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? :)
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