CHANGING THE WORLD ONE PAPER TOWEL AT A TIME

A few months ago I posted this TED talk to facebook. In the video, Joe Smith teaches people how to dry their hands with only one paper towel (any kind). I don't know what it was about that video, but I was transfixed. It was like he was teaching me a magic trick. The next day at work, every time I washed my hands, I implemented Joe's technique for drying my hands. Every time I felt so proud of myself. I felt like I was really doing something great. I was saving the world. I was changing things and I was being awesome! Meanwhile, back at the ranch, I was still using paper towels at the house for everything. Meaning, every time I needed a napkin, I used a paper towel. That's at least two meals a day during the weak that I am using a paper towel. In a five day work week, I am using 10 paper towels just to wipe crumbs off my face. That's not counting the paper towels that substituted as plates for toast or sandwiches. Michael even made fun of it. He informed me that "paper towels are not napkins", though I think he was being more of an etiquette snob than earth conscious. So this weekend, when he took me to his favorite kitchen store, I decided to buy some cloth napkins. I'm sure he was hoping I'd buy a zestier, but well...cloth napkins seemed like a better purchase. I bought some nice soft fair trade napkins.

Sunday night I made a big bowl of stir fried veggies and tofu. I grabbed one of my new napkins and sat down at the table. I suddenly had that same feeling I got while watching Joe Smith's TED talk. I love my new cloth napkins! I had no idea that I would enjoy them so dang much. Actually, there's probably something wrong with me if cloth napkins bring this much joy into my life. I'm not even kidding. I am saving the world with those cloth napkins (did I mention they are fair trade?). I haven't used ANY paper towels at the house this week! Wait...that's not true. There was a giant creepy bug on the kitchen wall. I used a paper towel to get it. I've used ONE paper towel this week! I am changing the world one paper towel at a time! It makes me want to fist pump the air or high five someone. I feel like this is totally the reason that I randomly received a bar of sudsy elephant soap in the mail yesterday.

I DON'T KNOW HOW TO TITLE THIS

I’ve been trying to figure out a way to tell this story. I sit down to type it all up and I get one sentence down before I hit that backspace key. The story centers around Michael, aka Beardy McMatherson (he said to use his real name, and yes I got that in writing in case he decides to sue me for slander). Maybe I should just start at the beginning. Michael and I met. We went on a couple of dates, enough dates for me to say “I like this guy!” and then out of nowhere I got a text from him saying he needed space followed by some not ideal behavior and confusion. So I gave him his space. I was just on the edge of moving on when he asked for a second chance. There are some people out there who are probably wondering why on earth would I give this guy a second chance. Then there are some people out there who had an inkling that this wasn’t the end of this guy. In fact, it was those voices that partially influenced my decision to give Michael the second chance. Another part of my decision was made by how easy it is to be in his presence. Even when there was this tension between us over his bad behavior, it was still easy to sit and talk about these things with him. He’s exactly what I was looking for, someone I enjoy spending time with and who I’m comfortable taking my clothes off in front of.

And ever since his admission to being an idiot, and his fuck up, things have been swell, but I can’t help but notice how different this is from what I had before. Mostly it’s getting used to the presence of this new body next to me. Friday evening, we went to Starlight Theater to see A Prairie Home Companion’s Radio Romance Tour (I totally flipped out when Garrison Keillor stepped out...I mean OH MY GOD! GARRISON KEILLOR!). We were sitting there and Michael had his arm draped around my shoulders and I had this very surreal moment that verged a little on panic. I was very aware that I had this very different body sitting next to me and how differently I fit against this person. It’s not wrong, just different.

He spent Saturday driving me around to places in Kansas City I’d never seen. That surreal moment happened all over again as I sat in the passenger seat of his car. I remembered how Chris and I used head out on Saturday mornings and just see what we could see. It was like that but different. Michael knew where he was taking me, had a specific plan for things he wanted to show me and it was a great day. We went to the Swap-n-Shop and then he showed me around Main Street in Independence. He showed me the most amazing Mormon church and stopped every time I wanted to take a picture of something. It was a full day. It was a good day.

I don’t want to compare, but there are times when I can’t help but notice the things that are similar and the things that are different here. But I don’t compare it all in a bad way. It’s a comparison of the good things and it’s an adjustment. Actually, there’s a lot I need to learn to adjust to. I’ve been alone for a year and a half. I’ve grown set in my ways and my routine. Michael messes with that routine, but in a good way. I’m having to learn to be with someone again and that’s going to take some getting used to. We’re working on it.

THE OLD GRAY MARE

I've always thought that age is relative. Someone said in conversation the other day that they were forty two but felt like they were still in their twenties. More often than not, I hear people say they don't know what their age is supposed to feel like. Some days I wake up and feel like I'm 108. I'll look in the mirror and see more gray hair and try to imagine how long it's going to take to turn all white. The other day I had on my short shorts, a light summer blouse and flip flops, and I was riding down the street on the scooter, and I felt like I was 16. I was 16 and on an island vacation with the sun soaking into my sun screened arms and the wind in my face. But then, I suppose, we reach an age where we really know how old we are. This is the age my dad has reached. My dad went in Thursday for what was supposed to have been a routine check up but transitioned into him being lost in a train station. At least that's what happened in his head. It was a bad scene and a wake up call for me and my siblings. We'd all noticed little things in the past few months. He'd gotten lost on drives to places that he knew like the back of his hand. He'd always tend to tell you the same story a few times during one visit, but we were beginning to noticed that it was the same story every five minutes. He's taking a lot of different kinds of medications and none of us, including mom, knows what these drugs are for or why. I think this is the biggest problem. We all agree that his medications are screwing with him and there are plans in place to get this all straightened out.

My siblings are the ones taking the brunt of all of this. I've been kept posted through text messages and phone calls, but I am not there. I've been trying to justify my guilt over this. I wouldn't be able to do anything better than what they are doing. In fact, I'd probably be worse. I am frozen with indecision of how to care for an older parent. If I were there and dad begged me for his car keys, I'd hand them over just because I wouldn't have the guts to tell him no. I'm the same way with children. I'm a push over. I did the same things with Chris, gave him everything he asked for. Except when he wanted to go to the ATM; we didn't do that because by that time he couldn't really stand up. Dad doesn't need a push over. He needs someone that can be firm yet sympathetic and from what I'm hearing, Randy and Janell are playing their good cop/bad cop roles well. I am grateful that they are the older and wiser ones in this situation.

Dad will be fine eventually. I feel pretty sure about that, but right now things are difficult. So I'm hoping that you'll help me send a little love and strength in that direction this week. They need it.

SQUIRRELS ARE DRIVING THE BUS

I am having one of those scatter brained weeks where I can't keep track of my own thoughts let alone any one else's thoughts. The mind chatter (citta vritti) is so dang loud and my ability to focus on any one thing for a minute is a miracle. I was supposed to meet someone for drinks last night at 7:30. I thought this would give me enough time to eat something good for me, maybe lay down and close my eyes for twenty minutes, do something to calm the growing panic and quiet some of those thoughts. But no...the minute I walked through the front door, my power went out. In fact, the power went out in the whole dang neighborhood. Technically I should have been all business as usual. There was no TV or internet to distract me. I couldn't cook anything. There was nothing I could do but sit and wait. I didn't sit and wait. I paced around the house as it gradually got hotter and hotter. So by the time I made it to the bar, I had worked myself into a complete nervous wreck. I was given the task of pouring my can of beer into my tiny glass and I spilled half of it on the bar. I don't know who that guy was expecting to meet last night but I'm pretty sure it wasn't Lucille Ball. There's a moment before every one of these dates where I'm standing just outside the meeting place and I think "I've made a terrible mistake" and it takes all my will power to keep my feet firmly planted to the side walk so that I don't turn and run. I start playing the What If game and I don't know if you know this, but I am good at the What If game. I can What If any one off this planet. The What if game always starts with a tiny minor question like "What If I get a flat tire?" and then that snowballs into "What If my car explodes?". Usually though the game ends with "What If I made or am going to make a mistake?". No matter what the situation, this is always the final What If. When did I get this fear of making mistakes? This part of the What If game was all consuming near the end of Chris's life. I just knew that I had done something wrong and that catastrophic mistake ended up costing me everything. I know, I KNOW, I didn't make any mistakes and I did all the right things. I know this. Really. It's just part of the What If game and at that time in my life the What If game got tough and mean and serious and never really went away. I still play the What If game. Of course I do. Why wouldn't I? It's so much fun to fill up on self doubt! Especially when you're such an amazing person like me!

And that my friends is why I may or may not be so dang amazing. Sometimes I lose the What If game. Sometimes I let those thoughts worm their way into my brain like parasites. I let myself panic. I believe that whatever step I take next is going to be the wrong one. I drape that anxiety over my shoulders like a fucking cape. I do this because I know that I can't always be winning. Losing the game forces me to make a change and look for a different solution and approach things from a different angle. Because What If my car explodes? Well...if I'm in the car that's it and I can't do anything about it. If my car explodes and I'm not in it at the time, I have insurance. Cars can be replaced. But What If I make a mistake? Well...that ones a bit more difficult to swallow. It means owning up to doing something wrong or stupid. It means admitting that you are not perfect. That's just harder to do. Except...I know I'm not perfect and I know that I'm pretty good at learning from my mistakes. So What If I make a mistake? It's the same thing as my car exploding and it's my mistake to make. Sometimes it takes a moment of panic and distraction for me to remember these things. Sometimes I have to let the squirrels drive the bus just so I can remember how stupid it is to ride the bus while they're behind the wheel. I need that reminder.

So right now, all I'm doing is working on calming the citta vritti and next week I'll have some other thing to work on, maybe even make some more mistakes. Focusing on one little task at a time.

I'LL TELL YA WHAT I WANT, WHAT I REALLY REALLY WANT

Actually, no. I can’t tell you what I want. I’ve been sitting here staring at a blank screen trying to figure out what it is I want in a future partner. Many of you have all agreed that it is important to put in my dating profile what it is that I want or what I’m looking for, but everything I come up with seems so “Lowered Expectations”. What do I want in a relationship? It’s something I’ve never ever asked myself. Not even with Chris. I wasn’t even looking when I met him. There was a guy just before I met Chris that I liked. I thought he liked me, but I came back to the dorms one day to see him with another girl. This was not unusual. I was always misinterpreting actions and meanings from boys. That’s why I didn’t date much in HS. It didn’t really bother me. I just had little patience for it so I just stopped bothering. Then I met Chris by accident and he was straightforward and direct. I knew his intentions. I didn’t think about what I wanted or where I wanted the relationship to go. I just liked spending time with him. Now I’m being told that I need to actually say what I want. I was raised by a true Southern woman. We don’t tell people what we want. That’s just not done. And in regards to saying what I want with a partner, well...it’s easier to say what I don’t want. I don’t want someone who is dishonest with himself and others. I don’t want someone who says one thing but does the complete opposite. I don’t want someone who is codependent on drugs and or alcohol. I don’t want someone who can’t stand on their own two feet or thinks they have to fill Chris’s shoes. Chris’s shoes cannot be filled. Just step up and fill your own damn shoes. I don’t want someone who is not as amazing as I am. So, now that I know what I don’t want...I want a guy with one blue eye and one green eye and can flip a pancake...wait. That’s Practical Magic. No, no, no...I’ve got this.

I want someone who is truly honest and who understands that words matter. I want him to be creative and funny, but not the mean kind of funny. I want someone that understands my food choices and has seen Food Inc, but has no problem eating ice-cream for dinner from time to time. I want someone who likes to camp and do day hikes. I want someone that doesn’t get irritated every time I stop to photograph something. In fact he will win extra bonus points for turning the car around so I can take the picture. I want someone who is comfortable hanging out just talking, but is also comfortable just sitting quietly. I want someone that gets that sometimes I am a homebody and need extra coaxing to get out into the world. I want someone that sometimes doesn’t mind being a homebody with me. I want someone who lacks traditional hang-ups about women and sex. I want someone that gets that I will never ask you for help even though I may desperately need it. I want someone who knows I am amazing, but doesn’t feel the need to tell me that fifty times a day. I want someone who wants to be all of these things, but also understands that there is no such thing as perfect.

I may want too much, but I’m not settling for less.

VENUS VS MARS

Before the "it's not you, it's me" text, Beardy McMatherson (Amy came up with that nickname) sent me a text that said "We are going to break each others hearts aren't we?". Now when I read that I immediately thought "he's looking for a way out", but when I talked this over with all of my girl friends, they completely disagreed with me. They all insisted that his text meant that he's really into me, that he's admitting that he cares. You could practically see the cartoon hearts popping out around their heads. Amy even got a little teary. When I talked to Chad about it he said "I don't know why he'd say something like that, maybe he is looking for an out". Actually, Chad was totally baffled by that line of text. When I asked one of the guys at work, he was with Chad. He had no idea why a guy would say that unless it was intended as a warning or a line to be used to get out of situations. I found this very interesting and an intriguing example of the female vs male brain and how we communicate with each other. I used to get so mad at Chris for leaving his dirty socks on the floor. He'd pull them off his stinky feet, wherever and just leave them; and that dirty sock represented so much to me. It was disrespectful of my feelings. It said that he expected me to clean up after him. It was the reason for wars and world hunger. That dirty sock was his way of "getting back" at me for something I have no idea what. The dirty sock issue boiled into a huge argument. He couldn't understand why I was so mad over a dirty sock and I couldn't understand why he was intentionally trying to hurt me by leaving his dirty socks on the floor. To Chris it was just a dirty sock and he'd pick it up eventually. I, on the other hand, had turned the dirty sock into this complex ball of horrible things. The dirty sock incident was our first lesson in communication because that's when it dawned on me how different our perceptions of things were. When I complained about dirty socks, Chris heard "nag, nag, nag", but I heard "you don't love me". This is just one example of how we say things to each other and what we say matters. Over time Chris and I got really good at airing grievances with each other in constructive ways. Well...except for that one time Chris got really mad at me for not listening to the things he says to me...in his head. Yeah. He got mad at me for not being able to read his mind. Sometimes I would say something to Chris and make him repeat back to me what he heard just so I could make sure we were on the same page because I realized that even though were using the same words, we were hearing different meanings.

So all of this has got me thinking about my dating profile and the questions I answered for that. Eventually I will re-activate my dating profile. I deactivated it when I started seeing Beardy McMatherson because I couldn't deal with the constant ding of messages and keep track of this person and that person while figuring out where this thing was going with Beardy. I'm not good at juggling and generally frown upon multitasking. It's just one little click and it's re-activated but I've been thinking about changes I should make to my profile. It should be no surprise for some of you to hear that I tend to attract quite a few odd characters on the dating site. The last message I received before disabling my account was from a man with a headless profile picture, just a picture of his hairy chest and an "about me" page talking about passion and 50 Shades of Gray. Obviously answering those questions honestly without explanation has brought on the attention of a certain type of man looking for a certain specific thing. Which isn't necessarily a bad thing if I thought I was that type of girl, but instead I've turned out to be the type of girl who gets turned on by the brain as much as by the body. I need to figure out a way to spin my profile to attract the "right" kind of guy. When I type that out loud I feel like there's something dishonest about it and this makes me cringe. I will still be honest in my answers. I just need to find a way to explain my answers in a constructive way and this may require a bit of scientific research to determine what that "constructive way" is exactly. I may be posting some questions and answers here to get some feedback. Also, I'm genuinely curious to know what other people are "hearing" when I put something out there. I've known for a long time that what you say matters, but what I just now realized is what you don't say also matters.

DESTINATION UNKNOWN

I used to always keep a road atlas in the car. Whenever we'd go somewhere, I'd pull it out and trace out our path. I loved looking at all the lines and seeing all the little towns. There was something comforting about knowing what was around the next bend. When we moved, the road atlas got tossed in the big car clean out of 2011 along with our Kansas City map. I remember when I noticed both of them were missing. We were coming back from meeting my brother and sister-in-law in Columbus. We saw a sign for some historic site and at the last minute, exited the highway to go see it. Afterward, we took a round about way back to the highway and we didn't know where we were or if we were on the right road. But suddenly it didn't seem to matter. We found some of our favorite places just by getting lost. The control freak in me should have balked at losing the maps. It should have been like taking away my security blanket. Instead, I embraced it without even thinking about it. I'll glance at Google Maps before heading out the door to a new destination, but I never print it out and study it like in the old days. If I get lost, I pull over and look at the map on my phone. What I didn't expect was to find a growing aversion to the old paper maps. My parents live for those things and keep stacks of them tucked near their chairs and in the door pockets of their vehicles. I met them for brunch today in Springfield and afterward we stood around Mom's car just talking. I spotted the folded up map of MO on the dash of the car and said I'd like to take an alternate route home. When I grabbed the map to take a look, I felt an annoyance. The crinkly paper feel of it made me twitchy.

I am not sure when the switch happened. My whole life I've followed some sort of map. I went to school. I went to college. I got married. I went to grad-school. I got a good job. I bought a house. I paid/pay bills. I have followed the the straight and narrow path of life. In the same way I took comfort from knowing what was ahead on the road map, I took comfort in knowing that I would go to school, get married, get a job, buy a house. But there was no comforting knowledge to the in between parts. There was no map for the things that happened on the way to those destinations. Now I've reached a stage of my life where there are no set destinations and the last reliance I had on maps was blown away with Chris's death. This sounds like I am lost or floundering, but I don't feel that way.

For the first time I have only minor destinations and I can take any path I want to get to them. I don't need a map. There's a peace in knowing this. It's like all of a sudden I realized that I can go easy on myself and let go of the expectations I've put on myself. I've reached the wanderlust section of my life and it feels fucking amazing to toss that map out the window and just go.

AND THEN WE ALL FELL DOWN

Every time I take a trip to Oklahoma, I start panicking about not having enough time. There are so many people that I want to see and spend time with and there's never enough time. Never. I feel like I need to make an announcement before I head that way. Some sort of public service announcement or emergency broadcast: WARNING, I LOVE YOU ALL EVEN IF I DON'T GET TO SEE YOU THIS TRIP. Luckily this time (or not..I'm not sure), Amy kept me so busy with wedding preparations that I didn't have time to feel guilty. There was ribbon to be cut into 13 inch strips and holes to be punched and paper books and flowers to be strung. By the time we left the Duncan Public Library Saturday night, I was so tired I drove past Amy's house three times before I finally figured it all out. Actually, that pretty much sums up the entire weekend. I ended up repeating this when I left Duncan Sunday night for Mark and Misti's in Norman. The two of them just watched my little car drive back and forth. Finally Misti had mercy and called me while Mark walked out to the corner to flag me down. Every day ended with bleary eyed exhaustion, but good bleary eyed exhaustion. Because in between all of the cutting and taping and decorating, there was laughter. Amy, Deborah, and I were all together in one place which is something that hasn't happened in a really long time. It reminded me of those days before we had to be real grown-ups, before jobs and babies and deaths. And we laughed so dang much, even during those moments that moved us to tears (Batgirls don't cry!).

So I let myself squash down the guilt monster and I soaked up as much of all the time I had. I stored up all of laughter, all of the tears, and all of the words and stuffed them into those hollow places. They are there to sustain me until the next time. And I really can't wait until next time.

CIRCLE YES OR NO

Someone told me recently that my online dating profile made it look like I was looking for sex. I was completely dumbfounded by this. I had no idea this is what men thought when they read my profile. He said it was because of the way I’d answered some of the questions, like would I have sex on the first date? or sex vs love? I’d said “yes” to the first one and “sex” for the second. I am so naive that I didn’t think about the consequences of answering these questions honestly. Now I suddenly understand why I was constantly being hit on by the twenty something crowd. But also it reminded me of what irritated me about online dating. Those questions they give you and expect you to answer are stupid. I think I’ve talked about the saying yes to sex on the first date question before. They don’t give you a maybe option, just yes or no. Actually, all of the questions seem really black and white. It’s either this or that and no maybes or exceptions. Remember in elementary or middle school when someone would pass you a note saying “do you like so-and-so? yes or no”? That’s what the online dating questions remind me of. It is the equivalent to circling a yes or a no. The problem I have is that I feel like sometimes (well, most times really) there are no absolute yes or no answers to things. Life just doesn’t work that way.

The question that I really had the hardest time answering was “what’s more important? Sex or Love?” I answered sex, but not because I think it’s more important than love. I think sex is a very important part of a relationship. The top three things that I think couples fight about most are money, sex and the inability to read minds. The money and sex fights are usually centered around not having enough. Sex can make or break a relationship. If someone isn’t getting what they need from the bedroom side of the relationship, there’s going to be problems. So yeah, I choose sex over love only because I don’t see a relationship progressing past friendship if the sex isn’t right. But that’s not the answer I can sum up in a yes or no type question.

I didn’t answer too many of those questions on the dating site because I found them tedious and not really a good judge of anything. I don’t even look at the answers of others that contact me. Mostly I think people answer them the way they think someone else would want them to answer them. They’re not a true judge of character. They don’t tell the whole story. And I prefer the whole story.

BROADWAY BABY

One of my mom's favorite stories to tell about me as a child are the times I would stand on the vacuum cleaner, using it as my stage and sing using the cord as my mic. I've seen all the old musicals, many of them dozens of times and it was not unusual to hear me singing show tunes as I danced around the house. That time I was rushed to the ER because I swallowed a marble? I was being Eliza Doolittle. There were days I was Barbara or Judy or even Doris, depending on the play hat I was able to scrounge up. One of my favorite birthday moments was when mom took me to see A Chorus Line for my thirteenth birthday. We had seats in the second row and I remember sitting there mesmerized by every song, every dance. I walked out of that theater doing high kicks all the way to the car. I performed in musicals and plays in high school, but something happened around this time that dampened my Broadway dreams. I didn't fit the part of (what I thought) the typical stage starlet. I was not petite or skinny. I didn't have long flowing hair. I was goofy and often delegated to the laughable sidekick roles like Ursula Merkle because I wasn't afraid to scream like a crazed teenager and fall into a dead faint. I may not have lacked talent as much as I lacked ambition. I knew the odds of a small town girl like me stepping onto a Broadway stage for something other than a tourist thing was pretty slim. And though I have never lost my love of singing those tunes and seeing live theater, I did set aside the idea of performing. I did do a few things in college, but mostly just for fun. In musical theater scenes I was the stripper that did it with finesse in "Gotta Get a Gimmick" from Gypsy, but my days of performing ended there. Oh, I still dance around the house belting out show tunes and I have no regrets. There were two things that struck me while I was watching this year's Tony Awards. First where all the wonderful performers and performances. I noticed for the first time people on stage that didn't fit into my idea of the typical stage starlet. There were people of all shapes and sizes and they all held their own beautifully in those dance lines. I'm sure this has been the case for many many years. It's just...well...I suppose I got caught up in TV's idea of how a Broadway star should look. The TV shows that center around theater and Broadway starlets all portray them as thin and perfect. I never thought I fit the part because I am neither thin or perfect and in HS I for sure was neither of those things. It was discouraging to see that girls that got the lead rolls all had perfect lithe waists and flawless skin and a long flowing mane of hair. But have you seen the cast of Motown or even Bring it On?!? It suddenly dawned on me that the part that I didn't fit into was small town girl.

The second thing that got to me happened during the opening act when Neil Patrick Harris sang that line "We are that kid". I wanted to fist pump the air with a "Hell Yes!". And here comes the part of this entry where I stand up on my little soap box and preach about the importance of not just music education, but acceptance for those who have a greater appreciation of the arts then some. I am a perfect example of the benefits of music education. I firmly believe that nurturing that creative side of my brain makes me better at my job as a scientist. It gives me the ability to approach problems from different angles and develop new ideas for making things better. Most everyone I work with in my department studied music in high school and or college and I think they would agree with me. Studies show that kids who learn to read music are better at math and reading, but it goes beyond just playing an instrument. Performance art bolsters imagination and self esteem. I don't know if you've noticed this, but kids who excel or lean to the theater arts are often the kids who are picked on the most. Freak. Weirdo. Dork. Band geek. All of these are terms meant to be hurtful. Raise your hand if you were ever called any of those names. Congratulations. You are also that kid. You are that kid that embraced the idea of different, the idea that we are not cookie-cutter people. I've never understood how programs that teach a kid to be so unique are the ones cut first during budgeting problems. This is why most of the the projects I send my monthly donation too with Donors Choose are projects that promote the arts. I was that kid. I am still that kid. And I will always be that kid.

LAZY DAYS

When I was a little girl, I used to carry a blanket and a book out to our pasture. I'd stomp around the tall grass until I'd find a patch that had been burrowed out by a rabbit or something and I'd lay my blanket down and crawl into the shelter of the tall grass. I'd spend all day out there reading. Sometimes I'd take a kite. I'd fly the kite out as far as I had string. Then I would lay back and just watch the kite, occasionally giving the string a tug to keep it up or zig one way or another. There were times I'd watch that kite and it would be so high up in the sky that I thought for sure a plane would pass by and take it out. I'd watch the clouds float by and find the shapes. I might even take a little nap or just listen to the loud buggy sounds of summer. And that's where I'd stay until someone would holler out the back door for me to come in for dinner. Today I cleaned the bathroom and kitchen. I hung the clothes on the line to dry. I replaced the spark plug on the mower and mowed my front yard (back yard was still too soggy in places). I showered and ate a snack, took down a load of clothes and put the last load of clothes on the line. And then, I grabbed a blanket and my book, coated myself in sunscreen and found a dry patch of ground. And while clothes dried on the line, fluttering in the breeze, I read. I watched big puffy clouds float by and found the shapes. I listened to tree leaves rustling in the wind. I heard a little woodpecker tapping at a tree and I watched a robin snag a worm.

It seems like it's been years since I've done that. If I'm outside these days it's to do yard work and ride the scooter around town or hang out with friends in their backyards. I've never taken the time to just be still in my own backyard. I have no idea why that is. The weather here has been so strange. It's just now getting warm and we've had so much rain. It seems like on those days where I'm free to lay about in the backyard are days where the weather has decided to drop buckets of water. It rained here again last night and gave me a little anxiety about getting my yard mowed so I wouldn't be that house on the street. But even though the backyard didn't get a chance to dry out (it's flat, front yard not flat at all), the sun came out and it was perfection.

Hope your day was just as nice.

FOCUSIN

This morning I slathered Calamine lotion on my poison ivy rash and realized that I was essentially slathering my entire body. What started out as a small patch on one elbow is now on both elbows and the insides of my upper arms and the backs of my knees and a spot on my neck. And well...I made an appointment to see the doctor. I figured that I should do something before Amy's wedding so I won't be standing there in a green dress with pink blotchy lotion all over my arms and legs. You can track my daily activities by following the patches of pink lotion. I got up from savasana this morning and left behind pink splotches on my mat and the carpet. There's a place on the wall where I bumped my elbow. There's a smudge on the driver side window where I rested my arm while waiting at a stop light. It looks like I've let loose a toddler with a pastry bag of strawberry frosting. The problem is, I'm the toddler. It's nothing a pack of Prednisone can't fix. The last time I was on Prednisone I became really focused to work on many things at one time. I started two writing projects and wrote furiously on both of them for days. One of those stories I thought had great potential to be something sell-able. I could easily see it holding it's own with the likes of Twilight and 50 Shades of Gray. But once the Prednisone high wore off, so did my feverish attempt at writing. Poor Elizabeth may never figure out why the post would cause Sherlock to slam that door to his study. Instead, my thoughts have already turned to the idea of painting my hallway. I have leftover paint from the living room, more than enough for my little hallway. Then I started thinking of filling those walls with pictures I've taken, one big collage of different frame sizes and shapes. I can see it in my head, putting all the frames together like a giant puzzle. I've taken some really great photos recently (at least I think they're great) and it's a waste to just have them floating around on the aether. Damn it all, if that's all I can think about now and the sad thing is I haven't even started my Prednisone pack.

I've had lots of project ideas lately but I've lacked the oomph to get up and do anything about it. Some of this is due to the fact that it's just easier to be on the couch, but a really valid reason is that some of those ideas are going to cost me money. I can paint the hallway right now because it's only going to cost me a paint roller. I could take on the office, but I know that once I start with paint, it will not stop there. I'll want new blinds at the very least and I'll want to rip out the carpet. If I rip up the carpet I'll have to deal with the floor. I have no idea what the shape of the floor is under the carpet, but I have a feeling it's not good since that's the only room in the house that has carpet. And this post just got real rambly.

Just wait until the Prednisone kicks in.

TUESDAYS WITH SATAN

Last week I had a dream that I delivered a pizza to these two guys in a big fancy house. They made me step inside the foyer to wait while the fished out enough money to pay for the pizza. I knew right away that there was something not quite right happening here. They tried to talk me into staying and partying with them and I could see an array of drugs strung out on the coffee table. One of them grabbed my phone from my hand and said "Oh look! The battery is almost dead. I'll put it on the charger and that way you'll have to stay for at least one drink". The other one just kept crowding me and I was just about to shove him away when both of the guys just dropped dead. One minute they were standing there being annoying and the next they were crumpled to the floor like puppets with cut strings. I stood stock still, looked down at the bodies and then over to where my phone sat charging. There stood a well dressed man with my phone in his hand and a puzzled look on his face. "What are you doing in my house?" He asked.

As I looked at him, I noticed that his face kept shifting and changing. I had a good idea who this man was. He was the Devil or Satan or whatever you want to call him. I told him that I had just come to deliver the pizza and that I had no idea it was his house. He then invited me to sit on the couch for a chat. Maybe "invite" isn't the right word. He politely forced me to sit on the couch for a chat. It was a large L-shaped couch and I sat at the far end of the L, both feet firmly planted on the floor, back straight, ready to jump up at a moments notice. He sat casually with one ankle resting on the opposite knee and his suit smoothed down just so. As Satan plucked away imaginary lint from his suit, he asked me why he shouldn't kill me. I told him that it depends on his reason. I said that if he was planning on killing me because he thought I had something to do with those two yahoos he'd just dropped, then he'd be wrong. Then I said "but if you're planning on killing me just for the sake of killing someone, well... then I don't have a good reason for not doing it." He lifted an eyebrow as he looked at me and said "Interesting. People always plead and bargain with me for their lives." I just shrugged and said "I have good reasons for myself to stay alive. They just may not be good reasons for you to keep me alive. Besides if you wanted to kill me, you'd kill me." At this, the Devil completely relaxed back into the couch with a heavy sigh. He said "You know? It was never my intention to be evil. I never really set out to be the Devil." I replied "Well...I think this is true of all people. Most of us generally start the day with the intention to be a good person." And that's when the Devil looked at me and said "you should be more scared of me" and then a demon of some sorts jumped out of thin air and screamed in my face. It startled a yelp from me and I jolted awake.

I laid there staring at the ceiling and thinking about that dream. I really wanted to see where my conversation with Satan was heading. I mean, when I mentally make a list of famous people I'd like to have at a dinner party, Satan isn't usually on that list, but maybe he should be. Yes, he can be a bit scary what with his whole making people drop dead thing and that pulling scary demons out of thin air like a magician pulls coins out from behind ears. But in general, he seemed like an interesting guy. I also felt kind of bad for him. He really did seem disheartened with how things have turned out with him being all evil and having that whole bad guy reputation. I almost wanted to give him a chance to redeem himself but then I remembered that mean little demon trick he'd pulled and I rolled over onto my side, closed my eyes and went back to sleep.

Three things I learned from that dream:

1. I have reasons to stick around on this planet. 2. I really do believe that everybody starts their day with the intention of being a good person. And 3. I shouldn't eat Ethiopian food for dinner.

YOU CAN TAKE THE GIRL OUT OF OKLAHOMA, BUT YOU CAN'T TAKE THE OKLAHOMA OUT OF THE GIRL

Monday afternoon, Talaura and I sat our desks, her's in NY and mine in KC, watching live coverage of the tornado and subsequent devastation. I'm sure Talaura felt just as helpless and ill as I did as we watched the total chaos, tears streaming down our cheeks. All I could do was look for updates and posting from friends online and try to connect people who could help with people who needed help. Still after all is said and done, there is little that I can do. I have made a donation to the American Red Cross. Also there is a facebook page dedicated to the Moore recovery effort. One thing we are really good at doing is banding together in times of destruction and catastrophes. We've had a lot of practice, unfortunately. No one knows more than us how easily things can be replaced and rebuilt. No one knows more than us that what truly matters is the well being of those we love and no one knows more than us the importance of holding onto and keeping those loved ones close. Even though I have a new home now in a different state, part of my heart will always be in Oklahoma. This is where my family lives, those people I hold close.

So...my heart is with my Oklahoma family today and the days to come.

YOU GAVE ME SPACE. SO I FILLED IT UP WITH CHAIRS YOU CAN'T SIT ON

It's generally frowned upon when asked "how are you doing?" to reply "I feel like a scooped out empty shell of a human being". So instead, I smile and say "I'm fine". I am for the most part, fine. It's only a little white lie. The empty hollowness is not a new feeling; it's just not something I write about. Usually I can distract myself enough to ignore the roaring echo and ache. It feels as though I have been scrapped out with an ice cream scoop that has sharp edges. Some days are worse than others. Some weeks are worse than others. Some days the feeling is more of a numb nothingness and I mean nothing. No happiness, no sadness, no pain. Nothing. I actually don't mind those days. It's easier to pretend on those days. But then come the days when I feel so empty and hollow that the edges of everything physically hurt. Sometimes that feeling lasts for more than a few days. When that feeling sticks around for more than I few days, I start to go to war with myself. There's a voice inside me that's mean and yells to stop feeling sorry for myself followed by a petulance voice that says "why shouldn't you feel sorry for yourself?". But mostly there's panic and fear at being trapped inside this empty space. This is usually when I start try to fill that space with something else. Maybe if I change my diet up or start running. Maybe if I buy that new pretty blouse or shoes that I'll never wear. Maybe if...

It dawned on me late last week that maybe that space doesn't need to be filled. What would happen if I stopped panicking about the emptiness and just let it be there? It's like having a spare room that is just a spare room, not filled with boxes of junk or holiday decorations. We always talk about cleaning out the crap in our homes and how we'd kill for a room that was just a room and not a glorified closet. There's always that need to put something in the space even if it just happens to be chairs you can't sit on. So, that's what I'm doing. I'm letting that empty space just be empty space and I'm working really hard at being OK with that.

I'M ON VACATION

This weekend I got drunk and ordred a pizza. I watched What To Expect When You're Expecting. I went to breakfast at You Say Tomato. I went to the City Market and bought a rosemary plant (mine didn't survive the winter). I spent $100 on six items at Target (why are razors so dang expensive? Now I remember why I've been using the same one for almost a year.). I went to a tie-dye party (The Lange's are crazy serious about their tie-dye). I wore maxi skirts and dresses all weekend (No pants!). I washed clothes and hung them on the line to dry. I made ghee and cleaned the house. I put clean sheets on the bed and started crying. I watched another movie on Netflix and started crying. I drove down to get Chinese take out and started crying. I cried as I drove back to the house with my veggie fried rice and I cried while munching on my fortune cookie. Apparently I have leaky eye syndrom. I'd like to blame it on the tree pollen. Hormones. The amount of soy in my diet. Blame has to be put on something. I'd like to tell you what's going on in my brain right now but I don't even know what's going on inside there. Every thing is coated in a dark goo. I keep trying to come up with ways to clean myself up, distracting myself with shiny objects. I wore my new favorite dress with sexy shoes to work thinking if I looked good I'd feel good. I have peeled all of the skin off my lips. They are a bloody scabby mess. I have eaten all the wrong foods and my C2-5K program has stalled out somewhere in the middle of week 3. I just keep starting over with day one of week 3. The only thing I've been consistent with is my yoga practice. It is the only place where I seem to find pure joy and probably the only thing keeping me from melding myself to this couch.

So...here's the plan. I'm giving myself this week to wallow and be silent. I won't be posting here this week, but I will stick to my daily happiness project on my tumbler page. Next weekend I will be traveling home for time a wedding and time with my family. I think I'll do a juice or plain old cleansing diet when I get back. Clean up the goo. Come back with a better attitude. I promise.

ONE TRICK PONY

Yesterday I wrote almost an entire entry and then I carefully selected all and hit delete. It was a slightly ranty entry on censoring the blog and dating or not dating or why I've thrown my hat back in the dating ring. It was boring. This is boring. Everything is boring. Look! I've channeled my inner sixteen year old angsty self to tell you that everything is BORING. And I even have a giant pimple on my nose. These days it seems like all I post are Love Thursday and Thankful Friday entries. But really, that's all I've got. No one wants to hear about my chore list or what I had for dinner. Those things bore me. Why would I put you through that too? See? I care. Notice how chore and bore are rhyming words? There's something to that. So...when writing the blog starts turning into a boring chore (which...sometimes that happens) I know that it's time for one of a few things. I can either just set it aside and be really quiet for a bit or I can tell you a bunch of random, nonsensical stories. Personally, I think it's more of a challenge to sit down and write out the random stories. I've never taken the easy way out of anything. A few nights ago I had a dream that I was in Chicago for BlogHer. A group of us had ventured out to visit a museum which doesn't seem all that unusual (my dreams are boring). I think we were visiting the National History Museum. The unusual part of all of this was the new exhibit the museum had just opened. It was a weird kind of roller coaster that jankily traveled straight for bit and then would drop several feet, travel straight, drop, travel straight and then drop until eventually you were at ground level. The ride was all the talk and had even had a "making of" special on the Discovery Channel and PBS. The ride was supposed to represent the various stages animals go through as they go to slaughter. It was horrifying and visceral and I was really excited to experience it. And I was a little disappointed to wake up before I got to ride it. Usually when I tell people the reason I don't eat meat, I tell them it's because I feel better physically when I'm not eating meat. But after that dream, I think I'll start adding that I feel better physically and mentally when I'm not eating meat.

The Canadian geese have been behaving a little weird around here. The other day, I looked out my fourth story window and could see the silhouette of a goose sitting on the ledge of the building across the street from us. At eye level. Now I know geese can fly and all that, but I have never seen them perch high up on top of buildings along with the pigeons. This morning I could hear them honking as I walked up the east stairwell. They were so loud that I thought they were inside. When I peaked out the window between the railing I could see two geese on the ledge of our patio. I don't know what they were talking to each other about, but it sounded more like arguing than talking. Later in the morning you could find one of them perched on the roof while the other paced back and forth on the ledge a few levels below. I wonder if they've nested somewhere on our building. That seems dangerous. What happens if a little goose falls out of the nest? Don't water fowl tend to learn to swim before they learn to fly? I also think it's just strange to see such a large bird perched on top of a tall building. The image is prehistoric modern and sends chills down my spine.

I want to wear wild crazy shoes to Amy's wedding. They have to match my mint green dress, but I still want something unusual. I want to wear shoes that you would normally never see me in. When Mom was here, we looked at shoes at one of those shoe warehouse like places. I found a pair of crazy tall wedges that had all the shades of green zigzagged along the sides. I'd never even tried on shoes that tall before. I used to joke around with mom when ever she'd take me shoe shopping. I'd do this thing where I'd pick out the ugliest/craziest/wildest shoe and look at her say "what about these?". I did it because it was funny but also because I knew that it drove her crazy. It doesn't drive her crazy any more, but I still do it because it's funny. We have a good laugh over the ridiculous shoe and then move on. But this time, instead of just holding up the shoe, I actually put them on my feet. The shoes put me about three to four inches off the ground. Add that to my current height of 5'7 and my long legs. It was like watching a brand new baby foal stumble around on her legs for the first time except not as cute. I did get several compliments though as I practiced my runway walk and if they'd been the right shade of green I probably would have bought them. Alas, I am still on the hunt for some crazy mint green (like) shoes.

THE SKINNY

The garage sale was only part of the reason for Amy coming to town that weekend. She also wanted to look at bridesmaids' dresses. I'm going to be a bridesmaid in her wedding and I hadn't even started looking because I was afraid I'd get the color wrong. I figured I'd just wait until she could be there with me. I don't know why, but I thought we'd start our dress hunt at the vintage shops that are 39th Street. We were in Rock Candy Boutique when Amy pulled a mint green dress from the rack and said "This! Try this on!". I tentatively said "OK" and took it back to the dressing room. I pulled the dress over my head and tied the belt and then stood there looking at myself in fluorescent lighting. The skirt hit just below the knee and I was wearing Chris's old Smartwool socks that are not sexy and I just thought I looked lumpy. Amy peeked around the curtain to see and I looked at her and said "I don't know. I look lumpy." Amy looked at me and said "What are you talking about? That dress looks great. Plus it's only $18. I'm getting it and if we find something else, I only wasted $18." And so she bought the dress. Later that evening, she made me put the dress on with decent shoes (minus the socks) so that she could take pictures to send to the other bridesmaids. I put the dress back on and was still unsure. When I looked down at myself, all I saw where rolls of gross. I stepped out in the living room and Amy was clapping her hands with glee. She took several pictures and then I looked over her shoulder at them and that's when I saw what she was talking about. I wasn't lumpy or gross at all. In fact, I looked pretty nice in that dress. I have two mirrors in my house and both them are on the medicine cabinets in the bathroom. I can tell you that my face and hair looks good, but anything from the chest down is a mystery. When I look down at myself, I see rolls and bulges that I'm trying too carefully to conceal with layers of t-shirts. What I see is not reality.

I'm pretty sure this is an issue for most people. I'm sure many of you have seen that Dove commercial that's been floating around facebook. If I had to give a description of myself to a sketch artist I'd probably say that I have big bright blue eyes and a large toothy smile that takes up half my face and that I look a lot like Carol Burnett. I don't think there's anything negative about that because Carol is lovely. If I had to describe more than my face, I'd be in trouble. I'm sure that my head didn't always work this way. All babies love looking at themselves in the mirror. I'm curious to know when that switch in our brains happened. When do we go from being content with our appearance to thinking that we're unattractive? What's the barometer for attractive? Or better yet, WHY is there a barometer for attractive? I want to re-train my brain so that when I look down at my body I don't see gross. I'm not skinny Minnie or a Victoria Secret model, but I'm not gross. And I think that it's only fair to say that while I'm working on this particular brain exercise, you guys should be doing the same. Think of it as a new app for your phone, a fun house mirror that only reflects your awesomeness. Wait...is there an app for that?

AIDS SWIM 2013

The forecast for Saturday was partly cloudy with a high of 75. The weathermen here are delusional. Saturday morning greeted us with rain and drizzle. The park where the AIDS Walk was set up was already soggy from the previous day's downpour. So I of course wore the wrong shoes. I picked walking shoes when I should have picked waterproof shoes. All of the water was completely absorbed by my socks, shoes and feet within minutes of walking onto the field. Then I found the guys manning the tent for the Memorial flags and I didn't care that my feet were soaked.

I met a woman who lost her son to AIDS many years ago. She wore a shirt with his picture on it. She was too feeble to walk, but made sure that there would be someone there to carry her son's flag. Terry roped me into carrying a couple of flags commemorating the years of The AIDS Walk. I stood near the front of the stage with my flags waiting to be cued for the procession and I watched two women in the crowd comfort each other. We paraded with the memorial flags behind the Mayor in the walk. As I walked on now completely numb feet, I heard a man run up to the guy walking next to me. He was carrying a memorial banner for a lost friend. The man introduced himself and said that he also knew this friend and I heard them talking about this man they both loved. When I we got to the fountains, we split along the path and stood to the side so that the people walking could walk by and see all the flags. I stood next to a woman who was carrying a memorial banner for her friend. She lost her friend last year. She told me how wonderful all of this was and how great that they had these memorial banners. I told her that there would always be someone to carry his flag. I don't know if that was true, but I believe it is.

The Kansas City AIDS walk was a different experience for me. It was definitely different from the OKC walks. Chris always did the walks with me and I couldn't help but notice his absence yesterday. And maybe that was it. I stood there listening to these stories from mothers, friends and lovers and I felt the connection. We all knew and know how it feels to lose someone from illness. And I know that Cancer (yeah..capitol C fucking cancer) is not the same as AIDS but you are still left watching that person you care the most about struggle and suffer in pain. We all know what it's like to reach that place where you're listening to doctors tell you there's nothing more they can do. It was a powerful experience.

We managed to raise $440 for AIDS Walk Kansas City. That's pretty fucking amazing. We did this. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

LET'S TALK ABOUT SEX BABY

When I was a teenager I remember sitting around with my girl teenager friends talking about what we would or wouldn't do with a guy. All of them said that they would never suck cock. I always kept my mouth shut during these conversations because I couldn't say that I would never do one thing or another. I mean, how did they know that under certain circumstances that they would never put a guys dick in their mouths? Inevitably I'd always feel a little guilty or wrong for not agreeing with them. They all made sex sound like something you just did because if you didn't that boy would just break up with you for someone who would. They never discussed sex in a way that made you think that they would or had remotely enjoyed it. At the time of these conversations I didn't know one way or the other. I had yet to become the type of girl that boys found even remotely interesting. But maybe because I'd been left unsupervised with stacks of Danielle Steel and Sandra Brown during those formative years, I had an inkling that sex could be a rather fun and enjoyable experience. Lucky for me my first experience with sex was fun and enjoyable and even better was that was how things would be for about sixteen years. During these years I've been able to experiment with someone who was adventurous but also someone who was safe. I knew his sexual history. Now that I'm entering this new phase in my life, I can't be so sure of these things with my next partner. I had a good education though and I know how to keep myself safe. I am not so convinced that this is true for kids today. My education came when AIDS was the most talked about STD. Talking about AIDS grew into a whole conversation about STDs in general, a conversation that I feel has died. This worries me because I have a niece and nephews that are reaching or have reached that age of sexual exploration. I worry that they didn't get the kind of education about how to stay safe as I did. And as much as we don't like to think of these kids being sexually active, it is not something we can pretend isn't going to happen.

The tradition of the AIDS Walk is not just about remembering those who have died from this disease. It's a reminder that AIDS is still very present in this world we live in. It's a reminder to have that conversation. Money from the walk goes to so many things from care to research, but it also gets funneled into educational programs. And this is why I walk.

*This is my last fundraising push before the AIDS Walk KCMO takes place this Saturday. Just click on my fundraising page at the top of the blog. I am so grateful to those of you who have already shown their support.