My Christmas

As usual, any time spent around my family is interesting. This year wasn't too bad. I didn't get to see as much of my dad as I would have liked because he was working a lot and spent enough time with my mom to drive me crazy but not to the point of being homicidal. I'd liked to have spent more time with my brothers, particularly Caleb since I barely saw him at all.
The highlights of my visit home:

GRANDMA TIME--I went to my Grandma's early Monday to help her with Christmas dinner (we celebrated a day late because my paramedic sister and my dad, who works at home for troubled youth, both had to work Christmas day), so I got to spend a lot of time with just the two of us. My Grandma is the sweetest woman in the whole world. Sometimes she'll drive you crazy because she won't stop trying to feed you, but she has a heart of gold. And spending that time with her, I realized that we're alike in a lot of ways. My Grandma is what you would call spunky and she has this "Don't tell me I can't" attitude. She didn't get a driver's license when she was young (not that uncommon for women at the time), but at 40 got tired of being dependent on others, took driving lessons and got her license. Now she's getting older, her joints are getting stiffer, and it's harder for her to do things, but she still does as much as she can, even if it takes her a little longer. In one corner of her apartment is a little stand with a couple small power tools on it that she uses to repair small pieces of furniture she finds at yard sales. I think that I have not fully appreciated my Grandma for the strong, resilient woman that she is before, but I'm working on changing that.

COOL SIGNIFICANT OTHERS--I met my brother Josh's girlfriend Lisa and my sister Bambi's boyfriend Rich for the first time, and I really liked them both. Lisa is the first girlfriend of Josh's that I've ever met, but she's really cute and seems like she fits Josh personality-wise. And Rich is the first boyfriend of my sister's that I've actually thought was good enough for her. He kind of balances her out well, and he seems to be a stable and good-natured guy.

NEW CAMERA--Normally, I would never list a gift as one of my holiday highlights, since we all know that's not what it's about. But anyone who knows me knows what a camera buff I am. Still, I am about the last one in my family to get a digital camera because I didn't want to spend a lot of money to get a simple point and shoot one that wouldn't be what I really wanted, and I didn't have the money to get what I really wanted. So this year I told my mom that the only thing I wanted was a digital camera, told exactly which one I wanted, and said she could get the whole family to go in on it, that I would make up the difference if they fell short (it's a $400 camera) and if I didn't get a single other thing I'd be happy. I have my camera, and I am happy.

EXTENDED FAMILY TIME--Ok, there's only so much of this I can handle, because when my aunts, uncles and cousins all get together, it's bound to be boisterous, and there's bound to be questions about my love life (and really, how am I supposed to explain to people I see every year or two that there's someone I'm crazy about, but it's complicated because we work together and he's 20-plus years older than me?). I guess maybe the age thing won't be such an issue though, because my favorite aunt, who is about 15 years older than me, is determined to fix me up with a friend of hers from college who lives near me. So maybe my family is getting less rigidly conservative as they age, I don't know. All in all, despite the thinly veiled "when are you ever going to get married?" inquisitions, I had fun seeing everybody. Oh yeah, my best friend from high school was there too, since she's marrying my cousin in May. Which means I'll have to make another trip home to see my family in May...

License to Parent

Really, one should be required.
Last night, one of my co-workers had a Christmas party for all of our other co-workers and the volunteers we work with. This lady who used to work at the museum, but before I started working there, came to the party, and brought along her nine-year-old daughter--to a party that everyone knew was going to involve a lot of drinking.
But that wasn't the worst of it. The woman proceeded to get completely smashed while her little girl sat in the corner, watching TV and looking miserable. We didn't realize quite how smashed she was getting, because she went from acting a little buzzed to barely being able to walk within a few minutes. Meanwhile, we notice the little girl heading through the kitchen to the living room looking like she's about to start crying. Her mom followed her to "check on her," but was back to drinking a minute later. And... the woman had driven there and was planning to drive home.
At this point I'd had too much to drink to drive myself, so I found the party's host, who'd only had a drink or two, and told him that she was going to need a ride home. So he and I took the girl and her mom home together. I sat in the back with the little girl, who had tears streaming down her face, and tried to talk to her about anything--school, whatever--to distract her. From her reaction, it was clear that she's seen mom tanked many times. When we got to the house, the little girl had to help her mom get her keys out of her purse, and I had to help her to the door. At the door, she stumbled on the step, falling into me and knocking me over so that I almost knocked the little girl completely over.
I cannot remember the last time I have been so furious and upset. I just wanted to hug that little girl and tell her everything would be ok, but I knew it probably wouldn't be. More than that, I wanted to leave the mom to stumble her own way into the house and to bed and take the little girl with me. I may be barely making ends meet, but I could take better care of her than that woman.

I survived... but barely

This post is a couple days delayed, mainly because of the fact that since Friday it's been pretty uncomfortable to sit for more than a couple minutes at most. Today I can make it about 10 minutes before I have to get up and walk around--a little longer, even, if I'm sitting on a cushy couch.

I got a steroid injection in both hips Friday morning. The one I got in the left hip wasn't too bad because apparently the pain there was more superficial, so the injection wasn't as involved. The one on the right side, however, was another story.

I think I had steeled myself up for the whole process pretty well by imagining it to be as bad as I possibly could, so anything less was a relief. The injection itself was, as expected, very painful, even a little more so than the previous ones I've had. But I gritted my teeth, I scrunched up my face and I got through it, all with only a tear or two slipping past the barrier of my eyelids.

Problem is, that was the easy part. If you've never had a steroid injection before, it works like this--you get the shot to help with some kind of joint/muscle pain, but for a couple days afterward, before it starts relieving the pain, wherever you get the shot hurts a hell of a lot more. And this time, the after-the-shot pain was far worse than with any of the other shots I've had.

I got the shot first thing in the morning, then went into work. Normally, I might have just taken the day off, but my doctor's office is near where I work, which is 45 minutes from where I live. Since I had to make the drive up anyway, and since I doubted I'd feel like driving back right after I got the shot, I figured I'd go in. But as the day progressed I was in more and more pain. By the time lunch rolled around, from the back of my knee to the middle of my back felt like one big muscle knot.

I went to lunch with a friend to celebrate my new job, and the whole time I couldn't sit still because it hurt so much (standing and walking aren't too bad; sitting sends a shooting pain from the back of my hip down to my calf). He kept asking me why I didn't just go home, and I said because I didn't want to make the drive (driving is the only thing worse than sitting), and I was hoping it would let up by the end of the day. Eventually I guess I just looked like I was in so much pain that he offered to drive me home, which I finally relented to. I'm glad I did, because as I lay in bed that evening in a codeine-induced fog, the only thing I could think was I don't know how I would have made it home otherwise.

Anyway, this post has gotten much longer than I intended (which of course means my leg is going numb from sitting), so I'll wrap it up. I'm now back to about where I was before the shot and hopefully it will kick in and I'll start feeling a lot better over the next couple of days. I have to go back to the pain clinic in six weeks, and if I'm still having problems, I'll have to get another injection--so please cross your fingers that's not the case!!!

Merry Christmas to me!

I have a new job!!!
Ok, I have to admit, I'll be kind of sad to leave my old job, because I really do enjoy it, but I'm trying to get out of debt, and I really can't do that making what I make now.
So as of the first of January, I will be a working writing copy and doing some design for a marketing consulting firm. Besides the pay raise, I'm very excited because I think the company and the position are both a good fit for me. It's a small company, and it seems like everyone gets along really well. Plus I think it will be a really good environment for me to learn more about marketing strategy. When I left journalism, I was really looking to go into public relations. But my job now has ended up being a combination of public relations and marketing, and I've found I really enjoy the marketing aspect and would like to learn more.
Yay! Ok, gotta call/email a bunch of people and share the good news!

Dear Santa,

My mommy says I've been mostly good this year, so here's my list:
Bones
Treats
Bones
Treats
Thanks Santa! Hope you liked the kisses I gave you!
Love, Alex

They like me, they really like me!

So I must be doing something better with my cover letter now than I did when I last went job-hunting and it took six months to get my first interview and a year to get a job. I think it's because I made it very short and sweet. Plus I think the new types of experiences that I'm getting at my current job, which are reflected on my resume, are helping too.
I really just seriously started sending out resumes about a month ago, and I've had two interviews (both of which went really well) in the past couple weeks, and a call about another one a couple days ago.
Who knows--I might make it to the "middle income" classification yet!

Giving thanks

At its root, Thanksgiving is a holiday meant to remind us to be grateful for the many blessings we have. With the hustle and bustle of the holidays, and the ever-growing encroachment of Christmas into the Thanksgiving season, we often forget to take the time to count our blessings.
Just so I remember how lucky I am, here are a few of the things I'm thankful for:

• Family, even when they drive me crazy.
• A few close friends who love me more than 100 casual friends.
• My Sister Circle.
• My puppy Alex who makes me smile just by being himself.
• A job that I enjoy and that keeps a roof over my head and food on the table (most of the time!).
• My health--if an achy hip is the only lasting effect of three serious wrecks, I'm very fortunate.
• My writing and photographic ability.
• Beautiful memories.
• Music that touches my soul, lifts my spirit, makes me smile because it matches my own internal rythym, or just makes me feel good.
• Roommates, past and present, who have put up with my bad habits, and with whom I've unfailingly been able to share a lot of late-night giggles and even full belly laughs.
• Sunny days.
• My dependable car--after a series of not-so-dependable ones.
• Having loved deeply, and having been loved in return.
• Road trips with friends.
• Guilty pleasure TV shows.
• Blogs that help me keep up with and feel close to friends who are far away. :)
• All my "adopted" families who make me feel at home wherever I am--Randi's family, the Willards, my Sister Circle (again) and my Wingate family.
• And last, but definitely not least--clean, dry socks (see the entry "Socks" from Sept. 5 if you're confused).

I have a life!

Or at least I've had one for the past couple weeks. Which is why I've been slack on the blog...no time! In the past two weeks, I have:

• Been to Maryland to visit friends there (Hurry up and move back to Charlotte, Kelly and Quiz--Randi and I need friends!)
• Went to see Fallingwater, a house built by Frank Lloyd Wright. It's out in the country about an hour or so south of Pittsburgh, and it's built over a waterfall. I've been there once, in middle school, but Randi, Kelly and Quiz had never been. It's no less than amazing.
• Got my first manicure! I started picking the polish off about three days later, though, after the first little chip appeared.
• Had a job interview, which I think went pretty well. It would pay way more than I make now, but the commute might drive me crazy. No longer than what I have now, but traffic would drive me nuts. I'll hear something more after Thanksgiving.
• Have another interview scheduled for right after Thanksgiving. The company is in the exact same area as the other one, though, so again a bad commute.
• Went to dinner and to see Walk The Line with Randi and EE (another friend from college, visiting from Greensboro). Best movie I've seen in a very, very long time. Lived up to and even exceeded the hype.
• Went to Coyote Joe's with Randi and EE, got drunk on the cheap (just a note--the last time I've really been drunk was last New Year's Eve), and had an interesting cab ride home. The driver said we should be on Taxi Cab Confessions.

See? Told you I'd been busy. Oh, and in other news, I had my appointment at the pain clinic last week. And I ended up not getting the epidural block that the neurosurgeon said I needed. The pain clinic doctor (who was much more thorough than the neurosurgeon) said, after getting a comprehensive history of the pain I've have and the wrecks I've been in, then doing a physical exam, that the issue is with my sacroiliac joint (where you hip connects to your tailbone--hope I spelled that right), not my spine.

Basically, he said the MRI can be misleading, because as soon as you see some disc damage, you assume that's the problem. But my disc damage is relatively mild, and the symptoms I have are consistent with problems with that joint more so than disc damage. That's also the joint where I've had injections in the past, which have been very effective. So, I have to go back in a few weeks to get another one. Still is going to hurt like hell, but at least I know what to expect. The thought of getting a shot in my spine had kind of scared the crap out of me.

Ow! Ow! Ow-w-w!

Ok, an amendment to my last post. I will not have to get more cortisone shots in my hip. I will be getting a cortisone shot in my spine! :(

We're not going to cut you open, but...

The good news is that the damage to the disc in my back is, according to the neurosurgeon, not nearly severe enough to even consider surgery.

The bad news is it may reach that point down the road. Oh, yeah, and I will probably continue to have painful flare-ups every year or so (and maybe more often as I get older and the disc deteriorates further) that will require anti-inflammatories, muscle relaxers, and (this is the biggie) cortisone shots in my hip.

Ok, let me back up, because I haven't really posted anything about my back issues on here, just emailed some people about it.

Over the past five years, I've had four painful episodes related to my sciatic nerve (the largest nerve in your body--it runs from your lower back down both legs). Normally, it results in painful muscle spasms on the left side of my back. This time, it has manifested itself through muscle spasms in my right leg, and my right calf and foot feel like they're perpetually asleep. They finally sent me for an MRI and found that I have a bulge and a tear in one of my discs. Basically, a little bit of the chemical that is inside the disc leaks out from time to time and irritates the nerve.

When that happens, I have a flare-up and get to do all the fun stuff listed above. Doing certain exercises to strengthen my back can help prevent flare-ups, but it won't completely eliminate them. If it eventually gets to the point when I'm in pain most of the time, then I would have to look at surgery as an option.

So while it's good news that I won't have to go under the knife, I've got to say that the thought of facing cortisone shots every year or so is not a pleasant one. I've had three of the monsters over the past few years, and it's really hard for me to psyche myself up for this next one, particularly since the pain in my leg is not nearly as bad or dehabilitating as what I normally get in my back. I keep thinking that I'd almost rather tolerate this pain and wait for it to hopefully subside in a month or two than to have the extreme pain of that shot--I have pretty high pain tolerance, but it's all I can do not to cry when I get one. But this pain actually started near the beginning of August, so it's probably not going away anytime soon on its own.

Anyone want to get a shot for me?

Happy Halloween!

Best Puppy Ever

I am writing this from work in the midst of Day Out With Thomas...covering the phones, which for once aren't ringing off the hook.
Since I'm working such long hours this weekend and Randi's at her parents, I've been bringing Alex up to Spencer with me and leaving him at Bob's house during the day so he's not home alone for 14 hours. When I first got Alex, Bob picked on me, said dogs are too much work, etc. When I brought him up Friday, it was the first time he got to meet him.
Well, I think Alex has converted him. Yesterday, Bob said I wasn't getting Alex back because his roommate Reg, who was taking Alex out during the day, was going to keep him. Last night, I went out to eat with a couple of girls from work after we got off, and left Alex with Bob, who was having a card game with some friends. Today, Bob tells me, "We're keeping your puppy." I said, "After you made fun of me when I got him?" "Well, that was before I knew how cute and adorable he was."
Yep, I have the best puppy ever. :)

A Quick Update

I have 15 minutes before the season premiere of "Desperate Housewives," which will be followed by the season premiere of "Grey's Anatomy," after which I will be headed directly to bed. Then it's about three weeks straight working because of a big event we have coming up the next two weekends, so I figured I better give everyone a quick update while I have the time and energy to blog.

Update No. 1 - I have quit watching or reading something about Katrina every day. Probably healthier for my mental stability, but when I do read or see something, it makes me feel guilty for "forgetting" so quickly when there are still so many people homeless and missing loved ones.

Update No. 2 - Things did not work out so well with the guy from Pittsburgh (I'll avoid naming names). We had a great time while he was down here, but after he left, I slowly began to realize that I wasn't really over someone else. I wanted to be honest with Pittsburgh guy and let him know I was confused, but he didn't take it so well. Told me "fuck you very kindly." Not exactly the reaction I expected from someone I thought was an easy-going guy. I feel bad that I hurt him, but I guess it's good that I got a clue about his real temperament before things got too deep.

Update No. 3 - Yes, as just mentioned, I am not over you-know-who. Not sure where to go from here. I told him almost two months ago that I was tired of waiting for him to make a decision and I was moving on, but I guess I am not really ready to do that yet. If I ever doubted for a second how he feels about me, it would be a lot easier to move on, but in all my life I've never had a guy look at me with such sincere affection. So how can I give up on him when I know what he's been through and why it's so hard for him to let his guard down?

Update No. 4 - I am 75 percent of the way toward meeting my fundraising goal for the Humane Society's Pet Parade. Thanks to all who donated, and if you haven't yet, I only need $25 more - click here to donate online.

Update No. 5 - It's time for Desperate Housewives, so I've gotta run!

Help Homeless Pets

My roommate Randi, her dog Winnie, my puppy Alex and I will all be walking in the Charlotte Humane Society's annual Pet Parade Oct. 15 to raise money to help homeless pets. Alex was once homeless himself, until we adopted him from a rescue group. The photo above is from the first day we brought him home. At six weeks old, he weighed 3.8 pounds. Now four months old, he weighs almost 26 pounds. Please sponsor Alex and I to help other lovable pooches like him.

Johnny Be Good

Yes, I am finally writing about something besides Katrina.

I am trying to expand my musical horizons, because right now it seems as if all I listen to is Top 40 and country radio. So what better place to start than with an artist that likely spanned more genres and generations than any other? That's right--Johnny Cash.

I'd probably forgotten how prolific the amazing Man in Black was, until I started downloading songs. A search for "Johnny Cash" brought up more than 800 results. What was more amazing was the variety of artists he either sang with or covered--including Dave Matthews, U2, Alice in Chains and Ray Charles.

My parents and I don't have much in common when it comes to musical taste. But I remember hearing not only my mom and dad, but also my grandma, playing Johnny when I was a child. I've known the words to "A Boy Named Sue," "I Walk the Line" and many other classics for as long as I can remember.

I guess there is just something with that deep, gravelly voice that is imperfect enough and human enough to strike a chord in all of us.

Holding the shoe

"A Flower for the Graves," an editorial on the 1963 bombing of a black church that killed four children, written by then-Atlanta Constitution editor Eugene Patterson, begins with this paragraph:

A Negro mother went in the street Sunday morning in front of a Baptist church in Birmingham. In her hand she held a shoe, one shoe--from the foot of her dead child. We hold that shoe with her.

America now holds another shoe, for the tragedy of Katrina.

Make no mistake--it is about race. This would not have happened, not to this extent, if the faces on the rooftops, the faces outside the Super Dome, were white. No, our country didn't purposely let thousands die of starvation, dehydration and medical complications because of the color of their skin. But whether we meant to or not, the result was the same.

Patterson continues:

We watched the stage set without staying it. We listened to the prologue unbestirred. We saw the curtain opening with disinterest. We have heard the play.

We have set the stage, as we ignored the vicious cycle of poor education and poverty that kept much of black New Orleans, and black America, trapped in its grip. That devastating poverty is the factor that kept many of those remaining in the city from evacuating--they had no means of leaving.

We can sit back and say it's not our fault they're poor, but as a nation, it is. As a nation, white America enslaved, then repressed and segregated, black America for centuries. And that was just a few decades ago. The results of that kind of oppression do not fade away overnight.

When I was an education reporter, I heard it often: Two of the biggest determinants of a child's success in school are the education level of the parents and the income level of the parents. Knowing that, it's easy to see how poverty perpetuates poverty. Poor, uneducated parents simply can't give their children the same resources to learn that more well-to-do parents can.

But the poverty of New Orleans is not the only reason this tragedy is about race. The mishandling of the response to this disaster is appalling. What was more appalling, though, was the lack of an uproar by America over the slow response. I would hope there were few Americans who looked at their TV screens and said to themselves, "Oh, they're black, it doesn't matter." But I think, as a whole, America saw those faces, and did not emotionally connect to them in the same way that they would have if the faces were white. If the faces were white, the uproar across the country would have been evident within two days of no food, no water. Instead, it took four.

And when the faces of the looters and the faces of the victims looked the same, it made it easier for outright and hidden racists alike to group them together and say, "We're trying to help them, but they don't want our help." If the looters had been black or Hispanic or Muslim, and the victims white, the response would have been more like, "We've got to find a way to help those people--look what they're going through, and those looters are making it worse."

Yes, America this is our fault. It's our fault for not planning, for not providing a means for the poor to evacuate, and for not responding as quickly as we should have. But in a larger sense, the blame rests with each of us, for not learning the lessons of history, for not learning how to live in harmony, and for not learning how to lift up those who need help every day, not just when disaster strikes.

We know better. We created the day. We bear the judgment... With a weeping Negro mother, we stand in the bitter smoke and hold a shoe.

Socks

Louise, Randi's former boss from her internship at Wingate's PR office is now the head of PR for the Charlotte Red Cross. The Red Cross has set up a shelter for Katrina evacuees at the Charlotte Coliseum, so Louise called her yesterday to see if we could help filling media requests, taking photos etc. Randi's voicemail is kind of screwy, so she didn't get the message until today.

Randi called her back, but kept getting her voicemail, so we decided to just head down there and see what we could do. Before we left, I packed up a few bags of clothes I don't need or don't wear to take with me. When we got there, streams of people were coming and going, dropping off donations of water, clothes, etc. The woman overseeing the clothing donations said they really needed socks. A woman who had come in behind me said she had socks, and the Red Cross woman turned a tiny old man beside her, who was an evacuee, and said, "You needed socks, didn't you?"

"I desperately need socks," the man responded in earnest, taking the outstreched socks with a look of complete gratitude. Later, Randi and I were outside, trying to find Louise, and we saw the little old man again, wearing a pair of too-big jeans held up by a slightly worn belt.

A news reporter nearby began talking to him. The conversation went as follows:
News reporer - "We talked to you earlier--did you find some clothes?"
Old man - "Yes. And I got some socks. (Pulls up too large jeans to show reporter). And I have two more pair inside."

The man sounded like a kid telling his friends what he got for Christmas. No one should have to be that happy to have clean, dry socks. I almost lost it, and had to walk away to wipe my eyes.

Help

I can't stop.
I am reading, watching, listening to anything I can on Katrina. I can't handle it. I feel so impotent at a time when so many people need help, and physically sick to my stomach about the way this "great" nation has failed to rise to meet one of its greatest challenges.
A guy I worked with said ignorantly yesterday, "You can't help people who don't want help." What??? Don't tell me that people without food and water don't want help. Don't tell me that a small lawless minority (that's not counting those looting for food and water as lawless--we would all do the same) is an excuse for a country with the resources we have to not help the hundreds of thousands of innocent victims of this tragedy.
His comment enraged me because I know him, and I know that his views are tainted much more by the color of the faces he is seeing on TV than they are by the behavior of the looters. He sees those that were left behind--the poor, who had no means of leaving--but he doesn't recognize the face of poverty. He sees only race.
For anyone of any income level or any color to die from lack of food or water in the United States in an unbelievable disgrace. For hundreds, maybe thousands, to do so because we respond with only a trickle of National Guardsmen and supplies to perhaps our country's worst natural disaster...that's unspeakable.
There is so much more I want to say about this, but I don't think I can. What it really comes down to is what I told my ignorant co-worker--when people need help, you help them.

Helping Katrina's Victims

When I moved to S.C. right after college, one of the things I missed the most about the Charlotte area was listening to Ace & TJ in the morning. Luckily, a long two years later, I was flipping through stations and heard familiar voices--Ace & TJ had been syndicated. I was ecstatic.

Now I'm back in Charlotte, and I am reminded of why I love this show--and those two guys--so much. The show, which normally airs until 10 a.m., hasn't really stopped since Monday morning. They've been on the air, with the help of other radio station staff and countless volunteers, raising money and collecting much-needed items (like water, diapers, chain saws, etc.) for the victims of Hurricane Katrina.

What has been accomplished by this show and their "11 Listeners" is unbelievable. As of 8:30 this morning, when I had to wipe the tears from my eyes, leave my car, and go into work, they had filled EIGHT tractor trailers full of necessities to send to the Gulf and collected more than $80,000, which will go through the American Red Cross to provide aid to victims. My roommate Randi and I went to Family Dollar Monday and spent $20 each buying diapers, baby wipes and canned food to donate. We both felt like it wasn't much, like we wished we could do more. But in the end, we know it's through the little donations of lots of people--who may not be able to afford much, but still have much to give--that the victims of this tragedy will be able to pull themselves out of the mud and start over.

After spending an hour teary-eyed on my way to work, I'm getting teary-eyed again as I write this. So what I'm asking is this--I know funds are short for everyone, and most of those reading this aren't close enough to Charlotte to just swing by the radio station and drop off some cans of peas. But you can pack your lunch a couple extra times this month and send what you can--$5, $10, whatever--to help this incredible effort. Please, send a check, made out to the American Red Cross with "Hurricane Katrina" in the memo line, to Ace & TJ's Give to the Gulf, 4015 Stuart Andrew Blvd., Charlotte, NC 28217.

Oh, the Anticipation...

And now the countdown really begins... 12 more hours. I'm blogging at work (shame, shame on me--ok, that was my lame attempt at guilting myself) because I'm so excited that I can't concentrate and really have no motivation to work... despite the fact that I'm going to be off for the next six days and have a ton of stuff to do before I leave.

And in other news, Randi and I are hoping to sail, sail away next March. Our favorite morning radio show is doing a cruise for their annual radio family vacation, and we really hope to go. If I can only scrounge up $600 without prostituting myself. But if anyone else wants to go...it's a little cheaper if we have four to a room.

The Big Day

It's finally almost here! The "Big Day" is tomorrow! I'm not saying exactly what the "Big Day" is, but for those of you who know me and have been keeping up-to-date on my life, you'll understand. I am very excited and a little nervous at the same time, but I know things are going to go great. Stay tuned...

In Loving Memory

Alexander the Great mourns the loss of Mr. Bear.

Ted E. Bear (affectionately known as Mr. Bear) went home to be with his maker, Toys-R-Us, Sunday, Aug. 14, 2005. He will be deeply missed.
Mr. Bear died suddenly and unexpectedly in a domestic violence incident. He was mauled to death by the jealous companion of his lifetime partner.
Mr. Bear's time with us was short--he died at the young age of six weeks--but his was a life full of happiness and puppy slober.
Mr. Bear lived his whole life in Charlotte, N.C., as the loving companion of Alexander the Great (aka Alexander the Pup). Mr. Bear is also survived by his mother-in-law, Misty, his aunt, Randi, and Winnie, Alexander's loving (but unfortunately also jealous) companion.
Mr. Bear's hobbies included serving as a pillow, chew toy, and intimate companion for Alexander. Mr. Bear was always a faithful friend, and was never once heard complaining about Alexander's sometimes rough treatment of him.
Memorial services are at the home, and will consist of a ceremony that involves Alexander swinging Mr. Bear's corpse from side to side while holding him in his mouth.
In lieu of flowers, please send donations to: The Misty and Randi Need Groceries Fund, 101 Destitute Lane, Charlotte, N.C.

Eternal Optimism of the Female Mind

I used to think that people who stay in bad relationships, or who always end up with people who treat them badly, did so because of low self-esteem.

Until I realized that I was one of those people, and I have a close friend who is one of those people. But we don't have low self-esteem. Sure, we have the occasional moments of self-doubt, but for the most part, we know where we stand. We're both intelligent, fun, attractive, personable women, with a lot to offer.

But when you always end up in relationships that never seem to work, that are more work than enjoyment, you start to wonder why. For some people, I think the issue is self-esteem. For us, though, I think the issue is eternal optimism.

We are good people. Most of the people we knew growing up, and the people we keep closest to us now are good people. So we want to see the good in everyone. This unwavering belief in the goodness of people often leads us down one of two roads: Ignoring the Bad or Ignoring the Issues.

Ignoring the Bad
We see something innately good about someone--they're helpful to those less fortunate, they're unselfish, they're respectful of their elders. Whatever it is, we see it, and come to the conclusion that this is a good person, this is someone worth having in our lives. When something shows us the not-so-good side of this person, we ignore it, believing the good far outweighs it. Sometimes it does. But the problem with our eternal optimism is that we want so much to believe in the good of that person, we don't know how to draw a line, how to let go, can't recognize when the bad outweighs the good--when it's not worth it anymore. So we hang on to a sinking ship.

Ignoring the Issues
Sometimes it's not that there's something bad about a person that we're ignoring. Sometimes it just doesn't work. There's something keeping this person from providing what we need in a relationship--maybe an inability to communicate, unwillingness to commit, or just different life situations--but we so admire the good in this person, that we think we can work around it. And again, we hang on to a second ship.

Paving a New Road
When it comes down to it, I don't want to stop seeing the good in people, I don't want to be a cynic. But I don't want a string of failed relationships and a broken and bruised heart either. So I'm paving a new road. I'll still look for the good in people; but I'm adding some requirements to the list of what I need from a partner, besides just being "good." And if someone doesn't meet those standards, I won't keep holding on, trying to make it work. Just because I believe in someone's goodness doesn't mean I need them in my life, or that it's healthy for them to be there.

What I Need and Deserve
To officially turn down this new road, I'm putting in writing what I need (not just want) and deserve from anyone I choose to love:

• Honesty, respect and commitment
• Shared life goals and values
• Someone who can voice their feelings for me
• Someone who treasures me/someone I treasure
• Someone who tells me what I'm worth
• Someone who tells me I'm beautiful and makes me believe it
• Someone who makes me laugh and who can hold me when I cry
• Someone who will tuck me in at night if I fall asleep on the couch
• Someone who sees all my flaws and loves me anyway

The assignment for those of you reading this who've fallen into the same behavior pattern--make your own list, and leave it as a comment.

Puppy Love II

Eventually I will find something serious to write about on here again, but for right now, you are all being treated to an update on my puppy.

Alex is now two and a half months old, and he is growing like a weed. The last time I weighed him (last Thursday) he was 7.4 pounds, almost double what he'd weighed the week before. I'm sure he's at least 10 pounds now. I think he's going to get bigger than the 30 pounds the rescue group folks predicted, but not a lot bigger.

Alex and Winnie get along fantastically. She's very maternal with him, and he likes to imitate her actions. And he's continuing to confirm my initial assertion that he's incredibly smart--he already knows how to sit and come when called, and I'm working on teaching him to ring a little bell by the door when he has to go out. I'm not going to brag, because Randi assures me that will curse me to a bad day of housebreaking, but he has got the idea behind the bell figured out already, though he doesn't ring it every time.

It's really strange--I've had dogs before, but they were always family dogs. Though there was one that I did 95 percent of the training with, I've never had a dog that was just mine and I solely responsible for before. I can't believe how attached I've become. At first it was hard not to be really protective of him--he was so small, I was worried that Winnie would accidentally hurt him while they were playing, or that Randi or I would step on him. It didn't take long to see that he's a pretty rough and tumble pooch (as Randi puts it, "he's from the streets"), so I don't worry so much now. He knocks his head on something and just keep going. It's kind of neat to see him growing up, learning new things, and gaining some independence.

But while I'm not as overprotective now, I am still soooo attached. Sometimes he looks at you with this quizzical expression and just cocks his head, and it just kills me. He's got so much personality. He finally started to "smile" a couple weeks ago (I think it takes puppies a little to develop the doggie "smile"), and now he smiles like crazy, especially when he's outside. I love seeing him smile, because I know he's happy and content, which makes me feel good about adopting him, especially knowing that he had kind of a rough start to life.

Oh, and for those of you who know Randi and I were temporarily a three-dog household (a Lab mix who was obviously someone's pet but had no tags wandered to our door last Sunday), we found Heather's family. We had planned to take her to a rescue shelter last night, because Randi and I are going to Randi's parents house in Durham this weekend and couldn't take her with us. But Randi got a call on her way home from work from someone who saw the "Found" ad she put in the paper, and it was her family. Her real name is Sophie, and she seemed very happy to be reunited.

And they called it puppy love...

After about three months of hemming and hawing about it, I have finally adopted a dog. His name is Alex, and he's about six weeks old, so he's still pretty tiny. He's a Sheltie mix (basically a miniature collie), and he'll probably only get to be about 30 pounds. He's very sweet and smart, and of course I have a totally unbiased opinion.

Randi's Lab Winnie has taken very well to him, and has actually taken on a very motherly role with him. She's still figuring out exactly how to play with someone so little without hurting him though. But Alex bounces back pretty quickly when Winnie accidentally knocks him down with a big paw--he jumps right back up, tail wagging, ready for more.

Ok, what you've all been waiting for...pictures of my baby!

Sleeping in his Winnie the Pooh chair (courtesy of Winnie).

Hiding by the fireplace--moving into a new home takes some adjustment.

Ok, that's just a teaser. If you want to see my whole online photo album of Alex, click here.

What Love Is

Sometimes I think we all have this notion that love is "like" in an extreme degree. But it's so much more than that. Love is a conscious decision that you will always be there for someone--even when you don't like them. That applies whether you're talking about romantic love or friend love.

Right now, my struggle is with friend love. I have a friend who I love very much. But right now, I don't like him at all. My friend has become a mean, hurtful person and I don't know why. He's hurt me worse than just about anybody has ever hurt me, and he's hurt someone else I care about even more than he's hurt me. I've seen him once in the past four months, for 15 minutes. I miss him so much, but at the same time, I have absolutely no desire to see him. As much as that sounds like a contradiction, it isn't, because I'm talking about two different people. I miss the man he was, and I don't want to see him as the man he is.

I never thought I could ever say that I didn't want to see him, but I don't. And it hurts. It feels like my best friend has vanished.

So this is what love is--if my friend called me up tonight and wanted to hang out, I couldn't do it. But if he called me and said he needed a kidney and I was a match, I'd be there in a second. I have made a conscious decision to love him, and there's nothing he can do to change that.

Raindrops

Please forgive me. I am really reaching. I'm trying to write something on here at least once a week, but for the past week and a half, I just haven't had much to write about. But a friend told me I needed to blog so she could keep up with me, and I'm trying to oblige.

It's been raining all day. When I was driving to and from work this morning and this afternoon, it put me in a foul mood because I hate driving in the rain. Particularly driving in the rain in Charlotte. I love the South, but somebody really needs to teach the natives how to drive in weather other than sunshine.

Ok, I'm about to slip back into a foul mood, so back to what I was about to say. My desk in the new house is located right next to the window, and I can hear the rain hitting the glass. I don't think there is anything more refreshing and reassuring than the sound of rain falling outside. It's like the earth is taking a shower, washing off all the dirt and sins of daily life. It's a reminder--there will always be things that go wrong in the world, in our lives, in ourselves, but there will always be a chance to do it better, to do something good.

There are a lot of things going on in my life right now that I don't understand, and if I try too hard to understand them, I'll drive myself crazy. We work with what we have, doing what we can to make our lives, and the lives of those around us, better. Change the things you can. Accept what you cannot. And be patient to wait for the things that may take a little time to change. Know that tomorrow is always a chance for a new beginning.

And breathe.

The dream

It's 7:50 a.m. on a Sunday, but I'm up because of a dream I just had. My dreams are very surreal and I never remember a lot of details, so bear with me as I try to describe it. Often there are characters I know, but also characters I seem to know, but who do not exist in real life, and the setting is familiar, but in reality somewhere I've never been.

I'm somewhere with my family, but not sure where. I'm in a room by myself, talking on the phone. Someone, who I seem to know, brings in a young child, who I seem to know as well, and asks me to watch her. Apparently, she's getting some sort of timeout. I tell whoever I'm talking to I've got to go, and within the next few minutes, two or three more children, who also seem to have misbehaved, are brought in. I'm about to start talking with them, find out what the issue is and see if I can resolve it, and somehow my mom enters the picture and starts yelling at them. As is a child's nature, they start to argue with her about why they were doing whatever they were doing that got them in trouble. The more they argue, the more furious my mom becomes, and it quickly becomes evident that my mom's anger is inciting the bad behavior. I try and explain this to my mom and calm her down, but it only infuriates her more.

So much so that she knocks me down and kicks me in the ribs. I remember being curled up in a fetal position, and then the dream fast-forwards to the next day. I am at some kind of business, it seems like a bank, but I'm not sure, and I'm waiting in line. I'm thinking about my mom, and I remember clearly thinking (clear details are a rarity for me in a dream) that I wish I could tell my mom that her anger does not have to control her; that no one makes you angry, you allow yourself to become angry. So I'm standing here thinking this, and tears start streaming down my face and I don't bother to try and stop them.

Then I hear the most fatherly voice say, with a bit of a Southern drawl, "Darlin', if it helps, I would take a bullet for you if I could." I respond, "I'm not sure it would," and turn around to see a tall, dapper older man in a sheriff's uniform, with a badge, gun and all. That was pretty much the end of the dream. When I woke up, I laid in bed and cried for a minute or two.

Though I don't remember my dreams much, this dream, played out in a variety of scenarios, is a common one for me. I'm with my family, and something sends my mother into a screaming rage. Her physical assault and the gentleman at the end are new additions. The interpretation of my mom's rage is easy--I saw it all the time as a child. I won't say that my mom never hit my--my parents believed in spanking--but my mom would never have physically abused me.

When I graduated from high school, I went to college several hundred miles from home, because I knew I didn't need to live near my mom. I love her, but I did not want to be the angry person she was. It seemed whenever I would argue with her, she would let her anger control her, and I would do the same. I was too young and too close to the emotions of it to be able to change that about myself with her nearby.

My mom has changed a lot over the past few years, and I don't see that side of her much anymore. Obviously, though, it still affects me more than I want it to or realize. Which I kind of think is what the man at the end of the dream is showing. Looking at the gun in his holster and knowing that in his line of work, he fully understood the meaning of taking a bullet for someone, I had no doubt that he had not said those words lightly and that he meant them. But knowing that really didn't help, because knowing that a stranger would do that for you doesn't mean much when someone you love, who supposedly loves you, doesn't care enough about you to control their anger.

While that's how I viewed it in my dream, and for many years in real life, that's not quite how I see it now. I just think my mom didn't know where to reach out for help. We lived in a small town, and she was a preacher's wife--what kind of scandal would it have been if she'd been going to a therapist and someone found out? After all, isn't the preacher's wife supposed to have it all together? Even if she could have gotten past that stigma, my parents were dirt poor, so I know my mom could never justify to herself the cost of getting help when there were so many other things her children needed.

What upset me the most about this dream was that when I woke up, I felt like my mom wasn't really representing my mom this time. More than that, she was representing a good friend of mine who seems to be headed down the same road. The difference is, he knows that he can get help, and he has the resources to do it. But I'm afraid his pride is more important to him than the people he cares about.

A few months ago, I really saw his anger for the first time. He blew up at me and it scared me to death. I think when my mom pushed and kicked me in the dream, that didn't represent her at all; that was completely representative of my friend. He's never laid a hand on me, but after what I saw that night, I wouldn't put it out of the realm of possibility. We didn't talk for a month and a half, aside from a few scant emails trying to sort things out, and one email from him that said, "I'm sorry..." and nothing more. Then he called me up out of the blue and asked me to come over. When I did, he pretty much acted as if nothing had happened. When I tried to talk about it, he didn't think it was a big deal. I was there for about 15 minutes at most before I left and said I couldn't do it.

I'm having a hard time with this, because I feel like I'm walking away from a friend of six years who is going through something and may need my help. But I don't think he's willing to accept any help right now, and until he can take some responsibility and work on fixing the problem, I can't be in his life. I know how much anger can hurt the people you care about it, and I'm not strong enough to go through that again--no matter how much it hurts right now.

New beginnings

Randi and I are officially moved! We moved everything we could in our cars Friday, then got a couple of guys from my job to help us move the furniture yesterday. And now, the unpacking begins...

I love this new house. It just feels like a home. I've taken Monday off work, so hopefully I'll be completely unpacked and decorated by the time I go back to work. And then we need visitors! We may have some kind of housewarming party, but probably not till June, since we're broke from moving right now.

I am really ecstatic to have finally moved, since besides getting us out of a cramped apartment with neighbors who hated us (feeling was mutual), it's also kind of a chance to get a fresh start. Randi and I have both been kind of hit with a lot lately--boy issues, friend issues, money issues, job issues, you name it, we've been through it. But in the grand scheme of things, none of them have been insurmountable challenges, and we are really much more fortunate than many. We have our health, we have friends and family who care about us, we have laughter, and we a (very nice) roof over our heads. So this move is giving us a chance to clean out the clutter in our lives (literally and figuratively), be reminded of the great things we have, and get a fresh start. From time to time, the soul needs renewal.

And in other news... my best friend from high school, Dixie, is marrying my cousin Kevin. Especially ironic since I used to have a huge crush on her cousin! Also, I may be doing the photography. I did my brother's wedding last fall, and it was a lot of work, but I was pleased with the results, and I think they were too, so there's a nice sense of satisfaction that goes with it.

What it is to be a man

There is an ideal in America of what it means to be a man. It means being tall, good-looking, athletic, “tough,” not easily hurt, etc. This is not what it means to be a man.

My last entry in here was about the death of my grandfather, who probably fit into most of those categories. But my grandfather wasn’t half the man my father is, who does not fit the stereotypical image. My dad is tall—six foot. But he’s been rail thin his entire life, always with a pair of coke bottle glasses, and never the man you would bet on in a fight.

But you’d never have the opportunity to bet against him, because my dad would never be in a fight. My dad is the gentlest, kindest, most compassionate, strongest man I know. He has more character than anybody I’ve ever met, and he loves his children more than he loves himself. Since my grandpa’s death, I’ve been thinking about my mom, and how she never had much of a father, which makes me think about my dad, and how fortunate I am to have him.

I’ve also figured out a perfect reply for the next time someone asks me why I’m still single—I haven’t met anyone yet who can measure up to my dad. They say girls marry their fathers; my mom married someone who was everything her father never was. Because she did, I would be incredibly lucky if I were to marry someone like my father.

Nothing

My grandpa died today. I'm writing this because I feel like something such as one's grandpa dying should be an important life event, one that should make me feel like writing in my blog. It does, but not because I'm grieving. It's sad that he died, but I can't say I'm mourning. Honestly, I'm doing nothing, feeling nothing.

And that's why I'm writing. Because sadder to me than his death is the fact that his passing really has no emotional effect on his grandchildren. Why? Because we never really knew him. I grew up less than 10 miles from him, and I've maybe seen the man a dozen times in my whole life. I think we got Christmas presents from him once or twice. He didn't come to my high school or college graduation, or any of my brothers' or sister's graduations. He also missed my brother's wedding, so it's not like I'm saddened by the fact that he won't see me get married--he probably wouldn't have anyway.

My grandpa left my grandma for another woman when my mom was four. My grandma says my mom doesn't even remember when he lived with them. After he left, he barely spent any time with my mom and uncle, but lavished attention and gifts on the other woman's children. When I was born, my mom told my dad not to bother calling my grandpa to let him know, because he'd barely acknowledged the birth of my older sister. A few years later, my mom saw him and he was talking excitedly about how his third wife's daughter was about to have a baby and about the rocking chair he was planning to give her. I can't even imagine how much that hurt her. I have in my apartment right now a dresser that my mom gave me; she made me promise her that if I ever didn't want it anymore I had to give it back to her, not get rid of it. My grandpa made it for her, and it was basically one of the few nice things he'd ever done for her.

I don't know yet when the funeral is, but I won't be driving or flying the 500 miles it would take to get there. I hold no ill-will to the man. He never did anything hurtful to me. He just never did anything. And that is what's sad. To have lived a life that leaves no impression, no feeling on those you should be closest to--that's a true tragedy.

Blogger hates me, Blogger hates me not...

Blogger and I are not on the best of terms. In fact, we haven't been talking for a few days. I'm not sure what I did to Blogger, but it must have been something pretty bad...

Randi and I finally found a house that we love, that's in a great neighborhood (we met our neighbors already and they're fantastic!), that has affordable rent, and that didn't get swiped away by someone else before we could get it (like the one on Snowbird Lane, with the perfect street name). It all became official Thursday night when we made the deposit.

The process of getting the house had been underway for about a week. We found it because it was next door to another house we went to look at last Sunday. Tuesday, we got the key and took a look inside. Wednesday we begged our apartment complex to let us out of our lease three weeks earlier so we didn't lose it, since we'd already lost three others, then dropped off our rental application. Thursday we found out we had it, paid the deposit, and went by the house again to take pics.

During this whole process, I hadn't posted anything about the house, hadn't emailed any of my friends, for fear of jinxing us. So once it was certain, I couldn't wait to announce the news here. I spent a good 45 minutes writing of our travails to find a house, then adding a picture, and linking to the mini-photo album Randi has online.

It was then that I made my crucial mistake. I hit post. The screen goes white. I wait, hoping Blogger will recover. Nope. I hit the back button, hoping my words will still be there. Nope. I go to my blog, because sometimes it acts like it hasn't posted but it has. Nothing. I curse at Blogger. Blogger apparently didn't like that, because when I try to log back in and re-create my masterpiece, it won't let me. I try again at intervals throughout the night, but with no hope. So I stopped speaking to Blogger.

We've had the weekend apart now, and I'm hoping we can make amends. So I'm trying this again-- but this time I will copy and paste the text to be safe! Below, if Blogger has forgiven me, is a photo of the house, and you can see the inside and backyard here.


Me with Winnie at our front door!

Life in the balance

The last three graf's in an Associated Press story on Pope John Paul II's ailing condition:

"Hospitalized twice last month following two breathing crises, and fitted with a breathing tube and a feeding tube, John Paul has become a picture of suffering.
"His 26-year papacy has been marked by its call to value the aged and to respect the sick, subjects the pope has turned to as he battles Parkinson’s disease and crippling knee and hip ailments.
"It is not clear who would be empowered to make medical decisions for an unconscious pope. The Vatican has officially declined to comment whether John Paul has left written instructions."

For his sake, I hope he left instructions. Otherwise, when the time comes we may watch, God forbid, a sea of religious right zealots protest the removal of his feeding tube or other artificial means of supporting life, while the Pope waits to go on to his creator.

Those who cannot acknowledge the right to die, babbling nonsense about creating a "culture of life," don't know much about what life really is. Life is being able to make choices--including choices about the kind of life one would or would not want to live. Lying in a hospital bed with no conscious awareness is not life; cruelly, it is not death either.

We can "value the aged" and "respect the sick" not just by caring for them when they are weak, but also by honoring even their most difficult wishes--and sometimes that means letting go.

I know it is hard to say goodbye to those we love. But when my time comes, if you really love me, let me go.

Writers Bloc 3: Road Trips!

Writers Bloc 3: Road Trips!

Variety is the spice of life

I would never make it in accounting or any other profession where you do the same thing every day.

In my last job, I:

• Interviewed a woman who carried a photo album full of professional portraits of her miniature poodle, dressed in a different homemade outfit in each picture.
• Read Dr. Seuss to kindergartners and got pictures of a teacher dressed as the Cat in the Hat, admiring a plate of green eggs and ham.
• Watched a principal lip-sync to Elvis, then perform in a gorilla suit a year later.
• Witnessed the sadness, beauty, healing, power, and humanity that is most evident at times of tragedy, when we are at our most vulnerable.
• Met real heroes.
• Met real people, who honored me by sharing their stories.

At my new job, I have:

• Taken a ride in a steam locomotive.
• Supervised film crews.
• Been interviewed on TV.
• Had toddlers stare at me in awe while dressed up as Sir Topham Hat (from Thomas the Tank Engine).
• Jumped onto a moving train.
• Climbed onto the roof of the largest roundhouse in the country.
• Met people dedicated to a cause, willing to give freely of their time and talent.

I can say this--my jobs have not always been easy, they have not always been fun, but they have never, ever been boring.

A borrowed idea

A friend of mine posted A Few Things That Make Me Happy (In No Particular Order) on a group blog we both belong to. I liked the idea, and did my own version, below and as a comment on her post. Please feel free to add your own.

Finding the perfect picture through my camera lens.
Finding the perfect picture through the lens that's always in my head, even when I'm not carrying a camera.
Laughing so hard that I'm afraid my drink will come out my nose.
A weeping willow at sunset.
Memories of walking through London at dusk.
Late-night talks with girlfriends.
First kisses.
A guy's strong, soft hand on your face when you kiss.
Driving on the first warm day of spring with the windows down and the radio blaring.
Finding the exact words you want.
Realizing there are no words for what you want to say.

No place like home

Randi (my roommate) and I are moving out of an apartment complex we hate in May, and are hoping to rent an actual house--a driveway, porch, yard, the whole bit. So we did a little scouting this weekend and found a couple places we liked. Today, we picked up keys to four places from this one realtor, and we may have found a new home.

The house is in this nice little neighborhood, with a huge yard for Randi's dog, Winnie, to play in. We had to go after work, and the power was turned out, so an outsider observing us might have been rather amused, watching us go from room to room with our little flashlight, oohing and aahing over the "luxuries" we found--an icemaker, a fan in the bathroom (yes, we are missing that in our current location), and a real pantry! Winnie seemed to approve too--we took her with us, and she ran from room to room, checking out all the smells.

It will just be so nice to feel like we actually have a home, not just a place to sleep. It seems like such a comfy little place, and even the street name is perfect--Snowbird Lane. Best of all, the rent for this three bedroom house is exactly what we're paying now, in a two bedroom apartment. I can't wait till May!!!

My crazy wonderful terrible beautiful life

Flashback from five minutes ago...

My roommate appears in my doorway, a tissue hanging from one nostril as she tries to stop a nosebleed. "How mudch egsperiunce duh you have unclodging a toilet?" she asks me.

My stupified response: "Well, I can't say I have any specialized training in it."

Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to my life. Ain't it great? It's a good thing I have crazy friends and possibly an even crazier family. If laughter really is the best medicine, I may live to be 150.

Why I'm not a web page designer

So I've had this blog for a little more than a month now. At first it was just an "on a whim" kind of thing, but now I'm starting to get into, trying to add new things (I've got a guest book now! Please sign it!). But the one thing I've been trying to do since the beginning was to add a photo to my profile.

Blogger said to download Hello. I tried that, and though the software's pretty awkward, I figured out how to send a photo as a post, but still not how to put one in my profile. Well, after I stumbled on the service I use for my guestbook, I realized that same site offers photo hosting, so I could post a photo there, then use the URL link to put it in my profile.

Oh, genius me. I copy and past the link, and wa-la, there's a photo in my profile. Brilliant. But then I pull up my blog--no photo. Go back to the profile--no photo. Resave my profile--photo's back. Pull up my blog--there's a photo! Close out the page, reopen the blog just to be sure--no photo. Try it again and the photo's back. Someone in cyberspace is playing hide-and-go seek with my photo. So if when this page loads, there's a spot that looks like it should have a photo, but it has a red X instead, I'm sorry. I've done what I can.

The safety wall

There are not many people who really know me, because there are not many people who I let get very close to me. There's a reason for that--almost everyone in my life who I've let in close has ended up hurting me.

I think that most of my friends think I am a strong person. They're wrong. I'm fragile and weak, and that's why I put up this wall. Every time I've let somebody in, trusted someone not to hurt me, just to find that trust was misplaced, it hurts so much that I think I can't do it again, can't trust someone else. So that people can't see how weak I really am, I usually hide the extent of the hurt. You might catch me shedding a tear or two, but most of the crying I do will be in my pillow at night. And still, for some reason, I eventually let somebody else in, past the safety wall.

There is one person in my life who knows me better than anybody else. And he is the one person who I've never worried about letting too close, because he is the one person I thought I would never have to worry about hurting me. Now that I realize I was wrong about that, I'm back to square one when it comes to deciding who is "safe" to let in.

Do you remember when your parents or teachers told you to be careful what you say, because you can't take words back? It seems simplistic, but there is so much wisdom in that advice. I love to write because I love words. When wielded correctly, they are both beautiful and powerful. But anything that is powerful is also dangerous, and words spoken in anger can be terrible, terrible things.

Back in my teenage years, I had a problem with my temper. I came by it honestly, from my mom. But when I saw through her how much damage it could do to those who mean the most to you, I decided I didn't want to do that to those I love. So I worked very hard at learning to control my temper, and it's not always easy. Sometimes it still gets the best of me, but there is a line I will not cross, there are things I will not say. More often, though, I probably surpress anger more than I should. Maybe that's not the best way, but to me, it's better then taking the chance of saying something I can't take back, of crossing a line that can't be crossed back over.

But what do you do when someone else crosses that line?

The first five minutes

I know why men think women are crazy--because we are. We can't decide how we feel. One minute I'm pining over someone who's told me that if it weren't for this one circumstance about our situation that really shouldn't be that big of a deal, we would probably be really close. But he's afraid to take a chance on something that could be great.

A few days later, I'm looking at him and thinking, "There are some things about him I really like, but there are some things about him that would drive me absolutely nuts!" The question is, would the things I like about him outweigh the things that would drive me to the brink of insanity? All speaking hypothetically, of course, since he's afraid to date me--I have great luck with relationships, huh?

So here comes the five-minute rule. A rule invented by my sometimes-wise, sometimes certifiably crazy friend who I'm no longer allowed to mention by name online. But the five-minute rule was definitely one of his moments of wisdom. The five-minute rule goes like this: You have to look past the first five minutes with someone. How you feel during the first five minutes when you see them, during the first five minutes when you part, and the figurative first five minutes of the relationship. Because no matter how great you feel in the first five minutes that you see them, or how lonely in the first five minutes when they leave, or how on cloud nine you are at the beginning of the relationship, you still have to deal with all the minutes that come after the first five.

So after I wrote my last post, I started thinking that it was ridiculous to expend so much energy and emotion on someone who I might never be with, and if I am, who might not pass the five-minute test. I decide I need to at least try to meet some new people. And I've been talking to a couple of guys who seem really nice, but I find myself being very cynical, and I've figured out why.

There's a flaw in the five-minute rule. I'm not sure if there's anyone who can pass it. Maybe I'm not patient enough, maybe I'm not tolerant enough, I don't know. But everybody that I know drives me crazy in some way or another, even those who are closest to me and who I love with all my heart. But I put my sanity at risk because I love them. So there's an amendment to the five-minute rule--you have to decide if a person is worth risking your sanity, is worth loving.

Moving on... or not

I just finished my eighth straight day of work, and I've got five more to go. I feel like I'm back in journalism. :( I'm tired, and I've got a friend coming into town this weekend, so by the time I finally get a day off on Tuesday, I'm going to be exhausted. In other words, I might not bother posting anything for a week or so.

I don't know why I'm writing tonight, because I need to just go ahead and crawl in bed. But I just feel like I need to, because I'm frustrated. I have a dilemma. How do you stop liking someone who you know cares about you and who's never treated you badly--especially when you see him every day? It's never been too hard for me to get over someone before. If a guy I like doesn't return the affection, well, unrequitted love doesn't do much for me, so I move on. And if a guy doesn't treat me right and it's time to go--it may hurt for a little while, but it doesn't take long to get over wanting to be with him.

But here's a situation I've never dealt with before. A guy who likes me. A guy who flirts with me all the time. A guy who makes me smile even when I don't want to. A guy who has always treated me with respect and always been honest with me. A guy who was never the guy I expected to fall for. BUT, he's afraid to pursue a relationship because of outside circumstances.

It's not that I'm in a hurry to be in a relationship--I haven't been out of one that long. It's just I want to be with him. I like spending time with him, and talking with him. I want to be able to confide in him, to go to him when I need a hug, and I want him to be able to do the same.

He's been sick the past couple of days, and all I can think about is how much I want to be the one to take care of him. I want to call him, make sure he's okay. I know it's just the flu or a cold and he'll be fine, but everybody needs someone to baby them when they're sick--I want to be that someone. But I'm resisting the urge to call him, because I don't want to pressure him.

So what do I do now? Be patient and see if the situation changes? See if how I feel changes? I told him I wasn't going to sit around and wait for something that might never happen. But, for the moment anyway, I don't know what choice I have. It wouldn't be fair of me to pursue something with someone else, because it would be just a temporary distraction. Maybe I'll meet someone who'll just blow me away and make me forget about him. But I doubt it, while I'm still tied in knots over him. So I guess I keep living life without him, on my own, and see if the feeling fades.

Because of Seuss

Because of Seuss I love to read,
His genius filled a gaping need.
Children everywhere, his books, his crazy creatures treasure,
While the Cat in the Hat, Sam I Am and Horton teach us lessons only the heart can measure.
Of all the children's books I ever read, Only his rhymes still dance in my head.
What books could have such staying power? That young and old could listen to them by the hour?
Today we celebrate 101 years since his birth.
Few men have given greater gifts to earth,
Then to show a child the beauty, the magic in a word.
No doubt 101 years from now his books will still be heard.

My family

When you get to your mid-20s and people find out you're not married and have no children, the first reaction is often to feel sorry for you. When they find out you're not really in a hurry to wed and not even sure if you want children, the reaction changes to surprise.

"But don't you want a family?" they ask. Yes, I want a family. But I already have one--well make that several.

Of course there is my family by blood--my mom, dad, older sis, two younger brothers, grandparents and so on. I love them all and they love me, but we have to--we're related. What really amazes me are my other families--the ones I'm not related to, who love me simply by choice.

I found the first of these families when I left for college. All by myself, 500 miles from home, I had never been more scared. It was sink or swim. But the without-a-question best thing about Wingate University is that it is not just a school--it is a family. In class, my professors were my professors. But outside of class, I could turn to them with any kind of problem--a paper I was having trouble with or a personal problem that I might normally look to my mom or sister for help with. When I graduated and ventured into the real world, it was every bit as sad as when I left home four years earlier. A couple of nights before I graduated, I walked through campus alone, with tears streaming down my face--my private goodbye to my second home. But the family I gained there is still with me--I still keep in contact with my professors, sometimes still turning to them for advice, and two fellow alum are now my best friends--one of them is even my roommate.

But I soon found another family. I moved to South Carolina, where, again, I knew no one. More self-assured, I at first relished living alone for the first time in my life, having time to myself. But after a few months, I got lonely. I soon started dating a guy there, though, and that changed. Things were never really great between us, but they were comfortable. And with him came his family. All born and raised in South Carolina, they were very different from my family, but they took me in almost immediately. I instantly gained another mom, dad, sister and my first niece. I am no longer with that guy, but they are still my family.

About two years ago, I found another family developing around me. I was working in a job where I was increasingly unhappy, but several new girls who were near my age came to work there at the same time. Almost overnight there seemed to be a close bond form between them, some of the current employees and me. I don't really understand what sequence of events caused this new family to form, but my "sisters" have come to mean quite a bit to me. Even though I've moved on to a new job (where, of course, I'm adding to my families), they still keep me up-to-date on all the hilarities and miseries of my old work place. And they provide multiple shoulders to cry on, even if it's over the phone, listening ears, and the moments of humor that make life worth it.

The point of all this--family is a priceless treasure, but sometimes we define family too narrowly. I don't have a husband. I don't have children. But I have a hell of a family...and I am blessed.

True Love

My Valentine's Day post was obviously about loving oneself. Love's been a common topic in recent emails among my friends and myself, with some rather cynical and some rather optimistic views expressed. But even though I'm single, and have had my share of bad relationships, I still believe with every ounce of my being that true love exists.

I mentioned in a previous post that one of the things I liked about my reporting job was meeting different people and hearing their stories. That's because for every story that makes you shake your head in disbelief, there's another one that makes you shake your head in wonder.

I had the fortune of hearing one of those stories on the last day at my reporting job, and it's the reason I believe in true love. On June 7, 2004, I had the pleasure of meeting Johnny and Margaret, a couple celebrating their 70th anniversary. By the time I met them, both had been afflicted with Alzheimers, though the disease had progressed farther for Margaret. Still, the closeness they shared was clear by the way they looked at each other.

At their anniversary celebration, one of their daughters shared with me some things her father, a columnist for a small local paper, had written for or about his wife. To encourage all of my friends out there who may be a little cynical about love, I'd like to share some excerpts here.

In a letter to Margaret:
...When I see you walking through the yard or working in your garden and you are not aware that I am watching you from my shop window, I love you. At night, when the day is gone and just the two of us are together in the den, sharing the deepest thoughts of our hearts, as best friends do... then you kiss me goodnight with a kiss that tells me more than words could, I'm filled with an unspeakable completeness, and I love you.

A column Johnny wrote about Margaret for the local paper, but never published:
It was Sunday, Dec. 12, 1982, and we were at Ridge Church. Margaret and I were sitting together, but I had to move because I was sitting too close to the heater and it almost burned my leg. I moved across the aisle to another bench in the little country church.

During the service as I looked across at Margaret, our eyes met, she smiled at me. Suddenly, I had this tremendous feeling of pride in her. I thought to myself, "That's the most beautiful smile on the most beautiful face that I have ever seen... even lovelier to me than the face of that sweet, pretty teenage girl that I married over 48 years ago."

I thanked God for her--the good woman I love so much--a woman wholly above reproach. Just knowing that she is mine, all mine, always has been, and will be until the end of time.

What better place to open up my heart and thank God for loving me so much that he would place that beautiful girl on the same spot on earth he placed me back in the year 1931, and to allow her to become my mate. And now, 48 years later, seven wonderful children and thirteen precious grandchildren, and I still have that pretty girl that allowed me to become a part of her life, to share life with me. After 48 years, to fully believe that she has never regretted that decision is satisfaction to me beyond explanation. And she has never given me the slightest reason to think she doesn't have that same assurance.

Never in all the world could God have created anyone more perfect for me--NEVER.

Thank you, God... and, thank you, Margaret.

I'll be my valentine!

I'm cheating. I'm not writing an entry today, but sharing a column about Valentine's Day that I wrote when I was in college. It was one of those that I went back and re-read a couple weeks ago, and wouldn't you know, I had a little bit of wisdom back then. The things I wrote back then are things I need to remember now, so that's why I'm putting it here. This was published Feb. 8, 2001 in Wingate University's Weekly Triangle:

While Valentine's Day originated as a day to honor the Catholic Saint Valentine, it's become a holiday centered on romanticism. As such, it is often embraced by happy couples and dreaded by the unhappily single. Through the years, I have fallen into both categories.

In high school, I was never in a serious relationship, and never once had a date for Valentine's Day. On Feb. 14, there was always a carnation sale at school. Always I hoped that I would receive a carnation from that cute guy I had admired from afar, or, at the very least, from a secret admirer whom I could imagine to be my Prince Charming. Always I was disappointed.

Needless to say, I always dreaded Valentine's Day during those years. More than that, the weeks preceding that gloomy day were always a period when I would get very down on myself. I would look in the mirror and see someone I thought no one could love.

When I came to Wingate University, I began dating a guy here the end of my first semester. So my freshman year I found myself, happily, with a Valentine's Day date. For once, I felt complete--I was someone worth loving, not someone others inwardly pitied.

I was in that relationship for two years. Though it ended more than a year ago, I don't regret anything about it, and I know that my relationship with that person taught me the most important lesson I could ever learn--how to love myself.

We are often so bombarded with messages about self-esteem that we deflect them without consideration, thinking we already know all that. But we seldom take the messages to heart. In high school, it was common to know people who thought there was something wrong with them if they weren't in a relationship, so they would be with anyone, just to be with someone. Though much of that ends in high school, the reason for it continues.

We are not comfortable with who we are. We are not enough.

When motivational speaker Eric Saperston visited campus last fall, he said something that really struck home. He said that it is not failing that scares us. Instead, we are afraid of being too much, of being too great.

Since coming to Wingate, I've changed immensely. I have honed my skills in journalism, I have become much more outgoing, and I have gained confidence in my own abilities.

I have learned that I am enough, and I am not afraid of that. This is what my college education has taught me. If Wingate gives that gift to every student here, then the thousands of dollars spent for this education are worth every penny.

Revelation

I think I'm making a lot progress on this little journey of self-exploration I've begun. After my whole conversation with my ex last night (let's call him Mack to protect the innocent but make it for easier future reference), and my entry about that conversation, I had a revelation about why I end up with guys who treat me badly.

As I said last night, Mack was one guy I've had something serious with that always treated me well, and when I ended things with him, I really hurt him, and I had a hard time with that. I think I took a lot of personal responsibility for that, and I have let it affect my future relationships. I've met good guys who would have treated me well, and who I liked since Mack. But every time I have, I've never let myself get too close. I've always been afraid that if I did get close, but then for some reason it didn't work out, I would end up hurting a really nice guy again. So I keep my distance from the nice guys and open myself up to the guys that will hurt me. It's like I can tolerate being hurt myself better than I can handle hurting someone else again.

The result of this has been that now I've been hurt so much by those guys that I'm ready again for a nice guy. BUT I still have serious trust issues that I need to get past. AND it seems like now I'm so ready for a nice guy that when I find one, I'm willing to look past all the little things that might make things not work, and just jump right in.

So the lesson I've got to learn now...patience. That'll be a tough one.

Reconciliation

Given my recent attempts to analyze and understand my lack of success when it comes to relationships, I've been thinking lately about the first guy I ever seriously dated. I was never really in a relationship until my freshman year of college (oh great and wise sage Gabe credits my late blooming with my current difficulties, but I'm not sure I buy that). That relationship lasted until the middle of my junior year. For awhile, we were all set to get married. Despite my history of dating jerks, this guy didn't fall into that category. He's a good guy. But I was young, and this was my first relationship, and I realized one day that I'd set this path for the rest of my life that I wasn't really ready to commit to yet.

It was a hard decision for me to make, because I still loved this guy, but I broke up with him. I knew I needed to figure out on my own who I was. But a lot of what I was feeling I really couldn't put into words yet (time gives you amazing clarity), and so I never really did a good job at helping him understand why I wanted to end things. I tried to stay friends with him, but it just seemed like that hurt him worse. I had told him once when we were dating that if we ever hit rough times, I would fight to keep him in my life, so when it was I that decided to leave, he tried the same thing. But the harder he fought, the harder I pulled away. And it seemed to hurt him so much to just be friends, I eventually put up a wall and shut him out. It wasn't what I wanted, but I thought it would be easier for him in the long run.

I didn't want to hurt him, and I didn't really have a choice, because if I'd stayed, I would have always resented him, and it would have still ended badly, just later. But I still have always felt bad for hurting him the way I did. Every once in awhile, I see him online. We say hi, how are you, but that's about it. Tonight I saw him online, though, and decided that we've had enough time and distance to talk about things, make amends. I asked him how he sees our relationship, looking back....he said he feels like if he hadn't been selfish, maybe we would have made it. I told him that the whole thing didn't have anything to do with anything he had or hadn't done, and that he was the one guy I've had anything serious with that I don't look back and think, what an asshole. I think tonight he finally understood that it really wasn't him, it was me.

And then he told me that the thing that bothered him the most was that he'd lost his best friend, and I realized how selfish I've been to wait so long to try and make things right. I really should have seen that sooner; after all, I've had something similar happen to me, and I know how much it hurts. About six months after this guy and I broke up, I started casually seeing another guy who was a good friend of mine. We were never officially a couple, and, to be honest, I didn't think we had much of a future after college, but I thought what we had at the moment was pretty special--until I found out that he was in a relationship with someone else, and I was the other woman. The hardest thing was that I'd trusted him to be upfront with me, because he was my friend. If he'd said he wanted to date other people, I would have been okay with it, because I was never under the impression that we were exclusive. But the other girl he was dating was under that impression, and he involved me in betraying her without my knowing it, and, in so doing, betrayed me.

For three years after that, we were no longer friends. I'd see photos of him when I glanced through my college yearbook and feel a little something missing, because I'd lost a friend. Then at homecoming this year, I ran into him. I was ready to mend fences, and he came up to me and told me that he'd owed me an apology for three years, and it had been eating him up for three years, but he hadn't known how to get in touch with me. That was all I needed.

I don't stay in touch with him now, but I don't feel a loss when I see a photo of him. I just get a good feeling, because I can say, "That's my friend." As I told him that night, I feel like I got a piece of my life back.

So why did I wait so long to make things right with my first love? Why did I leave him with a hole in his life for so long? I don't know. But like I said, time brings clarity, and with it, forgiveness. If my friend had tried to apologize (and he sort of did) three years ago, I wouldn't have been ready to hear it. So maybe I just didn't know when my ex-boyfriend would be ready to hear it.

I'm sure I waited longer than I should have. But hopefully now, when he looks at photos of me, he can say, "That's my friend."

Beautiful

Don't tell me that I'm beautiful when you first meet me, because you don't really know that yet. Wait until you've known me long enough to appreciate my strengths, forgive my weaknesses and know that I am beautiful. Then tell me, because then I'll know it's true.

More about me

I didn’t want to weigh every one down in my profile with a really long life story, but if you want to know more about me, read this entry.

I'm a Yankee converted to a Southerner. I grew up in western Pennsylvania in a very religious family, but ironically moved to the Bible Belt about 8 years ago for college and drifted away from religion. I suddenly realized that I couldn't find the answers to all of life's moral dilemmas in a book, and that there was too much judgment and not enough love in traditional organized religion for my tastes. But I love the South, despite the fact that I often don't fit in. I love how everyone knows everybody, even strangers.

After I graduated from college, I worked for a small daily newspaper in SC for three years. I loved a lot about my job – meeting new, different people, hearing their stories, and feeling as if I were making a difference. But I also came to believe that journalism is a noble profession that has in many ways lost its nobility, and until the media can steer itself back in the right direction, so that good journalists can do their jobs without remorse or ethical concessions, it's a profession I don't want anymore. I'm now working in public relations – what I, as many reporters do, used to refer to as the “dark side.” But I’m actually enjoying it. I’m working for a good cause, and I still get to meet interesting people, and I’m still helping tell a story.

Ok, I’ve talked about religion and work, on to family. My parents, one brother and one sister still live in Pennsylvania, and I have one brother living in Maryland with his new bride. Our family is pretty close, but I must admit I get along with them much better from a distance. Before I left for college, my mom told me she knew from when I was little that I would be the one to really venture away from home – that stubborn, independent streak of mine. I love my family very much – I’ve just always walked a different path. As far as relationships…well, I’m not so good in that arena. A friend recently told me that I let guys treat me badly, and as long as a guy is just a little nicer than the one that came before, then I figure it’s ok. I didn’t agree with him at the moment, but, as he usually is, he was right. I don’t let guys kick me around or anything, but I let them treat me with less respect than I deserve. I haven’t quite figured out why I do that, because I don’t accept that in other areas of my life…friends, careers, etc. But now that I know I do it, I can fix it.

Ok, that’s a shot glass full of Misty, and probably all you can handle, so I’ll wrap it up!

My first blog

Ok, I admit. I've made fun of blogging. But I was looking through some old issues of my college paper a couple weeks ago, and reading some of the editorial columns I'd written way back then (alright, it wasn't even four years ago, but it seems like an eternity). And I realized that the process of writing those columns, whether based on a personal experience or my take on some current event, always helped me see things more clearly. Somehow when you have to put deliberate thought into the words you're going to put on paper (or on screen), it helps sift out the gray and leave the black and white.

After college, I spent three years working at a small daily paper in SC, and now I'm working in public relations, so I certainly haven't stopped writing. But everything I've written in the past four years has been, though with some creativity thrown in, pretty much "just the facts, ma'am." I really haven't written much that would fall into the category of personal expression. And along the way, a lot of stuff seems to have blurred into gray, so this is basically my attempt to one, sift out the black and white, and two, get back to writing for my own personal enjoyment.

So if you happen on this site and enjoy it, great. But if you hate it, I'm sorry, but it's really for me anyway.