There's Bleep In The Fertilizer!

Do you know what organic fertilizer is made out of? There are three main ingredients in fertilizer, which are nitrogen, phosphorous, and potassium. With organic waste, I'll tell you what it's made out of...a lot of poo. Chicken poo, bird poo, blood meal, cow dung, etc., etc., etc. I think I just threw up a little in my mouth. Basically, a lot of shit, and other really nasty things. I promise that's the last time I'm cussing in this post. The rest shall be censored with bleeps.

We had a garden growing up. Actually, we had a garden at every point in my life. We've had them as far back as I can remember. Anyway, this was the first place I remember living, and we had a garden. We also had a dog. He was a Dalmatian named Bachelor Buttons. Cute, right? Yeah...he was not a smart dog. Dalmatians aren't really. But they're very cute and fun.

One of the best things you can use to fertilize your garden is compost. Old table scraps, food waste, etc. Every once in a while my dad would go out and put this stuff into the ground under the garden, and cover it up with dirt, then occasionally churn it up. There was some poo in there too. We had a dog, so it kind of goes without saying. Gross that poo and waste are what feeds a garden of things you...eat. Again, I just threw up a little in my mouth.

Anyway, I think the dog thought this was a game - the buried waste. After all, he was a dog. He got to dig for it, and then he got to eat it...all that nasty stuff. Bachelor ate too much garbage out of the garden one time, and died. Like I said, not very smart, but he was a dog, and I guess even rotting garbage was just too tempting not to take a bite of. It must have called to him like a pile of dog treats, "Come and get it. It's soooooo tasty! Mmmmm, yum!" Ewe.

I saw a Facebook post recently, from an acquaintance, talking about how people comment to her about how nice and sweet she is, and how she is such a great person. She responded saying that she has gone through really, really tough things in her life, and a time when she wasn't a nice person at all. She was mean, in a very bad place in life, and has done so many bad and hurtful things. But now she has made it through that, and that is why she smiles, because she loves life and people, and has compassion because of the things she's gone through.

I feel the same. I have people comment to me about the smile always being on, never seeming to be mad about anything, being so nice, etc. I always like to set the record straight that the smile is not always on, but when it is, it's because of God. I'm not always nice, but when I am, it's because of him too. And I do get mad, and I do wrong things all the time. You just might not see it. I have gone through so much pain to get where I am, both physically and emotionally. Bleep, really. Lots of bleep. There is no other word to describe some of the things I have gone through. I wouldn't wish it on anyone...not even the one(s) who inflicted it on me. That's the truth (most days).

I commented on my friend's Facebook post that the bleep we go through in life can be like fertilizer for an amazing new life, full of gratitude and joy. I've noticed that most people that are truly happy in life, have been through some really awful things and have made the CHOICE to live in joy, to use the bleep as fertilizer for an amazing life. This is not fake, or some blanket "everything is fine" statement to cover all bad things that happen in life. There is still stress, bad things, moments of anger and disappointment...life happens. But the choice to take on life, and really live it, is the mark of a strong person who has already been through a lot of...bleep, and decided to plant a beautiful garden on top of that pile of bleep and called it life.


I wrote previously about Words Feeding Lies and how old wounds can make their way to the present. I wish bleep in the garden fertilizer worked the same way as bleep in the fertilizer of life. You could just bury it, then churn it every once in a while and in time just morphs into beautiful rich soil. But there's an extra step that is needed in the life-kind, to make sure the bleep doesn't stay...well, bleep. You can churn it, lessen the pile, try and cover it up, or just bury it down deep, and think it's gone for good. But the fact is, the bleep in life doesn't just turn into beautiful, dark, rich new soil all on its own. It takes a lot of the right surroundings to encourage the process. I have experienced these things, and let me tell you, the list of things to help this process along is LONG! You know what I'm talking about.

I've been through traumatic and just plain bad things, and went through years of counseling to deal with all of it. I swear to you, I thought there was nothing else in my life I could have purged during this process. It was all coming out. Surely, this was the end of the old stuff. Surely my bleep had been dealt with, so I could just handle the new bleep that comes in every day. I took my lovely dark dirt, and planted a seed that started this beautiful garden I call my life. Tada!! Everything's great now!!

Hahahaha. That's so funny.
Sigh.

Growing up, our small city had this landfill that they capped, filled, and built a huge park and baseball fields on top of. I grew up in an agricultural community...the burbs on the edge of farmland. I remember the uproar this park caused, creating parks and fields for kids to play on, not knowing the effects of the bleep that sat beneath them?!?! Did you know that traditional landfills have exhaust pipes to release methane into the air? So, rotting garbage creates methane (so does manure). If you put that stuff in a sealed container and just leave it there untouched, methane can actually built up to a great enough level to cause an explosion. True statement. That's why you have to churn your compost. That why landfills have exhaust pipes. So, if I'm relating this back to human life fertilizer, the process we undergo with time, wounds, healing, and our past can be likened to this beautiful park on top of the sealed and filled landfill, and the methane released through the exhaust pipes likened to "life farts". That's what I'm going to call them - life farts. (I just came up with this, and it's kind of making me giggle.)

You know the feeling you get when that gas is building up. It's so uncomfortable, You're shifting around. You're trying to hold it in. Then you go to move, and....pffffffft. It's just never the right time, especially if you're around others. So often, it's the worst time. All of the sudden someone's asking, "Ewe, what's the smell?" Everyone's looking at each other. Who did it? Sometimes, the gas is followed by a little something extra. That's a thousand times worse.
Not that any of this has ever happened to me...ever. I'm a girl. I don't even fart. I don't know what you're talking about. Gas? Yeah right. I expel only sunshine and lollipops. I've only heard about these things. Just wanted to clarify.

So, is everyone pickin' up what I'm layin' down here? Are my metaphors making sense to everyone? 

Sometimes, I have life farts. And the people around me are asking, "Ewe, what's that smell?" Even I might be asking that question. "Oh, that. Sorry, that's just my bleep...coming back to haunt me at the most inopportune time!" I'm waving it around, lighting matches, moving out of the area, trying to pretend that does not exist, and that it didn't come from me, because all of those things are done and healed. Right? Oh, I'm sorry Self, you thought healing was a one-time thing? Haha. You're funny. Like the exhaust pipes of the landfill, situations in my life come up that remind me what my garden is planted on top of, and that smell is off-putting to everyone in the area...including me. Worse when it's got that little extra something added at the end that seems to touch whomever is standing near me.

How perfect a reminder right now in my life! Thanks God for the culmination of learning tools to help me deal in this moment, with my bleep. Perfecto! I love it when life comes together like that...except when it comes to unpleasant, stinky and disgusting things. We like to call those things "baggage". Like a suitcase I'm rolling behind me to every stop in life. I would prefer not to even carry on, but everyone has something they take with them when they go. I try to keep mine to the size of a small carry-on, or maybe even a toiletry bag, but sometimes I add to it on my travels, and it grows to the size of one of those jumbo suitcases with the expandable sides.

I get up to the counter to head out to my next destination and find out I'm over my weight limit. "Sorry ma'am. You have to pay extra for this size bag, or get rid of some stuff." Pfffffffffffffftsplat. Ewe, what's that smell? That's my baggage, AKA bleep, AKA my past...making an entry into my present.

"Excuse me, while I go take care of this "situation"."

I could light all the matches in the world, grab a shovel and start piling more dirt on top of it, plant some more flowers on it and try and make it look pretty. The fact is, there is only One in my life that can transform my life bleep into beautiful soil.

For sure, I do have a beautiful life, and a new creation, redeemed. But that life was built on a bed of difficult circumstances, and was fertilized with the scraps, and the waste, and the bleep of those things. Every once in a while I'm reminded of what's down there, and that it hasn't quite transformed into the right kind of soil to keep my garden growing beautiful things.

I have to dig it up and deal with it. Expose that bleep, let the air and then Son hit it, so it can remove the stench and dry up the hurt. Then I can cast it on the altar and burn that bleep. 

There is a season for everything. I am a new creation, but I am not without a past, present and future. I am not inhuman. "Everybody Poops", so that children's book says. "Bleep happens", as others say. I can't escape it. I can't escape others' either. 

Forgiveness is great. Love is greater. And God is the author of all.

Shall we, then?

More on this later.

Still practicing...

Words Feeding Lies

I've been thinking a lot lately about words that turn to lies, words that hurt, words that wound. It anyone has read any of John Eldridge's books, you will know what I'm talking about when I say, "words that are like arrows". There are many things that can effect a person's life, but words seem to mean more than a lot of things. And words said by the right person can leave wounds the size of small planets.
I recently held a women's breakfast, and asked each of the attendees to write affirmations about themselves, and then character traits or things about themselves. Lastly, I asked them to share three things they were struggling with. We then went around the patio and shared these things with each other. It was a moment (okay, more like an hour) of honesty with each other.
One of my close friends and I were talking about this time, later that weekend, and she was commenting to me how many of us shared struggles with self-worth. Self worth. Am I worthy? What makes me worthy as a woman...as a mother, wife, girlfriend, daughter, sister, lover, friend? What determines my worth, and why is it so damn hard to grasp it? Why does everything else in my life seem to hang on this one thing?
Seems pretty easy. I'm a Christian. I believe that someone died for my life. My life has that much value that someone died for it! Therefore, I should live a state of complete appreciation and understanding of said value, and never have a moment's question as to my significance, value, and purpose in this life. Sure, okay. Religiosity is so perfect, isn't it? Let's mix some guilt in with your doubt, because clearly if you're questioning these things you're missing something. Go read your Bible or something. I know this great Bible study you should go to. They talk all about these issues, and it could really help you. Gag me. (More on this in a sec.)

Half a lifetime ago...

Literally...half a lifetime ago (yikes), I was in my second year of college, and was part of a small traveling singing group. It was the best...a little family of sorts. Nine of us total, 4 females and 5 males, which included our sound guy. We even had matching outfits for performances. Yeah, we were legit. It was Bible college in the late 90's, and this was my second year with these friends. We had all been in a larger group, and some of us together in small ensembles the year before, so we all knew each other going into this year.

My life going into Bible college was tumultuous. Home life was a disaster. Some kids turn to partying, drinking, drugs, sex. I turned to Bible college. Seriously. I was running as fast and as far as I could from all of it, but it seemed like the safest and most responsible decision ("Good Girl, Running"...could have been a book title for this point in my life.) If anything, I had spent my life doing responsible and right, really well.

I will point out at this point in the story (because it's important to the story) that I was kind of "fluffy" going into college. Depression has a way of doing that. I think I may have only been about 20-30 pounds lighter than I am now, maybe not even that much. And I had put on my "Freshman 15" already. (It's important to mention here that I look back at pictures of myself at that age, in our little outfits, and think, "I was beautiful (even with a little fluff)." After all, this was half a lifetime ago.)

I remember the conversation like it was yesterday...

One of the guys in our group and I were hanging out, talking and stuff. Like I said, we were all pretty close. We spent every day, and every weekend together, so when he asked me if he could tell me something honestly, I said yes. I believe his words went something like, "The other guys and I talk about you a lot, and we all think you'd be a great wife and mother. I think you're going to be great at it. You're so perfect for it. And you're face is so pretty. Really, it is, but it's just the rest of you is...not as much. We think you're so great. It's just that one thing, I think, that holds any of us back from dating you."

Lightbulb moment: PEOPLE SAY STUPID THINGS!

So, there I was, completely like, "Um, okay" speechless (because, what do you say to that?). I believe I said something graceful like, "Thank you for being honest with me" or some crap like that. Honest words from a friend...and they felt like a thousand arrows pointed at the same target. All grace aside, it was a stupid thing to say.

Here's the thing. Even things done in truth and honesty can crush a person. I've done it. In my teens and early twenties I was all hopped up on Jesus-juice and thought I could just go out and preach to people and rid them of their sinful ways. I crushed them. I crushed their spirits. Even in my writing...I bet I've done it. I hope that wisdom and maturity have kicked in enough, and through my experiences I have managed to show compassion when needed, but I am human too. I bet I've crushed people with my words, even recently.

It happens. It wasn't ill-intentioned. This guy was after all, was being honest, and in his mind trying to help me out as a friend. He might have even thought it should be flattering to me that they talked about me in this way. (You know...because I'd be a great wife and mother and all.) Sometimes truth and honesty ain't all it's cracked up to be. Once words leave our mouths, they enter unfiltered territory. They fall on ears, attached to a body and a heart that has wounds, and weak spots, and baggage.

Because I'm a Christian, I believe in powers unseen. I believe in Truth and Love as God, and I believe in lies and deceit as my Enemy. We'll call him Satan. Did you know Christians can be used by Satan? NO FREAKIN" WAY!! Yes way. We should really pay more attention to this possibility. It would really help a lot of issues. Anyway, I like to think of the Garden of Eden situation (yeah, that place) as a primo example of how Satan works. Like a snake, slithering his way into our minds and hearts, convincing us of things that aren't true. Maybe they're half-truths, maybe just flat out lies, but he plays on our insecurities and our lack of trust and understanding of God, to plant a seed of doubt. And yes, I mean us women.

Thanks Eve, for the many curses upon our sex. Much appreciated. One of the biggest things we women struggle with is our self-worth. We're craving answers to this hole in our hearts. We want validation, confirmation, and affirmation in the worst way. Sometimes we develop very unhealthy ways of trying to get these things. I'm not saying men don't struggle with this too. There's just something about this that's a little different, maybe a little more defining and powerful, for a woman. What am I worth? What am I worth to you?

These questions start straight off, and in the most healthy way, we get our first human validation of our worth from our parents and family. They are our little world, and they are the ones that fill us with knowledge and understanding of who we are, and who we are in relation to everything and everyone else around us. But even the most healthy situation is not void of snaky influence. A full, undamaged, pure and loving heart is a threat to lies and deceit. Even our enemy sees our value.

Half-truths, small deceptions, insecure thoughts, negative comments, negative images, abuse, bullying, mean girls, jealous moms, withdrawn dads, etc, etc, etc. It starts out so small, but the arrows keep coming, and a wound that was the size of a small pinhole, gets larger and larger with each arrow hitting it's center, until it is a gaping wound looking for healing.

This giant arrow that hit my heart in college had perfect aim. A wound was already there, but this honest conversation caused years of pain. Obviously, if I can remember the conversation almost 19 years later.

Christians like to throw a blanket fix (sometimes) over wounds like this. Like that my value is in Christ. Does my head know that? Absolutely. Does my heart know that? Not always.

Healing...

Healing has been a challenge. Remember, this is now a gaping wound. All the Bible studies in the world about it, didn't help it. Every guy from this conversation on has only affirmed these lies even more. "You'd be a great wife and mother, but..." "You have a beautiful face, but the rest of you not so much". It has helped me answer every question I have ever had about why I am still single. Truth.

When I turned 35 a couple of years ago, I think I was going through my midlife crisis. I was dreading this birthday. I still believe everyone has a birthday they dread. Mine was this one. It was all in my head, of course, but I was struggling with my expectations of myself at age 35. Why wasn't I further along in my life? Granted, I had a car accident/recovery that wasted almost 10 years of progression in life, but who cares about that. I was 35. All of my friends were done with school, married with children, and here I was. I quit school because of the accident. I wasn't married, and had no children. Why? Because I have a beautiful face, a beautiful soul, but the rest of me...not so much. I kid you not. This has been my response to myself all these years.

So, how does one get rid of that hurt, or even start to heal it? You have to go back to it, find the arrow, painfully remove it from your heart, and spend time administering the healing balm of Truth to it. It's not an insta-fix kind of thing, either. Then when you're done taking that one out, you find the others, one by one, and do the same thing. You find as many of them as you can, and are meant to find at this point in your life, and you do the hard work of grieving, removing, and replacing. In a nutshell. And oh, by the way, the arrows still come lookin', even if you've "healed" a part of you. They still come, looking for a place to land.

My value, ultimately, is not assigned to what others think of me. It's not assigned to how many Facebook likes I get on my writing, or my profile picture, or how many friends I have. If that's a way of measuring my value, then I will surely be crumbled. My value was placed the day I was created. My Maker designed all of me, and decided the world needed a Marci...just the way she is. He needed this soul to be this way, to look this way, to go through these things, and that thing (lots of things), and gifted her specifically, with things she would need to conquer life...gifted her with things that she could use to help others see God, so that they could do the same.

My point is this. We're going to "f" this up. We are human. Let's love each other well. I have gone back to this specific conversation in my mind, several times, to heal from it, and from the wounds preceding it. We need to do that too. They are lies. They are intentional lies. Lies meant to derail us from a life of love and hope. We can't live there. We must scrape up enough courage and hope to realize even the smallest value in ridding ourselves of the lies we carry, so that we can be free.

Free.

Our value, our healing, our revival...is threatening. But we have one fighting for us that is greater than all. He is fighting for us while our hearts lay in a pile of mush, our scars and our open wounds lay bare, and we cannot fight for ourselves. We are worth this much. This much.

Still practicing...

On The Verge

I should probably blog about this. It’s going to be long, and I haven’t blogged in a while. But…I’ll leave this one for my friends on Facebook. (Update: I DID post this in a blog!!)
I feel it coming again…that old familiar feeling that comes right before something major is about to take place in my life. It’s as if I’m standing at a crossroads of desire and hope, with fear, insecurity, lies, expectations and assumptions coming at me from every other direction. My instinct is to feel alone in this moment, as if I’m the only one who is, and has ever, experienced this very thing. I am not.
I have no idea which variable in my current world is about to change, but I have been around long enough to know where I’m standing.
Desire and hope are not something I’m familiar with accepting in my life. They seem to be too good for me, too good to be true, or just too risky to believe in. But fear, insecurity, lies, expectations and assumptions…I’m very familiar with these things. At the crossroads of these decisions in the past, I have been more likely to give in…especially to insecurity and lies. They seem more comfortable. More real. Safer.
It is ironic that I could see insecurity and lies as a safer option. They do nothing but deter me from truth, honesty, and the absolute best. But they feel safer, as if I would suffer no disappointment if I follow that path, because I already know the outcome. I can retreat within myself, giving myself the control of the lesser life. At least I would be in control. At least I would not be vulnerable...unraveled. I could allow for those better things more easily, could I take lies and insecurity along with me. But on the trail of truth and honesty, there is no allowance for a backpack of ugliness to drag along. I am stuck at this crossroads with what seems like the weight of the world pressing down on me for an answer, and I feel at war on the inside.
Why is it so hard to trust? God says, “Trust me”, after 99 times of trusting him so recently, with no clear picture of why. Do I need a “why”? Do I need to know? My feelings want to see the result of my trust like a child wants a lollipop for good behavior at the doctor’s office. I did, so I get. I did, so therefore I see a, b and c happen. My trust has produced mounds of painful things recently. Things I have lost that I felt so much, that trusting seemed so painful, and I’m not sure I want to trust for the 100^th time.
God asks me to trust him with reckless abandoned, and I question the result. I only see the pain it has caused me. I asked myself to look and see if this was the only thing I was “getting” out of trusting, and the answer was a profound no. But like Satan and the original sin, he has convinced me that God’s best is being kept from me, and in order to get it, I must step outside of his best, and go get it for myself. The lies!!
In reality, any temporary pain that I have gone through has ultimately been for my good. A cleansing of sorts, to allow room for other things that have actually brought me tremendous blessing, and *should* be encouraging my faith and trust. How easily I overlook those things, and focus on the others.
I am invited, at this crossroads, to a place of honesty – with myself, with others, with the situation in front of me. And not just honesty, but vulnerability. My honesty, brought forth in complete trust, has the opportunity to cause more pain, like before. It also has the opportunity to bring me so much joy and love, more than I have ever experienced. Am I willing to trust, knowing in my head that no matter the outcome, it is the best for me, while my heart lies in a pile of emotional spaghetti? Or do I cut and run, listening to my insecurities, and go with the “safer” option?
I am saying mounds of prayers over my own situation right now, the details of which are so personal I won’t share. But as I said before, I know I am not alone in this place of uncertainty and vulnerability. To be completely honest and open, everything in me is crying "run". Run quickly...and in the opposite direction, because I am about to get hurt. I am about to get my heart torn into a million tiny, unrecognizable pieces, and I will not survive. (This is not true of course, and I have no way of knowing that I will even get hurt at all, yet this is what I tell myself to justify my actions).
I could do this, but instead I am I am forcing myself to sit in silence, in this most uncomfortable place…and wait. I will sit here while I let my mind and heart rest in uncertainty. I will ward off my negative thoughts and feelings, and protect my heart and my mind from lies and insecurity, by calling on God and angels to surround me with peace and love. They do conquer all.
And I will try, when it is time, to take that most awkward and terrifying first step.
Still practicing…

The Day We Started "Cuddle Therapy"

My 15-year old cousin moved in with my sister and I this past August. The transition for all of us has been hard. In the last seven months we have been faced with so many issues, I wonder what's left that we could possibly deal with. That's a stupid thought for any parent to think, by the way. There is a list a mile long of things my kid could be doing that are worse than what we're going through. When I think I can't possibly take any more, I let my mind wander for just a second to this list, and then realize I should be grateful. And I do try...to be grateful. I try to put those big girl panties on, and strap on my warrior parent vest, and count my blessings like every good parent should. But the truth is...sometimes this job is just really, really...really hard. I have spent more time crying in the car and in the shower, recently, than I care to admit. It's just like that right now.

I am still trying to adjust to my adventures into insta-parenting. (I say "insta-parenting" because I've never actually raised children, and am now jumping into it with a 15-year old with some major issues.) The last time she was here, she was only here for 5 months. Now she's here for 5 years. Adrenaline only takes you so far, and then the honeymoon period ends and the kaka starts hitting the fan. I think our "honeymoon period" literally lasted the length of most honeymoons (probably a week or two), before we started getting slapped in the face with it. I wish we could have had one of those rich people honeymoons that lasts for like a month. That would have been nice.  :)

Before you go thinking that I hate parenting, or my cousin-daughter, let me tell you about some really cool things about being a parent, and my kid in particular. First of all, she is AWESOME!! She is super-creative. And if I were ever able to pick what kind of child I would have, it would be a creative one. She draws and paints, and makes crafts, cooks (without recipes), and loves color...on everything (her hair, the walls, her body, etc.) She often draws on herself, and I feel like (if she wants to), she would make a great tattoo artist some day (if she keeps practicing her art).

Her brain thinks differently than a lot of people's. Chances are, she will never work in a corporate setting (at least not in the way most people think of "corporate"), and I'm okay with that. Those people are stuffy anyway. I like the creatives, the nerds, the geeks, the people who are tattooed up to their necks, with weird hair and ear lobes the size of golf balls, the people that tend to be socially awkward, but have hearts of pure gold, and are usually geniuses that just look "weird". (And yes, I think gauging is ridiculous.) But there is something about these people that strikes a cord with me, and that's how I feel about my kid. I WANT her to be weird in this way, because it allows her to be herself, and because it makes her more awesome, and I think the world needs more awesome.

The next cool thing about my kid is she's really perceptive. She can sense when I'm deep in thought, when I'm sad, or when the mood of a room is just "not right". She's tuned in to that stuff more than most people I know, and I think it's great. Honing those skills will do her good in life. She's also very spiritual and introspective. She knows a lot about herself. Combined with years of counseling, and her own natural giftedness, she is able to say to me, "I NEED ATTENTION"...literally. She says that to me, exactly those words, exactly that way. Who does that?! I don't. I beat around the bush like, "Hey, wanna do something together sometime?" Yeah, no. She is not like that. She just comes right out with it, and is very opinionated about what she thinks, and what she wants. She'll walk out of yoga and say, "Wow, I feel so at peace right now!", while I might just think it was a great workout.

She has never met a stranger. Whether it be the stray cats on our property, our neighbors, random people on the street, this girl just talks to anyone. I feel like "stranger danger" was not introduced to her properly, or maybe she was absent that day in kindergarten, because even at 15, I'm constantly trying to remind her that there are dangerous people out there, and she needs to be careful about going into stranger's homes. ?????? Yeah, it's like that. She has named all the stray cats on our property, and knows practically every dog-owner in our complex, by association to their dog. (She doesn't know their human names, just the dog's names.) My kid is also hilarious...and VERY sweet!!(when she is not acting as Sassy McSassypants...haha)

The last thing I'll mention, in a long list of what could be a novel about the awesomeness of my cousin-daughter is that she loves to be loved. Her biggest love language (for those of you who have read that book) is physical touch. She loves to hold hands (a LOT), walk arm in arm, have her hair played with and her back scratched to fall asleep. (I will just point out here, that having a 15 year old that craves love and physical touch is TERRIFYING!!!)
Ahem. Okay, back to her. My cousin-daughter was adopted by my aunt and uncle when she was 2 1/2 years old. Her birth mother was using cocaine (and other drugs) when she had her. She was also abused and severely neglected during her first two years of life. She was finally removed from that home, and that is ultimately how she ended up in our family. I believe those first years have a hard link to her craving for physical touch, and her constant need for nurturing.

About two weeks ago we had some major stuff go down in our house, some big issues were discovered, and some very devastating choices were made by our cousin-daughter that has left us all in a state of damage & safety-control. Schedules have been revamped. Items have been removed from our home, and most importantly we are on 24-watch patrol. Needless to say, it has been stressful on all of us!!! And what 15-year old wants their parents around 24/7?! Right. NONE!

A few days after all of this went down, the emotional breakdown hit. It's the post-breakdown breakdown. Not the initial one, but the one after that, when all the depression hits and it starts to get real. It was my day off, so I was home in the evening. She was getting ready for bed, and started crying over what seemed like really insignificant stuff, so I calmly talked to her to see if we could resolve it before she fell asleep. The tears actually had nothing to do with the insignificant crap (as they rarely do with any woman). They just kept coming. Not sobbing, but they might as well have been. Just constant tears from a very broken heart.

So I did what any mom (or quasi-mom) would do. I climbed in next to her in her little twin bed, and held her up against me like I was holding a baby...a little 5'10" baby. If I could have walked her around the room, bouncing her, and patting her back, I would have. As we lay there on our sides, facing each other, her crying into my chest, I learned all about what was plaguing her brain and her heart. I allowed her to cry, as I kept stroking her hair, speaking affirmations to her, praying for her out loud, praying for protection, for angels, for any living or celestial being available, to come protect my child's thoughts, dreams, heart, life and well-being. What else was I supposed to do at this point? So far we had us, our friends, our family, therapists, church...what else was there??!!

I held her for almost an hour and a half like that. I had been silent for all of two minutes when she says in her almost-asleep whisper, "Say something." (Remember previously mentioned calls for attention. She is not shy about asking for what she needs.) So I start in again with the affirmations, with the prayers, until her breathing is so heavy and deep, I determine that she is finally asleep. I stay holding her for several more minutes until I can remove my grip from her, and go into the other room. Ten minutes later I hear her frantically calling my name from the bedroom. I go in, and she's asleep, but breathing like she terrified. I start in again with the stroking and the praying, until I feel it's safe to leave again.

That night may have been the first night in a week or so that she slept through the night. She was dead to the world the next morning. Something had worked. After a week of nightmares and not sleeping well, something had finally worked. After speaking with her therapist, he explained that this act was similar to rocking a baby to sleep (something that she rarely, if ever, experienced). With all the therapy she was getting, and all the stuff being drudged up, she was literally craving the nurturing one receives as a baby. He suggested we continue our now fondly named "cuddle therapy" every night to help her get the physical touch, and comforting nurturing she had been craving. Some (hopefully a lot) of her behaviors would be helped by this.

We are a week in to "cuddle therapy", and I notice a difference. I wouldn't say I "love" half-hanging off a twin bed three nights a week, for an hour and a half, praying I don't fall off. But what I do love is filling a love tank for my cousin-daughter, that has been empty for 15 years. I love that. I love hearing about her day, and allowing her space and safety to talk about what is on her mind and her heart as she falls asleep. I love telling her about herself, and praying for her as she goes into her dreams every night. And I love the effect that it is having on her behaviors, as the blow-ups don't seem so bad, and the frequency has decreased (at least for the time being). Along with all the other coping mechanisms we are learning as a family, "cuddle therapy" has turned out to be really rewarding.

I heard someone say recently that kids are often not craving attention. They are really craving is connection. And her therapist repeated it only days later, so it must be true!! The proof is in the pudding, I suppose. I'm sure we'll learn how well this "cuddle therapy" (and all the other therapy) is working out. So...here's to cuddling!

One thing is for sure though...we really need a bigger bed.

Signing off for tonight as I keep practicing...

And The Word Is...Love.

I made it a point at the beginning of 2014 to spend the year building friendships, and to be more available to the friends I already had. In some cases I succeeded, and in some cases, realized there wasn't enough of me to go around. Even the best goals can be brought down a notch by my own humanity. Now, at the end of 2014, I look back with a grateful heart at the changes made to my personal friend list.

I have said, and will continue to say, I have the best friends in the world. While there is a natural ebb and flow to all relationships, there are some really solid ones in my life. After a thoughtful and thorough look at the people and relationships in my life, I have have come to many conclusions. The biggest one being this...

I am loved.

I've been thinking lately about true love. I'm not talking about the Kristen Stewart, Robert Pattinson, starring oddly into each other's eyes for too long, while weird music plays in the background, and everyone else waits impatiently for a plot, kind of love. I'm not even talking about the love between a couple. The rarest, truest, and most pure form of love is the kind that we give unconditionally, with no expectations, no strings. And that can be with anyone. It is also the kind of love that comes with one of my least favorite words: Sacrifice.

It goes against everything within me, whether it's upbringing, society, my past, PMS, my sex, or the bad day I just had, to truly sacrifice and love someone, with no guarantee on the return. It's harsh, isn't it, to invest time, my heart, and a list of other things, into a relationship that I want to work, only to be faced with rejection, indifference, or worse - hate?! Whether it is family, a partner, a wannabe partner, a child even, a stranger, or an enemy of any kind, love comes at a risk, and sometimes makes me wonder if it's really worth it. And I've been wondering about this a LOT lately!

I could spend a lot of time talking about the path I have walked this last year, all that I have learned, and the harsh realities I've dealt with, in my previous blogs and postings, and I'll have to save the rest for another time. I'm sticking with love, for this post.

There are some people in life that are loved and just can't, or won't see it. Then there are others who aren't, and wish every day that they were. The way I see it, the world is full of people looking for love. Like Johnny Lee sings, sometimes we're looking for it in all the wrong places. We find ourselves oftentimes disillusioned by love, because it didn't pan out the way we thought it would, or wanted it to.

This year has been a swirling mix of overwhelming love and growth, facing demons, and a lot of hurt and betrayal. It has also been a year for setting boundaries. I don't find the correlation ironic at all (boundaries and love). In fact, I believe they had to go hand in hand. Because for me, with my Cancer loyalty, my Dutch stubbornness, my eldest child bravery, my heart on my sleeve feelings, and my ideological independence, I can sometimes find myself putting all my eggs (loves) in one basket, and fiercely protecting all the eggs, when really, I should be pushing some out of the nest...so to speak, of course. Sometimes I feel like the loud speaker of my life speaks loudly, "Clinger, aisle five!", because unlike that stupid "Frozen" song begs me to do, I can't seem to let it go. And by "it", I mean anything I care about.

That fulfilling need I had to drudge through school just to please someone else and feel accomplished. Let it go. Guilt over failed personal expectations. Let it go. Fear of losing someone. Let it go. Men and babies. Let it go. The need to feel wanted, loved, respected. Let it go. The need to control things, and make sure everyone (and I do mean everyone) is attended to, happy, safe, comfortable, and taken care of. Let THAT go!! And the fear of letting go. Well, I had to let that go too. All these needs, and fears, and expectations were just binding me up, restricting me from truly being myself in every way that mattered, and sucking all of the time, energy and life out of my heart in the process.

The problem with holding on to things, is that we're usually planning the future with them. It's a control thing - the holding on, the expectations. You're holding all your loves right there in your basket, and filling your little world with expectations, and hopes and dreams for you, and everyone else in it.

It's unfair, and it's not love.

News flash to those who, like me, need this reminder: We can't control other people. 

In my opinion, the need to control comes from fear. Think about it. I'll wait..........................................

From politics to religion, to parenting and relationships, fear motivates us to do some really crazy shit. And "love" that is motivated by fear?!! Well, that's the stuff of Greek legend right there. That never brings anything good. I see it all the time, and so do you. Stories of love and lust, and fear, still grace the 5 o'clock news, and are the topic of water cooler gossip updates at the office.

I'm gonna put a little disclaimer on this next part here, as we transition into the world of singleness. Here's where all of this gets real for me. Here is what plagues my brain at 2am...

I am attracted to all of the people in my life. It's true! Now, don't let your mind go to the gutter on this one. Just think about it. If you look at the people in your life that you actually like, it's because they are attractive to you. There is something about them, whether it's personality, brains, the way they look, a common interest or hobby, their fire for life, their passion, or simply the way they make you feel when you're around them - there is something about them that attracts you to them.

I am not attracted to everyone on this planet. There are some people that I just feel like saying, "Please, stay away." I can respect them as a person much better from a distance. To push us any closer would bring out the worst in both of us. There are people like that for you too. I know it. There are some people we just don't jive with. As long as we can respect people, and love them, knowing the boundary we need to have in order to do so, I really believe that's okay. To say that I can't love someone is simply not true. It's just that I'm not attracted to them, and I choose not to love them. Love is always a choice. Attraction, not so much.

Enter in the opposite sex to a single life, and our attraction to a person sets off a chain reaction of thought and action. (I realize that entering in the opposite sex and attraction to ANY person's life sets off this chain reaction, but I'm keeping it "single topic" on this one, so bear with me. I write what I know.) I'm single, they're single, through a process of interactions and "that look", we figure out we're attracted to each other. Awesome. A couple of initial, possibly-awkward phone calls, and a couple coffee dates later, we're still attracted to each other, and now we figure out we have some stuff in common, and become even more attracted to each other. Yay.

Hormones and opportunity have presented themselves, and you have something I like to call "lust". Oooooo, dirty word, right? That person that's so philosophical and intelligent, and you've been sharing all these meaningful conversations with over the last few weeks? Well, now you're checking out their ass while they're buying you a drink, and you start thinking, "What if...?"

One of a few paths one can take at this point. I'll narrow it down to two very generalized ones, for the sake of argument.

Path #1:
Two drinks in and we're telling each other all about what we're going to do with them and to them. We have some really passionate and amazing sex, start dating and call it love. I've skipped a lot of stuff, I realize, but a lot of us hit the pause button right here. This is where we keep things, in a state of passion and lust, calling it love, when really that's just a part of love. Passion can make some really stupid decisions. It can also bond people together in ways that shouldn't be overlooked. On a pie chart graph of what love consists of, this wouldn't be the biggest slice. We all know that's true! Passion is like the lighter fluid of a BBQ. It's an inferno of uncontrollable flames, wild and hot...and it doesn't last forever. There has to be something else there to keep those coals hot.

Have you ever bought those coals where after the lighter fluid wears off, they just stop burning altogether? Yeah, there's some relationships like that too. Duds. You went to the store, intending to get the Kingsford brand quality coals (your soulmate), and they were sold out ("all the good ones were taken"). So you settled for the cheap store brand (the one you met at that bar). They're the same thing, right? Mmhmm. And we wonder why things didn't work out.

All the hype of that new relationship is gone, and we're left with each other. Flaws and all. We start seeing that that philosophical, intelligent person you met so long ago, with their mysterious and alluring eyes, was actually crazy. All that attention you were giving them wasn't making them love you any more. You were just feeding their fire. That ass that you were starring at has migrated south, and started to become one with their legs, and those eyes don't seem so mysterious and alluring anymore either. What did we love about this person again? We can't even remember. Something about a common interest...that isn't even an interest anymore. Or maybe we just didn't know what love was. Maybe we interpreted attraction as love. Hmmmmmm.

What we wanted was for those coals to get to a controllable heat, so they could run the distance on this BBQ, and now all we have are stomach pains, no heat, and no food!
Is anyone catching my metaphors here?! 'Cause if nothing else, I am getting really hungry. Haha. So, we're good? All on the same page? Great. There has to be some substance there to keep a relationship alive. Nobody likes burnt steak, that you end up having to throw out. We like it nice and juicy. You gotta be patient to get that. Get yourself a piece of quality steak, some long-burning coals, and some time, and you have yourself a winning combination. Again with the food metaphors. I think this diet is killing me!!

Okay, path #2:
We have decided that those eyes we've been staring into, and that ass we've been ogling, is worth more than burnt steak. There might be something there, more than a few weeks of intriguing conversation, anyway. So we reel it in. I tell myself this all the time, when I feel my emotions or my hormones getting the better of me, sending my mind down a path that looks nothing like reality..."Reel it in, Marci!"

What if we went into this thing with zero (and I really mean zero) expectations of a future relationship with this person, leaving it open to go (or not go) wherever both of you decided it should? What if we wanted to really get to know this person and figure out if the things that mattered to us were the things that mattered to them, or that we didn't embody all the things they didn't want in a partner, but could appreciate in a friend? What if that was our "what if...?"

It's so counter intuitive, right? It's not even really dating. It's boring. It's hard work. It requires too much of that awful word "communication", and others like "self control". Sounds like dating in the 1950's. Yuck. Who brought the lame brains to this party anyway?! Instead of a BBQ, we've chosen more of the "slow cooker" route. It's not flashy, but we're just praying it works.

We might start really getting to know this person, asking all the hard questions, and grow more and more attracted to them. We think, "Wow, this person is really amazing! I really, really like them." Or we may start picking up a bunch of red flags along that way that has us wondering what in God's name we thought was so perfect about this person. Either way, we now have another choice. To walk away (mostly) unscathed, from a couple-relationship that never was, or to start a relationship as a couple, grounded on an already-existing friendship.

So, where does that leave you and me? 

I mean, these analogies are great and all, but it's a lot harder than this in reality, isn't it? We're so quick to equate attraction to true love. We think if we're still attracted to someone, even after all the red flags, then we must be in love with them. "Surely if they were not the right partner for me, I would no longer be attracted to them."
No. Aucun. Nein! Ne pas! NIET!!!
Attraction ≠ love! If it did, I would be IN love with everyone I know. Haha.

I was commenting to one of my very good friends just recently about the string of guy friends I have. I really do have a lot of them. And I have a lot of really good ones too. The kind that share their hearts with me, and allow me to do the same. The kind that help me when I need it, encourage me, confront me, hold my hand when I'm about to cry, let me borrow their shoulder when I can't stop myself from doing so. They kiss me on the cheek and tell me they love me, go to the movies with me so I don't have to go alone. They invite me to things in their lives. They share ideas, their past, their present and their future with me, and when they say they love me, they really do mean it. And I mean it when I say it back.

And I'm not dating any of them. This shocks a lot of people, and honestly, it shocks me too sometimes! This is where my conversation went with my friend the other day, in that why do I have this string of guy friends, who love me, but don't looooove-love me? "How far is it really, to go from here to here (using my hands in this conversation, marking a space of about two inches apart)? I mean, what's the problem?!", I asked him dramatically. "It is just that they can't see themselves having sex with me? Is that it?! Because I don't know what else it could be! From here to here is not that far! (Again with the hand gestures and dramatics.) I feel like there's something wrong with me! Is there something wrong with me?! There has to be some reason why!"

The poor guy really didn't know what was coming at him. The (kind of) funny part of it was, he was one of them. One in the string of guy friends whom I love and who loves me back, and yet we're not IN love. And then, right out of cliche hell, the words come out, "There's nothing wrong with you. You just haven't met the right guy."

Who is this mysterious "right guy" fellow?? Is he living in a cave on the other side of the world or something??! If I ever do meet him, I have half a mind to strangle him, instead of love him...haha.

And yes, I did have a meltdown after we left this conversation. Why? Because I hate being single. And it's Christmas! Flat out the worst time of the year to be single! I miss making dinner with someone, while having a Netflix marathon. I miss having sex with the same person all the time. And even though I hate that stupid Hallmark holiday, I want a box of Ferrero Roche chocolates and overpriced flowers for Valentine's Day, like every other schmuck, dangit! And I want to say and hear I love you, and know that that person is coming home to me at night. Me. Not anyone else. And they're going to wake up next to me in the morning...happy!
And there it is. I know this is all sooooo non-PC. I don't freakin' care. I'm so tired of pretending that I don't feel that way...that we don't all feel that way (at least sometimes).

This was my meltdown to God...in the car...on the way home, raw, honest and full of tears and questions. Why can't any of this just happen? Thankfully, this didn't last very long, before I came to the epiphany that is the sum of this blog post. Finally, the sum of it, I know!

I am loved well.

I could choose to sad about the love I wasn't getting. I really could. And honestly, sometimes I do. Instead, I could choose to be grateful for the love I was absolutely getting! All these people in my life (including my women friends too), loving me so well, and in all the right ways, and I was still upset because I wasn't getting the kind of love I wanted to get. Why? Fear.

Fear. Oh, that again. You see how this is all coming together now, don't you? Sorry for the ten back doors, and eight paragraphs of food metaphors in order to get to this point, but there really was...a point. Haha.

I was practicing a little fear-based love of my own, placing unfair expectations on the people I loved. I wish I had known what I was doing. It was so buried that I didn't even realize it was an issue, but there it was. Fear had me holding on to crappy people, who didn't really love me, just because I was afraid of losing them. I loved them, but they just didn't love me back. Or...they said they cared, but they really didn't. All of them. Not just guys. Everyone. I expected them to care, to be honest with themselves and with me. I expected...

Fear had me wishing that this relationship or that one, would move out of the "friend zone" and into something more, simply because I was attracted to them and we loved each other unconditionally. That seems like enough, doesn't it? Love seems so simple when you break it down. But we all know there's more to it than that. If love is a choice, then sometimes people just aren't choosing you. They're choosing themselves, their job, anger, bitterness, or someone else.

It could be timing. It could be that your paths are headed in completely different directions. It could be that your idiosyncrasies are just too much to handle every day of every year. It could be that their head is so far up their rear end that they're too scared, blind or stupid to love you back. Whatever it is, it can sometimes feels like a game of "Mixology" in this crazy, single world. Unfortunately, games always end up with a winner and a loser, and it sucks when you're the latter.

I've mentioned several times to friends that I have given up on dating. It's easy, after all this thinking, to want to give up on love. I even thought maybe that was the better way. It is downright painful to keep hope alive inside of an aching heart. It burns and stings, and it just feels safer to close up shop and call it quits on love altogether. But all that does is wall off parts of our heart that we need, or that other people need from us. And even though keeping our hearts available means keeping it vulnerable to being hurt, it's a risk worth taking. It is.

In my observation, neglecting areas of our heart for the sake of safety for the other parts, means we can't allow ourselves to be loved fully, or fully love anyone else either. There's a part of our heart that's black and cold with fear and hurt. To say that it doesn't effect the rest of our heart is only a lie we tell ourselves to keep from feeling it. And this is why I couldn't give up on love, but I could give up on "the try".

My God conversation - the one after the meltdown in the car, was about true love. I realized that I had it all along. True love, the unconditional kind, is free of expectation, guilt or worry. It is freely given, and freely taken. It is not assuming or demanding. It is freedom. True, it isn't couple love. It is definitely not the same thing! But I bet if you evaluated the longest lasting couples, unconditional love would be the biggest slice of the pie chart.

I had to understand the root of it all. I had to see for myself that I was already truly loved, and allow myself to feel that. No other love I could expect to get in my life can come until I grasped what was already present in my life. My tears of frustration were because my expectations of love weren't being met. There have been so many years...so many, where I have felt unloved, not worthy of love, or too hurt to love again.

I thought the pain of losing people, and setting boundaries in my life was going to hurt more of my heart. Instead, it opened parts of it that were walled off for a long time, parts I wasn't sure worked anymore, parts I wasn't always sure I wanted to work anymore, because the vulnerability of love is sometimes too overwhelming. I removed so much negativity that was holding me back, sometimes by setting some really tough boundaries, and made space for forgiveness and more love to cycle through. It turns out fear and expectations were only keeping me from enjoying what I already had. I'm just glad I realized it before it wasn't there anymore.

You're right, it's not the same thing. I still want a relationship. I still want a family of my own. I still want all the things I cried out to God for. But I am done trying to get them. I am done. Let the chips fall where they may, and if some person walks into my life who wants to lay claim on my heart, it will finally be available and willing to accept it and give it back, again. I don't need to be anxious for what I don't have. I could spent an entire lifetime hoping for love the way I wanted it to happen, with my eyes set fixed on that, or I could broaden my lens, and realize love was trying to get my attention while I was off daydreaming about it.

Like I said before, there are plenty of people in this world that don't get love and wish they would, and here I have it, and it would be insanity not to take it all in. I would encourage you as well, to give up the try, and just start accepting the love that you have. Let it heal some of those hurt parts, and open up doors to new parts you never knew were there. You might be surprised what you find. I know I am! It's probably trying to get your attention too.

If I put my complete trust and faith in people I would never be able to do this, because I know that people will ultimately fail me, just as I will fail them at some point. They will hurt me. It's inevitable...kind of a human thing. There is only one who holds my heart so completely and securely, able to unlock all the doors, and break down all the walls with the purest love and grace. He's been doing a lot of work this year. And that is my story for 2014.

My God story in print. "When you let the light of Love and Truth in your life, you're able to forgive and find peace so that your soul can awaken and love again." 2014 was the year of my soul's awakening. People comment a lot on my smile, laugh, or the happiness that seems to be a constant in my life. I like to respond, "Oh, that's my Jesus light!" (It's either that, or the dimples. Haha.) An outward reflection of inward change.

I welcome 2015, and I'm giving myself permission this year, to live in the reality of true love in my life, in whatever forms it comes to me, and to give it wholly in the same way. I think it's a great mindset to have. If love never returns void, then why not set my year up for getting and giving it. Can't hurt. True love is never wasted (even when we feel it might be). I'm so thankful for the people in my life who have a part of this process, and have continuously poured love into my heart, so I could finally come to a place of accepting it. Like I said, true love is never wasted. So, let's get on with it.

As always, still practicing...

1 Corinthians 13:4-13New Living Translation (NLT)

Love is patient and kind. Love is not jealous or boastful or proud or rude. It does not demand its own way. It is not irritable, and it keeps no record of being wronged. It does not rejoice about injustice but rejoices whenever the truth wins out. Love never gives up, never loses faith, is always hopeful, and endures through every circumstance.

Prophecy and speaking in unknown languages and special knowledge will become useless. But love will last forever! Now our knowledge is partial and incomplete, and even the gift of prophecy reveals only part of the whole picture! But when the time of perfection comes, these partial things will become useless.

When I was a child, I spoke and thought and reasoned as a child. But when I grew up, I put away childish things. Now we see things imperfectly, like puzzling reflections in a mirror, but then we will see everything with perfect clarity.[b] All that I know now is partial and incomplete, but then I will know everything completely, just as God now knows me completely.

Three things will last forever—faith, hope, and love—and the greatest of these is love.

Two Almonds With A Side Of Water

I recently signed up for a weight loss program. I've been thinking about it for a while. I have several friends who have recently gone through very big transformations in this area, and after setting my own goals at the beginning of the year and not even making a step towards them, I found myself contemplating my next step. What is the right plan? Is it safe? Is it supervised?

It can be a little overwhelming. And what's more, if you tell people about it, you have to explain yourself. And, of course, I tell people. I mean, come on. I can't shut up about anything. The only thing I don't share publicly is the who/what/when/where and how I do stuff with the opposite sex. I might spout off about singledom and vague representations of the past, but there is a line I draw around the men in my life to protect them. Sharing even that you went to coffee with them can cause major issues for men, and I know enough to know I don't want to be the one to put them in that situation. I might write about you like Taylor Swift does, in some pseudo-named, tragic love story on my single page, but before we went wrong? Oh heck no. That's on lock down. (Haha)

Back to things I can't shut up about...like my life. There are a few reasons I like sharing it, but I think the joy of writing is not only catharsis, and relieving one's brain of all the ideas floating around in it, but it's also about having an audience. If you directed a play, you hope someone will go see it. If you star in a movie, you hope someone will watch it. Sing a song, you want someone to listen. Take a picture, you want someone to look at it. If you write a book, you want people to read it. Etc, etc, you get the idea. Everyone has a something they offer to humanity, and it is good to recognize it in ourselves, and also in others, so we can be encouraged to keep doing it.

So, I write. I write about parenthood, singledom, moonlit nights, my family, my fears, thoughts, dreams, my tragedies, and my past. I write about God, banana bread, things that annoy me, yadda yadda yadda. It's really a crap shoot. Just like now, because today I'm writing about dieting.

Ahhhhh yes, dieting. It seems like everyone is on one, even if they don't know they are. Someone should tell them. "Um, excuse me, but did you know that your food has cancer-causing chemicals in it, that will not only preserve your organs like a 20-year old McDonald's french fry, but also cause you to die sooner? I didn't think so. Here's a pamphlet. You should really change your diet." Changing it means they already had one to begin with, so this is my belief - that we all are on a diet of some kind.

I started "dieting" (as in somewhat caring about what I ate) about 2 1/2 years ago after a family trip to Las Vegas. When pictures came out of the trip I was mortified. No, disgusted really. That would be more accurate. So I did something about it right then. I started a plan and went walking every night, and lost 20 pounds. Then I got depressed about some douchebag boy in my life, and stalled out at 20. Then I got over him and lost 10 more. Then I plateaued for about 2 years, teetering with the next 5 pounds like I was trying to win a yo-yo competition. Lose it, gain it back. Lose it again, gain it back.

Then my friends started losing weight, and I was like, "Gee, why can't I do that again?" So I set some goals, and then never did anything about it. Good intentions...too much "cheating". So here I am the 11th month of the year I said I was going to do something about my weight, and I'm finally doing something about it. Did I mention I'm a major procrastinator? Maybe not. I may have put it off for another time.

So, I signed up the other day, and I'm going over the (very) strict meal plan with my sister and my cousin-daughter (She's my cousin, but I'm one of her guardians, hence the name "cousin-daughter"). We were laughing about it, because that's what we do when we're trying to encourage each other. We make fun of something together, and it bonds us in laughter over something that may be depressing...like all the food you can't have, for instance.

I had no real rhyme or reason to the food prior to this, but I really like food, so I just ate it. Not the greatest plan in the world! Totally not healthy. Totally not doing anything about those extra pounds. So, I decided to follow my friends and pay some money to somebody who will babysit me (I mean, hold me accountable) to my plan, and supervise my weight loss, to make sure I'm staying healthy in the process.

I go home and tell my sister and cousin-daughter about it, we're looking over the food plan, and the joking starts in. "So, what CAN you eat?" I start detailing each meal and it comes to the afternoon snack where I get a veggie and a fat option. The "fat" option is, of course, healthy fat. Avocado, hummus, peanut butter, etc. And then there's almonds. I say, "If you do the almonds you can do 15 of them! (Said in an excited way that makes it sound like a lot.) My sister replies with something about how hard it's going to be this time of year, and what about when we go out with out friends, or eat at a restaurant, what am I going to order? I jokingly say, "Um, excuse me miss? Could I get two almonds and a side of water please? Thanks!" And we all laugh. Because this is how we encourage each other in the really hard decision of limiting food. We joke about what we can't have, knowing that it's going to be painful.

Three days later, my team at work is having a Thanksgiving potluck. I'm bringing homemade mashed taters and gravy. I dutifully keep to the food I signed up for, even though I know I can't eat any of it. The whole meal consists of absolutely nothing I can eat. I know this ahead of time, and I almost plan for it. Earlier that day, a friend an I go out for lunch. We split 3 sliders. I shouldn't have those either. And some sweet potato fries. Those are definitely not on my meal plan. Already I have broken the rules, so I figure in my head, I have one meal of the day already blown, I might as well make a day of it.

At this point in the week I'm a whopping 3 days in to my diet, losing 8 pounds in that time (which is mostly water weight), and practically "starving" (which I found out later was my own accidental fault). My will power to remain faithful to my meal plan is withering away by the minute - mostly because I'm hungry and want normal food. After the sliders and sweet potato fries, I happily down a banana for my snack, as if this somehow justifies the sliders and fries debacle.

By the time the potluck rolls around I've thrown caution and common sense to the wind, and have loaded up my plate with what consisted of carbs, carbs, fat, sugar, more carbs, topped only by sugar in a can (soda). I've gone all in, and it's beautiful. It tasted wonderful. "Real" food, finally. I savored every bite like it was my last meal, and stuffed myself until I was only pleasantly full (so not to overdo it, or anything crazy like that).

I walk away from the meal thinking, "I'll be able to lose this back. It's only one meal." My body, however, had gotten used to protein shakes and minimal eating over the last three days. The Thanksgiving dinner hit my stomach like a marshmallow in a microwave, bloating me up 5 pounds from the weight I had started with that day. I was uncomfortable, the waist on my pants making itself heard loud and clear, and the pain in my stomach, relentless.

Soooooo, this was a pretty dumb idea. And to top it off my weigh-in was the very next morning - my first weigh-in since I started the plan. I knew I had blown it. I got on the scale that night and nearly cried. All that hard work and one lousy day blew it. I knew I had still lost a few pounds, but not nearly as much as I could have if I had done what I was supposed to. I was paying someone to basically screw myself. Go me.

I went in the next day, knowing my doctor was going to look at my meal sheet for the week and do what needed to be done. That's what I'm paying her for, after all. I step on the scale and had still lost 3 pounds for the week, or technically 3 days, of being on the plan. Three pounds in three days is nothing to balk at, but still...I knew better. So did she.

At least I was honest on the meal sheet. I clearly stated what I ate, even when I cheated. I told her every single thing I had during "Thanksgiving dinner". At least I could be honest. She didn't scold me. I already knew what I had done. Already shaming myself for it.

As I'm sitting there in her office I start to get hungry. Old habits die hard, and all I could think about was Chick-Fil-A, and their stupid chicken biscuits. "I wonder if they're still serving breakfast right now. No, I can't have that! Marci!! You just crashed your diet and the very next day, while sitting IN the doctor's office talking about how you bombed it, and need to stick to the plan, all you can think about is chicken biscuits?!?! Okay, what could I have instead? I need something right now to hold me over until I eat breakfast. I'm SO hungry! Something on the list. On the list. On the list. Something healthy. Something small.........."

And almost without hesitation, as if I had come full circle in my demise, shame, desperation, and regained hope, the first and only thing that came to my mind was pulling into the nearest drive-thru and asking......"Could I get two almonds with a side of water?"

Haha
Still practicing :)

Jazz Me

I don't consider it coincidental at all when random awesomeness happens in my day. I was practically on the verge of tears today. Nothing seemed to be going right, and my day was full of awnry, angry callers who just wanted to argue and rant. Back to back calls of nothing but people screaming at me. There's only so much of that a person can take. I was trying to go to my happy place, but there wasn't enough time. I had just set foot on the beach when the phone would ring. I was contemplating pill usage, faking a sudden illness, or even pulling the fire alarm. Sure. Anything to stop the endless cycle of madness that was happening on the phones at work today. (I'm just kidding about the fire alarm.........'cause that's illegal.)

I had reached the "power hour" of my shift. One more hour to go before I could relieve my headache and head home. At this point I had resigned to having customer's bent on yelling at me. I almost felt this next call going that direction. It started out on what should have been a simple call, but seconds turned to minutes and I got stuck helping someone who had experienced identity theft from the "bastard Indonesians" (his words, not mine) apparently one too many times, to take my simple account resolution as an answer to his problem. I could feel this headed in the wrong direction. So before it went too far down that road, I put my big girl panties on and just dealt it. I was going to be on this call for way more than the 5 minutes it actually required for me to fix his account.

What should have been five minutes turned into forty. He ended up being very pleased with the outcome, but that wasn't the cool part. After we got on the right track and a happier note, and while he was supposed to be diligently working on account resolution, he decided to strike up a conversation about life in the states. It was the middle of the day in Sydney, but nearing the end of the night here. He started asking me about Phoenix and whether we had lakes nearby to escape the heat. Yes and no. Lakes yes, but not any like I was used to. I grew up in Michigan. I was used to lakes everywhere, and a giant one that was so big it was like an ocean...but with fresh water. 

The conversation continued, and by this point I had given up on this call being anything but endless. Why not just stretch this out for the remaining hour? This could be my last call!! :) Since I had given up on it being short, I figured I might as well enjoy it. He said something about how I got to head home after the call, and asked what one does when they get home at such a late hour. I told him I do what everyone does when they get home from work. I eat dinner, and relax for a while and then go to bed. Lately, I've been listening to jazz and doing some reading at night before bed. "You like jazz?"

The next 20 minutes were spent discussing my time living outside Philadelphia, the home of jazz. I told him that Philadelphia has several jazz radio stations, and he asked me which ones, so he could listen online. It had been so long since I had heard them myself, that I had to do a quick internet search. WJJZ...I remembered that one. Kind of a mix of newer stuff, but generally, at home I listen to the earlier stuff - the classics. Ella, Benny, Duke, Dean, Frank, Billie, etc, etc, etc. 

He proceeds to tell me about his eclectic music collection, and the stack of vinyls he was sitting next to. He's a sound guy...and a music buff. He's like me. He's got an eclectic music collection from everything from hard rock to jazz, but his favorite is jazz. He gives me some albums I need to listen to, and I tell him about WJJZ. I tell him about singing in the jazz class, and about jazz in Philadelphia. It reminds me of Ortlieb's Jazzhaus.

I swear that place was used in the Prohibition Era. Long and narrow, with a tiny stage in the middle. And to get in, you had to go down a flight of stairs from the street, and there seemed to be no sign for the place, whatsoever. If I hadn't mapped it on the GPS I wouldn't have known where to find it. I almost felt like I needed to knock on that steel door, and have a special password to get in. No special password needed, but a reservation was handy. There were so few tables, it was hard to get in. The music was classic. A simple band - a piano, string bass, sax, trumpet, drums and a singer. And they played all the good stuff. The bassist in the band also played for our swing singers' group.

It was a bit of nostalgia. Another jazz lover. There aren't many of us, but we're around. I feel like only the cool people like jazz (that's not really true...I guess). It's a special kind of love in music, and it's not for everyone. You can't tap your foot to it, sometimes you can't even dance to it (rhythmically, at least). You just have to sway, and enjoy it. It's a soul thing. And that is why I love it, and why I get so happy when I find other people who love it...because they're usually true music lovers like myself.

I spent all this time on this call just to fix a simple problem, but I feel like it did more for my spirit than anything else. A bright spot in my day. A trip down memory lane, and a stop at appreciation station...thankful for all the music lovers around the world connected by groovy tunes...and phone cables.

Cheers, mate.

:)