Sentimentally Funny

Grand Adventures!

2009-04-05T06:38:00.003-06:00

It's 8:30 Sunday morning and my brother and his family of seven just pulled out of my driveway, headed off to Washington D.C. for a family trip. They drove in from Indiana last night with the intention of breaking up their drive and spending some time with me. As they backed out of the drive with their fifteen passenger van, I could hear the screams of joy and laughter from the kids as they waved madly and yelled their excited goodbyes - ready for their adventure to begin.

Craig and Leanne take their kids on lots of family adventures and it reminds me of my own childhood. Last summer they spent 18 days out west seeing all the big attractions, just like our parents did when we were little. Our parents took us lots of places, but the four week vacations out west were by far the most memorable. We saw all the wonders of nature and more than our fair share of wild beasts on those trips, which continues to make for good story telling when we take a walk down memory lane.

Between last night and this morning, my brother's kids shared one story after another of the pains of trying to just get out the door and start their vacation - the packing, the planning, and the dreaded cleaning. You can't leave the house messy because "No one wants to come home to a messy house," my mother always said. It reminds me of those little moments that my siblings and I still laugh about today.

I remember having to choose just one stuffed animal to take on our adventures and every year that decision became more painful - who to choose. I remember leaving at 4:00 in the morning to get a jump start on the day because we had to drive twelve hours through the boring states of Indiana, Illinois, and Iowa. I remember my older siblings teaching me to shuffle a deck of cards like a pro on those long day drives.

I know one time when we pulled the van off the side of the road due to a slight mechanical problem, one car after another stopped to see if we needed any help. Where have those days gone???

I remember one year we spent days baking all sorts of treats and desserts for our adventure and by the time we had settled in Colorado, we came to the conclusion that the reason we couldn't find them amongst ALL our stuff was because we accidentally left them in the driveway at home- absolutely devastating! I know we ate lots of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, pistachio pudding, and fig newtons.

We sat around a campfire every single night before bed and occasionally woke up to elk standing outside our camper in the mornings. I remember finding a place once, that let you pick cherries for free, so we went totally nuts. Of course, then we proceeded to eat lots and lots of cherries - so many that most of us spent the majority of that evening in the outhouse. And if I remember correctly, that was the state park with good old fashioned smelly outhouses.

Sometimes we got lucky and Dad would choose a park with real bathroom facilities. He would give us each a quarter to take a shower and that 25 cents got you three minutes of water. You really learned to shower fast!

Every time we were about to drive into a new state or enter a significant landmark, such as the Grand Canyon, one of us kids would have to jump out of the van and pose next to the sign because "No picture is complete without a person in it," my father always said.

I remember standing on a glacier in the middle of July thinking how crazy it was that my friends back home were sweating under the hot summer sun and I was standing on a glacier. My brother, Craig actually lost one of his shoes in that glacier - not cool. We hiked in the mountains and saw real live mountain goats and rams. We took the fur that stuck on the bushes as they ran through them as take-home souvenirs. My sister and I also collected little rocks from all the places we visited and spent the rest of the year shining them up. We still have some of those rocks today. Gee, I need to re-shine those...

All the wonderful and crazy memories of these trips could fill a book. And now to watch my nieces and nephews leave my house so excited about their grand adventure makes me nostalgic and appreciative of all the great adventures my parents took me on.

Thanks Mom and Dad!

Happy Birthday Together Forever!

2009-04-02T00:01:00.004-06:00

Today is my birthday and one of my favorite things to do is call my younger sister and wish HER a Happy Birthday! Whoever calls first yells “Happy Birthday!!” The other laughs and yells back, “Happy Birthday to you too!”

I was due on the 1st of April and came a day late, then two years later, Amy was due on the 3rd and came a day early. What are the odds?

We spent our childhood years sitting next to each other at the table, with our respective cakes and matching presents. We opened our presents fast because we always knew we were getting the exact same thing – just in different colors.

As we grew up and moved out on our own, we always managed to spend the day together, just like old times. Once while out to dinner, Amy realized she had forgotten her I.D. We were hoping to share a bottle of wine, but looking as young as she did (does) she was having a hard time convincing the waiter to serve her. We explained that we were celebrating our birthdays – that they were on the same day. “Oh, you’re twins!”

“No" I said, "But, we were born on the same day. I'm just two years older than her." He looked completely confused.

Liars. Big fat liars! That’s what the waiter was thinking. We tried to explain how one of us came a day early and of one us came a day late, two years apart, but he wasn’t buying it, so no wine for Amy.

We’ve managed to get together and celebrate our big day even when we were living 12 hours apart, simply because it feels too weird not to. We did not celebrate my 30th together because her daughter, my god-daughter, was due early in the month and I wanted to fly out for the baptism later in the month, so greater priorities prevailed that year.

Today, my sis is coming for the day and we’re going to the salon to beautify ourselves. We are going to spend the day together because there’s nobody else we would rather spend it with than each other.

We are eternal best friends and I thank God everyday my parents decided to have another baby even after putting up with me. What a lucky girl I am!

Happy Birthday Sis!

I Love You!

Game On!

2009-02-24T11:02:00.004-07:00

Okay, this Spinning thing has gotten completely out of control. I don’t know if it’s the New Year’s Resolution rush still in full swing or memberships to the gym just naturally increasing, but the spinning classes are the hottest thing at my gym right now and it’s popularity is totally messing with my plans.

A reservation of sorts, is required at my gym to get a bike in the class. One must sign up at the front desk for a bike ahead of time to insure a seat. There have been a few times lately, when I’ve arrived thirty minutes before class on a Saturday morning or Sunday afternoon and I’ve been shut out.

Getting a bike in Spinning class has become more like getting to the theatre an hour early to see a new release, or the mall on Black Friday at 4:30 in the morning to buy an Ipod (which I would never do), or waiting outside the call box for an hour to buy concert or Broadway tickets. These things I expect in life, but getting to the gym so prematurely for a spinning class is making my gym experience a little intense.

I have on occasion pulled into the parking lot, spotted someone I recognized from my class and immediately pegged them as a potential threat to my workout for the day. I’ve been known to speed walk – like the middle-aged women who waddle-walk fast down the street with their hips swaying from side to side and arms flailing wildly – and I’ve been known to pick it up to a cool jog, kind of like a warm up before the gym, but I have never gone to the extreme of making a mad dash for the door.

Today, I did what I will refer to as a warm-up sprint. It’s 5:37 in the morning – only eight minutes until the start of class – and I spot TWO potential threats emerging from the same car just two rows over. My paranoia set in and all I could think of was, “I did not get up this early to be shut out of class,” so I grabbed my stuff and did a mad dash for the entrance.

When I approached the front desk, there were only two spots left. I signed my name and breathed a sigh of relief. As a headed up to the Spinning Room, I started thinking about the two people who came in behind me. What if they were a couple who had got up early, planning to do a little spinning together? What if I wrecked their plans? What if I ruined their morning? I sort of felt bad.

As I got my bike adjusted for the ride ahead, I happened to spot the woman from the parking lot preparing her bike. The man she came with was nowhere to be found and I felt bad about that for a moment. But then as the class started I found myself thinking, “You know what? Maybe next time, he’ll know better and he too, will make a mad dash for the door, and then we’ll have ourselves a race!"

Game. On!

Chocolate Love or Toast Love?

2009-02-14T05:59:00.004-07:00

Many people blow off Valentine’s Day as some Hallmark holiday, but I think it’s a great opportunity to take a break from our busy lives and appreciate ALL the love we have in our lives. To me, it’s no different than honoring our family and friends at Christmas with gifts, or giving special Thanks on Turkey Day for everything we have, or taking a moment on Memorial Day to remember all those who have fought for our freedom. It would be great if we thought of these things every day, but life gets too busy, so these mini-holidays are perfect reminders of what’s truly important.

If you’re one of the lucky ones who have found your True Love in life– I mean seriously, the one God had specifically designed just for you to meet, fall in love with, marry, and do laundry for for the rest of your life – if you’re one of those lucky monkeys, then this is not a day to take for granted. Love like that is what God intended for each and every one of us - some of us just have to wait a little longer than others to experience it. So, if you’ve found your True Love already, celebrate that today and do the laundry together!

If you’re one of those people who are dating someone and think that this might be the person you would like to do laundry for every day for all eternity, then maybe you too, have found your true love. But if you’re not sure, ask yourself this question, “Is this person chocolate or toast?”

Chocolate or Toast

For most of us, just thinking about chocolate can produce a physical and emotional response. We get giddy and excited just thinking about it. When we finally give in and have a taste, we find it hard to stop because we just can’t get enough – there's nothing else like it! When the chocolate is gone, we usually find ourselves dreaming of when we can have it again.

Now think of toast. You like toast, right? But I doubt that you crave toast or moan silently when you eat toast. Add a little butter and jelly and you’ve got yourself some tasty fiber, but I’m guessing your nights aren’t filled with dreams about the toast you‘re going to have for breakfast. And you know why? Because toast is just nice, but chocolate is pure magic! When it comes to love, you can either settle for the contentment of toast or hold out for the pure joy of chocolate.

So celebrate this Valentine’s Day by appreciating ALL the love in your life, giving a little love away, and honoring True Love by waiting for it!

Remember: When you’ve truly found great love, it won’t be like your morning toast, it will be more like chocolate fondue.

A Plea For Mercy

2009-02-08T18:50:00.003-07:00

Today seemed like the first reasonable day to consider running my little black SUV through a car wash. The weather was warmer, and from top to bottom, salt had named itself the new color of my car. Even my Life is Good magnet had lost it‘s sparkle under all the grit and grime.

As I drove up and positioned myself to get in line, I went through my purse, looking for my five dollar bill. The basic car wash used to cost six dollars, but then a while ago they dropped it down to five, which is so much more convenient than six – and cheaper, obviously.

As I slowly inched my way up, I noticed the prices posted on the billboard and it looked like the basic wash was up to six dollars again – shoot! Oh well, I had exactly six dollars in my wallet, so I was okay.

Another two car lengths forward and now the billboard and it’s ever increasing prices were crystal clear – eight dollars. Whoa! I didn’t have eight dollars. And now I’m sandwiched between two cars, with no room to escape because we’re lined up like cattle in a shoot – nose to butt – with no wiggle room. I start rummaging through my car looking for two dollars in loose change, which is a particularly big challenge for me because I’m an anti-change girl– I just don’t like carting it around.

Whenever I can, I dump my spare change into jars, waiting for it to add up and morph into real money. In Canada, their one and two dollars are coins instead of bills, which is right at the top of a short list of why I could never live there. Can you imagine lugging around all those coins? They call them Loonies and Toonies, which is hilarious, but not funny enough for me to carry around all day. I must say though, Canadian men are probably the only guys who have a legitimate excuse for being a sagger – a man who wears low, low, low rise jeans.

Anyway…….After some serious digging and praying, I miraculously found enough stray quarters, dimes, and pennies to add another $1.57 to the pot. After panicking for a moment over the fact that I didn't have enough money, I sat back in my seat, took a deep breath and realized that these people could not deny me this wash. Once I pull up to the starting line, the only way out of here is through that car wash. My car was going to get it’s much needed shower today and that was that.

Of course, when it came time to hand over the cash, my brazen attitude was long gone. Instead, I greeted the kind woman with a sheepish grin and a pathetic plea for mercy. I only had $7.57. “Please have mercy on me.” I said.

“Sure Honey”, was her reply, “just come better prepared next time.”

“Absolutely! Thank you!” That was sweet!

As I came out on the other side, four men came at my car with their super-duper rags and dried it until it was nice and shiny and black again. They even asked me to brake for a moment so they could finish the job, and that’s when I noticed the tip box outside my window. “Was that always there?” I thought to myself. “Buggers. What do I do? What can I do?“ I could roll down my window and tell these nice gentlemen that I truly don’t have one single penny to give them – because they would sooo believe that, or I could just speed off and let them get right to their discussion about the cheap lady in the black car who couldn’t even spare a penny for a job well done.

I chose option number two……………...

"It Doesn't Hurt A Bit"

2009-02-05T20:12:00.005-07:00

"It doesn’t hurt a bit,” my patient, Maude said when she told me about the technique, called Threading, nearly two months ago. “It’s amazing! It takes four to five minutes, I don’t feel an ounce of pain, and my skin doesn’t react to it at all – it’s all natural and totally fabulous.”

SOLD!

I went the very next day to the mall and walked all the way to the very end, on the lowest level and found the little shop performing this technique called Threading. There was a lovely young woman of Indian descent waiting to greet me.

I assured the nice woman that I needed no explanation or instruction about this all natural, waxless, painless, hair-removing technique, as I jumped in the chair, leaned back to relax, and closed my eyes.

Within seconds, I felt the hairs being ripped violently from their follicles as a silent alarm went off inside my head, “Ooooh My Gooooooosh! What the hell kind of procedure is this?!” My right eye started producing tears at an alarming rate – you know the kind of tears that you can’t control. As freaked as I was, I also felt strong and resilient and knew I could handle this. But my eyes told a different story. They cried, “Ouuuuch! Make it stop!”

This concerned the nice lady, as she stepped back, apologized, and politely handed me a Kleenex. I explained to her that I was not really crying - my eyes just naturally reacted to the violent nature of the procedure. I wasn’t sure she understood me, so I just lied my head back again and waited for her to proceed.

When she finished, I sat up and took a look in the mirror. Not only was I pleasantly surprised by how great it looked, I was also really happy, because she spent so much time on my eyebrows that I was half surprised to see that they were still there.

Even though I found the technique biting and painful, I decided that this was officially going to be my new hair-removing technique. I was so enamored by the simplicity of using cotton thread, two hands, and one mouth to create such precision and perfection, that I reasoned that the pain was worth it.

Today, I headed back to the mall for more fun threading and secretly hoped that today’s experience would be less painful. It was the same lovely woman from last time and she actually remembered me, which either means she has a really good memory ( of her only crying client ), or very few people have yet to discover this wonderful, “painless” technique.

I’m sad to report that my one eye gave me up again today, as tears streamed down my right cheek. I think the first pass or two just shocks my system and my body feels the need to react to the perceived attack, because once she gets going, the tears stop. The pain was less this time, but I’m anxious and optimistic that I too, will get to the point that I’ll be singing the same song as Maude one day, “It doesn’t hurt a bit……..”

Who To Root For?

2009-02-02T05:34:00.002-07:00

Wow! What a Superbowl! I told myself I wasn’t interested in watching it, but I couldn’t help checking in. I witnessed the 100 yard touchdown by the Steelers in the first half which got me hooked, tuned in for some Bruce at halftime, and then got distracted by Wipeout on ABC because that show cracks me up! Anything that makes me laugh until I cry gets two thumbs up from me.

I told myself and others that I was feeling neutral when it came to who to root for. It felt odd to say, being a Bengals fan and all – that I would even consider rooting for the Steelers. Yet, I felt like if I didn’t root for them, I would know it was because they took our Carson down and out two years ago and that might mean I was holding a grudge. I don’t want to be the type of person who holds a grudge.

So, I went in rooting for both teams like a girl. As the game really heated up in the fourth quarter, I found myself getting more and more involved in the game. Then, Fitzgerald of Arizona caught that pass for a touchdown with just a few minutes left and I jumped out of my chair, threw my hands in the air and yelled, “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

After my premature victory dance, I sat down and started giggling. Apparently, I was rooting for a team – Kurt Warner and the Arizona Cardinals! The Bengal fan in me came alive and I felt the anxiety level rise in me as Ben tried his best to ruin this SuperBowl for me. And ruin it, he did. But, hats off to Ben and his Steelers for making the big plays at crunch time to come out on top and thanks to Kurt and his Cardinals for hanging tough and making it so exciting to watch!

Mark my words though, the Cincinnati Bengals are going to rule their division next year. ( or maybe the year after that…)

Skidding Cars...Bo or Luke Duke

2009-01-30T18:36:00.003-07:00

I remember seeing kids – mostly boys – intentionally skidding their car in the snow while taking a simple turn on a street corner or a little more brazenly in a wide open parking lot, and thinking to myself, “silly kids…”

Well, I don’t know if it’s because the snow is there...on the ground...every. single. day for me to look at, or if I’m tired of driving so stinkin’ carefully every time I back at of my garage and drive down the road, that I just want to let loose a little, but I’ve been finding myself tempted to let my car spin out of control just a teeny tiny bit like those boys used to do.

I’ll be in a parking lot with a bunch of open space, see the slushy snow, and just want to punch it, hit the brakes, turn the wheel, and “weeeeeee!” - go for a ride. But I don’t. When I turn onto my street I just want to take it a little too fast and feel my car freak out and try to recover. But I don’t.

Until today. Today I was leaving work and I just couldn’t help myself. I made sure I was in a controlled environment – big open space – as I turned the wheel quickly and touched the brakes, then “weeee” my car did a little skid. And by little, I mean very small – petite, really. But big enough to get my rebellious juices flowing. A few minutes later, when I turned onto my street, I intentionally took a sloppy turn and felt my car slide, “Errrrrrrk!” It was fun!

I felt like the boys from Dukes of Hazard as I drove into my garage – except that I exit my car through the door, not the window. I miss Bo and Luke Duke. I remember thinking Luke was the cutey of the two, but as I look back now, I think I was blinded by the dark hair and dark eyes. For reasons I can’t rationally explain, until I was twenty one, I wouldn’t even give a blond guy a second look. Well, except for Jeff. “How did he get through?” He was like a dark blond really. No matter. He’s married with triplets now. Anyway, I only dated guys with dark hair and dark eyes. Don’t ask me why. I’m over it now.

No offense to Tom Wopat, but I need to take back the Hottie Award I gave him twenty odd years ago and give it to the cute blond one – Bo – because I was wrong, so wrong to judge them on their hair color alone. Plus, Kudos goes to Blond Bo for aging so well – sorry again, Tom Wopat!

Anyway, I sure hope the snow melts soon before I get myself into trouble. You never know when Boss Hogg or Rosco P. Coltrane will be coming around the corner….

No 'Snow Angels' Today

2009-01-28T08:50:00.002-07:00

It has become painfully obvious to me that snow falling from the sky is going to be a regular thing around here for awhile. Here in Ohio, we’re used to getting an inch or two overnight, the sun comes out the next day, and then – poof – it’s gone. A couple weeks later, the same cycle repeats itself.

This month of January – the longest month I have ever experienced in my lifetime – has been full of snow days and nights with very little sun to melt it away. And just when I’m about to pat myself on the back for maintaining a positive attitude through it all, I experience a teeny tiny mini-meltdown when I wake up to more snow and ice.

This last Sunday, I had been working feverishly on some creative projects and lost track of time. When I walked downstairs to get myself an apple and another shot of tequila (kidding) I noticed huge, monstrous snowflakes falling fast and accumulating even faster. I ran to the sliding glass doors, pressed my nose up to the glass, and verbally rejected the snowfall – “Nooooooooo!” I had been given no warning about snow today– I never saw it coming!

I decided right then and there that I would not let these simple white flakes ( that were actually quite pretty ) deter me from getting to my spinning class. I reasoned that I would go to my class, warm up my muscles, then come home and deal with shoveling the drive and sidewalks.

Fast forward an hour and I’m returning home from the gym. As I get closer and closer to my house I realize that my sidewalk has been cleared. “What?!” I can’t believe my eyes! I live on a large corner, so there is a good long sidewalk to shovel and nobody has ever shoveled my walk but me. I slowly turned onto my street and there, in my driveway, I saw two gentlemen shoveling the snow. I pulled into my garage and hopped out of my car. It was my neighbor from across the way and his teenage son. You would have thought I had won the lottery, I was so stinkin’ happy. They said they wanted to show their appreciation for me always letting them play catch with their football in my side yard, since their yard is too small. Even though I didn’t think the two favors were comparable, I didn’t argue with the boys. I considered them my very own ‘snow angels’ and I was so excited and grateful for their kindness.

Well, this morning when I woke up at 5:00 am for my Wednesday spinning class, I peered out my window to see all the snow and ice on the ground that the newsman had predicted would fall and knew right away that my class would be cancelled. I jumped right back into bed, set alarm number two for 7:00 am, and snuggled under my covers. I drifted back to sleep, dreaming about my ‘snow angels’ coming back to magically make the snow disappear once again. It was a very good dream.

As the second alarm sounded, the first thing I thought about was my ‘snow angels’. I jumped out of bed all excited, rushed out of my room and into the guest room to peer out the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of my angels. Even though I knew it was ridiculous to think that they would show up at 6:00 am to shovel my drive, I couldn’t help but feel a little droopy as I realized the truth….it was going to be Me and my shovel doing all the work today.

But then again, at least I have a shovel and two legs and two arms to use it. At least I have a warm house waiting for me when I’m done, with a fridge stocked with food to fill my belly. A small prayer goes out to all those who don’t have a warm place to call home this cold, wintery day….

President Obama

2009-01-21T06:34:00.003-07:00

So, the Inauguration Party for President Obama was yesterday and Wow, what a spectacle! It’s very hard for me to miss out on a party and I always like to be where the optimism and hope is, but I felt conflicted about the whole thing.

I did not vote for President Obama, but the people have spoken and I respect that. As I watched all the hoopla, I found myself excited for the black community and can only imagine the excitement and pride they were feeling. The hysteria was not limited to the black community - there were people of all races and class screaming for joy as if Jesus himself, had come back to save us from the fires of hell.

I, myself stand back with guarded optimism. He projects himself as seemingly the perfect father, the perfect husband, the perfect man to solve all our problems, but so far, all he has done is get himself elected. He is a true poet and words roll off his tongue like honey, but words are words and action is action.

It’s good to see the country so excited and engaged again, but I would like to hold some of the applause and idolization until after he has actually done something. President Obama has not proven himself a great man with great accomplishments yet – he’s still just a man with inspiring words. Maybe, it shows just how desperate Americans are for a hero and he’s the one who stood up and put on the cape.

I disagree with him on some of the issues, but I hope that he surprises me and proves me wrong. I hope that all this Beatle mania is warranted and we can look back one day and see how he made important and significant changes that benefited and strengthened our country.

I pray that yesterday’s parties were not in vain. I pray that he makes us all proud.
I pray that he lives up to and beyond all the hype. But most of all, I pray that he has a change of heart where a change of heart is most crucial.

I will be praying for you, President Obama, with an optimistic heart…..

Don't Cry...

2009-01-12T21:33:00.001-07:00

When I saw this quote, I had to laugh, because many times throughout my work day, I have patients who are sad when their appointment is over. I find myself smiling at them and saying, “All good things must come to an end…” The moment I read this particular quote, I knew it had to become a new fixture in my office. I think it’s a much better sentiment than “all good things must come to an end.”

As I read it over and over again, I realize they are words I should take to heart myself. I am the type of person who lives for the next big exciting event. Whether it’s a grand vacation, an exciting holiday, a birthday, a good friend’s visit, or the eating of a magnificent ice cream cone, I usually find myself just a little devastated inside when it’s all over.

Last year, after having a magical adventure in Italy, I boarded a plane in Rome, took my seat, plugged in my MP3 and decided to let the great Frank Sinatra and legendary Tony Bennett serenade me all the way home. As I sat on the plane for nearly twelve hours, I tried not to cry, but I just couldn’t believe my grand adventure was actually over.

Heck, just two months before, I had made myself a green, red, and white paper chain – just like an eight year old would do – and had started counting down the days until I met the Pope. Every day as I ripped one of the links from the chain I would imagine all the different flavors of gelato I would taste-test and all the handsome Italian men who would spoon feed them to me.

And then when I had my fill of gelato ( if that is even possible) I would have found a different group of handsome Italian men – just to keep things interesting – to make me pizza, pizza, pizza...then pasta….“Oh, and I’ll have a glass OR three of wine, please. Thank You!”

Of course, I could only try and imagine the breathtaking beauty that was in store for me in Italy - from Assisi, where the beauty is found simplistically in nature, to Florence and Rome, where men over many centuries have created the magnificence that would leave me awe-inspired.

Even though my trip did not turn out as my daydreams had exaggerated, the experience was phenomenal, nonetheless. I did cry on that plane ride home though, and that’s okay, because darnit, not ONE Italian man spoon fed me anything! That was disappointing. Add to that, my grand adventure that I had dreamed of for so long was officially over.

But I’m not gonna cry anymore just because it’s over. I'm not. Instead, I’m gonna put on my happy face and smile because I feel completely blessed that it happened in the first place! Annnnnd….the Pope said a special prayer for me in German, which I didn’t understand but it was a prayer, so that’s gotta be good. Of course, there were thousands of people there with me, but I’m pretty sure that somewhere in the midst of his German speak, I heard him say my name. I could be wrong. But my version of the story makes me happy inside, so that’s the version I‘m going with. Me Smiling – No Tears!

Ciao!

Yuuuum!

2009-01-10T15:01:00.003-07:00

It’s a New Year, which means new resolutions, new philosophies, and new ideas on how to improve the life we currently live. I always hate to follow the obvious trend, but every year, I find myself looking at the new year just like everybody else.

Let’s be honest, it’s impossible to stay on course with a healthy diet during the holidays, when every time you turn around some sweet soul has made you a special batch of feetless turtles
(without the pecans), or their grandma’s sugar cookies, or God forbid, FUDGE! What earthly human possesses the willpower to pass all that up? When someone bakes me something and offers it to me, if I say “No thank you” it’s like saying no to Love – I’m not doing that – not at Christmas anyway!

So, I eat the fudge and the cookies and the turtles with no nuts, knowing that I will do better in the New Year – just like everybody else – yuk! But it’s true. And as much as love the holidays, it always feels good to reinstate the carrots and apples as my official bedtime snack and save the processed sugar for special occasions only. I think I speak for my body when I say that it prefers to feel the fiber moving through instead of the sugar settling in.

So the carrots and apples are winning the race again and the gym is back at the top of my list for favorite places to visit. I had some pain issues that slowed me down towards the end of last year and also served as a perfect excuse not to go to the gym altogether, but the pain is gone and so is my excuse, so back to the gym I went.

Each year I think I grow more and more as a person. I am proud of the woman I have become. Yet today at the gym I found myself a little embarrassed by my juvenile thoughts. Let me explain. I like to do my cardio workout – which I hate – in the movie theatre room at my gym. I had, of course, originally made fun of the idea of doing cardio in a dark theatre, but eventually found it quite fun. I don’t really listen to the movie so much, because I have a Cardio Coach in my ear telling me when to sprint and when to jog and how out of breath I should be, but I find the visual distraction very helpful.

Sometimes the visual distraction for the day is not so enticing – like "Joe Dirt" – someone needs to burn that movie. But today, as I started climbing the eliptical, I looked up to see Matthew McConaughey on screen. Which movie it was is completely irrelevant – he was in it – enough said. Call me a teenager or call me a dork, but there is no better distraction I can think of than to see that man smile and watch that man move. I consider myself evolved as a woman and I certainly don’t consider him my dream guy, but there’s still that tiny piece of teenage girl left in me that thinks to myself, “Yum!”

Here I am, a woman who’s waiting for thee right guy to walk into my life – a man who God put on this earth just for me – getting giddy over some hunk on the screen. I truly wouldn’t want him if I could have him, (seriously!) because he is not the kind of man I really want, but boy oh boy……”Yuuuum!”

I had a good long workout, thanks to Matthew, and I have this feeling that 2009 is going to be just fine!

When Winter Gives You Snow

2008-12-20T20:58:00.003-07:00

When winter gives you snow,
Build a snowman.
Name that snowman!
Make it come alive
Like Magic!

Magic is everywhere at Christmas time-
It’s when Jesus was born.
And He came to bring us all hope.
Christmas reminds us to always have hope.

And if you notice the Christmas magic is missing
In your life
Or in someone else’s,
Create some of your own;
With your love, your kindness,
Your generosity, and your compassion.
Do something simple or do something grand,
Just do something special for whoever you can.

And when Christmas is over
And the New Year rings in,
Continue creating magic with kindness
Again and again and again.

Merry Christmas!!!

~Sheri

Burrrrrrr

2008-11-12T18:43:00.005-07:00

Burrrr...it’s cold outside, which means it’s cold inside too. The main floor of my house is particularly chilly, because all the warm air is escaping to the upstairs. Even though the kitchen and living room are cool, it’s nice and warm upstairs – perfect for sleeping. It’s like the polar opposite of my childhood.

As a child, my father was quite conservative with the heat, so he reasoned that heating the upstairs of the house, when we spent so little time up there, was money wasted. Of course, my sister and I strongly disagreed as we marched off to bed wearing our winter hats and gloves to stay warm as we slept. We tried to be clever by leaving the door at the top the stairs cracked open to allow some of the heat to rise up, but I could always hear him saying, “Somebody forgot to close the door upstairs.”

My sisters and I would get sneaky and crack open the vent to our room a little to get some extra heat, but as the boys walked by on the way to their room, they would discover our plan and rat us out. Sometimes, my sister and I would jump in bed at the same time and get ourselves as warm as possible – meaning doing scissor kicks quickly to heat up our bodies – and then realize that neither of us had remembered to turn out the lights. Shoot! After arguing over who should sacrifice themselves and get out of bed to turn out the lights, we usually just resolved to sleeping with the lights on. Occasionally one of our brothers would be coming up for bed and we would ask them to flip the switch for us, but they seemed to think our dilemma was funny – so the answer was usually “no”. ( typical big brothers )

I remember wearing long flannel nightgowns to bed, which I hated because they always managed to either get twisted around my body or I ended wearing the whole thing around my neck like a scarf before the night was through. They did work well in the morning though, as I stood over the floor vent – doing my best impression of a Goodyear blimp. Once my body temperature reached normal, I would throw my cold jeans over the vent in an effort to warm them up before putting them on. It was my childhood version of “hot jeans”.

Even after we all moved out of the house, Dad never did heat the upstairs unless we were coming home for a visit. And even then, he didn’t go crazy with the thermostat – he kept it nice and lukewarm. The in-laws have joked over the years that they dress their kids in their warmest Pj’s to sleep at grandpa and grandma’s house. Sometimes when visiting, we would catch my mother tweaking the thermostat to warm the house up a bit. Of course, she’s like me at my workplace – if it’s cold, I just crank it up to 80 thinking that will make things heat up quicker. My dad loooooved that!

A few years ago, my dad put in a geo-thermal system, which is fantastic because the heat is distributed evenly and the house feels warmer– hallelujah! Only twenty years too late!

Funny that now as an adult, I don’t keep my house cozy warm either. I like sleeping under warm blankets and I don’t like a lot of hot air blowing on me. I do want my house nice and toasty, but I also want to conserve like my father did. If you had told me that I would feel that way someday when I was sleeping with my long flannel “scarf” and winter hat to keep myself warm, I would have said that you were crazy! I guess it’s true what they say, “Never say never.”

There are many things my father did – my parents for that matter – that I never thought I would do once I was in charge of my own life. But such is the cycle of life that as we get older, we often realize the brilliance of our parent’s madness.

Celia prays....I pray....

2008-11-10T12:13:00.002-07:00

I met a new patient this morning who absolutely broke my heart. I’ll call her Celia. Celia really revealed herself to me today and told me things she didn’t believe she could share with her loved ones because of who she believed they saw her to be. But I, being a mere kind stranger with listening ears, with whom she had nothing to prove was her chance to let go and unburden herself. And unburden herself, she did.

The details of Celia’s unfortunate situation is not the story here, it’s the way she has suffered through it silently and almost shamefully. She has not gone through it all alone – she has been married 37 years – but other than her husband, she has taken on the worry, the stress, and the anxiety primarily by herself.

She has let no one – not her grown children, not her siblings, and not even her friends – in on the real story of what’s happened to her. Because she feels the need to sugar-coat reality for her loved ones, she is left to share her sad thoughts and deepest fears with me – a total stranger. When she does speak to family and friends, she tells half-truths to keep them from worrying. So, in a sense, she is holding herself hostage in this prison she has created that allows nobody to visit her, comfort her, and give her what she truly needs.

She claims the anonymity of it all gives her peace; no judgements, no pity, no worry, no gossip…..but chances are, these are self-imposed ideas and while the possibility of one or two of them are true, with anonymity comes isolation.

Celia believes that taking this on – just her husband and her – without anybody knowing the truth of her trials will give her the strength to overcome the challenges she faces. She talked a good game with her bright smile and cheerful attitude, but I did not see peace. Instead, I saw a woman talking herself into the biggest lie of them all – that we can do it alone.

Celia clearly has a strong faith in God, which is a good start, but God gave us our family and friends for a reason. They can help us through the hard times and provide us the shoulder we need to lean on. While God may surround us with His love and His strength, His love is best felt through the arms of loved ones that he has so generously given to us. Heck, for as much as family drives us crazy, the least they could do is wrap their arms around us when we need a hug! I think God gave us family because they are bound to us forever with no returns or exchanges allowed, while friends are the ones we get to pick out ourselves and return as we like. We choose our friends. Of course, I’m certain God places them in our path and it’s up to us to let them in and be our friends, but we do choose our friends.

Not only do we choose who our friends will be, we choose the type of friendships we will have with them. They might be fun friends, occasional friends, similar-interests friends, or maybe just convenient friends. These are all great, but nothing is better than a true blue friend.

A true friend is the kind you let into your world to see it all - the good, the bad, and the ugly. They know the stuff only your family should know. Remember, family is stuck with you, but friends can walk out whenever they want. Real friendship is trusting that they’re not going to walk just because you‘re a little “cuckoo”. They know what scares you and terrifies you - what motivates and inspires you. They know what you pray for and what you dream of and they pray and dream for those things too. Let’s get real – if you win the lottery, what friend’s not gonna share it with another friend – especially the true blue variety?

Of course, the best kind of friend is the Double Decker friend – the sister who’s also a true friend – I’ve got two of them! Then you’ve got the “I’ve known you since you were five, I know all the idiot boys you think you loved in high school and of course, I would be honored to stand up with you as you finally marry the real love of your life!” I got five of them. But don’t forget the thirties – you need real special friends for this rockin’ time of life and I scored two of the very best – Jen and Sarah. Life gets more complicated as we get older, which means friendships are not all about fun and boys anymore. The stakes are much higher, so choosing who chooses to stand up with you now, is more important than ever. I know in my heart that every one of my “friends” would be devastated if I kept the secret Celia is keeping from her friends and family.

Celia prays that God will heal her without anybody ever knowing what she really went through and I pray that God heals the part of her heart that hopes for that wish to come true.

Toot Toot!

2008-11-02T21:07:00.004-07:00

I love food. I love cooking it. I love baking it. I love tasting it. Sitting outside on a beautiful sunny day reading an enticing cookbook is one of my favorite past times. And as much as I love a good recipe, I can barely recall one that I haven’t tweaked a little bit. I think all good cooks tweak their recipes a pinch or two in an effort to add a touch of flare.

I think of recipes as mere suggestions on how to blend a variety of foods to acquire a particular flavor. I’ve found that if I do have a recipe in front of me, I follow the recommendations the first time to see if I like the flavor they're working for. Then, when I eat the cuisine, I start checking off things in my head that I would add or change to possibly improve it.

I have two straight-up rules – one for baking and one for cooking – that I follow every time I’m in my kitchen. One: If I’m cooking up something for dinner and the recipe does not call for onion, I just assume they forgot to write it down and I throw some in. Two: If I’m baking something delicious and the recipe does not mention vanilla, I know they forgot to write that one down, and I add an extra tablespoon or two just to make up for somebody forgetting – how dare they! Many times, I like to think of Vanilla and Almond Extract as long lost loves that never should have been separated and I reunite them and allow them to share the credit and the spotlight when people comment on the fabulous flavor of my desserts.

Of course, the more time one spends in the kitchen, the better one gets at knowing what foods play together well and what foods make beautiful music together. Eating at fabulous restaurants has been my greatest teacher when it comes to knowing what food combinations will make a big splash in the kitchen. The biggest thing I’ve learned is that almost everything goes well together. I’ve been at restaurants and read menus that made me lean back in my chair and think,
“No WAY!”

YES way! YUM!

I admit, I’ve gone a little overboard once or twice with the theory that all foods play well together in the kitchen. My taste buds, as well as my pride have taken some serious hits in the past, but luckily these little culinary bombs have only gone off in the privacy of my own kitchen.

I’ve learned the hard way never to make a recipe the very first time for a large group of people. I made an eggplant lasagna for the whole family once and it quickly became apparent that I had never worked with the purple vegetable before because it was so tough. Every single dirty plate came back with a slab of eggplant on it. Add to that, the lasagna itself was painfully bland. Very disappointing.

On the other hand, when I create something truly stellar, I do not hesitate to toot my own horn. If I make something that I absolutely adore and want to devour myself, I will literally “Toot Toot” my own horn. Why not? Good eatin’ is good eatin’!

Tonight the horn was blowing crazy loud, after I threw together some foods that I had a feeling might be happy together. I made some mouthwatering meatballs that contained ground beef, chopped spinach, bread crumbs, egg, ketchup, chitpole sauce, salt, pepper, and of course, large pieces of onion – so large, that the ends of them are sticking out of the meatball as you roll it, bake it, and eat it. Oh, and when I rolled them into their little odd-shaped balls, I tucked a perfect piece of Gouda cheese inside, so there would be a surprise lava – if you will – oozing from the center. Kind of like the tootise roll in the center of the Tootsie Pop – that surprise never gets old!

The one Golden rule with this type of cooking is that when you hit the jackpot like I did tonight, you savor every single moment of the flavor, because you didn’t measure a darn thing, so your chances of performing this magic trick again are not good. But you can’t worry about that right now. All your attention should be on the culinary masterpiece sitting right in front of you. With each bite, notice how your taste buds come alive over and over again as if drunk with happiness! Let them enjoy this moment that may never come again. It’s what makes the moment – and these meatballs – so special!

“Toot Toot!!!”

Posing Monkeys

2008-10-30T18:32:00.009-06:00

I just completed a six week photography class, which in my mind, made me more than qualified to run a real photo shoot. I had great ideas and locations in mind, but my dilemma was finding people to pose for me. Luckily, five little “monkeys” were being driven in from Louisville, KY by my sister and her husband last weekend.

“Monkeys” can be a little difficult to work with sometimes because of their sporadic nature and their resistance to sitting still, but no one would argue that they are the best and most beautiful things to photograph.

Believe it or not, the photo shoot did got as smoothly as planned. Apparently, I haven’t learned everything there is to know about proper lighting and avoiding blurriness. ( Hold On! My computer just told me that blurriness is not a word – whatever! ) I don’t know what went wrong. As the monkeys moved about, I moved with them, snapping pictures like a maniac. Isn’t that what the professionals do? When I took a moment to see what kind of shots I was getting, all I could see was a bunch of blurry monkeys. I could feel myself getting frustrated and anxious because I knew my models would only last so long, which means I had to pull it together, quick!

Over all, the monkeys were fantastic to work with – real naturals -and I look forward to working with them again, because next time, I’ll do better. I did get a few shots that I’m proud of – photos that captured the true essence of them. I can actually see the spirit of each and every one of them shining through in the pictures. It’s like magic!

At first glance, many people comment how similar the three older girls look because of their mutual brown hair and brown eyes, but I see three completely different faces, personalities, and individuals.

I love that at their age, they still celebrate and believe in the beauty of themselves. They all see themselves as the pretty princess in their own story and it never occurs to them to see themselves as anything other than magnificent. Oh, how I wish that feeling could last a lifetime. But every woman I know, including myself, grows up to see a reflection in the mirror that no one else sees but her. She will see every blemish, every gray hair, every extra pound, every funky mole, and every knobby knee. She’ll see everything, except the reality that all these “flaws” do indeed make her beautiful in her own way.

I’m starting to believe that if we’re doing this “life” thing right, we should be able to make it through all that internal trash talk and end up on the other side of it. And when we do make it to the other side, we should be aware of how unique we are and celebrate that. We should know who we are, be proud of it, and use that confidence to live our best life. Not acknowledging and celebrating the woman we are, and still working to become is not only our loss, but also a tremendous loss for everyone around us.

That, ladies and gentlemen, was my impromptu lecture for the women of the world!

Excuse me for a moment, as I now step down from my soapbox.

Aaaaaaaaaaanyway…..

As with the end of any big photo shoot, dessert was served for a job well done. At least, that’s the way my photo shoots are gonna go down! I made a Strawberry Cheesecake Trifle as a treat and since the monkeys did so well, I gave them each a long spoon and let them dig in and devour as only kids can do! Amy and I did some serious damage to it also, only because it was soooooo good – if I do say so myself!

Yum!

Good Night... to Goodbye

2008-10-29T18:06:00.004-06:00

My younger sister, Amy moved away to Nebraska ten years ago after getting married to Eric. We had never been that far apart before, so it took some getting used to. Even though we’re not twins, we’ve been asked the question many times, which we find ridiculous, because we just don’t see it. We used to stand in front of the mirror, look each other over, and laugh, “I just don’t see it.” When strangers ask us if we’re twins, we answer them with, “No, we’re not twins, but we were born on the same day." That always gets a few odd looks!

We were both born on April 2nd – just two years apart – which means we’re both Aries – which means we both like to talk a lot. One of the first times she called me from Nebraska, we talked for nearly two hours. I remember, because I heard her husband’s voice in the background and then my sister laughing.

“Did you hear what he said?”

“No. What?”

“He asked what we could possibly talk about for two whole hours.”

Now I was laughing right along with her. Little did he know, two hours for my sister and I was peanuts. Ten years ago, when we paid per minute for a long distance call, we justified that paying 8-10 bucks for our conversation was better than any movie playing at the theatre. Now that we have the phone plans with unlimited minutes, all bets are off and the only way to end our conversations is for the batteries to die in one or both of our phones. Even the Energizer Bunny is no match for me and my sister. We’re so incapable of ending our conversations that sometimes when one of our phone dies and we get disconnected, we both just walk away, rationalizing that the phone did for us, what we couldn’t do for ourselves.

We both agree that this problem stems from our childhood, when we slept in the same double bed every night. Our mother would yell for us to “GO TO SLEEP!” and we would try, but there was always something more to be said. Eventually, as we grew tired, one of us would say, “Okay, Good night.”

“Good Night.”

“OH! Just one more thing……….”

Now, we only live three hours away from each other – not that it matters – and we admit that when we see each other’s name come up on the caller I.D., we hesitate to pick it up because we know that we cannot get on and off the phone in less than an hour and sometimes we just don’t have the time. Still, more times than not, we pick it up anyway. We start many conversations with, “Ok. I don’t have much time. I just have one quick question…..”

Whatever!!!!

The other night, after an hour on the phone with each other, the first “good bye” almost took, but then one subject led to another and the conversation continued. Once again, I heard Eric’s voice in the background, followed by my sister’s laughter.

“What did he say?”

He asked, “When you say “Good Bye” does that just mark the end of the first hour?”

We laughed together. Poor Eric – what he has to put up with. In our defense, our conversations are totally productive. We pick each other up when we’re down, we brainstorm about how to make our lives richer and more meaningful and more fun. We talk about ideas and dreams and aspirations. We’re both dreamers, so there’s a lot of talk and very little follow through, but we got grand ideas and some day, we’re gonna rule the world – just you wait and see. At the very least, we’re gonna be on Oprah!

Love Ya Sis!

Call ya tomorrow…….

No More Poop Dungeons!

2008-10-28T20:27:00.006-06:00

The discussion of sensing water faucets followed me to work today, and I got some interesting and potentially useful advice on how to handle dysfunctional bathroom equipment from some of my patients.

“Lulu” had a good suggestion right out of the gate. She asked me if I had tried to clear the sensor mechanism.

“What?”

I never thought about the sensor getting gunked up with soap residue, therefore inhibiting the sensor from properly sensing. Brilliant! Of course, she followed this simple practical advice with her second suggestion, which was a little less practical. She recommended I try flashing the faucet.

“What?!”

She reasoned that if the theory on the color black disrupting the sensor was indeed correct, then flashing the faucet - exposing my bare flesh – just might be the answer. Of course, you hope a nun or a mother with her young son doesn’t interrupt this experiment…....

Amazingly, this bathroom conversation with “Lulu” lasted for nearly thirty minutes. Once we had solved the problems of sensing water faucets, we moved on to toilets and automatic flushing.

We’ve all been in a stall where the toilet refuses to acknowledge our presence and fails to flush when we’re done. No matter what dance you do, no matter how many times you get up and down from the seat, it simply ignores you and remains silent. Irritating!

Then there’s the toilet seat that you have to leap from to keep from being sprayed because it’s flushing action is so violent, that the water goes everywhere. Scary!

And there’s always that one toilet that rushes you out of the stall by flushing before your business is done – what’s that all about? Rude!

As annoying as all these little defects can be, I would still take them any day over the outhouse I used in the mountains of Canada. I hadn’t been in a real outhouse since I was a kid, when our family went camping out west for weeks at a time. I forgot how awful they can smell. When I used the one in Canada two weeks ago, I painfully moaned and groaned the whole time and officially swore off poop dungeons for good. I could have used a good toilet spray after that experience.

But enough about toilets and outhouses…………..

Nothing.

2008-10-26T18:45:00.003-06:00

So, I’m at the North Market this morning with my sister, when I excuse myself to use the ladies room. When it’s time to wash my hands, I load up on the pink soap and place my hands under the faucet.

“Oh. This is one of those sensing no-touch faucets – great.” I think to myself.

Nothing’s happening.

I move my hands closer.

I move them farther.

To the left, maybe.

Oh, of course, a little more to the right.

Nooo……

Maybe I’m too close.

Maybe I’m moving too quickly.

Maybe my hands are too high.

Oh wait, there obviously too low.

Noooooo…….

Maybe I need to step back a moment before I lose my cool.

What am I supposed to do with all this soap and no water to rinse it off?

I turn around and notice the toilet’s got a lot of water in it – Groooooooss!

Somebody told me once that the sensors can be thrown off by the color black. Of course, I thought that was ridiculous when I first heard it, but now as I stand here soapy and wearing black, I find myself wishing a lady in red would walk through the door.

Right about now, my sister probably thought I fell in…..

I take a deep breath.

I walk away for a moment to regroup.

I sneak up on the stubborn faucet, slide my hands under it, and BSHHHH! - a quick burst of water gushes out for just a second. If I would have blinked I would have missed it, but what I did get, was gonna have to be enough.

Now, I go to dry my hands under the blow dryer.

A sensing no-touch blow dryer.

Nothing.

Still nothing.

I walk out.

Bear?! Where?!

2008-10-23T17:20:00.005-06:00

On my last day in the Rockies, we ventured up to Lake Louise and Moraine Lake for some sightseeing. We were heading to Peyto Lake when Torben graciously agreed to take the road that promised the possibility of seeing wildlife. I was encouraged not to get my hopes up, but I really wanted to see a bear.

We hadn’t been driving long, before we noticed a few cars stopped on the side of the road. Sarah and I immediately jumped to the biggest conclusion, but Torben thought it was probably just an elk. As we got closer, Sarah and I squealed with excitement as we both spotted the beautiful brown grizzly bear walking alongside the road in the ditch.

As Torben pulled the car over, I was jumping out of my seatbelt, sliding to the opposite side of the car and gearing up my camera. I rolled down the window, poked my head out to see him, and thought for a moment how much better I could see him if I stood just right outside the car. I decided, however, that seeing Mr. Grizzly from inside the car would have to be enough. There was a slight sprinkle outside, so I did my best to keep my camera from the rain. I snapped one picture after another as the bear slowly made his way closer to our car, digging for berries along the way.

One gentleman got out of his car and stood right next to ours. Do you know what you call a man who stands twenty feet from a bear voluntarily?

Brave?

No.

Adventurous?

No.

Torben’s answer was, “Stupid!”

I know the man was exercising poor judgement, but I seriously wanted to be stupid with him. The bear was so docile and seemed completely unaffected by all the cars and cameras, which could definitely give one a false sense of security. I knew things with this bear could change on a dime, so the poor man stood alone wearing his stupid sticker, while I got all my shots from the car.

There was this teeny-tiny part of me that hoped the bear would get angry and charge the “stupid” man so I could get some killer action shots. After all, my photography class was meeting the next week to show off our favorite pics. I could get a picture of a real, live, charging bear! Who’s gonna top that? That’s right. Nobody! Of course, the very biggest part of me said a quick little prayer for the “stupid” man and his safety.

After the man got his award-winning shots that could have only been captured standing outside a vehicle, in harm’s way, he made it to his own car, safe and sound. I – the non-stupid tourist from Ohio – left the scene with 23 blurry shots of what looks like a bear – because I’m an amateur photographer and every part of my brain that held pertinent information on how to take a great picture went suddenly dormant and I set the camera on the worst possible settings for this occasion. Luckily, the bear hung around long enough for me to correct my mistake and I got some decent shots of Mr. Grizzly, as you can see above.

We were fortunate enough to spent twenty blissful minutes with the beautiful bear before he finally disappeared into the evergreens. As we reluctantly drove away, we were still buzzing with excitement. Everybody in the car agreed that we were totally blessed to have had this experience.

Of course, we were barely three miles down the road when Sarah said, “Wow. Sure would be cool to see two bears today”……..

Bombs = NO Bears!

2008-10-22T20:29:00.004-06:00

I went to visit one of my best friends in the Canadian Rockies last week and one of the things I noticed while I was there was the many conversations about bears. I heard it all: from seeing bears, backing up slowly from bears, running from bears, spraying bears, hiking in large groups to scare away bears – you name it, I heard it. Maybe it was just me, but it sure seemed that the subject of bears made its way into most conversations, so of course, I started feeling a little nervous about the hikes we had planned to take in “Bear Country”.

This nervousness intensified just a touch on the day we were driving to our Chester Lake hike and my friend Sarah turned to her friend, Torben and asked, “Did you remember the bear spray?”

“Nope. Didn’t you?”

“Nope”

Torben didn’t seem too concerned, Sarah seemed just a little concerned, and I was silently freaking out in the back seat. “What?” It’s like they were playing Russian Roulette with my life here. Were these two people really my friends or was it their plan all along to drive me to my certain violent death? “Let’s see how a little Ohio girl does in the mountains with a big ol’ black momma bear. Ha Ha Ha!”

Obviously, that conversation only played out between my two ears, but I did speak up and calmly inquire about proper protocol upon meeting a bear. When we arrived at our destination, we realized that it had snowed at least a foot, so that alone, lessened the odds quite a bit that a bear would be out looking for food – thank goodness! My friends also reassured me that if we stayed together, chances are we would be just fine.

Great plan - except my little eliptical cardio workouts back home were no match for the three hour uphill climb in the mountains. You would think that the incentive to stay close for my own safety would be enough to motivate me to keep up with my friends, but I always found myself lagging behind. Add to that, Torben - being the man he is - was dropping fart bombs at a rate so great and with a stink so foul that I believe they could have killed an actual bear – strangely comforting, really. Still, every time he dropped another one down my way, my vocal cry of agony was so great that Sarah would actually turn around in alarm, fearful that I had spotted a bear.

I knew I had to find the strength to pass Torben and save myself. My worries were no longer about surviving a bear attack – heck, what sane bear would approach a stench like that? Of course, there’s always the possibility of a crazy bear in the mountains. But, if that kind of odor actually turned a bear on, then I was safe – I smell like roses! Torben, however, would be in big trouble! My new goal now, was getting ahead of the pack and breathing in the fresh mountain air.

I did it! Sarah and Torben had mercy on me and let me lead the three of us to Chester Lake and it was beautiful. The whole hike was breathtaking. I got a little grumpy at the end b/c I was getting tired, but it was totally worth the trip. We never did see a bear that day and I choose to thank Torben for that. Sure, we’ll never know if his stink bombs actually kept the bears away, but if you would have been there with me that day, I’m confident you would be thanking him too.

Still, I would have liked to seen a bear at some point on my trip to the Rockies….

stay tuned…….

Six Insignificant Things

2008-10-19T07:49:00.003-06:00

I’ve been “tagged” by my friend, Jen to reveal Six Insignificant Things about Myself. The challenge here is to determine what is significant and what is insignificant. Would the insignificant things be the little quirks that make us the funny individuals we are? I suppose these small details could be considered insignificant, but I think they just might be the key to our uniqueness – the things that makes us special – or in my case, goofy.

Whatever! Six random things about myself. Let me think for a moment.

Well……

One) I believe with every delusional fiber of my being that if I eat an obscene amount of cookies or candy at one time, my body won’t know what hit it, will be unable to process it properly, and therefore, my body will not suffer the same consequences it would have endured if I had spread the gluttony out over the course of a few days. If I eat five cookies in a row, it is as though the body will process it as one. The teeny, tiny, intellectual corner of my brain recognizes this logic as complete BS, but every other part of me considers it truth. Majority rules!

Two) When I don’t want to get out of bed in the early morning to go to the gym, I make a deal with myself. I tell myself that if I get up, get dressed, and go to the gym, and the only thing I do when I get there is use the ladies room and come home, I still get credit for going. Lying in bed, thinking about the intense workout waiting for me, makes me want to pull the covers over my head, but if I lower my expectations of what I need to accomplish when I get there, it makes it less intimidating. ( I have yet to only use the ladies room….) It’s a strategy, people – and it works!

Three) Every time I pass a Mini Cooper on the road, I let out a small whimper. I liken it to the scenario in which a lady at the next table gets served a dish of creamy alfredo pasta as I responsibly order the broiled fish.

Four) My single pet peeve in life is people who drive slowly in the Pass Lane on the highway. There are many rules for the road and this particular one helps keep traffic moving. If I have to pass someone using the inside lane, I actually talk to the driver as I pass them and explain to them the rule they are breaking and I ask them to watch me and learn from my actions. I try hard not to come across as condescending or rude, but sometimes I’m afraid they sense my attitude from afar. My intent is certainly not to offend anyone. I just want them to understand this particular rule and apply it, so the next time we meet, we don’t have to have this conversation again. I would much rather prefer to just drive by…...in the pass lane.

Five) Ever since I was young, I have fallen asleep while creating my own dreams. I may reflect on one or two things of the day or think ahead to the tasks for tomorrow, but then I shut it down and enter my very own Disney World, where dreams do come true. I will either rewrite my day as if it were more interesting than it was or I dream of the way I would like tomorrow to unfold. Did you know Matthew McConnaughy lives at Disney World? He does. I used to wonder if God was insulted by my rewrites or suggestions, but I've come to believe that I'm probably God's favorite program on the comedy channel. “What will she come up with next?" he laughs.......

Six) When I meet my husband and we get married, I will pay him to clean the bathtub.

Parade Reform

2008-10-06T21:26:00.002-06:00

Why do we go to parades?

Seriously?

As kids we only went for the goofy clowns and the candy they gave us, but why do we still go as adults? Is it just for the kids? I’m starting to wonder….

As I sat and watched our big Oktoberfest parade this weekend, I found myself bored, uninspired, and totally unexcited – not a great combo for me! As I sat there impatiently waiting for the clowns and their candy, I found myself wondering when someone decided that simply driving a car down the street qualified for entertaining parade material. At least spruce up the ride a bit and try driving the car with your feet. My best friend and I did that a few times down side streets in high school and it made for great entertainment!

Parades are just no fun anymore! From the expressionless faces of the people lining the streets, you would think we had gathered to watch a funeral procession. There were only a few clowns throwing candy at the kids – which is fine – but now there’s people handing advertising material to us adults. How did those crazy telemarketers find me on this street corner? I tried to avoid making eye contact with them so they wouldn’t give me their loot, but they just went ahead and dropped it in my lap anyway!

There were a few lively acts during the parade and I noticed the energy level of the crowd escalated quite a bit during those moments. It started me thinking about the obvious need for Parade Route Reform. I’m afraid the ritual of parades will disappear by the end of the century without some serious change.

It’s only going to be a matter of time before thousands of people refuse to sit on a curb just in hopes of getting a few free Tootsie Rolls from some clowns. Parades should be entertaining! I think parades should be like a walking Circus. If you want to drive a tractor in the parade, do some wheelies with it. If you want to ride your horse in the parade, let’s see it race or jump a Shriner in one of those mini-cars. And I want to see a clown do some clown tricks – maybe some juggling or back flips. If schools want to march their band in the parade, choose a song with some pizzaz! Wouldn’t it be great if their music got everybody jumping up off the curb and dancing like fools? Now, that would be a parade!

I’ve got a vision, I just don’t know who to talk to about it. With everything going on in the country today, Parade Reform would probably fall a couple hundred notches below the Economic Bail Out Plan on the nation’s “To Do List“, but if something doesn’t change soon, I’m afraid parades could be a thing of the past…….

I’m just saying…...

It's Gonna Be A Great Day!

2008-10-04T05:38:00.004-06:00

Several weeks ago, I had a craving for Graeters Ice Cream. When it was time to pay for the yumminess, I handed the girl one of my gift cards and warned her that there was only 77 cents left on it. After she cashed it out, I handed her another of my gift cards to cover the remaining amount due. She slid the card through the reader, looked at the screen and said, “This card only has one penny on it.”

“What?” We both laughed at the ridiculousness of it all, as I pulled at the last gift card in my wallet. This one had some money on it for sure, because this one was given to me by my sister-in-law for my birthday back in April – I think…..

She swiped the card, did a double take of the screen and again, “There’s only one cent on this card too.”
"What? Seriously? That’s crazy! When did I eat all this ice cream? Dang – now I’ve gotta pay for this sinful splurge out of my own piggy bank!”

When I recounted this story to my sister-in-law, she too was surprised that I had used up the gift card that fast, but machines don’t lie, right?

Now, fast forward a few months to present day. Since Fall is rapidly approaching, I pulled out one of my Fall bag/purses that my sister made me last year. As I reached in the bag, I pulled out a mini wallet. I recognized it as a gift given to me by that same sister-in-law on my birthday. I opened it up to see a picture of my three adorable nieces and nephew in the first sleeve. Very sweet.

As I flipped it to the next sleeve, my eyes focused in on a perfect, bright, shiny, magical, Graeters Gift Card! Yippeeeeeeee! It was like finding a long lost treasure that I didn’t even know was missing and to think it was right under my nose the whole time! It was like opening my birthday present all over again! More Free Ice Cream For Sheri and Friends!

Ahhh, the magic of lost treasures found!

It’s gonna be a great day!

Cha-Ching!

2008-10-02T07:55:00.002-06:00

It’s been said that a man and a woman can say the exact same sentence, but mean two different things. Example: Both parties can stand before an open closet door and say, “I have nothing to wear.”

What the man really means is, “I have nothing clean to wear.”

What the woman really means is, “I have nothing new to wear.”

As I stand before my closet this morning, trying to decide what will fill the suitcase for my Canada adventure, I find myself saying, “ I have nothing to wear!”

In black and white reality, this is absurd. I could clothe my entire neighborhood with the clothes I own. Of course, many of them would be shoeless, because unlike most women, I don’t have a shoe addiction. But if they showed up wearing their own shoes and undergarments, we could have ourselves a real fashion show.

But dressing myself is not a black and white issue. It’s about colors and fabrics and style and comfort and how to make it all work together. I want to wear something that feels like me, expresses who I am, fits me, and compliments me. If something fits all four categories, you can wrap it up, bag it, and charge it, because you've just made yourself a sale! Cha-Ching!

So, as I’m looking through my closet, my first instinct is to go shopping because, “I have nothing to wear!” But as I engage in a little self-talk, the reasonable and practical side of me points out that nobody in the entire country of Canada has seen me in any of the clothes I consider “old“, so it’s all new to them! I could cross the border in my favorite jeans and t-shirt from last year and the Canadians would be totally clueless. And if I take another step towards reality, I would realize that nobody in Canada really cares what I’m wearing, just as long as I’ve got my passport.

This ridiculous dilemma plagues me every time I pack for a trip and every time I actually get where I’m going, I find that I don’t really care what I’m wearing. When I walked out of the airport in Rome last spring and breathed in that Italian air, I could have been wearing a toga and high tops and I would have been happy. I don’t need new clothes to go see my friends, Sarah and Torben – I’m going for the food, the friends, and the fun.

Still, Sarah did mention hiking and I don’t have true hiking attire, so I might have to do a little shopping today, because I can’t hike in the Canadian Rockies with simple sweats and running shoes – that’s just silly.

Cha-Ching!

Two Lessons Learned

2008-09-28T18:21:00.002-06:00

A man named Matthew Kelly – author and speaker – handsome Australian, once said that the difference between pleasure and happiness is that pleasure cannot be sustained beyond the act that gives us the pleasure, but happiness lingers long after the experience that produces it. If you think on that for a moment, you’ll realize the Aussie’s right!

Today after Mass, I decided to take a new way home and missed a street or two, got myself turned around, and ended up in the “keep on movin’” part of town. There are so many one way streets in this city – I know, because I’ve challenged a few over the years – that once you get going the wrong way, it’s hard to turn around. This morning I felt like a dopey mouse in a maze - turning onto street after street - eventually finding my way back to the church. Once there, I decided there was nothing wrong with taking the old way home. At least that way got me home!

After my self-induced detour, I decided that treating myself to some ice cream would make me happy, so I drove to Graeters and got myself a kiddie-sized scoop of Black Raspberry Chocolate Chip. Let me tell ya...it did the trick. Oh, the pleasure of eating ice cream is always divine! Mr. Kelly was right though: ice cream gone – pleasure over! (Gimme more...gimme more)

Fast forward a few hours and I’m outside enjoying the beautiful fall-like weather. The thought of going to the gym flashes through my brain, but my lazy ass tries to talk Mr. Brain out of it. Then the brain reminds the ass that it’s left cheek is sitting on a kiddie-size scoop of ice cream and the gym is the best place to get rid of it. Fifteen minutes later, I’m at the gym, warming up for a spinning class.

Did I mention that I learned two lessons today? One, being Pleasure versus Happiness, and the other one …….

I’ve had some interesting and specific severe pains when doing spinning sometimes that, despite my injured pride, have caused me to leave the class – devastating to my ego! It hasn’t happened for a long time, but when it does, I pray feverishly that God take the pain away. Unfortunately, that hasn’t worked too well.

Recently, my father was talking about praying over things. He said that sometimes we must tell God that we lovingly accept whatever it is that ails us. I told him that was ridiculous, because that means that I’m saying it’s okay, and it’s not Ok – I do NOT accept the things I do not want. Dad insisted that sometimes we must accept what we do not want, before it can be taken away. Whatever!

Today while spinning, the pain came on again and I started praying intensely for God to release the pain. It wasn’t working. I made the decision that I would die today before I left this class, so I decided to try my Dad’s grand idea. I repeated over and over again that I “lovingly accept this pain”. I repeated this mantra for nearly ten minutes and then like magic, it completely disappeared! I don’t understand it, but I’m grateful for it.

Maybe Dad’s right. Maybe sometimes we have to accept things for the way they are before we can move beyond them. Huh! Score another one for dear ol’ Dad!

In regards to lesson one, I should tell you that I was very happy after I finished my spinning class. I was very happy on my drive home. I was still a little giddy at dinner, and even now as I write this, I’m happy!

Both pleasure and happiness are wonderful, but happiness definitely lingers…...I like that!

( don’t worry – working on the source of that pain )

A Sure-Fire Laughfest

2008-09-25T21:16:00.003-06:00

My very favorite past time is laughing and if I want a sure-fire laughfest, I just watch little kids play soccer.

My five year old niece, Emma played tonight and she’s a natural born soccer player. I’ve been watching her older brother, Mitchell play the game well for years now, but this is Emma’s first year at the sport. I was so proud of her tonight as she scored two commanding goals. She looked so pleased with herself. She has a real love of the game and she has seriously good focus.

Even though I go to her games to support her and root her on, I admit it’s not the only reason. See, the beauty of watching five year old girls play soccer is that there’s so much entertainment wrapped up in one 45 minute game. Running down the center of the field, you have the serious players like Emma and Sophia who give you hope that a goal just might be scored before the night is through. Then there’s the goalie who’s lying on the ground until one of the coaches lifts her up like a rag doll, reminding her of the duty of her all-important position. Of course, there’s always one girl standing in the corner, eating her hair, who’s only chance of touching the ball is to accidentally get hit by one. And you can always count on at least two of the girls hugging each other at midfield, unaware that the ball has just rolled past them. And let’s not forget that one child who is completely oblivious to everything happening around her. She literally has no idea why she’s on the field – she just came for the snacks. Did I mention the girl who is so focused on the ball and her footwork that she never looks up to see that she is driving to the wrong goal – again?

It’s like watching a Broadway comedy sometimes with an intermission and everything. Most of the funny business happens in the first act alone and then just gets repeated in the second half. It’s a shame they don’t serve peanuts and popcorn. All in all, the girls play great and I am super proud of Emma. She plays with real heart and she plays with joy and that is really fun to watch.

Thanks Emma!

I love you!

Namaste Cleo!

2008-09-24T19:51:00.002-06:00

When I was a little girl, my favorite part of the Catholic Mass was The Sign Of Peace. As a child, the reflection and reverence aspect of the Mass that makes it so special was a little lost on me, but shaking hands and smiling at everybody around me during “Peace” was right up my alley.

The sign of Peace is when you turn to those around you, shake their hand, look them in the eye, smile, and say, “Peace Be With You”. As a kid, it was all about checking out who was sitting behind me and smiling at them – which I thought was fun! As an adult, this gesture carries a much deeper meaning for me. “Peace Be With You.” What a great thing to say to someone! Who couldn’t use a little more peace in their lives?

“Peace Be With You”

In India, they have a similar greeting – Namaste. Even though there’s no exact interpretation of this word, the intent is clear: “I honor the spirit in you, which is also in me”. I love that idea. To me, it means respecting the person standing before you for who they are and where they are in life and recognizing that we are all on our own path, trying to find our way to the same place – whether we know it or not – and all of us are doing the best we can to get there. Even the looney-tunes of this world, who seem completely lost, are doing the best they can with what they know.

Today, I saw a patient, that I‘ll call Cleo, who when I first met her, seriously challenged my patience. Even the girls at the front desk were voting on what flavor of crazy she was. When I meet patients such as this one, I just kill ’em with kindness, cover ’em with compassion, and do my best to tickle their funny bone. Most people can’t resist this trio and Cleo was no different. It wasn’t long before she was putty in my hands. As time went on, I watched her crawl out from underneath that crazy, grumpy shell of hers and emerge as a sweet, sensitive soul with a fiery spirit.

In countless ways, Cleo and I are as different as two people can be, but we quickly discovered some small and interesting things we had in common. Every appointment she has with me, I learn a little more about the person she really is and I see her tender heart. She makes me smile when I see her now, and despite all the madness in her world, I respect the spirit in her, which is also in me. I haven’t determined what flavor of crazy she is yet, but whatever it is, I honor the person she is and I honor the person she’s trying to become.

Namaste, Cleo, and Peace Be With You….

I Would Rather Go To Confession

2008-09-24T06:04:00.003-06:00

It’s no secret to anyone who knows me that I have a serious attitude problem when it comes to blind dates. Even though I'm an optimist by nature, some might say I’m a walking illustration of pessimism when it comes to believing that this cruel and awkward method of matchmaking really works. I can easily exasperate the most patient person in the room with my excuses, complaints, and theories on why it will never work for me.

I do declare myself a stubborn woman, who is determined to meet a man in her own spontaneous way and tries her best to resist meeting someone in such an obvious manner. Nothing worse than walking into a restaurant, meeting a total stranger you know nothing about - except that he’s “nice” - then sharing an entire meal with him. It’s weird sitting two feet from a stranger, who’s as acutely aware as you are that the sole purpose of this ’meeting’ is to sniff each other out as potential spouses. (Are you feeling the attitude yet?)

Honestly, I would rather go to confession!

I can sum up my all blind date experiences over the years, by saying that I have never wanted any of my first dates to call me for a second. I won’t say that any of these experiences were terrible because they weren’t, but I won’t lie – I went to bed most nights praying their jeans made it through the spin cycle with my number tucked away in their back pocket. I admit, I met some super nice, handsome, intelligent, successful men over the years, but none of them captured my attention or left me even remotely intrigued. Sadly, very few of them ever took up residence in my memory bank past the first twenty-four hours.

I always thought the guy was feeling the same way, too. Surely, he noticed that although we had pleasant conversation, that’s about all we had. Certainly, he noticed that the evening fell a little flat after the salads were served and by dessert, all the fizz was gone. Surely, we were on the same page about that.

Nope.

Within 24-48 hours the email or call almost always came in and I would most graciously decline his invitation for a second date. There have been a few exceptions where I accepted a second date, because I thought, “maaaaybe”.... But I only remember having one third date.

Well, last week the earth must have rotated off it’s axis, because I actually had my first good blind date. I will spare you all the details and skip to the part where I say that “I liked this guy". Of course, I know very little about him overall, but he made me laugh – and that scores big numbers in my book. Without analyzing the whole thing, I’ll just say that I enjoyed his company and when he asked for my number to call me for dinner, I happily handed it over - that was a new feeling! To top it all off, when I awoke the next morning, one of my first thoughts was, “I hope he calls me. I think we would have fun. I could use some fun”.

Yeah! So that was like a week and a half ago and Mr. Funny hasn’t called. Can you say, “Disappointed”? How about, “Bummed”?

It’s amazing what thoughts run through your head when the phone doesn’t ring and you realize it never will. I’ll tell you what I did notice though – the thoughts that run through my head now, in my thirties, are not the same thoughts that ran through my head in my twenties.

Ten years ago, if a guy wasn’t interested in me, my first reaction was, “maybe he was looking for somebody prettier, smarter, blonder, quieter, blah, blah, blah“. But now, when he doesn’t call, none of those thoughts make it to my brain, because I know better. There could be all sorts of reasons he deleted my number from his phone and I‘ll probably never know what they are. As curious as I am, I know deep down, in the end, it doesn’t matter.

What I know for sure, is that if he recognized the spark of something special in me, he would have called me. If he doesn’t call, it simply means he didn’t see the magic in me - the same way I didn’t see the magic in all the men I chose not to have a second date with myself. When I look past the disappointment, I can see that I am capable of having a good experience on a blind date, so maybe I’ll agree to another one someday. Until then, I’m still banking on a spontaneous, destined, fairytale meeting between me and my prince charming.

Wish me luck…...

Grass & Weeds for Dinner - Yum!

2008-09-12T17:33:00.003-06:00

Since seeing the naturopath, I’ve been trying to incorporate more greens into my diet. I normally eat free range, antibiotic free, organic beef and chicken. I toast my Ezekial bagel in the morning with free range eggs and I eat plain yogurt without the sugar. Who‘s got my medal?

But I’ve always managed to skip over the suggestion of eating mainly fruits and vegetables. I tell myself that the apple and carrot stick I eat with my noon meal is a feat worth rewarding – such as chocolate pudding for dessert, but in my heart I know it’s a lie.

I lie to myself all the time. Sometimes I call it justification or rationalization, but it’s all BS. I know that the key to health is more vegetables, not more chicken wings. I’m as guilty as the next girl for believing that avoiding the worst foods is the only ticket to being healthy. It’s important of course, but so is actually feeding the body the high quality foods.

I don’t know why I can’t make myself crave grass and weeds on a plate drizzled in vinegar. Crazy as it sounds, pasta with creamy, buttery sauce sounds so much better. Why is it that I fight the urge to eat a warm, decadent, chocolate, gooey, brownie over a fresh plate of lightly steamed lima beans? OK. I pretend there’s some great mystery here, when in reality, the answer is….because warm, gooey, brownies ROCK and will always win out over Lima beans – steamed, blanched, or dipped in sugar.

The secret is to wake up one day and realize that feeling good, looking healthy, and fitting into my jeans from week to week means being a real adult and doing what is best for myself. When I was younger, I could hide the beans in my pockets and trash them later. But I know better now, and it’s important to make good decisions for my well being. Of course, being an adult means I don’t have to stuff the lima beans in my pocket because I can choose from hundreds of other wonderful foods to eat.

I’ve been doing the grass and weeds deal for a couple weeks now and I feel ten pounds lighter. The scale has confirmed that it’s just a feeling, not reality, but I consider it a start. Reality is that there is no secret to health and vitality. If I center my diet around vegetables and fiber, I’m going to be healthier. I think it’s time protein and grains take their rightful place as the real side dishes on the plate, not the main event.

I know taste buds can be altered with time and that's my objective. It seems insane to think one day I’ll lust over spinach like I do chocolate and ice cream, but if even half the love is there for the green guys, I’ll count it a tremendous success!

Gooooo Broccoli!

All The New Colors And Flavors

2008-09-10T20:07:00.002-06:00

Today is a big day for my niece, Natalie. Today is her fifth birthday! In honor of the family’s recent Road Rally adventure, my sister organized a scavenger hunt for Miss Natalie. After a few presents are hidden in fun places, the birthday girl will be given clues on where to find them. As my sis explained this grand plan, I was imagining how totally exciting that would be for Natalie!

I have to smile when I think of Natalie Rose, because she’s so spirited, dramatic, bouncy, and ornery with stellar brown eyes. I think of how I love her and the marvelous energy she brings into my life. It takes me back to when my first nephew, Andrew was born over eighteen years ago. I was so head over heels in love with that child. The love I felt for him was the purest, deepest, and happiest I had ever experienced up until then. I also, distinctly remember my sister telling me she was expecting their second child and how an immediate wave of guilt washed over me, because I new this baby was going to get totally ripped off in the love department when it came to his Aunt Sheri. My heart was already spoken for – by a spunky two year old boy.

And then Nicholas was born and – Wow – the love rushed in. Right from the start, he was the complete opposite of Andrew. He was sooooo mellow. And amazingly enough, there was more than enough love in my heart for the both of them.

And when my brother and wife had their first baby girl, Emily, she was without a doubt, the most beautiful little girl with crazy brown eyes I had ever seen. More love. Definitely feeling more love. Her personality was a breath of fresh air too. Now, I had three new little spirits in the world to love. What could be better than that?

Well, if three is happiness, then eighteen is bliss. Austin, Sarah, Mitchell, Kayla, Johnny, Danny, Abby, Hannah, Ashley, Emma, Zach, Isabella, and Xavier have all come barreling into my world and added all sorts of new colors and flavors to it. Of course, sweet baby, Joshua graced our lives for a mere seven months, but grace us, he did. It’s been fourteen years and I can still see his sweet smiling face. He’s our family‘s angel in heaven now and always.

I owe my parents big time for putting in all the time and effort to have five kids, because now I have four friends for life (actually eight if you count the in-laws, which I do ). Then thanks to my siblings and their wild ambitions to raise an army of children, I reap the benefits again.

If my life story does not have a chapter entitled, “My Children”, then at least, thanks to the rest of my family and their child bearing ways, there will be many exciting chapters filled with love, magic, and madness!

I'm Back!

2008-09-08T20:34:00.002-06:00

I haven’t felt like myself for awhile now. I’ve been unusually tired, a little overwhelmed at work and slightly unfocused. I consulted with my friend and naturopath about it and discovered there are some valid reasons for my recent lifelessness. I am now working on correcting the problem.

One change I noticed that pushed me towards getting some help was my lack of mischieviousness. I’m not a trouble maker, but I do like to think of myself as the queen of April Fool’s Day and typically try to honor that day a little bit every day. The other week I pulled a funny on a patient and got such a high from it, that it revved me up for the rest of the afternoon. I realized then, that I missed that feeling. Most days I was feeling so tired and uninspired that the creative spark I needed to roll with a great story was missing.

Today however, I saw a glimpse of my old self when I easily convinced a patient to believe total nonsense. I had him going good for awhile and I loved every minute of it.

This patient, who I’ll call Edward, is a very intelligent and successful man with a definite ornery side to him. He tries to pull something on me nearly every time he sees me, and in my current “weakened” state I have nearly fallen prey to his antics more than once. Normally, I would be dishing out my own dose of delusions with someone of this nature, but lately, I’ve lacked the brain power to think up and carry out such deception. Until today, that is.

Today we were discussing having pain in unexpected areas. Eddie’s been suffering with elbow tendonitis for some time now, and was expressing his concern for the amount of pain he felt when I palpated the muscles in the areas above and below his elbow. I assured him that these areas wouldn’t normally be painful if there wasn’t a problem, but he found it hard to believe that someone might not feel pain there like he did when such pressure was applied.

To prove a point, I palpated the muscles in his face and asked if he felt pain there. He laughed and said, “No”. I explained that some people do have issues with the muscles in their face and they are extremely painful just as he was experiencing pain in his forearm. That caught his attention.

Then, like magic, a spark was ignited and I was off and running.

With a serious face and professional tone, I slowly explained to him that some people suffer from myofascial restrictions in the lower jaw muscles. These restrictions can create a tightness in the muscles so extreme that it could actually force the mouth into an involuntary frown. If these muscles were not attended to, the “Smile” muscles may become weak over time and make it very difficult for the patient to smile at all. A person could actually lose their ability to smile due to a dysfunction in the facial muscle tissue.

As his face showed obvious signs of concern and deep thought, my heart skipped a beat. I knew I had him and now I just had to reel him in. He was clearly mulling over what I had just said, when I continued on. “Have you ever known somebody who is grumpy every time you see them? It’s like they can never manage a smile – only a frown.” Eddie’s eyes got large as he got all excited, “I was just thinking that! There are people I’ve met like that! They always look unhappy! Could they have that condition you’re talking about?”

“Absolutely! You should tell them that you know someone who could bring their smile back to life. When you leave here, you should call every grumpy person you know and tell them you have the secret to their happiness. Tell them that you know someone who can turn their frown upside down. You must share the good news with them Eddie! You must!”

And then I smiled at him.

And he knew he had been had.

It was the very best part of my day!

Thanks Eddie!

I'm Going With King Banana!

2008-09-04T21:05:00.005-06:00

So, I’m out shopping for Buckeye gear for the big weekend, when I decide to stroll through the ladies section. I need to find one or two more dress pants for work and I noticed a few with reasonable price tags. According to Tommy and other designers, I’m a solid size eight, so I confidently walk back to the dressing room with my size eight selections. As I go to slide into the first pair, I have problems getting them past my hips. I do that silent giggle thing, as I realize that I grabbed the wrong size – probably a four or a six - how silly of me. However, when I check the tag for confirmation, the tag clearly reads “8”.

Whoa! What’s up Tommy? What’s up Michael Kors? Am I an eight or what? According to this "Jenni Max" girl, size eight is a just a pipe dream for me! Which of you designer clowns know how big my hips really are? Style and Co. here thinks I’m a size twelve, which is funny in the “not so funny way“, in that last month I bought a pair of slacks from them that assures me that my hips are indeed, a solid size eight. So which is it?

How do I get up one day with size eight hips, run through my day, eat carrots and cauliflower, sleep seven hours, and then wake up the next day with size twelve hips? Seriously, how does that work? And how do I wrap my emotional brain around that? Do I wear eights on Monday to make the day more bearable and then slide through Friday four sizes larger knowing that sweats on Saturday is just a day away?

And who do I believe? Do I strut my stuff in the twelves, believing in my heart that I’m really a perfect eight or do I prance around in the eights, knowing deep down that they’ve suckered me into buying a pair of pants because I wanted to believe I was an eight. ( Good strategy, if so )

Or do I believe Banana Republic? I have a pair of their jeans that clearly labels everybody else as crazy, because they claim I’m a size six. I admit, I’m oozing out of them a bit, but my hips like ‘em just fine. I’ve never felt comfortable leaving the house in them, but I do put them on whenever the twelves try to make me feel bad about myself. I figure the twelves can’t be right if the sixes are. I think I read somewhere once that Banana Republic is the king of the jean industry. If King Banana says I’m an over sized six, then I choose to make that my truth.

If Jenni Max and Style & Co. want to label me a size ten or twelve, then they can just keep hanging from their hangers, because they’re not coming home with me!

My New Career!

2008-09-03T21:45:00.005-06:00

I’m good at what I do for a living and I consider myself successful at what I do. But like many people, there comes a time when your career isn’t as exciting as it used to be. You don’t get up every morning with that same fiery excitement that you used to and you find yourself daydreaming about the second half of your life and what different things you could do to fill your time and still earn a paycheck doing it.

My daydreams of change have always centered around creativity. Maybe I would become a photographer or writer or painter or even a professional clown. Whenever I do something creative I lose all sense of time. I get so lost in an idea that when I finally check the clock, I gasp at the amount of time that has passed. How wonderful to be so engrossed in what you’re doing that time magically slips away. It’s my perfect example of being completely present in the moment.

Since I usually lean toward the creative world, I was surprised to find my true calling in a different arena this weekend and I owe it all to my brother and sister-in-law. They were the master minds behind the Road Rally my family participated in this weekend. It was just like Amazing Race, except we never left the country, never jumped out of an airplane, and no camera crews were following us around. It was awesome! I was definitely born to compete in Road Rallys.

Speeding down the road looking for clues, decoding secret messages, spotting hidden treasures, and taking silly photographs is what I was born to do. How do I make money at this, you ask? Well that’s definitely the tricky part. Actually, every great idea I’ve had in the past ten years has been marred by that particular glitch.

Did I mention that my team won the Road Rally? Another reason to make it my job – I already know that I excel at it. Of course, I did not win this race all by myself. My brother-in-law, Eric and my nephews Andrew, Austin, and Johnny were all valuable members of my team. Even though, my inner “Nancy Drew” did shine through as the leader of these “Hardy Boys”, I appreciate the large role they played in our victory. I’m certainly willing to take them along for the ride if they want. Heck, Andrew’s eighteen so we could work together and I could give him 30% of our winnings. I don’t know who’s gonna pay us to run around and play Indiana Jones all day, but if that fool is alive and well, Please God, send him my way!

I just want to thank Scott and Renee’ for taking the time and putting in the effort to make this Road Rally a success! We all had an awesome time and thanks to the two of you, I’m gonna quit my day job!

Um........... Can I come live with you?

A Day With Izzie

2008-08-30T13:28:00.003-06:00

My sister’s up from Louisville for the weekend because the whole family is gathering Sunday for a Road Rally, which is like a scaled down Amazing Race. I can hardly wait to Rally because I my intention is to win! But today, Amy and her husband took the four oldest kids to Eric’s brother’s for the day, and they left sweet baby Izzie with me – Yeh! (She’s 18 months old )

We went to the Pet Store to pick up food for George and then visited with all the animals. She didn’t make a single peep as she took it all in. After oo-ahhing over the puppies and laughing at the parrots, we left to do some grocery shopping. Once again, she remained silent as I loaded the vegetables all around her in the cart. When she got her hands on the red leaf lettuce, she worked it over as if she was trying to pulverize a bag of potato chips. I guess that’s what you call a tossed salad!

As I type this, she sleeps peacefully just three feet away as she most likely dreams of the puppies and talking parrots she met this morning. It’s been three hours now, so I’m thinking it’ll be any moment that she opens her big brown eyes and giggles at me.

Whoa! Talk about timing! “Hello, sweet girl”.

I’ve gotta go! There’s a beautiful park down the road that’s calling our name!

Whoooooa! That Was Close!

2008-08-26T20:00:00.004-06:00

To prepare for the carpet installers to come and coat my floors with “Champagne” I had to move a lot of stuff from the third floor to the second floor. That meant countless trips up and down the stairs with my arms full. On one of my trips, I got careless with my footing and did one of those, “Whoooooa!”, where your foot misses the step, your body lurches forward and you fight to pull yourself back before you somersault your way down the stairs. As I took a moment to center myself, I thought of all the missed falls I’ve had on this staircase. My chunky Steve Madden shoes from years ago, were by far the greatest cause of near mishaps. I don’t know how many times I saved myself from disaster in those shoes and then reprimanded myself with, “SHERI!!!! BEEEEE CAREFUL!”

I’ve often thought about what would happen if I fell down the stairs and knocked myself unconscious – what would I do? Seriously! If it was a Friday or Saturday when I had no plans, it could be days before someone found me. Of course, if I had a man picking me up for a date, then he could swoop in and save the day. WOW! Dating could save my life!

When I shared this long-time concern with one of my best friends, she just laughed at me. This friend lives in Canada, which means she’s gonna be the last person to find me – what’s so funny about that? I’m dead at the bottom of the stairs while she’s hoopin’ and hollerin’ it up at a hockey game, completely unaware of my demise. The game of hockey would never be the same for her after that!

My other best friend laughed at my concern too. She lives much closer and she would be the first one knocking down my door if I failed to show up for an ice cream social. In fact, she would call in the helicopter police to meet her at my house to help her knock it down!

I’m thinking the best case scenario would be if I tumbled on a work day. The girls from the office would be knocking down my door at ten minutes past the hour, because I’m nothing if not reliable. Reason number 22 for being a dependable employee - if you fall down the stairs and knock yourself unconscious, your co-workers will come looking for you.

Actually, best case scenario would be to simply walk down the stairs one at a time like I learned to do when I was three years old. After thirty-some years of practicing this basic skill, you'ld think I would have mastered it by now!

Men Just Want A Little Respect

2008-08-25T19:38:00.005-06:00

Spending all day with a diverse group of patients can lead to many captivating conversations. I see all walks of life in my office, which makes every day interesting. I have this one patient, who I’ll call Stuart, that I just adore. Stuart and I got along swimmingly right from the start. Our conversations were always highly spirited as we jumped from one subject to another, each of us waiting for our turn to speak. He’s a pastor at a local church, who’s married with three teenage boys. He is what I call a “high quality individual“. On his last appointment, while discussing fabulous books we had read, he gushed over the book, “Love and Respect” by Emerson Eggerich. Apparently, he gives it out to all the married couples he counsels and it always gets rave reviews.

Since my future husband is lost in space somewhere, it seemed the perfect time to read a book about getting along with your spouse. I figured it couldn’t be too hard to respect a man who wasn’t there. After all, the imaginary men are the most fantastic to date, because they’re perfect in every way! What’s not to respect, right?

According to Mr. Eggie, men need respect like women need love. In a study of 400 men around the nation, when forced to choose one of the following scenarios, they were asked which they would prefer to endure?

A) to be left alone and unloved in the world
B) to feel inadequate and disrespected by everyone

Seventy-four percent chose to be alone and unloved rather than feel inadequate or disrespected. Gee! How many times do women make their men feel inadequate? Yeah.

Every page I turn I see the truth in what he speaks. All that women want is to feel genuinely loved. We want to be the center of one man’s universe. As much as that is true, the men we love ( even the ones lost in space that we patiently wait for) desperately want to feel respected. According to Eggie, if a women shows disrespect to her man – and we do it ALLL the time – then that man finds it difficult to show love to the women who does not respect him. When a man does not feel respected for who he is, he withdraws from his woman, and the woman takes that to mean he doesn’t love her enough. This begins the Crazy cycle, as he calls it. This cycle doesn’t have to start with the woman. In fact, it probably starts with the man doing or saying something seriously stupid. Whoa! Did I just say that? Wow! I need to practice my respect speak before my space boy finds me.

If you read this book, Mr. Eggie will convince you that these two elements of Love and Respect are indeed the core issues between a man and a woman. I think this man is a genius and I’m going to start practicing these techniques on my bunny George. There are days when I poke a little fun at him and I realize I may be emasculating him and that’s why he retreats when I try to love on him. Sometimes, he looks at me like I’m about to take his life, as he runs to his little den. I don’t ever want to see that look of fear in the eyes of the man I love. So for practice, George is gonna get nothing but respect from me for awhile and we’ll see if his aloof attitude changes into Looooooooove.

Preparing For A Funeral

2008-08-22T21:08:00.004-06:00

As it is so many times in life, death comes sooner than expected. We think if we plan well and take good care, everything will be alright. But sometimes, if we’re not paying close enough attention, sickness slowly settles in. So slowly, that by the time we notice that death is near, it’s too late to breathe new life into it.

Sadly, I am prepared to officially bury my garden tomorrow. It will be tilled under, way before it’s time. Tonight, as I took one last look at my wilting and shriveling plants, I thought of all the gardens around the world that are still alive, vibrant and producing award winning produce. Why couldn’t my vegetables thrive this year? Was it the year of the strawberry?

June-bearing strawberries made their yummy debut in my garden this spring and I took that as a sign that it was going to be a fruitful summer. It wasn’t. It seems that when fruit entered my garden, the vegetables staged a boycott. I had no idea there would be a conflict. I always thought fruits and vegetable got along. I know they play well together in salads.

Anyway, I’m gonna make the trip to Lowe’s tomorrow to pick up the refuse bags that will serve as the carrying coffin for the deceased vegetables. I’ll walk them to the curb and wait for the big red truck to come and take them away. They’ll enter the recycling world, where they can be reincarnated into something different for next season. Maybe as vegetables, they missed their calling and next year they’ll thrive better as mulch.

Wouldn’t it be wild if they came back to my garden next year as mulch? Unless they plan to come back to suffocate the strawberries – that would be bad! Maybe they should just move on and I’ll do the same.

I tried to post a final picture of the garden, but Blogger apparently thought it was too bleak to post, because it refused to upload it. Maybe it's for the best. A person could wilt just looking at it.

Instead of dwelling on what wasn't this year, I choose to remember all the years before, when it wore big green leaves and produced juicy red tomatoes. I'm looking ahead to next year and dreaming of all the possibilities!

Poor Stanley

2008-08-20T21:14:00.004-06:00

So, a funny thing happened at work today. I had this sweet patient – let’s call him Stanley – who I’ve known for nearly a decade. He’s been going through a rough patch lately. His elderly father just passed away, he’s been experiencing a lot of neck pain, and they finally confirmed that his thyroid is officially “dead” - which explains his debilitating fatigue. As he starts to catch me up on all the details, I invite him to lie down and relax. So, now he’s lying down, with his eyes closed, as he’s proceeds to tell me everything that’s going on in his life.

As I’m listening to every detail, I notice the tiniest, tiniest, little, black spider playing Tarzan in his blond hair. I don’t like spiders of any size, so I’m still listening to him, but I’m keeping my eye on the baby spider. I watch him jump from strand to strand as I try to decide what to do. Normally, I would come right out and tell a person this kind of thing. I certainly never hesitate to let someone know their zipper’s wide open, or lipstick’s on their teeth, or spinach is in their teeth, or my personal favorite – their shirt is inside out or on backwards. ( That usually happens to the mothers who have a million things to do in a day) I tell them these things, because I would want them to tell me!

But I didn’t want to tell him. So I lightly blew on his forehead, as if I was trying to blow out candles on a cake, hoping the spider would just blow away. I wouldn’t normally consider doing this, but this man isn’t interested in girls, so I took the chance that he wouldn’t even be phased by it, and I was right. He just kept on talking. I guess I had forgotten that spiders aren't much affected by a little breeze. I’ve seen one clinging to a flower once that was being blown sideways on a windy day. Those guys definitely know how to hang on.

So, I decided to capture the strands of hair the spider was playing in between two fingers and whisk him away. Stanley noticed that. He asked, “ Oh, was there a little piece of fuzz in my hair?” I wanted to say, “No Stanley, there was a spider in your hair – yuk! gross! ” but I felt certain that would upset him. Stanley is a very neat and hygienic individual. He’s always put together, everything in his house is white, and his Beemer convertible is cream colored with light beige interior. I honestly felt like the idea that a spider was crawling in his hair would seriously bother him – it sure bothered me! So I replied, “It’s all gone now!” and left it at that.

Stanley left the office feeling better, while I was left feeling a little itchy, because I’m not real sure where that little guy went. I’m slightly paranoid that I took him home with me.

Please God, don’t let that be true!

I'm A Commandment Keeper

2008-08-19T21:17:00.006-06:00

So, I’m doing a bunch of weeding and trimming tonight and because I’m out of refuse bags, I decide for the first time to throw them in the big green trash can. No biggie. Until I took notice of the big white label covering the inside lid that clearly reads, “DO NOT PLACE THESE ITEMS IN THIS CONTAINER: Furniture, tree limbs, appliances, building materials, automotive parts, paint, and oil.

What?! How have I never seen this until now? Eight years and hundreds of trash days, and I’ve never seen that sticker. Apparently, I’ve broken the golden rules countless times over the years. I’m amazed they don’t drive their trash truck right by my house yelling, “Rule Breaker!” as they blatantly leave my trash behind.

I’m a Commandment Keeper and I don’t consider myself a rule breaker – unless we’re talking about speeding, ‘cause I don’t follow that rule too well – but other than that, I’m a good girl. I know I haven’t thrown any appliances in the green can, but when it comes to every other item on the list, I’m guilty!

Even though I’ve never seen that sign before today, I admit that I was told once by a friend that building materials were frowned upon in the green can. He informed me of this after I had torn up all the white ceramic tile in the kitchen and had boxes of it in the garage, waiting to be disposed of. Mind you, he did not tell me NOT to do it, he just said it was frowned upon.

I remember the first morning I rolled that forbidden load to the curb. I watched from the window, as I peeked through the blinds, waiting to see what would happen. As the trash truck pulled up, I could feel my heart beating in my chest. The big plier hands reached around the can, lifted it up, dumped in it, and poof – white dusty smoke filled the air. I held my breath, waiting to see what would happen next. I was sure the driver was going to jump from his truck, run to my door and yell, “Hey Rule Breaker, Congratulations! You’ve just been X’d off my route!” But he didn’t! I’m not sure he even cared, which to me was permission to refill the green can with more taboo materials. After eight weeks of breaking the rules, my garage was finally clean. It felt good and bad all at the same time.

Of course, had I seen these rules written in bold, red letters, as I did tonight, I would have hesitated to dump the stuff in the green can. But, I‘ll admit, I probably would have done it anyway. I’m a girl living in the suburbs. When I got trash, I throw it in the trash can. What else am I supposed to do with it – decorate my lawn with it? I’m going to do better, though. I want to be a true blue Commandment Keeper!

Ahhhh Weddings.....

2008-08-17T18:26:00.004-06:00

I attended a wedding yesterday. I love weddings! I always think about how every person in the church is experiencing the moment differently, depending on what chapter of their life they’re in.

The couple happily married fifty years may be nostalgic – remembering how much they loved each other on their wedding day - astonished that they love each other so much more today. They’re probably wearing one those goofy grins as they think of their long and happy life they’ve shared. Of course, two pews ahead, there’s bound to be another couple who’s just endured the longest fifty years of their lives together and death is sounding pretty good right now.

There’s probably a couple or two who’ve only been married a short ten years and still remember how free they were to love each other, before all the children came along. Now, all that love is multiplied, but also divided. With young children, that free love comes in stolen moments; between diaper changes, meltdowns, and temper tantrums. Of course, two pews ahead, there’s a couple who welcome the distraction of a dirty diaper, because their honeymoon ended shortly after the actual honeymoon. So sad.

Then there’s the couple who’s children are grown and living their own adult lives. These couples are entering the second honeymoon phase - rediscovering what it is they love so much about the person they married and who that person has evolved into. It’s sort of like falling in love all over again. And two pews ahead, there’s a couple who’s children have flown the coupe, and left behind two perfect strangers in the house together. These people need to do some serious dating again if they don’t want to end up like the couple married fifty years, praying for the end of their own life.

Of course, there’s always a few single people in the crowd wondering what it would be like to find that person who is different than any other person they’ve met. They can’t imagine meeting a person who makes them think, “You know, I’ve met a lot of people in my life and I’ve liked most of them. Some of them became my friends because I liked them so much. I dated some of them because not only did I like them, they made my heart do a little dance. But until now, I never thought to choose just one of them to walk hand in hand with me for the rest of my life! But you know what? No matter what comes my way, you ARE THE ONE person I want by my side at all times”.

That’s seriously heavy stuff. Watching two people stand up there and proclaim that this is the one person they’ve chosen to walk beside, no matter what, until the day they die is a serious statement. It’s inspiring to say the least. I’m actually thinking about doing it myself someday. We’ll see…..

Rubbernecking

2008-08-15T20:00:00.005-06:00

Today, I drove up on a minor car accident scene, in which no one was injured and things were totally under control, yet other drivers were gawking as they drove by. It is my belief that rubbernecking is one of the main reasons for traffic molasses. You’re motoring along the highway, making good time, when everything comes to a screeching halt. Twenty minutes and two miles later, you finally discover what all the fuss was about and you think to yourself, “Seriously, that’s what the problem was?”

Years ago, I decided not to be one of those drivers who gawk. I would drive right past an incident and barely look - because it’s rude to stare at others misfortune, right? At first, I felt proud of myself for not being a nosy driver, but after a few “drive-bys” I noticed my pride quickly morphing into guilt.

How could I drive by without looking or caring about what was happening? I didn’t want to gawk, but certainly I should take interest in another human beings plight, right? I thought back to college days when I drove the ultra-cool Ford Escort, which we all know to be the ultimate in reliable transportation – kinda like a Honda, only ten times cheaper! How many times have I recited the rosary in that red hunk of metal, as I traveled from one college to another for the “party of the year”? If my little Escort had done the unthinkable, and left me stranded on the side of the highway, it would break my heart to know fellow drivers blew right by me in my distress, without a second thought.

So, I decided to become a semi-rubbernecker. As I come upon a distraction, I take a quick look, assess the situation, keep moving, and offer up a prayer for them. I take notice of their situation because I’m concerned about them and I keep driving out of respect for them. Of course, if he’s cute and driving a Jag, then I pull off the highway, throw it in reverse, and show him just how fast I can drive my scooter backwards and in a semi-straight line!

I don’t really own a scooter – just a car.

A True Dancing Queen

2008-08-14T21:06:00.001-06:00

I recently watched the classic movie, “My Fair Lady” with my seven and nine year old nieces. It had been twenty years since I had seen it and all I remembered about it was Audrey Hepburn talked really funny and there was some romance in it. I had forgotten that it was over three hours long and they sang nearly every scene – fifty songs! Even though it’s rated “G”, it’s not much of a child’s movie, but the girls hung in there really well. They said they liked it, even though I doubt they’ll beg to watch it again and again like they do “Enchanted“.

I was commenting about the movie to a patient of mine who happened to be a teacher. I spoke of how terribly simplistic the story line was and how the character development was minimal. He explained that when movies of that time were made, most people did not own a television, but everybody had a radio. Music was what it was all about. They made movies in an attempt to sell records. Basically, “My Fair Lady” was just a simple story set around a bunch of music videos. According to this teacher, all musicals and most movies were made to sell records, unlike the movies of today.

But last night, my sister-in-law proved him wrong. I met her at the theatre to watch the film, Mama Mia, because my brother wasn’t interested in seeing it– shocker! The movie was great! It was a little unnatural seeing Pierce Brosnan sing, but he looked good. Through it all, we laughed and Renee’ cried. It was the kind of movie that made you realize that you wanted to have a lot more fun in your life – like when you were twenty! Two thumbs up for fun!

After going our separate ways, I drove home with all my windows down, despite the spitting rain, and beep bopped to the loud music like an inspired dancing queen. ABBA wasn’t playing on the radio, so I had to make due with what they were playing at the time – no problem!

When I arrived home, there was a message on my voicemail from Renee’ telling me that she had gone straight to Barnes and Nobles and purchased the Mama Mia soundtrack because she was just so excited! She felt inspired to buy it! In fact, it was playing in her car as she was calling me. She was going to sing along to the music all the way home, like a true dancing queen!

I don’t know. It sure sounds like somebody sold a record because of a movie to me! Mama Mia!

Chocolate Mousse or Sugar Sand?

2008-08-12T18:26:00.003-06:00

So, the carpet guy came by yesterday to measure for new carpet and he left some samples for me to look over – great! I thought my days of tedious decision making was done for awhile when I had finished painting all the rooms upstairs. Trying to choose the right paint color was a long and expensive process and I was excited to be done with goofy decisions like that. But now, I’ve got a hundred different shades of beige carpet samples to choose between. How do I do that?

Do I walk on Frosted Stone or Golden Wheat? Do I sit on Bamboo or Sugar Sand –ooh, sugar….! And after a long day, do I lie down and stretch out over Sandstone or Chocolate Mousse? Duh! Chocolate mousse – always chocolate mousse! You laugh, but I can seriously be swayed by the names of things. Right now, I sleep a little better at night knowing that according to Sherwin Williams, I’m sleeping under the Tibetan Sky. Imagine waking up in the morning, getting out of bed, and stepping into chocolate mousse – cool, huh? Mondays wouldn’t be so bad if they started out all chocolately!

Of course, I wouldn’t purchase a carpet color on name alone, but when it came down to the final four, I know myself well enough to know that I would subconsciously talk myself out of Sandstone and vote for Chocolate Mousse. It’s just the way my mind works.

Case in point: I know in my heart of hearts, I just purchased the Canon Rebel over the Nikon D70 because I like to say, “I'm taking pictures with my Rebel”, which sounds so much cooler than "my D70". Either camera would have been a sound investment and the differences between them are minor, so making the choice I did was OK, but I fear that someday this decision making process could get me in trouble.

I can paint over paint over paint over paint for a mere $150, but once this carpet is laid down, it’s as good as nailed to the floor as far as I’m concerned. So, I think I’m going to cover up the names on the swatches and try a better way to make a decision. I’m going to close my eyes and point!

Omigosh! What Did He Do?

2008-08-11T19:54:00.004-06:00

I grew up in a wonderfully small town with crazy curly hair. If I wasn’t attempting to cut and style my own mop of madness, it was the local beauty shop taking on the challenge. Every lady working at the salon assured me that curly hair was God’s gift to me and there was no changing it – I had thick curly hair and that was that!

After moving to the city, I met a new stylist who quickly shot holes through that theory. She too, felt that curly hair was a gift from heaven - mostly because she wanted curls herself - but unlike all the others, she proved time and time again that there were many different things I could do with my ‘gift‘. Five hairdressers and 25 different hairstyles later, I’m confident that I could’ve been a real member of the witness protection program these last fifteen years. Well, that may be a slight exaggeration. I don’t know that the changes were drastic enough to keep me safe from a mob hit, but you get the picture!

My current hair stylist owns a trendy salon with a solid reputation and usually gives me a great cut. When I went last week to get my hair cut, I went with plans to re-invent myself - maybe a great chop and bob – but I apparently didn’t make these plans clear to him, because things went horribly wrong. When he greeted me that morning, he seemed wide awake and alert. He appeared focused and ready to work, and I have no reason to think that I’ve upset him in any way….and yet, I hate my haircut!

I remember sitting in the chair as he did his best impression of Edward Scissorhands on my hair – flipping and thinning, flipping and thinning. He told me that a very talented stylist in California had taught him this technique and he had been practicing it for awhile. He reported that sadly, his first two tries were unsuccessful – very unfortunate for those poor ladies! He gave me the distinct impression that he had worked out all kinks with this technique and even considered himself quite the pro at it.

Yeah! Well the lady in MY mirror this morning was screaming a different story. My mirror said, “Omigosh, what did he do to your hair? Why does it look like that? What’s that flippy thing it’s doing – that looks stupid! You canNOT wear your hair that way! No, you can‘t! You have to wear a pony tail every day until he fixes that mess up there! You call him right now!”

Being the good man he is, he will fix it. Until then……..I’ll just have to rely on my personality to get by.

Note: Photoshop exaggerated my hair disaster a little bit, but you get the picture. (notice how the ‘big’ hair makes my chin look bigger…?)

Who's With Me?!

2008-08-08T06:17:00.002-06:00

I watched some good films on Pope John Paul II and Mother Teresa this week and I think it’s safe to say that God is super proud of these two kids. They’re great modern day examples of what Jesus expects of us in regards to listening to God’s voice, following the call, and loving every one along the way. I’ve been trying to follow their examples, but I think I’m falling a bit short. I find that I’m still talking AT God instead of listening to him – why can’t I stop that? And I’m afraid he may have told me what my life assignment is already and I just didn’t hear him because I was talking too much - which would be high school all over again. Then the other day, instead of loving thy neighbor, I rolled my eyes at a patient when he wasn’t looking, because he was driving me crazy with his persistent ‘are-you-sure-you-know-what-you’re-doing’ line of questioning. I felt bad about that.

To make myself feel better, I tried to get a visual of Jesus rolling his eyes as he walked past a poor beggar on the street, but I just couldn’t see it. I remind myself that just because I rolled my eyes at this person doesn’t mean I don’t care about him. It just means that while I want to do my best to help him, in that particular moment, his slightly annoying behavior made it difficult for me to look at him, so my eyes simply escaped to the back of my head temporarily. I’ve prayed about it and I’m confident I’ll do better next time.

Reviewing these two extraordinary lives was good for me, because it’s easy to get caught up in the worldly world and forget the words of St Francis - which are great words to live by. I want to make a difference in this world while I’m living in it and that’s hard to do when you’re all wrapped up in your own drama. I realize that I don’t have to go as far as becoming a nun like Mother Teresa to do kind and generous things – that was her calling. Of course, if I ever get tired of waiting for Theodore (?) to show up, I know God’s always got a room reserved at the convent for me. But, I think I’ll wait for him……

In the meantime…..

Lord, Make me an instrument of Your peace. Where there is hatred, let me sow love; where there is injury, pardon; where there is doubt, faith; where there is despair, hope; where there is darkness, light; and where there is sadness, joy. O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console; to be understood as to understand; to be loved as to love; for it is in giving that we receive; it is in pardoning that we are pardoned; and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.

I gotta go….I’ve got some serious work to do!

Who’s With Me?

Picture Day!

2008-08-05T17:51:00.011-06:00

As I said earlier, I went to my friend’s house this weekend to take some nature pictures. As I went around snapping photo after photo, Patty searched for potential models to pose with the flowers. First, she found a tiny caterpillar, who was zippy and completely uncooperative. Then she found a Monarch caterpillar, who was kind of like working with one of those skinny models who never eats and is totally lethargic. Everywhere we placed him, he would just curl up and try to go back to sleep. And then we met Henry, the hoppin’ toad. He was a tiny fella, but he had some quick legs. He was a little skittish at first, but after a few shots, he really warmed up to the camera - eventually posing like a diva. After getting all the shots we wanted, we headed inside for a drink.

As we continued to talk photography, we laughed about how interesting it was that back in the day, taking a picture of a person, place, or thing was like freezing time. That photo captured a moment and told a story about that moment. But today, photography is all about illusion. If you take a family picture at dusk on a cloudy day, with Mom’s new hair color gone horribly wrong, Bobby’s blemished face, Harry’s poor sense of style, Grandpa’s bad attitude, and baby Ira screaming like a banshee - no big deal!

You can change reality. “It was in the middle of the afternoon on a bright sunny day and the sun brought out all the natural highlights in Mom’s hair. Bobby looks like a model, Harry’s shirt actually matches his pants, Grandpa was happy that day, and sweet baby Ira slept through the whole thing. Oh, and our dog, Scooter rose from the dead that day just to be with us. It was a glorious day!”

All that illusion talk reminded Patty of the crazy photo capabilities on her Mac computer. We had some serious fun distorting reality. I’m happy to say, that even on my worst day, I don’t look that bad. (That goes for Patty too!)

My Nieces and Nephews Help Convict Me

2008-08-04T18:44:00.006-06:00

Unbeknownst to me, last Sunday was “Aunt’s Day”. Leave it to my sweet baby sister to not only know this, but honor it. On my way to a friend’s house Saturday, I decided to get the mail before I left the driveway. Inside, was a box addressed to me from my sister – yeh – I love surprises! I opened the box immediately to see what was inside. She had sewn me a cool backpack using funky green fabric I had picked out, a CD on Photography, and a CD marked, “Happy Aunt’s Day, 2008”. Little did I know, that CD contained evidence that would later help convict me.

The friend I went to visit lives on fifteen acres and had invited me to come and take pictures of her beautiful blooming gardens. This friend is also a Naturopath, who I plan to see professionally to help me stay healthy. We have known each other for years and I think it’s safe to say that she is the more disciplined one. We don’t see each other very often, but when we do, she quite often jokes about my sweet tooth and its potential effect on my health. I tell her that I rarely eat the stuff, but I’m never sure that she believes me.

I am so excited about the CD, that the moment I arrive at her house, I ask that we watch it. I’m expecting a music slideshow, so I sit back and relax. Well, there WAS a wonderful slideshow, but that was just the beginning of the entertainment. I have 18 nieces and nephews and my sister had arranged for each of them to stand in front of the camera and tell me how much they loved me and why. Adorable, right? Well, it was very sweet and touching and it would have been perfect, except EVERY SINGLE KID from ages 3-18 started their love confession by saying, “ I love your chocolate, I love eating ice cream at your house, you’re the best dessert maker ever, etc.” EVERY ONE OF THEM convicted me right there in front of my friend, the Naturopath!

It was like going to an AA meeting, proclaiming to be sober and then having all of your best friends stand up and talk about all the fun you had drinking last night. My friend was completely enjoying this moment, as I tried to defend myself, but she wasn’t buying it. Why should she? She had a school bus full of witnesses testifying on camera that what they loved about me first and foremost, was that I shared my sugar habit with them.

Guilty!

I Must Choose Self Checkout!

2008-08-03T12:33:00.002-06:00

I had to make a quick stop at the grocery store today for a few oddball items. When I had everything I needed, I headed to the check out. I’ve become a self-checker-outer over the years, so I rarely notice whether real, live, breathing cashiers are even open for business. I don’t know that I even look to see, but today as I walked by the human cashiers, I accidentally made eye contact with one of them – shoot – and she was very much, “open for business“. I’m telling you, she was begging me with her eyes to let her check me out. I felt terrible walking past her, as I made my way to the self check out. I'm certain she felt rejected – I’ve just chosen to do business with a computer screen instead of her smiling face. In choosing self check out, I’m essentially saying, “Even though I’ve never been trained to do this job, I feel confident that I can scan and bag these groceries better and faster than you can. Yes, I know you’re being paid to do this job, but I’m choosing the extra work for myself".

What‘s next? I’m gonna go to my mechanic’s garage, ask to use his lift, just so I can change my own oil? Or maybe, I’ll use the fancy swivel chair and scissors at the Salon to cut my own hair, while my stylist drinks his tea. Better yet, I’ll manipulate my own spine, right there in front of the chiropractor as he experiences a complete freak out – ‘cause he will!

In my defense, besides the health food stores, most grocery cashiers simply aren’t friendly. If you’re lucky enough to get a teenage person, you’ll actually get to experience what it’s like to feel invisible. At Whole Foods, they’re happy to converse with you while bagging your lettuce on top of everything, but back at the old grocery store, they chomp their gum and drop everything you purchased that day, smack dab on top of your five dollar fresh raspberries! Unacceptable!

I feel bad choosing technology over people, but I’ve experienced too much rejection over the years, and I just can’t put my produce at risk anymore. I must choose self-check-out!

Gotta Get To Canada! Gotta Beat The Snow!

2008-08-01T21:02:00.003-06:00

I’m trying to book a flight to Canada to visit one of my best friends, but the flights are really pricey! I’ve got to get there soon because winter will be here before we know it, and I’m not going to Canada in the winter. My friend promises that the winter skiing is wonderful, but I don‘t care. Besides the fact that I don’t leave my home when it’s cold and snowing to travel to places where it’s also cold and snowing, I don’t ski terribly well.

I went on a New Year’s Eve ski trip fifteen years ago in Michigan. I had never skied before, but I wasn’t even concerned. I was naturally athletic and assumed that I would pick it up quickly. I assumed wrong.

Things started out bad right from the start. I couldn’t even walk in a straight line with those skis on. I took one step with my left ski. And then the right ski, attempting to step forward, would actually cross over the left ski. I had to tell my brain to pick up my foot and move it off the left ski. I took another step and then the right ski crossed the left ski again. I felt like I was learning to walk all over again.

After what seemed like an hour later, I finally reached the bunny hill, where my friend and her fiance’ were patiently waiting for me. They said a few trips down the bunny hill and I would be ready to go – great! I wasn’t looking too graceful on any of my runs, but they assured me that the best thing to do was to “Just Do It“. Ohhhkay!

We make it to the ski lift and the three of us jump on a seat together – me in the middle. As we make our way up the hill I realize that this ride never stops. If I don’t jump off this seat at just the right time, I’m going to get stuck on this ride, so I needed to be ready to jump. As we neared the top, I anticipated the perfect moment to dismount. Unfortunately, I pushed off against my friends so hard in my attempt to get out, that I literally pushed them back on and they were unable to exit the ride – oops!

So, there I am – standing at the top of this hill with only one way to get down. “Just Do It” they had said. So, I pointed my skis toward the bottom of the hill and off I went. WOW! I picked up some serious speed, which kind of freaked me out. I suddenly realized how moronic this whole idea was. “Just Do It?” Just do what? Fly down a mountainous hill at lightening speed wearing shoes that are longer than I am tall? Or, throw myself on the ground in an attempt to lessen the impact I was about to have with a pack of innocent “real” skiers waiting in line for the lift? OR, lose a ski in the middle of this joy ride and be forced to crawl up the hill one fingernail at a time to retrieve it, as ski lift riders enjoy a bird’s eye view of my natural athletic ability? I was exhausted. Was it time for lunch yet? Little did I know, that was just the beginning of my long and embarrassing day in Michigan. I’ve said many times that I lost all my pride on that mountain – and it’s true.

I gotta get to Canada NOW while it’s still warm, so I can go hiking and and have lunch with a grizzly bear!

( I did go skiing again a few years later in Colorado and took some lessons. Who knew lessons could be so helpful?)

Workin' For The Sugar

2008-07-31T20:25:00.004-06:00

According to a new research study, refined sugar is far more addictive than cocaine -- one of the most addictive and harmful substances currently known. An astonishing 94 percent of rats who were allowed to choose exclusively between sugar water and cocaine, chose sugar. Even rats who were addicted to cocaine quickly switched their preference to sugar, once it was offered as a choice. The rats were also more willing to work for sugar than for cocaine.

I knew it! I knew it! I knew it!

It explains my powerlessness over the white stuff ( sugar). Oh, the stories I could tell…..one for every day of the year. I could set up a blog dedicated to the ridiculous stories of my off and on again addiction to sugar.

I’m actually a very healthy, organic, whole grain eater, who at one time taught classes on nutrition and herbs. But when I get an itchin’ for the tingles of sugar – watch out! Once, I bought a bag of caramels to make my annual caramel apples. I opened the bag to eat one, and ate the whole bag in two days. A couple years ago, I bought PopTarts on a whim. After eating one, I hid the rest of the box in the back of the cupboard. One morning when I found it hard to get out of bed, I remembered that I had those PopTarts. I nearly sprained my ankle tumbling down the stairs in my haste to get to them. And for my craziest trick ever, I ate almost an entire box of Lucky Charms in one night. Don’t Ever Do That! I’m not sharing any details – I just need you to trust me on this one!

My desire for the sweet stuff stems from childhood rebellion. I was not always allowed to have the sugar, so I made it my mission to get the sugar. My sister and I used to play house when we were children. We would sneak to the basement freezer and fill our tea kettles with mini-chocolate chips. Our mother thought we were just pretending to drink tea, but we were getting high on the sugar! Once, when I was in danger of being caught in the act of stealing the morsels, I ran with an obscene amount of mini chips rolled up in my shirt, from the basement to the bathroom – because no one can disturb you in the bathroom. My initial plan was to eat ALL the chocolate before leaving the room, but it proved to be too much, so I moved on to Plan B. Plan B ended in disaster because chocolate chips CANNOT be flushed down a toilet – who knew? And Plan C was all about hiding the evidence - which meant opening the bathroom window, tossing them outside, and hoping my father didn’t notice the chocolate valley that formed on the grass. Essentially, I was a little baby rat working hard for my sugar. But what’s my excuse now?

I like to believe I’m above the rats, because I wouldn’t work for sugar. But if I think about it - I go to work, I get paid money, and with that money, I buy me some sugar! Somebody stop me!!!

I'm No Speed Reader. I'm Gonna Be a Magician!

2008-07-29T18:14:00.002-06:00

I purchased the latest version of Elements Photoshop a few weeks ago and could barely wait to get it installed. Oh, the magic I was going to create.
Installation was completed without any problems, but operating the program proved to be a bit more difficult. Within minutes I felt completely overwhelmed and under qualified. I quickly reached for it’s box, searching for the owner’s manual. There was none. What?! No owner’s manual? That’s like giving a kid a new board game without instructions. “Here Dick and Jane – here’s the cards, the pawns, the wheel, and the dice – go play! Oh, and don’t forget to set up the special spinning Ferris wheel in the center – I think it’s an integral part of the game, but who knows?!”

I find myself staring at the screen, selecting options and nothing happening. How do I create magic without knowing the secret tricks? I come to the painful conclusion that this was going to take lots of practice – SHOOT! I had been here before.

About ten years ago, I watched this infomercial on Speed Reading. Wow! This man said you could read a book in like four minutes. Well, I was a big reader at the time – mostly educational, in the subjects of nutrition, health, alternative medicine, etc. To think that I could sit down one night and read book after book in a few short hours was mind blowing. It seemed too good to be true, but if it was true, I would be brilliant! This man said that we are capable of reading left to right AND right to left, meaning backwards and forwards. We can even read up to four lines at one time! Amazing! I was sold. A mere $150 later and I was the proud owner of the Magic Speed Reading kit. I read everything thoroughly and then excitedly pulled out a book to read. Things did not go as I planned. Shocker! Call me stupid if you must, but I thought once I read through the magic material I would be an official speed reader. I was wrong. Apparently, these techniques take lots and lots of practice. I actually practiced for awhile and I sort of got the hang of it, but I felt like it was straining my brain, which left less energy to comprehend the books I wanted to read. So, that fancy class is currently sitting on my shelf, next to all the books I’ve read – one line at a time. Someday, when I’m eighty and I got the time, I’m gonna be a Speed Reader! For now, I’m going to learn how to do magic – photo magic that is!

Criminal On The Loose!

2008-07-28T17:45:00.003-06:00

So, I’m heading off to work today, when I approach the stoplight at the edge of the subdivision. The light is red, so I stop, naturally. I wait. I wait. I wait. I wait as cars continue to drive through the green light as I sit at my red light. I wait. I watch the minutes tick by as I wait and I wait.

So, what’s going on? Is there an honest malfunction in the wiring? Is this a test – is there a cop hiding in the bushes ready to pounce if I decide to break the law? OR, is Dateline doing a story on whether you would do the right thing regardless of the circumstances? “We tested 100 people sitting at a red light that never turned green. Would they actually break the law just because they got impatient? Watch Dateline Tuesday and find out!”

I ran all these scenarios through my head as I sat and waited. I found myself preparing my defense if I got caught running this red light. But could I defend such action? Red means stop and green means go. This is as true as the sky is blue and the sun is yellow. But C’mon! At what point do I stop being a good law-abiding citizen and become the idiot who sat at a malfunctioning red light for an hour and ten minutes?

Feeling like a child learning to safely cross the street, I looked both ways three times for oncoming cars and upward for helicopter police. When the coast was clear, I darted out into the intersection taking a sharp left turn and waited for the police sirens to sound. They never did.

Look at me! Look at me! I’m a criminal running free………...

Sun + Rain = Tomatoes, Right?

2008-07-27T08:46:00.007-06:00

There’s no farmer girl in me. My dad grew up on a farm and we actually lived in the country on an acre. Growing up, Dad raised chickens only to chop their heads off and make us children pluck their feathers. I tell my father that any emotional upset I experience in my life can be traced back to that trauma – he just laughs. But I wonder sometimes if the reason I prefer eating chocolate over chicken has something to do with the headless chickens I defeathered as a child.

My Dad also had the biggest and best garden around. He planted everything himself and us children only stepped in when it was time to can or freeze something. When I went to start my own garden 8 years ago, I just assumed I was genetically inclined to be the master gardener my father was. Seriously, if you watch the news at all these days, you realize everything is genetic, right? Wrong! I was totally clueless. Luckily, my father gave me great advice on how to make my garden work and helped me get things started. We took my clay dirt and mixed in horse, cow, chicken, and goat manure. We tilled in good soil, nutrients and peat moss, and as a result, my garden has done quite well over the years. This spring we had the soil tested and when the results came back, I was happy to hear that everything tested superb –yeh! My garden was going to ROCK this year!

Everything started out good with my new strawberry plants producing scrumptious berries. Of course, I had a freak-out when the birds started feasting on them. I was out there like a mad scientist stapling mesh to the garden’s perimeter, leaving no entry possible for the birds. Ever since then, it’s been downhill. I don’t know, maybe it’s the sun or the live-giving rain that my plants have a problem with. Tommy the tomato has been the biggest disgrace to my garden. I chose him to be the centerpiece of my garden this year and he has let me down big time. I planted Pippie, a runt of a red pepper plant, and he has grown one inch – ONE – in two months! I did pull off three tiny cherry tomatoes this morning, so luckily I’ll have something for lunch today.

I guess I’ll have to count on the kindness and generosity of friends and neighbors to feed me this year. My friend, Jen has already given me squash – yum – my brother, lots of lettuce, and a patient brought me a bag of cucumbers, so I’ll be okay. I’m just disappointed in my crop this year. Next year, I’m gonna plant myself some sugar!

What Am I Watching For?

2008-07-25T17:39:00.003-06:00

So, I had a talk with God last night. I know it’s best to let God do the talking, but sometimes I just feel the need to have my say. I like to let God know what I think of what’s been happening in my life and where I would like my life to go. So, I mentally pulled out the big outline of my life and did a check list – marking off the things that have happened and making note of the things that I would still like to have happen and of course, when these great things will happen. Every once in awhile, I like to check on the status of the order I placed for my husband. We all know how some things can get lost and delivery can be delayed. I’ve suggested a tracking system – like UPS uses – but God says that He knows exactly where he is and he’ll show up when the time is right. Ohhhkay.

BUT, if I don’t know when he’s coming, then how do I know I won’t miss him. Seriously, I’ve been given zero details on the guy. I don’t know if he’s tall or freckled or missing two of his toes. Is he Russian or Australian, or God forbid, Canadian? Is he a Buddha Boy, because that would certainly make life interesting for the Catholic girl in me? What kind of party is God planning for me? Is he sending me a clone of myself to keep life calm and serene, or is he going to rock my world with a man who challenges me everyday?

I know that whoever he is, he’s gonna love me. He’ll be my best friend, who makes me laugh more than anyone. I know he’ll get my sense of humor and think I’m really cool. I know he’ll appreciate all the qualities in me that make me who I am and treat me with great respect. I know we will have lots and lots of fun together. These things I know, because everybody deserves love like that. It’s the way God intended it. But, what package is this love coming in? Is he a good dresser – because I barely like to shop for myself – I can’t be his personal stylist. Does he like to mow the lawn, because I would love to give that job away!

I guess I just have a few questions and the older I get, the more questions I have. Is he a plumber? Because I’m constantly having problems with my toilets and that would really be convenient! Orrrrr, a millionaire – then we could just have a plumber on staff! See, I got ideas. I just don’t know if God and I are on the same page. I must say that I’m very intrigued and I look forward to meeting this prince. (You never know – he could be a real prince!) Either way, I’m choosing to keep an open mind and trust God with this decision.

I just want to say that had I known it would take this long to make the “perfect” man, I wouldn’t have ordered one!

Could YOU Stop Traffic?

2008-07-24T21:04:00.005-06:00

As I cleaned out my studio room, I came across some old pictures, and by old, I mean nearly twenty years old. There were photos from a Florida trip I took with my high school friends right after graduation. Besides the 80’s hair and vampire make-up, we looked totally the same as we do now. Well, almost the same. I think our bodies have changed just a tiny bit.

I came across a picture of myself in a bikini. I was standing there next to a palm tree and I looked as though I were uncomfortable in my own skin. As I looked at the photo I couldn’t believe how good I looked in that suit! I’m not saying I would’ve stopped traffic or anything, but one or two cars may have slowed down and caused a minor fender bender. Then I thought to myself, what teenage girl who’s really active and eats brown rice and prunes for breakfast doesn’t look good in a swimsuit? The sad part was, I remember exactly how self conscious and thick I felt in that picture – so sad. Looking at the photo now, I can’t believe I saw myself that way. Seriously, did I even own a mirror?

This got me thinking. Women are really hard on themselves – painfully and pathetically so. If I couldn’t see myself as the super model that I was back then, then maybe I was being too hard on myself now. So, I ran to the closet, and dug out all the swimsuits I never wanted to wear outside the confines of my own backyard and decided to try them on. As I’m putting the first one on, I’m thinking to myself, “I bet I’ve still got a killer body. I’ve just looked at this body of mine with too critical of eyes, but now I’m ready to see the real me through loving and accepting eyes.

I walked up to the mirror and OUCH! – it wasn’t pretty. “Obviously, this is one of those unflattering suits,” I said to myself. “Some suits just aren’t made well – I don’t even know why I keep this one.” Then I tried on the coral suit. Did you know that coral is not a flattering color? That’s right. They shouldn’t even sell it to women. Oh, and did you also know that if you’re wearing a one piece suit, it is not advisable to wear one with thick vertical stripes? Why, you ask? I’ll tell you why. Because those stripes expand as your midsection expands, which means when you breath, it breathes – terribly unattractive! And those tank bikinis are a total scam! They are unforgiving and even the smallest of muffin tops can squeeze their way through the cracks. Oh, and let’s not forget the suit with the built-in bra designed to add volume in the areas we actually want it. I just love it when the cups get dents in them – nothing more feminine than a dented bosom.

Ahhhhhh…...

I’m sure today, I still see myself with too critical of eyes. And yet, I’m confident that my current body would not stop traffic - at least, not for the reasons I would like, and I’m OK with that. I’m thinking that I should have appreciated and celebrated myself more when I was twenty. And twenty years from now, I don’t want to look back and wish I would have appreciated where I am and who I am right now. I choose to see all the good things about myself that really matter and celebrate that!

Besides, I’m rarely in the water! My best swim technique is the doggie paddle and my body sinks like lead when I try to float, so what am I doing in a bikini anyhow - trying out for Miss America? Yeh right!

Meet George

2008-07-22T21:09:00.003-06:00

Since I don’t have much to say today, I thought I would let George introduce himself.

Hello everyone. My name is George and I’ve lived with Sheri for over a year now. As you’ve probably already noticed, she’s a little goofy, but she’s all I got. She treats me well and hugs me daily, which is nice. She lets me run around upstairs from room to room for exercise, but rarely lets me in her bedroom ever since I chewed up her curtains really good. She also gets frustrated when I hide under the bed and she can’t reach me. One time, she jumped on the bed from corner to corner like an idiot thinking the subtle up and down movement of the bed would chase me out into the open, but the joke was on her – as usual. I spend most of my afternoons napping and the evenings are usually reserved for exploring. She feeds me well and I’ve never gone more than 2-3 days without water before she realizes that I’m dry. It’s OK. Since I can’t bark or squeal, like a normal animal, I just try to give her a special look that says, “I’m dying over here!” and she usually catches on. She definitely has a hard time reading my moods. She tells people that I wear the same expression on my face all the time, but that’s simply not true – she just doesn’t see the subtle changes. One morning she greeted me with, “You look happy today, George. What are you so happy about?” And I’m like, “Happy?! Are you even looking at my face? I am clearly having a bout with depression today.” But she just smiles at me like a buffoon as if everything is honky dorry. Then on the days that I’m feeling a little zippy and spry, she’s like, “What’s wrong Georgie – is somebody grumpy today?” And I’m like, “Lady, you ARE crrrrrrazy!”

But she loves me so I put up with her.

Most of the time I feel safe and protected with Sheri. However, there was that one time in the summer, when I was outside in my play prison and a huge groundhog came up and peered in and scared the sh#@ out of me. I really thought that ugly thing was going to eat me – fur and all. Just as my life was flashing before me, a sexy little squirrel came bouncing out of nowhere, did a little dance, caught the hog's eye and boom – he was off and running! And then one time, one of her nieces that has the biggest brown eyes I’ve ever seen on a child, was trying to get me to eat a carrot. Apparently she thinks we chew with our nose ’cause that’s the hole she was shoving it in. Luckily, little Rosie doesn’t live with Aunt Sheri!

I hear Sheri talking about getting a dog and I’m not really keen on that idea. I’m really hoping it’s all talk…….

Who's Laughing Now?

2008-07-21T20:02:00.004-06:00

I need to shop for work clothes, but I don’t want to. On my days off I don’t think about work, so I don’t think about shopping for work. Each morning while choosing my attire for the day, I regret not shopping the day before. Today however, I pulled out a pair of Old Navy khakis and wondered why I hadn’t worn them for a while. “Who cares?“ I thought, as a little wave of joy passed through me, "I'm gonna be sportin' a new look today". I ironed them with perfect creases and excitedly put them on. I walked up to the mirror and then it hit me – the reason I never wear them - the unattractive hug in the buttock area. They feel comfortable enough, but they hold on to the butt skin a little too tight. Feeling frustrated – I resign myself to wearing the same pants I wore last week.

And then, the light bulb moment happened.

I raced to the closet and pulled out two t-shirts. I folded up the first one and stuffed in down the right backside of my pants. Then I did the same thing with the other t-shirt on the left side. My pants were cotton, so I figured they just needed a little encouragement to stretch out. I walked around like this for about five minutes while I continued getting ready. When I finally walked past a mirror again, I did a double take. All I could think was, “I like big butts and I cannot lie…..” (That’s the only line I know from the song) Suddenly feeling ridiculous, I quickly pulled the shirts out of my trousers. But then, as I looked in the mirror again, I realized, “IT WORKED!” Sure, it was a silly way to stretch out my pants, but it’s hard to argue with results. As proud as I was of myself and my brilliant idea, I still felt like there was room for improvement. So, I repacked the trousers with the shirts and added a second step to the process – squats. I figured a healthy set of 25 squats would add just enough tension to the cotton for better stretch results, and I was right! Ha!

I may have looked a little ridiculous this morning, but I looked good ALLL day long, so who’s laughing now?

In-Car Concerts and Sound Checks

2008-07-20T21:17:00.003-06:00

While making the drive home from my sister’s house after watching her 5 munchkins for the weekend, I found myself getting a little sleepy. My remedy for sleepy driving is the In-Car concert, where you really get into the music and sing with lots of feeling. I know teenagers do it, but I rarely see other age groups singing passionately while driving. I think most people sing along quietly to the music while they’re driving, whether they can carry a tune or not, because really, who can hear them? I know I’m no Superstar, but I’m not all that bad either. After all, I was a member of my church choir for 10 years and they didn’t let just anybody in. You had to meet certain criteria – most specifically, you had to have finished the 2nd grade. That’s right, you had to be a 3rd grader before you earned a seat in the balcony of the church that overlooked everyone and everything. (Talk about distracting! When I started losing my 20/20 vision in the 7th grade, I spent the first half of Mass trying to identify the server boys by gait and body type alone. I got really good at it! I should have found a way to make a career out of that!) We were a tiny parish, so we made due with the talent that we had. My mother was the choir director and my older sister, the organist, so in all fairness, I could’ve had the voice of a toad and still probably made the cut. Still, I know I don’t scare away birds when singing outside and I manage to sing babies to sleep with my lullabies, so I think I can carry a tune OK. Sometimes though, I fall prey to the illusion that I’m better than I am. I have the volume up so loud that I really think I’m singing in tune with the artist. Sometimes to check myself, I take an empty CD case and hold it like an open book real close to my face. I sing into one side of the case and my voice bounces from there to the other side of the case, allowing me to hear my own voice. Reality can be harsh sometimes, but other times I find myself pleased with what I hear. Having one of these “sound checks” is no big deal during nighttime driving, because nobody can see you. But on a bright sunny day like today, holding up an empty CD case so close to your face as if it’s stuck there, can draw some attention from fellow drivers. Admittedly, sometimes I feel self-conscious, so I quickly pull it away from my face and act as if I’m reading the inside label – because that’s safe while speeding down the highway. But then I think to myself, “We’re all doing 80 on this interstate – when will I ever see these people again?” And actually, today I noticed many out-of-state license plates on the road, which means lots of boring driving time for these people. The way I see it, I may have given them a great conversation starter. Who knows?

Try the CD case trick sometime and ask yourself, “What would Simon say?”

Procrastination Can Be Dangerous

2008-07-18T05:39:00.001-06:00

I’m heading to my sister’s this weekend to watch her five beautiful and spunky children while they attend a weekend retreat. I’m looking forward to spending time with her four girls, 1,4, 7, and 9, and her little man, who’s 3. They’re an energetic crew with wonderfully diverse personalities. As I start packing tonight for the wild adventure, I remember that my eyeglasses are broken. I wear contacts, but I don’t have the kind I can sleep in, so I usually remove them before bed and wear my glasses from the bathroom to the bedroom and vice versa in the morning. Well, while in Italy this February, I went to put my glasses on and all the screws spontaneously came loose and the glasses crumbled in my hand. This was unfortunate. I thought to myself, “I’ve definitely got to get that fixed as soon as I get home.” As I said, that was back in February and today is – Wow – July! Where does the time go? Every night for 5 months now, I’ve gone to bed legally blind. It concerns me that if my house caught fire or lightening struck it, I would most likely be bouncing off walls and falling down stairs just trying to save myself. Not a pretty picture. Because I have procrastinated in getting this small task accomplished during the daytime, I find myself asking God in the nighttime, to keep me safe and grant me the gumption during the waking hours to get off my butt and get my glasses fixed. Now, on this upcoming weekend with the five munchkins, I’m flirting with a different kind of disaster. Each morning, I’ll be awakened in the wee hours with anywhere from 2-10 eyeballs staring at me, but all I‘ll see is mounds of brown wavy hair. I won’t know if there are 4 of them on the bed, or just two of them. There may not be a fire or lightening strike, but if word gets out among the youngsters that auntie can’t see them, there’s no telling what’s gonna go down.

I think I’m going to tape up my glasses…...

Shouldn't Grass Just Grow?

2008-07-16T22:28:00.004-06:00

Shouldn’t Grass Just Grow?
When I became a homeowner 8 years ago, I never could have imagined that growing grass would be such an ordeal. I certainly never thought I would pay someone to make it grow faster, so I could mow it more often, but this is what I do. The first year in my house, I figured all the dandelions could be plucked by hand – oh yeah, all the men in the neighborhood had a good laugh at that for sure. Me, out there pulling each dandelion one by one, as the remaining root underground laughs and mocks me, as it plans it’s return within the week. I used to mow the lawn every week because the weeds needed it, not the grass. When I realized the clay earth that my grass was trying to live and grow in, did not acknowledge the use of my natural and organic fertilizers, I had to call for help and this is when my tumultuous relationship with Lawn Care companies began.

I hired them because I needed them, but they didn’t treat me right. They would come over unannounced and they didn’t listen very well so, I would break up with them. But when the next spring rolled around, my lawn looked like I had intentionally seeded it with dandelions. I felt like I had no choice but to call the Lawn Company and ask for their help again. This time, I laid down some ground rules. “You work for me”, I said. Things started out OK, but before I knew it, I was waking up on my day off to the sound of a truck’s motor outside my house. They were not invited today, so I shoot out of bed wearing pajamas that no one but me and the mirror should see, and I run out the back patio door yelling, “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” The poor gentleman stands there speechless – probably thinking, “who dresses that girl?” I realize this man is just following orders, so I change my tone. I politely explain that I did not order this treatment and I don’t intend to pay for it. He apologizes for the misunderstanding and I apologize for my attire and all is forgiven. The next day, I break up with his company. I called on a new company this year, and after 3 treatments, my lawn looks like I set it on fire. I don’t know what to do. Every time I mow my lawn, I look down on my poor grass that doesn’t seem to know how to grow and think to myself, “Shouldn’t grass just grow?”
Shouldn’t it?

Magic Moments

2008-07-16T20:09:00.003-06:00

Magic moments come in the most unexpected places, don’t they? I had a patient today that I wasn’t entirely thrilled to see, because I never know how to take her. Sometimes she requires a lot of my energy, but not today. Out of nowhere, she started discussing photography of all things. After the shut-out I experienced yesterday with photo classes, here she is in my office, spouting off loads of useful information in regards to classes and opportunities. In the midst of listening to her and thinking how ironic this moment was, I heard her mention something about my husband. “WHAT? I don’t have a husband.”
Now it was her turn, “What?! I thought you were married!”
“Nope. Not yet, but soon.” Turns out, all this time she assumed I was married, but now that she knows the truth, “I’ve got a man for you! He’s the vice-principal at our school and you should meet him.” My interest peaked for two reasons:

One – She used the word, nice, to describe him ONLY after she already used 5 or 6 other adjectives; such as well rounded, handsome, liked by kids and adults alike, creative, cultured, and tall. I have a weird issue with the word “nice” ever since I heard a priest give the most enlightening sermon on the word. It’s such a lame word that feels so generic. When people try to set me up with a man and all they got is “He’s nice” I want to say, “Heck, throw in a pulse and a full head of hair, and you got yourself a deal!”

Two – his last name following my first name sounds like a circus performer – how fun is that?! It sounds something like, Gracie Gooey, or Shirley Shooey – what a hoot! Whatever comes of the VP, my conversation with “Betty Sue” was a reminder that surprises are everywhere, and you never know who will perk up your day. Thanks Betty Sue!

Seriously...How About Some Change?

2008-07-14T20:52:00.002-06:00

Ok, so I’m obviously looking for change in my life and up to very recently, didn’t know how to get it. Finally, I had an epiphany and realized how much I love taking pictures and how I would love to be a master at taking them. I’ve been tossing around the idea of buying a Digital SLR camera and taking some classes. I think about it every day, actually. I was convinced this was the right route for me, so I decided to act swiftly.

I looked online for classes and found that a 6-week course that I was interested in, was starting in TWO days. I haven’t ordered my camera yet, but I decided that little detail was irrelevant. Of course, attending a class on Digital SLR cameras, while all I have is a Power Shot Elph is like showing up for a spinning class wearing a dress. Sure, it can be done, but who does that? Apparently I do, because as far as I was concerned, if my schedule at work allowed me to get out the door on time to get to that class, I was in.

So today, I found that with my schedule, it would be tight – but doable –yeh! I go home at lunch to sign up and when I enter the website and click on ‘classes‘, it’s like I’ve entered a totally different site than yesterday, which is not a good thing, because this site shows no classes in my area. I’m like, “WHAT?!” I check and recheck and no matter how many times I click the tab, I get the same results – amazing, huh?

I dial up that store looking for answers and poor Brian had no clue what was going on. After several minutes on hold, he informs me that apparently in the last 12 hours they decided all the classes were being revamped and were not available to take at this time. WHAT? what? C’mon God, work with me! Pleeeeeeeeeease work with me……

Fine. I’ll change something else. It just so happens I bought paint today to repaint my studio room, so I‘ll change that! I went with my instincts and just picked a color. I was so excited to be making decisions and getting things done. So, I start painting the room. No, I don’t prep before I paint - I just move furniture as needed. I don’t lay drop cloths, I don’t cover anything, and I don’t tape – I live dangerously like that. Anyway, I start rolling this paint on the wall and I can barely tell the new paint from the old. WHAT? How can that be? I’m painting a Pearl Onion Green over a Buttercup or Egg Yolk Yellow ( I don’t remember) - how can they look the same? So, I continue to paint in denial. I roll and roll down the wall, until I am interrupted by someone at my door. No, I don’t want to be a Jehovah’s Witness. I’m Catholic – I’ve already got my ticket into heaven………...kidding!
I fix myself something to eat while downstairs – all part of my plan to separate myself from the room for awhile, so I can return with a new perspective. Well, I could have eaten breakfast, lunch, and dinner down there and those walls would still prove that green can look just like yellow. I felt like I had just shredded $45 while sniffing paint fumes – what a waste!

This was obviously not a day for change. This was a day for reminders on how God works in mysterious ways – very mysterious in my life – very mysterious…..

Honestly, what was I thinking - painting my walls with Pearled Onion? Who does that?

Seriously...When will I learn?

2008-07-13T13:17:00.002-06:00

So, I went to the mall today. I don’t like the mall. I don’t like it’s energy. I prefer stores that stand on their own. But I went to the mall b/c sometimes you need new clothes and this is one of those times. I was scoping out dresses for a wedding coming up and WOW are they expensive! I tried on a few beauties, but none of them hugged my curves right. Don’t get me wrong – they hugged me – they just hugged me unattractively. Every woman in the world knows what it means to be hugged unattractively in a dressing room. Well, one of these hot little numbers wasn’t going over my head very easily and I knew that was trouble, but I pushed on. I just had to get it past my big bony shoulders and it would be fine, I told myself. Surprise, surprise, surprise….it was TIGHT! Instantly, I knew I was in a bad situation. I had been here before – several times, unfortunately.
Years ago, I had a Halloween party to attend and wearing a costume was strongly encouraged. Being creative like I am, you would think creating a costume would be easy, but my brain stalls every Halloween. So, I’m in Kohl’s, and I see this Giraffe costume. Granted, it’s in the kiddie section because it’s for a kid, but it was that cool type of costume that slid over your head and wore like a coat, where the hood is the giraffe’s head. My niece had a lion costume just like it and I had tried it on just a few weeks earlier simply to amuse her. Of course, this giraffe was one size smaller than the lion had been, but it couldn’t make that much of a difference, could it?
It could. It did. Let’s just say, I had just about come to terms with the idea that I was going to re-enact the Incredible Hulk rip-and-tear-your-shirt-off scene and pay for a destroyed giraffe’s costume, when God decided to have mercy on me and free me without harm to myself or the giraffe. Thank You, God! Believe it or not, I did find that costume in one size larger at another location, bought it, and went as the stupidest looking Giraffe to my friend’s party. I know what you’re thinking – this is why she’s single – but there were no single men at this party, so that can’t be the reason.
Several years later, while at Ann Taylor of all places, I was trying on a beautiful white blouse. It too, tried to warn me that it was too small for my frame, but I didn’t listen. And when the panic hit me this time, it was a little more intense. Somehow, I knew the degree of embarrassment would be much worse at Ann Taylor’s. As I crossed my arms and tried with all my might to tug the shirt upward, I started to sweat a little. But then, right before I called out to one of the fancy Ann Taylor ladies to have her cut me from this blouse, I felt something metal on my side – a zipper. A zipper! They put a zipper in the side of this blouse, so dorks such as me can free ourselves without any outside assistance. Praise the Lord! I love new discoveries!
But back to the mall and my current dilemma. This dress had no zipper, I wasn’t feeling God’s mercy, and it was near closing time. I told myself that I had been here before, and I had always managed to free myself, so I just needed to chill out and calm down. As the pep talk continued in my head, I twisted and wiggled and squirmed until I had successfully worked the dress right off my body – Ta Daaaa!

I would say that I’ve learned my lesson, but…….

I'm Taking Charge!

2008-07-12T19:16:00.001-06:00

Early this spring, I decided that even though I’m strong enough and young enough to mow my football-field sized yard with a simple push mower and my calf muscles, I would gladly accept the gift from a friend in the form of his used self propelled mower. I saw no reason to drop $400 on a piece of yard equipment if a friend is offering his up for free.
Can I just tell you that mowing with a self propelled mower has been the greatest joy of my summer? (Yea, my summer’s been a real party!) Even though I decided to join the ranks of other lazy lawnmowers, I still kept my old Lawn Machine mower in the garage, just in case this LawnBoy got upset that I decided he didn’t need a $100 tune-up after sitting dormant in a garage for 2 years, and quit working for me.
Well today was the day. Mr. LawnBoy showed no signs of life as I attempted to start him. Sure, he sputtered a bit, but it was pathetic, really. I pulled and pulled that cord with near zero response. I walked away. I pulled a few weeds, took a deep breath, and walked right back up to Mr. LawnBoy. After many more attempts to start his engine, I came up with a new plan. That’s right, I rolled out the old Lawn Machine hoping to challenge Mr. LawnBoy. Well, the joke was on me, because the Lawn Machine decided he wasn’t working on a Saturday either.
So here I am, Miss strong and independent woman, standing in my driveway, working over two dirty, beat-up, sluggish lawnmowers. At one point, I got on my knees and really checked things out. When I say checked things out, I mean wiping away oily grass that had collected over the summer, wiggling wires and plugs, turning it on it’s side – all the things you do when you have no idea how a machine operates. All I know, is that I’m supposed to pump that little bubble three times and then pull the cord. So, as I pull the cord on one mower, then the other, and then the other, I start to wonder if they would work better if I washed and waxed them like most men in the neighborhood – you know the ones I‘m talking about– they mow their lawn every four days in that fancy checkered pattern. I really hope that’s not it, ‘cause I’m not doing it.
I took a deep breath, pulled the cord on the old Lawn Machine and Vrooom...We Have A Winner! I walked away from Mr. LawnBoy in disgust as Lawn Machine and I made our way to the backyard. After I mowed the back, I went inside for a water break. When I walked back outside and stood before Mr. LawnBoy, I decided to give him a chance to redeem himself. I gave the rope one good tug and Vroooom….We are back in business!

I am woman – hear me roar!