I don't know when it happened, but somewhere along the line, I grew up. I got married. I had kids. I got a "real job". I both took up smoking and 8 years later quit the habit. I bought a house. I've replaced a toilet. I've opened investment accounts. Yes, plural. Investment accounts. Made a bucket list and then proceeded to cross some things off it, as well as create new iterations of said bucket list.
Yes, I bought a house. Right smack in the middle of the city that I hate, but am now kinda obligated to attempt to love, or at least tolerate. The house kind of reminds me of a house you'd expect to find in Chicago, and I cannot even tell you why. It was built in 1905, so of course parts of it are kind of falling apart, or at the very least very old. But I really like it - well, except for the roof. The roof that is 30+ years old. The roof that was excluded from our homeowner's insurance but led the inspector to declare that I should have "a good five years on it yet"...well...maybe five years without a hailstorm, or maybe home inspectors count years differently than normal people do, because after a good hailstorm back in July, yes you guessed it. The roof leaks.
Shit.
That led me to make a bold move, as if the move to buy the house itself was not bold enough. And it's another little piece of evidence that I've grown up. I'm donning the red and khaki (although this time it's jeans at least until January), and working part-time at Target again, something I said 11 years ago (when I quit the first time) that I'd never do. And you know what? I actually now, like this job more than I like my day job. Maybe the fact that it's a secondary income and not my primary source of income has something to do with it, that I'm not depending on it to make a living. Maybe two years of working at home (and quitting smoking) has given me the dreaded "Anthem Ass". OK so it has. I've put on 46 pounds since I quit smoking in February of 2017. But it is a nice change of pace, and it's nice to get out of the house and make a little money while I'm at it.
So since I have no other good way of putting it, let's address the elephant in the room. I was (ostensibly) too busy "living my best life" (physical air quotes intended) to blog, which is why you haven't heard from me since March 7th...although further research tells me this is not the first time I've taken a hiatus of sorts. So now I'm back from outer space. You just walked in to find me here with that sad look upon my face. You should have changed that stupid lock, you should have made me leave my key, if you'd have known for just one second I'd be back to bother you yeah I went there. If you don't speak in song quotes from time to time we can't be friends.
And right about now I'm all about making friends.
I think in your teens and twenties you get cocky, and I know I'm not the first to come up with this theory. So I'll rephrase that. I agree, that in your teens and twenties you get cocky; you sometimes feel invincible. At some point, maybe it's sometime in your thirties, that cockiness mellows out. Now I'm not gonna lie and say I've got all my shit figured out because I'll be the first to tell you I'm a basket case. A lot of the things that bothered me when I first worked at Target don't seem to bother me anymore. I seem to be having more epiphanies lately, and if I can give myself the time to think about them and consider them, lead to a new worldview.
My worldview has evolved so much over the past 3 or 4 years, it's crazy. I've looked at old journals and such from way back in 2002-2005, and was just shaking my head at the (for lack of better words) drama queen I was. And that's not to say that I'm not still a bit of a drama queen (YAAAAAS HE WENT THERE). Needless to say, I burnt those old journals. That was an old part of me that needs to be left in the early naughties.
And so here we are. 2018 has definitely been the year we've been living our best life. I seriously credit all this to quitting smoking. If any of my readers smoke, do yourself the awesome favor and quit. I have such an addictive personality that years ago I said "what, me? Quit? Yeah right. Easier said than done." And it's true. But it's so worth it. SO worth it. But you have to want it. You need to be in that place that says you're ready.
But it's more than that. I've had the opportunity tonight, while zoning in Market, to stand back (I first typed that as "stank back" and laughed as I hit the backspace key) and take stock of the fact that 11 years and one week after quitting, there I was again, with a brand new attitude and outlook on life.
And I know that it won't put a roof on my house, but part timing it for now will bring in a little bit more income that will free up more to save for said roof. Ever since my "Financial Crash of 2012" (we'll just call it that), it's been nothing but baby steps to get to where I am today...and I'm not even fully there yet. (Where even is "there"?). But no matter what the situation is, it will get better. Time will move on, and you'll grow up.
And when you grow up, you'll probably lose your hair...or at least, I have. Yeah, that part of growing up sucks.
Showing posts with label Lessons. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Lessons. Show all posts
Thursday, November 15, 2018
Friday, October 14, 2016
A Worthy Sacrifice
"A man's biography is written in terms not so much of what he causes to happen, but rather what happens to him and in him. The difference between men is not in the adversity which comes to them, but rather how they meet the adversity." - Archbishop Fulton Sheen.
I came across that on my Facebook feed and immediately my brain crack receptors went off.
Brain crack? Rather than try to explain it, just watch this video from the Great Ze Frank, who came up with the term.
That particular quote couldn't be more perfectly timed, as I sit here and contemplate my life's story.
Google search defines adversity as "difficulties, misfortunes". I'm not going to sit here and pretend to be the person most affected by adversity. But I will say that adversity takes many forms, wears many different hats and disguises if you will. Many of mine in recent years have been monetarily in form. I've learned lessons, slightly slipped back, but found more gripping as the days progress, however I can look back on where I was two years ago and state with confidence that even though it feels the same, it really is not. It's better.
And it will get better.
I've done my fair share of running, when faced with adversity. But I've also trudged through like a blinding blizzard because I've had no other choice. I've taken easy roads and hard roads, though admittedly my inherent impatience does get the better of me when the latter is involved. It's easy to let happen. You want results, and you want them now. A misfortune befalls you, and you immediately try to think of ways to solve it. Sometimes that solution lies just outside your realm of control, and it irks you to no end. And then it becomes an obsession (or maybe that's just me?).
But it gets better. It doesn't feel like it at times. It feels more like you are stuck in a rut and it's never going to get better. But it will.
Choices are and must be made every day. One often looks back on those choices and wonders how things would be different if they just took that other path. But what one doesn't take into account sometimes is that everything would be different. You go back and alter one choice and you end up in a totally different situation. And then, realizing that, one comes to the conclusion that you were meant to choose that path for a reason. What you might now deem as a mistake, ultimately leads to a great joy. A joy which sometimes is overlooked for the simple fact of the desired result of making that other choice.
It's easy to look back on past choices, but a whole other mountain with present choices that need to be made, along with all the possible future outcomes. And it becomes dizzying.
There's something to be said about a worthy sacrifice. For some reason this phrase has been bouncing around my head this week, which is a sure sign that this is brain crack and must get released from my fingertips. It's choosing to forgo going out so you can spend time with your family. It's briefly taking a second job so you can provide better for your family. It could be forgoing, or at least temporarily, your big city dreams in favor of a smaller town life because that's what your family has become accustomed to.
In the past few entries I've talked about my desire to move. I can never fully shake that feeling, especially when I pull up Google Maps and look at all the places I could go. But then I see my sons playing with their cousins. And then I know, that at least for now, rather than think of it being "my fate sealed", that I made the right choice. That regardless of any other feelings of being an outsider looking in, being a stranger in a group that once was so closely knit, effectively being shunned to a point...regardless of all that, I've made the choice for awesome. Or at least it would seem that way, for my kids. And wasn't that what I'd wanted all along?
A worthy sacrifice.
An outsider looking in?
Perceived or otherwise, feeling like an outsider doesn't feel good at all. To belong to a group where everybody seems to be connected to each other, and know, or at least perceive, that you are not included, sucks so bad. It feels like you're living in the shadows of that group. Like you're trying too hard to fit in, and why doesn't he just get the hint that he's not welcome do we have to come out and say it? It may or may not be the case, and in most cases it's not. But sometimes, perception is everything. People will never forget how you made them feel.
Then you shake all that out of your head. Concentrate on the choice, concentrate on the here and now, and forget everything else. Deal with the conflicting feelings as they come in waves, like high tide. Build a levee to control them. Consider your worthy sacrifice.
The trouble is determining whether or not said sacrifice is, in fact, a worthy sacrifice.
I came across that on my Facebook feed and immediately my brain crack receptors went off.
Brain crack? Rather than try to explain it, just watch this video from the Great Ze Frank, who came up with the term.
That particular quote couldn't be more perfectly timed, as I sit here and contemplate my life's story.
Google search defines adversity as "difficulties, misfortunes". I'm not going to sit here and pretend to be the person most affected by adversity. But I will say that adversity takes many forms, wears many different hats and disguises if you will. Many of mine in recent years have been monetarily in form. I've learned lessons, slightly slipped back, but found more gripping as the days progress, however I can look back on where I was two years ago and state with confidence that even though it feels the same, it really is not. It's better.
And it will get better.
I've done my fair share of running, when faced with adversity. But I've also trudged through like a blinding blizzard because I've had no other choice. I've taken easy roads and hard roads, though admittedly my inherent impatience does get the better of me when the latter is involved. It's easy to let happen. You want results, and you want them now. A misfortune befalls you, and you immediately try to think of ways to solve it. Sometimes that solution lies just outside your realm of control, and it irks you to no end. And then it becomes an obsession (or maybe that's just me?).
But it gets better. It doesn't feel like it at times. It feels more like you are stuck in a rut and it's never going to get better. But it will.
Choices are and must be made every day. One often looks back on those choices and wonders how things would be different if they just took that other path. But what one doesn't take into account sometimes is that everything would be different. You go back and alter one choice and you end up in a totally different situation. And then, realizing that, one comes to the conclusion that you were meant to choose that path for a reason. What you might now deem as a mistake, ultimately leads to a great joy. A joy which sometimes is overlooked for the simple fact of the desired result of making that other choice.
It's easy to look back on past choices, but a whole other mountain with present choices that need to be made, along with all the possible future outcomes. And it becomes dizzying.
There's something to be said about a worthy sacrifice. For some reason this phrase has been bouncing around my head this week, which is a sure sign that this is brain crack and must get released from my fingertips. It's choosing to forgo going out so you can spend time with your family. It's briefly taking a second job so you can provide better for your family. It could be forgoing, or at least temporarily, your big city dreams in favor of a smaller town life because that's what your family has become accustomed to.
In the past few entries I've talked about my desire to move. I can never fully shake that feeling, especially when I pull up Google Maps and look at all the places I could go. But then I see my sons playing with their cousins. And then I know, that at least for now, rather than think of it being "my fate sealed", that I made the right choice. That regardless of any other feelings of being an outsider looking in, being a stranger in a group that once was so closely knit, effectively being shunned to a point...regardless of all that, I've made the choice for awesome. Or at least it would seem that way, for my kids. And wasn't that what I'd wanted all along?
A worthy sacrifice.
An outsider looking in?
Perceived or otherwise, feeling like an outsider doesn't feel good at all. To belong to a group where everybody seems to be connected to each other, and know, or at least perceive, that you are not included, sucks so bad. It feels like you're living in the shadows of that group. Like you're trying too hard to fit in, and why doesn't he just get the hint that he's not welcome do we have to come out and say it? It may or may not be the case, and in most cases it's not. But sometimes, perception is everything. People will never forget how you made them feel.
Then you shake all that out of your head. Concentrate on the choice, concentrate on the here and now, and forget everything else. Deal with the conflicting feelings as they come in waves, like high tide. Build a levee to control them. Consider your worthy sacrifice.
The trouble is determining whether or not said sacrifice is, in fact, a worthy sacrifice.
Wednesday, October 12, 2016
The Laugh Track is Extra
Life isn't just a sequence of waiting for things to be done." - Ze Frank
Do you ever get the feeling that you are living in a circus and all of a sudden you are thrust into the role of unwanted ringmaster?
Hi, I'm Eric, and this is my circus.
My car won't start. And when it does...it acts as if it has elected a new pope. And last I checked Pope Francis is still the pontiff.
**For those who do not get that, this is my punneriffic way to say something is majorly wrong with my vehicle. You see, when the pope does and the College of Cardinals convenes to elect a new pope, They indicate said election by releasing white smoke from the Vatican. If they've not, black smoke is produced. Side note over.**
Now then, it doesn't stop there. Yesterday my father's guardian angel made itself known by guarding him from being hit by a semi truck while in his car.
My days have converged into a series of get up, work, work overtime, log off, cook dinner and go to bed, in a series I'd like to see cancelled by Fox. (don't mistake that for suicidal ideation, it's a metaphor, duh guys.)
My life is a sitcom; all that's missing is the laugh track. Or maybe the live studio audience. But I guess, in my case, everyone I interact with is my live studio audience. They're just not gathered collectively as my life situations play out. Going off of my previous post, the phrase from Beauty and the Beast (modified for context) "There must be more than this provisional life" seems to be uttered by my inner voice a few times a day.
Provisional Life. What the F does that mean, I asked myself. A quick Google search defined it as follows: people whose lives are stuck on a dysfunctional merry-go-round of self-inflicted crisis, that everything they don’t like about their lives will change just as soon as something else happens
Hmm.
And now I'm drawn back to the previous post, thinking about Puer Aeternus. My fascination (or borderline obsession, if you will) that moving from this town will magically make everything better. We have a winner. This sounds oddly familiar, the resemblance is striking.
And now I've just had an epiphany. I was writing that during my lunch. Back story, the past few months we'll say, I've been taking stock of what my true passion in life is. I've done some research, as I've briefly referenced in previous posts, and one of the things I've stumbled upon are the following questions:
1 - What makes you lose track of time?
2 - What do you spend money to do?
3 - Where do you fear judgment?
4 - What makes your heart race?
I've discovered one thing that can answer all four of these questions. WRITING. I almost forgot to come back from lunch and punch back in after my half hour, time just flew while I was writing, and the words just keep coming off my fingertips. I may not be able to do it at present but I've been toying around with the idea of self-hosting my blog/writings. I do fear judgment on my writings, because I don't really take criticism well. And when I write what I feel is a really good post, my heart does race as I wait to see how many people it will reach.
Side Note - I'm thinking of drawing up a character I'll use in a forthcoming story. All I will say is he has a man-bun. And people call him Man Bun because his name isn't worth remembering, mainly because I haven't thought of his name yet. But I do wonder if I can pull off a man bun myself...but then I remember I'm balding. Moreover, I have a growing bald spot on the back of my head from where I used to (don't judge me) consciously pull my hair out as a kid. Side Side Note, The diagnosis of childhood psychosis is starting to make more sense...
So, as if it never existed before and I'm just discovering it now, the world is not flat. No, no, that's not it. I've found (at least one of) my true passion(s): writing. It was there all along, I haven't sat down to actually write anything in a while, but rather than feel guilty about it (as I read in another Google Search of "how to start writing again after a long break"), I will resolve (wait is this New Years?) to start writing again.
You'll notice that I've allowed my inner voice some commentary throughout this post. That actually gives me a rush too in thinking of when I will post this. My inner voice has a dad-jokes sense of humor, which is why I feel like I will be (or, am...) that classic dad jokes guy.
Monday, October 10, 2016
Asphalt Bars
I will be the first person to say I don't know the inner workings of depression, how it operates or what brings about episodes. I will also say that I would love to be privy to such information.
I'm not saying that I believe I am going through an episode at present. I'm not even saying that right now I am currently depressed. The term I think is most applicable in my case at immediate present, I would say, is restless.
It amazes me that a little over a month ago I could make a post called The Choice For Awesome and now find myself saying I feel restless. And not in a good way, either.
Okay let me back up a bit. The aforementioned post, admittedly, was a little overzealous. I did do a vlog, on September 12. Due to circumstances beyond my control, including but not limited to an eardrum-rupturing ear infection, I was unable to continue. Don't get me wrong, I still have that taste for awesome as I so vividly displayed back then. I may just need a little redirection of sorts.
Let me back up a bit further. Ever since I moved to this city from suburban Milwaukee exactly 21 years ago this month (October 1st to be exact), I've hated it. Speaking in the hyperbolic sense, there's nothing more I'd love than to move, to a bigger city, to a different state, maybe even to another country altogether. Just. Out. Of. Here.
Several factors are preventing such a move, even in the slightest degree of moving to a neighboring biggish city, as I discovered last year. Some are inside my control, but most are out of my control. In addition, one of the biggest things that is in my control, even when I accomplish it, might not have a huge difference in the municipality of which I reside.
Yes, this city is a prison of sorts, especially taking into account that it is "walled off", if you will, by a freeway and a freeway-wannabe, the access control points of which are becoming decreasingly hard to cross. But then I stop and think how much different things would have been, say had I done what I wanted to do post-high school. Differently, not in a good way either. As much as I felt (and sometimes still feel) like George Bailey, it needed to happen this way. And sometimes I forget that.
And that's when it hit me.
Save for one paragraph above, everything I wrote in this post was written about a week ago, before I had an epiphany of sorts, this morning. I wasn't ready to post this post yet, partially due to the fact that my routine has not permitted...no, but this restlessness I am feeling, has an origin.
Enter puer aeternus.
I've just become privy to information about this, and would not even describe myself as marginally knowledgeable about it, but what I did glean from it has gotten me thinking.
I think there's a difference between "being a kid at heart" and "never wanting to grow up", as the puer aeternus would state. It might be a fine line, but there's a difference. I think my biggest problem is as of late, I have fallen into the trap of "waiting for my ship to come in", so to speak. I've lost a certain amount of joy, but yet I am not per se depressed. Not that the loss of a certain fraction of joy doesn't bother me, but it is nowhere near the episode I experienced before.
I googled something to the effect of "finding joy again", and one of the things I found that was rather noteworthy instructed me to think back to the Halcyon Days of when I was 7-8, and what I enjoyed doing back then. It took some coaxing, and didn't come to me right away.
I derive joy in puzzles. Sudoku, crosswords, piecing together the puzzles of family history. I derive joy in just looking at maps. The new year's edition of Rand McNally's Road Atlas was always on my must-have list. As a result and with the help of Google Maps at times, I consider myself a person with a great sense of direction, something I generally take for granted until I come across someone who does not have said quality and asks directions to get somewhere (Mom and Alex, I'm looking at you). I derived joy in playing pretend. I derived joy in creating, even if it was just making Lego Towers in Lego Cities, or buildings and train stations out of empty cigarette packs while my dad was building the real deal in the basement. (In retrospect, admittedly a 7 year old should not be trusted with a soldering iron, as much as I wanted to build things myself)
I derive joy in writing, in using big words correctly (but not often enough to be considered pretentious). I derive joy in research, as I've already mentioned genealogy. But other things, too. Looking at Google Maps, seeing the borders of any given city, the population trends of said city...but then just when I start to think that that city would be a great place to live in, the pangs of being stuck here come back.
It's stupid, I know. But as I say, these are the things that thrust themselves into my mind every day.
I want change, yet am scared of it sometimes. When I want things to stay the same, they change, and when I want them to change, they stay the same.
I must learn to create my joy in the restlessness, in the "puer aeternus" if you will. I cannot keep standing on the dock waiting for my ship to come in. I've got to get to the shipyard and build a dinghy myself.
Yes, I chose dinghy because I like the sound of that word, not because I never want to grow up. I'm not asking for a luxury cruise liner here, a freakin' raft will do.
I don't know if my grandpa ever felt "stuck" in Milwaukee, but I do know if he did, it took north of 70 years for him to get out. And here I am just north of 20 complaining. The problem I have here, is that there's just so much to be seen and experienced beyond the asphalt walls of this town. So many other places that may be a better fit for me and my family. And maybe that opportunity will open up, but I have to let it open up when it's ready. I can't create it myself. I might as well be waiting in New York City in 1912 for the Titanic to dock.
But what I can do, is create joy in the here and now. And that is my assignment.
It amazes me that a little over a month ago I could make a post called The Choice For Awesome and now find myself saying I feel restless. And not in a good way, either.
Okay let me back up a bit. The aforementioned post, admittedly, was a little overzealous. I did do a vlog, on September 12. Due to circumstances beyond my control, including but not limited to an eardrum-rupturing ear infection, I was unable to continue. Don't get me wrong, I still have that taste for awesome as I so vividly displayed back then. I may just need a little redirection of sorts.
Let me back up a bit further. Ever since I moved to this city from suburban Milwaukee exactly 21 years ago this month (October 1st to be exact), I've hated it. Speaking in the hyperbolic sense, there's nothing more I'd love than to move, to a bigger city, to a different state, maybe even to another country altogether. Just. Out. Of. Here.
Several factors are preventing such a move, even in the slightest degree of moving to a neighboring biggish city, as I discovered last year. Some are inside my control, but most are out of my control. In addition, one of the biggest things that is in my control, even when I accomplish it, might not have a huge difference in the municipality of which I reside.
Yes, this city is a prison of sorts, especially taking into account that it is "walled off", if you will, by a freeway and a freeway-wannabe, the access control points of which are becoming decreasingly hard to cross. But then I stop and think how much different things would have been, say had I done what I wanted to do post-high school. Differently, not in a good way either. As much as I felt (and sometimes still feel) like George Bailey, it needed to happen this way. And sometimes I forget that.
And that's when it hit me.
Save for one paragraph above, everything I wrote in this post was written about a week ago, before I had an epiphany of sorts, this morning. I wasn't ready to post this post yet, partially due to the fact that my routine has not permitted...no, but this restlessness I am feeling, has an origin.
Enter puer aeternus.
I've just become privy to information about this, and would not even describe myself as marginally knowledgeable about it, but what I did glean from it has gotten me thinking.
I think there's a difference between "being a kid at heart" and "never wanting to grow up", as the puer aeternus would state. It might be a fine line, but there's a difference. I think my biggest problem is as of late, I have fallen into the trap of "waiting for my ship to come in", so to speak. I've lost a certain amount of joy, but yet I am not per se depressed. Not that the loss of a certain fraction of joy doesn't bother me, but it is nowhere near the episode I experienced before.
I googled something to the effect of "finding joy again", and one of the things I found that was rather noteworthy instructed me to think back to the Halcyon Days of when I was 7-8, and what I enjoyed doing back then. It took some coaxing, and didn't come to me right away.
I derive joy in puzzles. Sudoku, crosswords, piecing together the puzzles of family history. I derive joy in just looking at maps. The new year's edition of Rand McNally's Road Atlas was always on my must-have list. As a result and with the help of Google Maps at times, I consider myself a person with a great sense of direction, something I generally take for granted until I come across someone who does not have said quality and asks directions to get somewhere (Mom and Alex, I'm looking at you). I derived joy in playing pretend. I derived joy in creating, even if it was just making Lego Towers in Lego Cities, or buildings and train stations out of empty cigarette packs while my dad was building the real deal in the basement. (In retrospect, admittedly a 7 year old should not be trusted with a soldering iron, as much as I wanted to build things myself)
I derive joy in writing, in using big words correctly (but not often enough to be considered pretentious). I derive joy in research, as I've already mentioned genealogy. But other things, too. Looking at Google Maps, seeing the borders of any given city, the population trends of said city...but then just when I start to think that that city would be a great place to live in, the pangs of being stuck here come back.
It's stupid, I know. But as I say, these are the things that thrust themselves into my mind every day.
I want change, yet am scared of it sometimes. When I want things to stay the same, they change, and when I want them to change, they stay the same.
I must learn to create my joy in the restlessness, in the "puer aeternus" if you will. I cannot keep standing on the dock waiting for my ship to come in. I've got to get to the shipyard and build a dinghy myself.
Yes, I chose dinghy because I like the sound of that word, not because I never want to grow up. I'm not asking for a luxury cruise liner here, a freakin' raft will do.
I don't know if my grandpa ever felt "stuck" in Milwaukee, but I do know if he did, it took north of 70 years for him to get out. And here I am just north of 20 complaining. The problem I have here, is that there's just so much to be seen and experienced beyond the asphalt walls of this town. So many other places that may be a better fit for me and my family. And maybe that opportunity will open up, but I have to let it open up when it's ready. I can't create it myself. I might as well be waiting in New York City in 1912 for the Titanic to dock.
But what I can do, is create joy in the here and now. And that is my assignment.
Sunday, July 17, 2016
In Which I Take Stock of my Monkeys
Something happened almost two weeks ago. Due to the potential audience of my blog posts, suffice it to say that this event caused me to take a step back and take stock in my current "situation" and "position", as the words "undisclosed" and "no transfers" got tossed around. Bob Cratchit was threatened with this after he vocally subscribed with Scrooge's nephew Fred regarding Christmas. I think that's eloquent enough...
I must admit, I've sort of grown comfortable in my current position. I finally have a supervisor who I like and appreciates me for my work, I've been given the permission to work from home and love every minute of it, but the volatility of the industry has me wondering. For one thing, it has me wondering "What next?" Not as someone going through constant trials and then having another trial come upon them and shaking their fists heavenward and shouting "what next", but as in career-wise, what is the next step?
Currently I am pursuing and am halfway to attaining, an AA in General Studies with a Concentration in Business. After that I will be following that up with a BA in I-Don't-Know-Yet. But I haven't looked at the market in a while, so to speak. However, that would mean giving up the chance to get these degrees - at least, the chance to get them at no cost to me.
Taking stock of the situation, taking stock of my position, taking stock of my...location. What if some awesome job opportunity presented itself in, say, Oregon? Well for one, I would never know because I haven't been out there looking, but I hear that Oregon is one of the 10 states where the job market is exploding. Am I really so tied to Wisconsin? Who knows...that BA is a ways off yet, thinking 2-4 years away. And we just went through the whole moving fiasco...only to find ourselves right back in the city we were intending to leave a year ago...
It once again makes me go back and "dust off history" (consider further my last post, In Which History Gets Dusted Off). That post I focused on Paulina, who traversed the Eastern United States in an effort to find her sister, Anna. Whereupon finding her, stayed with her and lived with her and her husband and family until meeting my great great grandpa, Frank. Now I think of Frank's side of the story. While I don't know the schematics of it all, Frank came here to avoid being forced back into the Austrian Army due to lack of Draft Card, which I'm sure being forced back into the Army was the least of the potential punishment...but that's neither here nor there. The fact is, sometime around 1901 he came here. Landed I'm sure in New York City where Paulina found herself just a year previous, and as a hard-working, (probably) liberal-minded (The Google tells me through Wikipedia that typically, Austrian immigrants as well as Polish were of the liberal persuasion) 30-something single Catholic, I can only assume traversed the country as well just trying to attain a job to sustain himself.
History has shown me that my individual family roots had come to this country (excluding perhaps the English Colonial ancestors) due to either religious persecution or a better opportunity to escape the constant war and strife of the European scene at the time...almost reminiscent to today's America, but that's another blog post. I seem to be developing a theme of "Piecing Together History", as it were.
Anyhoobastank (credit to Wheezy Waiter for introducing that word into my life, seriously check out his channel it's amazeballs) it makes me wonder, not to sound like Adam Levine, what it was that brought Frank ultimately to Iron Mountain, Michigan. And even more than that, what took him in such a short time from Iron Mountain all the way to Milwaukee, Wisconsin? Nowadays that's about like an 8 hour trip, I can imagine it taking probably thrice as long in the early 1900s. Was it the influx of German and German-esque immigrants to the Milwaukee area? Although Chicago would have sufficed as well...what was it that took them precisely to Milwaukee?
So now, four generations later, I find myself in similar shoes, so to speak. No, I'm not contemplating fleeing the US Army (they wouldn't take me even if I wanted them to), but I find myself a hardworking, liberal (sorta)-minded 30-something Catholic wannabe (albeit married with children), asking myself is my current city the best location and is my current position the best position for me to have at this very moment in time?
The answer remains to be seen. As the scientists put it, "Further research is needed." The job market in Wisconsin is stagnant at best. Like Frank, however, I have family here, although his was admittedly possibly smaller than mine is at present, he had family that he left in Michigan to remove down to Milwaukee. It was for a job that my father removed us from Milwaukee to my current city. Is the perfect well-paying job just waiting for me in some place like Bend, Oregon (had to say that just for the name), and I'm too focused on what I'm doing now to catch it? Could it be that there's life outside of Wisconsin? Those last two statements are facetious but you get my drift.
As to the monkeys referenced in the title, it is too soon to discuss one of them; suffice it to say I took one important step to remove it from my back. Tomorrow the recipients should receive their correspondence and responses may or may not come. But the ball is officially out of my court, not that it was even ever in my court to begin with...but were it kicked over there, I've returned it back to the opposing side. The Collective Soul album title "Hints, Allegations and Things Left Unsaid" comes to mind. I took care of those, and await the results. Albeit not one of my monkeys, I've also begun writing letters to my grandfather, because it dawned on me that I cannot get down to where he lives (a little over an hour away) as frequently as I'd like to, and even when I do, I can't fill him in on everything going on in our lives, because so many other people are doing so. As he is not online, I've done the next best thing (and some would argue, including myself, an even better thing): written correspondence. Summation - there is something to be said about a hand-written letter.
The other monkeys are my vehicles. Let me preface by saying being in an upside down car loan sucks. However, being that the Teacher has allowed us to climb further out of a debt hole by utilizing it, I can only see it as being a friendly if not annoying monkey on my back, not one that is doing me harm. And while climbing out of a debt hole using more debt doesn't seem to make logical sense, it's more of a consolidation thing than it is a debt thing. That being said, it still sucks. Especially when the vehicles now need more work in them than they are worth. It will take some thrusting to get these monkeys off our backs,
Time - on its resume, it would have to include professional healer of wounds, single entity in which futures and fortunes are told, and flight extraordinaire (at someone else's fun expense).
I must admit, I've sort of grown comfortable in my current position. I finally have a supervisor who I like and appreciates me for my work, I've been given the permission to work from home and love every minute of it, but the volatility of the industry has me wondering. For one thing, it has me wondering "What next?" Not as someone going through constant trials and then having another trial come upon them and shaking their fists heavenward and shouting "what next", but as in career-wise, what is the next step?
Currently I am pursuing and am halfway to attaining, an AA in General Studies with a Concentration in Business. After that I will be following that up with a BA in I-Don't-Know-Yet. But I haven't looked at the market in a while, so to speak. However, that would mean giving up the chance to get these degrees - at least, the chance to get them at no cost to me.
Taking stock of the situation, taking stock of my position, taking stock of my...location. What if some awesome job opportunity presented itself in, say, Oregon? Well for one, I would never know because I haven't been out there looking, but I hear that Oregon is one of the 10 states where the job market is exploding. Am I really so tied to Wisconsin? Who knows...that BA is a ways off yet, thinking 2-4 years away. And we just went through the whole moving fiasco...only to find ourselves right back in the city we were intending to leave a year ago...
It once again makes me go back and "dust off history" (consider further my last post, In Which History Gets Dusted Off). That post I focused on Paulina, who traversed the Eastern United States in an effort to find her sister, Anna. Whereupon finding her, stayed with her and lived with her and her husband and family until meeting my great great grandpa, Frank. Now I think of Frank's side of the story. While I don't know the schematics of it all, Frank came here to avoid being forced back into the Austrian Army due to lack of Draft Card, which I'm sure being forced back into the Army was the least of the potential punishment...but that's neither here nor there. The fact is, sometime around 1901 he came here. Landed I'm sure in New York City where Paulina found herself just a year previous, and as a hard-working, (probably) liberal-minded (The Google tells me through Wikipedia that typically, Austrian immigrants as well as Polish were of the liberal persuasion) 30-something single Catholic, I can only assume traversed the country as well just trying to attain a job to sustain himself.
History has shown me that my individual family roots had come to this country (excluding perhaps the English Colonial ancestors) due to either religious persecution or a better opportunity to escape the constant war and strife of the European scene at the time...almost reminiscent to today's America, but that's another blog post. I seem to be developing a theme of "Piecing Together History", as it were.
Anyhoobastank (credit to Wheezy Waiter for introducing that word into my life, seriously check out his channel it's amazeballs) it makes me wonder, not to sound like Adam Levine, what it was that brought Frank ultimately to Iron Mountain, Michigan. And even more than that, what took him in such a short time from Iron Mountain all the way to Milwaukee, Wisconsin? Nowadays that's about like an 8 hour trip, I can imagine it taking probably thrice as long in the early 1900s. Was it the influx of German and German-esque immigrants to the Milwaukee area? Although Chicago would have sufficed as well...what was it that took them precisely to Milwaukee?
So now, four generations later, I find myself in similar shoes, so to speak. No, I'm not contemplating fleeing the US Army (they wouldn't take me even if I wanted them to), but I find myself a hardworking, liberal (sorta)-minded 30-something Catholic wannabe (albeit married with children), asking myself is my current city the best location and is my current position the best position for me to have at this very moment in time?
The answer remains to be seen. As the scientists put it, "Further research is needed." The job market in Wisconsin is stagnant at best. Like Frank, however, I have family here, although his was admittedly possibly smaller than mine is at present, he had family that he left in Michigan to remove down to Milwaukee. It was for a job that my father removed us from Milwaukee to my current city. Is the perfect well-paying job just waiting for me in some place like Bend, Oregon (had to say that just for the name), and I'm too focused on what I'm doing now to catch it? Could it be that there's life outside of Wisconsin? Those last two statements are facetious but you get my drift.
As to the monkeys referenced in the title, it is too soon to discuss one of them; suffice it to say I took one important step to remove it from my back. Tomorrow the recipients should receive their correspondence and responses may or may not come. But the ball is officially out of my court, not that it was even ever in my court to begin with...but were it kicked over there, I've returned it back to the opposing side. The Collective Soul album title "Hints, Allegations and Things Left Unsaid" comes to mind. I took care of those, and await the results. Albeit not one of my monkeys, I've also begun writing letters to my grandfather, because it dawned on me that I cannot get down to where he lives (a little over an hour away) as frequently as I'd like to, and even when I do, I can't fill him in on everything going on in our lives, because so many other people are doing so. As he is not online, I've done the next best thing (and some would argue, including myself, an even better thing): written correspondence. Summation - there is something to be said about a hand-written letter.
The other monkeys are my vehicles. Let me preface by saying being in an upside down car loan sucks. However, being that the Teacher has allowed us to climb further out of a debt hole by utilizing it, I can only see it as being a friendly if not annoying monkey on my back, not one that is doing me harm. And while climbing out of a debt hole using more debt doesn't seem to make logical sense, it's more of a consolidation thing than it is a debt thing. That being said, it still sucks. Especially when the vehicles now need more work in them than they are worth. It will take some thrusting to get these monkeys off our backs,
Time - on its resume, it would have to include professional healer of wounds, single entity in which futures and fortunes are told, and flight extraordinaire (at someone else's fun expense).
Friday, July 8, 2016
In Which History Gets Dusted Off
Every once in a while, usually once or twice a year, the Genealogy Bug strikes me. Part and Parcel with my myriad of psychological issues is that I will obsess over something for a few hours, days, sometimes up to a couple weeks, before moving onto the next obsession. It's fun, you should be jealous. If I have to have OCD, I'm glad to have it paired up with ADD so I can obsess about a new thing each day...or week, as it were.
Anyhoobastank...so in retrospect, I feel like I have discussed this before, I'm not sure when. A quick search of my blog tells me it was the entry Without Shoes and Without Regard, in which I discussed grieving and the loss of my Grandma. You can read that entry here. That's right, I get real time up in this.
I've learned a lot from my family's history, if even some of that was contrived by my own at times hyperbolic fashion. (I may or may not have just clarified for myself today what the word hyperbole means and wanted to use it in a sentence)
Starting with my Great-Great Grandmother, the Matriarch of the Family, as it were. The stories throughout the family that I've heard, I mean, I can't decide which one I like better between my Great-Great Grandparents, who were the originators of my family in America, more specifically, Upper Michigan at first (before settling in Milwaukee, my hometown). Here is what is known as fact, with only little assumptions made (the hyperbole comes in later): Frank was in the Austrian Army in say the 1880s-1890s. The story goes, you had to have your draft card renewed, or certified, or updated every year. He lived in a small town in far southern Austria...basically a Sound of Music hike across the Alps from Slovenia...but at that time was probably part of the Tyrannosaurus Austria-Hungary Empire Rex...but I digress...and the bigger city of the area was likely Klagenfurt, or Villach, one of the two. Anyhoobastank, Frank's employer said that he would take his draft card to get certified and then bring it back to him. En route either there or back, Frank's employer lost his draft card. If you were caught in Austria at that time without your draft card, so I understand it, you were thrown back into the Austrian Army. Which apparently was the last thing Frank wanted, because he hopped a boat for America. I do not know where he landed, or even what he did from the time he made landfall, if you will, in 1901 to when he married Pauline (more on her in a moment), in 1903 in Iron Mountain, Michigan.
Pauline, on the other hand, was presumably 17 when she "made landfall" in New York City in 1900. According to my grandfather, there was a rumor (or otherwise unconfirmed story that perhaps itself might have been hyperbolic) that Pauline's father....well, wait. Let me back up a second and say what I know. Pauline's father was a traveling salesman, and he had another daughter two years Pauline's senior, who was already in America. Whether or not they knew where, I do not know. I assume based on what I'm about to say, that they did know that Anna was in Iron Mountain, Michigan. Here's the possible hyperbole: while it is true that John, the father, was a traveling salesman, what I am assuming here is his wife, Pauline's mother, died in childbirth. What I know is that she died and John was to raise Pauline as a single father in 1880s Austria-Hungary, as a traveling salesman. The rumor was he was going to drown her in the river. Nobody knows if that is true, but regardless, at the tender age of 17 she boarded a boat in Le Havre, France, headed for New York City, where she arrived on the scene in March of 1900. Census records taken in June of 1900 do not place her anywhere, and I do not know of her whereabouts at that time but picture if you will: you are 17, in a strange land, not knowing the language but knowing that somewhere in this expansive country (wherever Iron Mountain, Michigan is), waits your sister. The only one who knows you. Your mission is to find your sister, and given the sad shape of roads in the early 1900s, I can definitely see how it would take multiple months to traverse the Eastern half of this country to find your sister, deep in the coal or iron ore mines of the Northwoods of Michigan.
I think you can see where I embellish the story just a tad...but still totally plausible.
Fast forward 40 years. My grandparents are born, all growing up in the time of the Great Depression. One grandparent is living in a multi-family home, where many of the apartments are inhabited by members of her family, a large...and I mean Polish Catholic Large...family on the East Side of Milwaukee. One grandparent was born into a family who, at the time of the 1940 Census, was at least 1 year out of a job and was working for the WPA. There's where I'm concentrating now. My Great Grandma had to make do with a little to serve her family...and she taught my Grandma a lot, so I've come to understand, when she married my Grandpa. I even remember toys she'd make for me, 40 years after the Depression, made out of old wooden thread spools strung together, and rattles out of two detergent caps twisted together. She was a very resourceful lady.
There is a theory that states that some memories can be transmitted through DNA. I would subscribe to this theory, as especially from the period of time of 2013 to early 2015, I had to do just that...or at least a modern version of just that. One pot meals were basically a staple. Buttered noodles were a commonplace dinner. But we never went hungry, and we were never without the necessities. We just made do with what we had.
On the other side of the spectrum, I had a grandparent who lived with her parents and brother, who lived with the grandparents on her mom's side - something that hits home.
As I've learned in school doing some economics projects, is that the economy is cyclical. Maybe that gives credence to the "history repeats itself" mantra. It may not have obviously hit in my parents' generation, and maybe not in my generation, but for my kids' generation we have the Great Recession of 2008, and while it was in no way as bad as the Great Depression was, it still was a big economic downturn. But we survived. Just like our grandparents.
If I've learned anything from this economic downturn it is that frugality can save your family from the brink. You may have to make some unconventional decisions, decisions that other people will look at you like you're mad, but in the end - and this is the important part - with faith in God, you can trust that He will surely guide the way.
That's not to say I had perfect faith throughout this trial, or anything that would even resemble something saint-worthy. There were plenty of times that I wanted to (and sort of did) throw my hands up in the air (and not wave them around like I just didn't care) and ask the Teacher why this wasn't on the test, why such a lofty exam, like this seemed like final exams 2 weeks into the term. I knew (and still know) that He doesn't give us more than we can handle, but it truly seemed to be too much, and that's all I will say about that. Yet even through all that, the Teacher showed me just how much He is in control, and he took me on an amazing journey of faith in the process, something I will talk about in a future post.
The Teacher is always silent during a test...
However I feel like this may have been an open-book test, in that I had and still have, history to draw off of. The lessons of my forefathers, be it learned or transmitted somehow, find themselves in the passenger seat...wait okay that is a bad reference, because I was going to say waiting for my perusal, but it is not safe to read and drive. But I think you get the point.
Anyhoobastank...so in retrospect, I feel like I have discussed this before, I'm not sure when. A quick search of my blog tells me it was the entry Without Shoes and Without Regard, in which I discussed grieving and the loss of my Grandma. You can read that entry here. That's right, I get real time up in this.
I've learned a lot from my family's history, if even some of that was contrived by my own at times hyperbolic fashion. (I may or may not have just clarified for myself today what the word hyperbole means and wanted to use it in a sentence)
Starting with my Great-Great Grandmother, the Matriarch of the Family, as it were. The stories throughout the family that I've heard, I mean, I can't decide which one I like better between my Great-Great Grandparents, who were the originators of my family in America, more specifically, Upper Michigan at first (before settling in Milwaukee, my hometown). Here is what is known as fact, with only little assumptions made (the hyperbole comes in later): Frank was in the Austrian Army in say the 1880s-1890s. The story goes, you had to have your draft card renewed, or certified, or updated every year. He lived in a small town in far southern Austria...basically a Sound of Music hike across the Alps from Slovenia...but at that time was probably part of the Tyrannosaurus Austria-Hungary Empire Rex...but I digress...and the bigger city of the area was likely Klagenfurt, or Villach, one of the two. Anyhoobastank, Frank's employer said that he would take his draft card to get certified and then bring it back to him. En route either there or back, Frank's employer lost his draft card. If you were caught in Austria at that time without your draft card, so I understand it, you were thrown back into the Austrian Army. Which apparently was the last thing Frank wanted, because he hopped a boat for America. I do not know where he landed, or even what he did from the time he made landfall, if you will, in 1901 to when he married Pauline (more on her in a moment), in 1903 in Iron Mountain, Michigan.
Pauline, on the other hand, was presumably 17 when she "made landfall" in New York City in 1900. According to my grandfather, there was a rumor (or otherwise unconfirmed story that perhaps itself might have been hyperbolic) that Pauline's father....well, wait. Let me back up a second and say what I know. Pauline's father was a traveling salesman, and he had another daughter two years Pauline's senior, who was already in America. Whether or not they knew where, I do not know. I assume based on what I'm about to say, that they did know that Anna was in Iron Mountain, Michigan. Here's the possible hyperbole: while it is true that John, the father, was a traveling salesman, what I am assuming here is his wife, Pauline's mother, died in childbirth. What I know is that she died and John was to raise Pauline as a single father in 1880s Austria-Hungary, as a traveling salesman. The rumor was he was going to drown her in the river. Nobody knows if that is true, but regardless, at the tender age of 17 she boarded a boat in Le Havre, France, headed for New York City, where she arrived on the scene in March of 1900. Census records taken in June of 1900 do not place her anywhere, and I do not know of her whereabouts at that time but picture if you will: you are 17, in a strange land, not knowing the language but knowing that somewhere in this expansive country (wherever Iron Mountain, Michigan is), waits your sister. The only one who knows you. Your mission is to find your sister, and given the sad shape of roads in the early 1900s, I can definitely see how it would take multiple months to traverse the Eastern half of this country to find your sister, deep in the coal or iron ore mines of the Northwoods of Michigan.
I think you can see where I embellish the story just a tad...but still totally plausible.
Fast forward 40 years. My grandparents are born, all growing up in the time of the Great Depression. One grandparent is living in a multi-family home, where many of the apartments are inhabited by members of her family, a large...and I mean Polish Catholic Large...family on the East Side of Milwaukee. One grandparent was born into a family who, at the time of the 1940 Census, was at least 1 year out of a job and was working for the WPA. There's where I'm concentrating now. My Great Grandma had to make do with a little to serve her family...and she taught my Grandma a lot, so I've come to understand, when she married my Grandpa. I even remember toys she'd make for me, 40 years after the Depression, made out of old wooden thread spools strung together, and rattles out of two detergent caps twisted together. She was a very resourceful lady.
There is a theory that states that some memories can be transmitted through DNA. I would subscribe to this theory, as especially from the period of time of 2013 to early 2015, I had to do just that...or at least a modern version of just that. One pot meals were basically a staple. Buttered noodles were a commonplace dinner. But we never went hungry, and we were never without the necessities. We just made do with what we had.
On the other side of the spectrum, I had a grandparent who lived with her parents and brother, who lived with the grandparents on her mom's side - something that hits home.
As I've learned in school doing some economics projects, is that the economy is cyclical. Maybe that gives credence to the "history repeats itself" mantra. It may not have obviously hit in my parents' generation, and maybe not in my generation, but for my kids' generation we have the Great Recession of 2008, and while it was in no way as bad as the Great Depression was, it still was a big economic downturn. But we survived. Just like our grandparents.
If I've learned anything from this economic downturn it is that frugality can save your family from the brink. You may have to make some unconventional decisions, decisions that other people will look at you like you're mad, but in the end - and this is the important part - with faith in God, you can trust that He will surely guide the way.
That's not to say I had perfect faith throughout this trial, or anything that would even resemble something saint-worthy. There were plenty of times that I wanted to (and sort of did) throw my hands up in the air (and not wave them around like I just didn't care) and ask the Teacher why this wasn't on the test, why such a lofty exam, like this seemed like final exams 2 weeks into the term. I knew (and still know) that He doesn't give us more than we can handle, but it truly seemed to be too much, and that's all I will say about that. Yet even through all that, the Teacher showed me just how much He is in control, and he took me on an amazing journey of faith in the process, something I will talk about in a future post.
The Teacher is always silent during a test...
However I feel like this may have been an open-book test, in that I had and still have, history to draw off of. The lessons of my forefathers, be it learned or transmitted somehow, find themselves in the passenger seat...wait okay that is a bad reference, because I was going to say waiting for my perusal, but it is not safe to read and drive. But I think you get the point.
Sunday, July 3, 2016
The Shortness of Life - Thoughts From Park Falls, WI
In true vlogbrothers fashion, I am plugging in to write a post from Park Falls. I may end up finishing it at home, due to service on my cell not to mention battery life.
Everyone and I mean everyone needs recreation. A great theologian Taylor Marshall outlines how to go on vacation and truly re-create, or rather, BE re-created. It doesn't matter how or where you do it, I am just by nature (and perhaps transmitted memories via DNA) attracted to the Northwoods of Wisconsin. My family hails from Iron Mountain. Anyboobastank, it used to be that I was sort of biased towards Minocqua and Lac du Flambeau, as far north as Mercer. But there is something to be said about the Northwoods as a whole. Park Falls is about a half hour 45 minutes to the west of Lac du Flambeau.
In the years since I've met my wife and had begun coming to Park Falls over the Fourth of July, I've come to see that everything north of US Highway 8 in Wisconsin is considered Up North, and there's treasure to be had and recreation to be had everywhere. I used to want to own property in the Minocqua-Lac du Flambeau area but now...anywhere will do. Just property. Then a camper. And we can drive the camper and park it on the property and camp for a weekend. Just get away.
Life is short. Too often we say "some day". And then we get older and those "Some days" turn into "I wish". I will not be a victim to that kind of guilt. Cancer has been spreading like wildfire amongst my family and friends lately, and I myself am getting some suspicious moles looked at. Can't really afford it, based on my awesome insurance "coverage" (sarcasm intended), and I still keep second guessing myself if I'm (to make a pun here) making a mountain out of a molehill...but with my luck I'll let it go and it'll be something. I'm already prepared to go in there and find out it's nothing. But what if...what if I woke up tomorrow and had cancer of the something else?
That's why while we're up here I'm doing the most I can with my kids, and myself. I just got back from kayaking across the lake in a fashion hat would make my cousin who works with a rowing team proud. I've taken numerous trips out on the kayak and paddleboat with the kids even if it's just out to the bay and back. You just never know if this will be your last time.
I got so close to a loon. Like within a two kayak distance. I probably scared the living crap out of it, as it started doing its wailing call and getting up and flapping its wings. Those of you who know me, know that I have a strong affinity for the Common Loon. Aside from being a self-professed loon (although not of the avian kind), I have the bird tattooed to my right forearm. It is my number one favorite bird, next to cardinals and red winged blackbirds.
Nelson Mandela said "There is nothing like returning to a place that remains unchanged to find the ways in which you yourself have altered." Next year, there might...no strike that, there will be some alterations, one way or another (I'm gonna find you I'm gonna getcha getcha getcha getcha). No but seriously, I say that every year I come to the Northwoods.
I think the first thing to get should be a camper. Camper first, then the property. Anywhere north of highway 8 is good for me!
And wouldn't you know it, I put sunscreen on and my shoulders still got burned.
Everyone and I mean everyone needs recreation. A great theologian Taylor Marshall outlines how to go on vacation and truly re-create, or rather, BE re-created. It doesn't matter how or where you do it, I am just by nature (and perhaps transmitted memories via DNA) attracted to the Northwoods of Wisconsin. My family hails from Iron Mountain. Anyboobastank, it used to be that I was sort of biased towards Minocqua and Lac du Flambeau, as far north as Mercer. But there is something to be said about the Northwoods as a whole. Park Falls is about a half hour 45 minutes to the west of Lac du Flambeau.
In the years since I've met my wife and had begun coming to Park Falls over the Fourth of July, I've come to see that everything north of US Highway 8 in Wisconsin is considered Up North, and there's treasure to be had and recreation to be had everywhere. I used to want to own property in the Minocqua-Lac du Flambeau area but now...anywhere will do. Just property. Then a camper. And we can drive the camper and park it on the property and camp for a weekend. Just get away.
Life is short. Too often we say "some day". And then we get older and those "Some days" turn into "I wish". I will not be a victim to that kind of guilt. Cancer has been spreading like wildfire amongst my family and friends lately, and I myself am getting some suspicious moles looked at. Can't really afford it, based on my awesome insurance "coverage" (sarcasm intended), and I still keep second guessing myself if I'm (to make a pun here) making a mountain out of a molehill...but with my luck I'll let it go and it'll be something. I'm already prepared to go in there and find out it's nothing. But what if...what if I woke up tomorrow and had cancer of the something else?
That's why while we're up here I'm doing the most I can with my kids, and myself. I just got back from kayaking across the lake in a fashion hat would make my cousin who works with a rowing team proud. I've taken numerous trips out on the kayak and paddleboat with the kids even if it's just out to the bay and back. You just never know if this will be your last time.
I got so close to a loon. Like within a two kayak distance. I probably scared the living crap out of it, as it started doing its wailing call and getting up and flapping its wings. Those of you who know me, know that I have a strong affinity for the Common Loon. Aside from being a self-professed loon (although not of the avian kind), I have the bird tattooed to my right forearm. It is my number one favorite bird, next to cardinals and red winged blackbirds.
Nelson Mandela said "There is nothing like returning to a place that remains unchanged to find the ways in which you yourself have altered." Next year, there might...no strike that, there will be some alterations, one way or another (I'm gonna find you I'm gonna getcha getcha getcha getcha). No but seriously, I say that every year I come to the Northwoods.
I think the first thing to get should be a camper. Camper first, then the property. Anywhere north of highway 8 is good for me!
And wouldn't you know it, I put sunscreen on and my shoulders still got burned.
Monday, June 27, 2016
A Lesson From a Mourning Dove
This morning, I sat on my back stoop during my morning ritual, during which a mourning dove (after scaring the shit out of my wife and I after taking off from the side of the house right over the door we just exited) kept flying all around the backyard. It was rhythmic, too - the typical squeaking if you will, as the dove takes off and flies to its destination.
And then I noticed a pattern. The dove would fly off to the side of the house where I had no view, and then fly back, once over to where Philip was peacefully munching on his green leafy weeds, and then back to his spot on the side of the house. Then back to over past the treeline into the neighbor's yard, and back to his spot. And I watched the dove. Every time it went out, it came back with a small twig betwixt its beak.
And then it dawned on me. It was nesting.
Persistently, one twig at a time, one shriveled up leaf at a time, dutifully back and forth.
And then I directed my thoughts inward. That is exactly what I am doing right now. After the events of the last year, one by one things are coming back. And we're accomplishing the task of making our nest, if you will, one flight, one twig, one leaf at a time. We're saving for vacations for the first time. Not a sponsor but the Ibotta app is helping with that, just yesterday I cashed out my first $20. One gallon of milk, one dozen eggs, one box of cereal at a time. One car payment, one cleaning job, one lawn mowing job, one bag of cans, one old outfit that doesn't fit anymore being sold, one penny, dime, quarter at a time. And what we are building is something beautiful for our family.
And then I noticed a pattern. The dove would fly off to the side of the house where I had no view, and then fly back, once over to where Philip was peacefully munching on his green leafy weeds, and then back to his spot on the side of the house. Then back to over past the treeline into the neighbor's yard, and back to his spot. And I watched the dove. Every time it went out, it came back with a small twig betwixt its beak.
And then it dawned on me. It was nesting.
Persistently, one twig at a time, one shriveled up leaf at a time, dutifully back and forth.
And then I directed my thoughts inward. That is exactly what I am doing right now. After the events of the last year, one by one things are coming back. And we're accomplishing the task of making our nest, if you will, one flight, one twig, one leaf at a time. We're saving for vacations for the first time. Not a sponsor but the Ibotta app is helping with that, just yesterday I cashed out my first $20. One gallon of milk, one dozen eggs, one box of cereal at a time. One car payment, one cleaning job, one lawn mowing job, one bag of cans, one old outfit that doesn't fit anymore being sold, one penny, dime, quarter at a time. And what we are building is something beautiful for our family.
Thursday, June 16, 2016
Wake Up and Rise Above
Toxicity - Webster defines as "the quality, state, or relative degree of being toxic or poisonous"
Toxic - 1: containing or being poisonous material especially when capable of causing death or serious debilitation, i.e. toxic waste. 2: exhibiting symptoms of infection or toxicosis. 3: extremely harsh, malicious, or harmful. 4: relating to or being an asset that has lost so much value that it cannot be sold on the market.
The weird thing about intoxication is that it can be both good and bad. My coffee this morning is intoxicating (not literally, but a metaphor for being good, duh. I didn't spike it...although...that thought has crossed my mind, I won't lie.) Some degree of intoxication can be good, however most of the time people take it past the point of fun and venture into the drunk category. One reason (of a few actually) that I do not drink to get drunk anymore, is that ever-so-fine line between the two. I think to an extent with some people that must come with age. Speaking from a gonna-be 31 year old's point of view, it might be premature...but as my Facebook "On This Day" just reminded me ever so gently, I did do a brief stint in the drunken days...but I digress.
That's not to say I don't drink at all, just the other night I made the wife and I a strawberry banana smoothie with frozen yogurt and wine. It was delicious. And I do enjoy me an Amaretto and Sour, and a Moscow Mule, and I'm quite fond of IPAs (312 by Goose Island is delicious and yes I know that's not an IPA, that it is a wheat ale, but it's one of my favorite beers), but it's not an everyday thing, nor even an every weekend thing. I have my reasons for having no desire to get blinding drunk anymore, which I don't care to discuss here because I'm still too embarrassed by them and that alone is what fuels my temperance, if you want to call it that. Suffice it to say that if you have to be reminded the next day of things you said (and/or did), and you have absolutely no recollection of having said (or did) anything like that, you've had too much to drink. And to do that every time you go out...yeah that is my reason and that's all I'll say.
I'm not getting up on a soap box either, going all Carrie Nation (she's kinda famous for smashing liquor bottles at a local bar here) and preaching temperance to everyone, I'm actually reminded of a meme post from Catholic Memes with Pope Emeritus Benedict XVI having a rather large beer (think Das Boot) with a reference to a line in the Catechism of the Catholic Church. A quick Google search for said meme turned up fruitless but it doesn't take away from my point of I don't drink much. Which isn't even the point of this blog post anyway but as the subtitle of this blog should say, "But I Digress..."
Update: I found the meme:
And if you're wondering, CCC #2290 states: "The virtue of temperance disposes us to avoid every kind of excess: the abuse of food, alcohol, tobacco, or medicine. Those incur the grave guilt who, by drunkenness or a love of speed, endanger their own and others' safety on the road, at sea, or in the air.
All of that being said...toxicity enters our lives, and sometimes we don't recognize it at first. Sometimes it takes an unobtrusive third party to kind of "bring us to our senses", and to realize that some sort of toxicity has crept its nasty way into our lives. It can be a toxic family member or friend, using guilt or manipulation to persuade you into performing their demands at the risk of your personal satisfaction. Those with Stockholm syndrome will derive some sort of pleasure even while they are doing what they don't want to do, but sooner or later we have to take a moment to take stock of what we do, who we do it for, and why we are doing it. Either something happens that wakes us up to who that person or those people really are, or oftentimes that unobtrusive third party will put their two cents in that will ignite a spark to the aforementioned self-assessment. However, that unobtrusive third party generally can't be truly unobtrusive unless they know the intimate details of both parties, otherwise they are just getting your side of the story, and unless you are being painfully truthful, that story will always be tilted in your favor, even if ever-so-slightly.
That being said, even this tilted point of view that the less-than-unobtrusive (because obtrusive was definitely not the word I was looking for here) third party has, will almost certainly lead to points that you yourself had not given thought to, for one reason or another. They may be incorrectly founded, but at some level they are points worth considering. One being the occasional or sometimes recurring notion that you may not be as important to a particular individual as they are to you. On a more serious tone, there may be indications of actual abuse where you just saw harmless...whatever.
One "problem" (and I use the quotes intentionally) of an Aspie brain is being less able to detect people's true intentions. Simply put - you take them and their words at face value because that is what is logical. This makes guilt and manipulation a more powerful tool to the toxic individual because you're now easier to manipulate. Juxtaposed with guilt trips, you are putty in the toxic individual's hands.
Until you wake up.
In a seemingly unrelated but assuredly related segue, toddlers sometimes make the best therapists. You gently vent your frustration in the form of a singsongy story time voice and boom - save yourself a $200 therapy copay. "So-and-so can't find it in their heart to do such-and-such possibly minuscule-but-turned-mountain of an annoyance or otherwise timely detestable thing, and wouldn't you think after I did some altruistic thing they could do my <insert timely requirement here>?" Toddler's response: a non-sequitur-esque and joyfully emphatic "Yeah!" If that doesn't melt away your frustration then you my friend possess no soul.
And so, Aspie or Neurotypical, when we wake up, when we see for ourselves that toxicity has crept into our lives, we do as Miranda Bailey and Cristina Yang did in Grey's Anatomy when they were forced through obligation to their Hippocratic Oath to treat a Neo-Nazi white supremacist, and we "rise above".
An Aspie brain is a beautiful thing that must never be thought of as a defect or a problem to society. Some of the best things to come into this world do so through the minds of Aspie greats. Don't underestimate us.
Monday, January 11, 2016
In Which I Dissect Living vs. Existing
I'm not having a good day.
I'm just going through a rough patch.
Cliche? Perhaps. But you know what? That's okay. Mountain ranges are bordered by valleys. Plains even. And in the case of this country, the Great Plains seems to go on forever. Believe me I know, I've driven through Iowa and Nebraska. (Nothing against those particular states they are very lovely states) Flat, yes. But that's okay too. There's beauty everywhere if you open your eyes to see it. And you may ask yourself, "Well, how did I get here?" In the valleys of life we, or at least I, get pensive. It opens new perspectives. Granted, not being a perfect person I also get apprehensive and impatient and "grumpy af" in those valleys, but there is a time to be pensive in those valleys. This would happen to be one of those times.
Right now, if you were to ask me, in relation to the aforementioned Great Plains reference, where I am at this point, should I "find myself behind the wheel of a large automobile", I would say I am on I-80 just as you enter Colorado from Nebraska. I can see the Rocky Mountains in the distance, it's a ways off yet, but it's there, becoming more and more tangible the closer I get. Yet somehow...something seems to keep pushing me back eastward on the interstate, as it were.
And so the days go by, (insert subtle Talking Heads reference to Once in a Lifetime here), day after day equating hour after hour of driving through the flat plains states because you really just want to go to the mountains. You take a rest stop, see the World's Biggest Ball of Yarn, and that gives you a bit of excitement, you stop at a restaurant in Omaha that you've never heard of, and not one of those generic "Family Restaurants", I mean a greasy spoon truck stop where you leave almost wishing you hadn't eaten so much but it was so damn good you'd do it again. You stop at the Corn Palace if you happen to find yourself in South Dakota. Wall Drug even. You just do it.
There's beauty everywhere if you open your eyes to see it. Sometimes you have to force your eyes open and look, even if you don't want to look, because if you don't, you will be consumed by the valley. For the sake of one's sanity, one must tryto find the beauty. (I feel the need to apologize to Iowa and Nebraska again, for what could be inferred as you having to try to find beauty in those states. Again, they're very lovely states.)
A moment of clarity, enlightenment even, and you can visualize the road you must take to get where you want to go. I know I've made map/driving references before, but I can just relate that way. You realize that you are on I-80. And before long you will be on I-76 heading down into Denver. The Rocky Mountains are within your grasp. You are heading in the right direction. You really just have to be patient as you coast across the plains (OK I REALLY HAVE TO STOP WITH THIS METAPHOR OR IOWA AND NEBRASKA ARE REALLY GOING TO THINK I HATE THEM SECRETLY).
Same as it ever was. Nothing's changed, nothing's changing, I'm not really living but merely existing...no matter how you say it, this is the time where if you allow yourself to dwell on those thoughts your car will simply stall out and you'll be in the middle of nowhere (literally). Not only will you feel lost, you'll be lost, in that you know where you are and where you're going, but simply cannot get to your destination. You have to turn your head back and notice how far you've come. You may not feel like you've made it far at all. But you've just driven for a frickin day and a half, man. Some people go their entire lives and never leave their home state. You're two or three states over. You'll get to the mountains.
Look for the beauty where you are. In those corn fields in Iowa, you'll never see fields so green. Look at how deeply green they are against the blue sky dotted with cotton ball clouds.
It's not so easy to do. But if it takes celebrating the small victories along the way, as in "Yay I made it through Omaha!", "Yay, I'm halfway through this state!", "Yay, I'm straddling the Platte River!"...whatever the case may be, by celebrating those small victories you are acknowledging that you are getting somewhere. You are far from your initial starting point where you went "Okay, here we go...two days of driving and we're off."..........not much excitement there. This obviously can lead to bouts of impatience, "When the f*** are we gonna get there?!??" ....but even that, when you look back at your initial starting point, is tangible evidence of just how far you've come.
Wednesday, January 6, 2016
Shaking Fists at the Teacher's Silence
So here we are, 2016. And amidst all the "New year, new me" nonsense, I find myself in the same doldrums as I was in 2015. I still don't have a roof of my own, rented or mortgaged. I still find myself a level 2 with the hope of getting a promotion to level 3 this month. I still only have 27 of 120 college credits with a total of 40 by the time I finish the assignments I've been rescheduling since October. And yet, there is hope. Patience still needs to be exercised, and yet it seems easier. Everything is still as up in the air as it was a week ago, but the outlook is not so dreary.
Let me just state that Facebook and Vine are thieves of time! Thinking about what I do with my evenings...all I can come up is Facebook and Vine. Then I think to myself no, that can't be it. And then I realize that yes, it really is. Why do I really not read much anymore? Why have I not done anything school related for a couple months? Well, Christmas is one reason. But other than that, Facebook and Vine. For that matter so is blogging but for one, I didn't do that very often but for two, it's different because I get to tell a story. So I'm not counting blogging. So okay, now my challenge is to work on spending less time on them.
The teacher is always silent during the test.
I'm trying to redirect my impatience into Hope. While my current situation leaves a lot to be desired, we've come a long way from where we were a year ago. Two years ago even. I tend to lose sight of that fact more often than I should. Lately I've been focusing on what is happening now versus how far we've come. And I've taken steps already three days into the new year to make some necessary changes to how I do things. I've started reading The Hunger Games, I've begun work on one of my overdue assignments, and I'm writing this blog post, as well as brainstorming ideas for my children's series. And really, why should I care about Facebook anyway? Nobody pays attention to my posts anymore, and I'm tiring of seeing all these dog posts anyways.
Time management has never been one of my strong suits. Neither has organization.
So I'll take it week by week. I'll set little weekly goals as long as my attention span allows. Then revisit on Sunday, reassess and reassign as needed. Why does something so obvious seem like the greatest idea no one ever came up with before? Duh moment. (Spoiler Alert - since writing that, I have put it into play, and it has truly worked wonders for me. Out of the 5 acheivable goals I've set for myself, I've already done 3 and it's only midweek.)
So I'm talking to one of my best friends while walking on my lunch break, and mind you, he is a dairy farmer. So we're talking, and I can't even remember what it was about when all of a sudden I hear on the other end a noose, followed by him saying "Ugh, thanks for Crappin' in the foot bath, Wanda." That will now never not be a thing.
I've been told recently that I have an "elegant and sophisticated writing style"...on a college paper I wrote that I got back to make revisions on because it just wasn't quite ready to be considered "mastered". I believe I will share that in an upcoming blog post. It's one thing to hear from your friends and colleagues, but from a complete and total stranger who doesn't even know what I look like, it just blew me away.
And really here's some insight I've just now gathered regarding Facebook. I'll go through my "on this day" section and yeah for the most part it's a trip down memory lane right? Then you come to this far out post that you made years ago about something big at the time. My example, my getting-fired-slash-quitting the bank. One comment. You open it up and apparently that person has blocked you. Dafuq?! So you spend all this time creating this life--sometimes pseudo life--on Facebook when clearly who are you really out there to impress!? People don't give a shit as much as you think they do. You really want to diary your life? Make a blog or YouTube videos. For me, that's my scrapbook of My Life as I Know It. A video scrapbook is even better. A blog will capture your inner feelings, your true insights on life, way better than a stupid flash-in-the-pan-Facebook-post or share will ever do. A video brings that person to life, as if they're right beside you as you remember them.
That's what I'm going to focus on this year social media speaking. Thanks for crappin in my foot bath of life, Facebook. (Ironically enough I will share this post via Facebook.)
Let me just state that Facebook and Vine are thieves of time! Thinking about what I do with my evenings...all I can come up is Facebook and Vine. Then I think to myself no, that can't be it. And then I realize that yes, it really is. Why do I really not read much anymore? Why have I not done anything school related for a couple months? Well, Christmas is one reason. But other than that, Facebook and Vine. For that matter so is blogging but for one, I didn't do that very often but for two, it's different because I get to tell a story. So I'm not counting blogging. So okay, now my challenge is to work on spending less time on them.
The teacher is always silent during the test.
I'm trying to redirect my impatience into Hope. While my current situation leaves a lot to be desired, we've come a long way from where we were a year ago. Two years ago even. I tend to lose sight of that fact more often than I should. Lately I've been focusing on what is happening now versus how far we've come. And I've taken steps already three days into the new year to make some necessary changes to how I do things. I've started reading The Hunger Games, I've begun work on one of my overdue assignments, and I'm writing this blog post, as well as brainstorming ideas for my children's series. And really, why should I care about Facebook anyway? Nobody pays attention to my posts anymore, and I'm tiring of seeing all these dog posts anyways.
Time management has never been one of my strong suits. Neither has organization.
So I'll take it week by week. I'll set little weekly goals as long as my attention span allows. Then revisit on Sunday, reassess and reassign as needed. Why does something so obvious seem like the greatest idea no one ever came up with before? Duh moment. (Spoiler Alert - since writing that, I have put it into play, and it has truly worked wonders for me. Out of the 5 acheivable goals I've set for myself, I've already done 3 and it's only midweek.)
"Never be in a hurry; do everything quietly and in a calm spirit. Do not lose your inner peace for anything whatsoever, even if your whole world seems upset." St. Francis de Sales
So I'm talking to one of my best friends while walking on my lunch break, and mind you, he is a dairy farmer. So we're talking, and I can't even remember what it was about when all of a sudden I hear on the other end a noose, followed by him saying "Ugh, thanks for Crappin' in the foot bath, Wanda." That will now never not be a thing.I've been told recently that I have an "elegant and sophisticated writing style"...on a college paper I wrote that I got back to make revisions on because it just wasn't quite ready to be considered "mastered". I believe I will share that in an upcoming blog post. It's one thing to hear from your friends and colleagues, but from a complete and total stranger who doesn't even know what I look like, it just blew me away.
And really here's some insight I've just now gathered regarding Facebook. I'll go through my "on this day" section and yeah for the most part it's a trip down memory lane right? Then you come to this far out post that you made years ago about something big at the time. My example, my getting-fired-slash-quitting the bank. One comment. You open it up and apparently that person has blocked you. Dafuq?! So you spend all this time creating this life--sometimes pseudo life--on Facebook when clearly who are you really out there to impress!? People don't give a shit as much as you think they do. You really want to diary your life? Make a blog or YouTube videos. For me, that's my scrapbook of My Life as I Know It. A video scrapbook is even better. A blog will capture your inner feelings, your true insights on life, way better than a stupid flash-in-the-pan-Facebook-post or share will ever do. A video brings that person to life, as if they're right beside you as you remember them.
That's what I'm going to focus on this year social media speaking. Thanks for crappin in my foot bath of life, Facebook. (Ironically enough I will share this post via Facebook.)
Wednesday, April 15, 2015
In Which I Uncover Regret
Regret. Merriam-Webster defines regret as "to feel sorry or sad for something you did or did not do".
Many people say they live their life with no regrets, but I tend to think that many people are fooling themselves. Everyone has to have at least one thing that they regret, even if they say they don't. I was one of those who claimed I had no regrets. But then my grandma's would-be 80th birthday rolled around. Without any other choice, I wrote her an open letter as a status on my Facebook.
Without getting into details, let me just restate that I believe everyone has at least one regret in their lives. Believing something someone said that affected how you viewed someone else. Not taking the time to do, or not do, something. Not "coming to your senses sooner" about something. Whatever the case may be, everyone has a regret. It's what you choose to do with it that makes the difference. You can bury it and forget about it, or use it. React to it. Choose to learn from it, and use the experience as a lesson. A hard lesson, perhaps. But feeling sorry for yourself because you messed up will certainly not change anything. It won't do any good either. Use the experience, use the lesson, to change your course, and avoid potential future situations which you would've otherwise continued down the same path.
This is a major duh moment. But too often people just feel sorry for themselves for the mistakes they've made and do nothing to change the way they react. And the world keeps turning, and nothing ever changes.
So as the saying goes, be the change you want to see. It sounds easy enough, yet many find it so hard to do. It takes integrity to pull it off. There's a reason and a purpose for everything. We can't see the big picture, only glimpses and corners. Frustrating? Most definitely. But we slowly get to see more of it as it comes into focus.
It's easy enough to say...why is it at times hard to do? I find myself a victim of this train of thought too. I know I want to do something, but the ghosts of those regrets come back with a vengeance. Say it to yourself. Be the change you want to see. If others can't or won't accept it, so be it.
Monday, March 9, 2015
On Self-Therapy
People make bucket lists. I actually came across mine the other day. I have it saved to my email, of course...my email has become my dumping ground for any and all of my latest ideas, wish-lists, recipes to try, whatever I seem to be obsessed with that day or that week that I don't want to forget...and then end up forgetting because well that ticker keeps going in my brain and then a squirrel comes by...you fellow ADD Tribe Members know what I'm talking about...
Let me paint a visual for you. You watch the news, and they have a little Ticker Tape going on, on the bottom of the screen, and they're giving you the news while this is scrolling across your TV like a Severe Weather Bulletin. For someone with ADD, add about three or four tickers on top of that, all scrolling different information, on top of the news anchors delivering you even more information. Welcome to a day in the life of me.
Co-morbid with the ADD is a touch of OCD and also Asperger Syndrome. I've learned to love it because I get to obsess about a different thing each day, sometimes in cycles for instance Family History. I'll go through spurts of about 2 weeks at a crack where I'll be hard core "Let's get a subscription to ancestry.com and research the crap out of our families!!" and then two weeks later it's onto the next obsession. Hence, a subscription would probably NOT be a good idea. But if any of you out there are willing to search for me...Just kidding. That would be boring for you.
I've learned through a short stint in therapy that writing my blog and doing my YouTube Videos is actually a good form of self-therapy for me…which is great because around the time my son Jax was born, I legitimately forgot to attend my therapy appointments. You must know though at the time, my mother was having Emergency Surgery to place an LVAD into her heart which she could have died from, although she did die twice in the ambulance from here to Milwaukee. Needless to say I had a LOT on my mind. My point—though my therapy sessions were working wonders for me, due to my missing (I believe) three in a row, my therapist subsequently dropped me from his care. Bummer.
SO...now you, the reader, can get a taste of life behind the veil of "someone on the spectrum"...I know I'm not the only Aspie to write a blog. I'm not trying to glorify it, or use it as a crutch, or make people feel sorry for me. I love me. I love learning new characteristics about me. And I'm blessed because I have people who know my quirks yet love me anyway. It's the epitome of the phrase "Those who matter don't mind, those who mind don't matter."
You know, I started this entry talking about bucket lists and coming across mine...another case in point for an ADD Tribe Member...
I dare to dream. I like to think I dream big. I say this because there are those who when I say my dream either immediately try to shoot it down or lead me to believe "he's shooting for the moon, there's no way he can do that."...
I feel like I've blogged about that before. Here's to dreaming big.
I consider myself an empathic person. That tends to wear a person out. It's great to be an empathic person, because in my opinion the world needs more empaths...but at the same time, one gets so wrapped up in taking on others' problems that their own needs oftentimes get neglected. It's a fine line to walk being an empath.
Sunday, September 28, 2014
On Pedestals and Pseudo-Demagogues
As we dance the dance of life, we tend to put people up on pedestals at times. Many times though, through no fault of our own, we put people up on pedestals made of wet sand, exempli gratia, a sand castle. Stress of any kind will cause that pedestal, that sand castle, to crumble. And, as we see sometimes in sand castles, they crumble all on their own. The weak points on the pedestal are not seen until the inevitable crumbling occurs. Sometimes it's even pecked at by someone maliciously as they watch it crumble...
In my last entry I spoke of the beauty of an Aspie brain. Sure, there are parts that annoy the hell out of people, but I have found that when you find "your people", sure, they get annoyed by your quirks but yet their world is not the same without you there. That is what I am now calling being a force of nature.
Tuesday, September 23, 2014
Catching Water
Just got handed some disappointing news today, got turned down for a job I'd been hoping for. And while I did get caught up in wondering why I am so undesirable to prospective employers, I also had to give Jax a bath. Nothing like chasing bubbles and trying to catch water as it comes out of the faucet to melt away whatever was bugging you that particular day. The pure look of enjoyment on his face as he scurried after those elusive bubbles...the simple joy of letting the water roll over your open palm and try to catch it as it comes out of the faucet and gathers in the bathtub...
And here I was feeling down about being rejected.
And here I was feeling down about being rejected.
Thursday, September 18, 2014
Dedicated to the WWWA
The Beauty of an ADD/OCD/Aspy brain is that one gets to obsess about a different thing each day...or week...or more...depends on what the topic is and how hard one's attention span is focused on it. Usually though, at least a few times a year I will come back to that particular topic; Family History is a big perennial topic of mine, for example. Dig my use of the semi-colon with this post, huh!?
**[insert subtle segue here]**
The self-proclaimed Wicked Witch of West Allis found her dancing shoes 5 days after my birthday this year, and is dancing with Jesus as we speak. The whole thing is somewhat of a blur to me, everything happened so fast. At Midnight, I was told that she was being put on comfort measures, and that she did not have long. By 1:30, she was at the Ball meeting her dance partner. I got the call, and suddenly there was no one left standing in the hall. I never realized until just recently how pertinent Stevie Nick's words were to my life at that moment in time, and thus her song has an entirely new meaning for me. In fact I'm listening to the song as I type.
Since the inception of this blog, along with my "never-ending quest for knowledge", I have also discovered a lot about myself--overlooked facts, character traits (both good and not so good), pieces of my very essence that I'd never realized before. I've also learned to recognize my quirks, and to love them. The Idiom Idiocy, the Numbers Mysticism, The Even-Numbered Pattern Program and the like...I've learned to use them for my advantage, to become the "force of nature" it has become my mission to be.
At the Homily for my grandmother, Father Augustine had said that Grandma had a "magic knife", in that there was always enough food for everyone--and they had a family of 8 to feed at one point in time--and no one was ever in want of a need. That struck a chord with me. Since Grandma left for the dance, I've tried to emulate her, and thus I say I have a "Magic Spoon", in honor of her. I cook a lot of One-Pot meals that always leave enough for others, or for leftovers. I've definitely learned how to make just $60 of groceries stretch over two weeks, $100 stretch over four, and none of us have gone hungry, or are in want of a need. I've also learned to go back to basics...why spend $4 for a box of crackers when you can spend a fraction of that and make your own? They'll undoubtedly have less preservatives and GMOs and what have you, and really it's not that hard.
Most Moms and Grandmas, even some Dads and Grandpas, are famous for one thing. "Grandma makes the best Peanut Butter cookies, no one makes them like her..." I have recently discovered what I will most undoubtedly become "famous" for. Crackers. My children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren (if my wish of living to at least the ripe old age of 117 holds up), will know me best for my cracker making. Truly it all started with less than $2 in our checking account, and our pantry in need of some sort of snack type thing. I've become an advocate for buying local, making it myself, and with the crackers, there are so many possibilities...I knew we had flour, I figured crackers couldn't be hard to make...why pay $4 a box when you don't have to (or can't, for that matter)? Same holds true for coffee creamer and butter (although the latter almost killed my food processor).
Self-sufficiency isn't hard, and if you're hell-bent on doing it, you'll find a way to make it work. You don't have to go to all the specialty stores and buy only organic flour that was pressed and ground by an elephant's hoof and picked by 47 children in the Garden of Eden (if you go there you're bound to get wet). I may start a separate blog with my new-found Self Sufficient recipes, as well as recipes I'm dreaming up that are still in their beta stages..though with the rate I've been posting blogs, don't expect it till early 2016...I exaggerate, of course.
Love your quirks. Don't ever let anyone make you feel any less of a person for them. I am not quite to the point about not giving a flying fart what people think of me, but I'm pretty close. You have your family, and those who love you for you, really who else are you out there to impress, a bunch of fake people that are secretly judging you? Those who look down their noses at you for who you are or where you come from? You do you, and if that's not enough then there is just no pleasing them...don't ever think you need to live up to anyone else's expectations on this earth. There's only One whose example we should follow, and He happens to be my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. So I say again, love your quirks. Don't change a thing. Be You. Do You. Quirks and all. After all, you wouldn't BE you without them. Why be a carbon copy of every other Joe walking the streets where you live? Be You. Do You. Love the things that others will (undoubtedly) find "less than perfect"...after all, that's what we all are. Less Than Perfect. The One Perfect One died for all your real imperfections, so really what have you got to lose?
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