Author Archives: lifeonwry.com

When I grow up. Gratitude Experiment: Day 26

I want to be like my neighbor when I grow up. He lives across the street from me. He and his wife raised all of their children in that house.  Their kids now live in various states, with children of their own.  I think he is very close to 90 years old.

He yells ‘Hi neighbor!’ to me from across the street every time he sees me. He calls me by the wrong name sometimes but that just makes me smile all the more. I have never seen him unhappy.

I have to speak  loudly when we chat because he is very hard of hearing and has Meniere’s disease, an inner ear disorder that affects balance and hearing. Many afternoons you can see him jogging or riding his bike around our neighborhood. He tells me that he thinks if he just keeps active maybe he can jiggle things around enough up there in his head enough that it will work itself out.  He also just quit skiing black runs about four years ago. For real. (I’m doing good to ski blue runs.)

When we have big snows, he uses his snow blower to remove snow from our entire cul-de-sac’s sidewalks. And sometimes he does all of our driveways too (we live in a small cul-de-sac thank goodness).

He has a killer old red sports car that he drives every clear day.  I can hear its engine rumble as he zooms off each morning with his hat on that reminds me of the one Gilligan wore on Gilligan’s island.

On trash pickup days if I’m gone after the truck as come, he returns my trashcan to the back of my driveway for me.  And he does this for all of us. He also brings us all a jar of home-made jelly from his church sale during the holidays.

He has a compliment for me every single time I talk with him.  And he calls me when he needs to know how to do something on his computer, always ever so thankful for my help.

Today I am grateful that I get to live by this great guy who provides me with a wonderful example of how to live life. I hope I can be like him when I grow up.

Breakfast Club Flashback. Gratitude Experiment: Day 25

Today as I sat waiting in the high school parking lot to drop off my son’s tennis equipment before he left for a tennis match, I was transported to another world.  Actually back to my world back in high school.  And the world according to the Breakfast Club movie in 1985.

This movie has been hailed as one of the greatest high school films of all time, by John Hughes (God rest his fantastic movie making soul).  And the song – “Don’t You Forget About Me,” that instantly reminds my generation of scenes from the movie that have stayed with us since.

The movie follows  five students—Allison Reynold (Ally Sheedy),  Andrew Clark (Emilio Estevez), John Bender (Judd Nelson), Brian Johnson (my favorite Anthony Michael Hall),  and Claire Standish (Molly Ringwald) as they surprisingly find common ground with each other throughout a single day of detention on a Saturday.  Each student represented a different clique or stereotype within the school.  If you haven’t seen it, rent it.

Watching the disbursement of high schoolers on a Friday after school took me right there. I watched each stereotype pass the front of my car. During a phase when I am feeling a little old and thinking things are so very different, I suddenly realized things really didn’t seem that different. Had nothing really changed except for the fact that they each had a cell phone and ATM card in their pocket?

The ‘Jock’s (although in this case both male and female) were gathered on the sidewalk high-fiveing each other.  The ‘punk’ hard edge type kids were all walking alone with a jolted gate, looking very guarded. I even saw one bump into a jock, then the jock got upset and held his hands out just like in the movies (if only he had been wearing a letter jacket), then the punker extended his hand and they shook hands and did a “bro” hug.  I should have been filming as it was stereotypical perfection.

Then I also watched as the many ‘princesses’ dialed for their rides exhaustedly while flipping their hair in frustration and simultaneously watching peripherally to see who was checking them out.  Then came the ‘brainiacs’/nerds as I watched them attempt to talk to the cute girl jocks while the huge guy jocks with gelled hair stood to the side fanning their feathers.  They didn’t stand a chance but I was rooting for them.  And I sadly watched a ‘misfit’ walk out to her car alone.

Maybe they will all be in detention together one day and bond over their similarities, but I doubt it.  More likely, they will all find themselves in different cubicles of the same corporate world and bond over the lack of sunlight.  Sorry, that was dark.

Today I am just grateful that the world isn’t really racing ahead as fast as I thought.  And that makes me happy.

Global positioning gratitude. Gratitude Experiment: Day 24

The other day my son asked me how people used to get around before Global Positioning Systems, or GPS.  I’ve gotten so accustomed to relying on a GPS to help me find my way, I actually had to think about it for a while.

I told him that  for years we used to look a lot of things up on MapQuest and print out directions to take with us before we left .  And before that, we made sure the car was stocked with maps of whatever state we were crossing or city we were in. I remember driving across the country for two days with at thick  notebook of maps for each state we crossed.  And I’m pretty sure we padded a lot more time into car trips in case we got lost.

Just the other day I found a stack of car maps in my garage and couldn’t figure out what to do with them.  I didn’t have the heart to throw them away.  I’m sure there’s some kind of craft project I could do with them, if I was crafty.  Wallpaper the dining room with them?  That could be cool.  And come to think of it, should maps be saved in case there is an Apocalypse and we lose power to map by computer?  Something to think about.  Clearly, we take computerized mapping for granted.

All who know me realize that calling me geographically challenged is an understatement, so I am especially reliant upon my GPS.  One of my dear friends who I have known since second grade is equally challenged in this area.  Back in college, we were known to entirely miss highway exits and end up an hour out of the way — sometimes in the wrong state — before we realized.  We went off of memory for some road trips, and that was a dangerous prospect when the two of us were in a car together. Did I really just admit that?  Yes.

I used to call another dear old friend my “Geographical Yoda” because if I was lost  anywhere in my home town, I could call her and she could direct me by phone.  She was my OnStar before OnStar existed.  And I didn’t even drive a Cadillac.

I think of the generations who have never known mapping any other way and I am glad that I can read an old fashioned map (for the most part).  But today I am ever so grateful for my GPS.

A Bittersweet Solstice Approaches. Gratitude Experiment: Day 23

Bittersweet defined is a combination of both bitter and sweet – a feeling that is both happy and sad at the same time. This familiar emotion finds its way back to me each year, just as the first signs of Autumn find their way back to us all.

It’s my favorite time of year and always has been, flooding me with memories of autumns past.  The smells of damp leaves and firewood, the crisp air that fills my lungs, the glorious colors that open my eyes to nature each year, and the sound of fallen leaves underfoot.  My very favorite season.

The approaching September equinox called out to me today, as it does each year when the summer’s curtain draws to a close.  Letting me know that fall is approaching and the time for winter is near. It’s sad to see the summer end, but also sweet to see the cycle complete.

There are two equinoxes every year – one in September and one in March.  When the length of day and night is almost exactly equal all over the world, with seasons opposite on either side of the equator.

Derived from Latin, the word equinox means “equal night.” I explained this to my kids as I drove each one to school this morning, and as I do each year when the sun on the horizon nearly blinds me as if to awaken me from a summer’s sleep.

The autumn equinox happens each year, the moment the sun crosses the equator, always on September 22nd, 23rd or 24th. On any other day throughout the year, our planet tilts away or toward the sun.  But not on each equinox, when the sun shines more directly upon us than any other days of the year, as if to remind us of our smallness in the universe.

Thirteen years ago on September 22nd, just before the autumnal equinox, my sister crossed over and left this world, just as the sun crosses over the equator.  The sun was blinding her way that day, or maybe calling her toward it. It was also my mother’s birthday.

I’m really not sure what God and the universe had in mind that day, but I’m determined not to let it zap the gratitude out of me as I gear up for this month’s memories, filled each year with emotions, both happy and sad.

When I see the sun each morning so boldly reminding us of its presence near the horizon, I know it is a bittersweet reminder for me to plant the seeds of both appreciation and caution for all that is. Today I am grateful for the sun and all that she reminds me to be thankful for.

Observations from the trail. Gratitude Experiment: Day 22

Almost every morning for this last month, I’ve had every intention of quickly throwing on some shoes, putting leashes on the dogs and getting out there to walk on the many trails in the beautiful open state park right by my house. I would be crazy not to.

But  my self talk hasn’t been convincing enough.  When it comes to regular exercise, I seem to go all-out or not so much out-at-all.  And lately it’s been more the latter.  I am determined to become more consistent. And I’m saying this so that someone out there might hold me accountable.

However yesterday I took advantage of a beautiful (although hot) day and took  a long hike. My pups were ecstatic to have the opportunity to sniff smells other than the routine scents of my neighborhood streets. My husband, who participates in 75-mile bike rides without breaking a sweat, was pleasantly surprised that his less that athletic wife wanted to take a longer walk than our usual easy neighborhood loop.

On our walk I made some observations from the trail.

I should note here that in shared trail situations I am borderline overly polite and will always try to make room for someone  approaching  from behind or in front of me.  I will also at least make an attempt to say hello or acknowledge with a nod. This is not the case with everyone and I find it fascinating to observe.

My sometimes cynical but realistic husband says this quite possibly puts me at a disadvantage in the larger world scheme of things where it’s every man for himself.   This, and not having a duplicitous bone in my body.  But at any rate, I’m not changing my ways anytime soon.  (And I like to think this helps cancel out my negative karma from occasional minor road rage flare ups.)

First noticed were the the friendly, comfortable in their skin, outgoing walkers.  I’ve decided these are mostly women (usually in pairs) or older men who are usually walking with a friend and/or dog.  They’re walking at a good clip, but they aren’t so hard core that they can’t look up and say hello as you pass by.  They make room for others as I do.

Then there are the dog walkers. They are also usually friendly and mostly women. Not uncommon are comments on how cute my scruffy dogs are.  They definitely make room for passing on the trail. Until, that is, my one less than social dog begins to panic at the sight of another dog and they speed up with a concerned look as if Cujo, our 24 pound adopted mix with a partial set of teeth,  is coming to eat their dog.  (We have tried for years to make him more comfortable around other dogs to no avail.)

Next are the runners, usually in pairs.  They don’t talk much and usually have earphones in place.  They pretend like they are going to make room for others on the trail but they really have no intention of doing so.  Because if you are only walking, you really don’t deserve any special effort on their part.

The casual bikers are usually biking families that almost always have a child lagging far behind and they are trying to seem patient about it and not lose their cool because people are watching.  They have good intentions of making room on the trail, but their circus train of bikes prevent it.  They are just happy to make it past us.

The semi serious bikers are next.  They are usually by themselves and always very courteous to alert you when they are approaching with “on your left.”  Sometimes they even nod a hello.

Next we have the hard core speed bikers who race up behind us one at a time with their fancy bike race shirts and helmets.  They will most likely only graze one of your legs after approaching without a warning or a peep. And certainly without losing any speed on your behalf.

And my favorite part of the trails is the expansive underground network of prairie dogs with their intricate alarm procedures.  As our trail approaches each mound, a prairie dog scout sounds the alarm for all those nearby.  The high pitched chirping signals the little guy at the next mound.  He then dips down right as the trail gets close and immediately the prairie dog at the next mound sounds his chirping alarm.  This cycle repeats for long stretches and kind of makes me wonder what it would be like to be a prairie dog.

In the end, I am embarrassed to admit that I am a little sore the next day from our long, hot walk.  But I am glad that I am physically able to get out and take a walk, for this alone is a luxury for some.  And also that I have such a beautiful trail system at my disposal, speed bikers and all.  For these things, I am grateful.

Dr. Jeckyll and Mr. Snide. Gratitude Experiment: Day 21

I knew in the back of my mind that it would probably have to happen at some point. But I was hoping just maybe I would get lucky and it might never happen to this one. But it has.

My youngest, my baby, my clone (poor guy) is becoming a rather sassy teenager. He’s still his kind and helpful self about 70 percent of the time.  But his new sassy self, the one disgusted by the ridiculousness of anything that I ask or suggest, is in session the other 30 percent of the time these days.  It’s during these times that his voice is a little sharper, his patience a little thinner, and his door is more often closed than not. His dry wit in both versions continues to impress me.

I am still in denial that this is even happening to my youngest offspring.  My logical self knows it isn’t personal. And knows that its part of the deal and this too shall pass.  But my illogical, more emotion-driven self is somewhat devastated half the time, wishing I could turn back the clock for a while.

The rest of the time I am able to maintain perspective and crack the respect whip with a facial expression that my boys say is frightening and hilarious at the same time.  Apparently my eyes squint with a spooky stare and my mouth turns into a version of our Shih Tzu mix pound dog’s under bite (but with a full set of teeth). I use this technique when I glare at them and wait for behavior correction or an apology.  I think they choke back their laughter and compare notes afterwards.

Luckily that majority — the stuff that makes him who he is — is priceless and makes me beam with pride. So for now I’m going to focus on being ever so grateful for his sharp-witted, perceptive and compassionate self that reappears when I’m least expecting it.  That way I can soak in every bit of it during the years left before he flies the coop.

Debbie Downer or Reflective Rhonda? Gratitude Experiment: Day 20

My niece and I, as well as a few close friends of mine, often joke that we are a little too dark and twisted for most regular crowds.  So we have to be careful and somewhat regulated, depending on the crowd.  (Usually we are already around fellow dark and twisteds who we have selectively chosen to be around, so this is only in certain situations.)

Because I have lived through the deaths and sicknesses of various friends and loved ones, I have become quite comfortable with death and dying.   Yes, I said it.  Death. Death. Death.  It freaks a lot of people out. And Alzheimer’s.  Alzheimer’s, Alzheimer’s. NOT pronounced Oldtimers or Altzheimer’s for God’s sake.  No really, some actually pronounce it that way without the blink of an eye. I kid you not.

Given the choice, I’d rather be comfortable enough to talk about death and honor loved ones on a regular basis than the alternative.   Life would be damn boring and superficial otherwise.  And I really don’t think I’d be able to readily appreciate so much of life if I didn’t have first hand experience of how short it can be.  And remind myself often.

But I’ve learned that the majority of people don’t like to think that much about complicated things, especially death.  And I don’t blame them sometimes.

However, my kindred spirits and I all joke that we know the best way to end the festive vibe at a dinner party or bar scene gathering if we want to.  Sometimes conversations naturally can lead to questions about siblings or mothers or fathers. (Where do your folks live? How old are they? How many siblings do you have?  Are you close with your siblings?) It’s at that moment we have to decide whether to dodge that bullet or grab it honestly.

If we choose the latter, in comes awkward silence……..  Then often the subject changes more quickly than you can imagine.  The mood sometimes shifts to a strange awkwardness and if not revived properly by a party trick or something, this can throw a wrench into the social mechanics of an evening. Luckily I have many good party tricks.

But it’s really kind of sad.  Why does this have to instantly make someone a Debbie Downer (or Donald Downer)?  Thank goodness it doesn’t always, but it depends on the crowd.

I know there is a time and a place. But more often than not, I avoid the subjects unless I know who I am dealing with.  Seems a little unfair really and puts a little knot in my stomach. People get to talk about their shopping trips and manicures with their moms, or even bitch about their parents or siblings.  And rarely can I talk about my sister or mom without bringing the room down a notch.  And frankly, it’s on days like that when even walking by the sister card section in Hallmark just plain pisses me off.

Why as a society are we so uncomfortable with death and dying?  It’s part of the process.

I think many people feel that there is a certain time span after someone loses a loved one, and then they are over it.  Or maybe people just forget.  But the truth is that the grieving process has no magical end. It ebbs and flows and may change, but it never ends.  And thank goodness for that, for this is partly how we honor those we have lost and keep them with us.  By remembering them for what they gave us and the world during their time with us.

So if you know someone who has lost a loved one, ask them about that person sometime.  It certainly doesn’t have to be in the middle of a party Debbie Downer style, but it doesn’t have to be taboo either. And it’s actually a wonderful thing that a friend can do for another.  Examples you could ask:  What were they like?  Tell me what you remember most about them?  Were you close?  Can you tell me what happened?  What do you miss most about them?

Myself, I am no Debbie Downer. Not in the least.  And for those who might think so, it’s best I know upfront before any time is wasted getting to know each other. Life is too short to be around people who do anything but make you feel good.  That’s one of the best lessons I have ever learned.

I see myself as more of a Real and Reflective Rhonda and I know it helps people.  I’ve seen its magic.  Perhaps that’s why so many strangers tell me their life story.  This warms my heart.   And for that I am grateful.

Wrapped up like a douche. Finally settled. Gratitude Experiment: Day 19

I rarely remember my dreams when I wake up from a night’s sleep, even though I’ve tried many tricks to aid my recall. I do, however, often wake up with songs in my head and almost always with a distinct memory attached to them. I always wonder if the song has something to do with what I was dreaming about.  And for some reason, the songs are almost always from the mid to late 1970s.

The music in my head when I woke up today was “Blinded by the Light” from 1977.  This song instantly places me in the upstairs of my childhood house where I lived from first through eighth grades. My older sister’s room was directly across the hall from mine. She was six years older and I felt lucky to be able to soak in some of her coolness when she allowed it. My friends were envious.  She would play music on her fancy stereo and teach me dance moves as we spinned and shimmied from her room to mine and back.   Then later I would teach my friends the dance moves because they were from my cool older sister.

She taught me all the Saturday Night Fever disco moves to the Bee Gee songs that she learned at Skilley’s Dance Studio.  We danced to S-A-T-U-R-D-A-Y — NIGHT!  She even bought that one for me on a 45 for my little blue plastic record player with the little thing in the middle that held the record in.   And when she played the ‘Blinded by the Light’ song, I would always try to sing along. I remember she gave me a hard time because I thought they were singing “wrapped up like a douche … another runner in the night.”  She explained to me how that was a word related to feminine hygiene and not something to be singing about.  Maybe she told me what word she thought they were really singing, I can’t remember.  But that sticks with me every time I hear that song and I’ve never figured it out.

So, when I woke up this morning the first thing I said to my husband was, “If they weren’t saying wrapped up like a douche in that “Blinded by the Night” song, what were they actually saying?”  Without pause, he just shrugged because it was early and he already knew his wife was crazy.  He offered up the word deuce as a possibility and shrugged again.  I quickly Googled it on my phone as my day began. I had to know.

It’s interesting that certain phases of my life I can more vividly remember than others.  And how certain songs put me in the Star Trek transporter and beam me right to that childhood house.   (We watched every Star Trek episode there – my sister was sort of a Trekkie.)

I can see our yellow painted, glass top kitchen table against our yellow and brown lattice design linoleum (which matched all of the Harvest Gold appliances and even our counter tops).  And hear the screeching sound the kitchen drawers made as they were opened, and my mom’s voice calling me from the bottom of the stairs, usually without my middle name which was saved for serious exceptions.

I can remember the rough texture of my pink and white sear-sucker bedspread with eyelet trim.  And see the tire swing on the tree outside my room’s window that I concocted from a tire I found in the woods.  My mom always thought that was industrious of me and I think that’s why she allowed it to remain even though it was visible from the street.  And how my mom’s room always reminded me of Mentholatum because she kept a huge green jar of it by her bedside and must have used a lot of it.

And the music, oh the music.  Billy Joel, Barry Manilow, Dust in the Wind by Kansas, and the Bee Gees’s Tragedy song that became our sarcastic theme song whenever we were jokingly giving sympathy to each other.  (My kids are very familiar with this and hate it when I sing our joking version, which makes me sing it more.)

So… the truth is finally revealed (to me anyway).  It turns out that ‘Blinded by the Light’  is a song that has some of the most commonly misunderstood lyrics of all time (I wasn’t alone).  It was written and recorded by Bruce Springsteen in 1973.  But Manford Mann’s Earth Band modified the chorus before covering it in 1976, when it became a huge hit.

The newer version of the chorus changed Springsteen’s “cut loose like a deuce” to “revved up like a deuce.”  And as Wikipedia explained, this phrase was commonly misheard as “wrapped up like a douche” because of the lead singer’s New Zealand accent.  And if you were wondering what deuce was referring to in the first place like I was, it turns out to be  ’60s slang for a 1932 Ford, a “deuce coupe,” which explains why it can be revved up and run.

So there you have it.  Mystery solved.  For that I am grateful.

excerpt of lyrics:

Some silicone sister with a manager mister told me I got what it takes
She said “I’ll turn you on sonny to something strong,
play the song with the funky break”
And go-cart Mozart was checkin’ out the weather chart to see if it was safe outside
And little Early-Pearly came by in his curly-wurly and asked me if I needed a ride
Asked me if I needed a ride
But she was…
Blinded by the light,
revved up like a deuce,
another runner in the night
Blinded by the light ………..

Gratitude – the Linchpin to our Reality? Gratitude Experiment Day 18

I can honestly say that after doing this gratitude experiment for 18 days straight, my attitude is definitely different than before I started. I thought about this in the shower today.  (Actually that’s where most of my blog entry ideas start.)  I’m by no means some kind of transformed person all of a sudden.  But I can tell you that being grateful is enabling me to more effortlessly start with a positive reaction to things instead of jumping to a negative.  As a result, my clients have been easier to deal with, my family and life in general.

Don’t worry, a) I’m not going to give you any more detail about my personal hygiene and b) I’m not going to get all metaphysical on you.  However,  I’m going to go out on a limb here and give you some background as to how this works – how gratitude can affect you and the universe around you, through the law of attraction. Feel free to log out now if the new-ageness of this all sounds too ‘out there.’  But I challenge you to bear with me.

This concept really isn’t new at all.  And trust me, Oprah and The Secret did not discover this idea.  The law of attraction dates back to the early 1900s and has been studied by hundreds of scientists since.  Many books have been written about it and it is at the core of many other self-help concepts though often disguised by different buzzwords.

It boils down to this:  the belief that “like attracts like” and by focusing on positive thoughts (such as gratitude), you attract positive in your life.  Transversely, if you focus on negative thoughts (what you don’t have, what you want to change, what bugs you), you attract negative.  There is much more to it, but that’s it in a nutshell.  You can look at this (as many do) and say that it is easily explained by the theory that positive thinking makes you more motivated, more aware and thus more open to opportunities that present themselves.  Either way you look at it, positive results are still the outcome, so why fight it.

The concept is based on the belief that you are the creator of your reality.  As such, you are also the creator of what you think your limitations are (even though most of the time these are driven by outside influences, and often from parents who didn’t realize they were doing it).

For example, my mom used to joke that I was not good at math (not as mean as it sounds; thank goodness I rocked at Language Arts – or English as it was called before the world of political correctness). I remember this all the way back to fourth grade and it stuck with me.  And guess what I joke about all the time with people when I get stumped without a calculator?  I usually say “Sorry, I’m a Journalism major, we don’t do math.”  That always gets a chuckle, but what if I hadn’t been somewhat programmed to believe that?  I probably would not be a mathematician, that’s for sure.  But I bet I would have put more effort toward learning math related concepts for the many school years that followed.

As another example, let’s say I’m in a grumpy mood and focusing on something that really annoys me as I am opening an email from a client.  Do you think there might be a chance that my mindset could more easily allow me read into the short wording of our back and forth emails on a project and take them the wrong way?  You bet.  But if I am in a positive place (which is automatic if you are staying aware of your thoughts and focusing on gratitude), positive results will most likely ensue.

The absolute best documented and most famous example of the law of attraction is the placebo effect, commonly used in medication trials. Even in expertly designed double-blinded studies, more positive results are almost always documented from patients who expect something positive to happen compared to the ones who didn’t.

Oh, and have you ever heard someone say that they have the worst luck ever?  I cringe when I hear it even though I used to say it.  Sometimes you’ll hear someone list all the bad things that have happened to them related to their car or their work, etc.  And it really does seem like one thing after another happens to them on the same day or in the same month.  That is the perfect example of focusing on the negative and producing more negative results.  Kind of like a self-fulfilling prophecy.  Trust me, I’ve done it.

So how does gratitude fit into all of this?  Simply put, being thankful for what you have gets you to the place of willingness to let new things come into your life (instead of Jedi-mind tricking yourself out of things with negative thoughts). Thus, gratitude helps you feel positive so you can attract more positive. (Translation: If you have a fender bender, you focus on not being hurt or worse, rather than the damage to your car or the stupidity or lack of insurance of the other driver.)

There is much more to it (visualization, asking the Universe for what you want vs what you don’t want, etc.).  Motivational speakers like Wayne Dyer swear by it (and have made millions discussing it).   One of my favorite books of all time is The Power of Intention which helped shift my thinking several years ago at a time when I really needed a shift in mindset.  (I contributed to Wayne’s millions and have bought this book for many people.  Tip:  all of his other books are just a different spin on this same concept).

So however you want to look at it, it’s certainly worth thinking about.  It works.

So, as cheesy and sentimental as it sounds, today I am grateful for gratitude, an open mind and the world of positive outcomes that are possible.

It Takes a Village. Gratitude Experiment: Day 17

Today I am grateful for all the support, follows and likes from so many wonderful people out there in this blogging universe.

I’m liking the blog world and discovering more about it each day.  It’s a great way to make connections on a new level.

The fact that I made a “public” proclamation of 100 days of gratitude blogging was genius.  I owe it to my subconscious mind which is much more upfront about what a procrastinator I am than my conscious self.  Because of this, I have to do it. No excuses. Love that.

Some days of blogging are harder than others and some days it all flows more easily, but all are enjoyable and more therapeutic than I would have ever imagined.

Thank you for reading and following!

Not forgotten. Gratitude Experiment: Day 16

I raced to get home after grocery shopping this morning to arrive before my step dad dropped off my Mom.   This is part of our routine.  He drops my mom off on the way to his weekly doctor appointment and I watch her for a while.   My mom has Alzheimer’s and is only 71.

Mentally, I have to gear up for visits with my mom, even though it has gotten easier since they’ve lived nearby for the last year and a half.   I used to be mentally drained for at least a day or so after every visit.  Sometimes it still really takes it out of me to see her this way while knowing that there is much worse to come.  But as I have worked through my grieving process for my old mom, I have learned to try to find a bit of  joy in our moments together as I search for her old self within her.  I like to think maybe my real mom is in there and it will just take me doing or saying just the right thing to get a piece of her back, even if just for a minute.

I looked out the door as she was getting out of the minivan. He usually lets her come up the sidewalk by herself .  Thank God she had her teeth in — my stomach sank at first when I couldn’t tell. Any casual observer would  think nothing of this.  Until she gets to my door.  She reaches for the door, then she stops and stares at me blankly.  Then today, in response to my hello, she said “hi” in her familiar mom tone.  (Hearing her old voice at the beginning of a conversation used to make me think maybe I just dreamed this whole thing.) At any rate, this was much better than her usual shoulder shrug.  I breathed a sigh of content.

As I walked her into the kitchen, the family history notebook she put together years ago was on the counter.  Secretly I was hoping she would recognize it. Maybe it could be the spark for today?  She spent a few years compiling it about 20 years ago and it is ever so thorough, with ancestry charts, old letters my grandfather sent home from WWII, newspaper articles, birth announcements and the like.

I point to it and explain to her that it’s the family history book that she put together years ago.  I told her how helpful it was for my youngest son’s school project last night.  She looked at me puzzled and said, “I did?”  I pointed out photos of her parents and her sister and she gave me a look that was both puzzled and blank at the same time. But I wasn’t giving up.

I motioned for her to sit down as I helped her understand the chair.  I let her thumb through some pages on her own. Maybe the pages would feel familiar?  I showed her the  photos of all of the houses her parents had lived in.  Photos have worked a little before. I narrated as I walked her though the book .  She was more intent than I have seen her in months.  I told her that I would be right back and I ran upstairs to answer a quick email for work.  I do this occasionally with ears perked in case she opens the front door in search of my step dad.  She is always looking for him when she is at my house, as though she thinks he’s in the house or just outside. She is much more at ease when he is at her side, which warms my heart like an old love story.

I started getting anxious and quickly jogged down the stairs, worried that I had taken too long.  To my surprise, I found her still sitting in same spot very intently thumbing through each page over and over and back and forth.  She looked content and engaged.

When my step dad arrived to pick her up she pointed at the picture of herself in a newspaper article when she was one of the beauty queens at her college.  She told him “That’s me” and smiled her cute little smile.

My heart sang.

On the second page of this 200 page family history notebook of my mother’s ancestry, it reads:

“I wish I had been more interested in what my parents told me about their families and early years.  I put this history together in the hopes that the knowledge and memories I have would not be forgotten.”

And for this I am grateful.

36 Windows Open and Counting. Confessions from an Extreme Multitasker. Gratitude Experiment: Day 15.

This is a definite trend with me.  Taking multitasking to an almost dangerous level.  It gives me some kind of adrenaline rush I think.  Maybe I should be worried?

I just counted and I have 36 windows open on my computer right now.  At least nine pertaining to work including several Word docs and Adobe PDF files, plus a few blogs that I follow, Amazon and Steve Madden shopping carts open with things I am on the fence about,  and several emails that I don’t want to forget to act on –  about work projects, writing, kid school stuff, kid sports stuff, you name it.  Oh, and I’ve got a painting behind me that I’m working on every time I walk by it.

My family has a feeling this is what the inside of my brain looks like.  And it frightens them. My husband jokes that he will never have memory issues as long as he’s married to me because I change topics so much it keeps him on his toes.  And my boys love to make fun of me for the random unrelated comments I make all the time, out of nowhere.  I’m so very glad that I give them such great material to work with on a daily basis.  I should charge them for it.

Any friend of mine will tell you that every time they walk in my house the furniture is rearranged or a different wall is painted or the chairs are recovered.  Something will be different.  They’re probably checking to see if I switched my kids out for ones who like me more. Maybe it’s a condition, keeping things moving and changing and happening. I’m not sure but it would make great fodder for reality television.  “Brain Seize. Extreme Multi-tasking” — new this fall on TLC.

Speaking of extreme, I’ve also been known to take my multitasking feats to extreme levels.  Many will tell you (as they choke back their laughter) that I’m not the most graceful person and especially when I’m multitasking. I’ve been known to trip and fall and bruise myself  regularly.  Usually it happens when I am watering the plants, talking on the phone, jotting a note down and checking my email on my phone or something — all at the same time while balancing with one foot on a step stool.  This must be inherited because my sister was the exact same way.  My dad tells me I just like to get things done fast.  He also regularly tells me that I need to slow down.

And as a true stacker type personality (if you are one you hear me), I must have these things visible – windows, files, papers, notes, husband, kids, you name it.  Things on most days are orderly at some level and grouped by category, but they’ve got to be out where I can see them.

The average person would find either of my desktops – physical or computer – enough to drive them mad.  And being around me when I’m on a multi-tasking high just plain exhausting.

So today I am grateful that my computer hasn’t shut down on me.  And my family hasn’t locked me up.

Iron Stomach Part 352. Gratitude Experiment Continues: Day 14

I’m convinced that my dog Piper has opposable thumbs which are retractable and only come out when we aren’t looking. Wolverine style. We’ve joked for a while about how she is a monkey dog, but I’m starting to think there may be something to it.

She’s a 25 pound crazy looking red mini golden doodle who is only 19″ tall, but her legs are quite long. And she can pull things off the counter from quite far back using a cupping technique with her paw. For real. And clearly, her grip is quite good.  I’m thinking she’s going to borrow my car one of these days.

On a regular basis I find remnants of her ‘counter surfing’ (which apparently this breed is known for) under our dining room table or in the backyard in a certain spot – her trophy areas. Tupperware lids, cottage cheese containers, butter tubs, packages from full bags of bread or bagels, cream cheese – you name it.   She’s even gotten plates off the counter and they’ve survived thanks to our kitchen rug. All I have to do is walk away from the kitchen counter for an instant and she goes in for the kill. She does this so stealthily that I usually think I’ve put whatever it is away already in the fridge or pantry. (I’m going to refrain from making an Alzheimer’s joke here since it ain’t no joke in this house.)

Last night I accidentally left the Cambozola cheese wedge (good size) in it’s wrapper on the counter after cutting a bit of it off to set out with crackers and grapes. Again, she came in so fast after I turned away that I didn’t think about it. Plus I knew I had pushed it almost to the back of the counter. So when it wasn’t on the counter when I returned five minutes later I figured someone had put it away.  Nope.

Before bed last night we found the complete empty Cambozola cheese wrapper (as well as a full size TRAY someone used to eat dessert on- not sure how she pulled that one off) under the dining room table.  Note: this cheese is a triple cream blue-veined cheese. And she ate a lot of it. A recipe for a gnarly dog mess for most dogs.

I heard a couple screams from the kids before bedtime when they caught a whiff of her breath. One son even offered to bathe her, it was that bad. It was ugly.  But amazingly, she never got sick.  We know from experience when she ate a full tub of mink oil shoe conditioner that she has an iron stomach. (That episode involved a very expensive vet call.)

And this time was no exception.  For this, we are grateful.

Luv-it jeans and dirty laundry. Gratitude Experiment: Day 13

I count myself as one of the lucky few to have so many friendships that date back to my Luv-it jeans days.  In 3rd through 5th grades I think I had a pair with roller skates and pair with the word “Disco” on them.  And friends from my junior high days when I wore guess jeans with zippers on the ankles, and high school friends who have proof of my insanely over sized bangs and blue eye shadow.  And college friends who remember my sound effect party tricks and hand sewn wrap skirts, and friends from my early work days when I wore purple power suits and panty hose (see earlier post).

These are people who know my darkest sides, my dirtiest of laundry, and still love me.  They’ve seen me do and say some stupid things and they’ve forgiven me.  And they call me on the carpet when it’s needed.

I can call on them in my darkest or brightest hours and they are there to support me or slap me out of it.  Sometimes they even call right when I need them to, using their old friend telepathic powers.  And when they need me to do the same, I am honored to be there for them, in sickness and in health.

They believe in me more than I believe in myself sometimes.  They can snap me out of any funk.  And cheer me on to do things greater than I could have imagined on my own.

For these old pals I am forever grateful.