Today is Patriot day or more ominously, 9/11. Many of you have your own stories to tell about that day and the days surrounding those horrific events. Just as when our parents remember Pearl Harbor or the day JFK was shot, we will remember what we were doing, thinking and feeling that Tuesday morning 8 years ago.
On Tuesday September 11, 2001 I was employed by a major airline. My normal role was as the manager of a small team dedicated to employee recognition, meeting and event planning and the assurance that all corporate initiatives were completed by the 32000 worldwide employees in my division. Basically we spent money on fun. It was by far one of the coolest jobs I have ever had. I was also trained for the airlines SAP... special assistance program. The SAP was the go team in the unlikely event of an airline “incident”. I had dual responsibilities including data reconciliation, procurement and as a survivor assistant on the incident site team.
That morning I was working from home, prepping for my proposal presentation for an upcoming division meeting. My husband was living 600 miles away, my daughter was in AZ at college and my son was in his senior year of high school was still asleep. My son was being incredibly difficult that morning, basically refusing to get out of bed and get to school. I, at one point went to get something out of the car he had been driving the night before when I found 2 unopened bottles of beer under the driver’s seat. I was incensed. As I ran back in to the house, I head Peter Jennings say a small plane had hit the twin towers. I had an amazingly strange feeling come over me and I knew, life was about to change. I succeeded in getting my son out of bed by telling him about the crash. As we watched the beginnings of what would ultimately be non-stop coverage, I called our control center. No sooner had I been connected than the 2nd plane hit. I could tell by the colors, it was our plane. There is a sick sense of relief in the airline industry when there is an “incident” and you realize that it’s not your aircraft… As I waited on hold for confirmation that the team was being activated, I began to plan. If I had to leave to work the crash, what would I do with my son? Could my husband get back in town? At that point, the scope of what was happening seemed to only affect my world. I was not yet entrenched along with millions of people around the world, in the gravity of what was happening.
As a SAP team member we were required to keep a suitcase packed with enough clothing to last a week, stored in your car. Ideally the team should be ready to travel within an hour of an incident. I had used my suitcase the prior week to attend a hockey tournament in Boston. As I waited on the phone for confirmation that I had been activated, I asked my son to help me. I sent this poor 17 year old down to the laundry room to grab 5 pairs of panties, 2 bras and so on… when would that ever be appropriate?
I received the confirmation I needed and contacted my husband. My husband had been in a meeting and no idea what was happening. I told him I had been activated and needed to leave. He told me he loved me and to be safe and that he would figure out the next steps in terms of our son. We didn’t know at that time there would be no air travel for days, we didn’t know there were other aircraft under attach. There was just so much we didn’t know. I was packed and ready to go. I looked at my son, so young. I didn’t know what was going to happen, but I knew I had to leave. I grabbed my son and held him tighter than I had ever held on to anything or anyone. He was shaking. I looked him in the eye and said, “If you are ever going to be a man, I need it to start right now”. He nodded and kissed me.
I don’t remember much about the drive from my home to the command center. I only remember being hysterical for what I knew would be my only opportunity to lose control that day… As I arrived I was briefed along with those on the team. At that time we were told our plane was the second in to the Twin Towers. We were also told there were a number of planes” out of contact”. At that moment, we were told a plane had smashed in to the Pentagon. As terrible as it sounds, the question of “whose plane is it” went through the room. No one knew the answer to that question. Air travel had been stopped in to and out of US airspace. Planes were grounded immediately. I was asked to help begin the process of designing teams for where we may end up sending manpower. Ironically the company was holding a number of large scale leadership meeting in Chicago that day. We had an abundance of skilled employees should we need them. We were very well prepared for one aircraft incidents. This situation had the potential to involve many planes and many, many lives. We began to prepare for 5 teams. One to be deployed to Boston the origin of the aircraft that crashed in to the towers, one to New York, one to D.C. anticipating the Pentagon crash was ours and 2 teams marked only with question marks. These represented plane we could not make contact with. I walked around the huge room we were in introducing myself and asking if anyone had bio-medical experience. We were given information regarding one of the question mark planes. The pilot made contact and it had landed safely. We were then alerted to Flt #93. Our flight, flying too low over Ohio. The NTSB locals arrived along with the state police and FBI. We were beginning to get a clear picture that this was not just a fluke or major malfunction of the nation’s air traffic system. Flt 175, the Boston flight was reconciled and the passenger and crew list certified. The phone teams arrived and took over as emergency family contact numbers were activated. We concentrated on completing our teams. In between briefings and teaming, we secured blocks of hotel rooms in New York and Boston. These would serve as work locations as well as lodging for passenger families. The response boxes, large metal cabinets with the ability to turn a plain meeting room in to a communication center were readied for air travel. Pallets of cell phones, fax machines, printer and computers were stacked at the dock waiting to be assigned to a site. The Towers came down and word spread that Flt 93 crashed in to a remote section in Somerset County PA. The aircraft in to the Pentagon, not ours. All planes accounted for. We decided we needed 3 team readied for immediate travel. One to NYC, one to BOS and one to Shanksville, PA. The president stops all air travel until further notice. Both air carriers were give special permission by mid afternoon to have one plane go to one location. We decided to send a team to PA based on the premise that we could actually gain access and begin the next steps.
I stood on the tarmac, taken aback by the silence. We all had automatically put ear plugs in… but there was no need. While there were aircraft in every possible section of the tarmac, they were silent. I stood in between an FBI agent and 2 huge National Guardsmen. I had the list and information of those who were flying in the only aircraft in US skies. They were headed to Johnstown, PA and then by bus to Shanksville. None of us knew if the skies were safe or if the aircraft was ok. These dedicated team members, one by one boarded the back stairs of the plane to do what they could for those passenger’s families and loved ones. I read the information on my list to the FBI guy and he verified the team member’s credentials. Many of these people were my friends. Many of them were visibly scared and shaken. Most of them hugged me tight and whispered in my ear. Many asked that if something happened would I please tell their husband, wife and/or children that they loved them. I made promises that day that I prayed I would never ever have to keep. As the plane took off I cried. I cried because I was scared, because I was confused and because I knew what lay ahead.
We returned to the command center only to be told that we could send out another aircraft. The plane to Johnstown had landed safely. Boston was the next team to roll. As we prepared to board the buses to the airport, we were called back. Something had changed and we were now on a 3 hour delay. It was now roughly 6pm. I called home and got updates from my son. I called my husband. We discussed ways for him to back to our son. I called my daughter. She always wants to be in control and she so wanted to come home and watch over her brother. But I explained that I needed to know she was safe at school while I did what I was going to have to do over the next few days. At 8:00 they sent those that lived within an hour, home and the rest went to a hotel. We were now delayed until sometime in the early morning. I went home to find my neighbors in my front yard. They knew where I was and were working out who would feed my son. I came in to the house and made some calls. I was glued to the TV. We had such limited information all day that I only knew what was happening with our planes… nothing else. I had not heard about the people jumping from the towers, the evacuations from New York and all that the outside world had been watching all day. At midnight the call came to be back at the command center at 3:00.
We departed at 5:00 am. The plane was packed with SAP members, FBI, NTSB and a few AFT hitched a ride as well. The plan was to take our plane first to Newark, drop off a team and equipment and then on to Boston. I was to prep the crew, oversee the removal of equipment in Newark, re-board the aircraft and go on to Boston, set up Boston and drive back to New York to lead the team there. As we got settled on the plane, the pilot came on the PA and said that while we were welcome to listen to air traffic, it may be boring as we were the only aircraft in US airspace. They also referred to the hospitality crew, commonly known as F16 Fighter Jets that escorted us on our trip. Everyone put on their headset and listened to a succession of welcomes and sighs of relief from air traffic controllers across the country. “Glad to hear you in the sky”, “Godspeed and God bless” from those unseen but heartfelt comrades. As we began our descent in to Newark, the pilot gave the information, if we wanted to see it, we were about to fly past what had once been the glorious World Trade Center. It was devastating. Smoke still rose from the wreckage and the past 22 hours came hauntingly in to perspective.
Remembrance part 2
We had to do a short landing. The pilot told us to brace as his instructions were to land and stop. He was told that any deviation could cause problems. I had already been instructed to have the flight attendants change in to street clothes prior to landing. This directive was designed to keep them safe in the event there were media in the airport or other undesirables. The pilots had already changed out of uniform shirts in to polo shirts. We landed and immediately stopped. It was rough. As we taxied to our gate there were planes everywhere. I’d never seen more aircraft in one place before. The F16s were next to us the entire time. As we pulled to the gate we asked that those continuing on to Boston stay seated. I went with a number of others in to the terminal to meet with the team from Newark for a briefing. Some of the FBI, NTSB and ATF left our group. One AFT officer who I had sat with on the plane came and hugged me. He wished me good luck and I to him. As we were flying past the World Trade Center, a few moments before, I was in the window seat, he in the middle. He leaned over to see the wreckage with me… in that very short time as we passed by what were the towers, many of us became, emotional. He took my hand and held it very sweetly. I will forever be connected to this man I only know as Kurt. As Kurt hugged me, he whispered his well wishes in my ear, I could feel this huge, well muscled man, trained to deal with incredibly difficult people and situations, tremble. I was introduced to my escorts. 2 National Guardsmen with large guns on not only their hips, but in their hands. We made our way to the tarmac and began off loading the equipment earmarked for the local team. I was given instruction as to where I was allowed, where my parameters were. With every step I took, Guardsmen took an equal step. If I turned to the right, he turned to the right; the soldier on the left would stand guard. I was running, in heels mind you, between 2 belt loaders, one in the front of the plane, and one in the back. I think I crashed into my Guard about 20 times. He always apologized even though it was my fault. At one point I asked if we could compromise on the step to step issue. Right guard said no, left guard said yes. I told them that this process would be a lot faster in they got out of my way. I think I said something stupid like, shoot me if you have too, but get out of my way. They eased up a bit and the transfer of equipment was complete. Those of us who had left the aircraft boarded and we took off for Boston. I was exhausted. I had been operating on pure adrenalin and lots of caffeine. I tried to close my eyes for the short trip to Logan International. I remember my mind racing through what had to be done as soon as we landed. I kept thinking about my husband, kids and family. What would happen if something happened? Did they know what day the trash was supposed to be picked up? Did they know how much I loved them?
We arrived in Boston with little fanfare. The tech team unloaded equipment and headed for the hotel to set up. The site team met with the local team to be briefed and accept the official paperwork for the flight. I had been given information that 2 Logan airline employees had been passengers on 175. The employees were gate agents on their way to Las Vegas via Los Angeles. Because the local team was mostly agents, they were understandably devastated. Not only had they lost 2 beloved colleagues, but they had checked in, boarded and dispatched flight 175. They were shaken and relieved that we had come in to help take some of the pressure off their shoulders. As the team began to hear the details of the passengers and what families were already seeking assistance, the enormity began to sink in.
We were transported to the hotel where we immediately began to set up our work room. Because this was not a normal crash, there was an extra layer of security and many legalities to contend with. The tech team had us up and running within hours, we had everyone in rooms, had met with the catering teams and received our official documents regarding passengers. The normal scenario for a crash has the airline at one hotel along with the official governing body, normally the NTSB. At a nearby hotel, the American Red Cross and the passenger families as well as media and other interested parties. The reason for the separation is the need to have space and time between entities. In the case of 9/11 there were so many planes, so many people and so much detail and data that we were forced to all be in one hotel. FBI, ATF, Mass-port police, passenger families, site teams, Red Cross, the other airline and so on took over the Logan Hilton in what is normally the slowest time of year. The Hilton had actually let their seasonal staff go the Friday before. With the full to capacity hotel and not enough manpower to manage meal times for the various groups, it was decided that all “working staff” would be served 3 meals a day buffet style on what was now being called the “staff floor”. The 3rd floor had numerous meeting and banquet rooms. All entities were assigned rooms and staff liaisons. We were also given our own Mass-port security detail. A large banquet room would serve as our cafeteria. Teams were given credentials allowing them access to the 3rd floor. The elevators and escalators were guarded at all times.
The work of creating passenger files fell to me and a kindly gentleman I did not know. We worked long in to the night prepping for the intense work the next day would bring. At around 2:00am we had finished creating the files and reconciled data based on family phone calls and contacts. We had designed data bases of local businesses for the family reps to access as well as assigned cell phones and rental cars. As we prepared to close up the work room there was a knock on the door. 2 FBI agents and 2 AFT agents came in asking for, me. Ok, I thought …what now… they asked that I contact my airlines legal team back in to Chicago. I did. I was told that I would be used to read some of the data regarding the tickets that were used by what we now knew were the highjackers. I was told I would work with this team providing any information they needed. I know I was shaking. They began by asking me to dissect the ticketing data... where was the ticket sold, who sold it, how did they pay for it. Then I verified the transaction logs. This is the log that is updated every time something having to do with a ticket is touched. When did the passenger check in? Did they change their seat assignment? When did they board the plane? The gate agents were interviewed shortly after the crash as is standard practice. They would have been asked to document their activities and I was simply confirming or not, what they had stated. We worked on this until about 4:30am. As we all exchanged business cards and contact information, we started to leave the work room. One of the FBI agents asked who was responsible for the passenger files. I thought he was asking because they were so neat and organized. Nope, he was asking because they were considered legal evidence and needed to be in a sort of protective custody at all times. It ended up that I was the holder of the files. This meant that with the exception of our working hours in the work room, the files had to remain with me at all times. No problem during the day, but at night, when we closed and locked the work room, the files had to go up to my room with me. I also had to be escorted when bringing the files to and from my room. So each night I called and an FBI or ATF agent took me and my file to my room, at exactly 5:50am every day for the next 3 weeks there was a knock on my door for my morning escort. That first day, my files and I arrived safely in our room at 4:45 am… The first full on passenger family interaction day began for me just 1 hour and 15 minutes later. My escorts learned very, very quickly how wonderful I can be when someone brings me coffee.
At home things were a bit calmer. My husband couldn’t get a flight back to our son and was planning to make the drive on Friday by himself. As luck and the powers that be would have it, some sales reps from his company had rented a van and were driving on Wednesday evening. They happened to have room for one more. He arrived home on Thursday and thankfully his employer understood and allowed him to work from home for the next week or so.
Remembrance part 3
My work days began with a briefing conference call. We learned how much operating cash the airlines had on hand. This was critical because no airline was allowed to fly and no fly means no cash. It was unbelievable how little operating cash was available. While the no fly was hurting all carriers, United and American also had mounting costs dealing with the families, employees and staffing needs for those directly involved. We exchanged data on family contacts, site progress, investigational needs and next steps.
We handed out assignments to the family reps and took stock of who from each family would be our contact. We worked hard with the telephone team as they had been the link to the passenger’s families prior to the team’s arrival. At this point, it was decided that I would stay in Boston. There was little to do for the airline teams in New York. Most of the passengers on flight 175 were from the greater Massachusetts area or from the intended destination of LA. Our main focus was to do whatever we could for the families. Some required counseling and we looked to the Red Cross for almost all of those needs. I worked on the administrative and legal issues. I worked closely with the company when it came time to meeting with the families of the 2 Logan employees. The pilots and flight attendants families were not part of the group we worked with. We only worked with the passengers. I remember when I met with the FBI and AFT that first night in Boston. One of the ATF handed me a manifest. He also handed me the updated contact list. The contact list is the master document that shows who from what passenger’s family has called and made contact with the airline. At that point there were numerous contacts next to each passenger, except for 5. The space next to those names was blank. I felt as though I had been slapped in the face. I stupidly said something like… “Wow, look no one has called about these guys”. The AFT agent just stared at me. SLAP. Ok, I got it. No one would ever be calling about those passengers. In meeting with the employee’s families, I had to discuss the insurance payout and forms, payable vacation and all the details of the benefits the family was entitled to. If I can say one personal piece of advice; get your house in order. None of us know what tomorrow or even today brings. Be sure your family knows everything they may need to know about you, your past and what maybe uncovered in the event of your death.
I didn’t get off the Hilton property at all during that first week. The extent of my fresh air was on the first Friday. The nation held a candle light vigil and we observed it at the Hilton. I used one of my sisters as a lifeline, calling her when I needed a calming female voice. She “went” with me to various activities while I was in Boston, via cell phone. My sister “attended” the vigil with me from her front porch in the Midwest. While my husband and children offered me more love and support than can ever be repaid or properly acknowledged, my sister was as I stated earlier, my lifeline to the outside world. I never have been able to thank her and to this day I cannot put my gratitude in to words. The image of all the staff from airlines, security, Red Cross and victim’s families standing together holding candles was overwhelming. People pulled in off the highway and joined us. I remember seeing a group of motorcycle guys standing off to the side, holding up a huge American flag. The outside of the main entrance of the Hilton had a glass overhang. In the middle of the service I looked up…. All the candles were reflected back down on us… it looked magical and took my breath away. Slowly, everyone noticed the beautiful illumination and we were all so moved. The Logan airport Chaplin presided over our vigil. This dynamic man met with us daily as not only a spiritual guide, but as a trusted member of the community and for me, a newly acquired friend.We continued to plan and execute memorials and prayer services for the victims. We built a Viking boat, set up a service at a football stadium and ran the concession stand, planned a service for a Jewish man at a Christian church, and facilitated a service at a hall at Harvard, work with city officials to assist with parking for events and security against the media for families. At one point we began to work with the coroners to gather DNA for possible victim identification. I worked with the Connecticut State Police when a family member left her dress at home and decided she needed it to attend her daughter’s service. A trooper gained entry into the house, got the dress, and drove it to Boston. We cleaned houses and painted rooms. We took kids for haircuts and shopping for clothes for services. We cooked and served meals. We did anything and everything families needed us to do. I got little sleep but was invigorated by the challenges. I compiled a daily briefing newsletter chronicling the events for the day and updating what families were considered, completed. Once a family’s immediate needs had been met, the family rep took a step back. There is the chance of a growing dependency on both sides so we monitored our team very closely. Each evening we held a team de-brief. We all gathered in a suite and shared our stories of our day and an adult beverage. Much care was taken to ensure a minimum amount of alcohol was available. We had a fabulous team of counselors with us, for us. These de-briefing sessions were mandatory and they were a great way to gauge each other’s emotional state. It was a huge group therapy session every night. We would also announce who would be leaving the next day. Given the situation we were in, there were some relationships formed, quickly and deeply. Some were very healthy and have continued to last to this day. Some were neither healthy nor lasted. As we moved in to the second week, we began to send reps home to their own families. Our little leadership team wanted to do something special for each person as they left. The impact of this time was something that few would ever be able to express to those not involved. The evening before a team member or members were to leave, they were honored at the de-brief. Each was presented with a guardian angel pin, blessed by our new found friend, the airport Chaplin. Each was also given a book I created with photos taken from the airplane as we passed over the World Trade center. The book also included other photos, team pictures and a poem that was our team mantra. Contact information became the first page everyone looked to. When the team member boarded their flight home, they were seated in First Class and presented with a bottle of champagne by the Captain. The Captain also paid tribute to the special assistance member over the PA. I understand that on each flight, the passengers erupted in a tremendous applause of gratitude. When the flight landed at the team member’s home airport, we made sure to have their family as well as many colleagues and co-workers there to meet and greet our returning heroes.When I returned after almost 3 weeks, I asked that there be no fanfare. I was tired, sad and a bit disoriented. I was also worried about my colleague and now lifelong friend who was staying behind to close out the project. The captain did tell the other passengers and they did applaud. I did receive my champagne, still have it. On my final night, there was just me and my colleague. We had received our pins and booklets a few nights before. The team presented me with a gift, a large brass lantern. Odd I thought until I read the inscription on the front. It simply said, “You were the light that guided this team to greatness”. As I came off the airplane I saw my husband, I knew I truly have never been happier to see anyone in my life. Every fear I had suppressed for the past 3 weeks came rushing forward as he held me in his arms. I remember sobbing. Sobbing for all that had been lost, all that still was to be discovered, all I had gained and all that lay ahead.There are a million more stories I could tell you about those three weeks as well as the weeks, months and years since. I have continued relationships with members of the team, families of the victims and those I worked so diligently with. Those are for another time.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Sunday, August 29, 2010
What I wanted to say...
The strawberry blond hair was what I noticed first. Noticed because of its beauty as the afternoon sun shined on it. Also noticed because it was closer to the ground than it should have been.
We had been out attempting to become geocachers. Following a set of direction to find a treasure, our clues had led us to a cemetery. As we drove in I saw a cluster of 3 new grave sites. The fresh mounds of dirt, the flower arrangements piled on top. I was more than a little surprised that the sight didn’t bother me more or stir emotions that seem to always hide just beneath the surface.
The young woman with the beautiful hair was stretched out on a blanket alongside one of the fresh sites. My mom instincts were directing me to rush over, scoop this poor baby up into my arms and make it all better. My widow instincts, dear God I hate that I have widow instincts, told me to stay right where I was and leave her alone. I didn’t know if her loss was a husband, father, friend, mother, sibling or child. But loss is loss. I’ll admit there are some fine tuned details that alter the loss depending on the relationship but as I assumed this woman lost her husband, I thought of all the things I wanted to say to her and those around her. I don’t claim to be an expert but after almost 18 months, I believe I’ve done enough work on the subject to earn some type of degree or certification. Anyone who goes through the process more than likely has as well.
As I watched her for a moment I wondered if her family knew she was lying on a blanket next to this grave. What would or did they think about it? Did they understand that she was just filling the need to have the closeness that is so distinctly and immediately missing from your life when your husband dies? When my husband died, the first day was filled with preparations, phone calls, and people coming in and out of my home. By that first evening I missed his physical presence. I missed the space he took up in our house. I missed just standing next to him and telling him about my day. Funny how the brain works, I wanted to tell him and review with him as I had every day for the previous 29 years, the events of the past 24 hours… the 24 hours that included his death. A cousin drove feverishly from Wisconsin to see him before he died but was sadly too late. She couldn’t stay for the services and asked if there was any way she could go to the funeral home and see him, just one more time. The funeral home was more than accommodating and I accompanied her to see him. As we approached the room where he was, I found myself becoming giddy with excitement. I was elated that I would be able to see him, touch him, talk to him and be close to him. Years ago, I started doing this silly little thing… if my husband was watching TV sitting in his favorite chair, legs stretched out on the ottoman; I had zero chance of getting his attention. Once I grabbed his feet to get his attention. It became a regular habit. I would hold his toes as I stood there between him and the football or hockey game and he would know I needed undivided attention. As I stood in the prep room at the funeral home, I found myself standing at the end of the table, holding his toes as I talked to him. It was comforting in a way that I can’t really explain. It was an intimate moment that I will treasure forever. We were close again, for the last time. So the sight of this woman on the blanket didn’t seem odd or strange. She was close again, for the last time.
I want her to know that the hurt will never go away. But it will become manageable. She’ll discover ways to set the pain aside for the moments when she has to. She’ll find herself breathing through the pain as women do in child birth. She’ll find there are songs she can’t listen to. There will be songs she’ll listen to for the millionth time and actually hear and understand for the first time. There will be days when she feels joyful and renewed, ready to face a new world. Then days when she will struggle to face anything. She may go through physical changes. She may feel older than her parents. She’ll deal with friends who can’t be with her, couples who don’t know how to deal with an un-coupled friend. She may have to fend off unwanted compassion from a male friend. People will talk about her, often. Family will worry and care and not know what to do or say.
As humans we love. Generally that is a welcomed emotion and we all want it in our lives. Love makes us sore to the highest heights and fall to the deepest depths. Love can hurt us and save us. To this young woman I would say, love yourself. It will be hard, but do it. Think of the moment you felt most loved by the one you lost… keep recreating that over and over in your head. The person you lost, loved you. He had to be a great person in your heart and mind or you most likely wouldn’t have cared so much for him. He valued you and now, although it seems impossible, value yourself. Don’t share your trip to the cemetery with anyone. Some who have never been in the situation will think it’s odd. Keep doing what makes you feel comfort. You owe no one but yourself an explanation. Understand your life will now be very different. Different is not always easy but not always or forever bad.
To the family of this woman, give her space but be right by her side when she needs you. Cover her with a blanket of love and acceptance; just be sure not to pull the blanket over her head.
To all of us, love deeply, passionately and openly. Tell those you love, how much value they have and do add to every moment of your life. Accept that we are all different and process the pieces of our lives in different ways and time frames. Embrace the differences those you love bring to your life. Different isn’t always bad. I’m beginning to look towards a different chapter in my life. The woman on the blanket with the beautiful hair will also look, when the time is right…
We had been out attempting to become geocachers. Following a set of direction to find a treasure, our clues had led us to a cemetery. As we drove in I saw a cluster of 3 new grave sites. The fresh mounds of dirt, the flower arrangements piled on top. I was more than a little surprised that the sight didn’t bother me more or stir emotions that seem to always hide just beneath the surface.
The young woman with the beautiful hair was stretched out on a blanket alongside one of the fresh sites. My mom instincts were directing me to rush over, scoop this poor baby up into my arms and make it all better. My widow instincts, dear God I hate that I have widow instincts, told me to stay right where I was and leave her alone. I didn’t know if her loss was a husband, father, friend, mother, sibling or child. But loss is loss. I’ll admit there are some fine tuned details that alter the loss depending on the relationship but as I assumed this woman lost her husband, I thought of all the things I wanted to say to her and those around her. I don’t claim to be an expert but after almost 18 months, I believe I’ve done enough work on the subject to earn some type of degree or certification. Anyone who goes through the process more than likely has as well.
As I watched her for a moment I wondered if her family knew she was lying on a blanket next to this grave. What would or did they think about it? Did they understand that she was just filling the need to have the closeness that is so distinctly and immediately missing from your life when your husband dies? When my husband died, the first day was filled with preparations, phone calls, and people coming in and out of my home. By that first evening I missed his physical presence. I missed the space he took up in our house. I missed just standing next to him and telling him about my day. Funny how the brain works, I wanted to tell him and review with him as I had every day for the previous 29 years, the events of the past 24 hours… the 24 hours that included his death. A cousin drove feverishly from Wisconsin to see him before he died but was sadly too late. She couldn’t stay for the services and asked if there was any way she could go to the funeral home and see him, just one more time. The funeral home was more than accommodating and I accompanied her to see him. As we approached the room where he was, I found myself becoming giddy with excitement. I was elated that I would be able to see him, touch him, talk to him and be close to him. Years ago, I started doing this silly little thing… if my husband was watching TV sitting in his favorite chair, legs stretched out on the ottoman; I had zero chance of getting his attention. Once I grabbed his feet to get his attention. It became a regular habit. I would hold his toes as I stood there between him and the football or hockey game and he would know I needed undivided attention. As I stood in the prep room at the funeral home, I found myself standing at the end of the table, holding his toes as I talked to him. It was comforting in a way that I can’t really explain. It was an intimate moment that I will treasure forever. We were close again, for the last time. So the sight of this woman on the blanket didn’t seem odd or strange. She was close again, for the last time.
I want her to know that the hurt will never go away. But it will become manageable. She’ll discover ways to set the pain aside for the moments when she has to. She’ll find herself breathing through the pain as women do in child birth. She’ll find there are songs she can’t listen to. There will be songs she’ll listen to for the millionth time and actually hear and understand for the first time. There will be days when she feels joyful and renewed, ready to face a new world. Then days when she will struggle to face anything. She may go through physical changes. She may feel older than her parents. She’ll deal with friends who can’t be with her, couples who don’t know how to deal with an un-coupled friend. She may have to fend off unwanted compassion from a male friend. People will talk about her, often. Family will worry and care and not know what to do or say.
As humans we love. Generally that is a welcomed emotion and we all want it in our lives. Love makes us sore to the highest heights and fall to the deepest depths. Love can hurt us and save us. To this young woman I would say, love yourself. It will be hard, but do it. Think of the moment you felt most loved by the one you lost… keep recreating that over and over in your head. The person you lost, loved you. He had to be a great person in your heart and mind or you most likely wouldn’t have cared so much for him. He valued you and now, although it seems impossible, value yourself. Don’t share your trip to the cemetery with anyone. Some who have never been in the situation will think it’s odd. Keep doing what makes you feel comfort. You owe no one but yourself an explanation. Understand your life will now be very different. Different is not always easy but not always or forever bad.
To the family of this woman, give her space but be right by her side when she needs you. Cover her with a blanket of love and acceptance; just be sure not to pull the blanket over her head.
To all of us, love deeply, passionately and openly. Tell those you love, how much value they have and do add to every moment of your life. Accept that we are all different and process the pieces of our lives in different ways and time frames. Embrace the differences those you love bring to your life. Different isn’t always bad. I’m beginning to look towards a different chapter in my life. The woman on the blanket with the beautiful hair will also look, when the time is right…
Friday, August 20, 2010
Honey Do...
Fix the window, caulk the tub, and clean the gutters… Common items on a “Honey Do” list. My late husband fashioned himself quite the Mr. Fix it. He was an engineer so it was assumed he could fix or repair most things. In most cases that was the correct assumption. While it sometimes took longer than expected, things were generally taken care of and his list remained properly attended to. Generally is the key word.
My kids could tell you stories of our Mr. Fix it until you laughed so hard your sides ached and you begged them to stop. They could tell you of the time the brake lights on our old beat up car malfunctioned. The car was so old that we couldn’t get the part at a price we could afford. So he fashioned a hand held press switch to be pressed whenever the brakes were applied. A cord ran from a hole in the trunk, across the back seat and up to the front passenger seat. This became a task for the kids to manage and master. Just as you might call “shot gun”, the kids would call “lights”. The idea was to have a kid hold the switch, each time the break was applied my husband would yell, “Brake” in his big booming voice. The switch would be pressed and the brake lights illuminated. The switch had to be held until the signal to release was given. Now this is unique but also a bit endearing. Imagine the bonding of father/daughter or father/son as they worked side by side to arrive safely at their destination. Seriously? Just don’t mention the times the kids were tired from swim or hockey practice or the driver, lost in his thoughts forgot to give the signal. I believe my kids received more than their fair share of exposure to hand gestures from upset motorists.
The very first house we ever owned was a small 3 bedroom one bathroom bungalow. The house had been in my husband’s family for years and had seen kids, grandkids, and pets. For all that house had been through, it was in better shape than you would imagine. We were able to get a few years under our belts before really having to make repairs. One area needing a great deal of care was the kitchen. We had such plans for that space. We would talk about it when we had down time and needed to dream. We always dreamed bigger than our bank accounts would have allowed. We were talking granite before it was cool. The kitchen we designed during our conversation was roughly 3 times the square footage of our whole house. But really, did it do any harm to dream? Well maybe… One Sunday morning after a wonderful night of adult conversation, I walked into the kitchen to see him standing there staring at the walls. “We can do this” he said very calmly. “Do what?” I responded, trying not to let fear creep into my voice. “We can remodel this kitchen”. “It will be so easy” he said with the giggle of a mad scientist. Now I was scared. He was serious. We couldn’t do this… we have 2 kids, 2 jobs and a dog. When the heck did he think we were going to do this? Maybe I should have actually said that to him, but I tipped toed past him to make coffee. I didn’t see it coming. It really wasn’t my fault. But within moments… Crash! Walls began to come down, the pantry was obliterated. The cabinets ripped from the walls. It all took such a short amount of time. But like a car wreck it seemed in slow motion. Once the dust was cleared and the last of the debris was hauled outside, what was left was a shell. The walls had been ripped down to the studs. You could see the backside of the bathroom medicine cabinet. I always wondered where the little slit inside older medicine cabinets marked used razors lead to. Now I knew… nowhere, just in to the space between your walls. My husband assured me new the drywall would be up in a few days, the new cabinets hung within the week. 3 years later we sold that house... no walls, cabinets or counter tops had been added. No granite…even before it was cool.
So now that I’m living my life without my own Mr. Fix it, I’ve been struggling to get things done around what we called, our dream house. We bought this new construction 4 bedroom 2.5 bath house about 5 years ago. At closing, before I would sign any papers, I declared a moratorium on any do it yourself projects. No repairs could be performed more significant than the changing of a light bulb without professional assistance. My husband reluctantly agreed and I signed the mortgage papers. I did relent on a few things over the next few years. Neighbors, friends and relatives have all very generously offered to fix this and that or take on the odd job around my house. I love them all for their care and genuine offers but I have concerns. What if they fall, or break something? What if they really mess up on whatever they are helping with? I would be crushed and given my way of not rocking the boat, I’d probably never say anything to them about their mistake. Not the best situation. So I’ve thanked them all but respectfully declined. What I needed was a good old fashioned handy man. But who or how? Is there a requirement for the handy man to be an old guy? How do you find one? Is there really a guy who would come to your house and do all your odd jobs? The only handy man I ever really heard of travelled through Mayberry on his way to Mount Pilot and Aunt Bee hired him to fix the shutters or paint the fence. Sarah’s “Honey Do” list: #1 Find a Handy man.
I overheard a conversation 2 guys were having at the Farmer’s Market a few weeks back. They were talking about a service that came and did work at the one guy’s home. I shamelessly jumped in. I wanted information and I wanted it now! I went home and googled the name the old guy had given me. Now I know I’m not supposed to plug a product or service, but really… I have so little power and usually play by the rules so here goes… Mr. Handyman is an actual company in Trenton, MI. In fact they are the Business of the Year for 2010 in Trenton and rightly so. My initial contact was more than pleasant and the young woman was knowledgeable and very sweet. I loved the appointment confirmation the day before too. Promptly at 9:00 am, James rang my door bell. James knew what my needs were and gave me a very fair quote that I readily accepted. Within a matter of 3 hours all the jobs and projects that had been left undone for the past 17 months were completed. The quality of the work was outstanding. I have to say that I am not a big fan of strangers in my home. But I felt completely comfortable with James. I got the distinct impression that James was playing a mental game with all of my projects. He seemed to be setting goals for himself and as he checked each item off the list he was that closer to the finish line. James is an excellent representative for Mr. Handyman in Trenton. At one point James had to run to the store for a part. This was usually the point that all motivation broke down when my husband was my Mr. Fix it. But James returned with no less motivation than he had when he arrived earlier. I began to wonder if James had a Dad that fixed things. I’ll bet he never got to activate the brake lights by pressing a button! I also began to miss the fun we had doing house projects, my husband and me. You see his name was James, Jim as well. But the James in my house fixing things today didn’t ask me for a drink or expect that I’d make lunch or need me to praise his efforts. I miss that.
So now I know if I ever need to remodel the kitchen, I have someone who will complete it in far less than 3 years. And just think... granite counters are still cool!
My kids could tell you stories of our Mr. Fix it until you laughed so hard your sides ached and you begged them to stop. They could tell you of the time the brake lights on our old beat up car malfunctioned. The car was so old that we couldn’t get the part at a price we could afford. So he fashioned a hand held press switch to be pressed whenever the brakes were applied. A cord ran from a hole in the trunk, across the back seat and up to the front passenger seat. This became a task for the kids to manage and master. Just as you might call “shot gun”, the kids would call “lights”. The idea was to have a kid hold the switch, each time the break was applied my husband would yell, “Brake” in his big booming voice. The switch would be pressed and the brake lights illuminated. The switch had to be held until the signal to release was given. Now this is unique but also a bit endearing. Imagine the bonding of father/daughter or father/son as they worked side by side to arrive safely at their destination. Seriously? Just don’t mention the times the kids were tired from swim or hockey practice or the driver, lost in his thoughts forgot to give the signal. I believe my kids received more than their fair share of exposure to hand gestures from upset motorists.
The very first house we ever owned was a small 3 bedroom one bathroom bungalow. The house had been in my husband’s family for years and had seen kids, grandkids, and pets. For all that house had been through, it was in better shape than you would imagine. We were able to get a few years under our belts before really having to make repairs. One area needing a great deal of care was the kitchen. We had such plans for that space. We would talk about it when we had down time and needed to dream. We always dreamed bigger than our bank accounts would have allowed. We were talking granite before it was cool. The kitchen we designed during our conversation was roughly 3 times the square footage of our whole house. But really, did it do any harm to dream? Well maybe… One Sunday morning after a wonderful night of adult conversation, I walked into the kitchen to see him standing there staring at the walls. “We can do this” he said very calmly. “Do what?” I responded, trying not to let fear creep into my voice. “We can remodel this kitchen”. “It will be so easy” he said with the giggle of a mad scientist. Now I was scared. He was serious. We couldn’t do this… we have 2 kids, 2 jobs and a dog. When the heck did he think we were going to do this? Maybe I should have actually said that to him, but I tipped toed past him to make coffee. I didn’t see it coming. It really wasn’t my fault. But within moments… Crash! Walls began to come down, the pantry was obliterated. The cabinets ripped from the walls. It all took such a short amount of time. But like a car wreck it seemed in slow motion. Once the dust was cleared and the last of the debris was hauled outside, what was left was a shell. The walls had been ripped down to the studs. You could see the backside of the bathroom medicine cabinet. I always wondered where the little slit inside older medicine cabinets marked used razors lead to. Now I knew… nowhere, just in to the space between your walls. My husband assured me new the drywall would be up in a few days, the new cabinets hung within the week. 3 years later we sold that house... no walls, cabinets or counter tops had been added. No granite…even before it was cool.
So now that I’m living my life without my own Mr. Fix it, I’ve been struggling to get things done around what we called, our dream house. We bought this new construction 4 bedroom 2.5 bath house about 5 years ago. At closing, before I would sign any papers, I declared a moratorium on any do it yourself projects. No repairs could be performed more significant than the changing of a light bulb without professional assistance. My husband reluctantly agreed and I signed the mortgage papers. I did relent on a few things over the next few years. Neighbors, friends and relatives have all very generously offered to fix this and that or take on the odd job around my house. I love them all for their care and genuine offers but I have concerns. What if they fall, or break something? What if they really mess up on whatever they are helping with? I would be crushed and given my way of not rocking the boat, I’d probably never say anything to them about their mistake. Not the best situation. So I’ve thanked them all but respectfully declined. What I needed was a good old fashioned handy man. But who or how? Is there a requirement for the handy man to be an old guy? How do you find one? Is there really a guy who would come to your house and do all your odd jobs? The only handy man I ever really heard of travelled through Mayberry on his way to Mount Pilot and Aunt Bee hired him to fix the shutters or paint the fence. Sarah’s “Honey Do” list: #1 Find a Handy man.
I overheard a conversation 2 guys were having at the Farmer’s Market a few weeks back. They were talking about a service that came and did work at the one guy’s home. I shamelessly jumped in. I wanted information and I wanted it now! I went home and googled the name the old guy had given me. Now I know I’m not supposed to plug a product or service, but really… I have so little power and usually play by the rules so here goes… Mr. Handyman is an actual company in Trenton, MI. In fact they are the Business of the Year for 2010 in Trenton and rightly so. My initial contact was more than pleasant and the young woman was knowledgeable and very sweet. I loved the appointment confirmation the day before too. Promptly at 9:00 am, James rang my door bell. James knew what my needs were and gave me a very fair quote that I readily accepted. Within a matter of 3 hours all the jobs and projects that had been left undone for the past 17 months were completed. The quality of the work was outstanding. I have to say that I am not a big fan of strangers in my home. But I felt completely comfortable with James. I got the distinct impression that James was playing a mental game with all of my projects. He seemed to be setting goals for himself and as he checked each item off the list he was that closer to the finish line. James is an excellent representative for Mr. Handyman in Trenton. At one point James had to run to the store for a part. This was usually the point that all motivation broke down when my husband was my Mr. Fix it. But James returned with no less motivation than he had when he arrived earlier. I began to wonder if James had a Dad that fixed things. I’ll bet he never got to activate the brake lights by pressing a button! I also began to miss the fun we had doing house projects, my husband and me. You see his name was James, Jim as well. But the James in my house fixing things today didn’t ask me for a drink or expect that I’d make lunch or need me to praise his efforts. I miss that.
So now I know if I ever need to remodel the kitchen, I have someone who will complete it in far less than 3 years. And just think... granite counters are still cool!
Saturday, July 24, 2010
To Serve and Protect…
I’ll start by saying I am not a Police Officer. Never have been and I’m 100% sure I never will be. I have never been married or involved with anyone in law enforcement and who the heck knows if I ever will be. But I can tell you this… when news broke on Friday morning of the shooting in Taylor of a young officer, I had a flood of emotions. As the news came of Corporal Matthew Edwards passing those emotions intensified.
As a kid growing up in the suburbs of Chicago in the 60’s and 70’s, we were taught that police were there to help you. They were in place to be sure we were all obeying the rules and regulations we, as a society had decided we wanted enforced. I remember a time when I was playing at my grade school with my friend Barbara. We were maybe in 4th or 5th grade. It was a Saturday I believe, so the normally packed play ground was deserted. As we slid down the slide or dangled on the Monkey Bars... a man approached us and asked if we would help him find his puppy. We followed him around the playground for a bit and then he headed toward the forest just past the baseball fields. We followed him as well. At one point just before entering the woods, we decided we were bored or hungry or something and turned and walked away. There was no mad chase scene with us narrowly escaping the grasp of this would be kidnapper or a fearful get away that left us breathless. We simply walked back to our bikes and headed for home. As we rode down the middle of the street laughing about what had just happened, a police car came up alongside us. The officer asked us if we would please remember to stay on the side of the road. No reprimand or stopping us and giving us a good talking too, although either would have been in order. He just wanted us to be safe. He cared about us and because this was the way we had always known cops to be, we felt protected. He then asked how our day had been… I know in my heart that had he not already gained our trust, we would never have mentioned the “man with the lost puppy” incident. But we stopped and told him all about it. He listened and nodded and smiled and most importantly, he believed us. He asked us questions and we answered. He never changed his emotions and as I think back on it, his calm set the tone for our reaction to the events that followed. He asked our names and told us to head home and let our parents know what had happened. There was no panic in his voice and of course, he told us to be good girls. Months later we were asked to come to the Police Department and take part in a line up. Another girl had been approached by a man asking if she would help him find his puppy. While I don’t know firsthand, I was lead, much later in life to believe this girl did not walk away as Barbara and I had. The officer who had first been given our story met my mom and me at the door. The Police Chief, a lifelong friend of my parents was there too. I remember thinking my mom seemed nervous. She had smoked more cigarettes on the way to the police station than the short ride would normally allow. Standing in the room and looking though the glass at the men standing in line I was sure I knew who it was… number 2. The officer asked if I was sure and I’m sure I said I was. Outside in the lobby Barbara and her mom were there. Barbara had viewed and made her selection just before I did. We were asked not to discuss the men. Frankly it never ever came up again. Well that’s not actually true. A few months later, I understand there was a trial and the guy was found guilty of whatever he had been charged with. I overheard the Police Chief telling my mom that the positive ID they had received really helped solve the case. Fortunately Barbara chose number 3, the actual “guy with the lost puppy”. My pick #2 was in the head of the water department and had no connection to the case other than being at the Police Department on the day of the lineup.
When I awoke to find my husband struggling to breath and I called 911, it was a police officer who arrived first. As emergency personal continued to arrive, I was escorted downstairs and away from the activity swirling around my husband. From the moment the first officer arrived I began to feel protected. The police officer who stayed downstairs with me was so calm. He was calm but totally connected to my situation. I knew that his training, character and demeanor would help me through the next few hours, days, weeks and months. While I will be forever beholden to the paramedics, my connection is with the Police Officers. For many of you, this is ironic as I grew up in a Fire Department family. I believe in the early morning hours of that first day of spring in 2009, I began to understand why someone becomes a Police Officer.
As I read more details of the events in the early morning hours on Friday, a stormy summer day, I wonder what is going through people’s minds. Will some officers rethink their roles? Will young men and women contemplating this line of work question their decisions? How many extra phone calls home or text messages were sent yesterday by cops, just to touch base? Just to say, “I’m OK”? How many husbands and wives spent a sleepless night as their loved ones worked their shifts? What’s going through the minds of those on the Taylor Police Department? For that matter, any Police Department? How much can Corporal Edwards' 6 year old son and 4 year old daughter understand? How do you mend the broken heart of a child? How do you mend the heart of parents who lose their child? Cpl Edwards’ wife is well protected in the fold of the arms of the men and women her husband worked with. I pray they can all comfort each other now and continue to be there as the harder days that are ahead, approach.
I will say this and know it may not be popular with some. But I strongly question the cuts and downgrades that are being imposed on Police and Fire Departments because of budgetary woes. How do you justify downgrading public safety but keep what I believe most would deem non-essential services, untouched? I know in my town, departments were asked to make cuts. The Fire and Police Chief’s worked hard to do what was in the best interest of the people they serve and protect. City employees are taking furlough days. The wonderful fountain, a summer favorite has been shut down to cut costs. But our library and historical society are balking at giving back funds or making cuts. The city council is not asking for these funds because they want to pay for new items or anything frivolous. They want to avoid further cuts to the protection of the residents of Flat Rock. In Trenton, many senior members of the Police Department took buy out packages in order to save the jobs of younger cops and to keep the police on the streets, to serve and protect. I know many other towns are working hard to keep their Police and Fire personnel intact. I can’t help but think this is a horrible vicious circle… no jobs, higher crime; fewer taxes paid, less city services available, no jobs, higher crime… and so on. I don’t know if the events of Friday morning had anything to do with cuts in Taylor. I do believe we will see more tragic events like this if we don’t have adequate, no not adequate, appropriate protection.
To the family of Corporal Edwards, I am so sorry for your loss. To the Taylor Police and all officers, my sympathies... May you all be at peace and safe.
If you feel so inclined, there is a memorial fund for Corporal Edward’s family set up though the Thin Blue Line of Michigan, P. O. Box 415, Howell, MI 48844. Cards are also welcome at this address.
As a kid growing up in the suburbs of Chicago in the 60’s and 70’s, we were taught that police were there to help you. They were in place to be sure we were all obeying the rules and regulations we, as a society had decided we wanted enforced. I remember a time when I was playing at my grade school with my friend Barbara. We were maybe in 4th or 5th grade. It was a Saturday I believe, so the normally packed play ground was deserted. As we slid down the slide or dangled on the Monkey Bars... a man approached us and asked if we would help him find his puppy. We followed him around the playground for a bit and then he headed toward the forest just past the baseball fields. We followed him as well. At one point just before entering the woods, we decided we were bored or hungry or something and turned and walked away. There was no mad chase scene with us narrowly escaping the grasp of this would be kidnapper or a fearful get away that left us breathless. We simply walked back to our bikes and headed for home. As we rode down the middle of the street laughing about what had just happened, a police car came up alongside us. The officer asked us if we would please remember to stay on the side of the road. No reprimand or stopping us and giving us a good talking too, although either would have been in order. He just wanted us to be safe. He cared about us and because this was the way we had always known cops to be, we felt protected. He then asked how our day had been… I know in my heart that had he not already gained our trust, we would never have mentioned the “man with the lost puppy” incident. But we stopped and told him all about it. He listened and nodded and smiled and most importantly, he believed us. He asked us questions and we answered. He never changed his emotions and as I think back on it, his calm set the tone for our reaction to the events that followed. He asked our names and told us to head home and let our parents know what had happened. There was no panic in his voice and of course, he told us to be good girls. Months later we were asked to come to the Police Department and take part in a line up. Another girl had been approached by a man asking if she would help him find his puppy. While I don’t know firsthand, I was lead, much later in life to believe this girl did not walk away as Barbara and I had. The officer who had first been given our story met my mom and me at the door. The Police Chief, a lifelong friend of my parents was there too. I remember thinking my mom seemed nervous. She had smoked more cigarettes on the way to the police station than the short ride would normally allow. Standing in the room and looking though the glass at the men standing in line I was sure I knew who it was… number 2. The officer asked if I was sure and I’m sure I said I was. Outside in the lobby Barbara and her mom were there. Barbara had viewed and made her selection just before I did. We were asked not to discuss the men. Frankly it never ever came up again. Well that’s not actually true. A few months later, I understand there was a trial and the guy was found guilty of whatever he had been charged with. I overheard the Police Chief telling my mom that the positive ID they had received really helped solve the case. Fortunately Barbara chose number 3, the actual “guy with the lost puppy”. My pick #2 was in the head of the water department and had no connection to the case other than being at the Police Department on the day of the lineup.
When I awoke to find my husband struggling to breath and I called 911, it was a police officer who arrived first. As emergency personal continued to arrive, I was escorted downstairs and away from the activity swirling around my husband. From the moment the first officer arrived I began to feel protected. The police officer who stayed downstairs with me was so calm. He was calm but totally connected to my situation. I knew that his training, character and demeanor would help me through the next few hours, days, weeks and months. While I will be forever beholden to the paramedics, my connection is with the Police Officers. For many of you, this is ironic as I grew up in a Fire Department family. I believe in the early morning hours of that first day of spring in 2009, I began to understand why someone becomes a Police Officer.
As I read more details of the events in the early morning hours on Friday, a stormy summer day, I wonder what is going through people’s minds. Will some officers rethink their roles? Will young men and women contemplating this line of work question their decisions? How many extra phone calls home or text messages were sent yesterday by cops, just to touch base? Just to say, “I’m OK”? How many husbands and wives spent a sleepless night as their loved ones worked their shifts? What’s going through the minds of those on the Taylor Police Department? For that matter, any Police Department? How much can Corporal Edwards' 6 year old son and 4 year old daughter understand? How do you mend the broken heart of a child? How do you mend the heart of parents who lose their child? Cpl Edwards’ wife is well protected in the fold of the arms of the men and women her husband worked with. I pray they can all comfort each other now and continue to be there as the harder days that are ahead, approach.
I will say this and know it may not be popular with some. But I strongly question the cuts and downgrades that are being imposed on Police and Fire Departments because of budgetary woes. How do you justify downgrading public safety but keep what I believe most would deem non-essential services, untouched? I know in my town, departments were asked to make cuts. The Fire and Police Chief’s worked hard to do what was in the best interest of the people they serve and protect. City employees are taking furlough days. The wonderful fountain, a summer favorite has been shut down to cut costs. But our library and historical society are balking at giving back funds or making cuts. The city council is not asking for these funds because they want to pay for new items or anything frivolous. They want to avoid further cuts to the protection of the residents of Flat Rock. In Trenton, many senior members of the Police Department took buy out packages in order to save the jobs of younger cops and to keep the police on the streets, to serve and protect. I know many other towns are working hard to keep their Police and Fire personnel intact. I can’t help but think this is a horrible vicious circle… no jobs, higher crime; fewer taxes paid, less city services available, no jobs, higher crime… and so on. I don’t know if the events of Friday morning had anything to do with cuts in Taylor. I do believe we will see more tragic events like this if we don’t have adequate, no not adequate, appropriate protection.
To the family of Corporal Edwards, I am so sorry for your loss. To the Taylor Police and all officers, my sympathies... May you all be at peace and safe.
If you feel so inclined, there is a memorial fund for Corporal Edward’s family set up though the Thin Blue Line of Michigan, P. O. Box 415, Howell, MI 48844. Cards are also welcome at this address.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Day 1, Getting your game head on...
As I begin to write this it is Sunday evening in Michigan… and very early Monday morning in Sweden. My son has been awake for hours. Over excited for the World In Line Tournament to begin? Well, that and his roommate snores. This is also the time of year when the Midnight Sun is shinnng in Sweden. The light so bright in some regions, a person can actually get sun burn. The phenomenon happens between the end of May and the middle of July. In a few hours the IIHF (International Ice Hockey Federation), the host organization will begin what should be an action packed 1st day of competition.
Crews are polishing the floor of the rinks, refs are reviewing the rules. Ok maybe the ref thing is a bit much. Vendors are setting up booths; cameras are being put in place for action shots. Team USA travels with a fabulous support staff. Coaches, trainers and equipment guys are the backbone of this team’s potential success. The boys have amazing uniforms and state of the art equipment. This team even travels with their own washer and dryer! A huge stock of sticks and wheels made the journey along with a seemingly never ending allotment of tape. Almost anything you can imagine in the “patch them up and get them back out there” kit is also waiting on the bench.
The boys have also packed their superstitions. I assume other sports have players who have rituals and rites of passage that must be performed in order to ensure greatness, but I don’t have a big frame of reference. I’ve always been a very superstitious hockey mom. The details are too deep to go into but… I’ll admit I’m really bad about things being in certain places and if this happens than I do that… it’s bad. But most players have their own, very private tasks to complete, places they need to stand, sticks that need to be specifically taped and food that needs to be consumed at odd intervals. I’m hoping they are doing all of them before today’s game!
Well, happy to report we beat Team Canada, 7-2. Great game with the US coming out hard and fast right from the 1st drop of the puck. I did attempt to watch the webcast but was not able to sync up. I paid my $6.43 (50.00 in Sweden currency) but never saw a second of the game. The IIHF has a live score sheet on their website so I was glued to the refresh key for 2 hours. I actually had a meeting and I guess my colleagues know me better that they should… I was given a bit of slack to run back to my office to check the score every so often. Thanks guys! I spoke to my son and some of the boys later via Skype... very cool. They were tired but happy to have the 1st win under their belts. TNT did a fine job in net and the IIHF had great things to say about our boys. Keep it up and on to the next…
Will I attempt to watch Tuesday’s game on the web? Nope. I didn’t watch Monday and they won… If I watch Tuesday and we… aren’t successful... OMG! Ah... hockey superstitions… gotta love em!
USA! USA!
Crews are polishing the floor of the rinks, refs are reviewing the rules. Ok maybe the ref thing is a bit much. Vendors are setting up booths; cameras are being put in place for action shots. Team USA travels with a fabulous support staff. Coaches, trainers and equipment guys are the backbone of this team’s potential success. The boys have amazing uniforms and state of the art equipment. This team even travels with their own washer and dryer! A huge stock of sticks and wheels made the journey along with a seemingly never ending allotment of tape. Almost anything you can imagine in the “patch them up and get them back out there” kit is also waiting on the bench.
The boys have also packed their superstitions. I assume other sports have players who have rituals and rites of passage that must be performed in order to ensure greatness, but I don’t have a big frame of reference. I’ve always been a very superstitious hockey mom. The details are too deep to go into but… I’ll admit I’m really bad about things being in certain places and if this happens than I do that… it’s bad. But most players have their own, very private tasks to complete, places they need to stand, sticks that need to be specifically taped and food that needs to be consumed at odd intervals. I’m hoping they are doing all of them before today’s game!
Well, happy to report we beat Team Canada, 7-2. Great game with the US coming out hard and fast right from the 1st drop of the puck. I did attempt to watch the webcast but was not able to sync up. I paid my $6.43 (50.00 in Sweden currency) but never saw a second of the game. The IIHF has a live score sheet on their website so I was glued to the refresh key for 2 hours. I actually had a meeting and I guess my colleagues know me better that they should… I was given a bit of slack to run back to my office to check the score every so often. Thanks guys! I spoke to my son and some of the boys later via Skype... very cool. They were tired but happy to have the 1st win under their belts. TNT did a fine job in net and the IIHF had great things to say about our boys. Keep it up and on to the next…
Will I attempt to watch Tuesday’s game on the web? Nope. I didn’t watch Monday and they won… If I watch Tuesday and we… aren’t successful... OMG! Ah... hockey superstitions… gotta love em!
USA! USA!
Thursday, June 24, 2010
The Boys are Back!
25 of the United States most elite In Line Hockey players descended on Lakewood Colorado this past weekend. After an intense 2 days of almost non-stop tryouts, 11 went home, sad, disappointed and dejected. 14 were selected to be the 2010 US Men’s National In Line Hockey Team.
I’ll admit it… I’m a hockey junkie! I love hockey, both Ice and In Line. I grew up in the Chicago area, but never saw a hockey game until I moved to Michigan in 1988. That year I had the privilege of attending a Wings playoff game, in the suites I might add. I remember calling my husband to tell him we had been offered the tickets. “Is this a cool thing to go to?” I asked. Being a devotee of the Wings and having lived away from what he called “real hockey” for a number of years, you can imagine his answer. Joe Louis was buzzing. Yzerman was back after a knee injury and the fans couldn’t wait. My knowledge of hockey only included details like, it is played on ice with sticks and skates. I had zero understanding of the game. Sadly, I can now admit, zero passion for it either. As I sat way up high in our appointed suite, our host for the evening asked me if I was a fan. I believe I said something to the effect of not knowing if I was a fan because I didn’t know the game. For the next 10 minutes he explained. Carefully filling my head with off sides, icing the puck, too many men, blue line, and red line definitions and inside information on the players. I was breathless with anticipation. As the puck was dropped I felt it. My heart raced, my mouth was both dry and salivating for more at the same time, my hands were sweaty and my head pounded. Over the course of the next 100 minutes or so… I was hooked, addicted to be sure. The high was so high, the low was devastating. I don’t remember the score or who we played but really it doesn’t matter. What mattered was I wanted that feeling again and again and again. I wanted more…hockey.
My son began playing ice hockey when he was 5 years old. Like most parents I believe he is great, both off and on the ice. He has played all over the world. Youth leagues, Jr. A, College and professional, he’s played and loved it all. I have too. I love to watch almost any level at any time. When he was in high school, he discovered In Line hockey. If you have never experienced In Line, it’s a faster game with some modification to the rules. It’s also a smellier game! I’m not sure why but I’m sure it has to do with the no ice, warmer setting issue. PJ, my son loves In Line hockey. He has played at most levels and again all over the world.
With the many teams, camps, travel and tournaments there has been a constant stream of players flowing through my life for the past 21 years. I’ve had the pleasure of traveling with some of the teams and interacting with the players. To be at a rink and have a player seek you out to be sure to say hello and give you a hug is a great experience. To cook for a player who you have opened your home to and have that player, years later ask you to cook for them again is so gratifying. I love the relationship I have with so many of the boys. I’ve been nurse, mom, friend, banker, confidant and cheerleader for sons of others. It’s been an honor. When my husband and PJ’s dad died last year, at first I was blown away by the support of the hockey community. But then as time went on and I began to reflect, I wasn’t surprised at all. Players called not only my son, but me as well. Players I had heard about and cheered on from afar but had not ever met, showed up for the services. But, frankly… all of this is in a word… hockey. I cannot speak for other sports but hockey boys may fight to the finish on the ice or court, but outside of the game, their friendships run deep. The passion they have for their sport flows freely through their lives. As easy as it seems to drop the gloves during a game, when the chips are down for someone or something they care about, the gloves are dropped or the sleeves rolled up without hesitation.
In 2002 PJ made his first appearance as a member of the US Men’s National In Line Hockey team. Every year there was the anticipation of the invitation to “camp”. Camp is lingo for the grueling process of tryouts and team selection. Today the 2010 team was announced. Boys from California, Illinois, Missouri, Colorado and Michigan will represent the USA at the In Line Worlds in Karlstad Sweden. Our 1st game is on Monday v. Canada. In 2009 the US won the Silver after suffering their first tournament loss to Sweden in the Gold medal game. This year we are in their house and would like nothing better than to participate in a rematch. The Gold medal game is scheduled for Sunday, July 4th.
The boys will be sending me pictures and updates. Updates are also available at www.usahockey.com. Please look for updated blogs here and let’s get some serious support behind this great team.
Boys, lace up the blades, get your game-head on and have a great time. Represent us proudly as we are all so proud of you.
USA! USA! USA!
I welcome your comments! maxmom16@yahoo.com
I’ll admit it… I’m a hockey junkie! I love hockey, both Ice and In Line. I grew up in the Chicago area, but never saw a hockey game until I moved to Michigan in 1988. That year I had the privilege of attending a Wings playoff game, in the suites I might add. I remember calling my husband to tell him we had been offered the tickets. “Is this a cool thing to go to?” I asked. Being a devotee of the Wings and having lived away from what he called “real hockey” for a number of years, you can imagine his answer. Joe Louis was buzzing. Yzerman was back after a knee injury and the fans couldn’t wait. My knowledge of hockey only included details like, it is played on ice with sticks and skates. I had zero understanding of the game. Sadly, I can now admit, zero passion for it either. As I sat way up high in our appointed suite, our host for the evening asked me if I was a fan. I believe I said something to the effect of not knowing if I was a fan because I didn’t know the game. For the next 10 minutes he explained. Carefully filling my head with off sides, icing the puck, too many men, blue line, and red line definitions and inside information on the players. I was breathless with anticipation. As the puck was dropped I felt it. My heart raced, my mouth was both dry and salivating for more at the same time, my hands were sweaty and my head pounded. Over the course of the next 100 minutes or so… I was hooked, addicted to be sure. The high was so high, the low was devastating. I don’t remember the score or who we played but really it doesn’t matter. What mattered was I wanted that feeling again and again and again. I wanted more…hockey.
My son began playing ice hockey when he was 5 years old. Like most parents I believe he is great, both off and on the ice. He has played all over the world. Youth leagues, Jr. A, College and professional, he’s played and loved it all. I have too. I love to watch almost any level at any time. When he was in high school, he discovered In Line hockey. If you have never experienced In Line, it’s a faster game with some modification to the rules. It’s also a smellier game! I’m not sure why but I’m sure it has to do with the no ice, warmer setting issue. PJ, my son loves In Line hockey. He has played at most levels and again all over the world.
With the many teams, camps, travel and tournaments there has been a constant stream of players flowing through my life for the past 21 years. I’ve had the pleasure of traveling with some of the teams and interacting with the players. To be at a rink and have a player seek you out to be sure to say hello and give you a hug is a great experience. To cook for a player who you have opened your home to and have that player, years later ask you to cook for them again is so gratifying. I love the relationship I have with so many of the boys. I’ve been nurse, mom, friend, banker, confidant and cheerleader for sons of others. It’s been an honor. When my husband and PJ’s dad died last year, at first I was blown away by the support of the hockey community. But then as time went on and I began to reflect, I wasn’t surprised at all. Players called not only my son, but me as well. Players I had heard about and cheered on from afar but had not ever met, showed up for the services. But, frankly… all of this is in a word… hockey. I cannot speak for other sports but hockey boys may fight to the finish on the ice or court, but outside of the game, their friendships run deep. The passion they have for their sport flows freely through their lives. As easy as it seems to drop the gloves during a game, when the chips are down for someone or something they care about, the gloves are dropped or the sleeves rolled up without hesitation.
In 2002 PJ made his first appearance as a member of the US Men’s National In Line Hockey team. Every year there was the anticipation of the invitation to “camp”. Camp is lingo for the grueling process of tryouts and team selection. Today the 2010 team was announced. Boys from California, Illinois, Missouri, Colorado and Michigan will represent the USA at the In Line Worlds in Karlstad Sweden. Our 1st game is on Monday v. Canada. In 2009 the US won the Silver after suffering their first tournament loss to Sweden in the Gold medal game. This year we are in their house and would like nothing better than to participate in a rematch. The Gold medal game is scheduled for Sunday, July 4th.
The boys will be sending me pictures and updates. Updates are also available at www.usahockey.com. Please look for updated blogs here and let’s get some serious support behind this great team.
Boys, lace up the blades, get your game-head on and have a great time. Represent us proudly as we are all so proud of you.
USA! USA! USA!
I welcome your comments! maxmom16@yahoo.com
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Marriage
This is a re-posting of a blog from October 2009. The News Herald is asking what advise you would give newlyweds. This is what I would give…
I was married for just under 29 years. I learned a thing or two. If I had to impart wisdom on staying married for the long haul and enjoying it, it might look something like this:
TALK
Talking is key. The person you are with should want to share everything with you. You should be able to talk about your hopes, fears, joys and passions. I’m a talker… shocking to many of you I know. It took a long time to get my husband to open up about many aspects of his life. I remember before we were even married we started having “tell all” nights. Truth be told they did involve some amount of risk but it really laid the groundwork for what was an amazing journey of conversations over the next 29 years. We would sit facing each other, no TV, music or anything…. you were allowed to ask a question, any question and the other person had to give you an honest answer. Ok some of you are thinking that this is garbage and you would just say anything, but we really did attempt to be as honest as possible. Over the next years we would have versions of the “tell all” nights when we would find ourselves losing our connection. We had rules about what could and couldn’t be repeated or re-questioned. Some of my best memories of my husband are lying in bed next to him talking about our day, our hopes and our future. It’s not a matter of needing a solution from your partner. When you talk to your beloved about a problem or concern, you are basically giving half of it way. I loved when he would share a problem or concern with me. It made me feel valued. We talked all day, all the time. We texted, e-mailed and even faxed. I miss our talks and I still will reach for the phone to share something from my day with him. While we talked about the important stuff of life we also took the time to say the little things. I was told I was beautiful more often than I actually felt it. I told him how handsome I thought him to be. If we were going out to someplace special and I would ask how I looked he always responded… well what he said leads me to the next section…
SEX/MAKING LOVE
First and foremost understand the difference between sex and making love. Also know that need and want are two very different things. Frankly sometimes you just need sex. There is a stronger word but I’ll let you figure it out. Sex is a physical need being fulfilled… Making love is both emotional and physical. If you’re grown up enough to be sexually active, be grown up enough to tell your partner what you want and/or need. If one of you is a morning person and the other is fond of the night time, work it out. Feel free enough to get what you need but be generous enough to give what is wanted or needed. Don’t be afraid to shake things up. Do something unexpected, but nice. Ladies, there is no rule that says your partner is the only one who can initiate a rendezvous. I’ve been told it’s a welcome change for some guys. Now for you men, please…change up the repertoire every so often. Your partner shouldn’t be able to tell time by where you are on her body or what you are doing to her. If you’re doing it right she shouldn’t be able to think at all. Never be afraid to ask questions. But be careful what you ask for, you may get it or some variation of it. Always remember that passion makes almost everything better. I’ve always been a fan of the slow burn, flirty passion that can take hours to reach its peak. But a quick passion filled moment can be just as satisfying. Never, ever fake it. It will come back to bite you in the butt, someday.
HUMOR
I don’t have any idea where I would be today if I wasn’t blessed with both a quirky sense of humor and a partner who both appreciated and encouraged my craziness. Life has thrown way too many punches in my direction to not appreciate the humor that is always in every situation. It’s important to find what makes your partner’s giggle. There is definite value in a well timed full body laugh shared by two people who genuinely care for each other. Inside jokes are a must. I will always treasure the time my late husband made me burst out laughing at a funeral for his uncle. He turned to me and whispered something about his cousin’s striking resemblance to a duck. Of course I looked over and yep… she looked exactly like a duck. I let out a laugh so loud it was embarrassing. On the other hand it was so satisfying and a huge tension release. To complete the image you have to know that my husband never even cracked a smile… his lips didn’t curl. Nothing. I think I may never live down that moment with that side of the family. I purposely made sure to have humor in his eulogy, because it was such a part of our lives together. When out with friends we could look at each other and know that something we had heard was wildly funny, even when it wasn’t intended to be funny and would actually have to turn away for fear we might offend someone by laughing. Find a person you…get and who gets you. Find and hold on to the person who can know when to laugh with you and of course know when to and how to cry with you.
FAITH
Ok, this gets tricky. While faith in a higher being is a wonderful thing and I’m all for it, I’m not talking about that kind of faith. I’m talking about believing in someone when there is no earthly reason to believe in them. Blind faith is dangerous. But a deep faith is a must. Have faith that you chose the right partner. Have faith in yourself. Make decisions together, the big ones and the little ones. Ask each other’s advice and opinions. Have each other’s very best interests in mind at all times. Always trust that the decisions your partner makes are from the heart. Assume best intentions. Remember just because someone is louder, doesn’t make them right-er.
LOVE/LIKE and LUST
You need all three of these to keep it all together. I believe you should always love the person you’re married to, but in all honesty you will probably not always like each other. Believe it or not, it’s ok. You should never marry someone you just love but do not like or lust after. You should never marry a person you just like, but do not love or feel lust for. My guess is that you know lust alone is a tough sad state. Danger zone! All three of these are fluid. We feel them coming in and going out of our hearts, minds and spirits at speeds that can make you dizzy. To me love either is or isn’t there… Like and lust can and should be cultivated and cared for tenderly and consistently.
I will never claim to have all the answers or to have had the perfect marriage. But I know some things to be true. I know what my heart told me at the time was right. Given how I feel now that the love of my life is gone, I know this all to be true in my head as well. So my parting thought is to lead with your head, but listen with your heart.
I was married for just under 29 years. I learned a thing or two. If I had to impart wisdom on staying married for the long haul and enjoying it, it might look something like this:
TALK
Talking is key. The person you are with should want to share everything with you. You should be able to talk about your hopes, fears, joys and passions. I’m a talker… shocking to many of you I know. It took a long time to get my husband to open up about many aspects of his life. I remember before we were even married we started having “tell all” nights. Truth be told they did involve some amount of risk but it really laid the groundwork for what was an amazing journey of conversations over the next 29 years. We would sit facing each other, no TV, music or anything…. you were allowed to ask a question, any question and the other person had to give you an honest answer. Ok some of you are thinking that this is garbage and you would just say anything, but we really did attempt to be as honest as possible. Over the next years we would have versions of the “tell all” nights when we would find ourselves losing our connection. We had rules about what could and couldn’t be repeated or re-questioned. Some of my best memories of my husband are lying in bed next to him talking about our day, our hopes and our future. It’s not a matter of needing a solution from your partner. When you talk to your beloved about a problem or concern, you are basically giving half of it way. I loved when he would share a problem or concern with me. It made me feel valued. We talked all day, all the time. We texted, e-mailed and even faxed. I miss our talks and I still will reach for the phone to share something from my day with him. While we talked about the important stuff of life we also took the time to say the little things. I was told I was beautiful more often than I actually felt it. I told him how handsome I thought him to be. If we were going out to someplace special and I would ask how I looked he always responded… well what he said leads me to the next section…
SEX/MAKING LOVE
First and foremost understand the difference between sex and making love. Also know that need and want are two very different things. Frankly sometimes you just need sex. There is a stronger word but I’ll let you figure it out. Sex is a physical need being fulfilled… Making love is both emotional and physical. If you’re grown up enough to be sexually active, be grown up enough to tell your partner what you want and/or need. If one of you is a morning person and the other is fond of the night time, work it out. Feel free enough to get what you need but be generous enough to give what is wanted or needed. Don’t be afraid to shake things up. Do something unexpected, but nice. Ladies, there is no rule that says your partner is the only one who can initiate a rendezvous. I’ve been told it’s a welcome change for some guys. Now for you men, please…change up the repertoire every so often. Your partner shouldn’t be able to tell time by where you are on her body or what you are doing to her. If you’re doing it right she shouldn’t be able to think at all. Never be afraid to ask questions. But be careful what you ask for, you may get it or some variation of it. Always remember that passion makes almost everything better. I’ve always been a fan of the slow burn, flirty passion that can take hours to reach its peak. But a quick passion filled moment can be just as satisfying. Never, ever fake it. It will come back to bite you in the butt, someday.
HUMOR
I don’t have any idea where I would be today if I wasn’t blessed with both a quirky sense of humor and a partner who both appreciated and encouraged my craziness. Life has thrown way too many punches in my direction to not appreciate the humor that is always in every situation. It’s important to find what makes your partner’s giggle. There is definite value in a well timed full body laugh shared by two people who genuinely care for each other. Inside jokes are a must. I will always treasure the time my late husband made me burst out laughing at a funeral for his uncle. He turned to me and whispered something about his cousin’s striking resemblance to a duck. Of course I looked over and yep… she looked exactly like a duck. I let out a laugh so loud it was embarrassing. On the other hand it was so satisfying and a huge tension release. To complete the image you have to know that my husband never even cracked a smile… his lips didn’t curl. Nothing. I think I may never live down that moment with that side of the family. I purposely made sure to have humor in his eulogy, because it was such a part of our lives together. When out with friends we could look at each other and know that something we had heard was wildly funny, even when it wasn’t intended to be funny and would actually have to turn away for fear we might offend someone by laughing. Find a person you…get and who gets you. Find and hold on to the person who can know when to laugh with you and of course know when to and how to cry with you.
FAITH
Ok, this gets tricky. While faith in a higher being is a wonderful thing and I’m all for it, I’m not talking about that kind of faith. I’m talking about believing in someone when there is no earthly reason to believe in them. Blind faith is dangerous. But a deep faith is a must. Have faith that you chose the right partner. Have faith in yourself. Make decisions together, the big ones and the little ones. Ask each other’s advice and opinions. Have each other’s very best interests in mind at all times. Always trust that the decisions your partner makes are from the heart. Assume best intentions. Remember just because someone is louder, doesn’t make them right-er.
LOVE/LIKE and LUST
You need all three of these to keep it all together. I believe you should always love the person you’re married to, but in all honesty you will probably not always like each other. Believe it or not, it’s ok. You should never marry someone you just love but do not like or lust after. You should never marry a person you just like, but do not love or feel lust for. My guess is that you know lust alone is a tough sad state. Danger zone! All three of these are fluid. We feel them coming in and going out of our hearts, minds and spirits at speeds that can make you dizzy. To me love either is or isn’t there… Like and lust can and should be cultivated and cared for tenderly and consistently.
I will never claim to have all the answers or to have had the perfect marriage. But I know some things to be true. I know what my heart told me at the time was right. Given how I feel now that the love of my life is gone, I know this all to be true in my head as well. So my parting thought is to lead with your head, but listen with your heart.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
With this ring...
You really never know why 2 people fall in love. The same can be said for why people get married. We all have friends who cause us to stop and think… why are they together? What makes them tick? Some couples are so very obvious in their pairing. Is she the Ying to his Yang or vice versa? Maybe he is loud and irrational, she calm, cool and collected. We, as outsiders can very rarely put our finger on a couple’s exact... magic. Successful couples are often asked what makes them work and many times can only give singular answers. The answers don’t translate in to steps others can take to move down the road to success. They are bits and pieces of why the couple works, but not really what makes them work. Think of it this way, you can have all the ingredients to make a cake, but that does not mean you will make a great cake or frankly that you will take the time and effort to make the cake at all.
Ah, but when a couple in your circle decides to un-couple, everyone seems to have an opinion. He was this, she was that. She let herself go, he has issues. We all make these statements and think we have the answer. But do we? The announcement of the splitting up of Al and Tipper Gore after 40 years of marriage has many people talking. Assumptions were made immediately about infidelity. Who had stepped out of the marriage or who had strayed? Was it another effect of global warming? Sorry... But 40 years is an incredibly long time to be married and then end it. I’ve been reading whatever I could find about these two and wonder if they may have actually come upon an ideal solution. They are friends, great friends by all accounts. Obviously they were and I believe still are, committed to each other. But they have grown and their lives have changed over the course of 4 decades. I would believe they decided to take the joy of their friendship, their union and allow each other to explore the next phase of their lives, unattached. Keep in mind; these 2 have been together since high school. How refreshing and unselfish would it be to step back from the marriage while you are each still intact? Imagine having the strength to not have had an affair or begin a relationship and hurt your partner. Novel idea right? Suppose the Gore’s decided that their love had moved to a new level and they both needed something or someone different. I wish more people could make these types of decisions before they hurt each other, their families and their kids. On the other hand, I find it amazing that they could have this incredible open communication to feel so safe that they could actually ask for what they needed. I’d like to think they will remain the friends and confidants that I believe them to be as they enter this new chapter of their lives.
The news also brought out another story of love and marriage. Two young people from a small town in Pennsylvania have announced they will marry on June 12th. Not normally newsworthy. But this time, unique. Amy and Steve, the bride and groom were both born on April 17th, both in 1986. Their mom’s both delivered their bundles of joy at St. Luke’s hospital. Ironically, they shared a room in that very hospital. As luck or fate or divine intervention would have it, the families attended the same church. Steve asked Amy out on a date while in high school. And now, they will be married. I for one love this story. I for one wish them all the joy, love, peace, happiness and passion their hearts, heads and hands can hold.
In 1980, there was a boy and girl who married. No one understood their connection. Almost no one thought they would last long as a couple. He had never dated anyone like her. She was so young. He was nothing like the image she had in her head of who she would fall in love with. He was 5 years older. They hadn’t known each other very long. But none of that mattered. They worked hard at their marriage and at keeping the sparks alive. They loved and laughed, cried and cared. As the years went on, friends and family would say they were perfect for each other. They were. When the time came for one to say good bye to the other, there was an all consuming sense of loss but an overwhelming pride, joy and appreciation that came over her. She knew she had been loved deeply, passionately and fully. She knew he felt he had been loved in just the same way. As he left her, they had a feeling that while their time together was shorter than they had hoped, it was time to be proud of and to celebrate. As she looks to next week and the 30th anniversary of their wedding, it is both sad and immensely happy. Sad because he is no longer here to celebrate, to hold her... happy because she knows she has had what most people can only dream of.
So to the Gore’s, Amy and Steve and all those just entering what can be the greatest days of your lives; may you find your heart’s desire and a love that lasts longer than you could ever wish for.
Ah, but when a couple in your circle decides to un-couple, everyone seems to have an opinion. He was this, she was that. She let herself go, he has issues. We all make these statements and think we have the answer. But do we? The announcement of the splitting up of Al and Tipper Gore after 40 years of marriage has many people talking. Assumptions were made immediately about infidelity. Who had stepped out of the marriage or who had strayed? Was it another effect of global warming? Sorry... But 40 years is an incredibly long time to be married and then end it. I’ve been reading whatever I could find about these two and wonder if they may have actually come upon an ideal solution. They are friends, great friends by all accounts. Obviously they were and I believe still are, committed to each other. But they have grown and their lives have changed over the course of 4 decades. I would believe they decided to take the joy of their friendship, their union and allow each other to explore the next phase of their lives, unattached. Keep in mind; these 2 have been together since high school. How refreshing and unselfish would it be to step back from the marriage while you are each still intact? Imagine having the strength to not have had an affair or begin a relationship and hurt your partner. Novel idea right? Suppose the Gore’s decided that their love had moved to a new level and they both needed something or someone different. I wish more people could make these types of decisions before they hurt each other, their families and their kids. On the other hand, I find it amazing that they could have this incredible open communication to feel so safe that they could actually ask for what they needed. I’d like to think they will remain the friends and confidants that I believe them to be as they enter this new chapter of their lives.
The news also brought out another story of love and marriage. Two young people from a small town in Pennsylvania have announced they will marry on June 12th. Not normally newsworthy. But this time, unique. Amy and Steve, the bride and groom were both born on April 17th, both in 1986. Their mom’s both delivered their bundles of joy at St. Luke’s hospital. Ironically, they shared a room in that very hospital. As luck or fate or divine intervention would have it, the families attended the same church. Steve asked Amy out on a date while in high school. And now, they will be married. I for one love this story. I for one wish them all the joy, love, peace, happiness and passion their hearts, heads and hands can hold.
In 1980, there was a boy and girl who married. No one understood their connection. Almost no one thought they would last long as a couple. He had never dated anyone like her. She was so young. He was nothing like the image she had in her head of who she would fall in love with. He was 5 years older. They hadn’t known each other very long. But none of that mattered. They worked hard at their marriage and at keeping the sparks alive. They loved and laughed, cried and cared. As the years went on, friends and family would say they were perfect for each other. They were. When the time came for one to say good bye to the other, there was an all consuming sense of loss but an overwhelming pride, joy and appreciation that came over her. She knew she had been loved deeply, passionately and fully. She knew he felt he had been loved in just the same way. As he left her, they had a feeling that while their time together was shorter than they had hoped, it was time to be proud of and to celebrate. As she looks to next week and the 30th anniversary of their wedding, it is both sad and immensely happy. Sad because he is no longer here to celebrate, to hold her... happy because she knows she has had what most people can only dream of.
So to the Gore’s, Amy and Steve and all those just entering what can be the greatest days of your lives; may you find your heart’s desire and a love that lasts longer than you could ever wish for.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Stuff that just isn’t right
Nuns in line at Starbuck’s
A nun in line at Starbuck’s wearing those new shoes from Reebok that are supposed to firm your butt.
Wigs and woman who have hair short platinum blond today and long flowing brown tomorrow
Kids over the age of 3 walking around with a pacifier in their mouth
Every so often while you’re eating raw baby carrots, one tastes like soap
People who don’t clean up after their pets
Not using your turn signal
Falling asleep while you’re watching a G or PG rated movie at home… and waking up to an X rated one
Blackhawks in the Stanley Cup Finals (ok, I’m an Illinois girl I’m a little happy for them)
Women who lose more weight after giving birth than they gained while ptrgnant, before they even leave the hospital
Budget cuts that cause police and fire fighters to lose their jobs and then citizens loose protection and safety
People who don’t vote
Hello Kitty
Cashiers who cannot figure out how much change they owe you, in their head…
Plastic flowers stuck in outdoor flower beds
Mean people who temper their mean comments by saying “Oh come on… I was only joking”
The value some put on outer beauty when the real value is inner beauty
My puppy eats only the ends if a rawhide bone, leaving the middles all over for me to step on
Guests coming to your house and eating all the best chocolate from the candy bin
The fact that my family room is maybe 14 X 18 and I have a remote control for the, fan. Not a ceiling fan, the fan on the stand across the room
My race makes it inappropriate for me to say some things but a woman my age, with my background, but a different race can say what I am thinking and there would be no ramifications.
The way my mind sometimes works
Monday, May 10, 2010
“The toughest job you’ll ever love…”
The end to another wonderful Mother’s Day is upon me. This was my 27th Mother’s Day. Each one has been wonderful, each very different. As I took the drive to celebrate with family, I couldn’t help but think of all my memories of my journey through motherhood. What did I know, as a girl in my very early 20s, about being a Mom? What did I expect? Would I be a classic June Cleaver mom or would I be more of a Roseanne Connor-esq matriarch? Truth be told I was/am probably a little of both. But motherhood is a tough job. Is it a position most of us would have applied for had we seen it advertised? How could you effectively advertise for this all consuming role? My guess is you would need to call in the top marketing/advertising folks money could buy in order to give a clear picture of the expectations, responsibilities, ups, downs and salary range. Much creativity would be needed as well as a healthy dose candor. Thinking about how corporate America advertises, I’m struck with the realization that many product taglines or catch phrases could easily be tweaked to be an ad for motherhood. By changing the product or service to “Motherhood or Mom”… you’ll see what I mean. So come along and play…
• Motherhood, It’s the Real Thing (Coke)
• Mom’s, Building Strong Bodies, 12 ways (Wonder Bread)
• Leave the Driving to Us (Greyhound)
• We’ll leave the light on… (Motel 6)
• Just Do It! (Nike)
• Motherhood, The Greatest Show on Earth (Ringling Bro/Barnum & Bialy Circus)
• Be all you can be… (Army)
• You’re in Good Hands… (Allstate)
• We do the work, so you don’t have to… (Scrubbing Bubbles)
I could go on and on with this. All of these on their own could work and all of them together would fit the bill. But you would still need more, much more!
Moms can be Dads. But Dads cannot be Moms without at some point, a female. While science has made unbelievable strides in assisting in the creation of life, they still have not created anything to eliminate the womb. What happens before or after the womb can be managed, handled, attempted and failed by any gender. It is the pure heart, openness to change, ability to set all aside for your child, willingness to laugh with and at yourself, courage to dream and the passion to embrace lunacy that is vital. Must work endless, sleep deprived hours for little or no monetary gain while managing a household, holding down a paying job, scheduling appointments, meeting with teachers, taking the dog to the vet and still keeping other relationships alive. You’ll need an active imagination, the ability to slay dragons, the diplomacy to pick your battles and the negotiating skills of the toughest world leaders. Wimps need not apply.
There is so much more involved in the job description. The pay is terrible. But the bonus structure is amazing and potentially, if you do it right, never-ending. If successful, even in the smallest ways, you will be rich beyond your wildest dreams.
Thank you to K & P for making me the wealthiest woman in the world. Thank you Jim, for make K & P with me. Congratulations to all my family and friends who are just beginning this amazing journey as new parents of; Liam, Reese, Benjamin George, D-Max, Abby, Emerson, Lia, Khloe and one great nephew due very soon. (sorry if I have left anyone out)
I (heart) Motherhood! (New York)
• Motherhood, It’s the Real Thing (Coke)
• Mom’s, Building Strong Bodies, 12 ways (Wonder Bread)
• Leave the Driving to Us (Greyhound)
• We’ll leave the light on… (Motel 6)
• Just Do It! (Nike)
• Motherhood, The Greatest Show on Earth (Ringling Bro/Barnum & Bialy Circus)
• Be all you can be… (Army)
• You’re in Good Hands… (Allstate)
• We do the work, so you don’t have to… (Scrubbing Bubbles)
I could go on and on with this. All of these on their own could work and all of them together would fit the bill. But you would still need more, much more!
Moms can be Dads. But Dads cannot be Moms without at some point, a female. While science has made unbelievable strides in assisting in the creation of life, they still have not created anything to eliminate the womb. What happens before or after the womb can be managed, handled, attempted and failed by any gender. It is the pure heart, openness to change, ability to set all aside for your child, willingness to laugh with and at yourself, courage to dream and the passion to embrace lunacy that is vital. Must work endless, sleep deprived hours for little or no monetary gain while managing a household, holding down a paying job, scheduling appointments, meeting with teachers, taking the dog to the vet and still keeping other relationships alive. You’ll need an active imagination, the ability to slay dragons, the diplomacy to pick your battles and the negotiating skills of the toughest world leaders. Wimps need not apply.
There is so much more involved in the job description. The pay is terrible. But the bonus structure is amazing and potentially, if you do it right, never-ending. If successful, even in the smallest ways, you will be rich beyond your wildest dreams.
Thank you to K & P for making me the wealthiest woman in the world. Thank you Jim, for make K & P with me. Congratulations to all my family and friends who are just beginning this amazing journey as new parents of; Liam, Reese, Benjamin George, D-Max, Abby, Emerson, Lia, Khloe and one great nephew due very soon. (sorry if I have left anyone out)
I (heart) Motherhood! (New York)
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Living up to my potential & applying myself
Ah, the dreaded words no parent wants to hear… “I’m sorry to say but your daughter’s not living up to her potential, maybe if she’d just apply herself”. But unfortunately my parents heard this more than once. I find it odd that they heard it as early as grade school. Just how is something like potential realized or even measured at that age? Good grief, I hope it wasn’t those insane tests we had to take once or twice a year. You remember, take your number 2 pencil and fill in the circle that best represent the correct answer. Every year you received instructions on the correct way to fill in the circle. Every year it was drilled into our little heads, if for some unintended twist of fate you didn’t use a number 2 pencil, your life could be set on a course too horrible to describe. The same could happen if you colored in the answer dot without completely filling it in. Trouble could be yours if you became overzealous and lost complete control, allowing your pencil mark to extend beyond the parameters of the dot. Basically, I was lead to believe, if I made any of these life changing errors, I should just pack it in and give up on any possible future happiness. OMG! Maybe that’s why my life has taken the turns it has! Glad I finally figured that out!
I clearly heard the dreaded “potential/apply” comment in Sunday school the year I was to make my Holy Communion. I was raised in a Catholic household. We were practicing Catholics for a while. My parents were raised in the faith, married and had children in the faith. My brother, sisters and I were all taken to church regularly and with the exception of me, all were baptized, celebrated Communion and were confirmed. Some would argue this, but I was not a demon child banned from receiving these sacraments. There were some changes in our home and after my communion, the tides turned and we did not attend church any longer. But the comment made by one tiny but mighty nun on that Sunday so many years ago has stayed with me all these years. Sister Rita Claire didn’t stand much taller than I did but it was never her physical size that could stop me in my tracks. There was something about her that was so frightening and commanding that had she asked me to run naked through the streets, I probably would have. So powerful were her words that to this day they come back and pepper my everyday life. As I think back, I spent a very short time with the Sister. I’ll never forget the day we were practicing the proper way to hold your arms, clasp your hands and walk in to church. We were lined up, boys on one side, girls on the other. I clearly remember standing next to Michael Good. Even as a very young girl I thought he was handsome and he smelled terrific. Ok maybe terrific is going overboard. He didn’t smell like Dial soap, like all the rest of us. I wonder if Mrs. Good used extra Downey or if they had some higher quality soap than the rest of us. Funny what you remember. So back to the sister… I must have been swooning over the closeness of Michael Good because I think I tripped or ran into the girl in front of me, but Sister Rita Claire said something about me having a rough life ahead of me because I couldn’t pay attention to anything, even as I was being welcomed into “God’s House”. I am surprised that there weren’t any thunder claps or bolts of lightning. She then mentioned that some people, inferring me, would never live up to their potential… if only they would apply themselves! At this point I believe we all prayed for me. She asked that they all keep me in their prayers, reminding them all that when you continuously pray for those less fortunate, your life will be all you ever wished for. Wonder how that’s working out for all of them. This bit of unpleasantness was parceled away in my head. Often I would think about the Sister and wonder if it was me or her who had issues. It was probably both of us. But I did learn from that little dynamo. Some of what she said has been the little voice in my head over the years. Years ago I was working at a hospital as a switchboard operator. Because this was a Catholic hospital, every night at 8:15 sharp, prayers were said over the public address system. Ironic, visiting hours ended at 8:30… so there was usually a captive audience for the evening prayer. I normally worked the midnight shift but was filling in for someone one summer evening. We all sat in a big room at a huge horseshoe shaped table with a phone panel in front of each of us. For security reasons, you had to have a key card to enter our work space. So that evening as I enjoyed the change of pace the evening shift held, I heard the door click as a key card was used. I looked up to see who was joining us… Sister Rita Claire came toward me. It had been 17 or 18 years since I had last seen her, but she looked exactly the same. I had to remind myself to breathe. “Good Evening Sister Rita Claire” automatically came from my lips before I even knew I was saying it… Her immediate recall astounded me. “Good Evening Sarah Ellanor”… As she presented the evening prayer to the sick, injured, the newly born and those preparing to pass on, I was impressed with her calm, peaceful way. I thought maybe I had been mistaken all those years ago. Maybe she really did want to foster only the best in me. As she spoke, she smiled so sweetly at me. I was so sure I had misjudged the Sister. Maybe she really did believe in me… Once she had completed the prayer, she came to where I was sitting. She took my hands in hers and I have to admit, lovingly caressed them. I was feeling nothing short a pure love and hope going through my body. She asked about my life. I proudly said I was married with 2 young children. There was a smile of recognition, a kiss on the forehead. As she left, she turned to me and said, “What parish are you with?” Before I could stop myself I blurted out that I was not with a parish. “Your children were baptized?” she asked. Looking down in shame I told her no, they weren’t. And then, after a heavy sigh, she said it. “You never did live up to your potential, if only you could apply yourself… May God be with you” and she was gone. To this day I’m very cautious when around nuns. I believe the good sister is still around and could pop up at any minute. I rue the day some unthinking person in the Catholic Church decided some nuns didn’t have to where their habits. I believe that is really playing dirty. Goes right along with undercover cops in my book. There should be some type of warning. I suppose the excessively large cross hanging around their neck may be a clue, but it’s not a clue you can always rely on. It could be an ill place fashion statement. While we’re at it, can we talk about aggravatingly handsome priests and how wrong that is? My siblings and I used to do Community Theater. Every year, one of the biggest parishes in our area did a fabulous musical variety show. The amount of money made off the show was astounding. One year, as we prepared to do the first dress rehearsal, I was sitting in the theater talking with a great old family friend when a dashingly handsome young man came and sat with us. We were introduced and I discovered his name was Matt and that he had relocated to the area a few months before. My flirt switch was activated and I was working it for all it was worth. It was somewhat mutual, I thought and I was having fun. Matt excused himself after about 30 minutes. The old family friend just stared at me. “What?” I asked. The friend asked when was the last time I had been to mass. It had been years I mumbled, looking away. With that, Matt reappeared. The family friend welcomed him back. But hold on… did he just say “Father Matt”? Yep… Father Matt. There’s never a lightning bolt when you need it. At least I was applying myself!
In high school we were all given these tests to see what our potential career should be. It was a tease to get those of us, not living up to our potential or applying ourselves, excited about our futures. I remember thinking this was a good thing. I’d get some direction and find my purpose in life. I had my number 2 pencils and was really going to buckle down, read the questions carefully, and fill in the dots with all the determined precision I could muster. I took the test and proudly presented to the instructor. Weeks went by until one day I saw the envelope in the day’s mail. Because it was addressed to my dad, I had to wait until he came home. Shortly after he arrived, we sat down together to open it. Rocket Scientist, Nurse, Teacher, Lawyer... What could it be? I had answered each question to the best of my ability. This test was touted as the best indicator of where your skills, passions, attitude and aptitude would take you. As my dad read the results, his face broke in to a smile; “wow” he said “I would have never thought this”. President of the United Sates? A Doctor? What was I destine to be? He handed me the results. The results stated that 85% of my answers conclusively showed that I should be… a Rabbi. Since I am neither a man nor Jewish, I knew then that I would really have to apply myself if I wanted to live up to my potential. But hey, never say never.
I clearly heard the dreaded “potential/apply” comment in Sunday school the year I was to make my Holy Communion. I was raised in a Catholic household. We were practicing Catholics for a while. My parents were raised in the faith, married and had children in the faith. My brother, sisters and I were all taken to church regularly and with the exception of me, all were baptized, celebrated Communion and were confirmed. Some would argue this, but I was not a demon child banned from receiving these sacraments. There were some changes in our home and after my communion, the tides turned and we did not attend church any longer. But the comment made by one tiny but mighty nun on that Sunday so many years ago has stayed with me all these years. Sister Rita Claire didn’t stand much taller than I did but it was never her physical size that could stop me in my tracks. There was something about her that was so frightening and commanding that had she asked me to run naked through the streets, I probably would have. So powerful were her words that to this day they come back and pepper my everyday life. As I think back, I spent a very short time with the Sister. I’ll never forget the day we were practicing the proper way to hold your arms, clasp your hands and walk in to church. We were lined up, boys on one side, girls on the other. I clearly remember standing next to Michael Good. Even as a very young girl I thought he was handsome and he smelled terrific. Ok maybe terrific is going overboard. He didn’t smell like Dial soap, like all the rest of us. I wonder if Mrs. Good used extra Downey or if they had some higher quality soap than the rest of us. Funny what you remember. So back to the sister… I must have been swooning over the closeness of Michael Good because I think I tripped or ran into the girl in front of me, but Sister Rita Claire said something about me having a rough life ahead of me because I couldn’t pay attention to anything, even as I was being welcomed into “God’s House”. I am surprised that there weren’t any thunder claps or bolts of lightning. She then mentioned that some people, inferring me, would never live up to their potential… if only they would apply themselves! At this point I believe we all prayed for me. She asked that they all keep me in their prayers, reminding them all that when you continuously pray for those less fortunate, your life will be all you ever wished for. Wonder how that’s working out for all of them. This bit of unpleasantness was parceled away in my head. Often I would think about the Sister and wonder if it was me or her who had issues. It was probably both of us. But I did learn from that little dynamo. Some of what she said has been the little voice in my head over the years. Years ago I was working at a hospital as a switchboard operator. Because this was a Catholic hospital, every night at 8:15 sharp, prayers were said over the public address system. Ironic, visiting hours ended at 8:30… so there was usually a captive audience for the evening prayer. I normally worked the midnight shift but was filling in for someone one summer evening. We all sat in a big room at a huge horseshoe shaped table with a phone panel in front of each of us. For security reasons, you had to have a key card to enter our work space. So that evening as I enjoyed the change of pace the evening shift held, I heard the door click as a key card was used. I looked up to see who was joining us… Sister Rita Claire came toward me. It had been 17 or 18 years since I had last seen her, but she looked exactly the same. I had to remind myself to breathe. “Good Evening Sister Rita Claire” automatically came from my lips before I even knew I was saying it… Her immediate recall astounded me. “Good Evening Sarah Ellanor”… As she presented the evening prayer to the sick, injured, the newly born and those preparing to pass on, I was impressed with her calm, peaceful way. I thought maybe I had been mistaken all those years ago. Maybe she really did want to foster only the best in me. As she spoke, she smiled so sweetly at me. I was so sure I had misjudged the Sister. Maybe she really did believe in me… Once she had completed the prayer, she came to where I was sitting. She took my hands in hers and I have to admit, lovingly caressed them. I was feeling nothing short a pure love and hope going through my body. She asked about my life. I proudly said I was married with 2 young children. There was a smile of recognition, a kiss on the forehead. As she left, she turned to me and said, “What parish are you with?” Before I could stop myself I blurted out that I was not with a parish. “Your children were baptized?” she asked. Looking down in shame I told her no, they weren’t. And then, after a heavy sigh, she said it. “You never did live up to your potential, if only you could apply yourself… May God be with you” and she was gone. To this day I’m very cautious when around nuns. I believe the good sister is still around and could pop up at any minute. I rue the day some unthinking person in the Catholic Church decided some nuns didn’t have to where their habits. I believe that is really playing dirty. Goes right along with undercover cops in my book. There should be some type of warning. I suppose the excessively large cross hanging around their neck may be a clue, but it’s not a clue you can always rely on. It could be an ill place fashion statement. While we’re at it, can we talk about aggravatingly handsome priests and how wrong that is? My siblings and I used to do Community Theater. Every year, one of the biggest parishes in our area did a fabulous musical variety show. The amount of money made off the show was astounding. One year, as we prepared to do the first dress rehearsal, I was sitting in the theater talking with a great old family friend when a dashingly handsome young man came and sat with us. We were introduced and I discovered his name was Matt and that he had relocated to the area a few months before. My flirt switch was activated and I was working it for all it was worth. It was somewhat mutual, I thought and I was having fun. Matt excused himself after about 30 minutes. The old family friend just stared at me. “What?” I asked. The friend asked when was the last time I had been to mass. It had been years I mumbled, looking away. With that, Matt reappeared. The family friend welcomed him back. But hold on… did he just say “Father Matt”? Yep… Father Matt. There’s never a lightning bolt when you need it. At least I was applying myself!
In high school we were all given these tests to see what our potential career should be. It was a tease to get those of us, not living up to our potential or applying ourselves, excited about our futures. I remember thinking this was a good thing. I’d get some direction and find my purpose in life. I had my number 2 pencils and was really going to buckle down, read the questions carefully, and fill in the dots with all the determined precision I could muster. I took the test and proudly presented to the instructor. Weeks went by until one day I saw the envelope in the day’s mail. Because it was addressed to my dad, I had to wait until he came home. Shortly after he arrived, we sat down together to open it. Rocket Scientist, Nurse, Teacher, Lawyer... What could it be? I had answered each question to the best of my ability. This test was touted as the best indicator of where your skills, passions, attitude and aptitude would take you. As my dad read the results, his face broke in to a smile; “wow” he said “I would have never thought this”. President of the United Sates? A Doctor? What was I destine to be? He handed me the results. The results stated that 85% of my answers conclusively showed that I should be… a Rabbi. Since I am neither a man nor Jewish, I knew then that I would really have to apply myself if I wanted to live up to my potential. But hey, never say never.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Old Dog, New Tricks
Did you hear it? You had to have heard it. It was amazingly loud. It was a deep, from your toes laughter bursting out from a pool in a nearby Downriver community. Why the exceptional laughter? Well, I was participating in my first ever deep water aerobics class. I am the first to admit that when God was passing out the coordination gene… he looked at me and said… “No! Next!” If the fitness equivalent to Forbes magazine ever put out a list of the top 50 most uncoordinated, un-athletic females in America, I think I’d be… at least in the 40’s. It has appeared at times that I gravitate toward that little lip on the sidewalk just to be able to trip over it. I’m the person in your office you worry about. You think maybe something funny is happening at home because of the strange bruises. But nope, really it’s all me. I don’t usually tell this story but I think it will bring this point home. Years ago I worked at an airport. Due to weather issues I had not arrived home until 4 am. Exhausted I got everyone out the door to work and school. As I attempted to wind down and get some rest, I heard the garbage truck coming down the street. I knew we had neglected to take the recycling bin out for pick up for a number of weeks. So I bolted up, grabbed the overflowing bin and took off out the front door. Now I had been in and out that front door for roughly 5 years, hundreds if not thousands of times. But this time was different. This time I neglected to actually walk down the 8 cement steps from the porch to the sidewalk. As I felt myself free falling I didn’t duck or tuck to protect myself. I didn’t think of how best to land to reduce the risk of injury. Nope, my thoughts were on who may be watching and what level of embarrassment I may be about to confront. I landed on my knees and knew I was really injured. But after a lifetime of spills and falls I was undeterred in my task. I hopped up, ran around the yard retrieving the recyclables and just in the nick of time met the garbage truck as it approached the end of the driveway. As I sprinted in to the house, doing my best not to cry at the pain, I realized I had really injured my knees. So logically one would get in the car and head to the ER or doctor. Not me, I went to sleep, got up a few hours later, did my Mom stuff and went to work. OK, I took a large amount of Tylenol too. Later that week a neighbor asked me if I was OK as he had seen the fall. I was mortified but as is my way, I smiled and brushed it off as if nothing had happened. Years later when severe knee problems began to set in, an Orthopedic Surgeon ask as he studied my x-rays and MRI… “So how long ago did you break you kneecaps”? 6 knee surgeries later it may have sunk in that if I hurt myself maybe I need to “man-up” and admit it.
My life style up until last fall was active but not in terms of fitness or exercise. I did many things but have to admit I would have to classify my life as sedentary. Oh I would take the occasional walk and keep at it for a couple weeks. The same can be said for diets. But once I tripped up either actually or metaphorically, I would give up. Each time I gave up, I really did more harm to my well being than I could imagine. As everything in my life changed last year, both internally and externally, I began to question myself and my actions. Among the millions of questions I have asked myself was why wasn’t I in better shape. In my head I knew what I needed to do. My difficulty came in learning to let myself fail as well as succeed. What would I have to lose, no pun intended, if I began to eat a healthy well balanced diet? Not diet, but change how, when and why I ate. What would be the worst that could happen if I got up and did some amount of movement? Would I look stupid? You bet! But what would that hurt? Who would that hurt? Could I gain enough positive from the feelings to outlast the negative? Could I make good food choices and still enjoy eating and socializing? Again, what is the worst that could happen? Did I have enough in me to let myself understand that if I worked out an eating plan but needed to detour from it on occasion I was still a good person? Was I willing to admit to myself that I had to get up every day with the motivation to continue the good I had done for myself the day before? Could I forgive myself for poor choices and recharge back to the level of success I felt I had to have?
So I did it. I took a good, hard look at what I eat, when I eat and why I eat. I looked at what I like to eat. I explored what foods work better for my body and what foods counteract with my metabolism and cause it to either speed up or slow down. I didn’t do any of this by myself and I thank those who have helped me. Without going into detail, I’m thrilled with the 26% body fat loss I’ve achieved. I have a long way to go but I know I’ll get there. Of course this plan also included exercise. I don’t tend to look too foolish eating a well balanced meal, but exercising is another story. I’ve joined Curves and after 6 month tend not to appear to be the train wreck I was when I started. I do sometimes get on to a machine and completely forget what I’m supposed to do. I’ve twice worked a machine opposite of how it was intended to be worked. The trainer is so kind; she completely understands my issues and just gently mentions my errors. At Curves there are recovery pads placed between each piece of equipment and there are movements posted at each one for the participant complete. I however only jog in place on the pads. For me to be elevated on an 18 X 18 square and doing jumping jacks is a disaster waiting to happen. Even just the jogging in place has me slipping off the pad at least twice a week. But I’m there and doing it. I also walk 3-4 miles several times a week. My body wants me to run… Depending on what’s on my IPod, I want to sprint down the road as fast as I can. But I don’t. I know all too well the visual this would create so self preservation stops me before it’s too late. Now come on, we have all laughed at the ridiculous runner you see flipping and flopping down the road in the name of good health. So as I continue this journey and take giant steps to remain active I’m letting go of some of my fears. I’m embracing my inner, OK and outer klutz and remembering how far I have come. Most important to me is how far I can go.
So the laughter was good for all of us in the pool. My pool mates are a bit older than I am but are much more expert in water aerobics than I’ll ever be. I came in to the group with a great self disclosing flourish, outing my lack of coordination for all to see. I think I actually thought there would be looks of shame as I not only infiltrated a group that had so obviously been together for quite some time, I came in as a lesser participant. But as I turned myself over to their control and asked openly for their help, I found I was embraced. I was cared for and nurtured. As class began I found I had not one instructor but 9. Each of these lovely ladies aided me in some way to make me feel worthy of their time and attention. I splashed and slipped and did almost every movement wrong at first. But we laughed, all of us. We didn’t laugh at me… we laughed with me. In that short 45 minute class I learned so much more that the beginnings of deep water aerobics. I learned that it’s OK to ask for help. It’s even OK to laugh at myself. I think most importantly I learned I don’t have to be the best. I learned to accept the success of just trying and in continuing to try when I have fallen. Ah, this is of course the best lesson of all!
My life style up until last fall was active but not in terms of fitness or exercise. I did many things but have to admit I would have to classify my life as sedentary. Oh I would take the occasional walk and keep at it for a couple weeks. The same can be said for diets. But once I tripped up either actually or metaphorically, I would give up. Each time I gave up, I really did more harm to my well being than I could imagine. As everything in my life changed last year, both internally and externally, I began to question myself and my actions. Among the millions of questions I have asked myself was why wasn’t I in better shape. In my head I knew what I needed to do. My difficulty came in learning to let myself fail as well as succeed. What would I have to lose, no pun intended, if I began to eat a healthy well balanced diet? Not diet, but change how, when and why I ate. What would be the worst that could happen if I got up and did some amount of movement? Would I look stupid? You bet! But what would that hurt? Who would that hurt? Could I gain enough positive from the feelings to outlast the negative? Could I make good food choices and still enjoy eating and socializing? Again, what is the worst that could happen? Did I have enough in me to let myself understand that if I worked out an eating plan but needed to detour from it on occasion I was still a good person? Was I willing to admit to myself that I had to get up every day with the motivation to continue the good I had done for myself the day before? Could I forgive myself for poor choices and recharge back to the level of success I felt I had to have?
So I did it. I took a good, hard look at what I eat, when I eat and why I eat. I looked at what I like to eat. I explored what foods work better for my body and what foods counteract with my metabolism and cause it to either speed up or slow down. I didn’t do any of this by myself and I thank those who have helped me. Without going into detail, I’m thrilled with the 26% body fat loss I’ve achieved. I have a long way to go but I know I’ll get there. Of course this plan also included exercise. I don’t tend to look too foolish eating a well balanced meal, but exercising is another story. I’ve joined Curves and after 6 month tend not to appear to be the train wreck I was when I started. I do sometimes get on to a machine and completely forget what I’m supposed to do. I’ve twice worked a machine opposite of how it was intended to be worked. The trainer is so kind; she completely understands my issues and just gently mentions my errors. At Curves there are recovery pads placed between each piece of equipment and there are movements posted at each one for the participant complete. I however only jog in place on the pads. For me to be elevated on an 18 X 18 square and doing jumping jacks is a disaster waiting to happen. Even just the jogging in place has me slipping off the pad at least twice a week. But I’m there and doing it. I also walk 3-4 miles several times a week. My body wants me to run… Depending on what’s on my IPod, I want to sprint down the road as fast as I can. But I don’t. I know all too well the visual this would create so self preservation stops me before it’s too late. Now come on, we have all laughed at the ridiculous runner you see flipping and flopping down the road in the name of good health. So as I continue this journey and take giant steps to remain active I’m letting go of some of my fears. I’m embracing my inner, OK and outer klutz and remembering how far I have come. Most important to me is how far I can go.
So the laughter was good for all of us in the pool. My pool mates are a bit older than I am but are much more expert in water aerobics than I’ll ever be. I came in to the group with a great self disclosing flourish, outing my lack of coordination for all to see. I think I actually thought there would be looks of shame as I not only infiltrated a group that had so obviously been together for quite some time, I came in as a lesser participant. But as I turned myself over to their control and asked openly for their help, I found I was embraced. I was cared for and nurtured. As class began I found I had not one instructor but 9. Each of these lovely ladies aided me in some way to make me feel worthy of their time and attention. I splashed and slipped and did almost every movement wrong at first. But we laughed, all of us. We didn’t laugh at me… we laughed with me. In that short 45 minute class I learned so much more that the beginnings of deep water aerobics. I learned that it’s OK to ask for help. It’s even OK to laugh at myself. I think most importantly I learned I don’t have to be the best. I learned to accept the success of just trying and in continuing to try when I have fallen. Ah, this is of course the best lesson of all!
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Giving back and taking the heat for it
I work for a nationwide cable, internet and phone company. I really like what I do and believe I do a good job.
Growing up I was taught to give back to my community. I was raised to appreciate what I had and take time to help others. Community service was not something we were forced to do; it was just a part of our everyday lives. I remember in high school running a canned food drive at Thanksgiving with 2 friends. We were in danger of not meeting our goal. So we did what had to be done; we ran to the neighborhood next to the school and went door to door gathering donations until we were sure we had enough product to exceed our projected numbers. We never considered not meeting our goal.
So having been raised with this sense of community responsibility, I was thrilled to know the company I work for has this same passion. Each year, my employer has a day set aside for community care. Throughout the country thousands of employees spend thousands of hours of their own, personal time, working on projects to better their schools, local and national not-for-profits, parks, nature centers, the environment and much more. My employer has held this special day for the past 9 years. In that time, 1.3 million hours have been volunteered by 230,000 employees and their family and friends. These dedicated folks have worked on over 23,000 projects. This past Saturday was the designated day of giving back and in Michigan alone, more that 25 projects were completed.
Some projects do fall outside the actual Saturday Cares day and are held during the week. To coincide with Earth Day, a project was held at the Humburg Marsh in Trenton. Because this is in my extended neighborhood, I signed up for the project. For those of you who are not sure what or where this marsh is (don’t feel bad I had no idea) it is the last parcel of undeveloped land along the Detroit River. The land is opposite Humburg Island, just off Jefferson and Vreeland. Because this area is on an International waterway this marsh along with the island are part of an international cooperative with Canada. Much work was done on the political side to have this marsh be protected. Work continues as the Forest Service folks clear out plants and tree not indigenous to the area. The wildlife in the marsh is exquisite! So, our task was to plant trees. Lots of trees. Big trees, little seedlings and some bushes. Thanks has to go to DTE. They stopped in and dug the holes for the large tree, saving time and our backs. It was fabulous to see employees with their families prepare to get down and dirt all in the name of volunteerism. It was also renewing to watch a member of the senior leadership team and an entry level employee with just 90 days with the company, wrangling a tree in to the prepared hole, together. High 5’s all around as we completed the final step in planting each tree, the watering. At one point all of us planting the big trees looked up to race to get the next tree in the ground and we realized we were done. We had completed what would have taken the small staff at the marsh weeks to complete. Over in the seeding planting area the families, with kids as young as 5 were just completing their task. Rumor has it we planted 70 trees in under 2 hours.
The New Herald did a piece on the Mayor of Trenton and the Trenton City Council presenting a proclamation to the company I work for, recognizing their continued commitment to the communities where not only they do business but where their employees live. The piece discussed the Humburg project specifically. I felt a great sense of pride to be recognized in such a way. While it wasn’t recognition for me personally, it was a pat on the back for all of us at this company who choose to give back. I’ll say this and please know I am not attempting to elevate anyone’s opinion of me. But I work afternoons. So in order to be a part of project, I had to take a vacation day. I gladly took the day because I believe in the intent of the day and in project I worked on. Many of my colleagues also took personal time to work on the projects that touched their hearts. So you may understand why I was so saddened to read the comments people felt they needed to post on the New Herald website. While I firmly believe in free speech, I don’t believe our fore fathers created the 1st amendment for bashing and trashing volunteerism solely because of the company sponsoring the event. How can someone read about people giving of their time, energy and self and the only comment they can think to make is on the price of their cable bill or that their tech was late? Gee, makes me wonder…
Aside from working at the marsh, I was coordinator for a Literacy Day in SW Detroit on Saturday. My company partnered with City Year and LASED for this annual event run by Matrix. Matrix is a community service organization that runs, among many, many more projects, a federally recognized Head Start program. It was an honor to once again serve in the Mexican American community. I’ve been fortunate that this is my 3rd event within this community in as many years. My role was to coordinate all volunteers from roughly 12 service organizations as well as area corporate partners. Ideally we had hoped for 195 volunteers. The volunteers would be setting up, cleaning up, providing food and water for their fellow volunteers, working the various booths and assisting with crowd control. We also had to be sure all volunteers were registered and had been given event tee shirts. I’m thrilled to say that we did not have 195 volunteers we had 337! Everyone worked hard and despite the weather, the event was a huge success. Community leaders, business leaders and local activists made speeches and gave donations. Children heard stories; made books, played reading games and walked away with a bag of books they could call their own. The kids from City Year were a joy to work with and their passion for their tasks, be it assisting with registration or passing out maps never wavered. At the end of the event as I was putting the last if the supplies in my car, as my back was beginning to ache and exhaustion began to creep up, I noticed a small group of protesters. The protesters were demonstrating against the recent immigration laws signed in Arizona. While personally I don’t know enough about the law to comment on my feelings about it, I was dismayed to see it spill into this event. Yes you can argue the law affects the children but was this the proper forum for a protest?
I couldn’t help but wonder as I drove home if the newspaper comments or the demonstators would deter anyone from volunteering next year. Will the comments make someone think twice before giving of themselves for this or any community service event? Does our media broadcast enough about the good we do or does the bad sell more papers or bring in more viewers? It struck me then that while the local Fox station was at the Trenton sight for the entire time we were working, it was news of the moment, not news that would be used as the hook or lead story. It was filler, used only if nothing more exciting or glamorous came up. Funny that I never noticed the local ABC or NBC news vans at the Literacy Day until they were focusing on the protest. Did we send mixed messages to the kids? Protesting is more important than being a literate individual? I don’t know. While none of these comments or protests was directed at me personally, I will always take them, very personally.
For me, I’ll continue to give of my time, talents and funds to the causes that touch my heart. I will proudly proclaim my joy that I work for a company that nationwide hosted more than 250 community service project last week, And I will continue to take the heat for those who feel the need to subtract from the good in not only my community, but in me.
Growing up I was taught to give back to my community. I was raised to appreciate what I had and take time to help others. Community service was not something we were forced to do; it was just a part of our everyday lives. I remember in high school running a canned food drive at Thanksgiving with 2 friends. We were in danger of not meeting our goal. So we did what had to be done; we ran to the neighborhood next to the school and went door to door gathering donations until we were sure we had enough product to exceed our projected numbers. We never considered not meeting our goal.
So having been raised with this sense of community responsibility, I was thrilled to know the company I work for has this same passion. Each year, my employer has a day set aside for community care. Throughout the country thousands of employees spend thousands of hours of their own, personal time, working on projects to better their schools, local and national not-for-profits, parks, nature centers, the environment and much more. My employer has held this special day for the past 9 years. In that time, 1.3 million hours have been volunteered by 230,000 employees and their family and friends. These dedicated folks have worked on over 23,000 projects. This past Saturday was the designated day of giving back and in Michigan alone, more that 25 projects were completed.
Some projects do fall outside the actual Saturday Cares day and are held during the week. To coincide with Earth Day, a project was held at the Humburg Marsh in Trenton. Because this is in my extended neighborhood, I signed up for the project. For those of you who are not sure what or where this marsh is (don’t feel bad I had no idea) it is the last parcel of undeveloped land along the Detroit River. The land is opposite Humburg Island, just off Jefferson and Vreeland. Because this area is on an International waterway this marsh along with the island are part of an international cooperative with Canada. Much work was done on the political side to have this marsh be protected. Work continues as the Forest Service folks clear out plants and tree not indigenous to the area. The wildlife in the marsh is exquisite! So, our task was to plant trees. Lots of trees. Big trees, little seedlings and some bushes. Thanks has to go to DTE. They stopped in and dug the holes for the large tree, saving time and our backs. It was fabulous to see employees with their families prepare to get down and dirt all in the name of volunteerism. It was also renewing to watch a member of the senior leadership team and an entry level employee with just 90 days with the company, wrangling a tree in to the prepared hole, together. High 5’s all around as we completed the final step in planting each tree, the watering. At one point all of us planting the big trees looked up to race to get the next tree in the ground and we realized we were done. We had completed what would have taken the small staff at the marsh weeks to complete. Over in the seeding planting area the families, with kids as young as 5 were just completing their task. Rumor has it we planted 70 trees in under 2 hours.
The New Herald did a piece on the Mayor of Trenton and the Trenton City Council presenting a proclamation to the company I work for, recognizing their continued commitment to the communities where not only they do business but where their employees live. The piece discussed the Humburg project specifically. I felt a great sense of pride to be recognized in such a way. While it wasn’t recognition for me personally, it was a pat on the back for all of us at this company who choose to give back. I’ll say this and please know I am not attempting to elevate anyone’s opinion of me. But I work afternoons. So in order to be a part of project, I had to take a vacation day. I gladly took the day because I believe in the intent of the day and in project I worked on. Many of my colleagues also took personal time to work on the projects that touched their hearts. So you may understand why I was so saddened to read the comments people felt they needed to post on the New Herald website. While I firmly believe in free speech, I don’t believe our fore fathers created the 1st amendment for bashing and trashing volunteerism solely because of the company sponsoring the event. How can someone read about people giving of their time, energy and self and the only comment they can think to make is on the price of their cable bill or that their tech was late? Gee, makes me wonder…
Aside from working at the marsh, I was coordinator for a Literacy Day in SW Detroit on Saturday. My company partnered with City Year and LASED for this annual event run by Matrix. Matrix is a community service organization that runs, among many, many more projects, a federally recognized Head Start program. It was an honor to once again serve in the Mexican American community. I’ve been fortunate that this is my 3rd event within this community in as many years. My role was to coordinate all volunteers from roughly 12 service organizations as well as area corporate partners. Ideally we had hoped for 195 volunteers. The volunteers would be setting up, cleaning up, providing food and water for their fellow volunteers, working the various booths and assisting with crowd control. We also had to be sure all volunteers were registered and had been given event tee shirts. I’m thrilled to say that we did not have 195 volunteers we had 337! Everyone worked hard and despite the weather, the event was a huge success. Community leaders, business leaders and local activists made speeches and gave donations. Children heard stories; made books, played reading games and walked away with a bag of books they could call their own. The kids from City Year were a joy to work with and their passion for their tasks, be it assisting with registration or passing out maps never wavered. At the end of the event as I was putting the last if the supplies in my car, as my back was beginning to ache and exhaustion began to creep up, I noticed a small group of protesters. The protesters were demonstrating against the recent immigration laws signed in Arizona. While personally I don’t know enough about the law to comment on my feelings about it, I was dismayed to see it spill into this event. Yes you can argue the law affects the children but was this the proper forum for a protest?
I couldn’t help but wonder as I drove home if the newspaper comments or the demonstators would deter anyone from volunteering next year. Will the comments make someone think twice before giving of themselves for this or any community service event? Does our media broadcast enough about the good we do or does the bad sell more papers or bring in more viewers? It struck me then that while the local Fox station was at the Trenton sight for the entire time we were working, it was news of the moment, not news that would be used as the hook or lead story. It was filler, used only if nothing more exciting or glamorous came up. Funny that I never noticed the local ABC or NBC news vans at the Literacy Day until they were focusing on the protest. Did we send mixed messages to the kids? Protesting is more important than being a literate individual? I don’t know. While none of these comments or protests was directed at me personally, I will always take them, very personally.
For me, I’ll continue to give of my time, talents and funds to the causes that touch my heart. I will proudly proclaim my joy that I work for a company that nationwide hosted more than 250 community service project last week, And I will continue to take the heat for those who feel the need to subtract from the good in not only my community, but in me.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Let's get started...
Learning Curve is defined by Webster’s Dictionary as the course of progress made in learning something
During our lives we are more often than not in some type of learning curve. At 15 or 16 we begin the process of learning to drive. Some never master it but sadly get the legal blessing to get in a car and go. Changes in your job can have you reeling as you try to accept and put into practice new ideas and better; faster ways of doing what you already believed you did well. For many of us as we get older and things we have become accustomed to change or are improved, as technology grows, we enter into a huge learning curve. I remember as a kid, being so excited when we got an Atari machine. Finally, I was one of the cool kids. I never had the hand eye coordination to become the Pong champ of my neighborhood. Now there is Wii and I know I’ll either look so ridiculous playing any of the games or I’ll be the one throwing the controller, damaging either myself or my TV. Just imagine how different life would be if a certain former Detroit Mayor had learned the part of texting that explained the need to use a personal phone versus a business owned phone to text steamy messages to your lover. Clearly, he did not rise to meet and master that curve. Sad but funny to wonder how quickly he rounded the learning curve as a guest of Wayne County for 90 days. The image of former Governor of Illinois, Rod Blagojevich’s firing from the Celebrity Apprentice program, mostly because he could not text or e-mail, is a shining example of missing the curve, crashing and burning. But technology, business practices, driving, ethical and moral behaviors are only the tip of the learning curve iceberg.
I have found myself in the biggest learning curve of my life in the past 13 months. Thirteen month ago I was an active partner in a marriage just shy of celebrating 29 years. Then suddenly I became a widow. I’m not the perfect demographic for widowhood. I’m not the young attractive wife with small children or the older, well seasoned woman enjoying retirement and grandkids. I’m under 50, just barely, my kids are out on their own and I’m employed full time. I’ve struggled with questions, fears, sadness, heartbreak and for just a minute, the overwhelming sense that nothing will ever be right again. Most of that has passed at this point. Sometimes I’m still sad and I’ll always have questions. But my heart isn’t as broken as it was at this time last year. Most of these emotions have been replaced with all the funny, strange, silly and wonderful memories and stories I have of the 30 years I shared with my best friend, my husband. I have a peace about me that is steering me to make the most of each day. I’ve made new friends, some so unexpectedly and been passed over by some old friends too fragile yet to be with me without him. I’ve become more focused on my community, local charities and how I begin this next chapter in my life.
So the next phase of my new learning curve is just beginning. There may be dating, men to meet… oh good grief, make it stop! I can’t believe that I am actually admitting that I think I might be ready to try dating. Ok, here’s the deal, my last real live actual date… was in 1979. Ouch! I have no idea what I’m doing or should be doing or when I should be doing it… Is it ok to tell a guy you’d rather watch the hockey game than go out to dinner? Is it ok that I love the Wings and the Tigers but cannot watch basketball to save my soul? It’s the squeaky gym shoe noise, not the actual game. The jury is still out on how I feel about football. Aside from relationship issues, I have taken a good hard look at my health. I’ll face financial issues as I make decisions including, to downsize or not to downsize.
So I begin this new adventure in communication. I didn’t even know what blogging was this time last year. I hope you’ll indulge me in sharing what I learn, should have learned or may never learn with you. I‘ll explore what happens when all you know changes and you decide it will never be the same but that you can find a new life that can and will be just as wonderful. My guess is that there will be more laughter than tears and I’m sure a great story or two. So come with me as I tackle life as I don’t know it. Join me as I walk, skip and stumble my way through this latest, learning curve.
During our lives we are more often than not in some type of learning curve. At 15 or 16 we begin the process of learning to drive. Some never master it but sadly get the legal blessing to get in a car and go. Changes in your job can have you reeling as you try to accept and put into practice new ideas and better; faster ways of doing what you already believed you did well. For many of us as we get older and things we have become accustomed to change or are improved, as technology grows, we enter into a huge learning curve. I remember as a kid, being so excited when we got an Atari machine. Finally, I was one of the cool kids. I never had the hand eye coordination to become the Pong champ of my neighborhood. Now there is Wii and I know I’ll either look so ridiculous playing any of the games or I’ll be the one throwing the controller, damaging either myself or my TV. Just imagine how different life would be if a certain former Detroit Mayor had learned the part of texting that explained the need to use a personal phone versus a business owned phone to text steamy messages to your lover. Clearly, he did not rise to meet and master that curve. Sad but funny to wonder how quickly he rounded the learning curve as a guest of Wayne County for 90 days. The image of former Governor of Illinois, Rod Blagojevich’s firing from the Celebrity Apprentice program, mostly because he could not text or e-mail, is a shining example of missing the curve, crashing and burning. But technology, business practices, driving, ethical and moral behaviors are only the tip of the learning curve iceberg.
I have found myself in the biggest learning curve of my life in the past 13 months. Thirteen month ago I was an active partner in a marriage just shy of celebrating 29 years. Then suddenly I became a widow. I’m not the perfect demographic for widowhood. I’m not the young attractive wife with small children or the older, well seasoned woman enjoying retirement and grandkids. I’m under 50, just barely, my kids are out on their own and I’m employed full time. I’ve struggled with questions, fears, sadness, heartbreak and for just a minute, the overwhelming sense that nothing will ever be right again. Most of that has passed at this point. Sometimes I’m still sad and I’ll always have questions. But my heart isn’t as broken as it was at this time last year. Most of these emotions have been replaced with all the funny, strange, silly and wonderful memories and stories I have of the 30 years I shared with my best friend, my husband. I have a peace about me that is steering me to make the most of each day. I’ve made new friends, some so unexpectedly and been passed over by some old friends too fragile yet to be with me without him. I’ve become more focused on my community, local charities and how I begin this next chapter in my life.
So the next phase of my new learning curve is just beginning. There may be dating, men to meet… oh good grief, make it stop! I can’t believe that I am actually admitting that I think I might be ready to try dating. Ok, here’s the deal, my last real live actual date… was in 1979. Ouch! I have no idea what I’m doing or should be doing or when I should be doing it… Is it ok to tell a guy you’d rather watch the hockey game than go out to dinner? Is it ok that I love the Wings and the Tigers but cannot watch basketball to save my soul? It’s the squeaky gym shoe noise, not the actual game. The jury is still out on how I feel about football. Aside from relationship issues, I have taken a good hard look at my health. I’ll face financial issues as I make decisions including, to downsize or not to downsize.
So I begin this new adventure in communication. I didn’t even know what blogging was this time last year. I hope you’ll indulge me in sharing what I learn, should have learned or may never learn with you. I‘ll explore what happens when all you know changes and you decide it will never be the same but that you can find a new life that can and will be just as wonderful. My guess is that there will be more laughter than tears and I’m sure a great story or two. So come with me as I tackle life as I don’t know it. Join me as I walk, skip and stumble my way through this latest, learning curve.
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