It is December 31st and typically I post something here about the year just past and the new one ahead and all the inspiration I can muster from both.....and having just re-read last New Year's Day's post, it would seem I didn't make much progress on the plans for a new-me-in- the-new-year.
This year has seen its own share of struggles and blessings. I used to blog more, I used to actually journal. But I did very little of either this year and I can't honestly say I know the reason behind that, and as a result my memory of the earlier part of the year is a little foggy.
Undoubtedly the biggest event of 2012 was the passing of my mother. We watched her decline - initially rather gradually with her falling on her face every couple of weeks that we thought that she was just falling asleep in the bathroom or in her wheelchair. Looking back, it could have been that she was blacking out due to the advancing of her congestive heart failure. So I regret the feelings of frustration and sometimes anger that we had when it seemed such a simple solution - stop falling asleep. I could tell things were getting a little worse through the summer and by August, we knew we were entering the homestretch. The last several weeks were extremely difficult not just because we were losing her but because of the horrible care she received in the nursing facility after her final hospital stay. ( I still intend to send letters to anyone and everyone who needs to know about all of that). But because of our concerns, we kept a 24/7 bedside vigil for the last 2 weeks of her life. So her struggle finally ended on November 8th (and what an exruciating struggle it was to watch) and I thought that I would be more ok than what I turned out to be. I had some pretty horrific nightmares about her. I woke up in the middle of the night for weeks with an ache in the middle of my chest and a long-running video in my head of things I should have done differently. When I would head home in the evening, I would want to call her, as was my habit to talk to her while driving. Lately things have been a little better...with the exception of trying to sing for Christmas at a local assisted living facility - I could see her face on every person there......or the other day when I walked into the grocery store where I used to take her for the groceries for her little efficiency assisted living apartment....I managed to take a deep breath and get past the orchids where she used to sit and gaze and exclaim at their beauty....but passing them put me square in the produce section where the cases of Cutie clementines hit me square in the face (metaphorically speaking, of course). The woman did love her fruit! Not too many people traipse through the Giant Eagle with tears streaming down their cheeks - especially not during the holidays - but that was me the other day! So I keep telling myself what we tell people at Tides, "life will never be the same again, but it can be good again" and keep plodding forward.
I made some interesting discoveries over the past few months in light of what was going on in my life as well as the very sobering events in the news of late, and these probably come as no surprise to most.....
* sometimes the people we think are our best friends really are barely friends at all
* sometimes the people who seem to be the most casual of acquaintances - barely within the periphery of our lives, are those with whom we have a much deeper connection......and they will do something like show up at your hotel room with a crock pot full of the most incredible pot roast you have ever tasted
* I've noticed my involvement in social networking has changed - some aspects of that just don't seem as important as they once did
* It is much easier to say no to activities and demands that used to mean so much, when someone we love needs us more......
* we too often lose the opportunity to let people know how much we care about them
2012 had an incredible share of great things too:
Spending seriously quality time with my granddaughter Olivia
A dream vacation to Disney, the Wizarding World of Harry Potter and the beach!
A most rewarding trip to Estonia to witness the wedding of one of our team members to one of
our favorite Estonians......as well as seeing the realization on the faces of teenagers that their
youth group exists in part because of our outreach efforts 10 years ago.......and launching a
new outreach effort in a different location this year......AND climbing to the top of a 500 year
old lighthouse.....and so much more
An ensemble role in "Fiddler" with a cast beyond belief
A few days in Maine with Chris, Alli, Olivia and Tucker - hiking, laughing, playing games, great
food = happiness and peace.
Attending the productions whose technical aspects were in part, Philip's talents at work
Neighbors who took care of my mail while I was with Mom for her final month, friends who
raked the yard during that time as well, people who called and texted to check in on me,
catching up over food and a movie with a dear friend wanting to make sure I'm ok.......
The snow removal fairies who made it possible for me to get to my front door upon return from
Christmas elsewhere
These things have all touched my heart and restored my faith in the goodness of people....
So as I head into 2013, taking a head cold with me, I will continue to try and pursue all the usual goals - healthful living, working on my house and yard, making millions of dollars etc......but I will also take with me the blessings of
* a wonderful love in my life
* appreciation for my true friends
* opportunities to love on my granddaughter and grandmoose puppy
* continuing to build my work life
* my family and their love and support
* a few new recipes
* some new perspectives
and snow boots! I am excited to say that for the first time in many many years, I have boots befitting the recent snowfall and whatever the forecast holds! Sometimes the little things are just as important as the big ones!
Happy New Year
May you have enough.......
money to keep you going
comfort for your sorrows
friends to make your road lighter
joy to keep you thankful
love to make a difference for others.
Monday, December 31, 2012
.......if you need anything.......
10/31/12
It is 2:35 a.m. and I am keeping the night watch in my mother's room in a place she never wanted to be. She is in what we believe to be the last days of her life, although we have thought that for a week and a half now. I came to town 12 days ago for what was to be a weekend stay. My sister came to town the day after I did because the report from the doctor seemed as though she wouldn't last that weekend. And here we are. Waiting. Watching.
And as we have heartbreakingly marched this leg of the journey, some important lessons have come to me. To us. I try to take the perspective in life that no experience is wasted - that God can teach us in the midst of anything. So here is what I have learned or relearned in this process....
* I am not ready to be without my mom. I am ready for her to stop suffering, but I cannot imagine the rest of my life without her.
* Some people say and do stupid things when someone is dying because they just don't know any better. Even staff in a nursing home.
* And because even staff in a nursing home may not "get it", we must advocate for our loved ones and ourselves.
* Good friends....really true friends....will bear the unbearable and come visit someone who is dying to say their goodbyes to the friend they loved so much. And it makes me wonder if I have any really true friends. I can't even get people to meet me for lunch.
* Some people do understand what we're going through here. I am so deeply grateful to my sister's friends who came and sat with us.....and sat in FOR us so we could go make funeral arrangements.....or escape to a decent place for dinner.
* And speaking of dinner, there are oh so many things we would have so appreciated during this time. I have learned that if anyone I know is ever in this situation, I will do whatever is in my power to help provide:
some home-cooked meals - we are SO tired of fast food
some help with finances - We've lost income, not to mention the piling hotel bills and
meals being eaten out and, the cost of gas for numerous trips per month before this point.
A gift card here and there (even from other family who for legitimate reasons cannot make
the same commitment) would do wonders in easing many a burden.
some respite time so that they can have a mental health break
some snacks and drinks - healthy and junk food alike to nibble on
laundry service
an opportunity for distraction - leaving to go to my granddaughter's 1st birthday celebration was unbelievably therapeutic - even though I was battling what has become bronchitis.
* While comments like "prayers", "hugs" and words like "have faith" look really nice on Facebook posts, they ring hollow to the one whose heart is aching. Much more meaningful are the private messages. What would be even better would be a phone call. A visit. But in our world of self-serving social media, we have lost the art of true compassion and communication.
* Piggy-backing on that last one, I have come to realize that my generation has lost the relevance of the greeting card. I have opened countless cards from my mother's church friends, social organization friends, and general friends. To buy a card, write in it, address, stamp and mail it, takes effort. It takes really thinking about someone. And I am sad to admit that there have been many occasions that I could have, should have, taken that time and effort.
* There's a big difference between someone saying "Call if you need anything" and "What do you need?" We are not likely to call and ask anyone for anything I listed above but if someone posed the latter question, I might be likely to give a concrete answer. Or if were told when to expect a dinner meal, or some respite time.
It is 2:35 a.m. and I am keeping the night watch in my mother's room in a place she never wanted to be. She is in what we believe to be the last days of her life, although we have thought that for a week and a half now. I came to town 12 days ago for what was to be a weekend stay. My sister came to town the day after I did because the report from the doctor seemed as though she wouldn't last that weekend. And here we are. Waiting. Watching.
And as we have heartbreakingly marched this leg of the journey, some important lessons have come to me. To us. I try to take the perspective in life that no experience is wasted - that God can teach us in the midst of anything. So here is what I have learned or relearned in this process....
* I am not ready to be without my mom. I am ready for her to stop suffering, but I cannot imagine the rest of my life without her.
* Some people say and do stupid things when someone is dying because they just don't know any better. Even staff in a nursing home.
* And because even staff in a nursing home may not "get it", we must advocate for our loved ones and ourselves.
* Good friends....really true friends....will bear the unbearable and come visit someone who is dying to say their goodbyes to the friend they loved so much. And it makes me wonder if I have any really true friends. I can't even get people to meet me for lunch.
* Some people do understand what we're going through here. I am so deeply grateful to my sister's friends who came and sat with us.....and sat in FOR us so we could go make funeral arrangements.....or escape to a decent place for dinner.
* And speaking of dinner, there are oh so many things we would have so appreciated during this time. I have learned that if anyone I know is ever in this situation, I will do whatever is in my power to help provide:
some home-cooked meals - we are SO tired of fast food
some help with finances - We've lost income, not to mention the piling hotel bills and
meals being eaten out and, the cost of gas for numerous trips per month before this point.
A gift card here and there (even from other family who for legitimate reasons cannot make
the same commitment) would do wonders in easing many a burden.
some respite time so that they can have a mental health break
some snacks and drinks - healthy and junk food alike to nibble on
laundry service
an opportunity for distraction - leaving to go to my granddaughter's 1st birthday celebration was unbelievably therapeutic - even though I was battling what has become bronchitis.
* While comments like "prayers", "hugs" and words like "have faith" look really nice on Facebook posts, they ring hollow to the one whose heart is aching. Much more meaningful are the private messages. What would be even better would be a phone call. A visit. But in our world of self-serving social media, we have lost the art of true compassion and communication.
* Piggy-backing on that last one, I have come to realize that my generation has lost the relevance of the greeting card. I have opened countless cards from my mother's church friends, social organization friends, and general friends. To buy a card, write in it, address, stamp and mail it, takes effort. It takes really thinking about someone. And I am sad to admit that there have been many occasions that I could have, should have, taken that time and effort.
* There's a big difference between someone saying "Call if you need anything" and "What do you need?" We are not likely to call and ask anyone for anything I listed above but if someone posed the latter question, I might be likely to give a concrete answer. Or if were told when to expect a dinner meal, or some respite time.
Tuesday, September 25, 2012
Blessings?
I came to Pittsburgh 2 days ago to sit with my mom in the hospital. While on the road, Laura Story's song Blessings came on the radio. And I cried. I always cry when I hear that song - for different reasons. Tonight I left the hospital room for the last time this trip - a very difficult walk to take. And in the car leaving the city, "the" song came on the radio again, and the tears started to flow. And broke into sobs. I don't believe in coincidences. It was no accident that that song accompanied my trips in and out of this visit.
Mom has been told there is nothing more the doctors can do for her except to give her treatments that will help with symptoms, or to offer "comfort care".
"What if Your blessings come through raindrops
What if Your healing comes through tears....."
Unless I'm seriously distracted these days, it feels like every day is a rainstorm.
I hate seeing her so frail.
It breaks my heart to see her feeling so ill and unable to do for herself the simple things she was able to do up until just a few weeks ago.
It is devastating to hear her ask the doctor if he doesn't have better news.
It is bittersweet to listen to her rally her sense of humor in the face of all this.
I get a feeling of desperation to realize what a struggle it is for her to breathe, to move, to try and stay engaged in a conversation.
I'm struggling to find the blessing in these raindrops. We want some hope. And there isn't any on the horizon.
And in the midst of these days of uncertainty, sadness and trying to prepare for whatever the next step is, we also have our moments of family drama. Every family has it, I'm told - especially at times like this. And I have to say that it is just about as exhausting to me as the dwindling days we have with my mom. And that makes me even sadder. I shouldn't have to feel frustrated and angry in the midst of my grief.
I'm not sure what kind of healing is going to come through the tears. If it's out there at all, it's pretty elusive right now.
"What if the thousand sleepless nights are what it takes to know You're near?
What if the trials of this life...are Your mercies in disguise?"
I feel terribly guilty when I leave her for a couple of days. She craves the company. She is comforted when one of us is near.
How does one balance one's own life with being present for the end of another?
I have found my last year of being primarily unemployed ending up being a blessing because it allowed me to be flexible to be present for her, and to make a few extra trips when she was down, or needed to go to a doctor appointment....or in the days that followed one of her face-breaking falls that left her physically bruised and emotionally disheartened. As my days become filled with a growing business and a new (very) part-time job, I wish I could put these things on hold to give her more of the attention and presence she needs.
The hardest part of this is knowing that when the tears have finally brought healing, it won't be the kind we all wish for - the kind that only a magic wand or a miracle could bring. It will be that she will be suffering no longer and our lives will have a very large empty space.
I hope that in those days we will truly be able to see and feel God's mercy. I pray He doesn't disguise it too deeply.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eOOFAaUGfRE
Mom has been told there is nothing more the doctors can do for her except to give her treatments that will help with symptoms, or to offer "comfort care".
"What if Your blessings come through raindrops
What if Your healing comes through tears....."
Unless I'm seriously distracted these days, it feels like every day is a rainstorm.
I hate seeing her so frail.
It breaks my heart to see her feeling so ill and unable to do for herself the simple things she was able to do up until just a few weeks ago.
It is devastating to hear her ask the doctor if he doesn't have better news.
It is bittersweet to listen to her rally her sense of humor in the face of all this.
I get a feeling of desperation to realize what a struggle it is for her to breathe, to move, to try and stay engaged in a conversation.
I'm struggling to find the blessing in these raindrops. We want some hope. And there isn't any on the horizon.
And in the midst of these days of uncertainty, sadness and trying to prepare for whatever the next step is, we also have our moments of family drama. Every family has it, I'm told - especially at times like this. And I have to say that it is just about as exhausting to me as the dwindling days we have with my mom. And that makes me even sadder. I shouldn't have to feel frustrated and angry in the midst of my grief.
I'm not sure what kind of healing is going to come through the tears. If it's out there at all, it's pretty elusive right now.
"What if the thousand sleepless nights are what it takes to know You're near?
What if the trials of this life...are Your mercies in disguise?"
I feel terribly guilty when I leave her for a couple of days. She craves the company. She is comforted when one of us is near.
How does one balance one's own life with being present for the end of another?
I have found my last year of being primarily unemployed ending up being a blessing because it allowed me to be flexible to be present for her, and to make a few extra trips when she was down, or needed to go to a doctor appointment....or in the days that followed one of her face-breaking falls that left her physically bruised and emotionally disheartened. As my days become filled with a growing business and a new (very) part-time job, I wish I could put these things on hold to give her more of the attention and presence she needs.
The hardest part of this is knowing that when the tears have finally brought healing, it won't be the kind we all wish for - the kind that only a magic wand or a miracle could bring. It will be that she will be suffering no longer and our lives will have a very large empty space.
I hope that in those days we will truly be able to see and feel God's mercy. I pray He doesn't disguise it too deeply.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eOOFAaUGfRE
Monday, May 14, 2012
Mom
I've intended to write a blog honoring my mom for more than a year. Thoughts about what to write have been running in an almost constant draft through my mind. When a smidge of time was available, it was usually just after a less than ideal interaction, and when things have gone well, there hasn't been time. It should be easy to write. I mean, she's my mom, right? The woman who gave me life, who raised me.....but I find it really tough to produce an entry that is complete yet succinct; honest yet honoring......
First off, I want to say that I love my mother. I love her dearly. I would do just about anything for her. My mom loves me - that's undeniable. But she doesn't get me. She hardly ever has, really. The thought occurred to me recently that for my father's 75th birthday, I wrote him a letter thanking him for everything he was to me and did for me. And that recently, my mom turned 85 and I've never done the same for her. And I should. But that underlying disconnect has allowed me to avoid doing it.
I have some great, though foggy memories of being a pre-schooler and being home with my mom. I remember her loving care when I was sick, and being allowed to watch a kindergarten show on TV in the living room, with my lunch in front of me on a tray table. (Obviously I'm dating myself, alluding to the time before kindergarten was free and offered to everyone.) I recall her packing me picnic lunches so I could join my friends. Or comforting me when I was terrified by the daily sonic booms. Later on, she would always come home from school Open House very pleased with what she heard from my teachers. She and my dad made Kennywood, Christmas and summer vacations to Geneva-on-the-Lake the most wonderful experiences I thought a kid could have. And I remember her proud attendance and support of my music, dance and theatre activities, (though as a teenager, sometimes her pride became my embarrassment). And as weird as it sounds, the smell of an egg salad sandwich can still bring tears to my eyes as I am instantly transported back to the cafeteria in 2nd grade where I had no one to talk to, a horribly mean teacher on duty and I just wanted to be in the safety of Mommy's arms.
But I also have some memories that continue to baffle me. Like, why was it necessary to tell me to "Do something with myself" when she thought my appearance wasn't acceptable? Or point out how drab my hair was hanging straight down (um, that was the style of the decade, Mom!)? Did she think she was being helpful when she pointed out how much weight I had gained and brought home diet pills? Or lost.....and encouraged me to eat something. Or insisted that I read something for fun instead of my chosen materials and tossed a Danielle Steele novel in my lap. (That may have actually been the time she verbalized that she didn't understand me.) I am still puzzled by why she left me to be driven home from dancing school by the teacher (who stopped in a bar while I sat in the car waiting for her to return) when we only lived 2 miles away. Or the reason behind my always needing to bug my friends for rides home from musical rehearsals. She seemed disappointed that I didn't go into nursing like she and my sisters before me had. I think back to coming home after my freshman year of college and wonder why my roommates parents had to bring me home when we had two perfectly good cars at home? Our tastes and perceptions of fashion were never on the same plane. Still aren't. She still offers me clothing I won't wear and seems exasperated when I say, "Thanks, but that's really not me." And that's not to say I have an astounding sense of fashion. My whole closet could be featured on What Not to Wear.
I am deeply ashamed to admit that there have been periods in my life where I found it difficult to buy her a Mother's Day or birthday card. First of all, I hate the rhyming, sing songy kinds of cards. If I find my head wagging back and forth while I read it, it instantly goes back into the rack. The sentiments on Mom cards are either sappy sweet or stupidly humorous-intended. And I didn't FEEL all those saccharine things I was reading. I always felt guilty because she would get beautiful cards from my sisters with heartfelt sentiments about being a wonderful Mom and I wasn't feeling it.
And yet the night before I moved to central Pennsylvania to start my first real job, I found her sobbing into a towel in the bathroom. I was stunned. I had no idea she felt that close to me. And I was even more surprised how homesick I was and how much I missed her when I did move away.
In some ways, not much has changed in the ensuing years . I have often felt that I have disappointed or caused her disgust in some of my actions, my parenting, my career choices. But I think it comes down to having two different personalities who cannot fully comprehend each other.
I finally gained a bit of insight when I went to an Psychodrama Intensive 4 years ago. This is a 5 day training for helping professionals to learn how to bring healing to clients through the use of psychodrama. I had managed to successfully avoid acting out my own psychodrama until the last day when they announced that anyone who had not yet been the main character, had to do that to finish the training. Greeeaaaaatttt. Thanks alot! So somehow, as much as I tried to sidestep the issue, the Mom/Daughter relationship came bubbling out. Embarrassed, sobbing, and spent, I ended the day with a glimmer of what my mom's side of our story might be. And it was humbling. But it didn't change it. Hopefully it changed me a bit.
Our relationship has changed in some practical ways. She resides in an assisted living facility and my sisters and I take turns on a bi-monthly rotation to tend to some of her custodial needs and get her out and about for some recreational/social experiences. It is strange to be doing things for her that she once did for me. I am happy to be doing them, but I worry about how she feels needing the assistance. Prior to entering the facility, she had several emergency room trips and, being the closest geographically at the time at 2 1/2 hours away, I was the one who made the trip. I will never forget the hours sitting in the ERs with her, hoping, praying that she was going to be ok. And trying to figure out what I would do if she wasn't. It wasn't all that easy to be emotionally detached anymore.
Yesterday was Mother's Day. I was in the process of getting ready to go pick her up for a lovely Mother's Day Buffet when I got the call that she had fallen. Again. The 4th time in 2 weeks. So we spent the bulk of the day in the ER where thankfully, the CAT scan was negative. Again. But when I look at the large bumps on her head and the countless and merging purple bruises on her face, I not only feel a physical shot of pain, but my heart breaks as well. And I think to myself that I wish I could take those bumps and bruises on myself so she wouldn't hurt. And feel frustrated with herself for falling asleep again and falling. And so it seems, I have become the parent. (One of them, anyway - I know my sisters feel the same) And we are all worried about what the next bump or fall may bring.
Oh, my mother continues to share her opinions, thoughts and what she believes to be constructive criticisms. But now, given her age, and our hopefully evolved relationship, I hope that I shoulder them a little better. Some of them even make me chuckle. Like yesterday when I stated that I have been called "aloof, a snob, and unapproachable" she didn't hesitate to say, "Well you have been! The whole family thinks so!" And recently I was recounting a memory about my Dad's family, she completely dispelled it, and said she never knew of anything like that. Then she added, "Well, Sally, if you feel you need to embellish your family history to make it interesting, go ahead!" And I was informed quite emphatically the other night, that they were "all" (I'm not sure who all of "they" were) trying to push me into being a doctor or a physician's assistant but I would have none of it. I only remember being strongly guided toward a career in nursing. I sometimes feel frustrated that she cannot remember details about our history because she is our last remaining link to the past. I want to know things that I may never learn. And apparently I don't recall things accurately! :)
Recently I found my mom's diary from before I was born. I am the 4th of 5 daughters. I was taken aback by the entries she had written expressing her hope that she was pregnant. With me! And, how happy she was when she found out that she was. What I also gleaned from reading the few entries she had the time to write was what a giving person she was. I have always known my mom to be a social butterfly. (Which also explains a lot about the strain in our relationship since I am an introvert and small talk and less involved social engagement is a struggle for me) But I hadn't realized how much she went out of her way for other people. It seemed that she and my dad were always entertaining family and friends, and she often "baked them a cake." When I think about how she is today, wanting to give her granchildren or great grandchildren a little something, or keeping her candy dish full so that she can offer some to the staff at her residence, it only makes sense. She genuinely thinks of others alot. Laughably, what she thinks about others is sometimes expressed a little too loudly.
As I have grown older, I find myself becoming a little more like her in some ways. I cry at movies and Hallmark commercials. We used to watch her during tender moments on TV to see if she was crying.....my kids will do that now; and make fun of me just the way we did her. She has always asked us "when are you coming home?" I am constantly longing to see/hear more of my kids.
I wish I could turn back time. I long to make up for those times when I was less than gracious, unappreciative, a pain in the neck. You know, when I was a snob, aloof! :) I know she truly appreciates the things we do for her these days. But I don't feel like it will ever be enough.
Happy Mother's Day, Mom! I love you!
First off, I want to say that I love my mother. I love her dearly. I would do just about anything for her. My mom loves me - that's undeniable. But she doesn't get me. She hardly ever has, really. The thought occurred to me recently that for my father's 75th birthday, I wrote him a letter thanking him for everything he was to me and did for me. And that recently, my mom turned 85 and I've never done the same for her. And I should. But that underlying disconnect has allowed me to avoid doing it.
I have some great, though foggy memories of being a pre-schooler and being home with my mom. I remember her loving care when I was sick, and being allowed to watch a kindergarten show on TV in the living room, with my lunch in front of me on a tray table. (Obviously I'm dating myself, alluding to the time before kindergarten was free and offered to everyone.) I recall her packing me picnic lunches so I could join my friends. Or comforting me when I was terrified by the daily sonic booms. Later on, she would always come home from school Open House very pleased with what she heard from my teachers. She and my dad made Kennywood, Christmas and summer vacations to Geneva-on-the-Lake the most wonderful experiences I thought a kid could have. And I remember her proud attendance and support of my music, dance and theatre activities, (though as a teenager, sometimes her pride became my embarrassment). And as weird as it sounds, the smell of an egg salad sandwich can still bring tears to my eyes as I am instantly transported back to the cafeteria in 2nd grade where I had no one to talk to, a horribly mean teacher on duty and I just wanted to be in the safety of Mommy's arms.
But I also have some memories that continue to baffle me. Like, why was it necessary to tell me to "Do something with myself" when she thought my appearance wasn't acceptable? Or point out how drab my hair was hanging straight down (um, that was the style of the decade, Mom!)? Did she think she was being helpful when she pointed out how much weight I had gained and brought home diet pills? Or lost.....and encouraged me to eat something. Or insisted that I read something for fun instead of my chosen materials and tossed a Danielle Steele novel in my lap. (That may have actually been the time she verbalized that she didn't understand me.) I am still puzzled by why she left me to be driven home from dancing school by the teacher (who stopped in a bar while I sat in the car waiting for her to return) when we only lived 2 miles away. Or the reason behind my always needing to bug my friends for rides home from musical rehearsals. She seemed disappointed that I didn't go into nursing like she and my sisters before me had. I think back to coming home after my freshman year of college and wonder why my roommates parents had to bring me home when we had two perfectly good cars at home? Our tastes and perceptions of fashion were never on the same plane. Still aren't. She still offers me clothing I won't wear and seems exasperated when I say, "Thanks, but that's really not me." And that's not to say I have an astounding sense of fashion. My whole closet could be featured on What Not to Wear.
I am deeply ashamed to admit that there have been periods in my life where I found it difficult to buy her a Mother's Day or birthday card. First of all, I hate the rhyming, sing songy kinds of cards. If I find my head wagging back and forth while I read it, it instantly goes back into the rack. The sentiments on Mom cards are either sappy sweet or stupidly humorous-intended. And I didn't FEEL all those saccharine things I was reading. I always felt guilty because she would get beautiful cards from my sisters with heartfelt sentiments about being a wonderful Mom and I wasn't feeling it.
And yet the night before I moved to central Pennsylvania to start my first real job, I found her sobbing into a towel in the bathroom. I was stunned. I had no idea she felt that close to me. And I was even more surprised how homesick I was and how much I missed her when I did move away.
In some ways, not much has changed in the ensuing years . I have often felt that I have disappointed or caused her disgust in some of my actions, my parenting, my career choices. But I think it comes down to having two different personalities who cannot fully comprehend each other.
I finally gained a bit of insight when I went to an Psychodrama Intensive 4 years ago. This is a 5 day training for helping professionals to learn how to bring healing to clients through the use of psychodrama. I had managed to successfully avoid acting out my own psychodrama until the last day when they announced that anyone who had not yet been the main character, had to do that to finish the training. Greeeaaaaatttt. Thanks alot! So somehow, as much as I tried to sidestep the issue, the Mom/Daughter relationship came bubbling out. Embarrassed, sobbing, and spent, I ended the day with a glimmer of what my mom's side of our story might be. And it was humbling. But it didn't change it. Hopefully it changed me a bit.
Our relationship has changed in some practical ways. She resides in an assisted living facility and my sisters and I take turns on a bi-monthly rotation to tend to some of her custodial needs and get her out and about for some recreational/social experiences. It is strange to be doing things for her that she once did for me. I am happy to be doing them, but I worry about how she feels needing the assistance. Prior to entering the facility, she had several emergency room trips and, being the closest geographically at the time at 2 1/2 hours away, I was the one who made the trip. I will never forget the hours sitting in the ERs with her, hoping, praying that she was going to be ok. And trying to figure out what I would do if she wasn't. It wasn't all that easy to be emotionally detached anymore.
Yesterday was Mother's Day. I was in the process of getting ready to go pick her up for a lovely Mother's Day Buffet when I got the call that she had fallen. Again. The 4th time in 2 weeks. So we spent the bulk of the day in the ER where thankfully, the CAT scan was negative. Again. But when I look at the large bumps on her head and the countless and merging purple bruises on her face, I not only feel a physical shot of pain, but my heart breaks as well. And I think to myself that I wish I could take those bumps and bruises on myself so she wouldn't hurt. And feel frustrated with herself for falling asleep again and falling. And so it seems, I have become the parent. (One of them, anyway - I know my sisters feel the same) And we are all worried about what the next bump or fall may bring.
Oh, my mother continues to share her opinions, thoughts and what she believes to be constructive criticisms. But now, given her age, and our hopefully evolved relationship, I hope that I shoulder them a little better. Some of them even make me chuckle. Like yesterday when I stated that I have been called "aloof, a snob, and unapproachable" she didn't hesitate to say, "Well you have been! The whole family thinks so!" And recently I was recounting a memory about my Dad's family, she completely dispelled it, and said she never knew of anything like that. Then she added, "Well, Sally, if you feel you need to embellish your family history to make it interesting, go ahead!" And I was informed quite emphatically the other night, that they were "all" (I'm not sure who all of "they" were) trying to push me into being a doctor or a physician's assistant but I would have none of it. I only remember being strongly guided toward a career in nursing. I sometimes feel frustrated that she cannot remember details about our history because she is our last remaining link to the past. I want to know things that I may never learn. And apparently I don't recall things accurately! :)
Recently I found my mom's diary from before I was born. I am the 4th of 5 daughters. I was taken aback by the entries she had written expressing her hope that she was pregnant. With me! And, how happy she was when she found out that she was. What I also gleaned from reading the few entries she had the time to write was what a giving person she was. I have always known my mom to be a social butterfly. (Which also explains a lot about the strain in our relationship since I am an introvert and small talk and less involved social engagement is a struggle for me) But I hadn't realized how much she went out of her way for other people. It seemed that she and my dad were always entertaining family and friends, and she often "baked them a cake." When I think about how she is today, wanting to give her granchildren or great grandchildren a little something, or keeping her candy dish full so that she can offer some to the staff at her residence, it only makes sense. She genuinely thinks of others alot. Laughably, what she thinks about others is sometimes expressed a little too loudly.
As I have grown older, I find myself becoming a little more like her in some ways. I cry at movies and Hallmark commercials. We used to watch her during tender moments on TV to see if she was crying.....my kids will do that now; and make fun of me just the way we did her. She has always asked us "when are you coming home?" I am constantly longing to see/hear more of my kids.
I wish I could turn back time. I long to make up for those times when I was less than gracious, unappreciative, a pain in the neck. You know, when I was a snob, aloof! :) I know she truly appreciates the things we do for her these days. But I don't feel like it will ever be enough.
Happy Mother's Day, Mom! I love you!
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
One is the _________est number.....
The 3 Dog Night song is such a comforting little ditty - screaming out "One is the loneliest number that you'll ever do!!" and by some misfortune has been ringing in my head for the past several days. It started Friday night when my dinner plans with a friend fell through and I didn't feel like cooking for myself. I seriously contemplated going to Hoss's and just getting a decent, relatively reasonable meal and going home. But then I thought of all the times I enter a restaurant and the host/hostess looks at me and says, "JUST one?" Even when I initate and say "one" - they often respond with "JUST one?" Um yeah - unless you are going to start counting my various moods and personalities. Then we need a whole freakin banquet room! I really don't mind eating out alone...usually, but on Friday I was in the mood for some company. So better to go home than be "just one." So I breezed through the drive through of the KFC for some KGC and headed home with the dang song in my head.
Actually, one is not the loneliest number that I'll ever do. What IS the loneliest number is being 1 of 10, or 25 or 100 but not being noticed, acknowledged, appreciated. But I've moaned and complained about that before so I won't do it again. At least not in this post.
Someone commented to me recently "I am my own best friend!" He went on to discuss how he never has to guess what he is thinking, doesn't hold a grudge against himself, doesn't get into arguments with himself (wish I could say that of me), and doesn't have to worry if he's going to laugh at his jokes. Pretty good approach, I think.
So tonight I decided once again that maybe I would head to Hoss's since I went to Jazzercise and I felt like a good healthy non-carb meal as a reward for all that sweating. (Ironically as I type I am eating cheese and some very very deliciously starchy crackers that make my inner carb monster VERY happy). Fortunately the hostess did not say "JUST one?" It was a good start. I could now get very tangential and become a food critic because there was much I could comment on....but I won't. And the service was good, so I'll save my customer service (pro and con) rant for another day as well.
Being "one" in a busy restaurant allows one to become more of a people watcher, since there is nobody sitting across the table talking, eating and actually keeping me company. I get to see the gambit of the parental spectrum - from the people who pretty much ignore their kids and let them run amok, to the ones who think their child is the cutest, smartest, most endearing kid in the place and want everyone else to know it. No thanks...on both counts. I also get to observe the older couples who seem to still be really into each other.....and those who can't seem to stand each other. I get a kick out of trying to figure out what people might be on a date. (Note - if anyone were to take me on a date to Hoss's, there would be no subsequent dates. This is not a date-worthy place in this girl's book - just sayin'.)
Tonight I was really blessed because though I did not have an active conversation taking place at my table, but I could hear much of a conversation distinctly from some of my fellow diners. Two rows over. I couldn't hear the people at the table right next to me.....or the one in front of me, which incidentally had 2 children at it, but oh baby, I could hear the guy halfway across the room. Ok - maybe not the WHOLE room, but certainly across my section. I had to chuckle because the sound of it was much like what I might hear in the dialogue of The Big Bang Theory. And the girl had the most abyssmal mastication manners I think I've ever seen. (And boy have I seen some - particularly recently at Wegman's - I could probably do a whole blog post on people's horrible table manners - like anyone would care to read it) I am reminded of Michael Caine's line in Miss Congeniality, when he told Sandra Bullock he couldn't understand her with that "half masticated cow rolling around in your wide open trap." Wow. That's all I can say. Yes, table manners and etiquette are as big a pet peeve with me as is poor grammar. And by the way, since I've made a BBT reference, let me say that these two beings would fit well within the cast in appearance as well. Don't get me wrong, I love Sheldon and friends, I'm just trying to give context. So part of the conversation was about some books. I'm gonna go out on a limb here and guess The Hunger Games. Because isn't that what everyone is talking about? So the guys say something to the effect of, "I read the first one. And it didn't grip me like it did everyone else, so I wasn't ravenous for the second one." I would love to be able to tell you what her answer was...... but she was chewing. Later in the conversation he posited that the story was quite truncated. But I think he really captured her heart and mind when he described how thin her hair is. You know it's true, Ladies - that's what we wanna hear! Ignore those Prell commercials from days of yore.....waiting forever for the pearl to drop.....or anything nowadays that entices us to more volume, more shine......we want the guy in our life to desribe for us what we don't want to accept - that we have dull, lifeless, boring hair!
Thankfully, their departure took place about midway through my meal. And as they got up to leave, I realized why this guy looked familiar to me.......I know him! Well, not really. I know who he is, because I have seen him on stage. He wouldn't know me from a hole in the ground. Besides, he would probably think I was quite truncated.
So one is not really the loneliest number that you'll ever do.....
one is the ________________ what? I guess you could fill in the blanks any number of ways.....
One is the observantest number?
One is the annoyedest number?
One is the entertainedest number?
Or Emily Postest?
Or interestingest?
Amusedest?
Probably different for different people in different situations. Tonight for me, One was the incredulousest number.
At least it wasn't boring.
Actually, one is not the loneliest number that I'll ever do. What IS the loneliest number is being 1 of 10, or 25 or 100 but not being noticed, acknowledged, appreciated. But I've moaned and complained about that before so I won't do it again. At least not in this post.
Someone commented to me recently "I am my own best friend!" He went on to discuss how he never has to guess what he is thinking, doesn't hold a grudge against himself, doesn't get into arguments with himself (wish I could say that of me), and doesn't have to worry if he's going to laugh at his jokes. Pretty good approach, I think.
So tonight I decided once again that maybe I would head to Hoss's since I went to Jazzercise and I felt like a good healthy non-carb meal as a reward for all that sweating. (Ironically as I type I am eating cheese and some very very deliciously starchy crackers that make my inner carb monster VERY happy). Fortunately the hostess did not say "JUST one?" It was a good start. I could now get very tangential and become a food critic because there was much I could comment on....but I won't. And the service was good, so I'll save my customer service (pro and con) rant for another day as well.
Being "one" in a busy restaurant allows one to become more of a people watcher, since there is nobody sitting across the table talking, eating and actually keeping me company. I get to see the gambit of the parental spectrum - from the people who pretty much ignore their kids and let them run amok, to the ones who think their child is the cutest, smartest, most endearing kid in the place and want everyone else to know it. No thanks...on both counts. I also get to observe the older couples who seem to still be really into each other.....and those who can't seem to stand each other. I get a kick out of trying to figure out what people might be on a date. (Note - if anyone were to take me on a date to Hoss's, there would be no subsequent dates. This is not a date-worthy place in this girl's book - just sayin'.)
Tonight I was really blessed because though I did not have an active conversation taking place at my table, but I could hear much of a conversation distinctly from some of my fellow diners. Two rows over. I couldn't hear the people at the table right next to me.....or the one in front of me, which incidentally had 2 children at it, but oh baby, I could hear the guy halfway across the room. Ok - maybe not the WHOLE room, but certainly across my section. I had to chuckle because the sound of it was much like what I might hear in the dialogue of The Big Bang Theory. And the girl had the most abyssmal mastication manners I think I've ever seen. (And boy have I seen some - particularly recently at Wegman's - I could probably do a whole blog post on people's horrible table manners - like anyone would care to read it) I am reminded of Michael Caine's line in Miss Congeniality, when he told Sandra Bullock he couldn't understand her with that "half masticated cow rolling around in your wide open trap." Wow. That's all I can say. Yes, table manners and etiquette are as big a pet peeve with me as is poor grammar. And by the way, since I've made a BBT reference, let me say that these two beings would fit well within the cast in appearance as well. Don't get me wrong, I love Sheldon and friends, I'm just trying to give context. So part of the conversation was about some books. I'm gonna go out on a limb here and guess The Hunger Games. Because isn't that what everyone is talking about? So the guys say something to the effect of, "I read the first one. And it didn't grip me like it did everyone else, so I wasn't ravenous for the second one." I would love to be able to tell you what her answer was...... but she was chewing. Later in the conversation he posited that the story was quite truncated. But I think he really captured her heart and mind when he described how thin her hair is. You know it's true, Ladies - that's what we wanna hear! Ignore those Prell commercials from days of yore.....waiting forever for the pearl to drop.....or anything nowadays that entices us to more volume, more shine......we want the guy in our life to desribe for us what we don't want to accept - that we have dull, lifeless, boring hair!
Thankfully, their departure took place about midway through my meal. And as they got up to leave, I realized why this guy looked familiar to me.......I know him! Well, not really. I know who he is, because I have seen him on stage. He wouldn't know me from a hole in the ground. Besides, he would probably think I was quite truncated.
So one is not really the loneliest number that you'll ever do.....
one is the ________________ what? I guess you could fill in the blanks any number of ways.....
One is the observantest number?
One is the annoyedest number?
One is the entertainedest number?
Or Emily Postest?
Or interestingest?
Amusedest?
Probably different for different people in different situations. Tonight for me, One was the incredulousest number.
At least it wasn't boring.
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Held Together By a Paperclip
Did you ever feel like some aspect of your life was being held together by something as small, untrustworthy, and awkward as a paperclip? Like, your temper? Your health? Your family? Your finances? Your career? Your mental health? How about your wardrobe?
Yeah - that last one was supposed to be in there. And of course, there's a story.
Last week I was running behind (now there's some news!) trying to get my tookus into town and see some clients. You'd think that since I really don't have anything else going on in my life in terms of activities, I'd be able to allot myself ample time to drive to Pixley from this lovely hamlet of Hooterville (if you don't understand that reference, you are way too young), dodge students randomly crossing the street in front of me even when they clearly have the big red hand on their "walk" lights, get the car parked and get down to the office. Before the clients do, that is. But as is typical I was, as I said, running behind. Probably due to the competitor in me not being able to leave behind a game of Words With Friends before I made a stellar move. But I digress. So I am under the gun, and trying to find some clothes that fit. (And that's another story.) So I grabbed a camisole top I received for Christmas but have never tried on, threw on my oh so stylish (read approximately 8 years old) blouse over top of it and a pair of pants. .....only to find that the cami is rather large and because of it, rather more revealing than anything my clients would have the stomach for. So I set about scavenging for safety pins to shorten the "straps" thereby covering regions needing cover. I found one safety pin quite easily - it was on top of the refrigerator. OF COURSE IT WAS! Because that's where safety pins belong, isn't it? Don't even ask. I thought the other one was on the coffee table - the second most logical place for a safety pin, as you know. Nope - not there. As the big hand on the clock was creeping ever more steadily to the point of ridiculously late, I grabbed the only thing I could find which was.....you guessed it - a paper clip! Clipped that baby right up, threw the blouse back on and hightailed it to town. I don't THINK I ran over any students on my way up College Avenue. I wish I could put my "Get out of my way - I'm in a huge hurry" face onto the hood of my car. Maybe it would help. Probably not. So I squeal into the parking garage and make my way to the office building, in the door, up to the office, turn on the lights, unlock the closet so that my necessary supplies are at hand, and go back down to the door to let the clients in. And all the while I'm thinking, my clothes are held together with a paper clip. I wonder if they can tell? The session begins and I'm doing my job but a little voice inside my head is saying "look at you all calm and smiley - you're being held together by a paperclip!!! They think you have the answers....you look all professional (well not really - not in THAT outfit) and wise - and YOU'RE BEING HELD TOGETHER BY A PAPERCLIP!!" It's an annoying little voice, actually.
But that's not the end of it. I grabbed that same shirt the next night to change into because I had a dinner date after a meeting. You'd think that I would have taken time that day to 1. stitch the shirt into an acceptable position. 2. throw it in the dryer to shrink it 3. find the other stupid safety pin. 4. gotten out the duct tape. But NOOOOOO. I went out to dinner still being held together by a paper clip!
In the aftermath of those little events I got to thinking that life sometimes feels like that's all that's holding us together, doesn't it?
I have a friend who is battling breast cancer. I bet she feels like that sometimes. Despite the countless prayers and encouragement she is receiving from family and friends and her very strong faith, I can't help but wonder if she feels like she is relying on a teensy little piece of metal to get her through.
There are people whose plates are so full and the stress and the rage are boiling very close to the surface. Angry words are spoken, feelings are hurt, damage is done. Enough temper there to melt something so insignificant as a paper clip.
Someone comes close to losing their job over misconstrued interpretations and every attempt to address the problem becomes a further descent into a muddy pit. The devastation and discouragement are barely held at bay and fear is creeping in and grabbing hold.
You can probably think of lots of things families encounter. Marriages where there is no love left, if it ever was there in the first place. Kids with behavior problems. Caring for elderly or ill parents. A loved one struggling with mental illness. Coming home with the pink slip. Even a surprise invoice from the mechanic. Any number of things can make us feel like we are just one paper clip away from disintegrating into a million pieces.
And we press on. Trying to look cool, calm and collected in our spiffy blouses and snazzy suits with carefully coiffed heads and manicures - or whatever speaks "I've got this - I'm good" to each one of us......and trying to smile and be positive, because we are told that nobody likes to be around negative people......and we are hoping that nobody else can see our paper clip.
I really like the thoughts of a couple therapists I know.
One said "We enter this life screaming from the womb and we enter the grave still screaming. And somewhere in between we try to find a way to do some good, to make a difference." (to avoid any hint of plagiarism, that is a paraphrase of what he said and I don't even know if it was his original thought, so be gentle with me).
The other one said, (again, probably a paraphrase from someone else) "This life is like a big pasture. And we are here to help each other stay out of the cow plops."
I say, it's ok that you're having a paper clip day. But if you need me to, I'll find your other safety pin. And set your clock 15 minutes ahead for you. Because most likely, I need someone to do the same for me.
Yeah - that last one was supposed to be in there. And of course, there's a story.
Last week I was running behind (now there's some news!) trying to get my tookus into town and see some clients. You'd think that since I really don't have anything else going on in my life in terms of activities, I'd be able to allot myself ample time to drive to Pixley from this lovely hamlet of Hooterville (if you don't understand that reference, you are way too young), dodge students randomly crossing the street in front of me even when they clearly have the big red hand on their "walk" lights, get the car parked and get down to the office. Before the clients do, that is. But as is typical I was, as I said, running behind. Probably due to the competitor in me not being able to leave behind a game of Words With Friends before I made a stellar move. But I digress. So I am under the gun, and trying to find some clothes that fit. (And that's another story.) So I grabbed a camisole top I received for Christmas but have never tried on, threw on my oh so stylish (read approximately 8 years old) blouse over top of it and a pair of pants. .....only to find that the cami is rather large and because of it, rather more revealing than anything my clients would have the stomach for. So I set about scavenging for safety pins to shorten the "straps" thereby covering regions needing cover. I found one safety pin quite easily - it was on top of the refrigerator. OF COURSE IT WAS! Because that's where safety pins belong, isn't it? Don't even ask. I thought the other one was on the coffee table - the second most logical place for a safety pin, as you know. Nope - not there. As the big hand on the clock was creeping ever more steadily to the point of ridiculously late, I grabbed the only thing I could find which was.....you guessed it - a paper clip! Clipped that baby right up, threw the blouse back on and hightailed it to town. I don't THINK I ran over any students on my way up College Avenue. I wish I could put my "Get out of my way - I'm in a huge hurry" face onto the hood of my car. Maybe it would help. Probably not. So I squeal into the parking garage and make my way to the office building, in the door, up to the office, turn on the lights, unlock the closet so that my necessary supplies are at hand, and go back down to the door to let the clients in. And all the while I'm thinking, my clothes are held together with a paper clip. I wonder if they can tell? The session begins and I'm doing my job but a little voice inside my head is saying "look at you all calm and smiley - you're being held together by a paperclip!!! They think you have the answers....you look all professional (well not really - not in THAT outfit) and wise - and YOU'RE BEING HELD TOGETHER BY A PAPERCLIP!!" It's an annoying little voice, actually.
But that's not the end of it. I grabbed that same shirt the next night to change into because I had a dinner date after a meeting. You'd think that I would have taken time that day to 1. stitch the shirt into an acceptable position. 2. throw it in the dryer to shrink it 3. find the other stupid safety pin. 4. gotten out the duct tape. But NOOOOOO. I went out to dinner still being held together by a paper clip!
In the aftermath of those little events I got to thinking that life sometimes feels like that's all that's holding us together, doesn't it?
I have a friend who is battling breast cancer. I bet she feels like that sometimes. Despite the countless prayers and encouragement she is receiving from family and friends and her very strong faith, I can't help but wonder if she feels like she is relying on a teensy little piece of metal to get her through.
There are people whose plates are so full and the stress and the rage are boiling very close to the surface. Angry words are spoken, feelings are hurt, damage is done. Enough temper there to melt something so insignificant as a paper clip.
Someone comes close to losing their job over misconstrued interpretations and every attempt to address the problem becomes a further descent into a muddy pit. The devastation and discouragement are barely held at bay and fear is creeping in and grabbing hold.
You can probably think of lots of things families encounter. Marriages where there is no love left, if it ever was there in the first place. Kids with behavior problems. Caring for elderly or ill parents. A loved one struggling with mental illness. Coming home with the pink slip. Even a surprise invoice from the mechanic. Any number of things can make us feel like we are just one paper clip away from disintegrating into a million pieces.
And we press on. Trying to look cool, calm and collected in our spiffy blouses and snazzy suits with carefully coiffed heads and manicures - or whatever speaks "I've got this - I'm good" to each one of us......and trying to smile and be positive, because we are told that nobody likes to be around negative people......and we are hoping that nobody else can see our paper clip.
I really like the thoughts of a couple therapists I know.
One said "We enter this life screaming from the womb and we enter the grave still screaming. And somewhere in between we try to find a way to do some good, to make a difference." (to avoid any hint of plagiarism, that is a paraphrase of what he said and I don't even know if it was his original thought, so be gentle with me).
The other one said, (again, probably a paraphrase from someone else) "This life is like a big pasture. And we are here to help each other stay out of the cow plops."
I say, it's ok that you're having a paper clip day. But if you need me to, I'll find your other safety pin. And set your clock 15 minutes ahead for you. Because most likely, I need someone to do the same for me.
Saturday, February 18, 2012
Please Prove That You Are Not a Robot. ????
Recently when I tried to post a comment on a friend's blog, the prompt to enter the coded word was presented with the phrase "Please prove you are not a robot." Really? Hmmm there are oh so many ways I think I can do that!
My first thought was, well first and foremost, I CAN'T DO MATH!!! That's not entirely true- I'm not dumb, but math concepts do take a bit more from me than other subjects. Robots, on the other hand, experience very little stress when doing math. They probably even like it. If they could feel. More about that later.
Robots don't mind doing housework. Big difference there.
How many robots have a Facebook page? Hmmm? Ok - so maybe I am a little too attached to my Facebook activities. But it's the best way I have of seeing pictures of my granddaughter. Which begs the point that robots don't have grandchildren. Or even children! Which means they don't have gray hair either. Do they even have hair? But I digress....I was talking about Facebook addictions. Robots don't have addictions - so they can't know the joy of chocolate either. I'll just leave it at that one.
Robots don't have fun. Do they? I mean, how often did Rosie kick up her heels on the Jetsons? Heck - Rosie didn't even HAVE heels! She had wheels. I for one never saw her kick up her wheels. No amusement park adrenalin for a robot. Or building sandcastles. Might clog up the gears. A robot can't possibly have the rush I feel when I absolutely smear an opponent in Words With Friends or Taboo.
And then there are culinary delights. Or disgusts. No robot would share my disdain for the pungent smell and taste of liver, nor my dreamy-eyed infatuation with a really good truffle. Or my near worship experience of the prime rib at The Tavern restaurant. Or knee melting phenomenon of the chocolate mousse. Or the anticipation of German cinnamon roasted almonds at summer fairs. Perhaps I shouldn't have left the addictions paragraph so soon. Suffice it to say, robots don't care about food. And I probably care too much. Let the chips fall where they may, I'll be a human. (Did somebody say chips? With French onion dip? mmmmmm)
I get tired, pick up viruses (how attractive), bleed and burp. I try not to do the latter in public. I sleep, read, shop, celebrate holidays and marvel over creation.
I have faith. I have doubts. I have a soul.
I have a family.
But the biggest difference I sense lately between a robot and me is the feelings factor.
Ah feelings. Yes, I've blogged about them before....but they are probably the main reason I can prove I am not a robot. Like right at this very moment - I am experiencing a wide range of feelings about losing out on a part in a show I was very excited to accept when offered. But it seems the rehearsal schedule won't accommodate my only evening of working to try and make money. I cannot change my contracted office time. But I need the income that those evenings bring - albeit a meager amount at times. So I am sad and frustrated. Feeling like I'm losing out. Probably a little angry. Sort of confused as well because I know there are other cast members who work certain evenings who are somehow managing to stay in the cast.
There are many people in my life whom I would say I love. And some of them even love me in return. Even better, some know how to speak my love language(s). Of course the flip side of love is when you feel rather unloved. Have had my share of that too. But maybe we need those experiences to make the love we do receive sweeter and more appreciated.
I have been deeply hurt and have shared the hurts of others. It might seem preferable to be a robot at those times, but in the long run, given the choice I would choose this human condition. I think. Ask me on a day when I'm not hurting.
I love to laugh. You may be able to program a robot to laugh, but they won't mean it. It won't come from the gut. They don't even have guts. Just wires and circuits. I can prove I am not a robot because when I have occasion to laugh, it is a throw the head back, gurgling up from the inside kind of laugh that I cannot contain. Which can cause a problem in some situations - like getting church giggles. Aren't they horrible? And yet wonderful at the same time?
I become completely absorbed in cheering for the Steelers. And I am devastated when they lose - especially big games. (Thanks a lot, Tim Tebow!) As with laughing, you may get a robot to cheer for your team, but it will be hollow and devoid of passion and loyalty.
It is actually a little scary living in a world that is becoming more and more like the Jetsons. How ridiculous it seemed to watch things like video chats. And talking to a machine and having it obey our commands. (Well, the woman inside my phone who is supposed to do what I ask aside - I think she is deficient in some way.) Watching my son tell his phone to send me a text message and having my phone brrriinnnngggg with that very message in a matter of seconds did freak me out, I've gotta tell you. But I'll really be unnerved when he jumps into his hover car to travel in midair through traffic to get someplace.
Next time I'm asked to prove I'm not a robot, I'm not sure if I'll accomplish that by bleeding, laughing, eating chocolate or chips, throwing a temper tantrum or throwing a party. But I will definitely try to make my proof beyond a reasonable doubt!
My first thought was, well first and foremost, I CAN'T DO MATH!!! That's not entirely true- I'm not dumb, but math concepts do take a bit more from me than other subjects. Robots, on the other hand, experience very little stress when doing math. They probably even like it. If they could feel. More about that later.
Robots don't mind doing housework. Big difference there.
How many robots have a Facebook page? Hmmm? Ok - so maybe I am a little too attached to my Facebook activities. But it's the best way I have of seeing pictures of my granddaughter. Which begs the point that robots don't have grandchildren. Or even children! Which means they don't have gray hair either. Do they even have hair? But I digress....I was talking about Facebook addictions. Robots don't have addictions - so they can't know the joy of chocolate either. I'll just leave it at that one.
Robots don't have fun. Do they? I mean, how often did Rosie kick up her heels on the Jetsons? Heck - Rosie didn't even HAVE heels! She had wheels. I for one never saw her kick up her wheels. No amusement park adrenalin for a robot. Or building sandcastles. Might clog up the gears. A robot can't possibly have the rush I feel when I absolutely smear an opponent in Words With Friends or Taboo.
And then there are culinary delights. Or disgusts. No robot would share my disdain for the pungent smell and taste of liver, nor my dreamy-eyed infatuation with a really good truffle. Or my near worship experience of the prime rib at The Tavern restaurant. Or knee melting phenomenon of the chocolate mousse. Or the anticipation of German cinnamon roasted almonds at summer fairs. Perhaps I shouldn't have left the addictions paragraph so soon. Suffice it to say, robots don't care about food. And I probably care too much. Let the chips fall where they may, I'll be a human. (Did somebody say chips? With French onion dip? mmmmmm)
I get tired, pick up viruses (how attractive), bleed and burp. I try not to do the latter in public. I sleep, read, shop, celebrate holidays and marvel over creation.
I have faith. I have doubts. I have a soul.
I have a family.
But the biggest difference I sense lately between a robot and me is the feelings factor.
Ah feelings. Yes, I've blogged about them before....but they are probably the main reason I can prove I am not a robot. Like right at this very moment - I am experiencing a wide range of feelings about losing out on a part in a show I was very excited to accept when offered. But it seems the rehearsal schedule won't accommodate my only evening of working to try and make money. I cannot change my contracted office time. But I need the income that those evenings bring - albeit a meager amount at times. So I am sad and frustrated. Feeling like I'm losing out. Probably a little angry. Sort of confused as well because I know there are other cast members who work certain evenings who are somehow managing to stay in the cast.
There are many people in my life whom I would say I love. And some of them even love me in return. Even better, some know how to speak my love language(s). Of course the flip side of love is when you feel rather unloved. Have had my share of that too. But maybe we need those experiences to make the love we do receive sweeter and more appreciated.
I have been deeply hurt and have shared the hurts of others. It might seem preferable to be a robot at those times, but in the long run, given the choice I would choose this human condition. I think. Ask me on a day when I'm not hurting.
I love to laugh. You may be able to program a robot to laugh, but they won't mean it. It won't come from the gut. They don't even have guts. Just wires and circuits. I can prove I am not a robot because when I have occasion to laugh, it is a throw the head back, gurgling up from the inside kind of laugh that I cannot contain. Which can cause a problem in some situations - like getting church giggles. Aren't they horrible? And yet wonderful at the same time?
I become completely absorbed in cheering for the Steelers. And I am devastated when they lose - especially big games. (Thanks a lot, Tim Tebow!) As with laughing, you may get a robot to cheer for your team, but it will be hollow and devoid of passion and loyalty.
It is actually a little scary living in a world that is becoming more and more like the Jetsons. How ridiculous it seemed to watch things like video chats. And talking to a machine and having it obey our commands. (Well, the woman inside my phone who is supposed to do what I ask aside - I think she is deficient in some way.) Watching my son tell his phone to send me a text message and having my phone brrriinnnngggg with that very message in a matter of seconds did freak me out, I've gotta tell you. But I'll really be unnerved when he jumps into his hover car to travel in midair through traffic to get someplace.
Next time I'm asked to prove I'm not a robot, I'm not sure if I'll accomplish that by bleeding, laughing, eating chocolate or chips, throwing a temper tantrum or throwing a party. But I will definitely try to make my proof beyond a reasonable doubt!
Thursday, January 19, 2012
Burnt Cabbage and Insomnia
Lately I have been getting awake in the middle of the night and cannot get back to sleep for at least an hour. It's been quite aggravating really and it's kind of a chicken and egg thing as to what wakes me up. Or keeps me from getting back to sleep. Whatever the cause and effect of the annoying bouts of insomnia, the end result is terrible difficulty dragging my derrierre out of the sack in the morning.
Sometimes it's the dog needing to go out. Sometimes it's a personal tropical meltdown. Last night, I'm not sure if it was the cause of the awakening or the cause of the point of no return to sleep, but the situation was that my house reeked of burnt cabbage. It's a pretty pungent smell. I'm thinking of recommending it to Yankee Candle for their newest line. No wimpy floral fragrance there. Why, you may be asking, did my house smell like burnt cabbage? Well.....because I .....burned the cabbage. and the rest of what I was cooking for that matter. I used to be a really good cook. My undergraduate degree was housed in the department of Foods and Nutrition. But I was......distracted. (See previous post) I was working on some paperwork and figured that since the meat was still frozen I had some time before I needed to check on the conglomeration I had thrown in together that would soon be called dinner. So yeah - last night part of my reason for not getting back to sleep was the cabbage.
Other nights it's a song that runs endlessly through my head. Even while I am sleeping. I wake up with it running over and over and over again. It's a lovely little song really, sung in Hebrew, that I had the pleasure of performing with The Accidental Chorists last Tuesday night. The show is over but the song keeps playing. And keeps me from sleeping peacefully.
Once I am awake, be it from burnt cabbage smells, the songs that never end, personal summers or the dog, my mind begins to race and jump from one thing to another. Like my latest move in a Words With Friends game......or that song still playing in my head.....or the endless to do list. Or sometimes I worry.
I worry about getting a job. Or my mother's health. Or that someone very dear to me may not return to their faith. Or that I have very little retirement banked. Or the bills. Or alien abduction. Yes, believe it or not, that thought crosses my mind. I have a friend who tells me that one time when he was house/dog sitting during our absence, he believes he was abducted by aliens. Right from my apartment! I live in a different place and have a different dog, but what if it was really me and not him they wanted? Is that why they brought him back? And when will they come for me?
I second guess interactions I've had with people. Was I too engrossed in a pity/petty party? Did I say something offensive? Did I have broccoli in my teeth? There have been so many times with an organization I do some volunteeer work and I walk to my car thinking "Geez - once again I have stuck both feet in my mouth!" Perhaps you are wondering how one can walk to the car with both feet firmly planted in one's mouth? Trust me, it takes talent. How sad is it that the measure of success of an evening is "Oh good - I didn't say anything stupid or tick somebody off tonight" ????
I try to pray. I try to do deep breathing. I try to count backwards slowly from 100 but my mind wanders back to all those other thoughts. I've never been very good with math. I guess this situation is no exception.
Maybe I'll just take up stargazing. Or in the case of tonight, counting snowflakes.
Sometimes it's the dog needing to go out. Sometimes it's a personal tropical meltdown. Last night, I'm not sure if it was the cause of the awakening or the cause of the point of no return to sleep, but the situation was that my house reeked of burnt cabbage. It's a pretty pungent smell. I'm thinking of recommending it to Yankee Candle for their newest line. No wimpy floral fragrance there. Why, you may be asking, did my house smell like burnt cabbage? Well.....because I .....burned the cabbage. and the rest of what I was cooking for that matter. I used to be a really good cook. My undergraduate degree was housed in the department of Foods and Nutrition. But I was......distracted. (See previous post) I was working on some paperwork and figured that since the meat was still frozen I had some time before I needed to check on the conglomeration I had thrown in together that would soon be called dinner. So yeah - last night part of my reason for not getting back to sleep was the cabbage.
Other nights it's a song that runs endlessly through my head. Even while I am sleeping. I wake up with it running over and over and over again. It's a lovely little song really, sung in Hebrew, that I had the pleasure of performing with The Accidental Chorists last Tuesday night. The show is over but the song keeps playing. And keeps me from sleeping peacefully.
Once I am awake, be it from burnt cabbage smells, the songs that never end, personal summers or the dog, my mind begins to race and jump from one thing to another. Like my latest move in a Words With Friends game......or that song still playing in my head.....or the endless to do list. Or sometimes I worry.
I worry about getting a job. Or my mother's health. Or that someone very dear to me may not return to their faith. Or that I have very little retirement banked. Or the bills. Or alien abduction. Yes, believe it or not, that thought crosses my mind. I have a friend who tells me that one time when he was house/dog sitting during our absence, he believes he was abducted by aliens. Right from my apartment! I live in a different place and have a different dog, but what if it was really me and not him they wanted? Is that why they brought him back? And when will they come for me?
I second guess interactions I've had with people. Was I too engrossed in a pity/petty party? Did I say something offensive? Did I have broccoli in my teeth? There have been so many times with an organization I do some volunteeer work and I walk to my car thinking "Geez - once again I have stuck both feet in my mouth!" Perhaps you are wondering how one can walk to the car with both feet firmly planted in one's mouth? Trust me, it takes talent. How sad is it that the measure of success of an evening is "Oh good - I didn't say anything stupid or tick somebody off tonight" ????
I try to pray. I try to do deep breathing. I try to count backwards slowly from 100 but my mind wanders back to all those other thoughts. I've never been very good with math. I guess this situation is no exception.
Maybe I'll just take up stargazing. Or in the case of tonight, counting snowflakes.
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Foggy with a slight chance of sun.....
Frustrated. Despondent. Impressed. Uneasy. Guilty. Loved. Fearful. Happy. Sorrowful. Awestruck. Exasperated. Melancholy. Failure. Thankful. Hopeful. Hopeless. Itchy. Fat. Unmotivated. Distracted. Overwhelmed. Celebratory. Treasured. Ignored. Alone. Content. Confused.
I write this as the wind whips all around the outside of my little house, the TV is on mute as I await the opportunity to spot a former student in the audience of the Tonight Show. I have plugged in the lights that bedeck the Christmas tree still standing in my living room though it sheds a new batch of needles each day. One of the hardest things for me is taking the tree down. I look forward to it going up with such anticipation and become full of wonder when it does, but as the holiday season rushes past, I don't take as much time as I plan to enjoy the tree....or my Original Snow Village, or any of the other decorations that actually made it out of the bins this year. So I am attempting to find that sense of awe a few minutes longer this evening before the inevitable task is done later this week.
My holidays were wonderful this year. I was showered with love and lovely gifts on Christmas, took in 2 beautiful Christmas Eve services - one of which was especially meaningful in that it involved taking my mother to her own church where she was treated like the returning Queen Mother, the other was equally poignant - and full of well executed music on harp and organ with a fantastic choir and an inspiring message. Following that was the annual Christmas Family Fiasco with its usual laughter, great food, just enough drama and an 85th birthday celebration for Mom. New Year's Eve found me out for dinner, strolling through First Night and 2 - count 'em 2! New Year's Eve parties. The ensuing days provided time with my kids and their significant others and my new granddaughter. I really couldn't have asked for anything more.
So why then, is the list of seemingly contradictory feeling listed at the start of this blog only a small measure of what I have experienced in the past month? I've wondered a great deal lately where my brain as gone.
Some of my family and friends have decided that I have ADD. Some think I am depressed. Or it could be that I am not eating right. Or haven't found a church to put down roots. Or I do too much multi-tasking. I've been told to get rid of stress. (yeah right) Whatever the reason, the signs abound: My house is full of unfinished projects and plans. I get all motivated then find myself plopped on the couch watching the one-eyed monster. I have all kinds of intentions in the professional arena as well - spit-polishing the resume, applying for jobs (that don't exist) and continuing to build the practice. I promise myself that THIS IS REALLY GOING TO BE THE DAY that I take a walk, or get on the bike, or work on renewing my Y membership, or get back to Jazzercise. Or post my resume on CareerBuilder. Or refine the play that I wrote for the elementary drama club that I started a few years back . Or brush the dog. Or clean out emails. The list goes on and on. You'd think with all this unemployed time on my hands I would have conquered all this and solved world hunger to boot.
And the number of things on the list is only exceeded by the well meaning folks who give their input on what I need to do. or the catch phrases that are meant to inspire.....you know, the one-liner versions of a Tony Robbins seminar:
Today is the first day of the rest of your life!
Pull yourself up by your boot straps!
Just do it.
Look on the bright side!
Better days ahead.
Count your blessings.
Don't misunderstand - these are all wonderful sentiments. But sometimes they just don't cut the mustard. They are not enough of a butt kicking to get someone out of bed and get something done.
As I contemplated the host of feelings.....and to be sure - some of them are very positive times I've had......the thought occurred to me that I am currently in a state of not feeling like I have a purpose. It is purpose that makes our feet hit the floor in the morning. It is a sense of purpose that keeps us placing those feet one in front of the other through the mundane to be able to dance in the celebratory.
It is purpose that would provide me the ability to leave a Tides meeting and not feel incredibly alone and unimportant.
Having more of a purpose may lessen the sting of someone who claims I am their best friend yet has not picked up the phone to contact me NOR answer any of my texts or voicemails since I was furloughed.
Purpose would make my days seem less a swirling fog of barely a minor accomplishment and more of something about which to feel satisfied.
Purpose might even get my house cleaned up. Or a few pounds knocked off. Or at the very least, the Christmas decorations put away.
Perhaps I should dig out my copy of The Purpose Driven Life. But that brings to mind all the books I've promised myself I will finish before I start another one. And so it goes.
One of these days, hopefully in the near future, the list of feelings that began this post will be a bit brighter. One of these days, the weather report of my life will be a little sunnier. And then maybe I'll post a blog that is more appealing to read and that I'll actually hit the "share" button rather than the inconspicuous posting this one will receive.
I write this as the wind whips all around the outside of my little house, the TV is on mute as I await the opportunity to spot a former student in the audience of the Tonight Show. I have plugged in the lights that bedeck the Christmas tree still standing in my living room though it sheds a new batch of needles each day. One of the hardest things for me is taking the tree down. I look forward to it going up with such anticipation and become full of wonder when it does, but as the holiday season rushes past, I don't take as much time as I plan to enjoy the tree....or my Original Snow Village, or any of the other decorations that actually made it out of the bins this year. So I am attempting to find that sense of awe a few minutes longer this evening before the inevitable task is done later this week.
My holidays were wonderful this year. I was showered with love and lovely gifts on Christmas, took in 2 beautiful Christmas Eve services - one of which was especially meaningful in that it involved taking my mother to her own church where she was treated like the returning Queen Mother, the other was equally poignant - and full of well executed music on harp and organ with a fantastic choir and an inspiring message. Following that was the annual Christmas Family Fiasco with its usual laughter, great food, just enough drama and an 85th birthday celebration for Mom. New Year's Eve found me out for dinner, strolling through First Night and 2 - count 'em 2! New Year's Eve parties. The ensuing days provided time with my kids and their significant others and my new granddaughter. I really couldn't have asked for anything more.
So why then, is the list of seemingly contradictory feeling listed at the start of this blog only a small measure of what I have experienced in the past month? I've wondered a great deal lately where my brain as gone.
Some of my family and friends have decided that I have ADD. Some think I am depressed. Or it could be that I am not eating right. Or haven't found a church to put down roots. Or I do too much multi-tasking. I've been told to get rid of stress. (yeah right) Whatever the reason, the signs abound: My house is full of unfinished projects and plans. I get all motivated then find myself plopped on the couch watching the one-eyed monster. I have all kinds of intentions in the professional arena as well - spit-polishing the resume, applying for jobs (that don't exist) and continuing to build the practice. I promise myself that THIS IS REALLY GOING TO BE THE DAY that I take a walk, or get on the bike, or work on renewing my Y membership, or get back to Jazzercise. Or post my resume on CareerBuilder. Or refine the play that I wrote for the elementary drama club that I started a few years back . Or brush the dog. Or clean out emails. The list goes on and on. You'd think with all this unemployed time on my hands I would have conquered all this and solved world hunger to boot.
And the number of things on the list is only exceeded by the well meaning folks who give their input on what I need to do. or the catch phrases that are meant to inspire.....you know, the one-liner versions of a Tony Robbins seminar:
Today is the first day of the rest of your life!
Pull yourself up by your boot straps!
Just do it.
Look on the bright side!
Better days ahead.
Count your blessings.
Don't misunderstand - these are all wonderful sentiments. But sometimes they just don't cut the mustard. They are not enough of a butt kicking to get someone out of bed and get something done.
As I contemplated the host of feelings.....and to be sure - some of them are very positive times I've had......the thought occurred to me that I am currently in a state of not feeling like I have a purpose. It is purpose that makes our feet hit the floor in the morning. It is a sense of purpose that keeps us placing those feet one in front of the other through the mundane to be able to dance in the celebratory.
It is purpose that would provide me the ability to leave a Tides meeting and not feel incredibly alone and unimportant.
Having more of a purpose may lessen the sting of someone who claims I am their best friend yet has not picked up the phone to contact me NOR answer any of my texts or voicemails since I was furloughed.
Purpose would make my days seem less a swirling fog of barely a minor accomplishment and more of something about which to feel satisfied.
Purpose might even get my house cleaned up. Or a few pounds knocked off. Or at the very least, the Christmas decorations put away.
Perhaps I should dig out my copy of The Purpose Driven Life. But that brings to mind all the books I've promised myself I will finish before I start another one. And so it goes.
One of these days, hopefully in the near future, the list of feelings that began this post will be a bit brighter. One of these days, the weather report of my life will be a little sunnier. And then maybe I'll post a blog that is more appealing to read and that I'll actually hit the "share" button rather than the inconspicuous posting this one will receive.
Sunday, January 1, 2012
"Cleanup on Aisle 2011"
Happy New Year! I am sure I speak for many when I say that I do hope this is a happy new year- happier than last. I have always fancied myself a glass half full person - But at times I have had to admit that my glass just could be a heck of a lot fuller - especially when it comes to diet Coke and chocolate milkshakes!
I must say that the absolute highlight of 2011 in my life was the birth of my granddaughter, Olivia. I just love that little munchkin to death. Can't say enough so I will therefore not continue to gush and risk nauseating any reading audience that may be out there.
But there are other things from 2011 whose residue I am looking forward to cleaning up and sweeping out of my life.......
--The first would be the job loss thing.... although I posted a Jeremiah 29:11 message about my furlough earlier in the year, I will admit I had some times of pretty intense anger bordering on bitterness......like when I was rolling all the spare change in the house to buy some Christmas presents . I know full well that the only person who suffers from such emotions is me. So I intend to get out a big ol' mental wisk broom when they come creeping back and choose to stand on my original belief that everything happens for a reason and that God has it under control. Sometimes a slippery surface - may need a pair of spiritual snowshoes.
- The physical premises......I have had a list of to dos for the last 5 Christmas and summer breaks. Guess how many of them have been done? yep - you got it -hardly any. Were it not for a visit from my sister earlier in the fall, I would have even less done. But I have actually made some progress, packing up some items from the past that bring only reminders of pain......and getting them ready for haul away. I can almost see the desktop on which I am typing this blog post! And I managed to get some of the junk piles in the yard thrown away or burned down - which I'm pretty pumped about. Plus, the sink hole in my back yard is now full! Two benefits for the price of one! Still quite a bit to do inside and out, but as any of us knows, the first step in getting something cleaned up is ....well, taking the first step. So I'm on my way.
-- The diet. Ah yes, the proverbial New Year's diet/lose 9,000 pounds/exercise 8 times a day resolution. Except that's not what this is. I mean clean eating . I've been rather careless with that the last several months and have felt the effects - not just in clothes not fitting but in the amount of fatigue, pain, confusion, heartburn and other less than desireable effects that come with eating junk - and too much of it. Add to that the increase in the severity of the beloved hot flashes - it's enough to make anyone go clean, green, organic and any other adjective you care to use as the antithesis of the classic American diet. I mean- I feel like a human Easy Bake Oven. Ok - TMI, I'm sure - suffice it to say I will be saving on my heating bill this winter. So, in preparation of cleaning up the diet, I must first clean up everything that isn't allowed, right? So I have a half a bag of chips, a couple dozen pizzelles and other assorted Christmas treats, all the fried chicken left from the Family Fiasco, a couple pieces of pizza and some almond M & Ms to take care of yet today.....with only 3 1/2 hours left in the day, I better get busy. I'll probably also throw in a stab at returning to regular exercise( that doesn't involve lifting "mass quantities" to my face) to complement the eating plan. Because after all, it IS New Years and that's what we do!
-- There are numerous other areas that probably need some cleaning out as well.....and if you're like me, it's a daunting task to think about that much change - the finances, the attitude, the mouth, relationships, the car. I will most definitely be working in that direction but you don't need to know the personal particulars of those scenarios, now, do you? Hopefully none of them will land me on any reality shows or interview with Barbara Walters.
As I set about applying the Intellectual/Emotional/Spiritual Soft Scrub to the remnants and memories of 2011, I must emphasize that I am profoundly grateful for those friends and family members who have extended nothing but love, encouragement and support to me in the darker days of the past year. You have been my lifeline. You have given me hope. You have given me back my self.
I must say that the absolute highlight of 2011 in my life was the birth of my granddaughter, Olivia. I just love that little munchkin to death. Can't say enough so I will therefore not continue to gush and risk nauseating any reading audience that may be out there.
But there are other things from 2011 whose residue I am looking forward to cleaning up and sweeping out of my life.......
--The first would be the job loss thing.... although I posted a Jeremiah 29:11 message about my furlough earlier in the year, I will admit I had some times of pretty intense anger bordering on bitterness......like when I was rolling all the spare change in the house to buy some Christmas presents . I know full well that the only person who suffers from such emotions is me. So I intend to get out a big ol' mental wisk broom when they come creeping back and choose to stand on my original belief that everything happens for a reason and that God has it under control. Sometimes a slippery surface - may need a pair of spiritual snowshoes.
- The physical premises......I have had a list of to dos for the last 5 Christmas and summer breaks. Guess how many of them have been done? yep - you got it -hardly any. Were it not for a visit from my sister earlier in the fall, I would have even less done. But I have actually made some progress, packing up some items from the past that bring only reminders of pain......and getting them ready for haul away. I can almost see the desktop on which I am typing this blog post! And I managed to get some of the junk piles in the yard thrown away or burned down - which I'm pretty pumped about. Plus, the sink hole in my back yard is now full! Two benefits for the price of one! Still quite a bit to do inside and out, but as any of us knows, the first step in getting something cleaned up is ....well, taking the first step. So I'm on my way.
-- The diet. Ah yes, the proverbial New Year's diet/lose 9,000 pounds/exercise 8 times a day resolution. Except that's not what this is. I mean clean eating . I've been rather careless with that the last several months and have felt the effects - not just in clothes not fitting but in the amount of fatigue, pain, confusion, heartburn and other less than desireable effects that come with eating junk - and too much of it. Add to that the increase in the severity of the beloved hot flashes - it's enough to make anyone go clean, green, organic and any other adjective you care to use as the antithesis of the classic American diet. I mean- I feel like a human Easy Bake Oven. Ok - TMI, I'm sure - suffice it to say I will be saving on my heating bill this winter. So, in preparation of cleaning up the diet, I must first clean up everything that isn't allowed, right? So I have a half a bag of chips, a couple dozen pizzelles and other assorted Christmas treats, all the fried chicken left from the Family Fiasco, a couple pieces of pizza and some almond M & Ms to take care of yet today.....with only 3 1/2 hours left in the day, I better get busy. I'll probably also throw in a stab at returning to regular exercise( that doesn't involve lifting "mass quantities" to my face) to complement the eating plan. Because after all, it IS New Years and that's what we do!
-- There are numerous other areas that probably need some cleaning out as well.....and if you're like me, it's a daunting task to think about that much change - the finances, the attitude, the mouth, relationships, the car. I will most definitely be working in that direction but you don't need to know the personal particulars of those scenarios, now, do you? Hopefully none of them will land me on any reality shows or interview with Barbara Walters.
As I set about applying the Intellectual/Emotional/Spiritual Soft Scrub to the remnants and memories of 2011, I must emphasize that I am profoundly grateful for those friends and family members who have extended nothing but love, encouragement and support to me in the darker days of the past year. You have been my lifeline. You have given me hope. You have given me back my self.
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