Each and every time I go to the hair dresser, she lies to me. I ask her if she can see the gray hairs that have started to sneak thru the mirage of colors that she had painted my hair last time. I can see them plain as day in my mirror. But my hair dresser is consistant, each and everytime I ask, in telling me "There aren't anymore then there were last time. Those are just strays. Everyone has strays."
Ah, but the ones that we saw at my last appointment were highlighted, dyed and hidden - not to be seen again until the roots extend themselves far enough that the gray stands out against the bleach blond highlights.
I know she is lying but I appreciate it just the same. At 28 years old, I am still happy to be collecting only strays.
It's something that I have been doing my entire life. Not gray hairs, that's something that is new to me. But I have been perfecting the collection of strays long enough that I know to appreciate the uniqueness that a stray can bring into one's life.
Growing up, they came to my life and became pets. Living on a farm, there were always animals around- animals that were born to the farm and rightly belonged to my family. However there were always cats and dogs that found their way onto our farm. They came, searching for food and looking for shelter. Their despiration attracted me to them. I wanted to help make them better, to give them a home. I wanted to take them in. I often did, although it wasn't hard since all could find refuge in a barn.
My own two dogs now are strays of sorts. One was adopted from the humane society, one was given to us free of charge because she was a puppy that wasn't wanted. In a similar fashion, they needed a home and I had the ability to provide. I recognize that I have given shelter to these two animals and that I am an important person in their existance. I also recognize that they have given me just as much laughter and happiness in return.
Yesterday I sat on a rooftop patio, surrounded by girlfriends as we celebrated the future marriage of one. As the sun and beer warmed our spirits, we laughed with each other and I realized that here was a group of women who also could be considered strays.
Only one in the group grew up in Fort Collins. None of us (except for Amanda and I) knew each other longer than 2 and half years. We all came from different parts of the country, have different experiences, have different careers, and came here to Fort Collins for different reasons. I have no doubt that each and everyone of us at one point or another in our relocation to Fort Collins felt lonely and out of place, that we were missing and out of place without the secure harbors of our friends left behind.
It can be difficult to forge new friendships outside of high school and college, the time period when you are trained to be open to networking and establish relationships. I think this is especially true for women because we are often judgemental before we are accepting. We look for faults before we find merrit. We are often petty and superficial before we allow ourselves to be seen as the women who we are, deep down inside. We force these walls up before we allow ourselves to be seen as vulnerable and in need.
With any stray, sometimes you have to show a little good faith and be the one to extend a hand, exposing yourself, before progress towards breaking down a wall can be made. With gray hairs, its allowing the hair to grow and to see if in fact, a gray that will procriate into a temple devoid of melanin rich strands. For stray animals, its setting out food and staying in close proximity, showing that you can be trusted when it is most vulnerable- focused on much needed nurishment with its head exposed.
With these women, I believe that our friendships were formed because each of us allowed ourselves to be exposed and vulnerable early on. We did this by being honest about the fact that we needed each other. It's a vulnerability that I have never allowed to be seen by others, but I am so glad that I did because each of these women has helped make my time here in Fort Collins worth while. I'm sure that they feel the same way.
Like I said earlier, I've become accustomed to collecting strays, and have begun to appreciate what each and every one brings into my life. I couldn't imagine my life without them.
Other than the gray hairs....
Monday, May 23, 2011
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
A Thank You that Made Me Cry
This past year, I have become deeply passionate about homeless issues in my community.
The spark that lit the flame came at a United Way Director's meeting that I went to as a representative for CSRC when my executive director was out on maternity leave. The CEO of the the Larimer County United Way began the meeting by speaking about how strong the Fort Collins and surrounding communities are in the way that our people and businesses seek to help each other. That once a problem is identified, that we seek to resolve it. But that the one issue that we struggle to make headway with is the number of families and people who are considered chronically homeless. He went on to say that he knows that many people think that being homeless is a choice, or the result of an addiction, and that we do not need to spend significant resources helping these people when they "choose" to not help themselves. He finished with the simple statement of "I can't believe that any person would choose to eat out of a garbage can, would choose to shiver in the night when winter comes, and choose not to have a better life - if they felt they had the choice. We use our resources to help them see that they do have a choice, and when they realize that there are ways to better their situation, they are empowered to make a different choice."
In January, an email was sent out through the United Way asking for help staffing an emergency shelter that was being setup at a local church. The local (permanent) shelter was filling up and people were being turned away to sleep on the streets in the varying temperatures of the Colorado winter. This emergency shelter would be open from 10 p.m. to 7 a.m. every night between January and March. They needed volunteers who would be willing to help set up between 9:45 p.m. - 11:00 p.m. and clean up between 6:30 a.m. - 8 a.m.
I did not hesitate in volunteering my time. What was I doing between 9:45 and 11 p.m. any night? Sleeping, watching TV, blogging, facebooking? These are all things that could be pushed aside. I could still go out to dinner with friends. I could still walk my dogs. I could still enjoy Modern Family or 30 Rock. It was an hour and a half of my time each week that I could give that could help. And I'm so glad that I've done it.
It hasn't been hard work. Roll out some tarps to take care of the floor. Set out mats and cots. Make sure people check in and give us demographic information (age, sex, race, etc). I like being the person at the door that greets everyone when they come in - which also makes me the person who runs the breathalyzer. I have not had a single person who has blown higher than a .00. The 30, 40, even 50 men who have come seeking shelter are not drunks. Sadly, many are veterans and many are mentally ill who do not have family who have been able to help them stay on their feet or give them shelter. Many of them do have jobs. They are just low income and can't afford the rising costs of apartments and houses that Fort Collins has seen in the past two decades. This is really troubling to me.
I've made it my rule to arrive at least 15/20 minutes early and wait outside with those who have gathered before the doors are opened. I like to do this because I get to know those who are staying a little bit better. I hear stories, I share jokes. There have been times that it was very cold, so cold one night that one man asked me why I didn't go back and sit in my car until the volunteer coordinator came. I told him that if he didn't have a car to wait it out in, then I could wait it out too. He smiled at me and told me that it was admirable, but if he had a car to wait it out in, he would.
If he had a choice....
This past weekend I went to Minneapolis for my new job. We opened up our restaurant in downtown Minneapolis and gave a free holiday meal to low income and homeless families in a nice, sit down environment. White table cloth, wrapped silverware, the works. We gave around 250 people- many who were families with children- a memory of a traditional holiday gathering rather than having the memory of having to spend Easter in a shelter.
At this event, I had a section of tables that I was the lead waitress. I've been waitressing for many years, so I was able to go on auto-pilot a bit and step right back into the swing of things. I was pulled aside by a single mother right before she was leaving the restaurant.
"You told me 'Thank you for coming and visiting us today" she told me. "At the shelter, no one says that. I always feel like the people who are there [at the shelter] are there because we need them to be. This is the first time that my kids have eaten in a restaurant and I know they were misbehaving. But you still told me thank you for coming and visiting, and I felt like I was important."
I reached out and rubbed her shoulder. Her kids were tugging on her shirt and the bus that was taking them back to the shelter had come, so she needed to go. All I had time to say was "I would say that to any table I served. And you are important." She nodded with a big smile and left before I blinked out a few tears.
I don't know what the answer is to fix these problems. I know that I am not rich so I don't have the ability to give a substantial amount of money to help fund these causes, but I can give my time. I know that everyone deserves to feel important, because your self worth is what carries you during hard times.
I don't know what the answer is to fix these problems. But I know I can do the best I can to help. And I can speak out and be a voice for this issue.
I'm making that my choice.
The spark that lit the flame came at a United Way Director's meeting that I went to as a representative for CSRC when my executive director was out on maternity leave. The CEO of the the Larimer County United Way began the meeting by speaking about how strong the Fort Collins and surrounding communities are in the way that our people and businesses seek to help each other. That once a problem is identified, that we seek to resolve it. But that the one issue that we struggle to make headway with is the number of families and people who are considered chronically homeless. He went on to say that he knows that many people think that being homeless is a choice, or the result of an addiction, and that we do not need to spend significant resources helping these people when they "choose" to not help themselves. He finished with the simple statement of "I can't believe that any person would choose to eat out of a garbage can, would choose to shiver in the night when winter comes, and choose not to have a better life - if they felt they had the choice. We use our resources to help them see that they do have a choice, and when they realize that there are ways to better their situation, they are empowered to make a different choice."
In January, an email was sent out through the United Way asking for help staffing an emergency shelter that was being setup at a local church. The local (permanent) shelter was filling up and people were being turned away to sleep on the streets in the varying temperatures of the Colorado winter. This emergency shelter would be open from 10 p.m. to 7 a.m. every night between January and March. They needed volunteers who would be willing to help set up between 9:45 p.m. - 11:00 p.m. and clean up between 6:30 a.m. - 8 a.m.
I did not hesitate in volunteering my time. What was I doing between 9:45 and 11 p.m. any night? Sleeping, watching TV, blogging, facebooking? These are all things that could be pushed aside. I could still go out to dinner with friends. I could still walk my dogs. I could still enjoy Modern Family or 30 Rock. It was an hour and a half of my time each week that I could give that could help. And I'm so glad that I've done it.
It hasn't been hard work. Roll out some tarps to take care of the floor. Set out mats and cots. Make sure people check in and give us demographic information (age, sex, race, etc). I like being the person at the door that greets everyone when they come in - which also makes me the person who runs the breathalyzer. I have not had a single person who has blown higher than a .00. The 30, 40, even 50 men who have come seeking shelter are not drunks. Sadly, many are veterans and many are mentally ill who do not have family who have been able to help them stay on their feet or give them shelter. Many of them do have jobs. They are just low income and can't afford the rising costs of apartments and houses that Fort Collins has seen in the past two decades. This is really troubling to me.
I've made it my rule to arrive at least 15/20 minutes early and wait outside with those who have gathered before the doors are opened. I like to do this because I get to know those who are staying a little bit better. I hear stories, I share jokes. There have been times that it was very cold, so cold one night that one man asked me why I didn't go back and sit in my car until the volunteer coordinator came. I told him that if he didn't have a car to wait it out in, then I could wait it out too. He smiled at me and told me that it was admirable, but if he had a car to wait it out in, he would.
If he had a choice....
This past weekend I went to Minneapolis for my new job. We opened up our restaurant in downtown Minneapolis and gave a free holiday meal to low income and homeless families in a nice, sit down environment. White table cloth, wrapped silverware, the works. We gave around 250 people- many who were families with children- a memory of a traditional holiday gathering rather than having the memory of having to spend Easter in a shelter.
At this event, I had a section of tables that I was the lead waitress. I've been waitressing for many years, so I was able to go on auto-pilot a bit and step right back into the swing of things. I was pulled aside by a single mother right before she was leaving the restaurant.
"You told me 'Thank you for coming and visiting us today" she told me. "At the shelter, no one says that. I always feel like the people who are there [at the shelter] are there because we need them to be. This is the first time that my kids have eaten in a restaurant and I know they were misbehaving. But you still told me thank you for coming and visiting, and I felt like I was important."
I reached out and rubbed her shoulder. Her kids were tugging on her shirt and the bus that was taking them back to the shelter had come, so she needed to go. All I had time to say was "I would say that to any table I served. And you are important." She nodded with a big smile and left before I blinked out a few tears.
I don't know what the answer is to fix these problems. I know that I am not rich so I don't have the ability to give a substantial amount of money to help fund these causes, but I can give my time. I know that everyone deserves to feel important, because your self worth is what carries you during hard times.
I don't know what the answer is to fix these problems. But I know I can do the best I can to help. And I can speak out and be a voice for this issue.
I'm making that my choice.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Dancing in the Streets
Fort Collins has what I consider a highly unusually phenomenon that happens on a daily basis. I know that each and every one of you has seen sidewalk sign holders here and there in large cities, or at the very least has seen Justin Timberlake's take on sidewalk advertising with his hilarious skits on Saturday Night Live- Omletteville, Soup (There it is), and Plasticville. If not....
Bring it on in to Ometteville...
Our city of 150,000 seems to LOVE this type of advertising. On an average day, on an average drive, I will see at least 5 sidewalk/road corner sign holders. I only drive 5 miles to work folks. That's one per mile!
And they don't just stand there. Much like Justin, they DANCE! Every once in a while you will see someone who is just twirling their sign, looking very bored, smoking a cigarette. More often then not, the hiring manager has struck gold with a person who has no qualms about strutting their stuff, with the sign serving as a favorite dance partner in a very public disco arenea. While waiting at stop lights I have witnessed renditions of Michael Jackson's "Thriller", Moon Walk, and "Beat It" Fight Scene. I've seen Beyonce's "All the Single Ladies". I've witnessed Saturday Night Fever. More than once, I've been so transfixed by watching these signers groove that I completely forgot where I was at until the honking commenced to let me know that the signal had turned green.
While I find some of the most energetic signers mildly entertaining, my dog, Layla, HATES them. More specifically, she hates the Liberty Tax signer that has been placed only a half a mile away from our place. Since January. Every time we drive by and she's in the car, the hair on the back of her neck will bristle 5 seconds before she snarls and starts barking out the window. This has happened everytime we've driven by. Since January. It was bad enough that we began distracting her and making sure that her window was raised when passing the Liberty Tax signer corner (which is on the main road we use to get anywhere so avoiding the corner entirely wasn't usually an option).
I'm not quite sure why she finds these guys threatning....
Ok- maybe I do.
Or maybe its just that Layla doesn't like taxes. Or freedom. Regardless, you can imagine the relief I had when driving by the corner of Drake and Shields to find the Liberty Tax signer dancing in the streets on Sunday, exuberantly waving a sign that read "The End is Near!"
While these foam statues disappear for 9 months, I will be on the lookout for new and exciting acts on my new route to my new job. I'm guessing that we've got the cream of the crop of signers here in Fort Collins. Not quite as proud of that fact as we are of our breweries, but it's definately something worth mentioning.
Bring it on in to Ometteville...
Our city of 150,000 seems to LOVE this type of advertising. On an average day, on an average drive, I will see at least 5 sidewalk/road corner sign holders. I only drive 5 miles to work folks. That's one per mile!
And they don't just stand there. Much like Justin, they DANCE! Every once in a while you will see someone who is just twirling their sign, looking very bored, smoking a cigarette. More often then not, the hiring manager has struck gold with a person who has no qualms about strutting their stuff, with the sign serving as a favorite dance partner in a very public disco arenea. While waiting at stop lights I have witnessed renditions of Michael Jackson's "Thriller", Moon Walk, and "Beat It" Fight Scene. I've seen Beyonce's "All the Single Ladies". I've witnessed Saturday Night Fever. More than once, I've been so transfixed by watching these signers groove that I completely forgot where I was at until the honking commenced to let me know that the signal had turned green.
While I find some of the most energetic signers mildly entertaining, my dog, Layla, HATES them. More specifically, she hates the Liberty Tax signer that has been placed only a half a mile away from our place. Since January. Every time we drive by and she's in the car, the hair on the back of her neck will bristle 5 seconds before she snarls and starts barking out the window. This has happened everytime we've driven by. Since January. It was bad enough that we began distracting her and making sure that her window was raised when passing the Liberty Tax signer corner (which is on the main road we use to get anywhere so avoiding the corner entirely wasn't usually an option).
I'm not quite sure why she finds these guys threatning....
Ok- maybe I do.
Or maybe its just that Layla doesn't like taxes. Or freedom. Regardless, you can imagine the relief I had when driving by the corner of Drake and Shields to find the Liberty Tax signer dancing in the streets on Sunday, exuberantly waving a sign that read "The End is Near!"
While these foam statues disappear for 9 months, I will be on the lookout for new and exciting acts on my new route to my new job. I'm guessing that we've got the cream of the crop of signers here in Fort Collins. Not quite as proud of that fact as we are of our breweries, but it's definately something worth mentioning.
Monday, April 11, 2011
Afraid of the Breakup
By the time that I post this to my blog, I will be happy to announce that I have accepted the National Events Manager position for the CraftWorks Foundation. However, I am writing this now on the eve of going to work and having to carry out the task of putting my notice in at a job that I have loved 99.5% of the time.
I wasn't looking for a new job. However, the National Events Manager position fell into my lap and was such an amazing match for my diverse background of hospitality, event planning, and non profit experiences. Even better- I had a good friend with enough clout in the company that was more than willing speak on my behalf to the Director of Recruitment.
I struggled when considering if I really wanted to apply for the job. As I said, I was happy with my job at CSRC and the idea of leaving the clinic when I had ideas to still implement and tackle seemed preposterous. In the end, I came to realize that I had been praying to God for an opportunity like this last summer when I was unemployed. I found myself a bit humbled by my selfish thoughts, understanding that I couldn't pass this opportunity up just because it hadn't been delivered in my desired time frame. My prayer had not been forgotten, just delayed (as it feels to me right now) and unexpectedly answered. If ignored, I would be unappreciative of something that I had asked for. I decided to throw my name into the mix just to see.
I wasn't surprised when I got a phone interview. I was surprised at myself in that I did so well in the phone interview. I had terrible problems with phone interviews last summer so part of me had an expectation that this interview would be the same. Before the interview, I took pride in knowing I had gotten myself this far and was relaxed with the notion that my ride would end once I pushed the square black button on my phone to end the call. Nothing was lost as I still had a great job to go back to.
But by the end of this phone interview, the Director of Recruitment was asking for an in-person interview and giving nuggets of self esteem boosters that made me aware that I was a, if not the, top candidate that they were looking at. Nuggets like that I was the only person out of 200 qualified applicant resumes that had restaurant, event planning, and non-profit experience (the trifecta of the position's skills). That her only worry about me was my potential commute (45 minutes from Fort Collins to Louisville where the position is based). That she thought that even with this initial, short interview that I had a great understanding of what the position would ask of me and that made her feel like it was a great fit.
Part of me was elated, the other part began to worry itself. I met my husband and a friend at the bar afterwards for a happy hour and shared the good news of the offer of a second interview. Kendall looked at me and asked, "You're excited about this right?" I hesitated too long. "Katy- you have to be excited about this." he repeated.
Over the next beer, I rambled on about how I didn't know if I was ready to leave CSRC. When I stopped talking between sips, our friend Carson nodded. "I get it," he told me. "You know this new job is the right thing to do. You're just afraid of the break up."
Ding, ding, ding. Carson gets the prize for nailing it right on the head.
Before I went to my in-person interview, I did tell my executive director. I felt like it was the right thing to do, so that she would have a bit of a heads up. I still very nervous about telling her. I had been fired a year ago for approaching my GM about applying for a different position in the same company. Her take on my request for permission and the words that I used when asking for her permission was that I didn't appreciate my current position and she could find someone who did. To say that I had been burned by trying to do the right, polite thing is an understatement- I felt torched and left for dead.
Elise was not Trish. When I told her about the position and opportunity to interview, she told me that she completely understood and that they would be stupid not to hire me. We talked for 20 minutes about it and she said everything that I would have expected a supportive friend to say, not a boss. The day of the interview, she wished me luck before I left. The day after the interview, she asked me how it went. As the days carried on and I didn't hear back, she let me be and we continued working. She didn't let anything change, didn't take offense, still was appreciative.
I thought that I hadn't got the job. I was convinced that I didn't get the job. But I did. I got my offer last Friday. And, although part of me would have loved it if there was something glaringly wrong with the offer so that I had to tell them no, there isn't. It's too good of a job to pass on and so I will begin a new journey in a few short weeks.
I am excited, I really am. I feel like this is my chance to break out, to do something bigger than what I've done with the past six years of my life post college. I will be organizing community outreach programs that focus on hunger and homeless issues, fundraisers, and holiday events. It's so rare to find a corporate job that has a nonprofit focus. I landed what feels like the PERFECT job for me. More about the foundation below:
CraftWorks Foundation Website
I don't think I would have gotten the job if I hadn't had Elise's blessing and support. She gave me the strength and confidence that I had lacked in interviews last summer. It's because of her leadership and guidance that I feel confident and ready for this position, and why leaving such a great work environment is so hard.
I'm finding myself reminding myself, it's not personal- it's just business. Even if it feels like it is personal. Even if it feels like a break up.
So tonight, even as I am repeating the above mantra over and over, my heart is heavy. It is the night before a break up. It sucks just as much as it did in high school, knowing that I am having to give reassurances that even though it didn't work out between us, I plan on us still remaining friends. That I want to stay involved with the organization and that has to happen, we have to make that happen, because CSRC has meant too much to me the past 9 months to just walk away.
I just hope it doesn't sound fake or rehearsed this time around, because this time I really do mean it.
I wasn't looking for a new job. However, the National Events Manager position fell into my lap and was such an amazing match for my diverse background of hospitality, event planning, and non profit experiences. Even better- I had a good friend with enough clout in the company that was more than willing speak on my behalf to the Director of Recruitment.
I struggled when considering if I really wanted to apply for the job. As I said, I was happy with my job at CSRC and the idea of leaving the clinic when I had ideas to still implement and tackle seemed preposterous. In the end, I came to realize that I had been praying to God for an opportunity like this last summer when I was unemployed. I found myself a bit humbled by my selfish thoughts, understanding that I couldn't pass this opportunity up just because it hadn't been delivered in my desired time frame. My prayer had not been forgotten, just delayed (as it feels to me right now) and unexpectedly answered. If ignored, I would be unappreciative of something that I had asked for. I decided to throw my name into the mix just to see.
I wasn't surprised when I got a phone interview. I was surprised at myself in that I did so well in the phone interview. I had terrible problems with phone interviews last summer so part of me had an expectation that this interview would be the same. Before the interview, I took pride in knowing I had gotten myself this far and was relaxed with the notion that my ride would end once I pushed the square black button on my phone to end the call. Nothing was lost as I still had a great job to go back to.
But by the end of this phone interview, the Director of Recruitment was asking for an in-person interview and giving nuggets of self esteem boosters that made me aware that I was a, if not the, top candidate that they were looking at. Nuggets like that I was the only person out of 200 qualified applicant resumes that had restaurant, event planning, and non-profit experience (the trifecta of the position's skills). That her only worry about me was my potential commute (45 minutes from Fort Collins to Louisville where the position is based). That she thought that even with this initial, short interview that I had a great understanding of what the position would ask of me and that made her feel like it was a great fit.
Part of me was elated, the other part began to worry itself. I met my husband and a friend at the bar afterwards for a happy hour and shared the good news of the offer of a second interview. Kendall looked at me and asked, "You're excited about this right?" I hesitated too long. "Katy- you have to be excited about this." he repeated.
Over the next beer, I rambled on about how I didn't know if I was ready to leave CSRC. When I stopped talking between sips, our friend Carson nodded. "I get it," he told me. "You know this new job is the right thing to do. You're just afraid of the break up."
Ding, ding, ding. Carson gets the prize for nailing it right on the head.
Before I went to my in-person interview, I did tell my executive director. I felt like it was the right thing to do, so that she would have a bit of a heads up. I still very nervous about telling her. I had been fired a year ago for approaching my GM about applying for a different position in the same company. Her take on my request for permission and the words that I used when asking for her permission was that I didn't appreciate my current position and she could find someone who did. To say that I had been burned by trying to do the right, polite thing is an understatement- I felt torched and left for dead.
Elise was not Trish. When I told her about the position and opportunity to interview, she told me that she completely understood and that they would be stupid not to hire me. We talked for 20 minutes about it and she said everything that I would have expected a supportive friend to say, not a boss. The day of the interview, she wished me luck before I left. The day after the interview, she asked me how it went. As the days carried on and I didn't hear back, she let me be and we continued working. She didn't let anything change, didn't take offense, still was appreciative.
I thought that I hadn't got the job. I was convinced that I didn't get the job. But I did. I got my offer last Friday. And, although part of me would have loved it if there was something glaringly wrong with the offer so that I had to tell them no, there isn't. It's too good of a job to pass on and so I will begin a new journey in a few short weeks.
I am excited, I really am. I feel like this is my chance to break out, to do something bigger than what I've done with the past six years of my life post college. I will be organizing community outreach programs that focus on hunger and homeless issues, fundraisers, and holiday events. It's so rare to find a corporate job that has a nonprofit focus. I landed what feels like the PERFECT job for me. More about the foundation below:
CraftWorks Foundation Website
I don't think I would have gotten the job if I hadn't had Elise's blessing and support. She gave me the strength and confidence that I had lacked in interviews last summer. It's because of her leadership and guidance that I feel confident and ready for this position, and why leaving such a great work environment is so hard.
I'm finding myself reminding myself, it's not personal- it's just business. Even if it feels like it is personal. Even if it feels like a break up.
So tonight, even as I am repeating the above mantra over and over, my heart is heavy. It is the night before a break up. It sucks just as much as it did in high school, knowing that I am having to give reassurances that even though it didn't work out between us, I plan on us still remaining friends. That I want to stay involved with the organization and that has to happen, we have to make that happen, because CSRC has meant too much to me the past 9 months to just walk away.
I just hope it doesn't sound fake or rehearsed this time around, because this time I really do mean it.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Puppies trump Babies
Snuggling with Ruger last night while keeping him warm in my coat as our neighborhood gathered for an impromptu celebration of That Day (the unofficial first day of spring) reminded me of when my own two dogs were puppies.
This was Penny Lane at 10 weeks.
And Layla, at 8 weeks, the day that we picked her up from the Humane Society.
It's hard for me to believe that these pictures were taken 2 and 5 years ago. The time between sweet little puppy kisses and now has flown by. I treasure those memories and am grateful that I was able to raise my pets from this point of their lives on.
Yes- I am a dog person. I am definitely a puppy person. The sight of a puppy will start me walking towards a stranger, asking "Can I pet your puppy?" I need a puppy fix, like so many of my friends are now needing a baby fix, to satisfy maternal instincts.
I have never needed a baby fix. In fact, babies send me running in the opposite direction completely. I've shared this with some of my girlfriends who are now mothers, only to receive strange, sympathetic looks. Looks that seem to echo "Is it possible to be a woman and NOT love babies?!"
Yes. If you could just give me a 3 year old kid, I would probably be more likely to add my name to the "kids-yes" list sooner rather than later. But you can't just get a 3 year old, not if you want your own 3 year old. You have to have a baby to get to that 3 year old.
Here's the deal. I know plenty of women that are scared of childbirth and that's what's holding them back. Yes- I admit that childbirth does not sound appealing to me, but I also understand that's what pain medications are for. What terrifies me is that I've never really been around a lot of babies. I don't know what to do with them. Babies scare me. I don't want to do something wrong- hold them wrong, not talk to them enough, not change their diaper in time, and have it mess up the rest of their life.
At work, I see a lot of disabled children who have moderate to severe disabilities. Most have disabilities that are developmental and even genetic, and I understand that as a parent those disabilities are something that you can't control because that's part of life. But more than a few children have disabilities because their parents let something happen, haven't worked with the child enough, didn't make a child's problem a priority and it has escalated to the point of needing extra therapy, or the parents simply don't know how/care to fix the issue on their own. That's scary to me. I would not be that type of parent (so I would hope) but it makes me very aware that there's so much more to teaching a baby than sit, stay, off, down, heel, and check in.
I have been around a lot of puppies and dogs. I feel very confident in my ability to train a dog. I know how to simplify commands and demand attention. I know how to establish myself as the "Alpha". Layla will fetch beer out of the fridge, she will hold a treat in her mouth without eating it for 5 minutes- I have that dog under my thumb. Yet, I still struggled with training Penny as she is much more strong willed and stubborn than many of the dogs that I've helped raised. She is 2 years old and she is still learning, slowly but surely, and still finds ways to test my patience. But if Penny's bad, I can leave her in her crate during the day. That's acceptable, even recommended, for a dog who gets into things and misbehaves.
I've come to appreciate that puppies grow so quickly. With most puppies (Penny not included), you only have to expect one year of hard core parenting before the puppy is mature enough to apply the lessons that you have been diligently teaching. With children, it's a mandatory 18 years by law. By law- not what you morally feel obligated to give because they are your own flesh and blood and you love them and whatnot.
When I come home, both Penny and Layla are waiting by the door with tails wagging. I know that they are telling me that seeing me right then is the best part of their day. They aren't complaining about how much school sucked or that I need to give them a ride or that they need $5. I am not sure that I ever told my parents that they were the best part of my day when I was a child. It's just not something that occurs to children to say. Yet that single acknowledgement from my pets at the end of my work day is often the best part of my day too.
Now I'm not going to say that we will never have children. I'm sure that some day we will try to have a family and I'm sure at that time, I will hope that we will be successful. But that day is very far away. Right now, I am completely satisfied with the bi-species family that we have formed.
Kendall, Penny, Layla and I hiking Arthur's Rock, March 2010.
Layla trying on my wig for Tour de Fat.
Sometimes you pay a price for being the favorite child.
Friday, April 1, 2011
The Year after The Ugly Cry
One year ago tomorrow, my world felt like it was collapsing upon itself. I was fired. I was fired on the morning that my mother-in-law was having surgery. To remove a cancerous tumor on her kidney, a continuation of her fight against lung cancer. My husband was with her in Omaha
That, my friends, was a terrible day.
It's funny for me to think about now how I cried over losing my job. Today, I am glad I was alone in those moments because I know it wasn't pretty. It was what I often refer to as "the ugly cry." Even as I bawled, I tried to hold it in so much that the next day, the muscles in my throat hurt from clenching my jaw, trying to stop the hyperventilating. Today, I realize that in those tortured moments I was releasing myself of everything that I had kept inside for too many months prior.
I had been struggling so long to keep everything together. I wanted to be strong for Kendall and his family while we were going through this terrifying battle. I wanted to do the best that I possibly could at a job that I hated. I wanted to be the friend that I always had been, to be available to talk and laugh with at any moments notice. I wanted to be a daughter and sister that made the 16 hours that separated us seem closer.
I was none of those things. I knew it too. I'd hidden my acknowledgement of my failings deep down, hidden away in the deepest crevice of my thoughts, ignoring the rumblings of discontent. It was a fault line filled with, well, my faults and fears that I had attempted to control, because that's what I was doing at that point in time. I was controlling- not living- my life.
I would never wish to be back in that moment, one year ago, but it was a glorious, terrifying cry. I would consider it humiliating, and definitely one of the lowest moments in my life thus far.
I am sure that there will be others that will top that moment. However this first humiliation and utter failure has taught me so much about myself in the past year that it is hard not to look back and reflect on the ground that I gained as a person when confronted with the anniversary.
Oh, there were tough lessons to swallow. Let me see if I can regurgitate the best of them:
I could fail. I could not be good at something, even if I tried my hardest. Work had only been serving as a distraction from the hurt and confusion our family was going through while dealing with cancer. My job and the way that I handled my job had hindered my ability to be the best wife, daughter, sister, friend that I had longed to be and my friends and family deserved to have. I could be angry. I could hate a person. I feel better when certain people are out of my life. There were things I couldn't control. I had to learn to relax. Who did I used to be, who had I become, and who did I want to be moving forward. Even with being fired, I had career accomplishments to be proud of. I had personal achievements to be proud of. To get a new job, you need to be able to brag about yourself. I had friends and family I could rely on, who loved me even when I fell apart. Who I am was not dependent upon what I did career wise. What made me happy and how the hell can I keep that in my every day life? Why did it matter to me what other people thought. Why did this experience all of a sudden make me feel like I wasn’t good enough.
The world does not fall apart when you feel like you are. In fact, it keeps spinning.
Thank goodness for that.
My world kept spinning. At times, it made me dizzy to sort through all these self confrontations. I kept asking questions of myself, but didn’t always find new answers. I was the kid looking down at a reflection in the puddle, both delighted and dismayed when the same image reappeared after a carelessly dropped rock had disrupted the calm surface.
A year has gone by. I realize that the questions that don’t have new answers are the same because I am who I am. I think I’ve cleared a pathway, or at least made headway, in using this experience to help solidify the woman I am. Some days it’s hard to accept personal limitations and flaws, it’s hard to acknowledge my failures. It’s something that everyone struggles with, but few are willing to admit. Here I am, at 28, with the capability to realize that I am only human. For that, I am grateful.
I am also grateful for the return of good things to my life. The best of all being that my mother-in-law was given a clean bill of health. She has remained cancer free since that surgery, one year ago tomorrow.
Tomorrow will be an anniversary to be celebrated, with nothing to cry about.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
A Little Game We Play
For those of you who don't know, my husband is a music snob.
His snobbery on this subject covers a wide range of musical tastes, but he is mainly most outspoken about rock and roll (with an affinity especially for late 60's/early 70's and jazz funk groups). This has at times created many memorable, and embarrassing (for me), conversations with friends and acquaintances. I will never forget the the happy hour where he almost spit out his beer after a co-worker of mine requested Nickleback be played by the live guitarist. Nor will I forget the time that he drunkenly belittled our current roommate for guessing that Ringo was her favorite Beatle. I will not discuss in depth the look of disgust on his face when another co-worker of mine asked, very innocently, what was meant when the radio announcer yelled "It's time to get the Led out."
The great thing about having a husband who is a music snob, is that there is always new and interesting music in our house and on my computer. And the BEST thing about it is that I didn't even have to go out and research or buy any of it. It's like he's my own personal Pandora or iPhone app, making suggestions based on what he knows I like - or what he is brainwashing me to like.
To help (mostly me) catch up on a band's sound, we play a little game. If you're making a suggestion for someone to listen to a new band, you need to describe that band by listing:
A) two other, different bands that if blended together, would sound like the suggested band
B) a noun
and
C) a place
Sounds complicated, but really, it's very helpful and easy once you get the hang of it.
For example, our favorite touring bar band is Roger Clyne and the Peacemakers. Some of you may remember Roger as the lead singer of The Refreshments in the mid 90's. I've been going to Peacemaker shows for about 8 years now and you will not have a better time. But if you're not quite convinced yet, listen to this explanation.
Roger Clyne and the Peacemakers is a combination of:
A) Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers
A) Jimmy Buffet
with
B) shots of tequila
in
C) Mexico
Now you're interested, right?! Thank goodness for YouTube...
Americano!
Nada (old Refreshments song)
Green & Dumb (a personal favorite)
Here, check out their website at azpeacemakers.com.
If you have the pleasure of going to a Roger Clyne show, you need to. Everyone that we've taken has become very passionate about this band. Luckily, they tour Colorado often.
Or how about a new favorite band, Grace Potter & the Nocturnals. Kendall and I first saw these guys play two summers ago with a crowd of 20 people in a little dive bar here in Fort Collins call Hodi's Half Note. With their latest release, they have seemingly shunned the unwashed hippy look of their "jammy" upbringing and have thrown themselves into a world of glitz, glammer, and VHI Divas. I really hate that this band is letting themselves be corrupted by the marketing gurus who want to bring their music to the masses because in the end, you don't need to hide talent behind makeup and big hair. And frankly, this band has talent and is absolutely amazing to watch live. Save the big hair and flashy makeup for the teeny bopper pop "musicians" who get their 15 minutes in the revolving door of pop culture. I think Grace and her crew deserves to be in the spotlight, so please do me a favor- if you're going to buy a Grace Potter CD, please get Nothing But the Water in addition to their most recent album.
If you were to listen to Grace Potter & the Nocturnals, you should expect:
A)a little bit of Bonnie Raitt
mixed with
A)Jefferson Airplane
with
B)Tina Turner's short skirts
in
C) Paris (in part because it's one of their songs, another part because they are turning on the glitz)
Here's a little tidbit of Grace Potter & the Nocturnals after this past year:
Paris video
And here's what they used to be like:
Treat Me Right
Covering "Cortez the Killer" at the Jammys
I've recently been taken in by the soul revival of Fitz & the Tantrums. While I haven't seen them live, I really enjoy the fact that they are bringing back the old fashioned Motown sound. I'm sure Berry Gordy, even in his old age, rocks out to Moneygrabber, which is by far the best song on the album.
When I listen to Fitz & the Tantrums, I hear a blend of:
A) The Temptations
and
A)Kanye West fueled lyrics
with
B)Aquanet (I think both Fitz and Noele use a bit much)
in
C)a seedy little nightclub, probably in Atlanta, GA
Here's a little listen:
Moneygrabber Video
And finally, Kendall's favorite band, the Flaming Lips.
Oh- how do you describe the Flaming Lips? We've discussed this many times in our home, as even our roommate Amanda did not know the Flaming Lips up until recently (OH THE SHAME OF IT! In Kendall's own household!) This is what we've finally settle on:
A)Pink Floyd
with, most recently, an influence of
A)Miles Davis
with
B) an alien spaceship
hovering over
C)Pee Wee's Playhouse
Also in contention for B) was fuzzy bunnies and for C) the North Pole. If you've ever seen a Flaming Lips show, you would understand.
For your viewing pleasure:
Do you Realize (performed at the Oklahoma City Zoo)
Covering "Seven Nation Army"
In closing, I hope that I did Kendall and his fellow music snob friends justice in this blog. Everyone else, I hope that I provided a little bit of entertainment and hopefully turned you on to something new. If anything, consider this your warning for if you ever get pulled into this musical game we play. It helps if you've taken the History of Rock & Roll at Iowa State. If not, I'm sure Kendall could lend you his textbook or give you a personal refresher course.
His snobbery on this subject covers a wide range of musical tastes, but he is mainly most outspoken about rock and roll (with an affinity especially for late 60's/early 70's and jazz funk groups). This has at times created many memorable, and embarrassing (for me), conversations with friends and acquaintances. I will never forget the the happy hour where he almost spit out his beer after a co-worker of mine requested Nickleback be played by the live guitarist. Nor will I forget the time that he drunkenly belittled our current roommate for guessing that Ringo was her favorite Beatle. I will not discuss in depth the look of disgust on his face when another co-worker of mine asked, very innocently, what was meant when the radio announcer yelled "It's time to get the Led out."
The great thing about having a husband who is a music snob, is that there is always new and interesting music in our house and on my computer. And the BEST thing about it is that I didn't even have to go out and research or buy any of it. It's like he's my own personal Pandora or iPhone app, making suggestions based on what he knows I like - or what he is brainwashing me to like.
To help (mostly me) catch up on a band's sound, we play a little game. If you're making a suggestion for someone to listen to a new band, you need to describe that band by listing:
A) two other, different bands that if blended together, would sound like the suggested band
B) a noun
and
C) a place
Sounds complicated, but really, it's very helpful and easy once you get the hang of it.
For example, our favorite touring bar band is Roger Clyne and the Peacemakers. Some of you may remember Roger as the lead singer of The Refreshments in the mid 90's. I've been going to Peacemaker shows for about 8 years now and you will not have a better time. But if you're not quite convinced yet, listen to this explanation.
Roger Clyne and the Peacemakers is a combination of:
A) Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers
A) Jimmy Buffet
with
B) shots of tequila
in
C) Mexico
Now you're interested, right?! Thank goodness for YouTube...
Americano!
Nada (old Refreshments song)
Green & Dumb (a personal favorite)
Here, check out their website at azpeacemakers.com.
If you have the pleasure of going to a Roger Clyne show, you need to. Everyone that we've taken has become very passionate about this band. Luckily, they tour Colorado often.
Or how about a new favorite band, Grace Potter & the Nocturnals. Kendall and I first saw these guys play two summers ago with a crowd of 20 people in a little dive bar here in Fort Collins call Hodi's Half Note. With their latest release, they have seemingly shunned the unwashed hippy look of their "jammy" upbringing and have thrown themselves into a world of glitz, glammer, and VHI Divas. I really hate that this band is letting themselves be corrupted by the marketing gurus who want to bring their music to the masses because in the end, you don't need to hide talent behind makeup and big hair. And frankly, this band has talent and is absolutely amazing to watch live. Save the big hair and flashy makeup for the teeny bopper pop "musicians" who get their 15 minutes in the revolving door of pop culture. I think Grace and her crew deserves to be in the spotlight, so please do me a favor- if you're going to buy a Grace Potter CD, please get Nothing But the Water in addition to their most recent album.
If you were to listen to Grace Potter & the Nocturnals, you should expect:
A)a little bit of Bonnie Raitt
mixed with
A)Jefferson Airplane
with
B)Tina Turner's short skirts
in
C) Paris (in part because it's one of their songs, another part because they are turning on the glitz)
Here's a little tidbit of Grace Potter & the Nocturnals after this past year:
Paris video
And here's what they used to be like:
Treat Me Right
Covering "Cortez the Killer" at the Jammys
I've recently been taken in by the soul revival of Fitz & the Tantrums. While I haven't seen them live, I really enjoy the fact that they are bringing back the old fashioned Motown sound. I'm sure Berry Gordy, even in his old age, rocks out to Moneygrabber, which is by far the best song on the album.
When I listen to Fitz & the Tantrums, I hear a blend of:
A) The Temptations
and
A)Kanye West fueled lyrics
with
B)Aquanet (I think both Fitz and Noele use a bit much)
in
C)a seedy little nightclub, probably in Atlanta, GA
Here's a little listen:
Moneygrabber Video
And finally, Kendall's favorite band, the Flaming Lips.
Oh- how do you describe the Flaming Lips? We've discussed this many times in our home, as even our roommate Amanda did not know the Flaming Lips up until recently (OH THE SHAME OF IT! In Kendall's own household!) This is what we've finally settle on:
A)Pink Floyd
with, most recently, an influence of
A)Miles Davis
with
B) an alien spaceship
hovering over
C)Pee Wee's Playhouse
Also in contention for B) was fuzzy bunnies and for C) the North Pole. If you've ever seen a Flaming Lips show, you would understand.
For your viewing pleasure:
Do you Realize (performed at the Oklahoma City Zoo)
Covering "Seven Nation Army"
In closing, I hope that I did Kendall and his fellow music snob friends justice in this blog. Everyone else, I hope that I provided a little bit of entertainment and hopefully turned you on to something new. If anything, consider this your warning for if you ever get pulled into this musical game we play. It helps if you've taken the History of Rock & Roll at Iowa State. If not, I'm sure Kendall could lend you his textbook or give you a personal refresher course.
Monday, March 21, 2011
Worlds Apart: A memorial for a good friend
There is a spot off of the Harmony Corridor that, as of Saturday, if I drive by in the future, I will hurt. It's the spot that I pulled over to cry after Kendall called me to let me know that our good friend Nkosinathi Manana had passed away on Saint Patrick's day.
Nathi was one of the first friends that we made here in Colorado. A fellow grad student in the civil engineering department, Kendall and Nathi both began their career at CSU the fall of 2008 and were assigned the same office space. A quick comradeship began between the two of them, as Kendall (always the teacher) saw an opportunity to teach his new South African friend about everything American... or really, the only thing that matters in America in the fall- college football.
So Nathi joined us almost every Saturday, learning about football as Kendall showed him, demoing the positions, past plays, and theories with anything that was around including (but was never limited to) paper, chips and salsa, the dogs, and beer cans. Nathi would watch, shuddering, tisking and whistling in disbelief whenever there was a tackle. "These guys are crazy, man. You Americans are just crazy for liking a sport that hurts people." he would tell us in his soft spoken, awed voice.
On Fridays after work, I would meet Nathi and Kendall at a local bicycle bar called Road 34. It always took place after their Productivity Meetings. It took me several months before I was finally let in on the joke that the "Productivity Meetings" were really just a few of their friends from grad school getting beers at the bar on campus in the middle of the day to talk about what happened that week in classes, with their research, and other non-related issues. Until the confession, I always wondered why something that sounded so serious as a "Productivity Meeting" led these two to be so goofy.
To say that Kendall took Nathi under his wing would be an understatement. Kendall made sure that Nathi was experiencing the best of Colorado, and often provided guidance as to what the appropriate dress should be when experiencing the best of Colorado. Camping trips and brewery tours were among Nathi's favorites, even when it was freezing cold according to Nathi (or 50 degrees according the the thermostat). I believe that we gave very good advice on how to shop for a winter coat- Nathi wore it almost 6 months of the year.
And while Kendall taught Nathi many things, I also know that he shared many foreign things with us. It was good for me to have a friend with worldly experiences. Nathi was born in Swaziland (a land locked country in South Africa) and had gone to England to study for his undergraduate degree. I never did hear why he choose Colorado State for his masters, other than that he wanted to learn about irrigation systems which would be very valuable when searching for a job back in Swaziland.
I loved to hear Nathi talk about Africa. It amazed me how different a world it seemed, and yet Nathi would just wave his hand and dismiss the differences without any thought. I remember a Saturday (post football) sitting on the couch with Nathi and our dog Layla, flipping through the channels. I landed on the Animal Planets "Africa's Most Deadly". As the announcer described the number of deaths and dangers that crocodiles posed along Africa's major rivers, Nathi tisked and threw his hands up in disgust. "Yes, yes!" he told me, "But everyone knows that a crocodile must swim down river first and if you have a dog with you, it will always try to capture the dog over you." I hugged Layla a little bit and thought,"Not everyone knew that. But I do now."
Nathi was a great sport, and although could be a bit timid, always let us talk him into things. We introduced him to kickball, telling him that his love of soccer would be all he would need to succeed. Turns out that we were wrong; he also needed to know a little bit about baseball- like after you kick the ball, you need to run around the bases. Embarrassing? Maybe a little bit, but Nathi didn't let it seem so. His laugh at his mistake was the loudest out of everyone's on the team.
When I was planning Kendall's 30th birthday tailgate for the Iowa State/Nebraska game this past fall, Nathi was one of the first ones that I called. "I'm very excited about this, Katy." he told me "I can't wait to see Iowa State and see them play these Cornhuskers." So he was thrown into a car with three other friends for a virgin road trip across the Midwest to surprise Kendall. Although I did not hear it myself, while driving through Nebraska on I-80, Nathi was said to have told his fellow passengers, "It's like looking out the window of a plane during an international flight over the ocean. You can look out the window if you want to, but it all looks the same hour after hour, so why bother." Dry humor at it's best.
That car ride was the worst part of the trip for Nathi. His smile was 10 miles wide for the tailgate and football game. He kept thanking me for inviting him, but I had to tell him to stop. That it was his presence that was part of the gift for Kendall. That memory of that weekend and the fact that Nathi was in every picture, it means so much now, more than ever.
Nathi left Fort Collins in December. On the eve of his departure, we threw a party at a bowling alley and gave him a snow globe to take with him. "No one in Swaziland will understand this. It will give me a chance to tell stories about all of you and how cold it is here," he told us.
As I gave him a hug, he told me goodbye. I made it a point to tell him that this was not goodbye, that Kendall and I planned to come visit him some day in Swaziland. He laughed, showing that big, white grin of his and nodded. "Yes, Katy. You should come. You are always welcomed and I look forward to that day."
I have given a poem entitled "Bits and Pieces" as a parting gift on many occasions that I've said goodbye to friends who I am not sure when our paths will cross again. It's a poem that speaks about how people come in and out of your life and how each person leaves a mark. It talks of God's master plan, and how all we can do is to pray to understand and "to accept the bits and pieces in humility and wonder, and never question and never regret." I can not remember if I shared this with Nathi at his departure; but because I don't remember, I don't think I did. I must have been convinced that I would see him again, regardless of how many worlds apart he may have seemed to be.
I have this poem by my desk, as a silent reminder of all the people who have touched my life. Today, it is staring me down, screaming at me that I should be grateful for the times that I shared with our friend. But today, as I did yesterday as I watched Kendall call mutual friends to break the news, I feel cheated. It has taken two days, my tears have long since dried, but I feel like I am now just beginning to let the news settle within me to where it feels like this might actually be real.
And, although it hurts today to even think about it, I do believe in God's master plan. I'm not sure why God decided to give Nathi an ulcer, unbeknown to everyone close to him and severe enough to lead to death. I'm not sure why, but I am slowly learning in this life that it is not worth my time to question why or to doubt. It is better worth my time to remember and to understand that I was given a gift - I did have the time with Nathi, that I got to experience such a genuine laugh and smile.
Oh Nathi... the worlds that hold us apart now seem much more final. I need to remind myself that is only the case only if I let it. You are missed, my friend, but you will be remembered.
Nathi was one of the first friends that we made here in Colorado. A fellow grad student in the civil engineering department, Kendall and Nathi both began their career at CSU the fall of 2008 and were assigned the same office space. A quick comradeship began between the two of them, as Kendall (always the teacher) saw an opportunity to teach his new South African friend about everything American... or really, the only thing that matters in America in the fall- college football.
So Nathi joined us almost every Saturday, learning about football as Kendall showed him, demoing the positions, past plays, and theories with anything that was around including (but was never limited to) paper, chips and salsa, the dogs, and beer cans. Nathi would watch, shuddering, tisking and whistling in disbelief whenever there was a tackle. "These guys are crazy, man. You Americans are just crazy for liking a sport that hurts people." he would tell us in his soft spoken, awed voice.
On Fridays after work, I would meet Nathi and Kendall at a local bicycle bar called Road 34. It always took place after their Productivity Meetings. It took me several months before I was finally let in on the joke that the "Productivity Meetings" were really just a few of their friends from grad school getting beers at the bar on campus in the middle of the day to talk about what happened that week in classes, with their research, and other non-related issues. Until the confession, I always wondered why something that sounded so serious as a "Productivity Meeting" led these two to be so goofy.
To say that Kendall took Nathi under his wing would be an understatement. Kendall made sure that Nathi was experiencing the best of Colorado, and often provided guidance as to what the appropriate dress should be when experiencing the best of Colorado. Camping trips and brewery tours were among Nathi's favorites, even when it was freezing cold according to Nathi (or 50 degrees according the the thermostat). I believe that we gave very good advice on how to shop for a winter coat- Nathi wore it almost 6 months of the year.
And while Kendall taught Nathi many things, I also know that he shared many foreign things with us. It was good for me to have a friend with worldly experiences. Nathi was born in Swaziland (a land locked country in South Africa) and had gone to England to study for his undergraduate degree. I never did hear why he choose Colorado State for his masters, other than that he wanted to learn about irrigation systems which would be very valuable when searching for a job back in Swaziland.
I loved to hear Nathi talk about Africa. It amazed me how different a world it seemed, and yet Nathi would just wave his hand and dismiss the differences without any thought. I remember a Saturday (post football) sitting on the couch with Nathi and our dog Layla, flipping through the channels. I landed on the Animal Planets "Africa's Most Deadly". As the announcer described the number of deaths and dangers that crocodiles posed along Africa's major rivers, Nathi tisked and threw his hands up in disgust. "Yes, yes!" he told me, "But everyone knows that a crocodile must swim down river first and if you have a dog with you, it will always try to capture the dog over you." I hugged Layla a little bit and thought,"Not everyone knew that. But I do now."
Nathi was a great sport, and although could be a bit timid, always let us talk him into things. We introduced him to kickball, telling him that his love of soccer would be all he would need to succeed. Turns out that we were wrong; he also needed to know a little bit about baseball- like after you kick the ball, you need to run around the bases. Embarrassing? Maybe a little bit, but Nathi didn't let it seem so. His laugh at his mistake was the loudest out of everyone's on the team.
When I was planning Kendall's 30th birthday tailgate for the Iowa State/Nebraska game this past fall, Nathi was one of the first ones that I called. "I'm very excited about this, Katy." he told me "I can't wait to see Iowa State and see them play these Cornhuskers." So he was thrown into a car with three other friends for a virgin road trip across the Midwest to surprise Kendall. Although I did not hear it myself, while driving through Nebraska on I-80, Nathi was said to have told his fellow passengers, "It's like looking out the window of a plane during an international flight over the ocean. You can look out the window if you want to, but it all looks the same hour after hour, so why bother." Dry humor at it's best.
That car ride was the worst part of the trip for Nathi. His smile was 10 miles wide for the tailgate and football game. He kept thanking me for inviting him, but I had to tell him to stop. That it was his presence that was part of the gift for Kendall. That memory of that weekend and the fact that Nathi was in every picture, it means so much now, more than ever.
Nathi left Fort Collins in December. On the eve of his departure, we threw a party at a bowling alley and gave him a snow globe to take with him. "No one in Swaziland will understand this. It will give me a chance to tell stories about all of you and how cold it is here," he told us.
As I gave him a hug, he told me goodbye. I made it a point to tell him that this was not goodbye, that Kendall and I planned to come visit him some day in Swaziland. He laughed, showing that big, white grin of his and nodded. "Yes, Katy. You should come. You are always welcomed and I look forward to that day."
I have given a poem entitled "Bits and Pieces" as a parting gift on many occasions that I've said goodbye to friends who I am not sure when our paths will cross again. It's a poem that speaks about how people come in and out of your life and how each person leaves a mark. It talks of God's master plan, and how all we can do is to pray to understand and "to accept the bits and pieces in humility and wonder, and never question and never regret." I can not remember if I shared this with Nathi at his departure; but because I don't remember, I don't think I did. I must have been convinced that I would see him again, regardless of how many worlds apart he may have seemed to be.
I have this poem by my desk, as a silent reminder of all the people who have touched my life. Today, it is staring me down, screaming at me that I should be grateful for the times that I shared with our friend. But today, as I did yesterday as I watched Kendall call mutual friends to break the news, I feel cheated. It has taken two days, my tears have long since dried, but I feel like I am now just beginning to let the news settle within me to where it feels like this might actually be real.
And, although it hurts today to even think about it, I do believe in God's master plan. I'm not sure why God decided to give Nathi an ulcer, unbeknown to everyone close to him and severe enough to lead to death. I'm not sure why, but I am slowly learning in this life that it is not worth my time to question why or to doubt. It is better worth my time to remember and to understand that I was given a gift - I did have the time with Nathi, that I got to experience such a genuine laugh and smile.
Oh Nathi... the worlds that hold us apart now seem much more final. I need to remind myself that is only the case only if I let it. You are missed, my friend, but you will be remembered.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
A Subpar Blog for Spring Break (Subpar) Snowboarders & Skiers
Ah... it's spring break here in Fort Collins. The college students have left the campus to retreat to some paradise found via a road trip, the public schools have released their students into the care of their parents, leaving Fort Collins and my office void of noise and chaos. It is quiet and relaxing and quite frankly, I'm pretty much bored because I've gone through what I thought was a very aggressive to-do list already and am not sure what I should create as a new task.
So I blog. But I must warn you, with being bored comes lazy thoughts and rants that are probably less than entertaining. While I do love your commitment to my life, I would recommend that you get out now and spend your time elsewhere.
Yes, the noise and chaos has left this deserted town and been displaced to the higher altitudes of Summit County's ski resorts. Kendall and I got to experience this first hand as we spent both Saturday and Sunday with friends and family who came out for their own spring break. It is easy to say that most of the college students on the slopes were not Coloradoans doing the cheap, local vacation thing. I'm guessing most of CSU and CU students flew South, to escape their everyday view of what has become to seem like mundane mountains. Or, more likely, to escape the hoards of spring breakers who do not know their mountain manners.
I shouldn't complain. My favorite spring break trip during college was spent here in Colorado in 2003, drink in hand as I tore up the slopes with six friends and three feet of fresh powder that trapped us on the right side of the Eisenhower tunnel. I can understand where these college kids are coming from, I was very much one of them. Last I knew, my buddy Luther still had the sign that says "No cleaning of water fowl in the bathtub." that we stole from the motel that we had to stay in when his car broke down unexpectedly at the Colorado/Nebraska state border. I believe that he has it hanging in his bathroom in New York City.
But now, I would consider myself a Coloradoan. And as a Coloradoan, I get just a little annoyed when I only get 6 runs in on a powder day because the slopes are filled with people who are spending more time on their butts because A) they decided that this was the perfect time and place to learn how to ski/snowboard OR B) they're too drunk because it's spring break and they think it's AWESOME that you get drunk quicker at higher altitudes ("but I can still drink 10 beers, man!").
There are things that I do enjoy about the spring break crowd. The music blaring from cars in the parking lot is pretty awesome most of the time and sometimes you pick up the name of a new group to check out. You can always run into a student who goes to Iowa State and they always, always stroke your ego a little bit by telling you repeatedly that they are envious that you live here. Everyone is tailgating when they get back to their car and you find a lot more people willing to share a beer if you strike up a conversation. Almost everyone is happy, because they aren't at school. The only ones who aren't are the ones who are terribly sore or terribly hungover, and you can't carry on a conversation with those people anyway.
So maybe, if you're still reading, you'll pass these little tidbits of information on to any spring breakers heading my way so that my annoyance is minimized and I, and my fellow Coloradoans, can focus on enjoying all the joys of spring break as listed above, rather than run for the hills to start hiking during this beautiful weather.
*When you drive out and back on I-70, do not speed up and then slam on your breaks when you come to a turn. You are the one who's driving is causing the back up traffic. Keep a steady, slow pace that you are entirely comfortable with, downshift into lower gears when going down steep grades, and no, your breaks are (most likely) not going out so don't yell it out at your passengers.
* If you've never skied or snowboarded before, fork out the cash and take a lesson. You're buddy who last skied five years ago is not a suitable substitute and it will well be worth your money to actually learn proper technique so you don't kill the rest of us.
*Pay attention to where you stop. Do not stop just over a rolling hill. If you do, it will be a matter of moments before someone comes flying over and either runs into you or runs into someone else trying to avoid you.
*If you're going to cut close to someone (especially on the backside of a snowboarder), let them know by yelling "On your right" or "On your blind side" or something like that. If you don't let them know, you shouldn't be pissed if they cut over into your path. My peripheral vision isn't good, man, I couldn't see you so I didn't know you were there. Not my bad.
*Drinking while skiing/snowboard is ok- just don't get wasted. I almost snowboarded through someone's vomit on Sunday. Gross and unnecessary. This isn't Cabo.
*Realize that there are kids around and they may even be on the lift with you. It's ok to teach a 6 year old boy how to spit a lugie, it is not ok to describe your spring break sexual escapades in detail to your buddy in front of the same 6 year old. Imagine being the parent who has to explain that on the 3 hour drive home.
*It's cold here. Or really, it could be cold here. You're in the mountains in Colorado. Don't believe that you could actually see ski bunnies wearing bikini tops. That doesn't happen until May. Bring layers of clothing and check the weather report before you go out that day.
*Don't bitch about how expensive everything is on the mountain. They are resorts and that is their job to try to make money. If you're trying to do the cheap spring break thing, do like the rest of us and pack a sandwich, granola bar, or instant Macaroni and Cheese.
*If it's your first time on the mountain and you're not having fun because you're falling down all the time, try it more than one day before you give up and complain to every stranger who will listen (aka me) and the rest of your group for the entire spring break. Don't be that guy. Because if you are that guy, you suck and you will be talked about when you return.
*Take a map of the mountain when the staff offers it to you. Do not expect to know what direction is North all the time because you have a great sense of direction. I guarantee that you are wrong. You're in the mountains.
*Play nice with the locals and tip well. Ok- this is more of the hospitality thing coming out of me, but the hourly employees working at resorts do not make tons of money and the cost of living is pretty high. And for those of you who don't know, you should tip based on percentage of bill not just $5. And if you sit there for 2 hours after you finished your meal, throw in a little extra for taking up their table when they could have been making more money.
*Try the beer (and I don't just mean Coors Light). Colorado has amazing breweries and you should take this chance to try something and be open to something different. Don't be afraid to ask for suggestions. Most of us know how to find something close to what you will like if you give us ideas outside of saying "I like bud light and miller light and coors light sometimes."
So, if you all do your part and let all of your college-age friends know these little tidbits (because I know you all have soooooo many college-aged friends right now), I will return to the mountain this weekend. And I promise that I will yell out "SPRING BREAK!!!" with the best of them.
So I blog. But I must warn you, with being bored comes lazy thoughts and rants that are probably less than entertaining. While I do love your commitment to my life, I would recommend that you get out now and spend your time elsewhere.
Yes, the noise and chaos has left this deserted town and been displaced to the higher altitudes of Summit County's ski resorts. Kendall and I got to experience this first hand as we spent both Saturday and Sunday with friends and family who came out for their own spring break. It is easy to say that most of the college students on the slopes were not Coloradoans doing the cheap, local vacation thing. I'm guessing most of CSU and CU students flew South, to escape their everyday view of what has become to seem like mundane mountains. Or, more likely, to escape the hoards of spring breakers who do not know their mountain manners.
I shouldn't complain. My favorite spring break trip during college was spent here in Colorado in 2003, drink in hand as I tore up the slopes with six friends and three feet of fresh powder that trapped us on the right side of the Eisenhower tunnel. I can understand where these college kids are coming from, I was very much one of them. Last I knew, my buddy Luther still had the sign that says "No cleaning of water fowl in the bathtub." that we stole from the motel that we had to stay in when his car broke down unexpectedly at the Colorado/Nebraska state border. I believe that he has it hanging in his bathroom in New York City.
But now, I would consider myself a Coloradoan. And as a Coloradoan, I get just a little annoyed when I only get 6 runs in on a powder day because the slopes are filled with people who are spending more time on their butts because A) they decided that this was the perfect time and place to learn how to ski/snowboard OR B) they're too drunk because it's spring break and they think it's AWESOME that you get drunk quicker at higher altitudes ("but I can still drink 10 beers, man!").
There are things that I do enjoy about the spring break crowd. The music blaring from cars in the parking lot is pretty awesome most of the time and sometimes you pick up the name of a new group to check out. You can always run into a student who goes to Iowa State and they always, always stroke your ego a little bit by telling you repeatedly that they are envious that you live here. Everyone is tailgating when they get back to their car and you find a lot more people willing to share a beer if you strike up a conversation. Almost everyone is happy, because they aren't at school. The only ones who aren't are the ones who are terribly sore or terribly hungover, and you can't carry on a conversation with those people anyway.
So maybe, if you're still reading, you'll pass these little tidbits of information on to any spring breakers heading my way so that my annoyance is minimized and I, and my fellow Coloradoans, can focus on enjoying all the joys of spring break as listed above, rather than run for the hills to start hiking during this beautiful weather.
*When you drive out and back on I-70, do not speed up and then slam on your breaks when you come to a turn. You are the one who's driving is causing the back up traffic. Keep a steady, slow pace that you are entirely comfortable with, downshift into lower gears when going down steep grades, and no, your breaks are (most likely) not going out so don't yell it out at your passengers.
* If you've never skied or snowboarded before, fork out the cash and take a lesson. You're buddy who last skied five years ago is not a suitable substitute and it will well be worth your money to actually learn proper technique so you don't kill the rest of us.
*Pay attention to where you stop. Do not stop just over a rolling hill. If you do, it will be a matter of moments before someone comes flying over and either runs into you or runs into someone else trying to avoid you.
*If you're going to cut close to someone (especially on the backside of a snowboarder), let them know by yelling "On your right" or "On your blind side" or something like that. If you don't let them know, you shouldn't be pissed if they cut over into your path. My peripheral vision isn't good, man, I couldn't see you so I didn't know you were there. Not my bad.
*Drinking while skiing/snowboard is ok- just don't get wasted. I almost snowboarded through someone's vomit on Sunday. Gross and unnecessary. This isn't Cabo.
*Realize that there are kids around and they may even be on the lift with you. It's ok to teach a 6 year old boy how to spit a lugie, it is not ok to describe your spring break sexual escapades in detail to your buddy in front of the same 6 year old. Imagine being the parent who has to explain that on the 3 hour drive home.
*It's cold here. Or really, it could be cold here. You're in the mountains in Colorado. Don't believe that you could actually see ski bunnies wearing bikini tops. That doesn't happen until May. Bring layers of clothing and check the weather report before you go out that day.
*Don't bitch about how expensive everything is on the mountain. They are resorts and that is their job to try to make money. If you're trying to do the cheap spring break thing, do like the rest of us and pack a sandwich, granola bar, or instant Macaroni and Cheese.
*If it's your first time on the mountain and you're not having fun because you're falling down all the time, try it more than one day before you give up and complain to every stranger who will listen (aka me) and the rest of your group for the entire spring break. Don't be that guy. Because if you are that guy, you suck and you will be talked about when you return.
*Take a map of the mountain when the staff offers it to you. Do not expect to know what direction is North all the time because you have a great sense of direction. I guarantee that you are wrong. You're in the mountains.
*Play nice with the locals and tip well. Ok- this is more of the hospitality thing coming out of me, but the hourly employees working at resorts do not make tons of money and the cost of living is pretty high. And for those of you who don't know, you should tip based on percentage of bill not just $5. And if you sit there for 2 hours after you finished your meal, throw in a little extra for taking up their table when they could have been making more money.
*Try the beer (and I don't just mean Coors Light). Colorado has amazing breweries and you should take this chance to try something and be open to something different. Don't be afraid to ask for suggestions. Most of us know how to find something close to what you will like if you give us ideas outside of saying "I like bud light and miller light and coors light sometimes."
So, if you all do your part and let all of your college-age friends know these little tidbits (because I know you all have soooooo many college-aged friends right now), I will return to the mountain this weekend. And I promise that I will yell out "SPRING BREAK!!!" with the best of them.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Windows Rolled Down
One of my favorite musical artists for the past five years has been Amos Lee. He has a new album out, entitled "Mission Bell". I heard the first single, "Windows Rolled Down" on the way to work yesterday, and although I had heard the song several times since it was released about a month ago, yesterday may have been the first time that my mind was empty enough to allow the lyrics to sink in and settle.
Simple and poignant, as I have come to expect Amos to write, this lyric caught me as I was humming along, sending my thoughts spinning down a very familiar road:
"Corn rows have a companion feel to this rocky road and this steering wheel with the windows rolled down and moon hanging low."
I know I was driving in the explorer down LeMay, but my heart thud and I was taken back to my summers spent in the dusty gravel parking lot of North Linn High School.
For those of you who didn't have the pleasure to attend North Linn, it is a high school that was literally placed in the middle of corn fields. The central campus contains the high school and middle school skirted by an enormous gravel parking lot, football, baseball, and softball fields, the later of which I spent five summers cultivating skills that would take me much further than glove work.
There were seven of us in my class that were, for a long time, thrown into varsity before we were necessarily ready because we were the best that the coach had at the time. Crouched under the lights during those humid summer nights, frustration and tears felt in our early seasons as freshman and sophomores eventually gave way to determination, perseverance, practical jokes, sisterhood, and winning seasons our junior and senior years. And regardless of a win or loss, I always seemed to end up spend the hours after each game watching the moon rise while talking to friends, perched against my teal '94 grand am, with the window rolled down and my radio playing a mixed soundtrack of classic and then current rock. Songs by Jimi, Red Hot Chili Peppers, the Doors, Guns-n-Roses, the Nixons, Smashing Pumpkins, Incubus, the Cure, Bush... these are the songs I've come to expect that, when heard now, take me on a three minute vacation back to that place of dust, heat, laughter, simplicity, and sweat soaked blond curls drying against my neck and back. I don't think that I've ever had one, simple lyric, completely unrelated to the vault of memories, bring such a flood of raw feeling.
A feeling that I was unable to shake all day. Perhaps it was the fact that my ten year reunion is around the corner, so these memories are running rapid on facebook pages. Perhaps it was the fact that I have been playing phone tag with a best friend, also a member of that squad of seven, from high school for over a month and a half, unable to touch base. Perhaps it was the fact that its March now, softball season in Iowa is just around the corner and this would have been the time of year that I would have been dusting off my glove and cleats, freshly retrieved from the depths of our basement. Perhaps it was that it was Wednesday and one of the parents in the waiting room was a high school baseball coach who gave me a run down on how the first week of practice went with his team (a team that is composed of virtually all Freshmen). Or the fact that it is March and our co-ed kickball league will be starting soon- a recreational activity that returns me to the pitchers mound, only this time fueled with beer rather than gateraid. I was wearing the nostalgia like a sweater that has become too hot to wear, with nothing but work to distract me. I kept thinking about it, dwelling on it, itching to retreat, but couldn't seem to get out of it because there wasn't anything appropriate to replace it.
I typed the word nostalgia in Word just now to check my spelling. I also searched the thesaurus, as I often do now-a-days (studying for the GRE can take many different forms) curious as to what may come up. The first word chosen has taken me a bit by surprise.
Homesickness.
This was followed by what I would consider more aptly chosen words to describe nostalgia, and even what I was feeling as I let the memories roll me over- reminiscence, wistfulness, longing, and melancholy.
I would not say that I am homesick. I love being here in Colorado and all that it has brought into my life. I very much doubt that I will ever return to Iowa, outside of trips to visit friends and family. But the older I get, the more I have come to appreciate the 23 years that I spent in the state. And I fondly remember summers, a favorite season, with such a stark contrast between the season in Colorado to those in Iowa. Sticky, humid heat that spiraled my hair. Days upon days full of rain. The vibrant color green that comes with fresh, healthy growth painted across low, rolling hills. Sunsets that lasted forever, because the sun did not have anything to hide behind. The content, companion feel of driving along a gravel road, etched through corn fields, with the window rolled down and a sweet breeze whispering to you. These are things that don't exist here in the mountains, even with the same windows rolled down. They are the things that brought me to this place, added to who I am as a person, and taught me to appreciate simplicity.
I am sure that Amos Lee could write beautiful lyrics about the overstated, rocky craigs found here in Colorado. However, the more I think about it, the more I am moved by the lyric, I am choosing to think that he was speaking about an afternoon drive through Iowa. I'm not sure that he has the memories tied to the state that I do, but I appreciate his ability to make my own rise with one simple lyric on an everyday drive to work. It's also making me realize that maybe it's time to schedule a time to visit home (because it will always be home, whether I live there or not). But that can also probably wait until the aforementioned 10 year reunion.
Simple and poignant, as I have come to expect Amos to write, this lyric caught me as I was humming along, sending my thoughts spinning down a very familiar road:
"Corn rows have a companion feel to this rocky road and this steering wheel with the windows rolled down and moon hanging low."
I know I was driving in the explorer down LeMay, but my heart thud and I was taken back to my summers spent in the dusty gravel parking lot of North Linn High School.
For those of you who didn't have the pleasure to attend North Linn, it is a high school that was literally placed in the middle of corn fields. The central campus contains the high school and middle school skirted by an enormous gravel parking lot, football, baseball, and softball fields, the later of which I spent five summers cultivating skills that would take me much further than glove work.
There were seven of us in my class that were, for a long time, thrown into varsity before we were necessarily ready because we were the best that the coach had at the time. Crouched under the lights during those humid summer nights, frustration and tears felt in our early seasons as freshman and sophomores eventually gave way to determination, perseverance, practical jokes, sisterhood, and winning seasons our junior and senior years. And regardless of a win or loss, I always seemed to end up spend the hours after each game watching the moon rise while talking to friends, perched against my teal '94 grand am, with the window rolled down and my radio playing a mixed soundtrack of classic and then current rock. Songs by Jimi, Red Hot Chili Peppers, the Doors, Guns-n-Roses, the Nixons, Smashing Pumpkins, Incubus, the Cure, Bush... these are the songs I've come to expect that, when heard now, take me on a three minute vacation back to that place of dust, heat, laughter, simplicity, and sweat soaked blond curls drying against my neck and back. I don't think that I've ever had one, simple lyric, completely unrelated to the vault of memories, bring such a flood of raw feeling.
A feeling that I was unable to shake all day. Perhaps it was the fact that my ten year reunion is around the corner, so these memories are running rapid on facebook pages. Perhaps it was the fact that I have been playing phone tag with a best friend, also a member of that squad of seven, from high school for over a month and a half, unable to touch base. Perhaps it was the fact that its March now, softball season in Iowa is just around the corner and this would have been the time of year that I would have been dusting off my glove and cleats, freshly retrieved from the depths of our basement. Perhaps it was that it was Wednesday and one of the parents in the waiting room was a high school baseball coach who gave me a run down on how the first week of practice went with his team (a team that is composed of virtually all Freshmen). Or the fact that it is March and our co-ed kickball league will be starting soon- a recreational activity that returns me to the pitchers mound, only this time fueled with beer rather than gateraid. I was wearing the nostalgia like a sweater that has become too hot to wear, with nothing but work to distract me. I kept thinking about it, dwelling on it, itching to retreat, but couldn't seem to get out of it because there wasn't anything appropriate to replace it.
I typed the word nostalgia in Word just now to check my spelling. I also searched the thesaurus, as I often do now-a-days (studying for the GRE can take many different forms) curious as to what may come up. The first word chosen has taken me a bit by surprise.
Homesickness.
This was followed by what I would consider more aptly chosen words to describe nostalgia, and even what I was feeling as I let the memories roll me over- reminiscence, wistfulness, longing, and melancholy.
I would not say that I am homesick. I love being here in Colorado and all that it has brought into my life. I very much doubt that I will ever return to Iowa, outside of trips to visit friends and family. But the older I get, the more I have come to appreciate the 23 years that I spent in the state. And I fondly remember summers, a favorite season, with such a stark contrast between the season in Colorado to those in Iowa. Sticky, humid heat that spiraled my hair. Days upon days full of rain. The vibrant color green that comes with fresh, healthy growth painted across low, rolling hills. Sunsets that lasted forever, because the sun did not have anything to hide behind. The content, companion feel of driving along a gravel road, etched through corn fields, with the window rolled down and a sweet breeze whispering to you. These are things that don't exist here in the mountains, even with the same windows rolled down. They are the things that brought me to this place, added to who I am as a person, and taught me to appreciate simplicity.
I am sure that Amos Lee could write beautiful lyrics about the overstated, rocky craigs found here in Colorado. However, the more I think about it, the more I am moved by the lyric, I am choosing to think that he was speaking about an afternoon drive through Iowa. I'm not sure that he has the memories tied to the state that I do, but I appreciate his ability to make my own rise with one simple lyric on an everyday drive to work. It's also making me realize that maybe it's time to schedule a time to visit home (because it will always be home, whether I live there or not). But that can also probably wait until the aforementioned 10 year reunion.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Comparable to a Semi-Pro Hockey Player
New Year's Resolution 2011: Actually be selfish once in a while and do things for myself, just for myself.
I'm not trying to pretend that I'm a saint at all. I'm not. I am a people pleaser. About the only people who I've built up a tolerance to attempting to please mercilessly are my husband, my parents, and my brother. I have varying tolerances for everyone else, on a scale dependent on how well I know you. If I just met you, I will drop anything and everything to make you request come true. That comes from being in the hospitality industry for too long. Close friends run the closest chance of hearing me say no, although I very rarely do, because they are the ones that come up with the best ideas.
But I am a people pleaser. It seems to be my god given talent. I wish I had a different one. If I had been better at math, I probably would be making more money now then what I am.
Realizing that I needed to work on finding myself again this year included the realization that I needed to be selfish. I needed to do things for myself, just for myself, even when I should be doing something else. At least every once in a while.
Yesterday provided me with such an opportunity. Kendall was home sick for most of the day and our house was a mess to boot. It was a day that should have been spent disinfecting, ridding the entire house of the ickiness that is chased me away from my own bed last night. I got as far as the bathrooms and bedroom. Mopping the floor and vacuuming were in sight. But then I got a phone call. It seemed that God was interfering.
There had been a cancellation at the massage parlor and they could get me in at 3:15.
I am a sucker for a massage. I got hooked on them when I did a study abroad in Thailand. They were so cheap over there, maybe $10 a hour, often with the massage happening by the ocean. Bliss! I think I had at least four or five in the month that I was over there.
However, my always tight budget often has not allowed me to spend the money I would like on getting a massage as often as I would like. For a while, I did make sure that I got one at least once, up to two to three times a year, always after predictable, super stressful event days.
I needed a massage after these days because like most people pleasers, I internalize my stress. When stressed, I tighten up every fiber of my being, pulling and twisting myself inside to just get through the next over dramatized emergency, and unintentionally create knots that feel like they were the size of golf balls in my shoulders and neck.
My annual to quarterly massages were all before we got married and moved to Fort Collins, when my money was still just my money. But when we got married, I suddenly took on this thought process that because our family budget tightened when Kendall began grad school, I had to let go of almost all of my indulgences. Kendall never said anything of the sort, I just came up with this preposterous thought on my own. So, for almost two years, out the window went visits to an Aveda hair dresser, massages, and shopping at places like Express, J. Crew, or Banana Republic. Instead, I went to a beauty school, shopped at Target and Kohl's, and dropped massages all together.
Dropping the massages was probably the worst indulgence to leave behind because my high stress job was knitting the thick, worn and torn muscles of my back into a mass of knots, the kind that lead to headaches and migraines. On particularly bad weeks, Kendall would rub and knead his knuckles into the granddaddy of them all, lodged just underneath my left shoulder blade. This bad boy would just move side to side and never dissipate, no matter how long Kendall pushed and prodded at it, or how I stretched and pulled on it. We could not work it out, even together. I knew that this knot was to stay until I got professional help.
You can imagine my delight when my new boss gave me an hour massage for a holiday gift in December. The world was realigning itself for me again. I had a wonderfully less stressful job that I loved, a boss who was wonderfully in tune to how to make employees happy, and I WOULD BE GETTING A MASSAGE IN THE NEAR FUTURE!!!!! (My excitement in that moment to the massage truly can only be expressed correctly with all capital letters and five explanation marks).
I had called last week to set an appointment for President's Day since I had it off as a paid holiday (A PAID HOLIDAY!!!). Unfortunately, the massage parlor was all booked. I put my name on the list for them to call in case of a cancellation. I forgot about that request and made other responsible plans for the day. I was all set to take care of my sick husband and finish cleaning. The floors were calling out to me. I literally had the bucket in hand. But so was the massage parlor, literally calling out to me... Mopping quickly got shelved. (Dust bunnies dreams and icky germs crawling all over my household be damned!)
This was the moment, the return to relaxation, that I had been so excited for. And it was not so much. It was downright painful. Blissfully painful, but short on the relaxation.
Remember that knot under my left shoulder blade that I had be building up for about two, two and a half years. My massage therapist worked on it for a half hour straight. She didn't just rub it. She was having me "help her work through it" by creating swimming motions, lifting my body and arms in similar fashion to the crawl, butterfly, and breast stroke, while working her palms and elbows deep into the muscle, only to have that damn knot push back from side to side. She held my shoulder blade with her left hand, working and rolling the fingers of her right onto and over the thing as hard as I could possibly stand. It was the most technical massage that I had ever received, it felt glorious, and it still was getting no where on my body.
Finally, Jessie (the massage therapist) gave a deep sigh, similar to the ones that she was having me do as she pushed harder, and harder on the muscle, until she hit that "feel-so-good-hurt" (as she described it).
"You know," came a slightly confused, exasperated voice. "You've got a lot going on in this spot. It reminds me of a client that I have that plays for the Colorado Eagles. His back was in knots like this, and to be honest, it took me probably five sessions before I could work them all out. And, honestly, I think you may be worse then he was....so what do you say that we give your back a rest and move on?"
For those of you who do not know, the Colorado Eagles is Northern Colorado's semi-pro hockey team. They are all bad asses. They win division titles. They get into five to six fights per game. Most of them are between the ages of 18 and 25. In my opinion, a 28 year old woman (or specifically, this 28 year old woman) should not be compared to a semi-pro hockey player of this caliber in any shape or form. I'm pretty sure that by the hesitancy in Jessie's voice, that she felt kind of bad saying it. I'm also pretty sure that she didn't mean it as a sales pitch either, just as a way to relay her frustration. But being compared to whichever bad ass brute of a player this was, hit this message home:
I need to spoil myself. Cutting back on personal pleasures so drastically only made things worse off for me in the long run. Lesson learned.
Although my muscles are very much sore today, it's not Jessie's fault. It is a "feel-so-good hurt". I would recommend her (she knows what she's doing), I will return, and I am looking forward to the return of the quarterly massages and that some day, these knots will have un-worked themselves. And I am most thankful for the physically painful realization that is allowing me to let go, unwind a bit, and be just a 28 year old woman who should only to be compared to other very amateur athletes on the kickball field or snowboarding down a mountain.
I'm not trying to pretend that I'm a saint at all. I'm not. I am a people pleaser. About the only people who I've built up a tolerance to attempting to please mercilessly are my husband, my parents, and my brother. I have varying tolerances for everyone else, on a scale dependent on how well I know you. If I just met you, I will drop anything and everything to make you request come true. That comes from being in the hospitality industry for too long. Close friends run the closest chance of hearing me say no, although I very rarely do, because they are the ones that come up with the best ideas.
But I am a people pleaser. It seems to be my god given talent. I wish I had a different one. If I had been better at math, I probably would be making more money now then what I am.
Realizing that I needed to work on finding myself again this year included the realization that I needed to be selfish. I needed to do things for myself, just for myself, even when I should be doing something else. At least every once in a while.
Yesterday provided me with such an opportunity. Kendall was home sick for most of the day and our house was a mess to boot. It was a day that should have been spent disinfecting, ridding the entire house of the ickiness that is chased me away from my own bed last night. I got as far as the bathrooms and bedroom. Mopping the floor and vacuuming were in sight. But then I got a phone call. It seemed that God was interfering.
There had been a cancellation at the massage parlor and they could get me in at 3:15.
I am a sucker for a massage. I got hooked on them when I did a study abroad in Thailand. They were so cheap over there, maybe $10 a hour, often with the massage happening by the ocean. Bliss! I think I had at least four or five in the month that I was over there.
However, my always tight budget often has not allowed me to spend the money I would like on getting a massage as often as I would like. For a while, I did make sure that I got one at least once, up to two to three times a year, always after predictable, super stressful event days.
I needed a massage after these days because like most people pleasers, I internalize my stress. When stressed, I tighten up every fiber of my being, pulling and twisting myself inside to just get through the next over dramatized emergency, and unintentionally create knots that feel like they were the size of golf balls in my shoulders and neck.
My annual to quarterly massages were all before we got married and moved to Fort Collins, when my money was still just my money. But when we got married, I suddenly took on this thought process that because our family budget tightened when Kendall began grad school, I had to let go of almost all of my indulgences. Kendall never said anything of the sort, I just came up with this preposterous thought on my own. So, for almost two years, out the window went visits to an Aveda hair dresser, massages, and shopping at places like Express, J. Crew, or Banana Republic. Instead, I went to a beauty school, shopped at Target and Kohl's, and dropped massages all together.
Dropping the massages was probably the worst indulgence to leave behind because my high stress job was knitting the thick, worn and torn muscles of my back into a mass of knots, the kind that lead to headaches and migraines. On particularly bad weeks, Kendall would rub and knead his knuckles into the granddaddy of them all, lodged just underneath my left shoulder blade. This bad boy would just move side to side and never dissipate, no matter how long Kendall pushed and prodded at it, or how I stretched and pulled on it. We could not work it out, even together. I knew that this knot was to stay until I got professional help.
You can imagine my delight when my new boss gave me an hour massage for a holiday gift in December. The world was realigning itself for me again. I had a wonderfully less stressful job that I loved, a boss who was wonderfully in tune to how to make employees happy, and I WOULD BE GETTING A MASSAGE IN THE NEAR FUTURE!!!!! (My excitement in that moment to the massage truly can only be expressed correctly with all capital letters and five explanation marks).
I had called last week to set an appointment for President's Day since I had it off as a paid holiday (A PAID HOLIDAY!!!). Unfortunately, the massage parlor was all booked. I put my name on the list for them to call in case of a cancellation. I forgot about that request and made other responsible plans for the day. I was all set to take care of my sick husband and finish cleaning. The floors were calling out to me. I literally had the bucket in hand. But so was the massage parlor, literally calling out to me... Mopping quickly got shelved. (Dust bunnies dreams and icky germs crawling all over my household be damned!)
This was the moment, the return to relaxation, that I had been so excited for. And it was not so much. It was downright painful. Blissfully painful, but short on the relaxation.
Remember that knot under my left shoulder blade that I had be building up for about two, two and a half years. My massage therapist worked on it for a half hour straight. She didn't just rub it. She was having me "help her work through it" by creating swimming motions, lifting my body and arms in similar fashion to the crawl, butterfly, and breast stroke, while working her palms and elbows deep into the muscle, only to have that damn knot push back from side to side. She held my shoulder blade with her left hand, working and rolling the fingers of her right onto and over the thing as hard as I could possibly stand. It was the most technical massage that I had ever received, it felt glorious, and it still was getting no where on my body.
Finally, Jessie (the massage therapist) gave a deep sigh, similar to the ones that she was having me do as she pushed harder, and harder on the muscle, until she hit that "feel-so-good-hurt" (as she described it).
"You know," came a slightly confused, exasperated voice. "You've got a lot going on in this spot. It reminds me of a client that I have that plays for the Colorado Eagles. His back was in knots like this, and to be honest, it took me probably five sessions before I could work them all out. And, honestly, I think you may be worse then he was....so what do you say that we give your back a rest and move on?"
For those of you who do not know, the Colorado Eagles is Northern Colorado's semi-pro hockey team. They are all bad asses. They win division titles. They get into five to six fights per game. Most of them are between the ages of 18 and 25. In my opinion, a 28 year old woman (or specifically, this 28 year old woman) should not be compared to a semi-pro hockey player of this caliber in any shape or form. I'm pretty sure that by the hesitancy in Jessie's voice, that she felt kind of bad saying it. I'm also pretty sure that she didn't mean it as a sales pitch either, just as a way to relay her frustration. But being compared to whichever bad ass brute of a player this was, hit this message home:
I need to spoil myself. Cutting back on personal pleasures so drastically only made things worse off for me in the long run. Lesson learned.
Although my muscles are very much sore today, it's not Jessie's fault. It is a "feel-so-good hurt". I would recommend her (she knows what she's doing), I will return, and I am looking forward to the return of the quarterly massages and that some day, these knots will have un-worked themselves. And I am most thankful for the physically painful realization that is allowing me to let go, unwind a bit, and be just a 28 year old woman who should only to be compared to other very amateur athletes on the kickball field or snowboarding down a mountain.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Can girl friends suck like boyfriends?
I am a little put out right now. Mostly at myself because I am subjecting myself to an abuse that I would never have stood for ten years ago. I need to realize that I've been "dumped" by a friend, and I just don't want to let her go.
Way back in the day when I was single and unattached, I re purposed a rule that I had grown up knowing as a law: three strikes and you're out. I've also referred to it as the rule of three, to be more fair, since the person who ends up being out (or rejected) is often yourself.
It starts on a very basic level. You meet a guy, there's a spark and you trade numbers. You call him. He picks up and you chat. You call him again, possibly chatting or leaving a message. You vaguely talk about making plans together. You call him again. During this entire time, whether it be days (hopefully more than 3 because that's just sad) or weeks, he does not call you. You have made an effort three times, he has made none. He has your phone number; he could reach you if he really wanted to. He's not interested.
Rule of three, three strikes and you're out.
This rule kept me grounded. It made me think rationally about if a guy was actually interested in me or if I was more interested than he ever intended to be. It was a way of thinking that brought me down to a guy's level- either they're interested or they're not. Sometimes it turns on and off like a light switch, only not so noticeable.
A girl can't appear to be desperate if she stops calling after three tries. But what I like about the rule the most was that there was a little bit of a loop hole. If said super-cute-guy-who-looked-little-bit-like-Luke-Perry-and-had-an-amazing-laugh does call back, then the rule of three starts all over again. I might also add that if a guy is too busy to call a girl back or just doesn't think it's important to return calls, he's not worth it. There are PLENTY of guys out there who will call back.
Now I won't say the rule isn't fool proof, but it worked well enough for me to figure out who really had potential an who maybe had completely forgotten who I was once the beer from the bar wore off. It was a rule that I passed on to my friends and a rule that they passed onto their friends. It was a "He's just not that into you," type statement without the harsh reality of someone having to actually tell you "He's just not that into you."
I retired the rule when super-cute-guy-who-looked-little-bit-like-Matthew-McConaughey-and-makes-me-laugh-so-hard-I-almost-wet-my-pants called me back after only one call. He always called back. Still does. I never thought I would have to use it again. But I think I was wrong. I should have used it with this friend to save me the embarrassment of being "dumped" by her without even realizing it.
Here's her deal. She wasn't my friend for a very long time. She was a woman that I worked with that I had A LOT of conflict with during our first year working together, which I will venture to say that was more on her part and her tendency to overreact to things... and I feel safe saying that since if you're reading this blog, I'm guessing you know me fairly well.
A little over a year ago, she went through a pretty horrible break up with her boyfriend of four years and moved to Fort Collins where she worked and knew no one. I know what it's like to move to a town where you know no one. I know how horribly lonely it is, how desprate you can be to make friends, and how difficult it really is to meet people our age. I didn't have to, and I will be honest- I really didn't want to, but I took her under my wing, submitting myself to venting sessions, crying sessions, and drunken happy hours. I invited her over to hang out with my friends (after carefully issuing a warning to them that I was, at least for the time being, taking back everything I had bitched about regarding her). Eventually, I did come to value as a friend and as she started to pull her life back together, I began to really enjoy being around her. We had finally learned to communicate, both at work and on a social level.
Early April she had the opportunity to return the favor for all the venting/crying/happy hour sessions because I got let go from my job. Which I felt really would, in the long run, help our friendship because our boss really looked down on co-workers socializing together. It did for a while. She provided me with a good reference, we met for drinks several times, and I clung to her because she was the only one who really understood my ranting about our previous place of employment. I got a sick enjoyment out of hearing how overworked she had become because I had been let go. I felt for her, but hearing her complain made me feel needed still. It's something that I desperately had to hear while coping with the fact that somehow I had failed. Meeting her for happy hour, or even the idea of meeting her for happy hour, became almost like a fix for the hurt and frustration I was keeping inside of me.
It was not a healthy relationship by any means. We were two broken pieces, with rough edges that probably shouldn't be put back together. But I was trying to conjure my own type of gorilla glue.
Because if there's anything that I'm good at, it's relationships. I'm a good friend and I'm good at keeping in contact with people. I'm a "call-you-out-of-the-blue-and-talk-like-we-saw-each-other-yesterday" kind of girl, even if I haven't seen you for two years. I know when to listen, I know when to say the tough stuff, and I know when to be supportive. I'm up for anything and I will drop everything to help you out. I am a good friend so I couldn't imagine why this friendship wouldn't work out. I had helped her find her strength after all, and had been a friend when it didn't seem like she didn't have many.
I'm wondering if she felt my desperation.
Slowly, our communication with each other stretched further and further apart. Instead of a week, it became two weeks, only over text messages or emails. And then an email I sent wouldn't be responded to for three weeks or a month. I added her as a facebook friend. I was the one doing all the initiating. Although it has dropped in frequency, I have continued to contact her in some way at least once a month. I haven't seen her for at least six, probably seven months.
My roommate ran into her at an industry meeting about a month ago. Amanda came home and said that she had sent her well wishes, that her life had gotten less hectic, and that she wanted to do drinks sometime. I told Amanda that I was going to go ahead and let this girl be the one to call me, if she really did want to do drinks and catch up. I was fed up with it. At least that night I was. And I hadn't sent an email, text, or given a call to her since then. Until last night.
Last night I was at a committee meeting for an event that I help with. The meeting was drawing to a close and everyone else was leaving. I still had over a half a glass of wine in front of me and I was on this girl's side of town. I sent her a text. It wasn't that late. I knew better. But I sent the text anyway.
I finished my glass of wine, waited five more minutes, and didn't hear anything. Halfway into my drive home, I got a text from her saying that she just wasn't up for it, maybe next time. Ah- there it is... the little bit of hope, the change up that's just floating in the air and you've got your eye steady on it as the ball is begging you to smack the crap out of it. I was always a sucker for a change up.
I sent a text back, saying I'd give her more notice next time and asking what her schedule was like next week. And I felt a little bit dirty and angry at myself the minute I pushed "send".
I still have heard back from that text. I am thinking that I have been "dumped" by a girl friend. I never thought that would have been possible. I didn't think that friends could suck like boys used to suck.
Strike three probably should have been back in October. I wish I would have thought to apply my old rule sooner. Maybe then I wouldn't be sitting here, typing away my misery, much like I used to journal my sorrows away in high school and college when things didn't work out with a guy. It's been a long time since I've had a break up that has blindsided me. The only good thing about this is that there are some really good break up songs out right now. So I think I'm going to go to bed singing a little Cee Lo in my head... the grammy version because the visual of the muppets make me smile.
Not that it even really matters. I have plenty of really great girl friends that I am so much closer with, here in Fort Collins and elsewhere that I have built into healthy relationships, the type which wasn't created out of desperation and have a plethora of laugh-until-I-cry-or-wet-my-pants moments. Which is why I need to end this and end it now.
And, because I mentioned that I am her friend on facebook, I must admit that I am hiding this post from her. I won't get any vindication from her seeing an "ex" friend spouting off and I really don't want to get a text message inviting me on a pity date in response. Forget you and F.. you too.
Way back in the day when I was single and unattached, I re purposed a rule that I had grown up knowing as a law: three strikes and you're out. I've also referred to it as the rule of three, to be more fair, since the person who ends up being out (or rejected) is often yourself.
It starts on a very basic level. You meet a guy, there's a spark and you trade numbers. You call him. He picks up and you chat. You call him again, possibly chatting or leaving a message. You vaguely talk about making plans together. You call him again. During this entire time, whether it be days (hopefully more than 3 because that's just sad) or weeks, he does not call you. You have made an effort three times, he has made none. He has your phone number; he could reach you if he really wanted to. He's not interested.
Rule of three, three strikes and you're out.
This rule kept me grounded. It made me think rationally about if a guy was actually interested in me or if I was more interested than he ever intended to be. It was a way of thinking that brought me down to a guy's level- either they're interested or they're not. Sometimes it turns on and off like a light switch, only not so noticeable.
A girl can't appear to be desperate if she stops calling after three tries. But what I like about the rule the most was that there was a little bit of a loop hole. If said super-cute-guy-who-looked-little-bit-like-Luke-Perry-and-had-an-amazing-laugh does call back, then the rule of three starts all over again. I might also add that if a guy is too busy to call a girl back or just doesn't think it's important to return calls, he's not worth it. There are PLENTY of guys out there who will call back.
Now I won't say the rule isn't fool proof, but it worked well enough for me to figure out who really had potential an who maybe had completely forgotten who I was once the beer from the bar wore off. It was a rule that I passed on to my friends and a rule that they passed onto their friends. It was a "He's just not that into you," type statement without the harsh reality of someone having to actually tell you "He's just not that into you."
I retired the rule when super-cute-guy-who-looked-little-bit-like-Matthew-McConaughey-and-makes-me-laugh-so-hard-I-almost-wet-my-pants called me back after only one call. He always called back. Still does. I never thought I would have to use it again. But I think I was wrong. I should have used it with this friend to save me the embarrassment of being "dumped" by her without even realizing it.
Here's her deal. She wasn't my friend for a very long time. She was a woman that I worked with that I had A LOT of conflict with during our first year working together, which I will venture to say that was more on her part and her tendency to overreact to things... and I feel safe saying that since if you're reading this blog, I'm guessing you know me fairly well.
A little over a year ago, she went through a pretty horrible break up with her boyfriend of four years and moved to Fort Collins where she worked and knew no one. I know what it's like to move to a town where you know no one. I know how horribly lonely it is, how desprate you can be to make friends, and how difficult it really is to meet people our age. I didn't have to, and I will be honest- I really didn't want to, but I took her under my wing, submitting myself to venting sessions, crying sessions, and drunken happy hours. I invited her over to hang out with my friends (after carefully issuing a warning to them that I was, at least for the time being, taking back everything I had bitched about regarding her). Eventually, I did come to value as a friend and as she started to pull her life back together, I began to really enjoy being around her. We had finally learned to communicate, both at work and on a social level.
Early April she had the opportunity to return the favor for all the venting/crying/happy hour sessions because I got let go from my job. Which I felt really would, in the long run, help our friendship because our boss really looked down on co-workers socializing together. It did for a while. She provided me with a good reference, we met for drinks several times, and I clung to her because she was the only one who really understood my ranting about our previous place of employment. I got a sick enjoyment out of hearing how overworked she had become because I had been let go. I felt for her, but hearing her complain made me feel needed still. It's something that I desperately had to hear while coping with the fact that somehow I had failed. Meeting her for happy hour, or even the idea of meeting her for happy hour, became almost like a fix for the hurt and frustration I was keeping inside of me.
It was not a healthy relationship by any means. We were two broken pieces, with rough edges that probably shouldn't be put back together. But I was trying to conjure my own type of gorilla glue.
Because if there's anything that I'm good at, it's relationships. I'm a good friend and I'm good at keeping in contact with people. I'm a "call-you-out-of-the-blue-and-talk-like-we-saw-each-other-yesterday" kind of girl, even if I haven't seen you for two years. I know when to listen, I know when to say the tough stuff, and I know when to be supportive. I'm up for anything and I will drop everything to help you out. I am a good friend so I couldn't imagine why this friendship wouldn't work out. I had helped her find her strength after all, and had been a friend when it didn't seem like she didn't have many.
I'm wondering if she felt my desperation.
Slowly, our communication with each other stretched further and further apart. Instead of a week, it became two weeks, only over text messages or emails. And then an email I sent wouldn't be responded to for three weeks or a month. I added her as a facebook friend. I was the one doing all the initiating. Although it has dropped in frequency, I have continued to contact her in some way at least once a month. I haven't seen her for at least six, probably seven months.
My roommate ran into her at an industry meeting about a month ago. Amanda came home and said that she had sent her well wishes, that her life had gotten less hectic, and that she wanted to do drinks sometime. I told Amanda that I was going to go ahead and let this girl be the one to call me, if she really did want to do drinks and catch up. I was fed up with it. At least that night I was. And I hadn't sent an email, text, or given a call to her since then. Until last night.
Last night I was at a committee meeting for an event that I help with. The meeting was drawing to a close and everyone else was leaving. I still had over a half a glass of wine in front of me and I was on this girl's side of town. I sent her a text. It wasn't that late. I knew better. But I sent the text anyway.
I finished my glass of wine, waited five more minutes, and didn't hear anything. Halfway into my drive home, I got a text from her saying that she just wasn't up for it, maybe next time. Ah- there it is... the little bit of hope, the change up that's just floating in the air and you've got your eye steady on it as the ball is begging you to smack the crap out of it. I was always a sucker for a change up.
I sent a text back, saying I'd give her more notice next time and asking what her schedule was like next week. And I felt a little bit dirty and angry at myself the minute I pushed "send".
I still have heard back from that text. I am thinking that I have been "dumped" by a girl friend. I never thought that would have been possible. I didn't think that friends could suck like boys used to suck.
Strike three probably should have been back in October. I wish I would have thought to apply my old rule sooner. Maybe then I wouldn't be sitting here, typing away my misery, much like I used to journal my sorrows away in high school and college when things didn't work out with a guy. It's been a long time since I've had a break up that has blindsided me. The only good thing about this is that there are some really good break up songs out right now. So I think I'm going to go to bed singing a little Cee Lo in my head... the grammy version because the visual of the muppets make me smile.
Not that it even really matters. I have plenty of really great girl friends that I am so much closer with, here in Fort Collins and elsewhere that I have built into healthy relationships, the type which wasn't created out of desperation and have a plethora of laugh-until-I-cry-or-wet-my-pants moments. Which is why I need to end this and end it now.
And, because I mentioned that I am her friend on facebook, I must admit that I am hiding this post from her. I won't get any vindication from her seeing an "ex" friend spouting off and I really don't want to get a text message inviting me on a pity date in response. Forget you and F.. you too.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Even My Subconscious Is A Closeted Neat Freak
I have a pretty vivid imagination. Most of the time, I can keep it in check. Usually if I start daydreaming with twists down a road of the unfathomable, unrealistic, plain old fiction, I can just shake it off, smile and get right back to work. Most of these blurbs of imagination are just a functional form of procrastination that only take 30 seconds at most. It’s all I will allow during the week; I’m a very busy person.
Where I can’t control my imagination and find it playing and toying with me the most is in my dreams.
Now I know that everyone thinks that they have strange dreams, but it’s gotten to the point where sometimes I don’t want to share what I’ve dreamed of because it gives people a wierd impression of me. Perhaps that's because most people carry the belief that dreams are a form of communication between a person’s subconscious and every day psyche.
Great Example of Katy’s Crazy Dreams:
A few months ago I had a dream that contained G.E. Smith. Name sounds familiar but you can’t quite place it? He was the long, blond haired front man for the Saturday Night Live band in the early 90’s.
Yep. He was in my dream. ...As a swimmer, in a swim team that I was coaching, in the ocean, in India India India
Weird, right? I’m well aware.
This dream came from nowhere. Just pure imagination, from the depths of my brain, craving a release.
If you did believe that it was a message from my subconscious, you may look up key words on dream interpretation websites (like I tried shortly after having this bizarro dream). If you look up ocean, you may find that since I was out in the middle of the ocean, that I feel that I’m experiencing setbacks in my life. However there are no word cues for India
I could give you numerous other examples of strange dreams pulled from various stages of my life, but none of them really reflect anything about me, other than the fact that I have a flamboyant imagination, especially when in the deepest depths of slumber.
However last night was the first night that my dreamscapes gave me a tidbit of perspective into my subconscious.
In my dream, or I should say nightmare, last night I was being chased by dust bunnies. And they were TERRIFYING.
These were not the cute, little white rabbits pulled out of a hat by a magician nor were they brown bunnies seen hopping in and out of the trees beside the gravel road of my parent’s farm. These were enormous and grotesque hares, the size of a normal five year old child, with beady pink eyes, and fangs sticking out from long, dripping snouts. Although the body of each rabbit looked twisted, I was very sure of what they were because of the tall, veiny ears, and long, brown, course fur sticking straight out from each body, of which the main component consisted of a thick, chalky dust that clung to the entire surface area of each strand.
These dust bunnies chased me through my house, jumping off of all surfaces that I know are hot spots for dust to fall on. With every pounce came a landing that resulted in a poof of dust coming off of their body, falling lightly on the surfaces left behind. These monsters roared, snorted, and bit at me as I tried to fight against them with my hands, slapping at them in dusting motions meant to conjure up the power of the wax on/wax off of the Karate Kid. Fighting against them was of no use- the dust bunnies did what rabbits do. They reproduced at an amazingly rapid rate and took me over. At the end of my dream, I stood alone in the place that I knew as my living room, with heaving, seething rabid dust bunnies covering everything I could see blinking those terrible pink eyes and twitching their snotty noses.
When I woke this morning, my hair gave proof that I had been tossing and turning all night out of fear during my nightmare. My normally side swept bangs had a colic the size of an orange over my right eye, the hair on the back of my head was practically standing straight up. It was comical and I wish that I would have taken a picture to share. It was so bad that upon first sight, my husband started laughing and grabbed for a hat, telling me “You HAVE to do something about that!”
After the my hair had been tamed (not to be confused with the hares in my dream that were still running wild through my brain) and Kendall had stopped laughing at my expense, he asked me why I had tossed and turned all night. When I finally brought myself to admit to him that the dust bunnies had come out to get me, he laughed again, whole heartedly. “Is your brain really telling you that you need to dust?” he asked innocently enough. “Didn’t you just dust like a week ago?”
It’s true, I did. It doesn’t mean that I stop myself from thinking that I should drop everything, get out the buckets, washrags, and cleaning agents when I find out that a friend is visiting this weekend. A friend that I need to remind myself lives in a bachelor pad that he has affectionately dubbed “The Shanty”. He won’t care if our home has a little dust here and there. But if I can fit a dusting session in tonight, I will.
Hopefully finding time for a dusting session will put my subconscious’s closet neat freak side at ease so that my dreams can be void of these phantom dust bunnies and left to the likes of any and all early 90’s SNL actors with maybe a guest appearance by Tina Fey.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Everyday Super Powers
I'm a big fan of demotivational posters. It began a few years ago when I worked at the Cystic Fibrosis Foundation. There were pages upon pages of motivational posters for sale in our office supply catalogs, none of which we could afford to purchase because we were a non-profit and had no money for such frivolous things. However, when there is a will, there is a way. My way was cutting out the 2 inch squares from the office supply catalogs and posting each monthly motivational posters behind my desk on an 8x10 paper.
I still keep in contact with my co-workers from the CFF, especially during event weeks. I have started the tradition of sending them cards made from demotivational posters to give them a laugh in an otherwise stressful week, often with themes that stem directly from my experiences in that office. The first card I sent had a poster that stated "If you can smile while in the midst of chaos, then you may not truly understand the gravity of the situation." It was a favorite for a long time. Until I came across this little guy.
Humbling, isn't it.
However, that's the exact reason why this poster has become my favorite. It's humbling and uplifting at the same time. Yes, I am unique! As is my husband, my roommate, each and everyone of my friends... we all bring a little something different to the table: a different perspective, a different talent, different values and abilities. These little somethings that everyone brings to the table, I like to think of as everyday super powers.
Doesn't just saying everyday super powers make you feel like you could conquer the world?! Even if you're having a bad day where it seems like the world is full of people out to get you (let's just call them henchmen to stay with the theme), all you need to do is imagine your cartoon voice over introduction. Mine would probably sound something like this:
Able to see something good about every person or situation regardless of how asinine it may be to do so!
Can coordinate large groups of people, whether it be for a theme party, kickball team, happy hour, or girls night, in a matter of moments!
Don't try to talk your way around what's happened in the past boys, she has the memory of a steal trap!
And damn, she's confident enough in herself that she doesn't care if you think she looks ridiculous in those tights!
I still keep in contact with my co-workers from the CFF, especially during event weeks. I have started the tradition of sending them cards made from demotivational posters to give them a laugh in an otherwise stressful week, often with themes that stem directly from my experiences in that office. The first card I sent had a poster that stated "If you can smile while in the midst of chaos, then you may not truly understand the gravity of the situation." It was a favorite for a long time. Until I came across this little guy.
Humbling, isn't it.
However, that's the exact reason why this poster has become my favorite. It's humbling and uplifting at the same time. Yes, I am unique! As is my husband, my roommate, each and everyone of my friends... we all bring a little something different to the table: a different perspective, a different talent, different values and abilities. These little somethings that everyone brings to the table, I like to think of as everyday super powers.
Doesn't just saying everyday super powers make you feel like you could conquer the world?! Even if you're having a bad day where it seems like the world is full of people out to get you (let's just call them henchmen to stay with the theme), all you need to do is imagine your cartoon voice over introduction. Mine would probably sound something like this:
Able to see something good about every person or situation regardless of how asinine it may be to do so!
Can coordinate large groups of people, whether it be for a theme party, kickball team, happy hour, or girls night, in a matter of moments!
Don't try to talk your way around what's happened in the past boys, she has the memory of a steal trap!
And damn, she's confident enough in herself that she doesn't care if you think she looks ridiculous in those tights!
It's Katy!
And she rocks!
Meanwhile... back in the blog....
So the next time you're having a bad day, remember that you are unique... just like everyone else... and try to remember what your everyday super powers are.
Points to anyone who creates their own theme song.
Extra credit to anyone who calls me up and shares it with me.
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