short and sweet

The last 2 blog posts were terribly long. That's not going to become the norm here. Only at times!

This post is just to show I can write something short and sweet. :-)

Today we went on an old style Sunday drive. Cameras in hand, letting adventure and whimsy take us where it would.

We discovered that there is a little, old cemetery nearby. It's a few miles down a back country road, hidden from mainstream traffic. Some of the headstones are hard to read, but on closer inspection I find birth dates in the 1800's.

I get lost in the names, the dates and the making up of their stories in my head.



Finding myself talking to some of them, asking what happened in their short lives.












Wondering how they lived so long in times much different than these.










Since the Man was waiting for me, I said an early good bye, with a promise to return soon.

...may there be mercy in marking of the history of lives gone before.

sweet tears, precious gifts

This afternoon I had taken off my glasses to do something and as I reached for them to put them back on, I noticed they had tear stains on them. Again.

If you know me at all, you know how very much I hate to cry. It’s a messy, unpleasant process and it gives me a headache. It feels awful to do, it feels awful to sit in the emotions. Not to mention that one cannot be any kind of pretty when crying. It just isn’t possible with a variety of liquids running down one’s face and mascara smudged all around the eyes.

Okay, that last part was my vanity talking. I know. I keep working on that vanity thing.

And I know that I judge myself much more harshly than I would ever consider for anyone else. That whole “we are our own worst critics” thing comes heavily into play. With anyone else’s tears, I am fully able to love and support and encourage, or simply sit being a witness to their story.

This week I had several opportunities to be on the receiving end of loving, supporting, encouraging, and simply being a witness to my story.

Hate to have cried so many times this week. Just hate it. It was really hard, but I know, so necessary.

The first 2 weekends in May are always extra hard for me. Mother’s Day looms large, hitting my emotions squarely with an in-your-face taunt of all things taken out of my grasp, of pain and regret in the realm of wishing we could have done more to have a child in our home, of big dreams that have died.

Hiding this pain has become a way of life for us. Since just about everyone has children, and many of our friends are moving into being grandparents, there is no frame of reference, no true comprehension of how very different our lives are from theirs. There isn’t an understanding of how it actually does get harder for us at times, and not easier, with hearing about the varying stages of life, the firsts that they get to celebrate, the growing stages, the difficulties of parenting toddlers and teens, the fun of planning college dorm rooms and weddings, the joy in the anticipated arrival of a new grandbaby, the knowledge that they will have someone to care for them as they age.

We miss out on much with other folks. Many times we hear about the fun things that they all did together, but they didn’t think we’d be interested since we don’t have kids. Much of the time, it is something we would have enjoyed immensely, even without small people of our own, just the being together in community would be nice. Or even the thought of an invitation to join in. It’s a feeling of exclusion and of not being good enough in and of yourself, as if we are lacking something, somehow, and just can’t measure up.

But there is still a boatload of nurturing love in my heart for kids and young people. Love that needs to be expressed.

So I’ve spent much of my life investing love into other people’s children. Spending time with them, listening to their woes and joys, their normal, everyday lives. Encouraging them, sympathizing with them, loving them, becoming auntie-c to them. The one who isn’t one of their parents, but who loves them deeply and without reservation.

There is a level of sweetness to life that comes when we can be involved in a child’s life, no matter who the child is. And yes, I’ve tasted that sweetness, savoring the delicious moments of a spontaneous hug coupled with the words, “I love you, auntie-c” from precious little ones, teens and young women into whose lives I’ve been invited.

Precious, treasured moments. Snugged safely in the banks of my best memories.

And then, the little one goes back to Mommy, the teen back to her parents and the young woman back to her life and her own family.

And I go back to wishing for someone to call me Mama.

This week, I talked with my counselor about finding ways to parent without being a parent. About what I’ve done with that for so much of my life. How it still isn’t enough for my heart since they still go home to someone else, the someone else who gets to be Mama.

We talked about how no one really gets that I actually am Mama, but my children are not here. In 1984 and again in 1997, I miscarried. Since I believe that life begins at conception, I also believe that my longed for children are waiting for me in heaven. It will be amazing to finally see them and hold them.

It’s hard not having them in this life.

And as we talk, my counselor tells me that he actually does have a level of understanding of my pain - they had miscarriages. They were unable to carry a child to term. They eventually adopted. But in the midst of it all, they also knew that they were parents. Mama and Daddy to children they would have to wait to hug.

As I realized how much understanding was on the other side of this conversation, I discovered there were tears on my face. Tears that reflected my pain, yes, tears for their story, yes. And yes, tears for the affirmation and understanding that I am Mama.

Dangit, but I hate to cry. It was really hard to sit with these emotions and to talk about them. But it was good. It was important. It was helpful in the healing process.

As I left my counseling session, I tucked my emotions and my tears safely back inside. Or so I thought.

Going about my normal life, the next day had a lunch date to celebrate birthdays with a young friend. The month of May brings a ton of birthdays for friends, for family and also for both the Man and me.

My young friend turned 20 last week. She’s a gorgeous young woman, full of life and joy, and so very normal in her challenges and dreams. We talked nonstop about a young man that has caught her interest. They are friends for now, but they are talking about the possibilities of a dating relationship at some point since they both recognize there are feelings between them. They both have high standards about their faith and about their individual relationships with God being most important. It was a fun conversation.

And then…she gave me a priceless gift.

It was a moment of encouraging her to learn to be friends with guys, of counsel about having not only dating relationships, but friendship with them, and of the importance of keeping her family close,

As I do with all my young friends, I reminded her to keep her parents close, that she has only one Mama and Daddy forever. At that point, she reached over and took my hand, saying “and one adopted Mama”.

Precious, treasured word, spoken with absolute love and certainty…  to me.

me.

Oh, wow, to me.

I soaked that loving moment in deeply as she went on to tell me that she has always felt like I was her adopted mama, much closer to her than an auntie.

Yes, tears running down my face again. Still I hate to cry, but I noticed that these were sweeter tears that tasted not of sorrow, but of love.

I’m still sipping at that memory cup, savoring the deliciousness of it. Taking it deep in my heart, knowing it will probably be the only time here on earth that it comes to me. Deeply grateful that God brought me this amazing young person who looks at me as an extra mama in her life.

And then God gave me another sweet gift of something a mother of daughters gets to do.

One of my coworkers has a daughter who is a senior this year. This young friend shares my love of shoes, fashionable clothing, and being a very girly-girl. Since her mother doesn’t care much about such things, she calls on auntie-c to shop with her. Over the years, we have had such fun finding cute clothes and shoes for her, and for me.

Today is her senior prom. She asked me to go with her to get her nails done.  

It’s a little thing, getting your nails done before prom, normal and part of the fun of getting ready for that big event. Not something that really jumps out as a gift in life.

But it really is something that would normally be done with either her friends who are also going to prom, or her mama.

Something that a mama would savor in the joys of moments in her child’s life and in the sweetness of memory later.

She wanted me to go with her. And her mother thought it was a fabulous idea. Now granted, her mother is not into pretty nails and all that froo-froo.  And she did  go with her daughter to get her hair done in an updo. 

But I know that it would have been a happy morning of mother-daughter time that was graciously given to me. 

When I picked up my young friend this morning, she had that sparkle in her eyes. The sparkle that says she was anticipating a fun time with me, her auntie-c, and then the fun of getting all dressed up to go out with a really nice guy to a big event in her young life.

Oh, the laughter and silly fun we had today. We got iced coffees at Starbucks. We fussed over color vs French and what would go best with her dress. (French, with a very elegantly understated design on the ring fingernail) We picked up the boutonnière, delighted with how well they matched the color of her dress in the flowers.

She and her mother gave me a sweet taste of what I would have had with a daughter here.

Driving home after I dropped her off, happily showing off pretty hands to her parents, again there were sweet tears running down my face. Again, tasting not of sorrow, but of love.

Mother’s Day continues to loom large, and the emotions associated with that day don’t just automatically go away. But I’m deeply grateful for these priceless gifts. 

In my heart, it feels like God sprinkled a little extra love down on me and gave me my own personal Mother’s Day.

…may there be mercy in the shedding of sweet tears

If you are newer to my blog, and don’t know anything about our childlessness, there are a couple blog posts from a few years ago that speak to our story.

dreaded words

flipped adoption

Grace

journeying to healthy

Haven’t done a blog post in a while, but it’s been on my mind quite a bit. Much has happened over the last several weeks, some of which will become blog posts as I figure out what I want to write about and what is better left unsaid while moving on. 

Today is a very long post. It’s a story about body issues and our cultural expectations. It's my story.

When I started 7th grade, at age 12, I was already 5’ 9’ tall, towering over almost everyone in our school. For an awkward, and painfully shy kid, this feeling of standing out in a crowd was terrible. Add to it the fact that I only weighed 110 pounds then, and I looked like this giant skeleton walking around campus. We won’t go into the other teen issues of beauty products, hair, acne, clothes, etc., right now. Suffice it to say I was not thrilled with my appearance, but there was little I could do about it then.

I ate everything I could stuff in. The more fattening, the better. Overstuffing myself at every meal. Snacking like crazy between meals. Trying to gain just 10 pounds so that I didn’t look so emaciated, since my appearance drew such ugly comments from other kids. 

Nothing worked. My metabolism was apparently too high and I burned off all that excess food. My weight remained the same, my appearance continued to draw comments.

Fast forward a few years into high school. I had moved far beyond painfully shy at school, but was a completely different kid at my church youth group. While still a bit shy there, the love extended to me by my church family allowed me to be more of myself and enjoy time with friends. These kids didn’t make ugly comments about my weight, height and appearance. They simply loved me.

By my senior year, I had gained that longed for 10 pounds, but, unfortunately, it wasn’t enough to really matter much to my appearance. However, with the level of encouragement and love given by the youth group, not to mention the spiritual changes in me, I blossomed into a much more outgoing and happy person. I was still one of the tallest kids around, and one of the skinniest, but I was happier inside and more able to cope.

Over time, health issues and a more sedentary job combined to add another 10 pounds by the time I was 26. If you’re keeping track and doing math, that puts me at 130 pounds and still 5’ 9”. Still quite thin, but more healthy appearing on a simple visual level.

This was the first time that someone actually commented to me that I was “not going to look good in my jeans if I kept eating so much and gaining weight”. 

The person who made the comment blithely went about her day, never knowing what she had set off inside my head. Her comment was really about a level of amazement at how much I could eat, although phrased very poorly. And her timing sucked as I had just left my husband, starting the process of a divorce. 

Yes, at 130 pounds, wearing a size 8 or 10, what I heard was “wow, you’re fat now and no man will ever think you are attractive.”

What? Really? Fat?

Yep, really. 

FAT.

You see, my sister WAS the fat kid in school. She got all the other ugly comments for being the overweight kid. The minute I heard that comment, all I saw was my sweet sister’s much bigger body in place of mine. My head screamed at me all of the comments she had received.

And I stopped eating.

Oh, I blamed it on the stress of the divorce. Folks accepted that reason. In just a couple months, I’d dropped that 20 pounds, back into a size 5-7, and felt much better about how I looked.

Then came the concerned comments about how thin I was getting.

Can you sense my internal level of confusion about my body? 

My head got really messed up on how I viewed my body. I didn’t know what to do. I loved food, always have, but was afraid to eat because I didn’t want to be fat. I was also afraid to avoid food because I didn’t want to become anorexic. After all, Karen Carpenter had recently died from anorexia. I didn’t want to die, I just wanted to look right for everyone.

Confusion reigned on how this body really looked. Was I fat? Or was I skinny? The messages that I received from others and from my own confused self were so mixed up that I stopped looking at myself in the mirror. All I could see was the fact my tummy was not concave anymore, but flat across the hipbones, so therefore I was fat.

Yep, flat across the hipbones made me fat. And I wanted to look right for everyone. Did you notice that I didn’t want to look right for me? Did you notice I didn’t care if I was healthy?

When I married the Man, I weighed 115. I’d started eating again, but was incredibly careful about it. In fact, I only ate in front of people. That way, I could monitor how much I was eating by using them as a gauge. If someone made a comment about how much I was eating, I could then “become full” with just a couple more bites. Not eating by myself, or eating only a very little when alone, allowed me to keep my weight down in that range where I would not receive comments about being fat. Since I knew how to ignore comments about being skinny, this seemed to be working for me.

At least I told myself that it was working.

After we settled into married life, I got lax about food. After all, he was here for more than 1 meal a day, and I do love to cook, so I had no choice but to eat. I gained a little weight, but that was okay. And I continued to snack at my desk. All day. I gained a little more weight, but it was fine. And my health issues, 8 surgeries in just a few years, combined with sedentary work added into the mix. All day stress eating became the new normal for me.

I gained quite a lot of weigh over time, hitting 185 pounds.

I’m still that 5’ 9” tall person, and can carry extra weight without folks realizing quite how much I’m carrying, but 185 is actually overweight by 16 pounds. The height/weight charts all say the healthy range for this height is 135 - 169 pounds. At 185, and needing to buy a size 14-16, I was really unhappy about it, but figured it was just late-30’s, moving into 40’s-normal and what I’d be forever.

And then I fell down the stairs at work.

When the paramedics came, they thought I’d broken my back. Backboard, neck brace, onto the gurney, and with  a loud, “oomph”, 3 men lifting me into the ambulance.  Yes, 3 men. At the ER, during the exam and diagnosis of badly bruised back, I overheard the doctor mention that I was a “mildly obese woman”.

Not broken, but obese on top of injured.

Ouch and OMG… he said the obese word about me.

I mean really, I just thought I was fat.

Obese.

In my head, I saw myself as if I weighed twice what I did. My body ached from the fall. My emotions were battered even more from the label of obese. For a few weeks, I cried most nights after work, with an internal dialog that allowed the critical voice to hammer home that I was the biggest whale ever. 

And then the Man quietly asked if I wanted to do something to make myself feel better. 

Ever so carefully, and with the gentlest of loving tones, he suggested that I go to a single Weight Watchers meeting. If I hated it, or was not comfortable in any way, I never had to go back. But if it seemed a good fit, maybe it would help me to feel better about myself.

Ended up that I joined Weight Watchers. I lost 50 pounds. (if you’re still doing math, that’s down to 135) I felt pretty good about how I looked and felt much more confident. I kept it off, or most of it, for several years.

Did you notice that I felt “pretty good” and not great?

Why didn’t I feel great that I was at the bottom end of the healthy weight range for my height?

And then the number on the scale started creeping up. I ignored it. After all, midlife, late-40’s, and menopause will combine to change the body a little, right? Add in that I’d come into my own in my love of cooking and food, learning to enjoy wine and cooking with it. A restaurant owner’s daughter, I gloried in really good foods. Not to mention the high stress levels in all areas of life. Work stress, family stress, stress with my best friend, stress everywhere. I ate more and more, consoling myself with food, which in turn showed up on the scale and in my emotions.

When I hit 170 pounds, I saw the fat woman had come back. It made me sick to see myself in the mirror, but I could not seem to do anything about it. Oh, I might drop a pound or two, but then put them back on immediately. 

When I turned 50, I had hoped to be back into a healthy weight range, but my weight kept climbing as I kept eating. I kept cooking and eating great foods, my high stress levels continued. No end in sight, in fact some of them increased as we cared for my precious father-in-law for 6 months during his terminal illness. The number on the scale climbed to 190, my highest ever. My head screamed “obese!!!”  I hated my body. Then, at the same time that my father-in-law died, other stresses ratcheted up and my family stress skyrocketed. I tried to cope, but really lost any ability to do so.

While this blog post is not about depression, it does need to be mentioned in this story. Spiraling into depression was not pretty. It took me a while to admit it to anyone. Months, almost a year. Then, it took me months to seek help from my doctor and a good therapist.

One of the bad things about depression, for me anyway, is that I stop eating when I hit the lowest level. Stress makes me overeat, depression makes me stop eating. Completely.

When I hit that point, last year, I ate less in a week than a normal, healthy person would eat for half a day. This went on for about 3 weeks. Much concern from the Man, my doctor, my therapist and the couple friends who were aware of the depression. I dropped 10-12 pounds in that short time from simply not eating. While I needed to lose some weight, I needed to do it in a proper and healthy way. This wasn’t it.

Doc had a “come to Jesus” talk with me about eating and exercise and depression. How these things work and work together to lift the mood. My counselor backed it all up at our next session. Somehow, what was said penetrated. I started both eating a little and exercising each morning.

I’m not going into the swearing at the elliptical I did. I hate exercise with a passion, but this isn’t about hating exercise. It’s about doing the work needed despite the hate to do it.

As I worked on my issues in my counseling sessions, I began to eat more normally. I realized that I could actually begin to eat less at any one sitting, and stop eating when I was actually full - long before the overstuffed feeling showed up.

At a healthier pace, the number on the scale kept moving downward. By Christmas, I’d lost 35 pounds and was feeling much better about myself because I’d been doing it right, doing the work of getting my body healthy in healthy ways.

Oh, crud, that stuff all the doctors have said for years about eating less and exercising was working! And no, I have not admitted that to my doc yet!

Did you notice the reason that I felt better about myself? For once it wasn’t about what other folks were thinking, seeing saying. It was because I was doing it right. Me. Working to get healthy.

Yes, everyone has noticed the weight loss. There were many comments about how thin I was getting. All of them were positive, encouraging me that I looked great and healthy.

At the beginning, all I could hear of those comments was that I had been so fat. I couldn’t hear the compliments, all I could hear was that I needed to keep going because I was still fat.

If you’re still with me, doing the math, I weigh 155 at this point. I’m down to a size 8, sometimes 10. Well within the healthy weight range for my height. Why did I still see myself as that obese woman?

In my head, while I felt better about myself, I still wasn’t done with losing weight. Still had the critical voice whispering “fat” inside my head. Could not see myself properly yet. Could not hear those compliments quite properly. I dropped some more weight, bottoming out at my current weight of 142, and a size 6. If you’re still doing the math, that is a loss of 48 pounds.

In counseling, we talked about and worked through some of the body issues I had, silencing that critical voice. I’m seeing my body in a completely different light. While I still struggle with some body issues, I don’t give that critical voice credence. I don’t hear it saying the words, “you’re fat”.

I can actually see in my own mirror that I am a thin woman who has worked hard to get her body healthier.

Wow, did I just say that? Me, a thin woman? 

Yes, me, thin. Yes, me, healthier.

And then… Friday.

On Friday, someone asked if I was going to continue to lose so that I could hit the 50 pounds lost mark. I told them that the number wasn’t important to me. I am done with being in weight loss mode, and am now content to be in maintain mode. It surprised me that the person seemed disappointed in me for “giving up” at 48 pounds lost.

Wait, giving up? What? Are you telling me I’m still fat? Just because I didn’t shoot for an additional 2 pounds that would make a round number of 50?

I say a resounding NO.

I’m not fat because of that 2 pounds. I’m not a quitter. I do not have to have a certain number lost or on my scale in order to validate my body image. I don’t accept someone else’s disappointment as my own. I am getting healthy.

Did you notice that I said I was content? Did you notice I said no?

I suspect there will be folks who look at the numbers on my journey up and down the scale and dismiss me as one more skinny girl who thought she was fat in order to gain attention. After all, my number never topped 200, which seems to be the OMG number for our culture.

Remember back at the beginning of this journey, I was that shy, awkward kid who never wanted attention. I never looked like the culturally accepted beauty who had the right measurements. I bought into the lies that I was too thin, or not thin enough. 

I could not see myself as others did. Or as I truly was.

But I learned to do so.

…may there be mercy and contentment, seeing ourselves as we truly are.

doing

I do not like them,
Sam-I-am.
I do not like
green eggs and ham.          (dr. seuss)

There are many things I do not like. Many of which I must do. Many of which I fight in the process of doing.

I would rather knit. 

And yet... the doing must be done.

Conversations must be had and I must stand up for myself, no matter how much I want to avoid conflict.

Dangit.





                                           ...may there be mercy and wisdom in what needs to be said. 

catching up a little

It's been a while since I've really written much. The last couple weeks have been full of overtime and a downswing in my depression. It is normal to have downswings while in the process of healing, but it is not pleasant.

However this isn't a blog post about being in the dark place. It's a post about random things in life, just to get me back on track in the blogging world. The dark place can wait for another time.

Work:  pretty much not fun right now. Working too many hours in an attempt to catch up my job and finish the files from 2012. I almost made it on Wednesday, with 2 really difficult files left to go at the end of the day. The plan was to spend Thursday auditing those 2 files, but we had too many folks out of the office with the current plague of bronchial flu stuff that it was an impossibility to do my own job that day. Friday was a repeat, with the added issue of Friday being the day I cover the Recording Desk and all that entails.

The kicker of the day was when I actually asked for help with my workload - for the first time ever in my working life - and was refused the help I needed by the coworker asked. Flat refusal with the statement of "didn't sign up for that and it's not my job." 

Really?

No, really? 

Nobody ever told me that refusing work or help at work was an option. Boy, if I'd known that it was, I'd have refused to be the one to cover the Recording Desk years ago. I hate that job, but it has to be done.

I was also taught that while at work, you work hard to ensure that the client is best served, even if you don't necessarily like the portion of the job you are asked to do.

With this refusal to help came another incredibly stressful day for me, both physically and emotionally. I'd already been arriving at work by 6:30 a.m. all week, missing lunch hours, no coffee breaks, barely enough time to stop at the ladies room a couple times a day, and this day was yet another repeat. Add a giant level of anger to the mix and it was not pretty.

Thank God I had the sense to keep my mouth shut for the rest of the day or I think I would have been fired for what I would have said.

Since I've had time to think through how to say things without making a scene, I'll be having a conversation with my boss on Tuesday.

the Man:  over the last couple weeks, he had an issue wherein he got metal shavings in his eye while at work. Thankfully, a quick trip to the ER and those got removed. Corneal scratches that did heal well, and without any lingering issues for his sight. Although I have to admit that watching him attempt to put antibiotic drops into his eye was hilarious.

Family:  my sister, Deb, and I are working to gently move Mama toward filing bankruptcy. Such a hard thing to have to do at her age, but so very necessary right now. Finding the right words that don't break Mama's spirit, but do help her to move forward. Wisdom is needed, not to mention peace for her.

Deb has the biggest burden of daily needs for Mama. Oh, Mama is able to do her own day to day personal care, but she is 80 and, quite frankly, is very lonely. She misses Daddy and having a companion.

At the same time, Deb got laid off from her job. Not cool as they actually laid off an entire department of 10 people. She has had a couple interviews, but nothing yet. I'm hopeful that the next interview on Wednesday will bring an offer for her.

Knitting: currently working on a very cute sweater for myself. It's about half done now and I'm thrilled that it fits! The top-down construction allows me to try it on as I go, which is very cool.

Yesterday I got some yarn to make an adorable hat for spring. I'm itching to get that started and just might try to get it done in time to wear to work next Friday. Yes, Fridays I tend to let my funky side out a little bit, most of the time in the form of a hat or something I have knitted.

Entertainment:  today we are going to meet some coworkers for the opera and dinner. the opera is Lucia De Lammermoor, which ends up with a lot of dead bodies, but contains a wonderful mad scene. This according to my friend, Kim, who is on the opera board and does all the costuming. I was able to attend the first 2 acts of the dress rehearsal. If that is any indicator of the performance, we are in for a wonderful show.

And that's all I've got for today. At least something has been written again, and hoping to be here more regularly now.

...may there be mercy and encouragement in the muddling through of life

random

Random thoughts...

- trying to explain the world of blogs and why do a blog to a lady who is not tech savvy. Interesting.

- spending the weekend with friends at a church women's retreat, feeds my soul in good ways.

Ice cream sundaes make me happy.

The Man watches movies that I don't want to see when I'm gone. This is good.

...may there be mercy and peace this night.

random thoughts

random thoughts to get me back into blogging mode again...

- not broken was a lovely, lovely phrase after my repeat x-rays. While the wrist is still achy, and overuse makes it downright painful, as long as I am careful, it can be used in moderation. Time will get me back to normal.

- depression has the ups and downs as I work out of the pit. Lately it's been down, but I know that seems to preceed a bigger up as it usually is a time of processing.

- knitting, oh, happy that I can return to my needles as knitting is a form of therapy for me. Besides, I've got a sweater in the works that I'd like to wear soon. During the superbowl yesterday, I did try a little bit of work on that sweater. Found that I can knit for a little bit without pain, but there is a fairly short time allowed yet.

- bible study group has been studying the beatitudes and it's been a great study so far. Discussions have been open and more vulnerable than before and there are bigger connections within the group.

- work, yep, still extremely behind and should have already gone in to work overtime today. Tomorrow will show that back into the mix.

And speaking of work, I'd best get there now!

...may there be mercy and a bit of happy random today.

friend time

Thankful today for more sleep that helps me with coping skills. Not to mention the Man, who is thoughtfully doing all he can to make things easier for me. There are so many small kindnesses each day.

Today I am looking forward to spending time with Kim, doing some geneology stuff. There are myriad emotions that come with this, as we are looking into Mama's birth mother now. Later, I will write about her life before and after her adoption and how that impacted her as a parent.

Today, I'm just going to enjoy the time with Kim and let whatever emotion comes, come.

And I expect a bit of laughter with my friend, too. 

...may there be mercy and joy in the richness of time with my friend.

hard

Getting dressed is difficult. I miss knitting. Working is incredibly hard one-handed. Parts of my normal life feel almost impossible as I have to think through each step before I can figure out how to do it with my left hand.

Asking for help makes me feel useless.

I know it's only been a week, and it will be awhile before this hand is better. But, dang, dang, dang!

Okay, I'll stop whining now. There are far more important things in life.

...may there be mercy and a better attitude.

simple beauty

Three beautiful things, seen today:

1.  a frozen spiderweb, glistening against the deep green of a bush.
2.  trees, devoid of leaves, silhouetted in the fog.
3.  laughter and deep connection in the conversation between friends.

...may there be mercy in the simple beauties found in my daily life

icy places

It's been cold here lately. Usually 27 degrees overnight. Cold temps that are just not fun, and require a level of caution when walking anywhere.

Last night, as I left my counseling appointment to head over to my bible study group, I slipped on the ice and fell, landing on my left hip and right wrist. Picked myself up, dusted myself off, well, with the help of a friend who was there, and headed off to our study.

By the time we arrived, it was apparent I had done more than land on my asspirations.

Nice that my bible study group meets in the home of a doctor and nurse. In fact, the home of MY doctor and his lovely wife, who is a nurse and precious friend.

They checked me out, got me dosed with ibuprofen, some food and a splint in no time. Doc said I needed an x-ray, but it was okay to wait to morning and go to his office. That made me happy because ER visits just suck and our group is doing a study right now that really interests me.

Today, it still hurts. A lot. While the x-ray doesn't show it at this point, Doc says "assume broken" as the presenting pain denotes a navicular break - apparently a spot that is hard to see a break on x-ray.

Now there is a giant splint that takes away any use of my right thumb. Repeat x-ray in 2 weeks since that is when it will be easier to see as the body's healing process has started. 

The worst part?  No knitting... dangit.

There goes the sweater I hoped to finish and wear by next month.

...may there be mercy and less pain soon.

normal hours soon

Next week, I am planning a break from overtime. Regular work hours. Will help my mental state and allow me to do a few things that I need to do... including the plan to get some pictures of our trip posted here.

...may there be mercy in the normal. 

interruption

We interrupt this report on the grand adventure to work a bit of overtime. 

...may there be mercy and productivity.  

grand adventure, part 4

(I realize the "part whatever" titles given this series is boring, but it allows me and others to keep track of the order of the story.)

In our planning for this trip, we allowed Amtrak Vacations to set up the hotel in LA and train connections to San Diego. When we saw the name of the hotel, The LA Hotel Downtown, we were a bit concerned and have to admit that it sounded a bit like it might be on the seedy side. 

What a wonderful surprise to discover that the hotel is simply beautiful. Courteous and professional staff. Really nice rooms. Decent restaurant. Actually far nicer than we anticipated for just an overnight before getting on another train.

Christmas morning we enjoyed breakfast and headed back to Union Station. We were fairly excited to get to San Diego to surprise Mama for Christmas dinner. Union Station is a really pretty old train station. Archways, wrought iron hanging chandeliers, gorgeous tile work, and woodwork galore. Photographer's heaven!

The Pacific Surfliner is Amtrak's commuter train between Los Angeles and San Diego. It runs along the beach communities and has some spectacular views. Takes a little over 2 hours for the whole run.

My sister, Deb, picked us up at Santa Fe Depot. Hugs and excitement, laughter and anticipation over the surprise. A quick drop of luggage at her place and off we head to see Mama.

A side note on Mama... Have to admit here that for 7 weeks, I'd been lying to her about our train trip. Told her we were going to Chicago on the Empire Builder. Just didn't want her to realize how close we would be which would give her ideas about us getting to San Diego. With family drama at a high peak, the surprise was too important as a gift to her. From the train, I'd been emailing her about Montana, Wyoming, etc. She bought into it completely! In fact, so much so that she emailed me on Christmas Eve requesting that I wait until 2 p.m. to call on Christmas day so that I could speak with Deb, too. We set her up so well.

At 2, Deb dropped us off at the corner, a couple houses down. She parked in front of Mama's house, running inside and asking, "did she call yet?" I waited about 5 seconds, then dialed my phone. Mama looks at Deb and tells her that she just made it in time. Hilarious! 

Here's the conversation, as best as remembered:

Mama: Merry Christmas, your sister just walked in, so your timing is perfect.
me:  Merry Christmas, Mama! Are you having a good day?

(--at this point, I send the Man walking down the street to go up to the door while I watch from the in front of the neighbor's house)

Mama: not bad, just put the prime rib roast in the oven.
me: yum! I think that's what we will have for dinner here on the train.
Mama: wait, the dog is barking. Molly, be quiet! Oh, wow, there is a man walking down the street that looks just like your husband!
me: really? Wow, that's interesting. What's he doing.
Mama: just walking down the st... wait, he's coming to the door. Probably one of your brother's friends and he isn't here. I have to go to the door and tell him. Hang on a second, okay?

--I'm cracking up and hoping that Mama doesn't hear me laughing in both the phone and through the kitchen window. I watch the Man walk right up to the house, reach for the door to open it and hear him announce, "I'm here to see my favorite Mother-In-Law!"

As Mama realizes it really is the Man, she grabs the phone and says, "where the hell are you?!!"

Then she sees me outside, laughing at her. I love the memory of the look on her face. Too bad no one caught it on camera. It was priceless. She was so bumfoozled, she actually asked if we could stay for Christmas dinner. When she found out that we were there for 2 days, she was thrilled.

Hugs and laughter and more hugs. A fresh pot of coffee. Silly conversation about what a wonderful surprise. Dinner and good wine. Deeper conversation about life. Simply a precious time.

Eventually we left for the night, telling Mama that we were going to the San Diego Model Railroad Museum in the morning, then would be back late afternoon for more time with her...not to mention dinner. We figured out what Mexican food we all wanted, and from where, so that Mama didn't have to mess with anything. We wanted her to relax and enjoy the time with us.

Another moment of precious to my heart happened while staying at Deb's place. 

In the last few years, Deb has converted to Judaism. She does not celebrate Christmas now, but instead has totally embraced the Jewish culture, celebrating Hanukkah instead. I honor her decision and life, and some years I send her small gifts that she can open each night of Hanukkah.

We discovered that when Deb found out we would be in her home over Christmas, she went to the trouble of having personalized Christmas stockings made for us, filling them with small thoughtful gifts. My heart still smiles at how lovely this was for her to do.

In the morning, we wandered around Balboa Park, ending up at the museum when they opened. The museum is very cool, with a variety of sizes of train layouts. It was such fun to watch the Man and Deb as he told her all about the different sizes of toy trains. The different layouts are interesting to see, with detail work in each one that amazes me.

In time, we had seen all the layouts. It was time for Deb and I to get a coffee while the Man took pictures. We agreed to meet back inside the museum, set our watches and separated for a bit.

Deb and I had such a good time of "sister talk" over coffee. I finally got brave enough to admit to her that I'd been battling depression. She hugged me and admitted that she had been battling, too. Neither of us had wanted the other to worry, so we both tried to hide it from the other. I'm glad it's out in the open now, where we can encourage each other.

At the appointed time, we finished our coffee, heading back inside the museum to find the Man. It was with great joy that we arrived to find him actually inside the Lionel layout, checking out the inner workings with the guys from the club that run that portion. The absolute grin of a 5-year-old who has been given the keys to both the candy and toy stores was spectacular. My heart still feels the jolt of happy from that look.

Time presses for now, but more soon.

...may there be mercy in the sharing of memories.

grand adventure, part 3

Sleeping on a train. While the rooms are fairly small, it actually works.

It's kind of amazing to me that they can fit a sofa that converts to a bed, a chair, a pull out table, walkway, a sink, and bathroom stall with shower, all into a 7x7 room. Oh, don't forget that top bunk. :-) Well, you can because we did. The converted lower bunk was actually just big enough for us to share.

Christmas Eve morning came early because we wanted to be up and seeing life on the train as much as possible. We actually set an alarm so that we could get a quick shower before early breakfast at 6:30 when the dining car opened up for the day. It's a good thing we did. Right after we got served, the dining car lost power! Anyone who came even a few minutes later didn't get to have a hot breakfast. Cold cereal and fruit was it. Thankfully, at a stop just before lunch, a mechanic came on board and was able to get power restored to the cheering of the passengers.

We spent the day much like the previous day, me knitting while we hung out in the parlour car, chatting with Erica and Ron and other folks. Lunchtime brought another nice meal with a couple guys who had just met each other. One worked for a trucking company. A former driver, he now works in the office. The other guy is the Brewmaster and owner of Santa Barbara Brewing Company. When asked what got him started on brewing beer, his reply of "I was thirsty" amused us to no end. Conversation ranged into space exploration and science, wine and beer, work and home lives.

Another afternoon wine tasting, this time with all California wines. We joined Kimberly and Phil for this event. She is a Radiation Therapist, he is an IT guy with a very large company. They have 5 kids ranging in age from 7-15. On alternate years, they take a vacation alone, leaving the kids with grandparents to spoil them while the folks get spoiled. They laughed and played card games the entire trip. It was great fun to see their level of enjoyment in one another.

After the winetasting, we sat chatting so long that Phil went looking for champagne for us all. More laughter and it was time for dinner. Since we had the same meal time scheduled, we just continued the conversation and laughter over our glazed salmon and a nice glass of wine.

Toward the end of dinner, an announcement was made requesting anyone with a medical background to please see Amtrak staff. Kimberly jumped up to help. Apparently a 2 year old boy had fallen and cut his forehead open. She was able to get the bleeding stopped, butterfly it together and return to our meal. Later she re-checked the little punkin and he was doing well.

A return to the parlour car found Erica, sitting alone, relaxing and ready for more chatting. Apparently after the winetasting, Chip, the parlour car attendant didn't have any takers to buy single glasses of the wine served. Since it was the 2nd day on the train, and we would be ending this leg of the journey soon, after an appropriate amount of time, he either has to sell it or throw it out. Instead, he gave the half bottle to Erica to enjoy. She had been waiting for us to enjoy it with her. A little later, Chip popped over to us again, with another bottle that had barely been opened. He told us to take it with us to our hotel. Cool!

As we pulled into Los Angeles, we went to get our luggage from the room and were wondering where the taxi stand would be at Union Station. Erica let us know that they would drop us at the hotel, no taxi needed. What a kindness. Outside, we met her husband, Paul, who is as nice as Erica. A quick 5 minute drive, unload their car outside the hotel, hug our new friends and discover they had purchased a bottle of wine for us as a celebration of our anniversary. We were so blown away by their sweetness and open offer of friendship.

And in we go, the LA Hotel Downtown on Christmas Eve.

...may there be mercy in the sharing of memories.

grand adventure, part 2

Let's see, where was I? Oh yes, sitting in the parlour car, knitting and enjoying the people and view.

It surprised me how quickly folks started talking with one another. Several folks stopped to ask me what I was knitting. An adorable little girl, who told me that she was 7 now, came to watch me knit. She confided that she had been trying to learn, but just couldn't get the hang of it yet. I assured her that, if I could learn after age 50, soon she would learn. We talked a bit, then her family moved off to play games.

Soon, lunch was being served in the dining car. Linens, real plates, silver and glassware, nicely served all while traveling 70-80 mph down the track. Since all our food was included in the 1st class ticket, we ate what we wanted to eat, including dessert at most meals. Not something we do on a regular basis at home, but on vacation like this? Oh yeah!

Amtrak practices community seating, so we were joined by a couple of single folks from vastly different backgrounds. Mahta lives in Canada. She's a tutor for kids with learning disabilities, most of whom fall into the autism spectrum. Her family fled Iran when she was 10. They traveled in Europe and the U.S. until they were accepted as permanent residents in Canada. Stephen lives south of Seattle. He loves trains and photography, has competed in ballroom dance and plays guitar, with a passion for math along with his music. It was interesting that he was seated with Mahta, as it was evident that his is autistic. Clearly high functioning. He reminded me of a friend's son who also loves music and trains. He was traveling to spend Christmas with his dad in Northern California. The conversations with Mahta and Stephen were really fun.

After lunch, we found ourselves back in the parlour car, chatting with folks. Eventually, things were set up for cheese and wine tasting. Fun! Amtrak does the wine tasting each day, featuring wines from the areas where the train is currently passing. That day was Washington and Oregon wines.

As we found a place to sit and got settled in, a young woman came up to ask if she could join us. We gladly invited her to sit, introducing ourselves. Erica is 28, active duty in the Army Reserves, married to an active duty Marine. She had been in Seattle to visit her parents for a couple weeks, riding the train to return home in time for Christmas with her husband. Flying wasn't an option as she had a 2-week heart monitor test going. We really clicked with Erica, spending much of the remainder of the trip chatting with her.

Right after Erica sat down, Ron joined us for wine tasting. He works in the movie industry, doing special effects. Really fun chatting with him about train travel and what he has worked on that we might know. Even more fun to discover that he had done work on Battlestar Galactica, which we really enjoyed. Ron and the Man had a really great series of conversations about the movies, special effects, trains, politics, etc. After the wine tasting was over, the 4 of us found a spot to sit and continue our conversations.

Eventually, dinner was called. Both Ron and Erica had opted to eat in the parlour car, where there are only 2 selections and you can have a table to yourself. We opted to eat in the dining car, with community seating and a larger selection on the menu. Seated with an older couple, we began new conversations over a lovely steak dinner followed by brownie pie for dessert.

Lingering for a bit longer in the parlour car after dinner, we picked up conversations with Erica and Ron, then decided to turn in for the night.

...may there be mercy in sharing the memories.

grand adventure, part 1

Home. It is good.

Over the next several days, I'll be writing some long posts about our grand adventure celebrating 25 years of being married to the Man. Our actual anniversary isn't until January 9th, but this is when we both had opportunity to have vacation together. A little extended celebrating of a big event never hurt anyone, eh?

Planning this trip over the last year has been such fun for us. When it all came down to it, all we really wanted was to spend the time together, taking a cool train trip.

Our original plan was to take the Amtrak Cascades train down to Seattle, but with over 30 mudslides in a very short time, all in one section of track, service was disrupted. While Amtrak would have used a bus to get us there, I really didn't want to start our big trip on a bus instead of a train.

My friend, Kim, gladly offered to drive us down to our hotel that Saturday morning. Gotta say how much I love her! We picked her up and, after a drive through to get peppermint mochas, were on off!

Laughing and talking all the way, the hour drive into Seattle flew. I think Kim was as excited for us as we were to be going.

Hugging and kissing goodbye, we got our luggage and walked into the Mayflower Park Hotel. If you are ever in Seattle, stay here. Just trust me on this one and do it. They have amazing customer service, not to mention an all around lovely hotel.

Earlier in the week, I'd talked with the Reservations Manager, Craig. Letting him know that our stay would mark the beginning of this celebratory trip, we talked about the room the travel agent had booked for us. Just a room, no fun package with martinis or breakfast or a show or dinner or something, which is what I'd really wanted for the first night. Just something a little fun to make it special. I was clear that we were perfectly willing to pay for the extras, but they had not been set up. Craig's response was, "I love surprises. See you Saturday."

Walking up to the front desk, we wondered what might be our surprise. We never expected to be knocked off our feet with the level of "wow!" that we received!

• upgraded room
• a gift package that included the most adorable little cocktail shaker and the award winning recipe for their classic martini
• a lovely congratulations card from Craig, which included a voucher for martinis in their bar, Oliver's, and breakfast in their restaurant, Andaluca.

Being a bit early to arrive, our room was not quite ready. So we spent the afternoon enjoying the sights and sounds of Christmas in Downtown Seattle. People watching, wandering through stores, listening to carolers and checking out the annual Holiday Carousel. Simple fun, holding hands, laughing together.

When we got tired, we decided to sit in the beautiful upper lobby of the hotel and watch folks from there. Maybe get a coffee in the bar while we waited. Instead, the staff had just put out freshly made cookies and hot chocolate for us. After helping ourselves to this treat, we watched folks and just enjoyed the quiet corner we had found.

Once we actually checked into our room and got things settled, we decided that we didn't feel the need to wander around anymore, so we set up a reservation for dinner at Andaluca and spent a couple hours just reading in our room, enjoying the place.

Dinner... oh, added loveliness to our day. The waiter, Tim, recognized us from a previous visit wherein we had only had dessert late in an evening. He welcomed us back, asking if we were there for Christmas. When we told him how wonderful the hotel was already being about our anniversary, he stepped away saying, "let me add some wonderful here." In seconds, he was back with a complimentary glass of champagne for us. So nice!

After perusing the menu, and deciding that I'd order something interesting to me that was not on my regular rotation - Roasted Beet Risotto for me and Grilled Mahi Mahi for the Man. Delicious! Topped off with their Liquid Chocolate Cake for dessert and our tummies had started the celebration quite well.

Of course we topped off the evening with martinis at Oliver's. The place was packed, but we found an empty table in what seemed to be a quiet corner. Just as we ordered, a couple guys sat at the next table, blowing any sense of quiet out the proverbial window. They were drunk and pretending to be foreign, but the so-called accents they had kept reverting to a solid midwest American sound. Watching them was somewhat amusing, but lost any appeal when they began to work on getting a free drink by telling the waitress she had not brought the correct first round. Which they had half drunk already. And which was exactly what they had ordered. Enough people watching for one day. We finished our martinis, heading up to the quiet of our lovely room.

Once there, I noticed on the desk was a new envelope with our names on it, and a small box. Another lovely card, this time signed by all the front desk staff and the box was candy from them, for us to enjoy.

At breakfast, both of the waitstaff recognized us from our previous stay. This was not as surprising since we had eaten breakfast there each day, chatting with them over our coffee, but pleasing nonetheless.

Oh, yes, I am so writing a letter to the General Manager of the Mayflower Park, congratulating him on a team who gives spectacular service and knows how to make guests feel like royalty.

Next... a quick taxi ride to King Street Station to board the Coast Starlight!

King Street Station is currently undergoing a major renovation. So it isn't very pretty with all the construction stuff, but they do have a large waiting room. They also have separate lines for Coach vs. Sleeper Car passengers. Sleeper Cars are the first class tickets... and for this big of an event, we certainly were going first class!

As they called for boarding the train, we headed toward the front where the sleeper cars were. Passing the coach section, the cars looked nice. Then we see the cafe car, the dining car, the parlour car and finally, the sleeper cars. Baggage and crew cars are right behind the engine, giving a buffer for the loudest of the noise from the sleeper cars.

At the door of our sleeper car, we are met by Gregory, the car attendant. His job is to make sure that we have a wonderful time on the train. He takes care of turning down the beds and making them up after use, but he also provides beverages and snacks for us, not to mention a welcome gift of toiletries in an Amtrak bag and champagne. Anything else we need, he does his best to ensure we get. He was very good at his job!

As the train got underway and we got settled, announcements about the train were made, making sure everyone knew where they could get food, what additional events happen for sleeper car passengers, etc. Immediately the dining car attendant came by our room to get lunch reservations for us set up. Once that was handled, I grabbed my knitting and we headed to the parlour car.

The disappointment of a real parlour car being unavailable to this train due to repairs was bigger for the Man than for me. Instead of the normal parlour car, we had a lounge car that is normally only used in the coach section. (they had their own lounge car separate from 1st class)  It was a nice enough place to hang out, but the Man was disappointed as the normal parlour car is so much nicer and richer feeling. We decided to enjoy it and hope for the return trip train to have the actual parlour car.

Knitting, chatting with other passengers, and enjoying a glass of iced tea, we watched the scenery pass by. So much beauty that one simply can't see when driving down Interstate 5! Yes, we passed through some very depressed areas of cities and towns along the way. But there were areas that took our breath away with the loveliness.

Time is running out today, so I will stop for now. Next post soon.

...may there be mercy and joy in the memories of our journey.