Coming Down off a Soapbox

Welcome to my busy season, where I shouldn't even have time to write this post!  I really am not writing a post, more sharing a piece that I actually wrote for work this week.  Because I'm really proud of how it turned out, and I think it's a local message to the Manhattan community that has points that reiterate across this country.  I'm hoping that it calls you to action this holiday season, or at least motivates you to become more familiar with the issue of hunger that is undoubtedly present in your backyard.

First - a little bit of background.  For those of you who don't know what I do professionally I coordinate community outreach efforts for restaurant teams.  Anything community based that raises over $10,000 or has more than 50 volunteers, I usually have some sort of hand in with any and all of our 200some restaurants across the country.  This includes holiday events, which means that every Thanksgiving and Christmas, I'm somewhere in the country helping a restaurant team feed hundreds, if not thousands, of low income and homeless within our four walls. 

This year, I will be in Manhattan, KS for their second annual Thanksgiving Gathering.  Manhattan, KS - small town of 55,000.  Even in small towns, there is a need.  Last year we were able to feed close to 600 people - this year we will hopefully feed as many, if not more.  Last year we didn't feel like we got the word out to those who were in need quite like we should have.  This year, we've identified additional ways to increase our outreach and inform the community about the event.  As part of this effort, I was asked by our nonprofit partner, the Flint Hills Breadbasket, to write a soapbox for the local paper.

For those of you who don't know what a soapbox is, it comes from WAY back in the day when politicians raised themselves -literally- with soapboxes above the crowd to give their speeches.  This has become a term in the nonprofit world where supporters are enlisted to speak on the cause's behalf in the public eye thru traditional and social media. 

After mulling around in my head for an angle for a few days, I was lost.  I had nothing.  I knew why we were partnering with Flint Hills Breadbasket, I knew why we were hosting the event, I knew why we were wanting to encourage the community to support the event.  But I had writers block, and was a little bit confused as to how to put my feelings and knowledge of the subject of hunger on paper.  In a way that would motivate people.

Of course, me being me - I turned to the quote book. That's all it took, to find one relevant quote that motivated me and enabled me to expand on a concept that I believe deep down in my heart after seeing this first hand, across the country - that without a meal, you can not live.

 So, here's my soapbox for the holiday season (that hopefully the editor of the Manhattan Mercury will be publishing):

“One cannot think well, love well, sleep well, if one has not dined well.” -Virginia Woolf 

Amazing, isn’t it, how much of our lives revolve around food?  As the holidays approach, we’re reminded of the integral role that food plays, not only in our daily nourishment, but as the cornerstone of our social gatherings.  Aside from love, food is the crucial ingredient for successfully celebrating any holiday. 

As a restaurant company, we at Old Chicago borderline obsess about food- it’s our business.  Lesser known is that our corporation encourages our local restaurants to feed the hungry – guests who can afford to pay for a meal and those who cannot.  As Virginia Woolf stated so well, a person cannot live well if they are not enriching their body with nourishment.  This is why our Manhattan Old Chicago has chosen to partner with Flint Hills Breadbasket, Manhattan’s main support organization for those who are currently living without the ability to plan and secure their daily meals.

The Flint Hills Breadbasket’s impact on the Manhattan community can be measured in numbers that will shock many.  Over twenty five thousand meals were served between August 2012 and August 2013 - an increase of three thousand over the prior year, and over double the amount of meals served during the same time frame in 2010-2011.  This number doesn’t include the approximate 170 backpack meals received each week to the local schools to help feed children on the free and reduce lunch program, or the 625 holiday baskets given annually. They receive no federal, state, county or city funding and their programs are self-supported through grants, foundation and private financial gifts, as well as in-kind donations from community partners, churches, local organizations, and restaurants.  As government funding for SNAP (food stamps) program continues to decrease, the only remaining answer for many is Flint Hills Breadbasket and its services.

It’s an honor for our Manhattan Old Chicago team to partner and support Flint Hills Breadbasket by donating good but unused food supplies and pizzas, totaling 742 pounds of food between September and December of 2012.  Our team has continued this effort in 2013.  Additionally, we’re opening our doors on Thanksgiving Day for clients of Flint Hills Breadbasket, giving our kitchen staff the opportunity to create and serve a made-from-scratch holiday menu of roast turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, green beans, gravy, and pumpkin pie.

One of Old Chicago’s company brand pillars is “Gather Round”.  We hope that you and your family will gather round and celebrate this holiday, give thanks for the food that has blessed your table, and open the discussion about hunger in the Manhattan community.  We encourage you to include the Flint Hills Breadbasket and its programs as an important piece of this conversation, because they are part of the solution to hunger in the Manhattan community.  The other part is community support and understanding of hunger as an issue in the Manhattan community. 

We also personally invite anyone who may not have a place or means to create their own Thanksgiving dinner to gather round at our Thanksgiving Gathering to nourish and celebrate how food creates a community.  For those looking for a place to celebrate on Thanksgiving Day, join us on Thursday, November 28^th between 11 a.m. and 2 p.m. at Old Chicago, at the corner of 3^rd Street and Poyntz Avenue.  Volunteer spots for this event have been filled; however, please contact Flint Hills Breadbasket directly at 537-0730 if you or your family would like to receive more information about supporting their mission this holiday season. 

(End soapbox and re-enter blog mode)

Now I'm not including this to give my company a fist bump for the good works we do, or to encourage you to run out and send a donation to Flint Hills Breadbasket (unless you live near Manhattan, KS and then yes, you should consider making a donation if you are looking for a nonprofit for your end of year giving).  My soapbox in this blog is a call to action - please take some time this holiday season to learn about the nonprofits in your community who are helping those that are struggling to find, prepare, or provide their next meal for themselves and their family.  Don't be naive and assume it doesn't exist in your community.  I'm telling you, it does.  These nonprofits wouldn't exist if they didn't have people coming thru their doors.  Yet the greatest issue for many of these nonprofits is community awareness - getting the word out to the people who need the services that may not know and getting the word out to potential supporters who may be able to help provide any of the three most valuable resources (time, talent, and treasure).  

Each community has a local meals on wheel program - but there are neighbors, grandparents, and friends who are not aware of the services or don't think they qualify. Many communities have backpack programs, but not all. It doesn't mean that there aren't still children who's only meal is at school, leaving them hungry at night, on weekends, and during the summer.  Many have food banks and food pantries, but unless volunteers are available to have the doors open and donate items that keep the shelves stocked, the food banks and food pantries are limited in their help. 

Take the time to educate yourself, and to have a discussion.  Don't turn your back on the problem, let's confront it with a conversation.  We can gather together, raise a glass and say my favorite

"Cheers,"

Together.   

 

The Top Shelf

Do you know what the most important thing, actual tangible item is in your life? Have you thought about it ever? Something, that if a disaster hit your home – a fire, a tornado, earthquake, sinkhole, anything else that Fox News could get ahold of to create panic - and it was gone, you would feel deep remorse over it having disappeared from your life. Something – that if you had already gotten your family members and pets into the car, but were sure you had 5 minutes to gather, would be the first thing you would run for?

I do know, as I put small amount of thought into it last year when we could see the glow of the High Park Fire on the outer rim of Lory State Park last summer. It was 12 miles away from home, the smell of smoke was thick, there was zero containment, and we were leaving for a family wedding on Cape Cod for 5 days. We knew that there was a very slim chance that the fire would come down in Fort Collins, but just in case the worst possible situation happened… we packed one laundry basket and gave the key to our neighbors. After we returned from vacation, to a fire still burning but no chance of it coming into the city, I returned it to the top shelf of my closet.

Here, just out of reach from almost everyone, is a collection of books. The most important items in my entire life - because they are my life.

21 journals, full books that I have written, doodled, transcribed songs & poems, cried, screamed, thought, loved, hurt, rebuilt, soothed, and dreamed in. All the way back to September 21st, 1991.

I’m not joking. Here’s the proof.

My very first journal. Given to me at my 9th birthday party by my friend Jill Aschenbrenner, the first of many journals that I’ve been given thru the years. A significant gift because it established something about me, that I am a writer. At least about my own life. I’ve been a writer, a historian of my own life, and a sharer of stories. It’s why this blog and the ability for me to write about myself has come very naturally – I’ve been practicing for a very long time, and may be something that I was born into.

Anyone who has met my Grandpa Melvin would agree that there may be a story telling gene on the Hein side of the family. But the ability to write my life down, on a somewhat regular basis, may also be an inherited trait from the Bell side. You see, amongst this stack of journals is a journal of my great grandfather, W.A. Bell .

This journal here, was gifted to him as well, by my great grandma and documents the days between January 1st, 1946 and Dec. 20th, 1950 – a day where W.A. documented that it was 20 degrees below! I found this journal when we were cleaning out the old farm house after my grandparents moved to town. To say my grandpa was a packrat would be an understatement. It took us WEEKS to sort thru the basement of that house and separate the clutter -stacks of bibles and national geographic magazines- from the important things – a pocket hymn book carried by a family member in the civil war and this journal. Filled with simple, to the point, three sentence statements about each day. The type of details you would expect from an Iowan farmer in 1950. Important details that sometimes were surprising that they could be simplified so.

My grandparent's wedding day.

My Aunt Mickie's birth

Aunty Mickie cried a lot....

Brevity was obviously a gift of WA’s. It is not one of mine. WA has one book that spans 4 years. Many of my journals contain 1 year, and a few barely can hold 6 months. About the important – and not so important – moments of my life, all written in more than three sentences. A collection that someday I look forward to leaving behind to my great grandchildren – although I’m not sure what they will think of the details that I’ve left behind.

What I hope that they will find and discover about me, especially if they never had the chance to know me personally, is how consistent my life was from the beginning to the end, but also how I wasn’t afraid to change when it was necessary.

Looking thru these books, what is consistent?

1.  The first cover page was always game for setting the tone of the book. A statement, a quote – something that resonated with me at that point in my life, that I wanted to include. For example – here’s the inside of my very first journal.

Obviously I have a lot of growing up to do… and I was a weird kid (Snakes are cool, people!) I would also like to point out the death threat in the upper left hand corner to anyone that reads the journal – as well as the tag that Jeff left behind to let me know that he read it.

But as I grew older, you find more things like this:

The first journal where I started to add quotes, sophomore year of college

Senior year college - I didn't add a quote right away, but the post it is from when I first discovered Brian Andreas (one of my favorite artists, and creator of Story People)

Summer 2005 before my last semester of college.  Felt like big things were on the horizon, and obviously was also reading a lot of Ayn Rand. 

Quote from my current journal, which is pages away from being finished.

 A little bit cheesy – yes, I will admit to that. But these words inspire me and challenge me. Again, it’s something that is consistent about me and about these journals. And that’s who I am – a little bit cheesy, so it fits.

 2.  So many of my journals have been gifts, obviously from friends who know me very well. I’ve received journals for Christmas presents and birthday gifts, but also at difficult moments or forks in the road when it was assumed I would need to reflect on thoughts that were to follow. I received a journal from Traci when I was in the hospital the summer after my junior year of high school when it became obvious I wasn’t going to be rejoining her on the softball field anytime soon. I received a journal from Erin for high school graduation. Perhaps the sweetest, most thoughtful journal came to me from Kara after my grandpa’s funeral. I treasure the inscriptions left by the person who gave me the journal, or the notes that others have left behind if I passed the journal around for others to write it. Their words serve as reminders of a time left behind, bringing forward memories of simpler times and friendships. Their words often give me comfort, even today – that they believed in me then and I can carry that faith with me now. Or there are a few that just make me laugh (Emily – Curls do rule, and Cody, yes – my cats breath does smell like cat food - a lesson in reality I'm glad you shared sophomore year in English class).

3. Boys & Men. Dear LORD! I have too many pages dedicated to the opposite sex! Pages upon pages were written about how they didn’t pay attention to me in elementary/middle school, how I was figuring them out both mentally and physically in high school and college, and how any attention or lack of made me feel – let alone the coverage that happened when I was in the midst of falling in and out of love, whether it be a crush or something more significant. Over, and over again. For the sake of laughter, here’s a quick summary:

• My first crushes are still friends of mine – (thank goodness for facebook) which makes the below much funnier and won’t save them from being named. Hopefully they will laugh about the following mentions: Nathan Broghammer (6th grade crush: “I wouldn’t even have to change my last initial if we got married!”), Marty Quint (“Why does every other girl in 7th & 8th grade have to like him too – he’s MY soul mate?!”) & Luke Winn (first high school boyfriend “I really like him, but do I really, like, love him?” ) You can laugh – but you know that you all had thoughts like this. Well, maybe not the consideration I gave to my monogram in sixth grade…. That one is really, um, special… (and shows up several times… geesh) 
• Thru 8th grade, I thought it would be "cool" to keep a running list of who I was "going out with" or who I had a crush on.  Somehow, these lists and above passages make it easier for me to relate to Kendall's little sister Sadie and how she talks about her crushes (she's currently in 8th grade).
• Some things you can’t recover from, especially when a first love goes bad. Almost every single hurt from then on in every failed relationship, completely unrelated, will be measured compared to that first breakup that took the breath out of your lungs and made you question “Why? What did I do to be treated this way?” … but eventually it does go away. Kind of. My heart still kind of aches when I read those passages. 
• My dating has always seemed to follow a trend or theme – which is so obvious now, how the hell didn’t I see it and break the pattern then?! : 
•  My 6th month stint of dating men who all had names that started with Bs (starting with Bill I-forgot-to-write-his-last-name-down-in-my-diary-so-I-don’t-exactly-remember; Bill was followed by Brody, Cute Ben, another Ben, and a Brandon). I could include Baxter on this list because I had a huge crush on him during this time period, but we never dated. And his first name wasn’t Baxter. But we called him that…. So, yeah? Maybe I should include him? 
• Every girl has a name that was jinxed from his birth– they dated several guys under the same name and it never worked out. For me, that name was Dave or a variation of it. There were four Daves/Davids, and even a DJ (a Junior) who pursued me at different times. They were all completely different, and I pretty much just wrote all four of them off. Not just because of the name – I’m not that shallow or superstitious. However, there is a note that I made in my journal about DJ that reads “Yep, another David. Let’s see how this one works.” Obviously it didn’t. 
• Musicians or guys I picked up at concerts. I went thru a phase where the only conclusion that can be made is that I was trying really hard to be a groupie. This is not something that I would really like to encourage. And word to the wise – NEVER pick up a guy at a KORN concert (you would think that would be common sense, but during that period in my life, it wasn't...and led to the notable worst date I've ever been on - which is very funny... now). I did always appreciate it when Christen would randomly run into any of them on Kirkwood’s campus or in Iowa City and make sure to send me a text letting me know she ran into them - like a longstanding inside joke.
• Wrestlers and men with facial hair. After all of the above, that’s the type I settled on. Pretty much like every other Iowa girl. And I did find a wrestler, with facial hair….

Which brings me to my #4:

4. Kendall – there’s a lot written about him in my journals. He will admit that he’s scared of how they paint him. I think that comes from a time where he read one, uninvited. That experience, and that specific time in our life may have left a bad taste in his mouth. But when I read the 7 journals that he has been included in, I see the words that I used to describe what made him different – not part of a dating trend in my life. What made him stand out – even tho we didn’t get along right off the bat. What made me fall in love with him when I knew he was graduating and moving to Chicago, what made me have the courage to tell him “Let’s just give this long distance thing a chance. I just want a chance…” , what we did to make a long distance relationship work, the growing pains that we have felt at times, the times where we were there for each other in very difficult times. The times where we needed to let the other have space so we could figure out who we were as our own person, before we could really be together. I see the years of us growing –into adults, together – and challenging ourselves to be the people who make each other proud. Yes, there are some pages where I describe hurt and confusion at different times, but when I put my pen to paper, it’s specifically to pose questions and come to conclusions. Which the answer has always been, in the good times and the not-so-good, that I love him. It’s as simple -and sometimes - as complicated, as that.

5. My faith. I am not a person who goes to church every week, however I consider myself to be a person who actively pursues spirituality and I have a deep faith in God. I’ve written many prayers in my journal, and have made sure to write my blessings down. To me, it is good to be able to look back over 20+ years and see what I have been blessed with, and how the things that I consider a blessing have evolved and matured. More so, I am proud of the fact that even in times of significant trial, I have been able to keep my head up and recognize that there are blessings that God has given me in each and every day.

Finally…. Speaking of blessings….the greatest of all….

6. My friends. What a blessing that so many of the people that I have written about in my journals are still actively present in my life today! I am truly in awe of this….That the names that I wrote about when I was in 3rd grade all the way thru college are still people who I engage with socially and can write about today. That the words that I have written in the past and continue write about them are filled with love and pride for all that they have accomplished and become. I am surrounded by amazing people! Thank you all for continuing to let me harass you and let me call you a friend;)

So that’s what I feel like is consistent in these journals. Which bears the question, what’s changed?

I would say me. These books, they are my evolution. A documentation of how I’ve changed.

But really… I just grew up.

And continue to grow. Each and every day. I continue to be confronted with new challenges and new thoughts – and because of that, I continue to evolve. I hope that I’m growing a little wiser, figuring out a better way to say what I think and feel, to think about situations that I’m not familiar with, and perceive the world around me. Because it continues to grow as well.

Someday, I hope that my great granddaughter will read my journals, page by page. Unfortunately, the rest of you will miss out.

(Well, unless you attend one of our girls nights at my house where I’ve had about 3 too many glasses of wine and someone puts it in my head that I should read a selection of passages from middle school, all for the sake of laughter and entertainment. That has happened before, and I won’t count it out from happening again.) (I’m sorry Nathan/Marty/Luke…)

So here's to my past - my top shelf.  Aptly named, because it is the good stuff.

3rd thru Senior year in high school

College journals (added the ISU pom pom for a little bit of flair)

And Cheers to my present journal, holding down the fort on my nightstand.

And this one, this is the journal that will hold my very near future....

Looking pretty good, isn't it;)

To All the Moms Out There

I tend to avoid facebook on holidays.  Part of that is because I’m either usually working (Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter) or doing something ridiculous with our friends and family (4^th of July block party, Memorial Day shooting, Labor Day Tour de Fat).  The other part is that status updates on holidays are exhausting to me.
It’s all the same.  Well wishes.  Shouts of joy for the holiday.  The desire to share with the hundreds of acquaintances who are not physically included in your own holiday plans.  It’s all the same, and to me- that’s a little bit boring.
However, the one holiday that I love to read status updates on is today.  Mother’s day.  Because everyone ‘s status is different.  And because of this, it has made me think of many different things today:

Different ways to express love. 

I think of the mothers I have in my life.  There are many “mother figures”, but really only one mom.
 
We have not always had the best relationship.  Those teenage years were hard for both of us.  I didn’t always understand my mom.  She didn’t understand me.  I have pages upon pages of journal entries as proof.  We both threw our hands up in the air at times and said “Whatever!” and just walked away  from each other.

I’m glad we found a way to come back.

Now I think back and I realize how much my mom gave of her own time to let my brother and I gain experiences and skills.  I calculate the many hours she spent schlepping me to piano lessons, dance classes, 4-H, the library, sleepovers, sports practices, and babysitting jobs.  And when I got my license, the stress of figuring out transportation may have been relieved, but now she had a driver on the road (and not a very good one at that).   I realize that she wanted me to have these experiences, it was important to her for me to have these experiences so she made it a priority over other things that she could have done with her time – things that she would have probably enjoyed more. 

My mom has always made us a priority.  In subtle ways.   In not so subtle.  She has always had our best interest in mind, even if we disagreed about that fact at the time.  She’s very good at pointing out different ways of looking at things.  “Did you think about it this way, Katy?”  “Yeah… but what about this?” This used to drive me nuts – because it often pointed out a thought or situation that I hadn’t thought of myself.  It made me question myself.  But this tool taught me the art of consideration.  When enacted tactfully, it makes sure that I know that my opinion or stance is 100% accurate to how I feel before I put it out in the world.  It helps me to be  empathetic to situations and people.  It allows me to see that there are many shades of gray between black and white.  It enables me to understand that there are many different “right ways” out there, and very few wrongs.  I may not have understood her intentions, then – but I appreciate what it has given me now.

Last year, on a visit back home, I found and brought back with me a book that mom gave me when I graduated from high school.   The book is a short fable called “Will You Still Be My Daughter” by Carol Lynn Pearson.  The book itself is a great reminder of how the mother daughter relationship grows and changes over time, but the reason why I needed to carry it with me to Colorado, the reason why I read it when I need an ego boost lies in the inscription that my mom took the time to pen on the inside cover:

“To my daughter –

I know you are strong enough to face the storms and droughts that are ahead in your life, for you have shown that you are idealistic, independent, and just a touch stubborn… I’m pleased to see those traits, as they will carry you.  And if you ever find a time that’s “too much”, please remember that I’m there with you, somewhere, somehow, perhaps hidden in your shadow.

Love,  Mom”

As I get older, the ways that I have needed my mom have changed.  But she is always there, a phone call away.   She has given me advice, she has given me pep talks, she has told me that she is proud of me and that she knows I’m doing the best that I can do.  The way that we have expressed our appreciation for each other has changed over the years.  I finally found the ability and place to where I can say thank you, I needed you then.  I need you now.  No matter what I throw at you, you continue to step up to the plate and hit it out of the park. 

Mom, you rock.

And I will call later today to tell you that.

When it comes to Moms, everyone has different experiences & different emotions. 

The word Mother’s Day does not bring a smile to everyone.  To some, at first mention – it brings a reminder of hurt, or of longing.  In many different capacities.  We often forget about the people who harbor this feeling on Mother’s Day.

My “Aunt” Marilyn (who is actually my mom’s cousin) posted this today on her Facebook Status, a further explanation of what I am acknowledging:

The Wide Spectrum of Mothering by Amy Young

To those who gave birth this year to their first child this year – we celebrate with you.

To those who lost a child this year – we mourn with you.
To those who are in the trenches with little ones every day and wear the badge of food stains – we appreciate you.
To those who experienced loss thru miscarriage, failed adoptions, or running away – we mourn with you.
To those who walk the hard path of infertility, fraught with pokes, prods, tears and disappointment – we walk with you.  Forgive us when we say foolish things.  We don’t mean to make this harder than it is.
To those who are foster moms, mentor moms, and spiritual moms – we need you.
To those who have disappointment, heart ache, and distance with your children – we sit with you.
To those who lost their mothers this year – we grieve with you.
To those who experienced abuse at the hands of your own  mother – we acknowledge your experience.
To those who lived thru driving tests, medical tests, and the overall testing of motherhood – we are better for having you in our midst.
To those who have aborted children – we remember them and you on this day.
To those who are single and long to be married and mothering your own children – we mourn that life has not turned out the way you long for it to be.
To those who step-parent – we walk with you on these complex paths.
To those who envisioned lavishing love on grandchildren, yet that dream is not to be – we grieve with you.
To those who will have emptier nests in the upcoming year – we grieve and rejoice with you.
To those who placed children up for adoption – we commend you for your selflessness and remember how you hold that children in your heart.
And to those who are pregnant with new life, both expected and surprising – we anticipate with you.

This is Mother’s Day.  We walk with you.  Mothering is not for the faint of heart and we have real warriors in our midst.  We remember you.

                                                                                                                                                                                                          

I have  friends who are posting pictures and memories of their mothers, who are no longer with us.  One, posted a picture of his mother (who passed in a car accident when he was young) and wished that when alive, she would have let them take more pictures of her as that is all they have left.  Another friend shared a picture of her mother laughing, an important memory because her mother was on the losing end of a battle with depression. 

I think about how we nearly lost Kendall’s mom to lung cancer in 2009.  I think about what it would be like if we were only able to share her memory on mother’s day, rather than continue to experience and grow in our relationship with her.  Somehow I can’t fathom that feeling.  My heart goes out to who do not have the ability to call up their mother and say “Happy Mother’s Day”.

I know people who are struggling with infertility, who would be amazing parents.  I struggle to understand why God won’t give them the ability to have a child.  I pray for them, and I pray that they will find peace in their hearts during the difficult months and know that whatever the outcome, the end result will be a stronger love.  Even at the end of the day, it’s a stronger love between husband and wife only.

I know others who do not have relationship with their mother, by choice. Today, filled with so many status updates, is a reminder of mother that they never had.   I also pray for peace in their hearts, as I know this is the best decision for them because a relationship with their mother would be toxic or bring sadness into their lives.  I stand with them in these decisions; you are a stronger person because of this choice.

Yes, there is a wide spectrum when it comes to mothers.  We should never forget this.

Different (& Consistent) Doubts Moms & Moms-To-Be Have

This year in particular, I am appreciative and perhaps , a bit more reflective.  I have reached the age where a large majority of my friends have children, have a bun in the oven, are trying to get preggers causally, weren’t trying but hey – life threw a surprise at them, are desperately trying,  are talking about when the “right time” will be, or are vocally stating that they are never to be parents because they are sick of people asking them when they are going to start having kids.  I am watching and I am listening, not quite sure where I fit in.

I turned 30 this past fall, and I will say that was the first time that I thought to myself “Well, now I have to at least start to listen to that biological clock.  I won’t be able to hit snooze on that sucker forever.” 

This is a scary thought for me.  I actually am trying to ignore it a little bit longer.  We’re not ready – not yet.  For those of you out there who feel comfortable asking “So when are you going to start popping out kids?”  - I’m publically saying “Not yet” for you.  Please stop asking.

I know that one can never really be “ready” to be a parent.  It’s something that you learn as you go.  Having a preconceived “How I’m going to parent” plan is seems somewhat ridiculous.  But people do it!  This amazes me, especially when I hear stories from new parents.

Again, I’m at the age where so many of my friends are experiencing parenthood for the first time.  Thank goodness they decide to share!  Facebook statuses and blogs are huge influences to continue with birth control.  There are stories that horrify  me, not because I disagree with a parenting choice – but because my friend was put in that situation to start with.  I admire the friend who put her 2 year old daughter in a timeout in the frozen food aisle of Target because that was where she started her tantrum.  I can’t imagine having that patience.  Which is why I know I’m not ready to sign on as a parent yet.

And yet, she doubted if this was the right decision. All moms seem to doubt themselves.  Why is this?

Those who have been thru the toy filled trenches and survived will often say the secret lies in the mother’s handbook credo: “Be present.  Be consistent. Do the best you can in the moment.  Forgive yourself when hindsight turns out to be 20/20 because you did the best you could in the moment.”

I buy into this credo, I’m just not sure if I have the strength of mind to remind myself of it in the place of a tantrum…yet.  But for those  you who are dealing with toddlers, ten year olds, and dare I say the worst of the worst – teenagers… I hope that you able to find comfort in this credo.  See the below if you need an additional pep talk.

Different Ways to Laugh

You’ve seen the Kid President, right?  Well, I love this kid.  Mom is WOW upside down.  Thank you for the reminder.

Kid President: An Open Letter to Moms

Everyone has Different “Moms”

I may have one mom, but she had some help along the way.  Thank you to my surrogate moms: Grandma Marie, Grandma Aylo, my Aunts Nancy, Debbie, Vicki, Marilyn, Micky, Michelle, and my “Aunt” Marilyn.  You’ve loved me since I was born – or very close to it – and are in so many of my memories.  You’re contributions to helping me find me are thanked and appreciated as well.  I couldn’t get away without including you in this post.

And to the Moms that I have picked up along the way: House Moms Mom Laverna and Mama Lo, my mother-in-law Linda, Grandma Ruth, and my Colorado Momma Sherrill – the love that you have given me during my “adulthood” has enriched my life.  You are special to me and I hold you in my heart today.

 

So in short... Happy Mother's Day to All!  We love you to the moon and back.

The Last Hurrah

I live in a city that disguises itself as a college town, just a few weeks a year.

College towns, have a very specific feel, an energy – or a lack of – at certain times of the year.  College towns survive because of the University that falls within city limits.  Students often make up a majority of residents, 9 months of the year. The fall and spring is a buzz, the summer is quiet and peaceful without students. 

I've lived in two college towns.  Ames is very much a stereotypical college town.  Of the 50 to 60,000 residents, about half of them are students at Iowa State.  Summers show the barest bones of a ghost town, students in summer sessions decide on a bar based on specials rather than which has a line out the front door. Permanent residents don’t have to wait in line to dine or shop.  It is quiet at night, regardless of where you are laying your head.  Open windows aren't filled with laughter or drunken whooo girl’s screams.  Some people may not mind the absence.    To me, Ames lacks energy in the summer because the students are gone.  My summers spent there left me craving for the fall – even after I had graduated and knew that September would not return friends to campus. 

In comparison, Fort Collins is more of a haven for young, up and comers.  Students fall in love with the foothills, bike trails, outdoor activities, cheap craft beer that is so much better than the Natty Lite that I drank while at ISU.   They position themselves to stay after graduation, even if it means that they pass on a job and settle for grad school.  Because of this, the median age of Fort Collins in the 2010 census was 28.  The college may skew that statistic slightly, but of the 150,000 residents, the college only compromises around 20,000.  Summers in Fort Collins are fantastic – filled with concerts, outdoor festivals, impromptu bike bar crawls, white water tubing on the Poudre, hiking, days and nights grilling up at the Reservoir.  The energy of the city gains momentum, without a clutter of students.  We don’t need them to create the fun, we continue without them. 

Yet, there are certain times of year where it is very obvious that Fort Collins is a college town.  Obvious, in the fact that all students are flooding the streets.  Obviously distinguished as students by their dress, behavior, and where they congregate on street corners – or, more likely, in the middle of the street.  They are out, with a mission.  A mission to enjoy each other, to meet new friends and reconcile with old.  In Old Town (Fort Collins’s downtown area) this controlled chaos happens twice a year.  First, when the students return in the fall.  And then finally, the last weekend of school - dead week.  The last hurrah.

One last hurrah to ruin brain cells before they are needed most during finals weeks and friends scatter for the summer; to the mountains, to travel overseas for study abroad programs, to internships, to return to their parent’s to save money on summer housing. For some, before they are forced to leave and not come back.  One last hurrah before finals and graduation.

I, unknowingly, became part of this bedlam last weekend. 

(Yes, I think that bedlam is the right word to use there.) 

I was right in the middle of it, with my group of girlfriends, fresh off of an afternoon drinking mint julips and making Kentucky Derby predictions.  We were dressed up in dresses and heels, our significant others tapped out due to their own over consumption.  Given the freedom – we took the opportunity to dance.  We headed to Old Town, and headed to a dance club called Bondi. 

As my friend Kathleen so eloquently put in our Girls Night Facebook Page the next day: “Dumb.”

Dumb, but awesome.  One of those nights that I woke up a few short hours after closing the bars down and my legs hurt from dancing so much.  My throat hurt from yelling over the music and laughing so much.  My head hurt from…well… you get the idea.

It felt like I was 21 again.  If CSU’s campus was closer, I could have probably been influenced to jump into a fountain.  I know that the crew of girls I was with would have welcomed the idea, just like my friends in college did.  And we would have gotten away with it.

We maybe didn't realize what we were walking into.  It was a reverse naivety.  I was never one for bars that served as meat markets in college.  I was a dive bar kind of girl.  Walking into Bondi and onto the crowded dance floor made me very happy to be married.  I could rely on one flash of my left hand in the strobe lights to make a boy back off, no questions or persuasion needed.  It made me feel kind of sorry for my cousin Libby who is 21.  The pickup lines are worse than I remember.  And yet, something to witness and laugh at. 

Towards the very end of the night, I had a young man approach me and ask if he could dance with me.  I flashed the ring, explaining that I was married and I didn't think it would be appropriate.  There was a slight hesitation before he practically broke down in tears. 

He shared quickly, “My girlfriend of 2 years broke up with me two months ago, and I’m graduating next week.  This is the first night I was able to make myself go out with friends.  And of course I try to pick up a married woman…”

Given what I had heard coming out of the mouths of boys for the majority of the night, I probably could have assumed this was another pickup line.  I did, until I looked and saw the hurt in his eyes.  My rejection could not have put that deep of an ache in his irises. 

For those of you who haven’t been out and about with me on the town, I have two alter egos when I’ve been drinking.  Mother Hen.  Therapist Katy.  This boy’s eyes were calling out both. 

All I said was “Oh hun,” and rubbed his shoulder.  That’s all it took, and he drunkenly started to open up.  So we stood there and talked.  He talked about his fears, of the finality of both his relationship, of college. 

I remember the feeling of finality of graduation and of those first “real world” experiences.  How scary it was.  The uncertainty.  The questions.  If I would be able to have the opportunity to do what I wanted, professionally?  Would I be able to afford the lifestyle that I enjoyed without scholarship money to support my income?  Would I be able to stay close to my friends, even as we all headed to different states and coasts?  Would I be able to make new friends – just as good and worthwhile as those who I had surrounded myself with in college?  Would I be able to make a difference in the real world like I had on campus?   Was I making the right choices about my future – was it smart of me to wait things out with Kendall?  Was the real world really as cruel and helpless as so many “adults” made it out to be? 

And yet, I knew it wouldn't be cruel and helpless.  It couldn't be.  It would exactly what I made it to be, what I would chose to make it.  That some things may be uncertain, but as long as I made an effort – as long as I gave it my best effort, I could be happy with any and every decision that needed to be made.  I had been preparing for this life.  Now was my chance.  Now I got to live it.

One of my now favorite songs came to me in the summer of 2005, during a time when I was asking these questions and trying to tame the doubts.  That summer I discovered the band The National and their new album Alligator.  It was only a discovery; I enjoyed Alligator and listened to it a few times – but I let myself be taken over by the more upbeat Hot Fuss of The Killers that summer (who didn't !).   It wasn't until a few years ago that I revisited the album on YouTube (I don’t know where my copy is now… lost in my many moves across states I’m sure.  Visit the above link if you want to listen as well). 

I love the entire album, but I especially love The Geese of Beverly Road.  It’s a song that some days I will find myself listening and have the need to hit repeat over and over.  Something about the spirit of the song, the complexity of the off beat, the ability to say “We were here, we were here…”  Some days it fills my heart to where I want to cry. 

It reminds me of the hope that I filled myself with then in 2005, the promise of what the real world would contain.  Of the following few years where I made some dumb decisions along the way but I was able to move beyond.  Dumb decisions aren’t necessarily mistakes.  Uturns exist in life if necessary.  Those were the moments I came from, that I made a decision in fake confidence which was good enough until I could find a direction in which confidence was warranted. 

It reminds me of the craziness that I still have in me, the fact that I can still dance and smile and laugh the same way I did when I was 20.  That the world is still filled with 20-something who contain this fear, hope and promise, and that we owe it to them to help foster that feeling, not destroy it.  That I will never utter the words that it is a cruel and helpless world.

I spent 20 minutes talking this boy, never finding out his name.  After listening to him, I took only a few minutes of our time to share that it was ok to be afraid.  It was also important to remember that he had been preparing for life, and that life has many seasons, that people fill these seasons – and he would find someone else, he would find other friends.  He only needed to be confident now, or at least pretend to be.  And that I had faith that he would make the right decisions, or at least the right “wrong” decisions.  He hugged me – a nice hug.  He didn't even try to cop a feel.  He really did just need a friend, someone who could give him a little bit of confidence in himself…

To move on to the next girl over, a cute blond somebody who was more appropriately his age.  Figures…

On the ride home, I stuck my ear buds in and listened to The Geese of Beverly Road.  It seemed appropriate.  A late night toast to the spirit of those who were experiencing one season’s last hurrah.

To the class of 2013 – this is what I have to share:

Hey love, you’ll get away with it.  You’ll run like you’re awesome, totally genius. You’re the heirs to the glimmering world.

You’re the heirs to the glimmering world.

Kevin Costner loves Diamonds (& I love Kevin Costner)

You are not the first person to hear me say this out loud:  Kevin Costner is my #1 Old Man Crush.

“What is an old man crush?” you may ask (if for some reason you don’t already know).  Among my group of friends, it consists of celebrity men (actor, musician, comedian, author, etc) that are at least 15+ years older than you.  It would be really inappropriate or at least super scandalous for a girl my age to have a crush on this man, except for the fact that he’s a celebrity.  Because he is a celebrity, I can share these frivolous feelings, with no shame behind the fact that he’s “my old man crush”. 

Yes, I do have several.  #2 would be Roger Clyne, lead singer of my favorite bar band, RCPM. #3 would be Anthony Kiedes of the Red Hot Chili Peppers. Apparently I have a thing for rockers in bands that abbreviate their name starting with an R.

Here’s the thing with old man crushes… they tend to be based on positive feelings or the laughter that has been created in association with them, rather than looks alone.  Although most old man crushes still are good looking men.  Not always though.  I have one friend whose #1 old man crush is Jeff Bridges… I just don’t get that one…But that’s a great example that old man crushes don’t have to be the best looking men on the block.  Old man crushes are based mostly on the the art that these men create.

Back to Kevin Costner…

I can pinpoint the exact reason why I love Kevin Costner.  Kevin Costner and I share a love of diamonds.

Baseball Diamonds.

Actually, it goes much deeper than that – which I will dissect below.  Superficially, we can relate it back to the fact that he loves baseball and making baseball movies.  He’s made five baseball movies total (quick – name them all in your head!), two of which I can practically recite by memory.  “Bull Durham” and “Field of Dreams” provided coaching off the field in the sport that I grew up loving (softball).  Because of that, I hold a special place in my heart for Kevin Costner.

Now, if you were to ask me to give my love of Kevin Costner baseball movies a deeper look, I would (and will) share that my connection with those movies is a connection to tradition and the deepest of all – a connection with my father.

My dad is a great dad.  I’m one of the lucky ones who had a very involved father.  I am so thankful for the relationship that I have had with him, growing up and now. I believe that Jeff bonded with him on the farm (which I could really have cared less about).  Instead of giving up on me, he still found a way to bond, and that bond was thru softball.

He was my coach from 2^nd grade all the way until I started playing varsity in 8^th grade.  We had practices together, and then when I started pitching in fifth grade– we added pitching practices on top of practices, as well as off season pitching sessions.  Come November, we were in the gym together at least twice a week with a foot long two by four and duct tape in replacement of a rubber mound.  Starting in January, we would add Sunday pitching clinics so I could have outside advice on my technique and learn new pitches.  These were my favorite – mostly because it always included a trip to DQ afterwards.  Somewhere in there, between the practices and pitching clinics and ice cream, we would find time to talk.  Not always about softball or baseball either. 

In the background of this happening, we created inside jokes and traditions that circulated around softball and baseball because that was our bond.  This is where we bring Kevin Costner baseball movies back into play.

When I was really young, my dad and I would watch “Field of Dreams” together in the spring, before the start of softball season.  He would let me stay up late to finish it– past 10 o’clock!  We went on family day trips to Dyersville, where the film was shot.  We played games of pickup ball on the actual Field of Dreams.  I've thrown a pitch from that mound, hit a ball and have crossed home plate.  Looking back on it now, it was just a field in the middle of a corn field, much like my high school softball field (only not as well kept).  But when you are 8, 9, and 10… to play ball on a field that was in a movie shoot, that’s pretty awesome!

As I got older, and began pitching, he began quoting Bull Durham to me.  If I shook off the pitch that he wanted me to work on throwing, he occasionally would call me “Meat” – I think for his own personal enjoyment because I wasn't allowed to actually watch the movie until after I was a freshman in high school (due to the racy nature of much of the sub context).  After he knew that I had watched the movie, the jokes kept coming.  A bad day on the mound where it was obvious that I was thinking too much would have him yelling “Hit the Bull” to me during a game – just to get a smile.  Halfway thru my first season on varsity, where I was beyond frustrated because we hadn't won a game yet and I was trying to put all of the blame on myself – the very young, inexperienced pitcher – he took me aside and reminded me that I didn't need to strike everyone out, that strikeouts are boring and fascist.  Ground hits are more democratic.

From those taunts and reminders, my personal tradition of watching Kevin Costner baseball movies, and other baseball movies at the start of the season was born.  I try to watch “Bull Durham” & “Field of Dreams” before opening day.  Also added to the mix are favorites that I would watch with my teammates during the season.  Typical high school girls, we would have slumber parties and be drawn to movies – favorites during the summer season in particular were “The Sandlot” & “A League of Their Own”.  Hilmer, our coach, LOVED quoting Tom Hanks’s character.  The entire team learned to suffer thru those strawberries on shins and thighs, because there is no crying in baseball.  I still have a pretty good scar on my elbow from one awful, rough slide… of which I remember practically biting thru my lip as I wiped off the dirt and rocks, & cleaned up the blood after returning to the dugout because I didn't want to hear Hilmer repeat that quote again.

I owe a lot of happy memories to softball; to my dad, to my team, to my coaches.  They come back to me at random moments – (like when I hear duct tape being pulled out and torn).  I've blogged before about how music can take me back, unexpectedly (here).  However, come April - I know that I am submitting myself to hour upon hour of memory by watching these movies.  I treasure the ability to summon them, purposefully.  And I treasure being able to whole heartily relate to one of the last quotes of James Earl Jones’s character in the Field of Dreams (which starts and ends with “People will come, Ray…”) :

“And they'll walk out to the bleachers; sit in shirtsleeves on a perfect afternoon. They'll find they have reserved seats somewhere along one of the baselines, where they sat when they were children and cheered their heroes. And they'll watch the game and it'll be as if they dipped themselves in magic waters. The memories will be so thick they'll have to brush them away from their faces. People will come Ray. The one constant through all the years, Ray, has been baseball. America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers. It has been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt and erased again. But baseball has marked the time. This field, this game: it's a part of our past, Ray. It reminds us of all that once was good and that could be again…”

I continue this spring cinematic tradition because (like baseball, my father, and teammates) it has been my constant.

That, and Kevin Costner is my old man crush.  They kind of go hand in hand.

2001 Senior Year Senior Photo
PS- I rocked the stirrup socks today as I was writing this.