An Odd Sort of Summer

It’s been an odd sort of summer. Most of the time it doesn’t even seem like summer to me. I’m distracted and really busy. Each day seems to have a monumental ‘to-do’ list attached to it and no matter how much I get done, there’s a long, long list of things still to do. And I’m tired. A lot. Not sure what’s up with that but I guess there’s some direct correlation between being busy, having a lot still to do and being tired, but I don’t like it. I just want more energy and I want to get more done. It’s no wonder I’m not seeing a lot of this thing I normally think of as summer.

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Bouncing Back: Is Everyone Capable?

The older I get, the less patience I seem to have with excuses. My own. Other people’s. My own. Maybe I’m being a bit of a hardass here, but trust me, I’m no easier on myself. Honestly. I know my faults. I know the excuses I try to give myself and I’m not cutting myself any more slack than I am you.

I’ve gotten to a place in my own life where I am more aware than ever of where I’ve come from, what I’ve managed to accomplish and what I haven’t, particularly focusing on why I haven’t. No excuses. I didn’t focus enough on a lot of things and I have no one to blame but myself. Sure, circumstances definitely came into play at times but I can’t say that I always did the best job in dealing with some of those circumstances but I did the best I could at the time for the most part. And when I didn’t, the results reflect that.
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‘Round and ‘Round She Goes

My life is a carousel ride, a never-ending ‘round and ‘round, busier and busier, sometimes steadier than others and as dizzying as it is at times, I can’t seem to get off the carousel, nor most of the time of the time do I truly want to. I may change horses, get a different vantage point, but generally I’m going ‘round and ‘round at a pace that can be daunting at times to others.

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Weaving Memorable Threads

Family is often a complicated matter, and even when we’re at our very best; it can be a delicate dance to keep us in that condition. Sometimes though, the stars align and there’s no extra effort at all and a day or two (or even more) just sparkles in ways that make the time extra special.

This has been a busy weekend, with one activity after another, the pace of which doesn’t necessarily lend to stellar moods. However, it was a remarkable weekend in ways big and small; the kind that weaves memorable threads into the intricate tapestry we have created of our family life together. At face value, one might miss the little moments that led to the big. I didn’t. I notice and appreciate them.

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Running on Empty

Someone asked me last night what it had been like to live with a marathoner. He said that he had been recently thinking that a certain amount of selfishness had to be involved with anyone training in the capacity one does for a marathon and wondered what that was like for someone (like me) who was not involved in the sport. I think he’s right; there is a certain amount of selfishness there. I guess there has to be some targeted self-focus for anyone that hopes to achieve something great though, whether it’s running a marathon, succeeding in a big way at work, or even becoming an amazing guitar player.

I had to think for a few minutes, and an odd thing came to mind actually. I never really minded all the training, all the running at perilous times of the day and night and in all kinds of weather. What bugged me, and not in a huge way by any means, were the unrealistic expectations my former husband John, a long-distance runner, had at times. Call it optimistic, but he often made plans to run 20 miles and think he could come home and easily settle right back into the day and proceed as if he hadn’t been running for a couple of hours. Call me crazy, but I’d go along with it each time and find myself waiting for his return, making a big breakfast (as he requested) for he and I and our young son, only to have him leave the table, nauseated and unable to eat. He continually pushed himself harder and harder, and seldom considered the implications of what he was doing to himself. It was frustrating to witness, particularly the times when he ran too hard and too fast in the Boston Marathon and ended up in the Prudential garage with an I.V. in his arm.

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My Boy Turns Thirty

Today, my oldest son, Sean, turns 30, which makes perfect sense in the general scheme of things, but seems weird to me nonetheless. It’s par for the course for us moms to say things like, “Gosh, it was just yesterday when he was a baby and now look at him,” but the truth is, it doesn’t seem like just yesterday he was a baby at this point nor does it seem like he was really young any time recently, not that he seems particularly old right now. I’m not sure what age he seems to be other than just what he is, but it’s the idea of him being thirty, well. . .that just feels odd. I have a thirty-year old son. Wouldn’t I be old by now if that was true?
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Flashback

I saw an unusual sight yesterday. It was someone hitchhiking, a young man maybe in his early 20s, a bit of a mess really, walking along the side of the road, turning when a car came his way, extending his arm and sticking out his thumb. You don’t see that much anymore.

Back when I was a teenager, and probably for as many years prior since types of transportation that allowed more than one person to get a ride came about, thumbing a ride was not an uncommon sight. It was customary to hear tales of people thumbing across country, through Canada, and across Europe, all of which inspired romanticized versions (for me at least) of what those adventures must have been like.

For those without a car, hitchhiking was a way to get around. When I was in my pre-teens and early teens, I rode my bike like other people drove their cars around town. I would ride for hours at a time, and for me, it was sweet freedom. I would ride that bike from one end of town to the next, reveling in my own ability to get somewhere on my own. I couldn’t wait until I could actually drive a car and really go somewhere. But until then, I had my bike, first a Raleigh 3-speed (a very elegant black bike) and then a bright, sky blue 10-speed. I loved both of those bikes, and went everywhere on them. I liked riding my bike so much that once when I rode in a 25-mile bike-a-thon, I rode the course 3 times that day. The people that sponsored me per mile were NOT happy when I came to collect.
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Getting Through It

Having survived stage 3 anaplastic large cell lymphoma, a rare form of non-Hodgkins lymphoma, at times it’s as if it never really happened to me even as it remains an integral part of who I am.

In the darkest days of that illness, while I did indeed worry if I would get through it, there was still a part of me that believed that this was just going to be one more twist in the legend of my own life and in the long run, it would be insignificant in the face of everything else still to come.

I don’t dwell much on that time, but every now and then, something brings it all back. The other night was one of those times. I watched the movie “50/50” with one of my sons and my daughter. I had wanted very much to see this movie, and had been looking forward to it for some time. If you’re not familiar with the plot, the main character, played so well by Joseph Gordon-Levitt, is a 27-year old man who finds he has advanced stage cancer and has a 50/50 chance of getting through it. Thank goodness, he did.

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Taming the Lions

Raising four kids has been quite an adventure, but raising three sons was a bit like venturing into a completely uncharted territory. As a young girl, I figured one day I might get married, but it was never an overwhelming desire. If I married at all, it certainly wouldn’t be before I was at least thirty, because you know. . . I had things to do. I was going to write, maybe paint, and most certainly travel the world before I would even consider settling down and getting married. And when I had kids, it would be all girls, just daughters and maybe even five of them. No boys. No way.

I have no idea what this was based on other than the fact I wished I had a bunch of sisters (or at least one) growing up. I have one brother and couldn’t figure him out for the life of me, although he was my very best friend when I was little. I babysat for plenty of kids and had so much fun with the girls especially, creating tea parties, drawing, playing dress up with some of them, swimming, and just a ton of fun things. Then there were the adorable clothes, the hair ribbons, nail polish, my favorite books that I couldn’t wait to share with them; the list was endless. I realize my activities and expectations were completely gender-centric to somewhat biased roles, but hell, it’s what I enjoyed doing and I wasn’t a fair damsel in distress back then nor did I grow up to be.
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Intentional Giving

I recently read the book “29 Gifts,” which was recommended and given to me by a very dear friend. She and I often talk about spiritual matters, addressing a lot of the issues and questions we have in our own lives, many of which involve living a life that truly matters in ways big and small. She knew this book would be of interest to me and it certainly was.

I will admit, when I started reading the book, which is written by Cami Walker who was in a pretty desperate state with MS, I was a bit disheartened by her. She was a whiner, and although I knew she was going through some very difficult days, she struck me a self-involved and someone who was feeling very sorry for herself. Her husband was clearly devoted and doing all that he could to make her life easier and she had a wonderful mom in her court as well helping with the care giving, yet she persisted in feeling miserable about the terrible, terrible thing that had happened to her. While I don’t deny she was in a bad state physically, I hated the attitude she had. Then something happened.

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Five Years Gone

It was a typical pre-Christmas day in many ways.

Work in our small office was relaxed as we prepared for the annual company shutdown between Christmas and New Year’s Day. It was my first year with the company, and after a couple of years in the fast-paced retail environment, this seemed far too easy. I embarked on some last-minute shopping after leaving work that day, only to realize that my wallet was missing when I approached the registers at TJ Maxx. I didn’t panic as I recalled my late afternoon coffee run after which I placed my wallet on my desk and not in my purse. I was more aggravated than anything as it meant a return trip the next day to pick up the items I had taken the time to choose. However, it wasn’t worth running back to the office and then back to the store, given the time of day and the traffic situation. Tomorrow was another day.

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A Day Changed By a Stranger

I had a bit of an extraordinary experience today, although at face value it might only be construed as a simple act. Someone was lost and I helped him find his way to where he needed to be. Simple enough, that’s true – but the components of the situation are what made it extraordinary to me.

This is a busy time of year for most of us. I try to stay on top of things and be strategic in planning out my day to be the most efficient I can be in getting things done. Last night I made a plan to go to a certain area not too far from where I live and take full advantage of the places I needed to go to in that area to get everything done that might be possible. I made a list (and I may have even checked it twice), figured out what the best course of action would be in order to make the most of my time. I was on top of things, except I was leaving perhaps an hour or so later than anticipated.

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