Category: Family

Topics Chosen by My Sons: The Economy, Difficult Friends & Crazy Mom in the Snow

by CrazyUsArchives / Family / mommy blogs / People I know
My Family

Me: “Hey Eli will you give me a topic?”

Eli: “How about the Economy?”

[we all break into laughter and Eli and his friend run off.]

Me: “Now that is broad.”

I wait a few minutes. Kyle is playing Blokus with his friend. I think I will try this again.

Me: “Hey Kyle what should I write about?”

Kyle: “I know. How about dealing with your friends? You know, Difficult ones?”

Me: “Really? Another complicated subject.” And then I think to myself, “Way too complex and anything I say about friends will surely offend someone out there.”

[I pause.]

Me: “Come on. Seriously. I need your help. Give me another suggestion, please?”

Kyle: “Mom, I know. Write about dealing with claustrophobia — because you live in the snow?”

Me: “hmmmm?”

[contemplative pause]

Kyle: “Mom, really you know the snow! The snow. Because you do not like it. Yes, I am talking about you and how you do not like living in the snow.”

[Again we all laugh. Kyle and his friend put their game away and walk off.]

I am left here thinking, By golly, “I think these boys know their mom.”

Yes, Eli is quite astute suggesting I write about the state of the economy, either Salad Days or Tap-Water-Only days, I am always worried about money and I see that my boy knows it. Maybe I am worried because this is how I roll. Maybe I am worried because I did not grow up with much and I have seen how quickly it can all slip away. And maybe even I think a lot about the state of our finances because I have a super-coupon-using husband, a husband who does not let me walk out the door without one of his Happenings Coupons, Groupons, Living Social or any various specific store or restaurant coupons. Online he is a PRO at quadrupling his discounts. He seriously could have his very own TLC show called something like, BIG DADDY DOES COUPONS. I have learned early to love and be grateful (come on, he saves us money) for this fact about Dave. And if Kyle and Eli absorb anything besides my will-you-please-pick-your-coat-up-off-the-floor-and-hang-it-up-and-stop-wiping-your-boogers-on-everything motherly requests, well maybe, if they have absorbed anything, they will absorbed our crazy, yet measured frugality.

The topic of  friends and friendships go is a dicy one. I know Kyle has no grasp of  internet wrath, or better, Kyle does not understand the intense horror when one encounters a pissed off woman! I am kind of relieved that he has been spared such as dealing with the wrath of an angry friend. It’s a gamble. Even when I think I am writing something nice or measured, I have learned that my nice or my measured may not convey.  So to address the topic of friends and friendships, the only way I could write about friendship difficulties is to go all Fight Club on this post. You know what I mean?  What I say on this post stays on this post [wink wink].  I say most of this in jest because I, myself, have learned in the hardest of ways online and offline that you should just keep your mouth shut. As a vocal woman, shutting my mouth can be difficult. Thank God for Dave, my personal sounding board. Were it not for him, my head would surely explode.

What I can HONESTLY say to my sons is that all friendship is an opportunity. If things do not go the way you want them to, then reframe, maybe move on and look at what that friendship has taught you. I know I learn every single day from my boys and from the very happy and extremely heartbreaking moments they have experienced as they learn how to be a friend. Healthy friendships are something to be mastered. What I can give my boys is my example. If I make a mistake, I own it. This morning, for instance, I completely lost my shit when I saw that my son (who shall rename nameless, but you have a 50% chance of getting it right), well, my son covered a nice custom-made ladder with stickers. Sure, the ladder was in his room. And sure, he thought it was his. Yet, we he and I have talked many many times about how he cannot cover furniture in his “cool” stickers.  Further, if he thinks he would like to cover the furniture in stickers, he should ASK me first! As he and I scraped and scratched the gooey, sticky mess off the ladder, we talked about owning it.

“Hey, you know how when I do something wrong to you (like yell too much), I tell you I was wrong, say I am sorry and try to make it right. You know that, right?”

“Yes.” He said and then I continued, “That is the best we can do.”

Most definitely I would say friendships, actually any relationship, is never a piece of cake. He is smart and he gets it; the power of owning it, dealing with it and moving on. We did not have an school moment such as a hug. Instead, moments later he told me a joke, which let me know that all is well.

I have covered their two topics (friends and coupons). Now I need to address my S.A.D., which I like to call. “Crazy-Mama-in-The-Snow.” How I am dealing with the snow now (it took me long enough) is is to pretend that the SNOW is is not there. Picture a landscape absent of white, glistening snow is easier to do this year. Why? Because we have not had a lot of snow. Here is how I do it. When I look out the window or step out of doors, I simply look up and over the white stuff covering the ground. The darkness, well, it is just an excuse to take a much needed nap. I know my Snow-Hate has been hard on my family. Believe me my seasonal depression is something I am working on. And if I am working to make peace with the crappy snow, what more can they ask for, right? Ok, I know. They can ask for a mom who will ski with them as much as their dad does. I will, however, go to the beach with them any time they want.

The Economy, friends and Crazy-Snow-Mom, have been discussed and I hope the boys approve of what I say. I do not think it matters because now they are off shooting their Nerf Guns (hopefully not at anyone’s eyes) and looking for Zombies in the basement.

 

Leaving the kids & flying to Europe: Part 1

by CrazyUsFamily / Travel2 Comments on Leaving the kids & flying to Europe: Part 1
Church next to Chateau Gruyères in Gruyères, Switzerland

It was exactly two months ago today when a really cool opportunity knocked on Dave’s door. With his job he often gets to travel to pretty amazing destinations.  I had no desire to accompanying him half-way around to Singapore earlier this year, but when a last minute trip to Geneva, Switzerland came up, I simply inserted myself into his itinerary. I was actually shocked with how easily I jumped in.  Many of you know that Kyle has been very sick this past year and as a result I have been terrified to leave his side (even at home).  For me to throw caution out the door was this giant, enormous and huge step. I guess this gift came at just the right (time of the month) and like I said, I simply inserted myself into Dave’s Itinerary.

“Dave, I want you to know that I am coming with you. I talked to my mom. She can watch the boys and we are set.”

We cashed in some frequent flyer miles, booked our hotels, did a little research and literally with that, we were on our way. Slow down! Now let me tell you what “literally with that” really means.  Once my mom said, “Yes,” instead of carefully packing (did not look st the weather) or shopping for my trip, I spent the entire week before we left writing out and calendaring a very specific & extremely detailed-down-to-the-second schedule.  I had numbers and extra numbers.  My mom would  know Kyle’s doctor, the doctor she could call if that doctor was not available, the Urgent Care facility she could take Kyle to if that doctor was not available and if that Urgent Care was not open, she knew where the new hospital was. She knew who could pick the kids up from school, who to call if it snowed (yes, it does snow in Park City in September) and who would help her fix the internet. I printed out well labeled maps to the schools, maps to friend’s houses, maps to the grocery store (there are three we go to), a map to swim team and a map to boy scouts.  Not only did she know where the kids should be at all times, she knew who they should avoid, who they could be around, what parents were cool, what parents were not-so-cool, that yes, they did need to shower every single day, that they should pick their school clothes out every single night,  they would try to weasel their way out of doing their homework (especially Kyle), and more specifically how Kyle would try to weasel his way out his homework,  precisely how their morning routine should go, down to the shower,  Strawberry Special K, Yogurt & Granola (their breakfast of choice that week), vitamin C, allergy medicine, hair combing, tooth brushing and an “I love you” as they walked out the door. I did all the laundry, making sure that the boys had something clean to wear every single day. Then I readied their weekend bag. My mom was taking them down to her house. They were packed down to their iPod Touches, DSis and extra underwear.

When asked if all the work I had to do so I could leave was really worth it, I did not hesitate. “My peace of mind is worth tens times the effort I made. I know I can leave, my boys will be ok and my mom won’t be nervous or at least not very nervous.”

Saying Goodbye!

On September 20, 2011,  we kissed the boys goodbye, I drove Kyle to school, hugged, kissed and told him that I loved him again, my mom arrived, we reviewed the contents of the map, calendar and instruction-filled three-ring binder,  and we were off. Well, not really off. We told Eli we would stop by his school and say good bye one more time so we did.  I emailed his teacher to give her a heads up, thanked, said goodbye to my mom and we left the house. Eli’s class happened to be outside for morning recess, which made it really easy. We walked over to meet him, greeted his lovely teacher, asked him to walk over to the car and promised him to return him promptly so he would not miss too much of the game he was playing. Then  we hugged and kissed him (away from his classmates, of course), took a picture and we were really off.

Dave in our little airport hiding place

We drove to Salt Lake City, parked our car at our favorite parking place, took a shuttle to the airport and checked in. At the gate as fate would have it we ran into Carl, the very same and very compassionate American Airlines Gate Agent/Supervisor, who had helped us the last time we flew AA when Kyle was so sick.  We talked. I jogged his memory, told him how awesome he had been, he pointed out his boss, who is never at the gate. She heard my compliments and Carl made sure we had very nice seats all the way to London.  Yes, that is right. London. See, to use our frequent flyer miles we had to fly to London because American Airlines does not fly to Geneva.  We walked on the plane, fastened our seat belts, when asked, put our electronic equipment away  and flew to Dallas, our first stop over.

I won’t talk a lot about Dallas because I want to get this story to Europe. What I will say is that I crashed, shed some tears, washed my face, out some deodorant on, got mad at Dave because I was hungry, could not figure out what to eat and spotted Ian Ziering from the 1990s 90210 television series. During our several hour layover, Dave did catch up work and I did find something to eat. Of course we also called and checked in with my mom and the boys. So far so good.

Dave and half of me

We boarded our Red Eye flight to London and were on our way. Because we used frequent flyer miles we were in the way back of the plane where the seats were grouped two, five and two. Luckily we were had the two seat section and luckily I am the size of a ten year old boy (that is my kids say) so I could flop and spread out all over my tall (6’2″) husband. Aside from a passenger fight over overhead luggage at the very beginning, our flight was not eventful, just long.

[to be continued]

I Live in “The Shining” Hotel.

by CrazyUsFamily / My Three Cents6 Comments on I Live in “The Shining” Hotel.

 

Could our House be it’s very own Shining Hotel?

Winter has arrived and as a non-Winter-loving soul who is also trying to please her three Winter-loving boys while making sense of my my Winter non-love,  I had the epiphany  last night at dinner. I broke from my deep and overly analytical thoughts, looked over at Dave and blurted out these words, “Dave, we live in The Shining mansion!” to which Dave responded by laughing [insert Dave’s laughing sounds here]. To which I responded,  “You think I am kidding.”

And here is why . . .

Ok, so I am sure you all remember the  movie The Shining, right? It is that awesome 1980 creepy, keep-you-up-all-night suspense movie directed by Stanley Kubrick and written by both Stanley Kubrick and Steven King. Even those of you who do not watch R-rated movies must have seen a highly-bleeped-Lifetime-Television-version of  The Shining which included that little R-E-D-R-U-M-finger-talking kid, you know, Jack Nicholson’s son in the movie, who also rides his tricycle around the haunted hotel.  Maybe you remember those childhood discussions where your friend would say something like, “You know REDRUM is Murder spelled backwards, he he?”  And REDRUM is obviously a reference to The Shining.  At the very least, perhaps you have seen the Halloween Simpsons Shining Parody?  Homer plays the Jack Nicholson character and in a dark room as Marge finds a light shining on Homer’s typewriter she says, “Homer, Homey, what he has typed will be a window into his madness.” Then she sees the typed words, “Feelin’ fine.” Lightning Strikes and then Marge sees the crazy words written all over the now  illuminated walls and says, “This is less encouraging.” With another strike of lightning Marge screams as Homer enters the room and says, “Nobody is safe, Marge. All I need is a title.  I was thinking something along the lines of No TV and no beer make Homer something something.” To which Marge responds, “Go crazy?” And as Homer jumps out at her he says, “Don’t mind if I do!” I have always loved that Simpsons episode. Maybe it is because it is the only Simpsons episode ever where I feel more like Homer than I do Marge.

In whatever version or incarnation of The Shining you have seen, remember that Jack Nicholson’s character is trying to write a book (like blogging [wink wink]).  Due to cabin fever and being isolated in a cold,wintery, middle-of-nowhere hotel, he goes completely C-R-A-Z-Y. Read the plot summary. It says just that: “The father, Jack Torrance, is underway in a writing project when he slowly slips into insanity as a result of cabin fever. . .”

It’s like this. From IMDB , Wikipedia (and of course a with a in-parenthesis-Beth’s-life comparison): The Shining tells the story of a family who heads to an isolated hotel (a dark Canyon in the Snowy Wasatch Mountain Range) for the winter where an evil and spiritual presence influences (The Mormons, The Non Mormons. Take your Pick.) the father (the mother/me) into violence (Irritability, Naps, Complaining, Excessive Baking), while his psychic son(s) sees horrific forebodings from the past and of the future (my sons just leave for school or the slopes).  The father (the mother/me), Jack Torrance (Beth Adams), is underway in a writing project (blogging, reading blogs and still trying to understand Twitter) when he (she) slowly slips into insanity as a result of cabin fever (lives 1.2 miles up the hill and 3.3 miles from Civilization/Whole Foods) and former guests of the hotel’s ghosts (Other Parents, Family Members & The Unfrienders). His young son(s) possess psychic abilities (my sons are psychic too) and are able to see things from the past and future, such as the ghosts who inhabit the hotel (I’ve got nothing). Soon after settling in, the family is trapped in the hotel by a snowstorm (like we often are here in Park City). After being convinced by a waiter’s ghost to “correct” the family [insert favorite bloggers here: So many great bloggers and do not want to leave anyone out], Jack (Beth) goes completely insane. The only thing that can save the son (Kyle & Eli) and his mother (Dave) is “The Shining” (send me to Hawaii, Europe or perhaps move me to a not-so-isolated setting).

Every year when the days become shorter and the air becomes cooler I become the Jack Nicholson character. Once it snows and snows some more, I am doomed. After Christmas, it is almost hopeless. The Sundance Film Festival makes me a little less crazy for a minute, but that only gets me through January. The crazy ghosts really come out in February and often here at 7,200 feet elevation they stay through may and in May you can often find me rocking myself in front of some full spectrum lighting chanting the words, “Cold weather, Dark Skies and Snow make Mommy go Crazy!”

Just ask Dave and the boys or as my lovely neighbors from Alaska said to me just last night, “Most people feel this way in March (the Winter Blues), we always know you are feeling this way the first of November,” They are right. Alas, and now my hate of Winter is explained or at least it is compared to an unhinged man with super creep eyebrows in a very scary movie. Really most people who know me  know that Winter plus Isolation (non-Urban Setting) makes me go C-R-A-Z-Y.  And today (ask me in March) going CRAZY is worth it when it comes to my boys!

 

 

 

Yesterday was Grandpa’s Day and then I fell down the stairs

by CrazyUsFamily / Health / People I know / Stevens Johnson Syndrome11 Comments on Yesterday was Grandpa’s Day and then I fell down the stairs
Picture Gallery
Yesterday was Grandpa’s Day and then I fell down the stairs

  • Kyle

  • Me

Yesterday before I went plummeting down the stairs I had what I thought was a beautiful post started about Darryl, Dave’s Dad.  Darryl’s funeral and birthday were both a year ago yesterday (December 1).  Happy Birthday Grandpa! I had lovely things to say and had been thinking about them on my way to and from the school to pick up Eli.  Eli and I walked into the house as I was walking up our stairs, I tripped, consequently slipping and then dropping straight down on my left knee while facing towards the stairs. I happened to be holding a drink in my hand and in a bold effort I did what I could to save my  ice tea. You can either cheer for my brilliant save or boo for my silly attempt, because in an effort to save my drink, my left knee cap slammed right into the stair, taking the full brunt of the fall. Eli watched in horror as I screamed, “DAMN IT! (and maybe something a little stronger),” while I, stunned and immobile, continued my death grip on the ice tea.  Frantically trying to figure out what to do,  Eli ran past me and pleaded, “Mom, are you ok? I am going to call dad!”  He picked up the phone, dialed Dave’s number and as I stood still immobile I heard Eli say, “Dad! Dad! You need to come home now! Mom is hurt!” In that moment, my extreme pride completely overrode the intense pain. Go Eli!

Somehow and quickly I pulled myself together. Eli took the drink from my clutches and helped me up the stairs. I thought I would be fine. I am not fine.  Turns out 24 hours later and lots and lots of and knee pain and  RICE  (rest, ice, compression & elevation), I have decided to suck it up and  have it checked. Moments from now I will do just that. I will keep you posted.

In the meantime I really want to finish what I started before that whole fall-down-the-stairs-landing-on-my-knee-cap-and-not-dropping-my-drink thing happened. . .

Yesterday, on the one year anniversary of his funeral, I had Grandpa on my mind.   See, earlier in the day I met a friend for lunch.  I was not in the mood for lunch and because this is a friend I am just getting to know, I was not sure how to cancel. Dave encouraged me to suck it up so I went.  Once there, we ordered. In line my friend asked so I explained my crazy food allergies, then the Cafe Rio guys did their usual and hilarious comeback to my request for “no cheese,” and all shouted, “Extra cheese,”  she paid, we filled up our drinks (foreshadowing to my knee injury) and we sat down.  As conversations often do, one topic led to another and then I found myself crying, which I rarely do these days, right in the middle of the Park City Cafe Rio.  As I told my friend about December 1, 2010, I filled with buckets of love for Grandpa and then I thought about Kyle.

Dave’s dad had been in poor health for years.  When Kyle  was first diagnosed with Stevens-Johnson Syndrome, Darryl was on his last legs.  It was around Thanksgiving 2010. Kyle had been in then out and then back in the hospital for the past month.   Dave’s brother, Uncle Denny, was staying in Maryland with Grandpa while Dave’s mom was away visiting her ailing sister. As weak as Grandpa was, he was also very aware and very concerned about Kyle.  During his two stays at Primary Children’s Hospital, Kyle often mentioned Grandpa and would say things like, “Mom, you know I was thinking. Grandpa really understands what I am going through. I think I am starting to understand what he is going through too. I feel sad that he is so sick. I remember playing games with Grandpa. Being sick is not fun.”

During our long days and even longer nights, Grandpa easily became Kyle’s long distant and most comforting Teddy Bear. Just knowing that Grandpa understood helped Kyle feel like he was not alone.  At the end of our frequent Grandpa conversations, Kyle  would often say a simple, “I love you Grandpa.”

After a seemingly successful 3-day treatment of IVIG, Kyle was finally allowed to go home. We called Uncle Denny so he could share the good news with Grandpa. Just about thirty-six hours after Kyle came home, Grandpa passed away. My boys loved their Grandpa and we knew we all had to be in Washington DC.  Kyle was still very ill and so extremely fragile. The effects of his illness, the medications and the steroids, specifically, were terrible and completely changed who he was inside and out.  We thought about leaving him home, but because we were completely terrified to leave him out of our sight, we crossed our fingers and boarded a plane.

Kyle is the oldest grandson and wanted to say something at Grandpa’s funeral.  “There was not a dry eye in the chapel, ” I continued to tell my friend, “Kyle had only been out of the hospital for a week when he spoke. He wore a hat to protect his misshapen face. His eyes were still so red and he was so pale.  (He was very uncomfortable being around people and uncomfortable having his picture taken.) He was brave, tender and you could feel Kyle pulling Grandpa right into the room. The gift Kyle’s sweet, tender and vulnerable disposition gave us was that were all able to feel that sweet and tender love for Dave’s dad. And when I say people were crying, I mean, many of us, with tear soaked faces were hyperventilating. I was breathless as I watched Kyle speak. It was otherworldly” I knew my friend got it and I had to stop talking so once again, I could catch my breath.

. . .Tonight as I finally finish this post, I found Kyle’s talk.

Here is what he said:

Happy Birthday Grandpa!

 Hello.  I am Kyle Adams. I am the oldest Grandchild of Darryl and DeAnne Adams.  My family currently  lives in Park City, UT.  Today I am speaking on behalf of Grandpa’s seven grandchildren.

 Eli is my brother.  James, Thomas and Sage, belong to Denny and Jaqui and Andrew and Nathan belong to Dori and Jeremiah.

 This morning at breakfast  I reminded everyone that today is Grandpa’s Birthday. My brother Eli suggested we all sing him Happy Birthday so we did.  I am sure Grandpa was there listening.

 Just over a week ago I was released from Primary Children’s Medical Center. I have something called Stevens-Johnson Syndrome, which is where your body has a reaction usually to medication and then attacks all of its mucous membranes and sometimes skin.  I was in the hospital for a almost a month. I am still recovering.  In the hospital I was scared and I was in a lot of pain. Often when I was really struggling I would tell my mom that I know Grandpa understands how I am feeling. 

 Grandpa died less than two days after I was released from the hospital.   I think he stayed alive to know I was ok.  My Uncle Denny, who was with Grandpa before he died told my mom that Grandpa knew I had been so sick and also knew that I was getting better. I was so happy that he knew I was ok before he died.

 Often this past month when I have been sad or in a lot of pain I say prayers asking Heavenly Father to send messages to Grandpa asking him to let Grandpa know we love him and we are thinking of him.

 At breakfast this morning I asked my cousins and my brother if they had messages for grandpa or memories of him.  James told me how much he loves Grandpa and that he misses him. My brother, Eli, always being silly said, “Grandpa always made the best snacks.”  Tommy, age 3, said, “Hi Grandpa.”

 I remember going on walks with Grandpa. I remember when he took me, my brother and dad fishing. We spent most of the time catching worms, which was a blast.  I loved just hanging out with Grandpa and playing board games with him.  He was tough competitor.  I remember the last time I saw him I knew that I would probably not see him again so I gave him a lot of extra hugs. My parents tried getting me into the car because we needed to get to the airport and I just could not stop hugging Grandpa.

I love you Grandpa!

 

 

Life Does not Discriminate

by CrazyUsFamily / People I know / Travel9 Comments on Life Does not Discriminate
My beautiful Grandma

There was a time when I could not wait to write. I formulated. I thought. I wrote entire posts in my head and when I finally had a free moment, I would race to my laptop, sit down and the fresh, new words could hardly contain themselves before they lept out of my brain, through my fingers and onto the page. I do not know it if is because I am older, much more protective of what I say, more resolute (meaning less unhinged) or just simply because I am so out of practice. Nowadays, instead of flowing like an easy river,  I have to twist, shove and push myself to even sit in front of my laptop. And words, well, they seem much more comfortable staying right where they are, stuck in my brain.

Just two days ago I attended the funeral of a dear friend’s father. The man who died was almost eighty. He was kind, well loved and had been sick for a long time.  I am guessing that after years of suffering, he was tired and ready to go.  And if you believe that there is something beyond this life, like I do, then you probably would have sensed what I did. It felt like my friend’s dad was somehow there with us and that he was letting us know that life moves on and that he is happy. I don’t always experience that kind of happy peace when someone dies.  I did this time.

What I could not get out of my head, however,  was all of us who have been left behind.  Maybe it was what Dave said at some point during the weekend, “Everyone’s dad seems to be dying and it is getting a little weird.”   Maybe it is that all my peers are getting older and thus our parents are getting older and closer to the end. Maybe it’s the fact that the days we have in front of us are shorter than the ones we have left behind.  Maybe its all of these things.

I keep trying to find the right group of words to convey what I saw, what I felt and what I experienced this weekend.   I am still struggling.  What I do see is how completely delicate life is. Instead of watching our grandparents die, Dave and I are at this weird sandwich space (that I have mentioned before). We are raising our own children while instead of watching our grandparents die, now it’s our parents. Just a few years ago Dave’s dad was hiking with us at Sugarloaf Mountain, MD and now he is gone. It is also strange and difficult for me to see my own parents, who I always saw as so strong and so knowledgeable,  lose who they once were.  When my dear mom forgets that she told me the same thing already, instead of admitting that she is more forgetful because she is getting older,  I rationalize and say, “Well, I do the same thing myself.” It scares me, makes me really sad, and I am just not sure how to express it. I am totally freaked out by this. I cannot stop thinking.

And then at the funeral, there was this moment, a moment where a beautiful young woman, who seemed about my age, was wheeling her stroke-stricken mother up to their seat. As they passed, I looked into the mom’s eyes and as I watched her try to communicate without words and really any motor control whatsoever, I could see that she was trapped. She totally knew what was going on and could do nothing about it. Then, I started to cry.

I am getting old. We are all getting old. I know people of all ages deal with all sorts of health issues. I have watched my own young son deal with his own life-threatening and life-changing health issues. However, if you somehow missed bad health in your youth, life has this very cruel way of  evening things out.  Life does not care who you are, how much money you make, how pretty, how rich, how mean or even how sweet you are. Life does not discriminate. If  arthritis, heart disease, a stroke, cancer, Parkinson’s, ALS or all the other cruel diseases do not get you, then life seems to go for the mind and I just do not understand.

We are raised to strive, to thrive, to succeed and to better ourselves. hen, each and every one of us, gets old and we die.  And even if there is nothing beyond this life, I want there to be. I need there to be and that is why I believe there is. I like to think my dear Grandma is just a thin layer beyond my reach. I would like to believe that when I sat in that room in my house on 1500 South and 1300 East all those years ago, that I really did feel Grandma Koener there. I want to believe that she was hanging because she really liked our guest room and that she wanted to reach across and let me know that she is still here. I need to believe there is more.

So when I saw that beautiful woman at the funeral trapped, I want to believe that she will have beyond, that her kids will see her well and that she will be free.  When life strips away our beauty, our physical strength, our vitality and our mental facilities, I need to believe that this is not the end. And  mostly because  life can be absolutely cruel, I need to know that after we die, that we somehow keep on living.

Am I conditional?

by CrazyUsFamily / People I know12 Comments on Am I conditional?
Dog Sign

I just scrapped yesterday’s post. I spent hours trying to say something and I just couldn’t seem to force the words out, or at least force them out the way I wanted them to flow. Coincidentally, the reason I tried to write yesterday’s post in the first place was pretty simple. See, I called my friend and asked her for writing ideas. I needed a little break from talking about health issues and knew she would have something thought-provoking to say.

Hilariously she responded, “Oh man. I should keep a post-it pad with me. I am always having ideas and I think, ‘hey, Beth should really write about this.’ Wait.  Wait. I had one. Give me a second. Give me a second. Nope. It’s gone.”  I was determined to get a nudge. With that we moved on and tried to think of more ideas. And you know what trying to think of more ideas does, don’t you?  It leads you to that scary land of really deep thoughts. We talked some more anyway.

We talked about our small town, which we both agree should seriously have its own Real Housewives of Park City  TV series.  We talked about the industries we have both worked in and then we got really profound (or at least I thought we were profound) and talked about the state of the world around us. What we concluded is that our world seems to have drifted into this very conditional space, a space where our actions seem based on a set of qualifications and requirements we project onto ourselves and others? And within this very conditional space there seems to be a sort of disconnect between the way people really are and  how they want to the world to see them (that was her lovely husband’s input, by the way).  As we continued our conversation, I wondered what, if any, specific thing was the cause of all of this strings-attached living?  Are we conditional because we have been hurt?  Are we so protective of our own space on this planet because of the conditioned need to succeed?  Is it the bad economy or  are we so self-serving because we just have opportunities to achieve so much? I was searching for something to blame and never could quite put my finger on any one thing.  Seriously, who am I to point a finger anyway? As we continued, I  realized that even if I do not know what the cause is that this conditional way of living seems to bleed into every aspect of our lives.

Eventually and searching for a metaphor, I said something like,

“It is like once you get to the top of the mountain there is only so much space.”

To which my friend responded,

“Once there are you someone who will smile and give someone a hand and help them up,”

To which I immediately interjected, “or someone who will push the person reaching for your hand over off the cliff?”

We talked around this sensitive issue. I mean, come on, who wants to see themselves as selfish, exclusive, self-serving or just plain mean?  I don’t.  Eventually and probably because we had kids and life and jobs to focus on, in one lovely breath my friend summed it all up. Here is what she said,

We live in a world formed by a set of tacit rules that nobody would write down or dare say out loud because they are so awful.

“Brilliant. That is brilliant.” I told her.

Since our conversation I have been thinking, thinking a lot and asking myself, ” Do we really have this ugly set of  unwritten rules and conditions we live by?  And if we really do have a list of unwritten rules, I want to be and hope I am a what-you-see-is-what-you-get person, but am I?”  I have been thinking so much my brain filled itself with a giant and overly analytical log jam.

After all of our talking and all of my thinking, I have tried to break it all down. I have concluded that there seem to be two (at least) aspects to a person: One is the person we like to see ourselves as and  the other is the person we really are. The sting is that if this is the direction humanity is going it isn’t very pretty, you know what I mean? Of course I tried to come up with some examples of each and here they are:

How we see ourselves: I think I am open to all people and I imply that I am open and generous.  I want you all to know how easy going I am because I am.  I am so comfortable in my own skin.  I would give you the shirt off of my back.

and

The unwritten rules or who they really are:  I would rather have a bigger car then help you.  It really does matter how you look.  I do care how much web traffic you get or how many people follow you on Twitter. I feel terrible about myself and that is why I say terrible things about you, use botox, make myself throw up, starve myself,  exercise for countless hours, think about drinking all day long, care about how I look and who I hang out with. I do care if you go to the gym. When you leave the room, I do talk about you.  I do care how much money you have or if you fit into the right social group. If you don’t, I do not want to be around you.  I will only talk to you when others are not looking. I will notice you once someone else notices you. I think you are weird because you do not drink. My kids cannot play with your kids because you do not go to church. My children are perfect. Your kids are not. . . Most importantly,  my love and how I treat you is absolutely conditional.

Truth be told, I think we might be a little of both.

. . . When someone reaches for a space beside me will I smile and give them a hand, pretend I do not see them or do my best to push them off the cliff?