Corona Virus Lists: A Post for the Ages - March - May 2020

Things we ate that I cooked:

1. Breakfast for dinner
2. Pork fajitas (cookie sheet baked)
3. Hamburgers
4. Hawaiian chicken
5. Chorizo burritos (with ground beef)
6. Chicken with little potatoes
7. BBQ chicken with fried rice
8. Hershey's chocolate chip cookies
9. Banana bread
10. Brownies

Frequent Takout items

1. Costa Vida (was sad when the chili verde went away - I want my chili verde nachos back)
2. Buffalo Wild Wings (Doordash)
3. Zao 
4. Village Baker
5. Zupas
6. Apollo Burger
7. Papa Murphy's
8. Chick-Fil-A

Books I read

1. Untamed
2. Welcoming the Unwelcome
3. Where the Crawdad's Sing
4. Circe
5. Spinning Silver
6. Getting Past your Past
7. The Path of Liberation (on going)

Zoom Meeting sources

1. Book club meeting with some of my dearest friends
2. Team meetings
3. Buddhist Meditation group meetings
4. Visit with a sister and a few nieces

What we watched

1. Finished Lost for 3rd time (2nd with Ben)
2. Bear Grylls 
3. Shark Tank 
4. Last Dance documentary
5. SGN with Jon Krasinksky
6. CNN/Morning Andrew Cuomo press conferences
7. 50 First Dates
8. Modern Family finale
9. Finished This is Us
10. Some Kind of Wonderful
11. When Harry Met Sally
12. Tiger King (only 1 episode)

Beverages we enjoyed

1. So. Much. Coffee
2. Hot and then iced vanilla latte with amaretto from High Point Coffee (on my way to the fabric store!)
3. Mike's Margaritas
4. Lime Pilsner
5. Birthday Suit 
6. Rogue - Just a Pinch

Types of masks I made

1. 1/2 inch elastic cut down to 1/4 with disastrous results with 3 pleats (geisha cat, Annie Oakley, mom's stash)
2. Hair band (disastrous) 3 pleats
3. Cut open thick-hair hair ties (3 pleats, soccer balls and field fabric, Jeep fabric, Dodge fabric, plain for 1 missionary)
4. Curvy no pleat with regular hair ties (more Jeep, more Dodge, soccer balls)
5. Double folds fabric ties yellow N95 covering for Suzette

Other stuff I sewed - mostly still unfinished

1. 60 Degree diamond top (currently still being quilted)
2. finished UFOs from 3 years ago (put log cabin borders have, need to border, bind, and quilt)
3. triangle hexies
4. fairy star - need to quilt and bind

Stuff I like to wear

1. Callia blue tights
2. 2 Callia sport bras
3. Lagoon print LBS
4. Title Nine tanks
5. Kuhl shorts
6. Various skirt sports skirts - almost every day, different skirt. 
7. Vacay Jaguar
8. Tree of Life tee
9. Blue Title Nine hoodie
10. running shoes for walking Willow
11. My moon phases Alex and Ani bracelet every day

Places I went every week at some point

1. Harmons
2. Sam's
3. Pine Needles fabric store
4. District for takeout
5. Lowes
6. Jordan Landing for Takeout
7. High Point Coffee
8. Costco several times
9. Rarely Walmart
10. Therapy/EMDR (online)

Places I ran

1. Trail
2. Around sunken park
3. Daybreak Lake
4. to Discount Tire

Types of workouts

1. Peloton Yoga
2. Peloton Outdoor runs
3. Walk Willow
4. Run with Audio
5. Sunday Hills walks

What I want to remember

1. Working at the kitchen table
2. Looking so forward every night to dinner that we made a calendar of dinners for 2 week periods, including takeout
3. So much cooking and actually enjoying it
4. Everyone being home all the time.
5. Forgetting a mask and covering my face with a hoodie or my arm
6. Zoom meetings in my front room and at the desk downstairs
7. Yoga in the front room
8. The earthquake/aftershocks
9. Getting toilet paper from an acquaintance who worked at Costco and feeling grateful
10. Getting excited over finding my favorite butter, any flour, and frozen avocado
11. Mid morning getting "ready" for the day - running skirt, tank top, hoodie, sports bra - and wavy hair from braid/humidity
12. Mid morning walks with Shane and Willow
13. Evening trips to park to let Willow chase the frisbee
14. The hawks (or are they falcons?) courting at the park
15. Ben working out at park
16. Thomas doing online school - finishing his second semester at SLCC
17. Thomas's friends coming home and a few going back out to stateside missions
18. Thomas doing maintenance at his work, then missing a month, then going back a few days before they opened again
19. Ben doing online school from his bed in the late morning, coming down to scan a math page, then eating waffles
20. Dog self wash 
21. late bedtimes
22. Marco polos with Camie
23. Marco polos with Rebecca, Cindy, Janna
24. Sewing in the evenings, making masks and finishing projects before Ben went downstairs
25. New birth control
26. Missing the library
27. Getting our side fence
28. rebuilding the back deck, lots of solar lights
29. watching all the neighborhood trees every day go from bare branches to flowers and leaves
30. Finding a random allium in my bleeding heart
31. Blueberry yogurt with blueberries and granola
32. Facetime with the Bells a few Saturday evenings
33. A lot of online shopping

Right now gratitude, day 6

Last week on the way to the gym, a beautiful sight met my eyes: giant piles of leaves littered all through the parkway in front of the gym. And I realized after seeing them that all I wanted to do was walk through as many of those leaves as I could.

So I did.

They were gorgeous and crunchy and healed a little of the roughness in my soul. Where I live, there aren't many trees (which makes me really sad.) I took a few pictures and then I just walked back and forth through the largest piles I could find. And even through I looked crazy, it was perfect.

Sometimes I think that I think about experiences - writing them in my head, thinking about how they could look if I could just photograph that view, actually taking photos with whatever device available - and it gets in the way. I don't experience an event - I narrate it. And so even though I had attempted to narrate, I also put away my phone and just experienced.

I hope that I can all find more experiences in the next few weeks and months and years that give me peace, that remind me that no matter who is speaking loudly in the news and on my phone, I can decide what gets in. I can choose to be kind even if the world gets more cruel.

Right Now Gratitude - day 5

2016 has been a strange year for running. I had ankle pain that started in late April and never really went away. It was an annoyance, but about a month ago my ankle started hurting all the time, and just walking around doing my normal activities was hard. Despite this, I did a few more dumb things in October - ran up a hill long zigzagging instead of just running straight - the same act that gave me plantar fasciitis about 10 years ago. Another day, I did a cardio sandwich at the gym on my already tender ankle. Finally, I did a long downhill run from my house to the high school one day after work. No bueno, not a happy ankle.

So I stopped running for two weeks and fretted about what to do about it. After the two weeks when it wasn't any better or worse than before, I decided to go to the doctor. Once I decided to go to the doctor, I knew I could start running again, which shouldn't make any sense, but it does. So last Monday I saw a podiatrist. He was really nice, and even kept trying to help me after I told him I might kick him in the face if he pinched my achilles one more time (I have achilles issues.) After an xray, he offered me a cortisone shot in my ankle to combat what he thinks may be arthritis. I really wanted to get the hell out of his office as soon as he mentioned the shot, but he was very persuasive and I relented. I was super proud of myself that I didn't hyperventilate during said shot. Go me.

So now I'm 8 days post-shot. My ankle feels so much better! The feeling that my foot might break off each time I walk down stairs has dissipated, happily. It still hurts a little bit in places, but mostly it just feels and looks like my foot again, which is a relief. I didn't realize how swollen it had been until a few days ago when I realized my socks suddenly felt roomy. I've been running a few times since, and I just love being back to it.

Fall is my favorite time of year to run. I admit that I slog through the summer, watching my running splits get slower and slower as it gets hot. It's always a relief to get to that magical morning that will come around every September when the air is crisp and I can run fast again. And even though I always know there will be a few more warm runs, I know they are numbered.

Tonight was a perfect autumn run. I left just as the sun set behind my mountains. I watched the shadows grow across the valley. The wind was there, just as it always is when you live on the west side, but it was manageable. I needed long sleeves and an ear warmer (sadly, there weren't thumb holes, which are the best invention ever - Amy and I were texting about earlier!) I ran a route that was part happenstance, part determination to encounter as many paths covered in leaves as possible. I felt like I could run forever. It was gorgeous and perfect and I was just so grateful to be running, to be feeling like myself, to be crunching leaves under my feet.

What are you grateful for today?

Right now gratitude - day 4

Hello again, dear blogosphere. I haven't blogged 4 days in a row in...well, a long time. I'm really enjoying writing these posts because I don't feel any pressure to make them anything they aren't. Being grateful sometimes seems like it has to be a grandiose gesture. I like making it simple.

I keep talking about Gretchen Rubin and her Happier podcast because it has so many great tips and tricks to know yourself better. I listen to them on my way to work and since I'm late to the party (her podcast started in April 2015), I have a lot of episodes at my disposal. I think it's possible to listen to 2 or 3 just during my driving time. Which sometimes can dilute the power of the episodes - I hear a great idea, and then move to the next episode and hear another great idea and I forget about the first. But nevertheless, I love her advice and humor and content every time I listen.

One of my favorite ideas came in the August 26, 2015 episode (go ahead and listen - I'll be here when you get back.) But before I talk about the episode, a story. When my mom invited me and my sisters to go to Italy, it was a life decision that wasn't easily made. It was really, really hard for me to chose to go there. The whole idea of leaving for 10 days felt so overwhelming and foreign to me. It was a choice that I almost didn't make because of the sheer anxiety of it all. It felt like another person's life to chose to go to Italy. I felt guilty about leaving my family. I felt guilty about spending the money on myself. I was this close to not going. But I got brave and went, and had an amazing experience. It wasn't easy all of the time to be in Italy - remember my Mary story? I was an anxious mess on some of the days I was there. And I used to feel that since I was so anxious while I was there, it meant that I had failed.

During the episode, Rubin talks about choosing the bigger life. She says that when you are conflicted about making a decision, choose the thing that opens up your world and brings you a bigger life. I think about my choice to go to Italy, and for me, it was choosing the bigger life. I feel like since I've turned 40, I've taken many more opportunities to live the bigger life. When I take a day and go on a hike with my sister, I'm choosing the bigger life. When I ask my husband on a date and tell him a few things that I've never told anyone about myself, and  I squirm in every way possible because I'm uncomfortable about those things being out in the world and therefore out of my control, I'm choosing the bigger life. When I see an interesting seminar on using yoga for anxiety the day before the seminar and I sign up (like I did yesterday!), I'm choosing the bigger life. It's not easy. Sometimes it's uncomfortable.

And I know that there are ways that I'm still staying safe in my little life because I just haven't expanded enough to be able to incorporate everything. But I'm trying and pushing my boundaries and working on being authentic to myself more and more, and I'm grateful for the growth that it brings me. I'm trying to see these attempts at authenticity as attempts, not successes or failures. And I look back at my Italy experience and realize that part of what made it so hard was that I was choosing the bigger life. I'll always be glad I did.

How do you choose the bigger life? Is this a concept that resonates with you?


And, since I've posted a link to the Mary post, I'm going to post this photo. I wrote to San Petronio a few months after I got back and they were kind enough to send me a photo of the Mary statue. Isn't she so beautiful?

Right now gratitude - day 3

I didn't grow up in a very political party. I think there was a time when we leaned Democrat for the mere fact that my dad worked for US Steel, and therefore belonged to a union. But as far as being party loyal or believing one party was inherently better than another? Yeah, there was none of that.

What I mostly remember is my parents voting for the person. Frequently, their votes would cancel each other out. Probably many of their beliefs cancelled each other out, too; my mom's feminist slant was evened out by the NRA card in my dad's wallet. With the way I was raised, I didn't realize how passionate people could be about their political party. I was short of shocked when I became a teenager and I had a friend who was ultra Republican - she not only believed that her party was right, she also believed that everyone else was wrong. That kind of absolutism - I just couldn't relate. (In case you wondered - I am a moral relativist. Nice to meet you. Please don't be offended.)

So now, without talking about any of the candidates specifically, I want to put this semi-political post out to the world, just so that if I ever want to look back and wonder what I was doing during this crazy, f-ed up election, I can remember. I have hated this election more than any I've ever been through. I'm disgusted and semi-traumatized at some of the events, particularly the ones that occurred early in October. I feel...overwhelmed at our future, because we are so divided, and everyone wants to point fingers and blame and shout how wrong the other person is for their opinion and beliefs. It's all just shit. America, I love you but you've got some issues. Have you considered therapy?

I'm so grateful that it will be over in 3 days. Even if the worst-case scenario happens (you pick! Both candidates, according to the other side, are going to cause the world to end as we know it.) I want to wake up on November 9 and know that we are still super divided and half of us are unhappy and know that whoever won, we did this to ourselves. And so then we can start the clock for the next 4 year cycle to conclude and then, hopefully, God-willing, please-oh-please-oh-PLEASE we will have someone who can end whatever madness we endured.

And, because I think it's funny, and, because even though I wasn't going to talk about it, I'm going to include this video plea to Ivanka Trump. It's hilarious. Sorry for the swears and bad words it includes. It's just so timely.

Right Now Gratitude - Day 2

Strangely enough, as I get older, my kids are tending to as well. Gone are the days when I could get them in bed before 9 and have some time to watch a show that wasn't kid approved or friendly. A couple of years ago, we started watching Modern Family together, and it's become both a standby and a shorthand. Most of us can come up with a MF quote in almost any situation. But it's hard to find shows that we can all watch together.

For your viewing pleasure, enjoy one of my favorite scenes from Modern Family.

For today, my right now gratitude is the nights that Shane, Ben, and I sit together and watch a show together. If we start a show, then I'm more likely to get engaged and put down my phone for the duration, as opposed to watching reruns of HGTV where I don't. I love when we are all actively watching, and then at the end are excited to watch the next week.

This year, we've started watching two shows, Timeless and This is Us. And while Thomas is usually entertaining himself on his Xbox, Ben watches these with us. Timeless is pretty good; the writing isn't stellar, but the story is easy and, since it's about time travel, Ben really looks forward to it. This is Us might be a bit grown-up for Ben, but he's still game to watch it. It's the show that I look forward to watching most each week.

What shows do you watch? Are there any that you watch all together?

Right now gratitude, day 1

There are two things that I've been doing for the past few months that have made me happier. One has been Brene Brown's The Gifts of Imperfection e-course, and the other is Gretchen Rubin's Happier podcast. Since it's November and I traditionally do gratitude posts, I'm drawing on inspiration from both of those sources for my posts.

The last assignment I did in the e-course was a collage of moments that made me grateful. The idea behind it was that when life changes, it's not typically the big momentous things we miss. It's the little moments that make up our regular life that make it sweeter. I did a collage that included random things like the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches that me, Ben and Shane have been eating lately for lunch, but is real life right now. So for my gratitudes this year, I want to highlight something that is happening or trending right now that brings me joy. Which all seems so much easier than trying to come up with something big and momentous. I mean, I'm grateful for those things too, but I don't want to be repetitive and feel stuck in what I can or can't say.

So for my first gratitude, I want to tell you about this quiz that I took thanks to the Happier podcast I listen to. It's called the 4 Tendencies quiz, and it's super awesome. According to Rubin, there are 4 combinations to how a person responds to internal and/or external motivations. By taking it, I realized that I'm mostly motivated by outside influences (Obliger). I sat with that for a few weeks, and then I had Shane take the quiz. I found out what I already suspected - that he's my polar opposite in motivation, meaning he's more motivated by internal factors (Questioner). It explains so much about both of us! It made the little light bulb over my head click on for so many different areas of our lives.

So today, even though it isn't earth-shattering or very newsworthy, I'm grateful to know myself a little better. I'm grateful to have a little insight into my marriage that might make things a little smoother.

For a little "right now" gratitude I want to include that I'm grateful that a mouth surgery Ben had today went well. My kids have cuspid teeth that get stuck in their jaws, so both of them have had to have them pulled down mechanically. I've been looking forward to getting this step over with so we are that much closer to being done with orthodontia. I'm also excited that I get to go to Thomas' cross country banquet tonight. He became a runner this year, and it's been so fun to watch. He worked really hard and I couldn't be prouder.

If you take the 4 Tendencies quiz, tell me what you are! I'd love to know.

Weakest link

Last week, I discovered 2 new-to-me podcasts. One was Malcolm Gladwell’s Revisionist History, where he takes an event that happened in the past and goes over it with a new angle, and Happier with Gretchen Rubin, where she talks about, amazingly enough, things you can do to be happier.

I’m happy to say that both podcasts have been very enjoyable and instrumental in me being happier, and in my seeing things from my own past with new eyes.

One of Malcolm Gladwell podcasts talked about soccer versus basketball, and how soccer can be viewed as a sport that the team is only as strong as its weakest player, whereas basketball is a strongest link sport that relies on the best player for its success. Gladwell applied this principle to large donations given to small universities versus giant wealthy universities (your Stanfords and Harvards) to see which would make the largest impact on both the university and the country as a whole. It was fascinating. It got me to think of my current life and the things I’m struggling with – mostly anxiety – in a light of the weakest link.

In August, I started food journaling. I know – it’s super, super sexy to journal all the food I eat! But late in the summer, I looked back and realized that I’d felt mostly shitty in the morning for months and months. It wasn’t anything that was easy to identify or point to as particularly upsetting, but most of the feelings that I tended to blame on anxiety – i.e., bad drives to work, dizzy feelings, a sense of unease, lack of emotional reserves – happened when I failed to eat early enough and/or drank caffeine on an empty stomach. Then, in August when my favorite oatmeal flavor was mysteriously and permanently gone from the shelves and I tried to eat something different for breakfast on the days I went to work, I had some really bad mornings. As I was blaming anything that felt strange on anxiety, I tried to pin two events that happened at work on it as well, but I wasn’t successful. Anxiety just wasn’t the culprit, although it didn’t hesitate in roaring into the limelight during both. So I decided to write down everything I ate, being totally honest and not worrying about the calories or judging my food choices to see if there was a link.

Eureka!

After about a week, I changed two habits – one, my years-old habit of waiting to eat breakfast until after I got to work to eating before work, and two, bringing snacks to work to have between meals. Now, it doesn’t seem like this would be a life-changing event, but it kind of was. Eating before driving to work kept me calmer in the moments that I’ve trained myself to feel anxiety on the road. Having snacks in the mid-morning and in the afternoon allowed me to eat lunch later and not be a raving b**** the moment I walked in the door after work. I even changed another habit of drinking hot chocolate first thing on an empty stomach to eating something small first – an egg or a string cheese or going whole-hog and eating all my breakfast and then topping it off with hot chocolate. Again, such a small change, but I found it made things better.

Eating (and blood sugar) is my weak link. I’m following Gladwell’s example and looking back to see patterns. I realized that so often, the times I get completely overwhelmed or freak out at my kids or husband or get angry for no reason or get emotional at a family function, I’ve usually waited too long to eat. It sounds so dumb. But if you know me or have been around me much in the past 5 or so years, you probably know what I’m talking about. I can have all the best intentions to keep my emotions under control, I can exercise to keep my stress level good, I can speak my feelings instead of thinking about them or pushing them away, I can meditate until my eyes change color – but it all, and I mean ALL, goes out the window when my blood sugar dips. I get hangry. Weak link gets me every time.

Anyone who might be reading this: I cannot tell you how much this helps. In the past year, when I’ve felt betrayed by my body at every turn, when I’ve felt my anxiety get every bit of limelight, when I’ve tried to find out why, why, why do I feel like an alien in my body – to have something that is easy to control that helps me manage is nothing short of amazing.

I know that it doesn’t solve everything. Just today while driving on the freeway where there was a ton of traffic and construction, I got anxious and had to pull off on an exit. But I dealt with it. I talked myself down and got my breathing under control and drove in a circle to get back on the freeway I’d just exited and finished my drive to work. I was kind to myself and wrote myself a note when I got to work and decided that it wasn’t a big deal and that I didn’t need to make any more of it than it was. All of the positive habits I’ve built up over the past year – remembering to breathe, being kinder to myself, taking a break if I need it, and then getting back on that horse – worked, because my weakest link wasn’t a factor. I doubt things would have gone as well if I’d been hungry. I'm so grateful and excited that I've figured this out.

Weakest links. They are important. Do you know what yours is? Do you have one? Tell me if you think this could be a good discovery for you, too.

Hallelujah - I'm 41!

I'm 41. Good riddance to 40.

The past year - gah, I've been a mess. I may still be, but just being past the year in which I was 40 is a giant relief. 

In the late evening last night, I went to the library. After an enjoyable 20 minutes of texting with Amy in library-desperation of finding a book, I walked out into a beautiful sunset. I sat on a bench and took a picture and I realized: it's over. I don't have to be 40 anymore. The sky and the birds and the trees and the twilight all over made me so happy and relieved. 

There haven't been many moments of sheer joy. There have been way too many filled with other emotions (that just writing about feels me with dread.) I know that an age really doesn't matter, but the 365 days that began on July 4, 2015 were all tied in to the idea of turning 40 and feeling betrayed by my body and my mind and everything about myself that I thought I knew. 

I went to bed feeling happy. I woke up feeling happy. My birthday has been really great and it all seems so simple and unexpected. I wish I could have felt on my 40th birthday what I feel today. But I was a different person then and I guess I needed to go through this past year to know what it can be like.

At 41 -

I'm more willing be authentic.

I'm more willing to say my feelings.

I'm able to understand my feelings.

I'm able to control my reactions. Maybe not perfectly every time, but I'm much less reactionary.

I'm less willing to believe everything I think.

I'm trying hard not to spend so much time in my head.

I realize that not making a choice is making a choice, so I'd rather just decide and move on.

I'm trying to not worry about what others think.

I've been thinking about the Harry Potter quote from Deathly Hallows, when Harry is asks Dumbledore "Is this real, or is it just happening in my head?" And how Dumbledore says, "Well of course it's happening in your head, but that doesn't make it any less real." (I'm paraphrasing!) It's sort of been playing out daily for me in two ways: real things seem less so, and my thoughts seem immeasurably real and giant (and, honestly: frightening!) But I'm ready to believe more in the things I can taste and see and smell and feel and that are real and stop living in the imagined future and reimagined past.

41. I'm only 1 day into it, but I'm so happy it's here.

No one notices the pianist until she makes a mistake

During one of the early weeks after I was called as the secretary in young women, I was listening to the young women sing our one verse, a cappella hymn. I'm sure it was a joyous noise for the Lord to listen to, if not the room at large (seriously - try and sing with young girls. Their voices make noises that older voices just can't. It's difficult at best.)

I had the best idea I've had in a long time. Or maybe it was the worst. Being in a new ward meant that we we singing sacrament hymns to the piano, because most of our organists lived in the section of the ward that didn't stay with us. It also meant that Nicole, the lady who was playing the piano, learned how to play the organ in two weeks. In our young women class, every now and then one of the girls would volunteer to play top hand, but they hadn't practiced, and with them doing everything in the meeting (conducting, praying, leading the music, starting the YW theme, etc.) I didn't think it was fair to ask a girl to play off the cuff, without having time to practice. Inspired by Nicole, I decided that I should pick a hymn each week and learn the top hand to play for the girls. I ran my idea past the young women president and she gave me approval.

I became the unoffical young women pianist (snort!)

So here I am, three months later. I've decided it's the silver lining for my calling. I can't tell you how nervous I get when I play. Most of the time, even if I have practiced playing both hands, I can't manage the stress of playing both hands while people are singing along. But I'm learning and improving so much. I don't think it's anything I've done to get better; I think it's just a blessing that I'm getting since I'm playing for the girls. But whatever the source of my improvement, I'll take it.

Years ago, my BFF Melanie gave me a book filled with simplified Christmas music. Each year since, I've tried to play O Holy Night, with varying degrees of success. This year was the first year I've been able to get through the whole song with two hands. It makes me so happy! I also practiced We Three Kings (a much easier song) and was able to get through it with two hands most of the time. And for church, I played Silent Night, Angels We Have Heard on High, and Joy to the World.

It makes me happy. I feel silly, putting myself forward each week as the pianist. Because really, no one at church really pays attention to the pianist unless they make a mistake - which I do frequently. I've convinced myself that the girls roll their eyes at my playing, which probably isn't true, but I think it every time I miss a note. But I keep playing because I want to learn. I want this little hobby that makes me happy.

Gratitude, Day 3

In August, a Bikram yoga studio opened up really close to me. It was a dream come true for me; I love Bikram, but I couldn't mange the 15+ mile drive to the closest studio, or the drop-in rate very regularly. Having a place to practice that is only 4 miles away made me super happy. I've been going weekly ever since, with the exception of the times when my kids are out of school.

Being able to practice regularly has opened my eyes a lot to this style of yoga. I found out that as much as I love the class, I equally hate and despise parts of it. My feet ache in almost every posture. I hate how wobbly and inflexible I am on my left side. I dread going into Standing Bow Pulling, Standing Head to Knee, and Standing Separate Leg to Knee poses. This dread is only surpassed by my ultimate hatred for Camel Pose, which simultaneously makes me want to weep, and run from the hot room, screaming.

But mostly I love it. I love learning little tricks to making the poses easier. I love how I'm overcoming some of my balance issues, and how I'm getting more flexible.

I also love the owner and the tone that she sets for the studio. The Salt Lake studio I had practiced at was really intimidating. Everyone was so granola-y, with their Subarus in the parking lot and fancy yoga mats and towels and row upon row of perfect pose practitioners. I didn't feel welcome there; being there brought out my competitive side, and I didn't like that. Who tries to compete in yoga, after all. Ronda, the owner of the studio here, is really kind and real. It filters down from her to make it a very nice place.

One of the poses I've really been practicing at is Standing Separate Leg Stretching Pose. Basically, you are standing with your feet 3-4 feet apart. You grab your heels from the outside and pull, lengthening the backs of the legs as well as down the torso. The object is to touch the top of your head to the towel. I've touched my forehead in class one time before this week, but I didn't really do it the right way; my stance was too wide, and I wasn't lengthening from the right places.

But on Friday, I did it. I was really close on the first time through the pose. Since every pose is done twice, I thought I might be able to do it the second time around, and I was right. The stars aligned, and for a brief moment right before the pose ended, my forehead touched the towel.

The rest of the class felt like floating. I didn't mind any of the other poses I usually hate. I didn't want to run screaming out of the heat into the cool reception room. And while I don't know that I could do it every time, that time, I succeeded in a small thing. A small thing that really means nothing in the large context of my life, but it made me happy.

I've been thinking about my post about the envy I felt this spring during my first time back to Bikram. It was so unfair of me to be so envious. I made a realization of sorts during class on Friday. There was a group of girls who were having their first class. I watched them here and there and listened to the instructor help them with the poses. I wasn't really comparing myself to them (although I felt bad for one girl, who had worn some mascara and eyeliner and it ended up melting all over; nothing is safe from the sweat during hot yoga), but I recognized their inexperience and wondered how they would react to the class.

After the class, they were all in the locker room while I was getting dressed. They were talking and laughing about the class, enjoying the bewilderment of doing something new. And then they started talking about running, and how they were going to run 13 miles the next day for their long run (they were training for the Arizona Marathon in February.) Envy set in. Envy I haven't felt before in that studio, but that I brought to myself when I realized that even though it was their first class in Bikram, and that they probably didn't love it, they would be running a lot farther than I am running these days, and I imagined that they were all a lot faster than me, and I instantly felt crappy about myself. Despite my happy moment of touching my forehead to the towel. I started comparing myself to them, and it took my happy place away.

Why do I do that to myself?

I realize set myself up to want things and abilities that I haven't earned. I want to be the best writer, the best blogger, the best runner, the best yogi, the best photographer, the best reader, the best mom, the best cook, the best everything. Not because I want to be better than others, but I just don't want to be less than them. Is that the same thing? I don't know. I think that being competitive is part of my nature, but that it doesn't really serve me well. It sets me up for feeling things like envy that isn't really fair to either me or the other person.

So how am I to be grateful in this? I guess I want to stop putting myself down. I want to stop setting myself up to be the person that I pity. I want just be glad I touched the towel and not berate myself for not being able to run 13 miles the next day. I want to be grateful for what I can do, even if it isn't the best. Even if it's just one pose, for one day.  I want to stop doing the mental and emotional mathematics of who is better or worse or equal to me.

Knowing that I can try to learn to be that person, gives me something to be grateful for.

Gratitude, Day 2

Today was my youngest niece's wedding. It was a beautiful day, and I was so glad to be able to be there.

I didn't take any pictures. Well, that is a lie: I did take one selfie before the ceremony. But other than that, nada. When I was the photographer at the wedding this summer, I was annoyed at all the others taking pictures. I had also read a post about letting the photographer do his/her job by staying out of the way. So I kept my phone and camera in my lap and enjoyed the ceremony and dinner afterward, making mental pictures and trying to make memories.

(Side note: I was so nervous for the photographer during the ceremony. Gah! So many moments to try and capture. Moments that don't come again, that don't have a do-over. I'm sure she did a great job, but I was having some serious anxiety on her part.)

After the ceremony, I sat with my family and chatted. There wasn't any one moment that was significant. I simply enjoyed myself. I loved seeing all of my family together. Sure there were some tense moments. But there were others that made me laugh, like when we put together a group photo of my boys, Amy's boys, and our husbands with the bride and had them make the duck face. Or when everyone was teasing Shane about his hair (he's been growing it out all summer and it looks smoking hot. Everyone had an opinion about it.), and my two oldest nieces laughed about a long ago memory of Shane's hair that they love to tease him about.

My mom's wedding dress and photo were on display. I looked at what a beautiful woman she was, and still is. I liked looking at her hands in the picture: the same hands I've watched sew nightgowns and dresses for dances and costumes and quilts, make countless yummy dinners and desserts, and hold my little girl hands back before I was too cool to hold my mom's hand anymore. I love her. My grandma's cedar chest was there, too. Right before we left, my mom gave me a baby picture of me that she had found in the chest. My grandma had written "Becky Bue In Hospital" on the back. It made it feel like my grandma was right there (which I know she was.)

It was fun to talk with so many of my nieces and nephews. I don't see them as often as I'd like, but when I do, I feel so proud of who they are. They are moms, dads, students, basketball players, workers, artists, soccer players, video game aficionados, runners, readers, dancers, and more. So many talents and personalities.

I hugged my sisters. I love them. I don't want to know what life is like without them.

I love my family. I love being with them and being a part of them. I'm so grateful for the incredible people that they are. We get annoyed at each other and then we forgive. We aren't perfect. But they are mine and I wouldn't trade them for anything.

Gratitude, day 1

I have lived, very happily I might add, under the radar of big callings at church for 15 years. Sure, I've been a librarian, spent one year in primary, taught gospel doctrine (probably my favorite calling ever; it is so fun to get into nerdy gospel discussions!), and a few others. But I had never been in anything resembling a presidency. I had friends in high places, it seems.

But all of that came to a halt a few months ago. My ward split, and a complete stranger put my name in as secretary for the Young Women group. Gulp. I panicked hard when I was asked; how would I manage meetings, how would I manage the weekly activities, what would my family do while I was away, how would my husband react? I've lived for so long with a sure-fire, presidency-avoiding reason all my married life: my husband isn't a member, so how could I be expected to do all of that?

I found out how. After a long call with the complete stranger who was the YW president, I decided to give it a try. In the back of my mind, there were so many doubts about my own abilities. What would I know about young girls? How am I supposed to be an example to these girls, when I stopped going to my own young women class at 15, never setting foot in my laurel's class? I went so far off of the path for so many years, would I be a good person to influence the daughters of so many more (righteous, LDS, firm in the gospel, knowledgeable, etc..) people in my ward?

I feel like I am the back-door leader. The one who watches these amazing girls and their fierce personalities, and wonders which of them will stray. I wonder what I can say to them that no leader said to me, back when I still listened. How can I teach them that if or when they stray, they can come back? That they don't have to turn their hearts against God because of the things they have done? That He still loves them and doesn't want them to throw away their relationship with Him because of the paths they took, or the sins they committed, or the alcohol they drank. That they don't have to be angry with him that they don't fit the mold that people want them to fill; that they have a mold that He has given them and they can let Him help them to make it fit.

It sounds like the wrong approach. But it feels right, for me. I can't pretend to be anything other than me. I don't want to. I want them to know that sometimes, people have to step off the path to know what they really believe. I had to live my life for a few years without the Spirit to know that I wanted it. I'm not encouraging them to stray. I just think it's a possibility. I want every one of those girls in my ward to know that I would love them without judgement, no matter what or how or where their lives take them. They would know that if they got into trouble and needed a ride home, I would come and get them. That they could run into me in Target in 10 years and know I would be happy to see them, regardless of what path they were on. (Maybe this is the hope of every leader. What I'm really trying to say that I can imagine if my leaders had seen me at my worst, they would have just felt disappointed in me. I would have avoided them at all costs. I wouldn't want any of these girls to feel or do that.)

A few nights ago, I gave four of them a ride home. It was completely normal, something I do for my sons and his friends all the time. But it felt so...special. I could give these amazing, giggly, girls a ride. I enjoyed it so much. It's funny to see how different teenage girls are from teenage boys.

The funny thing is that I knew this calling was coming for a while. I expected to get something in Young Women when I got my gospel doctrine calling. It's working out (I really hope I'm not jinxing myself by saying that!) It's true I am the old lady of the group (everyone else is in their late twenties, except for the president who is 30. Gah.) But I can be the old lady, I guess. 
 
The amazing part in all of this, one of the parts that I'm most grateful for, has been the feeling of...insulation I've had. I can't describe it better than that. I'm able to go to the meetings and activities and feel just fine with what I'm able to do, on all fronts. If I go, I can go and not feel guilty. If I can't go, I can not go and not feel guilty. It's such a great feeling, and I'm scared to even admit I have it in case it goes away. But it lets me do what I need to do and not feel conflicted. I didn't know that feeling could exist; I never would have known to ask for it, nor would I have expected to feel it. It's a much-needed reminder that I'm getting help to be able to do what I need to do.

Summer 2014 Images

On Friday, Amy posted this about End of Summer images. I wanted to comment and tell her how much I loved her images, and share some moments of my own. But then I realized had an entire post of moments that I don't want to forget from Summer 2014.

Dinner with Shane. One night, the kids wanted to stay in with takeout from Five Guys, while Shane and I were more interested in our favorite Mexican restaurant. So we went on a date, just the two of us. It was a simple enough moment: sitting on the bench outside the restaurant, chatting and holding hands. Watching a group of girls who were all wearing their purple softball team uniforms talking and laughing and team-ing together. The view of the mountains, which were that shade of summer green that happens just before they start to turn. Later, the taste of a giant cold Coke and warmed refried beans with chips and salsa (the delicious detail that sets this restaurant apart from others.)

Walking with Ben. Thomas and Shane were running a four-mile training run for Thomas's black-belt physical test. Ben walked with me. The kid talked the whole time: wondering if the rock next to the trail was a meteor; why the sky was darker blue above us and lighter blue lower on the horizon; trying to find a rock of just the perfect size next to the trail that could be a meteor that wouldn't cause a giant crater, but would still put a dent in the trail. I loved his ceaseless chatter, the browning grasses next to the trail, the reddening trees on the mountains to the west, as he rode his scooter along the trail "that was only for walking, not for cartwheeling" he had earlier declared after I demonstrated a cartwheel.

Eating with Thomas. One evening, it ended up that it was only me and Thomas home for dinner, a very, very rare occurrence in our house. Shane was at a late meeting at work, and Ben had gone to the trampoline park with the neighbor kid's family. Not wanting to make dinner, I picked up Thomas from karate and declared it was date night. We went to Carl's Junior together (I'm a sucker for CJ!). We got burgers and fries and cokes and laughed through dinner. He's grown up so much this summer; he's now within an inch of my height, has bigger hands, and bigger feet than me. He's also matured so much, thanks to working at the library for volunteer hours, mowing lawns for his grandma and neighbors, and running with his dad. It was a great summer of growth for him.

Running in San Diego with my foursome. This is a family snapshot: Shane and Thomas ahead of me. We are in the cross walk at the intersection of Mission Bay Boulevard and San Rafael street, between the two bodies of water: the Pacific beach and Mission Bay, just down from our favorite San Diego hotel. Ben is riding his scooter next to me, and I am running. Usually runs in San Diego are solitary, but Thomas had a goal of running 4 miles without stopping before he started school, and so we did it all together on vacation.

Sitting in my sister's pool. For my mom's birthday, we had a family party at my sister's pool. I rarely swim, but on that day, I put on my suit and sat on the steps of the pool with my mom, sister Suzette, and great-niece Josie while she learned to not be afraid of the water. At some point, I ended up stealing my mom's straw hat right off of her head, which I wore for the rest of the party. Later, Amy and my niece Lyndsay came and sat with me. Visiting and watching the kids scream and play and swim while we visited made me happy.

Waiting for Wicked with Sisters Squared. The people on our Italy trip took to taking me and my mom and sisters Sisters Squared. It sort of stuck. In August, we got tickets to Wicked together. Looking down at the curtain at Capital Theater as we took selfies, talked about books we were reading, planned where we would eat dinner later (Desert Edge), and shared in the excitement of being together again as Sisters Squared is an image I don't want to forget.

Swearing with Amy. The end of Ragnar was a disaster. Amy and I sort of hobbled across the finish line, both of us near tears, swearing like sailors as the rest of our team ran ahead. I loved that I could tell my sister in just a few words what I was feeling, and that I didn't have to censor myself, but she would understand and swear along with me while declaring her own frustrations.

Talking Mom about laundry. A few weeks ago I had a little conversation on the phone with my mom that turned somehow to laundry. She told me a little story about folding laudry with my grandma when my two older sisters were tiny. My mom doesn't tell stories about that time very often, and I loved that it just came up so naturally.

Standing on the Pier at Pacific Ocean. I did get to go on one solo run during our time in San Diego. We stayed at a different hotel than we usually do; we were just down the beach a few miles, but it felt so different. I ended up on the sand, instead of the boardwalk where I normally run. I ran all the way to the end of Crystal Pier, where I stopped running, turned on I Wanna Get Better  by Bleachers (I didn't know I was lonely til I saw your face...) and looked out at the ocean. I love the way running on the beach smells. It's fishy and salty and sweaty, and it clears out my soul in a way that no other running anywhere can.

Thanks, Amy for your beautiful and inspiring post.(I enjoyed that moment at Ragnar, too. I always love driving out of Kamas on Saturday morning. It's one of my favorite parts of Ragnar.)

What are your summer images?

Envy.

As I square up my feet over the thin silver line in the floor, I look around the room to find her. The one that will be better than me. The one that will have a better body, narrower shoulders, smaller thighs, better flexibility. I know that her legs will be straighter and her balance will be surer and her leg will effortlessly float over her head, while I tug and wish and remember a time when mine could.

I find her immediately. Her blond dreaded hair bursts from its ponytail on top of her head. She eyes herself confidently in the mirror, searching out her own form, trying to find the balance that the class demands from her. Her biker-short clad legs reach down to the floor, long and lean as her hands fold under her chin, ready to heat up her breath. The tattoo wrapping around her left side is of a woman, topless, with eyes and expressions that look remarkably like the girl herself;  the ink representation reaches into the bandana binding her real chest and emerges out the top, visible again as she raises her arms up above her head. The eyes of the tattooed woman are just as searching as their real-woman counterparts; I avoid making eye contact with either.

As the class flows from pose to pose, bodies start to heat up. Droplets of water suspend from our elbows and fingertips, falling to the towels that brighten the room. My eyes slide to watch her often, like a ship that keeps slipping its moorings. Her spine bent just so, legs perfectly straight, hamstrings lifted and long. I see her catch her own eye in the mirror behind her perfectly flexed foot, resting her chin on her leg, the other leg pushing against the floor, balancing without a quiver. She isn't perfect, but she is perfectly composed and assured of herself in this room. Her familiarity is obvious and I'm instantly envious that her life allows her this luxury on a daily basis. I wonder what life, job, home gives her the luxury of daily hot yoga; and while it's true that we all have our indulgences, the things that we must do to keep us sane, in my heart I resent whatever life gives her such a regular practice.

But that is me. I look the best in the room and I throw my everything at them, wanting to keep up. It isn't enough to know that I can walk back into Bikram after two years and keep up with the class; I want to gauge my value and test my mettle against the person that I know will always be one step ahead of me. It will never occur to me to think she might think she is enough. Or that her life isn't perfect, because in this class, she is perfection and I am not.

I shouldn't be envious. Real life shouldn't depend on being better than someone else. She has worked for it, and I appreciate hard work. It's a left over habit from sizing up the competition at gymnastics meets, knowing I was the best and my team was the best and we would dominate each event. Part of it is longing for those days of absolute surety of being the one to beat. That it carries over into deeply personal arenas like yoga is probably inappropriate, but it's so natural that I do it automatically. I am still that girl, but she is not me. And my heart sinks as I realize that even when I am able (one day in the far future) to afford the time and effort of regular luxuries, I will be even farther from that girl, from that long ago body that did everything my mind required of it and asked for more.

And then: the cool rag over my face, finally turned away from the truths of myself and the girl in the mirror, it comes to me. It doesn't matter what she can do, or what I used to do. I am suddenly grateful for what this body still does. My demands are less, but the flesh still obeys my commands. For a few minutes, lying there on the floor, my body feels sacred, and I can set envy and longing aside and just be grateful. I thank all my parts, even the broken ones that suddenly, fleetingly, feel whole.

Gratitude #3: Bob.

Every Monday for over 4 years, I called Bob on the phone. It used to be right after I put my kids to bed, when the night was winding down and I finally had a minute to myself. We would talk about the weather, or his tomatoes, or the yard sale he had been to the Saturday before. We talked about death, a lot. It wasn't a gloomy thing - we just weren't afraid to go there with each other, and it came up a lot, because Bob missed his late wife Mary very much. In fact, he never got over her.

Bob always called me "sweetie." I loved it. I loved that we were friends. I loved that he got this excitement in his voice when he picked up my phone call. Oh, the guilt I felt when I forgot to call! He would always forgive me, but I always needed a good excuse for why I didn't call. I never liked thinking about him waiting all night for my call, and so I tried to not forget often.

A few months ago, Bob moved close to me. I visited as often as I could (which wasn't enough.) I always wished I could bring him over to my house; one Friday I almost accomplished it (with the lure of lasagna, no less) but it just didn't happen. The 3.5 months he lived close to me were a gift I never expected to have (nor did anyone else who knew and loved Bob.)

Bob was my grandpa by marriage. I think it was part of what sealed my decision to marry Shane; the thought of having grandparents again was just so amazing (I lost my grandparents when I was 9; my grandpa died then, and my grandma was captive in the tangles of Alzheimer's by then, so I sort of lost them both at the same time, even though my grandma lived until I was 15.) While Bob's wife was alive, we would see them at Christmas or when babies were born or if we went south for a vacation. But it was when Grandma Mary died that we started talking on the phone each week. At some point, those conversations stopped being chats between a grandfather-in-law and granddaughter-in-law and became conversations between two friends. I loved talking to him.

When I saw him for the last time on Wednesday, I held his hand and told him I loved him as many times as I could. I tried to memorize the feeling of being loved by a grandfather. He healed something that I didn't know I needed healing while I sat there when he told me he loved me back, because I had so wished when I held my dad's hand 2 years ago when he was dying that he would magically wake up and be able to talk and tell me he loved me just one more time. It was such a comfort to know that Grandpa heard me, and that he could respond.

Bob died yesterday. His little body had outgrown his giant soul and they came to the decision to part ways. I knew it was coming, but I still have so many emotions. I will miss my friend. I will miss him calling me "sweetie." I would have loved him to continue living here for a lot longer, but I know how happy he is to be where he is. He missed his wife so much. I'm sure it was hard to be left behind by so many of his friends and family.

I'm grateful for Bob. I am grateful that I know he is in a better place and that I will see him again one day. I am grateful to have been his granddaughter. 


This is us on Halloween. I don't remember them taking our picture, but I am so grateful to the person who did.

Gratitude #2: Mary.

One of my favorite categories of blog posts is the one I call "pagan at heart." For some reason, even though the are polar opposites, I lump my pagan proclivities in with my second-choice of religions: Catholicism (I mean no disrespect for the Catholic church in saying this; I just know that if certain parts of my testimony that keep me from changing religions ever changed, and if I were looking for another religion to raise my children in, it would be there.) So part of my excitement of going to Italy was knowing I would be spending time in centuries-old churches, wandering them, seeing their altars and saints and sculptures and basins full of holy water.

I read a book a few years ago called Expecting Adam. In the course of this book, the author has some very singular, sacred experiences while pregnant with her second child, who has Down's Syndrome. There is a moment in that book where she feels actual comfort from an angel that she can't see. In that moment, her heart cries out, wanting that comfort to come from a female angel. She immediately felt a change in the persona of the angel comforting her, and she knew it was a woman. Kind of strange in our world that doubts anglic visits, but in the context of this book, I have always sort of connected with the author in this desire of her heart.

Even being a non-Catholic, I see the draw of Mary. A female presence, a mother, a woman who can intercede on our behalf to the more patriarchal line of the Father and Son. There is a softness in Mary that speaks to my soul. And while I was in Italy, I saw depiction after depiction of Mary. Michelangelo's Pieta in St. Peter's Basilica is breath-taking, and seeing it was an experience I will always treasure. Additionally, I saw many representations of her in all her stages of life.

One of our final stops was in Bologna. I was having a rough day: the immense lack of sleep from jet lag had caught up with me; I  had stayed up late the night before talking with Amy and listening to an amazing thunder and lightening storm; and I had been late for the bus and made the whole group wait for me. We reached San Petronio's basilica in the mid-morning on a cloudy day. Bologna is a very northern Italian city; the countries to its north (Austria, Hungary, Germany) had a lot of influence in its architecture. Gone were the deep-set windows with shutters that you see in Rome. Heavy Gothic arches and windows are apparent everywhere. Further, it had been days since we had toured a church; most of the smaller towns all had churches that cost money, or we simply didn't have time to tour them. So it was a relief and a joy to tour another church, and such an interesting and historical one at that (the facade was never finished, and it fell a few years ago during an earthquake that rocked Bologna. Scaffolding covers the damage and shows a representation of what the church looked like before it was damaged). My emotional state led me to a side chapel in the church (San Petronio has 22 side chapels, 11 on each side, that each have their own art, relics, and saints) that had a beautiful statue of Mary wearing a golden halo ringed with blue stars.

I sat in front of this statue of Mary and had a Moment. She was so beautiful. Her posture showed her humility, her embodiment of the Sacred Female, her love for her son and the human family that his eternal sacrifice would redeem. I lit a candle for myself (the only one I have ever lit in a church; I so love the idea of lighting a candle, of giving light and hope to the dark world around) and wrote in my journal, tears streaming down my face. It was only 15 minutes, but they were minutes that I know will stay with me for the rest of my life.

This is part of what I wrote in my journal: "I am looking at Mary. She has a crown of stars. She is so kind and has such love. It reminds me I have a Mother in Heaven who loves me."

The next day in Venice, I found a glass pendant that had a ring of blue with stars in the center and I bought it so I could always remember that moment with Mary. I have scoured the internet looking for a photo of her, crowned with her stars, to no avail (imagine: no one has yet recorded all the art, sculptures, statues, and objects in a building that has 22 chapels. Lazy internet, lol.) I want to find a representation of her somehow. But, even with the lack of a physical picture, it's ok. I know how she looked in my memory. I know the pact that she and I made together as we watched my candle light up the darkness.

I am grateful for Mary and the hope she gave me.

Gratitude 1: Home

I came to my blog tonight to start my task of writing about Italy. Oh how I am looking forward to writing about Italy - the time I spent there was magical. Amazing. So big that words don't suffice. Plus, as Frances Mayes says in Under the Tuscan Sun (which I just got from the library today - I tried to read it years ago and set it aside, but now I want to read it because I was in Tuscany!) that "A Chinese poet many centuries ago noticed that to re-create something in words is like being alive twice." I am wanting to relive those magical ten days. But not this day....

Amy's post reminded me that it's Gratitude month. I can usually be counted on to write a few gratitude posts in November if nothing else. (Oh poor neglected blog...I am so sorry! I do still love you so.)  Similar to Amy, I can't promise the whole month, but at least we have today, right? I am 100% for the month of November so far. Yay me.

With the exception of the 10 day science trip I went on in 7th grade, I had never been gone so long from home as when I went to Italy. And while I still don't feel like I had enough time to really soak all of the goodness Italy provided, it is still nice to be home. I'm not going to lie - coming home was kind of a shock: coming back to a place that has free bathrooms with a guaranteed toilet seat and the confidence that the person in front of you is 95% likely to speak English is kind of odd after a week away. Going to work for the first time felt a  lot like it did when I came back from maternity leave with my boys; I had to remind myself what I did at work. And jet lag was not kind to me - I'm still falling asleep on the couch at night when I finally sit down.

But it's nice to be home. I like sleeping in the same bed for more than 3 nights at a time. I like being back with my kids and hubby. I like that I like my life enough to be glad to be back inhabiting it again. It was a perfect time to go on vacation - right before the holidays, so that even though the super big trip that I looked forward to for almost 6 months is over, I still have Thanksgiving and Christmas to look forward to. I liked picking up my phone last Thursday night and hearing my Grandpa Bob's voice, asking me how my trip was and welcoming me home (it quite made me cry; how I will miss him when he passes away.) I liked buying olive oil and dipping my bread in it and remembering the taste of other bread and oil that I had eaten. I've loved these past few nights that I've spent reading a favorite book (The Forgotten Garden; Amy read it in Italy and I was a wee bit jealous so I picked it up after I finished my Italy book - The City of Women) instead of working like mad the way I was before my trip.

Gratitude month is one of my favorite blogging traditions. Happy November!

Gratitude Three: I am what I am not

Sometimes, to know what something is is to not what it is not. Like these gratitude posts. I am grateful for so many things in my life, but there are also some things I'm not grateful for, things I could do without and do just fine, thankyouverymuch. This week has been rough and I've been thinking a lot about the stuff I'm not grateful for, and it's shown me some things I am good at by way of seeing things I'm not good at. (I planned this post yesterday as I squeezed in a run before the kids came home from school - I do my best thinking while running.)

• I am not a good party planner. If you want to see me frazzled, stressed, and super grumpy, ask me to plan a party. Especially a party involing multiple excitable children. Kill me now.
• I am not a good present-wrapper. I don't buy ribbons or bows. I don't get excited to have all my Christmas wrapping paper matchy-matchy and color coordinated and "let's open THIS gift now." We don't do bows because my husband had cats as a child and so his presents didnt' have bows and ribbon. We don't do organized upwrapping because it drives my husband crazy. Compromise. (But seriously: even if I did want to buy bows & things - I still am a lazy present-wrapper and I am likely to stay that way.)
• I'm not good at being sad.
• I'm not good at getting something out of my head once I've gotten it into my head.
• I hate to vacuum. 
• I'm terrible at arguing. I'm much better at seeing someone else's point of view and am terrible at getting my point of view across. Plus I am to scared to say something I will regret so I end up saying nothing but thinking a lot of things that are impossible for me to put into words. If I could just write the person I am having an argument with a strongly-worded letter, arguments would go much better in my life.
• I hate to wake up in the morning. Every single morning of my life I've wished for more sleep. Terrible morning person.
• I don't like buying shoes for my kids. I mean, they always have shoes, but it gives me hives to take them to the store, try them on, and purchase them.
• My handwriting is atrocious. Even when I try really, really hard. And it is getting worse. I don't know why my SDBBE people put up with my commenting. Maybe they just ignore it except for the bits that happen to come out legible. 
• I am terrible with dogs. I don't like it when they lick me. I much prefer to be ignored by a cat.
• I hate touching raw meat. I'm not very good at cooking it, either. I can handle beef okay, but chicken still freaks me out a little.
• I tend to misplace things like keys, wallets, phones, and sunglasses. Often. It drives Shane nuts. When we worked together before we dated, he used to pity the fool who married me, since he had watched me lose my keys every. single. day that we worked together. The joke ended up being on him in the end, didn't it? Now I lose his keys and sunglasses.
•  I'm not good at putting things away. There are always books and papers and random things on my counters. (See the middle three sentences of my last bullet point.)
• I'm not good at telling my true feelings.
• I'm not good at connecting with my kids as they get older. I mean, I still talk to them and hug them and work on their homework with them. But the video games and the roughhousing and the making everything into a weapon (and being big enough that it can now cause serious damage) makes me feel like the odd man out. I try to do the best I can, but mostly I feel a little bewildered.
• I'm not good at knowing which department to shop in at Kohl's. I'm always slightly afraid I'm shoppping in the old ladies section. Although I'm dangerously close to being old enough to shop in the old ladies section.
• I'm not good at paying more for something at one store when I know it's half the price at another store. Take yesterday. I had a $20 gift card to Smiths from my work. I went there to buy a turkey and some other items for Thanksgiving. I also needed to buy deodorant. I couldn't bring myself to spend the $5 that it cost as Smiths (even though I had free money!) because I know deodorant is half that price at Walmart. So now I have to go back to Walmart. 
• I am not good at managing my time. End of story.

What are you not good at? Does knowing who you aren't help you to know who you are, or just bring you down?

Gratitude Two: Wry humor about pigs.

My dad had a crazy sense of humor. It is one of the things that I might miss the most: seeing him laugh, and hearing about the things that made him laugh.

Because I was missing him a little this morning, I grabbed my copy of the book his best friend made of letters and stories from their long friendship. I cannot look at this book (or even open it) without sobbing. It fills me with hope that he still exists, somewhere. It makes me frustrated that we can't have more of this earthly life together. It makes me mad that he had to die so young. So really, it isn't a book I've opened more than a few times. But I guess I needed it today.

So, my gratitude for today is this thoughful missive from my father, circa 2003. It makes me do that crazy laugh/cry thing that all women do during the cemetery scene of Steel Magnolias. Hope through despair and all that business. In this letter, my dad has sent a John Irving book to his friend Kent. A short story called Trying to Save Piggy Sneed has caught his eye, and these are the thoughts he has on the story. I doubt that many of you will find it as funny as I do - sometimes you just have to know the person for their thoughts to be funny or profound or meaningful - but know at least one of you will enjoy this paragraph.

When I initially saw the book at Border's, the word "Piggy" caught my eye. Why? Anything that mentions a pig, interests me. Because deep down, I know that if I had been born anything but human, I would have liked to been a pig. Perhaps a Dorack Hog. A big breeder. Don't you think it would be a good life, if your were a pig and had all the sows you wanted? Don't you think that would be a good life? Even at the end, after they had converted you to Bacon and you smiled down from heaven you could recall all the good times. (Do you think there is an afterlife for animals?) With a wry grin on your snout, you blissfully recall your favorite sows. That is if you were a "lucky" pig as you rutted and rooted your way through life. If you were just a common everyday run of the mill pig, I guess being a pig would not be all that great Perhaps in the after life you might shudder a bit as you remembered my Uncle Roe as he drew the sharp life across your throat and bled you out as you dangled from the butchering house ceiling.

These little letters, shared between best friends of nearly 50 years, are a treasure. Even if I had corresponded with my dad, he wouldn't have written these things to me. These were ideas that he shared with his friend, not his child. Having them makes me glad he did have at least one good friend. One who let him talk about his desire to be a pig. One who even laughed at it and enjoyed my dad's thought process. Maybe he even thought to himself which merits of being a pig would have appealed to him.

It makes me realize: what I am doing by blogging is important. It probably won't change the world. I'm not going to ever be a famous blogger. But I am leaving my words behind for others to read. Maybe one day this collection of words will bring someone who loved me comfort of some sort. I cannot have a new conversation with my dad. But the words he took time to write and send to a friend bring him back to me in a way that my memories never will. And that is something to be truly grateful for.