So it is pretty obvious that the Christmas shopping season is upon us. For the past month or more I have been listening to people complain about the Christmas products on the sales floor. I am guessing that these people have never worked retail. They don't realize that the Christmas products have to get out of the stockroom because the Valentine's Day products will start rolling in. That's because the warehouse is receiving the Easter and summer products off of big ole cargo ships from China. I kid you not.
I don't want to set Christmas in October but I will have people ask me about product in September. If people did not buy it in October, it wouldn't be available to buy in October. Granted, at least one of my early Christmas product sales is bound for a deployed service member and that makes setting in October all worth while. So while I may complain a bit, packing up a santa that is desert bound reminds me to shut my mouth.
Anyway, back to my rant. I will be working Thanksgiving Day. So will a lot of other people. Doctors will be staffing emergency rooms. Nurses will be on the oncology floor, at labor and delivery, waiting to board a life flight. Cafeteria staff will be preparing a Thanksgiving meal for all those at the hospital, staff and patient. And thank the Lord for those people that are providing a real service. I have had a Blank Children's Hospital Thanksgiving meal. I know what that is like and I know how much I appreciated people being there to feed my family. To take care of my girl.
But I am not saving lives.
I will be working Thanksgiving Day. So will a lot of other people.
The streets of my town will be protected like they always are by West Des Moines finest. Every other city will be protected just the same. The firehouse three blocks over will be fully staffed and ready to rush to the first house to have an overly deep fried turkey on fire in the driveway. There will be taxi drivers ready to ferry the drunk and the tow trucks ready to pull out the unlucky on the road.
But I am not providing an important service.
I will be working Thanksgiving Day. And unfortunately so will a lot of other retail people. We will be there for the shopper that didn't plan ahead, that wants to get out of the house, that is sick of football, that wanted to get a jump on the shopping. I will have to keep the very fake smile plastered to my face when someone comments that it is "too bad" that we are open Thanksgiving Day. I will have to act like I am delighted to be there. I will not be saving a life, protecting a home, stopping a crime. I will be selling the beer, the sour cream, the board game, the make up kit.
My family will be at home with the cold beer and sour cream (what do people use sour cream for on Thanksgiving?) that I bought previously because I knew Thanksgiving was coming. They will be playing the board game we got for Christmas last year. They will be waiting for their family to be together to celebrate just enough before I have to go to sleep to get up at 5a.m. to do it all again.
My mom, the nurse, and my siblings, the hospital cafeteria employees, worked many holidays. They knew it going into the job. My husband, the protector of world, nation and city, had one year that he worked every holiday and every day in between, but again, knew that was part of the job. This was not part of the retail job when I started. There was some respect still for families. Granted, my particular place of employment now, has always been opened on all holidays, but it used to be shortened hours so that the shifts were covered by a reduced staff. Now it is open regular hours, like a regular day. When I worked at the hardware store, we were regular hours on Black Friday. We weren't trying to lure you in with $1.99 table saws. We were there to provide the nuts and bolts of your weekend project. Now days, a true DIYer will stay home that weekend just to avoid the maddening crowds.
I don't want to hear about your great Thanksgiving Day deals. I want to hear that you stayed home, hung out with the family. Said an extra prayer of gratitude for all those that had to work, to heal, to protect, to sell beer and sour cream. I want to know that there are more people that want to take back the holidays from the retailer, from the deal mad shopper. I want to see the retailer spread the sales around to other days throughout November. I want to see retailers give a damn about people. The people that work for them and shop from them. I always thought it would take a death to make retailers change their ways, but it only made them push the opening hours earlier.
It is truly up to the consumer to decide. Put your money where your heart is. Please don't shop on Thanksgiving. Buy your sour cream today.
Tuesday, November 19, 2013
Saturday, November 9, 2013
Today I am thankful for
November 10, 1776. The birth of the Marine Corps. Yes, I am so very thankful for this. It may sound odd as I was never a marine, never considered being a marine. But the United States Marine Corps has been awfully good to me and without the legend of Tuns Tavern and the men that drank there that November 10th, my little life would be very different indeed.
My love affair with the Corps began when my brother joined in 1978. My other brother followed in 1982. This blog isn't fact checked, but I think I have those dates right. But it wasn't until the summer of 1989 that I began to see my future with the USMC. I wasn't joining, just marrying into it. Just.
In November of 1989, Danny went to MCRD San Diego. He graduated boot camp on 9 February and I married him and by extension, the Corps, the very next day.
I will not even try to describe what being a Marine meant to and continues to mean to Danny. But being a marine's wife meant the world to me. And these feelings would have probably have been the same if Danny were in another branch, but having been the Marine Corps wife first, I will say that I don't think I could have been more proud of the branch Danny chose.
I got to live in Southern California. I got to drive on the I5. I got to navigate the military system. I learned how to live on my own. I learned to appreciate the mail man in ways I would never thought imaginable had we never chose this adventure. The Marine Corps gave me two daughters for around $50.00. I did most of the work, but they paid most of the bill.
The Marine Corps gave Danny and me the chance to move onto the US Army. And the Army gave me Germany and Jacob, who did not cost me anything.
The Marine Corps celebrates their birthday with a ball and cake and much pomp and pageantry. I have attended two balls, one while Danny was sitting in the desert of Saudi Arabia and the second one was two years later when Danny was sitting next to me.
Tonight I will go with Danny, not to a ball, but to a bar. Limey's off of Grand. We meet there every year and I generally bring the cake. After the formal cutting by the oldest and youngest marine present, it is sliced up and eaten in random bites by the drunk marines that walk by the table. They thank me for the cake and call me ma'am. They gather because they are thankful in different ways for what this branch has given them. I will hear the parts of a million different stories, all heavily peppered with swear words. The stories will not be about honorable causes or fights worth fighting. They will be about that one time that someone got drunk in France or Guam or Lejeune or Pendleton, a fight broke out, and the MP's showed up or all hell broke loose etc. There will be marines that fought in WWII and marines home on their first leave after boot camp.
Most of these guys are all out now, some did their four year tour and got out, returned to civilian life and went from there. Some stayed longer, some retired. Some are battle tested and some, well, some are full of shit. But they all have a few things in common, they all know how to adapt and overcome, they all know that Ronald Reagan was right and they all know that once a Marine, always a Marine. Semper Fi and thanks for letting me come to the party.
My love affair with the Corps began when my brother joined in 1978. My other brother followed in 1982. This blog isn't fact checked, but I think I have those dates right. But it wasn't until the summer of 1989 that I began to see my future with the USMC. I wasn't joining, just marrying into it. Just.
In November of 1989, Danny went to MCRD San Diego. He graduated boot camp on 9 February and I married him and by extension, the Corps, the very next day.
I will not even try to describe what being a Marine meant to and continues to mean to Danny. But being a marine's wife meant the world to me. And these feelings would have probably have been the same if Danny were in another branch, but having been the Marine Corps wife first, I will say that I don't think I could have been more proud of the branch Danny chose.
I got to live in Southern California. I got to drive on the I5. I got to navigate the military system. I learned how to live on my own. I learned to appreciate the mail man in ways I would never thought imaginable had we never chose this adventure. The Marine Corps gave me two daughters for around $50.00. I did most of the work, but they paid most of the bill.
The Marine Corps gave Danny and me the chance to move onto the US Army. And the Army gave me Germany and Jacob, who did not cost me anything.
The Marine Corps celebrates their birthday with a ball and cake and much pomp and pageantry. I have attended two balls, one while Danny was sitting in the desert of Saudi Arabia and the second one was two years later when Danny was sitting next to me.
Tonight I will go with Danny, not to a ball, but to a bar. Limey's off of Grand. We meet there every year and I generally bring the cake. After the formal cutting by the oldest and youngest marine present, it is sliced up and eaten in random bites by the drunk marines that walk by the table. They thank me for the cake and call me ma'am. They gather because they are thankful in different ways for what this branch has given them. I will hear the parts of a million different stories, all heavily peppered with swear words. The stories will not be about honorable causes or fights worth fighting. They will be about that one time that someone got drunk in France or Guam or Lejeune or Pendleton, a fight broke out, and the MP's showed up or all hell broke loose etc. There will be marines that fought in WWII and marines home on their first leave after boot camp.
Most of these guys are all out now, some did their four year tour and got out, returned to civilian life and went from there. Some stayed longer, some retired. Some are battle tested and some, well, some are full of shit. But they all have a few things in common, they all know how to adapt and overcome, they all know that Ronald Reagan was right and they all know that once a Marine, always a Marine. Semper Fi and thanks for letting me come to the party.
Monday, September 30, 2013
September is Childhood Cancer Awareness Month
And you thought that this month would pass by without any mention by me. All you thought I would do was change my profile picture to a yellow equal sign to remind people that there should be equal funding for childhood cancer research. And most of you didn't notice that. But why should you? Childhood cancer awareness month does not bombard you from every angle like breast cancer awareness month does. NFL players are not wearing gold shoes. Mars does not sell gold M&Ms. There are no three day walks down the coast of California, people in a sea of gold scarves, bandannas and sweatshirts. Childhood cancer does not strike famous people at the height of their careers. It does not end peoples lives, but instead stops lives from ever happening.
Today, two classrooms of children will be diagnosed with some form of childhood cancer. One in five of those children will not live. Cancer will take their tiny little lives and run havoc with it before it takes that child's last breath. When twenty two children were killed in Connecticut, the nation screamed. Today over twice that many will be given a sentence that will kill many of them and no one yells. No one except for the mom and dad, a few outraged friends and people who have been there. (I exclude myself from that list because unlike most of the parents I know of children who had cancer, I have never been able to get involved.) This is the shameful extent of my screaming.
It was five years ago this month that my daughter was in one of those classrooms. She survived. She knew one that didn't.
I am no a crusader or advocate. I don't get on soapboxes beyond my keyboard. I am full of opinions, but will never follow up on them, never will work hard enough to make a change. I ought to though, because mine was one that made it off the pediatric oncology ward and moved on to great and glorious things. Mine did not remain forever a seventeen year old but has kept on living large. Mine did not create a list of hopes and dreams that are being fulfilled by her parents, but went out and fulfilled those hopes and followed those dreams. So maybe I should do something more than remind those of you that will read this that there are babies dying because there is no funding. Maybe I should start proclaiming that gold is the new pink. Maybe I should think of all those advocates that went before me and raised the funds that found the cure that cured my daughter and be that advocate for the next two classrooms.
Hey Lisa, if you are reading this, what is my first step?
Today, two classrooms of children will be diagnosed with some form of childhood cancer. One in five of those children will not live. Cancer will take their tiny little lives and run havoc with it before it takes that child's last breath. When twenty two children were killed in Connecticut, the nation screamed. Today over twice that many will be given a sentence that will kill many of them and no one yells. No one except for the mom and dad, a few outraged friends and people who have been there. (I exclude myself from that list because unlike most of the parents I know of children who had cancer, I have never been able to get involved.) This is the shameful extent of my screaming.
It was five years ago this month that my daughter was in one of those classrooms. She survived. She knew one that didn't.
I am no a crusader or advocate. I don't get on soapboxes beyond my keyboard. I am full of opinions, but will never follow up on them, never will work hard enough to make a change. I ought to though, because mine was one that made it off the pediatric oncology ward and moved on to great and glorious things. Mine did not remain forever a seventeen year old but has kept on living large. Mine did not create a list of hopes and dreams that are being fulfilled by her parents, but went out and fulfilled those hopes and followed those dreams. So maybe I should do something more than remind those of you that will read this that there are babies dying because there is no funding. Maybe I should start proclaiming that gold is the new pink. Maybe I should think of all those advocates that went before me and raised the funds that found the cure that cured my daughter and be that advocate for the next two classrooms.
Hey Lisa, if you are reading this, what is my first step?
Thursday, September 26, 2013
Making My Dreams Come True
That would be my montage song. Unless I had to fight the Russian and then it would be Eye of the Tiger, obviously. No one can beat the Russian by working out to a Hall and Oates song. But if I were trying to get in shape or find the perfect outfit or redecorate the house in a funky sort of way, Hall and Oates without fail.
The idea behind the montage is to speed the story along and to have more than the opening and closing credit song on the soundtrack. The idea behind my montage is not to speed the story up, life goes pretty fast (thanks Ferris). But rather to make the not so fun, fun. Cleaning house, doing sit ups, chasing chickens and racing Apollo Creed isn't fun, though jumping in the crashing waves with Apollo Creed probably is! You know the scene I am talking about when grown men weren't afraid to wear short shorts and pull their socks up over their calves. Now it's just the opposite and shorts hang down to the socks that are pushed down. If we would have lost the cold war, that would have been one of the reasons. Sloppy short wearing.
I think montages help one get through the tedious and boring parts of life. And yet, we look back fondly because of the spunky back beat and catchy chorus. Making My Dreams Come True is in my head right now and I attempt to montage this blog.
The idea behind the montage is to speed the story along and to have more than the opening and closing credit song on the soundtrack. The idea behind my montage is not to speed the story up, life goes pretty fast (thanks Ferris). But rather to make the not so fun, fun. Cleaning house, doing sit ups, chasing chickens and racing Apollo Creed isn't fun, though jumping in the crashing waves with Apollo Creed probably is! You know the scene I am talking about when grown men weren't afraid to wear short shorts and pull their socks up over their calves. Now it's just the opposite and shorts hang down to the socks that are pushed down. If we would have lost the cold war, that would have been one of the reasons. Sloppy short wearing.
I think montages help one get through the tedious and boring parts of life. And yet, we look back fondly because of the spunky back beat and catchy chorus. Making My Dreams Come True is in my head right now and I attempt to montage this blog.
Tuesday, September 24, 2013
You Know that's Permanent Part II
Well, maybe it should be part III or IV because this is my fourth time to the seedy tattoo parlor. Anyway, I know these are permanent and I know that my skin will wrinkle as I age and I know that I will regret all my ink spots someday. (I don't really mean that last sentence, just answering the critics right off the bat.)
I wrote about my first tattoo a couple of years ago. I got a second one in Carson City with my sister in law, Denise. We got a Celtic symbol for sisters. That was a treat. Denise held my hand so tightly while I got tattoo'd that it barely hurt. Denise and I have identical knots on our left foot. My other sister in law, Dene' got the same tattoo on her neck. Tattoo number three was last fall after I had spent six months with an amazing group of women participating, planning and putting on a retreat. Between Ashlyn's cancer and my growth as a human, I had finally figured out how to Let Go and Let God so that is now on my calf.
Today's ink was twofold.
In 2004 while Danny was in Iraq, I went crazy. I am not exaggerating, ape shit crazy. I would like to think that I faked it pretty well and fooled everyone, but I did not fool myself. When I look back at many of those months, I am amazed that I made it out alive. And if I am completely honest, there were a few times when I don't know if I was trying to make it out alive. Oh, I wasn't suicidal I was just crazy. The darkest day found Barron and me home alone. I was the darkest I had ever been. I don't know what I was going to do that morning, I really don't. But I am quite certain that it was not going to be pretty.
Barron came to me, laid his big yellow head in my lap and let out a sigh. He stopped me from whatever horror I had in mind. It was his greatest rescue of me in a long line of rescues of me.
On my left ankle is a paw print of a 14 pound yellow lab. It was taken from a imprint made on 22 October 2001. That was about the time we got this angel that was sent to guard me in all my ways. Psalm 91:11.
On my right wrist, where I can see it all the time is three lines. Line one and line two are the two most important parts of my life and the third line is where I keep them.
My kinder
My honey
My heart
These are permanent. I get that. I get that I will have a paw print on my ankle for the rest of my life. I would rather have the paw and the dog that goes with it, but that isn't an option. But having a constant reminder of the life he saved is a good thing. Seeing that every day and knowing that God commands the angels to guard me in all their ways is a pretty powerful bit of knowledge. And I don't need to see that my kinder and my honey are in my heart. I know that. But it was a two-fer price and I love a good deal.
I wrote about my first tattoo a couple of years ago. I got a second one in Carson City with my sister in law, Denise. We got a Celtic symbol for sisters. That was a treat. Denise held my hand so tightly while I got tattoo'd that it barely hurt. Denise and I have identical knots on our left foot. My other sister in law, Dene' got the same tattoo on her neck. Tattoo number three was last fall after I had spent six months with an amazing group of women participating, planning and putting on a retreat. Between Ashlyn's cancer and my growth as a human, I had finally figured out how to Let Go and Let God so that is now on my calf.
Today's ink was twofold.
In 2004 while Danny was in Iraq, I went crazy. I am not exaggerating, ape shit crazy. I would like to think that I faked it pretty well and fooled everyone, but I did not fool myself. When I look back at many of those months, I am amazed that I made it out alive. And if I am completely honest, there were a few times when I don't know if I was trying to make it out alive. Oh, I wasn't suicidal I was just crazy. The darkest day found Barron and me home alone. I was the darkest I had ever been. I don't know what I was going to do that morning, I really don't. But I am quite certain that it was not going to be pretty.
Barron came to me, laid his big yellow head in my lap and let out a sigh. He stopped me from whatever horror I had in mind. It was his greatest rescue of me in a long line of rescues of me.
On my left ankle is a paw print of a 14 pound yellow lab. It was taken from a imprint made on 22 October 2001. That was about the time we got this angel that was sent to guard me in all my ways. Psalm 91:11.
On my right wrist, where I can see it all the time is three lines. Line one and line two are the two most important parts of my life and the third line is where I keep them.
My kinder
My honey
My heart
These are permanent. I get that. I get that I will have a paw print on my ankle for the rest of my life. I would rather have the paw and the dog that goes with it, but that isn't an option. But having a constant reminder of the life he saved is a good thing. Seeing that every day and knowing that God commands the angels to guard me in all their ways is a pretty powerful bit of knowledge. And I don't need to see that my kinder and my honey are in my heart. I know that. But it was a two-fer price and I love a good deal.
Friday, September 20, 2013
Taking Stock
Spectacles, testicles, wallet and watch. Well, not exactly what I am taking stock of today, but one gets the idea.
Life is in motion, and it is spinning just a little faster than I care for. Here in this house, Jacob is a senior. I don't care for that. He is sharing with me his plans for his future and it is taking place in places far from here. An adult now, registered for the draft, registered to vote. He has his own life to think of in very real terms.
In Cedar Falls and in Ames, life has sped up as well. Hayley, now a junior, has a five year plan in the works and I am paying attention. Wedding and baby is what she has her eye on in the next five years. It doesn't scare me in the least, been there and done that with much success so I see no reason why she should wait for some ideal age. I think her five year plan is ideal. Ashlyn in three months will no longer be in school. I clearly remember her first day. School and Ashlyn had been very good friends for a long time, but sometimes I think the relationship is becoming strained and maybe it is time for a change. And then what for my Ashlyn? Only the good Lord knows and He keeps His cards close to His chest.
Ata heads down the aisle in February. Having lived so far away, I don't know her well enough and I don't know the groom at all. I know that she is beautiful, talented, quirky and he is lucky. I will add to this paragraph in February.
And then there is my nephew, a navy man. Isaac will be setting sail for who knows where. It is a great big world and he is going to see it! Unfortunately, he will see a lot of shitholes as well as a lot of incredible places. I am very proud of him and very excited for him. I look forward to the day when Danny and I get to visit him overseas instead of vice versa!
Molly is up in Michigan and never on Facebook so I have no idea what she is up to. I suspect a bit of no good mixed in with a whole lot of fun. We all anticipate unexpected things from Molly. She will be fun to watch.
Tom is keeping close to home. A wise financial move, I imagine. Again, I think Tom will surprise us all. In good ways, obviously!
Morgan is living it up in the City. At barely seventeen, she is in New York studying with Joffery. I don't think I speak for her parents when I say that I am over the moon for this adventure! Of course, my girl was a little older when she set off for Chicago so I don't really have room to talk. But that has never stopped me before. And I pray that she keeps us posted on this moment. Hip Hip Hooray!
Still waiting to see what Melody, Maddie, Jayse, Cohen and Keaton will be and do. I can only imagine.
And here I am at definitely mid life. I say that with optimism that I will reach 86 and beyond. I am happy that my health issues were less than minor. Popping some pills, adding some stretches, maybe a few sit ups, a walk to the corner, a little less soda and a little more H2O, easy enough. I have made the conscious choice to look at the next few years with excitement not with sadness. Though I never thought it a good idea to have my kids move away, I won't see the downside of empty beds, less laundry or smaller grocery bills. Danny and I are golfing and movie nighting and booking flights. We are realizing that the best is definitely behind us and ahead of us and we are standing in the midst of it. We are looking to be healthy and happy in this life we have created with God's grace.
Spectacles, testicles, wallet and watch.
Life is in motion, and it is spinning just a little faster than I care for. Here in this house, Jacob is a senior. I don't care for that. He is sharing with me his plans for his future and it is taking place in places far from here. An adult now, registered for the draft, registered to vote. He has his own life to think of in very real terms.
In Cedar Falls and in Ames, life has sped up as well. Hayley, now a junior, has a five year plan in the works and I am paying attention. Wedding and baby is what she has her eye on in the next five years. It doesn't scare me in the least, been there and done that with much success so I see no reason why she should wait for some ideal age. I think her five year plan is ideal. Ashlyn in three months will no longer be in school. I clearly remember her first day. School and Ashlyn had been very good friends for a long time, but sometimes I think the relationship is becoming strained and maybe it is time for a change. And then what for my Ashlyn? Only the good Lord knows and He keeps His cards close to His chest.
Ata heads down the aisle in February. Having lived so far away, I don't know her well enough and I don't know the groom at all. I know that she is beautiful, talented, quirky and he is lucky. I will add to this paragraph in February.
And then there is my nephew, a navy man. Isaac will be setting sail for who knows where. It is a great big world and he is going to see it! Unfortunately, he will see a lot of shitholes as well as a lot of incredible places. I am very proud of him and very excited for him. I look forward to the day when Danny and I get to visit him overseas instead of vice versa!
Molly is up in Michigan and never on Facebook so I have no idea what she is up to. I suspect a bit of no good mixed in with a whole lot of fun. We all anticipate unexpected things from Molly. She will be fun to watch.
Tom is keeping close to home. A wise financial move, I imagine. Again, I think Tom will surprise us all. In good ways, obviously!
Morgan is living it up in the City. At barely seventeen, she is in New York studying with Joffery. I don't think I speak for her parents when I say that I am over the moon for this adventure! Of course, my girl was a little older when she set off for Chicago so I don't really have room to talk. But that has never stopped me before. And I pray that she keeps us posted on this moment. Hip Hip Hooray!
Still waiting to see what Melody, Maddie, Jayse, Cohen and Keaton will be and do. I can only imagine.
And here I am at definitely mid life. I say that with optimism that I will reach 86 and beyond. I am happy that my health issues were less than minor. Popping some pills, adding some stretches, maybe a few sit ups, a walk to the corner, a little less soda and a little more H2O, easy enough. I have made the conscious choice to look at the next few years with excitement not with sadness. Though I never thought it a good idea to have my kids move away, I won't see the downside of empty beds, less laundry or smaller grocery bills. Danny and I are golfing and movie nighting and booking flights. We are realizing that the best is definitely behind us and ahead of us and we are standing in the midst of it. We are looking to be healthy and happy in this life we have created with God's grace.
Spectacles, testicles, wallet and watch.
Sunday, September 15, 2013
Prodigal
I went to mass today. This is the third week in a row. I took the summer off and let's be honest, most of the spring and a lot of last winter as well. But I'm back and am giving it the ole college try (which means I should last about six weeks before dropping out). I go alone and sit against the wall right next to the Blessed Sacrament Chapel. I choose to sit there because I am a safe distance from White Diamonds or any other dangerous scent. Sometimes I feel like a jerk, like I don't want to be part of the congregation, but since I am alone, it is important that I don't get boxed in with bad perfume on too many sides of me. Though if I did have an allergic reaction, I think every third member is a doctor so someone could administer the epi injection.
Today's gospel was an oldie but a goody, the triple parable. Missing sheep, missing coin, self centered son. This one has always given me some struggle. I understand why the shepherd went looking for his one lost sheep. I would have gone looking as well. But why in the world doesn't he have some dogs working for him. A couple of Anatolian shepherds and those sheep won't be going anywhere. If the shepherd weren't Jewish, he could have even trained a pig to keep the sheep in line. It worked beautifully for Farmer Arthur H. Hoggett. I don't know if I would have gone as far as to have swept the whole house for a missing coin, but I do check Jacob's pockets for loose change. (And I keep it). But the prodigal son always seemed unfair. As I have grown (up and in my faith) I have come to realize that the son that stayed with the father has always been promised an inheritance, but the one that came home after laying with whores and pigs, well, there was reason to celebrate (after he showered, of course). And as a parent, I would celebrate the return of my child. As a parent, I do celebrate the return of my child and they never left me, they just went to college.
And now I am returning. I am not the prodigal son by any means, I am the lazy daughter. I am the child that hits snooze on a Sunday morning because I cannot hit it during the week. I am full of excuses and it really is quite pathetic, especially when I see all these people filling the pews with unruly kids in tow. I don't have any problem making date night on Wednesday so I don't see why a Sunday morning meal is any more difficult.
It is my own doing that I go alone. I never made Sunday mass a priority. I never made it a part of our week. It was always hit and miss, more miss. I don't even know how important I made God in our lives. I would mulligan that, if I could. I would have made Sunday mornings a ritual of getting dressed up and celebrating mass followed by breakfast. We did that frequently in Cedar Rapids and Happy Chef was usually where we ended up!
So back to the prodigal child that I am. There was no fatted calf roasting in celebration of my return. But I liked being back and I am pretty sure that The Lord is glad I am back. I know that I don't have to be in a church on Sunday to praise The Lord, but much like a fine meal, it is better when it is shared. I think that's where the fatted calf comes in.
Today's gospel was an oldie but a goody, the triple parable. Missing sheep, missing coin, self centered son. This one has always given me some struggle. I understand why the shepherd went looking for his one lost sheep. I would have gone looking as well. But why in the world doesn't he have some dogs working for him. A couple of Anatolian shepherds and those sheep won't be going anywhere. If the shepherd weren't Jewish, he could have even trained a pig to keep the sheep in line. It worked beautifully for Farmer Arthur H. Hoggett. I don't know if I would have gone as far as to have swept the whole house for a missing coin, but I do check Jacob's pockets for loose change. (And I keep it). But the prodigal son always seemed unfair. As I have grown (up and in my faith) I have come to realize that the son that stayed with the father has always been promised an inheritance, but the one that came home after laying with whores and pigs, well, there was reason to celebrate (after he showered, of course). And as a parent, I would celebrate the return of my child. As a parent, I do celebrate the return of my child and they never left me, they just went to college.
And now I am returning. I am not the prodigal son by any means, I am the lazy daughter. I am the child that hits snooze on a Sunday morning because I cannot hit it during the week. I am full of excuses and it really is quite pathetic, especially when I see all these people filling the pews with unruly kids in tow. I don't have any problem making date night on Wednesday so I don't see why a Sunday morning meal is any more difficult.
It is my own doing that I go alone. I never made Sunday mass a priority. I never made it a part of our week. It was always hit and miss, more miss. I don't even know how important I made God in our lives. I would mulligan that, if I could. I would have made Sunday mornings a ritual of getting dressed up and celebrating mass followed by breakfast. We did that frequently in Cedar Rapids and Happy Chef was usually where we ended up!
So back to the prodigal child that I am. There was no fatted calf roasting in celebration of my return. But I liked being back and I am pretty sure that The Lord is glad I am back. I know that I don't have to be in a church on Sunday to praise The Lord, but much like a fine meal, it is better when it is shared. I think that's where the fatted calf comes in.
Sunday, July 21, 2013
Tough Mudder
Lets take stock of me.
Dirt is imbedded in my feet. I don't know how long I will have to soak them before they are truly clean. I have one blister on the back of one foot which is remarkable because both socks kept working themselves down and would bunch up under my toes. My left leg has two pink bruises on the lower leg, many scratches on the knee, a speckled egg bruise on the knee and three bigger, bluer bruises on my thigh. The right leg does not look much better. There is a three part bruise on the left side of my lower ribs. My arms have just a few bruises and no cuts or scratches. I am sunburned across the back of my neck. I am also sunburned on my forehead. Every muscle that I can feel is screaming at me when I make a move. Once I get moving, I feel okay, but it takes a long time to get moving.
How did I get like this?
I signed up for Tough Mudder in October of 2012. I had over nine months to train. I bought one exercise series, one pilates machine, one trial gym membership and one gym renewal. I did not train for more than two weeks consecutively or more than eight weeks total. I did lose six pounds that I have kept off.
Yesterday, July 20, 2013, my over nine months had come and gone and it was go time. I seriously contemplated every conceivable scenario that would get me out of where I was at 11:15 on Saturday. But as luck would have it, there I was under a giant inflatable start line getting ready to participate in the physical challenge of my life. I was very surprised that I did not feel like I was going to throw up but was just eager to get started!
Tough Mudder is a, depending upon the location, 10-15 mile obstacle mud challenge. This particular challenge was at Somerset Amphitheater in Wisconsin. The terrain was natural and was all hills until the end. The natural terrain was dusty and sometimes rocky. There were low tree stumps and stalks that had to be manuevered around. This was no walk in the park, so to speak. The obstacles had names like Artic Enema and Berlin Walls. At the end is another giant inflatable, this one saying finish, a table of t-shirts, headbands and beer.
I got to this spot because, well it seemed like a good idea at the time. Danny had ran two Tough Mudders. Jacob wanted to run when he turned eighteen, which was this year. Hayley thought that if Danny and Jacob were doing it, it would be fun to do it, too. That lead to Hayley wanting it to be a family thing, so Ashlyn signed up. Ashlyn almost didn't make it having arrived from South Africa a day and a half prior. Not wanting to be left on the sidelines, I said "what the hell." And because Brett is already considered family, he got his registration for Christmas from Danny and me.
So back to yesterday and all that happened that has left me a bruised and beat up girl. Before the challenge even began, the participants had to climb over wall. 9Us gals have very little upper body strength so all 'pull yourself up' activities quickly became 'Danny and Brett hoist us up' activities0. Climbing over the wall gave me the inner thigh bruises, there would be a few more walls that would add to the bruises, but I kinda liked that blood was spilt (internally) right from the get go!
I chickened out of Trench Warfare which was four trenches dug out of the ground and shallowly filled with water. Above the trenches were grids of barded wire and hanging from the wire were wires with electric current running through some. Danny gave me that look, but I knew I didn't want to do this. The last obstacle is also a shocker, with the wires hanging down and the Mudder running through them. I opted out of that one as well, though I regret that. The other one I opted out of was a series of six wide trenches that one simply had to jump over. This one screamed injury and I was not going to risk a compound fracture or even a twisted ankle at this point in the challenge. I don't have any regrets about skipping that one.
The Berlin Walls were two walls, 12 feet high that had to be climbed over. I was the first to go. One of the Mudder volunteers showed us an easy way. He took a knee against the wall and I put one foot on his leg and the other on his shoulder. He stood up and I went up the wall. I was able to grab the top and with a lot of pushing from below, was able to get my legs over. The problem was I didn't know what to do once I got to the top. I hung on for a moment, knowing that I had to let myself go easily and land in a way that I could absorb the impact without getting hurt. Unfortunately, upper body strength gave out, fingers lost their grip and I took the most ungraceful fall of the day. Hayley was on the other side of the wall and she watched my fingers slide past the boards. Ashlyn watched me hit and figured I had injured my back especially when she watched me gingerly walk off the course towards the emergency gator. I did not hurt my back but landed on my knee ala THOR and thought I had wrecked it. But I bounced back, did not do the second wall and walked it off.
I also successfully walked off a lower calf cramp that really wanted to form, but no, no, no. Not in my leg!
The obstacle that I am most proud that I overcame was the big Wheaties advertisement. I can't find the name of the obstacle so I am going to possibly make up the details as well as the name. On the back side, we climbed up some two by fours to the top of a platform. The top of the platform must have been 15 feet above a 12 foot pool of muddy water. These are guesses based on how high Ellis high board was when Ashlyn and Hayley were 9 and 7. Anyway, the Mudder in front of me had a change of heart and decided not to jump. I think she stood too long at the edge and got overwhelmed. I totally get that. I did not stand at the edge but just went for the jump. It was a long way down and seemed like I was under water for ever. I have a tendency to release my air too soon and got a little panicky as I was coming up. I didn't open my eyes since the water was a murky brown anyway. But had my hands pointed north and push kicked like a son of a bitch. I knew Danny was already out of the water because he had to jump before me. I put a lot of undue pressure on him as I always expect him to be there to save my life if needed. When I came up, I locked my focus on the rescue diver that was in the waters edge and I swam to shore. I didn't panic and I got out of that water ecstatic. Watching other Mudders jump in gave me a real sense of accomplishment. That was exactly the kind of obstacle I would have wimped out of because I wouldn't have believed I was strong enough. (Wimping out the of the shock ones was purely because I was a puss).
It took our completely untrained group of six four and a half hours to travel eleven miles and seventeenish obstacles. I had to stop a couple of times to catch my breath, to convince myself to push myself up the hill, to fix my sock. Hayley also had sock issues. The rest of the group kept moving. Jacob and Brett would have liked to have ran more and for that, I am sorry, but they knew going in that I was going in as well! Danny was able to avoid the shoulder fatigue at the cargo net obstacle because three of our team were taller than him and held the net above his head. He was able to complete the monkey bars but his face showed extreme duress. Brett and Jacob also completed the monkey bars. Hayley got a few bars out there and dropped right in front of Ashlyn who didn't make it quite as far. I just jumped in the water and swam across!
Crossing the finish line gives one a head band, t-shirt and if 21, a cold beer. Crossing the finish line gave me a pretty huge sense of accomplishment. I asked myself to do a few things that I didn't want to do. I was not as strong as most, or as fast as most, or as fit as most. But I have a head band that most don't have. I am a Tough Mudder.
3.Glory Blades inverted walls climbed braces
4.King of the Mountain hay bale
5.Trench Warfare electric shock
6.Boa Constrictor tube down water in middle crawled back up
7.Cliffhanger
8.Mud Mile #1
9.Hold Your Wood
10.Log Jammin’
11.Mud Mile #2
12.Warrior Carry
13.Cage Crawl
14.Walk the Plank
15.Berlin Walls
16.Everest
17.Funky Monkey
18.Electroshock Therapy
Dirt is imbedded in my feet. I don't know how long I will have to soak them before they are truly clean. I have one blister on the back of one foot which is remarkable because both socks kept working themselves down and would bunch up under my toes. My left leg has two pink bruises on the lower leg, many scratches on the knee, a speckled egg bruise on the knee and three bigger, bluer bruises on my thigh. The right leg does not look much better. There is a three part bruise on the left side of my lower ribs. My arms have just a few bruises and no cuts or scratches. I am sunburned across the back of my neck. I am also sunburned on my forehead. Every muscle that I can feel is screaming at me when I make a move. Once I get moving, I feel okay, but it takes a long time to get moving.
How did I get like this?
I signed up for Tough Mudder in October of 2012. I had over nine months to train. I bought one exercise series, one pilates machine, one trial gym membership and one gym renewal. I did not train for more than two weeks consecutively or more than eight weeks total. I did lose six pounds that I have kept off.
Yesterday, July 20, 2013, my over nine months had come and gone and it was go time. I seriously contemplated every conceivable scenario that would get me out of where I was at 11:15 on Saturday. But as luck would have it, there I was under a giant inflatable start line getting ready to participate in the physical challenge of my life. I was very surprised that I did not feel like I was going to throw up but was just eager to get started!
Tough Mudder is a, depending upon the location, 10-15 mile obstacle mud challenge. This particular challenge was at Somerset Amphitheater in Wisconsin. The terrain was natural and was all hills until the end. The natural terrain was dusty and sometimes rocky. There were low tree stumps and stalks that had to be manuevered around. This was no walk in the park, so to speak. The obstacles had names like Artic Enema and Berlin Walls. At the end is another giant inflatable, this one saying finish, a table of t-shirts, headbands and beer.
I got to this spot because, well it seemed like a good idea at the time. Danny had ran two Tough Mudders. Jacob wanted to run when he turned eighteen, which was this year. Hayley thought that if Danny and Jacob were doing it, it would be fun to do it, too. That lead to Hayley wanting it to be a family thing, so Ashlyn signed up. Ashlyn almost didn't make it having arrived from South Africa a day and a half prior. Not wanting to be left on the sidelines, I said "what the hell." And because Brett is already considered family, he got his registration for Christmas from Danny and me.
So back to yesterday and all that happened that has left me a bruised and beat up girl. Before the challenge even began, the participants had to climb over wall. 9Us gals have very little upper body strength so all 'pull yourself up' activities quickly became 'Danny and Brett hoist us up' activities0. Climbing over the wall gave me the inner thigh bruises, there would be a few more walls that would add to the bruises, but I kinda liked that blood was spilt (internally) right from the get go!
We started out jogging as a group, but I knew that I wouldn't be able to last. There is a mental wall that has been built that separates me from running and jogging. I am happy to walk for miles and miles, but ask me to run and my lungs set themselves on fire. We walked most of the eleven mile course. Sorry about that.
The obstacles were pretty creative and for the most part, pretty fun. There were seventeen obstacles and I was successful in all that I attempted except one. I opted out of three, one of which I now sort of regret.
Kiss of mud was an easy, peasy low crawl through the mud with barbed wire gridded high above one's head. We all came out of that happy and muddy!
That feeling quickly changed as we approached the Artic Enema. Folks, I have been cold before but never, ever like this. A MWA roll off dumpster was filled with ice water. And by ice water, I mean that ice cubes were floating happily in this at 11:30 on a summer's day. The water probably went up to my chest, I honestly don't remember. I was the first to slide in and quickly made it to the board that was hanging just below the water's surface. I had to go completely under but just for a moment. That was all okay. It was the nearly impossible task of taking a breath after I brought my head out of the water that set me into a minor panic. I kept my hand on the side of the dumpster and got to the end. I am pretty sure that Danny boosted me out and I am pretty sure I was going to go head first out of that. I think a fellow Mudder righted me and I hit the ground. We were fortunate to have a sunny day and we warmed up as we moved on. That was one obstacle that I would have liked to have seen a volunteer to two at the end to rescue people like me.
The easy ones had us climbing hay bales and over and under logs. We shimmied down some culverts and shimmied back up the other side. We low crawled through some water, we ran through some water, we low crawled through some more water. We laid on our backs in water and pulled ourselves along a chain link fence suspended overhead. We climbed over piles of mud and slid into pools of muddy water only to climb over piles of mud to slide back into pools of muddy water. Jacob had a blast in this one, called Mud Mile #2. He practically swam in the pools. He was amazed at how buoyant he was in the muddy water. Jacob, except for the center of his face, was covered in mud after that obstacle. I chickened out of Trench Warfare which was four trenches dug out of the ground and shallowly filled with water. Above the trenches were grids of barded wire and hanging from the wire were wires with electric current running through some. Danny gave me that look, but I knew I didn't want to do this. The last obstacle is also a shocker, with the wires hanging down and the Mudder running through them. I opted out of that one as well, though I regret that. The other one I opted out of was a series of six wide trenches that one simply had to jump over. This one screamed injury and I was not going to risk a compound fracture or even a twisted ankle at this point in the challenge. I don't have any regrets about skipping that one.
The Berlin Walls were two walls, 12 feet high that had to be climbed over. I was the first to go. One of the Mudder volunteers showed us an easy way. He took a knee against the wall and I put one foot on his leg and the other on his shoulder. He stood up and I went up the wall. I was able to grab the top and with a lot of pushing from below, was able to get my legs over. The problem was I didn't know what to do once I got to the top. I hung on for a moment, knowing that I had to let myself go easily and land in a way that I could absorb the impact without getting hurt. Unfortunately, upper body strength gave out, fingers lost their grip and I took the most ungraceful fall of the day. Hayley was on the other side of the wall and she watched my fingers slide past the boards. Ashlyn watched me hit and figured I had injured my back especially when she watched me gingerly walk off the course towards the emergency gator. I did not hurt my back but landed on my knee ala THOR and thought I had wrecked it. But I bounced back, did not do the second wall and walked it off.
I also successfully walked off a lower calf cramp that really wanted to form, but no, no, no. Not in my leg!
The obstacle that I am most proud that I overcame was the big Wheaties advertisement. I can't find the name of the obstacle so I am going to possibly make up the details as well as the name. On the back side, we climbed up some two by fours to the top of a platform. The top of the platform must have been 15 feet above a 12 foot pool of muddy water. These are guesses based on how high Ellis high board was when Ashlyn and Hayley were 9 and 7. Anyway, the Mudder in front of me had a change of heart and decided not to jump. I think she stood too long at the edge and got overwhelmed. I totally get that. I did not stand at the edge but just went for the jump. It was a long way down and seemed like I was under water for ever. I have a tendency to release my air too soon and got a little panicky as I was coming up. I didn't open my eyes since the water was a murky brown anyway. But had my hands pointed north and push kicked like a son of a bitch. I knew Danny was already out of the water because he had to jump before me. I put a lot of undue pressure on him as I always expect him to be there to save my life if needed. When I came up, I locked my focus on the rescue diver that was in the waters edge and I swam to shore. I didn't panic and I got out of that water ecstatic. Watching other Mudders jump in gave me a real sense of accomplishment. That was exactly the kind of obstacle I would have wimped out of because I wouldn't have believed I was strong enough. (Wimping out the of the shock ones was purely because I was a puss).
It took our completely untrained group of six four and a half hours to travel eleven miles and seventeenish obstacles. I had to stop a couple of times to catch my breath, to convince myself to push myself up the hill, to fix my sock. Hayley also had sock issues. The rest of the group kept moving. Jacob and Brett would have liked to have ran more and for that, I am sorry, but they knew going in that I was going in as well! Danny was able to avoid the shoulder fatigue at the cargo net obstacle because three of our team were taller than him and held the net above his head. He was able to complete the monkey bars but his face showed extreme duress. Brett and Jacob also completed the monkey bars. Hayley got a few bars out there and dropped right in front of Ashlyn who didn't make it quite as far. I just jumped in the water and swam across!
Crossing the finish line gives one a head band, t-shirt and if 21, a cold beer. Crossing the finish line gave me a pretty huge sense of accomplishment. I asked myself to do a few things that I didn't want to do. I was not as strong as most, or as fast as most, or as fit as most. But I have a head band that most don't have. I am a Tough Mudder.
3.Glory Blades inverted walls climbed braces
4.King of the Mountain hay bale
5.Trench Warfare electric shock
6.Boa Constrictor tube down water in middle crawled back up
7.Cliffhanger
8.Mud Mile #1
9.Hold Your Wood
10.Log Jammin’
11.Mud Mile #2
12.Warrior Carry
13.Cage Crawl
14.Walk the Plank
15.Berlin Walls
16.Everest
17.Funky Monkey
18.Electroshock Therapy
Sunday, July 14, 2013
What Happens in Vegas
Nothing really happened in Vegas. Surprisingly, it was not our kind of town. I think it was a combination of heat, ridiculous pricing and that slot machines are no longer slotted for real money. Don't get me wrong, we had a good time, Danny and I on vacation equals good time. It just wasn't the greatest time. And there were many moments when I would look at the family from Germany or Brazil or some other fantastic vacation place and think "what the hell are you doing here?" and "is this really the best we have to offer the vacationers of the world?" Danny reminded me that they probably had just been to California and that people tend to appreciate home a little more after they have been on vacation.
The main purpose of our trip was to see the Gillott's dance. The Gillott's are Danny's sister and family. The dancers are Morgan, Maddie and Jayse. They have been dancing for always and we have never seen them in fancy costumes with lighting and such so with Morgan moving on to other adventures, this was our window.
Impressive, definitely impressive. It was clear the work and passion that goes into being this involved in anything, be it dancing, sports, chess etc. Well chess doesn't require costume changes. Anyway, impressive and not at all something the White family of WDM would have succeeded at. I take that back, we would have succeeded at it. We are pretty awesome. It is just hard to imagine us in that role.
Certainly, Danny and I would have traveled the world in support of Ashlyn and Hayley's pairs gymnastics if they would have just stuck with it.
Anyway, back to Vegas. Did you know that they get only four inches of rain a year, but six inches of vomit and 7.5 inches of boobie cards. Speaking of boobie cards. Not all are the same size (cards and boobs) so you cannot make your own 52 count deck of cards. That is why Jacob did not get a Vegas deck of cards souvenir.
Shopping is plentiful on the strip and we did a fair amount of 'just looking'. I found the shop keepers to be very nice even though they could tell that I was not going to purchase their wares. We chatted with the Rolex dealer, I had some questions about the watch that went to the bottom of the ocean on James Cameron's sub. The watch guy, (I think that's what they are called) made the comment that there was not a big call for Rolex's in Iowa. I held back (way back) and did not create an incident, but oh, my little Midwest manners were working overtime. True though, there is not a lot of call for a $12,000(0) time piece in Iowa or any other place in the world (except the Marian Trench).
The lovely lady at the Burberry store did not know that college students from Iowa could dress in attire other than overalls. Personally, I don't think she knew where Iowa was. I (and I was nice) explained to her that the great state of Iowa has two major universities (no offence UNI) that have huge international populations. I also educated her on the fact that Iowa State invented the computer and the rice crispie bar. There is no other university in the nation that has made a contribution to society greater than that. Individually, sure, but when you combine BAM!
Plenty of homeless people in Vegas, or at least that is what the sheet of cardboard said. I am not very sympathetic to the people in general and to people who can get a job in specific. If you want me to give you spare change (1) then don't yell at me (2) don't have really bid dogs near your change cup (3) don't sit there all freakin day and don't do a damn thing to improve your lot in life. They, like the slot machines got none of my money.
Vegas is now checked off the list. There is no plan to return. We didn't hate it by any means, there is just a long list of other places and other faces. Besides, its obvious what happened in Vegas didn't stay there, I'm telling you all about it now.
The main purpose of our trip was to see the Gillott's dance. The Gillott's are Danny's sister and family. The dancers are Morgan, Maddie and Jayse. They have been dancing for always and we have never seen them in fancy costumes with lighting and such so with Morgan moving on to other adventures, this was our window.
Impressive, definitely impressive. It was clear the work and passion that goes into being this involved in anything, be it dancing, sports, chess etc. Well chess doesn't require costume changes. Anyway, impressive and not at all something the White family of WDM would have succeeded at. I take that back, we would have succeeded at it. We are pretty awesome. It is just hard to imagine us in that role.
Certainly, Danny and I would have traveled the world in support of Ashlyn and Hayley's pairs gymnastics if they would have just stuck with it.
Anyway, back to Vegas. Did you know that they get only four inches of rain a year, but six inches of vomit and 7.5 inches of boobie cards. Speaking of boobie cards. Not all are the same size (cards and boobs) so you cannot make your own 52 count deck of cards. That is why Jacob did not get a Vegas deck of cards souvenir.
Shopping is plentiful on the strip and we did a fair amount of 'just looking'. I found the shop keepers to be very nice even though they could tell that I was not going to purchase their wares. We chatted with the Rolex dealer, I had some questions about the watch that went to the bottom of the ocean on James Cameron's sub. The watch guy, (I think that's what they are called) made the comment that there was not a big call for Rolex's in Iowa. I held back (way back) and did not create an incident, but oh, my little Midwest manners were working overtime. True though, there is not a lot of call for a $12,000(0) time piece in Iowa or any other place in the world (except the Marian Trench).
The lovely lady at the Burberry store did not know that college students from Iowa could dress in attire other than overalls. Personally, I don't think she knew where Iowa was. I (and I was nice) explained to her that the great state of Iowa has two major universities (no offence UNI) that have huge international populations. I also educated her on the fact that Iowa State invented the computer and the rice crispie bar. There is no other university in the nation that has made a contribution to society greater than that. Individually, sure, but when you combine BAM!
Plenty of homeless people in Vegas, or at least that is what the sheet of cardboard said. I am not very sympathetic to the people in general and to people who can get a job in specific. If you want me to give you spare change (1) then don't yell at me (2) don't have really bid dogs near your change cup (3) don't sit there all freakin day and don't do a damn thing to improve your lot in life. They, like the slot machines got none of my money.
Vegas is now checked off the list. There is no plan to return. We didn't hate it by any means, there is just a long list of other places and other faces. Besides, its obvious what happened in Vegas didn't stay there, I'm telling you all about it now.
Sunday, July 7, 2013
Made In Germany
Today is my son's 18th birthday. He is my youngest child so for all intents and purposes, I'm done. I can wash my hands of him and kick him to the curb. Unfortunately, I would also be required to kick his odd assortment of things to the curb with him and that just isn't a job I care to tackle.
Yesterday, prior to leaving for work, Jacob announced that when he returned home, he would be an adult. That statement, though true on paper, will not be true in my eyes for a very long time. If ever. I am not ready to let go of this boy of mine.
Jacob Lee wa born on a sweltering July day. He didn't really give me too much trouble entering the world and had we been in an American medical facility, I think I would have looked upon the labor and delivery with a little less annoyance. The Germans wanted Jacob and I to stay a week. We thought otherwise and I signed a paper that I have no idea what it said and home we went. Home was a three bedroom apartment in military housing. The neighbors, Silvia, Daniel and Dustin came up to see him. Danny was on leave. This expanded family settled down to getting to know each other.
Jacob was a better baby than the girls. Being better than Ashlyn would be a label I could give to a monkey for as horrible as that girl was, but that is another story. Jacob was content. He liked to eat, he liked to sleep more and he liked to watch the big black dog most. There were a great many nights that getting Jacob to eat was a challenge because Liesl was in the room. She usually just needed to give him a good once over and then she would lay down and Jacob would eat. As he grew, Liesl and he were good friends. I wish he could remember that dog, the way she loved him to the point where the lines were blurred and she forgot her place. But that is another story, one I don't care to tell.
Jacob spent his little guy years in Bad Kissingen, Germany. He was a great traveler by car and train, backpack and stroller. He was happy to be along for the ride. At six weeks, he was sight seeing in Salzburg. Over the next three years, there would be more trips to Salzburg, Paris, Amsterdam, Prague and Bolzono. Very little of his Germany years have stayed with him. I hope that when he goes back (back to the Motherland) something will look familiar, something will make his heart twinge just a little.
Not much was required of Jacob. His sisters were always tending to his needs. Words did not come to him for a long time because he didn't need to speak. A hand gesture and a piece of cheese appeared. Jacob was a regular fixture at the girls' school while volunteered there. Everyone knew him and I could leave him with the 2nd grade teacher for half the day. Jacob would settle in with dinosuars and some cookies. He would take off his shoes and happily play while class went on around him.
Jacob moved to the United States, Iowa, Cedar Rapids when he was three. He moved to West Des Moines when he was five and has called West Des Moines home ever since.
I have written about Jacob before, about his antics and his infuriating ways. I have described him in various ways and have described myself as very fortunate to be his mom. And I am. Jacob is his own man. He is of his own mind and though he changes that mind from time to time, his core beliefs are true and straight. I envy that in him. There are those that don't get him, that don't get his quick wit and dry sense of humor. I get him. Most of the time.
Jacob tried his hand at wrestling, but wasn't driven enough to win if it meant that his opponent might cry. He played soccer a couple of summers, but that, too wasn't his thing. Being born in Europe does not make loving soccer or futball automatic. Jacob used to draw a lot. There is an entire world of creatures, good and evil, in a storage box under a bed. I used to draw when I was little. Mine creatures resembled Snoopy. We differed there.
Honestly, the years are a blur of Jacob growing up. I didn't see enough or do enough or slow things down enough to not feel like I missed out on so much. I think most parents feel that way. Most wish to turn back some of the time, or at least slow it down a smidge. If only to savor one more hug.
So here he is, eighteen. He is a man. He is a man who discovered the wheel and built the Eiffel Tower out of metal and brawn. That's what kind of man he is. (Thank you Anchorman for providing that accurate description of men everywhere.) There is one more year of high school and then, then he is off. He is.
But I am quite certain that there is a part of Jacob that will never be far from me. That part that loves a mom like only a son can. That part that makes sure I am ok. I think about the storms that I have had in my adult life, well at least in the last 18 years, and so often Jacob has been the calm. Never demanding more than I could give, he gave the hugs, the quiet movie nights, the "it'll be ok, Mom".
I don't think I have done a very good job of letting Jacob know how incredibly proud I am of him. How much I have enjoyed being his mom. I don't think I have made it clear to him that I believe he is capable of anything. And I do mean anything!
Yesterday, prior to leaving for work, Jacob announced that when he returned home, he would be an adult. That statement, though true on paper, will not be true in my eyes for a very long time. If ever. I am not ready to let go of this boy of mine.
Jacob Lee wa born on a sweltering July day. He didn't really give me too much trouble entering the world and had we been in an American medical facility, I think I would have looked upon the labor and delivery with a little less annoyance. The Germans wanted Jacob and I to stay a week. We thought otherwise and I signed a paper that I have no idea what it said and home we went. Home was a three bedroom apartment in military housing. The neighbors, Silvia, Daniel and Dustin came up to see him. Danny was on leave. This expanded family settled down to getting to know each other.
Jacob was a better baby than the girls. Being better than Ashlyn would be a label I could give to a monkey for as horrible as that girl was, but that is another story. Jacob was content. He liked to eat, he liked to sleep more and he liked to watch the big black dog most. There were a great many nights that getting Jacob to eat was a challenge because Liesl was in the room. She usually just needed to give him a good once over and then she would lay down and Jacob would eat. As he grew, Liesl and he were good friends. I wish he could remember that dog, the way she loved him to the point where the lines were blurred and she forgot her place. But that is another story, one I don't care to tell.
Jacob spent his little guy years in Bad Kissingen, Germany. He was a great traveler by car and train, backpack and stroller. He was happy to be along for the ride. At six weeks, he was sight seeing in Salzburg. Over the next three years, there would be more trips to Salzburg, Paris, Amsterdam, Prague and Bolzono. Very little of his Germany years have stayed with him. I hope that when he goes back (back to the Motherland) something will look familiar, something will make his heart twinge just a little.
Not much was required of Jacob. His sisters were always tending to his needs. Words did not come to him for a long time because he didn't need to speak. A hand gesture and a piece of cheese appeared. Jacob was a regular fixture at the girls' school while volunteered there. Everyone knew him and I could leave him with the 2nd grade teacher for half the day. Jacob would settle in with dinosuars and some cookies. He would take off his shoes and happily play while class went on around him.
Jacob moved to the United States, Iowa, Cedar Rapids when he was three. He moved to West Des Moines when he was five and has called West Des Moines home ever since.
I have written about Jacob before, about his antics and his infuriating ways. I have described him in various ways and have described myself as very fortunate to be his mom. And I am. Jacob is his own man. He is of his own mind and though he changes that mind from time to time, his core beliefs are true and straight. I envy that in him. There are those that don't get him, that don't get his quick wit and dry sense of humor. I get him. Most of the time.
Jacob tried his hand at wrestling, but wasn't driven enough to win if it meant that his opponent might cry. He played soccer a couple of summers, but that, too wasn't his thing. Being born in Europe does not make loving soccer or futball automatic. Jacob used to draw a lot. There is an entire world of creatures, good and evil, in a storage box under a bed. I used to draw when I was little. Mine creatures resembled Snoopy. We differed there.
Honestly, the years are a blur of Jacob growing up. I didn't see enough or do enough or slow things down enough to not feel like I missed out on so much. I think most parents feel that way. Most wish to turn back some of the time, or at least slow it down a smidge. If only to savor one more hug.
So here he is, eighteen. He is a man. He is a man who discovered the wheel and built the Eiffel Tower out of metal and brawn. That's what kind of man he is. (Thank you Anchorman for providing that accurate description of men everywhere.) There is one more year of high school and then, then he is off. He is.
But I am quite certain that there is a part of Jacob that will never be far from me. That part that loves a mom like only a son can. That part that makes sure I am ok. I think about the storms that I have had in my adult life, well at least in the last 18 years, and so often Jacob has been the calm. Never demanding more than I could give, he gave the hugs, the quiet movie nights, the "it'll be ok, Mom".
I don't think I have done a very good job of letting Jacob know how incredibly proud I am of him. How much I have enjoyed being his mom. I don't think I have made it clear to him that I believe he is capable of anything. And I do mean anything!
Thursday, July 4, 2013
Happy Birthday America
I love the Fourth of July, I love all that it represents. Family, food, parades, fireworks (as I write this I can hear two different grand finales going off) but mostly, it represents freedom. I don't know a whole lot about our nation's history. I don't know the details of what ever caused a group of terrorists, by definition, to flip the bird to King George and decided to make this ours. I know what most know, that there were taxes and tea and redcoats and men in wigs. I know that a few men had some pretty great ideas. Those ideas got put to paper and well, here we are 237 years later, still arguing about some of them.
Our nation has a 237 year history of doing pretty good most of the time but when we screwed up, it was in big and ugly ways. And yet, the people of America, the United States citizens were usually able to get things right again. They were able to come together and work together and, well, you know, make us all proud.
Where is that now? I feel like this is a nation pitted against each other like pissed off women at a PTA meeting. There is a lot of yelling and finger pointing and maybe a few finger snaps, but nothing is getting done. It is embarrassing and shameful. We are a nation of great wealth, of great minds and of huge hearts and yet, we cannot do much else but hate.
I am a left wing republican. I want marriage equality and I want to carry a gun. I want lower college costs for many but a free ride for none based on their social-economic background. I want welfare or SNAP or whatever clever name it is given to stop if it means that people can continue to buy $5.49 twelve packs of pop. I want WIC broadened to make sure that little brains get the foods they need to succeed. I want those same little brains to have access to good childcare while their moms and dads have jobs. And if they don't have job then they have classes to take. No more free rides, for anyone.
It doesn't make a bit of difference to me if Obama was born in Hawaii, Kenya or the moon. He has been president now for over five years now, a birth certificate won't change that. Bitching about any of it won't change it, any of it.
Can we get back to being a nation that was kick ass? One that made the right decisions for its citizens? Can we get to a place where flags fly year round, not just on four or five days a year, and those flags are made here.
Our nation has a 237 year history of doing pretty good most of the time but when we screwed up, it was in big and ugly ways. And yet, the people of America, the United States citizens were usually able to get things right again. They were able to come together and work together and, well, you know, make us all proud.
Where is that now? I feel like this is a nation pitted against each other like pissed off women at a PTA meeting. There is a lot of yelling and finger pointing and maybe a few finger snaps, but nothing is getting done. It is embarrassing and shameful. We are a nation of great wealth, of great minds and of huge hearts and yet, we cannot do much else but hate.
I am a left wing republican. I want marriage equality and I want to carry a gun. I want lower college costs for many but a free ride for none based on their social-economic background. I want welfare or SNAP or whatever clever name it is given to stop if it means that people can continue to buy $5.49 twelve packs of pop. I want WIC broadened to make sure that little brains get the foods they need to succeed. I want those same little brains to have access to good childcare while their moms and dads have jobs. And if they don't have job then they have classes to take. No more free rides, for anyone.
It doesn't make a bit of difference to me if Obama was born in Hawaii, Kenya or the moon. He has been president now for over five years now, a birth certificate won't change that. Bitching about any of it won't change it, any of it.
Can we get back to being a nation that was kick ass? One that made the right decisions for its citizens? Can we get to a place where flags fly year round, not just on four or five days a year, and those flags are made here.
Wednesday, July 3, 2013
Prince Charming, Prince Eric and Prince Derek All Rolled Into One
It was a snowy night and Hayley was driving from Cedar Falls to West Des Moines. For the record, Hayley should not drive from Cedar Falls to West Des Moines or vice versa in any type of weather unless it is a windless seventy degree day. She is not known for her cool under pressure driving skills. So long, tear filled, frantic texting story short, Hayley could not continue to drive home, and got herself to a parking lot after being pulled out of a ditch.
She did not call us to rescue her, but called a young man named Brett instead. Brett, without a moment to spare, mounted his white stead and rode off into the sunset to rescue his fair maiden. Well, he got in his vehicle and went to pick her up and brought her home. That was the first we met Brett.
Brett has, in a very short time, become family. I don't know if that is what he had in mind, but we didn't really give him the option.
And if we were ever unsure about him, (and we weren't) he proved himself completely worthy of our Hayley two weeks in November. There was a surprise birthday party for our dear friend Bernie and Brett brought Hayley down to Cedar Rapids for it. He held his own while he met the sisters (my mom's sisters). He gave hugs, answered questions and Hayley beamed with joy. Shortly after that, our dear friend Bernie died. And Brett brought Hayley down to Cedar Rapids again. He stayed with her, with us, the entire evening and I thought how lucky we were to have Brett in our family.
Now he and Hayley are shacking up. They even got a kitty together. He's in it for the long haul and I think he is up for the challenge. Brett has ran the gauntlet of family get togethers. He has been hugged by Sheila and didn't back away, but went right in! He flew to Colorado to meet the other side and happily talked basketball with Uncle Awesome. Then he rode in a car with sick Hayley from Denver to Council Bluffs. Brett has put up with Jacob on his back. He has taken Harlow slobber on the chin. He has slept on the green couch and shared it with Sophie, Elsa and Emmitt.
So Hayley, luckiest of them all, found herself a prince among men. She found someone that is going to take care of her and keep her safe. Someone that is going to put up with her and her desire for that fairy tale. She found someone that is going to put up wth the rest of us as well. And in turn, Brett got himself a Hayley. Maybe he is the luckiest of them all.
She did not call us to rescue her, but called a young man named Brett instead. Brett, without a moment to spare, mounted his white stead and rode off into the sunset to rescue his fair maiden. Well, he got in his vehicle and went to pick her up and brought her home. That was the first we met Brett.
Brett has, in a very short time, become family. I don't know if that is what he had in mind, but we didn't really give him the option.
And if we were ever unsure about him, (and we weren't) he proved himself completely worthy of our Hayley two weeks in November. There was a surprise birthday party for our dear friend Bernie and Brett brought Hayley down to Cedar Rapids for it. He held his own while he met the sisters (my mom's sisters). He gave hugs, answered questions and Hayley beamed with joy. Shortly after that, our dear friend Bernie died. And Brett brought Hayley down to Cedar Rapids again. He stayed with her, with us, the entire evening and I thought how lucky we were to have Brett in our family.
Now he and Hayley are shacking up. They even got a kitty together. He's in it for the long haul and I think he is up for the challenge. Brett has ran the gauntlet of family get togethers. He has been hugged by Sheila and didn't back away, but went right in! He flew to Colorado to meet the other side and happily talked basketball with Uncle Awesome. Then he rode in a car with sick Hayley from Denver to Council Bluffs. Brett has put up with Jacob on his back. He has taken Harlow slobber on the chin. He has slept on the green couch and shared it with Sophie, Elsa and Emmitt.
So Hayley, luckiest of them all, found herself a prince among men. She found someone that is going to take care of her and keep her safe. Someone that is going to put up with her and her desire for that fairy tale. She found someone that is going to put up wth the rest of us as well. And in turn, Brett got himself a Hayley. Maybe he is the luckiest of them all.
Tuesday, July 2, 2013
He Writes the Songs
So if you are a friend of mine on Facebook or were anywhere near me last weekend, then you know that Danny and I went to see Barry Manilow in concert. At this point in my story, I would like to point out that I have loved Barry Manilow for a great many years and if you intend to bad mouth him in any way, stop reading. Close this blog and go away from me for always.
Barry Manilow, at age seventy, was incredible. He appeared to be genuinely humbled by the response of the audience. Imagine having been an artist for forty years and still fill an arena and still bring people to their feet and still sing really good music. I first saw Barry Manilow at the Five Seasons Center thirty years ago with my mom. Thirty years later, I see him in the same venue with Danny. As of right now, I have bookended my concerts. And as I start my next shelf, I don't think that I will be so fortunate to see someone quite like him again (twice). It's a Miracle.
Barry Manilow played on the little black AM radio that Bobby had in the basement. He (Bobby) would work on models and I would roller skate in what was once a huge (I was five) open area. I had all of two tricks in my roller skating repertoire, I could skate forward and I could spin in a circle very similar (not really) to what Dorthy Hamil was doing on ice. So you can imagine this little tow head hanging out with her big brother skating in circles to Could it Be Magic. Do you know the song? Well it is a beautiful love song with a huge sound at the 4:40 mark. I skated my heart out. It was magic. I know, I was there.
By the third song, he had slowed it down so the old ladies could sit down and sway and I suppose, so he could take a break from the hip thrusts and gyrations. No joke, he moves. Granted the hips and knees may not be original but that doesn't matter. It is, at this point, a hell of a show and we are nowhere near the biggies!
I had his greatest hits album, I wish I still did because vinyl is king. Anyway, I knew all the words then and with Barry in the lead, I still know all the words. I can't carry a note but who was going to hear me over the other six thousand singing along with me, Danny included. For years, Danny wanted to surprise me with a trip to Vegas to see Barry Manilow, well Crapids is no Vegas, but it Looks Like We Made It to Barry after all.
Barry Manilow had a big screen center side in the rear. The screen was filled with old album covers that he would talk about. He had quite the band with a percussionist that never quit! Two cute and bouncy backup singers and three or four pianos. The back up singers had their work cut out during Can't Smile Without You because there is an echo quality to this song and we all echoed. I have the video, you can hear me, horribly singing along and doing my very best to not kick my legs at the 2:29 mark. I never quite mastered kicking my legs while on roller skates, but this song definitely inspired me to try.
Before playing Bandstand Boogie, he showed a clip of his first appearance on American Bandstand. Do I age myself to mention this show and all that it meant to me on Saturday afternoons? I watched that show religiously and would absolutely love to see that one on DVD. This song is not a favorite of mine but it reminds me of the time he has put in this business and how long he has been a friend to me.
The Old Songs was not on the greatest hits album that I recall and I did not know this song as well. It slowed the crowd down a little and I used it as an opportunity to really study the big screen to the left of the stage. Barry was stretched pretty tight. That work had been done was obvious but I don't think he was frightening little children like Kenny Rogers is these days. He followed with Stay.
There were a few costume changes during the show. Barry changed from one shiny jacket to another. He rocked the look. I wore an adorable floral skirt and azure tank. I did not have a costume change during the show.
I don't know when I first got teary eyed. Well, when Barry first came on stage, for sure. But I don't think it was until Even Now that I got the way Hayley gets when she sees Brett Michaels in concert. Laugh if you want, but this man was there for my entire childhood. It wasn't until Duran Duran came into my life that I let him go. But this concert proved that he never let us go. He didn't come out and sing a bunch of stuff we couldn't sing along to, nope, he belted out the hits (not all of them, obviously) and let us all relive what ever it was. I can only imagine the memories that all those people had tucked in their hearts- mine was mostly roller skating- but there had to be romance and heart ache and every emotion in between. How cool that must be for him.
Barry talked about growing up in Brooklyn, how his grandfather used to take him to New York to record his voice on those little wax records, how the orchestra department saved him and how sad it makes him that the arts are being taken out of the schools. It was at this point that he shared his vision of putting instruments back into schools and shared that he donates a piano to the school district of the city he is playing in. True, he could donate a hundred pianos and still be alright, but he's putting his money where is heart is and that is cool. He shared old photos of himself while singing Brooklyn Blues. He followed the story of his grandpa with I Am Your Child. Never a big hit, but oh, so touching.
And then This One's For You. Prior to the opening cords, Barry talked about good lyrics. Man, these are good lyrics. Just saying, if someone ever wanted to sing this one to me, well, that'd be ok by me.
This may be the second moment when I became pretty overwhelmed. Most everyone had sat down for this one, but I just kinda stayed there in that moment. And Danny, bless his heart, put his hand ever so gently on my back. Because I had been in a real shitty mood for way too long and I got to get away from all of that for these two hours. I got to go back to when it was possible to roller skate in my basement, when AM radio was still a thing, when all that was good was truly grand!
New York City Rhythm was Barry and backup singers big dance number. Not really big, but it showcased his backup singers and his band. I would imagine that there is a pretty high degree of perfection expected from someone that has been around for forty years.
Weekend in New England. This was my other skate favorite. The skate gets very dramatic at the 3:45 minute mark. I didn't know where New England was, not a clue, but boy it seemed like the place to be.
Barry then talked about his songs of the decades albums. I never really cared for them mainly because I loved his music and not necessarily other people's music. He did a couple of Frankie Valley numbers and that was fun. I think it was a gift to that generation of fans that filled his audience. Lets Hang On and Can't Take My Eyes Off of You must have really stirred up some memories for those fans.
Barry Manilow wrote a musical and it is opening in Atlanta and why we are not going to Atlanta is really beyond me. He sang one song from Harmony - Every Single Day.
And then there was Trying to Get the Feeling Again. I sang back up on this one as well, I have the video. There is no picture really, just sound. Barry's timeless voice and mine. High (high) Low (low). Not much of a love song mind you, but damn, could you imagine trying to get that feeling. Looking high (high) and low (low). All for naught. Naught, indeed.
I can't remember which song that Barry did a duet with himself. Actual Barry left stage and they played a clip from an old show. It was 1970's Barry on the piano and midway through the video, live Barry came out on the piano and the two of them did a duet. It was so cool, so very cool. Just a man and a legend singing a song.
The next song has always been one of my favorite car songs. It is full of fullness and drama and this and that and all those things that are required on an open stretch of road. Much like Meatloaf music, this is, for me, one of those songs. I Made It Through the Rain is so pretty in the beginning. It remains pretty but as the song plays on, it gets a little oomph. I think it also reminds me of the songs that Kermit would sing. Kermit and Barry, two old friends.
And I am a hell of a singer in the car. Danny did some fist clenching during this song. He's made it through the rain as well.
And then those piano cords from Could it Be Magic (Damn why wasn't I named Melissa?). Another skate classic. I did not know at the time but a crescendo is very important for a basement roller skater. This was followed by Mandy (Damn Damn Damn Damn (like Henry Higgens says) why wasn't I named Mandy like Hayley named her cat?). I am quite certain that this was the one that brought the true roll down the cheek tears. Why did he send her away? Why have I never named a pet Mandy?
And then Copacabana. I SANG COPACABANA LIVE WITH BARRY MANILOW! I have sang YMCA live with the Village People, but this, this has no compare. Did you know that if I were Lola and Danny were my Tony, he would have disarmed Ricco with one of his kickass Ranger moves and then the punches would have flew. Flew indeed my friends, with my Tony getting Lola in the end. We would have kept the show going and would have still drank. At the Copa, Copacabana.
Not as catchy of a lyric, but true story.
At this point in the concert I have come to accept that there will be no commercial montage, there will be no more songs from the decades (that's ok) no Ready to Take a Chance Again but there will be I Write the Songs (which he did not write!).
This was the one, folks. This is the Barry Manilow song for me. It was a song I could sing along to, to skate to (see a theme) to be happy about. I was six. Except for Happy Birthday and Christmas songs, this is probably the song that I have really known all my life. This song popped up over and over again in my life, always lifting me back to roller skates and top knots and Barbies and all that kind of stuff. Good Lord, it was fantastic. Can you imagine? No, because what you imagine will only be a fraction, like 1/96 of how awesomely awesome it was.
Since the concert, there has been frequent discussions about this show and others at work. Several of the people I work with have no idea who Barry Manilow is. And that makes me sad. My kids are the same age and they know who he is, they know Lola's desperate fall into despair, they know that you have to look high and low to try and get the feelingagain, they know that New England is where it's at, they know because we let them listen. Hell, we would have let them roller skate in the basement. But these kids missed out on just really good music. So when they ask (and they are always sorry that they do) I tell them
He writes the songs that make the whole world sing. He writes of love and special things. He writes the songs that make the young girls cry (pause for effect),
He is music and he writes the songs.
Barry Manilow, at age seventy, was incredible. He appeared to be genuinely humbled by the response of the audience. Imagine having been an artist for forty years and still fill an arena and still bring people to their feet and still sing really good music. I first saw Barry Manilow at the Five Seasons Center thirty years ago with my mom. Thirty years later, I see him in the same venue with Danny. As of right now, I have bookended my concerts. And as I start my next shelf, I don't think that I will be so fortunate to see someone quite like him again (twice). It's a Miracle.
Barry Manilow played on the little black AM radio that Bobby had in the basement. He (Bobby) would work on models and I would roller skate in what was once a huge (I was five) open area. I had all of two tricks in my roller skating repertoire, I could skate forward and I could spin in a circle very similar (not really) to what Dorthy Hamil was doing on ice. So you can imagine this little tow head hanging out with her big brother skating in circles to Could it Be Magic. Do you know the song? Well it is a beautiful love song with a huge sound at the 4:40 mark. I skated my heart out. It was magic. I know, I was there.
By the third song, he had slowed it down so the old ladies could sit down and sway and I suppose, so he could take a break from the hip thrusts and gyrations. No joke, he moves. Granted the hips and knees may not be original but that doesn't matter. It is, at this point, a hell of a show and we are nowhere near the biggies!
I had his greatest hits album, I wish I still did because vinyl is king. Anyway, I knew all the words then and with Barry in the lead, I still know all the words. I can't carry a note but who was going to hear me over the other six thousand singing along with me, Danny included. For years, Danny wanted to surprise me with a trip to Vegas to see Barry Manilow, well Crapids is no Vegas, but it Looks Like We Made It to Barry after all.
Barry Manilow had a big screen center side in the rear. The screen was filled with old album covers that he would talk about. He had quite the band with a percussionist that never quit! Two cute and bouncy backup singers and three or four pianos. The back up singers had their work cut out during Can't Smile Without You because there is an echo quality to this song and we all echoed. I have the video, you can hear me, horribly singing along and doing my very best to not kick my legs at the 2:29 mark. I never quite mastered kicking my legs while on roller skates, but this song definitely inspired me to try.
Before playing Bandstand Boogie, he showed a clip of his first appearance on American Bandstand. Do I age myself to mention this show and all that it meant to me on Saturday afternoons? I watched that show religiously and would absolutely love to see that one on DVD. This song is not a favorite of mine but it reminds me of the time he has put in this business and how long he has been a friend to me.
The Old Songs was not on the greatest hits album that I recall and I did not know this song as well. It slowed the crowd down a little and I used it as an opportunity to really study the big screen to the left of the stage. Barry was stretched pretty tight. That work had been done was obvious but I don't think he was frightening little children like Kenny Rogers is these days. He followed with Stay.
There were a few costume changes during the show. Barry changed from one shiny jacket to another. He rocked the look. I wore an adorable floral skirt and azure tank. I did not have a costume change during the show.
I don't know when I first got teary eyed. Well, when Barry first came on stage, for sure. But I don't think it was until Even Now that I got the way Hayley gets when she sees Brett Michaels in concert. Laugh if you want, but this man was there for my entire childhood. It wasn't until Duran Duran came into my life that I let him go. But this concert proved that he never let us go. He didn't come out and sing a bunch of stuff we couldn't sing along to, nope, he belted out the hits (not all of them, obviously) and let us all relive what ever it was. I can only imagine the memories that all those people had tucked in their hearts- mine was mostly roller skating- but there had to be romance and heart ache and every emotion in between. How cool that must be for him.
Barry talked about growing up in Brooklyn, how his grandfather used to take him to New York to record his voice on those little wax records, how the orchestra department saved him and how sad it makes him that the arts are being taken out of the schools. It was at this point that he shared his vision of putting instruments back into schools and shared that he donates a piano to the school district of the city he is playing in. True, he could donate a hundred pianos and still be alright, but he's putting his money where is heart is and that is cool. He shared old photos of himself while singing Brooklyn Blues. He followed the story of his grandpa with I Am Your Child. Never a big hit, but oh, so touching.
And then This One's For You. Prior to the opening cords, Barry talked about good lyrics. Man, these are good lyrics. Just saying, if someone ever wanted to sing this one to me, well, that'd be ok by me.
This may be the second moment when I became pretty overwhelmed. Most everyone had sat down for this one, but I just kinda stayed there in that moment. And Danny, bless his heart, put his hand ever so gently on my back. Because I had been in a real shitty mood for way too long and I got to get away from all of that for these two hours. I got to go back to when it was possible to roller skate in my basement, when AM radio was still a thing, when all that was good was truly grand!
New York City Rhythm was Barry and backup singers big dance number. Not really big, but it showcased his backup singers and his band. I would imagine that there is a pretty high degree of perfection expected from someone that has been around for forty years.
Weekend in New England. This was my other skate favorite. The skate gets very dramatic at the 3:45 minute mark. I didn't know where New England was, not a clue, but boy it seemed like the place to be.
Barry then talked about his songs of the decades albums. I never really cared for them mainly because I loved his music and not necessarily other people's music. He did a couple of Frankie Valley numbers and that was fun. I think it was a gift to that generation of fans that filled his audience. Lets Hang On and Can't Take My Eyes Off of You must have really stirred up some memories for those fans.
Barry Manilow wrote a musical and it is opening in Atlanta and why we are not going to Atlanta is really beyond me. He sang one song from Harmony - Every Single Day.
And then there was Trying to Get the Feeling Again. I sang back up on this one as well, I have the video. There is no picture really, just sound. Barry's timeless voice and mine. High (high) Low (low). Not much of a love song mind you, but damn, could you imagine trying to get that feeling. Looking high (high) and low (low). All for naught. Naught, indeed.
I can't remember which song that Barry did a duet with himself. Actual Barry left stage and they played a clip from an old show. It was 1970's Barry on the piano and midway through the video, live Barry came out on the piano and the two of them did a duet. It was so cool, so very cool. Just a man and a legend singing a song.
The next song has always been one of my favorite car songs. It is full of fullness and drama and this and that and all those things that are required on an open stretch of road. Much like Meatloaf music, this is, for me, one of those songs. I Made It Through the Rain is so pretty in the beginning. It remains pretty but as the song plays on, it gets a little oomph. I think it also reminds me of the songs that Kermit would sing. Kermit and Barry, two old friends.
And I am a hell of a singer in the car. Danny did some fist clenching during this song. He's made it through the rain as well.
And then those piano cords from Could it Be Magic (Damn why wasn't I named Melissa?). Another skate classic. I did not know at the time but a crescendo is very important for a basement roller skater. This was followed by Mandy (Damn Damn Damn Damn (like Henry Higgens says) why wasn't I named Mandy like Hayley named her cat?). I am quite certain that this was the one that brought the true roll down the cheek tears. Why did he send her away? Why have I never named a pet Mandy?
And then Copacabana. I SANG COPACABANA LIVE WITH BARRY MANILOW! I have sang YMCA live with the Village People, but this, this has no compare. Did you know that if I were Lola and Danny were my Tony, he would have disarmed Ricco with one of his kickass Ranger moves and then the punches would have flew. Flew indeed my friends, with my Tony getting Lola in the end. We would have kept the show going and would have still drank. At the Copa, Copacabana.
Not as catchy of a lyric, but true story.
At this point in the concert I have come to accept that there will be no commercial montage, there will be no more songs from the decades (that's ok) no Ready to Take a Chance Again but there will be I Write the Songs (which he did not write!).
This was the one, folks. This is the Barry Manilow song for me. It was a song I could sing along to, to skate to (see a theme) to be happy about. I was six. Except for Happy Birthday and Christmas songs, this is probably the song that I have really known all my life. This song popped up over and over again in my life, always lifting me back to roller skates and top knots and Barbies and all that kind of stuff. Good Lord, it was fantastic. Can you imagine? No, because what you imagine will only be a fraction, like 1/96 of how awesomely awesome it was.
Since the concert, there has been frequent discussions about this show and others at work. Several of the people I work with have no idea who Barry Manilow is. And that makes me sad. My kids are the same age and they know who he is, they know Lola's desperate fall into despair, they know that you have to look high and low to try and get the feelingagain, they know that New England is where it's at, they know because we let them listen. Hell, we would have let them roller skate in the basement. But these kids missed out on just really good music. So when they ask (and they are always sorry that they do) I tell them
He writes the songs that make the whole world sing. He writes of love and special things. He writes the songs that make the young girls cry (pause for effect),
He is music and he writes the songs.
Monday, July 1, 2013
Kind of Like Therapy
Well, in nineteen days I will be participating in a 10 to 15 mile obstacle course that I have not trained for. Oh, I planned to train, I started to train (12 times) but I did not train. I did lose six pounds, but that does not an athlete make.
But Tough Mudder is the least of my problems. There is something going on that I cannot figure out. There is a blah that has come over me that I cannot shake. I recently started taking SAM-e, a supplement that is among other things, meant to support mood. I have been on it a week and I can't tell a difference. I still feel blah. I don't want a prescription for something stronger, that is a road I do not want to take. If I cannot find the joy in myself, than I got problems. And right now, I cannot sustain the joy.
All of my woes are little ones. I have had the big ones, so I know the difference. My girls are far away and I miss them. I forget that I encouraged them to go, go, go. And there is great joy for them, I just miss them. I don't want them to come running back. Not yet. Maybe not ever. I just didn't know I would miss them this much. I wasn't prepared for this.
Jacob is almost 18. There is a sadness there for me and such joy that we did it! We raised another one successfully. Bully! And he is still home (I use the term loosely) for another year. But I suspect this year, as it should be, will be filled with activities that don't involve or revolve around me.
And then there's Harlow. And maybe this is it. Maybe when I get right down to it, maybe it is that undeniable fact that my big girl is getting old. Slower to get up, slower to lay down. Often unresponsive to my commands. Yesterday brought four accidents. Which means another trip to the vet, a long list of tests they would like to do and a lot of stress for my girl and me. I am sad. Because it wasn't until I started this paragraph that the tears came.
I reread this blog and realize that just typing it helps my heart. Helps me loosen the hurt that holds the joy. I am at a point here in this lovely life of mine where change is inevitable. I need to find the joy in that.
Hey, thanks for listening. I guess I have some work to do with this heart of mine. Tough Mudder will come whether I am prepared or not so there is no point in stressing that. And if I want to be honest, the rest of it will come whether I am prepared for it or not so there is no point in stressing that either.
But Tough Mudder is the least of my problems. There is something going on that I cannot figure out. There is a blah that has come over me that I cannot shake. I recently started taking SAM-e, a supplement that is among other things, meant to support mood. I have been on it a week and I can't tell a difference. I still feel blah. I don't want a prescription for something stronger, that is a road I do not want to take. If I cannot find the joy in myself, than I got problems. And right now, I cannot sustain the joy.
All of my woes are little ones. I have had the big ones, so I know the difference. My girls are far away and I miss them. I forget that I encouraged them to go, go, go. And there is great joy for them, I just miss them. I don't want them to come running back. Not yet. Maybe not ever. I just didn't know I would miss them this much. I wasn't prepared for this.
Jacob is almost 18. There is a sadness there for me and such joy that we did it! We raised another one successfully. Bully! And he is still home (I use the term loosely) for another year. But I suspect this year, as it should be, will be filled with activities that don't involve or revolve around me.
And then there's Harlow. And maybe this is it. Maybe when I get right down to it, maybe it is that undeniable fact that my big girl is getting old. Slower to get up, slower to lay down. Often unresponsive to my commands. Yesterday brought four accidents. Which means another trip to the vet, a long list of tests they would like to do and a lot of stress for my girl and me. I am sad. Because it wasn't until I started this paragraph that the tears came.
I reread this blog and realize that just typing it helps my heart. Helps me loosen the hurt that holds the joy. I am at a point here in this lovely life of mine where change is inevitable. I need to find the joy in that.
Hey, thanks for listening. I guess I have some work to do with this heart of mine. Tough Mudder will come whether I am prepared or not so there is no point in stressing that. And if I want to be honest, the rest of it will come whether I am prepared for it or not so there is no point in stressing that either.
Thursday, May 9, 2013
DAY TWO
Here it is, the end of day two and I am exhausted. I hurt and ache and am really tired of peeing. I have no interest in eating as often as I need to be and nothing sounds yummy.
Last night I slept in the fetal position because I was afraid to stretch my legs out for fear of a leg cramp. I tend to sleep next to a man that has been known to respond with "walk it off" when I get a leg cramp in the night. Oh, and that was when I was pregnant. Tonight I am going to try to stretch them out and really hope for the best.
Wednesday, the first day, was kick boxing. I remembered how to do it all but had a hell of a time keeping up. What started as great form quickly turned into pathetic form. I could hear my first instructor's voice from six years ago "keep that fist up, protect your face" but I couldn't do it, first I couldn't protect my face, then my neck and quickly I couldn't protect myself at all. A troop of ferrets could have marched in and beat me senseless and I would have had no defense. At one point, my low-medium-high kicks were low-lower-nope, not even able. But I got through it. None of it was pretty. I don't expect pretty for quite some time. I ate well last night and slept the fitful sleep of impending charlie horse.
Thursday was lower body bands. They have changed things up some so I had a little trouble with a few exercises, but I muddled through all my sets. All my sets except full sit ups. I laid there on the floor (it was my only defense) and muttered my favorite four letter word under my breath. I couldn't begin to tell my abs to engage themselves to the point that I was able to pull myself completely up and put my chest to my knees. I seriously couldn't do it. Full sit ups scare me a little from the weak back point of view. I am always afraid that I will hoist myself the wrong way and be out of action. But today that wasn't the issue, it was clearly a mind - body disconnect. I could crunch, I could sort of toe tap, I could almost alternate toe touch (with knees bent and range of motion pretty motionless) but a full sit up was not in the cards.
Oh, and I used all yellow bands (the lightest yet the brightest). There was not another single yellow band on the mat. I thought that was odd because even at my fittest several years ago, I still used primarily yellow bands. I increased on some exercises, but I never felt like I needed more resistance. I remember people going up in bands and then their movements would get really jerky. I wanted to stay fluid. I don't know if it mattered as far as muscle development. The new thinking is to move up in bands. I fear change and resist new ways of thinking. We'll see how that goes.
I remember how to eat, five to six small meals with protein and carbs based on body fat and weight. I won't do it. I am not going to count. I am reducing my gluten intake for other reasons and that should help some of this weight issue. In an attempt to get the plumbing running more smoothly, adjustments are being made. Pastas and breads are on skids for me right now. I have also been shying away from the soda pop! Mainly because the local gas station has a really crappy fountain station. The cherry to add to the coke is not cherry syrup (as it should be) but something else. In an effort to save money on the fountain drinks, the coke is never properly mixed either. Knowing that it will not be satisfying has made it easier to forgo.
Tomorrow I will be back for the kickboxing. I paid my money and I am feeling the burn. Might as well make a full go of it and get fit.
P.S. I have before photos, taken in the mirror with the cell phone so there is a certain amount of desperation mixed in with the back fat and touching thighs. I will put them up with the afters - when I have reached an after.
Last night I slept in the fetal position because I was afraid to stretch my legs out for fear of a leg cramp. I tend to sleep next to a man that has been known to respond with "walk it off" when I get a leg cramp in the night. Oh, and that was when I was pregnant. Tonight I am going to try to stretch them out and really hope for the best.
Wednesday, the first day, was kick boxing. I remembered how to do it all but had a hell of a time keeping up. What started as great form quickly turned into pathetic form. I could hear my first instructor's voice from six years ago "keep that fist up, protect your face" but I couldn't do it, first I couldn't protect my face, then my neck and quickly I couldn't protect myself at all. A troop of ferrets could have marched in and beat me senseless and I would have had no defense. At one point, my low-medium-high kicks were low-lower-nope, not even able. But I got through it. None of it was pretty. I don't expect pretty for quite some time. I ate well last night and slept the fitful sleep of impending charlie horse.
Thursday was lower body bands. They have changed things up some so I had a little trouble with a few exercises, but I muddled through all my sets. All my sets except full sit ups. I laid there on the floor (it was my only defense) and muttered my favorite four letter word under my breath. I couldn't begin to tell my abs to engage themselves to the point that I was able to pull myself completely up and put my chest to my knees. I seriously couldn't do it. Full sit ups scare me a little from the weak back point of view. I am always afraid that I will hoist myself the wrong way and be out of action. But today that wasn't the issue, it was clearly a mind - body disconnect. I could crunch, I could sort of toe tap, I could almost alternate toe touch (with knees bent and range of motion pretty motionless) but a full sit up was not in the cards.
Oh, and I used all yellow bands (the lightest yet the brightest). There was not another single yellow band on the mat. I thought that was odd because even at my fittest several years ago, I still used primarily yellow bands. I increased on some exercises, but I never felt like I needed more resistance. I remember people going up in bands and then their movements would get really jerky. I wanted to stay fluid. I don't know if it mattered as far as muscle development. The new thinking is to move up in bands. I fear change and resist new ways of thinking. We'll see how that goes.
I remember how to eat, five to six small meals with protein and carbs based on body fat and weight. I won't do it. I am not going to count. I am reducing my gluten intake for other reasons and that should help some of this weight issue. In an attempt to get the plumbing running more smoothly, adjustments are being made. Pastas and breads are on skids for me right now. I have also been shying away from the soda pop! Mainly because the local gas station has a really crappy fountain station. The cherry to add to the coke is not cherry syrup (as it should be) but something else. In an effort to save money on the fountain drinks, the coke is never properly mixed either. Knowing that it will not be satisfying has made it easier to forgo.
Tomorrow I will be back for the kickboxing. I paid my money and I am feeling the burn. Might as well make a full go of it and get fit.
P.S. I have before photos, taken in the mirror with the cell phone so there is a certain amount of desperation mixed in with the back fat and touching thighs. I will put them up with the afters - when I have reached an after.
Wednesday, May 8, 2013
Back in the Saddle and My Ass is Already Sore
A few weeks ago I had written about the terrible shape I was in and that it was time for me to knuckle down and get fit again. I bought another Denise Austin DVD, got a great calorie counting app and really gave it the ole college try. Except that my college try was about six weeks in 1988 and then I dropped out. Get my drift.
So yesterday after some hemming and a bit of hawing, Danny and I joined Farrell's again. We signed up for three months on some sort of "we want you back" promotion and we, in a baptism by sweat, worked out today.
I look for signs - we got three solid ones. Danny got the "we want you back" email. Danny saw a guy from our orginial class twice in two weeks but hadn't seen him for years prior to that. My cousin just enrolled in Cedar Rapids.
I loved, loved, loved my time at Farrell's back in 2007. I tried to go back several different time since then with no results. Injury or apathy seemed to be the cause of the zero results. I don't even know if it will be different this time. I hope to not injure myself, and that is the ironic part, to not injure myself, I need a strong core. To have a strong core, I must work out. Then there is the elbow/wrist issue. I know that injury came from a poorly landed hook many years ago. There is a standing order for physical therapy. I only notice the discomfort when I hand write for long periods of time or cake decorate for long periods of time.
I think one of the aspects of Farrell's that I loved so much was that I was the engine that could. By the time '08 rolled around, I was fit and instructing. I had become the person that I wanted to be and could tell people that they were capable because I was living, boxing proof. If I could do it, seriously, anyone could. I wouldn't say that I inspired, but I certainly made people realize that it was possible for them to complete the program and improve their health.
So as I write this at 2244 on the first evening of my return, I am afraid to stretch out my legs for fear of cramps. I am aching through the upper back because I do not use this group of muscles when I am not jabbing or crossing or hooking. My bladder is filling, but I don't really want to get out of bed, muscle cramp deal. And I feel really, really great!
So here are my stats as of today- I weigh 149.8 pounds which is the most I have ever weighed. I know that the numbers on the scale do not tell the whole story. I know that I can lose fat and gain muscle and that those numbers on the scale may not change much. But today, right now, that number represents a whole lot of fat. The frustrating part is that I have been giving real effort with my diet.
My waist at belly button is 38 1/4 inches around. That was the only measurement I took. If I lose weight anywhere on my body other than my belly, I will be very disappointed. My sit and reach was 13.25 centimeters. That is terrible. Let me just say that it is a stretch for me to sit with my legs out in front of me without my knees bent. That number will improve considerably.
There are before photos as well, i am going to hold on to them for a little comparison photo shoot later.
I am exhausted. I am sore. I am exhilarated. But mostly, I am exhausted.
So yesterday after some hemming and a bit of hawing, Danny and I joined Farrell's again. We signed up for three months on some sort of "we want you back" promotion and we, in a baptism by sweat, worked out today.
I look for signs - we got three solid ones. Danny got the "we want you back" email. Danny saw a guy from our orginial class twice in two weeks but hadn't seen him for years prior to that. My cousin just enrolled in Cedar Rapids.
I loved, loved, loved my time at Farrell's back in 2007. I tried to go back several different time since then with no results. Injury or apathy seemed to be the cause of the zero results. I don't even know if it will be different this time. I hope to not injure myself, and that is the ironic part, to not injure myself, I need a strong core. To have a strong core, I must work out. Then there is the elbow/wrist issue. I know that injury came from a poorly landed hook many years ago. There is a standing order for physical therapy. I only notice the discomfort when I hand write for long periods of time or cake decorate for long periods of time.
I think one of the aspects of Farrell's that I loved so much was that I was the engine that could. By the time '08 rolled around, I was fit and instructing. I had become the person that I wanted to be and could tell people that they were capable because I was living, boxing proof. If I could do it, seriously, anyone could. I wouldn't say that I inspired, but I certainly made people realize that it was possible for them to complete the program and improve their health.
So as I write this at 2244 on the first evening of my return, I am afraid to stretch out my legs for fear of cramps. I am aching through the upper back because I do not use this group of muscles when I am not jabbing or crossing or hooking. My bladder is filling, but I don't really want to get out of bed, muscle cramp deal. And I feel really, really great!
So here are my stats as of today- I weigh 149.8 pounds which is the most I have ever weighed. I know that the numbers on the scale do not tell the whole story. I know that I can lose fat and gain muscle and that those numbers on the scale may not change much. But today, right now, that number represents a whole lot of fat. The frustrating part is that I have been giving real effort with my diet.
My waist at belly button is 38 1/4 inches around. That was the only measurement I took. If I lose weight anywhere on my body other than my belly, I will be very disappointed. My sit and reach was 13.25 centimeters. That is terrible. Let me just say that it is a stretch for me to sit with my legs out in front of me without my knees bent. That number will improve considerably.
There are before photos as well, i am going to hold on to them for a little comparison photo shoot later.
I am exhausted. I am sore. I am exhilarated. But mostly, I am exhausted.
Sunday, April 28, 2013
200
This won't be nearly as good as 300, with Gerard Butler and his computer enhanced abs.
This is my two hundreth blog. I reread a few and noticed a theme. I write about my dogs, my boy, my girls and my love. I write about ridiculous things and I tend to get off on crazy tangents.
You know, I wanted to write for a magazine. I didn't want to do fashion pieces or anything like that, I wanted to be the last page. The page you usually go to first if you are like me. I read the last page of magazines first. I have done it for years. I think it might be because the final thought is usually the best.
Well this isn't my final thought so don't expect great things. Who reads this anyway? Danny, obviously. I am Peggy to his Hank Hill- he must read my musings. My kids so they know who I love the most. My dear friend Carly, who usually is the first to like my link. Secretly, I have hoped that one would go a little further. One blog would sneak its way onto someone else's page and would spread its little written word wings and fly to a mind, a heart very far from mine.
Barron, he wouldn't read it, but he would listen as I read it aloud for him. Harlow listens until it is time to lay on the landing. Emmitt doesn't listen. He just yells over me. Sophie sleeps. Elsa sits about twenty feet away and stares at me.
I wish I would have known to do this when Danny was gone, when Mom was sick, when Ashlyn was skipping school. I think it would have been so good for me. Of course, I would have not had as many topics to write about now if I wrote then.
200. Two hundred times when I could say my piece and no one had to tell me to shut up. Two hundrend times when I found my peace in the written word.
This is my two hundreth blog. I reread a few and noticed a theme. I write about my dogs, my boy, my girls and my love. I write about ridiculous things and I tend to get off on crazy tangents.
You know, I wanted to write for a magazine. I didn't want to do fashion pieces or anything like that, I wanted to be the last page. The page you usually go to first if you are like me. I read the last page of magazines first. I have done it for years. I think it might be because the final thought is usually the best.
Well this isn't my final thought so don't expect great things. Who reads this anyway? Danny, obviously. I am Peggy to his Hank Hill- he must read my musings. My kids so they know who I love the most. My dear friend Carly, who usually is the first to like my link. Secretly, I have hoped that one would go a little further. One blog would sneak its way onto someone else's page and would spread its little written word wings and fly to a mind, a heart very far from mine.
Barron, he wouldn't read it, but he would listen as I read it aloud for him. Harlow listens until it is time to lay on the landing. Emmitt doesn't listen. He just yells over me. Sophie sleeps. Elsa sits about twenty feet away and stares at me.
I wish I would have known to do this when Danny was gone, when Mom was sick, when Ashlyn was skipping school. I think it would have been so good for me. Of course, I would have not had as many topics to write about now if I wrote then.
200. Two hundred times when I could say my piece and no one had to tell me to shut up. Two hundrend times when I found my peace in the written word.
Friday, April 26, 2013
Seriously, it's been two years, Get over it already!
It floors me really, that after two years, I am still not over the death of Barron. I can break down with chest heaving sobs if I ever let myself really think about that dog. That wonderful, sneaky dog.
Since his death, I have done some spiritual activities. Not because of his death, this is just how it worked out. Anyway, in this spiritual endeavor, I really examined my relationship with God, where it was now and where it had been. It had been in a pretty bad place several years ago, like, God, you suck kind of bad. I really wanted nothing to do with Him. Time gave me some perspective and I came to see that in those dark days, I absolutely hated myself. It was easier to project that hate onto God. He has really big shoulders, I figure He could take it. And He did. He let me work it all out without any undue pressure from Him. Man, that God is a smart one. Took me a few years to figure it all out.
In the dark days of ought four, I probably, (not probably,) should have been seeking professional help. I was there, you know, that place that is so hard to come back from because one simple act of desperation makes it permanent. I wonder now, who knew. Who saw this little girl on the top of the slide? I think a few people knew, but no one knew how to catch me and even if they tried, they ran the risk of being kicked in the gut as a flew down.
Hate is such a horrible way to feel about oneself. But it happens, quite a lot. Hating God is a bi product of that feeling, I think. Or maybe it was the other way around. Either way...
But Barron, he didn't hate me. He couldn't. It wasn't in his bones. I can't think of too many things he did hate. Puppies laying on him. Us leaving him. Me, hating myself.
I think I miss him so much now for a number of reasons. Barron was a great dog that liked to swim and play fetch and chase bunnies. He would go on walks with me and hang out with me, putting his big head on my feet or in my lap. He would seek me out when I was so dark and he would let me know that I wasn't alone. It is hard to feel alone when the sheer weight of him pressed against me would nearly know me over.
I don't know if he saved my life that day. I will never know what was in the works because the Lord works in mysterious ways. Taking off the wings of an angel and putting on the most luscious vanilla coat to disguise His love for me. I would give my scarred right arm to have my dog back. Really I would. He was some of the best of me.
The moment that I realized, really truly realized that it was all God's doing that day- that Barron was an instrument of His peace- was so overwhelming. We Catholics, we like our saints and angels. I just didn't know that one could wear a fur coat.
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Since his death, I have done some spiritual activities. Not because of his death, this is just how it worked out. Anyway, in this spiritual endeavor, I really examined my relationship with God, where it was now and where it had been. It had been in a pretty bad place several years ago, like, God, you suck kind of bad. I really wanted nothing to do with Him. Time gave me some perspective and I came to see that in those dark days, I absolutely hated myself. It was easier to project that hate onto God. He has really big shoulders, I figure He could take it. And He did. He let me work it all out without any undue pressure from Him. Man, that God is a smart one. Took me a few years to figure it all out.
In the dark days of ought four, I probably, (not probably,) should have been seeking professional help. I was there, you know, that place that is so hard to come back from because one simple act of desperation makes it permanent. I wonder now, who knew. Who saw this little girl on the top of the slide? I think a few people knew, but no one knew how to catch me and even if they tried, they ran the risk of being kicked in the gut as a flew down.
Hate is such a horrible way to feel about oneself. But it happens, quite a lot. Hating God is a bi product of that feeling, I think. Or maybe it was the other way around. Either way...
But Barron, he didn't hate me. He couldn't. It wasn't in his bones. I can't think of too many things he did hate. Puppies laying on him. Us leaving him. Me, hating myself.
I think I miss him so much now for a number of reasons. Barron was a great dog that liked to swim and play fetch and chase bunnies. He would go on walks with me and hang out with me, putting his big head on my feet or in my lap. He would seek me out when I was so dark and he would let me know that I wasn't alone. It is hard to feel alone when the sheer weight of him pressed against me would nearly know me over.
I don't know if he saved my life that day. I will never know what was in the works because the Lord works in mysterious ways. Taking off the wings of an angel and putting on the most luscious vanilla coat to disguise His love for me. I would give my scarred right arm to have my dog back. Really I would. He was some of the best of me.
The moment that I realized, really truly realized that it was all God's doing that day- that Barron was an instrument of His peace- was so overwhelming. We Catholics, we like our saints and angels. I just didn't know that one could wear a fur coat.
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Wednesday, April 24, 2013
What Grandma Snow Might Think
I have been going through photo albums a lot lately. Taking trips down memory lane get me all misty eyed and such. I recently posted a photo of many of the Snows in their denim shirts, Christmas 1991. My mom, not in denim, is healthy and of full mind in this photo. Seeing her in those days always gives me pause. We were robbed, you know, and so was she.
Anyway, today just happens to be Ashlyn's birthday. She is twenty two. I spent a little extra time looking at the photos of her early days, and just a second or two longer on those few blessed photos of my mom with my girl.
Ashlyn and I have had the discussion about my mom and what she would have thought about Ashlyn's adventures. Though Ashlyn was always Grandpa Snow's little buddy, I think she was a kindred spirit to Grandma Snow.
Let me begin with the fact that my mom had great concerns about me becoming a parent. I found out I was pregnant after Danny had left for Saudi Arabia. We did not know how long he was going to be gone and my mom had many fears about me being able to take good care of myself considering I was alone with a lot happening in my life at a very rapid rate. She also had concerns about me being a mom. Not one to enjoy the company of children, I was not the ideal person to carry one and then raise it. I can only imagine the conversations that were had with her nursing friends and her sisters. Much hand ringing took place, I am sure.
But it turned out alright. Mom and I bonded over this little girl I had. My parents came to visit shortly after Ashlyn was born, and I could see that Mom was pretty confident in my mom abilities. There were a few times in the next few years that Mom would let me know that the job I was doing was hard, single parenting half the time while we stayed in one bedroom. But she appreciated my efforts and knew that I was doing the best I could be doing.
I don't know when Ashlyn's memories of Grandma Snow became tainted with the disease of dementia. I don't know if she remembers a lot of the good, or if it is too much of the bad. Way too much of it was bad.
Mom died seven years ago this month but the disease took so much of her years before that. She never knew that Ashlyn was in colorguard. Or that she took up sewing. Or that she got terribly sick. She never saw her exceptionally good grades. Didn't know that Ashlyn had raided her fifties and sixties era closet. Missed out on seeing this incredible young woman.
So Ashlyn, I kinda think this is how it would have been...
Grandma Snow would have loved Colorguard, the music and movement. She would have been your biggest fan. She would have wanted you to teach her how to quilt. She would have been overwhelmed with joy when you wore her dress to homecoming. She would have driven you crazy, reading endless magazines in your hospital room. The two of you could have spent hours looking at the best dressed lists from awards season. Grandma would have looked at every photo, listened to every travel story, would have told the world of your adventures. I know she knew all that you did, all that you overcame. It just would have been nice to have her here, really here to share in it all.
But if she were here today, living and lucid, I would like to think that Grandma Snow would share with you a few things.
Watch Dr. Zhivago, it is right up your alley. (I don't know if Mom actually ever saw the entire movie, but she slept on the couch every time it was on).
Keep being green. It is in your blood. Everything can be reused (that is why everything was saved, so when she thought of a way to reuse it, she would have it to reuse).
Wear my old clothes. I was fashionable and classic. (and beautiful).
Travel. Well, you already know this one and are seeing so much.
Keep going to mass. Look at what faith can give you (and light a candle for Grandma in all the churches you stop in, she thought that was neat.)
Anyway, today just happens to be Ashlyn's birthday. She is twenty two. I spent a little extra time looking at the photos of her early days, and just a second or two longer on those few blessed photos of my mom with my girl.
Ashlyn and I have had the discussion about my mom and what she would have thought about Ashlyn's adventures. Though Ashlyn was always Grandpa Snow's little buddy, I think she was a kindred spirit to Grandma Snow.
Let me begin with the fact that my mom had great concerns about me becoming a parent. I found out I was pregnant after Danny had left for Saudi Arabia. We did not know how long he was going to be gone and my mom had many fears about me being able to take good care of myself considering I was alone with a lot happening in my life at a very rapid rate. She also had concerns about me being a mom. Not one to enjoy the company of children, I was not the ideal person to carry one and then raise it. I can only imagine the conversations that were had with her nursing friends and her sisters. Much hand ringing took place, I am sure.
But it turned out alright. Mom and I bonded over this little girl I had. My parents came to visit shortly after Ashlyn was born, and I could see that Mom was pretty confident in my mom abilities. There were a few times in the next few years that Mom would let me know that the job I was doing was hard, single parenting half the time while we stayed in one bedroom. But she appreciated my efforts and knew that I was doing the best I could be doing.
I don't know when Ashlyn's memories of Grandma Snow became tainted with the disease of dementia. I don't know if she remembers a lot of the good, or if it is too much of the bad. Way too much of it was bad.
Mom died seven years ago this month but the disease took so much of her years before that. She never knew that Ashlyn was in colorguard. Or that she took up sewing. Or that she got terribly sick. She never saw her exceptionally good grades. Didn't know that Ashlyn had raided her fifties and sixties era closet. Missed out on seeing this incredible young woman.
So Ashlyn, I kinda think this is how it would have been...
Grandma Snow would have loved Colorguard, the music and movement. She would have been your biggest fan. She would have wanted you to teach her how to quilt. She would have been overwhelmed with joy when you wore her dress to homecoming. She would have driven you crazy, reading endless magazines in your hospital room. The two of you could have spent hours looking at the best dressed lists from awards season. Grandma would have looked at every photo, listened to every travel story, would have told the world of your adventures. I know she knew all that you did, all that you overcame. It just would have been nice to have her here, really here to share in it all.
But if she were here today, living and lucid, I would like to think that Grandma Snow would share with you a few things.
Watch Dr. Zhivago, it is right up your alley. (I don't know if Mom actually ever saw the entire movie, but she slept on the couch every time it was on).
Keep being green. It is in your blood. Everything can be reused (that is why everything was saved, so when she thought of a way to reuse it, she would have it to reuse).
Wear my old clothes. I was fashionable and classic. (and beautiful).
Travel. Well, you already know this one and are seeing so much.
Keep going to mass. Look at what faith can give you (and light a candle for Grandma in all the churches you stop in, she thought that was neat.)
Monday, April 22, 2013
"Just doing his job"
Reese Witherspoon was arrested for disorderly conduct. What she did is what a lot of people did, she didn't think, she spoke like a privileged bitch and forgot that she had too much to drink. I can see that, who hasn't said something stupid in the heat of the bottle? What bothers me is the comment made later when she apologized. She said that he (the arresting officer) was "just doing his job."
Just doing his job. The job he Just does requires quite a bit more than you think Ms. Witherspoon. His job requires that he has to deal with assholes and drunks and those that would like to kill him and he must be able to distinguish between the three in a split second because he wants to go home alive every night. In just doing his job he must take into consideration that while he has you pulled over because you made to stupid decision to drive drunk when you clearly have the means to call a cab, he must also be aware of any car that may try to play a game of chicken with him on the side of the road. He must keep an eye on you because you want to get out of the car and create a distraction. Granted you are only an academy award winning actress, but you could have been a couple of druggies, armed and a little bit tweaked. He doesn't know for sure because when he is just doing his job anything can happen.
When you just do your job, Ms. Witherspoon, there is a very low chance that you will be hurt or killed. Thousands of dollars go into safety measures to prevent your injury. This man, he wears a vest. Oh he is armed with a gun and flashlight, maybe a taser and he will have backup, but in the first moments, he goes it alone. He has to approach every situation with a degree of caution. You have a team of people looking out for you. He has his intuition, his gut, maybe a partner. He has to go from zero to sixty in a split second. Imagine what that does to him- you get to read the script, you know when the fake gun is going to be shot, you know when the car is going to crash into the car you were pretending to be riding in- he gets none of these warnings. He has the tools of his job, what is on his belt and in his heart and mind. Imagine what that repeated race of heart and adrenaline rush does to his blood pressure and digestive tract.
There are a lot of people that are just doing their job. I am one of them. And in this week, we saw a whole lot of people that aren't just doing their jobs. Take a look at the video and photos of the police in Boston, the firemen in West, the soldiers everywhere. These people are not just doing their jobs. Oh, they may say that because for the most part, they are ordinary people with extraordinary senses of purpose and responsibility. Those people that rushed into a burning fertilizer plant knew full well that this wasn't a controlled explosion that was going to be added later by computer, they knew that there were people inside that needed help. Those officers in Boston didn't know where that kid was, but they knew he had nothing to lose and that is the worst kind of hunt to be on. The blood was real, Ms. Witherspoon, and it wasn't just blood, it was the blood of innocent people and it was the blood of two of their own. Even here in little ole Des Moines, for nearly thirty hours, ours were out there just doing their jobs. For me, my Saturday night date was cut short and my entire Sunday plans were put on the shelf because my husband just had to do his job. Oh, and he left at 1230 am to go just do his job again. That being said, most of those out there on this call had just been doing their jobs a lot longer than my own husband so what sounds like anger to you is actually appreciation that mine wasn't gone quite as long and was able to get some rest. And this weekend in Des Moines was nothing compared to the four days in Boston where those were just doing their jobs.
So your husband drove drunk and you were a bitch. We will all get past that, but you need to find a better way of expressing yourself. You need to check with a script writer to find the words that more adequately express what this officer was doing. Because I promise you that is just wasn't his job. It was his way of life, it was what he lives and breathes so that he can live and breathe.
Just doing his job. The job he Just does requires quite a bit more than you think Ms. Witherspoon. His job requires that he has to deal with assholes and drunks and those that would like to kill him and he must be able to distinguish between the three in a split second because he wants to go home alive every night. In just doing his job he must take into consideration that while he has you pulled over because you made to stupid decision to drive drunk when you clearly have the means to call a cab, he must also be aware of any car that may try to play a game of chicken with him on the side of the road. He must keep an eye on you because you want to get out of the car and create a distraction. Granted you are only an academy award winning actress, but you could have been a couple of druggies, armed and a little bit tweaked. He doesn't know for sure because when he is just doing his job anything can happen.
When you just do your job, Ms. Witherspoon, there is a very low chance that you will be hurt or killed. Thousands of dollars go into safety measures to prevent your injury. This man, he wears a vest. Oh he is armed with a gun and flashlight, maybe a taser and he will have backup, but in the first moments, he goes it alone. He has to approach every situation with a degree of caution. You have a team of people looking out for you. He has his intuition, his gut, maybe a partner. He has to go from zero to sixty in a split second. Imagine what that does to him- you get to read the script, you know when the fake gun is going to be shot, you know when the car is going to crash into the car you were pretending to be riding in- he gets none of these warnings. He has the tools of his job, what is on his belt and in his heart and mind. Imagine what that repeated race of heart and adrenaline rush does to his blood pressure and digestive tract.
There are a lot of people that are just doing their job. I am one of them. And in this week, we saw a whole lot of people that aren't just doing their jobs. Take a look at the video and photos of the police in Boston, the firemen in West, the soldiers everywhere. These people are not just doing their jobs. Oh, they may say that because for the most part, they are ordinary people with extraordinary senses of purpose and responsibility. Those people that rushed into a burning fertilizer plant knew full well that this wasn't a controlled explosion that was going to be added later by computer, they knew that there were people inside that needed help. Those officers in Boston didn't know where that kid was, but they knew he had nothing to lose and that is the worst kind of hunt to be on. The blood was real, Ms. Witherspoon, and it wasn't just blood, it was the blood of innocent people and it was the blood of two of their own. Even here in little ole Des Moines, for nearly thirty hours, ours were out there just doing their jobs. For me, my Saturday night date was cut short and my entire Sunday plans were put on the shelf because my husband just had to do his job. Oh, and he left at 1230 am to go just do his job again. That being said, most of those out there on this call had just been doing their jobs a lot longer than my own husband so what sounds like anger to you is actually appreciation that mine wasn't gone quite as long and was able to get some rest. And this weekend in Des Moines was nothing compared to the four days in Boston where those were just doing their jobs.
So your husband drove drunk and you were a bitch. We will all get past that, but you need to find a better way of expressing yourself. You need to check with a script writer to find the words that more adequately express what this officer was doing. Because I promise you that is just wasn't his job. It was his way of life, it was what he lives and breathes so that he can live and breathe.
Monday, April 15, 2013
A Come To Jesus
147.8 pounds. Even with a baby in my belly, I have never weighed that much. That is 45 pounds more than on my wedding day, 49 more than the day I found out I was pregnant with Hayley. 29 more than when Danny was in Iraq, but most importantly, 18 more pounds than when I was fit and healthy doing FXB. Today, the scale was the highest it had ever been. The fat around my belly was visible under any shirt I tried on, including a sweatshirt. My thighs don't just touch, they cling to each other to nearly my knees.
I stood in front of the mirror today for a long time. Just trying to determine how and why this happened. What shifted in me that made me stand here today and really dislike the image I see? And most importantly, what in the world am I going to do about it?
Well that's when I had a come to Jesus. You know, that moment that is the very bottom. There are a lot of come to Jesus's in one's life. I have had several. The biggest of course, was when I made the decision to stop cutting. But this come to Jesus is really just as important. I am still hurting myself. I am obviously hurting my health. Carrying around what is probably ten pounds of extra fat is not healthy. I have no upper body or core strength which creates this vicious cycle of back injury, rest, weight gain, back injury. How in the world will I play with grandbabies if I cannot get on the floor or get up off of it? At this rate, I won't even be able to pick them up.
How did this happen? Well it started when I stopped going to Farrells which meant I stopped exercising. Ashlyn got sick and I immediately assumed that my weight would be fine because I lost so much weight when Danny was away, I would be the same with this stress. Well, I was wrong. We ate good while Ashlyn was sick. There were so many incredible meals made for us and so many fast food meals when we were on the go that eating did not suffer. Exercise just didn't stay in my life. I ate more and exercised not at all. And that became the trend. Had I been smart, I would have taken advantage of the stress release that exercise is.
Oh there have been many, many, many returns to exercise. All that last a day or two or three, but nothing has made it to a week. It is embarrassing, it is shameful. I have a healthy body that can move and do and I choose to not move and do. I waste a God given gift every single day. I might as well put a knife to my arm for all the love I am showing myself now.
You see, I was not equating what I was doing now to what I was doing then. I would find ways to sneak in a slit of the skin so that no one would really notice. I would cut under my watch band or in the crease of my elbow. Now, I keep candy in my work bag or put soda in my water jug. Well, standing in front of that mirror today, really looking at myself, I paid attention to the changes in me. There is a web of spider veins on the back of one knee. I am sure it is partly from standing all day, but also from carrying extra weight and not getting the blood moving enough throughout the day. The innertube of goo around my midsection is awful. It cannot be hidden or disguised or ignored any longer. And the scars on my arm, well they are fading, quite a lot but they will never completely go away. The important thing about those scars is that I didn't add anymore. Now it is time to say that about the fat and the pain and the frustration.
So 147.8, you are not welcome here anymore. You are my bleeding arm, you are my bottom. Leaving you will be no easy feat though. I have tried to leave your friends before and it didn't work. But if I don't do it now, right now... If I let you stay one more day... If I don't look in the mirror one more time and make myself believe that I am truly worth being healthy, then I might as well resign myself to black, shapeless dresses and standing in the back of all photos.
I stood in front of the mirror today for a long time. Just trying to determine how and why this happened. What shifted in me that made me stand here today and really dislike the image I see? And most importantly, what in the world am I going to do about it?
Well that's when I had a come to Jesus. You know, that moment that is the very bottom. There are a lot of come to Jesus's in one's life. I have had several. The biggest of course, was when I made the decision to stop cutting. But this come to Jesus is really just as important. I am still hurting myself. I am obviously hurting my health. Carrying around what is probably ten pounds of extra fat is not healthy. I have no upper body or core strength which creates this vicious cycle of back injury, rest, weight gain, back injury. How in the world will I play with grandbabies if I cannot get on the floor or get up off of it? At this rate, I won't even be able to pick them up.
How did this happen? Well it started when I stopped going to Farrells which meant I stopped exercising. Ashlyn got sick and I immediately assumed that my weight would be fine because I lost so much weight when Danny was away, I would be the same with this stress. Well, I was wrong. We ate good while Ashlyn was sick. There were so many incredible meals made for us and so many fast food meals when we were on the go that eating did not suffer. Exercise just didn't stay in my life. I ate more and exercised not at all. And that became the trend. Had I been smart, I would have taken advantage of the stress release that exercise is.
Oh there have been many, many, many returns to exercise. All that last a day or two or three, but nothing has made it to a week. It is embarrassing, it is shameful. I have a healthy body that can move and do and I choose to not move and do. I waste a God given gift every single day. I might as well put a knife to my arm for all the love I am showing myself now.
You see, I was not equating what I was doing now to what I was doing then. I would find ways to sneak in a slit of the skin so that no one would really notice. I would cut under my watch band or in the crease of my elbow. Now, I keep candy in my work bag or put soda in my water jug. Well, standing in front of that mirror today, really looking at myself, I paid attention to the changes in me. There is a web of spider veins on the back of one knee. I am sure it is partly from standing all day, but also from carrying extra weight and not getting the blood moving enough throughout the day. The innertube of goo around my midsection is awful. It cannot be hidden or disguised or ignored any longer. And the scars on my arm, well they are fading, quite a lot but they will never completely go away. The important thing about those scars is that I didn't add anymore. Now it is time to say that about the fat and the pain and the frustration.
So 147.8, you are not welcome here anymore. You are my bleeding arm, you are my bottom. Leaving you will be no easy feat though. I have tried to leave your friends before and it didn't work. But if I don't do it now, right now... If I let you stay one more day... If I don't look in the mirror one more time and make myself believe that I am truly worth being healthy, then I might as well resign myself to black, shapeless dresses and standing in the back of all photos.
Thursday, February 28, 2013
A Lesson from Johnny
A friend of mine recently said that the Devil only goes after what is strong. I have to disagree. I think the devil is a bit of a wuss and waits for people to be at their weakest before he slithers in and makes his move.
Now I don't know what kind of mood Adam and Eve were in when he presented the apple, but the devil did wait until Jesus was alone in the desert and that was still an epic fail. Even with humans, he doesn't always get the timing right.
Case in point, Johnny. The fiddle playing master of Charlie Daniel's song. My friend could definitely use this song as an argument to her statement. The devil knew what he was going into when he made the bet. He had already seen Johnny play and knew that he was good. Johnny didn't know what kind of skills that the devil had and was taking a risk making the bet. OR Johnny was so confident in his skills that he knew there was no way he was going to lose.
Times were obviously tough for the devil when he went to Georgia. The song states he was way behind in soul stealing. Now if the devil had any business smarts, he would have known that a young man playing a fiddle hot was not the ideal one to make a deal with. But no one ever said the devil was smart.
So Johnny thinks that he may be sinning by taking this bet, but I wonder? If he knew he couldn't lose because he knew his God given talents were better than the devil's devil given talents, is it a sin? Was he cocky or confident? Was he just putting the devil in his place like we all should do or was he showing off? These are real questions that need real answers.
Maybe Johnny is a little cocky. Maybe as he ages, that will settle down in him and he will be a little more humble. But then again, he just kicked the devil's ass in a fiddle playing contest, he has every right to be cocky. I would.
For a long time, I felt that the devil had a better song, but it was the band of demons that really rounded out his sound. I had a long (drunken) conversation about this song one night and was shown the error of my thinking. If the band of demons did not join in, I would have been able to hear that Johnny was clearly a superior fiddle player, just as the devil stated.
What if more of us were like the live concert version of Johnny. You know the one that says "I told you once, you son of a bitch, I'm the best there's ever been." I don't think we even have to claim to be the best, but we do need to claim that enough evil is enough. What if we just got fed up with him and his band and schooled him on a little kindness and forgiveness and tolerance?
Now I don't know what kind of mood Adam and Eve were in when he presented the apple, but the devil did wait until Jesus was alone in the desert and that was still an epic fail. Even with humans, he doesn't always get the timing right.
Case in point, Johnny. The fiddle playing master of Charlie Daniel's song. My friend could definitely use this song as an argument to her statement. The devil knew what he was going into when he made the bet. He had already seen Johnny play and knew that he was good. Johnny didn't know what kind of skills that the devil had and was taking a risk making the bet. OR Johnny was so confident in his skills that he knew there was no way he was going to lose.
Times were obviously tough for the devil when he went to Georgia. The song states he was way behind in soul stealing. Now if the devil had any business smarts, he would have known that a young man playing a fiddle hot was not the ideal one to make a deal with. But no one ever said the devil was smart.
So Johnny thinks that he may be sinning by taking this bet, but I wonder? If he knew he couldn't lose because he knew his God given talents were better than the devil's devil given talents, is it a sin? Was he cocky or confident? Was he just putting the devil in his place like we all should do or was he showing off? These are real questions that need real answers.
Maybe Johnny is a little cocky. Maybe as he ages, that will settle down in him and he will be a little more humble. But then again, he just kicked the devil's ass in a fiddle playing contest, he has every right to be cocky. I would.
For a long time, I felt that the devil had a better song, but it was the band of demons that really rounded out his sound. I had a long (drunken) conversation about this song one night and was shown the error of my thinking. If the band of demons did not join in, I would have been able to hear that Johnny was clearly a superior fiddle player, just as the devil stated.
What if more of us were like the live concert version of Johnny. You know the one that says "I told you once, you son of a bitch, I'm the best there's ever been." I don't think we even have to claim to be the best, but we do need to claim that enough evil is enough. What if we just got fed up with him and his band and schooled him on a little kindness and forgiveness and tolerance?
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