When I was very young...

I had a lot of responsibilities as a child. One of them was to walk the dog. When I was six years old, this simply meant to walk the dog around the yard a few times each day. I look back, and maybe this was not wise as the dog was about 80lbs and I was not. However, it remained my job. I never looked at it as a burden and I don't remember complaining about it.
When we moved to England and got a new dog, this job grew. It seems so strange to me today as I keep my children in sight at all times. I walked my dog around the entire base. It was another way to meet people and make new friends. My dog was not just a dog, he was a solid black Chow. People all over the base nicknamed him "Bear" and everywhere we went, people wanted to pet him and say hello.
It wasn't long before we started walking off base. This was not a problem as I had an ID to get back on base. We just had to judge the traffic carefully as many cars were travelling over 60 MPH on the road we needed to cross once we left the gate.
That crossing was worth it. Just outside of the main gate was a very large forest. It was mostly Pines and Oaks and Ferns, but there were occasionally Fairy Tale style toadstools or mushrooms also. (I still find it impossible not to smile when looking at a red mushroom with white spots.)
We walked for miles each day and each time, we would stop at a clearing in what seemed to be the center of this forest. A large Oak had fallen and there were old scortch marks from what was probably lightning. This Oak was so large, that laying on its side, it was still taller than my hip. I would lean against it, rest and let my dog off of his leash. As I write this, I close my eyes and I can smell the damp pine needles underfoot and the moss on the trees. I can almost see each of the leaves of ivy and feel the large ferns brushing against my leg.
This forest was more magical than all of the stories I had read because each time I went, it seemed to be completely mine. It was silent and peaceful. Beatiful and serene. We walked miles in this forest without a care or a fear of who might be lurking, or what danger might await. About two miles from that clearing in one direction was the burial site of a Viking ship with mumified human remains for historical hikers. That's where I learned just how short people were hundreds of years ago.
Two miles in another direction was the site of very famous "crop circles" that suddenly appeared years after the infamous letter to the Pentagon from our Base Commander about UFO's. Then there was the main gate of a RAF Base, but at that clearing, there seemed to be no past, no future, no present danger. Looking up, I could see only the flecks of daylight. It was dim and peaceful as if the entire world had just been given a lovely filter. Not too bright, not too dark, not too loud. Just soft rustling as I walked. Occasionally a bird or squirrel.
I first walked into that forest 26 years ago, and I still have never found anything to compare. I find tiny snippets of these feelings in other things and I marvel at them. I am a rushed person. I am a busy person. I love my life and am grateful for the snippets. I think everyone has such a moment or place of sheer perfection in them. I think we hold those places in our hearts to remind us of the grace and wonder of this life. I am in Oklahoma now and must close my eyes in the quiet to imagine a clearing in a forest far away. Someone else may right now be closing their eyes to envision some field here. We all have our own views of perfection and bliss. One day, I will see, touch and smell my forest again. If I keep my eyes closed long enough, I also remember that in that clearing, I was closing my eyes and getting ideas for my next homework assignment, or trying to answer the unanswerable questions of life. Perhaps things have not changed so much in 26 years...

Magnifying glass

My daughter loves bugs.. She know so many odd details about bugs. She can explain the category of assassin beetles in a way that could actually make you like them. She is fascinated and speaks with such passion, that it is contagious.
Whenever one of my children has a passion for something, I do my best to create an educational opportunity. My daughter has tweezers, books, insect encyclopedias, a microscope, slides and a magnifying glass. She uses all of these things to learn more about bugs.
I saw her using the magnifying glass to examine every detail of a wheelbug a couple of weeks ago. I watched as she checked the number of legs, antennae, and other special characteristics that would help her to find this creatures name in her book. This bug is pretty interesting. It looks like it has a hard shell mohawk. It has a long straw like thing in the front. I also noticed that each part of this bug has a purpose. Every single microscopic detail has meaning. The long straw is actually a big part of how it came to fall into the assassin beetle category.
I'm always so intent on stepping back. I pride myself on being able to separate myself and see things from a distance. This is a skill I have learned to protect myself from sheer lunacy. I do it because sometimes it is too painful to see things from just one viewpoint. Often, stepping back reduces the madness. I cannot simply say, WHY?
Often, I see life as if people are looking through the magnifying glass trying to figure out from just the shape of that one leg, what the bug eats, where it lives, how long it might live. Yes, our paleontologist friends are making their best guesses about just one piece of the puzzle, but if we have the entire bug, and we are using a magnifying glass, we have an obligation to ourselves to use the magnifying glass properly. Just because it has mohawk, does not make the bug a rock star in the insect world. What a ridiculous assumption. Or perhaps if we simply compared that straw like apparatus to that of a butterfly, we would probably assume that this creature also drinks nectar from flowers. We would be mistaken. If we were trying to colonize the creatures, we would be mistaken enough to kill them.
My point is that if something is worth checking out, it is worth very careful and mindful scrutiny. If there is no possible way to do that, or to understand the information, perhaps it is wise to zoom out until the focus becomes more clear. There is beauty in examination, but unfortunately, examining something too closely and not thoroughly enough can lead to incorrect assumptions.
Sometimes we are simply not to know. This is the hardest of all for me to admit. I like answers. I find comfort in them. I think most of us do. Be wary of the unexamined life. I think we must examine ourselves more closely before anything else.
Do we simply ingest? Do we serve a purpose? The wheelbug eats garden pest bugs such as aphids. What are our defenses? Do we use them unnecessarily? Do I use them enough? The wheelbug has the ability to excrete a very stinky substance. Perhaps if it had, instead of trustingly climbing into a container, it would still be alive. What is my fate? Am I to live a long life? I wonder if the wheelbug knows that it will die before it has snowed. Each of us has unique qualities.. Some are more like butterflies, some have much more in common with the wheelbug. The wheelbug survives by injecting its prey and then waiting. The injection liquifies the prey from the inside, so that the wheelbug can eat through its "straw". It is what it is. But now that I know, I will try to avoid them as I do not want the stinky substance on me.
I have examined enough about myself to know that I believe there are human counterparts to the wheelbug. There are those who inject the poison and wait and then feed later. I know for myself, I do not want the stink on me, so I try to avoid them.

My motto

Years ago, a friend of mine said a phrase that just "spoke" to me.. She said, "Y'know, sometimes you just have to put on your big girl panties and deal with it."
OK, so it could probably be put into better words, but I loved it! That is life. Sometimes you have to stop refusing to grow, sometimes life gives you a choice...sulk and throw a fit, or find your way.
I have said this to myself many times to get through the difficult situations. OK, so the toilet exploded, since I am the one here, I am the one who has to deal with it. Great, the shut off valve is too stiff for me to turn... OK.. Deal with it.. I looked around and found a metal coat hanger, a detestable thing that it is, and bent it to the appropriate shape to make the water stop until I could get help or a larger tool to turn the valve.
I could have thrown a fit, cried...etc, but it just would have allowed more water, even worse, TOILET WATER to fill my home. So, as horrified as I was, I "dealt with it".
As you can guess, I don't just say this to myself. Unfortunately, I have said this to others. I am no better than anyone else, but for some unknown reason I feel like sharing this tidbit occasionally.
I do not get my feelings hurt easily. I have not had the coddled life where the whole world danced around my preciousness. This is not to be mistaken for not having feelings. I do. I just do not lay them out in the street to give others a map to trample me.
Recently, I found that I have a weakness that I did not know about. (Believe me, I have usually found that my weaknesses find their way into neon lights.) I have a lot of wonderful friends from all walks of life. I'm very fortunate that my friends accept me and my direct manner. Recently, I have noticed that my friends all have something in common. They are all very strong, very resilient women. These are women who feel very deeply and who are very committed to a variety of causes. These are women who are living the phrase, "be the change you want to see." Yes, I am very fortunate indeed.
Sometimes very strong, resilient people do not have as much empathy for those who appear to be fragile. Ok, so sometimes I just do not have the understanding, or compassion that I should. It's not that I feel everyone develops character from pain and tragedy. I just apparently do not have the same appreciation for their frailties. I find myself holding on to my trials and resolutions as if they are my trophy. I have indeed put on my big girl panties.
I know that deep down, in the back of my mind. I secretly envy the frail. Much like the moms of the fifties. It's a trade. Yes, I have to "deal with it". In trade, I have more independence and confidence. There are days where I wish for the land where the grass is greener. I want to be the demure wife who can count on her husband to make all things right. I envy those who I see as "taken care of". I grumble under my breathe a little as I am using the drill to repair things. I mutter quite a bit when I am on my hands and knees trying to repair a toilet by myself. Yes, I grumble, yes, I would like to be freed from tasks like drywall and grout.
However, I would not trade my "big girl panties." Like a toddler learning to transition, in trade for my old ways, I am getting a gift of freedom, independence and confidence.
I have had practice. I have had a LOT of practice. I do not tremble in terror at an exploding toilet. I am not powerless when it is time to fix the broken. I have made my trade.
I am now learning a new skill.. I am learning to be a little less independent. Yes, the toilet was just last week. Baby steps. I am learning that it is okay to allow others to help, and to even ask for help. At first it felt like humiliation. It was not. Now it feels like a tool. Similar to a hammer. I sometimes do not have all that I need to be independent. It is okay to reach into the toolbox and use my phone to call for help.
I made a phone call about a month ago for help, and next week, I will find out if I can get the help I now need to get through some of my more challenging cognitive issues. I will not give up. I will probably take my last breathe attempting to learn one more thing. It is my nature to ask questions and learn as much as I can. Now, I simply need a little help doing that, so I'm going to "put on my big girl panties and ask for help dealing with it."

I am TAINTED

A couple of months ago, I was barely attending a meeting about Independence Day. Our goal was to put together a worship service that was both respectful of the gift of freedom and mindful of the price given for our ultimate freedom.
I say I was barely attending, as I viewed my presence there as just a formality. I physically produce the service, after others have created it, in that I type it, try to weed out the errors, and make the copies.
Then I hear the title of a suggested Hymn. The "Battle Hymn of the Republic" in its original form is very solemn and tells a story. What it inspires in me though is a little jingle in my head. I'm trying to stop hearing "rubber coconuts" in my head with the attention of the meeting is drawn to me.
"What do you think Brenda, do you think this music has been tainted?" ...
Please don't make me answer, I'm thinking as I am still madly trying to mentally wave away the annoying and juvenile song.
Okay, we are still looking at me. "Okay, so I didn't grow up in the purest environment and yes, as a matter of fact, I have to really work at it to hear the correct lyrics because right now I am hearing "rubber coconuts" in my head."
I said it. And it is true. That was the point for that moment. A lot of us are "tainted" by the variety of juvenile lyrics to the tune of The Battle Hymn of the Republic'. I am tainted in so many other ways.
My whole life, I have felt like I needed to defend myself as "a good person". It's really not necessary for a couple of reasons. One, if human beings were so good, we would be able to run around naked and not be taunted by laundry. We would not have to "hide" our bodies. We would not have to protect our daughters from perverts. We just are what we are. We are all a work in progress. And for those of you who are still striving for that day when you reach absolute perfection, or (EEEK) those who are sure they have reached it, I hate to be the one to tell you, but we just will not achieve perfection on this earth.
Life is messy. I am absolutely amazed by the perspective of others. I love to be able to see things through your eyes. Each time, it "taints" me. I am altered by it. I am fascinated by people who say, "Ask your husband what you should do". With such trust. I am amazed that my own life has been so colorful! I have seen things in so many different colors. My past is littered with not only distrust in men, but a real earned fear. I doubt that person had every had to overcome a hatred of men. Her perspective fascinates me. She 'tainted' me.
I always listen and review what others say about an occupation, but never view it as law. People are tainted by their own experiences at work in the same way.
I am tainted by the word "Synergy". I view it is a dangerous entity ready to pounce and suck the soul out of a company and turn it into a file. Others may view it as the happy definition at the beginning of a presentation. After being surrounded by this word for a year, and watching this word get the "reward" for destroying the "community" and "family" that was making employment more than just a paycheck, it conjured images of the "BLOB". It brought distrust and misgivings. I am tainted by the DT spin on "Synergy".
Just a few months ago, I saw my own life quite differently than I do now. . I was happy with myself, but I genuinely believed that I had to suffer to take care of that bigger picture. Yes, I still laugh a lot, yes I still have the same sense of humor, but I know longer think that I must suffer each moment to be allowed the grace and gift of joy. My world has been "tinted" to a different color of me by the gift of oxygen. I knew I had to make changes before that heart surgery, (that particular job plus my heart defect were shortening my life) but the day I woke up, and realized that I could go back to that job and stay another ten years or fifteen, I knew that would not be my choice. I now had the strength, but just did not have the will to use all of my strength toward something that was not my passion. Now to clarify, my job was not horrendous or some sort of torture. I had known many who were able to feel quite a lot of fulfillment and joy from that place. I just was not able to. It was something I felt I had to do.
There is a saying, "Follow your passion and you will never work a day in your life." I thought I understood that before, but now, with my tinted and tainted self, it means something entirely different. I have gifts, not all of them bring me happiness or I would still be an engineer. I wish I could give you the vision I see. I can see it so clearly now, that I may get a paycheck. It may be tiny in comparison to my former paycheck, but the reward is absolutely pristine! There is not a flaw, not a smudge. It is beautiful and joyous. I am where I belong and am hopeful that my next destination will be just as "tainted". My bigger picture has been tainted by this whole experience. I am no longer planning every single moment to accomodate both family and work. I am no longer worried about the money I will put in savings in five years and what effect that will have on the money I have already put into savings. I feel free...rubber coconuts and all.

Indicators

There is a mom out there that I just marvel at her ability to cope with terror. How many times had I gone to work and have heard about someone's child getting burned, stitches or broken bones? Too many times, I had taken my own stories of the days' escapades and injuries to others. It's just a normal mom debriefing. Kids will get hurt. They will experience pain. We just have to hope every day that it is not fatal. Many times we would even say, "Well, they'll never do THAT again!" with exasperation.
Pain from the hot stove makes our children move their hand. Pain from the ankle makes our child tell a teacher. Pain is a luxury this other mom does not have. There are actually a couple of moms out there dealing with congenital insensitivity to pain with anhidrosis. (CIPA).. This sounds like a dream at first. A child that does not cry out with every little scratch and scrape. One child rubbed her eyes so much that one of them had to be removed and the other has been severely damaged. It did not hurt when she was scratching and rubbing her own eye. She also bit her own tongue and fingers severely. Pain is a warning sign, and indicator to stop and recoil from heat. Pain is a necessary teaching tool.
I am blogging about this today, because I know several people who are in physical pain. I have been in pretty bad pain before also. I have also complained. I'm not shooting for sainthood here, I've even complained since I found out about this condition many years ago.
My own mother has had the most extreme opposite I can imagine. She was diagnosed with RSD (Reflex Sympathetic Dystrophy.) It was such a bizarre experience as my mom has an incredibly high pain tolerance. I had taken her to the hospital with broken ribs, broken wrist...never saw much more than a wince, so when she actually complained that she was in pain, I went with her to the tests... Her MRI was just incredible. Nerve cells had taken over her foot. There were millions and millions more than there should have been and each of them were sending an SOS signal of pain to her brain constantly. Fortunately, she was seeing one of the most renowned physicians in the country to treat this disorder, so she was in remission after several months.
So, occassionally pain lies to us, as in my mom's situation. Either way, we should pay attention. It is trying to tell us something. It's message might be "STOP IT" or "SLOW DOWN" or "You are NOT 17 anymore". It's message might be, "get your body to a specialist" as in my mom's case. In any case, although it is not the most pleasant gift, pain is indeed a gift.
Usually, I have been able to see pain as a means to an end, as I have been fortunate that most of my pains have been in healing from something else painful. I have been able to look at is as something transient. I am ever hopeful that for those in constant pain and for those who don't feel pain, that there is a cure. Not a cure from pain, but for the necessary balance so that we can trust the signs.
For a short video about CIPA, please see http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6t7E8wjprJE

Riches and Character

No matter how overwhelming life has seemed, there has always been another chapter. There is a reason why we do not read the same type of stories we read in the third grade. Things change and those changes affect us an deepen us.
When I was young, my grandfather's sister was really interesting to me. She had been a truck driver with her husband. She had many interesting stories and her husband had a ring with several rubies. He told me each ruby represented a large number of miles with no accident. She followed by telling me the importance of safety in all that we do.
This seemed contra indicative of all that I saw of her. She always seemed so carefree and full of life. She talked loudly, made decisions instantly, travelled freely and always had an enormous smile. She laughed a lot and told crazy stories about her life on the road.
Since she was so boistrous and everyone else in my mom's family was so gentle and reserved, I asked my mom one day why she was so different. My mom gave me one sentence that has stuck with me..."Difficult times in life build character."
Later I had a friend tell me that my writing and artistic abilities were feeling "blocked" or stagnant because I was too happy. That seemed like a ridiculous statement, but now, looking back, some of the most inspiring moments were preceeded by extreme pain.
I'm not saying by any means that inspiration, character and beauty are absent without pain, as there are many creations that come simply from joy. I do believe that our experience of joy is inversely proportional to our experience with pain. There is a richness in our appreciation of joy, peace, love and beauty that comes from the loss of the same.
Each time we feel loss, real loss, whether it is of health, family, freedom, or anything of any importance, when that loss has past, it leaves a new deeper appreciation. There is a time and a place for everything. The lack of understanding creates deeper emotion.
My daughter was recently disturbed as I cried while watching two sisters with Cystic Fibrosis sing. I told her it wasn't really a good cry or a bad cry. It was a cry of appreciation. Appreciation for the ability to breathe, for the mother who does everything to help them with every breathe they take, for them knowing they could do it even when doctors said it wouldn't be possible. It was overwhelming to me to know the suffering in their lives each day and to hear such a beautiful song come from it. I told my daughter that someday there would indeed be moments like that for her. Moments where life itself seems insurmountable, and moments where the awesome appreciation moved her to tears.
Even though my daughter does not believe me, and I do so much to protect her from the extreme pains of life, I know, that she will experience her own losses, fears, and will have to climb her own mountains of dispair to aquire more than just a passing appreciation. I know that these trials will indeed make her a better person.....but I am her mother and I'm not quite ready to throw her off the mountain just to get more character. I think it will be my job to simply remind her to believe that the clouds will continue to move and that she will grow and become stronger for each loss.
Life is not meant to be static. We are growing, evolving and building character with each choice and step we make. I believe that the story of my life will continue to get richer with joy, because I don't live on Easy Street!

My life through a lens!

For as long as I can remember, I have been fascinated by cameras and pictures. My dad had the same issues, I think, because he was always buying a newer, better camera, taking close up pictures of insects and sunset photos of handgliders in Colorado when I was very young.
I moved a lot in my life. Every year or so until I moved to England. Each time, we would get new furniture, new art, new towels, everything, but I clung to my little box of photos. I did not have my history surrounding me. It was always new places, people, friends, schools. I did have my history in that box. It made me feel more like I had a past, since each time we moved, I would be asked the question, "What is your home town?" I didn't know. My parents were from one place, I was born in another, and had lived in many others.
My husband really did not understand the importance of photos to me until I was pregnant with our second child. By then, I had discovered scrapbooks. I had put together my life in books. I had already made lovely pages for my oldest child. It reminded me of the little moments that tend to escape on a daily basis.
When I was getting together the camera and items for the hospital, he was muttering about how much I spend on cameras, photo developing, and he just could not believe I had purchased a digital camera also. I showed him the book of our oldest child.
As he turned the pages and smiled, looking at her funny faces, her tiny curles, her looks of surprise, and the pictures of her first birthday, I knew he was crossing his own line. About halfway through the book, he started sentences with, "Do you remember when she used to do this ALL the time?"...and I knew...he would see it. Those things that you are sure you will remember forever sometimes must be jostled.
He closed the book and looked at me. It felt like he was looking at me for the first time. He said, "You have pictures ready to be picked up right now, don't you."
Slowly, I nodded yes.. I always did. I dropped them off practically weekly.
"I will go get them for you. Be right back." He went out the door, I'm almost sure he left so that I wouldn't see too much emotion.
Since that day, he has not said one negative thing about the cameras, pictures, books... He often will offer to pick up pictures or frames for me now. He will make the time to look at the latest pictures and even ask if I would mind printing a larger one for him.
If photography is an addiction for me, which it may very well be, I am grateful for it. I still cherish my photos. I still display them around me wherever I go. I still will make time to take a picture whenever possible, because I can never ever get that moment back in real time. Even so, it's kind of like cheating time, because I can look at my pictures and remember the fun, joy and general silliness of that day.
It's my life, and I love to look at it!

I am one less person...

As I crossed the toll bridge to drive to Ft. Pickens, I looked over the edge and was amazed at the absolute frailty. The GPS gives me an update. I need to turn right at Ft. Pickens road. No kidding, I think to myself. I smile with a freedom I don't believe I have ever felt before. Yes, at any moment a tsunami could slap me right off of the bridge, but it wouldn't bet the first time something had gone wrong. Off in the distance, I can see Pensacola N.A.S. It seems so much smaller than the day before when I visited the Museum and got lost trying to get to Ft. Barrancas afterward.
Yesterday, the same GPS told me to make my next legal U turn. I could see the front of the fort, but could not get to it. I made the U turn and a few minutes later, while travelling on the same road, the voice told me to make my next legal U turn. Well, I might have been lost, but I knew that making this circle repeatedly would not get me any closer to my "destination".
Now, as I turn right on Ft. Pickens road, I reach over and turn the GPS off, for the second time in two days. I have seen the map of this area and this road only goes one place. There are no further turns to make. Even I cannot get lost now.
I live in the Oklahoma City metro area. We have a fantastic interstate system and I guess I take it for granted that I can get just about anywhere I need to quickly. As I pay the fee to use Ft. Pickens road, I see a sign that completely baffles me. I have been driving in Florida for a few days now and speed limits are modest. This sign says that due to nesting birds, the speed limit is 20 MPH. For most cars, this does not even require the use of the gas pedal. So I brace myself for a long ride down a relatively short road.
As we get closer to Ft. Pickens, this two lane road is surrounded by beach only, and gets narrower and narrower until there is just feet between the edge of the asphalt and the Gulf of Mexico. It is stunning. This road has only just been reopened. Hurricane Ivan washed out the entire area and it was unsafe for travel. I can see why. It appears that a large wave could do the same. Again I am awestruck by the frailty.
Right now, at this moment, there are thousands and thousands of gallons of oil in the Gulf of Mexico threatening all life. When I turned the corner on Pensacola Beach one large tourism sign said simply, "The only oil on our beaches is Coppertone." This oil spill threatens the livelyhood of most who live in this area. There is a very large military presence, but it is clear that the local economy relies heavily on tourism and fishing. (OK, and shrimpin', yknow, shrimp gumbo, fried shrimp, broiled shrimp....could not resist...) The sign was not the most politically correct cry for help, but that is exactly what it was. If only we could turn off the GPS that is telling us over and over the incorrect information. If only we could put out signs that say SLOW.
I knew when I drove over the bay bridges that life can be stopped in an instant by earthquake, hurricane, tsunami or just random acts of lunacy. I knew when I drove down Ft. Pickens Road, that the birds were there long before the road and they deserve the protection, but I was still iritated when a golf cart like object drove along with us for a mile or so.
Life is absurd. For all we know, in a couple of weeks, a hurricane will bring all of that oil so far inland that all of the bird sanctuaries will become bird cemetaries, yet the Rangers are doing the best they can to give the birds the best chance they can to survive so that my grandchildren may someday grind their teeth at the prospect of driving so slowly. The newspaper and local news stations are requesting volunteers to come help. The oil is not on the beach yet, but they are training as many people as they can get to show up in how to walk around in oil spill areas, how to rescue the wildlife, and even how to clean up an animal or bird to help them breath until they can get proper medical attention.
Volunteers are showing up. It is what we do. We make the choice to say we will give each other the best chance to survive. It's not just about having the least tern around to look at in a year, it is also about every interconnection that one little bird has in our ecosystem. It eventually leads to my own front door in Oklahoma.
For myself, I am in Oklahoma now, so there is not anything I can do, right? My children participated in the Junior Ranger program while they were in Florida. (I would love to tell you more about it so please ask anytime.) I was absolutely shocked at how easy the questions were and the projects were in their workbook. The were able to complete most without actually going to the parks, because they are things we should still be teaching each other and our children. If you see trash, pick it up. Do not disturb the animals as they will either attack, or your disturbance can disrupt them caring for their young. Don't litter. There were a few other messages, but you get the point.
People bring me reusable bags, which I now appreciate more than ever. One of the little factoids stated that plastic grocery bags look and move like jellyfish in the water. Sea turtles eat the bags and die. I may be in Oklahoma, and you may think it does not matter since there are no sea turtles here, but there are plastic bag manufacturers who are going to keep making them until there are less people using them. I'm one less person.

Stars and such

          Our perceptions are everything. When my daughter was five years old, we sat outside late one night talking about all of the stories of the stars. As we chatted about things of the night, I told her about our fifth grade project to count and feed the local bats.

We had bat boxes instead of birdhouses on the trees in the forest next to our school. Our class went out to count how many bat boxes appeared to be settled. My daughter and I talked about how bats fly around at night and what bats eat. It all seemed to be going well as she was listening and not really interrupting.

           Then she very calmly told me that she just did not believe in bats. Bats just could not be real. I spared her the story of my father getting a fruit bat stuck in his windshield wiper while driving to prove that I had indeed seen bats up close. Just as I was thinking about the poor little bat, she said, "No, I just don't believe they are real. They are just made up mommy! Everybody knows that bats aren't real because fairies are."

         I felt the entire world stop. This was one of those moments. A gift to be sure. I could see her eyes wide with innocence and pure life. Bats have never really scared me, but perhaps to her, they were just unpleasant enough to not be worthy of existence. Or maybe she just had not been exposed to nearly as many bat stories as fairy stories. Either way, at this moment, it did not matter. I could have gone in the house and provided evidence. I could have used this as an educational moment.

          This moment though, showed me a little window into her world. Her world was filled with a beauty I could only imagine. I cannot ever remember a time when I believed in fairies. Her view of the world really is colored with sparkly fairy dust.

         There was a time when I would have put that all aside and just explained facts. This child has taught me that sometimes the facts are just not as important as the beauty of a moment. Her beautiful vision allowed her to see that her yogurt lids could help someone in pain, so she insisted on saving them and sending them in.

        She is a mystery to me. She is the first to reach out to share and help others, but truly believes in miracles, joy, beauty and love in a way that I long for. She somehow is able to be compassionate toward pain and see the good at the same time.

     I will enjoy her stories and now read her poems with anticipation as she still is filled with a light and joy that I am still learning to trust. Allowing her to share these moments with me uninterrupted is helping me to see more of the beauty. So we sit on the steps and chat about the wonderful fairies and how their beauty helps the world. She doesn't think they actually perform magic, she tells me, she just thinks that by visiting and smiling they make the whole world a little better. She might be on to something. The girl somehow understands that we can do the actions and send in our yogurt lids, but we need to remember to pass along our joys too.

European Beach Party

My oldest daughter received a very large dose of the "literal" gene from my side of the family. She is intelligent and analytical, but lacks certain skills in assumed knowledge and interpretation. She follows instructions very well, and this means I have to really pay attention to things I am telling her.
Since I have little girls, I have taught them from the time they were babies that they should not sit around in wet clothes. I explained that girls bodies are very sensitive and that to stay healthy, we do not sit around in a wet swimsuit. That seemed like it was enough information until her first year at school. She was just in preK at the time, with adorable little blonde curls. I knew on the last day of school, something had happened. When I approached the playground to pick her up, all of the teachers looked up at me and were not just smiling. Most were giggling.
Oh dear, I think to myself. What has she done?
Well, to celebrate the last day of school, they had a little "beach party". The children were given wet sponges to throw at each other, sprinklers to run through, water guns...you get the idea. The school is on the corner where two busy streets meet, so there were orange cones blocking the entrances to the parking lots and it was just one big wet playground.
Apparently, when the children were taking a break, my daughter decided that it must be over and it was time to follow mommy's rule...so she stripped naked outside near a busy intersection. When asked to put her clothes on, she dutifully told her teacher that her mommy told her to never sit in wet clothes.
On the way home, I looked into those big blue eyes and explained that we also do not get completely naked in public, and tried to fill in as many details as possible.

Today: Dad and the Passport

My friend Melanie may recall some of the creative ways I lived my life when I was younger. She was my partner in crime on more than one occasion and helped me with my plans and schemes.


My father is a former Marine turned Air Force, and for those of you who have lived completely civilian lives, this is a recipe for childhood disaster. My father was not just strict, he was irrational. If my room did pass his cleanliness inspection, I would surely still get into trouble for not vacuuming the hallway to prevent the dirt and dust from creeping into my room.


My dirt was not his only enemy. He was quite sure that teenagers were all evil and up to something. I was not allowed to just go to dances or hang out with friends. I could go to all of my sporting and music events and school sponsored field trips. All of these things were supposed to have adult supervision.


I now see as a parent that I did have freedom to be in safe places, but at the time, I was sure that I was just a trapped little soul. Poor me. So I came up with a plan. My father was a computer programmer for the military so there were always plenty of computers at home. Nice printers and lots of access because he was sure that I would be the next Steve Wozniak or something. My plan did not seem so smart at the time, and I was fairly sure I would get caught, but somehow, I never did. I used my dad's computer to type up detailed permission slips with a monetary requirement. I was only give $40 per month allowance at that time and my adventures were going to cost money. Train, hovercraft, ferry, hotel, food... it adds up


The first time I was just shocked. I could barely enjoy myself as I was constantly looking over my shoulder, certain he would be there. After a few more, it just became normal. If I wanted to do something new, I typed a permission slip to the Natural History Museum in London, or some other plausible place in England.


When I was 25 years old, my dad was looking through my old passport. Surely he had done this before, right? Apparently not. He asked me, "How did you get all of these stamps?"


I didn't really want to answer, as I wasn't sure how funny he would find it, so I asked, "How did you get yours?" He laughed so I told him what I used to do.


Just as a Public Service Announcement...There is NOT a good time to tell your parents some things. Some things are better left behind. My dad didn't even look like he was breathing. Now that I have children, I know why. I'm sure in that moment, his mind flashed to all of the horrible things that could have happened to me as I was traipsing around Europe on my own. He never did laugh about it, and we really don't talk about it now. When I was younger, I really thought I was doing them a favor by not worrying them. Now I just pray that my girls are not quite so creative with their time.


I do not even have that passport anymore. I think he kept it. I would not trade most of those experiences for his vision for my life at that time, but I would go back in time and maybe not give so much detail when he flipped through my passport. Oddly enough, there was one place I really wanted to go and never did make the trip, because he was the only one I trusted to go with me. He was not able to go to Russia with me due to his job. In the '80's programmers just were not able to go to Russia for fun. As the '80's were such a volatile time between the US and USSR, maybe I was playing it safer than anyone thought. I could have gone and made a fortune selling my jeans. It would have paid for several more adventures.


Someday I will go and stand in Red Square and take pictures of St Basils Cathedral. It's a different environment now, but maybe my dad will go with me anyway.

Lemonade: Beware

      I have never been particularly fond of the saying, "When life gives you lemons, make lemonade!" The honest truth is that sometimes the best thing about a situation is to get past it.
     For instance, at this moment, I have a wallet draining hole in my back yard. The hole was created to fix what appeared to be a cracked sewer pipe. That sounded bad enough, right?
      Obviously not. I came home this afternoon and the hole was there, and nobody seemed too excited to fill it in and tell me great news. The hole was filled with what I will just call muddy water. (Let's leave that alone, it's delicate right now.)
       The pipe is in tact. So the "snake" was brought out. After snaking several times, the muddy water still does not appear to want to go away. The pipe is also clear. The city says it is not a problem with the main. There is nothing wrong with the pipe. What is forming in my yard is definitely not lemonade.
       More importantly at this point, my wallet is running out of ideas. My wallet actually asked me today if I would rather have a working sewer pipe or a trip to Florida. Well that is just ridiculous! This is certainly a lemon moment, but I honestly cannot think of one thing that I can make out of that muddy water situation that I would want to brag about! Sometimes, that is just the way it goes.  For not apparent reason, or consideration for logic, life gives you buckets of "muddy water" to live with.
      I'm really annoyed. I really have no idea what the next step is tomorrow. Thank goodness I am reasonable and know that this will not last forever. At some point the answer will be found. The pipe will work and all will be dry again. I will not be able to look at the back yard the same again for a while, but if it were not for perspective, I already would have hauled buckets full of this "muddy water" and dropped them off at city hall until I got some more help. For now, I am still feeling that it will all be okay in spite of the revolting lemonade recipe.

Schedule v. Sanity

I like to be prepared. I like to shop ahead, cook ahead, plan ahead. I used to do this to a fault. If the plans didn't work out due to life circumstances, I felt myself unravelling. I would become completely incapacitated with the "unscheduled" events of life.
I was in the process of complete self destruction when my youngest was released from the hospital. I had a toddler with severe asthma who visited the hospital regularly and an infant that had just barely survived meningitis. She was supposed to be my fat, healthy baby and my world was completely shaken. I had been at the hospital around the clock for six days. I had gotten nothing done during that time. Not only were the plans for that week in a shambles, but the plans were never made for the following week. I was BEHIND!
I was sure that this was the end. I would not be able to catch up. I could see my entire life pulling apart at the seams. I would have to work around the clock to catch up, I would be too tired to do a good job, I would be fired, I would not be able to provide asthma medicine, we would be homeless. It was snowballing in my mind.
Then I heard the most profound question ever. "Does everyone in your family have three pairs of clean underwear?"
This may seem like a crazy question to ask someone in the midst of an anxiety attack. Someone so overwhelmed by life and all of it's demands, but I could feel the earth stop moving. For just a moment, I stopped worrying about the laundry, the meals, the schedules, the charts for meds and just stopped.
I could suddenly see that this situation would not last forever. If I wanted to truly experience every moment I could with these precious girls, I could not give my moments away to worrying about these schedules. I would not allow the fear of "winging it" destroy my time on earth. Yes, we all had at least three pair of clean underwear.
I have had the gift of having someone around me say exactly the right thing at the right time to remind me of the true reasons for being here. All I have to do is listen and be willing to hear it.
Now, I can tell you that I still make schedules, lists of questions, try to plan ahead and shop the off season to save money. Now, instead of being sure that these things are the way to success, I see them as merely tools to help prepare for the days when "life happens". I can get behind now without tears. It will be okay. I am doing the best I can and even right now, we all have three pairs of clean underwear, so today is a complete success.

PS. I also still quietly celebrate July 30, the day my baby was released from the hospital and given the "all clear". I still remember the day that it began, but I refuse to give it time on my calendar. I will be joyful and celebrate my baby conquering meningitis. There is more power in that. I pray for everyone who has to wait to see if their child will wake up as I do not believe there has been a darker time in my life. Please remember to celebrate the victories!

Jenga Jenga

My life has been a little like playing JENGA. I stack my little blocks, make my way to the top, and then hear the chanting in my head. Pull this one out, no that one. Life is a maze of choices. When it really comes down to it, I cannot really say what is "right" or "wrong". Each success was wonderful, filling me with confidence and resolve to continue. I could add these "successes" to my little spreadsheet in my head. It was a little like adding a gold star next to my name in elementary school. Each of the failures or detours taught me something about myself. Sometimes I needed better boundaries, sometimes I just needed to learn that I was indeed a mere human. There were even times when I do not yet know what I could learn about myself, but am able to be compassionate to others.
Now and then, just the right combination of blocks is removed and the whole tower falls, or maybe just a good portion of it. Either way, in the game, this means you lose. However, what do we do next? We simply stack the blocks again and start all over, making our best choices.
I have not only tripped or stumbled on this path of life, but have crashed colossally into the abysmal wall of failure. I'm not particularly shy, so I have usually done it with an audience and with a lot of panache.
No matter where it is merely removing one block, or watching the entire tower fall, life demands choices. Stagnation is its own misery and failure. We must change and grow and continue to make choices without knowing with any degree of certainty what really is "right". Charge forward, take your pauses when it is someone else's turn, and know that if it is all crashing down, that you and everyone else at your table can rebuild that tower. We are not alone. And remember that it was not meant to stay a pristine tower no more than it was meant to lie in a pile of rubble. Keep making the choices and be proud. You are living!

Imperfection

I have earned every single imperfection! I am flawed, I am human. There are scars, both physical and below the surface and they make me exactly who I am at this moment.
Real life, life with meaning and more joy than can be imagined, comes from imperfections. The greatest stories are not about how a planned event went as planned. The greatest stories can be found when we laugh until we cry at the complete disasters. When I say that everything went exactly as it was supposed to, I do not mean that I have a checklist on a clipboard and that the day went according to that list. That simply would not be exciting enough or funny enough for me.
I think that we should all appreciate these imperfections all the more. My imperfects help to tell my story. When I was very young, I was so sure that I was supposed to be striving for perfection. Now I can see that perfect has an entirely different meaning. I still rub my hand on my chest in amazement. When I took Anatomy years ago, we looked at imperfections as a bad thing. I don't remember seeing a flaw and being told it was a great flaw. I rub my chest again. I was born with an imperfect heart. I have had many imperfect moments in life because of this, but have managed quite well.
At approximately 11:45am, a surgeon caused me to have a cardiac event, located my flaw and then burned my heart muscle. The imperfect pathway grew back during surgery and he burned it again. I know exactly what this looks like on a cadaver. I know that it would be described with a very serious and stern face. For me, this section of dead heart muscle has given me the greatest gift of all. I love this new flaw! I love the joy I have felt since the day I received it! Because of this series of flaws, not only am I unique, but I am able to continue to find joy and love for another day. I am able to appreciate life as more than a list to be checked off. I am able to love others and enjoy another laugh.
I have scars that remind me that some decisions are not wise. I have some that remind me of funny stories. I even have one that reminds me that I am loved. I have some that remind me that I am not replaceable. Life is not a video game. I don't get to just start over with a brand new character if I wipe out. Life is much better. It offers the opportunity to find that silver lining and to grow with experience.
I am so grateful to everyone who has been supporting me in my new adventure. I am so grateful to be loved by so many, imperfections and all!

Hair Mountain and Necessary Days!

Some days are just too spectacular! You know the ones. I used to grumble about the spectacular days, but now I see that these days are simply the material for future laughter.
I have long since accepted that I do not have the type of hair that will be on the cover of a magazine, unless it is the before shot for a miracle product ad. My hair is truly wild. There is a lot of it and it is super curly. When I accepted it for what it was, I sort of made an agreement to simply tolerate it and go on. The world was not won on Hair Mountain after all.
Now, accepting and tolerating does not mean that I never get ambitious. There are days when I get out the assortment of products and the straightening iron and make a grand attempt at what might be called "normal" hair. It is so exciting to have straight hair that I can run my fingers through. I don't do it often as it takes about 45 minutes and honestly, I'm not usually willing to give up that much of my life to Hair Mountain.
To accomplish the joy of straight hair, I generally start on one side. Get half done and then flip everything to start at the bottom of the other side.
One day, I was running early and decided it was a straight hair day. I had almost gotten the first half completed when the phone rang. It was the school letting me know that my youngest needed to go to the ER as she had tried a new daredevil move on the monkey bars and was less than successful. As I am listening, I am looking at myself in the bathroom mirror.
SERIOUSLY??? I have one side beautiful, shiny and straight...and the other side is super curly cartoon hair.
Yes, it had to be exactly like this. I had to leave immediately, could not make my dear sweet child wait another twenty minutes while I made each side of my head match...
I have also had an "incident" with a Wagoner painter sprayer. I was painting and needed to flip the nozzle. I looked at the trigger guard and decided that was overkill to simply turn the nozzle around. It was not one of my better decisions. Suddenly I found myself to be confused and blind! I had pulled the trigger while spinning the nozzle around and spray painted myself white from head to toe... I immediately made a smarter decision to go to Wal Mart in the middle of the night to buy masks as I had inhaled some of the latex and found that to be less than fun.
So I was at Wal Mart at around 2am spraypainted white from top to bottom. I looked pretty ridulous, like an animated statue...yet NOBODY stared! What kind of people could see something like that and not stare...??
These are necessary days. Luckily my daughter was okay, and I now believe in the power of a trigger guard. But being imperfect is completely necessary and looking back....pretty funny!

Pet Peeves and Guidelines

There are certain things that really do bug me. I had one book that was always within reach when my oldest was a baby. It had little developmental milestones listed so that I could know what was "normal", it had a list of all infant illnesses in the back and their symptoms. It was fairly handy and made me feel like I was a little more competent. The rest of the parenting guides were just largely frustrating for me.
There are a wealth of books at the store for every imaginable parenting issues. The problem is that most of these books make me irritable. These books are at best, written about a group of similar children. Children don't seem to be aware that they should follow some model in a book. Each child I have met is very unique. Children come to us with their own set of guidelines, but they are written in a language nobody seems to have deciphered yet.
Speaking with authority about a parenting issue actually is one of my pet peeves. Toilet training is probably my largest parenting pet peeve to date. There is an entire section of books on how to toilet train sucessfully. For me, this requires a new definition of sucess.
I thought that toilet training my child would mean independence. Independence for me meant that I would no longer have to stick the corners of baby wipes up my nose to deal with the most disgusting creations my child could offer. Independence for her in that she could use the toilet by herself. There are many problems with these versions of independence. The largest is that most of us are toilet training little humans who physically cannot reach their own behind. Their arms are not long enough. These giant headed little people cannot wipe by themselves!
How was this better? That was actually the key question. Everytime I had to follow my toddlers into the bathroom and assist with wiping and resnapping pants, I would remind myself of how ridiculous the whole thing is. Neither one of us gained independence from anything other than diapers. I still had to be there each time, only now it was more urgent. I was not only needed, but I was now enslaved to the unpredictable timing of a tiny persons' bladder and bowels.
I love my children, but I am grateful every day that their arms grew longer. The shining happy people who get to have an income from all of their parenting advice can just revel in their own confidence for all I care. I have not found one formula that works with my children. They are unique. They are not following someone elses guidelines. They are following their own and I still have not quite cracked the code. But I try to be compassionate and reasonable. It's difficult to do both every single day, but at least we are finally independent in the bathroom. I will call this a victory.

Bumblebees and Hope

     I may have mentioned before that when I was a child, I was fairly certain that I was slow. I actually believed that you could learn everything and know everything. I thought you could simply read everything in print and know it all....If you are reading this and still believe this, maybe you should close this window...

      When I was twelve, I read the entire Grays Anatomy... (It was a very large, comprehensive book about the human body before it was a TV show.) I was sure I would be a doctor. When I was fourteen, I discovered that doctors did not know everything about their specialty. Nobody noticed I had spina bifoda until I lost the ability to walk. It did not help that I was largely intimidated by science classes because I was still sure I was a little slow.

       Yes, one of my little secrets is that I took basic Physical Science and Biology in High School because I was sure I was not smart enough for Chemistry or Physics. I ended up taking both of these classes in college as they were required for my major.

I was absolutely terrified. I had books, study guides, notes, and still I woke up at night sure I would never pass. About halfway through the class, I realized that not only was I starting to understand it, but that I was ahead of the class. My professors would commend me on my questions and insight.

      AHA! Maybe I was not so slow! Maybe I could do this! I finally stopped feeling like I was just going through the motions. I was at last a bumblebee!

       I had heard a story when I was a child that explained the principles of flight. Bumblebees cannot fly. Gravity, mass, wingspan and the general shape do not allow for lift off or flight. The bumblebee has everything in physics and mathematics against it, but it still flies. Nobody told the bumblebee.

       I try to be careful what I say. I don't want to be the one who tells the bumblebee. I am very nearsighted and was told by my surgeons in England that I may never walk again. I was told I would certainly never play sports again. I would never have the strength. I was walking without assistance within four months. I did not join organized sports again, but I did not opt out of my high school PE credit. The doctor offered the "note" for the school, and I turned it down. I ran a mile every day, did fifty sit ups, fifty push ups and played sports in PE. I scored a goal against the school soccer captain. I played tennis. My point is that I pretended that I was the bumblebee. I was going to keep going as far as I could. I am grateful every day that I was old enough to make that choice.

I do not want to be the one to tell the bumblebee. My daughter's both have their own very significant medical issues. I pray they are never told they can't... Sometimes we don't realize that none of us really knows.

      My favorite doctor this last year was one of my neurologists. She told me that she had done all that she and medicine could do for me. She said there was brain damage that was permanent and that any further progress I made would be because I have either relearned how to do things, or my brain would try to "re-wire" around the damaged areas. Thank God she did not say that was as good as it would get. She was honest, but not at all condemning. I appreciate that. She even released me to go back to work so that I could try. She was sure I would need a lot of support and retraining to do my job.

       Even if she had condemned me to a life of contractures, balance issues, slow reading skills and recommended that I find something to do quietly at home, I think I would have flown off and wondered if bumblebees even have ears. I learned when I was much younger that nobody knows everything. It is for the best that nobody does. It gives us all hope against all odds.

Just in case you are feeling generous.....

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Grace

I started this blog with the intention of simply sharing a few thoughts, taking a few life notes, or just taking up space on the internet. When I signed up, I promised myself I would not take more than five minutes away from my life to do this. I have been so overwhelmed by my second chance, not in a heavy way, but in a way that makes me want to appreciate everything just a little more.
Everyone reacts to change differently. I have been very fortunate. A lot of people dealing with Traumatic Brain Injury (TBI) will have problems with being afraid or even extreme paranoia. Some have anger issues about what was "taken away" from them. If I had these issues, I simply do not remember. I honestly do not know how I feel or maybe I just do not have any feelings about the injury itself. It happened. I did not intend for it to happen. I certainly do not remember wishing that I could not speak, read or even have my own initial thoughts, but it happened. I don't know if I was even very worried about it. I know from my notes that I felt stupid and embarrassed by the way I spoke. I sounded like I was drunk. My speech was slurred and I often just did not understand the questions asked.
Like it or not, it happened. Fortunately, I have recovered in just about every way. There are a few things that just appear to be different. I have balance issues...so much for rock climbing. I have memory issues..ah well. I have learned that maybe my memory issues have allowed me more freedom. I rarely find myself too worried about anything, because generally, until I look at my notes or in my calendar, all is forgotten.
My recovery has changed my perspective most of all. I know now how truly important the love of others really is. When I didn't know what was going on, those who loved me stayed in contact. I was unable to drive for quite a while, and yet I was at many many doctor's appointments. If I wandered off, people looked for me. I was not the nameless, faceless person in the crowd that I felt. I was loved and well cared for.
I soon was able to see that I had a different focus than I originally thought. I was so sure that if I quit my current job, that the result would be homelessness. I was sure that I would never be able to provide Kendra's life saving medication. In January, I could see that in spite of working more than full time, I still spent every free moment at the school. I was not only helping out when asked, but creating reasons to be there. My focus is the school. My joy is in teaching someone something they did not already know. My thanks is having several fifth graders tell me how much they love science now.
It is bittersweet to begin this new journey. I know that I will still be in touch with my friends. I know that I am about to see more joy in my life..but I also know that it will be terribly painful to let go. I am tearing up as I write this because it is difficult. I have grown accustomed to seeing the wonderful faces of friendship. I have loved our conversations, our jokes and our day to day banter. I know I still have room in my heart for friends both old and new, but I will miss the day to day smiles and "Mornin' ". I have room for each of your stories in my new life also. I will never be too busy for a good laugh, or a chance to remind you that I care and I love you.
I could not have imagined one year ago that things would be so different today. I could not have predicted this massive change in my life any more than I could have predicted the day that my heart stopped. Either way, each has happened. Not very many people can say "My heart stopped, I fell and injured my brain, couldn't speak, couldn't read...and it is all okay." I am one of the most fortunate people I have ever met. When I was younger, I was even in a wheelchair for a while when paralasis from my spina bifoda took the use of my legs. How many people are there who have relearned so much? I am a walking, reading, talking example of grace. I'm not graceful, but I am kept by grace and I wish to remember that and pass that on to others whenever possible.
Please know that whenever we should meet again, at any time, I will be ready to tell you "Good Morning" and give you my biggest smile! May grace keep you also in the mean time.

Thanks to my friends.

When my children were babies.... I really had no idea what I was doing. Nobody in my family had a child with a chronic illness at that time. My first child was in and out of the hospital the first two or three years of her life, and not only was I learning how to be a mom, I was learning to battle the invisible demons that were making her sicker.
She was a pretty easy going baby though. She rarely cried and was generally pretty happy. Then baby number two arrived. She not only cried, but often had attacks of blood curdling screams. She was demanding, needy and LOUD. The day she was born, my mother moved to another state.
Mind you, it's not that my mom was helping me every day, or that I had grown dependent on her, but once each month, my mom had taken over the care of baby number one overnight so that I could get some rest. She would be the one up all night giving medications and watching her breathe. That's all I really needed.
Baby number two required the whole village. That saying has been around forever just for babies like her. If I had an entire village, we could have just kept passing her around and spread the insanity a little thinner.
I took my children to see my dad one time and of course the youngest was screaming the entire visit. He actually asked me why I would go out if she was screaming. I just stared at him. If I stayed at home when she was screaming, I would never ever leave the house again.
As they have gotten older, thank goodness everything has changed. There are still challenges, but they are different challenges. My youngest is still a very challenging child. She just has so much in her little mind, it must have been very annoying for her as a baby to not be able to get up and do anything about it.
Through all of this, I have asked my friends millions of questions. I have listened to every single bit of survival/parenting information and compiled it into my own little database of mom files. I am very fortunate to know so many amazing women. Some of my friends do not even have children, but still have some amazing insights.
Several of these wonderful women tell me I am a great mom, and I say to them, it is all because of you. Having a child is like receiving a package in the mail with the instructions to a completely different product. None of the manuals quite fit, and for the woman who sells books about toilet training in 72 hours...well, she is definitely not my friend! Having a child is intimidating and filled with failure. I would not accept a job where there was not only no job description, but that there is also so much judgement. However, here I am. I do not give up, but I have sat in my closet and cried.
I do not have any idea what success is at this job. There still are not any instructions or even a basic job description that can be relied upon from one day to the next. It is a frightening job, but it is also rewarding. I do this job with the help of every single one of my friends. I hear them cheering me on when I am sure I have no idea what to do next. I hear their words of wisdom when I am confused, and luckily, I can go back for more love, answers and support anytime.
Thank you all!

June Bugs and Gravy

I have lived here for twenty years and there are still several things that I have just never understood. The longer I live her the more I learn and the more the unanswered questions just make me laugh. "Southern cooking" seems to vary from diner to diner. Can we please have either ONE definition for "smothered" on a menu, or describe what it is smothered with? Why exactly is everything edible fried? Why do we call something a "chicken fried steak" but people look at you like you are stupid if you ask if there is a "chicken fried mozzarella stick"?
Most bugs and plants serve a purpose, to eat something else, or to be eaten by something else, or to anchor soil... You get the idea.. So can someone please tell me what is the purpose of the June bug? Is it seriously in existence just to get caught in my hair? Why do they fly into my car when it is parked? Is it a suicide attempt after failing to get caught in my hair?
Some things just make me really uncomfortable. The phrase "Southern Pride" terrifies me. Are we talking about lemon bars, porch swings and ice tea or KKK and militia? Can we find a balance between overly perfect super white teeth, and teeth optional events?
Indoor plumbing should be an assumption since it is the twenty-first century. Just a statement.
I came from a land where insects and snakes were not poisonous. Camping is life or death here. It's serious business. It really does matter what bit you. Although, maybe the recluse spider is the liposuction of the future. Maybe we will someday be desparate enough to allow a little necrosis to rid ourselves of unwanted fat. I'm just sayin'! We are already using botulinum (BOTOX) to do everything from relax facial lines, give relief of hyperhydrosis and even help with migraines. Maybe the hostilities in Oklahoma will someday be in a medical journal.
If you know any of these answers, please feel free to comment, I would love to know... I think... Maybe the answer is for June bugs and gravy to become a fuel source.

HP HP

A long time ago, I found myself really struggling with a relationship. I really did have to deal with this person, but this person caused me so much pain. Even when this person was not around me, the situation was ruining my time. I wasn't sleeping well, I would be nervous well in advance of a planned encounter. It was whittling away at my life.
I had an older, wiser friend who told me that "forgiveness" thing that people were always advising me to do was not necessarily what I thought it was.
Needless to say, I was sick and tired of hearing about forgiveness. I'd been told about people who had forgiven murderers, rapists, and I just could not wrap my mind around the concept at all.
"But this person hurt me intentionally!" I wanted to scream. I was just sick of the lectures. Then he asked me if I have ever known anyone who was well loved and happy being cruel and unkind.
I thought about it. Not really, I guess.
Then he said the words I will never forget. "Hurting people hurt people." I just stopped and thought about it and he continued. "What do you know about his childhood?"
OK, his childhood was pretty awful. His parents did horrible things, from beatings to shaming. Just horrible. I was starting to see where this was going and it irritated me. I did not want to have compassion for someone who had harmed so many...
Then it happened. I guess the word I needed was not forgiveness, but compassion. I try to remember that now. I really do have to work at it most of the time. When I see a story on the news, or when the story on the news affects a dear friend of mine. I guess I thought forgiveness meant that it didn't matter or that it was okay.... Compassion I could understand. I could understand that someone was hurting and didn't realize the pain they inflicted on others and still be perfectly okay with the consequences of the behavior. I can understand that someone who murdered another human being could not have understood the gift of life, and still be perfectly okay with them going to jail.
I now think forgiveness is the same thing for us humans. I am not required to provide forgiveness and absolution. Anger, fear, hate, vengeful thoughts are like a disease. For my own happiness and peace of mind, I need to not be a carrier of pain, fear and hate. So when I feel those thoughts creeping in about the news, it's time to remind myself.. Hurting People Hurt People.

Cubicles and Broken Trees

      Ben has been telling me lately that I am being prepared for greater things. I can feel the amazing changes, but it kind of makes me laugh a little. I have never lived my life as if I will be famous or remembered for anything in particular. Not that we are just insignificant and vanish.

        I saw a movie recently with a very interesting concept. It portrayed lives as if not only are we interconnected as people, but that everything around us in interconnected. Our surroundings retain memories of all of the past and all of our ancestors. My reality is not so different. Not that I can or would want to touch a brick in my home and feel it's experiences. That wouldn't exactly be my viewpoint.

       I do look around at this place I have chosen to live. It absolutely defies reason. I grew up with hills and flowers everywhere, trees older than the laws of this country. Yet here I find myself somewhere that is challenging for beautiful flowers, flat, and with few trees. Of those few trees, most have scars from previous ice storms and tornadoes. On the surface, it appears this area extinguishes talent and fame, however, this place requires more investigation.

        I currently work with a woman, who not only works with me, she is an ordained minister, a singer, and now a playwright. She is an inspiration to many. I work with another woman who creates amazing art and each piece is reprinted thousands of times for an international business. When someone walks into our building do they immediately see such talents? I doubt it. It appears as a sea of cubicles, however, look a little closer and there is the ability to quietly overcome mundanaity.

       Every one of the people I know is a star. They are all conquering the silence. They are volunteers, mothers, fathers, sisters and brothers. Many of the people I know have the extraordinary gift of being able to hear more than just the words that are spoken. In less than a minute, they can assess a situation and be able to commit to a solution. They do this with grace, compassion and control. Make no mistake. It is a gift. I have learned several phrases in many languages, but I could not profess to be able to switch eloquently and fluidly between any, and I know people who do it as if they are making a bowl of cereal. It is all amazing and should be appreciated as such by ourselves and others.

      I do not simply see a rugged landscape here, or just a sea of people with day jobs. I see that the land has not just had many storms to provide the scars, but people who came to help. I see the families, putting everything from their freezer onto grills to feed neighborhoods of others who had lost everything. I see the notes on Facebook about a woman who has lost everything to a fire, and the quiet organization of food, clothing, furniture and dishes. It is happening every day, below the surface. We are all interconnected. We are surrounded by the beauty of humanity and giving, if we are willing to look past the scenery of cubicles and broken trees.

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Spring

I swear as I was walking around today, I could not help but notice the colors. Today would have been a great day to take photos outside. Even though the sky was grey and it was windy, somehow the colors looked even brighter. Maybe too much sunlight washes the color out. I don't really know the reason.
I didn't get a chance to take photos today. It seemed cruel to take a picture of a puffy eyed, wheezing ten year old. The eight year old was just frowning because she did not get to spend the day with me. Although her frown and the lovely flowers would have made an interesting composition, I did not do it.
Someone said to me that she hadn't realized I had been through so much. It kind of shocked me for just a moment, because I don't see my life that way. I really believe that everyone has their own pains and fears. Everyone has their own trials. Then I thought how lucky I am that mine have been mostly physical. I have always had a lot of hope, spirit and perserverance! I have always had a fantastic sense of humor because I decided long ago that it is better to get a laugh out of something than to wallow...and believe me, there has been plenty to laugh at!
No matter how hard I try to be a Great mom, I just fall short. I will just stroll along the path of motherhood and out comes a stop sign! It just is that way! I just don't think kids are meant to have perfect moms. I think it is wonderfully healthy for them to see mom stumble, err and even cry occassionally.
I want to tell one of my students about a thought I had when I was younger. You see, my dad is not just a lunatic, he is the most intelligent person I have ever met. He understands concepts that escape me completely. Even his explanations for some physics formulas make me want to cry out with my own limits. I never really saw myself as smart when I was a child. In fact, I was quite sure that my parents had surrounded me with a slower paced environment to protect my delicate, non functioning brain. I always knew the answers first. I always handed my tests in first, but in my feeble mind, I was just so beneath my father's intellect that I was sure that I was slow. Really slow.
Now of course I know that I am just fine. I am more than intelligent enough to survive this crazy game of life. I see this same thing in one of my students. Not necessarily about intelligence, but I can see that they are comparing their gift to a parents'. Each of us is so unique. For instance, both my father and my daughter are very musically gifted.. Kendra and her asthmatic lungs are not likely to play a tuba for the King and Queen of Spain. My father is not likely to sing a solo in front of hundreds of people. She does not worry that she is not as good as him at the tuba.
My gifts are a little more scattered. I am not stunning at any particular thing, but I am lucky that I have tried and succeeded at many. I have had a lot of amazing life experiences due to my short attention span and my willingness to learn.
I can see gifts in people everywhere. My friends are each amazingly different. They all absolutely fascinate me and could teach me a lot! I am lucky.
Someone once told me that life's challenges are what will give a person character and that some people have a lot more character than others. This was an answer to my question about why my great aunt was so "lively".
Let life's challenges give us all more character. That is where the laughs begin.

Possibilities

I have in the past found myself so busy that I could not see the details. The details of life are absolutely amazing! It seems that every where I turn, someone is offering me their time.
Time is so precious. It defies reason. Sometimes it seems we have none of it to give, and then we find ourselves just pausing...I have spent a lot of time since last summer just staring at trees, bushes, flowers. I have always worn glasses or contacts, but last summer I went to get a new prescription and the doctor really took his time with me. He kept me in temporary contacts, several pair for a few months while the fluid in my brain was reducing. He changed my prescription many times and just searched for perfection for me. I cannot thank this doctor enough. I felt as if I had never really seen before him. Suddenly, trees were not just forms in the distance. I could see limbs and leaves. I could see each individual blade of grass.
Yes, he took the time to help me to see, and now I take the time to really look at things.
I have found that people have the most expressive eyes. Before, I might have been able to tell you someone's eye color, but now I feel like I can see so much more. I can see the exhaustion, the joy, the love, compassion. I have seen so much kindness and love. I am continually amazed.
Taking the time to make eye contact, speak a full sentence, even make the committment to shake hands, I crave these things now. I want to see you. I want to say hello, to reach out to you. I want to tell you how beautiful and amazing the world is to me. I want to tell each of you how much I enjoy meeting you.
I want to tell you that appreciation seems to just grow. Each time I find something new that I enjoy, it seems to lead to more. I am filled with more and more. Life is about more. More time, more experiences, more joys and even more lessons. I value them all.
In just a moment, I can share a laugh or a smile. In that same moment, I can participate in the plague of negativity and dispair, or make a split second choice to find hope and solace.
In just a moment, I can tell one more person that I love them.

My name is Brenda. I am a Mother, a friend, an employee, a student. I am many things. I have spina bifoda and Wolff Parkinson White Syndrome. I have been recovering from a Traumatic Brain Injury since August 2009 and I had Cardiac Ablation surgery for the WPW yesterday. These things do not own me or define me. If I were not so open about my life, nobody would know of these challenges. I believe that life was meant to be lived.
However, due to the challenges of the last few years, I have come to see that the really important things in life happen in less than five minutes! It takes just a moment for these two faces to assess whether or not they believe what was just said. It takes me just a moment to take a picture to capture a memory for a later smile.
My daughters have taught me so much, but it took the realization that I just am not ready to leave them to see that every five minutes matters. It's not at all in a stressful, burdened way, but in the back of my mind, when making each committment or decision, I am now weighing how many minutes this will take from my real life, my real purpose. I am not here to simply sell something for someone else. I am not here just to answer another question. I am here to teach these girls everything I can. They deserve to find all of their own answers with self confidence. They deserve to learn how to ask the next question without fear or shame.
I am hoping that today is the end of a very long and exhausting road of fear and challenges due to Wolff Parkinson White Syndrome. I am also just as hopeful that this new road we are taking together is filled with joy and learning experiences and appreciation!