HAVEN

I'm participating in this year's A-Z challenge, and so will be posting daily about a subject focusing on a letter of the alphabet.

A shelter from the storm...a soft, safe place to land at the end of the day...my haven is within my husband's arms.

Vic and I met in the 8th grade, when I transferred from public school to St. Ann's, the neighborhood K-8 Catholic school. There couldn't possibly have been a more difficult time to assimilate into a group of kids who had been together since kindergarten. If you don't remember, middle school is a viper pit. Yes, even a  Catholic one. It was a very, very rough year for me. I was ridiculed mercilessly by most of the kids. I was tall, straight as a rail, had a bad haircut and blushed at every insult. No wonder I became painfully shy. Vic was nice to me, although honestly, we probably barely knew that the other existed.

Then we went to high school, and things changed. In the 11th grade, I asked him out to the Sadie Hawkins dance. Do they even have those anymore?

 Wikipedia states:  "The Sadie Hawkins dance is named after the Li'l Abner comic strip character Sadie Hawkins, created by cartoonist Al Capp. In the strip, Sadie Hawkins Day fell on a given day in November (Capp never specified an exact date). The unmarried women of Dogpatch got to chase the bachelors and "marry up" with the ones they caught. The event was introduced in a daily strip which ran on November 15, 1937.

In the U.S. and Canada, this concept was popularized by establishing dance events to which the woman invited a man of her choosing, instead of demurely waiting for a man to ask her. The first known such event was held on November 9, 1938. Within a year hundreds of similar events followed suit. By 1952, the event was reportedly celebrated at 40,000 known venues. It became a woman-empowering rite at high schools and college campuses, and the tradition continues in some regional American cultures."

I remember trying to work up the nerve to ask him out. I don't know how guys throughout the ages have managed this!! It was excruciating. Our lockers were very close by and I waited before 6th period for him, hanging around totally conspicuously until he was alone. I finally blurted out the question, and he replied, "Sure." He claims I then asked, "Really?' in an amazed tone, but I believe I played it much more sophisticated than that. We'll go with my story.

His mother remembers him coming home from school, hopping up to sit suavely on the kitchen counter, and announcing that he had a date for the dance. She says he acted super-cool, so she knew he was pretty excited about going out with me.

That was our first date with each other, and the last with anyone else. 

We've been married for 32 years now, after dating for almost 6, and while every single second hasn't been perfect, we are good together. We've had some spectacularly great times, some truly awful tragedies, and with four kids, pretty much everything in between that you can think of. I can't imagine a different life, or a different husband.

As we're aging, I think I'm more aware than ever of how blessed we are. So many years ago, back in that Catholic high school when we were first dating, we would laugh and say our match was "made in heaven!" I believe that to this day. He is still my one true love, my heart, my haven.

GARBLED

I'm participating in this year's A-Z challenge, and so will be posting daily about a subject focusing on a letter of the alphabet.

Sometimes this world presses in on me, filling me with panic and fear. At least that's how I feel sometimes. When I should have a spirit of peace, a demeanor of calm, instead I am scared, confused and hurting.

I worry about each of my four children. There are so many things that can go wrong in life. I worry about my husband. He has an incredibly stressful and demanding job, with very little time to exercise and get healthy. I worry about my 83-year-old mother, who lives alone, four hours from me, and has multiple health problems. Sometimes when I think about all the "what ifs," my mind can race, and my thoughts become garbled. They're like a jungle thicket, snagging and tearing at my peace and serenity. Yes, the world can weigh heavily on my mind some days. 

                                    

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That's when I realize it:  the blessing of the run. I lace up my shoes and escape to the road. Blue skies, soft breezes, the singing of the birds -- it's balm to my spirit. The run speaks to me in the hidden part of my soul, quieting my heart, gentling my mind. It untangles all the garbled thoughts, and I can soar free above the problems that hold me pinned. 

                                     

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The blessing of the run. 

I breathe. I love. I am.

FAINT-HEARTED

I'm participating in this year's A-Z challenge, and so will be posting daily about a subject focusing on a letter of the alphabet.

Getting healthy and fit is not for sissies.

If you're like me, you'll have to change your ENTIRE lifestyle. Think that's easy? Think again.

I began running at the age of 52. I had never exercised before -- I'm not exaggerating. I wasn't familiar with push ups, except for bras; didn't know what planks were, other than boards my kids used to build a tree house; had no idea that a fartlek wasn't a bodily noise. I was the consummate couch potato, except with four kids, I never had time to sit.  "Athlete," however, was not the first word that would have come to mind to describe me.

Most of my life I was underweight. I drank milkshakes every night to try to gain weight (Ohhhhh,   [insert anguished face here]  why  did I not enjoy those days more??) I ate junk food and sugar like it was the end times. I was simply uneducated about the harm those foods were wreaking on my body. 

Fortunately for me, I'd inherited amazing metabolism, so until I had my fourth child and then shortly after became perimenopausal, I never gained weight from my poor diet. But after a hysterectomy, I packed on the pounds and the day finally came when I knew that I MUST make a change.

Altering years of bad habits was a slow process, and I had much to learn along the way. After I started  running, I realized I needed to better fuel my body. Thus began the research into what I should be eating.  

I took baby steps...The first thing I did was cut out soda, and that was brutal because I drank liters of it. I didn't like water, so I began using Crystal Light Pure packets. (I've never liked artificial sweeteners.) Once I had completely substituted those for soda, I began using half packets. I slowly weaned myself off the flavorings and switched to plain water. It was amazing to me how after I stopped guzzling soda, water tasted wonderful!! I now drink at least 68 ounces a day for good hydration.

In addition to cutting out the sugary drinks, I began adding in more vegetables and whole foods, with the goal of moving us toward a more plant-based diet. We started eating fewer processed, packaged goods. I began to be more adventurous and tried new things, like quinoa, kale chips and nori, and expanded our diet to include them. I switched to almond milk, real butter and almond butter. I started educating myself about GMOs.

Today, I run half marathons. In the fall, I'll begin training for my first marathon. It's been an interesting journey, but I feel better than I have in years. 

Nope, this healthy stuff ain't for the faint of heart. 

EXUBERANCE

I'm participating in this year's A-Z challenge, and so will be posting daily about a subject focusing on a letter of the alphabet.


Shortly before New Year's Day, when I was formulating my goals for 2013, I was asked to choose a word to describe what I dreamed for this year.  I thought long and hard, because I had so many disparate goals and I knew I wanted my word to encompass them.  I ultimately selected:
                                         

                                           EXUBERANCE 


Yup, this is how I want to embrace life:

Music jacked up,
arms wide open,
head flung back,
eyes, not squeezed shut in fear but
taking it all  in,
hair streaming back,
sweat dripping,
screaming at the top of my lungs,
leaping with total abandon
into the great unknown!!



                                                                     

                                                                                                                  Here


                                                                               

                                                                                                                  Here

                                                                           

                                                                                                                 Here

                                                                               

                                                                                                                   Here

                                                                               

                                                                                                                   Here


                                    EXHILARATION
                                    EXCITEMENT
                                    FERVOR 
                                    JOY


                          It just feels right.

DON'T

I'm participating in this year's A-Z challenge, and so will be posting daily about a subject focusing on a letter of the alphabet.


We are bombarded all the time with positive motivational messages: You can do anything!! Keep going!! Visualize it and you can achieve it! Believe! Believe! Believe!!

Rarely do we hear a negative word. But today, I'm here to tell you -- DON'T.

                                                                          

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DON'T get down on yourself when you fail at something -- and trust me, there will come a time when you fail. Miserably. It's part of being human.

DON'T blame yourself. We women tend to think everything is our fault. It's not. Sometimes it's something someone else has done; sometimes it's just circumstance. Don't always think it's all about you.  

DON'T think you have to do it all. You don't have to be CEO of one of the biggest corporations in the world (despite books being peddled about this very subject right now), president of the PTO, den leader of the cub scouts, and teach Sunday School, read to the kindergarten students, head up the fundraising committee, volunteer to be team mom, clean your home yourself, scrapbook, make jewelry, take ballroom dancing, go to Weight Watchers, garden, cook gourmet meals, and read the Kama Sutra in your spare time. You really don't. We place unreasonably high expectations on ourselves. Pick the ones you sincerely want to do, and do those. Don't carry the weight of the world on your shoulders.

DON'T feel your children are a reflection of your parenting skills. They're not. You can do everything right, and your child will still make dreadful mistakes. Or you can do everything wrong, and your child will become a minister, or -- God forbid -- president of the United States. It's all a crap shoot.

Don't regret. What's in the past is over. Not one minute of second-guessing or wishful thinking or regretting and fretting is going to change it. Forgive yourself and move on. 

Don't be judgmental. This applies to pointing the finger at others, of course, but mainly, don't judge yourself harshly. You are doing the best you can with what you have to work with in this particular moment in history. Other people are judging you enough, you certainly don't need to add to that. Be kind, and love yourself.

Don't give up. Yeah, we've come full circle in this post now. You CAN do anything. Really. Just keep going and believe in yourself.

CLEAVAGE

I'm participating in this year's A-Z challenge, and so will be posting daily about a subject focusing on a letter of the alphabet.

All my life, I was underweight, until I had my fourth child. Not many skinny girls had big breasts when I was growing up, although now you can buy them. So, there I was...a tall, thin, very flat-chested teenager in the 70s. Farrah Fawcett in that damn red bathing suit was everywhere. No Wonderbras had been invented yet. No wonder I was painfully insecure. 

In my mid-50s now, I see the true meaning of the word cleavage: the way in which a thing tends to split, according to the Thorndike Barnhart dictionary I've had since the fourth grade. This physical lack of cleavage split me off from not only from society's ideal of what was feminine, but from the truth about myself. I never felt, deep down inside, pretty...alluring...a "real" woman, whatever that was. Even after marrying a man who found me beautiful (and does to this day) and had four children, I accepted this as reality.  

But now, I refuse. It has taken me many years to -- dare I even say it?? -- begin to accept the concept that I could be beautiful. See, even now it is difficult for me to say out loud. I am beautiful. Droopy eye, long nose, flat chest and crooked teeth -- they all add up to one hell of a gorgeous woman. So there it is, finally. Cleavage. I'm cutting asunder society's idea of beauty, cleaving it forever from  my heart's understanding of what is true about me. 

BANDIT

I'm participating in this year's A-Z challenge, and so will be posting daily about a subject focusing on a letter of the alphabet.

BANDIT. Thieves are terrifying threats, but doesn't "bandit" sound comedic, like a little raccoon that sneaks onto your porch at midnight and dives headfirst into your container of birdseed? I had that happen once, actually. I was in the mountains, staying by myself out in the middle of nowhere, and in the middle of the night was awakened by fearsome thumping and scraping on the front porch. Heart in throat, I crept into the living room and peered out the huge bay windows into the darkness, and saw, illuminated by moonlight, the masked bandit's rump above the opening of my covered can of birdseed. He had a feast, and I'd almost had a heart attack.

There are many things that steal from our lives, perhaps not as cute or funny as my masked marauder, but marauders just as well. The stranger who laughs as you try something new in the gym. The driver who gesticulates furiously at you on the highway. The friend who says unkind things behind your back. The mother who can no longer remember your name. The child who brings you to tears by abandoning his faith. The husband who cheats.

So many incidences that pick you up, turn you over and over in their tiny paws, and take small, precise bites of your heart. When the thief of joy hits, life can sometimes feel like everything, every contact you have with others, goes wrong, ends badly, is hopeless.

                                                                       

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Just like the raccoon on my porch, these bandits of our happiness come when we least expect it and seize their chance. Our tendency is to be on guard, to protect our valuables. But we can't lock up our love like a safe. Each small moment that we are unhappy, or angry, or frustrated, or despairing,  the bandits make off with something that can never be replaced. 

Instead, throw open the coffers of your heart. What is given freely can't be stolen. When you love in the face of hurts, in SPITE of the hurts, you affirm that life is a wide-open, generous force that cannot be conquered by the thieves of this world. Unmask the bandits. Recognize them for what they are, and no longer give them power over you. Love. Love again. And then love some more.