This has been a crazy week. There's been a lot of work drama. I've lost count of the people I've personally known who have died this week or people I'm close to who have lost someone significant. I'm working through some tough personal stuff.
Through it all, however, what I'm focussed on is all that I'm grateful for. The list is long, so you might want to get comfortable.
I'm grateful for the ability to laugh at the outrageous. Sometimes the options are to laugh or cry and I find myself choosing "laugh" more and more these days.
I'm grateful for the Affordable Care Act. Because of it, mental health care now has parity with physical health issues. What does that mean? Your insurance company can't set crazy lifetime limits on care or say that you can only seek a certain number of treatment sessions if you're depressed. Treating mental illness is not "one size fits all." Thanks also to the ACA, women's health care now includes guaranteed coverage for reproductive care. This is a huge step forward.
I'm grateful for my health. Yes, I have hypothyroidism and yes, I've got a certain amount of weight to lose, but in the overall scheme of things, I'm healthy. And when I get ill, I can go to the doctor and not worry I'm going to go bankrupt or choose between paying medical bills and my mortgage.
I'm grateful for my family. Well, most of them. I'm grateful for my mom, my dad, my brother, and most of my extended family. They're pretty awesome and supportive. Hell, I'm grateful for the rest of them too. I'm grateful that they taught me what love is not.
I'm grateful for my friends - the new ones and the ones I've had for years. They love and support me all the time. They are witty and keep me in stitches. They are fun and adventurous and never let me take myself too seriously. These are the folks who make sure I never get too big for my britches.
I'm grateful for Sammy and Zoey. There's just something about pets that brings about immediate calmness. I give them full credit for my blood pressure remaining constant in the healthy range. Without them, the crazy Type A side of me would win.
I'm grateful for Betsey and Ross before them. They taught me how to love unconditionally. They broke my heart when they died, but I needed the lesson on how to recover from it, in that moment. Without it, I would never have survived the Summer of 2012.
I'm grateful for my job. Each day is an adventure and interesting. Today was one of the really good days.
I'm grateful for my presentation skills. They say that one of the greatest fears most people have is public speaking, but I've never been afraid to present to groups of people. I freak out about preparing my presentation, but actually presenting doesn't faze me in the slightest. That played out today . . .
I'm grateful for the mentorship my friend Tim has given me over the past six years. He's helped me grow into the alumni relations professional I am today by challenging me at every step and always demanding better of me. We've known each other for almost 25 years and he's always believed in me and seen more in me than I've sometimes been able to see in myself.
I'm grateful to be able to finally see myself through the lenses my forever friends have been looking through for many years.
I'm grateful to finally be learning how to better handle my stress and anxiety through yoga, mindfulness, journalling, and therapy. It took me 42 years, but I finally figured out that asking for help is not a sign of weakness.
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Saturday, November 9, 2013
Monday, September 16, 2013
Like Nana, Like Jessica
I've shared my experiences with Nana visiting me since her death here and here. She visited me again last night/today.
Background: Last night's dinner was Grandmother themed. No, it wasn't all soft foods, suitable for the denture crowd. Dinner consisted of my Grannycago's Grilled Chicken (That's my Gardner Grandma, who lived in Chicago. She hated that name, so I loved it even more.), Nana's Rice, and Christopher's YaYa's Green Beans. My dinner was heavenly and the leftovers are even better. Doesn't this meal look divine?
About midnight, I went to sleep and had a dream about being at Nana's house with both of my parents for the last time. We were cleaning out the house to put it on the market, just as we did almost exactly 12 months ago. In my dream, we were having breakfast when in the door walks Nana. We had a lovely visit, got caught up on the last four years since her death, and then she left.
Okay, now you know the context of what I got up to today.
You should also know the following story about Nana:
About 20 years ago, when Nana was still working at NationsBank (now Bank of America), I would call her almost nightly to check in with her. Sometimes our chats were short and sometimes they were long. Nana was never a complainer, so it struck with me some concern when she began complaining in all of our calls about how much pain she was in. Every night, she would tell me how badly her feet hurt after work and she just didn't know what to do. Maybe, she would say, it was time to retire (she was almost 80). This went on for at least a couple of weeks. It was hard to hear about all the pain she was in because I was in DC and there was nothing I could do. One night, she got on the phone and just couldn't stop apologizing and telling me how embarrassed and ashamed she was, but didn't mention the pain in her feet. I didn't understand and couldn't imagine what was causing all this embarrassment and shame. Finally, she explained that as she was taking off her shoes that night, a bunch of balled up tissue paper fell out of one and she realized that both shoes had tissue paper stuffed into the toe of each shoe. Her feet were in so much pain because her size 7 triple narrow feet were essentially crammed into size 5 triple narrow shoes.
This morning, I was rushing around getting ready for work and decided that the only shoes that would work for today were some super cute black patent leather flats that also hurt my feet so badly I can barely walk by the end of the day. The things we do for fashion.
I slipped on the flats, looked down and saw what I thought was a piece of white paper towel peaking out of the top of the left shoe. I took it back off and bent down to remove the paper towel only to discover that it wasn't paper towel. It was a huge hard piece of grayish cardboard stuck in the shoes to help them keep their shape. My feet were being pinched by this cardboard.
Needless to say, I couldn't stop laughing. Like Nana, like Jessica.
Then I looked up, thanked Nana for the visit, and told her I look forward to next time.
Background: Last night's dinner was Grandmother themed. No, it wasn't all soft foods, suitable for the denture crowd. Dinner consisted of my Grannycago's Grilled Chicken (That's my Gardner Grandma, who lived in Chicago. She hated that name, so I loved it even more.), Nana's Rice, and Christopher's YaYa's Green Beans. My dinner was heavenly and the leftovers are even better. Doesn't this meal look divine?
About midnight, I went to sleep and had a dream about being at Nana's house with both of my parents for the last time. We were cleaning out the house to put it on the market, just as we did almost exactly 12 months ago. In my dream, we were having breakfast when in the door walks Nana. We had a lovely visit, got caught up on the last four years since her death, and then she left.
Okay, now you know the context of what I got up to today.
You should also know the following story about Nana:
About 20 years ago, when Nana was still working at NationsBank (now Bank of America), I would call her almost nightly to check in with her. Sometimes our chats were short and sometimes they were long. Nana was never a complainer, so it struck with me some concern when she began complaining in all of our calls about how much pain she was in. Every night, she would tell me how badly her feet hurt after work and she just didn't know what to do. Maybe, she would say, it was time to retire (she was almost 80). This went on for at least a couple of weeks. It was hard to hear about all the pain she was in because I was in DC and there was nothing I could do. One night, she got on the phone and just couldn't stop apologizing and telling me how embarrassed and ashamed she was, but didn't mention the pain in her feet. I didn't understand and couldn't imagine what was causing all this embarrassment and shame. Finally, she explained that as she was taking off her shoes that night, a bunch of balled up tissue paper fell out of one and she realized that both shoes had tissue paper stuffed into the toe of each shoe. Her feet were in so much pain because her size 7 triple narrow feet were essentially crammed into size 5 triple narrow shoes.
This morning, I was rushing around getting ready for work and decided that the only shoes that would work for today were some super cute black patent leather flats that also hurt my feet so badly I can barely walk by the end of the day. The things we do for fashion.
I slipped on the flats, looked down and saw what I thought was a piece of white paper towel peaking out of the top of the left shoe. I took it back off and bent down to remove the paper towel only to discover that it wasn't paper towel. It was a huge hard piece of grayish cardboard stuck in the shoes to help them keep their shape. My feet were being pinched by this cardboard.
Needless to say, I couldn't stop laughing. Like Nana, like Jessica.
Then I looked up, thanked Nana for the visit, and told her I look forward to next time.
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
Sen. John McCain Makes Arlington Heights Mayoral Race Endorsement
Imagine my surprise today when I opened up my Chicago Tribune (online) during lunch, while I was attempting to eat, and discovered that Senator John McCain (R-AZ) had endorsed a candidate in the upcoming Arlington Heights mayoral race.
If you imagine that I was unable to stomach my lunch, you'd be right.
You'll recall that I grew up in Arlington Heights. I lived there from 1974 through 1989 and then, again as an adult, from 2000 to 2011. That's 26 years. 26 of my almost 42 years of life have been spent in Arlington Heights. For the 11 years I lived there as an adult, I worked and ran my business in Arlington Heights, and was a member of the Chamber of Commerce where I served on the Board of Directors for three years. Additionally, my mom still lives there, as do a number of my friends. I still have significant interests in the goings-on in Arlington Heights.
I'm not a fan of John McCain. Yes, he served his country nobly in Vietnam. He suffered horribly as a prisoner of war. He came home and decided to become a public servant. I don't deny that he has given the majority of his adult life in service of his country in one way or another. That is to be applauded.
The biggest thing that trips me up about John McCain is the legacy that I believe spoils the rest of what he's done in his career: Sarah Palin.
John McCain gave us Sarah Palin. John McCain's first presidential act as a candidate for the highest office in the land in 2008 was to select less than one-term governor of Alaska Sarah Palin as his running mate. He failed to vet her. Now I know, he relied on his staff to do that, but they failed to do it and the buck stops with him. Ultimately, it was his decision and he chose a woman who was horribly unqualified to hold the second highest office in the land and be a heartbeat away from running the country.
And now, John McCain wants to tell the people of Arlington Heights who to vote for on April 9th. He recommends a buddy of his who served as the mayor of an Arizona town from 2000 to 2006 and who has only lived in Arlington Heights since 2007.
Given John McCain's reputation for endorsing wholly unqualified candidates, I will tell my mom to vote for anyone but John McCain's buddy.
If you imagine that I was unable to stomach my lunch, you'd be right.
You'll recall that I grew up in Arlington Heights. I lived there from 1974 through 1989 and then, again as an adult, from 2000 to 2011. That's 26 years. 26 of my almost 42 years of life have been spent in Arlington Heights. For the 11 years I lived there as an adult, I worked and ran my business in Arlington Heights, and was a member of the Chamber of Commerce where I served on the Board of Directors for three years. Additionally, my mom still lives there, as do a number of my friends. I still have significant interests in the goings-on in Arlington Heights.
I'm not a fan of John McCain. Yes, he served his country nobly in Vietnam. He suffered horribly as a prisoner of war. He came home and decided to become a public servant. I don't deny that he has given the majority of his adult life in service of his country in one way or another. That is to be applauded.
The biggest thing that trips me up about John McCain is the legacy that I believe spoils the rest of what he's done in his career: Sarah Palin.
John McCain gave us Sarah Palin. John McCain's first presidential act as a candidate for the highest office in the land in 2008 was to select less than one-term governor of Alaska Sarah Palin as his running mate. He failed to vet her. Now I know, he relied on his staff to do that, but they failed to do it and the buck stops with him. Ultimately, it was his decision and he chose a woman who was horribly unqualified to hold the second highest office in the land and be a heartbeat away from running the country.
And now, John McCain wants to tell the people of Arlington Heights who to vote for on April 9th. He recommends a buddy of his who served as the mayor of an Arizona town from 2000 to 2006 and who has only lived in Arlington Heights since 2007.
Given John McCain's reputation for endorsing wholly unqualified candidates, I will tell my mom to vote for anyone but John McCain's buddy.
Friday, March 22, 2013
Betsey and Ross: Their Absence Makes My Heart Grow Fonder
Betsey and Ross died one year ago today. Well, I guess technically it was tomorrow because it was the 23rd, but it was Friday, so I think of it as today.
I remember thinking I'd never get over that loss.
They never judged me. They never said I let them down, disappointed them, or didn't live up to their expectations. They were never embarrassed by me. Of course, they couldn't say any of those things. They were cats, after all. But I knew they didn't think them either.
All they wanted was to love me and to be loved by me. They didn't care if I didn't wear make-up or failed to shave my legs. They would snuggle with me anytime, any place. They loved snuggling up next to me when I was writing or reading and they always purred me to sleep at night. They helped me work and gave me regular weather reports from their perch in the window, where they also guarded the house from blowing leaves and other threats.
I'd never before felt the kind of unconditional love that pets give us. I'd never felt that kind of unconditional love before, period.
I don't have kids and probably never will. Betsey and Ross were my kids.
The last words I said to each of them were, "Thank you for letting me be your mom."
A year later, I still miss Betsey and Ross. Don't misunderstand me, it's not as intense as it once was. Mostly, I just think of them fondly when I see their pictures. Once in awhile, though, something will happen that triggers some sadness.
A few weeks ago, for example, I was awakened in the middle of the night by a sound I hadn't heard in almost a year. Zoey was getting ready to throw up, just like Betsey used to do regularly. Of course, I couldn't stop Zoey from coughing up her hairball, but as I knelt on the floor cleaning up the mess at 2am, I was immediately taken back to the nightly clean-ups of Betsey throwing up and I started sobbing. That bottom of the gut uncontrollable sobbing. Sure, it was a little ridiculous, but I just couldn't stop. All I could think of was how much I missed Betsey.
I remember that afternoon in the vet's office like it was yesterday.
Betsey was first. I did not want to say good-bye to her, but her little body was just worn out. She could not digest or keep down any food and her quality of life was pretty low. I just held her and talked to her until she was gone, and even then, I didn't want to let go.
The vet took Betsey out of the room and while he was gone, I just cried and cried. I questioned whether I made the right decision and wished I could take it back.
Then he returned and I had another decision to make. I wasn't 100% sure I was strong enough to say good-bye to Ross at the same time I lost Betsey, but he was terribly sick too.
I took him out of his crate, still wavering about what to do, and that boy just about broke his neck looking for his sister. I could barely keep him in my arms. I looked around the room at Craig and at my vet hoping they would give me some guidance. Neither did. It was my decision alone. As Ross continued to hunt for Betsey, I knew what I had to do. If I took him home, he'd die of a broken heart, I had no doubt. I was certain he'd look for Betsey forever and his loneliness and stress would cause his already uncontrollable diabetes would get even worse.
Just like with Betsey, I held Ross and talked to him, through my tears, until he was gone. He held on longer than Betsey did, but it wasn't more than five minutes. Again, I didn't want to let go of my boy.
In the end, I walked out of the vet's office with two empty cat crates and sobbed all the way home. Luckily, I wasn't driving.
Today, my house is filled with the sounds and energy of growing kittens. It's a happy place, once again filled with the unconditional love of pets. We remember Betsey and Ross with lots of love, fondness for all the joy they brought to my life, and the life lessons they taught me.
Sunday, March 10, 2013
Gratitude List March 10, 2013
What am I grateful for today? The list is long, but here are a few of my favorite things today.
I'm grateful I didn't have to wear a winter coat today. I anticipate I'll wear it again tomorrow and I was wearing a long sweater over a turtleneck sweater, but I was without a coat today.
I'm grateful that today's precipitation was rain and not snow. Mid-March in Chicago can be pretty iffy. I'm ready for Spring. That's not to say this was was difficult. It wasn't. In fact, it was another pretty mild winter. It was never brutally cold and I think it was mid-January before we saw our first inch of snow, but I love Spring.
I'm grateful the 2013 Ravinia schedule is out. And it's divine. I'll spend some time in the next week studying it and purchasing tickets for the best shows. It's going to be a great Summer.
I'm grateful for brunch with my friends Tim and Michael today. Tim and I worked on our 20th reunion planning. Yes, that's right. It's been 20 years since we graduated from Lake Forest College. What a 20 years it's been.
I'm grateful for dinner tomorrow with Tim and Michael. Thirty-three years later, we're going to once again learn the answer to the important question: Who Shot J.R.? As you probably know, Larry Hagman died earlier this year when midway through shooting the second season of the new Dallas. There's really no better way to kill J.R. Ewing. I think it's either Kristin or Kristin's daughter. If you have no idea what I'm talking about, read this.
I'm grateful for my friends who always check-in with me to make sure I'm okay. I'm also grateful they are so damn funny and keep me laughing.
I'm grateful for a clean house and two kittens who do everything in their mighty powers to ruin that for me.
After reading an article in the New York Times today about how people are letting their lives be controlled by their stuff, I'm grateful each day that I have a mortgage less than half of what I qualified for and that I never worry about being able to pay my bills because I live within my means.
I'm grateful that not only have we successfully sold Nana's house in Crystal Beach, but as of Friday, Dave and I also sold the lot she and my grandfather purchased many many years ago. We sold it to a man who is eager to build a home for him and his family. I wish them all the happiness in the world.
I'm grateful for my great insurance that allows me to sleep at night knowing that if I have any medical issues, they will be covered and I won't be bankrupted by them. I'm also grateful my thyroid disease is finally being treated and that the medicine to treat it has no side effects. Eventually, I'll feel better. So they tell me.
Although it made "springing forward" a bit more difficult today, I'm really grateful for the very long late night conversation I had last night with one of my best friends. I love the conversations we get into late at night, even when it means we're both dragging the next day.
As always, I'm grateful for my family. Yes, they're a bit crazy, but they're my family and (most days) I wouldn't trade them for anyone else's. Truthfully, I don't think my family is any crazier than anyone else's. Well, mostly. Still, I'm incredibly grateful for them and I love them a whole lot.
I'm grateful I didn't have to wear a winter coat today. I anticipate I'll wear it again tomorrow and I was wearing a long sweater over a turtleneck sweater, but I was without a coat today.
I'm grateful that today's precipitation was rain and not snow. Mid-March in Chicago can be pretty iffy. I'm ready for Spring. That's not to say this was was difficult. It wasn't. In fact, it was another pretty mild winter. It was never brutally cold and I think it was mid-January before we saw our first inch of snow, but I love Spring.
I'm grateful the 2013 Ravinia schedule is out. And it's divine. I'll spend some time in the next week studying it and purchasing tickets for the best shows. It's going to be a great Summer.
I'm grateful for brunch with my friends Tim and Michael today. Tim and I worked on our 20th reunion planning. Yes, that's right. It's been 20 years since we graduated from Lake Forest College. What a 20 years it's been.
I'm grateful for dinner tomorrow with Tim and Michael. Thirty-three years later, we're going to once again learn the answer to the important question: Who Shot J.R.? As you probably know, Larry Hagman died earlier this year when midway through shooting the second season of the new Dallas. There's really no better way to kill J.R. Ewing. I think it's either Kristin or Kristin's daughter. If you have no idea what I'm talking about, read this.
I'm grateful for my friends who always check-in with me to make sure I'm okay. I'm also grateful they are so damn funny and keep me laughing.
I'm grateful for a clean house and two kittens who do everything in their mighty powers to ruin that for me.
After reading an article in the New York Times today about how people are letting their lives be controlled by their stuff, I'm grateful each day that I have a mortgage less than half of what I qualified for and that I never worry about being able to pay my bills because I live within my means.
I'm grateful that not only have we successfully sold Nana's house in Crystal Beach, but as of Friday, Dave and I also sold the lot she and my grandfather purchased many many years ago. We sold it to a man who is eager to build a home for him and his family. I wish them all the happiness in the world.
I'm grateful for my great insurance that allows me to sleep at night knowing that if I have any medical issues, they will be covered and I won't be bankrupted by them. I'm also grateful my thyroid disease is finally being treated and that the medicine to treat it has no side effects. Eventually, I'll feel better. So they tell me.
Although it made "springing forward" a bit more difficult today, I'm really grateful for the very long late night conversation I had last night with one of my best friends. I love the conversations we get into late at night, even when it means we're both dragging the next day.
As always, I'm grateful for my family. Yes, they're a bit crazy, but they're my family and (most days) I wouldn't trade them for anyone else's. Truthfully, I don't think my family is any crazier than anyone else's. Well, mostly. Still, I'm incredibly grateful for them and I love them a whole lot.
Thursday, November 22, 2012
LMS Gratitude List - Thanksgiving 2012 Version
I have so much to be grateful for this year and am not entirely sure where to begin. I guess the best way is just to dive in.
I'm grateful for my family. For my mom, my dad, Dave, my cousins, and my aunts and uncles. It's no secret I think my family is pretty crazy, but I wouldn't have it any other way.
I'm grateful for my friends, who I believe are the family I choose. My friends are my rocks.
I'm particularly grateful for one friend who took a desperate phone call I made to him one Friday in late May.
I'm grateful for the broken heart I experienced earlier this year. And I'm even more grateful to say I'm on the other side of it now.
I'm grateful for my health. That's no small thing. The last few months have been a bit scary. I'm also incredibly grateful for my health insurance. Not having to worry about how to afford medical tests, doctor visits, or possible surgery is priceless.
I'm grateful for a job I love and that I'm really good at. Really. And I'm grateful for the opportunities that didn't come to fruition this year. If they had, I might not be in such a good place now.
I'm grateful that I got to be Betsey and Ross's mom for almost 16 years and for the past 6 months, I've gotten to be Sammy and Zoe's mom. I hope we have 16 wonderful years together too.
I'm grateful that after only 35 days on the market, we accepted an offer on Nana's house and that the sale closed today. I'm grateful for an incredibly smart broker who priced the house well and actively marketed it.
I'm grateful for you, the readers of Little Merry Sunshine. You kept reading Little Merry Sunshine even when I wasn't writing. You commented when I did. You showed concern, but never pressured me when I didn't.
By no means is this list all inclusive. My heart is so full of gratitude that it's a bit overwhelming. The bottom line is that even during the tough times, I'm incredibly blessed and when I focus on life's blessings the tough times are easier and the good times are even better.
I hope your cup runneth over with gratitude this Thanksgiving and that you're spending the day with those you love.
I'm grateful for my family. For my mom, my dad, Dave, my cousins, and my aunts and uncles. It's no secret I think my family is pretty crazy, but I wouldn't have it any other way.
I'm grateful for my friends, who I believe are the family I choose. My friends are my rocks.
I'm particularly grateful for one friend who took a desperate phone call I made to him one Friday in late May.
I'm grateful for the broken heart I experienced earlier this year. And I'm even more grateful to say I'm on the other side of it now.
I'm grateful for my health. That's no small thing. The last few months have been a bit scary. I'm also incredibly grateful for my health insurance. Not having to worry about how to afford medical tests, doctor visits, or possible surgery is priceless.
I'm grateful for a job I love and that I'm really good at. Really. And I'm grateful for the opportunities that didn't come to fruition this year. If they had, I might not be in such a good place now.
I'm grateful that I got to be Betsey and Ross's mom for almost 16 years and for the past 6 months, I've gotten to be Sammy and Zoe's mom. I hope we have 16 wonderful years together too.
I'm grateful that after only 35 days on the market, we accepted an offer on Nana's house and that the sale closed today. I'm grateful for an incredibly smart broker who priced the house well and actively marketed it.
I'm grateful for you, the readers of Little Merry Sunshine. You kept reading Little Merry Sunshine even when I wasn't writing. You commented when I did. You showed concern, but never pressured me when I didn't.
By no means is this list all inclusive. My heart is so full of gratitude that it's a bit overwhelming. The bottom line is that even during the tough times, I'm incredibly blessed and when I focus on life's blessings the tough times are easier and the good times are even better.
I hope your cup runneth over with gratitude this Thanksgiving and that you're spending the day with those you love.
Monday, November 19, 2012
Goodbye to Nana's House
I dropped off my signed and notarized closing documents to FedEx today as did Dave. The closing is Wednesday. I've spoken to all of the utility companies to have my name removed from the accounts. I no longer have to remember the ADT security code. I sold the kitchen table and chairs last Thursday. Now, the house is completely empty.
We won't be at the closing. It'll just be the buyer, the real estate agent and the title company.
When the final date was set, I thought about booking a ticket to Florida to go say good-bye to the house one last time. I know it sounds silly because, more than anything, I should be relieved. I should be happy to have this chapter of my life closed and this weight off my shoulders.
Owning a home that none of us lived in has been a pain in the ass. There have been numerous, costly maintenance projects, including a new roof. Each trip to Florida since Nana died (I think there have been 8) has been work-filled and cost far more than I had budgeted per trip. I can honestly say that in the past 3 1/2 years, I have not gone to the beach, seen my friends, or done anything that was "vacation like." Each trip has been full of emotional turmoil and has been much more difficult than my optimistic self believed it could be.
So one might think I would be over-the-moon with joy about being rid of this house. Part of me is.
The other part of me is sad and bursts into tears when I think too much about it.
Letting go of the house is the final piece of saying good-bye to Nana.
Her house was a huge part of my childhood. It was my first home. I was born early and my parents couldn't take me back to their adults-only apartment, but hadn't found a new place to live yet. So we moved into Nana's house.
Although for most of my life, Nana lived with her second husband, my step-grandfather, the Reverend, in his house, she always kept her home. And her house was where she kept everything that was important to her. Letters we sent her. Extra special gifts. Family heirlooms. Awards from the bank she worked at for forty years. Thank you gifts from her best customers. Her most treasured possessions lived at her house.
Although when we'd visit, we often stayed at the Reverend's house, when I got older, I used to run away to her house and stay there. I guess I started doing that when I could drive. At some point almost every night after dinner, I'd grab her car keys and tell her I was going to her house and I'd spend the night there.
Why did I do that? Her house was air-conditioned was my excuse, but it wasn't the truth and I'm sure she knew it. The truth was that although my step-grandfather was a minister, he was the meanest, scariest man I've ever known. He was physically and verbally abusive to her. He never hit her in front of us, but he'd belittle her until the cows came home. I didn't like being yelled at by him (or hear him belittle Nana) and I didn't want to stick around and risk anything else. Mom would stay though. I think she did it because she knew he wouldn't be physically abusive to Nana in my mom's presence. It was her small way of protecting Nana when Nana wouldn't (or couldn't) leave.
Nana's house was a refuge to me and always felt like a museum of my family. My mom's wedding dress and the mother-of-the-bride dress Nana wore were preserved in the front closet, as were the prom dresses Nana carefully made her. I would take out the dresses and imagine wearing them to my own prom and wedding. More than once (including as recently as last Christmas), I tried on my mom's veil. Nana even saved my baby clothes and other dresses she made me. My uncle's boy scout paraphernalia and submarine models were there. There were family photos going back to my great grandparents and scrapbooks with all kinds of hidden treasures. Nana took great care to leave notes in all of her chotchkies telling the backstory of each item. Many of the books Mom read as a kid were still there at the house - the Bobbsey Twins, Nancy Drew, Little Women, all kinds of Golden Books. Sure, they were aimed at a younger demographic with lower reading skills, but I loved looking through them and the Nancy Drew books would keep me up all night long. I could take a bath in pink bathtub (in the pink bathroom, of course) and sleep in the french provincial double bed. I'd make breakfast in the avocado green kitchen.
Nana built her house in 1968 (when she was 50) for $10,000. She and my real grandfather had purchased the property in 1956, shortly after they moved to Crystal Beach, and he dug a well on it, but they were unable to build the house they dreamed of before he died in 1961. Nana always told me how she'd come home from work at the bank, take my uncle, who was still in high school (my mom was in college), over to the house and they'd hang up sheets to indicate where she wanted the walls. Then they'd bring furniture over to arrange in each room to make sure it all fit properly before the walls were built. She was so exacting in everything she did, I can completely picture her doing this.
Initially the house was pink with a white tile roof and we always referred to it as the "pink house." Nana hated that and always insisted her house was beige, so when she repainted it about 20 years ago or so, she painted it beige. I always liked the pink better. It was just more "Florida."
Frankly, it's hard for me to imagine building my own house now as a single woman, much less having done it in 1968. Women just didn't do that back then. I've always admired how she held onto her dream and made it become a reality. I've also always admired how she always held steadfast in holding onto her house. Even though she only lived in it for the three years before she married my step-grandfather and then a few years after he died, during those almost 40 years, her house always remained the prettiest, best-kept house on the block. She spent hours and hours working in her yard and keeping her plants in perfect condition. She took great pride in it. Of course, it also gave her a good reason to get out of my step-grandfather's house.
Before I left in October, I left notes all around the house for the future buyer telling him or her which light switches controlled the outside lights, which ones controlled which outlets, which fuse switches controlled what, and other useful tips about the house. Not about flaws in the house, because there aren't any flaws in the house. Sure, the avocado green kitchen and appliances are outdated, as is the pink bathroom, and the rose print wool carpet, but all the original appliances still work well and the carpet is in incredible condition.
Now the house belongs to someone else and he will update it and create his own memories in it. I hope the house brings him as much joy as it has brought my family for the past 44 years. It's a good house.
We won't be at the closing. It'll just be the buyer, the real estate agent and the title company.
When the final date was set, I thought about booking a ticket to Florida to go say good-bye to the house one last time. I know it sounds silly because, more than anything, I should be relieved. I should be happy to have this chapter of my life closed and this weight off my shoulders.
Owning a home that none of us lived in has been a pain in the ass. There have been numerous, costly maintenance projects, including a new roof. Each trip to Florida since Nana died (I think there have been 8) has been work-filled and cost far more than I had budgeted per trip. I can honestly say that in the past 3 1/2 years, I have not gone to the beach, seen my friends, or done anything that was "vacation like." Each trip has been full of emotional turmoil and has been much more difficult than my optimistic self believed it could be.
So one might think I would be over-the-moon with joy about being rid of this house. Part of me is.
The other part of me is sad and bursts into tears when I think too much about it.
Letting go of the house is the final piece of saying good-bye to Nana.
Her house was a huge part of my childhood. It was my first home. I was born early and my parents couldn't take me back to their adults-only apartment, but hadn't found a new place to live yet. So we moved into Nana's house.
Although for most of my life, Nana lived with her second husband, my step-grandfather, the Reverend, in his house, she always kept her home. And her house was where she kept everything that was important to her. Letters we sent her. Extra special gifts. Family heirlooms. Awards from the bank she worked at for forty years. Thank you gifts from her best customers. Her most treasured possessions lived at her house.
Although when we'd visit, we often stayed at the Reverend's house, when I got older, I used to run away to her house and stay there. I guess I started doing that when I could drive. At some point almost every night after dinner, I'd grab her car keys and tell her I was going to her house and I'd spend the night there.
Why did I do that? Her house was air-conditioned was my excuse, but it wasn't the truth and I'm sure she knew it. The truth was that although my step-grandfather was a minister, he was the meanest, scariest man I've ever known. He was physically and verbally abusive to her. He never hit her in front of us, but he'd belittle her until the cows came home. I didn't like being yelled at by him (or hear him belittle Nana) and I didn't want to stick around and risk anything else. Mom would stay though. I think she did it because she knew he wouldn't be physically abusive to Nana in my mom's presence. It was her small way of protecting Nana when Nana wouldn't (or couldn't) leave.
Nana's house was a refuge to me and always felt like a museum of my family. My mom's wedding dress and the mother-of-the-bride dress Nana wore were preserved in the front closet, as were the prom dresses Nana carefully made her. I would take out the dresses and imagine wearing them to my own prom and wedding. More than once (including as recently as last Christmas), I tried on my mom's veil. Nana even saved my baby clothes and other dresses she made me. My uncle's boy scout paraphernalia and submarine models were there. There were family photos going back to my great grandparents and scrapbooks with all kinds of hidden treasures. Nana took great care to leave notes in all of her chotchkies telling the backstory of each item. Many of the books Mom read as a kid were still there at the house - the Bobbsey Twins, Nancy Drew, Little Women, all kinds of Golden Books. Sure, they were aimed at a younger demographic with lower reading skills, but I loved looking through them and the Nancy Drew books would keep me up all night long. I could take a bath in pink bathtub (in the pink bathroom, of course) and sleep in the french provincial double bed. I'd make breakfast in the avocado green kitchen.
Nana built her house in 1968 (when she was 50) for $10,000. She and my real grandfather had purchased the property in 1956, shortly after they moved to Crystal Beach, and he dug a well on it, but they were unable to build the house they dreamed of before he died in 1961. Nana always told me how she'd come home from work at the bank, take my uncle, who was still in high school (my mom was in college), over to the house and they'd hang up sheets to indicate where she wanted the walls. Then they'd bring furniture over to arrange in each room to make sure it all fit properly before the walls were built. She was so exacting in everything she did, I can completely picture her doing this.
Initially the house was pink with a white tile roof and we always referred to it as the "pink house." Nana hated that and always insisted her house was beige, so when she repainted it about 20 years ago or so, she painted it beige. I always liked the pink better. It was just more "Florida."
Frankly, it's hard for me to imagine building my own house now as a single woman, much less having done it in 1968. Women just didn't do that back then. I've always admired how she held onto her dream and made it become a reality. I've also always admired how she always held steadfast in holding onto her house. Even though she only lived in it for the three years before she married my step-grandfather and then a few years after he died, during those almost 40 years, her house always remained the prettiest, best-kept house on the block. She spent hours and hours working in her yard and keeping her plants in perfect condition. She took great pride in it. Of course, it also gave her a good reason to get out of my step-grandfather's house.
Before I left in October, I left notes all around the house for the future buyer telling him or her which light switches controlled the outside lights, which ones controlled which outlets, which fuse switches controlled what, and other useful tips about the house. Not about flaws in the house, because there aren't any flaws in the house. Sure, the avocado green kitchen and appliances are outdated, as is the pink bathroom, and the rose print wool carpet, but all the original appliances still work well and the carpet is in incredible condition.
Now the house belongs to someone else and he will update it and create his own memories in it. I hope the house brings him as much joy as it has brought my family for the past 44 years. It's a good house.
Tuesday, November 13, 2012
More LMS Life Lessons: Don't Bite Your Friends
Yesterday, here on Little Merry Sunshine, we learned that, despite what the good folks at Disney tell you, being a princess is not a career. That's an important life lesson.
In fact, one of my blog readers and real life college friends, Sonya, wrote to me this morning to tell me that after watching the yesterday's video, her lovely and smart daughter decided to become a veterinarian when she grows up and she wants to be Sammy and Zoey's vet! She even promised to give them healthy treats after each check-up! Talk about awesome customer service. Sonya's amazing daughter is going to be the best vet in the world.
Today, we need to focus on another important life lesson: Don't bite your friends.
And, by the way, you can substitute "obnoxious little brothers (or sisters)," "co-workers," "enemies," "family members," "teachers," "police officers," "bosses," or "pets" for friends and it still applies. Do not ever bite any of those people.
I know, it really should go without saying, but biting is not nice. In fact, biting someone is a quick way to lose friends, your job, or even wind up in jail (I've heard). It's also rude and gross..
Bottom line: Just don't bite people.
To help us remember this important life lesson, we've got a song and video that you'll want to watch and share with everyone you know. As always, if your email of Little Merry Sunshine didn't include the video, jump out to the web and watch the video. It'll make your day.
Special thanks are in order to my high school friend Portia for posting this on Facebook earlier today and inspiring my blog post.
In fact, one of my blog readers and real life college friends, Sonya, wrote to me this morning to tell me that after watching the yesterday's video, her lovely and smart daughter decided to become a veterinarian when she grows up and she wants to be Sammy and Zoey's vet! She even promised to give them healthy treats after each check-up! Talk about awesome customer service. Sonya's amazing daughter is going to be the best vet in the world.
Today, we need to focus on another important life lesson: Don't bite your friends.
And, by the way, you can substitute "obnoxious little brothers (or sisters)," "co-workers," "enemies," "family members," "teachers," "police officers," "bosses," or "pets" for friends and it still applies. Do not ever bite any of those people.
I know, it really should go without saying, but biting is not nice. In fact, biting someone is a quick way to lose friends, your job, or even wind up in jail (I've heard). It's also rude and gross..
Bottom line: Just don't bite people.
To help us remember this important life lesson, we've got a song and video that you'll want to watch and share with everyone you know. As always, if your email of Little Merry Sunshine didn't include the video, jump out to the web and watch the video. It'll make your day.
Special thanks are in order to my high school friend Portia for posting this on Facebook earlier today and inspiring my blog post.
Monday, October 22, 2012
Nana Visited Me Again
Yes, I know that sounds a bit crazy, but let me explain.
Two weeks ago, my mom, dad and I went to Crystal Beach to finish cleaning out Nana's house because we had just put it on the market and I wanted to be able to finish that project on my schedule, not a buyer's schedule. Plus, I thought it would sell better if it was empty. Oh, yes, you read that correctly. BOTH of my parents, who have been divorced for 30 years, went to Florida together to help me with this chore. But that's not what we're here to discuss.
One of the "must do's" while we were in Crystal Beach was to attend Sunday morning church at Crystal Beach Community Church. As a reminder, my step-grandfather was the first minister at CBCC, Nana was the second member of the church, the pews in the church are there due to Nana's efforts and sizable donation after my real grandfather died in 1961, my mom grew up in the church, my parents were married there in 1970, and I was baptized there in 1971.
As always, we sat in Nana's pew. It's actually the pew that has the plaque with my grandfather, Jesse Paulk's name on it, but I always refer to it as Nana's pew. It's the fifth pew from the front on the right side. I suppose there are other pews to sit in, but I've never sat in them. Ever.
Growing up, I remember attending church with Nana each Sunday when we visited. It wasn't optional. We just went. Nana never missed a Sunday and we never missed a Sunday with her. Without fail, at some point during the church service, she'd always reach over and take my hand. She'd wrap her little hand around mine and just hold it as long as I'd let her. Sometimes she'd pull my hand onto her lap and pat my hand with her free hand as she held it.
Nana's been gone for 3 1/2 years and in that time, I don't think I've ever felt her presence. I've seen her in dreams, but I've never felt her presence. Until that day two weeks ago.
The first hymn on Sunday was "Lord, I Want to be a Christian." As I was standing and attempting to sing along, I could see Nana and suddenly felt her presence. On my left side, I felt her right hand wrap around my left one. I could feel the softness of her skin, the delicateness of her hand, and the warmth and coolness that always permeated from her skin simultaneously.
My eyes welled up with tears, as I tried to subtly wipe them away. Needless to say, it didn't work. I spent most of the ceremony crying.
I cried because I miss Nana and because it was the last time I'll ever be in Crystal Beach. It was the last time I'll ever be in the only church I've ever felt comfortable in. Three and a half years after her death, it all felt really real and final and I just kept thinking about how soon, there would be no one in Crystal Beach who remembered her and it would be as though she never existed. I also cried because I felt guilty for having failed to take care of getting her name on one of the (almost) floor to ceiling windows on each of the walls.
Throughout the service, I couldn't shake the feeling of Nana's hand wrapped around mine. It was comforting as I dealt with the grief I still felt.
After the service was over, I was taking a picture of the plaque on Nana's pew and Mom was explaining the story of the pews to some new church members when the minister walked up to greet me.
Pastor Susie welcomed me back to church, asked about the house, and then asked if I'd seen Nana's window.
What??? Nana's window?! No. I hadn't seen it.
And then she walked me over to it. Sure enough, there was Nana's name. Exactly as she'd want it.
In an instant, I was sobbing again. The only words I knew to say were "thank you." I can't remember the last time I felt so much gratitude.
I had dropped the ball and not gotten back to the church with how we wanted Nana's name on the window and when we'd be down to dedicate it, but there it was. Nana would never be forgotten. And she really was in church with us that morning, just as she would be forever. And she really held my hand.
Two weeks ago, my mom, dad and I went to Crystal Beach to finish cleaning out Nana's house because we had just put it on the market and I wanted to be able to finish that project on my schedule, not a buyer's schedule. Plus, I thought it would sell better if it was empty. Oh, yes, you read that correctly. BOTH of my parents, who have been divorced for 30 years, went to Florida together to help me with this chore. But that's not what we're here to discuss.
One of the "must do's" while we were in Crystal Beach was to attend Sunday morning church at Crystal Beach Community Church. As a reminder, my step-grandfather was the first minister at CBCC, Nana was the second member of the church, the pews in the church are there due to Nana's efforts and sizable donation after my real grandfather died in 1961, my mom grew up in the church, my parents were married there in 1970, and I was baptized there in 1971.
As always, we sat in Nana's pew. It's actually the pew that has the plaque with my grandfather, Jesse Paulk's name on it, but I always refer to it as Nana's pew. It's the fifth pew from the front on the right side. I suppose there are other pews to sit in, but I've never sat in them. Ever.
Growing up, I remember attending church with Nana each Sunday when we visited. It wasn't optional. We just went. Nana never missed a Sunday and we never missed a Sunday with her. Without fail, at some point during the church service, she'd always reach over and take my hand. She'd wrap her little hand around mine and just hold it as long as I'd let her. Sometimes she'd pull my hand onto her lap and pat my hand with her free hand as she held it.
Nana's been gone for 3 1/2 years and in that time, I don't think I've ever felt her presence. I've seen her in dreams, but I've never felt her presence. Until that day two weeks ago.
The first hymn on Sunday was "Lord, I Want to be a Christian." As I was standing and attempting to sing along, I could see Nana and suddenly felt her presence. On my left side, I felt her right hand wrap around my left one. I could feel the softness of her skin, the delicateness of her hand, and the warmth and coolness that always permeated from her skin simultaneously.
My eyes welled up with tears, as I tried to subtly wipe them away. Needless to say, it didn't work. I spent most of the ceremony crying.
I cried because I miss Nana and because it was the last time I'll ever be in Crystal Beach. It was the last time I'll ever be in the only church I've ever felt comfortable in. Three and a half years after her death, it all felt really real and final and I just kept thinking about how soon, there would be no one in Crystal Beach who remembered her and it would be as though she never existed. I also cried because I felt guilty for having failed to take care of getting her name on one of the (almost) floor to ceiling windows on each of the walls.
Throughout the service, I couldn't shake the feeling of Nana's hand wrapped around mine. It was comforting as I dealt with the grief I still felt.
After the service was over, I was taking a picture of the plaque on Nana's pew and Mom was explaining the story of the pews to some new church members when the minister walked up to greet me.
The plaque on Nana's pew.
Pastor Susie welcomed me back to church, asked about the house, and then asked if I'd seen Nana's window.
What??? Nana's window?! No. I hadn't seen it.
And then she walked me over to it. Sure enough, there was Nana's name. Exactly as she'd want it.
In an instant, I was sobbing again. The only words I knew to say were "thank you." I can't remember the last time I felt so much gratitude.
I had dropped the ball and not gotten back to the church with how we wanted Nana's name on the window and when we'd be down to dedicate it, but there it was. Nana would never be forgotten. And she really was in church with us that morning, just as she would be forever. And she really held my hand.
The bottom pane of Nana's window.
Friday, October 5, 2012
I'm On My Way to Nana's House and What Do I See?
Remember when you were a kid and your family took long road trips? In between the fighting in the backseat with your brother, you'd play "I'm On My Way to Grandma's House and What Do I See?" Of course you do.
Just in case you don't, the way it worked was you named things you each saw, but you also had to name everything that had been named and you couldn't repeat anything. For example:
Well, today, I'm driving to Nana's house in Florida with my dad. This is the final trip. Ever. Seriously. During the three hours we were in Kentucky, we saw some sights:
I can't wait to see what tomorrow brings!
Just in case you don't, the way it worked was you named things you each saw, but you also had to name everything that had been named and you couldn't repeat anything. For example:
Dave: I'm on my way to Grandma's house and I see a car.Everybody played, right?
Me: I'm on my way to Grandma's house and I see a car and a skunk.
Dave: You did not see a skunk!
Me: Yes I did! I did see a skunk!
Mom: Kids! Don't make me turn this car around!
Dave: I'm on my way to Grandma's house and I see a car, a skunk, and the cop that pulled mom over for speeding. Officer, are you gonna arrest my mom?
Mom: Nobody's getting arrested. Now behave.
Well, today, I'm driving to Nana's house in Florida with my dad. This is the final trip. Ever. Seriously. During the three hours we were in Kentucky, we saw some sights:
- 1 Oscar Mayer Weinermobile
- 1 horse-drawn Amish buggy
- 3 fake dinosaurs encouraging us to visit Dinosaur World
- 1 ambulance hauling a power boat
- 1 M-22 sticker on a car with Kentucky plates
- 2 or 3 "Hell is Real" signs
- 1 mattress by the side of the road (a man-made rest stop, perhaps?)
- 12 airplane wings on the back of 12 tractor-trailers and
- Chester's Chicken to Go at the local Exxon station in Oak Grove, Kentucky
The airplane wings were the most interesting because they had to each be close to 50 feet long and weren't traveling in a caravan. They were each separate with many miles between them. They also each had a police escort.
Imagine my disappointment with Tennessee when we saw nothing of interest. Tennessee, I expect you to do better upon my return in a few days.
Fortunately, Kennesaw, Georgia saved the night by allowing me to do all my Christmas shopping at the local Chevron station.
No need to thank me. It's the least I could do for the people I love. Yes, clearly, it's the very least.
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
Welcome Home Foresters! You're Gonna Make This Place Your Home!
Twenty-three years ago this weekend, my mom rented a van and drove me and my carefully selected and packed stuff to Lake Forest College to begin a four-year journey that would change my life. Like probably every other first-year college student, I was excited to be on my own and terrified, all in the same breath. I think I'd been away from home without my parents or other family twice, each time for less than seven days.
What I discovered from the moment I stepped into Deerpath Hall, which was then an all-freshman dorm and looked nothing like it looks now, was that LFC was like no other place I'd ever been. Yes, it was a small liberal arts school situated in a very affluent suburb 30 miles north of Chicago. Yes, it had a football team, a swim team, a tennis team, a basketball team, and a national-championship winning handball team. It also had an art department and theatre department. LFC had majors in everything I could imagine and extra-curricular activities in things I'd never even heard of. And yes, most of those things existed at almost all other schools around the world.
But there was something else. Something I couldn't ever quite put my finger on or verbalize during any of those four years and I've only come to appreciate in the 19 years since graduation.
Faculty, staff, and students genuinely cared for and about each other and it showed in every decision that was made and every action that was taken. Faculty members held office hours in dorms in order to make themselves more easily accessible. Administrators took students under their wings to mentor them from day one. The Admissions department didn't just recruit us to campus, they stayed with us throughout our college careers and checked-in with us.
Twenty-three years later, Spike Gummere, then the head of the Admissions Department, knows what I'm up to. I had more conversations with Ron Miller, the late Dean of Students, than I can count during my college career. After graduating, I enjoyed social dinners with him where he still challenged me to reach beyond myself and he even came to a Christmas party at my house one year. Jill Van Newenhizen, my calculus professor, not only worked with me when I struggled in Calculus, but her door was also open to me when I moved to Multi-Variable Calculus with Dr. Troyer the next year. Jill and I are still close and have dinner periodically. Nancy Brekke, Bob Glassman, and Arlene Eskilson left indelible marks on my life and fought for me when I secured an amazing internship in Washington, D.C. after graduation only to almost lose it because the agency failed to understand that I would have already graduated when I started the internship. Ultimately, thanks to their persistence, I got to keep the internship. Then President Eugene Hotchkiss knew me by name. He still does and so does now President Stephen Schutt.
When my mom tried to kill herself the summer I stayed on campus for summer school, faculty and staff came out of the woodwork to help me. They moved my final exam in my business ethics course so I could be where I was truly needed, with my family. They sent me notes. They opened their doors and arms to me. Students living in my dorm, some of whom I barely knew, helped me make the best of a very difficult summer by including me in everything.
I fell in love at Lake Forest. I dreamt bigger than I ever imagined possible. I went places I never thought I'd go. I made friends who remain my inner circle all these years later. I don't have to be anyone but me with them and they love me anyway. I explored my core beliefs and most fundamental values to answer the question, "why do I believe what I do?" In some cases, I discovered I didn't believe what I thought I did. I found my voice and believe me, it's never been silenced.
Those four years were filled with the highest highs and sometimes the lowest lows. And I wouldn't have it any other way because, no matter what, one thing remained constant.
That constant was the thing I couldn't put quite put my finger on back then, but I can now. Lake Forest College isn't just a college. It's a family. What separates Lake Forest College from all the other schools friends of my went to is the sense that LFC is home. The phrase "You're a Forester Forever" isn't just a cute catch-phrase. It's a way of life.
As I sit here tonight writing this post, I think about the new students who will be moving into Deerpath and the other residence halls on Friday. I imagine the journeys they will take. If I could give them a few words of wisdom it would be to open their hearts and minds to all that LFC has to offer. Find mentors in the staff, faculty, and the alumni. Experience everything. Be fearless. You're a Forester now. And you're gonna make this place your home.
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
What I've Willed, I'll Do by Miss Virginia Paulk
Graduation Season is upon us. I know, you thought it was Spring. It is, but it's also Graduation Season a season when every celebrity, politician, and Great Thinker don a cap and gown and try to impart Life Wisdom into junior high, high school, and college graduates across the country. Sometimes the speeches are good (e.g., My Uncle Terwilliger on the art of eating popovers by Theodore Geisel (aka Dr. Seuss)).
The other day, a friend of mine posted a link to 10 Things Your Commencement Speaker Won't Tell You from the Wall Street Journal on Facebook. As I read the article, I just kept shaking my head and thinking "yep! yep! yep!" My favorite piece of advice is the first item and this sentence, in particular: "Certainly one benchmark of your post graduation success should be how many of these people are still your close friends in 10 or 20 years." As I look back on my 19 years since my graduation from Lake Forest College, I'm proud to say that my closest friends are all people I met during those four years.
My mom was one of three valedictorians at her 1966 graduation from Tarpon Springs High School. I'd always known about this, but today, I found my mom's speech, "What I've Willed, I'll Do." How do I know this is the speech she gave? Because I also found the graduation program. In honor of Graduation Season, I thought you'd enjoy reading the Life Wisdom from a 1966 18 year old.
What I've Willed I'll Do
by Virginia Paulk
delivered at the June 10, 1966 Tarpon Springs High School Graduation Ceremony
All of us have dreamed of what we would like to do, what we would like to become, but how many of us have done anything about these dreams? Tonight 155 of us have fulfilled one of our many dreams -- to graduate from high school. In order that we were able to accomplish this feat, we had to acquire three abilities -- courage to do, conviction that what we do is right and worthwhile, and desire to surpass our past accomplishments. Else we, you and I, would not be here tonight on the brink of a great tomorrow. Now we are ready to launch out, "to get someplace in the world;" but where is it we are headed? As we wait for the time to come for us to receive our diplomas, many of us are probably thinking of the future and wondering what's ahead. I cannot prophesy what lies before us -- no one can do that -- but I do know one thing: the future will be only what we will it to be, only what we make it.
Will our dreams remain dreams, or will they become realities? Dreams without action are but dreams. All things we are, can do, and be, but first we must begin. When we decide we are going to do something, let's go ahead, let's take that first step and the second and the one after that. Once we have set our sights, we must never stop until we reach that pot of gold.
When we dream, we dream of success not failure. We are usually eager to try a quick success formula, "Popularity in Six Easy Steps," "Success in Two Short Weeks" -- but there is no "quick" success formula. Success is not skimming on the smooth water beneath the beach; it is surfing on the big breakers -- not easy at all, dared by only a few and accomplished by even fewer. Yet the channel to success will be smoother though if we first learn a few rules. We must command our souls to
We must learn to live with others and to love. Share with others what we have; share the fruits of our daring. The world needs kind, tender-hearted people; we must be kind and tender-hearted. We must learn the art of forgiving: to forgive and then forget. We need a sense of humor and the ability to see a joke if we are to get some pleasure out of life and pass it on to others. Laughter is a power that will save us not only from disaster but from ourselves. Let's laugh. Let's not be afraid to help someone else. Shoulder the burden of the weak. We, the graduates, are strong to a degree and can help shoulder others' burdens. It is our responsibility to help the weak. If we can catch a passion for helping others, a richer life will come back to us.
- Develop inner props of resolute character
- Fearlessly take the measure of the forces that pull life down
- Regard success with modesty
- Appraise defeat objectively
- Cultivate a high standard of enjoyment
- Use grief as a thoroughfare to soul maturity, rather than as a dead-end street of misery and self-pity
- Love
- Share with others the fruits of our daring
Remember who we are and what we have willed. "You are the salt of the earth; you are the light of the world." When we receive our diplomas, we will hold opportunity in our hands. It is not opportunity for ourselves alone, but opportunity for others, also. We we accept our diplomas, we will be saying to the world, "I accept what I have been willing on myself for these past twelve years; I am ready to do what must be done; I am ready to be my brother's keeper."
It is our choice; we have willed it thus; and what we will, we must do.
Monday, April 23, 2012
What's for lunch? A PBJH&C Sandwich!
Today marks the 30th anniversary of my house burning down. I've written about the details before (here and here) so I won't repeat myself. Instead, let's talk about lunch.
Lunch is one of the three most important meals of the day. The other two, of course, are breakfast and dinner.
After our house burned, we spent a month or two living in the Arlington Park Hilton (later the Sheraton and now gone). Each morning as Dave and I got ready for school, I called the restaurant to order our brown bag lunches. And each day, I ordered the same thing: a Peanut Butter and Jelly sandwich for Dave and a Ham and Cheese with mayo, lettuce and tomato for me.
Typically, we'd pick up our individual lunches when we went down for breakfast and then hop in the cab to school, but on this particular morning, rather than fixing two bags of lunch, the kitchen sent us just one bag, but said both our lunches were inside. For some reason that day, Dave and I decided that rather than stay at school for lunch, we'd run home and have a picnic lunch with Mom, so I didn't bother to divide up our lunches at school.
Three hours later, Dave and I surprised our mom who was at the house with the contractor. She grabbed her lunch and we all spread a blanket out on the lawn to enjoy our lunch together. Unfortunately, our Norman Rockwell-ish lunch didn't last long.
I opened the bag of sandwiches Dave and I picked up at the hotel only to discover that not only were our Peanut Butter and Jelly and Ham and Cheese sandwiches wrapped together in one large piece of foil, but they also shared two slices of bread. That's right, we received two pieces of bread containing mayo on both slices, ham, cheese, peanut butter, jelly, lettuce and tomato.
Let me repeat myself: in spite of having made us the same two sandwiches every day for a month or more, for some reason on that morning, someone in the kitchen thought I was asking for one sandwich that contained mayo, peanut butter, jelly, ham, cheese, lettuce and tomato.
Once my mom got past being irritated at having to get us McDonald's for lunch because there was nothing else we could get fast enough and still get back to school on time, we all enjoyed a good laugh.
To this day, thirty years later, we still laugh about the day Dave and I shared a PBJH&C sandwich.
Lunch is one of the three most important meals of the day. The other two, of course, are breakfast and dinner.
After our house burned, we spent a month or two living in the Arlington Park Hilton (later the Sheraton and now gone). Each morning as Dave and I got ready for school, I called the restaurant to order our brown bag lunches. And each day, I ordered the same thing: a Peanut Butter and Jelly sandwich for Dave and a Ham and Cheese with mayo, lettuce and tomato for me.
Typically, we'd pick up our individual lunches when we went down for breakfast and then hop in the cab to school, but on this particular morning, rather than fixing two bags of lunch, the kitchen sent us just one bag, but said both our lunches were inside. For some reason that day, Dave and I decided that rather than stay at school for lunch, we'd run home and have a picnic lunch with Mom, so I didn't bother to divide up our lunches at school.
Three hours later, Dave and I surprised our mom who was at the house with the contractor. She grabbed her lunch and we all spread a blanket out on the lawn to enjoy our lunch together. Unfortunately, our Norman Rockwell-ish lunch didn't last long.
I opened the bag of sandwiches Dave and I picked up at the hotel only to discover that not only were our Peanut Butter and Jelly and Ham and Cheese sandwiches wrapped together in one large piece of foil, but they also shared two slices of bread. That's right, we received two pieces of bread containing mayo on both slices, ham, cheese, peanut butter, jelly, lettuce and tomato.
Let me repeat myself: in spite of having made us the same two sandwiches every day for a month or more, for some reason on that morning, someone in the kitchen thought I was asking for one sandwich that contained mayo, peanut butter, jelly, ham, cheese, lettuce and tomato.
Once my mom got past being irritated at having to get us McDonald's for lunch because there was nothing else we could get fast enough and still get back to school on time, we all enjoyed a good laugh.
To this day, thirty years later, we still laugh about the day Dave and I shared a PBJH&C sandwich.
Monday, January 2, 2012
Getting Back to Little Merry Sunshine's Roots
As you've probably noticed, I've been fairly quiet these past few weeks on Little Merry Sunshine. It's not that I haven't thought about all of you because I have. I have actually thought about my blog and my readers quite a bit lately. I've thought about where I want to go with Little Merry Sunshine in the new year and if I even want to keep writing this blog at all.
In the end, I decided that I do want to keep writing LMS and I want to get back to the reason I started it in the first place. Little Merry Sunshine was started to celebrate what inspires me and all that I'm grateful for and that's where it's going back to. That's not to say that I won't discuss politics or sports or other things I find interesting, but I'm going to focus on the good in the world because in spite of what we are constantly bombarded with in the media, life is good, people are good, and there is much to celebrate.
So to kick off the new year, here's what I'm grateful for today:
1. Being home. I was in Florida over Christmas and I may share the trip with you soon. Let's just say it was no vacation, but I'm about at the point I can laugh about it. Being home is no small thing and I am incredibly grateful for the beautiful home I have.
2. My friends. It's my belief that friends are the family I choose. Friends enrich my life in ways I am sometimes unaware of and they are always there. You laugh with me (and sometimes at me) and cry with me. You sometimes hold me up when I don't think I have the strength to get through a challenge. So whether you're real life day-to-day friend, a social media friend or a friend I haven't seen in a decade but we keep in regular touch, I am grateful for you.
3. My family. Sure, my family makes me crazy. And yes, I wish my family was more Norman Rockwell than Norman Bates, but I love them because of their idiosyncrasies (aka psychosis). As we kick off 2012, everyone is healthy, safe, and with a solid roof over their head that they own. Believe me, that's saying something this year.
4. Betsey and Ross. Okay, I get it. It's a little "crazy cat lady" to discuss them as often as I do. I own that. It's been a tough year for them as well and I'm grateful they are both healthy senior citizens (when does their Social Security check start arriving?). Ross's diabetes are finally under control and Betsey's thyroid condition is controlled as well. Those are good, if expensive things.
5. My job. In just a few weeks, I will have been at LFGSM for 12 months. It's hard to believe because the time has flown. It's a great place to work because of the people.
6. The 2012 GOP Presidential Candidates. Seriously. They provide me with endless laughter every day.
7. My own health. I got serious about working out earlier this year and it made a huge difference in how I feel. Unfortunately, that got derailed earlier this fall, but I'm getting back to it now. Well, tomorrow. Really.
8. Having the day off to spend just hanging out. After my trip to Florida, just having a day to myself is glorious.
I think that about covers it this morning. What are you grateful for today?
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
It's Been 2 Years
This is how I'll always remember Nana.I looked at caller id, realized it was Mom and ignored it. I'd spoken with Mom about 2 hours earlier and she was headed over to the nursing home. I'd asked her to call me so I could talk with Nana. Talk is not exactly the right word. She couldn't talk anymore. Thinking back, I'm not sure she'd spoken in a month or so at that point. So I'd do the talking. I'd tell her how much I loved her and couldn't wait to see her in just a few days. We'd celebrate her birthday with cake and candles.
As I pulled out of Danica's driveway, about 15 minutes later to head home, I called Mom back. She was at the nursing home, but I couldn't speak to Nana because she had passed away at 3:10pm ET (about 90 minutes earlier).
Nana had died.
Those words didn't really sink in. I just got to work. I knew what I had to do and I did it. At that point, real tears were probably a few days away. I had to work with Crystal Beach Community Church and Batesville Presbyterian Church to arrange two funeral services. I got the obituary edited and submitted to The Panolian (Batesville, Mississippi's newspaper), St. Petersburg Times and Tampa Tribune. I wrote the eulogy I would give twice. I worked with Dave to get him to Florida and then to Mississippi before returning to Michigan. I had to get Mom from Florida to Mississippi and back to Florida. And I had to get from Chicago to Florida to Dallas to Mississippi and finally home. I still owe my cousin Elesha huge for what she did to make it possible for me to attend Nana's burial.
The rest of the story is told elsewhere on Little Merry Sunshine (and here) and over at Remembering Frances. That's not really what this post is about.
Two years have at once flown by and dragged at a snail's pace.
I've closed Nana's estate. I've figured out how to get out of bed again, be happy, and not miss her every single waking moment. I've changed careers. Some days I don't miss her at all.
Don't misunderstand me, I miss her. A lot. I miss her smile. I miss her Southern drawl. I miss hearing "Jessica, you're my favorite granddaughter" even though I was her only granddaughter. I miss her pretty delicate hands. I miss her fingers intertwined with mine as she held my hand. I miss her remembering every single detail of life (yep, that's where I get it from). I miss receiving birthday cards that were made for little girls when I was in my 30s. I miss the boxes of grapefruit off her tree and the fruitcake she made with too much bourbon because she didn't drink and didn't understand that the axiom "if a little is more, a lot is better" wasn't really true, although when it came to bourbon in fruitcake, it actually was. I miss her weekly handwritten letters. I miss her telling me she loved me "a bushel and a peck." Holidays are different.
But she's not really gone. Well, she is. Obviously. But I feel her presence and sometimes even hear her voice. I can hear it now as I type. Sometimes I can even smell her. Once, I saw her. Feeling, hearing and even smelling her typically only lasts for a brief second before it disappears, but I'm certain in those moments, she's here. The time I saw her was in a dream, but I have no doubt she'd been here that night too.
I've thought a lot over the past two years about what I'd say to her if I had just one more minute with her. I've tried to figure out what one question I'd ask or what one profound thing I'd say one last time. But after giving it great thought, I'd tell her the same thing she said to us each night before bed or each time we'd get off the phone.
Good night. God Bless. I love you. Sweet dreams, Nana.
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Thanksgiving 2010
It's been a very busy day around Casa de Rayitos Algres (Little Merry Sunshine's house).
The men did manly things: hung the Christmas lights, fixed the storm door for my living room (which promptly broke 3 hours later), built a storm door for my family room, cut a hole in my roof, rearranged my living room, whined they were hungry and there was no food in the house, and watched 97 hours of football. I may have heard some belching too.
I, on the other hand, did woman's work: cooked and cleaned. After that, I cooked and cleaned some more. I never even made it to the shower today. Wait, I never even made it out of my pajamas today. That's how busy I've been.
In the end, however, it was all worth it, when Dave started to carve the turkey and said, "what did you do to this turkey? It smells great!" Then he took a bite and declared it to be the best turkey he'd ever had. Ten minutes later, he tasted the rest of the meal and without hesitation exclaimed it to be best Thanksgiving meal he'd ever had. Suck it, Martha Stewart.
What did I cook? Glad you asked. Keep in mind that everything was made from scratch. I used no prepared foods, mixes, or shortcuts. Let's start with Breakfast.
Thanksgiving Breakfast
Overnight French Toast
Bacon
Orange Juice
Coffee
For lunch, it was every man for himself, but I had an abundance of cheese, roast beef, spinach, tomatoes, bread, leftover homemade Thai food from Monday, potato salad, and tortilla chips. Plus, an assortment of cookies, crackers, nuts and other snacks. Why anyone complained that we didn't have enough food, I don't know.
Thanksgiving Dinner
Turkey with a Pomegranate Juice glaze
Pomegranate Gravy
Cornbread Stuffing
Mashed Potatoes
Christopher's Grandmother's Green Beans
Pumpkin Mousse
I have much to be thankful for this Thanksgiving. My family and friends top the list. As a reader of Little Merry Sunshine, whether I know you or not, you're a friend. Thank you.
The men did manly things: hung the Christmas lights, fixed the storm door for my living room (which promptly broke 3 hours later), built a storm door for my family room, cut a hole in my roof, rearranged my living room, whined they were hungry and there was no food in the house, and watched 97 hours of football. I may have heard some belching too.
I, on the other hand, did woman's work: cooked and cleaned. After that, I cooked and cleaned some more. I never even made it to the shower today. Wait, I never even made it out of my pajamas today. That's how busy I've been.
In the end, however, it was all worth it, when Dave started to carve the turkey and said, "what did you do to this turkey? It smells great!" Then he took a bite and declared it to be the best turkey he'd ever had. Ten minutes later, he tasted the rest of the meal and without hesitation exclaimed it to be best Thanksgiving meal he'd ever had. Suck it, Martha Stewart.
What did I cook? Glad you asked. Keep in mind that everything was made from scratch. I used no prepared foods, mixes, or shortcuts. Let's start with Breakfast.
Thanksgiving Breakfast
Overnight French Toast
Bacon
Orange Juice
Coffee
For lunch, it was every man for himself, but I had an abundance of cheese, roast beef, spinach, tomatoes, bread, leftover homemade Thai food from Monday, potato salad, and tortilla chips. Plus, an assortment of cookies, crackers, nuts and other snacks. Why anyone complained that we didn't have enough food, I don't know.
Thanksgiving Dinner
Turkey with a Pomegranate Juice glaze
Pomegranate Gravy
Cornbread Stuffing
Mashed Potatoes
Christopher's Grandmother's Green Beans
Pumpkin Mousse
I have much to be thankful for this Thanksgiving. My family and friends top the list. As a reader of Little Merry Sunshine, whether I know you or not, you're a friend. Thank you.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Happy Birthday Dave!
Today is my brother Dave's birthday. I would tell you how old he is, but then you'd have a clue about my real age and I'm happy to have you believe I'm 29.
I'm so incredibly grateful that Dave is my brother and although I was, at one point, inclined to trade him in for a better model (cut me some slack, I was 4 when I attempted this), I've decided he's a keeper.
When I was in college, Dave built me a loft that was not only strong enough to survive an earthquake, but was one that I would not roll out of because it was considerably wider than the mattress so if I started to roll out (it happened), I would hit the platform first.
For my twenty-first birthday, Dave made me a silver pendant of two people connected and standing next to each other. At first, I thought it was a lovely pendant and was touched that he'd given me a piece of his artwork, but then I discovered that he specifically made this piece for me and wrote a paper about it for his English class. According to his paper, the two people represented us and the bond we share; the way we always took care of each other and the role played in each others lives. I sobbed like a baby when I read these words that, as a 17 year old high school kid, he could not say out loud.
To this day, Dave always carves out a couple of days in the fall to help me get the house ready for winter and whenever he's in town, he generously offers to fix anything I need done. He even gave me a new water heater for my birthday this year. Really. No one else should think that's a good gift to give me, but from Dave, it's perfect. When my neighbor's tree fell on my backyard fence and shed a few years ago in an awful storm, Dave put aside his own plans to move to Michigan and spent an entire day taking down the tree when they refused to do it. He did it so carefully that nothing was damaged and it saved me a ton of money.
Dave motivates me to be better by challenging me to hike Baldy and keep going when I think I won't make it, kayak, and swim to BooHoo. Rather than ever berating me for being slow or needing a break, he shows the patience of Job and always makes me feel great about my accomplishments. No one believes in me and pushes me to step outside my comfort zone the way Dave does.
So go over to Facebook and wish David W. Gardner a very happy birthday. No one deserves a great day like Dave!
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
World Gratitude Day
Brad Meltzer alerted me to the fact that today is World Gratitude Day. Started in 1965, the day was created to celebrate globalism and gratitude because the world needed a unifying holiday.
Participants in World Gratitude Day are encouraged to hold a Gratitude Gathering of their choosing, in which each guest gives thanks in whatever way is appropriate for them. The essential part is that the emotion of gratitude be globally shared.
In that spirit, I'm holding a Gratitude Gathering on Little Merry Sunshine and anyone reading LMS today (or any day) will be part of the gathering. Please feel free to share your gratitude list in the comments or you can choose to privately reflect on all that you are thankful for today.
However you choose to celebrate, I encourage you to carry gratitude into every encounter you have today. If you're stuck in traffic and normally that would bubble up as frustration, choose instead to take the opportunity to breath deeply and be grateful for a few minutes of relaxation. If the kids are arguing over who gets to play with a certain toy, rather than yelling at them, thank them for teaching themselves the art of negotiation. If your boss is being unreasonable, be grateful you still have a job in this economy. In Chicago, this last day of Summer has brought us simply beautiful weather. Walk around the block, listening for the chirping birds and be grateful for still being in shorts and a t-shirt.
Interested in what celebrities are grateful for? Check out The Gratitude List and follow them on Twitter.
My Gratitude List - September 21, 2010 (in no particular order)
1. The warm breeze blowing through all my windows as I type this.
2. My family and friends (who I affectionately refer to as the family I chose - if you read LMS you're part of my "family").
3. Finding home.
4. The tomatoes I picked from my vegetable garden this morning.
5. The beautiful flowers still filling my flower garden just outside my living room door.
6. That I remembered to pay the water bill this morning before it became late.
7. That I coincidentally was attending the Village Board Meeting last night on the same night one of my good friends was being recognized as a Workforce Development Scholarship winner. I had no idea until I walked in the door and saw her standing there. I couldn't be prouder of her and her accomplishment.
8. The last two weeks I have had with my mom. They have been two really good weeks. I'll be a little sad on Thursday.
9. That Betsey and Ross are pretty healthy and still good companions.
I'll probably think of more things I'm grateful for as the day goes on and I'll be back to update the list. What are you grateful for today?
Participants in World Gratitude Day are encouraged to hold a Gratitude Gathering of their choosing, in which each guest gives thanks in whatever way is appropriate for them. The essential part is that the emotion of gratitude be globally shared.
In that spirit, I'm holding a Gratitude Gathering on Little Merry Sunshine and anyone reading LMS today (or any day) will be part of the gathering. Please feel free to share your gratitude list in the comments or you can choose to privately reflect on all that you are thankful for today.
However you choose to celebrate, I encourage you to carry gratitude into every encounter you have today. If you're stuck in traffic and normally that would bubble up as frustration, choose instead to take the opportunity to breath deeply and be grateful for a few minutes of relaxation. If the kids are arguing over who gets to play with a certain toy, rather than yelling at them, thank them for teaching themselves the art of negotiation. If your boss is being unreasonable, be grateful you still have a job in this economy. In Chicago, this last day of Summer has brought us simply beautiful weather. Walk around the block, listening for the chirping birds and be grateful for still being in shorts and a t-shirt.
Interested in what celebrities are grateful for? Check out The Gratitude List and follow them on Twitter.
My Gratitude List - September 21, 2010 (in no particular order)
1. The warm breeze blowing through all my windows as I type this.
2. My family and friends (who I affectionately refer to as the family I chose - if you read LMS you're part of my "family").
3. Finding home.
4. The tomatoes I picked from my vegetable garden this morning.
5. The beautiful flowers still filling my flower garden just outside my living room door.
6. That I remembered to pay the water bill this morning before it became late.
7. That I coincidentally was attending the Village Board Meeting last night on the same night one of my good friends was being recognized as a Workforce Development Scholarship winner. I had no idea until I walked in the door and saw her standing there. I couldn't be prouder of her and her accomplishment.
8. The last two weeks I have had with my mom. They have been two really good weeks. I'll be a little sad on Thursday.
9. That Betsey and Ross are pretty healthy and still good companions.
I'll probably think of more things I'm grateful for as the day goes on and I'll be back to update the list. What are you grateful for today?
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Watervale Withdrawl Disorder
I was running an errand early Friday evening when right in front of me appeared a beautiful sunset. The setting sun, unencumbered by clouds, was filling the clear blue sky with red and orange afterglow. It was stunning. Not Watervale stunning, but nice for Chicago.
My favorite Watervale 2010 Sunset picture. Nothing in Chicago compares.
As I continued to marvel at the beauty of nature, my body broke out in a cold sweat and I started to shake. My heart began to race. I started to hyperventilate.
You may be thinking that I was having a heart attack or having a seizure, but I assure you this was nothing new. This happens each time I return home from Watervale and it has a clinical name: Watervale Withdrawl Disorder™ (WWD). Anyone who's been to Watervale at least once knows what I'm talking about.
Watervale is an addiction and a heck of a habit to break.
What is Watervale Withdrawl Disorder™?
It's the whiff of fresh bread baking in the Inn as you walk through your kitchen, even though you've been home a week and haven't used the oven. It's the sight of Crème Brûlée on a restaurant menu and knowing it won't live up to Watervale Crème Brûlée (and that you don't have an awesome waiter named Pat who held one aside just for you for dessert, even though they ran out in the 6:00 dinner seating).
Not actual Watervale Crème Brûlée, although it looks very similar.
It's the feeling of sand between your toes, even though you live in a concrete jungle and never walk barefoot.
Toes in the Watervale sand. Easter Weekend 2010. Believe me, this doesn't happen in Chicago. The "sand" we have here doesn't feel as good under your toes. I don't know what it is, but it's not fine like the sand I'm used to.
It's the realization that not only do doors have locks, but you best use them. It's the phantom sound of waves lapping on the dock even though the only body of water you see is in your morning shower.
It's the throbbing and burning you get in the back of your calves when you're on the Stairmaster from Hell without the reward of the view from the top of Baldy to make the pain go away better than any pain management drug known to man.
Lake Michigan (left) and Lower Herring Lake (right) from the top of Baldy taken in April 2010. When you see this sight, suddenly you forget the burn in your calves and you can't wait to make the hike again. It's kind of like how I hear your body forgets the pain of childbirth so you'll do it again.
It's the tears that run down your face when you realize you can't go back for 11 1/2 months AND you have to make it through another Chicago winter first.
It's finding a rock that has the telltale signs of a Petosky Stone, licking it and realizing it's just a regular dirty rock.
The Petosky Stone Dave found on the face of Baldy and gave me. It's between the size of a golf ball and a baseball.
It's walking outside around midnight to stargaze and realizing that not only is Cassiopeia (aka the Watervale W™) not visible in the northeast sky, you can barely see the moon.
Cassiopeia, also known as the Watervale W™, for obvious reasons.
It's being confused when a friend invites you to go to the Outlet and you grab your bathing suit because you think you're going to the Outlet (and are pissed when you realize you're only going shopping for last season's discount clothes).
Nebraska Crossing Outlets in Nebraska (pic from Wikipedia) are definitely not . . .
. . . The Outlet.
Taken by Shari Noble, Aug. 28, 2010. Click here for another of my favorite Outlet pictures. It truly illustrates how the Outlet links Lower Herring Lake and Lake Michigan. If you look closely, you can see Lower Herring Lake peaking out between the trees in the right half of the picture.
Unfortunately, Watervale Withdrawl Disorder™ is not curable. Of course, it's not terminal either, so there is some good news. I have found a few ways to deal with WWD including staying in close contact with Watervale friends via Facebook and in person, writing about Watervale on Little Merry Sunshine, drinking Michigan wines whenever possible, telling Watervale stories to anyone who will listen, curling up in my Watervale sweatshirts, displaying the collection of rocks I've found on the Big Beach, filling hurricane vases with Watervale sand (that I often run my fingers through) and a candle, wearing my charm bracelet filled with charms I've bought in Northern Michigan, and flipping through old scrapbooks.
Of course, the best cure for Watervale Withdrawl Disorder™ is to return to Watervale as soon as possible, which I've been trying to do a couple times a year since Dave now lives there permanently.
How do you cope with Watervale Withdrawl Disorder™?
My favorite Watervale 2010 Sunset picture. Nothing in Chicago compares.As I continued to marvel at the beauty of nature, my body broke out in a cold sweat and I started to shake. My heart began to race. I started to hyperventilate.
You may be thinking that I was having a heart attack or having a seizure, but I assure you this was nothing new. This happens each time I return home from Watervale and it has a clinical name: Watervale Withdrawl Disorder™ (WWD). Anyone who's been to Watervale at least once knows what I'm talking about.
Watervale is an addiction and a heck of a habit to break.
What is Watervale Withdrawl Disorder™?
It's the whiff of fresh bread baking in the Inn as you walk through your kitchen, even though you've been home a week and haven't used the oven. It's the sight of Crème Brûlée on a restaurant menu and knowing it won't live up to Watervale Crème Brûlée (and that you don't have an awesome waiter named Pat who held one aside just for you for dessert, even though they ran out in the 6:00 dinner seating).
Not actual Watervale Crème Brûlée, although it looks very similar.It's the feeling of sand between your toes, even though you live in a concrete jungle and never walk barefoot.
Toes in the Watervale sand. Easter Weekend 2010. Believe me, this doesn't happen in Chicago. The "sand" we have here doesn't feel as good under your toes. I don't know what it is, but it's not fine like the sand I'm used to.It's the realization that not only do doors have locks, but you best use them. It's the phantom sound of waves lapping on the dock even though the only body of water you see is in your morning shower.
It's the throbbing and burning you get in the back of your calves when you're on the Stairmaster from Hell without the reward of the view from the top of Baldy to make the pain go away better than any pain management drug known to man.
Lake Michigan (left) and Lower Herring Lake (right) from the top of Baldy taken in April 2010. When you see this sight, suddenly you forget the burn in your calves and you can't wait to make the hike again. It's kind of like how I hear your body forgets the pain of childbirth so you'll do it again.It's the tears that run down your face when you realize you can't go back for 11 1/2 months AND you have to make it through another Chicago winter first.
It's finding a rock that has the telltale signs of a Petosky Stone, licking it and realizing it's just a regular dirty rock.
The Petosky Stone Dave found on the face of Baldy and gave me. It's between the size of a golf ball and a baseball.It's walking outside around midnight to stargaze and realizing that not only is Cassiopeia (aka the Watervale W™) not visible in the northeast sky, you can barely see the moon.
Cassiopeia, also known as the Watervale W™, for obvious reasons.It's being confused when a friend invites you to go to the Outlet and you grab your bathing suit because you think you're going to the Outlet (and are pissed when you realize you're only going shopping for last season's discount clothes).
Nebraska Crossing Outlets in Nebraska (pic from Wikipedia) are definitely not . . .
. . . The Outlet.Taken by Shari Noble, Aug. 28, 2010. Click here for another of my favorite Outlet pictures. It truly illustrates how the Outlet links Lower Herring Lake and Lake Michigan. If you look closely, you can see Lower Herring Lake peaking out between the trees in the right half of the picture.
Unfortunately, Watervale Withdrawl Disorder™ is not curable. Of course, it's not terminal either, so there is some good news. I have found a few ways to deal with WWD including staying in close contact with Watervale friends via Facebook and in person, writing about Watervale on Little Merry Sunshine, drinking Michigan wines whenever possible, telling Watervale stories to anyone who will listen, curling up in my Watervale sweatshirts, displaying the collection of rocks I've found on the Big Beach, filling hurricane vases with Watervale sand (that I often run my fingers through) and a candle, wearing my charm bracelet filled with charms I've bought in Northern Michigan, and flipping through old scrapbooks.
Of course, the best cure for Watervale Withdrawl Disorder™ is to return to Watervale as soon as possible, which I've been trying to do a couple times a year since Dave now lives there permanently.
How do you cope with Watervale Withdrawl Disorder™?
Monday, August 23, 2010
Bucket List Item #61: Swim to BooHoo!
First, let me say that we need t-shirts for those of us who swim to BooHoo*. You know, like the t-shirts people have that say "I Survived the Bush Administration 2001-2009." Well, okay, not exactly like that. Swimming to BooHoo is a good thing, but you get the idea. Swimming to BooHoo is also hard work; don't listen to the folks who say it isn't. They lie.
You may recall that in my Watervale To Do List, item number 2 on my list was "swim from the dock at the Inn to BooHoo." It's also item number 61 on my Bucket List. From my very safe seat in my kitchen, this seemed like an easy and fun idea. When I arrived at Watervale and looked across the lake, however, I began to question my sanity (please keep your comments on this matter to yourself, thank you). It was much further than I remembered it and certainly appeared to be much further than the 328 yards (0.18 miles) I had heard it was. In fact, it looked to be about 10 miles. Depending on where you plan to arrive, it's actually about 1/4 mile to The Point and more than that (but less than 1/2 mile) to BooHoo. I asked Jennie and she'd know, so those numbers are as close to official as you can get.
The Point. About 1/4 mile from the dock.
(Taken from the dock with the zoom lens).
See that little sand peeking out from the trees? That's the bottom of BooHoo. Between 1/4 and 1/2 mile from the dock.
(Taken from the dock with the zoom lens).
I'm standing on the beach looking at The Point and at BooHoo. See, it's really really far - probably about 10 miles.
By Wednesday, I had worked up some of the nerve to attempt my swim and Dave agreed to spot me in the kayak, but I still wasn't sure. I had been a pretty strong swimmer as a kid, but somewhere along the way, I developed a slight fear of water that was not chlorinated or see-through and more than 12 feet deep. Lower Herring Lake definitely does not fit into that category and is 50 feet deep where I planned to swim. But I'd been talking up my swim all day, had tweeted about it and had told all of you I'd be swimming to BooHoo, so I felt some obligation to at least give it a shot. If I died or quit midway there, at least I would have tried.
I'd be lying if I said I wasn't scared. I was. I wasn't convinced I could make it without Dave pulling me a good part of the way and, of course, I had a small worry that I'd drown. About an hour before my scheduled departure time, my dad suddenly announced he didn't think I could swim across the lake. My already fragile confidence took a nose dive, especially since he said it in front of friends who'd been trying to build me up. Continuing his monologue about why I shouldn't even attempt to swim across the lake because I wasn't my brother (the super athlete), I finally turned to my dad and said "How would you know? You never let me play sports when I was a kid. I have to do this. I'm tired of living life on the sidelines and in Dave's shadow." It felt good to stand up to my father, something I rarely do.
This swim was about so much more than just swimming. It was about me overcoming fears, stepping outside of my comfort zone, proving I could achieve my goal, discovering that maybe I do have untapped athletic ability and living life fully.
I got in the water and after about 10 minutes of hemming and hawing, I was off. Most of my friends make this swim in far less than 30 minutes. It took me an hour. I'd swim awhile and then need to stop and rest. I'm not really sure how much resting I did though since I tread water the entire time. I did hold onto Dave's kayak a few times, but he never towed me. I'd just tread water and we'd talk about whatever popped into my mind. Then after a few minutes, I'd start swimming again.
The funniest part of the swim came when a woman on a paddle board almost took my head off. I was treading water, chatting with Dave, when all the sudden this paddle board ran into me. We all laughed as I darted out of the way, but Dave said he had seen it coming for a few minutes. . . the two slowest things in the lake were drawn together like magnets.
Finally, I arrived at BooHoo on my own power (as opposed to being towed in by Dave). About 50 feet from shore I had a slight panic when I developed a cramp in my chest. I stopped swimming and breathed through it until I could swim again and then I finished. The important thing is that I made it without drowning or being decapitated. I heard the song Gonna Fly Now in my head as I emerged victorious from the lake. I think I even may have imitated Rocky on the steps of the Philadelphia Museum of Art, but I can't be sure because it's still a little fuzzy. All I know for certain is that the grin on my face and pride in my accomplishment hasn't yet been wiped off my face.
Below is a self-drawn picture of my swim. As you can see, my internal GPS was a bit faulty and I swam way out of my way. But I did it. I wish I could say I swam back, but I didn't. I took Dave's kayak and suggested he walk or swim. He chose to walk. Next year my goal is to swim both ways in under an hour.
Click on the picture to be taken to a clearer and larger version.
Yes, I'm a natural artist. Thank you for noticing.
You may recall that in my Watervale To Do List, item number 2 on my list was "swim from the dock at the Inn to BooHoo." It's also item number 61 on my Bucket List. From my very safe seat in my kitchen, this seemed like an easy and fun idea. When I arrived at Watervale and looked across the lake, however, I began to question my sanity (please keep your comments on this matter to yourself, thank you). It was much further than I remembered it and certainly appeared to be much further than the 328 yards (0.18 miles) I had heard it was. In fact, it looked to be about 10 miles. Depending on where you plan to arrive, it's actually about 1/4 mile to The Point and more than that (but less than 1/2 mile) to BooHoo. I asked Jennie and she'd know, so those numbers are as close to official as you can get.
The Point. About 1/4 mile from the dock.(Taken from the dock with the zoom lens).
See that little sand peeking out from the trees? That's the bottom of BooHoo. Between 1/4 and 1/2 mile from the dock.(Taken from the dock with the zoom lens).
I'm standing on the beach looking at The Point and at BooHoo. See, it's really really far - probably about 10 miles.By Wednesday, I had worked up some of the nerve to attempt my swim and Dave agreed to spot me in the kayak, but I still wasn't sure. I had been a pretty strong swimmer as a kid, but somewhere along the way, I developed a slight fear of water that was not chlorinated or see-through and more than 12 feet deep. Lower Herring Lake definitely does not fit into that category and is 50 feet deep where I planned to swim. But I'd been talking up my swim all day, had tweeted about it and had told all of you I'd be swimming to BooHoo, so I felt some obligation to at least give it a shot. If I died or quit midway there, at least I would have tried.
I'd be lying if I said I wasn't scared. I was. I wasn't convinced I could make it without Dave pulling me a good part of the way and, of course, I had a small worry that I'd drown. About an hour before my scheduled departure time, my dad suddenly announced he didn't think I could swim across the lake. My already fragile confidence took a nose dive, especially since he said it in front of friends who'd been trying to build me up. Continuing his monologue about why I shouldn't even attempt to swim across the lake because I wasn't my brother (the super athlete), I finally turned to my dad and said "How would you know? You never let me play sports when I was a kid. I have to do this. I'm tired of living life on the sidelines and in Dave's shadow." It felt good to stand up to my father, something I rarely do.
This swim was about so much more than just swimming. It was about me overcoming fears, stepping outside of my comfort zone, proving I could achieve my goal, discovering that maybe I do have untapped athletic ability and living life fully.
I got in the water and after about 10 minutes of hemming and hawing, I was off. Most of my friends make this swim in far less than 30 minutes. It took me an hour. I'd swim awhile and then need to stop and rest. I'm not really sure how much resting I did though since I tread water the entire time. I did hold onto Dave's kayak a few times, but he never towed me. I'd just tread water and we'd talk about whatever popped into my mind. Then after a few minutes, I'd start swimming again.
The funniest part of the swim came when a woman on a paddle board almost took my head off. I was treading water, chatting with Dave, when all the sudden this paddle board ran into me. We all laughed as I darted out of the way, but Dave said he had seen it coming for a few minutes. . . the two slowest things in the lake were drawn together like magnets.
Finally, I arrived at BooHoo on my own power (as opposed to being towed in by Dave). About 50 feet from shore I had a slight panic when I developed a cramp in my chest. I stopped swimming and breathed through it until I could swim again and then I finished. The important thing is that I made it without drowning or being decapitated. I heard the song Gonna Fly Now in my head as I emerged victorious from the lake. I think I even may have imitated Rocky on the steps of the Philadelphia Museum of Art, but I can't be sure because it's still a little fuzzy. All I know for certain is that the grin on my face and pride in my accomplishment hasn't yet been wiped off my face.
Below is a self-drawn picture of my swim. As you can see, my internal GPS was a bit faulty and I swam way out of my way. But I did it. I wish I could say I swam back, but I didn't. I took Dave's kayak and suggested he walk or swim. He chose to walk. Next year my goal is to swim both ways in under an hour.
Click on the picture to be taken to a clearer and larger version.Yes, I'm a natural artist. Thank you for noticing.
*BooHoo is a sand dune just across the Lower Herring Lake from the Inn at Watervale and on the way to the Outlet (the Outlet being the place where Lower Herring Lake feeds into Lake Michigan). I believe that it's officially part of Watervale property, but I'm not 100% certain. It's my understanding that BooHoo got its name from Vera Noble who, as a child would climb the face of the dune and would cry as she climbed from the sand burning her feet. Although from the dock, BooHoo is difficult to see because of the trees that have grown around it, here's a picture of what it looks like from White Owl Road.
Special thanks for believing in my ability to swim to BooHoo goes out to one of my Forever Friends who sent me a text telling me that he believed in me and knew I could swim to BooHoo. His words stayed in my head for the entire swim and kept me going when I wanted to quit or thought I was about to drown.
Special thanks for believing in my ability to swim to BooHoo goes out to one of my Forever Friends who sent me a text telling me that he believed in me and knew I could swim to BooHoo. His words stayed in my head for the entire swim and kept me going when I wanted to quit or thought I was about to drown.
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