confession, creative, writing

Depend… (5MF post)

 

Every time I take a moment to contemplate the things I feel I want to do, need to do, or would like to plan for- I am instantly chastised by the voice in my head which tells me to consider pretty much everyone else. For example, I would absolutely love for my husband to be offered an amazing job where we move away from the midwest and start anew. Though this dream sings the song of my heart, for sure, the crushing reality is that it wouldn’t really work. My mom is in a nursing home here and she depends on me… In the day-dream he is given a gigantic raise, making flying out here regularly a possibility- but still…

Every heart-note of my soul song is turned flat by the weights which I feel depend on me.

  • I would LOVE to buy that new dress with this $68, but is that fair to my husband/kids/etc?
  • I would love to buy a ticket and go to New Mexico for a week, but Chw and I have hardly been home together and that is not ending any time soon, and what about the dogs? It’s not fair for him to deal with this on top of working the awesome job he actually has, in real life… 

I love to be needed. I love to be able to help a friend or loved one out. I love for someone to reach out because they know I’m there. These days though, I am feeling a little bit of the weight of the normal adult things depending on me. I want to be free to be/go/do/dream without the crashing reality of adulthood. There are days when life feels filled with others who have that freedom and it magically works out. I am hoping my time to learn that secret happens soon. :)

(this posts is a piece for the Five Minute Friday weekly challenge.)

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beautiful, books, chronic illness, fibro, gifts, gratitude, home, journey, Lately, list, writing

It’s Friday, I’m in love…

Happy Friday, lovelies…

How has your week been? It has been an odd week around here.

It is amazing how unnaturally busy it has been. My husband is 8000 miles away and I had some pretty big ideas for how I would use this time that he was gone. Of course, I planned on completely revitalizing my eating and fitness routine, because that makes total sense and seems pretty feasible. It won’t likely shock anyone reading this that I did not do either of these things…

While it has not been a bad week, per say, I think it would be a much easier task to write a list of the week’s five worst bits. (ie: HUMIDITY, HEAT, FIBRO-CRAP…) but that would defeat the whole point of these friday posts. So, here goes…

1.) An ALL CLEAR visit with the vet, regarding sweet Elenor, and subsequently introducing her to Peanut Butter. (She’s a girl after my own heart. IOW: BIG PB fan!)

2.) Braving the Wilderness. Finally… Love Brene!

3.) Himalayan salt and essential oil baths. I’ve read about how beneficial they can be for Fibro stuff, and I have been really wanting to try it. It has, however, been so warm out, and that isn’t the sort of thing that is conducive to hot baths. This week, however, it got rough enough that there wasn’t much I would not have tried. I’m sold.

4.) The album Blurryface by Twenty-One Pilots. I am not new to their music. In fact, I’ve loved several of their tracks for going on two years. Late one evening this week, however, I caught a recording of a show they did in Oakland, on MTV Live. The energy was amazing and so I dusted off my Blurryface and have been listening like an addict ever since.

5.) Faith Illustration. While I am not at all artistic, this is kind of something I would love. I had no idea anything like it existed, but since I learned of it, I have been so inspired!

What about you? What is shareable about your week? Anything exciting about the weekend? I will be spending the majority of my weekend writing, and then taking Elenor to visit my mama.

beautiful, creative, friendship, gratitude, home, journey, list, marriage, writing

why hello there, August…

While I wish that my August was going to include some amazing beach time, I know someone out there will sink their toes in sand this month and I will practice being happy for them. (and count the days until I’m doing the same, 10 months from now!)

In questing to be more intentional, I like to keep a little list here of goals I have for the month ahead. I really love the emails and interaction I have with you about your hopes and plans, as well! What are your August hopes/plans?

Home:

  • make jam.
  • can peaches so that I can make my grandmother’s amazing Peach Cobbler as the weather turns cool.
  • Finish sorting out our garage.
  • Cook with my instant pot more.
  • Learn to mix four new cocktails.

Health:

  • Begin a Tai Chi class, for peace and balance.
  • Meet with a personal trainer to reassess the current state of things, where my health and body are concerned.
  • Go hiking at least 6 times, before month’s end.
  • feel happier with my strength, what I’ve accomplished and what the scale reads, than I am today…
  • Practice yoga weekly

Marriage:

  • spend as much time with my husband as possible, before he hits a heavy travel season.
  • bike rides and picnics.
  • Have intentional dates, with a dress and everything.
  • Go dancing.
  • Taco fest! <3
  • the drive-in before summer ends.

Creative:

  • Not only read this book, but spend my August putting Dear Stranger letters into practice.
  • Shoot a photo series.
  • Write a collective 40,000 words.

Personal:

  • Read Chasing Slow
  • Establish a new quiet time routine.
  • Get lost in one more good summer novel. (suggestions?)
  • This book will FINALLY be available! (i LOVE Flow! i just wish the magazine was more accessible here in the states!)
  • Have coffee with a new friend.
  • Step out of my comfort zone in a social setting.
confession, entertainment, family, friendship, gratitude, journey, Lately, marriage, parenting, writing

Celebrating “friends”, poking and narcism, oh my…

Ten years ago, on Tuesday, marked my decade long relationship with Facebook. It was my son, Lucas, who originally urged me to sign up. I was on Myspace and pretty happily connected with my friends and little writing community that way. I signed up, unsure of how it even worked. I mean, seriously, why did I want to poke someone? I mentioned it to a then-good friend and she confided that she was friends with Jessica Simpson, a couple of country singers and a few other random celebrities. Hearing this actually made Facebook a little worse for me. I wasn’t stupid, and I had spent more than a handful of years working within that industry. None of those people were connected to my friend, not even by social media. I have always hated superficial and fake things, and from the beginning Facebook struck me as such. It wasn’t too long though, until friends turned me on to annoying games that I lost hours in. I got caught up in the seven stages of facebooking, after a while. The incessant status updates that no one should EVER do. I shared photos of every little venture away from the house, I made. I checked in at restaurants, shopping, the library… I don’t anymore. Now, I allow myself one hour a week to catch up on people’s news, and that’s it. When I mentioned this, recently, to a friend, she was amazed. How could I do it? She was jealous. I explained to her that the ONLY “friends” I had on the social media site were people I genuinely had relationships with/interactions with/and an interest in having relationships and interactions with. If you’re my Facebook friend I either really respect and admire you, love you a lot, or have a real life, interactive relationship with you. (Most friends make up two or all three of those descriptions. I do not collect people.) Just because went to school together, worked together, grocery shopped at Kroger at the same time or both enjoy Method cleaners does not mean we need to be connected via: Facebook. Also, I explained, the people I have real, interactive relationships with know that I am not really on Facebook regularly and when they have news to share- they send it via a letter/card/email/text/call/vox/marco polo/coffee date/etc.

When I was 31 I apparently joined Facebook. Ironically then too was a time of transition, in my life. If memory serves me correctly however, I handled it much more like a champ than now. (No, I do not credit Facebook for this) Over the past 10 years though, so much has happened. Relationships were built, healed, shattered, splintered. I moved back to the one place I’ve never loved. My mother had a series of small strokes which changed her life, and by extension, mine. My mother had breast cancer and underwent a double mastectomy. I became ill and was diagnosed with Fibromyalgia. I nearly died from a serious case of pneumonia. I have made it through the HARDEST years of my life, as a daughter, as a wife and especially as a mother. I have not made it through unscathed and I struggle with some resentments and issues resulting from such things. I have had a small, but successful photography business which completely transformed my love of photography into something I no longer loved. I have traveled throughout California, watched fireworks from a hilltop cemetery, jumped on the Twilight bandwagon, came to my senses and jumped off. I have camped on the Oregon coast, learned how to do dozens of new things, delved deeply into paper crafting and then reluctantly climbed out of that. I spent a week along the coasts and ports of Washington state, road tripped throughout New England, spent part of the Christmas season in New York City. I have been a cleaner, trained to be an Esthetician (which was a long dream of mine), worked in retail, worked in marketing, both renovated a beautiful home and been homeless. I have had the distinct honor of witnessing marriages I am so proud of, met beautiful babies I adore. I have been there when two of the most precious babies in the world to me, have been born. I have had anxiety ridden, ICU bed side days, sleepless nights and dawning moments where miracles and answers to prayers happened. I have seen my faith weaken, grow and embarrassingly numb in the in-betweens. My two older kids have both married and become parents. My son enlisted, has deployed and I see him far more seldom than I ever imagined I could live with. I attended the memorial service of a girl who died far too young, and far too tragically, whom I loved a deeply embedded amount. I have lost 130 pounds, gained twenty, screamed, cried, cursed, shouted, sobbed and at times wished I were dead. I have contemplated, prayed, praised, laughed, embraced, nurtured, comforted and had to come to terms with so many things. I have heartbreakingly buried two beloved dogs, and gone through the deaths of several family members. Ten years ago I had so much hope in my motherhood, my daughterhood, my marriage, my writerhood, my life. Today, at 41, I can no longer find much of that.

Again, Facebook is not responsible for any of those things, but it certainly is a scrapbook for most of them. It is a record of a decade spent living, most of the good and enough of the bad. It is the place where friends of my husband attempted to tarnish my reputation, further poison him against me and drive a wedge deep into our marriage that will likely never be repaired. It is the place where people resort to sharing their big news, leaving their own parents and children to be heartbroken that they had to learn it from Facebook. When it is said and done, aside from the chronicling of our moments, I have to question if it does more bad than good, consistently.

Honestly, I have a pretty hate/hate opinion of the website. I do not keep it on my phone. I only keep it at all, because I am connected with my son & daughter-in-law on there and don’t want to miss something that doesn’t really bridge the thousands of miles otherwise. I keep it because, as a writer, it is a powerful tool and since I do freelance work for PR companies, on occasion, it is a necessary evil. This week, however, I am feeling grateful for the mark of this decade together. Good or bad, Facebook was there for me through ten big years and that isn’t something to take for granted… And if we are friends on there, thank you for that. For me, that is a real thing…

confession, creative, entertainment, holiday, home, journey, Lately, marriage, parenting, writing

The deep mundane…

Last week I received a lovely direct message on Instagram from a fellow writer. We had crossed paths over the social media platform and she had been led to come follow my blog. Her message was heartfelt and encouraged me to write, within this space, more. Honestly, when I read her words I nodded and thought I couldn’t agree more. And yet…

And yet, another week went by of parenthood and exhaustive defiance. Another week of ridiculous traffic, appointments, stocking the fridge, preparing meals, folding laundry, friendship, etc. What would I write about? How I disliked folding laundry that sat overnight in the dryer? How it is flip-flop season and I am in desperate need of a pedicure. How graduation and an open house are approaching at rocket speed and not fast enough, all rolled into one. How I am packing to move out of this temporary apartment and I am beyond tired of transition and moving. How my puppy is the most stubborn potty trainer and how, with Fibro, I am as consistent as I can be but that every moment of every day feels like I simply am not doing good enough at anything. None of these things are blog worthy, dwell worthy, or really worth any thing at all. They are what they are. Some days are better than others. Some days full on blow, while others are exceptional. This is life for each of us, with our own details.

Writing, (something I haven’t been doing much of, beyond the occasional freelance piece) requires deeper than that. If my eyes are trained to see the mundane, the details, the nows and the this minutes, I am unable to plunge. And so, for a blog post you’ll get surface level stuff, unless I resort to the fake. Truthfully, I can’t take either of those options and so, best intentions cast aside for another day, this space remained silent.

Part of my problem, I’ll admit, is that I haven’t had a designated writing space. As I type this very collection of words, I am writing from my bed- my least favorite place to write. I do not have a dining table, as of right now, my bar to bar stool ratio is too much for my little t-rex arms to comfortable type and my living room is cluttered with boxes and mess. Every week I declare that I will take one to two days and go to the local coffee-house to spend a few hours writing from there. In theory, this is great. In reality I have an adult child who makes this idea hard, coupled with a stubborn and needy puppy- and so… So I tell myself a routine can be established later. (Later: tomorrow, next week, next month, next year) and I cope the best I can through the seconds turned to minutes, which link together, arms tight and unforgiving.

This morning I woke up, having survived the various elements of the three-day weekend, motivated. My to-do list was ready. I threw my collection of frozen and fresh fruit into the blender, along with some spinach and various additives to make my breakfast smoothie healthy and filling. By the time I got the blend point, however, parenting frustrations had already occurred (actually about half had carried over from the days of the last few months, hurtful and unyielding) and so when the first sip of my smoothie tasted like a cross between toilet cleaner and a thin mint cookie, I had to take pause. What was going on here? Why wasn’t I writing? Why didn’t I just sit down and do it? Why wasn’t I looking beyond the surface, beneath the BS and in between the lines? Why wasn’t I transparently sharing whatever came to mind? Why was I continuing to sip a smoothie which sort of burned my taste buds and reminded me of my short stint as a professional cleaner in a small hospital?

So many questions, (the “smoothie” is almost gone, by the way, in case you were curious. I’m thinking the Tumeric is where I went wrong- though that it has the power to transform EVERYTHING to such wickedness is a terrifying thought.) with no real answers. So I sit here, feet slightly numb at this elevated position. Stubborn puppy is crated for a two-hour stint of further attempts with project potty train. My stomach is currently unsure of how to digest the new market cleanser I seem to have whipped up, (All natural!) and my laundry sits folded beside me, begging to be put away. Today I will walk the dogs, take some photos of swans, pack a few boxes, list things on Ebay, drive Gen to work and return an insane amount of books to the library. This week I will wrap gifts and put a few last-minute details together for my mom’s 70th birthday, further progress on my daughter A’s birthday and Gen’s graduation open house. This week I will also, hopefully, know exactly where we are moving to. Let’s put it this way, I care a little- Mostly though, I am just excited to get out of this transition. It has been a year of transition. (and over paying for a dump, but that’s a whole other issue.)

The takeaway that I have from our three-day weekend is this: long weekends have a lot more room for the unexpected. While sleeping in and leisurely brunches are lovely, life still happens and stuff has to get done. I think, when I imagine the looming extra long weekend, I forget that part. Furthermore- date nights are so cathartic, and fun, but also sort of pricy. The new Pirates movie is seriously better than I expected, and late night John Cusack marathons might be a little too wild for this girl, as I slept through most of it. (#41isold #canistillcallmyselfagirlifimold) All in all, life is about balance. Sometimes, for various reasons, a fun adventure really can be a run to Sonic happy hour, an hour away. Sometimes a hard day really can be a result of an overcast sky and you feel sad. We are where we are. Period. I suspect I keep waiting for something else, looking for something a bit more to push me to that point where I can be a real writer. There is no point. This is it. The quest of the writer truly is to find the beauty and story within the mundane pile of laundry and accidentally abrasive smoothie. Message noted, and so I will try my best to do better, sweet Instagram friend.