Wednesday, December 22, 2010

Why I Still Believe

It's no surprise to those who know me that I'm a big fan of ole' SC, Saint Nicholas, Sinterklaas, Father Christmas, you get the idea. I've believed in Santa for... well, all of my life. By the time I was old enough to understand that my parents actually bought and set out the presents, it no longer mattered to me who Santa was. For a majority of my life, my parents struggled financially. There were times when they both worked two jobs and there were years at a time when my father worked his day job from 8-5 and then taught evening college 3-4 nights a week from 6-10. And there were many months when paying our lunch money seemed like an impossible task for them. But every year, Christmas brought magic to our otherwise unremarkable household. Christmas came bustling and jingling, parading and caroling right through our home each and every year. There was never a December 25th that came and went without the magic of Santa Claus! So it's no suprise that I've always expected my own children to believe in jolly old Saint Nick. Of course they've asked the age old question, "Is Santa really real?" And every year, my answer has been the same, "All of your life people are going to try and tell you what to believe. They'll tell you there's no Santa, no Easter Bunny, no Heaven or Hell. Some will even say there is no God. But it's up to you to decide what you believe." If you want to go to heaven, first you have to know it waits. If you want magic, you have to believe it's there, and you have to be willing to accept it when it appears.
This year has been especially difficult for our family financially. I haven't worked in over a year and we've had to budget every penny that's been spent, leaving very little for holidays or birthdays. It is not unlike many years I knew growing up. And so tonight as I went through a mental check list of my children's gifts, I remembered why I still believed in the magic of Santa. If it weren't for his giving spirit - this Patron Saint of children... my parents might not have been able to bring his magic to our home all those years ago. If it weren't for Sinterklaas, this year my husband and I might not have found that same magic in our home. So it's not the man himself who appears on Christmas morning, but what he stands for that never ceases to appear. The gifts we give afterall, are in remembrance of the gift of Christ. As we received, so may we give. Merry Christmas

Monday, October 25, 2010

Lesson Learned and a Pie in the Face!

Many moons ago I joined a group called Freecycle. The idea behind this online community is that "one man's trash is another's treasure" and so on and so forth. If you have something you probably want or need to throw away, list it and see if anyone in your freecycle community can come pick it up and use it. That way things like old furniture, computer monitors, vacuum cleaners, dining chairs, etc... don't wind up in landfills. Great concept right? So, I joined and have always secretly hoped for a fantastic set of book ends. But that's neither here nor there.

A few months ago the emails sent out through the freecycling group in my community got to be a bit extravagant in regard to requests for luxury items. Instead of people offering things, aside from the occasional kitten (because apparently the world needs more cats) people started begging for all sorts of things. One woman asked for a GPS, a window unit A/C, a laptop and some living room furniture. Not long after that another lady wanted a laptop and a car. Being the "set 'em straight and tell it like it is" bandit that I fancy myself to be, I decided to put a stop to it by sending a snarky email to the group telling them where they might find a map, access to a computer and a Goodwill. This of course prompted several other members of the group to jump on my bandwagon and send their own "hell yeah", "that's telling 'em" emails. Then... there were a couple of members (mainly the ones who asked for all the free shit) that didn't really like my approach. They thought I should quit being so judgemental because "you never know why someone is asking for the things they do or what kind of things go on in their life that make them ask for stuff". Several weeks passed and the "gimme" emails decreased significanly. YES!!! Errp... Not so fast... Before long we had more requests or rather, demands for things like bedroom furniture and a DSI with games and a charger and carrying case, "that are in good condition & not messed up". So! I sent another snipey email prompting yet another uproar from the group. And of course a few snippety reactions from the beggars. A few days later the moderator says enough, and life goes back to normal and the beggars return to begging and sure enough, another email goes out, only this time the woman wants living room furniture and toys for her daughter. I decided to get off my hump and go through my daughter's toys. I contacted the beggar the next day letting her know that I had several unopened dolls, Barbie doll houses and other toys in excellent condition and that I'd be happy to meet her to give them to her. She says ok and from that point on it was like wrestling an alligator to get her to confirm a time and place to meet. The next day I loaded up the back seat of my car with all of the toys I'd gathered and prepared to meet the woman we'll dub as "Carol". Carol called me 10 minutes before we were supposed to meet and says she's still at her doctor's appointment and can't make it. I suggested we meet at another time and again, we stall... I finally tell her that I can meet her at our designated spot the following day at 1:00 pm sharp. I arrive the next day a few minutes early. After waiting for twenty minutes I finally sent her a text asking if she still wanted the toys. She responded and said she was on her way. I waited an additional 25 minutes before giving up and telling her I couldn't wait any longer. I had many errands to run that day and had waited for over 45 minutes. A while later she started bombarding me with texts saying that her daughter was crying because she wanted the toys and that I needed to come back. I told her I was sorry but that I couldn't return because I had other obligations that day. She continued to try and lay the blame at my feet without a single apology for being late. Carol was ungrateful but still I considered setting another time to meet with her... But I thought better of it and just cancelled my freecylce membership. 

I suppose in the end, I got what I deserved. I decided to be the gun wielding sheriff of freecycle and wound up with a pie in my face. Sometimes it's better to keep silent and be thought a fool than to open your mouth and tell everyone you're a giant shit eating dumbass. I thought I could reason with and talk sense to people who have no sense. I thought I knew best and could set them straight. But my arrogance just got my blood pressure elavated and my Blackberry dinging! I didn't need the hassle or the drama of what I created and I sure as hell didn't need the guilt trip to Giver's World where Carol was a no-show!

My daddy always said "You can't REhabilitate someone who's never been habilitated to begin with." Wise words Don. Maybe next time before I open my big mouth (or email) I'll remember that.

But don't forget to Recycle!

Saturday, October 16, 2010

Who Do You Love?

Lately I've been thinking a lot about self esteem and what it actually means. It's the so-called love you have for yourself. But it's always been a blurry, grayish area for me. I believe in self love, absolutely. But I also know far too many people who suffer from high self esteem as opposed to the low. There must be a way to love yourself without being a self centered, ego maniacal douche bag who can only talk about how much better they are than everyone else around them. My own confidence took quite a hit when I couldn't run without excruciating pain and then found out I had stress fractures and had to stop running for a while. I felt like a failure... Like perhaps I should have tried harder to run through the pain and that I was using it as an excuse not to accomplish my goals. Sometimes it's hard to remember why I started all of this to begin with. I remember that it was for me, but aside from that I just don't know. I've gotten support from my husband who's always there to help me. He provides a lot of physical support (i.e. rides along beside me, gives me water, cold towels, times me, gives me distance readings, provides motivational support when I'm tired and want to quit) but he doesn't jump up and shout how great I am when I'm done. My parents and friends find my running interesting and will say "good for you" or "better you than me" but for the most part, don't really care. And honestly, why should they? This is MY dream, my goal, my legs.... So this leaves me wondering, when you don't have the verbal affirmations and support from people on your journey, is actually reaching the destination pointless because no one will care when you arrive except for you??? Or is this where self esteem plays it's role and you give yourself all of the support and congratulations you could ever want or need?

Most of the running blogs that I read are written by people who are either true athletes or are trying to lose weight. They chart progress, pounds, miles, days, diets, etc... The more athletic people write about their greater fitness goals, doing triathalons every day, mountain biking, trail hiking, surfing, running 40 miles a day, blah blah blah. I have nothing in common with any of those people. I don't diet, I don't need to lose a lot of weight (a few vanity pounds would be nice) and I'm never going to be an extreme athlete. I haven't joined any running support groups, I don't really chart my progress by any measurable standards and aside from a brief mention here and there, no one really knows how my running is going on a day-to-day basis. I don't have a niche or really fit in anywhere (long suffering problem of mine anyway) and so I feel "out in the cold" so to speak, in the running world. I am solely responsible for picking my own ass up and carrying it another ten feet when I feel like I can't go another step. It's me that makes me run. I have no audience, no followers, no crowd, no applause from anyone. So I guess running really is what I set out for it to be huh? For me. And while I definitely feel the solitude and a little bit of loneliness from time to time, it's kind of nice to know that it really is just about me. From what I can gather about self esteem, it doesn't really count if you're comparing yourself to people anyway. You can always look at someone and feel inferior; that's low self esteem. And you can look at someone else and feel like you're better; that's vanity. Loving yourself means not only loving who you see in the mirror, but mirroring that love back to those you might otherwise compare yourself with.

This truly is the journey of a lifetime.

Wednesday, September 22, 2010

In Your FACE!


I've always taken notice of the way women, young girls especially are objectified in everything from a Burger King commercial to a print add for lawn mowers. I'd like to be clear about something though... I am not a prude. I don't object to strip clubs, pornography, sex toys, toy stores, toy parties, penis cakes or birth control. I think consenting adults should be able to explore, enjoy and engage in whatever activities they deem fit. I've only ever had one rule: Don't use kids or animals. So, with that being said I'll get to my point.

I'm tired of seeing overly sexualized women in teensy shorts and cut off shirts sucking their finger while they water the grass as the tubby hubbies huff and puff past her lawn on foot on their way to Burger King. I'm sick of googling things like "dolphin cay" and getting a big fat picture of some 120 lb girl in a bikini, boob wrestling a fish. I'm sick to death of interviews with pin up girls who say that they like to eat hot wings and watch football on Sundays while they hang out with the boys because "really, I'm just a goofball and have always been considered one of the guys." I don't need giant breasts to sell me on a shampoo anymore than I need twinkies to sell me on a car. There is NO correlation between those things. I understand that "sex sells" and that's great. Let sex sell something that has to do with sex. If people who are selling sex want to look sexy then by all means, that's what they should do. If I go into an adult video store and want to know which one I should rent, chances are I'll look at the cover and make my determination based on who I'd like to see naked. I don't need some woman's rubber balls, size 38DD's in my face at a baseball game trying to peddle popcorn to my son. And I certainly don't need to see anymore crotch teasers on Girls Gone Wild video commercials. I realize that some girls go wild, Christina Aguilera and Britney Spears did it. Hell, even mall rat, Tiffany grew up and posed nude for Playboy. As far as I know there has never been a shortage of sex in the world. If all of a sudden, people stopped cold, NO MORE SEX! I might understand the need for all of the tantalizing imagery. But since strangers on Myspace are still offering it (at no charge I might add) I think the world is safe from bunny hunching extinction.

I have to raise a son and a daughter in this world and I hope to be able to instill in both of them that they are valuable. I want my daughter to love herself and never think that she has to display her body in order to obtain anything meaningful in her life. Not a job, a partner, attention or a damn dollar. She's amazing and brilliant and gifted and beautiful. And that had damn-well better be enough for any boy that comes near her!

I want my son to love himself and know that he's smart and kind and brave and strong. He will be enough for any woman with sense enough to understand that abusive jerks aren't worth their time. I never want either one of them to see this:
















and think it's anything other than a gimmick devised at grabbing their attention and pulling it away from what really matters when it comes to women. I don't take my son to Hooters and encourage him to "love the ladies" and enjoy the breasts. I don't sit him down to watch the Hawaiian Tropic contest and I'm not taking him to Mexico on Spring Break so he can participate in the gang rape of a girl who drank too damn much tequila. And if people don't think that perpetuating macho, piggish behavior in their little boys will aid in their growing up to become date rapists and womanizers then they're sadly mistaken. If our sons and daughters aren't taught how to behave and treat one another, then when they get older they'll make big mistakes... Some they might regret forever.

Everyone has a "button" I guess. And the over sexualization of women is one of mine. I detest the way women allow themselves to be portrayed and treated. And I despise the men who try to mold and shape their women into the Playboy images they grew up fantasizing to in their bathrooms. The women who let men do that to them are just as guilty. And as a man, if you don't like small breasts, little butts, big thighs, wide-set shoulders or short hair then don't date or marry someone with those features! It's just that simple. If you think that 9 months of growing another person in your body and then squeezing it out or having it cut out isn't going to change a few things on a woman's body, you're in for a shocker. And what in the hell gets into men anyway??? I know men who have these crazy images of what women are supposed to look like in their heads but in reality, they themselves look like shit. They have guts and their weight fluctuates (pretty badly). One of them has a huge nose, spaghetti hair and bad breath. Give me a break. I don't need someone judging me or telling me what to wear or what I need to have operated on. I need someone who tells me for 12 years straight that he'll divorce me if I get breast implants, he thinks everything about my body is amazing and that he wouldn't change a single thing. Because you know what? In spite of all of my imperfections and flaws, I believe the man. I pick myself apart and he puts me back together every single time. THAT is what makes us people. Not reproducing, indiscriminant, humping beasts with no soul... Although I could name a few "people" who fit into that category, but they're mostly on a tv show called The Jersey Shore.

Tuesday, September 14, 2010

The Race Within

So! I ran my first 5k with my best friend by my side. We had a great time and it was a wonderful first race for the both of us. I think we came away from it a little more comforfortable with the idea of doing even more races... It was certainly not my best time for 3.1 miles. My ankles caught fire about .3 of the way in and didn't let up until after the first mile. This is a fairly common problem for me but not generally to this degree. I have a lot of body pain on a regular basis because of the condition of my spine, neck and right hip. I have limitted range of motion and regardless of my painstaking warm-ups, I still feel very "crunchy" after I run. I push through it most of the time but on occasion I just sit back and whine like an obnoxious baby. All of that being said I was still immensely proud of myself and of Jenny. She showed an enormous amount of courage and steadfastness. I think we both needed one another for this race.

If there's anything that running has taught me, it's that I need to be kinder to myself. 2009 was not an easy year for me in many aspects (especially physically). When I started feeling better I made a promise to myself that when I was able, I would take advantage of it and not waste my capable body any longer. I've spent years mentally bashing myself for all the things I'm not. I've hated my thighs to the point that I'm actually surprised they haven't left me. I've beaten myself up over not being a perfect home maker, mother, wife, daughter, sister or not being organized, on top of things, perfect! I can ususally give myself a hard time over just about anything. But in the last few months that's started to change. I've slowly begun to realize that I can't be mean to the person I'm relying on to carry me over great distances. I can't pick on the body that, though it's in excruciating pain, still stumbles out of bed and bullies me down my city streets on foot. It's hard to dislike someone who's doing more than you thought they were capable of, and that person is me. I'm running a constant race. One that I know I'm never going to win, and that's alright. I want to keep running, to keep racing, pacing myself and absorbing my own rhythm. I want this struggle. I need the journey a hell of a lot more than I need to arrive.

Thursday, September 9, 2010

Beating the Bible

I grew up in the rural southeastern part of the United States. Georgia. Southern, middle Georgia to be more precise. We went to church (Methodist) every Sunday and sometimes on Wednesday. I also got to sample other churches by attending with friends of different denominations. I liked getting to see how other people worshiped. Sometimes it was solemn and ritualistic; sometimes it was down right scary, especially during revival week which I was always invited to attend because my friend never wanted to go it-alone. (I think they spooked her a little too.)And then a few churches were delightful and upbeat. People sang and clapped and let out an "Amen!" or a "that's right" and sometimes you'd hear a "You got that right!" That was mostly in the Pentecostal churches though. They were my favorite to visit because the members seemed the most genuine and were always glad to see a new face and told you so from the time you entered until you left. I've always wished there were a greater variety of churches in South Georgia so that I could sample all of them... With the exception of one or two. :) I'd pick a different church every week if I could.

Most of my childhood friends attended church regularly and this was a part of life that we all accepted. It was part of who we were, what we did and why we complained so much on Wednesdays. And although our families concerned themselves with our eternal well-being, I don't recall too many of them going overboard either. I recollect only one mother condemning myself and her daughter to hell if we didn't keep the Sabbath. The rest of the parents were... well... normal? They even acted as though they expected us to complain about having to go to church "all the dang time!" I bring up this point for one reason alone... Some of the people I grew up with are now religious "Bible Beaters" and "Jesus Freaks" and I don't know where this came from. I don't mean that they took the teachings of childhood and parlayed that into a Godly life. I mean some of them are just nuts! There are a mild few who simply attend church, count their blessings and invite you to services. But quite a few of them can't spend 30 seconds on Facebook, Twitter, texting or any other messaging medium without quoting Bible verses or speaking Christianese: A language dubbed by myself and my bff as what the overly religious speak. If you say you're having a bad day, instead of "I'm sorry. Is there anything I can do to help?", you get "Praise Jesus! He'll guide your steps today. Just give it to God and know you're washed in the blood 'cause you have a Savior and his name is Jesus. Hallelujah!" The language is confusing and mostly unnecessary. Unfortunately it's generally pretty fake too. The people who speak Christianese are far different from the ones who try to genuinely provide comfort with a kind word and a remembrance to pray for you. And I seem to know an awful lot of people who speak Christianese. When we played together as ten year olds, I don't remember hearing their parents speak that way and I know they weren't raised in a generic religious climate. Perhaps it's a sign of the times and the political push for all conservatives to be church-goers of some sort. For a while that distraction left people scrambling for their Bibles so they could "prove" their beliefs had something to do with the Constitution? But anyway, I digress...

I want to know what happened to the wacky kid who tore off her Barbie's heads? Or what happened to the fella who kissed me in the 11th grade and said if I didn't go out with him more he'd hang around outside my house until I did? What in the world happened to the sweet girl who said her first curse word when we were in Belk's in 1993? Why are they all beating the Bible and preaching with every flip of their tongues? What happened to the flippity, whimsical people I once knew? When did they turn into disengenuine, religulous, defectors? Perhaps we didn't take away the same lessons from Sunday School. Maybe the message they got was that it's better to sound like a Christian than to actually be one. Whatever happened, I know that I'm glad it didn't happen to me... for all that's worth. I know a man who quotes scripture all the time and can't wait to 'minister' to you, but he jumps at the chance to rendezvous with young girls behind his wife's back. I also know a man who seldom says a word, let alone quotes from the Bible, and if you even hint that you have a need, he'll be there to lend a hand. I can only hope I'm right about which man God would have represent him in the world...

Monday, September 6, 2010

Hold Tight

Since my children were very small I've reached into the back seat of the car when we were traveling to hold their hands. I've done it for any number of reasons... When they're tired or cranky, when they're afraid or when they're bored, I reach back and grab their little hands and hold on to it for as long as I can, or until my arm goes to sleep. On our last trip to and from West Virginia a couple of weeks ago I realized for the first time, when I reached back to take hold of my daughter's hand that I was not only taking it for her comfort but for mine as well. I felt my heart swell as she grasped my hand and we sat for several minutes in silence staring at the unfamiliar winding roads ahead. On the return trip home from West Virginia I had a similar experience with my son. On both of these occasions I found myself wishing that I could hold on to them forever. If I could go through life holding their small hands I might never be afraid again. I hope that they feel as strong and soothed holding my hand as I do holding theirs.

Friday, August 27, 2010

The Quest to Find My "Star Player"

One of my favorite comedians is a shrimpy pimp-of-a-man named Katt Williams. His style isn't for everyone I suppose but it suits me to a "T". In one of his stand-up sets he talks about a man who ran for a living and who by some freakish force of nature became a double amputee and still continued to run. I'm posting the clip so you can witness this gem for yourself. Beware, he speaks cuss like it's flavored water.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_qlNEmpxQxI


So after struggling quite a bit in MANY areas of my life over the summer, I've determined that it's time I get in touch with my "star player". I fully believe that in order to get over yourself you must set aside a few moments to purge and spew your wicked thoughts and foul feelings about everything that bothers you... And then move on. I'm lucky enough to have one of the greatest bff's in the whole world with whom I can purge. But the time has come for me to SUCK. IT. UP! I've spent so much time this summer bitching and moaning about the heat and humidity and why I can't run in it that if I'd devoted 1/3 of that same effort to actually shutting up and running I'd probably be 10 pounds lighter by now. My right knee has been giving me some trouble but not enough to keep me off my feet, and my ankles are always stiff when I start my runs but seldom enough to make me stop. I have physical struggles (namely my hip and neck) that make some days more difficult than others but I really don't have much right to complain the way I do.


My son came in from school today talking about how much fun he had playing volleyball at P.E. Then he informs me that some of the kids blamed him for losing the game for his team because he missed some of the balls that came in his direction. I must admit that my boy is not the most athletically adept child and he's a bit shaky on his feet sometimes. He moves awkwardly and is more silly than savvy. But he has damn near unshakable confidence. He sings and dances and auditions for every major part in the annual school plays (and gets them too). And by the way, he does neither one very well... He wants to enter EVERY contest he hears about. He wants to be the winner and the best at everything. He came in 2nd in AR points last year and still mopes when he thinks about not winning the trophy. But it hasn't kept him from setting that same goal this year. He'll go back to school Monday and enjoy playing volleyball just as much as he did today because he's in touch with his star player. Michael Gene McCoy has the confidence that carries him through his scrapes and losses with a burning hope for better things to come. He believes in himself because he's never listened to a single soul who told him he "couldn't". What makes him so special is not that he wins or is the best at everything, it's that despite his losses he continues to believe he can be the best.  That's the star player I'm talking about! The one that loses and believes she wins because she had a great time giving it all she had. The star player gives a ball it's bounce and a tire it's tread. It gives dirt some flavor ('cause at some point most of us have to eat a little) and it's the bite that holds back the tears when all we want to do is feel sorry for ourselves...

My star player has been patiently waiting for me to arrive. I think I'll get in touch with her and go for a run.

Wednesday, August 11, 2010

Where do I sign up for "free"?

I have some pretty intense feelings about a hot topic we've dubbed "illegal immigration". I believe a case can be made for just about any side in this argument, however I believe there is only one logical basis for a decision: MONEY


I'm so tired of hearing the wanna be enlightened people say that white settlers were illegal immigrants when they landed in North America. It wasn't an established country, though there were inhabitants.There was a whole war fought that settled our rights as an independent nation (it was called The Revolutionary War). I can't wholey defend the way the white man pushed Indians from their land. It was crappy and even down right sad, but most of us are living in cutesy houses perched on the land our ancestors took from them.


So I'd like to get to the modern day issues if I may...We have laws in this country that determine how, when and if someone might gain legal entry into our borders. I believe we have enough laws in place to keep things fair, however I believe the enforcement of the laws are a bit bogus. If there was an actual functioning system that handled the applications for visas and citizenship in a timely fashion then people wouldn't feel so pressed to come here illegally in the first place. I think there needs to be a complete overhaul done on the manner in which we deal with the law abiding immigrants. That being said, if you are not a citizen of this country and you hop, skip or jump a border or over stay your visa then you are in fact residing in the United States ILLEGALLY! And if you are here illegally then I don't care what "legal" measures that our law enforcement officials use to move you out of here. I don't care if they use traffic stops, building sweeps, employment stings or a fake sweepstakes. As long as they load you on to a big truck and ship your ass back to the country you legally reside in, I don't care. And the reason that I don't care is rather simple. It's not because I'm a biggot. It's not that I don't believe people have a right to migrate and determine the life they want to live and move and live and work accordingly. It all boils down to money. It's basic economics and if you know how to add and subtract and you're a tax payer then you should really consider getting off of your enlightened high-horse and do some figuring. We'll start with something really simple like education. Each city and county collect taxes that help to support the school systems within their borders. The states then kick in some of it's collected tax revenues to help make up the difference. So we all agree that taxes pay for education. Right? Right! It costs each school district a certain amount of money to educate and feed each student. So if you have more kids going to school than you have tax dollars to pay for them, wouldn't you assume that it would be difficult to educate all of the children because there isn't enough money to do it? Let's say out of a class of 600 students, 70 are undocumented illegal immigrants, and of course you also have a percentage of students whose caregivers don't pay taxes because they do not work or own property and those students are also being educated for "free" essentially. So lets estimate that of these 600 students, there is enough revenue to pay for 490 of them. So the other 110 must still be educated and fed which means that you must spread your resources more thinly in order to accomodate all of them. You get fewer books, supplies and teachers. And then when the illegal immigrants graduate from high school they cannot legally obtain work therefore they do not pay taxes; But if they have children then their children are able to receive benefits like medicaid and food stamps. So the person you educated for free whose caregiver did not pay taxes, now has a child that more tax dollars go to help support because the parents aren't able to obtain work legally and pay into a system that they drain from. And if you work and live and pay taxes then you should be concerned that the people who come here under the guise of seeking a better life are actually exploiting this country, not embracing it. They're getting a better life alright. There are clinics, hospitals and health departments that provide them with health care (via your tax dollars) and we educate and provide abundant resources to their offspring as well (also via the taxpayer). Our family alone pays an approximate, combined total of $16,000 (not including social security and medicare) a year in taxes (property and income) and that doesn't include sales or advelorem taxes. I would like to think that our governement would spend a fraction of those dollars on things that I truly care about. I'd like for teachers, police officers and firemen to earn a decent, living wage. I'd like for the small county I live in to be able to build a new middle and high school. And quite frankly I don't understand what people don't get about the term "illegal". Noone has stated that people shouldn't be able to come to America and start a new life. This debate isn't about a right to immigrate. It's about the working, paying citizen's right to not have to support the immigrant financially. If you're an enlightened illegal immigrant lover and you love the idea of open borders so much then by all means, prove your strong support of the Native Americans and your belief that they were violated when your ancestors came to this country, and allow any illegal inhabitants of this country to come and take over the property you have worked and paid for. Give an illegal your home, your land, your clothing, your child's swing set! Give them whatever you feel might settle the 300 year old Native American score. But something tells me that if someone parked their party of 7 in a tent in your back yard, ate your food, demanded money and medicine, you might just call the police (whose job it is, incidentally, to see to it that people actually obey the law) and want the "immigrants" removed.

Our system is one of checks and balances, some are much more simple than we give them credit for. While the illegal immigrants hold up signs of protest and claim that law enforcement agencies target them for deportation, should they experience an emergency they would call 911 and expect the appropriate tax supported agency to respond to their call for assistance. But they don't feel that they should help support the very agencies they rely on? They should receive health care, education, social security and welfare - free. Now that's the life I want to live! Where do I sign up for that???

Sunday, July 18, 2010

Where is Grace?

For weeks now I have carried heavy thoughts that I've been unable to commit to print. As with most things, I've chewed and stewed over this until it has lost all of it's flavor. I'm unsure how others will interpret my thoughts but I must present things as I see them and let the chips fall where they may...


For weeks and weeks I have been unclear in my direction. I haven't been able to focus or sleep. I have prayed for guidance like I never have before. And it seems that all I'm ever told is to "study the word". That's all God will say to me right now. I had only slept about 3 hours one night and woke at about 5 am. I couldn't go back to sleep because those words resounded with a BOOM! inside my head. I had to get up, go into my living room in the dark, early morning hours, curl up in my chair with eyes half peeled and "study the word". Begrudgingly I laid open my Bible and turned to Ephesians. In days prior to this I'd found myself very 'put off' by a lot of things I'd read in Genesis. It's jam packed with information and it jumps into things in a very out-of the blue fashion and the tone of it is very depressing in some areas. I'm not the biggest fan of King James anyway. His translation adheres to archaic Elizabethan English in which words like "advertise, suffer, filthy lucre, charity, gay clothing" no longer have literal meaning. It's difficult to understand and is phrased a bit backward by today's modern language standards. And it was well known even in his time that King James was a bit of a misogynist. BUT in rural south Georgia, it's hard to find a Bible that isn't the KJV. But despite my frustrations, I've also been told politely but kurtly by my God to "read from an untainted perspective". And so I've continued to study, not just read the Bible and I am trying desperately not to let the language discourage me or in some cases enrage me.You see, my story begins this way:


I had a very normal childhood and loving parents. However as a teenager I was raped by someone who was a few years older than myself and well known in the community I grew up in.. I spent 2 years being tormented by this person and a hand full of his friends. It got ugly, I got scared and then spent the next several years trying to run away if not literally, then emotionally. As a senior in high school, a friend of some friends forced himself on me in front of an apartment building and I managed to escape by staying incredibly calm. I amazed myself that evening. I have suffered some other minor incidents with men/boys like shoving, pushing, slapping, choking. I use the term "minor" loosely as I believe them to be major, yet small in comparison to the sexual abuses in terms of the lasting impact on me. But I am very fortunate to have my Daddy's love. He has been the strongest, most loving example of a man in my lifetime. I believe it's because of the greatness of that father-daughter bond that I pulled through and was able to greet sanity again, albeit years later. As a grown woman I can tell you that there is nothing, no relationship that compares or will ever compare to the one you share (or shared) with your father. Having a strong, stable, impenetrable relationship with him is a lifelong source of comfort and sanity even when experience with other men may try to tell you otherwise. And I was blessed a second time with the love of another great man, my husband.


It is very difficult and damned unpleasant to admit that in spite of my great blessings, I still hold a wealth of resentment and anger toward men as a whole. I would never show fear to them, but I am terribly afraid of men. As a woman, I know that a vast majority of dangers lurking in shadows are aimed at us. We are the prey, the weak, targets if you will! Most men will never know the fear that they can impose as they are rarely if ever the victims of kidnappings, rapes, torture, and sexually motivated murders. The number one cause of death among pregnant women is homicide (an unhappy statistic in case you were unaware). Wide interpretations of many different religions would have you believe that not only are women weak, but that we are here solely to serve and gratify men. That we should take no pleasure in life and certainly not in sex. Our greatest satisfaction should come from bringing men food, cleaning up after them, keeping house, giving birth to and rearing children. We are here for sex and work. The Islamic faith is very pronounced in it's demands for modesty and obedience among women. In many protestant and christian faiths it is accepted that women are weaker and meant to serve, be modest and give birth. Oh, and have long hair (she says with a snarl). People can often quote freely Ephesians 5:22 "Wives, submit yourselves unto your own husbands, as unto the Lord." but I seldom hear them follow it with verse 25 "She is to be loved like Christ loved the church." And if it weren't for my own reading I would never have known that Proverbs 31:28 says "...she is to be praised by her family". I suppose I just wasn't paying close enough attention the day the preacher (of one of the many churches I've quit) said "...men, if you don't have a job and your wife is telling you to get a job and take care of your family, if she just won't get off your back then men, I say rebuke your woman! Let her know that she will submit to you and that you will take care of what needs to be done when you, the man of the house are ready!" I had probably already gotten up and left in front of a full congregation when he talked about loving and praising women...


Many girls have suffered physical and or sexual abuses, some at the hands of their own family members. In turn they act out, are promiscuous and turn to drugs, alcohol, sexual encounters and a string of bad boyfriends and male companions in order to compensate for the destruction of their safety. Their internal fence has been torn down. The ability to feel justified in protecting their bodies and personal space has been crushed and yet we judge them and call them whores and see them as "less than..." because most of us have no idea why they're behaving this way. We think that perhaps they are fundamentally flawed. WE certainly don't believe that this girl's father, a deacon in the church and a city councilman, could ever abuse his child. He is not capable of such acts. We don't believe her because we cannot conceive of the evil in our midst; When the truth is that there is more sickness in this world than one person can comprehend. If you give any validity to statistical numbers then by pure reason you would deduce that you know at least a half dozen pedarists or sexual predators. But I bet you can't guess who they are... And so based on personal experience and knowledge of my fellow survivor's stories, I'm hoping that you see where my fear and mistrust has sprung from. If not, read no further and crawl back into your hole of denial. If you can at all follow my train of thought, please bare with me. I think this is actually going somewhere.

For years I've struggled with finding peace. I need for the noise inside my brain to give way to some quiet. I need for my heart to relax. I've prayed, even begged for answers, for quiet, and have yet to be answered in a way that gives me any clarity or direction. I'll continue to do as I'm told and "study the word" knowing that it will surely lead me in the right direction. It's not the answer I want but it's all I'm getting. However, it is terribly difficult to study the word of God from an un-tainted  perspective when my soul still wants to rebel against man, and why wouldn't it? When you have suffered at the hands of evil men it is not ridiculous to expect that you might have some difficulty in submitting to one even if he's not the one who hurt you.

Deep down I know that I am no less than my husband. I'm loved and worthy and no less a child of God. We are different but we are equal. I am made in his likeness and he is made in God's image. But I am still afraid and trying desperately to balance submission to my husband with the reality that some men are simply not worthy of being followed. In spite of or perhaps because of this struggle, in my prayers I thank God for the wonderful men he has placed in my life. I ask that he helps me to raise one. And I ask for his mercy and his grace. Because it's grace that makes our God so amazing afterall... It's being forgiven, even though I don't deserve it, no matter the sin. It's being blessed with the love of a great family, a loving husband, healthy children, a nice home, a best friend, a beautiful planet, taste buds, a sense of smell. The list goes on and on. I rely on grace from God to sustain me and yet I have a hard time showing grace and mercy to those around me, especially to those who have hurt me. It doesn't seem fair does it?

Perhaps the road to peace will be paved in forgiveness, mine and theirs... And maybe, just maybe I'll find that wickedness lies in the soul and not in a gender.

Tuesday, June 29, 2010

Big Sighs and Chunky Thighs


I am a chicken! I just wanted to go ahead and put that out there. I have a pretty adventurous spirit by nature I think but that doesn't mean that I'm not generally scared sh*tless in everything that I do. I'm afraid of social situations with people I don't know. I'm afraid of roller coasters, airplanes, water, rats... You get my drift. But more than anything I'm afraid of failure. I'm desperately afraid of never being good at anything. I'm pretty average at just about everything. I was never an exceptional student. I danced for many years and was always okay at that too. I like to write, decorate, play games. But I wasn't born with nor have I ever developed any particular talent. I'm good at some things but have never been great at anything. I think I'm a good wife and a good mother but in all honesty I could stand to be better at both of those things as well. I'm even an average height of 5 feet 4 1/2 inches and my appearance is pretty average as well. It's an odd place to be, in the middle. And coincidentally I'm a middle child too. This path through the center, walking safely along, never trying too hard but trying just enough to keep from being noticed, it's quite a comfortable spot. Right down the aisle, never leaning one way or the other - makes me wonder what I could have done had I ever really, really tried. And that brings me to tonight! Tonight, I looked down at my naked thighs and once again, took a deep breath and let out a big sigh, grabbed a hunk of my chunky outer thigh, examined it and steadfastly declared to myself that it was never going to change. I'm at a healthy weight and my bmi is average, of course and by most people's standards I have no right to complain. But like a lot of people I'm sorely dissatisfied with my body (especially my cellulite ridden thighs) and all I want is to "fix" it! And I feel like I've been trying to fix it. I've been running my butt off for the last couple of months and have seen NO change in my body what-so-ever. And then this evening as I let go of the hunk of leg I held in my hand I realized that perhaps I haven't been trying hard enough. Perhaps the real problem is that I don't know how to really give it my all. Maybe I'm the reason that I'm not seeing results. I dearly love to blame my problems on things other than myself. I like the point of reconciling that something is "just fine" the way it is, or that things "won't ever change". It's the middle of the road approach that's kept me at status quo all of my life. But if I'm ever going to see a difference in myself I have to stop being afraid of the posibility of failure. I can't say that I've ever really failed at anything because I've never really tried all that hard to begin with... And that is SO much worse. I'm so scared of never amounting to anything that I don't even bother to entertain possibilities anymore. I'd like to say that I'll do something about this right away and that from now on things will be different but the truth is, I just don't know. I might never see a change in my thighs. I might never amount to anything. I could very well be average for the rest of my life. And that would be "just fine", right?

Thursday, June 10, 2010

As Fast As You Can - Run! Run!

Every week it seems I'm learning more, running more, feeling more, feeling better! A couple of weeks ago (not sure how long exactly) after watching an episode of 'Real Sports' on HBO, entirely by accident, I decided to take the advice of the guest of the show and ditch my running shoes. I had been unable to participate in any sort of physical activity for a week because of terrible, pounding, joint shocking knee pain. And I was ready to give it another shot when I saw this show and something "clicked". I figured after the devastating blows to my knee and my pride, I certainly wouldn't be any worse off if I tried running without the expensive shoes. So to protect my feet I strapped on an old pair of water wading shoes with flat, pliable soles and took off. It was definitely a new experience for me. I felt a little different after my run but the real testament came the morning after. For the first time since I began this incredible journey I woke up, put my feet on the floor and walked! NO PAIN! I knew then and there that this "barefoot running" idea couldn't be all bad. Since then I've run in my water wading shoes and you couldn't pay me enough to strap on another pair of sneakers and hit the pavement in them. I believe they not only contributed to my injuries, but I believe they would have kept me from being able to continue running. And since that first day without them the only pain I've felt has been where it's supposed to be... In my sore, tired, achy muscles. My calves ache and man alive my butt does too! But then again, when you're building a muscle, it's supposed to be sore. You don't strengthen your joints by pounding your bones and grinding them together by striking your heel into pavement! It makes far too much sense to me now that the way our bodies are designed to move is actually the RIGHT way! We don't need fancy $140 shoes to help us hit the ground a certain way because we do it the right way naturally, without all that cushion and mesh and gel and whatever else they put in those rubber monsterosities. But that's enough of my shoe rant. I have some things brewing in my brain that I hope to have sorted out well enough to contribute to this blog before leaving with my family on our vacation to the mountains. I have things I need to say about running, but I don't know if I have the words yet. And quite honestly, I'm not sure that I'm ready to feed them to print. Meanwhile, run run!

Wednesday, June 2, 2010

Lazy is As Lazy Does

I've said more times than I care to recollect that "When I die I'm coming back as a house cat." And I mean it. There are moments when I look at their fat, peaceful, lazy, slovenly, sloppy lives and want to push them off of whatever they're laying on so that I can stop wishing I had their life for one gosh darn second! Even as I'm typing this, my two lazy beasts of burden are snuggling in the chair next to me. Their names are Hemilaya and Jack-Jack. They're beautiful, handsome tabby boys. Both have a very sweet and peaceful nature. They're patient with the children, with us, and even with our enormous dogs. Jack-Jack especially. He lets Beauregard, the giant Weimaraner smother him, bite his neck and lay all over him while they nap on my husband's lap. I can't decide if it's because he's so sweet or if it's because he's so lazy. Hemilaya (the one curled up in the picture above) is fickle and a little temperamental. Every irritation he feels shows up on his face and in his voice. He doesn't hesitate to complain when you're not doing something fast enough. If he wants food, love or to be let outside you'd better be Johnny-on-the-spot or else your ears will suffer. I can't help but find the amusement in our entire family's willingness to appease these grossly obese creatures. They serve no great purpose although they do capture the occasional mole or mouse. They're hopelessly lazy and their fur gets on everything (especially clean clothes and bed sheets because they immediately lay on anything that's just come out of the dryer). They whine and cry if they don't get their way and we've spent countless amounts of money on them because they were too stupid not to get their paws caught in a dog's mouth. But somehow, in some form our lives wouldn't be the same without them. They bring joy and humor to our little world and they serve as a constant reminder that I wish I believed in reincarnation.

I Hear Voices

I believe that most of us at some point in our adult lives stop and take stock of it. We look around and look inside ourselves and wonder how in the hell we got here. Three kids, 8 cars, 4 houses, 15 trips to Disney World and one long damn car ride to a relative's house in Indiana later we have NO idea who we've become because it's been so long since we've heard our own voices that the "who" in you barely registers with you any longer. Who you are hasn't mattered in so long that you yourself start to think it never really did matter to begin with. I had that exact thought today as I found myself staring into space in a deathly quiet house. My mind soared through a tunnel of open space and thought and when I finally snapped out of it I scared the shit out of myself! I was actually inside my own head with NO interference of any kind and what I felt was astonishing. I haven't been that close to "me" in ages. I don't even know what I was thinking about but it felt great. And I had a quiet moment of freedom take hold of me and it reminded me that the "who" in Who I Am really is important. I still matter. I had forgotten that. I've been lost in this big world of big opinions, big ideas and big houses for so long that being silent makes me uncomfortable. Sitting in a quiet room with no television, phone, computer, book, or even so much as a cross-word puzzle causes me such anxiety that I find it difficult to breathe. I can't remember the last time before today that I had experienced a moment like that. But it did convince me that I want and need more of those moments. Even if other people don't "get" me, even if I someday find myself friendless, if I never find my dream job or never get another pat on the back or 'job well done' I have to find a way to be okay with Heather. She has to be enough for me; Even if she's not good enough for anyone else, she should be good enough for me. And I hope that who you are, in those rare and quiet moments alone with just yourself, is good enough for you too...

Tuesday, May 25, 2010

She is Who She is Who She is........

I heard it said once that "...sometimes what you'll learn will conflict with what you know". I've often found that to be true in everything from religion to motherhood, friendship & finances. Our view of the world is typically shaped by what we're told when we're young. I grew up in church like many of my friends and somehow I came to a different conclusion than most of them on a lot of things people term as "issues" such as abortion, sexual preference, equality and even capital punishment. My parents very seldom told us how to feel about things. We were introduced to ideas more than we were opinions. For instance: When I was around four or five years old a man named Ross, who was a friend of my parents came to our home for Thanksgiving. He came over for parties and sometimes by himself to socialize. This went on for many years and when I was around eight years old I asked my dad why Ross never had a girlfriend? My father cackled a bit and said "Well Heather baby, that's because Ross is gay." I asked what that meant and he said that Ross liked men and that he hadn't had anyone special in his life for a while and that's why he never had a "date" with him. I accepted this information quite easily and pranced on with my life never really having an opinion about other people's sexual preferences. I was given information by my parent rather than his opinion. I try not to worry about what other people do with their lives or their bodies. It is of no consequence to me and even religous preference can be a hot debate. Personally, I could care less about affiliation. I like some more than others and have been to MANY different churches and found people of faith in all of them. We all "buy into" different things, different ideas, different ways of doing things. Religion is no different. It's like choosing a home, a mate, or even a job. You like it, it makes you feel safe and/or comfortable and so you move in, you buy into it. You trust that this is what you're meant to be or do or be a part of. You believe what you're told and move forward in the procession.


I can't say unequivically that the way my parents did things was any better or worse than the way anyone else's parents did things. I know a lot of people who were raised Baptist and now raise their children as Baptists and they go to church every Sunday and Wednesday and they're pro-life, anti same-sex marriage and staunch Republicans. They're no better or worse off than I am for feeling the way I do. I can't pick a church and stick with it to save my life, I don't care who people want to have sex with as long as it's not kids or animals and I think women have a right to decide what to do with their own bodies. Big woop! From here to eternity we won't find out who's right until we get there...

Wednesday, May 12, 2010

Let it ALL Hang Out!!!

Like most people I have a host of body image issues. At any given moment I can gnit-pick myself to literal pieces. My thighs are too big, my nose is too pudgy, my neck's too long, my legs are too short... the list goes on and on and on. And on a bad day it's frightening what kind of mental meat grinder I can put my body through. On my good days (which fortunately far out number the bad) I simply ignore my negative thoughts. Like most things, with age has come more "I really don't give a damn" and I'm more apt not to wollow in bad body image moods since I have more pressing issues to attend, like being an adult; However they still creep in from time to time. And to this effect comes the mental path my mind walked today as I spent a lovely afternoon in Statesboro with my dear lifelong friend, Sarah. We took her beautiful baby daughter out to exchange a few items and do some minor looking. For both of us I believe it was a break from the mundane, type of excursion. As we made our way in and out of stores I took particular notice of people, their clothes, their bags, their shoes. And I came home and looked through some profiles on Facebook as well. What I've observed has inspired me to continue on toward a better "mental me".


Of course I have friends and see people who I believe to be attractive and well maintained. They look and dress nicely and are active healthy people. Then there are those who just absolutely frighten me with their bleakness. Their hair "roots" are far outgrown and the ends of their wooly shags look as though a dog has chewed them off. I've spotted some women in tiny shirts with bulging muffin tops that almost make me shriek. And then... there are those women who are desperately clinging to the women they once were. You know the ones! They've gained about 75 pounds in the last ten years and wear bows in their pony tails and a track suit (modern day version of the 90's windsuit) pretending, desperately clinging to the mental image they have of themselves before they subconsciously let themselves go. You might catch this woman dropping her daughter off at a dance class or mirroring her little girl's pageant talent routine in the audience of her 150th beauty pageant in 6 years. She seems quite content and happy as she does not utilize full length mirrors any longer. Perhaps she's done the crash diet merry-go-round, eating celery and drinking Tab and eventually she caves (like most of us do) and resorts back to Diet Coke with a #3 at McDonald's. Those women are the saddest to me. Those whose lives are filled with running on junk to fuel their families lives. Women who care so much about how everyone else in their family looks that she cannot see what she's become. She can't see the misery in her clothing or hear her body's desperate cry for help. Doritos and Dr. Pepper are staples in her cabinet and she believes this is alright because her husband is a "meat and potatoes" kind of guy and her kids don't like bananas or broccoli. The dresses they wear to church on Sundays are neat and pressed and pretty so that they might worship their God fashionably. And inside of the bodies God built for them are bulging arteries, swolen joints, escalating blood pressure, suffocating cells and deep self-loathing sadness. This sort of misery is palpable... and toxic.


In the last five years I've caught myself a few times letting myself off the hook so-to-speak. I'd move up a pant size and say to myself "...it's ok, it's only one size". And then I'd realize shortly afterword that I'd be saying the same thing to myself this time next year, and the next, and the next. It's a tiny line to cross but it brings a heaping helping of consequences. I struggle mightily to balance the vanity of body image with the desire for better health. I certainly want to look and feel attractive but as the years progress I wave good-bye to bits and pieces of that desire. I've come to see that the world outside my door can be far more distracting and beautiful when I worry less about how I look in it and more about how I feel in it.

Thursday, May 6, 2010

Stupid People Bug Me

I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't say it but I'm saying it... Stupid people suck. They're worse than mean people! Stupid people are the only true representation of what is truly wrong with our world today. They CAN be amusing; However we cannot let our amusement cloud our ability to size up a stupid person. For example, there's a *ahem* lady who's friends with a friend of mine on Facebook and she's recently left her husband (father of her 3 children) for a man who's just gotten out of prison. She left her children with her mother *who we lovingly refer to her as "Mama"* who she claims shares a likeness to the Devil himself. Her new ex-convict boyfriend doesn't have a place to live, a job or any real means of support. (Now if I were just guessing I'd say he supports himself as a freelance drug dealer, but I could be completely wrong. I'm NOT, but I could be.) So she lives in whatever shit hole he does while her Devil/mother takes care of her children and their father - soon-to-be trashy girl's ex-husband, lives out the rest of this saga with his new girlfriend in the same trailer park as Mama. I know all of this because they splash it all over the beloved messaging medium we all know as Facebook. While the drama between the adults is amusing, it's also rather disturbing to think of the very real, very pained children in this situation. Speaking from personal experience I can tell you that suviving a normal childhood is difficult enough. I had very loving parents who were always available to me and I still managed to arrive at adulthood with some serious baggage! This poor woman's children have been snatched from their home, placed with their grandmother who is feuding with their mother who is living with a man who's been in prison for several years and now has their mother's name tattooed across his neck!!!
Most children are not extraordinary. I know, I shouldn't say that but I did! Anyway, most children are not extraordinary & react very typically to unhealthy environmental stimuli. A lot of them grow up and mimic the behaviors they saw as children. Some turn to drugs and violence and even sex at an early age. Some abandon their own children when they have them and worse yet, some abuse and neglect them. Very few of them work hard to escape their circumstances, educate themselves and go on to become fantastic people, providers and parents. If you don't believe me, check the stats for yourself. And this is why stupid people bug me. They act out their lives as some ridiculous soap opera & torture their children with the drama and havoc that only being a bad parent can wreak.
This woman found what I refer to as "some good prison sex" and decided it was just the excuse she needed to temporarily (or so she says) abandon her children. And every day she posts how much she misses them and how it breaks her heart not to be with them and she loves them, blah, blah, blaaah! But she's NOT with them, she left them even though there are almost always other options. She left them. OH, and she's pregnant - again!!!

Tuesday, May 4, 2010

The 'Whatever Mom'

Mother's Day is this Sunday and I've contemplated the day more this year than any other. My guess is that with my children being older & a bit more self sufficient I've had more time for genuine thoughts of my own ;-) When I was younger I never thought that I wanted to be a mother. I never had any particular fondness for children and still don't per say. Becoming a mother has made me more appreciative of children and of mothers as a whole but I don't like children just because they're children. I like them the same as I like all other people. If the child is likable, I like them. If not, I don't... Although I've never been able to decide if I like mine because they're really likable or if I like them just because they're mine. I assume it's a mixture of both because in all honesty, sometimes children just aren't very likable. I would never consent to a friendship with someone whose ass I had to wipe or who felt free to vomit on me and make me clean it up. But there's something in the very nature of motherhood that makes it divine. It's a biological realm of unexplanable goodness. There's the mammal's desire to see her offspring thrive & mother's willingness to eliminate any obstacles in order for them to survive and  then there's the homosapian's need to give, nurture and form life long relationships with her children. It is truly "divine design".


I'd be willing to bet on my life that I love and care for my children just as much as any other mother I know. But my identity has never been encompassed by motherhood. I haven't sacrificed any less because I've refused to identify myself solely as "mother". I haven't missed out on any joys because I don't feel a pressing biological need to continue to reproduce. And I doubt that my children are any more likely to be more mal-adjusted than anyone else's because I worked when they were little and their father did most of the cooking until very recently. I think my kids are going to be just as screwy as anyone else who survives adolesence. And hopefully when they're self supporting with families of their own they'll come to see their parents and welcome visits from the people they've always known us to be. I hope that I'll be just as much "me" then as I am now. I never want my daughter or son to entertain the idea that they stripped me of my life or my identity. I want them to know always that they enriched it and made it more worthwhile. I don't want to be a fragment of myself when they grow up and move away. I want to carry them into every phase of my life as the essential burden that made it so beautiful. Children are in fact a burdenous gift. They are work and hurt to which nothing else can compare. And our primary focus is on that of any other instinctually driven mammal... their survival.


The potent burdens of motherhood is what fuels its complexity and helps to drive me half mad. But its bouquet of pleasantries is a reward worthy of my very life, should I ever be called to give it.

Wednesday, April 28, 2010

I Want to Run Away With Me

I haven't really bothered to run anywhere, for anything at any point since the 8th grade in 1993. The occasional trudge on the treadmill has been all I've dained to do. In the last few weeks I've made it my mission to get in the best shape I could possibly be in. I've always liked exercise is some form. I walk and weight train, practice Pilates and Fluidity and even do the occasional Denise Austin work out. But I have always detested running. Probably because it's the most disciplined exercise I can think of and I have a complete lack of discipline in many areas of my life...


About three weeks ago I decided to try running because it was something I could do with my family and it kept me outside this time of year. Since then I've mentioned wanting to run a marathon in January, 2011. I'm making progress and meeting mini-goals pretty rapidly and am happy to report that I should meet my goal of running 3 miles in less than the two week time span I've given myself. And afterall, that's how a marathon is run, one mile at a time. I've really enjoyed my husband and children's company on my practice runs. They give me distraction, conversation and motivation. I alternate running and walking several times in the course of one of our outings. I'll run ahead then walk back to my family then walk with them a while and repeat. I'm trying not to push myself too hard right now. I want to go further every time I run and push past the obvious discomforts that a novice like myself will suffer in the beginning.  At the same time I know that if I push too hard I'll likely injure myself or over strain my muscles and not be able to run again for a few days and that's the last thing I want. For now I'm running every other day and weight training on the days I'm not running. I'm making the necessary adjustments in my diet which haven't been all that difficult as I enjoy many healthy, natural foods anyway. For now I would say the most difficult part of this new endeavor is finding a place to rest my mind when I run. As I progress I know I'll surely settle into a pattern of thought. But for now my mind is scattered and I'm finding it difficult to focus on anything other than the cinder blocks I feel are attached to the tops of my thighs. Granted they've gotten lighter in recent days, but they're still there. I know this will improve in time; They're only mental cinder blocks afterall.

Monday, April 26, 2010

The Marathon Woman

Last night I found myself answering a question that I never thought I'd have an answer for. "Could I, or would I be willing to run a marathon?" A friend on Facebook is a runner and proposed that she & some others take a marathon challenge in Charleston, SC in January 2011. Before I knew what I had said I proclaimed my desire to do it with her. I had a helluva time getting to sleep last night because I couldn't figure out what I was so afraid of... and then the answer finally came to me. I'm afraid of being with myself for long periods of time. I can most often occupy myself with house labors, a nap, shopping trips, time with friends, etc... But this would mean having to be with me, just me. And then after figuring that out I had to answer this question: "Why do I want to run a marathon?" Obviosly the fitness & strength is the first thing that comes to my mind, then my children and my desire to set a good example for them. But what about ME? Where does Heather fit in??? In the end, the results I feel in my body and the example I set for my children are meek and mild in comparison to what I hope to feel about Heather. She is my motivation... I want her to work hard, to do something she never thought she could do, to feel things she never thought possible. I want her to be proud of herself... just her.


Most of my pride and accomplishment comes from my daily life. I live a very content and accomplished life with my husband and children by my side. I know joy and peace because of them. I know love and friendship, happiness and meaning because of the people in my life today. But the one thing, the person I know the least about is me. I've known only what nature and necessity have asked of me and I think it's time I start asking more of myself. Thus, I begin my journey today.

Thursday, April 22, 2010

A Spring in My Step

Each year the dawning of Spring provides me with just the right motivation to once again... begin again. We thrust open our windows, wake to birds chirping at the feeders on the Magnolia and Dogwood trees. Two days ago geese flew over our house. The smell of the azaleas and wisteria can be intoxicating and the dew in the morning grass is heaven sent. I seldom get so chipper as I do in the Spring time. Each afternoon my family goes for a walk (anywhere from 2-4 miles) through our beautiful neighborhood and down the charming side streets that make up our home town. Walking is my next-to-least favorite exercise but this time of year it feels wonderful. Of course I always hope to maintain the motivation that overtakes me during this time but it seldom sticks. Today I had a great cardio workout indoors then went for a walk this evening and played frisbee with my children after dinner. I want to be outdoors all the time right now, before it's too hot and unbearable. Georgia in the Summer (especially if you're not use to it) can be despicable. July and August are the months I most want to run around naked and jump through sprinklers in just that fashion. And so I try to absorb as much of Spring as possible. Even the damn Spring cleaning is somewhat delightful. The old wood shines and the fresh air that seeps in through the open windows refreshes me. And so for now there's a little something extra in my day, a bit more sunshine, a pinch more flavor and a spring in my step.

Thursday, April 1, 2010

A thing of beauty lasts forever

I met this Manolo Blahnik, satin D'Orsay pump at Bergdorf Goodman on 5th Avenue in New York city less than a week ago... I meandered around the store, looking, salivating a little. The associates were quite nice and helpful but quickly and rightfully assumed I was not a "buyer" but merely a poor out-of-towner. When I made my way to the shoe corner of the store I nearly fainted. I had never been in the presence of so many of them. There were Manolo's, Loubitan's, McCartney's, Prada's, etc... They were EVERYWHERE! At first I was afraid to even touch them. After all I've been admiring the likes of these masters since the early 90's (except Stella of course - she didn't come along until the late 90's). Then I noticed a couple of women "man handling" the shoes as if they were at a damned Pay Less! "I like these, they're $785. But I don't know..." the gray clad lady said as she shoved the shoe lovelessly back on the shelf. I wanted to tackle her and ask her why she thought she could treat them that way? Why weren't they special and beautiful to her I wondered? For the same reason some people merely 'collect' VanGoh's I suppose. They don't really care about the quality, suffering or artistry behind the beauty they encounter. They can simply afford to disregard the craftsmanship, I suppose somehow believing their money is better than the splendid talent before them. But I know better. I know that money doesn't make up for beauty. It can't buy it either. I knew there in that store for the first time in my life what it meant... that "beauty is in the eye of the beholder". Beauty is simply a vision, whether it be real or imagined. It is an ideal, an illusion, ungraspable. But when you're in its presence you know it. It is beholden to you.

Thursday, March 11, 2010

You're Just NOT Special

I can appreciate simplicity and complexity, I like a little of both. I'm actually a student of chaos. I prefer my life with a mixture of harshness, sweetness, bordom, chaos & joy. I love to be touched and yet I despise being cuddled. I loathe clothing just as much as I love it. I enjoy the basic labors of a love filled life and yet I mind terribly having to empty the dishwasher and put away clean clothes. One of my favorite things to do is sit in the bathroom and polish my toenails or exfoliate my feet or some other such menial pampering while my children talk at me 90 miles an hour. My mind is always a flurry and barely grasping at a complete thought before it moves on to another so I can easily keep up with their changing bantering and blabering chatter. I enjoy almost all types of music. I love 90's alternative and early 90's hard rock but my favorites are Neil Diamond and Barry Manilow. I feel as though I'm always suffering from a contradiction. I'm not able to be labeled - though sometimes I believe people desperately try to tuck me away in a dimension. I love clean, classic and simple as well hauty and gaudy. Sometimes the uglier the item, the better I feel wearing it...

I've seen, heard, read a good bit lately about other people's lifestyles and I think it's natural to compare that to one's own sense of what constitutes a personal "ideal lifestyle". I see old friends who lead seemingly glamorous lives. They attend fantastic parties in fantastic outfits adorning their fantastic figures and appear to be eating (though some barely), drinking and making merry. Some friends appear to lead a very normal, wholesome and idyllic life with a house full of little ones with picnics on Sundays at lakes with kin folks and a brand new mini van. Others stay tucked away in their tiny and oblivious worlds with no idea what's going on in the world around them. And then there are those that simply make me happy NOT to be around them anymore. I often find myself comparing my likes and dislikes with that of others. Not that one is better or worse but more that I wonder what drives people in their gravitation toward an ideal, a blouse, a platter, a home, a mate, etc... I wonder why what makes me happy doesn't and couldn't make someone else just as satisfied? Why could I not love the life someone else leads and pontificates upon? I love conformity disguised as individuality. We all (for the most part) want, need and desire the same things; Four walls, warmth, touch, talk is all that binds the human race and yet we think that our preference of each of those somehow sets us apart, makes us stand out... When really it's simply concrete confirmation that we are all more the same than we care to admit.

I know that my tastes are often bizarre and sometimes silly. I feel it when I contradict myself and I know when what I say is in direct contrast with how I might appear. I feel different. I always have. And yet I know I'm just like everyone else.

Thursday, January 28, 2010

What Makes a Marriage Last?

My thoughts are racing today. It's the first day in weeks that I can remember getting out of bed and not feeling absolutely terrible. My head didn't hurt too badly, my side wasn't tingling and there was no nausea or tightness in my muscles that made it difficult to stand and walk. I feel the most normal I have felt in quite some time. All of the rest has made me weak and diminished my stamina a good bit but that's something that can be persevered against. There have been a few instances where I've snapped and snarled at my husband for telling me to rest. "I'm tired of resting! All I ever do is rest!" I'd sneer. I could hear the SSsssSSSsss in my own speech and would look up to find his patient face and loving hand resting on my shoulder & he'd say "Okay, you don't have to rest, I just want you to feel better". And ofcourse his kindness & patience only made me feel worse for being so wretched to him in the first place.


Several days ago we had a pretty serious discussion about how we would handle the housework at present. Because I'm not as able to handle it all at the moment I requested that he help a bit more and work with the children more and help to gain their cooperation and support in the form of daily chores and follow through with them. I am by no means a **neat freak** but I am very serious about sanitation. I do not like dirty surfaces, floors or handles. We have four people and six animals that live indoors; Two very large dogs, two very large indoor/outdoor cats, a gerbil & a hampster. Needless to say fur and dust accumulate rapidly and this home MUST above all MUSTS be maintained to keep it from stinking and looking like George Orwell's Animal Farm - four leggs good, two leggs bad! I assume most of the responsibility for the household maintenance even when I work full time. Like most women I conform to that roll and am happy to fulfill it most of the time. But it certainly can be taken advantage of and so in an effort to avoid any argument I knew I would have to ask for help which is something I desperately struggle with. I have quite literally fallen to the floor out of pure exhaustion in an effort to prove that I could indeed get the curtain rod back on the hooks BY MYSELF!!! I can be very stubborn and stupidly so sometimes. And often when I ask for help I yelp for it or demand it by belittling my husband for not readily seeing my need for it and fulfilling it right away. One of my biggest pet peeves is being asked "Can I help you?" or "What do you want me to do?" Because "What I want is for you to see me struggling to hold an armload of laundry while dragging a basket full of clothes behind me 40 feet to the laundry room and get up off your lazy butt and help me!!! I dare you to ask if you can help ME because it's not MY job to maintain our home, clean & put away your clothes, pick up your shoes, belts and socks, wash your dishes or clean up after you, you big goon! And don't you dare even think about rubbing my behind or laying your filthy paws on me tonight buddy!" With that expression I'm sure you now understand my dilemma and why I wanted to attack this issue diplomatically and before I had an opportunity to get angry. It serves me far better in the long run to ask for help when I need it, give praise when I don't feel like it and to seek partnership before we (my husband and I) splinter and head out for war with one another. As much as I despise it, he does give back to me every bit as good as he gets. Neither of us is a weak or submissive person. We feel strongly and we fight strongly. And oddly enough I believe that has been the greatest source of passion between us this last dozen years or so. When I hiss and sputter at him for not doing my bidding he's quick to temper sometimes and lets me know right away that I have no right to be so abrasive and demanding and hurtful. He declares his right to be spoken to with respect and that declaration only serves to anger me further because I know he's right! And by the same token I have very valid points as well and should not have to fume in order to get help with things that should be everyone's responsibility. I truly don't mind cleaning, washing clothes & dishes,  paying the bills, running the errands, picking up dry cleaning and tending to all of the necessities of family life. I really don't mind. What I mind is that he still puts his dirty clothes on the floor in front of the laundry hamper.


 He never puts away his toiletries and his work shirts, socks, belts and shoes pile up in the study and his desk overflows with junk and spills onto the floor. I mind terribly picking up after a 39 year old grown man. It makes me feel used and belittled, minute and insignificant because I know that he knows if he doesn't pick it up that I will.


But by the same token I know that my response to his inaction makes him feel the same way and so we have the unstopable force meeting the immovable object. This is a battle that will never be won. I feel certain that after all this time if either of us were going to change we certainly would have by now. And yet after all these years this battle has become a bit humorous to us both. The war we fight for respect from one another is part of the clash that emits the spark between us. We are such drastically different and yet eerily similar creatures. We despise argument and tension but our relationship has thrived on it for more than a decade. If it were easy, if our lives were always peaceful and we had manged to work out all of our problems and spent day after day encouraging, kissing, petting and complimenting one another we'd both have grown very tired & bored with the other by now.

 I realize this intensity is not for everyone and that some relationships would be doomed under the same circumstances. There have been times when Steve and I both could have and perhaps under certain circumstances even should have walked away. But as my mind has raced and swirled and spun today I've tried to answer the age old question I heard being asked yet again on a talk show this morning: "What makes a marriage last?" And so far the only thing I've been able to come up with is **passion**. Love is a great start but can easily be transformed then lay dormant in the heart, fall to inaction and cease to be a verb. Perseverance is most certainly required. It's just as significant that you have faith in your purpose and your lives together also. But for me and my marriage I'd say passion is the token of  lasting love, perseverance and faith. Without our passion for one another those other three might have left us long ago. I'm free to be me and he's free to be him. Without that acceptance there would be no love, no perseverance, no faith and certainly no passion. It takes an indefinite amount of willpower to produce the staying power of lasting love; And that unending supply of willpower is fueled by the one thing we provide for one another, PASSION