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!