confessions of a moment

"I boyfriend/girlfriend love this ring." That was the green light he was looking for. He smiled at the clerk, "we'll take it." Having already become attached to the piece of gorgeousness that would be my engagement ring, I found it hard to part with, even to let the antique store attendant give it a quick cleaning and complete the transaction. The receipt was signed and out the door we went, the open air was an invitation to squeal my thanks, "I love it I love it, thank you thank you thank you!"I promptly replaced the temporary placeholder band with my new treasure. Had it not been for his firm hand-hold as we walked, my distracted gawking would have left me flattened on the busy streets. I adore it. I adore that it was plucked from the antique cornucopia by the eye of the person that through two years of discovery came to know my fondness for classic, personalized gifts. And I adore that this antique emerald has become a cherished token of my favorite gift, my husband-to-be.

Confessions of a Decade: INTRO

When I was 18 I was sure that when I hit 30 I would no longer need a bra, but ace bandages and duct tape.  And I assumed I would be searching for red hairs through the grey, instead of the other way around.  I was dumb.  At the end of my twenties the only physical changes that cause me to bemoan are:

1.  My hair has become a gazilliionionionbajillion times more unruly than ever before.  Uncool.
2.  I still stand at 5'1", which means I still need a foot stool to reach my kitchen cupboards.  I put healthy stuff on the top shelf.
3.  I was lassoed by the reading glass bandit.  He has good aim.  Luckily I look cute in glasses or his sleeping with one eye open would be no match for my four eye sucker punch to the face.

My twenties.  Wow.  Ten years peppered with apologies I regret not offering, haircuts my best friends will be held accountable for not stopping, and excuses I will be famous for inventing.  I hope my great grandkids will blush and feel personally validated when they discover the kinds of mistakes I made in my younger years, exposing proof that you can find your way out of just about everything.  If not by talking your way out, definitely by buying it.  Or divorcing it.  Or painting it.  Or taking it to ice cream.  Or selling it.  Or returning it within 30 days of purchase with receipt.  

The bad has been markedly trumped by the good.  In the race of life, the good has lapped the bad about 80 times.  The bad is really slow.  It probably runs with super-glued anvil shoes that are a few sizes too big.  Yes.  The bad is slow and clumsy.  I became the aunt to my 7th nephew this year (lapped again, bad).  That makes 12 nieces and nephews total.  I've reached fitness goals over the last few years that make my heart sing (you are seriously pigging out on my dust, bad).  I've traveled to many new places, made friends from all over the world, and I even sang the National Anthem.  Well, that happened in the shower.  I'd appreciate you not telling me how to measure my successes, and then going the extra mile by witholding your judgement until you have heard my water-muffled vocals.

Dear 18-year-old-self, you were wrong.  Whew!

Sailing A Shop-Vac

My personal secret to success? 10 siblings.  Growing up in such a big family I learned how to bargain, think fast, work in a team setting and to not sweat the small stuff.  I don't take offense to people comparing my house to a zoo, as there are a lot of similarities.  Some of us were allowed to roam free while others were put behind bars during parts of the day.  We would have an audience come and watch us every once in a while, except instead of them paying admission my parents would pay them and leave for a couple of hours.  Though we adhered to the ceremonial squabbles of siblings through those growing up years, we have become great friends with each other as adults.  We have many similarities that keep us genuinely interested in each other, but our most lasting bond is humor.  We are all funny as H E double Barbie legs.  It could be said that our banter is carried heavily with a mischievous flare.  Nobody would agree with this more than our zoo keepers.  Though, we are not entirely to blame.  Our playful natures were lovingly nurtured and mostly encouraged by the very same people who would refuse to claim us when we demonstrated these high spirits in public.  My mother used to punish us for fighting by making all guilty parties stand facing each other, with arms bent and hands placed on our shoulders so that our arms were right next to our ears.  We then had to touch elbows with the other kid.  Next, a staring contest.  There was only one rule: no laughing.  Growing up with this approach to correcting misbehavior there were no other options besides a life of shenanigans.
My parents live in Davis County, Utah.  They live on a mountain.  Though they live at the very base of the mountain their street is perfectly aligned with the opening of a canyon.  Because their little street is also in a gully, meaning in both directions it is an uphill climb to leave the neighborhood, when the Wyoming East Winds come through the canyons, gusts are channeled right down their street before weakening as they hit the valley.  I used to love the wind storms as a kid because some gusts could literally carry me down the street when I was outside.  One Friday night, a few years ago, I decided to stop by my parents house to say hello to them and the siblings that still lived there.  I only lived a few miles away at the time, so it wasn't uncommon for me to check in and go grocery shopping in my mom's pantry.  When I arrived that night I was both surprised and ridiculously curious to find an old couch on my parent's lawn.  My mom was having my brothers haul it to the dump the next day, so they went ahead and took it out of the house.  A couple of my brothers were hanging out on the couch, socializing and laughing.  I jumped right in and joined them.  The wind started.  It was a light breeze at first, but it wasn't long before the winds exploded out of the canyon.  It was a relatively warm night, so we ran inside and grabbed a few blankets, mostly for protection, and went back to our spots on the couch.    By the time the sun had set there were about 5 kids hanging out on the couch.  My mom came out with her own blanket and we all starting laughing and hollering every time a new gust of wind surrounded us, knocking us over, ruffling our hair and drowning out our voices.  The next thing we know our mom was out in the middle of the street, tightly wrapped up in her blanket.  When she could hear the distant rumble of the next wind burst she faced the canyon and opened her arms holding two of the blanket corners and standing on the two bottom corners, making herself into a human sail.  The wind caught the blanket and almost knocked her right over.  Our initial confusion warmed into hysterics as we all rushed to be the next genius up against the rampant currents.  The appeal quickly faded against our rush to invent the next best wind game.  It was right about this point when my mom decided to call it a night, and she went inside.  One of my brothers emerged from the house, wheeling my dad's tall-back office chair.  Genius.  We fastened a blanket to the chair in sail fashion, then backed away as my brother prepared for the maiden voyage.  The next gust came and carried my brother down the street.  For the next hour or so we all worked together to perfect the sail, passing along navigation tips from one seasoned chair sailor to the next.  We tried tandem, side-ways, backwards, etc.  Then, in what can only be described as zephyr prodigy madness, another brother runs into the house and returns with my dad's Shop-Vac, which rested on a wheeled base.  Using the main hose as the mast, another sail was engineered and the anticipated voyage was charted.  It was probably close to midnight at this point.  My parents live in a neighborhood where the homes are fairly close together, and most of the residents are retired.  If it hadn't been for the shrill whistles from the wind, we would never have been out so late keeping such rambunctious company.   But as it happened, the neighbors couldn't hear us.  The Shop-Vac was ready and waiting for it's push from Mother Nature.  Rumble.  Rumble.  And  it was off!  Those on the street watched with pride and delight, excited for our turn.  That was, until my brother picked up such great speed that he had to abort and tip the vac right before colliding with my mom's next door neighbor's antique car which was parked on the street.  I remember everyone being frozen for a minute then simultaneously breathing a sigh of relief, joined even by the wind.  We decided to "good game" it at that point, winning the gold medal in the Windy Olympics.  We all bundled up, got back onto the couch and fell asleep.  Only one of us,  one of my younger brothers, lasted through the night outside with the wind (which had become too chilly for me).  My mom actually offered to buy breakfast for anyone who would sleep out on the couch all night.  We all knew she would end up buying us breakfast regardless, but it wasn't about breakfast.  It was about winning.  The old couch went to the dump, but not before giving us a front row seat to one of my favorite wind storms of all time.  Thank you ugly couch.  Thank you.

Flim Flam

He: "Why don't you come over and I'll make you salmon.  I'm a really good cook."

Me: "That does sound good.  Alright, count me in."

The first time showing up to a guy's house can be an interesting experience.  I mean,  you learn an awful lot about a person by how they choose to keep their own space.  Or by how they choose to not keep their space, as in this story.  I show up to (Name witheld)'s house and he leads me into a room that I can only describe as a hamster cage.  Only it wasn't a cage, it was his living room.  But it smelled like a hamster cage, and I'm pretty sure there was a wheel somewhere in the pile of crap all over the floor.

He: "Have a seat, I cleared off the couch for you."  By that he meant he cleared a space big enough for the butt of a toddler.

I think it was at this point I realized the kitchen was letting off an aroma that was clearly NOT salmon.  "Don't panic" I thought to myself.  "He's just a guy, and guys tend to not be as tidy as girls and... whoa, did something just move behind that stack of newspaper?"

I decide that sticking close to the host was a better choice.  Except, once I walked into the kitchen and realized I couldn't take back that move I immediately wished I was giving mouth-to-mouth to a family of suffocating skunks. (Name witheld) apologized for the dirty dishes in the sink.  Admittedly, my gaze hadn't made it past the pile of garbage bags piled up against the kitchen counter where the "clean" dishes were stacked.  Clutching tightly to my purse, hoping it wasn't going to need to be destroyed after being exposed to such filth, I finally made my way to the stove.  No salmon.  No veggies.  No rice.  No delicious things.  I found this guy browning a log of ground beef.  Yes, I said a log.  Taco shells, lettuce, shredded cheese and salsa were all on the counter next to the stove.  Thankfully all of these items were safely sealed in their original packaging.  "Whew" I thought.  Finger food was an unexpected pleasure since it could be managed without the use of any questionable utensil.  I'm sure he thought I was a bit odd when I refused even a plate and ate my taco over the sink to avoid... making a mess?  

He: "Seconds?"

Me: "NO!"... which I think actually came out as, "No, thank you."

My date suggested we leave for an after dinner activity.  I felt like I was given a second chance at life.  We head outside.

He: "Hey, do you mind driving?  My car is kinda messy."

Me: "What the $@*$"... which I think actually came out as, "um... ok?"

He: "Great!"

One Blockbuster trip, a single episode of "The Office" and a failed attempt by my host to put "the moves" on me later, I was safely back inside my car where I mentally added "What is your idea of clean?" to the list of necessary questions to ask any future potentials.  

Phone rings.

He: "Hey beautiful!  Thanks again for coming over, I've been having so much fun getting to know you."

Me: "uhhhh"... which I think actually came out as, "You didn't make me salmon."   

  

Confessions Of Improvement

Here are the facts:  I have Fibromyalgia. If you want more information on this invisible disease click HERE.  Now that you've done that are you confused?  Yeah, me too.  Never mind, let me summarize.

People who have this disease have pain.  Sometimes this pain is severe, sometimes it's mild. It can be constant or sporadic. It is affected by stress, weather, food, level of physical activity, the color of your eyes and your relationship status.  Maybe those last two aren't true.  But since the long list of risk factors, symptoms and diagnostic accuracy are about as informative and credible as a trivia game launched by Sarah Palin, I thought I might as well throw some of my own theories into the mix.  The pain we feel can be from head to toe.  When my body switches to spoiled brat Fibromyalgia mode I never know what I'm gonna get.  Sometimes it's cramping in my hands which means extra work holding pens or typing.  Other times the hair follicles on my head will ache the way they do after you let down a pony tail you've been rocking for an entire day.  The only differences are there is no pony tail, there is no touching the scalp to relieve it and there is NO hair crease to explain away.  See, not all of the facts are negative.  No joints or muscles are safe from the wrath of Fibro-likes to get fresh with our whole selves- myalgia.

Next we have fatigue.  For the most part I find that if I get 7-8 hours of sleep a night on a consistent basis I can avoid being sucked into the vortex of cockamamy behavior that awaits the sleep-deprived.  Most of you are thinking how this is a fairly solid guideline for human beings and now you're laughing at how stupid I am for trying to act special.  I'm not done yet punks.  Fibromyalgia fatigue leaves your brain foggy and your digestive system volatile.  Your energy levels become enslaved like those ugly plush toys in claw machines.  And the only way to get it back is to earn enough tokens of sleep to go grabbing after what is rightfully yours.  **Side note:  I always thought it would make sense to play a more adult-friendly version of a claw machine.  Picture a magnetic crane in a Lamborghini lot. I know, genius.**  Where was I?  Oh yes, fatigue.  On the list of symptoms I personally experience, fatigue is not exactly a con for me.  I enjoy the health benefits above and beyond avoiding fatigue from getting adequate sleep.  I look at my extra incentive to treat my body well as a positive... most of the time.

I will touch on one more area of Fibromyalgia symptomatology.  I like to refer to this symptom as "turbulent tummy".  Basically, when I don't take very focused care of my diet and avoid my self-identified trigger foods, my insides look like what I imagine the love child of Hades and Cruella Deville to look like.  Just. Plain. Mean. And. Ugly.

Not every partner of Fibromyalgia experiences the same symptoms.  "Partner" you ask?  Well, yes.  I figure we shouldn't give this disease anymore control than it already has.  We are not victims of Fibromyalgia's immature rants and misguided attempts to reclaim a childhood lost in the shuffle of negligent parents.  No, I say we befriend this misunderstood giant and lure it into submission with trickery and non-violence.  For instance, when your back starts looking like bubble wrap from all of those pesky knots don't yell and shout and punch people you love.  Instead, go make an appointment for a massage and show yourself what gorgeous wonders a day at the spa can do for discomfort.  You and I have the power.  Throw away those sugary treats and fill your belly with the cleansing freshness of beautiful fruits and vegetables.  Look forward to your favorite pair of pajamas and soothing music when you go to sleep, preparing for a night of restful defense-building.   Also, let's promise to keep Fibromyalgia in the dark about this shall we?  I have a feeling that once it gets wind that we are treating it like a helpless puppy it could go postal and start giving us symptoms like incurable halitosis.  Thank you for your cooperation.

Fibromyalgia and I are about to celebrate our 8 year anniversary.  Over the years I have tried my hand at several treatment options.  I was 22 years old when I was first diagnosed.  Fibromyalgia was the lucky conclusion after testing negative for Leukemia, Lymes Disease, Mastocytosis, Multiple Sclerosis, Rheumatoid Arthritis, Irritable Bowel Syndrome and the common cold.  I was tested for all of these things within weeks of each other and by the end I looked like I was the victim of a severe beat down with all of the bruising all over my body.  I was impressed to find that blood can come out of more than just your arms.  Doctors are such clever people.  Because my first symptoms included an all-over rash I also sport a sexy scar on my stomach where one of those lovely rash spots was taken off to be biopsied.  Actually, I regret that I didn't have them take a larger rash spot.  If bragging rights are earned by scar size, this entire story is not even in the holding cell for back-up party anecdotes.  But who cares about the basically obsolete scar, the rash has more relevance to my story.   When my doctor told me his diagnostically profound conclusion to my problems I felt so dumb.  How was I supposed to explain to my family and friends that all of those things I was experiencing meant I had a disease that only a small percentage of the medical world even acknowledged as a disease with even less of the world population jumping on board to sympathize.  My initial explanations usually came with stutters, apologetic evasiveness and clever distractions such as offering cupcakes or pointing out the cute ant colonies right under our feet.  I learned early on that support from people you trust is crucial to feeling optimistic through illness, even aiding in healing.  I learned this because I felt so unjustified by my invisible disease that I started keeping a lot of my problems to myself.  Not having a healthy and safe outlet was both hindering to my progress toward bettering myself, but it amplified the worst possible symptom of Fibromyalgia, depression.  Through research, time and maturity and increased social awareness I have found myself in a much better place.  If you have Fibromyalgia, I say to you ignore the skeptics (After therapeutically spitting in their drink) and find a place where you will be validated.  These places exist.  Most likely they exist right around you, especially as you find the courage to be open and honest about how your diagnosis makes you feel.

Hmmm... I think it is time to tell you my tricks to a happy and healthy friendship with Fibromyalgia.

#1. Staying active
I know this can be a catch 22 because you're in pain.  I promise that if you set a goal to work through the pain and be consistent, you will see a huge difference in pain reduction and quality of life.  Also, keep your goals simple.  I started out with walking.  Today I box and am now doing one of those intense 90 day exercise programs.  Do I still have bad days?  Absolutely, but they are nothing like at the beginning or when I slack on keeping my body in motion.
#2. Stretching, massages and Chiropractic care
I can't remember why we tend to get more muscle knots, which in turn tend to pull our bones out of place.  Getting frequent massages and finding myself a good Chiropractor has helped keep my body in line.  This reduces stress, increases flexibility and promotes movement.
#3.Talk
I have been blessed with generous family friends who are willing to listen to me complain when I have a bad day.  Sometimes all I need is for someone to listen to me talk about breaking up with Fibromyalgia to help me gain perspective and go back and try again.  Plus, when you talk to people you learn that you have it easy compared to other things going on in the world.
#4. Sleep
zzzzzzzzzzzzzz...zzzzzzz....zzzz...zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
#5. Eating Fresh
I find that eating fresh foods and limiting my sugar intake and consumption of processed foods not only keeps me looking like a lady, but also helps to keep a lot of my symptoms locked away in a deep dark place where such things need to be kept.
#6. Smiling
It really does work!

My motivation behind this blog post was the realization that I have been slacking in all of the areas that I find are most helpful in staying healthy and pain free.  I now re-dedicate myself to work harder and be more kind to my body.  And, if you are struggling with one of many invisible diseases, chin up and best wishes in finding what helps you beat the beast that is Fibromyalgia.

Joyful Reunion

I went and saw Joyful Noise this week.  Ya know, the new Queen Latifah and Dolly Parton film. 

The lead guy was looking all sorts of familar.  Then I remembered this:





Which is where I got this:

So what I'm trying to tell you people is that I am only 1 degree separated from Queen Latifah and Dolly Parton.

Dream Big Or...

Agent:  "I understand that you want to become famous."

Dreamer: "Yes, I have been working my entire life to become somebody the world would love."

Agent:  "You're 15."

Dreamer:  "Yes, but I am a mature 15 who has been through a lot and I have a story to tell."

Agent:  "I see.  We have several fame packages to choose from."

Dreamer: "Fame packages?"

Agent: "Yes, it is no longer required for you to survive on talent alone in the world, so we have put together packages that are proven to boost your career in fame.  Take a look!"

Dreamer:  "Perfect.  While I am about 75% confident in my fame-ability, it would be nice to have something more solid to go on."

Agent: "Great. Please review and select from the following..."

Basic

Our basic package is recommended for those who have a natural talent.  If your voice requires no special effects to create the ideal pitch, and you have dance moves that don't need soft lighting for enhancement, or you don't need an acting double to... act for you... this is the plan for you.  We expose you to the world, the rest is up to you.

Classic

With the classic plan you receive exposure to the world through a seemingly candid though completely scripted reality show.  The specifics of the show do not matter.  Once the world has seen your face you are no longer required to posses a talent of any kind.  You can write a book, go on tour with the cast of your show, and potentially be the inspiration to a future Lifetime film.

Advanced

If you are in anyway doubtful of your ability to market yourself based on raw talent, please allow us to recommend the advanced plan.  When the world has been given a taste of your digitized voice, nearly perfect floor routine, or the performance that goes straight to video we move on to phase 2.  After you've signed your book deal the world will have the option of smelling just like you when we launch your personal line of perfumes.  Next, your clothing line is made available wherever booze is sold.  After the hype of your charitable donation to a local animal shelter has died down, the rumor of your brief summer romance with a European model begins.  There will be an emergency 50 remixes of your hit single on back-up, just in case.  Your mother will be sent to prison, and your childhood crush will make a guest appearance on a popular variety show.  The bankruptcy is implemented only after the third marriage.