I was recently asked if I am experiencing writer's block because it's been awhile since I posted anything. I wouldn't say that is necessarily the reason for my absence. The truth is I love to write and this blog has been a great outlet for me to both record precious memories and at times provide some free therapy for myself. But the bottom line is that it's the internet and therefore it's not private. I've said enough in my posts that anyone who knows me well enough who finds out I have a blog can use a few key words and track this down. It's funny, I'm okay with sharing my thoughts and feelings with billions of strangers but most of the people closest to me don't even know this blog exists. Not only is it hard to let them in, it also makes me feel I need to censor myself in what I write to make sure things aren't taken out of context should someone stumble upon it who has been mentioned in a post. I feel this way on message boards too when people I know in real life also join them. Plus, there is a matter of time. I'm a busy girl and most evenings it boils down to choices: I simply don't have the time to do everything I want to do in a day. Writing has gone by the wayside in favor of reading these days. There are just so many books and so little time-especially when you take allergy medicine that causes drowsiness and pass out after only a couple of pages.
The biggest reason for my absence is that I've reached a point where while I still feel I have plenty to say (never do I run out of opinions!), I feel I've over-shared way too much of my life over the years-not necessarily with blogging but in general-and now I just want my private life to be more private. It's nothing personal against anyone and it does make me feel a bit closed off but at the same time my every move is just that: MY every move. And quite frankly, I'm really not that exciting. I don't want to start to feel I live under a microscope. And I know by over-sharing in the first place over the years (can we say "attention starved?"), I have only myself to blame for getting to this point.
It does seem quite ironic that what is currently center stage in my life right now that I would ordinarily be all over writing about (because, seriously, what better way to over-analyze something) is the one thing I just don't want to talk about and feel fiercely protective of. My life has actually become rather routine and domesticated lately-which I'm not complaining about by any means; the somewhat slower pace has actually been welcoming. But though I still very much incredulously ask on a regular basis "how is this my life?" I don't have as many entertaining experiences coming my way these days. I'm still working on me and making some positive changes in my life and I'm sure blogging about that would probably put me to sleep let alone anyone who actually reads what I have to say! I'm bored just thinking about it...
I know I've still got plenty to say. There are still some memories of James that crop up and I find myself thinking "I've really got to get that one on paper." There are, of course, new memories I'd like to be able to remember when my little pea brain starts to forget the good times (which at the rate I'm going should be, oh, next Thursday). And there are times when I just want to vent. So, I guess right now I'm trying to figure out how to proceed. Do I stick with the narratives, just post short blurbs or both? Time will tell.
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
Saturday, February 2, 2013
Observations from a Coffee Shop
I was supposed to go cross-country skiing today but the friend I planned to go with came down with a cold and told me late last night he wouldn't be able to go. I've never tried cross-country skiing before and as it is on my "bucket list," I'm a little disappointed but at the same time I was nervous and this wasn't exactly a "once in a lifetime, if you don't do it now, you will never get another chance" opportunity and it wasn't worth it to me for him to end up with something worse than a cold to indulge my wish list. Plus, this meant I got to sleep in and certainly wasn't going to complain about that!
But, the last minute change of plans left me with nothing to do today. (Well, nothing fun. There's always some chore that needs to be done). And because I'm frustrated with pretty much every male I know, including one of my beloved dogs, I decided I'd drag my lazy butt out of bed this morning and go on a coffee date. With myself and a book. The more I thought about it, an iced green tea latte sounded really good-and according to a message board I belong to, coffee shops are a great place to meet potential romantic interests.
So I got up this morning, made myself look presentable, gathered what I needed to run a couple of errands. And then came the dilemma: where to go? Brewed Awakenings and Starbucks (x2) are right down the street. Hmm...I've never tried Brewed Awakenings. However, Starbucks is in the same shopping center as PetCo, which was also on the To Do list and thanks to my awesome co-workers, I have a gift card. But both are chains and people at chain establishments usually just come and go, and I wanted something friendlier than that. I do have a friend who owns a coffee shop and I do like to support local business....but it's all the way downtown. (Which means about an extra 7 minutes to get there). "What else do you have to do today?" asked the voice of reason. Being this was an excellent point, I headed downtown.
The nice thing about having a coffee shop owned by a friend who knows you are allergic to food is that he is patient enough to make something for you that will not kill you, which is definitely a plus. We came up with a green tea latte that was quite tasty and since oatmeal is technically a breakfast food in my world, an oatmeal-butterscotch cookie to go with it. The shop is small and was surprisingly loud for how few people were in there. It's cozy but not in a way that feels cramped. I sat a a table for two, for example, but didn't feel I was encroaching on the space of the ladies in the chairs next to me or vice versa. I was happy to see (for my friend) that the majority of the customers seemed to be regulars. Vancouver has a small town feel to it, downtown especially. I arrived around 10 and the streets were still pretty quiet, so for the shop to be hopping spoke volumes in my opinion. The clientele was pretty much what I find everywhere I go: a guy in his 20's. Two men in their 50's-long time friends from the sounds of it. Two ladies in their 50's or 60's. A woman in her 30's, maybe 40's with her little girl. A married couple in their 30's And me. As I enjoyed my breakfast, another woman in her 50's, one in her 30's and another man in his 50's came in, replacing those who'd left. Customers who got their drinks to go while I was there were a mother and her son, a mother and her daughter, a girl who was early 30's at the oldest, a guy in his 50's and a guy who may have been in his 30's who ordered two drinks to go. So my friend's coffee shop, at least not this morning, was not the hangout for all those 32-45 year old single men I keep getting assured are "everywhere." But that's okay. As I said at the beginning, I'm frustrated with so many of my male friends right now that had I met one, I probably would have just told him where to go.
What's important is it seems my friend's shop is doing well and that makes me happy for him. I got to have a nice glass of tea (in a real glass!), a cookie, and spent about an hour reading without a dog getting between my book and my line of vision. (As I type, one is squished between me and the back of my chair snoring away. He's great for my posture!). Not a bad way at all to start what has turned out to be a beautiful, sunny day in the neighborhood.
But, the last minute change of plans left me with nothing to do today. (Well, nothing fun. There's always some chore that needs to be done). And because I'm frustrated with pretty much every male I know, including one of my beloved dogs, I decided I'd drag my lazy butt out of bed this morning and go on a coffee date. With myself and a book. The more I thought about it, an iced green tea latte sounded really good-and according to a message board I belong to, coffee shops are a great place to meet potential romantic interests.
So I got up this morning, made myself look presentable, gathered what I needed to run a couple of errands. And then came the dilemma: where to go? Brewed Awakenings and Starbucks (x2) are right down the street. Hmm...I've never tried Brewed Awakenings. However, Starbucks is in the same shopping center as PetCo, which was also on the To Do list and thanks to my awesome co-workers, I have a gift card. But both are chains and people at chain establishments usually just come and go, and I wanted something friendlier than that. I do have a friend who owns a coffee shop and I do like to support local business....but it's all the way downtown. (Which means about an extra 7 minutes to get there). "What else do you have to do today?" asked the voice of reason. Being this was an excellent point, I headed downtown.
The nice thing about having a coffee shop owned by a friend who knows you are allergic to food is that he is patient enough to make something for you that will not kill you, which is definitely a plus. We came up with a green tea latte that was quite tasty and since oatmeal is technically a breakfast food in my world, an oatmeal-butterscotch cookie to go with it. The shop is small and was surprisingly loud for how few people were in there. It's cozy but not in a way that feels cramped. I sat a a table for two, for example, but didn't feel I was encroaching on the space of the ladies in the chairs next to me or vice versa. I was happy to see (for my friend) that the majority of the customers seemed to be regulars. Vancouver has a small town feel to it, downtown especially. I arrived around 10 and the streets were still pretty quiet, so for the shop to be hopping spoke volumes in my opinion. The clientele was pretty much what I find everywhere I go: a guy in his 20's. Two men in their 50's-long time friends from the sounds of it. Two ladies in their 50's or 60's. A woman in her 30's, maybe 40's with her little girl. A married couple in their 30's And me. As I enjoyed my breakfast, another woman in her 50's, one in her 30's and another man in his 50's came in, replacing those who'd left. Customers who got their drinks to go while I was there were a mother and her son, a mother and her daughter, a girl who was early 30's at the oldest, a guy in his 50's and a guy who may have been in his 30's who ordered two drinks to go. So my friend's coffee shop, at least not this morning, was not the hangout for all those 32-45 year old single men I keep getting assured are "everywhere." But that's okay. As I said at the beginning, I'm frustrated with so many of my male friends right now that had I met one, I probably would have just told him where to go.
What's important is it seems my friend's shop is doing well and that makes me happy for him. I got to have a nice glass of tea (in a real glass!), a cookie, and spent about an hour reading without a dog getting between my book and my line of vision. (As I type, one is squished between me and the back of my chair snoring away. He's great for my posture!). Not a bad way at all to start what has turned out to be a beautiful, sunny day in the neighborhood.
Friday, January 11, 2013
Friday Night Ramblings
Usually when I sit down to write I have a good idea of what I am going to say. Tonight I'm just winging it. I'd like to be able to say I'm being fueled by a glass of wine but thanks to those pesky yeast and sulfite allergies, no wine for this chica. Actually, I'd like to be drinking a (virgin) pina colada on a beach in Mexico, truth be told, with a slight breeze in the air and samba music playing in the background. Yeah, I also have the perfect tan and sun-streaked hair in this fantasy. And of course, there's a magnificent sunset. My beverage of choice this evening is a good ol' glass of water. 9:30 on a Friday night, sitting in my living room, drinking water. Yep, I am quite the social butterfly!
Actually, I will be a social butterfly tomorrow when I have a house full of people who have many options for their evening and are choosing to spend it with me, helping me to celebrate turning 30-something (which doesn't actually happen until Tuesday) with a murder mystery dinner party. I have no clue how to host a murder mystery dinner party (which is why our elegant "Captain's Dinner" for our 1938 disaster at sea is tacos), so luckily most of my guests are used to my game nights in which I basically just say show up and the rest just magically works itself out. And there will be ice cream cake. From Ben and Jerry's. Take that other events. I totally just upped the ante.
And I was a social butterfly last night when volunteering at the Food Bank led to late night happy hour (when the heck did 9:00 become late night?! Oh right, when I didn't get home until after 11:00 and had to drag my butt out of bed at 5:45 this morning to get ready for work. I'm too young to be too old for this!). So last night's social butterflyness coupled with that pesky borderline insomnia issue has me too dang tired to do anything tonight. And I'm okay with that. I'm just waiting for it to be a respectable time to go to bed on a Friday night and then I'm hitting the hay. What I'm not okay with is that I keep saying "This is the last Friday night I spend home alone!" or "This is the last Friday night I spend cleaning the house for Game Night!" and before I know it, it's a week later and I'm home alone on a Friday night. I don't feel life is passing me by, but at the same time, I don't want to get to that point either. Because in a sense, life really is passing me by. I'm not getting any younger, after all. Well, at least not chronologically, anyway. In spirit, I sure seem to be-not that I'm complaining! Hopefully, staying young in this respect will keep me from ever really growing old. I was thinking about this the other day and I'm not really sure I ever want to be old. (I was also thinking about what they put as the cause of death on your death certificate if you are executed so there you go). Mainly because it's scary to think about being old and not having anyone to take care of me, which is the position I am in now. It's hard now to think that I could come home on a Friday afternoon, slip and hit my head and no one would know something was wrong until I didn't show up for work on Monday morning. Fifty years from now, who knows how long it would take for someone to find my limp, lifeless body?
It's funny, I will have a house full of people here tomorrow. But on my actual birthday? Well, I'll be celebrating that with me, myself and I from the looks of it. And my dogs. (There's a very slim chance I will be taking a beginning fencing class. Like half the group signed up for it needs to back out slim). Part of me thinks this royally blows major chunks. And part of me is quite alright having the day (okay, evening. I do have to work that day-well, hmm...I do have plenty of vacation time...) to myself to just do things I enjoy-like eat cheesecake and then take a nice, long hot bath with a good book to keep me company (currently "Heat Rises" by Richard Castle. I want to know who that really is, but at the same time, I think that might ruin it). Or go see a movie if by some miracle "Wreck-It Ralph" magically appears at the $3 theater. But at the same time, I don't need my birthday for that. I can do those things whenever I want. The upside of being single is I can pretty much do whatever I want whenever I want. I'm not dependent on anyone else's schedule or opinion as to what to do with my free time. It would help if I stopped finding reasons to talk myself out of some of the things that cross my mind as things I would like to do...
At any rate, I'm curious, as always, what this year has in store for me. I've decided it's going to be the Year of Heather. It's going to be (another) busy year and hopefully a very rewarding one. Might as well take advantage of not being tied down other than my dogs. I have goals (which is a post in itself) which I think are pretty reasonable and certainly attainable. And which will get me off the couch for at least some of my Friday nights.
Actually, I will be a social butterfly tomorrow when I have a house full of people who have many options for their evening and are choosing to spend it with me, helping me to celebrate turning 30-something (which doesn't actually happen until Tuesday) with a murder mystery dinner party. I have no clue how to host a murder mystery dinner party (which is why our elegant "Captain's Dinner" for our 1938 disaster at sea is tacos), so luckily most of my guests are used to my game nights in which I basically just say show up and the rest just magically works itself out. And there will be ice cream cake. From Ben and Jerry's. Take that other events. I totally just upped the ante.
And I was a social butterfly last night when volunteering at the Food Bank led to late night happy hour (when the heck did 9:00 become late night?! Oh right, when I didn't get home until after 11:00 and had to drag my butt out of bed at 5:45 this morning to get ready for work. I'm too young to be too old for this!). So last night's social butterflyness coupled with that pesky borderline insomnia issue has me too dang tired to do anything tonight. And I'm okay with that. I'm just waiting for it to be a respectable time to go to bed on a Friday night and then I'm hitting the hay. What I'm not okay with is that I keep saying "This is the last Friday night I spend home alone!" or "This is the last Friday night I spend cleaning the house for Game Night!" and before I know it, it's a week later and I'm home alone on a Friday night. I don't feel life is passing me by, but at the same time, I don't want to get to that point either. Because in a sense, life really is passing me by. I'm not getting any younger, after all. Well, at least not chronologically, anyway. In spirit, I sure seem to be-not that I'm complaining! Hopefully, staying young in this respect will keep me from ever really growing old. I was thinking about this the other day and I'm not really sure I ever want to be old. (I was also thinking about what they put as the cause of death on your death certificate if you are executed so there you go). Mainly because it's scary to think about being old and not having anyone to take care of me, which is the position I am in now. It's hard now to think that I could come home on a Friday afternoon, slip and hit my head and no one would know something was wrong until I didn't show up for work on Monday morning. Fifty years from now, who knows how long it would take for someone to find my limp, lifeless body?
It's funny, I will have a house full of people here tomorrow. But on my actual birthday? Well, I'll be celebrating that with me, myself and I from the looks of it. And my dogs. (There's a very slim chance I will be taking a beginning fencing class. Like half the group signed up for it needs to back out slim). Part of me thinks this royally blows major chunks. And part of me is quite alright having the day (okay, evening. I do have to work that day-well, hmm...I do have plenty of vacation time...) to myself to just do things I enjoy-like eat cheesecake and then take a nice, long hot bath with a good book to keep me company (currently "Heat Rises" by Richard Castle. I want to know who that really is, but at the same time, I think that might ruin it). Or go see a movie if by some miracle "Wreck-It Ralph" magically appears at the $3 theater. But at the same time, I don't need my birthday for that. I can do those things whenever I want. The upside of being single is I can pretty much do whatever I want whenever I want. I'm not dependent on anyone else's schedule or opinion as to what to do with my free time. It would help if I stopped finding reasons to talk myself out of some of the things that cross my mind as things I would like to do...
At any rate, I'm curious, as always, what this year has in store for me. I've decided it's going to be the Year of Heather. It's going to be (another) busy year and hopefully a very rewarding one. Might as well take advantage of not being tied down other than my dogs. I have goals (which is a post in itself) which I think are pretty reasonable and certainly attainable. And which will get me off the couch for at least some of my Friday nights.
Thursday, November 8, 2012
Today's PSA
I posted this as my status update on Facebook on Tuesday, November 6th, and I feel it bears repeating. I have added to what was originally posted so while this is definitely full of TMI, my actual Facebook post was not quite so detailed.
"Today's PSA (which has nothing to do with politics): Ladies. No one knows your body better than you. You know which are the super cute jeans, which pants make you feel like a cow, which outfit makes you feel like a million bucks and which PJs look enough like normal clothes you can pull off wearing them to go buy milk. You may not know how you got the bruise on your shin, but you know how you earned each and every one of your scars, right down to the one on your wrist resulting from scratching at your Chicken Pox when Mom wasn't looking when you were nine. You know which days the mirror is your friend and which days it is the most evil thing ever invited (for which you think some man is totally responsible).
But more importantly than what the world sees, you know your innards. And you know when something is wrong. Either something doesn't fit the way it should even though you haven't gained weight, there's lumps where there shouldn't be, you've experienced a drastic change even though you've changed nothing in your life or your Spidey sense starts waving red flags saying "Yo! This just ain't right!" Do not ignore this. After you've done what we all know not to do and Googled all your symptoms and have determined either everything is fine or you have some rare disease native to an indigenous tribe on some remote island no one has ever heard of and feral cats you found on page 12 of your search, go see your doctor to confirm it. Because sometimes something and nothing have the exact same symptoms. If it's something, you don't want to be too late and wonder "if only..." And if it's nothing, peace of mind is the best gift you can give yourself.
Like many of you, I am participating in a 30-day gratitude challenge. Today, I am grateful I spoke up at my annual exam and my awesome doctor listened. I am also so incredibly grateful I did not have to wait long to learn that my symptoms were just a polyp and not uterine cancer."
"Today's PSA (which has nothing to do with politics): Ladies. No one knows your body better than you. You know which are the super cute jeans, which pants make you feel like a cow, which outfit makes you feel like a million bucks and which PJs look enough like normal clothes you can pull off wearing them to go buy milk. You may not know how you got the bruise on your shin, but you know how you earned each and every one of your scars, right down to the one on your wrist resulting from scratching at your Chicken Pox when Mom wasn't looking when you were nine. You know which days the mirror is your friend and which days it is the most evil thing ever invited (for which you think some man is totally responsible).
But more importantly than what the world sees, you know your innards. And you know when something is wrong. Either something doesn't fit the way it should even though you haven't gained weight, there's lumps where there shouldn't be, you've experienced a drastic change even though you've changed nothing in your life or your Spidey sense starts waving red flags saying "Yo! This just ain't right!" Do not ignore this. After you've done what we all know not to do and Googled all your symptoms and have determined either everything is fine or you have some rare disease native to an indigenous tribe on some remote island no one has ever heard of and feral cats you found on page 12 of your search, go see your doctor to confirm it. Because sometimes something and nothing have the exact same symptoms. If it's something, you don't want to be too late and wonder "if only..." And if it's nothing, peace of mind is the best gift you can give yourself.
Like many of you, I am participating in a 30-day gratitude challenge. Today, I am grateful I spoke up at my annual exam and my awesome doctor listened. I am also so incredibly grateful I did not have to wait long to learn that my symptoms were just a polyp and not uterine cancer."
For me the symptoms started off gradually and then became pretty apparent. I've been on the Pill forever because I'm not regular without it. I mean really not regular. As in between 14 and 38 days between cycles which were incredibly heavy the entire time and lasted between 5 and 8 days. The 8-day flows were usually the ones that came 14 days apart. So I either went for long stretches or it felt like it was always that time of the month. Lots of fun when you're in high school and college! Plus, it made me sick. I vividly remember being so sick one time when I was 16, I couldn't even keep down a sip of water. I remember this because I had to participate in a church mock fashion show that evening and wasn't sure how I was going to pull it off-and I didn't want to have to explain why I was sick when I looked perfectly healthy. (I was much better by then).
So the Pill has been a Godsend for me. After James died, my doctor and I decided to keep me on it. I was messed up enough without throwing my hormones out of whack on top of it, and truth be told, I don't want to go back to having to guess every day "Is today the day I start?" and constantly having to be prepared for it. I'm a control freak and this is something I'd been controlling for years so why stop now?
Because my body, it turns out, had other ideas. All of a sudden, I wasn't in control. Instead of good ol' Aunt Flo being her predictable self, she started arriving when she was supposed to but was leaving when she damn well felt like it-some "visits" were the usual 5 days, but over the last several months, she started sneaking in a few extra days here and there. The last two months were both 8 days. My initial thought was maybe I'd just been on the particular pill I'm on for so long it was just no longer effective?
I would have gone with that if duration had been the only change. But it wasn't. Flow increased substantially too. I went from one really heavy day to two or three, depending on if it was a 5-day or 8-day period. With the last one, I was still passing quarter-size clots on day 8. The biggest change, however, was I went from very light to no flow at night to waking up one morning every month covered in blood-it looked like I'd suffered a miscarriage during the night.
It just so happened that the bulk of the change happened after I'd already scheduled my annual exam. My doctor is awesome and therefore popular so it's hard to get a "date" with her. (Much easier when she's concerned because you are symptomatic for uterine cancer, however!) I had been documenting the changes so I could have an informed conversation with her. I asked her about a hysterectomy. And then while I waited for surgery and did the whole "what if?" thing, I realized while logically I know my chances of having biological children at this point are pretty slim, it turns out I'm not ready emotionally to completely give up on that. So last Thursday I had a hysteroscopy with D&C. I had a polyp removed that was pretty much filling my entire uterine cavity and I had the lining scraped so there isn't as much there to shed each month. When the phone rang Monday and I recognized my doctor's number, my first thought was "Oh shit. They never call this soon when it's good news." Thankfully, it was-pathology on both the polyp and cells from the uterine lining were benign. Hopefully, this procedure will put me back to normal and no further options will need to be explored as my doctor suspects it will. Because as awesome as I think my doctor is, I've seen far too much of her lately and would love nothing more than not to see her again until next October!
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
Better Off?
Let me start by saying I have very little interest in politics. I'm concerned about education because while I don't have children, I am very aware the youth of today will be the ones running the show when I am old and I'd like them to have a clue as to what they are doing. I have strong opinions regarding patient treatment, but I honestly don't know how much of that is political and how much is corporate greed or both. I'm a registered voter but also a procrastinator so sometimes I remember to fill out and mail my ballot on time; other times I find it in a stack of filing several months after the fact. I do have to thank the local politicians, however. Thanks to all the annoying messages I kept coming home to, I finally got around to cancelling my home phone. (Just FYI, I don't need a phone call telling me which candidate to vote for. I figured out how to register to vote; I'm pretty sure I can figure out which candidates are in my preferred party. The little R's and D's next to their names are a pretty big clue. Also, I don't need to be patched in to the town hall meeting already in progress. If I wanted to know what was going on, I'd go to the meeting).
With the upcoming election, the mudslinging is ramping up. Pretty soon, we'll be grateful for the holiday ads because anything other than yet another commercial with a politician claiming they are going to this or that and their opponent sucks will be preferable. Ever notice politicians always tell us what they are going to do but never how they plan to do it? Though I try to tune the ads out, I've noticed a theme developing. And that is "Ask yourself: are you better off than you were 4 years ago?"
Well, let's see. Four years ago tomorrow, I was supposed to be getting married. Instead, I'd been grieving the man I planned to spend the rest of my life with for 8 months and most of the time couldn't tell you what day of the week it was. Instead of my beautiful California wedding, my dear friend took me to the Japanese Garden. And when I should have been saying my vows, I was literally crying into my cheesecake at The Cheesecake Factory. (Don't worry, no cheesecake was harmed in my torrent of tears). I had no sense of direction, I had no real purpose in life, I had no idea who Heather was and I only got out of bed every morning because it's hard not to when you have a 25-lb cocker spaniel jumping on your bladder because he wants breakfast.
I did manage to vote. I'll admit I voted for Obama. I have lived in Arizona and have nothing against John McCain. (I did have concerns about the possibility of Sarah Palin calling the shots if something happened to him, however). But he's yet another good ol' boy with one foot in the grave. The country needed change so I voted for the candidate I thought would have a better chance of seeing the big picture. I voted for Obama for no other reason than I felt the country needed someone younger who wasn't already set in his ways. And I did it knowing that 4 years would not be enough time to turn around the mess made by his predecessors and fearing Americans would expect just that. This is the age of instant gratification, after all.
So now it's time to vote again and since I keep hearing it asked, I started thinking about whether or not I am better off compared to 4 years ago. Well, let's see. I still have no idea what my purpose is, but I've regained my will to live. I'm not entirely sure my sense of direction, but I've always been directionally challenged and can say with certainty I am at least moving forward-at least most of the time. I have a much stronger sense of self. I've started making goals again. Small ones because I'm well aware that long range plans can easily be derailed. But it feels good to have things to look forward to again. I am more surrounded now by people who genuinely care about me than I have been at any other time in my life. I get tired of feeling like I'm constantly fighting an uphill battle and doing it alone, but I'm also one of the strongest people I know. I'm noticing a confidence that wasn't there before, or if it was, it was very well hidden. I get lonely and I miss what I had. But at the same time, I'm grateful for what I have now, which is an awful lot of good things to be thankful for. I have a good life that I am pretty happy with. And yes, I still cry and get sad. I still have oh so fun moments of PTSD. But I have joy in my life again, even though sometimes all I can do is shake my head in amazement and ask "How is THIS my life?"
Am I better off than I was 4 years ago? You bet I am. And it has nothing to do with politics.
With the upcoming election, the mudslinging is ramping up. Pretty soon, we'll be grateful for the holiday ads because anything other than yet another commercial with a politician claiming they are going to this or that and their opponent sucks will be preferable. Ever notice politicians always tell us what they are going to do but never how they plan to do it? Though I try to tune the ads out, I've noticed a theme developing. And that is "Ask yourself: are you better off than you were 4 years ago?"
Well, let's see. Four years ago tomorrow, I was supposed to be getting married. Instead, I'd been grieving the man I planned to spend the rest of my life with for 8 months and most of the time couldn't tell you what day of the week it was. Instead of my beautiful California wedding, my dear friend took me to the Japanese Garden. And when I should have been saying my vows, I was literally crying into my cheesecake at The Cheesecake Factory. (Don't worry, no cheesecake was harmed in my torrent of tears). I had no sense of direction, I had no real purpose in life, I had no idea who Heather was and I only got out of bed every morning because it's hard not to when you have a 25-lb cocker spaniel jumping on your bladder because he wants breakfast.
I did manage to vote. I'll admit I voted for Obama. I have lived in Arizona and have nothing against John McCain. (I did have concerns about the possibility of Sarah Palin calling the shots if something happened to him, however). But he's yet another good ol' boy with one foot in the grave. The country needed change so I voted for the candidate I thought would have a better chance of seeing the big picture. I voted for Obama for no other reason than I felt the country needed someone younger who wasn't already set in his ways. And I did it knowing that 4 years would not be enough time to turn around the mess made by his predecessors and fearing Americans would expect just that. This is the age of instant gratification, after all.
So now it's time to vote again and since I keep hearing it asked, I started thinking about whether or not I am better off compared to 4 years ago. Well, let's see. I still have no idea what my purpose is, but I've regained my will to live. I'm not entirely sure my sense of direction, but I've always been directionally challenged and can say with certainty I am at least moving forward-at least most of the time. I have a much stronger sense of self. I've started making goals again. Small ones because I'm well aware that long range plans can easily be derailed. But it feels good to have things to look forward to again. I am more surrounded now by people who genuinely care about me than I have been at any other time in my life. I get tired of feeling like I'm constantly fighting an uphill battle and doing it alone, but I'm also one of the strongest people I know. I'm noticing a confidence that wasn't there before, or if it was, it was very well hidden. I get lonely and I miss what I had. But at the same time, I'm grateful for what I have now, which is an awful lot of good things to be thankful for. I have a good life that I am pretty happy with. And yes, I still cry and get sad. I still have oh so fun moments of PTSD. But I have joy in my life again, even though sometimes all I can do is shake my head in amazement and ask "How is THIS my life?"
Am I better off than I was 4 years ago? You bet I am. And it has nothing to do with politics.
Monday, June 11, 2012
Friday, May 18, 2012
May 18, 1980
While looking at Facebook this morning, I was reminded that today is the anniversary of the eruption of Mt. St. Helen's. It has been 32 years since she blew her top.
May 18, 1980 was a Sunday. I was a 6-year old living in Eastern Washington at the time. I vividly remember my brother (then 3) and I were playing outside when it suddenly started to get dark. This was highly upsetting: dark meant bedtime and how could it be bedtime when we hadn't even had lunch yet? But, nonetheless, we went inside to get ready for bed.
We didn't really understand what was happening when told a volcano erupted. We also had no concept of Western Washington. We knew of places like New York and Las Vegas-that's where Grandma lived. But that was the extent of our understanding of the world.
Dad packed us up in the car and took us to "Tickle Hills" to watch the ash come in. I honestly have no idea where "Tickle Hills" is or what it's real name is; that's just what we called the fun road in the country that made your stomach drop when you went down the hills (*). And there were a lot of hills! As a grown-up, all I can think is that would be a real bitch to navigate in the winter when the roads are covered with snow and ice! (I also have a feeling if I were to travel it now, I'd be all "Really? This is it?") The hills were much more exciting than the ash-it just looked like grey snow. And being that it was now spring, snow was pretty anti-climatic. Been there, done that!
We received enough ash that we had to wear masks to leave the house. Dad had several bottles of it that he kept for years. I wonder what happened to them? Ultimately, it was decided to cancel the rest of the school year, so technically, I never finished kindergarten. It doesn't seem to have affected my life too badly...
Several years ago, James and I decided to take a drive one day. It was a "let's see where this road goes" type of drive. We ended up at Mt. St. Helen's. It was the first time either of us had ever been there. And it was amazing. Everything was all lush and green and then we literally rounded a bend and could see nothing but devastation. The mountain is still recovering. And every now and then she threatens to blow again.
The biggest sense of amazement I have remembering this is that I'm actually old enough to remember something that happened over 30 years ago. How the heck did that happen?!?!
(*Out of curiosity, I Googled it, not expecting to find anything. Turns out the name of the road really is Tickle Hills Road. Huh. Who would have guessed?)
May 18, 1980 was a Sunday. I was a 6-year old living in Eastern Washington at the time. I vividly remember my brother (then 3) and I were playing outside when it suddenly started to get dark. This was highly upsetting: dark meant bedtime and how could it be bedtime when we hadn't even had lunch yet? But, nonetheless, we went inside to get ready for bed.
We didn't really understand what was happening when told a volcano erupted. We also had no concept of Western Washington. We knew of places like New York and Las Vegas-that's where Grandma lived. But that was the extent of our understanding of the world.
Dad packed us up in the car and took us to "Tickle Hills" to watch the ash come in. I honestly have no idea where "Tickle Hills" is or what it's real name is; that's just what we called the fun road in the country that made your stomach drop when you went down the hills (*). And there were a lot of hills! As a grown-up, all I can think is that would be a real bitch to navigate in the winter when the roads are covered with snow and ice! (I also have a feeling if I were to travel it now, I'd be all "Really? This is it?") The hills were much more exciting than the ash-it just looked like grey snow. And being that it was now spring, snow was pretty anti-climatic. Been there, done that!
We received enough ash that we had to wear masks to leave the house. Dad had several bottles of it that he kept for years. I wonder what happened to them? Ultimately, it was decided to cancel the rest of the school year, so technically, I never finished kindergarten. It doesn't seem to have affected my life too badly...
Several years ago, James and I decided to take a drive one day. It was a "let's see where this road goes" type of drive. We ended up at Mt. St. Helen's. It was the first time either of us had ever been there. And it was amazing. Everything was all lush and green and then we literally rounded a bend and could see nothing but devastation. The mountain is still recovering. And every now and then she threatens to blow again.
The biggest sense of amazement I have remembering this is that I'm actually old enough to remember something that happened over 30 years ago. How the heck did that happen?!?!
(*Out of curiosity, I Googled it, not expecting to find anything. Turns out the name of the road really is Tickle Hills Road. Huh. Who would have guessed?)
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