So does everyone else, it seems.
The last 4 days have been the perfect example of the importance of saying no. My life runs at the speed of light sometimes, and the with the demands on my time prioritization is a priority. I'm a wife and mother of 2 boys, I have a job outside the house, even more jobs within, and I'm involved in more than one ministry. Throw trying to stay physically, mentally and spiritually healthy into that mix and there just aren't enough hours in the day.
Last Thursday my husband called me as I was leaving my office to ask if I wanted to meet some friends 45 minutes away for bowling with our kids. Since the kids were off from school and I was off from work on Friday we went. And we had a wonderful time. Friday was stupid busy. My oldest son ended up in the doc's office, grocery shopping needed to be done ~ which is never a small task since it only gets done every 2 weeks ~ and then prep for pizza and game night ~ which also happens every 2 weeks. Somehow I managed to squeeze in a workout before half of our guests decided to arrive about an hour early. We had 20some people in our house Friday night, and we were finally kicking them out after 10pm.
Saturday morning, a free breakfast certificate was burning a hole in my husband's pocket. Then my son's allowance was burning a hole in his. And clean up from Friday night was still waiting for me. Saturday night we had people over for dinner again, and then took them to church with us. Sunday I actually got to rest a little ~ before heading out to a team building meeting for a ministry weekend we are involved in. We got home in enough time to put dinner in the over for the guests that were coming Sunday evening to discuss my husband's ideas for church planting.
Thank God for Monday. Back to the relaxation of my treatment room (I'm a massage therapist, for those who might not know.) I only worked a half-day due to my boys having dental appts (more busy) and I thought the rest of my evening would be just chilling at home. Silly me. In the 45 minutes that I tried to workout I received several texts and a phone call from people wanted to see me that evening. ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!!!!! I have been entertaining and surrounded by people all weekend!!!! Can't I be left ALONE for ONE evening?!! Here is where I demonstrate my ability to say NO. No, we cannot get together before our lunch date on Friday. No, I cannot meet you at a your friend's house to pray for them ~ I don't know them, anyway, so you'll have to pray for YOUR friend without me. No, I don't want to go out for dinner ~ I don't mind making dinner and being in the quiet of my own home with my boyz.
As I write this, it is Tuesday morning. My day off. And I have a ministry meeting 45 minutes away this afternoon ~ after I clean my house, do the laundry, and try to get a workout. Tomorrow evening we will have people over again, and then again on Friday (after my lunch date), and on Sunday we will be out of town. I hope no one other than my boyz want something from me Thursday or Saturday because the answer is going to be a resounding NO!
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Gone Camping ~ The Rest of the Story
Saturday morning greeted us with our husky having escaped. Though his lead was long enough for him to get in the tent and move around inside, my son let him off the lead Friday night after they had gone to bed. Bandit is not a dumb dog ~ and he has been tent camping many, many times before. Thus, he has figured out how to paw the zipper to the tent door-flap enough to create an opening big enough to get his nose through. It's freedom from there. There were several moments of panic as we recognized that the campgrounds was off of a stretch of 2-lane state highway that has no reason to slow down. Also, this was not our familiar neighborhood, and the phone number on his collar was for the home phone, not one of our cell numbers. I took a flying walk through the grounds to see if he was romping though to no avail. As I was heading back to our site, I saw our son take off down the road and knew the dog had been spotted. No worse for ware, though knowing he was in very deep trouble, the dog was dragged by his collar back to the site. All before we'd even made the coffee.
Saturday was still hot. We spent the morning sitting in the shade reading or playing Apples to Apples. After lunch we visited the swimming lake. Dinner was everyone's favorite ~ campfire pizza pies. By this time our neighbors for the rest of the weekend had arrived and the sun was hiding behind gray clouds. It did rain on us for a few minutes, but nothing to really dampen our plans to hangout and relax by the campfire.
Sunday was cooler. Our little guy wanted to go back to the swimming lake, but there was enough of a chill in the air to prevent that. My in-laws joined us for lunch, which turned out to be a pleasant visit. Though, I did hear that they almost didn't make it because of a spat ~ over what I wasn't told. We got to see our nieces, too, which is always a reminder as to why I am so grateful to have boys. Sunday evening rained on us again, but it was short and painless for the most part. We were still able to cook dinner over the campfire and chill.
Monday morning was COLD ~ as in I-can-see-my-breath cold. And our 14-year-old only packed t-shirts. "It was hot on Friday when I packed." He was quite chilly that morning. We didn't have any plans for Memorial Day other than getting home, so we were planning on a low-key breakdown and mosey home. Then we changed our mind. We didn't make any extraordinary efforts, but we did move with a purpose. We loaded up after a fantastic breakfast and headed home.
Despite the laziness of camping, there is an insane amount of work in the prep and clean-up ~ and I was beat. Of course, the fact that our camping neighbors were night owls probably contributed to my exhaustion since their rustling around at their site at all hours tended to keep me from continuous sleep. We unloaded the gear and began the task of washing bedding and organizing in the garage, and suddenly no longer had the energy for it. I was in bed, out cold by 845 that evening ~ even before by kids. I finally stirred again 9 hours later when the clock on my nightstand announced the arrival of the beginning of my workday.
All in all, I'd say we had a good trip. But I am not too upset that we won't make it out again this season.
Saturday was still hot. We spent the morning sitting in the shade reading or playing Apples to Apples. After lunch we visited the swimming lake. Dinner was everyone's favorite ~ campfire pizza pies. By this time our neighbors for the rest of the weekend had arrived and the sun was hiding behind gray clouds. It did rain on us for a few minutes, but nothing to really dampen our plans to hangout and relax by the campfire.
Sunday was cooler. Our little guy wanted to go back to the swimming lake, but there was enough of a chill in the air to prevent that. My in-laws joined us for lunch, which turned out to be a pleasant visit. Though, I did hear that they almost didn't make it because of a spat ~ over what I wasn't told. We got to see our nieces, too, which is always a reminder as to why I am so grateful to have boys. Sunday evening rained on us again, but it was short and painless for the most part. We were still able to cook dinner over the campfire and chill.
Monday morning was COLD ~ as in I-can-see-my-breath cold. And our 14-year-old only packed t-shirts. "It was hot on Friday when I packed." He was quite chilly that morning. We didn't have any plans for Memorial Day other than getting home, so we were planning on a low-key breakdown and mosey home. Then we changed our mind. We didn't make any extraordinary efforts, but we did move with a purpose. We loaded up after a fantastic breakfast and headed home.
Despite the laziness of camping, there is an insane amount of work in the prep and clean-up ~ and I was beat. Of course, the fact that our camping neighbors were night owls probably contributed to my exhaustion since their rustling around at their site at all hours tended to keep me from continuous sleep. We unloaded the gear and began the task of washing bedding and organizing in the garage, and suddenly no longer had the energy for it. I was in bed, out cold by 845 that evening ~ even before by kids. I finally stirred again 9 hours later when the clock on my nightstand announced the arrival of the beginning of my workday.
All in all, I'd say we had a good trip. But I am not too upset that we won't make it out again this season.
Monday, September 5, 2011
Gone Camping ~ Prep and Day 1
With Josh having spent the majority of the summer preaching on Saturday evenings, we didn't really get to camp this year. So, on a kind of a whim, we decided a week beforehand to go camping over Labor Day weekend.
The fun began even before the weekend. That Wednesday evening Josh tells me that Ty is going to try to "negotiate" his way out of going. What on earth gave him the idea that this was negotiable? We were planning on spending 3 nights over an hour away. Why would he think he was going to be able to convince me to let him stay home? He said he was going to offer to clean the whole house. In 3 day he'd better have scrubbed every wall, dusted every book on every shelf and then the shelves themselves, washed anything that even resembled laundry, pulled every dish out of every cupboard and scrubbed them till they sparkled ~ and that would have been just Friday evening. On Saturday, he would have to scrub the bathrooms with a toothbrush, scrub the carpet in his bedroom, scoop and scrub litter boxes, prime and paint the hall upstairs... You get the point. There was no way he was staying home. Let the pouting, grumbling and surly attitude begin.
Then Josh and I talked about the camping menu. I told him that we were pretty broke but if we used food we already had, and maybe picked up a few extras that are always camping favorites, we could probably swing it. The suggested menu involved picking up more than I had anticipated, and when I brought up the need to scale it back a little Josh was put out. More pouting. I offered to let him get everything he wanted if he could find a way to make the money appear. I think he may have sold his soul, but somehow he came up with it.
Friday was CRAZY. I spent all of my day in packing and prep. Because we hadn't really been camping this season, there was a lot of replacing odd supplies ~ paper products, broken tent pegs, and the like. The only other time we camped this year was with a group of friends at a nearby state park ~ the the storms were WICKED. Almost frightening. The rain pounded pretty hard and I swear lightning struck out site. We found out that the seams on our tent needed to be resealed. Two stores didn't have the sealer, and I finally ended up at a sporting goods store just to get this one item. It was worth it, though.
We get all packed up and hit the road, Josh and myself quite happy about finally going camping. It was somewhere around 90 degrees when we got to the campgrounds Friday evening, and setting up camp in the heat was laborious. But finally, FINALLY we were there and enjoying the anticipation of just chilling for a few days.
The fun began even before the weekend. That Wednesday evening Josh tells me that Ty is going to try to "negotiate" his way out of going. What on earth gave him the idea that this was negotiable? We were planning on spending 3 nights over an hour away. Why would he think he was going to be able to convince me to let him stay home? He said he was going to offer to clean the whole house. In 3 day he'd better have scrubbed every wall, dusted every book on every shelf and then the shelves themselves, washed anything that even resembled laundry, pulled every dish out of every cupboard and scrubbed them till they sparkled ~ and that would have been just Friday evening. On Saturday, he would have to scrub the bathrooms with a toothbrush, scrub the carpet in his bedroom, scoop and scrub litter boxes, prime and paint the hall upstairs... You get the point. There was no way he was staying home. Let the pouting, grumbling and surly attitude begin.
Then Josh and I talked about the camping menu. I told him that we were pretty broke but if we used food we already had, and maybe picked up a few extras that are always camping favorites, we could probably swing it. The suggested menu involved picking up more than I had anticipated, and when I brought up the need to scale it back a little Josh was put out. More pouting. I offered to let him get everything he wanted if he could find a way to make the money appear. I think he may have sold his soul, but somehow he came up with it.
Friday was CRAZY. I spent all of my day in packing and prep. Because we hadn't really been camping this season, there was a lot of replacing odd supplies ~ paper products, broken tent pegs, and the like. The only other time we camped this year was with a group of friends at a nearby state park ~ the the storms were WICKED. Almost frightening. The rain pounded pretty hard and I swear lightning struck out site. We found out that the seams on our tent needed to be resealed. Two stores didn't have the sealer, and I finally ended up at a sporting goods store just to get this one item. It was worth it, though.
We get all packed up and hit the road, Josh and myself quite happy about finally going camping. It was somewhere around 90 degrees when we got to the campgrounds Friday evening, and setting up camp in the heat was laborious. But finally, FINALLY we were there and enjoying the anticipation of just chilling for a few days.
Friday, August 19, 2011
Pudds of the Past
We always had animals growing up. Nice was the dog who was anything but to anyone other than us. Babe was a bear-sized dog who thought she was a lap-dag. Killer and Bleak were cats who eventually moved into the next door neighbor's house because she fed them better than we did. Puss-Face was a crazy, bad-ass cat who literally ruled the neighborhood. These were just a few of the many cats, dogs, hamsters, gerbils and other hodge-podge pets we grew up with.
Retard (yes, it was a cruel name but fitting for him as a kitten) was my favorite childhood cat. He attached himself to me in that special way that totally endears our animals to us. As a kitten, he really was not the brightest bulb in the box. Once, my brother was running a bubble bath, and the cat was balancing along the edge of the tub, batting at the bubbles as they climbed the tub wall. He must have decided that the bubbles along the edge weren't good enough, because he then launched himself into the middle of the tub. I'm fairly certain he had no clue that there was water under all those tantalizing bubbles. He make a little splash, being a little kitty, and broke the surface looking very surprised. He paddled somewhat frantically to the edge of the tub, clambered out, and as coolly as a soaked kitty could, he sauntered away from the tub, refusing to even shake himself off. One of many such events.
He used to like to run through the apartment and launch himself onto the screen door, much like Garfield would hang on the screen door in the old comics. Then Mom put the storm glass in. I happened to be sitting at the table as he came racing into the kitchen and leapt at the "screen". I never laughed so hard in my life as when he slammed against the glass and then thud onto the floor. He sat there, staring at the door, pondering what the hell had just happened. He then looked as if he'd shrugged his shoulders and turned away.
When I moved out of Mom's house she wanted me to take all of the cats with me. Retard was an indoor-outdoor cat and I was moving to a second-story apartment. I was afraid he might try to jump off the balcony to chase after something and was leery of taking him with me. The parents of a friend of ours has a horse barn and was looking for a hunting cat to keep the rodents out of the barn. I knew he would be perfect. I drove the hour to the property, loved on him one last time, and turned him loose. Then I cried the entire drive back home. Fourteen years later, as I write this, tears roll down my cheek. Retard lived a good life in the horse barn. He was spoiled rotten but his people and loved by the horses ~ not so much by the rodents.
In my adult life, I've had a total of 6 cats and a dog. Four of the cats and the dog are still with us, though we're pretty sure the old, fat cat and the dog have their days numbered.
My first 2 cats were my babies before I had babies. We got them while I was still in high school, but Mom made me take them when I moved out. Tubby and Abby were my girls.
At her zenith, Tubby weighed in at 25lbs. She was huge. For years we thought she was a munchkin because her legs were so short. When the vet finally put her on a diet and she began to loose weight she suddenly developed these legs! Her belly was that big. Tubby was an incredibly lovable teddy-bear type of cat. She would curl up in the crook of my arm at night, holding onto my arm as I held on to her. I have never seen a cat with her patience. When my first son was a toddler, he put her through some paces. He would "walk" her, holding onto her tail like it was a leash as she walked around the room. He straddled her once, trying to ride her like a very small horse. My favorite was when she would be sleeping in a sunbeam, he would crawl over, put his head on her large, pillowesque belly and lie down with her. Never once did Tubby make an aggressive move toward any of the children in our lives as they poked, prodded and chased her.
Tubby eventually ended up with diabetes, just like grossly overweight people tend to, and was on insulin for that last 3 years of her life. Eventually, her kidneys failed, and though she was not an outdoor cat, she decided to spare me the heartbreak of finding her lifeless and went off to pass. Again, years later, I write with tears in my eyes and on my cheeks.
Abigail was the most beautiful Himalayan that ever graced the earth. Diminutive as the breed goes (she was neglected and malnourished by her first owners), she was quite the little lady, with fur like silk and the face of an angel. She was not as tolerant of the kids, but she dealt with them by keeping out of their reach. She would find a lofty perch and observe, never engage. She was a prissy, compulsive groomer. When the incision from her spay became infected the vet put her in a cone-collar to keep her from licking. Unfortunately, it kept her from grooming, too. In the 2 weeks she was made to wear this collar, Abigail seemed to go bonkers from withdrawl. She would go through the motions of grooming ~ she would lick the inside of her cone as if grooming her chest or flank, she would lick her paw and wipe the cone as if cleaning her head and ears. She couldn't keep up with her extensive beauty regime and began to look incredibly scraggly. The other cats we had at the time tried to help, grooming her as best they could, but she still looked pretty rough. When the collar finally came off, she sat for literally 2 hours grooming herself ~ then proceeded to cough up the biggest hairball I have ever seen.
Abigail also had her own little health quirk ~ a heart murmur. The vet estimated that she would live to be about 6. When Tubby passed before her, Abigail was coming up on her 10th birthday. Six months after her sister-of-the-heart, Abigail also passed ~ of a lonely broken heart.
For the first time ever in my life, I was without a pet. We decided to be without for a while, first to let me mourn the loss of my babies, but then to just let our home settle. But having 2 kids who never knew life without pets, the nagging soon began, and we got the first of our current animals.
Retard (yes, it was a cruel name but fitting for him as a kitten) was my favorite childhood cat. He attached himself to me in that special way that totally endears our animals to us. As a kitten, he really was not the brightest bulb in the box. Once, my brother was running a bubble bath, and the cat was balancing along the edge of the tub, batting at the bubbles as they climbed the tub wall. He must have decided that the bubbles along the edge weren't good enough, because he then launched himself into the middle of the tub. I'm fairly certain he had no clue that there was water under all those tantalizing bubbles. He make a little splash, being a little kitty, and broke the surface looking very surprised. He paddled somewhat frantically to the edge of the tub, clambered out, and as coolly as a soaked kitty could, he sauntered away from the tub, refusing to even shake himself off. One of many such events.
He used to like to run through the apartment and launch himself onto the screen door, much like Garfield would hang on the screen door in the old comics. Then Mom put the storm glass in. I happened to be sitting at the table as he came racing into the kitchen and leapt at the "screen". I never laughed so hard in my life as when he slammed against the glass and then thud onto the floor. He sat there, staring at the door, pondering what the hell had just happened. He then looked as if he'd shrugged his shoulders and turned away.
When I moved out of Mom's house she wanted me to take all of the cats with me. Retard was an indoor-outdoor cat and I was moving to a second-story apartment. I was afraid he might try to jump off the balcony to chase after something and was leery of taking him with me. The parents of a friend of ours has a horse barn and was looking for a hunting cat to keep the rodents out of the barn. I knew he would be perfect. I drove the hour to the property, loved on him one last time, and turned him loose. Then I cried the entire drive back home. Fourteen years later, as I write this, tears roll down my cheek. Retard lived a good life in the horse barn. He was spoiled rotten but his people and loved by the horses ~ not so much by the rodents.
In my adult life, I've had a total of 6 cats and a dog. Four of the cats and the dog are still with us, though we're pretty sure the old, fat cat and the dog have their days numbered.
My first 2 cats were my babies before I had babies. We got them while I was still in high school, but Mom made me take them when I moved out. Tubby and Abby were my girls.
At her zenith, Tubby weighed in at 25lbs. She was huge. For years we thought she was a munchkin because her legs were so short. When the vet finally put her on a diet and she began to loose weight she suddenly developed these legs! Her belly was that big. Tubby was an incredibly lovable teddy-bear type of cat. She would curl up in the crook of my arm at night, holding onto my arm as I held on to her. I have never seen a cat with her patience. When my first son was a toddler, he put her through some paces. He would "walk" her, holding onto her tail like it was a leash as she walked around the room. He straddled her once, trying to ride her like a very small horse. My favorite was when she would be sleeping in a sunbeam, he would crawl over, put his head on her large, pillowesque belly and lie down with her. Never once did Tubby make an aggressive move toward any of the children in our lives as they poked, prodded and chased her.
Tubby eventually ended up with diabetes, just like grossly overweight people tend to, and was on insulin for that last 3 years of her life. Eventually, her kidneys failed, and though she was not an outdoor cat, she decided to spare me the heartbreak of finding her lifeless and went off to pass. Again, years later, I write with tears in my eyes and on my cheeks.
Abigail was the most beautiful Himalayan that ever graced the earth. Diminutive as the breed goes (she was neglected and malnourished by her first owners), she was quite the little lady, with fur like silk and the face of an angel. She was not as tolerant of the kids, but she dealt with them by keeping out of their reach. She would find a lofty perch and observe, never engage. She was a prissy, compulsive groomer. When the incision from her spay became infected the vet put her in a cone-collar to keep her from licking. Unfortunately, it kept her from grooming, too. In the 2 weeks she was made to wear this collar, Abigail seemed to go bonkers from withdrawl. She would go through the motions of grooming ~ she would lick the inside of her cone as if grooming her chest or flank, she would lick her paw and wipe the cone as if cleaning her head and ears. She couldn't keep up with her extensive beauty regime and began to look incredibly scraggly. The other cats we had at the time tried to help, grooming her as best they could, but she still looked pretty rough. When the collar finally came off, she sat for literally 2 hours grooming herself ~ then proceeded to cough up the biggest hairball I have ever seen.
Abigail also had her own little health quirk ~ a heart murmur. The vet estimated that she would live to be about 6. When Tubby passed before her, Abigail was coming up on her 10th birthday. Six months after her sister-of-the-heart, Abigail also passed ~ of a lonely broken heart.
For the first time ever in my life, I was without a pet. We decided to be without for a while, first to let me mourn the loss of my babies, but then to just let our home settle. But having 2 kids who never knew life without pets, the nagging soon began, and we got the first of our current animals.
Sunday, July 31, 2011
Napmares?
Ever since I was a very young child I've had nightmares. I can actually remember some of them in vivid detail, as if they'd happened recently.
There was the one in which we were having a party and monsters were killing all the guests ~ as though it were a party game. There was the one where a neighbor girl was playing in the snow and something reached out of the drift next to her to rip her head off. One of the less gory but still creepy involved muppet-like specters drifting in through my bedroom window then down the hall and into my parents' room.
In January 2000, I was robbed at gunpoint while getting my then 3-year-old out of the car. Very few things are as terrifying as having a gun pointed at the child in your arms. Thankfully, the assailant got spooked when I subconsciously backed into the clearing of the parking lot where anyone driving by could see us and took off with nothing more than my purse. I thought he'd gotten nothing that couldn't be replaced. I was mistaken ~ as I soon realized that peace of mind does not accompany post-traumatic stress syndrome.
As part of PTSS, I suffered some of the most horrific, gory, blood-n-guts nightmares ~ and I dream in color. It was as if I were sitting in a theater watching a hack-em-up without any power to walk away. I saw bodies broken in half and stuffed into very small spaces, people blown up or disintegrated in barrels and bathtubs full of acid, adults hacked to pieces by little kids. Sometimes I was an active participant in the saga, others I was merely a spectator. But in all of them I was horrified.
Eventually, I ended up in therapy for PTSS and my nightmares. Therapy was actually very helpful. Unfortunately, I still suffer periods of nightmares, though the frequency and intensity have diminished over time. Unfortunately, also, I haven't quite figured out all of my triggers. Some of them are obvious ~ a scene in a movie or descriptive visualization in a book or conversation. But other times they come on without warning or obvious provocation.
Over the last year or so, I've had several nightmares involving my late grandmother. My grandmother and I didn't always have the best relationship, but at the time of her passing I believe we were very much at peace with each other ~ so to have nightmares with her confuses me. In one she was pregnant, furthering my confusion, but then most dreams don't make much sense in the waking hours. There was another one in which I was at a family shin-dig and seemed to be possessed my something that caused me to violently scream every time I saw my grandmother. In one scene I even apologized to her before whatever was inside of me took over, causing me to scream with such intensity that my body levitated from the floor.
I've been wicked tired lately ~ can't tell if it's just the craziness of my life or my chronic fatigue kicking into high gear ~ and I've been napping. Can a person have napmares? Or would they be called daymares? In any case, I had a freaky dream involving my grandmother while napping. I didn't even think I was sleeping deeply enough to dream. In the dream, I had just received word of grandma's passing. I walked into the bathroom of her house, where my mother and sister were sitting staring into a bathtub full of murky water. After respecting the silence for a moment or two, I asked if grandma was in the tub. Both my mother and sister said that they didn't know, but they continued to stare with sorrowful expression into the tub as if she were. Okaaaaaaaaaaaay....?
I love my grandmother, even though she is no longer with us. I am sure that she was on my mind because I was talking with a friend very recently about people who have passed and mentioned her. But why I only dream of her in frightening or creepy scenarios when I think of her kindly on a conscious level I don't pretend to understand. And why I dream at all while napping is also puzzlement.
There was the one in which we were having a party and monsters were killing all the guests ~ as though it were a party game. There was the one where a neighbor girl was playing in the snow and something reached out of the drift next to her to rip her head off. One of the less gory but still creepy involved muppet-like specters drifting in through my bedroom window then down the hall and into my parents' room.
In January 2000, I was robbed at gunpoint while getting my then 3-year-old out of the car. Very few things are as terrifying as having a gun pointed at the child in your arms. Thankfully, the assailant got spooked when I subconsciously backed into the clearing of the parking lot where anyone driving by could see us and took off with nothing more than my purse. I thought he'd gotten nothing that couldn't be replaced. I was mistaken ~ as I soon realized that peace of mind does not accompany post-traumatic stress syndrome.
As part of PTSS, I suffered some of the most horrific, gory, blood-n-guts nightmares ~ and I dream in color. It was as if I were sitting in a theater watching a hack-em-up without any power to walk away. I saw bodies broken in half and stuffed into very small spaces, people blown up or disintegrated in barrels and bathtubs full of acid, adults hacked to pieces by little kids. Sometimes I was an active participant in the saga, others I was merely a spectator. But in all of them I was horrified.
Eventually, I ended up in therapy for PTSS and my nightmares. Therapy was actually very helpful. Unfortunately, I still suffer periods of nightmares, though the frequency and intensity have diminished over time. Unfortunately, also, I haven't quite figured out all of my triggers. Some of them are obvious ~ a scene in a movie or descriptive visualization in a book or conversation. But other times they come on without warning or obvious provocation.
Over the last year or so, I've had several nightmares involving my late grandmother. My grandmother and I didn't always have the best relationship, but at the time of her passing I believe we were very much at peace with each other ~ so to have nightmares with her confuses me. In one she was pregnant, furthering my confusion, but then most dreams don't make much sense in the waking hours. There was another one in which I was at a family shin-dig and seemed to be possessed my something that caused me to violently scream every time I saw my grandmother. In one scene I even apologized to her before whatever was inside of me took over, causing me to scream with such intensity that my body levitated from the floor.
I've been wicked tired lately ~ can't tell if it's just the craziness of my life or my chronic fatigue kicking into high gear ~ and I've been napping. Can a person have napmares? Or would they be called daymares? In any case, I had a freaky dream involving my grandmother while napping. I didn't even think I was sleeping deeply enough to dream. In the dream, I had just received word of grandma's passing. I walked into the bathroom of her house, where my mother and sister were sitting staring into a bathtub full of murky water. After respecting the silence for a moment or two, I asked if grandma was in the tub. Both my mother and sister said that they didn't know, but they continued to stare with sorrowful expression into the tub as if she were. Okaaaaaaaaaaaay....?
I love my grandmother, even though she is no longer with us. I am sure that she was on my mind because I was talking with a friend very recently about people who have passed and mentioned her. But why I only dream of her in frightening or creepy scenarios when I think of her kindly on a conscious level I don't pretend to understand. And why I dream at all while napping is also puzzlement.
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Basic Instructions...
I truly believe I am in one of my happiest states of mind when I am in prison. I love my incarcerated sisters and miss them when I'm on the outside. Unfortunately, by the end of Aug they will be even further away.
I've had the opportunity to be in prison twice this past week. Sunday was the Kairos monthly reunion, and though attendance was WAY low, spirits were high. Wednesday I was blessed to return to this facility for the last time. The ladies were putting on a play, and for folks of limited means, they did a fantastic job! Think about it ~ your resources are slim pickin's in prison. But these ladies made a set, backdrops and costumes (some of which were downright hilarious.)
Basic Instructions Before Leaving Earth. Sound familiar? This play is about the life of Talia, a fictional character who had been dealt her share of low blows and questioned Christ's presence in her life. The story opens with a scene at a bus stop where Talia is trying to find her next fix, when she is assaulted and shot, crying out to Jesus as she falls. As unconscious Talia lies there, spirit Talia looks down in dismay and is greeted by the Jesus she called out for. Talia accuses Jesus of not being there for her as He had promised and abandoning her in her greatest needs throughout her life. Jesus then walks Talia through her life and shows her how He really was with her all long.
B.I.B.L.E. (the play) is an original work, written and directed by primary 3 residents ~ but they refuse to take full credit. Each scene was inspired by experiences in the real lives of other inmates, each scene one of many on the path that led them to incarceration. Of course, the free-world community that had been invited in didn't know this at first. We enjoyed the humor and wit with which the play had been written, knowing that these scenes are truth somewhere out there. But my heart broke with the realization that "somewhere" was much closer than I had realized.
Kudos to the ladies of Franklin Pre-Release Center for their wonderful talent and performance!! I love them all, and pray for their continual walk in His grace. They may not be free in this world, but He will see to it that they are free in eternity. I look forward to ministering to them again once the transition to the new facility is complete. Until then, my heart and prayers go with them. To my incarcerated Kairos sisters ~ God Bless!!
I've had the opportunity to be in prison twice this past week. Sunday was the Kairos monthly reunion, and though attendance was WAY low, spirits were high. Wednesday I was blessed to return to this facility for the last time. The ladies were putting on a play, and for folks of limited means, they did a fantastic job! Think about it ~ your resources are slim pickin's in prison. But these ladies made a set, backdrops and costumes (some of which were downright hilarious.)
Basic Instructions Before Leaving Earth. Sound familiar? This play is about the life of Talia, a fictional character who had been dealt her share of low blows and questioned Christ's presence in her life. The story opens with a scene at a bus stop where Talia is trying to find her next fix, when she is assaulted and shot, crying out to Jesus as she falls. As unconscious Talia lies there, spirit Talia looks down in dismay and is greeted by the Jesus she called out for. Talia accuses Jesus of not being there for her as He had promised and abandoning her in her greatest needs throughout her life. Jesus then walks Talia through her life and shows her how He really was with her all long.
B.I.B.L.E. (the play) is an original work, written and directed by primary 3 residents ~ but they refuse to take full credit. Each scene was inspired by experiences in the real lives of other inmates, each scene one of many on the path that led them to incarceration. Of course, the free-world community that had been invited in didn't know this at first. We enjoyed the humor and wit with which the play had been written, knowing that these scenes are truth somewhere out there. But my heart broke with the realization that "somewhere" was much closer than I had realized.
Kudos to the ladies of Franklin Pre-Release Center for their wonderful talent and performance!! I love them all, and pray for their continual walk in His grace. They may not be free in this world, but He will see to it that they are free in eternity. I look forward to ministering to them again once the transition to the new facility is complete. Until then, my heart and prayers go with them. To my incarcerated Kairos sisters ~ God Bless!!
Monday, July 18, 2011
A Weighty Subject
Since I was a teenager I have believed that I was born about 500 years too late. Not only do I love Renaissance music, but the art is fantastic. I absolutely love the models the great artists chose ~ real women. Round, voluptuous, chubby ~ call them what you will, they were real, healthy women. With perfect creamy pale porcelain skin they were the standard of beauty and desirability.
By stark contrast, today's seeming societal standard of beauty is exactly the opposite ~ scrawny, waif-like, hard-bodied and sun baked. During the Renaissance era this body type was turned away from, being the look of poverty, hard work in the blazing sun. The pale, round figure was much more desired being the symbol of wealth and lavish living.
Guess which category I fall into?
I have struggled with weight my entire life. Of 3 kids, I was the chubby one. Both my brother and sister were scrawny bean-poles growing up. And they were relentless at times about pointing out my distinction. I can't remember ever in my young or older adult life being a single-digit size. My one saving grace ~ weight distribution.
Though I have been a plus-size for a decent chunk of my life, most people claim they didn't see it. I see it every time I look in the mirror, try on a pair of jeans or swim suit, or need to be fitted for a bride's-maid dress. The women on my maternal side are all built the same ~ they carry their extra weight in their bellies and butts, with stick legs and arms, looking pregnant when they are not. God is so kind to spare me such a physique. I, thankfully, am built more like the women on my paternal side ~ a little more squared-off, though carrying some extra padding around the butt and thighs. Generally, I am a size smaller on the top half than on the bottom half, which is part of the reason why I buy nothing that is all one piece. (The other part is that I have a long torso, so either the waist doesn't fall where it should or I have a permanent wedgie.)
Anyone remember Get In Shape Girl!? I was probably one of their first customers. I had every kit they made ~ the book, the audio cassettes (yes, this program is that old), the hollow dumbbells that you added water or sand to in order to customize your program, the jump-rope, the ribbon-wand ~ I had and religiously used every one. And I was probably 10-years-old. The war on weight begins young for most girls. Is it any wonder so many of them end up with eating disorders?
And the war rages on. The weapons have changed over the years ~ cycling, Nordic Track, running, kick boxing, Latin dancing, Zumba, weight training, South Beach Diet, calorie counting ~ you name it, I've probably tried it. And at this writing I am still about 15lbs over weight and a size above where I was 18 months ago.
Yo-yoing is such a treat. I have bounced all over between a size 10 and 18. I will start to make some real progress, feel pumped about loosing a few pounds... and then I either get sick or hurt myself, fall of the wagon and choke on the dust as it blazes off without me. Catching up to it is hard enough, but getting back on is even harder, because by the time I get to it, it's doubled back to the starting line.
Despite it all, I am comfortable in my skin. There is certainly room for improvement, and frustration is always with me, but being chubby isn't all bad. My husband absolutely loves my body, just as it is. In fact, he gets upset if my hind-side looses roundness when I ever do loose weight. There are a great number of men out there, specifically within certain ethnic groups, that find the round, curvy female figure incredibly attractive. One woman told me that her son-in-law was concerned that her daughter was loosing too much weight after having a baby. Her daughter and I share a very similar build.
So take heart, all you who wage the weight war with me, and seek out men with (really) old fashioned standards.
By stark contrast, today's seeming societal standard of beauty is exactly the opposite ~ scrawny, waif-like, hard-bodied and sun baked. During the Renaissance era this body type was turned away from, being the look of poverty, hard work in the blazing sun. The pale, round figure was much more desired being the symbol of wealth and lavish living.
Guess which category I fall into?
I have struggled with weight my entire life. Of 3 kids, I was the chubby one. Both my brother and sister were scrawny bean-poles growing up. And they were relentless at times about pointing out my distinction. I can't remember ever in my young or older adult life being a single-digit size. My one saving grace ~ weight distribution.
Though I have been a plus-size for a decent chunk of my life, most people claim they didn't see it. I see it every time I look in the mirror, try on a pair of jeans or swim suit, or need to be fitted for a bride's-maid dress. The women on my maternal side are all built the same ~ they carry their extra weight in their bellies and butts, with stick legs and arms, looking pregnant when they are not. God is so kind to spare me such a physique. I, thankfully, am built more like the women on my paternal side ~ a little more squared-off, though carrying some extra padding around the butt and thighs. Generally, I am a size smaller on the top half than on the bottom half, which is part of the reason why I buy nothing that is all one piece. (The other part is that I have a long torso, so either the waist doesn't fall where it should or I have a permanent wedgie.)
Anyone remember Get In Shape Girl!? I was probably one of their first customers. I had every kit they made ~ the book, the audio cassettes (yes, this program is that old), the hollow dumbbells that you added water or sand to in order to customize your program, the jump-rope, the ribbon-wand ~ I had and religiously used every one. And I was probably 10-years-old. The war on weight begins young for most girls. Is it any wonder so many of them end up with eating disorders?
And the war rages on. The weapons have changed over the years ~ cycling, Nordic Track, running, kick boxing, Latin dancing, Zumba, weight training, South Beach Diet, calorie counting ~ you name it, I've probably tried it. And at this writing I am still about 15lbs over weight and a size above where I was 18 months ago.
Yo-yoing is such a treat. I have bounced all over between a size 10 and 18. I will start to make some real progress, feel pumped about loosing a few pounds... and then I either get sick or hurt myself, fall of the wagon and choke on the dust as it blazes off without me. Catching up to it is hard enough, but getting back on is even harder, because by the time I get to it, it's doubled back to the starting line.
Despite it all, I am comfortable in my skin. There is certainly room for improvement, and frustration is always with me, but being chubby isn't all bad. My husband absolutely loves my body, just as it is. In fact, he gets upset if my hind-side looses roundness when I ever do loose weight. There are a great number of men out there, specifically within certain ethnic groups, that find the round, curvy female figure incredibly attractive. One woman told me that her son-in-law was concerned that her daughter was loosing too much weight after having a baby. Her daughter and I share a very similar build.
So take heart, all you who wage the weight war with me, and seek out men with (really) old fashioned standards.
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