Re-entry: What I bring verses what I take away

“Hello! Is there anybody in there? Just nod if you can hear me…is there anyone at home?” Pink Floyd – Comfortably Numb

It’s been a very long time since I’ve blogged. I don’t feel bad about that, other than I wish I’d been able to document the past year better. Although I write a little every day on a calendar journal I have, I don’t always capture the whole picture, be it little things that are too many words to write longhand, or the normal things (for right now) that I think will always be the same so why mention, or big things that just are too much to capture at night when I’m tired and I just want a few minutes more to spend in a book.

In July, we went to Hawaii. I’ve been wanting to do a big trip this summer to commemorate our family before it “changes” and we landed there. I don’t know what else to say about that, other than it was wonderful, horrible, frustrating, gorgeous, memorable, busy, heartbreaking, and spiritual all at once.

I had thought we would go to Europe this summer. All I wanted last year was to take my family to London. I was pissed I couldn’t do that, not actively angry, but just mad at life that it wasn’t possible. Then late in June a friend from elementary school shared pics from her Hawaiian vacation and I knew I needed to go there. Her photo shoot of her family on the beach, of zip lining on the north shore, of ringing a bell at a Buddhist temple called to me so strongly. So I brazenly copied her and yet had my very own Hawaiian vacation.

What drew me most was a place called Byodo-In Temple. It’s a replica of a 900 year Buddhist temple in Kyoto, Japan. It’s also a place that many Buddhists have chosen for their cremains. When were there, my family got to enter the space where the cremains are held and it was one of the most impactful events I’ve ever had. It was powerful there. It was spiritual in a way I don’t want to define with words. I felt the peace there and I realized how in trying to find balance, I’m actually experiencing unbalance.

After we walked through the sanctuary, we wandered the grounds and I kept thinking the same thing – My Qi is off. I don’t even know really what Qi is, I just knew that in stopping attendance to the Mormon church over the past 10 months, I’ve lost my spiritual practice. While I have every intention of meditating (my current connection to quiet and spirit) I rarely meditate. I think – I should do that. But I also say that about reading more, sewing, making dinner every night, reaching out to family, doing yoga. You name it, I’m actively saying I should do it and then staying busy so I don’t have to.

The death of my mom hit me upside the head in a way I didn’t ever know it would. It’s not about the realities of grief but more about the absolute feeling of aloneness, of orphanness. I know I’m not alone – but the loss of both parents untethers you from more things than your childhood home and whose in-laws you eat Thanksgiving with. There’s no longer a singular person – or pair of persons – who have to love you. There are only so many mementos you can stuff your house with, only so many rings you can wear on your fingers, blankets to drape over couches and rocking chairs, Barbie dolls to stuff in bins for future grandchildren hands to play with until you realize:

Nothing has value. Except relationships.

At first I wanted all the things. I brought them home and put them in places, some temporary, some permanent. I sobbed the day I brought home my grandma’s end table and lamps. Sobbed hard in my closet on a freshly washed afagan my mom had made. Because the only damn reason that table and those lamps would be in my house is if my mom was dead, and my dad was dead, which means my grandma and grandpa are dead too. Their deadness however long doesn’t matter because the lamps are in my damn house now. They are all gone and one day someone else will get them and I’ll be dead too.

See, nothing has value. It stays, and the owner goes. My relationship to those lamps – and their owners – means more than the lamps. And that doesn’t translate, no matter how long they are in my house, no matter who gets them after me.

As I walked in the sanctuary at Byodo-In, all I could think about was managing the barrage of spiritual feelings coming at me. My family could listen intently to the docent and notice the mementos behind the glass next to the cremains. Shane and the boys saw the Bud Light can behind the glass, I only tell the story of it being there and imagine it. But what I experienced was the potently charged air, the crowdedness of the empty hall and sanctuary, the close feeling. It didn’t scare me, it brought out feeling in a rush of tears. I remember the smell of the incense and the ringing of the singing bowl, my family all being there barefoot and sweaty in front of an altar.

When my mom died, I talked at her funeral about what we bring. “How do we show up in our lives, and our loved ones lives.” I followed that feeling throughout the clearing, cleaning, and selling of my mom’s house. I went to Hawaii to connect with her in a way I didn’t know I needed to. There was something left of her visit there from 1985 that still was there for me to pick up in 2019. Maybe it was in the sand at Waimea Beach. Maybe she’d left it somewhere on Kam Highway going to the North Shore. Maybe I didn’t find it at all, but drove past it and just smelled it on the wind. Suellen Was Here.

Now post-Hawaii, my talk has changed to “What do I take away?” Do I keep being hard on myself? Do I just keep doing what I’ve always done? Hiding my feelings. Pretending things don’t hurt. Waiting for the permission to live the life I want to live. What do I take away from knowing my qi is off? Do I blame my weight gain on it and eat some more potato chips? Yes, I do, some days. Others I really do meditate and then I feel like I have a gold star for effort and I’m “back on track.” I’m in a hurry to get *there* where I’ve learned all the things and am better for it, instead of patiently (and impatiently) making stabs at it, trying to figure out what works.

Mid-fall 2018: an update post

Whew, 2018 has been something.

A few things to get off with right off the bat.

In April, after much discussion and sleepless nights and a whole lot of other stuff, I went on an antidepressant, went off my inhaled steroid, and started treating for reflux. It was a whole lot of stuff to get through with the stoppings and startings and all that. For a while I thought my body and mind would never feel familiar again. I'm glad to say that it's gotten better. About being medicated...

• I felt the medication hit my brain the first time. Whoosh. 
• I ended up changing from one formula to another because the first didn't let me sleep. I love my doctor for being willing to change things up for me on desperate April day, 5 days after I started the first medication.
• Many many things and beliefs and shit I carried around have fallen by the wayside. Good and bad.
• I can no longer keep things to myself. Probably a good thing. After starting medication, words and conversations fell out of me that had been aching to come out for years. I cleared a lot of air that badly needed clearing.
• I'm finally in a space where I'm not constantly 2 parsecs away from full panic. Panic left me in degrees, which was fascinating to both experience and observe.
• I'm constantly comparing "before" to "after."

It was one of the hardest decisions, and it wasn't easy or fun for months. But things are better. I've grown up in ways I didn't know I could. I am thankful every day for the chemical reaction in my brain that results from a pill I take every night.

Now THAT's out of the way, let's talk about 2018.

1. Went on the best California trip we've ever taken. We went back to San Diego and our home away from home. I savored every moment of running, playing, eating, drinking, strolling, laughing, observing, and being. Not constantly spinning on how something could be different or better (as I did "before") allowed for every moment to count, perfect or not.
2. Sat in the sun for many, many soccer games. My tan has never been so good.
3. Celebrated 43. I spent my birthday on a hike with a friend, then went to dinner with my family wearing a new dress that I never would have dared wear "before." Shane got me a new Fitbit and enjoyed every moment of the day. We celebrated with cupcakes from the grocery store that were amazing.
4. Read a few books. The 1,000th Floor, Eleanor Oliphant is Perfectly Fine, The Monsters of Templeton, Britt-Marie was Here, the Daughter of Smoke and Bone trilogy (when I needed familiar, comfort reading because I couldn't face any serious shock or need for my empathy; I was worried for a while that I wouldn't ever enjoy story again. So glad I came out of that!), Night of Cake and Puppets, Weird Things Customers say in Bookstores, Still Me. 
5. Sewed. I made a friend in my neighborhood who has become my sewing wise woman. I fell in love with a black and white fabric line that I ended up using in 3 different projects, and I designed all of them myself.
6. Ranted about politics. I'm so tired of trump. I'm so tired of our broken government.
7. Walked. I hurt my back in June inexplicably, so I haven't ran much this summer. Or really since April, if I'm honest. But I've learned to love walking. Each Sunday I spent out walking on the Mountain View Corridor, watching the thistles bloom and die off, giving way for the sunflowers that make me so happy. I also started walking with friends on my days off. It's easier to reach out to others now, after. 
8. Walked with Shane. Oftentimes, we did nothing but argue about current family events. but lately, we've been in this sweet spot of peace, well, except for politics. Being medicated allows me to listen without being flooded by cortisol. We can actually have difficult conversations now that mostly work, mostly because I'm medicated and I've learned to listen and speak my words.
9. Felt more like myself than I have in 20 years.
10. Wore tank tops and running skirts almost every day. But for sure on my days off. I haven't shown my shoulders in years, because, well, because. And then I realized that there was a whole subset of clothes that there was no reason I couldn't be wearing and so I got some. And then my work started allowing sleeveless tops and so I really could buy new clothes. I was so uncomfortable the first time I showed my shoulders at work. It was liberating though. And I bought a lot of cute running skirts that make me happy every time I put them on.
11. Discovered the deliciousness that is PSL. Why did I wait so long? I mean, probably because of all the mochas I usually drink, but mmmm. There's something to that pumpkin spice fad.
12. Moved my mom into an assisted living center. 
13. Learned to make Dresden plates as well as hexies (sewing lingo for different kinds of flowers. Love!)
14. Started PT for my back.
15. Admitted that I'm #metoo to a number of people. As a result of the trauma that was the Kavanaugh hearings, I realized that I'm not happy living in a patriarchal society. I celebrated my own day (the Saturday of conference, the day that in both arenas of which I'm a voting member I realized the patriarchy gets its way and doesn't really value my dissenting voice) that I called F*** the Patriarchy day and got a tattoo, the tattoo that I've always wanted: a combination of the daisy chain around the ankle with the flower modeled after my beloved marble flower from the Roman Forum.
16. Found every stray photo around my house and put them in albums. 
17. Started learning Canon in D.
18. Discovered the Rachel Maddow podcast, as well as Trevor Noah. 
19. Hung out with my kids. We ate at Buffalo Wild Wings, La Luna, Zupas, Costa Vida, and Salsa Leedos quite a bit all together. Thomas worked at the rec center all summer, and Ben played a lot of soccer. 
20. Saw Florence + The Machine with Amy. Sooooo good. Soooooo much fun.
21. Got a new mattress - heaven.

If you've made it this far in the post, thanks for sticking with me. 7 months between posts results in a lot of catching up and documenting random things. 

Snow Traveling: how not to do it

In October of 1985, my gymnastics group traveled to California to compete. My mom drove me and Amy, along with our older sister Suzette and a couple of other gymnasts. This was back in the day when people rolled their eyes at seat belts, so while you think we may have taken a giant Chevy Suburban or van, you'd be completely wrong. In fact, we took my mom's giant brown Cadillac car that she'd inherited from my grandpa.

Things were great on our trip for the first few hours. For some reason I can't recall, instead of driving straight down the I-15 corridor to LA, we took a detour through Delta, UT, and drove through through Nevada via the sexy towns of Ely and Tonopah in order to end up in Bakersfield, CA. This was all fine and good until we stopped for dinner at a casino in Tonopah. After we ate with the other people we were caravaning with, we somehow got separated from them as we left the casino. (It might have had something to do with the fact that one of the girls traveling with us took the cash sitting on a table in the casino, meant for a tip. She had no. idea. that it was a tip, and that she shouldn't pick it up and take it with her. My mom explained to her that people don't do that, and made her take it back to the waitress.)

I can clearly remember driving out out of the casino parking lot and my mom asking us if we saw any of the other drivers or cars. It was dark by this time, and it had started to snow. The rest of the party had left us. Undaunted, my mother soldiered on into the evening and eventual night with her carload of girls as she climbed into the Sierra Nevada. But after a few hours, the snow kept getting worse and she worried about going over the
mountain passes alone.

Finally, we stopped at a diner in the mountains. My mom went in and talked to the owner of the diner and the truckers who sat at the counter drinking coffee. They advised to stay put for the night. Not knowing what else to do, she paraded us all inside and told us to lay down on the benches and sleep. I'm pretty sure she sat at that counter all night, talking with this or that trucker, keeping us all safe.

The rest of the trip was uneventful in comparison. It's something that I will always remember, and after this weekend when I drove with Shane and my boys to a soccer tournament in Mesquite, NV, it's been on my mind. You see, we left for Mesquite at 11 on Thursday, knowing that Utah had had quite a storm the night before, but sure that we would be out of most of of it after we left Northern Utah. How wrong we were.

I think we left in the exact pocket that would ensure we had weather the entire way. The first leg of a southern trip for us usually has us stopping in Fillmore, UT, which is about 120 miles from home. Instead of the normal 2 hours, it took us close to 3.5. We ate lunch there and came out to 6 inches of new snow covering everything. We even had to wait 10 minutes to get on the freeway, as a trailer hauling steers had jackknifed at the bottom of the off ramp, while a long bed semi sat in in the middle of the on ramp.

I kept thinking it would get better, as we drove 30-50 miles an hour, but oh how wrong I was. You see, it was 17 degrees and snowing about as hard an fast as is possible. I'm not sure what did it, but the combination of freezing temperatures, blowing snow, hours on the road, and our defroster running at high for hours made our windshield wiper blades freeze over. We found ourselves going 15 miles an hour with a tiny inch of clearing for Shane to see out of, and a tiny clearing for me to see out of. I felt like I was driving as much as Shane as we just tried to follow the tail lights of the car in front of us as we crawled towards Cedar City, UT. There weren't any lanes, just snow and deeper snow where it hadn't been packed down. We stopped twice to clear our blades of ice and snow, which effectively ruined them.There is no way we would have made it if we hadn't have been going so slow.

We finally got into Cedar and bought new windshield wiper blades. By then it was after 6pm. After we got the blades, we went across the street to a delicious diner. The red booths were exactly like the booths that me and my sisters and friends had slept on so many years ago, so I told my kids the story. I realized again that at least when things don't go as planned, they at least make a memory and (hopefully, eventually!) a good story.

I wish that things magically got better once we got back into the car, fed and watered and newly bladed, but they didn't. It took us nearly 4 hours to go the 90 miles between Cedar City and Mesquite. At least one of those hours was spent at a dead stop. It didn't help to see the freeway on the other side also at a deadstop, multiple car crashes and pileups and even a jackknifed semi adorning the freeway going north. Once we got to St George, where the roads were finally, miraculously clear, even if they were wet, we were so gunshy that we traveled the Virgin River Gorge extra cautiously. And I've never been so relieved to be at a small town casino hotel in my life as I was when we finally arrived at 11pm.

It took us 12.5 hours to go 330 miles. I'm pretty sure my kids made a pretty interesting, if not fun, memory. They didn't get to sleep on the benches, but they will remember the snow and the hours in the car, me scraping the windshield with a plastic tray from out of my car console (because I didn't own a windshield scraper, wft!?), rolling down their windows to keep from melting from the heat as we tried to defrost the snow and holding their hands out the window in the freezing snow, the icy hills that we crawled down at 5 miles an hour. It was an adventure that we can all tell, especially now that we are home and safe and warm.

Summer 2016, as told in pictures

With everyone back to school, it seems like a good time to document our summer.

Hiking

After our lovely winter snow shoeing adventures, I decided we needed to also spend some time in the mountains in the summer. We went on a few hikes together - not as many as I'd have liked to do, and we only officially finished a few, but it was fun going to new places in our beautiful mountains. Places we hiked: Desolation Trail, Ferguson Canyon, The Living Room, and Yellow Fork.

Random stuff

At the first of the summer, we had some really fun repairs (stove, garage door, and drier.) While it was fun to take apart our new-ish drier and replace some parts, I could have lived without it.

I spent most Thursday evenings running with two friends from young women. 

For my birthday, I signed up for a class with Brene Brown and Oprah. It's based on one of Brene Brown's books, The Gifts of Imperfection. One of the first assignments was to make "permission tags," an assignment where I gave myself permission to do things I normally wouldn't think I could do. I guess I need a lot of permission, as this was my page.

Vacation

As last year's vacation was pretty lame, we decided to go back to San Diego for this year's trip. We stopped off in Las Vegas for a night. It was fun to travel with older kids - Shane and I were able to leave them in the condo and go out for the evening. We ate dinner at a restaurant in Caesars Palace right by the fountain that is inspired by the Trevi Fountain in Rome. It was a really fun time. I must have a lot of my dad in me, because I really get excited to go to Las Vegas. I like to get dressed up and roam a bit in the evening.

Me and Ben playing in the pool while we waited for our room to be ready. There is a unique feeling to a pool in the middle of the desert. It reminds me of being a kid.

Mmm. I can still taste the delicious spaghetti with meatballs I had while sitting here. It came as close as I've ever tasted to being like pasta in Italy.

We were super happy to be back in San Diego. We sat by the pool, visited the ocean, toured Old Town and ate delicious Mexican food, rented paddle boards on the bay (which may just be a little bit of heaven on earth!), ran on the beach, took a yoga class on the bay, watched the fireworks at Sea World every night from our room, and enjoyed ourselves, all while trying to keep one 11 year old who never stops moving entertained. Man, take me back there!!

I found these little signs - two on my morning runs, and one while eating dinner. I thought they accurately portrayed the past year for me.

The words below say "Poseidon Riding Hippokampus with Dolphin." Amen.

Ben tried out for a competition soccer team. We've really enjoyed watching him play soccer. He played in two tournaments and his season starts in September.

Thomas ran with the cross country team most summer mornings. He's had 3 cross country meets so far - one intersquad and two other actual meets. He's starting to like running more.

I couldn't resist getting the new Harry Potter book. Review will be forthcoming. But: I cried at least once.

Not pictured: 4th of July swim party at my sister's house, hanging pictures at my mom's house, Bee's game with Shane's work, Thomas going to youth conference, paddle boarding on vacation, reading SDBBE books, niece's and nephew's baby showers, Ben and Kaleb bonding at the trampoline place, mother-in-law's neck surgery, and more that I'm sure that I've forgotten.

How was your summer?

One week later.

I look back and think of how long I've felt on edge and I wonder. The past few years have been tough. A lot of big things happened, and a lot of little things happened, and they all affected me. I've felt like a top. I spun along happily and unhappily for a long time. I've felt wobbles - spiritually, emotionally, mentally, physically, socially - that set me off. I kept trying to self correct, to get back to spinning. For the most part, I was very successful, but I still felt those wobbles deeply. I think that this summer, for whatever reason, I finally just stopped spinning. It felt like I would never spin again. I couldn't even remember how to spin, and the thought of trying to pretend to the world that I was still spinning was one of the most frightening things I've ever encountered.

A few weeks ago I met with a therapist. It was supremely unhelpful. I'm sure that he was well-qualified and probably had a lot he could have done for me, but I wasn't impressed. After 45 minutes of talking over what had gotten me into his office in the first place, he looked at me and asked, "So, what do you want to do?" To say I was let down is an understatement. Isn't that what he was supposed to tell me? I mean, I know he can't tell me what to do, but some guidance would have been helpful. Armed with a few pages of recommended self-help books, I left.

However, that hour wasn't totally unhelpful. While talking, I realized that one of the things that has always kept me spinning has been by looking for approval. I can explain this best from the perspective of my time as a gymnast. To get along during a workout, the trick was to do everything as perfect as possible in order to stay out of trouble. Very little that I did went by unnoticed: my toes weren't pointed, I bent my legs, I didn't cast all the way to handstand, I held back on a tumbling pass, I didn't complete the twist, I fell off the beam, etc. When things were bad, coaches yelled and threatened and told me to get out of their faces, only to expect me to come back a few minutes later, confessing what I did wrong, and promising to do better. When things were good, I got praise and approval. There was some in-between with some coaches or events, but mostly it was all or nothing. Good or bad. And so I got used to reaching for approval from the outward things I did, to being rewarded when I followed the rules.

Of course, real life isn't the same. I don't always get praise for doing something well, or for following the rules. Doing outward things doesn't win other's love or approval. I know that. But sometimes I forget and I revert to that person. I have a hard time letting go. I like structure and rules and when I feel like they aren't being followed, I find it hard to keep spinning. 

I know that this part of my personality has contributed to getting me to where I was last week. I'm so glad to say that I'm feeling a lot better this week. After all of my bravery, I ended up talking with my doctor on Tuesday (after a truly awful night on Monday) and I'm now taking something for my anxiety. It's helping. My days are better, and my nights are getting there. I still have a very hard time turning off my brain. But I'm not as anxious about the lack of sleep, and that helps.

We spent Sunday night in Park City. It was such a nice way to finish off the summer. Although I still felt edgy at times, I enjoyed the time away. I'll admit I was super anxious about staying in a hotel room with insomnia. But it worked out. Life is hard. It's hard to spin. It's hard to spin for yourself and for others. But it's necessary. I have people who need me, and I'm grateful they do.

Edgy.

I’ve always been sort of proud of being edgy. I like having a little bit of rebellion in my heart; not enough that it gets me in trouble, but just enough that I feel like I’m not cookie-cutter.

But lately, my edginess has nothing to do with anything that can be viewed from the inside or outside as desirable. About a month ago, I was driving to work. It was Ben’s first day of school, and I’d just dropped him off at his friend’s house to walk to school. When Thomas was in elementary, this never would have happened. He would have wanted me there, and I would have made sure I was there. But Ben is a different kid, and so I dropped him off. We had also changed his school track from our second choice to our very last choice. He couldn’t be on the one with his friends, and so we picked the bottom-run choice so he could be with the kid across the street on his track. We had gone to Snowbird for a few nights the week before – our big “vacation” for the year. It was great – we hiked for hours, rode the trams and Peruvian lifts, the mountain coaster and Alpine slide to our heart’s content. It was a fun time, but it wasn’t the vacation we are used to. No beach running, in other words. No soul-soothing ocean time. (Not that it’s necessary to have a beach to have a good vacay, but this was the first time in 6 years that we didn’t go. Sigh.) In addition, I’d had a scary little episode on Saturday where I suddenly felt light headed and dizzy – like a drop on a roller coaster, minus the roller coaster. I was fine a little while later, but I didn't like the feeling and didn't know what to make of it.

As I said, I was driving to work. I thought I was handling the stress of the day quiet well, but suddenly I wasn’t. I had a moment just after I got on the freeway where I remembered that scary, light headed feeling from Saturday. Or maybe I actually felt the same feeling. But whatever it was, the actual feeling or the memory, it terrified me. I all of a sudden couldn’t keep myself in check. I pulled over for a few minutes and then talked myself back into traffic, but it was no good. I was making terrible choices, turning the radio up and down and trying to breathe and trying desperately hard to stay in control. I finally swerved to the inside of the freeway in a very wide, safe place, far from traffic. I sat there for almost an hour, trying to pull it together, trying to get my breathing under control, trying to muster the courage to pull into traffic.

I couldn’t do it. I found myself waiting for Shane to come and get me while a very nice Laotian police officer read his emails in his patrol car behind me, waiting it out with me until I had assistance. Shane came and was able to do what I couldn’t – get out of that terrible physical place. He drove me to an Instacare so I could see a doctor. I was terrified I was having a heart attack, or that something equally bad was happening inside my body. Because, after all, I’m edgy, remember? I don’t lose control. I don’t get scared easily and I always pull back into traffic. Hell, I’m the one who would come and get someone else from their stuck place on the freeway.

The doctor appointment was a disaster. I was exhausted from my time on the freeway, and when the doctor asked me “what kind of dizziness were you feeling” I just didn’t have the mental fortitude to answer his question. Slumped on the tiny exam room table, I told him I didn’t know. He sort of looked at Shane like – what the crap? If she can’t answer, who can? – but it was true: I just didn’t know. I didn’t know how to articulate the quality of my dizziness. And why would that matter? My ideal response would have been - I’m obviously dying, you idiot, and you want to know what the dizziness was like? I hate you.

And then he proceeded to tell me it was all in my head and that I wasn’t dying and that if I didn’t like his diagnosis, I could go to the emergency room (Hello $250 copay!) or get my head scanned at a clinic downtown.

I wanted to punch him in the face.

I still want to punch him in the face. But it’s for a different reason. I didn’t want to hear that it was anxiety and that I was otherwise fine. It’s not that I wanted something to be wrong with my heart – I just didn’t want it to be my head. Because hearts can have diagnoses on them that show what is wrong and might be fixed. Or I can take a pill. Or I was hoping for something that was body-oriented, because I don’t want to be that person who, well, can’t detect the difference between a heart attack and a panic attack.

So now I’m here, a month later. I’m still panicking. It’s changed. For the past week or so I have a really hard time going to sleep. I’ll fall asleep, but immediately jerk awake. I convince myself I can’t breathe. I convince myself that the tingling in my stomach means something is terrible happening or is going to happen. It’s consuming. I worry all day that I won’t sleep, which becomes a self-fulfilling prophesy. I take tiny little normal body sensations and make them into something direly wrong, all the while thinking – What is wrong with me? Where is my edge? Why am I suddenly terrified of feeling too full, or having heartburn or of drinking too much water? How can I run 6.5 miles with no problems and yet hyperventilate just lying in my bed?

Last night was better. Or at least an improvement over the previous nights. But I am so f-ing tired of thinking about it and worrying about it and talking about it. I was hungry and tired on my way to work, which sent me into a frenzy (but: I did make it to work. I drove safely all the way to work, talking to myself about silly and not-so-silly things, because if you are talking you are breathing somewhat normally and it’s harder to feel out of breath or light headed.)

I want my edge back. I want to fast forward my life out of this place I’m in. I have had great kindnesses – Shane is being very helpful and we’ve come up with a way for me to express my anxiety to him so I don’t feel like I don’t have anyone to talk to about it. I got an excellent book recommendation that I’m hopeful will help. I have a therapist that I’ve talked to, and can go back to if I want. I can text or call my sisters and they are helpful and loving and encouraging. I also have my doctor (who recommended the therapist) who, if I wanted her to, would give me a prescription for an antidepressant (but I want to do it on my own until I find that I can’t. That may be wise or foolish – I don’t know. But I just don’t know if I want to take one.)

I wouldn’t wish this one anyone. If you’ve experienced anxiety and panic attacks, you have my empathy. If you haven’t, I hope that you never ever do.

If you have any advice or thoughts or tricks you can give me or you can just relate, I will be ever so grateful. In case you are wondering, the book I’m reading is called When Panic Attacks by David Burns. It is really good. He encourages you to write in the book, giving little quizzes and logs for moods. He is really intelligent, and the writing is good. It sort of feels like a self-help book, but thankfully leaves out all of the encouragement to “breathe deeply” that most of the other books on anxiety that I've read lately focus on. (I’m incredibly sick and tired of trying to breathe deeply. I think I’ve forgotten how, because now when I breathe deeply I associate it with panic. Fantastic. Just what I was hoping, I assure you.)

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?

Race: Bloomsday 2014 - Serious ninja skillz

The first weekend in May has taken on a new connotation in our family: Bloomsday. Well, at least for me and Shane; the kids just think of it as the weekend we spend with our besties in Spokane.

We left last Thursday, feeling super cool because we were able to fly this year. Man, it's amazing that a one and a half hour flight can take the place of 12 hours in the car. Actually, I don't mind the drive - the part through Northern Montana and Idaho are so pretty, that it makes up for some of the drive. But at the same time: being able to spend more time with our friends and less time driving was great.

Most of the weekend was spent hanging out with our John and Mel. We ate a ton of yummy food. The kids ran around, making houses in the "forest" near their house, jumping on the trampoline, climbing trees, and playing with the dog. We had as much fun as possible.

Sunday was the race. The weather called for rain, so I wore lots of layers. Luckily, it didn't rain. The race was as beautiful as I remembered from last year. Some of my favorite moments:

• Running past the Cathedral of our Lady of Lourdes. I anticipated the church this year, and I was excited to see the priests out on the street, waving at the crowd. (I even took a selfie with them in the background.) I have an extreme wish to one day tour the cathedral; all of the cathedrals in Italy gave me quite a love for old churches, and so I decided that whenever we travel, we will tour a church or cathedral in the area. We didn't make it this year, but maybe next.
• Seeing the crowds of people cheering the runners.
• The beautiful cemetery near the first water station. There are so many trees, and it just looks so peaceful.
• Weaving in and out of so many runners. At Bloomsday, you are never, ever alone, unlike at Ragnar. I like knowing what it's like to run with 45,000 + runners.
• Running down the hill near the river before Doomsday Hill.
• Doomsday Hill. I never have met a hill I didn't like (well, at least once I'm on top of it.)
• The vulture, who I suspect wasn't a real person, at the top of Doomsday Hill.
• The bridge at the finish line. It is so pretty. With the river rushing beneath and downtown Spokane all around it - such a lively, energetic place to have the finish. Plus seeing it teeming with people as they finish the race isn't too bad, either.
• The old man who finished the race, only to find his little wife with a cane standing next to the bridge, waiting for him. She hugged him fiercely, and then he started to cry. And then I started to cry. You could tell what an effort it had been for him, and how relieved he was. Sniff.
• A tiny old lady, wearing running shorts and a tank top, running the race. She had to be in her late 70s. I want to be just like her when I am 70; still running, still out there, with a heathly body I can still trust to get me to the finish line.
• Finishing with Shane, holding hands across the finish line.

So, I mentioned some awesome ninja skills that I displayed. At about mile 5.25, I was runing through a lovely downtown Spokane neighborhood. The trees were shading my way, and I was deciding that I was ready to get the show on the road and finish the race. I sped up a little. I'm not sure what happened, but I stepped off a curb (I think!) and found myself stumbling. I kept trying to pull out of it, but found I couldn't. So, I took the next option available: tucked my chin to my chest and dive rolled out of the fall. The jolt of the asphalt was lovely on my head and my butt. When I realized what had happened, I just sat there, in the middle of the road, runners streaming past me. I finally got up and started running. However, I really, really wanted to cry but was trying not to (I kept remembering the hardness of the street on my head; I hate that!) and so I promptly began to hyperventilate. I walked for a little bit until I could breathe again and then finished the race. My head was tender, my hand and knee scraped, but it could have been so much worse.

And personally, I was pretty proud of the dive roll.

It was a great race, and a great weekend. The weather held out (I didn't dare say any prayers hoping for no rain when racing on a Sunday, ha ha.) We had a great time with our friends, our kids had a great time with their friends. I can't wait to run it again next year.

Here are some pictures.

I really want to run on this path one day...It goes all the way to Couer D'Alene

Friends who sparkle together, stay together.

A girl is trying, and failing miserably, to photo bomb us in this picture. And I love the finger of the person taking it for us. I guess it's hard to find good photography in the Honey Bucket line.

See the starting line in the distance?

I just love this church!!

Selfie with the priests

People stream across this bridge for hours and hours. Amazing!

I love running with this guy.

Florence

 During our travels in Tuscany, a certain sign kept popping up - Firenze. I kept thinking of the centaur teacher from Harry Potter, but it turns out, the Italian word for the city of Florence is Firenze. It made me think: how many other places do I think have one name, but are really called another?

Anyhow, my worldly ignorance aside, the day we spent in Florence was...interesting. I confess: Florence wasn't my favorite place. I have a fondness now for it in retrospect, but the time that we had there was super rushed, from the moment we got there until we left 5 or 6 hours later.

One distinct memory was a conversation that was had with some of our fellow travelers. One of us had mentioned that in her 20's and 30's, our mom sported a giant blond beehive hairdo. My older sisters claimed it was what allowed them to find her in the store; just look for the big white hair. On of the members of our group, Ed, immediately started calling her Grandma Beehive. He wanted to try and recreate the hairdo, which my mom laughed at but did not indulge. Ed had an easy personality; he was eager to tease my mom, something that was fun to watch. It made me wonder what a brother would have felt like, and how a boy added to our girl family would have changed the dynamic and my mom. Interesting thought. This conversation happened as we walked through the Florence train station, and the mall-like shopping center attached to it.

Santa Maria Novella

One of our first stops was a chapel. It was called Santa Maria Novella. From there, we walked into the center of Florence. There we stopped in front of a palace called the Borgo degli Albizzi - it was a "small apartment" built by the Medici family for the rival Albizzi family that they had earlier exiled. It was a beautiful building. From there, we walked to the Florence Duomo - one of the most beautiful cathedral complexes in the world. It was Sunday, which was not in our favor, because this meant we couldn't tour the church. (It was hugely disappointing to not be able to see Brunelleschi's Dome. An article about the Dome in the National Geographic last month made me want to sob. I was right there, in front of the church that housed this wondrous architectural feat, and I couldnt' see it. Or climb it. Or stare in awe up at it. I can't think too much about it or I get a little sick.) Amy and I would return during our free time to climb the 400 stairs of the bell tower (more on this later) but missing seeing the insides of the Orvieto, Siena, and Florence Duomos is one of my deepest regrets from the trip.

We walked around the complex, then hurried over to the Academia. Our time here was too short - we were able to see the David which was an experience I will never forget. Prior to going to the Academia, I knew very little of what I would be seeing. Almost more moving than the David (which is saying quite a lot) are the 4 statues by Michelangelo called The Prisoners. They are four magnificent sculptures emerging from marble; they look unfinished, until you look at them, and realize they are perfect just as they are. My favorite were the Slave and Atlas. I shed a few tears standing in front of them; it would be hard not to. And of course, the David is perfection; from every angle, he is alive and real. I was most moved by the veins you can see running down his arms; how does one sculpt veins from marble?  I remember spending a lot of time looking at his feet; his second toe is longer than his big toe. I so wish we could have toured the rest of the Academia.

We walked back to the place we would meet after our free time (a church called San Lorenzo - again, didn't go inside, sigh.) From here, everyone scattered. Most of the group was headed to a leather market a few blocks up from the Arno river.

Amy and I had other plans. After consuming a  delicious cheese and tomato pizza from a market near San Lorenzo, we headed to Giotto's Campanile, a free-standing bell tower next to the Duomo. We climbed all the way to the top to get the best view of Florence. The stairs are very steep and narrow; we were often stepping around other people to attain the top of another set of stairs so that they could go down the other way. It was a relief each time we reached a new level. Each time we were a little higher, and a little more out of breath.

The rooftop terrace was one of my favorite. The river was in the distance, and Santa Croce, and even the Uffizi Gallery (within a few hours we would walk PAST the Uffizi; it was painful to be so close to it and have no time to tour it. One more reason that I have to get back to Italy in the future.) From our privileged viewepoint, we watched a church procession coming down one of the tiny side streets towards the cathedral. It had multiple priests and nuns and incense. I wonder if they were carrying a coffin, but I can't prove it. It was fascinating to watch it work its way slowly down the streets. Amy and I enjoyed the top for about 15 minutes, taking pictures and selfies and videos and then made the long trek down.

I loved this little gargoyle

It's amazing how fast two hours can pass. After the bell tower, we had just enough time to walk down to the river, cross the bridge of Ponte Santa Trinita (and photograph all four of the seasons statues). We rushed to cross Ponte Vecchio, walking down the tiny side streets that parallel the river; they were crowded with people and delivery trucks and merchants. I took a few pictures on the bridge, but we were terribly rushed and needed every moment to rush back to San Lorenzo for our meeting place. I had a strange encounter with a street vendor while hurrying; those Italians are smooth talkers -  he told me I had dropped something and pointed to where I had just been. I inspected the pavement only to have him tell me "You dropped my heart," or some similar type of pick up line. I told him I didn't have the time for him and hurried on.

Santa Trinita from Ponte Vecchio

Ponte Vecchio from Santa Trinita

Amy on the side streets near Ponte Vecchio

On Ponte Vecchio

Amy and I made it to San Lorenzo. A nun walked where we were sitting on the stairs and blessed Amy; it was a hurried, frazzled afternoon and we were feeling the distress from missing so many wonderful places and feeling frustrated. Our group slowly filtered in and we hurried on, back past the duomo complex and through the streets, past Uffizi (sob!) and Santa Croce (which was desinged by a jew; there is a motif at the top of the church that could arguably be called a jewish star if you sat down to think about it.) After a jaunt next to the Arno, we met up with our bus and hurried out of the city.

Rape of the Sabines statue. So beautiful!

Perseus holding the head of Medusa

Santa Croce. Can you see the Star of David?

I couldn't say why I didn't love Florence. I feel like I need to justify it somehow - but I don't have the words. It just felt....over the top. For centuries, each of the cities in the Tuscan region were vying for political power. This power was (and is) evinced by the buildings they constructed to show their might. Florence (with their Medici financial backers) pulled out all the stops in their quest to dominate. I appreciate and long to one day visit those places again, and savor them.

The rest of our day was spent at a private winery and olive orchard owned by the Corsini family. We had a tour of the olive and grape orchards (which were stunning) and then an inside tour of where they make their wine and olive oils. It was a beautiful place. That night we ate dinner in their dining room inside the winery; it was served to us by some of the Corsini family, of whom the father is considered a prince. Fancy, fancy. The others on our tour group loved us, since they got to drink the wine samples that were at each of our places. I smelled the different wines - I'm sure they tasted wonderful.

The group. Photo courtesy of Bryan Wooley.

The gardens inside the winery complex.

Dinner. Photo courtesy of Bryan Wooley.

That night was our last in our little town of Montecatini. Since Amy and I could never go to bed on time, we sat on the floor next to our bathroom (the only spot in the room where the wifi worked - and we texted with our family and friends. We stayed up late into the night, listening to the storm outside and talking.