I took some time off from work this afternoon. I rarely take days off, and the planned vacation days I'd allotted for myself in May went entirely up in smoke ..... well, not so much up in smoke as under the carriage of my vehicle. Don't even ask.
It doesn't take a genius to see from my posts across all my various blogs, FB posts, tweets, etc. to see that I have been pretty dang stressed lately. A lot of it is self-induced, to be sure. For most of my life, I've set a very high bar for myself and I get very put out when I fail to reach my own expectations for myself -- let along what others may expect of me. I don't give myself much slack. It is not good. There's something to be said for self-discipline and for expecting the best out of yourself. It's quite another to turn it into a relentless drive .... as I tend to do.
The last few days have been busy. Holy Week is always a busy one for people who are part of church ministry, and I choose to be part of it as much as possible because for me, they are the High Holy Days. I missed my first Good Friday services in 22 years due to car troubles (yeah, another fun element to the weekend). I came to a decision over the weekend to let go of something -- at least short-term -- that isn't really helping me in terms of my stress levels or anything else. Better to let it go for a while. I just have to work out a few more details before moving forward with it. And after all the stress (both good and bad) was over and done yesterday ---- hello, migraine, my old friend...... yes. Seriously.
So today, I took some time to rest. I truly did have a doctor's appointment for some labwork, but I really did need to rest more than anything else. So what did I do on my big afternoon off? After the doctor's appointment, I drove myself home and promptly fell asleep. For two hours. Maybe two and a half. I really didn't keep track of it. I slept so deeply that when I woke up I didn't know what day or time or anything that it was. It's now later at night, normally around the time I'd start preparing for sleep and you know something..... no problemo. Instead of feeling like I could stay up for another two hours, nope. I'm good.
I have struggled with sleep issues for years -- if you consider "pretty near all my life" as a good indication. What I've really struggled with is a circadian rhythm issue. Even in childhoood, I couldn't fall asleep until late and couldn't wake up until later. It's like my whole life, my sleep cycle has always been an hour or two behind what the real world says "work time" or "school time" should be. It's like I'm a Mountain Time girl stuck in Eastern. Forever. I cannot bounce up in the mornings, bright-eyed and ready to go..... I have to slowly, s-l-o-w-l-y slink my way into morning.... but I can fall asleep in about 3 breaths at night.
So, we've discussed rest ..... and how NONE of us (I don't care who you are) never get enough. WHY? What is it about busy-ness that is so attractive? I'm as guilty as the next person of being busy, busy, busy doing absolutely nothing of any real consequence. None of it will really matter a hundred years from now and that's pissing me off..... if I am going to be busy about something, by golly, it ought to be about something of grave importance. But even more importantly, WHY? Why am I choosing to entangle and engage myself in these things? Is it because our society believes that if we're not overbooked, over-engaged, over-wrought, over-stuffed, over-this.... then we're nobodies? What are we trying to hide with all this activity? Who are we trying to fool - especially ourselves? What are we avoiding? Are we that afraid of the silence of our lives? Why do we care if someone down the street thinks we're lacking because our little Johnny isn't involved in soccer AND piano AND jiu-jitsu AND .... like their little Freddie. Are we just that uncomfortable with our own imperfections, our own spaces between, that we cannot tolerate it for a moment and........ okay, so what can I add? What more can I do?
How about rest? How about just being?
Chica, heal thyself.
Monday, April 21, 2014
Tuesday, March 18, 2014
Shaken and Stirred
There are times when God/the Universe/Fate/call-it-what-you-will taps you on the elbow or hand to get your attention. And then there are times it grabs you by the shoulders, shakes you so violently you will get a concussion and screams at you, "WAKE UP!!!!!!"
Guess which has been happening with me lately?
And I will not complain. I've been needing wake-up calls. Correction: I've been needing a wake-up call on the level of the Carolina Marching Band to stand over me and blast "Henry the Eighth I Am" in my ears for hours on end.
So what has the universe been telling me lately? Well, this is one of them.....
WOW. And far too often lately, I've been getting in my own way: Overanalysis. Vacillating. "What-iffing" myself into indecision with too many alternatives.
Then.............
Oh, and one more thought........ I made this particular "meme" from one of my own photos, taken at one of my favorite places. It's a place I try to escape to at least once a year (preferably twice, if I can) for a weekend alone -- no, even Maddox stays at home for this one! -- just me and an open trail and my thoughts and a sense of adventure. I'd tell you where, but I'm kind of protective of my sanctuary that way! (HA!)
Guess which has been happening with me lately?
And I will not complain. I've been needing wake-up calls. Correction: I've been needing a wake-up call on the level of the Carolina Marching Band to stand over me and blast "Henry the Eighth I Am" in my ears for hours on end.
So what has the universe been telling me lately? Well, this is one of them.....
(from the MyYogaOnline page at Facebook)
sWOW. And far too often lately, I've been getting in my own way: Overanalysis. Vacillating. "What-iffing" myself into indecision with too many alternatives.
Then.............
(from rawforbeauty.com)
Oh my. Another one, right to the heart. I sometimes have such trouble with this for so many reasons -- wanting to be a "team player" or not wanting to upset an already tense situation. But I'm getting much better with that, especially in the last year as the migraines have been more frequent and my ability to simply do has been more limited. If I don't set boundaries for myself, someone else will....
And then this one. I wish I could tell you where I got this shortened version, but I can tell you I've found the full text at OurAscension.com .... but this abridged text still is powerful:
And then this one. I wish I could tell you where I got this shortened version, but I can tell you I've found the full text at OurAscension.com .... but this abridged text still is powerful:
My biggest problem -- realizing that it's okay to be broken. It's okay to be flawed. It's okay to remember that the cracks are where the light comes in (to paraphrase Leonard Cohen). It's okay. It's okay. It's not my job to be perfect. It never was. This is dawning on me -- ever so slowly, one step forward, two steps back some days -- and it is rather freeing.
So here's a prayer to go with all this:
Oh, and one more thought........ I made this particular "meme" from one of my own photos, taken at one of my favorite places. It's a place I try to escape to at least once a year (preferably twice, if I can) for a weekend alone -- no, even Maddox stays at home for this one! -- just me and an open trail and my thoughts and a sense of adventure. I'd tell you where, but I'm kind of protective of my sanctuary that way! (HA!)
May we all learn this!!
Sunday, March 02, 2014
Let's End It. Now.
So, as usual, we (my various friends and I) are doing our FB critiques of Oscar Night. I became involved with a conversation about the movie "12 Years a Slave" and one friend stated that she doesn't believe she can watch it, that the trailer makes her lose it. I concur. I don't believe I will be able to view it either. I would be completely verklempt.
It baffles me to think that at one time in our history, we somehow justified keeping another human being as property, that somehow we "owned" this person in every sense -- we could tell him or her what to do, where to work, whom they could marry, we owned their children and spouses, and because they were property, the master could pretty much take the wife for his own pleasure and the slave-husband could do nothing about it, at least not if he wished to live, and his children to live.
They made it illegal, but they found a way to still oppress the former slaves, even until a few short years before my birth and some legislation made it finally illegal to deny them basic human rights. Oh, it's still happening, but far less often.
But make no mistake: slavery still exists. We just no longer call it "slavery" .... we call it other things:
"Well, she chose to runaway from home. She chose to live on the streets and sell her body. It's what she gets." -- Never mind that the nice older man who gave her a place to stay also brutally raped her when he got her to that "safe" place, and then passed her around to his friends, who did the same. Never mind that he also forced her to sell herself on the streets and bring him EVERY last dime she gets for all the tricks she turns. Never mind that he reinforces her broken state by telling her she's damaged goods, that her parents will never want her back, not after all the things she's done. It's all her choice, so it isn't really slavery. She can choose to leave...... can't she? You were 15 once, what do you think? #SlaveryByAnotherName
"He can put down the bottle any time he wants...." There are some people for whom there is no functional off-switch. Where you or I may be able to cut it off after 2 drinks, or even over-indulge but it be a random thing, once every few years, an addict cannot. They hear in alcohol or drugs .... or any other substance or action: food, self-harm, etc. .... a siren call. It feeds a place in their brain which cannot get a chemical reaction any other way. But here I speak specifically of substance abuse in terms of alcohol and drugs. Only in the substance can their brain find satisfaction. But sure, they can drop it anytime. So what that they've moved from one drink after work to a fifth of whisky a day .... and now to a little something heavier because the liquor isn't cutting it anymore. It's leaving them looking haggard and worn but a buddy has said that the club drugs won't .... or there's always crystal meth. Easy and quick to cook, right? And hell, if hillbillies in the mountains can make it, surely to God you can, right? And you're hooked, instantly. But you can give it up any time. Your buddy who's hooked can quit any time he wants. Nothing to it....... #SlaveryByAnotherName
And these are just two examples of how slavery still exists. It has never ended. For the latter one, there are programs and centers and help and hope and sponsors and all manner of ways to try to break those chains. We're not doing much about the former one. We've long recognized that drug addiction is a medical crisis and mental health issue, but we're still treating sex trafficking as a choice.
But tell that to an 8-year-old girl in Thailand whose parents have sold her to a pimp to pay off their debts. Or more often, one who has smooth-talked them into believing that he is with a charity organization that will send her to Hong Kong or America for schooling and a better life. And I'll even give you $100 dollars (or their equivalent) in return for trusting me with your child....... And then once he has the child, he tells her that she must work to pay off the loan to her parents, and here's what she'll do. Did you know there are tours that cater to this sort of thing? Sickens me to no end at all to think there are people who arrange for grown men (and maybe women, although I cannot imagine) who travel out of country to have sex with foreign children because this way, they can act out some weird fantasy and not get caught, not be subject to the laws of their country. Where in the world does this ...... I can't even begin to form words to discuss it. I cannot wrap my brain around such an idea at all. To treat a child in such .... there aren't any words that can adequately convey the level of disgust. I will leave it there.
Luckily there is an organization -- several, really -- working to end slavery in all its forms. It's known as END IT and I encourage you to visit. This past week marked "End It Day" (on 2/27), but honestly, every day ought to be End It Day. Learn more about slavery that still exists -- sex trafficking, child labor, etc.
It baffles me to think that at one time in our history, we somehow justified keeping another human being as property, that somehow we "owned" this person in every sense -- we could tell him or her what to do, where to work, whom they could marry, we owned their children and spouses, and because they were property, the master could pretty much take the wife for his own pleasure and the slave-husband could do nothing about it, at least not if he wished to live, and his children to live.
They made it illegal, but they found a way to still oppress the former slaves, even until a few short years before my birth and some legislation made it finally illegal to deny them basic human rights. Oh, it's still happening, but far less often.
But make no mistake: slavery still exists. We just no longer call it "slavery" .... we call it other things:
"Well, she chose to runaway from home. She chose to live on the streets and sell her body. It's what she gets." -- Never mind that the nice older man who gave her a place to stay also brutally raped her when he got her to that "safe" place, and then passed her around to his friends, who did the same. Never mind that he also forced her to sell herself on the streets and bring him EVERY last dime she gets for all the tricks she turns. Never mind that he reinforces her broken state by telling her she's damaged goods, that her parents will never want her back, not after all the things she's done. It's all her choice, so it isn't really slavery. She can choose to leave...... can't she? You were 15 once, what do you think? #SlaveryByAnotherName
"He can put down the bottle any time he wants...." There are some people for whom there is no functional off-switch. Where you or I may be able to cut it off after 2 drinks, or even over-indulge but it be a random thing, once every few years, an addict cannot. They hear in alcohol or drugs .... or any other substance or action: food, self-harm, etc. .... a siren call. It feeds a place in their brain which cannot get a chemical reaction any other way. But here I speak specifically of substance abuse in terms of alcohol and drugs. Only in the substance can their brain find satisfaction. But sure, they can drop it anytime. So what that they've moved from one drink after work to a fifth of whisky a day .... and now to a little something heavier because the liquor isn't cutting it anymore. It's leaving them looking haggard and worn but a buddy has said that the club drugs won't .... or there's always crystal meth. Easy and quick to cook, right? And hell, if hillbillies in the mountains can make it, surely to God you can, right? And you're hooked, instantly. But you can give it up any time. Your buddy who's hooked can quit any time he wants. Nothing to it....... #SlaveryByAnotherName
And these are just two examples of how slavery still exists. It has never ended. For the latter one, there are programs and centers and help and hope and sponsors and all manner of ways to try to break those chains. We're not doing much about the former one. We've long recognized that drug addiction is a medical crisis and mental health issue, but we're still treating sex trafficking as a choice.
But tell that to an 8-year-old girl in Thailand whose parents have sold her to a pimp to pay off their debts. Or more often, one who has smooth-talked them into believing that he is with a charity organization that will send her to Hong Kong or America for schooling and a better life. And I'll even give you $100 dollars (or their equivalent) in return for trusting me with your child....... And then once he has the child, he tells her that she must work to pay off the loan to her parents, and here's what she'll do. Did you know there are tours that cater to this sort of thing? Sickens me to no end at all to think there are people who arrange for grown men (and maybe women, although I cannot imagine) who travel out of country to have sex with foreign children because this way, they can act out some weird fantasy and not get caught, not be subject to the laws of their country. Where in the world does this ...... I can't even begin to form words to discuss it. I cannot wrap my brain around such an idea at all. To treat a child in such .... there aren't any words that can adequately convey the level of disgust. I will leave it there.
Luckily there is an organization -- several, really -- working to end slavery in all its forms. It's known as END IT and I encourage you to visit. This past week marked "End It Day" (on 2/27), but honestly, every day ought to be End It Day. Learn more about slavery that still exists -- sex trafficking, child labor, etc.
Saturday, February 22, 2014
What's wrong with being broken?
So.... I was in Barnes & Noble last night to see how I could spend some of my Christmas gift card. I found myself perusing some of the usual sections I gravitate to .... medicine, for a book on migraines and found it WOEFULLY lacking. I literally found two books, and one of those was "Migraines for Dummies." I'm not looking for a dissertation and stuff I can't understand, but I need more than that!
Well, one of my other haunts was right across the aisle from that -- "self-help." I have my own self-help library, so I really, really didn't need anything, but there was one book I wanted. I have an e-edition of it that I've purchased (as a PDF), but I love actual paper I can touch, move, flip, mark up. There's something about a real, tangible book that can never be replaced by an e-book. I found the book and then realized I really didn't want it, at least not right at this moment. It wasn't moving me to pick it up and run for the register. So I kept perusing; after all, what's one more self-help book for the library....
But after perusing title after title, I got more and more dissatisfied. Nothing seemed to click. Then it hit me: why should I buy one more book which will tell me that I'm broken and here's what needs fixing and how. I know I'm broken. You are too. So is the Pope. So is the President. So is the person next to you on the commuter train each day or stuck in the traffic jam beside you. We're all broken people.
Maybe we don't need to be fixed.
Now, before I begin, let me say that there are very obvious exceptions to this train of thought: (a) already-diagnosed mental health issues, (b) addiction issues, and (c) abuse issues, whether you are victim, perpetrator, or both. For these situations, if you aren't already getting professional help, do so post-haste. Get out of the self-help section. There's bootstrapping, but these aren't situations that warrant going solo.
However, for those of us with average neuroses .... from "oh God, every pair of jeans in the store makes my butt look 40 feet wide" to "I can't figure out why I can't seem to get happy in my particular place in life" .... maybe we don't need fixing after all. Maybe we need to learn to live in the brokenness, to embrace the lessons within, to live where we are. That doesn't mean we stop trying to improve and do things better in life. It doesn't mean we don't take that fantastic job opportunity that finds us out of the blue. It doesn't mean we don't take a class or improve our health or stop trying to be better .... just that maybe we need to stop overanalyzing every.single.aspect.of.everything. while thinking "I've got to fix all these broken pieces and put them together into a perfectly {there's that word again} planned and designed life...."
We just maybe need to realize that it's okay to be broken. Only Leonard Cohen said it much better:
Ring the bells that still can ring.
Forget your perfect offering.
There is a crack in everything.
That's how the light gets in.
I walked out buying only a book on piano chords. Best money I never spent. And maybe I'll learn to play "Anthem" (the Cohen song) while I'm at it.
Well, one of my other haunts was right across the aisle from that -- "self-help." I have my own self-help library, so I really, really didn't need anything, but there was one book I wanted. I have an e-edition of it that I've purchased (as a PDF), but I love actual paper I can touch, move, flip, mark up. There's something about a real, tangible book that can never be replaced by an e-book. I found the book and then realized I really didn't want it, at least not right at this moment. It wasn't moving me to pick it up and run for the register. So I kept perusing; after all, what's one more self-help book for the library....
But after perusing title after title, I got more and more dissatisfied. Nothing seemed to click. Then it hit me: why should I buy one more book which will tell me that I'm broken and here's what needs fixing and how. I know I'm broken. You are too. So is the Pope. So is the President. So is the person next to you on the commuter train each day or stuck in the traffic jam beside you. We're all broken people.
Maybe we don't need to be fixed.
Now, before I begin, let me say that there are very obvious exceptions to this train of thought: (a) already-diagnosed mental health issues, (b) addiction issues, and (c) abuse issues, whether you are victim, perpetrator, or both. For these situations, if you aren't already getting professional help, do so post-haste. Get out of the self-help section. There's bootstrapping, but these aren't situations that warrant going solo.
However, for those of us with average neuroses .... from "oh God, every pair of jeans in the store makes my butt look 40 feet wide" to "I can't figure out why I can't seem to get happy in my particular place in life" .... maybe we don't need fixing after all. Maybe we need to learn to live in the brokenness, to embrace the lessons within, to live where we are. That doesn't mean we stop trying to improve and do things better in life. It doesn't mean we don't take that fantastic job opportunity that finds us out of the blue. It doesn't mean we don't take a class or improve our health or stop trying to be better .... just that maybe we need to stop overanalyzing every.single.aspect.of.everything. while thinking "I've got to fix all these broken pieces and put them together into a perfectly {there's that word again} planned and designed life...."
We just maybe need to realize that it's okay to be broken. Only Leonard Cohen said it much better:
Ring the bells that still can ring.
Forget your perfect offering.
There is a crack in everything.
That's how the light gets in.
I walked out buying only a book on piano chords. Best money I never spent. And maybe I'll learn to play "Anthem" (the Cohen song) while I'm at it.
Wednesday, February 05, 2014
My own personal demon
I've done a little reflecting over the last few days, just off and on, ever since the news broke about actor Phillip Seymour Hoffman's death. First off, no comments on that other than to say it is a horrible tragedy, and we will never know the whole story -- only that something apparently had a stronger hold on him than even the love of his family and friends and the accolades of his career and life.
And that is what has me really thinking. For years I have been fascinated with the psychology of addiction. I've vascillated back and forth myself on whether or not food addiction is truly an addiction (I believe yes, and I may delve into that here). I've wondered what it is that makes a brain turn to heavy quantities of substances -- be that prescription pain killers, street drugs, nicotine, food, whatever it is -- to numb their emotional pain or simply attempt to rise above whatever low circumstances they find themselves in.
I admit that part of me is baffled and angry. Here is someone who had something I wished I'd had the courage to pursue: a life on the stage and screen. Oh, I doubt I would have ever made it past the "Shopper #2" credit on screen (at least for many years) or gotten many callbacks, but who knows? I know now (albeit a bit late in life) that I feel very much at home in front of an audience, so I should have tried....... and here is a person who had top honors, huge respect and love from family and peers and colleagues. And it all seemed nothingness, emptiness, compared to whatever in his soul said, "You're a fraud. They can't possibly love the real you."
Was that it? I hear that voice too sometimes. It belongs to a demon named Perfection. Dan Pearce wrote about it in his superb "Disease Called Perfection" -- enough so that the first time I read it, I was crying big salty tears. I try not to listen to that voice, I try not to give it space in my head or my heart or my life, but there are days I hear its echo, I see it in my reflection when I look in the mirror:
..... You're a fraud. And they're on to you. ....
..... You're not good enough. How did you get here? ....
..... Enjoy this. It's not going to last. ....
..... That was a colossal error. Bet that puts the final nail in the coffin, won't it? ....
..... You can't even do something that simple, how in the world do you think you'll be able to (fill in the blank)? ....
I battle this demon: every. single. day. It may be in a small way, just a brief fleeting thought where I can brush it off my shoulder and go on and not have it return. Other days, it clings to me, wraps itself around me like the best film and refuses to unwind. If you have never heard its voice, God bless you, because you are truly one of the blessed. If you've heard its ugly whispers, I need say nothing more. You know its rasp, its spitting hisses all too well.
For years, I tried to drown out its voice with food. Other people do it with far more dangerous vices, some with deadly consequences. Suicide either way -- slow or fast, it all depends. But I will fight with everything I have not to let the demon have me. I will scratch and claw with all my might for my sense of self, even damaged as it is, because I refuse to let Perfection win. I will reach out for help when I have to, even though I would rather chew a jumbo roll of tinfoil than admit I need help. (Yes, I am just that stubborn.)
This battle -- and how we fight it, how we win and lose -- is something I'll continue to ponder for a long time. Something I'll battle every day of my life, just as I have for life so far.
And for the family and friends of Mr. Hoffman, please know it wasn't you. Other bloggers have written it better than I, but it bears repeating. Perfection had him, and the mocking voice told him that none of this was enough, that he wasn't enough, that all of this was a sham and so was he, that only his pain was real and it would haunt him forever -- that no love was good enough to save him. Only he knows the real story and sadly, he's no longer here to tell it. All I can say is from this one soul damaged by Perfection is that it was not you, and not your fault. You did all you could. Perfection said it wasn't enough.
Perfection is a lying bastard. Never ever ever forget that.
And that is what has me really thinking. For years I have been fascinated with the psychology of addiction. I've vascillated back and forth myself on whether or not food addiction is truly an addiction (I believe yes, and I may delve into that here). I've wondered what it is that makes a brain turn to heavy quantities of substances -- be that prescription pain killers, street drugs, nicotine, food, whatever it is -- to numb their emotional pain or simply attempt to rise above whatever low circumstances they find themselves in.
I admit that part of me is baffled and angry. Here is someone who had something I wished I'd had the courage to pursue: a life on the stage and screen. Oh, I doubt I would have ever made it past the "Shopper #2" credit on screen (at least for many years) or gotten many callbacks, but who knows? I know now (albeit a bit late in life) that I feel very much at home in front of an audience, so I should have tried....... and here is a person who had top honors, huge respect and love from family and peers and colleagues. And it all seemed nothingness, emptiness, compared to whatever in his soul said, "You're a fraud. They can't possibly love the real you."
Was that it? I hear that voice too sometimes. It belongs to a demon named Perfection. Dan Pearce wrote about it in his superb "Disease Called Perfection" -- enough so that the first time I read it, I was crying big salty tears. I try not to listen to that voice, I try not to give it space in my head or my heart or my life, but there are days I hear its echo, I see it in my reflection when I look in the mirror:
..... You're a fraud. And they're on to you. ....
..... You're not good enough. How did you get here? ....
..... Enjoy this. It's not going to last. ....
..... That was a colossal error. Bet that puts the final nail in the coffin, won't it? ....
..... You can't even do something that simple, how in the world do you think you'll be able to (fill in the blank)? ....
I battle this demon: every. single. day. It may be in a small way, just a brief fleeting thought where I can brush it off my shoulder and go on and not have it return. Other days, it clings to me, wraps itself around me like the best film and refuses to unwind. If you have never heard its voice, God bless you, because you are truly one of the blessed. If you've heard its ugly whispers, I need say nothing more. You know its rasp, its spitting hisses all too well.
For years, I tried to drown out its voice with food. Other people do it with far more dangerous vices, some with deadly consequences. Suicide either way -- slow or fast, it all depends. But I will fight with everything I have not to let the demon have me. I will scratch and claw with all my might for my sense of self, even damaged as it is, because I refuse to let Perfection win. I will reach out for help when I have to, even though I would rather chew a jumbo roll of tinfoil than admit I need help. (Yes, I am just that stubborn.)
This battle -- and how we fight it, how we win and lose -- is something I'll continue to ponder for a long time. Something I'll battle every day of my life, just as I have for life so far.
And for the family and friends of Mr. Hoffman, please know it wasn't you. Other bloggers have written it better than I, but it bears repeating. Perfection had him, and the mocking voice told him that none of this was enough, that he wasn't enough, that all of this was a sham and so was he, that only his pain was real and it would haunt him forever -- that no love was good enough to save him. Only he knows the real story and sadly, he's no longer here to tell it. All I can say is from this one soul damaged by Perfection is that it was not you, and not your fault. You did all you could. Perfection said it wasn't enough.
Perfection is a lying bastard. Never ever ever forget that.
Monday, January 27, 2014
A day I'm starting to hate....
Eight years ago, on January 22, I lost my friend Tee after a battle with breast cancer. And this January 22, I lost my friend Padre after a battle with leukemia. My mind hasn't been fully here since.
For 22 years, he was my friend, my pastor, my boss (for nine of those years), and always a mentor. I've spent many, many times over the last 5 days or so remembering all the funny things, many of which took place within the walls of the parish office, some of which were in the college setting. Many of them revolved around his legendary tight wallet..... and the pliers with which he opened them. I heard today from someone who attended his funeral that one of the jokes in the homily was that Padre was probably one of the few people who still had his First Communion money.
Oh, and we cannot forget his legendary love for (ahem) "staying in touch"..... quickest way to get the real news of the Diocese was telephone and tell Padre. My coworker and I joked that if 4 priests called within a morning, each asking for Padre, you could absolutely count on some big news going down in the Diocese -- a shakeup, a big resignation or retirement, or (far too often) a death.
He took our Catholic Campus Club on a weekend retreat at one of his former parishes, who graciously opened up the use of the rectory to ten college students. He helped us re-enact a real Seder meal. He generously poured the four cups of wine (per person), and then.... just when we'd had all the fun we could stand -- he conducted a snipe hunt with us. Yeah. Oh, the other kicker: we'd all have to attend the early Mass since they had him scheduled for that one. And it was our only hope of being able to attend and actually have a seat for Mass.
He came to our parish at a time of great pain and guided us through a long, protracted healing process. Some people never forgave him simply for not being Fr. B. I, on the other hand, believed him to be just whom we needed.
Not to say there were times -- especially after I went to work for him -- that we probably could have cage-fought each other. I thought on plenty of occasions my name had morphed into "Dammit Annette Get In Here!" There were days I prayed for the Bishop to move him ANYWHERE and send us ANYONE, which I quickly rescinded and/or modified. Never think God doesn't occasionally say, "Careful what you pray for...."
When he left the parish, I cried buckets. And let me tell you, I did last night at his wake/vigil service. I do not cry pretty. At all. I cry very ugly. Red, squally, drippy, heave-y, sobby, wheezy. Yeah, all the above, right as they rolled that casket by. The only words going through my head were "This is it, Padre. This is goodbye." And it was more than I could take. I was already a mess. This was worse.
I'm still unpacking 22 years of funny stories and good memories. I'll post them too, I promise. But right now, all I can think on, is that I can't stand January 22...... it takes too many good people from me.
Sunday, January 19, 2014
More than just a "book club"...
Many years ago -- I cannot remember how many now, it has been so long -- I found a book in a B&N. Bought a copy and laughed so hard I cried. In a couple of places, cried hard until I had to laugh. I told my best friend about it. I went to the web site the author had listed. I saw there was a messageboard. I joined.
The rest is history.
Many of the women (mostly women, a few guys) I have the distinct pleasure of meeting in person. Others I wouldn't know by face if they passed me in the airport, but I know them. Many of us have become very close, like sisters. We have shared laughter, tears, disagreements, complete understandings, passing of parents, siblings, spouses, children...... shared vacations. Triple-dog dares and jelloshots into the nights.
Let me tell you about some of these precious folks: in 2005, when I was debating what the hell to do about a job I was growing to hate, I wrote a note on the messageboard asking for prayers, any constructive advice, any anything that might give me peace of mind. The author herveryownself sent me a personal, private message to remind me that I was going to be fine, that I was in God's hands and so was my situation, and God would not hand me a snake or a stone if I asked for bread. I'll never forget her best words of all to me: "God's asking you to let go of the trinkets in your hands so that you can receive the treasure he has waiting." Prophetess, she was.
The same year, just a few weeks later, after I'd walked from that job with no safety net except the promise that I would be taken care of...... well, two of those precious women made it possible for me to do a getaway weekend to THE big event in Jackson. I needed that weekend more than you could ever know. I needed the time with my girlfriends, to let the world fail to exist for a few short days.
They offered me support and encouragement the next year when I took steps make my life better by finally divesting myself of the excess physical weight I'd carried for years. And they celebrated with me when I lost over half my body weight 3 years later.
And just 2 years ago, they held my hand in wordless vigil over seven agonizing weeks as I waited to see whether or not a dark unknown spot was just a void in film, or something worse. They prayed, they listened silently as I fretted and worked myself into a frenzy and rejoiced heartily with me when nothing was there. Nothing at all.
Book clubs are great. They become friends and they share their lives but I don't know many "book clubs" that have this same deep reach. I may be wrong, but I have yet to see it.
Thank you to my friends Kelly Parker and Tammi Cooper for reminding me of all the good things from that "book club" tonight!
The rest is history.
Many of the women (mostly women, a few guys) I have the distinct pleasure of meeting in person. Others I wouldn't know by face if they passed me in the airport, but I know them. Many of us have become very close, like sisters. We have shared laughter, tears, disagreements, complete understandings, passing of parents, siblings, spouses, children...... shared vacations. Triple-dog dares and jelloshots into the nights.
Let me tell you about some of these precious folks: in 2005, when I was debating what the hell to do about a job I was growing to hate, I wrote a note on the messageboard asking for prayers, any constructive advice, any anything that might give me peace of mind. The author herveryownself sent me a personal, private message to remind me that I was going to be fine, that I was in God's hands and so was my situation, and God would not hand me a snake or a stone if I asked for bread. I'll never forget her best words of all to me: "God's asking you to let go of the trinkets in your hands so that you can receive the treasure he has waiting." Prophetess, she was.
The same year, just a few weeks later, after I'd walked from that job with no safety net except the promise that I would be taken care of...... well, two of those precious women made it possible for me to do a getaway weekend to THE big event in Jackson. I needed that weekend more than you could ever know. I needed the time with my girlfriends, to let the world fail to exist for a few short days.
They offered me support and encouragement the next year when I took steps make my life better by finally divesting myself of the excess physical weight I'd carried for years. And they celebrated with me when I lost over half my body weight 3 years later.
And just 2 years ago, they held my hand in wordless vigil over seven agonizing weeks as I waited to see whether or not a dark unknown spot was just a void in film, or something worse. They prayed, they listened silently as I fretted and worked myself into a frenzy and rejoiced heartily with me when nothing was there. Nothing at all.
Book clubs are great. They become friends and they share their lives but I don't know many "book clubs" that have this same deep reach. I may be wrong, but I have yet to see it.
Thank you to my friends Kelly Parker and Tammi Cooper for reminding me of all the good things from that "book club" tonight!
Sunday, January 05, 2014
2014: ACTION!
Every year in the last few days of December and the first week or so of January, there's an awful lot of material for reflection and regrouping and looking forward to the next year. Resolutions (which I despise), revolutions (which I love!), and recognition of what worked and what didn't.
At the end of 2012 and beginning of 2013, I had already gotten to a place of breakthroughs and reflections on that. So when I read a post by Lissa Rankin about what word I wanted to focus on in 2013, it came pretty easily to me: enlightenment. 2013 certainly was that and more. It was a very crazy year, healthwise. Between February 1 and December 31, I had five sinus infections (and on 1/2 of this year, diagnosed with a SIXTH in less than 365 calendar days). Let's not even discuss the migraines and other headaches. Answers are still forthcoming.
Still, on many other fronts, I learned much about myself and how to get into my life's mission. Many years ago, I figured out that my mission in life is to help people, no matter what. But over the last few years, I felt I had not done that well enough, or at least not in the ways I felt were truly helpful. But this summer, I figured it out, and the idea will not leave me. It sits patiently waiting on me to get my (stuff) together and move forward. Hence, #2014ACTION was inspired. The details are still being ironed out, and yes, I'm still scared crapless. There are so many excuses I could use to stay put: I'm too old, I'm too bogged down, I'm not sure I can afford it, I'm not or I'm too........ But I've always heard that if you know what to do and you don't do it, it's a sin. I think that's finally sunk in, especially with some of the homilies and the writings that my pastor has given lately. He's spoken a lot lately about dreaming big ...... so now, I'm working up the courage to do so.
2014:ACTION is here. Am I ready? I don't know. But I know that not taking action is not an option.
At the end of 2012 and beginning of 2013, I had already gotten to a place of breakthroughs and reflections on that. So when I read a post by Lissa Rankin about what word I wanted to focus on in 2013, it came pretty easily to me: enlightenment. 2013 certainly was that and more. It was a very crazy year, healthwise. Between February 1 and December 31, I had five sinus infections (and on 1/2 of this year, diagnosed with a SIXTH in less than 365 calendar days). Let's not even discuss the migraines and other headaches. Answers are still forthcoming.
Still, on many other fronts, I learned much about myself and how to get into my life's mission. Many years ago, I figured out that my mission in life is to help people, no matter what. But over the last few years, I felt I had not done that well enough, or at least not in the ways I felt were truly helpful. But this summer, I figured it out, and the idea will not leave me. It sits patiently waiting on me to get my (stuff) together and move forward. Hence, #2014ACTION was inspired. The details are still being ironed out, and yes, I'm still scared crapless. There are so many excuses I could use to stay put: I'm too old, I'm too bogged down, I'm not sure I can afford it, I'm not or I'm too........ But I've always heard that if you know what to do and you don't do it, it's a sin. I think that's finally sunk in, especially with some of the homilies and the writings that my pastor has given lately. He's spoken a lot lately about dreaming big ...... so now, I'm working up the courage to do so.
2014:ACTION is here. Am I ready? I don't know. But I know that not taking action is not an option.
Tuesday, December 24, 2013
Nettie's 2013 Brag-n-Gag: We've Gone Electronic!
About a year ago, I discovered a wonderful poignant CD titled Enjoy Every Sandwich. It was a tribute album to the late Warren Zevon (of “Werewolves of London” fame). The title comes from a remark he made to David Letterman in his last appearance on that show, not too long after he announced his diagnosis of terminal mesothelioma. Letterman asked him what sort of knowledge he’d learned from his illness, and this was his response:
"You know I always kinda thought I did that. I really always enjoyed myself. But it’s more valuable now. You’re reminded to enjoy every sandwich and every minute.” ― Warren Zevon
"Enjoy every sandwich": the words are few but powerful. Nothing in life can ever be taken for granted. Every moment is a golden opportunity for love, kindness, growth, compassion, empathy. It is a moment to embrace the hopeful, the uplifting — and to walk away from all that would drag us into dark and despair. I admit that there have been way too many times when I have failed in this. Most mornings, I try to post something positive on Facebook, an uplifting thought or quote. I do this as my small contribution to making the world a better place, but I also do it sometimes to needle the person who needs it most: ME.
This year has been trying for me and I haven’t talked much about it except with my closest of friends. I've had some health issues rear their ugly heads all year long, especially between multiple sinus infections and recurrent migraines. There are still no answers yet, and you can imagine this is creating even more unnecessary stress (which leads to another headache round, on and on in a vicious cycle it goes).
"The Year of Change”: a perfect way to describe my 2013. Somewhere the Universe got the idea to say, “Let’s see what we can sling at her this year and see how much she can take." But guess what? I was able to take a good bit. I am not defeated. I am a little discouraged at times, but I am a fighter. I may stumble around the ring a bit, but I will get up again if I fall. And I will strive each day to be a better person than I was the day before. I will do whatever is in my power to make the world a better place, to make even one person smile, to make him or her think for just a moment. If for some people, I’m simply an example of what not to do or who they don’t want to be, so be it. I will bless them and wish them well. What they think of me, at day’s end, is not my concern. What I think of me, when I see my reflection just before I turn out the light …. that, that is my business.
And I will enjoy every sandwich, every laugh, every tear, every person, every moment. I will treasure every encounter. I will hold fast to the good and ignore the bad. I will savor life, in all its glories and its trials. Make 2014 the year that you do so as well
So what really happened in my 2013?
Well, for starters I still have a job, for which I am very grateful, having gone through yet another transition. Just a few weeks ago, we had to do a re-alignment of roles and responsibilities, and so I have moved to customer service, assisting in a wide variety of areas: everything from orders to onsite repairs. I’m still learning the ins and outs of that job, and helping with payroll upload as we continue to transition. It's been neat to see exactly how it all ties in with a lot of the work I'd done before.
I also still work for Weight Watchers, at my Saturday morning meeting. There’s something about helping people: it’s not just the weight loss or the healthier lifestyles they embrace. For so many, it’s about finding themselves, perhaps as a re-discovery and sometimes as a person they didn’t even know they could be. That’s what makes that 2 hours a week so rewarding. To play even a small role in their journey makes it all worthwhile.
For all the travel I did last year, this year was more a stay-at-home time. I made another trip to beautiful Damascus, Virginia this spring to finish the other portion of the Virginia Creeper Trail that I began last fall. That second half of the trail was a doozy (very, very flat!), but it was worth all the pedaling to be out there in some of the prettiest countryside! My other big trip this year was a camping adventure on Hunting Island with my dog, Maddox. If you want the real skinny on the trip, just check out the October 14 post below — it details all the hilarity and hijinks. Let me preview in a few words: Migraine. Raccoon. No-see-ums. And the fun ensues...
Earlier this year, I got the bright idea that I needed to have some pictures made of myself—at least a photo shoot that didn’t involve the words, “And now which picture would you like to go into the church directory?” So I booked a session with an outfit called “Trashy Betty Photography” specializing in vintage-style/pinup photos. Melissa (the photographer) was awesome! She dolled me up and we took pictures around Liberty with just a few props and some old abandoned buildings. I got to see myself in a whole different perspective, a face I don’t always recognize when I look in the mirror. Sure, there are a few more lines than when I was 20, but I’ve also gotten a lot wiser since then. So ladies especially, I encourage you to have some photos made of just yourself sometime, without the kids, without the hubs, and just revel in the beauty that you possess and don’t always recognize.
Only a few 5K’s this year: it’s very hard to work them in when most are held on Saturday mornings, and you work at that time! I did the Resolution Run on New Year’s Eve. And this spring, I took part in a very special race called “Emily’s OWL (Opportunity Without Limits) Run” — a benefit run for the daughter of some folks with whom I went to high school, a young lady battling brain cancer at age 12. So very, very glad to report that Emily’s Run was a success, and so was Emily’s treatment. She is now cancer-free, and getting back in the swing of life. The organizers hope to do it again this coming year, to benefit another child battling cancer. I didn’t get to do my Jingle Bell Jog that I always look forward to — it was still run, but in the middle of a pouring rain. As much as I love it, I’m not driving a half-hour to walk in the rain! :) But I’m looking forward to doing a few more 5K’s in 2014...
As always, if you find yourself in the Upstate SC area even for a short time, please let me know — I would dearly love to see you! Please stay in touch, and never fail to take the time and opportunity to tell others how much they mean to you. I am so blessed to know that you have crossed my path and made a difference!
With that, I wish you all a wonderful holiday season filled with goodness, light, warmth, and grateful hearts! And really, make time to enjoy every sandwich...
Annette
"You know I always kinda thought I did that. I really always enjoyed myself. But it’s more valuable now. You’re reminded to enjoy every sandwich and every minute.” ― Warren Zevon
"Enjoy every sandwich": the words are few but powerful. Nothing in life can ever be taken for granted. Every moment is a golden opportunity for love, kindness, growth, compassion, empathy. It is a moment to embrace the hopeful, the uplifting — and to walk away from all that would drag us into dark and despair. I admit that there have been way too many times when I have failed in this. Most mornings, I try to post something positive on Facebook, an uplifting thought or quote. I do this as my small contribution to making the world a better place, but I also do it sometimes to needle the person who needs it most: ME.
This year has been trying for me and I haven’t talked much about it except with my closest of friends. I've had some health issues rear their ugly heads all year long, especially between multiple sinus infections and recurrent migraines. There are still no answers yet, and you can imagine this is creating even more unnecessary stress (which leads to another headache round, on and on in a vicious cycle it goes).
"The Year of Change”: a perfect way to describe my 2013. Somewhere the Universe got the idea to say, “Let’s see what we can sling at her this year and see how much she can take." But guess what? I was able to take a good bit. I am not defeated. I am a little discouraged at times, but I am a fighter. I may stumble around the ring a bit, but I will get up again if I fall. And I will strive each day to be a better person than I was the day before. I will do whatever is in my power to make the world a better place, to make even one person smile, to make him or her think for just a moment. If for some people, I’m simply an example of what not to do or who they don’t want to be, so be it. I will bless them and wish them well. What they think of me, at day’s end, is not my concern. What I think of me, when I see my reflection just before I turn out the light …. that, that is my business.
And I will enjoy every sandwich, every laugh, every tear, every person, every moment. I will treasure every encounter. I will hold fast to the good and ignore the bad. I will savor life, in all its glories and its trials. Make 2014 the year that you do so as well
So what really happened in my 2013?
Well, for starters I still have a job, for which I am very grateful, having gone through yet another transition. Just a few weeks ago, we had to do a re-alignment of roles and responsibilities, and so I have moved to customer service, assisting in a wide variety of areas: everything from orders to onsite repairs. I’m still learning the ins and outs of that job, and helping with payroll upload as we continue to transition. It's been neat to see exactly how it all ties in with a lot of the work I'd done before.
I also still work for Weight Watchers, at my Saturday morning meeting. There’s something about helping people: it’s not just the weight loss or the healthier lifestyles they embrace. For so many, it’s about finding themselves, perhaps as a re-discovery and sometimes as a person they didn’t even know they could be. That’s what makes that 2 hours a week so rewarding. To play even a small role in their journey makes it all worthwhile.
For all the travel I did last year, this year was more a stay-at-home time. I made another trip to beautiful Damascus, Virginia this spring to finish the other portion of the Virginia Creeper Trail that I began last fall. That second half of the trail was a doozy (very, very flat!), but it was worth all the pedaling to be out there in some of the prettiest countryside! My other big trip this year was a camping adventure on Hunting Island with my dog, Maddox. If you want the real skinny on the trip, just check out the October 14 post below — it details all the hilarity and hijinks. Let me preview in a few words: Migraine. Raccoon. No-see-ums. And the fun ensues...
Earlier this year, I got the bright idea that I needed to have some pictures made of myself—at least a photo shoot that didn’t involve the words, “And now which picture would you like to go into the church directory?” So I booked a session with an outfit called “Trashy Betty Photography” specializing in vintage-style/pinup photos. Melissa (the photographer) was awesome! She dolled me up and we took pictures around Liberty with just a few props and some old abandoned buildings. I got to see myself in a whole different perspective, a face I don’t always recognize when I look in the mirror. Sure, there are a few more lines than when I was 20, but I’ve also gotten a lot wiser since then. So ladies especially, I encourage you to have some photos made of just yourself sometime, without the kids, without the hubs, and just revel in the beauty that you possess and don’t always recognize.
Only a few 5K’s this year: it’s very hard to work them in when most are held on Saturday mornings, and you work at that time! I did the Resolution Run on New Year’s Eve. And this spring, I took part in a very special race called “Emily’s OWL (Opportunity Without Limits) Run” — a benefit run for the daughter of some folks with whom I went to high school, a young lady battling brain cancer at age 12. So very, very glad to report that Emily’s Run was a success, and so was Emily’s treatment. She is now cancer-free, and getting back in the swing of life. The organizers hope to do it again this coming year, to benefit another child battling cancer. I didn’t get to do my Jingle Bell Jog that I always look forward to — it was still run, but in the middle of a pouring rain. As much as I love it, I’m not driving a half-hour to walk in the rain! :) But I’m looking forward to doing a few more 5K’s in 2014...
As always, if you find yourself in the Upstate SC area even for a short time, please let me know — I would dearly love to see you! Please stay in touch, and never fail to take the time and opportunity to tell others how much they mean to you. I am so blessed to know that you have crossed my path and made a difference!
With that, I wish you all a wonderful holiday season filled with goodness, light, warmth, and grateful hearts! And really, make time to enjoy every sandwich...
Annette
Thursday, December 05, 2013
Journey through my head....
It usually starts with a little tightness in my shoulders and neck.... that steadily increases. And then yawning, when I'm not tired. Face-ache? Maybe.... A little ear pain? Sure, why not? And the awful sense that maybe this is yet another sinus infection, or even an ear infection. Everything feels blocked, somehow.
Then the soldiers march...... They go up my right side of my neck and park themselves squarely behind my eyes, and my only response is to squint -- just what I need for the tension in my neck and shoulders too. Lights hurt. Sounds don't hurt but I just wish they'd diminish a little..... whisper please. If you looked at me head-on, you might think it was the hangover from a hellacious bender. And smells? Oh God no!!! I need air. Deep breathing isn't possible, only normalish that somehow phases into shallower breathing. And ALL you want to do is sleep. Precious, precious sleep might be what helps this infernal beast subside.
Neck and shoulder massages at this point don't really help at all ..... sometimes, it makes it even worse, almost like the tension and knots are holding back a dam of toxins or nerve signals. Heat? Oh gosh no, that will cause a violent reaction. Cold, yes, please. Ice packs to the neck and shoulders. Yes, I'm shivering now but the alternative is worse. I'd rather BE cold right now. It might freeze out everything.
And just when you think a certain physical reaction should, could, ought to happen...... no. No. Nothing happens. You almost pray to please, please, just let it happen so you can sleep it off, but no. It doesn't come. All you can do is remain perfectly still except for your own breathing. You dare not move a pinkie finger for fear that it will trigger that particular reaction. You don't move your head because the room may spin. You just lie still. Silent prayers of "Please, please, please" echoing from your heart .......
A well-meaning person comes and asks if you're okay and all you can do is grunt disapprovingly, as if to say, "DO I LOOK IT?" but it's more a plea of "please, go, go, go. I love you but GO! Every noise you make pounds and echoes like a cannon in my brain and ears!"
After a while, you do fall asleep..... you may wake up fine. You may not. This may be a short episode. It may last for days. It may reach that lovely sick-as-a-dog level (which means it is finally broken and on the way to leaving you) or it may stay that annoying little sibling in the backseat with you who says, "I'm not touching you! I'm not touching you...." while his/her finger circles within millimeters of your face.
This, friends, is the guts of what happens to me during a migraine. I've experienced more of them this year than I can count, it seems. My only sure trigger? Changing weather patterns. Everything else is fair game, but not necessarily guaranteed to induce one..... strong smells. Too much stress. Hot weather. Cold weather. Most of my attacks tend to begin in the afternoon and carry through the evening, but I've woken with them before. I've been at work at 10:00 AM and had one hit. I never know. I've had them hit me like a ton of bricks, and others have built for hours or days, even.
And almost always the right side.
Twice so far this week. My meds are a muscle relaxant combined with an analgesic/caffeine combo. It's not working anymore.
I have nearly had it. Except I'm a fighter. I'm a detective. I am determined to find out why, and how I can fix this (as much as possible). But right now, all I can do is hate it with the heat of a thousand white-hot suns.
Then the soldiers march...... They go up my right side of my neck and park themselves squarely behind my eyes, and my only response is to squint -- just what I need for the tension in my neck and shoulders too. Lights hurt. Sounds don't hurt but I just wish they'd diminish a little..... whisper please. If you looked at me head-on, you might think it was the hangover from a hellacious bender. And smells? Oh God no!!! I need air. Deep breathing isn't possible, only normalish that somehow phases into shallower breathing. And ALL you want to do is sleep. Precious, precious sleep might be what helps this infernal beast subside.
Neck and shoulder massages at this point don't really help at all ..... sometimes, it makes it even worse, almost like the tension and knots are holding back a dam of toxins or nerve signals. Heat? Oh gosh no, that will cause a violent reaction. Cold, yes, please. Ice packs to the neck and shoulders. Yes, I'm shivering now but the alternative is worse. I'd rather BE cold right now. It might freeze out everything.
And just when you think a certain physical reaction should, could, ought to happen...... no. No. Nothing happens. You almost pray to please, please, just let it happen so you can sleep it off, but no. It doesn't come. All you can do is remain perfectly still except for your own breathing. You dare not move a pinkie finger for fear that it will trigger that particular reaction. You don't move your head because the room may spin. You just lie still. Silent prayers of "Please, please, please" echoing from your heart .......
A well-meaning person comes and asks if you're okay and all you can do is grunt disapprovingly, as if to say, "DO I LOOK IT?" but it's more a plea of "please, go, go, go. I love you but GO! Every noise you make pounds and echoes like a cannon in my brain and ears!"
After a while, you do fall asleep..... you may wake up fine. You may not. This may be a short episode. It may last for days. It may reach that lovely sick-as-a-dog level (which means it is finally broken and on the way to leaving you) or it may stay that annoying little sibling in the backseat with you who says, "I'm not touching you! I'm not touching you...." while his/her finger circles within millimeters of your face.
This, friends, is the guts of what happens to me during a migraine. I've experienced more of them this year than I can count, it seems. My only sure trigger? Changing weather patterns. Everything else is fair game, but not necessarily guaranteed to induce one..... strong smells. Too much stress. Hot weather. Cold weather. Most of my attacks tend to begin in the afternoon and carry through the evening, but I've woken with them before. I've been at work at 10:00 AM and had one hit. I never know. I've had them hit me like a ton of bricks, and others have built for hours or days, even.
And almost always the right side.
Twice so far this week. My meds are a muscle relaxant combined with an analgesic/caffeine combo. It's not working anymore.
I have nearly had it. Except I'm a fighter. I'm a detective. I am determined to find out why, and how I can fix this (as much as possible). But right now, all I can do is hate it with the heat of a thousand white-hot suns.
Wednesday, November 27, 2013
A weepy, crumpled heap
Want to make me cry? Ask me to count my blessings.
I am overwhelmed by gratitude for every gift, large and small. It really is enough to make me misty, then leaky, and on to downright sobby to even begin to consider how lucky, how blessed, how absolutely awesome my life has been. Has it been a smooth road? Not in the least, and I know now that I wouldn't have it any other way. I've had moments that could have been tagged "the charmed life" but I'm here to tell you it's pure illusion. A truly charmed life is full of imperfections and mistakes that make us real.
I don't have everything I want, but I have all I need and a little more.
I don't have it all, but I have enough.
I have the ability to hear the alarm, I can intake a deep breath which causes my body to rise and my arm to move and turn off the alarm. I can move my legs to stand, to pick one foot and leg up to move forward and down and then repeat with the other leg, and again as I alternate and find myself walking around.
I have the ability to think enough in the morning fog to make coffee, elixir of the gods. And then to figure out a nutritious breakfast.
I have the ability for self-care to prepare for work. I have work to do and a place to go that pays me for my time and my abilities and my knowledge (such as it is). I have a reliable method of transportation to get me there. I have meaningful work to do when I arrive.
I have a family to whom I go home each evening.
I have activities and hobbies that give me pleasure and leisure after a day of work.
I have dear friends of all makes, models, shapes, sizes, background, genders, ethnicities, belief systems, you name whatever "difference" we might name......
I have a pet who thinks I hung the moon.
Well, perhaps I do have it all, after all.....
How can I not weep for joy at this? How can I not feel as if I've hit the jackpot, and almost why was I so lucky to stumble into so many riches? Tears. Tears, tears, and more tears. A heart that is so swollen with gratitude that it could truly burst out of my frame.
As my friend Lisa calls it, the gift of tears. Another blessing.
So blessed. So, so, so blessed. And "thank you" to my family, friends, God, everyone and everything just seems such an inadequate response to such love and generosity. But as they say, "If 'thank you' was the only prayer you ever prayed, it would be enough." And so it must be.
I am overwhelmed by gratitude for every gift, large and small. It really is enough to make me misty, then leaky, and on to downright sobby to even begin to consider how lucky, how blessed, how absolutely awesome my life has been. Has it been a smooth road? Not in the least, and I know now that I wouldn't have it any other way. I've had moments that could have been tagged "the charmed life" but I'm here to tell you it's pure illusion. A truly charmed life is full of imperfections and mistakes that make us real.
I don't have everything I want, but I have all I need and a little more.
I don't have it all, but I have enough.
I have the ability to hear the alarm, I can intake a deep breath which causes my body to rise and my arm to move and turn off the alarm. I can move my legs to stand, to pick one foot and leg up to move forward and down and then repeat with the other leg, and again as I alternate and find myself walking around.
I have the ability to think enough in the morning fog to make coffee, elixir of the gods. And then to figure out a nutritious breakfast.
I have the ability for self-care to prepare for work. I have work to do and a place to go that pays me for my time and my abilities and my knowledge (such as it is). I have a reliable method of transportation to get me there. I have meaningful work to do when I arrive.
I have a family to whom I go home each evening.
I have activities and hobbies that give me pleasure and leisure after a day of work.
I have dear friends of all makes, models, shapes, sizes, background, genders, ethnicities, belief systems, you name whatever "difference" we might name......
I have a pet who thinks I hung the moon.
Well, perhaps I do have it all, after all.....
How can I not weep for joy at this? How can I not feel as if I've hit the jackpot, and almost why was I so lucky to stumble into so many riches? Tears. Tears, tears, and more tears. A heart that is so swollen with gratitude that it could truly burst out of my frame.
As my friend Lisa calls it, the gift of tears. Another blessing.
So blessed. So, so, so blessed. And "thank you" to my family, friends, God, everyone and everything just seems such an inadequate response to such love and generosity. But as they say, "If 'thank you' was the only prayer you ever prayed, it would be enough." And so it must be.
Sunday, November 17, 2013
There Oughta Be A Law
If you've read this blog for any length of time, you know my absolute loathing of the Christmas Creep. We now begin Halloween in August and before the candy corn goes on sale on November 1, they've already long trotted out the red and green. Entire sections of store shelves look as if they've thrown up a bad salad.
And so it is with Christmas music on the radio. There needs to be a law that says, "The FCC outlaws the playing of holiday music by any licensed station prior to the celebration of Thanksgiving Holidays in the United States, its territories, etc. etc. Yeah, this means YOU...."
How many bad versions of "Little Drummer Boy" must we endure? And so help me God, I cannot take Mariah Carey's mauling of an otherwise lovely hymn ("O Holy Night") even one more time. Or we're up to .... what, 35 years now? ... of Linda McCartney (God rest her soul) and her horrific two-fingered synth playing on "Wonderful Christmastime"?
And I absolutely want to poke out my eardrums with the BIG knitting needles every single blasted time I hear Yoko Ono bleating out "A vewwy mewwy Cwissmaaaaaahhhhhhssss........."
WHY don't we have a law for this yet???
And so it is with Christmas music on the radio. There needs to be a law that says, "The FCC outlaws the playing of holiday music by any licensed station prior to the celebration of Thanksgiving Holidays in the United States, its territories, etc. etc. Yeah, this means YOU...."
How many bad versions of "Little Drummer Boy" must we endure? And so help me God, I cannot take Mariah Carey's mauling of an otherwise lovely hymn ("O Holy Night") even one more time. Or we're up to .... what, 35 years now? ... of Linda McCartney (God rest her soul) and her horrific two-fingered synth playing on "Wonderful Christmastime"?
And I absolutely want to poke out my eardrums with the BIG knitting needles every single blasted time I hear Yoko Ono bleating out "A vewwy mewwy Cwissmaaaaaahhhhhhssss........."
WHY don't we have a law for this yet???
Saturday, November 02, 2013
Remembering......
In my chosen faith tradition, the church year begins at Advent, just before Christmas (late November/early December), so the weeks of November leading up to this focus on things winding down -- including the ultimate unwinding called death. On November 1, we remember all those in heaven, both the named saints of the church calendar and all the unnamed ones whose acts of kindness and piety are known to God. On November 2, it is All Souls' Day. In Latino cultures, it is celebrated as Dia de los Muertos (Day of the Dead) -- a day to remember those particular family members and friends who had special meaning to us.
And if you grew up as a Southerner, then you know that we treat the whole funeral/death thing with a special flair. From the second lines in jazz funerals to the notion of "sittin' up with the dead" we have our own unique way of looking at it. Little old ladies who fry up a chicken in the mornings or make a funeral casserole -- in case someone dies that day whom they know, they'll be ready! It's almost guaranteed that as soon as word gets out about a death in the neighborhood or the church, food will show up at the family's house within the hour. I have my own tradition of taking breakfast foods, borne of a need from my days as a church secretary. We had a death in the parish, and my coworker and I asked the widow what she needed from us (besides a visit from the pastor); could we bring some food for the evening, or....? She replied that she thought she had enough in the house but.... OH NO! She realized that her whole family would be descending on the house and she didn't have anything for breakfast the next day for the grandkids (you know kids aren't exactly keen on eggs and toast, not when they can have the Cap'n). So we put together a little breakfast package -- mini cereal boxes, juice, milk, bagels and cream cheese for the adults. It was a huge hit, and since then, whenever I am taking food to a family, that's usually what I take.
As a child, I went to more funerals than you would believe. In the first few years of my parents' marriage, it seemed that there was a family death nearly every December. The first one I remember was December 1975 for a cousin who passed far too young (just short of his third birthday). The next spring, it was my neighbor. Two more years, it was my mother's aunt, who was like another grandparent to me. Even if I didn't go to the funeral itself because of school, you always went to the visitation the night before. I had funeral home etiquette down cold by the time I was 10.
There have been tough ones -- older people, you expect. You prepare and you know what to say, the words about living a long, beautiful life, "he/she looks good" (even though you're thinking, "Wow, I didn't realize how much he/she had aged!") The worst are when it's someone gone way too soon -- classmates before you've graduated or years down the pike when their kids are still kids and not adults. Friends gone in accidents or by diseases which rob them too soon of life and leave their families hurt and broken, and friends wondering what the heck happened. Coworkers whom you just saw the day before. Those are the ones which don't seem real, the ones which stick with you.
The first one of those funerals came in the summer between 8th and 9th grades -- a classmate who died in an accident, who dated one of the girls from my church. Here it is 30 years later and it still seems so strange. Another one just before my senior year. As I get older, there are more of them. One of my BFF's from high school who died at 36. Three friends from college in the last four years, all of them gone way too soon and without any warning, all less than 50 (obviously).
And no matter how many of these I have attended, will attend over the years, none will be adequate preparation for the day when it hits too close to home. As much as I want to think they'll last forever, I know all too well that this is a pipe dream, a fruitless wish. My parents are older -- late-60s and mid-70s. I've lost both uncles-by-marriage and now one aunt-by-marriage. My oldest uncle just turned 81; the youngest is 68. They will not always be here. I know the time is getting ever shorter until that first phone call comes of "I have bad news....... (name) is gone."
But this is what is important, so important to recall: "Death is not extinguishing the light; it is putting out the lamp because dawn has come." -- Rabindranath Tagore
This is the great lesson of the feasts of saints and souls that my faith imparts to me -- that for the faithful, life has only changed, not ended. They are still alive. They have left one port and crossed the ocean to another. They are still with us, in memories, in spirit, in the legacies they have left us. It has been 31 years since I lost my grandmother but I still have her stories in my heart, the memories of certain ways she had of doing things -- I see it still present in my mother. It is never the same as having her here, there is nothing that could ever compare. But I take comfort in my belief that she is not gone forever. As long as I have breath, she still alive in me.
And this gives me reason to be grateful this November -- for their presence in my life and for the things they are still teaching me.
And if you grew up as a Southerner, then you know that we treat the whole funeral/death thing with a special flair. From the second lines in jazz funerals to the notion of "sittin' up with the dead" we have our own unique way of looking at it. Little old ladies who fry up a chicken in the mornings or make a funeral casserole -- in case someone dies that day whom they know, they'll be ready! It's almost guaranteed that as soon as word gets out about a death in the neighborhood or the church, food will show up at the family's house within the hour. I have my own tradition of taking breakfast foods, borne of a need from my days as a church secretary. We had a death in the parish, and my coworker and I asked the widow what she needed from us (besides a visit from the pastor); could we bring some food for the evening, or....? She replied that she thought she had enough in the house but.... OH NO! She realized that her whole family would be descending on the house and she didn't have anything for breakfast the next day for the grandkids (you know kids aren't exactly keen on eggs and toast, not when they can have the Cap'n). So we put together a little breakfast package -- mini cereal boxes, juice, milk, bagels and cream cheese for the adults. It was a huge hit, and since then, whenever I am taking food to a family, that's usually what I take.
As a child, I went to more funerals than you would believe. In the first few years of my parents' marriage, it seemed that there was a family death nearly every December. The first one I remember was December 1975 for a cousin who passed far too young (just short of his third birthday). The next spring, it was my neighbor. Two more years, it was my mother's aunt, who was like another grandparent to me. Even if I didn't go to the funeral itself because of school, you always went to the visitation the night before. I had funeral home etiquette down cold by the time I was 10.
There have been tough ones -- older people, you expect. You prepare and you know what to say, the words about living a long, beautiful life, "he/she looks good" (even though you're thinking, "Wow, I didn't realize how much he/she had aged!") The worst are when it's someone gone way too soon -- classmates before you've graduated or years down the pike when their kids are still kids and not adults. Friends gone in accidents or by diseases which rob them too soon of life and leave their families hurt and broken, and friends wondering what the heck happened. Coworkers whom you just saw the day before. Those are the ones which don't seem real, the ones which stick with you.
The first one of those funerals came in the summer between 8th and 9th grades -- a classmate who died in an accident, who dated one of the girls from my church. Here it is 30 years later and it still seems so strange. Another one just before my senior year. As I get older, there are more of them. One of my BFF's from high school who died at 36. Three friends from college in the last four years, all of them gone way too soon and without any warning, all less than 50 (obviously).
And no matter how many of these I have attended, will attend over the years, none will be adequate preparation for the day when it hits too close to home. As much as I want to think they'll last forever, I know all too well that this is a pipe dream, a fruitless wish. My parents are older -- late-60s and mid-70s. I've lost both uncles-by-marriage and now one aunt-by-marriage. My oldest uncle just turned 81; the youngest is 68. They will not always be here. I know the time is getting ever shorter until that first phone call comes of "I have bad news....... (name) is gone."
But this is what is important, so important to recall: "Death is not extinguishing the light; it is putting out the lamp because dawn has come." -- Rabindranath Tagore
This is the great lesson of the feasts of saints and souls that my faith imparts to me -- that for the faithful, life has only changed, not ended. They are still alive. They have left one port and crossed the ocean to another. They are still with us, in memories, in spirit, in the legacies they have left us. It has been 31 years since I lost my grandmother but I still have her stories in my heart, the memories of certain ways she had of doing things -- I see it still present in my mother. It is never the same as having her here, there is nothing that could ever compare. But I take comfort in my belief that she is not gone forever. As long as I have breath, she still alive in me.
And this gives me reason to be grateful this November -- for their presence in my life and for the things they are still teaching me.
Monday, October 14, 2013
Tent Camping for Two
So..... back in the early summer, I got the bright idea that Maddox (my dog) and I needed to go on vacation together. And the only way to really do that on the cheap is to tent camp at one of our state parks. So I chose the farthest one on the coast (Hunting Island, near Beaufort) and made my reservations for a long weekend. It would be glorious!
I hadn't been tent camping since college, and not for more than an overnight since childhood, but hey, I had a good idea what I was getting into, right? I had acquired a 4-person tent (plenty of room for me and the dog), and planned the weekend. I borrowed a campstove from some friends, packed my car up, and took off on Friday around noon (later than planned). With that, I also got to my destination a little later than planned -- plus, did you know rest stops with pets in tow take longer than they do for just me.... huh, imagine that, right?
Got to the state park, found my trailside parking space, and started hauling stuff into the campsite. Oh yeah, see when I made my reservations, I saw the 10 trailside tent spaces, and promptly booked one. But that meant you lugged your stuff in from the parking spot into the area. It was about 100 feet from the parking area into the campsite. So once I finally got all the stuff there, I fed Maddox and then set about getting it all ready for our big weekend.
I should mention this: the bugs started biting the minute I got out of the car. I wish I were joking. Seriously. I started scratching from minute one. It is 72+ hours later and I haven't stopped. Again, I wish I were joking. But that is only some of the fiascos I have to share with you.
Fiasco #1: Wrong instructions in the tent box. I got a neighboring camper to help, and the instructions' item #5 should have been #3 instead! Would have made things MUCH easier (not to mention make more sense). So the tent went up with no problem after that.....
Fiasco #2: Couldn't start a fire for love or money. I was at least able to get the campstove started as I was in desperate need of coffee. I could feel a migraine building and thought some caffeine would help matters. I'm not much of a Starbucks fan, but I was pretty grateful for the Via sticks I'd brought along.
So I decided to just have a very light supper of a turkey & cheese wrap and some chips. I didn't feel up to dealing with trying to do more. The headache was winning..... so I went to bed early, forgetting a few key things such as:
Fiasco #3: Forgetting to move ALL the food into the tent with me. Or putting it back in the car. About 12:00 my bladder suddenly decided that it had to be emptied NOW. So I got up in the dark, stumbled my way to the bathrooms about a football field away. When I was done, I just got back into the tent and promptly fell asleep again.... only to be awakened at 3:00 AM by my bladder yet again. Repeat. Maddox was in the tent asleep the whole time. Around 3:20, I heard a noise that sounded an awful lot like Maddox's nibbling.... what's that, you ask? Maddox has a very bad habit of nibbling on himself when he has an itch that just cannot be remedied in any other fashion. So I heard the noise, tapped him and said, "No nibbles, buddy. No nibbles!" That usually stops him .... but then I heard "crunch crunch, smack, crunch." After realizing that, no, Maddox was very much not nibbling nor crunching, it hit me: SOMETHING OUTSIDE. Now at this point, I'm praying, "Sweet baby Jesus, do NOT let it be a bear, if it is a bear, I will flat out DIE right here on the spot." No, it was a raccoon: and that little sorry rat fish-poop (bass-turd) had the gollblasted nerve to LOOK at me like, "Yeah. I'm here, nibbling on your food. Whatcha gonna do about it?" I swung the lantern at him and scared him off but saw where he'd eaten nearly two and a half of the remaining 5 baggies of dog food I'd brought for Maddox. So here I am at 3:30 AM, moving junk (including cooler) into the tent. The only thing I left out was an unopened gallon of drinking water and a box of firewood. And damn his sorry hide, if that little SOB didn't come back and try to rummage through the wood!
Then at 5:00 AM, ANOTHER bathroom trip. I finally had the last one of the night when I woke around 7:45 or so. As soon as that was done, I got Maddox out of the tent for his morning potty break. We walked down to the parking area, and out through the rest of the campground. I took some baggies just in case he had to TCB, but luckily, he just needed the other at this time. So when we returned, I fed him and set about to start the water for my morning coffee.
Fiasco #4: I could not get the campstove going. I changed propane bottles. I changed burners. NOTHING. So I walked down to the park store and bought another propane tank. Let me also say that charging double for the item I can buy back in town is ludicrous. I could see another dollar or two for the convenience, but DOUBLE? #RIPOFF, South Carolina State Parks. Big ripoff. And guess what, it didn't work either. By this point, I was to the cussing phase, and figured an Egg McMuffin would be in order. I would also go to a hardware store to try to figure out the problem or get some advice. Oh, and coffee. MUST have coffee. So into town I went, Maddox in tow, and got to Mickey D's where PRAISE BE, breakfast waited. I darted into the hardware store up the street to get extra propane, and the idea that, "well, it's probably a bad bottle you got, try one of those." You can see where this is going, can't you? I got back, tried one of the BRAND NEW bottles I'd just purchased and.............. I figured what the hell, girl can eat on turkey wraps all weekend long and do without coffee. It was at that moment I realized that .....
Fiasco #5: That little stinkin' idiot raccoon took my Via packs. ALL SIX OF WHAT WAS LEFT. That was going to be one wired little animal. Seriously wired. Hope he had caffeine OD'd by this point. Nothing left to do except keep scratching and take Maddox to the beach.
At this point you're probably wondering why this is a big deal. Maddox is one of the few Labs in the world scared crapless of water. He hates it. He tolerates baths, he'll drink water until the cows come home but he purely hates puddled water. So my thought process was "maybe if he feels the nice cool ocean water lapping over his feet, he'll enjoy it and get accustomed to it."
The big ol' 120-pound wussydog BACKED UP. Every single time a wave would come in, he freaked and went backward. This cannot be my child of another species. Cannot be. As much as I love the ocean, my dog is petrified of it. SAD. Just Sad.
In the afternoon, my friends Russell & Amy were coming over with their doggie, Junot -- a cute little Chihuahua. And thus ensued.....
Fiasco #6: What happens when two alphas meet. Maddox is now also a senior citizen doggie, so he thinks he alone rules the roost. He was not in a playful mood, which made me sad. Then Mama got totally embarrassed when he growled and snarled and showed teeth. DUDE!!! I raised you better than that. So after being eaten alive by those CONTINUALLY PESKY little flying creatures, we meandered to the beach where Wussydog continued to prove his wussiness, but tried to redeem himself by chasing sand crabs popping up out of beach holes. Go on witcha bad self, King Maddox. You show that crab who's boss.
The good news was that Amy gave me tremendously helpful advice on fire-starting, and after their exit, I proceeded to build one beautiful fire!! Yes, it was the Tom-Hanks-in-Cast-Away moment.... HA!!!! And I got a tremendously bright idea that I could put my water kettle on the grill grate over the fire. OF COURSE!!!! What an awesome idea, never mind that I couldn't have coffee! I could have hot water! I could make oatmeal for dinner.... until:
Fiasco #7: You know how that smart little dude in the back of your brain -- with all the really important details -- suddenly comes rushing to the front of your brain screaming, "HOLD IT!!!!!" Yeah, he showed up screaming, "HOLD IT!!!! That kettle has a plastic handle and YOU don't have a pot holder, dipweed!" Oh holy crap. LUCKILY, the occupants of the tentsite before me had left a metal weenie roasting stick that served very well as a way to safely pull the kettle to the ground to cool. What the hell had I been thinking??? On top of that, the kettle was now scorched from a nice stainless finish to a charred blackened thing. I don't know that it will ever be cleaned. Luckily at home, I have an electric kettle but really, this was super stupid of me.
Finally, the fire died down and the clock on the phone told me it was time for bed. I was tired! And I still had two mornings to go.... I had to figure something out, but what? Go back to the hardware store to find a single burner stove? Ask a neighboring campsite with electric for permission to borrow from them a few volts?
So Sunday morning, I got up at a normal time and took Maddox for his morning stroll. I wore a hoodie to cover my already well-dotted arms -- and by the time I got back, my HANDS were covered in welts. THAT DID IT! I was beyond done. I fed Maddox and started decamping. I was over it. If I lost my money for the third night, I'd just lose it (and I did, thank you SC State Parks). But I was outta there by 10:00 AM -- and Mickey D's once again got my business.
And that bottle of Caladryl Clear that I bought last summer and used once is being used extensively now. OY!!!!
And I'd camp with my buddy again there in a heartbeat. As long as it's January or February. And snowing.
I hadn't been tent camping since college, and not for more than an overnight since childhood, but hey, I had a good idea what I was getting into, right? I had acquired a 4-person tent (plenty of room for me and the dog), and planned the weekend. I borrowed a campstove from some friends, packed my car up, and took off on Friday around noon (later than planned). With that, I also got to my destination a little later than planned -- plus, did you know rest stops with pets in tow take longer than they do for just me.... huh, imagine that, right?
Got to the state park, found my trailside parking space, and started hauling stuff into the campsite. Oh yeah, see when I made my reservations, I saw the 10 trailside tent spaces, and promptly booked one. But that meant you lugged your stuff in from the parking spot into the area. It was about 100 feet from the parking area into the campsite. So once I finally got all the stuff there, I fed Maddox and then set about getting it all ready for our big weekend.
I should mention this: the bugs started biting the minute I got out of the car. I wish I were joking. Seriously. I started scratching from minute one. It is 72+ hours later and I haven't stopped. Again, I wish I were joking. But that is only some of the fiascos I have to share with you.
Fiasco #1: Wrong instructions in the tent box. I got a neighboring camper to help, and the instructions' item #5 should have been #3 instead! Would have made things MUCH easier (not to mention make more sense). So the tent went up with no problem after that.....
Fiasco #2: Couldn't start a fire for love or money. I was at least able to get the campstove started as I was in desperate need of coffee. I could feel a migraine building and thought some caffeine would help matters. I'm not much of a Starbucks fan, but I was pretty grateful for the Via sticks I'd brought along.
So I decided to just have a very light supper of a turkey & cheese wrap and some chips. I didn't feel up to dealing with trying to do more. The headache was winning..... so I went to bed early, forgetting a few key things such as:
Fiasco #3: Forgetting to move ALL the food into the tent with me. Or putting it back in the car. About 12:00 my bladder suddenly decided that it had to be emptied NOW. So I got up in the dark, stumbled my way to the bathrooms about a football field away. When I was done, I just got back into the tent and promptly fell asleep again.... only to be awakened at 3:00 AM by my bladder yet again. Repeat. Maddox was in the tent asleep the whole time. Around 3:20, I heard a noise that sounded an awful lot like Maddox's nibbling.... what's that, you ask? Maddox has a very bad habit of nibbling on himself when he has an itch that just cannot be remedied in any other fashion. So I heard the noise, tapped him and said, "No nibbles, buddy. No nibbles!" That usually stops him .... but then I heard "crunch crunch, smack, crunch." After realizing that, no, Maddox was very much not nibbling nor crunching, it hit me: SOMETHING OUTSIDE. Now at this point, I'm praying, "Sweet baby Jesus, do NOT let it be a bear, if it is a bear, I will flat out DIE right here on the spot." No, it was a raccoon: and that little sorry rat fish-poop (bass-turd) had the gollblasted nerve to LOOK at me like, "Yeah. I'm here, nibbling on your food. Whatcha gonna do about it?" I swung the lantern at him and scared him off but saw where he'd eaten nearly two and a half of the remaining 5 baggies of dog food I'd brought for Maddox. So here I am at 3:30 AM, moving junk (including cooler) into the tent. The only thing I left out was an unopened gallon of drinking water and a box of firewood. And damn his sorry hide, if that little SOB didn't come back and try to rummage through the wood!
Then at 5:00 AM, ANOTHER bathroom trip. I finally had the last one of the night when I woke around 7:45 or so. As soon as that was done, I got Maddox out of the tent for his morning potty break. We walked down to the parking area, and out through the rest of the campground. I took some baggies just in case he had to TCB, but luckily, he just needed the other at this time. So when we returned, I fed him and set about to start the water for my morning coffee.
Fiasco #4: I could not get the campstove going. I changed propane bottles. I changed burners. NOTHING. So I walked down to the park store and bought another propane tank. Let me also say that charging double for the item I can buy back in town is ludicrous. I could see another dollar or two for the convenience, but DOUBLE? #RIPOFF, South Carolina State Parks. Big ripoff. And guess what, it didn't work either. By this point, I was to the cussing phase, and figured an Egg McMuffin would be in order. I would also go to a hardware store to try to figure out the problem or get some advice. Oh, and coffee. MUST have coffee. So into town I went, Maddox in tow, and got to Mickey D's where PRAISE BE, breakfast waited. I darted into the hardware store up the street to get extra propane, and the idea that, "well, it's probably a bad bottle you got, try one of those." You can see where this is going, can't you? I got back, tried one of the BRAND NEW bottles I'd just purchased and.............. I figured what the hell, girl can eat on turkey wraps all weekend long and do without coffee. It was at that moment I realized that .....
Fiasco #5: That little stinkin' idiot raccoon took my Via packs. ALL SIX OF WHAT WAS LEFT. That was going to be one wired little animal. Seriously wired. Hope he had caffeine OD'd by this point. Nothing left to do except keep scratching and take Maddox to the beach.
At this point you're probably wondering why this is a big deal. Maddox is one of the few Labs in the world scared crapless of water. He hates it. He tolerates baths, he'll drink water until the cows come home but he purely hates puddled water. So my thought process was "maybe if he feels the nice cool ocean water lapping over his feet, he'll enjoy it and get accustomed to it."
The big ol' 120-pound wussydog BACKED UP. Every single time a wave would come in, he freaked and went backward. This cannot be my child of another species. Cannot be. As much as I love the ocean, my dog is petrified of it. SAD. Just Sad.
In the afternoon, my friends Russell & Amy were coming over with their doggie, Junot -- a cute little Chihuahua. And thus ensued.....
Fiasco #6: What happens when two alphas meet. Maddox is now also a senior citizen doggie, so he thinks he alone rules the roost. He was not in a playful mood, which made me sad. Then Mama got totally embarrassed when he growled and snarled and showed teeth. DUDE!!! I raised you better than that. So after being eaten alive by those CONTINUALLY PESKY little flying creatures, we meandered to the beach where Wussydog continued to prove his wussiness, but tried to redeem himself by chasing sand crabs popping up out of beach holes. Go on witcha bad self, King Maddox. You show that crab who's boss.
The good news was that Amy gave me tremendously helpful advice on fire-starting, and after their exit, I proceeded to build one beautiful fire!! Yes, it was the Tom-Hanks-in-Cast-Away moment.... HA!!!! And I got a tremendously bright idea that I could put my water kettle on the grill grate over the fire. OF COURSE!!!! What an awesome idea, never mind that I couldn't have coffee! I could have hot water! I could make oatmeal for dinner.... until:
Fiasco #7: You know how that smart little dude in the back of your brain -- with all the really important details -- suddenly comes rushing to the front of your brain screaming, "HOLD IT!!!!!" Yeah, he showed up screaming, "HOLD IT!!!! That kettle has a plastic handle and YOU don't have a pot holder, dipweed!" Oh holy crap. LUCKILY, the occupants of the tentsite before me had left a metal weenie roasting stick that served very well as a way to safely pull the kettle to the ground to cool. What the hell had I been thinking??? On top of that, the kettle was now scorched from a nice stainless finish to a charred blackened thing. I don't know that it will ever be cleaned. Luckily at home, I have an electric kettle but really, this was super stupid of me.
Finally, the fire died down and the clock on the phone told me it was time for bed. I was tired! And I still had two mornings to go.... I had to figure something out, but what? Go back to the hardware store to find a single burner stove? Ask a neighboring campsite with electric for permission to borrow from them a few volts?
So Sunday morning, I got up at a normal time and took Maddox for his morning stroll. I wore a hoodie to cover my already well-dotted arms -- and by the time I got back, my HANDS were covered in welts. THAT DID IT! I was beyond done. I fed Maddox and started decamping. I was over it. If I lost my money for the third night, I'd just lose it (and I did, thank you SC State Parks). But I was outta there by 10:00 AM -- and Mickey D's once again got my business.
And that bottle of Caladryl Clear that I bought last summer and used once is being used extensively now. OY!!!!
And I'd camp with my buddy again there in a heartbeat. As long as it's January or February. And snowing.
Friday, September 20, 2013
A Paradox in Life
Each day, I get a variety of inspirational quotes or other words of wisdom. Earlier this week, here was my "Daily Flame" from "Your Inner Pilot Light":
"You know how sometimes you feel inferior to others, and other times you feel superior? Darling, this only stems from a misguided notion that we are not all One. So many suffer from the illusion of separateness, and it leaves you feeling different, special, and unworthy, like everyone else belongs - except you. But know this. You belong. We all belong. You are not less than or better than. You are equal to every other soul on this planet because every one of us has within us a little spark of divinity that makes us worthy. Know who that little spark of divinity is? Moi!
When I read that, it was not long after I had posted THIS gem as my Facebook quote of the day: "Criticism is just someone else's opinion. Even people who are experts in their fields are sometimes wrong. It is up to you to choose whether to believe some of it, none of it, or all of it. What you think is what counts." ― Rodolfo Costa
"You know how sometimes you feel inferior to others, and other times you feel superior? Darling, this only stems from a misguided notion that we are not all One. So many suffer from the illusion of separateness, and it leaves you feeling different, special, and unworthy, like everyone else belongs - except you. But know this. You belong. We all belong. You are not less than or better than. You are equal to every other soul on this planet because every one of us has within us a little spark of divinity that makes us worthy. Know who that little spark of divinity is? Moi!
When I read that, it was not long after I had posted THIS gem as my Facebook quote of the day: "Criticism is just someone else's opinion. Even people who are experts in their fields are sometimes wrong. It is up to you to choose whether to believe some of it, none of it, or all of it. What you think is what counts." ― Rodolfo Costa
A moment of raw honesty: I have always struggled with my relationships to others, particularly in feeling "less than....." I don't know when it started, only that I've seemingly always lived with it. If you have never faced this, God bless you. If you've lived it (like me), then you know. I don't have to say a thing for you to know how this feels. Why ..... Why do we torture ourselves with the belief that we are somehow greater than or lesser than another human, also made in the image and likeness of the Creator? Why do we allow ourselves to feel as if the person standing in front of us is somehow more special or a better person than we are?
A few years ago, I would have felt that way but never dreamed of telling anyone else. I dared not show my perceived weakness to another soul. No, no, no...... showing weakness was how you got wounded in the first place. Don't give the enemy out there any additional ammo, right?
Over and over again, in the last year, I have seen countless meditations, thoughts, books, etc. about the power and strength found in vulnerability. To be able to open yourself up to another person (or to many others) and risk everything to be exactly who you are. It is only from a position of true strength that you can say, "Façades are exhausting. I'd rather you see who I am behind the mask -- and if you don't like me, then I hate it for both of us. But I have to be me, regardless."
This is me: a little crazy, a lot tired and worn-out. I laugh too hard and too loud. I cry openly and often -- which amazes me, given that my heart is still tender after some of the beatings it has taken! I'm loyal to a fault unless you do something so painful that I cut you out from my life. And don't think I wouldn't; I have before with some others. I try to be as positive as possible and yet I worry when I shouldn't. I'm unabashedly a person of faith, and yet very open to reason and education, with a healthy dash of cynicism thrown in. I love my godchildren to the moon and back. I have the best girlfriends you could ever hope for. My families are big and insane and I wouldn't have it any other way. I know who I am, where my people are from, who they were, and where my heart lies.
I have been hurt badly enough to be a little gun-shy around people. I don't trust easily, and when that trust is damaged, it is hard to repair. Too often, my willingness to please and my kindnesses have been perceived as weakness. So I got tougher, less kind or less inclined to show it (especially when it hasn't been returned or even acknowledged). This has been a wrong approach......................
Strong is an awesome word. But real strength comes from being open to others, to be willing and able to be vulnerable, to risk rejection and being misunderstood to be real. To belong. To matter. To simply be you, the wonderful person that you were divinely created to be. A one-time-only way that God has smiled at the world again.
A few years ago, I would have felt that way but never dreamed of telling anyone else. I dared not show my perceived weakness to another soul. No, no, no...... showing weakness was how you got wounded in the first place. Don't give the enemy out there any additional ammo, right?
Over and over again, in the last year, I have seen countless meditations, thoughts, books, etc. about the power and strength found in vulnerability. To be able to open yourself up to another person (or to many others) and risk everything to be exactly who you are. It is only from a position of true strength that you can say, "Façades are exhausting. I'd rather you see who I am behind the mask -- and if you don't like me, then I hate it for both of us. But I have to be me, regardless."
This is me: a little crazy, a lot tired and worn-out. I laugh too hard and too loud. I cry openly and often -- which amazes me, given that my heart is still tender after some of the beatings it has taken! I'm loyal to a fault unless you do something so painful that I cut you out from my life. And don't think I wouldn't; I have before with some others. I try to be as positive as possible and yet I worry when I shouldn't. I'm unabashedly a person of faith, and yet very open to reason and education, with a healthy dash of cynicism thrown in. I love my godchildren to the moon and back. I have the best girlfriends you could ever hope for. My families are big and insane and I wouldn't have it any other way. I know who I am, where my people are from, who they were, and where my heart lies.
I have been hurt badly enough to be a little gun-shy around people. I don't trust easily, and when that trust is damaged, it is hard to repair. Too often, my willingness to please and my kindnesses have been perceived as weakness. So I got tougher, less kind or less inclined to show it (especially when it hasn't been returned or even acknowledged). This has been a wrong approach......................
Strong is an awesome word. But real strength comes from being open to others, to be willing and able to be vulnerable, to risk rejection and being misunderstood to be real. To belong. To matter. To simply be you, the wonderful person that you were divinely created to be. A one-time-only way that God has smiled at the world again.
Sunday, September 15, 2013
When there are no words
Today, September 15, marks the 50th anniversary of a horrific event in our nation's history: the bombing at the Sixteenth Street Baptist Church in Birmingham, Alabama which took the lives of 4 young girls. All in the name of hatred.
Several years back, friends and I drove to Memphis for a wedding, and as such, had the opportunity to go through Birmingham as part of our drive. We drove right by the site, and I found that I could not say a word, except for a quietly muttered "wow" ....... I felt a sense of history, of significance. But more than that, I thought of it as holy ground, of sacred space, a place where there were no words that could possibly match what I felt in my heart. Later that weekend, while we were in Memphis, we drove by the Lorraine Motel, now the National Civil Rights Museum, and again, I couldn't utter a coherent phrase -- and felt the same gravity I felt at the church.
Sometimes, there are no words that can convey what the heart feels. I grew up after these events, was born a full 18 months after Dr. King's assassination. I'm a child of the South, but I think of myself as a child of the New South. My parents were part of that generation with one foot in their history and one foot in the future. They grew up in the era where segregation was the norm, but you were still expected to treat everyone kindly. I suppose the families were like many during that time -- more concerned with survival than with the larger questions of social justice.
Holy ground. The phrase isn't quite right, but it is all I can think of. My heart didn't have the right words. How do you succinctly speak of a sorrow for something that happened only 6 years before your birth but which seems like a distant incident on another world? How do you say how sad you are without it coming across as patronizing or condescending -- after all, you are still a Caucasian from the South, no matter that you have nothing to do with that horrid past. What phrase conveys all that, and the sorrow for the lives lost there, and all the lives lost due to hatred?
And even now, how do we deal with the hatred that still exists -- hatred that still makes brother kill brother, that makes us hate the other because (insert silly reason here). Because he or she is a different race, different religion, different belief system? Just because he or she reminds us of someone in our past who wronged us, and therefore we don't give them the chance? Or of the hatred that never expresses itself to the point of actual physical wrong, but which weaves its way into our thinking?
I'd like to believe that words have no power except that which we assign to them -- for example, there are certain words that I *hate* to hear, which means in some way that word has power over me -- but there are some phrases in any language which are hate words: slurs about someone's orientation, religion, background, or any other differentiation. Words that certain groups use among themselves to denote someone of another (fill in the blank). I read one of those words in a recent FB post, and since it was in another language, I looked it up. Per Urban Dictionary, it was a word of derogatory slang. Instantly, I was crushed. This person had suddenly lumped people into a category based on their background -- I'm sure the rationale was "well, it's been done to us." In one word, it became Us vs. Them. To say I was hurt was an understatement, and honestly, it's made me rethink a lot of things.
It took me back to Birmingham to a solemn brick building, to a cinderblock motel in Memphis. To a place where I am an outsider but one with a broken heart for all the hatred that existed then -- a hatred enough to kill four little girls who just happened to be at church a little early that day. A hatred that still turns the world into Us vs. Them.
And for that sort of sorrow, there are no words.
Several years back, friends and I drove to Memphis for a wedding, and as such, had the opportunity to go through Birmingham as part of our drive. We drove right by the site, and I found that I could not say a word, except for a quietly muttered "wow" ....... I felt a sense of history, of significance. But more than that, I thought of it as holy ground, of sacred space, a place where there were no words that could possibly match what I felt in my heart. Later that weekend, while we were in Memphis, we drove by the Lorraine Motel, now the National Civil Rights Museum, and again, I couldn't utter a coherent phrase -- and felt the same gravity I felt at the church.
Sometimes, there are no words that can convey what the heart feels. I grew up after these events, was born a full 18 months after Dr. King's assassination. I'm a child of the South, but I think of myself as a child of the New South. My parents were part of that generation with one foot in their history and one foot in the future. They grew up in the era where segregation was the norm, but you were still expected to treat everyone kindly. I suppose the families were like many during that time -- more concerned with survival than with the larger questions of social justice.
Holy ground. The phrase isn't quite right, but it is all I can think of. My heart didn't have the right words. How do you succinctly speak of a sorrow for something that happened only 6 years before your birth but which seems like a distant incident on another world? How do you say how sad you are without it coming across as patronizing or condescending -- after all, you are still a Caucasian from the South, no matter that you have nothing to do with that horrid past. What phrase conveys all that, and the sorrow for the lives lost there, and all the lives lost due to hatred?
And even now, how do we deal with the hatred that still exists -- hatred that still makes brother kill brother, that makes us hate the other because (insert silly reason here). Because he or she is a different race, different religion, different belief system? Just because he or she reminds us of someone in our past who wronged us, and therefore we don't give them the chance? Or of the hatred that never expresses itself to the point of actual physical wrong, but which weaves its way into our thinking?
I'd like to believe that words have no power except that which we assign to them -- for example, there are certain words that I *hate* to hear, which means in some way that word has power over me -- but there are some phrases in any language which are hate words: slurs about someone's orientation, religion, background, or any other differentiation. Words that certain groups use among themselves to denote someone of another (fill in the blank). I read one of those words in a recent FB post, and since it was in another language, I looked it up. Per Urban Dictionary, it was a word of derogatory slang. Instantly, I was crushed. This person had suddenly lumped people into a category based on their background -- I'm sure the rationale was "well, it's been done to us." In one word, it became Us vs. Them. To say I was hurt was an understatement, and honestly, it's made me rethink a lot of things.
It took me back to Birmingham to a solemn brick building, to a cinderblock motel in Memphis. To a place where I am an outsider but one with a broken heart for all the hatred that existed then -- a hatred enough to kill four little girls who just happened to be at church a little early that day. A hatred that still turns the world into Us vs. Them.
And for that sort of sorrow, there are no words.
Thursday, September 12, 2013
Days Gone By
A post on Facebook from a college friend about a trip home and seeing old neighborhood friends made me think about my childhood. She had mentioned how lucky she was to have grown up when she did where she did -- and I could not agree more for myself as well.
I grew up in a small Southern town. I think the population finally crept over 3000 when I was in high school.... everyone knew everyone (or at least everyone's "people") and subsequently everyone's business too. My mom grew up here, my dad did not but is from an area within an hour's drive. We lived in the same house that my great-aunt bought for my grandparents and my mom in the late 40s (it's a long story). My mom has lived here 65 years in the same spot, my dad now for 45.
When I grew up here, I knew every neighbor on this block, the one up from us, and the ones around the corners. It was a mix of ages -- quite a few elderly neighbors, and only a few young(er) families. There were only 7 or 8 of us "kids" in the neighborhood, but that didn't really matter ...... in those much different times, during the summers, we were sent out as soon as breakfast was over, and expected to come home at noon for lunch, and dinner/supper whenever it was ready and your mama yelled your name out the door as loudly as possible....... or if she knew exactly where you were, she'd just call. She had the library's number memorized (this was before speed dial, and way before a contacts list she could just scroll through).
This scene was by no means unique to my hometown -- good Lord, I daresay every town for many years had a similar scenario. However, there was one thing very unique to my hometown: we'd already been visited by the idea that children were not necessarily safe. In late 1973, a young lady who lived a block away (yes, one block from my house, on the other side of my church) was kidnapped in early December. They didn't find her body until after the New Year. It was a horrible crime, and even as young as I was, I got the vibe from the talk between my parents and grandmother that what happened with Tammy was a very bad thing. Quite honestly, I am surprised especially that we girls got to gallivant all over town. But we did.
I remember Tee and I walking from our houses (next door neighbors) to the Speedy Mart, about a block and a half away but across a very busy highway -- and right at the railroad tracks, the busiest intersection around. We'd walk to the store, dash very quickly across the highway and take out our hard-earned silver coins or saved pennies and head right for the candy aisle. Or if we were being really adventurous, we'd go the other way, out past the mill, and go the half-mile to Mr. Owen's store for Astro Pops. (Mmmmm. Astro Pops!) My mother thought nothing of me riding my bike over to Em's house, about a half-mile away in the other direction. My brother and I walked uptown at least once a week (if not more often) to the library. I can still remember the cool air rushing out from the Speedy Mart and the smell of the Icee machines churning out that yumminess.
My neighbors -- to them, it wasn't "oh that's THEIR kid" ..... I was THEIR kid too. My neighbor and "third grandma" Granny B would not have thought twice about popping my fanny if I did something inappropriate. But more often than not, all they had to do was say something to invoke guilt and shame in me -- something like "Do you want your mama to know how you're acting out?" Oh my Lord, another childhood saying (do people still use this one): "Act like you've been somewhere before!" meaning, "I do NOT want people thinking you were raised by wolves so straighten up and fly right -- or I'll pop your fanny!"
It was a great childhood. The sad part is that even if I did have kids, I would never be able to give them the awesome experiences I had. I don't know my neighbors -- not many of them anyway -- by name. There are just a few that have been here for more than 5 years. The houses are changing, mostly by additions and remodelings. It's not the same neighborhood. And I would never allow my child to go to any of the places I went to, at least not by himself or herself until he/she was a teen (and even then, on a case basis). Biking around town? Only with me along for the ride.
Never the same. Time marching on, and stomping all over my past.
But it was nice, those days gone by.
I grew up in a small Southern town. I think the population finally crept over 3000 when I was in high school.... everyone knew everyone (or at least everyone's "people") and subsequently everyone's business too. My mom grew up here, my dad did not but is from an area within an hour's drive. We lived in the same house that my great-aunt bought for my grandparents and my mom in the late 40s (it's a long story). My mom has lived here 65 years in the same spot, my dad now for 45.
When I grew up here, I knew every neighbor on this block, the one up from us, and the ones around the corners. It was a mix of ages -- quite a few elderly neighbors, and only a few young(er) families. There were only 7 or 8 of us "kids" in the neighborhood, but that didn't really matter ...... in those much different times, during the summers, we were sent out as soon as breakfast was over, and expected to come home at noon for lunch, and dinner/supper whenever it was ready and your mama yelled your name out the door as loudly as possible....... or if she knew exactly where you were, she'd just call. She had the library's number memorized (this was before speed dial, and way before a contacts list she could just scroll through).
This scene was by no means unique to my hometown -- good Lord, I daresay every town for many years had a similar scenario. However, there was one thing very unique to my hometown: we'd already been visited by the idea that children were not necessarily safe. In late 1973, a young lady who lived a block away (yes, one block from my house, on the other side of my church) was kidnapped in early December. They didn't find her body until after the New Year. It was a horrible crime, and even as young as I was, I got the vibe from the talk between my parents and grandmother that what happened with Tammy was a very bad thing. Quite honestly, I am surprised especially that we girls got to gallivant all over town. But we did.
I remember Tee and I walking from our houses (next door neighbors) to the Speedy Mart, about a block and a half away but across a very busy highway -- and right at the railroad tracks, the busiest intersection around. We'd walk to the store, dash very quickly across the highway and take out our hard-earned silver coins or saved pennies and head right for the candy aisle. Or if we were being really adventurous, we'd go the other way, out past the mill, and go the half-mile to Mr. Owen's store for Astro Pops. (Mmmmm. Astro Pops!) My mother thought nothing of me riding my bike over to Em's house, about a half-mile away in the other direction. My brother and I walked uptown at least once a week (if not more often) to the library. I can still remember the cool air rushing out from the Speedy Mart and the smell of the Icee machines churning out that yumminess.
My neighbors -- to them, it wasn't "oh that's THEIR kid" ..... I was THEIR kid too. My neighbor and "third grandma" Granny B would not have thought twice about popping my fanny if I did something inappropriate. But more often than not, all they had to do was say something to invoke guilt and shame in me -- something like "Do you want your mama to know how you're acting out?" Oh my Lord, another childhood saying (do people still use this one): "Act like you've been somewhere before!" meaning, "I do NOT want people thinking you were raised by wolves so straighten up and fly right -- or I'll pop your fanny!"
It was a great childhood. The sad part is that even if I did have kids, I would never be able to give them the awesome experiences I had. I don't know my neighbors -- not many of them anyway -- by name. There are just a few that have been here for more than 5 years. The houses are changing, mostly by additions and remodelings. It's not the same neighborhood. And I would never allow my child to go to any of the places I went to, at least not by himself or herself until he/she was a teen (and even then, on a case basis). Biking around town? Only with me along for the ride.
Never the same. Time marching on, and stomping all over my past.
But it was nice, those days gone by.
Sunday, September 08, 2013
Invisible Illness Week
Please note: this is a repeat of my blogpost from September 2010 on the same subject. As Dan Pearce at Single Dad Laughing states, "Old posts need love too!" :)
This is National "Invisible Illnesses" Week -- a way to educate/advocate for all of us who do deal with an illness, just not an obvious or visible one. Or a way to remind others that we are so much more than our illnesses. I actually have two, since I also deal with migraines; however, the headaches are so mild by comparison that I would rather let those who deal with them on a daily basis speak on that topic. But this is the 24-7-365 one for me.......
30 THINGS ABOUT MY INVISIBLE ILLNESS YOU MAY NOT KNOW
Do you have an "invisible illness"???? Click http://invisibleillnessweek.com/ to learn about Invisible Illness Week
This is National "Invisible Illnesses" Week -- a way to educate/advocate for all of us who do deal with an illness, just not an obvious or visible one. Or a way to remind others that we are so much more than our illnesses. I actually have two, since I also deal with migraines; however, the headaches are so mild by comparison that I would rather let those who deal with them on a daily basis speak on that topic. But this is the 24-7-365 one for me.......
30 THINGS ABOUT MY INVISIBLE ILLNESS YOU MAY NOT KNOW
- The illness I live with is: Primary Lymphedema (I shall abbreviate as PLE). It is a condition in which the lymphatic system does not circulate properly and swelling can occur at the site of damage. Primary is congenital and most likely hereditary. It can manifest itself in early childhood, after puberty, or after age 35. Secondary lymphedema is caused by some trauma or removal of lymph nodes (example: cancer surgery). In so many women, they develope SLE in the arms or sides because of mastectomy. In my own particular case, it was probably present all along, is definitely hereditary (have a cousin with the same condition, just recently diagnosed as well in her late 60s!), and began to manifest itself sometime between ages 14 and 19. I can't pinpoint an exact time.
- I was diagnosed with it in the year: 2008.
- But I had symptoms since: Who knows? First manifest around 1985-ish?
- The biggest adjustment I’ve had to make is: needing support garments almost 24/7 (not in the shower or pool).
- Most people assume: that it's more of a cosmetic problem or an annoying discomfort than a medical condition.
- The hardest part about mornings is: needing the extra time to unravel bandages, re-roll, remove additional compression aids, AND put on the compression wear after showering. I've managed to get the compression hose on in about 5 minutes, but when I get a new pair, it's a few extra minutes for that.....
- My favorite medical TV show is: does "Forensic Files" count?
- A gadget I couldn't live without is: well, nothing that directly affects my condition.
- The hardest part about nights are: summer nights, when I'm wearing tubiform stockings, compression aids, AND 2-3 sets of bandages per leg. SWELTER!!!
- Each day I take __ pills & vitamins. Okay, about 10 vitamin/supplements, and 1-2 pills each day (not related to lymphedema; no pills for that!)
- Regarding alternative treatments I: am already utilizing them.... well, I don't consider MLD (manual lymphatic drainage) an alternative treatment, but some physicians do, I'm sure.....
- If I had to choose between an invisible illness or visible I would choose: I don't know which I would choose. There are times "invisible" is better, but you get so weary of explaining, "yes, I have an illness; no, it's not some quacked-up quasi-illness.... do you want to see information on it, because I can give you more than you'd ever want.
- Regarding working and career: I still get to work, but I have PT every two weeks, and so I work it as my lunch hour .... and if there's a difference, I make it up by staying late or coming in early.....
- People would be surprised to know: lymphedema isn't just a "cosmetic" condition but if untreated, it can lead to serious issues.
- The hardest thing to accept about my new reality has been: this is 24/7/365 for the rest of my life. In my case, it's congenital and so I have to manage it, the same way that anyone with a chronic condition has to manage theirs.
- Something I never thought I could do with my illness that I did was: nothing. I didn't realize I had this condition until I was 38 and so I just always DID with it anyway.
- The commercials about my illness: What commercials? Totally not on the commercial radar .... and thank God because there's not a drug out there to be advertised for it.... so none of the "what a wonder drug, here are the 40 million ways it could kill you" ads.
- Something I really miss doing since I was diagnosed is: Going support-hoseless.... I do in the shower, and a couple of times when I have had a migraine develop, I've gone to bed unwrapped or unhosed. And I won't be able to do hot tubs, saunas, steamrooms, etc. again. But otherwise......
- It was really hard to have to give up: my razor. Yep, I'm not allowed to use a single-blade, double-blade, quatro-blade, or any blade. Electric razors, those are fine. But if I nick the skin and infection sets in, the protein-rich lymphatic fluid is nothing but a breeding haven for bacteria..... :( Le sigh. So I don't get quite that silky smoooooooooooooth closeness. Hmm, wonder if lasering my legs would be okay! And Nair/Neet STINK (literally).
- A new hobby I have taken up since my diagnosis is: hmm.... cooking? Nothing really. It's a condition but not necessarily life-limiting. It's as limiting as I allow it to be. If I don't take care of myself and do the right thing, then yeah, it's limiting.....
- If I could have one day of feeling normal again I would: go hoseless!! :D But then again, after 5 years, it's a weird feeling even being hoseless in the pool!
- My illness has taught me: more about the way the human body works. I had so little knowledge (still do, I think) about the body's many, varied, interesting detox/elimination processes.
- Want to know a secret? One thing people say that gets under my skin is: well, about the condition: nothing. Not that I'm not ready to advocate, but most people don't ask much more than "so what do you have to go to PT for?" You do a short explanation, and it's like, "Oh. Wow. Didn't know there was such a thing...." and that's as far as it gets.
- BUT I love it when people: ASK QUESTIONS! and WANT to learn. What, a little extra knowledge will kill you?
- My favorite motto, scripture, quote that gets me through tough times is: my thought is that I have this condition, it does not have me.
- When someone is diagnosed I’d like to tell them: do not hesitate to learn about the condition, and DO NOT miss an MLD treatment, and FOLLOW THEIR INSTRUCTIONS. Yes, it's a colossal pain in the @$$ to bandage every night or use a pump (if you have fibrotic skin), but it beats bout after bout of cellulitis all to hell. I had ONE bout, extremely mild, no open wound -- and it STILL took 3 weeks of antibiotics to get it under control.
- Something that has surprised me about living with an illness is: well, for me, it was the fact that after 20-ish years of untreated and undiagnosed PLE, my skin had not become fibrotic, or otherwise horridly disfigured. I consider myself TREMENDOUSLY lucky in that respect. Even my physical therapist was VERY surprised. In some ways, it was almost like it had just recently started happening, instead of having 20 years or so of this condition.......
- The nicest thing someone did for me when I wasn’t feeling well was: Just listening to me.
- I’m involved with Invisible Illness Week because: I believe in advocating and educating. The more you know......
- The fact that you read this list makes me feel: happy -- and that I have made a little difference in helping people learn and understand
Do you have an "invisible illness"???? Click http://invisibleillnessweek.com/ to learn about Invisible Illness Week
Wednesday, August 14, 2013
So Not A Junkie
Allow me to introduce myself as apparently the only person left in America who doesn't give one single solitary hoot about Duck Dynasty. Or Breaking Bad. Or True Blood.
I have never seen a complete episode of Toddlers & Tiaras, or its crazy trainwreck relative, Honey Boo Boo. Then again, I never saw a single episode of Deadwood, The Sopranos, The L Word, or anything else that was big in the last decade. I flat refuse to watch anything about any Housewives anywhere, because I have zero in common with them except that we both have Double-X chromosomes.
I gave up on American Idol long ago. I don't watch America's Got Talent, So You Think You Can Dance, "God I Hope My Mama's Right And I Do Sound Just Like Whitney" or any of the other shows. I have caught snippets of The Voice, but never a full show let alone a full season.
DD is wholesome, people say. It talks of family values and faith. That's great, and I daresay they're probably more sincere than your average televangelist who does the same thing (on the surface anyway), but I'm still not interested. I don't do hunting. I have no desire to kill an animal, let alone freeze my butt off in a deer stand at 3:30 in the morning. No thank you. I don't eat duck either, so there. Decoys are kind of creepy to me anyway.
My guilty TV obsession? Chopped. Oh, and Restaurant: Impossible ........... but not during the middle of a pennant race (or lack of race, given that the Braves are 14 games up as I type). Come football season (15 more days!!), then my viewership of regular television will go even further down.
My favorite shows? The 4:30 AM news report. The 10:00 evening news. Any Braves game. Any football game (except the CFL, that's just NOT football). I was so desperate for sports one night when the Braves had an off-night, I freakin' listened to the NBA Draft, and I don't give a damn for the NBA. I even watched a few portions of the Stanley Cup, for cryin' out loud. Chopped. RI. American Pickers. And if I am feeling particularly in need of sordid entertainment, there's Snapped. The only serial/episodic show I follow to any extent is Parenthood..... I even stopped watching SVU after a while. Good show, but it's kind of jumped the shark a little.
I have all the ESPN family, FoxSportsSouth, and the NFL Network on my remote's speed dial (so to speak). That and the local affiliates, and I'm a happy clam.
Now, if they spoofed DD starring the AFLAC duck, I might watch the first episode.........
I have never seen a complete episode of Toddlers & Tiaras, or its crazy trainwreck relative, Honey Boo Boo. Then again, I never saw a single episode of Deadwood, The Sopranos, The L Word, or anything else that was big in the last decade. I flat refuse to watch anything about any Housewives anywhere, because I have zero in common with them except that we both have Double-X chromosomes.
I gave up on American Idol long ago. I don't watch America's Got Talent, So You Think You Can Dance, "God I Hope My Mama's Right And I Do Sound Just Like Whitney" or any of the other shows. I have caught snippets of The Voice, but never a full show let alone a full season.
DD is wholesome, people say. It talks of family values and faith. That's great, and I daresay they're probably more sincere than your average televangelist who does the same thing (on the surface anyway), but I'm still not interested. I don't do hunting. I have no desire to kill an animal, let alone freeze my butt off in a deer stand at 3:30 in the morning. No thank you. I don't eat duck either, so there. Decoys are kind of creepy to me anyway.
My guilty TV obsession? Chopped. Oh, and Restaurant: Impossible ........... but not during the middle of a pennant race (or lack of race, given that the Braves are 14 games up as I type). Come football season (15 more days!!), then my viewership of regular television will go even further down.
My favorite shows? The 4:30 AM news report. The 10:00 evening news. Any Braves game. Any football game (except the CFL, that's just NOT football). I was so desperate for sports one night when the Braves had an off-night, I freakin' listened to the NBA Draft, and I don't give a damn for the NBA. I even watched a few portions of the Stanley Cup, for cryin' out loud. Chopped. RI. American Pickers. And if I am feeling particularly in need of sordid entertainment, there's Snapped. The only serial/episodic show I follow to any extent is Parenthood..... I even stopped watching SVU after a while. Good show, but it's kind of jumped the shark a little.
I have all the ESPN family, FoxSportsSouth, and the NFL Network on my remote's speed dial (so to speak). That and the local affiliates, and I'm a happy clam.
Now, if they spoofed DD starring the AFLAC duck, I might watch the first episode.........
Sunday, August 11, 2013
"Doesn't Play Well With Others"
I am an introvert. And I'm surprised the title phrase never appeared on my report cards.
The first time I learned about my introversion was back in the early 90s, fresh out of college, and I took the MBTI (Myers-Briggs) for the first time. It came back INFP. I was a little taken aback: INFP?? ME? No, no, they have this wrong. Granted, I had been in a pretty down mood just before I took the test (thanks to a very spiteful coworker at the time), so maybe that's why the I part came in but no, no, no, I was a very outgoing person.
I had no idea.
I took it again a few years later: same result. I took another one that my new job did as part of an administrative team training. It wasn't the classic Myers-Briggs but I got similar results. I didn't end up in the "people person" quadrant. I was quite surprised again..... what was I answering incorrectly, I thought, to skew these answers? Over the years I've come to realize that there were no wrong answers -- only honesty.
I am an introvert. And these days, I embrace that label. It doesn't mean that I can't be social -- indeed, when I'm in a small group, and especially one in which I am very comfortable, I am THE motormouth of the group. But I have to work up to that level of comfort with you before I can get to that stage. It doesn't mean I'm slow on the draw, backward, shy, or a misanthrope (though I have my days when Grumpy Cat and I would be quite a pair). It does not mean I wish to be a hermit in every non-working waking hour. It means that I need quiet private time to myself in order to function well.
What it means is that I derive my energy from an internal source instead of external stimuli. Extroverts need to be around people in order to recharge. I need to withdraw from everyone to recharge. Think of it this way: extroverts need a Vegas strip hotel; introverts need a mountain cabin, off the main road, and maybe (maybe) a few close friends. The thought of a silent weekend retreat would petrify many extroverts; introverts are screaming, "OOOH! Where do I sign up?"
When I read Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus (because I was trying to understand someone in my life) and reading the portion about men needing "cave time" I wondered briefly if I was really a guy -- because the idea of having "cave time" was absolutely delicious. I realize now that it should have been a sure sign that I was an introvert.
Truth? I actually rather enjoy public speaking and performance, and trust me, I can improvise on the fly, take things as they roll, and never think twice about it.
But I don't schmooze well. I enjoy social functions but I will not work the room. I will speak to a small group of people, or dart between people with whom I am comfortable. The word "networking" makes me wretch; there's a connotation there of people determining if and how someone will be useful to them in the future..... I don't do small talk very well. And woe be unto ye if you get inside my personal space...... if you are in line next to me, stay back, please. I don't want you over my shoulder when I'm buying a pack of gum!
If you would like to learn more about introversion or introverted people, I highly recommend Quiet by Susan Cain. And just remember that we're people too, we just operate slightly differently in a world that sees it in a negative light while trumpeting extroversion as a positive value.
The first time I learned about my introversion was back in the early 90s, fresh out of college, and I took the MBTI (Myers-Briggs) for the first time. It came back INFP. I was a little taken aback: INFP?? ME? No, no, they have this wrong. Granted, I had been in a pretty down mood just before I took the test (thanks to a very spiteful coworker at the time), so maybe that's why the I part came in but no, no, no, I was a very outgoing person.
I had no idea.
I took it again a few years later: same result. I took another one that my new job did as part of an administrative team training. It wasn't the classic Myers-Briggs but I got similar results. I didn't end up in the "people person" quadrant. I was quite surprised again..... what was I answering incorrectly, I thought, to skew these answers? Over the years I've come to realize that there were no wrong answers -- only honesty.
I am an introvert. And these days, I embrace that label. It doesn't mean that I can't be social -- indeed, when I'm in a small group, and especially one in which I am very comfortable, I am THE motormouth of the group. But I have to work up to that level of comfort with you before I can get to that stage. It doesn't mean I'm slow on the draw, backward, shy, or a misanthrope (though I have my days when Grumpy Cat and I would be quite a pair). It does not mean I wish to be a hermit in every non-working waking hour. It means that I need quiet private time to myself in order to function well.
What it means is that I derive my energy from an internal source instead of external stimuli. Extroverts need to be around people in order to recharge. I need to withdraw from everyone to recharge. Think of it this way: extroverts need a Vegas strip hotel; introverts need a mountain cabin, off the main road, and maybe (maybe) a few close friends. The thought of a silent weekend retreat would petrify many extroverts; introverts are screaming, "OOOH! Where do I sign up?"
When I read Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus (because I was trying to understand someone in my life) and reading the portion about men needing "cave time" I wondered briefly if I was really a guy -- because the idea of having "cave time" was absolutely delicious. I realize now that it should have been a sure sign that I was an introvert.
Truth? I actually rather enjoy public speaking and performance, and trust me, I can improvise on the fly, take things as they roll, and never think twice about it.
But I don't schmooze well. I enjoy social functions but I will not work the room. I will speak to a small group of people, or dart between people with whom I am comfortable. The word "networking" makes me wretch; there's a connotation there of people determining if and how someone will be useful to them in the future..... I don't do small talk very well. And woe be unto ye if you get inside my personal space...... if you are in line next to me, stay back, please. I don't want you over my shoulder when I'm buying a pack of gum!
If you would like to learn more about introversion or introverted people, I highly recommend Quiet by Susan Cain. And just remember that we're people too, we just operate slightly differently in a world that sees it in a negative light while trumpeting extroversion as a positive value.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
-
On Friday, September 22, my baby brother departed this life. It was sudden and very unexpected, and I find myself at loose ends, not knowing... -
Twenty years ago or so, I was listening to the song "My Hometown" and thinking, "Oh how sad ... my town is a little like this...
-
I wanted to share with you a thing of true beauty I saw today at church. Let me preface it by saying while I am no fan of Clemson Universi...