True Love

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47 years. That’s a long time no matter what. It’s a long way to go, day by day. It’s hard to think 47 years ahead of where you are right now. The world changes so rapidly anymore, that a few months from now could be so radically different than anything we could imagine.

47 years is how long my parents have been married. It’s not a “milestone” anniversary. It’s not a Hallmark greeting card anniversary. But it is another year for two of the most wonderful people I know. In a world full of divorce, and remarriage, and another divorce, and another remarriage, to see that true love still exists, still flourishes, is an amazing sight.

My parents met by living next door to each other when they were very young. Back then, it was very common to buy a home and stay there. Grow your roots there. As they grew up, they went to different schools. My dad is also 4 years older than my mom, so they wouldn’t have exactly crossed paths a lot anyway. Except they were right next door. My dad was in college at THE Ohio State University, working his own way through college because his parents didn’t have the means to send him. My mom was in her senior year, and my dad asked to take her to her senior prom. Oh the pictures of them together on that night are fabulous. He proposed to her that night and they married the following year.

I was born the year after that. My brother 3 years after me. My Dad worked, and went on to do more schooling, and got promoted and worked and did more schooling and got promoted………
He started his career at a national company, an entry-level position and retired the company CEO and President. And my mom cared for us, raised us, sacrificed for us, all the while being the wife behind the man. Elegant at all the important social gatherings they had to attend. Gracious at the events she had to host. They both rose to the occasion and never lost each other in the process.

Dad retired several years ago. The adjustment of always being on the go was one I worried about. But with most things, they handled it with ease. There have been significant health scares for both of them. Mom developed GBS right after Dad retired. It was one of the scariest times in all our lives. Dad and I lived at the hospital, willing her to get well. And she did. Dad has had cancer a few times but has beaten the odds so far. (Knock on wood) He is currently cancer free and his latest screening came back negative. Cheers all around.

So to anyone who thinks true love isn’t alive anymore, they only have to look to my parents as an example. Because true love is alive and well. And I hope there are many, many more years to celebrate more “non-milestone” anniversaries.

Sunday Funday

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I love days where everything falls together and seems to fit perfectly, seamlessly as if there was a giant master plan and it works out to the minute. Today was that day for me, and while there are still a few hours left for something to mar it, right now, it’s awesome.

I got to sleep in this morning after going to the OSU Spring Game in Cincinnati which was a blast and I even got a little sun! I think my brother even got sunburned! It was a great time, we all had wonderful seats and for being in the Bengals stadium for the first time, I have to say I would go see a game there in a heartbeat! Any Cincinnati fans who want company, give me shout.

We went to church, the later service, and one of our favorite Pastors was doing to message. Woo Hoo! A new series was started on the book of James, which I admittedly know very little about. And woah boy, was it a message that fits our household! It was touching and moving and spoke to our hearts. One of those messages that sticks with you after you walk out the doors. Some services are great but then you go about your day. Some services are great to the point that you don’t want it to end. Some are so great you never want it to end AND the words keep ringing through your head. That was today. Those are the best kind because I think you know even when it’s happening that this is going to stick with you. Very awesome!

After we got home, it was time for the boys to watch the basketball game, so I laced up and out the door I went. It is a beautiful day. Mid 60s, slight breeze and gorgeous blue skies. Perfect. I decided to go the route Tammy and I usually go, mainly because that route is the route of no return. I love to think of it that way, because by the time you get to the point where you wish you could just go home, you have no choice but to keep going. Somehow, that keeps me from looking at my fun Nike+ GPS Sportwatch (insert product placement here…hee hee hee) because it just doesn’t matter til I get home.

I plugged it in after I returned home and saw that I broke 5, yes count ‘em 5, personal best records!! Woo Hoo!! Fastest time, Farthest Distance, Most Calories Burned, Record Times and Fastest 1k. NICE!! It’s fun to download the information from the watch and see what cool thing I did because it’s against ME. Not against someone else. It only cares about my own personal records. There is something very liberating about that. I can compare against other in the Nike+ community, but I don’t because my run is about MY run.

After I walked in the door, I grabbed my towel and a bottle of water and Michael is grilling out dinner! How awesome is that? Very!! I don’t even have to make the salad. He has it all done! So while he’s cooking that, I’m typing this and drinking my water. I wish every day could be like this. Relaxing, carefree, productive. But I guess because they aren’t, it helps to appreciate the days that are. And I am appreciating today. Maybe I can carry it over to tomorrow.

Day of Purge

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Today seems like a great day to purge a few more bags of accumulated crap from our house. It’s rainy. It’s colder. I’m not going to go run til it warms up some, or at least stops raining. So let’s purge!

I know I have opined before about purging and how great it is to get rid of excess stuff that has been collected and kept, all with the best of intentions, over the years. It just never ceases to amaze me though how much stuff we have from roughly 20 years of marriage. I think in a way, it’s also because we have moved only twice during that time. We have been in our current house just over 13 years now. I think people who move more often have the chance to purge, simply to avoid moving stuff from place to place. When you stay put for long periods, the “oh we can just put that in basement” mentality takes over and before you know it, you have only a walking path amid boxes and bags and stacks and shelves.

On a rainy, cold Thursday, it seems perfect to purge. Did I mention it’s also trash day? Yep. Another great reason to just get rid of it.

So I’ll be in the basement with my roll of trash bags. Oh, but don’t worry, I have a TV down there to watch the trial while I’m throwing out stuff. Maybe I’ll be able to get rid of some of my Jodi Arias anger throwing stuff away.

Has Spring finally sprung?

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The birds are chirping. The trees have buds all over them. My phlox is starting to green up and hopefully those hundreds of blooms will burst out soon. The grass is getting greener. The windows have been thrown open!!

And what’s that I see??? Why, it’s a hairy little dust ball that just got blown out from under the china cabinet by the warm breeze flowing through the house. Wait, that sunlight streaming through the window seems to be showing dirt and handprints from certain teenagers and nose prints from a certain dog. I’m pretty sure they weren’t there yesterday. Were they?

I was watching the wind blow my thin wispy curtains that hand in the front windows. Ahhhhh, so pretty. Til I noticed the dust there too! How did this happen?? I check on the back curtains. Yep. Same. Dust on those too.

So what is one to do?? I know the perfect answer! Crank some jams and get to fixing it!!! I have the tunes blasting, the washing machine taking care of the dusty silky curtains, and the Swiffer taking care of the other dust bunnies that tried hiding from me. Dancing around, singing, cleaning and jamming. Now, that’s a way to solve the problem without breaking the spirit of the day, without sulking about the cleaning and getting many things done at once.

And the storm that’s blowing in will save me from going outside to clean the windows, so I guess I got all that done (plus my run!!) and still have time for the trial to start!

Why does it have to be so HARD??

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Yes, the title was done in my super duper whiny voice. This is my blog, I can whine if I want to. And I also realize this could apply to many different subjects (and yea, you, yes you, get your mind out of the gutter, would ya??)

I’m talking about getting fit for someone who has spent, eh hum, 40+ years not getting fit. My body does not like to cooperate with my intentions. I have been doing yoga for 2 months now. Yea, still not flexible. It’s frustrating and can be discouraging. Until I look at where I was 2 months ago. 2 months ago, I struggled in most positions. And now, well, I struggle in a few. And there is still a few I can’t even begin to attempt to TRY, let alone actually do it. It can be humiliating and spirit breaking to see everyone else in class doing something and knowing if you move an inch from where you are, you’re going to fall. For those of you who know yoga poses, here is a prime example: Our class goes into “pigeon”, which honestly I love. It’s a great stretch and one of the few that I struggle with. However, from there, everyone brings the back leg up and holds it. Everyone. Everyone but me. Let me tell you, my back leg would no sooner move even an inch off the ground as I could buy a private island. So I just stay in my little pigeon pose and hang out there til everyone is done. I try not to make eye contact to see pity in faces of the rest of the class.

I have at least been able to do some other poses and hold them longer and better. Balance poses don’t seem as hard. Going into a simple chaturanga isn’t challenging because I feel my triceps are stronger. But really, after 2 months, I think I should be much further along. After my amazing summer last year and feeling like I made progress, the winter has also kicked my butt. I wasn’t running, I stayed inside because, as any loyal blog follower knows, I hate the cold. A few of my unwanted pounds crept back. And staring at myself in the yoga mirror while doing some of these poses is downright frightening. Yikes! Who IS that person??

So, I started running this month again, which of course feels like starting all over again. The goal is one mile a day. I’m on the 9th day and have 16 miles under my belt. Not shabby. 2 months of yoga. Hey, at least I’m sticking with it. But why oh why oh why are those gained pounds not just dropping off?? I had expectations that I would lose as much this summer as I did last summer, then go into maintain mode. But now I have to re-lose those few pounds as well as the original number. (Insert my very sad, pouty, whiny face right here) And it just doesn’t seem to be doing any good. 9 days in to April, 16 miles. Shouldn’t I be seeing progress enough to keep me motivated? I think yes. My body seems to think otherwise.

I, however, am not a quitter. Sometimes to my detriment, I don’t give up easily. I hold onto friends longer than I should. I hold on to husbands longer than I should. I am a creature of habit, rules and infinite belief that it will get better. So I will believe this too will get better. My body needs to shift back into that machine I built last summer. Even though my brain is there, my body wants to hold out a little longer. And with the help of motivating friends and family, I will keep it up and hope to see results before the end of the month. Some spark of change. Because until they invent some miracle product, it’s just hard work and non stop staying on your game. I just wish hard work wasn’t so hard!!

Continued Blessings

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Yesterday’s blog posting was weighing on me for the rest of the day and into the night. I felt it was long enough, but I really left it at Michael. I wanted to share my own personal experience with our church and how much of a blessing it has been for me.

I grew up Catholic, in a Catholic family. I went to public school through 7th grade, then switched to Catholic school for 8th and for high school. We have a huge Catholic presence here in our town and the Catholic church here is beautiful. Even though I was raised Catholic, and was confirmed and went to Catholicism classes, when I started 8th grade in 1980 I started understanding it more. Embracing is probably too strong of a word. I was rebellious in every sense of the meaning. Wow. But that’s for another day, when I have more courage. Understanding is a good word to use.

After high school, I got married to the first guy who asked me. I already worried at age 19 no one else would ask. We got married in the church of my future husband which was Presbyterian with a Catholic Priest officiating also. It didn’t take long for the marriage to start falling apart. A slap across the face here, a slap across the face there. I never knew what was going to make him mad and neither did anyone else. Everyone, even his own family, had to walk on egg shells around him. Then came the baby. I had Rob when I was 21 and in an abusive marriage. I went to our Priest for help, for guidance. I was told that I was in a sacred relationship, that I had a child, I needed to pray harder. I needed to search my soul for what I had done wrong to cause this type of relationship. Wait……what??? I need to pray harder?

I endured 2 trips to a local ER and several slap arounds before the straw broke. We had come home from dinner with his parents and he was agitated the entire time we were gone. My parents had kept the baby while we went out. His parents had driven and he was in the back seat, kicking at his dads seat, telling him to hurry. By the time we got home, he was so worked up, he started to fight his own father in our driveway. I went inside to get my car keys so I could leave. I wanted to get to my parents, get to my baby. Before I could get to the garage, he was on me. A backhanded slap across the cheekbone. A punch to the eye. A punch to the jaw. I fell across our glass-topped kitchen table, knocking it over. I don’t remember how I got away. It truly is a blur after the table went crashing down, but I got to my parents, a bloody, bruised, swollen mess. I never stepped back into that house again without someone with me.

I went to my Priest, needing help. Needing……something. I told him I couldn’t go back. I couldn’t live that life. My baby would not be raised in that environment. He calmly assured me that if I chose to leave, I would be breaking a sacred vow made before God, in His presence, in His house, and that I would therefore be excommunicated from the church. He cautioned for me to choose wisely.

Oh, I did. I chose to protect my baby and myself. I chose to never walk back to that church again, never speak to that Priest who should’ve been helping a frightened girl who needed his help. I kept telling myself God is NOT the Catholic church. God would NOT want me to spend my life with an abusive man. God would NOT want me to raise my son in that house, with that man.

So I left it all behind. It was hard, but I was so hurt by the betrayal I felt that it made it easier to walk away. After Michael and I married, it was ok with me that he didn’t subscribe to a religion. I didn’t push him to go to church, he didn’t push me to forget that there is a God in the first place. We just didn’t really even talk about it. We went to weddings, funerals, whatever. It wasn’t like he thought we would burst into flames should we break the threshold. But after his accident, and he wanted to go to church, I was skeptical. I was damaged material here. I was, gulp, divorced and double gulp, remarried. They wouldn’t want ME. Michael I could see, simply because he had never gone to church before. But me?? I was already rejected from one of the biggest churches around. Surely I would be shunned at this new church.

What I found was the exact opposite. It was more clear than all the years of Catholic teachings I had. Jesus loves the sinner. He loves the wretched soul. He only wants to help us along our way. And He would have welcomed me with open arms if only I had called on Him. Our church didn’t shun me, the loved me. They embraced me. They encouraged me. They helped me see I’m not alone in my suffering and despair. Holding hands with someone who truly cares about ME is an amazing experience.

So while God might have been meeting Michael in his hospital room, he was meeting me there too. And in doing so, I was able to return home. It was just at a different address.

Easter Blessings

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I’ll start by saying Happy Easter. That doesn’t begin to cover it. Thinking about all the things swirling in my head today, this could be a long blog post. Or, maybe I’ll try to keep it short and discuss in multiple posts. We’ll see how it goes. So bear with me.

4 years ago Michael was baptized in our church. It was less than a year after his accident that happened in July. He started going to AA as soon as he was well enough to be driven, but I don’t believe AA is what ultimately led him to the church. A higher power can be whatever you want it to be. I think people he met through AA helped him break through, but I truly, completely, passionately, believe God met him in his hospital room. I believe there were truly angels that saved him that night. One inch from a tree that would have caused his death upon impact. A nurse driving down the street who saw his crashed bike, but not him. She had a feeling and stopped, found him in the woods and began CPR while calling 911. This occurred on a road that at that time of night is usually deserted. His BAC being .378 and would’ve killed most other people. (And not to be picky about it, but it was .378 by the time they airlifted him to the hospital and they drew blood. I have to believe it was higher than that at the time of the crash)

But lets get back to church. He had been going to AA daily. They recommend 90 meetings in 90 days. He did 180 in 180. During that time, he discovered what has become our church home. He had never ever ever ever ever been religious before. He wanted nothing to do with organized religion. He was a self described atheist. Maybe something was out there but you couldn’t prove it, so its easier to not believe than to believe. Where’s the science? Where are the facts? The Bible is just a book written by people probably high on some local mushrooms and their visions were hallucinations. The Bible has been transcribed so many times, it has lost its original meaning. He had an answer for everything to not believe. Until he woke up from the accident in the hospital.

He says he had an encounter while he was there. Maybe he did. Maybe it was his head trauma. It doesn’t really matter, because to him, it was real and it was powerful. So he timidly brought up that maybe he would like to go to this church close to our house. We passed this church daily for years. He used to complain about the traffic. Now he wanted to go. But he wanted to go alone. That was fine. I sure didn’t think it would last. A few months later, he asked me to come with him. And I gladly accepted. He wanted to take a class about becoming full fledged members of the church. So we did. We met people who we still happily call our friends. We got involved and met more people. After much reflection, he told me he wanted to be baptized on Easter Sunday. The holiest of holy days. Significant. Impactful.

He was baptized that Easter Sunday in 2009. Since then, he has helped many, many others be baptized at our church. He has made friends who support and love him. He looks to one of our head pastors as his spiritual mentor. It’s truly a wonderful evolution for a man who didn’t believe in anything at all almost 5 years.

So Happy Easter to you all. And remember, Jesus is calling all of us all of the time. We just have to listen more than talk sometimes.