Friday, June 26, 2009
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Writing Contest!!
I came across a contest the other day. A writing contest. One of the blogs I've started reading (Pensieve) had posted a link to a blog called The Novel Doctor. Stephen's an editor, and he came up with a writing contest: Write a 200 word scene, somehow incorporating a wristwatch into the story. The winner is going be announced tomorrow. (The prize is a Starbucks or Amazon gift card. Sweet!) I decided to write something- just for grins and giggles.
Yesterday he posted 5 of his top ten choices. Mine wasn't there, but I really wasn't expecting it to be. Today he posted the remaining 5 of his top ten. I scanned the page and then let out the breath I didn't realize I was holding in a shocked "Whoooosh!". Mine's on there! I made the top ten! Out of 35 entries, mine is there! I hold no illusions about winning. Reading through some of the other entries, I can list a few that are better than mine. Doesn't matter though- I made the top ten!
You can read the first 5 entries here, and then the other 5 entries here, if you'd like. I'm also posting it below.
(Now I do want to throw a disclaimer out there- as you'll see, the scene involves a father/daughter. And it has absolutely nothing to do with my dad. It was just a little snippet of a story that popped into my head. So Dad, when you read this..... just know that I'm so lucky to have been the girl whose dad never grumbled about taking her to school when she missed the bus, and was never too busy to listen. K?)
“LAURA!”
Aggravated, he sighed. Today of all days she chose to miss the bus.
He shifted from one foot to the other, checking his watch.
She appeared in the kitchen, raising her eyes briefly. If he hadn’t chosen that moment to check his watch again, he might’ve seen the haunted expression on her face, the dark shadows under her eyes.
“I don’t have all day, let’s GO.”
Muttering to himself, he headed towards the car. She slid in the passenger seat wordlessly, fidgeting with her book bag. He didn’t notice it had been emptied of all her books.
They drove in silence. Arriving at the school’s entrance, he waited for her to get out, fingers drumming on the steering wheel.
She hesitantly whispered,
“Dad?”
He sighed, glancing at his watch. “You’ve made me late enough.”
Her shoulders slumped as she got out. Pulling away, he glanced in his rearview mirror. She was standing where he’d left her, watching him drive away.
Finally seeing her expression, a warning signal sounded deep in his heart. Something wasn’t right.
But glancing at his watch, he continued to speed away.
Yesterday he posted 5 of his top ten choices. Mine wasn't there, but I really wasn't expecting it to be. Today he posted the remaining 5 of his top ten. I scanned the page and then let out the breath I didn't realize I was holding in a shocked "Whoooosh!". Mine's on there! I made the top ten! Out of 35 entries, mine is there! I hold no illusions about winning. Reading through some of the other entries, I can list a few that are better than mine. Doesn't matter though- I made the top ten!
You can read the first 5 entries here, and then the other 5 entries here, if you'd like. I'm also posting it below.
(Now I do want to throw a disclaimer out there- as you'll see, the scene involves a father/daughter. And it has absolutely nothing to do with my dad. It was just a little snippet of a story that popped into my head. So Dad, when you read this..... just know that I'm so lucky to have been the girl whose dad never grumbled about taking her to school when she missed the bus, and was never too busy to listen. K?)
“LAURA!”
Aggravated, he sighed. Today of all days she chose to miss the bus.
He shifted from one foot to the other, checking his watch.
She appeared in the kitchen, raising her eyes briefly. If he hadn’t chosen that moment to check his watch again, he might’ve seen the haunted expression on her face, the dark shadows under her eyes.
“I don’t have all day, let’s GO.”
Muttering to himself, he headed towards the car. She slid in the passenger seat wordlessly, fidgeting with her book bag. He didn’t notice it had been emptied of all her books.
They drove in silence. Arriving at the school’s entrance, he waited for her to get out, fingers drumming on the steering wheel.
She hesitantly whispered,
“Dad?”
He sighed, glancing at his watch. “You’ve made me late enough.”
Her shoulders slumped as she got out. Pulling away, he glanced in his rearview mirror. She was standing where he’d left her, watching him drive away.
Finally seeing her expression, a warning signal sounded deep in his heart. Something wasn’t right.
But glancing at his watch, he continued to speed away.
Monday, June 15, 2009
Moving Memories
Our next door neighbors are selling their house. When my mother and I got home the other night, we saw the realtor was there with a family looking at the house. Later on that evening, I stuck my head out the back door, and they saw that they had left and Judy was outside with the kids. I walked over and told her I had been tempted to introduce myself as the crazy neighbor. Or tell them that the house was haunted so they wouldn't buy it. :)
We chatted for awhile, and in the course of the conversation about house showings, open houses, and having to leave everytime the realtor called... it reminded me of when we put our house up for sale back in Alabama. Oh man, was I ever angry. I harbored a deep seated fury at the realtor. I refused to call her by name. I think I just referred to her as HER. I was rude and insolent. But I was angry, and she was my target. I was ticked when she would call and we'd have to leave so someone could walk through our house. I was mad that I got yelled at every time I left something laying around. I did not like the thought of people in my room. One day before a showing, I decided to make some "welcome" signs. Chalk it up to being 14 and immature, I suppose. I hung them everywhere. Things like, "this house is built on an Indian burial ground". "This house is haunted". "Ghosts live in the attic" "Stay out of my room. If you want to know what it looks like, look at my sister's. It's exactly the same". "Bloody Mary lives in my mirror" (If you've ever heard that ghost story, the college where the legend originates is very close to where we lived.) My personal favorite- "There are rabid, flying raccoons living in my attic".
Of course, my mother saw them and took them all down. I don't think my intention was really for the people to see them. I think I just wanted my parents to know how mad I was. You know...in case they hadn't interpreted the sullen teenager vibes correctly.
Emily did her share too, just not as blatantly. She and her friend April would take all of the flyers out of the information box in the front yard and throw them away. Soon after they were replaced, within days they were gone. I don't know how long it took for HER to realize that the flyers were disappearing at a rate faster than normal. And they could never prove who did it... but someone drew a mustache and beard on a bunch of HER posters. And no, it wasn't me. Believe me, I'd claim it now. :) I did see Emily and April with suspiciously dirty fingers one day. Looked almost like permanent black marker....
We both went around the neighborhood one day and kicked down all the for sale signs. And we'd sit on the curb and glower and glare cars that passed by. And the brave souls that stopped to get a flyer (if there were any there) must have had to briefly wonder if they were going to be attacked by the two sullen kids on the curb. Although I think we thought we were more intimidating than we really were.
My mother still claims that I failed 9th grade geometry on purpose. How that logic makes sense, I still don't understand. But she's convinced that some part of my warped mind thought if I failed geometry, I'd have to stay there. Even I wasn't that dumb to believe that would work. I failed geometry because it is an awful, evil thing that someone came up with specifically to make people's lives miserable. Not to mention that my teacher was truly a horrible man. Who hated kids. Especially girls. And who made no effort to disguise his disgust for people who didn't get geometry. 3 strikes for me. My father forced me to ask him for tutoring. He laughed at me and told me he wasn't interested in wasting time on a hopeless cause. Geometry was the bane of my existence. He used to make me stand at the chalkboard and solve a problem in front of the class. Knowing full well I had no clue. Then when I finally cried, he would call on different students to "walk me through" it. It got to the point where I almost wished we would move, just so I could get away from him.
I'll admit to the creative posters.. and knocking things down.. and I'll even admit to hanging up on HER when she called and I happened to answer the phone. (I did that alot.) But failing on purpose to stay there was defnitely not part of my scheming.
But I did outdo myself on one occasion. I wish I could say it was Emily's fault too... but she was just a bystander. This was my boneheaded mistake. Purely by accident... though I don't think my parents are still convinced about this one either. My best friend Teresa had shown me how to make these awesome candle holders. What's involved?
One empty glass bottle.
Multi-colored wax candles.
One book of matches.
One paper bag to prevent a mess. (See, I was thinking ahead)
The only thing missing.... bucket of water in case of emergency.
See where this is going?
I decided to do this little craft project after school before mom got home. The general gist is to hold a lighted candle over the bottle and let the wax drip all over it. It makes a really cool design and pattern all over the bottle. I'd tried to do this in my room and closed the door to keep Emily out, but... she drove me nuts until I let her in. After making her double pinkie swear to keep her mouth shut, I said she could watch. (A double pinkie swear is like THE ultimate- you never, ever, never break a double pinkie swear.) Things were going okay.... until I dropped the candle. Before I could process what had happened... suddenly my carpet is on fire. Emily and I sat frozen, eyes wide, and horrified. It's amazing how you don't think clearly in a crisis. The fire was between me and the door, and while it was not too big to jump around... my brain froze and I stayed put. Emily was sitting closest to the door, so I shrieked for her to get some water. Let me describe the layout of our house, in order to get the full effect of what happened next.
You had the kitchen/dining room that led into the living room. Then there was a hallway that led from the living room. My bedroom was the first room, then there was a bathroom right next to me, then Emily's room.
I waited for what seemed like an eternity and Emily didn't come back. (Again... the bathroom was right next door.)
All of a sudden Emily came tearing back, wringing her hands and crying.
"I can't find a glass! They're all in the dishwasher!"
"YOU WENT TO THE KITCHEN?! THE BATHROOM IS RIGHT NEXT DOOR!" I roared at her.
She stared at me with her mouth open for a second and scurried off to the bathroom. At that moment I was thankful for the bath toys that she still played with, even though I teased her mercilessly about how at 10 years old she was too old for buckets in the tub.
We dumped them over the spot and surveyed the damage. I had done it this time. Right in the center of the room. There was no way of hiding this one. Did I mention that this happened right after we'd put the house on the market? Like, the day after?
Emily looked at me, suddenly even more horrified.
"Mom is going to kill you."
I gulped. "I know"
"I mean, she's going to like, REALLY kill you."
"I KNOW. Quit saying that."
I was trying to think of my best tactic. Call mom on her cell phone or wait until she got home? If I called her, and she was driving I ran the risk of her getting so mad she'd get in an accident. But if I waited until she got home, then I'd have the full brunt of her undiluted wrath. If I gave her fair warning, she'd have time to process it before she got home to wring my neck. And stewing about my impending doom was unbearable. I called her. I braced myself for the yelling. But it didn't come. All in all, she was rather quiet. Which is never really a good sign.
I cried. She listened. Then said, "I'll be home in 20 minutes". Then she hung up.
"What did she say?" Emily asked.
"Nothing"
She didn't say a word- just hugged me. I tried not to think that she was giving me a farewell hug, but that was a distinct possibility.
My mother didn't yell like I expected. Don't get me wrong, I was in big time trouble. But when I told her about Emily running to the kitchen, and not being able to find a glass... I think she found it funny . I think that cut some of the anger. That little stinker had the biggest knack for getting out of trouble- usually it irritated the snot out of me. This time I was just thankful it was enough to take the edge off of the trouble I was in.
They ended up having someone cut a piece of carpet out of one of the closets to replace the hole in the middle of my floor. The carpet they put in the closet was a completely different colored square. Everytime I opened the door and saw it, I felt a twinge of guilt. I often wish I'd written the story down and left an explanation for the people who moved in. I wonder if they ever wondered what the story is behind the different colored square.
Needless to say... I was not allowed to have candles for a very, very long time.
I think about how devastated and angry I was all those years ago. I thought my life as I knew it was over. I was furious that everything was changing. I'd made up my mind that I was going to hate wherever it was that we moved to.
But a strange thing happened after we moved... I moved on. Life moved on. And looking back, I see that there was a reason for me to have ended up here. I've had some pretty amazing experiences the last 10 years, that I otherwise wouldn't have had if I hadn't gone through all the "miserable" in order to get here.
And dare I say it? Change isn't necessarily all bad. Sometimes I think we need to be uprooted and planted somewhere else, and it's the somewhere else that allows us to really blossom.
I still can't reconcile the change that Emily's death brought into our lives. Up until this past year, I thought moving was the biggest traumatic experience of my life. That pales in comparison now. But somewhere, a little voice is buried deep in a heart that's desperately pretending to still be deaf, and it's softly saying that life isn't over. And that although it's not something I'll ever "move on" from or "get over"- it is something that I will live through.
And that's my hope that I cling to.
In some ways, that carpet is a little like my heart. A piece of that carpet was damaged beyond repair. And the piece that fixed it couldn't replace what was lost. It will always look different. But it was enough to cover the hole.
It was enough to cover the hole.
We chatted for awhile, and in the course of the conversation about house showings, open houses, and having to leave everytime the realtor called... it reminded me of when we put our house up for sale back in Alabama. Oh man, was I ever angry. I harbored a deep seated fury at the realtor. I refused to call her by name. I think I just referred to her as HER. I was rude and insolent. But I was angry, and she was my target. I was ticked when she would call and we'd have to leave so someone could walk through our house. I was mad that I got yelled at every time I left something laying around. I did not like the thought of people in my room. One day before a showing, I decided to make some "welcome" signs. Chalk it up to being 14 and immature, I suppose. I hung them everywhere. Things like, "this house is built on an Indian burial ground". "This house is haunted". "Ghosts live in the attic" "Stay out of my room. If you want to know what it looks like, look at my sister's. It's exactly the same". "Bloody Mary lives in my mirror" (If you've ever heard that ghost story, the college where the legend originates is very close to where we lived.) My personal favorite- "There are rabid, flying raccoons living in my attic".
Of course, my mother saw them and took them all down. I don't think my intention was really for the people to see them. I think I just wanted my parents to know how mad I was. You know...in case they hadn't interpreted the sullen teenager vibes correctly.
Emily did her share too, just not as blatantly. She and her friend April would take all of the flyers out of the information box in the front yard and throw them away. Soon after they were replaced, within days they were gone. I don't know how long it took for HER to realize that the flyers were disappearing at a rate faster than normal. And they could never prove who did it... but someone drew a mustache and beard on a bunch of HER posters. And no, it wasn't me. Believe me, I'd claim it now. :) I did see Emily and April with suspiciously dirty fingers one day. Looked almost like permanent black marker....
We both went around the neighborhood one day and kicked down all the for sale signs. And we'd sit on the curb and glower and glare cars that passed by. And the brave souls that stopped to get a flyer (if there were any there) must have had to briefly wonder if they were going to be attacked by the two sullen kids on the curb. Although I think we thought we were more intimidating than we really were.
My mother still claims that I failed 9th grade geometry on purpose. How that logic makes sense, I still don't understand. But she's convinced that some part of my warped mind thought if I failed geometry, I'd have to stay there. Even I wasn't that dumb to believe that would work. I failed geometry because it is an awful, evil thing that someone came up with specifically to make people's lives miserable. Not to mention that my teacher was truly a horrible man. Who hated kids. Especially girls. And who made no effort to disguise his disgust for people who didn't get geometry. 3 strikes for me. My father forced me to ask him for tutoring. He laughed at me and told me he wasn't interested in wasting time on a hopeless cause. Geometry was the bane of my existence. He used to make me stand at the chalkboard and solve a problem in front of the class. Knowing full well I had no clue. Then when I finally cried, he would call on different students to "walk me through" it. It got to the point where I almost wished we would move, just so I could get away from him.
I'll admit to the creative posters.. and knocking things down.. and I'll even admit to hanging up on HER when she called and I happened to answer the phone. (I did that alot.) But failing on purpose to stay there was defnitely not part of my scheming.
But I did outdo myself on one occasion. I wish I could say it was Emily's fault too... but she was just a bystander. This was my boneheaded mistake. Purely by accident... though I don't think my parents are still convinced about this one either. My best friend Teresa had shown me how to make these awesome candle holders. What's involved?
One empty glass bottle.
Multi-colored wax candles.
One book of matches.
One paper bag to prevent a mess. (See, I was thinking ahead)
The only thing missing.... bucket of water in case of emergency.
See where this is going?
I decided to do this little craft project after school before mom got home. The general gist is to hold a lighted candle over the bottle and let the wax drip all over it. It makes a really cool design and pattern all over the bottle. I'd tried to do this in my room and closed the door to keep Emily out, but... she drove me nuts until I let her in. After making her double pinkie swear to keep her mouth shut, I said she could watch. (A double pinkie swear is like THE ultimate- you never, ever, never break a double pinkie swear.) Things were going okay.... until I dropped the candle. Before I could process what had happened... suddenly my carpet is on fire. Emily and I sat frozen, eyes wide, and horrified. It's amazing how you don't think clearly in a crisis. The fire was between me and the door, and while it was not too big to jump around... my brain froze and I stayed put. Emily was sitting closest to the door, so I shrieked for her to get some water. Let me describe the layout of our house, in order to get the full effect of what happened next.
You had the kitchen/dining room that led into the living room. Then there was a hallway that led from the living room. My bedroom was the first room, then there was a bathroom right next to me, then Emily's room.
I waited for what seemed like an eternity and Emily didn't come back. (Again... the bathroom was right next door.)
All of a sudden Emily came tearing back, wringing her hands and crying.
"I can't find a glass! They're all in the dishwasher!"
"YOU WENT TO THE KITCHEN?! THE BATHROOM IS RIGHT NEXT DOOR!" I roared at her.
She stared at me with her mouth open for a second and scurried off to the bathroom. At that moment I was thankful for the bath toys that she still played with, even though I teased her mercilessly about how at 10 years old she was too old for buckets in the tub.
We dumped them over the spot and surveyed the damage. I had done it this time. Right in the center of the room. There was no way of hiding this one. Did I mention that this happened right after we'd put the house on the market? Like, the day after?
Emily looked at me, suddenly even more horrified.
"Mom is going to kill you."
I gulped. "I know"
"I mean, she's going to like, REALLY kill you."
"I KNOW. Quit saying that."
I was trying to think of my best tactic. Call mom on her cell phone or wait until she got home? If I called her, and she was driving I ran the risk of her getting so mad she'd get in an accident. But if I waited until she got home, then I'd have the full brunt of her undiluted wrath. If I gave her fair warning, she'd have time to process it before she got home to wring my neck. And stewing about my impending doom was unbearable. I called her. I braced myself for the yelling. But it didn't come. All in all, she was rather quiet. Which is never really a good sign.
I cried. She listened. Then said, "I'll be home in 20 minutes". Then she hung up.
"What did she say?" Emily asked.
"Nothing"
She didn't say a word- just hugged me. I tried not to think that she was giving me a farewell hug, but that was a distinct possibility.
My mother didn't yell like I expected. Don't get me wrong, I was in big time trouble. But when I told her about Emily running to the kitchen, and not being able to find a glass... I think she found it funny . I think that cut some of the anger. That little stinker had the biggest knack for getting out of trouble- usually it irritated the snot out of me. This time I was just thankful it was enough to take the edge off of the trouble I was in.
They ended up having someone cut a piece of carpet out of one of the closets to replace the hole in the middle of my floor. The carpet they put in the closet was a completely different colored square. Everytime I opened the door and saw it, I felt a twinge of guilt. I often wish I'd written the story down and left an explanation for the people who moved in. I wonder if they ever wondered what the story is behind the different colored square.
Needless to say... I was not allowed to have candles for a very, very long time.
I think about how devastated and angry I was all those years ago. I thought my life as I knew it was over. I was furious that everything was changing. I'd made up my mind that I was going to hate wherever it was that we moved to.
But a strange thing happened after we moved... I moved on. Life moved on. And looking back, I see that there was a reason for me to have ended up here. I've had some pretty amazing experiences the last 10 years, that I otherwise wouldn't have had if I hadn't gone through all the "miserable" in order to get here.
And dare I say it? Change isn't necessarily all bad. Sometimes I think we need to be uprooted and planted somewhere else, and it's the somewhere else that allows us to really blossom.
I still can't reconcile the change that Emily's death brought into our lives. Up until this past year, I thought moving was the biggest traumatic experience of my life. That pales in comparison now. But somewhere, a little voice is buried deep in a heart that's desperately pretending to still be deaf, and it's softly saying that life isn't over. And that although it's not something I'll ever "move on" from or "get over"- it is something that I will live through.
And that's my hope that I cling to.
In some ways, that carpet is a little like my heart. A piece of that carpet was damaged beyond repair. And the piece that fixed it couldn't replace what was lost. It will always look different. But it was enough to cover the hole.
It was enough to cover the hole.
Friday, June 12, 2009
Connectedness
May I just take a moment to say that I love the internet. LOVE IT.
I think I'm going through my teenage-hooked-on-the-computer phase about 10 years behind the curve. I'm on the computer all the time. I *almost* thought about getting an iPhone so I could really be connected everywhere. But I hate AT&T, so I resisted. And there is something to be said for being too connected.
What I love most about the internet is the way that it connects people. These days I think everyone has a blog. In some ways it's a little sad that we rely on a website to keep us up to date with friends and family. But yet, I think we share a little more of our hearts through words than speaking face to face. Kinda cool. And, putting life down in words captures so many of those little moments and memories and sayings forever that might otherwise be forgotten. I wish that blogs had been around when Em and I were growing up. So many of the stories and memories and details are fading too quickly.
I already know that if I ever have kids they will be the most photographed children ever. And now with my advent into the land of blogging, I'm afraid I might end of being one of those obnoxious parents that documents every time their kid burps. But I am making an oath to myself that I will never devote my status on facebook to documenting what is in my child's diaper. Yes, I have a friend who does that. Ew. There's something to be said for maintaining some sense of self.
But back to my train of thought.
What is also cool about the blog network is the extensions that come about from them. I stumbled across the coolest website the other week. One of the blogs I frequent is Beth Moore's. I love her books and her Bible Studies. Two months ago, her daughter went to India with Compassion International and was blogging about her experience. Through her website, I started reading one of her teammates blogs. And then through HER website, I found a link to this one.
Laura Salas's 15 Words or Less Poetic Challenge.
Poetry in Pictures! Two of my very favorite things in one. The general gist is to come up with a poem inspired by the photo, using 15 words or less.. It doesn't have to be about the picture- just something that the picture reminds you of. And it doesn't have to rhyme. Fun, fun, fun. If you want to give it a go, click on the button below for a link to this week's post. She usually posts a new one on Thursdays.
This is this week's photo. I thought of Emily. You would think by now I would have ceased being surprised by the fact that everything reminds me of her. Everything.
*sigh*
This is what I came up with first:
Emily
forever gone
life abruptly derailed
like a runaway train
leaving my heart
buried
in wreckage
And actually... I thought of two. But no one else seems to ever post more than one, so I cheated and posted the second one under my middle name. :)
Struggle
Hopes and dreams
hanging from a ledge
emptiness
struggling to find courage
to step back
(Note added 6-13-09... apparantely I frighted my poor mother. Just as a reassurance... I have no intention, desire, or thoughts whatsoever of jumping off a ledge. That's just what the picture made me think of. Not me :)
I think I'm going through my teenage-hooked-on-the-computer phase about 10 years behind the curve. I'm on the computer all the time. I *almost* thought about getting an iPhone so I could really be connected everywhere. But I hate AT&T, so I resisted. And there is something to be said for being too connected.
What I love most about the internet is the way that it connects people. These days I think everyone has a blog. In some ways it's a little sad that we rely on a website to keep us up to date with friends and family. But yet, I think we share a little more of our hearts through words than speaking face to face. Kinda cool. And, putting life down in words captures so many of those little moments and memories and sayings forever that might otherwise be forgotten. I wish that blogs had been around when Em and I were growing up. So many of the stories and memories and details are fading too quickly.
I already know that if I ever have kids they will be the most photographed children ever. And now with my advent into the land of blogging, I'm afraid I might end of being one of those obnoxious parents that documents every time their kid burps. But I am making an oath to myself that I will never devote my status on facebook to documenting what is in my child's diaper. Yes, I have a friend who does that. Ew. There's something to be said for maintaining some sense of self.
But back to my train of thought.
What is also cool about the blog network is the extensions that come about from them. I stumbled across the coolest website the other week. One of the blogs I frequent is Beth Moore's. I love her books and her Bible Studies. Two months ago, her daughter went to India with Compassion International and was blogging about her experience. Through her website, I started reading one of her teammates blogs. And then through HER website, I found a link to this one.
Laura Salas's 15 Words or Less Poetic Challenge.
Poetry in Pictures! Two of my very favorite things in one. The general gist is to come up with a poem inspired by the photo, using 15 words or less.. It doesn't have to be about the picture- just something that the picture reminds you of. And it doesn't have to rhyme. Fun, fun, fun. If you want to give it a go, click on the button below for a link to this week's post. She usually posts a new one on Thursdays.
This is this week's photo. I thought of Emily. You would think by now I would have ceased being surprised by the fact that everything reminds me of her. Everything.
*sigh*
This is what I came up with first:
Emily
forever gone
life abruptly derailed
like a runaway train
leaving my heart
buried
in wreckage
And actually... I thought of two. But no one else seems to ever post more than one, so I cheated and posted the second one under my middle name. :)
Struggle
Hopes and dreams
hanging from a ledge
emptiness
struggling to find courage
to step back
(Note added 6-13-09... apparantely I frighted my poor mother. Just as a reassurance... I have no intention, desire, or thoughts whatsoever of jumping off a ledge. That's just what the picture made me think of. Not me :)
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Milestones
5 years.
It hardly seems possible that I've been working here for 5 years. It barely seems possible that I've been out of high school for five years, yet I'm actually only two years away from my 10 year class reunion.
Oy.
It's funny how I landed here- After I freaked out the summer after I graduated high school and refused to go to college, I ended up working as a receptionist at a local temp agency. I was there for about 6 months when I got laid off. Three days after I got laid off from there, I was offered a temp to hire job here at Frick. I went in for an interview on a Wednesday morning. Two hours, three interviews, and one drug test later I was hired. I started working that same afternoon. Three months later I was hired as a permanent employee. Six months after that I was promoted from Engineering clerical assistant to Administrative Assistant in the Contract Administration department. And that's where I've been ever since.
Sometimes I wonder what my life would look like if I'd gone to school. I most definitely would not have ended up here. I wouldn't have met Debbie, and she has been one of the biggest influences in my life. And I definitely wouldn't have learned the lessons that I've learned over the last 5 years. My boss has alot to do with that, though not necessarily in the most positive of ways. My relationship with my boss has been... difficult... over the last few years. But this past year it's gone steadily downhill. After Emily died, I stopped caring. I couldn't get upset about anything. This job definitely is not my "passion", definitely is not what I want to be doing with my life. And while I did my best to do a good job, my heart was never fully in it. And after Emily died, there wasn't enough left of my heart to care. Perhaps if my boss was a more understanding person, the situation wouldn't have deteriorated this badly. But the combination of everything has created the perfect storm and I'm at my wits end. But this year has also brought things into sharper focus in some ways. I'm learning the balance between standing up for myself and recognizing when I'm wrong. And I'm definitely a long way from the doormat I used to be. And I've definitely had a lesson in dealing with difficult people.
My goal for the last six months has been to make it to 5 years. Partly because that means I'm vested and I'll be able to keep my employer contributions to my 401k. Not that there's much of anything in there... but every little bit helps. And part of that goal has just been to prove to myself that I can make it. After high school, all my "milestones" seem to be slipping farther and farther away.
In a very strange way, I'm proud I stuck with it this long and made it.
I even received a little gift from the company- which was completely unexpected.
Now it's time to move on. When I get back from Poland, I'm going to start looking in earnest for something else.
But for today, I'm looking back at the good moments of the last 5 years. Even though the situation with my boss casts a black shadow over most of my days, and it's sometimes hard to see the good moments - there have been so many of them. I've made friendships that will last for a lifetime. And those people are worth every snotty comment, every snide remark, every cutting e-mail my boss has thrown at me. Debbie.... Ginger... Denise...Sandy...Heather...the girls in my Bible Study group...Dave and Sue... every one of them has left a mark on my life, and I know I wouldn't be who I am without them.
I've thought that when I move on from here someday, that I'd just like to forget everything about this place. I even childishly planned to have a burn-the-business-card party on my last day. But I can't forget the changes I went through while I was here, and because I was here.
The good things are what I want to think of when I look at this little frame.
So I'm going to choose to celebrate today- celebrate 5 years worth of good, and pushing that black shadow away for today.
It hardly seems possible that I've been working here for 5 years. It barely seems possible that I've been out of high school for five years, yet I'm actually only two years away from my 10 year class reunion.
Oy.
It's funny how I landed here- After I freaked out the summer after I graduated high school and refused to go to college, I ended up working as a receptionist at a local temp agency. I was there for about 6 months when I got laid off. Three days after I got laid off from there, I was offered a temp to hire job here at Frick. I went in for an interview on a Wednesday morning. Two hours, three interviews, and one drug test later I was hired. I started working that same afternoon. Three months later I was hired as a permanent employee. Six months after that I was promoted from Engineering clerical assistant to Administrative Assistant in the Contract Administration department. And that's where I've been ever since.
Sometimes I wonder what my life would look like if I'd gone to school. I most definitely would not have ended up here. I wouldn't have met Debbie, and she has been one of the biggest influences in my life. And I definitely wouldn't have learned the lessons that I've learned over the last 5 years. My boss has alot to do with that, though not necessarily in the most positive of ways. My relationship with my boss has been... difficult... over the last few years. But this past year it's gone steadily downhill. After Emily died, I stopped caring. I couldn't get upset about anything. This job definitely is not my "passion", definitely is not what I want to be doing with my life. And while I did my best to do a good job, my heart was never fully in it. And after Emily died, there wasn't enough left of my heart to care. Perhaps if my boss was a more understanding person, the situation wouldn't have deteriorated this badly. But the combination of everything has created the perfect storm and I'm at my wits end. But this year has also brought things into sharper focus in some ways. I'm learning the balance between standing up for myself and recognizing when I'm wrong. And I'm definitely a long way from the doormat I used to be. And I've definitely had a lesson in dealing with difficult people.
My goal for the last six months has been to make it to 5 years. Partly because that means I'm vested and I'll be able to keep my employer contributions to my 401k. Not that there's much of anything in there... but every little bit helps. And part of that goal has just been to prove to myself that I can make it. After high school, all my "milestones" seem to be slipping farther and farther away.
In a very strange way, I'm proud I stuck with it this long and made it.
I even received a little gift from the company- which was completely unexpected.
Now it's time to move on. When I get back from Poland, I'm going to start looking in earnest for something else.
But for today, I'm looking back at the good moments of the last 5 years. Even though the situation with my boss casts a black shadow over most of my days, and it's sometimes hard to see the good moments - there have been so many of them. I've made friendships that will last for a lifetime. And those people are worth every snotty comment, every snide remark, every cutting e-mail my boss has thrown at me. Debbie.... Ginger... Denise...Sandy...Heather...the girls in my Bible Study group...Dave and Sue... every one of them has left a mark on my life, and I know I wouldn't be who I am without them.
I've thought that when I move on from here someday, that I'd just like to forget everything about this place. I even childishly planned to have a burn-the-business-card party on my last day. But I can't forget the changes I went through while I was here, and because I was here.
The good things are what I want to think of when I look at this little frame.
So I'm going to choose to celebrate today- celebrate 5 years worth of good, and pushing that black shadow away for today.
Friday, June 5, 2009
One of THOSE days....
Have you ever had one of those days where as soon as your feet hit the floor, you KNOW you should just turn around and go back to bed?
I started off my morning with an empty shampoo bottle. I couldn't find my favorite pair of earrings. The milk is past it's expiration date so I didn't have breakfast before I left for work. My cat is sick with another kidney infection and threw up again this morning. My only pair of clean blue socks has a hole in the toe. It's raining. My socks get soaked when I wear my favorite shoes in the rain, so I had to wear sneakers. Which completely don't match. My umbrella has a small leak. I knocked my orange juice over on my desk and it spilled all over my mousepad. I jammed my finger. My boss yelled at me. My iPod battery is almost dead and I forgot the charger.
And it's only 7:30
But you know what the kicker is? The thing that tipped this day from "bad" to "truly awful?"
Someone stole my salt shaker.
That was the final straw. It's enough to make anyone cry. Even me.
I realize that it's not really the salt shaker that I cried over. It's a combination of a week's worth of pent-up frustration, the fact that I'm so sleepy I can barely keep my eyes open, the generally miserable atmosphere in this horrible office, Heather not getting the best news from the oncologist, not having anything to wear anymore because none of my clothes fit, working two jobs and still never having money, AND on top of it all- I just plain out and out miss Emily.
Wow, my life is rough isn't it? Can I BE more whiney?
I'm teetering on the edge of an all-out pity party. When your days start out bad, I wonder if it's really because it's destined to be bad, or if it's because our attitude gets out of whack and from that moment on we anticipate that everything else is going to go wrong. Kind of a self-fulfilling prophecy.
I suppose if I really, really tried hard.... I could think of a good moment.
(silence)
Ok, so maybe I haven't had a good moment just quite yet. But I've still got the rest of the day.
But I'm really ticked about my missing salt shaker.
I mean, seriously, who steals someone's salt?
I started off my morning with an empty shampoo bottle. I couldn't find my favorite pair of earrings. The milk is past it's expiration date so I didn't have breakfast before I left for work. My cat is sick with another kidney infection and threw up again this morning. My only pair of clean blue socks has a hole in the toe. It's raining. My socks get soaked when I wear my favorite shoes in the rain, so I had to wear sneakers. Which completely don't match. My umbrella has a small leak. I knocked my orange juice over on my desk and it spilled all over my mousepad. I jammed my finger. My boss yelled at me. My iPod battery is almost dead and I forgot the charger.
And it's only 7:30
But you know what the kicker is? The thing that tipped this day from "bad" to "truly awful?"
Someone stole my salt shaker.
That was the final straw. It's enough to make anyone cry. Even me.
I realize that it's not really the salt shaker that I cried over. It's a combination of a week's worth of pent-up frustration, the fact that I'm so sleepy I can barely keep my eyes open, the generally miserable atmosphere in this horrible office, Heather not getting the best news from the oncologist, not having anything to wear anymore because none of my clothes fit, working two jobs and still never having money, AND on top of it all- I just plain out and out miss Emily.
Wow, my life is rough isn't it? Can I BE more whiney?
I'm teetering on the edge of an all-out pity party. When your days start out bad, I wonder if it's really because it's destined to be bad, or if it's because our attitude gets out of whack and from that moment on we anticipate that everything else is going to go wrong. Kind of a self-fulfilling prophecy.
I suppose if I really, really tried hard.... I could think of a good moment.
(silence)
Ok, so maybe I haven't had a good moment just quite yet. But I've still got the rest of the day.
But I'm really ticked about my missing salt shaker.
I mean, seriously, who steals someone's salt?
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Thanks, but I think I'll take the stairs
"Melissa! I heard you're going back to Poland this summer. When do you leave?"
"August 13. I'm really excited."
"I'm happy for you. By the way, did you hear about that French plane that disappeared over the Atlantic last week?"
Gulp. Seriously. Why do people say things like that?!?
There are two things that terrify me. Elevators and flying.
I hate elevators. I avoid them at all costs. A few years back I went with a friend to a conference in DC. Our hotel room was on the 10th floor. She thought I was insane, but I took the stairs. "Lis, that's nuts. It'll take you twice as long to walk those stairs than if you just got in the elevator."
Yes, I realize this. But somethings are just not worth the fear. When I have to get in an elevator, it is all I can do to keep from breaking into a panic attack. My throat closes, my heart races, and my eyesight starts to blur around the edges. It's all I can do to remind myself to breathe. A friend had suggested that I should see someone about "getting over my irrational fear". Do you know what that entails?? They make you GET IN an elevator! And leave you there! And make it shake and do all kinds of horrid things.
God gave me two perfectly good legs. I'm perfectly content with my very rational fear. So thanks but no thanks, I'll take the stairs.
Flying isn't quite as bad, but it's close. I'm okay once I'm actually in the air. But it's the days and weeks and even months leading up to it that are insufferable. I get so anxious that I simply have to force myself not to think about it. But the thought springs up out of the blue and leaves my hands clammy and my pulse racing.
"what if, what if, what if..."
Now I KNOW the statistics. You're more likely to be in a car accident than in a plane accident. Yada, yada, yada. I bet the people on that French air plane told themselves the same thing.
"what if, what if, what if...."
Thoughts of Emily worry me constantly. What if something bad happens to me too? (knock on wood). In light of Emily's death, is it selfish to knowingly put yourself in the situation where something bad could happen? (double knock on wood).
If Emily were here, she would tell me to get over myself. And then she'd tell me that if I didn't go, I couldn't bring her back a present.
So I drive myself to distraction worrying about this for months. And as the plane is taking off, I'm making the sign of the cross and holding onto my cross necklace. (Is Catholicism genetic? The only time I do that is flying. I think that's the Irish in me coming out.) But once we're up--- I start to breathe again. I suppose I figure by then it's too late to do anything about it. Totally beyond my control. I still get nervous when I feel the plane move, but it's not a paralyzing fear that I get in the months leading up to the flight.
I'm hoping it'll be easier this year. Last year I got stuck by myself on the opposite side of the plane from our team members. With a seatmate who didn't speak English, and who took great advantage of Polish Airlines never ending supply of free Vodka. Seriously? Open bar on an airplane? Does that make ANY sense? Oy. There is nothing more unsettling than waking up to find a strange man's hand on your knee. And I discovered that there are some things that cross a language barrier with lightning speed. One of those things is a slap.
This year I made sure to get a seat with the rest of the team. So once I get to Chicago and meet up with everyone hopefully it will be easier since I'll be able to wile away the hours talking instead of fending myself off from drunk seatmates and watching American cartoons in Polish... (by the way, did you know that Donald Duck sounds exactly the same in Polish as he does in American?! )
A friend told me laughingly that it's too bad my alternative to flying isn't quite as easy as my alternative to elevators. A boat to Poland would take much, much longer. And these days the ocean seems to be infested with pirates. If I had to choose between the "what-if's" in my head and a band of pirates... I think I'll take the plane.
This same friend also found it amusing that I stress more before the flight than when I'm on it. "Lis, that's a little backwards isn't it? Most people are afraid during the flight."
Yes well.... that's me. I'm a walking abnormality.
Given the choice, I think I'd rather be a wreck for an eight hour flight than for the 8 months leading up to it. Actually, if I've got the power to choose... I'd rather not be afraid at all.
But what makes something worth the fear? I get almost as nervous about flying as I do about getting in an elevator. Now, if someone I loved was in trouble and was on the 10th floor of a building, and I was the only person who could help them..... you bet your you-know-what I'd be on that elevator quicker than you could say boo.
So something beyond yourself is kind of worth the fear.
I suppose that's what keeps me going when I start thinking about Poland. The thought that for whatever reason, this is where I feel called to go. This isn't a vacation trip for me, or a sightseeing tour. I really feel a tug on my heart when I think of those families who have been waiting so long for a house. And that makes my fears a little easier to deal with.
A little.
I don't want to become a slave to my fears. I don't want my fears to keep me from living. There are still so many places I want to see - most which require flying. And next year I'm hoping to go somewhere different with Habitat. Which also will require flying. So I'll get on my plane.
But the elevator is a different story. There are some fears that don't need to be conquered. When it comes to that.... thanks, but I'll keep taking my stairs.
"August 13. I'm really excited."
"I'm happy for you. By the way, did you hear about that French plane that disappeared over the Atlantic last week?"
Gulp. Seriously. Why do people say things like that?!?
There are two things that terrify me. Elevators and flying.
I hate elevators. I avoid them at all costs. A few years back I went with a friend to a conference in DC. Our hotel room was on the 10th floor. She thought I was insane, but I took the stairs. "Lis, that's nuts. It'll take you twice as long to walk those stairs than if you just got in the elevator."
Yes, I realize this. But somethings are just not worth the fear. When I have to get in an elevator, it is all I can do to keep from breaking into a panic attack. My throat closes, my heart races, and my eyesight starts to blur around the edges. It's all I can do to remind myself to breathe. A friend had suggested that I should see someone about "getting over my irrational fear". Do you know what that entails?? They make you GET IN an elevator! And leave you there! And make it shake and do all kinds of horrid things.
God gave me two perfectly good legs. I'm perfectly content with my very rational fear. So thanks but no thanks, I'll take the stairs.
Flying isn't quite as bad, but it's close. I'm okay once I'm actually in the air. But it's the days and weeks and even months leading up to it that are insufferable. I get so anxious that I simply have to force myself not to think about it. But the thought springs up out of the blue and leaves my hands clammy and my pulse racing.
"what if, what if, what if..."
Now I KNOW the statistics. You're more likely to be in a car accident than in a plane accident. Yada, yada, yada. I bet the people on that French air plane told themselves the same thing.
"what if, what if, what if...."
Thoughts of Emily worry me constantly. What if something bad happens to me too? (knock on wood). In light of Emily's death, is it selfish to knowingly put yourself in the situation where something bad could happen? (double knock on wood).
If Emily were here, she would tell me to get over myself. And then she'd tell me that if I didn't go, I couldn't bring her back a present.
So I drive myself to distraction worrying about this for months. And as the plane is taking off, I'm making the sign of the cross and holding onto my cross necklace. (Is Catholicism genetic? The only time I do that is flying. I think that's the Irish in me coming out.) But once we're up--- I start to breathe again. I suppose I figure by then it's too late to do anything about it. Totally beyond my control. I still get nervous when I feel the plane move, but it's not a paralyzing fear that I get in the months leading up to the flight.
I'm hoping it'll be easier this year. Last year I got stuck by myself on the opposite side of the plane from our team members. With a seatmate who didn't speak English, and who took great advantage of Polish Airlines never ending supply of free Vodka. Seriously? Open bar on an airplane? Does that make ANY sense? Oy. There is nothing more unsettling than waking up to find a strange man's hand on your knee. And I discovered that there are some things that cross a language barrier with lightning speed. One of those things is a slap.
This year I made sure to get a seat with the rest of the team. So once I get to Chicago and meet up with everyone hopefully it will be easier since I'll be able to wile away the hours talking instead of fending myself off from drunk seatmates and watching American cartoons in Polish... (by the way, did you know that Donald Duck sounds exactly the same in Polish as he does in American?! )
A friend told me laughingly that it's too bad my alternative to flying isn't quite as easy as my alternative to elevators. A boat to Poland would take much, much longer. And these days the ocean seems to be infested with pirates. If I had to choose between the "what-if's" in my head and a band of pirates... I think I'll take the plane.
This same friend also found it amusing that I stress more before the flight than when I'm on it. "Lis, that's a little backwards isn't it? Most people are afraid during the flight."
Yes well.... that's me. I'm a walking abnormality.
Given the choice, I think I'd rather be a wreck for an eight hour flight than for the 8 months leading up to it. Actually, if I've got the power to choose... I'd rather not be afraid at all.
But what makes something worth the fear? I get almost as nervous about flying as I do about getting in an elevator. Now, if someone I loved was in trouble and was on the 10th floor of a building, and I was the only person who could help them..... you bet your you-know-what I'd be on that elevator quicker than you could say boo.
So something beyond yourself is kind of worth the fear.
I suppose that's what keeps me going when I start thinking about Poland. The thought that for whatever reason, this is where I feel called to go. This isn't a vacation trip for me, or a sightseeing tour. I really feel a tug on my heart when I think of those families who have been waiting so long for a house. And that makes my fears a little easier to deal with.
A little.
I don't want to become a slave to my fears. I don't want my fears to keep me from living. There are still so many places I want to see - most which require flying. And next year I'm hoping to go somewhere different with Habitat. Which also will require flying. So I'll get on my plane.
But the elevator is a different story. There are some fears that don't need to be conquered. When it comes to that.... thanks, but I'll keep taking my stairs.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
What's so wonderful about me anyway?
On the same day I got the news about Heather, I was informed that I had been chosen as a "Wonderful Person and Artist of the Month".
I was completely taken by surprise, humbled, and honored.
Me? Wonderful? Whaaaat?
Terri, my artist friend, features a wonderful person and a wonderful artist of the month on her website. This month she combined them into one category, and then chose two people.
Wonderful person? Artist? Seriously? What is so wonderful about me?
That's a rhetorical question- I'm not fishing for compliments, or hoping for a bunch of responses from people saying "yes, 'Lis you are wonderful!"
That's not my point at all....
because I think self-doubt and lack of self-worth is something that is in all of us. I have a terrible time accepting compliments. I am notorious for saying something sarcastic or self- deprecating. Because deep down.. I know there's nothing really that great about me.
And this makes me laugh.
Because if someone I love was writing these very same words... I'd be coming up with a whole list of why I think they are in fact wonderful.
I can close my eyes and picture the face of someone I love. And I could write a whole blog about why I think they are wonderful.
Now Terri--- she definitely is someone wonderful. Her art... the words she writes... her blogs... they all give us a glimpse of a truly beautiful heart. It's amazing the connections you can feel, even if it's over e-mail. The words she's written to me, I carry around in my heart. I'm not sure if I completely believe them all quite yet... but I'm getting there.
We see it in others. We celebrate it in others.... but we don't want to see it in ourselves.
Even in writing about Emily... There's alot of things about her that were (are?) wonderful. Amazingly wonderful qualities that made her who she was. And yet... there were alot of things about her that just out and out made me want to wring her neck, and made me angry, and things I wished she could change.
But all in all, she was (is) wonderful because all of that is what made her who she was.
No one likes perfect people. It's incredibly hard to be "real" around someone who seemingly has it all together. It's hard to relate to someone who doesn't seem to struggle with life.
I still don't think that there is anything spectacularly wonderful about me. I know myself too well- and I know the dark and the ugly that I keep inside. I hide behind a mask I try to project to people, and all the while knowing that I really can't measure up. So wonderful, I am not.
But it makes my heart overflow to know that there are people who think I am.
And I'm thinking that right there may be the very point of it all.
(Here's a link to Terri's website.)
I was completely taken by surprise, humbled, and honored.
Me? Wonderful? Whaaaat?
Terri, my artist friend, features a wonderful person and a wonderful artist of the month on her website. This month she combined them into one category, and then chose two people.
Wonderful person? Artist? Seriously? What is so wonderful about me?
That's a rhetorical question- I'm not fishing for compliments, or hoping for a bunch of responses from people saying "yes, 'Lis you are wonderful!"
That's not my point at all....
because I think self-doubt and lack of self-worth is something that is in all of us. I have a terrible time accepting compliments. I am notorious for saying something sarcastic or self- deprecating. Because deep down.. I know there's nothing really that great about me.
And this makes me laugh.
Because if someone I love was writing these very same words... I'd be coming up with a whole list of why I think they are in fact wonderful.
I can close my eyes and picture the face of someone I love. And I could write a whole blog about why I think they are wonderful.
Now Terri--- she definitely is someone wonderful. Her art... the words she writes... her blogs... they all give us a glimpse of a truly beautiful heart. It's amazing the connections you can feel, even if it's over e-mail. The words she's written to me, I carry around in my heart. I'm not sure if I completely believe them all quite yet... but I'm getting there.
We see it in others. We celebrate it in others.... but we don't want to see it in ourselves.
Even in writing about Emily... There's alot of things about her that were (are?) wonderful. Amazingly wonderful qualities that made her who she was. And yet... there were alot of things about her that just out and out made me want to wring her neck, and made me angry, and things I wished she could change.
But all in all, she was (is) wonderful because all of that is what made her who she was.
No one likes perfect people. It's incredibly hard to be "real" around someone who seemingly has it all together. It's hard to relate to someone who doesn't seem to struggle with life.
I still don't think that there is anything spectacularly wonderful about me. I know myself too well- and I know the dark and the ugly that I keep inside. I hide behind a mask I try to project to people, and all the while knowing that I really can't measure up. So wonderful, I am not.
But it makes my heart overflow to know that there are people who think I am.
And I'm thinking that right there may be the very point of it all.
(Here's a link to Terri's website.)
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