I Need Your Help!

My birthday is next week. And since I don't plan to live until I'm 110 I'm pretty sure I've lived more than half my time on this earth. That isn't uncomfortable news. I don't necessarily want to live to 100. But I do, often, grow concerned that I'm not living my days as fully as I could.

It has been a lifelong issue for me. I remember turning 13 and feeling that life was just getting away from me. Because, you know, that's an issue for most 13-year olds.

Anyway, in response to my lifelong quest to live life as fully as possible I've come across an idea. But I need help.

The idea is this. I'm calling upon all my friend and family to help me come up with 55 ways that I might stretch my boundaries and grow in the coming year.This notion comes from an article I read about a woman who, on her 31st birthday saw a Baskin-Robbins ice cream shop and decided to ask her friends and family for 31 ways that she could sample the flavors of life.

I fell in love with the idea.

The reason for asking others to help with the project rather than come up with my own 55 ideas is that I might only choose things I'm good at or comfortable with. By asking others for their ideas I can compile a list of things I might not think of. Plus 55 things is a lot! Most importantly, I am attracted to the idea that by accomplishing the goals others set for me, I am taking on a little piece of who they are and understanding what is important to them.

To get your creative juices flowing here are a few examples from the inspirational article:

• Write down all your blessings.
• Perform at an open mic night.
• Participate in Walk for the Cure.
• Go to a city meeting on a political issue.
• Write a children's story.
• Take a helicopter ride.
• Learn German and visit Germany.
• Start one day at 4 am on purpose.
• Use only one hand for an entire day.

So here is what I'm asking. Please join me in compiling my list of 55 flavors by offering your ideas for goals I can work toward in the coming year. The ideas can be simple or complex, expensive or cheap, silly or profound. Be creative! After I get the list together I will post it on my blog and write about my progress and experiences. 

I will consider any and all suggestions but keep in mind, you can't suggest I take a pole dancing class. I've already done that. And you can't suggest I start a PhD program. I've already done that. And you can't suggest I turn my hair pink. I've already done that.  And you can't suggest I wear the cutest flowered combat boots on the planet. Steve already gave me those for my birthday.

Aren't these the best boots in the world??

But you can suggest a myriad of other things. And if you offer a suggestion we can do together...all the better!

I'll take suggestions in whatever way you want to offer them. If you have my phone number, text or call  me with your idea. If you are my Facebook friend or Twitter follower, post it there. If you have my email, send it that way. Or leave your idea in the comments of this blog. (If you leave a comment, please make sure to tell me who you are.)

Thanks for joining me on this fun little journey of growth and experience.  I am so excited to see what happens!

Ready....go!

Making Assumptions

What's that saying about making assumptions?

Last week I decided to put a pink streak in my hair. Well, it was supposed to be a pink streak. It ended up being a pink splotch. But still, I thought it would be fun so I did it. In retrospect I realize I probably should have found out how long pink dye in blond hair would last before I committed to the splotch. I didn't think about that at the time.

I haven't done anything crazy to my hair for a while now. Having admitted my addiction to color changing chemicals I've been very rational and grown up about my hair recently. I have resisted the desire to make drastic color changes. Until Saturday. When I had a relapse. There I was, home with a free hour and a tube of fuchsia dye in the linen closet. Temptation overtook me. This happened.

It was supposed to be a subtle hot pink strip that just sort of peeked through the blond. Instead it ended up looking a little like I had suffered a head injury.  But, I was late for a party so I didn't have time to worry about it.

I found it interesting that hardly anyone at the party mentioned the bright pink clump of hair on the side of my head. Granted many who were in attendance know me well enough they probably weren't surprised. I'm sure some people couldn't say they liked it so they just chose not to say anything. And it was a pretty polite and conservative group so I wouldn't have expected any of them to say, "What the (insert expletive here)?" 

One relatively young man did say he thought a lot of people would assume a woman my age had dyed her hair pink in an effort to cling to youthfulness. But he added that he knew me and figured I had done it, 'just because.' He is right. I did it just because. Just because I could. Because it was Saturday and I had a free hour and a tube of fuchsia hair dye in the linen closet. And because I'm an addict.

I thought a lot about what he said though. He is right. A lot of people who don't know me would think I had done it in a desperate attempt to look young and hip. Let's face it. If I were going for young and hip I would have changed my hair and clothing style to something a lot more edgy.

Nevertheless, his comments made me think about how often we make assumptions about people.  As if, by mere observation we can actually know something about someone. I'm pretty sure we can't know something about someone unless we actually know the someone. But that doesn't seem to stop us from assuming.

I wanted pink hair because I could. Just that simple.

We all do it. We all make assumptions about people based on what we see. We assume things about people who are fat and skinny and young and old. We make assumptions based on skin color, accent, mannerism, style of dress and a myriad of other arbitrary criteria. Unless we know a person, though, we've no place making assumptions about them.

I'm ashamed to admit that I've made bad initial assumptions about some of the best people I know. Neither size, shape, nor color make the person. It's what can't be seen that truly matters.

I didn't end up loving my fuchsia clump but it was a fun experiment. I'm now conducting a fun experiment trying to get rid of it. I'm always hopeful that I will continue to have hair in that spot even as I try a variety of things to bleach it out. Instead of the bright shock of fuchsia, I currently look like I got a wad of pink cotton candy stuck in my hair.

I can't say I've learned to be more rational about hair color from this experience. I haven't. But I can say it has made me think about how often I make wrong assumptions about people. And about how making those assumptions keeps me from offering grace and kindness and compassion. Without grace and kindness and compassion we can't make this world a better place.

Assume grace.

Crying in Wal-Mart

I'm really not that crazy. I mean, yes, I'm a little bit crazy. But who isn't?

In fact, I'm not even sure crazy is the real issue. So I burst into tears in the middle of a store. What's the big deal?

(Source: Google Images)

For starters I had to go to Wal-Mart. That alone is enough to make a person cry. I typically don't go to Wal-Mart for a number of reasons, including concern for social justice issues and their general business values. Not to mention the overall weirdness of the place. But the other day I needed to go to Wal-Mart for an item I couldn't seem to find anywhere else. I was determined to get in and out as quickly as possible and headed toward my goal item with great intentionality, zipping past dawdling shoppers and short cutting through clothing racks. I got where I needed to be and started to scan the shelves. In a matter of moments a mother and a little girl, somewhere around 3-years old, came into the isle. They interacted sweetly for a bit and then the girl spied something she wanted. She asked for it. Mom said no. She asked again. Mom said no again. They did this for a while before the little girl lost composure and started crying and begging for whatever it was she wanted.  The mother never lost her patience but kept saying no.

That is when my crazy kicked in. I had to leave. Immediately. I had to walk away from their interaction because without warning I started to cry along with the little girl. Fortunately I wasn't wailing the way she was but I had to ground myself emotionally to keep from saying to the young mother, "Buy her what she wants. You don't understand how little time you have left with her. Soon she'll be gone to college and you'll be doing this alone. It goes by so fast." 

Obviously I didn't say that to the woman. For one thing it probably would have frightened her to have a tear-streaked-middle-aged woman she's never seen before telling her what to do with her child. Not to mention she was doing the right thing by not giving in. But my instantaneous reaction to their exchange made one thing clear.

It is time for Anna to come home for a little while.

Nevertheless, I made my way to the checkout trying not to look too off-balance as I attempted to regain my composure. I wanted in line for a near eternity as the cashier examined the fine print of every single coupon provided by the customer in front of me. Every. Single. Coupon. Every word. Every date. Because God forbid Wal-Mart might lose thirty-five cents by honoring an expired coupon. But that's beside the point.

I eventually made my purchase and left the store. By that time I was nearly back to normal but it made me think about why I felt the need to rush out of view because I had been blindsided by my emotions. Does crying because I miss my daughter really make me crazy?

I've always been one who cries easily. My mother made me stop watching Lassie when I was little because she got tired of me crying at the end of every episode. Although, in retrospect, I'm not sure making me watch Alfred Hitchcock was such a great idea.

Anyway, my Wal-Mart experience made me wonder why we, as a culture, are so afraid of tears. Why do we apologize for crying publicly? Assume it is a sign of weakness? And experience embarrassment and discomfort when someone sees us cry?

I think we've got it wrong. I don't think the intensity of missing my daughter when I saw that young mother and her little girl makes me weak or crazy. I don't think my tears indicate some emotional imbalance.

I think it makes me human.

Rather than hide my tears from view, maybe I should have just celebrated what they mean. That I miss the young woman with whom I spent years building a close and intimate relationship. That I recognize the speed with which time goes by and the importance of living intentionally and joyfully. That life is precious and fragile and fleeting.

I'm not saying I'm just going to walk around crying all the time. And I don't feel any compelling need to watch old Lassie TV shows. But if you should see me crying in Wal-Mart, don't assume I'm crazy or imbalanced or just hate Wal-Mart so much it brings me to tears. Just understand.

I'm human.

Just Call Me Kip

Sometimes I hear people of my generation express their concern that technology is contributing to the demise of relationships by removing face-to-face contact. I disagree. In some ways technology has enhanced my relationships. I have no desire to return to the 'good old days' before the advent of cell phones and the Internet. In fact, I'm sort of the opposite.

I love technology.

(Source: Google Images)

 

Just call me Kip*.

 

This is not to suggest that I'm particularly savvy about the tech world. I'm not. But technology does afford me the opportunity to have a very short commute across the hall to my home office where I teach and connect with students almost entirely online. And through the magic of Facebook and Twitter I'm able to keep up with people I might otherwise lose contact with. Not to mention those people who just make me laugh on a regular basis. Some days Skype lets me see my sweet girl's face even though she's 400 miles away.

 

But what I love the most is the way silly group text messages keep my little family connected.

 

We've always been a pretty close family.When the kids were growing up we spent a lot of time together. And now some of our most favorite occasions are those when we are all together having deep conversation or laughing until our stomachs hurt. Sometimes both at the same time. Until recently, everyone lived at home, but lately they all decided to grow up and leave. This makes regular interaction a lot more challenging.

 

Our children are, of course, the generation who grew up with technology. They are able to keep up with rapid advances just fine. Steve and I grew up in a time when people thought the move from rotary dial phones to push buttons was a pretty big deal. We're a little slower to catch on. But we manage to hang in there.

 

After her recent fall break Anna and a friend drove back to college. By sending a group text to the rest of the family she was able to keep the other four of us informed on her whereabouts and the number of cows she could see. I'm not sure how, exactly, but somehow those updates sparked a lighthearted texting competition about who was 'Mom's favorite.' Criteria included who could make me laugh the most and who could make me cry the most.

 

For the record, there was no clear winner.

 

And another day Anna sent us a photo of some food from the college dining hall with a 'guess what this is,' prompt. Nobody got the right answer but the conversation that resulted from the question was pretty funny. Steve can be counted on to spell things incorrectly, insert non sequiturs, and throw in an obscene comment or two so the conversation never gets boring. We couldn't figure out what the food was. 

 

The guesses included broccoli and apple pie but it turns out the photo was of refried beans.

 

One of the more entertaining conversations came from a photo Parker sent of a sign that said, "Life is about using the whole box of crayons." At an earlier point when we had all actually, physically, been in the same place, Steve shared this quote with the family. He was being all deep and meaningful but Parker misunderstood and thought he said, "Life is about using the whole box of condoms." That alone was pretty funny. But then Parker saw the sign with the quote one day and sent a photo of it to the rest of the family and somehow things shifted to a revised version of the quote saying, "Life is about using the whole box of colored condoms." This created an immediate flurry of text messages to one another offering very colorful names for colored condoms.

 

Nothing like naming a condom 'Orgasmic Orange,' to keep a family connected.

 

Laughter is good for the soul.  And when our family connects, there is always a lot of laughter. Our children are, in the words of Kip, "like a flock of doves," scattering away from home a bit. But I feel blessed to live in a time when we can stay connected despite distance.

 

Charles turns 25 on Sunday. We can't all be in the same room to sing our traditional off-key "Happy Birthday" song. But, through the magic of cell phones we will still all be together.

 

I love technology.

 

Always and forever.

 

*In case you need a refresher on Kip's Wedding song:

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ERCzN91JicA





Git Along Lil Kitties

I've always thought the term 'herding cats' was funny.

(Source: Google Images)

 

I think I find it amusing because as person who has had a lot of cats over the years I know how silly that idea is. I love this commercial for that reason.

Someone should tell our dog, Sadie, she'll never be successful at herding cats.

As part Australian Cattle Dog, Sadie's instincts are to herd just about everything. She's giving it a real effort with the cats but I'm afraid it isn't working. Sadly, it's a little like watching our country's leadership (a term I am using very loosely!) at the moment.

Actually, that isn't true. My animals are doing a better job of negotiating than our elected officials.

Although none of the cats seem to appreciate Sadie's attempts to herd them in a certain direction, most are willing to find a way to coexist peacefully, if not in full agreement. The only one not on board is elderly, grey, grumpy, and largely impotent. Which makes him sound a lot like a Republican Senator, come to think of it.

Regardless, the negotiations are ongoing. Every day brings a new opportunity to figure out how to give and take a little bit. Sadie doesn't really want the cats to eat from her food dish. But, she's willing to share some with them if it makes things better overall. And the cats don't absolutely love it when she tries to sniff their backsides, but if she goes about it calmly they seem to understand it as a gesture of diplomatic understanding.

So far nobody has gotten mean or aggressive or ugly. Nobody has put a stop to our household in demand of their own way. In all, I've watched my pets behave in a civil and respectful way. Which is more than I can say for our federal government.

Granted, out national issues are more significant than species cohabitation. But really now. You'd think if a houseful of animals can do it, our elected officials could too.

Remembering My Father

This week marked the 40th anniversary of my father's death. Forty years. That's such a long time.

The anniversary of his death doesn't hold any real sadness for me anymore. His death story is just another part of my life story. He's been gone for much more than half my life now. Still, I choose to remember and mark the day he died. For many years I did feel sad. And angry. And abandoned. But time has passed and I've come to terms with his decision to end his own life.

For so many years it seemed that my father's suicide was the only thing any of us really remembered about him. But with time and healing I've realized that his death didn't define him. Nor did his addictions. At his core, he was a good person. He suffered from mental illness and addiction at a time when our culture knew even less about how to deal with those issues than we do now.

I don't claim to understand what he did. I only know I've come to terms with it. He missed so much by opting out early. Most of my significant life events have occurred without him. My husband and children never got to know him. He wasn't present for any of my graduation ceremonies. He never got to see the woman I've become. I like to think he'd be proud.

These days memories of my father come in snippets. Moments in time sparked by one thing or another. The man I see in photographs reminds me of the man he was, although my own memory banks are fairly sparse. Because of the circumstances of his death, for many years I looked for him in a crowd. Although I knew he was dead, my soul longed to see him one more time; to say goodbye. It was unfair of him to say goodbye to me without giving me the chance to do the same. But then there are a lot of things about suicide that are unfair.

The day my father died, he dropped me off at school and before I got out of the car he said he loved me. He didn't say that often so I thought it was odd, but in retrospect I realize he was saying goodbye. He had carefully planned what he was going to do once he got home. I've grown to appreciate his last words to me. And I've grown to believe them. I didn't always.

A few years ago I was given a precious gift in saying goodbye to a friend's father the day before he died. Although he was drifting in and out of lucidity, at the moment of our goodbye he held my hand strongly, spoke clearly, and was immensely present. His words were soothing. He wasn't my father but he allowed me to exchange the words my father and I might have said had things been different. My soul calmed after that experience. I never looked for my father in a crowd again. I'd said goodbye.

Forgiveness came in stages. Through reoccurring dreams, my own maturity, and greater understanding of my father's addled mental state, I've come to forgive his actions. I wish he'd gotten help. I wish he'd made different choices. But I forgive the pain he caused. I don't believe he meant to hurt us.

My father is so much more than his death, though. I look at photographs of him as a baby, a teenager, and a young man and realize that he had a full and happy life before the agony of mental illness and addiction overtook him. He was a talented musician. He loved to celebrate everything. He was charming and engaging and in early photos there is a sparkle of joy. I see glimpses of him in myself and my children, and in my siblings, niece and nephews. His DNA is a part of us. Who he was before his tragic demise influences each of us in some small way.

Jimmy Charles Martin

Something went wrong in my father's life. When and how, I don't know. But something took his life long before he did.

I wish things had been different for him. I wish he'd been able to get help. I wish he'd known that his life was worth living. I wish he had lived a long, full life. I wish he'd known that he mattered.

Because, in this world, everyone matters.

Sadie and the Flood

In the middle of a massive flood, the likes of which this part of the country hasn't seen for at least 100 years, we, the card carrying cat people, adopted a dog.

Prior to a few days ago we never considered owning a dog. We've had all manner of cats but never has adopting a dog entered the picture. Not even once. But then Colorado started flooding and the world seemed insane and we did what any deeply committed cat people would do. We adopted a poor little homeless dog.

Meet Sadie

 

Sadie is young, just a puppy really, but her short life has been pretty challenging. She's already had a litter of her own puppies, learned a new language, been abused, and spent most of her life in a shelter. Sadie was on death row in New Mexico but granted a stay of execution by a benevolent woman who runs a no-kill rescue in Colorado.

Logic would say she is a flood refugee. Why else would non-dog people adopt her? But, logic doesn't have anything to do with this story. Nothing about the flood threatened Sadie's well-being. Yet everything about the flood prompted us to take her in.

The day the flooding started, I awoke to an alert on my phone. It said: Flood Alert only I didn't have my glasses on so I thought is said: Food Alert and hoped there wasn't a salmonella outbreak involving the strawberries I had just eaten the day before. It took a while before I realized that there was an increasingly serious situation brewing in Boulder and Parker was trapped in the middle of it.

I was able to keep in touch with Parker by cell phone through the days of flooding. I knew that he and his roommates were doing everything they could to keep water from filling the house they are renting. They had stored provisions on the roof in the event they were forced to escape and await rescue but none of this prevented me from worrying. Parker kept things light and funny. He didn't tell me some of the more harrowing tales like the fact he was driving down the street when the flash flooding started and was literally seconds away from having his car swept away in the river of rushing water. Even though I didn't know that until later, I couldn't help but feel concern for his safety.

For three days I watched the news and cried. Worried for my son and seeing the massive destruction, loss of property, and death, I felt sad and, like everyone, helpless to do anything but watch as the bewildering scenes worsened.  Entire towns were underwater. Parking lots turned into lakes.  Local roads became raging rivers. A young man caught a carp in a street typically reserved for cars.

It was much too surreal.

Nothing about the situation made me think, "we should get a dog!" But in the midst of all the mayhem we met Sadie, heard her sad story, and impulsively decided to let her come and live with us. I don't claim the two events connect clearly but I do have a theory.

When the flooding started we had no idea how bad things would get. Our home sits high enough up that we felt relatively safe but as we watched the news we saw familiar places ravaged by rising and rushing water. We could do the usual and immensely valuable things such as pray, make financial donations, and give blood. But there was little more we could offer.

I think when we met Sadie and heard her story, it felt like we could make her poor sad dog life better. It was something we could do.  Granted, it wouldn't help the people who had lost their homes and family members. It wouldn't make any difference in the clean up process or any aspect of the recovery.

It was simply giving a dog a second chance.

Yet it felt right. It felt like we were making a difference, in whatever small way, toward goodness in the midst of so much that was bad.

I know it sounds a little crazy. It is.

Had we consulted our cats they would certainly have thought we were losing it. And I'm pretty sure they would have advised against adopting a dog. She's here though. They are getting used to the idea. They may not love having Sadie around but they are adjusting.

As for Miss Sadie, she knows nothing of the flood. She's oblivious to the sorrow and destruction around us and she is learning to tolerate a house full of cats. At this point all Sadie knows is that she's loved and fed and walked.

And for the first time in her life, she's home.

.