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 |  This was my first blog, maybe my best blog...nah! The journey continues with another..!
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** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Check out this signature's match at Thomas  's blog** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** "You want to become aware of your thoughts and choose them carefully. You are the Michelangelo of your own life; the 'David' you are sculpting is YOU!" Dr. Joe Vitale
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| I'm singing because this auspicious little entry will be my last at The Blog of a Lifetime. When I wrote the entry before this one and hit "enter," I received a warning that the content of my book is almost at capacity, thus informing me that the time has come to write here one last time, then retire it into history... Whether I start a new blog or not, it's going to feel weird not writing in THIS one. After all, it's been four long-but-short years that writing here has meant a myriad of things to me, from a chronologic view of my world and thus my life, to all those introspections about my life and world, always trying, always striving to somehow make it better for myself and the people around me. Sometimes I think I succeeded. Sometimes I didn't. *mental shrug* Quite often during these years, I ran into this blog when I was at my wit's end to do anything else, when the stress and pressure of trying to get a bipolar adolescent through to adulthood without irreversable harm to herself-or me-seemed like an impossible task. I still don't know if that particular journey was a success, but at least she's alive. That's what I can write about her at this point. At least I made it through her teen years with a minimum of scarring, albeit a lot of emotional turmoil. The turmoil didn't turn into a bleeding ulcer because I spilled it all out here, in my blog and in Blogville; and those who ventured over to offer support with comments and other forms...there are no words to express how invaluable it's all been, the friendships forged here and the shoring up of my often-wagging spirits and purpose-the support was sometimes overwhelming to me, choked me up more than once. Without this blog and the people I met through it, Liz's teen years would have been SO much harder on me and thus on her and the other two girls. For me to have the chance to vent between these virtual pages and see the response to my woes...more often than not it kept me sane. Blogville is changing these days. I have been feeling it, reading it, observing it for awhile now, and of course it is. Nothing ever stays the same, not even in virtual reality  People are waving goodbye as others are just entering, gazing about and planting their feet into their own growing corners of our little Hamlet. To be real and deadly honest, I'm not sure where I fit into this changing atmosphere, or if I do. That's something I'm going to ponder for a little bit of time before I take the plunge and create a new blog. I've been neglecting other forms of writing for quite some time now, something I've battled continuously while I've blogged. Most of the time I enjoyed writing here too much to be concerned enough that I'd consider NOT blogging, but now it seems to be out of my hands. And there's the simple fact that for a while now, blogging has seemed like more of a chore, something else on my to-do list rather than the pleasure it once was. Like Blogville, I seem to be changing.I will never regret the the four years I've given to Blogville and the Blog of a Lifetime-quite the opposite. I came to know and love more than one member here; there's nothing like perusing each other's blogs, thus inner thoughts, to really get to the heart of a person. I started to know Thomas here! For that alone, Blogville is forever lodged into my heart--not as completely as HIM, of course, but it's still there  I'd like to say I've come "full circle" during these blogging years, but life is not like the ending of a book. Life is a contuing saga, a compilation of the day-to-day and events and high points and low moments--my life is no different. My struggles are different, now, than they were the first time I opened up a little box for a blog entry, but they are still in existence. So is the good stuff, though, the stuff that makes life and the struggles all worth it... So I'll be taking, probably, the rest of June to decide whether blogging is something I want to continue with right now or whether I should take some time off from it and focus on other aspects of my writing life. Whatever I decide, I'll certainly continue to visit my friends and their blogs, here. I've received so, so much from you all, how could I not? Adios. For now.  |
I'm so excited!  Why? Because I think I found out what's wrong with me!! Does that make sense? It does when I share what I've been going through for about two weeks:I've never been someone who needs an enormous amount of sleep. Even as a child, when most need about twelve hours or so, I could get by on eight or nine...I'd wake up and be roaring with energy, ready to get up and GO! I've always been a "night owl" and what some term as "bubbly"...being overweight didn't usually slow this part of who I am down too much. It has a little but not a lot--until recently. It hit me like a freight train. Lately I can't keep my eyes open or sustain any sort of energy for more than an hour or two at a time, usually even less than that. I haven't been able to clean my house the way I like or do much of anything other than trod to work-just working and functioning enough to make the evening meal has been the extent of my abilities-I was getting really worried about myself. It happened again tonight, here at work the way it's been happening for a half-month: suddenly my energy stores were gone like lightening and it was all I could do to sit upright...something is SO not right with me and it's scary to know it. Another frightening part of all this has been fuzzy-thinking-syndrome. I've always been scatterbrained but at the same time I've always had an awesome memory...I can remember a room number for some innocuous reason, like it needs the air conditioning fixed or someone has been assigned the room and needs a wake-up call...I never had to write these things down to remember them. Not anymore-my mind feels like mush and it SUCKS! Part of what makes me good at my job is gone like the wind...I have known something is just wrong. I'm not myself, not at all-it's a creepy feeling. To have an answer is a RELIEF. I think I've been dealing with what's called "adrenal fatigue." My adrenal glands are not functioning properly. The symptoms fit: aside from salt cravings, low blood pressure and lightheadedness, patients with adrenal fatigue often experience an irregular heart beat, lethargy, muscle weakness, and increased thirst. These are all a result of imbalance in sodium and other minerals, including potassium and magnesium. Increasing your salt intake is one way to help restore these imbalances. Yup, it fits. I've been experiencing an upswing in stress which can lead to this condition if one is prone to it. I've always had low blood pressure and that's another indicator of a propensity for this situation to develop. Occasionally I've been startled by my heartbeat feeling weird-scary in itself, no? The whole thing fits what I've been going through like the last puzzle piece to a jigsaw...whew!!! Now what do DO about it: lots of lifestyle changes are a key element to getting better, increasing the function of my adrenals. I have to start eating more fruits and veggies, fewer empty white-sugar carbs. I have to get more active, like walking in the evening after supper. I have to increase my salt intake, believe it or not, and work to reduce the stress I've been experiencing. I probably need to start meditating and perhaps take up yoga...another crazy symptom I've been experiencing is the overwhelming effect of caffeine-in the opposite direction! Instead of making me feel energized and charged, caffeine has been intensifying the lethargy and complete exhaustion. Now it makes sense; one solvent for adrenal fatigue is to avoid stimulants of any kind because they put added pressure onto already-overworked and under-producing adrenal glands. Oh! Your adrenal glands are tiny in comparison to many other organs. They are roughly the size of a walnut, yet they have enormous responsibilities in your body. When they are functioning at their peak, these small glands can help you feel energized when you need to be and relaxed when it is time for rest. They contribute to the production of estrogen, testosterone, progesterone and so much more. But life’s demands can slowly drain the balancing power of the adrenal glands. Even the healthiest person’s adrenals, though evolutionarily equipped to handle periods of stress, become fatigued under chronic, unrelenting stress. You have the power to lessen the burden on your adrenals — and your whole body. It doesn’t take much. The small choices you make in regards to your nutrition and eating patterns will make a difference. Here’s my advice to you: support your foundation with a high quality nutritional supplement and eat good food in harmony with your body’s natural daily rhythms. Soon you’ll find the energy you thought you lost — and it’ll be here to stay! It feels good to know why I've been feeling the way I have and what I can do to improve the situation (I've been craving bananas lately, now I know why!) I'll visit a physician when I can, armed with knowledge and hopefully already feeling better. |
| Four years ago today-June 9th-I read a story, my last before I went to bed, called Vomit Bag. I was new to WDC back then, a "newbie" who'd dived into reviewing with a gusto. There were a certain number of reviews I loved to give before I'd call it a day and log off for the night. I was trolling for a story, something different, maybe, when I hit upon this story...who wouldn't open something called Vomit Bag? Someone like me couldn't resist it- I laughed a lot. I was truly charmed and very interested in the writing talent of the one who'd contributed this story to WDC, sure that the author, whoever he was, had to be published to some extent; he was GOOD. I gave my review through sleepy chuckles and then clicked on the writer's name, hoping to learn a little something...back then he went by a different moniker, but the writer was none other than Thomas . Hmm, I pondered as I shut off the computer and shuffled off to bed. I'll have to get to know this person...It turns out that the month of June tends to be full of milestones and "firsts" for Tom and me. I'm hoping for more- We will be moving soon, hopefully this month. The townhouse where we live is just far too expensive and doesn't provide enough of what we need to really enjoy our day-to-day lives. The place was certainly a Godsend last year when we needed a home so badly, but after almost a year we're more in tune with ourselves and each other; we are ready for a place more suited to our needs. I want a yard for the pets and me and all of us-we all crave our own space and the SUN! Tom would LOVE to have a writing and gaming and game-watching room , something we can't have in the cramped place where we reside. And I'd give my left elbow for a washer and dryer in my own home!  On a selfish note, I need to be less stressed; I need to be able to focus on things in life other than finances, other than knowing we're paying far, far too much for waaay too little. I want to feel less tension in my shoulders. I want to smile with ease and have the energy to review again, write again, work on getting myself and Thomas published, join something like Toastmasters or Community Theatre without worrying about the amount of gas it takes to get there... So let this be another milestone June for Tom and me, one where we find a nice little house with a nice little yard that unwinds my shoulders and gives him some much-needed space, a place where we can put a desk and a lovely little couch where he won't strain his back doing what he enjoys... Viva la JUNE!!! *The story I read four years ago:
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I have a lot to blog about, obviously. Anyone who has read Kåre Enga in Udon Thani  's blog or Scarlett  's knows that. Even more than even THAT, on Saturday Tom and I took Rach and Sarah into Minneapolis, to the Mall of America-and we even got to see that wonderful Kera` Enga again, but instead of the extreme myriad of blogging fodder I have to write about, I'm going to choose, right now, to write about THOMAS HARPER'S BIRTHDAY! Yup, that's right. Today is the birthday of the man I adore, the man I share my life with, the man of...okay okay, you get the picture  I will NOT tell you how old he is...waitaminute, that sentence felt familiar to me even as I typed it. So I stopped writing long enough to peruse back into this old blog o' mine and here's what I found: HAPPY BIRTHDAY to my funny, sweet, talented, poetic friend Thomas . I won't tell you how old he is but we graduated from high school the same year. *halo* That was part of my entry from this day last year. Oh my, what a difference a year makes. Really. It was on this very day last year, in the evening after he'd had what became a lovely birthday I believe, when Thomas came online to "chat" with me again after family members took him out for a nice dinner. We started to "talk" the way we did, e-mailing and IMing-we even alternated between leaving e-mails at different addresses and we even answered them to each other pretty swiftly! There was a lot of affection between us, moreso since we'd had a "falling out"-and had made up just days prior, me and this wonderful friend of mine who'd been one of my best for almost 3 years as of that day a year ago. I tended to be flirty with him when we wrote, never thinking anything would REALLY come of it...until his answers to my firtatious ways dropped my mouth open, widened my eyes, and sped up the beats of my heart in a way I didn't think my heart could beat. I asked him if he was for real, if he wanted to pursue the tone of what he was implying--I was sitting up straight, mouth still dropped open in what? Shock? Surprise?? Dare I say a wee dram of...um...hope??? I tried to be cautious, but my heart didn't want to be. My heart and it's strong, quickened beat told me something monumental was happening, something important beyond measure... HAPPY BIRTHDAY THOMAS! Anyone who reads my blog with any regularity at all knows it, but I'll write it again like I probably will until I stop writing altogehter: I LOVE YOU!!! Thank you, sweet man, for taking that leap one year ago today. My life is infinitely richer because you did-I feel like you gave ME the gift that day.  *And you'll read about the rest later in the week; stay tuned!* |
| Our happiness or unhappiness depends on the way we meet the events of life rather than the events themselves. -Karl Wilhelm Von Humboldt Yesterday I engaged in a little bit of correspondence with a fellow WDC member about news and world events and how easy it is to focus on the darkness of it...there is so much darkness out there. In this age of quick news in absolutely no time thanks to satellite and computer technology, we can find out about almost anything happening anywhere; we know about kidnappings, rapes, child abuse, child murders, people murdering each other, gang violence, economic narcissism, and so much more...if we watched a 24-hour news channel for a day, we could be privy to a wealth of bad news. If we made it our business to pick up a daily newspaper we'd be able to find the dark side of human nature there, too. There's no end to the bevy of bad tidings to be discovered in this day-and-age. The crux of it is...human nature is not that much different than it was 20, 30, 40, or 50 years ago. The difference is that we have ready access to "all the news that's fit to print." The line of "fit to print" gets more blurry every day--shoot, every hour. Technology gets better every hour too. We're inundated with so much that's happening so often it could be dizzying if we tried to keep with all of it. And if we focus on "world news" or "economic news" or "crime watch" or "children in peril" too much, we're destined to become depressed, hopeless, unwilling to trust our fellow humans, unhappy in general. It's not that we shouldn't care about human suffering and do our part, no matter how small it may be, to end as much as possible, but the old saying is true: you can't help anyone else until you've helped yourself FIRST, and part of helping yourself is resisting the urge to mire yourself in bad news. I've written about that book-and the philosophy-called The Secret before. I certainly don't use its teachings enough, something I hope to change, because I do believe in the basic premise that we create our own reality with positive or negative thinking and emotions. Whatever we project out and into the world is what we get back. One writer of The Secret said he stopped watching the news because it was all so negative. I don't think I'd go so far as to watch or read NO news, but I do stop at the bare minimum, these days. I want to be informed, but I don't want to be depressed. I try to stop before I reach that point. For all the bad news we hear and see and read, there's plenty of good news, too. There are people who rally to help raise funds to fight disease and/or public issues, plenty of us who do things like take in a stray dog or cat to give it a home-or even find a home for one we can't take in, ourselves. Someone somewhere heard the cry of another and went "the extra mile" to help. Someone somewhere made a sick child smile or a sad adult laugh. Someone somewhere found a wallet full of money and credit cards and returned it to the rightful owner, even if it wasn't easy to find that person...such a thing actually happened to me! There are lots of positives to find, plenty of reasons to enjoy the life we live and the world in which we live it. There will be a day of blue sky with singing, chirping birds and a gentle breeze. There will again be a night full of stars and that gentle breeze which wafts softly through trees, kissing cheeks it finds...rain will patter on the ground accompanied by that wonderful earthy smell we love to inhale because there's LIFE in it... I see trees of green, red roses too I see them bloom for me and you And I think to myself what a wonderful world. I see skies of blue and clouds of white The bright blessed day, the dark sacred night And I think to myself what a wonderful world. The colors of the rainbow so pretty in the sky Are also on the faces of people going by I see friends shaking hands saying how do you do They're really saying I love you. I hear babies crying, I watch them grow They'll learn much more than I'll never know And I think to myself what a wonderful world Yes I think to myself what a wonderful world. Sure, we can focus on the bad because there's plenty of it. We can focus on the good because there's plenty of that, too. Or we can balance it all out for ourselves and know that, even as the darkness of humanity and nature exists, so too does the light.  |
| ...the handsome Thomas cannot. Not at the moment, anyway. He somehow severely strained the muscles of his lower back and has spent most of this week in an incredible amount of pain. For those of you who have yet to experience back pain, it's probably as close to hell-on-earth as a human being can get. Being the person he is, the pain bothers him because it's intense and constant, pretty much, but the worst part of this week, for him, has been the feeling of helplessness that accompanies an injury like this one. He can't DO for himself and that, my friends, occasionally drives him bonkers. *empathy* It's really hard to be a grown man who can't perform even the simplest task because, suddenly, your body just won't cooperate. There are times, like when he awakens in the morning, when he can hardly move at all. He tries really hard to be stoic about it, but it RANKLES! On Wednesday night we thought he was going to be okay. He was feeling stronger, could move with limited mobility which was a great improvement from the day before...this morning, however, it was worse than ever. He was really frustrated and unhappy to be feeling more helpless than ever; it was time to make a trip to the ER at St Mary's hospital here in Rochester. It wasn't the first time I've graced the doors of this lovely establishment. The first time I walked into the hospital, itself, was to visit the pharmacy where Liz's meds had been transferred from the Quad Cities-I won't even go into what I think of said pharmacy. I will not ever again grace the area of the hospital where it is, never ever in this lifetime. Seasons changed while Thomas and I waited for the damn meds-he got some new material for his stand-up comedy routine, though, so not all was lost. The hospital itself is a different story. That's a really good thing! For this second visit to St Mary's ER, an offshoot of the Mayo Clinic Conglomorate that IS Rochester, MN, I was struck by how NICE everyone there is. I don't know if it's the "Minnesota Nice" (more than a simple myth, believe me) which causes this place to seem better and more smoothly-run than other ERs and hospitals I've experienced-and believe me I've experienced "a few"  , or if it's a higher level of professionalism integral to Mayo and all its ilk in this area. I suspect a little of both.But at no point did I feel that Thomas was treated with anything less than respect and care. I saw the same thing last October with Liz, and believe me, that girl could try the patience of Mother Theresa. The staff were polite to me as well, always smiling and never impatient when I had to ask more than once for directions in and out of the patient area, heh heh. *my inner directional system never quite developed fully* Nurses, doctors, administrative staff...they are all so...so...so...NICE!  Seriously, not ONE eyeroll in the bunch! We arrived at the ER around 8:30 and were out of there before 11. Efficiency with a smile seems to be what they do. Who knew! If you're gonna get sick or experience an injury, there's no better place to do it than in Mayo Clinic territory. Thomas will be okay after more rest, muscle relaxers, and a few painkillers. We still wish we knew what is causing his back problems-this very thing happend a month ago, too-but at least now we know nothing traumatic is happening in his back. Send him some well-wishes if you can. I'm sure he'd love to receive them. |
| When you're happy for no reason, you bring happiness to your everyday experiences rather than trying to extract happiness from them. It's not that your life always looks perfect-it's that however it looks, you'll still be happy." What lovely words, huh? I wish I could apply them the way they should be... I'm a lucky woman by most accounts. I have a soulmate I share every part of my life with-seeing him walk through a door or even receiving a text message from him makes me smile so much my 'smile' muscles actually get achy . I have pretty decent kids-almost grown but still my kids-who are funny, intelligent, witty...two out of three of them don't do anything "questionable" if you catch where my drift is going on that one; the one who does definately turns my hair gray but she'll have to learn those lessons on her own and I'm at peace with that more often than not, these days. The youngest is certainly experiencing "growing pains" in the way she gives US a pain *I invite you to read Thomas 's last blog entry if you'd like to more on that particular subject*. But third one in--I do know that "this too shall pass." I have to remind myself of that little fact but it IS a fact, thank goodness...and fabulous friends like my Blogville buddies and Iowegian Skye .I have a job (there are those who do not). It doesn't pay as much as I'd like it to, but I have options when it comes to that. I need to get up and get busy, find ways to get around it or even find yet another place of employment that actually would pay me what my needs to live really entail, but still...I have a job. I have a job that allows me to do things like write blog entries while I'm earning my pay Not to mention the fodder for characters...!I've been okay with where we've lived for almost a year, but honestly...it's a little small for our needs; there is no yard for a fraidy-cat yellow lab and a fat feline who'd like to peruse grass and insects more often. There are stairs my knees scream at when I walk in the door, and it's just too expensive for what we receive from it. We could be living in a house with a yard and a WASHER AND DRYER for what we pay-I'm hoping to find a house for LESS than what we pay...and herein lies the 'rub" for that "happiness" deal- I've just been stressing too much. I didn't used to do that, but I've dealt with some financial blows this last year which have caused me to begin stressing, and that's just a vicious cycle. To worry is to stress, to stress is to block happiness or enjoyment from the soul, and to do THAT is to find oneself in a depressed state...ICK! Rachael deals with anxiety and I tell her what I need to tell myself: I have discovered that no matter how much time and energy I spend stressing and worrying and hand-wringing over an issue, in the end it usually turns out okay...maybe not the way I'd envision or as tidily as I'd like, but things always wind up the way they're supposed to--whether I stressed about it or not! What do you do to relieve yourself of stress? I'd like to know We are not created to be eaten by anxiety, but to walk erect, free, unafraid in a world where there is work to do, truth to seek, and love to give. -Joseph Ford Newton |
| One night before coming to work I asked Thomas if he had any ideas for what book I should read next. I'd just finished an older Faye Kellerman story I hadn't read before-I found it at the used bookstore. I enjoyed it greatly but after reading that and the Jonothan Kellerman one before it, I told Thomas I was ready for something more along the lines of a classic. He gave me a novel he finished not too long ago, The Age of Innocence by Edith Wharton. I'd heard of it and of course if my soulmate recommended it, it was certainly worth some reading... The protagonist of this piece is a young man named Newland Archer. It takes place in New York City during the 1870s. New York City, back then, had an "upper crust" society mostly composed of third sons from the barons of England and their progeny, and also the newly rich, who were an integral part of this new kind of "upper crust." Old England's class of Lords and Ladies spent centuries looking down their noses at those who had to "buy" their way into polite society...not so in New York City's land of the Privileged Class. In fact, the more money you had on THIS side of the pond, the greater likelihood you had of being admitted into this cluster of the "haves" in a country where class wasn't supposed to matter...Ha! Put a group of human beings together and there will ALWAYS be the ones who strive to set themselves apart from others. It's the nature of the beast. I knew about New York's upper crust society of the late 19th and early 20th century before I ever read Edith Wharton's take on those who were entangled in it. I'm a history buff and I've read many period novels in my time, although I'd forgotten how much I enjoy them. I dived into Newland Archer's world with a jaundiced eye because I'm not the greatest fan of those "upper crust" types; I'd much rather read about the struggles of the "common man" during those times and what was happening "below-stairs" in the mansions and back alleys. There was none of that in this novel...and yet from pretty close to the beginning I found myself getting involved with Newland Archer and his circle of peers in spite of myself. Edith Wharton was an author who implemented the "write what you know" mantra we writers hear so often, and she applied it with finesse, heart, and a good dose of realness. She didn't hold back with the darker parts and the less kindly pieces of who these people she brought to life were, but she also gave me a view of "upper class" that can be difficult to remember. Sometimes they just don't know differently. They are not purposely rude or purposely obtuse or purposely ignorant. They simply don't know any more than what they live. It makes sense when you think about it...and read about it. Newland Archer wanted to know more, however, than what he did in the tight circle of Upper New York. As Wharton opened up the tale, he was young and almost as naive as any of the young people he'd grown up beside, but there was a niggle in him as he walked through a life that had been set out for him even before his birth. Enter Countess Ellen Olenska- Ellen is a woman on the edge of the Upper Crust, a woman almost ostricized because she's returned from Europe without the husband she left to marry, the absent Count. She's lived a life and visited exotic lands most Upper Crusters both envy and revile. As they lean forward to eagerly to drink in her "differences," they lean back and slander her behind their jeweled hands. She has a title and too much money to be completely set apart from those who whisper at her expense...Newland Archer finds himself completely fascinated by her at a time when his own life is moving forward in the prescribed way: he is engaged to a lovely young lady sure to make him a dutiful wife and bear him dutiful, privileged children who will go on to live dutiful, privileged lives of their own. What follows is pretty much Newland's battle with himself. Who does he want to be, how "honorable" is it to stay the course and continue with someone who does not hold your heart or your soul because it's "the right thing to do?" IS it the "right thing to do?" These conundrums and more are the crux of Newland's situation, the meat of his story. What I found so fascinating about him...and disturbing, too...was that he's not too much different from-well-ME! I have wrestled with many of the same issues, questions, and problems that a protagonist in a book written in the year 1919. Wow. I could identify with the main character, here...and did I ever squirm when I found myself annoyed with him because of his choices and whiny attitude about his "problems." I rolled my eyes at him and was impatient...then embarrassed at MYSELF for having thought the same things and felt the same way as Newland Archer. Gulp! I've written it before: You know a book is classic when it's timeless, when you can see the characters in people you know today...yourself included.  By the end of the story I saw my own life take a turn from Newland's, but I won't ruin the ending of a good story by giving it away. You'll have to read the book. Another statement I often write: Classics are just that for a reason. I highly recommend The Age of Innocence by Edith Wharton.Now read on! That is, after all, how we can all keep writing. |
| A few years ago I wrote a couple of impassioned entries. One of them had to do with a book I'd recently read, A Million Little Pieces, and the impact it left on me. I thought it was good-better than good. At that time the story by James Frey was being touted by his publishing company as a "memoir." As much as I was blown away by the story and James Frey's writing style which is unconventional to put it mildly, I had trouble really believing some of his accounts which chronicle his fall into drug addiction as an upper middle class, WASPy young man...he visited the bowels of hell even as he rose above what he became. The basics of the story are true; he became drug addicted, was forced by family and friends into drug rehab and came out on the other side. Much of the "exciting" renditioning of exactly how that happened...storytelling. Of course the trouble was with the word "memoir", and the waters of that word have been pretty muddied ever since. I was more than annoyed by the subsequent verbal thrashing Oprah Winfrey gave Frey on a follow-up show when it was unearthed that this memoir was in many ways a fabrication...a fictionalization if you will...because it wasn't Frey who put the word "memoir" on his book. His publishers did that. Before the book went to print he told them it wasn't so much real as it was a dramatization of what was real. They waved aside his words and slapped "memoir" on the cover. I'm not saying Frey was right to go along, but there are many different sides to this convoluted tale. How many of us are aware that the moment we sell our rights to something we've written, we lose the right to tell the publishers how to market it? True story, no fabrication. And the word "memoir" is NOT synonymous with the word "autobiography" or even "biography." A memoir really IS a dramatization of a real event. It's not factual, word by word and rote by rote. It's often someone's remembrance or enhanced version, but in no way should a memoir ever be mistaken for a biography of any kind. A memoir begins with a truth and segues with the vision of the writer, the remembrances of the one who experienced the event. Some who read it, ones who experienced the same event at the same time, would shake their heads and mutter, "that's not what really happened." Maybe not in your recollection, but memories are subjective at best, faulty at worst. Memoirs can be interesting, riveting, captivating, fascinating, and thought-provoking. They can often be cathartic for the people who write them...but NEVER should a memoir be mistaken for a biography. It's not one. It is for those reasons that Oprah's behavior towards James Frey, in very plain words, ticked me off both as a writer and a fair-minded person. She was embarrassed because she chose A Million Little Pieces for her book club, fully believing in its realness...I really don't think she understood the difference between a memoir and a biography. I still don't think many people do. Frey was-well-fried, ha ha, as a result of her reaction to the "uncovering" of the book as largely less-than-fact. I was so incensed by her reaction and public "stoning" of this author that I fired off a scathing e-mail, copy/pasting my blog entry to it. I don't know if she ever read it; probably not Where am I going with all this? Why am I dredging up past blog entry subjects and long-dead scandalous issues? Because Yahoo now reports that Oprah called up James Frey not too long ago to apologize for her behavior towards him. I don't know about James Frey, But I feel vindicated. And now I'm going to post a link to one of my own memoirs. I chose this particular one because I've actually received feedback about the young man spotlighted here, Kevin Kreiling. He has a niece who actually became a member of this site and wrote to me for a while. The family appreciates and enjoys that someone remembers Kevin this way, because others don't. It's amazing to me how differently each person involved remembers incidents and people:
Many of you have probably already read this particular memoir of mine. It's a rememberence, my own "take" on parts of my young life and the role Kevin played in it. Take some time, perhaps, to try your hand at writing a memoir. It doesn't have to be word-for-word fact. That's the beauty of it. It only has to be what you remember, how you reacted, and what it meant for you then and now. And yes, you are even allowed to implement some poetic license...a little, not a lot as James Frey can attest Mostly just have fun with it, learn from it, vent with it. Memoirs can be amazing stories with a lot of meaning-let them flow. |
| Most of the people who stay at the hotel where I now work are really good people. Much like the "other" hotel, they are Mayo Clinic patients-a majority-and business people in town for some reason or other. There are a few noted differences; the hotel where I spend my nights is simpler and less expensive than the one where I spent eight months yawning through my days It's still clean and well-maintained, but there is no pool, there are no jacuzzi rooms, there are no scrambled eggs in the morning. There are bagels and muffins but I digress, which I've been known to do, heh heh. I like the guests I have an opportunity to meet here as much as the ones I met there. They tend to be more blue collar, more working-class; they wear union jackets and work boots proudly. There are a lot of early risers here, workmen who have come to lay pavement for the highways or re-construct a burned-down factory just a few miles down the road. The guys who work on and construct elevators for all our buildings in the area stay at this hotel. We talk when they come yawning out of their rooms, jackets in hand, work boots on their feet. They talk about their kids-one of the construction workers has three little girls he misses mightily when he has to spend the week here. Another has two teenagers, a boy and a girl, and we roll our eyes about teenagers in general. An elderly lady who's been here for a few weeks while her husband recieves radiation treatments in the hospital ambles out in the middle of the night once in a while. She tends to chatter on and I let her, taking time when I can to really listen to her. She and her husband have spent over 50 years farming in Illinois. He's retired now, of course, leased the land out to someone else who farms the "new-fangled" way and it drives him crazy, she says. Another lady comes out almost daily at around 4am. She's been a widow for about three years; she's used to getting up early. Her husband was an electrition for the city until his first stroke about ten years ago. By the time he passed on, she says, it was past time for him to go. She shuffles around in her robe and slippers when she gets her breakfast, looking a little lost... I had to work during the night this past weekend. I don't usually do that-my schedule is full time during the week. The weekend night worker is a moonlighter who took time off. The manager, loathe to lose his own weekend, stuck me with the Friday and Saturday night. I told him this morning that I will never, ever, in this current life, EVER work a Friday and/or Saturday night again. And I meant it! The "regulars" don't stick around on the weekend for the most part. If the workers and patients are able to-the long term ones-they go home for the weekend and usually return Sunday night. We also have patients and workers who are only here a day or two, but of course not on the weekend. So who does that leave to pass through Rochester, MN on a Friday or Saturday night? I'll give you a hint: I'm getting too old and cranky to deal with them. They stream in at a steady pace until after 1am, wearing lots of makeup and a ton of cologne. Some of them blow stale, boozy breath in my face while I try to extract information from them to rent a room...they tend to giggle, frown, whine, slur their words, speak too loudly, and generally get on my LAST NERVE. Saturday night held the real fun for me: Not an hour after I arrived and was busily checking in late arrivals with their makeup and heavy perfumes, I recieved a call at the front desk from an older lady, here for her granddaughter's soccer tournament. Water was gushing from the ceiling of their bathroom, right through the ELECTRIC light fixture and onto the floor. Needless to say she was a "little" freaked out. I offered to move her to another room and called to the room right above. Music was raucous while the young man answered the phone with "whaddaya want" shouted into my ear. In clipped tones I explained the water problem in the room below and he swore, with his boy scout's oath I'm sure, that they'd turned on the shower to warm up the water and just forgot about it. Yeah right. Like I wasn't in college before and I know nothing about bathtubs full of beer. I told them to mop it up, dry it up, and quiet down. Two minutes later there was another call from a room on the same floor as the partiers, complaining about the noise from that particular room. SIGH. I called said room again and threatened them with expulsion if I had one more complaint call. "Three strikes and you're out of here," I warned. Then there was the drunk-who'd been that way all weekend-who wandered around the lobby, cursing under his breath. As time went on he became louder and more belligerent. I closed my eyes, praying for patience, and told him as kindly but firmly as I could that he needed to return to his room or leave. Grumbling and stumbling, he returned to his room. The rest of the night held more minor irritations in the form of young men walking back and forth between their rooms and the lobby computer, and a man who was a few years older then me...he staggered in at about 5am with the most alcoholic breath I'd dealt with the entire night. He kept insisting we had a reservation for him and I kept insisting we didn't Finally the light seemed to dawn in his fogged brain and he said, "Oh, I think I forgot to make one." No kidding. At least then I was able to take his information he finally gave me to get him into a room and away from me with that awful breath. I felt a little drunk, myself, after all the stale beer and booze I inhaled that night...Never again, I informed the manager. I'm too cranky and I missed the clinic patients and tired working class. AND this particular hotel is no different on the weekend than any other. Night desk clerks from area hotels...yeah, we talk. Remember that when you stay at a hotel. If you don't want to become a "hotel hijinks story," don't act like one. |
| "...because sometimes, no matter how much we try or what kind of parents we are, kids are just gonna DO what they're gonna DO...they are like people, that way!" *from the television show Roseanne* Yesterday while I was making the grand attempt to clean my house I put on a television channel that was showing the sitcom "Everbody Loves Raymond." Raymond and Debra were going crazy trying to figure out how to deal with that "lovely" aspect of parenting called DISCIPLINE! After over twenty-one years as a mother, with a bipolar oldest daughter and two other strong willed young women who are very different in personality and mindset, I believe I've discovered a secret that should be passed on to all young mothers everywhere on this most auspicious of American Holidays-Mothers' Day: There IS no "right way" to discipline your kids! *taking a bow* I know, I know, I've imparted great wisdom The parents on that show were upset about the twin boys who were about four years old at the time. They started to worry that if they couldn't control them at that age, how were they going to control them when they were older? They started thinking about everything they'd done as teenagers, obssessing about what their kids were going to try to get away with, freaking out about how they were going to stop them...and of course the great secret is...sometimes you just can't. You can infuse your kids with all the wisdom you have to deal with life's curves. You can do everything within your power to establish morals, give them goals, strive to teach them right from wrong- You can sit them in time-out when they're toddlers and bite another child. You can lecture them about grades and treating teachers with respect when they get into trouble at school. You can ground them from television and computer time, withold an allowance, take away the car keys...you can hug them, tell them you love them every single day, stand beside them and give as much positive reinforcement as you can... And then sometimes you'll get tired. You just won't have it in you to keep from yelling or frowning or walking away when they're trying to tell you something, good or bad. You'll need something for yourself-an hour, a minute even, to re-charge your OWN batteries a little so you can keep charging theirs. You'll get short with them because you're feeling impatient or sick or just plain moody...yup, it's not just 14-yr-old girls who get that way! Sometimes, when you're a mom, you'll want to be anywhere but at home, being pulled in ten different directions by someone who wants and needs something from you...and because you have these bouts of humanness, you won't say it but you'll have this niggle in the back of your mind-sometimes way back but it's there-that if you weren't like that your kid wouldn't be having some trouble or get mouthy or have issues...of course the sensible part of you knows that's not true but the core of the "insecure mom" isn't so sure... When they are "young adults" you'll have to watch them when they stumble; you'll want to rush over and pick them up, dust them off and hug away their tears like you did when they were little...but you can't. To create well-rounded, capable people, you have to let them fall. It hurts you more than it does them--by a long shot. You can definately be an anchor in this storm we call life, a soft place for them to fall, a block of support when they need it...but you can't "save" them. You shouldn't even if you could and it's HARD... The truth is, there is no blueprint, no "right way" to be a mother. We moms have to do the level best we can with what we know...and then we hope and pray ALL the time that it's enough. In the end, however, ...sometimes they're just gonna do what they're gonna do. They're like people that way. |
| I used to love Dr. Phil. When he first debuted on Oprah with his "tell it like it is" style I was hooked, because most of what he started "preaching" was almost ALL of what I truly and totally believe. I still do. I often quote him with little ditties like, You teach people how to treat you. It's completely true and I was completely on board with Dr. Phil for a long time. Until I felt like he started getting "tabloidy" on his talk show. I think, as intelligent and down-to-earth as he can be, he thinks he can "fix" people who don't want to or aren't ready to be fixed. I get it. I'm a bit of a "fixer," myself. I stopped watching Dr. Phil's show when I felt all it did was showcase people and families at their worst. If I want that I can get it on Jerry Springer; granted that Phil was trying to "save" these people but as mired as so many of them were and are in their dysfunction...I just didn't want to be a part of that. So it was only through mindless channel surfing that I happened upon Dr. Phil today. I stopped long enough to listen to what he might be spouting...and I was hooked all over again, mainly because a lot of what he was saying was exactly what I needed to hear: Winners do what losers don't want to do. Those were words that made me sit up, made my eyes widen and that "ah-ha" light click on inside my head. He said something along the lines, after uttering this sentence, that it's easy, during the hard parts of our lives, to sit in front of the television or lament our circumstances-let life just happen to us-instead of getting up and making those tough phone calls, having those difficult conversations, confronting hard issues...the difference between who wins in life and who loses has EVERYTHING to do with how we confront what we're faced with TODAY. He pointed to people in the audience. He said that none of us will be, at this moment next year, where we are today. We might be better off, we might be worse off. The only certainty at this moment is that we'll be different. HOW has everything to do with every single choice we make from this minute forward...a powerful message I was certainly aware of...but I needed to be reminded. For part of the show he was broadcasting from Detroit; the premise was about the bad economy and American families who have been hit the hardest. So many in the car industry have been slammed that Detroit seemed like the right venue for this topic. The thing is--even though I haven't suffered a layoff like these people have, I'm in the exact, same boat. They talked about losing 50% of their income, having to figure out how to keep going, and not just financially. I've learned so much this year I wouldn't have understood without experiencing it: I was never rich by any stretch, but with steady middle class income and full health care benefits for me and mine, I had some room to breathe. I didn't have to budget myself down to the last penny like I do now...I sure do wish I'd done a better job of "saving for a rainy day" but that's another story; I thought I had time to get better about saving. What a difference a year makes. A lot of parents talked about feeling like failures because they couldn't provide for their kids the way they wanted to, many of them being teenagers with college on the horizon-now the kids have to go it alone, financially because so many of the parents are strapped. They talked about not being able to buy them the latest gadgets and toys and stylish clothes...to tell your kid "no" because you just can't afford it...wow does it ever suck. I get it. I've always told the girls "no" and quite often it was indeed because I couldn't afford it, but now there's a difference. Now I have to say "no" when before I would have said "yes." Now there are times when I say "yes" when I know that financially speaking, I shouldn't. I say "yes" to myself sometimes when I know I shouldn't...but there are times when a person just HAS to do some of the things it takes to make life worth living, even if it means getting a little more behind, financially. I completely understood one woman on the show who said she didn't share her fears and concerns with her husband because she "didn't want to burden him." I nodded my head with a few tears in my eyes. I don't want to burden Tom with my stuff. And of course Dr. Phil told her what Tom, himself, has told me: this man is your life partner. Let him share the burden. LET him be your soft place to fall. He wants that. He needs that from you as much as you need it from him. To be truly partners on this life journey you have to share IT ALL. True intimacy begins when you let your partner in on every level. In the end I realized a few things from watching Dr. Phil for less than an hour. It's definately time for me to have some difficult conversations with myself, then make those tough phone calls and tackle some hard issues. I want to be jumping for joy at life's finish line, not limping towards it in defeat I made a lot of tough choices for myself and the girls last year and most of them have turned to gold. Sarah loves living here in Rochester and so do I. Rachael is still dealing with some anxiety issues but she's come to me with them and her life feels more solid, more grounded than it did a year ago. From last year to this year, finances or not, we are all in a much, much better place; of course Thomas has so very much to do with that. In thinking about where I am as opposed to where I was...I need to remember to trust God, trust Tom, trust myself. We're an awesome team. |
| I'm starting May with a blog entry in the early morning, no less, not too long after my last entry for the month of April! I'm now a blogging maniac?! Nah- Just wanting to post and share something ELSE that's new: While I Sleep I fall into bed in the early morning hours When the sun has just begun to gleam Over the horizon- I breathe in your scent When I move to your Side of the bed- All is well as my eyes fall shut And I slumber with a contented Smile- Drinking you in as I burrow Further into your pillows, Always knowing your presence While I sleep. Of course the little poetry attempt above is wholeheartedly dedicated to my soulmate, Thomas . Have a great May Day! *and if anyone dances around a maypole with colorful ribbons I want pictures!* |
| ...that's right. Four years after joining WDC, almost four years after beginning this blog right here, it's finally happened. I've finally done it. I'm completely and totally BLUE! And I'd like to thank those who helped me make this moment a reality...that would be the fabulous Thomas for providing me with a challenge that I have actually seen through to the end, and Debi Wharton , the wonderful friend who, through her own heavily full plate of complex issues, saw fit to cheerlead ME to this auspicious end. I also want to thank those of you who stuck with me through some pretty bland blog entries when I was too tired and creatively dry to think of anything really interesting to write...and you read and commented, anyway. Thank you ALL! I am blessed. Creating this blue month in April was really important for several reasons, many of which I've already mentioned in an earlier entry, but this finishing-what-I-start thing was paramount. I needed to feel successful in getting to the end of this month, doing what I set out to do. I was busy this month what with having two weeks of working at two different hotels, trying to make a choice and deciding that the move to this new hotel and shift was the best thing for all involved; it's not a perfect solution but it'll do for now... But the point is, life kept happening around me and I was exhausted by it but I didn't let it stop me. I was here before midnight Eastern time-and I live in Central-blogging away because it was what I had committed to do. It feels really good to know I saw this through and I didn't let anything stop me. I need to do that more often. Maybe, just maybe...the next time I become deflated and start thinking negatively about a situation, something I need to do or complete or see through to the end...I'll remember this blue month, this 30 days of not allowing myself to say "no" and I'll keep going, keep pushing. So I'm back in "writing" mode and I'm back on track in Blogville to a significant degree. I'm back on track, thanks to my daily blogging, in a lot of ways. |
Well I love a rainy night; I love to hear the thunder Watch the lightning, When it lights up the sky- You know it makes me feel good. Well I love a rainy night It's such a beautiful sight, I love to feel the rain On my face To taste the rain on my lips- In the moonlight shadow. Showers wash All my cares away, I wake up to a sunny day- 'Cause I love a rainy night, Yes I love a rainy night- Puts a song In this heart of mine Puts a smile on my face every time 'Cause I love a rainy night It's raining here and I DO love a rainy night Tom and I started singing this song and it reminded me of those years-gone-by when Eddie Rabbitt sang this song on our radios while we dragged main in Guymon, Oklahoma. Back then I didn't like our rare rainy nights-I mean Guymon gets something like 4 inches of rain a year and that's if they're lucky-because those nights would keep us from being able to drag the street in front of my grandmother's house and park in the lot across the street from it. I was lucky- Because my grandmother lived right on main street, next door to the Sonic even, I was able to sit on the porch or on the back of my aunt's car in the driveway and wait for my friends and their friends and perhaps my enemies to come driving by. Eventually someone would stop and I'd run into the house to yell, "I'm going out with Tracy," or whomever had stopped, and I'd hop in the car...What did teenagers do who didn't have a main street to drag? What did the teenagers around here do, because the weather is crazy in the winter and usually wet in the spring-we usually didn't have to worry about that stuff. What did YOU do to pass the time and commune with your friends when you were a teenager? As time has marched on and I'm older and wiser-ha ha- I've discovered that I'm pretty much like Eddie Rabbit. I DO love a rainy night! It's a good thing I don't live in Guymon, anymore! *My web surfing for the above song revealed something I didn't know-Eddie Rabbitt passed away in 1998: http://elvispelvis.com/eddierabbitt.htm |
| Last night a lady wandered down from her first floor room. She is 76, she told me, and she grabbed herself a cup of juice and sat at one of the tables in the breakfast room area which is located directly in front of the front desk at the hotel where I now work. She began to chatter. Her polyester pants and shirt reminded me of what my own grandmother used to wear, but only when it was an "at home" day; my grandmother very much enjoyed clothes and fashion, but she did wear those polyester outfits when she cleaned the house, which was often. When I was little I used to wonder why my grandmother never smiled. She had a perpetual frown on her face and wasn't really very friendly to either my brother or me...or to anyone as far as I could tell. We lived in her house from the time I was a year old until I was 7. My early memories of "Mamo," which is what we called her to her annoyance-she always wanted a more elegent grandmotherly name-are unfortunately encompassed by her anger. I didn't understand it. I never thought there was real affection coming from my grandmother. She didn't hug me or kiss me or tell me anything positive about myself in any way. She did, however, cook three meals a day, wash my clothes and even buy clothes and other necessities of life for me. When I was old enough to occasionally accompany her to the grocery store I would want to sink into the floor from embarrassment. She watched the cashier like a hawk and was ready to fight and argue about the total when she found a discrepency...and she always found a discrepency. It was more fun to clothes-shop with her; she was a small, thin lady who prided herself on her ability to find dirt cheap bargains and still look downright classy when she went out. Her clothes were her vice, one she indulged in shamelessly since she was so good at that bargain-hunting thing. Occasionally she would weaken and buy something retail. She'd come home and lament for weeks, staring at the item in a mixture of guilt and joy. She even enjoyed buying me clothes sometimes. She had good taste and I let her choose things for me without argument until I was about 15. Then my teenage taste intervened and I informed her that she needed to stop-in the haughty teenage way girls that age have. I know it's a shock I had it! Mamo was freaky-diligent about her weight. She ate only twice a day, once at about 9 or 10 in the morning and once again at night, after the day's work was done and she was able to turn off every light in the house but a dim kitchen lamp. She'd sit at the end of her table with whatever meal she'd prepared-usually imitation sausage with lettuce used as bread and perhaps some fruit or cottage cheese-and she'd listen to the radio, talk radio, while she happily munched and allowed her stomach to get full. Her morning meal usually consisted of something like a bowl of Special K cereal with water...not milk since she had gained a couple of pounds once when I was about 8. She railed about it for weeks, probably months. She always made us wholesome, healthy meals though, that she refused to patake of herself. She made us hamburgers, roast with potatoes, carrots, and onions, ham with rice and a thick, tasty milk gravy, spaghetti with a special sauce she had from her own grandmother--she even made us breakfast when I was very small and first starting school, when we still lived in her house and I would shuffle to the table, still not a morning person...she had cream of wheat with those lumps still in it and a little milk and sugar mixed in; oatmeal was a staple, too. She made fried eggs cooked with the yolk hard and toast with margarine; she liked to boil eggs and sometimes I could persuade her to make them soft boiled so I could sop up the yolk with my toast-it was sooo good. In listening to that lovely lady last night, her back humped and her fingers gnarled from years of work and arthritis, hair permed like Mamo's and with those polyester pants, I thought about my grandmother- She was very tired by the time I came along, and she hadn't planned on having to raise another set of children in her retirement years. My mother's divorce and our move back into her house changed what should have been her quiet, twilight years, filled them with the kind of work and toil she'd already been through. In thinking about the entire situation with my family during my growing years, I know my grandmother should have been more strict with my mother about what her role in our upbringing should be. She allowed my mom, the bipolar, flamboyant woman that she was, to bulldoze her way back into the house she'd grown up in...and she turned back into "one of the kids". But she was an adult, my mother, who should have been the one to shoulder so many adult responsibilities that were shoved upon Mamo. In all this pondering I started years ago, after my grandmothers death, I understood her. She limped through a lifelong marriage to a man she loved but was never really "in love" with. She went through a lot as a child, her own father being struck and killed by lightning while her mother watched, five months pregnant with Mamo at the time. Back in those days, the early 1900s, women with children *Mamo's mother had three girls* didn't have many options. She married a sloth of a man and proceeded to have nine more children they couldn't provide for, much less for Mamo and her sisters, and my grandmother ended up, as a child of about 10, being farmed off to other families to work for them. She was lucky that most of the families consisted of good people who took good care of her and didn't make her work too hard...but still. What must it be like to be pushed out and away from your mother and siblings at that age? It couldn't have helped with her sense of security. So she married my grandfather, a truly good man with good intentions who came from a family of "privilege." My grandmother smelled that all-important security and made her choice. But like all things, life is a give-and-take proposition. She opted for a secure lifestyle where she wouldn't have to worry, anymore, about being displaced, but she gave up some things, too. She gave up the possibilty of finding that "love of her life." She gave up the opportunity to find a career that would fulfill her, give her that "ah-ha" moment where she could say, "THIS is what it's all about." She never had those things. That, more than anything else, is what made her tired. In learning more about my grandmother-especially when my aunt gave me journal excerpts from her younger self-I grew to love, admire, and feel such empathy for her. In remembering those early years with Mamo, I start to feel those "ah-ha" moments of my own about myself...like why I'm partial to those quiet times at night with dim lighting...she was even a night owl, rising often during the night to putter around and "get things done" while she listened to her talk radio- For me, this journey into understanding Mamo gave me evidence that we really don't know what goes on in a person's mind and heart-we don't know why they act the way they do or make the choices they do until we've walked a mile in their shoes. Mamo wasn't ever a "lovely lady" like the one in the hotel last night, but she had her moments: In her later years she did loosen herself up enough to eat ice cream by the PINT and enjoy the occasional cheeseburger. She actually started to smile and look less tense all the time; she was pleasant, well-read, and actually showcased a pretty quick wit! This was the "Mamo" my kids knew and loved. I'm glad I, too, had the chance to know this gentler side of my grandmother, this more pleasant, less forbidding side. Of course she was still Mamo and she still wore those polyster pants ONLY to clean the house! |
| I need to do more internet surfing. Then I'd have a topic to expound on or a link to provide. As it is I'm pretty dry for ideas. I do have some rolling around in my head, but unfortunately I'm really really tired and I don't feel capable of doing one of those interesting subjects the justice it would deserve. So what to do with a blog entry I must write to get to the end of that ever so blue month? This will be the first "month of blue" for me EVER. Yup, it's true. For the first couple of years I was diligent about writing entries but I never did qualify for the sea of royal blue shaping up on my calender to the left. I'd get a little annoyed that I couldn't seem to make it happen but I'd shrug and not worry about it too much. It would be nice but it's certainly not the most important thing in the world, right? And it's not. But it feels good to commit myself to something and see it through. I have a tendency to often start out on a project with fire and passion, only to talk myself out of that passion as time goes on, allowing it to dwindle away into an apathy of stagnation...yup, I've been known to do that. More than once. So here's my list of five reasons why it's really important for me to complete this "blue month" endeavor set out before me by that adorable Thomas *you really didn't think I'd get through a whole blog entry without mentiong him, did you?!* 1. I need to be successful in finishing what I start. 2. I need to get myself back into a "writing mode" after being out of it for too long. 3. I want to get my brain moving again. It's been easy to sit around and think about nothing but work and rest and how the girls are driving me crazy today and the dishes that need to be done and the laundry piling up...you get the picture. I needed to break out of the rut. Blogging every day has been helpful with that. 4. It's helped me remember to read and comment in the blogs of people I love here in Blogville. I've also received comments from people I never have before, so it's expanding my Blogville connections...in general, I'm back in Blogville, baby! 5. It's been really important to me to finish what Tom challenged me to do. I didn't and don't like the thought of disappointing him; of course he'd never tell me I did or even maybe feel that way at all, but still...he put this challenge before me and I wanted to honor it. I'm on the home stretch so it looks good. All good reasons for this, my first blue month ever in all my four years of blogging. And the calender is looking so pretty, too! |
| You're in my heart, you're in my soul You'll be my breath should I grow old You are my lover, you're my best friend You're in my soul- My love for you is immeasurable My respect for you immense... You're a rhapsody, a comedy You're a symphony and a play You're every love song ever written- I took Rod Stewart's song "You're In My Heart" and butchered it I made it say what I want it to say to you-know-who...yeah, Thomas Tonight I sit for my last evening at the hotel where I've been working for eight months. When my shift here ends I'm headed over to the other hotel for another 8 hours-yup, I'm working 16 tonight. *shrug* I've done it before...last Thursday, in fact! And it's not like working the front desk at a hotel is anything compared to being on your feet as a nurse's aide *which I've done* or any of the other more labor-intensive jobs that happen at night. Still, I'll be pretty tired by morning, I'm sure. Tom, when he found out about my crazy schedule for this week-just this one-was concerned. He told me to let him know what he could do to make things easier for me, not to hesitate to tell him if I needed something from him to make the week and the nights a little easier. Just an hour ago he brought me a foot long subway sandwich *notice I didn't "sing" the song, Nada * my favorite kind done my favorite way, so that I could eat part of it here and part of it there, at the other hotel. What a neat guy--I didn't even ask him to do that *charmed* He's always doing things like that for me...I hope I do the same for him. I try to make his life work a little more smoothly. I pack his lunch because he has a hard time getting going in the morning in time to make it. I like doing it because I feel like I can infuse a little of my love into his workday...it might be corny but it's how I feel about this fabulous man My favorite time of day is when we're sitting together and talking, joking, laughing...it can be about anything and everything. I just like being AROUND him, even! I was thinking about that while I ate part of my sandwich a little bit ago. I've never felt like that with anyone else, how I really WANT to spend my time with him and talk to him and find out how his day went...I don't cringe to have to talk to him...quite the opposite! I crave talking to him- You're in my heart, you're in my soul You'll be my breath should I grow old You are my lover, you're my best friend You're in my soul. Yeah, I know it's a pretty mushy entry and I never thought in a trillion years, almost a year ago, that I'd be one who wrote like this about a soulmate. I didn't think I had one. I was wrong. |
| A list of things I can do while I'm working at night: 1. Keep up with my correspondence *e-mail and comment in blogs* 2. Write blogs and other stuff *no more excuses for why I can't write fiction and edit the fiction I do have so I can send it off!* 3. Find places where Tom and I can send our writing *and actually SEND to sites that accept e-mail submissions* 4. Work on projects I've before pushed to the side or even away, some I'd really like to be a part of *the Southestern Minnesota Poets are doing Minnesota Authors bookmarks to give out at the National Poets' Convention. It was even my idea but I haven't done a darn thing for it, not even return e-mails to other SEMP members. It would be so nice to have the time and energy for something like this* 5. Oh yeah, WORK! Working "night audit" at a hotel is not exactly simple, but it is different. There are still check-ins and check-outs, often of the more, um, colorful variety than one comes across in the day...there is also usually the responsibility of moving the computer system of the hotel from one day to the next-rolling it over. In doing that we night hotel people are responsible for submitting your credit card payments to the various companies with the click of a button, we are responsible for making sure all moneys taken in during the day are accounted for and totaled-hence the term *night audit." You know someone is familiar with hotel work when you tell him/her you work nights and he/she says, "Oh, you work night audit?" Now YOU can use the term and everyone will think you're "in the know." It is a responsibility I don't take lightly. If I click "enter" more than once during the credit card submissions, you'll get charged twice for one stay. If I don't roll the day over correctly and follow all the steps necessary to get there, the next day's arrivals and departures could very well be a mess. If I don't bundle paperwork correctly for the night audit packet every night it can be a headache for the manager of said hotel. I'll also clean the lobby and breakfast areas while everyone else is sleeping. I'll stock vending machines and get breakfast ready so that by around 5am when people start rising for the day to get into their busy days, they'll be able to grab a fresh hot cup of coffee and a bagel just as fresh. They could take a muffin or pour some cereal too if that's more to their taste. Some people in the industry like to scoff at night audit because there is downtime involved in the job. But that follows what we do to make tomorrow run the way it should. |
| With the "WDC Birthday" I had a couple of days ago, I started thinking back to who I was then as opposed to who I am now...we all change with the times, it's a human conidition-we change up or down, sideways or in a spiral-but there is definately change; we all experience it. Those of us who blog or write in journals and keep them...we have the ability to journey back through time and pages to rediscover who we once were, and perhaps get a handle on how we came to be who we are NOW. I did that. I scrolled back to the beginning of this blog and remembered. It's weird to me that some entries were #23 or 47 or 52--it doesn't feel like it should have been so long ago. I'm glad I never gave into the tempation to drop this blog and open up another one. Sometimes I thought about it, a lot of people do it before their blogs get full...but I decided not to because of the very title I chose for this here tome: The Blog Of A Lifetime. That means everything, no matter what it is or where it leads me. It's my life, plain and simple. I've recorded my life by recording my thoughts in reference to the life I'm living...looking back is interesting, unsettling, sometimes cringe-worthy, but always eye-opening. I mentioned Thomas in my third entry Back then he called himself "Lord Corwin." If you haven't scrolled back or visited an old blog or journal, I suggest that you take some time and do it. The memories come flooding back, sometimes good and sometimes not so good, but they all mean something. Our life journeys and where we've been are directly responsible for where we're going. I decided to share one little blog entry from "way back when." It's one of those questionnaires we had going around Blogville for awhile-don't worry, this one was pretty short. It was sent to me by a former member of the site, Terryjroo. Speaking of her, I hope she's okay. She was a bipolar woman with a bipolar son, struggling to make her way...if you know her and have been in contact with her, I'd like to know that she's doing okay...but here it is from 11/12/05: Apples: They're okay, not as good for you as some like to think. Beethoven: I prefer Mozart. He was more tortured. Cathartic: Quiet. I think. Dogs: I have one that was shoved upon me. I love him but he's too needy; I'm more of a cat person. Energy: What I wish I had. Fish: Tastes better every year and it's good for me. Grateful: For the little things that make life worth living. Hello: Again Ice cream: Is not good for me; it makes my stomach hurt. Jack-o-lanterns: Are nice once a year. Kitchen: Blech! I like to cook but I spend too much time in this room. Love: Is really complex and yet simple at the same time. Munchies: Are the ENEMY! Never: Will I say NEVER. Open: Ended People: Are complex and yet simple at the same time. Quiet: Is my dream. Sunshine: Feels good on the face. Truth: Is relative. Undo: A really nice computer tool. Voice: I have a nice one, I've been on the radio! Weather: It's too damn WARM!! X-rays: Are a pain to get. You: Are here. Zoo: My house. I think I'd answer most of these the same. |
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