WHAT'S MY NEXT BLOG ENTRY

I still have loads of things to tell you about New York and pictures to show. So much so, that I'm on the verge of being that person that wants to host a party to show you my vacation slide show. I am not that mean. Instead I've been parceling them out to day by day. The only problem with that is that I haven't been keeping up with the pictures and the uploading and the editing (though, to be fair, I've done very little photo editing of these pictures). I've reached a plateau in my story, but my brain has been too focused on other things (like work and scooter tags) to move forward with the tale. Also, it's too hot. Last summer I laughed at KCMO's idea of summer. There was a week of 100 degrees and then the rest of the summer was just in the low to mid 90s and there was rain. Meanwhile, Oklahoma ran a 110 degree temperature for the entire summer. This summer looks like Oklahoma's summer. We are now into our second (maybe even third) week of over 100 degrees. There are cracks in my yard and grass crunches underfoot. Outside even sounds hot. The crickets and cicadas are the sound of heat. I've taken to leaving Hooper inside during the day and I don't think he's too thrilled. I'll let him out in the morning to do his thing and patrol while I eat breakfast, but when I call him to come inside, he darn near refuses. I have to follow him in one lap of a patrol around the back yard before I can convince him that he will boil if he stays out here all day. The best thing about this heat/drought is that I haven't had to mow my yard in two weeks.

When I was a kid, we used to pack up the trailer and head to Colorado this time of year. We did it to escape the heat. I've been thinking of this, of getting out the camp gear and heading out to some place cool for the weekend. The only problem is that most of the country is experiencing this heatwave and to get to cooler weather, I'd need more time then a weekend. MO is under a burn ban and I stick to Chris's rule of "no camping without a camp fire". I can hear my mother gasping with worry at the thought of me off camping by myself. I may not own a firearm, but I do have a bat (one purchased just for protection while camping, how caveman). No...I'll get out the gear, clean it up and organized and just be ready. In the meantime I will do the morning patrol around the back yard with Hooper and water the garden every evening. I'll dream of cooler weather and rain while I move slowly through this heatwave.

NEW YORK TRANSIT MUSEUM

I think the New York Transit Museum is one of the best kept secrets of New York. It's hidden in a old subway station off the beaten path. When we went, there was hardly anyone there and most of them were little kids. This really is a great museum to take a little one. It's full of hands on activities. You can even drive a bus!

As you can see, I am not a good bus driver. You can also blow up a box of dynamite.

My favorite part though was in the lower level. This area housed the old subway cars.

Talaura told me that every year around Christmas, they put one of these old subway cars back in service. You never know where or when it will show up and it's always a surprise. Talaura was one of the lucky ones last year. My favorite part of her story was when she talked about how people reacted. Suddenly everyone was happy and all smiles. Riding the subway is a very solitary thing. Normally, people are plugged into their own little world and space. They sit scrunched on the seat, careful to not touch the person next to them. Rarely does anyone make eye contact let alone strike up a conversation. But that day was different. Such a simple thing. I'd like to think it made everyone a little bit kinder that day.

HOLLOW

Maybe it's because I'm finally getting around to taking Chris's name off the bank account. I ran out of checks. Maybe it's because I have GOT TO get my scooter tag this weekend and I'm building myself up for some DMV related disaster. Maybe I'm just tired. I'm tired of always being tired. But this week I feel like I'm on autopilot. I get up, do the things I'm supposed to do, work hard, nod yes and no when required, get on my yoga mat, fix dinner, stare listlessly at the TV and then go to bed. Rinse and repeat. Over the weekend I cleaned my house and put the yard straight. I sat in a lawn chair with a glass of water and admired my work and thought "this is my life now". It seems so odd still and for a moment I thought maybe I dreamed it all. None of this ever really happened. Chris is out buying milk or something. Except Saturday that idea changed. Instead I began to wonder if I had made up that whole life where Chris even existed. It was almost too easy to think this way. No one I work with knew Chris. It's possible to believe I moved up here all by myself and that Chris is just a Drop Dead Fred. Each time I go in and remove him from this or that account, it's like I'm erasing him from my life. Eventually there will be no legal evidence left that we once coexisted. It was this thought that crawled into my brain that left me feeling scraped out on the inside. It's like when you take a spoon and scoop out the inside of an avocado. I am the avocado peel. Ever notice how when you stick the empty avocado shells back together, they look like a perfectly good avocado on the outside? I am the avocado peel. I look fine on the outside, but completely empty on the inside.

I mentioned to my friend Chad that I was having a hollow week. He told me not to try and fill it up with empty things and I replied back "bleh". That probably wasn't the most mature response because he read me the riot act, told me no junk food or junk TV, eat healthy and do healthy things like reading and yoga and gardening. I'm supposed to report back to him on Sunday about something I observed or didn't appreciate before. Mother Fucker gave me an assignment. I will admit that I rolled my eyes at this, mostly because these are things I'm already doing. OK, there has been a tiny amount of junk TV because well...that's all TV is any more. Also, I had ice cream for dinner Sunday night. I almost, almost, wanted to reply back that I'm doing those things and I still feel like the avocado shell. But I didn't want another assignment, that and it sounded whiny to my own ears. Part of me wants to say there's room for everything in here, junk and good. There's so much space to fill, what does it matter what it is?

Don't worry. This isn't a call for help. This is just the state of things in this moment. Next week or even tomorrow will be completely different. I'll do my assignment for Chad. I'll feel like more then the peel. Look. I can't be fine 100% of the time. It's just not possible. None of us can. So...let me be hollow this week.

PROUD

Before I headed to New York, I quizzed my parents about our family history. I wanted to know if there was anyone I should look up while I was at the Ellis Island Museum. Both of them said that none of our family came through Ellis Island and that both sides had been on the continent for much longer then that. I don't know if this makes me a Daughter of The Revolution, but I wouldn't be surprised to discover if dad's side was with the bunch of Scots sent over to get them out of prison.

What I did learn at Ellis Island was that it was a damn trial to get through and that a person really wanted to be in this country to go through the things they went through. We did the audio tour, which is something I normally wouldn't bother with, but for the Ellis Island Museum it's a must. The audio tour includes interviews from people who actually entered this country through the island. Some of these stories where sweet and funny, but many of them where heartbreaking tales. This museum requires tissue.

The best part is outside at the back of the museum. They have a wall listing all the names that came through Ellis Island. We all split up and starting hunting names. I found Grahams, McCools, and Tuckers. I forgot to look for Bennetts, my dad's Mother's side of the family, but I know so little of that side of the family. It makes me want to learn more.

I thought just going to the Statue of Liberty on the 4th of July was patriotic, but it was Ellis Island that really made me feel blessed and lucky. Ellis Island tells the story of what it really means to be an American, the struggle and the fight for something better. I think these are things that many of us struggle for today, that whole something better. Seeing the hardship that many went through makes me realize that I already have that something better.

LIFE LIST #91: BE AT THE STATUE OF LIBERTY ON THE 4TH

Last year I received an email from Amber with a very generous offer to come to New York for the 4th of July. She'd seen it on my life list and wanted to help me make it happen. That's the kind of thing she does, help people with their life lists because she's just awesome that way. I told her that it just couldn't happen that year, what with the move and all, and that we'd definitely plan for it in the next year. So Chris and I started making plans for a trip to New York and since we'd already decided to go, I went. Talaura, Kizz and Amber and I boarded the first ferry out to the Statue of Liberty on the 4th of July. We like to think we were the most 200 patriotic people in America even though German seemed to be the most predominant language on our boat.

We goofed around the statue.

Then we found a nice spot on the edge of the island right in front of Lady Liberty to scatter some of Chris's ashes. We cried as I poured the ashes over the railing and then I dropped the baggy. That's right. I am the Lucille Ball of scattering ashes. And we laughed.

Thank you so much to Kizz and Amber for taking pictures.

I'M A TOURIST

For the first two days of my trip, I was pretty much on my own. I would ride the subway into Manhattan with Talaura and then venture out into the city. With out a map. That's not really true. I have a "smart" phone, but I never used it. Talaura would point me in the right direction and away I'd go, gawking appropriately along the way. The first day we hiked over to the theater to get our tickets for my first Broadway show (more on that later) and on our way back to Talaura's building I'd point at various buildings and shout out what I thought was their names getting it wrong every time. I could see Talaura getting worried about my navigation abilities, but I promised her that I'd be just fine. And I was, with the exception of that day's shoe choice (bad, bad, bad, bad, bad). First stop? Top of the Empire State Building (only this came out in my head as this line "as tall as the Chrysler Building" from Annie)! Getting to these tourist attractions early, like when they open, is probably the best plan ever. I was a little late to the Empire State Building, but I saved time by purchasing and printing out my ticket at home. I would have been waiting and waiting if I'd waited (heh) to buy my ticket there. That's where the line started. I was early enough though to skip on ahead to the elevators. I think I waited in line for about 10 minutes before I was crammed into an elevator that went to the 86th floor observation deck. Not too shabby. The first ride up takes you to the 80th floor (I think). There, you are funneled through another maze to the second round of elevators. I could tell that this was usually a big waiting area, but they've set up your wait nicely with displays of pictures and history of the building. You also start to realize that you are really, really, really high up off the ground. Really.

It's at the 80th floor where you wait for people to come down so that you can go up to the 86th floor where the observation deck is and the amazing view of the city.

I traveled from the Empire State Building over to the New York Library. They have an exhibit running right now called "Lunch Hour NYC" and it's all about the history of lunches in NYC ranging from the very first food carts and menus to the automat. It was a great exhibit and it was free! I did put some money in a donation box to pay for some kids' lunches though. The only disappointing thing was that I didn't take any pictures. I didn't think it was allowed. Also, I see libraries as sacred places. There is a specific code of conduct for those places and that code did not include photography. It was only later on my out that I noticed the sign read "no FLASH photography". Oh well. The lunch exhibit made me hungry for lunch and so I went outside to meet Kizz for lunch in Bryant Park. We hugged and laughed and cried and got caught up and it was good. Kizz is also the type of woman to be prepared for emergencies and was able to give me a band-aid for my badly blistered foot and then she walked me most of the way to Grand Central Station. See? I didn't need a map.

I'm a sucker for train stations and Grand Central is awesome because it's still a busy, working train station. And it's HUGE! It's also really easy to get lost in. I went down to the food court below the first floor and when I came back up, I thought I was coming back into the station on the opposite side, but I ended up right where I'd started. It's like walking through an Escher painting. But, Oh, the people watching to be had! There's a mix of people actually trying to go some where, tourists gawking, and a guy in a banana costume.

Wait...Yup, that's a guy in a banana suit. Go banana. I was also pretty sure that I saw Matt Damon getting a shoe shine.

By now, my feet hated me. Seriously. I hobbled my way back to Bryant Park to rest while I waited for Talaura to get off work. I just sat and watched people and journaled. When Talaura showed up, I was less hobbley and more gimpy. I gimped my way over to my very first Broadway Production. We saw One Man, Two Guvnors. I laughed and laughed and laughed and fell in love with half the cast. Best. Show. Ever. Then I oohed and awed at the famous people sitting in the audience. I saw Jim Parsons, Jessica Hecht and Rich Sommer, who is way cuter in person. It was all so glamorous and wonderful. I went home with starry eyes.

And you guys? That was the first day. The First Day! My feet didn't forgive me until Thursday.

AND NOW, BACK TO THE SHOW!

Hello internet! Did you miss me? I've missed you. Yes...I will admit that I missed your lovely face. But a break was needed. Absence makes the heart grow fonder and all that jazz. I've come back from New York with stories and pictures and souvenirs and dirty laundry because it turns out that I did indeed have eight days worth of underwear and can fit more than eight days worth of clothes in my carry-on. I am a packing pro! My first visit to New York left me speechless. It was a combination of an amazing experience at BlogHer and the wow of New York City that left without words and I had to take time to process it all in my head. Turns out, New York still has this effect on me. There's so much to tell; so many pictures to process and upload. You're going to have to be a bit patient with me. The blog wasn't the only thing to be neglected while I was away. There's a layer of dirt on everything in my house, a nice stack of bills that need to be payed, some important paper work that needs to be dealt and and and....grown up stuff. I need to start catching up in more ways than one and I'm having a really hard time quelling the panic over stuff I need to get done. Ridiculous.

One thing I did do on this trip that I really didn't do last time, was sit down and journal my day. There were a couple of days that I would miss because there just hadn't been time that day, but I always made up for it. I wanted to be sure to get things down on paper so that I wouldn't forget them. It also helped me process all the awesome things that I'd seen and done and been a part of. New York City is one hustling and bustling place. It's easy to get caught up in the swirl of people and noise. There is a sense of continuous movement. It can easily take on that cliched character of itself that is portrayed on TV. But I advise you to not be fooled. There are pockets of green space that can instantly drown out the traffic rumble. There are places of stillness that forces hushed silences at the beauty is contains and there are lessons of stillness taught by the most unusual. Sitting down to journal these moments was an act of quiet stillness in itself.

I promise there's so much more to come. In time.

RANDOM FLIGHTS OF FANCY

I feel like the only bits of conversation I know how to share these days are how things used to be or lonely sad moments I've had to deal with. Like I'm not fit for socializing. I'm the depressed version of Eliza Doolittle's first outing as a "lady", where I'll shock you all with a story of how my Aunt bit the bowl clean off the spoon (my Aunt never did this....it's a line from the movie....I have to clarify because there are people who've never seen My Fair Lady....I know right?!?). I've never been a good social butterfly. I hate talking on phones. I'm terrible at inviting myself over to something. I tend to be a bit of a loner. I don't mean to be, it just is what it is. I have to be approached or else if it's the other way around, I feel like I'm bothering you. I have always been this way. I believe it's called introversion. Hello. My name is Cindy Maddera and I am an introvert. All those times I appear to be outgoing are all times I've pushed myself to be outside of a comfort zone. I think the events of this year sort of entitles me to a free pass to do whatever I want for the rest of the year. Part of me wants to be really irresponsible with this free pass and say "Fuck you World!". This is the same self that would also delve into self destructive activities, like drinking straight from the wine box (yeah, box). This self wears black combat boots and walks around just holding her middle finger in the air, flipping off everything and everyone because she doesn't care, man (remind me to turn off the Morrissey for a while). Any way. Free Pass. The usually-responsible-do-everything-the-way-you're-supposed-to self takes the free pass a little more seriously. This is the person that says "yes, I can do whatever I want, but only in a good healthy cathartic way". She's the one that gets all the accolades for being so great and strong and awesome. Needless to say, she makes Fuck You Girl roll her eyes. A lot. But they both realize that I need to make more of an effort on the friend front. It would probably be a good idea if not all of my friends were internet friends.

So here's the plan. I'm going to treat this summer like I'm away at camp (kind of a sucky camp), meaning I'll brush up on social things like what's happening in this season of True Blood and whatever Kim Kardashian (not really). I will teach myself to talk about other things and be hip with the now. At the end of summer I will have groomed myself enough to get out there and socialize, maybe meet some new people. Make some new friends. Get myself out there. That's what I'll do. I'll be Madame Social Butterfly.

I'll get started on this right after I take this nap.

BED FRAME/PICTURE FRAME

After lunch on Saturday, I wondered into the vintage shop next door. The Thistle is filled with things I'd love to have. When I finally get around to re-doing my kitchen, I'll be visiting this place again. The owner has a lovely selection of orange kitchen things. But I went in to just look, until I saw a small bed frame hanging on the wall. I couldn't find a price tag, but I was pretty sure I wanted it.

So I asked Marni, the owner, if it was for sale. The one on the wall was yellow. I wasn't too hip to yellow, but I figured I could make it work. But then Marni said "I've got a brown one I'll sell you that's cheaper, if you don't mind the color". Sold! You see, the minute I saw it hanging on the wall, I knew exactly what I wanted to do with it and the brown was an even better fit for that idea. I wanted to hang pictures on it. Also, Marni really wanted to hang onto the yellow one. I could tell. She's turning her's into a calendar. It's going to be brilliant when she finishes it.

It was the simplest of projects and the total cost was about $25 ($20 for the frame, $4 for the pictures, clips I already owned). The hardest part was picking out what pictures to have printed and I ended up printing out more than I needed. But that's fine because then I can just change out photos whenever. I'm always saying that I need to print out some of my pictures. I just never know what to do with them if and when I do. This idea was so simple, I wish I'd stumbled into that shop earlier.

PERFECTION

Saturday I was cruising around, trying to decide what to have for lunch, when I found myself back at Cafe Gratitude (it's really good, ya'll). This time I sat at the bar and the bartender was my waiter. I ordered and then he asked me the day's question: What, in your life, is perfect right now? My first thought was "my shoes". I'd finally replaced my old Keen flip flops with new ones. But I couldn't come up with any thing real to tell the guy. He patted the bar in front of me and said "I'll let you think about it for a bit". Great. My life is good, I mean if you ignore the obvious. I'm healthy, I have a reliable vehicle that gets me from point A to B, and I have a wonderful crowd of friends and family. But perfection? Is there really such a thing? I finally told my waiter that my food was the perfect thing. In that moment, it wasn't too much of a lie. I was hungry. But I've never thought about my life in terms of perfection. Maybe because I just don't believe it's possible. Sure there where moments in my life that were close or as close as one could come to it, but I don't think I believe in perfect. We are all flawed in good ways and bad. How can we expect the lives we lead to not be the same?

Every day I get out of bed and make some sort of choice. It sets my intention for the day. I've never once gotten up and looked into my sleep crusted eyes and said "Today I choose to be perfect". I may choose many things. I may choose to be grateful, positive, and even sad and melancholy, but I never choose perfection. Maybe tomorrow I will. Maybe I'll choose to be perfectly flawed. Maybe I'll just choose to accept that I am perfect and it's my flaws, good and bad, that make me that way. Maybe we should all choose that.

JUDGY

Saturday I received a text from my friend Kamille saying that she would be driving back to OKC from Iowa on Sunday and that she had to go right through KCMO and then asked if we could meet for lunch. Well of course! Of course we could meet for lunch. And we did. We went to a new Vegan place that just opened a month ago called Cafe Gratitude. Cafe Gratitude is an overall good place, meaning it's not just the food. Their mission statement says stuff about being grateful and helping the community and using local and sustainable and enjoying life and enjoying your food. Your waiter or waitress will give you some question to ponder and discuss (I can't remember what ours was) and there are also a deck of cards on the table that have philosophical thought questions. One of our questions was What is something you judge about yourself? I said that I judge myself for that last week Chris was alive. Kamille said that I shouldn't and I know that I shouldn't, but I do. I didn't call the hospice nurse fast enough. I didn't call his mom fast enough. I wasted one whole day curled up in a sobbing ball at his side. I could have done this different. I could have done that better. I should have been more prepared. I judge myself for all of this. And it's wrong and it's stupid and I know I did the best I could at the time, but I still judge myself. I can't help it. But I put my judgement in the same category as I do fear.

I knew a woman who stopped eating peanut butter all together after the recall for Salmonella. No peanut butter after that. She stopped eating meat because she feared mad cow disease. She stopped eating eggs because of cholesterol. She cut it all out completely, no moderation or buying from good local sources. She just cut it clean out because of fear. She was scared. She let fear dictate her life. I refuse to do this. Judgement falls into the same place. The follow up question even asked about how we let those judgments affect our lives. I don't. I don't let them change me. When the could've should've would'ves creep into my brain, I kick them out. It's like crying over spilled milk. There's no point to it. But it doesn't mean I don't think about it and it doesn't mean I never wonder about the what ifs. I just don't dwell on them. I don't let those thoughts set up camp and hang out.

And this is something I'm grateful for, even if it's not a Friday.

BLUE OASIS

It's done. I've transformed my bedroom from bleak to beautiful with a snap of my fingers. OK, maybe not a snap. There was a lot of sweat involved. Also, I found out that if you wear thin yoga pants and a thin tank top that paint soaks right though them and onto your skin. I was particularly messy with this paint job and found myself covered in Aqua Breeze paint. This is what the sad, sad bedroom looked like before:

It kind of resembled a monk's cell. No wonder I was having a terrible time sleeping (as if this is the only reason). Now the bedroom looks like this:

And I've hung some things on the walls!

And added to the nightstand!

And now the bedroom is a place I like walking into. It's not completely finished. I'd like to hang curtains one day. I even looked at them at various stores, but curtains are stupid expensive and they make me angry. I may eventually just make some. Also I'd like to one day replace my nightstand with wall shelves and put some more wall shelves up on that other wall. I'm on the look out for a nice floor mirror to go near the closet door. But those are things that can wait. I was on a budget and trying to use things that I already have. The things I bought this weekend were paint, blinds and a new comforter (it was on sale). In total I spent about $200 and this is something I can live with.

OFF

I took off my wedding rings. Saturday. I didn't do it because I have any sort of "dating" plans or anything like that (please, where would I even begin?). I took them off because they didn't fit right any more. They would just spin around and around my ring finger. One day, they even managed to slide past a knuckle. After that happened, I became ultra aware of how I carried my left hand or how that ring finger curled around the handle bar of the scooter. It was beginning to make me nervous. I knew I'd be doing yard work Saturday, so I took them off and placed them on the chain with Chris's ring. This is the first time that those rings have ever left my finger for more than a minute since the day Chris put them on me. There was a short two week period when the engagement ring was at the jeweler's getting re-pronged, but I still had the wedding band part. I would take them off to put lotion on my hands and then put them right back on. If I remembered, I would take them off before starting pie crust or biscuits. It was not surprising to find dried bits of dough stuck in various crevices of the rings. The rings are old (they originally belonged to my Memaw) and I could never get them to stay clasped together, but I never wanted to go through the trouble of having them fused.  My bare ring finger shows the signs of it's wear.  There is a slight indention and the skin is more pale. It is also dry and cracked where the ring used to rest.

Now the rings rest with Chris's. They all clink together when I walk and make a chiming sound. Sometimes my rings pass through Chris's because his ring is so much larger. Sometimes just the wedding band will kind of nestle itself inside Chris's ring. Often, I shove my rings aside and twirl Chris's ring around on my index finger.  At times it feels odd to be without it. Like I'm missing something or I'm incomplete. But mostly it feels fine. Like I said above, the rings just didn't fit right anymore. I have reached that gray area where I am no longer married, but I'm not divorced and I'm not quite single and I'm not comfortable telling strangers who ask me if I'm married that "no, I'm a widow". I am unprepared for this question and have yet to come up with a good answer, though "I'm a widow" is probably a reasonable one.  I'd rather just be undefinable.

It's kind of like that scene in French Kiss when Meg Ryan's trying to get new passport, but she's no longer an American and not quite a Canadian and she says "I'm currently without country".

SHORTIES

Things that come to me while driving long distances: Vampire Weekend puts a strong emphasis on the "d" part of good in California English, so that the good sounds more like Gouda. When ever they sing that line about "please don't lose your faith in the good", I want to promise them that I'll never lose my faith in the Gouda. Never.

The tinted windows in the new car means that no one can see me car dancing. This makes me happy and sad at the same time.

I don't know what Misti's complaining about. The Flint Hills are beautiful. Bleak. But beautiful.

I really need to figure out a way to get a good picture of the underside of that bridge where it says Bazaar Cattle Crossing. It would require me to either hang over the edge by a rope or stand in the middle of a turnpike.

Armadilloes make for funny road kill. There's something about the way all four feet poke up into the air that make me think they probably have actual "X's" on their eyes.

Holy Crap! That's a WOLF dead on the side of the road. Then I spend the next half hour convincing myself that I know the difference between a wolf and a coyote and that what I saw was indeed a wolf.

Wait. Was that a sloth on the side of the road? Why is there so much carnage on this highway?!?! It's like open deer season, but the only hunting weapon allowed is your car.

LALALALALALALALALALALA LAAAAAAAA!

Maybe I need to plan a cross country road trip. I've never seen Mount Rushmore. I wonder if the dog could handle a trip like that.

Never stop at that one exit in Emporia. Ever again.

98 miles to KCMO! Woot! A few minutes later, 96 miles to KCMO. Wait, I've only gone two miles? Why would you do that to someone? Can't you wait to tell me how many miles when I've gone like 20 or something? 94 miles to go. Dear God, STOP telling me how many miles I have left!!! It's killing me.

Maybe I need to rethink the road trip idea.

SOMEONE'S ALWAYS WATCHING

This weekend I traveled to OKC. Most of that tine was spent in El Reno for a wedding and celebration. And the rest of that time was spent recovering on Misti's couch. Then mix in some (too short) visits and food with Traci and Quinn and that's a pretty full weekend. But the weekend was not just full of busy things. This weekend filled my heart and made the gears in my brain churn. I didn't really know many people at the wedding or the after wedding party. These were all Misti's and Audra's people. I didn't know them, but many of them knew me. I introduced myself to one girl as "Cindy" and she replied "Cindy Maddera? I read your blog!". This wouldn't be the only time I'd hear that on that particular day. It caused my insides to freeze up a bit. I get so used to the idea that I write here for a very small number of readers (like five). I hardly ever stop to think about other people that may read this. I've worked so hard at staying authentic and completely honest in my writing here that to hear it's read by virtual strangers made me feel a bit naked. It was a very odd feeling and there's a part of me that wants to zip myself up. It makes me think about censors and filters.

But that's not the point is it? How do you stay authentic and honest with out saying anything? I might censor myself here if I think what I say might hurt another's feelings. To be honest, if I think I'm going to hurt someone's feelings by writing something, I just don't write it. But in general there are no censors or filters here. I feel I have a responsibility to myself to be authentic. Now, I feel I have to be even more responsible in the things I say, in the words that I put out there for the world to read. I realize now just how much writing here is a practice. Buddha teaches right mind, right speech. This is also something taught in yoga. "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all" is a phrase we learn as pre-schoolers. Writing here teaches me how to say things in a way that doesn't cause harm, but at the same time allows me to remain me.

It's kind of like standing on a cliff waiting to jump into the cool water below. You know it can be done and that you'll be fine, but it doesn't make it any less terrifying. I choose to leap.

CLOSED ON MONDAYS

The Jens and I had some big plans for Monday. It included seeing the new World's Fair exhibit at the Nelson and the Toy and Miniature Museum, but when we looked these up to find visiting hours, we found that they were closed on Mondays. So then I was like what about this museum? Or This one? Or, hey remember we have that one? Closed. Closed. And Closed. Museums are closed on Mondays. So we settled on the new aquarium that just opened last month and the Union Station. We got to the aquarium the next morning 20 minutes after opening and stood in this really long line, watching another really long of school kids. We hemmed and hawed and debated and then finally jumped out of line. We figured the odds of actually getting to get up close to any of the exhibits was nil with that many kids around. So we hoofed it over to Union Station which managed to occupy three hours of our day. Really, I think we could have spent all day there.

We covered ever inch of that wonderful place. Including areas that I'd never been before. The model train exhibit was open and free to wander around in. The Jens hovered around one model set as I looked over breath taking images of the Grand Canyon. It was here that I felt the band tighten around my ribs. My lungs began to burn and the tears pricked my eyes. The last time I was at Union Station, I was with Chris. It was the beginning of the end. He had just started to not feel well. We took that lovely picture of the two of us kissing. The more the memory invaded my head, the less I was able to breath. And then just as quickly as it rushed on me, it flew away like a broken spell. And no one was the wiser. We photographed every inch of the Union Station and even ventured outside where they have some of the old passenger cars. Some guy came out of a strange van to take a picture of us on the back of one of the trains. We ate lunch at Harvey's (fancier version of the original Harvey House) and the most wonderful waitress. She was funny and engaging and I wish I'd taken her picture. She told us about a friend of her's that made Gumbo kabobs. She really was lovely.

After lunch, we crossed over to the World War I memorial and museum (closed on Mondays) and climbed around the outside. Worn out, we decided to head home and take a break before dinner at my favorite little Italian place in my area. We walked off our cannolies at the Nelson's sculpture garden and by the time we made it home we were all a bit punchy and teary. It was a good trip for the Jens. JT was able to let go of some demons from her past with this trip and I think I have them convinced that they should move here. Now we just need the house next door to go on the market.

I have a bazillion pictures to upload and edit.

GRADUATIONS AND BABIES

I feel like I bent space and time with this weekend. The Jens came to KC for an art conference and stayed in my house while I went to Tulsa for my niece's high school graduation. The Jens arrived Thursday evening. I got them all settled in and then drove to Mom and Dad's early Friday morning. We all gathered in Sapulpa for dinner at Amanda's favorite mexican place. And when I say we all, I mean WE ALL. There were close friends of the family there, an ex-husband and his whole brood, aunts and uncles and great-nephews and niece-in-law and her husband and the newest member of the crazy crowd. Isn't he lovely. He has very long fingers and will play the violin. I declare it so.

After dinner, we all sat in bleachers and screamed and cheered as Amanda crossed the stage to get her diploma. I'm so proud of the beautiful young woman she's become. I expect great things from her and I hope she knows how much she is loved.

The next day was filled with farmer's markets, beignets, naps on the porch swing, dinner with more friends and family, movie and laughter. It was a lot of good packed into a very short amount of time. Then I got up early Sunday morning and drove back to KC, unloaded the car, mowed the front yard and planted my new tomato pants all before the Jens finished with their conference. Now, we're hanging out in my living room watching the Muppets Take Manhattan and resting up. Because tomorrow we've got two museums and Union Station to knock out before the Jens can even think of leaving this place.

LET'S BE PERFECTLY HONEST

(Part of this entry is something I wrote earlier for the Sad Diaries) Saturday, I went to a BBQ. I had agreed and RSVPd for the party weeks ago, but the closer it came to the day, the more my anxiety over attending began to build. And when Saturday did finally arrive, I almost just didn't show up. I realized that this would be bad. First of all, you tell people you'll be there and then don't show, those people are going to worry. Secondly, it's rude. So, I resisted the urge to lock myself in the closet and shoved the anxiety ball down to the bottom of my stomach. At least I wouldn't be able to pig out with the anxiety ball taking up half my stomach space. I got in my car and gnawed off my lip while I drove out to the BBQ. I went.

I know you're thinking "Cindy, it's a party! It's fun! There's no anxiety in fun!". Normally, I would say you're right. In this case, I knew very few people there. I either had to be personable or sit in a corner like a wallflower. I had to interact and be sociable with people I didn't know and people who didn't know me. And this is where I get to part that created the most anxiety of all. I was the only single person there. It was a party of couples and families. I do not have either of these things and I'm not quite used to the idea that I don't. It made me vulnerable. I used to think I was OK with being vulnerable. I had no problem with it. I was even good at being vulnerable. I was always saying the things floating around in my head no matter what and knowing all along how vulnerable this made me to people who may judge me. What will people think? I always shrugged that question aside. People are going to think what they think. I can’t do anything about that. It wasn’t until Chris’s death that I realized that maybe I didn’t know what being vulnerable really meant. All of those years where I thought I was allowing myself to be vulnerable? Those were just years of allowing myself to just not care. Because now, I’m pretty sure I have an idea of what it means to be vulnerable.

Vulnerable: capable of or susceptible to being wounded or hurt, as by a weapon open to moral attack, criticism, temptation (of a place) open to assault, difficult to defend

I am all of these things, but you know what made it worse? I am all of these things to myself. I am the one most likely to wound or hurt me. I am the one most likely to morally attack and criticize me. I am truly my own worse enemy. Losing Chris didn’t make me question the existence of God or if I was being cursed by a witch. It made me question myself. I went from being enough to not helping enough, not being sad enough, not being happy enough, not loving enough to just not enough. But you know what’s worse? What’s worse is that all of this made me vulnerable to myself and this was not a good feeling. I don’t like be naked and split open. I don’t like people seeing me sad or vulnerable.

But here’s the thing. Those definitions of vulnerable? I was all of those things before Chris’s death. We are all, all of those things all of the time. What makes now so different? Well, that’s simple. Chris is not here to be my back up or to support me. I put on a brave face, but it's more for me and the non-living. I know Chris is still out there somewhere, keeping an eye out. I also know that the one thing he worried most about while he was dying was me. He worried that I wouldn’t be all right. It was something he voiced to me on a number of occasions and every time I would reassure him that I would be just fine. What? Was I supposed to tell a dying man the truth? Tell him that I would be completely lost without him? Tell him my heart will be broken into a tiny million pieces? I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t let him go knowing that he left me helpless and incapable. I can't be vulnerable now because I was too busy proving to Chris and myself that I could do this. I don't have time for vulnerability because I'm too busy learning to live this life without him in it.

And that's what I'm doing. I went to that BBQ. I sat with those couples and families. I laughed and joked and played with little kids. I ate a veggie burger and a really good cookie. I had a good time. But most importantly, I allowed myself to have a good time. Guilt free. So what if I'm a little bit more vulnerable without Chris around. That just means I have to be more brave. That just means I have to be ready for the attack. I like to think of it as Ninja training. I'm going to be one bad ass ninja someday.

SATURDAY MORNING CARTOONS

When I was little, I used to get up really early on Saturday mornings. I'd sneak down the stairs with my little bare feet and quietly turn on the TV. Then I'd go into the kitchen and climb up on the counter top to get a bowl out of the cabinet. Next, I'd scoot a chair over to the pantry. If I stood on my very tippy toes in the that chair, I could just reach the cereal box. Then I'd carefully pour the cereal and milk into the bowl and plop down in front of the TV to watch cartoons. It would seem like hours before anyone would join me. Early Saturday mornings, for so many people, are mornings to sleep in. Not for me. I may not sit about and watch cartoons any more, but I still get up early. It's my favorite part of the day. It's the quiet part of the day. I can get up early, stop by the local cafe for coffee and a bagel and see the city as it begins to rub the sleep crumbs from its eyes. I share these mornings with runners and elderly couples. As I drive down Main street to the farmer's market, the homeless begin to make their way to their day spots. There's the man that talks to himself and points at cars as he illegally crosses the street. There's the lady with the big hat walking her cat on a leash. And sometimes, on occasion, you can see a man pushing a baby stroller of puppies. There's just so much someone could miss while sleeping in.

Now Sundays on the other hand, Sundays are the leisure days. Particularly the rainy ones.

NOT THE SEXY ONE FROM BATMAN

I have poison ivy. Not Poison Ivy, though this makes my brain wander off. Have you noticed that Poison Ivy is basically an eco terrorist? Also, Catwoman does all her crimes in order to help animals. So the writers of Batman have created sexy "villains" that really just want to make the world a better place. Much like Batman, they too want justice. Justice for the environment. Justice for animals. Hmmm...my Batman crush may be waning just like my Sting crush did when he came out with that lute album (THE LUTE? WTF Sting?). Any way it doesn't matter, except it slightly distracts me from my itchy arms. A couple of Saturdays ago I decided to tackle one side of the house I had been avoiding with the mower. Partly because I didn't think I could get the mower over there, partly because I was just scared of that side of the house. But I sucked it up because I knew that I'd have full grown trees growing out of the side of my house before too long. I pulled up my sleeves and got to work. It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be except there sure was a lot of this viney stuff around. I yanked and pulled and raked and packed everything down into a brown lawn bag. It looked real nice when I finished and I didn't think any more about it. Cut to the following Wednesday. While driving my dad to dinner, I noticed my elbow started itching and there were these weird bumps. At first I thought I'd been bitten by something while I was on the scooter or while closing the garage door. I spent plenty of time looking up things like "skin rash" and "bug bites" and had just about decided that I had scabies until Mary confirmed poison ivy. (Do not google any of these things. You will never sleep again. Ever.) You see, I was under the impression that rashes appeared minutes after your skin has been exposed to the allergen. Not DAYS!

Also, I've never had it before. I am 36 years old and I've never had poison ivy. This may sound like I'm someone who never interacts with nature. This is not true. I love nature! I'm also pretty sure that I used to roll around in poison ivy when I was a kid. But just like one out grows shoes, I have out grown the ability to not be allergic to poison ivy. Thank you Body. Now I have lovely bubbly skin on my arms that itch like a mother fucker. And just for that betrayal, Body, I just might put us on another week long juice cleanse. Two can play at this game Bitch. In the meantime I'm going to make a paste out of vinegar and baking soda to plaster my arms with since the over-the-counter cortizone cream is doing NOTHING! Also...I just read somewhere that it will take two to four weeks for it to go away. That better be one of those crazy miss-information things about the internet.

*Side note: I've found nothing about poison ivy affecting the brain, but it's a slight possibility. That or I'm just woozy from sleep deprivation from itchy arms and if I didn't have the most amazing will power ever, I'd claw my skin right off the bone.