Sisters Reunited

January 31, 2011 at 7:16 am | Posted in family, flashback, sentimentality | 18 Comments

My grandma’s sister, my Great Aunt Sissy, passed away last week. She was a lively, statuesque, fun-loving woman with round moon-shaped cheeks and an easy laugh. She and my Gram were the best of friends. I remember that whenever they were together they would laugh and laugh- laughing until they were crying and one was shouting, “I’m going to pee my pants!” And as my Mom likes to say, later in life one of them inevitably did pee their pants. They grew up Chicago in an Irish Catholic clan. Sissy was always called Sissy even though her name is Irene and Gram was called May even though her name was Marion.

I grew up eating what everyone in my family called “Sissy’s Chicken”. It’s basically a chicken casserole made with cream of mushroom soup, cheese, broccoli and bread crumbs. There’s some mayonnaise in there too but what can you expect from an old recipe? It’s served with mashed potatoes (of course, we’re Irish) and biscuits. Last night my family gathered to honor her in our own way since we couldn’t fly back to Chicago for the service. We looked at old photos and dined on Sissy’s Chicken.

It’s been over 10 years  since my Grandma passed and I still miss her. I hope she and Sissy are up in heaven having a vodka tonic and toasting to being together again. Maybe my Dad is there too and they are all laughing til the tears stream down their cheeks.

My Grandma, Marion, on the left and her sister, Irene, who was affectionately known as Sissy.

Hopefully you can’t pee your pants in heaven.

Together

January 28, 2011 at 7:30 am | Posted in cohabitation, love, processing, why I love him | 31 Comments

It’s us together on a couch with a woman sitting in a chair across from us, smiling warmly. We fill her in on the highs and the lows, piecing together a Cliff’s Notes version of us. During the 75 minutes we spend in the room, we talk and share and wonder. Occasionally, we reach out a hand to soothe the other. A gentle reassurance reminding the other that we’re in this together.

We do this, sit in this room with this stranger pouring out our hearts, because we want to be better together. Because we don’t want to wait til our disagreements become too big and unfixable and we’re looking at each other wondering where the hell we went wrong. Because at the core of everything we love each other and know we can do better for each other, for ourselves, for us. Seeking a deeper understanding, trust and love is not failure. It is authentic and honest and humble. It is brave.

This is us saying we’re in this together. That we want to be happy together.That we’re willing to risk vulnerability and uncomfortableness and our fears for the other.

This is how we say I love you.

 

Internal Mantra

January 25, 2011 at 7:30 am | Posted in health, my neurosis, processing, yoga | 25 Comments

Despite repeated attempts in class and at home, I cannot seem to get up into crow pose (AKA Holy Shitasana). I feel a deep sense of failure and shame about this.

Crow pose requires balance and core strength and the ability to fold your body into itself. I’m having difficulty getting my knees up close enough to my upper arms because I have this monstrosity in the way. My massive, unsightly, annoying belly.

Once I begin to feel the frustration all I focus on is my belly. I send it angry, hateful messages. I belittle it. I blame it for my shortcoming. I get wholly distracted with negativity and shame. Is it any wonder  why I can’t do the pose?

Um, no.

Yesterday’s class focused on truthfulness about our bodies and what we are capable of. Not that we were the “best” in class or the “worst” in class but personally where we were at, stretching into our own possibility. And you know what I thought about for 97% of the class?

Yep. How I suck.

So of course I kept falling out of poses and wavering and having knee pain, etc. ad nauseum. As the class went on, my frustration grew. I was distracted and comparing myself to others. I went into poses already feeling like I couldn’t do them or do them well.

It’s hard to hold a pose when you’re internal mantra is “I suck”. It’s hard to operate in the world, actually, if that’s what you’re hearing in your head.

As I wrote this post I went back to my mat 4 times to attempt to get into Crow. Each time I could only get my knees slightly on my upper arms. Once it comes to shifting my weight onto my arms and using my core- if that’s even what I am supposed to be doing- I freak out. I don’t trust myself to hold myself. I feel too heavy. I know I am too heavy. All I feel in that moment is panic and fat.

I thought maybe I’d feel better having written this but . . . I don’t. I’m trying to accept my limitations but not be defined by them but frankly, I am doing a really awful job at it. I don’t like being bad at things. I don’t like not succeeding. And most of all, I don’t like being fat. I’m sick of how I let it define me and create parameters for how I live my life.

I don’t know how to reset my brain to stop this way of thinking. I’ve trained it for 37 years. I have had thoughts of giving up on yoga. Maybe it’s not for me, not for fatties who have bellies that get in the way. I am so mad at myself for thinking that. I AM NOT A QUITTER. When it comes to every other aspect of my life, I don’t quit. But when it comes to me it’s an option? That’s some bullshit right there. Some real fucking bullshit.

My current inability to do Crow is a metaphor for how I approach my body, how I live in my body. I am emotionally abusive to my body and based on its size and shape, I have physically mistreated it as well. I have used my body as a scapegoat for years and as an outward sign of my self-belief that I am not worthy, am not good enough, and should be overlooked. I’m a good faker- I can put a stylish outfit together from meager offerings at department stores; smile, laugh and entertain, use my wits and sparkling personality to charm, fall back on my “pretty face” to distract enough to get by- but inside I feel those deep pangs of unworthiness and it’s painful. It’s painful to not accept yourself, to not love your body. To walk around in the world feeling like not enough is no way to live.

I am better than that.

I can DO better than that.

I WILL do better than that.

Just because that voice is familiar doesn’t mean what it says is true.

It’s time to tell myself something new. Something that is actually true.

Newity

January 21, 2011 at 7:00 am | Posted in event planning, float my boat, living out loud | 20 Comments

I tried a new exercise class last weekend and dare I say, I am hooked. It’s called Nia and it’s like martial arts meets dance with some yoga thrown in. It’s an awesome workout! I was red in the face, dehydrated and sweaty at the end of the hour. And the hour flew by.

I will say that my 12 years as a resident of The Cruz (AKA Hippyville) prepared me somewhat for the new age-y bent to the class. There was a lot of talk of our auras and chis (at one point we were instructed to “fluff” our chi) and a focus on BEING in our bodies along with the approval to make noises if we so desired. Grunts and yells and moans. Possibly someone unable to see into the studio might have wondered if there was an orgy going on at one point.

Speaking of sex- there was one chick in the class who clearly was or had been a dancer by the way she moved and over-emphasized every move. I kept getting distracted by her hip gyrations. I mean they were. . . wild. I bet that woman is a bobcat in bed.

All that hippy, sexy stuff aside, I really enjoyed the dance and martial art elements. It took me back to when I taught self-defense. I actually went to two classes over the long weekend and have another this morning. I think it’s a great way infuse some cardio into my exercise routine. Yoga is fantastic, don’t get me wrong, and I don’t plan on quitting it (ever) but I want/need to get in better shape and already after my new schedule of yoga in studio 3x a week and Nia 2x a week I feel stronger in my body.

It’s kinda fierce, you guys.

I guess Nia is my new water aerobics. Remember when I was all “water aerobics this” and “water aerobics that”? I still do like water aerobics but I haven’t felt inspired to drag my ass to the pool. Besides, I’m obviously occupied with trying to do holy shitasana pose and doing kicks. And, you know, fluffing my chi.

****

I woke up one morning and apparently overnight all my white & gray hairs grew in. WTF? I know a lot of people don’t notice it but I do. It’s all I can see when I look in the mirror. Those pesky grays coupled with the bulk of my wavy mane sitting like a spare tire around the back of my head (hello! not pretty!) compelled me to move my hair appointment up by 3 weeks.

Desperation, thy name is Sizzle.

I did not, however, chop it all off back to super short. I just realized I needed something more hip and manageable as it grows out. Please review Exhibit A and B (sorry for poor quality of shots, they are from my iPhone).

Exhibit A: Scraggly, gray-haired before shot.

Exhibit B: Sleek brunette almost-bob.

Next up, I must attend to the massive bags under my eyes. Not enough sleep? Too much salt or alcohol? POOR LIGHTING! That is it.

P.S. I am still growing my hair out.

****

My blogging will be sporadic for the next 2 months (as will my commenting on your blogs) because I am neck-deep in planning an upcoming major fundraiser in March. I’m rather jazzed because not only have we landed a big name celeb to join the event as a speaker (sorry, cannot disclose) but we have only 9 tables out of 120 left to reach capacity for the room. IT IS NOT EVEN FEBRUARY! To say I am excited and proud would be an understatement. It is a rather awesome feeling to be good at your job.

Shine on, y’all.

Different Parts of the Whole

January 19, 2011 at 8:04 am | Posted in my neurosis, processing | 21 Comments

I am watching the show Intervention: 80 days into treatment the alcoholic is diagnosed with esophageal cancer. He was sober a little over 100 days when he died. His young son says to the camera. “I am glad  at least that my dad died a dad and not an alcoholic.”

I can’t get up from the couch and away from the TV fast enough. But the tears beat me.

_________

Tracy Chapman comes on radio, “my old mans got a problem, live with the bottle that’s the way it is” and I remember vividly being in the backyard of my childhood home. It’s sunny and the whole family is out by the pool, either weeding or cleaning or swimming, when that song starts to play. My mom, listening to the words says to my father, “Ray, are you listening to this song?”

Maybe he was.

Maybe he wasn’t.

I didn’t really know my father. I couldn’t say.

__________

I’m lying in bed in the dark, cats piled on me and a snoring man next to me. I grab my phone to turn off the alarm and check my email. There it was sitting in my in box. A letter I thought I’d never receive.

After over two years of no contact my former best friend, the one who ended our twenty year friendship via text, had written me an apology. I lay there stunned with quick tears burning my cheeks.

I had convinced myself she didn’t think of me, that I didn’t matter, that she did not miss me and here, staring me in the face, was evidence to the contrary.

And here she was delivering the very thing I wanted most but never got from my dad- an apology.

It’s been almost two months since I received that email and I can’t bring myself to write her back. Can I be friends with her? Have I forgiven her? Can two people mend such deep hurt?

I have no answer. So I wait and listen.

_________

Everything that happened to us before comes with us into today and sometimes it is impossible to sort it all out. What’s from now, what’s from then, what’s real, what’s fiction, what’s hyperbole, what’s next. We want answers possibly to the wrong questions. We want it to be easier but it keeps getting harder.

Trigger.

Trigger.

Reaction.

Defense.

Cry.

Trigger.

Reprieve.

Repeat.

There is a better way to do this and we’re feeling in the dark to find the light.

_________

Operatic

January 13, 2011 at 8:25 am | Posted in confessional, fun & frolicking, musicality | 28 Comments

Supple texted me, “Do you want to go see The Barber of Seville with me tomorrow night?”

I replied, “Sure!”

Then I thought to myself, “What exactly IS The Barber of Seville?”**

I googled it and was all, “Uh oh. It’s opera.”

Let me explain.

Despite my love of theater and music, I just don’t love them together. Yes, yes, I grew up loving The Sound of Music and Grease (though I prefer the uber-cheesy Grease 2) and was required to sit through multiple viewings of Oliver (my Mom’s favorite). In high school my mom, sister and I would go to the theater on final dress rehearsal night wherein I was subjected to the likes of Jesus Christ, Superstar and My Fair Lady.

I just don’t get why they have to SING when they could be talking. Oh right! BECAUSE IT IS MUSICAL THEATER.

I can stomach musical theater in small doses. But the opera? That takes it to a whole other level. THEY SING EVERYTHING. And they sing it repeatedly. And it’s in a language I don’t speak. And it goes on for a very long time.

I think opera could seriously benefit from an editor.

At last night’s performance, there was an older lady sitting a row ahead of us and four seats to our left. Not 20 minutes into the performance her head was thrown back and she was sawing logs. Occasionally she’d jolt herself awake, grab her theater binoculars, and pretend she hadn’t just been fast asleep. Nobody bought it. But I found it entertaining. She might have been my favorite part of the show. That and the cocktails. (And of course, Supple’s company.)

At the intermission, Supple asked, “So what do you think?” And I replied, “I remembered I don’t like opera.”

I wish I liked opera. Liking opera sounds so cultured. But alas, I am not that girl. You can take me to the theater, an author reading, a poetry slam, a dance performance, to hear classical music or hip hop or indie folk or jazz but you can’t take me to the opera.

Feel free to judge me.

**If you think you aren’t familiar with opera, The Barber of Seville, you probably know it without knowing you know it. There was a Bugs Bunny adaptation called The Rabbit of Seville that is widely known. I recognized a lot of the music because I had seen that cartoon as a kid.

 

The Long & Short Of It

January 11, 2011 at 6:40 am | Posted in my neurosis, vanity | 49 Comments

Once upon a time, I decided to grow my hair out.

Why? I am not 100% sure. Blame it on hair envy or future-tripping about being a bride (and yes, I am well aware we are not even engaged) or plain ol’ boredom. So here I am in the midst of the hair growing out process:

I'm at that awkward growing-your-hair-out phase.

See what I'm saying? Full head of hair! (I'm not just looking off into nothing. I'm actually talking to my friend Long Story Longer but didn't know if she wanted her picture plastered on my blog post.)

I’m second guessing myself. I mean, I LOVE short hair. I love that it’s so easy, that few women actually do it, that I can actually pull it off and that it suits my personality. I love that I feel a little funky and edgy with short hair. I’ve had long hair before.

PROOF!

Granted, it was 1991. But still.

My hair is very thick (thanks Mom) and as it grows out, very wavy (thanks Dad).  I feel like my head is big when my hair is grown out and subsequently, I view my entire self as larger the bigger my hair gets. I am the opposite of all those people who believe that long hair makes a person appear thinner. But what do you expect from a girl who gets sleepy drinking coffee? Exactly! (What can I say? I’m naturally caffeinated. And I like to keep things interesting.)

It’s winter which means I have access to a plethora of hats to hide the in between ‘do I am currently sporting.  I’ve promised myself that I will stay the course until my hair hits my collarbone at least. If I hate it, I can always chop it off. That’s the beauty of hair. It grows and you can cut it.

What do you think? Am I crazy to grow it out? Should I keep it short and sassy?

Listing

January 10, 2011 at 6:26 am | Posted in list, my neurosis | 13 Comments

I made a list last year. Honestly, I made many, many lists but this one was different. It was a list of goals for 2010. Let’s see how I did:

  1. recommit to practicing yoga CHECK
  2. start practicing meditation CHECK
  3. prioritize self-care (This means that yoga class, water aerobics, exercise, and down time are not things I am willing to schedule over on my busy calendar.) CHECK (work-in-progress)
  4. spend more time with my family CHECK (more of this please)
  5. road trip CHECK
  6. find a new guitar teacher and get serious about learning OOPS
  7. go to Hawaii with Tomato OOPS
  8. have lost a total of 75lbs by the time Tomato and I go to Hawaii (currently at 35lbs lost) OOPS
  9. take the train to Vancouver with friends for TequilaCon ’10 CHECK
  10. have monthly dates with Finn ALMOST (more of this please)
  11. say “no” more often CHECK
  12. go white water rafting CHECK
  13. throw more parties CHECK
  14. have all of my credit cards paid off ALMOST
  15. go to more theater and author readings ALMOST
  16. learn a new craft (I’m thinking embroidery) OOPS
  17. have days where I have no plans, no obligations, nothing! so I can have a modicum of spontaneity ALMOST (shut it, Kaply)
  18. sing in public (even if it is karaoke, DO IT) CHECK
  19. read more books (a book a month if I can swing it) ALMOST
  20. only blog when I feel inspired not when I feel obligated CHECK

11 out of 20 CHECK

4 out of 20 OOPS

5 out of 20 ALMOST

Sure I would have loved to have lost more weight, gone to Hawaii, learned a new craft or guitar, read more, done less but I can’t say I am disappointed with what I accomplished in 2010.

What’s in store for 2011? Well lookie here! I made a new list!

  1. Pay off all my debt (I am reaaaally close to achieving this)
  2. Bulk up my savings
  3. Study up on home ownership
  4. Take a dance class with Mr. Darcy
  5. Redesign my blog
  6. Get my side business up & running (including a website, business cards, and some clients)
  7. Grow my hair out (more on this in another post- I might be crazy for doing this)
  8. Stop biting my nails
  9. Maintain a daily meditation & yoga practice
  10. Find an aerobic exercise I enjoy & can commit to
  11. Practice loving myself more rather than beating myself up
  12. Open a checking account with Mr. Darcy for our joint bills
  13. Read more, watch less television
  14. Be crafty
  15. Visit the beach more
  16. Travel to somewhere warm
  17. Call a friend once a week (stop relying solely on texting or emailing)
  18. (ADDITION!) Go to Hawaii with Tomato

Humor me.

January 6, 2011 at 6:14 am | Posted in reader participation | 47 Comments

If you had to describe me in three words, what three words would you use?

 

Habit-ation

January 5, 2011 at 7:31 am | Posted in cohabitation | 36 Comments

There are a lot of things one has to adjust to when they shack up with their mate. Like- agreeing on who does what chores, aligning schedules, dividing closet space, paying bills, sharing the remote control, and dealing with the other person’s moods and quirks.  Some days negotiating these things is a breeze while other days it’s best to go to opposite ends of the home and take some deep breaths. One of the hardest things for us has been figuring out how to sleep together.

And no, this is not a post about sex. (I can’t tell you everything, people.)

We’ve managed to find a rhythm to my early bird nature and his night owl lifestyle. He gets alone time at night while I get 2 hours (4-5 on the weekends!) in the morning to myself. I still don’t comprehend how a human being can sleep as much as Mr. Darcy does. I am golden on 7-8 hours of sleep while he can easily slumber for 12 and still feel tired. During our trip to the coast he had a couple of beers after our long drive there and they hit him rather hard. After a rousing game of Scrabble and a couple of whiskey ginger ales back at our love shack, he said he felt out of it and was beat so he put himself to bed. IT WAS 8PM. He slept until 9:30am the next morning. He jokes that he must have been slipped a Roofie. I didn’t do it, I can tell you that much.

I’ve shared with you before about the snoring. Thankfully, Mr. Darcy agreed to use Breathe Right strips after visiting the doctor. They help him snore less though he still snores. Oddly enough the loudest he snores is right after I get up in the morning. It’s like his body feels me get out of bed and is all IT’S SNORING TIME UP IN HERE! It’s generally the soundtrack to my morning meditation. I try to think of it as ocean waves crashing on the shore. (Yeah, that doesn’t really work.)

Since returning from the coast and our luxurious king sized bed there, I’ve been having a difficult time getting a good night’s sleep. Our once comfortable queen sized bed feels rather small in comparison. I’m tossing and turning, pulling the blankets with me and off Mr. Darcy. He prefers to be bundled up in sleep while I run hot and kick the covers off. In sleep his body rejects the sheet and just wants the comforters. I find the sheet wrinkled and scrunched between us when I wake up. We’re basically a sleeping mess. Short of forking out a chunk of change to upgrade to a king sized bed and new frame, I’m not sure what we can do to fix this.Our bed is still new and I spent a lot of money on it. Conundrum!

We were just talking last night about how in the five, almost six, months we’ve been living together we’ve come a long way in being able to work things out. Our response time is quicker. We pick our battles more wisely. We understand each other better. Yes, we still squabble. Hell, sometimes we have huge misunderstandings and long, process-y talks that involve tears. But for the most part, we’re learning we can work anything out if we’re willing to put in the time, energy and vulnerability to get to the root of it. Just like anything in life, it’s about the process, not perfection.

But goddamn I’d like a bigger bed.

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