Category: Misc.

Girl talk…

Published on by Mae @ Rainydayinmay2 Comments

On the rare occasion that I log onto facebook, I usually end up feeling sad because of those silly little reminders from six, ten or however many years ago. It isn’t that I am now a miserable sow, but it is a truth I have long since accepted that my life turned upside down in 2012, and in a lot of ways it never recovered. As the years have passed,  new normals have formed. Not everything is all bad.

Sometimes the sadness simply lives in the differences.

One of the differences is that our home, pre-March of ’13, was always full. There were always bodies there, fun, laughter, and love. Always. Holidays were the moments I lived for. We hosted parties throughout the year, entertained guests on a whim, and just really lived a full life.

Post the big shift, this hasn’t been a truth we know. There is a very haunting sadness about that, and I think in so many ways we just really want that again, even if it is with different people.

Another truth is that I really miss my friends back home. It hasn’t been a lack of effort in making new kindred connections, in the years that have passed, but a bit of isolation has remained the theme…

When we moved to Pennsylvania, a few months ago, I hadn’t even unpacked before I was putting myself out there in search of friendship. Over the 5.5 years that had passed, my comfort zone had become a thing of the past. (It’s safe to say that is a good thing.) In a giant twist of irony, though I started off on a good foot, I then acquired the forever-long-virus-from-hell  and have now been sick seventy percent of the time I’ve lived here.

A couple of weeks ago I was having a video team meeting with other ladies for the podcast, and a truth struck me- as much as I love each one of those girls, and would rather be hanging out and laughing with them in person- if I’d had a fulfilling social calendar, this podcast would not exist.

It took my rock-bottom and gut-wrenching loneliness to put me in a place where this project bloomed from. It was existing in that space that put me face to face with women who needed to share their stories, and let’s be honest, it probably required me to be in that frame of lonely context to be able to really listen.

I absolutely LOVE doing this show. Are our mics more outdated than they should be? Sure. Are we learning as we go? Yes. Because of the format we record, (over the internet) do connections sometime get faulty? Yes they do. It doesn’t matter though, because we are engaging in real life, about real life.

This week is the airing of our twenty fifth episode. (Due to a misalignment it is MARKED 24th, but the 25th aired two weeks ago. See? No polished process here, because it’s run by normal and unpolished people. I dig it.)  Twenty Five is a beautiful milestone and I am so grateful! On the front end of this journey, I had low expectations and high frustrations. I was willing to undergo this experiment but was also fairly certain it would be super short-lived. What happened next was nothing I ever imagined… The show meant something. Women rose up and said “no! We need to keep this going, it matters,” when it looked like it might be over. And it is true, it does matter. For every woman we meet, in an episode, who bravely shares her story, there are roughly six more who write in. This show matters. Women from England and Australia reach out to talk about episodes that struck them and I’m left here asking how in the world, in the past 40 weeks, this show has traveled so far?

From the very beginning I have said that whoever is supposed to be a part of the show, and whoever is supposed to listen, will. I’ll do my part, this amazing group of women will do theirs, and this show will do what it needs to do. That formula surprisingly works.

In the end, I may not have a friend to catch a movie with, but I get to video chat amazing women all over the world, walking alongside them through hard, dark things and celebrating with them in the beautiful ones. There isn’t a movie in the world worth exchanging for this…

Twenty five episodes in, I just wanted to thank you for your support. If you’re reading this and in the dark, I really hope you’ll tune in. I’ve loved the journey of the past couple dozen episodes, but I am really excited about the things we have down the road. Travel it with us?

Poptart theology…

Published on by Mae @ Rainydayinmay2 Comments

There are no adequate words to express to you just how much I love PopTarts. Well, more accurately, how much I love frosted Strawberry PopTarts. I actually do not care for any other flavor of store bought “toaster pastry” at all, and really only like PopTart when it comes to strawberry. (I do also really enjoy Toaster Strudel cherry, but do not like cherry PopTart or Strawberry Toaster Strudel. I’m a complex girl.)

I went several years avoiding this silly (terrible for you) “breakfast” treat because of the very reason I just mentioned: the are TERRIBLE for you! (All hail the 80’s childhood, where a bowl of sugary cereal became a balanced breakfast once you added a PopTart or toast with jam and a cup of fake orange mystery named after both sunshine and happiness…) Then, a couple of years ago I was sent an article about the top tips for managing a life with Fibromyalgia and one of them was to keep a container by your bedside with easy to eat “comfort foods” for bad flare days, and the TOP suggestion was POPTARTS! This exclusively gave me permission to add them to my grocery cart on my next super market trip. They’ve been making a regular, though not constant, appearance ever since.

I’ll let you in on a few secrets though… First, when PopTarts are in the house, they are my go-to “food”. I’ve never been a big breakfast maker, for just myself, though I have top notch intentions. So, when all of a sudden, late in the morning I realize that I am painfully hungry, what is easiest and handy? PopTart! Hours later I forget all intentionality when it comes to lunch and am once again feeling those terrible hunger pains- PopTart to the rescue. Evening snack? Yep, pretty sure you see where this is headed. Suddenly my box of 12 is gone, never a space-packet of their tasty evil making it to my bedside, which is best because I’d just eat them in bed while Chw was trying to sleep and this is a nightmare of different proportions…

The other day the husband accompanied me to the supermarket and it was by sheer accident that we ended up in the PopTart isle, noticing they were on sale. Here is the conversation that ensued…

M- the 12 count is $2.50. That’s pretty good, right?

C- yes, because the 8 count is $3 Who does the math here?

M- Aren’t you buying an 8 count of Raspberry ones for work?

C- yes. I’ve never had them and they sound like a nice snack. (in all fairness, half the box will be gone by APRIL. this is exactly how PopTarts should be eaten, if they must.)

M- well then I guess it doesn’t matter WHO does the math, because most of the flavors only come in 8 count so people will buy them anyway.

C- you can go through them pretty quick. (yeah. thanks.) I wonder, what about these? (he points to “healthier” options.

M- those are $4 for 8!

C- but they are healthier for you.

M- They are gross.

C- so you’d eat less of them.

M- I’ll just get the 12 count. Remember, they ARE the best Fibro food.

C- I think it’s more like they are the easiest Fibro Flare food, not the best. (here he notices something on the bottom shelf.) What about this 36 count for $6?

M- WHAT?!?!?! That’s a good deal! (no, misty. NO IT ISN’T. This is NOT REAL FOOD…)

C- it is less expense in the long run. Do you want to get them?

I really pondered this, you guys… and here is where the moral of this whole ridiculously humiliating (but pathetically honest) post culminates in something resembling a point:

M- no. No. I mean, I DO want to get them, but I can’t. I can’t because then I will just eat them, and I don’t need to eat 36 PopTarts.

C- I wish they had Raspberry in the 12 count. (notice here how he’s wishing for MORE of the “pastry” he has NEVER tasted, simply on the faith of my own devotion and the not repulsiveness of my PopTarts)

M- I mean, at least we are choosing healthier PopTarts, right? We could be buying the 12 or 36 count of Hot Fudge Sundae or Smores flavor.

C- That’s totally true.

Why?!?!? What is wrong with me? First of all, I completely befell to PopTart shaming, which should be beneath me. More importantly, I was absolutely willing to give myself the frank boundary of not having a ridiculous number of handheld garbage to consume, and pat myself on the back for such a decision. YET- yet I wasn’t willing to not buy them, or buy them for the very reason I allowed them into my diet again in the first place… AND FURTHERMORE why was I wanting to congratulate myself on the fact that at least I wasn’t consuming the crappier crap.

In high school, walking home one day I turned to my best friend (who incidentally was a guy) “I know I’m overweight, but am I as fat as that girl walking ahead of us?” Emphatically, lovingly and protectively he assured me that of course I was not. Of the thousands of lifetime conversations this person and I have had, this is one of the ones that sticks near top of my memory bank. The truth is that his words were meaningless. His guarantee was filtered through his care for me and my feelings, not fact. I asked him because I knew this truth, even if I didn’t want to admit it. (I was a terrible person for asking it in the first place. What did it matter?)

Maybe we are all guilty of allowing “a little to a moderate amount” of garbage in, but standing resolute that the line is drawn and no more, beyond that.

Maybe we allow someone to verbally abuse us, but determine we will not allow physical violence. At least my boyfriend doesn’t hit me like Sally’s does…

At least I’m not covered in bruises like she is…

Sure, my husband goes out for drinks with female coworkers even though he knows it hurts me, but at least he comes home…

Extreme comparisons aside- it is an unhealthy pattern that I see woven throughout SO MANY areas of my life. Just a little, but at least it’s not this kind/much/blah blah blah.

We have to stop.

Loving myself does not mean limiting my PopTarts to when they are on sale alone, it might just mean deciding my body is better than any PopTarts at all. Now Chw with his box of 8 that will last him 3-6 months- he’s ok with the occasional indulgence. He’s good on the PTs, he doesn’t seem to have a problem. Me? I’m pretty great with having anything else around, but put a box of those within my reach and my next meal will be a guarantee.

What is your “PopTart”? (we’ve all got something… something we expect ourselves to tolerate and settle for.)

{oh hey, by the way! Have you listened to the latest episode of the Collective Podcast? This week is a GREAT one! And If you wouldn’t mind, could you please subscribe and give us a rating? We will love you forever! xoxo}

better…

Published on by Mae @ Rainydayinmay9 Comments

On Fridays I like to join with other writers at  the FMF community and practice a five-minute writing challenge around the collective word. It has been a bit since I’ve done it, due to this pesky sickness I’ve had since November. This week I’m back at it, and ironically, the prompt is BETTER…

~

Better has become this fictitious scale by which I am both consciously and subconsciously weighing everything.

I’m feeling better.

Well, I was feeling better.

My chest sounds better, but my (fill in the blank here because, let’s be honest, what hasn’t been affected at this point?) does not feel better.

Better…

It carries over into so many things.

Into ALL of the things…

The weather’s comparisons involve the use of our word, whichever way I lead. These days I’m sensitive to how often I am choosing this B-word, and questioning if- for me- it has become some vague and insincere word, overused and under considered. Perhaps better is the new 90’s like, this year. (like totally…)

I don’t know.

At this point, ten weeks in, I want to feel better, sound better, look better, be better…

And there it is: Better represents something bigger, something other. Something prettier, healthier, wealthier… Something unattainable, unrealistic and perhaps more unicorn in existence than reality. I am healthier than a month ago, but perhaps within myself there will always be something more, something better, that I am striving for and that is not a strive I want to be content in chasing after. How, with eyes set on better, does one find the simplicity and beauty in now?

~

(Ironically I’ve been working on a post for next week about a topic very close to this, which is why my brain went in this direction. For a polar opposite sort of encouragement, check out our latest episode of the Collective Podcast, where we talk about what makes you not only truly beautiful, but also feel beautiful! (and guess what- it’s not what you think!)

there is a light that will never go out…

Published on by Mae @ Rainydayinmay2 Comments

Maybe it is generational nostalgia, but I have a deep affinity for 90’s movies. While I realize the romantic comedy genre was done in by this generation and many are still happy to see it’s almost nonexistent presence these days, there are certain movies from this 90’s golden genre that hold special places in my heart.

One thing that is fun about them is that they are so dated. Between the styles, cars, hair and makeup, music… If you were alive in that era, that alone makes them fun!

In the vein of 90’s Rom-Coms, let’s talk Never Been Kissed, shall we? I mean, COME ON, this movie is SO TOTALLY RUFUS! In the context of 1999, this movie was pretty amazing. Most of its core audience was ready to relive the youth of our own bad high school crushes, embarrassing moments and adolescent misery. In one way or another, each of us had been our own version of Josie Grossy, and adult Josie gave us a special mix of encouragement, validation and motivation to move past those heinous scars locked tight within our memory.

With a (still) perfection-woven soundtrack, this movie evokes so many warm fuzzies that it is easily a feel good favorite, twenty years later… (Twenty?!?!?! What?!?!?! HOW?!?!?! I know…) But seriously, this soundtrack is timeless. I could talk for a good 2000 words about this album, but I won’t. (you’re welcome! Unless you were hoping I would, in that case- hit me up! Let’s chat!)

What about when we let our violet lensed, round 1999 shades fall to the wayside while we view this sweet little movie from today’s contextual perspective?

YEAH…

The scales are completely different.

Let’s chat the bad out of the way- this movie would never be made now. COULD never be made, not without so much internet rage, controversy and bad press that it would kill the project, anyway.  The fact that a huge portion of this premise involves men well into their adulthood talking about the high school girl’s bodies pretty openly is pretty terrible. Add to that the adult male (older brother) dating the high school student whose ready to have sex with him. Great, he hasn’t technically broken the law yet, but also- if she’s “ready for sex” odds are they’ve at least fooled around. So wrong...

Lastly, as if these things aren’t enough, we have the teacher who has feelings and an attraction to Josie, whom he believes is 17. He is willing to alter an, although completely flawed, long-term, long distance relationship to explore being with her- HIS STUDENT. In many circumstances he is placed in positions of being with her enough to open up about personal things AND spend alone time with her, while no one bats an eye.

As a mom, I cringe. I mean, we viewers know she’s really an adult and that no one is doing anything wrong- but he and the school staff witnessing such things DO NOT KNOW THIS. Just like we, the viewers, know these scripted pervy comments about the “high school girl’s bodies” are really being said about adult women playing high schoolers… but still.

And I swear to you, I am not trying to ruin this beloved movie! I’m not. I love it, even with my 2019/42-year-old bifocals on, I still love it. Let’s be honest though, suddenly this sweet movie sounds pretty terrible, pretty un-#timesup/#metoo and we have to pause for a moment to wonder what the pitch of this film must have sounded like, and were any women in the room to say yay/nay? (of course not, it was 1999) (also… fun fact… Most of you know (or should) that I find James Franco ABSOLUTELY REPULSIVE. I had no idea he was in this movie until we rewatched it the other night.)

While these things are troubling, what it shows me is that we really have come a long way in our entertainment. Do I still love the movie? YES! It plays off more innocent than it should because we weren’t aware of the underbelly of the entertainment industry and what was happening. Most of us didn’t know about human trafficking, sexual assault/abuse was not part of every day dialogue and women/girls weren’t in belief of being owed respect and valued for more than their physical assets…

But, the scales of balance are alive… Though not at all as timeless as its soundtrack, what about this story is still relatable to anyone, regardless of age? In a time when these kids had no social media presence, what could Never Been Kissed possibly show us about internet life?

Josie stands on a literal mound in complete transparent vulnerability… She shares her own journey of humiliation, peer pressure, the need for attention/approval, etc- and took the difficult journey to see herself for the mess she’d become. People were hurt, she had misrepresented and disrespected herself and she has to own up to it. Even pre-instagram/Facebook/Tumblr/Twitter, we all struggle to authentically be real and honest representations of ourselves. Even without understanding what a “filter” would become, we filtered ourselves.

This human struggle for love and acceptance has always been, and it will always continue.

Wherever you are at, in life, as you’re reading this, tell yourself you will be ok. Put on some Smiths, throw your hair into a messy bun and take inventory of the hard stuff. It doesn’t matter if that guy likes you, or those girls are unkind, what matters is how you feel about yourself. Work on you, and if your soul needs a quiet moment of entertainment, grab a 90’s flick and kick back with your diet coke- just remember, it was a different time and then allow yourself to be grateful because when the world is feeling all topsy/turvey, you have the subtle proof right before you’re eyes: we’ve come a long way, baby, and it will get better.

Too Too…

Published on by Mae @ RainydayinmayLeave a comment

 

On Sunday I sat aboard a riverboat, contemplating…

The projected forecast had turned grim and the riverboat had been an unplanned little adventure. It was cold and rainy while I was unfortunately dressed for the 70 degree sunshine which my weather app had predicted. There had been a whirlwind of days leading up to that slow-moving boat trip down the river. Family visits and dinners, physician visits and physical therapy appointments. New medications, a handful of work deadlines, and all of the other life bits of things that layer and weave about within the sometimes crazy.

The quiet moment was unsettlingly nice. Despite the monotonance recording of the boat announcer, I found my busy-speed senses taking in any (and every) thing in double time as the pace life literally slowed around me. I noticed the subtlety between the sweet children and the mischievous ones. I noticed the father and teen-daughter duo, each lost in their phones which confused me a bit. Why be there on that boat, in the rain and misery, at all? Why bother? With each captain’s urging to look left and we might see a deer, or look right for the rare sighting of a speed turtle, it reminded me more and more of those scenes in Jurrassic Park when the caravan look searching for a sighting, only to grow in disappointment. No deer. No speed turtles. About six ducks, the men… Apparently the women were home tending to the nests. Of course they were…

I felt heavy with sadness, really. Maybe it was due to the growing cloud coverage, but maybe it was just my increasing awareness of the disconnect that is everywhere. In the families lost in their own thing, and the couples who travel to do things together, in odd and uncomfortable silence. Every time I leave my home my attention is drawn by people doing life solo, and not in that independent way we claim as a goal. Also I am noticing when interaction happens, it is often unkind.

Several years ago we were in Phoenix for a long weekend. Sitting at a red light, with windows down, enjoying the winter warmth to which we weren’t accustomed, we heard a woman screaming at her husband across the intersection. The light seemed to last forever as she shoved her finger at his face, belittling him and growing so loud that she could have been in our car. It was so sad and I vowed to never be a Phoenix wife. That is how I remember her. I may get upset, but no matter how passionate (or valid) my anger may seem, I stop myself before Phoenix wife. In turn, when Chw is talking about particular friends or men he encounters, he will sometimes point out that their wife is a Phoenix wife. I think it is probably pretty easy to allow ourselves to decline (or escalate, depending on perspective) to that point and here is why…

I began to pick up on dialogue that others had around us, there in the lower level of that boat. Too hot. Too cold. Too crunchy. Too sweet. Too tight. Too slippery. (that one was me, we went up to the second deck and the rain made it a bit of a mess in my all-too-appropriate-flip flops.)

Too. 

Such a negative little word, that too. With it comes much weight, which is ironic considering it’s definition. It is ugly and it is critical. It is implicative. It is often divisive. It is so many, many things, but almost always it is negative. It is not kind. Nothing genuinely life giving is every summed up with the word too. At it’s very nature, when spoken, it can seem competitive. Of course, as with most things, there are exceptions. But while anything is negatively alligned with too, beyond the standard I love you too and I miss you too’s, not many positive things are. My car is too old never had a season of my car is too new. Too old. Too young. Too dark. Too light. Too abbrassive. There is never too kind, too funny, too peaceful, too loving unless it is spoken in false modesty or with a sense of complaining.

Too.

Phoenix wife’s husband was a lot of too’s, and with each mention of the next too, she grew crueler and louder. Too mentality alarms me, suddenly.

I’m breaking up with too for a while. The thing is, I have been mulling it over since the boat ride on Sunday, and growing stronger in my feeling. Maybe one day I’ll try to bring too back, but today we need a break. Whenever my mind or heart resort to too prefaced things, it is a mindset I need to correct. To be a light, we have to be willing to be a light. We have to choose to breathe on that flame and make it brighter, without that breath, it just goes right out. That is what too does, for me. Plus, let’s be honest, too is just plain lazy. Too replaces real words with real descriptions. Too takes the effort and thoughtfulness of intention away and replaces it with a generic and coined response.

I love you. 

I love you too. 

Why? Why not follow it with an embrace? Or with a thank you, I really love and appreciate you. I really love when you/your _________! Isn’t love, at its core, a gift? Who wouldn’t rather hear that, anyway? And maybe you wouldn’t. Maybe you find value in simplicity so too works for you. Awesome. For me, I am seeing so much negativity. When I have worked hard and poured my heart into something and the response is that it is too ______, I whither. My broken bits shift a little, and that isn’t good. When my mind wanders to too, (Michigan is too… Doing that seems too hard… Your voice is too loud) I am choosing to ignore the multitude of good and beautiful around me to hone in on the negative. Really, that is too bad.

When someone shares with me, I do not want it to be too vulnerable. When someone shows me something they’ve made, I do not want my gut reaction be that it is too-something. I want to be honest, but I want my honesty to grow from something genuine and kind. Something that considers them more than it considers me and my opinion. For me, I am seeing that too comes solely from a place of self. It is about me.

When my mind instinctually goes to too, I will try to shift it to something nurturing.