simple pleasures

Ahhhh, this feels so good! I promised myself that if I attacked the dining room, I could sit down and play with some words. It took quite a while, as I allowed myself to indulge a few pleasant distractions and to make dinner, but it's cleaned, neatened, and minus another 3 square feet of carpet (thankfully!!). Of course, I hadn't factored in the cleaning up after dinner, so there is someone home, rather than my planned solitude. No matter: he likes to read, and when I'm finished here, we'll read together and snuggle for a while. Everyone else is at some practice or other, and even the dogs have decided to stop wrestling for the time being. Radio on, candles lit, smile on lips.....what more could I ask for?

Today was one of those days when I realize just how blessed I am. Despite our visit from Sandy, we had no real issues here, other than being home bound for two (rather pleasant!) days--our power stayed on, no water in the basement, nothing larger than twigs off the trees. We are exceptionally grateful, and have said so, again and again. Our friends and relatives all came through the storm with similar stories, although one dear friend had to evacuate his mother, and still doesn't quite know how her house fared. His car suffered a direct tree hit, but they are safe. I continue to pray for those who didn't fare as well.

At work, I was exceptionally productive--whether because of the extended weekend break, or just the knowledge that we'll be lucky if we can finish our projects by the end of the school year, I don't know. What I do know is that it felt great to get so much accomplished in my half day. So much that I am really looking forward to tomorrow. Another blessing. [smile]

Chatting with a couple of friends topped off my afternoon. Through the magic of Facebook, I was able to "visit" with a friend in Maine, a friend in Harrisburg, and another in Tennessee, as well as my husband; all while making the dining room pretty and presentable! Gotta love it! Just another blessing (as if "just" could ever describe a blessing), showing me the amazing power of bona fide friendship, truth and honesty. I really do have some of the best friends I could ever hope or ask for: they are as much family as friends, and fall into that special category of people that could be mixed together in a room without me, and still get along like they've known each other forever, simply because they are the cream of the crop, the real deal, the best.

Let's see, what else shone through as a blessing today? Texting with my sister on her lunch break...homemade applesauce, and rice that didn't burn a grain...green tea with honey....the last of the pudding with lunch...this adorable picture of Guy that I put in my coaster last night...some of my favorite songs on the radio....the word "impeccable"....joyful greetings as everyone arrived home....a phone call wherein I was asked if I am proud of my son ("Oh, YES! So proud of him!")....a smile on my face all day long....wearing my new pants...simply everything about today. My life is just where it should be. From time to time, I've tried to pull the tiller--HARD--in one direction or another, but following the current without fighting it has led me to a wonderful, blessed place. Thanks, God, for a beautifully simple day.

what to do

How am I preparing for Hurricane Sandy? Other than the usual, I'm making granola. And I'm printing directions for craft projects I've found on Pinterest and would like to try. Guy has the Weather Channel on, and is flipping to any storm coverage he can find--I'm trying to avoid watching and listening; preferring to look out the windows for now. I know at some point, I will long for the information flow, as there are predictions of up to 10 days without power. There's no way any batteries will last that long in this house! A dear friend has offered to be our evacuation site, if necessary, but we'll reserve that for emergency, as there are the five of us, plus two (rather big) dogs and Mom. We'll see. Next, I will probably hard boil the eggs, since at least two of us like them that way. Then I'll make soup for lunch.

The combination of dire storm warnings, full moon and the actual air pressure, I have this strong desire to curl into a ball and cry until the whole thing is over. Three days of tears would not only make me look rather lovely for the next week (puffy face, burned eyes and enlarged nose), but will also leave me with a strong desire to sleep for the next two days after that. Too much to deal with, so I'm resisting....

There's also the other Sandy I'm thinking about. Almost 20 years ago, Guy and I lost a baby, that we then named Sandy; an ambiguous name for a baby we never saw, and a baby whose very existence was questioned by the same doctor who confirmed the pregnancy. I've credited Sandy for being a good part of the reason I am the Mom that I am; for helping me through the tough (read: lonely) days of bed rest at the end of my pregnancy with Jonathan. Frequently, I find Sandy in the back of my mind, but the pain is just a faint memory. Occasionally, I wonder what Sandy would be doing now, but then I realize that our family would not be what it is today--at all. None of the combination of personalities would be what I know as our loving home. Not that I think it would be worse, or better, but different is different, and cannot ever be seen, in this case.

So, back to the granola, then eggs....followed by caramel apples, soup, and anything else that will keep me as busy as possible while the TV is on, maybe even some yoga. When (if) the power is out, at some point we will get tired of each other, I'm sure, but in the meantime, the older boys (including the extra "son" we had for the night) are still fast asleep, and the younger two are being as lazy as possible. Guy's moving the cars, and I'm wondering what the dogs will do later today (they don't like getting wet in the rain), and why there are so many cars driving past our house. And trying not to think about our niece at Hofstra and Jonathan at Ithaca. All while praying that we keep our sense of humor, if nothing else.

The laundry and porch paint-prep are done. Must remember to run the dishwasher soon.....

sparkle and shine

Yesterday, I was asked how others would describe me--in one word. Let me tell you, SO MANY words flew through my head--all accompanied by the faces of the people who would use them (and even some of their expressions)! In that nanosecond, the words were categorized in my mind, and I'm sure I smirked as I replied, "That depends, a whole lot, on who is describing me!" The question was then amended to "What word would Kimi use?" To which I replied, "Positive."

At home, a good amount of discussion (and laughter) ensued. Drew interjected that it was an unfair question; how could anyone know what word someone else would use to describe oneself? I told him probably the best way would be to ask. What word would he use to describe me? "Well-rounded." Truly one of the sweetest things I could have imagined a 14-year-old saying to his momma. When I then asked Guy, he replied, "Complex, or complicated." Amused, I asked if that was in a good way, or a bad way. He then wanted to amend his answer to "Wife," but after a lesson from Drew regarding which kinds of nouns can be used as adjectives (Thanks, Ms. H-B!), Guy finally settled on "Coffee" as his descriptor: bold, strong, warm, lively, soothing.....it still makes me shake my head, but, in a funny way, I'm quite flattered. Would anyone besides my SSJ Coffeehouse mates understand? Does it matter much?

At dinner, Henry decided, with lightning speed, that the word he would use is "Unbalanced." In the best way possible, of course! I can always count on Henry to confound and bemuse me--and to try to tell me it's a compliment. He insisted, though, and may even explain himself someday. Weird kid. Wonder where he gets that from?

Later, I presented the case in my Facebook status. The responses I got warmed my heart, and, interestingly, were not any that had floated (floated?? No, rocketed!!!) through my mind in that conference room. Most of those that I tried to mentally sift through were related to the people I have recently decided I don't need in my life anymore: "negative" was one of them. Not too long ago, someone told me, "You really are quite negative, you know." I was puzzled: this was the only person I have ever heard that from. "Sarcastic," "Cranky," even "Bossy" I'd heard before from time to time, but only ever in reference to a mood, not my basic make-up. (Maybe the Bossy from time to time....but I've grown up a lot since then!) It shook me, especially since it was at a very shaky time for me. I went to work the next day still wondering what, exactly, was meant by it. Lo and behold, one of my co-workers said, out of the blue, "Stephanie, you are one of the most positive people I've ever met! I love working with you!" Ironically, she said this as I was trying to spin a complaint I had, because I didn't know her very well! Between that day and the next, three people mentioned something about my positive attitude, bringing me back to my center--and at a tenuous time for my own balance, mind you! Sometimes the 'one word' giver needs to be disregarded.

Anyway, those who responded with their "one word" for me are people that I hold so dear in my heart. Many were along the same vein: Linda's "Multi-talented, or Multi-faceted" was similar to Drew's response, as well as Allison's and Shawna's choices: "Brilliance" and "Effervescent," respectively. Before that whole Twilight movie thing, "Sparkle" used to be a very nice little descriptor in our house! My other Linda wondered if "A+++" counts as a word--she is a nut! (That's the word I think I would use for her, but with the warmest smile and a great big hug, too!) "Steadfast," from Amy, warmed my heart; especially since just before I saw it, I had been thinking that "Resilient" or "Loyal" would have been good responses. Steadfast is about right.

I worried momentarily as I considered what to say if some of the words I might use would sound arrogant. And would they really be words that someone else would use, or were they words that I would wish others would use to describe me? It was the hardest part: "Intelligent," "Organized," "Managerial," "Amazing," "Unusual"--how many of them are words I've actually heard others use when talking to me, and how many are words that I'd like them to use? I was glad when the question was modified. Another word Kim would have used: "Sympathetic."

Then I saw the word "Real," and it made me cry. A really, really good cry, with the warm heart, full-face smile, and laughter. "Real" is what I've always wanted to be. "Real" is what I work for, pray for, live for. Real. Connie considers me to be Real.

I do, too, although I haven't always, and that makes it all the more touching. I've been praying for the strength to be myself, to continue to be me, to be as real as I can be. Thank you, God, for answering prayers; for guiding me to the people who fill my life with light. Thank you, friends, for the words you share with me, giving me the energy and fortitude to share my words with you. Thank you for being the sparkle in my life.

black and white and red all over

Yesterday, I was asked a question about myself that really got me to thinking. The kind of question that, upon hearing it, makes you want to sit around and discuss the possibilities for hours. Unfortunately, I didn't have that kind of time when it was asked--it was more of a "think on your feet" kind of thing. As I reviewed my day with Guy yesterday, I told him I was pretty excited to have something clear to write about today!

The question (and I hope I get this just right): "Where do you see yourself in the grey areas of life?" (DS*) I asked for a little clarity (lol--clarity on 'grey'), and she responded that I had been talking about following and adhering to rules and regulations, and she wondered if I saw things in black and white, or shades of grey. Actually, I think it was the coolest question ever! So many thoughts starting flying through my head; memories of good and bad things that have happened to me, rules and laws I have followed, made, or broken, who I am now versus who I was even just a year ago.....yet I knew I only had a moment or two to think and to respond.

My response (the "simple" answer, as it were) went something like this: "When it comes to rules, regulations, and expectations, I tend to see them as either followed or not; black or white. When I am expected to do a job, when I am being paid to do a job, that is the job that I do, as I've been told to do it. In other aspects of my life, though, I tend to be a bit more grey. However, if I see a way to do something better, or that makes more sense, I will happily say so!"

But for the rest of the conversation, a part of my mind was on that question. What a great question!! Especially for me. I hadn't done that kind of soul searching in a long time. And for it to be so applicable to me, at this moment in time, struck me as pretty amazing.

So the more I thought about it, the more I realized that it's not so much about black and white for me. It's more about the details. I'm a detail person, and if there are details--lots of them--I can place importance with those details. The speed limit in town is 25 because of kids living there, and their associated balls, dogs, bikes, toys, and elderly relatives; therefore, driving 25 is important. The pass at school is important because I've been there when the school was on lock down, and the room was called to see if everyone was accounted for, as well as when there was a bomb threat, the building was evacuated, and we had to account for who was in the room at the time and earlier in the day. When the laptops were stolen, too, there was a breakdown in the "system" we used for accountability. When I would walk the deck as an official, it was my responsibility to disqualify swimmers who were not using a legal stroke, regardless of how "hard they were trying." Deadlines, size requirements for pictures and artwork, even parking spaces; all of these things mean something, have details that are important, so I adhere to them. The way Guy put it was pretty direct: if there's a rule, I'm more likely to follow it than not. That's the way I've always been.

But I've also made Guy crazy telling him that there are shades of grey in so many areas of life, because I do see it that way. (Not just grey, actually. I think the world is full of very colorful ideas. It's definitely not a grey place!) What I see as being terribly offensive, another person might not even notice. Things that don't bother me at all might seem like disasters to someone else. There are so many ways to see political issues, personal issues, family problems, attitudes and personalities. If all of that was black and white, the world would be a dull place, indeed. And, of course, all night last night I had example after example of things that I see as grey areas, but today.....zip! Oh, well, I think I can get my point across anyway.

My longer, more in depth response to the question is that I see things in details, in colorful bits and scraps that come together to make a tapestry of life, knowledge, courtesy, fun, decorum and spontaneity. I see myself as a quilt, or a painting--a collage. It is, as Guy pointed out lovingly, one of the reasons I tend to get on people's nerves. (I do, and I know I do, when it comes to following directions, but when those same people don't, they get on mine. C'est la vie.) Many people seem to want to pick and choose which rules they follow or enforce. I can't. Literally. I've tried and I can't. Guidelines, on the other hand, I can make all kinds of gooey! No problem there! That's when my creative side kicks in and we can really have fun.

Try it. Ask yourself where you fall on the grey scale, or ask some of your friends where they put themselves, and then have a lively, lovely discussion. And then ask yourself how you've changed from where you were a year ago, five years ago, a decade ago. A neat little exercise. Thank you, DS.


*Name omitted purposely

date night

A clear, crisp October evening. Absolutely beautiful. There are stars in the sky, and a half moon shining down. One of those rare, perfect night sky evenings, where the temperature and the sky, and even the day of the week have fallen into just the right alignment.

As I sit here, dinner eaten and cleaned up, coffee prepped for the morning, even the dogs calmed down, I am waiting (somewhat patiently!) for a Monday night hammock date with my husband. In the back of my mind, I know his favorite football team is not playing tonight, but I also know that has never stopped him from watching football before. So in my heart, I know that this unexpected, but much anticipated, cuddle time is just because.

Earlier in the day, I had emailed him that today, tomorrow, this week, is not quite a "normal" week for me. Today and tomorrow, I have "extras" on my calendar, and Wednesday is my first day without appointments, athletic department work, or meetings; just my usual work and Faith Matters. I know that he read in that email my need to connect--before I even realized that's what I was saying. I am truly blessed; sharing my life, my heart, my love with him.

It's not always been easy, and from time to time, the road has seemed downright impassable. But more than anything, I am grateful for the faith inside of me, the faith at the center of our souls, that helped us to muscle past the boulders in our way. We've come to a beautiful place--one of those spots where there would be a camera sign on the side of the highway--and the vista is incredible! I would not have appreciated the view nearly as much without the obstacles, and the hills and mountains we've had to climb to get here. All of it, though, was worth it, when this--today--is the outcome.

toe the line

The other day, after changing my Facebook status, I got an IM that made me chuckle afterwards. The status was rather innocuous, and the exchange that followed, though it meant something to the two of us, would have meant very little to many others. What tickled my funny bone was the fact that it happened.

Before I started blogging, I would play with the words in my status very carefully in order to sum up my thoughts of the day succinctly, completely and, oftentimes, somewhat obscurely. Those who know me, and know me well, would probably either pick up on the "code" I was using, or realize there was something they'd "get" if they asked. (These days, I just blog it right out--still choosing my words carefully most of the time, but without the need to be succinct. Those who want to know, do.) I have dear, wonderful friends who would text me, email me, call, or even comment on my status. Many times, the association made would be off-base, by a little or a lot, but, to be perfectly honest, that doesn't matter to me. What matters is when my words touch someone.

Anyway, I have a friend I don't see often when it's not summer swimming time, and she will text or call to talk after seeing blogs that touch her in one way or another. To me, it always seems out of the blue, and that is, quite possibly, the best part. Her contact always serves to remind me that I need to push past my isolationism a bit more now and then, and reach out to my friends, too. The other day, another friend, who I've known for so long I really don't remember not knowing her, is the one who IM'd me. Not only did she know something was up, she knew exactly what was up, and we chatted. Both of these ladies are examples of just how friendship works.

Why did this make me chuckle? Because there have been people in my past (my recent past, unfortunately) that have had this mistaken idea that they know who I am based on my status updates, my Tweets, or even my blogs. Or think they should. These people inevitably had asked my husband just what my updates meant; what, exactly, was I trying to say, and why didn't I just say it? My husband, to his credit, would usually tell them that if they wanted to know, they should ask me. That is what a friend would do.

That is precisely what my friends do.

Over the summer, a very perceptive friend texted me in the middle of the night when I posted a status at a time of night that I don't usually post, one that made her wonder if I needed to talk. I did need to, and she was precisely the right person at the moment. Another friend emailed me from far away, just 'checking in' because of a word in my status. Others have laughed with me about the inside jokes hidden in the updates, knowing that the words will look completely different to anyone else who sees them. But the connection is the thing.

I pour my heart out on my blog, but really only the part of my heart that I am willing to pour. My friends, my household, and my dogs are the only ones who know the rest. Someday I may pour the rest out, but only when and because I want to. If there is something you think is missing; something that you don't understand, you have a choice: ask me, or make your own assumptions. Either one is fine with me, BUT choosing the latter does not give you any true knowledge of me. Perhaps the gaps are there intentionally -- because I need to talk, or because I just don't want to share -- and perhaps you've just missed the point.

What I've found, in a lifetime of reading, is that when words touch me, they are telling me something about me, not about the author, necessarily, and when I want to know if I have something in common with the author, I dig to find out. Most of the time, quite frankly, I'm more gratified by what I've learned about myself. I love the comments that I get on my blog (though they are few, and not all get published) because they show that I'm making a connection, and helping others to learn, or admit, what's in their own hearts -- the sorrow, the pain, the love, the joy, the promise. The ones that don't get published are only marginally related to the posts, perhaps by sharing just a word; they are not carefully worded or thought out in any way. Nor are they edited for spelling, punctuation, syntax. In actuality, they are posted spitefully, and with a sense of entitlement, and they are being viewed as evidence of harassment. I will not be bullied, in person or 'on paper,' today, or ever. Another sweet friend called this anonymous commenter a "dimwit" and asked how I liked that word. I think it fits. Hiding behind anonymity is cowardly -- especially when the veil is so thin.

left arm/right words

Today, I'm feeling it. I'd like to say I don't know why, but I actually have a very clear idea what brought this on. What is "this," you ask? This is the raw, pulsating pain of old grief. For me, new grief was different from what I feel now -- when it was new, it struck at everything: the ticking of a clock, the warm smile of a friend, the memories, the realization of dreams dashed. It was also sudden and uncontrollable pain that caused tears that were explainable. Explainable because anyone who asked would understand where it was coming from; they could relate.

Key points: "anyone who asked" "they could relate"

Days like today, I feel more a need to hide it because most people don't seem to understand -- or want to. Time, and how it heals, is relative, and unless someone is willing to listen with the goal of understanding, their listening will not be a comfort to me. (Perhaps to someone else, because grief and its associated pains are very personal. Very personal, indeed.) Days like today, I wish I could ask advice of someone who is no longer here to enjoy a cup of coffee with the conversation. Not that I don't ask the advice; I do, and I get responses, too, whether you, as the reader, want to (or can) believe that or not. I do get responses. Sometimes they are very clear and concise, and sometimes they are, not surprisingly, much more Socratic in nature, playing to my more natural, questioning nature.

All my life, I've spent a good amount of my time alone either replaying conversations I've had or imagining conversations that I think should be. Some would call the former "dwelling" and some would call the latter "visualization," but in all honesty, it plays from my introversion. So many times I later realize exactly what it was that I wanted or needed to say, but, taken by surprise, I didn't. Replaying doesn't change anything about that interaction, but it does make me feel like I've had my say. Yesterday, I envisioned a conversation I'm really thinking is inevitable, and, actually, very important. In that case, I do need to practice my feelings more than my words, as it tends to be my emotional state that negatively impacts my vocalizations. I have questions that need answers; as much for myself as for those who need to answer. No, that's not true: the answers are probably more important for them than for me.

What I wish I could ask is this: will they answer. At all. Answering honestly is not at issue (I don't think that's possible, as it would change the past and the future). Is there a point in setting the table if it's likely no one will attend? That's the discussion I imagine we would have had. And the reason this brought on today's raw pulsing is not anything more profound than that I'd like a left arm hug after getting nowhere with the discussion. I could really use that. It would be the reassurance that I am me, the sum of my own parts. That I am not overlooked and ignored by those who mean something in my life, just by those who are insignificant in the end. Insignificant because they cannot even bring themselves to rise above.

Fortunately, I have a husband who understands that he cannot replace that hug with his own, but he can supplement with his heart open wide, and his shoulder to lean on when there are days like this. And I have a house full of boys who know my heart, because I wear it on my sleeve here (though not necessarily in public -- that would be too extroverted of me!) at home. They all know me, my moods and my tears, my grief and my joy, and just what it takes to light the spark of joy when I need it most. Even in my most pained moments, I know that I am both blessed and loved.

So, the conversation may or may not occur, and I know that, really, it doesn't matter one bit. I've said what I needed to say -- here in the forum of my kitchen, and, more importantly, in my heart. The rest is what it is.

#lifeisgood

This week has been full of extra blessings. Sunday began with a sermon that made me say, "Ah, ha!" and exemplified how different perspectives can change perceptions. (We attended a beautiful wedding on Saturday evening, and the readings and sermons for both the service and Sunday's Mass were the same.) And we got to stay for a pancake breakfast, to boot! What better start to a Sunday? The afternoon took me to a swim meet -- my first in a while, as the season had changed, and the team as well. My tweet upon my arrival says it all: "That day when being at a pool for a meet is fun again. #lifeisgood #EPACrocks" and I did have a marvelous time, watching our Joseph swim, and getting to know a few parents on our new team. In fact, it was the first time I had consciously made the decision to be "Stephanie" and not "a coach's wife" to get to know swim people. When asked about the transition, I replied openly, from my own perspective. And, damn, did it feel good to be myself!! The new me. :) I read my book in between Joseph's races, texted with a couple of friends, made faces at Guy across the pool, and loved it!

Guy was on vacation this week, and there was so much sharing we were able to do; even with me going to work most of the week. He scraped and washed the porch, so later today, I will start priming while he works at the pool -- giving private lessons after practice is over. I can do nothing but smile when I think of how great this transition has been! This is the team he has been needing for so long; somewhere he can shine and collaborate, where he can teach and learn without feeling controlled and contrived. I'm so happy for him -- and I feel as though we've finally 'come home,' as far as swimming goes.

One of the highlights of the week, though, came on Wednesday evening at Church. Mom and I have been attending a video series on Catholicism while Guy and Joseph are at CCD, and I have been thoroughly enjoying it! It's not just about Catechism, or Bible study, but offers quite a historical perspective on the teachings of Jesus and His followers. That is right up my alley -- the seemingly trivial, nuts and bolts things that somehow were missed in my 8 years of Catholic school. (I honestly don't know why -- Had I understood the historical, contextual meaning of 'turning the other cheek,' for example, I may not have had so many questions all this time.) The good news, to me, is that my faith is probably much stronger and deeper than I had thought. I digress....

Despite this week being wonderful blessed, it has also been a little tumultuous (perhaps the reason I notice the blessings?), including the beginnings of inquiries regarding making harassment charges. But, Wednesday evening, one of those age old questions was asked, and the simplicity of the answer, or an answer, brought tears to my eyes. Earlier in the week, Guy and I had talked about strength and healing, and the tests and obstacles that, when encountered and overcome, make the journey that much sweeter. I told him that, strange as it sounds, there's a part of me that is thankful, after the fact. He agreed that it sounded strange, but assured me I was not crazy. Anyway, the answer offered was this (and I have heard it before, but not so succinctly, and never when I most needed to hear it): "God permits evil to provide for a greater good." I don't completely understand it, but I'm not meant to; none of us are. But there is a need to tear down that which is not structurally sound in order to rebuild and reinforce that which is good.

I'll be the first to admit that my life, my person, my confidence has been built on a veritable fault line! Plate shifting cannot begin to describe my occasional meltdowns. But just today, I was telling Guy, as we tried to avoid the ticking of the clock toward daytime, that there is a space inside where years' worth of anger was. I get scared sometimes, though "scared" is not the right word, because I'm not sure what is in its place. I'm not used to being filled with faith, hope and joy. I'm not used to being me all over the place, either. The scared that I feel is closer to the feeling of anticipating a roller coaster ride with my brother-in-love than the feeling of an open closet door at night, or entering a dark room alone. Is it strange to say that it's a scared that I like, and look forward to?

Such happiness, such joy, faith and love, are filling my heart, my days, my nights, my life, that I almost feel as though I've been living a dream after a sleepless night. A long sleepless night. Clarity. It's a beautiful thing. Thank you!!

hurtful, hateful

Something happened over the weekend that really bothered me. I have been trying to resist the urge (the rather strong urge) to write about it because of who it was. Over the past week, I've talked it over with a couple of people I really trust, and they have agreed with my thoughts on the subject. Still, I thought it best to not voice my view; not to draw attention to what was probably a regrettable miscommunication. But I just can't keep quiet about it. I'm fired up, and will be until I get this off my chest.

Here goes.....

I don't know why you might think that you are equating "freedom of speech" with outright rude, nasty or disrespectful behavior. The flag is not simply a "piece of fabric," whether it is the Stars and Stripes or the flag of another country. They are no more a simple piece of fabric than the Bible, the Torah or the Koran are "just a book." The American flag is a representation of an entire country--"body, mind and soul," as it were. Burning a flag is, indeed, an action intended to make a statement. It is not just a right that anyone has, at any time. And if the statement is intended to show general hatred for an entire Nation--regardless of the nation--it is an outrage. Period.

I feel better now. I do have to say, I do completely agree with your statements regarding blanket hatred. Hating a race, a group, a population, simply for existing is ridiculous. Hating an ideology, however, that one takes the time to understand, without propaganda and other media influencing that understanding, is reasonable. Every ideology has levels of intensity, and fanatics in any ideology are dangerous--as dangerous as those with no understanding at all.

Respect the flag. It's the right thing to do.

a morning off

One of the perks of working in a school is having the day off when the kids do. (I know many businesses have the day off today, too, but my husband would not if he hadn't taken a vacation this week.) At one time, a day off like this would have meant a day trip somewhere, or a weekend up at Mom and Dad's or something. Anymore, it just means a lazy wake up, and a bit of hanging around.

Today, having the morning off meant snuggling in with Guy and both the dogs, coffee in bed while goofing off on my laptop, and a walk with a dear friend while Guy is at practice. Afterwards, we'll get the porch ready to paint, have lunch, and drop Mom and Henry off for appointments before Guy goes to practice again this evening. I'm looking forward to the short week, even though the calendar is already jammed with appointments, soccer game security, a letter or two to write, and Homecoming to cap off the week. It'll be a good busy, for once. My entire outlook is better, and I have my family and my faith to thank.

I continue to pray for the strength to just be myself. I've discovered the power in being true to oneself, as it allows me to let my faith guide me as much as my gut. I'm also very thankful for all I have in my life: my family, my husband, my peace of mind. This is where I should be, and where I intend to jump off from for the rest of my journey. Life is more the journey than any destination, and I am well on my way. I have a map for when I need it--for when I get lost--but mostly, I make it up as I go along. With me, I finally have the right companions, with Faith as my guide.

What a beautiful morning. I feel so alive!

take your mark

I have the best life these days. I love it! For the first time since I can remember, I went to a swim meet, and not only enjoyed it, but looked forward to it! Since we are with a new team, I was not anticipating having anyone to sit with, which, in and of itself, would have been a treat. (I have mentioned how much I enjoy being alone, even in groups and crowds.) I go to the meets to see my kids swim, not so much to socialize. All I need is a clear view of my progeny, a book and a bottle of water. I double lucked out, though, because my dear, sweet husband directed me to a dad from our new team, who not only introduced me to his wife and another set of parents, but none of them minded that I talked a little, and read a lot. (Interestingly, the book I was reading is Quiet : The power of introverts in a world that can't stop talking, by Susan Cain -- my new hero!) I got to see my Joseph swim, and I watched their kids swim, too, without the need to critique everything, or make comments on who looked like what. I got to go to the meet and be a mom AND be myself -- the best combination ever!!

As a bonus, I get to see my husband in action. He shines when he talks to the kids before and after their events. His love of the sport is evident in the way he interacts with his fellow coaches, especially the ones he now works with. For the first time, in a very long time, he looks like himself on deck, and I couldn't be more proud.

There's another side to my joyful anticipation today: I am not working at a pool. Summer meets for the past few years have been trying for me, as I still felt like I was at work, even though it was someone else's pool. In the wintertime, I didn't quite have the same feeling, but I did find myself keeping a close eye on how the meets were running, since we hosted a major meet at the pool where I worked this summer; I knew what I was doing, and how I envisioned the meet, but I kept looking for that one thing that goes wrong that could have been avoided "if only." For the first time, I did not need to worry about that meet (the next time that meet will happen at that pool will be in seven years. No way will I still be there then!)

So, for the first time in a long time, I was quite relaxed going to a swim meet. No duties, no responsibilities, no worries. And on the way home, we stopped for fro-yo, chatted, laughed and rehashed. Just like the "old days" before swimming got stressful -- the days when we first met. I'm glad our boys are getting to know that man: the man that I married.

morning bliss

Morning coffee time is wonderful. One of my favorite times. This morning, I'm sitting with my coffee and two dogs, browsing on my computer, and I am alone. Blissfully alone. Guy is at a swim meet, the boys are still asleep, and, for all intents and purposes, so are the dogs. It's been a long time since I've enjoyed my coffee alone; just me and my thoughts. And, truly, I realize I've missed it.

Not that I don't love my usual mornings lately: weekday runs before sunrise, and coffee at work; Saturday mornings chatting with Guy over coffee; Sundays on the porch with coffee and the paper. I love all of that, too. There's just something special about being able to savor the moment alone, and be content with it, while looking forward to my own plans for the day.

As I sit here, I've scrolled through my Facebook news feed, cleaned up my email folders, and peeked at my blogger stats. I almost opened Post Secret, but realized it's Saturday morning, not Sunday, and laughed out loud at myself. I've picked up the bits of trash the dogs pulled out of the wastebasket while Guy and I had our weekly hammock date, and resolved to tie it up and take it out after I remove my nail polish. I've debated the priority of altering the curtains in the living room--start today, or sometime next week? I've considered whether I want to do some more weeding (before or after yoga?) today, since the forecast today is better than the last one I saw for today. And how much time will I need to get ready for the wedding we are going to tonight?

Guy and I have an ongoing debate about which is the better time of day. He likes the moments before sleep comes, when he reviews his day, and mentally shuts down. I, on the other hand, prefer morning-time, when I can plan and reorganize my day, without the  obstacles of other people's plans, wants and needs. I over plan my days. Not in the sense that I structure it too much. Rather, in the morning, the day seems so big, so full of possibilities, that I tend to want to accomplish more than will fit in the hours available. Funny, though, that is not the case at work: there I am pretty accurate in my predictions of how much I have time to accomplish. For that reason alone, I know it is not an inability to plan; more it is excitement at the vast possibilities, the scope of a blank day.

Especially one that is unexpected. I had planned on going to the swim meet today, to see Henry swim, but his shoulder hurts, and his physical therapist recommended waiting a little longer. Being at the meet would have taken the entire morning, and by the time we got home and got something to eat, would have taken us right up to get-dressed-for-the-wedding time. Therefore, this blank slate of a day is a gift, of sorts, and like a piece of artwork, I try many alternative spots before deciding to hammer a nail in the wall. Tomorrow I will immerse myself in a swim meet, watching Joseph.

Meanwhile, I will indulge in my coffee alone. Content.

re cal' cu lat ing

Sometimes the hardest decisions to make are the ones that at one time would have taken no thought. There's just something about walking a mile that makes all the difference. And the funny thing is, sometimes that mile feels like six, and sometimes walking it feels like just looking at the route on a map.

At one time, I made snap decisions, and liked the results, regardless of where they led. Of course, I was really just a kid then, and had fewer responsibilities. And really, only myself to worry about. Now, though, my children, my husband, even my friends sometimes, weigh on choices I make. Not that I ask around when it comes to big, important decisions; but still. These days, I prefer to not make decisions based on emotional responses. It might make me a little boring, but I prefer to be rational; to consider my past, present and future, my mental and physical health, my children's wants and needs, my relationship with my husband, and, to a slightly lesser extent, my friendships. (Because I have learned that while friends are necessary to sanity, they don't always follow the same route or like the scenery!)

Today, I made a decision that may have been life-changing, in that my reasons for it will require me to follow through with another change in direction. I asked for guidance, and two words came to mind, repeatedly. My only option is to go with them. I've already started the ball rolling, now to chase it down.

One mile at a time.

made it myself

I hate clothes shopping. I can't stand the hunting. The trying on is bad, too, but every once in a while, the right stuff ends up in my arms and the trying on is bearable. Who am I trying to kid--that rarely happens. More often, I wind up pulling, grunting, squinting and twisting, only to ultimately wonder (often aloud) who the heck thought this piece of clothing would fit a human being! They look great on the hanger, or on the mannequin (who, by the way, was not wearing arms when she was put into that sling you call a 'top'). Of course, it is so easy to forget that the hanger is only two dimensional and the mannequin does not need to breathe.

Despite the frustrations of clothes shopping, I do happen to have some clothes that I actually wear--and like! I've found a couple of lines that work well with my body, and I've learned what fabrics like me and which do not. I'm still working on the whole "wardrobe" concept; I much prefer fun pieces, and end up with minimal "goes with"s. Oh, well, I make it work, and tend to feel pretty good in the process. Of course, some of that has to do with the key pieces that I have made myself and love to show off!

I used to downplay the articles of clothing I made. When someone would comment, I would respond politely, and skirt around the answer if they asked the origin. I don't know why I did this. I don't know if it was some level of insecurity, or a feeling that if it was homemade it was worth less. Or maybe I just didn't want to get involved in any discussion. At all. Nowadays, though, when I am complimented, I follow up my thanks with a cheerful, "I made it." Which is invariably followed by a "What? You made it?" I smile sweetly and nod. Just once.

It's not the noticing that has changed for me: it's the personal affirmation of my talents. The "I made it" does more for my emotional health than the original compliment, or the subsequent discussion. I don't tell about making my clothes for the "bond" it might create between me and the compliment maker, although it is nice to chat and take that little break from our days. Rather, talking about it is more to remind me that I am someone, something, other than what I do, day in and day out. I feel most alive and productive when I am sitting at my sewing table, focusing on guiding the fabric under the needle. When I am matching fabric with style of pattern to create something that says "ME!" I love that feeling of "me-ness" that comes from knitting a scarf or a wrap or socks that no one else will ever have.

Where once I was concerned how I would be regarded if people know that I make stuff, I now see the value in sharing that bit of myself with others. And I guess that's what it came down to: I was feeling guarded. Now I have, for various reasons, no reason to hide behind myself.

I love it!