Ok, I will try to keep this short...no promises.
As you can imagine, the attorneys from each side of a case have different ideas about what kind of jurors they hope to have on a case. In narrowing down a jury pool...and just to give you an idea our pool started with 58, then they decided it had been narrowed too much and brought in 30 more...all that whittled down to 13 or 14...12 jurors and a couple alternates.
Attorneys can "challenge" a potential juror either for 'cause' or 'preemptory' reasons. (Just as a side note, I think dismiss or excuse would be a better word choice than challenge, but no one asked me....) To challenge for cause is used when a juror says, "no, I'm sure I couldn't be unbiased in this case." or "I can't do it because of my job..." Things like that. Pre-emptory means the attorneys don't have to give a reason. The defense or prosecutor simply doesn't want that juror.
I was excused...oops, I mean challenged, by the Defense for pre-emptory reasons. I can't say that I blame them...it was a 'child rape case'.
They asked all of us potential jurors if we or anyone we knew had been abused. (I should note here that they did give us an opportunity to speak to the attorneys and judge privately). I explained that I really did not know if I could be unbiased...I would certainly try...but because I am in therapy for this very thing, and have PTSD, I can't promise anything. Apparently since I said I would try to be unbiased, they couldn't challenge me for cause, though, I'm guessing the defense is wishing they could have challenged me earlier than because...
During the voir dire, the defense asked the jurors questions about their daughters, if the daughters had lied to them and so forth. The prosecuting attorney asked some of the jurors how they anticipated the defendant to act on the stand. They said nervous, etc. He then asked, "what if the defendant doesn't seem nervous?" One potential juror, young guy (no more than 22) said that would led him to wonder if she was lying. The prosecutor then asked if anyone disagreed with that. A couple of us raised our hands.
"Juror #25, you raised your hand pretty fast, what do you think?"
I did? Oops. Then I explained as briefly as possible about dissociation and how I, for example, could talk to them quite unemotionally about my own abuse that does NOT mean that I am lying or unemotional about it. Dissociation is defense mechanism. The attorney then turned back to the young man, and asked him if that changed his opinion. He said it did.
IF...as it appears to me...the case was basically her word against his, and the defense is planning to paint an unemotional witness as a liar....then I potentially helped the prosecution.
What a precarious thing the law is...for both parties...the victim and the accused. On the one hand...imagine that you are the victim. It can be your word against your assailant. What if you are dissociated and unemotional? What if you are the accused? What if you are innocent?
If I could summarize my jury experience, I would have to say, "There are no easy answers." That and if you get called to jury duty...bring something to read.
Showing posts with label my life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label my life. Show all posts
Sunday, July 17, 2011
Sunday, July 10, 2011
Jury Duty..."this won't hurt a bit"
Jury Summons....the words strike dread into the hearts of many Americans. But when I saw them in my mail box, I was happy. I think that makes me some sort of "nerd". It is something I have always wanted to do...and yet I did have some concerns. I think I share these concerns with many other people, and I am happy to report that we were wrong.
To start, I had thought that the court system was rather Orwellian. Big Brother wants you for Jury Duty and you must comply regardless of how it impacts your life. My next concern was that I might end up on a case that would last "forever" (definition of forever 2 months or more). After all, I've read John Grishom! And I remember how long the O.J. Simpson trial lasted...more than forever! If you have the same preconceptions and want to know how it really works, keep reading. If I have bored you already...then sorry, please check back soon for my next post.
I actually received the Jury Summons a few months ago, and it wasn't a good time for me. To my relief and surprise, the summons includes instructions to defer service...and to a date of your choosing! Wow, thanks Big Brother, that's pretty reasonable! So I thought about it and defered to July 6th. I mailed it in, and received a reply in the mail. Deferal accepted. So far so good!
On Wednesday, I nervously drove to the court house...another pleasant surprise...free parking. Yes, I am easily amused. I was able to pass through security without incident (phew! going through security always makes me nervous). Large signs made it easy to find the place to check in.
Next step, wait. Finally after about an hour of waiting, a judge came in and addressed us. He seemed very friendly (must not have been "the" Big Brother.) He thanked us for being willing to serve. I thought "willing" was probably a stretch, but it was kind of him, anyway. He commiserated that the jury pay of $10 a day is really paltry. In 1913 the pay was $3 a day and in 1950 they changed it to $10 and haven't changed it since. He explained that the reason for the waiting so far and the wait that awaited us...was this: in some cases the parties involved can chose if they prefer the case to be decided by a judge or a jury. For example cases involving a lot of legal business (corporate law etc) are often decided by judges, whereas cases that are based on facts (rather than legal mumbojumbo) are better for juries. So at the beginning of the day, the court may not know for certain if they will require a jury or not. Even when they know they do want a jury sometimes the attorneys have motions and things to take care of that require an undetermined amount of time. When they are ready, they want potential jurors ready to choose from. (Are you also getting the image of a lake stocked with fish?)
Then there was a short video that explained the basics of jury selection. Forgive me if you already know this from John Grisham, but I thought it was interesting. Both the prosecution and the defense have opinions about the kind of people they hope to have on the jury, so from a large pool, they ask questions. This process is called voir dire.
After the video we waited. Another hour or so passed and a group of 50 people was called to court for voir dire. I was not one of them, so I waited some more. We broke for lunch (a generous hour and a half) and then returned to wait some more. I am not kidding about the waiting! Finally, they announced that they would be calling up 58 potential jurors for the next voir dire. I was included in this group.
Remember that one of our concerns as potential jurors is getting "stuck on a forever case"? In this case the judge informed us that this case is expected to last 2 weeks and we were given the opportunity to express ourselves if this would be a hardship. Several people said it would be and were questioned by the judge. Some of the reasons given seemed like genuine hardships to me, being the main caregiver for a mentally disabled adult, for example. Some I had less sympathy for...family reunions, vacations, and airline tickets. Don't think me heartless...remember we all had the opportunity to defer service. So I simply wondered why the people in this category didn't defer their service. The point is that as far as I could tell everyone that said 2 weeks would be a hardship was released back in the the jury pond...pool...waiting area. They were released from that trial, but not released entirely. They had to go back to the waiting room and wait to be considered for the next case. All these people were completely released from jury duty the following day BEFORE lunch. Their jury service was a day and a half! (Note: Of the 108 people that reported with me on Wedneday, 14 of them will serve on a jury, the rest were not selected for a jury and "served" only a day and a half.) From this we can conclude that our fears of being forced into a never-ending-court-case seem to be unfounded. The judge seemed very reasonable, and so far I haven't encountered Big Brother or any of his minions.
The next step was to continue the voir dire. I'm not supposed to talk about the case...even now...and the jury hasn't been decided yet. So stay tuned for part two later. I can say, that after a couple hours of this we were released to go home and asked to return in the morning of the following day to continue. I thought that since we were asked to arrive by 8:45 am that we would start at 9. Wouldn't that be your assumption as well? But I had already forgotten the first lesson of jury duty...wait, wait, and wait some more.
On Thursday morning we were informed that our pool of 58 had dwindled too much and so the judge asked for more jurors. While they went upstairs and repeated the steps, I and my companions had been through the previous day, we sat and waited...you can guess what comes next right? We waited some more. Seriously. After lunch we were called up to the court room again. Would it surprise you at this point to learn that we have not finished voir dire and I have to return on Monday?
So, for those of you, who got bored and are skimming (caught you!) here's what I learned. Judges and the court system in general are not Orwellian, they are actually pretty reasonable and willing to work with people. Second, eternal court-cases appear to be less common and prospective jurors in these cases are given ample warning and given a chance to be excused for hardship.
The most important lesson so far seems to be...bring something to do! They do provide wi-fi, so you could bring your lap top. They also have vending machines, a microwave and a refrigerator. Whether it is your laptop, a book, or suduku...bring something. You will need it!
Other than that Jury Duty as not as bad as people think...come prepared and "this won't hurt a bit."
To start, I had thought that the court system was rather Orwellian. Big Brother wants you for Jury Duty and you must comply regardless of how it impacts your life. My next concern was that I might end up on a case that would last "forever" (definition of forever 2 months or more). After all, I've read John Grishom! And I remember how long the O.J. Simpson trial lasted...more than forever! If you have the same preconceptions and want to know how it really works, keep reading. If I have bored you already...then sorry, please check back soon for my next post.
I actually received the Jury Summons a few months ago, and it wasn't a good time for me. To my relief and surprise, the summons includes instructions to defer service...and to a date of your choosing! Wow, thanks Big Brother, that's pretty reasonable! So I thought about it and defered to July 6th. I mailed it in, and received a reply in the mail. Deferal accepted. So far so good!
On Wednesday, I nervously drove to the court house...another pleasant surprise...free parking. Yes, I am easily amused. I was able to pass through security without incident (phew! going through security always makes me nervous). Large signs made it easy to find the place to check in.
Next step, wait. Finally after about an hour of waiting, a judge came in and addressed us. He seemed very friendly (must not have been "the" Big Brother.) He thanked us for being willing to serve. I thought "willing" was probably a stretch, but it was kind of him, anyway. He commiserated that the jury pay of $10 a day is really paltry. In 1913 the pay was $3 a day and in 1950 they changed it to $10 and haven't changed it since. He explained that the reason for the waiting so far and the wait that awaited us...was this: in some cases the parties involved can chose if they prefer the case to be decided by a judge or a jury. For example cases involving a lot of legal business (corporate law etc) are often decided by judges, whereas cases that are based on facts (rather than legal mumbojumbo) are better for juries. So at the beginning of the day, the court may not know for certain if they will require a jury or not. Even when they know they do want a jury sometimes the attorneys have motions and things to take care of that require an undetermined amount of time. When they are ready, they want potential jurors ready to choose from. (Are you also getting the image of a lake stocked with fish?)
Then there was a short video that explained the basics of jury selection. Forgive me if you already know this from John Grisham, but I thought it was interesting. Both the prosecution and the defense have opinions about the kind of people they hope to have on the jury, so from a large pool, they ask questions. This process is called voir dire.
After the video we waited. Another hour or so passed and a group of 50 people was called to court for voir dire. I was not one of them, so I waited some more. We broke for lunch (a generous hour and a half) and then returned to wait some more. I am not kidding about the waiting! Finally, they announced that they would be calling up 58 potential jurors for the next voir dire. I was included in this group.
Remember that one of our concerns as potential jurors is getting "stuck on a forever case"? In this case the judge informed us that this case is expected to last 2 weeks and we were given the opportunity to express ourselves if this would be a hardship. Several people said it would be and were questioned by the judge. Some of the reasons given seemed like genuine hardships to me, being the main caregiver for a mentally disabled adult, for example. Some I had less sympathy for...family reunions, vacations, and airline tickets. Don't think me heartless...remember we all had the opportunity to defer service. So I simply wondered why the people in this category didn't defer their service. The point is that as far as I could tell everyone that said 2 weeks would be a hardship was released back in the the jury pond...pool...waiting area. They were released from that trial, but not released entirely. They had to go back to the waiting room and wait to be considered for the next case. All these people were completely released from jury duty the following day BEFORE lunch. Their jury service was a day and a half! (Note: Of the 108 people that reported with me on Wedneday, 14 of them will serve on a jury, the rest were not selected for a jury and "served" only a day and a half.) From this we can conclude that our fears of being forced into a never-ending-court-case seem to be unfounded. The judge seemed very reasonable, and so far I haven't encountered Big Brother or any of his minions.
The next step was to continue the voir dire. I'm not supposed to talk about the case...even now...and the jury hasn't been decided yet. So stay tuned for part two later. I can say, that after a couple hours of this we were released to go home and asked to return in the morning of the following day to continue. I thought that since we were asked to arrive by 8:45 am that we would start at 9. Wouldn't that be your assumption as well? But I had already forgotten the first lesson of jury duty...wait, wait, and wait some more.
On Thursday morning we were informed that our pool of 58 had dwindled too much and so the judge asked for more jurors. While they went upstairs and repeated the steps, I and my companions had been through the previous day, we sat and waited...you can guess what comes next right? We waited some more. Seriously. After lunch we were called up to the court room again. Would it surprise you at this point to learn that we have not finished voir dire and I have to return on Monday?
So, for those of you, who got bored and are skimming (caught you!) here's what I learned. Judges and the court system in general are not Orwellian, they are actually pretty reasonable and willing to work with people. Second, eternal court-cases appear to be less common and prospective jurors in these cases are given ample warning and given a chance to be excused for hardship.
The most important lesson so far seems to be...bring something to do! They do provide wi-fi, so you could bring your lap top. They also have vending machines, a microwave and a refrigerator. Whether it is your laptop, a book, or suduku...bring something. You will need it!
Other than that Jury Duty as not as bad as people think...come prepared and "this won't hurt a bit."
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Happy Easter, Happy Birthday!
Easter is my favorite holiday. I don't decorate or make a special meal; I confess I am Domestically Challenged. We decorate eggs and the Easter Bunny visits...but mostly my Easter Celebration is internal. That celebration is significant though.
So knowing this you can better understand why several years ago when I was pregnant and my water broke on the eve of Easter, I was thrilled. A baby born on Easter would be a wonderful way to celebrate Easter and all it means to me spiritually. However, it was early and my body didn't want to "give up" the baby, so getting labor to start was a long process, labor was a slow, painful process...and right after midnight on Monday, my son was born. Not only was it no longer Easter, but it was....April Fool's Day. My son, who is old enough now to understand this finds it all very amusing...I still do not.
Amazingly, a few years later I found myself, once again, pregnant and being told "we need to get the baby out." It was Easter Day and I was thrilled! THIS time I would have my Easter Baby! Who would have thought I would get a second chance? But as mothers, midwives and doctors know, babies are unpredictable and once again my son was born shortly after midnight. At least it wasn't April Fool's this time.
So fast forward a few years to today...Easter 2011. Guess whose birthday it is today? Mine!!!!
Isn't that amazing? As you know Easter changes every year, and it doesn't usually "fall" this late in April. And of course, each year our birthday's fall on a different day of the week...so I think I can safely say my birthday and Easter have never been on the same day before.
I would have considered this an amazing gift anytime, but especially after the Hellish year I have had, the ups and downs I have had in my relationship with Christ (remember Stealing Guilt and more recently Palm Sunday...well it is simply incredible to me that THIS year of all years Easter would fall on my birthday. I am in awe.
I am so pleased in fact that I am feeling a little mischievious. . .
Easter is about birth and death. Which brings me to my next item on the agenda of today's post. A good friend of mine and I used to write our own epitaphs for fun. It was a macrabe way to relieve stress. Last night, I was reminded of that and wrote this:
"Here lies Leslie: Upon examination, doctors discovered that while she had been emotionally flatlined, and mentally derailed for sometime, what kept her heart beating was her family. But in the end her physical heart also tired, slowed and stopped...however, her love for her family continues to grow and scientists are baffled."
Death is inevitable, and sometimes even may feel preferable to life, but because of Christ, we can all hope for a new birth, a new beginning.
Happy Easter!
So knowing this you can better understand why several years ago when I was pregnant and my water broke on the eve of Easter, I was thrilled. A baby born on Easter would be a wonderful way to celebrate Easter and all it means to me spiritually. However, it was early and my body didn't want to "give up" the baby, so getting labor to start was a long process, labor was a slow, painful process...and right after midnight on Monday, my son was born. Not only was it no longer Easter, but it was....April Fool's Day. My son, who is old enough now to understand this finds it all very amusing...I still do not.
Amazingly, a few years later I found myself, once again, pregnant and being told "we need to get the baby out." It was Easter Day and I was thrilled! THIS time I would have my Easter Baby! Who would have thought I would get a second chance? But as mothers, midwives and doctors know, babies are unpredictable and once again my son was born shortly after midnight. At least it wasn't April Fool's this time.
So fast forward a few years to today...Easter 2011. Guess whose birthday it is today? Mine!!!!
Isn't that amazing? As you know Easter changes every year, and it doesn't usually "fall" this late in April. And of course, each year our birthday's fall on a different day of the week...so I think I can safely say my birthday and Easter have never been on the same day before.
I would have considered this an amazing gift anytime, but especially after the Hellish year I have had, the ups and downs I have had in my relationship with Christ (remember Stealing Guilt and more recently Palm Sunday...well it is simply incredible to me that THIS year of all years Easter would fall on my birthday. I am in awe.
I am so pleased in fact that I am feeling a little mischievious. . .
Easter is about birth and death. Which brings me to my next item on the agenda of today's post. A good friend of mine and I used to write our own epitaphs for fun. It was a macrabe way to relieve stress. Last night, I was reminded of that and wrote this:
"Here lies Leslie: Upon examination, doctors discovered that while she had been emotionally flatlined, and mentally derailed for sometime, what kept her heart beating was her family. But in the end her physical heart also tired, slowed and stopped...however, her love for her family continues to grow and scientists are baffled."
Death is inevitable, and sometimes even may feel preferable to life, but because of Christ, we can all hope for a new birth, a new beginning.
Happy Easter!
Saturday, April 23, 2011
Things that make you go...hmmmm....
Look at the odometer. Is it just me or does this cry out, "Go back in the house and go back to bed. Do not drive anywhere today."
Just sayin...
Monday, April 18, 2011
Palm Sunday...Triumphal Entry back into my heart...
"Words were useless. At times, they might sound wonderful, but they let you down the moment you really needed them. You could never find the right words, never, and where would you look for them? The heart is as silent as a fish, however much the tongue tries to give it a voice." Cornelia Funk, Inkheart
Though I fancy myself a writer, at times I find words to be useless as well. At the most important times, and for the things closest to our heart words simply fail. For example, often times I tell my husband, "I love you," and while I know he hears the words, I am not altogether certain that he hears what all is in my heart. In spite of the inadequacy of words, I would like to try and share with you what happened to me today.
It's Palm Sunday...on this day Christ entered Jerusalem triumphantly with people laying palm leaves on the ground (this was before red carpets...). Then He went to the temple and cleansed it. He overturned tables! Stop for a moment and imagine what a scene that was. He was angry. We don't often picture him that way, but He had to have been very angry. I find His anger oddly comforting.
For some months I have struggled with the idea that Heavenly Father and Jesus knew what happened to me and yet did not stop it. Many of you reading this have children, can you imagine knowing that someone is hurting your child in such a way and yet allowing it to continue??? My adult mind understood that God cannot simply swoop down and stop the bad guys all the time. (Think about it, our population could diminish very quickly...but seriously, as an adult I do understand.) However, the parts of me that holds the pain and memories of a child...did NOT understand. Not at all.
A few weeks ago, I began to think about the scriptures that talk about God's vengeance on the wicked. Those scriptures that made me cringe before suddenly became very comforting. God did not intervene when the abuse happened, but that does not mean that He is not angry about what occurred. It does not mean that my abuser...or any abuser...will go unpunished. Mercy cannot rob Justice.
Thus began the healing in my heart, my God has not forsaken me. Then today during church I was pondering the words of a hymn, I Stand All Amazed...and I realized...Christ felt alone in the Garden of Gethsemane. He wrestled with pain while his friends slept. Then came the trial and the Crucifixion...Heavenly Father did not rescue Christ from the hands of the evil men. And Christ did not save Himself from them, though it was in His power to do so. When He was on the cross, He cried out, "My God, My God, why has thou forsaken me?" He felt alone in His greatest time of need.
And through His pain, I could finally see that while I have felt alone and abandoned,
I was not. I am not.
And thus, Christ was welcomed back into my wounded heart.
Though I fancy myself a writer, at times I find words to be useless as well. At the most important times, and for the things closest to our heart words simply fail. For example, often times I tell my husband, "I love you," and while I know he hears the words, I am not altogether certain that he hears what all is in my heart. In spite of the inadequacy of words, I would like to try and share with you what happened to me today.
It's Palm Sunday...on this day Christ entered Jerusalem triumphantly with people laying palm leaves on the ground (this was before red carpets...). Then He went to the temple and cleansed it. He overturned tables! Stop for a moment and imagine what a scene that was. He was angry. We don't often picture him that way, but He had to have been very angry. I find His anger oddly comforting.
For some months I have struggled with the idea that Heavenly Father and Jesus knew what happened to me and yet did not stop it. Many of you reading this have children, can you imagine knowing that someone is hurting your child in such a way and yet allowing it to continue??? My adult mind understood that God cannot simply swoop down and stop the bad guys all the time. (Think about it, our population could diminish very quickly...but seriously, as an adult I do understand.) However, the parts of me that holds the pain and memories of a child...did NOT understand. Not at all.
A few weeks ago, I began to think about the scriptures that talk about God's vengeance on the wicked. Those scriptures that made me cringe before suddenly became very comforting. God did not intervene when the abuse happened, but that does not mean that He is not angry about what occurred. It does not mean that my abuser...or any abuser...will go unpunished. Mercy cannot rob Justice.
Thus began the healing in my heart, my God has not forsaken me. Then today during church I was pondering the words of a hymn, I Stand All Amazed...and I realized...Christ felt alone in the Garden of Gethsemane. He wrestled with pain while his friends slept. Then came the trial and the Crucifixion...Heavenly Father did not rescue Christ from the hands of the evil men. And Christ did not save Himself from them, though it was in His power to do so. When He was on the cross, He cried out, "My God, My God, why has thou forsaken me?" He felt alone in His greatest time of need.
And through His pain, I could finally see that while I have felt alone and abandoned,
I was not. I am not.
And thus, Christ was welcomed back into my wounded heart.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Much Ado About Nothing or Lessons I Learned Over the Weekend
Saturday: After the yearly church Halloween party, I was taking the kids home. Apparently, the extra load of candy was too much and we blew a tire. Wouldn’t you know, this was the one time I left the house without my cell phone. Fortunately, we were reasonably close to the house and one of my teenage sons was in the car. Run, boy, run.
Lesson #1 When you forget your cell phone, a teenage boy will do in a pinch.
Sunday: With the “donut” spare tire, I loaded up the family to go to church. This time we were carrying the Halloween candy internally, but still it was too much. The donut blew! Once again, I didn’t have my cell phone (I know, I know). Sent teenage son home to get “Dad” who was coming to church in another vehicle.
Lesson #2 Never trust a donut (tire or pastry), and always carry a teenager for emergencies.
Monday: Teenage son rolls old tire down the street to put in the van with bad donut. He lets it roll ahead of him and it lands in a huge puddle. Teenager wades in after it, muttering "hey you!". Mom laughs very hard.
Lesson #3 Teenagers can be great entertainment
Called AAA to get towed to the tire store. A delightful young man with an accent I didn’t recognize came to rescue me. I wanted to ask him what his native language was, but wasn’t sure if that would be rude. Maybe he gets asked that all the time and is tired of it. “Impulsive” is my middle name, though, so I ask, “Would you mind if I ask where you are from? I love your accent.” I really did! He rewarded me with a handsome smile, “Russia.” This led to a very delightful conversation, for both of us, about his home (8 hr train ride from Moscow!) and his family.
Lesson #4 You really can’t go wrong asking people to talk about themselves if your interest is genuine.
In summary…ban Halloween, ban candy, ban donut tires. Embrace teenage boys, and nice young men from Russia (especially if they are cute like my Russian tow truck driver was). Oh, and beware of crazy moms who might turn your life into a blog post.
Thanks for all your help this weekend, Son!
Lesson #1 When you forget your cell phone, a teenage boy will do in a pinch.
Sunday: With the “donut” spare tire, I loaded up the family to go to church. This time we were carrying the Halloween candy internally, but still it was too much. The donut blew! Once again, I didn’t have my cell phone (I know, I know). Sent teenage son home to get “Dad” who was coming to church in another vehicle.
Lesson #2 Never trust a donut (tire or pastry), and always carry a teenager for emergencies.
Monday: Teenage son rolls old tire down the street to put in the van with bad donut. He lets it roll ahead of him and it lands in a huge puddle. Teenager wades in after it, muttering "hey you!". Mom laughs very hard.
Lesson #3 Teenagers can be great entertainment
Called AAA to get towed to the tire store. A delightful young man with an accent I didn’t recognize came to rescue me. I wanted to ask him what his native language was, but wasn’t sure if that would be rude. Maybe he gets asked that all the time and is tired of it. “Impulsive” is my middle name, though, so I ask, “Would you mind if I ask where you are from? I love your accent.” I really did! He rewarded me with a handsome smile, “Russia.” This led to a very delightful conversation, for both of us, about his home (8 hr train ride from Moscow!) and his family.
Lesson #4 You really can’t go wrong asking people to talk about themselves if your interest is genuine.
In summary…ban Halloween, ban candy, ban donut tires. Embrace teenage boys, and nice young men from Russia (especially if they are cute like my Russian tow truck driver was). Oh, and beware of crazy moms who might turn your life into a blog post.
Thanks for all your help this weekend, Son!
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Where nightmares begin...
My husband is blessed with the most amazing dreams. Some of them are very creative story type dreams, some are funny, sometimes in his dreams he interviews famous people. One night he had an in depth conversation with Hippocrates about my health. He said he got some great insights too, only he couldn't remember them when he woke up. Darn.
I think the breath, depth and pure imagination of my husband's dreams say a lot about him. The dreams show what I already know...that he is very intelligent, creative, imaginative and a little crazy. That said, I have to wonder what my dreams say about me. I rarely remember my dreams, but when I do they are usually nightmares...things about people chasing me mostly. I used to have reoccuring dreams about calling 911, and not be able to get through, or having them tell me they were busy etc. I don't have many memories of my early childhood (I think my life started when I was 10), but one of the few memories of that time is of a nightmare that I had. I mentioned this before, remember I was in a large pit and my mother and siblings were at the top of the pit. They walked away and left me. I shudder to think what these dreams say about my pysche. Fortunately, I have this blog to vouch for my relative sanity. But then again...
The other day I had a bad dream that initiated my fight or flight response and I woke up panting...not fun. If you are like my husband, who I don't think has ever had a bad dream, let me explain. When you have a bad dream, it lingers in your thoughts for part of the day. I can usually clear the lingering bad feelings by telling someone about the dream, but I couldn't talk about this dream so it was lingering as I went to work that night.
At work, I got a phone call from one of the staff in another program that one of the teenage girls had been followed home by a man. The girl said his vehicle was parked on the street and gave a good description of it. Wouldn't you know that this one one of those times when we had no male staff on? So I and two other female staff went to check things out. We checked the street and sure enough there was the vehicle.
Now, I have to pause for a moment...a sidebar, if you will...and say that this stalker is not the brightest bulb. He was driving a van and pulling a boat. If you were going to stalk someone wouldn't you want to be a little more inconspicuous than that? Just saying...
We found the vehicle as the girl had described and it was empty. That was a little disturbing, but there are some bars close by perhaps he walked down to one of them. So we went to check the grounds. We were armed with a flashlight, a radio and a cell phone...ready for bear, ya know? Honestly, I didn't expect to see anything, we just wanted to be able to reassure that young lady that we had checked and no one was around. As we were walking, one of the staff said, "I heard something over there." The other staff pointed the flashlight in that direction, and that was when I saw him. It was like that moment in the movie Signs, when you first see an alien and quickly he disappears behind something. You have to rewind to assure yourself that you saw what you thought you saw. I saw a jacket with two white horizontal stripes, and the figure quickly moved behind a tree. "I see him," I whispered and instinctively we all started slowly stepping backwards enlarging the distance between ourselves and the stalker.
Side Bar #2: Stalker 101...white stipes are great for people who want to be visible so they don't get hit by cars at night, not so good when you are trying to be inconito. And yes, I am sure it was the stalker, our property is clearly marked "private property" no one should have been out there. Besides the van disappeared shortly after this.
Like a gunfighter from the Old West, I whipped out my cell phone and dialed 911. I put the phone to my ear and whispered to my companions, "I'm calling 911." But I didn't hear ringing. Ack! This is just like one my nightmares, I thought. Frantically, I looked at the phone. Oh, yeah, I have to hit the button that says, "call". (Yeah, I'm an idiot sometimes.) I did that and it started ringing. When the dispatcher answered, I told her my name and the name of my company (the police know us, they have been out to help us many times....heck I think they know me by first name too). As quickly as I could, I explained that one of our girls had been followed home and we had seen the man on our property. We wanted him gone immediately. Life is full of surreal moments and this next one was one of them for me. The operator said, "Have you approached him and asked him to leave?"
What?! Are you kidding?
As politely as I could, through clenched teeth, I said, "No! This is an older man who followed a teenage girl home. Clearly his intentions are not honorable, and we are just three women. So no we did not approach him that is what we need you for." Clear enough?
After the phone call we waited for the police to come screaming into the parking lot lights flashing and sirens blaring to seize the guy, shove him to the ground and cuff him. Ok, maybe something a bit less dramatic, but I did hope for a quick response and the security of having the police assist us. Two hours later...the police arrived.
Not quite the "book 'em Dano," I was hoping for. To be fair (because the police have been very helpful to us in the past), the officer (the lone officer, no lights or siren...sigh) apologized for not being able to come sooner. Being Saturday night, they were very busy he said
And now you see why I have nightmares...
I think the breath, depth and pure imagination of my husband's dreams say a lot about him. The dreams show what I already know...that he is very intelligent, creative, imaginative and a little crazy. That said, I have to wonder what my dreams say about me. I rarely remember my dreams, but when I do they are usually nightmares...things about people chasing me mostly. I used to have reoccuring dreams about calling 911, and not be able to get through, or having them tell me they were busy etc. I don't have many memories of my early childhood (I think my life started when I was 10), but one of the few memories of that time is of a nightmare that I had. I mentioned this before, remember I was in a large pit and my mother and siblings were at the top of the pit. They walked away and left me. I shudder to think what these dreams say about my pysche. Fortunately, I have this blog to vouch for my relative sanity. But then again...
The other day I had a bad dream that initiated my fight or flight response and I woke up panting...not fun. If you are like my husband, who I don't think has ever had a bad dream, let me explain. When you have a bad dream, it lingers in your thoughts for part of the day. I can usually clear the lingering bad feelings by telling someone about the dream, but I couldn't talk about this dream so it was lingering as I went to work that night.
At work, I got a phone call from one of the staff in another program that one of the teenage girls had been followed home by a man. The girl said his vehicle was parked on the street and gave a good description of it. Wouldn't you know that this one one of those times when we had no male staff on? So I and two other female staff went to check things out. We checked the street and sure enough there was the vehicle.
Now, I have to pause for a moment...a sidebar, if you will...and say that this stalker is not the brightest bulb. He was driving a van and pulling a boat. If you were going to stalk someone wouldn't you want to be a little more inconspicuous than that? Just saying...
We found the vehicle as the girl had described and it was empty. That was a little disturbing, but there are some bars close by perhaps he walked down to one of them. So we went to check the grounds. We were armed with a flashlight, a radio and a cell phone...ready for bear, ya know? Honestly, I didn't expect to see anything, we just wanted to be able to reassure that young lady that we had checked and no one was around. As we were walking, one of the staff said, "I heard something over there." The other staff pointed the flashlight in that direction, and that was when I saw him. It was like that moment in the movie Signs, when you first see an alien and quickly he disappears behind something. You have to rewind to assure yourself that you saw what you thought you saw. I saw a jacket with two white horizontal stripes, and the figure quickly moved behind a tree. "I see him," I whispered and instinctively we all started slowly stepping backwards enlarging the distance between ourselves and the stalker.
Side Bar #2: Stalker 101...white stipes are great for people who want to be visible so they don't get hit by cars at night, not so good when you are trying to be inconito. And yes, I am sure it was the stalker, our property is clearly marked "private property" no one should have been out there. Besides the van disappeared shortly after this.
Like a gunfighter from the Old West, I whipped out my cell phone and dialed 911. I put the phone to my ear and whispered to my companions, "I'm calling 911." But I didn't hear ringing. Ack! This is just like one my nightmares, I thought. Frantically, I looked at the phone. Oh, yeah, I have to hit the button that says, "call". (Yeah, I'm an idiot sometimes.) I did that and it started ringing. When the dispatcher answered, I told her my name and the name of my company (the police know us, they have been out to help us many times....heck I think they know me by first name too). As quickly as I could, I explained that one of our girls had been followed home and we had seen the man on our property. We wanted him gone immediately. Life is full of surreal moments and this next one was one of them for me. The operator said, "Have you approached him and asked him to leave?"
What?! Are you kidding?
As politely as I could, through clenched teeth, I said, "No! This is an older man who followed a teenage girl home. Clearly his intentions are not honorable, and we are just three women. So no we did not approach him that is what we need you for." Clear enough?
After the phone call we waited for the police to come screaming into the parking lot lights flashing and sirens blaring to seize the guy, shove him to the ground and cuff him. Ok, maybe something a bit less dramatic, but I did hope for a quick response and the security of having the police assist us. Two hours later...the police arrived.
Not quite the "book 'em Dano," I was hoping for. To be fair (because the police have been very helpful to us in the past), the officer (the lone officer, no lights or siren...sigh) apologized for not being able to come sooner. Being Saturday night, they were very busy he said
And now you see why I have nightmares...
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Not Tough Enough...more 7 yr old wisdom
Recently, Brigham asked me why I take medication. I thought about the Coumadin, the pulmonary embolii (blood clots in the lungs), and Factor VIII (blood clotting disorder) and said, "Son, it's complicated." Can you blame me?
Well, Brigham did. Blamed me, I mean. He looked disgusted and said, "You know why grown ups say things are too complicated?"
Of course, I had to ask, "Why?" I am nothing if not curious.
"They say it's too complicated because they are not tough enough to answer the question that was asked."
Ouch! Not tough enough huh? He had me right where he wanted me, and yes I found a way to explain to him why I take the Coumadin, blood clots and all. After all was said and done, I was actually quite pleased with my explanation. Apparently he was pleased with it as well because he asked me to repeat the whole explanation again and again to his older siblings later.
A dear friend of mine used to have a plaque on her wall that said, "Parenting is not for wimps." So true. Being a parent stretches us in ways we could not possibly imagine when we are young and childless. Fortunately, just as I was able to find an answer to Brigham's question when I pushed myself a little more, as parents we find the inner reserves of strength when we are pushed to our imagined limits. So dear friends, when you feel like you are on the rack being stretched beyond your breaking point...know that you are not alone. Be tough. You are stronger than you know.
Well, Brigham did. Blamed me, I mean. He looked disgusted and said, "You know why grown ups say things are too complicated?"
Of course, I had to ask, "Why?" I am nothing if not curious.
"They say it's too complicated because they are not tough enough to answer the question that was asked."
Ouch! Not tough enough huh? He had me right where he wanted me, and yes I found a way to explain to him why I take the Coumadin, blood clots and all. After all was said and done, I was actually quite pleased with my explanation. Apparently he was pleased with it as well because he asked me to repeat the whole explanation again and again to his older siblings later.
A dear friend of mine used to have a plaque on her wall that said, "Parenting is not for wimps." So true. Being a parent stretches us in ways we could not possibly imagine when we are young and childless. Fortunately, just as I was able to find an answer to Brigham's question when I pushed myself a little more, as parents we find the inner reserves of strength when we are pushed to our imagined limits. So dear friends, when you feel like you are on the rack being stretched beyond your breaking point...know that you are not alone. Be tough. You are stronger than you know.
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
On Being in Charge of Yourself...a kid's philosophy of life
After church last Sunday, my brood and I piled into the van. I noticed that my 13 yr old, Caleb, hadn't put on his seat belt so I said teasingly, "Son, I know that seat belts are 'cool', but neither is being dead."
My seven year old, Brigham, spoke up, "But Momma, then you get to go to Heaven." Uh oh, I've probably just scared him for life! Quickly I attempted to recover by telling him that yes Heaven is great but we don't want to go earlier than we are supposed to.
He pondered that and said, "Yeah, if you die young you can't get married, have kids, be in charge of yourself, or play video games."
Ok, the marraige and kids were givens, but "be in charge of yourself and play video games", where did that come from?
I've been thinking about that conversation. We can guess what "being in charge of yourself" means to a seven year old, but I couldn't help but wonder, will he be disappointed when he grows up? I mean do YOU feel in charge of yourself? Really? What would that look like for an adult? My first thought was to be free of fear. Or how about free of debt? Free from addiction? Can I ever feel in charge of myself while I am overweight???
Whew!!!
This is a lot to think about, perhaps I'll take a break and go play a video game. Maybe Brigham has the purpose of life right after all.
My seven year old, Brigham, spoke up, "But Momma, then you get to go to Heaven." Uh oh, I've probably just scared him for life! Quickly I attempted to recover by telling him that yes Heaven is great but we don't want to go earlier than we are supposed to.
He pondered that and said, "Yeah, if you die young you can't get married, have kids, be in charge of yourself, or play video games."
Ok, the marraige and kids were givens, but "be in charge of yourself and play video games", where did that come from?
I've been thinking about that conversation. We can guess what "being in charge of yourself" means to a seven year old, but I couldn't help but wonder, will he be disappointed when he grows up? I mean do YOU feel in charge of yourself? Really? What would that look like for an adult? My first thought was to be free of fear. Or how about free of debt? Free from addiction? Can I ever feel in charge of myself while I am overweight???
Whew!!!
This is a lot to think about, perhaps I'll take a break and go play a video game. Maybe Brigham has the purpose of life right after all.
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
The Maze of Depression
Not to long ago, I wrote about the Monster Under My Bed. I am happy to report that I have (for now) banished the monster. Banished? Befriended? Hmmm. Anyway, today I want to share a little about how I won that battle.
I guess I had been somewhat depressed since before I wrote that (ha, it is hard to admit it still), and this last week or so, the depression had gotten pretty bad. I kept telling myself that "happiness is a choice", and I really wanted to believe that it was. Yet, the depression felt like a maze and for a time I could not find my way out. I tried all the things that have worked in the past. The most helpful thing was, of course, prayer. I can't say enough about that, but that is a topic for another time. When we pray, God often helps us through other people and that is what I want to share today.
I am pleased to tell you that I found my way out of the maze. It wasn't easy. It is interesting how it happened. You know the cliche "misery loves company"? Well, it sounds terrible, but it is true. One of the things that helped was hearing other peoples struggles. Someone I know recently had a house fire. They were very close to losing not only their home but their lives. A short time before that, they had a scare, wherein one of their children almost died. Hearing her share the story with a group of moms I was with brought tears to my eyes even though I knew the little boy in question was alright. I felt full of compassion for what this family has been through, and at the same time, I felt strangely comforted. It was like I mentally put an arm around her and said, "Life sure is hard isn't it? I'm having a hard time too, but we'll both get through it." I feel a closeness to her just because she shared. Another day at a church party, a new friend shared a struggle her family had had. The topic came up very naturally in the conversation, but it made me feel a closeness to her as well. (Thanks Nicole and Anjanette) Some how in all this, I realized I needed to share too. It is unfortunate how reluctant we are to talk about depression, and yet talking is so helpful. Finally, I told my husband and a few friends that I was struggling. And slowly...with prayer, hearing other people's struggles and sharing my own, I found my way out of the maze.
Now back to enjoying Christmas! I hope Christmas is a joyous time for you, but if you find yourself lost in the maze, pray and share with a friend...I think it will help you both!
Merry Christmas!
I guess I had been somewhat depressed since before I wrote that (ha, it is hard to admit it still), and this last week or so, the depression had gotten pretty bad. I kept telling myself that "happiness is a choice", and I really wanted to believe that it was. Yet, the depression felt like a maze and for a time I could not find my way out. I tried all the things that have worked in the past. The most helpful thing was, of course, prayer. I can't say enough about that, but that is a topic for another time. When we pray, God often helps us through other people and that is what I want to share today.
I am pleased to tell you that I found my way out of the maze. It wasn't easy. It is interesting how it happened. You know the cliche "misery loves company"? Well, it sounds terrible, but it is true. One of the things that helped was hearing other peoples struggles. Someone I know recently had a house fire. They were very close to losing not only their home but their lives. A short time before that, they had a scare, wherein one of their children almost died. Hearing her share the story with a group of moms I was with brought tears to my eyes even though I knew the little boy in question was alright. I felt full of compassion for what this family has been through, and at the same time, I felt strangely comforted. It was like I mentally put an arm around her and said, "Life sure is hard isn't it? I'm having a hard time too, but we'll both get through it." I feel a closeness to her just because she shared. Another day at a church party, a new friend shared a struggle her family had had. The topic came up very naturally in the conversation, but it made me feel a closeness to her as well. (Thanks Nicole and Anjanette) Some how in all this, I realized I needed to share too. It is unfortunate how reluctant we are to talk about depression, and yet talking is so helpful. Finally, I told my husband and a few friends that I was struggling. And slowly...with prayer, hearing other people's struggles and sharing my own, I found my way out of the maze.
Now back to enjoying Christmas! I hope Christmas is a joyous time for you, but if you find yourself lost in the maze, pray and share with a friend...I think it will help you both!
Merry Christmas!
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Christmas Tradition...What shall we call Him?
What shall we call Him? So often at Christmas time we hear the lament that people have forgotten the real meaning of Christmas. In an attempt to keep that message constantly before my children, and myself during this wonderfully busy time, I started a tradition of studying the names of the Savior. After all, when a couple is expecting a baby, they spend much time pondering a name, so what better way to celebrate our Savior's birth than to focus on His many names?
Good Samaritan
In my search to learn more about the names of Christ, I came across some wonderful surprises. Good Samaritan was one of them. BYU Professor, John Welch, enlightened me in a talk he gave about the Parable of the Good Samaritan. He begins, "This parable’s content is clearly practical and dramatic in its obvious meaning, but a time-honored Christian tradition also saw the parable as an impressive allegory of the Fall and Redemption of mankind.
“. . .The man who was going down is Adam. Jerusalem is paradise, and Jericho is the world. The robbers are hostile powers. The priest is the Law, the Levite is the prophets, and the Samaritan is Christ. The wounds are disobedience, the beast is the Lord’s body, the [inn], which accepts all who wish to enter, is the Church. … The manager of the [inn] is the head of the Church, to whom its care has been entrusted. And the fact that the Samaritan promises he will return represents the Savior’s second coming.
"This allegorical reading was taught not only by ancient followers of Jesus, but it was virtually universal throughout early Christianity, being advocated by Irenaeus, Clement, and Origen, and in the fourth and fifth centuries by Chrysostom in Constantinople, Ambrose in Milan, and Augustine in North Africa. This interpretation is found most completely in two other medieval stained-glass windows, in the French cathedrals at Bourges and Sens."
Reading this article really opened the Parable of the Good Samaritan for me. I am strengthened when I picture myself as the traveler, hurt and broken, and the Lord, the Good Samaritan coming to bind up my wounds. It is easy to for me to imagine because He has bound up my wounds so many times before.
I highly recommend the entire article, “The Good Samaritan: Forgotten Symbols,” John W. Welch, Ensign, Feb 2007, 40–47 which you can find here.
And naturally finding these new truths in an old story, brings a question to my mind. . .what messages are hidden in the other parables, waiting for me when I am ready to receive them? There's a Christmas gift to "unwrap".
Good Samaritan
In my search to learn more about the names of Christ, I came across some wonderful surprises. Good Samaritan was one of them. BYU Professor, John Welch, enlightened me in a talk he gave about the Parable of the Good Samaritan. He begins, "This parable’s content is clearly practical and dramatic in its obvious meaning, but a time-honored Christian tradition also saw the parable as an impressive allegory of the Fall and Redemption of mankind.
“. . .The man who was going down is Adam. Jerusalem is paradise, and Jericho is the world. The robbers are hostile powers. The priest is the Law, the Levite is the prophets, and the Samaritan is Christ. The wounds are disobedience, the beast is the Lord’s body, the [inn], which accepts all who wish to enter, is the Church. … The manager of the [inn] is the head of the Church, to whom its care has been entrusted. And the fact that the Samaritan promises he will return represents the Savior’s second coming.
"This allegorical reading was taught not only by ancient followers of Jesus, but it was virtually universal throughout early Christianity, being advocated by Irenaeus, Clement, and Origen, and in the fourth and fifth centuries by Chrysostom in Constantinople, Ambrose in Milan, and Augustine in North Africa. This interpretation is found most completely in two other medieval stained-glass windows, in the French cathedrals at Bourges and Sens."
Reading this article really opened the Parable of the Good Samaritan for me. I am strengthened when I picture myself as the traveler, hurt and broken, and the Lord, the Good Samaritan coming to bind up my wounds. It is easy to for me to imagine because He has bound up my wounds so many times before.
I highly recommend the entire article, “The Good Samaritan: Forgotten Symbols,” John W. Welch, Ensign, Feb 2007, 40–47 which you can find here.
And naturally finding these new truths in an old story, brings a question to my mind. . .what messages are hidden in the other parables, waiting for me when I am ready to receive them? There's a Christmas gift to "unwrap".
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Bike Love
Introducing my new baby, my new-to-me bike. Isn't she a beauty?
For my fellow bike lovers...she is a Vintage Schwinn Traveler.
And here is me in what my daughter calls my "dork cyclist" outfit.
Yes, I always wear my helmet, it's just not in the picture.
After a couple short neighborhood rides, I took her out today for a 12-mile ride with my bike buddy Shawna. It's love!
Since he tried to sneak in the last picture, here is my other baby, Ryker.
Friday, September 18, 2009
P.S. Bethel
I apologize, I was writing my last post One Step Forward, One Step back, when I got an important phone call I was anticipating. In my nervous energy, I hit "publish" instead of "save as draft".
I know from previous experience (kind of embarrassing) that I can delete on Blogger, but it will still post on Google Reader, and maybe Facebook too, I'm not sure. So what you got was the ROUGH draft version. Sorry to torture you that way. Don't laugh, maybe I have some obsessive-compulsive editor friends, you don't know!
Anyway, I just moved and can't find my pictures of Bethel. Most of them were of my dog anyway. I found these pictures for you though. These are a must see, this photographer did a great job "capturing" Bethel. You will really get a taste of it, and maybe that will help you get the bad taste of my rough draft out of your memory. Wink!
http://www.flickr.com/photos/jimarx/sets/72157601948925062/with/1356982853/
Enjoy!
I know from previous experience (kind of embarrassing) that I can delete on Blogger, but it will still post on Google Reader, and maybe Facebook too, I'm not sure. So what you got was the ROUGH draft version. Sorry to torture you that way. Don't laugh, maybe I have some obsessive-compulsive editor friends, you don't know!
Anyway, I just moved and can't find my pictures of Bethel. Most of them were of my dog anyway. I found these pictures for you though. These are a must see, this photographer did a great job "capturing" Bethel. You will really get a taste of it, and maybe that will help you get the bad taste of my rough draft out of your memory. Wink!
http://www.flickr.com/photos/jimarx/sets/72157601948925062/with/1356982853/
Enjoy!
One step forward, one step back
One step forward, one step back.
That is how I feel about my progress on the bike. It is really two giant steps forward, but it doesn't feel like it yet. You see, I have a biking goal that I am really excited about...dare I tell you? Hmmm, I don't know if I ready for that level of commitment. Oh, alright, of course, I am committed to this goal. Alright, crossing the Rubicon here, I have a goal to ride the RSVP next year. That is an annual bike ride from Seattle to Vancouver, Canada. It is roughly 180 miles in two days. I've done my research it is a realistic goal! If I increase my mileage by 10% a week, I can be ready.
In order to prepare for it though, I've decided to "throw away my crutch" or in another words, I stopped riding the electric bike. I'm all on my own power now. This is a huge step for me, but it feels like a step back because on the electric bike I could cover 10 miles in about an hour. Now on my own power, I can do four miles an hour. That is a bummer! The other day I was riding and feeling a little frustrated about this when my inner voice said to me, "Leslie, be realistic. At your...eh em...weight and fitness level, being on the bike at all is a victory. It doesn't matter how far you go, every time you get on the bike is a victory!" The rest of the ride was bliss. I need to send that inner voice some flowers. (No chocolate, I'm watching what I eat!)
What about you? What "little victories" do you have that you are not recognizing in your life? I'm sure you have them.
One step forward, one step back seems to be a common theme in my life. I was recently reminded of a time in my life that felt like a falling into a pit, but turned out to be a pole vault forward.
It was a long time ago, before I was married. My best friend and roommate, Charice and I had decided to move to Alaska to get a job in corrections. Alaska and Nevada are the highest paid states. Somewhere in the back of our minds the knowledge that in Alaska the men outnumber the women 7 to 1, might have influenced us ever so slightly. It was around that time that the Alaska Men's Magazine was created, but mostly we went for the job. You believe me don't you?
Anchorage was a dream. Moose that walked right into town! After awhile I stopped taking pictures of them because it was such a common occurence. A bear came into town once too, but I didn't see him, I just heard about it on the news. Indescribable beauty everywhere you turn, and I have to say, growing up in Arizona that was new to me. No offense to my fellow Arizonians, but there is no comparison! I could go on and on about how much I loved Anchorage and all the things I loved there, but just thinking about it is making me homesick. I don't think I could tolerate the snow and cold as well now, but back then it didn't bother me at all. I loved Anchorage and I planned to live there the rest of my life.
I got a job working in a half-way house. It's main purpose was to be a jumping off point for men getting out of prison which is a much needed place in society. We also had temporary "boarders" when the jail was over-flowing. Imagine my surprise when one day I was doing orientation with a new group of "boarders", I was reading their names outloud from a list when to my utter surprise, I saw a name I recognized. I looked up and sure enough it was the Arnold Schwarzenegger of Alaska Men's Magazine. I mean, he was a gorgeous guy that had a muscular build that I had oggled. (Did I just say that?) He was "just" there on a DUI, but it really made me laugh.
Anyway, we had been in Alaska for a year, when finally I got a call for an interview for a state job. Remember that was the reason we went to Alaska. No, really it was, it...ah, never mind. The interview was by phone, because the job was in Bethel. I interviewed and was offered the job. I should have been thrilled. After all it was a dream job. A good career move for me at that point in my life...but Bethel?! I didn't want to go to Bethel.
Next thing you know, I'm on the plane to Bethel. I cried half way there. Although I accepted the job, because it was such a great opportunity for me, I knew I probably would not like Bethel. How could I be so sure? Because Charice had been there before and she told me about it. I'll explain.
To get to Bethel, one must fly. It is on the west side of Alaska and there are no roads that go out there (read: single girl leaving civilization as we know it!) In Bethel, I was able to rent a darling little house that looked like a log cabin. The catch was that like a cabin, it had no running water. That is actually quite common in Bethel. Because of the tundra, they can't bury the water pipes, and they will freeze above ground. Some people have running water, though I can't recall how that was accomplished, only that is was less common for someone to have running water than not. So imagine bitter cold winters, below zero is not uncommon, so what do you do with the outhouse? Well, it is generally attached, like a porch, to the house. Imagine yourself coming to visit me, as you walk up to the front door, to your left there is another door...the outhouse.
Now you are beginning to understand why I cried!
They don't call it an outhouse though. It is called a "honey bucket". Because of the tundra, they can't dig a hole like a traditional outhouse, so a bucket is used, thus the name. You may be wondering how they empty those things. Once a week the "honey bucket man" comes to your house in his truck. He has a large truck with a big tank on the back and a hose. He walks into the Honey bucket room and puts the hose in the bucket. Ewwww! Yes, it's true. When my children need a little motivation to do their school work, I remind them about the "Honey Bucket man" and threaten them that this kind of job is what happens when you don't get an education. Truth be told, those guys probably make a lot of money...who would do it otherwise?
Another man comes to your house with another hose and fills your water buckets. The water buckets are literally large garbage cans (that have never held garbage) that you keep in or near your kitchen. Then you use this water all week for cooking and washing. For bathing, some people went to the laundry mat where you could rent the public shower (like at a truck stop). There was a sign on the door, "one person at a time, please." I was able to shower at work. I found this really awkward...so much for prettying yourself up BEFORE you leave the house. It was quite common, however.
The houses in Bethel are on stilts, and every now and then the men go out and measure and level things up again, because the tundra does not make for a sure foundation. Most people in Bethel don't have cars because any car in Bethel has to be flown in and there is really no where to go as the roads only go around Bethel. In the winter though, the river freezes solidly and people drive on it like a highway. When Spring comes and the first car goes through the ice (just the tires, generally) they know it is time to stop driving on the river.
There is one doctor in town. There is also a hospital, plenty of doctors there, I'm sure, but you know what I meant. The hospital is only for the Natives, pregnancy or emergencies though. I had a friend whose child broke her arm. She didn't like the local doctor (I don't know why, I liked him just fine), so she had to fly to Anchorage to have her daughter's arm set and casted.
As if all that was not enough to make a girl go crazy, there didn't seem to be any single men in my age range in Bethel. I don't know where my "seven" where, but they weren't in Bethel. There was one, though. One night when I was still new in Bethel and in Culture Shock there was a very powerful wind storm. Eighty-five mile an hour winds. I thought I was one of the three little pigs, and living in a house of wood, you can guess what I thought my fate would be. Somehow I managed to go to sleep, and when I woke up my house was still standing, but it was bitterly cold. The storm had disconnected my propane tank for the heater. I called the landlord and he sent...you guessed it...the only single guy, my age, in town. There I was freezing, homesick, unshowered and I open my door to an Alaskan Brad Pitt. I wanted to die on the spot! I swear he could read my mind because I remember him laughing for no apparent reason. He got the heat back on though for which I was immensely grateful. Since I didn't die immediately, I did not want to die of hypothermia. I saw him again sometime later and he asked me out. I was thrilled, but unfortunately we had different goals. I had limited dating experience, and that was with young men who shared my religious values. If I had known what Alaska Brad had in mind for the night, I could have saved him the money on the lobster dinner! I got dinner and he got zip. Score one for naivete!
Whenever I talk talk about Bethel today, I put a strong emphasis on the second syllable. To be fair though, most of the people I met in Bethel live there because they love it. They ride snow machines to work in the winter and dog sled on their days off. In the summer they fish, though how they keep from being carried away by mosquitos I don't know. My sanity while I was in Bethel was the local theatre group. They had an incredible theater group that put on four performances per year! What fun!
One step forward, one step back...remember I mentioned that moving to Bethel ended up being a pole vault forward? Well, I met my mother-in-law to be while I was in Bethel, and because of her, I met my then-future husband. Imagine that, I went almost to the west coast of Alaska, so I could meet and marry someone who grew up in Portland, Oregon. Life is funny like that sometimes. Enjoy the dance!
That is how I feel about my progress on the bike. It is really two giant steps forward, but it doesn't feel like it yet. You see, I have a biking goal that I am really excited about...dare I tell you? Hmmm, I don't know if I ready for that level of commitment. Oh, alright, of course, I am committed to this goal. Alright, crossing the Rubicon here, I have a goal to ride the RSVP next year. That is an annual bike ride from Seattle to Vancouver, Canada. It is roughly 180 miles in two days. I've done my research it is a realistic goal! If I increase my mileage by 10% a week, I can be ready.
In order to prepare for it though, I've decided to "throw away my crutch" or in another words, I stopped riding the electric bike. I'm all on my own power now. This is a huge step for me, but it feels like a step back because on the electric bike I could cover 10 miles in about an hour. Now on my own power, I can do four miles an hour. That is a bummer! The other day I was riding and feeling a little frustrated about this when my inner voice said to me, "Leslie, be realistic. At your...eh em...weight and fitness level, being on the bike at all is a victory. It doesn't matter how far you go, every time you get on the bike is a victory!" The rest of the ride was bliss. I need to send that inner voice some flowers. (No chocolate, I'm watching what I eat!)
What about you? What "little victories" do you have that you are not recognizing in your life? I'm sure you have them.
One step forward, one step back seems to be a common theme in my life. I was recently reminded of a time in my life that felt like a falling into a pit, but turned out to be a pole vault forward.
It was a long time ago, before I was married. My best friend and roommate, Charice and I had decided to move to Alaska to get a job in corrections. Alaska and Nevada are the highest paid states. Somewhere in the back of our minds the knowledge that in Alaska the men outnumber the women 7 to 1, might have influenced us ever so slightly. It was around that time that the Alaska Men's Magazine was created, but mostly we went for the job. You believe me don't you?
Anchorage was a dream. Moose that walked right into town! After awhile I stopped taking pictures of them because it was such a common occurence. A bear came into town once too, but I didn't see him, I just heard about it on the news. Indescribable beauty everywhere you turn, and I have to say, growing up in Arizona that was new to me. No offense to my fellow Arizonians, but there is no comparison! I could go on and on about how much I loved Anchorage and all the things I loved there, but just thinking about it is making me homesick. I don't think I could tolerate the snow and cold as well now, but back then it didn't bother me at all. I loved Anchorage and I planned to live there the rest of my life.
I got a job working in a half-way house. It's main purpose was to be a jumping off point for men getting out of prison which is a much needed place in society. We also had temporary "boarders" when the jail was over-flowing. Imagine my surprise when one day I was doing orientation with a new group of "boarders", I was reading their names outloud from a list when to my utter surprise, I saw a name I recognized. I looked up and sure enough it was the Arnold Schwarzenegger of Alaska Men's Magazine. I mean, he was a gorgeous guy that had a muscular build that I had oggled. (Did I just say that?) He was "just" there on a DUI, but it really made me laugh.
Anyway, we had been in Alaska for a year, when finally I got a call for an interview for a state job. Remember that was the reason we went to Alaska. No, really it was, it...ah, never mind. The interview was by phone, because the job was in Bethel. I interviewed and was offered the job. I should have been thrilled. After all it was a dream job. A good career move for me at that point in my life...but Bethel?! I didn't want to go to Bethel.
Next thing you know, I'm on the plane to Bethel. I cried half way there. Although I accepted the job, because it was such a great opportunity for me, I knew I probably would not like Bethel. How could I be so sure? Because Charice had been there before and she told me about it. I'll explain.
To get to Bethel, one must fly. It is on the west side of Alaska and there are no roads that go out there (read: single girl leaving civilization as we know it!) In Bethel, I was able to rent a darling little house that looked like a log cabin. The catch was that like a cabin, it had no running water. That is actually quite common in Bethel. Because of the tundra, they can't bury the water pipes, and they will freeze above ground. Some people have running water, though I can't recall how that was accomplished, only that is was less common for someone to have running water than not. So imagine bitter cold winters, below zero is not uncommon, so what do you do with the outhouse? Well, it is generally attached, like a porch, to the house. Imagine yourself coming to visit me, as you walk up to the front door, to your left there is another door...the outhouse.
Now you are beginning to understand why I cried!
They don't call it an outhouse though. It is called a "honey bucket". Because of the tundra, they can't dig a hole like a traditional outhouse, so a bucket is used, thus the name. You may be wondering how they empty those things. Once a week the "honey bucket man" comes to your house in his truck. He has a large truck with a big tank on the back and a hose. He walks into the Honey bucket room and puts the hose in the bucket. Ewwww! Yes, it's true. When my children need a little motivation to do their school work, I remind them about the "Honey Bucket man" and threaten them that this kind of job is what happens when you don't get an education. Truth be told, those guys probably make a lot of money...who would do it otherwise?
Another man comes to your house with another hose and fills your water buckets. The water buckets are literally large garbage cans (that have never held garbage) that you keep in or near your kitchen. Then you use this water all week for cooking and washing. For bathing, some people went to the laundry mat where you could rent the public shower (like at a truck stop). There was a sign on the door, "one person at a time, please." I was able to shower at work. I found this really awkward...so much for prettying yourself up BEFORE you leave the house. It was quite common, however.
The houses in Bethel are on stilts, and every now and then the men go out and measure and level things up again, because the tundra does not make for a sure foundation. Most people in Bethel don't have cars because any car in Bethel has to be flown in and there is really no where to go as the roads only go around Bethel. In the winter though, the river freezes solidly and people drive on it like a highway. When Spring comes and the first car goes through the ice (just the tires, generally) they know it is time to stop driving on the river.
There is one doctor in town. There is also a hospital, plenty of doctors there, I'm sure, but you know what I meant. The hospital is only for the Natives, pregnancy or emergencies though. I had a friend whose child broke her arm. She didn't like the local doctor (I don't know why, I liked him just fine), so she had to fly to Anchorage to have her daughter's arm set and casted.
As if all that was not enough to make a girl go crazy, there didn't seem to be any single men in my age range in Bethel. I don't know where my "seven" where, but they weren't in Bethel. There was one, though. One night when I was still new in Bethel and in Culture Shock there was a very powerful wind storm. Eighty-five mile an hour winds. I thought I was one of the three little pigs, and living in a house of wood, you can guess what I thought my fate would be. Somehow I managed to go to sleep, and when I woke up my house was still standing, but it was bitterly cold. The storm had disconnected my propane tank for the heater. I called the landlord and he sent...you guessed it...the only single guy, my age, in town. There I was freezing, homesick, unshowered and I open my door to an Alaskan Brad Pitt. I wanted to die on the spot! I swear he could read my mind because I remember him laughing for no apparent reason. He got the heat back on though for which I was immensely grateful. Since I didn't die immediately, I did not want to die of hypothermia. I saw him again sometime later and he asked me out. I was thrilled, but unfortunately we had different goals. I had limited dating experience, and that was with young men who shared my religious values. If I had known what Alaska Brad had in mind for the night, I could have saved him the money on the lobster dinner! I got dinner and he got zip. Score one for naivete!
Whenever I talk talk about Bethel today, I put a strong emphasis on the second syllable. To be fair though, most of the people I met in Bethel live there because they love it. They ride snow machines to work in the winter and dog sled on their days off. In the summer they fish, though how they keep from being carried away by mosquitos I don't know. My sanity while I was in Bethel was the local theatre group. They had an incredible theater group that put on four performances per year! What fun!
One step forward, one step back...remember I mentioned that moving to Bethel ended up being a pole vault forward? Well, I met my mother-in-law to be while I was in Bethel, and because of her, I met my then-future husband. Imagine that, I went almost to the west coast of Alaska, so I could meet and marry someone who grew up in Portland, Oregon. Life is funny like that sometimes. Enjoy the dance!
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Am I an Athlete Now?
When I was a child, one of my favorite books (that my mother read to me) was Little Cottontail. It was one of those "Golden Books", remember the ones with the gold spine? It was about a little rabbit that wanted to be grown up. "Am I grown up now, Mother?" he would ask. The mother would say, "No, Little Cottontail, first you must. . ." Then there was a list: learn to find food in the winter, how to zig zag to avoid the fox and a couple other things. By the end of the book, the little rabbit did all these things and asked if he was gown up. The mother nuzzles him and says, "Yes, Big Cottontail." (By the way, that does NOT count as a spoiler since it is a children's book!!!)
One day my friend, Shawna, and I were biking together and I guess I said something about wishing I were an athlete. I have always been the clutsy nerd type, never an athlete. She said that because I was biking six days a week that made me an athlete.
"But Shawna, aren't athletes. . .um. . .thin?" I hate to point out the obvious, you know, that I am NOT! (Shawna is one of those beautiful, size 4, runner types so how could she miss this not-minor-detail?)
She just smiled and said, "What about Babe Ruth?"
Was he overweight? All I know is that he was a famous baseball player. I asked and she assured me that he was overweight. Wow. I was feeling pretty good about that until she said, ". . .and what about Sumo wrestlers?" I pictured myself standing with a sumo wrestler, and my "athlete dreams" instantly vanished. Thanks for the visual Shawna.
This conversation started me wondering. What is an athlete anyway? Is it someone who puts on a uniform? Because I wear my helmet, gloves and bike shorts whenever I ride. Yep, I am sure I look absolutely "sumo wrestler-ish" in my bike shorts, but they are oh so comfortable. (Comfort in the saddle is very important for long rides.)
Of course, I looked up definitions of the word athlete. I found that I am not the first one to have asked this question. It has been discussed by other inquiring minds on forums many times before apparently. But it doesn't answer my question: am I an athlete now?
I read a definition somewhere that I really liked. It said an athlete is someone training for a goal. I have a couple goals I am training for. Am I an athlete now? Somehow it just doesn't seem like enough.
So I looked up the definition of "cyclist". It said, "someone who rides a bike". Ok, I qualify for that one!
Just call me a cyclist then!
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Technical...err...Emotional Difficulties
Remember back in the day when you would sometimes turn to a TV channel and instead of a program there would be a message "Experiencing Technical Difficulties, please stand by."
What if you clicked on a favorite blog and there was a message that said, "Experiencing Emotional Difficulties, please stand by."
Just saying. . .
Don't worry, I'm fine. I just mean that there has been a longer pause on my blog than I intended because I was a bit stressed. It seems I can write when I am happy, or when I am sad, I can even write when I am mad. BUT when I am the emotional equivilent of a shaken soda, I can't think clearly let alone write.
The fact that I am writing this now is an indicator that I am feeling better, so no worries. Why was I so stressed? Suffice it to say, on top of a stressful job that keeps me up at night, literally, and almost a half dozen children, we moved. . .need I say more?
All this makes me think, what if we all had signs, I mean not just on the blog, but on a t-shirt or a name tag? You know, for those bad days? Something along the lines of "Danger, do not approach" or "PMS: Enough said", "Bottled TNT" or "Emotional level: Nuclear Alert".
If we had signs like this then on a "Nuclear Alert" sort of day, some unsuspecting store clerk won't ask, "how are you?" and get blasted with an honest answer. Or an oblivious husband won't ask, "what are you planning to do today?" and be nuked by his wife for his trouble. If I were wearing a "Bottled TNT" sign, my children would have fair warning that they better get their chores done, or find shelter. In short, the world would be a better place.
Maybe simply a sign that says, "Emotional difficulties: Please stand by."
_______________________________________
Photo Attribution: Bobbi Jones Jones
What if you clicked on a favorite blog and there was a message that said, "Experiencing Emotional Difficulties, please stand by."
Just saying. . .
Don't worry, I'm fine. I just mean that there has been a longer pause on my blog than I intended because I was a bit stressed. It seems I can write when I am happy, or when I am sad, I can even write when I am mad. BUT when I am the emotional equivilent of a shaken soda, I can't think clearly let alone write.
The fact that I am writing this now is an indicator that I am feeling better, so no worries. Why was I so stressed? Suffice it to say, on top of a stressful job that keeps me up at night, literally, and almost a half dozen children, we moved. . .need I say more?
 |
| Bobbi Jones Jones |
If we had signs like this then on a "Nuclear Alert" sort of day, some unsuspecting store clerk won't ask, "how are you?" and get blasted with an honest answer. Or an oblivious husband won't ask, "what are you planning to do today?" and be nuked by his wife for his trouble. If I were wearing a "Bottled TNT" sign, my children would have fair warning that they better get their chores done, or find shelter. In short, the world would be a better place.
Maybe simply a sign that says, "Emotional difficulties: Please stand by."
_______________________________________
Photo Attribution: Bobbi Jones Jones
Sunday, August 9, 2009
My Room 101
You know I hate spoilers, but I must. . .
At the end of the book, 1984 by George Orwell, one of the characters is tortured by being forced to face his worst fear. Throughout the book, the character Winston had nightmares about rats. So he is taken to Room 101 where a cage full of rats is strapped to his head, to eat his face. He breaks and gives his enemies what they want. I don't blame him.
Last week I could have sworn that I was in Room 101 facing my worst fear. (Truth be told I have a ridiculous number of fears and this might not be the worst, but allow me a little poetic license here. . .)
I have a phobia, as I am told many people do, of the dentist. I don't care about the shots or the x-rays, but I dread everything else about it starting with that horrible chair! It makes me feel vunderable like a child, and that is almost insufferable. I don't even like to have my teeth cleaned because of the chair and the fact that metal touching my teeth for me is what nails on the chalkboard are to others. Ewww!
Like many people with phobias, my response to this has been to avoid the dentist. Which, naturally has taken a toll on my teeth, which I can no longer ignore if I want to keep them.
The cause of phobias is not certain, though scientists believe they can be genetic or from tramatic experiences. I say let's blame it on the genes.
So my dentist office is trying to work with me. I have to say they have been really great. They offered me Laughing Gas and Valium if the Laughing Gas was not enough. I decided to try just the Laughing Gas.
The first time with the Gas was wonderful. Seriously, wonderful is not a strong enough word. I was completely relaxed and in my own little world of philosophical thoughts. I thought to myself, "Wow, if this is what it is like to be drunk, it is no wonder people get addicted!" I actually found myself looking forward to my next appointment!
Phobia cured! Right? Sadly no. . .I don't know what happened, but the next time the Gas did not make me laugh. It did not make me relax. It had precisly the opposite effect. I felt more scared than ever, and on the verge of tears the whole time. (I did cry for a good long time in my van as soon as I got out of there.) The gas dulled my mind enough that I couldn't think of how to tell the dentist what the problem was. Each time he started the drill I would practically jump out of the chair and he would stop and ask if he was hurting me. I would shake my head no, and he would start again.
What is the hand signal for I feel like I am in a nightmare and I can't wake up?
Phobias are irrational. And yet knowing this does not lessen the fear. Logically, I can tell myself that the dentist was really kind, and that nothing bad happened that day other than my fears. but it's like my phobia does not speak English. I have considered the Valium option for next time, but have a fear (likely irrational) that it will put me in that fearful state for a couple hours until it wears off.
At the end of the book, 1984 by George Orwell, one of the characters is tortured by being forced to face his worst fear. Throughout the book, the character Winston had nightmares about rats. So he is taken to Room 101 where a cage full of rats is strapped to his head, to eat his face. He breaks and gives his enemies what they want. I don't blame him.
Last week I could have sworn that I was in Room 101 facing my worst fear. (Truth be told I have a ridiculous number of fears and this might not be the worst, but allow me a little poetic license here. . .)
I have a phobia, as I am told many people do, of the dentist. I don't care about the shots or the x-rays, but I dread everything else about it starting with that horrible chair! It makes me feel vunderable like a child, and that is almost insufferable. I don't even like to have my teeth cleaned because of the chair and the fact that metal touching my teeth for me is what nails on the chalkboard are to others. Ewww!
Like many people with phobias, my response to this has been to avoid the dentist. Which, naturally has taken a toll on my teeth, which I can no longer ignore if I want to keep them.
The cause of phobias is not certain, though scientists believe they can be genetic or from tramatic experiences. I say let's blame it on the genes.
So my dentist office is trying to work with me. I have to say they have been really great. They offered me Laughing Gas and Valium if the Laughing Gas was not enough. I decided to try just the Laughing Gas.
The first time with the Gas was wonderful. Seriously, wonderful is not a strong enough word. I was completely relaxed and in my own little world of philosophical thoughts. I thought to myself, "Wow, if this is what it is like to be drunk, it is no wonder people get addicted!" I actually found myself looking forward to my next appointment!
Phobia cured! Right? Sadly no. . .I don't know what happened, but the next time the Gas did not make me laugh. It did not make me relax. It had precisly the opposite effect. I felt more scared than ever, and on the verge of tears the whole time. (I did cry for a good long time in my van as soon as I got out of there.) The gas dulled my mind enough that I couldn't think of how to tell the dentist what the problem was. Each time he started the drill I would practically jump out of the chair and he would stop and ask if he was hurting me. I would shake my head no, and he would start again.
What is the hand signal for I feel like I am in a nightmare and I can't wake up?
Phobias are irrational. And yet knowing this does not lessen the fear. Logically, I can tell myself that the dentist was really kind, and that nothing bad happened that day other than my fears. but it's like my phobia does not speak English. I have considered the Valium option for next time, but have a fear (likely irrational) that it will put me in that fearful state for a couple hours until it wears off.
I have another appointment with Room 101 on Aug 24th, whatever shall I do?
How about you? What are your phobias? Are there people who don't have any phobias? Is that possible? How do you tame your fears?
Tame your fear. . .I like that. Next time I'm in the chair in Room 101, I'll imagine that I am a lion tamer and I will crack the whip on my fears. Yeah, that will help. You believe that don't you? Ok, me neither. Ugh.
Friday, July 31, 2009
Disclaimer: Teenagers
Ok, time for a disclaimer. In my last post, I talked about seeing my life through my children's eyes. Perhaps I should have warned you. . .this only works with children. Don't do this with teenagers!
Yes, I didn't mention it (poetic license) but my three older kids Ammon 14, Caleb 13, and Vienna 10, were there Letterboxing the other day as well. If I had looked at the day through their eyes, my reflections would have been very different.
Take Ammon, a young teen, but a teenager all the same. Through his eyes, I would get, "Mom, why are you so-o-o slow? Man, I climbed Mt. St. Helen's with the Scouts faster than you are doing this 4 miles. But, I guess you can't help it, cause you are so-o-o old."
When I told him about my biking goals, he laughed and he didn't even try to hide it the way my husband does!
Caleb has a quick wit and I don't dare ponder what he might have been thinking.
Vienna is sweet, but brutally honest and she's not even a teenager yet! Recently we were trying to explain to my husband why he should not be the "pitch man" for his gardening invention that he is ready to launch. Caleb said, "Let Vienna explain." When she came in from another room, we told her the goal of the conversation. She thought for a moment and then grabbed a pillow from a nearby chair. It was a serviceable, but plain pillow. She said, "Daddy, this is you." She then grabbed a pillow from another chair, this one very elegant, in a satin type material, and said, "This is what you need for your video." Ouch!
So, you see what I mean? Don't try this at home, and if you do. . .don't say I didn't warn you!
Yes, I didn't mention it (poetic license) but my three older kids Ammon 14, Caleb 13, and Vienna 10, were there Letterboxing the other day as well. If I had looked at the day through their eyes, my reflections would have been very different.
Take Ammon, a young teen, but a teenager all the same. Through his eyes, I would get, "Mom, why are you so-o-o slow? Man, I climbed Mt. St. Helen's with the Scouts faster than you are doing this 4 miles. But, I guess you can't help it, cause you are so-o-o old."
When I told him about my biking goals, he laughed and he didn't even try to hide it the way my husband does!
Caleb has a quick wit and I don't dare ponder what he might have been thinking.
Vienna is sweet, but brutally honest and she's not even a teenager yet! Recently we were trying to explain to my husband why he should not be the "pitch man" for his gardening invention that he is ready to launch. Caleb said, "Let Vienna explain." When she came in from another room, we told her the goal of the conversation. She thought for a moment and then grabbed a pillow from a nearby chair. It was a serviceable, but plain pillow. She said, "Daddy, this is you." She then grabbed a pillow from another chair, this one very elegant, in a satin type material, and said, "This is what you need for your video." Ouch!
So, you see what I mean? Don't try this at home, and if you do. . .don't say I didn't warn you!
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Through the eyes of a child
Steven R. Covey, author of Seven Habits of Highly Effective People, wrote that one should "begin with the end in mind". He said, something to the effect of, think about your funeral and what you would like people to say about you and work to make that happen. The funeral idea is. . .is. . . well, do I really need to explain? It's too close to home
, enough said.
I prefer to imagine my life through my children's eyes. What will they remember about their childhood, which I have a large role in shaping.
Lately as I return from my bike rides, my youngest, Peter, who is three, greets me at the door. "Hat! Hat!" He says reaching out to me with a smile. Then I take off my bike helmet and put it on his head. He loves hats so he is thrilled. I am thrilled because I love the idea that he might remember me, with a bit of pride, as some sort of an athlete, something I never before imagined for myself.
Yesterday we went Letterboxing, Peter and next to youngest, Brigham, who is seven, happily ran up and down the trail. I imagined the whole experience through their eyes. Not just the wonder of the forest, but the joy of family time.
Along the trail, there was a plaque with this quote, "I am alarmed when it happens that I have walked a mile into the woods bodily, without getting there in spirit. . .what business have I in the woods, if I am thinking of something out of the woods." Henry David Thoreau
Experiencing the woods with a child, keeps you in the woods in spirit.
One trail we followed had a lot of tree roots to step over. Peter was having a hard time managing that and fell several times. He is tough, independant child though, so he would just get up and go again. If he stops for cuddles, I look for blood. This is why I was so touched by an incident that happened later. Brigham got caught by a branch and hurt his leg. It was minor, but Brigham wasn't convinced yet that it was minor, so he was sitting on the trail pondering his "owie". Peter ran over to him, squatted down in that adorable way three-year-olds do and looked at the leg, and then gave Brigham a big hug. Awww, precious.
These things are magical to me, because my own childhood memories are complicated. My parents loved me and did their best, but their parenting efforts were limited by their alcoholism. As you can imagine, the alcohol taints everything. Seeing my own children have such a happy and relatively carefree childhood is very healing for me.
Getting back to looking at my life through my children's eyes, there are times when I look through their eyes and cringe. I see myself tired and grumpy and I think, "oh, I hope THIS is not what they remember!" Of course, that kind of thinking reminds me to take a "mom time-out". There is a fine line between correction/discipline and cranky mom. I try not to cross that line too often. Sometimes I see myself very busy and realize I need to stop and take time for them. Yesterday was one of those days. We put the packing aside (we're moving, but just a couple miles from where we live now), and went "out to play".
Thoreau had it right, not just about the woods. Life can be stressful and hectic. Quite often, my life feels more like zipping down a freeway than a peaceful walk in the woods. But as Thoreau said I am alarmed when it happens that I have passed another week of my life without getting there in spirit because I was too caught up in the day to day details to see the big picture, or the things that matter. What business have I living day to day without appreciating the wonders that are here, the fantastic little people that share my life, my adoring husband, my God, my job which is both trying and rewarding.
Seeing my life through my children's eyes, helps me be here everyday "in spirit".
, enough said.I prefer to imagine my life through my children's eyes. What will they remember about their childhood, which I have a large role in shaping.
Lately as I return from my bike rides, my youngest, Peter, who is three, greets me at the door. "Hat! Hat!" He says reaching out to me with a smile. Then I take off my bike helmet and put it on his head. He loves hats so he is thrilled. I am thrilled because I love the idea that he might remember me, with a bit of pride, as some sort of an athlete, something I never before imagined for myself.
Yesterday we went Letterboxing, Peter and next to youngest, Brigham, who is seven, happily ran up and down the trail. I imagined the whole experience through their eyes. Not just the wonder of the forest, but the joy of family time.
Along the trail, there was a plaque with this quote, "I am alarmed when it happens that I have walked a mile into the woods bodily, without getting there in spirit. . .what business have I in the woods, if I am thinking of something out of the woods." Henry David Thoreau
Experiencing the woods with a child, keeps you in the woods in spirit.
One trail we followed had a lot of tree roots to step over. Peter was having a hard time managing that and fell several times. He is tough, independant child though, so he would just get up and go again. If he stops for cuddles, I look for blood. This is why I was so touched by an incident that happened later. Brigham got caught by a branch and hurt his leg. It was minor, but Brigham wasn't convinced yet that it was minor, so he was sitting on the trail pondering his "owie". Peter ran over to him, squatted down in that adorable way three-year-olds do and looked at the leg, and then gave Brigham a big hug. Awww, precious.
These things are magical to me, because my own childhood memories are complicated. My parents loved me and did their best, but their parenting efforts were limited by their alcoholism. As you can imagine, the alcohol taints everything. Seeing my own children have such a happy and relatively carefree childhood is very healing for me.
Getting back to looking at my life through my children's eyes, there are times when I look through their eyes and cringe. I see myself tired and grumpy and I think, "oh, I hope THIS is not what they remember!" Of course, that kind of thinking reminds me to take a "mom time-out". There is a fine line between correction/discipline and cranky mom. I try not to cross that line too often. Sometimes I see myself very busy and realize I need to stop and take time for them. Yesterday was one of those days. We put the packing aside (we're moving, but just a couple miles from where we live now), and went "out to play".
Thoreau had it right, not just about the woods. Life can be stressful and hectic. Quite often, my life feels more like zipping down a freeway than a peaceful walk in the woods. But as Thoreau said I am alarmed when it happens that I have passed another week of my life without getting there in spirit because I was too caught up in the day to day details to see the big picture, or the things that matter. What business have I living day to day without appreciating the wonders that are here, the fantastic little people that share my life, my adoring husband, my God, my job which is both trying and rewarding.
Seeing my life through my children's eyes, helps me be here everyday "in spirit".
Friday, July 24, 2009
You Gotta Believe
It is funny how the most profound things can come to you and then seem so simple that you laugh at yourself for not seeing it sooner. I had one of those moments of mirth filled enlightenment yesterday on my bike.
I was riding along (it was a great ride, by the way!), and thinking about how much I love riding my bike and well, you know me...dissecting why that is. I don't know why I dissect ideas either, it is like breathing. I do it naturally without choosing to. So I was pondering bike riding, about the wind blowing on me, about the freedom, the amazing sense of being young, and all the things cycling people love I guess. Then bam! It hit me.
I love it because I believe. I believe that this could lead to a thinner, fitter me. And that new me could ride farther and longer.
You are probably thinking, "well, duh, Leslie!" The amazing thing, though, is that for a long time I really did not believe I could lose weight. I was sort of like an alcoholic who says, "I can stop drinking anytime I want," but they don't try because somewhere deep inside they don't really believe they can. "All you have to do is eat right and exercise," I used to think. And yet I didn't do those things because I didn't believe that I could.
You have to first believe that a thing is possible before you can begin the journey to attain it. So simple, and yet profound. The idea is not completely new to me. I am profoundly religious, if you will, and therefore faith or believing has been a part of my life for a long time. Somehow though, I had not expanded that idea outside of the church walls, figuratively speaking.
I imagine that you are reading this and thinking, "But Leslie that is so simple."
Yes, it seems that way on the surface, but look inside yourself. What are your unrealized dreams? What goals do you want to accomplish but haven't started yet? What part of yourself is waiting for you to believe?
And most importantly, what will it take to help you believe and begin to accomplish those goals and dreams?
Sometimes the journey is the best part of the trip. I started riding the bike because I thought it could help me lose weight if only I could stick with it. Biking has changed me though and now I don't ride to lose weight, I want to lose weight so I can ride, stronger and farther.
I blog because I love to write. I have always loved writing and for years have dreamed of writing a book. I don't know if I will ever be published, but I do know that my blog has brought me a lot of joy. I love writing it. I love that all of you read it, especially when you keep coming back. Thank you for coming back, your reading is like a gift to me.
What about you? Dare to believe in yourself in your goals and dreams, in your potential. Give yourself permission to fail, the journey is valuable, but believe that you could succeed! You have probably already achieved many goals in your life. Believe and accomplish some more! I believe in you!
I was riding along (it was a great ride, by the way!), and thinking about how much I love riding my bike and well, you know me...dissecting why that is. I don't know why I dissect ideas either, it is like breathing. I do it naturally without choosing to. So I was pondering bike riding, about the wind blowing on me, about the freedom, the amazing sense of being young, and all the things cycling people love I guess. Then bam! It hit me.
I love it because I believe. I believe that this could lead to a thinner, fitter me. And that new me could ride farther and longer.
You are probably thinking, "well, duh, Leslie!" The amazing thing, though, is that for a long time I really did not believe I could lose weight. I was sort of like an alcoholic who says, "I can stop drinking anytime I want," but they don't try because somewhere deep inside they don't really believe they can. "All you have to do is eat right and exercise," I used to think. And yet I didn't do those things because I didn't believe that I could.
You have to first believe that a thing is possible before you can begin the journey to attain it. So simple, and yet profound. The idea is not completely new to me. I am profoundly religious, if you will, and therefore faith or believing has been a part of my life for a long time. Somehow though, I had not expanded that idea outside of the church walls, figuratively speaking.
I imagine that you are reading this and thinking, "But Leslie that is so simple."
Yes, it seems that way on the surface, but look inside yourself. What are your unrealized dreams? What goals do you want to accomplish but haven't started yet? What part of yourself is waiting for you to believe?
And most importantly, what will it take to help you believe and begin to accomplish those goals and dreams?
Sometimes the journey is the best part of the trip. I started riding the bike because I thought it could help me lose weight if only I could stick with it. Biking has changed me though and now I don't ride to lose weight, I want to lose weight so I can ride, stronger and farther.
I blog because I love to write. I have always loved writing and for years have dreamed of writing a book. I don't know if I will ever be published, but I do know that my blog has brought me a lot of joy. I love writing it. I love that all of you read it, especially when you keep coming back. Thank you for coming back, your reading is like a gift to me.
What about you? Dare to believe in yourself in your goals and dreams, in your potential. Give yourself permission to fail, the journey is valuable, but believe that you could succeed! You have probably already achieved many goals in your life. Believe and accomplish some more! I believe in you!
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