Over the past week, people who I care about tremendously from my home town have suffered horrible losses. Both of the deaths that occurred to leave the feeling of emptiness and confusion were also people that I cared greatly about. I cared about them because they were amazing individuals who would have given the shirt off their backs if you asked. They were both very different men, in the way they lived their lives, but their hearts were both huge. Each man deserves his own recognition, separate from the other. They should not be given half the praise because they are connected by dying at a similar time. We should never be defined by death. But now that they are gone, the living must go on, even if it's one shuffle at a time.
My true heartache goes to those who are left to suffer the repercussions of their deaths. Amazing and wonderful people are left to pick up the pieces and figure out how to march on with their own lives without the life of their husband, father, brother, friend. I am sad for the situations that created this loss. I am sad for those who are gone, but I am overcome with grief for my friends living an entirely new life.
I just cannot find a way to express how much I wish I could cure the pain.
I have seen three Facebook statuses today asking we all want more of in 2014. While thinking about it I realized that everything that I want more of comes by wanting less.
I want less pain in 2014.
I want less loss.
I want less stuff in 2014, as simplicity is the only thing that makes sense anymore.
I want less MUST DOs so that we can enjoy our why nots.
I want less leaving behind in 2014 even with our moving forward.
I want less pressure to remember the good times so that the good times can just be.
I want less sadness, fewer reasons for grief, fewer broken hearts.
I certainly want less confusion.
I want less distance between those we love and ourselves.
I want a lot less.
Wanting more is what's left me here.
So here's to living a lot better with a lot less.
Saturday, December 21, 2013
Saturday, December 7, 2013
Gratitude.
I tried to write a Christmas letter to put into my Christmas card this year, but I couldn't figure out how to put this year into a holiday letter. Do I write everything? I can't do that because some things are sad and don't belong in a letter that starts off, "Merry Christmas!"
Do I write only the good things? I can't do that either because, well then it would be such a fake letter. So, the few Christmas cards I send out will be sent sans letter. While I was thinking about writing that letter, though, I thought a lot about what I might include, if I wrote one. Despite all of the things that happened this year, I can't help but find that, even though I am terrified of moving forward, I have so much to be thankful for - and I feel those feelings of gratitude more deeply than anything else right now. These are in no particular order - no one is allowed to get cranky over where I placed my thankfulness.
I am so thankful for my fiancé. We didn't make it through having my mom and her tumor live with us completely unscathed, but we learned from the scars we exchanged. I have a deeper understanding of him, who he is, and who he wants to become - and I love every part of that. When I have days where there is nothing more I can give to the world, he doesn't feel sorry for me. He pushes me to get out and do something, even if it's just for myself. I am grateful that he is willing to commit himself to me. I am grateful to have that security. I am so grateful for that love.
I am thankful for my friends from school. School was brutal this semester. Starting out the year trying to figure out classes while taking care of my mom was nearly impossible. Doing homework on top of that was sometimes too much to ask. In law school, where getting a good grade means other people have to do poorly, competition is inherent in the culture. Finding good friends who aren't mentally competing against you can come few and far between. I am incredibly lucky to have found three amazing ladies who have pushed me through this semester and have given me more notes and assistance than I could have ever asked for. They have not just been there academically, they came to support me when my mom passed. They came to support me when she was still around. When I couldn't get home, one of them even came and hung out with my mom for me. One of them helped me go through old pictures and even helped me put furniture together. The other was willing to sing for my mom and my family at her funeral. I am honored that these three ladies are my friends.
I am thankful for my fiancé's family. They have always been people that I love and care about and enjoy spending time with, but they have really taken me under their wings this year. I always considered them family in my mind, but having such a small nuclear family growing up and being such a private person, I never really knew what it was like to add people to that category in my heart. I am finally feeling like they are more than just my fiancé's family - I finally feel like they are becoming my family not only in the way I think of them, but in the way I feel about them. (Okay I can't help but put a terrible not funny to most people but funny to me joke in here - with my family dropping like flies, it's good I can branch out! - sorry, I won't do it again).
I am thankful for my family. I'm not just thankful for them in the way that many people are thankful for their families - I am thankful that I have been able to develop relationships with my family members so that they are becoming my friends. Being an adult with family members as close friends is amazing. Seeing as how I have a giant family, it's hard to go through everyone and why I am grateful for them without spending a year writing that post but my uncles and aunts and cousins are so special to me. After losing my grandmas and my parents, I really feel the value of my family members more than ever. They are my ties to those who I miss, the are my co-commiserators, my fellow adventurers, my cheerleaders, and my checkpoints. I am so lucky to have a family that "gets" me.
I am so thankful for everyone who has supported me even what may seem like small ways. My mock trial team, my classmates, my acquaintances have gone out of their way to be supportive of me, offer condolences, get me out of my own head, and pick up slack where I left it. I am so grateful to have such wonderful people in my life.
I am grateful for where I live, that I have the opportunity to be in law school, that I have great career opportunities presenting themselves, and that I get to grow a bit more, every single day.
This year may have had many trials but for me, it is really ending all about gratitude. I have countless things and people to be thankful for and that adds overwhelming beauty to my life.
Thank you all. Thank you all, for everything, because every little thing has made such a difference in my life.
Do I write only the good things? I can't do that either because, well then it would be such a fake letter. So, the few Christmas cards I send out will be sent sans letter. While I was thinking about writing that letter, though, I thought a lot about what I might include, if I wrote one. Despite all of the things that happened this year, I can't help but find that, even though I am terrified of moving forward, I have so much to be thankful for - and I feel those feelings of gratitude more deeply than anything else right now. These are in no particular order - no one is allowed to get cranky over where I placed my thankfulness.
I am so thankful for my fiancé. We didn't make it through having my mom and her tumor live with us completely unscathed, but we learned from the scars we exchanged. I have a deeper understanding of him, who he is, and who he wants to become - and I love every part of that. When I have days where there is nothing more I can give to the world, he doesn't feel sorry for me. He pushes me to get out and do something, even if it's just for myself. I am grateful that he is willing to commit himself to me. I am grateful to have that security. I am so grateful for that love.
I am thankful for my friends from school. School was brutal this semester. Starting out the year trying to figure out classes while taking care of my mom was nearly impossible. Doing homework on top of that was sometimes too much to ask. In law school, where getting a good grade means other people have to do poorly, competition is inherent in the culture. Finding good friends who aren't mentally competing against you can come few and far between. I am incredibly lucky to have found three amazing ladies who have pushed me through this semester and have given me more notes and assistance than I could have ever asked for. They have not just been there academically, they came to support me when my mom passed. They came to support me when she was still around. When I couldn't get home, one of them even came and hung out with my mom for me. One of them helped me go through old pictures and even helped me put furniture together. The other was willing to sing for my mom and my family at her funeral. I am honored that these three ladies are my friends.
I am thankful for my fiancé's family. They have always been people that I love and care about and enjoy spending time with, but they have really taken me under their wings this year. I always considered them family in my mind, but having such a small nuclear family growing up and being such a private person, I never really knew what it was like to add people to that category in my heart. I am finally feeling like they are more than just my fiancé's family - I finally feel like they are becoming my family not only in the way I think of them, but in the way I feel about them. (Okay I can't help but put a terrible not funny to most people but funny to me joke in here - with my family dropping like flies, it's good I can branch out! - sorry, I won't do it again).
I am thankful for my family. I'm not just thankful for them in the way that many people are thankful for their families - I am thankful that I have been able to develop relationships with my family members so that they are becoming my friends. Being an adult with family members as close friends is amazing. Seeing as how I have a giant family, it's hard to go through everyone and why I am grateful for them without spending a year writing that post but my uncles and aunts and cousins are so special to me. After losing my grandmas and my parents, I really feel the value of my family members more than ever. They are my ties to those who I miss, the are my co-commiserators, my fellow adventurers, my cheerleaders, and my checkpoints. I am so lucky to have a family that "gets" me.
I am so thankful for everyone who has supported me even what may seem like small ways. My mock trial team, my classmates, my acquaintances have gone out of their way to be supportive of me, offer condolences, get me out of my own head, and pick up slack where I left it. I am so grateful to have such wonderful people in my life.
I am grateful for where I live, that I have the opportunity to be in law school, that I have great career opportunities presenting themselves, and that I get to grow a bit more, every single day.
This year may have had many trials but for me, it is really ending all about gratitude. I have countless things and people to be thankful for and that adds overwhelming beauty to my life.
Thank you all. Thank you all, for everything, because every little thing has made such a difference in my life.
Tuesday, November 26, 2013
10 Things No One Tells You About Getting Engaged
Getting engaged is awesome, amazing, and wonderful when it's you and the person of your dreams focusing on spending the rest of your lives together. Then there are the things that no one warns you about. For those of you not engaged yet, WARNING:
1. Prepare the date you are going to get married before you actually agree to get married. I recommend this because if you tell someone 30 seconds after you got engaged that you got engaged, they will want to know when the wedding is, what your colors are, and whether there will be an open bar.
2. For serial "yes" sayers like me, being engaged will either smother you into panic or teach you the "n" word. Everyone wants to help, and that's awesome, but there are some moments that are going to be personal for me and I only want certain people involved. Back off - because I don't want to feel guilty for not inviting you. If you want to help, start a wedding fund or something.
3. Everyone wants to know when you will start having children. Hey, how about I get married first? Also, I'm sorry, but did you just ask me when I am going to have sex? Tomorrow, or never, mind your own business.
4. Every conversation starts about being engaged, and this can get awkward. I went to buy paper at a local office supply store that I have gone to for years. The gal at the counter squealed when she saw my ring, asked about my fiancé, asked how it happened, asked about the wedding…blah blah blah. Then she asked what I was getting and what I needed it for. "I need nice paper to print programs for my mom's funeral." "Oh my God I'm so sorry." Mmmhmm. Anything else you'd like to know about my life?
5. If you are wearing an engagement ring, be prepared to be dragged around like your arm is a leash for a few weeks. Seriously. Do some shoulder work outs to be able to keep it raised for awhile because your hand no longer belongs to you.
6. Get business cards with your engagement story printed on them. This way, your story stays special and you remember the details. After repeating it 500,000 times, it loses the glitz and glamour it had the first time you heard yourself say it. For me, my engagement story is sweet, romantic, and really defines my fiancé and my relationship and I want to keep that special. No - I am not really getting business cards printed, but I think it's okay to keep the memories between you and the people who matter.
7. No matter how far off your wedding is, it feels like everything needs to be planned right now. Advertisements on our clever computers, incessant questioning about what we are going to do, and my Type A personality make me want to get everything lined up and finished - even though my wedding is not for two and half years.
8. Saying the "f" word for the first time is weird. Not that "f" word. Fiancé. It took me a few days to even say it. It's still sinking in.
9. People treat you differently. It's as if you have become an adult through this magical ring on your finger. I'm still ME people! I'm still immature and crazy! I may know who I want to be with for the rest of my life but I did yesterday, too, otherwise I wouldn't have said yes. Did you just not believe me before?
10. Being engaged can be a stage in an of itself. Dating then marriage doesn't have to be the way it is. I am still working on this (as I have only been engaged two weeks…) but why can't we slow down and just enjoy being engaged without worrying about a wedding and being married and having children? I want to appreciate the fact that someone loves me enough to want to spend the rest of his life with me without jumping to that result. I want to have fun being engaged and staying in love. Sure, engagement is a transitional phase, but what's the rush?
1. Prepare the date you are going to get married before you actually agree to get married. I recommend this because if you tell someone 30 seconds after you got engaged that you got engaged, they will want to know when the wedding is, what your colors are, and whether there will be an open bar.
2. For serial "yes" sayers like me, being engaged will either smother you into panic or teach you the "n" word. Everyone wants to help, and that's awesome, but there are some moments that are going to be personal for me and I only want certain people involved. Back off - because I don't want to feel guilty for not inviting you. If you want to help, start a wedding fund or something.
3. Everyone wants to know when you will start having children. Hey, how about I get married first? Also, I'm sorry, but did you just ask me when I am going to have sex? Tomorrow, or never, mind your own business.
4. Every conversation starts about being engaged, and this can get awkward. I went to buy paper at a local office supply store that I have gone to for years. The gal at the counter squealed when she saw my ring, asked about my fiancé, asked how it happened, asked about the wedding…blah blah blah. Then she asked what I was getting and what I needed it for. "I need nice paper to print programs for my mom's funeral." "Oh my God I'm so sorry." Mmmhmm. Anything else you'd like to know about my life?
5. If you are wearing an engagement ring, be prepared to be dragged around like your arm is a leash for a few weeks. Seriously. Do some shoulder work outs to be able to keep it raised for awhile because your hand no longer belongs to you.
6. Get business cards with your engagement story printed on them. This way, your story stays special and you remember the details. After repeating it 500,000 times, it loses the glitz and glamour it had the first time you heard yourself say it. For me, my engagement story is sweet, romantic, and really defines my fiancé and my relationship and I want to keep that special. No - I am not really getting business cards printed, but I think it's okay to keep the memories between you and the people who matter.
7. No matter how far off your wedding is, it feels like everything needs to be planned right now. Advertisements on our clever computers, incessant questioning about what we are going to do, and my Type A personality make me want to get everything lined up and finished - even though my wedding is not for two and half years.
8. Saying the "f" word for the first time is weird. Not that "f" word. Fiancé. It took me a few days to even say it. It's still sinking in.
9. People treat you differently. It's as if you have become an adult through this magical ring on your finger. I'm still ME people! I'm still immature and crazy! I may know who I want to be with for the rest of my life but I did yesterday, too, otherwise I wouldn't have said yes. Did you just not believe me before?
10. Being engaged can be a stage in an of itself. Dating then marriage doesn't have to be the way it is. I am still working on this (as I have only been engaged two weeks…) but why can't we slow down and just enjoy being engaged without worrying about a wedding and being married and having children? I want to appreciate the fact that someone loves me enough to want to spend the rest of his life with me without jumping to that result. I want to have fun being engaged and staying in love. Sure, engagement is a transitional phase, but what's the rush?
Sunday, November 17, 2013
Eulogy for My Mom
Dear God,
I wrote you once before about my Dad, about how I just wasn’t ready to
let him go and how I just didn’t understand what had happened. I’ve changed a lot in the last five years,
God, and though I have no more answers, I have more peace. Instead of begging you for more time or more
understanding, I’d like to thank you for giving me the opportunity to know my
mom in a truly unique way.
I would like to share this with you.
I want to explain how much I know that she is a survivor. That sounds strange here, now, without her
standing next to me, but she is a survivor in ways I think few people can claim
to be.
My mom grew up the only girl with four brothers. Perhaps, Lord, this is where and how she
learned to be such a survivor. Because
not only did you give her four brothers, you gave her four brothers in a navy
family and put her smack dab in the middle.
And not only that, but these brothers are all complete opposites – and
you gave her the skills and patience and understanding to love AND LIKE each
one of them. And you made her strong enough to be a person each one of them
could love in return.
Being in this navy family, she learned how survive meeting new people and
having to leave them behind. She
survived and learned to keep looking forward to the next stage of life – the
next adventure – not necessarily because she wanted to but because that is what
she did, as a survivor. You take what
you are given and you move forward. You
move forward in whatever way you can until you convince yourself that that is
what you wanted and that you are happy.
And then you are happy – because you survived the rough parts.
And perhaps it is this survival instinct that taught her to never quit
something you start and never give up on something you believe in. Through
these characteristics I saw my mom agonize over things that she believed
in. I saw my mom pour her heart and soul
into people, places, and things that she never wanted to give up on. I saw her blind faith change lives and I saw it
hurt her own life for the sake of others. Through this, Lord, my mom taught me
balance. How to survive and give of
yourself all at once.
Perhaps her final lesson was having to learn to survive through trusting
other people. She never had to doubt the
accuracy of her mind – numbers, emotions, intuitions, advice giving, were
always right on the money. When the
cancer started to take hold, she became scared and skeptical and sad. To make it through each day she had to trust
that she would be taken care of – that even though her own mind was not giving
her the right answers, someone else might be able to give her those
answers.
When she had to do this, she really showed how much of a survivor she was
because I am not sure she ever learned this lesson. The lesson that came through to me was that she trusted herself and
believed in herself and her own abilities above all else. Even though this made it difficult sometimes
to deal with her, it was incredible to see her push through every single
limitation anyone tried to put on her.
Before I’m done, Lord, I also want to tell her how sorry I am that I
couldn’t fix her when the cancer took over.
I want to tell her how sorry I am that I wasn’t always patient with her
trusting herself instead of trusting in me.
I want my mom to know that the reason I got so frustrated was because
she taught me to trust myself in the same way she trusted herself. I’m so sorry that I didn’t repay those skills
to her when she needed me to. I’m sorry
that I didn’t show her that I trusted in her at the end. I wanted to believe that her physical body
still held the mom that I could debate with, laugh with, and trust with my own
problems. I still wanted my mom there,
because as I saw her body there, I expected so much of that body. When her body couldn’t live up to her spirit,
my spirit did not live up to her own surviving faith in herself.
Though she is not standing next to me now, I still call my mom a survivor
because she survived losing hope of recovery – and Lord I know she survives
still, with you. I knew the moment she
took her last breath that she became more alive than she had been in months –
because I felt her strong spirit, unencumbered by a fragile body, finally at
peace. And because I knew her spirit
survived and was at peace, she showed me once again that surviving isn’t just
about the moment you think is the end, it’s about what you do after it’s all
over. Survival is about losing hope then
remembering there is still something good.
Feeling my mom’s spirit surviving brings me peace because finally, she
is with my dad – two souls that I now know are meant to survive together. Lord,
I may be sad sometimes, but it is no longer sadness for my mom. When I am sad, it is selfish sadness because
I miss her being here next to me, in person.
Lord, I pray that you teach me to trust in her survival enough to know
that she is always here with me – holding me and pushing me to survive as well
as she does.
I can feel her surviving, God, and perhaps she is with you, now because
you needed a survivor among your ranks.
She still survives here on earth, though, because she left so much of
herself in every person she met, every person who loved her, and every person
who will ever hear her story. She
survives as a part of each of us – in every decision we make to not give up, to
keep fighting either for ourselves or for someone else. Every time we decide to keep moving forward
in our lives it will be because she gives us the strength to find the strength
within ourselves.
I miss my mom, God, but I know that I, too, will survive, because she
wouldn’t have it any other way.
Amen.
Thursday, September 26, 2013
Back to School
Today was my first full day back in classes. It's strange to try to figure out where I can fit now. I am behind in reading and studying. Everyone wants to give me hugs. I'd rather be snuggling at home with my puppy.
I'm still in denial. It hasn't hit me yet that my parents are both really gone. I've been so busy with planning and catching up and making sure paperwork is in order that I haven't had time to process what has really happened. I'm not sure there is a convenient time to lose someone but three weeks before midterms wasn't it.
Kids around school complain the same complaints that I've said myself a thousand times - "nothing is worse..."
There are worse things than reading and midterms and working on a career. Really, there are. It's all relative.
Things can get pretty depressing if you focus on all of that, though, so what I really want to put are three things that I am very thankful for today. This will a) help me facilitate my denial and b) remind me that life goes on (which might also apply to (a)).
1. My cousin has been here since Saturday.
Although he wasn't able to make it in time to say goodbye to my mom, it has been amazing having my cousin here because I haven't had to be alone yet. When he comes around I go into hyper-productive mode and get things done that I have wanted to do for a very long time. I am always grateful when he is here because he is always looking on the bright side of things and is up for anything.
2. My friends are the best ever.
My friends have been taking notes for me, bringing me food, giving lots of hugs, and basically being "on call" whenever I have needed them. I seriously could not have created better friends if I had tried. One friend even, somehow, ends up showing up whenever I have a big project going and she doesn't hesitate to jump right in.
3. I was given tools to persevere.
My parents always taught me to finish what I start so even though I am SO overwhelmed with figuring out car titles, insurance, death certificates, school work, regular work, family time, grocery shopping, laundry, putting my house back together... I know I have to put my nose to the grindstone to get it all done and make sure it is done right. Planning and scheduling are my new best friends.
4. Bonus thankfulness - My Mom's friends are wonderful!
I have received so much love and support from people who have known my mom far longer than I have been alive and for that, I cannot thank them enough.
Mostly True Facts About My Mom
Facts about my mom. They come in waves so someday this post will be complete...
Her favorite color was green.
Her eyes were so sparkling blue with a small dot of brown in her left eye.
She ran track in high school. She was a sprinter, but terrible at distance running.
She broke her right foot both times she tried to ice skate.
She had her own bowling ball with her name on it.
Her favorite teacher was her fourth grade teacher, Mrs. Greenhoot.
She hated dresses as a child.
She was born in St. Louis, Missouri and spent a few years growing up with her grandparents in a small river town.
She was a Navy child, trekking across country with her four brothers, her parents, and their cat in a station wagon.
She was the middle child of five and the only girl.
Her biggest fear was frogs and toads.
She started going gray at 17 years old.
Her favorite color was green.
Her eyes were so sparkling blue with a small dot of brown in her left eye.
She ran track in high school. She was a sprinter, but terrible at distance running.
She broke her right foot both times she tried to ice skate.
She had her own bowling ball with her name on it.
Her favorite teacher was her fourth grade teacher, Mrs. Greenhoot.
She hated dresses as a child.
She was born in St. Louis, Missouri and spent a few years growing up with her grandparents in a small river town.
She was a Navy child, trekking across country with her four brothers, her parents, and their cat in a station wagon.
She was the middle child of five and the only girl.
Her biggest fear was frogs and toads.
She started going gray at 17 years old.
Monday, September 16, 2013
Last Memories
I am starting this entry because, as my last entry indicated, I am afraid of forgetting. Everything special that happens with my mom I am going to post here because I want to remember it. This post is for me so it might seem like I am posting minuscule things, but they are important to me.
On another note, after losing my dad about 5 years ago, I started keeping a journal of special memories and answers to questions I might want to know someday. I can't tell you all how much this has helped me deal with the loss of my mom because I know that, even though I will not get to ask her all the questions I have later in life, I took the time to ask what I could think of when I had the chance.
–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––
9/15 My mom raised her arm to try to scratch her nose. I scratched it for her and asked if that was better. She said, "That's better." I then told her I loved her and though she didn't vocalize it, she mouthed, "love you."
9/16 She squeezed my hand while I was talking to her, blinked her eyes at me, and even opened them for a second. She was trying to scratch her face again and mouthed, "thank you" when I did it. Somehow I feel like she is more aware in these final days than she has been the past month.
9/16 She smiled when I told her we were taking her home. She talked a little bit and most was indecipherable but I definitely heard, "cats" and "finally" and "thank you."
9/16 I went to go to class, got into the parking lot and turned around to come back to my mom. I can miss out on having time to grieve but I can't miss out on having time to talk to my mom. When I got back she smiled and grabbed my hand. Then we scratched her itchy face a bit more.
9/16 We got my mom home, safe and sound. We got her set up in bed and Theodore came and laid with her. I got to see her smile and realize she was home. She also told me she loves me. I get to go to sleep tonight knowing she is just in the next room.
On another note, after losing my dad about 5 years ago, I started keeping a journal of special memories and answers to questions I might want to know someday. I can't tell you all how much this has helped me deal with the loss of my mom because I know that, even though I will not get to ask her all the questions I have later in life, I took the time to ask what I could think of when I had the chance.
–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––
9/15 My mom raised her arm to try to scratch her nose. I scratched it for her and asked if that was better. She said, "That's better." I then told her I loved her and though she didn't vocalize it, she mouthed, "love you."
9/16 She squeezed my hand while I was talking to her, blinked her eyes at me, and even opened them for a second. She was trying to scratch her face again and mouthed, "thank you" when I did it. Somehow I feel like she is more aware in these final days than she has been the past month.
9/16 She smiled when I told her we were taking her home. She talked a little bit and most was indecipherable but I definitely heard, "cats" and "finally" and "thank you."
9/16 I went to go to class, got into the parking lot and turned around to come back to my mom. I can miss out on having time to grieve but I can't miss out on having time to talk to my mom. When I got back she smiled and grabbed my hand. Then we scratched her itchy face a bit more.
9/16 We got my mom home, safe and sound. We got her set up in bed and Theodore came and laid with her. I got to see her smile and realize she was home. She also told me she loves me. I get to go to sleep tonight knowing she is just in the next room.
Sunday, September 15, 2013
End of Days
My mother is beautiful.
We have had our moments and years of struggles but she is beautiful. She has a smile that makes not only her own eyes sparkle but those around her, too. She has a laugh that I ache to remember.
So much of this life is based on our senses and I am afraid of losing these sensory connections with my mom.
Sound. Voice, laughter, snoring, meddling, nagging, loving.
I can't stop telling her that I love her because I want to make sure she knows and I want her to take that with her. I keep telling her I am sorry that this has happened to her, I'm sorry I couldn't fix it, because I desperately want to. I ask her to be my guardian angel when she leaves this body. I remember laughing so many times in our kitchen but one time in particular I was so overcome with giggles and silliness that I lost track of what makes sense and exclaimed, "We have fun together, aren't we?!" Doubled over in laughter, we made that our mantra when we were together.
Sight. Smiles, tears, movements, dances, eyes, hair, body.
I keep looking at every detail of her face and hands. I want to remember her eyes, her nose, her cheeks, the color of her hair. Her unbraced, perfectly straight teeth. Her strong and long fingernails which I did not inherit. I want to remember the way her skin changes colors from the top of her hands to the bottom. I want to see her to know that she is real.
Touch. Hugs, kisses, hands, snuggles.
I keep hugging her and stroking her face and holding her hand. I want her to know that I am here with her as much as I want to soak in as much skin memory as I can. When her soul passes, her body will not be hers anymore, it will be a shell. I don't want to remember the shell, I want to remember her. I want to remember the way she makes her body move, the way she squeezes my hand, and the way she reacts when I touch her.
Smell.
Despite the hospital room and the clinical smell, Chanel No. 5 will always remind me of special occasions. Pumpkin pie and M&M cookie dough will remind me of spending time in our kitchen. The smell of her skin, I hope, will stay with me.
Taste.
I do not taste my mom. I just don't. That's weird.
I will, however, remember the taste of her meatloafs, mac & cheese, lasagna, and those pies and cookies. I will remember my first taste of Rum and Coke when I was choking and it was the only thing around to help when I was about 8 years old. I will remember that she liked her steak as well done as it could be. I will remember that sourdough bread from San Francisco is her favorite taste, especially if you add a little crab.
Intuition.
Perhaps this isn't a real sense but I think it was for my mom. She knew when I needed her and when I needed to do some growing up. She knew I would not lie to her. She knew when I would call her - usually when she was headed to the bathroom, to be honest.
My mom is beautiful, inside and out. Every decision that she made, good and bad, made me who I am. With every action to she took, she influenced my life and influenced my decisions. She allowed me to learn from her mistakes and allowed me to make my own.
As I sit next to her now, I wonder if there was anything I could have done to change what happened. Even though she can't speak I can hear voice, "This sucks, but what can you do? Life is full of what ifs."
I guess you're right, mom. Life is full of what ifs. But the next step, I suppose, is what now?
"We'll have fun together, aren't we?"
We have had our moments and years of struggles but she is beautiful. She has a smile that makes not only her own eyes sparkle but those around her, too. She has a laugh that I ache to remember.
So much of this life is based on our senses and I am afraid of losing these sensory connections with my mom.
Sound. Voice, laughter, snoring, meddling, nagging, loving.
I can't stop telling her that I love her because I want to make sure she knows and I want her to take that with her. I keep telling her I am sorry that this has happened to her, I'm sorry I couldn't fix it, because I desperately want to. I ask her to be my guardian angel when she leaves this body. I remember laughing so many times in our kitchen but one time in particular I was so overcome with giggles and silliness that I lost track of what makes sense and exclaimed, "We have fun together, aren't we?!" Doubled over in laughter, we made that our mantra when we were together.
Sight. Smiles, tears, movements, dances, eyes, hair, body.
I keep looking at every detail of her face and hands. I want to remember her eyes, her nose, her cheeks, the color of her hair. Her unbraced, perfectly straight teeth. Her strong and long fingernails which I did not inherit. I want to remember the way her skin changes colors from the top of her hands to the bottom. I want to see her to know that she is real.
Touch. Hugs, kisses, hands, snuggles.
I keep hugging her and stroking her face and holding her hand. I want her to know that I am here with her as much as I want to soak in as much skin memory as I can. When her soul passes, her body will not be hers anymore, it will be a shell. I don't want to remember the shell, I want to remember her. I want to remember the way she makes her body move, the way she squeezes my hand, and the way she reacts when I touch her.
Smell.
Despite the hospital room and the clinical smell, Chanel No. 5 will always remind me of special occasions. Pumpkin pie and M&M cookie dough will remind me of spending time in our kitchen. The smell of her skin, I hope, will stay with me.
Taste.
I do not taste my mom. I just don't. That's weird.
I will, however, remember the taste of her meatloafs, mac & cheese, lasagna, and those pies and cookies. I will remember my first taste of Rum and Coke when I was choking and it was the only thing around to help when I was about 8 years old. I will remember that she liked her steak as well done as it could be. I will remember that sourdough bread from San Francisco is her favorite taste, especially if you add a little crab.
Intuition.
Perhaps this isn't a real sense but I think it was for my mom. She knew when I needed her and when I needed to do some growing up. She knew I would not lie to her. She knew when I would call her - usually when she was headed to the bathroom, to be honest.
My mom is beautiful, inside and out. Every decision that she made, good and bad, made me who I am. With every action to she took, she influenced my life and influenced my decisions. She allowed me to learn from her mistakes and allowed me to make my own.
As I sit next to her now, I wonder if there was anything I could have done to change what happened. Even though she can't speak I can hear voice, "This sucks, but what can you do? Life is full of what ifs."
I guess you're right, mom. Life is full of what ifs. But the next step, I suppose, is what now?
Wednesday, September 11, 2013
Saturday, August 10, 2013
Dear Reader
In my home in Iowa, there is a loose floorboard in the living room. Years ago, I put a few things in there as a sort of time capsule. I put it there for someone to find later but secretly hoped it would only ever be me or my family that might find what I left there. Tonight, I wrote my goodbye to whoever next pulls up that floor board. I would like to post it here more for my benefit than anything else.
Dear Reader,
This house probably doesn't look like much now. You probably can't see on the surface what I see in memories. This house built me and helps to define me. My parents bought the house in 1993, sight unseen, My grandpa picked it out for us. It had gold and bright blue shag carpet in nearly every room and up most of the walls. There were saloon doors in most of the door frames and a wagon wheel for a chandelier in the kitchen. It was a bit of a fixer-upper.
I am writing this on the eve before I give the house back to the bank and can no longer hope for this as my inheritance. It is much more a fixer-upper now as life seems to have gotten the better of us.
We moved here from San Diego, California in search of a simpler life. We drove a large Penske truck into town to signs all over welcoming us to Perry. We learned that life does not come in simple.
I had a wonderful childhood. I was the only child of two very loving parents who loved each other. My dad sold real estate here in Perry, I went to St. Patrick's School, and things were good. My dad missed San Diego, though, and after a few years, sought to move back. He went out for a job while my mom and I stayed in Iowa. It seems that sometime on this trip, my dad lost a bit of what made him happy. It lead to him turning to alcoholism. My once pristine childhood became peppered with hushed arguments and pockets square with Jose Quervo bottles.
My mom did her best to be just that - my mom. She worked at St. Patrick Church as the Business Administrator for almost 18 years. She came to my gymnastic meets, coached my softball teams, and worked at my swim meets. She became a mom to many of my friends.
While my dad was known for being the funny guy, Tom's Tacos, and eggs benedict, my mom was known for spending hours in the kitchen with me and my friends figuring out whatever problems plagued us at that age.
This house brought me joy - playing with the pump in the side yard, climbing any number of the 20 or so trees in the yard, playing ball on the east side of the house, exploring the basement, "camping" on the front porch, trying to sneak into the closet crawl space, creating dance routines in the back room, and sneaking into my parents' bedroom when I had a nightmare.
This house witnessed my sorrow - after adopting a friend into the family, the boy disrespected my already teetering father, took advantage of my overly "fix it" mother, and was nothing but hateful to me. This house witnessed the wedge this formed between me and my mother, me and my father, and between my parents. The tensions heightened and we all ran away in our own ways. I went to school, my dad went to California to try to get sober, and my mom dove deeper into trying to fix someone who refused to do so much as show gratitude.
My dad passed away from his alcoholism in 2008. I drew his headstone which is in Violet Hill Cemetery. My mom was diagnosed with brain cancer in 2012. My mom struggled with losing my dad before this but now it has truly taken its toll. Despite her independence, the love of her life is not here to support her in her time of greatest need, as she was unable to do for him.
I moved out to San Diego to go to law school in 2011 and am now moving my mom back out to take care of her. I have had to sell family furniture that reminds me of better times. I am having to turn over this home that housed my first, second, and third dog. This home that kept me warm in the winter and as cool as my mom would allow in the summer. It saw many happy Easter and Christmas mornings, Thanksgiving dinners that my dad and I prepared together from my grandpa's recipes, and birthday parties fit for a princess.
I've learned that the hardest thing to lose is hope. So please, don't lose hope in this home. It is precious, it is elderly, it needs care. When you negotiated for the best deal you could for this house because you know it needs rewiring, please know that it didn't get rewired because my dad's very close friend was an electrician who died before he could do our house. When you said you would need to replace the cement out back, please remember that it cracked the year the storms came so early we couldn't fix our iced over gutters. When you wonder why we didn't do these things ourselves, please remember that my father lost his job and couldn't afford it anymore. When you replace cracked doors, please hold in your heart that that was not my family, that was an angry boy who refused to do good. When you sand the hardwood floors and reseal them, please know this is how we started in this house. You can end differently. I have begun to say goodbye to the hope I had for a miracle for my family in this home but now, I will have hope that your family will return it to its glory and love it, and love each other, and find that simpler life.
Love, Katie
Tom, Robin, Barkley (dog), Coco (cat), Silver (cat), Ashley (cat), Bandit (cat), Zazu (cat), Joey (dog), Cooper (dog), Shanka (cat), Sunny (outdoor cat), Rosie (wild rabbit we nursed to health), Sally (wild rabbit, the same as Rosie), Woody (wild woodpecker we nursed to health), and my many friends who "grew up" here, too.
Dear Reader,
This house probably doesn't look like much now. You probably can't see on the surface what I see in memories. This house built me and helps to define me. My parents bought the house in 1993, sight unseen, My grandpa picked it out for us. It had gold and bright blue shag carpet in nearly every room and up most of the walls. There were saloon doors in most of the door frames and a wagon wheel for a chandelier in the kitchen. It was a bit of a fixer-upper.
I am writing this on the eve before I give the house back to the bank and can no longer hope for this as my inheritance. It is much more a fixer-upper now as life seems to have gotten the better of us.
We moved here from San Diego, California in search of a simpler life. We drove a large Penske truck into town to signs all over welcoming us to Perry. We learned that life does not come in simple.
I had a wonderful childhood. I was the only child of two very loving parents who loved each other. My dad sold real estate here in Perry, I went to St. Patrick's School, and things were good. My dad missed San Diego, though, and after a few years, sought to move back. He went out for a job while my mom and I stayed in Iowa. It seems that sometime on this trip, my dad lost a bit of what made him happy. It lead to him turning to alcoholism. My once pristine childhood became peppered with hushed arguments and pockets square with Jose Quervo bottles.
My mom did her best to be just that - my mom. She worked at St. Patrick Church as the Business Administrator for almost 18 years. She came to my gymnastic meets, coached my softball teams, and worked at my swim meets. She became a mom to many of my friends.
While my dad was known for being the funny guy, Tom's Tacos, and eggs benedict, my mom was known for spending hours in the kitchen with me and my friends figuring out whatever problems plagued us at that age.
This house brought me joy - playing with the pump in the side yard, climbing any number of the 20 or so trees in the yard, playing ball on the east side of the house, exploring the basement, "camping" on the front porch, trying to sneak into the closet crawl space, creating dance routines in the back room, and sneaking into my parents' bedroom when I had a nightmare.
This house witnessed my sorrow - after adopting a friend into the family, the boy disrespected my already teetering father, took advantage of my overly "fix it" mother, and was nothing but hateful to me. This house witnessed the wedge this formed between me and my mother, me and my father, and between my parents. The tensions heightened and we all ran away in our own ways. I went to school, my dad went to California to try to get sober, and my mom dove deeper into trying to fix someone who refused to do so much as show gratitude.
My dad passed away from his alcoholism in 2008. I drew his headstone which is in Violet Hill Cemetery. My mom was diagnosed with brain cancer in 2012. My mom struggled with losing my dad before this but now it has truly taken its toll. Despite her independence, the love of her life is not here to support her in her time of greatest need, as she was unable to do for him.
I moved out to San Diego to go to law school in 2011 and am now moving my mom back out to take care of her. I have had to sell family furniture that reminds me of better times. I am having to turn over this home that housed my first, second, and third dog. This home that kept me warm in the winter and as cool as my mom would allow in the summer. It saw many happy Easter and Christmas mornings, Thanksgiving dinners that my dad and I prepared together from my grandpa's recipes, and birthday parties fit for a princess.
I've learned that the hardest thing to lose is hope. So please, don't lose hope in this home. It is precious, it is elderly, it needs care. When you negotiated for the best deal you could for this house because you know it needs rewiring, please know that it didn't get rewired because my dad's very close friend was an electrician who died before he could do our house. When you said you would need to replace the cement out back, please remember that it cracked the year the storms came so early we couldn't fix our iced over gutters. When you wonder why we didn't do these things ourselves, please remember that my father lost his job and couldn't afford it anymore. When you replace cracked doors, please hold in your heart that that was not my family, that was an angry boy who refused to do good. When you sand the hardwood floors and reseal them, please know this is how we started in this house. You can end differently. I have begun to say goodbye to the hope I had for a miracle for my family in this home but now, I will have hope that your family will return it to its glory and love it, and love each other, and find that simpler life.
Love, Katie
Tom, Robin, Barkley (dog), Coco (cat), Silver (cat), Ashley (cat), Bandit (cat), Zazu (cat), Joey (dog), Cooper (dog), Shanka (cat), Sunny (outdoor cat), Rosie (wild rabbit we nursed to health), Sally (wild rabbit, the same as Rosie), Woody (wild woodpecker we nursed to health), and my many friends who "grew up" here, too.
Sunday, August 4, 2013
Self-Definition
I spent a lot of time in junior high and high school filling notebooks with other peoples' words. Whether it was what someone said at school or my "quotes" notebook, my words never seemed to have as much impact or worth as everyone else's words. Sometimes a quote or a song mimics exactly how you are feeling but sometimes, there are just no quotes already written. Sometimes, you have to find your own words to describe your own, imperfectly balanced life.
It's far easier to read words of inspiration and love from other people than it is to sit down and really think about what words describe what you are going through. It's overwhelmingly easier to skim through quotes of disappointment and heartache than it is to rationalize or even be irrationally eloquent with your own words.
The number of people I have allowed to define me in my brief existence is overwhelming. I never cared to look up who most of the people were, why they said the quote that liked so much, or even whether or not these were people who I should allow to define me. At the time, I think a combination of short-sightedness, immaturity, and fear kept me researching these individuals and the context of the words. In this one little sentence, out of context, separated from a potentially wonderful or evil speaker, just maybe, it felt like someone else knew how I was feeling. Perhaps, I was not as alone. The words provided a glimmer of hope.
Occasionally, I still turn to quotes, when I have little energy and need an attitude adjustment. Sometimes, I allow myself to share my own words. Now, when I look at quotes, said or written by people who's names I am now familiar with, I can choose a little more rationally as to whether or not I should allow those words to apply to me and in what context. It's strange - choosing between a safety rail of what someone else said or exposing and owning my own feelings, thoughts, and contexts.
I'm not sure if it's culture or human nature that keeps me from speaking exactly what is on my mind. I think it's comfort that finally does allow me to be honest or, at the very least, expressive. My own comfort with myself and my audience determines what comes out of my mouth, what I type, or how much honesty I provide to the conversation. I am still working on defining myself and allowing myself to give life to my own feelings and thoughts through words. It is, possibly, the most difficult journey I can embark on. No matter what I am going through, how do I tell you in exactly the correct way?
It's far easier to read words of inspiration and love from other people than it is to sit down and really think about what words describe what you are going through. It's overwhelmingly easier to skim through quotes of disappointment and heartache than it is to rationalize or even be irrationally eloquent with your own words.
The number of people I have allowed to define me in my brief existence is overwhelming. I never cared to look up who most of the people were, why they said the quote that liked so much, or even whether or not these were people who I should allow to define me. At the time, I think a combination of short-sightedness, immaturity, and fear kept me researching these individuals and the context of the words. In this one little sentence, out of context, separated from a potentially wonderful or evil speaker, just maybe, it felt like someone else knew how I was feeling. Perhaps, I was not as alone. The words provided a glimmer of hope.
Occasionally, I still turn to quotes, when I have little energy and need an attitude adjustment. Sometimes, I allow myself to share my own words. Now, when I look at quotes, said or written by people who's names I am now familiar with, I can choose a little more rationally as to whether or not I should allow those words to apply to me and in what context. It's strange - choosing between a safety rail of what someone else said or exposing and owning my own feelings, thoughts, and contexts.
I'm not sure if it's culture or human nature that keeps me from speaking exactly what is on my mind. I think it's comfort that finally does allow me to be honest or, at the very least, expressive. My own comfort with myself and my audience determines what comes out of my mouth, what I type, or how much honesty I provide to the conversation. I am still working on defining myself and allowing myself to give life to my own feelings and thoughts through words. It is, possibly, the most difficult journey I can embark on. No matter what I am going through, how do I tell you in exactly the correct way?
Friday, July 12, 2013
That Being Said. . .
I expect this blog post to be continually updated as my finals blog was. Between having a mom with brain cancer who, more often than not, says the wrong words and friends who just speak too fast for their brains to catch up, and myself, being in this same category, it is absolutely necessary.
1) As we are going over the bridge my mom points out the car window and says "I hate those midgets." Me: "I'm sorry, what?" Mom: "Those midgets over there, they are just so ugly, the ones built on the sand." Me (hardly able to contain myself): "Oh! Those apartments and condos! Got it. . . "
Mom: "Yeah, the midgets!"
2) At the beach today, there was an abundance of jellyfish. I have never seen jellyfish in real life before and, funny thing, they actually look and feel like jelly! A piece of one floated up next to us on the beach and my friend picks it up and informs me, "this one can't sting us because it doesn't have any testicles."
3) Friend 1: These questions are so dumb, for instance, "who fought the U.S. in the revolutionary war?
Friend 2: I seriously don't know!
Friend 1: Get...out of here who...are you?!
Friend 2: The British? Oh I don't know, I'm Canadian, give me a break!
4) (Friend 2 above) There is no way West Virginia has it's own laws it is not even a state!
Me: Are you kidding me...?
1) As we are going over the bridge my mom points out the car window and says "I hate those midgets." Me: "I'm sorry, what?" Mom: "Those midgets over there, they are just so ugly, the ones built on the sand." Me (hardly able to contain myself): "Oh! Those apartments and condos! Got it. . . "
Mom: "Yeah, the midgets!"
2) At the beach today, there was an abundance of jellyfish. I have never seen jellyfish in real life before and, funny thing, they actually look and feel like jelly! A piece of one floated up next to us on the beach and my friend picks it up and informs me, "this one can't sting us because it doesn't have any testicles."
3) Friend 1: These questions are so dumb, for instance, "who fought the U.S. in the revolutionary war?
Friend 2: I seriously don't know!
Friend 1: Get...out of here who...are you?!
Friend 2: The British? Oh I don't know, I'm Canadian, give me a break!
4) (Friend 2 above) There is no way West Virginia has it's own laws it is not even a state!
Me: Are you kidding me...?
Monday, May 27, 2013
The House That Built Me
I'm facing the last few days I may ever have in my childhood home. In certain ways, I have already been forced to say goodbye, but in others, it still contains the memories I have of my family and friends in the house. In the back room I can see how we first had it arranged with my mom's home office on one side and my play office on the other. The back room was where my dad saw a spider on my leg, started screaming and told my mom, "it's got her!" as if the spider was the end of my existence and there was nothing they could do to save me. It was the first room that was repainted when we moved in back in 1993. It's where I made up dance routines because it held our stereo.
The spare room was where the Nordic track was kept along with the pull-out couch for overnight visitors. This spare room became my room at one point, then my mom's room later. It's where I insisted on sleeping with the overnight visitors and apparently kicking most of them in the ribs as I did "donuts" in my sleep as a kid. When it was my room it was where I talked on the phone to my first boyfriend. When it was my mom's room, I would sneak in there on rough nights just to snuggle.
The kitchen holds memories of my dad making "Tom's Tacos," eggs benedict, and chicken marsala. I remember baking cakes with my dad for my mom's birthday and making M&M cookies with my mom. Thanksgivings were spent in the kitchen with my dad for the savory things and helping my mom with the sweets. I climbed the doorways in the kitchen up to the top, a hand and foot on each side. Countless hours were spent with my mom and my high school friends solving the problems of the world and rehashing school drama.
The dining room was my craft room, the family dinner table, the laundry folding station, the packing center, the gift wrapping station, the birthday and Easter morning present presentation holder. The wall had markings of when I was little until I stopped getting any taller. I also measured my stuffed animals, just in case they grew, too. They were measured with and without ears, of course. These markings got painted over a few years ago when the boy who was living with us got angry at me. This house also saw me grow stronger through my pain.
The living room held our Christmas tree, the futon when I had friends stay over for sleep overs, Charger games vs. Rugrats TV time drag-outs between my dad and me. The living room is where I learned to roller blade on the hard wood floors and where my American Girl Dolls learned how to ski. It's where I learned how to do a front tuck and back-walkover.
The front porch had my balance beam where I learned back-walkovers on a two by four supported by cinder blocks and cart-wheels on the same lumber. It's where I occasionally set up my tent for "camping" with my friends.
The little room on the side started as my mom's sewing room but it wasn't insulated so it became a book storage room, then my dolls' room in the summer time. Eventually it became a throw all for clothes, books, and dolls. Anything we didn't know what to do with was piled in that room.
The stairs have the banister I wasn't supposed to slide down but did anyway. It's where I sat and listened the one time I remember my parents yelling at each other. I remember it started because my dad had undercooked my mom's meat, again. I now understand that is clearly not all it was. The one untouched thing in my home is the clock from the Hotel Del which I absolutely adore. Some how, it survived and to me, represents what things were before things started to go wrong. It's appropriately placed just before the turn to the upstairs.
The landing was where I decorated with rocks and shells to greet me and my parents as we went to our bedrooms. The bathroom upstairs is where I sometimes laid when it was super cold during the winter because the vent there was warmer than in my bedroom. I did this by choice, not because I couldn't just get another blanket. Also, I could listen to what was happening in the kitchen when the vent was open.
My bedroom was where I believed I saw Rudolph and the tooth fairy. It was where I hid my treasures and created my sanctuary. It's also the first room that was turned over to the boy who lived with us. It was the first to receive the damage. The antique door of my once special place has a hole through the bottom.
My parents' room, I knew little about other than it had a small door at the back of their closet. I rarely was able to sneak in but when I got to it, I was usually too afraid to actually go into the crawl space. When I was little I would run into their room at night when I was afraid. When my dad was away on business I would sleep in his spot with my mom. We would read our bedtime stories together and tell funny stories. She would tell me about the birds she used to have and I would make up some fairy tale to tell her. A sign in their room said "Happiness is being married to your best friend." It's also the room that my dad shut himself away in when he was succumbing to alcoholism. It became a room to avoid as if it was plagued with sickness. Somehow, the boy took over this room later, too. Now, it feels haunted with what might have been, or rather, what should have been.
I learned to play ball in the yard and learned to ride my bike there as well. I played with my first and last dog here. I climbed trees, had adventures, dug holes, and discovered cement. I made mud pies and grass pillows, did gymnastics on the swing set, and baptized my animals in the birdbath. We buried our animals in the yard and had funerals for them, too. I played hide and seek and made teepees.
This house built me, watched me grow, and stayed here even when I left. It held such great hopes and dreams for me, watched me crumble, and yet, stood around me. As I understand it now, it's also been crumbling as the family inside it crumbled. It's still strong, and still holds the hopes and dreams, but requires a lot of work to get it back to where it once was. It's damaged but still standing and I'm not ready to leave it behind for good. It knows me, more than anyone or anything has ever known me. It defined me and somehow, always will. Packing everything inside to keep or sell is painful enough but also knowing I can't just take this poor house with me crushes me. It deserves better. It did nothing to deserve being deserted, being left behind with holes and damage. All it ever did was give, and I guess we forgot to give back. I'm not sure how to say goodbye to the house I love so much, the house that built me.
The spare room was where the Nordic track was kept along with the pull-out couch for overnight visitors. This spare room became my room at one point, then my mom's room later. It's where I insisted on sleeping with the overnight visitors and apparently kicking most of them in the ribs as I did "donuts" in my sleep as a kid. When it was my room it was where I talked on the phone to my first boyfriend. When it was my mom's room, I would sneak in there on rough nights just to snuggle.
The kitchen holds memories of my dad making "Tom's Tacos," eggs benedict, and chicken marsala. I remember baking cakes with my dad for my mom's birthday and making M&M cookies with my mom. Thanksgivings were spent in the kitchen with my dad for the savory things and helping my mom with the sweets. I climbed the doorways in the kitchen up to the top, a hand and foot on each side. Countless hours were spent with my mom and my high school friends solving the problems of the world and rehashing school drama.
The dining room was my craft room, the family dinner table, the laundry folding station, the packing center, the gift wrapping station, the birthday and Easter morning present presentation holder. The wall had markings of when I was little until I stopped getting any taller. I also measured my stuffed animals, just in case they grew, too. They were measured with and without ears, of course. These markings got painted over a few years ago when the boy who was living with us got angry at me. This house also saw me grow stronger through my pain.
The living room held our Christmas tree, the futon when I had friends stay over for sleep overs, Charger games vs. Rugrats TV time drag-outs between my dad and me. The living room is where I learned to roller blade on the hard wood floors and where my American Girl Dolls learned how to ski. It's where I learned how to do a front tuck and back-walkover.
The front porch had my balance beam where I learned back-walkovers on a two by four supported by cinder blocks and cart-wheels on the same lumber. It's where I occasionally set up my tent for "camping" with my friends.
The little room on the side started as my mom's sewing room but it wasn't insulated so it became a book storage room, then my dolls' room in the summer time. Eventually it became a throw all for clothes, books, and dolls. Anything we didn't know what to do with was piled in that room.
The stairs have the banister I wasn't supposed to slide down but did anyway. It's where I sat and listened the one time I remember my parents yelling at each other. I remember it started because my dad had undercooked my mom's meat, again. I now understand that is clearly not all it was. The one untouched thing in my home is the clock from the Hotel Del which I absolutely adore. Some how, it survived and to me, represents what things were before things started to go wrong. It's appropriately placed just before the turn to the upstairs.
The landing was where I decorated with rocks and shells to greet me and my parents as we went to our bedrooms. The bathroom upstairs is where I sometimes laid when it was super cold during the winter because the vent there was warmer than in my bedroom. I did this by choice, not because I couldn't just get another blanket. Also, I could listen to what was happening in the kitchen when the vent was open.
My bedroom was where I believed I saw Rudolph and the tooth fairy. It was where I hid my treasures and created my sanctuary. It's also the first room that was turned over to the boy who lived with us. It was the first to receive the damage. The antique door of my once special place has a hole through the bottom.
My parents' room, I knew little about other than it had a small door at the back of their closet. I rarely was able to sneak in but when I got to it, I was usually too afraid to actually go into the crawl space. When I was little I would run into their room at night when I was afraid. When my dad was away on business I would sleep in his spot with my mom. We would read our bedtime stories together and tell funny stories. She would tell me about the birds she used to have and I would make up some fairy tale to tell her. A sign in their room said "Happiness is being married to your best friend." It's also the room that my dad shut himself away in when he was succumbing to alcoholism. It became a room to avoid as if it was plagued with sickness. Somehow, the boy took over this room later, too. Now, it feels haunted with what might have been, or rather, what should have been.
I learned to play ball in the yard and learned to ride my bike there as well. I played with my first and last dog here. I climbed trees, had adventures, dug holes, and discovered cement. I made mud pies and grass pillows, did gymnastics on the swing set, and baptized my animals in the birdbath. We buried our animals in the yard and had funerals for them, too. I played hide and seek and made teepees.
This house built me, watched me grow, and stayed here even when I left. It held such great hopes and dreams for me, watched me crumble, and yet, stood around me. As I understand it now, it's also been crumbling as the family inside it crumbled. It's still strong, and still holds the hopes and dreams, but requires a lot of work to get it back to where it once was. It's damaged but still standing and I'm not ready to leave it behind for good. It knows me, more than anyone or anything has ever known me. It defined me and somehow, always will. Packing everything inside to keep or sell is painful enough but also knowing I can't just take this poor house with me crushes me. It deserves better. It did nothing to deserve being deserted, being left behind with holes and damage. All it ever did was give, and I guess we forgot to give back. I'm not sure how to say goodbye to the house I love so much, the house that built me.
Thursday, May 2, 2013
Law Students Say the Darndest Things
Over the next two weeks studying for finals, I know, in our delirium, we will say some completely random things. Here, I will do my best to record these moments for your enjoyment as well as my own way to look back and wonder why that was funny.
5/1/2013
I have been watching the San Diego Zoo Koala Cam. My friends informed me that they were going to have an intervention and one of them asked if I had fallen asleep with it on. I said no but I did write them a goodnight letter. Another friend asked, "really?" I replied, "No, Koalas can't read."
5/1/2013
2L friend trying to help me review for Civ Pro even though our Civ Pro prof doesn't use labels, my friend asks, "What is safe harbor?" (Referring to the grace period allowed under Rule 11, however, I don't remember this being called safe harbor). My response was "the opposite of Pearl Harbor?"
5/1/2013
I bit into a Reeses Peanut Butter Cup Miniature which did not contain any Peanut butter! I wrote the Reeses company a letter informing them of this and analyzed the situation under Manufacturing Defect, a tort issue.
5/2/2013
I received an email from Reeses letting me know that they will be sending me coupons for the lack of peanut butter in my cups.
5/2/2013
In Personum jurisdiction outline -
Friend reads "Presence sufficient even if just passing food"
My reply "would you like fries with that?"
5/3/2013
Friend, very excited about her realization, "Wait, guys, nationwide means in the United States!"
The rest of us, "Yup. . . ."
5/6/2013
Friend asks other friend who appears to be deep in thought while doing Property Problems, "What are you thinking about?"
Thinking friend, "What tater tots would taste like with Thai food."
Later, me, to answer the question, "Tater tots are always a good idea."
5/6/2013
Why do TJSL students get so fat?
It's so cold we have to add insulation.
5/8/2013
I'm studying with two Yankee fans, prepping for the Property exam, comparing it to baseball and saying that we will do well. One Yankee to the other, "do it for Jeter!"
5/12/2013
There is another person in our study group with the same name as me. I asked another girl to send me her notes on one subject to double check them with mine. She sends it to the other girl with my name. Twice.
5/12/2013
This morning someone asked me how I like law school. I got halfway through my typical, "I love it" answer when I had to stop, back track, and just let him know this was a bad time to ask. Last week, I loved it, this week I hate it. Ask me again in the fall.
5/12/2013
When we get nervous, we tend to play with our hair more often. Friend, "I just keep playing with it. I keep telling myself to stop touching myself!"
5/12/2013
You know it's time to stop studying for the night and go to bed when your Tort puns start merging with Torte puns.
5/14/2013
Friend and me, studying in odd chairs, staring at odd patterns in the carpet, I inform her that she looks like she is in a bucket, peering over the edge of it into the river. We then discussed what kinds of "fish" were in the river. I swear this only lasted about 5 minutes.
More to come, I'm sure.
5/1/2013
I have been watching the San Diego Zoo Koala Cam. My friends informed me that they were going to have an intervention and one of them asked if I had fallen asleep with it on. I said no but I did write them a goodnight letter. Another friend asked, "really?" I replied, "No, Koalas can't read."
5/1/2013
2L friend trying to help me review for Civ Pro even though our Civ Pro prof doesn't use labels, my friend asks, "What is safe harbor?" (Referring to the grace period allowed under Rule 11, however, I don't remember this being called safe harbor). My response was "the opposite of Pearl Harbor?"
5/1/2013
I bit into a Reeses Peanut Butter Cup Miniature which did not contain any Peanut butter! I wrote the Reeses company a letter informing them of this and analyzed the situation under Manufacturing Defect, a tort issue.
5/2/2013
I received an email from Reeses letting me know that they will be sending me coupons for the lack of peanut butter in my cups.
5/2/2013
In Personum jurisdiction outline -
Friend reads "Presence sufficient even if just passing food"
My reply "would you like fries with that?"
5/3/2013
Friend, very excited about her realization, "Wait, guys, nationwide means in the United States!"
The rest of us, "Yup. . . ."
5/6/2013
Friend asks other friend who appears to be deep in thought while doing Property Problems, "What are you thinking about?"
Thinking friend, "What tater tots would taste like with Thai food."
Later, me, to answer the question, "Tater tots are always a good idea."
5/6/2013
Why do TJSL students get so fat?
It's so cold we have to add insulation.
5/8/2013
I'm studying with two Yankee fans, prepping for the Property exam, comparing it to baseball and saying that we will do well. One Yankee to the other, "do it for Jeter!"
5/12/2013
There is another person in our study group with the same name as me. I asked another girl to send me her notes on one subject to double check them with mine. She sends it to the other girl with my name. Twice.
5/12/2013
This morning someone asked me how I like law school. I got halfway through my typical, "I love it" answer when I had to stop, back track, and just let him know this was a bad time to ask. Last week, I loved it, this week I hate it. Ask me again in the fall.
5/12/2013
When we get nervous, we tend to play with our hair more often. Friend, "I just keep playing with it. I keep telling myself to stop touching myself!"
5/12/2013
You know it's time to stop studying for the night and go to bed when your Tort puns start merging with Torte puns.
5/14/2013
Friend and me, studying in odd chairs, staring at odd patterns in the carpet, I inform her that she looks like she is in a bucket, peering over the edge of it into the river. We then discussed what kinds of "fish" were in the river. I swear this only lasted about 5 minutes.
5/15/2013 (Pretty much still 5/14/2013 in my mind)
After the first two finals I walked out thinking that I failed them both and cried. After the third final I walked out thinking I failed it and am thanking the Lord I only have one left!
From tears to angry giggles.
5/15/2013
I received the coupons from Reeses!
5/15/2013
Sunny day. Friend has hood tied tightly around her head. Other friend asks why. First friend replies, "so it wouldn't fly off in the rain."
More to come, I'm sure.
Wednesday, May 1, 2013
My 1L Year: Nothing Is More Powerful Than An Idea Whose Time Has Come
Today is my final day of class for my 1L year of law school. So much has happened in this year and it has all happened so quickly that it is sometimes difficult to realize that things have changed. Even though classes are coming to an end, my heart is racing constantly and my brain won't take a break because finals are looming ahead. In an effort to slow the panic, I have decided to attempt to reflect on the past year, in both personal and academic lights.
My first day of orientation was in mid August. I had just gotten back from a trip from Iowa, visiting my mom and making sure she was settled in with her cancer treatments. She had begun to have seizure like tendencies which inhibited her speaking ability. When I called my mom that morning to tell her about my nerves, hopes, expectations, she was unable to respond with more than a few mumblings. I called my mom's best friend who gave me the words of support I know my mom was wishing she could share. I had spent so much time on my initial assignments, making sure I did each of them to the best of my ability, that I was sure they were all wrong. At the time, they were exactly what they should have been. Looking at them now, I was right, they were all wrong.
I was terrified but optimistic. I had been told to meet up with a girl who was the daughter of my boyfriend's mom's friend. As fate would have it, I met the closest thing I had to a familiar face in the elevator before we even made it out of the parking garage. Though we ended up having different interests throughout the year and made other friends, it was so nice to have someone to talk to about the process and not walk into the classrooms alone. I remember thinking about who would be in my section, whether my first impressions would last, and who my real professors would be.
On the first day of class, my boyfriend took my picture on our doorstep and drove me to school. All over again, walking into the front doors of the school, I wanted to cry and run away as much as I wanted to jump up and down with excitement. I had waited my entire life for this day. It's strange now, how little I remember about that day when I had spent most of my life dreaming about what it would be like. It went so quickly that I'm not entirely sure what classes I had that day. I think it was Torts and Crim but I could be wrong.
Soon, our class started to settle into a routine. We started to figure out our professors and expand our friend groups and interactions. We found that our Contracts professor had some ups and our Civ Pro professor showed his passion like the Lorax. On Thursdays, we had both of these classes so they became known as Passion Thursdays.
We started Word of the Day and tried in each class to work the Word of the Day into the class conversations without the professor knowing. My favorites were probably "groovy" and "vinyl." I ran for and won the position of 1L Representative for our class section on the Student Bar Association, which is essentially the student government. I started a Facebook page for our section and, despite the inevitable vying for grades that would happen at the end of the term, everyone banded together to tackle our first semester.
As midterms approached, we were given a template for our final exams. As much as I was terrified and focused for those exams, I had no idea how little a role they played in our final grades. Realistically, if I had done better on a few midterms, perhaps my final grade would have been higher, but it gave us an inkling of what was to come for finals and I was able to prepare so much better for final exams. Judging how each professor graded was at least as important as actually knowing the material. This is something that is haunting me and terrifying me for this semester.
I got the opportunity to spend Thanksgiving in the San Francisco area with my dad's side of the family. Getting out of town and just taking some time to see family that I hardly get to see was so refreshing and helped me to get my head focused for the last few weeks of school before finals.
I was able to meet many area lawyers and get involved in a legal community I had little knowledge of before beginning school.
Winter break somehow flew by and was still littered with concerns about school as our grades trickled out over the four weeks we had "off." Despite one class crushing my heart and shattering my self-definition, I made honor-roll.
Coming back second semester, dynamics had changed a bit. Each person had a different outlook. Some became more welcoming, now used to the law school game; others gripped more tightly to their friend groups. Others couldn't adhere to those tight grips and so became a "free agent" on the study group market.
Barrister's Ball allowed us to feel fancy for an evening, connect with some professors outside of the classroom, and connect with each other. Barristers became a defining evening for me this year. I decided at that point what school groups I wanted to be involved in, what level of commitment I was prepared to offer those groups, and what I needed to do to get there. In some cases, this meant simply finding social situations that made me happier and reminded me of my passions. I needed to surround myself with people who understood those passions and who had similar ones. Despite everyone being in law school, hopes, dreams, personalities, and goals are as diverse as any undergraduate institution could offer. Just as my English major occasionally gathered snickers from my Bio major friends, not everyone has the ability to be supportive of my Crim law and litigation goals when their goals are so undecided or decided to the point where they know that what I want is definitely not what they want. Just as after the first few weeks of school in the fall friend groups reshuffled, it happened a bit in the spring as well, all for the best. We all grew into our 1L selves. We had all changed from the first few weeks of school, created new goals, and new paranoias.
Over spring break, I volunteered as a witness for the mock trial team. After sitting in on two of their practices, I knew that that was what I wanted to do with my life all day every day. Fortunately, I realized, this is why I am going to law school. As obvious as it seems, something finally clicked in my mind as to why I was truly here. I realized that my five year plan includes a real career, not an educational career.
Somehow, Midterms came quickly, Spring Break flew by, and all of a sudden, we were faced with a few fingers worth of weeks until finals. Professors taught differently this semester. I am not sure whether it is because we had one semester under our belts and they wanted us to up our game or whether it was simply because the information was different but we had more detailed work to do outside of class and gained less information in the classes themselves. My family found out that my mom's cancer had returned and she is continually going through new treatments. Despite it weighing on my mind, that mind needs to be focused on my upcoming finals.
All the while, I had my animals and family and boyfriend supporting me from outside the school realm. God bless each of them for putting up with my psycho habits that I have developed. Requiring certain things to be clean on certain days and time to myself before I ripped someone's head off were all things that everyone dealt with and yet, they still talk to me. I can't thank them enough for that.
Next year I will face new challenges. I will be serving as the Treasurer for SBA, the President for the Women's Law Association, and, hopefully, I will be participating in Mock Trial. In the next two weeks my challenges will include keeping dry eyes when I want to curl up in a ball and quit, keeping my cats off my butcher paper as I wallpaper my home with charts, outlines, and diagrams, and not letting the terror of defeat overcome my hopes to succeed.
My favorite quote which seems to apply to every point in my life still motivates me today.
"I wanted a perfect ending. Now I've learned, the hard way, that some poems don't rhyme, and some stories don't have a clear beginning, middle, and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what's going to happen next. Delicious Ambiguity." - Gilda Radner.
Saturday, April 13, 2013
Changes and Processes
As most of you are aware, my mom was diagnosed with brain cancer last June, she underwent surgery, did the radiation and chemo bit, continued chemo throughout the year, had a healthy MRI. Then, about two or three weeks ago, her next MRI revealed that the "used to be small" tumor had tripled in size. Her doctors decided to take a systemic approach and now she is receiving intravenous chemo treatments about every two weeks. We will evaluate with MRIs along the way and decide what to do next when we get those results. This is the medical side of it all. Then there is the emotional side that I have not been willing to face head on, rather I have been analyzing it. Perhaps this morning's phone call, or finally taking a minute to catch up on my aunt's blog inspired me to try to analyze it in writing.
My mom is sick. This comes after losing my dad and both of my grandmas (Nonnie and Grandma, for distinction). After helping with Grandma's care as Power of Attorney, I was ready to start law school and grow up like a normal 23 year old. I wanted to take a step back. That, however, was not God's plan for me, nor for my family.
Fast forward to now with the regrowing tumor. My mom gets more confused than she used to. She gets frustrated because she can't do the work she used to define herself by. She was an accountant and defining herself through anything else has never been something she had to think about. She has turned into a woman with brain cancer. I don't mean this in the way that she just can't do accounting anymore. I mean that she is redefining herself as a woman with brain cancer, because she can't be the accountant anymore. I struggle to encourage her from 1700 miles away that she is so much more than an accountant and that brain cancer can't define her.
My grandpa and his wife have been taking her to her doctor's appointments, trying to get her finances sorted out, trying to keep her insurance from getting cancelled all-together. There are resources for these things, but apparently they were resources that they were not willing to use and it has all become too much for them to handle. Understandable for two elderly individuals. Fortunately, to some extent I anticipated this and have been exploring other options. Unfortunately, they apparently see this is passing the baton rather than making sure my mom gets the opportunity to adjust to a new situation, whatever that new situation may be. My mom may be more confused and repeat herself, but that doesn't mean she isn't still a 53 year old woman who has been independent her entire life.
This morning I received a call from my grandpa's wife, with whom my relationship has always been tenuous. She explained everything that I knew was going on with my mom, then told me that I need to go, get my mom, and bring her 1700 miles away from what she knows, and I need to do this right away. I told her that I was in school, I can come when school is out, about a month from now, but something needs to happen on that end in the meantime. Someone needs to talk to my mom about this situation and prepare her to make decisions on her home that she has there, the animals she has there, the life that she has spent the past 20 years building. I was told that this was my responsibility now, not theirs. They weren't going to tell her about their decision and want me to make a decision for my mom, without giving her any option.
Putting aside my anger and hostility and frustration for "family" dynamics and why my grandpa couldn't talk to me about this or at least make this a process that we work on together, the main concern is that I can tell my mom to do a million things or one thing and I still can't be there to make sure it gets done. Not right now. I can't be there to support her in this huge transition that she didn't ask for. She doesn't deserve to have to hear this over the phone. And regardless of even all that, I am her daughter and she is my mom. We have 23 years of that relationship and, although I know my mom respects my opinion and trusts me, it's nearly impossible, not to mention wrong of me, to demand that she see me as an adult who is going to be making decisions for her. My mom never even rearranged the furniture in our house when I was growing up, this change of relationship certainly can't happen over the phone. How am I supposed to take a baton with no baggage when human nature and relationships are involved? My mom is a human with feelings and a past and a future and deserves to be treated that way. She isn't just a body with brain cancer that is hard to be patient with.
I'm not sure what my mom's next step will be, besides finishing this round of chemo treatments. The medical side is easy to make decisions on, it's the human side that seems to have created the struggle. I don't know what will happen to our home or the animals, I don't know if my mom will make the trek to the West Coast or tootle on over to her best friend's house, four blocks away. Regardless of any of this, she is a person who needs to know and be involved in decisions that involve her. She is a very long way away from having decisions made about her, without her. And I am a very long way from telling my mom what to do when I am 1700 miles away from the aftermath.
This needs to be a process, as everything needs to be. And people need to re-learn that my mom is a person, not a ball of brain cancer.
My mom is sick. This comes after losing my dad and both of my grandmas (Nonnie and Grandma, for distinction). After helping with Grandma's care as Power of Attorney, I was ready to start law school and grow up like a normal 23 year old. I wanted to take a step back. That, however, was not God's plan for me, nor for my family.
Fast forward to now with the regrowing tumor. My mom gets more confused than she used to. She gets frustrated because she can't do the work she used to define herself by. She was an accountant and defining herself through anything else has never been something she had to think about. She has turned into a woman with brain cancer. I don't mean this in the way that she just can't do accounting anymore. I mean that she is redefining herself as a woman with brain cancer, because she can't be the accountant anymore. I struggle to encourage her from 1700 miles away that she is so much more than an accountant and that brain cancer can't define her.
My grandpa and his wife have been taking her to her doctor's appointments, trying to get her finances sorted out, trying to keep her insurance from getting cancelled all-together. There are resources for these things, but apparently they were resources that they were not willing to use and it has all become too much for them to handle. Understandable for two elderly individuals. Fortunately, to some extent I anticipated this and have been exploring other options. Unfortunately, they apparently see this is passing the baton rather than making sure my mom gets the opportunity to adjust to a new situation, whatever that new situation may be. My mom may be more confused and repeat herself, but that doesn't mean she isn't still a 53 year old woman who has been independent her entire life.
This morning I received a call from my grandpa's wife, with whom my relationship has always been tenuous. She explained everything that I knew was going on with my mom, then told me that I need to go, get my mom, and bring her 1700 miles away from what she knows, and I need to do this right away. I told her that I was in school, I can come when school is out, about a month from now, but something needs to happen on that end in the meantime. Someone needs to talk to my mom about this situation and prepare her to make decisions on her home that she has there, the animals she has there, the life that she has spent the past 20 years building. I was told that this was my responsibility now, not theirs. They weren't going to tell her about their decision and want me to make a decision for my mom, without giving her any option.
Putting aside my anger and hostility and frustration for "family" dynamics and why my grandpa couldn't talk to me about this or at least make this a process that we work on together, the main concern is that I can tell my mom to do a million things or one thing and I still can't be there to make sure it gets done. Not right now. I can't be there to support her in this huge transition that she didn't ask for. She doesn't deserve to have to hear this over the phone. And regardless of even all that, I am her daughter and she is my mom. We have 23 years of that relationship and, although I know my mom respects my opinion and trusts me, it's nearly impossible, not to mention wrong of me, to demand that she see me as an adult who is going to be making decisions for her. My mom never even rearranged the furniture in our house when I was growing up, this change of relationship certainly can't happen over the phone. How am I supposed to take a baton with no baggage when human nature and relationships are involved? My mom is a human with feelings and a past and a future and deserves to be treated that way. She isn't just a body with brain cancer that is hard to be patient with.
I'm not sure what my mom's next step will be, besides finishing this round of chemo treatments. The medical side is easy to make decisions on, it's the human side that seems to have created the struggle. I don't know what will happen to our home or the animals, I don't know if my mom will make the trek to the West Coast or tootle on over to her best friend's house, four blocks away. Regardless of any of this, she is a person who needs to know and be involved in decisions that involve her. She is a very long way away from having decisions made about her, without her. And I am a very long way from telling my mom what to do when I am 1700 miles away from the aftermath.
This needs to be a process, as everything needs to be. And people need to re-learn that my mom is a person, not a ball of brain cancer.
Tuesday, March 19, 2013
My Couch
Living in a small apartment has made me obsessed with storage options, shelving, and pinterest. I have three bookshelves full of books, two of which are stacked double deep. I have a cast iron shelving unit designated for kitchen supplies and another massive shelving unit up on the wall that my boyfriend built for more storage. I have a lot of stuff but I have recently realized that when I am on vacation where none of my stuff is around, I feel so much more at ease in those spaces. As a result, I am trying to clear out some of the unnecessary furniture that I either inherited or acquired due to its freeness. I've removed the coffee table that was about three feet too big for the apartment and the next thing to go is the futon. I am so ready to get rid of this futon that I am wondering if I even need something to replace it. I am torn between a leather loveseat that has a pull out bed, a Lovesac, but I am not above getting some big floor cushions and just hanging my hammock on the wall for people to lay in if they want to stay over at my house.
I love the breathing room I feel like I have when there is not all the emotions attached to "stuff" in my house but it's also hard to get rid of things that have sentimental value.
Has anyone else ever struggled with this? What are your solutions?
I love the breathing room I feel like I have when there is not all the emotions attached to "stuff" in my house but it's also hard to get rid of things that have sentimental value.
Has anyone else ever struggled with this? What are your solutions?
Top 10 Ways to Distract Myself and Waste Time
These are not in the order that I prefer to distract myself, in fact, they may not be in any order at all. If they are in order, it's the order of how often I do them.
1) Watching Netflix
This is such a waste of time. I get nothing out of this, but sometimes I just need to check out; however, I check out way too often.
2) Facebook
Not a lot of positive reasons that this takes up so much of my time; however, it is extremely helpful to keep in contact with my family and friends that I don't get to see very often.
3) The beach
This is actually an alright way (in my mind) for me to distract myself. Being out in the sunshine, hanging out with my dog, and getting a bit of exercise in can't be all bad. It is especially good for me to clear my head and relax!
4) Spending time with family/friends
I've been doing a lot more of this lately. While it does "distract" me from getting homework done, there's a lot to be said for family time.
5) Attempting and failing to do projects I find on Pinterest
This is fun to do and usually ends in huge disasters and messes.
6) Photography
Gratifying.
7) Sleeping
Seriously, I wish I just powered down everything else and did this more often.
8) Working out
I always feel SO good after working out. I just need to remember this when I am watching Netflix!
9) Cooking
Experimenting, fire, food. Does it really get much better?
10) Taking an excessive number of showers.
When I am really unmotivated, sometimes the only thing that gets me motivated is taking showers. It's almost like restarting the day, I guess.
Reading used to be on this list, but school has ruined reading for me at this point. I look forward to the day when reading will once again top my list of procrastination techniques.
I am trying to get motivated to move working out, photography, and the beach higher on my list. Perhaps the solution to that problem is to move sleeping higher on my list.
1) Watching Netflix
This is such a waste of time. I get nothing out of this, but sometimes I just need to check out; however, I check out way too often.
2) Facebook
Not a lot of positive reasons that this takes up so much of my time; however, it is extremely helpful to keep in contact with my family and friends that I don't get to see very often.
3) The beach
This is actually an alright way (in my mind) for me to distract myself. Being out in the sunshine, hanging out with my dog, and getting a bit of exercise in can't be all bad. It is especially good for me to clear my head and relax!
4) Spending time with family/friends
I've been doing a lot more of this lately. While it does "distract" me from getting homework done, there's a lot to be said for family time.
5) Attempting and failing to do projects I find on Pinterest
This is fun to do and usually ends in huge disasters and messes.
6) Photography
Gratifying.
7) Sleeping
Seriously, I wish I just powered down everything else and did this more often.
8) Working out
I always feel SO good after working out. I just need to remember this when I am watching Netflix!
9) Cooking
Experimenting, fire, food. Does it really get much better?
10) Taking an excessive number of showers.
When I am really unmotivated, sometimes the only thing that gets me motivated is taking showers. It's almost like restarting the day, I guess.
Reading used to be on this list, but school has ruined reading for me at this point. I look forward to the day when reading will once again top my list of procrastination techniques.
I am trying to get motivated to move working out, photography, and the beach higher on my list. Perhaps the solution to that problem is to move sleeping higher on my list.
Monday, January 14, 2013
A flashback
I had a weird moment today.
A moment I haven't had in a while
I made a phone call to my mom and she didn't answer
So my first thought
Was to call my dad
It's been four years since I have seen him.
It's been four years since I heard his voice
It's been four years since I have been able to call him
It's been four years since he called me
It's been four years
I think of my dad every day
I think of how much I miss him
And I think of all the things I want to share with him
I think of how much I wish he was here
But I haven't thought to call
It's been four years.
A moment I haven't had in a while
I made a phone call to my mom and she didn't answer
So my first thought
Was to call my dad
It's been four years since I have seen him.
It's been four years since I heard his voice
It's been four years since I have been able to call him
It's been four years since he called me
It's been four years
I think of my dad every day
I think of how much I miss him
And I think of all the things I want to share with him
I think of how much I wish he was here
But I haven't thought to call
It's been four years.
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