The List Made For Us

We make lists to remind us of what we need to buy and things we need to do.  Some days, the list just does not get completed.  We run out of time or get distracted; sometimes we set unrealistic goals for ourselves and expect too much out of the time we are given.  We have a few choices in these cases.  We can pick that list up tomorrow and finish it.  We can prioritize to make sure the most important things are done.  Or, we can get frustrated, crumble that list up in a ball, and curse at it while we throw it away.  My experience with lists have at one time or another taken each of these routes.  My favorite list is my grocery list.  I am completely food motivated, so I enjoy writing out all the items and checking them off when they reach my shopping cart.  Not all lists are this easy to complete, and the hardest are the lists we do no write for ourselves.

I believe in God.  A higher power that while allowing us to have free will to make our own decisions still has total control over what is going to happen every minute of our lives.  This Presence brings me peace and reminds me that we each have a list that is written for us.  Everyone has a list of things they are to accomplish while they are here.  When their list is complete, God does not crumple them up and toss them away.  He smiles and says, "Awesome!  I finished another one!"  Some people have very long lists that may take 99 years to finish.  Others, although not as lengthy, have important things to do in the short amount of time they are here.  We are so used to making our own lists and figuring out how long it will take to complete all our tasks.  What we forget is that the list made for us is a secret:  we do not always know what is on it or how long we have to complete it.

It may seem unfair to think we have a, "secret list," to do.  How can we know how to complete it when we do not even know what is on it?  That is when it is important to prioritize.  The list made for us is written by God, so it is not that hard to figure out what might be on our, "To Do," list:

1. Love and respect your parents
2. Make your siblings your friends
3. Teach your children #1 and #2
4. Forgive others
5. Be kind to people and make them smile
6. Bring people together in the name of love, family, prayer, and laughter

Most of the time, we make lists of the things we have not yet accomplished in our lives.  Maybe you want to make sure you climb a mountain, run a marathon, or skydive before your time is up.  The goals on the list made for us may not seem as exciting.  They may not bring prestige or place a medal around our neck.  But, what good are those types of accomplishments if there is no one cheering for you?  Prioritize the things that are truly important because those are the ones that God is checking off your list. 

This week, two people I know passed away.  I do not know if they could have been any more different.  One was a 99 year-old woman whom had played the role of wife, mother, grandmother, great-grandmother, nurse, and matriarch to an amazing family.  She was respected and loved, and I have no doubt her loved ones will make sure her memory lives on.  The second was a 45 year-old man whom had played the role of husband, father, brother, son, friend, and free spirit.  He had the most amazing smile (which he got from his mom) and that little devilish glimmer in his eye (which came from his dad).  Both of these people, although so different, had finished their lists.  God was so happy to be able to mark off their lists knowing they had accomplished what they were supposed to do.  Each had loved, laughed, taught their children the importance of family, and with their passing, will once again bring others together in the name of love, family, prayer, and laughter.  Do not feel sad about the things they did not get to accomplish.  Be joyous in knowing they did all they were supposed to do.



Dedicated to Agnes Reese and Jim Mandabach.  May you meet in heaven and smile upon those whom still love you.

Racism - it's not just for breakfast anymore (Rated R for language and adult situations)

It takes a lot to shock me.  I've been around the block many, many times, but the human race seems to find a way to occasionally make me say, "What the Fuck?"  I was reading my morning cyber news while drinking a cup of coffee and eating my egg and cheese breakfast sandwich.  There is a story about a new television advertisement for Cheerios.  Cheerios is a part of nearly every one's childhood.  It was one of the most popular snacks for my children when the were toddlers.  Put some of those crunchy O's in a snack cup, and you have a happy toddler for any two-hour car ride.  I ate Cheerios for breakfast when I was a kid.  My mom even put them in her homemade Chex Party Mix (as I still do today).  What could anyone have against Cheerios?  Even the name sounds happy.  Well, as I said at the beginning of this post, here came my, "What the Fuck," moment.  Watch this commercial:

 

 

Are you wondering what all the fuss is about?  This commercial got so many hateful, racial posts on YouTube that they had to disable the comments area for this this clip.  Really?  Really?!  There is an adorable, articulate child in a lovely home with both her parents discussing healthy nutrition, and this beautiful example of a loving family was turned into a platform to rant about the evils of interracial relationships.  Well, now I am turning it into my platform to rant about acceptance and tolerance and love.

 

I applaud the General Mills company (who makes those tasty O's) because they have no intention of pulling the commercial from their advertising rotation.  I hope they push the envelope and have a little boy talking to his, "two moms," over a bowl of Cheerios.  Maybe they will have a black man and a white man feeding Cheerios to their adopted Chinese daughter.   I hope more companies take a broader look at examples of, "normal family life."  People need to remember that just because it's not your normal doesn't make it wrong.  I know their are people out there that are already quoting Bible verses to make their point.  I know Catholics usually do not quote Scripture, but here is Matthew 22:35-40:



• ³⁵ One of them, an expert in the law, tested him with this question: ³⁶ “Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the Law?”
  ³⁷ Jesus replied: “‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’^{[a] 38} This is the first and greatest commandment. ³⁹ And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’^{[b] 40} All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments.”

Time is sometimes the only tool that can teach tolerance.  The unfortunate side to that is that it does not happen quickly.  It is a terribly slow procedure that usually takes generations to learn.  How can you speed up the process?  Start with yourself.  Allow your heart to accept differences in others, and the next generation will do the same at a much faster pace.  Be aware of what your are against, and make sure you are disagreeing with someone for the correct reason.  My example of this goes back over 20 years ago.  Back when we were much younger, a friend of mine, who I had known since kindergarten, started dating guys of a different race.  Her parents were totally against it, and she expressed to me how much this upset her.  I told her I did not care whom she dated, but I was not going to support her dating anyone who treated her like shit.  She was choosing guys with no jobs, no cars, and no respect for her.  Who cared what color their skin was??  She was being used and hurt.  I had friends who dated guys the same ethnicity as them, and when those guys were acting like douche bags, they got the same advice from me:  If that man has no future, no respect, and no responsibility for his actions, he does not deserve a place in your life. 

There are all sorts of different Cheerios:  original, honey nut, peanut butter, apple cinnamon, banana nut, frosted, fruity, and yogurt covered.  General Mills knows that even though they are all different on the outside, on the inside they are all the same...just like people.

I think the next Cheerios commercial should show someone pouring the plain Cheerios and the chocolate Cheerios in the same bowl....scandalous.

Excuse me, could you point me to the nearest leper colony?

Several days ago, I left my home and purposely forged into enemy territory.  On the outside, I appeared confident and unshakable.  Inside, my heart was accelerating, nausea was twisting my stomach in knots, and there were nearly tears.  I entered the doors to the building, walked up to a woman with a name tag, and asked, "Where is the dreaded swimsuit department?"  She looked at me, smiled, and pointed down an aisle.  "What we have is right over there."  The way she worded the sentence made me think that maybe there were not many suits to choose from.  Perhaps swimsuits had gone out of fashion and were being replaced by loose fitting, yet some how flattering, smocks?  The swimwear of the early 1900's was making a comeback!  A time in history when it was not unusual for women's swimsuits to have sleeves.  God was smiling on me......

My friends and I at the beach.

 

 

As I happily approached the area the sales associated had pointed towards, I was reminded that God has a sense of humor.  The racks were full of brightly colored Lycra, floral and striped, one-piece, two-piece, and teeny weeny bikinis.  Something for everyone!!!!  I kept looking for the retro swim romper or the newest aqua frock from Paris, but I was disappointed to find exactly what I find every year.  Lots and lots of choices that fall into one of three categories:  "Doesn't fit," "Ugly," and "That'll Do."  I have never had a bikini figure.  I have never won a, "Hot Bod," contest.  But, I am comfortable enough with myself that I will put on a swimsuit and enjoy the pool or beach with my kids.  I like to get tan lines in the summer ("Tan fat looks better than pale fat.").   Fruity, frozen drinks while sitting on a pontoon with friends and family are some good times.  To my advantage, my best "assets" are out of the water while I'm standing in the shallow end of the pool.  My plan is to get to the cookout early, make sure the bosom looks awesome, and keep the lower half of my body underwater until everyone is intoxicated.  After enough drinks, no one will care how I look in my suit.  It may be my tipsy friends whom do not care; it may be tipsy me whom no longer cares how I look in my suit.  I believe swimsuits should come with a gift card to the nearest liquor store to make the event less painful (and more likely to be blacked out of your memory) for everyone.  I picked a suit from the, "That'll Do," pile, and I pray that I do not have to go through this process for at least a year.

The most comfortable I have ever been in swimwear was both times I was pregnant with my daughters.  It may seem strange to confess that at the two times when my body was its largest, roundest, most bulbous and swollen, those were the most content I ever felt in a swimsuit.  Why?  Because when you have a baby in your belly, no one expects you to suck in that gut.  There was a reason Sports Illustrated did not call you for the swimsuit edition that year:  you were swimming for two.  I loved floating around like a big ole whale gestating her calf in the water.  It was liberating to just bob up and down with the waves, and when I would get 'beached' on the steps of the pool, some concerned friend would roll me back into the water.  Ahhh, memories.

 

Shopping for a swimsuit, for me, is like purposely vacationing at a leper colony.  Why do I put myself in that uncomfortable place?  I guess I am the Father Damien of Swimwear.  I am sure that shopping for swimwear is a lot of fun when the size you buy is the same as your shoe size.  If that were my case, I would be arriving at my sister's Memorial Day party wearing clown shoes. 





A Love Letter

Dear Mom,

Happy Mother's Day!  I thought I should write you a letter to make sure all these words are on paper.  That way, if I am ever at a loss to tell you how I feel about you, I can refer back to my notes.  You are an amazing person; not just an amazing mother, but you are amazing to your core.  This fact is confirmed by the hundreds of people who get a smile on their face simply by the sound of your name.  You raised four children that all have children of their own.  Your grandchildren have been blessed that their parents had the most wonderful example to learn from.  The love and tenderness you brought to our childhood, the laughter and smiles you freely gave to all of us, and the love of singing any song regardless of knowing the correct lyrics or not were my favorite parts of growing up.  You were the soft hand to Dad's iron fist. You were (literally) always the, "good cop," to his,"bad cop."  You allowed yourself to be the clown when the situation needed a comedic hero.  When it comes to being a mom, I had the best instructor there is.

Even if a person goes to the best schools and has the best instructors, it does not mean they are going to be perfect at what they do.  I am the iron fist in my children's lives.  The role of, "bad cop," is usually played by me.  Ironically, I am the clown even though real clowns annoy the crap out of me.  Statistically, I am not the daughter that grew up to be just like you.  However, one day you gave me the best compliment.  As different as we can be, you told me once that I was the kind of person you had always wanted to be.  I voice my opinion.  I stand up for the underdog.  When I was in fifth grade, I slapped a girl in the face because she said my friend was ugly.  I am fearless.  I keep my friends and family close, and I send toxic people on their way.  The best thing you ever said is that I am nothing like you, but that I am what you strive to be.  How ridiculous is that?  It is amazingly, lovingly, and honorably ridiculous.

Happy Mother's Day to my mother.  You are the beautiful, smart, funny woman that I want to be when I grow up.

Sincerely,

Amy (your favorite)

ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE!!!!!!!! Wait...it's just allergy season.

I live in Indiana.  The Crossroads of America.  The Hoosier State.  Heart of the Midwest.  Home of the Indianapolis 500 - The Greatest Spectacle in Racing.  AND, the worst f@$&ing place to be if you have seasonal allergies.  About 15 years ago, I started developing, "hay fever."  A little sneezing, watery eyes, no big deal.  As the years have progressed, so have the allergy symptoms.  My allergist explained to me at one appointment that parts of the country gets a lot of tree pollen.  Some parts of the country get grass and weed pollens.  Lucky us get to enjoy both here in Indiana.  This week has been the worst for me so far this season.  Every day, when I walk out of the house to my SUV, there is a fine layer of yellow pollen covering my vehicle.  The temperatures have been warm and breezy, but I have every window closed and the A/C blowing.  If I try to do some yard work, I have to keep tissues in my pocket and remember not to rub my itchy eyes.

Most of allergy season, I can find relief with over-the-counter allergy medication and allergy eye drops.  Unfortunately, there are a few weeks a year that my normal regimen does not quite cut it.  A few days ago, I decided that more is better when it comes to antihistamines.  Instead of one allergy pill for the 24-hour period (as prescribed), I took two pills about 12 hours apart. I still sneezed and snotted all day.  My eyes were so extremely itchy, I rubbed them until they were swollen, red, and watering.  Then, I was reminded that I had put lotion on my hands prior to clawing my eyes because then the skin all around my eyeballs started to burn.  More allergy eye drops squirted into the irritated orbs, so then gooey liquid was dripping down my face.  I still could not get to sleep, so I took a Benadryl at bedtime.  I finally fell asleep.  That must have been when the zombies showed up.

I woke up very reluctantly the next morning.  I slowly staggered into the bathroom, turned on the light, and saw myself in the mirror.  Holy Christ, it looked as if I could have eaten someones brain for breakfast.  My eyes were gross, hollow-looking, dark circles on my face.  The combination of eye goo from the pollen, allergy eye drops, and irritating hand lotion had dried into a creepy scaly pattern around my eyes.  The sheer amount of antihistamines in my system were still giving me a contact high.  I actually was sooooo zoinked out that I stared at my reflection like the un-dead had commandeered my body.  "You look like me.....but you aren't exactly me...."  I brushed my teeth in slow motion.  When I walked down the hallway to wake up my daughters, I thought I was going to start dragging one leg and holding both arms straight out in front of me.  I was relieved to hear the words, "Girls, it is time to wake up," come out of my mouth instead of, "AAARRR!!!!!  BRAINS!!!!"  As the day went on, I slowly came out of my fog and felt slightly more like myself again.

So, next time you watch a zombie movie, look at those poor creatures.  Are they really after your flesh?  Did they really want to eat brains?  Maybe they just need a Zyrtec and a box of Kleenex.

"Excuse me...could you tell us where we could find the aisle with the allergy medications?  Thanks."

Details, details, details

I am very good a couple things.  Things I am good at would be cooking, knitting, science, and making people laugh.  To balance out my perfection, I am very bad at a couple things, too.  Things I am bad at include counted cross-stitch, anything athletic, and feeling as if I need to know all the answers.  I am not saying I know everything, but I like to think I know everything about me. 

I can be a bit over analytical.  Maybe some people would say I am just doing research, but when there is an, "unknown," in my life, I will obsessively look up as much information on it so I feel like there will be no surprises.  I do not like being caught off guard, so I find comfort in looking at every angle of the situation.  That way I can at least know what my options may be.  For ten years, I worked in medical offices.  When obtaining a patient's medical history, I would constantly get vague answers to specific questions:

     Me:  "Do you have any heart problems?"
     Patient:  "Yes, I have had a heart defect since birth."
     Me:  "What type of defect?"
     Patient:  "I don't know."

Even more frequently than not knowing what type of health concerns they possess, patients had no idea what medications they were ingesting:

    Me:  "What medication do you take for this heart problem?"
     Patient:  "That white one."

How could you not know the name of the medication that you take for the heart defect you do not know the name of?  That would drive me bonkers.  Do some research, look it up on-line, commit to memory the medication used to treat it, any risk factors that could make the condition worse, and whether or not you could expect to drop dead from it in the next 40-50 years.  This is the shit I need to know, and I often forget that not everyone worries about those things like I do.  What is it like to let your brain retain a minimal amount of information and let the rest leak out like a sieve, only allowing the big pieces to remain?  I am sure a lot of people find comfort in the big chunks, but I worry about the tiny pieces that float away because it's those little details that can make all the difference.

I had a doctor's appointment this past week.  Unfortunately, some of the health problems I had last year are not quite done with me.  Once again, I have been told that I am, "an interesting case," that does not seem to, "follow the normal treatment protocols."  I have always been a bit of a rebel, but I did not think my liver was going to be a hell-raiser.  I can tell you all sorts of details about liver adenomas.  They are a rare tumor, benign in nature, and usually are asymptomatic.  They can cause problems and need attention if they start multiplying or growing larger than 5 centimeters.  They can rupture and in rare cases turn malignant.  I have done my research.  What is driving me crazy this weekend is that I do not know what to look into anymore.  My doctor had me consult with another specialist to see if we can figure out why I am becoming the thing medical papers are written about.  After an hour talking about me and nine tubes of blood later, the new doc said he would call me on Monday to let me know what he thinks is going on.  Really?  Monday?  I tried to get him to at least give me some guesses on a disorder or disease or deficiency.  If not, what the hell was I going to, "Google," this weekend?  How am I going to self-diagnose without a place to start?  Guess I will just have to wait impatiently.

This one is for my best friend.....

We have all had something happen in our lives that, at the moment, devastated us.  A moment that changes our lives and ourselves forever.  An event that may have been anticipated or perhaps a complete surprise, but either way, an event that changes us in a way that can never be erased.  When I was 19 years old, my father died.  That was the thing that ripped me from my life, turned me around, and dropped me from a very high place flat on my face.  I could not, and did not, feel the full effect of this loss until I was much older.  It would take me decades to be able to see how my father's passing changed me.  It was much easier for me to see how his passing changed others in my life.  My friends looked at their parents differently.  My younger sister seemed to lose the innocent look in her eyes.  My mom was no longer the quiet, naive, sweet woman we all knew; she was turning into a smarter, tougher, scarred version of herself out of necessity.  This made my mother some how even more loved (everything my mother does makes her more lovable).  The point is, it made me who I am today, and I survived.

Last year, my best friend, "Cee," had her moment.  At the age of 41, she became a widowed mother of two young children.  A tragic, unforeseen medical condition took her husband away from her.  Ripped her up, turned her around, SPLAT on her face.  We were all in shock at her loss.  She has kept her world spinning at a dangerously fast pace for the last twelve months.  She has moved back from out of state, sold a house, bought a house, started both children in new schools, and got a new dog.  She drops the kids off at school, does the shopping for the household, transports her children to kickball games, Girl Scouts, karate lessons, and tee ball season just began.  Sleepovers, lunches, dinner plans, doctor's appointments, dentist appointments, vacations, holidays, road trips, and movies....all normal activities for a family to do, but in the past year, she has had to learn how to do them without her husband.  Her precious children have had to learn to do them without their dad.  Her in-laws have had to learn that the visits with their grandchildren now do not include seeing their son.  What is the point of her, her son, her daughter, or any of us whom knew and loved her husband to have to deal with this loss?  I have seen how the last year has changed her.  I see a different look in her daughter's face.  I see a pain in the eyes of Cee's father as if he still thinks he can fix her pain.  He has always been there for Cee, but she has suffered a loss he cannot repair.  Although all these changes are obvious to me, I know it will be years, perhaps decades, before Cee will see them.  The point is, it will make her who she is in the future, and she will survive.

"Everything happens for a reason."  We all know that old saying, and I think it is true.  Sometimes that reason is so easy to understand, but there are times we search forever to find it.  The conclusion I have come to is that sometimes the, "reason," is not our reason.  I believe that there are definitely times when the reason that life-changing thing ocurrs in our life is to change someone else's destiny.  As painful and senseless it is for Cee to have lost her husband and her kids to have lost their dad, there was a reason.  Cee learned that a 10 year-old girl received her husband's liver.  A yound girl's life was saved by that organ transplant.  Her husband saved someone's life.  Does it take away Cee's grief?  No.  Did it take away the tortorous, day-to-day waiting of the family of the girl?  Did it ease the pain a parent feels when they do not know how long their child is going to live?  Yes, yes it did.  The point is, it will make that young girl, her parents, and her sisters the family they were afraid they would never be, and she survived.

We miss you, Dave.  You brought my best friend happiness and companionship.  You made  two amazing children together.  You saved the live of a child you never even met.  Thank you.  We will never forget you.