Our Standoffish Spike...

You might remember Spike - our beloved, grumpy, curmudgeon of a hedgehog whom we dearly love but who has never warmed up to us - or anything else.  

When Kyle and I were dating and I was finishing college in Nebraska and Kyle was here in Wyoming, I would often visit for the weekend.  I always arrived at Kyle's before he was home from work, and I would let myself in.  Kyle, being the sweet guy that he is, would leave me a little welcome gift on the coffee table inside the front door so that it would be the first sight I would see upon entering the house.  One of the first gifts he left for me was a little stuffed hedgehog that squeaked when I squeezed it.  I instantly fell in love with it and hedgehogs became our "thing".  


Over the few years we've been married we've collected quite a few hedgehog-related items.  We have a salt and pepper shaker set I found on Ebay in Thailand or somewhere.  We have a Hedgehog Drive sign.  I have several more stuffed hedgehogs, some in hot pink, black and purple.  We have books on hedgies, especially those by wonderful children's author Jan Brett.  If you've been to my Etsy shop lately, you know that I have several card sets stamped with hedgehog stamps.  I am head-over-heels in love with hedgies. 


Thus, when I saw an ad in the local paper for pet hedgehogs, I was delighted.  I gave Kyle my sweetest smile and said, "Can't we get one??? Puh-lease! Huh! Huh? Huh!?!"  Of course he relented and I drove to Loveland to pick up our new baby. 

This was Spike not too long after we got him. 

 

This is Spike tonight. 

 

Spike, like most of our entire house, has been displaced by the whole basement flooding/deconstruction/reconstruction episode.  Generally, Spike has been an unsocial, huffy, introverted hedgehog.  Though we tried to ply him with treats and kindnesses in the beginning, he was having none of it.  We finally decided to give him his own "space".  Since he is a better escape artist than Houdini, we relocated Spike from his original wire pen to a "condo" that Kyle manufactured using an old ferret cage.  

 

This has turned out to be the perfect place for Spike to reside.  We had to build little footholds along the ramps in his cage because the wooden platforms were too slick for his little clawed feet.  Hedgehogs love exercise, though, and so this multi-level home is perfect for him to run about and it leaves room in the bottom of the cage for his wheel.  Hedgehogs love to run on wheels just like a hamster.  Hedgies need the exercise, and when Spike doesn't have access to it he's even more unhappy than usual.  

 

Anyhow, Spike is especially grumpy right now due to the fact that his cage is temporarily placed in the middle of the noisy, loud and bright living room.  Since the contents of the basement were either placed in the already overflowing garage or our living room and kitchen, Spike had few refuges to retreat to.  He is not happy with the remodel.  Pip on the other hand has just realized that he is not the only baby in the house.  He is quite alarmed that there is yet another living, breathing, eating being in the house.  It's been quite humorous watching Spike grump about huffing and watching Pip run up to the cage, growl and bark, and look at Kyle and I as if we are insane for not being astounded at this other "Thing" in the house.  

I'm with Spike.  I'll be really glad when we're all back in our respective corners of the house, and when everything has a place and finds it.   Until then, we're all just crowded into the living room and spending a little too much quality time together...

 

And the Destruction Begins...

In the course of a few hours this morning, a local company ripped out our carpeting, tile, linoleum and a great deal of sheet rock around the perimeter of our basement.  Thanks to last week's backed up drains, our insurance company is helping us rid the basement of potential mold problems.  Kyle has been dealing with this chaos as I begin my substitute teaching career.  Here are just a few pictures of what was done today. 

 I believe this was once my laundry room.

 This was where our vanity sat in the bathroom. 

We're hoping that the insurance covers the entire cost so that we don't end up finishing the work ourselves.  However, we are very grateful that we had the coverage we did.  Otherwise, we would be living in a very unsafe environment.

I will update you as the project progresses.

Woman's Best Friend, Too...

 

Meeting you was fate,

Becoming your friend was a choice,
But falling in love with you I had no control over.

~ Unknown

A Few More Memories of the Past...

After yesterday's waltz down memory lane, I came up with a few more memories of objects that composed my 80s childhood.  Anyone remember...

• Punky Brewster.
• Puff paint.
• Hoop earrings.
• LA Gear.
• Boom Boxes.
• Psyche!
• Rolled up pant legs.
• Guess! and Jordache Jeans.
• Saying "Radical!"
• Your entire wardrobe was either in neon or pastel.
• High tops.
• Troll Dolls.
• Joey on Blossom and "Whoa!"
• Donatello, Raphael, Michelangelo and Leonardo (NOT the Italian Renaissance variety).
• Banana hair clips.
• Your first perm.
• Crimping irons.
• Side pony tails.
• Zippered legs.
• Spandex.
• Friendship necklaces. 
• Push up ice creams.
• Wishing you could break-dance.
• Wanting to be on Star Search.
• Walkmans.
• Pogo Balls.
• Pound Puppies.
• Care Bears and the Care Bear Stare.
• Cabbage Patch Dolls.
• Wishing you could be as cool as Molly Ringwald.
• The really cool collector's items that Pizza Hut carried.
• Gremlins.
• No Whammies, no whammies, STOP!
• Kids Incorporated.
• Rushing home to see the ABC afternoon special.
• Having to have a Trapper Keeper.
• Playing 4 square and tetherball at recess.
• Spud McKenzie and the Noid.
• Choose your Own Adventure books.
• Begging Santa for Simon electronic games. 
• Jelly shoes.  (Mine were purple). 
• Slap bracelets. 
• Goosebumps.
• Babysitters Club books and wanting to start your own BSC.
• Sweet Valley High.
• Friendship bracelets. 
• Pop Rocks candy.

What am I forgetting? What else do you remember from the 1980s?

Bits and Pieces of My Past...

Thanks to our flooded basement, I was able to use the opportunity of going through everything in our basement to look through the few bins of memorabilia I have from childhood.  In my cedar chest and scrapbooks I have the traditional mementos - ticket stubs, report cards, certificates and awards.  I also have some well loved toys that have been salvaged and dragged from house to house, and in some cases, state to state.  Going through these toys brought back a lot of memories.  I know that I should give these items up but I can't.  

Yesterday, in a fit of wanting to clean out anything and everything that we don't use regularly, I attempted to weed through these old toys and get rid of them.  I began taking photos of them, because sometimes I just scrapbook photos of old favorite items instead of hanging onto them and never using them.  These few toys are impossible to let go of, though.  I'm not sure why.  I don't play with them.  If I ever have a child of my own, he or she will most likely be spoiled with new playthings and will  not care one iota about my beat up old dolls.  Yet, it's as if parting with these items is equal to parting with a sibling or long lost friends. 

I took the pictures, but I'm still struggling to put the items in the "donate" bin.  So I thought that perhaps sharing them here would give me some perspective and allow me to preserve the memories without hanging onto the possessions.  

Now, don't freak out when you view my first photo.  I have no idea what I named this baby doll, but it was my very first baby doll.  For many years it wore the same dress that I had been clothed in when my parents brought me home from the hospital after I was born.  This doll was adored by me, so when you look at its tattered body and limbs that are literally hanging by a thread, please don't think it so much destroyed as simply loved to bits.  What made this doll extra special to me was that my dad drilled a hole in the lips so that I could feed it a bottle.  This was extremely important to the one year old me, so that I could feed my baby at the same times my mother fed my new baby brother.

My next favorite toy was my Hugga Bunch.  Hugga Bunches came in eight colors/varieties, and I had the purple one.  They also came with little babies called hugglets.  Impkins was the name of my doll, and I loved her shiny purple outfit.  Unfortunately, she no longer has it. For some reason, most of my dolls ended their days naked.  Later, there was a Hugga Bunch cartoon, but I don't remember watching it. 

Wuzzles!  Wuzzles were animals that were made up of two kinds of animals, but all of them had wings, even if they didn't fly.  Wuzzles were also made into a cartoon, but the run was short with only something like 13 episodes.  My Wuzzle was Hoppopotimus, who was half rabbit, half hippopotamus.  She was a pushy gal who loved to sing and dance and was very, very tough.  I also still have the book that came with my Wuzzle.

Remember Popples?  I had orange Dunker Popple, who turns into a basketball.

When I was a baby, my father flew to Boston to visit a dear friend, and on his return home he purchased this Woodstock for me.  This is one I have the hardest time parting with.

And for my fifth birthday, a time when my parents didn't have two penny's to rub together, my mother made me this doll with her own two hands.  It's also one I can't seem to part with.   I love her sweet face and little freckles. 

I'm not certain the name of this toy.  I think they were called Treasure Keepers.  It came with a little plastic key to lock and unlock the lady bug's wings, and they opened up to a little compartment where all sorts of little treasure's could be kept.  This was a very prized possession at the time when I first got it.  We also had some hellions for cousins, and my mom would tell us, "Kids, hide your toys, the Johnson's are coming!" and we really would hide the toys we most prized, out of fear that our cousins would destroy our few good toys. 

*Remote not included.


My true loves were Smurfs and Fraggles, though.  I couldn't get enough of either of them, and I watched both cartoons each week.  I also stomped around the house like a Gorg singing, "Dum Dum Dum Dum de dee, catch a Fraggle give it to your Moooommmy."  I had a smurf that would talk when I pulled the string in his back.  "Watch out for Gargamel!" he would warn.  My stuffed Fraggle Red, given to me by my Aunt Red, was the outgoing, athletic and somewhat cynical control freak (hmmmm....).  

 

So there you have it.  Some of my most treasured items.   I have a few others, but I've gone on long enough and you get the picture.  

What childhood relics do you still have, and how will you eventually part with them?  I think I'm going to allow myself to keep four items and put them in my cedar chest.  The rest will have to remain with me in photograph and memory, only.  What would you do? 

Reaching Out, Reaching In...

I am a homebody.  I usually prefer my home to just about anywhere else on the planet, but I realize the importance of getting out and about into society once in awhile.  My love of being home stems from my introversion.  I just really enjoy my quiet, peaceful house.  I love being alone.  I'm perfectly okay with a day to myself.  Or a week.  Or a month, even. 

As excited as I was to get a depression and bipolar support group going here, I actually have to force myself to get there.  It's honestly a struggle to convince myself that I should go.  Every fiber of my being wants to stay planted in the coziness of my home and pjs.  I have to remind myself that other people are depending on me.  If I don't show up to unlock the room, no one else will.  If I don't show up to facilitate, there is no one else (at least at present), that will facilitate for me. 


Every week when I show up for support group, I am reminded of how important it is that I get out of my comfort zone and make it to that meeting.  Every single week someone new tells me how grateful they are that I've started this group.  How there's nothing else like this in this town and they've been needing this for a long time.  Maybe it's the only support a person gets all week.  Maybe that one hour makes it possible for someone to get through the rest of his day.  

Every time I show up I am reminded exactly why I started doing this support group in the first place.  I wanted to help those who, like me, had few other places to go for the understanding and compassion that can occur in a support group setting.  By forcing myself to reach out at a group meeting, I also get the opportunity to reach withinin - reach in and help others, reach within myself and grow.  Every time I force myself to show up to that meeting instead of sit on my couch on the computer or eating almonds and drinking diet soda, I help myself and others, too. 


The reality hit me tonight that my little support group - our little support group - is doing exactly what I dreamed it would.  And it's only in its second month!  I'm thinking there's a lot of potential for healing to happen, and that's pretty darn exciting!

Love of Books, Reading, Writing and Everything Literary...

Nothing makes me feel more comforted and more complete than my books.  We have three very large bookshelves in our living area.  As I child, we moved a great deal, and I got used to keeping only a minimum of items.  It was too consuming to pack and unpack them all the time.  But I never gave up my books.  In fact, most of them were well taken care of, up until yesterday when the basement flooded.  Now a few are drip-drying downstairs, but many are safe and sound in plastic bins, so it is not a total loss.  It did make me think about what I value, though.  Why are those books so important to me?  Not only in title, but why are those books so important to me?  They've been through it all with me - countless moves, countless homes.  They allowed me to relate, to travel to new realms, to see parts of the world and humanity that I would not have encountered without their glimpses into other walks of life.  My books are my companions and friends, but unlike real friends, they didn't come and go.  My books were there to stay. 

It makes sense, in the big picture of my life.  My world fell apart when I was in my Junior year of college, and as I had in childhood, I turned to books once more for solace and peace.  My depression was at its worst.  Everything that had been solid my life had turned upside down.  Virtually nothing safe, or stable.  Yet, I still had books.  I turned away from the stressful and daunting major of education and instead listed my major in Literature.  In turn, I finally  had some sense of well-being.  I was at peace with one single aspect of my life at the time.  


In the ensuing months, I often missed class.  Many days came and went where I did nothing more than drag myself from bed to the fridge and back to bed again, considering it an accomplishment that I had eaten something.  Yet, on those days when I was able to shower, dress, and eventually emerge from my apartment to attend class, it was only because I loved the literature I was studying, and the incredibly knowledgeable professors who were teaching me.  I can think of nothing else which might have persuaded me to get out of bed those days, and sometimes even the promising power of Austin's prose or Frost's poetry was not enough.  Without those wordsmiths, though, I would have drifted irretrievably away from everything that mattered in this world.  Literature was my link to sanity. Books brought me through.  


Books offer us so many comforts.  We can escape our lives completely, or we can pause to appreciate often overlooked gifts.  We live the life of a queen or pound the pavement with ladies of the night.  We cry another's tears, or find compassion for our own.  We see a new view of the events that shape our world, or we encounter new worlds.  Nothing is impossible in books.  The heroine can come back to life.  The villain gets his.  Good comes to those who wait.  A new day dawns fresh when darkness once prevailed.  When I couldn't see possibility in my own life, I could see it in the books I read.  

Upon reflection, though, there is irony in this which makes me laugh now.  At the very darkest point during this time of my life, I sat up into the wee hours reading Tess of the D'Urbervilles.  Anyone who has read much Thomas Hardy knows that possibility and hope are not common themes to be found among the pages of his beautifully written novels.  Perhaps, then, it was his refreshing honesty that I found reassuring.  I knew I could count on him to depict the realities of the world.  Sometimes life isn't roses and happiness.  I couldn't bear to watch comedies at the time.  They were seemingly meaningless and I felt hostility towards them.  How could people be so peppy, so light-hearted?  I could relate to the pessimism in Hardy, not so much because I was darkly pessimistic myself,  but because it was truer than comedic banter.  It painted a more realistic picture of life.  It made sense.

Although I am in a much better place in my life now, I am deeply grateful for the lessons of those darker times.  

I still lean towards reading more serious literature.  Most of the books on my shelves are memoirs and nonfiction, biographies and self-help.  My books still serve the same purpose that they have all along.  They give me a glimpse of all ranges of human emotion.  They tie the world together, and show me where my place is within it.  They give me escape, and they make me feel at home.  




I found the following reading survey today at Write.Click.Scrapbook.  I leave you with my answers to it's literary questions.

How do you feel about reading?
Reading is as essential as breathing. 

What’s your favorite genre? 
 Memoir & classics.

Least favorite? 
Science fiction
 
Where do you like to read?  
Pretty much anywhere I can breathe.  


What’s the strangest place you’ve read a book in? 
 Thinking....hmmm...I'm not usually in strange places. 


What book are you reading right now?
Just finished The Crowning Glory of Cala Lilly Ponder by Rebecca Wells and just starting A Monk Swimming by Malachey McCourt


Who’s your favorite author? 
There are too many to count, but a few favorites are Austen, Dickens, Alcott and Bronte. 
 

What’s your favorite reading snack? 
Annie's Cheddar Bunnies


How does reading fit into your day?
It fits into every nook and cranny.  I read all day.  Blogs, books, news, etc.
 
Does reading in the car make you carsick?
Not usually.
 
Do you usually read more than one book at once? 
Very rarely.
 
What’s your first memory about reading? 
My mother making a cover out of a cereal box for my copy of On the Banks of Plum Creek.


What book character are you most like? 
Laura Ingalls Wilder or Josephine March
 
Which is best, paperback or hardback? 
Paperback for two reasons:  1) it's cheaper so I can buy more books and 2) easier to read.
 
What makes you love a book? 
Pretty much I love it just because it is a book.  The smell, the shape, the freshly crackling spine when I open it for the first time. What's not to love? 
 
How do you keep your place in your book?
I'm forever losing bookmarks or leaving them laying around.  Usually a piece of paper ripped from the corner of a notebook page.
 
Do you like series or stand-alone books? 
As a kid I liked series, but as an adult I like having a sense of finality to things, so I generally lean towards stand-alones.  Here are a few series I love.

• Harry Potter
• The Little House Series
• Anne of Green Gables
• Not really a series, but the Frank McCourt trilogy. (Angela's Ashes, Tis, and Teacher Man) 

Do you ever read the last page of a book first? 
Good gracious, no!
 
Do you like reading poetry? Why or why not? 
Yes, but for some reason I seldom do.
 
What is your favorite book?
Too many to count, but my favorite books to read this time of year are Frankenstein and Wuthering Heights.  I read them every October, without fail. 

5 Loves...

I never cease to be amazed at all the fun things that can be found online.  Here is a list of my top 5 current favorites, in no particular order.

1.  Mad Hatter Pillbox 

2.  Hedgehog Messenger Bag

  

3.  Mess by Keri Smith

 

4.  Jewelry Roll

5.  Passion Flower Journal

Introverted...

Just a short post tonight as I'm falling asleep sitting up tonight and looking to sleeping in tomorrow.  I am currently reading The Introvert Advantage, which is a pretty basic book explaining what introversion is and how to thrive as an introvert.  I'm a solid introvert.  In fact, the first time I took the Myers-Briggs Personality Indicator I was as introverted as possible.  I think I've grown a little since then and become gradually a bit more outgoing, but the anxiety I experience tends to make it hard for me to be outgoing without serious effort and dedication.  

Introverts are outnumbered 3 to 1 according to Laney, so it can be an overwhelming world to us.  Introverts recharge through solitude, reflection and introspection.  Extroverts recharge with other people.  Extroverts leave a party ready for the after-party.  Introverts leave the party and say, "I had a great time but, whew, I am so exhausted."  We get drained when we are around other people.  Extroverts get pumped up. 

Naturally, being an introvert can make work life a little daunting.  Introverts are drawn toward careers where they work one on one, such as therapists or life-coaching.  A lot of work anxiety I've attributed to my mental illness could actually be attributed more to my introversion rather than my anxiety.  I'm sure it's a combination of both, but it was actually a relief to realize that my work issues may stem more from the type of personality I have and less from my anxiety in general. 

I am really excited about going back to work, and I am trying to keep in mind the tips from this book on succeeding as an introvert.  I'm feeling a lot of confidence about subbing because I have so much choice on my side.  I get to pick the schools, I get to pick the grades, even the specific teachers when there are several jobs. I don't have to go back to any certain school or assignment if it's horrid and uncomfortable.  If I'm struggling personally I can choose to stay home for the day and regroup.  The power of flexibility and choice make me much more at peace with my decision to go back to work.  I hope I'm not taking on too much at one time. 

Introversion is a great topic, and I plan to discuss it more in my next post, specifically the many ways that I have learned to manage my introversion.  It really does require that I make certain decisions to make myself more at peace.  It took me a long time to realize that it was simply personality type and not something wrong with me.  More on this soon, until then, I am off to the land of zzzzzzzz.....

Back to Work...Or is it Back to School?

After a fifteen month break I am headed back to work (part-time).  It's a little bit nerve-wracking and a whole lot of exciting all at once.  I never thought I would be excited to go to work, and maybe after a day or two it will wear off, but for now I am very grateful at the prospect of it.

When I decided not to go back to work it was both a relief and a tremendous burden.  I was in such a dark place at the end of last summer.  I had such doubts about myself, and my ability to do a good job.  I had endured conflict with a coworker whom in retrospect I should have filed a complaint against, and it had eaten me up for months.  I had anxiety through the roof.  I used to have panic attacks daily when I taught, and even as a paraprofessional I often had major anxiety on the way to work, the weekends, and late in the evening.  I didn't enjoy my time off because I was already worried about going back to work.  I know everyone dreads work sometimes, but the intensity of the anxiety that I had exceeded the normal range.  It impeded my ability to do my job and do it well.  


Logically, I knew that I was capable of doing my job.  I knew that I was competent, responsible, eager to please, and all in all a good employee.  However, I allowed one person to trigger within me that self-critical, never-ending voice in my ear that whispered that I might not be good enough.  My therapist and psychiatrist agreed that it would not be a bad idea for me to take a break from work, but they both emphasized I had too many talents to stay away from work for long, and we all agreed that within a year, I should be back to work.  

I'm a couple months behind on the one year mark, but my six weeks in Texas caused a small kink in my plans.  I decided on substituting for several reasons.  Although my certification to teach is secondary (7th -12th grade), teenagers are brutal.  Even a person with a great deal of self-confidence and several years of teaching background is regularly challenged by teenagers.  My 6 months teaching is a whole other story, but lets just say I survived by the slightest of margins.  I loved my work with the younger kids, K-3, but sometimes the content gets mighty dull and repetitive.  I mean, how many ways can you teach letters and numbers before you're just sick to death of it?  So, I am not sure teaching in the public school is for me, but I do love (most) of the kids. 


I also knew going back to work would be a major challenge, even though I am in a really good place.  I wanted something flexible, and thought about temping, but that can be very stressful (been there, done that, too).  I really wanted to work with the kids again, so I thought I would sub at the elementary level.  That way, if I'm having a rough day (or week), I just don't take a job for that period of time.  It's flexible but dependable - exactly what I need. 


I briefly mentioned in my post Forgiveness... that in America, so much of who we are is our work.  We are often asked "What do you do?" and we are often judged and valued by the answer to that question.  It was embarrassing to try to answer that question in my fifteen month hiatus.  I felt ashamed that I had no legitimate "excuse" for not working - nothing that I wanted to talk about freely, anyways.  I had no children at home to care for.  Kyle and I certainly could have used the income that I would have made doing any job.  It was not an easy decision not to go to work.  I felt like I was letting everyone down. 


I felt guilty, too, because I had just celebrated the completion of my work for my Masters Degree.  I now had an advanced degree, and I actually felt even more incapable of doing the most mundane tasks.  I felt like a fraud, and I knew that at any moment my "true" character would be discovered.  Not going back to work was hiding in a lot of ways.  


I had to weigh the pros and cons against one another. I felt tremendous relief at not having to go to work and be around other people all the time, but I felt tremendous guilt at the same time for not providing for my family, feared that I would be deemed "lazy" or "selfish", and ashamed to explain to friends and family why I wasn't working after spending thousands on two degrees. 


I have some anxiety tonight about returning to work, but more than that I feel the good anxiety.  Those tiny butterflies of excitement that let you know you're in for a good thing.  Subbing will be tough sometimes, but it will also mean interacting with others, bringing home a paycheck of my own (important for my sense of independence and self-confidence), some peace at catching up on some bills, (but knowing something else will happen that will cost us...hang in there furnace!) I'm looking forward to seeing the kiddos that I began working with five years ago as Kindergartners, now in fourth grade.  I haven't seen them since their second grade year.  

Mostly I'm happy that emotionally, physically, mentally, and in every other respect I am doing so well right now.  I wake up every day looking forward to the day, and I think mornings are gorgous.  I used to hate them.  I used to not want to face them.  Some days I didn't.  I will still have those days, but now they are outnumbered, and the odds are in my favor.

30 Before 30...

A trend in the blog world is to make a list of 30 things/events/goals one hopes to accomplish by the time one hits thirty.  Since today is the first day of the last year of my twenties, I thought it would be a great time to post my list. I have 365 days to get these items crossed out, and there's nothing an organization-freak likes more than crossing items off a to-do list! As I accomplish each of these I will cross them off and add the date completed.  Keep checking back to see my progress!

1. Reach my goal weight (30ish more pounds to go!)  Or at least get my BMI  in the "normal" range.
2. Blog 5 days a week.
3. A kickboxing or karate class.  Or maybe Zumba. 
4. Go to a water park.  This entails wearing a swimsuit in PUBLIC.  Eek!  That hasn't happened since about - oh, 1993. 
5. Finish painting the interior of the house.  Done! 1/31/11!
6. Go to Vegas with Kyle.  Done! 6/1/11!
7. Go to Phantom of the Opera at the Venetian in Vegas.  Done! 6/3/11!
8. Acquire a violin (Done 12/25/10!) and begin learning to play.
9. Read 10 classic novels.  5 that I haven't read yet; perhaps Jude the Obscure, The Idiot, Anna Karenina, Lolita, and Daniel Deronda.  5 that I loved; perhaps Great Expectations, Pride and Prejudice, Little Women, Adam Bede, Mill on the Floss.  Bonus:  Silas Marner
10. Go to a Colorado Rockies game. 
11. Go to the spa for a day of pampering - massage, pedicure, nails and maybe a haircut or facial? 5/31/11!
12. Apply to make my DBSA support group a nonprofit organization.  Done 1/31/11!
13. Go camping. 
14. Have Kyle teach me to flyfish. 
15. Visit a renaissance fair. (Boulder or Larkspur?)
16. Get something published.
17. Learn to say no politely but firmly, and not feel guilty afterward.
18. Ring in the New Year in a new way.  Perhaps something that requires me to get all dressed up.  Not that it wasn't great ringing in the past 29 in my PJs.
19. Buy a little black dress - and love it.  Maybe even wear it to ring in the new year? 5/20/11!
20. Watch a meteor shower. 
21. Organize an Out of the Darkness Community Walk.
22. Sing karaoke in public - like I mean it.  Nancy Sinatra, anyone?
23. Take classes on something completely new.  Grant Writing?  Graphic Design?  
24. Go kayaking or white water rafting.
25. Quit biting my nails.  For GOOD.  
26. Have a snazzy dinner with Kyle at an upscale restaurant.  Wait, doesn't Cheesecake Factory count? 6/9/11.
27. Spend more time reading, writing and talking to others in person and less time online. 
28. Make Pioneer Woman's Mac & Cheese from scratch.  Preferably, without a fire in the kitchen.  This recipe almost makes me want to have a bad day just so I can indulge in comfort food.  
29. Figure out what I'm passionate about and use that knowledge to find me a job that I love.
30. Forgive myself.

Forgiveness...

Two posts in one day - overkill!  However, when I am inspired to write, I write, and watching the movie version of Elizabeth Gilbert's Eat, Pray, Love inspired me, big time.  It has been a tough year, to say the least.  I spent six weeks of my year in intensive treatment, and while it was sometimes about figuring out how to deal with the demons we all must confront, it was about something more - learning to love myself, warts and all. Treatment was one more stop in a long journey to discovering who I am, and defining who and what I want to be. 

While Gilbert's journey to discovering herself was inspired by the dissolution of a marriage, I identified with her so much, as I am sure almost any woman can.  Who am I?  Who am I outside of the roles I have? I ask these questions of myself all the time.

One part of the movie takes place in Rome, and she and her friends are sharing a delicious meal and she is asked to tell the word that expresses who she is.  She says, "writer".  Her friend laughs and says that is what she does, not who she is.  In America, we are so caught up in what we do.  Not having worked for the last year, I can relate even more to this.  "What do you do?" is one of the first questions we ask someone we've just met.  What we do is oh, so important.  I'm this, or that.  As if our job title is an essential clue as to who we really are.  This is not so in other countries.  We are often so much more than the few words that describe certain aspects of our lives - wife, daughter, mother, teacher, writer - each title is only a tiny clue into the whole of our soul.

What really struck me, though, is Gilbert's stay in India.  She's trying to meditate and she's struggling.  Like me, she closes her eyes and hopes to reach that clear-minded state of connection with a higher power, but instead she notices the fly on her neck, the fan in the room, seventy conversations she's had, memories, and more, opens her eyes, looks at the clock, and much to her dismay a whole minute has passed.  Oh, how  I related!  How do I silence the inner critic; that never quiet chatterer that sits in my head narrating and demanding and dictating?  I struggle so with prayer and meditation.  In frustration she lashes out at a gentleman that can see himself in her and has the wisdom of time and experience on his side.  How in the heck can she find peace, she wants to know.

His advice? He tells her she has to forgive herself.

The words cut to my core.  Forgiveness is not a new concept for me.  I've managed (through many costly hours of therapy), to find ways of forgiving others who have offended me in minor and major ways.  It's never been too hard for me to find forgiveness for others.  I believe in second chances.  I believe people are generally loving, decent people who sometimes screw up.  I believe we can change if we want to.  I have wholeheartedly forgiven so very many events and people.

Except, for one.  Me.  I've failed to forgive me.

For I am not worthy of forgiveness.  I am too bad, too selfish, too worthless, too many things.  I am not forgivable.  So despite those hours of therapy, despite six weeks in emotional boot camp, I had failed to realize that I was continually punishing myself.  I was punishing myself for being unforgivable.  I could not, and did not, forgive the person who needed forgiveness the most.  I had given her up for a lost cause.  She was irredeemable, forsaken, abandoned.

I am seldom emotional at movies, but tears rolled freely down my face as all of this hit home in 30 seconds tonight.  One of my birthday wishes today was from my dear cousin Lisa - that I have many blessings.  What a blessing this one, tiny lesson has been.  What an amazing birthday gift!  I haven't, as a result of the unfolding past three hours, wiped the slate clean and been reborn.  Rather, I've realized the necessity, and given myself permission, to forgive myself.  And that is what the tears are about.  The anguish, the relief, and the pure gratitude that I realized this at 29 instead of one day later.

I wrote earlier today that I am inspired by memoirs because I love learning from others the amazing life lessons that we each encounter.  This couldn't be a better example of that.  Had one woman in New York City, in another walk of life, not written so honestly and beautifully about her own anguish, relief, and gratitude, I might not have known the joy that I feel tonight.

It's My Birthday and It's All About Me...

At least on my blog, it's all about me :)  I do have wonderful birthday plans, though.  I am going to enjoy breakfast out with my best friend.  This may or may not include a peach muffin.  In the evening I shall enjoy going to the movies to see Eat, Pray, Love, along with a huge tub of buttered popcorn, some gummy bears, a fizzy fountain coke, and my wonderful sister-in-law, Penny.  Kyle is out of town, so we will have to celebrate with dinner out sometime next month when life slows down.

In order of the big 2-9 (Holy cow!  One more year to thirty!  Oh, dear!), I am posting 29 odd facts all about me today.

BEST

Dessert:  Raspberry/White Chocolate Cheesecake

Guilty Pleasure:  A bowl of rocky road ice cream while watching reruns of COPS (A real thrill seeker, aren't I?)

Books I've read:  Classics: Pride and Prejudice, Great Expectations Modern Classics:  The Thorn Birds, A Thousand Splendid Suns, Memoirs:  The Glass Castle, Darkness Visible

TV Show:  I loved the recent Starz! miniseries Pillars of the Earth

Way to spend Friday night:  Dinner out or movies in.


Q&A

Three words that describe you?
perfectionist, organized, caring

Random fact about you?
I've moved over 26 times.  That I can count.

If you could have coffee with anyone famous, past or present, who would it be?
Abe Lincoln

If you could share a bit of advice with your teenage self, what would it be?  
Be you!  You are just the way you're meant to be.


What experience has shaped you most, and why?
Mostly the health of those around me and my own struggle with depression have caused the biggest learning experiences for me.  It's important to make the most of the time we have with the ones we love.  We never know when our time is up.

How do you spend a day without commitments? 
I would love to say that I would get all this huge accomplishments done, but in reality, I'd probably browse the web, clean the house and maybe squeeze in a nap.  I would really love, though, a day at the spa with a massage, a pedicure and a haircut to feel a little bit pampered.


What food could you never give up? 
Chocolate and pizza.  And Diet Sunkist.

Your favorite comfort food that doesn't include cheese?
What kind of comfort food doesn't include cheese?!?  Ummm...Mom's homemade chicken and noodles.

What did you think you would be when you grew up? 
A teacher.

What do you want to be when you grow up now? 
A writer.  Or a police officer/detective.


Which woman writer, living or dead, do you most admire?
I have long loved Laura Ingalls Wilder.  I could relate to her so much as I grew up on farms and ranches.  I wanted to be a teacher just like her with my own one room schoolhouse.  I rooted for her in her first year of marriage as she and her husband faced difficulties.

What character trait do you most admire?  
Humility.  Not the submissive type, but the modest and humble type.


Which books have touched you and inspired you most? 
Gosh, which books haven't inspired or touched me?  I just love the many lessons to be learned inside the covers of good books.  Great books show us the pitfalls and the peaks of human nature.  Macbeth, for instance.  Talk about needing some humility!  I love memoirs and nonfiction books because I am inspired by true tales of people overcoming those trials and tribulations that rock them but make them better people. 

Favorite family traditions?
I love how Kyle and I get to make up new traditions as we move through the years as a new family.  We love to watch only Christmas movies in the days before Christmas, and though there are a million choices, we can't miss The Holiday, Emmit Otter's Jugband Christmas, Meet Me in St. Louis, Love Actually,  and National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation.  

What is your big dream.  The Big one?
To write something worthy of publication.

What are you working on right now that you could use some support and encouragement on? 
My Whimsical Notions shop.  My DBSA Support Group.

TO FINISH

I HATE hypocrisy.  
I HEAR Pip growling at a leaf.
I WONDER what is my purpose?
I REGRET very little?  Learn from mistakes, and move on. 
I DANCE with my four year old god-daughter.
I SING in the car, shower, while crafting, while cleaning, while grocery shopping, pretty much everywhere!
I CRY when angry or frustrated, rarely when sad.
I AM NOT ALWAYS as patient as I would like.
I WRITE in my journal, on this blog, and in notebooks all over the house.  

And bonus:  My picture for today!

When "Helping" Hurts...

I've mentioned before the loneliness that mental illness brings.  Unlike other illnesses where family and friends draw close to support and offer comfort, mental illnesses such as bipolar disorder can alienate people who aren't sure how to help.  Even those people who stay close may struggle to find the best way to offer comfort.  I can't tell you how many times people such as myself have been told to "buck up" or "pull yourself up by your bootstraps".  

There is something to be said for keeping a positive attitude, and an attitude of gratitude, and for "choosing to be happy", but mental illness is not the result of the person being ungrateful or not trying hard enough to be happy.  Quite often, people who are trying to "help" actually add insult to injury.  Interactions in such circumstances may result in the bipolar sufferer actually withdrawing more, further convinced that no one could possibly understand what he/she is going through.  Borrowed from healthyplace.com as well as personal experience, here are just a few of the worst phrases to utter to a person who is struggling with mental illness:

• You just need to give yourself a kick in the rear.  
• It's all in your mind. 
• No one ever said life was fair. 
• I thought you were stronger than that. 
• Stop feeling sorry for yourself. 
• There are a lot of people far worse off than you.  
• You have it so good, why aren't you happy. 
• You have so many things to be thankful for.  Why are you so depressed? 
• Happiness is a choice. 
• You should get off all those pills. 
• Have you been praying/reading the bible?
• You don't look depressed!
• Are you sure it's not just "that time of the month?"
• You're only hurting yourself.
• Snap out of it. 
• Just stop thinking about it.
• You just need a man/woman.
• You just need some perspective

Most people really just want to fix the problem, and while that good intention is sweet, the reality is, no one can "fix" a  mental illness anymore than one can fix cancer or diabetes.  So instead of offering the above "advice", instead offer some of these more compassionate comforts.

• I love you. 
• You're not alone.
• Do you want a hug?
• I'll still be here when this is all over. 
• I am sorry you are in so much pain.  
• You are important.  
• I can't imagine how hard this must be.

If nothing else, simply listen.  Most of us who are struggling with mental illness really just need someone to listen and try to understand.  We don't want advice, we want understanding and the freedom to feel what we are feeling.  This is what I love about my new depression and bipolar support group.  We are a group of people who have come together because we need a place where we can be honest about what we are facing.  Some folks who come need to vent and release built up anger and pain.  Others ask for advice as they navigate the full implications of a new diagnosis.  Some want to offer the wisdom they've gained through their personal struggles.  Others still want to know how they can make it through this scary, uncharted territory.  


We all need someone who can just listen without saying a word sometimes.  When I want advice I ask for it.  It's harder, though, to ask for a hug when I'm hurting for no "apparent" reason.  It's hard to explain that I couldn't get to work because the task of removing myself from bed was too daunting; too exhausting.  It is excruciating for me to be in a crowded room of people and feel more alone than ever.  If just one person can sit down beside me, though, and lend an ear and a pat on the back, the prospect of facing tomorrow is just a little bit easier. 

Gratitudes...

When I'm inclined to be grumpy and bellyache about the small stuff, it's usually time to think about what I am grateful for.  So here are a few gratitudes for this Sunday evening. 

• love
• Kyle
• Pip
• laughter
• friendship
• hope
• generosity
• gentleness
• energy
• bagels
• honey walnut cream cheese
• nutella
• gingerbread candles
• reflection 
• peace
• quiet
• a day with no obligations
• a week with no crises
• warmth
• cool sheets
• fabric softner
• my favorite jeans and sweatshirt
• days when I don't have to look "presentable"
• a new book
• the smell of a new book
• an uncracked spine on a new book
• coffee shops that sell Italian sodas
• almond flavoring
• beauty
• human touch
• understanding
• compassion
• insight
• a new pen
• a new notebook or journal
• a soft breeze
• sunshine warmth
• snowy freshness
• spring blossoms
• fall colors
• ice
• xerox machines
• printers
• mapquest
• memory card capacities
• allergy medicine
• juicy secrets - the good kind 
• babies
• puppies
• wisdom
• fuzzy socks
• electric blankets
• a working furnace
• bliss
• contentment
• oatmeal
• another day
• every day

Something I Didn't Know...

Months ago I participated in the Week in the Life project inspired by Ali Edwards.  I was very happy with the outcome.  I just realized that Ali featured my album pages on her blog. How exciting!

Making Messes...

Keri Smith is this amazing author, illustrator, and most of all artist who creates books that inspire.  I loved Living Out Loud and anyone who loves creativity should definitely check it out.  She has a new book out, Mess, which I am sure she created with me in mind.  I love to create, but I hate making messes.  Rather, I hate cleaning up messes.  This book is a how-to in creating messes - the fun kind!  I think I will have to start dropping birthday hints to Kyle so I can get a copy of Mess sooner. Check out what Ms. Smith has to say about her new book here.

While I sat at my computer reading about Mess and thinking about the genius behind it, I realized how hard it is for me to let go and just create without thinking about tidiness and neatness.  I was excited at the prospect of Mess because it would give me permission to make a mess.  How sad is it that I feel like I need approval to make a mess?  It's that part of my personality that's a little obsessive-compulsive.  I definitely have trouble when everything is out of order and not in its proper place.  I have trouble getting down and dirty and enjoying my stamping, scrapbooking and cardmaking because in the back of my mind a little voice is saying, "You're going to have to clean that up!"  It's time for me to start shouting back, "So what?!" (Disclaimer:  I'm not really hearing voices.  Really.)

Why do I feel like every part of life has to be in its place all the time?  Why do I freak out at the thought of scrubbing up ink or vacuuming up scraps of paper?  It's not as if my house is always spotless or we never make a mess.  With a puppy and a hubby, there are plenty of messes to clean up on a daily basis.  So why does the excitement of creating get undermined by my fear of disarray?  What is it all really about? 

See, this is what happens when one spends 42 days in treatment.  You start analyzing every little aspect of your life and seeking out the "core issues" that are behind your behaviors.  It's a little funny but a little life-altering, too.  Introspection gives me the chance to ask myself what is working and what isn't, and of course, always "why?"  What is it about neatness that is so blissfully calming to me? 

It comes down to security and a sense of control.  I'm a control-freak.  I like to know who-what-where-when and why.  I want to have everything written in ink in my planner. I don't like surprises. I don't like the unexpected.  I want to be prepared for everything so that I can tend to it with poise and grace and dignity.  I don't want to be caught off guard, appear shocked or, heaven forbid, unprepared.  It comes from growing up in a household with few rules and a lot of changes.  It comes from a desire to always appear to be in control.  It is a false comfort.  It gives me a false sense of security.  Because my house is clean, organized and - well - perfect, then I can be, too.

Perfect.  Another false comfort. Because after all, who is perfect?  No one.

I've long felt that I have to be perfect.  In order for people to like me.  In order for people to need me.  In order for people to want me.  In order to be worthwhile, important, and necessary, I had to do everything perfect and be perfect.  It's exhausting. 

My (early) birthday wish for myself is this:  Be okay with the mess.  Be okay with the little messes, like chewed up paper on the living room floor.  Be okay with big messes, like the backyard after a windstorm.  Most of all, be okay with me.  Remember that the condition of my kitchen or my car or my bathroom has nothing to do with, and is in no way a reflection of, the person I truly am or can be.  It is my hope that in celebration of my birthday I can make a big mess - maybe I'll throw confetti on myself and wait until tomorrow to clean it up.  Maybe I'll get all my stickers, markers and glitters out and pick my favorites and plaster them all over my planner or a favorite notebook cover.  Perhaps I will bake sugar cookies and make wild colored frosting and decorate cookies with the passion of a five year old.  Whatever the activity, that is the key - with the passion of a five year old.  Five year olds love making messes.  Nothing has triggered them to believe that making a mess is anything other than a perfect way to spend an afternoon. And that is why five year olds are perfect - they love being themselves.  I've just got to find the ways to love being my self.