Dream Come True

“Visualize your dream (Yes) /Record it in the present tense (Don't be scared) /If you persist in your efforts /You can achieve…”

- Queensryche, Silent Lucidity


Three years ago today, my beloved husband Russell James Downie died after injuries sustained in a motorcycle accident.

That event turned my world completely upside down. He wasn’t supposed to die, at least not this early in our lives (we had celebrated our five year wedding anniversary just a few months before). I had always assumed that, out of the two of us, I would be the one to die first – being the insulin-dependent diabetic, having an aversion to exercising – but one of the first things I learned since that monumental day was that “Life” doesn’t have the same script as I do.

Even now, my husband’s voice echoes in my mind. Not so much like an actual recording, but more like pressure… the kind of pressure you feel when somebody you haven’t seen in awhile picks you up a the airport, throws their arms around you and gives you a big, bear hug. All the best things about the woman I am today, I credit to him. He took a frightened, miserable creature who hated herself and hated the world and transformed her into a living, breathing, feeling human being who strives to pour all of the love inside her heart out to heal her world. And in doing this, she herself is healed.

I feel like I’ve finally turned that corner. This is the place I was waiting to find; my new identity, my new life. I don’t feel like “the young widow” anymore… I’ve jumped back into the fray with both feet; I have things that I want to do, and I still have my dreams. I am hopeful for the future. I feel immersed in the love all around me, inside of me. I’m happy to be alive.

I won’t ever forget him. But I don’t think I’m supposed to. I could sooner forget that I am the mother of a 19-year old United States Marine, or that there’s nothing I love more than singing. But I also don’t think I am meant to view the rest of my existence through the filter of this one experience; much in the same way that you see all the colors of the rainbow when you shine white light through a prism. My life with my husband is one of many colors that paint my world. And my world is unique, beautiful… at least in my eyes. And that’s what counts.

To those of you who find your way here who share the experience of losing somebody you loved more than life itself… I leave you with a few words of hope. You WILL get through this, if that’s what you want to do. It’s not easy; and you will feel more often than not that you just can’t go on, you just can’t get out of bed even one more day… but let me remind you: You have an obligation. That person who left you here? Together, you had dreams. Together, you had plans. And now it’s up to YOU to see them through. No one else. So don’t give up. NEVER give up. And I’ll be one more person on the planet rooting for you.


I believe in you. Believe in yourself. You WILL get through this.

Peace.


– Shirley Denise Downie


“So here it is, another chance /Wide awake, you face the day /Your dream is over...

Or has it just begun?”

There Is Always A Price To Be Paid.. Always

So, here I find myself on the eve of the third anniversary of the Bunny's death, and as is customary I take a close look at where I am in my life - what I am doing with my time, where I am headed in the near future, where I am headed far from now - and I decide that I am no longer in transition.

In other words, I feel like I have successfully repositioned myself as a separate and single human being after being "Mrs. Russell Downie" for the last several years. It's still tastes new to me... kind of like when you go to a foreign country and somebody has you sample some new kind of food you've never seen before, and you DO, but you aren't quite sure that you like it yet. Have you ever tried boba? Boba is basically little tapioca balls in milky tea which originated in Taiwan, so you can find shops that serve it typically in Asian communities. I once worked with a Vietnamese gal who took me to have boba; they are heavier than the liquid in the glass, so they sink to the bottom; you have to dig them out and eat them with a spoon. They are sweet, but to me they have an unusual enough flavor that I can't quite throw myself completely into them, and they are kind of chewy. Like the consistency of gummy bears. So my life now is kind of sweet, with that chewy gummy bear consistency. Not sure what's that's going to mean for me down the road, but I don't have that "waiting to see what's going to happen next" feeling that's been shadowing me for the last three years.

I did something pretty significant for myself this past weekend; I finally was able to ship off Trevor's stuff that was lying around my house. If you recall, Trevor is the Bunny's son. My stepson. Since I finally settled down into a job I could live with that created a regular income stream for myself (so not exclusively a commission job; that little salary part makes all the difference in the world), I had the money to pay the postage to send Trevor's four boxes to England (in addition to spending probably an hour at the post office on a Saturday morning filling out customs forms, a huge drag). But I did it, and it felt good to get that little task off my plate. Out of my house and out of my sight. I don't expect Trevor's and mine's paths to ever cross going forward. I kind of place him in the same category as I do my mom. Not sure how I would react, what I would say, what I would do, because last I checked Trevor was one of those sources of pain and trauma for me. But, unlike my mom, Trevor's just a kid... with a lot of growing to do. So who knows. I'll cross that bridge if I ever come to it.

On the subject of my newest job - it's actually pretty perfect for me. I get to work from home, I get to work with teachers primarily (my favorite group of people, as my Liz could attest to), and I get to change a lot of kids' lives. So it's pretty meaningful work. It has to be... because past experience has proven to me that if it's just a paycheck, that isn't going to be enough. Not for me. In fact, the only "down" side - if you consider it a down side - is that I have to log in a high amount of phone calls every week. Historically speaking, I've always found it difficult making a bunch of phone calls, leaning towards the quality not quantity side of the spectrum. So I am still struggling for a good balance, and it's challenging, frustrating, maddening at times. But I remember - I'm not doing this for free. I get a salary, so I must do the activity. And if I can just force myself to get through this part, I am rewarded by all of the other parts that I love - working with passionate & energetic teachers, changing hundreds of kids' lives, and so forth and so on.

I didn't sleep well last night. It was actually Winnie that woke me up; four o'clock in the morning, and she is wheezing while wandering around the living room (where her and Canela crash for the night, each on her own doggy pillow). So I went to go check up on her, and when she finally settled back down I made a beeline for my warm blankets. It's been really cold lately; I think I saw somewhere that tonight it's supposed to get down to 39 degrees. Brrrrrr. Anything under 70 and I am starting to shiver. I know; California girl through and through.

So I floated the idea to my boss earlier today about me taking tomorrow as a personal day. He left it up to me, but reminded me I still needed to hit my target phone calls by the end of the week. So, that gave me my answer. I'll be working tomorrow, making a bunch of phone calls, trying to identify teachers that want to partner with me and change their students' lives... I may still need that day to myself - but I guess I will have to schedule it when it's more convenient in my new life. Oh well. I really AM back in the real world, because most people I know have to make these kinds of compromises all the time. You give something up to get that other thing. Those decisions become more difficult when each of your choices give you something that you want; it's easier when there's only one good choice and a bunch of crappy choices. That's more the scenario I am customarily used to. Or maybe it's just that I have fine-tuned my ability to see something good in any circumstance... which is what I've always made an effort to keep doing since the Bunny died. Bringing me back to tomorrow: three years ago, and the Bunny dies.

It's a significant day. I've known it was coming. I'll notice this day every year for the rest of my life. But it is one day. One day out of the 14,600 plus days in my lifetime (yes, I had to pull out a calculator for that one). But it no longer has the power to slow me down. Which makes me happy, and at the same time makes me sad.

I have one more post to do, scheduled for tomorrow. It's the last one in this chapter, but no worries... I intend to keep writing. Just like I intend to keep singing.

It's time to start a new chapter.

Peace.

Possession

If I were going to give you a gift...


... I would give you a song; with melancholy notes which captured all of the dreams you had that you lost, a melody that had the power to make you cry -


Or maybe, I would give you a secret; that you and I could share to the exclusion of the world, and from time to time a look would pass between us... and we would remember, and we would smile -


If I were going to give you a gift...


... I would give you a pass; so that when the world gets turned upside down as it invariably does, nothing that transpired would have negative or lasting impact, and you could walk past that piece of baggage without feeling the need to pick it up -


Or maybe, I would give you a whisper; that you could hear my voice in the darkness of your mind, when everything else is silent and you need a bit of inspiration... and you would know that I am always with you -


If I were going to give you a gift... but I don't really need to give you any thing -


Because everything I have of value already


... belongs to you.


- Shirley D. Downie
December 3, 2011

Operators Are Standing By

In a discussion with a close friend recently, the following comment came up: “Shirley, it’s amazing to me that you are single!”

Well, I have a few things to say in response to that. First, I rarely think of myself in terms of “single” or “not single” because I get something out of interacting with every one of my fellow human beings. Yes, I realize the context in which the comment was intended involves the subject of dating. Which I am always open to, but never in an all-encompassing way. As I stated in a previous post, I am not afraid to be alone. Not that I particularly prefer that condition, but I’m certainly not going to beat myself up over it or cause myself any unnecessary anxiety.

I considered what my friend had said, and I came up with this hypothesis: I do believe that people in my sphere can recognize all of my positive attributes – the external and the internal – but I think that it takes a lot of courage to bring what I bring to the relationship table. I lay it all out. Sometimes that characteristic brings its own brand of pain. Discomfort. Not that I try to intentionally hurt others, far from it. But, I’ll admit, I can be pretty intense. I can be extremely emotional. I can frustrate the pants off my theoretical mate. In short, I am a big pain in the ass.

Now when talking about all of my friendships and others that don’t fall into the “intimate relationships” category (by the term “intimate” you should read: sexual), this tendency to be completely open in relationships is very attractive. It’s safe. My friends know from interacting with me that they can talk about anything and I will not be judgmental. I won’t hold our relationship over their heads. I won’t withdraw in disgust or horror or offense. I also assume I can interact in kind; there is no topic that is taboo for me, and when I bring it readily to discussion I think it puts others at ease because they can feel the implication of my trust. I am open to this degree because I trust them not to reject me. And through this behavior, my friendships have a tendency to grow very, very strong.

Back to the intimate relationship. I suspect that it is scary for another person who really wants to get close to me – physically, emotionally – when he realizes that while I may willingly throw everything that I am into our relationship, I do expect to be reciprocated. In other words, bring it ALL. The good, the bad, the ugly. I don’t want to see just the happy stuff or the prettiest picture. I feel like Eve who’s already taken a bite of the apple. Life isn’t always pretty. It’s real. It’s messy. Sometimes it bites. I want to see, feel, experience everything. And in doing so, I can feel like the world is solid beneath my feet. If I get overwhelmed or life is kicking my teeth in or I have a complete meltdown for whatever reason, I know that the other person is still going to be around to help me get through it.

So, this was the answer I gave to my friend. It’s tough for people to open themselves up completely to another human being, even one as wonderful as me (have I mentioned I am NOT humble, not by a long shot). I give it all, and I want it all. Add to the mix that I lean towards the aggressive, I’m pretty smart, I curse like a sailor, I’m extremely impatient… no wonder most guys run for the hills! Can’t say as I blame them. If I was a guy and I came face-to-face with me, I’d probably high-tail it out of there too.

This same friend and I were having lunch last week. During lunch I was telling a story about another discussion I had had shortly before; a discussion about suicide. In the suicide discussion there were two points I was arguing, because I didn’t believe they were true. The first was that the majority of people have thoughts of suicide in passing (like briefly, for a second, then it goes out of one’s head). The second was that for those people that have thoughts of suicide for longer than those few seconds, well, THOSE people were “crazy.” I was a little agitated as I was relaying this story, because technically speaking, I have first-hand knowledge of both of these scenarios. As a person who I believe thinks about death more than the average human being, I have somewhat an idea of what inspires thoughts of suicide, in passing or otherwise. When I was with the Bunny – throughout our entire marriage and including the three years that we dated prior to getting married – I never once thought about suicide. I am pretty impressed with myself over that, and it just reinforces my belief that the strength of a person’s relationships and happiness quotient are big determinants of overall emotional health.

As this lunchtime discussion was going on, one of the managers at the restaurant, Vince (this is my favorite restaurant where I eat regularly, so I am on a first-name basis with most of the employees) was making his rounds through the bar (yes, I have my own specially designated table in the bar) and couldn’t help but overhear my comments. My voice tends to project… what can I say? One of the benefits of singing regularly at church every Sunday. When my friend headed to the bathroom for a pit stop, Vince came over and whispered in my ear, “I don’t think people who think about suicide are crazy either.”

Now, if I had to guess I would say Vince is somewhere in his mid- to late- 50’s, at least. He ended up sharing a rather personal story with me, and based on how he told it, I surmised it was a recent occurrence – in the last few years, I’m guessing? Anyway, what Vince told me was that at the time he was going through his divorce, life was kicking him in the teeth, he was having a complete meltdown.. he ended up sitting in his car with the engine running. Had his wife at the time (the one he ended up divorcing) not broken the windows, he would have succeeded in killing himself. Around that same time, the woman he was dating called him up and told him that she was in love with him. That woman was now his wife. Those two actions – the previous wife’s breaking the windows of his car and the current wife’s admission of love – is what saved his life.

I’ve told this story a few times before sharing it in this post. It reminds me that everyone has a story. Real stories. Messy stories. This was the first time in my life that I questioned my belief that I was unique in wanting to connect as much as I do with others… Vince hardly knows me, yet he shared a very personal, meaningful story with me that afternoon. And in doing so, he established a permanent connection with me. Maybe I’m not so different after all. Maybe there are LOTS of people in the world, starving to make those kinds of connections with each other. I guess I’m just better at it than most, at least for now. I hope that over time, more people get better at it. If anything’s going to save the world, that will.

And as far as being single? Well, I am working on that… I’m not alone. Not by a long shot.

Peace.

Full Circle

This morning I went for my 5-mile hike. I've fallen out of the habit of it the last several months; and since "taking care of myself" is once again on my radar, I'm trying to get back to it at least once a week. Having fortunately managed to return to a fairly consistent work schedule, I can look forward to Saturdays off - so starting the day off with an early morning hike seems to be the best use of those hours where I would normally either be sleeping or playing on the computer. And it forces me to go outside. Today happened to be a beautiful, sunny Southern California day - I was happy I didn't miss it.

When I returned home, I decided to make myself breakfast with some Thanksgiving Day leftover spiral ham compliments of one of my neighbors. I am blessed with some really cool neighbors. The house I live in is the same house I grew up in as a kid, and there are a few neighbors still around that knew me from back then. So of course, they also knew the Bunny when we moved back here in 2006 or so, and they knew when he died.. I know I inspire people to worry about me (I'm not sure why exactly; I don't think I give off any "helpless" vibes) and I believe my neighbors to be no different. They come by frequently to see how I am doing, to ask how Christopher is doing and if I've heard from him lately. They feed my animals when I have to go away for a few days. They keep an eye on my house when strangers show up on my doorstep. And they share their food with me.

Anybody who knows me knows my passion for food. I love to cook. I love to eat. I have about a hundred recipe books, and I have several internet websites bookmarked that have recipes or that talk about food. But inside my head, I place special significance on an individual when I allow them feed me. From a very young age, I was fashioned to be very independent and self-sufficient. I don't like to be pampered or catered to as a general rule. Nine times out of ten, I'm a "Let's split the check" sort of girl. 

When I first started dating the Bunny, he never let me pay for food. And from the beginning, I allowed it. Not because I'm the high-maintenance type or because I expected him to - far from it. Generally, I will refrain from going out in the first place if I don't feel like I can cover my own meal... because from my point of view I don't wish anyone to gain an unfair advantage over me. If somebody feeds me, then I must "owe" them.

These thoughts bring me back to my mom. I remember as a kid that my mom never liked anyone else to do anything for her. But hopefully where I am different is because I recognize that, as an adult, I tend to do a lot of stuff for other people AND because I believe it's important (emotionally) for human beings to engage in reciprocation, I bend my independence rules just a bit... the result being: I get a lot of free lunches. I love food, and I love being appreciated.

While I was making my breakfast, one of my aunts called. Another of my mom's sisters, Tia Angela had missed the Thanksgiving gathering yesterday at Tia Fatima & Tio Cacho's house. I noticed her absence along with a few of my other cousins that had scheduling conflicts, but I guess I was surprised just a bit that I got a phone call. A few minutes into the conversation, and my questions were answered.

She was calling about my mom.

If you read the post immediately before this one, you will remember my mentioning receiving a letter addressed to my brother in a conversation with my Tia Fatima. It wasn't meant to be a secret or anything; I guess I didn't figure it was newsworthy enough to share with anybody. But clearly the information was communicated to other family members, because here was Tia Angela calling me and talking about it. What she wanted was to make sure that "if I talked to my mom" to please give her Tia Angela's cell phone number and tell her to call her so they could talk. Most of the family has not seen or heard from my mom in many years; some story about my mom getting involved with some "bad people" and basically she was forced to go underground so these people would not find her and hurt her, and by association find the rest of us and hurt us. I take every story about my mom with a grain of salt. My personal feeling is that the woman has some serious mental problems. So as far as going underground and not being anywhere in my vicinity, to me that's always been a good thing.

I was proud of myself for understanding most of the conversation between Tia Angela and myself (she was talking in Spanish); I've always wished I was fluent in Spanish but for whatever reason mastery of the language has always eluded me. My parents used to talk Spanish around me when I was a kid - when they didn't want me to know what they were talking about - and so I created my own mental block of "I can't understand I can't understand I can't understand" which clearly is encased in some kind of emotional concrete. 

I've come to the realization that there is a distinct possibility that I will, at some point in my life, come face to face with my mom again. At least I have some notice, so I can think about it, and hypothesize, and figure out what my potential responses would be to that event. Even just thinking about her, I feel the intensity of the strongest emotion: anger. I'm angry at her. I'm angry that she made my life as a kid a living hell. I'm angry that she pretended to be this "perfect mom" in front of all of my friends so everyone thought I was fucking crazy. I'm angry that I was so powerless against her.

But what do I want? Do I want retribution? Revenge? An apology? I don't expect any of those things. And when I take a step back and I evaluate what kind of person she is (from a daughter's perspective) and what her life must have been like... I feel sorry for her. Whatever the situation, to cut oneself off from one's family for years, to not even know or be part of the lives of your own children - that's got to be tough.

There is one thing I can empathize with: I know how tough it is to be a mother. Not that it's any excuse to treat your children like shit, however. And that's how I felt until I left my home at 18 years old. And why I worry so much about my relationship with Christopher; if I am doing right by him. If he feels loved. If he feels like a real person, with feelings and opinions and everything that goes along with that. My only hint is when he tells me that he loves me. Or when he talks to me and asks me for my advice. Or when he tells his friends what a cool mom I am.

I have no idea what I am going to do when that day comes. Guess I'll just have to wing it. But it will be interesting to see which side of me takes the lead. Either way, I don't see myself giving my mom entry back into my life on a regular basis, or even an infrequent basis. But maybe I can stop being angry. Maybe I can forgive her. Maybe I can let go.

Time will tell.

What I Want For Christmas

I can honestly say that this is the first time in three years that I am actually looking forward to spending time with family during the holidays. Not just family; people in general. I can’t put my finger on why exactly, but the prospect of mingling amongst my blood isn’t accompanied by a feeling of obligation or “Crap! Do I really hafta? Can’t I just stay home in bed?”

It’s exactly two weeks to the third anniversary of the Bunny’s death. It’s also Thanksgiving Day. I realized recently that my worldview is no longer seen through a prism of “the accident” – it’s now seen through “my new life.” And because I seemed to have done a decent job so far (knock on wood) of getting that life in order, I’m feeling… good. Strong. Dare I say it? Happy.

Earlier I was having dinner at my Tia Fatima and Tio Cacho’s house. For those of you who are neither Latino or Hispanic, that’s aunt and uncle. The house was full of familiar faces – my cousin Adriana and her new husband Hector (at whose wedding I sang for several months ago), my other cousin Dario and his girlfriend Niki (who I always tease because Dario is super tall – probably 6’ 5” at least, maybe taller; and Niki is 5’-nothing standing next to him). In addition there were a few more of my aunts on the Argentinean side (my Tio Cacho is my mom’s only brother) and their respective husbands, children, and even a few grandkids running around; little girls, who for five hours straight played hide-and-seek, ran from room to room, giggling and screaming with joy. It brought more than one smile to my face.

After the first part of the meal (the one with the turkey, ham, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, corn on the cob, salad, cranberry sauce – you get the picture), I joined some of our group for a walk around the block. Now, the street where my Tio and Tia live isn’t really like a normal city block, to mean that it isn’t straight and rectangular like the block I live on. It’s in an area that is somewhat hilly, so I think the city planners incorporated the area’s geography into the plan and just made the streets follow the landscape. Maybe that’s how it’s traditionally done – I don’t know. But so this walk took maybe 20, 25 minutes – just enough to make some room in my stomach for dessert, also known as “the second part of the meal.”

I walked along with my Tia Fatima.

During our conversation, the subject of my mom came up (always a sore topic for me). I mentioned that I recently got a letter at the house – my house – addressed to my brother Sandy; the return address was somewhere in Orange County, so I knew my mom was back in California (last I had heard, she was in Nevada or Arizona or someplace). My initial reaction was fear. Not fear of HER exactly; more like fear of what kind of impact her presence would have on my life – the one I’ve been working so hard to be happy in. There’s never been a single moment in the forty years of my existence where my mom and “happiness” could coexist in the same place. The last time I saw her – Christopher was just a baby – was one of the lowest points in my memory. It was after that visit in particular that I tried to overdose on my insulin. A big overdose. On purpose. A lot has happened to me since then, so I don’t believe for a moment that if she showed up on my doorstep today I would be taken back to that low place. But I feel the fear just the same.

Tia Fatima told me that she would always be grateful that “Russ brought you back to us” and that I had gone through some really rough things in my life; that I deserved to be happy. I in turn told her that I had never felt entirely comfortable being around family in general, but that I was really happy to be with her and everybody else tonight. She told me, “Shirley, we will always be there for you. No matter what.”

It brings tears to my eyes, when I replay that conversation in my head. It amazes me that I could find my family, now, at this stage of my life, so important, so meaningful, so critical to my ongoing survival when as a kid all I wanted to do was get away from them (I left home when I was 18 – just after graduation and in the middle of the night, no less). I remember driving away in the truck my dad was letting me use (I had a friend drive it back shortly after); as I peeled out of the parking lot he grabbed for one of the side mirrors, but it was too late. I shot out of there on squealing tires – free! Finally! It felt so good to escape. And I never looked back. Always forward. And I have carried that mindset through to the rest of my life. I never go back to the same situation, one that I’ve left. If something doesn’t work for me... and I’m a very fast learner. But if any of the variables change, well, that’s another matter entirely.

Driving home, I got a text from my brother Sandy, wishing me a happy Thanksgiving. Sandy pretty much works crazy hours – he’s an engineer and does some complicated computer design fiber-optic test equipment something or other that I couldn’t even begin to explain – so when I do hear from him it warms up my heart like a shot of adrenalin. I love my brother. It’s funny, because we hated each other as kids. I’ve heard that about siblings – if you hate each other as kids, you get along great as adults. And vice versa. I’m thankful Sandy and I hated each other as kids, because you spend a greater amount of time as an adult. And he has been the constant in my whole entire life. He’s my only brother. Kind of like people say all the time “you’ll only have one mother and father.” I have that feeling for Sandy. And to me, depending on the specific mother and father in question, that could be either a blessing or a curse.

I have the weekend between Christmas and New Year’s off from work (all of my jobs), so I’ll be spending that week in Chicago with my cousin Lisa and her family. Sandy will be flying over from Hawaii, so I’ll get to spend some time with my brother too. I’m very excited… I was on the phone with Lisa the other day, and I told her how much I am looking forward to seeing everybody.

Happy. I could get used to this.

Looking Forward

Recently I have found myself inspired to pay a bit more attention to taking care of myself in the physical sense. Not to say I’ve been sitting around on the couch eating bon-bons for the past few months, mind you; but taking care of myself from the perspective of trying to maintain a more consistent mealtime schedule, incorporate regular exercise back into my weekly routine – the kinds of things that are hopefully going to have some positive impact on my blood sugar control. I am scheduled to visit my endocrinologist Dr. Tran at the end of this week, and in reviewing the numbers since my last appointment six weeks ago I am guessing she isn’t going to like seeing all of the lows I’ve been having. Okay, okay! My newfound inspiration has come to me in the form of a new guy in my sphere of existence. He’s a bit of a dichotomy – we haven’t really interacted all that much, yet I feel very emotionally connected to him. It’s a strange feeling, different than what I remember; but then again, I feel like I’m a different person than before. So I’m trying hard not to overanalyze things, which coincidentally is exactly what my boss advised me not to do… as I concurrently embark on yet another new income venture.

So! Back to my health. This past weekend I had a very informative conversation with a woman by the name of Esther who is a nurse specializing in colon hydrotherapy. Another one of my friends has been talking to me about this particular treatment for awhile now; if you can get past the details of it (and I’m not going to spell it out for you here – even I have my limits – this one’s good for Googling), colon hydrotherapy is rumored to have significant impact on a) how your body processes the food you consume and b) how you feel in terms of energy level, overall well-being, etc. Again, I fall back on my “try most things at least once” ideology. And given that I’ve pretty much felt like crap for awhile now (no pun intended), combined with the fact that my friend absolutely believes I’ll feel better when it’s all said and done, I figure I’ll give it a shot and form my own opinion on the matter using an actual real life experience.

It was during this conversation that the whole insulin-dependent diabetes thing came up. I mentioned how much insulin I take, how long I’ve taken it, and some of the particular challenges I face in the ongoing management of my blood sugars – like skipping meals. Just a few weeks ago I was on the phone with Christopher – now stationed in Okinawa, Japan – and had one of my worst low blood sugar episodes to date: I took my shot of insulin and then never got around to eating any food. I was driving home while I had him on the phone with me, so the good part of this story is that I did make it inside my house in one piece… but I was a complete mess otherwise. I did have enough sense to test my blood sugar while he was on the phone with me ; it was 36 (36!!?! WTF!!) and even though I insisted I was going to eat some food after I hung up with him (which I did), he was sufficiently freaked out enough to call his friend Bryson’s dad and aunt who live two blocks away from me AND his own dad who lives a few cities over… so in a very short period of time I had three people pounding on my front door ready to call 911 if I didn't answer quick enough. I think at the time I was in the middle of eating my third banana so I was starting to get back to normal… but I realized how that episode might have really scared my son. I felt guilty until I did actually get to talk to him again later on in the week (in Okinawa, he’s 16 hours ahead of me). Not that I plan to ever let THAT happen again; but I did tell him what to do if he’s ever on the phone with me and I start acting “funny” (the alternating between laughing and crying is a clear sign) – I told him in that circumstance, he needs to be the “drill sergeant” and I am the poolie. Orders, not questions. When my blood sugar is that low, my brain isn’t working well enough to process questions. I need to be told what to do, not asked what I need.

So Esther introduced me to this company by the name of StemTech. The company itself was founded in 2005, so yes, relatively young; but what’s preceded that date is tons and tons of research, mostly by a botanical researcher and neurophysiologist by the name of Christian Drapeau. Christian took up the challenge of trying to figure out the benefits of a natural growing freshwater plant known as Aphanizomenon flos-aquae, or AFA, on human health. An aside: The idea that AFA was in some way beneficial for the human body was established by a school teacher back in the ‘70s. A school teacher! Of COURSE. Anyway, so fast-forward though the timeline of discoveries (you can do your own research on the company website), and it turns out that what StemTech did was to develop a supplement that helps one’s body to access its own adult stem cells. If you have been paying attention to the news, stem cells are those things that can facilitate amazing things – regenerative, curative things – in one’s body; you hear about people trying to extract them from their bone marrow to freeze for some later use; for example they have a kidney fail and need to grow a replacement. Esther was telling me that scientists can even do things like re-grow teeth using stem cells. It really is quite amazing when you start learning about it.

So, based on what Esther was sharing with me, and in describing what her own personal experiences have been with these supplements – both from taking them herself and others that have taken them – I was convinced to try it for awhile and determine for myself if there was any positive benefit that I noticed. Now, I am as big a skeptic as there ever was; I don’t believe in miracle cures for anything. I am too much of a realist for that. However, the potential is that my body might better utilize the insulin I do have to inject into it which might mean that I would need to inject less. Which in turn would constitute an improvement in my overall quality of life. Hell, I might even live a few years longer, who knows?

Because of my recent career changes, I decided that once I get my regular paycheck back, I’m going to start with the supplements. And get my housecleaner and DirecTv back. I’ll give it a year. Then I will reevaluate. Since Dr. Tran is lobbying hard to get me on an insulin pump (something I’ve resisted for various reasons), I figure this is going to be the last opportunity I have to change my fate. Once I start on the pump, I doubt if I’ll ever be able to get back off of it. Not that there’s anything inherently bad with an insulin pump – from my understanding of the technology of it, it would probably better manage my highs and lows – but I just don’t want to do it. I’m too young. It’s not fair. Or maybe I'm just holding onto the unrealistic hope that somehow, some way, I’ll be able to do something to change my condition so I’m not such a “sick person” – I mean, I’m a pain in the ass enough as it is. I need to try to decrease the baggage I ask other people to accept from me, not ADD to it. Sheesh!

It doesn’t escape my notice that in two days is the 3rd anniversary of the “last happiest day of my life.” And then begins the three week countdown to the Bunny’s death, aka Pearl Harbor day. Like Adele croons in her song Somebody Like You “who would have known how bittersweet this would taste” – although I realize, a bit surprisingly, that this time of year doesn’t cause me as much pain as it used to. It’s a strange feeling, different than what I remember; but then again, I feel like I’m a different person than before.

Peace.

Dog Philosophy

It's getting to be that time of year again (the holidays) - this one came off a marble plaque from my Signals catalog.



BARK
as if no one can hear you

CATCH
the ball on the fly

LICK
like there's no end to kissing

SLEEP
on a sofa nearby

JUMP
like the sky is the limit

SIT
by the fire with friends

STAY
with the ones who love you

RUN
like the road never ends



Peace out, my fellow humans.

The Meaning Of Life

Today will go down in history as a pivotal, life-changing day in the history of my existence here on earth.

No, in case you are wondering, I did NOT win millions in the lottery. I didn’t meet the man of my dreams. I didn’t even have my ‘car washed’ due to a chance rainfall. But something truly significant occurred today despite all of that: All of the effort, the struggles, the trials and tribulations of losing my husband and losing my best friend, the frustration of the subsequent aftermath of those particular events, the bittersweet moments of having my only son join the military and be shipped off to Okinawa, Japan, watching my income dwindle down without anything concrete to replace it – I finally, finally felt a subtle shift in the Universe; in terms of my presence in the grand scheme of things.

I know plenty of people are like me; you work and you work and you work and you do that for such a long time that you start to feel like you can never get ahead. Things happen (spouses die and people you care about intentionally or unintentionally break your heart, for example) and you, against your own wishes or preferences, start to feel like a victim. Then, the depression and self-loathing sets in. And one day, you raise your eyes to the heavens and you shake your fist and scream at the top of your lungs, “WHY is this happening to me?!? What did I do to deserve this??” And you just want to die, literally die right there on the spot: Just let a truck come run you over, or lightening to strike you, or drop dead of a sudden heart attack. Because anything is better than this torture, right?

And here’s what I discovered, on this very meaningful day in my life: Things don’t happen to you to change your life. YOU change your life. And yes, shit happens – it happens to the best of us, it happens to the people that you pass by on the street, that you see every week at church, that you work next to side by side in the office – people whose kids are doing drugs, or whose spouses are cheating on them, or beating them, or who just got laid off after 28 years on the job, or at the tender age of 23 have a rare disease that is causing them to lose their sight, or whose best friend just killed himself because he couldn’t see a way out; a way through. And sometimes, even though it seems like everything you touch turns to crap, you keep on trying. You keep struggling. You keep crying, and raising your eyes to the heavens, and shaking your fist and screaming at the top of your lungs. What you don’t do is give up. You. Never. Give. Up.

I think about my entire life; all of the experiences I’ve had – from my dysfunctional childhood to my high school years with overly strict parents through my first marriage followed by the years as a single mother – and I’ve often thought that as I am contemplating how much easier my life might have been had this or that not happened, the person I am today is a product of all of those things. The bad and the good. Then I had my time with the Bunny; my “reward” for surviving all of the previous life trauma, because I never gave up (yes, I’ll admit that I came pretty close on a few occasions). And then I found myself alone again. Did I do something wrong? Was I being punished?

And I realized, those are the wrong questions to be asking. What I should be asking is this: what did I learn from this? Who in my life did I affect in a positive way – in such a way that is unique to my ability? Because if you ever start trying to convince yourself that you are worthless and that the world would be better off without you, just stop for a second and think about all of those people affected by your life. First and foremost, I always think of Christopher. Not just the fact that I gave birth to him, that’s a given. He’s come to me time after time, asking his own questions; I’ve shared my perspective, given him advice, given him love – I am irreplaceable in his eyes. He will only ever have one mom. And I was lucky enough to get that job.

It’s the holidays, so naturally at this time of year I think more introspectively about the Bunny and Liz. This past weekend I took two girlfriends to this little Irish tea house that Liz introduced me to. Bren and Monica had never experienced “tea” before… it was a novel, new experience for them, and during our conversation I shared that it was Liz that had introduced me to tea there for the first time. Here I am, over a year after Liz’s death, and she is still affecting not just my life, but the lives of others in a positive way.

That’s what I want to do, to be. And in fighting for that goal – despite every curve ball that life throws out at me – I make my place in this world. The one I feel I belong in, where I am secure, where I am comfortable, where I am strong.

I read a quote recently which kind of stuck with me. I don’t remember exactly the wording and I don’t remember who originally said it, but the jist of it is this:

“The story turns out any particular way based on where you choose to end it.”

In other words, when looking back over the landscape of one’s life, it will either end good or bad depending on where it literally ends.

Today, I think I could actually drop dead and be the happiest I’ve ever been, ever. Not because I won millions in the lottery, or met the man of my dreams. But because I didn’t give up.

And my story’s not over yet.

The Fortress And The Dove

The fortress

Made of glass that cannot break
Not like a heart can break
Or a spirit
But everything is visible to the outside world
Everything you could imagine
Timepieces
Antique furniture
Crystal chandeliers
Original oil paintings
The rooms are silent
Nothing is disturbed
By use or by life
Everything owned
But nothing wanted
Everything expensive
But nothing valued
Everything desired
But nothing loved

The dove

Born naked and alone
A combination of delicate bones and gray fuzz
Shivering in the sunlight
Dreaming of a far off place
Safety
Security
Protection from the winds
And wings to take flight
It’s the only way to escape
Or is it?

Wishing and hoping
In her mind’s eye and in time’s space
Her wings unfold
And off she goes
Into the world
Above and below
Fearless and unafraid
She feels her strength
But not her feet

And so the dove makes the fortress her refuge

Surrounded in luxury
In silence
The beating of her wings echoed only by the beating of her heart
She dreamed of this place
She feels safe
Separate from the outside world
And yet
That world still fills her vision
She can see the sun rise and fall
But not feel the warmth
She can see the flowers sprout and die
And suddenly she realizes

She’s watching life pass her by

The fortress
Made of glass that cannot break
And does not feel like a heart can feel
Pain or happiness or fear or anger
But an occasional vibration from within
It shakes the foundations and causes the walls to tremble
Never constant
But consistent
Unyielding
And to the outside world there is no sound
But the fortress hears
A frantic beating heart
Echoed by a desperate beating of wings
And a thump like a newborn’s kick inside it’s mother’s womb
Leaves a print outlined in blood

But the glass does not break
Not like a body can break
Or a spirit

And the dove
Dreaming of a far off place
She can see the sun rise and fall
But not feel the warmth
Separate from the outside world
Her wings unfold
It’s the only way to escape

Or is it?


- Shirley D. Downie, October 12, 2011

Addiction

Someone suggested to me recently that I spend too much time “doing for others” and not enough time taking care of myself. I know that probably comes across negatively, but it made me stop and think. The truth is, I DO spend a lot of my time doing for others. Granted, I have a somewhat selfish reason for doing so; it makes me feel really good. And for a girl who is all about feelings, it’s like my drug of choice.

Today is the Bunny’s birthday. I’ve noticed on Facebook that it is customary for loved ones to post birthday wishes to the person who has died; for some reason I’ve never been comfortable with this practice. Not to say that I think those people are wrong for doing so.. everyone gets to express his or her grief however they choose. But I guess for me, it gives off the impression that I am only thinking about the Bunny on “days of significance” (like his birthday) and the rest of the time I am going about my merry way. I know I am not alone in this, but the truth is I think about the Bunny all the time. I constantly compare my life now to my life then, I wonder what he would say or what he would think about the things I am doing, I hear his voice in my head whispering advice to me when my gut gives me a nudge to tell me I have strayed from my own path… and I guess the biggest reason is I like to keep the hurt locked down tight; close to the vest.

That same someone also told me that I am an expert at distraction. I am extremely skilled in diverting someone’s attention away from myself. In a certain way, my looks do that for me as well. Most people perceive me as this “beautiful” person and usually it’s enough to get them to stop and not look too closely at the person within. I’ve always been a loner, and I guess if I am being honest I would have to say that I am afraid. I have carefully crafted this persona of being brilliant, strong, loving, friendly, energetic but I suspect that if you dig down into me deep enough, what you would see is this scared little girl, questioning her value, thinking she’s worthless and unlovable, afraid to expose her heart for fear it’s going to get shredded – but I refuse to let that be the face I present to my world. So nobody gets to see that girl. And I realize now that this is probably one of the primary reasons that I go through my life feeling so disconnected and apart from humanity – and the same reason I work so hard to do for others: I have a secret desire for that scared little girl to be visible. To be accepted. To be loved for herself, with all of her flaws.

So today, I decided to make an effort to “take care of me.” It all started with me NOT setting my alarm clock.. I woke up whenever my body told me it was time (around 8:16AM), got out of bed, started the coffeepot brewing, and made myself breakfast. My plan is pretty open – a late lunch with a friend who is both a colleague and one of my unofficial mentors – followed by a 2-hour hike, then I am debating taking myself to dinner. I have to decide on that last one because I still haven’t figured out my income situation yet, so technically I really can’t afford it. But then again, today is special.

Today is the Bunny’s birthday.

Land Ho!

... and just like that, the Universe steps in and does what it does best: gives me a reason to keep fighting the good fight.

My horrific temp assignment finally ended - my boss actually called early Monday morning to tell the staffing agency that "Shirley isn't going to work out" - I was almost in tears when my staffing counselor called me later in the evening (tears of joy, my friend, tears of frigging JOY). Yea, Shirley doesn't work well in environments where you don't give a crap about helping people, about fixing obvious errors, about treating your fellow employees with respect, etc. etc. I feel a little sad for Faye; I don't know if she was made aware of the decision to end my assignment... but at the same time I remember a recent conversation with a girlfriend (during one of my tirades about this job) - it's one thing to be treated like shit; it's quite another to allow it to continue. Oh well. We all choose the life we live. I'm just happy - and relieved - that the Universe backed me up in my belief that I was meant for better things. And anything is better than what I went through the last week and a half.

So here's the beautiful part: tomorrow I begin another temp assignment. Gasp! "Oh noooooo..." you might be exclaiming right now. Haha. I interviewed for this position prior to being sent on the data entry fiasco, and really, really liked this company. For one thing, it's a media company. As a holder of a Communications degree, it's been one of my goals to get some work more in line with my degree. Makes sense since communication is one of my passions. My interview was with the boss; who worked up through the ranks, worked for another company in the same industry, then got to the point where he was ready to launch his own company. And because of his vision and business acumen, the company had thrived.

It was clear to me, through that brief conversation with him, that I could be happy at this place. The business itself is something that captures my interest, the position capitalizes on my strengths (sales & people skills), the department is newly established so there's room for my role to grow and develop. But it was also clear that this man really valued and cared about his crew - the employees - and it reflected off of the smiles on their faces, their relaxed postures, their overall friendliness - even to me, a stranger in their midst. I could feel the warmth in the environment. And I hoped and prayed that somehow, I would get the chance to go to work there.

And so... I got my chance. I start tomorrow.

Thanks, Universe... you sneaky thing! You had me worried there for a second. But you came through, as always. Maybe not on MY schedule, granted, but I DID say I needed to learn patience.

Still working on that one. Peace.




  

Floating On The Silent Sea

I went to my doctor’s appointment yesterday morning – this is the endocrinologist – she reviewed my blood sugars over the last six weeks (I am fairly diligent in keeping detailed records each day), expressing her displeasure as it appears that I am slipping in control over my lifestyle… which affects my blood sugar levels. I know that my eating habits are all messed up; I’m eating too late in the day, I’m skipping meals, I can test at a 61 right before dinner, but then wake up the next morning over 300. For all of you who aren’t familiar with acceptable blood sugar levels, a “normal” person (read: non-diabetic) runs between 80 and 120 all the time. So yea, I am all over the map right now.

I’ve figured out by now that a lot of my desire to take care of my health is directly connected to my outlook on life. Since most of the time I am positive and happy, it’s usually not a problem – I try to eat regularly, I love to cook so I have fresh and nutritious meals, I make an effort to exercise more (hiking, walking the dogs, etc). But, during these infrequent episodes of unhappiness – as I am experiencing right now – it seems that every negative thing is magnified in my brain. My filters cast a negative light on everything that I am doing, and pretty soon I feel a “why bother?” attitude fall on me… which is very hard to shake.

I was mentioning to Dr. Tran that I suspected this temp job I am currently assigned to is causing a lot of my unhappiness. I have never been good at doing things “just for the money” and this clearly falls into that category. A week and a half into it, and the toll it’s taking tells me that no amount of money or security is a fair exchange when you feel like your life has turned to shit because of it. When I step back and take a look at everything, I can see that almost everything that I’ve been working on before starting this job has now fallen by the wayside – I had been practicing my music (I haven’t touched my piano in over two weeks), I would make an effort to get out to my favorite hiking route in Signal Hill (haven’t had the energy or the time to block out the two hours it takes), I’m not cooking nearly enough (I’ve been eating things like Fritos, Fiber One bars, dill pickles, hard-boiled eggs, and peanut butter sandwiches day after day) – I am so literally beaten down by the time I walk into my house at night, all I can do is veg for a minute in front of the TV and stagger into bed shortly after 9pm. When I do end up trying to cook, by the time I am able to eat the food it’s already 7:30 – 8pm; way too late to be eating for a diabetic girl like myself. No wonder I’m waking up with over 300 blood sugars! So, it’s a collection of factors – all stemming from this job. Really, I equate it to being in an abusive relationship. Or maybe living with an alcoholic – sure, everything could seem to be going well on the surface, but the threat of “he’s going to come home and punch me in the face” always hangs over your head. So you live on edge. I am definitely on the edge.

A few of my friends that I have confided to about this job have encouraged me to quit it and get another one; that’s the plan, but I don’t want to give up on it just yet for two reasons: one, I don’t want to leave without having something else to step into, and two, as is my typical nature I feel like maybe there is something to be learned here. Maybe just that this is the alternative to whatever other job I am doing where I might normally see obstacles… you know, this temp job might teach me that “the grass is never greener” – it’s just a matter of perspective. What you are willing to accept, to work through, and to walk away from.

If I am being honest, I also know that a lot of what I am feeling right now coincides with the third anniversary of the Bunny’s death. On October 12, it will be three years from us celebrating his birthday in Las Vegas. On November 17, it will be three years from his accident. And on December 7… well, you know where that story ends.

I feel like I am failing the Bunny. I should have done a better job with everything… I mean, he gave up everything!! I was supposed to take the baton and run with it. But I’ve stepped in a big hole – I’ve twisted my ankle and I’ve fallen to the ground, writhing around, crying and screaming in excruciating pain. I don’t want to live like this! I can do more, I can be more – and THIS IS NOT WHERE I AM SUPPOSED TO BE. I am not supposed to be here, miserable and alone. I am not supposed to be unhappy with my life – which isn’t to say I think it should be perfect all the time; no, shit happens and under normal circumstances I can deal with it. Good shit, bad shit. But I shouldn’t feel like there isn’t any point to waking up every day. I shouldn’t feel like I shouldn’t bother.

As bad as I may sound, and as crappy as I am feeling right now, there is one small glimmer of hope. And again, because I am the person that I am – I am blessed that as dark as things are, I still have the vision to see that teensy, tinesy flicker of light. It’s kind of like when someone camera-flashes you in the face, and even if you close your eyes you still see spots. You can’t look directly at them, but peripherally you know they are there – and it takes a few seconds before everything’s back to normal.

Yesterday – Friday – I was taking a break at the hospital. I usually go outside; I don’t like to be holed up inside all day as a general rule. So I walk outside, and it’s raining! I didn’t expect that, given that the sun was shining brightly when I walked into the lobby a few hours earlier. I sat down on a stone bench to watch the people come in and out – and in the ten minutes I was there, I observed two families come outside with their new babies. There’s something really touching about seeing a family with a new baby; their happiness and joy is so evident you could reach out and touch it. Or, it reaches out and touches you. Despite everything else, seeing those families with their babies put a smile on my face. Briefly, but it was there… just like that flicker of light.

And with just a bit of time, it will grow.

The Road Less Traveled

So, the economy and my life circumstances being as they are, I decided to start moonlighting… I recently signed up with a staffing agency and started my first job assignment doing data entry for a local hospital. On the surface the work seems fairly straightforward, almost simple even – should be a cake walk for somebody with my background and experience – but I am learning that things are never as they first appear; which I am discovering is true with most situations in life.

As a straight commissioned salesperson by trade and finding myself without the Bunny (i.e. a spouse who brings in a consistent salary into one’s household), I have come to the conclusion that living by the seat of my pants as I normally do is getting to be a bit too stressful and overwhelming for my mental faculties. Thus, the moonlighting. Now, the plus is that I have phenomenal data entry speed – most likely from years of piano lessons and, more recently, the hours upon hours spent working on my laptop. So my staffing counselor was more than happy to place me in this position. And at first I thought, “How hard could it be?”

Here’s the first issue. Two days of 8-hours a day typing, I began to notice my forearms feeling sore. I hadn’t even thought of the impact of doing eight hours of data entry five days a week on my body. This comes right about the time I have undertaken the challenge of learning to play music on the piano in order to accompany myself when I take on a singing gig for church (as in weddings, funerals, or just regular Sunday services). The last thing I intend to do is work myself into a state where I can’t play piano. So right off the bat I can already anticipate that this job isn’t going to be long term. For those of you who have worked as a temp before, the carrot is usually, “If you do the job well, the company may hire you permanently,” – well, needless to say I was on the phone with my staffing counselor on the second day and informed her, “In case anyone from the hospital calls you up and says they want to hire me into this position, please let them know that I respectfully decline.”

Second, there’s a certain stigma with being a temp… it doesn’t matter my experience, my skills, my degree, or the countless other things I know how to do that in other circumstances would earn me a very large salary – when you are a temp, everyone around you treats you like you are ignorant. This is the case with the woman I am reporting to. I can tell by her demeanor and the offhand comments she makes every so often that she figures a monkey could do my job… therefore, that must make me the monkey. In response, I simply smile in silence and remember that this is a paycheck, nothing more… but I know at some point in the near future, the likelihood of me losing my patience and popping off with some comment that has her on the phone with the staffing agency wanting to pull me from the job assignment is very likely. I’ve already decided that the next time she says, “It’s really easy,” in terms of the data entry work, I’m going to have to tell her I disagree – because it’s not just “entry” – half the forms I am working from have incorrect information, old numbers that now have to be entered as new numbers (so there’s a list), and in the middle of doing the entry, phone calls need to be taken and work orders created for people elsewhere in the facility that are having technical problems (the data entry is done in the Information Services – IT – department) – all that stopping and starting prevents me from having the higher numbers I would expect I am personally capable of producing.

Then there’s the actual job. My gut always told me – given my creative and high-energy nature – that I would not do well in a routine position like this one; doing the same thing day after day. That kind of job – not to say I could not perform the function well; I have the capacity to handle it – doesn’t really engage my mind; in other words, I get bored really fast. So as you can imagine, by the third day I was falling asleep in front of my computer screen, frantically looking around for a few sharp pencils to stick in my eyeballs… my mind now starting to brainstorm a way for me to get out of this predicament without coming across as a flake to my staffing agency – after all, they are helping me with regular income. I certainly don’t want to damage our business relationship.

But I guess the most disturbing aspect of this work environment is how my boss treats the other lady, Faye, who does data entry next to me. Faye has been doing data entry at the hospital for ten years. She has incredible entry speed, and even my boss has stated that she is extremely accurate. The problem is the boss doesn’t like Faye. When I say the boss doesn’t “like” Faye, what I mean by that is the boss takes everything that Faye does and says as a personal affront. Faye “bugs and annoys” her. I have literally seen my boss work herself up into a frenzy, frothing at the mouth, over something that occurred where Faye was involved, insisting that, “She does it on purpose!!” and then proceeds to rant and rave about it for a good ten minutes.

The bottom line is this: the boss has absolutely no respect for Faye, regardless of the fact that Faye does her job extremely well. She treats Faye as if she is less of a person… and I also note that this could be somewhat culturally impacted by the fact that Faye is Vietnamese and my boss is African American – there are certainly differences in communication style, and it doesn’t help matters that Faye has a pretty thick accent.

On Friday (my third day on the job), my boss was out for the day on account of one of her kids was sick. I noticed a few things. First, the day ran much more smoothly (my boss tends to chatter constantly with one of the technicians in the office; both of them sitting directly behind us in a room that’s probably 10 x 20 feet. Very small… shoebox small). Almost pleasant, as far as the environment goes. I had the chance to find out a little bit more about Faye’s life – she had mentioned to me that her mother had died two years ago, so I told her about the Bunny’s accident and how he spent three weeks in ICU before he died. I could see the sympathy on Faye’s face as I told her my story, and immediately she said, “I’m so sorry!” (read one of my earlier posts about the significance of other people acknowledging the death of my husband)

Born in Vietnam, Faye spent twenty years in France to escape some kind of unrest in her home country (think: war), and spent the last thirteen years in the United States. She had suffered some type of accident that almost took off her right ear (she showed me the scars on the side of her head where her ear had to be reattached), she had some type of surgery on her tongue which affected her ability to speak clearly, and she had trouble hearing out of that right ear (I’m sure, related to whatever ripped it off her face in the first place). Her husband works in some capacity as a therapeutic counselor for the Vietnamese community, and she has two children – a son in his early thirties and a daughter in her mid- to late twenties. I want to say her daughter took a job in Kentucky or some other state; and while it’s clear that Faye is proud of her daughter, she obviously misses her.

Because it was just the two of us – Faye and myself – in the office (the technicians run on their own schedule), I was forced to answer the phones so she could go on lunch. The plan is that as my entry speed increases, the boss will have me take the majority of phone calls (she doesn’t like how Faye speaks). So Faye went to lunch, and when she returned she instructed me on what information to get from the callers, how to go into the system and create a work order so the technicians would be called out and fix the caller’s problem, etc. It took me a few phone calls to get the hang of it, and to help me not get too twitterpated, I wrote some notes on a little yellow sticky and stuck it to the wall right above the phone.

And so, the rest of the afternoon passed in this manner.

At the end of the day, Faye and I are shutting down the computers and putting all of the paperwork away, she stops for a moment and tells me, “Shirley, please don’t tell the boss that I told you about answering the phones and how to do the work orders. I know she wants to tell you how to do that, and I don’t want to get yelled at.” I touched her arm and I reassured her, “Faye, don’t you worry, I have your back. I will make sure I pretend I don’t know how to do anything. I’m not going to get you yelled at, I promise.” Faye looked over at the yellow sticky by the phone and asked me to throw it away. At my look of confusion, she told me that the boss didn’t like paper stuck on the wall. Curious as to why that mattered to the boss at all, and if it helped us to do our jobs what was the big deal… but I did as Faye requested and threw the sticky in the trash. She immediately relaxed, and then she smiled at me.

I was telling my niece Jessica about this situation recently, and there are only two things that keep me going back to this job every day. First and foremost, I need the paycheck. That’s a no-brainer. But now, I feel like Faye needs my help; not just with the data entry - she needs an ally. The director of the IS department returns next week from some conference… maybe I can plant some seeds about what I've observed and the boss’ obvious lack of people and management skills (clearly, this woman should NOT have human beings reporting to her). And I’ll hang out as long as I can… though I already mentioned to Faye that this is “not the kind of job I like to do.” As we are working, Faye tells me all the time, “You are smart, Shirley,” – I ask good questions, I remember the answers, I catch myself when I am about to make a mistake, etc. It’s nice to be valued and appreciated. And I know Faye appreciates my being there.

I still have a few other irons in the fire… and timing is everything. With any luck I’ll earn a bunch of good karma points; for sure though, I know I am learning to be patient (as a rule, patience is not one of my strong virtues).

Promise Yourself

I borrowed this from one of my Facebook Friends earlier today... thanks Janis!


Promise Yourself...


To be so strong that nothing can disturb your peace of mind.

To talk health, happiness and prosperity to every person you meet.

To make all your friends feel that there is something in them.

To look at the sunny side of everything and make your optimism come true.

To think only of the best, to work only for the best, and to expect only the best.

To be just as enthusiastic about the success of others as you are about your own.

To forget the mistakes of the past and press on to the greater achievements of the future.

To wear a cheerful countenance at all times and give every living creature you meet a smile.

To give so much time to the improvement of yourself that you have no time to criticize others.

To be too large for worry, too noble for anger, too strong for fear, and too happy to permit the presence of trouble.


Author Unknown

Teaching An Old Human New Dog Tricks

I was looking at my boxer Winnie earlier today, wondering if she was underweight for her type of breed, so I launched into some spontaneous Internet research.

I love researching using the Internet, because one can find inordinate amounts of information using just a few search terms in mere seconds. This is one of the greatest abilities humans have in our world today, in my opinion. When I was a youngster, I remember having to physically visit a library – yes, I could spend hours walking up and down the aisles of books, scanning the titles on the spines; if the title was clever or interesting enough to catch my attention for longer than a millisecond, I might pull the book off of the shelf and open it up to read the jacket, giving me a synopsis of the content. But the Internet! Once you hit the “search” button, it miraculously retrieves literally thousands of “virtual books” if you will – and with one more click on any address, I now have access to pages upon pages of data. Sometimes, if I am completely engrossed in learning about some new topic, I will look at the clock in the lower right-hand corner of my computer screen and realize, “Oh my god, I’ve been at this for three hours!” So, yes, it is important to also have solid filtering skills when surfing the ‘net. And know how to swim or risk drowning.

So, worried about Winnie’s health, I searched “boxer weight chart” and found a website which had information on boxers: http://www.dogbreedinfo.com/. I clicked on the link, and I looked at the pictures of boxers on the site to see how they compared to how Winnie looked (the reason I suspect she might be underweight is because I can see her ribcage and her hindquarters and legs seem to be “thinner” in proportion to the rest of her body). The pictures showed dogs with muscular torsos, tapering off to slender hindquarters similar to Winnie, but she still looks like she could do to add maybe five to eight more pounds of meat on her, in my opinion. Although I do take her to the vet regularly for her shots, and the vet has never indicated that she isn’t eating enough. Hmmm. I will have to make it a point to ask the vet next time we visit.

So I read a little about the boxer breed – temperament, life expectancy, origin – and then I noticed some additional links to the right of the page. I clicked on one entitled, “Successfully Adopting A Rescue Dog” – all of my animals are rescued, including Eezma (the cat). This one was literally a gold mine of information, and the more I read the more I realized I was doing quite a few things wrong in establishing a secure, stable environment for my dogs. Sharon Maguire, the author of this particular article, starts off by saying that shelters are full of great, misunderstood animals – because human beings don’t speak “dog” and subsequently, because of this inability to understand what a dog is attempting to communicate in terms of its needs, blames the dog when the human owner is the one creating the problems. According to Sharon, the two primary reasons dogs are returned to shelters are: a) lack of exercise and b) lack of leadership. Since I make it a point to walk my dogs every day, I decided that I was more of a “lack of leadership” offender. In a household which includes dogs, it is critical to establish that the humans are the leaders of the pack; the “alpha” who must be followed and obeyed. This is a natural canine expectation… and when the human doesn’t act like the alpha, the dog assumes that means that he or she is the alpha. That’s when you start to see all the “bad” behaviors – excessive barking (for attention, like Canela likes to do), aggression – this contributes to an environment in which the dog doesn’t feel secure. “Dogs who are not given clear structure and rules are not secure happy dogs. In order for a dog to be secure they must clearly know who is running the show. It is either going to be you or them.” Sharon goes on to say that while this might sound harsh, it is important to remember that when dealing with canine animals, the human must think like THEM.. not to have the expectation that it’s going to work the other way around.

I realized, after reading this article, that I have been enabling Canela’s bad behavior – I adopted Canela ( a whippet Jack Russell mix) a little over a year or so ago from Liz’s younger sister Katie. My neighbor Erin likes to say that when Canela showed up, she taught Winnie all her bad habits – which is true for the most part; Winnie has always been the greatest dog – the Bunny and I were extremely lucky to find her. At the time that I brought Canela home, I had decided that Winnie needed a friend as she would frequently whine for no apparent reason. I assumed she wanted attention and interaction from me, but I was – and am – too busy with my never-ending to do list.

Now, Canela is part of the family. She can be very sweet, yes, but she can just as often be very annoying. Now I realize that the annoying times are when Canela is trying to assert herself as the alpha of the pack. No wonder she is insecure! And all this time I have been frustrated with her behavior, it’s been me enabling it the entire time. The light bulb has suddenly lit up the dark tunnel.

It’s going to take a little effort on my part, but I am going to try to be a bit better about communicating my alpha status to my pack. And I think the reward is that we are all going to be much happier -and me a lot less frustrated.

I look at the clock in the lower right-hand corner of my computer screen. Only 9:17pm. Not too bad. Time to get off this computer though – I hear a glass of wine calling my name. And I know when I sign off and get up from my chair, Canela – who has been sleeping at my feet under the desk – will spring up and follow me out of my office, through the kitchen, into the living room – I’m not going to be annoyed anymore that she shadows me everywhere; she is following my lead; I’m her alpha. She is doing exactly what she is supposed to be doing.

Who knew I could learn to speak dog? But I guess that should be expected of a Communications expert like I profess to be. Ha.

Booking It

I have this friend; we’ll call her… Dee. Dee has had one bad relationship after another – married four times previously, and most recently ended a three-year “was living with the guy” relationship.

Some weeks ago, Dee hooked up with Michael. Right from the start, this proved to fit Dee’s typical relationship mold. Michael, in his own “living with the girl” relationship, did not show any signs of changing his situation when he and Dee started paying more attention to each other. Unfortunately, this fact did not make a huge difference to Dee – she and Michael wasted no time getting naked every chance they got. Dee shared with me recently that her attraction for Michael is off the charts… and she insists, despite the lying, cheating, and noncommittal sex, that Michael is a good-hearted guy at his core and deep down really cares a lot about her.

I have known Dee since we were kids. She’s always been somewhat of a rebel; she would be the one to sneak out of the house and drag me along for the ride. In fact, at one point during our teenage years, my dad went so far as to forbid me from hanging around with Dee anymore. It’s ironic that here I am, twenty-five years later, and my own father has zero presence in my life while Dee is one of my closest confidants.

So, I am a bit torn. I care about Dee as if she and I were blood. I worry about her. I don’t want to tell her how she should live her own life – only she gets to decide that. And I’ve even met Michael a few times… yes, he seems like a decent guy on the surface. But it pisses me off that as much as he “allegedly” cares for Dee, he isn’t motivated to create a legitimate place for her in his life. Because isn’t that what a person is supposed to do when the Universe brings one in contact with another human being that inspires him or her? That makes their excitement level run higher, their heart beat faster, their center of gravity move towards wherever that other person is?

I don’t have the heart to say this to Dee, but I think that Michael is just playing with her. She’s a beautiful woman; in great shape for a 40-year old. I tease her all the time that if I were a lesbian, I would try to date her myself. That always makes her laugh. I like it when I can make my friends laugh. I feel sorry for Dee, because I know she’s had a lot of bad luck in the relationship department and she seems to be very happy right now. But this is a train wreck waiting to happen, and I know that she’s going to have trouble bouncing back from this one given that she really wasn’t “whole” to begin with.

We are supposed to get together for sushi tomorrow night – it’s Dee’s birthday. Fortunately Michael won’t be around, I seem to remember he’s got some work thing to take care of. Or maybe something with his girlfriend. I don’t recall the exact details, but I know Dee was a little miffed that Michael was going to miss her birthday dinner. I guess it will be a good chance for me to plant some seeds in Dee’s head, in a subtle, roundabout way. This relationship clearly has nowhere to go, and the longer she keeps at it with Michael, the more opportunity she loses to meet the next guy. One that will actually be good to her – that will love and cherish her, that will be around when she needs him to be, that will talk to her and share his thoughts and dreams with her – everything that she deserves and what we all aspire to find for ourselves.

As for me? I know what that kind of relationship feels like, because I had it with the Bunny. I know it exists. I will accept nothing less; nothing less than everything, because that’s what I will be giving: everything. No holds barred. An open access system. I know what I deserve, and I will settle. For. Nothing. Less. No matter who I piss off in the process of making those kinds of decisions for myself. But then again, I never cared about what other people think of me. It’s my life to live… and since I only get one shot at it, I’m going to make damn sure it counts for something great.

And Michael, at that future point when Dee has slipped through your fingers, maybe you’ll figure out that how you are going about your own life is NOT going to get you what you want. Assuming you want more than just a super-cute piece of ass.

Or maybe you won’t figure that out. Only time will tell.

Dust If You Must

I saw this posted by my friend Steff on FaceBook earlier today, stolen from a posting from one of her friends... and probably stolen/shared many times before that. I agreed it was worth sharing.


Dust if you must, but wouldn't it be better
To paint a picture or write a letter?
Bake a cake or plant a seed,
...Ponder the difference between want and need.

Dust if you must, but there is not much time
With rivers to swim and mountains to climb,
Music to hear and books to read,
Friends to cherish and life to lead.

Dust if you must, but the world's out there,
With the sun in your eyes, the wind in your hair,
A flutter of snow, a shower of rain,
This day will not come around again.

Dust if you must, but bear in mind,
Old age will come and it's not kind,
And when you go, and go you must,
You yourself will make more dust.

Remember, a house becomes a home
when you write "I love you" on the furniture.


Author Unknown

Are You There? It's Me...

It’s difficult to keep thinking positively when the overwhelming evidence in one’s life points to utter devastation and failure.

That’s where I am at right at this moment. I am at the proverbial crossroads; wanting to continue focusing on my professional activities which give meaning and purpose to my life – you know, the ones I am very passionate about – versus I also want to be able to eat and pay my bills. My challenges right now are purely economical, and there are a handful of ways I can go about addressing them.

Every option has its pros and cons. I could get an additional job, change companies, change industries completely (all easier said than done). I could bring in a roommate, which means opening up my sanctuary to another person – probably a stranger. I could ask my friends and family for short-term loans… something I really dislike but have been forced into as of late. My biggest barrier is not knowing what any of these choices will do to my overall “life happiness” level – something I have been very protective of since the Bunny’s death. The bottom line is this: I am afraid to make a choice that will leave me in a state of unhappiness.

Coincidentally, I have been reading a book from my vast collection that I picked up quite some time ago and for whatever reason was inspired to pick up again recently. It is entitled, “Feel the Fear… And Do It Anyway” by Susan Jeffers, Ph D. The main premise of the book is that all of our fears – those emotionally-based ones; the things we “worry” about – all stem from our lack of faith in ourselves. That we won’t be able to handle whatever it is that life throws at us. And because we don’t think we will be able to handle it, we are paralyzed. Stuck. Unwilling to engage in our Universe – thereby missing out on all of the world’s opportunities.

As far as I can tell, I am not doing a great job of handling my ongoing survival. Every month is a challenge – and so far I have managed to barely squeak by. But I’m definitely getting discouraged. When is my luck and good karma going to run out? I’m trying not to focus on that negative thought – focusing on the negative only seems to create more negative, in my experience.

I am three quarters of the way through the book. At the conclusion of Chapter 9, I read a sentence that kind of sticks with me: “Stop fighting your life.” What Susan means by this is that it's important to view every experience in our lives as valuable; to “let go” of the mental picture we each hold inside our minds of what life SHOULD be, and simply accept life for what it IS.

It will all work out. Say yes to your Universe, Shirley. “It means channeling resources to find constructive, healthy ways to deal with adverse situations. It means having the flexibility necessary to survey many options and choose ones that enhance growth. It does not mean being destroyed; it means becoming alive to possibility.”

Thanks, Susan. I needed that.

I’m still alive.

Peace.