As Halloween approaches I thought it would be fun to change up the blog a bit and write about something spooky. I am currently doing some research that just might fit the bill. I have always had a fascination with ghosts, cemeteries and history. What are ghosts if not the impression of souls who have passed on to become a part of history?. History is a collection of stories marking events that occurred before this moment. Our knowledge of these incidents stem from the recollections and perceptions of the historian's account of that particular event. I am sure that the Indians at Wounded Knee have a different version of the horrific events of that day than the one that we hear from those leading the massacre. What I've recently learned about Christopher Columbus is in stark contrast to what I was taught about the explorer as a child. It is all a matter of an individuals observation. Are there really ghosts haunting particular sites? Are we surrounded by the spirit energy of those who have gone before us? There are so many opinions on this matter. Everyone is entitled to their own personal beliefs. I respect the beliefs of most everyone. I have to draw the line on hate groups and religious fanatics who use religion to perpetuate even more hate. I can't respect hate and openly admit it. I do believe in ghosts. I believe in a lot of things that aren't readily visible to everyone. As a believer I do enjoy good ghost stories whether they have merit or not. It is fun to delve into a story though and see if there are any actual facts that could explain how a haunting came about. Sifting through records and piecing together clues is my own way of reliving those Nancy Drew books that I devoured as a kid.
I love learning the stories of others. I am truly interested in where people have come from and where their paths are leading. Our journeys are as different as the paths we choose to get there. I believe many stories and legends came about to teach lessons or to warn wayward children away from dangerous paths. Is this the case of the Lady in Red who was mentioned to me in passing last week? If the Lady in Red really haunts the Underwood Cemetery why am I just hearing about her now as a middle aged woman? I have visited that cemetery for years and had never heard mention of her. I have put the word out to people who live in that area, historians and paranormal groups asking for more information. One Facebook Friend on my alumni account cautioned that the Lady in Red should not be trifled with. I answered that I don't want to trifle with her, I want to know her story. If she is haunting a cemetery there must be a reason. It would seem to me that the whole objective of the haunting would be to get someones attention so that they would know the reason. Is the Lady in Red the product of a story perpetuated by children living near the cemetery to scare their friends? Who didn't like to tell spooky stories when they were young? Okay, maybe not everyone but I know that I did. We would tell all kinds of dark tales as we walked down Slaughterhouse Road to peer at the old Dot house. I think Dot is what they called it? Maybe it was Dock. Someone said that it had something to do with Dock Grade. It could be that my young ears heard Dot so that is what it became to me. The house was an abandoned farmhouse that was falling into total ruin. We would dare one another to go in. Of course by the time we got there we had ourselves so completely freaked out that no one was brave enough to cross the threshold. We did get up the nerve to enter the old Slaughterhouse though. It was a bit more open and not as rundown. I swear it still held the smell of blood though. Even though that was the blood of animals it still sent chills down my spine. I have always been empathetic to suffering and those animals had to have suffered something even if they were slaughtered in what was considered a humane way. The slaughterhouse made me more sad than scared. Of course I try not to really think too hard about where my food comes from. I definitely should be a Vegetarian by now.
Back to The Lady in Red. Chris-Zada Cemetery in Underwood has always been a favorite place. I love cemeteries. I feel oddly serene when walking among the gravestones and reading the names of those past. I wonder about their lives and find it sad when they died young. The cemetery is named after two little girls who died in 1901. Christina Dark and Zada Larsen were lost to illness in a flu epidemic. They were 5 and 7. I was taken there in 2009 as part of my first ever ghost hunt. I was working on a novel and wanted to do some research. Local paranormal investigators felt that it was an active spot and chose it as one of the locations we visited that night. I was able to hear my first EVP there and lost some of my previous skepticism. Earlier this year I learned of a publication that was put out by a local resident about the cemetery. It is a copulation of all of the known obituaries of the occupants of the graves in the Underwood Cemetery. There is an early plot map and the names of those known to be interred there whose markers have been lost.
In the days that have passed since the Lady in Red was mentioned to me I have gone through the cemetery publication. It is very interesting. I tried to decide who I thought the Lady in Red might be if she is indeed one of those who has taken up permanent residence there. Granted, I have not read each and every obituary in the book yet. I also have not heard any explanation from anyone about this Lady in Red Story. The closest I have come is a classmate who says that she remembers her high school boyfriend telling her about the lady years ago. He was an Underwood resident so he very well may be one of those few who know the origins of the story. Believe me there will be a second blog written as soon as I have more information. With nothing to go on though I made up my own theory along with my friend Sarah who is as intrigued as I am. She is encouraging me to make the Lady in Red a character in a future novel. I might.
In the publication mentioned that was written by a resident named Ralph Brown and published this past April I found a woman named Gwenllian Price Jones Quin. To imagine this woman in life is a fete on its own. I would love to see pictures of her and hear more about her amazing life. It seems she was born in Waleson February 5,1863. In the publication Brown has included a small article and obituary that appeared in the Mt. Adams Sun newspaper on November 23, 1952 shortly after her death. I will share it with you now. I am typing it exactly as it appeared so any run on sentences and such are those of the unnamed newspaper writer:
GWENLLIAN "HARRIET" PRICE JONES QUIN
Gwenllian Price married Mordecai Jones (1865-1913) in Ireland in 1893. Mordecai, a multi-millionaire had been in the Pacific NW beginning in 1883 on multiple hunting trips; they immigrated 1896, establishing a large estate near Husum and planted a successful orchard, which began the apple orchard boom in the White Salmon area. Mordecai also built Hunter Hill Lodge and hosted many hunting parties for gentlemen from England. He inherited a significant amount of land and mines in Wales and Ireland and returned many times to manage his inheritance; however he died in Ireland from Malaria in 1913. Gwenllian remained to settle the estate and had a significant amount of furnishings sent to the Hunter's Hill Lodge and returned in 1921 with her new husband Noel Quin.
Gwenllian Quin
Harriet Gwenllian Quin, 89, was born in Wales Feb, 5 1963, and was one of 19 children, five of whom survive. She was educated at Christ College and London University. in 1896, she and her husband and three sons came to America. Four four years prior to moving to the present ranch known as Hunter's Hill in 1900, the family lived at the old "Brown Place" between Husum and BZ Corners. In 1907 she took her sons to England to be educated. While there she purchased the beautiful estate of the Earl of Darnley. She did a great deal of travelling through Europe at this time. In 1911 she went on a big game safari to Kenya, East Africa with her husband. During the nine months she was gone she killed many lions, leopards, buffalo and rhinoceros. The hides and heads of these were taken to England. During the First World War when her sons were overseas Mrs. Quin was made a lifetime member of the British Red Cross for her great services. In 1922 she jointed her son at Hunters Hill where she lived until a few months ago. She was taken ill in November of 1951, and after a prolonged illness passed away October 1 at Medical Lake. She is survived by her three sons; Ion, Felix and Guy Jones, five grandchildren, one great grandchild and five sisters. Funeral services were held Saturday, Oct. 4 at the Gardener Funeral Home, with Rev. George officiating. Interment was in the Chris-Zada cemetery at Underwood.
What an accomplished woman for the day and age! It is hard to believe she was part of our little community. I have so many questions about her. I also want to know where Hunter's Hill is--what about the old "Brown Place". Did her sons stay in the area? Luckily for me and any other history buff the answer to many of these questions might be found at the West Klickitat County Historical Society Museum in Bingen. I know that I've been wanting to go there. My problem is that once I enter the museum and see the archives they have stored in their basement I may not come up for air for several days. I haven't had time to carve several days into my schedule yet. It will be on my "to do" list in 2014.
Why would I come to the conclusion that Gwenllian Quin could be the mysterious Lady in Red? Because despite her wealth and standing in the community, her grave is unmarked. I don't see how this is possible. Her grave sits next to that of her second husband, Noel Quin. He preceded her in death by almost twenty years, dying in October of 1933. Gwellian provided a very nice headstone for him which appears in the picture to be a pedestal with a stone cross coming out of the top. It is probably two or three feet tall (I am going by the picture). The educated world traveler has nothing at all marking her grave. Could she be hanging out waiting for one of her descendants to fork over some of that inheritance money for a decent grave stone? Shouldn't one of her sons have commissioned something fitting for the matriarch of their estates? If by any chance Gwenllian told the boys not to go to the expense or fuss over her, she didn't really mean it.
This matter will need further research. Who knows when time will allow for me to frivolously while away the hours scrutinizing the details left behind by a family of immigrants who happened upon the area well over 100 years ago. Maybe my friends at the historical society will have a few answers for me. Tonight at their meeting they will raise the question regarding the Lady in Red. Did Gwenllian ever wear red? If not Gwenllian then who is she supposed to be? I will have to read more of the obituaries to see if there are other candidates. Chances are she is probably the figment of an overactive imagination. If you are visiting the Chris-Zada cemetery in Underwood and happen to see her, please let me know.
Wednesday, October 23, 2013
Monday, September 30, 2013
My Own Personal Hell
When it comes to Hell everyone has their own version of what it is. Some believe that we are actually in Hell right now as we speak living out our feeble existence while we attempt to work our way back into the good graces of the powers that be. Most of us were taught that Hell is a fiery inferno where we spend eternity burning along with millions of other dammed souls who deigned to unworthy. That means that our Loving God has filled the pit with tiny unbaptized souls mixed in with shoplifters, tax evaders, liars and mass murderers. The truly evil rubbing burning elbows with those whose only crime may have been ignorance. I have a hard time with the concept of Hell. I believe each individual has their own private Hell which looks completely different from the private Hell of most everyone around them. My husbands Hell would be filled with snakes, my daughters would have spiders--there are no video games in the Hell's of my sons. Blasphemous as I am, Hell to me is a Shopping Mall.
As a teen I'm sure that I flocked to shopping malls like they were Mecca--the land of milk and honey. The smell of fried food mixed in with perfume samples and sweaty bodies. The loud, boisterous energy of avid shoppers seeking nirvana in a pair of shoes or a purse. A place where the right pair of jeans could make me feel like I could conquer the world. Plastic cards could get me anything my heart desired and I had until the next billing cycle before I felt like crap and wondered what I was thinking. As I grew older the mall slowly became less of a fairy tale castle and more like the Nine Circles of Hell. Yesterday when I wanted to be home in my sweats I was forced to go to the Mall. It wasn't for anything I needed. My bank balance doesn't allow for me to need anything this week. To amuse myself as we tromped through the weekend shoppers I imagined the Nine Circles of Hell in my head and found them all around me.
The First Circle is limbo. A place between worlds where the unbaptized and virtuous pagans waste countless hours between paychecks wondering if that coveted pair of shoes will still be on sale next week. Between paychecks is a Hell unto itself when you live from one to the next in limbo. You dread the gas light, pray the milk will hold out and cringe when a necessity breaks, rips or dies making it impossible to keep from dipping into the bill money. Limbo is a place I know well and can usually be found since the coveted pair of shoes is not a necessity and wishing for them takes me into the Second Circle which is lust. Lusting for a pair of Converse. What kind of mother does that? Especially a mother of my age. I should have outgrown my lust for Converse twenty years ago. But no, Converse, Toms and cute flats all call my name from different stores as I try to keep my head down and eyes averted. Lusting for shoes drives me to the Third Circle which is Gluttony. I am a glutton for shoes it is true, but at the mall I am also be a glutton for Cinnabon, Jamba Juice and Sbarros and would gladly partake of all of them if my checkbook would allow it. Drinking a Peach Perfection Smoothie while dipping a hot slice of Sbarro cheese and mushroom pizza into ranch sauce and smelling the Cinnabon Mini which would be the scrumptious. For now it is a Hellish, Lustful, Gluttonous daydream because I am in the between paycheck limbo that takes up most of my life.
After Limbo, Lust and Gluttony comes Greed. Would I really be greedy enough to buy shoes and pig out at the mall when there are bills to pay? If I was greedy, yes. My greed for extra money to buy frivolous things when we have real needs makes me angry. Anger is fitting since it is the Fifth Circle of Hell. I spend a lot of time being angry at myself for not bringing in more extra money for wants instead of needs. The anger is not productive. It makes me lose all hope and all motivation. When I am not motivated I write blasphemous blogs in my head that take me in the sixth circle of heresy. My beliefs deviate too far from the norm to make me anything less than a heretic. As a heretic I will enter the sixth circle of Hell even though I haven't even left the mall. I am still here wishing for shoes, hungry for things that I can't have and angry that I didn't have the foresight to get a better paying job sooner. My violent thoughts of the Mall being Hell and all of the shoppers being burning zombies skirt me around the outside of the seventh circle which is violence. I am not really a violent person, so can't actually traipse through the center of this circle but I can see the violent nature of the Mall. The Mall is full of masses of unfriendly looking packs of rabid shoppers who just might tear one another limb for limb for the last pair of sparkly black Toms in a size 9 or that perfect pair of Chucks. Not me of course. I have patience and am used to just lustfully ogling them with greedy eyes.
The eighth circle is Fraud. Fraud runs rampant in the mall. I am a fraud for being a chunky middle aged woman wanting Chucks. I am a teenager trapped in this body that I would never have chosen for myself. If the real me was out in the open instead of this chunky imposter--she would be youngish, athletic and wearing Levi's, a t-shirt and Chucks. This chunky gal is a fraud. Probably most of the people here would rather be different so we are all frauds. Of course there are actual criminals at the mall as well. People more fraudulent than me and the other wishers. There are identity thieves, shoplifters, scammers and liars who actually reside in the Eighth Circle. Treachery is the Ninth and Final Circle of Hell. The mall is full of traitors. I am a traitor for even thinking about spending any extra money on myself. The other traitors can pig out at the food court, charge extravagant luxuries and pretend to be whoever they want. I walk out of the mall in a myriad of emotions that are all negative and unflattering. For a person trying to have a positive outlook on life I decide the Mall is definitely an unhealthy place for me. It reminds me of every flaw and personality trait that I loathe. Unfortunately I caught my reflection in a full length mirror as we were walking by and that is NEVER a good thing. Just being in the mall makes me grumpy and impatient. I survived the trip this time around. I am hoping that it will be several months before I am forced to forge my way through the Nine Circles of Hell again. There is only so much Hell I can take.
As a teen I'm sure that I flocked to shopping malls like they were Mecca--the land of milk and honey. The smell of fried food mixed in with perfume samples and sweaty bodies. The loud, boisterous energy of avid shoppers seeking nirvana in a pair of shoes or a purse. A place where the right pair of jeans could make me feel like I could conquer the world. Plastic cards could get me anything my heart desired and I had until the next billing cycle before I felt like crap and wondered what I was thinking. As I grew older the mall slowly became less of a fairy tale castle and more like the Nine Circles of Hell. Yesterday when I wanted to be home in my sweats I was forced to go to the Mall. It wasn't for anything I needed. My bank balance doesn't allow for me to need anything this week. To amuse myself as we tromped through the weekend shoppers I imagined the Nine Circles of Hell in my head and found them all around me.
The First Circle is limbo. A place between worlds where the unbaptized and virtuous pagans waste countless hours between paychecks wondering if that coveted pair of shoes will still be on sale next week. Between paychecks is a Hell unto itself when you live from one to the next in limbo. You dread the gas light, pray the milk will hold out and cringe when a necessity breaks, rips or dies making it impossible to keep from dipping into the bill money. Limbo is a place I know well and can usually be found since the coveted pair of shoes is not a necessity and wishing for them takes me into the Second Circle which is lust. Lusting for a pair of Converse. What kind of mother does that? Especially a mother of my age. I should have outgrown my lust for Converse twenty years ago. But no, Converse, Toms and cute flats all call my name from different stores as I try to keep my head down and eyes averted. Lusting for shoes drives me to the Third Circle which is Gluttony. I am a glutton for shoes it is true, but at the mall I am also be a glutton for Cinnabon, Jamba Juice and Sbarros and would gladly partake of all of them if my checkbook would allow it. Drinking a Peach Perfection Smoothie while dipping a hot slice of Sbarro cheese and mushroom pizza into ranch sauce and smelling the Cinnabon Mini which would be the scrumptious. For now it is a Hellish, Lustful, Gluttonous daydream because I am in the between paycheck limbo that takes up most of my life.
After Limbo, Lust and Gluttony comes Greed. Would I really be greedy enough to buy shoes and pig out at the mall when there are bills to pay? If I was greedy, yes. My greed for extra money to buy frivolous things when we have real needs makes me angry. Anger is fitting since it is the Fifth Circle of Hell. I spend a lot of time being angry at myself for not bringing in more extra money for wants instead of needs. The anger is not productive. It makes me lose all hope and all motivation. When I am not motivated I write blasphemous blogs in my head that take me in the sixth circle of heresy. My beliefs deviate too far from the norm to make me anything less than a heretic. As a heretic I will enter the sixth circle of Hell even though I haven't even left the mall. I am still here wishing for shoes, hungry for things that I can't have and angry that I didn't have the foresight to get a better paying job sooner. My violent thoughts of the Mall being Hell and all of the shoppers being burning zombies skirt me around the outside of the seventh circle which is violence. I am not really a violent person, so can't actually traipse through the center of this circle but I can see the violent nature of the Mall. The Mall is full of masses of unfriendly looking packs of rabid shoppers who just might tear one another limb for limb for the last pair of sparkly black Toms in a size 9 or that perfect pair of Chucks. Not me of course. I have patience and am used to just lustfully ogling them with greedy eyes.
The eighth circle is Fraud. Fraud runs rampant in the mall. I am a fraud for being a chunky middle aged woman wanting Chucks. I am a teenager trapped in this body that I would never have chosen for myself. If the real me was out in the open instead of this chunky imposter--she would be youngish, athletic and wearing Levi's, a t-shirt and Chucks. This chunky gal is a fraud. Probably most of the people here would rather be different so we are all frauds. Of course there are actual criminals at the mall as well. People more fraudulent than me and the other wishers. There are identity thieves, shoplifters, scammers and liars who actually reside in the Eighth Circle. Treachery is the Ninth and Final Circle of Hell. The mall is full of traitors. I am a traitor for even thinking about spending any extra money on myself. The other traitors can pig out at the food court, charge extravagant luxuries and pretend to be whoever they want. I walk out of the mall in a myriad of emotions that are all negative and unflattering. For a person trying to have a positive outlook on life I decide the Mall is definitely an unhealthy place for me. It reminds me of every flaw and personality trait that I loathe. Unfortunately I caught my reflection in a full length mirror as we were walking by and that is NEVER a good thing. Just being in the mall makes me grumpy and impatient. I survived the trip this time around. I am hoping that it will be several months before I am forced to forge my way through the Nine Circles of Hell again. There is only so much Hell I can take.
Saturday, September 28, 2013
Frustration, Degradation and Growing Pains.........
Last night as I was trying to fall asleep I wrote the most awesome blog. I was able to pinpoint exactly what I needed to say this week and I found the perfect words to portray exactly how I felt. I wrote it in my head and as I drifted off to sleep I hit the save button in my brain so that I could wake up this morning and type it all up on my computer. Unfortunately the save button in my brain has been malfunctioning more and more lately. It loses little words, names and thoughts now and then. It seems that my brain needs to be rebooted and could use a few upgrades as well. Now I will let my brain loose and let it ramble. Sorry that I am in such a self-depreciating mood. This one may not be pretty. I need to purge the negative so that I can start next week on a better note and accomplish the things I need to accomplish. We are all constantly growing and changing. Unfortunately growth and change can be painful. Letting go has always been hard for me.
Lately I feel more and more like I am stuck on a giant hamster wheel. I run hard each day but never get anywhere. The list of things that I want to implement into my life has not changed in three years. Those activities are still there waiting for me to find the time and space to fit them in. The number on the scale isn't changing, we are still living paycheck to paycheck and my energy level is still low because I am here in this rut and haven't tried hard enough to climb out. I am so frustrated with myself that I beat myself up each night instead of building myself up. The beat down really doesn't help the situation. Self confidence is not one of my strong points. Of course I said this all more eloquently in my head last night. In the light of day it isn't eloquent, it is stark reality and pretty words won't change what it is. I hold myself back from my own potential because it is easier to tread water here than to swim over to the unknown and possibly drown. A bit dramatic but true all the same. I know deep down that I am capable of so much more. I just let the perceptions of others drag me down. I look in the mirror and see the pale, puffy, middle aged woman that everyone else sees and forget that the outer package does not match what is inside. Those who know what is in there get frustrated when I get tripped up by the opinions of people who have no clue who I really am.
I have a tendency to overbook my life. I bury myself in busy work so that I don't have time to really think about where I am and where I should be. When I am juggling a dozen or so activities at once I don't have time to look to closely at the big picture. Like everyone I had big dreams when I was young. I wanted to go out into the world, see and experience everything and make a difference. I wanted to succeed. It didn't really matter what I succeeded at as long as I felt that I had accomplished something. The problem with me is that I never have a solid plan. I get these ideas and then dive in head first without thinking of the consequences. It is easy to look back and see where I should have planned better financially, where I should have made a better decision--should haves are huge traps that really help anything. They are just another way of making us feel like total losers. There are no do overs. And in retrospect I have made many good decisions and have accomplished small things along the way. Small things that have made a difference so I need to own them and remember that I am not a complete failure--I'm just having a bad week.
This past week I was given an assignment at one of my new jobs. The assignment had to do with adding a component to the website. It seemed straight forward enough. I put so much time and effort into trying to do this task and ended up crying with frustration, I read all types of instructions that were so far over my head, I tried to get help and in the end had to accept that only a web developer who actually builds websites could do this task. Telling my boss was difficult. She is an understanding person, but it was hard to have to admit that I had failed. At least in my own eyes I had failed. It was a task that I wasn't equipped to do from the beginning but I didn't know that. I beat myself up, sprouted stress zits and a cold sore and made my family miserable for several days while trying to make sense of the issue. My boss now wants me to work with the web developer to explain what it is we need. My brain is so fried that I don't know if I can explain it. This one thing has scared me into thinking that maybe I am not up to the job. There are many things I have done to help out but I am letting this perceived failure kick my ass. The job is doable and I am capable--it was one thing and that thing can't define me. I am not a gifted computer programmer who has awesome web building capabilities. I am a woman who knows a bit about social media and am willing to use that knowledge to help market a business. I can teach myself the basics, but some things aren't so basic.
Lately I find myself overwhelmed by the different directions that I am supposed to travel each day. I have stacked too much on my plate and have to work harder than ever to balance it all. The problem is that I feel that I am supposed to be doing something else but if I do who is going to take on all of this busy work that I have been managing for so long? I love volunteering, but my family needs me to actually bring in a check now. If I could be a professional volunteer forever I would, but I can't fill my life with it. I am in transition and for me transition has always been a scary place. The torch is slowly being passed on a couple of the activities that eat my time. I am training others to take my place and making sure that I leave things in better condition than when I found them. I am not indispensable but I do need to make sure that others are trained and there is a firm plan before I disappear into the sunset without looking back. Responsibility is one of my strong points. I am responsible for smooth transitions for others since my personal ones are rocky.
I would love to curl up and lose myself in a good book. I wish I could ignore the pile of bills that taunt me and the list of needs that have to wait until I have a steady paycheck. I can't escape through my usual means and self-destruction isn't an option. I have to grow a pair and remind myself of all of the hidden potential that I keep under lock and key. I need to McGyver a rope, a ladder or whatever it takes to get myself out of this rut and back onto a more positive path. The transitions are happening, change is coming, I need to be more patient and loving with myself and welcome change. Letting go of thoughts, habits and behaviors that hold me back are imperative to growth. I will endure the growing pains and become who it is that I am meant to be at this time in my life. I will even block out a few hours here and there on my calendar to think about it.
Lately I feel more and more like I am stuck on a giant hamster wheel. I run hard each day but never get anywhere. The list of things that I want to implement into my life has not changed in three years. Those activities are still there waiting for me to find the time and space to fit them in. The number on the scale isn't changing, we are still living paycheck to paycheck and my energy level is still low because I am here in this rut and haven't tried hard enough to climb out. I am so frustrated with myself that I beat myself up each night instead of building myself up. The beat down really doesn't help the situation. Self confidence is not one of my strong points. Of course I said this all more eloquently in my head last night. In the light of day it isn't eloquent, it is stark reality and pretty words won't change what it is. I hold myself back from my own potential because it is easier to tread water here than to swim over to the unknown and possibly drown. A bit dramatic but true all the same. I know deep down that I am capable of so much more. I just let the perceptions of others drag me down. I look in the mirror and see the pale, puffy, middle aged woman that everyone else sees and forget that the outer package does not match what is inside. Those who know what is in there get frustrated when I get tripped up by the opinions of people who have no clue who I really am.
I have a tendency to overbook my life. I bury myself in busy work so that I don't have time to really think about where I am and where I should be. When I am juggling a dozen or so activities at once I don't have time to look to closely at the big picture. Like everyone I had big dreams when I was young. I wanted to go out into the world, see and experience everything and make a difference. I wanted to succeed. It didn't really matter what I succeeded at as long as I felt that I had accomplished something. The problem with me is that I never have a solid plan. I get these ideas and then dive in head first without thinking of the consequences. It is easy to look back and see where I should have planned better financially, where I should have made a better decision--should haves are huge traps that really help anything. They are just another way of making us feel like total losers. There are no do overs. And in retrospect I have made many good decisions and have accomplished small things along the way. Small things that have made a difference so I need to own them and remember that I am not a complete failure--I'm just having a bad week.
This past week I was given an assignment at one of my new jobs. The assignment had to do with adding a component to the website. It seemed straight forward enough. I put so much time and effort into trying to do this task and ended up crying with frustration, I read all types of instructions that were so far over my head, I tried to get help and in the end had to accept that only a web developer who actually builds websites could do this task. Telling my boss was difficult. She is an understanding person, but it was hard to have to admit that I had failed. At least in my own eyes I had failed. It was a task that I wasn't equipped to do from the beginning but I didn't know that. I beat myself up, sprouted stress zits and a cold sore and made my family miserable for several days while trying to make sense of the issue. My boss now wants me to work with the web developer to explain what it is we need. My brain is so fried that I don't know if I can explain it. This one thing has scared me into thinking that maybe I am not up to the job. There are many things I have done to help out but I am letting this perceived failure kick my ass. The job is doable and I am capable--it was one thing and that thing can't define me. I am not a gifted computer programmer who has awesome web building capabilities. I am a woman who knows a bit about social media and am willing to use that knowledge to help market a business. I can teach myself the basics, but some things aren't so basic.
Lately I find myself overwhelmed by the different directions that I am supposed to travel each day. I have stacked too much on my plate and have to work harder than ever to balance it all. The problem is that I feel that I am supposed to be doing something else but if I do who is going to take on all of this busy work that I have been managing for so long? I love volunteering, but my family needs me to actually bring in a check now. If I could be a professional volunteer forever I would, but I can't fill my life with it. I am in transition and for me transition has always been a scary place. The torch is slowly being passed on a couple of the activities that eat my time. I am training others to take my place and making sure that I leave things in better condition than when I found them. I am not indispensable but I do need to make sure that others are trained and there is a firm plan before I disappear into the sunset without looking back. Responsibility is one of my strong points. I am responsible for smooth transitions for others since my personal ones are rocky.
I would love to curl up and lose myself in a good book. I wish I could ignore the pile of bills that taunt me and the list of needs that have to wait until I have a steady paycheck. I can't escape through my usual means and self-destruction isn't an option. I have to grow a pair and remind myself of all of the hidden potential that I keep under lock and key. I need to McGyver a rope, a ladder or whatever it takes to get myself out of this rut and back onto a more positive path. The transitions are happening, change is coming, I need to be more patient and loving with myself and welcome change. Letting go of thoughts, habits and behaviors that hold me back are imperative to growth. I will endure the growing pains and become who it is that I am meant to be at this time in my life. I will even block out a few hours here and there on my calendar to think about it.
Tuesday, September 17, 2013
Balancing, Blending and Becoming
It has been a very rough week at our house. Forgive me for unpacking the baggage in my brain so that I can continue forward. I haven't blogged a lot in the past few months and my brain is clogged with all kinds of crap that is not conducive to staying positive. My daughter is so sick of hearing me lecture her like a "motivational speaker" but something has to motivate us. When you are stuck for months you find whatever it is that can get you out of the rut. My rut has become a huge gaping canyon and I need to claw my way out before I totally suffocate. Yes--dramatic. A little exaggeration helps me to laugh at myself which in turn makes things not seem so scary and overwhelming. I am not a drama queen by nature, but use it when I need to to defuse the ticking bomb in my head that starts up when I over think absolutely everything.
My quest for balance continues as I continually forget my own new Golden Rule of taking on less and enjoying life more. I do enjoy life, don't get me wrong. I choose things that interest me, I just choose too many at a time! Balance has been an issue all of my life in every sense of the word!! Balance challenge started young with physical balance when I tried to do gymnastics and ballet with my graceful little friends. I really did try but eventually accepted that I would never be graceful and moved on to other things. My over abundance of empathy and my need to be valued led me to the very stressful job of trying to please everyone. It takes a lot of juggling and a ton of patience to attempt the impossible task of bending over backwards. I spent so much time worrying about what other people thought that I lost track of what I think. It has been an interesting year spending time getting to know what it is that I like and what I want. Some times people get mad because I don't do what they expect of me. I have let those closest to me come to depend on me too much. I don't want to all of the sudden become unavailable, but I do need to step back and let them learn to make it without me there directing every step. This has not been a popular change, but it is a necessary one.
I feel like I have been on the hamster wheel for the past few years. I go in circles. I have hopes and dreams but I don't follow through because following through is scary. Following through could lead to a catastrophic fail. Failing is bad and landing on your ass hurts. The more I procrastinate the harder it gets to move forward. I believe that I have taught this behavior to my children and that kills me. Watching them struggle makes me feel that I have failed them somehow. I realize that they are now all old enough to choose their own paths, but did I give them any of the right tools? I tried to. Parenting is a huge responsibility and a hard job. You want your children, your marriage and your sanity to survive the journey without too much damage but some collateral damage is inevitable. We all come out with a few battle scars.
My desire to avoid conflict has not helped the situation. I can disappear for hours into a good book when the path gets too rocky for me. Avoiding unpleasant situations and blending in as to not stand out have been my coping mechanisms. I try so hard to sit quietly in the corner and not draw attention to myself. Unfortunately there is the other part of me that likes to entertain people with stories. I will be sitting there being good when all of the sudden I open my mouth and it won't shut up. Stuff spills out at 1000 miles per hour. I want the ground to swallow me up but it doesn't and I am left feeling awkward because all eyes are on me. I honestly meant to keep quiet. My kid used to think I was fun and cool. Now all of the sudden I shouldn't be taken in public. I hate the fact that my teenagers find me embarrassing. I know that they would rather me be quiet and act normal, but I'm not normal. I am damaged, self-conscious and stuck in a rut. I deal with things with humor. Yeah, I know sometimes that I am the only one who finds myself funny. My kids point it out often. I am supposed to nurture them and be gentle with their fragile self-esteem, but they aren't very gentle with mine.
I'm not sure what I want to do with the rest of my life. Who and what am I supposed to become? I have been a housewife/soccer mom for so long. My life was given freely to my children. Maybe too freely. The recent conflicts with my children are the natural pains of separation that come when it is almost time to leave the nest. Growing up is harder on them in some respects. Remember that I am exaggerating so they aren't as terrible to me as I say--most of the time. I am also not the worst mother in the world though I see plenty of flaws. How come hindsight has to be so clear? I could have used a crystal ball or some sort of map. Of course my children are all completely different from one another and do not follow any typical teen scenario. We wrote our own map and my intuition was the crystal ball. We have gotten us this far. I just hope that some day they will see that my motivational speeches were done in their best interest and that my quirky sense of humor kept them entertained on more than one occasion. I will continue the quest for balance, I will keep attempting to blend in and will let myself relax and become whatever it is I am meant to become. I am not ancient yet even though I feel like I am on some days. Getting old doesn't have to be a bad thing. I need to embrace it. I am hoping to some day be the "cool grandma" if my battle scarred children will allow me anywhere near my future grandchildren.
My quest for balance continues as I continually forget my own new Golden Rule of taking on less and enjoying life more. I do enjoy life, don't get me wrong. I choose things that interest me, I just choose too many at a time! Balance has been an issue all of my life in every sense of the word!! Balance challenge started young with physical balance when I tried to do gymnastics and ballet with my graceful little friends. I really did try but eventually accepted that I would never be graceful and moved on to other things. My over abundance of empathy and my need to be valued led me to the very stressful job of trying to please everyone. It takes a lot of juggling and a ton of patience to attempt the impossible task of bending over backwards. I spent so much time worrying about what other people thought that I lost track of what I think. It has been an interesting year spending time getting to know what it is that I like and what I want. Some times people get mad because I don't do what they expect of me. I have let those closest to me come to depend on me too much. I don't want to all of the sudden become unavailable, but I do need to step back and let them learn to make it without me there directing every step. This has not been a popular change, but it is a necessary one.
I feel like I have been on the hamster wheel for the past few years. I go in circles. I have hopes and dreams but I don't follow through because following through is scary. Following through could lead to a catastrophic fail. Failing is bad and landing on your ass hurts. The more I procrastinate the harder it gets to move forward. I believe that I have taught this behavior to my children and that kills me. Watching them struggle makes me feel that I have failed them somehow. I realize that they are now all old enough to choose their own paths, but did I give them any of the right tools? I tried to. Parenting is a huge responsibility and a hard job. You want your children, your marriage and your sanity to survive the journey without too much damage but some collateral damage is inevitable. We all come out with a few battle scars.
My desire to avoid conflict has not helped the situation. I can disappear for hours into a good book when the path gets too rocky for me. Avoiding unpleasant situations and blending in as to not stand out have been my coping mechanisms. I try so hard to sit quietly in the corner and not draw attention to myself. Unfortunately there is the other part of me that likes to entertain people with stories. I will be sitting there being good when all of the sudden I open my mouth and it won't shut up. Stuff spills out at 1000 miles per hour. I want the ground to swallow me up but it doesn't and I am left feeling awkward because all eyes are on me. I honestly meant to keep quiet. My kid used to think I was fun and cool. Now all of the sudden I shouldn't be taken in public. I hate the fact that my teenagers find me embarrassing. I know that they would rather me be quiet and act normal, but I'm not normal. I am damaged, self-conscious and stuck in a rut. I deal with things with humor. Yeah, I know sometimes that I am the only one who finds myself funny. My kids point it out often. I am supposed to nurture them and be gentle with their fragile self-esteem, but they aren't very gentle with mine.
I'm not sure what I want to do with the rest of my life. Who and what am I supposed to become? I have been a housewife/soccer mom for so long. My life was given freely to my children. Maybe too freely. The recent conflicts with my children are the natural pains of separation that come when it is almost time to leave the nest. Growing up is harder on them in some respects. Remember that I am exaggerating so they aren't as terrible to me as I say--most of the time. I am also not the worst mother in the world though I see plenty of flaws. How come hindsight has to be so clear? I could have used a crystal ball or some sort of map. Of course my children are all completely different from one another and do not follow any typical teen scenario. We wrote our own map and my intuition was the crystal ball. We have gotten us this far. I just hope that some day they will see that my motivational speeches were done in their best interest and that my quirky sense of humor kept them entertained on more than one occasion. I will continue the quest for balance, I will keep attempting to blend in and will let myself relax and become whatever it is I am meant to become. I am not ancient yet even though I feel like I am on some days. Getting old doesn't have to be a bad thing. I need to embrace it. I am hoping to some day be the "cool grandma" if my battle scarred children will allow me anywhere near my future grandchildren.
Wednesday, September 11, 2013
Ranting and Remembering....
I sit here on September 11th with so much on my mind. I am not sure where this blog is going. I guess as usual I will just start typing and see where my rant takes me. I am melancholy today and should be doing a thousand other things. Instead I will sit and type to clear my head. I don't expect people to like my views or applaud my infinite wisdom. I am just a soccer mom who doesn't even like politics--sometimes I just see so much injustice that I have to vent so that I can be done with it and move on.
Twelve years ago today I sat in stunned silence in my living room and watched in horror with thousands of others as a second plane hit the twin towers on live television. Life as we knew it suddenly ceased. Our great nation was under attack and we were helpless to stop the senseless destruction as hundreds of lives perished right before our eyes. Tears rolled down my face as I continued to watch through out the day as events unfolded. We were all glued to the television regardless of who we were. At that moment in time we were all Americans and our differences were forgotten. Unlikely heroes emerged through the hours, days and weeks following the attack. People wanted to do something to feel that they were making a difference. It was one of our darkest hours but also a time when we were more united than ever as a nation. What we witnessed made us better friends and neighbors for awhile, but as the years have gone by, the horror has faded. It is not in our backyard anymore so we can go back to being self absorbed. We can bitch about the security at the airport and how inconvenient it is. I bet the passengers on the 9-11 planes wish that security measures would have been tighter on that day.
Every day acts of terrorism are meted out in varying degrees across the globe. Much of it done in the name of religion. This is nothing new. Religious persecution has been an ongoing theme throughout history. People are slaughtered in the name of God by those who believe it is His will. So many of the world religions believe that theirs is the one true religion. Not all are radicals who believe that killing the unholy makes them martyrs. Unfortunately many religions preach intolerance and hate. Sadly the horror that we felt during the attack on our nation is something that other nations see on a daily basis. We thought we were immune, but as the world becomes smaller and smaller, we are all at risk. Terrorism is not something that only happens in the Middle East by people with dark skin and strange religious beliefs. Terrorism is done by individuals of all colors, nationalities and religions. It is acted out by radical individuals who are fueled by hatred. Religion isn't always the motivator. Who knows what motivates that much hate and anger.
I may be a naive sinner who is headed straight for Hell, but I believe in a loving benevolent God. A God who would rather see the world work together to feed the hungry, cure diseases and share resources. I don't believe that God worries about who has the biggest weapons, who makes the most money and who can claw their way to the top to achieve world domination. I'm not sure how He feels about churches like the Westboro Baptist Church who preach hate to their followers and continuously defy common decency by flaunting their narrow views. What happened to love? Does anyone ever really stop to think about the Golden Rule? Do our children even know what the Golden Rule is? The Golden Rule has been around since the 1600's and was used by most religions as an ethical rule of life. Wikipedia cites Leviticus 19:18 which says "You shall not take vengeance or bear a grudge against your kinfolk. Love your neighbor as yourself. I AM Lord.". Vengeance? What is terrorism if not an act of vengeance? I know many people who hate their neighbors and do rude things just to piss their neighbors off. I'm not really sure what satisfaction that can bring, but these people are proud of their pranks and antics. It isn't so funny when the neighbors do it back though.
I guess I have just had a rough week. I see stories of human kindness and genuine caring buried in the back pages of newspapers while death, destruction and the completely inappropriate behaviors of celebrities steal the headlines. Reporters want the hard edge stories that shock and terrify the nation. No one wants to be put on the stories of little kids saving their allowance to help sick classmates or endangered species. Where is the blood and guts? The blood and guts is in the horror stories, the terrorists, the radicals and those who commit senseless acts of brutality against the innocent. Damn I'm the leader of the justice league or something today. I just hate injustice at all levels. It is hard to teach your children honesty and good values when everyone is trying to cheat the system, scammers are lying in wait around every corner and people randomly walk into schools and shopping malls and open fire with assault weapons. See why I can't watch the news.
What can I do to make the world a better place? Love my children. Be kind to everyone. Listen. Help when able. Try to set a good example. Admit when I am wrong. Take responsibility for my mistakes. Rant on my blog when I feel like things are hopeless and look to the positive. There are always positives. There are children saving their allowance to help people in need. There are good an honest people running non-profits that actually do help people. Not everyone is power hungry and filled with ulterior motives. Most of us are simple people who want to make small differences daily. When I say most I mean most--it doesn't matter what color, nation, religion or sexual orientation--most people are good. Most people don't make the news. Most people hate injustice as much as I do. As you remember the lives lost on 9-11-01, remember the unlikely heroes, the love and the compassion. Remember the Golden Rule and try to live it no matter what the people around you are doing. The biggest differences are made by the smallest of acts.
Twelve years ago today I sat in stunned silence in my living room and watched in horror with thousands of others as a second plane hit the twin towers on live television. Life as we knew it suddenly ceased. Our great nation was under attack and we were helpless to stop the senseless destruction as hundreds of lives perished right before our eyes. Tears rolled down my face as I continued to watch through out the day as events unfolded. We were all glued to the television regardless of who we were. At that moment in time we were all Americans and our differences were forgotten. Unlikely heroes emerged through the hours, days and weeks following the attack. People wanted to do something to feel that they were making a difference. It was one of our darkest hours but also a time when we were more united than ever as a nation. What we witnessed made us better friends and neighbors for awhile, but as the years have gone by, the horror has faded. It is not in our backyard anymore so we can go back to being self absorbed. We can bitch about the security at the airport and how inconvenient it is. I bet the passengers on the 9-11 planes wish that security measures would have been tighter on that day.
Every day acts of terrorism are meted out in varying degrees across the globe. Much of it done in the name of religion. This is nothing new. Religious persecution has been an ongoing theme throughout history. People are slaughtered in the name of God by those who believe it is His will. So many of the world religions believe that theirs is the one true religion. Not all are radicals who believe that killing the unholy makes them martyrs. Unfortunately many religions preach intolerance and hate. Sadly the horror that we felt during the attack on our nation is something that other nations see on a daily basis. We thought we were immune, but as the world becomes smaller and smaller, we are all at risk. Terrorism is not something that only happens in the Middle East by people with dark skin and strange religious beliefs. Terrorism is done by individuals of all colors, nationalities and religions. It is acted out by radical individuals who are fueled by hatred. Religion isn't always the motivator. Who knows what motivates that much hate and anger.
I may be a naive sinner who is headed straight for Hell, but I believe in a loving benevolent God. A God who would rather see the world work together to feed the hungry, cure diseases and share resources. I don't believe that God worries about who has the biggest weapons, who makes the most money and who can claw their way to the top to achieve world domination. I'm not sure how He feels about churches like the Westboro Baptist Church who preach hate to their followers and continuously defy common decency by flaunting their narrow views. What happened to love? Does anyone ever really stop to think about the Golden Rule? Do our children even know what the Golden Rule is? The Golden Rule has been around since the 1600's and was used by most religions as an ethical rule of life. Wikipedia cites Leviticus 19:18 which says "You shall not take vengeance or bear a grudge against your kinfolk. Love your neighbor as yourself. I AM Lord.". Vengeance? What is terrorism if not an act of vengeance? I know many people who hate their neighbors and do rude things just to piss their neighbors off. I'm not really sure what satisfaction that can bring, but these people are proud of their pranks and antics. It isn't so funny when the neighbors do it back though.
I guess I have just had a rough week. I see stories of human kindness and genuine caring buried in the back pages of newspapers while death, destruction and the completely inappropriate behaviors of celebrities steal the headlines. Reporters want the hard edge stories that shock and terrify the nation. No one wants to be put on the stories of little kids saving their allowance to help sick classmates or endangered species. Where is the blood and guts? The blood and guts is in the horror stories, the terrorists, the radicals and those who commit senseless acts of brutality against the innocent. Damn I'm the leader of the justice league or something today. I just hate injustice at all levels. It is hard to teach your children honesty and good values when everyone is trying to cheat the system, scammers are lying in wait around every corner and people randomly walk into schools and shopping malls and open fire with assault weapons. See why I can't watch the news.
What can I do to make the world a better place? Love my children. Be kind to everyone. Listen. Help when able. Try to set a good example. Admit when I am wrong. Take responsibility for my mistakes. Rant on my blog when I feel like things are hopeless and look to the positive. There are always positives. There are children saving their allowance to help people in need. There are good an honest people running non-profits that actually do help people. Not everyone is power hungry and filled with ulterior motives. Most of us are simple people who want to make small differences daily. When I say most I mean most--it doesn't matter what color, nation, religion or sexual orientation--most people are good. Most people don't make the news. Most people hate injustice as much as I do. As you remember the lives lost on 9-11-01, remember the unlikely heroes, the love and the compassion. Remember the Golden Rule and try to live it no matter what the people around you are doing. The biggest differences are made by the smallest of acts.
Sunday, July 21, 2013
I am NOT a stalker!!
I want to start out by saying that I am NOT a stalker. At least I try very hard not to be. I am a writer. Writer's are curious creatures who sometimes forget that other people may be more private. My life is an open book. I'm sure that I share way more than most people are comfortable with but that is who I am and I've learned to accept it. Half of the time I am not even sure what is going to come out of my mouth until it is already on its way out. I hate when that happens. I have to accept that I will never be mysterious or aloof. I have tried and it doesn't work. I will always be that happy puppy who wants to jump in, be everyone's friend and learn all that I can about anyone who crosses my path. Luckily with age I have learned to tamper my enthusiasm on occasion so there are times when I seem more quiet and in control than I really am.
Being overly curious makes me genuinely interested in people and what makes them tick. Sharing stories and life lessons is as natural to me as breathing. I feel we were all put here to learn from one another. What better way to learn than by example or through stories? I believe that collecting stories, observing behaviors and finding what makes each person an individual is how writers develop characters. The characters from our imagination got there somehow. We take what we know and spin it into something completely new to make it our own. My characters each have little bits and pieces of the people who have come and gone in my life over the years.
The curiosity really gets in my way when I meet someone who intrigues me. I think my questions and sudden interest might really put people on guard. This is when I feel like a complete stalker. I swear I am just a married soccer mom who writes when I actually find a few minutes to myself. With the book I am currently writing I had to awkwardly approach someone that I went to school with that I wanted to loosely base my character on. The mystery needed an off duty police officer who was out of his own jurisdiction. Of course when I heard that a former classmate was a homicide detective in California this seemed like the perfect scenario for my character. I have asked all sorts of things. Luckily he has been patient and has kindly answered the questions no matter how strange some of them might seem. Basing a character on an actual person is hard to do because you have to learn to separate the two. When you are in the middle of writing you sometimes get confused as you try to piece together things that will make the character fit the story that you are trying to tell. My character is not the real homicide detective, he is a figment of my imagination and can be anything I want him to be.
Unfortunately at times I get bored with my current project and start thinking ahead to one of the others that I have outlined for future development. Last week another former classmate piqued my interest when I happened to really look at his Facebook page. Yes Facebook, the evil entity that shares all of our private information with complete strangers. Of course I love Facebook and I'm not really a stranger, at least I don't see myself as one. He may have a different opinion. I went to grade school with this guy. We lived on the same street for two summers. I have fond memories of riding bikes and climbing trees with him. He also gave me my first kiss on the playground in the second grade. He may have forgotten but I have a warehouse of old memories locked away in my brain. I can tell you silly trivia about people I grew up with but I can't remember phone numbers of people I hang out with now. Sorry--back to the first kiss. He chased me, caught me, held me up against a tree and planted one on me. I may have kneed him in the nuts. That is what my memory tells me happened, but it could be that I didn't start kneeing boys in the nuts until the third or fourth grade. I am not proud of that part of my grade school history. Anyway, to me he has always been a character in my past so of course I am going to be interested in what happened to him. To him I may be that annoying girl who lived on his street and followed him around like a puppy for two summers. It is all in the perspective and usually we all have different perspectives on the same events.
I grew up to be a soccer mom who dreams of writing, has several partially finished projects on my computer and who writes a blog to keep myself relatively sane. Of course I'm intrigued by a small town Washington boy who ended up in Arizona in a band and then went to Nashville? I mean there is a story there so of course I want to know it. Today my curiosity couldn't be contained any longer so I sent him a message on Facebook asking a thousand questions. Okay, maybe there weren't that many, but there were a lot. I am pretty sure he thinks I am a stalker, a band groupie or a bored housewife. I'm just a very curious writer who wishes everyone would divulge their life stories. Maybe my interest in history and life stories should lead me to writing biographies instead of fiction. That is something to consider. I really need to finish something and get it published so that I can be legit and not have to defend myself when I get curious and start asking questions. Really, I am NOT a stalker!!
Being overly curious makes me genuinely interested in people and what makes them tick. Sharing stories and life lessons is as natural to me as breathing. I feel we were all put here to learn from one another. What better way to learn than by example or through stories? I believe that collecting stories, observing behaviors and finding what makes each person an individual is how writers develop characters. The characters from our imagination got there somehow. We take what we know and spin it into something completely new to make it our own. My characters each have little bits and pieces of the people who have come and gone in my life over the years.
The curiosity really gets in my way when I meet someone who intrigues me. I think my questions and sudden interest might really put people on guard. This is when I feel like a complete stalker. I swear I am just a married soccer mom who writes when I actually find a few minutes to myself. With the book I am currently writing I had to awkwardly approach someone that I went to school with that I wanted to loosely base my character on. The mystery needed an off duty police officer who was out of his own jurisdiction. Of course when I heard that a former classmate was a homicide detective in California this seemed like the perfect scenario for my character. I have asked all sorts of things. Luckily he has been patient and has kindly answered the questions no matter how strange some of them might seem. Basing a character on an actual person is hard to do because you have to learn to separate the two. When you are in the middle of writing you sometimes get confused as you try to piece together things that will make the character fit the story that you are trying to tell. My character is not the real homicide detective, he is a figment of my imagination and can be anything I want him to be.
Unfortunately at times I get bored with my current project and start thinking ahead to one of the others that I have outlined for future development. Last week another former classmate piqued my interest when I happened to really look at his Facebook page. Yes Facebook, the evil entity that shares all of our private information with complete strangers. Of course I love Facebook and I'm not really a stranger, at least I don't see myself as one. He may have a different opinion. I went to grade school with this guy. We lived on the same street for two summers. I have fond memories of riding bikes and climbing trees with him. He also gave me my first kiss on the playground in the second grade. He may have forgotten but I have a warehouse of old memories locked away in my brain. I can tell you silly trivia about people I grew up with but I can't remember phone numbers of people I hang out with now. Sorry--back to the first kiss. He chased me, caught me, held me up against a tree and planted one on me. I may have kneed him in the nuts. That is what my memory tells me happened, but it could be that I didn't start kneeing boys in the nuts until the third or fourth grade. I am not proud of that part of my grade school history. Anyway, to me he has always been a character in my past so of course I am going to be interested in what happened to him. To him I may be that annoying girl who lived on his street and followed him around like a puppy for two summers. It is all in the perspective and usually we all have different perspectives on the same events.
I grew up to be a soccer mom who dreams of writing, has several partially finished projects on my computer and who writes a blog to keep myself relatively sane. Of course I'm intrigued by a small town Washington boy who ended up in Arizona in a band and then went to Nashville? I mean there is a story there so of course I want to know it. Today my curiosity couldn't be contained any longer so I sent him a message on Facebook asking a thousand questions. Okay, maybe there weren't that many, but there were a lot. I am pretty sure he thinks I am a stalker, a band groupie or a bored housewife. I'm just a very curious writer who wishes everyone would divulge their life stories. Maybe my interest in history and life stories should lead me to writing biographies instead of fiction. That is something to consider. I really need to finish something and get it published so that I can be legit and not have to defend myself when I get curious and start asking questions. Really, I am NOT a stalker!!
Monday, June 24, 2013
Blah Blog......
It seems that as we get older feeling good becomes a choice that we make. I know the things that I need to do to feel better and to have more energy. I need to eat a healthy diet, drink plenty of water and exercise. These things seem simple enough. The rewards of doing them are great. Why can't I wrap my mind around actually implementing them into my lifestyle? It seems I have to resort to self brain washing in order to even do one of these things on a daily basis. I want to feel good. I have spent the past three weeks feeling pretty.....crappy--that seems to be the best word at the moment. I have had headaches, stomach aches, back pain, chest pain and I am always tired. The doctor thinks that my gallbladder might be the culprit. They gave me medication for acid reflux and ordered an ultrasound. Since taking the medication I have felt increasingly worse. Today the chest pains were so bad that they wanted me to go to the ER. I didn't think this was necessary, but they said it was better to be safe than sorry. I spent 6.5 hours of my life in the ER today. I had a "to do" list a mile long. I had a lot to accomplish today. I didn't accomplish much of anything though. I was poked, prodded, x-rayed, poked again and then told that I was very healthy. Healthy?? I am overweight and having chest pains. They said they couldn't explain the chest pains but that I wasn't in jeopardy of dying today so I could go home. Thanks--couldn't I have spent my day running errands with my healthy chest pains? I believe that I need a complete and total life make over. I have needed this for awhile but every time I try I overwhelm myself and go back to old habits. I need to learn the art of starting small and working my way up to bigger and better things. They did tell me to reduce my stress. Stress is the leading cause of unexplained aches and pains. Stress does crazy things to the body. How do you de-stress when you do it subconsciously? My subconscious self doesn't listen very well. At least I'm not conscious of it listening. Then there is the fact that I am blogging about my aches and pains. That can't be good. There are a thousand other things I want to blog about. I just got stuck in the ER today so I couldn't blog. I could just sit there and quietly people watch. It seems Mondays at Kaiser are a busy day for EKG's. At least seven other people were there because of chest pains. All but one were sent on their way. We must all be stressed. They did give me this terrible tasting "GI" cocktail that was supposed to help if the pains were actually in my GI tract. It made me gag, but it didn't do a thing to make me feel better. I wonder if my body will go completely into shock if I try feeding it healthy food every day? I wonder what is healthy for my body. When I eat yogurt people say that dairy really isn't that good for you. When I eat whole wheat bread they tell me that it isn't really healthy and that I shouldn't eat carbs anyway. I guess I need to figure out what works for me. I have to say goodbye to fried foods, fast foods, my occasional Mt Dew and my addiction to ice cream. I need to embrace salads, fruits, veggies, chicken and fish. I have to quit looking at the damn yoga video and actually put it in and push play. I need to take my walking buddies up on walking and get back to water aerobics now that I have a weight belt and don't have to struggle with the killer noodle. I need to hold myself accountable. I have too many things to do to be sidetracked by mystery pains. I am going to make the choice to feel good. Hopefully my subconscious is listening..........
Tuesday, June 18, 2013
Exorcising My Inner Insecure Teen...............................
I am getting pretty frustrated with the insecure teenage girl who occupies my brain on a part-time basis. She is whiny, annoying and so insecure that she totally makes me like want to barf. I am so done with her. There are many things that I want to accomplish this year, but she is holding me back. She likes to remind me that I only have a two year degree, that I have A.D.D. and that I get bored with mundane jobs. She tells me that I am uninteresting, not funny and that I should eat chocolate to alleviate my anxiety. The sad thing is I listen to her. Instead of sticking to my diet I eat a bowl of ice cream because it's easier to set yourself up for failure instead of actually succeeding. People expect you to fail, so you may as well prove them right. I also talk myself out of applying for jobs because obviously I don't have the exact skill set they are looking for. It is time for an exorcism. The insecure teenager has to be banished for good.
I spent a lot of years beating myself up over an abortion that I had in 1985. At the time it was painful, shameful and almost put me over the edge for good. It was something that I didn't believe in-it went against my nature. I didn't talk about it for a long time. I let it eat away at me from the inside because to admit to it would be admitting to being a horrible person with no morals. Society has a way of putting little labels on people. No one wants to be labeled. I learned that painful, shameful secrets can destroy you if you let them. Everyone makes mistakes. Everyone has moments in life that they are not proud of. We are human, we can't expect ourselves to be perfect. We stumble and fall--hopefully we pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off and try again. The majority of the population has been mislabeled by strangers who know absolutely nothing about the person they are labeling. I know that I have been branded with many different labels over the years. I can't let the labels that others choose to brand me with define who I really am. There is a little part of me that is stuck back in 1985 fighting demons that really should be laid to rest by now. It is time.
Last night I had a very realistic dream that stayed with me when I woke up this morning. Often times my dreams fade when I wake leaving me with just odd snippets of memory. I remember faces, bits of conversation and minor details. Many times when I dream I am not even in the dreams. I dream of other people and strange circumstances. Last night I was visited by a boy from 1985 and the daughter that was supposedly ours. Over the years I have pictured the baby that may have been. It has always been a brown haired boy with freckles and big brown eyes. The child in my dream was a blond girl with brilliant blue eyes who wanted to meet me. She appeared to be around four years old and had a very old soul. I was self conscious about meeting her because the boy was still a boy, she was a little girl and I was me as I am now. I feel old and fat. I feel that I could have accomplished great things but didn't. She had the boy tell me that my soul was beautiful and in the end that is all that matters.
Life has been good. I have a beautiful family and a roof over my head. There are financial struggles but we always make it. I have been blessed with wonderful friends who put up with my many moods, my strange sense of humor and my zany adventures. There is no room in my life for my overwhelming insecurity anymore. There are too many things that I want to accomplish. I can't keep holding myself back. My lack of self confidence affects my children who love me. They see me question my self worth and it makes them question their own. How can I tell them to be positive and that they are capable of doing great things when I can't believe it for myself? I can't let the opinions of strangers dictate how I feel about life. I say that I won't, but deep down being judged always affects me because I let it. I sometimes listen to the labels and start to wonder if they are true. I need to grow a thicker skin and stop listening to negative thoughts.
Let the exorcism begin--I will surround myself with affirmations, I will continue meditating and I will work on being who I want to be on the inside. If people aren't willing to look past the packaging then the loss is theirs. Just remember that judging too quickly can keep you from many things that are truly worthwhile. Don't put people in a box with fancy labels. Look for the good and know that no one deserves to be shoved into a one size fits all box. Most people do have an insecure teen residing somewhere in their subconscious minds. It is okay to let them go, you will be happier, healthier and more productive. I know that I plan to be.
I spent a lot of years beating myself up over an abortion that I had in 1985. At the time it was painful, shameful and almost put me over the edge for good. It was something that I didn't believe in-it went against my nature. I didn't talk about it for a long time. I let it eat away at me from the inside because to admit to it would be admitting to being a horrible person with no morals. Society has a way of putting little labels on people. No one wants to be labeled. I learned that painful, shameful secrets can destroy you if you let them. Everyone makes mistakes. Everyone has moments in life that they are not proud of. We are human, we can't expect ourselves to be perfect. We stumble and fall--hopefully we pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off and try again. The majority of the population has been mislabeled by strangers who know absolutely nothing about the person they are labeling. I know that I have been branded with many different labels over the years. I can't let the labels that others choose to brand me with define who I really am. There is a little part of me that is stuck back in 1985 fighting demons that really should be laid to rest by now. It is time.
Last night I had a very realistic dream that stayed with me when I woke up this morning. Often times my dreams fade when I wake leaving me with just odd snippets of memory. I remember faces, bits of conversation and minor details. Many times when I dream I am not even in the dreams. I dream of other people and strange circumstances. Last night I was visited by a boy from 1985 and the daughter that was supposedly ours. Over the years I have pictured the baby that may have been. It has always been a brown haired boy with freckles and big brown eyes. The child in my dream was a blond girl with brilliant blue eyes who wanted to meet me. She appeared to be around four years old and had a very old soul. I was self conscious about meeting her because the boy was still a boy, she was a little girl and I was me as I am now. I feel old and fat. I feel that I could have accomplished great things but didn't. She had the boy tell me that my soul was beautiful and in the end that is all that matters.
Life has been good. I have a beautiful family and a roof over my head. There are financial struggles but we always make it. I have been blessed with wonderful friends who put up with my many moods, my strange sense of humor and my zany adventures. There is no room in my life for my overwhelming insecurity anymore. There are too many things that I want to accomplish. I can't keep holding myself back. My lack of self confidence affects my children who love me. They see me question my self worth and it makes them question their own. How can I tell them to be positive and that they are capable of doing great things when I can't believe it for myself? I can't let the opinions of strangers dictate how I feel about life. I say that I won't, but deep down being judged always affects me because I let it. I sometimes listen to the labels and start to wonder if they are true. I need to grow a thicker skin and stop listening to negative thoughts.
Let the exorcism begin--I will surround myself with affirmations, I will continue meditating and I will work on being who I want to be on the inside. If people aren't willing to look past the packaging then the loss is theirs. Just remember that judging too quickly can keep you from many things that are truly worthwhile. Don't put people in a box with fancy labels. Look for the good and know that no one deserves to be shoved into a one size fits all box. Most people do have an insecure teen residing somewhere in their subconscious minds. It is okay to let them go, you will be happier, healthier and more productive. I know that I plan to be.
Tuesday, June 11, 2013
January til June.........
In 2008 my daughter started high school with high hopes and big dreams. The year started with her playing JVII soccer, getting straight A's and enjoying the activities available at a big school. Her High School had over 2500 students. She loved there and wanted to experience everything. In late October, near the end of her soccer season she contracted Mono. I'm sure it wasn't from kissing boys; she was burning the candle at both ends. I suspect she was doing too much and her body needed a rest. Bouncing back was much harder than expected. It became more and more difficult for her to get out of bed in the morning. She began to change and she didn't like who she was becoming. In January she was called in to the counseling office because her grades were dropping and her teachers had started noticing the change. We made an appointment with her pediatrician and she was diagnosed with depression which she treated it like a death sentence. She didn't want depression, she wanted to be the way she used to be, she wanted to deal with it by staying in bed. Her high school counselor came to the rescue. He made a huge impact on her life. The counselor talked to her like she was an adult. He didn't make her feel that there was anything wrong with her. He explained that depression wasn't the end of the world, it was a natural chemical imbalance that many people treat successfully. He helped her to establish goals and cheered her on. He helped her through her freshman year and made solid plans for their continued work together for her sophomore year. She went into the summer full of hope and feeling like she was in control.
When we arrived at registration in August to prepare for the new year she was told that her counselor was out on medical leave. She would have an interim counselor but shouldn't worry because he would be back as soon as he was able. She kept her head up and went into the year trying to juggle her two loves--soccer and drama. They overlapped a little, but she was sure that she could handle it. In October we went to conference night and her teachers all had great things to say. We were told that her counselor was doing better and hoped to be back in his office at school by Christmas break. She was thrilled. That feeling of elation didn't last long. In late October Kelli's counselor was found dead in his car in state park. He had taken his own life. The counselor had been battling an issue that doctors couldn't seem to control. His adrenaline was going non stop and it was taking a toll on his organs. He couldn't sleep and was unable to think clearly. He was worried that his problem was draining their medical insurance and about what would be left over for his wife, their small daughter and the unborn baby? I do not believe he was able to think rationally about what he was doing. The results were tragic for everyone who cared about him. My daughter went into a spiral. Her depression was overtaking her again and she had lost the ally that she had formed at school.
We have had a roller coaster ride over the past 5 years. Some months are better than others. I will gain hope, then start worrying again because things can fall apart really quickly. Last week there was an assignment in her college communications class to give a commemorative speech about someone who has made an impact on your life. She didn't even have to think about who her speech was going to be about. She gave a beautiful speech about her beloved counselor who she still misses. In the speech she talked about how she only really knew him from January until June but during that time he gave her some tools that she will use for the rest of her life.
As part of this same communications class she had one last assignment for the term, she needed to go see a public speaker and do a paper rating that speaker. She had forgotten about this assignment. She'd had the entire term to complete it but now there were only a few days left and she had to come up with a public speaker soon in order to pass the class. I invited her along with me to a class being given by Renee Madsen, an area medium who I respect and adore. I have been to many of Renee's classes over the past few years. She is one of the happiest, most positive people that I have ever met. My Southern Baptist upbringing caused me some guilt at first. I was taught that mediums and psychics were satanic and that it was a grave sin to have anything to do with any of them. I wondered what the prophets were if not psychics. There are prophets throughout the Bible. I have also studied Edgar Cayce who has been labeled as a modern day prophet who was a very religious man. Renee believes in God. She brings a message of love, light and hope.
I had signed up for Renee's class because I planned to take my aunt. She had lost her husband the year before and has been grief stricken. Renee's class was on communicating with our lost loved ones. I wasn't sure if Renee could help my aunt or not and wasn't sure how my aunt would react to Renee. In the end my aunt ended up backing out but I couldn't because my daughter needed to see a public speaker and her professor had given the okay for this one. Renee's classes are two hours long. I enjoy them because I am interested in spirituality. My daughter is going through a phase where she doesn't believe in anything she can't see. She was definitely bored during the class. She was both physically and emotionally uncomfortable. She didn't love Renee, but she didn't hate her either. She just wanted the class over with so she could go home, write the paper and be done with it.
After the class I introduced Renee to my daughter. Renee asked her if she had noticed that during the class she was trying to tell her that there was a young man there for her. My daughter couldn't think of a young man who would be there from the spirit world and so didn't believe that Renee could have been talking about her. Renee said that the young man really wanted to let my daughter know that he was sorry. He didn't mean to leave the way that he did, it was beyond his control. He was amazed that so many people cared about him and that his passing caused so much grief. Renee said he had brown hair and was kind of goofy. One thing that you should know about my daughter's counselor is that even though he was 31 when he died, he had boyish features and could be taken for someone younger. He had a silly sense of humor as well. Renee went on to say that the young man didn't want my daughter to be so hard on herself. That she needed to try. He also told Renee to tell my daughter January til June. Renee had no clue what that meant but the young man said that my daughter would know. The speech my daughter gave to her communications class last week was not published. It was given to her class at CCC and read aloud to her boyfriend and me. We didn't talk about it to anyone. At this point my daughter still claims that she doesn't believe in things she can't see, but she does find it thought provoking that Renee told her January til June. Whether her counselor was there or not, the message that was given was one of hope that I believe he would have wanted her to hear. A message that reminds her that he thought she was worthwhile and she should view herself that way as well. It only takes a short time to make a big impact in someone's life. In my daughter's case it was 5 short months, but the lessons he left her with will last her lifetime.
When we arrived at registration in August to prepare for the new year she was told that her counselor was out on medical leave. She would have an interim counselor but shouldn't worry because he would be back as soon as he was able. She kept her head up and went into the year trying to juggle her two loves--soccer and drama. They overlapped a little, but she was sure that she could handle it. In October we went to conference night and her teachers all had great things to say. We were told that her counselor was doing better and hoped to be back in his office at school by Christmas break. She was thrilled. That feeling of elation didn't last long. In late October Kelli's counselor was found dead in his car in state park. He had taken his own life. The counselor had been battling an issue that doctors couldn't seem to control. His adrenaline was going non stop and it was taking a toll on his organs. He couldn't sleep and was unable to think clearly. He was worried that his problem was draining their medical insurance and about what would be left over for his wife, their small daughter and the unborn baby? I do not believe he was able to think rationally about what he was doing. The results were tragic for everyone who cared about him. My daughter went into a spiral. Her depression was overtaking her again and she had lost the ally that she had formed at school.
We have had a roller coaster ride over the past 5 years. Some months are better than others. I will gain hope, then start worrying again because things can fall apart really quickly. Last week there was an assignment in her college communications class to give a commemorative speech about someone who has made an impact on your life. She didn't even have to think about who her speech was going to be about. She gave a beautiful speech about her beloved counselor who she still misses. In the speech she talked about how she only really knew him from January until June but during that time he gave her some tools that she will use for the rest of her life.
As part of this same communications class she had one last assignment for the term, she needed to go see a public speaker and do a paper rating that speaker. She had forgotten about this assignment. She'd had the entire term to complete it but now there were only a few days left and she had to come up with a public speaker soon in order to pass the class. I invited her along with me to a class being given by Renee Madsen, an area medium who I respect and adore. I have been to many of Renee's classes over the past few years. She is one of the happiest, most positive people that I have ever met. My Southern Baptist upbringing caused me some guilt at first. I was taught that mediums and psychics were satanic and that it was a grave sin to have anything to do with any of them. I wondered what the prophets were if not psychics. There are prophets throughout the Bible. I have also studied Edgar Cayce who has been labeled as a modern day prophet who was a very religious man. Renee believes in God. She brings a message of love, light and hope.
I had signed up for Renee's class because I planned to take my aunt. She had lost her husband the year before and has been grief stricken. Renee's class was on communicating with our lost loved ones. I wasn't sure if Renee could help my aunt or not and wasn't sure how my aunt would react to Renee. In the end my aunt ended up backing out but I couldn't because my daughter needed to see a public speaker and her professor had given the okay for this one. Renee's classes are two hours long. I enjoy them because I am interested in spirituality. My daughter is going through a phase where she doesn't believe in anything she can't see. She was definitely bored during the class. She was both physically and emotionally uncomfortable. She didn't love Renee, but she didn't hate her either. She just wanted the class over with so she could go home, write the paper and be done with it.
After the class I introduced Renee to my daughter. Renee asked her if she had noticed that during the class she was trying to tell her that there was a young man there for her. My daughter couldn't think of a young man who would be there from the spirit world and so didn't believe that Renee could have been talking about her. Renee said that the young man really wanted to let my daughter know that he was sorry. He didn't mean to leave the way that he did, it was beyond his control. He was amazed that so many people cared about him and that his passing caused so much grief. Renee said he had brown hair and was kind of goofy. One thing that you should know about my daughter's counselor is that even though he was 31 when he died, he had boyish features and could be taken for someone younger. He had a silly sense of humor as well. Renee went on to say that the young man didn't want my daughter to be so hard on herself. That she needed to try. He also told Renee to tell my daughter January til June. Renee had no clue what that meant but the young man said that my daughter would know. The speech my daughter gave to her communications class last week was not published. It was given to her class at CCC and read aloud to her boyfriend and me. We didn't talk about it to anyone. At this point my daughter still claims that she doesn't believe in things she can't see, but she does find it thought provoking that Renee told her January til June. Whether her counselor was there or not, the message that was given was one of hope that I believe he would have wanted her to hear. A message that reminds her that he thought she was worthwhile and she should view herself that way as well. It only takes a short time to make a big impact in someone's life. In my daughter's case it was 5 short months, but the lessons he left her with will last her lifetime.
Thursday, May 30, 2013
A Dose of Therapy......
None of us can ever really know what goes on behind closed doors. We have preconceptions of people and believe the grass is greener in lives that appear to be sunnier than our own. Appearances are just that, the facade that we put up for our own well being and privacy. Never assume that you understand someone unless you live their life. Things that look black and white to you may not seem so obvious to the person living in a situation. Without all of the details, things may not be as black and white as you think. When I write about my family I don't use their names. I know that is weird because many of you know who they are. These are private thoughts and emotions to them. For me, I share everything. I don't really have secrets. I am an open book. My family is more private. They probably don't appreciate being written about. I try to respect that, but sometimes I need to write about them. I also feel that in talking about things you take away that sick feeling in the pit of your stomach that you get when you give something power over you. My family believes that some things in our house are terrible and they are. But they are not shocking, they are struggles that many people have. If more people talked about it, maybe they would help one another through the hard times. As with many--my family fears judgement. No one wants to be judged.
This blog is a lot of things to me. A way to be creative, a way to be funny on most occasions, a place to vent and sometimes a place just to get something out of my head. Writing is therapy. A little therapy never hurt anyone. There is a stigma attached to therapists by some people. Therapy is seen as something needed by the weak, the mentally ill and people who have been through trauma. Everyone could use therapy now and then whether it is retail therapy, chocolate therapy, meditation or whatever form or therapy you feel the situation calls for. Therapy is healthy--keeping things inside is not. I did decide this past month that I could use a bit of old fashioned therapy with an actual therapist to get me through a rough spot. The problem is that there are too many confused people and not enough therapists. I can't get an appointment until July. So guess what, I need to decompress on my blog. Today, this is my therapy.
Being a mother is one of the most important choices that I ever made in life. As with all mothers I wanted to be the best mother possible and give my kids a solid foundation to live happy and fulfilling lives. I have tried to do that. The problem is that I have issues with depression, anxiety and self confidence. These are things I have been working on throughout my life. Depression is a chemical imbalance that can be passed along to our children. It is not something that I would have wished on them. My daughter who I think is beautiful, bright and funny believes she has no self worth. We have tried as parents to help her through some very difficult times but there is only so much that we can do for our children. She believes that her depression makes her a freak, that she should be stronger than she is and that she is not worth having as a friend because no one understands what she feels inside. This battle has been going on inside of her for five years now. It has been an emotional roller coaster. I have tried to always be available to listen, to love and to encourage her. Unfortunately I am human and despite good intentions I get frustrated sometimes. It is hard for me to sit back and watch her sleep for days and to not have any motivation. I know that there are reasons for it and that it is not just laziness or a lack of something in her character. I have snapped before, I have cried, I have yelled and I am not at all proud of those moments. They have not been helpful and have only added to the pain that we both feel. The doctors are trying. We have been to her doctor numerous times, there have been tests, therapy appointments and medications. Something may work for a short time, then all of the sudden things spiral down again. I do not talk about this often. It is something that she is embarrassed about though she shouldn't be. A girl that she really looked up to in high school told her that teens who say they are depressed are just trying to get attention. These types of remarks are not at all helpful are made by people who obviously are not in a position to know how hurtful and ignorant their words can be. Depression is very real, it is not a crutch, it is debilitating. No one wants to be depressed. No mother wishes that upon her child.
It has been very hard for me to focus and to keep a steady job as I never know when I am going to get a call. The calls have made some of my friends and family shake their heads. They most likely feel that I am indulgent and that I am an enabler. I have questioned the whole enabling thing. I have talked to doctors and therapists. Though there are times that I should let her work things out on her own, I do need to be there for her. She has done what many depressed people do and has isolated herself from friends; she feels very alone. Her boyfriend is wonderful. He has suffered from depression himself and is in a good place right now. He has a patience that you don't usually see in a nineteen year old. He and I are her support system. My husband tries. He has a hard time with depression and doesn't completely understand it even though he has lived with me for almost twenty-three years. He loves her but gets frustrated way more often than I do. My daughter and I can both feel this frustration. It is like a living, breathing thing that sucks the air out of a room. We do appreciate his attempts though and know that he just wants to "fix it". I wish it was that easy. The question I have always hated is "what do you have to be depressed about?" People don't understand that it isn't a choice.
I feel responsible. I feel like I have transferred these thoughts and feelings to her somehow. We are both far more empathetic than anyone should be. We are affected by the strong emotions of others. We know when we are not liked or getting on someones nerves. We are very aware of negative energy and know when there is stress present. Our house can be stressful. We have battled financial issues for years and that underlying worry is always there. Living paycheck to paycheck affects our family. Our kids know that there are weeks we can do things and weeks we can't. They know the stress I feel when I'm worried the whole house of cards is going to blow over at any minute. We are aware of positive emotions as well. I try to surround myself with positive people. I need that energy. I am trying to teach my daughter to be positive. There is power in thought and in attitude. Learning to change your thoughts and attitudes is something that comes with time. She is young, but she doesn't know it. As with most nineteen year olds she feels she knows more than she really does and doesn't always appreciate advice from others. Her stubborn nature comes from both her father and me so she has a double dose. She needs to get past being stubborn and open herself up to different forms of therapy. She needs to force herself out of bed and out of the house. She needs to expand her way of thinking. I asked her if she read my blog from last week about there being no such thing as normal. She informed me that she didn't plan on ever reading my blogs. Good to know.
A few years ago my daughter had the opportunity to go to Brazil for the summer. I thought this would be perfect for her. If she could get away from me and my stresses maybe she would have some peace and find a path that would motivate her. I was wrong. She couldn't handle being that far away from me. She became so homesick and depressed that she had to come home early. She was in good hands. I wouldn't have sent her if I didn't trust those she was staying with completely. She stayed with two different families. One family is very aware of depression and knows all about my daughter's struggles. The other family also knows and the wife is a medical professional. These strong women are role models that I wanted my daughter to live with and learn from. She was brave and stayed longer than she wanted. She regrets leaving early now and may have the chance to go back to Brazil with me next summer. She is confident when I am there. She wants so much to be independent and I want that for her.
Friends and family try to be supportive. They give advice and offer suggestions. I appreciate that and am always looking outside of the box to get us through this. It isn't black and white though. She is set off by different things and sometimes her anxiety attacks are more serious than others. I need to listen and be there in case things go from bad to worse really fast. She isn't suicidal, she isn't homicidal, she is a young woman who has aspirations of being the person she wants to be but doesn't believe it is possible. She decided that she didn't want to be dependent on antidepressants. I go on and off of them as needed. Sometimes I get what I need from fresh air, sunshine and exercise. She wanted to be able to do this as well. Being off of medication was not a good idea in this first year of college when there are new experiences and things to stress over. The past few months have been especially hard. Waiting for medical appointments is hard as well. We were able to get in yesterday and get her a new prescription. Drugs take time to take affect and may or may not be right for the person taking them. Finding the right chemical to make a difference is a process. I hope they got it right. She has agreed to therapy which she said she never wanted to go to again. She has yet to find a therapist that she actually likes and feels she can talk to. Of course that appointment is still two weeks away. For now I will hope for the best. I am going out of town this weekend. It is hard to leave her when she is so low. Her brother and his girlfriend are coming to stay. Hopefully they will get along and have some sibling bonding moments. My anxiety is high but I really need to be with my husband and youngest son this weekend. They need me too. Everyone needs me. Sometimes it is overwhelming. I started back on meds last week so that I can stay calm and in control. The despair coming from my daughter's room was suffocating me and making me question why I bother to try. I bother to try because life is good. The world is full of amazing adventures just waiting for my daughter to find the courage to try. She can be whatever she chooses, she has a life ahead of her that she has the ability to map out. I need to be strong, believe in myself and succeed so that she has a good role model under the same roof.
I am off to start my day. It was a rough night last night and I have been asked to stay close by today in case she needs me. She is failing a college class that she needed in order to stay in good graces with her financial aid. I am not going with her--she has been dealing with all of her college stuff without me. She is a big girl and will go to class, talk to the professor and see if it can be salvaged. If not I told her we would deal with it. She is going to try to stay strong if the professor tells her things she doesn't want to hear. Failing a class isn't pleasant, but it isn't the end of the world. There will be options and stressing over those options won't make things better. I will be in the wings in case I am needed. I might be. I know that things will get better. We will find something that works. My oldest son has fought depression as well and it has gotten better with age. We do have a happy home and a wonderful family. We do love one another but as with every family we have struggles. Motherhood is a beautiful thing. It also comes with its share of heartbreak. I'm still banking on happily ever after for all of my children. Happily Ever After is not a myth--it is possible--you just have to make a concentrated effort to get through the rough spots and concentrate on the good.......
This blog is a lot of things to me. A way to be creative, a way to be funny on most occasions, a place to vent and sometimes a place just to get something out of my head. Writing is therapy. A little therapy never hurt anyone. There is a stigma attached to therapists by some people. Therapy is seen as something needed by the weak, the mentally ill and people who have been through trauma. Everyone could use therapy now and then whether it is retail therapy, chocolate therapy, meditation or whatever form or therapy you feel the situation calls for. Therapy is healthy--keeping things inside is not. I did decide this past month that I could use a bit of old fashioned therapy with an actual therapist to get me through a rough spot. The problem is that there are too many confused people and not enough therapists. I can't get an appointment until July. So guess what, I need to decompress on my blog. Today, this is my therapy.
Being a mother is one of the most important choices that I ever made in life. As with all mothers I wanted to be the best mother possible and give my kids a solid foundation to live happy and fulfilling lives. I have tried to do that. The problem is that I have issues with depression, anxiety and self confidence. These are things I have been working on throughout my life. Depression is a chemical imbalance that can be passed along to our children. It is not something that I would have wished on them. My daughter who I think is beautiful, bright and funny believes she has no self worth. We have tried as parents to help her through some very difficult times but there is only so much that we can do for our children. She believes that her depression makes her a freak, that she should be stronger than she is and that she is not worth having as a friend because no one understands what she feels inside. This battle has been going on inside of her for five years now. It has been an emotional roller coaster. I have tried to always be available to listen, to love and to encourage her. Unfortunately I am human and despite good intentions I get frustrated sometimes. It is hard for me to sit back and watch her sleep for days and to not have any motivation. I know that there are reasons for it and that it is not just laziness or a lack of something in her character. I have snapped before, I have cried, I have yelled and I am not at all proud of those moments. They have not been helpful and have only added to the pain that we both feel. The doctors are trying. We have been to her doctor numerous times, there have been tests, therapy appointments and medications. Something may work for a short time, then all of the sudden things spiral down again. I do not talk about this often. It is something that she is embarrassed about though she shouldn't be. A girl that she really looked up to in high school told her that teens who say they are depressed are just trying to get attention. These types of remarks are not at all helpful are made by people who obviously are not in a position to know how hurtful and ignorant their words can be. Depression is very real, it is not a crutch, it is debilitating. No one wants to be depressed. No mother wishes that upon her child.
It has been very hard for me to focus and to keep a steady job as I never know when I am going to get a call. The calls have made some of my friends and family shake their heads. They most likely feel that I am indulgent and that I am an enabler. I have questioned the whole enabling thing. I have talked to doctors and therapists. Though there are times that I should let her work things out on her own, I do need to be there for her. She has done what many depressed people do and has isolated herself from friends; she feels very alone. Her boyfriend is wonderful. He has suffered from depression himself and is in a good place right now. He has a patience that you don't usually see in a nineteen year old. He and I are her support system. My husband tries. He has a hard time with depression and doesn't completely understand it even though he has lived with me for almost twenty-three years. He loves her but gets frustrated way more often than I do. My daughter and I can both feel this frustration. It is like a living, breathing thing that sucks the air out of a room. We do appreciate his attempts though and know that he just wants to "fix it". I wish it was that easy. The question I have always hated is "what do you have to be depressed about?" People don't understand that it isn't a choice.
I feel responsible. I feel like I have transferred these thoughts and feelings to her somehow. We are both far more empathetic than anyone should be. We are affected by the strong emotions of others. We know when we are not liked or getting on someones nerves. We are very aware of negative energy and know when there is stress present. Our house can be stressful. We have battled financial issues for years and that underlying worry is always there. Living paycheck to paycheck affects our family. Our kids know that there are weeks we can do things and weeks we can't. They know the stress I feel when I'm worried the whole house of cards is going to blow over at any minute. We are aware of positive emotions as well. I try to surround myself with positive people. I need that energy. I am trying to teach my daughter to be positive. There is power in thought and in attitude. Learning to change your thoughts and attitudes is something that comes with time. She is young, but she doesn't know it. As with most nineteen year olds she feels she knows more than she really does and doesn't always appreciate advice from others. Her stubborn nature comes from both her father and me so she has a double dose. She needs to get past being stubborn and open herself up to different forms of therapy. She needs to force herself out of bed and out of the house. She needs to expand her way of thinking. I asked her if she read my blog from last week about there being no such thing as normal. She informed me that she didn't plan on ever reading my blogs. Good to know.
A few years ago my daughter had the opportunity to go to Brazil for the summer. I thought this would be perfect for her. If she could get away from me and my stresses maybe she would have some peace and find a path that would motivate her. I was wrong. She couldn't handle being that far away from me. She became so homesick and depressed that she had to come home early. She was in good hands. I wouldn't have sent her if I didn't trust those she was staying with completely. She stayed with two different families. One family is very aware of depression and knows all about my daughter's struggles. The other family also knows and the wife is a medical professional. These strong women are role models that I wanted my daughter to live with and learn from. She was brave and stayed longer than she wanted. She regrets leaving early now and may have the chance to go back to Brazil with me next summer. She is confident when I am there. She wants so much to be independent and I want that for her.
Friends and family try to be supportive. They give advice and offer suggestions. I appreciate that and am always looking outside of the box to get us through this. It isn't black and white though. She is set off by different things and sometimes her anxiety attacks are more serious than others. I need to listen and be there in case things go from bad to worse really fast. She isn't suicidal, she isn't homicidal, she is a young woman who has aspirations of being the person she wants to be but doesn't believe it is possible. She decided that she didn't want to be dependent on antidepressants. I go on and off of them as needed. Sometimes I get what I need from fresh air, sunshine and exercise. She wanted to be able to do this as well. Being off of medication was not a good idea in this first year of college when there are new experiences and things to stress over. The past few months have been especially hard. Waiting for medical appointments is hard as well. We were able to get in yesterday and get her a new prescription. Drugs take time to take affect and may or may not be right for the person taking them. Finding the right chemical to make a difference is a process. I hope they got it right. She has agreed to therapy which she said she never wanted to go to again. She has yet to find a therapist that she actually likes and feels she can talk to. Of course that appointment is still two weeks away. For now I will hope for the best. I am going out of town this weekend. It is hard to leave her when she is so low. Her brother and his girlfriend are coming to stay. Hopefully they will get along and have some sibling bonding moments. My anxiety is high but I really need to be with my husband and youngest son this weekend. They need me too. Everyone needs me. Sometimes it is overwhelming. I started back on meds last week so that I can stay calm and in control. The despair coming from my daughter's room was suffocating me and making me question why I bother to try. I bother to try because life is good. The world is full of amazing adventures just waiting for my daughter to find the courage to try. She can be whatever she chooses, she has a life ahead of her that she has the ability to map out. I need to be strong, believe in myself and succeed so that she has a good role model under the same roof.
I am off to start my day. It was a rough night last night and I have been asked to stay close by today in case she needs me. She is failing a college class that she needed in order to stay in good graces with her financial aid. I am not going with her--she has been dealing with all of her college stuff without me. She is a big girl and will go to class, talk to the professor and see if it can be salvaged. If not I told her we would deal with it. She is going to try to stay strong if the professor tells her things she doesn't want to hear. Failing a class isn't pleasant, but it isn't the end of the world. There will be options and stressing over those options won't make things better. I will be in the wings in case I am needed. I might be. I know that things will get better. We will find something that works. My oldest son has fought depression as well and it has gotten better with age. We do have a happy home and a wonderful family. We do love one another but as with every family we have struggles. Motherhood is a beautiful thing. It also comes with its share of heartbreak. I'm still banking on happily ever after for all of my children. Happily Ever After is not a myth--it is possible--you just have to make a concentrated effort to get through the rough spots and concentrate on the good.......
Tuesday, May 28, 2013
Flattery Doesn't Go Very Far............
Back in the day I had cute little curves that turned a few heads here and there. Going to the bar with friends was always a bit of an adventure because there were sure to be at least a couple interested men on the prowl who would offer a drink, a few compliments and a suggestion or two. I would thank them, make my excuses and leave feeling a little boost of confidence. There is a certain power that you feel when you are young and desirable. You don't fully understand or appreciate it at the time of course, at least I didn't. I was just a hopeless romantic who wanted to find the love of my life and life happily ever after. I have always been a sap for fairy tales. One thing that I have always had though is empathy. I can feel strong emotion and it affects me. It is intuition that I am sure everyone has if they are aware enough to listen for it. Sometimes I would walk into a room and know exactly who was interested in me because I could feel it.
Needless to say it has been several years since I have turned heads for my curves. I may have turned heads because I laughed too loud, tripped over my own two feet or have been in the presence of attractive friends, but that is the extent of it. I am happy with that. I had my days in the sun and now am enjoying my life as a wife and mother. My husband loves me so I don't need validation from other men. It does crack me up when my husband gets a bit jealous of the time that I spend with my gay friends. He finds them a little threatening and worries that just maybe they aren't gay and are really attracted to me. Funny, but true. I have always laughed at that and told him not to be ridiculous.
Last month I found myself in a gay bar with friends enjoying a drink before we went to dinner. I am very comfortable in gay bars which is why I was a bit shocked when I felt something that I hadn't felt in over twenty years--the eyes of someone attracted to me. I wondered if it was the alcohol going to my head. I had a drink before we left the house and now was nursing a hard cider. I was on vacation in California and maybe the excitement of the adventure was getting to me. Soon I found myself in a conversation with an over attentive Hispanic man with sparkling eyes and a bright smile. He only had eyes for me and that was a bit disconcerting. He talked to me about his girlfriend who he stayed with only because he was attached to her son who he felt she didn't pay enough attention to. He talked about music, Mexico and his two jobs in California. I had a hard time following him because his English was broken, the music was loud, I was a little drunk and he was sending loud signals. My friends were amused. I was amused, but a bit stunned. It was surreal and went from awkward to just plain weird when we were joined by another man. A very nice gay gentleman who explained that his friend was very attracted to large butts. He assured me that he was not trying to offend me at all. He wanted me to understand that not all men in the world wanted skinny girls who looked plastic. Some men wanted real women and it was pretty obvious that I was a real woman. He found me quite attractive, they both did. The gay man had once been married to a woman and knew what women liked. He was sure that he could make me very happy. If I wanted I could even include our Hispanic friend or my friend Linette who is gorgeous and has always turned heads. I decided that these two men were very nice, a little lonely and completely harmless. I accepted their compliments, told them about my husband and children at home and respectfully declined their invitation. They were gracious and let me know that the invitation was open if I should change my mind. I left feeling a little flattered and a bit more confident. Maybe it was the alcohol.
When I returned home from my vacation I told my husband all about my adventures in California. It had been a wonderful trip full of all kinds of fun memories. His jaw tightened a bit when I explained to him that I was still a desirable woman. I told him about my new admirers and how lucky he was that I was able to walk away from temptation. He asked if I was really tempted. I know he was picturing the beautiful men that are often seen in gay bars--men who only have eyes for each other. No, honey, I wasn't tempted my 31 year old Hispanic friend was probably 5'1" on a tall day and weighed about 100 pounds. His friend was quite fit for a 74 year old man. Of course my husband now says that I am ridiculous for telling him that I am not attractive to gay men. There is no arguing with him. I definitely don't have the right equipment to attract my gay friends and I don't want to. They are just like my female friends--good friends who I adore but don't want to sleep with. If I ever see my new friends again I would sit down and have a drink with them, enjoy their company and talk about life--I would not go home with them though. With me, flattery doesn't go very far but it is nice to hear that according to some people I still have it--big butt and all.
Needless to say it has been several years since I have turned heads for my curves. I may have turned heads because I laughed too loud, tripped over my own two feet or have been in the presence of attractive friends, but that is the extent of it. I am happy with that. I had my days in the sun and now am enjoying my life as a wife and mother. My husband loves me so I don't need validation from other men. It does crack me up when my husband gets a bit jealous of the time that I spend with my gay friends. He finds them a little threatening and worries that just maybe they aren't gay and are really attracted to me. Funny, but true. I have always laughed at that and told him not to be ridiculous.
Last month I found myself in a gay bar with friends enjoying a drink before we went to dinner. I am very comfortable in gay bars which is why I was a bit shocked when I felt something that I hadn't felt in over twenty years--the eyes of someone attracted to me. I wondered if it was the alcohol going to my head. I had a drink before we left the house and now was nursing a hard cider. I was on vacation in California and maybe the excitement of the adventure was getting to me. Soon I found myself in a conversation with an over attentive Hispanic man with sparkling eyes and a bright smile. He only had eyes for me and that was a bit disconcerting. He talked to me about his girlfriend who he stayed with only because he was attached to her son who he felt she didn't pay enough attention to. He talked about music, Mexico and his two jobs in California. I had a hard time following him because his English was broken, the music was loud, I was a little drunk and he was sending loud signals. My friends were amused. I was amused, but a bit stunned. It was surreal and went from awkward to just plain weird when we were joined by another man. A very nice gay gentleman who explained that his friend was very attracted to large butts. He assured me that he was not trying to offend me at all. He wanted me to understand that not all men in the world wanted skinny girls who looked plastic. Some men wanted real women and it was pretty obvious that I was a real woman. He found me quite attractive, they both did. The gay man had once been married to a woman and knew what women liked. He was sure that he could make me very happy. If I wanted I could even include our Hispanic friend or my friend Linette who is gorgeous and has always turned heads. I decided that these two men were very nice, a little lonely and completely harmless. I accepted their compliments, told them about my husband and children at home and respectfully declined their invitation. They were gracious and let me know that the invitation was open if I should change my mind. I left feeling a little flattered and a bit more confident. Maybe it was the alcohol.
When I returned home from my vacation I told my husband all about my adventures in California. It had been a wonderful trip full of all kinds of fun memories. His jaw tightened a bit when I explained to him that I was still a desirable woman. I told him about my new admirers and how lucky he was that I was able to walk away from temptation. He asked if I was really tempted. I know he was picturing the beautiful men that are often seen in gay bars--men who only have eyes for each other. No, honey, I wasn't tempted my 31 year old Hispanic friend was probably 5'1" on a tall day and weighed about 100 pounds. His friend was quite fit for a 74 year old man. Of course my husband now says that I am ridiculous for telling him that I am not attractive to gay men. There is no arguing with him. I definitely don't have the right equipment to attract my gay friends and I don't want to. They are just like my female friends--good friends who I adore but don't want to sleep with. If I ever see my new friends again I would sit down and have a drink with them, enjoy their company and talk about life--I would not go home with them though. With me, flattery doesn't go very far but it is nice to hear that according to some people I still have it--big butt and all.
Thursday, May 9, 2013
The size of the heart is what matters.........
Almost seventeen years ago we were approached at church and asked to host an exchange student from Japan. Seriously? Us host? When I was growing up the exchanges students were always hosted by the rich people with big houses. We were under thirty, living in a small ranch style house and pregnant with our third child. I declined as the student would be there during the final month of my pregnancy and there was no way I could think of entertaining a stranger in the August heat with two toddlers and a giant belly that was about to burst. When they asked if they could call me the next year I said sure. I was sure I would be able to think of an excuse to turn them down again.
In June of 1997 they called again. They had a Japanese boy that needed a host family for three weeks in August. They were having trouble placing boys and would really appreciate it if we could help them out. My husband wasn't really thrilled with the idea but the young woman who was looking for families was our babysitter and she was in a bind. We decided that we would give it a try. As fate would have it Seiji Morimoto was dropped off on our doorstep. At well over six feet tall he was not your typical Japanese boy. He came with empty suitcases. His family owned fruit orchards in Japan, he was forever trying to find good work boots and comfortable shoes that could fit his large feet. It was hard to get footwear in Japan for a reasonable price. Seiji had a list of the brands and colors he wanted. It was a well thought out list that was a little trickier to find in 1997 than it would be today with our instant Internet searches. We bonded over shoe shopping. Antone enjoyed the boy and had the time of his life showing him around the area and taking him camping with our family. The wonderful experience opened our hearts and our minds.
In the spring of 1998 I was asked if I would consider coordinating a Japanese group. They told me that with my personality and organizational skills I would be a natural. I was nervous and still juggling toddlers, but agreed to give it a try. That was the first of fifteen years of working with exchange students and families. It hasn't been easy. There are glitches, a few disciplinary problems and finding host families is definitely a problem for me. I am not a sales person, I do not like to hound people and begging is embarrassing. I have heard every excuse imaginable. The most common excuse has got to be that there isn't enough room in their house. I have been told this by people who have one child in a 3,000sf home as well as the people whose homes are truly bursting at the seams. Not having room is not a valid excuse. I have had wonderful families with several children who have opened their small homes and made room for a student. It isn't about house size, it is about heart size. In my heart there is always room for one more.
I am a mom. It was what I was born to be. I was given an extra dose of nurturing skills that has made me try to mother everyone from my own mother to my friends, co-workers and just about anyone who comes to me with a broken heart or the need of someone to listen. I love people and am intrigued by our differences. I am naturally curious and want to know what makes people tick. I hate it when I find myself judging. I hate judging and have no right to judge anyone. I just wish people would really think about hosting without just shutting the idea out because it is beyond their comfort zone. Once they have thought about it for at least three minutes, then tell me the truth. I am not comfortable with having people in my home; I don't really have time--whatever the truth might be. It may be that teenagers of whatever nationality give you hives and you can't imagine having one more underfoot. It really is fine--we're all wired differently.
I just know that hosting has been a good thing in our house. It has brought us friendship, new experiences and has taught us how alike we all are under the surface. It doesn't matter what race, class, religion, sex or age we are--we all share similarities. So many students have passed through our doors that I can't remember them all. As a coordinator I have had the privilege of touching many lives. I hope that I have left some good impressions and planted a few seeds. Some of the students I have worked with are doctors, lawyers, husbands, wives and parents now. I am so happy that Facebook keeps me informed of their lives and accomplishments. I am proud of them. It takes a lot of courage to get on a plane, come to a foreign country and live among strangers. It also takes a lot of courage to open your home to someone you have never met. I can tell you that it is always an adventure. Sometimes we have run into some not so fun adventures, but that is what coordinators are for. I have had to move kids, reprimand kids and in a few cases put them back on a plane before they were scheduled to depart. These cases have been rare. Teenagers are teenagers and if you keep your expectations realistic, you just might be pleasantly surprised.
As a mom I want to find the best possible families for each of these students. I think about my own children and have never put a student in a home that I wouldn't put my kids in. It wouldn't be fair. I can't have double standards no matter how many families I need and how desperate I feel. I do have people who ask why I try to place them in the spring when they don't come until summer. I try to place students as soon as possible so that their parents know where their kids are going. They can even start writing to the family and ask questions and get to know one another before the group comes. I can't imagine putting a child on the plane with no clue where they would be going once they landed in a foreign land. The one time that I have sent my child away I was lucky enough to know exactly who she was spending time with. She was with our wonderful extended Brazilian family that we have in our lives because of hosting. People that I truly love and enjoy spending time with.
Fifteen years have gone by. My toddlers are grown and my husband is ready for some summer adventures of our own. I have promised that this year I will coordinate my last group. I won't lie--I have made this promise before. I have to try to stick to it this time around. At least for a year or two. I will miss drafting a calendar and the excitement of the arrival. I will miss the people that I meet and the fun little things that happen with each group. I won't miss frantically trying to wrack my brain for just one more host family. I was very lucky this last summer. My families came pretty easily and they were awesome. I have also said that I was done hosting school year students. That was short lived though because I was handed the right student at the right moment in time so our family is preparing the house for a new family member. His arrival is greatly anticipated and we are eager to share the little we have with him for the next ten months of our lives. There are other students out there who need homes as well. It is late August, they have prepared to spend this school year in the US. Many are still waiting for a family to accept them. I have had coordinator friends messaging me to ask if I know of anyone who would be willing to open their hearts to a student this fall. I can completely appreciate the last minute scrambling that these people do to try to help the students; I've been there before. It's a tough spot to be in and I don't envy them their job. Somehow the right families are always found. There are a lot of people out there with big hearts and a sense of adventure--the trick is always finding them.......
In June of 1997 they called again. They had a Japanese boy that needed a host family for three weeks in August. They were having trouble placing boys and would really appreciate it if we could help them out. My husband wasn't really thrilled with the idea but the young woman who was looking for families was our babysitter and she was in a bind. We decided that we would give it a try. As fate would have it Seiji Morimoto was dropped off on our doorstep. At well over six feet tall he was not your typical Japanese boy. He came with empty suitcases. His family owned fruit orchards in Japan, he was forever trying to find good work boots and comfortable shoes that could fit his large feet. It was hard to get footwear in Japan for a reasonable price. Seiji had a list of the brands and colors he wanted. It was a well thought out list that was a little trickier to find in 1997 than it would be today with our instant Internet searches. We bonded over shoe shopping. Antone enjoyed the boy and had the time of his life showing him around the area and taking him camping with our family. The wonderful experience opened our hearts and our minds.
In the spring of 1998 I was asked if I would consider coordinating a Japanese group. They told me that with my personality and organizational skills I would be a natural. I was nervous and still juggling toddlers, but agreed to give it a try. That was the first of fifteen years of working with exchange students and families. It hasn't been easy. There are glitches, a few disciplinary problems and finding host families is definitely a problem for me. I am not a sales person, I do not like to hound people and begging is embarrassing. I have heard every excuse imaginable. The most common excuse has got to be that there isn't enough room in their house. I have been told this by people who have one child in a 3,000sf home as well as the people whose homes are truly bursting at the seams. Not having room is not a valid excuse. I have had wonderful families with several children who have opened their small homes and made room for a student. It isn't about house size, it is about heart size. In my heart there is always room for one more.
I am a mom. It was what I was born to be. I was given an extra dose of nurturing skills that has made me try to mother everyone from my own mother to my friends, co-workers and just about anyone who comes to me with a broken heart or the need of someone to listen. I love people and am intrigued by our differences. I am naturally curious and want to know what makes people tick. I hate it when I find myself judging. I hate judging and have no right to judge anyone. I just wish people would really think about hosting without just shutting the idea out because it is beyond their comfort zone. Once they have thought about it for at least three minutes, then tell me the truth. I am not comfortable with having people in my home; I don't really have time--whatever the truth might be. It may be that teenagers of whatever nationality give you hives and you can't imagine having one more underfoot. It really is fine--we're all wired differently.
I just know that hosting has been a good thing in our house. It has brought us friendship, new experiences and has taught us how alike we all are under the surface. It doesn't matter what race, class, religion, sex or age we are--we all share similarities. So many students have passed through our doors that I can't remember them all. As a coordinator I have had the privilege of touching many lives. I hope that I have left some good impressions and planted a few seeds. Some of the students I have worked with are doctors, lawyers, husbands, wives and parents now. I am so happy that Facebook keeps me informed of their lives and accomplishments. I am proud of them. It takes a lot of courage to get on a plane, come to a foreign country and live among strangers. It also takes a lot of courage to open your home to someone you have never met. I can tell you that it is always an adventure. Sometimes we have run into some not so fun adventures, but that is what coordinators are for. I have had to move kids, reprimand kids and in a few cases put them back on a plane before they were scheduled to depart. These cases have been rare. Teenagers are teenagers and if you keep your expectations realistic, you just might be pleasantly surprised.
As a mom I want to find the best possible families for each of these students. I think about my own children and have never put a student in a home that I wouldn't put my kids in. It wouldn't be fair. I can't have double standards no matter how many families I need and how desperate I feel. I do have people who ask why I try to place them in the spring when they don't come until summer. I try to place students as soon as possible so that their parents know where their kids are going. They can even start writing to the family and ask questions and get to know one another before the group comes. I can't imagine putting a child on the plane with no clue where they would be going once they landed in a foreign land. The one time that I have sent my child away I was lucky enough to know exactly who she was spending time with. She was with our wonderful extended Brazilian family that we have in our lives because of hosting. People that I truly love and enjoy spending time with.
Fifteen years have gone by. My toddlers are grown and my husband is ready for some summer adventures of our own. I have promised that this year I will coordinate my last group. I won't lie--I have made this promise before. I have to try to stick to it this time around. At least for a year or two. I will miss drafting a calendar and the excitement of the arrival. I will miss the people that I meet and the fun little things that happen with each group. I won't miss frantically trying to wrack my brain for just one more host family. I was very lucky this last summer. My families came pretty easily and they were awesome. I have also said that I was done hosting school year students. That was short lived though because I was handed the right student at the right moment in time so our family is preparing the house for a new family member. His arrival is greatly anticipated and we are eager to share the little we have with him for the next ten months of our lives. There are other students out there who need homes as well. It is late August, they have prepared to spend this school year in the US. Many are still waiting for a family to accept them. I have had coordinator friends messaging me to ask if I know of anyone who would be willing to open their hearts to a student this fall. I can completely appreciate the last minute scrambling that these people do to try to help the students; I've been there before. It's a tough spot to be in and I don't envy them their job. Somehow the right families are always found. There are a lot of people out there with big hearts and a sense of adventure--the trick is always finding them.......
Tuesday, May 7, 2013
There Is No Such Thing As Normal...........
There are good days and bad days in our house. I try to make the good days outweigh the bad. I also try not to let the moods of others under my roof dictate how I am going to feel. It is hard. I love my family and when one of my children is struggling it breaks my heart. There have been some tough days lately as my daughter endeavors to find her way. I usually don't write about certain things because I respect that the majority of the population keeps things more private than I do. I find that sometimes sharing our battles helps others and in some cases brings more clarity to ourselves.
Just because we choose to put our positive faces forward doesn't mean that life is perfect behind closed doors. Everyone has a public persona--the person they are when others are watching. It would be pretty depressing if I posted all of the bad stuff that happens during my day/week/month/year. It would add up and seriously bum everyone out. I don't want to bum people out, I want to lift them up. We all need to focus on the positive and remember the bright spots. When I look back I want to remember the good times, not frustrating days where I had to fight hard through the whole day to keep from screaming. The ugly parts of my life are the depression I fight, the financial situation that never seems to improve and the depression of my children which breaks my heart and leaves me in this rut that I've been in for what seems like forever.
Dealing with depressed teens in the house when you are an overly empathetic person can be like slowly drowning. Every time I find a job I like or am away enjoying myself, I get called back to reality. Reality is that at least two of my children inherited my depression on a grander scale. Their personalities are different from mine so it is hard to give them advice on fighting it. They also live in a whole different world--one where everything is fast paced and online. They seem to have an idea in their head that they are not "normal" because things don't come super easy to them. The majority of us would agree that things don't come easy, you have to work for what you want.
When it comes to people there is no such thing as normal in the world. Normal is a myth perpetrated by those who don't want to be viewed as different. If we were all the same the world would be a boring place. We are all wired differently even though society would have us believe that by getting a cookie cutter education, being slim and wearing certain clothes we can all be happy and pass as normal. I am weird and proud of it! I hate politics, have a hard time managing a 9-5 schedule, am a complete cookie slut, would rather read than exercise and enjoy singing loudly in my car. I am chunkier than I want to be, not as educated as I would like and dream of finding a job where I fit in and am passionate about. My more "normal" friends have steady jobs, have money in their savings accounts and seem so more put together than me. I happen to know they have struggles though. They may not be the same as mine, but everyone has to decide what they want out of life and choose the best path to get there. I hope my children find a path of their own, not one that they choose because it seems normal.
My children do not want to take medication for depression. They feel that by taking medication or seeking counseling that will make them weird. Depression is a chemical imbalance in the brain. It is nothing to be ashamed of or to have to hide. Depression is actually kind of normal. Many people have it. It doesn't matter if you are old, young, short, tall, skinny, fat, smart, dumb or even what color your skin is. Depression happens and it doesn't have to be a crutch or a condition to hold you back. You have to learn what works for you in fighting it and work your way through it. Counseling can be a very helpful tool as can some medications. In our house the depression battle for my children has been going on for at least seven years. I have spent the past five years battling most mornings to get my daughter out of bed. We have been to doctors, specialists, counselors and I have endured the tough love lectures of well meaning friends and relatives. It has been a rocky road and sometimes I feel like I am too weak to see the journey through. I have to be strong though because she will find her way through this.
It seems everyone has an opinion or wants to offer advice. When I am dealing with my own depression or that of my children I often hear "what have you got to be depressed about?" It isn't a choice to be depressed. I have tried retail therapy, chocolate therapy and thinking happy thoughts. I don't have anything to be depressed about. I have a loving family, awesome friends, a roof over my head, food to eat and a world of possibilities in front of me. It is the heartache of my children who feel "lost" at times that overwhelms me. As a mother I want to fix it and make it all better; at times they want me to as well. I can't fix it, I can't choose their path. No one is solely capable of making another person happy. Happiness comes from within. Only you can decide what is right for you, what makes you happy and who you want to be. Only you can find yourself. It certainly helps to have a support network to cheer you on and pick you up. I have to remember each and every day that I am a role model to my children no matter what age they are. I need to choose my words wisely, live each minute to its fullest and show them that there is so much more to life than trying to appear normal.
Luckily I was born with a big heart, a lot of patience and the ability to think outside the box. I am stronger than I give myself credit for. I have bright children with a world of possibilities in front of them. As they grow older and wiser they will eventually find the path that they want to travel. Until then I will be here to guide them, love them and most importantly listen to them without judging. I just can't lose myself in the process.........
Just because we choose to put our positive faces forward doesn't mean that life is perfect behind closed doors. Everyone has a public persona--the person they are when others are watching. It would be pretty depressing if I posted all of the bad stuff that happens during my day/week/month/year. It would add up and seriously bum everyone out. I don't want to bum people out, I want to lift them up. We all need to focus on the positive and remember the bright spots. When I look back I want to remember the good times, not frustrating days where I had to fight hard through the whole day to keep from screaming. The ugly parts of my life are the depression I fight, the financial situation that never seems to improve and the depression of my children which breaks my heart and leaves me in this rut that I've been in for what seems like forever.
Dealing with depressed teens in the house when you are an overly empathetic person can be like slowly drowning. Every time I find a job I like or am away enjoying myself, I get called back to reality. Reality is that at least two of my children inherited my depression on a grander scale. Their personalities are different from mine so it is hard to give them advice on fighting it. They also live in a whole different world--one where everything is fast paced and online. They seem to have an idea in their head that they are not "normal" because things don't come super easy to them. The majority of us would agree that things don't come easy, you have to work for what you want.
When it comes to people there is no such thing as normal in the world. Normal is a myth perpetrated by those who don't want to be viewed as different. If we were all the same the world would be a boring place. We are all wired differently even though society would have us believe that by getting a cookie cutter education, being slim and wearing certain clothes we can all be happy and pass as normal. I am weird and proud of it! I hate politics, have a hard time managing a 9-5 schedule, am a complete cookie slut, would rather read than exercise and enjoy singing loudly in my car. I am chunkier than I want to be, not as educated as I would like and dream of finding a job where I fit in and am passionate about. My more "normal" friends have steady jobs, have money in their savings accounts and seem so more put together than me. I happen to know they have struggles though. They may not be the same as mine, but everyone has to decide what they want out of life and choose the best path to get there. I hope my children find a path of their own, not one that they choose because it seems normal.
My children do not want to take medication for depression. They feel that by taking medication or seeking counseling that will make them weird. Depression is a chemical imbalance in the brain. It is nothing to be ashamed of or to have to hide. Depression is actually kind of normal. Many people have it. It doesn't matter if you are old, young, short, tall, skinny, fat, smart, dumb or even what color your skin is. Depression happens and it doesn't have to be a crutch or a condition to hold you back. You have to learn what works for you in fighting it and work your way through it. Counseling can be a very helpful tool as can some medications. In our house the depression battle for my children has been going on for at least seven years. I have spent the past five years battling most mornings to get my daughter out of bed. We have been to doctors, specialists, counselors and I have endured the tough love lectures of well meaning friends and relatives. It has been a rocky road and sometimes I feel like I am too weak to see the journey through. I have to be strong though because she will find her way through this.
It seems everyone has an opinion or wants to offer advice. When I am dealing with my own depression or that of my children I often hear "what have you got to be depressed about?" It isn't a choice to be depressed. I have tried retail therapy, chocolate therapy and thinking happy thoughts. I don't have anything to be depressed about. I have a loving family, awesome friends, a roof over my head, food to eat and a world of possibilities in front of me. It is the heartache of my children who feel "lost" at times that overwhelms me. As a mother I want to fix it and make it all better; at times they want me to as well. I can't fix it, I can't choose their path. No one is solely capable of making another person happy. Happiness comes from within. Only you can decide what is right for you, what makes you happy and who you want to be. Only you can find yourself. It certainly helps to have a support network to cheer you on and pick you up. I have to remember each and every day that I am a role model to my children no matter what age they are. I need to choose my words wisely, live each minute to its fullest and show them that there is so much more to life than trying to appear normal.
Luckily I was born with a big heart, a lot of patience and the ability to think outside the box. I am stronger than I give myself credit for. I have bright children with a world of possibilities in front of them. As they grow older and wiser they will eventually find the path that they want to travel. Until then I will be here to guide them, love them and most importantly listen to them without judging. I just can't lose myself in the process.........
Monday, May 6, 2013
Desperately Seeking Susan..........
A film called "Desperately Seeking Susan" was produced in 1984 with Rosanna Arquette and Madonna. I don't remember ever seeing the movie but I do recall it was about mistaken identity. There have been times when I have felt like this should be the title of my own life. I seem to have trouble with my identity at times. There are moments when I want to completely reinvent it, but it is hard changing who you are, especially when you are always questioning yourself. In my life fate made me who I am, I could have just as easily been someone altogether different.
No matter what type of family a child is adopted into, they are always different because they are adopted. Being adopted is a wonderful thing, it is much better than being aborted or abandoned, but it still leaves many feeling like a changeling or an unfortunate mistake. I was the product of a sordid affair between an older television mechanic and a lonely young woman who had already given birth to four children out of wedlock. I am thankful that she didn't learn her lesson on contraceptives. One mistake happens, two is conceivable(pardon the pun), but five is pretty much unheard of. That is me though, mistake number five. I sometimes wonder if I was conceived in the backroom of a cluttered television repair shop in downtown Vancouver. It is likely, but I will never ask and maybe I don't really want to know.
Another thing I will never know is where I was and what choices were made regarding my future during the first twelve days of my life. I do know that I was called Susan. The Children's Home Society of Washington did not want the babies they were looking after to be just numbers on a spreadsheet. Someone had the fascinating job of giving each child a name. I wonder about this job. It sounds like one that I would have enjoyed. Did they use the same system that weathermen use to name hurricanes and tropical storms? Was it just a roll of the dice that I was a female born in the "S" position in 1965? Maybe they had a fishbowl of possible names that they drew out of. Was there a pink bowl and a blue bowl that held little slips of paper with names on them? I always enjoyed the baby name books. It was fun to open to a random page and plant your finger down. You had to hope that you landed on something decent and not Bertha, Henrietta or Edna. These may be perfectly good names, but not ones that I have ever hoped for. It was the 60's so I suppose I could have ended up with Peace, Hope or Charity. Susan was a popular and common name, did they have a Susan each year and I just happened to be the 1965 model as opposed to the 1961 Susan? However they chose it, Susan was my legal name until I was 11 months old.
I wonder about the people who brought me home from the hospital. The kind souls who fed me and changed my diapers while it was decided who would raise me. Were they tempted to keep me? Was I offered to others who chose not to take me because perhaps they wanted a boy, a blond or one with a better pedigree? Would I have been that much different if I had been raised in a different environment? How much is nature and how much is nurture? A lot of people don't give a whole lot of thought to that question, but for me it could have been life changing.
My personality has always been at war with itself. I don't know if this is because I feel not quite up to par since I was given away by the woman who birthed me or if it is just who I would have been regardless. I am easy going but worry too much; extroverted one day and introverted the next; adventurous but cautious; full of ideas but not motivated--the list goes on. I am capable of being so positive and optimistic one day and completely sure that all is hopeless the next. I am not bipolar. Maybe it is just a self-esteem issue and has nothing to do with being adopted. As a teen I always felt that I had two distinct personalities--I still wonder at times ( I think my husband does too!).
I believe that many adoptees let the fact that they were adopted shape them. Some in big ways and others in small. Like most adoptees I felt that if I could find my birth family it would answer so many questions and make me feel part of something that I had felt was missing my whole life. This was not the case. I did need to find out where I came from so that I wouldn't always wonder. The imagination is a powerful thing. I imagined a whole different scenario than what was real. I could never have envisioned being number 5; weren't most adopted babies the product of teenage love affairs? I pictured star crossed teens who couldn't keep me; or at the very least a teen mom who made a mistake and was sent to live with an aunt while she waited for me to come. Of course she would have secretly wanted to keep me though she knew she couldn't. My 24 year old mother didn't have to sneak anywhere to have me, she had already had four others. She delivered number three herself in a bathroom. No, I couldn't have come up with that no matter how big my imagination is. She is a sweet woman who did seem genuinely happy to meet me. I just couldn't find a whole lot of common ground. My biological father was a grandfather when I was born. He passed away in 1973 when I was not quite eight years old. I need to take time to find out more about them both. To get answers from my biological mother I just have to cross the bridge into Washington. She is less than thirty minutes away. I need to make an effort to see her soon since it has been over five years since our last visit. There are no good excuses; I just have never found a way to incorporate her into my life which makes me feel both guilty and broken. I have room in my life for so many others, why not her?
I think I expected too much. I expected a bright light to come on when I found where it was that I came from. I expected to feel some fulfillment of a journey or a connection. Instead I found more confusion. We see "Happily Ever After" stories on television all of the time about adoptees who have found their birth families. Maybe these stories should come with the little asterisk that says "results not typical". You know the ones you see in very small print under the miracle weight loss ads. Some people do get fairy tale endings. Some of us just learn that what we were desperately seeking was really inside of us the whole time. I probably would have liked Susan whoever she was. I'm sure she would have been a lot like me......I think I will rent that 1984 movie and see how it turns out.
No matter what type of family a child is adopted into, they are always different because they are adopted. Being adopted is a wonderful thing, it is much better than being aborted or abandoned, but it still leaves many feeling like a changeling or an unfortunate mistake. I was the product of a sordid affair between an older television mechanic and a lonely young woman who had already given birth to four children out of wedlock. I am thankful that she didn't learn her lesson on contraceptives. One mistake happens, two is conceivable(pardon the pun), but five is pretty much unheard of. That is me though, mistake number five. I sometimes wonder if I was conceived in the backroom of a cluttered television repair shop in downtown Vancouver. It is likely, but I will never ask and maybe I don't really want to know.
Another thing I will never know is where I was and what choices were made regarding my future during the first twelve days of my life. I do know that I was called Susan. The Children's Home Society of Washington did not want the babies they were looking after to be just numbers on a spreadsheet. Someone had the fascinating job of giving each child a name. I wonder about this job. It sounds like one that I would have enjoyed. Did they use the same system that weathermen use to name hurricanes and tropical storms? Was it just a roll of the dice that I was a female born in the "S" position in 1965? Maybe they had a fishbowl of possible names that they drew out of. Was there a pink bowl and a blue bowl that held little slips of paper with names on them? I always enjoyed the baby name books. It was fun to open to a random page and plant your finger down. You had to hope that you landed on something decent and not Bertha, Henrietta or Edna. These may be perfectly good names, but not ones that I have ever hoped for. It was the 60's so I suppose I could have ended up with Peace, Hope or Charity. Susan was a popular and common name, did they have a Susan each year and I just happened to be the 1965 model as opposed to the 1961 Susan? However they chose it, Susan was my legal name until I was 11 months old.
I wonder about the people who brought me home from the hospital. The kind souls who fed me and changed my diapers while it was decided who would raise me. Were they tempted to keep me? Was I offered to others who chose not to take me because perhaps they wanted a boy, a blond or one with a better pedigree? Would I have been that much different if I had been raised in a different environment? How much is nature and how much is nurture? A lot of people don't give a whole lot of thought to that question, but for me it could have been life changing.
My personality has always been at war with itself. I don't know if this is because I feel not quite up to par since I was given away by the woman who birthed me or if it is just who I would have been regardless. I am easy going but worry too much; extroverted one day and introverted the next; adventurous but cautious; full of ideas but not motivated--the list goes on. I am capable of being so positive and optimistic one day and completely sure that all is hopeless the next. I am not bipolar. Maybe it is just a self-esteem issue and has nothing to do with being adopted. As a teen I always felt that I had two distinct personalities--I still wonder at times ( I think my husband does too!).
I believe that many adoptees let the fact that they were adopted shape them. Some in big ways and others in small. Like most adoptees I felt that if I could find my birth family it would answer so many questions and make me feel part of something that I had felt was missing my whole life. This was not the case. I did need to find out where I came from so that I wouldn't always wonder. The imagination is a powerful thing. I imagined a whole different scenario than what was real. I could never have envisioned being number 5; weren't most adopted babies the product of teenage love affairs? I pictured star crossed teens who couldn't keep me; or at the very least a teen mom who made a mistake and was sent to live with an aunt while she waited for me to come. Of course she would have secretly wanted to keep me though she knew she couldn't. My 24 year old mother didn't have to sneak anywhere to have me, she had already had four others. She delivered number three herself in a bathroom. No, I couldn't have come up with that no matter how big my imagination is. She is a sweet woman who did seem genuinely happy to meet me. I just couldn't find a whole lot of common ground. My biological father was a grandfather when I was born. He passed away in 1973 when I was not quite eight years old. I need to take time to find out more about them both. To get answers from my biological mother I just have to cross the bridge into Washington. She is less than thirty minutes away. I need to make an effort to see her soon since it has been over five years since our last visit. There are no good excuses; I just have never found a way to incorporate her into my life which makes me feel both guilty and broken. I have room in my life for so many others, why not her?
I think I expected too much. I expected a bright light to come on when I found where it was that I came from. I expected to feel some fulfillment of a journey or a connection. Instead I found more confusion. We see "Happily Ever After" stories on television all of the time about adoptees who have found their birth families. Maybe these stories should come with the little asterisk that says "results not typical". You know the ones you see in very small print under the miracle weight loss ads. Some people do get fairy tale endings. Some of us just learn that what we were desperately seeking was really inside of us the whole time. I probably would have liked Susan whoever she was. I'm sure she would have been a lot like me......I think I will rent that 1984 movie and see how it turns out.
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