Facing the Truth

"Mom!! She's talking about Harry Potter again!" The wail came from my 12 year old daughter, Casey, in the back seat of the car.

Her twin sister went on, "He didn't want to upset the balance of the Slytherins, so he cast a spell on the trolls in the dungeons and accidentally unleashed the power of Voldemort on Pottermore, obliterating the Undead."  (I'm kidding... I have no idea what she said.  I wasn't listening either.)

Casey stuck her fingers in her ears and yelled, "I CAN'T HEAR YOU! LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA!"

Sometimes we're like that when we're faced with things we don't want to accept, aren't we?  We stick our fingers in our ears, rock back and forth, and mutter, "Go away. I can't hear you. I don't want to hear you.  Go away!"

We can do that for awhile.  When facing the truth means letting go of things that we don't want to release, it's hard to listen. It's hard to be honest with ourselves.  When we're honest, when we're really honest and we accept the truth of things, it often means that we're going to have to take actions that are going to hurt someone.  Sometimes they hurt us, sometimes they hurt someone else. Sometimes, it's both.

But, eventually, we have to go there. We can't run away from the truth forever. We can't avoid what's real forever.  Even if it hurts, we have to be honest. We have to be honest with ourselves and we have to be honest with others. Hiding things under the rugs and ignoring the elephants in the room fix nothing. They change nothing. The truth is still there, even if you try to ignore it.

At some point, it will come knocking on your door and demand to be faced, whether you're ready or not. It won't listen when you "LA LA LA" at it, and it won't go away if you turn around to face the other wall. It will still be there. You will have to face it. And you will have to feel and deal with the hurt it brings.  And then you will have to act on that.

But, you will be stronger for having done it. You will be better for having been honest.

You will get through it.

Thursday Tales: The Queen's Child

Moira shivered and hugged her arms against her chest.  The dampness of the alley seemed to seep into every  pore in her body and she checked her watch again.

They were only five minutes late, but it felt like hours that she'd been standing there. Every second was closer to discovery.

A change in the light caught her eye.  Looking up, she watched a single figure cut through the fog and approach the entrance to the alley.  She was alone, but Moira knew she wasn't really.  There would be guards no one could see.

Moira bowed as low as she could. "Madam Archilada."  She kept her eyes lowered. Madam Archilada's ties to the royalty were strong and her power was great.

Madam snapped, "Get up, I don't have all night, girl.  Did Mother Elizabeth explain what is expected of you?"

"Yes, ma'am.  We're to go into the forest, but I'm to raise the queen's child as my own."

Madam looked into the girl's face, searching for something. Finally, she snapped her fingers above her head.  A guard rushed forward out of the mist, placing the bundle from his arms into Moira's.

Moira parted the blanket to look down at the naked babe.  She looked up in surprise.  "But, it's a boy!  I don't understand...  I thought the King was waiting for a son."

"It isn't the King's son."

"Oh."

"Look at him in the morning light and you'll see.  What do you think would happen to the child... and the queen... if the King knew this?"  Madam's eyes narrowed.  "Leave at once.  I expect to never see your face here again."

"Yes, ma'am."  Moira curtsied and backed away toward the other end of the alley.  She looked back once to see Madam and the guard shrouded in mist as they disappeared toward the castle.  A dark form melted from the shadows to walk in step with her.

"Did you get the package?" the figure asked in a low voice.

"It's a baby, Jeffrey.  Not a package." Moira ran a finger along the child's cheek with tenderness.  "A sweet innocent baby."

A warning came into the man's voice.  "He's a pawn, Moira, not a child.  Don't get too attached."

Moira narrowed her eyes.  "You can tell the Duke I have his son and he will have his precious war."

"See to it that he does, Moira."  Jeffrey's voice softened.  "We're counting on you."

Good At Heart

Yesterday, I had a mini-lesson with my children about the history of WWII, how America got involved, what Hitler's aim was, etc.  I was struck once again by how horrendously awful it all was.  The thought that there can be a mindset that we just annihilate those deemed less-than is chilling.

In the face of that, this quote from Anne Frank is quite amazing.  To live smack dab in the middle of it, when you are the one considered less-than and hunted, and to still be able to say "people are good at heart"... That's something beautiful.

I don't think she's wrong.

We live in a very big world where news of all of it crosses the globe in an instant.  It seems we can hardly turn around without reading of some awful thing that someone has done somewhere, and it's easy to wonder what has happened to people.  When did we all get so crazy?

The thing is...  the news doesn't report the good things.

The man that held the door for me yesterday when my hands were full... He'll never make it into the paper.
The friend that sent a card " just because"....  She'll never be on the news.
The girl that stepped away from her friends to help an old woman cross the street (not me)... No one will hear about her.

But they're all there.

I'm with you, Anne Frank.  I still believe, in spite of everything, that people are still good at heart. We're easily tempted to roll around in our own selfishness and that manifests itself sometimes in the not-so-good.  But I think we're all trying.  Sometimes with success, sometimes with failure.

But all of us just trying.

Home Improvement with Me

2004--

I've never said my life is dull.

My handyman left yesterday morning for Las Vegas (that would be my husband) for a Microsoft conference. I am NOT handy. Before he left, he fixed (sort of) my downstairs toilet so I wouldn't have to take Casey upstairs every time she had to go to the bathroom (which is often...and the long trek upstairs was often too long to hold it, hence lots of accidents on the stairs over the last two weeks), installed a brand new dishwasher for me (mine's been broken for a month), and weedwhacked the lawn (this really wasn't any help to me, but it made him feel good about doing it).

So. I have no handyman this week. and, of course, as luck would have it, I got locked out of my bedroom last night. While I was getting McKenzie out of the car, Casey had gone in our bathroom, and shut and LOCKED our bedroom door as she left the room. This was not good.

A year ago, it would have been fine. But, after countless times of opening the door with a screwdriver, the lock is so horribly corroded that it would NOT turn no matter what I did. I worked at it with a screwdriver for an hour. Called Joel. Did a few of the things he suggested trying. None of them worked. So I finally resigned myself to sleeping on the couch and peeing in the backyard until he returns on Friday.

But.... not one to give up easily, I decided to saw off the doorknob. Upstairs I marched, hacksaw in hand, and took it to the evil doorknob. Quietly. Quietly hacksawed. Have you ever tried to hacksaw a doorknob? Quietly? It CAN be done with care. The kids' bedroom is inches from our doorknob and I didn't want to wake them up and have to deal with hacksawing the doorknob AND putting crying kids back to bed!

20 minutes later, I was victorious!!!!! I lost some skin to the door rubbing it off... that actually hurts remarkably a lot. BUT, I got to sleep in my own bed and pee in a toilet that works!!!!

They just call me, Joanne The Tool Girl Haagenson. Ok, they don't.

And probably never will.

When I Get Mad

Sometimes I get mad at people.  Like "happily punch them in the face" sort of mad.  Okay, at least "kick them in the shins" mad.

I used to think that it wasn't okay to be mad. I used to think that anger flew directly in the face of the kindness that I wanted to exude, and I didn't know how the two emotions of anger and love could co-exist. I've since changed my tune.  I understand now that you can love someone and be angry with them at the same time.

Anger isn't necessarily a bad thing. It has its place and we're not bad to be in that place for a time.  But I think it's important that it's only a time that we're there. Anger can become all-encompassing if we don't give it some boundaries.

Long ago, my mom told me that anger was a secondary emotion, that it was often caused by another... sometimes hurt, sometimes jealousy, sometimes envy.  But, I think that most often, it's hurt.  We get hurt and we respond with anger because it's so much easier to respond with anger than to honestly deal with the hurt. It's a safety blanket, a shield, our own impenetrable tower.

"You hurt me, and now I'm going to do my best to hurt you back."

Understanding this has always been really helpful to me (when I let it be).  Eventually, I have to let go of the anger and really look at why I'm angry.  And most times, it's quite simply that I've been hurt. Finding the reason makes it a little easier to deal with.  Once I've dealt with the why's and wherefore's of the hurt, I can more easily let go of the anger and move on.

Is there anger you're holding onto?  Why is it there?  And can you let it go...?

Tearing Down The Walls

I used to be the kind of person who was very trusting.  "I will trust you until you give me a really good reason not to trust you" was the sort of philosopy I lived by. Further, I'd probably forgive you for breaking that trust multiple times before I decided that I probably needed to be very wary about any future dealings with you.

But, when you operate that way, you open yourself up to get hurt a lot.  And I did.

As I have grown over the last few years, I find myself to be a lot stronger person. Slightly less bothered by criticism, more confident in myself, less moved by manipulation.  These are all things I find to be good and healthy and wanted. But, they have been accompanied by a lot less trust in others.

Instead of trusting until I know otherwise, I find that I have more of a tendency to NOT trust until someone's proven they ARE trustworthy.  One offense and my walls of protection are thrown up so high, no one can see over them.

I understand this.  I look at this and I understand that it's as simple as self-protection.  But it's no way to live.

"We're never so vulnerable than when we trust someone -- 

but paradoxically, if we cannot trust, neither can we find love or joy." 

--Walter Anderson

Some of those walls have to come down. Sometimes you look at people with whom you've built walls to protect yourself, and say "I'm not quite done having a relationship with you yet." So, you begin tearing down your walls only to find that they have built walls against you, too.  And there you both sit, separated by mountains of rubble that seem impossible to climb over, impossible to get rid of.  Impossible to start over.

But, it's not.  It's not impossible.  It's just really hard.  Every brick you throw away is a risk, another opportunity to be hurt.  You can throw it away, but a part of you whispers, "But what if you need it again??"

Who do you listen to?  The voice in your head that says "Put those bricks back right this instant, young lady!" or the one in your heart that says "Just try.  One brick at a time.  Just try."

No one can hurt you when you build yourself an isolated little tower.  But, no one can love you, either.

Just try.

Thursday Tales: Paint Splattered Stairs

Angie closed the door behind her and leaned her forehead against the cool wood. Today had been a day seemingly without end. She hadn't thought the people would ever all go home. Sinking on the stairs, she let her fingers run over the paint on its underside.

On one step, "I'll love you forever."
On the next, "I'll like you for always."
One more down, "As long as I'm living"
And finally, "My baby you'll be."

It was a refrain from a book she had read with her son Luke, over and over.  A bedtime story he always wanted, but one Angie hated reading because she could never quite get through it without crying.

She remembered the day the stairs were painted.  She'd been chatting at a neighbor's house over coffee, and had left him happily playing Legos.  "I'll be at Rachel's," she told him. "Come get me if you need anything."

He hadn't.   But, when she got home, oh the sight!  In Luke's defense, he'd thought to put a sheet down.

How he had gotten the paint down out of the garage, she'd never been able to figure out... but he had.  He was covered in white paint from head to toe. Had he done that on purpose?  The book laid open to one page on the steps, and the words had been carefully painted in his child's script on the front sides of each step.  How mad she had been!  Her beautiful cherished stairs!  She had loved the rich red tint to the varnish on the top, and now this garishly painted on the front sides!

She'd tried valiantly to wash it off, but it was paint! Her friends chuckled and cooed over it, saying it was "just so cute."  But, she always felt a little embarrassed to have friends over. They all had such nice homes with nicely behaved children in nice clean clothes.  And she had... Luke and peanut buttered fingers and white paint splattered all over her prized stairs.

She set the urn beside her on the steps.

Peanut buttered fingers and even her Luke were gone.

But she still had paint-splattered stairs.

Just Ordinary

What does "making it to the top" mean?

A walk through the check-out aisle of any grocery store might tell you it's being the most sought-after actress or the most talked-about reality TV star. The musician with the most Top 10 Hits or the socialite at the most parties. It might mean being the businessman with the most financial success or the writer with the most books on the New York Times Bestseller list.

These are the things we seek after, the things we prize, the standards we have to get to in order to be successful. Reaching them means we are extraordinary, and oh do we exalt the extraordinary.

But, when did "ordinary" become unwanted and something that we merely settled for?

Ordinary is beautiful.

Ordinary is touching those around us.
It's the simplicity of a kind word.
Or the listening ear.

Ordinary is being happy with where we are at.
Our relationships, our blessings, our struggles.

Ordinary is enjoying the moment.
Stopping to smell the flowers.
Throwing out all the Things to Do just to watch the stars all evening.

More and more, and maybe this is something that comes with age, I find myself reaching for an ordinary life, over that which others would find extraordinary.

My husband's hand at my neck, my children's fingers intertwined with mine.
The happiness of a good book or the healing of music.
Our favorite movie. A night of board games.
Time spend with my dearest friends, a phone call with my mom.

It is now the ordinary which I find extraordinary...

And the extraordinary?  It's simply tired and colorless.

Respecting Your Own Boundaries

Today, I have a question for you.

I find that a quality I've begun to admire a lot in others, but seem unable to copy, is the ability to set boundaries with people and stick to them. Not in any sort of a mean way at all, but I guess it's that they have enough self-respect for themselves that they don't let others walk all over them.

I do alright on setting boundaries.  I know what's healthy for me, for my family, and I can set the boundaries alright.  But, then when I feel that someone I've set a boundary with "needs" me or, worse, if someone sets on me with the dreaded guilt trip, I find myself going back on those boundaries almost every time.  I don't like that. I very much feel that those boundaries are there for a reason, and I hurt myself when I say, "Ok, just this one time."

It's never ever "just this one time." Once you cross the line, it's so easy to say "Just once more."

So... what is your secret? How do you do it without feeling like you're being wretchedly hard?

Celtic Thunder Act II CD Review

In March 2008, Celtic Thunder released their debut DVD entitled "The Show," 100 minutes of music. An accompanying CD, "Celtic Thunder," was released simultaneously but, due to the length of the original DVD, only included about half of the music from the original DVD.  Six months later, Celtic Thunder released the Act II CD, which rounded that out, with a couple of "bonus songs" thrown in.

As is typical with Celtic Thunder, ensemble songs take the cake on Act II.  Heartland- Extended Version is actually a repeat from the first "Celtic Thunder" CD, but includes the extended concert introduction. This includes a spoken introduction from Phil Coulter, which is is appropriately mysterious, and a beautifully sung haunting intro from Ryan Kelly. The remainder of the song is an exact copy of the original but is absolutely worth the repeat. Heartland is powerful and exciting, with great harmonies and embodies perfectly what makes Celtic Thunder a talented musical group. Equally representative of Celtic Thunder's strengths is Caledonia. This much-loved ensemble piece features enjoyable solos contrasted against strong harmonies and vocal power.  The whistles and bagpipes in the instrumentals lend a distinct Celtic feel.

Danny Boy has never been a favorite song for me historically; however, this version is an exceptionally beautifully arrangement, featuring each performer in turn and is rounded out with gorgeous well-balanced harmonies. Christmas 1915 was originally a bonus song on the Celtic Thunder DVD, but was only available on DVDs purchased through PBS stations. The audio to this song was added to Act II as a bonus song and is a beautiful addition. This ensemble features some of the most beautiful Celtic Thunder harmonies written thus far and is definitely not to be missed. Rounding out the ensemble highlights, Raggle Taggle Gypsy entertains with very snappy rhythms and features a great drum battle at the end.

Equally worth the price, a collection of solo songs fill out the remainder of the CD with some important highlights. Castles in the Air is a classic Keith Harkin song, beautifully played and performed. Yesterday's Men is a great first exposure to George Donaldson singing something other than a lyrical ballad and is infused with great emotion. Bird Without Wings is a very sweet ballad that combines the sweetness of Damian McGinty's youth with George's maturity. Heartbreaker is a signature Ryan Kelly song and full of punch. His flirty expressions come through perfectly in the phrasing and is a great song with a great performance. The only duet on the CD, That's A Woman contrasts Paul Byrom's romantic leading man with Ryan's quickly articulated rogue and is a fun theatrical bit.

Ride On is smoky and husky, but later improved with subsequent performances. My Boy is a strong ballad, though not exactly the most uplifting song. Love Thee Dearest is a beautiful haunting song and Paul performs it well, however you really don't get a sense of the purity of Paul's voice in the CD recording. Keith croons out Wanna Know What Love Is, an 80s ballad. If you've read any of my previous Celtic Thunder reviews, you'll note that Keith's 80s ballad covers are never my favorite.  This one started that trend. Mull of Kintyre is an ensemble ballad that doesn't really get a lot of play in tours. It's probably not their strongest song in terms of harmonies, but it's still a nice tune.

Act II is a strong CD.  Combined with the original Celtic Thunder CD, they are the two that I would recommend the most highly to a new fan as important to have in their collection.  It's full of good songs, strong solos and beautiful ensembles. The only thing missing, which I didn't notice until right this very moment, is that it seems to lack an instrumental piece.  Other than that, perfect.

If it isn't already a part of your collection, go out and snap it up!

Pick up your pen!

This is your story.  Amazing, you get to write your own story. You aren't a character in someone else's mind, forced to do whatever the author wants you to do.  No, YOU are the author of your own story and you get to choose the direction of your protagonist.

Things will happen to you that you won't be able to control. People will say things to you that hurt and wound. People will do things to you. People will use you as pawns in the games they write into their own stories.

But your story?  You get to choose what you say. You get to choose what you do. You get to choose the reactions you have to the things you can't control. You get to develop your own character.

The things that happen to you... even the mistakes that you have written into your own stories... They aren't the only things in your story.  Sometimes it doesn't feel that way. Sometimes it feels like the things you've been a victim in, and the things you wish you hadn't written into your life-- Sometimes they seem so big and insurmountable. There seems like there is nothing you can do but be a victim to those things.

"I can't do/be this because of all these things."

But no! We are bigger than these things. We get to conquer our own obstacles...  whether those are things done to us or things we have done to ourselves. We get to be bigger than those things. We get to grow past them and over them and around them. We get to laugh in their faces and say "You can't beat me!" And we get to leave them behind in the dust, like discarded plot points in a 3rd draft novel.

This is your story. And you get to write it.

Amazing.

Thursday Tales: Sneaking Out

What was it that she had taught me? Around the loop, through the bunnyhole?  It was something like that, but so long ago that I couldn't remember all the right words. In any case, I pulled the laces tight and my shoes were tied.

The stairs creaked as I slipped down them in the dark, my suitcase in hand.

I knew I would be accused of cowardice sneaking away in the middle of the night. But I didn't see it that way. If I were cowardly, I wouldn't be leaving. I'd be staying here and doing what was expected of me. Doing the right things to make the right people happy. Slipping away just meant avoiding the drama of leaving. The caterwauling, the accusations, the blame.  A whole lot of fuss that never changed anything, but just caused hurt.

I would call.

This house held too many memories with its pictures over the mantel and its furniture that never changed. The living room we lived in and the parlor we weren't allowed to use. The recliner he always sat in, and her rocking chair across the coffee table.  It was the only furniture in the living room.  There never had been room for me here.

I closed the door behind me and moved down the driveway in the dark until I came to Daniel's car. I threw my suitcase in the backseat and then climbed in the passenger side.  He just sat there, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.

"You sure about this, Jess?" he finally asked. "There might not be a coming back. I can't promise we'll come back safe."

I stared out the window at the house, quiet and alone in the night. "I'm sure. I would drown here. We would drown here." I smiled softly at my brother and laid a hand on his arm so he'd look at me. "I'm not afraid.  Drive."

That was the last I saw of my home.

How It's Supposed To Go

Do you ever have situations where, ahead of time, you work out how it's going to go?  You roleplay the possible conversations with someone, figure out what they're going to say, what you're going to say in response.  Is this just me?  I do this all the time, and I am consistently disappointed when the situations happen "in real life" because the other players simply don't know their lines.

I don't know why I do this.  I suppose, in part, it's because I always get nervous in actual situations.  Social conversation is really not my strong suit.  Give me a keyboard and an empty screen, I can fill it in 3 minutes flat. But, put me in a situation where I have to actually speak to people, and I'm floundering to contribute to the conversation. I always feel like I'm grasping for something to say that won't make me sound stupid, and I'm usually pretty convinced that everything I find to say makes me sound stupid.

So, I guess that's a part of the role-playing-- an effort to combat that, an effort to make the conversation easier.  But, it never really works. 

They never know their lines, and so the well-constructed conversation never turns out the way it's supposed to, and I'm left floundering anyway.  I'm now not only floundering, but also now disappointed because they somehow didn't come into the conversation planning to say everything that I had planned for them to say. Or didn't do what I had planned for them to do.

Does this sound familiar to anyone else but me?

I wonder how things would go if I... if we... just stopped worrying about it all, and happily anticipated whatever came our way.

Just Like Grandpa

When I was a child, my grandparents lived on this big property in the country.  They had a big front yard, an equally big back yard, and for some inexplicable reason, a very large field behind the back fence.  I've never been quite sure why they HAD this field.  They didn't grow anything. They had no livestock.  It was just a field that sat there, growing wheat-ish grass.

But to care for this field, my grandpa had a tractor.  Okay, before my husband gets on here and starts refuting my statements, it was probably more of a large riding lawnmower.  But we called it the tractor.

One of the most special things about going to Grandpa's was that he would let us ride the tractor.  When we were little, that meant riding on it WITH Grandpa, but as I got older, that meant that I even got to DRIVE it, without grownup supervision. Well, I thought it was without grownup supervision.  In retrospect, Grandpa was probably watching me from the kitchen window every time I was out there.

I remember once being out in the back field, mowing, when I ran over a stick that was big enough to cut the engine.  I was sure that I had broken it.  Grandpa's precious tractor that we were supposed to be so careful with, and I had broken it. I jumped off the tractor, just leaving it there in the middle of the field, and fled to the barn where I hid until Grandpa found me.  I seemed to think that hiding in the barn was going to free me from blame, like no one would know that I was the one who left the machine in the middle of the field.

But it was my Grandpa. So there was no trouble.  Just hugs and cookies and Shasta soda pop from the garage refrigerator.

My family is in Minnesota right now.  We've come out to visit my husband's very extensive family.  When our trip happened to coincide with my in-laws also being out here for my father-in-law's 50th high school reunion, a family reunion ended up being planned at the family farm, outside of a small town also outside of St Cloud.

So, when the evening of the reunion began to come to a close and the relatives started to disperse to their respective homes, it made me really smile when Uncle Jerry wandered down to the "shed" and drove out a tractor (a real tractor, even).

"Do you want a ride?" was the question posed to each of my children.

And as each child took a turn (McKenzie just about taking out the garden with her awesome steering skills... definitely waiting to get that child a car), I quickly wiped away the tears that sprung to my eyes. 

For me, it was just like Grandpa and an experience that I couldn't replicate for my children myself.  That alone was worth the cost of the airfare out here.

Are you unbalanced?

"Maybe this is for the best. It just seems like you don't get very much of that friendship, and maybe it would be okay to let it go," she said to me.

I was confiding in a good friend about another friend who was upset with me, in what seemed like a long string of said-friend being upset over odd things.  It was beginning to wear me out. But, my confidante's advice made me stop and think for a good long while. Is it okay to let relationships go if they aren't balanced?

There is a part of me that wants to answer that question with "No." After all, it seems very selfish to base our friendships on what we get out of them, doesn't it?  It makes it easy to leave relationships without giving them a fighting chance, too. "You're not giving me what I want today, so see you later!" There are a few people who are in my life simply because they need someone in theirs, and I can't see myself turning my back on that.

But, when you have a friendship where you're the only one giving, that can't be healthy, either.  You have to come to the understanding that friendship is a 2-way street. When you come to realize that you are the only one putting effort into your relationship, that has to say something about the commitment that the other person has to you, or rather the lack thereof.

Sometimes you have to take the same advice you would give to someone else. If the situation was reversed, I'm sure I would be the one saying, "This isn't a 2-way street kind of relationship, honey.  Have the self-respect to walk away from that."

Sometimes, to my great chagrin, I find it very difficult to follow my own counsel, or that of those who care about me.

Maybe it is okay to turn off the 1-way street and find a different route.

You Searched For... August 2012

I swear they just get weirder and weirder...

To the person who searched for....

Preteen diaper-- What?  And why on earth did that bring you to ME?

How tall is Jeremy Renner-- Well, first, I'm sure Wikipedia and IMDB can help you with that.  But I think his height is less important than the fact that his prettiness will be on a movie theater screen near you VERY SHORTLY, accompanied by lots of bombs and guns and explosions, and that can't be anything but a good thing.

I'm  almost 40, what should I do with my life--  Well, my daughter would say to just give up now as 40 is "almost dead."  However, I will tell you, "Anything you want!!"  You're 40, not dead.  Live it up, get a hobby, get a new job, go back to school, write a book, jump out of an airplane (with parachute would be preferred), climb a mountain!  The sky's the limit!  Go do something cool and then come back and tell me about it.

Time for a family quotes and sayings-- Darling, if it is "time for a family," then "looking up quotes on the internet" is probably not going to be much help. Might I suggest a little wine, strawberries, and mood music?

Naked hot men-- "In Which We Start Anew"  Not "In Which We Start A-Nude"

She looked deep into his eyes and whispered, "Thank you." He looked at her and said, "For what?" She said, "I've never been so in love." He smiled and said, "Then I should be the one saying 'Thank you.'"-- Gag. Just... just gag.  I don't know what that's from, but blech.

The Strength to Start Anew

It was a low place.

My kids were in this tough pre-teen phase. I'd walked away from some friendships that needed walking away from. Someone I had a lot of respect for changed from what I thought they were, leaving me disheartened and confused. And mostly, I just wasn't who I had set out to be, and I was lost.

I sat there, amongst all the rubble of my life and relationships and self, surveying all the damage and wondering how on earth I could stand up and make something beautiful once more. How could I start again when everything, including myself, was so broken?

When there is so much to be fixed, where do you start?  I felt like a little kid, thrown into her very messy bedroom (admittedly, messy by her own actions) with the instructions to "Get your room clean!"  You know that feeling, don't you?  You look around and there is mess everywhere.  It's not that you don't want to clean it, or aren't willing to clean it.  It's just that there is SO MUCH that you don't even know where to start.

You can start over.

Even amongst all the rubble, you can start over. Dig deep inside of you and you will find the strength.  You don't get rid of the rubble in one fell swoop, it doesn't happen that easily or quickly.  But you deal with the rubble in the same way that you deal with the messy room.  One piece at a time.

Maybe you're even lucky and you have someone who is willing to come alongside of you and help to pick up the pieces.  They are the people who love you when you need to be loved, but also push you when you need to be pushed.

Rebuilding a life, a relationship, a self...  it takes time. But you can start anew and build something beautiful once again.

Thursday Tales: Just Another Day

Another day. Another boring day on the calendar. She'd get out of bed and shower. She'd go downstairs, drink coffee and eat Cheerios at her boring kitchen table. She'd get in her boring car and go to her boring job and eat her boring lunch and work some more. She'd come home and watch endless reruns of The Biggest Catch, and then she'd go to bed... and do it all again the next day.
Jasmine sighed. It was never any different.

Except today.  Maybe today would be different.

She reached to the nightstand, and dialed a number on her phone. "Hi, this is Jasmine," she said weakly into the phone with a feigned cough. "I'm afraid I'm very sick today, and won't be able to come in for work this morning.  Hopefully, I'll be able to come back in tomorrow.  Thanks...."

That done, she threw back the covers and jumped in the shower.  She dressed in her favorite outfit, the one that she almost never wore because she had nowhere to wear it to.  She reserved a rental car, a fast convertible she could drive around with the top down.

The last thing she did, before heading out the door to go pick up her new pretend car, was strap on a pair of bright red high heeled sandals.

Anything, absolutely anything, was liable to happen if you just wore your red shoes.

The Most Important Things

"The most important things are the hardest to say. They are the things you get ashamed of because words diminish them - words shrink things that seemed limitless when they were in your head to no more than living size when they're brought out. But it's more than that, isn't it? The most important things lie too close to wherever your secret heart is buried, like landmarks to a treasure your enemies would love to steal away. And you may make revelations that cost you dearly only to have people look at you in a funny way, not understanding what you've said at all, or why you thought it was so important that you almost cried while you were saying it. That's the worst, I think. When the secret stays locked within not for want of a teller, but for want of an understanding ear." -- The Body, Stephen King

It has been years since I've read this short story, and more since I've seen the movie inspired by it.  But, I re-read this passage a few months ago and fell in love with it. Every word of it was something that my heart read and whispered, "Yes. That."

Have you ever felt this?

I've had instances where I had something that was so important to say... SO important, at least to me.  But when the thoughts were finally pressed into words and sentences, the listeners blew them away like chaff.  And it wasn't really because they didn't care.  But they didn't understand.  They didn't understand why the words were important. They didn't understand what it cost me to say them, how much I felt I was risking. They didn't understand the meaning behind the words, the feeling behind the words, the importance behind the words.

You're left at a loss, aren't you?  You want to say, "No, LOOK.  Listen to what I am saying to you. Can you not see the tears I have just shed trying to communicate my very heart? Can you not understand why this has been so hard to say, and yet so very imperative that I share it?"

And they don't.  They just... don't.  It's heartbreaking and disappointing, and leaves you feeling very deflated.  Not even mad at them.  Maybe it's not their fault that they don't understand.  But you feel deflated, and a little lost. They were supposed to understand.

So, you close up again and you lock your secrets away again and you remind yourself what happens when you let your heart out and you vow that there won't be another time.  There won't be an "again."

But, there will. Our secret hearts aren't meant to be locked up, hidden away from all people.

There will be an "again." And maybe "again" will turn out differently.

Lost in New York

Dipping into the past this morning... Originally written in 2003 (I think):



There are VERY few ways in which my husband is like my dad. One, however, is their shared predilection to "explore" new places, usually in the form of heading off on gravel roads to "see where they go." Most often, it's to somewhere far and remote, when we have a 1/4 tank of gas left. I remember a time when Joel and I had recently graduated from high school. Every year on my birthday, he would take me on a daytrip somewhere. That year, we went to the beach... with orders from our parents to be back by 11:00 that night. We had a wonderful time, but we were cutting it kind of close on our curfew. So, we dug out the map to find the best way to get home from the particular coastal city we were in. I suggested taking a certain highway over to the interstate and then heading down to our hometown. Joel suggested another route. It was a straighter shot.

"But, Honey...it's in PENCIL," I argued.

"No, no... it's a shortcut!"

I could see that he was determined, so I just resigned myself to being late. So, we headed off. We found the road and turned east... Two miles later, the asphalt ended. I could see this was already a bad idea.

"Maybe we should turn back?" I asked, innocently.

"No, no... I'm sure the pavement will come back soon".... like it had just gone on a coffee break. So, Joel continued driving down the road. And he was right... a few miles down the road, the pavement did come back. Unfortunately, night had fallen. It was pitch black (except for our headlights), as there were NO lights along the road anywhere, being the middle of nowhere. And the road was VERY twisty. We couldn't drive any faster than about 15 MPH. Shortcut, my A**. We eventually DID make it back home... only a couple hours late.

Last week, we were in New York. Joel had his heart set on having authentic New York pizza in Little Italy. So, after seeing the Empire State Building, we headed down to the nearest subway station. Now, there is one more way that Joel is like my dad. When picking a restaurant, he likes to wander around until he finds one he likes. I hate that. I want to pick out a restaurant, find out where it's located, and GO THERE. But, Joel likes to wander. (My dad likes to drive around until he finds one. This normally takes 3 hours. At that point, we are all so famished and cranky, we don't care WHERE we eat as long as it's NOW.) So, we are wandering around New York City, trying to find Little Italy. But, all we can find is Little China. There are Chinese restaurants EVERYWHERE. But, no Little Italy. And he doesn't WANT to eat at a chinese restaurant. He wants an Italian restaurant.

So, he decides we should go off in an easterly direction... So we walk for several blocks. We're still in Little China. He pulls out the map and studies it.

"Hmmm.... I think maybe we should go this way." And we turn south. A few more blocks finds us still smack dab in the middle of Little China and no Italian people/restaurants/writing in sight. Now, bear in mind, it is 2:00 in the afternoon and he has not fed me at ALL. I get very very very cranky when I'm hungry. In vexation, I snatch the map out of his hands. I check out where we are. I compare it to where we are on the map.

"OK, we're going this way." And I stalk off, leaving him little room for discussion. Half a block later, I found Little Italy. I found the dang Italian restaurant, complete with authentic Italian old people running it, who live underneath the store.

And I didn't even have to ask for directions.

A Disjointed Meandering on Politics

I have a confession. I don't enjoy politics.  At all.  And so I approach election years with a certain amount of trepidation.  I take my responsibility as a voting citizen seriously. I try to do the research, and vote on the issues that are important to me, on who I think will do the best job with what he/she's being given, and hope for the best.

I also maintain a very strong respect for the office of the presidency and whoever fills it. When George W Bush was president, it bothered me to see the hatred and animosity that I heard around me.  But it's easy to feel that way about someone that you helped to vote in.  So, when President Obama (who I did not vote for) was elected, I was curious to see if I would feel the same way.  I did, and do. It bothers me just as much to hear the derision directed at him, from the other side this time, as it did a couple terms ago.

It's social media.  I can deal with the constant barrage of negative campaigning by politicians. I find that easy to ignore, although even my 10 year old daughter could see the stupid of it all by questioning, "Wouldn't it make more sense to say what YOU're going to do instead of all the bad things about the other guy?"  Yes, young grasshopper, yes it would. But it's the advent of social media that has me pulling my hair out with irritation.

We've probably all got people in our friends lists who are very into the political machine. They've got their candidate, their platform, and they're going to tell you all about it.  Not only are they going to tell you all about it, but they're going to make sure you understand that, if you are a supporter of "the other side," then you are a complete moron, Devil-worshipper, and personally responsible for the degradation of the country.

I can't even...

To be clear, this bothers me equally on both ends of the platform spectrum. I end up "hiding" people who are staunch Republicans and who are staunch Democrats.  BECAUSE THEY ARE BOTH MAKING ME CRAZY WITH PROPAGANDA AND DERISION. Religion and politics... a couple of the only topics I've seen that make usually-normal people turn around and be so terribly cruel to one another.

It feels unreasonable to expect that one presidency is going to perform any miracles, whoever we vote in. A mere four, or maybe eight, years to deal with the legions of problems left behind by previous presidencies.  And not just the last one...  But administrations build upon administrations, going back many many years. We have to have reasonable expectations.

And maybe remember that we're all in this country together...  Even if we have different philosophies, it would probably be okay to be nice to each other, even if we're voting for different people.

Letting Go Bit by Bit

When swimming, they say that it's easier to get used to the water if you just jump in and get it over with.  I know that to be true, having done it before.  Even so, even with the knowledge that it would be easier, I've never been a "just get it over with" kind of girl. I was always (and still am) much more likely to stand on the first step until my feet are used water.  And then the next step until my calves are acclimated... and then another for the rest of my legs.  And that crucial step where you get far enough into the water that it actually touches your swimsuit, and there's just something about THAT step that feels excruciating.

I'm the same way with letting go... whether that's over the death of a loved one, the destruction of a relationship, or simply the cutting of apron-strings with my children. I struggle with letting go.  In my head, I know it might be easier if I just ripped the band-aid off and went cold turkey. But, there's something about that which makes someone inside of me protest, "No!!! Anything but that!"

So, I don't.

Letting go is slower this way. In the long run, when you add up all the little bits, it probably hurts more.  But, it's manageable, piece by piece.

It's okay to go at your own pace. Just be sure you're still pacing, and not sitting still, paralyzed by fear of letting that one piece go.  That one piece can be so hard to release, knowing that it's the only thing that still ties you.  Knowing that, if you let it go, that's it.  There's no going back. But it is releasable.  Sometimes not going back is exactly where you need to go and saying goodbye is exactly what you need to say.

But, it's hard.  I know. There are comforts in not letting go. There is always the excuse you give yourself-- "What if holding onto it one more minute would save it?" I don't have any magic words for you. I wish that I did. The truth is that, every once in a very rare while, holding on does save it.  I can't lie to you and say that it doesn't.  It's that "once in a very rare while" that keeps us all hanging on, far longer than we should. That slim chance.

Sure, we know it's rare and unlikely. But it's hope and it's a chance, however slim, and our hearts cling to that.  I can't sit here and tell you you're wrong to hope. I hope, too.

But, we all know the chances. We all know that letting go is probably the wisest and healthiest choice.  So, keep on.. one step at a time, if that's all you can manage.

We'll let go together.

Thursday Tales: A Handsome Cowboy

"Oh, that feels so good," I murmured aloud as I stretched out on the picnic blanket and let the sun seep into my body. It was almost sensual the way the warmth swept over and nearly overdosed my skin's ability to take it all in.

It had been such a long week, so as soon as the sun rose this morning, I'd packed myself and a picnic to take with to go find some wilderness, some secluded place to be by myself.  Finally, I was here on this little hill above the meadow, just me, some sandwiches, and the sun.  Blissful!

I laid my hand to the ground next to me and smiled as it seemed to thrum beneath my touch. This must be what it's like when they say you're "one with nature."  The thrumming continued.  Actually, the thrumming got louder.  Until it became more of a rumbling... and then a thundering, and it just kept getting louder and more insistent.  I scrambled to my feet and looked below me to the meadow.

This was not good.  A herd of cattle, spooked by who-knows-what, was hurtling itself up the hill right toward me!  Hurriedly, I tried to throw all of my lunch back into the picnic basket when a voice in my head yelled, "No, stupid!  They are going to run you down, who cares about your lunch?  RUN!"

Right.

Turning on my heel, I fled in the opposite direction of the herd. This was futile.  I don't even like to run to the mailbox, and I thought I was going to outrun a herd of raging cattle?  Stupid girl.  I could feel them getting closer and closer, and I started to scream.  This is what happens when you want to be alone and you pick outside to be alone in.  You get run over by cows.  My headstone is going to read "DIED FROM BOVINE ATTACK."  How embarrassing.

It was like I could almost feel them breathing down my neck now.  Just as I was about to give up and accept that Bessie the Cow would be my murderer, I felt two hands grab me by the waist and hoist me in front of the body they belonged to on a horse.  And we galloped off.  Saved by...?

I struggled a bit to turn around and get a look at who had rescued me from my almost-demise, but the arms that wrapped around me to hold onto the reins held me tightly in place.

"Would you sit still? You're going to knock us both off this horse," the voice said in my ear.  It was low and husky, and the mouth it belonged to was a breath away. I tried to sit still and behave myself, despite my curiosity  I just couldn't figure out where to put my hands.  He had the reins. I tried to put them at my sides, but his thighs were there, wrapped tightly in dark blue jeans.  Finally, I settled on the horn of the saddle until he stopped galloping and jumped off the horse.

"Come on, then," he instructed, helping me off in turn, and I finally got a good look at him. He stood about six feet tall, jeans that clung to his hips, a short sleeved plaid shirt buttoned halfway, muscular and tan.  Oy vey. His cowboy hat shaded everything else.

"Thank you," I offered weakly.  "I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't..."

The mystery cowboy smiled. "It's alright, Miss." He moved a step closer, pushed his hat back to reveal the most beautiful blue eyes I've ever seen, and nearly stopped my heart. "I do believe, though, that the savior is entitled to a Thank you kiss." Somehow his hand was at my back and his lips were....

I suddenly broke out laughing.

Mr Cowboy frowned. "Did I do something funny?"

"I'm sorry," I apologized. "It's not you.  It's just-- This feels like a bad romance novel, doesn't it?"

"I don't understand, Miss.  This is a bad romance novel."  He turned and gestured up at the sky.

There it was... written in big bold scripty letters in the clouds:

"The shrew??  I'm the SHREW??"

"Lady, I don't write it. I just do what I'm told.  Now, this kiss..." He leaned in toward me again.

I pushed him away and headed toward the man's horse. "Well, I am not going to just 'do what I'm told,'" I mimicked.  "Come on...  We're going to go find this author and give her a piece of our minds!"

Mr Cowboy groaned and shook his fist at the sky. "A million books and I get the only heroine who won't play along.  I bet James Bond doesn't run into this problem!!!"

Better Than Yesterday

I've taken up running again.  Or, running of a sort.  It's walk/run intervals that I'm not even timing, just "Just make it to THAT driveway."  But, that's okay. I'm just getting back into exercise, not trying to win the Boston Marathon.

Every day is one, sometimes minuscule, step forward.

The first time out, my running intervals were short and peppered with mutterings of "Pick up your feet.  YOUR FEET."

The second time out, every interval had at least an extra driveway added to it.

Today was the third time out, and I added a couple more driveways.  I had one section that I just keep adding.  "Just make it to that driveway. Okay, now make it to that tree. And that tree. And now that tree."  And to my shock and surprise, I made it to a point in the interval where, the previous run, I had said "Can I make it to that street sign?" And my body went, "Oh hell no, you cannot."

Every time a little further, a little faster.

It's easy to take my focus off of my improvement and place it onto how seriously sad my distance and times and speeds are. I'm not fast.  Speed is not the goal.  Coming home without puking, fainting, or dying is the goal. My husband came home from a run the other night and shared that he was running a Such-and-Such timed mile, and there was a part of me that wanted to hit him.

But, I think that's where we derail... in life, not just in exercise.  When we take our eyes and focus off of what we are doing, how we are improving or not improving, how we are changing... and we put that focus on others.  When we start comparing ourselves to them, and when what they're doing becomes more important than what we're doing, we've lost something.

Compare yourself to Yourself of Yesterday.  If you have made some sort of stride and can say that you are a bigger and better person than you were yesterday, you've won.