Dear Kellie

Dear Kellie
I lied to my boyfriend and told him I was pregnant in order to trap him into marriage. After we married I faked a miscarriage by pretending to fall down the stairs. He now wants a divorce. What can I do to keep him and prove t...o him that I really do love him?

Miserable in Massachusetts

PS love your column!!!


Dear Miserable,
It is unfortunate that while you say you love your boyfriend, you have chosen to live a lie instead of just being yourself. I believe real love takes the courage to be yourself, investing your very precious time in being honest, kind and understanding of both of your needs. By lying to him, you have shown him that immaturity, deceit, and selfishness are the primary personality traits that you own and offer.
The only way to show him that you truly love him now, is to tell him the truth and let him go if necessary. You need to do the work and grow up before you can offer anyone anything in this life. He will never "complete you"; you need to be whole when you enter an adult relationship. 1+1=2, not 1. Tell him the truth, he deserves better from you. If he still wants out, then give him the divorce. This is the exact instance when "It is better to have loved and lost, than to never have loved at all."
Telling him the truth will show him that you have changed, grown and are owning up to your mistakes. That is the only way you can even try and begin to have a relationship with someone of any substance and meaning.
I wish you luck. This may very well be the hardest thing you have to do in your life time, but it also may be the best thing that could happen since it will help you to grow and be the person you were born to be. Live in truth and love and one day it will all come back to you.
Read the advice below, too. You have the opportunity to become the person of your dreams.






Dear Kellie,
Hypothetically speaking, what would your advice be to a 46 year old, moderately attractive and modestly intelligent woman who just can't seem to bring herself to go out there and find a social life? How does one find self confidence, and silence (or at least turn down the volume) on all that negative chatter in her head? Am I, er is she, destined to live out her life alone for fear of rejection?
Sincerely,
Future Spinster in NJ


Dear Future,
My heart really goes out to you. Pushing through old insecurities can be extremely difficult, but necessary to insure our happiness.

First things first, work on loving who you are, your talents, your special-ness, what makes you completely unique. Write down all the things that make you wonderfully different than anyone else you have ever met.List talents, quirks, anything that others find lovable about you. If you get stuck, call a friend or family member for help. I am sure they will be more than happy to tell you all the things they love about you.

Next, list all the things you love to do. Do you like the outdoors, camping, hiking, boating, that sort of thing, or maybe you like the theater, music, singing. Do you bike ride, jog, needle point, sew, write letters, read? Whatever makes you happy write it down.

The above is a way to take the time to get to know you.
If you could have any life available to you, what would it look like? Skip the relationship part for now and focus in on what you want. Describe on paper exactly what your "perfect life" would look like.
Let the last section of this describe what you want in a mate, if that truly is what you are looking for in order for your "perfect life" to be perfect.
Fold a piece of paper in half and list all the qualities on one side you would like your mate to have. On the other side list all the deal breakers, the things you are fairly certain you could not handle. Be specific about what you want and don't want. Remember, the devil is in the details. Keep the list with you, so when you start to go out, you have a constant reference. I did this and it kept me from staying in relationships too long, just because I was forever trying to be polite and nice.

O.K., once you have finished your homework, find a single activity you want to do and schedule it. It doesn't have to be something drastic. Dip your toe into the social scene, allowing yourself the time to strengthen your new resolve that you are fun, talented and worth spending time with. If you read, join a book club, if you sing, join a choir, if you bike ride, go online to see if there are rides scheduled near you (this may take some training on your part, but the endorphins will help you feel happier). Volunteer in a literacy program, helping kids. Find a single activity that you can do now. Make it a priority; make you a priority. Take care of you as if you were taking care of your best friend. Just don't let you off the hook from following through. If necessary, call a friend and tell them what day and time your new social activity is on. Ask them to call you the day before and "remind" you to go.

I realize how terrifying it can be to go out, especially if you have isolated yourself. Know this, everybody feels those insecurities on some level. You are not alone in this, however, it is damaging to be ruled by them.
You determine your worth.Isn't that wonderful? You get to decide who you are and what your life looks like.There is real power in this. By getting to truly know you as a person, with a beating heart and beautiful mind, you have the opportunity to design your life as you see fit.

My experience is, if we engage ourselves with other people, they tend to bring out the best in us. I think this happens because most folks will see the good in us, that we are blinded to. By joining one group, or participating in one activity, this generally lends itself to expanding your circle and will continue to grow as long as you allow.

The joy of seeing the world, meeting new people is waiting for you to come out of hiding. Come on in, the water is fine.
Good luck and know you can do this.

Dear Kellie

Dear Kellie
Our family recently experienced the suicide of a young nephew. (25 years old) His parents aren't answering the phone and only want to receive email. The family is scattered across the country, we can't go to the memorial service. How can we help our family cope with this loss when they are more or less holding themselves incommunicado?
BH, Colorado

Dear BH,
My heart really goes out to you and your family for your tragic loss of your beloved nephew.
I have children of my own, having a situation where one of my kids tried to take their own life. I am one of a very lucky parents who was able to get there in time. Most times, I'm afraid, that is not the case. Your family, felt the need to close the blinds and roll up the sidewalks until they have a chance to catch their breath and take the time to grieve. I respect that. It makes it difficult for those who love them so much to try and help, but there are ways to stay in contact while respecting their privacy.
The survivors left behind from suicide face different circumstances than those of even tragic accidents. In their minds, the death of their loved one was 100% preventable. The truth is, when someone is in the very dark place of wanting to take their own life, there is no rational thought pattern. Mental illness, such as depression has altered that person's perception to the point they no longer see any light in their life. For them, often times, they view it as a mercy killing. It is heartbreaking to think of a family member so devastated, so depressed, they cannot see how loved and valued they are. They cannot see a future with hope.
The hopelessness of the victim, often causes the immediate family to feel as if they have failed that person. They may have survivors guilt. They not only feel the loss of the person they loved so very much, but the responsibility for not being able to stop the death.
I think it is imperative that you maintain contact via e-mail for now, letting them know they are loved and held close in your heart. Let them know you will allow them as much time as they need, and the moment they open up the blinds again, you will be there. For now, send cards, letters, and emails reminding them how loved they are. Do little, thoughtful gestures for the upcoming holidays, so they are reminded to live again. Time is the hero and villain in this situation; it allows for healing and distances them from their son. It truly is a double edged sword.
Be patient, they will come out of hiding, but for now, I believe, they feel the need to hole up and keep the world at bay.
By consistently sending cards, e-mails, and letters, you are respecting their wishes, while letting them know they have but to ask and you will do whatever you can. That in of itself will be priceless for them.
Hope this helps. My best to you and yours!








Dear Kellie,
I have been very impressed by your wisdom,compassion and sense of humor.Why do you think so many Americans do not get that struggling to make it/ stay afloat is exactly what our parents did every day. It seems many people believe that (want to) is sufficient qualification for high end living. Sadly Confused.
Br Az


Dear Br,
We all learn at some point in our life that there are consequences for everything we do, or don't do in some cases. The current economy took innocent people with it, but it also caught up with the folks who lived beyond their means for a very long time. I believe this is a time for learning in this country. Americans are more active in the current election than ever in my lifetime. I find that exciting. Democracy is alive and well and the American people are MOSTLY generous, intelligent and compassionate. The few fringe folks out there get the most buzz, so that is who we see in the media. Most of us are hard working people, doing good, because it is right, not because of any pay off in the end.
Maya Angelou has a quote I dearly love, "When you know better, you do better." I think most of us are doing better everyday. Most of us are learning from mistakes we and others have made and are choosing to do better to insure our future.
It would be an incredible world if we all learned at the same pace and were able to always work together. I believe that it is referred to as "Utopia".
I think for those of us who continue to work hard with ethics and patience, it is our responsibility to live by example and continually teach those who don't seem to know, that only by hard work, sacrifice and persistence is success even a remote possibility.
We, as Americans, were promised only the pursuit of happiness, not the end result. I, for one, feel grateful everyday just for the possibility that I am guaranteed true freedom with the hope of prosperity. This is what makes this country the greatest country to live in. It is the essence of what it means to be a proud American; it is a country of possibility.
Hang in there, and look to focus on the good people you know, who are doing good things. What we focus out time and attention on, only gets larger. Let's highlight the wonder of this magnificent country instead of all the negative we already know to be in existence.
Addendum: We cannot have change without dissension, and we cannot have unity without respect. I think this election season, our biggest lesson is learning, we can change and we can respectfully disagree while doing it.

Dear Kellie

Dear Kellie,
I am widowed, less than a year. We have no family in the state where we live. My husband's parents have been divorced for over 40 years. One side prepared to leave and come here on the first call when I told them it did not look good. The other side wanted to think about it.

When the results showed there was no brain activity, I contacted everyone again. I was asked if it would hurt me if they did not come. I stated no but then I found out why they did not even try. According to my spouses wishes, I had included all family members of his and mine. The ones who chose not to come, all his siblings, their families, and his Mother, did not even try because his Dad was here. There have been a couple of conversations since then but nothing to ease the pain of them making it about their feelings rather than my husband's wishes. Add to that I was told his death was at an inconvenient time for travel. None of them called for those firsts, Christmas, his birthday, anything.

With this background, here is my question - Although I do not feel I owe it to anyone to apologize, should I reach out to those who did not come for his service or should I just leave it be....forgive and move on?

Thank you Kellie for your thoughtful response.

Kind Regards,
Recently Widowed


Dear Recently Widowed,
I am so very sorry for your loss. I hope in this time you are finding your moments of peace. I fear sometimes this becomes more difficult when others behavior effects our grieving process.
Everyone grieves differently, having said that, it could be the side of the family who did not show up may have felt too vulnerable with the recent loss of their loved one to face the side who they do not have a relationship with.
As the widow, I think the mature thing would have been to put YOU first. Since that did not happen, it looks as though you have been left to be the designated adult.
My suggestion is to ask yourself a few questions- "Do I have a good relationship with these people?" "Do I want a relationship with these people?" "Are these folks making a positive addition to my life?"
If you had a good relationship before, but are struggling now, then I would say to go ahead and send them a card or letter. If you were never close to begin, then maybe it's time to let them go. As difficult as that may sound, if they are not close to you and not making any effort, then, in essence, they have already made your choice for you.
I encourage you to forgive them. We do not truly know what is in someone's heart. For those of us who want to live in love and compassion, it is best to forgive and wish people happy and peaceful. Hopefully they will come around and see that you are the remaining legacy of your husband.
I wish for you peace and happiness. Know that this time, albeit very difficult, presents the opportunity for self exploration and growth. The lessons in compassion, love and empathy are priceless. You never know when your experience will help someone in the future.

Dear Kellie

Dear Kellie,
My son was dating a girl 5 years ago and she became pregnant. Against my son's wishes she had an abortion and they broke up.

I still have feelings of anger, resentment and grief. I now have a beautiful Grandson, but instead of making these feelings subside they seem to have gotten stronger.

I find myself thinking about what sex the baby would have been, and what it would have looked like.

My question: Is this a delayed part of the grieving process, or is it starting to take on a life of it's own and becoming an obsession?

Heartbroken in Ohio


Dear Heartbroken,
I understand your grief and you have a right to feel the deep sadness that comes from the loss you have suffered. The fact that you are worried that it is becoming too overwhelming may mean it is time to try and start to let go. I do think that we sometimes grieve when we have the comfort of the shock and tragedy behind us. Give yourself a break and allow your heart to feel the pain. If this starts to consume most of your time, then maybe it is time to seek professional help in dealing with the anger. We all have times in our life when the unfairness, when situations beyond our control, haunt us and we have to find our way out. It is important to forgive others in order to save ourselves from time wasted dwelling on what we cannot change. Time doesn’t heal all wounds, what it does is allow for perspective. When you start to feel the anger take over, my suggestion is to go and spend time with your grandson, living in the now and appreciating the ability to love, teach and cherish a child.



Dear Kellie,
My company is moving to another city, and I don't want to. Should I move and be miserable for money, or stay and be poor and possibly be happy?
Jungle Boy


Dear Jungle Boy,
Since you didn't mention the time frame, I will assume you have at least some time to consider all of your options. When I was forced to change careers I felt a deep sense of loss of self, however, I also discovered a talent for what I love to do the most and am completely fulfilled doing it.
If time allows, update your resume and spend some time thinking of what you love and hidden talents you may be able to turn into a career. This may very well be an opportunity for you to work in an area that makes you happier than your current position.
If you are concerned about benefits, retirement and money, then I suggest you talk to your other co-workers and see if anyone else is in the same position, where buying real estate in the new city is not what they intend to do. Shared housing, and commuting until you can see things more clearly may be the way to go.
I will tell you that some of the most difficult experiences allow for the largest amount of growth.
Take the time while you have it to ask yourself the big questions. What makes me happy? What is the worst thing that can happen if I commute? If retire now, what talents do I have to help me financially survive?
My biggest piece of advice is- don't panic. Think things through thoroughly and ask your company for as much information as you can to make the best decision for you.



Dear Kellie
I am confused which way that toilet paper should unroll. Some folks say under and say folks say over. I once saw at one high-priced hotel that it was under so it would unroll from underneath. I am totally confused about the correct way toilet paper should unroll from the roller. Can you clear this matter up and help me to win a bet ??

Dazed & Confused in Dixieland


Dear Dazed and Confused,
We should all be so lucky to have this as our conundrum. My advice is to put the toilet paper on the roll however makes you the most comfortable. It is these little choices we get to make, that make having our very own place simply the most marvelous of things.



Dear Kellie
I'm 16 and pregnant and my parents have kicked me out and I'm living on the street. Lately I have broken back in to my parents house and stole money from my mothers purse to feed by baby. Is what I'm doing wrong? My cousin think...s it isn't wrong but then again he threatens to tell unless I give some of the stolen money to him so he can buy crack. What do you think?

Confrused in Central Arkansaw


Dear Confused,
Of course it is wrong to steal. I understand your dire circumstances, however the situation you find yourself in is due to decisions that you and you alone have made. You made an adult decision and now you have to be an adult, ready or not. There are social programs you can pursue through school and church. There are usually shelters in every major city across the country, so if you live near Little Rock, that may be your first step. Find your nearest hospital and see the social worker on staff. They may be able to direct you to immediate help in your area.
As far as your cousin, let him tell. No one trusts a drug addict anyway, so they might not believe him. If they do, then let the chips fall where they may. Good luck.




Dear Kellie I have always had trouble asking for advice, can you help me?
CW


Dear CW,
You just did.
Congratulations you are cured!

Dear Kellie,
Why do people feel it is okay to be rude and insufferable on Social Networking pages. I am often dumbstruck by the crudity and meaness.
BR Az




Dear BR,
As great as the information highway is for learning everything under the sun and connecting with old friends, I also think it can be a very cruel and dangerous place.
Without having to allow for face to face contact I believe it deceives people into a false sense of courage to make remarks they would not make if they were in person.
It seems the internet allows for thoughtlessness and abject cruelty as a means of expression. People also forget that what goes on the internet stays on the internet indefinitely.
My suggestion is to let folks know you are not OK with any nasty or mean spirited talk on any of your social pages. You have the right to "Un-friend" anyone who makes you uncomfortable with their rhetoric.
I know from personal experience that I have to had to delete certain people in order to maintain my happy homepage.




Thanks to everyone for writing in. Keep those questions coming.

Recalling Patience and Patients

Sitting in the backyard, with dogs barking, Mike on the roof disassembling a leaky chimney, I found myself smiling at absolutely nothing. I cannot describe in prose or poetic soliloquy why I feel such contentment right now. The one thing I seem to be absolutely sure of is I don't have to know the "why"s in my current state. I just have to acknowledge it, feel grateful for it and enjoy the crap out of it. I could say my happiness is hard earned, but in truth, nothing in my life has been so bad to kill me, so I am good. Every day I draw breath I realize I have one more chance to live out my dreams. Sappy, isn't it? Yet it rings in solid truth.
I used to get so embarrassed by my sappy, emoting ways. The older I get the happier I am that I can still feel that way. I run into so much cynicism, especially as a writer. Artists never get appreciated the way they want, in some ways not unlike how a child wishes their parent would love them the way they think they need to be loved rather than the only way the parents can love them. I have a little of that, but so much of me is so happy that I have the extravagant lifestyle of someone who gets to work their dream job, I ignore the initial impulses to snivel around the house as the unappreciated.
I worked jobs, that I actually miss sometimes, with crazy hectic days, blood splattered clothing, running at breakneck speed around corners only to discover another trauma.I remember how I had to go to the basement to change my clothes before the kids touched me, covered head to toe in feces, urine and ground up food. Often times, I ran down the stairs hiding from the kids the blood soaked uniform of a really bad day.
I was young then, able to leap tall wheel chairs in a single bound. I didn't call in sick unless I was dying, even working while I myself had pneumonia. I stood for 12 hours a day, sifting through doctors orders, pharmacy deliveries and combatant patients who frequently connected with my thin frame, leaving large bruises under my baggy scrubs. I did what I had to do in order to survive. I did what I had to do in order for the patients to survive too.
A friend asked me yesterday if I missed the work. I thought for a moment and said, "Yes, sometimes I miss all the crazy that happens in the land filled with the forgotten." I told him wacky stories of my patients and the absurd things that happened on a daily basis. We laughed at the picture I drew with my words telling about folks that made me laugh at days end.
Still smiling, I realized how much life I have lived so far and still have so much farther to go. I have been so lucky that I was able to work that hard. I work just hard now, but it is different. This work suits my age, my time in life, my attitude. I walked away from nursing before I got so burned out, someone would request my exit. I promised myself I wouldn't stay beyond my expiration date. I never wanted to be that old, balled up, cynical, cranky nurse who could less about what the patients needed, let alone wanted. I left my field with job offers in Ohio on my plate. I left, so a younger, enthusiastic nurse to take my place and continue on doing good work.
Writing for me is sometimes as painful as my legs after 16 hours on the floor.My head throbs as I excise large chunks of extraneous material in order to keep the better written material. I never take this work lightly. After over 20 years of facing life and death scenarios, I don't know how to do "half-assed". Being my own boss, I have no one to gripe about or blame for any short comings, except me. Like my previous career, I have the guilt around to keep me in check.

Splitting Heirs

This blog is dedicated to my sister, Kim, who to my knowledge, has NEVER known how truly beautiful she is.

Growing up I had one sister, older who had the same blond hair and blue eyes. She has a combination of my parents much like I do, only organized in a different way. Everyone, who had ever seen her, said she was beautiful. Kim had a way of lighting up a room when she entered. I on the other hand stumbled in, tripped over the carpet and plopped into my seat. Kim had a sort of grace about her, while I had, well, the opposite of that. My father innocently said we were Beauty and the Beast. I think, by the introduction you can discern who was who. While my sister had beauty, brains and athleticism, I had sheer will and brawn. It is not to say I wasn't attractive in my own right, but we were so very different, it put people in the unique position of trying to "figure" us out. If she were the beauty, then I must be something different. I got the message very early on in my life that my destiny was not to be the girlie-girl of the family.
Frequently, at school, teachers would look at the two of us and tell me I should try and be as smart as my sister. Why didn't I dress nice like Kim or why did I have to be so surly? The answer, which I learned, thanks to modern day therapy, came to me much later in life. Had I known why I was the way I was back then, I would have had a better appreciation for my sister and all of her many talents instead of running the opposite way as fast and hard as I could.
Mother, as I call her when she has done something I totally disagree with, dressed as identical twins whenever we were out in public. Being young and quite literally small minded, I thought it was to show how beautiful Kim was and how "different" I was. In my head the question became, "See? Even if they are dressed exactly alike, I can't get the little one to look as good, or behave as well."
Mom told me later the actual reason she did it was so that if one of us went missing she could point to the other and say, "She looks like that." Years later I used the idea with my own kids, dressing them in the same color, just in case.
Teachers would compare Kim and my abilities in school and be utterly disappointed that I was not the same kind of student. Kim got "A's" while I floundered getting "C's". I was average, and since Kim was obviously above average, it translated to many that I was less. I got called lazy, stupid, and eventually learning disabled. I was labeled as broken because my sister had proved, two years prior to my arrival at that particular grade, that my family had intelligence.
Boys dated me to get to my sister. This part of growing up really hurt the most. My self esteem took a direct blow to my heart when this happened. It also pushed me to date guys that were "bad boys" who took no interest in my sister or her good grades and cheer leading ways.
Most folks didn't realize that they were putting a wedge between my sister and I. They were, in fact, splitting heirs.
When high school rolled around for us, Kim went off to Panama to study for the year and I went on about the business of trying to figure out exactly who I was. As days flew by I discovered I was the band and choir geek. I love music and performing on stage was exciting for me. I discovered that not only was I never supposed to be a cheer leader, but I was destined to be a supporting player on the field, blowing the fight song during every good play. I also found out I was smart. I didn't have the kind of intelligence that Kim had, but I was smart in my own right. It had been there all along, but I had been so preoccupied with listening to what others had to say, I had stopped thinking for myself.
A million and a half years later, I was on the phone with my sister listening to her, I realized she never thought she was the Heir and I was the Spare. She had thought I was more comfortable in my skin, than she had ever been. She spoke of longing to have things I had. She had felt that she were forced to be good all the time, while I was the wild child. I couldn't help but feel very sorry for us, both mired in others expectations, unconsciously competing, while running away from the other at the same time. I will qualify that "others" did not include my parents.
When we were young, we competed in The Cherry Blossom Queen contest. Kim got first runner up. I didn't even place. I was so extraordinarily bad at the beauty contest thing, people didn't realize we were related. Once again we were pitted against each other in direct competition, but this time it was different. I knew that I had a snowballs chance in Texas of ever winning. I also knew Kim had a great chance of taking home the prize. This was her thing, where she could excel and I would flounder. If they had had a musical to audition for, I was a shoe in, but standing gracefully, smiling, while talking intelligently was not my gig. It was the first time I didn't care that she won and I flopped.
Kim, to this day, does not recognize what others see in her. She still doesn't see the light that comes from her face shooting out of her eyes, allowing for a glow when she enters the room. She doesn't understand when people feel daunted by her photogenic mind, impressive intelligence and graceful way she uses her hands to wave about as she talks to make her point. But we all, who know her, get it. I don't compete with Kim anymore. I haven't in years. There is no need to prove to others that I am equal to my older sibling. We are still very much Beauty and the Beast. I have a fierce a personality and nobody ever questions where I stand on things. Kim still owns her quiet beauty, even if she is totally unaware. We are both smart, quick, and affable.
Although, I do think I am funnier. It's my over compensation for not getting to wear a Cherry Blossom crown.

Closing the Book

This year has been really significant for me. Yes, we moved and that always has some significance, but there are much bigger issues I have been facing this year.
Back when I was a single mother, I prayed for the strength to reach my forty seventh birthday. I had neither time nor money, so all I truly wanted was to not kill or maim any of us, keeping us safe until the kids were grown, which happened to be right after I turned forty seven. I didn't know back then I would be happily married to Michael. I didn't know we would move 1200 miles away from everything we had ever known. I didn't know I would be writing full time from home, an extravagance by any means, for a woman who didn't have a college education, let alone any experience writing professionally. Back then I had simple wants, needs and wishes. My only real wish was to be an O.K. mother, so the kids would have the future they deserved. Danny was already gone by the time I started wishing to survive until I turned forty seven. Having left me alone with the singular responsibility of raising our kids, I felt there had been a cruel joke played on me and the kids. I never envisioned myself as doing a good job, I always thought surviving was the only priority.
Once Michael came on board, I then saw a different goal, of sorts. I had been married to Danny for nine years. By year seven, things had really started to fall apart. We were growing apart and had little tolerance for the very things we had thought endearing, when we first met. I had worried once Michael and I married that we might fall victim to the same failure. What if I hadn't learned all that I was supposed to? What if I had worse habits than before that would lead to the demise of another marriage, showing the world once and for all, that I was not capable of long term commitment? I had thought when I was young, I was not the marrying kind? My family and I had treated it as a joke, even putting my infamous quote on my engagement cake at Danny's and my party, "I am never getting married". What if never getting married were the best decision I had ever made and doing anything different would ruin Michael's life? The new goal was to be married to Michael longer than I had been married to Danny. That goal was ironically met in August of this year, when the sixteenth rolled around and I had officially been married to Michael longer than I had been married before. We celebrated our ninth anniversary in June; by August we had been married nine years and two months. In my pea sized brain, all I could think of was "Whew!" So I can be married to someone without wrecking things. I am capable of loving someone, long term, whom I didn't give birth to. The relief I felt from having reached my imaginary goal which was quite real to me.
The last goal or page turner for me was this month. It happened yesterday, in a quiet, unassuming kind of way. Yesterday was the anniversary of Danny's death. It has been thirteen years since he passed away. It seems like forever, yet I can recall every detail of the day I got the call. I remember that day as if it were seared into my brain like a cattle brand. Most years, I try hard not to think about it. The kids handle it different every time it rolls around. Some years we cry together, some years they go to their separate corners and mourn, and some years we act as if it never happened. Yesterday was a combination of all those things. I thought early in the day, the page on Danny had been turned for me. Yesterday marked for me the time frame where he has been dead longer than he was alive for me. I knew and loved him a shorter time than I had grieved his demise. Maybe now, finally, I can give both he and I some rest. I forgave all of his indiscretions long ago, but I still had me firmly on the hook for all the wrong I had committed. I dangle myself high in the air, watching as I continued to writhe in the pain I had caused us both. Yesterday was my goal day to let myself get off the emotional steel barb and just get on with my life. I will always love him, forever grateful for the kids and the way they have his traits, genetics and sarcastic wit. I will remember him with kindness, forgiveness and love for the rest of my days, but I will live the remainder of my life focused firmly in the here and now. It has taken all thirteen years to unwrap my fingers from the guilt, shame, mourning and regret. But now I feel the need to step out of the shadow of his death and show my gratitude at having survived this long by living fully, giving freely and loving hard.
I did not change over night. I didn't evolve in a month long reality show. It has taken years to unravel my mistakes, missteps and ego driven misconceptions of who I thought I was. This year was my pay day for years of work, finding out what my purpose was, who I should hitch my wagon to, and where my heart should go next. Every day my first thought is, "Stay in today, tomorrow will take care of itself. If I live in every moment offered, then I will have no regret." I wish I had had loftier goals for myself than survival, but the truth is I did survive, the kids survived and Michael assure me that he isn't going anywhere without me.
Every book has an end, a last page that we re-read to make the words resonate. This is the last page of the book of Daniel for me. I will cherish every word spoken and inferred, I will remember him with warmth, laughter and love, but I will not be reopening chapters that have long outlived their usefulness anymore. I will finally let both of us off the hook.

It All Started While I Was Doing the Dishes

I was doing the dishes this morning from a particularly sticky meal from last night. Yes, I waited until this morning to get my dishes done. I was scrubbing my very well used pans, scraping last night's honey glazed roasted chicken out of them when something occurred to me.
A couple of days ago I was on the phone talking to a dear friend I have recently reconnected with. She asked me about book number two and the title. We spoke for a few more minutes and then she asked me something no one else has asked me. "How do you come with the stories that make it into the book?" I thought for a minute and said this, much to my own surprise, "I think of all the times I have been influenced or changed by someone and the effect of that change. I have been fairly lucky when I think back on things."
There it was, the reason for the book, the future books and all the stories I tell. To be perfectly honest, I have never thought to ask myself that question. I had written and told stories since I was able to talk. I was that kid that, once I started talking, no one could shut me up. Believe me when I tell you, many have tried, and no one has succeeded to date. Life has always been a giant jigsaw puzzle to me. I felt compelled to take individual pieces, gazing thoughtfully at each one, trying to figure out what my big picture was going to be.
O.K., now back to the dishes. As I was scrubbing, I noticed how incredibly black, dinged and heavily used my pans are. No amount of scrubbing was going to get all the stains, dents and scratches to go away. I stress cook, by which I take all of my anxiety and throw it directly into a pot, or on a pan in order to concoct something we as a family can devour, forever making all my problems disappear. Alright, it isn't that easy, but the action of cooking soothes my savage breast. It is a win/win situation in my household. Rather than take all my frustration out on the kids, Mike or the dogs, I cook like a maniac, immersing myself in something completely unrelated to whatever problem I am dealing with. I relieve my stress, they don't get chased around being sliced and diced with my forked tongue, and everybody has good food to eat.
Years ago when I was first learning to cook, I thought I was supposed to make sure the pans I used looked brand new, as if I had never cooked anything in them before. I used every kind of scouring powder, dish soap, steel wool and scrubbing sponge I could find. I used hard bristle brushes, ice picks and wash cloths, as I stood over the sink scrubbing, scraping and shining my pans back to their original color and shape. One day I had had a friend over for a meal. She offered to help with the dishes. I began my ritual sweating, scrubbing and swearing as I tried desperately to get any reminder of the previous meal off my pans.
"Kellie, honey, you are working too hard at this. You are not supposed to scrape the discoloring off the pans."
"I'm not?" I looked at her as if she were completely mad.
"No, you need the pans to retain some of their use so they get seasoned. It will help the food from sticking later on. It takes some women years to season their pans the way they want."
"What? Are you serious? I have been washing off what others practice for years to get? Noooooo, that can't be! Why would they want dirty dishes?"
"Look, the discoloration, is supposed to be there so your food won't stick. Wash off the big mess, yes, but don't polish it back to it's original shape. You use your pans, so it's perfectly acceptable for them to look used."
After that moment I never scrubbed my pots and pans back to their original shine again. I thought of all the wasted hours I had spent scrubbing and toiling over pans, that others would have coveted for their darkened seasoned state. My pots and pans look like they have been from a war zone. Twenty-five years of use has left all the dings, dents and blackened areas they can hold. And for the record, she was right; all of my pans work better now than they did when they were new. My food doesn't stick, things taste better and I spend a lot less time in the kitchen hating the cookware.
Here comes the big epiphany, I am like my pans. I have dents, dings and usage marked all over me. There are scars from softball games, broken relationships and child birth scribbled all over this body and heart of mine. Past mistakes, missteps and failures have softened my edges, making me less judgmental of others when they too fall. I have dark spots from days in the sun, as I ran around soaking in all the joy from the day. I have pale spots marking the times I went into hiding, protecting me and my kids from hurt. Yes, Virginia, you and your pots are supposed to look used. Your face is supposed to bare wrinkles, your hair is supposed to gray, your body is supposed to sag. All the kings horses and all the kings men do not have enough botox to remove all the life you have lived. You are supposed to have lived enough, loved enough to become well seasoned.
With the dishes done, the kitchen cleaned up and the blog now written, I have but one choice, to spend the remainder of my day adding new dents to my very spicy life.

Where Were You September 12, 2001?

I believe everybody remembers where they were September 11, 2001. I know, I do. I was at the doctor's office having a follow up visit after having my ACL replaced. I remember watching Good Morning America after the first plane hit the north tower. I immediately called my airline guy, Mike, to find out what they thought. "Kellie, that was no small plane. It would have been nearly impossible for an accident like that to happen with a jet." Right then and there I knew we had been attacked.
I got off the phone and looked at the guy sitting next to me. I watched his face and recognized the look of horror, I knew was on my own. "We have been attacked. This was on purpose," I said in a low voice to him. He looked at me, eye to eye, and replied with fear in his face,"I know..." and then trailed off to a whisper. The others in the office were adamant that we didn't know what we were talking about; the other plane circled around and in front of the world, crashed into the south tower. In that moment, no one in that office felt safe anymore.
I have been relatively obsessed with 9/11 stories. I watch the History channel as if it were an assignment. I am fascinated by the humanity, rather than the inhumanity that took place that day. As much research as I have done, and trust me, I could write a thesis, it is the day after that truly has me riveted. In one instant we were altered as a country, and in the same instant we circled the wagons faster than a swarm of flies to a bucket of pooh. Americans flags were on back order, people were throwing their hard earned money as fast as they could to those who needed it, trucks with supplies and man power were being loaded and sent to New York, Pennsylvania, and Washington D.C., the military was flying the skies doing drills, at the ready to protect our sovereign nation. All these things were happening the very next day, and in some cases the very same day. I sat back in awe of the country and the people in it and their reaction. Folks gathered to help in any way they could, spending time, money and energy trying to do their very best. We sat and watched our TV's to see what to do next, what was happening and how we could help. For that September 12th I still feel such gratitude, such humility for my country and their want to be the kindest, most generous nation in the world.
For whatever your memory is for September 11, 2001, know that what you did on September 12th is what counted in ways there are truly no words for. Whether you checked on an elderly neighbor, gathered money and supplies for those in need, or volunteered to pack up and go to ground zero yourself, you proved why we live in a great country. The reaction to terrorism by this country, was to act in courage, generosity and kindness.
Today, I went out this morning and swept pine needles off my driveway. I looked up to the perfect blue sky, much like the one that fateful day, nine years ago. I could not help but smile as I continued on with my mindless task. I felt deep gratitude that I am able to go out into a driveway that Mike and I own and do the simple work of sweeping, feeling peaceful to my core. I have that right, because so many have put their lives at risk to protect me and my family. I have that right because I live in a country who values freedom, life and the pursuit of happiness. I feel blessed because I am so very blessed.
Ask yourself today, where were you on September 12, 2001, and then smile and feel very proud of yourself and the country you live in, because you, my dearest friend, are a national hero.

10 Pounds of Crap In a 5 Pound Bag

OK, so I m seemingly outing myself online for all to see. It's ridiculous how we live for now. I see the pictures and all I can think is, the neighbors are going to call and try to make us a A&E special on "Hoarders".
I would love to say, "I have no idea how this happened. One day I looked up and was surrounded by someone's stuff." Or I could try and be delusional and think that instead of someone breaking in and stealing our stuff, they keep dropping things off.
The truth is, we had a big house and decided it was a brilliant idea to keep everything we ever owned to fill it up. I watched over the years as the kids, Mike and I filled our 3000 square foot house from stem to stern, without much thought about what we would do if we had to downsize or live much smaller. I, personally, used the excuse of, "What if the kids need it when they move out?" The truth is there are thrift stores all over the place they can shop at to fill whatever apartment they going to live in. The other truth is, 3 of my kids are at my house, so they don't need anything, right now.
So many excuses, so little time. There is a solution to all of this, but it is hard, time consuming and I really don't want to do it, but I am anyway. Painstakingly, I am going through every single box, evaluating every inch of the contents and deciding once and for all if we love it, need it, or use it. Every piece of furniture is being scrutinized as well. Does it fit the life we want? Is it practical, useful or beautiful? Man, I hate this process. It takes me all day everyday to go through several boxes, only t revisit it later and decide to get rid of what isn't fitting into our lives anymore. I have kids saying I am throwing out their childhood. I get why they feel that way. My response is always the same, "Your childhood has left you behind to make room for your adult hood. The party is over, now go and get a box to donate, sell or throw away as much as you can."
I am the having to be strong about not hanging onto unnecessary stuff. There have been great sacrifices along the way, I assure you. The pram my sister and I used as babies, then my kids used got the ax. The rocking chair that I rocked my babies in got the ax. I am currently eyeballing some antiques that no longer suit my "live with less" lifestyle, too. Mike has stereo speakers that will blow your hair back, that he loves. The unfortunate part is they are ancient, standing 9 feet tall and don't fit. They, too, are getting the ax. The bottom line for now is if it isn't nailed down, not being used to it's fullest potential, then out it goes. The dogs circle around their food supply, lately, I think, fearful they may hit the bricks too.
This week we are building in cabinetry and a lovely granite bar to house our office supplies, art supplies and beer steins. If something can't do triple duty, it is out of here. It is a tall order to get things in shape, while jogging 4 miles out my way through the maze of boxes, bags and extra furniture. In the end, it will be worth it, knowing in two short years we may be doing it all again. UGH!

Two Old Farts Blowing In the Wind

" I think I may have broken my collar bone", I say matter of fact to my husband, as we sit down for five minutes to catch up on the days events.
"Hold that thought, I think I hear the phone ringing."
"I don't hear the phone, what is it you hear?" I crane my neck to listen more closely.
"Never mind, it's probably just my tinnitus. I hear ringing all the time now. At work I could have sworn the phone was ringing. I kept picking it up saying 'hello, is anybody there?' Eventually someone was there, but it was more of a lucky guess at that point." Michael sighs.
"Well, funny you should mention phones. I was on a ladder putting things on a shelf..." Michael interrupts,"Is that when you think you broke your collar bone?" "No," I say half exasperated at the interruption," As I was saying, I was up on the ladder because as it turns out I am only two feet tall, when I thought I heard the phone ring." Michael looks at my tilted head. I continue, "I was running for the phone when I tripped over the old dog..."
Again Michael interjects, "Is that when you think you broke your collar bone?" "No," I answer more emphatically, "I tripped and old dog nearly wet herself so I rushed her outside, and no, that is not when I broke my collar bone either. I got her out and was rushing back in for the phone when I slipped and fell on the puddle she left behind."
"Oh my," Michael exclaims, "that must have been just awful! I can see how you would get hurt from a fall like that."
"Well, I won't lie, it hurt, mostly my ego, but that isn't it either. I went to the kitchen thinking I could grab a couple of paper towels to clean up the mess and grab the phone at the same time. I was just about to reach for the paper towels, when the food processor fell and slammed into my ankle."
"Don't tell me, let me guess, that isn't when you broke your collar bone either?" Michael smiles as he mocks my pain and humiliation.
"You are correct, Sir, that is also not when it happened. It happened when I picked up the phone."
"What happened when you picked up the phone?" Michael now looks completely puzzled. "I broke my collar bone," I say flatly and sip my cup of tea.
"Wait, you picked up the phone and what else?" Michael sits up as if he missed something. "Nothing else happened. I picked up the phone, I heard a very loud snap and now I can't move my head. That is the whole story. How was your day?"
Michael looks past me distracted, "It was OK, nothing like your day. Is that the phone ringing?"

The Lost Summer

I lost a whole summer this year. I cannot account for a single period of time this summer that had anything to do with the season. I watched as other kids went back to school, knowing my kids were going to college and starting later. All of the kids are in college. It makes my head swim, thinking of how fast it all went.
The difference in summers these past few years is astounding to me. The changes everybody has gone through, the metamorphosis of the family, seeing everyone change in a hundred different ways. Two summers ago I was writing my first book. Last summer I was promoting my published book, and this year I was preparing to start my second book. In two years I became a writer. Sometimes I look back and think it is all ridiculous.
My oldest graduated from college, my youngest boy had a life altering experience, my oldest boy made some pretty heavy life choices for himself, deciding who he wanted to be and how he wanted to make that happen, and the youngest, well, she graduated from high school, getting ready to be a freshman all over again, only this time in college.
Mike and I, didn't have time for a vacation, or to go on day trips or do anything even remotely summer like. There was no pool, or beach or camping, hiking, biking or picnics. All summer long we looked for a house, bought a house, sold a house and moved piles of boxes from one place to another. We are currently still in boxes. There is an isle way from one end of the house to the other, with boxes full of sundry stuff on either side we haven't found a home for yet. All I have written about for months is moving. Had I known the realities of how hard this was going to be , I assure you, I would have taken a time out for the nervous breakdown I rightfully deserve. Instead, I have been cautiously optimistic, relaying to the family how wonderful things will be once we truly get settled. I am smart enough to know to keep my mouth shut as to how long that will take.
I had started to do that thing where I regretted this summer. I was feeling bad about not having a summer with any fun in it. This summer was all about the work, fun would have to wait. I am and always will be the brick house little pig. I stopped myself, and Michael stopped me too, from berating myself for not being able to pull a rabbit out of this particular hat. "Baby, there is no way we could have done anything better, or even different than what we did", Michael gently reminded me. "Yeah, I know, I just wish I had more time or more hands, or something that might have made this better", I sighed wistfully. Michael looked at me, holding my face in his hands, "Look, we all did the best we could. That has to be enough."
Yes, we did the best we could with all of our unforeseen circumstances and it really does have to be enough. If I have any regrets, they are wasting time regretting things.
This will remain the Rip Van Moving summer, the lost summer, where bad things, amazing things, and miraculous things have happened. It will be the summer of growth, change and maturity for all of us. It wasn't the worst summer we have ever had, although I will tell you it is in the top 10 list, but it was hardly a summer full of joyous memories either.
We all like the new house. The kids call it cozy. No one misses the old house, which I find very odd. As cramped as we are right now, not one person in our family wishes we were more spread apart. I am fascinated that we aren't mourning the space, the pool and the finished house more, but we aren't, so I let it be what it is and isn't.
The kids rooms were finished first since they all have to start college classes soon. Michael has a clean space in the master bedroom to try and help him sleep less fitfully, without boxes staring him in the face all the time. And me, well, I am getting my kitchen sort of together so that I can cook my way out of my stress. It is my go to move, baking, frying and simmering my burdens into delectable concoctions my family will devour. My oven is half the size I need, the stove only has two burners that work and the cupboards belong in Barbie's dream house rather than my kitchen, but I have made entire dinners and even baked a pie.
It is the end of the lost summer. I look forward to pulling my dead bodies out of the attic, getting ready for Halloween. This is going to be a great house for holidays. I just feel it in my blood soaked bag of bones.

Unpacking the Boxers in the Pack

I was thinking this morning about how far my family has come from just 10 years ago. It constantly amazes me how much change occurs when we aren't looking. A mere decade ago, my kids were still considered little. I worried about everything back then, well, I guess that much really hasn't changed that much. I still worry, but now I spend much of my day convincing myself it is a bad idea. They are old enough to know better. Whether they act on that is up to them. My oldest child was 12 years old, while my youngest was a mere 8. They have indeed grown up right in front of me, ready or not. Even the dog got older, and is trying to enjoy her golden years.
Beyond the 1,200 miles we have traveled, we have matured in so many unexpected ways. The learning curves for us have come up time and time again, in ways we couldn't have possibly imagined a decade ago. My heart breaks when I see one my children make a mistake, where the costs are so high, but the benefits are often one more step to true understanding of who they are, and what they are made of. I made plenty of mistakes, back in my hey day. I lived to talk about them too, or at least write about them. I had so hoped that my kids would not make the same mistakes I did, in order to grow up and expand. Sometimes they do and sometimes they make whole new mistakes, I find jaw dropping. Either way, they tell me things that make my hair want to fall out. It's my good news, bad news conundrum. The good news is my kids still talk to me. The bad news is they tell me, honestly, the things they have done they have learned from. Ouch! I sit, trying to keep the "Oh dear God!" look off my face while they are telling me their story. I remind myself that staying non-judgmental is the key to keeping them close. Kids ARE their most unlovable when they need love the most.
Years ago my kids, mostly due to their closeness in age and the death of their father, traveled in a pack. I watched as they clung to me and each other, as if they might blow away in the wind. If I went to the bathroom, they went too. If one of them went somewhere, the others expected to follow. It was extraordinary to witness. My husband, Michael, noticed it first. "You guys always stay so close to each other in proximity as well as emotional attachment." "What do mean?" I asked sincerely puzzled by his observation. "Well, whenever we go somewhere, you all stay within a two foot radius of each other. When you get up, they get up, when you go to another room, they follow. It is like watching a pack mother and her cubs."
Up until that point I hadn't noticed what he was talking about. After that comment I began to watch my kids very closely, but without them noticing it. Sure enough, we did exactly what he said we did. We traveled in a pack. My kids had learned to protect each other and me, by staying close. Everybody had the others back. I suppose much of that was due to the insecurity of having lost their father so young. Nothing could ever be the same after that , so they all felt the responsibility of picking up the pieces, guarding each other from any harm that might come in to the fold. It stayed that way until recently.
This is the summer of the malcontent. The kids are growing and need the space to screw it up, do it over and be plain, old different then who they were. It is extremely tough to change, when you are surrounded by family who know all of your deep, dark secrets and fatal flaws. One needs to break free of the stereo types one has set for themselves in order to be different. My limited understanding of the growing psyche of my kids, had me at a loss for what was truly going on in my household. Now, later than I would have liked, I get it.
My kids don't even like each other. Their need to strike out in the world and be their own person, away for the pack, they have been a part of so long, has come due. They fight constantly, attacking the very character traits they all share. They find the others distasteful, beating feet to get as far away from them as possible. At first I lectured that we are all family and owe each other loyalty. I sat appalled at the amount of emotional betrayal between the children I raised. The truth is, they need the break. For years, they and me were all they had. For years, they protected our family unit even to the detriment of their own independence. Now it is time for them to truly move on and away from the family unit, so they can figure out exactly who they are as individuals. It is my job to let them.
"I hate her!" " He is a pig!" "What a loser!" Where I corrected the latest angry child/adult from negative speak before, now I simply say this, "Yes, I get it, go ahead and hate them." They won't hate each other forever. But maybe they need to hate each other now in order to live their own life without fear, guilt or recrimination. Parents get that they and their children start to dislike each other for awhile in order for the child to make their break. At least, I understood that much to be true. I hadn't seen that they needed to break from each other, as well.
The moving we have done this summer has been all about letting go of the past. We have donated, sold and gotten rid of hundreds of pounds of extra stuff that didn't fit our lives anymore. Toys were donated, bedding was thrown out, furniture is being sold, all in the name of streamlining our lives in order to allow good things to come to us. We are making room for good fortune. My herd is thinning also. My pack is unpacking in order to become. They need to thin for the extra room required to become who they were born to be and not what others expect of them, even me.
So there it is. The next phase of family life for the family. Growing hurts more than any injury, breakup or torment. It is the single most painful thing we, as humans endure, and yet, we will die from the inside out if we don't. This summer was my reminder, I am still discovering so much about all of us. It was the wake up call I needed to let my kids figure some things out on their own, without my "help". Now, what to do with all of my extra free time?

My Darling Christine

Our daughter is graduating from college tomorrow. I find myself drifting back when she was a baby. She still has blond hair and big blue eyes. She has the same smile and the way she tilts her head and looks at me as if I were completely insane. When she was an infant she had this thing called a a Johnny Jump Up. It hung from the door frame where she used her tiny legs to get it to swing her around and bounce up and down while I cooked dinner. I can see her in my mind as if it were happening right in front of me at this very moment. That is how it is for me. I still see all of her life regardless of where she is today. Every picture of her in every stage is ingrained in my mind and available at a moment's notice. I miss the days when the sun rose and set for me. I miss the day and nights when I was the most important person in her world.
I have waited for many years, 22 to be exact, to get to this point. I wished, prayed and worked so she could have the opportunities she has had. Tomorrow she will fulfill her end of the bargain. Christine Hope will don her cap and gown, walk across the stage and grab firmly on to her diploma that she she worked so very hard to get. I am so very proud of her. I never graduated from college and it remains my biggest regret. She has come right through me and allowed me to share in her joy and accomplishments.
I have packed plenty of tissues for the time when the tears stream down my face as I know they will. I will toast my child, our daughter, as she begins her real big girl life. The world is hers for the taking. I was watching The Colbert Report and his guest was Chuck Close the artist. He is Christy's and my favorite. My Walmart bill was the same as her date of birth.All these little signs to remind me how lucky I have been to have her in my life. I didn't just get pennies this time either, I got quarters and dimes from her father as the reminder that he too is aware of her graduation. Having Christy as a daughter has been an embarrassment of riches.

Us Old Dogs Have To Stick Together

My dog and best girl friend is sick. Asti, my whippet, shepherd mix is in the hospital tonight after being diagnosed with vestibular neuritis. I found her this morning sick as a dog. She was unable to walk, vomiting profusely and her eyes were rattling in her head like nothing I have ever witnessed in animals or as a nurse in humans. Her head twitched uncontrollably as she looked my direction trying desperately to focus on my face. I had thought when I first saw her symptoms that she might be having a stroke. I was a geriatric nurse for over 20 years, so my experience with anyone of age was limited to humans. I was out of my league and knew I needed help.
Michael was at work, the kids weren't up and I was shaking like a leaf. I knew the first thing I had to do was to try and calm myself. I closed my eyes and took a single deep breath. My girl was depending on me to do the right thing by her and I was not about to let her down. I got dressed, woke the kids, while calling Mike. I looked up the number for the twenty four hour animal hospital, telling them all I had seen and that I was bringing her in. I carried Asti to the car, whispering to her to hang on until I get her help. Driving, the tears ran down my face. My greatest fear was that I was going to have to let my best friend go. I had thought about this situation for a while now. My girl is 14 years old, 98 in human years. We had been so fortunate that she had always been such a healthy animal requiring only vaccinations and being spade. She is the pack leader in the house and had been since the day she was brought to us. The other dogs, Schnitzel and BoBo paced, circling around us while we were in the apartment. They sensed something was terribly wrong. They are both in love with Asti, vying for her constant attention.
Asti is not a hugger. She loves being petted, wallowing in affection, but is intolerant of being held. I knew instantly that when I picked her up she was really sick because she rested her head against my shoulder, seemingly grateful for the help.
I got Asti for the kids after my divorce. I had bought a house and the kids really wanted a puppy to love,protect and play with. Their world had been turned upside down. I had pulled them from the only house they had ever known. I had moved them out, away from their father without their consent. They were trying to adjust the best they could and I agreed that a puppy might be just the thing to help us all.
I contacted a number from the newspaper for a dog that had been rescued. We agreed to meet at my new house. Asti was quiet, shaky and nervous. She settled in by curling up on a pillow I had gotten for her and she didn't really move much for several weeks. She slept more than any other four month old puppy I had ever seen. The kids would go up to her, petting her, talking to her and still she didn't move. I took her outside to potty, fed her special treats as she continued her narcolepsy.
The kids pouted, "She doesn't do anything. You got us a broken dog, Mom. Why doesn't she move?" Perplexed I watched our new family member, pleading her after the kids were in bed to try and be more fun. "C'mon girl, just try and play tomorrow. The kids love you. Can't you at least try and walk around a little bit?" Asti's tail would wag, as she looked at me with her big brown doe eyes. Soon enough, Asti was running circles around the kids in our backyard, herding them in, keeping a watchful eye on my brood. She became the Nanny, like from Peter Pan. No one dared enter our house or yard without her approval. Her total devotion to her kids kept strangers at bay. I never worried about the kids playing in the yard as long as Asti was near them. She was my better half.
When Danny died the house felt dark, dank, depressing. Asti felt the heaviness, guarding us all the more. She stayed near the kids and me, lying at our feet, at the ready in case we needed her. So often we did need her to remind us to keep living, breathing, smiling, even when it seemed so much easier not to. She was my only friend on the nights when I felt like I wouldn't survive the grief, fear and anxiety. Asti kept me going when I felt like giving up.
It is my turn to be there for my girl, like she has been there for me a thousand times before. I will be at her side until this is resolved. As my tears flow for my girl, I feel so lucky to have a dog like her. She has been exceptional in loyalty and love. I can't imagine my life without her, but I will guard her life, her dignity and her legacy, knowing if it is her time, I will pull from the strength she has shown me for 14 long years. Today when I went in to look at her, as she laid in her hospital kennel, I whispered it would be alright. I watched her, careful not to upset her, as she needs dark, quiet and rest in order to have a fighting chance to heal. She can't focus on anything right now for any length of time, but she looked at me until it was too painful for her to continue. She wagged her tail and then laid her head down to rest, spent from the strain. I willed my strength to her. My heart pushed hard against my chest, radiating the love I feel for my loyal friend. I call every few hours to check on my girl. There is very slow progress, but I need to be cautiously optimistic.
I know what real love is. That is the greatest lesson my girlfriend had taught me, back when it would have been so easy to give up on love. That is truly her legacy, the ability to teach this old dog a new trick.

Red Letter Day

Yesterday was the kind of day where all I wanted to do was find the people who were making my life so hard, when it didn't need to be, tie them to a chair, playing Christopher Cross songs at high volume until they cracked. Yesterday was an all day affair of idiocy. Simple solutions were right there in front of every one and for the life of them, they couldn't see them. It was the kind of day where I became more and more frustrated by the banking system, leasing system and dissolutioned that anyone in charge has a brain in their head. One of our kids is being "attacked" by all this as well.
It was a ridiculous day where I felt my temper get the best of me. I began seeing red. That used to be a metaphor for me, but now that I am aging and the blood vessels are popping in my head, I believe it to be more of a symptom. I was angry. I am usually pretty good at stepping back and looking at the bigger picture, but yesterday, I began to lose sight of anything but the amount of unnecessary garbage that had been heaped upon my head.
I am not a fan of this summer. Somewhere there is a giant "dislike" button and I am going to find it and click it telling all who know me that this summer has been a giant disappointment.
It didn't have to be this hard. There is no real reason for all of the stuff we have had to sift through to happen. In the great scheme of things this will fade away into one of the many crevices in my brain never to be acknowledged again. I do know that it will all go. But, for now I am having to restrain my want, not need, to go kick some verbal butt.
Our apartment complex is giving us a hard time about moving out. They are turning it into a hostage crisis. Our mortgage company is giving us a hard time over paperwork they "need" or have or want or, heck I don't even know anymore. What I do know is the processor has bobbled this account several times and sounds like a 15 year old girl when she talks. I like, need, like,..." You get the idea. If she has a degree from some college, she should sue, because she obviously hasn't learned a thing.
Between bad neighbors at Apartmentistan, wild dogs, relentless paperwork,kids who need help, cramped quarters, heat stroke, and a constant battle against bugs I am pretty sure are from the dark ages, Mike and I have had quite enough, thank you very much. There is much more, but if I continue to list it I may have to be secured in a padded room.
I feel slightly uncivilized. I am surrounded by an insurmountable heap of indecency, ignorance and arrogance. When that stuff comes from my young adult kids, I forgive them because they are figuring out their coping skills and still learning.But when it comes from people who are in business, I find it hard to understand what the hardship is, in being a professional.

What to do, what to do. Well, at my age if I get mad and go off on somebody I could possibly cause bodily harm, to myself not to them. If I keep it all in I could give myself a coronary, burst a blood vessel or worse, such as take it out on inanimate objects that we own. I like our stuff and we have worked hard for it, so that won't do.
What I am currently doing is praying all day everyday. Some cynics will think this does nothing. For me what it does is give me an occupation so I feel like I am doing something. I also think it gives God a chance to come up with a better solution than I ever could, obviously. I handle what I can, and pray about the rest. My verbally abusing people won't help and will ultimately be as a satisfying as a sneeze.
I have watched karma at work. I have actually seen it take place, reducing others to a sniveling puddle of drool. Since I have witnessed such things, I know I have the patience to wait this out. I also know I am accountable for what I say and do, and that karma knows where I live too.
I am allowed to feel the burden. I am allowed to feel angry and hurt and overwhelmed. I am allowed to wish people to grow up. I am allowed to do this, so I shall. What I need to do at this point is to breathe, check my temper at the door, be civil, and stand up for us without leaving us open to a plateful of crap to be dished out by karma at a later date.
Yesterday was a red letter day in that I only saw red for about 4 hours. I will say, that in the midst of chaos I was able to look at my kids, my husband, my pets and feel real gratitude that nobody is hurt or sick or worse. Yesterday was bad, but not as bad as certain days I have lived through before. I woke up today just happy that yesterday is merely a memory and a story that I have the ability to tell.

I'm Feeling a Little "Wicked"

There is a comedienne I happen to like who is coming to town. Michael graciously offered to get tickets to see her for me, even though she is not his particular cup of tea. We'll call her Snarky McSarcastington. Snarky's tickets were for two days and two shows. Here is where I almost swallowed my tongue; for two tickets for an early show it would cost us $175.00, not including parking and gas money!
"Are you kidding me?" I gasped.
"No, that is with tax and stuff, but those are the cheapest seats"' Michael said disheartened. I could tell Michael was almost half afraid I would still want to go.
"I am not going to pay that much money for anybody, I don't car who they are" I responded indignant. "We spent that much going to see a Broadway show downtown with dinner afterward. This is outrageous!" I continued on my rant about how arrogant it seemed to charge that much for a one person show without so much as an orchestra backing them up.
I had been a fan of Snarky's and thought we had some things in common. We are both attractive gay men with boobs. We both have Irish catholic families. Snarky had always seemed more fan based than fame based, but I see now, I stand corrected. No good gay man worth his salt would extort that kind of money from his supporters. Every good gay I know can stretch a dollar, paying for their impeccable taste, until George begs for mercy. This seemed to me to be heresy.
I passed on the tickets, even though Michael and I haven't been out on the town in ages. The Broadway show we had last seen was "Wicked". I loved it, savoring every note, every moment until the last curtain call was over, lingering in the lobby reveling in the epilogue that continued to play as we left the theater. I love the theater. I suppose it is partially because I had thought as a child one day I would be in a theater performing somewhere. I had been a singer for most of my life and participated in many musical productions. I played musical instruments, mostly the trumpet all the way into college. Performing was as much a part of my upbringing as being raised in a small town. To this day, listening to the orchestra makes me cry.
Although I am missing out on the chance to see Snarky in person, I believe I am a better gay man for it. I have my principles, mind you. I would much rather take all that money and go to another Broadway production and dinner making a night of it, than have to search through the couch cushions, scraping together parking money the night of Snarky's show.
As any good gay man can tell you, it's not about what you spend, but whether or not you look and feel fabulous when you are spending it.

Get Control of That Darn Thing! By Ron Graham

What’s the hardest thing in the world to do? Why, it’s keeping your temper in check.

That’s what it is for me, anyway. I’ve always had a bit of a short fuse. And in telling you this I BEG you:

• Please don’t assume I’m proud of it. I’m not.

• Please don’t think I’m looking for an excuse for previous rants. The fact is, nearly every time I have one, guilt sets in almost immediately. Even when I’m “right.”

• Please don’t think I think being “right” matters. It almost never does.

But I think maybe every one of us has this gene or gland or organ or “short fuse” or something inside of us that allows us to measure our rightness. For now, I will just call it the Darn Thing. On every issue, the Darn Thing lets us decide that, when one of our opinions or attitudes is challenged, is it worth having a go at the challenger over?

And the Darn Thing gives us, like, maybe two seconds to make that choice. Tell me, what’s your success rate at decisions you make in two seconds? Mine sucks.
A bad success rate at these kinds of decisions ensures that you (meaning me, of course) are at times embroiled in arguments. And that you (meaning me again) are occasionally at risk of losing friends and opportunities – no matter how badly you (meaning me one more time) value being loved. I DO value being loved. Or maybe understood. Or maybe respected. Or something else that gives a guy warm fuzzies.

I’m generally a personable type. I like to meet people, and I like to talk to them, and I like to listen to them. I learn a lot of stuff that way, you know, from listening. But I’ve been told I have a bit of a Dark Side, or a bit of a Short Fuse, or a bit of Being Too Serious. Whatever it is, it’s my Darn Thing. Somebody says something that tweaks me just the right way, and rather than seeking understanding like a civilized human being, I’ll come back with some kind of (what I think is a) snappy rejoinder that tweaks THEM just the right way. And the argument starts. And it just goes on.

This might also happen when I need for people to do something for me that puts them to some inconvenience. For instance, the downstairs tenants were parked in the garage one time – and I pay for the garage, such as it is, as part of my rent. So I told them this and they said: “Well, WTF! That was someone else’s space before you moved in; now it’s our turn.” And the Darn Thing lit up. We didn’t speak again, those tenants and me, until they broke their lease and moved.
I’m going to tell you what I must do to gain control over my Darn Thing. Sure, this is in the hope that you can gain control over yours as well. But telling you this will also provide me a kind of outlet – it will make my newly-acquired self-knowledge real.

The Darn Thing is something that lights up, i.e. by means of a spark. I have treated it up to this point as a fuse, like on a stick of dynamite, because that’s how it has worked for me most times up to now. It’s a thing with a wick. But there’s something else that has a wick: a candle. Either way, the wick is combustible; and at the end of the burn something happens. We’ve got a choice in how to handle the spark that lights our Darn Thing. We can either see our Darn Thing as something that takes a spark and leads to an explosion – a large, quick release of energy – or we can see it as something that takes a spark and leads to a small, steady flame. We’ve (meaning ME again, for pity’s sake) got a choice between heat and light. It’s our choice.
The release of heat can lead to lost or damaged friendships, or lost or damaged perspectives people have toward you.
The release of light can lead to enhanced understanding, for you and everyone exposed to it.
I know which of the two I’d rather have. I also know I don’t always get it.
So how do we consciously choose to have our Darn Thing give off more light than heat? Here’s the hard part, because it requires commitments from me – and will from you too. Tell ya what I’m gonna do:

1. I want to give off light every day. So I’m going to put some light inside me every day. I will read something or listen to something that enlightens me.

2. Then I’m not going to turn around and just spit what’s working on me back to the rest of the world. What they need is not exactly what I need. Instead, I’m going to consider the NEEDS of anyone I can get close enough to, for long enough. And I’m going to do what I can to meet a need, every day. That thought is going out the door with me.

3. Then I’m not going to GO out the door until I have a plan. I’m not going to be anywhere during the day where I’m not sure exactly what to do next. Even when it’s time for a break, I’ll take a break because it’s time, not because I have no idea what to do next. If I don’t know what to do, I’ll forget something, and that will make me stress.

4. Then I’m going to be careful to avoid stress situations, where I actually have the power to do so. That way I can concentrate more on the light I have to give off, and not allow my Darn Thing to go hot.

5. Then at the end of the day I’m going to take stock for a few minutes, and think about what I could improve on tomorrow. We can always improve, right?

Yeah, that’s all in the plan now. And I wrote it down to help it all to become real.
I wanna control my Darn Thing, and for you to control yours. So you wish me luck, hey? And I’ll do same for you.

For the Last Time, I Promise

OK, I know everybody is sick of it, but I have one more thing to say about "The Decision" and then I will retire it.
I watched all the commentators yesterday slam Dan Gilbert for the open letter to the fans. I think he said what we, as Cleveland fans felt. He spoke from the heart to his fans, not anyone else. He did clarify who he was talking to. I was so happy that finally, someone with the power to do so, spoke out and acknowledged the fans from Cleveland. I felt somehow vindicated, reading words that were already swirling in my head. I also loved what he said about getting the ring first. While ESPN commentators spoke of Cleveland as being hopeless, with no sign of better things ahead (which I have to tell you really pissed me off), I was elated that Dan Gilbert innately understood that this is the exact kind of trauma that gets us fired up and moving forward. Cleveland fans are not ones to sit back and wallow. We are survivors, who are already looking at the Browns season with visions of Super Bowls dancing in our heads. On a side note, a young quarter back from Texas is now on the roster and I for one could not be happier.
I admit it wasn't a good business move. But Ohio is called the Heartland, not the Businessland. And as far as getting other free agents to sign? Well, if they want love. loyalty, money, appreciation, merchandise and a fan base that will stand behind them 1000% then they should have no problem sporting one our jerseys.

Proud Cleveland Sports Fan and Here Is Why

I am a Cleveland sports fan. I lived in Cleveland for 18 years. I grew up in a small town one hour from Cleveland surrounded by Cleveland news and sports, so I am a lifer. So what,you ask? Well, kids, take a seat and let me explain to you why being a Cleveland fan has been so very important to all of us, who haven't seen a championship any of us can remember. The last championship Cleveland won was back in 1964.
Cleveland has been repeatedly beaten up in my lifetime for a varied amount of things. We have been called "The Mistake on the Lake", Loserville and all kinds of sundry names, some not appropriate to put in print. Being a Clevelander means you have real guts. It means when you say you are going to do something, people really expect you do it. It is the Heartland. Some folks from other regions have no concept of why being from Cleveland is so important or how we got the name "Heartland", until they go and spend time with people from Cleveland. We are stoic, sturdy people who lead with their heart and not their wallet or ego. Most folks where I come from are not rich, or insanely famous. There is no celebrity culture. The news people walk around town like everybody else and are expected to behave kindly to their fellow Clevelanders. I worked downtown when I was in my twenties. Everyday I would spot someone who I had seen a million times on TV growing up. They would wave and say "hi" as if I were their neighbor from across the street. One such person introduced himself to me and said how happy he was to meet me, because he had heard such great things about my teaching at the health museum. I stood stunned and humbled that this broadcaster even knew I was in the room. That is just one part of what being in Cleveland meant. Everybody counts in the Heartland.
I have followed sports in Cleveland since I was little. I will never say I am a die hard fan who watches every game. Sports to me is a social outing and a reason to throw parties on game days and Sundays. I went to Indians games, where in the old stadium, we drug in cold pizza from a box, sat 3 miles away from the field, smoking cigars and drinking beer. I went to Browns games that were so cold we took sleeping bags to hide under, keeping the high winds from the lake shore from freezing us to death. I went to Cavaliers games, when only half the seats were filled, the concession stands stood mostly empty and the only thing holding it all together was the fans who refused to believe that all hope was gone. I watched hockey games go from WHA, to NHL, to a farm league when we had a goalie who could not for the life of him skate backwards. As heartbreaking as it was to see hockey be reduced to an after thought in my hometown, I kept going, being the Clevelander that I am, hoping we would soon have a better team.
That is what being from Cleveland really means. We never give up or give in. When Art Modell took our beloved Browns team to another city, we fought back and got to keep our name. Nobody else has done that. When New York bullied us to get the Rock hall of Fame , we gathered and rallied and petitioned until we proved once and for all, Cleveland is the home of Rock-N-Roll.
When jobs left, corrupt politicians tried to ruin our city, and hard times fell directly on our heads, we have time and time again taken our city back. When the river burned, we cleaned it up. Most people just don't understand the resilience of the heartland. They just can't wrap their brains around how a city who has suffered so much could continue to hang on, but we get it. It has never been about fame, money or even winning. It has always been for the love of the town and the game. It has always been about neighbors, beating hearts and hope.
My Cleveland is the city of Hope. It was never a plum or what ever else ridiculous marketing strategy the shakers and movers wanted to make it. It has always been about folks helping each other, rooting for the home team regardless of ranking or status, proudly showing that not only have we not given up, we have the audacity to believe we can win.
If you don't anything else about Cleveland, know this:
We will never give up, on our teams, our city or the hope we have clung to for as many years as I have been alive and then some.
Cleveland fans are the best, most loyal fans you will ever see in your lifetime.
Clevelanders are not politically correct, because as the honest people they are, they feel no need to BS anybody for any reason. If you want the truth, go the heartland and ask the hard questions. Trust me, you will always find someone who will gladly tell you the truth, regardless of how distasteful it may be.
Cleveland has a simple mind set that if it doesn't happen this year, we always have next year and are willing to wait until we see our championship come. We will get it the old fashioned way, we will earn it.
We make no apologies for our temper, because of our patience we feel we have the right to show you exactly what we think if we feel we have been wronged. We are forever loyal to those who are loyal to us. Ask about a guy named Michael Stanley or the quarter back Bernie Kosar.
I know there are those critics who say we are ridiculous for our strong reaction to Lebron's announcement. The truth is most of us knew he was going, but the way he rubbed our noses in it is what caused the problem. We respect our sports stars and in return we expect them to respect us. That was not the case last night in the ego fest heard around the world. The good news for Cleveland is this is the exact thing that does not defeat us, but rather spurs us on to work even harder to get the ring we got left for.
That's the thing about being from Cleveland, you just can't keep a good city down.