Content

That seems to be my status quo since we moved. Content. And I'm not saying everything is easy. Not in the least. It's more like....

Hacked off at my husband....and content.
Tired of my kids fighting...and content.
Sick of the cold....and content.
Annoyed by people...and content.
Wishing there were a Target nearby...and content.
Craving Chinese food...and content.
Desperate for my house to sell...and content.
Unable to sleep well...and content. (And perpetually sleepy.)
Worried about the state of the country...and content.
With few friends (people are friend-LY, but I still spend most of my time with people who have to put up with me because we're related rather than because they genuinely desire my companionship)...and content.

I'll be driving down the street, rehearsing something in my mind, furious at something said or done to me or someone else, and realize I'm the only one on the road and I heave a breath and discover that under all that fury, I'm content.

Superboy and his X-Ray Vision

Charming: I have X-ray vision
Mom: You do?
Charming: Yep. I can see frew fings.
Mom: Really? That's cool.
Charming: Yup. It only work on some fings, though.
Mom: What things are those?
Charming: I see frew windows.


***


Charming: I using my X-Ray vision
Dad: What do you see?
Charming (holds Sonic cup up to his face): I see peach. Yep, it's peach.

Never mind he'd already had half the cup.

Only in the 'Boro, Mail Edition

My parents and I are both on rural delivery mail. Why, I'm uncertain, as we both live In Town according to most anyone who would visit our homes. Granted, we live on opposite sides of our one mile by two mile town. (They live on the eastern side of the two mile stretch, I, on the southern end of the one mile half.) Although if you were to get technical, I'd bet the town is larger than one by two if you were to walk it out. Which brings us back to why we live "in town" and yet are on the rural route. Apparently the United States Postal Service drew city lines and never shall we go beyond.

Try THAT in the Johnson County suburbs. And yes, I'm speaking to you Shawnee, Lenexa, and Olathe and your massive western expansion.

Anyhoo....my parents' mail comes between 10:30 and 11 AM most days. Mine comes sometime after 2:30, but always before 3:30. Apparently the rural route driver starts west and heads counterclockwise to deliver. Which kinda bums me out, but that's another blog. One I imagine I've written if you go far enough back in my naval gazing to find it.

So, yesterday I was sitting at my parents' table, drinking my coffee and looking out at the birds when the mailman drove up. Instead of dropping the mail in the box and driving on, he brought a package to the door. My dad met him and I overheard the following conversation:

Is that Amy or Jamie?
It's Jamie, here for coffee.
Does she want her package?

OK, first: Seven years I lived in the last house with the same postman. In seven years he couldn't figure out that neither RMS Vending, nor the compulsive gambler Steven Sanders (I'm only guessing this due to all of the online gambling mags we got for him, (if, on the random googlies Steven Sanders cares about his reputation and finds this....you should have let all those gambling sites know you moved)) were any longer residing in our house. I finally just quit writing "not at this address" and returning them and instead threw them away.

So you can imagine my humor to find that my postman recognized me, recognized my parents, recognized that though I don't have the last name my parents have....that I might want my B&N delivery five hours earlier than I would get it traditionally.

All this on top of Thursday's UPS delivery directly into my garage.

Only in the 'Boro.

Ode to Fabruary 16

For the last two days Valentines Day has been the primary conversation topic on Facebook. Who got what, photos of flowers, chocolate, cards, excited exclamations of "going to Vegas!" and "best Valentines EVER!" And then there are the single people who hate Single Awareness Day and go into a three day funk because they didn't get overpriced flowers from someone who has been reminded every day for the last six weeks to think of their special someone.

My gift from the lover of my soul.

I can't make myself really give a hoot about this Day of Love. I'd blame the boyfriend of mine for dumping me on or near Valentines day in the sixth grade, but it seems like maybe I should be over that as we are both happily married to other people. I'd blame the fact that it's my mother's birthday, but I think that's just an excuse for me to pretend it isn't a holiday that needs anything but birthday cake. I'd blame the fact that I worked at a flower shop during February once and saw with my own little eyes that they do, in fact, double the prices of arrangements the week of Valentines. I wonder if I'm just jaded about anything that puts a price on love.

On Sunday, when we'd dropped in at Alco to buy a birthday card for my mom, I decided to also grab valentines for my kiddos. Though it was her birthday, my mother always had a heart shaped box of chocolates sitting on our pillows when we woke up. (You would think this alone would make me love the holiday.) While in line there (after scoffing at the various gifts Alco offered for sale), Hubs accused me of robbing him of any valentines gifts and THAT'S why I never got anything. "You've ousted flowers, you've ousted jewelry, you've ousted chocolate...."

I don't deny it.

And of course, this conversation happened because I offered to go buy myself flowers at the grocery store. Which I did, while buying groceries, and picking up flowers for my mother and Gramps (from Charming who insisted Granny wasn't the only one in need of flowers). Which really means I didn't so much buy them for myself as swipe a few out of their bunches when we put them in the vase.

 My gift to myself, using Hub's money, which I would have skipped had I'd known.

And now the truth comes out: When we were first married, we were broke. I couldn't abide him spending money on flowers that would die in a week when we needed important things like vacuums, or groceries. I don't want him to buy a necklace in a certain shape just because the guys in jewelry design decided that three diamonds in a row symbolized past, present, and future, or whatever. I think this year it was overwhelmingly the open heart collection, but I'm not sure as we have (thank my heavenly father above) DVR.

I don't know why I'm such a crankus about Valentines Day. I guess I would just rather my husband showed up unexpectedly on a Tuesday in June with a flat of annuals for me to plant. That's what says. "I know you" to me. Or a bag of sour gummy worms. Or better yet, a frozen cappuccino from Quick Trip.

This year, after I came home from the grocery store, I discovered a bunch of flowers on my table. During our discussion at Alco, I told him he was allowed to buy me flowers now that we have two dimes to rub together....as long as he bought either the bunches at the grocery store OR a potted plant that won't die. But I'll be honest, I didn't expect him to. I expected him to thank me for buying my own flowers. Instead, I think he was a little exasperated that I did.

 The flowers from my lover. Notice their prime location next to the computer.

Later, we had my parents over for a birthday dinner and then we went to watch our middle son perform as a rapping beaver in the grade school production of The Bear Went Over the Mountain. It was so humorous, my cheeks ached all evening. He then put the squirts to bed, primarily Charming who was making me ca-razy. And disappeared downstairs to watch the shelacking of the Jayhawks while letting me go to bed early. The man knows me.

That, and he let me use my Valentines money saved to buy a new vacuum.

I think I'll keep him.

And rejoice that Valentines Day won't come around for another 363 day.

Sunsets

For all my city friends who have heard me lament the lack of sunsets. God gave me this beauty last night.

I actually gasped when I looked out the window. Stood up from dinner with food in my mouth, grabbed my camera and had five minutes alone with my sunset and its Creator.

And for Andrea, who questions whether I live close enough to call it country: this is what is on the other side of that row of houses. I know Tami wouldn't agree, but after what I've come from, I'll call it close enough.

you know you've moved to a small town when...

You get excited when the grocery store is selling a product you thought was discontinued. You buy it out (it is, after all, on sale and you loved said product) and excitedly rip into aforementioned box to discover they have, in fact, been discontinued. Telltale sign: stale and hard.

Shelf life around here is insane.

(Note: They have not replaced the product I bought out last month.)

Sunsets

A Day of Contrasts

After a day of holding my feverish youngest who wouldn't let me put him down to get any housework done, my house is cleaner than it has been for a while.

Hmmmm.....

Former trip to the doctor:
Call doctor with feverish toddler yanking on ears.
Get appt. for the next afternoon with a PA (if you're lucky)
30 minute drive to clinic.
Arrive at clinic.
Sit in waiting room for 30 minutes.
Summoned by nurse.
Cursory check by nurse.
Wait for PA approx 15 minutes up to 45 minutes.
Cursory check, write scrip.
Stop to pay. Argue about submitting to insurance. Leave without paying.
Drop scrip. Go home. Make dinner.
Go back for scrip.Wait for ten more minutes. Told they only have enough for two days.
Two days later, go back. Wait for 30 minutes.
Six months later, receive bill from doctor's office for $120.

OR: Drive to Walk-in clinic, wait 45 minutes. See a nurse practitioner. Get scrip. Pay her $62. Have it filled at clinic. Wait 45 minutes. Pay $30.

Today:
Call clinic at 4PM. Told to come in. Now.
Drive 1.5 minutes to clinic.
Five minute wait while filling out paperwork.
Nurse. Cursory check. Leaves.
Enter doctor.
Checks ears. Writes scrip.
Check out. $55.
Drop scrip at pharmacy next door.
Five minute wait. $5.

*****


Recycling before the move:
Pay company $5 every other month.
Throw recycling into provided container and place at curbside every Monday.


Recycling now:
First, list of recyclables is so ridiculously confusing I'm flummoxed as to how anyone knows what can and can not be recycled.
Separate recyclables.
Drive to recycling center.
Which is only open twice a week.
Two hours at a time.
get out of nice warm car.
Place separated recyclables into individual containers which are only labeled slightly better than if they were in Chinese. (For instance, if we are supposed to separate green and clear soda bottles, why is there no demarcation on the containers of which goes where? And why are the #2 milk containers across the lot from the other #2 plastics.)

Get back in car.
Restore warmth to fingers.
Cost: numb fingers and bruised thumb.

Apparently I'm only as green as curbside pickup.

Words of Wisdom from Martin Luther King Jr

"I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character. I have a dream today!

"have a dream that one day...little black boys and little black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers. I have a dream today!"

Blog Fodder

Blog Fodder.

This is what my mental state says to me when I'm thinking about being irritated. Blog Fodder. Sometimes it works. Today, for example. When I'm thinking there could be an entire blog called Only in (or Near) the 'Boro. And may yet be. Should I grow some motivation.

So, my driver's license was stolen/lost/misplaced last Monday in the Worst City (that I have to visit occasionally) On The Planet. I am also attempting to have a moment of selfishness in my week and attempting to put my youngest in preschool JUST so that I can have two days a week with my TV and a Yoga video. In order to do this I must vaccinate my youngest who, some of you might remember, had a NASTY reaction to vaccination last year. And, since I've moved, I really need to go into the DMV and change my address and get new stickers for my tags.

Hmmmm...this is sounding boring. Hope to fix that.

I now live in a place where the driver's license place and the public health department and the DMV are not open every day. I also live in a place where the building labeled the DMV is not actually the DMV, it is the snowplow place. Story number one.

I look up the address for the DMV (county courthouse suite 105), the driver's license place (county courthouse suite 102) and the public health department (main street) and find the only day they are all open as I must drive TEN MILES to get to them. (This is a big deal. Never mind that I'm used to driving 20 minutes to get anywhere (except Target)). Why drive the ten miles three times when you can do it once? It is, after all, in our rival town where you just don't go (unless you would rather have Gambino's pizza instead of the Hut).

This is mostly tongue in cheek, I must admit.

So, after false starting at the DMV/Snowplow place (as there is no address anywhere on this building, how am I to know it isn't the right DMV?), I find the courthouse where there is all angle parking and all on the other side of the street and off of one way streets and seriously confusing me, but not quite stopping me from making a J turn and hoping against hope that no police will see me do this illegal manuver as I have no license.

I enter said building where none, I repeat NONE, of the offices have numbers anywhere on the doors. I do finally find one labeled <--vehicles where I enter and tell the woman at the desk my story. Long and complicated as it is. I've moved, I've lost my license, I need to change my address and get a new license.

I am not in the right place. I know you are shocked.

She is kind enough to explain the procedure which is to wait until the door (down the hall) opens, and when that guy comes out, I am next.

What? I have to wait? (She says, tongue in cheek again, as she is used to standing in line for a minimum of 45 minutes to get a driver's license).

But while I have to wait, she does change my address on my vehicles so that I can get new stickers for my tags and I can (thankfully!) get my tax bill. (eyeroll) She prints out the forms with my change of address (that she doesn't require ID or proof of change for) on them and hands them to me.

I go down the hall where I wait patiently for the guy to open the door and come out, which he almost immediately does. I go in where the woman tells me "You can't come in here!"

My bad.

The guy isn't done. He just needs to go get some cash. (CASH! Can you believe it? I have brought cash, but only because I can't find a checkbook and though I was sure they took credit, I feared they did not. It appears I am correct. HA! OK, moving on.) I crawl back into my hole, or the bench outside of The Door, whatever the case may be, to wait my turn. The guy leaves the building.

I wait.

And wait.

And wait.

At which point I try to text my husband that only in (or near) the 'boro, does a driver's license place wait for someone to visit the ATM before taking the next person in line. As I am textually challenged, I give up on that and put my phone away. Eventually, the woman across the hall from me (who is in line behind me) asks, "Where do you think he needed to go for his cash?" and I replied, "Apparently an ATM in the 'Boro." (Ten miles away, might I remind you, as he has been gone approximately ten minutes). We laugh.

We wait some more. At which point the lady across from me says, "I should know you." And I told her, "Probably not."

I was wrong, by the way. We eventually decided she knew me because I was a cheerleader 17 years ago and was very visible at that time. As cheerleaders cheer towards 300 people, the 300 people have the advantage of knowing the five of us while we see a sea of faces. And our boyfriend. And probably his parents. And maybe ours. She said I looked exactly the same to which I replied, "Which just means I still have, Hello, I Graduated in 1994 Hair." She laughed. And then I said, "(her last name), I knew a (her last name).......Judy." And she said, "My mother." Ah. Contact established.

I'm not even safe leaving the house ten miles away. I saw as many people there that I knew as I see at Alco. And here I thought I'd get the afternoon off of the "How do I know you" game.

Anyway, the guy comes back with his cash. The lady takes his picture. He leaves. My turn. I explain my dilemma. She looks sad and asks if I have ID. Which I do. Since I intended to travel to Israel last year, I had a passport which SHOULD be better ID than a driver's license. But do I have proof of address? Why no, no I don't. Except for this DMV thing that she just printed next door. That'll work.

Seriously? That woman asked for NO proof, no ID, no nothin' to change my address (though I could give her my name and the county the cars were registered in and my former address, so I guess a total freak would probably not have all that info?) and THIS is all the proof of address I need?

Anyway. Get my driver's license. Head to the public health department which has its own issues, not the least of which is that I know yet another person. However, in this small town they actually TURN ME AWAY for reasons that I won't go into now and which don't really apply to Only in (or near) the 'Boro. The fact that they exercised caution and sent my son away without vaccinations is something that would never have happened in the city where they treat me like an imbecile every time I darken the door of the PHD. For this I am grateful.

See?

I think I can get used to small town living.

Aside from the fact that Target is 55 minutes from my front door and they won't let me open a bank account because I have no driver's license even though they know my parents, in-laws, grandparents in law, aunts, uncles, and watched me cheer for three years, living in the 'Boro is growing on me.

I'm Confused...

I recently moved to a place where I live among a sect of Mennonites (locally?) known as Holdemann. Holderman? Something. I think they are the "Mennonites" (no specific distinction) referred to in Beverly Lewis books. They aren't "Old" Mennonites who wear white caps, but drive cars, and aren't Amish Mennonites who wear white caps and drive buggies. They aren't what we refer to as General Conference Mennonites who, in my personal opinion, could very well be Methodists just as well, and they aren't Mennonite Brethren (which I will soon be again once I can acclimate myself to not dancing in church) who could be described as basically a Baptist without a weekly alter call. They are the Holdemann (whom I can't even spell....) who, when we moved to town in 1990 were known for their cotton shirtwaist dresses and Keds and could drive cars, but they couldn't have chrome on them or radios in them.

Fast forward 22 years. I've left, gone to college, married, had children, lived in the city and returned, the prodigal child. Back to the Mennonites. And what do I find?

*A Mennonite lady who is STUNNING, by the way, without makeup and I still question whether she had some on (not that YOU can't be stunning without makeup, but I sure can't), dressed in her sensible baby blue cotton shirt with DC plaid skate shoes and an Abercrombie and Fitch hoodie.

* A Mennonite lady in a red floral sensible skirt with a SLAMMIN' rhinestone studded, bedazzled AERO(postale) hoodie.

*A group of Mennonite teens at PF Changs. (Not that they aren't allowed to eat out, but I never used to see them in any restaurants where the plates are more than $5 a piece unless it was a Mennonite run establishment). I asked hubs if he thought they were on rumpspringe and he correctly notified me that they would have left their caps home should that have been the case. On the other hand, they weren't texting each other around the table like the group of men behind us. And they had chaperons. And who doesn't like a little Chinese food every now and then? I was there... 

* A Mennonite teen wearing a bubble vest over a tight black long sleeve tee (over her sensible skirt).

* A Mennonite teen in an Underarmour shirt.

*A Mennonite teen with fringe bangs hanging sideways out of her cap. (If it looks like they could have accidentally slipped out, that makes it OK.)

I'm sure this type of thing will cease to amuse me, but for now, I'm going to take all the laughter I can find. Tell me, how does a people group who is not allowed to have chrome on their cars, justify rhinestones on their clothing? And if they are supposed to be in and not of the world (as we all are) how does holding on the the sensible skirt designate them as very much different when mostly what a person sees is the top?

And, OK, I'm not a "rules" girl when it comes to faith, but when you are a "rules" based sect of Mennonite, where does it stop?

Hubs said, not entirely teasing, "They're losing them."

Rules are made to be broken. That is demonstrated all through the Bible. If you have a rule, people will find a way around it. The result can often look silly. Obeying the letter of the law, but not the spirit.

And I'm sure there is something I could say at this point to wrap this up all nice and tidy, but I've got nothin'. I'm just thankful for the freedom found in Jesus. And though I may look silly to the world at large because they don't understand....I guess I don't really care. So why should I care what the Mennonite's are wearing as if I know their rules better than they do? I guess I don't. But I shall find amusement in it for the time being, nonetheless.

Out of the Mouths of Babes

After a move across the state, I petitioned the Lord last night for my children. That in their new school they would find favor. Would exhibit wisdom. Would make appropriate friends. Etc. etc. And I finished the prayer with my desire that I would use my free time in the day to build my relationship with Charming, reading to him, playing with him on his terms, rather than using the electronic babysitter so that I could "get something done" while the older kids were away.

Charming started this morning at 4:30. So while I'm frustrated and sleep deprived and trying to get my older kids off to school in a pleasant manner for their first day in a new school, Charming wants to be held, and cuddled, and held, and rocked, and held. Which is all well and good AFTER the kids are off to school and not so much fun when I need two hands.

In my exasperation, I complained to Hubs, "I KNEW better than to pray! You ask God for something and He answers in the most annoying way POSSIBLE! (complain, complain complain....rant for a few minutes....complain, explain what happened).

Tired of my rant, Charming, who is in my arms at this point (surprise, surprise), grabs my face and turns me to look at him and says, "Mommy, God is good, not bad."

Touche.

Because I'm 35 and, dang it, I can

I have pierced my nose.

So far I have been described as "emo proper" and "crazy." Eldest said, "nasty." Princess said, "I hope you decide you don't like that soon."  I think I have legitimately embarrassed my children. Neither Frodo, nor Charming have noticed it yet. I don't think any of my friends who were at dinner with me approved. I'm almost certain my parents will be mortified.

But I've wanted to do this for years and my husband, whose opinion I most value aside from Jesus, told me it was OK with him. He also used the word "sexy." I think he's lying to try to be supportive, but I treasure him for that.

Wendi went with me.

I love that girl.

Not Becaues I Should, But Because I Can

Chraming Strikes Again!

Mom: quit picking your nose!

Charming: But I'm HUNGRY!

(mom busts a gut)

Consumed

An old friend of mine finally put a word to how I'm feeling.

Consumed.

I can't exactly call it sad or depressed. Hurt. Angry. All are true to an extent, but my daily life hasn't changed by more than a blip on the screen. I haven't seen my beautiful friend for 15 years. Fifteen years since our last road trip. And though I was at her high school graduation, I was doing family stuff and she was doing family stuff and I'm sure I got little more than a hug in. I have no memory of it at all. There was always another day, right? All that aside, knowing that the world has lost a bright light, the only thing that changes in my world is an absence of facebook status updates.

But my thoughts are CONSUMED with the fact that I live in a world where my friends could off themselves at any moment. I dream about it. I go into a yoga pose and I'm focused, focused...focused, and then I burst into tears. And I remember. Not the girl with black hair and a wine glass, but the fourteen year old with braces and a perm, smiling and fitting right in with the group of seniors who weren't sure they really wanted her...until we were. We spent a year protecting her from our bad influence and her parents. She was my little sister. And I spent months trying to talk my future brother in law into going out with her so we could get her to prom (via myself and hubs). So when I see my now sister in law (whom I love dearly and am sure is a better choice for him), I have to make a quick exit and cry my eyes out. And it's insanity.

Consumed.

Not with grief, not even with loss. Just with the magnitude of the thing.

Consumed.

And I know it will lessen and I know it'll get easier and I look forward to the day when time will pass without my thought returning to the ugly and yet I hope I never forget how precious the present with my friends is.

My Christmas List: A Confession

My sister-in-law made this huge, leaping confession about Christmas in which I was painted as a self-sacrificing ideal of gift refusal, and I can no longer allow the misconception to continue. Thus, because it is forced upon me, here is my confession: I have expensive taste.

There it is.

I know I can't have what I want, so you may as well put your money to good use.

When people ask me what I want for Christmas, I have a price point in mind that I assume you are trying to stay within. As there is nothing in said price point that I can't buy for myself (whether I would actually buy it or not doesn't factor in, because we all know I am far too cheap to actually spend $30 on a shirt, but that's another story altogether).

See, I could go out and buy you a $30 sweater that you probably won't like because we have completely different taste. You can go out and buy me a $30 sweater that I may or may not like for the same reason. Neither one of us will admit that we might not wear the sweater. We may have excellent intentions of actually wearing the sweater. We may give it a token wear or two. But, all in all, the $60 has been wasted and on top of that, we have guilt. So why not put the money towards a well and we can have warm fuzzies?

The kink in this theory is that my sister in law actually has given me gifts that I've worn out. I don't know that she can say the same about me.

With all due respect to my parents, we didn't have a whole lot of money growing up and Christmas came with a budget. Christmas was, for the most part, responsible. I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I would never in my wildest dreams get video game systems. (And not just because of the money factor. My mom is very anti-digital entertainment.) But video game systems was what I wanted. What child of the 80s didn't want an Atari? (Hubs bought me one after we were married and still makes fun of me for wanting to play it.) I also knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I'd never get a Cabbage Patch Doll and they surprised me. But I believed in Santa for years longer that a child should because Santa gave me gifts that my parents would NEVER EVER buy. (One of the many reasons we don't do Santa here. I like my credit.) I think Santa brought me the single player pac-man game. Go figure. My parents are more selfless than I am.

The first 13 years of my married life, we had no money. In order to survive, we asked people to not buy us gifts so that we wouldn't have to feel obligated to give back. We couldn't give and receiving is too hard without returning the favor. We bought gifts for people HOPING BEYOND HOPE that Grandma would come through with enough cash to cover what we'd purchased. People would lavish stuff on us and we went home feeling like crap because we weren't more generous, vowing that Next Year would be better. And it almost never was. At least if we asked people to give to charity, we could do the same. Give according to what we have and not have to feel like Scrooge when our homemade candy was stacked up against a pile of gifts.

And yes, I do like to give money to starving children in India and water to thirsty orphans in Africa. They wear on my heart and mind in ways I can't even begin to explain. Why, WHY am I given so much when these children have NOTHING, and how DARE I admit that I want something so frivolous as a new coffee maker when I have one that works adequately and there are children picking coffee beans for a subsistence income?

Bah.

So, I could give you my list. It goes a little something like this:

I would like a watch. I really like the $700 ones at Helzberg Diamonds. $30 ones never last more than a month on my arm. I think I have a chemical on me that kills them. Dead.
I would like a Keurig and the cute single serve coffees that come with it.
Unless, of course I want a coffee roaster and green coffee beans.
And until I can decide if I want individual serving expensive coffee or want to roast my own, I'd rather not have both machines cluttering up my kitchen counter.
I want a $600 glass quilt display.
I don't have enough quilts to justify this request.
Which means I probably would like some more quilts.
I want a $700 language learning system so I can learn a romantic language that has no bearing on daily life and hopefully visit the country in which the language is still spoken.
There is a painting on a cruise ship floating somewhere near Cozumel that I want in an insane manner. At last docking it was $1800 and could very well now be sold.
I liked nearly everything I saw in Eddie Bauer last week. Except for the things I didn't like. There was a denim jacket that was awesome. There was also one that was decidedly not. Describe that one on your Christmas list.

So, Tam, there you have it. The reason I ask that you give money for clean water in Africa. It is so much easier than admitting that you can't afford the things I want.

At least you can admit you like gifts and seem content to receive $30 sweaters.

I appreciate that you humor me.

What I Learned This Week

As I struggle to find a new normal in a world where my friends could choose to end their lives, I learned something. Not anything I expected to learn, mind you, and nothing I wished to learn, not yet, but I have learned something.

Don't ask people "How was it?" I know what you mean is, I'm thinking about you. I can tell you are hurting. I love you. You might even be asking, did you get some closure? Did you learn more about why? You could even be asking, were people crying loudly and making spectacles of themselves or did they cry quietly like they do when older people pass after suffering for years with cancer? I know people mean well. There are people who read this blog that did ask and might still ask.

The answer is the following:

Awful. Simply awful. I stood by while they put my friend in the cold ground. My friend who put on a carefree, happy go lucky face no longer walks this earth by her own choosing.

So yes, the words spoken were Nice. Comforting. Even, dare I say it? Funny at times. But "It" was awful. Tragic. Lonely. I sat side by side with my friend in a room full of hurting people, and felt very alone. There was nothing to say to make it better. There were few people to whom I was close enough to offer or receive hugs. I recognized people that I couldn't put names to which made me feel like an idiot and I knew I shouldn't be thinking about myself at all so I felt like even more of a shmuck. I wondered if there was anything I could have done to prevent this tragedy and knew it was stupid of me to think that I was even a blip on the screen. I, who have only been a contact on Facebook in the last 15 years while we both grew up and moved on. And still....she was my friend. A figurative little sister, once. And I hurt and I cry and it's awful. And I know this will pass, but in the meantime...

the show must go on.

I'll miss you, KL.

Yeah

What she said.

So thankful for the memories and the laughter today.

Loss

Denial

Anger

Denial

Anger
Depression
Anger

Acceptance

Anger

Denial

Anger

Depression

Acceptance
Anger

Yeah, Kubler-Ross would be proud.

Life

I suppose if you live long enough, all those things you thought happened to Other People will eventually come round to you.

A friend will die in a drunk driving accident.
you'll miscarry
you'll lose grandparents
you'll see your friends' stillborn sons
a friend's child will die
you'll lose a friend suddenly to a heart attack
a person you love will take her life


Be grateful.

Life is a gift.

Hug your friends for me today, would ya?