9/26/14

Complainer Me

Some days, the complaints come all to easy. Actually, there are days when complaints exist solely to make one feel more miserable than they already are. I've had days like that - when for some reason, feeling miserable seems like a better option than working even harder to be positive. Why this strange phenomenon happens, I'll never know, since it really doesn't make much sense...but we all do it at some point or another.

This morning, I hit the snooze on my alarm three times before I finally dragged myself out of bed. My back hurt, my cats were being needy, I barely had enough time to shower, and I couldn't find the clothes I wanted to wear. I was downright grouchy, and I wanted nothing to do with the world. Maybe it had something to do with which side of the bed I got up on. (Although the way my bedroom is arranged, there really is only one option.)

My self-inflicted miserable mood continued on the 45-minute drive to work. I really tried not to be grumpy, though. I mean...sort of. I turned up the radio... enjoyed the sunrise in my rear view mirror... Okay, so maybe I didn't try all that hard. But that was just it. I didn't try. It was me. It wasn't my circumstances that dictated my mood - it was my decision whether or not to be miserable.

Granted, when I got to work, my body still ached, I still felt like I needed at least three hours more sleep, and the pile of work awaiting me appeared to be as large as Mount Everest...or as deep as the Grand Canyon. Take your pick. But at some point, I paused. And I really, genuinely tried to think of a legitimate reason to be grouchy. Funny thing was...I couldn't come up with anything.

Oh, there were plenty things I could complain about, but...why? Complaining and dwelling on the negative things would only feed my misery, not take it away. And while sometimes it is difficult to slap on a smile and pretend everything is great...not everything has to be great for me to be thankful for what I've got. Not everything has to be perfect for me to recognize I'm surrounded by blessings in spite of any negative circumstances.

It's not my choice to have a sore back, to be tired, to be overwhelmed by work, or to deal with any other irritations that pop up during the day. It all happens, and will happen. I won't wake up any morning without some kind of annoyance, something that's gone wrong, or even something more major that hurts my heart. But in it all...I've got a God-given joy that resists death like that ninja spider under the kitchen counter who refuses to die.

I won't always be so determined to attempt having a good day. I'm human, after all. But I do recognize the fact that it's my choice. Circumstances may not be my choice. But my attitude is. Doesn't make it easier to smile - it just makes it possible.

Have a great weekend with many reasons to smile.



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9/24/14

Simple Favorites

The simplest things are sometimes the best. At least in our memories. As a child, there were many things, of course, that seemed much more fantastic than I’d believe to be today. The size and steepness of the parking lot hill where bicycling and rollerblading took place. The great distance it was around the block. The enormous weight of fish on the end of my fishing line. And my mother’s cooking.

I’m not saying her cooking is any less than what I thought as a child – she’s still a wonderful cook. Nobody else’s food is like hers…especially her chicken and noodle casserole and apple pies. Oh, and her beef stew. And her zucchini bread. And her lasagna. And her cheesy potatoes. Actually…there’s a really long list of favorite meals. What’s interesting, though, is what I remember most as a kid.

I can recall many lunches of a particularly scrumptious pasta dish. It was so tender and buttery and oh, so good. Certainly another one of my favorites – still – even after I found out what my mom’s recipe was. She used any kind of pasta, though often small shells (I always loved that texture). She would cook it like any other, by using boiling water. Once cooked to the perfect tenderness, she would add butter and parsley. And that…was it. In my younger years, I had a dislike for most spices, which is probably why I loved this meal so much. But I have to admit, I was a little surprised to later find out its simplicity.

Another favorite meal was French toast. While the egg-dipped bread itself was always good, it was the syrup I was after. See, my mom made her own syrup. The unique thing was that it was clear – not brown like the typical maple syrup on the store shelves. It was also rather runny, but I didn’t care. It was sweet and it soaked into all the cracks and crevices of the French toast. I do remember my mom seeming to find my compliments amusing, but I didn’t know why until one day it finally registered. Her syrup only had two ingredients: water and sugar.

I have many more memories of delectable meals, but these two recipes are ones that I can still taste. My favorite flavors were the simplest – and often times still are.

I love summer rains. A cat’s purr. Warm sunshine. A crayon-colored picture from a child. A hug. A smile. All such simple things that mean so much.

Often in life, the simple things are overlooked or set aside. But sometimes the most important thing to do is stop and just take a moment to pay attention to the tiny blessings surrounding us every day. They’re there. Always. We just have to take time to see them.




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9/17/14

Virtual Stop Signs

When I learned how to drive, it didn't take me long to figure out when approaching an intersection, when I was to apply the brakes. Too soon and I'd stop way ahead of the stop sign. Too late, and I'd send the copilot into the dashboard while screeching to a halt just inches off my target. After a while though, the correct timing became second nature. It was easy knowing exactly when to slow down and/or stop, or when to keep on the gas pedal.

Boy do I wish it was that easy in the rest of my life.

I've had various physical difficulties since I was in high school - mainly with my joints, especially my hips. Not sure why - it's jut the way I'm built. I've got over-extended joints and I'm prone to inflammation. I had the start of arthritis and slight degeneration in my vertebrae before I was twenty. I've incurred injuries through horseback riding accidents, martial arts and over-lifting. Needless to say, some pain has always been involved. It's nothing intolerable, and I try not to complain because I know of others who suffer far worse conditions than I do, but it is a constant annoyance.

Worse than the pain though, is figuring out when too much is too much. I'm a Second Degree Black Belt in Taekwondo. I'm an Orange Belt in Krav Maga. I'm a Blue Belt in Warrior X-Fit Kickboxing. I like taking walks. My full-time job often requires heavy lifting and being on my feet for many hours. I like the tough part of gardening - digging and pulling weeds. The list goes on. All those things are physical things I don't want to give up. I don't want to give up my martial arts, I can't quit my job, and any outdoor activity is too enjoyable for me to just ignore it. But where's the line?

I have yet to figure it out. As I type this, today's Kickboxing class is just starting. And I'm not there. I had another minor bout with my lower back and my hip. I could have gone to class. I could have done some of the activities. I could have done all of them, probably. But without being able to see what kind of shape I'd be in afterward...I decided I better sit this one out. Which I hate! I'm too stubborn and competitive to just think nothing of it. It irritates me to no end. I am so bull-headed, that to think my body can't be as tough as my mind is the ultimate frustration. I inwardly argue with myself - one side says I'm a wimp, while the other side says I'm just being smart.

Somewhere between doing nothing and doing too much is a stop sign. Unfortunately, the exact distance eludes me. Sometimes the stop sign moves, depending on the day and my condition. Sometimes I simply can't see it at all. Sometimes I close my eyes and pretend there's no sign. Or I panic and stop a whole lot sooner than necessary.

I'd like to think that I'm closer to figuring out where the line is than I was a year or five years ago. But it's still a tough call. Every time.

I drive 45 minutes to work and 45 minutes back five days a week. I've learned well where to slow down, stop, or speed up. I hope eventually I'll get to the same point with my body - that I'll be able to decide, with confidence, whether to slow down or power through each activity/situation. Until I figure it out though, I may need to focus on the positive aspects of either decision, no matter the outcome.


I love hearing from you! Feel free to leave a comment with your thoughts or personal experiences.


9/11/14

Caught Unawares

I didn’t want to die. I mean Heaven is a lovely thought - I just didn’t feel I really wanted to leave Earth at that particular moment…in that particular position. You know how sometimes it only takes a split second to envision what the future might look like? Yeah, that’s kind of how this was.

Storms were moving through the area – the kind that come bearing tornado watches, the threat of hail and ear-splitting thunder. Don’t get me wrong – I love thunderstorms. I’ve developed a keen appreciation for pouring rain and long rolls of thunder. This particular evening though, things were just a bit too eerie. The clouds looked downright evil, and my cell phone kept warning me of flash flooding. Thankfully, I was inside my apartment, dry and cozy as could be.

Until I needed to use the restroom.

I usually keep the window cracked open in my bathroom as a source of fresh air since my entire apartment gets stuffy. So as I sat and…pondered…many things, I enjoyed the sound of rain outside. Soon though, I realized the wind was starting to pick up. A lot. A whole lot. I could hear the trees crashing around outside, and I started to feel my apartment shake just a bit.

Where’s my cell phone? I need to check radar. Shoot, I must have left it in the living room. I don’t hear any tornado sirens, but that wind is starting to rumble something awful. Surely this is just some short-lived high wind – nothing to worry about…right?

And as my pulse quickened with just a tad bit of anxiousness (I’d hate to say “fear”), I realized the worst part of my situation. At this point, I really wasn’t even concerned that I didn’t have a basement to go to. I had a closet that also served as a miniature storm shelter, so there was no real problem there. What I realized was the state in which I…sat. And then I saw it. The future.

The vision which entered my mind was one of rubble. My apartment had been demolished by an EF-5 tornado. Debris was everywhere. My cats had been transported to OZ. And me…they found me buried under the rubble…on the commode.

Really now! Who would want to die like that?! I’m sure there have been similar instances throughout history of people being caught unprepared, but not me! I couldn’t die like that. Ninja’s died honorable deaths in grand battles, not deaths brought on while sitting on the potty!

I’m glad to say there was a happy ending. I managed to complete my…task…and exit the chamber of untimely death before anything too drastic happened. Of course, after any panic had subsided, so did the wind. It had knocked a few small branches off the tree outside, but that was about it. No demolished apartment. No rubble. And no headlines in the newspaper about how a poor girl had been caught unawares. (I’ll refrain from any puns at this point.)

The moral of the story?

Yeah, I’m not really sure there is one. Other than check the weather before you answer the call of nature. ‘Cause nature apparently has a sense of humor.



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9/8/14

The Whole Story

Maybe I'm just overly sensitive when it comes to this topic. Or maybe it's something that really should be explored. Either way, this particular issue has popped up countless times over the past week alone.

We never really know. Ever. Even when we know someone better than we know ourselves, there are still elusive facts that can affect a person's moods and/or reactions. Yet we like to think we know exactly why so-and-so does such-and-such. And we like to talk about it.

I think of things like a little girl who's too shy to try an activity at school. She gets teased or maybe even bullied for it. But no one knows her hesitance is born of abuse at home. I think of things like a man who can't seem to get motivated enough to move on in his life. People look down on him for making little progress. But no one realizes he was put down all his childhood years, and he simply can't muster the courage to try just to fail again. I think of a family who wears less than trendy clothes - sometimes they're not even the cleanest clothes. Other people can't understand why those parents would let their kids out in public like that. But what no one knows is that the father has been out of work for the last six months, and the mom has been cleaning houses just so they have enough money to eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches every day.

As a society - as humans - we are so very quick to not simply judge one another, but to also attain such an arrogance that we think we know exactly why someone else acts the way they do. And when we think we've figured it out, we're just as quick to act on it, whether we talk about that person behind their back, avoid them altogether or believe they need our advice.

We get upset at the snippy checkout girl without realizing her father just found out he has cancer. We roll our eyes at the rude waiter at the restaurant and withhold a tip without knowing his wife just texted and said she was leaving him. We're quick to become angry at the not-so-helpful rep on the phone without knowing her entire morning has been a disaster from getting the kids to school late, to burnt toast and a sick dog.

I'm not saying there is a legit reason for every offhanded comment, temper flare or downright rude behavior. Sometimes there is no excuse. Actually, there's never really an excuse. But sometimes there are reasons we cannot see. And when we judge too quickly and act on our own irritation, we become just as guilty.

Most of the time, we'll never know what has motivated those negative actions or words. We may never see that same checkout girl again, and next time we call to have our cell phone fixed, it will be a different rep. But that doesn't mean we should stop caring. It doesn't mean we should allow ourselves the luxury of getting upset just because if we never have to see that person again, our arrogant assumptions tend to be guilt-free. We still have to answer for our own reactions and words, regardless of whether or not we think we were treated poorly, or someone deserved our harsh response or even gossip.

Our job is always to act Christ-like, no matter if we feel we've been dealt with rudely or not. Whether we've been snipped at, cursed, or passed by an angry driver. Usually, there's no reward in this, other than the satisfaction of knowing that our calm response (or no response at all) has put out a fire, rather than making it worse. And far fewer ulcers are formed as well.

We never really know.

9/5/14

Crimson Raindrop

I thought I might - every so often - share an article/story from my anthology, Smatterings of an Analytical Loner. Some of the writings are fairly recent, while others years old, but most have been left as-is. Today's entry was just a random selection from my book. Enjoy.


Crimson Raindrop

A raindrop descended from the sky, aiming for the parched earth below. Its route was fast halted though, as it hit an immoveable object with force. Spraying into tiny fragments, the drop managed to retain some shape as gravity pulled it to a roughly hewn edge.

The surface was made of dense fibers that the raindrop soaked into, leaving a streak of cool wetness behind. Journeying down, the droplet ran along the rigid lines, searching for the earth to drink it in.

But instead of soil, the drop of water was gradually brought to a standstill. It then spread upon a gentler plane - one that was warm. Life was beating through this hand. Though that life was quickly fading, poured out before the eyes that watched.

Mingling with the crimson flow, the raindrop turned from crystal to ruby as it was once again propelled forward. It rolled down the creased palm, drawing on a strange mixture of anguish and love.

Suddenly the droplet eased over a harsh, cold barrier - a nail, driven through the very flesh that held so much pain. It was a cruel contrast to the forgiveness granted...a tool to bring a bitter end.

The raindrop moved on, once again soothing the skin of the suffering One. It gave fresh life to the pores caked with grime and blood, absorbing the colors that would forever stain its luminous form.

And then...it fell. Another ride down, down to the earth, passing the shape of a Man undeserving of the torture given him. Finally the droplet completed the flight as it splashed onto the dehydrated clay.

No one noticed the faint sparkle before it soaked into the earth, never to be seen again. All attention was on the cross that bore love personified - their Savior come at last, to die at the hands of men.

The scene was never the same after that. Though the shadow of the cross was soon replaced, and though the witnesses moved on, the history remained. If one looked closely, they might find the bloodstains still, proof of the distinction between an everlasting love and an everlasting hate.

Three days later, the sorrow of a hostile end would vanish. But for a tiny droplet of water, the world had looked very different for a brief moment. It would never be the same again. For a brief moment with the Son of God would leave anyone changed forever.

A single raindrop had embarked on a journey not many could take. And it had ended in a way least expected. But to be covered in Christ’s blood was not a blemish on oneself. It was the most precious gift of all.

9/4/14

Thursday Nonsense - The Dreaded Foot Covering

Socks and I have never gotten along. I remember, as a child, refusing to don my socks and shoes to go outdoors. I literally threw fits. I would sass my parents, sit and pout, cry and refuse to put on socks. I didn’t particularly like shoes either, but it really was the socks part that bothered me most. Any kind of socks. Thin ones, thick ones, short ones, long ones or fuzzy ones. It didn’t matter if they were dull white ones, or ones bright with color. I hated all of them. If I would have had my way, I would have spent my life barefoot. Of course, I couldn’t. It wasn’t realistic, and my parents kept working with me until I outgrew the temper tantrums. What I didn’t outgrow, however, was my abhorrence of socks.

I still detest them. I’ve just learned to adapt, and someone my age throwing a fit over something as silly as socks would be…well, awkward. I’ve also learned that sometimes it’s better to have warm toes, or toes that don’t rub raw inside my shoes. And I’ve also learned that the part of socks I hate most are the seams. (Apparently I’m just very sensitive to touch. I hate wearing elastic or scratchy clothing – always have. Loose clothes are the best, and stiff belts or tight shoes are the worst. Don’t ever put a piece of lint in my shoe – I’ll go nuts.)

I now actually wear my socks inside-out. Yep. At any given time, inside my shoes are feet covered in inside-out socks. It doesn’t matter what kind of socks they are. As long as I can have the seam not touching my skin, it’s better. Not great, but better. Now, all of my socks are thin. I can barely stand to have thick socks on, because the seams are thicker. And when I put my shoes on every morning, it sometimes takes several tries before my feet can stand the position of the sock’s seam around my toes.

While my quirk can be frustrating, at least it provides a bit of entertainment. Even I have to admit it’s rather amusing. Maybe one day I’ll be able to wear socks like they’re supposed to be worn. But until then, I’ll just add it to my collection of oddities.

Surely I’m not the only one with a weird clothing quirk.

9/2/14

Judgment by Windows

The other day, while driving, I happened to look over at a particular house I was passing. It was fairly new - recently assembled - and the property seemed to be coming together nicely. One thing that caught my eye, though, was something about the front windows. There were two, not all that far apart, but they were slightly different sizes, with slightly different shapes from one another.

I'm real big on things like straight lines or shapes being the same size when so close together (just a smidge of OCD coming through there...) so of course, it stumped me. My mind was stuck on those windows as I continued to drive. How strange, I thought, that someone would have this brand new house, yet have differently shaped windows like that. Couldn't they afford the same kind of windows so it would look nicer in the front? After all, it was the side of the house that everyone driving by could see. Or maybe they could even have had one big window to take the place of two - after all, they were close enough together that it should be possible. So why did these people choose to have their new house look so odd?

At some point, by brain kicked in, and I realized that most likely there was a wall on the inside of that house, between the two windows. Probably those windows were in two different rooms, so on the inside, it made perfect sense. I'm sure in each room, the window chosen was just right for the space and/or height of the ceiling.

I wasn't going to turn around, drive back to their house, and ask to go inside so I could see. I was content with my new assumption that there was more going on that I simply couldn't see from the outside. Whoever had designed the house knew exactly what they were doing. Just because I thought the outside looked a little funny didn't mean the inside wasn't beautifully made.

And then I thought of people.