What's my sentence?

Books, their authors and their characters inspire me. They appeal to my cerebral nature. At times in my life, I've felt trapped inside my mind, but I've always known that my life's journey would not be one of physical or emotional pursuits, but intellectual ones. I look for experiences that broaden my mind and help me put the physical and emotional world into perspective for me.

One of my favorite authors is Daniel Pink, and his new book Drive has spawned a project for him -- and now one for me. This will be another trip of self discovery for me. This video explains the exercise from Daniel Pink's book.


Two questions that can change your life from Daniel Pink on Vimeo.

I can imagine with my talent for verbosity I am in danger of becoming a rambling paragraph with no purpose, and I need to focus and find my sentence. Something else has come onto my radar in recent weeks that has my mind twisted in trying to understand intentions and perceptions. I'm hoping that my project will help me reconcile the two and find my sentence in the process.

So I ask you what sentence would you write about me? It doesn't have to be long or all encompassing. It doesn't have to be positive. I want to learn from this project, and I can't do that by just looking for praise. I am who I am, and I don't want to be anyone else. I do want to understand how other people interpret me, so I can help the world see my true intentions and the real me. I hope you'll help.

Who do you think you are?

Hubby and I were on our way home after running an errand this afternoon, and we came across a display that has my blood boiling.

I have never been big on religion. I understand that a lot of people find peace and strength in their religion and their churches, but I have never been one of them. I do however have a strong belief system and faith that I'd put up against anyone's. Both have come from a long and careful study of religions ranging from Catholicism and Protestantism to Islam and Eastern philosophies. I tell you this because I do not want anyone having the idea that I am some heathen that believes anything goes or that I harbor some evil in my soul.

I am not Christian, but I've read the Bible twice, as well as the Catholic canon. There are many teachings of Jesus that have value, as do other stories from the Bible. I also think one of the most thought-provoking (and correct) statements ever made by a "Holy" person was said by Mohandas Gandhi: "I like your Christ, I do not like your Christians. Your Christians are so unlike your Christ." This public display I witnessed could prove nothing more true.

Outside a church on Broad Street in Falls Church, along both sides of this main drag, a hundred people stood with signs decrying and damning abortion and those who perform or receive one. Really, folks? You got up this morning and went to church to listen to the teachings of Christ and, afterward, felt so self-righteous and superior as to display to the public your judgment on people and situations you know nothing of?  Did God come down and empower you to judge others? Did you wake up this morning with some omniscience that makes you able to make broad, unqualified judgments? Are you so perfect that you can stand publicly and cast stones at others? Is your world so black and white as to leave no room for extenuating circumstances? Here's my real question: Who the fuck do you think you are?

Putting aside my own views on whether or when abortion may be right or wrong, I would never presume to stand in judgment of others when I don't know anything about them as a person or their situation. I would never presume to see the world in such stark contrast as to remove the gray areas, situations that warrant an exception.

I know there are people who want nothing more than to have children. I know people who want nothing less. I am one of them, and if I could trade places with them, I would without hesitation. It's like everything else in life; it's not fair, and I take my stand as pro-choice without intent to harm those people, those who have benefited from adoption or realized that an unintentional pregnancy is their biggest blessing. I simply say that no one has the right to judge me, no one has the right to decide for me what I can or cannot do with my body. It's no one else's fucking business.

So to those protesters who were not seeking to affect law (you know the one that's been in place since 1973), but instead to cast judgments and shame on others, I ask you to think the next time you preach or quote your Bible, what actions will you have to defend when you are held accountable, what have you done to create harmony in the universe, is there compassion in your heart, words and deeds? ... What would Jesus do?

Don't get the wrong idea about me

As far as I'm concerned, I'm a goofball. I can trip over my own feet and stutter all over anything and generally make a mess. I get a lot of things right, too, but sometimes, it becomes clear that some people have the wrong idea about me.

It's taken me a long time to reach this plateau in my life. I'll climb higher and do more, but for now, things have leveled out for me. I know a lot of things, and I get a lot of things right. I'm not perfect, and a great deal of the time, I do not have the answers. I am afraid of things. I've made more mistakes than I could ever count. I'll make a lot more.

I've been on antidepressants most of my adult life. (Notice I didn't say "all" of it.) I have a chemical imbalance in my brain that interferes with how my body processes serotonin. As a result, I've fought bouts of severe depression. During some of them, I have not wanted to, nor have I, taken my medicine as I should. Talk about a situation ripe for fucking up royally.

More than one semester in college, I had to get medical withdrawals from classes to keep from failing. I've been tested, and technically, I'm a genius, but I was literally failing. I spent more than one day at a time in bed sleeping my life away. I stayed awake for days at a time trying to catch up on school or out partying. I drank, smoked pot and hung out with some unsavory characters. (I'm being polite with my description.) I lied about where I was, what I was doing and who I was with on a regular basis. I had no rules and my moral compass was so distorted I didn't know what I was doing.

At the time, I thought I had things under control. I didn't want to take medicine, and I was determined to find a way to live without it. I didn't want to admit I was hurting myself and if I didn't get my shit straight, I was going to do permanent damage. I was lucky in that I had some friends who looked out for me, made sure no one slipped me anything and I didn't walk off with the wrong person. Not all of my friends were so good, and I wasn't always so lucky.

More than once I drank until I blacked out. I smoked two packs of Camels without filters a day. I lived on caffeine and pretzels. And those were some of my better decisions. I did get drugged, oddly enough by someone I was dating. I don't remember much. I wanted to move and couldn't. I wanted to speak and couldn't. Hell, it took years for me to even realize what had happened, and strangely enough someone joking around, tickling me triggered the memory. Something about the loss of control, not being able to make them stop.

My point is I didn't get to where I am and who I am today without traveling a rough road. I finally started listening to my therapist and taking my medicine. I didn't have the money for the therapy or the pills, but Dr. Clark let me pay what I could, when I could and gave me every sample of prozac he had just to keep me on it. I met new friends that helped me. I had fun without being so reckless. I wrapped my head around school and started thinking of a life after it.

The trip back was slow. I stayed in therapy until I learned everything I could about  clinical depression. I found the reasons I react the way I do. A few years of cognitive therapy, and I can now tell when I'm starting to slide and either keep it from happening or pull myself out when it does.

I worked my ass off to get where I am and be the person I am. To have the life I live. I learned from my mistakes, collected my experiences. I earned this life. I know what happiness is. I know I am happy because I have seen misery. I have lived in the dark places of the corners of my mind. I have been weak and stupid and crumbled under pressure. Now, I am strong and smart and I can do hard things. But don't get the wrong idea about me. I'm not done yet. I've got a lot left to learn and greater heights to reach.

It's been a while

I haven't written anything in a while. Not so much because I don't have anything to say, but more because I have so many things on my mind, I can't keep them all straight. I feel like I'm brain has been put in a blender and then gotten stuck on fast forward. Usually, one part of my life goes berserk at a time, but lately, there is no respite from the chaos.

Last week, I was so flustered that I canceled my shrink appointment because I was so busy that just going to one more appointment, even one that's supposed to help, was stressing me out. Luckily, my shrink is understanding.

This weekend is a holiday weekend, and I'm hoping it will be one of rest and regeneration. If it's not, I'll have to check into my padded suite at Sunny View Asylum or call in unconscious to work for a week.

Who turned the heat on?

One minute everything is fine, and the next you feel a bit flushed, cheeks tingling, ears getting warm. It doesn't take long for the heatwave to wash all the way to your toes, and then your head spontaneously bursts into flames. No, wait. It's just a hot flash. And the fun has only started.

Sensing the increased temperature, your sweat glands kick into gear,and with the pressure of a fire hose, sweat pours out of your body. Ladies may "glisten," but you, my friend, are sweating like a pig. You soak through your bra in mere minutes and start to wonder if when you stand up you'll look like you wet your pants. Your entire body is now trying to either put out the fire or drown you.

If you're anything like me, getting too hot has the convenient side effect of nausea, too, so you're in the nearest bathroom running cold water over your wrists, dabbing at the sweat with a lukewarm paper towel and praying you don't toss your cookies. This never happens when you're at home -- one of the few places it might be appropriate or at least acceptable for you to throw off your clothes and turn on the nearest fan.

With soaked clothes and dripping hair, your body slowly realizes it may have overreacted, and you realize you are close to hypothermia. In just 10 minutes, you've ruined your hair and makeup, your clothes look slept in and you're so uncomfortable the next person that looks at you funny might end up missing teeth. So I say what the fuck ... go have a glass of wine and call it a day. Who cares if it's only 10:30am. The way you look no one will ask any questions.

3 years ago today

There were only 2 hours left in my 32nd birthday when I got the call.

Joe and I had spent the day white water rafting. When we got home, I had 32 roses waiting from my mom. My Nana had gone in to have her dialysis port moved from her arm to her clavicle. The procedure was successful. The family had gone home, and Joe and I were getting in bed 700 miles away.

No phone call that comes after 10pm is ever good. It was 11:01pm when my phone rang. My youngest sister was on the other line. Everyone was headed back to the hospital because Nana had died. Everything had been fine one second; she'd been joking with her nurses. Then she was gone.

Nana was technically my step-grandmother. She and Dado are my (step)dad's parents, but like my dad, they've always treated my sister and me as if we were there own. Nana actually treated us better than one of our real grandmothers who disowned me -- the last grandchild she had speaking to her -- several years ago.

For several years, Nana had been ill. She'd had numerous heart surgeries. Diabetes came along. She'd had so many procedures and pain was a constant in her life. She was never bitter though and never lost her faith. She remained gracious until the very end.

Nana was above all else, a lady. She didn't shout and wasn't ostentatious. She had a deep voice and the most beautiful silvery gray hair. She could play the piano. I loved to hear her play Danny Boy. She took care of her "four boys" (Dado plus three) and delighted in her first natural grandchild and namesake, Sara Katherine, as well as Halle, her second granddaughter, who came along a few years later. The last time I talked to her, she told me a story about her first trip to New York City. She lived a long, full life, and even though she wasn't surrounded by family when she died, she'd been joking with her nurses. She literally died laughing. Can't ask for much more than that.

I hope one day I can have Nana's grace. I hope she knew how much I loved her and how much it meant to me to be her granddaughter, too.

A public service

Ever wondered if any of those As Seen on TV products work? I have to admit that for most of my life I have been fascinated with the crazy commercials and demonstrations. I'm a naturally suspicious person. I'm a big believer that if something looks too good to be true it probably is.

Well, I've found out about a few As Seen on TV items, and as a public service, I'm going to let you guys in on the secrets I've found.

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Pedipaws claims to be a fast, gentle and easy way to trim your pet's nails. Anyone with a dog or cat that objects to having their nails trimmed would jump at the chance to make it easier. Our 18 lb. bundle of terror turns into a bona fide rabid beast when anyone tries to cut his nails. Watching the commercial, I was convinced those pets were drugged or lobotomized before the demo was shot. Even if there is a dog out there who would so willingly submit to this demonstration, I was sure that no cat would!

I saw Pedipaws in CVS one day while waiting for a prescription. It was only $20, so I figured what the hell. If it worked, it would be more than worth the cost.

I followed the instructions to let Henry become accustomed to the "wand" for a few days before even turning it on. We eased into things to make sure the dog wouldn't freak out. Well, we needn't have worried. Pedipaws wouldn't have filed MY nails, much less my dogs.

Pedipaws = massive #FAIL. If you want to trim your dog's nails, do yourself a favor and buy a Dremel. If you want to do your cat's nails ... you're braver than me.

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However badly named, the Sliding Robots came in really handy recently, and not just as coasters. Hubby and I have both injured our backs, so when we bought new bedroom furniture and had to have the old furniture out of the way before the deliverymen came. The old furniture is incredibly heavy, solid cherry. It's older than me, and definitely looks its age. It survived my college days and more moves than I care to count. We needed to move it one more time to the guest room, but sliding it across our hardwood floors was not an option. I remembered seeing the Sliding Robots, again, at CVS while I was waiting for another prescription. Maybe a refill of the first one, who knows.

Anyway, I got these home figuring $5 was worth a shot to save me a few weeks of physical therapy if I tried to move the dresser. It was well worth it. These things worked like a charm. Hubby easily slid the dresser into the next room without any help from me and not a scratch on the floors. I don't know if these will last very long or anything else, but for $5, I give the Sliding Robots a thumbs up.

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Hubby and I have a great love for our dog Henry. His barking tests the boundaries of that love on a daily basis. For being only 18 lbs., he has the bark of a doberman. He's an anxious little man who is extremely territorial. Anything he sees out the window is his. It's not just his yard. It's his street, and anyone walking down it, is trespassing. Our house can be really noisy.

We've tried various types of training, pulling the blinds and anything else we come across. The logical answer is to treat the anxiety, but hubby nor I are ready to start medicating the dog. One of us on anti-anxiety meds in the house is enough. Anyway, someone suggested or we came across online, not sure which, something called a Thundershirt. It's supposed to help calm your dog naturally.

I'm not sure the designers of Thundershirt had the proportions of a dachshund in mind when they created the shirt. He wears a small, but his stubby little legs make it easy for the shirt to twist and he can pretty quickly get out of it. As stubborn as Henry is, we don't expect anything to work immediately or like magic. So far there might be some mild calming effects, but it's been nothing dramatic. I wonder at times if he's not more distracted by trying to get out of the shirt than the things to bark at. We'll see.

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There is great anticipation among some friends of mine as to whether this one in particular will work. I bought Bark Off while wandering the "As Seen on TV" aisle at CVS. It was $10, and if it works, I'll consider it the biggest ROI I've ever gotten on any money I've ever spent.

There is a degree of blind faith on this one, as the device does not emit any sound audible by humans. It must be doing something though because right after he barks Henry gets a funny look on his face and checks to see if his boy parts are still where they're supposed to be. It's actually quite hilarious.

It definitely doesn't seem to hurt him, but it gets his attention. He can't figure out where the noise is coming from. I've been trying to add a "hush" or other such admonishment when he starts barking, so he'll equate my command with the need to be quiet even if the device isn't on.

So far, I'd say Bark Off has potential. I've noticed an impact on how much Henry barks. He's never going to be a quiet dog, but if we can get through an evening without a nervous breakdown from all the noise, life will be much better! I'll be sure to report back on the outcome.

Bigger isn't always better

I’m knitting, I hope, a toy for two of the cutest little girls you’ll ever lay your eyes on. This will eventually be a stuffed caterpillar. Until this past Sunday, it was barely more than a knot that was giving me a headache.

Sunday, I went to Knit Happens in Alexandria to see if one, they could show me once and for all how to knit into the front and back of a stitch, and two, tell me a better way to knit in the round in such a very tiny, tiny circle.

I have pretty big hands for a woman, but my fine motor skills are second to none. I knit more with my fingers than my hands, so the 7″ double-pointed needles were really getting in my way. I couldn’t keep the needles or the yarn out of my way.

The nice ladies at Knit Happens showed me these double pointed needles — only 3.5″ long, and my troubles went away. With the smaller needles I can knit on four instead of three which keeps my stitches more even and makes the transition as I go around smoother.

Bigger isn’t always better. Lesson learned. Now, if only I’d counted my stitches correctly!

No reason to hide

There wasn't an exact date, more an approximate time. A little nudge here, some advice there, some so-called development, and here I am. No where. I'll explain what I mean by that, but first, a little context.

I've always been very open about the fact that I have clinical depression. It's nothing to be ashamed of, and I am not unstable or fragile or any other bullshit other people assume. Very simply, the chemical composition of my brain is not like others', and I have to work a little harder to find my happy place.

On and off since I was eighteen, I've taken medicine and done therapy to alter the way my brain works. Not everyone can even admit they have an issue with depression, much less go to the extents I have to learn about it -- and me. I am what's referred to as a "child of trauma." My dad died when I was two and a half years old. This would alter anyone, but modern neuroscience is just starting to find out how those like me are shaped not just mentally and emotionally, but also physically or physiologically, by those traumas. But I am no neuroscientist, nor is that the point of my story.

In addition to having a different chemical composition in my brain, I'm also what I've heard referred to as "high radar" -- someone who is exceptionally perceptive of the world and people around them. I can't really explain it, and the fact is unless you're the same way, you probably won't understand anyway. The best I can do is to say I see and sense things that aren't obvious or apparent. I listen to my gut, and I have one hell of a bullshit detector.

Back to my original thought line, I've shown a great deal of promise within my organization. I'm talented at what I do, have a wild ability to figure things out and an insatiable need to learn new things. I was doing really well when I first got to my company. I got awards and bonuses and a promotion quite quickly. I continued my good work and was asked to work with upper management on projects way above my pay grade. I was in an ideal situation for my set of strengths and needs.

As I said earlier, there's not a date I can put on this, but about three years ago, all levels of management within my company started to want to help me develop into the next generation of company leaders. I was given extra feedback and opportunities to help in this endeavor. All of which I much appreciated and took every chance I had to grow.

There are subtleties to being effective in corporate management. These subtleties have never been lost on me, but I often saw them as unnecessary. Why not just say what you mean and mean what you say? Playing politics just wasn't my strong suit. I don't use euphemisms. I don't tip toe around the subject or sugar coat things. You'll notice that above I said, "My dad died ..." Died being my point. I don't say he "passed away" or anything like that. He died. Period. Now, I have learned that it's better say my sister "could find something more flattering to wear" rather than "That dress makes your ass look big." I get the need for diplomacy, I just have to try harder at it when it comes to more subtle situations.

For instance, I recently asked at a meeting of high-level management if someone could help me understand their thinking that led to a particular plan. I thought I was being incredibly diplomatic. My tone was inquisitive, respectful and open. All but one person thought I was raising a valid and well-thought out question. The person I asked got defensive and has been an ass to me every time I've dealt with him since. I guess it's a good thing I was trying to be diplomatic since saying "this makes no fucking sense" would have probably gotten me killed on the spot. Even to have simply said, "I don't understand," would have been offensive, so I was more subtle. So much for that.

Anyway, my point is that I would not have been offended had someone said they didn't understand. It's simple direct and tells me I need to be more clear or explain more/better. I prefer this method of communication. I also don't take it personally. Just because someone doesn't get my point doesn't mean they're calling me an idiot or saying I didn't come up with a good point or that I can't communicate. I just means that person did not understand the way I presented it. We're not all on the same page all the time, and not everyone thinks the same way. That's what makes communication such an art.

I am direct. I try to always be respectful and kind, but as a former boss used to say about me, "She tells it like it is." Is that such a bad thing? If I'm being respectful and kind while being direct does it mean I'm the problem? Well, all the advice and development and supposed growth I've been going through would have me thinking, yes, I'm flawed and need improvement in this area. So much so that I've altered so much of myself that I don't know who the hell I am anymore. It ends here and now. I AM DONE.

Few people are fond of uncertainty, and for someone as logical as I am, it can become unsettling after a while. Logically, if 2+2=4, then 2+2 should always equal 4. In the past few years, I've had various people telling me 2+2 equals 5 or 6 or, hell, even 44 depending on the case, and I've tried to believe them because they are my superiors, more experienced and mostly well-respected.

The incongruity of what I've been told and tried to believe has put me off balance and subsequently put my world out of whack. I am out of sorts because I've looked at the sky in the middle of a clear day and tried to tell myself it's green when I know damn well it's blue. I have become a very unhappy person, so much so my depression has reared its ugly head and sent me into a tailspin.

To put it as plainly and simply as I can, DAMMIT, there is nothing wrong with me!!!

I refuse to believe that something is wrong with me or my communication skills because a few people get their feelings hurt or their egos bruised so easily. I will no longer hide my confidence because others are not. I will not play dumb to make other people feel better.

I am smart, and I am confident -- not because I believe myself to always be right or the smartest person in the room, but because I am not afraid to be wrong!

I will always do everything in my power to be kind, compassionate, respectful and professional. These are the right things to do, and I will make it my life-long mission to make these attributes the mantras I live by. I will try to keep an open mind and to not be stubborn. I will listen as much, if not more, than I talk.

I will also promise that there will be times when I fail at this mission. I am human and it is a condition of being so that dictates that I am not and cannot be perfect. I am going to fail, and that doesn't make me a bad person.

When I was a kid, it was a cardinal sin in my house to say you hated someone, especially if that someone was my mother or sister, and heaven help you if you let it slip. One afternoon on our way home from school, my best friend's youngest brother got really angry at his brother and screamed, "I HATE YOU!!!" with everything he had in his little heart. I immediately said, "Oh, Daniel, you don't mean that. You're just mad. You don't hate your brother." I think part of me was trying to protect him from some parental wrath I would have expected. Instead, his mother said, "No, it's OK. Right now, he is mad at his brother, and he's feeling hatred towards him. It's OK that he feels that way right now. It's human."

I was dumbfounded -- and a little confused. It was an early example of what "development" can do. Ha!

The fact is that humans have emotions, and even the most controlled of us, let them get the best of us occasionally. We can be hot-headed. (Unfortunately, some of us come by hot-headed more easily than others!) We all have limits, and though we need to push ourselves to be cool, others will push our limits. It may result in an eye roll or an exasperated sigh or on the rare occasion a "go to hell." I have those moments. If you're honest with yourself, so do you.

I freely admit when I'm coaching others that I have my moments. I'd like for the people who coach me to do the same. We all try to avoid it, and we should say sorry when it happens, but to act like someone shouldn't be human, shouldn't have times when their limits are reached, is dishonest.

I have been lied to, and it has warped my sense of self. I hid figuratively and literally. Today, I took one small step to correct this mistake. I unprotected my tweets. I'd hidden them because I was made to feel I had something to hide or at the very least censor. Those are my thoughts, for better or worse, and I might say, "I hate you!" in a heated moment, but it doesn't make me a bad person. It doesn't have to be censored. People reading it just have to take it for what it is. There are a lot of other things to read on the Web if you don't like it.

Maybe telling some of the more thin-skinned people they need to stop taking things personally isn't what they want hear, and maybe there are better ways to say it. I'd at least like to get credit for not calling them pansies and telling them to put their big-girl panties on.

So be on notice. I am direct. It is nothing personal. Take what I say for what it is. Or get over it. I'm not hiding anymore.

5 things that make my week better

1. Dominos Cheesy Bread
I think when God changed the dew into manna it was actually Dominos Cheesy Bread. It cures what ails ya. Guaranteed. (Anyone who corrects my biblical reference is fired.)

2. My physical therapist
Her name is Dr. Olya Morgen, and she practices at Active Spine and Sport in Arlington, VA. She is magic. Her combo of Active Release Technique (ART) and chiropractic has worked out kinks I've had for 15 years.

3. NCIS
My favorite show on TV. I love it. My husband does not, but he lets me dominate the DVR with my reruns. (I'd put Hubby on this list, but I way more than like him!) He can't really blame me. My mom had a huge crush on Mark Harmon my entire childhood.

4. Thursday Next
A childhood friend saw my plea for recommendations for new books to read and turned me on to the Thursday Next series by Jasper Fforde. Part detective novel, part satire, part comedy, Fforde blends his original stories with characters and references to all parts of the literary world.

5. Edy's Lemonade Fruit Bars
Mmmm.

I don't know about you, but I'm feeling better already.

Play with me

My dog makes me laugh for a lot of reasons. He's a unique little man. One way he makes me smile is the way he plays. He's a smart dog, so we've bought every kind of toy to help keep him engaged -- and not chewing up our entire house. Some times, he runs around with this toy in his mouth just for the joy of feeling the wind flap through his ears. He'll do this at full speed for about 10 minutes before collapsing in his water bowl. My favorite is when he comes up to me with one of his "biffs" (that's Henry-speak for "toy") with a longing look in his eye. Maybe I want to throw it? Maybe a little tug? Some times, he just wants me to hold it while he chews. I thought Henry was just making his game more interesting by making me want his toy.

As soon as I act like I want his toy, the game is on! Ears perked, tail wagging, Henry is ready. Maybe it's the human in me that imagined the game being like "keep away" or "I've got something you don't." A little good-natured competition. Today, as I held the rope end of his favorite biff, Henry chewing on the rubber end, I realized it was something much simpler.

Henry didn't want me to tease him or throw it or tug. He just wanted to share. He wanted me to play with him. It was that simple. Only a human could make it out to be something like keep away or assert that a thing is only worth possessing if someone else wants it, too.

If we're honest though, we want to share, too. We want to share our experiences, our time. Whether it's an exchange of pleasantries or a hug or a nice long talk or just the touch of a hand. Too often we're those petty, jealous humans. The ones that like to keep our toys to ourselves and not share, to disconnect and hide behind our techno walls.

Henry found a whole new way to make me smile today. He really is one smart dog. He taught this human to be more like a dog and look for simple ways to share. He showed me how simple it can be to connect to another living being. Share.

Would you like to play?

Oops, I knit it again ...

(I titled this post in honor of my dear friend Felicia who has a thing for Britney Spears and who is responsible for this hat and scarf idea. Love you, Felicia.)

We recently went to see our aunt and uncle in New Bern, NC. Aunt Sis has been crocheting for years, and she started knitting more recently. She has a favorite yarn store in downtown New Bern and took me there.

It was amazing. I really only get to shop at large craft stores like AC Moore and Michael's, and when I'm lucky, Hobby Lobby. This place in New Bern was like heaven. Take a look.

Rows and rows of the most beautiful yarns!

I won't say how much money I spent in here, but my prizes are magnificent. I would have bought more if I weren't allergic to so many types of wools. I also prefer heavier weight yarns, so I admire the fingering weight and take the chunky home. Like everything else with me, I get carried away with color and texture in all its forms.

Anyway, I just finished a hat and scarf set from a skein of the yarn I bought in NC. The yarn itself is Plymouth Yarn brand. it's a bulky weight acrylic/wool blend that was made in Turkey. This is a variegated strand of blues, greens and purples. It's more subtle than the colors I usually choose, but I felt it soothing.

I went with two very simple designs. The hat is not my own pattern, but since it had no other name, I call it the 2-hour hat for the time it's supposed to take to make it. It took me more like 3, but I get distracted easily. It's straight stockinette stitch, thus the rolled edge. For once, I managed to make it the size for a normal human's head! The scarf is a simple knit one, purl one. The first two and last two rows are 26 stitches each. All of the middle rows are 13 stitches each. It's one of those fashionable skinny ones. The resulting pattern from the variegation looks kinda scaly to me. Cool.

Wow. There's just no other word for it.

OK, coaster freaks, you are NOT going to want to miss this one. It's one of the few things in our world of over-hyped madness that lives up to its name. It's Kings Dominion's Intimidator 305, the only roller coaster of its kind on the East Coast, only the second "giga-coaster" in North America.

I've ridden my share of roller coasters, but when my friend Felicia, her daughter Bryton and Bry's friend Claire went to the park on Memorial Day, we experienced a ride like I've never taken before.

The Intimidator is named after Dale Earnhart and has a NASCAR theme. Entering the ride there is all sorts of information about Dale, NASCAR and the coaster. There are even multiple warnings that the ride can hurt or even kill you. All part of the show, right? Most of the rides in the park have some version of the warning, but they were really driving the point home with this one. I chuckled a bit at the marketing that must be behind it all. Then, I got on.

Good Lord!

The positive and negative "G" forces at play on this ride are not for the faint of heart, and I mean that literally. When I got off the coaster, the pressure in my chest wasn't unlike a panic attack. Hills, twists, turns, upside-down craziness, it's all here. The ride was physically challenging. Even bigger is the mental challenge of getting on in the first place. What a rush. The 305' drop at the beginning took my breath away. Just when your body thinks it's time to level out, you keep falling. Then, you feel the momentum and force like running into a wall.

It's a 3-minute ride that reaches speeds of around 90mph. It was the 4th coaster of the day for us, and the only one that left my mind scrambled. I wasn't sure if I liked it. It took 45 minutes for my chest to feel normal again and a few hundred yards before I was sure of my legs again.

Yeah, I liked it. Up hill, breathe in, down hill, breathe out. It was exhilarating and at the same time more relaxing than yoga. I slept like a baby last night.

My "Red" Dress

There are a couple of reasons for this post. I would have written this post anyway because it's my anniversary. Then, I read a blog post by a phenomenal woman known as "The Bloggess." She is funny, smart and irreverent. I can really relate to her to put it lightly. To fully get this post, you'll need to read hers. It would be totally worth it anyway.

Two years ago today, hubby and I tied the knot. We'd been dating for more than five years, and we'd been friends for ten. Needless to say, we got a lot of, "It's about time."

Well, when the time came, hubby and I had a few rules, the most important of which was it was going to be our time.

Before getting engaged myself, I'd been involved in more weddings than I can remember. I'd seen just about every kind of bride, wedding disaster or family issue, and I had decided a long time ago that when my time came, I wasn't going to freak out, spend a fortune or let anyone ruin the day.

Right after getting engaged, an over-zealous co-worker gave me a panic attack thinking about playing "pretty, pretty princess" in front of a bunch of people. As many weddings/events as I'd ever done, I'd never been the center of attention at one. Dear God, I lost it. That's when the "rules" started.

1. I will not wear a white dress -- or anything in the white family for that matter.
2. I will not get married in a church.
3. Jesus is not invited to the wedding (i.e. A judge will be doing the honors, not a minister, and he won't be talking about Jesus either.).
4. Any family, friend or random passerby that starts anything will immediately be forcibly removed.
5. If the rules aren't taken seriously, we'll elope to Vegas, get married by Elvis and send everyone postcards from our honeymoon.

Most people understood. Joe and I are both known for doing things our own way, and no one doubted we'd elope in two seconds. My mom asked if it was OK if God was mentioned in the ceremony, and I conceded on that and even agreed to let someone sing the Lord's Prayer at the wedding because she loves it so much. (This would be the biggest mistake of my life if it didn't end up being so fucking funny we still hyperventilate laughing at it.)

Our bridal party was relatively small, and we didn't want anything fancy. Since I'd be the one wearing the color in the wedding, I considered making the bridesmaids wear some shade of white, but hubby said wearing a khaki suit in his own wedding wasn't what he had in mind, so the boys wore traditional black tuxes and the girls wore charcoal gray with cream accents. We bought straight ties from Vineyard Vines with each groomsman having his own pattern that fit his personality. Hubby's was pale pink with green shamrocks. I picked the color, fabric and designer for the bridesmaids, but told them to pick whatever dress within those parameters they wanted. They'd be in it all day, so what did I care. I'd rather them be comfortable. My sisters wanted to go barefoot -- fine -- and the other two bridesmaids wore flip-flops -- sure.

As for me, I wore red. Well, I believe they called it "Poppy."

One of Hubby's aunts suggested at a shower that I might want to have paramedics at the wedding in case any of the older guests were so shocked at my choice they went into cardiac arrest. Ha!

We got married at my Dado's house under the big tree in the back yard. Two days before the wedding, an 8-foot long snake was hanging out, wrapped tightly around a limb right over our heads. (In case you haven't read my 10 things page, I am more afraid of snakes than anything in the world.) Thus making my Uncle Preston my hero for the rest of my life because he showed up and shot the snake. Best. Wedding. Present. Ever.

My sisters got into a wrestling match at the rehearsal. (Sorry, no picture of that.) I did ask the two groomsmen who are legally certified -- one is legally obligated -- to carry a weapon to please shoot either of my sisters if they behaved that way during the ceremony.

The morning of the wedding, I found out the people who were supposed to do my hair and makeup weren't coming. Now, I'm a pretty cool customer, and there are few things I can't figure out, but "hair" isn't something I do. Panic. I present exhibit A.

Luckily, a good friend came to my rescue! Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, Jen! She did a beautiful job with very few tools to work with. I don't even own a curling iron or hairspray. OK, so Jen is a miracle worker.

I could work out the makeup part. I went to art school and figured it couldn't be any harder than painting. I also had my friend Alison there to direct, thankfully, or I wouldn't have had nearly enough on. I was convinced I'd end up looking like a hooker in my wedding pictures, but Alison was right.

Just before I came out dressed and ready, my aunt brought in a pan of brownies she'd made for me. It was just what I needed!

My mom had not handled the rehearsal well. We didn't have the usual procession for the wedding. I had my parents walk down together just before me. I couldn't stand the idea of being given away. Getting married doesn't mean you lose your family. I see it more as growing. I wanted to walk down the aisle TO my family, my new family that includes my husband. When it came time for them to walk down the aisle in rehearsal, mom got to the back row of chairs and did an about-face like no other! I caught her, turned her around and sent her right back down. The day of the wedding she seemed entirely to calm. I found out later why ...

We didn't have the usual music for the wedding either. I walked down the aisle to Coldplay's Fix You. Not knowing what the song was about, the lyrics would sound a little morbid for a wedding, but I found an instrumental version (I think it was for karaoke!). It was perfect. As I've said, being the center of attention isn't comfortable for me. I have no problem speaking in front of a group, giving presentations, directing an event, but just walking along with everyone staring, standing in front hoping I get my "lines" right. I could have panicked. I looked toward the front for Hubby and couldn't see him for all the standing guests. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, listened to my song and remembered this was OUR day.

Just as the drums started at the last segment, I stood up straight and stepped off the back patio. I walked tall and proud in my red dress and custom-made converse. The rock-n-roll bride. The song played; I breathed deeply, and the joy washed over me like waves. It was surreal. I'd never imagined myself getting married. I was convinced no one would ever love me that much. But there he was, waiting for me under the tree. I was elated (and comfortable).

I got to be me.

I was happy.

I wore red.

It was the happiest day of my life.

And they lived happily ever after.

I work too much

Hubby and I were supposed to be on our way to North Carolina for a long weekend, but I'm sitting in my living room watching NCIS. Don't get me wrong; I love NCIS, but I'm ready for a break. I didn't get one this week, especially today. I was really looking forward to heading out of town.

We'll leave first thing in the morning. I'm off Monday and Tuesday (possibly the 2 worst days in history for me to be out). I'm not working on our anniversary. I work enough.

There's no profound thought here. Just truth.

Mount St. Helens Eruption: National Geographic Marks Its 30th Anniversary

I wasn't even 5 years old when Mount St Helens blew, but I remember it so clearly. I remember watching it on TV. My most vivid memory is of an interview with an old man who'd lived on the mountain all his life, and he refused to leave his home because of the danger. He was one of the casualties. I remember thinking there had to be something wrong with him to stay there when that mountain was going to kill him. I can't believe it's been 30 years.

It amazing to see the pictures of the recovering ecosystem. Life truly does find a way.
Read the Article at HuffingtonPost

I yam what I yam

Ever feel like you just can't get it right? Yeah, me too. Even better for me ... I've had help.

I've always been a little different from the other kids; I have my own drum, thank you very much. I'm not ashamed of it, but it'll definitely mess with your head from time to time, especially when someone starts chirping in your ear that different is wrong.

Recently, I realized just how much damage I'd let someone in a position of power, someone who presented herself as a mentor, damage my sense of self.

Yes, I can be a little rough around the edges. I'm a straight shooter. I prefer to deal with things head on. I've learned a softer touch and a bit of diplomacy, but I'm still opinionated and I still tell it like it is. If I'm wrong, I take it back and do what I can to make it right.

Here's the big secret: There's nothing wrong with that -- or me.

I've learned a valuable lesson. The next time someone offers to help me "grow," I'll be much more likely to question whether their so-called improvements are to help me be a better me or just more like them.

So the next time you start to question yourself or have a little bird in your ear, remember, my fellow percussionists, what Popeye says, "I yam what I yam." And take it from me, that's all you need to be.

Something new

Saw this quote on Twitter today, and it sums up my feelings for knowledge.

Unless you try to do something beyond what you have already mastered, you will never grow.

- Ralph Waldo Emerson

This past weekend, I learned quite a bit at the nursery picking out plants for the front yard. Whether or not I can keep any of them alive has yet to be seen, but we'll do what we can. Sometimes I think the greatest thing I could do to protect nature is to stop buying plants!

I've bought a new paint set and some canvases and will be painting again soon. It's only through interpreting what you see into an image of your own that you learn to see what's really there. I'm going to try my hand at Japanese brush art, too. I was never very good at watercolors, so I'm hoping I've learned more patience at this point in my life.

On the technical side, I'm still working at PHP and XML, though I don't have as much time for it. I've gotten to play with JavaScript lately, and that's always fun to explore. So much versatility there! I'm learning some of the more advanced features of SaxoTech, creating widgets in Flash and organizing the site structure for another site redesign.


Right now, I'm going to go study the backs of my eyelids after a few pages of my latest read, "Lost in a Good Book." It's the second Thursday Next novel.


Old Ralph was definitely on to something. What have you learned lately?

I knit outside the lines.

I finished my first hat and scarf for Warm heads. Warm hearts. I showed my hat earlier, and from the pic below, it's obvious I need a new model for the other 11!

I don't knit from a pattern. I've tried. It just doesn't work out well for me. I have to make 3 of anything to get 2 that match. I get thoroughly bored if I work with the same yarn/color/needles for too long. Besides, I like to make things up as I go along.

This hat is based on a double-rib pattern. I put the colored squares in out of curiosity about how to knit different colors together. The flower on the top was from another pattern and added for accent. All three yarns are wool. They're each a different weight for texture. The light yarn has flecks that has some nice blues and purples, too.

I used all three colors in the scarf, repeating the double-rib pattern and the flower motif. There's no real rhyme or reason to the stripes. I tend to look for asymmetry in things I create. As long as things balance to my eye, I'm happy. Now, whether it looks like balance to anyone else is another situation entirely!

I find perfect symmetry (and even numbers) disturbing. What in all of this wondrous, natural world is perfectly even? The hand of man intervenes in nature to produce the "perfect." Think of a diamond. They're beautiful, but it's not until an expert jeweler intervenes that you find one perfectly cut. He cuts away the flaws and colored areas to craft the brilliant stars nestled in precious metals.

I have a perfect diamond. The cut, clarity and color are all flawless. It's beautiful. It sparkles an dances in the light. I can't help but love it if for no other reason than because of the intricate search my husband undertook to find it. He'd have had nothing less than perfect.

That perfect ring perhaps helps balance the very imperfect me. I'm more of a diamond in the rough -- OK, how about a piece of colored glass? I have my own way of doing things that sometimes only make sense to me. My eye finds beauty and balance in places where others don't look, and I create art that others don't always recognize. It's imperfect, like me. This hat and scarf are no different. They are more than created by me. They are a part of me. A small part that I knit together to give to someone else. They are not perfect, but I hope someone finds them precious.

Lessons from Snowpocalyse Part Deux

Life offers the opportunity for many lessons, and it seems like the more extreme the situation the better chance for a big lesson. Some of these are as much common sense as anything, but for the record, these lessons are learned.

1. Yes, we should have bought the snow blower. We thought about it after Snowpocalypse 2009, but figured what are the odds it'll snow like that again this year. Heh! Which leads me to ...

2. Just when you think you're in the clear, watch out! In the past 8 weeks the DC area has gotten 4 FEET of snow. Who the hell would have ever thought! Well, we should have.

3. The Farmer's Almanac isn't just for farmers. This year's said this was going to be one of the worst winters ever. I think the point has been made -- thoroughly.

4. Bread, milk and toilet paper aren't the only essentials obviously. I present exhibits A and B at the right. If you wanted potato bread or English muffins, the Harris Teeter in Tysons Corner was a good bet. Regular bread or frozen pizza? ... Ever heard the term SOL?

5. 3 guys offering to shovel your drive for $100 will do it for $45. And it was the best money we've ever spent! (No, we aren't horrible people. It only took them 10 minutes between them.) Thank God hubby cashed that check instead of depositing it!

6. Snow is really pretty -- and heavy. My friends and family who have said how much they'd like to see this snow are more than welcome to come and shovel it. Just goes to prove once again -- All things in moderation.

7. Don't mess with Mother Nature. The term "global warming" is deceptive, and I'm glad scientists have moved on to "climate change." You see, global warming never meant it was going to get hotter for us, but humans forever seeing the world in terms of themselves assumed that's what it meant. Well, at least the ones who didn't bother to learn more. The fact is global warming or climate change will result in, yes, hotter summers, but also harsher winters, more storms, more destruction. The instability created by climate change is making more severe, more extreme weather. That means an area used to relatively mild winters like DC will see things like 4 feet of snow in 8 weeks.

Mother Nature is a powerful woman. She is to be respected, and the sooner we learn that, the better off we'll all be.

8. Baby's will be born when they want to. My 8 and a half month pregnant friend and her husband found out Saturday night. It didn't matter that they and everyone they knew were praying to God and anything else for the baby to wait a few days. Nope. Miss Emily Jane was born just before midnight on Saturday, February 6, thankfully at a hospital!

And last but not least, a quote from my favorite Disney movie, Robin Hood ...

9. "Love conquers all." Sometimes we choose an event and have to take the timing and situation we're given, as my aforementioned friends found out with Miss Emily. Other times we have more control, or the illusion of it anyway. Either way, man gets to find out on occasion just how small he really is in the scheme of things. The world is not at our mercy. We are at its.

As a friend got ready for his wedding Saturday, he and his bride-to-be were in for the time of their lives, even if it was no where near how they planned it. They even ended up on the evening news. I'll let Fox 5 in DC tell the story.



And to think all hubby, the dog and I did on Saturday night was watch Lord of the Rings!

So there you have them. The 9 lessons I learned from the second snow storm this winter. I probably learned 10, but I like odd numbers better. For now, I think I will go out and pay homage to Mother Nature and photograph her in all her wintry beauty. Though we were wrong about not seeing this kind of snow again this year, the fact is we don't see this kind of beauty often enough in life. I need to go appreciate it.

Dammit, that was 10. Oh well.

On my way.

Hat #1 is ready to go. I'm halfway through the matching scarf. It's one of the nicest scarves I've made. It's going to be phenomenally warm. I'm using Lion Brand Jiffy Thick & Quick in a double rib pattern (k2, p2). It's ridiculously thick and soft. I should have used bigger needles and more narrow scarf to actually make this go "Quick." It's going to take 2 skeins to make it long enough. Oh well.

Speaking of needles, bamboo is my preference. I use circular for the hat. I like the feel of the wood, and I don't like the scraping, hollow sound of large metal needles. Small metal needles make a much nicer "tink" kind of sound. Unfortunately, my dog thinks the bamboo needles are sticks, and he luuuvs to eat sticks. He also thinks it's the most fun ever to watch a ball of yarn unroll. He's so helpful!

I've knit so much in the last few days that my fingers are locking up again. That hasn't happened since I had Lyme disease, so I'm taking a little break today. I'll pick it up once football starts. Football is for me what 24 is for Felicia.

(also posted at warmheadswarmhearts.com)

12 hats. 12 scarves. 12 months.

I love yarn. I love the colors and the textures. I buy yarn sometimes with no idea what I'll actually make out of it. I just love how it feels and know I have to do something from it. I went to art school, and some times the urge to create something is so overwhelming I can hardly stand it. I learned to knit, hoping it would satisfy that urge (and be much less messy than pastels or paint!). I now have quite the collection of yarn, and I've learned to make all sorts of stitches. I can make my own patterns for scarves and hats. I even made a dog sweater, which my dog quickly tried to eat. It's become my new creative outlet. Leave it to my friend Felicia to give purpose to something that started out as a frivolous hobby.

I'm continually inspired by Felicia's generosity and the spirit of giving she's instilled in her daughter. She isn't of excessive means, but her compassion for her fellow humans is endless. In the face of illness or misfortune, she will inevitably find a way to give. Now, she's laid down the gauntlet for me and anyone else willing to follow. Felicia's challenge is simple. Make one hat and one scarf every month. Use good yarn, and treat it as if it's a gift. Then, give it away to a stranger who needs it.

I'll wonder later why I didn't think of that. Regardless, I accept. I hope more people will, too. If you don't knit (or crochet), what's stopping you from learning? (If you live in the DC area, heck, we can even teach you.) Find others who know how and ask them to tech you and join the cause. The goal is warm heads and warm hearts. The more the merrier. Go to her blog to find out more!

Still kicking ass and taking names

Got a new set of test results back for FIL today. His CEA levels are less than half of what they were in December. He's down to 44. The goal is getting below 5, so he becomes a surgical candidate. For now, we're thrilled that the chemo is working. FIL has a great attitude, and he's following the regimen. It's paying off!

Never enough

Crazy by Gnarles Barkley
Songwriters: Burton, Brian Joseph; Callaway, Thomas Decarlo; Reverberi, Gian Piero; Reverberi, Gianfranco

I remember when, I remember
I remember when I lost my mind
There was something so pleasant about that place
Even your emotions have an echo in so much space

And when you're out there without care
Yeah, I was out of touch
But it wasn't because I didn't know enough
I just knew too much

Does that make me crazy?
Does that make me crazy?
Does that make me crazy?
Possibly

And I hope that you are
Having the time of your life
But think twice
That's my only advice

Come on now, who do you
Who do you, who do you, who do you think you are?
Ha ha ha, bless your soul
You really think you're in control?

Well, I think you're crazy
I think you're crazy
I think you're crazy
Just like me

My heroes had the heart
To lose their lives out on a limb
And all I remember
Is thinking, I want to be like them

Ever since I was little
Ever since I was little
It looked like fun
And it's no coincidence I've come
And I can die when I'm done

But maybe I'm crazy
Maybe you're crazy
Maybe we're crazy
Probably

---

I can relate to this song in many ways on any given day, but today, I can only wonder about these lines:

My heroes had the heart
To lose their lives out on a limb
And all I remember
Is thinking, I want to be like them

I don't remember a time in my life when I haven't had the overwhelming urge to help people. Nothing makes me happier than being able to do something for someone, the more "impossible," or over-the-top the more amazing I feel. I go to great lengths, even ridiculous lengths. I take on too much and keep giving and doing until there's nothing left. It never seems to be enough.

My dad was a captain in the 101st Airborne 326th Mediacal Battalion, a medievac pilot. He saved people. He was killed in a helicopter in exactly that pursuit, exactly 32 years ago today. I was two and a half years old. It doesn't take a Ph D in psychology to think there could be a connection.

I've be to therapy to deal with the fallout of being a "child of trauma." I know that, in particular, the loss of a parent at an early age has almost unimaginable effects on the psyche, unless you've lived it. I grew up too early, took on responsibilities beyond my age and warped my sense of connection to others, especially those my own age. This one seemingly, blatantly obvious link to losing my dad and my behavior should be a slam dunk. Of course they're related. But ...

I just don't feel it. I've never known what drives me to do the things I do. I help people and give of myself in an attempt to fill something inside. I've had to learn balance, so as not to overextend myself. I've had to become weary of those who would take advantage of me. I've also assumed that when I come across the reason for all this I'll know it.

Maybe I'm just an adrenaline junky who feeds off of "saving" others. Maybe I'd be this way no matter what my childhood had been. Maybe I just missed my calling when I went to art school, and I should have been a paramedic or a cop or a fireman. Something a little less obvious would be more my style. Emergency management or something like that would have been better.

I'm the one who stays calm. The higher the stakes, the more pressure, the better I get. Currently, that talent is being put to use under the deadlines and chaos of publishing, marketing, digital strategy and management. My job and the rest of my life are a mental marathon, but I'm still looking for a bigger challenge.

So when will it be enough? When will I be satisfied that I've done enough? For now, all I know is I have to keep looking for the magical combination that will feed my soul. I know part of the recipe will be giving, solving puzzles/problems and making the world a better place. I'll find a way to align my life. All of its parts will follow the middle way. I will be a Bodhisattva, and Crazy will be a thing of the past.