The fondue pot is washed, and the leftovers are put away. Now comes the ritual of seeing who'll still be awake to watch the ball drop in an hour. In years past, all the babies and my husband would be fast asleep around me, but I think they'll all make it this year.
New Year's Eve was always a big deal when I was a young girl. My mother looked at it as a chance for a fresh start, almost a new beginning. Maybe she'd get a better job or win the lottery or meet a wonderful man. Although she always struggled to pay the bills, she'd make sure we had snacks to celebrate. My great grandmother used to say that whatever you did on New Year's Eve was what you were destined to do in the coming year. Mom made sure we didn't argue with each other, that we sang, that we had snacks ... all to try and seal the deal for us. As I got older, I used to let this weigh heavy on me. I'd try to shove everything I possibly needed to do onto the 30th in order to keep myself free to make a big meal on the 31st. I reasoned to myself that I was ensuring an easy upcoming year. All I was really doing was stressing myself out.
A couple years ago I decided to change my thinking. Now I look at it as getting lots of cuddle time with the babies, trying to write something or be creative and have a yummy meal made in a communal way. That's why we fondue. It is a lot of work to prep it all, but we graze for hours. I just love feeding them, and I know how lucky I am to be able to afford to feed them well. When I think back on how my mother struggled, how hungry we often were, there is a profound joy in watching my children eat.
I hope that the new year brings you joy and good health. I hope that there is adventure and happiness on your horizon. I hope you learn something new about yourself and that you spend time helping others however you can. I hope that love surrounds you. And if you need it, I hope it brings you a new beginning.
Wednesday, December 31, 2014
Monday, December 29, 2014
PT2
The last week and a half has been fairly uneventful, thus no posts. I got to take a week of vacation which was lovely - to have time with the children, go to the MFA, make a ton of cookies, wrap their presents long in advance, send poetry out ... the list goes on. It's only the second time in my working life that I've been able to do it, as time off in December when in retail is, of course, not possible. I know the kids have appreciated the time.
Tonight marked one of my few remaining PT visits. Not because I'm all better, but because that's what is covered by insurance ... and to be honest, they might not all be covered anyway. I'll find out soon enough. When I go, I wear yoga pants or sweatpants so I can move around more easily. Thankfully, I double checked the crotch in the pair I almost put on before I left the house. I caught the huge hole which would have put the therapist and I on a whole new level of intimacy. I've also been a bit gassy all day which I mention not to gross you out, but to paint a picture of my time in therapy. Imagine my wonderful physical therapist stretching me this way and that, admonishing me to relax in order to work out a particular muscle kink ... and I couldn't because I was holding in a massive fart. I really like this woman. I did not want to fart on her. Just outside the office door in the empty hallway was an entirely different story.
Tonight marked one of my few remaining PT visits. Not because I'm all better, but because that's what is covered by insurance ... and to be honest, they might not all be covered anyway. I'll find out soon enough. When I go, I wear yoga pants or sweatpants so I can move around more easily. Thankfully, I double checked the crotch in the pair I almost put on before I left the house. I caught the huge hole which would have put the therapist and I on a whole new level of intimacy. I've also been a bit gassy all day which I mention not to gross you out, but to paint a picture of my time in therapy. Imagine my wonderful physical therapist stretching me this way and that, admonishing me to relax in order to work out a particular muscle kink ... and I couldn't because I was holding in a massive fart. I really like this woman. I did not want to fart on her. Just outside the office door in the empty hallway was an entirely different story.
Wednesday, December 17, 2014
PT
I have the loveliest physical therapist. She is sweet and kind and incredibly reassuring. She has also pushed me hard to discover some muscles I haven't used in a while ... mostly as I've been overcompensating to deal with the pain. It turns out that I have two slightly bulging discs in my lower back that have been pressing on nerves and causing a variety of crappy side effects. I thought it was due to a lifetime of fairly hard work, sports in high school and college and some extra pounds. To be fair, a couple some extra pounds.
But I have learned that the emergency C-section I had with my last child also had a large part to play. She explained to me that in order to get to the uterus, they have to slice through the front tummy muscle that wraps around and strengthens the lower back. I'm an educated woman, but I just blamed my extra pouchy tummy look and increased pain on age and weight gain - even though I put no extra weight on after the last two pregnancies. Why it never dawned on me that it could be related to the C-section itself, I'll never know. I think I was too quick to blame my own insecurities.
I've worried about my weight my entire life, even though pictures from high school would lead you to believe there wasn't a lot of food in the house - which there wasn't. When I went to college, I gained weight but actually felt pleased with it. I was less angular, and honestly, not hungry all the time. When we started our life together, we were quite poor and ate like it. There was a lot of pasta, very little fresh fruits & veggies and far too much cheap processed food. So, I put a little more weight on, but then I held solid for a long time until I had kids. Honestly though, after all three it was about 5 pounds. It's only been due to the back pain that's diminished my get-up-and-go, that I've seen it rise.
Like most women though, I think about each bite that goes into my mouth. It's because I try to eat as little as possible each day, that my weight hasn't ballooned up with these back issues. But that's not a very healthy or interesting way to live. I also made a vow that I wouldn't talk about my weight in front of my children. The peer pressure of society would be hard enough without their mom chiming in. I can vividly recall my own mother telling her co-leader of our girl scout troop one night that she never had to worry about left-overs with me around. Even at eight, that stung and stuck with me. I think we often forget how much gravity a tossed off sentence can carry.
I'm grateful that I've been partnered with this lovely physical therapist who has helped me find some immediate improvement. I may have to use ice to reduce the swelling and Tylenol for the rest of my life, but at least I'll hopefully be able to walk.
But I have learned that the emergency C-section I had with my last child also had a large part to play. She explained to me that in order to get to the uterus, they have to slice through the front tummy muscle that wraps around and strengthens the lower back. I'm an educated woman, but I just blamed my extra pouchy tummy look and increased pain on age and weight gain - even though I put no extra weight on after the last two pregnancies. Why it never dawned on me that it could be related to the C-section itself, I'll never know. I think I was too quick to blame my own insecurities.
I've worried about my weight my entire life, even though pictures from high school would lead you to believe there wasn't a lot of food in the house - which there wasn't. When I went to college, I gained weight but actually felt pleased with it. I was less angular, and honestly, not hungry all the time. When we started our life together, we were quite poor and ate like it. There was a lot of pasta, very little fresh fruits & veggies and far too much cheap processed food. So, I put a little more weight on, but then I held solid for a long time until I had kids. Honestly though, after all three it was about 5 pounds. It's only been due to the back pain that's diminished my get-up-and-go, that I've seen it rise.
Like most women though, I think about each bite that goes into my mouth. It's because I try to eat as little as possible each day, that my weight hasn't ballooned up with these back issues. But that's not a very healthy or interesting way to live. I also made a vow that I wouldn't talk about my weight in front of my children. The peer pressure of society would be hard enough without their mom chiming in. I can vividly recall my own mother telling her co-leader of our girl scout troop one night that she never had to worry about left-overs with me around. Even at eight, that stung and stuck with me. I think we often forget how much gravity a tossed off sentence can carry.
I'm grateful that I've been partnered with this lovely physical therapist who has helped me find some immediate improvement. I may have to use ice to reduce the swelling and Tylenol for the rest of my life, but at least I'll hopefully be able to walk.
Thursday, December 11, 2014
The Face
I have "the face." That's what my mom called it when random strangers would tell you their life story. She had "the face," too. She told me she realized it one night when she and my father had gone out to a local bar in Norfolk, VA to play pool. This was before any of us were born. She went into the ladies room, exchanged pleasantries with a woman at the sink, and was then trapped in the bathroom while said woman proceeded to tell my mother her life story. She told me that after 10 minutes she was finally able to break away.
In a life spent working in customer service, I can't even begin to tell you the number of people who've told me things that I was surprised they would share with me ... personal facts, private thoughts, intimate details, etc. Almost all of the time, the sharing of these facts hasn't been necessary to complete whatever we were doing together. I've been told about all manor of diseases and ailments - from the terminal to the inconvenient. People have shared their birth stories, abuse stories, mental health struggles, fears and dreams. Most of the time though, they tell me the dark stories, things I shouldn't know. It's like something in my eyes tells them I'm the customer service mother confessor.
Yesterday, I sat with a lovely woman with a fantastic sense of humor and unfortunately, a silver/grey hairstyle that was quite similar to the way my mother wore her hair. While she was talking, I was trying to think about baseball or social injustice - anything to not focus on her hair. The longer she spoke to me, the more she talked about her marriage and her husband ... how he spends their money on whatever he pleases, but tells her to restrain herself ... how he retired 20 years ago, deciding to stay home and take care of the house while she continued to work, yet still expected her to do all the housework ... that after 50 years she couldn't divorce him, what would be the point ... that she used to imagine he would die first and she would be free, but now that she was on an oxygen tank, she was afraid it would be the other way around.
She told me that in her generation the sentiment was "you made your bed, now lie in it." I despise that phrase. When my mother decided to marry my father, she told me that some of her family expressed displeasure in the union. Only my great grandmother told her to do what she wanted to do. Before the first year was done, he had already started to show himself for the horror he would become. Seeking support, some of the original dissenters told her, "you made your bed, now lie in it." From that breach, she suffered, and then we suffered, for another 15 years before she finally got enough help to leave him.
My customer shared other thoughts that bordered on incriminating. I think I should leave those inside my office.
In a life spent working in customer service, I can't even begin to tell you the number of people who've told me things that I was surprised they would share with me ... personal facts, private thoughts, intimate details, etc. Almost all of the time, the sharing of these facts hasn't been necessary to complete whatever we were doing together. I've been told about all manor of diseases and ailments - from the terminal to the inconvenient. People have shared their birth stories, abuse stories, mental health struggles, fears and dreams. Most of the time though, they tell me the dark stories, things I shouldn't know. It's like something in my eyes tells them I'm the customer service mother confessor.
Yesterday, I sat with a lovely woman with a fantastic sense of humor and unfortunately, a silver/grey hairstyle that was quite similar to the way my mother wore her hair. While she was talking, I was trying to think about baseball or social injustice - anything to not focus on her hair. The longer she spoke to me, the more she talked about her marriage and her husband ... how he spends their money on whatever he pleases, but tells her to restrain herself ... how he retired 20 years ago, deciding to stay home and take care of the house while she continued to work, yet still expected her to do all the housework ... that after 50 years she couldn't divorce him, what would be the point ... that she used to imagine he would die first and she would be free, but now that she was on an oxygen tank, she was afraid it would be the other way around.
She told me that in her generation the sentiment was "you made your bed, now lie in it." I despise that phrase. When my mother decided to marry my father, she told me that some of her family expressed displeasure in the union. Only my great grandmother told her to do what she wanted to do. Before the first year was done, he had already started to show himself for the horror he would become. Seeking support, some of the original dissenters told her, "you made your bed, now lie in it." From that breach, she suffered, and then we suffered, for another 15 years before she finally got enough help to leave him.
My customer shared other thoughts that bordered on incriminating. I think I should leave those inside my office.
Monday, December 1, 2014
Potential
I had one of those moments tonight that might have been a brush with something terrible ... or might have been nothing at all. I keep thinking it over, and I can't decide.
After work, I went to physical therapy. I've mentioned in a previous post that I've been dealing with back pain. My doctor is unwilling to prescribe pain medication at this point, preferring instead for me to go to physical therapy and then talk about it again in February. The therapist is in a fairly large office building with a T-station on the back side. There's a parking lot behind the station for the building. It's not particularly well lit. You walk from the parking lot, through a chain-link fence opening, then a 30 foot walk to the T-station. It's about 75 feet or so through the station and then on to the building entrance.
When my session was over, I was walking quite gingerly but trying not to look like a little old lady. I had my purse tucked underneath my left arm. I exited the building, walking through a small pass through into the subway station. There were just a few people ahead of me, and I noticed a young man, probably in his mid-twenties looking at his phone and walking towards the turnstiles. As I walked past him, my eyes were straight ahead on the door in front of me. In an instant, I saw his reflection turn around and head in my direction. I remember thinking it was an odd move. I also remember thinking that this may not be good.
I knew I couldn't move faster, so I thought confront it head on. I pushed opened the door, turned and held it open for him to walk through. I looked him in the face and said, "After you, sir." With the door still propped open, I slid my hand into my purse and grabbed my keys. Meanwhile, he walked two or three steps further then stopped and turned back towards me. At that moment, a woman with three kids walked past us towards the parking lot. I stepped right in behind her kids, walking far too close to them. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed him turn again and head off in the opposite direction. When we got to the chain-link opening, she continued walking and I veered off into the lot. Glancing back, I couldn't see him anymore. I hustled to the car, got in and left quickly.
It could have been nothing at all, or it could have been something rather unpleasant.
After work, I went to physical therapy. I've mentioned in a previous post that I've been dealing with back pain. My doctor is unwilling to prescribe pain medication at this point, preferring instead for me to go to physical therapy and then talk about it again in February. The therapist is in a fairly large office building with a T-station on the back side. There's a parking lot behind the station for the building. It's not particularly well lit. You walk from the parking lot, through a chain-link fence opening, then a 30 foot walk to the T-station. It's about 75 feet or so through the station and then on to the building entrance.
When my session was over, I was walking quite gingerly but trying not to look like a little old lady. I had my purse tucked underneath my left arm. I exited the building, walking through a small pass through into the subway station. There were just a few people ahead of me, and I noticed a young man, probably in his mid-twenties looking at his phone and walking towards the turnstiles. As I walked past him, my eyes were straight ahead on the door in front of me. In an instant, I saw his reflection turn around and head in my direction. I remember thinking it was an odd move. I also remember thinking that this may not be good.
I knew I couldn't move faster, so I thought confront it head on. I pushed opened the door, turned and held it open for him to walk through. I looked him in the face and said, "After you, sir." With the door still propped open, I slid my hand into my purse and grabbed my keys. Meanwhile, he walked two or three steps further then stopped and turned back towards me. At that moment, a woman with three kids walked past us towards the parking lot. I stepped right in behind her kids, walking far too close to them. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed him turn again and head off in the opposite direction. When we got to the chain-link opening, she continued walking and I veered off into the lot. Glancing back, I couldn't see him anymore. I hustled to the car, got in and left quickly.
It could have been nothing at all, or it could have been something rather unpleasant.
Monday, November 24, 2014
Ferguson
My idea to write a small piece about my physical therapy was thrown out the window tonight by the grand jury decision to not indict officer Wilson in the shooting death of Michael Brown. I've been noting the number of businesses who have been boarding up their shops and closing early in anticipation ... almost as if they already knew what the decision would be. I would love to say to you that I thought something different was going to happen, but I was afraid that it would turn out this way.
Of course, I didn't sit on the grand jury. I didn't get to hear the evidence presented on both sides, the witnesses, the instructions. I read the news stories, saw the grieving parents, watched the videos of police harassment of journalists and protestors ... and the reports of people coming into town to stir the anger pot. So, I probably wouldn't have been chosen to sit, as I have some clearly defined ideas and beliefs. My father's side of the family was from Kentucky, and I actually have a great deal of pride in those roots. But I am also a bleeding heart liberal who has lived in the south and witnessed racism firsthand. I have seen black people harassed and goaded by the police. I have had friends of color who had to teach their children how to respond to those police, because they were afraid that without that knowledge their kids wouldn't come home.
When they announced the decision, I did a terrible thing that I have begged my children not to do. I peeked at several comments posted online under the news articles so I could get a sense of some of the immediate reactions. Nothing makes you more likely to question humanity than public comments posted under a contentious topic. Here's a couple choice ones:
The rioting has already begun, and I'm sure it's not going to be pretty. For some people, they will feel validated in their opinions by it. Many other people will beg for peace and calm, for the constructive channeling of anger and frustration into action. A million miles away from the fray, I have this sense of hopelessness ... that no matter how far we think we've come, we've barely moved an inch. What world have I brought my children into?
Of course, I didn't sit on the grand jury. I didn't get to hear the evidence presented on both sides, the witnesses, the instructions. I read the news stories, saw the grieving parents, watched the videos of police harassment of journalists and protestors ... and the reports of people coming into town to stir the anger pot. So, I probably wouldn't have been chosen to sit, as I have some clearly defined ideas and beliefs. My father's side of the family was from Kentucky, and I actually have a great deal of pride in those roots. But I am also a bleeding heart liberal who has lived in the south and witnessed racism firsthand. I have seen black people harassed and goaded by the police. I have had friends of color who had to teach their children how to respond to those police, because they were afraid that without that knowledge their kids wouldn't come home.
When they announced the decision, I did a terrible thing that I have begged my children not to do. I peeked at several comments posted online under the news articles so I could get a sense of some of the immediate reactions. Nothing makes you more likely to question humanity than public comments posted under a contentious topic. Here's a couple choice ones:
- "There never was a case in the first place and now the TRUTH comes out, This is media driven garbage. But it wont stop the idiots from burning and looting their own community. Its just a bunch of uneducated, poorly raised, what can I get out of this for me people. 99.9% could care less about Brown, its just a reason to act up like the animals that they are."
- "How to honor a punk? one will burn down a town? I agree with the decision, He was a PUNK A COCKROACH, JUST THINK HE WILL NO BE MAKING LITTLE COCKROACHES. Now that a good thing."
- "You know what is sad...we listen to Obama spew rhetoric from his moronic volcano mouth about being with the family of the man who first stole, than beat up a small store owner trying to protect his store, and finally beat the living s$#t out of the POLICE OFFICER DOING HIS JOB. What about the officer and his family. What about their lives that have been ruined by this. It's amazing how people act like animals when they don't get their way....but to be perfectly honest, it would have happened regardless of the verdict. Just a way to destroy honest citizens stores, steal, and act like savages.
- "So im tired of being politically correct. If you as a black person are not happy then go back to Your origins. By the way all the racist comments that Emporer Obama is making isn't helping and by the way again Emporer Obama is trying to do more for Latino's than the black man. African American's are a very small minority and after all the Latino's are legitimized African American's will be even a smaller minority. Tired of all of them and their crying about how bad they got it. Elect a black American and they still aren't happy. They never will be."
The rioting has already begun, and I'm sure it's not going to be pretty. For some people, they will feel validated in their opinions by it. Many other people will beg for peace and calm, for the constructive channeling of anger and frustration into action. A million miles away from the fray, I have this sense of hopelessness ... that no matter how far we think we've come, we've barely moved an inch. What world have I brought my children into?
Wednesday, November 19, 2014
Skewed
I've had a lot of weird things happen to me in almost twenty years of working in customer service. When I come home, I retell the funnier ones for the children's amusement. Sometimes, they sound a lot funnier to me than to them, and the looks of horror that come across their faces when I'm acting the stories out makes me realize that my sense of humor might be a tad bit skewed.
Today, I tried to help an interesting gentleman. I don't like using the term "crazy," as most of the time it's not really nice/not appropriate/too generic a word to use. I'll just stick with interesting. He was probably in his late 40's and looked like it was a really rough couple of decades. He had one crutch, and the left side of his glasses were entirely being held together with duct tape - like it went from being attached to the actual glass all the way to his ear with a quarter sized knob where the hinge should be. I point this out due to his ingenuity. During high school, the only way I could keep my glasses together was to use hot glue, because my mom couldn't afford to buy me new glasses. I never thought to us duct tape.
He started to become a bit animated in the lobby, so I moved him to my office. The number one rule with loud/difficult/unruly customers is to move them away from the main thoroughfare. Patrick Swayze teaches us in "Road House" to be nice and take it outside - this gets it away from the paying customers, protects the breakables and gives you more room to operate. I can't take them outside, so my office has to do. "Road House" is an underutilized teaching tool. I challenge you to watch it again for other applicable life lessons.
Back to our story ... The interesting gentleman brought his mother with him. She kept admonishing him to keep his temper under control and not yell me. He got more and more animated and agitated anyway. He had difficulty answering my questions and instead told me why he'd been kicked out of other places and hung up on by customer service reps. We wouldn't help him ... we'd taken his money ... we'd made him homeless. He told me that he had threatened to burn buildings down, blow things up, rip people's throats out. I'm not joking. He repeated the throat ripping out part several times, adding in the word "your" as he stared at me. Meanwhile, I kept trying to get the story that led up to all this so I could figure out who to call to help him. It wasn't working - he was getting louder and his mother was of no use to me. So, I started to whisper his first name over and over slowly. He instantly quieted. I whispered my question, and he answered. Then I made a call, found his answer, which suddenly caused him to remember that he knew the answer all along, and they got up and left my office. His mother shook my hand and told me how proud she was of him that he had behaved himself.
Today, I tried to help an interesting gentleman. I don't like using the term "crazy," as most of the time it's not really nice/not appropriate/too generic a word to use. I'll just stick with interesting. He was probably in his late 40's and looked like it was a really rough couple of decades. He had one crutch, and the left side of his glasses were entirely being held together with duct tape - like it went from being attached to the actual glass all the way to his ear with a quarter sized knob where the hinge should be. I point this out due to his ingenuity. During high school, the only way I could keep my glasses together was to use hot glue, because my mom couldn't afford to buy me new glasses. I never thought to us duct tape.
He started to become a bit animated in the lobby, so I moved him to my office. The number one rule with loud/difficult/unruly customers is to move them away from the main thoroughfare. Patrick Swayze teaches us in "Road House" to be nice and take it outside - this gets it away from the paying customers, protects the breakables and gives you more room to operate. I can't take them outside, so my office has to do. "Road House" is an underutilized teaching tool. I challenge you to watch it again for other applicable life lessons.
Back to our story ... The interesting gentleman brought his mother with him. She kept admonishing him to keep his temper under control and not yell me. He got more and more animated and agitated anyway. He had difficulty answering my questions and instead told me why he'd been kicked out of other places and hung up on by customer service reps. We wouldn't help him ... we'd taken his money ... we'd made him homeless. He told me that he had threatened to burn buildings down, blow things up, rip people's throats out. I'm not joking. He repeated the throat ripping out part several times, adding in the word "your" as he stared at me. Meanwhile, I kept trying to get the story that led up to all this so I could figure out who to call to help him. It wasn't working - he was getting louder and his mother was of no use to me. So, I started to whisper his first name over and over slowly. He instantly quieted. I whispered my question, and he answered. Then I made a call, found his answer, which suddenly caused him to remember that he knew the answer all along, and they got up and left my office. His mother shook my hand and told me how proud she was of him that he had behaved himself.
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