Yesterday I was out in my garden, surveying the post-winter, early-spring condition and wondering if I had the energy or motivation to plant and tend to it again this year.
And then I heard it. The laughter. Pealing, happy laughter that on any other day would have made me smile. A bit contagious, almost, and I might have actually chuckled to myself from the other side of the fence had I not know who was laughing.
It was a young girl I have seen over the years. Probably a bit older than my 21-year-old son. I remember watching her walk from the bus stop when he was in high school. She was tall, thin, pretty with glasses....and hugely pregnant. Her confidence both surprised and delighted me. She had every right to be in school and every right to have her baby.
I knew she lived in the court behind us. I also knew back then that all of the quaint little bungalow houses in that court were all rentals and people came and went with such frequency that I had stopped trying to get to know them over the back fence and then one the landlord installed a 6 foot variety, it was impossible, anyway.
About a month ago, a neighbor told me that a baby who lived in that court had been beaten to the point of being in critical condition. Another neighbor's son was dating a different girl that lived in that house.
The next day, I read in the paper that that poor soul, a little 18-month-old, had died from his injuries.
Almost as striking was the picture of his mother. She was the same girl I had seen a few years earlier, a pregnant teenager just walking home from the bus stop.
It was her son.
Since that first baby I saw her pregnant with, there had been several more babies born to her and different fathers. The article mentioned three total, the last one being the baby who had passed away....died of a fractured skull.
The article stated that the mother also knew who had hurt her baby to the point of killing him. I did, too. Because I had seen it so many times over the years.
I heard it called a "non-bonding" relationship, where boyfriends are left in charge of their girlfriend's babies, babies that they did not father. There is no emotional bond and almost anger at a child bearing the resemblance of a boyfriend who came before them. I can count at least 5 in recent years where the boyfriend has abused the baby or young child TO DEATH just in my city alone.
The boyfriend was named. He has since been arrested. The mother still lives behind me with her other young children.
And so when I heard her in her backyard yesterday laughing, I wanted to vomit. So caught up in conflicting emotions, anger, surprise, disgust....I wanted to know....what the hell have you got to be so happy about?
Yes, I know life goes on. But your child has just died. Been murdered, actually. And I'm pissed at hell. I'm not ashamed to say I shed tears for your baby. I cried when I found out he was in critical condition. I wept, leaving big splotches of wet dots on my morning newspaper when read that he had died.
I'm judging. I admit it. But I don't understand it. I know you've been criticized in the press for leaving your baby with a boyfriend who had shown violent tendencies before and actually mocked your child, who was slowly succumbing to a massive brain bleed, telling you your child was an idiot who "could not hold up his head."
The laughter, I don't understand. I don't get it. It sounded so carefree, so happy, so normal, so like you as you sat outside smoking your cigarette, the fumes wafting all the way to me, standing there, dumbfounded in my garden.
I wept for your child. I guess I will do the weeping for you.
Thursday, May 2, 2013
Tuesday, February 26, 2013
In the beginning, there was Crayola.....
It usually takes a few years, sometimes decades, to be able to look back on a situation gone wrong and say, "THAT'S where it all started!"
I saw this one coming.
It all started with a Crayola commercial a few years back. It was at the time where my children had outgrown coloring but were still relatively young so the message this commercial sent simply appalled me....and still does.
The product was a marker that only worked on certain paper. Sounds great, right? No more permanent marker masterpiece's on your freshly painted "summer wheat" walls. No more indelible marks on the new carpet/hardwood floor or clothing. No matter how hard a child tried, with this certain marker, there was no way they could color on anything other than the certain paper that went with it.
The creators of this marker were thinking of us, the moms of America. I understood the concept. I had been through the permanent marker debacle plenty of times in my mothering career. It happens.
But instead of seeing it from a mother's point of view, I saw it immediately from the vantage point of a child, the message being, "I can scribble on anything! With no consequences."
This, my friends, is the beginning of the Bar-Set-Too-Low Generation.
The child has no consequences. There is no need to be careful, because their mistakes won't even be apparent, literally. There is no need to put thought into where the child is coloring, erasing, again literally, all responsibility.
The concept is lovely, however, it will, and I'm sure did, backfire on many a mom when the child was in possession of a different type of marker, the one that actually requires thought and effort, and found out too late that THIS marker actually DOES make marks on anything and everything, including the special paper.
What ever happened to, "Be mindful of your actions"? What ever has become of expecting children to take responsibility for their behavior? If nothing bad happens when you do bad things, what's to say that isn't sending the message that throwing that rock won't break that window and punching that person won't harm them physically.
It's not about the marks on the wall or the carpet or the clothing. It's about being responsible for your space, your actions and the people you share the planet with.
It may sound trivial and I first thought I was splitting hairs but then I began to apply this concept in other arenas and thought about the outcome. When my son played little league, not keeping score and by the same token not declaring a winner or loser, sounded great. It avoided hurt feelings. But it also avoided responsibility.
Where was the motivation to do well? And guess what? Life does keep score and you WILL get your feelings hurt sometimes if you aren't the winner.
I faced this subject on more than one occasion when one of my children, when writing a paper for school, would attempt the Large Font/Big Margin Trick to get to a certain page count. It's amazing how easy it is to write that two-page book report when the margins are 2 inches on all sides and you type in Times New Roman #48. That, as I told them, was phoning it in. Effort needed to be put forth and cutting corners and expecting less from yourself was not only cheating your teachers out of figuring out if you knew what you were taught but it cheated ourselves out of the feeling of doing it right and doing it well.
I've recently been watching what I call Crack TV, which is the Home and Garden Channel (HGTV). On "House Hunters," a couple looks at three properties and has to choose one they want to rent or buy. I am increasingly more aware of the Low Bar Effect on the next generation when the tiniest bit of grass is unacceptable because "I'm not doing yard work" and the house or apartment must be "move-in ready" because they would rather live in their parent's basement than swing a hammer to improve a room or pick up a paintbrush to customize it the way they want.
We are spoon feeding these generations by shielding them from responsibility which is actually handicapping them for years to come in every way.
My first born will graduate from college in May. I've seen nothing but an awesome work ethic from him his whole life and now it will be interesting to see how that plays out as he enters the real world of a real job.
And no, I never did buy my kids the Magic Crayola markers.
I saw this one coming.
It all started with a Crayola commercial a few years back. It was at the time where my children had outgrown coloring but were still relatively young so the message this commercial sent simply appalled me....and still does.
The product was a marker that only worked on certain paper. Sounds great, right? No more permanent marker masterpiece's on your freshly painted "summer wheat" walls. No more indelible marks on the new carpet/hardwood floor or clothing. No matter how hard a child tried, with this certain marker, there was no way they could color on anything other than the certain paper that went with it.
The creators of this marker were thinking of us, the moms of America. I understood the concept. I had been through the permanent marker debacle plenty of times in my mothering career. It happens.
But instead of seeing it from a mother's point of view, I saw it immediately from the vantage point of a child, the message being, "I can scribble on anything! With no consequences."
This, my friends, is the beginning of the Bar-Set-Too-Low Generation.
The child has no consequences. There is no need to be careful, because their mistakes won't even be apparent, literally. There is no need to put thought into where the child is coloring, erasing, again literally, all responsibility.
The concept is lovely, however, it will, and I'm sure did, backfire on many a mom when the child was in possession of a different type of marker, the one that actually requires thought and effort, and found out too late that THIS marker actually DOES make marks on anything and everything, including the special paper.
What ever happened to, "Be mindful of your actions"? What ever has become of expecting children to take responsibility for their behavior? If nothing bad happens when you do bad things, what's to say that isn't sending the message that throwing that rock won't break that window and punching that person won't harm them physically.
It's not about the marks on the wall or the carpet or the clothing. It's about being responsible for your space, your actions and the people you share the planet with.
It may sound trivial and I first thought I was splitting hairs but then I began to apply this concept in other arenas and thought about the outcome. When my son played little league, not keeping score and by the same token not declaring a winner or loser, sounded great. It avoided hurt feelings. But it also avoided responsibility.
Where was the motivation to do well? And guess what? Life does keep score and you WILL get your feelings hurt sometimes if you aren't the winner.
I faced this subject on more than one occasion when one of my children, when writing a paper for school, would attempt the Large Font/Big Margin Trick to get to a certain page count. It's amazing how easy it is to write that two-page book report when the margins are 2 inches on all sides and you type in Times New Roman #48. That, as I told them, was phoning it in. Effort needed to be put forth and cutting corners and expecting less from yourself was not only cheating your teachers out of figuring out if you knew what you were taught but it cheated ourselves out of the feeling of doing it right and doing it well.
I've recently been watching what I call Crack TV, which is the Home and Garden Channel (HGTV). On "House Hunters," a couple looks at three properties and has to choose one they want to rent or buy. I am increasingly more aware of the Low Bar Effect on the next generation when the tiniest bit of grass is unacceptable because "I'm not doing yard work" and the house or apartment must be "move-in ready" because they would rather live in their parent's basement than swing a hammer to improve a room or pick up a paintbrush to customize it the way they want.
We are spoon feeding these generations by shielding them from responsibility which is actually handicapping them for years to come in every way.
My first born will graduate from college in May. I've seen nothing but an awesome work ethic from him his whole life and now it will be interesting to see how that plays out as he enters the real world of a real job.
And no, I never did buy my kids the Magic Crayola markers.
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
Aint that a Shame....
Well....(sigh)....I'm not going to lie. Things are, well, not great with this writer. The second I wrote that sentence, the thought came to mind that I have a house that has not been flooded in the recent weeks, heat, electricity, a healthy family and four four-legged creatures that love me beyond words.
That being said.....things aren't going well with this writer.
Truth be told? I never, ever thought I would be this lonely.
When you have three children in the span of, oh, four short years, there tends to be a time frame in which remembering if you took a shower in the last few days is a strain on the mommy brain. There were many, many years of constant schedules...school...sports....dance....family commitments....
Thinking back now, I know I did it well. I did it so well that my three wonderful children are now three amazing young adults, out there in the world, making their mark on this planet. Two are at college. One may as well be because she is home basically to change clothes....and sleep.
It's all good. I'm so stinking proud of my kids. My college kids are doing so well and most importantly, they are happy and on the path to doing what they love. My youngest is so busy with drama and volunteering and being a cheerleader (yes, I, too, am wondering when the homework gets done. But it just seems to somehow.)
My husband is an amazingly hardworking person. He goes to work every day and enjoys what he does. He is good at it. He is well liked and well respected.
I just don't know where I fit into this equation anymore.
Yeah, I have a career transcribing medical reports....from home. Which I did to be closer to my children. Who are now no longer here.
I cannot even begin to tell you the heartbreak that this quiet empty house is. I miss the laughter of children, the doing of the puzzles and the Legos. I miss the life. I miss being a mom.
I know I'm still a mom. But I'm the kind of mom that they call when they need something. I can't remember the last time one of my kids called just to say hello or to see what I was up to. Don't get me wrong. They are wonderful young people. They are just busy with their lives. And I'm not fitting into those lives right now.
I never thought that days would go by without the phone ringing. My neighbors and friends who stayed home as I did to be with our children now work outside the home. I'm the only one here during the day in this neighborhood and I gotta say, that is a very unnerving feeling. My friends are busy, way busier than me. I never thought that would be true but....here we are.
I promise....this pity party is about over. Bear with me.
So I guess what I'm saying is I'm tired of pretending that I'm okay. Because I'm not. I'm sad. I'm lonely. I've tried reaching out to, to volunteer and believe it or not, there is an overabundance and even waiting lists for available volunteer opportunities. I've been perusing the employment section for a job outside the home as I have a pretty solid resume and have never actually not worked since I was about 14 years old.
I'm trying so hard to find where I belong now. I want to still be there for my husband and kids, which used to be my full-time career, but everyone has moved on and my services are no longer necessary. I've been downsized. I've been replaced. Forced into early retirement.
As promised, I am going to wrap up this whine-fest and move along to Facebook, where I post uplifting and inspirational things all the while feeling like a horrible fraud.
If you are a believer, believe in karma or sending good thoughts, I sure could use a few.....for guidance, for this square peg to find the slot she fits in. It's just a season of life I know but I have to say, it's the hardest one I've ever endured.
And I hope I can.
That being said.....things aren't going well with this writer.
Truth be told? I never, ever thought I would be this lonely.
When you have three children in the span of, oh, four short years, there tends to be a time frame in which remembering if you took a shower in the last few days is a strain on the mommy brain. There were many, many years of constant schedules...school...sports....dance....family commitments....
Thinking back now, I know I did it well. I did it so well that my three wonderful children are now three amazing young adults, out there in the world, making their mark on this planet. Two are at college. One may as well be because she is home basically to change clothes....and sleep.
It's all good. I'm so stinking proud of my kids. My college kids are doing so well and most importantly, they are happy and on the path to doing what they love. My youngest is so busy with drama and volunteering and being a cheerleader (yes, I, too, am wondering when the homework gets done. But it just seems to somehow.)
My husband is an amazingly hardworking person. He goes to work every day and enjoys what he does. He is good at it. He is well liked and well respected.
I just don't know where I fit into this equation anymore.
Yeah, I have a career transcribing medical reports....from home. Which I did to be closer to my children. Who are now no longer here.
I cannot even begin to tell you the heartbreak that this quiet empty house is. I miss the laughter of children, the doing of the puzzles and the Legos. I miss the life. I miss being a mom.
I know I'm still a mom. But I'm the kind of mom that they call when they need something. I can't remember the last time one of my kids called just to say hello or to see what I was up to. Don't get me wrong. They are wonderful young people. They are just busy with their lives. And I'm not fitting into those lives right now.
I never thought that days would go by without the phone ringing. My neighbors and friends who stayed home as I did to be with our children now work outside the home. I'm the only one here during the day in this neighborhood and I gotta say, that is a very unnerving feeling. My friends are busy, way busier than me. I never thought that would be true but....here we are.
I promise....this pity party is about over. Bear with me.
So I guess what I'm saying is I'm tired of pretending that I'm okay. Because I'm not. I'm sad. I'm lonely. I've tried reaching out to, to volunteer and believe it or not, there is an overabundance and even waiting lists for available volunteer opportunities. I've been perusing the employment section for a job outside the home as I have a pretty solid resume and have never actually not worked since I was about 14 years old.
I'm trying so hard to find where I belong now. I want to still be there for my husband and kids, which used to be my full-time career, but everyone has moved on and my services are no longer necessary. I've been downsized. I've been replaced. Forced into early retirement.
As promised, I am going to wrap up this whine-fest and move along to Facebook, where I post uplifting and inspirational things all the while feeling like a horrible fraud.
If you are a believer, believe in karma or sending good thoughts, I sure could use a few.....for guidance, for this square peg to find the slot she fits in. It's just a season of life I know but I have to say, it's the hardest one I've ever endured.
And I hope I can.
Wednesday, October 3, 2012
And the Lotto... I mean...election results are....
I LOVE to vote. I love Election Day and watching the results ticker across the bottom of the TV screen. Ever since our city went to 100 percent mail-in ballots, I have missed going to the local elementary school where elderly people man the poles and hand out cookies to the kids while their parents go into the mysterious polling booth and hide behind the curtain.
We now have four registered voters in our house. I love the day that the ballots arrive and I can hand them out to the respective person. I even go so far as to put stamps on the return envelopes for everyone to ensure they get mailed back in time.
But I have a dark secret, something I would never tell my kids for fear they would stop voting.
I think voting in the presidential election is a waste of time.
I'll do it anyway. I'll fill it out and put my postage stamp on it and mail it back in on time. But I think its a sham. A scam even. A way for the Americans to FEEL like they are contributing. But really? I don't think it matters.
I don't believe that politics beyond the local level are impacted in any way by the average American. Oh sure, we had Joe the Plumber last go around and he was the Average American that everyone could relate to. Whether or not he voted for Obama or not is irrelevant. I don't think it mattered WHO he voted for.
I can't even explain how the system works. Delegates and so forth. I have no idea. And that is on me, my responsibility to research and learn it. But would things change if we ALL understood how the president is elected? Doubtful. Impossible. Resoundingly....no, it wouldn't.
I keep a close eye on my local politics because this, I believe, is where we have the ability to evoke change. Whether that change makes it up the line to the state and federal level, I don't know.
I just know it feels fake when I'm filling out my presidential ballot. The old jokes about politicians being crooks and making promises they don't keep is true in my opinion. And yes, I am old enough to remember Richard Nixon. He was a crook, yes. But he was just one of many and unfortunately, one of the few that got caught.
I'll keep the enthusiasm up in the house when our ballots arrive. And I'll vote like I always do. I don't want my kids to get jaded like I am and feel hopeless with their vote because that's when the voting percentages drop. I used to think it was because people were lazy. But now I understand.
My vote doesn't matter. Kind of like buying a Lotto ticket. Same chances of winning if you ask me.
We now have four registered voters in our house. I love the day that the ballots arrive and I can hand them out to the respective person. I even go so far as to put stamps on the return envelopes for everyone to ensure they get mailed back in time.
But I have a dark secret, something I would never tell my kids for fear they would stop voting.
I think voting in the presidential election is a waste of time.
I'll do it anyway. I'll fill it out and put my postage stamp on it and mail it back in on time. But I think its a sham. A scam even. A way for the Americans to FEEL like they are contributing. But really? I don't think it matters.
I don't believe that politics beyond the local level are impacted in any way by the average American. Oh sure, we had Joe the Plumber last go around and he was the Average American that everyone could relate to. Whether or not he voted for Obama or not is irrelevant. I don't think it mattered WHO he voted for.
I can't even explain how the system works. Delegates and so forth. I have no idea. And that is on me, my responsibility to research and learn it. But would things change if we ALL understood how the president is elected? Doubtful. Impossible. Resoundingly....no, it wouldn't.
I keep a close eye on my local politics because this, I believe, is where we have the ability to evoke change. Whether that change makes it up the line to the state and federal level, I don't know.
I just know it feels fake when I'm filling out my presidential ballot. The old jokes about politicians being crooks and making promises they don't keep is true in my opinion. And yes, I am old enough to remember Richard Nixon. He was a crook, yes. But he was just one of many and unfortunately, one of the few that got caught.
I'll keep the enthusiasm up in the house when our ballots arrive. And I'll vote like I always do. I don't want my kids to get jaded like I am and feel hopeless with their vote because that's when the voting percentages drop. I used to think it was because people were lazy. But now I understand.
My vote doesn't matter. Kind of like buying a Lotto ticket. Same chances of winning if you ask me.
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
Month one of Empty Nest 2012 has gone pretty well. I haven't completely remodeled the house in paisley and chintz (thanks to a full time job that keeps me blessedly busy) but I haven't gone all agoraphobic either.
It's still a mindgame and if I approach it as such, that's half the battle. Whenever I share my feelings with people (which is not often...hence this blog) about how I miss being a full time mom, they never fail to steer me in the direction of "get a hobby!" or "Enjoy this time in your life!"
The truth is....being a full time mom WAS my hobby. I ENJOYED that time in my life. In no way, shape or form did I want it to end. My children grew up in lovely ways and now are in college or extremely busy in high school. It's a good thing. It's the way of the civilized world. Still.....*sigh*
See? Slipping into the "but I HATE change" state of mind is too easy.
I have worked at home my entire mothering career which made being a mom so much more fun. I was always around and so were my kids. Fun was just a moment away. I could always work later, at midnight or on the weekends. And I did. For them.
So of course, then, since I worked at home to be with my kids and, ta da, they are no longer around 9 months out of the year, the issue of getting a job outside of the home has crossed my mind on many occasions. I love the job I have. It is interesting. No day is the same.
But it can be tedious working in a quiet home with reminders all around of who no longer lives here.
This is where I am in this decision. It comes down to one word.
Wardrobe.
Working at home requires the most basic of wardrobes. I don't work in my pajamas or sweats but I am just one pair of skinny jeans away from dressing like the high school girls I see walking past the house to catch the bus every day.
I know. I'm 44. I should be dressing age appropriate.
For who?
I don't video conference with my job. My husband sees me when I dress up to go out or on special occasions. Other than that, it's juniors department or gym wear.
So if I did intend to get a job outside of my home, what would I wear? I hate trying on clothes. I hate shopping. I cannot wear the wardrobe I have unless I plan to work at Forever 21.
Problem solved.
Oh, and the fact that my chihuahua wouldn't be able to sit on my lap all day, either.
It's still a mindgame and if I approach it as such, that's half the battle. Whenever I share my feelings with people (which is not often...hence this blog) about how I miss being a full time mom, they never fail to steer me in the direction of "get a hobby!" or "Enjoy this time in your life!"
The truth is....being a full time mom WAS my hobby. I ENJOYED that time in my life. In no way, shape or form did I want it to end. My children grew up in lovely ways and now are in college or extremely busy in high school. It's a good thing. It's the way of the civilized world. Still.....*sigh*
See? Slipping into the "but I HATE change" state of mind is too easy.
I have worked at home my entire mothering career which made being a mom so much more fun. I was always around and so were my kids. Fun was just a moment away. I could always work later, at midnight or on the weekends. And I did. For them.
So of course, then, since I worked at home to be with my kids and, ta da, they are no longer around 9 months out of the year, the issue of getting a job outside of the home has crossed my mind on many occasions. I love the job I have. It is interesting. No day is the same.
But it can be tedious working in a quiet home with reminders all around of who no longer lives here.
This is where I am in this decision. It comes down to one word.
Wardrobe.
Working at home requires the most basic of wardrobes. I don't work in my pajamas or sweats but I am just one pair of skinny jeans away from dressing like the high school girls I see walking past the house to catch the bus every day.
I know. I'm 44. I should be dressing age appropriate.
For who?
I don't video conference with my job. My husband sees me when I dress up to go out or on special occasions. Other than that, it's juniors department or gym wear.
So if I did intend to get a job outside of my home, what would I wear? I hate trying on clothes. I hate shopping. I cannot wear the wardrobe I have unless I plan to work at Forever 21.
Problem solved.
Oh, and the fact that my chihuahua wouldn't be able to sit on my lap all day, either.
Monday, September 10, 2012
Raised on Radio
Holding the bright yellow Panasonic transistor radio closely to my ear each night, I was able to escape the torture of having to go to bed early or maybe even being in a hospital room alone. The dial never stayed exactly where I wanted it to on my favorite AM station, so I took a bit of Play Dough, stuck it to the underside of the dial and tried as best I could to keep the music and the DJ tuned in until the batteries died or the night was over.
The radio meant that somebody else was out there. A shy little kid found comfort in the voice DJs who crooned the time and the weather and took calls from people requesting songs or who just wanted someone to talk to.
The bright yellow Panasonic radio somehow became missing in action over the years. In junior high, I would borrow (and by borrow I mean take without asking and forgetting to put it back) my dad's GE radio he had in his shop. He finally had enough of having to come get the kidnapped radio and bought me my own. Yep. I still have it.
I would listen to the radio over watching TV any time, any day. I can read to it. I can work to it. I can even do nothing to it. And the real radio? Where the DJs are live, not prerecorded in a studio thousands of miles away? THATS what keeps us connected. That's the lifeline between people that allows them to go about their daily lives and still have a friend on the other end as well as the music that goes along with it.
My kids were raised on radio. There's a radio in almost every room of the house. When they were ages 3, 1 and a newborn, they shared a room and every night fell asleep to the soft sounds of the radio. I doubt they still do but sometimes when they hear a song from that time, they tell me how much they loved falling asleep to the sounds of songs and late-night call ins requesting a favorite tune.
Last week, there was a minor power outage in our area. I pulled up our usual morning radio show on the app I have on my iPhone but began to worry that before the power came back on, my phone battery would be dead. The 9 volt that keeps my little radio going for months on end? That is what I knew I could rely on.
I'll keep my little radio from 1981 as long as it works....and long after that, I'm sure.
The radio meant that somebody else was out there. A shy little kid found comfort in the voice DJs who crooned the time and the weather and took calls from people requesting songs or who just wanted someone to talk to.
The bright yellow Panasonic radio somehow became missing in action over the years. In junior high, I would borrow (and by borrow I mean take without asking and forgetting to put it back) my dad's GE radio he had in his shop. He finally had enough of having to come get the kidnapped radio and bought me my own. Yep. I still have it.
I would listen to the radio over watching TV any time, any day. I can read to it. I can work to it. I can even do nothing to it. And the real radio? Where the DJs are live, not prerecorded in a studio thousands of miles away? THATS what keeps us connected. That's the lifeline between people that allows them to go about their daily lives and still have a friend on the other end as well as the music that goes along with it.
My kids were raised on radio. There's a radio in almost every room of the house. When they were ages 3, 1 and a newborn, they shared a room and every night fell asleep to the soft sounds of the radio. I doubt they still do but sometimes when they hear a song from that time, they tell me how much they loved falling asleep to the sounds of songs and late-night call ins requesting a favorite tune.
Last week, there was a minor power outage in our area. I pulled up our usual morning radio show on the app I have on my iPhone but began to worry that before the power came back on, my phone battery would be dead. The 9 volt that keeps my little radio going for months on end? That is what I knew I could rely on.
I'll keep my little radio from 1981 as long as it works....and long after that, I'm sure.
Thursday, September 6, 2012
Learning to Fly
Our family bought a Wii Fit a couple of years ago. The games are pretty fun and challenging but what I really enjoyed, to the surprise of mostly myself, was the running feature. With the Wii remote in the pocket of my workout pants, I could watch my Wii character running along beautiful paths and trails, past other people, easily and without a care in the world. It was so mesmerizing, this freedom of running without abandon. To me, it felt like flying, even though I was only jogging in place in my living room in front of a TV. There I was....running. Wow.
There's a lot of different types of asthma and I seem to have them all. Exercise induced? Check. Allergic response? Check. Environmental allergens? Check. Even going from a warm room outside into the cold can seize up my bronchial tubes until I'm desperately looking for my rescue inhaler.
I recently decided to learn to run. It sounds crazy. I mean, who doesn't know how to run? For my entire life, my asthma has automatically labeled me as someone who "can't" run. Back in the 70s, that may have been true. Treatment options were pathetic. But now there are choices and methods and having asthma doesn't limit you to the sidelines as it did for me. Trust me, I was the best scorekeeper in PE class since that is what I was usually only able to do.
So I'm giving it a try. As usual, with any endeavor, there are good days and bad days. But the good days feel SO good.
Learning to run, for me, feels like....learning to fly. And it's AMAZING.
There's a lot of different types of asthma and I seem to have them all. Exercise induced? Check. Allergic response? Check. Environmental allergens? Check. Even going from a warm room outside into the cold can seize up my bronchial tubes until I'm desperately looking for my rescue inhaler.
I recently decided to learn to run. It sounds crazy. I mean, who doesn't know how to run? For my entire life, my asthma has automatically labeled me as someone who "can't" run. Back in the 70s, that may have been true. Treatment options were pathetic. But now there are choices and methods and having asthma doesn't limit you to the sidelines as it did for me. Trust me, I was the best scorekeeper in PE class since that is what I was usually only able to do.
So I'm giving it a try. As usual, with any endeavor, there are good days and bad days. But the good days feel SO good.
Learning to run, for me, feels like....learning to fly. And it's AMAZING.
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