Keeping the Lucky Penny

Some love stories are epic tales, or in this case epic tails. This blog is dedicated to just such a story of a man and his dog, a simple, tried and true love story that changed the world for the better in the most unexpected ways. Penny, the beautiful girl seen above, left a legacy of love, compassion and opened me up to a world I had thought I never wanted to be within. Brady, the man, is a disc jockey. That title seems small when describing him. He is so much more than a record spinner. An ex military guy, he is strong, really smart, and incredibly funny. I met Brady a million years ago when I was a tiny child. He is a few years older than I am and back then he was infatuated with my sister. He was a boy from our neighborhood, a boy who was a bit of a ring leader, who had this way of getting us into just enough trouble without risking our lives. He was also the guy who covered everybody's butt if things got out of hand. We all sort just did what he told us. I have no idea what made us trust him so easily back then, maybe it was the innocence of youth, maybe it was that we were just dumb, or maybe we all knew he would never do anything to really hurt us, but if he got to laugh at us all the better. No one was more committed to comedy than Brady. I learned years ago there was no way for anyone to make you feel embarrassed if you were truly committed to the bit. It took me a lot of years to learn that, when my dear friend Brady intrinsically knew it from the time he was very young and still in school. If he was going to do something silly, you could bet your life he was totally committed to the bit. He never felt embarrassed, if anything he was able to gain followers who admired his ability to stay loyal to the outcome. Thinking about this trait in him, this loyalty, it did not take much to connect the dots and realize he was as committed to everything in his life. Brady has this way of whittling a situation down to find the heart of the matter, whether it be in humor or another emotion. It's really quite remarkable the way he takes a block of information and chips away at it to find a truth buried beneath all the outer rings. He does it with big social topics, he does it with music, and he does it with pop culture, which is where he makes me laugh the hardest. He is very punny. This past month, I was privileged enough to see via social media, him and his beautiful wife go through something heartbreaking. Publicly, he never wavered from being the strong, smart, funny guy, but for those of us who are honored enough to be in his friends list, he showed honestly, his heartbreak of taking care of his beloved Penny. It was all there, his heart open and mourning her illness. He told us how they had taken her hours away for help, hoping beyond hope that someone could save her. His brutal honesty was in every word, on each post, and we all were standing by waiting for a Christmas miracle that would save one of the loves of his life. There was the power of the throng, wanting, praying, wishing them their miracle. When so many other times we see people gather in large groups that end in destruction, here we all were pulling so hard for something beyond ourselves, pulling for this family to become whole. Brady, knowing we were all in this with him, graciously took time out to update Penny's condition. In the end, even the best veterinary medicine in Oklahoma could not save his beloved Penny. Ultimately, they took her home where she wandered in the yard, wagged her tail and in the night, surrounded by those she loved and who dearly loved her, she let go. I have no doubt she knew exactly how much she was loved. If it was so apparent over the internet, I am certain in person, face to face, it had the power that could light up even the darkest night sky. My friend, lost one of the loves of his life just before Christmas. His family, in mourning, put to rest the girl, who loved them in a way no one else could. They did not have a Christmas tree, forgetting about the holiday because they were so focused on their girl. The holiday passed quietly for his family as they faced the new year without the beautiful girl who impacted their lives and changed them forever. I believe we are made up of mostly soul with a few spare parts to keep out the cold. It is the soul in us that creates our beauty, develops our hearts and allows us to feel things so deeply we think our heart might burst. I believe all animals and humans are born with the capacity for love, some delving deep into the work of expanding mind, body and soul, and some who just sort of give up. Having had animals all my life, they are each so individual, so unique, that no generalizations can really be used with any accuracy. These furry souls, these little dependent, trusting, loyal to the end souls wait for us to help them develop their own hearts and minds. It is truly in the way they are treated that they are able to become something more ethereal. We all have the ability to choose for ourselves how we want to impact the world. Because of what Penny was taught and what she ultimately taught Brady, their souls have risen to another mark. They both, with the love and loyalty of each other raised each other up to the heavens, a little closer to God. Recently, my friend, Brady posted this: "Losing Penny has taught me one thing: no matter how hard I try, there are just some things that I can't control or fix. For me, that's a hard thing to come to terms with....but I'm trying. Maybe I'll have just a little bit less stress in my life going forward. Thanks, big pup." There it is, the result of an epic love story that changed the world for the better. I had been witness to this epic love story, when a dog who I would never have tried to help before, because of my fear of pit bulls, showed up at my door. My initial response was wishing poor, sweet Percy gone, but here is the caveat: I had literally just been a part of something so heart wrenching between Brady and his beloved Penny, that I could not allow my fear to sway me away from helping Percy. It was my singular thought, that some man was out looking for his beloved dog and I was responsible for helping him. What help I could not offer my friend, I could offer this man here, in my hometown. Had I not been aware of the love story of my friend and his Penny, maybe Percy would not be happy at home with his owner, today. Penny's soul, her light from within is what saved a sweet dog here, and turned my heart, changing my perception of what I thought I knew about pit bulls. Once again, the world became a little brighter, trying to reach the same brightness, to match the glow of Penny's light that continues to shine.

With Open Arms and an Open Heart, Thank You.

I have manners, I do. My parents being of the very socially conscious mindset spent hours teaching me which fork to use, where to stash my napkin, what a good hand shake feels like and most of all, to say "Thank you" when it is deemed appropriate. I am nothing short of a trained poodle, when social occasions arise, no offense, Mom. I have met very important people, self important people and folks like me who I find fascinating, but maybe do not have as much street cred as the previous groups. I can sit a very fancy restaurant and use all the utensils correctly. Yeah, that's right, you heard it, I said it, all of them! I can be at a professional dinner party and keep my elbows off the table the entire duration. I ain't no hooker, Yo, from "Pretty Woman", I know what escargot is and have eaten it without event. I will confess, though, that when I am at a dinner party of close, valuable friends, I tend to lean in on my elbows completely locked and loaded in the conversation. It is my state of engagement, my leaning my face on my folded hands. Albeit somewhat impolite, it means I am riveted by you and want to be as close as possible to your voice. I was a debutante. Ha! bet you never saw that one coming, did you? Well, smarty pants, I was, and I did not embarrass my parents or myself even once the entire evening. I did embarrass my mom briefly at a rehearsal with my dad, but he started it. After the face melting glare of her angry eyes, we both decided it was best if we went back to playing it straight. I will tell you, I felt slightly uncomfortable in those circumstances with all the hoopla, the rigamarole, and such. I was a senior in high school, very active in my school in the dorkiest groups that ever existed. I was a band geek, a choir nerd, in the musicals, etc. Not exactly a popularity power play. But I did it for the love the work that was involved. I would gladly do it the exact same way if I got the chance. My activities were all about the work, much like sports. Unlike sports, no one was going to vote us Homecoming Queen or King. This white gowned, polite, super conservative, waltzing show of prestige, well, I am sure by now you can see where I might have struggled. I just showed up with a gown my mom made which I will tell you was rocking hot, and did my own thing, dancing into the night with my very best friend. I love those pictures. My mom got her dream of her little grungy daughter dressing up to the nines, wearing white, dancing with her father, not belching in public, and I got to be me, only cleaner, wearing make up, with my hair done. Jim, my best friend since I was 9 years old, and I danced to every song until we nearly fell over. Looking back I can't imagine taking anyone else. It was one of those epic nights in my memory, where manners were of the utmost importance. I had accomplished what would have been akin to a game winning touchdown for my parents. "Look, Ma, no hands, no feet, no bad manners." The pictures of the a fore mentioned debutante ball is my proof that yes, since a young age, I have manners. I noticed something about myself when I was performing this past fall in the play. During rehearsals, our director would shoot out where she wanted us, how she wanted us and when we did good, she was the first person to compliment us. During this I took in her compliments and used them as fuel to try and get where she needed me to go. I never thought, "Oh look how good I am." I just thought, "Oh thank God I didn't screw that up." I have so much respect for this director. I love her. She has been honing her theater craft for decades and it shows. Any thoughts or questions I had she knew the exact thing to tell me. Being a complete novice, I had no idea how to do theater without singing my way through it. I had never done a play before. Never once did my dear director give up on me, not during pneumonia, not during my confusion about the blocking, never. She merely guided me with her words to help me through the rough patches. Which for the students who were experienced, yeah, well, I am sorry for all that. My point here is, I took in her compliments, but when it came to our performances and others saying nice things to me, I muttered "Thank you for coming" and stared at my feet. I am the world's worst compliment taker/acceptor, bar none. There I was receiving the most genuine, heart felt, kind words I had ever received and for the life of me I could not take it in. This wasn't about ego, it was about neurosis, ya know, the thing I am trying to get rid of this year? I stood as people said the nicest things I have ever heard, whether they felt like they had to or just did it anyway is irrelevant, it was the fact that I got so embarrassed, I could not look them in the face. That just ain't right. I am proud that I did not do my "go to" move of trying to convince people how wrong they were and list every mistake I made. I used to spend so much time convincing people why their compliment was way off base. I believe the word for that is "asshole". I was being a complete asshole. Here, I had people trying to encourage me with words from the heart and I was going out of my way to show them how wrong they were. O.K., so since I am older I stopped being such an asshole. I did not have one singular asshole moment in the receiving lines after our performances. That is progress, in it's own right, but I think I am still too far away from where I should be. Performing for me has nothing to do with ego. It is the act, the performance the opportunity, the immediate response in the moment that thrills me. It is, and always has been about the work. I have never performed a perfect show, ever! In all the years and all the performances, whether singing, playing, acting or doing stand-up, at no point did I walk off the stage and think, "Good enough!" That is what I mean by I have no ego in performing. Well, that and I always worry at some point I will just fall apart and pee my pants. I have worried about that since I was 9 years old, doing a talent show with my sister. This year, I would like to spend more time taking in the good stuff that people say. I do not want to be taken in by compliments, but to absorb the kindness of others without making them regret it. Having manners, I say "Thank you", but what I thinking is "Oh God please make them stop. This is embarrassing and if they had any idea, they would never even acknowledge me." It is in my body language, my down cast eyes, my inability to be grateful for any talent or God given gifts I possess. It shows in my self deprecating humor, where I constantly make fun of me, which I will not be giving up because some of it is pretty darn funny. It shows in my lack of confidence when I have a run in with another asshole who is out to say or do destructive things. Now, that big ball crap I internalize. I mentioned "Pretty Woman" and the one line I love and will repeat myself with, so bear with me is, "Why is it, the bad stuff is easier to believe." That line hit me like a truck. I hear and talk with women and men who have had incredible compliments thrown their way, but the bad stuff is what sticks. This year is about making the compliments stick like tar. It's about helping others hear the compliments they get, too. It amazes me when the most talented people, or incredibly smart, funny, compassionate women around me can not take in compliments, even after having worked so hard to receive them. This year when someone says I look nice, I plan to look them square inn the eye and say, "Thank you", and mean it. I have always felt they were too kind, but now I want to believe they are being just kind enough. When someone takes the time to say something nice to me about something I have done well, I want to absorb it, swallow it whole and let it fill me instead of dismissing it as if they have had a mental break down and need to seek professional help. I do not want to do this to feed my own ego, but rather to honor their words and feelings. I also want to honor my beautiful brain, and this body of mine that kept me going all these years. So, here's to you and your resolutions or journey for the year. You look fabulous, by the way. I just thought you should know.

What Goes Up, Must Come Down.

So here we are in 2012. Congratulations for making it into another year.
Yesterday the whole family and a few friends got together at our house and shared food, great gobs of thick, rich Polish food. It's the best hangover cure ever. Unfortunately, the electricity went out and folks left early. In some ways it seemed apropos, the quiet, the many candles with their dancing light and the fireplace glow, with Asti lying in front of it on her pillow. It was warm and cozy, like being inside a giant, fuzzy blanket. We didn't have a storm, or weather related problems, so I am not exactly sure why the electricity went out, but in the end, it all worked out as things usually do.

I have to finish my resolution list today. Today it goes from conceptual thinking to black and white print. I have so many things to do this year. I have a whole new set of goals for myself, and for my little family. So tell me, do you have lofty goals for yourself? ............................Well, I am waiting.............................
Surely you could have come up with something.
O.K., O.K., I'll stop pressuring you. Geeze, relax would ya?

In writing down what I want, what I need, what I aspire, it occurred to me that was goes up, must come down.
Let's start with the obvious, I have gotten fluffier, not fatter mind you, I weigh less than I did a year ago, by more than a whopping ten pounds, but my couch time when I was sick turned my generally firm muscles into flowing jelly rolls. The good news is there is always room for jello. Since I am a shape shifter, I need to get a handle on that. I have no want to be the one who refuses to walk to get the mail because the 40 feet is just too far.

Next up is Christmas and holiday stuff. It takes me days, alone to put up all of our "stuff". I have a few days now to get it all to fit back in their containers. It's no easy fete to accomplish this. I have no idea what happens but the original stuff never fits quite right back into the boxes making me huff, puff and squeeze things in ways that nature fights against. I'll do the outside first so the neighbors think I am organized as I take the next week and a half to shove everything else.

Next is expectations, mine, theirs, and maybe even yours. I have found myself more than once thinking things should be one way, when clearly the universe, God or some one who just doesn't agree with me, thinks things should go another way. Ultimately, I am faced with choices of being pissed, compliant, easy going or hurt. The good news is I get decide which one reaction happens. I am thinking this year, maybe I will wait for as much information as possible before I expect anything. There is some truth to never being disappointed if there are no expectations to impede the progress.

I need sleep. Real, relaxed, cover my eyes with one of those Lone Ranger masks without the eye hole, sleep. I haven't had a good night's sleep in years. Did you hear me? I said YEARS. Some it is hormones, thank you, Mother Nature, and some if it is kids, and some of it is habit. Since I have been up for years, it definitely time for me to come down. I have hatched a plan to help. I will not be available to anyone during the week after 8:00 PM. It's my own version of "Don't Ask, Don't Tell". Don't ask me for anything during my bedtime ritual, and I won't tell you what to do with your request.

My biggie this year is stress. Our stress level has been maxed out for all of 2011. Now that the new year is here, it is time for us to kick back, let it be and allow us to slowly descend from the heightened awareness we have been suffering from. Michael and I have aged exponentially, since last year at this time. I had a conversation recently with a "friend". This supposed friend said, "You are just not yourself lately." She was right, I haven't. We were and are faced with life altering decisions and I went through a health scare that I thought might kill me, so my usual laid back jolly self had crawled into the fetal position to take cover. Not to worry, my old usual self is on the rise as the old decrepit, sickly self is disappearing. Oh, and thanks for the heads up. Your keen awareness of my state of mind has been invaluable. Alright, maybe my sarcasm level should come down, too.

My teeter totter, is on it's gentle decline to the ground this year. Last year I was trapped up by the fat kid, waving my arms, suffering cherry bumps, screaming to be let down. With the bully under control, I am now able to find my way to solid ground.
I realize this is day 2 and we have many more to go, but I know what optimism does. I know that my glass half full is a much better way for me to view things than my glass shattered and on the floor in pieces. I believe my half glass is on the rise also. I believe I will gain contents of unimagined joy.

I have so much already. Really, with all of our stuff, clothes, a home, a family, friends who love me even when I am in a bad place, I have so much. This journey, this year isn't about gaining stuff, I want nothing tangible. It isn't about a quest for friendships, although I have never turned one down. This year is about gaining insight, compassion, understanding, and knowledge. It's about reading, doing, dreaming, writing, painting, sculpting, trying things I never thought I would ever be able to do. This year is about allowing the meager dreams I have, fall away so that greater things can happen. I believe God dreams bigger things for you than you can ever dream for yourself, so this year is about letting down my guard, my need for control, to see what God has in store for me. I have never felt so free, or so naked. If Kellie's neurosis falls in the woods, with no one else around and she doesn't blog about it, will anyone hear it?

Change Will Do Us Good

Ladies and Gentlemen I would like to introduce Percy. Percy came to us quite by accident because he had wandered away from his loyal owner, jumping his fence and taking off. Tom was outside when Percy came up to him with tail wagging and seemed very tired. He was wearing a harness, was well groomed and obviously very loved by someone. Tom, being my Dr. Doolittle petted Percy showing him kindness and love. Percy followed Tom over into our yard and into our courtyard. Tom gave him food, water and a pillow to sleep on. Percy, being a lost stray, was tired and I believe a little scared until he came upon my Tom. Percy is a full blooded pit bull.

I woke up and got my coffee, heading out to the courtyard, like I do every morning. Tom stopped me briefly and said, "There is a pit bull on our porch. He is lost and we need to find his owner." Seeing the abject terror on my face the minute he said pit bull, Tom quickly told me how nice the dog was and I needn't be scared. But I was scared, I am terrified of certain breeds of dogs. I have read enough stories of horror in our own small town papers, to know that certain owners of certain breeds, breeds disaster. Tom kept talking as I wandered out to see this mammoth headed dog laying on the wiener's outdoor cushion. "Oh, Tom, I don't know..." I began. "Mom, we need to help him. He is so sweet."
I walked out to be greeted by a sweet tempered, docile but imposing dog. It was his structure, his large boned body, square head and small eyes that was imposing. Percy, himself was just happy that someone had showed him some kindness. He walked over as I sat on the bench and laid his giant head on my lap. I petted his head, rubbed his face and began talking softly to him. "Who are you, boy? Where is your home?" This imposing dog merely wagged his tail and moved in for more love.

The hunt began early to try and find Percy's home or if that could not be accomplished, at least find a safe place for him to stay until we found someone to take him. I began posting things on our neighborhood website. There amongst the other news were lots of postings for lost or found dogs. I found out, thanks to "friends" on the site, that if we took him to nearly any shelter he would be automatically put down. As a pit bull, it was procedure to euthanize the strays. Mike and I could not bear the idea that someone's family pet put down for no reason other than his breed. Percy proved himself to be anything but vicious. As a matter of fact, he would wag his tail at everyone who came to the gait. "Not much of a guard dog, are you?" I laughed as I rubbed his belly. We put Percy in the car and drove around our neighborhood looking for clues of who might be missing their beloved dog. No one had seen or knew of anything, so back to the house we went. We collectively decided with New Years coming fast, Percy needed to be indoors. Fireworks and gun shots are overwhelming here at midnight. I did not want poor Percy to be outside panicked as the great booming sounds surrounded us. Tom began hunting for some place for Percy to stay.
I was on the phone with my girlfriend when Tom much later that afternoon, came rushing in. "I found Percy's home!" Our community is about 75,000 people. It was a needle in a hay stack for us to find Percy's home, but we had each taken a turn to try and help. At one point, earlier in the morning as sweet Percy slept, I prayed for him. "Please, help him find his home. Spare his life. Help us do the right thing." It took all day, and many miles of travel before we were able to find the man who was sorely missing his beloved dog. Tom found out that Percy was a rescue. The man who owned Percy had rescued him as he wandered in the woods, badly wounded and scarred from being forced into dog fights. He had been a puppy and the man took Percy in, loving him dearly. Had we taken him to a shelter, he would certainly been put down. This wasn't just a happy ending, it was a glorious one. I felt like it was a sign of things to come for the new year. Sometimes happy endings do happen and everyone really is the better for it.
Later that evening I was getting ready to go out with my darling Michael. Everything I touched turned to crap. I was having a real girl moment when what I planned to wear was not going to do in the balmy, humid weather, my shoes did not match anything else and my hair was taking on a life of it's own. "Oh geeze!" I kept saying loudly. Michael could hear my huffing and puffing as my frustration grew. A man who has been married long enough realizes the exact moment when a girlie woman goes from frustrated to locking herself in her closet not wanting to go out. The response of this man takes the precision of a surgeon. One false move, one off handed comment and the night would go up in smoke. Michael carefully traveled around the emotional landmines I had set up in my hurried, furious, frustrated state with the grace of an Olympic athlete. Thirty minutes later we were out the door. My hair had been pinned up, my outfit changed and the shoes, well, they were basic black. I had tried to put as much lipstick on the pig of the night as I could. Dressing to the last moment, I had to carry my mom purse because no time was left to change bags. I did my best to salvage my attitude, trying desperately not to punish the man who actually wanted to spend time with me.
Once at the restaurant, we took our seats. I had carefully made sure of time, place, and menu. We did not want a big new year's extravaganza. We wanted to go out to grab a light meal, sip some wine and enjoy each others company. They handed us their "special" New year's menu, an extravagant, expensive, over the top, we could not possibly eat that much food, menu that had both Mike and I looking at each other as if we had been duped. I saw the frustration return but this time it was Mike who was feeling the pain. The waiter came over asking to help us, when I asked for a few minutes to try and figure out what we were going to do. "It's $200 by the time we get drinks and gratuity," Mike whispered across the table. I had put on my readers and was looking at the menu, it was not anything I cared for, and I was growing angrier at the woman who had reserved our table for us. "I asked about all this, She said their regular menu was available. This is upsetting," I whispered back. We looked at each other, I could see Michael not wanting to pay for something we did not want, but feeling torn he would ruin our New Year's evening. I looked at his face, smiling I said, "Baby we do not have to do this. I was lied to. This is not what either of us wants. We can just leave. We do not have to sit here and pay for stuff we do not want." My sweet husband, my boyfriend, looked at me with wide open eyes, asking, "Are you sure?" the love he has for me, the way he protects my feelings, the want to do whatever I want, it was all there in my boy's face. "Hell yeah, I'm sure. Let's bounce." Just as quickly as we had been seated we got up and headed for the door. I stopped at the hostess desk to let her know her table was once again available. "There seems to be a misunderstanding," I spoke in a low voice to the young girl at the desk, "I called and was assured we did not have to order form a special menu. Since that is not the case we will be leaving." She told me then the waiter would have given us a regular menu. "That's alright, dear, this has turned into brain surgery, and all we wanted was a light supper. Happy New Year." And with that we left. On our way to the car Mike and I talked about the possible extortion that had just nearly happened. They did not give us the regular menu, I would have had to ask for it, and to be perfectly honest, I would not have known to do that. It was clear they wanted us to spend way too much on their menu to increase their profits. I specifically asked for something, and that is what I should have gotten, without having to beg a waiter for it. I am not at all fond of people doing slimy business tactics and this smacked of exactly that. In the end we were back in our car with the evening hanging in the balance, again. "Go to the grocery store," I told Mike, "I have an idea." I said nothing more wanting him to be surprised and maybe hang onto what evening we had left. Mike pulled into the parking lot and we barely made it in before they closed. I headed for the meat counter to see what was left. Mike tugged on my now determined sleeve, "Baby, you do not have to cook tonight. It's O.K. we will figure something out." "I know," I said while looking at my impeccably dressed handsome husband, "trust me, I think I am on to something."
I grabbed the last rack of lamb, some fresh greens for salad, and a bottle of wine. We headed to the register, and my husband gently kissed me, as we waited to check out. "I love you, Kel." "I know, and you sir, will be having a magnificent dinner for two at Chez Gregg." As we checked out, the bill came to $36.00. "We will dine on superb food, sip this lovely crisp wine and all for the low, low price of $36. Now that is a steal!" I giggled as we grabbed our bags and headed home.

Mike and I had a lovely garlic and rosemary crusted lamb chop, with asiago mashed potatoes, gently broiled to crisp the edges and a fresh green salad. We sipped wine, watched New Yorkers standing in the cold as Celo Green sang, "Imagine". We kissed at the east coast stroke of midnight and again an hour later when Houston finally celebrated 2012. We took our time eating, drinking and laughing, as Michael complimented every morsel I had made. We took our wine to the living room and watched Asti sleep soundly in front of the gas fireplace, with the twinkle lights gleaming in the background. It was not the new Year's Eve we had planned, it was better. Instead of wincing at an over bloated check , we had a lovely meal planned just exclusively for us. It was warm and loving, this new New Year, each of us so willing to sacrifice for the other. Had I wanted to stay at the restaurant, Michael would have paid that bill. We wanted us to be happy, to be together, to enjoy the quiet of each others company and that is precisely what we got.
I have a feeling about this upcoming year, with Michael and I together, and Percy safe in his loving home, the signs all point to a very good year.

So I Was Thinking...

I'll be the first one to admit I have been waxing nostalgic for the past few months. I think I do that most when I am sick. Having been sick for a few months, I had time, lots of time to roll around in my head. I had a conversation with someone who I could tell was thinking it was all about them, my need to spend my time thinking through past missteps, present quandaries and future conundrums. I tried to correct them saying, "Look, I have all this time on the couch, I might as well figure some things out," but unfortunately they did not have ears. My friend Dr. Erin taught me about people without ears, the ones who say they heard you, but clearly everything you just said went through their filter because they did not have open ears to take in the actual words. In the end they didn't hear me, but I still had lots of time, so I continued on my quest. Being sick and incapacitated, I was faced with two real choices, I could either think, or spend my time feeling really sorry for myself. I had felt sorry for myself and I didn't like it. Nothing got accomplished, I didn't feel any better, so the next logical step was to think. When I was married before he used to say, "You think too much." I always looked at him completely puzzled and asked this, "As opposed to being thoughtless or empty headed?" At that point a fight would ensue. How could I possibly have known that would happen? O.K., I baited him, I did. But the idea that one could "think too much" is a concept I absolutely do not understand. I do understand about letting go of things when we have no control. I understand that obsessing over a problem may not change a thing, but I am not ready to relinquish my beautiful brain's ability to take me on whatever journey I need to go in order to spare myself the same path I had just gotten away from.

I love my brain, the little quirky crevices that lead me into places much too dark and scary for the average person. I love the way I my heart has a direct link, which is why my jobs have always been about helping people. I love the way my brain directs conflict right back to me, mirroring it, so I look at my place in whatever misunderstanding is taking place. I almost never think I am right, until I know I am. I tend to leave the situation and think about what I could have done differently, what my responsibility was, how I could improve. I really love that about my beautiful brain. I say beautiful brain, because my brain is all out hot. It has taken some real hits and bounced back. It continues to work out, straining to keep it's girlie figure. It works overtime without complaint, although the rest of my body whines like a child. My beautiful brain, woke up when I was 28 years old after giving birth to Betty, and it could not work right away. Starved of oxygen and deprived of blood, it lay in my skull trying desperately to get it's bearings. It could not remember things it used to know, it could not even remember how to tell my lungs to breathe again. My poor sickly, beautiful brain was really struggling. It took two years for it to gain back nearly everything it had lost. Luckily for me, it never gave up. I gotta hand it to my brain, it came back with a vengeance and has not stopped working since.

The new year is coming and in this past month when I was at my sickest, my beautiful brain and I began plotting some real changes for the future. This is where the nostalgia comes in. I started to think a lot about the past, so I could gently release it into the world, back to it's time, so I could move on from here, the exact spot I am standing in now. I know not everyone has to go to all that trouble, but maybe my beautiful brain requires more attention. Whatever my brain needs, I try and give it. It's the least I could do since it has saved my life on more than one occasion.

New Year's Eve has always been a real mixed bag for me. It never lives up to the hype, never! But I like it anyway, as it is the way, the clear path, to the new year. Years ago when Mike and I spent more time at home than out in the world, doing family things, I gave up on the whole "Party like it's 1999" thing. But I will tell you, I get so excited for the new year to come. I am completely child like about the idea of a fresh start, new opportunities, new adventures, new people, places and things. Michael is less enthusiastic, or at least he used to be. I have worn him down over time, being my dorky self, cheering just short of pom-poms for the upcoming year. This year is no different. Actually, I am more excited about this year, than I have been in a while. The possibilities seem endless to me.
I was sitting at work when one of the college students said on December 21, " A year from today the world is supposed to end." Well, there is a real buzz kill for New Year's, but here is what I said and I absolutely believe, "I think it is an end of an era. The world as we know it will end, but what will prevail will be so much better."
For me, this year marks the end of an era, a time in motherhood. Yes, they are always my kids, but they are not kids anymore so unless I plan to follow them out into the world, I had better move on. Not to worry, they have insured they will do me harm if I stalk them. It is the end of the life Michael and I thought we might have, and used to have. It's definitely time to think outside the box. This New Year's Eve marks the end of me watching out for the family in the same way. I am not having to to worry about homes, jobs and security like I used to. I never made a single decision without that worry and this is the year, where, POOF, in an instant it will all be gone. I'll still worry for my kids, but not about school districts.

This upcoming year is all about insecurity and not knowing. I think the adventure this year will be about having no answers to anything. I am calling this the "I DON'T KNOW YEAR, 2012." For example, where will we live-I don't know. What job will Michael or I have?-I don't know. Will the kids still be with us?-I don't know. See what I mean? 2012 is all about open ended questions that will only be answered when they are answered. That freaked me out in 2011, but since my couch thinking, I have to realize it has so much freedom, it allows for so much great and wonderful surprises. You know those people who say, "I hate surprise parties, never do that!" Yeah, well, I am just the opposite of that. I love fun surprises. I adore them, especially since I have hit middle age and I have started to feel like I have seen too much.

I really, really hope something wonderful and surprising happens for you tonight and for the upcoming year. I hope you meet someone who knocks your socks off. I met a couple of folks like that this year and it was fandamntastic! I hope something you might have given up on, comes true for you in spades. I hope for you, this year you feel loved, safe, secure, engaged, involved, and welcome. As my beautiful brain takes on the new year's list of all the possibilities, the one item that is going on the top of my list is for you. I want for you to be the happiest you have ever been. My resolution list isn't just about resolutions, it's about my prayers, too. I wish for all of us, peace, prosperity, and most of all, above all else, love, lots and lots of over flowing, come out of nowhere love, so much in fact I would like all our hearts to hurt a little because they have to stretch so far in order to take it all in.
Tonight, as I dance in the arms of the love of my life, I will open my clenched fist and let go, sinking deep into the year of the unknown. I am giving my beautiful brain the night off.

Happy New Year, Dearest Ones!

Write Or Wrong?

I was thinking about the writing I have been doing. I was caught up in the idea that I have to accomplish some things, that started to feel, well, forced. I had put all this pressure on myself about what I thought should be expected instead of what I actually wanted to do. Originally I wrote for me, just simple little thoughts or stories that were floating around in my head. Since everything was in a spiral notebook and no one saw them, it didn't matter what I wrote. Once the book came out, I started to feel all this pressure to write another book. The truth is the first book came out of writings just like this. It started out as a few paragraphs on a few pages which turned into a book. Writing the second book became this thing for me which felt a whole lot more as if I were working at a job, where I was clock watching, then the writing I had grown to love.
It seems funny to me that the one thing I love doing had morphed into something I now dreaded. I would sit at my computer and feel completely stagnant, when just a few years ago I would sit and write until my hand felt as if it were about to fall off. I had to take some time to figure out where I had gone wrong.
I belong to writing groups and I watch them talk online about their "process". Most are prolific writers who crank out books, the same way I crank out pot roasts for dinner. One writer produces about three books a year. She writes her books for hours on end, novels about murder mysteries, love affairs anything that can be named she puts into plot form. Most of the writers in the groups write fiction. They help each other with plot twists, technical details and historical facts to bolster their stories. My little dog and pony show didn't seem to fit in on any level. When asked what I was working on, I carefully put that I blog about everyday events. As an essayist, I write about life stuff. I swear to you I heard crickets chirp after I wrote that. No one made a single comment or gave even a fragment of helpful advice. I got nada, nothing, as I waited for a response. Eventually one person wrote that they could not relate to "bloggers". In order to spare myself any further decline in my confidence I slowly backed away from the "writing group".
The question became, if all I wanted to do was write, why did I feel so wrong about it?
Preconceptions can be a dangerous thing. How we are perceived, what is expected, the unnecessary stress that can and often does happen to those who produce anything from their imagination can stop the creativity in it's tracks.
All this "thinking" led me back to a story about a teacher I had in high school, my English teacher, a rotund woman with a bad dye job and a fierce attitude. I was taking advanced English classes being on track for college. I had no inclination of being a writer back then. I had no idea what I wanted to be. I took the necessary classes allowing for the maximum amount of choices later on. This round, Weeble shaped teacher was tough. She was palatable if she like you, and completely distasteful if she didn't. She never got along with my straight "A" sister, but for some unknown reason she was entertained by me. In her class we explored writing of every type. We were expected to write long, double spaced, typed papers about what we had learned. I cranked out my papers much like I did all of my homework, begrudgingly with little or no forethought. On a few occasions we were allowed to write stories about whatever we wanted. It was there, in that space of freedom where I shined. She would read my stories, correct what errors existed, but she was always generous with my grade on those particular assignments. There was this grading thing, that only she did, if we made an unacceptable grammatical or writing error on any paper, that made most of us shake in our shoes. She would not just put an "F" on your paper and flunk you for the assignment. She had this saying "Fatal Error" and she would mark a giant "FE" on your paper. If the error was particularly egregious or offensive she would put exclamation points after it and point it out in class. Those were the moments I wanted to live under my desk and never come out. Failing was bad enough, but to receive a "Fatal Error", well, my friends, it was akin to tucking your dress into your underwear and walking around town. I did some of my best praying in her classes.
Ever since my first experience with the "FE" grading system, I became riveted by the notion that a mistake could be fatal. We all know that video killed the radio star, but what error could I possibly make as a writer that would terminate my talent?
Recently, I think I know the answer to this quandary. I started doing things with my writing which actually took away from my talent, instead of building on the skills I already have. I would love to tell you that my second book will come out soon, but the truth is I don't want to write books. I am an essayist. I want to write essays. If one day I have enough essays to make a book, as in the same way I produced my first book, then so be it, but all this pressure to write books, well, I find it too unsettling for me. I am a writer because I write, it's what I do and the way I think. Some people like to take pictures of their vacations, I like to write about them. I am not a writer because of a degree I have, or because someone told me I was. I am a writer because I write, because I can't exist without writing.
If the fatal error exists in the idea that I am not focused on the writing I want to do, but rather what I feel I am obligated to do, then the answer here is easy. It's time to let go of the idea of a second book and focus on being an essayist, which is what I have been doing for the last several weeks. Whether or not I ever write another book is something I no longer want to think about. I love writing this blog, working at the college, answering my "Dear Kellie" letters. These are the things I love doing, so these are the things I will focus on.
My mom, my biggest fan, said to me, "I have made copies of all of your blogs, and they now fill a binder. That should be your next book." I smiled as she told me how she painstakingly copied and bound everything I have ever put into print on this blog. She also told me how she has kept the cards and letters I have written her through the years, laughing at all the silly stuff I have sent or given her. When talking to her about the pressure of producing another book, she said something I remind myself of when I feel as if somehow I have failed. "Kellie, you should see how thick your next book is. The binder is full of your writing. Your second book is already written."
The idea that my second book is already written and waiting in the wings until I am ready, takes all the unnecessary pressure I had put on myself and makes it disappear into the atmosphere, like steam from a boiling pot.
I had originally put the changes I wanted to make about my idea of what kind of writer I was on my resolution list for 2012, but after talking to my mom, I see I can already cross that one off.

JT Had a Good Idea

So Mike and I have been talking about making plans and here is why...I believe that "good luck" is preparedness meeting opportunity. Mike believes the same, and we both realize just exactly how lucky we have been. Even in the last couple of years when we were consumed by renovating, house hunting, job changes and the constant flux of our kids, things have managed to work out pretty well. Sure we spent some real time praying, but we also spent some real time planning and executing. Our preparedness has allowed us to be in the right places at the right times, not without some disruption and a little whining, but we made it where we needed to go.

This coming year I think we deserve a little more "us" and a little less "them" regardless of who the "them" is. The last couple of days we have been talking about what we want to do for us and where we want to go. It's an interesting concept to discuss moving, or staying or big changes that have nothing to do with what schools there are, or how our kids will be effected. We have talked to the kids about our future and they have generously told us to do what we want.
Basically what they said was this in a nut shell: "You two always tell us to be happy and do what we want, well, do the same. We want you two to be happy, so go figure it out." Hmmmm, I thought, "go be happy..." What a novel concept, to go and just do what we want, when we want, the way we want it. I haven't had that thought since 1985. There is a lot of freedom in our kids letting us go wherever we want. I see in their faces they mean it, too. I must say it is one thing this family does quite well, the idea of letting each live according to their wants and happiness. Ours is an accepting family. We all want the others to find their happiness. They are really good, kind, generous kids. It's without a doubt, impressive.

While Mike and I were talking I brought up a single notion that had nearly escaped us for the last few months. I looked at my beloved and said this simple statement,"In 2012, I am bringing sexy back." Mike looked at me smiling with a glint in his eye, "Yeeeeessss, I am listening..." "Well," I continued, "We have been so caught up in other stuff I think we need to bring back the hot. I would like this year to be about us, the us that used to be smoking hot, the us that used to date, who used to dance, who used to get caught up in the moment forgetting where we were. I really would like to bring that 'us' back." Mike leaned in and kissed me. "I like it. It's a good and lofty goal. You can count me in."
Anyone who has been married for any length of time and has kids knows it is nearly impossible to keep the focus on the relationship. I think we all start out saying we won't change, but life happens and kids are time consuming, so change is inevitable. I realized something a few years ago, nearly all of my close friends do not have kids. My friends know the work and sacrifice it takes to keep kids on track because they actually listen to me. I don't think some folks without kids understand how difficult it is all the time. Mike and I have our jobs, his is uber stressful and I have three part-time jobs, then there are the household duties like cleaning out the cat box, doing laundry, shopping, cooking, home repair, car repair, errands, lawn care and on and on. By the time we sit down to relax it is our bed time so we have enough energy to turn right around and start all over the very next day. We are not unusual, we are actually a stereo type, a cliche. One day while we were in Lowe's picking up whatever plumbing part we needed at the moment I looked at us and how we were dressed. Both of us had gotten up and donned our "work" clothes. I stood staring at Mike and then at myself and gasped. "My God! We look like homeless people!" Mike still looking at fittings stopped and glanced in my direction briefly stating, "No, we look exactly like someone who owns a home and now has to spend all their time and money fixing it."
We made a few other stops before going home and it occurred to me that we should feel a little embarrassed. It really wasn't so much about what other people thought, I could care less about that, but about what we thought of each other.
At one store I had picked up these shoes, these gorgeous "throw me down on the bed and have your way with me" shoes. I then looked at the hideous, paint splattered, worn out tennis shoes I was wearing. "Look at the shoes I have become..." Mike looked at the sexy shoes and then down at my tennis shoes. "You are still the CFM shoes. We just haven't have had the time for you to wear them recently." "Am I?" I asked in all sincerity. "Am I still the wildly sexy shoes that drive you crazy?" Michael took me in his arms in the middle of the discount store and whispered this in my ear, "Baby, you will always be the sexy shoes no matter where we are or what you are wearing." I melted like a pat of butter on a hot summer day.
It was precisely in that moment I decided it was time to bring sexy back. It's not really about sex, it's about the hours of foreplay we have been missing out on. It's about the getting dressed for each other, the quiet romantic dinners, the glasses of wine, the slow dances in the bar where it's just us, just him and me and not one other single thing exists in the world. We have had moments, really fleeting moments of that, but we have been so consumed with family and other stuff, we have sort of gotten lost in the shuffle. I think this is the year we shift our focus from family to couple.

My first order of business was New Year's Eve. We used to go out, I used to dress in high heels, hair perfectly coiffed, Mike in a suit, smelling so delicious I wanted to bite him. If I meant what I had said, then we needed to go out for New Year's Eve, just the two of us. I called our favorite restaurant in town and made reservations for 9PM. "I hope we can stay up long enough to eat," Michael joked. I laughed at my boy, hugging him, as it was me whispering in his ear this time, "I really am bringing sexy back in 2012. It's going to be a really good year, ya know." Michael dipped me and said, "Oh, I know it is. When you make up your mind to something, I have no doubt it will happen. I'm just glad it's happening with me."

2012, you are going to really be something. I can't wait to see what is next for "us".