I went back over my old posts from last year and came across this one that listed my New Years goals I had set in anticipation of 2009. Now, near the end of this year I thought it would be a good idea to review the goals I had set and see how well I did at them. Let's review, shall we?
My first goal I had set was "Get organized". James and I organized the closet in our study and the closet out on our balcony. We were able to get rid of all our old brown boxes and upgrade to the more durable plastic tubs that we got from Target. Whereas we still have quite a few more things we need to organize, it is nice to know that we got the more daunting parts out of the way and were able to organize ourselves better. Even though this goal wasn't accomplished as fully as I had anticipated, it was still accomplished largely enough that I am calling it a success. Yea!
The second goal I set was "Update the blog more frequently". Ask and ye shall receive, right? After being diagnosed with thyroid cancer in early January, I really had no problem updating the blog. It even provided a good place for me to express all my thoughts, concerns, and medical updates for everyone to read about, thereby eliminating the need for me to repeat myself over and over again when people asked how I was, and what the latest news was. I am grateful that I had a blog to be able to do that for, and telling people my blog address was a lot better on my voice, too. So I will definitely call this one a success as well.
The third goal I set was "Keep a journal again". Now that one I didn't do so much. I have a personal, private blog that I updated a few times, but I realized that I was typing the same thing over again in my private blog that was already in my public blog and that caused me to become frustrated. I am happy to say that the most meaningful things were written in my private blog, which helped me because I really am much faster at typing than I am at writing, and I can usually keep up with my thoughts quickly before I forget them. You can't always do that with pen and paper. I had good intentions with this one, though. I thought it would help me relieve stress. However, blogging helped me with that. That was a surprise bonus I hadn't considered before. I think I'm going to drop this one for the coming year. It was a nice idea, but not one that really worked for me. I think I'll keep writing down the important, personal, and meaningful events that occur in my private blog, but I am fairly confident that most of my other thoughts will end up in this blog, so make sure you keep reading. :)
I have plenty of ideas and goals in mind for the new year. 2010 is going to be an interesting year, I already know. I'll be anxious to review my goals at the end of next year and see how well I did. I'll make another post about some ideas I have for my new years goals in the next week. I still have time to fine tune them before I really decide on anything.
Sunday, December 27
Monday, December 21
A Christmas Memory
The faded smell of Navy perfume reminds me of Christmas. This reminder of such a treasured holiday comes simply because of a gift that my sister Corrina purchased for me one year. It was a relatively normal sort of gift, and not one that most people are generally excited about, but to me it meant so much. I remember that for weeks before Christmas she would tell me how much she hoped I liked her gift, and would try to give me little hints so as to keep me in suspense. When the day finally came, I was truly surprised, for there, snuggled between the giant mounds of wrapping paper and still unopened gifts, was a small square package. I remember holding it in my hands and feeling so special because she had picked it out just for me.
Up until that point I was doing really well at containing my excitement. But I was so curious that I tore off the carefully wrapped paper and looked with awe at my newest treasure. It was what I had secretly wanted but yet never told anyone about. I remember running my fingers across the top plastic cover and opening up my very own, and very first, makeup kit.
The colors of the blush and eye shadow were just right for my complexion; dark browns, faded pinks, and soft maroons. Alongside the eye shadow was a tube of lipstick that was a slightly darker color than I liked, but it didn’t matter. Along with the kit came eyeliner, mascara, brushes, and a small bottle of Navy perfume. I had never heard of Navy before and as I gently took the small glass tube from its resting place I felt a surge of excitement. I silently hoped it would smell nice so I wouldn’t have to explain to my sister every day why I wasn’t wearing her gift. The top of the glass tube had a dark blue lid that made a small popping sound as I took the top off. The scent was captivating! I was impressed that my sister knew so much about me, and put so much thought into a gift that others mocked her for getting. She knew me inside and out and knew, the second she smelled the perfume, that I would love it. And she was right.
That small bottle of Navy perfume was only worn on rare occasions. This was not something that I wanted to waste, and I made sure that I double, triple, and quadruple checked whether the situation warranted the use of my precious Navy perfume or not. School dances, dates with boys, job interviews, Sunday church…you name it I second guessed it. It wasn’t that I was afraid the perfume would run out, nor that I wanted to keep that heartfelt memory of my sister bottled up with the unique scent of the perfume. It was the thought she had put into such a gift and how extremely well she truly knew me. She knew me much more than I even knew myself.
On more than one occasion when my sister and I were going out for the evening she would say “Why don’t you put some Navy perfume on? It smells nice on you.” These were the exceptions. Even though I had wrestled with myself a few moments prior to leaving the house and had decided not to wear the perfume, Corrina could always make me change my mind. I would smile at her and then race back to the house to dab a little bit on my wrists and occasionally behind my ears. When I would come back outside she would always say “That smells so good on you!!” She could always make me smile and feel good about myself.
By the time I was 19 I was ready to go and see the world, and my small perfume bottle would be one of my favorite travel items. Long after the original perfume had been used I had purchased my own small bottle of Navy and toted it around with me where ever I went. It was like a toothbrush to me! I had to have it. The first trip I ever took away from home was a summer job in New York. I lived in California and had never even been in a plane before, let alone across the country. Without hesitation I packed that small perfume bottle filled with the elegant cologne. It would be the one thing I could use to reminisce about family and friends while I was so far away.
I remember one day, while I was in New York, I had an extremely difficult day. As soon as the day was over I went home and locked myself in my room where I dug through my suitcase and personal belongings to find the delicate bottle. I searched through pockets and bags, flipped through drawers and dressers, and scanned through piles of papers and souvenirs, but the small bottle was nowhere to be found. For a moment I panicked. It wasn’t that I was going to hyperventilate if I didn’t have the Navy perfume. It reminded me so much of my sister and the many times we had laughed and shared our deepest sorrows and strongest fears. It was the one thing I had that could immediately take me back to times spent ditching school and sitting out in front of the CigMart waiting to see if they really did open at eight o’clock in the morning. Or the days we would walk to school in the rain and avoid all the people trying to splash us with the puddles. It would bring back the times I would talk to her for hours in the dark, even though she would be asleep. It brought back the sad times when the only thing that could cheer us up was a bag full of Oreos and some Cranapple juice. It was more than just a small perfume bottle. It was a scent full of memories that helped me through my days.
I raced through the house trying to gather all my belongings and account for the missing Navy perfume. It took me well over an hour to find the bottle, and when I did I cried. I cried for the many times my sister’s heart was broken and how sad I was that I couldn’t fix it. I cried for the painful memories of walking through the desert, leaning on each other, and sometimes carrying each other while cactus needles stuck out of our feet in massive amounts. I cried for the happy times when we helped each other survive the constant stresses and pressure of high school. I cried for the times when we would sit on top of the dog house in our backyard and watch the cars drive by when we were sick and longing for the breeze to cool our faces. And I cried for the moments of tranquil peace when my sister and I would escape to the small pool in our backyard and swim for hours while we talked about our future.
I was saddened by the thought of losing such wonderful memories in a place where I was only a visitor. It’s funny to put such emotions into an inanimate object, I know, but it was an object that was very dear to my heart. That bad day was nothing compared to how lost I would have felt had I not been able to find the perfume. My relationship with my sister was so strong then and still strong today.
It’s been years since I have thought about the Navy perfume. The years have come and gone by so quickly at times and so slowly for others, that what may seem so important in one moment is all but forgotten in the next. I started thinking about all of these memories when I walked by a perfume counter in one of the local shops in my town. A distinct scent permeated my senses and took me back to times I had long suppressed. The Navy perfume was the most prominent bottle on the shelf and I was drawn to it immediately. I fully expected a small tube to fall out of the box I had opened up, but to my surprise a large bottle emptied into my hands. I was troubled by the large quantity of the perfume. To me, it seemed like way too much for one person to handle. I tried to imagine the amount of memories that would come back to me if I had a bottle that size included in my first makeup kit. I am sure I would have felt overwhelmed since the small tube my sister first gave me was almost too much for me to handle then. Still, the memories of New York and all the times with my sister fluttered back to my mind, causing a playful smile to cross my lips.
My sister and I are still very close and have shared so many things with each other. I couldn’t be happier with the joys and pains, the happy times and the sorrows that I have had with her. How interesting it is to me to remember the first moment our relationship became closer! That Christmas morning is so clear in my mind now, and will be for years to come. There is nothing like walking down memory lane with a good friend, some nice memories, and a tiny bottle of Navy perfume.
Up until that point I was doing really well at containing my excitement. But I was so curious that I tore off the carefully wrapped paper and looked with awe at my newest treasure. It was what I had secretly wanted but yet never told anyone about. I remember running my fingers across the top plastic cover and opening up my very own, and very first, makeup kit.
The colors of the blush and eye shadow were just right for my complexion; dark browns, faded pinks, and soft maroons. Alongside the eye shadow was a tube of lipstick that was a slightly darker color than I liked, but it didn’t matter. Along with the kit came eyeliner, mascara, brushes, and a small bottle of Navy perfume. I had never heard of Navy before and as I gently took the small glass tube from its resting place I felt a surge of excitement. I silently hoped it would smell nice so I wouldn’t have to explain to my sister every day why I wasn’t wearing her gift. The top of the glass tube had a dark blue lid that made a small popping sound as I took the top off. The scent was captivating! I was impressed that my sister knew so much about me, and put so much thought into a gift that others mocked her for getting. She knew me inside and out and knew, the second she smelled the perfume, that I would love it. And she was right.
That small bottle of Navy perfume was only worn on rare occasions. This was not something that I wanted to waste, and I made sure that I double, triple, and quadruple checked whether the situation warranted the use of my precious Navy perfume or not. School dances, dates with boys, job interviews, Sunday church…you name it I second guessed it. It wasn’t that I was afraid the perfume would run out, nor that I wanted to keep that heartfelt memory of my sister bottled up with the unique scent of the perfume. It was the thought she had put into such a gift and how extremely well she truly knew me. She knew me much more than I even knew myself.
On more than one occasion when my sister and I were going out for the evening she would say “Why don’t you put some Navy perfume on? It smells nice on you.” These were the exceptions. Even though I had wrestled with myself a few moments prior to leaving the house and had decided not to wear the perfume, Corrina could always make me change my mind. I would smile at her and then race back to the house to dab a little bit on my wrists and occasionally behind my ears. When I would come back outside she would always say “That smells so good on you!!” She could always make me smile and feel good about myself.
By the time I was 19 I was ready to go and see the world, and my small perfume bottle would be one of my favorite travel items. Long after the original perfume had been used I had purchased my own small bottle of Navy and toted it around with me where ever I went. It was like a toothbrush to me! I had to have it. The first trip I ever took away from home was a summer job in New York. I lived in California and had never even been in a plane before, let alone across the country. Without hesitation I packed that small perfume bottle filled with the elegant cologne. It would be the one thing I could use to reminisce about family and friends while I was so far away.
I remember one day, while I was in New York, I had an extremely difficult day. As soon as the day was over I went home and locked myself in my room where I dug through my suitcase and personal belongings to find the delicate bottle. I searched through pockets and bags, flipped through drawers and dressers, and scanned through piles of papers and souvenirs, but the small bottle was nowhere to be found. For a moment I panicked. It wasn’t that I was going to hyperventilate if I didn’t have the Navy perfume. It reminded me so much of my sister and the many times we had laughed and shared our deepest sorrows and strongest fears. It was the one thing I had that could immediately take me back to times spent ditching school and sitting out in front of the CigMart waiting to see if they really did open at eight o’clock in the morning. Or the days we would walk to school in the rain and avoid all the people trying to splash us with the puddles. It would bring back the times I would talk to her for hours in the dark, even though she would be asleep. It brought back the sad times when the only thing that could cheer us up was a bag full of Oreos and some Cranapple juice. It was more than just a small perfume bottle. It was a scent full of memories that helped me through my days.
I raced through the house trying to gather all my belongings and account for the missing Navy perfume. It took me well over an hour to find the bottle, and when I did I cried. I cried for the many times my sister’s heart was broken and how sad I was that I couldn’t fix it. I cried for the painful memories of walking through the desert, leaning on each other, and sometimes carrying each other while cactus needles stuck out of our feet in massive amounts. I cried for the happy times when we helped each other survive the constant stresses and pressure of high school. I cried for the times when we would sit on top of the dog house in our backyard and watch the cars drive by when we were sick and longing for the breeze to cool our faces. And I cried for the moments of tranquil peace when my sister and I would escape to the small pool in our backyard and swim for hours while we talked about our future.
I was saddened by the thought of losing such wonderful memories in a place where I was only a visitor. It’s funny to put such emotions into an inanimate object, I know, but it was an object that was very dear to my heart. That bad day was nothing compared to how lost I would have felt had I not been able to find the perfume. My relationship with my sister was so strong then and still strong today.
It’s been years since I have thought about the Navy perfume. The years have come and gone by so quickly at times and so slowly for others, that what may seem so important in one moment is all but forgotten in the next. I started thinking about all of these memories when I walked by a perfume counter in one of the local shops in my town. A distinct scent permeated my senses and took me back to times I had long suppressed. The Navy perfume was the most prominent bottle on the shelf and I was drawn to it immediately. I fully expected a small tube to fall out of the box I had opened up, but to my surprise a large bottle emptied into my hands. I was troubled by the large quantity of the perfume. To me, it seemed like way too much for one person to handle. I tried to imagine the amount of memories that would come back to me if I had a bottle that size included in my first makeup kit. I am sure I would have felt overwhelmed since the small tube my sister first gave me was almost too much for me to handle then. Still, the memories of New York and all the times with my sister fluttered back to my mind, causing a playful smile to cross my lips.
My sister and I are still very close and have shared so many things with each other. I couldn’t be happier with the joys and pains, the happy times and the sorrows that I have had with her. How interesting it is to me to remember the first moment our relationship became closer! That Christmas morning is so clear in my mind now, and will be for years to come. There is nothing like walking down memory lane with a good friend, some nice memories, and a tiny bottle of Navy perfume.
Friday, December 18
Doing Better
Today I am doing better. James and I decided last night to take his car to a repair shop to see if they could figure out what the problem was since it was escaping everyone else around us. That calmed me down a bit, aside from the money part, so we just prayed it wouldn't be anything big and wouldn't be over $300. I got up this morning and took the car into Brakes Plus. I was there for an hour when they came out asking me questions and saying they were having the same problem with the brake pedal that I was. They suggested bleeding the brakes again and then they would test drive it again. I told them to go ahead and do that. I sat there for about three hours total waiting for them to finish working on the car. They said they had a free shuttle and would be happy to drive me home and call me once it was done, but at this point I was so vested in the car that I wanted to be there when they found out what was wrong. So I politely declined and said I would just wait. I did bring my Nintendo DS for entertainment, just in case it took longer.
There was a Good Housekeeping magazine there that I decided to look through while I waited. I got all the way through the January 2010 issue with Brooke Shields on the cover, when the very last article on the very last page caught my eye. The article stated with the sentence, "I used to be able to sing...". It was written by a woman who used to sing and talk and cheer until one day her friends began asking her if she was just getting over a cold or something. Her voice always sounded hoarse and she found that she would easily lose her voice. She went to her doctor who told her that she had developed cysts on her vocal folds due to overuse of her voice and then went to speech therapy to see how she could improve it. Her speech therapist told her she needed to stop talking. The therapist worked with her on getting her voice stronger...or at least what she had left of it. The woman can no longer sing, no longer shout, and cannot engage in conversations in loud, crowded places. She pined for the days when she could sing for her own enjoyment and for the chance to sing to her children. She wrote about how she felt like she had lost her identity and how she didn't know how to deal with having her voice gone. It was tough, but ultimately she realized that her voice was not her defining characteristic and she was not lost without it. She realized that she was the person she was in spite of not having a voice. It put my situation into perspective. I realize now that I may never get my voice back fully, but I know my voice does not define me. I can still appreciate good music when I hear it, and I can help out in other ways instead of singing. I will more than likely have days when I wish I could sing again, but for the most part, I am happy that I actually have a voice to speak with. In time, I think I will learn to appreciate the little things surrounding the loss of my singing and cheering and speaking in loud crowded places, just like the woman I read about. It was a good article that gave me comfort.
About thirty minutes after I finished the article the repair shop said they were done with my car and it was fixed. I was shocked. I asked what was the matter and they said they just bled the brakes and got a lot of air out of the brake system and then they test drove it and everything was fine. I was so happy! It only cost me about $60.00 (I got some replacement windshield wipers as well) and happily drove about town applying my brakes as the situation warranted, with much more confidence than I had going in.
So, today was a much better day than yesterday. And now, I'm off to take a nap. Even happy days make me exhausted! :)
There was a Good Housekeeping magazine there that I decided to look through while I waited. I got all the way through the January 2010 issue with Brooke Shields on the cover, when the very last article on the very last page caught my eye. The article stated with the sentence, "I used to be able to sing...". It was written by a woman who used to sing and talk and cheer until one day her friends began asking her if she was just getting over a cold or something. Her voice always sounded hoarse and she found that she would easily lose her voice. She went to her doctor who told her that she had developed cysts on her vocal folds due to overuse of her voice and then went to speech therapy to see how she could improve it. Her speech therapist told her she needed to stop talking. The therapist worked with her on getting her voice stronger...or at least what she had left of it. The woman can no longer sing, no longer shout, and cannot engage in conversations in loud, crowded places. She pined for the days when she could sing for her own enjoyment and for the chance to sing to her children. She wrote about how she felt like she had lost her identity and how she didn't know how to deal with having her voice gone. It was tough, but ultimately she realized that her voice was not her defining characteristic and she was not lost without it. She realized that she was the person she was in spite of not having a voice. It put my situation into perspective. I realize now that I may never get my voice back fully, but I know my voice does not define me. I can still appreciate good music when I hear it, and I can help out in other ways instead of singing. I will more than likely have days when I wish I could sing again, but for the most part, I am happy that I actually have a voice to speak with. In time, I think I will learn to appreciate the little things surrounding the loss of my singing and cheering and speaking in loud crowded places, just like the woman I read about. It was a good article that gave me comfort.
About thirty minutes after I finished the article the repair shop said they were done with my car and it was fixed. I was shocked. I asked what was the matter and they said they just bled the brakes and got a lot of air out of the brake system and then they test drove it and everything was fine. I was so happy! It only cost me about $60.00 (I got some replacement windshield wipers as well) and happily drove about town applying my brakes as the situation warranted, with much more confidence than I had going in.
So, today was a much better day than yesterday. And now, I'm off to take a nap. Even happy days make me exhausted! :)
Thursday, December 17
Emotional Roller Coaster
I've been on this emotional roller coaster lately, and I can't quite figure out why. I'm stressed about my health, James' car (his brakes aren't working properly and we can't figure out what the problem is), finances, feeling like I am a burden on others, and not being able to sing. Normally these problems wouldn't bother me. Normally I would be able to handle them. Normally I would put on some really great music and just let it blare out through the speakers until someone bangs on the door and tells me to turn it down. Or I would listen to the music as loud as I could stand it on my headphones. This proved better for others around me, not so much for my own ears, but I didn't care. Guess which one I am doing right now?
I'm sad and I try so hard not to be. Today my brother helped me try to fix James' car. He took out the master cylinder and replaced it with a brand spanking new one. We had already changed the brake fluid, inspected the brakes (front and back) and bled the brake system last week to no avail. I was really hoping the master cylinder was the problem and the brakes would be fixed, but no such luck. After my brother got everything back in its place he took the car for a test drive. When he came back he said the brakes were only slightly better. Tears immediately started to stream down my cheeks. I really didn't mean to cry. That was certainly not my intention, but it happened. My dad and my brother kept trying to reassure me that we would get it fixed, that we would find out what the problem was but I couldn't stop the tears. Poor men. I don't think it's ever a comfortable situation for a man when a woman is crying. They just don't know what to do to make her stop. They mean well, and I truly do appreciate their efforts, their help with the car, and all their reassurances. Even though I wanted to hang out at my parents house for a little bit longer I decided to go home.
When I got home I tried to do some research online for the car problems. I was just starting to get discouraged when I saw I had an email from one of my old high school teachers. I wrote to her a couple of days ago asking if she had any advice on how I could improve my voice. The email was so nice, full of helpful tips and exercises I could try. I appreciate her responding back to me and helping me out. About halfway into the email she said something that just made my heart sink. She said "Belting it out may be a thing of the past. Just try to preserve what you have." Where I will definitely try to preserve what I have and work on the exercises she suggested, it just makes me sad that I may not ever be able to sing like I used to. I'm sorry that I keep bringing it up, too. It's so hard to just make do when you know what it's like to have once had something great. I am a believer in heaven, and I just look forward, with great anticipation, for the time when all things will be restored and I will once again be able to sing. In fact, I think I'll give up talking and just sing everything when I am in heaven...or hell...I hope they allow singing in hell. If not, well, then it can't be any worse than not singing now.
I was going to call my sister-in-law and good friend Lucy and just word vomit all my troubles to her, but I could barely contain myself when I gave James an update on the car, so I knew that I wouldn't be able to compose myself properly in order to have any hope of a decent conversation with her. (Lucy - I seriously almost called you but I just couldn't bring myself to yet. But you know I love you! I'll call you on Friday and we can chat then.) Writing this post has helped me feel a bit better. If nothing else, it certainly has tired me out. I need to go take a little nap. Perhaps afterward I'll feel better. Thanks for listening everyone. Sometimes just writing this all down and getting it out of my head helps. I am so grateful for all of you and your support. :) I love you all.
I'm sad and I try so hard not to be. Today my brother helped me try to fix James' car. He took out the master cylinder and replaced it with a brand spanking new one. We had already changed the brake fluid, inspected the brakes (front and back) and bled the brake system last week to no avail. I was really hoping the master cylinder was the problem and the brakes would be fixed, but no such luck. After my brother got everything back in its place he took the car for a test drive. When he came back he said the brakes were only slightly better. Tears immediately started to stream down my cheeks. I really didn't mean to cry. That was certainly not my intention, but it happened. My dad and my brother kept trying to reassure me that we would get it fixed, that we would find out what the problem was but I couldn't stop the tears. Poor men. I don't think it's ever a comfortable situation for a man when a woman is crying. They just don't know what to do to make her stop. They mean well, and I truly do appreciate their efforts, their help with the car, and all their reassurances. Even though I wanted to hang out at my parents house for a little bit longer I decided to go home.
When I got home I tried to do some research online for the car problems. I was just starting to get discouraged when I saw I had an email from one of my old high school teachers. I wrote to her a couple of days ago asking if she had any advice on how I could improve my voice. The email was so nice, full of helpful tips and exercises I could try. I appreciate her responding back to me and helping me out. About halfway into the email she said something that just made my heart sink. She said "Belting it out may be a thing of the past. Just try to preserve what you have." Where I will definitely try to preserve what I have and work on the exercises she suggested, it just makes me sad that I may not ever be able to sing like I used to. I'm sorry that I keep bringing it up, too. It's so hard to just make do when you know what it's like to have once had something great. I am a believer in heaven, and I just look forward, with great anticipation, for the time when all things will be restored and I will once again be able to sing. In fact, I think I'll give up talking and just sing everything when I am in heaven...or hell...I hope they allow singing in hell. If not, well, then it can't be any worse than not singing now.
I was going to call my sister-in-law and good friend Lucy and just word vomit all my troubles to her, but I could barely contain myself when I gave James an update on the car, so I knew that I wouldn't be able to compose myself properly in order to have any hope of a decent conversation with her. (Lucy - I seriously almost called you but I just couldn't bring myself to yet. But you know I love you! I'll call you on Friday and we can chat then.) Writing this post has helped me feel a bit better. If nothing else, it certainly has tired me out. I need to go take a little nap. Perhaps afterward I'll feel better. Thanks for listening everyone. Sometimes just writing this all down and getting it out of my head helps. I am so grateful for all of you and your support. :) I love you all.
Monday, December 14
A Christmas Mystery
On Saturday James and I received a true mystery Christmas gift. We have no idea who it came from. James was on his way home from work when I heard a loud knock on my front door. I went to see who it was, but when I looked out the peephole there was no one there. I thought maybe the person had left, or they had left something on the door. So, I opened the door, and there was a present sitting on the floor. It looked like a bottle of some sort. It was wrapped in a pretty white and gold hand towel and tied with a beautiful gold ribbon. When I picked it up it was heavy. I thought, "Oh, how nice! Someone has given us a bottle of juice or sparkling cider. That's sweet." I looked down the hallway, but didn't see anyone at all. So, I took the gift in and went to place it under the tree, but I thought that if it was juice of some kind perhaps it would need to be refrigerated. I shook the bottle a little bit and heard a weird noise. It didn't sound like juice at all. It sounded like change in a jar. I immediately opened the towel, but found that the bottle was wrapped in Christmas paper. Then I ran into our study to see if I could see anyone leaving from the parking lot. Perhaps, I thought, I would be able to catch a glimpse of this person who bestowed us with such a heavy gift. As I looked out my window my phone started to ring. It said "Private Call". Now, normally I don't answer those types of calls, but someone with that same listing called ten minutes earlier while I was on the phone with James and they said they had the wrong number. I thought that maybe this would be the same person. This is how the second conversation went. I picked up my phone and said:
Me: "Hello?"
Mystery person: "Did you get something outside your front door?"
Me: "Yes, I did. (giggle) Thank you so much."
Mystery person: "Merry Christmas!"
Me: "Wait! Who is this?"
Mystery person: (laughs) "Just Merry Christmas."
Me: (sheepishly) "Thank you so..."
But before I could finish the person hung up. I thought it was a little strange, so I went back to the present. I was kind of smiling thinking about how fun this was, that someone gave us a mystery gift. It was sweet...and then I opened the present.
James and I are extremely grateful for this gift. Recently I have had to resign from my job, we still have medical expenses, and money is kind of tight right now. The newest challenge has been James' car. His brakes have gone out and now we have had to spend even more money on getting the part we need to fix them. I spent all day Saturday at my parents house trying to figure out what was wrong with James' car. It was a long and tough day. Then we received this gift. It made me want to cry.
I don't know who gave this to us, or if they even read this blog, but I had to post something about it. So, to you, Mystery Person, thank you! We appreciate your kindness, your generosity, and your creativeness. Thank you so much for giving us this Christmas Mystery. Merry Christmas!!
Me: "Hello?"
Mystery person: "Did you get something outside your front door?"
Me: "Yes, I did. (giggle) Thank you so much."
Mystery person: "Merry Christmas!"
Me: "Wait! Who is this?"
Mystery person: (laughs) "Just Merry Christmas."
Me: (sheepishly) "Thank you so..."
But before I could finish the person hung up. I thought it was a little strange, so I went back to the present. I was kind of smiling thinking about how fun this was, that someone gave us a mystery gift. It was sweet...and then I opened the present.
James and I are extremely grateful for this gift. Recently I have had to resign from my job, we still have medical expenses, and money is kind of tight right now. The newest challenge has been James' car. His brakes have gone out and now we have had to spend even more money on getting the part we need to fix them. I spent all day Saturday at my parents house trying to figure out what was wrong with James' car. It was a long and tough day. Then we received this gift. It made me want to cry.
I don't know who gave this to us, or if they even read this blog, but I had to post something about it. So, to you, Mystery Person, thank you! We appreciate your kindness, your generosity, and your creativeness. Thank you so much for giving us this Christmas Mystery. Merry Christmas!!
Friday, December 11
Some days are better than others
I've had a recurring fear that's persisted since high school. I'm standing amongst a group of my friends and we are all laughing and talking, just having a good time. After a while someone starts singing and soon everyone is harmonizing and singing together. One by one we each sing part of a solo. I notice throughout the song that people keep looking at me sideways, with quizzical looks on their faces. Suddenly everyone stops singing and just looks at me. I slowly stop singing and everyone starts to walk away. They are leaving me to join another singer who is far better than I am, who can stay on tune, and who can actually sing.
I miss being able to sing. To just bust all my thoughts and feelings out there for everyone to hear. It was my way of relieving stress, of sharing how I felt, and of putting my whole heart and soul into something. Of course I could have been better, but the sheer joy that singing brought to me is indescribable. Sometimes, actually, more often than not, some songs I listen to move me in such a way that I am literally moved to tears. Like today for example. I was listening to Sam Tsui sing "Can I Have This Dance" on YouTube and it got me all weepy. And now, I am listening to an artist by the name of Lisa Lois who is in the Netherlands. She sang a rendition of "Hallelujah (Acoustic Version)" on YouTube that brought tears to my eyes and I had to listen to it three times.
I want to belt out the songs in my heart. I want to be good at something again. I want to put my entire soul into the songs that I sing. I want people to laugh, cry, dance, shout for joy, clap, or just sit there in silence as I sing. I want them to be moved by the music I sing. I'm good at that. I know how to do it. I know how to put my whole self into my songs. But I'm physically not able to do it, and that's harder than anything else I have gone through lately.
Eh, some days are better than others.
I miss being able to sing. To just bust all my thoughts and feelings out there for everyone to hear. It was my way of relieving stress, of sharing how I felt, and of putting my whole heart and soul into something. Of course I could have been better, but the sheer joy that singing brought to me is indescribable. Sometimes, actually, more often than not, some songs I listen to move me in such a way that I am literally moved to tears. Like today for example. I was listening to Sam Tsui sing "Can I Have This Dance" on YouTube and it got me all weepy. And now, I am listening to an artist by the name of Lisa Lois who is in the Netherlands. She sang a rendition of "Hallelujah (Acoustic Version)" on YouTube that brought tears to my eyes and I had to listen to it three times.
I want to belt out the songs in my heart. I want to be good at something again. I want to put my entire soul into the songs that I sing. I want people to laugh, cry, dance, shout for joy, clap, or just sit there in silence as I sing. I want them to be moved by the music I sing. I'm good at that. I know how to do it. I know how to put my whole self into my songs. But I'm physically not able to do it, and that's harder than anything else I have gone through lately.
Eh, some days are better than others.
Wednesday, December 9
"Keyboard Hand" and Warm Ovens
Most of you who know James and I know that we prefer the cold. I've heard so many people complaining lately about how cold it is and I just have to roll my eyes with a slight smile on my face. Now, I'm not saying that I don't get cold. Quite the contrary, especially lately with the whole hypothyroidism thing. It is so easy for me to get cold. I'm not talking slightly chilly where I need to put on a sweater. No. I'm talking put on three layers of clothing, a robe, two jackets, thick socks, heavy duty slippers, hats, gloves, and STILL need to wrap up in two or three rather heavy blankets because I am so cold I get chilled to the very bone and I can't stop shaking. However, I still love it! Call me crazy if you must, but I truly love the cold weather. And so does James. We have lived in our current apartment going on three years now (this is our third winter here) and we have yet to turn on our heater. We hope that doesn't pose a problem for the next tenets who live here after we move (we don't anticipate moving anytime soon, mind you). At any rate, we have enough neighbors who must have been born, lived, or deeply adore middle eastern climates so needlesstosay our apartment is warm enough for us thanks to our neighbors.
However, there are times, mostly in the morning to early afternoon, that it gets downright frosty in our little abode. We have our computers in the second bedroom, which is really our study. It gets really cold in there and James and I can often be found with one hand in our pocket and the other on the keyboard or mouse of our computers. This makes one hand nice and toasty, and the other quite cold...numbing even. Then, after we have reached the point to where we just can't take it anymore we snuggle up next to the other and playfully place our hand on the others cheek to which the response is always "ACK! You have keyboard hand!!" My friends, I am in this state right now. I do, indeed, have keyboard hand, which coincidentally makes it kind of hard to type, but I appear to be managing. James is at work, so he is not able to warm up said "keyboard hand" right now. Alas, my only other option is to go and turn on the oven.
Now, don't worry. I am not about to bake my hand in the oven. It's something we do when it gets too cold in our house and we really don't want to turn on the heater. When I was young we moved around a lot. One of the places we lived was an old two story house up in the mountains of Southern California. At night, it got pretty cold there, but the house did not have air conditioning or heat that I remember, only windows and a fireplace in the huge front room. My mom would usually be the first one awake in the morning, so she would start a fire and then immediately go into the kitchen and turn the oven on. By the time us kids were awake, we would be dressed in multiple layers, with thick socks (sometimes two or three pairs) on our feet, and we would make our way downstairs. When we got to the kitchen we would have steaming cups of hot chocolate, warm freshly baked cookies (yes, there was a time as a kid that my mom would let us eat freshly baked chocolate chip cookies for breakfast!) and we would drag chairs over to the oven where the door was open. We would prop our feet up on a stool right in front of the oven door and begin to thaw out. Once we were warm enough, the chores started, but for a little while it was fun to just sit there and get warm with a bunch of my brothers and sisters in front of an oven. When things get really cold in my house now I turn on the oven to warm up the front room enough to where I can tolerate it. I think I need to go and do that now.
I hope everyone stays nice and warm on these cold days. If not, then you should definitely try some hot chocolate and freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. There's nothing better. :)
However, there are times, mostly in the morning to early afternoon, that it gets downright frosty in our little abode. We have our computers in the second bedroom, which is really our study. It gets really cold in there and James and I can often be found with one hand in our pocket and the other on the keyboard or mouse of our computers. This makes one hand nice and toasty, and the other quite cold...numbing even. Then, after we have reached the point to where we just can't take it anymore we snuggle up next to the other and playfully place our hand on the others cheek to which the response is always "ACK! You have keyboard hand!!" My friends, I am in this state right now. I do, indeed, have keyboard hand, which coincidentally makes it kind of hard to type, but I appear to be managing. James is at work, so he is not able to warm up said "keyboard hand" right now. Alas, my only other option is to go and turn on the oven.
Now, don't worry. I am not about to bake my hand in the oven. It's something we do when it gets too cold in our house and we really don't want to turn on the heater. When I was young we moved around a lot. One of the places we lived was an old two story house up in the mountains of Southern California. At night, it got pretty cold there, but the house did not have air conditioning or heat that I remember, only windows and a fireplace in the huge front room. My mom would usually be the first one awake in the morning, so she would start a fire and then immediately go into the kitchen and turn the oven on. By the time us kids were awake, we would be dressed in multiple layers, with thick socks (sometimes two or three pairs) on our feet, and we would make our way downstairs. When we got to the kitchen we would have steaming cups of hot chocolate, warm freshly baked cookies (yes, there was a time as a kid that my mom would let us eat freshly baked chocolate chip cookies for breakfast!) and we would drag chairs over to the oven where the door was open. We would prop our feet up on a stool right in front of the oven door and begin to thaw out. Once we were warm enough, the chores started, but for a little while it was fun to just sit there and get warm with a bunch of my brothers and sisters in front of an oven. When things get really cold in my house now I turn on the oven to warm up the front room enough to where I can tolerate it. I think I need to go and do that now.
I hope everyone stays nice and warm on these cold days. If not, then you should definitely try some hot chocolate and freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. There's nothing better. :)
Monday, December 7
A little sumin' sumin' for everyone!
I love this! Bet you didn't know that James could do the worm, did ya? :)
Send your own ElfYourself eCards
Tuesday, November 24
My Thankfuls
Over the past month I have watched as Facebook became inundated with posts and live feeds from friends and family about things they were thankful for. I understood why they were doing it; it was the time to share the things that they were most grateful for. While others were listing their blessings daily (some even twice daily) I resisted. I didn't want to just blatantly throw my thankfulness out there for anyone to read and disregard as they rushed to check on their farm, or fish, or other updates. In fact, more often that not when I saw a status begin with "I'm thankful for..." I rushed right by it, so overwhelmed with what other people were thankful for.
However, I came across this video and had tears in my eyes when I was finished watching it. It is a great reminder of things, ordinary things, that people are thankful for. I, too, wish to relate my "thankfuls" and thought my blog would be a more appropriate place in which to do this. So, here goes:
I am thankful for...
My adversities because they make me stronger.
My husband for no particular reason, and for every reason possible.
My family for their support and love and yes, even their craziness.
My friends because they always know just what to say and do.
My health, as bad as it is right now because the alternative would be death.
My God, my religion, the gospel of Jesus Christ, and my freedom.
And, like the guy in the video below, any and all future opportunities.
Happy Thanksgiving everyone. Be thankful. Be grateful. Be happy.
However, I came across this video and had tears in my eyes when I was finished watching it. It is a great reminder of things, ordinary things, that people are thankful for. I, too, wish to relate my "thankfuls" and thought my blog would be a more appropriate place in which to do this. So, here goes:
I am thankful for...
My adversities because they make me stronger.
My husband for no particular reason, and for every reason possible.
My family for their support and love and yes, even their craziness.
My friends because they always know just what to say and do.
My health, as bad as it is right now because the alternative would be death.
My God, my religion, the gospel of Jesus Christ, and my freedom.
And, like the guy in the video below, any and all future opportunities.
Happy Thanksgiving everyone. Be thankful. Be grateful. Be happy.
Friday, November 13
An Interesting Turn of Events
These last few days, well, the last few weeks really, have been filled with hefty decisions and weighty matters that seemed almost too much for either James or I to handle. However, we have been blessed tremendously with the blessings from heaven and with the Spirit as we have prayed, pondered, and made a difficult decision. I have to take the time my body requires to heal and recover from this lengthy sickness that has prevailed for the better part of seven months, and from the barrage of migraines that have plagued me for the past ten years. I'm tired and now it is time for me to give in and rest.
Though our decisions have not been easy ones, we are confident they are the right ones. We know that God will bless us according to our faith. We know that as long as we continue to do all we can and then ask the Lord for help that He will provide us with what we need in order to continue on. This doesn't mean that I'm going to win the lottery and suddenly find myself a good ten million dollars richer, but it does mean that James and I will have sufficient for our needs.
So it is with a sigh of sadness that I go into work today to pick up my personal belongings and say good-bye to my coworkers and friends. I will miss not being able to just turn to Gina and talk to her about anything and everything. I will miss laughing as AQ and I position her small round mirror at just the right spot on the file cabinet across the aisle to be able to see each other just by looking at it. I will miss asking Lynn for napkins each day and talking to her about the things going on in her life. I will miss the crazy funniness that is Venessa and how she could always make me laugh on even the toughest of days. I'll miss the camaraderie, the frustrations, the problem solving, the tears, and the laughter. But most of all I will miss just being there in the midst of such a great group of people.
Though our decisions have not been easy ones, we are confident they are the right ones. We know that God will bless us according to our faith. We know that as long as we continue to do all we can and then ask the Lord for help that He will provide us with what we need in order to continue on. This doesn't mean that I'm going to win the lottery and suddenly find myself a good ten million dollars richer, but it does mean that James and I will have sufficient for our needs.
So it is with a sigh of sadness that I go into work today to pick up my personal belongings and say good-bye to my coworkers and friends. I will miss not being able to just turn to Gina and talk to her about anything and everything. I will miss laughing as AQ and I position her small round mirror at just the right spot on the file cabinet across the aisle to be able to see each other just by looking at it. I will miss asking Lynn for napkins each day and talking to her about the things going on in her life. I will miss the crazy funniness that is Venessa and how she could always make me laugh on even the toughest of days. I'll miss the camaraderie, the frustrations, the problem solving, the tears, and the laughter. But most of all I will miss just being there in the midst of such a great group of people.
Saturday, October 31
All Hallows Eve
For Halloween this year my work was having some fun festivities that employees could participate in. My department also decided to have a Halloween themed potluck and everyone signed up to bring stuff. I entered the pumpkin carving contest at work and found a really cool template of a vulture inside a cage. This particular carving not only had some detailed carving that I had never done before, but it also required the use of two - that's right! TWO! - pumpkins: one for the cage and one for the vulture. I worked really hard on this pumpkin the day before and was excited to take it into work. I was fairly confident that I could win first prize. Here is what the end result looked like:
Vulture in a cage pumpkin - before lighting.
Vulture in a cage pumpkin - after it was lit.
I rubbed my creation inside and out with petroleum jelly to keep it from shrinking and set it aside for Friday and the pumpkin carving contest.
For the Halloween themed potluck my department was having on the same day as the pumpkin carving contest, I decided to make some homemade peanut butter fudge...with a twist. I had some hand molds that I used to put the fudge in once it was done, and as an added surprise I added pretzel sticks in the fingers so when people were hacking into it, they would feel a crunch of bone and get freaked out. It would be awesome!! Here is the finished product:
Man! They sure do look creepy!!
James and I were laughing hysterically at the thought of my co-workers' screams when they cut into the fingers. It would be so fun, and James made me promise to tell him how it went over.
I also decided to make a fabulous jello salad called Cranberry Velvet Salad. It's cherry jello, cranberry sauce, and sour cream. It is the tastiest thing you have ever had. Trust me! I just happened to have a brain mold and knew it would be perfect for the blood red colored jello salad. I made the recipe and then placed it in the mold earlier that day. By the time my pumpkin was carved, I knew it would be ready, so I took it out and placed it on a plate. Here is the brain food:
Isn't that just awesome!?!?
Again, James' and my squeals of delight at how frightfully good everything had turned out were echoing off the walls. We could not be more excited. We put everything away where it would be nice and safe until the next day when I would pack everything up and display my goods for my entire work to see. Then we went to bed.
The alarm rang at 6:30 am, as it does most every day, and I turned over to get some more rest. 7:00 am rolled around and James gently rubbed my shoulder to tell me what time it was so we could get going. However when I tried to move to get up I was struck with sharp searing pain in my head. My heart sank, my stomach lurched, and tears sprang to my eyes. I had woken up with a severe migraine and I couldn't have been more crushed. Everything, all my hard work and all our excitement, was for not as I slowly began to realize I would be going nowhere that day, and participating in no festivities. I was so sad. I tried for 30 minutes to make the pain go away, but nothing worked. James called my boss and told her I had a migraine and I wouldn't be able to make it in. I tried not to burst out in chest heaving sobs and tears because I knew it would only send the pain over the edge. Instead I took my medicine and promptly fell back asleep in the hopes that it would get rid of my migraine.
I struggled all day with the pain and it finally went away about 11:30 last night. I was so sad that I wasn't able to make it into work and see all the things my co-workers had made. It was supposed to be a super fun day. Our department was decorated for Halloween with a "Deadly Diner" theme and I was so excited to partake of the fun activities we had. But apparently it was not to be. Now James and I have a ton of jello and peanut butter fudge to consume. Oh well. I can't be upset and angry about it forever. I'm glad we got pictures of everything so at least you could see the stuff we did. Today I am feeling better. No migraine, no excessive tiredness, and for that I am grateful because tonight we are going to see Wicked! At least I'll get to do one fun thing on All Hallows Eve! Have a Happy Halloween everyone!!
Vulture in a cage pumpkin - before lighting.
Vulture in a cage pumpkin - after it was lit.
I rubbed my creation inside and out with petroleum jelly to keep it from shrinking and set it aside for Friday and the pumpkin carving contest.
For the Halloween themed potluck my department was having on the same day as the pumpkin carving contest, I decided to make some homemade peanut butter fudge...with a twist. I had some hand molds that I used to put the fudge in once it was done, and as an added surprise I added pretzel sticks in the fingers so when people were hacking into it, they would feel a crunch of bone and get freaked out. It would be awesome!! Here is the finished product:
Man! They sure do look creepy!!
James and I were laughing hysterically at the thought of my co-workers' screams when they cut into the fingers. It would be so fun, and James made me promise to tell him how it went over.
I also decided to make a fabulous jello salad called Cranberry Velvet Salad. It's cherry jello, cranberry sauce, and sour cream. It is the tastiest thing you have ever had. Trust me! I just happened to have a brain mold and knew it would be perfect for the blood red colored jello salad. I made the recipe and then placed it in the mold earlier that day. By the time my pumpkin was carved, I knew it would be ready, so I took it out and placed it on a plate. Here is the brain food:
Isn't that just awesome!?!?
Again, James' and my squeals of delight at how frightfully good everything had turned out were echoing off the walls. We could not be more excited. We put everything away where it would be nice and safe until the next day when I would pack everything up and display my goods for my entire work to see. Then we went to bed.
The alarm rang at 6:30 am, as it does most every day, and I turned over to get some more rest. 7:00 am rolled around and James gently rubbed my shoulder to tell me what time it was so we could get going. However when I tried to move to get up I was struck with sharp searing pain in my head. My heart sank, my stomach lurched, and tears sprang to my eyes. I had woken up with a severe migraine and I couldn't have been more crushed. Everything, all my hard work and all our excitement, was for not as I slowly began to realize I would be going nowhere that day, and participating in no festivities. I was so sad. I tried for 30 minutes to make the pain go away, but nothing worked. James called my boss and told her I had a migraine and I wouldn't be able to make it in. I tried not to burst out in chest heaving sobs and tears because I knew it would only send the pain over the edge. Instead I took my medicine and promptly fell back asleep in the hopes that it would get rid of my migraine.
I struggled all day with the pain and it finally went away about 11:30 last night. I was so sad that I wasn't able to make it into work and see all the things my co-workers had made. It was supposed to be a super fun day. Our department was decorated for Halloween with a "Deadly Diner" theme and I was so excited to partake of the fun activities we had. But apparently it was not to be. Now James and I have a ton of jello and peanut butter fudge to consume. Oh well. I can't be upset and angry about it forever. I'm glad we got pictures of everything so at least you could see the stuff we did. Today I am feeling better. No migraine, no excessive tiredness, and for that I am grateful because tonight we are going to see Wicked! At least I'll get to do one fun thing on All Hallows Eve! Have a Happy Halloween everyone!!
Thursday, October 29
The Wind: A Four Part Series -- Part IV
"Where did the wind learn how to fly?" - Connor Brennan, 3 years old.
The fall wind: A promise of change rides on the back of the wind in the early afternoon. The strength surprises me as I feel the wind press into my back. There is a bite to the wind that makes it strong and ominous. I’m walking once again towards my apartment, but not with the urgency the wind is telling me I need. Huge dark clouds gather behind the mountains, peeking around the massive rocks in the distance. A storm is coming, and the wind is warning me of the impending fury yet to be unleashed. It coaxes me to move faster, to seek the shelter I am not far from. I do not heed its call and am caught unaware by the sudden downpour of rain that pounds on my head. The wind blows across my face, moving the hair from my eyes and helping me to quickly get inside. It moves me in the direction I need to go and I allow it. I seem to fly up the stairs, knowing with full confidence the wind has made this trip many times before. It protects me from the hard drops of rain that sting my arms, neck and face. The wind spouts out little bursts of air that force the rain into separate directions away from me.
Once I am safe inside my dwelling I watch the rain battle the wind. I view a constant scene of magical dances illuminated by the thunder and lightning outside. Sometimes the wind beats the rain. Sometimes the rain beats the wind. I step out onto the balcony, protected from the roof that hangs over just enough to allow me to watch the amazing display. The elements are at war and I am rooting for the wind to be the champion. I watch as the rain is tossed in different directions with a fury I have never seen. They move in sync, one chasing the other. For a moment I am distracted by a woman who has lost her papers in the storm. She runs around trying to catch them all before they go over the fence never to be seen again. She is an innocent bystander caught in a covert war between wind and rain.
The wind notices her and circles the papers in one area for her to pick up. I smile at this gentle approach in the midst of battle. But the rain is not to be distracted. It takes advantage of the preoccupied wind and pounds down even harder. The rain turns into hail and the fury I was surprised at before is nothing compared to the fury I witness now. The wind is crushed and for a long while all I hear is hail pounding on the railing I have gripped with white knuckles. I scan the area looking, hoping, for any sign of the wind confident it has not been defeated. But there is only the unrelenting power of the hail pounding on the ground, sounding like a standing ovation from the war it has just won.
A few minutes later the ovation dies down, and the hail is complete. There is nothing but silence. I am saddened by the defeat of the wind. I hang my head, thinking I will no longer enjoy the company of such a constant friend when suddenly, softly, I feel a faint breeze on my cheek. My hopes are rejuvenated as I smile brightly into the sky. The wind has not been defeated; it has been there all along. And it will continue to be so forever and ever.
Wednesday, October 28
The Wind: A Four Part Series -- Part III
"Where did the wind learn how to fly?" - Connor Brennan, 3 years old.
The summer wind: Hot and dry the wind bustles through the crowd. It’s playing another game, a game of cat and mouse. I am the mouse trying to escape the uncomfortable taste of dust that usually accompanies a long hot summer. I am tired from the heat, and desperate for the shade to provide some sort of relief. It does not come. Only the wind is there, hot and indifferent to those around it. It has a job to do and that job is to make everyone uncomfortable. The wind carries out its task with jubilant effort and seems to mock those who feel it. I can almost hear the wind laugh as I cry out in annoyance from the rough, dry air pressing through my body.
There is no escape this time and the wind knows it has the advantage. I walk down the city streets, looking at the shops with their doors open. Occasionally I find a brief moment of sheer bliss as I am encompassed about by the air conditioned spots sporadically located down the street. This does not make the wind happy, and I feel its outrage when I step out of the coolness and into the hot wind waiting to have its vengeance.
Exhausted I throw my hands up into the air, tired from the game I am apparently losing. I drag my feet to my car, anxious for the air conditioning I have inside. But the wind makes my every effort only the more exhausting. It comes at me in short bursts and envelopes me with the gritty feel of dust and dirt. I wipe my red eyes, irritated from the constant barrage of debris the wind uses for its ammunition. Slowly I make my way to my car with the only strategy I have the strength to carry out. I keep my head down, walk into the wind, and constantly take one step forward. I shall not surrender this time, no matter what the wind throws at me.
This is the final leg of the race, the final part of the game and the wind knows this. It throws everything it can at me, but I consistently move forward. This frustrates the wind, and it makes one final attempt to defeat me by tossing up a new dust devil around my knees. The dust devil gets surprisingly stronger as new debris is caught in the whirlwind and grows higher. My eyes sting so badly tears stream down my face, creating lines of dirt and dust along my face. But I soldier on towards my goal one step at a time until I am inside my car. I take a moment to look out into the city streets. The wind has given up and moved on and for once the victory is mine.
The summer wind: Hot and dry the wind bustles through the crowd. It’s playing another game, a game of cat and mouse. I am the mouse trying to escape the uncomfortable taste of dust that usually accompanies a long hot summer. I am tired from the heat, and desperate for the shade to provide some sort of relief. It does not come. Only the wind is there, hot and indifferent to those around it. It has a job to do and that job is to make everyone uncomfortable. The wind carries out its task with jubilant effort and seems to mock those who feel it. I can almost hear the wind laugh as I cry out in annoyance from the rough, dry air pressing through my body.
There is no escape this time and the wind knows it has the advantage. I walk down the city streets, looking at the shops with their doors open. Occasionally I find a brief moment of sheer bliss as I am encompassed about by the air conditioned spots sporadically located down the street. This does not make the wind happy, and I feel its outrage when I step out of the coolness and into the hot wind waiting to have its vengeance.
Exhausted I throw my hands up into the air, tired from the game I am apparently losing. I drag my feet to my car, anxious for the air conditioning I have inside. But the wind makes my every effort only the more exhausting. It comes at me in short bursts and envelopes me with the gritty feel of dust and dirt. I wipe my red eyes, irritated from the constant barrage of debris the wind uses for its ammunition. Slowly I make my way to my car with the only strategy I have the strength to carry out. I keep my head down, walk into the wind, and constantly take one step forward. I shall not surrender this time, no matter what the wind throws at me.
This is the final leg of the race, the final part of the game and the wind knows this. It throws everything it can at me, but I consistently move forward. This frustrates the wind, and it makes one final attempt to defeat me by tossing up a new dust devil around my knees. The dust devil gets surprisingly stronger as new debris is caught in the whirlwind and grows higher. My eyes sting so badly tears stream down my face, creating lines of dirt and dust along my face. But I soldier on towards my goal one step at a time until I am inside my car. I take a moment to look out into the city streets. The wind has given up and moved on and for once the victory is mine.
Sunday, October 25
The Wind: A Four Part Series -- Part II
"Where did the wind learn how to fly?" - Connor Brennan, 3 years old.
The spring wind: A soft gentle breeze sweeps across my face, softly caressing the worries and stresses of my day. The wind plays along the road, kicking up bright green leaves and fresh soil. The hope of new life is all around, and the wind desires to spread it everywhere. I find myself kicking the leaves up as well, and the wind decides to play another game with me. This time the wind grabs the leaves with a gentle, but firm grip and tosses them up into the sky. Higher and higher the leaves go as a smile spreads across my face. I applaud when the leaves fall back down to the earth, flipping and fluttering as they land.
The wind senses my enjoyment and keeps me company as I stroll along, thoughts flowing freely in my mind like the wind flows freely amongst the trees. The sky is deep blue, with puffy white clouds scattered here and there. As if reading my thoughts, the wind picks up and dashes across the sky, capturing the clouds and transforming them into recognizable shapes as they float overhead. Peace and comfort fill my body. I sit on the bank of the river and watch the wind put on a cloud show for an audience of one.
Later in the evening I escape into the night and watch the stars. The wind has come out to greet me and again a soft breeze sweeps across my face. It slowly pushes my hair this way and that but there is no sign of anger. The wind is my friend in those late hours. I close my eyes as the wind bids me a good night, leaving its gentle touch on my heart and the sweet promise of a better day just on the horizon.
The spring wind: A soft gentle breeze sweeps across my face, softly caressing the worries and stresses of my day. The wind plays along the road, kicking up bright green leaves and fresh soil. The hope of new life is all around, and the wind desires to spread it everywhere. I find myself kicking the leaves up as well, and the wind decides to play another game with me. This time the wind grabs the leaves with a gentle, but firm grip and tosses them up into the sky. Higher and higher the leaves go as a smile spreads across my face. I applaud when the leaves fall back down to the earth, flipping and fluttering as they land.
The wind senses my enjoyment and keeps me company as I stroll along, thoughts flowing freely in my mind like the wind flows freely amongst the trees. The sky is deep blue, with puffy white clouds scattered here and there. As if reading my thoughts, the wind picks up and dashes across the sky, capturing the clouds and transforming them into recognizable shapes as they float overhead. Peace and comfort fill my body. I sit on the bank of the river and watch the wind put on a cloud show for an audience of one.
Later in the evening I escape into the night and watch the stars. The wind has come out to greet me and again a soft breeze sweeps across my face. It slowly pushes my hair this way and that but there is no sign of anger. The wind is my friend in those late hours. I close my eyes as the wind bids me a good night, leaving its gentle touch on my heart and the sweet promise of a better day just on the horizon.
Saturday, October 24
The Wind: A Four Part Series -- Part I
"Where did the wind learn how to fly?" - Connor Brennan, 3 years old.
The winter wind: Like an unseen monster it rages in full fury. Ducking behind gated corners it waits for me to walk by, and then unleashes its anger in short bursts of battered metal on cinder block walls. Fiercely it blows across the already darkened parking lot and rips through my hair as I sprint to my car. It dances around me, encircling me in a knotted mess of leaves and paper before piercing me to the very bone with its icy breath. I race to my car, open the door, jump inside and slam the door shut with the help of the winds’ hefty strength. I shiver as the wind becomes angrier with me, frustrated at my desire to be safe and warm and no longer wanting to play its chilling game. The safety of my car does not diminish the wind’s fury. It rips at the tires, pounds against the door, and otherwise makes my drive home more difficult.
A short distance later the wind seems to cease its fiery approach to devour me. I enjoy a pleasant ride home until I pull into the parking lot. The wind is there waiting for me. It seems to know the exact moment I will climb out of my car and run to my front door to the warmth inside. The wind taunts me with its fruitless blows, making me think it is safe for the moment and that I might be able to beat the wind to my front door. I am sadly mistaken when I open the door and take my first step out into the cold. All is still, causing my hopes to soar, but then a sound like a rushing waterfall surges up behind me and sends shivers down my spine. I know what that sound is, and my heart beats faster. I make a break for my front door, thoroughly convinced I can beat the wind and make it safely home. Out of nowhere I am slapped in the face by an icy gust that takes my breath away and I am momentarily frozen. I fumble a bit as I try to catch my breath and keep my eyes from going blurry. My keys drop from my hand at the unexpected blow and I feel frightened. I stumble around the night trying to locate my keys as the wind does its best to keep me from coming closer to my apartment. When I find them, I once again race to a sheltered corner where the wind cannot touch me. I grin from my hiding place, fully aware of the wind’s ever growing wrath.
For a moment the wind can’t find me and I am still. I keep thinking if I move it will locate me and release any reserved power it seems to possess. When the wind moves on I escape, running at full speed up the stairs and toward the door. I am only steps away when the wind catches up. It tears at my face, my eyes, my bones. It comes at me from every side as if playing a game of tag where everyone is “it” and I am the only one who has yet to be touched. Mere feet in front of my door I have been beaten, defeated by the wind who started the game some 20 miles back and yet somehow always wins. I relent and allow the wind to have its victory. I nod my head in agreement of the victory as the wind howls cruelly through the night.
The winter wind: Like an unseen monster it rages in full fury. Ducking behind gated corners it waits for me to walk by, and then unleashes its anger in short bursts of battered metal on cinder block walls. Fiercely it blows across the already darkened parking lot and rips through my hair as I sprint to my car. It dances around me, encircling me in a knotted mess of leaves and paper before piercing me to the very bone with its icy breath. I race to my car, open the door, jump inside and slam the door shut with the help of the winds’ hefty strength. I shiver as the wind becomes angrier with me, frustrated at my desire to be safe and warm and no longer wanting to play its chilling game. The safety of my car does not diminish the wind’s fury. It rips at the tires, pounds against the door, and otherwise makes my drive home more difficult.
A short distance later the wind seems to cease its fiery approach to devour me. I enjoy a pleasant ride home until I pull into the parking lot. The wind is there waiting for me. It seems to know the exact moment I will climb out of my car and run to my front door to the warmth inside. The wind taunts me with its fruitless blows, making me think it is safe for the moment and that I might be able to beat the wind to my front door. I am sadly mistaken when I open the door and take my first step out into the cold. All is still, causing my hopes to soar, but then a sound like a rushing waterfall surges up behind me and sends shivers down my spine. I know what that sound is, and my heart beats faster. I make a break for my front door, thoroughly convinced I can beat the wind and make it safely home. Out of nowhere I am slapped in the face by an icy gust that takes my breath away and I am momentarily frozen. I fumble a bit as I try to catch my breath and keep my eyes from going blurry. My keys drop from my hand at the unexpected blow and I feel frightened. I stumble around the night trying to locate my keys as the wind does its best to keep me from coming closer to my apartment. When I find them, I once again race to a sheltered corner where the wind cannot touch me. I grin from my hiding place, fully aware of the wind’s ever growing wrath.
For a moment the wind can’t find me and I am still. I keep thinking if I move it will locate me and release any reserved power it seems to possess. When the wind moves on I escape, running at full speed up the stairs and toward the door. I am only steps away when the wind catches up. It tears at my face, my eyes, my bones. It comes at me from every side as if playing a game of tag where everyone is “it” and I am the only one who has yet to be touched. Mere feet in front of my door I have been beaten, defeated by the wind who started the game some 20 miles back and yet somehow always wins. I relent and allow the wind to have its victory. I nod my head in agreement of the victory as the wind howls cruelly through the night.
Wednesday, October 14
Pushing myself a little harder
Growing up my parents were always adamant about a few things. 1-Participating in church, 2-No eating in the parlor, and 3-The biannual trips to the dentist.
I was fine with the first two, but that last one...well, let's just say I don't like going to the dentist. Never have, and probably never will. There was a plaque on the wall of my dentists office that said "We cater to cowards". I was fairly convinced that at one point I would walk in and the sign would have an additional sentence that read "This means YOU, Crystal!".
I have a small mouth so it should have really come as no surprise to hear the dentist tell me that I would need to have my wisdom teeth removed. I was 17 and they were starting to grow in and would cause many, many problems so it was best to have them taken out. I kind of pride myself on remaining calm in difficult situations. However, when they told my mom that, I immediately began to tear up. The receptionist was in the middle of giving my mom the name of a dentist they recommended when I interrupted and said "I'm sorry, but would you excuse us for a minute? Mom, can I speak to you outside, please?" We stepped outside and right there in the walkway I proceeded to beg my mom to not let me have this procedure done. I remember my mom's expression turning soft, her own eyes beginning to brim with tears, and patting my shoulder, assuring me that it had to be done. I can imagine the scene from the receptionist's window with me flailing my arms about in heightened panic, and my mom trying to console a shockingly scared child. After a few minutes I realized it was not something I was going to get out of, and a little pain and difficulty now would surely be better than a lifetime trying to make up what was damaged for ignoring it. So, I told my mom that if it had to be done, I wanted to be knocked out. I did not want to remember the procedure at all. She said that could definitely be arranged. We went back inside and made all the necessary preparations to have the surgery.
Flash forward a few weeks later to the day of the surgery. The procedure went fine, everything worked out well, until I started to come out from under the anesthesia after it was done. I was sobbing and crying uncontrollably and they thought it was a little odd, but chalked it up to my first time ever being under anesthesia and said it would wear off soon enough. They gave me a prescription for Vicodin and sent me home with my parents. I slept for hours. That night, I got up to use the bathroom but one of my brothers was in there so I decided to wait by the door. Suddenly, I didn't feel too good and I thought I was going to throw up. The room started to spin, a nasty feeling began to creep its way up from my stomach, and I knew that something was not right. I began frantically pounding on the door telling my brother that I was going to be sick.
The next thing I remember was waking up on the kitchen floor. Yep, I had passed out and fell backwards onto the ceramic tile in the kitchen. I hit my head so hard my parents came running from their bedroom on the other side of the house to see what the noise was. I've been told it sounded like a watermelon dropping from the roof onto the ground...only worse. Comforting. I thought there had been an earthquake and the electricity went out so my dad had to drag me into the kitchen. I don't know where that came from, but it was clearly not the case. So when my parents came into the kitchen and found me lying there, looking as ghostly as the tile itself, you can understand them being worried. My parents called 911, an ambulance came, and four extremely attractive paramedics tried to woo me as they assessed my injury and took me to the hospital. Turns out I hit my head so hard there was a huge bump on the back of my head that was four inches long, two inches wide, two inches raised off the back of my head and the force of the hit had caused my head to crack open and bleed. Not fun. But all was well! I had a CAT scan, which came back normal, and was ultimately sent home to rest.
I remember feeling so sick for a good couple of weeks. My teeth hurt, my mouth hurt, and my head definitely hurt. I really couldn't do much because I was still woozy from the fall and the whole wisdom teeth removal process to begin with. I remember watching my family go through their normal routines and being so envious that I was physically not able to do that yet.
One Sunday, after my family came home from church, someone noticed that the carpet was wet in the dining/family room. Turns out, a pipe had burst underneath the carpet and drenched everything. We had no idea how long it had been spilling water, but the dining/family room was about two regular room lengths long and the entire carpet, and most of the furniture and boxes were damaged. My parents called their insurance company and decided that rather than wait for them to come out the following day, they would pull up the carpet themselves. Ultimately it saved my family some serious money and was actually a turning point in my healing process.
I had reached a point in my sickness when I was sick of being sick and I couldn't stand it any longer. As a result, I decided I would help out with the carpet removal and help my family out. I got up, took a shower, changed into some jeans and a t-shirt and started ripping out the carpet like my life depended on it. It was a good experience, really, because from that day forward I started to feel better and it was only a couple more days after that when I felt like my old self again.
A few days ago, this experience came back to my mind and I realized that I was feeling the same way now. I'm sick of being sick. I'm tired of being tired, and I'm not going to do it anymore. When I was first diagnosed with cancer, I think I was naive in thinking that I would be able to jump right back into my normal routine. The surgery, the radiation, the medicine, the appointment, and the general (and almost overwhelming) crappy feeling I had was so difficult. I had to let go of pretty much everything I was doing at the time and take time to heal. That was a long process.
I'm still in the process of healing, but I'm at that point now where I feel I need to push myself a little harder. I've decided that I need to choose one thing to focus on and work at to get back up to where I was before, and then slowly - ever so slowly - incorporate the other activities I was doing before so that at some point in the future I will be back to my normal self. I know this is a work in progress, but I already feel so much better. Today I felt more like myself than I have in a really long time. And that's such a good feeling. :)
Saturday, October 10
Did I Mention?
Oh, yes...and did I mention that we got a new car? Well, we did! We purchased a brand new 2010 Scion xB and we have named him Sting, after Frodo's sword in Lord of the Rings that glows blue whenever Orcs are around. Our new car is the perfect color for it!! We love this little guy!
Haunted Tabletop Graveyard
Here are some pictures of the haunted graveyard that James and Zack and I put together. It was really fun, and it looks so cool during the day AND the night! Enjoy!
Catching Up
I seem to say, more often than not, that "it's been a while since I last posted". I would like to say that going forward I won't be saying that any longer. However, not a lot of exciting things really happen to me, so there isn't much to blog about. And unless you want to hear about my sucky health right now, you'd probably thank me not to write about that. Ok, enough of that. On to better things.
October is quickly becoming a favorite month in our home. Towards the end of September, James and I were trying to figure out exactly when October started to become one of our favorite times of the year. We are so in to Halloween that it is crazy, almost bordering on an obsession. Each year we seem to accumulate more and more Halloween decorations and become more and more excited to put them up that we can't seem to wait for the first of October in which to do so. This year, the Halloween fever was worse than ever. James and I pulled out all our decorations (there were four buckets full. And I'm talking about the Rubbermaid 18 gallon buckets. Four!! Can you believe it?) and began to dream of how we would decorate our apartment. We were salivating with ideas and designs. It was crazy!!
So we decided it would be really fun to have a couple of people over to help us decorate for this wonderful holiday. My friend Gina and my little brother Zack came over and we decorated to the nines! It took us about five hours to complete the look, and unfortunately James had to work that day so he didn't get to participate in the fun. However, we saved the biggest decoration for last so that he could play with us. It was the table top Haunted Graveyard and I'll have to post pictures of that in another post. It is awesome!
Saturday, September 19
Ode to 4:30
At different times in my life my friends and I would make up various "Ode's" as the situation warranted. Let's see, there was "Ode to Roller Hockey", and "Ode to Scott", and even an "Ode to a Bad Day". We created said "Ode's" in honor of the specific subject that we loved, wanted, or were genuinely frustrated at. It makes perfect sense, then, that I should add to the list of "Ode's" with this one here. Dim the lights please. I am about to take the stage.
Ode to 4:30
Darkness abounds as you beckon my name
Bringing me quickly out of my sleep.
You don't want to fight, argue, wrestle, or play
But instead from my rest, you do keep.
I stumble and stagger and crawl from my bed
Groping the wall on my way
I somehow impossibly get to the couch
Where the next few hours I stay.
My stomach churns, my head spins around
And pain is all I feel.
When will we stop meeting like this?
I need some time to heal.
Oh, dear 4:30 you call much too much
And our friendship has started to wane.
I wouldn't be sad if you left me alone
And never called me again.
Thank you. Thank you. I appreciate the applause. Why, yes, I have dabbled a bit in poetry before, thanks for asking. :) Anyway, I really would be happy if 4:30 would leave me alone for a while. In fact, it's safe to say that I would not be offended if 4:30 never wanted to speak to me again. My feelings would not be hurt in the least bit. One can only hope, I suppose. Until then, I'm afraid 4:30 and I are going to get close. Ugh!
Ode to 4:30
Darkness abounds as you beckon my name
Bringing me quickly out of my sleep.
You don't want to fight, argue, wrestle, or play
But instead from my rest, you do keep.
I stumble and stagger and crawl from my bed
Groping the wall on my way
I somehow impossibly get to the couch
Where the next few hours I stay.
My stomach churns, my head spins around
And pain is all I feel.
When will we stop meeting like this?
I need some time to heal.
Oh, dear 4:30 you call much too much
And our friendship has started to wane.
I wouldn't be sad if you left me alone
And never called me again.
Thank you. Thank you. I appreciate the applause. Why, yes, I have dabbled a bit in poetry before, thanks for asking. :) Anyway, I really would be happy if 4:30 would leave me alone for a while. In fact, it's safe to say that I would not be offended if 4:30 never wanted to speak to me again. My feelings would not be hurt in the least bit. One can only hope, I suppose. Until then, I'm afraid 4:30 and I are going to get close. Ugh!
Saturday, September 12
"My arm keeps on twitching, twitching, twitching...into the future!"
It's been about two weeks and things have slowly gotten better. I am feeling better, my muscles are gaining their strength back and the barrage of medicine I am on every day is actually making me feel more like my old self. It's so great. I love that moment when you can actually breathe a sigh of relief because things are getting back to normal and you are feeling better. You can smile and feel truly happy because you feel good and don't have to struggle through the day trying to just get by. It's nice...real nice.
So you might be wondering about the title to this post and how it came about. Well, for the past hour and a half my upper arm has been twitching vigorously and nothing seems to settle it down. It's annoying now, but at first I thought it was funny. I just thought it would be an eye-catching title for a post.
James and I bought a new chest freezer this past weekend when Lowe's was having its appliance sale. It will provide some much needed freezer storage space for us to be able to stock up on vegetables, fruits, meat, and other items that rarely (if ever) fit into our little freezer in the top part of our fridge. James is so excited about it. There is so much room! Chest freezers are totally overlooked and completely under appreciated. We got ours at a very reasonable price and there is just so much room in there. It will be nice to have the space to store our items in there and have room to spare.
That's about it. I hope everyone is doing well in their own lives and is happy or at least trying to be. :)
So you might be wondering about the title to this post and how it came about. Well, for the past hour and a half my upper arm has been twitching vigorously and nothing seems to settle it down. It's annoying now, but at first I thought it was funny. I just thought it would be an eye-catching title for a post.
James and I bought a new chest freezer this past weekend when Lowe's was having its appliance sale. It will provide some much needed freezer storage space for us to be able to stock up on vegetables, fruits, meat, and other items that rarely (if ever) fit into our little freezer in the top part of our fridge. James is so excited about it. There is so much room! Chest freezers are totally overlooked and completely under appreciated. We got ours at a very reasonable price and there is just so much room in there. It will be nice to have the space to store our items in there and have room to spare.
That's about it. I hope everyone is doing well in their own lives and is happy or at least trying to be. :)
*Update: I failed to include a picture of the freezer when I first published this post. My apologies. Here is a picture of the freezer that we purchased.
Wednesday, August 26
"How are you feeling?"
I've come to not really like that question these days as I have not been feeling well at all. And I find that if it isn't one thing it's another, and just as I start to feel a small bit like my old self again, I find I am struck down once more by something new. For instance, the last couple of weeks I have had unbelievably painful migraines practically every day. After speaking to my doctors we found it was due to a sensitivity of the food dye on the medicine I take each day for my thyroid. As a result I had to go from taking one pill a day to three and a half pills a day, but at least I am no longer suffering from the daily horrific migraines. But just as I start to get over that I get something else. My left eye has become really red on the inside and nothing I do seems to make it any better. And some days I feel like I have been struck by lightening with sporadic painful misfiring of the nerves all over my body, and others I feel like I have been stoned... in the biblical sense, not the drugged kind. So when people start to ask me how I am feeling I am torn between saying something vague like "Oh, I'm hanging in there" or going into some real detail such as "Well, if you have about twenty minutes I can tell you how I am really feeling today only to have it all change four hours from now when I could be doing much better or much worse".
Having thyroid cancer sucks.
Sunday, August 23
Mean People
I'm getting tired. Tired of people who say and do really mean things with no thought or care or concern for anyone else. These people are so hung up on their own fears and insecurities that it is projected outward in the comments they make to, and about, others. It frustrates me most of the time, and I do my best to just vent my own opinions of those certain individuals to my husband, knowing that he will listen to me with an open mind and an open heart, and more often than not, he'll agree with what I am saying, which only serves to validate my frustrations even more.
However, the people I am most frustrated with are people that I actually know who verbally make such comments with no thought about how it sounds, or makes other people feel. My biggest pet peeve are those people I know who project their fears onto their children. I think it is a fine thing to expect the best from their children, to hope and pray they turn out well and achieve a high level of success or accomplish whatever it is that their parents weren't able to accomplish. Listen, I'm right there with you. If I had children I would want them to do everything they could, to be the best they could be, and to know they are loved no matter what. But just because I am afraid of drowning doesn't mean that I am going to keep my kids away from the water. It's not just about the physical fears, but also the completely irrational fears that bug me the most.
I know of a couple people who are afraid their children are going to grow up and be ugly. What kind of a fear is that? How are you teaching your children about self esteem and self worth when you tell everyone and their mom how your kids were ugly as babies but hope they'll grow out of it? That's awful! I know of some other people who are deathly afraid their children will grow up and be obese. How are you teaching your children about healthy eating habits and exercise when they hear over and over again about how chubby they are, or how "thick" their arms and legs are? Can you imagine how they must feel when you say those things to their face and behind their back?
I have news for you parents out there who are hoping your children will grow up big and strong and perfect. Don't say things behind their backs, or things to other people that they might overhear because it will crush them, you hear me? CRUSH them. No wonder society today has such a problem with people having even a shred of self esteem or self confidence. What if the child grows up and is not a super model? What if the child has some sort of disease or growth defect that prevents them from having the perfect nose, or the sculpted cheek bones? What are you going to do then, write them off? Are they going to grow up thinking the only way their parents will think they are beautiful is if they have cosmetic surgery? And what about the child who grows up and is overweight, despite their best efforts? What if they have a disease that prevents them from losing weight? What if, no matter what they do, they just can't get down to that coveted size 2 that mom and dad would love? Are they going to grow up thinking the only way they can be thin is to make themselves sick, or starve themselves to lose weight?
It just angers me that irrational fears are projected on the future leaders of our world. The young, bright minds and bodies and spirits have enough trouble in the world to overcome. They shouldn't be weighed down even more by things their parents are most afraid of. Sometimes, there are just mean people in the world and I feel sorry for their kids.
However, the people I am most frustrated with are people that I actually know who verbally make such comments with no thought about how it sounds, or makes other people feel. My biggest pet peeve are those people I know who project their fears onto their children. I think it is a fine thing to expect the best from their children, to hope and pray they turn out well and achieve a high level of success or accomplish whatever it is that their parents weren't able to accomplish. Listen, I'm right there with you. If I had children I would want them to do everything they could, to be the best they could be, and to know they are loved no matter what. But just because I am afraid of drowning doesn't mean that I am going to keep my kids away from the water. It's not just about the physical fears, but also the completely irrational fears that bug me the most.
I know of a couple people who are afraid their children are going to grow up and be ugly. What kind of a fear is that? How are you teaching your children about self esteem and self worth when you tell everyone and their mom how your kids were ugly as babies but hope they'll grow out of it? That's awful! I know of some other people who are deathly afraid their children will grow up and be obese. How are you teaching your children about healthy eating habits and exercise when they hear over and over again about how chubby they are, or how "thick" their arms and legs are? Can you imagine how they must feel when you say those things to their face and behind their back?
I have news for you parents out there who are hoping your children will grow up big and strong and perfect. Don't say things behind their backs, or things to other people that they might overhear because it will crush them, you hear me? CRUSH them. No wonder society today has such a problem with people having even a shred of self esteem or self confidence. What if the child grows up and is not a super model? What if the child has some sort of disease or growth defect that prevents them from having the perfect nose, or the sculpted cheek bones? What are you going to do then, write them off? Are they going to grow up thinking the only way their parents will think they are beautiful is if they have cosmetic surgery? And what about the child who grows up and is overweight, despite their best efforts? What if they have a disease that prevents them from losing weight? What if, no matter what they do, they just can't get down to that coveted size 2 that mom and dad would love? Are they going to grow up thinking the only way they can be thin is to make themselves sick, or starve themselves to lose weight?
It just angers me that irrational fears are projected on the future leaders of our world. The young, bright minds and bodies and spirits have enough trouble in the world to overcome. They shouldn't be weighed down even more by things their parents are most afraid of. Sometimes, there are just mean people in the world and I feel sorry for their kids.
Brett's Lying Tongue
Most people who know me know that I was a big Brett Favre fan..."was" being the operative word. I used to cheer at the mere mention of his name at anytime during the year. That was back when he was still playing football for the love of the game, and honestly leading his team in unity and teamwork. Now, the tables have turned and one of my favorite people have really let me down. I'm so disgusted with the way he flaunts his "celebrity" status around to get whatever he wants. You want a true story of revenge? Follow any of the recent news stories about this man and you'll see what I mean. He is only out to seek revenge on the Green Bay Packers for signing Aaron Rodgers and not him. I found this really great article from Mark Kriegel at FOXSports.com about Brett and his lies. Well said, Mark. Well said.
http://www.comcast.net/articles/sports-nfl/20090819/Kriegel.Vick/
http://www.comcast.net/articles/sports-nfl/20090819/Kriegel.Vick/
Wednesday, August 12
"Three is a magical number"
Today was a really weird day at work. My morning was really productive, and I was in a pretty good mood, but my boss wasn't so much, a couple of people were out, and so it kind of made for a stressful morning. It also didn't help much that I had to run to a doctor's appointment over my lunch break. My boss had asked me to remind her about it in the morning, and when I did she kind of got frustrated. I didn't know what to do so I ended up just looking at her while she kind of had a little fit and then she realized that I was still standing there looking at her, so she stopped. I know it had nothing to do with me, per se, I was just the last straw apparently. No harm done, really, but I honestly tried to race back from my doctor's appointment to get back to work. Then I had a really productive afternoon, and now I am tired. :) Such is the way my days usually end up...except not the boss being upset bit. :)
However, today is James' and my three year wedding anniversary and I couldn't be happier about that. He is the butter to my toast and the breath to my life. I love him more than I have ever loved anyone. He makes me laugh every day, makes me feel better about myself, and loves me unconditionally. I love every piece of him and I can't imagine not being married to such a wonderful man. He is the best thing that has ever happened to me and every day I wake up wondering what I did to deserve to not only know someone like him, but to be married to him. I love him with all my heart and soul and I look forward to spending the rest of our lives together.
However, today is James' and my three year wedding anniversary and I couldn't be happier about that. He is the butter to my toast and the breath to my life. I love him more than I have ever loved anyone. He makes me laugh every day, makes me feel better about myself, and loves me unconditionally. I love every piece of him and I can't imagine not being married to such a wonderful man. He is the best thing that has ever happened to me and every day I wake up wondering what I did to deserve to not only know someone like him, but to be married to him. I love him with all my heart and soul and I look forward to spending the rest of our lives together.
Monday, August 10
Alice in Wonderland
Ever since I was a little girl I loved the story of Alice in Wonderland and watched the movie often. Disney's version was the best, I thought. I enjoyed the story line, and often believed myself to be just like Alice. As I grew older, my love for the story of Alice in Wonderland remained the same. I thought Lewis Caroll was a brilliant writer and I often wondered how he was able to create such a fantastic topsy-turvey world with such amazing characters. Lewis Caroll was also from a large family, seven (7) girls and four (4) boys in total. I am also from a large family with seven (7) boys and four (4) girls. Coincidence? Perhaps.
It wasn't until I was much older that I gained an even greater fondness for this man. In the summer of 1999 I began to get migraine headaches. Unfortunately I still have them today and they are, if I do say so myself, quite painful. There are times when I have them that I am not able to make sense of anything. I can relate to Lewis Caroll in this instance because he too, suffered from migraines and wrote Alice in Wonderland during his migraine episodes. It has also been said that he suffered from epilepsy. Either way, I am sure it was not a good experience to go through, so the fact that he was able to create these amazing stories is even more impressive.
The story of Alice in Wonderland has been told over and over again. About a year ago I came across some books in the library that promised to be just like the Alice in Wonderland story, but with a twist. The trilogy, called The Looking Glass Wars by Frank Beddor, is based loosely on Lewis Caroll's original creation of Alice in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass. The story claims that those two books are nothing but lies and that this is the true story. It features twists on the original story, such as the white rabbit actually being Alyss's (spelled differently in this book) tutor, Bibwit Harte, and that the Mad Hatter is actually a very agile, sober bodyguard named Hatter Madigan. There are three books in the series so far; The Looking Glass Wars, Seeing Red, and Hatter Madigan. Hatter is my favorite in this set of books. I love how authors can take a timeless tale and put a spin on it that you never saw coming. You can start the book with one viewpoint of your favorite, beloved characters, and end up with a completely different one by the time you finish. Great books. I highly recommend them.
So imagine my sheer excitement at having little teasers of the newest creation by Tim Burton. Disney has been working with Tim Burton on a new version of Alice in Wonderland coming in March of 2010 in 3D. This, my friends, looks like an amazing movie. I can't hardly wait. The imagery alone is breathtaking, and the characters as well. They recruited such actors as:
Mia Wasikowska as Alice
Anne Hathaway as the White Queen
Helena Bonham Carter as the Red Queen
Matt Lucas as Tweedledee and Tweedledum
And yes, Johnny Depp as the Mad Hatter
The images look amazing and the story, I am sure, will be as well. Here are some of my favorite pictures from the movie so far:
The White Rabbit and his garden
Tweedledee and Tweedledum at the gate
Alice and the flowers
And now at long last we have a trailer. Enjoy!
Thursday, August 6
Playing Around
James is back in school now and has an assignment he has to do using the webcam. We weren't quite sure how it worked, so we took the opportunity to play around with it last night. Here are the results of our playing.
I am a mad scientist!! (you may want to turn the sound down a bit)
I am a weird wicked witch!! (you may want to turn the sound down a bit)
I am so sad! (Listen to what James says, and you may want to turn the sound down a bit).
Saturday, August 1
Doctors Appointments Can Be Fun
Every time I go to my doctors (yes, plural...I have a few I go see every three months now and a couple more thrown in just for good luck) I try to have fun with them and make them laugh. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn't. Like the time I went to my neurologist and they have you do that walking test to see if you are off balance. They make you walk across the room and then back a couple times to get a general sense of how you are. The doctor asked me to do this and I started limping across the room, then spun around really fast and almost fell down. You should have seen the doctor's face. It was awesome. I started to laugh, then he realized what I was doing and laughed as well. That was funny.
Or the time my primary care doctor had pushed around my knee and asked me if it hurt. I said a little and she said she was going to push on my other knee and to tell her when it started to hurt. She barely placed her finger on my skin when I immediately started yelping, loud. She jumped up about a foot off the floor because I startled her, but then I started laughing. She laughed too, and within a few minutes we were both crying from laughing so hard. That was funny too.
Or the visit after my surgery where it was truly confirmed that I had cancer. The doctor said "So you've got the big 'C' huh?" to which I exclaimed "Yes. And it's ALL OVER MY BODY!!". His eyes bulged and it looked like he was having a heart attack. Ok, he didn't think that was funny, but I sure did.
Today was no exception. I had two separate doctors appointments today and I tried to make each one of them laugh. By now, these doctors know my sense of humor and they try to prepare themselves for whatever little joke I am going to play on them. This time, however, it was my turn to be teased. One of my doctors was explaining how on a previous blood test it showed that my thyroid antibodies were pretty much non-existent. At that time they were listed at less than 20.0, which is good. I kept looking at the test result and trying to figure out how he could tell that. Finally I asked him how he knew that, and he started to smile a mischievous smile. That should have been my clue. He said "Do you remember math?" (I just cracked up thinking about that right then). What kind of a question is that, I thought. Do I remember math? I looked at him blankly. He said "Remember in grade school when they should have taught you about the greater than and less than sign? That's how I know. That little symbol right there? That's a less than sign." To which he then started to laugh. Once I recovered from the shock I started to laugh too...hard. I said "You would think I should remember that, huh? But I don't. I can never figure out which way that stupid crocodile wants to face!" For those of you reading this who have no idea what I'm talking about, when they taught us about the greater than and less than signs they taught us about a crocodile who is hungry and always goes for the bigger number, hence the bigger mouth for either this <>. Anyway, it was funny.
So yes, my doctors appointments went well today. I had more blood tests taken, a thorough review of my chart and explanation of test results, and a detailed explanation of what is going to happen in the next three months for my next round of tests. It is a safe bet that my medication dosage is going to be increased, but to what level we don't know yet. He'll figure out what that is going to be once he gets my blood tests back which should be in a couple of days. After that I will be able to start taking the new dosage and HOPEFULLY start feeling better. Then in three months the real fun begins. More tests, followed by some more shots, followed by even more tests, and...oh yes, even more tests. All I'll want for Christmas this year are test results to come back quickly, and come back clean! Woo-hoo!!
Or the time my primary care doctor had pushed around my knee and asked me if it hurt. I said a little and she said she was going to push on my other knee and to tell her when it started to hurt. She barely placed her finger on my skin when I immediately started yelping, loud. She jumped up about a foot off the floor because I startled her, but then I started laughing. She laughed too, and within a few minutes we were both crying from laughing so hard. That was funny too.
Or the visit after my surgery where it was truly confirmed that I had cancer. The doctor said "So you've got the big 'C' huh?" to which I exclaimed "Yes. And it's ALL OVER MY BODY!!". His eyes bulged and it looked like he was having a heart attack. Ok, he didn't think that was funny, but I sure did.
Today was no exception. I had two separate doctors appointments today and I tried to make each one of them laugh. By now, these doctors know my sense of humor and they try to prepare themselves for whatever little joke I am going to play on them. This time, however, it was my turn to be teased. One of my doctors was explaining how on a previous blood test it showed that my thyroid antibodies were pretty much non-existent. At that time they were listed at less than 20.0, which is good. I kept looking at the test result and trying to figure out how he could tell that. Finally I asked him how he knew that, and he started to smile a mischievous smile. That should have been my clue. He said "Do you remember math?" (I just cracked up thinking about that right then). What kind of a question is that, I thought. Do I remember math? I looked at him blankly. He said "Remember in grade school when they should have taught you about the greater than and less than sign? That's how I know. That little symbol right there? That's a less than sign." To which he then started to laugh. Once I recovered from the shock I started to laugh too...hard. I said "You would think I should remember that, huh? But I don't. I can never figure out which way that stupid crocodile wants to face!" For those of you reading this who have no idea what I'm talking about, when they taught us about the greater than and less than signs they taught us about a crocodile who is hungry and always goes for the bigger number, hence the bigger mouth for either this <>. Anyway, it was funny.
So yes, my doctors appointments went well today. I had more blood tests taken, a thorough review of my chart and explanation of test results, and a detailed explanation of what is going to happen in the next three months for my next round of tests. It is a safe bet that my medication dosage is going to be increased, but to what level we don't know yet. He'll figure out what that is going to be once he gets my blood tests back which should be in a couple of days. After that I will be able to start taking the new dosage and HOPEFULLY start feeling better. Then in three months the real fun begins. More tests, followed by some more shots, followed by even more tests, and...oh yes, even more tests. All I'll want for Christmas this year are test results to come back quickly, and come back clean! Woo-hoo!!
Tuesday, July 28
"Stop Beating Yourself Up!"
I've realized lately, and this was something that was really hard for me to actually realize, that I have been beating myself up over so many little things. I've been really hard on myself in regards to healing and getting back to my "normal" self after the surgery and cancer. I have been comparing all the things I used to be able to do with the things I can no longer do now. Instead of trying to focus on giving myself time to heal and allowing my body to recover, I have been frustrated at how slowly my progression has been and completely impatient at my body's lack of recovering more quickly.
Don't get me wrong, I did not expect to be fully healed a day or two after surgery. I knew it would take some time, but I think that I put the bar to recover so high that I didn't even realize just how far out of reach it was, and how completely unrealistic that bar was. My expectations were set way too high and after struggling these past couple of months I have finally realized that I was much harder on myself than anyone needs to be.
How is it that everyone else can see what is so blatantly apparent but I can't? I have had so many people say to me "Stop beating yourself up!" but I was always confused about why they would say that. To me, it sounded like I was merely making observations, comments about what was before and what is now; about how I felt before and how I feel now; what I could do before and what I could not do now. This was my way of taking stock and seeing how my body was reacting to everything I was making it go through. Instead of it sounding like I was taking some kind of inventory and sharing the results with others, it came out as being concerned and worried for things that I no longer had any control over, and fear of things I may never be able to do again.
I tried to keep a brave face, and honestly, consciously tried not to complain too much about my current situation because I knew there wasn't anything that could be done to make it better at that moment. I needed to stick with it and pray that my follow-up appointments would come soon so I could get the tests done, check the results, and increase my medicine. Unfortunately, it all became too much, and only when I started to let things go and put things aside for a while did I truly start to see just how much I was taking on. It has been a heartbreaking journey. I had no idea what to expect (seriously. The doctors can sit there and tell you medical fact after medical fact until your ears are ready to pop. But until you actually experience it for yourself, you just don't know what to expect.) and as a result, I expected way too much.
Now, I am allowing myself the time I need to fully recover. I have resolved to do a little at a time and not push myself so hard. I am going to try and pay more attention to my body and how it is feeling. I'm going to make sure that if I do something that will require a lot of my energy, that I allow myself ample time to recover afterward. I am going to be patient with my slow, slow progress. But above all, I will no longer feel bad or guilty or frustrated or angry or upset or sad about anything I do, or anything I do not do, because that is one of the worst feelings and it does not make me feel any better or recover any quicker. This is the hard part but I need to consciously realize that it has only been a little over three months since I had major surgery, a cancer diagnosis, and radiation treatment. My body has taken a beating and so have my emotions and my mind. I need to give them all time to recover and be the best person I can be once this is all over.
I know I have said this before, but I really am so thankful for all of you out there who have not only stood by me during this difficult time, but also bolstered me up, listened to me complain, allowed me to use you as a sounding board, and yes, even kicked my butt! I appreciate you all more than words can say, and thank you all for sticking this out with me. I needed each and every one of you. Thank you so much!
Don't get me wrong, I did not expect to be fully healed a day or two after surgery. I knew it would take some time, but I think that I put the bar to recover so high that I didn't even realize just how far out of reach it was, and how completely unrealistic that bar was. My expectations were set way too high and after struggling these past couple of months I have finally realized that I was much harder on myself than anyone needs to be.
How is it that everyone else can see what is so blatantly apparent but I can't? I have had so many people say to me "Stop beating yourself up!" but I was always confused about why they would say that. To me, it sounded like I was merely making observations, comments about what was before and what is now; about how I felt before and how I feel now; what I could do before and what I could not do now. This was my way of taking stock and seeing how my body was reacting to everything I was making it go through. Instead of it sounding like I was taking some kind of inventory and sharing the results with others, it came out as being concerned and worried for things that I no longer had any control over, and fear of things I may never be able to do again.
I tried to keep a brave face, and honestly, consciously tried not to complain too much about my current situation because I knew there wasn't anything that could be done to make it better at that moment. I needed to stick with it and pray that my follow-up appointments would come soon so I could get the tests done, check the results, and increase my medicine. Unfortunately, it all became too much, and only when I started to let things go and put things aside for a while did I truly start to see just how much I was taking on. It has been a heartbreaking journey. I had no idea what to expect (seriously. The doctors can sit there and tell you medical fact after medical fact until your ears are ready to pop. But until you actually experience it for yourself, you just don't know what to expect.) and as a result, I expected way too much.
Now, I am allowing myself the time I need to fully recover. I have resolved to do a little at a time and not push myself so hard. I am going to try and pay more attention to my body and how it is feeling. I'm going to make sure that if I do something that will require a lot of my energy, that I allow myself ample time to recover afterward. I am going to be patient with my slow, slow progress. But above all, I will no longer feel bad or guilty or frustrated or angry or upset or sad about anything I do, or anything I do not do, because that is one of the worst feelings and it does not make me feel any better or recover any quicker. This is the hard part but I need to consciously realize that it has only been a little over three months since I had major surgery, a cancer diagnosis, and radiation treatment. My body has taken a beating and so have my emotions and my mind. I need to give them all time to recover and be the best person I can be once this is all over.
I know I have said this before, but I really am so thankful for all of you out there who have not only stood by me during this difficult time, but also bolstered me up, listened to me complain, allowed me to use you as a sounding board, and yes, even kicked my butt! I appreciate you all more than words can say, and thank you all for sticking this out with me. I needed each and every one of you. Thank you so much!
Saturday, July 25
A Really Good Saturday
Today has been a really good day for me. My house is clean, I got to talk to my sister for a little bit, I made some peanut-butter fudge and cheese and apple slices, watched Chopped on Food Network and hung out with my friend who made for some great company! And to top it all off, now it is thundering and raining outside and it's just wonderful. I am really tired right now, but I had to post something about what a good day it has been.
Monday, July 13
Helloooooo out there!
Yes, it has been about a month or so since I last posted. At that time I was up to my eyeballs in work and cancer and the gym and school and didn't really have much time to really think about anything. Now...well, I am still up to my eyeballs in work and cancer and the gym and school and frankly it has all been a bit too much for me to tackle at this time. Something had to give and that something was school. I'm just not in the right mind frame for my Masters program right now. I'm finding it incredibly hard to concentrate on the discussions and assignments and I'm getting too stressed out about it. So, for the past week or so James and I have debated back and forth about staying in the program or withdrawing until a later date when life isn't so crazy and I have been cleared of the big "C" officially (which doesn't happen for at least 36 months...only 33 more to go! Woo-hoo!). We weighed all the pros and cons and talked at length about it and decided it was best for me to let this project be put away. I'm extremely grateful that I was able to get my Associate's and my Bachelor's and had every intention of getting my Masters but then was blindsided by...well, you know the whole sad, sordid tale! At any rate, right now it feels a little surreal but it does feel like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. I am sure tomorrow when I get home from work I will feel like the dude on Braveheart when he screams:
On another more exciting note, I totally weightlifted 100 pounds today doing the row machine. Actually, it was 102 pounds. How freaking sweet is that? You sit in this machine like you are sitting backwards in a chair and you reach out in front of you and grab the handles for this machine that are up higher than your head. Then you pull it down and towards you at the same time. It's an upward rowing machine, but it works out your triceps and biceps and upper back. It is awesome! And I was bicep pressing 60 pounds. That's just sweet!! I love working out at the gym!
"FREEDOM!!!"
On another more exciting note, I totally weightlifted 100 pounds today doing the row machine. Actually, it was 102 pounds. How freaking sweet is that? You sit in this machine like you are sitting backwards in a chair and you reach out in front of you and grab the handles for this machine that are up higher than your head. Then you pull it down and towards you at the same time. It's an upward rowing machine, but it works out your triceps and biceps and upper back. It is awesome! And I was bicep pressing 60 pounds. That's just sweet!! I love working out at the gym!
Thursday, June 11
How to tell when your towels are happy
This morning, after the shower, I placed my towel on the towel rack and much to my astonishment, this is what I saw:
I guess my towel really loves me. Here's another view:
I guess my towel really loves me. Here's another view:
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