An early taste of winter....

Yesterday we had our first taste of winter. Although a little early, it was a welcome change of seasons for me. I think Fall is my favorite time of year. I love the cool, crisp air. It always smells so fresh and clean to me.
Yesterday it started raining fairly early, by noon that rain had become snow. The temperature went from somewhere in the 50s to the mid 30s by mid day. Larry and I went to pick up a bed frame at IKEA and I took some photos of the mountains (that which is visible) when we came out of the store.



As we made our way back home, we stopped by a local grocery store to pick up some makings for dinner and I took another picture of the fresh snow on the mountains near my home.




Later in the evening, we finally finished painting the downstairs. It took us forever to agree on colors. Larry likes bright, "WOW" colors, and I prefer more earthy, warm colors. I think I won....., but I won't tell him that (wink wink). While going to town with paint rollers and brushes, we also watched part of the first season of Heroes. Now I see what all the hub-bub is about.





This morning we woke to frost outside. I asked Larry to make a nice fire for us while we read the paper and had breakfast. Another first for the season.....


A movie plug..
Friday, Larry and I went to see 3:10 to Yuma which was a great flick. I love Westerns (not spaghetti's though) and really enjoyed this movie. All kinds of gun-slingin, o.k. corrallin, shit kickin, and shoot-outs to your heart's content. It also was a good period piece, they even used the correct silverware of the time. I think I was one of two women in the audience, and she spent most of the time filing her nails (I kid you not). Maybe I am strange, but I prefer a movie like this over most other types of movies. Maybe its my half pioneer heritage and my half Apache genetics that find these tales of Western survival intriguing.
Even though I found this story enjoyable, if you don't like this genre then you probably wouldn't like this film. That being said, if you just interested in watching Russell Crowe and Christian Bale for 2 hours (she says clearing her throat) then this is your film.

Why Change?

I recently had someone ask me why I had decided, at my age (apparently I'm ancient), to go back to school and pursue a different career. The question did make me ponder and think because I had never put my reasons down in words for why I have chosen SLP as my choice for a new career. I just see it as what I want to do, so I am going to do it. I think this is one of those questions that could have multiple answers such as expected job growth, wage, lifestyle, etc..., but those are all on the peripheral.
As I have written in the past I have been changing and find my voice so to speak. I think it came to me completely by coincidence, or maybe some destiny action was happening, that at the same time I was changing, I felt the pull to go in this direction. I believe that as I am growing as a person and learning to speak my voice, I find I want to help others that have lost theirs or are struggling with it. To be able to communicate is the center of the human experience. Oral communication is a big part of that. If a person can't communicate clearly their ideas, feelings, thoughts, then they internalize and become frustrated and angry. I am a communicator by my nature. I need to express myself and my thoughts or I start to fall away from myself and turn into a zombie.

I reflect on a job I had when I was just out of high school. I was a nurse aide at a convalescent center. I hated the job, but there was a man, a patient, who had lived in that center for over 10 years. His body was slowly succumbing to MS. I would start my shift with a visit with him. The disease had been eating away at him to where he was unable to feed himself and could barely talk. I would sit next to him and we would "talk" for as long as I could manage without neglecting my other patients. He collected stamps, and he would share his many collections with me all the while trying hard to get his mouth to work right. Most of the time it was just me guessing and pointing to things, but we managed and with a little frustration and patience, communication took place. Over time, I found myself loving spending time with this man and would spend time with him after my shift was over. I felt frustrated that there was nothing I could do to make him well. It was out of my hands. All I could do was be a comforting friend. He was the only thing I missed about leaving that job.

Now as I look to the future, I see myself in a similar scenario, but maybe now I can help someone who is recovering from an accident, a stroke, a returning vet with brain damage, or a person just struggling to overcome a stutter. I can also be proactive by helping a child that might have a deformity in their mouth, or one that has Autism learn to overcome their disability so that their voice can be heard. A child that maybe might not have had the confidence to express him/herself due to a completely treatable speech problem, can receive therapy and find the confidence to get their ideas and thoughts across.

So I guess that is the long version of an answer, but that is my reason(s) none the less. In a nutshell, I want to help people communicate because every voice needs to be heard. Sounds simple enough, but yet it is meaningful to me that I can contribute to helping another. Becoming a Speech Language Pathologist is the way I want to do it.

Fallen

I think I am the biggest klutz known to mankind. For example, this morning I awoke to my beeping alarm clock, put my sports bra and shorts on in the dark, and did my half hour of yoga doing my best to be graceful and breathe properly. Legs stretched out long, balancing on one knee and a hand, down dog, warrior pose, etc, etc... . You might think that if I was to fall over or trip this might be the opportune time for me to do so, but no.... the worst that happened was me getting behind a step or two. It wasn't until afterwards that I crashed and burned.

I was hopping down the stairs on my way to move the clothes from the washer to the dryer paying little attention to my feet or the stairs. Before I knew it my feet slipped out from underneath me...BOOM... on my rear end landing 6th step from the bottom. My husband, who was doing the dishes in the kitchen, heard the crash and came flying to my rescue. I think he expected me to be a mangled mess of body parts at the bottom of the stairs, limbs flung to far, distant corners of the room. Instead he found me laughing (which he thought was crying at first) and rubbing my right acetabulum (butt bone). "That's it!" he said sternly. "I can't leave you! Your gonna fall down somewhere and hurt yourself, and I won't be able to help you." Sweet, but really honey, I am not doing this on purpose.

To add to his argument, I made the mistake of telling him that I fell out the side door last week while he was away. Yes folks, I, former ballet dancer extraordinaire, fell out the door. I can't say exactly what happened, but here is what I do know. I opened the side door to take something out to the garage, and as I stepped onto the porch my foot rolled off a bag of pears I had forgotten I had left outside the door. My right knee collapsed taking down the rest of me with it. Fortunately, I landed on a rubber mat, so there was only a little scratch on my right ankle. My biggest concern was whether or not any of my neighbors may have caught this amazing act of grace.
Last month while warming up on my treadmill (aka walking), I managed to do the one thing I never thought I would, I tripped and did the ol' slide down the belt face down. Except I wasn't as smart as other people who might encounter such an event, they let go and get off the treadmill. I, however, decided to hold on to the handles while the turning belt had its way with my knee. It left a nice scab. Again, my husband was home and heard the crash and came flying downstairs. I believe that time I got the, "what am I going to do with you!"

I could probably dig up some other stories of "Bindy's inability to perform basic tasks without shedding blood," but that might take up more blog time than I am allotted.

Note to any reader passing through: If I don't write for awhile...call 911. (Just kidding!)

P.S. OT- In the picture that is posted at the top of my blog is a face. For some reason the way the branches come together make a face to me. Can anyone else see it, or am I seeing things?

Just taking a break

I have exams coming out my nose. I think I have enough flash cards to be buried in. Maybe that would be a better idea than going back to school! I think I must be masochistic. Pain is my friend.

I should keep this sweet and short or I might ramble on with something I shall later regret.
I will leave you with this.....


.....and this....
/aɪbɛtʃəaɪkənhɛlpðɛmɡɛɾaʊɾəðætmɛs/......aka "I bet you I can help them get out of that mess."
You got that, right?

Lastly, I heard this lovely song from John Mayer while I was studying. I thought it was nice.....and soothing.

Final Blooms

Now that the air has cooled, the leaves are starting to change color and fall, and the sweatshirts have come out of moth balls (not really, who can stand the smell of those things?), I am looking at the end of my planting season. I do love to garden and tend to my flowers and blooms. For me, it is one of those few things in life that allow me to understand what it is to create and to nurture. Given I didn't create the seed or make the water and all the other elements required for success, but it is I who chose the plant and planted it into the earth. It is I that spent the hours tending and nurturing the plant to help it become what is possible.

Maybe it is the cold earth that I connect to. I hate wearing gloves as a gardener. I feel it becomes too clean of a task. Part of the experience is missing with gloves on. Sure the nails get embedded with dirt and microbes, but that's what soap and nail clippers are for. Occasionally there are scratches and pricks that leave their mark, maybe a spot of blood here and there, but that allows me to leave a little something of myself behind. The earth isn't clean, isn't without it's thorns and sharp edges. My hands are rough and show the scars left by an unruly rose bush or needled shrub branch, but as they say....it adds character. I like having the hands of a gardener, of showing the truth of who I am.

I also love finding worms and other creatures that call the dirt their home. Usually that tells me my soil is healthy. Finding some juicy night crawler means the soil is being aerated and my plant's roots will get the oxygen they need. Funny, that a one time dainty little girl now finds fun in draping a big, fat worm in between her fingers. Regrettably, my shovel has had its way with a few worms it has come in contact with, making one into two. The guilt is short lived as this doubles the worm number and becomes a gift rather than a death sentence.

But that is all starting to come to an end, for this year at least. Temperatures this weekend with be down in the 30s and 40s. My garden will start to shed its flowers (those which are still around) and the leaves will brown, fall, and begin to decompose. Dormancy will soon follow, and I will have to wait until next spring when the beauty of life begins all over again.

Life awaits

Tomorrow morning, early in the A.M., I will be picking Larry up from the airport after another 10 days in Hawaii. In just a few short weeks he starts his 8-month (minimum) tour there. I think it is starting to set in that he won't be home for awhile. There is that slightest feeling of panic about what it will be like to apart for so long. Of course I go through the calender and realize that between the time he leaves and Christmas he will have come home once (Thanksgiving) and I will have gone out once. With the few weeks in between, there isn't a whole lot of time. I say this knowing that it is a way of convincing myself that it won't be that bad. After all, we have been separated many times, the worst being during his time in Somalia when there was no communication, no phone lines for months, and it took forever for the postal system to get going. Those were bad separations, but this...this should be easy, right? I hope so, but sometimes the bed feels awfully big without him.

Sometimes the hardest thing to do is to say goodbye

What is a friend? A single soul dwelling in two bodies. - Aristotle

I once had a friend that I thought fit this quote, that together or apart we had become the same soul unified in our friendship. Then one day the friendship disappeared as if it had never existed. I have struggled with walking away for the longest time because some part of me believed it impossible for one to leave a friendship, a person you loved and cared for, behind. That being said, I have come realize that it does not matter what I believe because what is in someones heart cannot be known to anyone else.

It is a strange thing, growing older and apart. The bonds that once carried us through the days of our trying youth become broken and shattered. Ours was a friendship that had been tested over and over again. Days, weeks, months, and even years would go by without words between us, but somehow there was always this certain knowledge, this feeling, that if we ever needed one another, for any reason, we would find away to be there for the other, that comfort of an old friend.
There were times when I walked away, needing space, needing to "grow up," but I always thought of him on my path through life, his eyes and voice echoing through my mind. Eventually I would find my way back to him, or he to me, and I would be so happy that we were together once again. Then one day the feeling left me, the one that told me he would be there for me, it just disappeared. It was as if he had died. Without warning, without words, he went silent.

I told myself something must have happened to him. Maybe he had fallen ill? Maybe someone in his family had? Maybe he was in an accident? Repeated attempts to contact him went unanswered. I finally gave up, praying for him that he was okay and not harmed. Then one day, years later and under strangely coincidental circumstances, I found him again. He was in fact, alive and well. I was so excited, but so confused. "What had happened? Why had he left without saying goodbye?" I soon contacted him again, believing that his heart had not gone cold, and he would be happy to hear from me.
What I expected, a joyous reunion of two friends with many stories to share, did not take place. Days, weeks, months went by and still the silence continued. Going over things in my mind, I could not understand what I may have done to be treated so coldly. I finally did receive my answer, "I am not the person you knew." Essentially that was it. How does one change so drastically? "How is it possible" I thought to myself, "to once love someone and then treat them as if they never existed, as if they are meaningless? How does one do that?"

After the initial shock wave, I began to try and see the person I had put on a pedestal as the person he has become, and not the one I once knew. Life can change you. Life can and will if you let it. I believe very much that the core of who I am, that child in her tou-tou, the girl hiding behind her books or riding her bike really fast down a hill, and the teenager driving down the street with her music really loud is still very much who I am. I have grow up, but I have not let life change me. I am not ashamed of my youth, of my time growing and searching for who I would become, but relish in it for it is all part of the puzzle that is me. To ignore someone that was a part of that, would in essence be ignoring that part of me.

The one thing I know about him is that he views himself very highly, very moral, and that to have known me, to have loved me once, produces a black cloud over his desire for perfection. He sees himself on a quest to be "perfected" in all ways. I realize now how deep this desire really goes. In doing so, he has created a cell for himself, removed from the world around him. Maybe this gives him peace, solace. Maybe it prevents him from making any "mistakes" that might prevent this task of perfection from taking place. Even he views himself as prisoner, but somehow I think he also views this as some sort of martyrdom, as a sacrificial lamb. As he has become this person, he has built a wall in order to distance himself from me, from us, from our past, and our friendship.

On reflection, I think I always knew this about him, this capacity within him. When once our friendship began to become something more, I knew I had to put an end to it (although I admit I did it poorly, but I was only 17) because I knew I could never walk with him on that path, I could never be that person who would seek out the life that he now lives. I knew, even at 17, that to do so would be certain death to my God-given spirit and to all the things about me that he, in fact, loved. After the bruises began to heal, I attempted to try and salvage our friendship, and over time I believed that we had moved forward, reclaiming who we had been to each other.

But here I am once again writing about this loss in my life. The never ending, continual death of a person that for a time meant more to me than anyone else in the world and the friendship we once shared. But this time, for the first time, I can see that it is not because of anything I did, or the person that I am as that has always remained constant. No, as hard as it has been for me to see, it was and is his choice, and his alone. What more can one do? Nothing. There is no place to go from here. The end of the road with him is clearly lined before me. I stand at the edge, looking out, calling his name, but all I see are dark, grey clouds, and a silence that is piercing.

I find myself changing direction in the desire to be free, to be where I am wanted and needed, no longer trying to find a way to show someone what they have lost when they no longer care that it is gone. It is time to leave some things behind. It is heart breaking and gut wrenching, for sometimes the hardest thing to do is to say goodbye.

Oh Yuri, where have you been all my life?

More importantly, were have I been? How is possible that I might have by passed this wonderful, inspiring piece of literature? I just finished the second disk of Doctor Zhivago, and I come away feeling enchanted and moved that such a piece of work was created by another human being. How I would have loved to have met Boris Pasternak, to have spent time with the man who could have been able to capture the humanity, the spirit, and the passion that is Doctor Zhivago. I was completely consumed by this story which must have encompassed every emotion known to mankind.

I can't even begin to discuss how much I loved this story except to say that I will be going to the library tomorrow to check out the book. I must read the words, capture the missing details, and paint my own picture for the love and life of Doctor Zhivago. Anyone out there that might be as late as I am in finding this unforgettable story must see it, read it, or listen to it. You will not be disappointed, for it touches the heart of man in every way possible.

A bindyesque evening

Late afternoon I decided to mow the lawn, plant a few Hosta's I had purchased, and lay the last of the mulch for the garage garden. As I was finishing up, the sky had begun to spit at me and fill up with beautiful clouds. I, of course, saw this as a camera opportunity.




I tried to get some lightening, but no luck.

After the beautiful color show outside, I came in and cleaned up. Realizing it was almost 7 and my stomach's ache was for food, I was now confronted with what to eat. I was in a salad mood, but didn't have much to put with the salad, plus I was out of salad dressing. I scrounged around the fridge for ideas and decided to chop up some red-leaf lettuce, crumble up blue cheese, cook up 3 strips of bacon and chop them up, and to top it all off, 2 pears that had just fallen from my pear tree. The dressing was home made out of Apricot spreadable fruit with white wine vinegar, and olive oil. I also sprinkled in about a teaspoon of sugar. This actually tasted very good together. It was a fabulous salad if I may say so.

After partaking my yummy salad, and guzzling buckets of water (I was still thirsty from the law mowing), I decided to move downstairs to the sectional and T.V.. I had just received Doctor Zhivago from Netflix. I had been looking forward to this all week. As I opened the envelope I realized that I had ordered the wrong one. I thought I had ordered the 1960s movie, but instead had ordered a BBC remake done in 2002. At first I was a bit pissed, but it was the BBC, so it had to be good. In fact, it was very good. I immediately fell in love with the story having never seen it before, nor read the book. I do have the 1960s movie on order, so it will be interesting to compare.
I propped up a couple of pillows behind my back and curled up under a blanket. Next to me was a small bowl of chocolate Riesen candies. I enjoyed my little chocolates while watching this wonderful romance.
Around 10 p.m. Larry called to say goodnight. I told him of my evening, and he said it sounded so very "bindy" of me. Hummm.......I guess it does.

The Analysis

An old friend of mine recently posted a painting that he had done in his sketchbook. Below the painting he essentially asks the question to the viewer, "what is your interpretation?" I decided to take his challenge. Unfortunately, I do not have the painting to post here (copyright issues and such), so I will try and describe it best I can. You can view this painting at sketchpot.blogspot.com if you wish. Please note that these are my own interpretations and not his.

The title of the picture is "Surrender" I believe. But the artist makes the statement, "I suppose it could be about surrendering. Or, it could be about faithfully upholding the standard, despite injury....you decide." The words I suppose make me think that the first statement (to surrender) is the artist's least desired outcome, whereas the later portion of the statement seems to come across more positive and therefore makes me thing that is his desired outcome. That being said, it doesn't mean we still can't dissect it as he has said we can do.

A man, wearing a basic white long sleeved, button down shirt with a blue and orange striped tie looks average American with his blond hair and blue/green eyes (I think, hard to tell). His face is rather chiseled and gaunt looking. Of the face, his eyes stand out the most to me. They appear to be tired, maybe not so much from lack of sleep as much as just tired of his life. There seems to be a deep sadness or a loss of hope inside the eyes. They lack the sparkle of life, but do tell a story. The man's lips are pursed together with no real expression. Overall, his face tells a tale of a man beaten down in some way.
In the man's right hand is a pole with a white flag attached to the top of the pole and the flag is fluttering in the air. The other hand (his left) is held straight up, hand wide open, in a defensive posture as if someone was coming at him and he held up his hands stating he is not a threat, or that he means no harm.
Next is the wound. Around the collar of the neck is blood that has dripped down. The shirt pocket over the heart also has blood. I believe the blood in the pocket is from the neck, however, the drop from the neck is not connected to the drops in the pocket. I don't believe this is a mortal wound, but one that is open and bleeding. Now, I am no Art History major, so I do not have the knowledge to dig beyond the surface of a bleeding wound and its many interpretations. My question is, who made the wound? Was it by someone else or self inflicted? The flag and the defensive hand make me think it has been inflicted by someone else. Is it a persistent bleeding, a wound that never heals?

White flag significance. Well, my only knowledge of the use of a white flag is during military action to show a sign of surrender or truce. I decided to take a moment to look up some additional facts. After getting through the Dido stuff, I found some more in depth meaning for the use of the white flag.
Wikipedia offers this:

• The white flag is an internationally recognized protective sign of truce or ceasefire, and request for negotiation. It is also used to symbolise surrender, since it is often the weaker military party which requests negotiation. A white flag signifies to all that an approaching negotiator is unarmed, with an intent to surrender or a desire to communicate.
• The first mention of the usage of white flags to surrender is made during from the Eastern Han dynasty (A.D 25–220). In the Roman Empire, the historian Cornelias Tacitus mentions a white flag of surrender in A.D. 109.
• In Buddhist countries, white is the color of mourning.
• An unadorned white flag was the standard of the Stewards of Gondor in the Middle-Earth legendarium of author J.R.R Tolkien.
  

Given those tidbits of information, I would have to say the flag does mean surrender or truce; however (and this is where it could get sticky) since I once knew the artist, it could have been used as it was in the Tolkien Novel. Stewards of Gondor, as in protectors of Gondor. Does open possibilities, doesn't it?

If I try to tie this all together, the flag, the hand, and the wound make the statement of defensive posturing, a truce. You or it wounded me, I am tired and bleeding, I give and seek truce. That would be the obvious depiction. To be honest, without personally knowing the artist, you wouldn't really look for anything else, but he has asked you to. As I said, he used to be a friend of mine, so my guesses may not be as objective as they should be, and are based on what I did once know about him.

This is a personal painting. I am guessing it holds personal significance to the artist. I don't think he drew this picture as a desire to make the statement for truce or surrender, but rather as a statement about protecting his beliefs or standards he has set for himself. To defend no matter the cost, so to speak. But the flag and the eyes paint something else to me. The white flag is such a unique symbol that I can't think anyone would guess beyond the "surrender" aspect of it. Maybe the man in the picture feels his "standards" are somehow being attacked upon, therefore, he sees himself as a victim of this attack, wounds and all. I really can't say. Usually people who fight for (or uphold) what they believe in often times carry an armament or ornament of that which they are fighting for (more offensive/active posturing), not a surrender flag, so I am at a loss there. The eyes are still very defeated to me, so the man must be at his wits end and exhausted either from the fight itself or the toll it has taken on his spirit.

All that being said, I could be completely wrong. Maybe he is a Buddhist in mourning and had a bad morning with the razor? After all, the shirt is white as well. I guess that is why no one can really know the true intentions of an artist. It is theirs alone. But the speculation is the fun part.

That is what it is like going to the museum with me. Painful, my husband would say, but I like to dissect and analyze most everything. It is all part of a larger picture to me. This one painting came from some place inside this person. It tells a story, one that he wanted to share.
I also find it fun to try and dig around for more information. I guess that is why I view myself as a perpetual student. There is always something new to learn about a person, place, or thing.


*My absolute favorite Sarah song. It may or may not apply to this post.*

Say What?

Yes, this is your Larynx from a posterior view. This goobly glop of stuff sits right in between the Trachea and the Hyoid Bone. It is such a complicated mass of cartilage, muscles, and ligaments, it's amazing that any words get through at all. Most people are probably like me and don't really think much about the processes involved in speech and vocal communication, that is until it is dissected down into the basic functioning units. It is truly amazing, at least to me.
Classes are becoming more and more of a challenge. Organization has been my weakness, but I am getting a hold on it now. It is almost a good thing that Larry is away for the next week. Now I can devote all my extra time to my coursework.

A Conversation

The phone rings. I look up at the clock on the wall. It reads 8:30. I think to myself, " who could it be? Larry isn't due into Honolulu until 10:00?" I look at the Caller ID. It reads his name. I pick up the receiver, "Larry? Where are you?" "You'll never guess" he replies in a growly voice. "Well you should be somewhere over the Pacific right now, but as I am talking to you I am guessing that you aren't," I said with a little laugh in my voice.
"I'm in L.A." again with the growl. Shocked that he had only gone a few hundred miles in the last 5 hours, I asked him what had happened since his 3:30 boarding, which should have been an 11:30 boarding originally. "We boarded the plane, went out to the Tarmac, and sat in the plane for the entire movie, Fantastic Four. We finally got off the ground at 6:30. With all the delays one of the pilots passed his FAA mandated crew rest, so we had to stop in L.A. for another pilot."
"Holy crap!" I said. "So are you staying in L.A. or are you going on to Honolulu?" He cleared his throat,"We are leaving here shortly for Honolulu, which puts me in at 2:00 a.m. our time."

The funny thing about this entire ordeal is that earlier in the morning while we were eating breakfast I told him that I didn't think it would be a good travel day and that he should stay home and go out on Tuesday. I thought it would be a beautiful day for a hike and a picnic. He said he needed to get to work because they were expecting him. I can't fault him for his work ethic, but I still think it is kind of funny. It's a running joke in our house that I am usually right about things (no, not just because I'm the wife, but actually because I tend to see things better than he does), and he never listens to me and ends up paying the price. It is hilarious.... for me anyway. I guess that sounds bad, huh? I do feel really bad for him though. This kind of travel really sucks.

I also shared with him my medical news which confounded him as much as it did me. "The medication must not be working. It must be the wrong type for what you need. What is she going to do?" he asked with a lot of concern in his voice. "She is upping me from 50mcg to 75 mcg. I don't know if it will do it, but I realize that this takes time to get right, so I am trying to be patient" I responded. "75mcg! Geez! After all the improvement you already have made, what is going to happen with an increase? Are you going to sprout wings?"
I laughed at his response. "Maybe I will. Then I could get you to your destinations on time."

Disappointing News

Just got off the phone with my doc and my blood results came back with my TSH being back up again. They are actually higher than they were when I was first diagnosed with Hypothyroidism. I can't believe this. I am starting to think this medication might be wrong, maybe I need to be on something else? I have to say, though, I still feel pretty good. She is upping my dose of the Synthriod, but my gut says maybe I need to dig deeper and find out other possibilities. Six more weeks and another blood test. I'm starting to feel like a pin cushion.

Driving in Circles

No, I don't mean metaphorically, but literally. Ever since I awoke this morning I have been running around all over the place. I had an 8:00 a.m. proctored exam (which I got a 95 on...Yeah!) followed by a doctor's appointment, back home to make a big breakfast before Larry left for his 6 1/2 hour flight to Hawaii, chauffeured him to the airport, ran errands on my way home, got home just in time to not wet myself (sorry, but true), the phone rings with Larry explaining a delay in his flight of 2 hours and could I come pick him up for lunch (we just ate!!), back in the car and out to the airport, took him out to lunch, drove him back to airport, had to stop off for some groceries and cat food, and made it home just in time to not wet myself again! Yes, I think that constitutes driving in circles.
Now I am just sitting back for a moment before I have to finish the laundry and dive into my books again.
I think I hear a nice hot cup of tea calling my name. I think I will take it up on its offer.

Paint, Gyros, and a Find

This last weeks has been a mix bag of events. Most of the week was filled with the chore of painting our house. We have a brick home, however, through the years of homeowners (1942 and on) the bricks had been the victims of unruly drill bits, cable cords, electrical boxes, over-sprayed paint from trim, and oxidation from metal awnings. The brick was in bad shape to say the least. I have been wanting to paint it ever since we moved in, but things take time, and other steps needed to be done prior to paint. Finally, we got to the point where it made sense to go ahead and get it done. We still have to paint the porch and we are adding shutters around the windows, but are pleased with the cohesive look.




Thursday brought about the Annual Greek Fest. Actually Thursday was a special night, normally it doesn't start until Friday, but we went Thursday too. Friday afternoon (prior to massive crowds) we met up with some friends for a little Greek food and fun. I had forgotten to bring my camera, so I took pictures with Larry's cell phone.




I really enjoy the dancing and music. The food is great too, but I do have to say that for overall flavor, Pensacola's Greek Fest was a bit better. I'm sure it has more to do with quantity vs. quality, but my opinion is that Pensacola's offers more spices and variety.

Additionally, I have been on the prowl for a dining table for my house. I actually have one, but it is really big, too big for our small dining room in this house. I love my dining table and have had it for 13 years, but it just is too big for this house. So I have been looking for a round table that would fit better. I had about given up because of price and/or quality when yesterday I came across this little beauty at a second hand store...



It is an old American Oak table, solid, with beautiful feet. I will be stripping the top because it has layers of old wax on it. The center has a pedestal, which is lying to the side in the first picture, but Larry did some repairs on it last night. We split the center and found a virtual history of food ground down the middle. It was disgusting and had to be removed with a chisel. We are really happy with this little find and will have it in our home for years to come. We still have our other table, but have disassembled it and have it lying under a bed for safe storage.

It has been a fun, but busy week. I am looking forward to a day of rest tomorrow (with studying...oh well).

Change

It's official. Changes are going on all around me. Not only is the old Crossroads Mall gone, but Trolley Square is getting a major renovation as well. The "first enclosed mall west of the Mississippi" aka Cottonwood Mall is getting demolished for new retail and housing. Yesterday in the paper they revealed the new downtown Sugarhouse plans (link enclosed). I'm not so sure how I feel about this particular change....yet. Last but not least, the freeway near my home (I-80) is getting torn up and rebuilt.
I couldn't even begin to compare this city to the one I moved back to only 3 years ago, let alone the one of my youth. Changes are happening, and they are happening fast.


http://www.sltrib.com/business/ci_6813064

Today I fell in love

This afternoon I was waiting outside a restaurant with my husband for a late lunch/dinner. As I sat on the bench out in front of the restaurant, I stared at six lanes of traffic speeding by. Out of no where was a small, grey dog coming right for me, through all the traffic. My husband and I jumped out to stop the cars, and the dog continued on his mission towards me.

Jumping out in front of cars to save an animal is not unusual for me, maybe not that smart, but definitely falls in line with who I am. Shortly after moving back here, I was driving down a very well traveled road when I came across a mama duck and about 9 ducklings. She, obviously not the sharpest tool in the shed, was about to find herself and her babies to be road kill. I slammed on my breaks and turned the truck sideways to block traffic. Horns and all, I got out and ran those babies and mama through 4 lanes of traffic. I even had one old man act like he was going to run me over as well. I stood in defiance in front of his car, and if lasers could actually come out of my eyes, he would have been blown to smithereens. They all made it to the other side safely. I came back to my truck, went about my business, and everyone was happy (except for the old grump, but he is probably never happy).
I guess that was a side story. Back to today.....
So this dog was about to unknowingly commit suicide, but fortunately he made it safely to my waiting arms. It was immediate attachment on my part. He was a beautiful sheep dog with deep brown eyes that said, "take me home with you and make me yours." He was also tagged. Out of obligation, and some sort of karma thing my husband was yammering on about, we called the owner of Boomerang (that's his name). No one home. Hummmm....."I guess we will just have to take him home with us. Maybe the owners don't want him anymore." I said with hope in my voice.

We put him in the back of the truck while we ate our food. After we finished we came out to find him barking away. I felt a sense of excitement inside me that I was going to be going home with this little guy and making him part of our family. You see, I had already fallen in love with him. Larry, the honorable man that he is, decided we need to try the address on the tags to see if anyone was home. So we drove by, knocked on the door. Nothing. Yippee!
I was covered in hair at this point and already having dreams of running in the park, or playing catch with this perfect little dog. As we turned away from the house, a white pickup pulled up beside me and asked me to roll down my window. It was Boomerang's family out looking for him. Damn! I wanted to cry. Then I saw the little boy who was so happy he had found his dog. I realized that in my own selfishness I forgot about what it feels like to loose a pet.

We drove back to their house, and the family was so thankful and happy. Apparently he had jumped the fence during the thunderstorms this afternoon. Boomerang ran to the backyard and brought his ball out to Larry to play catch. All too soon it was time to say goodbye. We drove away both a little misty eyed.
Today I fell in love with someone I only knew for a moment, but a moment was all it took.

A year in review (warning....long)

As I have been writing this blog (under different names along the way) for over a year now, I wanted to write a little review of how my life has changed over the last year. I realize that this will be extremely personal, and if you are not interested in reading about a person's life, than this might not be the post for you. My husband will often share with me how he doesn't understand how I can discuss some of the most personal aspects of my life with complete strangers. I guess I don't look at that way. I look at it as entries of my life whether it be a diary entry, a musical entry, an event going on, or a series of photos that I have taken and want to journal the moments they captured. Who looks at the stories makes no difference to me, because what matters is that I write them, and I look at them.
I suppose one could argue that I could keep a journal without posting it all over the Internet. This is true, but maybe there is a small part of me that thinks I might say something that someone comes across in a search that does make an impact in one way or another. This actually did happen when I was sick earlier this year and had ringing in my ears and persistent dizziness. A young college girl from California with the same symptoms contacted me through my posts, and I was able to help her find a direction to go with her doctor. I don't know what the outcome was (maybe it was her thyroid as well), but I was at least be able to take my own experiences and help another person.

When I began writing last August, I was searching for an outlet. Trying to find a way to connect with myself through writing or whatever else I decided on. I had felt that somewhere along the road of life I had lost myself and didn't know where to go next. I think I had found the ever so cliche end-of-the-rope. Most of my posts aren't that introspective, but it was the connection I made that became important to me. I began to think throughout the day about things I wanted to write about. This started making me view the world and myself in the world in a way I hadn't thought about in a long while.
In mid-October of last year I became horribly sick. I felt ground down and exhausted. I also started looking ill. My eyes that had always shone brightly began to fade and look tired and watery. It took all my motivation and effort just to leave my house and find some sort of life outside of myself. I was dreadfully unhappy and physically drained. I still continued to write, not talking about my pain and unhappiness (but I wonder if some of that didn't come through anyways), but just about things going on in my life, even attempting some humor here and there if I could scour some out of myself.

The new year brought about more illness with a never ending case of the dizzies. I don't know if anyone can quite understand what that is like unless you have actually lived through such a thing. If you have ever been dizzy from an amusement park ride, or just spinning in circles, imagine that happening ALL the time for months on end. I was dizzy from the second weekend in January until the first of April. It was a living HELL. Additionally, my immune system seemed to be failing me and I was catching everything that passed through me. As a child, and even as an adult, I was never sick, so this disturbed me to no end. I became severely depressed. To go from being a fun, loving, enthusiastic person to barely alive made my psyche work against me. I thought I was having a break down. Either that or dieing. No doctor could tell me what was happening with me. I was eventually sent up to the U of U's medical school to become a lab rat of sorts.

Then one evening, home alone, I was battling yet another case of stomach flu. I couldn't keep anything down, but was crazy hungry (I had lost 15 lbs in less than 2 months), so I would eat anyways. As I was made to run to the toilet one more time, I started to cry. That kind of all over and throughout your body cry. I took my clothes off and jumped into the shower and laid on the floor of the shower with hot water pelting my body. I just laid there crying and shaking. I began to pray like I had never prayed before. I told God to either make me well or just take me now. I, being the person I am, could not live like this. I begged Him. I asked for his blessing....and....well...alone, naked in that shower, I received it. I continued to vomit as if my toes were going to curl inside of myself and come out my mouth. Every part; body, soul, and mind was purged that night. I was exhausted and felt dead.

I reflect on that night often. I believe that it was a baptism of sorts. I was not alone in that shower, and whatever was killing me needed to be removed. The next day I was no better, but God doesn't always work on my time line (this I have figured out). One afternoon, weeks later, I got the courage to call my doctor to have a series of blood test done. I made the appointment which was unfortunately 5 weeks out. I tried my best to go about my life in the same state of illness and depression I had been in. Side note: Do not go to the Internet for medical advice. I believe that every symptom of every illness has the potential to lead to death. Which, if you are at like me, means you are going to be the one that dies. I finally got to my doctor's appointment and had all kinds of blood test, including one to test my thyroid. My thyroid was in fact defunct and needed supplementation. I began medication right away and that slowly began to change my life. I had no idea how much that little organ played in my life, but it is huge. Now because of my own experience I tell people to have their thyroid tested for anything that might seem unusual, even if it just depression. It is not something that doctors seem to think about when you go in for an illness or complaint.

As I find my way back to the land of living once again, my zest for life has never been so strong. It is as if my experiences of "near death" (at least it felt that way for a long time) made me see my life for what it really was, and I was not too happy with what I reflected on. I now realize that you only get to do this life business one time around, so it better be great.

I chose to give up a lot of my bad habits, change career paths even though most tell me I must be crazy, tell people I love them, spend a lot of time hugging my husband, stop caring about money not being made or material items not being purchased, chose to go back to church if only to meet people with similar beliefs and become active and engaged, spend time outside everyday preferably doing something active and strenuous, have dreams about my life again, want to do everything again, feel fear is falling away from me more and more everyday, love my family and friends, find myself as a voice for those who have none.......I could go on and on, but I think you get the point. I have changed completely, inside and out. I am still me, maybe more of the me I thought I had left behind, and I am excited about life again.

If one could ever say there was a year in a person's life that changed them, this would be it for me. No, I did not climb Mt. Everest, or go to Nepal, or talk with the Dali Lama, but rather I lost myself, became ill, cried on the floor of my shower, and begged for my life. Thank God, that is exactly what I got.

Must Love Dogs

Yesterday I wasn't on my "A" game, so I stayed in, spending much of the day curled up on the couch. In between reading and reviewing flashcards I turned on HBO and watched one of the sweetest movies I've seen in a long time, Must Love Dogs. I am late to this viewing as it was released in 2005, but I absolutely loved it. It doesn't hurt that John Cusack is the male lead as well. I think a few months back I went on and on about my perpetual crush on the man.

Diane Lane is absolutely beautiful in the movie, and her character's insecurity and vulnerability make her even more so. Her character really connected with me, not that I am divorced and trying to find Mr. Right again, but her personality, and how she thinks and acts, its like looking in a mirror.
I thought this was a really sweet, kind hearted, funny, animal friendly, lovely movie. I highly recommend it.

Brown Penny

I whispered, ‘I am too young,’
And then, ‘I am old enough’;
Wherefore I threw a penny
To find out if I might love.
‘Go and love, go and love, young man,
If the lady be young and fair.’
Ah, penny, brown penny, brown penny,
I am looped in the loops of her hair.

O love is the crooked thing,
There is nobody wise enough
To find out all that is in it,
For he would be thinking of love
Till the stars had run away
And the shadows eaten the moon.
Ah, penny, brown penny, brown penny,
One cannot begin it too soon.

Yeats

Recall

Yesterday I headed off to the suburbs, which is like being transported back in time. Surprisingly a lot of people have stayed stuck in the 80s. Bouffant hair styles and way too much makeup, just to name a few characteristics. Having grown up in the 80s I can say that I loved it.....at the time. I still love the music and listen to it all the time (XM's Fred is on a lot at my house). It can also be nice to wax nostalgia about those days, but I did not peak in the 80s and have moved on, as one should, right? Based on what I witnessed yesterday, this doesn't appear to be the case for everyone. Mullets are still alive and well in the South Valley. I about died when I saw my old girlfriend was wearing leggings with stirrups. Leggings!! I guess if it's what she likes and she finds them to be comfortable than it works, but it just seems so 20 years ago (which it was).
On my way home, this song came on the radio (1985) and I started laughing, which probably looked strange as I was sitting alone in my car. I think it is the ultimate "Utah" song. I think there are so many X-gens here that some things just stick around, maybe a lot longer than they should.