My Journey to Peace (Or, How to Suck at Meditating)

As I approach 50, I’ve decided to make small changes in my life.  Less sugar, more exercise, reprioritizing, etc…  I’ve decided the second half of my life will be joyful, peaceful, and memorable.

Today I tried meditating.  It’s supposed to be good for the mind and the body.  So I put on my headphones, chose some soothing music, sat in a comfortable spot, and closed my eyes.  Here’s how it went:

(This is my inner voice speaking.)

Ahhh…ok…here we go.  Meditating.  Quiet.  Peaceful.   Empty your mind.  Relax… Ahhh…

(Listening to music; gently swaying with the rhythm)

(Loudly) “I CAME IN LIKE A WRECKING BALL…I NEVER HIT SO HARD IN LOVE…”

Oops…I’m supposed to be quiet! Maybe I need to change to another song.  Let’s see…here’s “Home” sung by the Glee cast.

(Listening; eyes closed; gently swaying)

(Loudly) “SETTLE DOWN…IT’LL ALL BE CLEAR!”

Crap!  That’s no good.  Maybe I should try some yoga.  I can meditate and stretch.

(Starts yoga; immediately develops a leg cramp)

Ooof!  That’s not a good sign.  Maybe yoga’s not good for me.  I should start running again.  That’s a good way to meditate.  I wonder if my running gear still fits.  Probably not.  I’ve gained so much weight.  Wonder how much I weigh?  I wonder where the scales are?  Did I put new batteries in it? 

Crap!  There I go again!  Concentrate, Nancy!

(Sit back down with eyes closed; listen quietly to music, trying not to sing along)

Here we go…meditating…meditating…meditating…  I wonder how long I’ve been sitting here?  10 minutes?  15?  How long should I sit here?  My butt’s falling asleep.  Is it okay to move?  I’ll sit here another couple of minutes.

Do de do do…la de la la…wonder what’s on TV?

(Opens one eye and peeks at TV)

Still GMA.  Who’s that? Oh, Melissa Rycroft.  Oh look, she’s pregnant!  How sweet!  Boy she lost that baby fat quickly.  I wish I could lose my baby fat.  Ha!  I’m funny.  My baby is nine years old!  Sigh…she’s getting so big.  I hope she’s having a good day at school.  I could sure use one drama-free day.  I’ve been so stressed out lately.  I wish I had a way to relax.  I enjoy bubble baths, but I need something else.  What could I do? 

Crap!  Here I go AGAIN!  You could relax if you would quit talking to yourself! Concentrate!

(Close eyes yet again and breathes deep)

Relax….relax…ahhhh…here we go.  Relaxing, relaxing, meditating…

(Breathing deeply, relaxing, turning off mind)

Crap!  I have to pee!  Maybe I should just go eat a piece of cake.

 

Maybe tomorrow I’ll try lighting a candle, too…

 

Am I doing this right??

 

The Year of Living Expensively

This has been a costly year for us here on the old homestead.  In addition to the normal expenditures associated with feeding these bottomless pits we call pets, the exorbitant vet bills that come along with horses and dogs the size of horses, and the usual wear and tear expected from a 165-year-old house, we’ve had these lovely, exciting, expensive events:

1)      Rats in the car:  yes, that’s what I said.  Not in the interior of the car, thank goodness, but in the engine.  Rats ate my car.  Or, more specifically, a wire.  Not just any wire, mind you, but the one that controls the diagnostic system.  No system workee, no car startee…  Cost? An arm.

2)      Flat tire: After 33 years of driving, I had my first flat tire while driving.  On the Interstate.  Luckily, I was close to an exit and managed to get off safely.  However, since the tires were nearing their life expectancy anyway, we had all four replaced.   Cost?  A leg.

3)      Broken air-conditioning units 1 AND 2:  Our house is equipped with two HVAC systems – one for each floor.  Being the overachievers we are, we managed to have both of them quit at the same time!  Yay, us!!  In our defense, we had the upper one replaced last year, but because we went through our home warranty company, the proper sized unit was not installed.  So we had to replace it again.  So…brand new unit for downstairs and replacement unit for upstairs.  Cost?  .All four limbs.

4)      Rats in the dishwasher:  Ahhh…the lovely rodents.  This time, they made it into the house.  Yay…  When we pulled out the dishwasher, we found a lovely, pleasant-smelling mouse nest.  (I might be sarcastic here.)  Once again, they had chewed through a wire.  My wonderful hubby, with all his electrical and welding experience, was able to make a quick repair.  Until they chewed through it again two days ago.  Cost?  We don’t know yet.  I’m just going to hand-wash dishes for a while.  Madge?  Where’s the Palmolive?

5)      The laptop: After a few years of plugging and unplugging the charger, the thing-a-ma-jig that it plugs into broke, leaving us unable to charge the laptop.  Fortunately, I found a stand-alone charger that will charge the battery outside of the laptop.  Cost: Just a finger…for now.  Eventually we’ll have to spend another arm to replace the machine all together.

On top of all this, we still need to replace the roof, the guttering, and the dryer.  It. Never. Ends.

OK, I know these are first-world problems.  We have more than a whole lot of people.  And this place is always beautiful and calming.  Which is a good thing, because our next 15 vacations will be spent here in order to pay for all these fixes.

The million dollar view...

(or at least an arm and a leg)

 

 

A Letter to My Daughter

If there is only one lesson that we are able to teach our daughter, I hope it is this: life is HARD, man!

Our nine-year-old has led a fairly charmed life so far. She has, thank God, never had to worry about having enough to eat, or clothes to wear, or having a roof over her head.  We’ve been able to give her all the things she needs, and a lot of what she simply wants.  She’s been on great vacations and attends a private school.  She is a lucky little girl.

I give the most credit for this to God, of course.  He has blessed us greatly.  But beyond that, I want my daughter to know that these things she enjoys don’t come free.  And they certainly don’t come easily.

Life is hard.  There’s no other way to say it.  It is beautiful and it is ugly.  It is full of love and full of hate.  Life is simple, but is it also extremely complex.  It is every cliché that you have ever heard.  One step forward, two steps back.

What I want my daughter to know is that her dad and I have worked hard to get to where we are.  We’ve made extreme sacrifices and tough decisions.  We’ve had wonderful, heavenly times together and horrible, soul-crushing times.  But we keep going.  We keep walking and working and fighting and pushing our way through.  We laugh and we cry.  We are bruised and scarred.  But we are still here.

It seems that our daughter is just beginning to learn that lesson.  Where, before, school was easy, it is now a challenge.  Where life was simple and carefree and full of play, it’s now confusing with the rush of puberty.  She has less time to enjoy life; more work to do. 

I wish this weren’t true.  I wish I could tell her that her life will be wonderful.  That she will never have to endure hardships or heartbreak.  That she will get everything that her heart desires.  But that would be a disservice to her.

Life is hard, my dear baby girl.  It takes courage and commitment to get through it.  You have to fight for what you want, over and over again.  You will awaken some days wondering how you will ever get through it.  You will cry and ask God, “Why me?” 

So as you make this journey of life, remember these things:

Live every moment as best as you can.  Fight hard and love hard.  Fight for what you want.  Fight for those you love.  Don’t run away from life.  Challenge it.  Stand up to it.  Beat it.  No matter how hard life gets, you are stronger.  You will win.  Because the most important lesson isn’t really that life is hard.  It’s this:

Life is beautiful, man.

Cock-A-Doodle-Doo!!!

Attention, please!  Attention!  From now on, I would like to be known by my self-proclaimed title: I. AM. CHICKEN. LADY!!

Lord, I love these chickens!  Who knew they could be so much fun?  I mean, I know most sane people don’t just go around wondering about chickens, unless it’s about what kind to eat, but they are fascinating! And, believe it or not, they share many of the same qualities as people.

Take, for example, the rooster.  Now, ideally, you would just have one rooster.  He is like a polygamous husband – lots of wives and children following him around.  Of course, being the overachievers that we are, we have at least eight roosters (we have some chicks that are still undeterminable).  No need to pay to watch a cock fight, folks… we have one here about every half hour.

The rooster does, however, perform an important job – he guards the hens.  Like a husband or father, he watches for danger as his brood eats or rests.  He also searches for food and lets the others know where he finds it.  And in return, he is allowed…ummm…privileges.  (*wink, wink*) Bob is our patriarch.  He makes sure that everyone knows his or her place in the chicken family.

The term “mother hen” is spot on.  Chickens are extremely maternal and will absolutely die trying to protect their young.  Just try to pick up a new chick and see what happens!  It is wonderful to watch her teach her babies how to pick and scratch for food or take a dirt bath.  Some hens are better mothers than others, just like humans.  Blondie is our matriarch of the farm.  Now on her fourth brood, she is the epitome of a mother hen.  She is the only hen who trusts us humans enough to allow her chicks to eat out of our hands.  I’m excited that we will have her blood line running around the farm for many generations to come.

The chicks…oh, the chicks!  Is there anything cuter?  Tiny and fuzzy…you can’t help but smile when you see them.  They are never more than a few feet away from their mother and instinctively know to hide underneath her when she gives them the signal.  And like human children, they grow too fast.  Blink once and they’re grown and out on their own.

Chickens have their own language, as well.  I wish I knew what each sound meant!  They have different sounds for danger, calling their chicks, finding food, etc.  And like babies in a nursery, once one of them starts raising a ruckus, they ALL start!  A symphony of clucks and crows…as beautiful as any opera!

Okay, I know I sound crazy going on about chickens.  But that’s okay.  I fully plan on being the crazy old lady down the street with 100 chickens in her yard.  For now, just call me CHICKEN LADY!!

Bawk, bawk.

Calgon, take me away!

I almost stayed in bed today.  Not because I’m sick or injured.  It’s because of this:

Eights loads of laundry

 

And this:

Non-working dishwasher

 

And this:

My closer

 

You see my point.

 

The piles of laundry are because I’ve been so busy “fixing” everything else.  A flat tire required a 1-1/2 hour visit to the tire shop.  A broken dishwasher prompted an hour of trying to find the problem, not to mention the landfill that we used to call the kitchen.  Homework is in a class of its own.  I don’t remember 4^th grade being this hard the first time around.

The closet is a result of looking for purchase receipts and warranty cards for the aforementioned dishwasher.  I found neither, but did find the owners’ manual.  It offered one possible solution to our problem; it didn’t work, of course.

So I’m stuck with these three huge messes.  The laundry is now started; the kitchen is next; the closet can wait. 

All of which begs the question:  Why am I surfing the Web??

 P.S.  The cat just added an enormous, stinky poop to be scooped.

P.S.S.  The fish tank smells like someone threw up in it.  Time to change the water.

P.S.S.S.  Pay no attention to the Scarlet O'Hara dresses in my closet.  It's a surprise. Shhh...

 

 

 

My Hero - A 9/11 Tribute

I had a hard time today deciding what to write about.  It is September 11, after all, and most bloggers are certainly commemorating that fact.  I just wasn’t sure that I wanted to join the crowd.  After all, I wasn’t there and I have nothing new to add to the multitude of stories out there.  But I DO sleep with someone who does!  So, with his blessings, I bring you my hubby’s story of 9/11.

As many of you know, Don is a 20-year veteran of the United States Air Force.  The last eleven years of that time period, he was stationed in Washington, D.C., working for the White House Communications Agency (WHCA).  He did many things in that position, including being responsible for the “Red Phone” in the White House (which actually isn’t red!), working on advance teams for Presidential and Vice-Presidential trips, and was even responsible for communication systems in the Presidential limousine. 

I tell you these things not to brag (although I am EXTREMELY proud of him), but to give you some idea of his depth of knowledge and involvement in government at that time.  There are things that he has done and things he knows that I will never know.  Even a wife comes after duty to those truly committed to serving our country.

On September 11, 2001, Don was at his daily-use office in a location away from the White House.  He had meetings scheduled at the White House and was preparing to leave when the first information came in about the World Trade Center strike.  The men and women he worked with immediately began watching the news reports and listening to the Intel coming across various systems. 

As time passed, and the confirmation of a true terrorist attack was given, the members of his team realized that they, too – stationed in the Nation’s capital – were also possible targets.  Information was coming in fast and furious about a rumored White House attack.  Fighter jets were deployed to intercept any plane heading in that direction.  Don and his co-workers stepped outside to watch the world as we knew it change forever.

As we all now know, the White House was spared that day, most likely due to the heroic acts of those men and women on flight 93.  We also know that the Pentagon was not so lucky, and many of the same people that we count on to protect our lives did indeed lose theirs.  Don had many friends who worked at the Pentagon.  Thankfully, none were lost on that day. 

Many came close: the wife of one friend was close enough to find shrapnel from the airplane embedded in her backpack, which was the only thing between her and certain death.  Others had equally horrifying stories.  Some were simple nuisances, such as the hours it took to get home to loved ones in the chaos of a city under attack.  But all were important in their own way.  Everyone had a story.  Everyone shared a small part in that terrible, horrible day.

Don received many blessings that day.  If he had already gotten to the White House, he would have been on lockdown for many days, along with the others there.  If he had been at the Pentagon, he might possibly have been in the section destroyed that day.  If he had been traveling with the President, he would have crisscrossed the country as our military and Secret Service did their jobs and protected our President.  But none of those things happened.  He was blessed.

And because he was blessed, so was I.  We met nine months after 9/11.  I didn’t hear all of his memories of that day right away.  These things are hard to talk about.  Even for those of us who were nowhere near the tragedies, it is hard to speak of that day without our hearts hurting.  But I can say one thing with the utmost certainty and with every fiber of my being: I am proud of my husband.  Not just for surviving that day, or for what he accomplished for our country, or for serving proudly in Desert Storm.  I’m proud of the man he is: loyal to his country; dedicated to his family; and faithful to his God.  I am the luckiest woman in the world.

Master Sgt. Don E. Williams (Ret.)

 

 

Roly-Poly-Oly

In the interest of full-disclosure, I should admit that I just finished a very large waffle cone full of chocolate fudge frozen yogurt.  At 8:45 in the morning.  I’m pretty sure this is not the way to lose weight.

I’m having one of those mornings: I feel old and I feel fat.  Just two weeks shy of my 49^th birthday, I’m heavier that I’ve EVER been, including pregnancy.  I have no desire or energy to exercise, I would love to lie in bed all day, and none of my clothes fit.  I think it’s time to admit that I need a change.

We all know THOSE women who say, “I weighed 102 pounds when I got married,” and you look at them and think, “Yeah, sure you did.”  Well, I actually did.  I’ve been skinny my entire life.  At one point, my parents took me to the doctor because they thought I was anorexic (I absolutely wasn’t).  I was just a very thin person.  And I hated that, too. 

People who would never think to call someone fat would often think it’s okay to tell someone how skinny they are.  Believe it or not, those comments hurt just the same.  I was always trying to gain weight.  You heard me…GAIN weight.

Fast forward to age 44 and I got my wish.  At first, it was just enough.  I looked great!  I’ve never been one to exercise, but I had filled out nicely and was really happy with my body.  But then I kept on going.

I had a few things working against me: my mother became terminally ill and I started perimenopause.  I joked with Mom that, as she lost weight, I was gaining it.  When she died 14 months later, I had gained about 20 pounds.  Still ok, but I wanted to keep it at that point.

Two years ago, we moved to the farm.  You would think that all the work required around here would keep the weight off.  You would think… 

So here I am, 40 pounds from where I started.  It’s time to get moving and do something about it.  I don’t yet have a plan.  Honestly, I’m pretty sure that I just traded an alcohol addiction for a food addiction.  Remembering how hard it was to beat the first one, I don’t look forward to doing it again.  But I have to.  I’m already a “mature mom,” and if I want to see my daughter have her own kids, I need to get healthy.

So get ready, cause you’re gonna hear a LOT about this!  Complaints, failures, whining, and hopefully a few good days.  Are you ready??