I have a new crush. Big time. One that hit me quite suddenly about two weeks ago when he made me laugh.
I hate to admit this but...I'm pretty easy. If you have a nice smile (I have this thing about mouths), pour me a glass of wine and make me laugh, you can be pretty confident that your chances of getting lucky are quite high.
This man has a great smile and I just know that if I asked him really nicely he'd happily pour me a glass of wine. I've known him for a long time - always thought he was cute and extremely talented - but didn't think about him much beyond that. Then I saw him interviewed on television and learned that the. man. is. FUNNY. He had the audience cracking up and me SWOONING. I decided right then and there that I was going to marry him. That he would be my next husband. That I would meet him somehow and that we would get married.
It's good to have goals.
He's currently in a committed relationship. Oh, and so am I. But that's neither here nor there. We will get married. And he will smile at me a lot and pour me lots of wine. He may even sing to me sometimes which would be fan-freaking-tastic. But mostly he'll make me laugh a lot. Then he'll get lucky. Marriage is give and take after all.
So Michael, if you're out there, and you happen to read this, I'm here.....waiting.....waiting to be the next Mrs. Buble. (I even have "Our Song" picked out. You're going to sing it to me at the wedding. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KeKtB2EhdaE)
Monday, December 14, 2009
Saturday, December 12, 2009
An Old Friend Reaches a Milestone
Happy birthday dear old friend. And even though you're 40 today I don't mean "old" as in OLD. Forty years looks great on you, I'm sure. I miss you and hope you have an amazing celebration. You deserve that.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Where Does She Get This Stuff?
Emma told me today that she's "just humoring" me. I don't even know what we were talking about. All I remember is my shock over her saying that to me. I don't think, in the tone and mood that it was said, that it was meant disrespectfully. I think she just happened to learn a new catchphrase and used it perfectly. It made me laugh out loud and feel proud of her that she's developing quite a sense of humor. She laughed too.
What a great thing. Us laughing together.
What a great thing. Us laughing together.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
25 Years Ago
Two days ago marked the twenty-five year anniversary of the day we got the phone call that would change us forever. It was the beginning of a series of events that destroyed us in a way, but also made us stronger in a way too.
I would rather have stayed the weaker version of myself, frankly.
My 29-year-old sister, Joanne, was stepping off a commuter train. A conductor didn't look back like he should have and moved the train forward. She stumbled. She hit her head on the concrete platform.
And died.
Today marks the day that they took her off the machines that were keeping her alive.
Oh, how I miss her.
I would rather have stayed the weaker version of myself, frankly.
My 29-year-old sister, Joanne, was stepping off a commuter train. A conductor didn't look back like he should have and moved the train forward. She stumbled. She hit her head on the concrete platform.
And died.
Today marks the day that they took her off the machines that were keeping her alive.
Oh, how I miss her.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Being Brought Up To Speed
Emma is thirteen. Thirteen is hard. Not hard in the way I feared when I thought about thirteen so many years ago when she was a baby. I feared she'd be addicted to meth or something by thirteen. But she's not. She's a great kid - good grades, well-behaved, involved in some fun healthy activities, lots of friends.
But...
It's still hard.
She wants more independence from me and I understand that. It's what we all really ultimately want for our kids, isn't it? We want them to be healthy, happy, independent, contributing adults. They aren't going to get there if they remain dependent on us. It has to happen sometime and thirteen seems to be the age that the inevitable occurs.
But oh how I miss her. I miss knowing everything about her life (her friends do now). I miss being the go-to person in her life (her friends are now). I miss hanging out with her (she hangs out with her friends now). I miss her wearing princess dresses (none of her friends would be caught dead in one now).
I will admit that I'm one of the more fortunate moms though. She does seem to share more with me than her friends share with their moms. The silence that descends between mother and child at this age is so very hard to accept. And from what the other mothers tell me, they have to keep getting their hearing checked to make sure they haven't suddenly gone deaf. Ooooohhhh, I haven't gone deaf. WHEW! It's just my kid pretending that I don't exist! What. a. RE-LIEF!!
With this in mind, I will take any little tidbit of information about Emma's current life that she chooses to grace me with. The other day, on the way home from school, she tells me that Matthew finally asked Marilyn out - "FINALLY!" This was big news indeed. Matthew had been trying to build up the courage to ask Marilyn out for weeks. (Which, I always thought was kind of funny because Marilyn is hardly an intimidating girl, and she liked Matthew and Matthew knew that she liked him so....what's the big risk really Matthew? Man-up and ask the girl out already!)
As Emma and I were chatting about this - when he asked her, where he asked her, how he asked her, what she said back when he asked her, etc. - she concludes the story with, "And then the WHOLE CLASS was staring at them all during lunch! It was EMBARRASSING!"
I was confused. "Why was everyone staring at them?" She sighs deeply at my ignorance and says, "Because they sat together at our table and they've never done that before so everyone knew that they were going out now."
Oh, I see. I get it now.
"So, when you 'go out' you have to sit together at lunch?"
She sighs very loudly again, rolls her eyes, looks at me with a disgusted expression on her face and replies, "It's STRONGLY advised, Mom."
Six months, eleven days, fourteen hours and nine minutes until she's done being thirteen.
But...
It's still hard.
She wants more independence from me and I understand that. It's what we all really ultimately want for our kids, isn't it? We want them to be healthy, happy, independent, contributing adults. They aren't going to get there if they remain dependent on us. It has to happen sometime and thirteen seems to be the age that the inevitable occurs.
But oh how I miss her. I miss knowing everything about her life (her friends do now). I miss being the go-to person in her life (her friends are now). I miss hanging out with her (she hangs out with her friends now). I miss her wearing princess dresses (none of her friends would be caught dead in one now).
I will admit that I'm one of the more fortunate moms though. She does seem to share more with me than her friends share with their moms. The silence that descends between mother and child at this age is so very hard to accept. And from what the other mothers tell me, they have to keep getting their hearing checked to make sure they haven't suddenly gone deaf. Ooooohhhh, I haven't gone deaf. WHEW! It's just my kid pretending that I don't exist! What. a. RE-LIEF!!
With this in mind, I will take any little tidbit of information about Emma's current life that she chooses to grace me with. The other day, on the way home from school, she tells me that Matthew finally asked Marilyn out - "FINALLY!" This was big news indeed. Matthew had been trying to build up the courage to ask Marilyn out for weeks. (Which, I always thought was kind of funny because Marilyn is hardly an intimidating girl, and she liked Matthew and Matthew knew that she liked him so....what's the big risk really Matthew? Man-up and ask the girl out already!)
As Emma and I were chatting about this - when he asked her, where he asked her, how he asked her, what she said back when he asked her, etc. - she concludes the story with, "And then the WHOLE CLASS was staring at them all during lunch! It was EMBARRASSING!"
I was confused. "Why was everyone staring at them?" She sighs deeply at my ignorance and says, "Because they sat together at our table and they've never done that before so everyone knew that they were going out now."
Oh, I see. I get it now.
"So, when you 'go out' you have to sit together at lunch?"
She sighs very loudly again, rolls her eyes, looks at me with a disgusted expression on her face and replies, "It's STRONGLY advised, Mom."
Six months, eleven days, fourteen hours and nine minutes until she's done being thirteen.
Monday, October 5, 2009
Narrative on Grief
Grief may be a thing we all have in common, but it looks different on everyone.
It isn't just death we have to grieve...it's life, it's loss, it's change.
And when we wonder why it has to suck so much sometimes...has to hurt so bad...the thing we gotta try to remember is that it can turn on a dime.
That's how you stay alive. When it hurts so much that you can't breathe. That's how you survive....
By remembering that one day, somehow, impossibly, you won't feel this way.
It won't hurt this much.
Grief comes in its own time for everyone. In its own way.
So the best we can do - the best anyone can do - is try for honesty.
The really crappy thing, the very worst part of grief, is that you can't control it.
The best we can do is try to let ourselves feel it when it comes...
And let it go when we can.
The very worst part, is the minute you think you're past it, it starts all over again.
And always...
every time...
It takes your breath away.
Grey's Anatomy
2009
It isn't just death we have to grieve...it's life, it's loss, it's change.
And when we wonder why it has to suck so much sometimes...has to hurt so bad...the thing we gotta try to remember is that it can turn on a dime.
That's how you stay alive. When it hurts so much that you can't breathe. That's how you survive....
By remembering that one day, somehow, impossibly, you won't feel this way.
It won't hurt this much.
Grief comes in its own time for everyone. In its own way.
So the best we can do - the best anyone can do - is try for honesty.
The really crappy thing, the very worst part of grief, is that you can't control it.
The best we can do is try to let ourselves feel it when it comes...
And let it go when we can.
The very worst part, is the minute you think you're past it, it starts all over again.
And always...
every time...
It takes your breath away.
Grey's Anatomy
2009
Sunday, October 4, 2009
One of Those Lifetimes
Lately, I feel like everyday is about all that I do wrong and all that I don't do right.
It's discouraging.
It's discouraging.
Friday, October 2, 2009
From Here to There
I went on a trip last week. A special occasion. One that I frankly never thought I'd get celebrate. But I did, so I went. And it was fun!
Except for the getting there and the getting back that is. I hate that part. Every time I travel I try to psyche myself up for it. Talk myself out of the foul mood (and mouth) that I have by the time I reach my destination. I just hate it so very much. Drive the car to the parking lot, take the parking lot shuttle to the airport, take the airport train to the plane, take the plane to the next airport, take the train (or tram or whatever that particular airport is calling it) to the baggage claim, take the shuttle to the car rental place, drive the rental car to the hotel....
HATING IT!!
Right about the time I get to the car rental place I am fit to be tied. So pissed off. Irrational, I know, but it just drives me nuts, all of the transferring of bodies and luggage and purses and carry-ons and just OMG all of the CRAP!
None of that even addresses the fear I have of traveling. I never liked the idea of dying in a car or plane crash, of course, but ever since I had Emma, that fear multiplied exponentially. If she's with me I worry that her life will be cut short or that she'll be maimed or paralyzed and have to live with the trauma of that. And if she's not with me, I worry about dying and leaving her behind without her mom and having to live with the trauma of that. It's a lose-lose.
This was compounded last week by the fact that it occurred to me as the plane took off from Atlanta-Hartsfield Airport, how completely and utterly INSANE flying is. I mean, it really is - INSANE. It's just nuts. But all transportation is, I guess. Hundreds of millions of us get inside these little rooms with seats in them and proceed to roll about on these things called roads so we can get from here to there quicker than our feet can take us.
Then, when we fly we still get in a little room - a long tubular room - and sit our asses down and then we let another person - the pilot - rev those engines full speed and lift the tubular room that we're all sitting in (that includes a gas tank with hundreds of gallons of flammable liquid in it) OFF THE GROUND AND INTO THE SKY. All so we can get from here to there faster than our cars or buses or trains or subways can take us.
It's crazy stuff, I tell ya. CRA-ZY.
But here's the kicker. I love to travel. I want to see every country in the world. I want to experience other cultures. I want to meet the people and smell the smells and see the sights. Whenever asked, "What would you do if you had a million dol----" They don't even have to finish their question. My answer is always a definitive, "Travel."
So, I suck it up and try to do better with my mood and patience each time I go somewhere. I work hard not to think about how totally bonkers it is to put myself on these various modes of transportation. And I always try to remember that, for me, traveling is not about the journey and all about the destination.
Except for the getting there and the getting back that is. I hate that part. Every time I travel I try to psyche myself up for it. Talk myself out of the foul mood (and mouth) that I have by the time I reach my destination. I just hate it so very much. Drive the car to the parking lot, take the parking lot shuttle to the airport, take the airport train to the plane, take the plane to the next airport, take the train (or tram or whatever that particular airport is calling it) to the baggage claim, take the shuttle to the car rental place, drive the rental car to the hotel....
HATING IT!!
Right about the time I get to the car rental place I am fit to be tied. So pissed off. Irrational, I know, but it just drives me nuts, all of the transferring of bodies and luggage and purses and carry-ons and just OMG all of the CRAP!
None of that even addresses the fear I have of traveling. I never liked the idea of dying in a car or plane crash, of course, but ever since I had Emma, that fear multiplied exponentially. If she's with me I worry that her life will be cut short or that she'll be maimed or paralyzed and have to live with the trauma of that. And if she's not with me, I worry about dying and leaving her behind without her mom and having to live with the trauma of that. It's a lose-lose.
This was compounded last week by the fact that it occurred to me as the plane took off from Atlanta-Hartsfield Airport, how completely and utterly INSANE flying is. I mean, it really is - INSANE. It's just nuts. But all transportation is, I guess. Hundreds of millions of us get inside these little rooms with seats in them and proceed to roll about on these things called roads so we can get from here to there quicker than our feet can take us.
Then, when we fly we still get in a little room - a long tubular room - and sit our asses down and then we let another person - the pilot - rev those engines full speed and lift the tubular room that we're all sitting in (that includes a gas tank with hundreds of gallons of flammable liquid in it) OFF THE GROUND AND INTO THE SKY. All so we can get from here to there faster than our cars or buses or trains or subways can take us.
It's crazy stuff, I tell ya. CRA-ZY.
But here's the kicker. I love to travel. I want to see every country in the world. I want to experience other cultures. I want to meet the people and smell the smells and see the sights. Whenever asked, "What would you do if you had a million dol----" They don't even have to finish their question. My answer is always a definitive, "Travel."
So, I suck it up and try to do better with my mood and patience each time I go somewhere. I work hard not to think about how totally bonkers it is to put myself on these various modes of transportation. And I always try to remember that, for me, traveling is not about the journey and all about the destination.
Friday, September 11, 2009
Did This Really Happen?
I know this sounds stupid, but there are times when I still can't believe that the events of September 11th actually happened. It's still so ridiculously shocking. And so devastatingly sad. I tuck the memories of that day away most of the time because it's just too painful to recall the horror too often.
I love New York. I consider it home. I consider myself a New Yorker. I consider the people there my people. They're who I am most comfortable with. They are who I weep for every year on this day.
Much love to those families that are hurting today. Many thanks to all of the heroes.
I love New York. I consider it home. I consider myself a New Yorker. I consider the people there my people. They're who I am most comfortable with. They are who I weep for every year on this day.
Much love to those families that are hurting today. Many thanks to all of the heroes.
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Snips and Snails and Puppy Dog Tails?
The other day I was on my way to pick up Emma from school when this guy, some joker in his twenties, cut me off pretty closely causing me to have to slam on my breaks to avoid an accident. I refrained from doing what I really wanted to do (which was flip him off) because I'm really trying to class it up more lately. So I put both hands up in the air, palms up and shrugged my shoulders, like What the heck did you do that for?!
He angrily slammed on his brakes causing me and everyone behind me to have to do the same (again!). I was so confused. He cut me off. I thought he was getting off pretty easy compared to the level of wrath I wanted unload on him. A palms-up shrug of the shoulders was quite mild in comparison. Why was he pissed off at me? Because I dared to question his choice to drive so dangerously with an emphatic shrug?
He accelerated again and off we all went down the road for a couple of miles until the next intersection where there was a red light. Joker dude moved into the left turning lane and I stayed in the straight lane. He screeched to a halt next to my car, holding up everyone behind him that wanted to turn left, rolled down his window and started spewing this load of vitriol at me that shocked even the New Yorker in me. Maybe it wasn't just the words and gestures he was using, but that he was angry with me at all. I was still so confused. What had I done to him?
As he ranted on and on - even when he had a green arrow and and everyone behind him was honking - I just stared at him and laughed. What else could I do? He was being ridiculous. So out of control.
Eventually the light to go straight turned green and I started to roll forward. He sees this and realizes that his time with me is just about up. I waved at him with a big smile on my face and in a last ditch attempt to put me in my place he yells at the top of his lungs, "WHAT ARE YOU? A GUY?" then he sped off with his tires screeching wildly.
Seriously? Is that the best that he's got for his parting shot? Was that supposed to hurt me? What does that even mean? Was a palms-up shrug masculine? Did he, too, drive away from me and think to himself, What the hell does that mean? Why did I say that?!
I hope so. I hope he did feel foolish, because with that kind of irrational temper, he's probably a wife-beater.
I hate wife-beaters.
He angrily slammed on his brakes causing me and everyone behind me to have to do the same (again!). I was so confused. He cut me off. I thought he was getting off pretty easy compared to the level of wrath I wanted unload on him. A palms-up shrug of the shoulders was quite mild in comparison. Why was he pissed off at me? Because I dared to question his choice to drive so dangerously with an emphatic shrug?
He accelerated again and off we all went down the road for a couple of miles until the next intersection where there was a red light. Joker dude moved into the left turning lane and I stayed in the straight lane. He screeched to a halt next to my car, holding up everyone behind him that wanted to turn left, rolled down his window and started spewing this load of vitriol at me that shocked even the New Yorker in me. Maybe it wasn't just the words and gestures he was using, but that he was angry with me at all. I was still so confused. What had I done to him?
As he ranted on and on - even when he had a green arrow and and everyone behind him was honking - I just stared at him and laughed. What else could I do? He was being ridiculous. So out of control.
Eventually the light to go straight turned green and I started to roll forward. He sees this and realizes that his time with me is just about up. I waved at him with a big smile on my face and in a last ditch attempt to put me in my place he yells at the top of his lungs, "WHAT ARE YOU? A GUY?" then he sped off with his tires screeching wildly.
Seriously? Is that the best that he's got for his parting shot? Was that supposed to hurt me? What does that even mean? Was a palms-up shrug masculine? Did he, too, drive away from me and think to himself, What the hell does that mean? Why did I say that?!
I hope so. I hope he did feel foolish, because with that kind of irrational temper, he's probably a wife-beater.
I hate wife-beaters.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Their Gang Sign Was a Gentle Wave of the Hand
Last night, Greg and I were watching some murder and mayhem show that I'm such a big fan of. (48 Hours, 20/20, Dateline, American Justice, Snapped, Wicked Attraction, Primetime...love 'em all.) It was about a group of young teenagers that formed a "club" in which they, you know, killed people.
During one of the commercial breaks Greg says to me, "I used to belong to a club."
Me: "Oh really?"
Him: "Yes, I was twelve or thirteen and we called it Breezes and we wouldn't let any bad kids in - kids who swore. There was this one boy that kept wanting to be a part of our club but we kept kicking him out because he kept swearing. But then he kept coming back. And..."
Me: Interrupting him, "Wait a minute, your club's name was Breezes?"
Him: Looking at me, not sure why I had this incredulous look on my face, "Yeah, why?"
Me. "Breezes? Really. You named your club Breezes?"
Him: Getting annoyed, "Yes!"
Me: "When you were twelve or thirteen?"
Him: "What? What's wrong with that?"
Me: "It sounds like an air freshener or some sort of feminine product."
Him: "No it doesn't!"
Me: "Yes, I'm afraid it does. Breezes! The new feminine spray that leaves you feeling and smelling fresh all day long!"
Him: "Oh stop."
Me: "Well, I couldn't have been a part of your club anyway. I'm a 'bad kid'. I swear too much."
Him: "You're right, you couldn't have. I wouldn't have let you in."
Let me tell ya, it's SO intimidating to be put in your place by a Breezes member.
During one of the commercial breaks Greg says to me, "I used to belong to a club."
Me: "Oh really?"
Him: "Yes, I was twelve or thirteen and we called it Breezes and we wouldn't let any bad kids in - kids who swore. There was this one boy that kept wanting to be a part of our club but we kept kicking him out because he kept swearing. But then he kept coming back. And..."
Me: Interrupting him, "Wait a minute, your club's name was Breezes?"
Him: Looking at me, not sure why I had this incredulous look on my face, "Yeah, why?"
Me. "Breezes? Really. You named your club Breezes?"
Him: Getting annoyed, "Yes!"
Me: "When you were twelve or thirteen?"
Him: "What? What's wrong with that?"
Me: "It sounds like an air freshener or some sort of feminine product."
Him: "No it doesn't!"
Me: "Yes, I'm afraid it does. Breezes! The new feminine spray that leaves you feeling and smelling fresh all day long!"
Him: "Oh stop."
Me: "Well, I couldn't have been a part of your club anyway. I'm a 'bad kid'. I swear too much."
Him: "You're right, you couldn't have. I wouldn't have let you in."
Let me tell ya, it's SO intimidating to be put in your place by a Breezes member.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
I Think I'm a Facebook Ho
In life, I've always played it pretty safe. I was a "good girl" that never rocked the boat much. I had friends but not much of a life. In middle school and early high school I would go to the occasional birthday party and other special events, but I didn't Go Out. I was introduced to Going Out in 9th grade. I had made a new friend, a girl named Caroline, and she used to ask me every Monday what I did over the weekend. Um, what did I do?, What did I do?, I'd think as I racked my brain for something to say..."Uh, I went to the grocery store with my mom." I'd reply. She would give me a look something similar to what you'd give a puppy that had just been kicked.
After a while of this, her expression changed from one of pity to one of mild annoyance, "You need to Go Out more. Don't you ever Go Out?" Sure! I'd think defensively. I Go Out! I DO things! I have a LIFE!
Uh, yeah, not really.
Her persistence got me thinking...So people Go Out just for the sake of Going Out? They seek out fun and don't wait for an invitation to fun? What does one do when they Go Out? When one is Out how does one dress? When the person Going Out can't drive yet, how does the Goer Outter get to where one is Going Out? And lastly, how do I get these questions answered without actually asking the questions because the questions are just too embarrassing a set of questions to ask?
Luckily, Caroline was generous of spirit and soon enough asked me to Go Out with her one weekend. I made the announcement to my mother earlier that week that I was Going Out with Caroline that weekend, which led to a whole big discussion similar to the ones I'd been having with myself in the preceding weeks - "What do you mean, you're Going Out? Where are you going? What will you be doing?" But I played it cool, "You know, Going Out Mom. Just hanging out together for fun." Now it was her turn to give me a look. But this look was not one of pity or annoyance. It was one of distinct disapproval. "I don't like this 'hanging out' business, Rachel. Going Out just to Go Out - It leads to trouble."
I responded with the obligatory rolling of the eyes and reassured her that we were just going to the mall to walk around. "It'll be good exercise for me mom. And I'll make friends. And I'll get dinner for myself so you won't have to cook that night. And Caroline's parents will be driving us so you don't have to...."
Her turn to roll her eyes. But she relented and handed me twenty dollars.
So, that Friday I did Go Out. And boy, did I discover that Going Out was FUN! And I went Out every weekend after that. Sometimes with Caroline, sometime with other people I met while I was Out. My Going Out circle of friends was expanding rapidly and it was astonishing to me how much fun was to be had in the world if you just got Out more often.
Over the years, my Going Out repertoire grew and began to include school sporting events and adventurous trips to the various basements all around the town I lived in (because that's where teenagers hang out, doncha know) and dances and movies and, of course, the be all, end all of Going Out - PARTIES! So many parties. And do you want to know what I discovered at these parties? Boys.
Lovely, funny, silly, amazing boys.
And do you want to know what else I discovered? KISSING boys.
I discovered that kissing boys was AWESOME. Kissing is way underrated. Many people see it as the first step towards some other, better, end goal, if you know what I mean. Not me. For me, kissing was the best part. The way the stomach does that massive dip when the boy you're kissing is good at what he does....Spectacular.
So I kissed boys. And if I'm being honest, I kissed lots of boys. And one of the best things about my memories of them is that, for the most part (ahem), that's all I did with these boys. Lots and lots of kissing.
Fast forward nearly thirty (gulp) years to a being married for twenty years, having one 13-year-old daughter, lots of life behind me and a little thing called Facebook.
Facebook is really quite something. As I've written here before, it's amazing to reconnect with people that you knew years ago. There's something quite redemptive about it. Old questions answered, old hurts set aside with the wisdom of time and old friendships renewed.
There's also something quite bizarre about it too. When I look at my "Friends" list, I see it. There it is, my life in front of me, represented in one place all compressed together - past meeting present. It's very telling of who you are and who you were and who the people were that got you from there to here. How far you've come and how much you may still be stuck in some ways.
Two of the best features of Facebook are the status updates and the IM Chat option. Status updates are when your Friends write little blurbs about what they're doing, what's on their mind, how they're feeling, to vent or to communicate some news. The Chat option is when you can instant message your Friends that happen to be logged onto Facebook the same time you are. Being as nosy as I am, I check the Chat list fairly frequently to see who's on. Once in a while I'll have an IM chat but mostly I just play voyeur.
The other day, I was looking at the Chat list to see who was logged-on. It was a long list of men. Eight of them. Some from high school. Some from college. Some from after college. Some from a time I'd prefer not to get into here. All of them, but one, I had made out with.
WTF and OMG.
I am such a slut.
Can you imagine? It's like walking into a party and every guest standing around is someone that you've know personally. Personally, as in swapped spit with. Were nose-to-nose with. Made yummy noises with as your teeth clunked together.
I don't know...there's something very disconcerting about it. Having all of those experiences that took place over a ten-year-period, right there, compressed into one list - in black and white - in front of me. Makes me wonder, do other people have the same experience on their Facebook page? Is their (albeit, rather innocent) sexual history staring them in the face? Do they run the risk of entering a virtual room filled with all of those shared secrets between them every time they sign on? And the kicker is, that those seven boys on that chat list? They're only the ones that are Facebook members! They're just a small percentage of the boys that I actually kissed in that ten year period.
It's embarrassing.
Hello. My name is Rachel and I'm a Facebook ho.
After a while of this, her expression changed from one of pity to one of mild annoyance, "You need to Go Out more. Don't you ever Go Out?" Sure! I'd think defensively. I Go Out! I DO things! I have a LIFE!
Uh, yeah, not really.
Her persistence got me thinking...So people Go Out just for the sake of Going Out? They seek out fun and don't wait for an invitation to fun? What does one do when they Go Out? When one is Out how does one dress? When the person Going Out can't drive yet, how does the Goer Outter get to where one is Going Out? And lastly, how do I get these questions answered without actually asking the questions because the questions are just too embarrassing a set of questions to ask?
Luckily, Caroline was generous of spirit and soon enough asked me to Go Out with her one weekend. I made the announcement to my mother earlier that week that I was Going Out with Caroline that weekend, which led to a whole big discussion similar to the ones I'd been having with myself in the preceding weeks - "What do you mean, you're Going Out? Where are you going? What will you be doing?" But I played it cool, "You know, Going Out Mom. Just hanging out together for fun." Now it was her turn to give me a look. But this look was not one of pity or annoyance. It was one of distinct disapproval. "I don't like this 'hanging out' business, Rachel. Going Out just to Go Out - It leads to trouble."
I responded with the obligatory rolling of the eyes and reassured her that we were just going to the mall to walk around. "It'll be good exercise for me mom. And I'll make friends. And I'll get dinner for myself so you won't have to cook that night. And Caroline's parents will be driving us so you don't have to...."
Her turn to roll her eyes. But she relented and handed me twenty dollars.
So, that Friday I did Go Out. And boy, did I discover that Going Out was FUN! And I went Out every weekend after that. Sometimes with Caroline, sometime with other people I met while I was Out. My Going Out circle of friends was expanding rapidly and it was astonishing to me how much fun was to be had in the world if you just got Out more often.
Over the years, my Going Out repertoire grew and began to include school sporting events and adventurous trips to the various basements all around the town I lived in (because that's where teenagers hang out, doncha know) and dances and movies and, of course, the be all, end all of Going Out - PARTIES! So many parties. And do you want to know what I discovered at these parties? Boys.
Lovely, funny, silly, amazing boys.
And do you want to know what else I discovered? KISSING boys.
I discovered that kissing boys was AWESOME. Kissing is way underrated. Many people see it as the first step towards some other, better, end goal, if you know what I mean. Not me. For me, kissing was the best part. The way the stomach does that massive dip when the boy you're kissing is good at what he does....Spectacular.
So I kissed boys. And if I'm being honest, I kissed lots of boys. And one of the best things about my memories of them is that, for the most part (ahem), that's all I did with these boys. Lots and lots of kissing.
Fast forward nearly thirty (gulp) years to a being married for twenty years, having one 13-year-old daughter, lots of life behind me and a little thing called Facebook.
Facebook is really quite something. As I've written here before, it's amazing to reconnect with people that you knew years ago. There's something quite redemptive about it. Old questions answered, old hurts set aside with the wisdom of time and old friendships renewed.
There's also something quite bizarre about it too. When I look at my "Friends" list, I see it. There it is, my life in front of me, represented in one place all compressed together - past meeting present. It's very telling of who you are and who you were and who the people were that got you from there to here. How far you've come and how much you may still be stuck in some ways.
Two of the best features of Facebook are the status updates and the IM Chat option. Status updates are when your Friends write little blurbs about what they're doing, what's on their mind, how they're feeling, to vent or to communicate some news. The Chat option is when you can instant message your Friends that happen to be logged onto Facebook the same time you are. Being as nosy as I am, I check the Chat list fairly frequently to see who's on. Once in a while I'll have an IM chat but mostly I just play voyeur.
The other day, I was looking at the Chat list to see who was logged-on. It was a long list of men. Eight of them. Some from high school. Some from college. Some from after college. Some from a time I'd prefer not to get into here. All of them, but one, I had made out with.
WTF and OMG.
I am such a slut.
Can you imagine? It's like walking into a party and every guest standing around is someone that you've know personally. Personally, as in swapped spit with. Were nose-to-nose with. Made yummy noises with as your teeth clunked together.
I don't know...there's something very disconcerting about it. Having all of those experiences that took place over a ten-year-period, right there, compressed into one list - in black and white - in front of me. Makes me wonder, do other people have the same experience on their Facebook page? Is their (albeit, rather innocent) sexual history staring them in the face? Do they run the risk of entering a virtual room filled with all of those shared secrets between them every time they sign on? And the kicker is, that those seven boys on that chat list? They're only the ones that are Facebook members! They're just a small percentage of the boys that I actually kissed in that ten year period.
It's embarrassing.
Hello. My name is Rachel and I'm a Facebook ho.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
MJ
I was at Emma's swim meet when I heard the news. My first thought was of my friend, T, and all of the great times we had with Michael Jackson. My second thought was, He's free. He's finally free. I assumed at first, sadly, that it had been a suicide and was shocked to hear that it was his heart. It's like his heart broke one last time.
I watched the memorial service today and was sad, of course, but not weeping and wailing.
Until that is, his daughter, Paris, spoke in a pure from the heart unscripted moment. Then I lost it. Those poor kids. Losing a loved one suddenly can really do a number on you. I know.
I have felt ambivalent about MJ for years now. It was one of those situations where you heard the rumors, didn't want to believe them, but still feared them to be true. And then we were left never really knowing for sure the truth of the situation.
But I have to believe after hearing his daughter speak today, that he indeed was a loving father and that he didn't and couldn't harm children. That he was just eccentric and it caused unusual behavior and, in turn, he was misunderstood.
Whatever the truth is, it's between him and God now. And none of that changes the fact that he was a huge, happy part of my childhood and I'll always remember him for that. The guy could perform!
Thanks MJ. Rest in peace.
I watched the memorial service today and was sad, of course, but not weeping and wailing.
Until that is, his daughter, Paris, spoke in a pure from the heart unscripted moment. Then I lost it. Those poor kids. Losing a loved one suddenly can really do a number on you. I know.
I have felt ambivalent about MJ for years now. It was one of those situations where you heard the rumors, didn't want to believe them, but still feared them to be true. And then we were left never really knowing for sure the truth of the situation.
But I have to believe after hearing his daughter speak today, that he indeed was a loving father and that he didn't and couldn't harm children. That he was just eccentric and it caused unusual behavior and, in turn, he was misunderstood.
Whatever the truth is, it's between him and God now. And none of that changes the fact that he was a huge, happy part of my childhood and I'll always remember him for that. The guy could perform!
Thanks MJ. Rest in peace.
Monday, July 6, 2009
It's Hard, This Letting Go Thing...
The other day we were at a 4th of July party and my girl, Emma, bopped on by me as I sat at the bar yacking with some friends. I impulsively grabbed her and wrapped her in a big bear hug. Squeezing her tight and kissing her cheek over and over again. After a few moments she said, "Mom...." as in, LET GO! You're crushing me!
I didn't. I held on and said, "Do I have to let go? Tell me I don't ever have to let go." Then we both laughed and I finally released her. But as I watched her walk away I suddenly became very sad. I truly was just talking about never wanting to stop hugging her at first, but then I know suddenly that I was really talking about something bigger without even meaning to. I see her ever-increasing height, her more woman-like curves, the lovely hairstyle she came up with on her own, the stylish outfit that she put together all by herself...and I realize in one crushing moment that I do. I do have to let go. That little by little for a long time now, I've been letting go. And I felt my heart break a little.
This motherhood thing that I've always struggled with has been going on for 13 years now and without even knowing it, the letting go has been happening all along. As it should.
But man...
It hurts.
I love her so....
I didn't. I held on and said, "Do I have to let go? Tell me I don't ever have to let go." Then we both laughed and I finally released her. But as I watched her walk away I suddenly became very sad. I truly was just talking about never wanting to stop hugging her at first, but then I know suddenly that I was really talking about something bigger without even meaning to. I see her ever-increasing height, her more woman-like curves, the lovely hairstyle she came up with on her own, the stylish outfit that she put together all by herself...and I realize in one crushing moment that I do. I do have to let go. That little by little for a long time now, I've been letting go. And I felt my heart break a little.
This motherhood thing that I've always struggled with has been going on for 13 years now and without even knowing it, the letting go has been happening all along. As it should.
But man...
It hurts.
I love her so....
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Places. Memories. Secrets.
I went somewhere the other day and it held memories for me. Memories that I couldn't share with anyone in my current life. And that made me sad. But it also felt kind of juicy. Do you know what I mean?
When you're a mom you learn very quickly that you have to share everything. EVERYTHING. From the moment you are spread-eagle on that delivery table sharing your privates with anyone who happens to enter the room, to present day and every day in between. You share your food, your craft supplies, your bed, your clothes and make-up (if you have a girl - or a very fancy boy), your time, your illnesses, your body (they're always crawling on, leaning on, leaving some sort of bodily fluid on, sitting on, your body), your running errands time, your what-was-supposed-to-be-MY-alone-time, your beverage straws, your car, your bathroom, your television, your husband, your....everything.....
So when you have a secret - when you go somewhere with your children or whoever else it might be and that place holds a memory that no one else in your life knows about - there's something very satisfying about it. It's something that is only yours. That you don't have to share. That no one even knows that you're not sharing because it's locked in the private vault of your mind and they have no access.
And they never will.
Unless you decide to let it out.
To share it.
There are several places like that for me. Places that hold a special place in my heart. Places that I had shared with someone else in the past but they are no longer in my life so now it's only mine. Mine to do with whatever I want.
I choose to keep these memories mine alone. Close to my heart. Safe in my mind. At the same time keeping others safe with the lack of information. Things they don't ever need to know about.
I often wonder if everyone has secrets like this.
Or am I the only one?
When you're a mom you learn very quickly that you have to share everything. EVERYTHING. From the moment you are spread-eagle on that delivery table sharing your privates with anyone who happens to enter the room, to present day and every day in between. You share your food, your craft supplies, your bed, your clothes and make-up (if you have a girl - or a very fancy boy), your time, your illnesses, your body (they're always crawling on, leaning on, leaving some sort of bodily fluid on, sitting on, your body), your running errands time, your what-was-supposed-to-be-MY-alone-time, your beverage straws, your car, your bathroom, your television, your husband, your....everything.....
So when you have a secret - when you go somewhere with your children or whoever else it might be and that place holds a memory that no one else in your life knows about - there's something very satisfying about it. It's something that is only yours. That you don't have to share. That no one even knows that you're not sharing because it's locked in the private vault of your mind and they have no access.
And they never will.
Unless you decide to let it out.
To share it.
There are several places like that for me. Places that hold a special place in my heart. Places that I had shared with someone else in the past but they are no longer in my life so now it's only mine. Mine to do with whatever I want.
I choose to keep these memories mine alone. Close to my heart. Safe in my mind. At the same time keeping others safe with the lack of information. Things they don't ever need to know about.
I often wonder if everyone has secrets like this.
Or am I the only one?
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Can You Say Codependent?
Is anyone else as STRESSED OUT as I am about John and Kate Gosselin? I mean, seriously...my stomach starts to hurt every time I see a commercial or magazine cover about them. Can't those two kids just find a way to get along? I keep vowing that I will not watch the show anymore because I'm on the "I will not contribute the demise of this family by supporting the airing of their pain and suffering" bandwagon, but I gotta tell ya, it's hard not to watch. I can't not look at it. I'm in knots about the BIG Announcement tomorrow night. And we have what? Like 36 more episodes to go this season? What the hell are they going to fill all of those half-hour times slots with? Jon looking for an apartment? His first lay after Kate? (Or did that already happen?) Kate's ceremoniously taking off her wedding ring? The kids deciding how they want to decorate their "other room" at Daddy's house?
It's horrible! Just so very icky. I sure hope that the money they're raking in is still worth it to them in the end. They'll need it for all the therapy bills they're going to have.
It's horrible! Just so very icky. I sure hope that the money they're raking in is still worth it to them in the end. They'll need it for all the therapy bills they're going to have.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
12:50 p.m.
That's the time we were at the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum a week ago today. We had 12:45 tickets and decided to go to the museum cafe beforehand for lunch. It was a good lunch. We were all surprised because most museum cafes frankly aren't known for their tasty cuisine. They offered the usual fare as well as knishes which Emma thought was a funny word.
It was also the first time in my life I had to go through security to eat. In all of the places that we visited in DC in the previous four days - with all of the high security everywhere - not once did we have to go through security to get to the food. We thought it odd but when you're in that kind of situation (extreme hunger!) you go with the flow.
After lunch, it was about 12:50 and we entered the museum. And, of course, there was more security. We knew the routine by then and proceeded to put our purses and wallets in the plastic bins and on the conveyor belt to be scanned and then waited to walk through the upright metal detector. While we were waiting, a very nice security officer said to my me and my brother, "Please open your water bottles and take a few sips for me." We looked at each other with puzzled looks on our faces because that was a first. At every security checkpoint we'd encountered in the previous days, not one security guard had made that request. They either didn't care if we had water or told us we had to throw it out. We started laughing and the guard went on to explain that he just needs to make sure it's not an explosive liquid. I looked at him with a glint in my eye and said, "Well, this is vodka. Does that count?" He thought that was pretty funny. Laughed out loud and waved us through. Later that evening, my family and I talked about how much sense his request made. So much smarter than making everyone throw their water out!
Today, exactly one week later at 12:50 p.m., a security guard at that very museum lost his life to a racist gunman. Although he wasn't the one that asked us to take sips of our water, I wondered if he was one of the ones that I had encountered that day. The one I had asked where the gift shop was? The one that I smiled at and he smiled at me as I passed by him? It made me sad to think about. And grateful. Grateful for all of the security we had to go through that week as we toured throughout the city. We thought it was such a pain at the time, but now I see how important it is and how brave all of those security men and women are even though their day-to-day activities may seem rather rote and mundane to us.
My prayers are for the family of that security guard tonight. Thank you for all you did to serve and protect my family a week ago. And all that you did to protect other museum guests today.
It was also the first time in my life I had to go through security to eat. In all of the places that we visited in DC in the previous four days - with all of the high security everywhere - not once did we have to go through security to get to the food. We thought it odd but when you're in that kind of situation (extreme hunger!) you go with the flow.
After lunch, it was about 12:50 and we entered the museum. And, of course, there was more security. We knew the routine by then and proceeded to put our purses and wallets in the plastic bins and on the conveyor belt to be scanned and then waited to walk through the upright metal detector. While we were waiting, a very nice security officer said to my me and my brother, "Please open your water bottles and take a few sips for me." We looked at each other with puzzled looks on our faces because that was a first. At every security checkpoint we'd encountered in the previous days, not one security guard had made that request. They either didn't care if we had water or told us we had to throw it out. We started laughing and the guard went on to explain that he just needs to make sure it's not an explosive liquid. I looked at him with a glint in my eye and said, "Well, this is vodka. Does that count?" He thought that was pretty funny. Laughed out loud and waved us through. Later that evening, my family and I talked about how much sense his request made. So much smarter than making everyone throw their water out!
Today, exactly one week later at 12:50 p.m., a security guard at that very museum lost his life to a racist gunman. Although he wasn't the one that asked us to take sips of our water, I wondered if he was one of the ones that I had encountered that day. The one I had asked where the gift shop was? The one that I smiled at and he smiled at me as I passed by him? It made me sad to think about. And grateful. Grateful for all of the security we had to go through that week as we toured throughout the city. We thought it was such a pain at the time, but now I see how important it is and how brave all of those security men and women are even though their day-to-day activities may seem rather rote and mundane to us.
My prayers are for the family of that security guard tonight. Thank you for all you did to serve and protect my family a week ago. And all that you did to protect other museum guests today.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Many Adventures To Come? Who Knows!
It's been a while! I'm one of those bloggers that drive me crazy - long periods of time between posts - and it's annoying. Things have been so busy. Emma finished her 7th grade year with straight A's (and a teacher's excellence award!). We went to Pennsylvania for Greg's dad's funeral (finally! don't get me started.). And then on to DC for five days to see the sights. The DC trip was a lot of fun and it was great to see so many of the things that Emma studied in history this past year. Emma started her summer swim team practices and has two weekend retreats coming up as well as...yup, it's time that I admit it publicly -- BAND CAMP!! She's decided to try color guard this fall and I'm hoping she has fun with it. It's always fun to try something new.
Speaking of which, I feel a deep, deep need to try something new and find some future direction in my life, but I'm not sure how. I am thinking of taking an art class and finally get off my butt and pursue my art work.
We toy with the idea of leaving Georgia nearly weekly now. I'm not sure how much longer we can stand it here and are praying for direction. I want to sell everything we own and just hit the road and travel for a year but that hardly seems practical.
I hate having to be practical.
That's about it for now. Lots of thought and stories to babble about but I gotta go. More later.
Speaking of which, I feel a deep, deep need to try something new and find some future direction in my life, but I'm not sure how. I am thinking of taking an art class and finally get off my butt and pursue my art work.
We toy with the idea of leaving Georgia nearly weekly now. I'm not sure how much longer we can stand it here and are praying for direction. I want to sell everything we own and just hit the road and travel for a year but that hardly seems practical.
I hate having to be practical.
That's about it for now. Lots of thought and stories to babble about but I gotta go. More later.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
I Wish I Could Say It's Not True
"Most things break, including hearts. The lessons of life amount not to wisdom, but to scar tissue and callus."
Wallace Stegner
The Spectator Bird
I've been through a lot - more than most in some ways. I don't say that in a self-pitying way just as a statement of fact. I hate that my family and I have had to endure so much. When I saw the above quote it really rang a bell with me. A loud, resounding gong of a bell rattling through me.
I wish it weren't so. I wish that when I'd survived these horrible things in my life I could have ended up being purely inspirational. An example of the human spirit and inner strength that overcame these terrible times with no change in me except for positive ones. Full of wisdom.
But it isn't to be.
I am damaged. And those damages are permanent. I am changed forever in ways that aren't positive, that have left me callused and full of scar tissue. I am more fearful. Less trusting. More cynical. Less adventurous. More anxious. Less fun-loving. More of what I don't want to be. Less of what I do.
I have found over the years that people don't want to hear this truth about me. They want to only know that I'm okay. That I'm fine in spite of it all. Even though they are intelligent people and probably know down deep inside of themselves that I'm not okay. How could I be? How does one escape permanent damage with all of the crap that's gone on? I guess for them to openly know and admit that all is not fine with me makes them uncomfortable - and sometimes even annoyed. I'm always surprised by that. The lack of grace and understanding others feel about the fact that all of these horrible things have left permanent scars on my heart and mind. It makes me feel like I'm not worth it to people to know the real me - they only want to know me if I'm "fine". People are willing to accept any positive changes my suffering may have brought about, but not the negative ones.
And there have been positive changes, I'm not denying that. I have a deeper understanding of life - a bigger picture, if you will. I know what is tragic and what is not. It helps keep things in perspective. I think I'm more gracious towards others and more sympathetic and empathetic than I was before. I've learned valuable lessons about life at a relatively young age that others may never have the opportunity to learn. Most importantly, I've been able to help others simply by understanding what it is to hurt a hurt so deep and devastating that you feel like you'll never stop shaking or that you'll never be able to smile ever again or that you will never again be able to take in a full breath of air because the hurt seems to have sucked all of the oxygen out of every room you happen to be in. I understand how devastating it is to come to the full realization that you will never feel normal again. Ever.
There's value to all of that, I know.
But it still sucks.
I would still rather have my sister and my mother and my two brothers back. I would forgo all of those positive things just to have them back in my life, even for a single day.
I remember reading an interview once with Charlize Theron. She was discussing how she witnessed her mother shoot her father dead in self-defense. How she didn't want that one incident to define her - to brand her. I understand that desire. That instinct to fight the damage that sort of thing must inevitably inflict. But the truth is, it did brand her. How could it not? And it's permanent. The effects of that sort of thing are forever.
But here's what I've learned - It doesn't have to control your life - but it will define it. It will make you into someone different than you were before - good or bad.
And that can be very hard to accept.
So very hard.
And if it's hard for me to accept that about myself then maybe I should be more understanding about how hard it is for other's to accept that about me.
It's just that...sometimes I get tired of being the understanding one.
So, if you're reading this and you know someone that's been through a really rough patch, I encourage you to try to be open and honest with yourself about who this person is now. And to accept them. And love them. And to let them know that you love them. No matter what.
Wallace Stegner
The Spectator Bird
I've been through a lot - more than most in some ways. I don't say that in a self-pitying way just as a statement of fact. I hate that my family and I have had to endure so much. When I saw the above quote it really rang a bell with me. A loud, resounding gong of a bell rattling through me.
I wish it weren't so. I wish that when I'd survived these horrible things in my life I could have ended up being purely inspirational. An example of the human spirit and inner strength that overcame these terrible times with no change in me except for positive ones. Full of wisdom.
But it isn't to be.
I am damaged. And those damages are permanent. I am changed forever in ways that aren't positive, that have left me callused and full of scar tissue. I am more fearful. Less trusting. More cynical. Less adventurous. More anxious. Less fun-loving. More of what I don't want to be. Less of what I do.
I have found over the years that people don't want to hear this truth about me. They want to only know that I'm okay. That I'm fine in spite of it all. Even though they are intelligent people and probably know down deep inside of themselves that I'm not okay. How could I be? How does one escape permanent damage with all of the crap that's gone on? I guess for them to openly know and admit that all is not fine with me makes them uncomfortable - and sometimes even annoyed. I'm always surprised by that. The lack of grace and understanding others feel about the fact that all of these horrible things have left permanent scars on my heart and mind. It makes me feel like I'm not worth it to people to know the real me - they only want to know me if I'm "fine". People are willing to accept any positive changes my suffering may have brought about, but not the negative ones.
And there have been positive changes, I'm not denying that. I have a deeper understanding of life - a bigger picture, if you will. I know what is tragic and what is not. It helps keep things in perspective. I think I'm more gracious towards others and more sympathetic and empathetic than I was before. I've learned valuable lessons about life at a relatively young age that others may never have the opportunity to learn. Most importantly, I've been able to help others simply by understanding what it is to hurt a hurt so deep and devastating that you feel like you'll never stop shaking or that you'll never be able to smile ever again or that you will never again be able to take in a full breath of air because the hurt seems to have sucked all of the oxygen out of every room you happen to be in. I understand how devastating it is to come to the full realization that you will never feel normal again. Ever.
There's value to all of that, I know.
But it still sucks.
I would still rather have my sister and my mother and my two brothers back. I would forgo all of those positive things just to have them back in my life, even for a single day.
I remember reading an interview once with Charlize Theron. She was discussing how she witnessed her mother shoot her father dead in self-defense. How she didn't want that one incident to define her - to brand her. I understand that desire. That instinct to fight the damage that sort of thing must inevitably inflict. But the truth is, it did brand her. How could it not? And it's permanent. The effects of that sort of thing are forever.
But here's what I've learned - It doesn't have to control your life - but it will define it. It will make you into someone different than you were before - good or bad.
And that can be very hard to accept.
So very hard.
And if it's hard for me to accept that about myself then maybe I should be more understanding about how hard it is for other's to accept that about me.
It's just that...sometimes I get tired of being the understanding one.
So, if you're reading this and you know someone that's been through a really rough patch, I encourage you to try to be open and honest with yourself about who this person is now. And to accept them. And love them. And to let them know that you love them. No matter what.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Missing an Old Friend
Happy Birthday Hannah. We wish you a fun birthday and a lovely 12th year. Dear Emma misses dear you.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
What's next, bed bugs?
Over the weekend we had to run some errands. I put on the jeans I had worn for a couple of hours the night before when we went to a performance by the United States Marine Corp Silent Drill Team at a local high school.
I put the jeans on and within a few seconds felt a sharp pain on my knee. Then another a little higher up on my thigh. It kind of felt like maybe there was a sharp something or other stuck in the fabric and poking me. I rubbed the area a few times and even put my hand inside to feel the fabric trying to find what it was. Nothing. I got zipped up again as it was time to go and, zing! Another sharp pain behind my knee and, ouch! Another one on my calf. What the...?!
I finally ripped the jeans off and turned them inside out searching for answers and there was nothing I could feel or see. So weird. But when I looked down at my leg, sure enough, there were these little red spots where I had felt the pain. Whatever, I thought. I put on another pair of pants and off we went.
But it wasn't over. The pain was getting worse. Throbbing, shooting pain. By the time we got to Target it was hard to walk normally. Clearly, I had been bitten by something, but what? While we were there we bought some Benadryl and I knew it was only a matter of time before it got better. No biggie.
When we got out to the car, Greg asked, "What do you think it was?" I replied, "Probably some sort of spider. Maybe it got in my jeans last night at the high school." He said, "What does it feel like?" I told him it felt almost like being stung by a red ant but worse -- "It's like...it's like...I ACTUALLY had ants in my pants! HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!"
I crack myself up.
Emma did the obligatory, I'm-almost-13-and-I'm-stuck-with-this-loon-as-a-mom, eye-rolling and Greg just shook his head.
I put the jeans on and within a few seconds felt a sharp pain on my knee. Then another a little higher up on my thigh. It kind of felt like maybe there was a sharp something or other stuck in the fabric and poking me. I rubbed the area a few times and even put my hand inside to feel the fabric trying to find what it was. Nothing. I got zipped up again as it was time to go and, zing! Another sharp pain behind my knee and, ouch! Another one on my calf. What the...?!
I finally ripped the jeans off and turned them inside out searching for answers and there was nothing I could feel or see. So weird. But when I looked down at my leg, sure enough, there were these little red spots where I had felt the pain. Whatever, I thought. I put on another pair of pants and off we went.
But it wasn't over. The pain was getting worse. Throbbing, shooting pain. By the time we got to Target it was hard to walk normally. Clearly, I had been bitten by something, but what? While we were there we bought some Benadryl and I knew it was only a matter of time before it got better. No biggie.
When we got out to the car, Greg asked, "What do you think it was?" I replied, "Probably some sort of spider. Maybe it got in my jeans last night at the high school." He said, "What does it feel like?" I told him it felt almost like being stung by a red ant but worse -- "It's like...it's like...I ACTUALLY had ants in my pants! HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!"
I crack myself up.
Emma did the obligatory, I'm-almost-13-and-I'm-stuck-with-this-loon-as-a-mom, eye-rolling and Greg just shook his head.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Seven Minutes
No, not in heaven. But it was a little heavenly I suppose...
There's a lot of crap going on right now and my anxiety level is quite high. Normally, I don't consider myself an anxious person. I can be a very stressed out person. I can be a very depressed person. I can even have some very manic moments (Usually premenstrual - it's not a bipolar thing.) where I laugh so hard I start crying or cry so hard I start laughing. (Seriously, I'm not bipolar.)
But I don't think I'm a particularly "anxious" person.
But lately....lately...yeah, pretty anxious. I keep having to remind myself to breathe. And I keep doing this thing where I lean my head back and close my eyes repeating, "Breathe Rachel. It'll be okay Rachel. Deep breaths Rachel. Think of good things Rachel. RELAX RACHEL!" and then my head springs back up, my eyes fly open and I'm all anxious again.
Last night, I was flipping through the channels and came across The Hills: A Look Back With Lauren Conrad on MTV. I've already confessed my obsession with The Hills so I don't feel the need to get into that humiliation again here. (If you'd like to read about it you can look back in the August archives under "There's Gold In Them There Hills!" )
Anyway, I stopped surfing and sat there staring at the TV and became totally engrossed in the drama. Lauren and Steven, Steven and Kristen, Lauren and Jason, Jessica and Jason. I was mesmerized. Suddenly, an obnoxious commercial break came on and I was snapped out of my trance. I looked up at the clock then looked over at Greg and said, "For the last seven minutes I didn't think about one single problem AT ALL for the first time in almost two weeks. For seven whole minutes I thought about nothing else except for Lauren and whether or not she'll get her shit together with these boys."
First, he laughed pretty hard. Then, he strongly encouraged me to keep watching. (Which he never does because he feels the need to pretend that he hates The Hills. And yet...he always makes his way upstairs on Monday nights around 10pm for some reason....hmm. Odd.)
I did continue to watch, and while I don't think it's any real solution to all that feels wrong right now, I do believe that mindless shows like that - if kept in perspective (I know it's not going to win a frickin' Emmy) - can be a gift. An escape. And at this point, I'll take whatever I can get.
There's a lot of crap going on right now and my anxiety level is quite high. Normally, I don't consider myself an anxious person. I can be a very stressed out person. I can be a very depressed person. I can even have some very manic moments (Usually premenstrual - it's not a bipolar thing.) where I laugh so hard I start crying or cry so hard I start laughing. (Seriously, I'm not bipolar.)
But I don't think I'm a particularly "anxious" person.
But lately....lately...yeah, pretty anxious. I keep having to remind myself to breathe. And I keep doing this thing where I lean my head back and close my eyes repeating, "Breathe Rachel. It'll be okay Rachel. Deep breaths Rachel. Think of good things Rachel. RELAX RACHEL!" and then my head springs back up, my eyes fly open and I'm all anxious again.
Last night, I was flipping through the channels and came across The Hills: A Look Back With Lauren Conrad on MTV. I've already confessed my obsession with The Hills so I don't feel the need to get into that humiliation again here. (If you'd like to read about it you can look back in the August archives under "There's Gold In Them There Hills!" )
Anyway, I stopped surfing and sat there staring at the TV and became totally engrossed in the drama. Lauren and Steven, Steven and Kristen, Lauren and Jason, Jessica and Jason. I was mesmerized. Suddenly, an obnoxious commercial break came on and I was snapped out of my trance. I looked up at the clock then looked over at Greg and said, "For the last seven minutes I didn't think about one single problem AT ALL for the first time in almost two weeks. For seven whole minutes I thought about nothing else except for Lauren and whether or not she'll get her shit together with these boys."
First, he laughed pretty hard. Then, he strongly encouraged me to keep watching. (Which he never does because he feels the need to pretend that he hates The Hills. And yet...he always makes his way upstairs on Monday nights around 10pm for some reason....hmm. Odd.)
I did continue to watch, and while I don't think it's any real solution to all that feels wrong right now, I do believe that mindless shows like that - if kept in perspective (I know it's not going to win a frickin' Emmy) - can be a gift. An escape. And at this point, I'll take whatever I can get.
Monday, March 23, 2009
What I've Learned This Past Week
This past week has been full of ups and downs. I've learned a few things:
1) People are a pain in the ass.
2) People are wonderful.
3) Some people will do almost anything not to face the horribly scary path that their children are on.
4) My daughter is a strong and wise girl. Her heart breaks, but she still finds laughter in the midst of it all.
5) I fear that I will never fully trust anyone ever again if this sort of shit keeps happening.
6) Prayer has helped me get through this situation much better than the last time this happened when I couldn't bring myself to pray at all. It has made it abundantly clear that I need to start praying about that situation finally. Maybe it will make it stop hurting once and for all.
7) I feel more strongly than ever in my resolve to be who I want to be no matter who the other person chooses to be. I will continue to strive for kindness and a loving attitude in the face of irrationality and cruelty. It ain't easy but it's the right thing for me.
8) I'm so very thankful for the people in my life that restore my faith in family and friendship.
9) Sometimes a big brownie, cuddling with a cat and watching a good movie does solve everything - for a couple of hours anyway.
10) I need to strengthen myself physically so I am stronger when stressful situations come along. I will be signing up for that fitness class. I need it. I deserve it.
Wonder what this coming week will teach me?
1) People are a pain in the ass.
2) People are wonderful.
3) Some people will do almost anything not to face the horribly scary path that their children are on.
4) My daughter is a strong and wise girl. Her heart breaks, but she still finds laughter in the midst of it all.
5) I fear that I will never fully trust anyone ever again if this sort of shit keeps happening.
6) Prayer has helped me get through this situation much better than the last time this happened when I couldn't bring myself to pray at all. It has made it abundantly clear that I need to start praying about that situation finally. Maybe it will make it stop hurting once and for all.
7) I feel more strongly than ever in my resolve to be who I want to be no matter who the other person chooses to be. I will continue to strive for kindness and a loving attitude in the face of irrationality and cruelty. It ain't easy but it's the right thing for me.
8) I'm so very thankful for the people in my life that restore my faith in family and friendship.
9) Sometimes a big brownie, cuddling with a cat and watching a good movie does solve everything - for a couple of hours anyway.
10) I need to strengthen myself physically so I am stronger when stressful situations come along. I will be signing up for that fitness class. I need it. I deserve it.
Wonder what this coming week will teach me?
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
With High Hopes
I've decided that when the next paycheck comes in this weekend I'm going to go out and buy a bottle of champagne. And I'm going to bring that bottle home and put it in the refrigerator right away so that it's chilled and ready to pop open for when we get some good news to celebrate. And I'm thinking that it doesn't even have to be stunningly great news like a new job or winning the lottery or a someone giving us an around-the-world cruise as a surprise. Maybe it will just be that Emma got a great grade on a tough test. Or that I finally hung some pictures up around the house. Or that the weather was nice enough and my foot pain-free enough to take a long walk.
And yes, I will admit that there's a part of me wondering if this just means that the bar is set real low for us right now. But I'm not wondering about that enough to stop me from inviting hope for celebration in my life. I have hope.
That's a great thing.
And yes, I will admit that there's a part of me wondering if this just means that the bar is set real low for us right now. But I'm not wondering about that enough to stop me from inviting hope for celebration in my life. I have hope.
That's a great thing.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
I'm Working On Complaining Less and Saying Thank You More
The house needs cleaning. It always needs cleaning. That fact is hard for someone like me to accept. I like to make lists. Lots of lists. Make a list, complete a project and then cross that task off the list with flourish. But the cleaning never ends. You get it done and then it gets dirty again (rather quickly it seems) and then you have to do it again. It's the same with exercise for me. It never ends. You have to do it regularly and frequently. FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE.
I'm better with finite tasks. Come up with a project, plan for the project, shop for the project, schedule the project, start the project, complete the project and then...and then! Scraaatchhh that item off your list. Ahh, the satisfaction is palpable.
But oh, the cleaning. The horrible, dreaded cleaning that consumes my mind. Consuming because although I hate to clean, I immensely enjoy a clean house. I love walking into a room and seeing shiny surfaces, dust free corners, spotless rugs, breathing deep and smelling that fresh, just cleaned smell. Love it, love it, love it. But it eludes me. I get discouraged and frustrated with the other creatures in the house that seem hell-bent on undoing all that I do. Sometimes, on a bad day, I think it's maliciousness, but mostly I think it's just carelessness or thoughtlessness or simply being oblivious to the mess.
Just a few days ago I was sitting around trying to muster up the energy to clean the bathroom. And resenting the hell out of it. Wishing that I could afford a housekeeper. Thinking about how much better the quality of my life would be to just have the damn cleaning taken care of. To be able to stop thinking about it for the first time in my life. To just have it DONE. For heaven's sake, is that asking so much?!
That afternoon, I decided to watch Oprah. How to describe the images...people like me, people like Greg, people like my sweet Emma...
They were living in homeless shelters, in tents, in their cars, in their offices. They had lost their jobs, their cars, their homes and all but the barest of their belongings. These were good people - hardworking people - people that just had one too many things go wrong for them. One more maybe than me or you.
It was sobering, of course. Scary. This past year has been rough for us, as it has been for so many others. But by the grace of God we've been able to keep our home. A home with four bedrooms, two and a half baths, dining room, living room, kitchen and a big back yard with deck. And every inch of it has been moaned over, bitched about and neglected to some degree. All because I hate to clean, Greg hates to work on our house after working other peoples' houses all day and Emma simply refuses to pick up after herself - her one area of complete stubbornness.
So, as I sat on my bed watching these people on Oprah - a boy who knew just getting a cake would be a lucky thing for his eleventh birthday, a woman who cried over how dirty her fingernails always were now, a mom desperately trying to keep her young children away from the male population at the shelter they stayed in, a couple that used the shower at the local fitness gym because there wasn't one in their office that has now become their home.
As I watched these people I was humbled. And mortified. And ashamed. Not of them, but of myself. Embarrassed that I had the nerve to complain about having to clean my house when I knew that these people - and thousands of others like them - would do almost anything to have what I have. To have the "problems" that I have. How dare I lament the lack of a housekeeper. What a spoiled brat I am. The only thing keeping me from having the clean home that I want is my own complete and utter laziness.
I promptly got off the bed and went and cleaned the bathroom.
Happily.
With joy.
Yes, JOY people. Complete and utter joy to be cleaning the toilet. My toilet. The one that I own. And two others just like it.
What an absolute privilege. One that I'll never take for granted again.
I'm better with finite tasks. Come up with a project, plan for the project, shop for the project, schedule the project, start the project, complete the project and then...and then! Scraaatchhh that item off your list. Ahh, the satisfaction is palpable.
But oh, the cleaning. The horrible, dreaded cleaning that consumes my mind. Consuming because although I hate to clean, I immensely enjoy a clean house. I love walking into a room and seeing shiny surfaces, dust free corners, spotless rugs, breathing deep and smelling that fresh, just cleaned smell. Love it, love it, love it. But it eludes me. I get discouraged and frustrated with the other creatures in the house that seem hell-bent on undoing all that I do. Sometimes, on a bad day, I think it's maliciousness, but mostly I think it's just carelessness or thoughtlessness or simply being oblivious to the mess.
Just a few days ago I was sitting around trying to muster up the energy to clean the bathroom. And resenting the hell out of it. Wishing that I could afford a housekeeper. Thinking about how much better the quality of my life would be to just have the damn cleaning taken care of. To be able to stop thinking about it for the first time in my life. To just have it DONE. For heaven's sake, is that asking so much?!
That afternoon, I decided to watch Oprah. How to describe the images...people like me, people like Greg, people like my sweet Emma...
They were living in homeless shelters, in tents, in their cars, in their offices. They had lost their jobs, their cars, their homes and all but the barest of their belongings. These were good people - hardworking people - people that just had one too many things go wrong for them. One more maybe than me or you.
It was sobering, of course. Scary. This past year has been rough for us, as it has been for so many others. But by the grace of God we've been able to keep our home. A home with four bedrooms, two and a half baths, dining room, living room, kitchen and a big back yard with deck. And every inch of it has been moaned over, bitched about and neglected to some degree. All because I hate to clean, Greg hates to work on our house after working other peoples' houses all day and Emma simply refuses to pick up after herself - her one area of complete stubbornness.
So, as I sat on my bed watching these people on Oprah - a boy who knew just getting a cake would be a lucky thing for his eleventh birthday, a woman who cried over how dirty her fingernails always were now, a mom desperately trying to keep her young children away from the male population at the shelter they stayed in, a couple that used the shower at the local fitness gym because there wasn't one in their office that has now become their home.
As I watched these people I was humbled. And mortified. And ashamed. Not of them, but of myself. Embarrassed that I had the nerve to complain about having to clean my house when I knew that these people - and thousands of others like them - would do almost anything to have what I have. To have the "problems" that I have. How dare I lament the lack of a housekeeper. What a spoiled brat I am. The only thing keeping me from having the clean home that I want is my own complete and utter laziness.
I promptly got off the bed and went and cleaned the bathroom.
Happily.
With joy.
Yes, JOY people. Complete and utter joy to be cleaning the toilet. My toilet. The one that I own. And two others just like it.
What an absolute privilege. One that I'll never take for granted again.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
You're It! From Dooce To Me To You
Here's another "tell the people about yourself" things. This has the marriage angle so it seems a little less self-indulgent than the list in my last post. But I still wonder, Does anyone even give a shit? Either way, here we go....
What are your middle names? Anne and Edward (sounds like British royalty)
How long have you been together? We dated for four years and have been married for nearly twenty years. Unbelievable. I won't elaborate.
How long did you know each other before you started dating? Couple of months.
Who asked whom out? He asked me out. I'm way too shy to make the first move.
How old are each of you? I'm 43 (OLD according to Dooce - thanks a lot!) and he's 45 (ha! he's even OLDER)
Whose siblings do you see the most? Mine, although not enough for my liking. They live far away.
Which situation is the hardest on you as a couple? Money. Not having enough of it. Sucks.
Did you go to the same school? We went to the same college.
Are you from the same home town? No, I'm from rural Ohio (see below) so I'm all hick. He grew up mostly in New Jersey so he's all, you know, NEW JERSEY-ISH.
Who is smarter? We're smarter in different ways about different things.
Who is the most sensitive? Um, me. Although I find myself more cynical as the years go by and less over-sensitive about most things. I have a whole "whatever" attitude now about a lot of things that used to really bother me.
Where do you eat out most as a couple? We usually go Italian but enjoy fondue the most.
Where is the furthest you two have traveled together as a couple? Probably Haiti.
Who has the craziest exes? Oh, it's so him. CRA-ZY ladies...I'll leave it there.
Who has the worst temper? Depends. We're both pretty even-tempered but I'm crankier day-to-day and he's louder once he does get mad. I don't yell much. Not a fan of the yelling.
Who does the cooking? He enjoys it more and is better at it but I've been doing more lately. Hate it with every fiber of my being.
Who is the neat-freak? I used to be but I've given up. Greg and Emma and the cats outnumber me. It's exhausting and probably in the top five list of things that upset me and create daily stress for me.
Who is more stubborn? I'm told I am but I refuse to believe it.
Who hogs the bed? GREG! He's big! I'm long but he's big. Plus, he's a flopper.
Who wakes up earlier? I used to but now he does.
Where was your first date? We went to see the Oscar winner Street Walkin' . It was very romantic.
Who is more jealous? I used to be but now...eh. (See above answer about who's more sensitive.) He's jealous occasionally and it always takes me by surprise. Mostly because I can't believe that I would elicit those kinds of feelings in someone else.
How long did it take to get serious? Probably six months or so. I was the girl that never wanted to marry so the idea of being someones girlfriend did not sit well with me for a long while.
Who eats more? Definitely Greg.
Who does the laundry? Mostly me. He keeps drying my pants which is a huge, HUGE no-no because they shrink in length and it really pisses me off. I half think he does it on purpose so I don't want him to do the laundry.
Who's better with the computer? Greg. He's an egghead.
Who drives when you are together? Usually him, but we call him grandpa so you can just imagine how much fun I have being in the passenger seat. "GO FASTER!!"
What are your middle names? Anne and Edward (sounds like British royalty)
How long have you been together? We dated for four years and have been married for nearly twenty years. Unbelievable. I won't elaborate.
How long did you know each other before you started dating? Couple of months.
Who asked whom out? He asked me out. I'm way too shy to make the first move.
How old are each of you? I'm 43 (OLD according to Dooce - thanks a lot!) and he's 45 (ha! he's even OLDER)
Whose siblings do you see the most? Mine, although not enough for my liking. They live far away.
Which situation is the hardest on you as a couple? Money. Not having enough of it. Sucks.
Did you go to the same school? We went to the same college.
Are you from the same home town? No, I'm from rural Ohio (see below) so I'm all hick. He grew up mostly in New Jersey so he's all, you know, NEW JERSEY-ISH.
Who is smarter? We're smarter in different ways about different things.
Who is the most sensitive? Um, me. Although I find myself more cynical as the years go by and less over-sensitive about most things. I have a whole "whatever" attitude now about a lot of things that used to really bother me.
Where do you eat out most as a couple? We usually go Italian but enjoy fondue the most.
Where is the furthest you two have traveled together as a couple? Probably Haiti.
Who has the craziest exes? Oh, it's so him. CRA-ZY ladies...I'll leave it there.
Who has the worst temper? Depends. We're both pretty even-tempered but I'm crankier day-to-day and he's louder once he does get mad. I don't yell much. Not a fan of the yelling.
Who does the cooking? He enjoys it more and is better at it but I've been doing more lately. Hate it with every fiber of my being.
Who is the neat-freak? I used to be but I've given up. Greg and Emma and the cats outnumber me. It's exhausting and probably in the top five list of things that upset me and create daily stress for me.
Who is more stubborn? I'm told I am but I refuse to believe it.
Who hogs the bed? GREG! He's big! I'm long but he's big. Plus, he's a flopper.
Who wakes up earlier? I used to but now he does.
Where was your first date? We went to see the Oscar winner Street Walkin' . It was very romantic.
Who is more jealous? I used to be but now...eh. (See above answer about who's more sensitive.) He's jealous occasionally and it always takes me by surprise. Mostly because I can't believe that I would elicit those kinds of feelings in someone else.
How long did it take to get serious? Probably six months or so. I was the girl that never wanted to marry so the idea of being someones girlfriend did not sit well with me for a long while.
Who eats more? Definitely Greg.
Who does the laundry? Mostly me. He keeps drying my pants which is a huge, HUGE no-no because they shrink in length and it really pisses me off. I half think he does it on purpose so I don't want him to do the laundry.
Who's better with the computer? Greg. He's an egghead.
Who drives when you are together? Usually him, but we call him grandpa so you can just imagine how much fun I have being in the passenger seat. "GO FASTER!!"
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
My 25 Things
This thing is going around the internet, primarily on Facebook I believe, where you tell 25 things about yourself. It seemed a bit self-indulgent to me but I did it anyway, tagged a bunch of people on it (tagging on Facebook is when you alert other people of your choosing on Facebook of a "note" or new photo you've just posted on your page), and then deleted it a few hours later because the anxiety of being that exposed to that many people nearly sent me over the edge. Total TMI situation.
THEN I reposted it again but didn't tag anyone on it and I felt much better about that scenario. Yes, I'm a total freak. Especially when you consider that very few people have any interest at all WHATSOEVER in learning anything more about me. I'm clearly not that interesting.
But this is my blog and I'll be a self-indulgent egomaniac if I want to. So here are my 25 things:
1. I am from rural Ohio.
2. My grandfather is a founding member of Alcoholics Anonymous.
3. I love movies. LOVE them.
4. I'm the youngest of seven children.
5. I've lost three siblings and my mother and it has had a profound effect on me.
6. I still miss them every single day.
7. Emma is an amazing person in so many ways and I'm afraid that most people will never see her - really see her - because she is so shy.
8. There is no way to overstate how important laughter is to me.
9. I have a blog that very few people that know me have seen.
10. If I won the lottery the first thing that I would do is travel the world. I know I'm supposed to say that I would feed hungry children or something, but I would travel and love every minute of it. THEN I'd feed hungry children. (I promise)
11. My dream job is to be a writer.
12. Emma was a surprise. One that I was not at all sure I wanted. I'm glad I was so wrong. She has allowed me to experience love in its purest form.
13. I went away this past October for a month simply because I could and because I desperately needed to get away. I think a lot of people think I went to rehab. I did not. I went to a beach house in St. Augustine and it was an adventure that I will never, ever forget and that I will always be grateful for.
14. I think that there are two things seriously lacking in the world - kindness and people extending each other grace. I'm still a work in progress on both.
15. I love Crunch Berries cereal and Hostess Ho Hos.
16. I really want to meet a transvestite. I think to know one would be really funny and shake up the sometimes boring suburban life that I live.
17. I hope to move to New York City one day. (Maybe I'll meet a transvestite.)
18. I watch two MTV reality shows. (Please don't judge me - I also watch many documentaries, classics and other "deep" and "meaningful" programming.)
19. I think Greg is a good man.
20. Two of my best friends are from my childhood and I'm so privileged to still have them in my life.
21. I'm fascinated by true crime stories. Sometimes it concerns me a little bit.
22. I love every single color that exists. I wouldn't wear them all, but I love them for their mere existence and contribution.
23. I broke my foot twice in an 18-month time period. It's embarrassing.
24. I know I watch entirely too much television but I remain completely unapologetic about it.
25. Even though I struggle with the whole subject matter, I still always want God in my life.
And I should have added a 26th item - I'm a FIERCE baker!
THEN I reposted it again but didn't tag anyone on it and I felt much better about that scenario. Yes, I'm a total freak. Especially when you consider that very few people have any interest at all WHATSOEVER in learning anything more about me. I'm clearly not that interesting.
But this is my blog and I'll be a self-indulgent egomaniac if I want to. So here are my 25 things:
1. I am from rural Ohio.
2. My grandfather is a founding member of Alcoholics Anonymous.
3. I love movies. LOVE them.
4. I'm the youngest of seven children.
5. I've lost three siblings and my mother and it has had a profound effect on me.
6. I still miss them every single day.
7. Emma is an amazing person in so many ways and I'm afraid that most people will never see her - really see her - because she is so shy.
8. There is no way to overstate how important laughter is to me.
9. I have a blog that very few people that know me have seen.
10. If I won the lottery the first thing that I would do is travel the world. I know I'm supposed to say that I would feed hungry children or something, but I would travel and love every minute of it. THEN I'd feed hungry children. (I promise)
11. My dream job is to be a writer.
12. Emma was a surprise. One that I was not at all sure I wanted. I'm glad I was so wrong. She has allowed me to experience love in its purest form.
13. I went away this past October for a month simply because I could and because I desperately needed to get away. I think a lot of people think I went to rehab. I did not. I went to a beach house in St. Augustine and it was an adventure that I will never, ever forget and that I will always be grateful for.
14. I think that there are two things seriously lacking in the world - kindness and people extending each other grace. I'm still a work in progress on both.
15. I love Crunch Berries cereal and Hostess Ho Hos.
16. I really want to meet a transvestite. I think to know one would be really funny and shake up the sometimes boring suburban life that I live.
17. I hope to move to New York City one day. (Maybe I'll meet a transvestite.)
18. I watch two MTV reality shows. (Please don't judge me - I also watch many documentaries, classics and other "deep" and "meaningful" programming.)
19. I think Greg is a good man.
20. Two of my best friends are from my childhood and I'm so privileged to still have them in my life.
21. I'm fascinated by true crime stories. Sometimes it concerns me a little bit.
22. I love every single color that exists. I wouldn't wear them all, but I love them for their mere existence and contribution.
23. I broke my foot twice in an 18-month time period. It's embarrassing.
24. I know I watch entirely too much television but I remain completely unapologetic about it.
25. Even though I struggle with the whole subject matter, I still always want God in my life.
And I should have added a 26th item - I'm a FIERCE baker!
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Monday, February 2, 2009
Facebook is Freaking Fantastic!
I finally crawled out of that rock I was under and joined the world of Facebook. And I gotta tell ya, I've seen the light of day, and it's FANTASTIC! What an absolute hoot it is. There was this whole world of "friends" and "cupcakes" and "poking" and "walls" out there buzz, buzz, buzzing along every day without my knowledge and I'm glad I joined this new (to me) land of the living.
In the week or so since I've joined, I've made contact with old friends from high school and college, old boyfriends, teachers, my high school prom date and even people right here in my neighborhood that I haven't visited with in a while. It clearly expands your world by opening you up to your new and long lost friends and, in turn, their friends as it is a continuous thread of interconnections. Once someone is on your "Friends" list, all of your other friends and all of their other friends are connected. (In what seems to be a somewhat safe and limited way so it doesn't get creepy.)
On a higher level it also seems to have a redemptive value to it. Before this kind of technology came along relationships would end through a break-up, a move, simply fading away, growing in different directions...and people were always left to wonder, "What if?" or "I wonder how he (she) is doing?" or "Whatever happened to her (him)?" or "I wonder if he (she) still hates me?"
Whether the relationship ended badly or just simply ended, there's something so amazing about being able to interact with these people again when some time has passed and old baggage has disappeared. Whatever may have felt threatening or confusing or weird or hurtful back then, is now something that just feels fun and nice and rather sweet today.
How incredible that the days of never knowing that kind of redemption are over. It makes me wonder about the future and what other gifts of technology will pop up that make our lives more fun and easier and healing. I can't wait!
In the week or so since I've joined, I've made contact with old friends from high school and college, old boyfriends, teachers, my high school prom date and even people right here in my neighborhood that I haven't visited with in a while. It clearly expands your world by opening you up to your new and long lost friends and, in turn, their friends as it is a continuous thread of interconnections. Once someone is on your "Friends" list, all of your other friends and all of their other friends are connected. (In what seems to be a somewhat safe and limited way so it doesn't get creepy.)
On a higher level it also seems to have a redemptive value to it. Before this kind of technology came along relationships would end through a break-up, a move, simply fading away, growing in different directions...and people were always left to wonder, "What if?" or "I wonder how he (she) is doing?" or "Whatever happened to her (him)?" or "I wonder if he (she) still hates me?"
Whether the relationship ended badly or just simply ended, there's something so amazing about being able to interact with these people again when some time has passed and old baggage has disappeared. Whatever may have felt threatening or confusing or weird or hurtful back then, is now something that just feels fun and nice and rather sweet today.
How incredible that the days of never knowing that kind of redemption are over. It makes me wonder about the future and what other gifts of technology will pop up that make our lives more fun and easier and healing. I can't wait!
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Wonder Where She Got Her Sense of Humor From
The last few weeks since Greg's dad died have been hard. I've known for years now how hard it is to lose someone you love, but I haven't had to see Greg go through losing a family member of his own. He loved my family members that have died but it's different when it's your own father or mother or brother or sister. This is all new to him.
What happens when someone you loves dies (at least for me and some others I've talked to) is that so much changes for you internally - your heart breaks, you mind spins, your body fatigues - and it's overwhelming. But your external life changes very little. You still have to go to work, you still have to go to class, you still need to get gas, you still need to go grocery shopping, you still have to take care of your children, you still need to be nice to other people...you still have to get on with it. The friction created between the two truths is extremely difficult and the pain of it can really eat away at you.
What happens when someone you loves dies (at least for me and some others I've talked to) is that so much changes for you internally - your heart breaks, you mind spins, your body fatigues - and it's overwhelming. But your external life changes very little. You still have to go to work, you still have to go to class, you still need to get gas, you still need to go grocery shopping, you still have to take care of your children, you still need to be nice to other people...you still have to get on with it. The friction created between the two truths is extremely difficult and the pain of it can really eat away at you.
But! In every situation there can be found laughter, and Emma is often the provider of that laughter.
When we were in Hilton Head to visit Greg's mom, Sharon, right after Pete died, we stayed at a hotel down the road from Sharon's house. As you can imagine, Greg was a little stressed by this time. His father just dying and his mother being, um, challenging was finally starting to get to him.
The day finally arrived for us to head home. As we were packing up and getting ready to check-out Greg went and got one of those luggage carts. When he brought it upstairs he was trying to get it through the room door for some reason. Well, it wouldn't fit. He kept backing it up and pushing it forward, but it just kept banging into the door frame. I was in the bathroom area brushing my teeth while this was going on but I could hear it - back and forward and bang, back and forward and bang, back and forward and bang. I peeked my head out of the bathroom area and there was Emma standing there watching him do this. She didn't offer to help. She didn't get out of the way. She didn't say a word. (I think because by that time we were tip-toeing around him a bit) She just stared at him doing this over and over again.
Finally, after banging the cart into the doorframe about ten times, Greg stopped trying and just looked up at Emma with the most frustrated look on his face.
She looked back at him deadpan and with that completely straight face says, "Troubles?"
I nearly gagged on my mouthful of toothpaste and had to duck back into the bathroom to bust a gut laughing.
That kid makes all of life worthwhile.
Monday, January 19, 2009
I Have a Dream Too
Tomorrow is a big day. The first day that "Yes We Can" will be tested. Can we? Will we? Will I?
Clearly, big changes need to take place in my own life and also in the life of the country. Will we pony up? Are we up to it? It's gonna get harder before it gets better for a lot of us and I wonder if we - I - have the kahunas to make it happen. I think I do.
I hope I do.
No, I do. I absolutely do.
I listened to Martin Luther King's "I Have a Dream" speech today and I thought about how a big part of that dream is coming true tomorrow. It's monumental. It's historic. It's unbelievable! How fantastic that we are transforming into a time of hope. Hope for this country's troubled times and hope that this country is making such strides in the fight against racism. A long way to go but a long way come.
As I watched all of the coverage on the various talk shows and news channels today I reveled in this great feeling of hope and excitement. To be a witness to this kind of history. To want to keep my daughter home from school to watch it all happen. In a way, there are no words to clearly express how big it feels.
But....then....I felt kind of sad about that. I must be nuts, I thought. Sad? Really? What a freaking downer you are Rachel.
That's when I realized it. I have a dream too. I dream of the day when a black man - or woman - being sworn in as president is not historic. Is not new. Becomes so common that it's "no big thang" as they say. I dream of the day when the same is true for a Latino American or an Asian American or a Jewish American. The day that we all truly have become simply, Americans.
That's the country that I dream of for my daughter and my daughter's daughter. A country whose citizens looks back at video from the year 2009 when a black man named Barack Obama becoming President was so huge and they'll wonder at that. Even giggle at how silly our country was that it hadn't happened sooner.
In the meantime, I will enjoy tomorrow for all that it is in this time in our history. I will let myself feel that excitement and live in the moment.
And hope still - always - for a better future.
Clearly, big changes need to take place in my own life and also in the life of the country. Will we pony up? Are we up to it? It's gonna get harder before it gets better for a lot of us and I wonder if we - I - have the kahunas to make it happen. I think I do.
I hope I do.
No, I do. I absolutely do.
I listened to Martin Luther King's "I Have a Dream" speech today and I thought about how a big part of that dream is coming true tomorrow. It's monumental. It's historic. It's unbelievable! How fantastic that we are transforming into a time of hope. Hope for this country's troubled times and hope that this country is making such strides in the fight against racism. A long way to go but a long way come.
As I watched all of the coverage on the various talk shows and news channels today I reveled in this great feeling of hope and excitement. To be a witness to this kind of history. To want to keep my daughter home from school to watch it all happen. In a way, there are no words to clearly express how big it feels.
But....then....I felt kind of sad about that. I must be nuts, I thought. Sad? Really? What a freaking downer you are Rachel.
That's when I realized it. I have a dream too. I dream of the day when a black man - or woman - being sworn in as president is not historic. Is not new. Becomes so common that it's "no big thang" as they say. I dream of the day when the same is true for a Latino American or an Asian American or a Jewish American. The day that we all truly have become simply, Americans.
That's the country that I dream of for my daughter and my daughter's daughter. A country whose citizens looks back at video from the year 2009 when a black man named Barack Obama becoming President was so huge and they'll wonder at that. Even giggle at how silly our country was that it hadn't happened sooner.
In the meantime, I will enjoy tomorrow for all that it is in this time in our history. I will let myself feel that excitement and live in the moment.
And hope still - always - for a better future.
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Thanks for the Memories Pete
Today is a sad day. Greg's dad died suddenly this morning and our hearts are hurting.
We will miss you Pete.
We will miss you Pete.
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