Aloha, Montana!

If you’ve ever had a life-altering experience that after the initial incident passes, when everyone on the outside thinks everything has gone back to being “fine” and “normal”?

This is for you.

Actually, this is for the folks on the outside looking in. Everything that glitters is not gold. Sometimes? It’s pieces of broken glass that catch the light just the same. You just don’t realize how they shred your very being when you get too close.

Imagine this….You were born and raised in Hawaii. Surrounded by family and friends, the ocean was your teacher and best friend. The sun always shined, the temperature stayed near the same year round- warm and inviting. You could find your way around your island blindfolded. You love your homeland and everything about your life there. You couldn’t imagine ever leaving or living anywhere else.

Then one day, you come home to very official men-in-suits. They tell you that you have to leave.

Leave? Why?

Because you have to.

What did I do?

Nothing.

But why?

Because that’s just how it is.

I have to go by myself?

Yes.

What about my family and friends?

They can come visit.

Where do I have to go?

You’ll find out when you get there.

When can I come home?

You can never come back…..

WHAT?! WHY?!

Because that’s just how it is now.

Can I go somewhere else after I get to wherever I’m going?!

No. You can never leave….

You. Can. NEVER. Leave. Echoes in your head like a cannon blast.

You have no choice but to go with them.

You get on a plane and take off, leaving Hawaii forever, only knowing because “that’s how it is now.” You don’t get to say goodbye to anyone or experience anything one last time. Your departure is abrupt, with no rhyme, reason or explanations. You’ve never felt so lost or so much despair ever. Never had any reason to, until right now.

Plane lands in what seems like minutes and years. You have no idea where or what’s happening next. The official men-in-suits give you keys to a car and a map, and disappear.

You’re on your own.

A stranger in a strange land. You hear people speaking the same language, and people look….well, just like people. But they aren’t Your People, and this is not Hawaii or home.

You get in the car and drive, and the first thing you see is a billboard- WELCOME TO MONTANA!!

What?!MONTANA. Of course you know where Montana is- you’ve read about in school while learning the 50 states. The first thing you realize is you are hopelessly landlocked. Oceans are hundreds of miles away either direction, especially your beloved ocean home. All that comes to mind is Big Sky Country, and that’s because you remember reading how Montana is sparsely populated with ranching/farming as its main livelihood.

You drive, following your map, taking in all the unfamiliar things that you’ve never seen before in Hawaii. You pass small towns as you drive for miles and miles, trying to navigate a map that’s just as foreign as everything you’re seeing.

You reach your destination- a turn down a long driveway, and low & behold- it looks just like your home in Hawaii!! You jump out of the car and run in, the first time you’ve felt any sense of calm or joy in what feels like forever but has only been a day or so. Everything inside? It’s YOUR HOME! All your things, all your memories!

But it’s smack-dab in Montana.

It’s your home and where you’ve always lived, but it’s not in Hawaii. Not at all.

Days and weeks pass and you try to acclimate. It’s very isolated and lonely. You’re able to talk to everyone at home. They know you’re gone and things are different, but their lives are going on as usual. They love and miss you and make plans to visit, but they don’t realize how much things have changed for you. Not a bit.

One day, you go out and start walking, exploring your new property. Everything is so different, from plants and trees to wildlife. While out, you pass through some woods and see it….water. It’s not the ocean, but maaaan its a huge lake!! It’s beautiful, and you’re so glad to see it. And there’s a boat on it….with a person. They start frantically waving, not with fear or warning, but excitement. You can’t help but get excited too as they feverishly row to shore.The person gets close, flies out of the boat toward you yelling “ARE YOU FROM HAWAII, TOO?!” YESSS!! YES I AM OH MY GOD!!

And you cry and hug, and babble on. You don’t know each other, but you know exactly where you both came from and where you are now, and that’s all you need to know. You both talk and laugh and cry for hours, about how things were, and how they are now, and what to do. Your new friend has been here awhile and shares with you that it’s not so bad- it gets different as the days pass. You never forget where you came from, but with time? You are able to look ahead.

They tell you the most important and sad thing….that there’s more people from Hawaii abruptly displaced to Montana than you’d ever realize. That for as alone as you are? You’re not. You return home, feeling the best you’ve felt since leaving Hawaii. Feeling maybe you will get through. That as family and friends come to visit, maybe they’ll understand a little better as the time does pass. Maybe you’ll be okay.

Then….it starts to snow.

You’ve never seen snow, except on TV & movies. It’s wildly exciting….for a minute. You’ve gotten used to the cooler temperatures and the total climate difference, but this….it doesn’t stop. It’s so cold, and the snow keeps on. For months. The isolation and loneliness is like none you’ve ever experienced. You still talk to your family and friends, but there’s a distance. Almost an unspoken denial with silent accusations that leave you feeling guilty.

You should be used to this by now.

You should be thankful and grateful for how you’ve ended up.

Things could have been so much worse.

What if you ended up in some third-world country with nothing like it was before?

I don’t know why you feel like you do. Yeah- everything is different, but it’s pretty much fine and back to normal from our perspective.

That’s when you realize, with the snow up to your neck, that the only people who will ever understand what you feel like are your people out on the lake, in their boats, also sent to live here. No one on any mainland be it Hawaii or Montana will ever get it. You’ll have a few that try really hard and will be eternally grateful for their effort and support.  But regardless? You know you’re on your own. For the rest of your life.

Eventually, the snow starts to melt. You feel the sun shining on your face again. Although the landscape is so different from Hawaii? You start to notice the beauty around you, where you are, where you’ll always be. Your friends from the lake are omnipresent- you can reach out anytime for validation and comfort. You welcome and comfort those who come to live in Montana, and you find comfort as well. You accept that your family and friends are there for you as best they can, and that no matter how much they visit? They’ll never understand what it’s like to live here full time. They’ll never fully understand the bone-chilling cold and isolation of the repeat winters you’ll forever experience.

Aloha, Montana. I guess I’ll hang loose here being I don’t have a choice. If I can’t go home again, I’ll have to make the best of this one, right? Surf’s up, ranch-hands. I got this.

The Five Second Rule of Life

My Dad died February 24th, 2014- 2 days before his 73rd birthday and 68 days after his cancer was deemed terminal. This is not about all the horrific details of his illness and the end of his life. I live with that every day in my head- no need to put it into print. If you have ever been through the slow demise of a loved one from an illness- you know too much already and I am sorry. If you haven’t- I hope you never know. This is about how much I learned about life in the face of death. I hope in sharing, maybe you can have a  field guide of sorts from my point of view.

My Dad lived in northern Indiana; I live in metro Atlanta. His wife called December 19th, 2013- one week before Christmas- to tell me the results of the doctor’s visit. Last report was that 80% of the main tumor that was discovered in July was gone, so we had high hopes this lingering 20% was just a blip on the radar. He had beat cancer in 2001 and had 12 years free, clear and good health- so why wouldn’t it be? You develop a false sense of security when one beats the odds like he did. Unfortunately in this situation, when cancer comes calling for a repeat rendezvous, it is going to take what it came for initially.

“The results are back and it’s not good- it’s terminal. Your Dad has 9-12 months without treatment, 14-16 with.” Just like a passage in a book would describe (that I always thought was so dramatic until I experienced it) – it felt like that phone to my ear sucked all the air out of the room and I couldn’t breathe. I get it now. It’s amazing how the finality and reality of simple words can shatter your brain and heart into a zillon pieces instantly.

Talk about your mind going into overdrive. First, the distance- 650 miles away. I couldn’t just stop by after work, to check in, hang out on the weekends, run errands, etc. Nothing I could do on the daily to help them. Should I go up there now? Should I take a month off and stay? Play it by ear? Wait and see? We’ve got 16 months tops, gotta be sensible, gotta plan, gotta figure this out. OH MY GOD MY DAD IS GOING TO DIE NO MATTER WHAT I DO OR DON’T DO. Boom.

So again…it was the week before Christmas. I didn’t want to tell my 13 year old son the deal until after Christmas- I didn’t want him to worry or be upset. But I did tell him that on the 26th, we were going on a road trip to visit Grandpa since it had been awhile. With my brain staying in overdrive, I was making my best attempt to Clark Griswold the situation by being the jolliest asshole this side of the nuthouse. I was failing miserably, but trying for the Oscar. I had shopping to finish, motions to go through, so on and so forth. I was in a store one evening, and when I went to check out, the cashier was so rude and hateful. I hadn’t done anything other than walk up, set my stuff down and say “Hello”. I mean, mumbling, slamming stuff into bags, etc. I thought to myself “MY GOD, LADY- if you had ANY IDEA what I had going on in my life right now, you would probably be a little nicer to me. Kind and compassionate even!”

*the light bulb went off*

Sometimes, you have to be smack-dab in the middle of your own hell to fully understand this.

I didn’t have a flashing neon sign above my head saying “CAUTION- FATHER IS DYING. EMOTIONAL OVERLOAD- HANDLE WITH CARE.” Nope. There was nothing about me on sight that would warrant preferential treatment. She had no idea what was going on with me, just as I had no idea what was going on with her. Maybe she was tired, hungry, had holiday stress, family issues, etc.; or maybe she was just an ass honest. But how were we, complete strangers, to know anything about the other during our brief interaction? Why would she be more kind to me than usual and why should I not take her behavior personally? Why would/should either of us invest a vast amount of time trying to get to the depths of each other’s psyche for a 1-5 minute interaction?

December 26th, 2013

Do you follow the five-second rule with food? You know, you drop some food on the floor and you have five seconds to grab it up, blow any dust/dirt off it and eat it like nothing happened? I know I’m not alone in this. I hope. Anyway, when I left the store that night, I pondered what had just happened, and decided that from then until the end of my days, I would follow the Five Second Rule of Life. Meaning- in the brief interaction we have with strangers, it is not fair or right to treat people poorly based on your personal/emotional situation. In turn, there is no reason to feel bad and let it linger on you if someone treats you poorly when you did nothing to deserve it. Very simply? Don’t hand your baggage off to someone that doesn’t share your itinerary, and don’t take someone’s baggage with you just because they thrust it at you, handle first.

That 68 day span that was the ending of my Dad’s life was spent going a thousand different directions mentally & physically. I went to work because I had to- not just to make a house note, but to maintain normalcy in between travel and the reality of it all. I spent a lot of time in planes, trains, automobiles, airports, car rental counters, hotels, truck stops, restaurants, hospitals, etc. and in the end? The funeral home and cemetery. All of these situations involved people. Complete strangers that may/may not have to interact with each other. I tried my best to not just be my usual self that is nice, but to step it up a notch- to smile more. Be kind and engaged in the moment. To not just say thank you, but to make sure I communicated my graciousness. The bulk of my thank you’s were (are) extremely sincere and had nothing to do with the situation- it was more of “Thank you for being kind & decent to me when I need it most”. I wasn’t trying to fake or force anything- I simply wanted to be a better person to whoever I was dealing with. Maybe they needed someone to be kind & decent to them, too. I wanted to maintain a constant reminder that someone else’s behavior towards me most likely had nothing to do with me, and that we can’t control how people treat us, but we are in absolute control of how we feel because of it.

One weekend that I was in Indiana, Dad was in the hospital and I was staying with him. I stepped out for a breather and to get a snack at the convenience store down the street from the hospital. If you lived anywhere in the US during the winter of 2013/’14, you KNOW it was brutal everywhere, even for the typically warmer-climate states. The snow had stopped for a minute (after dumping a good 5” in the course of the day), but the roads were a mess and it was -4 degrees just to set it all off to miserable, frozen perfection. When I came out of the store, there was a man with a snowplow on his pickup parked next to me. Unfortunately for him, I decided I wanted to have a conversation with someone completely separated from the situation at hand. Plus, it had been ages since I lived anywhere that snowplows stored during the summer are as common as swimsuits stored during the winter. So, I began babbling about the plow and snow and bless him, he played along and talked right back. We talked about how much work he had done this winter, how Atlanta shuts down in this weather, etc. He had to get back out to try and clear the roads as much as possible before the next round of snow showed up, so he says to me as we’re parting ways, “You know, you must be one of those people that are just happy all the time. You got a beautiful smile, and you been smiling the whole time we been talkin’- when your teeth ain’t been chattering.” I thought to myself, “MY GOD, MAN- if you had ANY IDEA what I had going on in my life right now, you would know how much saying that means to me; that I get it. That it shows in my actions. And that I’m going to be alright.”

I just smiled and said “Well, thank you. I guess I am one of ‘those’ people. I have lots of reasons to be.”

February 15th, 2014
I had brought my boyfriend, Donavan, with me this trip- I knew time was getting short, and I wanted him to get to meet my Dad before it was too late. I asked him to take a picture of us. I didn’t know he got the bottom pic. Sweet friends printed and framed it for me. I will treasure this picture/moment/memory until the day I die, and I am forever grateful to Donavan for freezing time for me by capturing this.

Now don’t get it twisted- it’s not that I became the embodiment of a love child between Mother Teresa and the Dalai Lama. Oh no. I’m still a flawed human that can rage and be a jackass with the best of them. What I am saying is that I became hyper-aware of time. The time you have in life does not deserve to be wasted by being miserable or dwelling on the misery that someone pie’d you in the face with. There were times when I did drop my basket from the sheer weight of it all, and it was around people in the know of what was going on. Not that it made it okay for me to act a donkey, but at least they knew it wasn’t about them.

There were also a few beautiful and harsh realizations during those 68 days and all the days after. As in, there’s an old saying of “Truer things are spoken in drunkenness and jest.” That should be upgraded to “Truer things are spoken in drunkenness, jest and death.” My Dad told me a lot of things I’d have never known, and I told him the same. Things that may not have ever been said so openly and easily had we not been painfully aware of how limited his days were to be able to do so. There were people that came out of nowhere/everywhere, unexpected people, on a daily basis (to this day, still!) that extended a kind word or gesture to me and my family, to let us know they were thinking of us and so sorry for our loss. Then….there were also people during Dad’s gloaming, death and after that were awful. I should say behaved awful, maybe they aren’t genuinely awful people, but they have certainly made it difficult to separate the behavior from the person going forward. People who were in the same boat of loss, sailing down the same river of grief. At a time when everyone should be paddling together to get through, they opted for sledgehammers to bust holes wide open to upend what they could amongst one another. Everyone experiences grief and loss differently- there are no rules. However, it is also not a contest. When that loved one dies, no matter how you are associated with them, guess what? NOBODY WINS. Except death- death wins every time. That person is gone. The beauty is that the people left behind can share that person’s life together- memories, stories, pictures, etc., to try and help ease the hurt their absence creates. But when people choose to lash out for whatever reason and alienate those around them that could really be beneficial to them? You’re on your own. To sink. I’ve always tried to be a big dog and stay on the porch- this circumstance was no different. I tolerated way more growling than I would on a normal basis, simply because of the situation. But….when growled at too many times, trust and believe that I not only barked back, but bit. Several times. I haven’t been anyone’s doormat for a very, VERY long time and was not about to be one for anyone during/after this because I was convenient. Nope. I also realized you could apply the Five Second Rule of Life anywhere, stranger or not- the only thing I did to warrant poor behavior was to be present, therefore, I’m not going to carry this with me any longer. I have been hurt, pissed-off, sad, shocked, etc. for a while over many things. Then, I realized…. “Oh hey- no. No, no, no. Nope. You don’t have to feel that way over this. NONE of any of this has been about you- it’s about them and whatever burden they are carrying that they are trying to unload where it doesn’t belong. Set it down and walk away, Lisa. Remember- it was never yours to begin with.”

And I have.

March 1st, 2014
Yes, I took pictures at my Dad’s funeral. Yes, I am glad I did and have them to remember how honorable that ceremony was. No, it’s not up for debate if anyone thinks I was wrong or right in doing so.

I like to think that all that transpired in 68 oh-so-short days were the last lessons my Dad had for me- that you may be struggling through the worst time of your life, but there is always something good. You’ll always have enough good to share as long as you are aware and willing to embrace the good you have. Don’t give someone what nobody needs and don’t take what was never intended for you that nobody wants. There were also multiple reiterations of another life-lesson he instilled in me long ago- “Don’t start no shit, won’t be no shit and don’t take no shit from anybody.” A whole lot of that lesson right there.

SJB
2/26/41-2/24/14
US Navy 1958-1979

Dad wasn’t a perfect man- he had many attacks of the dumbass (his most-used saying long before Red Foreman came about) during his years. He said/did hurtful things, made bad decisions and poor choices. Just like every other person in existence does in their lifetime. But, he did more right than wrong. Hence why my memories and conversations concerning him are of the good- who he was, things he did- his kindness, compassion, sense of humor & wit, always ready to help anyone with no expectations of it ever being returned, his love for this Country and his pride for being able to serve it 21 years in the US Navy. Anyone that knew him would tell you he was a great man (even without him being around to slip them a $20 for their words). He is missed so much by so many, but left a legacy of love and respect that anyone would be proud of.

Dad may have loved me since I was born, but I loved him my whole life.

Rest in peace, Dad. Because you KNOW when I meet up with you again, there won’t be much rest nor peace. Also know this- I remember your good. You had so much and always shared. Even when the dumbasses out there make it really hard, I am trying to do/to be your good.

Every day. ❤

One of Dad’s favorite songs. He was a helluva Pip to my Gladys.

 

 

 

Wear Sunscreen and Other Absolute Truths

I have Sirius Satellite radio in my car. One of the many reasons I love it is for the random stuff they’ll play out of nowhere that’ll jog your memory and most times, make you smile. I had one of those moments on the way home tonight when I heard Baz Luhrmann’s ‘Everybody’s Free To Wear Sunscreen’. It made me remember that my BFF Lola gave this to me in print in a teeny book when I was pregnant as a gift for Ethan. I remember thinking how true it was then, and then hearing it today, how ABSOLUTELY true it is. I put the book in Ethan’s memory box so I can give it to him for a graduation gift. Baz put it to music, but the original was written by Mary Schmich of the Chicago Tribune. Here is the link to the article, but I also added it below as well. 

I think the reason I enjoy this so much is it must have stuck in my subconscious and I have tried to follow it. Especially the sunscreen. So thanks, Mary, Baz & Lola- I got it. I get it.

Advice, like youth, probably just wasted on the young

Mary Schmich

June 1, 1997

Inside every adult lurks a graduation speaker dying to get out, some world-weary pundit eager to pontificate on life to young people who’d rather be Rollerblading. Most of us, alas, will never be invited to sow our words of wisdom among an audience of caps and gowns, but there’s no reason we can’t entertain ourselves by composing a Guide to Life for Graduates.I encourage anyone over 26 to try this and thank you for indulging my attempt.

Ladies and gentlemen of the class of ’97:

Wear sunscreen.If I could offer you only one tip for the future, sunscreen would be it. The long-term benefits of sunscreen have been proved by scientists, whereas the rest of my advice has no basis more reliable than my own meandering experience. I will dispense this advice now.

Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth. Oh, never mind. You will not understand the power and beauty of your youth until they’ve faded. But trust me, in 20 years, you’ll look back at photos of yourself and recall in a way you can’t grasp now how much possibility lay before you and how fabulous you really looked. You are not as fat as you imagine.

Don’t worry about the future. Or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubble gum. The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind, the kind that blindside you at 4 p.m. on some idle Tuesday.

Do one thing every day that scares you.

Sing.

Don’t be reckless with other people’s hearts. Don’t put up with people who are reckless with yours.

Floss.

Don’t waste your time on jealousy. Sometimes you’re ahead, sometimes you’re behind. The race is long and, in the end, it’s only with yourself.

Remember compliments you receive. Forget the insults. If you succeed in doing this, tell me how.

Keep your old love letters. Throw away your old bank statements.

Stretch.

Don’t feel guilty if you don’t know what you want to do with your life. The most interesting people I know didn’t know at 22 what they wanted to do with their lives. Some of the most interesting 40-year-olds I know still don’t.

Get plenty of calcium. Be kind to your knees. You’ll miss them when they’re gone.

Maybe you’ll marry, maybe you won’t. Maybe you’ll have children, maybe you won’t. Maybe you’ll divorce at 40, maybe you’ll dance the funky chicken on your 75th wedding anniversary. Whatever you do, don’t congratulate yourself too much, or berate yourself either. Your choices are half chance. So are everybody else’s.

Enjoy your body. Use it every way you can. Don’t be afraid of it or of what other people think of it. It’s the greatest instrument you’ll ever own.

Dance, even if you have nowhere to do it but your living room.

Copyright © 2013 Chicago Tribune Company, LLC

Keep Calm and Pee On

I’ve become accustomed to the fact that if you are going to attend any outdoor event, you are going to be subjected to using a porta-potty unless you have a steel-belted-radial bladder and major self-control. I drink about a gallon or so of water a day, so I am not that girl. I can tell you every pisser in a 50 mile radius of where I am at any given time. That’s the girl I am.

With that being said, we went to the Georgia State Fair at Atlanta Motor Speedway last night. As we parked, I could see several of the plastic-pisser-closets, all lined up, calling my name. And that they were, being it was a little bit of a drive to get there. We park, pay, and attend to the first order of business- me having to do some business before we go one step further.

We walk up to the row and I gauge my closet. I do the customary opening of the door to gauge the foulness before I fully commit that She’s The One. My choice looked and smelled like I could handle it, so in I go.

You would think that if we could send a man to the moon, that we could design a porta-potty about 5 inches deeper to give one a little more floor space to do the hover dance. If I had a relief appendage on my person (AKA a penis) that I could just whip out to do my thing, I would have not one but TWO choices- the Hell Hole or the urinal to the left. But nooooo….when you are a squatter, you have to hover the Hell Hole with the added bonus of the urinal in your face. Good times to be a lay-day, I say.

I step into the piss coffin, slide the door lock and begin The Dance. Which is trying to figure out how NOT to let my purse touch anything in there while getting my pants down and keeping them from touching anything as well as keeping nothing on my person from touching anything. (You feel me, ladies?) I manage to hang my purse from my neck like a feed bag. This really adds to it being I have 2 shirts and a jacket on- any added bulk I can add to my upper body is a bonus. Totally helps with balance. I pull my pants down, then grab the crotch, pull forward and hold it out because if I should misfire from my vag, I do not want to pee on my clothes. Always got to think ahead. Add to this that I am SHORT- 5’-nothing. So here I am, tip toes, rear hover, crotch-of-drawers/jeans pulled forward in a death grip with one hand while the other hand is outstretched to my left in a yoga balance pose- Outward Facing Pisser. I am ready to release the Kraken of urine stream. Then…..it happens.

Apparently in doing my pre-piss-dance, my purse/my something hit the door lock. Because what do my wondering eyes should appear when THE DOOR VIOLENTLY FLINGS OPEN? But a man about my age and a 5 year old kid. Yes. We all make shocked and wide-eyed horrified eye contact for probably a split second, but it felt like a wild west showdown where everybody’s gun jammed. I lunge at the door with my free yoga-pose hand to pull it shut, my other hand still firmly clamped on the crotch of my clothes, he lunges at the door to slam it, and all this did was make the door fling WIDE OPEN AGAIN. All the while, we are both screaming “OH MY GOD OH MY GOD I AM SO SORRY OH I AM SO SORRY OH SWEET JESUS LET ME DIE RIGHT NOW TAKE ME I AM READY TO GOOOOO!” (that second part was more me, but I think the man was as traumatized as me and the kid….bless him.)

Somehow in the blare of Yakkity-Sax in my head, the door gets shut and I dead-bolt it as best I could. I realize I am still peeing. I thank God my bladder had the good sense to lock everything down once the trauma was presented or I’d have just added to this 3-way melee with bodily fluids.

I finish my business and listen….I am holed up in the porta-potty trying to gauge if this man and kid have entered a piss-pod or if they just ran, far, far away (as I would have). Because there is NO WAY I am stepping out so we can make upright eye contact and horrify each other even worse. Uh uh. I have about a thimble-full of pride left, I am not willing to spill it.

I finally straighten my clothes and spine, and step out like the dignified lady I am. I shall not be bent. I survived the Piss Off 2013 with dry clothes, so I am a WINNER. The Boyfran is there waiting, grinning like a jackass. He says “Was that you that the door got opened on?” My face answered for me. “Don’t you know to lock the door?”

Really?

“OF COURSE I LOCKED THE DOOR, BUT SOMEWHERE BETWEEN MY BIG PURSE, BIG JACKET AND BIG ASS, IT GOT UNLOCKED BIG TIME!”

*The Boyfran doubles over howling, then add the two kids to the mix to share in his joy*

I’m a survivor, ladies. I share this with you to let you know that no matter how much you loathe a porta-potty, if this hasn’t happened to you, you don’t know real fear. You are free to pee, you and me. I wish this on no one. Well, 7 people. I wish this on 7 people. But other than that, may the Force of Nature be with you.

Us vs. Them

I get an hour for lunch and sometimes, it’s more important for me to get words out than to shovel food in. Missing a meal is not the worst thing that could happen to me, I assure you. Anyway…..My dear friend Seth posted this as his status on Facebook this morning:

“Just a thought: There are far more good, kind, thoughtful, peaceful, sympathetic, and empathetic people around you than there are thugs, thieves, killers, or predators. The very few do make it hard for the very many. The news will not report your good deeds, but by all means, keep doing them. Have a great day folks.”

Ever since I read this, my brain has been on overdrive because it is so simple and so true- there are way more of Us than there are of Them. But why do we only hear about Them? Why should anyone be a good & decent person to never once have a moment in the sun because of the perpetual black cloud of the ones that clog our news outlets?

I’m a firm believer that the world is not any worse today than it was 20-50-100 years ago. Sure, the population has grown and makes more crime happen.  But in my opinion, the only thing that has really changed is that we are just now more aware. TECHNOLOGY! We live in an age where whether something happens in a mud hut or a 50 story posh penthouse, the world can be alerted of it in a nanosecond. The written word that used to take 2-4 weeks via airmail to travel around the globe is now a typed message via email or text message and is delivered before you can say “Whoa, that was FAST!”  Internet & cell phones have brought the world together and are slowly tearing us apart. Don’t get me wrong- I love all my technology and gadgets- I LOVE being able to communicate with people in the blink of an eye without the time or expense of a phone call. What I don’t love is how much of the information thrown at us mimics a portal of Hell because of the bulk of what is being given top priority is Bad News.

Back when newspapers were THE top form of mass communication, do you think the newsboys shouted on street corners “EXTRA, EXTRA, READ ALL ABOUT IT!! Good Samaritan adopts litter of puppies just because it was the right thing to do!” No. Headlines of crime, death & tragedy sold papers.  Bad News. To this day, the media has never stopped milking the cash cow of human despair, ESPECIALLY stories of human vs. human.  Any of your media outlets are all OVER any type of crime, posting it on the Internet whether they have even confirmed details, just to be the first. How sad to know that your drive 24/7 is to be the first to relay to the masses the story of another person’s heartache?

The relentless reporting of Bad News can change people. People begin to believe everything is bad. Certain people, places and things- all bad. Bad News. This in turn makes people feel bad. Annnnd I also believe can make people start to behave poorly. Because why bother? Have you seen the news? It’s a world gone mad. Who cares? What difference does it make anyway? I can honestly say I have thought this before. Guilty.

But….what about the Good News? People being good, kind and decent to one another? How many of those stories do you hear? How much news do you see that makes you feel good and adds to your faith in humanity?  For me, I hear Good News when people share links on Facebook. Nothing good never just blasts its way through to headline news.  Oh no, I have to weed through all the awful to see a tiny blurb of hope. Don’t misunderstand me that somehow, I want to live in a world with blinders and have flowers and glitter blown directly up my ass on a daily basis. No, I’m not stupid. But why the constant focus on all things horrible? Why can’t there be balance? I do believe that there are way more of Us than there are of Them, but the Us actions are usually smaller and more subtle, yet affect the world greatly. The actions of Them also affect the world greatly, and sells Bad News. Dollar bills for your dirty laundry, eh?

What to do, what to do….

As Seth said here, “There are far more good, kind, thoughtful, peaceful, sympathetic, and empathetic people around you than there are thugs, thieves, killers, or predators.” This is true. You just have to be able to see these good, kind, thoughtful, peaceful, sympathetic, and empathetic  people. You need to BE these good, kind, thoughtful, peaceful, sympathetic, and empathetic people. Pay attention to the people around you at home, work, where you shop, go to school, etc.- that is your immediate world. Be proactive in it. Good radiates and begs for good in turn. Good is free. You don’t have to have money or things to be good and kind. No matter how broke you are, everyone can afford to pay a compliment or extend the credit of a kind gesture. In a world where we are pummeled with Bad News- create your own Good News. There is SO MUCH good in the world if you choose to see it, believe it, be it and share it.

If you are reading this- GOOD NEWS!! You woke up today! YAY YOU!! I’ll bet you are also socially networked in some way, too- what are you going to do with that? Don’t be a Debbie/Donny Downer.  I see people who post NON-STOP about all the problems they have. Why? We all gots problems. If you have time to bitch about your problems via social media, then you have time to start making changes in your life to improve them.  What a concept, eh? I also see people that post non-stop positivity and I wonder how, when I know they are on the verge of losing everything they have or how they are a slave to medications to control an illness in hopes they get to live another day.  The difference here is perception. PERCEPTION, PEOPLE. What do you choose to see, to be, to live?

My life is not perfect, but I live a charmed one because I believe in the power of the greater good. Call me a fool, but I do. Most people are kind, decent, helpful, caring and genuine. I try to be the person I want to interact with. Some people are just awful- be kind anyway. Don’t let another person’s behavior take away from who you are. Do nice things, not for self-gratification, but because it’s the right thing to do. Just like the song says- teach your children well- lead the way. Be an example to others. Open both your eyes- don’t a turn a blind, bitter one to the world.

I’ve blathered on enough here. Blame Seth. But I will say one last thing- Seth-O….it’s damn good to be one of Us. Thank you for being you. Let’s shut the world off and go have a beer, shall we? We’ll make some Good News or the police report. Or both if we do this right. *cheers!*

Be good and do good, kids. Team Us. Join it.

Eat Up, Buttercup!

Contrary to popular belief, I actually do like to cook and I am really good at it. I just don’t do it that I often. I do love to eat and try new foods- that is obvious by looking at me. I don’t maintain this several-girls-worth-girlish figure by pushing away from the table, ya know. So, here I am, sharing a wonderfully easy, delicious and surprisingly not-too-bad-for-you recipe.

That being said….oh my SIDE. I totally forgot how fantastic this recipe was until I went into the grocery store yesterday. Strawberries were on sale and I thought “GOOD GAWD THAT STRAWBERRY DESSERT STUFF!! WHY HAVE I NOT MADE IT IN FOREVER???” Probably because I am lazy and forgetful, but I digress. A coworker had brought this in years ago- I demanded the recipe from her Mama and was shocked over how rich and sinful it tasted and how not is was. I have no idea where it originated from, but thank you, Sweet Ashlee & Deneen, for sharing this with me. Gotta give somebody props for it. I will only take credit for the name- it didn’t have one, therefore, I shall name it to share it. Without further ado, I give you the recipe for….

Berry Sinless Delish (say that 5 times fast or after 3 beers)

Prep Time: 30 minutes, chill at least 30 minutes before serving.

(And FYI- this can all be store brand stuff if you like- save a buck!)

1 Angel Food cake
1 8oz. Fat Free Sour Cream
1 small container Fat Free or Lite Cool Whip, thawed
1 small box Fat Free & Sugar Free White Chocolate pudding
1 1/2 cups skim milk
1 container of strawberries
Container with a lid for fridge storage, deep enough for a few layers.

*Whisk milk and pudding powder together- add in sour cream and Cool Whip until all is blended together smooth. Let it sit.

*Clean and slice strawberries, set aside.

*Take the Angel Food cake and tear it into bite-sized pieces.

*In your container, make a layer of Angel Food cake, spoon on a layer of pudding mix, and add a layer of strawberries. Repeat as many times as you can/want- I usually have enough room to make 2 full layers of each.

*Refrigerate until ready to serve- *voila* this stuff is good enough to eat with a shovel. No joke. You’ll want to dump it in the floor and roll around in it.

I don’t have the serving size/fat/calorie count listed because I haven’t done that math. Plus, it’s hard to narrow down a serving when you want to eat the whole bowl in the closet so you don’t have to share. I would guess 8-10 servings, so if you really need to know- add all the calories/fat/sugar/whatever you want to know of all ingredients and then divide by 8-10. But seriously- this tastes like you need to do 100 Burpees to work it off, but you don’t.

Sidenotes:

I don’t use the sugar & fat free pudding because artificial sweeteners make my head explode and nose bleed. Truth. So buy whatever works for you/your guests.

I have made this with frozen mixed berries- just let them thaw and drain them well before using.

Feel free to share this because everybody needs to know how good this is. AND…it’s cheap & easy, just like me.

Crazy Like a Fox

So, this happened today- 2 kindergartners on an elementary school playground were bitten by a fox. WHAAAT? Crazy, eh? Now, let me lay my foundation here by saying I am a parent, a rational, thinking person, so here was what went through my head when I heard of the story:

“WOW- that’s crazy! I hope the fox didn’t have rabies- they have no fear. GAAAH I hope the kids didn’t see it and try to pet it thinking it was like a dog or something and it bit them. Who knows, sheesh, the school is by the woods- you just never know what’s out there. Hope the kids are okay. Scary.”

Sounds kind of reasonable, eh?

Well…..the local news posted about it on Facebook. You want to see rabid & crazy, crazier than any wild fox could ever be? Click here and read the comments. Fox 5 Atlanta on Facebook- scroll down to get to the story.

See that? It’s the teachers fault. Of COURSE it is. If those darn teachers were just doing their jobs, there’d have been no way a fox (wild animal) could have attacked anyone (at a school semi-surrounded by woods).

The comment thread here is like a train wreck of idiotic proportion and I just can’t quit reading. I am really curious to know what lives these people lead or how their elementary education experience was. Here’s a little refresher for those that may be living in some parallel, bubble universe. I remember a typical class was 20-30 students with one teacher. Lone teacher would take said 20-30 kids to the playground where there would be another teacher or two with the same amount of children. So, lets say for this example, 3 teachers to 75 children. Scatter these about in an area about the size of 4 gymnasiums with random equipment. Where were the teachers then? Trying to watch 75 little bodies burning out their pent up energy so they could get through the afternoon. This happened every day, weather permitting. Some kids fell and broke their arms, tripped and skinned knees, fell and busted their mouths, got into fights, etc. These instances are typically referred to as childhood. Crazy eh?

Where were the teachers at today? See above.

But Lisa- what if it was your kid?  See above.

For anyone to blame the teachers, the school etc., in this situation, I have no problem in labeling you a fool that apparently does not live in the real world with the bulk of us. I mean really, you should probably blame the county for not properly controlling the wildlife population. Or better yet, it’s the states fault. The state should be controlling the animals. You know, the wildlife that has been in existence longer than any of us? Actually, if I think real hard on it, this situation today is technically the governments problem for mandating that children attend school from age 5-16. Why, if children were not forced out into the awfulness of the world, then bad things would not happen to them, they would not be at risk for any type of freak accidents, right? DAMN THE GOVERNMENT! So many people and situations here to blame, why just stop at the teachers?

Blaming the teachers for not stopping a wild animal attack is like blaming the teachers in Oklahoma for not holding up the walls when that tornado barreled through there the other day. Nobody can control the chaos known as nature. Truth.

 There are also comments about how the school grounds need to be better protected, gated, etc. So laughable. We can’t even get our children properly educated from all the budget cuts, but agreed- let’s build 10’ concrete walls around all schools to keep all the bad out. Better yet, eliminate recess. Don’t let them outside. I say we eliminate schools all together and just hope for the best. After reading these comments today, I’m not sure that people could get any more ignorant and uneducated. Let’s just put our best foot forward and eliminate it all and make sure this next generation is properly raised in ignorance of the world with a full sense of entitlement AND all 10 fingers ready to point the blame at any and everything they can.

I sincerely hope the children involved are okay.

I sincerely hope that the teachers there today know that most of us regular citizens and fellow teachers know that they did their jobs the best that they could.

I sincerely hope that many folks choose to get their heads out of their asses and use them to think with rather than to whip it around in the direction of someone/something who they believe has wronged or failed them. Open your eyes to the world. What a concept.

Save the crazy for the foxes, yo.

I Look Great Naked.

A very strange thing happened today. As in, rocked my head and made me say ‘WHAT?”

My friend Anna said on Facebook that she needed to go clothes shopping because all her summer stuff from last year was too big for her. Then, she said this:

 “I look great naked. I just have no clue how to dress myself. I would welcome any fashion advice.”

Wait…what….WHAT?? WHAT DID SHE SAY?? Never, EVER, in all my 40 years of being a woman and being around women have I EVER heard one say this. Not bragging, not boasting, just matter-of-factly “I look great naked.”

Is this even allowed?!

From a very young age (Oh, like, conception), girls are taught that their worth is based on how they look. If you don’t fit the mold society has created, well, sucks to be you, prepare to suffer the wrath. If you’re fat, skinny, tall, short, have bad skin, bad teeth, bad hair, blah, blah, blah, well, you’re just not okay. You should be doing something to “fix” yourself.

Let me tell you a little something…everyone has room for improvement, but it’s society that needs fixed. The constant barrage of negativity from the media coupled with people who feel they need to let you know what they think of you and your looks is a very toxic combination. To the point where mentally, we ladies are prepped to not be worthy. Self-defense mode. Example: When someone pays you a compliment on your looks, clothes, accomplishments, etc., do you, better yet, are you ABLE, to just smile and say “Thank you” and feel good about someone noticing? Or do you feel the need to rattle off 5 things that are negative about what was just said to you before you are polite and say thank you, just because you’re supposed to?

See….something is very wrong here. And it ain’t me or you, sister.

If you need to lose 10, 20, 200lbs., if you need to gain weight, if you need braces, dentures, glasses, contacts, hair curled, hair straightened, clear skin, etc., so on, so forth, all the things we think we need to have/do to make ourselves happy- knock yourself out to achieve them. For YOU. Not because somebody said you should, not because you think life will be easier/better if you are “fixed”, but because you want those things to feel good about YOU. You can make all the changes in the world to your physical self, but if you don’t get your mental self in check, none of it will matter. Trust me on this. Also- until you improve the things that you think need improved, it’s okay to like yourself, right now. WHAT? Oh yeah, I just said that. IT’S OKAY TO LIKE YOURSELF, RIGHT NOW, NO MATTER WHAT YOU LOOK LIKE OR WHAT ALL IS “WRONG’ WITH YOU. Hell, it’s okay to LOVE yourself even. What-the-what, now I’m talking crazy, I know. Seriously- the first step to mentally surviving this superficial world we live in is to get to know you and realize that you are just fine, flaws and all. Once you get that going in your head, you can do ANYTHING. You’ll find that many of your flaws aren’t even worth acknowledging or were never even flaws to begin with.

I took a shower tonight after exercising, and I was looking at myself naked in the mirror. Brace yourself- sexy talk is coming:  I’m 5’ tall and weigh 175lbs. I’m 40 years old. I was looking at all the stretch marks, saggy boobs, mushy gut, lumpy thighs, flappy arms, etc. I thought to myself “Hmmmph. I look great naked.” Maybe not to anyone else and DEFINITELY not to the media/Hollywood standards, but this here body has gotten me through these forty years wonderfully- it’s been broken in 3 places, stitched up in several, and grew a baby in it. It’s been able to walk me around in so many cities and taken me to another country. I’ve had the wind in my hair, sun on my face. I’ve walked, ran, climbed, sat, felt, laughed, loved, ate, cried, puked, smiled (I could go on for days) etc., all in this here body I have.  I’m hoping it holds out for me another 40 years or so. No, I’m not going to wear a bikini or suddenly build a wardrobe of spandex mini-dresses. But what I am going to do is stay focused on being healthier than I was yesterday and happier than I ever thought I was allowed. Everything else will follow that lead, as it has been doing and proving me right.

So, thanks, Anna. I may not truly have a body that looks great naked, but to me, it’s pretty awesome. Time I realized that. I hope you can fill your closet as wonderfully as you filled my head today.

Here ya go. Picture THIS naked. Oh yeah. You know you want to. I think it looks great.

Grateful Grows, You Know.

I am not an emotional person. I maintain an even keel 99 & 44/100% of the time. By emotional, I mean typical weepy-girl-type emotes and all that. Every now & again, something cracks on through and makes me ugly-cry even if I’m happy, but still. I keep myself together just because weepy is not me.

However….

Every spring, I feel like I’m 3 months pregnant or having a sorority house full of synced PMS. Why do I go nuts, you ask?

I bought a house 4 years ago in May. First time buyer, did it all by myself. You know, like adults do when they are supposed to be grown and all that. I was TERRIFIED. Buying a house is NOT like buying shampoo- if you hate it after a couple weeks having it, well, it sucks to be you for the next 30 years. A friend that I worked with years ago is a mortgage man- I called on him. In the scheme of things since the last time we talked, his wife had become a real estate agent, so it was the perfect dynamic duo to make this happen for me. I was extra proud of me for not throwing up on anyone during the whole process, especially at the closing table as I signed my life away.

It’s said a house isn’t home until you make it one. My house was a home before the ink even dried on the 1,684 pieces of paper it took for it to be deemed mine. I had SO MANY FRIENDS that were on board- they helped me move, paint, gave me things for my house, repaired/installed things, etc. I could detail for days because I remember everything like it just happened. All these people put their lives on hold to make a new life for me and my wee familia. A friend of mine that helped with a lot of things has since died. It gives me nice memories to see the things he did and remember when he was here helping out. Since then, I have called on several folks for things I’ve needed help with and BAM- they are right there. From a broken pipe, electrical fun, erosion fixes, etc. Just right here, when I needed them.

Springtime Emotionfest…..I LOVE to garden- mainly flowers, but this will be my second year with vegetables. Every year when I get out in my yard and start cleaning/prepping things, I am reminded again of how loved I am. So many friends have given me plants- new plants and cuttings from their plants that I have been able to grow. They come back bigger and better every year. I can literally walk around my house and point out who gave me what and WOW look at it now. They have grown to a point where I can now share them with others, too. I’ve also been given neat yard/house stuff that makes me smile daily. Things that people knew I would love, and they are so right.

My life is so FULL of people that love and care about me and my family. Like a garden, every year it grows and spreads. Spring is always my reminder of how grateful and lucky I am with the life I have and the people I have in it. I am so blessed that in my life garden, I have way more blooms than weeds, and every year, I sow a little more beauty into it.  I don’t have to stop and smell the roses- I roll around in them daily like a dog on a dead animal. Truth. I hope all of you have well tended gardens. If not, get to weeding and start growing your own happiness- you’re the only one that can tend that garden.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go wander about my yard, ugly-cry and point everything out to myself again. For the 78^th time in the last 2 days.

See this? Growing in my yard. I didn’t pick it- just gonna stay lucky and hope it keeps growing, too.

 

You Spin Me Right ’round…to the Proctologist.

(I wrote this about 5 years ago. Reading it to repost makes my butthole and lady-regions clenchy all over again. Enjoy!)

 

In my endeavors to try and lose weight, my new venture is spinning.

Not old-school sit~n~spin.

Straight-up-hardcore-full-throttle-aerobics on a stationary bike.

Holy hell, kids- this has got to be mega fat-burning or mega-cardiac-arrest inducing. Or both. My West-Coast-Sistah Marsha told me that spinning a couple days a week is her secret of her rock-hard fabness. I had told my friend Jennifer here about it. We giggled in awe, like no way- we totally should, but no, it…it…might be hard, right?

Well……my little friend Jennifer has totally gotten on FIRE to get healthy and in shape and I am so blessed she’s taking me along on this ride. She said last year I inspired her but nope, she has me beat. She calls one day a couple weeks ago and just told me straight-up, very matter-of-factly that our local gym had guest passes at the desk for us and we were going to the 6pm Thursday class.

Oh wow. She ain’t playin’.

Jennifer calls our friend Shannon who is a gym member and very fit. She tells her our plan and asks if she spins. Shannon replies “ARE YOU CRAZY?? THOSE PEOPLE IN THERE LOOK LIKE THEY ARE WORKING WAY TOO HARD!!”. But she is intrigued as well and joins us- I think the potential of how wrong this could all go was alluring. I know that was part of my draw….

We are excited!

We watch a video on YouTube of what spin is!

We are TERRIFIED!

Yet we go….

First thing I noticed is the spin class is in it’s own little theater room. When you walk in, it’s about 8 degrees. I could have peddled the bike with my frosted nipples if my ‘lightly-lined’ bra wasn’t so thick. There are big industrial fans in the corners of the room. These were my big clues that spinning is no frikkin’ game.

A spin bike is a very scary & serious contraption. Being an almost-midget, I was trying to figure out what door the Oompa-Loompas were supposed to come out of to help hoist my fat-arse up and on to this thing. Not to mention STRAP MY FEET TO THE PEDALS. One of the trainers in the class saw that we were almost too stupid to make this happen and bless her heart, she got our bikes arranged, got us strapped in, and away we went.

And did we ever went. Holy Mary, Mother of God, this has to have been THE most intense exercise I have EVER done. Mind you, we just did what we could which was about 1/8th of what the other people were doing. I sweated in places I didn’t know could, had sweat dripping off my nose, my chin, breathing like a one-legged hooker trying to ice skate and not spill her bourbon.

Now let me go back to how scary the spin bike is. The seat on this thing is smaller than what’s on my 8 year olds BMX. My butt has passed things bigger than this seat. I’m sure of it. I am supposed to stay somewhat precariously propped/perched on this thing for an HOUR?

We made it through class. THE WHOLE CLASS!! I was so proud of us because trust me, the want-to to stop was there. But none of us wanted to be the quitter. So we did it together. And it was awesome!

But let’s get back to my ass.

Stepping off/falling off/unanchoring this wee seat from my ass was painful. We had become one. I thought once my ass & crack went numb, that all would be well. Nope. Once you remove the teeny BMX-ass-tampon from position, you regain blood flow to your nether regions. Maybe that’s why you work so hard- figuring if you can just get where the hell you are going on this bike, your bum will be safe.

I felt like I had been ass-raped by a splintered telephone pole.

For 2 days.

They tell us once you do about 5 classes, it doesn’t hurt anymore. I think that statement is right up there with ‘The check is in the mail” and “I promise I’ll pull it out”.

But I must’ve liked something as I am now a card-carrying member of the gym. Maybe I just want to test the 5 class theory or test to see if one really can break their ass.

Just remember kids, what doesn’t kill you will make you….more susceptible to hemorrhoids.