The Stranger

    As a few people know, I often take a few moments to break away from cubical life and walk around Old Town Pocatello. Well, I did, before it froze over and became the windiest place on the face of the planet (I know that is a bit of an exaggeration, but it sure feels like it when you go outside).

    I do not necessarily participate in this quiet ritual for exercise, (though the physical benefits have been wonderful), I have found that taking even 15 minutes to get out of these four office walls and literally take a breath and mental reset my brain is one of the most refreshing things I am able to do. I am able to experience the different seasons from beyond the window, to not only see what is going on, but to smell, to hear. It sort of reminds me of being a kid, when 90 percent of my day was spent outside. (But that is another blog)  I did not realize how little time I spent outdoors until I started walking.

     Anyway, some of the people who mill around in these historic neighborhoods are interesting to say the least. I have seen people dressed in their finest to train folks camping out in the bushes at Simplot Square. But as strange as some of these people are, almost all of them say "hello."

    Then there was the one who said so much more.

    On one of my many foot fueled expeditions, I saw a quite elderly woman scooting along on the sidewalk about a block in front of me. She was sort of hunched over, as one would expect someone with so many years of life to be, and had a small, empty, canvas bag strapped to her right shoulder (now that I think about it, she was probably walking to the library). Not wanting to startle her as I passed, I announced my presence with a quick "hello" as I became within hearing distance.

   She turned, smiled, then returned my hello before striking up a conversation. I slowed my pace and walked with her for a bit. We talked about the weather, and how beautiful the particular day had become, and she told me some of her childhood memories, spending summers in Tetonia, how beautiful it was.

   When we came to the bridge over the river, we stopped and looked out through the chain link to watch the water drift by. She told me about growing up in a home literally right down the street from where we now stood, and about how one day she had gone out to play, and her mother, unable to find her, had become terrified that the child had fallen into the river. (History break:  Back then, of course, the Portneuf had no concrete channel and chain link to protect it from overflowing and people from falling in. Before that time, not only did it flood many times when the ice jammed in the spring, but it was responsible for the drownings of many small children.)

    Of course, she had not fallen into the water, but was innocently playing, and was discovered by her mother, unharmed and unaware of the panic her wandering had caused.

    I made a comment to the effect of "It is a good thing you were OK!" and she smiled a sweet, old lady smile, and pointed toward the sky and replied, "I know my boss upstairs, so I know that everything is OK."

    This is not about to take a turn into a religious tangent, by the way (seriously, please, come back), I will save a blog for religion when I am feeling more bold and particularly determined to tackle that topic.

    I have no idea what religion this gal is/was, and it does not matter. Nor does it really matter to me what anyone's religion is (see previous paragraph). What struck me about her statement at that moment was the conviction, the confidence, the calmness with which she spoke. Here was a lady who had seen at least 80 years, the inventions of the computer, cell phones, man walking on the moon, etc. The stories she could tell, and, based on her willingness to speak to me about her childhood, would be more than willing to, given an afternoon.

    And she was not afraid of anything. Here she was, walking by herself, striking up a conversation with a complete stranger. She was living, not just existing, and she was happy. Not just content, but genuinely happy to be alive. How many people can say that?

   There are those who would say she was just lonely and glad to have someone to talk to, but I would retort that she was not lonely at all, and her talking to me was not because she finally had an ear to listen and was simply taking the opportunity. She was talking and sharing with me because we were two people whose paths had happened to literally cross one afternoon. Why not speak and share? Why be afraid? It was completely natural to her.

     I will never know a time when it was not normal to be afraid. In the 33 years I have been alive it has been normal to have electric fences and security systems, caller ID and deadbolts on our doors. Parents told us to not talk to strangers because they might shove us into a smelly old van and drive away.  It must have been wonderful to not be afraid.

   I have purposely taken that path several times since that day, and have not had the pleasure of meeting her again since that day. Sometimes I wonder if she was even real. But, even if she wasn't . . . that's OK,  I was not afraid. :)

Resolutions and realizations

     Last  year my New Year's Resolution was to get healthy. That may seem like a general and over-used statement/goal, but for me, it meant not just body, but mind. For me, in fact, it was more about mind than body. We spend billions of dollars as a society making ourselves healthy on the outside . . . stronger, thinner, smoother, while ignoring our mental state. . . but that is another blog.

    I decided, with full confidence, that I was tired of certain things going on in my head that seemed to control me, rather than the other way around. I decided to try to get rid of the voices (not literal voices, I am not THAT crazy) that told me I was not worthy of all the wonderful things life has to offer, including myself and my own strengths.  I had avoided this for so long for several reasons, the two biggest being I did not know where to start and the second being absolutely terrified.

    The biggest differences between a mental illness and a physical one is the treatment and the stigmatization. If you tell someone you're sick, they look at you sympathetically and quickly rush to diagnose your issue so that they may quickly toss you a variety of pills like candy. We are so quick to rush to medication . . . that's another blog. Where was I?

   Oh ya. But, if you tell someone you're sick and that it is in your head, not your body, watch how quickly they disappear from your life. The images that come with the phrase "mental illness" include wild-haired people wrapped up in straight jackets, eating bugs off the wall in a padded room in a dungeon-like room with bars over the windows. People have been lead to believe that it is somehow contagious. That the mere glance from the afflicted person will leave them in a similar state. Tell someone you are bipolar, or have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, or Trichotillomania, (wow, that word is not even in the dictionary here, it is underlined red) and watch the terrified look spread across their face. You have just disrupted their safe little world, so you are now a threat.

    Even a hundred years ago, people whose mental ailments could not be understood where treated like test subjects, lab rats, poked and prodded, shocked and starved, tossed away because it made the "normal" folks feel safer. I for one am grateful for the advancements in modern medicine, particularly the mental health aspect.

   I read a lot . . . I can't imagine a world without books. There is something soothing about turning the pages, hearing the sound and feeling the whoosh as the page turns. The day when all books are digital will be awful for me . . . I don't know what I will do . . . wait, I am going off on a tangent again. Where was I?

    I have decided to stop being afraid and figure this out, this thing in my head that tells me to literally tear myself apart every day, the issues that have made me believe that I did not deserve to see the light of day. There are several ignorant people in my life who would tell me, "that is not so bad, it's easy, you just don't want to do it." To them I say a big **** you. Twice. It has been the hardest thing I have ever done. You go face your worst fear, being heights, gravity, clowns, whatever. I dare you to look it in the eye. Jackass.

    Wait, where was I? Oh ya. In this research and conquering this, I have learned a few things. For one, everyone has a demon. Those who say they don't are liars or ignoring it. Everyone has something in their head that they wish they could be rid off. It is all relative. Mine just happens to be a little bit more obvious because what starts on the inside shows itself with my physical self. It is all relative.

    Another thing is that I am OK. I can live with this, I know that it will never completely go away, but I can live with it. I have to accept it. Fighting for its complete exile from my body and mind is a waste of energy.
 
    There are a few people in the world who do not think I am crazy. Even people I have never met. There are understanding, non judgemental people in the world. And I love them!

    As I decided to get healthy mentally, I decided to work on my physical health as well. I do not thing I am unhealthy, mind you, I have never thought I was fat, but I recognize that physical and mental health work together. So why not work on them at the same time?

    A lot of our mental issues come from the food we eat. All the preservatives, dyes, etc. are poisoning us. No, I am not turning into a granola eating hippy (no offense to you granola eating hippys out there) but we put so much crap into our bodies it is no wonder we are all crazy to an extent.

   In the last year I have completely stopped drinking soda. I drink water all day. I have a reusable water bottle that I just fill up all day. I make sure I eat breakfast everyday, and bring healthy snacks to work with me. I take vitamins every morning, it is easy to remember because I already have to take medication every morning anyway, why not toss a big 'ol vitamin down the gullet while I am at it?
 
    I have been trying to find simple and easy ways to incorporate exercise into my daily routine. I walk the dog or do arm curls with one of my massive hardback Stephen King books (Under the Dome, have you read it?).

    I have been working hard at "unplugging," I rarely get on Facebook anymore, and rather than watch TV I color or draw or read. I exercise my mind.

   Just yesterday I started doing Pilates again. Yes, again, there is a lot of things you did not know about me, young grasshoppa. Holy crap, that is a workout. Ya know that Alicia Keys song "Girl On Fire,"  I figured it out, she just did Pilates. 

   All of my hard work is beginning to pay off. I feel great. I feel healthy, and I am so happy. The biggest thing I have discovered is that I am stronger that I ever could have imagined. I never knew I could be this determined.  I have always loved stories of people who overcome something that others told them was impossible. I have been drawn to those stories because I have always known that I wanted to overcome.

    I can't believe that I can say I am grateful for the challenges that I have been given, but there really is no better word. I am a stronger, more grounded and realistic person because of it. I am testing the limitations of my body and mind, and have not found any yet. I am not sick, I am not crazy, I have just been given a very unique and trying challenge. But, they say the big man upstairs does not give you more than you can handle, so I guess I should be flattered.

   I have also discovered that there are a lot of negative people in my life. Both by choice and by proximity. I know several people who think they are or should be the center of the universe. . .  which perplexes me. They can't all be right, right? Is there layers to the center of the universe? Maybe they can share their domination . . .

   Wait, getting off topic again. My New Year's Resolution of 2014 is to avoid all nouns of negativity. That is, people, places and things. Mostly people. I am avoiding the vexatious people in my life. Including certain people in my family. That may seem harsh, but where I have made so much progress, I can't be dragged down right now by anyone. I am on a roll, but that moment could easily be knocked off kilter. I need to stay strong. No offense. I need to do this for me, to get better. I have avoiding this for so long also, because I have been led to believe that doing anything positive for me was selfish. . . .

I am starting to ramble now, so this needs to wrap up.
I don't think I am even going to post this blog. I just needed to write it. Writing is my greatest therapy. I have to speak the things that are in my head, or else they will just bounce around in my brain like a bouncy ball on crack. Ahhhh, no I can take a deep breath and get on with my day. :)

Aug. 1, 2011

For just a moment I can be still

I can place my mind in beige and cotton and

forget about the problems of the world,

I wish to take this slice in time, this peace

and wrap myself around it.

To preserve it somehow.

But the butterfly in the jar

will surely die

just as surely as tomorrow will come.

My 4x great grandpa from Scotland

This robust looking fellow is my great-great-great-great grandfather, CharlesWright Spence. (Yes, that is four greats, and this is on my dad's side of the family.)

He was born on November 5, 1824 in a small village in Scotland. His father, my 5x great grandfather served as a soldier under King George III of Great Britain.

Because his father died when Charles was very young, he began working at the tender age of ten , earning just six cents a day to help his mother support his brothers and sisters. He then tried shoe making, but, eventually became a coal miner, and was a coal miner for 30 years.

He married Elizabeth Morrison Spence on Jan 11, 1847, and soon after they both converted to the Mormon church. In October 18, 1872, they began the long journey to America, and on Nov. 3, 1872 arrived in Rock Springs. In March 1873 they moved to Wellsville, Utah, where they lived the remainder of their lives.

Charles passed away in December of 1902. Elizabeth passed away in December 1916.

Elizabeth and Charles Spence

About A Girl

I had an amazing experience last week that is too amazing to not document some how, some way.  I met this girl, this women, who changed my perspective.

 Without getting into too much detail, lest I give away who she is, because yes, she is a real person, I had the opportunity to meet her through my job  . . . I was able to quite literally give her a gift. When I called her to tell her, she was beyond grateful, I made her literally cry because she was so grateful for what I had given her. A school coming up, the single mom needed the money. 

Some back ground . . . she is beautiful, gorgeous, in fact she has done some modeling work. It is absolutely mind blowing how pretty she is. When I spoke with her, she confided something to me. She is bi polar. Yes, this beautiful, stunning woman also has this neurological demon, this inability to control the happiness, the sadness, the rage, the despondence in her own pretty head.

We have become sort of pen pals since that brief conversation. I felt it only fair to tell her my own secret. That, though we deal with different things, I can relate to the madness, the waking up each day not knowing if it will control you or if you will maintain your sanity. It is a sort of David and Goliath battle every day. It seems impossible, at least highly unlikely. Few understand, so meeting some one who does is quite the amazing thing.It is reassuring to know that we are not alone in this ocean of chaos.

Even just a few years ago, her looks alone would have been reason for me to hate her  . . . such a paradox. She would have been the enemy, because she most certainly would have been mean to me because of the way I look. I have learned a lot in the last few years, but that moment last week reinforced something for me: The most beautiful girls are not necessarily the happiest. The way you look on the outside does not define how you feel.Happiness is a choice, not a gift or prize won by a genetic lottery.We have been programmed to equate happiness with beauty and vice-versa. I learned that in all of my advertising classes. People buy things because they see people on TV, beautiful and happy using certain products. It is a science, but it's not rocket science. 

She told me that she can tell I am a fighter. That meant a lot. I think I am. I am here. I am not addicted to drugs or alcohol, I have met and married my soul mate, I have two beautiful kids and a full time job. A home, my car is paid off. So I am not physically what I want to be . . . is that really what is most important? Or is it how I project myself to others, and how I change the world and lives of everyone I meet for the better?

Walking sleep

    Last night I had an experience that is just too weird to not tell some one.  And I feel like writing and I cannot think of anything else at the moment, so this is what you get!
    At about 1:30 a.m., I saw my little boy, Devin, standing next to my bed. He was saying, “Daddy, daddy. . .” Daddy had gone down stairs to sleep on the couch because, our bed room is upstairs and it gets really hot, and as he told me this morning, “I was sweating my ass off!” (Last I checked, his ass is still there, however, and I am a cold-blooded female so I have no idea what that means).
    Anyway, Devin then turned around and walked down the hall toward the living room. I assumed I was dreaming and went back to sleep. It is not often that I sleep deeply enough to dream, that is a gift from my ever restless mind, but when I do, my dreams are pretty crazy, so this was actually normal for me.
    About a half hour later I woke up and looked into the doorway of my bedroom, and I could see Devin’s two little feet poking through the doorway. When I went to him, he was lying on the floor, cuddled up with his “blankie brown,” sleeping in the hallway.
    OK, so do I just let him sleep, or do I try to wake him up and get him back to bed? I whisper his name a few times, and he rolls over and looks up at me, still mostly asleep. I ask him if he wants to go lay down, and he stands up and nods his head yes, then follows me into my room. He starts to climb into my bed, and I am too tired to care and instinctively want him to sleep with me so that I can keep track of him.
    I rubbed his little fuzzy head for awhile, something I always do to my kids when they are scared and having trouble sleeping. We went to sleep, snuggled together, it was probably pretty cute.
    A bit later I woke up again (yes, it is completely normal for me to wake up 8 times a night. No wonder I am so tired during the day), and he was no longer in the bed with me. I assumed he had gone back to his bed or down stairs to cuddle with daddy, and went back to sleep.
    My alarm goes off at 6:30 on Tuesday mornings, because on Tuesdays I don’t need to wake the kids up to take them any where, and this morning when my alarm went off and I sat up, there he was again, sleeping side ways at the end of the bed.
    I am so confused. Where was he when I woke up and he was not there? When did he come back? How did I not wake up when he got on and off the bed? I wake up when the neighbors sneeze. OK, not that bad, but pretty close.

    I wonder if he was sleep walking. I know I did a bit of that when I was a kid. I remember one night in particular I was staying the night at my grandparent’s house, and I got out of bed and walked to the doorway to their bedroom and said, “I like chocolate ice cream with sprinkles.” And it’s true, I did then and do now, I mean, who doesn’t right? But why would I get up in the middle of the night to announce that to people I knew were fast asleep?
    The summer after the eighth grade, several of our class members went on a trip to California. We went to Mediaeval Times, SeaWorld, Universal Studios, the San Diego Zoo, etc. One morning, my roommates told me that I had been talking in my sleep. I told them to turn off the TV, though the TV was not on, and then I said, “I’m in a cage and I can’t get out, but that’s OK, I can stay here forever.” Freaky!

    Aria will randomly sit up and look around while she is asleep. That is pretty close to the scariest thing you will ever see, screw scary movies, wait ‘til you see your kid sit up in bed, open her eyes, look around, then lay back down and know that she won’t remember it the next day because she was asleep the whole time.
    Some times when I go to check on her at night, her eyes are half open. I am not sure how she sleeps like that, but she does. And she talks in her sleep too, I can  never tell what she is saying, but she can carry on quite the conversation the wee hours of the night while she is asleep.

    Is it a genetic thing? Does everyone do that kind of stuff? Mike doesn’t, but I have never seen anyone fall asleep so fast or sleep as deeply as he does, it is incredible. What is that like, sheesh?!

    But now I worry that Devin is going to wake up in the middle of the night and go totting down the hall and fall down the stairs and I will sleep right through the whole thing. He has gone down stairs in the middle of the night before, and been just fine going down the stairs, but I guess it is normal to worry.
    What if, when he gets older he decides to unlock the front door and go for a nocternal stroll in his SpongeBob PJs? What if he wakes up at 2 a.m. and subliminally says, “Now would be a good time to go out in the front yard and catch that June Bug I saw earlier!” How will I explain that to The Fuzz? “I don’t know what happened, officer, he was in bed the last time I checked.” Hmmmmm . . .
    Oh the things you never ever thought you would have to worry about. . .

Orchids and Ash

"Is this a test? It has to be, otherwise I can't go on." ~ Tool, The Patient

We have to believe that all that seems negative and destructive in our lives happens for purpose, lest we go insane.

It seems endlessly cruel and ironic that we are born with the abilities to rationalize, to reason, to question, and these things end up being our most persistent enemies. We end up using our best strengths against ourselves, as if "self destruct" were a setting on our life cycle.

We ask the wrong questions, we reason for the wrong reasons. We run in metaphoric circles, like a bird with one wing trying to fly. . . the will is there, but not the ability. We will never stop seeking answers to questions we will never stop asking. We are never calm.

There exists a great balance: Fire and ice, sky and sea, orchids and ash. Some things just are because they have to be. We are not meant to understand it all.

"If there were no reward to heal,
A loving embrace to see me through
This tedious path I've chosen here,
I certainly would've walked away by now.
Gonna wait it out.
Be patient.
I must keep reminding myself of this."