On Spy Novel Material and Saving the World…

With everything we need to get done through holidays and before the end of the year, it’s easy to lose perspective, isn’t it? We lose ourselves in task lists and often unrealistic expectations of being able to check everything off… on our own terms. Sometimes we get so wrapped up in that that we forget about the big picture; regardless of your personal faith, most people (yes, save a few) become much more tolerant and personable this time of year, if you let the feeling of the season get past the mental anxieties.

The past 2 years have personally provided me with tremendous growth in more ways than I can even share. Without going into a whole monologue about that in itself, let’s just say that through business challenges, personal challenges, and spiritual contemplation, I’ve really found myself. I not only feel my heartbeat and that of the world around me, but now I know that both are connected.

However, I’m still working on ways to change habits that I’ve developed over my lifetime – too much to do, too little time! In all the hustle and bustle – and panic – I’ve had over the past several weeks, I think the Universe decided to give me a good slap in the face, so I’d shake myself out of it, and remember to look around me!

There were two items I came across in the news that startled, irritated, and honestly disgusted me. I came across both in a purely coincidental manner, as a byproduct of research I was doing for completely unrelated topics. As they both “stuck” with me, I’ve reflected on them, and decided they both provided very strong messages:

Lesson 1 : Don’t Always Write Off Conspiracy Theories as a Joke, and Don’t Always Think the Media is Telling the Truth
The other night, I came across a story on the news that was about investigative reporters who in the ’90s had been assigned by FOX News to uncover the dirty secrets about BST in milk (remember, the growth hormone that many dairy producers were injecting into their cattle to increase milk production?). The whole story was told by the three reporters, and about how much they did uncover to basically blow the whistle on the company that provided the product, along with the FDA. In this piece (the one I was watching), they talked about what they did uncover – and it was fairly extensive. Again, without going into a lot of detail, basically the company and the FDA persuaded FOX News to make sure that story never made it on the air. The 3 reporters didn’t care; they felt like it was their integrity on the line to get the story out, but in the end, they were strong-armed out of it… leading to one of the reporters to sue the TV network for forcing her to misrepresent the information. Here’s a surprise: she lost. The explanation of the verdict? I can’t remember the exact language, but basically, it said that it’s up to the network to decide what to broadcast… regardless of whether it’s fact or fiction.

And we think propaganda and media lies are simply from countries where the citizens don’t enjoy the freedoms we do? Remember, (in many cases) we also have the freedom to lie – and so does our media.

Now, being in marketing and communications for 20+ years (in fact, at one point when I was younger, I did want to become a broadcast journalist), you’d think that seeing stuff like that doesn’t surprise me anymore. But it does – because it’s just a wake-up call to be skeptical, and always ask questions, regardless of whether (actually, I guess especially if) it comes from a supposedly “trusted source.” What spoke to me personally in that story is that back in the ’90s, as much of a skeptic as I am, I drank the Kool-Aid on BST. I worked for a huge multinational company, and managed product marketing for a cattle feed supplement that provided dairy cattle with the additional energy they needed when injected with BST… so they wouldn’t waste away to nothing while producing all that extra milk. I had scientists and vets tell me it was OK (of course, they drank the Kool-Aid, too), the BST was harmless, and it wouldn’t have any effect on people… yadda, yadda, yadda. Little did they know!

The lesson: ALWAYS ASK QUESTIONS (which is something I’ve taught my children from an early age)!

Moving on…

Lesson 2: It’s Not Groups, Organizations, or Governments That Do Unthinkable Things To Others – It’s People (and It’s Important, Even if They’re Not in Our Neighborhood)
This one was really painful. In fact, I honestly wanted to throw up for a few minutes after I read this – and I wouldn’t even fathom watching the video accompanying the story. I came across it completely by accident – in fact, I was doing some online research for a client in the holistic health community. I’m still reeling.

Backstory: I recently read a series of books my teen daughter was reading (the Alex Rider series); one of the books included a story that talked about Asian mafias that kidnapped people, imprisoned them, and basically kept them alive as long as possible while they harvested an organ or two at a time for incredible profit on the black market. Now, quite honestly, in the books, they made it seem very toned down (of course, the books target early teens) – though the person was kidnapped, in turn for harvesting their organs one at a time until they died, they were kept in a resort-like atmosphere, treated well, etc. I remember thinking, I’m sure it goes on somewhere, but it must’ve been from years ago…

Wrong.

(Beware, this next paragraph is a bit graphic… though I’ll tone it down as much as possible). In this article/coverage I found, the information was originally uncovered by a person who had formerly been a guard at a prison in China…. and I think that this was within the past 10 years. Now, I couldn’t get myself to read through all the fine details, so I don’t know what kind of prison it was – whether it was governmental, or a mafia or other crime society – but here are the basics: He recounted (and apparently later on proved and had others back up the story) when as a guard, there was a woman in her 30s who had been kidnapped, imprisoned, tortured, raped,…. you get the point. But in the end, they had their “doctor” come in and basically harvest her organs – which is bad enough – but without anesthesia, without knocking her out, or anything. He described the whole thing in detail, including her screams.

I can’t go any further on this, because it makes me sick, but you get the point. It still really happens. Today.

So my point?

It all comes around to that rosiness I’ve had, that feeling of progression… and that people are getting better as people. At first, I felt like the message I was “sent” was to wake up and smell the coffee! But then, as I ‘ve continued to reflect on both stories more and more, I really think the way to consider them are as examples of how we are getting somewhere, and how we have the opportunity to take it even further.

Look at it this way: Today, the vehicles are available that allow those three reporters to step forward and tell everyone the truth today, worldwide – to remind us of the message that we should think for ourselves more and more, and use our gut instinct – and though I say, “think,” I really mean “feel.” If something doesn’t “feel” right, most often it isn’t. How many times have all the facts lined up about something, and your brain said it was “right,” but there was something that bothered you about that situation, even though you couldn’t put your finger on it? That’s what I mean. With all the communications we see today, it becomes easy to turn off feeling and proceed simply on intellect. But more and more, we need to use both to get to the heart of the matter.

On the other story, maybe it’s a good thing that that guard – who stood by and watched this unspeakable thing happen 10 years ago – stepped forward to tell the story, even if it is today. All I can hold on to is the thought that since they’ve had others come forward to legitimize his story, the same is the truth here as the reporters and the BST – we can all know about it. No matter how many of us are developing and evolving into better people, there are still those out there who are sick, demented, and disgusting – and there are still places where people do these unspeakable things to others. I hope that maybe whatever that situation was, it’s been disbanded by now, but you know there are others out there – heck, think of POW treatment!

Anyway, this is a long story to hopefully get you to consider some really important points:

• There is huge potential of the strength of the Internet and other media and capabilities we have today to make it a smaller world, which can help us to really communicate with each other – person to person, not just media to media or government to government. When we do that properly, it can become easier to see the truth – and harder to hide it indefinitely.

• The power is in the way we are becoming more and more connected – not just to our family, friends, and neighbors, but also to others on the other side of the state, country, ocean, and the globe. Because it’s only when we stop seeing someone as a “them” or “they” – “The people who live over there,” “Those kind of people,” etc. – and start seeing everyone as an “us” and a “we” – that we can really make a difference! Once that happens, we can break down all of the imaginary walls between us – whether it’s geography, governmental philosophy, politics, religion, culture – and simply become unique individuals who all have something to contribute to the whole. With that strength, individual contribution, and unity, we can potentially turn it all around, stop the mistreatment of others, and stop mistreatment of our planet.

It brings to mind the quote from Thich Nhat Hanh, Zen Buddhist monk, teacher, author, poet, and peace activist:

“We are here to awaken from the illusion of our separateness.”

I wanted to share this with you, because I wanted to give you something to contemplate over the holiday (if you celebrate it) and while welcoming in the New Year: If we engage ourselves and strengthen our connection to each other – person by person, community by community, city by city, state by state, country by country, continent by continent – until we are all as one, think of all the good we could do! Think about the potential to eliminate the misinformation, the inequities, the power of some held over others by forced ignorance and brainwashing; think about the power of getting rid of that, how much we could fix… and how much we could evolve!

With that, I’ll leave you with my warm wishes for a great New Year, and a wonderful 2010 with tremendous potential. We really can change the world…. think about – I mean feel – it!

Living The Hair Book…

Hair, hair, it’s everywhere! On the rug, and in the air…

OK, OK, maybe that’s not how the children’s book goes, but it’s how things are in my house! No matter how often we dust, vacuum, or nuclear bomb the house, there seem to be hairballs disguised as tumbleweeds rolling around on both carpeted and uncarpeted surface alike no more than 5 minutes later.

:::sigh:::

It’s tough, with 3 dogs and 2 cats! It’s even tougher that my business office is at home, because while the kids are at school (or wherever) and my husband is offsite at his office, I get completely distracted when I inevitably get tripped by one of those tumbleweeds when I’m on my way to the bathroom. Where the heck did THAT come from? I vacuumed at lunch time, for Pete’s sake! I can almost hear the theme of The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly.

My kids don’t understand my angst, and neither does my husband, for that matter. The three of them were obviously born with the invisible switch that filters their pet hair vision, so they could go days, even weeks without feeling the need to vacuum. The filter is so good that if there’s a huge hair tumbleweed on the couch next to them, they just say, “Hey, MOVE OVER, will you?”

My husband and I used to do all the vacuuming ourselves, until one day, my husband conveniently decided that vacuuming would be part of the girls’ every day chores (convenient, I say, because I think it was that day that I’d asked him to vacuum up the hairballs, because I quit). So now, pretty much every other day, when I get the rolling of the eyes over “Someone needs to vacuum,” (atop the ensuing argument between the two of them as to who has vacuumed the MOST, and who should do it) I have to threaten near death for someone to get the vacuum out of the closet. My response is usually something witty, like “Well, then, I think maybe tonight we’ll have spaghetti, and I’d just LOOK CLOSELY, if I were you!!!”

One of our dogs – a dalmatian lab mix – is the worst perpetrator of the animals. He LOVES to get his hair everywhere! We have wine-colored carpeting in the livingroom; his coat is that of the Dalmatian part of him, meaning mostly WHITE. Here’s the spiteful part… he waits – that’s right, WAITS – until the carpet has been vacuumed, and literally within 10 minutes of the effort, he runs out to the livingroom, rolls on his back, and just HAS to scratch it maniacally on the floor… leaving a pile of white hair in his wake.That’s just one of the many antics that I just KNOW our dogs and cats use to conspire against us, for fun. I could just hear the conversation now from Montana, the Alpha: “River… you stick with the livingroom thing, you just make yourself look so loveably goofy that they can’t yell at you. Jed, you just grunt and groan and roll around in the hallway, and pretend you JUST CAN’T GET THAT ITCH! Athena, well… you just lay there. Your hair just falls off no matter what you do. Even better, I GOT IT! River, clean Athena, and when you do that, pull out some tufts of hair and just spit them on the floor! YES!!! In the meantime, I’ll just lay around and look innocent. I get in enough trouble on the occasions when I get in the garbage…”

I read somewhere that you can send your pet’s shedded hair to get a blanket or coat made from it. If that’s the case, I could definitely make a profit, and open a store! Do you think Disney would have a problem if I branded the line of coats “Cruella de Ville”?

At the end of the day, I guess that’s just a part of having furry friends in your home. I also have a theory (and I’m sticking by it) that all that overexposure to pet hair keeps us from ever developing any kind of allergy to it! I  do have to admit that when I go to someone’s house who doesn’t have a furry friend, it always feels a little… barren. Could it be the tumbleweed decor is more homey? I don’t know… maybe just what I’m used to.

You’ll never miss that homey-ness in our house, that’s for sure! If you want to feel all comfy-cozy, feel free to come for a visit… just don’t wear black!

The Road to Recovery… Is Much More Than One Event

I easily walked 2 miles today, without soreness or pain. Why, you ask, would that be a big deal? Mostly because I just had ACL replacement surgery (as well as other work) in my right knee just 3.5 weeks ago.

That’s right. Just 3.5 weeks ago. In surgery involving cutting a “new” ACL, threading it, screwing it in, and closing me up.

After 2 years of working out on an injured knee in Tae Kwon Do and other various activities (including getting through my 1st and 2nd degree black belt tests), I finally decided to get it fixed on August 12th. I had been made to understand it was quite a mess, including an ACL and menisci tear, as well as some bone spurs.

Let me tell you that I’m no stranger to knee injury! I had my other ACL replaced in 2005, and had to get some meniscus work done in that knee earlier this year. So I knew exactly what to expect from surgery… I had a great, quick recovery (I was back to TKD in 8 weeks last time), I figured with the mess in there, recovery would be a bit longer this time.

I’ve totally proven myself wrong, and I should again be back in TKD by October.

Here’s the timeline thus far: The day after surgery, I dumped the Percocet (hate that stuff, I’ll never go more than a few doses of it in the MOST dire of emergencies) and switched over to ibuprofen (Advil). 48 hours after surgery, I dumped the immobolizer and the crutches, and used a cane… for about 24 hours. Then I dumped that, too. When I went to physical therapy 2 days after surgery, I got grief for not wearing the immobilizer (my response was, “Well, the doc told me that I only had to wear it until I could bear weight on it… and I can do that fine now!”). However, surprise surprise when I could bend my knee to almost 100 degrees – which is typically the goal 2-3 weeks out! At 1 week, I wasn’t even walking with a limp anymore… and a bend check measured me at 123 degrees, with almost complete extension already (I will also note here that my doctor told me that I may not ever get full extension in that knee again… proved him wrong! ). At my 9-day follow-up with my surgeon, he was (and I never use this word) absolutely tickled about my speedy recovery. Now I’m at 3.5 weeks out, and I’m on the elliptical (no resistance), starting to walk/jog again, working out on the Wii Fit, and actually did weapons practice for about an hour-and-a-half yesterday — with no pain (I was just a bit tired last night!).

So, am I lucky? I would say that’s part of it. I have always been a quick healer. Also, I hate going to doctors, but my orthopaedic surgeon is 3 for 3 successful surgeries with me and my knees… therefore, I would recommend him to ANYONE who needs ortho help (here’s his info: Dr. Derek Reinke, Cary Orthopaedics: http://www.caryortho.com/physicians_sms.html#06).

But I believe there’s a LOT more than luck to it!

I continue to be amazed at how absolutely wonderful I feel just 3.5 weeks out from surgery, as are most people I know (including my orthopaedist and physical therapist). I had a quick recovery last time, but I remember still having a lot of soreness (there’s VERY little right now) and swelling (nonexistent today!) at this point for the first ACL. I’ve reflected A LOT as to what’s helping me along on this recovery, and I’m going to tell you what I think – what I know – directly contributes to this amazing story… first reminding you that I’m 40 years old, not a professional athlete, and regardless of my healthy habits, do (thanks to my aging metabolism) need to lose about 20 lbs:

• Eat natural, organic, and healthy. I REALLY started looking at food labels about 7 years ago, when I needed to find the cause and solution for migraines. In that process, I learned that migraines are often tied to digestive sensitivities and toxins built up in your system. So, I did a real detoxification with a naturopath (another wonderful pic: Dr. Maurice Werness, http://www.wernesswellness.com/). A note: You know all those “magical lose-weight detox shakes” out there? Don’t use them without going to an integrative Western physician or naturopathic physician to work out a personalized program for you. Otherwise, you’re wasting your time and money. I did a full detox program for my system, and it was long-term and worked wonderfully – without risking my health. I also found out that part of my problem was due to sensitivity to cow dairy, especially in combination with other protein foods.I know everyone hates to hear this, but we (meaning I did this with my husband and two kids as well — because I love them) cut out the junk, and really just went back to basics. By junk, here’s what I mean:

• NO “STANDARD” FAST FOODS. We don’t go to McDonald’s, Burger King, Wendy’s, Hardee’s, or Jack-in-the-Box. We just don’t do it. If we must do fast food, we’ll go to a sub shop, get it on whole wheat, and stay away from the fatty subs… as well as cheese and mayo (though I will get “a little” of the lite mayo). Don’t tell me that kids can’t live without fast foods — mine won’t eat them anymore, because the last 2 times they had food from one of those places, they had sick stomachs for the rest of the day… and at 11 and 13, have no desire for it!
• No high fructose corn syrup. There is the occasion when we have absolutely no choice, but otherwise, it doesn’t exist in our household. We only get 100% fruit juices, watch the labels, and we shop at Trader Joe’s and Whole Foods — stores that don’t allow it as an ingredient in the food on their shelves.
• No partially hydrogenated oils. Ditto above.
• No “whites.” We don’t eat white rice, white bread, white flour, or use granulated (white) sugar. Whole grain and unrefined are key, and are so much healthier for your longer-term energy. My kids are so used to this, that when they go over to other people’s houses and have white bread – or even the commercialized “honey wheats” that are out there – they tell me that the bread is nasty and has no taste to it. We even use sweeteners that are more natural – raw, unrefined sugar or dehydrated cane juice, or raw (unprocessed), local honey.
• Watch what’s put into the meat you eat! I would never tell people that vegetarian or vegan is the only way to go — I love my meat too much (as does the rest of my family). However, know what the animal was fed or given! Free range, grain fed and NO HORMONES, if you can possibly help it! I know the beef is more spendy with that requirement, but folks, FYI, it’s illegal in the United States for poultry to be injected with antibiotics or hormones (all that labeling you see? Marketing!).
• Eat colorful foods. Eat fruits and veggies. Period. No way around it! If you really can’t seem to get the 7 servings per day that you’re supposed to, take a supplement made from fruits and veggies (NOT chemical substitutes), like Berry Green powder (http://www.4allvitamins.com/product_info.php/products_id/408%7B1%7D4) and/or JuicePlus (https://www.juiceplus.com/nsa/content/Home.soa?site=gw44091). Also, I’m going to say this again: Go natural/organic! No man-made, dangerous chemicals or pesticides.
• Choose your vices, and do the best with them that you can. I love ice cream, period. Due to my cow dairy sensitivities, I don’t drink milk anymore (I love almond milk, though!), or eat a lot of standard cheese (I love goat cheese, though, which doesn’t cause me problems). However, I really, really love my ice cream! So, though I’ve just had to accept the fact that I will never give it up, I do the best I can: we make our own ice cream with our awesome Cuisinart ice cream maker — and we use organic cream, 1% milk, evaporated cane juice sugar, and organic/natural ingredients. Still a vice, but not AS bad!

• Exercise! Turn off the TV and DO something! You don’t have to be a martial arts freak like my family and me, but even if you talk a 30-minute brisk walk every day, they’ve shown that it does a lot for your overall health. Take the stairs instead of the elevator. Park further back in the parking lot, instead of vying for a space up front. Also, since our kids were little, we just don’t have the TV on during the day. At all. OK, on the weekends, we’ll watch a movie if we’re home, but we find plenty else to do otherwise. We never allowed video games until this past year, when we got the Wii, but even most of the games we have for the Wii make you have to DO something — like the Fit, Outdoor Adventure, and Sports Resort. It also keeps us doing stuff together.I partially attribute my quick bounce back from surgery to the long-term development of my muscles from  the Tae Kwon Do and other activity built into my everyday life.
• Do what you can to put only natural and healthy things onto and into your body; minimize the manmade chemicals! Try eco-friendly, natural soaps and detergents… and try to get organic materials when you can. If you look at a lotion bottle, and half the label consists of 12+ letter chemical words on the ingredients list, use something else. The skin is the largest organ in your body, and absorption through the skin is one of the most direct ways of getting something into your bloodstream, meaning bad chemicals aren’t just applied to your skin… they are absorbed directly into your bloodstream (think DEET in most commercial bug sprays!!). Keep that in mind! It takes some research, but there are plenty of other ways to handle different skin situations (including bug repellants – try rubbing some fresh rose-scented geranium leaves on your skin, which smell a lot better and do just as good a job) — even sunscreens!
• Watch it with Western pharmaceuticals. My naturopathic doctor put it really well in a conversation we had once: Holistic medicine – which is the philosophy of Eastern medicine, and has been around for thousands of years – is great for the equivalent of 0-60 mph. It’s preventative, and allows the body to deal better with the shock of something above that 60mph mark – where Western medicine has a definite stronghold. So keep that in mind when dealing with today’s Western medicine. There are too many doctors out there today who would rather just put a Band-Aid on a symptom instead of fixing the cause. Only take what you have to, and watch carefully for over-medication! For example, I went to a quack of a dermatologist several years back when I was on the tail end of an allergic hives rash. I know that when I do get those rashes (I have sensitive skin), they’re usually gone in about 2 weeks. It had been 7-10 days since the outbreak. Even with the rash fading, she prescribed an outrageous amount of Prednisone, and also told me to take a Zyrtec in the morning and an Allegra at night. A bit overkill, wouldn’t you think? I never used anything but a few Allegra, and the rash was still gone in a few more days… without other side effects.
• Be in control of your situation… vs. letting a situation control you. Do the best with what you have, and always strive for something more. If I would have just accepted what the doctor told me when I originally had my first ACL replaced, I wouldn’t have pushed myself so hard to get back to TKD. I faced the soreness and discomfort by working on it constantly during recovery. Even this time, the day after the surgery, when I had the immobilizer on (basically, a full ankle-to-hip splint), I was lifting the left myself in the immobilizer to move, to adjust, to get onto and off the bed/couch. When my physical therapist told me to do 3 reps of 15 of a certain exercise at home every day, I’d do 4 reps of that exercise… and 2x/day, if I could manage it. I quit taking the narcotics the day after surgery, and instead used ibuprofen to deal with discomfort and swelling… and I think my body adjusted more quickly and I was able to cope better mentally in a shorter period of time because of it. I self-monitored the dose, lowered it as I could, and by this past week, when I hit 3 weeks post-op, I stopped taking the Advil altogether. Only on days like yesterday, when I could feel the achiness settling in (after overdoing it a little bit), I took a few to cut that off at the pass.
• Learn to listen to your body, and find the natural  bodywork that works for you. I started craniosacral therapy shortly before I worked with a naturopath on the detoxification to naturally combat migraines without having to pop pills for the rest of my life. I’ve gotten so much more out of it than the original intention! My craniosacral therapist (another wonderful practitioner… Lisa Werness, http://www.wernesswellness.com) has been able to help me combat my joint injuries from the Tae Kwon Do, and really has helped with my body alignment to minimize pain from those injuries and prevent others. Also, I don’t get migraines anymore! I used to have one every other week or so… I’ve been seeing her for about 7 or 8 years now, and in that time, I think I’ve had 2 migraines through that whole period! I also get regular massages (which relax the muscles – and mind -  while helping to detoxify your body of built up toxins), and I’ve recently discovered the wonders of acupuncture (another great plug here, for my awesome acupuncturist: Fran Ammons, LAc http://www.acupuncturenc.com), for everything from rashes to bad bruising to minimalization of discomfort and sickness.The point is, there are many, many non-prescription options to dealing with your bodily woes. And yet, there are times when you must take pharmaceuticals. Just find a healthy balance of how to use the best of both Eastern and Western medicines to keep your body in the best shape possible.

So, there you have it. I’ve wanted to write this blog for awhile, because I’ve had so many people ask me why I thought I’ve had such an awesome, quick recovery thus far. But beyond this surgery, I look at my family’s overall health — looking at our habits, and how we really focused on healthy diet and living for the past 7 or 8 years, and I will say this: The best testament is every year when my kids go to their pediatrician for their annual checkup, and the doctor looks at the charts and says, “Well… I haven’t seen you since this time last year.”

Enough said. Can you put a dollar amount on that kind of quality of life? Think about it!

I’m sure this all seems like a lot to take in. Many people might say, “This is SO MUCH… how could I even start?” Well, we did. Little by little. We just made a conscious effort to do SOMETHING today. It’s just baby steps… and a decision to make it better (whatever that is).  Because that’s the only way we, as a society, will get ourselves back to better health… and a better planet!

Here we go again, right?

Just two short months after losing my grandmother, my great aunt (I think it’s really supposed to be “grand-aunt,” but you get the gist) has unexpectedly gotten onto the soon-to-depart list.

Aunt Dot has no children of her own; however, she and my Uncle Tommy (RIP 1986) were temporary surrogate parents to many  in the family when there were difficulties in their households through the years. Then, later on, she became a secondary grandmother (and great-grandmother) figure to some, including me. She’s always been a part of my core family, living close by when I was a child and then later (when Uncle Tommy died) living with my grandparents in NY, and then moving down to Virginia to live down the hall from them when I’d moved south, also.

I absolutely love her. She and I have had some wonderful conversations over the years, and have very similar outlooks in many ways. I found I could sometimes talk to her about some things I couldn’t with my grandmother (which was a nice complement, because they lived 5 doors down from each other… so I could just go back and forth between the two when I visited).  What I absolutely adore is the fact that you can’t let her tiny size (4’11″ish? I can’t remember, before the osteoporosis set in) fool you… she’s a piece of steel! Though not outwardly affectionate, she does have a very kind side to her… her demeanor is what I think of as an “English stoicism,” passed down from her earlier generations. She has a great, dry humor, wry smile, and yes, sometimes harsh judgment…  but nothing I haven’t been guilty of, myself.

Anyway, with all the deaths in my family over the past 10 months (if she goes, this will be #4 in my immediate family – Grandpa, my husband’s Grandpa, Grandma, and now her), it’s sad to see that the noise has died down, as if most have become numb to — or tired of — dying days. I get so indignant because I just want to say (and so I’ll just say it here):

IT’S NOT HER FAULT!!!!

I get it — people are tired of traveling for the dying. A lot’s gone on in the past year, also in my extended family. But I hate that it feels like Aunt Dot’s getting ignored because everyone’s tired. I know, it’s not the presence that really counts (it’s the whole lifetime of the relationship), but you know, I think there’s something to say about presence in those last days. Granted, she might pull through, but right now, she’s on the very, very sharp edge of a knife, and don’t you think it counts to FEEL loved, in that condition, regardless of which way it goes?

No too long ago, there was a great analogy to Aunt Dot on my favorite TV show, Grey’s Anatomy. There was a 90-something-year-old woman who was in there, and though she was childless, her adult niece and two nephews were there at her bedside. At first, the doctors were appalled because the relatives kept on asking if she was gone yet, if they thought it would be long (because of flights out, etc.). Later on, you find out that she’s been hospitalized and on the verge of dying something like a dozen times within the past few years, and they’re tired of being at the bedside, just to have her pull through. Pretty callous, right?

That is, until told from the woman’s side of the story. In a few moments of lucidity, the doctors were talking to her. The niece and nephews were temporarily out of the room, and she asked about them since she’d just come to. The doctors made some comments about it being better that they weren’t there, and she looked up at them, clear-eyed, and said, “They are MY PEOPLE. You might not like them, but every time, EVERY SINGLE TIME, I’ve been in the hospital, they have flown in from all over the country to be at my bedside. So understand, they are MY PEOPLE. Everyone needs to have their PEOPLE.” The lady later (finally) died.

And funny, even though Aunt Dot was fine at the time I watched that episode, it gives me shivers to think that I thought of her when I watched it.

Right now, she needs HER PEOPLE.

And funny enough, it took me a week-and-a-half to get here… initially, I’d planned on coming earlier, but I swear, there was a bizarre voice in my head that with no hesitation told me to WAIT, regardless of the fact that they’d pronounced at the hospital that she probably wouldn’t make it through the night… 10 days ago. So I did, because I’ve learned over the past decade to listen to that voice– even when it defies logic — when it’s so strong. And this weekend, she’s now in the comfort of her own home (on Hospice, granted, but home), and I am here with my mother and Aunt Rose (Aunt Dot’s 1 remaining sister) to spend a little bit of time with her.

Last night, she was lucid for several hours. We talked and joked, and she even ate some ice cream and had a little bit of coffee. The best thing is that she knew I was there. Her eyes lit up when she saw me.

It was a great evening, and though I had felt pretty guilty for listening to “that voice” and not coming to see her a week ago (even moreso because the only people who’ve been here with her have been my mother, Aunt Rose, and Uncle Wasyl), I’m glad it turned out the timing was right. And though she might not remember it consciously today (we’ll see), I know that somewhere underneath it all, she knows in her heart that she’s had some of HER PEOPLE here during her time of need. Because Lord knows, she’s been the helping hand (see the previous post on Helping Hands in Our Lives)  for many others during theirs.

So everyone, please don’t let life wear you down… and open your heart past the every day distractions so you don’t forget who needs THEIR PEOPLE. Because one day, it very well might be you in that sick bed, and who will be there for you?

Love you, Aunt Dot!

Noticing the Hands in our Lives

Last weekend, we were in Virginia, visiting my (maternal) grandmother in the hospital. I won’t go into details, but if you read down further in this blog (see May the Road Rise Up to Meet You, from August 2008), you’ll know I lost my (maternal) grandfather last summer. In between then and now, my husband’s grandfather passed away, as well. So I guess you’d say we’ve had our share of loss over the past six months.

Anyway, my  grandmother is an important woman in my life who’s always been a strong and in charge kind of person. Through a bad series of events, the woman who just six months ago was a rock is now basically weak and struggling on her deathbed, and I’ve found I’m completely unprepared for it. It’s funny; the men seem to go in our family — we’ve come to accept that — but the women tend to hang around for a long time. Really, we’re supposed to be immortal, right? Come on, now… she’s only 84!!

So, seeing her declining so quickly, I just wanted to sit by her bedside, hold her hand, and take it all in. She wasn’t in a talkative mode, but I was pretty sure she enjoyed the company; the entire time I held her hand, she held on pretty tightly.

It was during one of those quiet moments, while I just sat holding her hand, looking at our hands grasped together, and feeling that unfamiliar connection, that I fully realized in a wave of emotion how much I love this woman, and how much a part of my life she’s been.

A flood of memories then filled my mind, not just of holding the hands of those who were important to me when they were on their way out — such as my grandfather, my father, my great-grandmother — but many others. When I thought about it, I realized that though I haven’t held hands with many, I could recall their hands in detail, even though I’d never consciously thought about it.

They were all beautiful… and unique.

Though you hear the saying, “The eyes are the window to the soul,” the hands… well, they tell the story. Rough and strong? Small and delicate? Petite but tough? Decisive and hard-working? Every set is marked from life in one way or the other, with the individual’s experience almost etched in like a tattoo.

While I sat there thinking about that, looking at both my grandmother’s and my hands together and feeling very close to her, I thought a lot about our relationship throughout my life. Though until my adult years we hadn’t really been a conversational pair with each other, she’s always had an important supportive role to me. She’s been my silent helper through times of trouble, whether emotionally, financially, or just because she was there (even when I didn’t realize it, at the time). Even later, when she became somewhat more open with discussion, there have been times when I’d touch on a sensitive subject, something with which I’d had problems, and she would voice her support with few words, or even a look — and though I’ve never felt comfortable relaying a lot of my petty details to her, it’s always felt like we’ve understood each other, anyway, and I could feel my connection to her.

I realized that I couldn’t remember the last time I held her hand. And then I asked myself, why not? I hold my husband’s and children’s hands regularly. But why does everyone shy away from holding the hands of those they love, even when it’s not those two types of relationships (and sometimes not even those)? Is it because that’s too personal, and touches too much on emotion, which as adults, we’re not supposed to have?

She’s definitely been one of the helping hands in my life. So I guess I felt like it was time for me to be one for her, even if it was just to hold her hand while she’s fighting a declining battle for her life. This time, I wanted to be her support. All I could hope for was that she could somehow win this fight… or that if it was to be a lost battle, that it would end as quickly and painlessly as possible.

I love you, Grandma. Regardless of what happens, thank you for being a helping hand in my life.

Where’s the Diamond in the Pile of Rubbish?

Here I sit, in my office, covered with its standard New Year’s winter coat of papers, files, boxes, and other general office junk strewn around. I literally had to climb into the room  and tiptoe into my chair while skillfully avoiding the paper cutter and various other items just to make it to the desktop and this computer without breaking something or impaling myself.

Why, you ask, is this such a mess?

Well, it’s a new year. Time to clean out the old, right? Bring in the new? I find that every year, right after New Year’s, I begin cleaning out everything with zeal… and if I don’t get it all done before going back to work, I tend to leave what I started until I can… find… some… time…. to… get… it… done. Right.

For example, last weekend, I decided that after living in this house for almost 12 years, that while we were putting away the holiday decorations, we needed to move the furniture in the livingroom around. Desperately. Because come on,  let’s face it — how many people do YOU know who have had their furniture in the same formation for 12 years? Good grief! How many people even live in a house for 12 years anymore besides my alien family and me?? Anyway, that task alone — because I’d set my mind to it — took AN ENTIRE DAY. One room (OK, I’ll give you the holiday decorations all around the house). We’re not talking mansion-sized here, folks, just a plain ol’ 17′x17′ room. But when we were done, the dogs didn’t feel comfortable walking in there for awhile, because they were scared. That was actually a very funny thing to watch… if only they could talk! One of my dogs went to every singular item in the room and stared at it in a startled manner, as if to say, “What the heck is THAT doing THERE?”

The effort, of course, bled into the dining room and kitchen areas. And overly ambitious, I started on my office after that.

I own and operate two very different businesses, I manage the household finances, and my two children often find it necessary to dump their weekly work in here in front of me to review, so paper abounds in my sacred office space.  Eventually I start feeling claustrophobic, because even for the two weeks a year (usually the 2nd and 3rd week) that I keep up on my filing, it’s just too much to get it all put away!

This year’s been a doozy. It seems like somehow, the papers in here  reproduced on their own. Can that happen, in today’s digital world? It must, because I can’t seem to get to the bottom of it.

But I will.

It will probably take me into next week, but I’m determined to get to it and REALLY get it done. Because it’s a new year… and I don’t know about you, but from my perspective, last year really needs to be filed away and/or thrown out! I could really use that vial of fairy dust I haven’t been able to find for the past couple of years. And my rose-colored glasses. Because once I do, I will don both and never look back over my shoulder.

It’s time for a good year. Really, a SPARKLING one!! Change it all around! Look at everything in a fresh way! Make it work for you! THAT’S my resolution.

Now that being said, it’s been awhile since I’ve moved anything around in the office, too….

May the Road Rise Up to Meet You…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

R.I.P. Anthony T. Gill 1921-2008

I was so blessed to be there when my grandfather passed away a few weeks ago! He’d been so frustrated and so trapped in his body with advanced Parkinson’s (and then at the end, lung cancer as well) — see my blog Please Take Him Soon, from November 2007 — that it was truly a gift not only to be able to see that face free of frustration and sadness after so long, but also to actually see the peace on his face right after he passed on, as he was such a special person to me!

As an adult, he told me many times of the fact that I had been the only baby in the family it seemed he was allowed to hold and nurture — all the women had otherwise taken the reins for all the others, and I could tell that it had been very special to him. So I guess I took great pleasure in being there when he went, because I always felt more bonded with him than with many others.

And now, I do miss him, and I guess I’ve just started to really reflect on my memories with him over the years. My sister, always the one wanting the pomp and circumstance of things, volunteered to do a eulogy, and has asked me to send her memories she can incorporate into her speech. I guess I’ve resisted that quite a bit, because my memories are very personal to me, and it’s hard to pull things out into bullets when the whole picture adds up to more than the sum of its parts. So I figured I’d write out the swirls of thought forming a picture in my head, and she can take what she needs, though I feel like it would be difficult to adequately and effectively incorporate this into someone else’s perspective.

Feeling isolated and lonely — a forgotten child in my family’s sea of deep complexities during a very, very serious period (again, see the earlier blog, listed above) – Grandpa was always the one who paid attention to me. My sister had tight bonds with my grandmother and great-grandmother, and my mother was busy being a single struggling mom in the ’70s and ’80s and not around a lot. And I had no siblings close in age to me (my sister was 6.5 years older). So I often felt l was just this added annoyance and a pain to everyone… except Grandpa.

He was a light in the grayness of many days of my childhood, and though I’m sure there were times when he just wanted to relax and unwind after a day/week at work, he never made me feel like I was an unwanted presence anytime I’d go upstairs to see him. He would always give me the big, wet “Grandpa smooch” and show interest in my day, or what was going on with me. He most always seemed cheerful in my presence, and often gave me the lift I guess I subconsciously needed.

He was a WONDERFUL storyteller, too! He loved history, and had been in WWII himself. Some of my most cherished childhood memories were at family gatherings, when I’d park myself by Grandpa and my (grand-)Uncle Tommy — who had been in WWII, as well — and in the fog created by a mixture of cigarette smoke and the smell of beer, listen to them talk about their war stories, and get into debates about which was more important/better/you name it — the Army or the Navy (as Grandpa had been in the Army and Uncle Tommy had been in the Navy). I LOVED those times! When Uncle Tommy passed away in the mid-’80s, Grandpa so missed their debates that while waiting for Uncle Tommy’s inurnment at Arlington Cemetary, I’ve been told countless times about how he’d take Uncle Tommy’s ashes out and talk to him (as he and my grandmother were keeping the ashes for my aunt during that period).

History was definitely not my favorite subject in school, but Grandpa made it come alive for me. There were many times I would go up to see him just to get some clarification on something, to help me with my homework, studies, a project, or just about anything. I recall him spending several hours once explaining the Truman Airlift to me, because I had to cover it for a report… and I was so enthralled in his account that I barely wrote notes, but was easily able to recall almost everything he told me afterwards, and cited him as a historical resource in my paper. I think he missed his calling as some sort of history teacher, because I would’ve done much better in the subject at school with a teacher like him!

He patiently tolerated me practicing the piano downstairs and would regularly listen to my flute progress, as well…. while repeatedly reminding me that he played the fife long ago, himself. He also had a penchant for music, too — another bond I had with him — and loved when he took up the concertina and accordion. Proud of his Irish heritage, he would joke about one day learning the bagpipes… though I’m sure it was my grandmother who steered him clear of that!

At larger family gatherings, such as anniversaries, landmark birthdays, and weddings, Grandpa often seemed to be the life of the party. There are more than several occasions I remember Grandpa leading the Conga line on the dance floor, and dancing with me, too. He was great at telling humorous stories  and jokes, as well, and naturally attracted people to him in those settings because of the sparkle in his eye and smirk on his face.

I know I didn’t see him much during my mid-teen years — as is typical, I guess — but after I’d moved out of the house and been on my own for awhile, I forged a whole new relationship with my grandparents. It was then that I was able to sit and listen to Grandpa talk about our Irish heritage, and he would tell me about the historical research he’d done on his family over in Ireland. In fact, stored in the depths of the crawlspace of my house is a booklet of information he sent me — unsolicited – years ago, after I’d gotten married and settled down, which contained a detailed account of what he’d found… which I cherish.

As an adult, I became more interested in the history of things — or should I say the mystery of things — and I would still love to puzzle with Grandpa about a wide variety of subjects, from random facts of little importance to the historical vs. Biblical findings of the life and times of Jesus. He loved having someone with whom to puzzle over such things — it was like going on an exploration together – and I quickly learned that I shouldn’t debate with him unless I had researched and was well prepared to go to battle! These kind of conversations always drove me to learn more, and I thank him for spurring me on to look at the actual history and related accounts behind any story.

I also learned of his quirks and biases as well. First of all, he was very biased in terms of being Irish. I found out there had been quite a few family scuffles over the years regarding his view of the non-Irish ethnic background of someone or the other. However, I myself never really noticed that until I was dating my husband, and I’d brought him for a weekend to meet the family. Scott already had a bonus in Grandpa’s book — he’d heard that Scott was in the Navy — and at that point, I’m sure he’d been chomping at the bit to talk military for about 7 years (since it had been that long since Uncle Tommy had died). So, the next all-important question was presented in this not-as-subtle-as-he-thought way:

“So, Scott, what’s your last name?”

I remember laughing abruptly, and Grandpa looked at me all wide-eyed, as if he didn’t understand why I was laughing. Before Scott answered, I remember cutting in and saying, “Coulter, Grandpa… is that Irish enough for you?” Though he denied his intention for a moment, I quickly saw that mischievious sparkle in his eyes, and then he laughed too, acknowledging his exposure. Once that was settled, he progressed right into asking a million questions about his experience in the Navy… and that was the end of that!

Another quirk of my grandfather that always caused me to laugh — of course, after everything was deemed OK – was the fact that he was a bona fide clutz. He was constantly hurting himself due to various accidents! I remember him breaking his foot once when falling off a ladder while working on an A/C wall unit in the house I grew up in. He’d trip, fall, bang into things, you name it… that was just Grandpa. Personally, I think it was directly related to the fact that he was always thinking, thinking, thinking about some other topic or subject instead of focusing on the matter at hand. One time, when I was 16, I remember him driving me to my part-time job at a nearby mall, and he got so involved in a conversation with me that he blew right through 3 or 4 stop signs and red lights on the way, causing me to wonder if I was going to arrive there in one piece! When I said something (after about the 2nd stop sign he missed), he just laughed it off in his impish way and said something along the lines of, “Did I? Well, it doesn’t matter. There wasn’t anything coming the other way, anyway.”

Shortly after we’d moved to Virginia, my grandparents and grand-aunt followed suit, sold their houses and moved to an apartment right up the block from us. At that point, it had been 9 years since I’d lived in the same house and 8 years since I’d lived any closer to my immediate family than  a 3.5-hour drive, so I admit it was great to have them a long walk away. I had my first child right after they moved down; shortly after getting home from the hospital, I brought her to their apartment and, remembering how he’d gushed about being able to hold me as a baby, went straight to Grandpa and handed her to him. How stiff he was, but how happy! And again, I heard him recount how I’d been the first baby he’d been “allowed” to hold, now with the next generation in his arms. I have a picture from not too long after, when my sister and her family were visiting, when we took a picture of Grandma and Grandpa with all of the 5 of them. My oldest is in his arms, and the picture just caught the right moment as he was looking down at the baby, with that same combination of stiffness/nervousness and happiness that I remember.

I was sad to have to move away about 4 months later, because I’d actually enjoyed being close to them again. However, we were still within a 3.5-hour drive, so we visited as frequently as we could, and my daughters adored him! He would let them sit on his lap and share his snacks with him, whether or not we approved. Before the Parkinson’s set in too badly, he taught the girls how to play Mario Brothers on Nintendo, and that was a joy and the cause of many bouts of laughter in itself! He would heave his body back and forth with the controls, so much that one time my mother called to let me know he’d had quite an accident and banged his head because he’d been playing the game, got so excited playing it, and missed the edge of the bed he’d been sitting on when jumping up and down and landed on the floor, hitting the edge of a desk or table on the way (again, back to the clutz factor…).

As the Parkinson’s took hold of him, and his mobility and communication skills declined more and more, I would sit with patience while he struggled to get the words out, wanting so badly to relive the way we’d discussed things years before. That was painful for me, but I hung on to it, knowing it wouldn’t be a very long time until I wouldn’t have the luxury of his voice at all anymore. Though he couldn’t move to play with the girls, I could see his delight in them by the look in his eyes when we paid a visit. However, he still had a sense of humor, and I always found a way to laugh with him that came easily.

Though we knew his time was short, when the time came, he actually dove downhill very quickly. About a week before he died, my mother called to let me know he’d basically been confined to his bed, he’d stopped eating, and they didn’t think it would be long. I toiled over whether or not to go and make one final visit, because I knew how bad he looked, and that it really wasn’t him that I would see — especially when I knew he’d become skeletal and somewhat comatose and unaware.

Unfortunately, the commitments of business ownership had prevented me from visiting since February — on my birthday — and I sort of liked the idea of that visit being my last one with Grandpa. Because, regardless of how terrible he looked or felt or how little he could communicate in discussion, he was able to sing “Happy Birthday” to me almost perfectly, without a stutter, hesitation, or hiccup. And because of that, he must’ve sang it to me at least a half dozen times that day — it became sort of a joke between us, because every once in awhile, I’d lean towards him and say, “Grandpa, I’m feeling sort of unloved at the moment. I think I need someone to sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to me right about now…” which would cause him to burst into another robust round. (Today I wish I would’ve recorded it on my cell phone. I enjoyed myself so much that day that I didn’t even think of it until afterwards…. what a great way to remember him!)

In the end, I decided to go, but would wait until that Saturday afternoon to make the trip. My sister made it down from NY earlier in the week, and there was a really good chance he wouldn’t make it through until I made it there. I was OK with that; again, the last time I’d seen him, I’d told him I loved him, and had really enjoyed seeing him. Plus, regardless of not having it recorded, I can still hear him singing “Happy Birthday” in my head, and I won’t forget it anytime soon.

But I went, and he was still hanging on. I looked at him there, in the bed, a shriveled up shadow of the grandfather I’ve loved so much since I was a little girl, held his hand, looked in his glazed over and half open eyes, told him I loved him, and that the girls loved him, and kissed him… and knew that deep down, I really had wanted to see him one more time, and was glad I had made it.

That next morning, he died. I’d literally stepped down to my grand-aunt’s apartment down the hall to tell her where things were, and he died about 2 minutes later. And when I went back in afterwards to say goodbye, it was all summed up his face. Peace and freedom, at last.

Now, I remember when I was somewhere around 17 or 18, and a very good friend of mine lost her grandmother, who was “off-the-boat” Irish. I went to the funeral, and marveled at the party-like atmosphere of the family’s get-together afterwards. I remember recounting it to Grandpa, who told me that was the way the Irish did it — that it was time to celebrate the life of the person who’d just passed on instead of mourning them. In fact, he told me, “…when I die, that’s what I want… sit me up in the corner, put a beer in my hand, and have a big party!” And I know he said it a multitude of times throughout the years, as well. And, though it is his turn for the pomp and circumstance of the funeral at Arlington Cemetary at the end of the month, I’m sure most in the family will remember him that way, and though we won’t be able to prop him up in a corner, I know for sure I will have a beer in his honor after he’s put to rest.

I’m sure somewhere he and Uncle Tommy are together again, already embroiled in the next Big Debate.

Rest in peace, Grandpa. You will always be in my heart, in my joy, and in my humor. And thank you.

Things I’d Write to My Younger Self

I’m stealing this idea from my favorite morning radio show, Bob and Sheri, where Sheri Lynch wrote on this subject (see www.bobandsheri.com). I really loved it, and it got me thinking…  hmmm, what would I say if I were to write a letter to my younger self, from say, maybe 22 or so years ago, when I was in the height of teenage confusion, rebellion, and (self-)destruction? Here’s a try:

Dear Me,

It’s me, sending you a letter from 22 years in the future. Pushing 40!!! Yikes! I know you think that’s a faraway place, but it will be here before you know it — take it from me.

Anyway, yes, we make it this far. And quite a bit goes on between now and then! I know, I know, you have a thousand questions, and you’re just DYING to know what happens! I won’t spoil it; you must live it for yourself, because that’s what makes us what we become (which is a good thing). Plus, then it won’t be any “fun”!

However, I will give you a few words of wisdom from our experience:

• Learn how to laugh — really laugh — sooner. It feels really good, and is a remedy for almost anything. It could easily replace that junk you’re doing, and it’s much more permanent (and much less harmful).
• If you must find a guy to be with, find one that makes you laugh, not cry. Get rid of that loser you’re with; you’ll probably have a lot more fun over the next few years if you do (I WILL give you this spoiler: the relationship WILL end, and you really will be much happier when it does. I PROMISE).
• Speaking of relationships, stop ignoring your “gut,” and go WITH it. Be more assertive and go after what you really want; don’t settle for what’s there on a plate for you if it’s not what you want. You deserve it! You do eventually figure that out and are much better for it, but PHEW! what a bumpy (and somewhat wasteful) ride along the way…
• Your parents love you, regardless of what you think. They just have their own issues – lots of them — and there is no way you can have the maturity now to understand what they are. You may not like them, but you can love them, and one day, you may lose them, and then it will be too late. Ditto for the others in your immediate family. Celebrate their quirkiness, and realize that EVERYONE’S family is quirky in one way or another!
• You are a whole lot smarter than you think.
• You are a whole lot stronger than you think.
• You are a whole lot more beautiful than you think.
• Stop wasting your time cutting classes, and get your schoolwork done! It would’ve been a lot easier (and faster) getting through college if we’d had some scholarships to help us out (this also points back to the fact that you’re a lot smarter than you think). And it really wouldn’t have taken a lot more work than you did.
• Do yoga. It helps. Everything.

So, do we end up happy? Definitely! Regardless of what you do to maybe make it a little easier, there is still a very challenging path along the way. However, I wouldn’t change that for the world; though I still wouldn’t say life’s perfect, NOBODY’S life is perfect, and the sooner you realize that, the better! Overall, though, you create the very life that deep down you really, really, want…. but are afraid to acknowledge. It will take a lot of work, but it will be worth it.

Because you’ll get here.

Nature vs. Nurture – for the Zillionth Time!

I remember the big debates in my college Sociology class about the whole “Nature vs. Nurture” thing. Over the years, I debated it with friends, coworkers, neighbors – you name it! You can debate it all you want, but the absolutely best clinical trial you get is when you have your own kids. And now that my husband and I are 12 years into our clinical trial, I feel I have ample experience — not just with my own children, but with those around me with children — to make this statement:

CHILDREN TEND TO ACT THE WAY THEIR PARENTS EXPECT THEM TO, AND THEY TEND TO GRAVITATE TOWARDS WHAT THEY KNOW FROM THEIR OWN LIFE.

Groundbreaking? Earth shattering? Not really. But a vast majority of the population turns a blind eye to that simple statement, totally ignoring their own actions and persuasions as parents, and refusing to take ownership of what they themselves molded. Exasperated parents tend to just shrug their shoulders and write it off to SOMETHING genetic.

OK, so I’m going to insert a disclaimer here. I’m not saying that EVERYTHING is behavioral; I do believe that there are SOME things that are genetically hard-wired into a person. However, I think the number of items is really shockingly small compared to what people tend to attribute to it.

So here’s my beef, and here I’m going to shout it at the world:

1) GIRLS ARE NOT BORN NATURALLY BEING SUBMISSIVE AND LIKING PINK, PASTELS, AND DOLLS;
2) LIKEWISE, BOYS ARE NOT BORN NATURALLY BEING AGGRESSIVE, LIKING BLUE, BRIGHT COLORS, AND TRUCKS.

There. I said it. That felt good.

I could write an entire dissertation on it, I think, with the experiences we’ve had over the past 12 years. But I won’t. However, I just want to show you some data, based on my experience with my 2 girls and their friends (both male and female):

1) I personally don’t like pink all that much (and I DEFINITELY don’t like ruffles and frilly things), and I definitely don’t buy into the girl-pink, boy-blue thing. Therefore, my girls weren’t dressed in pink and ruffles — and :::gasp::: I actually bought a lot of clothes for them in the boys department when they were younger, because that was the only place I could find the fun, rich, bright colors that ALL children deserve to wear (vs. all of the pastels in the girls’ section). I remember when they were babies; since ALL BABIES GENERALLY LOOK ASEXUAL (really, this shouldn’t be all that groundbreaking), and since my husband and I didn’t have the hangup that many parents have that it’s socially taboo to have a baby that DOESN’T look like its gender (per society’s standards), we never put garter belts on our daughters’ heads or insisted on inflicting the useless pain of pierced ears to PROVE that they were girls. They wore a wide range of bright, non-pink colors (except for the few pink pieces that friends and relatives INSISTED they get — because of them being GIRLS), and comfortable pants. We had plenty of people in public make the comment, “What a cute little boy! What’s his name?” and when I’d tell them and they’d realize it was a girl, they would looked shocked, like they’d made a monumental mistake and apologize profusely. My answer to that was usually along the lines of, “She really doesn’t care, and I’m sure she’s not offended in the least!”

2) My husband and I both hate the general idea of Barbie and that the ONLY toys girls should play with are dolls. Really? And that teaches them spacial relations and mechanics and how to compete in this overpopulated, dog-eat-dog world how? Yes, ALL children (that includes BOYS, too) need to nurture - whether it be a stuffed animal, a doll, or a sibling – but the key here is WELL-ROUNDED. One or two dolls, but also blocks, trucks/cars, science projects, sports, and puzzles. For EVERYONE. But that’s what my girls have had, and SURPRISE — though they’ve occasionally wanted a special doll (like American Girl, of which I fully approve, due to the “girls who overcame the obstacles of their society to be who they wanted to be” theme), they both have their personal preferences in playthings. For example, my younger daughter went through a phase when she just LOVED Matchbox cars, collected them, and made up scenarios with them. My older daughter LOVES myteries to solve, which includes stuff along the lines of CSI detective sets, and science kits. Besides that, they have books, games and games abound, outdoor/activity toys, puzzles, and many other activities. And funny — time and time again, when we have friends who have boys come over, they’re always surprised at how well they get along with the girls — because they actually speak the same language! It’s actually funny; even the girls who are expected to be quiet, demure, and to play with their dolls at home become different children when they’re at our house — because THEY CAN BE!

3) We also don’t believe that girls are naturally more submissive and less assertive than boys from birth. Contrary to what many believe, at birth, girls and boys have almost the same levels of testosterone, and there’s absolutely no significant difference until about 4-8 years old (depending on who you ask). So the “bouncing baby boy” theory is actually scientifically bunk. But we’ve seen it time and time again — someone who has both a toddler boy and a girl will reprimand their daughter for getting covered with mud,  making a mess, or being too aggressive; however, when the boy acts the same way, the parents say, “Stop!” then shrug apologetically and say, “Boys!” as if that’s an excuse. Then, not even knowing how they’re molding the behavior, they’ll go on to say how GENERALLY the girl is SO much easier, and how they’ve just “given up trying” to control the boy.

:::sigh:::

By the time pre-adolescence hits, it’s been well instilled, and I think that surge in testosterone coupled with the expectations of the parents exacerbates something that wouldn’t be quite as extreme if it weren’t programmed into the child at an early age.

We’ve severely minimized TV exposure to our girls, and the relatively few to which they’ve been exposed have generally been picked because of their positive reflection of girls. I remember when my younger daughter went through a funk about a year ago. She LOVES comic books — that was all we could get her to read for awhile — and she’d noticed that the superhero movies that came out were all about BOY superhero. So at some point, she decided she wanted to be a boy. So when I asked her why, she told me, “Because all of the superheros are boys!” Shortly after that, we got her a subscription to Wonder Woman, Spidergirl, and one of the X-Men (since it’s a good mix). That appeased her, but she’s right — look at our blockbuster movies: Batman, Superman, Iron Man… the list goes on. Typically, if there’s a woman superhero, she’s just part of the group.

We also prohibited a lot of the “classics” from our household  — Sleeping Beauty, Cinderella, Snow White — because we wanted to teach our daughters that they should take a problem into their own hands and fix it best they can through their own means, not helplessly wait for some “Prince Charming” to come along and “save” them. They’ve actually been growing up during a good period — there have been some good children’s movies that have come out in the past decade that actually show females in a strong light — so we’ve had a decent variety in place of the other, more old-fashioned ones.

So, what’s the purpose of this rant? I just think that after 12 years, it’s really old. My husband and I have refused to bring up our girls in the “girl stereotype” — my crusade as a parent is to bring them up independent, strong, and of their own means, without needing any man to “take care” of them. As a family, the 4 of us have taken Tae Kwon Do together for the past 4 years, and we’ve all just gotten our 2nd degree black belt. At the ages of (almost) 10 and 12, they are self confident, vivacious, exuberant, strong, and comfortable with themselves. And I know we have the hurdles of adolescence ahead of us, but we hope we’ve gotten a good head start for them to make good decisions, of their own will, without any old gender stereotypes refraining them from being the best they can be.

 

Grandma, I can’t believe this…. but I think I understand!

When I was a child, we lived in the same house as my grandparents in Long Island, NY. While both of them worked,  I remember them coming home in the evening — my grandfather all kinds of, “Hi, how was your day?” before he went upstairs to the apartment that had been made up there. He didn’t seem to have a care in the world. My grandmother — nothing. She’d barely grumble, “Hi,” when she was on her way in and on her way out. And on the weekends, though my sister would go upstairs and spend time with her, I barely ever heard her speak. Even when I was up there with them — I would spend hours talking to my grandfather, yet I could barely get a few sentences out of my grandmother. What an extreme! And then, years later — I’m equivocating this to sometime around the time my grandfather retired and she was still working — it was like the dam broke, and she hasn’t stopped talking since!

I have to admit, she’s always been an enigma to me. I always wondered a) why she was SOOOOO quiet for all of those years, and b) why suddenly did she start talking, to another extreme, later on!

Very recently, the lightbulb went off over my head, and I think I understand. I UNDERSTAND!

I’m on a self-initiated talking hiatus at home right now, and I can see that it’s making my husband and my kids pretty uncomfortable. Because by nature, I am the communicator; before I started my business, my job was marketing and communications, so communicating was my LIFE. But I’m done for now.

By nature, I’m also a take-charge individual, and it was years ago established in an unspoken way that I would be director of the household, for EVERYTHING. Not that I wanted it; that’s just how it all went. And I didn’t really realize it — or mind it — while I was distracted and spending many hours with my work away from home. But right now, I’m tired of it.

And I’m just tired.

I remember sometime around 5 years ago, my husband went through this period when he was convinced that I didn’t love him anymore (I did), that I was having an affair in all of my work travel (I wasn’t), and that I was going to leave him (I wasn’t). It was mostly based on the fact that I was SOOO tired at the end of the day, that I was just done communicating — between directing my department during the day and directing everything else at home after work, I just couldn’t move my mouth any more! After the kids went to bed, I just wanted peace and quiet, and to turn on the boob tube and vegetate for awhile before going to bed so I could start the next day’s cycle all over again. On the other hand, he was a computer programmer and self-contained during the day, so he craved additional interaction at the end of the day. Somehow, without consulting me, he’d gotten himself all worked up in his head (without talking to me) that he made it a reality to him — and I had no idea, except the fact that he was cranky and sullen for awhile, and even though I’d ask him what was the matter, he wouldn’t talk about it. It took us having a really big blowup over some stupid things he did during this period — and me telling him I wouldn’t live like that — to find out the root of the problem and be able to work on it and get better.

I purposely worked on communicating with him more, paying him more attention, and it became more of a habit. So, by the time I’d decided to start my business and quit my job, we were humming along pretty well again. But here’s the problem — I’m a communicator, and spend a majority of my time with the plants now, which, though it is very soothing and balancing, leaves me with a deficit in the area of communication. I crave it, and 2 years later, I miss the constant, constant, constancy of having to do it! Before, I had a department of people and everyone related to my job to deal with every day. I had a group of friends that I saw at work all the time with whom I’d share a lunch break and regularly share and unload any issues that needed to be vented. And so, I could easily get past irritations around the household because I was able to study them, then release them, and then forget about them through my day-to-day interactions.

So, it’s been 2 years now, and though I do have a good group of friends, it’s a very different world for me now. I don’t have that regular interaction with others; most of my interactions are today very topical and, though friendly, just don’t do anything in the way of helping me work out the real stuff on my own. So I guess I’ve increasingly depended on my husband to be my sounding board, and I guess somewhere down the road over this period, I’ve also started to expect him to take a more active role in being there for me and maybe take on some of the household directing. Because having a business such as mine, until I can afford to hire someone (or go back to my old life at the office), that alone takes more time and stress than I’d ever imagined.

What a big mistake.

And I know it! Why, after 14 years (now 16, since it’s been 2 years since I quit my job to work full time on my own business), I should expect him to even SOMETIMES take the wheel and honestly think about how to make my life easier and ease some of my stress without me having to repeat, repeat, repeat myself, is really sort of silly, I guess. I guess it would be like having to actually drive a car after being chauffered without a care for 14 years.

I guess I thought, due to those long ago problems, that he would REVEL in the fact that he is a more central part of my life now, and that I depend on him more as my partner in crime. That he would be happy that he has what he wanted and naturally want to be more front and center, and take some kind of leadership role to alleviate all of my stressors. But instead, he seems to have lulled himself into some blissful ignorance so he doesn’t have to feel my stress, and go about living life and expecting that everything will be taken care of and work out just fine. All the details, the dirt, and the ownership of everything, to make sure it gets done — that’s mine. And I apparently, in his mind, have more time to do that now, with me having a business at home. And if I mention it, all I get is, “Oh, I feel the stress… you have no idea!” Really? I really DON’T have any idea, because he’s not doing anything to actually HELP alleviate it all, and he doesn’t even listen to our conversations anymore — it’s usually very, VERY obvious that he couldn’t be bothered with talking to me, that I should just get on and TAKE CARE OF EVERYTHING, and let him go on with his day.

With that being said, even my “old role” doesn’t seem to work anymore. I communicate, I assign, I give deadlines, I explain financial issues, I try to be creative in problem solving — and over the past 6-12 months, I’ve noticed that it seems that no one is hearing me AT ALL anymore, husband and kids alike. In their eyes, it’s all on me, I guess. They don’t want to deal with the dirt, the difficulties, the stress, and so it’s obviously all on my shoulders, no matter how much I try to share it! I lose sleep at night, I have a constant pit in my stomach, it’s gotten to the point that I don’t enjoy my life anymore because IT’S ALL ON ME. And then, after I’ve tried to throw up red flags and asked for help, and dispairingly fallen back into the standard director role with which I’ve always been assigned, I have to repeat myself to my husband and my children over and over and OVER again, and STILL not be heard – and I HATE repeating myself to begin with.

Don’t get me wrong — it’s not like my husband doesn’t do ANYTHING. He does plenty — but he’s really like a robot. Typically, he only does something if I tell him it needs to be done, and usually, it’s nothing more, nothing less. That in itself is a problem, because after 2 years, I would think he would remember my guidelines about some things having to do with the business, but if I don’t outline the whole thing to a T, inevitably, it doesn’t get done. It’s like he just throws out all of the information instead of processing it, and just figures I will input all of the information every single time it comes up again.

Did I tell you I’m tired?

THIS is why. So I guess I’ve decided I just don’t feel like talking anymore, because a) it’s a waste of my time and effort, and b) maybe it will kickstart the thinking and action process of the others in my household so that it WON’T ALL BE ON ME. Because, for the first time in my life, I feel like I’m at a breaking point, I don’t know where to go from here, and I don’t feel like I have anybody to help me. But since I tried talking and yelling from the mountaintop until my face turned blue, I figured it would take much less effort for me to just zip it all up and let it go. I WANT TO NOT HAVE TO WORRY FOR AWHILE. Though I know I will; however, sometimes something has to break before it can be fixed. And I think my back has broken. Unfortunately, my husband is not the best at confrontation, either, so though I know he knows something is really wrong, he’s afraid to open the can of worms.

But I’M tired of doing it.

Back to my grandmother. She and I have very similar personalities in some ways. She likes directing and taking control. So maybe, at some point, she just decided to say “Screw it!” and clammed up. Because now that I think of it, she started talking again when my grandfather retired and she hadn’t yet. I remember her saying that he was driving her CRAZY. But it may have been that since his world changed, he took a different role, and she felt like she could talk again.

Good God, I really hope it won’t be years, like it was with her! I don’t think I can last that long in a stasis like this.