Observations From The Top Of The Hill

►I now qualify for that creepy "end of life" insurance
♥ I'm considering a move to "Cougar Town"
→Mammograms are mandatory - squish, squish!
☺I look MUCH worse but I care MUCH less.... :-)
→↓ I still feel 26.....
....until I look in the mirror, sigh
→↓ Single at 40 is harder AND easier than single at 26....
....but I never get carded anymore
►Acne? Seriously?
→I often hurt myself by the sheer act of........SLEEPING
►Retirement planning suddenly seems much more important
→Life before computers, Internet, DVDs, cell phones, iPods, texting and TIVO was less complicated
☺Under eye concealer is my friend
•Migraines are not my friend
►I watched MTV kill the radio star when I was 11
→↓ I don't really care so much anymore about what others think of me......
.....as a result self-confidence is much easier to embrace
☺I'm worth the occasional pedicure
►Gray hair is more wiry than black hair
♥ Innocence is beautiful
☼Beauty is innocence
→One piece of quality clothing beats five pieces from Wal-Mart
►Fresh flowers are worth every, single penny
☺Money is no object when it comes to comfortable shoes, even if they're ugly!
→ Travel really does broaden your horizons
►Honest faith is better than religious perfection
♥ I know that my redeemer lives....
♥♥ I know that I am loved ♥♥

One Block At A Time

This week I had my (hopefully) final appointment with my foot doctor, aka podiatrist. Ugh, just admitting that I see a "podiatrist" makes me feel old! But I digress, the point of my visit was to determine when I would finally be free of my cast, affectionately nick-named Frankenfoot. After 3 months I am more than ready to wear normal shoes again. I'm also eager to start exercising, I miss my long neighborhood walks and it has been especially difficult to sit inside this week with temps in the 70s.

So here's the verdict: I can slowly begin weaning myself out of the cast beginning with 1 hour of freedom the first day, then 2 hours the next day, 3 hours the day after and so on. Dr. G also gave me the go ahead to begin taking my daily walks if I'm pain-free after wearing real shoes full time. I was so excited, until he told me to start by walking only one block.

What???? ONE BLOCK?!?! Seriously? I wondered if he was joking but no, he wasn't. He was very clear that if I overdid it again I would end up back in the cast. One block for a few days, then 2 blocks for a few days, then 3 blocks and so on.

I don't know why the healing process is so slow. All I know is I can only go one block at a time if I want my foot to heal properly. One block at a time to strengthen the muscle, increase flexibility and build stamina. One block.

It seems like most of the healing we desire is slow and tedious. Very few of us find instantaneous healing for whatever ails us.

Community healing comes from rebuilding dilapidated buildings one brick at a time. It comes from rebuilding tense race relations one friendship at a time. It comes from rebuilding the economy one job at a time.

Relational healing comes from one conversation at a time. It comes from building trust one action at a time. It comes from being known one story at a time.

Spiritual healing comes from one gut-wrenching prayer at a time. It comes from one display of grace at a time. It comes from one moment of worship at a time.

Emotional healing comes from one tiny step of acceptance at a time. It comes from one tear at a time.

But eventually healing comes, no matter how painful the process. It comes. Now if you'll excuse me I need to prop up my throbbing foot, I walked more than one block today. Oops! ;-)

Pat Robertson Does Not Represent Me!

I saw the news alert yesterday afternoon. A 7.0 magnitude earthquake in Haiti, far, far away from my cozy office in Stone Oak. I was too busy at work to take the time to check into the story further, but once I did I was stunned. I'm always overwhelmed at the damage an earthquake can cause, especially in such a short amount of time. I understood President Obama's sentiment when he made the following comment in his statement earlier today:

"for a country and a people who are no strangers to hardship and suffering, this tragedy seems especially cruel and incomprehensible."

Many people who walk in much more conservative circles than I have voiced their disbelief that our President would categorize this disaster as cruel. Others, like Pat Robertson, immediately looked to blame the very people who have literally crumbled under the weight of this disaster. And it makes me angry and ashamed to be so horribly represented by those who share my faith.

This is a time for action, not semantics and theology lessons. I am fairly convinced that during his earthly ministry Jesus would have immediately responded with love AND action. He would not have stopped to consider if the words used to describe such incomprehensible devastation were appropriate, because ultimately there are no words that can describe the physical and emotional devastation that occurred. He would have understood that the suffering feels cruel to those in the middle of it. Neither do I believe that he would have tried to claim that a "pact with the devil" cursed millions of people and led to a natural disaster in the poorest nation in our hemisphere.

As a Christian, I am commanded to follow the example of Christ. Period. Politics and theology are better served in a different time and place. Although I cannot travel to the site of the disaster I can give money and supplies to the reputable charities tasked with providing aid. Please, if you have the means consider making a monetary donation. If you believe in the power of prayer, please offer your prayers, laments or groans to the one who can make something beautiful from the ashes.

Here are a few of my favorite charities:

http://www.compassion.com/

http://www.samaritanspurse.org/

Arrivederci

I really wanted to write a positive, hopeful post full of sage advice and achievable yet lofty goals, but then I remembered that there is precious little wisdom floating around in my stream of consciousness. And lofty goals? I gave those up after I failed to meet ANY of them in the past decade. Besides, when I TRY to write something meaningful it usually falls into the "what the heck is wrong with that girl?" category, so why bother?

Here's the truth, right now I'm sad because in saying goodbye to the first decade of the 21st century, I'll soon be saying goodbye to my 30s. It's not that turning 40 is all that upsetting - aging IS the goal - and I don't have a death wish. No, it's not the number that bothers me it's not having what I thought I would have by the time that number defined me.

Have you ever heard the saying, "When God closes a door He opens a window"? I guess that's true, except when it isn't. He not only closed the door to my dreams He proceeded to put bars and blackout shades on the windows. And let me tell you, that glass is shatter-proof. The only thing that shattered when I tried to break it was my heart.

Instead of love and marriage and the baby carriage I have, um, well, hm. Oh, oh, oh I have a job and a puppy and a new car!!! All things I love and need, ALL things for which I thank God humbly and frequently, but none of them are the deepest desires of my heart. Don't get me wrong, I do love my job (mostly), and I have amazing friends and many family members close by, but I still live my life in isolation. And my puppy is adorable, affectionate and fun, but he fails to give me the kind of companionship and intelligent conversation I crave. Plus his kisses don't really do it for me, aside from the fact that he isn't human HE EATS HIS OWN POOP. Enough said. To top it off I never did finish college and make something of myself. I just settled into a middle class, dull life that affords me a new car every 10 years or so mixed in with the occasional travel adventure so I don't die of boredom. I've got mediocrity instead of passion and purpose. I often look at my life and wonder, "What's the point?"

This is the spot in the post where I should wrap everything up with a nice little bow. Insert an encouraging Bible verse. Write about how God only has my best interests at heart. State that I'm okay because He's all I need. Sigh. I guess I just don't know how to believe that in this moment of grief. And that's okay. I'm pretty sure that God is much more likely to show himself when I get brutally honest and admit my despair. So off I go to try to figure out how to "do" this life I didn't plan.

I'll end with a link to a blog post that made me laugh until I cried today. The comments are funnier than the blog, and I'm tickled pink that my own comment made an appearance early on. Enjoy!

http://stuffchristianslike.net/2010/01/being-single-during-christmas-at-church/#idc-cover

P.S. - Happy New Year!

Spoiled (Un)rotten

Over the years I have received many nice presents. Gifts that touched me and made me grateful for all of the love and thoughtfulness that went into choosing them.

Even the hot pink, barbie blow-up couch given by my niece several years ago, because even though she was little she still wanted to give me a gift that meant something to her.

But this Christmas season I've literally been spoiled with gifts. In a good way. And I like it. A lot.

This is the first year that I've felt confident enough to let a few people know all (okay most) of me, even the messy, extremely ugly parts. And their gifts were thrilling because they spoke to my deepest passions, because the givers knew me well enough to choose things I would love. Things I would never ask for because they seemed too extravagant or expensive, or maybe because I didn't even know I wanted them in the first place.

But as much as those tangible gifts meant to me, as special and loved as I felt because of them, they pale in comparison to the intangible gifts I received.

Gifts of time. Patience. Silence. Touch. Support. Commitment. Grace. Mercy. Encouragement. Celebration. Love.

I am fairly certain that I would not have survived 2009, one of the most difficult years of my life, without the people who offered those things to me when I could not offer them in return.

I would not have survived the intensity of emotions. I would not have survived the memories. I would not have survived the sadness. I would not have survived the fear. I would not have survived facing reality. I would not have survived facing the demons of my past. I would not have survived my faith. I would not have survived myself.

I would not have survived.

Not without the hours of ridiculously long telephone conversations where I was allowed to whine, vent, laugh and cry until I was spent.

Not without the freedom to explore the truth of my story, to literally revisit my past without the fear of rejection in the present. Not without fellowship, food and fun. Not without warm hugs. Not without pursuit and perseverance when I was frustratingly stubborn or withdrawn.

Not without extravagant love.

Not without living, breathing models of the love of Christ in action. No judgment. No criticism. No "I told you so". No "shoulds". No abandonment. No pressure to perform.

Just loyalty, truth, grace and above all love.

Those are the unexpected gifts that have carried me. The gifts for which I am externally grateful. The gifts I cherish the most. Merci.

Ljubljana, Slovenia

Finally I am getting around to posting about my experiences in Slovenia (I'll post about London next time.) Has it already been over 6 months??? My how time flies...

Germany was beautiful, especially after the 36 grueling hours it took to get there! 6 days of rest with a friend who knows me well and still manages to act like she enjoys my company after 17 years. We slept late, talked, celebrated my birthday with really bad Chinese food, talked some more, sang American Idol karaoke with the kids, had tea with her German friend, talked, watched movies, hiked and enjoyed a few outings to Stauffen, Germany and Lucerne, Switzerland before I headed off on my own to explore Slovenia.

When it came time to leave Germany I was a mess of tears and anxiety. Even though I've traveled alone on numerous occasions I was genuinely surprised to experience a rush of fear as Laurie walked away and I faced a long train ride to an unfamiliar country. Anyone who has traveled by train in Europe knows the challenges of navigating the transportation system while speaking a foreign language, but doing it alone at night was daunting and took every ounce of courage I could muster. As I arrived at the main train station I realized that the tourist information office was closed, which was fitting since I could not locate my train and could have really used their help! The station was dark, cold and extremely crowded so I found a track that looked promising and waited. It was an educated guess because the departure time was close to what was reflected on my ticket AND the destination cities seemed suspiciously Slavic; however, Ljubljana was not listed and I was worried. I DID NOT want to end up in Zagreb on that particular trip! Panic was beginning to seize my heart as I listened to the unfamiliar languages and contemplated calling Laurie and just scrapping Slovenia all together. But just as I was about to lose heart the train arrived and I found a sympathetic conductor who confirmed that I was boarding the correct train and that he would awaken me when we arrived in my chosen city.

I hopped on the train with a smile of relief while fun memories of past overnight train rides filled my mind, train rides when I was in my 20s and thought that kind of thing was fun and cool. Train rides shared with others of like mind, not middle-aged Croatians and Germans who were angry that I could not speak any of their languages. Ah yes, my smile froze when I saw my compartment. I knew that this train ride would be COMPLETELY different from the adventurous rides of my youth. My "room" (it was actually smaller than most closets) had 6 bunk beds, 3 on each side and mine was on the top, right next to the ceiling. I could not even sit up and my fellow passengers had so much luggage that I was forced to sleep with my backpack on my tiny bed. And I use the word sleep lightly, because I barely did any of that. Instead I listened to a mix of Slavic and German until at least 2:00 am, apparently these strangers had become fast friends and were too wired to sleep. Finally the symphony of snoring began and I was thrilled to be the quietest of the group! All in all it was a miserable night with little sleep, cramped quarters, no privacy and possible bed bugs. Not an experience I am likely to repeat. Yep, I think my extreme budget travel days are over. I much prefer a little luxury at this stage in my life, and by luxury I mean private room and bathroom in a semi-decent hotel, not a train.

Overall my impressions of Slovenia were very favorable. Ljubljana was a gem tucked into a valley in the shadow of the Julian Alps. The people were friendlier than in most of the former Eastern Block countries I've visited. They seemed more like Austrians or Italians, maybe because they share a border! Either way they were charming, helpful and open. They were eager to share about their history and culture and even about their lives under Tito's rule of thumb. It was fascinating to learn more about the Balkans and their conflicted past.

I loved watching the locals prepare for Easter with hand-carved wooden flowers, beautifully painted eggs and palm fronds. Sitting in the stillness of the large Catholic church on Palm Sunday filled me with peace. The sound of the large pipe organ was stunning and the newly restored frescoes breathtaking.

I made my way to the castle, enjoyed the many bridges, ate lots of gelato in the crowded main square, went shopping at a large department store, ate SOME of the local food, enjoyed the Bosnian Food Festival and dancers at the street fair and spent time reading in the park. The city's charm and relaxed pace were refreshing and in many ways I was reminded of Prague.

If you get the chance to go, TAKE IT. Just take note of the following:

1. DO NOT walk in the bike lane - EVER. They WILL yell at you. If you've never been yelled at in Slovenian I can promise you it's an experience you want to avoid. In fact, I would encourage you to avoid being yelled at in ANY Slavic language. Well, being yelled at in Greek, Italian or German is also unpleasant, heck even being yelled at in English is awful, but it's worse when a large man on a fast bike is screaming before he almost runs over you! :-)
2. They eat horse meat. Really. And no, I DID NOT eat any. Been there, done that - ON ACCIDENT in Belgium. I wish I didn't know that horse meat is red, but I do. Ugh. Perhaps on a trip to Slovenia one should stick to a purely vegetarian diet. I'm just sayin'....




3. Their national soda, Cockta, was um, "hard to swallow"..... Just be warned that it's a mix of cola and lemon-lime. Neither the name nor the flavor were appetizing!



4. They serve their hot panini sandwiches with pickles and hard boiled eggs in the middle - ew! I was quite surprised when I bit into mine.
5. If you see a gelato stand - BUY yourself a scoop, it's just as good as what you find in Italy.
6. DO NOT under any circumstances stay at the hip youth hostel that was once a prison. Trust me on this one. (Yes Lane, you were RIGHT. I admit it for all the world to see, or at least the 3 people who read this blog!)

It was a lovely experience and I'm glad I braved the overnight train ride with a compartment full of strangers. Beautiful country. Fascinating history. Friendly people. Go see it for yourself sometime!

Radioactive Fallout

The doctor looked at me and said, I think you have a stress fracture in the right metatarsal. You'll need a bone scan so I can see the extent of your injury. And just like that I was fitted for a cast and drove off to Concord Imaging, my favorite imaging center. They're nice and it looks and feels like a spa when you walk in, which helps calm me down. I'm on a first name basis with Alma now, we swap stories like we're old friends as she injects me with radioactive isotope. When she maneuvers my foot under the camera I refrain from crying out in pain because I have convinced myself that I really don't have a stress fracture but am instead just reacting like a big baby because I want some extra attention. Even though it really does hurt and the doctor himself noted that the pain was severe.

Then the isotope begins to race through my blood stream down to my injured foot. It pools in the exact location that has been causing so much pain and glows an unearthly white on the screen. And I know that I'm not overreacting. The proof is on the screen and I begin to cry. Somehow seeing it in black and fluorescent white gives me the permission I need to feel the pain and my foot begins to throb. When the initial part of the scan is over I cannot walk. Instead I hobble to my chair and fight the sobs that want to take over. And then I pull it together, put on my cast and drive to work.

5 hours and 32 ounces of water later I am back at Concord chatting with Alma. She compares the new images to those from my bone scan in April that revealed a diagnosis of osteoarthritis. This time the right foot definitely shows a new injury and it glows much brighter than the silly old arthritis, highlighting the inflammation. For the next 45 minutes I try to lay perfectly still as my foot is placed in odd positions so the scan can capture all angels for the doctor to review. As I lay there I continue to berate myself for not seeking treatment sooner, for thinking that I'm still 26 instead of 5 months shy of 40, for trying to be brave or ignore the pain until walking was out of the question.

I'm grateful that despite my stupidity the radioactive fallout of this procedure was mild. Yes the pain is severe, but the prognosis is good. I will be in a cast for 4-6 weeks but there appears to be no permanent damage. I will be forced to care for my foot and not abuse it by pushing it harder than I should. That means no more running or extensive walking, but instead biking or God-forbid water aerobics. It also means old lady shoes instead of heels, once I'm out of my Frankenstein cast that is. And my Frankenstein cast is huge - because in order to fit my ginormous calves I had to get a cast made for Arnold, not Angelina. Hey it ain't pretty but at least I already have a costume for Halloween!

My "Frankenfeet" - driving shoe and walking cast.

My Inner Hippie

I found my inner hippie last night. I didn't know she was lost until my boss gave me concert tickets to Rain: The Beatles Experience. And for those of you who don't know, my boss does everything in style.

• The Majestic Theater
• Box seats
• Private lounge
• Valet parking

It started with I Wanna Hold Your Hand and ended with my favorite, Hey Jude. The other 2 hours were filled with songs like Yesterday, Come Together, Let It Be, Hello Goodbye, A Hard Day's Night, Eleanor Rigby, Girl, Across The Universe, I Am A Walrus. As much as I enjoyed the concert, can I be honest and say that I've always hated the walrus song? Last night didn't change my mind. It's still awful.

But, otherwise the night was AMAZING. I feel like I saw the REAL Beatles live in concert. It was an unbelievable show. Psychedelic lights, a multi-media presentation, musicians who almost perfectly imitated the real stars in look and sound. It made me wish I had seen the real deal. If you appreciate music at all then walk, don't run to the nearest show!

Now if I can just finagle a way to see U2 and Coldplay live in concert before I die.....


http://www.raintribute.com/

Barbie Doll Wannabes

I was in Las Vegas last week. Land of bad Elvis impersonators, an Eiffel Tower knockoff, gondolas that glide across shallow swimming pools instead of murky canals, AND an over-abundance of fake boobs. Lots and lots of silicone.

Come to think of it, aside from Sin City, I don't think I've ever seen so many fake boobs in one place. Not to mention the fake tans, fake hair, fake eyelashes, fake nails, fake noses, fake lips, fake ____________ (fill in the blank). Everyone seemed to be masquerading as someone else. It was difficult for me to discern fantasy from reality, well at least until I looked into the mirror!

Remember that Oprah episode about human Barbie Dolls? It chronicled women who had spent thousands of dollars and endured multiple surgeries to transform their faces and bodies into living, breathing Barbies. With each surgery their noses got smaller, cheekbones more defined, lips plumped, boobs enlarged and fat sucked away. Post-surgery their hair was blonder, teeth whiter, tans darker and jewelry flashier.

In the altered reality of Vegas I encountered one of those women. She almost knocked me over as I tried to exit the casino. As I stumbled I was struck by a few things, including her enormous, fake knockers. She was frighteningly skinny, no bigger than a size 0, her tanned and leathery skin stretched uncomfortably over her 5'10 frame. With her stilettos and teased, blond hair she appeared to be 6'2. Her tiny body could barely support her enormous chest and it was all she could do to stand up straight as she held on to her date for dear life. After my initial shock wore off I looked more closely. I ignored the barely there mini-skirt and the tight & tacky spandex tank top and focused on her distorted features.

Her lips were filled with too much collagen, her brow smooth and shiny from Botox. Restylane filled her cheekbones and fake, feathery eyelashes framed her wrinkle-free eyes. A tiny, upturned nose was barely noticeable above her bee-stung lips, and eyeliner was expertly painted to draw attention to her cat-like, blue eyes.

Although she held herself with an air of confidence, her eyes were empty and she seemed brittle and hollow. It was achingly obvious that she was not as young as she tried to appear. The attention she drew was mostly from people gawking in horror. No one was fooled by her vanity; clearly she had purchased Nicole's nose, Anna Nicole's breasts and Angelina's lips. And all of the money and painful surgeries had failed. She did not look like a Barbie Doll.

As I watched her walk away I thought of how often my own vanity or pride causes me to live under pretense. I don't want people to see how messy my life is, how deep the wounds, how severe the traumas, how pathetic the vanity, how painful the suffering. I would rather appear to have it all together, or to seem smarter or funnier, or even kinder and gentler. But just like the wannabe Barbie, others see through the pretense, and in the instant I choose to keep hiding I miss out on letting them know me as I am, instead of who I wish I were. Funny how that works.

Circle of Life

Years ago when I was a 9-year-old girl something magical happened. My oldest brother and his wife became the parents of a beautiful baby girl. She was christened Andrea Jane and in that moment I became the most ridiculously proud "child" aunt the world had ever seen.

I bragged and BRAGGED about her to all of my friends. No one else in my clique had yet enjoyed the privilege of being an aunt, and I was obnoxiously vocal about my new role. Not that I got to see her much since she lived 4 hours away and I was just a child myself, but no matter, my title was permanent. When we moved to the same town as my brother and his family I was able to spend more time enjoying the wonders of her toddler hood, and before long we welcomed her baby brother, Tyler into the world. Their adorable faces and amazing spirits captured me and I believed with all of my heart that motherhood was on the horizon for me, and I couldn't wait. Little did I know that the waiting would be bitter and endless.

10 years ago this month I was diagnosed with a condition that makes conceiving children close to impossible and carrying a child to term risky and difficult at best. My case was more severe and the doctor said it was unlikely that I would ever be able to conceive, even with the help of medical science. I was 29 at the time and the news sent me into a tailspin. No one quite understood what I knew in my heart. I would never experience pregnancy. I would never feel the flutter of a new life kicking and wiggling in my womb. I would never gaze with wonder on a child I helped create. Never. I was devastated.

For many years I struggled to live life with the knowledge that my dearest dream would never be fulfilled. I tucked away the disappointment and threw myself into being the best aunt I could be. Each time I held one of my nieces or nephews in my arms I was amazed that I shared DNA with such perfect and amazing creatures. Babies are wondrous with their tiny fingers and toes, gurgles, fragility, scent. And oh how I adore 3-year-olds, and 8-year-olds, and, who am I kidding I adore ALL of them! When they're near it proves to me that even though I'll never know the pure love a mother feels for her child I still have a small part in the circle of life.

Now the circle has expanded. My niece, whom I once held in my own tiny arms now holds her own child. She gave birth to Jonathan a few weeks ago. He is perfect and beautiful, a wonderful combination of his proud mommy and daddy. His arrival made me a great-aunt, and I cried tears of joy when I saw the first photo of him gazing at his daddy. Of course I also cried when I saw him resting peacefully in his granny's arms, and when I saw the real smile on my brother's face as he held his first grandchild.

Andrea, Tyler, Bethany, Cody, Bryce, Kaitlyn, Kyle, Zachary and now Jonathan. All miracles. All amazing. All part of my circle.