being in the grass, but decided better. I thought he was leaving. Then I realized he was going back into his church! We had made eye contact, and he turned and went back into his church. Really? No "sorry I'm parked in your grass" or "sorry I've been taking up your parking for 3 hours". My irritation started all over again.
This irritation grew as I walked the dog. Everywhere I went, I encountered people coming out of this church, all wanting to pet my dog. I just wanted them all to be gone. To go park at their own house, and leave me alone. What a great person I am, huh?
As I was coming up the last block, I noticed a small woman getting out of her car. There was a little girl with her. Then I saw she was also carrying a pretty large, sleeping toddler. I watched for he to go into the house where her car was parked. Instead, she struggled down the street, carrying her sleeping child and trying to keep hold of the little girl. She walked the whole way down the block, then half-way down the next street before she finally turned into her house.
I was angry for her. These church people had parked in front of her house, too, majorly inconveniencing her. Then I heard the voice. "And you're angry because you had to walk across the street, all by yourself, carrying nothing but your purse." I began to feel about an inch tall.
It's interesting how quickly my attitude can change when confronted by someone who could honestly be justified in their anger at the same event. Now, I don't know what was going on in this woman's head, and that's not the focus of this blog. It just helped me to look outside of myself for one minute. It doesn't mean I'm not going to get ticked about the lack of Sunday parking. But it does mean I will be more aware that I have no clue what is going on with other people.
Tuesday, September 10, 2013
Redemption as Renewal
Anyone older than a day has experienced some sort of loss in their life. For some of us, that has been excruciating trauma, perhaps even more than once, often at the hands of those who are supposed to love us and protect us. As I struggle through these events in my life, I find myself often overwhelmed with emotions, mostly anger and loss. I begin to question. Everything and everyone. And I wonder if anything can ever come from what I've been through.
I've been through therapy, 12-step programs and support groups, each having it's own pros and cons. I've come to see that trauma is like an onion. It has many layers before you actually get to it's core. As each layer is peeled back, it exposes a level of suffering. Sometimes this brings flashbacks and fear, and it always hurts. It's hard to go through alone, but can be even harder to let someone in. After all, it was people who did this.
But I have found that as each layer is exposed and dealt with, I find a new strength. Each "small" step conquered, gives me the courage to allow the next layer to be peeled back. Yes, I do have a say in this process. I can choose to stay exactly where I am, to wallow in self pity, mourning my losses, being bitter and resentful. Or, I can choose to experience the pain, mourn the loss, deal with my side of things and allow healing to take place. It's never easy and it's usually not fast. But I look at it like childbirth. The labor might be long, or it might be short. Every one's is different. But one thing is sure, it will end. And with the end comes joy!
Then I realize that healing is not easy, either. After spending my whole life looking back, shutting people out, trying to forget, in essence focusing on, idolizing, and worshiping my trauma, I find myself with a free mind. I can feel lost, not quite knowing what to do. And wondering how that time lost, the energy misplaced, the emotional roller coaster and the trauma itself can be redeemed. Can good really come from such evil? Can peace come from the pain? Can light replace where it was once so dark?
Yes! I've come to believe hurt is never wasted, pain doesn't have to last forever and good can come from evil. And you know what? I have something to offer. How cool is that? I know what this feels like, and I can share it with another person who's still in the pain and darkness of their trauma. I can share my experiences, how I have grown and survived, no flourished, in the face of adversity.
I have hope to give. Hope for a new beginning. Hope for healing. The belief that things can be better. My awfulness has been redeemed! My life is not lost. It has been renewed, and that is something worth sharing.
I've been through therapy, 12-step programs and support groups, each having it's own pros and cons. I've come to see that trauma is like an onion. It has many layers before you actually get to it's core. As each layer is peeled back, it exposes a level of suffering. Sometimes this brings flashbacks and fear, and it always hurts. It's hard to go through alone, but can be even harder to let someone in. After all, it was people who did this.
But I have found that as each layer is exposed and dealt with, I find a new strength. Each "small" step conquered, gives me the courage to allow the next layer to be peeled back. Yes, I do have a say in this process. I can choose to stay exactly where I am, to wallow in self pity, mourning my losses, being bitter and resentful. Or, I can choose to experience the pain, mourn the loss, deal with my side of things and allow healing to take place. It's never easy and it's usually not fast. But I look at it like childbirth. The labor might be long, or it might be short. Every one's is different. But one thing is sure, it will end. And with the end comes joy!
Then I realize that healing is not easy, either. After spending my whole life looking back, shutting people out, trying to forget, in essence focusing on, idolizing, and worshiping my trauma, I find myself with a free mind. I can feel lost, not quite knowing what to do. And wondering how that time lost, the energy misplaced, the emotional roller coaster and the trauma itself can be redeemed. Can good really come from such evil? Can peace come from the pain? Can light replace where it was once so dark?
Yes! I've come to believe hurt is never wasted, pain doesn't have to last forever and good can come from evil. And you know what? I have something to offer. How cool is that? I know what this feels like, and I can share it with another person who's still in the pain and darkness of their trauma. I can share my experiences, how I have grown and survived, no flourished, in the face of adversity.
I have hope to give. Hope for a new beginning. Hope for healing. The belief that things can be better. My awfulness has been redeemed! My life is not lost. It has been renewed, and that is something worth sharing.
Sunday, September 1, 2013
Get out of my bubble
I went to a local baseball game tonight with my husband and father-in-law. The weather was perfect, but the stadium was relatively empty. I'm assuming that was because it's a holiday weekend. We had great seats; just four rows down from the concourse, giving me an awesome vantage point for people watching.
I was amazed by how many people just sit wherever they want, not necessarily where their ticket says their seat is. I saw one rather large group (4 adults and a few kids) be escorted from the wrong seats three different times. Three! Just sit in your own seat. Quit deciding where you are going to sit, or actually pay for tickets for those seats.
Then there the people who, despite a large sign saying "alcohol free section", tried to sit there with glasses of beer. What a job for the stadium staff, escorting people who can't read from their seats all night. Just open your eyes. And really, if you're at the game as a family, with your toddler children, do you need to be sitting there drinking?
But who stole the spotlight? The middle-aged couple sitting directly in front of my husband and me. They were both gray-haired and a bit hippie-ish in their dress. She seemed to think she was on her living room couch as she slouched in her seat, legs out in the aisle and her arm draped across the back of her seat, as she sat in a rather twisted position.
Now the problem with her draping her arm over the seat was that it then rested on my leg. And she left it there! Could she not feel my skin? The killer was that it happened more than once. I bounced my leg. I shifted in my seat. I talked loudly. All to no avail. Then my husband noticed. His look can only be described as a mix of shock and disgust. It was all so comical.
When we could take it no more, we decided it was time for a funnel cake. This time, the husband had his arm hanging backwards, right in my husband's seating area. We wanted to take our trash with us, so my husband tried to remove his cup from his cup holder. Well, the guy's arm was blocking it. He actually got stupid worked up when his arm was touched by the cup. Seriously, dude? Keep your body in your own allotted space.
So, we moved to the other side of my father-in-law when we returned, into seats that were empty, but still not our seats. I guess I'm as guilty as the rest. And I still don't know who won.
I was amazed by how many people just sit wherever they want, not necessarily where their ticket says their seat is. I saw one rather large group (4 adults and a few kids) be escorted from the wrong seats three different times. Three! Just sit in your own seat. Quit deciding where you are going to sit, or actually pay for tickets for those seats.
Then there the people who, despite a large sign saying "alcohol free section", tried to sit there with glasses of beer. What a job for the stadium staff, escorting people who can't read from their seats all night. Just open your eyes. And really, if you're at the game as a family, with your toddler children, do you need to be sitting there drinking?
But who stole the spotlight? The middle-aged couple sitting directly in front of my husband and me. They were both gray-haired and a bit hippie-ish in their dress. She seemed to think she was on her living room couch as she slouched in her seat, legs out in the aisle and her arm draped across the back of her seat, as she sat in a rather twisted position.
Now the problem with her draping her arm over the seat was that it then rested on my leg. And she left it there! Could she not feel my skin? The killer was that it happened more than once. I bounced my leg. I shifted in my seat. I talked loudly. All to no avail. Then my husband noticed. His look can only be described as a mix of shock and disgust. It was all so comical.
When we could take it no more, we decided it was time for a funnel cake. This time, the husband had his arm hanging backwards, right in my husband's seating area. We wanted to take our trash with us, so my husband tried to remove his cup from his cup holder. Well, the guy's arm was blocking it. He actually got stupid worked up when his arm was touched by the cup. Seriously, dude? Keep your body in your own allotted space.
So, we moved to the other side of my father-in-law when we returned, into seats that were empty, but still not our seats. I guess I'm as guilty as the rest. And I still don't know who won.
Friday, August 30, 2013
Just stop it!
I hate to see my friends and loved ones hurting. In emotional pain. Being mistreated by those they know and love. Maybe I'm naive, but I think love should not involve deliberate pain. I know we all do and say things that hurt our loved ones, mostly unintentionally. It's the intentional ones that irk me.
I've heard it said "you always hurt the ones you love". Why is that acceptable? It sounds like an excuse to me. It sounds to me like a cop out to not have to expect, demand, more from people. To believe the lie we tell ourselves that maybe we really aren't worth being treated better. How sad? No, not sad. It's maddening!
Ladies, take heart. Be brave. Be strong. Focus on the good in you. Realize how great you are. Make a list of all the positive things you are and have accomplished. Nothing is too small. Surround yourself with people who lift you up, but are also honest with you. Sometimes, a little smack to bring you out of a funk and back to reality is what you need.
Guy, grow a pair! Stop making yourself feel "like a man" at the expense of the women who love you. Make the hard choices. Put your family first. Put a filter on your mouth. Just because something pops into your head does not mean it needs to come out of your mouth. Your words carry a heavy weight, building up and tearing down in mere minutes, leaving emotional scars, creating rifts in relationships, devastating lives.
Now before you go off on me, maybe you need to look inside and see what is really causing this to bother you. Have I hit a nerve?
I've heard it said "you always hurt the ones you love". Why is that acceptable? It sounds like an excuse to me. It sounds to me like a cop out to not have to expect, demand, more from people. To believe the lie we tell ourselves that maybe we really aren't worth being treated better. How sad? No, not sad. It's maddening!
Ladies, take heart. Be brave. Be strong. Focus on the good in you. Realize how great you are. Make a list of all the positive things you are and have accomplished. Nothing is too small. Surround yourself with people who lift you up, but are also honest with you. Sometimes, a little smack to bring you out of a funk and back to reality is what you need.
Guy, grow a pair! Stop making yourself feel "like a man" at the expense of the women who love you. Make the hard choices. Put your family first. Put a filter on your mouth. Just because something pops into your head does not mean it needs to come out of your mouth. Your words carry a heavy weight, building up and tearing down in mere minutes, leaving emotional scars, creating rifts in relationships, devastating lives.
Now before you go off on me, maybe you need to look inside and see what is really causing this to bother you. Have I hit a nerve?
Sunday, August 18, 2013
Put down that phone
Call me old fashioned. Or maybe I'm a technophobe. Lately, people's use (or misuse) is really bugging me. Are people really so self-absorbed that they cannot go through a meal without looking at their phone? Have we lost all sense of proper communication and actually think everything is OK to share through a text rather than a phone call?
Don't get me wrong. I have a cell phone. It's neither smart nor state of the art. It's a phone. It's for making calls. Period. I don't have it with me at all times, and just because it rings does not mean I need to answer it. I don't just give the number out to everyone I meet because, frankly, I don't want just anyone being able to call me. And I don't always want to be found.
I know several people who treat their phone as an appendage, like it's physically attached to their hand as their fingers are. If it rings, or beeps, or chirps or makes any noise whatsoever, it must be answered, looked at, fondled and caressed. It doesn't matter where they are or who is with them. I'm concerned that we have decided this is acceptable behavior, both as the one answering the phone and the one being treated as second-class.
Am I being harsh? I don't think so. I think people deserve my attention when I ask them to lunch, or we're sitting at dinner. If I am constantly glancing at my phone, or worse, texting/surfing non-stop, I am telling that other person they are not worthy of my time and full-attention. I certainly don't want someone treating me that way. I'm not a doctor or a police officer. I am not so important that I must always be reachable, and must always answer my phone before it goes to voicemail.
We as a society have become so self-absorbed that we cannot focus on those around us, the ones who are supposedly so important to us, the ones we love. We need to get over ourselves!
Don't get me wrong. I have a cell phone. It's neither smart nor state of the art. It's a phone. It's for making calls. Period. I don't have it with me at all times, and just because it rings does not mean I need to answer it. I don't just give the number out to everyone I meet because, frankly, I don't want just anyone being able to call me. And I don't always want to be found.
I know several people who treat their phone as an appendage, like it's physically attached to their hand as their fingers are. If it rings, or beeps, or chirps or makes any noise whatsoever, it must be answered, looked at, fondled and caressed. It doesn't matter where they are or who is with them. I'm concerned that we have decided this is acceptable behavior, both as the one answering the phone and the one being treated as second-class.
Am I being harsh? I don't think so. I think people deserve my attention when I ask them to lunch, or we're sitting at dinner. If I am constantly glancing at my phone, or worse, texting/surfing non-stop, I am telling that other person they are not worthy of my time and full-attention. I certainly don't want someone treating me that way. I'm not a doctor or a police officer. I am not so important that I must always be reachable, and must always answer my phone before it goes to voicemail.
We as a society have become so self-absorbed that we cannot focus on those around us, the ones who are supposedly so important to us, the ones we love. We need to get over ourselves!
Saturday, August 17, 2013
If you're happy and you know it
Have you ever stopped to think what really makes you happy? And just what does "happy" mean? The other day, as I was being scrutinized by a young woman trying to sell me 24k gold youth serum, I had cause to do just that.
She was a young, relatively attractive woman. She was Egyptian with long, dark hair, brown eyes and youthful skin that looked moist and dew-y. Though she was shorter than I, she tilted her head back and looked down her nose when she spoke to me, which accentuated her crooked teeth and drew attention to the strange piercing she had inside her top lip.
As she lunged, full-force, into her sales pitch she tried to make me believe that my happiness should be tied to my appearance. While smearing $298 eye cream onto one side of my face, she told me I was "obviously a smart woman who knew the value of spending money to look good". She made assumptions about what I spend on my hair and face while buttering me up with "you can't possibly be 45!" (Does that really work on people?)
Then she moved in for the kill, er, sale. "When you have wrinkles, and they WILL come, you will be so happy you bought this. When you look good on the outside, you will be happy, inside and out". Hmmm. I looked her straight in the eye, sizing up if she actually believed what she was saying. Sadly, she did. I made a circle around my face with my hand, and I told her this (pointing to my face) does not determine my happiness. It's true. And it felt so freeing to say it out loud. Her expression drooped as she realized she lost my sale, that I wasn't buying her script. All she could do was concede defeat.
Since that encounter, I have been trying to put into words what happiness is to me. Does it rely on some external factor that is unreliable and fleeting? Is it merely an emotion, dependent on feelings that can be swayed with a word or glance? Is it dependent on relationships with other people and their perceptions of me? I think happiness contains a little bit of all of these but, ultimately, is found deep with in. To me, it feels a lot like peace.
She was a young, relatively attractive woman. She was Egyptian with long, dark hair, brown eyes and youthful skin that looked moist and dew-y. Though she was shorter than I, she tilted her head back and looked down her nose when she spoke to me, which accentuated her crooked teeth and drew attention to the strange piercing she had inside her top lip.
As she lunged, full-force, into her sales pitch she tried to make me believe that my happiness should be tied to my appearance. While smearing $298 eye cream onto one side of my face, she told me I was "obviously a smart woman who knew the value of spending money to look good". She made assumptions about what I spend on my hair and face while buttering me up with "you can't possibly be 45!" (Does that really work on people?)
Then she moved in for the kill, er, sale. "When you have wrinkles, and they WILL come, you will be so happy you bought this. When you look good on the outside, you will be happy, inside and out". Hmmm. I looked her straight in the eye, sizing up if she actually believed what she was saying. Sadly, she did. I made a circle around my face with my hand, and I told her this (pointing to my face) does not determine my happiness. It's true. And it felt so freeing to say it out loud. Her expression drooped as she realized she lost my sale, that I wasn't buying her script. All she could do was concede defeat.
Since that encounter, I have been trying to put into words what happiness is to me. Does it rely on some external factor that is unreliable and fleeting? Is it merely an emotion, dependent on feelings that can be swayed with a word or glance? Is it dependent on relationships with other people and their perceptions of me? I think happiness contains a little bit of all of these but, ultimately, is found deep with in. To me, it feels a lot like peace.
Wednesday, June 19, 2013
I'm outta here
Tomorrow is my last day in this house. After a year of trying, we have finally sold our home and bought another. We have lived here for over 10 years, so it's a little bittersweet.
This house has seen our children grow, finish school and become productive adults. It's been filled with the laughter of friendship and the tears of loss. It's welcomed countless guests, both new friends and old, and helped us make everyone feel like family.
People have asked if I'll be sad to leave this house. Up til now, the answer has been "no". I am ready to go. But that may all change tomorrow, when the trucks are loaded and I run the vacuum through all the empty rooms. As much as I dislike change, I am really looking forward to this move. For some time I have felt disconnected from this area, drawn to a new place and people. I am designed to be connected and relational; that has been stymied for a while.
I have finally been released from northern Lancaster county. I leave with a clean conscience, a healed heart and spirit. To have moved earlier would have just been running, I think. Now, it's just a transition. That's a good thing.
So, goodbye dear house and thanks for the memories.
This house has seen our children grow, finish school and become productive adults. It's been filled with the laughter of friendship and the tears of loss. It's welcomed countless guests, both new friends and old, and helped us make everyone feel like family.
People have asked if I'll be sad to leave this house. Up til now, the answer has been "no". I am ready to go. But that may all change tomorrow, when the trucks are loaded and I run the vacuum through all the empty rooms. As much as I dislike change, I am really looking forward to this move. For some time I have felt disconnected from this area, drawn to a new place and people. I am designed to be connected and relational; that has been stymied for a while.
I have finally been released from northern Lancaster county. I leave with a clean conscience, a healed heart and spirit. To have moved earlier would have just been running, I think. Now, it's just a transition. That's a good thing.
So, goodbye dear house and thanks for the memories.
Sunday, May 12, 2013
Fitting in
I am white.
I have fair skin, light hair and light eyes.
I am also a wee bit Cherokee, which means I have defined cheek bones and "interestingly" shaped nose. I was adopted into a white family, also fair-skinned and light-eyed, but with dark hair. As long as I can remember, I have always lived in predominantly white communities.
I won't say I ever felt different because of how I looked, but I also never felt like I fit in with everyone else. Some of that had to do with being adopted and knowing people knew that about me. I did feel a general unease in life, not really knowing it's cause.
It took me until well into my thirties before I really felt comfortable in my own skin. I'm not really sure how or why it happened, but I began to embrace my differences. I had children who resembled me, and there was no one to compare me with. I was an individual, and it was ok.
Flash forward to the end of April. I went to California for my grandmother's 80th birthday. I never really thought I looked like her, but I definitely fit in with my aunt and an uncle. On this trip, more than most, I was told how much I looked like so-and-so, or resembled this or that person.
This past week I spent in North Carolina with my daughter. She works on the Cherokee reservation, and I spent a lot of time there. Now, while I am white, I could look into many faces and see aspects of myself there: high cheek bones, firm jaw, that nose.
Both instances were comforting to me. This past year has been excruciating. Stress was often overwhelming and the feeling of being alone, solitary, came often. These two separate weeks of being away came like an oasis in the desert.
Never underestimate the power of being with people who look like you.
I have fair skin, light hair and light eyes.
I am also a wee bit Cherokee, which means I have defined cheek bones and "interestingly" shaped nose. I was adopted into a white family, also fair-skinned and light-eyed, but with dark hair. As long as I can remember, I have always lived in predominantly white communities.
I won't say I ever felt different because of how I looked, but I also never felt like I fit in with everyone else. Some of that had to do with being adopted and knowing people knew that about me. I did feel a general unease in life, not really knowing it's cause.
It took me until well into my thirties before I really felt comfortable in my own skin. I'm not really sure how or why it happened, but I began to embrace my differences. I had children who resembled me, and there was no one to compare me with. I was an individual, and it was ok.
Flash forward to the end of April. I went to California for my grandmother's 80th birthday. I never really thought I looked like her, but I definitely fit in with my aunt and an uncle. On this trip, more than most, I was told how much I looked like so-and-so, or resembled this or that person.
This past week I spent in North Carolina with my daughter. She works on the Cherokee reservation, and I spent a lot of time there. Now, while I am white, I could look into many faces and see aspects of myself there: high cheek bones, firm jaw, that nose.
Both instances were comforting to me. This past year has been excruciating. Stress was often overwhelming and the feeling of being alone, solitary, came often. These two separate weeks of being away came like an oasis in the desert.
Never underestimate the power of being with people who look like you.
Monday, April 22, 2013
Cue the laugh track
I like laughter. More precisely, I like to laugh. But lately, laughter is hard to come by. Driving home from a friend's house tonight, I realized how much I miss laughter. Especially raucous, uproarious laughter.
We were part of a group of friends who used to get together pretty much every weekend. We'd giggle well into the night. We'd laugh until tears streamed down our cheeks and our voices were hoarse. We'd laugh until our sides ached and our bladders threatened to explode (and sometimes did). And then we'd just get silly, and every little thing made us laugh all the more.
Where did it go? When did my life become so serious and my times with friends so far between? It's not that there's no joy in my life. There is. It's not that I don't spend time with friends. I do (though not as often as I'd like). But the silliness, the abandon, is gone.
It feels good when I laugh, though it would probably be better not to do it at inappropriate times. I can't help it if the things that amuse me don't make sense to other people. In fact, thinking back on some of those kind of moments makes me laugh right now. I mean how could anyone not find it funny when Mel Gibson, in Conspiracy Theory, has his eyelids taped open and is strapped in a wheelchair, trying to escape his captors? I laughed so hard, out loud, in the movie theater that people gawked at me, prompting the hubby to shush me.
Is there such a thing as laugh recovery? I think I'd sign up for it. Or maybe a seminar. It seems sense of humor is subjective, but laughter need not be. I'm not sure where to start, but watching Conspiracy Theory might be a good idea.
We were part of a group of friends who used to get together pretty much every weekend. We'd giggle well into the night. We'd laugh until tears streamed down our cheeks and our voices were hoarse. We'd laugh until our sides ached and our bladders threatened to explode (and sometimes did). And then we'd just get silly, and every little thing made us laugh all the more.
Where did it go? When did my life become so serious and my times with friends so far between? It's not that there's no joy in my life. There is. It's not that I don't spend time with friends. I do (though not as often as I'd like). But the silliness, the abandon, is gone.
It feels good when I laugh, though it would probably be better not to do it at inappropriate times. I can't help it if the things that amuse me don't make sense to other people. In fact, thinking back on some of those kind of moments makes me laugh right now. I mean how could anyone not find it funny when Mel Gibson, in Conspiracy Theory, has his eyelids taped open and is strapped in a wheelchair, trying to escape his captors? I laughed so hard, out loud, in the movie theater that people gawked at me, prompting the hubby to shush me.
Is there such a thing as laugh recovery? I think I'd sign up for it. Or maybe a seminar. It seems sense of humor is subjective, but laughter need not be. I'm not sure where to start, but watching Conspiracy Theory might be a good idea.
Saturday, April 20, 2013
Nice 'do... not
Have you ever noticed that the people with the long, stringy un-nice hair are always the ones playing with it and flipping it all the time? It drives me crazy!
I was once sitting behind a group of teen-aged girls, swimmers with fried hair. The rows of chairs were packed entirely too close together, which meant the hair of the girl directly in front of me practically touched my lap when she hung it over the back of the chair. It was one of the most distracting things I've been subjected to in a long time.
Her hair was almost waist-length which is already a problem for me. The ends were split a good six inches up the shaft. It didn't look like it had seen conditioner EVER. She kept running her hands through this mess, shaking it from side-to-side, as if it were spun gold. And each time, stragglers would fall into my lap while the rest came precariously close to touching my face.
I was going over the edge! I teetered dangerously close to reenacting the scene from the second Pee Wee Herman movie where he is compelled to run his hands through Winnie's hair. I wanted to reach out and grab a handful of that mess as she flung it back at me. I wanted to ask if she had never heard of conditioner or when she last had a good haircut. But I couldn't. Etiquette forbade it. My husband would have been mortified!
Since when does having long hair mean that you sacrifice it's care? Have some pride girls! And should you dare to abuse your locks, I suggest you not flip it in my face. Like Pee Wee, my hand might take on a mind of it's own.
I was once sitting behind a group of teen-aged girls, swimmers with fried hair. The rows of chairs were packed entirely too close together, which meant the hair of the girl directly in front of me practically touched my lap when she hung it over the back of the chair. It was one of the most distracting things I've been subjected to in a long time.
Her hair was almost waist-length which is already a problem for me. The ends were split a good six inches up the shaft. It didn't look like it had seen conditioner EVER. She kept running her hands through this mess, shaking it from side-to-side, as if it were spun gold. And each time, stragglers would fall into my lap while the rest came precariously close to touching my face.
I was going over the edge! I teetered dangerously close to reenacting the scene from the second Pee Wee Herman movie where he is compelled to run his hands through Winnie's hair. I wanted to reach out and grab a handful of that mess as she flung it back at me. I wanted to ask if she had never heard of conditioner or when she last had a good haircut. But I couldn't. Etiquette forbade it. My husband would have been mortified!
Since when does having long hair mean that you sacrifice it's care? Have some pride girls! And should you dare to abuse your locks, I suggest you not flip it in my face. Like Pee Wee, my hand might take on a mind of it's own.
Monday, April 8, 2013
the swap
Everywhere around me I seem to be seeing people replacing one addiction for another. Cigarettes for drugs. Exercise for overeating. Volunteering for workaholism. Church involvement for a guilty conscience. How does this make any sense?
An addiction involves making something an idol in your life. ANYthing that is made an idol is a negative thing. Even things done for a good reason can become a negative in your life when it's distorted out of proportion.
So, how do we restore balance in our lives without it looking like apathy, laziness or complacency? I think we stop worrying about how it looks to those on the outside; particularly those who don't really matter. Too often, we give our power away to people who don't deserve to have it. Since when does every single person we've ever met have the right to make us feel insignificant and like we need to prove ourselves to them or get their approval on our lives?
It's time to stand up! Find out who you are. Soul searching is not a fun or easy thing, but it's the only real way to know yourself. Unless we know who we are, intimately, we can never really know another or expect them to know us this way. Find one or two REAL friends, people of character, grace and love who can speak truth, honestly, into your life. Then listen. to. them.
An addiction involves making something an idol in your life. ANYthing that is made an idol is a negative thing. Even things done for a good reason can become a negative in your life when it's distorted out of proportion.
So, how do we restore balance in our lives without it looking like apathy, laziness or complacency? I think we stop worrying about how it looks to those on the outside; particularly those who don't really matter. Too often, we give our power away to people who don't deserve to have it. Since when does every single person we've ever met have the right to make us feel insignificant and like we need to prove ourselves to them or get their approval on our lives?
It's time to stand up! Find out who you are. Soul searching is not a fun or easy thing, but it's the only real way to know yourself. Unless we know who we are, intimately, we can never really know another or expect them to know us this way. Find one or two REAL friends, people of character, grace and love who can speak truth, honestly, into your life. Then listen. to. them.
Wednesday, April 3, 2013
Open letter to Mr. Jacobson
Dear Mr. Jacobson,
Thank you so much for ripping my heart out. I thought it was nice of you to want to buy our house for your daughter. Then, as quickly as you placed your offer, you yanked it back. I imagine your daughter is as devastated as me. But I guess when you're some big attorney you can't be bothered by the trivial feelings of us normal, insignificant people. I can only imagine what your relationship with your daughter must be like. How sad.
I find it strange that your daughter is a full-grown adult, whom I've met, and unable to get a mortgage on her own. And she obviously acquired your social skills in that she never even bothered to tell us things fell through. That was extra classy.
Thanks to your arrogance and need to control your daughter's every move, and her immaturity and inability to get along with you long enough to have closing a on house you wanted to buy her, we have lost the house we wanted so badly in the city. You all strung us along just long enough for someone else to swoop in and buy it out from under us.
Actually, it almost feels like a relief to not have to be legally involved with either of you. So, I guess I owe you a "thanks" for that. I'd wave good-bye but I can only get one finger to stand up.
Regina
Thank you so much for ripping my heart out. I thought it was nice of you to want to buy our house for your daughter. Then, as quickly as you placed your offer, you yanked it back. I imagine your daughter is as devastated as me. But I guess when you're some big attorney you can't be bothered by the trivial feelings of us normal, insignificant people. I can only imagine what your relationship with your daughter must be like. How sad.
I find it strange that your daughter is a full-grown adult, whom I've met, and unable to get a mortgage on her own. And she obviously acquired your social skills in that she never even bothered to tell us things fell through. That was extra classy.
Thanks to your arrogance and need to control your daughter's every move, and her immaturity and inability to get along with you long enough to have closing a on house you wanted to buy her, we have lost the house we wanted so badly in the city. You all strung us along just long enough for someone else to swoop in and buy it out from under us.
Actually, it almost feels like a relief to not have to be legally involved with either of you. So, I guess I owe you a "thanks" for that. I'd wave good-bye but I can only get one finger to stand up.
Regina
Tuesday, April 2, 2013
The new normal
The problem with having an "invisible" disease is that no one knows you're "sick". I am in pain every single day; just some days are less pain-filled than others. It's a big adjustment for me. I went from being a healthy, active person to one who can barely get out of bed some days.
There's a lot of things I can't do anymore, like open jars, work out every day, put in a full day's work or have sex as often as I'd like. But I do what I can, when I can, hoping things don't pile up too much when I can't. In my attempts to feel normal, I sometimes overdo it. That's my fault. But it doesn't mean you shouldn't let me try to do it again the next time.
This is my new normal. I'm tired of being in pain and feeling bad. I'm tired of feeling bad because people think I should be who I used to be and do everything I used to be able to do. This is not about you. It's about me. I did not choose this, but I have to live with it. And live I will.
There's a lot of things I can't do anymore, like open jars, work out every day, put in a full day's work or have sex as often as I'd like. But I do what I can, when I can, hoping things don't pile up too much when I can't. In my attempts to feel normal, I sometimes overdo it. That's my fault. But it doesn't mean you shouldn't let me try to do it again the next time.
This is my new normal. I'm tired of being in pain and feeling bad. I'm tired of feeling bad because people think I should be who I used to be and do everything I used to be able to do. This is not about you. It's about me. I did not choose this, but I have to live with it. And live I will.
Monday, March 18, 2013
Don't be afraid of the salt truck
There is nothing that irks me more than people who don't know how to drive!
I was heading home from Lancaster this afternoon, not long after the sleet began. The roads weren't really slick yet, but the salt trucks were already out, spreading salt.
I grew up in western PA, so I'm familiar with driving in the snow. So as I'm driving along, some jack wagon decides he's just going to floor it, then cut in front of me. Oh wait! He didn't really want that lane. So he floors in and cuts someone off in the other lane. By this time traffic is slowing down, but no one can see why. In this guy's hurry he nearly slammed into the slow moving vehicles in front of him. When he finally clears all those cars, he speeds up again only to see a salt truck in the middle lane. Moving slowly. Spreading salt.
Apparently he had some fear about passing a salt truck. So he slammed on his brakes and swerved into the lane behind the salt truck, nearly colliding with two cars. Jack wagon. He then proceeded to do a three lane sweep to get off at the same exit as me, cutting me right off. We headed up the highway and, guess what? Another salt truck! And what did he do? Repeat the aforementioned behavior. My blood began to simmer.
Now I've heard it said that when you experience road rage it's not about the other driver, but about you. I don't think agree. Not all the time, anyway. Sometimes, I do get mad because I'm in a hurry and the person is driving 15 mph under the speed limit. That's my bad. But this guy? He was putting all kinds of people in danger, and being stupid.
Maybe I should start a winter weather driving school. It will have classes on how not to drive like a jack wagon, and the salt truck is your friend. Anyone want to sign up?
I was heading home from Lancaster this afternoon, not long after the sleet began. The roads weren't really slick yet, but the salt trucks were already out, spreading salt.
I grew up in western PA, so I'm familiar with driving in the snow. So as I'm driving along, some jack wagon decides he's just going to floor it, then cut in front of me. Oh wait! He didn't really want that lane. So he floors in and cuts someone off in the other lane. By this time traffic is slowing down, but no one can see why. In this guy's hurry he nearly slammed into the slow moving vehicles in front of him. When he finally clears all those cars, he speeds up again only to see a salt truck in the middle lane. Moving slowly. Spreading salt.
Apparently he had some fear about passing a salt truck. So he slammed on his brakes and swerved into the lane behind the salt truck, nearly colliding with two cars. Jack wagon. He then proceeded to do a three lane sweep to get off at the same exit as me, cutting me right off. We headed up the highway and, guess what? Another salt truck! And what did he do? Repeat the aforementioned behavior. My blood began to simmer.
Now I've heard it said that when you experience road rage it's not about the other driver, but about you. I don't think agree. Not all the time, anyway. Sometimes, I do get mad because I'm in a hurry and the person is driving 15 mph under the speed limit. That's my bad. But this guy? He was putting all kinds of people in danger, and being stupid.
Maybe I should start a winter weather driving school. It will have classes on how not to drive like a jack wagon, and the salt truck is your friend. Anyone want to sign up?
Sunday, March 17, 2013
It's all connected
I have widespread arthritis, and it's really done a job on my neck. The vertebrae have growths on them, and there is no longer any cushioning between them, so my nerves are flattened in two places. While meeting with the pain management doctor this week, we were discussing possible causes. In turns out that while being a hairdresser for 15+ years is a definite contributing factor, it actually started long ago.
Due to immense trauma in my early childhood, I was a very shy child. I walked around looking at the ground, bent at the neck, never looking anyone in the eye. My shoulders were slumped and rounded, as id bearing the weight of the world. My mom often told me to pull my shoulders back, to sit up straight, but when you think you're worthless it's a losing battle. Being young, I didn't realize I was making a choice that would impact me later in life.
Driving home form that appointment I began thinking how something I did so long ago, something seemingly so innocent, would have such a drastic impact on my life today. It made me wonder what other choices I made, things that seemed inconsequential, are playing out in my life today. I'm sure I can never know their extent. I can't go back and undo all the stupid things I did, and definitely not the choices others made for me. But I can be more present in the choices I make from here on, realizing their impact will live on well beyond me like ripples on a pond or waves in the ocean.
Due to immense trauma in my early childhood, I was a very shy child. I walked around looking at the ground, bent at the neck, never looking anyone in the eye. My shoulders were slumped and rounded, as id bearing the weight of the world. My mom often told me to pull my shoulders back, to sit up straight, but when you think you're worthless it's a losing battle. Being young, I didn't realize I was making a choice that would impact me later in life.
Driving home form that appointment I began thinking how something I did so long ago, something seemingly so innocent, would have such a drastic impact on my life today. It made me wonder what other choices I made, things that seemed inconsequential, are playing out in my life today. I'm sure I can never know their extent. I can't go back and undo all the stupid things I did, and definitely not the choices others made for me. But I can be more present in the choices I make from here on, realizing their impact will live on well beyond me like ripples on a pond or waves in the ocean.
Saturday, March 9, 2013
45 eve
Tomorrow I turn 45. When the massage therapist wished me a happy birthday, I told her I had reached middle age. She said she would have punched someone if they told her she was middle-aged. She's older than me. The fact is that age hasn't really mattered to me since I turned 16. Once I hit that magical age and could drive, subsequent birthdays were just numbers.
Honestly, I've never understood why people are so age phobic. Another birthday simply means another year you have lived. People get so wrapped up in wrinkles and thinning hair, like those are the keys to their happiness. The fact is, we rarely look in reality like we think we look in our mind. Good or bad. I can look in the mirror and think I look pretty put together when, in reality, I am walking around with my skirt tucked into my underwear. (Sorry for that mental image.) That might seem like an over-simplistic example, but it's something we all understand.
For most of my life, I have looked younger than I am, and it had always amazed me. However, over the last few years, my age is beginning to show. Blame it on stress, illness and weight loss. Whatever. The lines are showing on my face. There's a sallowness to my skin. But I am alive.
It's apparent that I'm not going to grow old gracefully, and that's ok with me. I'm not politically correct, and I've been known to laugh at inapporpriate places and times. After all, life is about living, not being stuffy and squeezed into someone's box. I've lived A LOT in my 45 years. More than some people ever experience in their whole lives. And I have never fit into anyone's box. That gives me something to laugh about.
Honestly, I've never understood why people are so age phobic. Another birthday simply means another year you have lived. People get so wrapped up in wrinkles and thinning hair, like those are the keys to their happiness. The fact is, we rarely look in reality like we think we look in our mind. Good or bad. I can look in the mirror and think I look pretty put together when, in reality, I am walking around with my skirt tucked into my underwear. (Sorry for that mental image.) That might seem like an over-simplistic example, but it's something we all understand.
For most of my life, I have looked younger than I am, and it had always amazed me. However, over the last few years, my age is beginning to show. Blame it on stress, illness and weight loss. Whatever. The lines are showing on my face. There's a sallowness to my skin. But I am alive.
It's apparent that I'm not going to grow old gracefully, and that's ok with me. I'm not politically correct, and I've been known to laugh at inapporpriate places and times. After all, life is about living, not being stuffy and squeezed into someone's box. I've lived A LOT in my 45 years. More than some people ever experience in their whole lives. And I have never fit into anyone's box. That gives me something to laugh about.
Thursday, March 7, 2013
Paging Dr. House
Sometimes even Dr. House is wrong. Sometimes it is lupus.
The neurologist called today with my test results. He was very matter-of-fact, which is fine because that's how I handle things, too. He'll be consulting with my rheumatologist and we'll proceed from there.
I'm not sure what I feel about it all right now. I am in full-blown compartmentalization mode right now. On one hand, I am glad to finally have an answer. On the other hand, it's scary what the future might hold. But isn't that always the case? No one can be certain of their future. Ever.
Will I drastically alter the way I live? Probably not. Aspects of my life will be changed, I'm sure. But I don't plan to let a diagnosis dictate my life or who I am, but this does go to strengthen the resolve of my anti- resolutions of juicing more and being more proactive in my loving and cherishing of the ones I hold most dear. It makes me glad I decided that prior to today.
The neurologist called today with my test results. He was very matter-of-fact, which is fine because that's how I handle things, too. He'll be consulting with my rheumatologist and we'll proceed from there.
I'm not sure what I feel about it all right now. I am in full-blown compartmentalization mode right now. On one hand, I am glad to finally have an answer. On the other hand, it's scary what the future might hold. But isn't that always the case? No one can be certain of their future. Ever.
Will I drastically alter the way I live? Probably not. Aspects of my life will be changed, I'm sure. But I don't plan to let a diagnosis dictate my life or who I am, but this does go to strengthen the resolve of my anti- resolutions of juicing more and being more proactive in my loving and cherishing of the ones I hold most dear. It makes me glad I decided that prior to today.
Tuesday, March 5, 2013
Better than me
Parents hope their children have it better than they did, and that they surpass them in their accomplishments and achievements.
It's no secret that I am a baker and cook. I started long ago, in early childhood, and have loved it ever since. It became a refuge. My happy place, if you will. When I go there, there is no more thinking or worry. A sense of automation takes over.
I've had my children involved in the kitchen since they were young, though my son seemed more interested than my daughter. When he was 3 years old, he cracked an egg with one hand and I knew he'd be a great cook. He began pastry school this past fall. Several people have asked me "what are you going to do when he is better than you?" My response is always the same: "be happy. I hope he does."
Over the weekend he participated in The Junior Nationals Pastry Competition. I never would have dreamed of being in something like that at his age! Though under great pressure, he was composed and confident when he presented his plates to world-renown chefs for judgment. He was poised as they critiqued his showpiece and offered suggestions for future competitions.
He has already done greater things than me and he's just begun.
It's no secret that I am a baker and cook. I started long ago, in early childhood, and have loved it ever since. It became a refuge. My happy place, if you will. When I go there, there is no more thinking or worry. A sense of automation takes over.
I've had my children involved in the kitchen since they were young, though my son seemed more interested than my daughter. When he was 3 years old, he cracked an egg with one hand and I knew he'd be a great cook. He began pastry school this past fall. Several people have asked me "what are you going to do when he is better than you?" My response is always the same: "be happy. I hope he does."
Over the weekend he participated in The Junior Nationals Pastry Competition. I never would have dreamed of being in something like that at his age! Though under great pressure, he was composed and confident when he presented his plates to world-renown chefs for judgment. He was poised as they critiqued his showpiece and offered suggestions for future competitions.
He has already done greater things than me and he's just begun.
Thursday, February 28, 2013
Riding the storm
Did you ever get the feeling that things are going just a little too smoothly? After seven months of my house being up for sale, I felt like I was finally sailing along this week. Then, clouds began to form today.
Sitting, watching clouds form and darkness swirling around is unsettling. You know there's a storm coming, but there's no certainty of what it will be like or how long it will last. It could be blustery and tornadic, aka fast and furious. Or it could be like a huge front, slowly passing through, taking a lot longer to clear. I'm not certain one is preferable over the other. Either way, it's going to be messy.
One thing I do know is that it will eventually be clear. The sky will be blue. The air will be clean. How I come out on the other side is largely dependent on what I do in it's midst. Someone once told me "not to question in the darkness what was spoken in the light". I think that applies to a storm. It boils down to holding on, buckling down and facing the storm head on. I might be in for a bumpy ride, but there will be a rainbow on the other side.
Sitting, watching clouds form and darkness swirling around is unsettling. You know there's a storm coming, but there's no certainty of what it will be like or how long it will last. It could be blustery and tornadic, aka fast and furious. Or it could be like a huge front, slowly passing through, taking a lot longer to clear. I'm not certain one is preferable over the other. Either way, it's going to be messy.
One thing I do know is that it will eventually be clear. The sky will be blue. The air will be clean. How I come out on the other side is largely dependent on what I do in it's midst. Someone once told me "not to question in the darkness what was spoken in the light". I think that applies to a storm. It boils down to holding on, buckling down and facing the storm head on. I might be in for a bumpy ride, but there will be a rainbow on the other side.
Sunday, February 24, 2013
Sold!
Someone bought my house today.
It had been on the market for seven months. The hubby and I were both getting pretty close to the end of our ropes with the whole process. Keeping it perpetually clean and ever-ready for someone to come look at it was exhausting. Now that aspect is over and a huge weight has been lifted.
We've had many good times in this home. It's where our children grew up. Friends gathered here, filling it with love and laughter. It's been a safe haven, to us and others, in some very stormy times. It has fulfilled it's purpose for us, for this time, and it's time to let go. I feel like a new chapter is being opened. Our children are grown and embarking on their own journeys in life. The hubby and I are too.
I am excited to see what this move holds and what is yet to come. I long to be more involved where I volunteer; to not have to drive so far to get there. I am excited to live in the city and be able to walk places, to explore my new community. I look forward to living in a single-story house which will (supposedly) alleviate some of my health issues. It all sounds so promising.
I am ready to move on. While many of my memories of this place are wonderful and happy, some very painful things are also associated with this place. Events I would prefer to forget: the loss of friendships, the death of beloved pets, foster children being returned to their family. My heart is full, but also aches, when I look back on the life of this house. It's time to go, and I will cherish the memories.
It had been on the market for seven months. The hubby and I were both getting pretty close to the end of our ropes with the whole process. Keeping it perpetually clean and ever-ready for someone to come look at it was exhausting. Now that aspect is over and a huge weight has been lifted.
We've had many good times in this home. It's where our children grew up. Friends gathered here, filling it with love and laughter. It's been a safe haven, to us and others, in some very stormy times. It has fulfilled it's purpose for us, for this time, and it's time to let go. I feel like a new chapter is being opened. Our children are grown and embarking on their own journeys in life. The hubby and I are too.
I am excited to see what this move holds and what is yet to come. I long to be more involved where I volunteer; to not have to drive so far to get there. I am excited to live in the city and be able to walk places, to explore my new community. I look forward to living in a single-story house which will (supposedly) alleviate some of my health issues. It all sounds so promising.
I am ready to move on. While many of my memories of this place are wonderful and happy, some very painful things are also associated with this place. Events I would prefer to forget: the loss of friendships, the death of beloved pets, foster children being returned to their family. My heart is full, but also aches, when I look back on the life of this house. It's time to go, and I will cherish the memories.
Saturday, February 23, 2013
Musings on NYC
I'm a people watcher, and there's no better place to do that than in a city. New York city makes it even more interesting.
I accompanied my husband on business trip to New York yesterday. While he was at an appointment, I sat in a Panera Bread, observing. I was a little surprised at how many people come there on a daily basis. Employees were actually walking through the dining area, greeting people by name. I'm not talking about retired seniors. These were construction workers and business people, parents with small children and a few older couples. It really boggled my mind to think about going there everyday. Seems a little boring to me.
Today we wandered the streets of Manhattan, in the rain. Apparently neon orange running shoes are in. And fur is BIG; not just coats, but hats, boots, vests and scarves. I don't think I've ever seen that much fur, except in my uncle's taxidermy shop.
I was surprised by the number of people pushing their kids in strollers, in the rain, cocooned in sheets of plastic. What on earth could be so important that you just HAD to drag your kid out in the cold and drizzle? Maybe there was a sale on fur.
I sat on the front stoop of a store for several minutes waiting for my husband to bring the car. I was tucked under an eave, avoiding the rain. I watched people go by, cautious to avoid extended eye contact. People's reactions at seeing me sitting there intrigued me. It seemed they were accustomed to seeing the homeless sitting around, most with blankets over their heads today to avoid the rain. I realized people may be watching me as much as I am watching them. That is a sobering thought.
I accompanied my husband on business trip to New York yesterday. While he was at an appointment, I sat in a Panera Bread, observing. I was a little surprised at how many people come there on a daily basis. Employees were actually walking through the dining area, greeting people by name. I'm not talking about retired seniors. These were construction workers and business people, parents with small children and a few older couples. It really boggled my mind to think about going there everyday. Seems a little boring to me.
Today we wandered the streets of Manhattan, in the rain. Apparently neon orange running shoes are in. And fur is BIG; not just coats, but hats, boots, vests and scarves. I don't think I've ever seen that much fur, except in my uncle's taxidermy shop.
I was surprised by the number of people pushing their kids in strollers, in the rain, cocooned in sheets of plastic. What on earth could be so important that you just HAD to drag your kid out in the cold and drizzle? Maybe there was a sale on fur.
I sat on the front stoop of a store for several minutes waiting for my husband to bring the car. I was tucked under an eave, avoiding the rain. I watched people go by, cautious to avoid extended eye contact. People's reactions at seeing me sitting there intrigued me. It seemed they were accustomed to seeing the homeless sitting around, most with blankets over their heads today to avoid the rain. I realized people may be watching me as much as I am watching them. That is a sobering thought.
Monday, February 18, 2013
Tears: let them roll
Have you ever felt like you really just need a good cry? That's where I find myself lately. The emotions seems to continually be bubbling just below the surfce. A few tears may escape, here and there, but the torrent is dammed up.
Crying can be incredibly cathartic. Things just seem to be lighter, the air cleaner, the soul restored. But there is also a tremendous feeling of vulnerability that makes it hard for me to really get there. It's not that I'm opposed to crying, per se, just with what it represents. Tears remind me of children, weakness and loss. "Tears of joy" is something I have never understood, let alone experienced.
I'm not sure why it's so hard for me. Well, yes I am. There was a time when it was pretty free-flowing between bouts of stoicism. But it was used against me, so I turned it off again. It's not that I'm trying to keep it together for someone else; it's really is simply about me. I need to keep it together for me. If I just surrender to it I might not stop.
There is so much for me to mourn in my life right now, and yet it seems selfish to do it. There is also so much that is good, and I don't want to overshadow that. That's the quandry I find myself in: I'm conflicted about where to put my energy, my focus. It feels like it should be easy. Why wouldn't I just focus on the good? Good question. One I don't have an answer for. Maybe because my emotions are just at the end. My physical body is in constant pain, fighting me at every turn. Stealing so much energy and strength.
I'm not sure crying would really help, but it seems like such a good idea. Maybe that's just the exhaustion speaking. That's likely. I'm beyond worn out, and that usually goes one of two ways: extreme giddiness/silliness/laughter (which hasn't happened in what seems like an eternity) or tears. Yet I hang here in limbo.
Sounds like a chick flick might be in my near future.
Crying can be incredibly cathartic. Things just seem to be lighter, the air cleaner, the soul restored. But there is also a tremendous feeling of vulnerability that makes it hard for me to really get there. It's not that I'm opposed to crying, per se, just with what it represents. Tears remind me of children, weakness and loss. "Tears of joy" is something I have never understood, let alone experienced.
I'm not sure why it's so hard for me. Well, yes I am. There was a time when it was pretty free-flowing between bouts of stoicism. But it was used against me, so I turned it off again. It's not that I'm trying to keep it together for someone else; it's really is simply about me. I need to keep it together for me. If I just surrender to it I might not stop.
There is so much for me to mourn in my life right now, and yet it seems selfish to do it. There is also so much that is good, and I don't want to overshadow that. That's the quandry I find myself in: I'm conflicted about where to put my energy, my focus. It feels like it should be easy. Why wouldn't I just focus on the good? Good question. One I don't have an answer for. Maybe because my emotions are just at the end. My physical body is in constant pain, fighting me at every turn. Stealing so much energy and strength.
I'm not sure crying would really help, but it seems like such a good idea. Maybe that's just the exhaustion speaking. That's likely. I'm beyond worn out, and that usually goes one of two ways: extreme giddiness/silliness/laughter (which hasn't happened in what seems like an eternity) or tears. Yet I hang here in limbo.
Sounds like a chick flick might be in my near future.
Sunday, February 17, 2013
Seeking validation
Have you ever wondered what type of person you'd need to be to participate in a show about being the worst at something? I love watching Worst Cooks in America! These people are the epitome of bad taste (pun intended). They are so bad, in fact, that I sometimes wonder if they're for real. I've had a couple mishaps throughout my years of cooking, but I can't imagine going on tv and proclaiming it to the whole world.
I'm not a fan of American Idol, but I do enjoy the audition shows. These people come on, full of themselves and exuding self-confidence. Half the time they don't even seem to understand what the judges are saying to them. They truly believe they're great. It especially cracks me up when they say "my family and friends told me I should come on this show because they just love how I sing". What I hear when they say that is, my friends really don't like me and my family is mean.
What's been missing in these people's lives that they're willing to make a total fool out of themselves for money and (fleeting) fame? I know we all have voids in our lives we are seeking to fill. I know I do. I just can't imagine that this would make me feel any better about myself. But I have learned one thing. The next time my friends say "you should be on that show", I will run the other way.
I'm not a fan of American Idol, but I do enjoy the audition shows. These people come on, full of themselves and exuding self-confidence. Half the time they don't even seem to understand what the judges are saying to them. They truly believe they're great. It especially cracks me up when they say "my family and friends told me I should come on this show because they just love how I sing". What I hear when they say that is, my friends really don't like me and my family is mean.
What's been missing in these people's lives that they're willing to make a total fool out of themselves for money and (fleeting) fame? I know we all have voids in our lives we are seeking to fill. I know I do. I just can't imagine that this would make me feel any better about myself. But I have learned one thing. The next time my friends say "you should be on that show", I will run the other way.
Friday, February 15, 2013
It's black OR it's white
I live in a black and white world. For as long as I can remember I have been this way. Now, I'm not saying I haven't/don't do things I shoudn't, unfortunately. But I will say that I have an overdeveloped ense of guilt, and it will eat at me until I make things right.
As I grow older, I seem to be more rigid in this thought process. As I look around and see all the crap going on in our world, the more I can attribute to people simply breaking the rules and never taking responsibility for their actions. It's amazing how we all expect others to play by the rules, at least in their dealing with us, but we rationalize our actions so we're permitted to do whatever what we want and have a cow if we have to face the consequences.
When did "right" and "wrong" become the same thing? When did we decide we're above rules, laws, common decency? Oh, right. The Garden of Eden. And look how well that turned out for us. I just think that the world would be a better place if we focused on being our best, dealing with the things in our life and stop playing the victim, trying to escape the conseguences of our decisions and actions.
No, this isn't aimed at one particlar person. It's a sad commentary on humanity.
As I grow older, I seem to be more rigid in this thought process. As I look around and see all the crap going on in our world, the more I can attribute to people simply breaking the rules and never taking responsibility for their actions. It's amazing how we all expect others to play by the rules, at least in their dealing with us, but we rationalize our actions so we're permitted to do whatever what we want and have a cow if we have to face the consequences.
When did "right" and "wrong" become the same thing? When did we decide we're above rules, laws, common decency? Oh, right. The Garden of Eden. And look how well that turned out for us. I just think that the world would be a better place if we focused on being our best, dealing with the things in our life and stop playing the victim, trying to escape the conseguences of our decisions and actions.
No, this isn't aimed at one particlar person. It's a sad commentary on humanity.
Thursday, February 14, 2013
Valentine memory
My first Valentine's Day with my husband was in the middle of a blizzard. He had made us dinner reservations at The Gateway Lodge, a fabulous retreat in the middle of Cook's Forest. It's a rustic setting, but I had never been anywhere so fancy before.
Don drove an O-L-D toyots celica, and it was a lot like sitting on the ground. Navigating the snow and ice was pretty tricky. Of course, I wasn't dressed appropriately for the weather, in a dress and very high heels. Fortunately, hiking through the snow wasn't necessary.
We were seated by the fire, with chocolates and flowers already at the table. I don't remember what I ate, but I do remember how handsome my (now) hubby looked in the glow of candle- and firelight. I felt incredibly special that night.
I should have known the adventure that night was only a foretaste of many adventures to come. Life with Don is anything but dull! But I'd hate to think what I would have missed out on had I not met him. I love him more every day, and I know he feels the same. I am so blessed to be his number 2.
Don drove an O-L-D toyots celica, and it was a lot like sitting on the ground. Navigating the snow and ice was pretty tricky. Of course, I wasn't dressed appropriately for the weather, in a dress and very high heels. Fortunately, hiking through the snow wasn't necessary.
We were seated by the fire, with chocolates and flowers already at the table. I don't remember what I ate, but I do remember how handsome my (now) hubby looked in the glow of candle- and firelight. I felt incredibly special that night.
I should have known the adventure that night was only a foretaste of many adventures to come. Life with Don is anything but dull! But I'd hate to think what I would have missed out on had I not met him. I love him more every day, and I know he feels the same. I am so blessed to be his number 2.
Monday, February 11, 2013
Hair
I serve lunch at the mission on Mondays. The usual conversation is basically "hi" and what food they would like. I don't know if it's a rule or they're just unconfortable talking to women.
A few weeks ago, one of the men came through the line. "What happened to your hair?" I explained that I had colored it. "Why is it orange? I don't like it." Then he was gone. My hair is actually a coppery red, but it surprised me how strongly he felt about my hair color.
Today, as I was signing out after lunch, the man working the table asked me what my "real" color was. I told him blonde (though it's a much darker blonde now than when I was young). He went on to tell me how he used to date a lady with red hair, and the color didn't have a name but a number. He said "what color is your hair now"? I told him my mother calls it "rust" and he let out a huge belly laugh. Then he said "you have doll hair. You know, like a doll would have." I just smiled. What was I supposed to say to that?
Iguess it's good I don't really care about things like that.
A few weeks ago, one of the men came through the line. "What happened to your hair?" I explained that I had colored it. "Why is it orange? I don't like it." Then he was gone. My hair is actually a coppery red, but it surprised me how strongly he felt about my hair color.
Today, as I was signing out after lunch, the man working the table asked me what my "real" color was. I told him blonde (though it's a much darker blonde now than when I was young). He went on to tell me how he used to date a lady with red hair, and the color didn't have a name but a number. He said "what color is your hair now"? I told him my mother calls it "rust" and he let out a huge belly laugh. Then he said "you have doll hair. You know, like a doll would have." I just smiled. What was I supposed to say to that?
Iguess it's good I don't really care about things like that.
Sunday, February 10, 2013
A promise kept
My health saga continues. I'm facing an unpleasant diagnosis. In my attempt to control my emotions, to try and deal with this myself, I am alienating the ones I love.
I had a nasty test last week and I wouldn't let my husband come with me. In my mind, I was thinking I didn't want to be pitied by him. I was also thinking that if it was serious enough for him to come to the appointment with me, that what I'm facing is serious, and I just wasn't ready to face the severity of what is going on.
But by not letting him go I robbed him of being able to process this all in the way he needs. As he said, "What affects you affects all of us". I am not an island, desolate, surrounded by nothing but endless sea. Old habits and patterns are incredibly hard to change. You know what they say about old dogs and new tricks....
The other day I was contemplating my mortality. My children are grown now. My husband and I have done our best to raise them to be independent, productive human beings who can function on their own and make their mark in the world.
As I was thinking about this, I was taken back to when my daughter was just a few months old. My own mother died when I was very young, so I was quite sensitive about the possibility of my children growing up without their mother. It consumed my dreams, and occupied my thoughts during the day. I spent much time in tears, crying out to God. He promised me that my kids would not grow up without their mother. That promise has sustained me for the last 20 years. I knew nothing could take me away from them.
Yesterday, I realized they are grown.
I had a nasty test last week and I wouldn't let my husband come with me. In my mind, I was thinking I didn't want to be pitied by him. I was also thinking that if it was serious enough for him to come to the appointment with me, that what I'm facing is serious, and I just wasn't ready to face the severity of what is going on.
But by not letting him go I robbed him of being able to process this all in the way he needs. As he said, "What affects you affects all of us". I am not an island, desolate, surrounded by nothing but endless sea. Old habits and patterns are incredibly hard to change. You know what they say about old dogs and new tricks....
The other day I was contemplating my mortality. My children are grown now. My husband and I have done our best to raise them to be independent, productive human beings who can function on their own and make their mark in the world.
As I was thinking about this, I was taken back to when my daughter was just a few months old. My own mother died when I was very young, so I was quite sensitive about the possibility of my children growing up without their mother. It consumed my dreams, and occupied my thoughts during the day. I spent much time in tears, crying out to God. He promised me that my kids would not grow up without their mother. That promise has sustained me for the last 20 years. I knew nothing could take me away from them.
Yesterday, I realized they are grown.
Saturday, February 9, 2013
Double standards
I hate double standards. Don't apply something to other people if you aren't prepared to also apply it to yourself. The mere thought that you have already attained is proof you still have work to do. Where is the room for grace when all you see is someone's track record?
I am not the most compassionate, gracious person. I'm the first to admit that. But I don't want to set my standards so low for others that I just beat them over the head with their past behavior, never expecting them to achieve, mature and grow. And I pray that's not what people do to me.
I believe it's true, in some cases, that people will never change. But I do not think it's true of everyone. It's our jobs to spur eachother on, to sharpen them and help them become their best. How can that be accomplished if we just expect them to fail? We all have a past. We all have baggage. We all have patterns of behavior that we allow to define us, for better or worse.
I hate to imagine where I would be if people had not invested time, love and understand in me. What if people had just determined that I was a damaged, shy, broken little girl who would never change and they just ket expecting me to stay damaged, shy and broken because that was my track record? Well, thankfully, I have never been one to fit into someone else's idea of what I should be!
Growth and change are not easy, but it's more palatable when someone comes alongside you, helping to carry your load instead of beating you down, burying you, with it.
I am not the most compassionate, gracious person. I'm the first to admit that. But I don't want to set my standards so low for others that I just beat them over the head with their past behavior, never expecting them to achieve, mature and grow. And I pray that's not what people do to me.
I believe it's true, in some cases, that people will never change. But I do not think it's true of everyone. It's our jobs to spur eachother on, to sharpen them and help them become their best. How can that be accomplished if we just expect them to fail? We all have a past. We all have baggage. We all have patterns of behavior that we allow to define us, for better or worse.
I hate to imagine where I would be if people had not invested time, love and understand in me. What if people had just determined that I was a damaged, shy, broken little girl who would never change and they just ket expecting me to stay damaged, shy and broken because that was my track record? Well, thankfully, I have never been one to fit into someone else's idea of what I should be!
Growth and change are not easy, but it's more palatable when someone comes alongside you, helping to carry your load instead of beating you down, burying you, with it.
Thursday, February 7, 2013
I don't get it
I hate to see people that I care for in pain, especially at the hands of someone who supposedly loves them. It makes me want to defend them, protect them, take up their battle and make it all better. But the truth is, there is little I can actually do. I guess realizing this limitation is a helpful, positive thing, but it doesn't make me feel any better about the situations I see going on around me. What good is it to have gone through things when it's not useful?
Wednesday, February 6, 2013
File that
I am a master at compartmentalizing.
It's a survival mechanism I adopted many years ago to help me deal with painful things. People seem to find this puzzling that I can just shut off something painful and move on into other conversation. However, it suits me well.
But how do you compartmentalize, seperate, two things which have been entangled from the start? As you know, I've been having A LOT of physical pain lately, mainly due to fibromyalgia. Severe traume often triggers the onset of this disease. At the same time I was first experiencing the symptoms of this disease, I was also going through one of the worst relationship in my life. Thus, they have been linked together in my mind.
As much as I believe I have done what is within my power to reconcile the situation and move past it, whenever I have a flare up my mind imediately goes back to where it all began. I get angry all over again, and resent those people for the part they played in my disease.
Now I have been challenged to move beyond that. To let those events be in the past, to seperate them from my disease and daily pain. To declare one over, and proclaim a new page today and every day. It surprised me that someone actually asked me to compartmentalize. But what does that look like in this situation? How can I unravel them when they seem like one of those braided ficus tress? That would ruin the tree. But maybe that's the whole point.
It's a survival mechanism I adopted many years ago to help me deal with painful things. People seem to find this puzzling that I can just shut off something painful and move on into other conversation. However, it suits me well.
But how do you compartmentalize, seperate, two things which have been entangled from the start? As you know, I've been having A LOT of physical pain lately, mainly due to fibromyalgia. Severe traume often triggers the onset of this disease. At the same time I was first experiencing the symptoms of this disease, I was also going through one of the worst relationship in my life. Thus, they have been linked together in my mind.
As much as I believe I have done what is within my power to reconcile the situation and move past it, whenever I have a flare up my mind imediately goes back to where it all began. I get angry all over again, and resent those people for the part they played in my disease.
Now I have been challenged to move beyond that. To let those events be in the past, to seperate them from my disease and daily pain. To declare one over, and proclaim a new page today and every day. It surprised me that someone actually asked me to compartmentalize. But what does that look like in this situation? How can I unravel them when they seem like one of those braided ficus tress? That would ruin the tree. But maybe that's the whole point.
Tuesday, February 5, 2013
I can hear you
In my family, I am legendary for my hearing. I hear everything. For most of my life, I had the memory to back-up what I heard. But I digress....
Growing up, I was the child seen, but not heard. I was painfully shy, and easily blended into the background. If you wanted info, though, I was the one to come to. I have a natural need to know, and the easiest way to know is to listen.
My bedroom was the first one down the hall from the living room. My dad is hard of hearing, which means he talks LOUDLY, making it that much easier for me to hear. Many nights I lay awake, listening to him and mom talk, trying to hear something interesting. One memorable conversation was following mom's trip to the gynecologist. Dad was convinced that simply because the doctor was a man, he was turned on by giving pelvic exams. Now, I was young enough to not really understand what a gynecologist was, but wise enough to get that mom thought my dad's concerns were silly.
I also discovered that the duct work in the kitchen directly connected to the heating vent in my bedroom. When my parents wanted to discuss something they didn't want me to hear, they would talk in the kitchen after I went to bed. Epic fail on their part! Oh the things I heard through that vent.
Mom and dad visited this past weekend. While riding in the car, mom was talking to me from the back seat. Dad was convinced no one was interested (listening) in what she was talking about. Until I answered. "See," she said. "She heard me." "She always did hear everything," my dad said.
It's nice to know at least one part of my body isn't failing me.
Growing up, I was the child seen, but not heard. I was painfully shy, and easily blended into the background. If you wanted info, though, I was the one to come to. I have a natural need to know, and the easiest way to know is to listen.
My bedroom was the first one down the hall from the living room. My dad is hard of hearing, which means he talks LOUDLY, making it that much easier for me to hear. Many nights I lay awake, listening to him and mom talk, trying to hear something interesting. One memorable conversation was following mom's trip to the gynecologist. Dad was convinced that simply because the doctor was a man, he was turned on by giving pelvic exams. Now, I was young enough to not really understand what a gynecologist was, but wise enough to get that mom thought my dad's concerns were silly.
I also discovered that the duct work in the kitchen directly connected to the heating vent in my bedroom. When my parents wanted to discuss something they didn't want me to hear, they would talk in the kitchen after I went to bed. Epic fail on their part! Oh the things I heard through that vent.
Mom and dad visited this past weekend. While riding in the car, mom was talking to me from the back seat. Dad was convinced no one was interested (listening) in what she was talking about. Until I answered. "See," she said. "She heard me." "She always did hear everything," my dad said.
It's nice to know at least one part of my body isn't failing me.
Monday, February 4, 2013
Perspective
I was just listening to the song "Blessings in Disguise" by Laura Story. It stirred up so many emotions because it so perfectly described many of my feelings lately. When something goes wrong, it's so easy to question why. But, really, what right do I have to expect that I should just drift through life, problem free, healthy and prosperous?
Now, before you go getting all up in arms, I'm not bashing people who have money, or their health, or supposedly no problems. But the truth is, none of us really know what is going on in someone else's life. The point I am trying to make is that I think things happen in our lives for a reason. In that moment I don't always react the best way. I am human. But when I've had time to step back and get some perspective, things seem to make a little more sense.
I'm not saying I always have the answers, and frankly, I'm pretty sure I don't want them. Talk about pressure! But I have to believe that it makes sense, somehow. That it's not just fate or punishment. I can't believe things "just happen". God has a purpose in it all. I will trust Him to help me see through the disguise.
Blessings - Laura Story at WGTS Gateway
Now, before you go getting all up in arms, I'm not bashing people who have money, or their health, or supposedly no problems. But the truth is, none of us really know what is going on in someone else's life. The point I am trying to make is that I think things happen in our lives for a reason. In that moment I don't always react the best way. I am human. But when I've had time to step back and get some perspective, things seem to make a little more sense.
I'm not saying I always have the answers, and frankly, I'm pretty sure I don't want them. Talk about pressure! But I have to believe that it makes sense, somehow. That it's not just fate or punishment. I can't believe things "just happen". God has a purpose in it all. I will trust Him to help me see through the disguise.
Blessings - Laura Story at WGTS Gateway
Thursday, January 31, 2013
What's one more thing?
It's just too much!
I feel like one more illness, diagnosis, issue is going to push me over the edge.
There's "strength", then there's "having no other choice". And that's where I am right now. My body is failing me, and with it go my emotions. I'm so used to being able to control at least one of those, that when they're both beyond my control I just feel lost. Tears are constantly just below the surface, threatening to spill out whenever they please, with no regard to person or place.
I don't understand what is going on, and I question so much right now. I just want to be "me" again. But I suppose that definition is forever changed. I have to deal; to re-invent who I am. I'm isolated right now, and I've done it to myself. Please don't take it personally. We all deal in different ways. I need to compartmentalize.
Reality, life, bites sometimes. But the alternative is not an option. So, I will trudge on. It just sucks that House might have been wrong.
I feel like one more illness, diagnosis, issue is going to push me over the edge.
There's "strength", then there's "having no other choice". And that's where I am right now. My body is failing me, and with it go my emotions. I'm so used to being able to control at least one of those, that when they're both beyond my control I just feel lost. Tears are constantly just below the surface, threatening to spill out whenever they please, with no regard to person or place.
I don't understand what is going on, and I question so much right now. I just want to be "me" again. But I suppose that definition is forever changed. I have to deal; to re-invent who I am. I'm isolated right now, and I've done it to myself. Please don't take it personally. We all deal in different ways. I need to compartmentalize.
Reality, life, bites sometimes. But the alternative is not an option. So, I will trudge on. It just sucks that House might have been wrong.
Tuesday, January 29, 2013
Sliding
I got up this morning and my son's car was parked, cock-eyed, at the bottom of the driveway. Interesting, I thought. I often don't understand why he does what he does, so this seemed like one of those things.
When he got out of bed, I asked him about his unique park job. He went to the window and looked out. "I didn't park there". Hmmm. It seems that the car drifted down the icy driveway overnight. It's a good thing he had the wheel turned. It caused the car to slightly turn sideways, instead of going straight out into the street and into the neighbor's yard.
I've been feeling a little like my life is just going along, on auto pilot, lately. I, too, could easily slide down a slippery slope if my "wheel" weren't turned. Finding hope in the small, daily details brings sanity and purpose.
When he got out of bed, I asked him about his unique park job. He went to the window and looked out. "I didn't park there". Hmmm. It seems that the car drifted down the icy driveway overnight. It's a good thing he had the wheel turned. It caused the car to slightly turn sideways, instead of going straight out into the street and into the neighbor's yard.
I've been feeling a little like my life is just going along, on auto pilot, lately. I, too, could easily slide down a slippery slope if my "wheel" weren't turned. Finding hope in the small, daily details brings sanity and purpose.
Monday, January 28, 2013
I remember
I didn't go to Water Street today. I just had way too much arthritic pain in my knuckles and toes. It makes me sad that I missed this opportunity. It's something I really look forward to each week. So, instead, I sat on the couch with a blanket (and meds) most of the day.
I hate days like this, but one positive was my son sat there with me for a while, just talking and watching tv. Times like this are precious. He's a man and will soon be off on his own, supporting himself, too busy to just sit. That's exactly how I raised him and his sister to be: productive, capable adults. I just didn't count on getting old along the way.
I didn't used to understand what my Gram was talking about when she'd call on my birthday and tell me how much older she felt. Now I know. I look back and see my oldest nephew be born. He's married now and 35, but it seems just like yesterday. How quickly the time flies!
There are times when events seems a lifetime ago. Then there are other times I remember things like it was just yesterday. Times when I connect with friends from my youth, and it feels like we just pick up right where we left off the last time we were together. Or when I go to sleep in my old room at my parent's house, and it's hard to believe I haven't lived there in 26 years. The mind is an amazing thing.
My body may be breaking down, but my mind is still alive. Well, for the most part anyway. I may not have all the memory I used to, but I remember the important things. Lasting friendships. The ones I love. Events important only to me. Remembering is great. Making new memories is better.
I hate days like this, but one positive was my son sat there with me for a while, just talking and watching tv. Times like this are precious. He's a man and will soon be off on his own, supporting himself, too busy to just sit. That's exactly how I raised him and his sister to be: productive, capable adults. I just didn't count on getting old along the way.
I didn't used to understand what my Gram was talking about when she'd call on my birthday and tell me how much older she felt. Now I know. I look back and see my oldest nephew be born. He's married now and 35, but it seems just like yesterday. How quickly the time flies!
There are times when events seems a lifetime ago. Then there are other times I remember things like it was just yesterday. Times when I connect with friends from my youth, and it feels like we just pick up right where we left off the last time we were together. Or when I go to sleep in my old room at my parent's house, and it's hard to believe I haven't lived there in 26 years. The mind is an amazing thing.
My body may be breaking down, but my mind is still alive. Well, for the most part anyway. I may not have all the memory I used to, but I remember the important things. Lasting friendships. The ones I love. Events important only to me. Remembering is great. Making new memories is better.
Sunday, January 27, 2013
Buck up, camper
Sometimes, when we are at the lowest we think we can possibly be; when we don't even have anything to say, so there's just silence, it's hard to even look up. It's so easy to focus on the negative, the things going wrong, the things not happening that should be happening and to wallow in self-pity and doubt. As much as I like to think of myself as an even-tempered person, I fall into this trap, too. And when I do, I fall h-a-r-d.
I think this is most often true when I have decided to make changes in my character, relationships, life in general. When no forward progress is seen, doubt creeps in. When I don't feel well (which is fairly often these days), I become even more introverted. It's so much easier to just detach from eveyone and everything; to cocoon myself in and wallow.
I can usually look back on my own and count the positives in my life, which gives me a better perspective on current situations. Today, I had a little help. Thanks to some very special ladies who made my day and helped open my eyes. I'm not alone. Even when I try to make it that way.
I think this is most often true when I have decided to make changes in my character, relationships, life in general. When no forward progress is seen, doubt creeps in. When I don't feel well (which is fairly often these days), I become even more introverted. It's so much easier to just detach from eveyone and everything; to cocoon myself in and wallow.
I can usually look back on my own and count the positives in my life, which gives me a better perspective on current situations. Today, I had a little help. Thanks to some very special ladies who made my day and helped open my eyes. I'm not alone. Even when I try to make it that way.
Saturday, January 26, 2013
Bubble girl
Sometimes, I wish I lived in a bubble. No people. No noise. No stress.
I'm just tired of people. I'm tired of answering questions. I'm tired of feeling bad and being in pain. But most of all, I'm tired of people's words not matching their actions. Empty words. They really don't do anybody any good. It makes the speaker look bad, and makes the hearer feel bad. How does that help anybody?
If you can't handle what I'm going through, just say so. If you don't understand what is happening, it's okay. Neither do I. But don't talk down to me. Don't feign pity then call me a burden. This affects me more than you. What? Is that a surprise?
Normally, I say there's no place in my history I would want to go back to, but I'd gladly turn back the clock four years. Back to before all this started and I felt good, contributed and was useful. I would put myself in that bubble and none of this would happen. Unfortunately, that's not an option. Thanks for popping my bubble.
I'm just tired of people. I'm tired of answering questions. I'm tired of feeling bad and being in pain. But most of all, I'm tired of people's words not matching their actions. Empty words. They really don't do anybody any good. It makes the speaker look bad, and makes the hearer feel bad. How does that help anybody?
If you can't handle what I'm going through, just say so. If you don't understand what is happening, it's okay. Neither do I. But don't talk down to me. Don't feign pity then call me a burden. This affects me more than you. What? Is that a surprise?
Normally, I say there's no place in my history I would want to go back to, but I'd gladly turn back the clock four years. Back to before all this started and I felt good, contributed and was useful. I would put myself in that bubble and none of this would happen. Unfortunately, that's not an option. Thanks for popping my bubble.
Thursday, January 24, 2013
Where are the words?
Have you ever felt at a complete loss for the words to adequately describe how you feel? Verbally, this happens to me often; it's pretty unusual when I write. Yet, that is where I find myself.
Lately it's been easy to focus on trying to sell this house or my ever-increasing health problems. If I allowed myself to be, I could easily be totally engrossed with it and quickly lose sight of what is important around me. That's really not where I want to be.
I've known my husband for more than 25 years. (Where does the time go?) I met him at a time when I was very wounded, damaged and needing a friend. Though he wasn't what I expected, he was exactly what I needed and refused to be driven away.
We've weathered more than our share of storms. Some were due to our own stupidity, some we suffered at the hand of others, but we weren't crushed and couldn't be driven apart. We never fell out of love at the same time. That's no small miracle!
After so many years it's easy to just fall into a routine, to take eachother for granted. One of my goals for this year is to let those I love know I love them. This is where the loss of words comes into play. My heart is full. Bursting! But I am clueless to express it.
My husband is a man of God, a loving father and gentle husband. He cares for me with a tenderness that overwhelms me, that I don't deserve. I love him with every fiber of being. That sounds so hollow, but nothing rings more true.
Lately it's been easy to focus on trying to sell this house or my ever-increasing health problems. If I allowed myself to be, I could easily be totally engrossed with it and quickly lose sight of what is important around me. That's really not where I want to be.
I've known my husband for more than 25 years. (Where does the time go?) I met him at a time when I was very wounded, damaged and needing a friend. Though he wasn't what I expected, he was exactly what I needed and refused to be driven away.
We've weathered more than our share of storms. Some were due to our own stupidity, some we suffered at the hand of others, but we weren't crushed and couldn't be driven apart. We never fell out of love at the same time. That's no small miracle!
After so many years it's easy to just fall into a routine, to take eachother for granted. One of my goals for this year is to let those I love know I love them. This is where the loss of words comes into play. My heart is full. Bursting! But I am clueless to express it.
My husband is a man of God, a loving father and gentle husband. He cares for me with a tenderness that overwhelms me, that I don't deserve. I love him with every fiber of being. That sounds so hollow, but nothing rings more true.
Monday, January 21, 2013
Great comeback
Did you ever have one of those events when you think of the GREAT comment later, when you're home, and it's too late? Yeah, me too.
On my way home from the mission this afternoon, I passed an old "friend" on the highway. I use that term loosely, since I haven't seen her in over two years. Not since she called the police and falsely accused me of harassment. But I digress.
As I was passing her van I thought "she looks familiar". She must have thought so, too, because she pulled up to where she could see me in my side view mirror. No kidding, she slammed on her breaks and pulled in behind me, staying about 3 car lengths away. When I pulled off at the exit, she was right behind me, staring me down in my rear-view mirror.
I was so startled to see her that I didn't know what to do. But as I've played it over and over again in my mind, it ended in many different scenarios. I think my favorite one is that I pulled up beside her, looked her straight in the face, gave her the biggest grin that showed all my teeth and waved like I was SO glad to see her. I'm sure that would have pushed her over the edge.
When I am playing out these responses in my head, I sometimes wish I had thought of them at the moment. But more often than not I realize the blessing of haven't thought of it then.
On my way home from the mission this afternoon, I passed an old "friend" on the highway. I use that term loosely, since I haven't seen her in over two years. Not since she called the police and falsely accused me of harassment. But I digress.
As I was passing her van I thought "she looks familiar". She must have thought so, too, because she pulled up to where she could see me in my side view mirror. No kidding, she slammed on her breaks and pulled in behind me, staying about 3 car lengths away. When I pulled off at the exit, she was right behind me, staring me down in my rear-view mirror.
I was so startled to see her that I didn't know what to do. But as I've played it over and over again in my mind, it ended in many different scenarios. I think my favorite one is that I pulled up beside her, looked her straight in the face, gave her the biggest grin that showed all my teeth and waved like I was SO glad to see her. I'm sure that would have pushed her over the edge.
When I am playing out these responses in my head, I sometimes wish I had thought of them at the moment. But more often than not I realize the blessing of haven't thought of it then.
Sunday, January 20, 2013
New friends
Sometimes, just meeting people can make all the difference.
We started attending a new church about three months ago. We're planning to move down into the city, so we decided to find a church near where we want to live. The problem? It's a HUGE church.
Now this isn't a problem for my husband, Mr. social butterfly. EVERYone is his friend. It's a little harder for me. I prefer to pick my own friends, in my own time, and not have them foisted on me as "a good fit". So, that's the stage we've been in recently.
Today after church was a meet the church event. I'm not really a big fan of these as they just serve to single out the newer people in a more conspicuous way. But we went. Immediately the hubby found people he'd spoken to before. Great.
We met most of the staff, and I did get to meet a few other ladies. I wouldn't say there was a huge amount of chemistry with most of them, but I did find one more like me and we talked quite a while. Will it be a fast friendship? Who knows, but now I have people to say "hi" to each week.
We started attending a new church about three months ago. We're planning to move down into the city, so we decided to find a church near where we want to live. The problem? It's a HUGE church.
Now this isn't a problem for my husband, Mr. social butterfly. EVERYone is his friend. It's a little harder for me. I prefer to pick my own friends, in my own time, and not have them foisted on me as "a good fit". So, that's the stage we've been in recently.
Today after church was a meet the church event. I'm not really a big fan of these as they just serve to single out the newer people in a more conspicuous way. But we went. Immediately the hubby found people he'd spoken to before. Great.
We met most of the staff, and I did get to meet a few other ladies. I wouldn't say there was a huge amount of chemistry with most of them, but I did find one more like me and we talked quite a while. Will it be a fast friendship? Who knows, but now I have people to say "hi" to each week.
Friday, January 18, 2013
What is enough?
Did you ever feel like there was enough going on when yet another thing is added?
On top of persistent health issues and the stress of trying to sell this stupid house, today's trip to the doctor gave more questions. And stress. Stress and fibromyalgia do not mix well. So begins the vicious cycle.
I wish I knew why my body has decided to attack itself. Maybe then I could do something about it. The not knowing drives me crazy! So I carry on, day by day, trying to live as normally as I can. Some days are good, some days not so good. That means I do what I can, when I can.
I was talking on the phone with my parents today, telling them about the doctor appointment. My dad was wondering how I keep going, cooking, living when I have chronic pain. The fact is, I can't stop. It really isn't an option. If I succumb to the pain and quit living in the daily details, I'll never crawl back up.
The other day, a friend asked if I believe God doesn't give us more than we can handle. I do believe that, but I also think it doesn't really feel like that when it's happening. But I can't help but wonder just how much He thinks I can handle! I consider myself a pretty strong person, and alot of that is because I have a strong support system. However, when things begin to pile up like this I can't help but wonder how much more can there possibly be.
I think it's time to apply for disability and that's a horrifying prospect. It means admitting I am not longer able. It means processing how I think others see me, as well as listing all the things medically wrong with me. All the things that I struggle to not let define me will be front and center, displayed for all to see. To me, that is perhaps worse than everything else.
On top of persistent health issues and the stress of trying to sell this stupid house, today's trip to the doctor gave more questions. And stress. Stress and fibromyalgia do not mix well. So begins the vicious cycle.
I wish I knew why my body has decided to attack itself. Maybe then I could do something about it. The not knowing drives me crazy! So I carry on, day by day, trying to live as normally as I can. Some days are good, some days not so good. That means I do what I can, when I can.
I was talking on the phone with my parents today, telling them about the doctor appointment. My dad was wondering how I keep going, cooking, living when I have chronic pain. The fact is, I can't stop. It really isn't an option. If I succumb to the pain and quit living in the daily details, I'll never crawl back up.
The other day, a friend asked if I believe God doesn't give us more than we can handle. I do believe that, but I also think it doesn't really feel like that when it's happening. But I can't help but wonder just how much He thinks I can handle! I consider myself a pretty strong person, and alot of that is because I have a strong support system. However, when things begin to pile up like this I can't help but wonder how much more can there possibly be.
I think it's time to apply for disability and that's a horrifying prospect. It means admitting I am not longer able. It means processing how I think others see me, as well as listing all the things medically wrong with me. All the things that I struggle to not let define me will be front and center, displayed for all to see. To me, that is perhaps worse than everything else.
Thursday, January 17, 2013
Time for group
Tonight I'm attending a support group for Weight Loss Surgery (WLS) patients at Ephrata hospital.
I had gastric bypass surgery at the end of 2009, and have lost 106 pounds. The WLS was a great tool, but food and weight are still a big issue for me.
When I signed up for the surgery I was required to attend a pre-surgery support group. This group consisted of people in various stages of "the process", and it helped prepare me for what was going to happen and what to expect. Following WLS I should have started attending a support group. But I didn't really feel I needed it, and driving to Hershey (where I'd had my surgery) just wasn't convenient. For the most part I have done ok, with the exception of maintaining a consistent exercise regime.
I have never been much of an exerciser. I enjoy being outside, swimming and biking, but always on a casual basis. To suddenly have to focus on it so completely isn't much fun. It was easier leading up to and immediately following surgery when I knew it was "required". Plus, I could see fairly immediate results then. Now, I have to work twice as hard to burn half as many calories and that mystifies me.
So, I have decided maybe I do need this group after all. While I do not relish the thought of spilling my guts, aka being vulnerable, to a group of people I haven't met before, it's comforting to know that we all have a shared experience. I probably should have gone long ago, but now is better than later.
I had gastric bypass surgery at the end of 2009, and have lost 106 pounds. The WLS was a great tool, but food and weight are still a big issue for me.
When I signed up for the surgery I was required to attend a pre-surgery support group. This group consisted of people in various stages of "the process", and it helped prepare me for what was going to happen and what to expect. Following WLS I should have started attending a support group. But I didn't really feel I needed it, and driving to Hershey (where I'd had my surgery) just wasn't convenient. For the most part I have done ok, with the exception of maintaining a consistent exercise regime.
I have never been much of an exerciser. I enjoy being outside, swimming and biking, but always on a casual basis. To suddenly have to focus on it so completely isn't much fun. It was easier leading up to and immediately following surgery when I knew it was "required". Plus, I could see fairly immediate results then. Now, I have to work twice as hard to burn half as many calories and that mystifies me.
So, I have decided maybe I do need this group after all. While I do not relish the thought of spilling my guts, aka being vulnerable, to a group of people I haven't met before, it's comforting to know that we all have a shared experience. I probably should have gone long ago, but now is better than later.
Monday, January 14, 2013
Mission Mondays
On Mondays I serve lunch at the Water Street Mission. I've been doing this four years.
I like to be at the front of the line so that I can greet each person as they enter the line. Most people give some sort of greeting back. My conversation with one man in particular is the same each week.
We exchange hellos, then when I ask how he is, he replies "middle aged". It amuses him so much to say it that lately he doesn't even wait for me to finish the sentence before he begins his answer.
I'm 44. So, in reality, I am most likely in the middle of my life. But I don't see a reason for that to define me or determine how I am. I see it as I still have 44 years to live, to make a difference, to contribute. Much of the first half of my life was wasted, in my opinion, with frivolous, trivial pursuits in an attempt to become who I am. Now that I've established that, the secong half should be a piece of cake.
Perhaps I should change my question to "who are you?" I think until a person truly knows who they are, they are unable to adequately voice how they are. They do not operate independent of eachother. I am happy to be middle-aged. There is no time in my life I would want to go back to again. Every moment, every age, every lesson learned helped me become not only who I am, but also how I am.
I like to be at the front of the line so that I can greet each person as they enter the line. Most people give some sort of greeting back. My conversation with one man in particular is the same each week.
We exchange hellos, then when I ask how he is, he replies "middle aged". It amuses him so much to say it that lately he doesn't even wait for me to finish the sentence before he begins his answer.
I'm 44. So, in reality, I am most likely in the middle of my life. But I don't see a reason for that to define me or determine how I am. I see it as I still have 44 years to live, to make a difference, to contribute. Much of the first half of my life was wasted, in my opinion, with frivolous, trivial pursuits in an attempt to become who I am. Now that I've established that, the secong half should be a piece of cake.
Perhaps I should change my question to "who are you?" I think until a person truly knows who they are, they are unable to adequately voice how they are. They do not operate independent of eachother. I am happy to be middle-aged. There is no time in my life I would want to go back to again. Every moment, every age, every lesson learned helped me become not only who I am, but also how I am.
Sunday, January 13, 2013
A foggy mind
I haven't written anything for the past couple days because I just didn't have anything positive to say. I'm really trying to keep this from just turning into my daily bitch and moan session, but I realize not saying something positive isn't particularly a negative. Sometimes there's just nothing to say.
I continue to struggle through health issues which have been compounded by the crazy foggy weather we've had here the past days. Painting both bathrooms in one day probably didn't help either. But it needed done. (As if painting the bathrooms would be the deciding factor in if someone buys our house.)
I feel like a transient with no real home. How is that possible? How can I be here, surrounding by my family and "things", yet feel so out of place? I once said the only place I feel 100 percent comfortable is at home. But somewhere along the way that changed. The fibromyalgia and arthirits combo pretty much ensure I never feel comfortable, physically, ANYwhere. And the psyche makes it's own demands. I need somewhere to belong.
This has nothing to do with having friends (I do) or a loving family (I do). It's about being where I am supposed to be. Some place where everybody knows my name. Sorry, the Cheers theme passed through my mind. Don't get me wrong. I'm not looking to be famous, praised or leave a physical legacy. But I do want to touch people. To make a differnce in their life for the better. To help those I come in contact with toknow they are loved, important, respected and have value.
Life is sacred and every human has worth. I'm not suggesting we just overlook the evil people do, but it's up to God to judge. I don't know what's going on in another's heart. That's probably for the best. The things in mine could, at times, be horrifying to others.
I continue to struggle through health issues which have been compounded by the crazy foggy weather we've had here the past days. Painting both bathrooms in one day probably didn't help either. But it needed done. (As if painting the bathrooms would be the deciding factor in if someone buys our house.)
I feel like a transient with no real home. How is that possible? How can I be here, surrounding by my family and "things", yet feel so out of place? I once said the only place I feel 100 percent comfortable is at home. But somewhere along the way that changed. The fibromyalgia and arthirits combo pretty much ensure I never feel comfortable, physically, ANYwhere. And the psyche makes it's own demands. I need somewhere to belong.
This has nothing to do with having friends (I do) or a loving family (I do). It's about being where I am supposed to be. Some place where everybody knows my name. Sorry, the Cheers theme passed through my mind. Don't get me wrong. I'm not looking to be famous, praised or leave a physical legacy. But I do want to touch people. To make a differnce in their life for the better. To help those I come in contact with toknow they are loved, important, respected and have value.
Life is sacred and every human has worth. I'm not suggesting we just overlook the evil people do, but it's up to God to judge. I don't know what's going on in another's heart. That's probably for the best. The things in mine could, at times, be horrifying to others.
Thursday, January 10, 2013
Rainbow sky
As I driving, I looked up at the sun. There was a thin ring of clouds surrounding it. They were just thin enough to allow sunlight to pass through, making it look like mother of pearl. It was like rainbow light. That's the second time this week I've seen something like that. Immediately, I thought about the promise God gave Noah in the rainbow. But I haven't been able to figure out what promise I'm being promted to remember.
Promises are strange things. By definition, it portends something yet to come and should be something you can count on happening. I've found that can change depending on the person, both the promiser and the promisee. But the point is, I don't put much faith in human promises. People "forget" or "weren't serious". I find people use the word promise as a type of manipulation. It gets the person to do what you want, and you don't really have to follow through.
But the promises I've had from God are true. There is no need for me to question if he will forget or just change his mind. He remembers long after I forget. In the midst of turmoil, pain or selling a freaking house, he whispers "I promised". That doesn't change the external things going on in my life, but it makes a huge internal shift.
Promises are strange things. By definition, it portends something yet to come and should be something you can count on happening. I've found that can change depending on the person, both the promiser and the promisee. But the point is, I don't put much faith in human promises. People "forget" or "weren't serious". I find people use the word promise as a type of manipulation. It gets the person to do what you want, and you don't really have to follow through.
But the promises I've had from God are true. There is no need for me to question if he will forget or just change his mind. He remembers long after I forget. In the midst of turmoil, pain or selling a freaking house, he whispers "I promised". That doesn't change the external things going on in my life, but it makes a huge internal shift.
Wednesday, January 9, 2013
Selling a house
Selling a house is like slowly going insane. I keep cleaning, people keep looking. No one's buying.
Back in the spring we decided to put our house on the market. I have some health issues a and we decided it was a good time to look into single-floor living. We set about de-cluttering, painting, cleaning, endless cleaning. Those who know me know how much I loathe cleaning. And, frankly, I just don't have the energy for it most days.
The house hit the market in July. We've had lots of lookers, but no takers. Each day that passes makes me less optimistic. We've had multiple price reductions and a lot of "comments" from prospective buyers. Some about things we can't really change; some I totally agree with. That doesn't make things any better.
I was driving home from Lancaster the other afternoon when I was totally overcome with how badly I want to live in Lancaster city, how much I want to be out of this house and through this whole process. I am ready to being the next phase, whatever that means. I want to live where I volunteer, to be a part of the community I serve.
Now don't get me wrong. I'm not expecting the next phase to be nirvana. This is all strange to me. I'm not usually the restless type. I'm not even sure this is even restlessness. It's more of just a knowing this chapter is closing and wanting to see what's in the next.
Back in the spring we decided to put our house on the market. I have some health issues a and we decided it was a good time to look into single-floor living. We set about de-cluttering, painting, cleaning, endless cleaning. Those who know me know how much I loathe cleaning. And, frankly, I just don't have the energy for it most days.
The house hit the market in July. We've had lots of lookers, but no takers. Each day that passes makes me less optimistic. We've had multiple price reductions and a lot of "comments" from prospective buyers. Some about things we can't really change; some I totally agree with. That doesn't make things any better.
I was driving home from Lancaster the other afternoon when I was totally overcome with how badly I want to live in Lancaster city, how much I want to be out of this house and through this whole process. I am ready to being the next phase, whatever that means. I want to live where I volunteer, to be a part of the community I serve.
Now don't get me wrong. I'm not expecting the next phase to be nirvana. This is all strange to me. I'm not usually the restless type. I'm not even sure this is even restlessness. It's more of just a knowing this chapter is closing and wanting to see what's in the next.
Monday, January 7, 2013
My mind says it all
Did you ever have a conversation in your head? I do it all the time, and I write the dialogue for all the parties involved. This helps me process how to handle a situation. It can also backfire on me and I end up worked into a frenzy.
Did you ever have something happen and at the time you felt it really wasn't a big deal, but as time wore on and you change your mind? I do this. And the more I think-- read obsess-- about the situation, the more dire it becomes. Some event that was truly innocuous can become full-blown treason once it's been through all the conversations in my mind.
I don't know why it's so easy to think the worst of people. Why have I decided that an innocent action was really driven by some deeper, darker motivation? I try not to operate that way when I deal with others, so why do I set the standard so low in what I expect from them? I guess I've conditioned myself to "get to the bottom", whether that's based in reality or not.
It drives me crazy when I think people assume I behave like everyone else, yet I am so quick to assume everyone, on some level, is out to get me and so I need to role play in my mind to know why. My mind is a scary place. I've long known this. To try to understand it is crazy in itself. As I journey to make myself a better person I have to try to understand the mystery that is me. It's time to hold myself to the same standards I use on others.
Did you ever have something happen and at the time you felt it really wasn't a big deal, but as time wore on and you change your mind? I do this. And the more I think-- read obsess-- about the situation, the more dire it becomes. Some event that was truly innocuous can become full-blown treason once it's been through all the conversations in my mind.
I don't know why it's so easy to think the worst of people. Why have I decided that an innocent action was really driven by some deeper, darker motivation? I try not to operate that way when I deal with others, so why do I set the standard so low in what I expect from them? I guess I've conditioned myself to "get to the bottom", whether that's based in reality or not.
It drives me crazy when I think people assume I behave like everyone else, yet I am so quick to assume everyone, on some level, is out to get me and so I need to role play in my mind to know why. My mind is a scary place. I've long known this. To try to understand it is crazy in itself. As I journey to make myself a better person I have to try to understand the mystery that is me. It's time to hold myself to the same standards I use on others.
Jealousy
Jealousy is a largely wasted emotion.
I have been the jealous one, and I have been the focus of an other's jealousy. Both sides have unique issues. The times I've been jealous have usually been over something quite trivial, and when I look back on it I'm left wondering "what in the world was I thinking?".
As children we are innately jealous. Someone always has something we want, but don't have. I always wanted new things. Being the third of four girls, I wore hand-me-downs. Money was tight, and that's just how it was. We ordered our school clothes in the fall from the Sears or Montgomery Ward catalogues. That was the extent of my designer wardrobe.
What I really wanted was Levi's. All the girls at school wore Levi's jeans. But at $40 a pair, they just weren't an option. I remember saving my money from babysitting so I could go to the store and buy my own Levi's, all the while going to school in my Gitano jeans. Now, it never occurred to me that Levi's didn't make ladies jeans when I was growing up, or that the girls at school who were wearing them were shaped just like the boys. I was not.
When I'd finally saved enough money for my prized purchase, I went to a store up on the Ligonier diamond. After digging through piles of jeans and making countless trips to the dressing room, I found a pair that fit. It was horrible! I looked like a barrel. The jeans were unforgiving, shaped for a person built like a plank of wood. I had acquired what I was jealous of, but it did not make me happy.
Being the object of some one's jealousy isn't any better. I've actually never really understood what there is about me to be jealous of. This has happened twice in my adult life, and both times cause extreme pain for me. Seems like it should have ended differently since I supposedly had the prize, right?
I had a turbulent friendship with a co-worker. Perhaps I let it go on too long, but I understood some issues from her past and I really wanted to help her, to be a friend, not not abandon her. One night she called me, in a fit of rage, and I was clearly able to see just how deep-seeded her jealousy was. She screamed at me that she "would take the important people in my life away". I laughed it off, thinking that those who truly loved and befriended me would see through her schemes and stand by me. She set her plan in motion, and within a year had won over those she was focused on. Her jealousy of me had messed up my life. She acquired what I had, but it didn't make her happy. In fact, she is more miserable now than she was then.
I say we should make our own happiness. We don't know what is going on in someone else's life, and what it may be taking for them to have/be what you long for. They say grass is always greener on the other side of the fence. Maybe it's just getting more fertilizer.
I have been the jealous one, and I have been the focus of an other's jealousy. Both sides have unique issues. The times I've been jealous have usually been over something quite trivial, and when I look back on it I'm left wondering "what in the world was I thinking?".
As children we are innately jealous. Someone always has something we want, but don't have. I always wanted new things. Being the third of four girls, I wore hand-me-downs. Money was tight, and that's just how it was. We ordered our school clothes in the fall from the Sears or Montgomery Ward catalogues. That was the extent of my designer wardrobe.
What I really wanted was Levi's. All the girls at school wore Levi's jeans. But at $40 a pair, they just weren't an option. I remember saving my money from babysitting so I could go to the store and buy my own Levi's, all the while going to school in my Gitano jeans. Now, it never occurred to me that Levi's didn't make ladies jeans when I was growing up, or that the girls at school who were wearing them were shaped just like the boys. I was not.
When I'd finally saved enough money for my prized purchase, I went to a store up on the Ligonier diamond. After digging through piles of jeans and making countless trips to the dressing room, I found a pair that fit. It was horrible! I looked like a barrel. The jeans were unforgiving, shaped for a person built like a plank of wood. I had acquired what I was jealous of, but it did not make me happy.
Being the object of some one's jealousy isn't any better. I've actually never really understood what there is about me to be jealous of. This has happened twice in my adult life, and both times cause extreme pain for me. Seems like it should have ended differently since I supposedly had the prize, right?
I had a turbulent friendship with a co-worker. Perhaps I let it go on too long, but I understood some issues from her past and I really wanted to help her, to be a friend, not not abandon her. One night she called me, in a fit of rage, and I was clearly able to see just how deep-seeded her jealousy was. She screamed at me that she "would take the important people in my life away". I laughed it off, thinking that those who truly loved and befriended me would see through her schemes and stand by me. She set her plan in motion, and within a year had won over those she was focused on. Her jealousy of me had messed up my life. She acquired what I had, but it didn't make her happy. In fact, she is more miserable now than she was then.
I say we should make our own happiness. We don't know what is going on in someone else's life, and what it may be taking for them to have/be what you long for. They say grass is always greener on the other side of the fence. Maybe it's just getting more fertilizer.
Saturday, January 5, 2013
Modeling school
My husband and I were walking at the mall today. There was a kiosk set up there for the Barbizon Modeling Agency. Now it would make sense, at least to me, if the people working at the booth were at least pretty. The three ladies were fairly tall and quite young, but about as remarkable as a penny.
I watched them as we lapped the mall. Never a smile. Never a word passed between them. No attempt to draw people in or interest them in what they were selling. It made me wonder if they thought no one at the mall was up to the standards of the school.
How quick we are to catergorize people. Tall or short. Thin or fat. Pretty or homely. But the truly amazing part is that we use ourselves as the guide. Are they prettier than me? Am I fatter than her? When did we decide we were "it"?
How boring the world would be if everyone looked exactly the same, had the same interests, wore the same clothes and lived in exactly the same house. The things that make us unique are the things about us that are different. Green eyes. Freckles. Curvier figure. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. To bad our vision isn't better.
I watched them as we lapped the mall. Never a smile. Never a word passed between them. No attempt to draw people in or interest them in what they were selling. It made me wonder if they thought no one at the mall was up to the standards of the school.
How quick we are to catergorize people. Tall or short. Thin or fat. Pretty or homely. But the truly amazing part is that we use ourselves as the guide. Are they prettier than me? Am I fatter than her? When did we decide we were "it"?
How boring the world would be if everyone looked exactly the same, had the same interests, wore the same clothes and lived in exactly the same house. The things that make us unique are the things about us that are different. Green eyes. Freckles. Curvier figure. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. To bad our vision isn't better.
Friday, January 4, 2013
Internet dating
Someone asked me what I think about internet dating. I have no real experience with it myself but it seems to me like another way for people to falsely represent themselves and hurt people.
Dating is hard, in general. It's awkward and uncomfortable. You have to make yourself vulnerable, to put yourself out there and risk rejection. I think taking the human element out of it, relying on the computer to connect you makes it further complicated.
Humans, by nature, lie. They want to present themselves as best as possible. To be more attractive or taller. To be more successful or established. To not be a psychopath. Meeting someone face-to-face lets you know some of these things upfront.
I hate to be misled, deceived and lied to. How can I know the picture you're showing on your dating profile isn't from 10 years ago when you were thin and had hair? Or that it's even you at all? Now, readers, before you go getting all "don't just pick a date based on looks" admit that we all do it. That's how we're designed. We are all atracted to beauty. Fortunately, that translates into many different things for each of us. Is it right? I don't know. But it's better than picking based on money or social status. I think.
That said, be careful. Get to know the person you're engaging on-line. Ask questions. Don't fall for a pretty face. Make sure there's some substance to the person. You are a quality person; you deserve the same.
Dating is hard, in general. It's awkward and uncomfortable. You have to make yourself vulnerable, to put yourself out there and risk rejection. I think taking the human element out of it, relying on the computer to connect you makes it further complicated.
Humans, by nature, lie. They want to present themselves as best as possible. To be more attractive or taller. To be more successful or established. To not be a psychopath. Meeting someone face-to-face lets you know some of these things upfront.
I hate to be misled, deceived and lied to. How can I know the picture you're showing on your dating profile isn't from 10 years ago when you were thin and had hair? Or that it's even you at all? Now, readers, before you go getting all "don't just pick a date based on looks" admit that we all do it. That's how we're designed. We are all atracted to beauty. Fortunately, that translates into many different things for each of us. Is it right? I don't know. But it's better than picking based on money or social status. I think.
That said, be careful. Get to know the person you're engaging on-line. Ask questions. Don't fall for a pretty face. Make sure there's some substance to the person. You are a quality person; you deserve the same.
Thursday, January 3, 2013
Some people's families
I was adopted when I was 10 years old.
The thing about being adopted at that age means I was old enough to remember that I'd had another family. Most of the memories I had about the paternal side of that family were violent and hurtful. As an adult, I realized the need for boundaries and I ended contact with them.
Through the wonders of modern technology a long lost relative from that side found me some time ago. I set up boundaried with her right from the start, and told her the consequences of breaching them. Sure enough, she did the one thing I asked her not to do; she told them about me and showed them pictures of my kids. The result? No more contact.
Imagine my surprise when I found a card in the mail from her today. It contained a picture of her with her grandkids and a charming letter telling me how "hurt, bitter and troubled" I am. I used to receive the same kind of greetings from her mother. It solidified in my mind that I'd made the right choice in unfriending her. Did she honestly think that writing all those things, then signing it "love always", was going to send me running into her arms? I honestly don't understand people.
Why am I considered the bad person for deciding to protect myself and my family from this kind of abuse? I wish people had a better understanding of how their action affect others. Just becasue we share some blood does not make us the same, nor does it automatically mean we will mesh. Being blood does not give you the right to abuse me. And I don't care what you think about it.
I am beyond grateful for the family that adopted me, that rescued me from the hell that was once my family. No family is perfect, but they did their best to love and nurture me, to help me overcome the obstacles my birth family had placed in my life, to heal from abuse and neglect.
I have worked hard to follow nurture, not nature. Every scar I have, whether physical or emotional, marks a victory to me. I have overcome. I have endured. I am ALIVE. My story is mine. So are my choices. I own them. No regrets.
I'll take the family who picked me over the one who dumped me anyday.
The thing about being adopted at that age means I was old enough to remember that I'd had another family. Most of the memories I had about the paternal side of that family were violent and hurtful. As an adult, I realized the need for boundaries and I ended contact with them.
Through the wonders of modern technology a long lost relative from that side found me some time ago. I set up boundaried with her right from the start, and told her the consequences of breaching them. Sure enough, she did the one thing I asked her not to do; she told them about me and showed them pictures of my kids. The result? No more contact.
Imagine my surprise when I found a card in the mail from her today. It contained a picture of her with her grandkids and a charming letter telling me how "hurt, bitter and troubled" I am. I used to receive the same kind of greetings from her mother. It solidified in my mind that I'd made the right choice in unfriending her. Did she honestly think that writing all those things, then signing it "love always", was going to send me running into her arms? I honestly don't understand people.
Why am I considered the bad person for deciding to protect myself and my family from this kind of abuse? I wish people had a better understanding of how their action affect others. Just becasue we share some blood does not make us the same, nor does it automatically mean we will mesh. Being blood does not give you the right to abuse me. And I don't care what you think about it.
I am beyond grateful for the family that adopted me, that rescued me from the hell that was once my family. No family is perfect, but they did their best to love and nurture me, to help me overcome the obstacles my birth family had placed in my life, to heal from abuse and neglect.
I have worked hard to follow nurture, not nature. Every scar I have, whether physical or emotional, marks a victory to me. I have overcome. I have endured. I am ALIVE. My story is mine. So are my choices. I own them. No regrets.
I'll take the family who picked me over the one who dumped me anyday.
Wednesday, January 2, 2013
Friends
I've never been one of those people who's surrounded by friends, and that's fine with me.
I prefer to choose a couple people, thoroughly check their backgrounds and determine their trustworthyness. Ok, maybe not the best process for establishing lasting relationships, but I'd rather have a few people I know I can count on than be surround by superficial ones who disappear when I need them most.
My husband, on the other hand, thinks everyone who's ever said "hi" to him is his friend. I've often joked he's like a puppy at the pound, overjoyed by whoever speaks to him. I really don't understand this behavior. It seems so foreign to me. How we ever got together is a true mystery.
A trait we do share, though, is that we see people as people not as a race, class or denomination. That means we are friends with a varied group. This is something we have passed on to our children as well. They are both able to befriend people from different cliques and classes, which has sometimes been problematic for them in that their friends have not been raised the same way.
When did we stop seeing people as people and just determine their worth based on their color, nationality and economic status? How do these things determine their ability to be a faithful, loving friend? If we choose only people like us to be friends with, how boring that would be! I have no friends like me. That would be a recipe for disaster.
I prefer to choose a couple people, thoroughly check their backgrounds and determine their trustworthyness. Ok, maybe not the best process for establishing lasting relationships, but I'd rather have a few people I know I can count on than be surround by superficial ones who disappear when I need them most.
My husband, on the other hand, thinks everyone who's ever said "hi" to him is his friend. I've often joked he's like a puppy at the pound, overjoyed by whoever speaks to him. I really don't understand this behavior. It seems so foreign to me. How we ever got together is a true mystery.
A trait we do share, though, is that we see people as people not as a race, class or denomination. That means we are friends with a varied group. This is something we have passed on to our children as well. They are both able to befriend people from different cliques and classes, which has sometimes been problematic for them in that their friends have not been raised the same way.
When did we stop seeing people as people and just determine their worth based on their color, nationality and economic status? How do these things determine their ability to be a faithful, loving friend? If we choose only people like us to be friends with, how boring that would be! I have no friends like me. That would be a recipe for disaster.
Tuesday, January 1, 2013
A new year
Well, today begins 2013 and many people are making resolutions.
I've never been into that. Frankly, I lack follow-through. It just seems to take so much work.
I would like to see change, but get overwhelmed with the whole process. So, I am going to start out simply.
I'm going to write more. Those of you following me should enjoy that! I'm not commiting to "what" I'll write, just that I will. I find it cathartic. It helps me to process without the messiness of actually involving another person, on a personal level. Maybe, someday, that will make the list.
I'm going to juice more. It makes me feel good. It takes time but I'm worth it.
I'm going to love more deeply. Or, maybe it's better to say I will let those I love KNOW how much they are loved. It's not good enough to just asume they know, or to take these relationships for granted. I don't want to grow complacent and stop making my loved ones feel cherished, important and loved.
And, finally, I'm going to let go. I have worked long and hard to become who I am, where I am. While scars show where I have been, they do not determine where I am headed. So, I am going to see them as links in a chain or stepping stones in a path: merely a means of getting from one place to another. Not a destination. I am not meant to stay where I am, to stagnate. Moving on is not fun and letting go of what is known, even if it's negative, scares the crap out of me but is necessary for a life worth living.
Off I go....
I've never been into that. Frankly, I lack follow-through. It just seems to take so much work.
I would like to see change, but get overwhelmed with the whole process. So, I am going to start out simply.
I'm going to write more. Those of you following me should enjoy that! I'm not commiting to "what" I'll write, just that I will. I find it cathartic. It helps me to process without the messiness of actually involving another person, on a personal level. Maybe, someday, that will make the list.
I'm going to juice more. It makes me feel good. It takes time but I'm worth it.
I'm going to love more deeply. Or, maybe it's better to say I will let those I love KNOW how much they are loved. It's not good enough to just asume they know, or to take these relationships for granted. I don't want to grow complacent and stop making my loved ones feel cherished, important and loved.
And, finally, I'm going to let go. I have worked long and hard to become who I am, where I am. While scars show where I have been, they do not determine where I am headed. So, I am going to see them as links in a chain or stepping stones in a path: merely a means of getting from one place to another. Not a destination. I am not meant to stay where I am, to stagnate. Moving on is not fun and letting go of what is known, even if it's negative, scares the crap out of me but is necessary for a life worth living.
Off I go....
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