Nurture or ... nurture.

This week I've explored nurturing ourselves with my clients. Most of them had a really hard time identifying how they nurture themselves, and it was even harder to remember how they did so as a child. My childhood was free of the trauma and violence many of them experienced, and I never pretend to have similar experiences as they do, but I've noticed how I currently nurture myself and how it's similar and different to how I did so as a child.
When I was a little girl, grama could fix anything. This is still the case, and when I'm sick, lonely, tired, or experiencing any negative feeling I know talking to grama can fix it. Likewise, when there is something great going on I love sharing it with her to hear the excitement she shares with me. I'm so blessed to have had her as a constant in my life. I've added a closer relationship with my mom and aunts as well as one of the best ways I know to nurture myself.
I'm happiest when I'm cuddling, whether it's sitting on the couch with the dogs and Craig, the doggers surrounding me in the easy chair, or holding hands with my mama. My sister was a source of nurturing when I was a kid - she's 10 years younger and the love I had her for her filled me with happiness - and when she stays with me, Craig gives up the bed because he knows cuddling with her is going to make me happy for days to come. Again, this is a nurture-skill that I've always relied on.
I know that a good book or funny show will nurture me and wrapping myself in blankets. Creativity and showing off is nurturing to me, something that I could rely on as a cute kid who got lots of attention more than is possible now. Sweating it out at the gym is nurturing body and soul, and I am a firm believer that you have to work out when you least want to because it'll feel so damn good after. Being outside and listening to music, writing (sometimes) and long hot showers with millions of creams and gels are all the keys to feeling better for me. Prayer nurtures me, although it may be among the least-used skills I have. And my friends nurture me, just by being my friends. That's really cool.
And then there's food. My relationship with food, as dysfunctional as it may be, has always been one that works for me when I really need it to. Tonight, a cup of hot chocolate and piece of peanut butter-toast (grama's homemade bread no less) and the stress and aches of the day moved from the forefront of my mind. I looked for other options to nurture myself out of a blue mood, but no one answered the phone. Proving, to my chagrin, that food is the tool that I can turn to when I don't even have the energy to find other sources of nurturing.
This goes to show, I think, that the ways we nurture ourselves can also be the ways we hurt ourselves. Drugs, alcohol and sex were named by several clients as ways they've made themselves feel better, even if the end result wasn't a nurturing effect.
It's so interesting to think of all the ways people nurture themselves, healthy and unhealthy. I'll be sure to notice all the ways that I am nurturing to others, because that's the best way to nurture myself of all.

Within these sacred halls

I went to church with my mom today for the first time in more than a year. I likely went on Christmas Eve 2008 but every time she's asked since I pretend I can't hear her.
Zion Lutheran is where I learned about God, Jesus, forgiveness ... and fear. The God preached to me in confirmation class was one of fear - I was in my 20s before I concluded that I might just not spend eternity in a firey hell.
My own faith was influenced heavily by my time at Holden Village (holdenvillage.org), where I learned that not only am I loved and forgiven but so is EVERYONE ELSE. For most of my life that God only loves people who worship Jesus and live the Bible word for word. Being part of a community that explored and loved God as more than a mostly-punitive, distant parent was pretty liberating.
When Craig and I church shopped in 2006, we found a place where the sermon not only *addressed* the ongoing war but the preacher was so bold as to say that God wasn't on anyone's side and might even not want war to happen. Again. Mind blowing. Our most recent church, the now-defunct Well, met at a church and most of us had a pint of ale with our gospel. I'll always remember a relative's condemning gasp when she found out that we drank during church, even though Jesus himself was a pretty big fan of wine, it seems.
So Zion, in so many ways, has represented a message that was limiting rather than freeing. Last night, when I agreed (forced?) to go to church with mom, I added to my prayers that God really be with me today during worship, that my fears and anxieties be relaxed and I just absorb His love.
Coincidentally, church today was all about love, featuring Corinthians 13 - "the greatest of these is love" verses. The pastor, who was new to me (a small, rural church with plenty of in-fighting=high turnover of clergy), shared stories of people who dedicated their whole lives to love - the founder of Habitat for Humanity and Mother Theresa among them. At one point during the service, a woman with four kids took two of them to get a bottle, and left one of the infant twins with his older brother - who was quickly losing his grip of the squirmy boy. My mom quickly moved to get the baby and held him for the remainder of the service. I couldn't help but think that this simple act of holding and cuddling a little boy was the best example of love I'd experienced in the church during service. Even if it wasn't love that affected millions, it made a difference to a mom and her baby.
So yes, God was with me at Zion this morning. I often forget that She is with me ALWAYS, regardless of where I spend my Sunday mornings.

Starting Monday ...

It's often that the changes we want to make in our lives are put off. Usually, put off until Monday. I've recently seen people make some amazing changes in their lives - working out and eating better, facing the demons of their pasts, talking about feelings in a way they've rarely done - and I'm always amazed. Those kinds of life changes are HARD. But I've never found anyone who put the work in and wasn't grateful for it afterward.
I've been thinking about what, exactly, I want my life to look like. I know I want to have kids and a healthy marriage, close relationships with family and friends, be part of a community, impact others in a positive manner ... and no where on the list does it say 'be a size 6'. Weight loss has been a major issue of my life for the last 18 years, and will likely be one for another 18. I may never feel confident and strong in my body regardless of what it looks like, but my mind and my attitude and my psyche are confident and know exactly who I am.
One thing that's always been important to me is empowering women. This year I get to be an active partner in that goal by participating in The Vagina Monologues. It will be cool, fun, exhilirating, difficult, emotional and potentially painful. But if nothing else, I'll get to see a fantastic show come to life and share with others what my version of an angry vagina looks like.

Grumbling on the way

Motivation is something that comes from within, something I know all too well. Only I could force myself through the hardest semesters of grad school, only I could get out of bed on the darkest days, and only I can choose not to stuff my face with pizza.
And so, too, it's only I that can tie up my shoes and hit the pavement. For the last three months, that is what I have been doing. Initially, I was seeing great gains, and losses. Down 11 pounds on the scale in 6 weeks. I went from barely eeking out 2- and 3mile walks to pounding four twice a week. The first 8miler I did was the hardest of my life; the second: a piece of cake.
But now that I'm not seeing progress, it's hard to make myself tie up the shoes, and it's even harder to convince myself I want to. When there are dogs to pet, books to read and sun to soak, why separate myself from those I love to sweat on the asphalt?
The first leg of my journey, always, is the hardest. My daily route consists of the two miles to work and back - through downtown, past the mission, up one of the most beautiful streets in Billings, halved by a plenty hard hill. The blocks barely eek by - 3rd is the longest ever, no 4th, then 5th ... 9 blocks seems like pure trudgery.
But then I hit the top of the hill - and I speed home. There's a spring in my step, I race the beat of my iPod and *am* the epitome of groove. Today, as I lept closer to home, I figured out why.
The first half of my trip is where I get used to thinking. And because lately, the first thoughts that come to mind aren't very happy ones, I have about two miles to sort through those before I get to let my mind wander away from dogs and pains and fights and conflicts and troubles and worries. On the last two miles, I've done my daily allotment of worrying, so I get to think about the future, and how much I love my husband, and how lucky I am to have my family, and how wonderful my friends are, and how I have the cutest dogs in the world. The last two miles more than make up for the first two, in happiness and speed.
I've been able to shave about two minutes off my mile time - not all that impressive, as I'm still at a solid 18. But I have to hope that as my tan gets frecklier and the days get longer and the sun shines for days on end, the happy thoughts will take up more than just two miles. Two really FAST miles.

The Economic Truth

The economy sucks. We know. Pretty much every American knows. Pretty much everyone in the world knows. What we don't know is how to make it better.
In our house, the budget has gotten tighter. I can't insist on natural/healthy dog treats that cost thrice the price, because the dogs would rather have cheap something than expensive nothing. And my love for shoes/clothes/purses/makeup has been conducted at an adoring distance. A $20 purse is equal to a tank of gas. The gas is much more of a necessity than the purse.
And at the grocery store, I make sure to not buy what we won't eat. I stock up when stuff is on sale (see: million boxes of spaghetti in pantry). I buy NO name brands. And this juice I love, which is about $3/40 oz. is something I save for a special occasion. The costs of living, it seems, is too high.
And so we try to find lower costs. We try to find low low prices, even. Yes, our family is considering shopping at WalMart. And it's a decision that actually haunts my thoughts. For us, not shopping at WalMart has been personal. It would be like forgiving the guy who killed your puppy.
Because, in some ways, WalMart has destroyed a part of our lives. Growing up, Craig saw the WalMarts raise along Texas highways. But off the exits, he saw towns crumble around the flourescent lights. The MO was this: WalMart comes into a town, beats the prices and wages of competition. Competition flounders, goes out of business. WalMart hikes prices and lowers wages. Just because they can.
Too often, as a result of this snazzy trick, WalMart becomes the only option. It certainly is in Williston, where my aunt lives and just 30-some miles from my hometown. It's the only place to buy a CD or tv. Has the largest selection of clothing. And no where else in that part of the world can you find ANYTHING open 24/7.
That was not always the case. There was a KMart, and hardware store. A Payless and other shops downtown that thrived. The grocery store suffered, the eye glasses clinic suffered, the local jeweler suffered. Now that there was a cheap place to buy jewelry, why go to the guy who grampa bought grama's wedding ring from? WalMart wipes away tradition, but my sister in law got a wedding band for 100 bucks.
I've not shopped at WalMart for several years, before Craig and I joined forces. Mostly, I have thought it's a dirty, crowded place and I didn't care to mingle among the shrieking throngs. But when I was in "Nickel and Dimed" at Venture, and read the book by Barbara Ehrenreich (I am sure I butchered that name), and watched "The High Cost of Low Prices," WalMart became a place I couldn't get behind ethcially, not just germaphobe-ly. Most of their full time workers get health care coverage - but full time is 32 hours there. So it's not actually as much money as people need to cover the costs not paid for by insurance. Most of their paychecks are spent right at the store. Workes are required to clock out when their shift is over, yet expected to stay until their tasks are completed. They create a monopoly on prices, lowballing companies and threatening them with refusal to deal. As a result, big companies have to give them 100 widgets for $1, but because this cuts into their own profit margin, end up charging everyone-but-WalMart $2 for the same amount of widgets. Their customer service is atrocious, and their once proud declarations of "Made in the USA" is now written in Thai. Execs forbid unionization, and as we learn more about this store people once loved, it's become one we love to hate.
The thing is ... they really are cheaper. A bag of tangelos at the grocery is $7. At WalMart, it's less than half that price. When I bought breakfast makings on Saturday at the grocery store, I shelled out $40. Hubbie bought pretty much the same thing a few days later when he took his dad to WalMart for his groceries ... and again, half the price. Meat is alot cheaper, as is produce. Since that makes up most of what we eat, we would save some serious cash. Is that worth our principles, something we've not been willing to compromise on in just about any circumstance for the last 3 years?
It's all about bottom line, and ours would certainly look better if we were saving money at WalMart. So this should be a clearcut answer, right? Go to WalMart, have more money for purses. Hell, buy purses at WalMart! They're cheaper there!
But as we hear more about the economy, become more desperate for a solution and try to make our salaries add up in any way possible to meet our bills, I can't get beyond the biggest concept that stops me from walking through the sliding doors: As the economy crashes and tumbles, I'd hate for WalMart to be the only one that comes ahead in all this.

Work: The good, the bad, the boring.

So I've not blogged for a long time. So what? It's not like you were waiting with baited breath.
Oh? You were? Hmm. Sorry about that.
If you're wondering then, I'm working now. I'm also still alive, still married and still have two dogs and a great family and amazing friends. Those are the important things in my life, but work is generally what people want to hear about. Generally, to feel good that they're not hating their life/work, or to feel jealous that someone else has it better. Believe me - I have been on both sides of this fence.
I'm at Gateway House, the YWCA's domestic violence shelter. And it's FAB. Seriously. I work 4-12, the same as Craig. And that means we generally get to see each other without it causing planets to spin in opposite directions, and get to go to bed together most of the time. That never happened when I was at Alternatives, and rarely in the last year of our relationship. My requirements for 8+ hours of sleep, and his requirements for 6-or-so mean that I'm generally earlier to bed, later to rise. I'm just happy I have cuddle happy dogs ... and now get to cuddle with my husband with less effort required.
The clientele at Gateway is often cause for me to want to take up smoking again. They can be dysfunctional, chaotic and dramatic, pains in the ass, stubborn, immature ... and wonderful, open, heart-warming and generous. It's kind of like anyone else who has good and bad days - but also throw in the stress of community living, being homeless (and broke, without exception so far), an addiction or two, low self esteem and often patience-trying children, and their bad days can be REALLY bad. There's the loneliness of being without their partner (even a hellish life can be comfortable, and thus the act of leaving is not only physically dangerous but emotional hell) and uncertainty of what's next (we give them 6 weeks to start) and the various groups, chores and meetings required of them to stay here ... and I'm exhausted thinking about it. I've often expressed that the act of leaving, of coming to shelter, of making a step toward change and doing it (life, parenting, paying bills) on your own must be the scariest thing imaginable. I know that I would have no idea how to pay for the house or car, balance the various responsibilities of life, but more than anything I would miss my best friend and partner. Even if he were a dangerous maniac who tortured me emotionally and physically. There's something that makes us fall in love with each other, and most women -but often, especially abused women - hold on in the hopes of finding that again.
There are a lot of kids in shelter right now, and I'd take just about any one of them home with me. I LOVE holding the babies ... and the older kids can be the best part of any given day. Hell, there are some moms who I'd take home and raise as my own, 5-year age difference be damned. Most of our clients have never been told they have any worth to the world, and they believe it. When their young lives (most of them are in their 20s right now) have consisted of crappy parents, crappy schooling and crappy boyfriends, it's no wonder they end up here. Add in some sexual abuse, living in the foster system, addiction and abject poverty, and the odds are so stacked against them ... their day to day survival is often all they can consider when they arrive. Feeling good is such an odd feeling that when it happens they can't recognize it. Helping them realize their own strength, empower them to see they are worth something, and guide them toward change that matters in their lives and the lives of their kids is the big picture. Sometimes we get only a glimmer of what could be, but that glimmer is like the sunshine in December - so worth it.
Unfortunately, we have trouble makers too. They feed off of chaos and drama, affecting everyone around them - even staff. And so too often this place can be a bad reminder of high school. Lots of finger pointing, manipulation, lying ... ok maybe not high school so much as prison.
I work with a former classmate, Erin. I'm amazed at what a great boss she is. And no, I'm not saying this to kiss up. It's such an amazing change having a boss who empowers and appreciates me, instead of belitting, devaluing, criticizing and basically making me furious and/or cry. She's really smart about pretty much all domestic violence/sexual assault things related, and her ability to live and let live is one that is really good for me. Basically because that attitude allows me to express frustration when something/someone doesn't work, and then move on. We don't dwell on the negative. Clients are in and out pretty quickly, and though there have been the longest nights I've ever experienced, I know that this place really does matter to people, even years after they've been here.
The work is pretty dang easy too. I am pretty much a speed demon with paperwork (and a good speed demon at that) so I can interact with the ladies a lot more - whether it's playing with them and their kids, having dinner, dying hair ... or holding them while they cry or listen to thier stories or whatever they need. I really do *live* with them for pretty much 8 hours a day. There are some who I know I will miss when they're gone and even wish could be friends ... and some that I would pack their bags for them!
The easiness has a couple pros and cons - one, I get bored when it's slow. As a result I've become REALLY good at computer solitaire. So good, in fact, that the cascading cards that are the reward for victory is not really that exciting anymore. On the other hand, I'm not exhausted (though I've had to put myself on a wak-up-at-10 regimen) and have time to ... of all things ... exercise! Yup, I'm at week-9 of 6-day-a-week work outs (though this is an 'off week' because of fun things going on) and just finished week 8 of marathon training. I'm going to walk the Montana Marathon in September, and I'm terrified and thrilled. When I did my 8-mile walk a couple weeks ago, I was BEAT afterwards. But you know what? When I started, 4 miles did that to me. Now, 4 miles is nothing. I can do it in 52 minutes on the elliptical (dang snow, still can't log a lot of miles outside) and I've lost 11 pounds. Granted, I gained 11 from November to January, but those suckers are GONE! It's pretty cool being able to see it for myself. I've never had such success with losing weight, and to see results as a direct consequence of doing something is great motivation to keep it going. Whenever I think of moving on professionally (I have *should* feelings, that I *should* be working on my license, *should* be earning more, *should* have something more prestigious) I realize that what I can offer in this job, and what it can offer me, is not easily replicated. I'm satisfied ... and not going to broke what's not fixed.
So, that's work. It's certainly not life. But it's part of it. And since I'm sitting at work at 4 a.m., it's definitely on my mind. My very happy mind. I think I'm so lucky.
My last thought ... when I was let go from Alternatives, it was about 2 weeks after I approached my boss and his boss to express lingering upset-ness that he made a pretty inappropriate joke about domestic violence. Now, they didn't see it my way, but I just can't think of any time that DV is funny. It's the very picture of irony that I was fired for speaking up about the NONhumor of DV ... and now I'm working in DV! Take that B/G! I'm with the good guys now.

Reflecting ...

I spent the 22-29th at my parents' house. It was a pretty good time, complete with sister drama, Bodie peeing on the floor and great quality time with mom and aunts and grama. I got to see my brother for the first time in ages, and get a look into what my family's life is day-to-day. Spent time with old friends, and lots of carbs and napping.

It was great :)

But then I came back, to the reality of a stack of bills and no money to pay them. I am trying to be patient about not having a job, but the stress it is putting on me and on Craig makes it hard not to lose it. Lose my mind, lose my motivation, lose my faith.

In many ways, I am in the same place I was a year ago: jobless and fretting. But the in-between of Jan 1 and Dec 31 is what matters. The big things like finishing my masters', our honeymoon, Craig's accident and adding Bo to the family ... and the little things, from grocery shopping and watching The Wire and learning day-to-day how to keep going.

Our relationship certainly had some transition this year, for the better - we are better at talking to each other, at being partners. Marriage is certainly a forever work-in-progress, but we put a lot of work into ours in 2008. I'm sure it will mean a better 09 and thereafter.

These last two days, I've barely been awake. I'm overwhelmed with what I think qualifies as hopelessness, and I retreat to the safety of slumber. It feels like a waste of life, but when I'm awake *I* feel like a waste of life. I did leave the house today - took CL to work, went to Off the Leaf - and tonight we are making dinner and watching movies to ring in the new year. I'm not feeling well, and neither of us very festive. But having each other, and kissing at any time (midnight or not) is reason to celebrate.

Craig told me last year that in 09, he hopes that we can expect goodness by being good to others, ourselves. That hating is a waste of energy and stunts our growth, not that of the one we are focuing our emotions on. And while yes, 09 will likely also feature the financial struggle that most people in our class are experiencing, that needs to take back burner to joy and celebration and enjoying our lives.

We only get one life, one year at a time.

Karma and Christmas Tradition

This is the second year I've lost my job just before Christmas. It's a Christmas tradition I hope we never experience again.

We were talking about non-violence and karma this morning, and in the aftermath and anger of this job loss, it's tempting to wish horrible things on my former employers. But I figure that's not my job - karma will pay them back with a taste of their own medicine, perhaps. And if not, then I'll just trust the Universe has my best interests in mind with current unemployment.

It could be so much worse ...

9-5 by Dolly Parton is one of my favorite songs, so when I saw the movie for sale for $5.99 at Target I just had to have it. I've never seen it but figured anything featuring a mix of Dolly Parton and Lily Tomlin would be pretty great.

Last night Craig and I watched it, and all that working women have endured made my recent plight seem pretty harmless. My boss never called me "girl," or tried to pinch me or spread rumors of an affair. The faults were much less overt; nonetheless, I wouldn't mind figuring a way to ruin him or at least cause much pain (imagine being zipped up by a garage door opener!)

I was so disgusted by F. Hart, but in the end the girls got their way and were running the place. It may not be my story book ending, but those heroes (fiction and real) give me hope.

I couldn't have said it better myself

“I will not live an unlived life. I will not live in fear of falling or catching fire. I choose to inhabit my days, to allow my living to open me, to make me less
afraid, more accessible, to loosen my heart until it becomes a wing, a torch, a
promise. I chose to risk my significance; to live so that which came to me as a
seed goes to the next as a blossom and that which came to me blossom,
goes on as fruit.” – Dawna Markova

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
-Dylan Thomas


"Well-behaved women rarely make history" Laurel Thatcher Ulrich

"Never Never Never Give Up" Winston Churchill

Nightmare Dreams

All night - three or four times, at least - I had a variation on the same dream: work called, they made a mistake and wanted me to come back to the agency.

I remember being so pissed, and their consolation gift was allowing me to write greivance on my former boss. The form was a carbon copy, as so many there are, and I struggled to write in the small box provided.

Before falling asleep I wondered if I'd dream they wanted me back, the same way I would with boyfriends after splitting up. So I wasn't surprised the situation bubbled up in my subconcious but not really very pleased - it poses the question, would I go back? Could I?

I think ultimately, I would. And then work like crazy to get the hell out of there. I need the paycheck, and dignity and standards are small dice when compared with student loans. I would likely hate it, and myself, but at least I might numb this feeling of embarassment, shame and failure.

At one point in the night, the dogs needed to go out and when I got back inside, tore open the newspaper that had been waiting outside. The "Work for You" section couldn't wait til daylight, I decided. There was so little there, not a single job that speaks to my soul.

Will I be sacrificing my dreams in my next job? Most likely. But honestly, I'd sweep floors if I enjoyed my coworkers. A friend told me once, while I complained about work, that she doesn't love her job so much, but her coworkers make her laugh before 9, making the worst day tolerable. I couldn't help but be jealous.

On her facebook last night, a good friend and former coworker wrote about what happened to me, and she hoped I'd wear my refusal to back down and accept the status quo as a badge of courage. Right now I am allowing myself to be put in that place of "women should be seen and not heard", somewhat as penance but also thinking it's a lesson I should take from this ... strong women were not celebrated by my boss, and the misogynistic culture of working in corrections did not really mesh well with my not-gonna-take-it attitude. But I know that I couldn't have kept my mouth shut, it's not in my nature.

And when I asked Craig, who warned me to not rock the boat, if he was angry with me for having done so and ultimately being fired, he said to wish my fight and energy for justice to be eliminated would be to wish part of what he fell in love with gone, and he wouldn't want to do that anymore than for me to wipe away the silliness of his personality. I'm glad that is his attitude, because the truth is I've never been able to go with the flow if something was wrong about a situation - not in high school, not in college or former jobs. It's what led me into journalism, a passion for rightness, and when I saw I wouldn't find it in that field, I moved into mental health where helping others make sense of their lives would meet my own need to breed goodness in the world.

That is the characteristic I most hope my own children might have, though I hope to teach them how to use it and cultivate it to bring fulfillment in their own lives. My parents, I think, were so astonished by my passion and empathy they just backed off to see where it would take me. So far, it's been four firings, periods of loneliness and despair, but the eventual placement of a gay pastor at Holden, and passing a healthcare bill for kids. Those successes are so much more alive in me than the faults.

So even though I certainly wish I hadn't lost my job, I also know that I didn't lose the part of me that's most important. Maybe the dreams were a reminder of that.

I've had a bad day ...

My head is throbbing and my eyes ache to the back of my head. When I woke from my nap today, I had a couple peaceful seconds before I remembered, then I'd crawl back under the covers, fighting tears. I've felt like throwing up all day and forgot my glasses cleaning cloth in the desk.

Today, I was fired.

No reason was provided, other than I'm in my probationary period and it didn't work out. I've been dumped before, and it hurt, but it was never 8 days before Christmas with gifts yet to buy. My pleas to my boss for further explanation was met with "you're looking for an event and there wasn't one". So no matter how many times I replay the arguments with residents, refusal to use blue pen or various missteps on my part, I'm not able to see what might have been the button that pushed me out the door. The truth is, I was not well-liked by the administration, and someone just decided it was time.

So tomorrow, I'm applying for jobs.

I have several applications filled out, a couple emailed off already. I'm joining Molly at a temp service tomorrow and could likely start answering phones somewhere next week. There will be no sleeping in, no napping and more cooking, cleaning and working out. My job is to get a job, but the off hours will allow for plenty activity that doesn't including moping.

Tonight though, I get to mope. I intermittently cried throughout the evening, avoiding phone calls while watching bad television. Dinner was buttery popcorn with chocolate, washed down with a bottle of wine (husband said I could only have one). With each piece of Dove chocolate I unwrapped, I'd try to decipher the "promise" by the light of the tv, hoping for some clue to my future. "Be a role model," one said; "Take a minute to unwind" was the advice of another. But the one that is perhaps most easily forgotten and most important to remember is this: Dream as if you'll live forever, Live as if you'll die tomorrow.
It's corny on all sorts of levels - including the fact it was my graduation motto in high school - but I think the message is clear. I was unhappy at work for 4 months. That's 640 hours of not enjoying life, of wishing it away, of not really even liking who I was. So while I'm unemployed, I'm going to try to at least enjoy the extra time with Craig, the personal reflection and the character growth I'm sure to someday appreciate. Because to have wasted 640 hours was too many. In the next days, and in my next job, I hope to waste none.

Wisdom

Most of life is pretty average. We take out the dogs, go to work, exercise and eat. Early to bed and do it again. On weekends, there may be more sleeping and eating, or some time with friends and such thrown in there.

But this week, somehow, is less than average. It has, in a word, sucked. I don't know if I'm crabby - the first one to suggest PMS will have his head ripped off immediately before I explain that I got that one 'taken care of' - or if I'm just sick of the drama, but I have written something like 6 IRs this week. I HATE writing IRs. I think that mistakes can be made and learned from without being punished, but the lying and manipulation and blatant disregard for the rules have me entirely fed up. It's not that hard to NOT break the law - millions of people do it every day. Somehow, several of the 25 men in my charge don't quite get that.

To add to the misery, my trainer was fired from the Y this week. I think it was mostly a personality conflict - she is 110% over the top, on the go, wild. And it works. Her workouts are awesome and her motivation is irreplacable. I understand it might intimidate some people but for others its just what is needed. I can run a full minute at 5 miles an hour, and that is possible only because Gera kicked my ass twice a week for two months.

So after the establishment so unfairly fired her, I agreed to try someone else. There is no other Gera, but this lady is VA-NIL-LA. She gave me a good core work out but had me doing stuff I consider 'beginner,' what I learned during Activate America. Let's get something straight - I may be fat but I'm also damn strong. I'm going to give her one more chance, then do something else. Basically, I want the training manager to train me. And if she won't, refund my money so I can go to Anytime Fitness. Which I will likely do at the beginning of the year anyway.

But I did learn something important this week, as a result of last week. I didnt go to the gym at all bc I was working crazy hours. So when I got back there on Monday, it was NOT fun. In fact, that week 'off' was SOOO not worth it. Because the truth is, I like my body most when I'm feeling strong, and capable, and it doesn't matter so much then that my butt is big or my arms flabby. Because I am a woman who is, in general, more than average.

Grama

I got to spend a whole day with my grama, not easy considering both our jobs, busy schedules (hers, mostly) and the 300 miles between us. But as the first grandchild in our family, our bond generally cuts through all that and our closeness is one of the greatest gifts in my life.

Grama's getting old, never more evident than her decreased ability to 'shop til we drop'. Rather, her drop comes quicker than before. She is shorter than I remember, and she can't hear unless I talk in a playground voice. But she is also my favorite woman, one whose life is among the greatest stories I've ever heard.

Grama and I have always been close. My first 8 years of life were spent within two miles of her house, and most of my childhood days were spent with her. I remember checking the rising bread, reading Little Bear and Big Max, staying the night and getting hugs whenever I wanted. When I was little - she remembers it as 2 or 3 - I woke up early one morning before mom was awake. I was bored (requiring stimulation at even that young age) so put my jelly shoes on and started walking down the road in my Rainbow Brite nightgown. It was late fall or early summer, and the school bus came down the road behind me. The driver was a friend of grampa's and said he'd give me ride to the house. So I showed up at grama's, 7 a.m., before my parents knew I was gone. Apparently I couldn't wait to hang out with her.

Because I grew up in the country, there were no kids my age to play with. So I played with grama. She has figured into many of my decisions - to study Norwegian and travel to the country, to return to MT. I could never learn all her wisdom, but I got a lesson in making dumplings - my favorite - tonight. She even measured out the flour so I'd have a recipe to follow. She probly hasn't had to do that since she was a teenager.

Grama grew up without a dad, and her mom was gone a lot. She lived in Portland for part of the war, and was one of the first telephone operators in the county. She lived with her inlaws, and hated it. She cooked and raised children and loved her husband. Her adventures of youth make my sheltered existence pale as boring, and her fantastic ability to form and keep relationships is one I hope to emulate my entire life.

Every story I write is the best she's read. I am beautiful to her, and even my terrible houskeeping and cooking skills are forgiven. She doesn't mind that I'm not Lutheran (or Craig's not) and is realistic about just how irritating our family members can be. She continues to work at a cafe and I spent many afternoons after school helping her clean up the bakery she worked out until I was in college. She's been a widow for most of the time I've known her, so I know her as my grama more than her roles of wife, mother, sister, daughter, friend. Well that's not true I guess. She's my friend.

Grama turns 80 next year and I know she won't be in my life forever. That terrifies me, because who will I call for directions to make jello or tell a funny story? Two years ago I made Craig call her to tell me I had to take off the blankets in spite of my high fever and terrible chills because I wouldn't believe it otherwise. She will always be part of me and I will love her forever. I can't wait to tell my grandkids how great a grama I had, and hope she'll think I'm good at it too.

Happy Birthday, friend

Today is the 28th birthday of the first boy I ever loved. Today, he is one of the few men I currently love. Through it all, he's been a friend, distant, my partner in crime, and a total stranger. I'm so thankful for every moment.

Mike currently lives in California, but every Christmas for most of our adult lives we've gathered at the Hotel Albert in Fairview to escape family and drink and smoke. Cigarettes have been eliminated, and partners added to the equation. No matter how long since we've talked, Mike and I can reconnect somehow. We're lucky like that.

In high school, he was my confidante, a duty he didn't always like having. I stayed the night at his house, and it was his basement where I retreated to after basketball games. His mother remains one of my heroes, and his home one where I still forget to knock.

Mike has welcomed Craig into the dynamic of our relationship and I hope to someday extend his partner the same. We've evolved as people and friends, and grown closer in ways we couldn't have fathomed as children - politically, spiritually, artistically.

Mike plays a major part in my history, and remembering him always makes me smile. It's a joy to talk to him on the phone, and has been amazing to see him 'grow up' (a later bloomer, eh ;) ). No one besides my husband has ever been able to make me so furious and so ecstatic at the same time. I'd do pretty much anything for him, even not tease him about being older than me.

Happy Birthday Mike. I love you.

Never Give Up

It is Nov. 7, and the election of my lifetime was decided three days ago. I thought it would never come. And it couldn't get over soon enough.

My entire adult life has featured the fear and oppression of the Bush administration. I read Obama's "Audacity of Hope" nearly two years ago, just before (or maybe after) he declared his candidacy. His words shook something in me that I didn't know existed.

Our country is broken. And Obama will not fix it. Not on his own. It will take the work of Democrats, Liberals, anarcharists, Republicans and members of each political party. It will take the believers and atheists, Muslims and Jews, all Americans regardless of sex, orientation, language, education or color to stand together for something we believe in: a country where dreams are nourished, where everyone gets an equal say (whether they feel that way or not) and where we get back up after every fall.

We said "Yes We Can" to get the man elected. Now, with the economy, war, and climate, we have an even bigger job in front of us.

Yes, We Can.

A Finely Woven Mat of dog hair

According to dachshund experts, the breed is blessed with a lack of shedding. This is mostly true, I've always thought, because altough Zu sheds a bit, her black hair stands out and it's not a lot.

Well, Bodie proves me, and those damn experts, wrong.

My sweet, sweet boy is a Piebald doxie. I think the 'bald' part is because he sheds so fucking much it's a miracle he has any hair left. His soft, white hair is on EVERYTHING. Our rugs and floors look like we haven't vacuumed in years, not the seven days it's really been. My brown comforter appears to have flecks of white splattered on it. And the couches and recliner feature a thin coating of his silky as snow hair. When he rides along to take me to work, I have to de-fur with the sticky roller before going inside. I tend to wear dark colors, and they nearly always feature a little extra white somethin'-somethin'.

My only wish is that his dog hair were worth about $10 a metric ton. Because we'd be MILLIONAIRES tomorrow. He is so soft and sweet, I mentioned I'd like a Bodie blanket. A friend laughed and said we could skin him but really, it would just be a matter of weaving together all his leftovers covering my house. Gross.

As I've vacuumed, swept and washed all the linens and clothes today, I've become ever more aware of just what a problem we have on our hands. He doesn't have a thick coat, so how the hell can he spare so much hair? Craig says our only options are to shave him, spray him down with a fine mist of lacquer, or deal. I guess I'll deal, but don't expect me to like it. White just doesn't look that good on me.

PS I bitch, but Bo is the greatest little boy. I love him and his damn fur a whole lot.

When Hubbie's Away ....

Wooo! Bachelorette weekend!

That's right. Craig was away for the weekend, joining the North Richland Hills Class of 88 to celebrate that they haven't seen each other for 20 years. Par-tay! He got to see his family, too. I'm nearly certain his mom wanted to hold him on her lap the whole time.

So, since back in the day I was quite the wild child, I reinstated the tradition for my weekend of singledom. I got home around 430 on Friday and ... stripped! And right into bed I went. About 10 minutes into my reading session, old friend AnnDee called me. And we talked for two hours, updating each other about our lives. Since by then the dogs were done with sleep and wanted to pee, I got dressed for the occasion and began planning out the night ahead.

Clad in my 07 MT Womens Run shirt and the running pants I've had on for three days now, the dogs and I rebelled against The Man and sat in his chair. ALL NIGHT. I couldn't find anyone to go have sushi with me, and Wendy's doesn't deliver. We were out of milk so cereal couldn't be my dinner. So with a bowl of popcorn (preceded by WW frozen lasagna) the dogs and I switched back and forth between chick flicks on our too-many-channels-to-choose-from cable. ESPN? Not tonight, baby!

Saturday I slept in. Til 8. Got all spruced up and took my pancake griddle to the Obama HQ for a breakfast. At which I was the youngest eligible voter there. I sat with some old people, and left quietly since I didn't know a soul and no one was actually talking about Obama. I can wax poetic about Biden's Planned Parenthood rating and Obama's vet policy. But gumbo and PTA? Clueless.

I figured since Craig was out caurosing, shelling out $22 for three drinks (why, back in Montaana, that'd just cost 8 bucks!), I should throw around a little dough too. I went down the street to the Academy of Skin, Hair and Nails (white trash beauty school) and had my eyelashes and eyebrows colored. Since my face looks featureless without brow crayon and mascara, I thought this would be a quick fix. Well, it wasn't quick. An hour after my arrival, I was finally finished and flourished my checkbook to assess the damage - All Ten Dollars of it. Quite the wild weekend, eh?

I bailed out on registering voters at the park (rain. icky) and grabbed a latte to head out to Miles City. Mom, Dad and I were meeting for lunch (four hours of driving for a BBQ pork sandwich. I recognize the foolishness) at 2 and I was ready to hit the road. So I did exactly what I wanted to the whole way and alternated between listening to NPR and singing Dolly and Cher at the top of my lungs. No Joe Pernice on this trip, no sir! Plus, I even went to WalMart in Miles City, where I saw the most amazing mullet since 1982. Cowboy hats and mullets go hand in hand apparently. Who knew?

When I got back to town, I got the ok from Pops to keep the pups while I went out with the girls. I meet RaeLeigh and Marlene at the pottery shop and went to town! I painted a plate for a friend and picked out a project for my next visit. Girls gone wild, I tell you!

We followed up the session at Chameleon with a trip to Barnes and Noble, where I had my first pumpkin spice latte of the season. Full sugar even! No stopping me now!

Either I've transitioned to the point where I sweat while reading or it was really hot in there, so I just stayed a little more than an hour. I bought lots of books, mostly on the clearance table. All sorts of supposed gems, including "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance". See? I haven't read that yet and its supposedly required reading for the Liberal Set. Talk about rule breaker!

Hefting my sack of books outside, I had to pat myself on the back. I was ready for several weekends to come of reading, armed with 60-dollars worth of books. Girls gotta party, y'know?! I came home, took the dogs out, and popped my nightly bag of popcorn (94% fat free is key, although I will admit to gleefully pouring butter and salt on). The dogs and I watched Instant Beauty Pageant (trash) and Legally Blonde (classic) before hitting the hay with four of the new books. After three whole minutes of reading, I was conked.

This morning I woke up at 630 or so. Yuck. I started the day's chores, since Craig will be home around midnight tonite. Our relationship features a healthy dose of fear. Mine, mostly regarding his lectures about cleaning, so I started the day with making a bigger mess. Pumpkin bread was on the morning menu, but I didn't have baking soda or spices, so I went to the store and then back to City Brew for ANOTHER pumpkin pie latte. I'm a lush, what can I say?

After feeding Pops and starting laundry and doing dishes, I decided to take a break and nap for a couple hours. I woke up to the bang of a BB gun and checked my messages. I had one from old friend Mike, and we gossiped and commiserated like the old biddies we are. I love that man and even admitted to him that - gasp! - I have a scent. So if Craig asks, yes, I did spend a considerable amount of time with another man. It just so happened we were separated by 1800 miles. God Bless the Towers of Verizon.

I'm currently almost caught up on laundry, the kitchen is acceptable, the bathroom mostly sanitary. I figure if I can sweep and vacuum, I'll have more than met my responsibilities. Because you know I'm a rebel, but even a rebel's gotta have clean digs.

Whiny Week

I've had sort of a rough week. I interviewed for a job that I didn't get (I should be used to it, right?), and pretty tired, and have not felt good a single day (cold/cough, headache, stuffy). So I gave myself a pass from the gym and haven't graced its elliptical machines all week.

So now there's something else to feel guilty about.

I continue to search for the balance between work and life. It's one that I've never mastered very well. So while it's not a surprise that this is something I'm struggling with, I am disappointed with myself that my personal health is the first thing to go.

Here's to next week.

Just a little tickle

We are sick.

Craig has been coughing for days. (he is currently narrating over my shoulder so he may soon be screaming for his life) It's one of those deep rattly coughs that they BEGGED him to produce in the hospital, but noooo. He's having no trouble with it now, doc.

I was all concerned-wifey, making sure he had Robitussin (even going to WalMart to get it, dear God!), sharing my Mucinex, and doling out Ambien nightly.

But now that I'm sick, bitch is on his own.

I got up this morning (after listening to him cough ALL NIGHT) and noticed a bit of a tickle in my throat. I took the dogs out, put on my workout clothes ... and went back to bed. The tickle moved into my chest, producing a patented Ang-cough, the likes of which causes coworkers to run and movie patrons to offer me cough drops.

At one point - 9ish, we'll say - Craig came in to the bedroom (he's taken to sleeping in the chair again. It's like his crib, little baby) and said he didn't know I was home until I started coughing.

"Oh baby, I got you sick," he said.
"Mmphmmfft," I replied.
"Do you still love me?" he asked.
"A little bit," I answered.

Because dammit he got me sick! And in each of our winters together, this is what happens: he gets sick, and is over it in three days. I get sick and cough for the next six weeks. Seems a little unfair.

Anyway, I didn't go to the gym because it is the second to last place I need to be, what with all the people and germs. The very last place I need to be is work, what with all its people and killer germs (I live for a squirt of hand sanitizer after each client). Alas, I shall go. Because I can guarantee it's only going to get worse.

In other news: wah wah wah.

THINGS CRAIG IS TEACHING HIS PRODIGY (AKA BODIE and ZULA): If you can have a steak first thing in the morning, you should.

Craig was making a zerbert noise to entertain the dogs. Rather than entertain, Zu was immensely bored (as is her way) and Bodie freaked the fuck out. Jumping, barking, I think he even deepened his bark in an effort to get Craig to stop. Which he did. 10 minutes later.