Well, I am emotionally exhausted.
I finally finished watching the Quantum Leap series. I stretched it out over the past few months via Netflix, but today was the day I had been waiting for – the end. I just watched the series finale – and what an emotional wallop!
Dr. Sam Becket – righter of wrongs – I salute you! Mmmm…great show. Really, really great show! Totally worth the time I invested.
Well, now that it’s over, I wonder what show I should get started on now.
Suggestions?
Saturday, December 30, 2006
The Fourth Worst Christmas Ever
Be forewarned folks, a long post ahead!
28 years.
28 years without missing a Rehfeldt Christmas Eve Party.
Rehfeldt Christmas Eve parties traveling through rain, snow, and sleet. Christmas Eve parties in college when it was tough to get home. Christmas Eve parties even when it ripped my heart out watching Mom deal with the aftermath of Dad’s death in the jovial midst of a familial party.
I’ve been there. To every one.
Except this one.
I love the Rehfeldt Christmas Eve party. It’s been one of the main consistencies in my life. My wonderfully odd and eccentric family, the world’s best food, the annual talent show, and Santa giving out gifts every single year.
Beforehand, caroling in the snow. Caroling to shut-ins and nursing homes. Camaraderie. Friendship. Warmth and stability. The feeling that no matter what the world can throw at us – we’re still family, strong and bonded.
I’m an only child. The Rehfeldt family may be my extended family, but to me, they are so much more. They are my sisters and brothers and second-moms and second-dads. They may be crazy, but they’ve staked a claim in my heart that will be there until the day I die.
They’re all I’ve got. And that makes me very much blessed by God.
Most of my “worst” Christmases are tied to death. In order, they are the Christmases after Dad died, Aunt Kathy died, and Brett’s mom died.
This Christmas, the fourth worst, was different.
It began way before December. It began when Brett and I got married and started a life together. At that time, Brett was traveling over four hours a day to his job near Chicago. He hated his job, and he hated the drive.
And I got to hear about it. Every single day for almost six years.
Do you know what it is like to live with someone who has a bad day every day for six years? I do. It’s not pleasant.
I’m not saying I didn’t have bad days at work, too. I had a psycho boss for four years. And I’m sure I “vented” occasionally, too.
But with Brett, it became an obsession. It nearly ruined us financially and threw our marriage into turmoil.
Don’t get me wrong. Brett and I love each other. We always have. Love has never been our problem. Our problem is outlook and communication.
After the six years Brett spent hating his job, and I spent watching him spiral into negativity and depression, I was relieved beyond measure when he got his present job.
And things started looking up. And then they stopped.
Because, Brett doesn’t like this job either. He has his reasons, I suppose. But I, and everyone else who spent the last six years praying for and commiserating with Brett, thinks he should just keep at it. Keep trying.
This job has relieved a GREAT financial burden and provided great health benefits for Brett without me having to pay through the nose for it at my non-profit job.
But, as I said, Brett doesn’t like it. And the spiral – the negative comments, the depression – all began again.
I was/am close to tearing my hair out again.
See the key to understanding the whole situation is to look at Brett’s personality. He has SO many wonderful qualities. That’s what attracted me to him in the first place. Plus he happens to love me – which is the best attraction on earth.
He is a hard worker, but easily discouraged, and definitely not an optimist by nature.
So, you can see where the problems begin. Add to that – I don’t know where Brett is spiritually. I used to think I did, but I don’t anymore. And (as we all know) without God – nothing is possible.
We’ve already decided to start marriage counseling with our pastor. We need to learn how to talk and relate to each other. We need to learn how to deal with stress in our jobs without letting it swamp our marriage.
At first, I was worried about the stigma of going to “marriage counseling.” Then I saw it as a quick fix - as in fix my husband, please! But now, I’m just so ready, because I love my husband and I know he loves me, but right now, living together is very difficult.
As I described it to Pastor – It’s like being out in the middle of the ocean, no land in sight, with an anchor tied to my leg. And my job is to keep the anchor afloat.
I’m normally a happy person. A positive person. But being around a negative person (even if it is my husband) has taken its toll. I have found myself drawn into the web of negative thinking.
I’ve also found myself trying to be “cheery” enough for both of us. This is extremely stressful, since you can’t be someone else’s Mood Meter and all it ends up doing is making you overcompensate, lose focus, and end up resenting the crankypants you were trying to help.
Also, this type of attitude can be enabling to the “depressor.” They think – “Hey, she’s going to keep pretending to be happy, so I don’t have to worry about it, I’ll just keep being depressed.” And if you’re me – you don’t want to live a pretend life.
I want a real life. I want a real married life. And I’m willing to sacrifice – but I need to know that he is, too. And since we both think counseling is a good idea, I guess that is the first step.
So, you may wonder, what does all this have to do with the Rehfeldt Christmas Eve Party? Well, I’ll tell you.
It was shaping up to be an okay Christmas. Not a GREAT Christmas. When you are having marriage troubles, spiritual troubles, it extends to all areas of your life. Our recent bout with marriage troubles erased our motivation to decorate for the holidays, try hard at our jobs, and made us be not-so-jolly in general.
Still, my sister-cousins, Charity and Colleen were home for Christmas – an unexpected present. Charity and I were able to sit down and create a Christmas Eve skit – You might be a Rehfeldt if… - as a take-off on Jeff Foxworthy’s You might be a Redneck if…
Brett and I skipped caroling, so I could make my mother-in-law’s famous Mashed Potato Casserole and my not-so-famous Cream Cheese Biscuits. Then, we headed to the party site.
We enjoyed some delicious food. People were making small talk, asking the normal questions. Unfortunately, one of the “normal” questions people ask is “How is your job?” After the third person asked Brett how his job was, and he launched into the same depressing story (a story which I have heard over and over and over and over again), I decided to go talk to Mom.
Admittedly, we did talk about Brett’s job, but just for a minute of two. Then, I became involved in talking to other people and (frankly) just having a good time.
After a while, I went outside to get a soda. There were Mom and Brett talking in a lively manner about him sticking with his job. They both seemed upset, but then Mom turned and went inside. Brett was so angry; I could almost see steam escaping from his head.
“Okay,” I thought. “I’ll just go further out in the parking lot and talk to him until he calms down.”
But that’s not how it worked out. We ended up arguing.
He wanted me to sympathize with him, to be part of his pity party. I knew that would enable him to be negative, so I refused. I just didn’t say anything.
I want him to suck it up and just do his job – there’s a reason why it’s called “work” - it is not necessarily supposed to be fun, you know.
We argued all the way through the party, sitting outside in the car. I cried, and he sighed.
Eventually, Mom came out to let me know the skits were starting. I told her that I wouldn’t be able to participate. She could see something was wrong, so she ended up bringing out our gifts from Santa and our dishes from the party, so we could leave without going back inside.
My face was all splotchy from crying, so I was very grateful.
I felt bad brushing family off, especially my cousin Aaron and his wife, Linda, who we don’t see often enough. Also, for letting Charity down in the skit reading. Plus, I felt more than a little sorry for myself – missing my first Rehfeldt Christmas Party.
The rest of Christmas was pretty dismal. Brett and I worked things out – he’ll stay at his present job until he can find a new one. But I stayed home with Mom and Gary while he went down to his family’s Christmas in Geneva. I just could not handle hostility from Dave and Dawn, considering what an emotional wreck I was.
It was a good decision. Mom and I watched movies, and I cried some more while Gary made us all hot chocolate.
Like I said, and not to be depressing, the fourth worst Christmas ever.
But at least nobody died.
28 years.
28 years without missing a Rehfeldt Christmas Eve Party.
Rehfeldt Christmas Eve parties traveling through rain, snow, and sleet. Christmas Eve parties in college when it was tough to get home. Christmas Eve parties even when it ripped my heart out watching Mom deal with the aftermath of Dad’s death in the jovial midst of a familial party.
I’ve been there. To every one.
Except this one.
I love the Rehfeldt Christmas Eve party. It’s been one of the main consistencies in my life. My wonderfully odd and eccentric family, the world’s best food, the annual talent show, and Santa giving out gifts every single year.
Beforehand, caroling in the snow. Caroling to shut-ins and nursing homes. Camaraderie. Friendship. Warmth and stability. The feeling that no matter what the world can throw at us – we’re still family, strong and bonded.
I’m an only child. The Rehfeldt family may be my extended family, but to me, they are so much more. They are my sisters and brothers and second-moms and second-dads. They may be crazy, but they’ve staked a claim in my heart that will be there until the day I die.
They’re all I’ve got. And that makes me very much blessed by God.
Most of my “worst” Christmases are tied to death. In order, they are the Christmases after Dad died, Aunt Kathy died, and Brett’s mom died.
This Christmas, the fourth worst, was different.
It began way before December. It began when Brett and I got married and started a life together. At that time, Brett was traveling over four hours a day to his job near Chicago. He hated his job, and he hated the drive.
And I got to hear about it. Every single day for almost six years.
Do you know what it is like to live with someone who has a bad day every day for six years? I do. It’s not pleasant.
I’m not saying I didn’t have bad days at work, too. I had a psycho boss for four years. And I’m sure I “vented” occasionally, too.
But with Brett, it became an obsession. It nearly ruined us financially and threw our marriage into turmoil.
Don’t get me wrong. Brett and I love each other. We always have. Love has never been our problem. Our problem is outlook and communication.
After the six years Brett spent hating his job, and I spent watching him spiral into negativity and depression, I was relieved beyond measure when he got his present job.
And things started looking up. And then they stopped.
Because, Brett doesn’t like this job either. He has his reasons, I suppose. But I, and everyone else who spent the last six years praying for and commiserating with Brett, thinks he should just keep at it. Keep trying.
This job has relieved a GREAT financial burden and provided great health benefits for Brett without me having to pay through the nose for it at my non-profit job.
But, as I said, Brett doesn’t like it. And the spiral – the negative comments, the depression – all began again.
I was/am close to tearing my hair out again.
See the key to understanding the whole situation is to look at Brett’s personality. He has SO many wonderful qualities. That’s what attracted me to him in the first place. Plus he happens to love me – which is the best attraction on earth.
He is a hard worker, but easily discouraged, and definitely not an optimist by nature.
So, you can see where the problems begin. Add to that – I don’t know where Brett is spiritually. I used to think I did, but I don’t anymore. And (as we all know) without God – nothing is possible.
We’ve already decided to start marriage counseling with our pastor. We need to learn how to talk and relate to each other. We need to learn how to deal with stress in our jobs without letting it swamp our marriage.
At first, I was worried about the stigma of going to “marriage counseling.” Then I saw it as a quick fix - as in fix my husband, please! But now, I’m just so ready, because I love my husband and I know he loves me, but right now, living together is very difficult.
As I described it to Pastor – It’s like being out in the middle of the ocean, no land in sight, with an anchor tied to my leg. And my job is to keep the anchor afloat.
I’m normally a happy person. A positive person. But being around a negative person (even if it is my husband) has taken its toll. I have found myself drawn into the web of negative thinking.
I’ve also found myself trying to be “cheery” enough for both of us. This is extremely stressful, since you can’t be someone else’s Mood Meter and all it ends up doing is making you overcompensate, lose focus, and end up resenting the crankypants you were trying to help.
Also, this type of attitude can be enabling to the “depressor.” They think – “Hey, she’s going to keep pretending to be happy, so I don’t have to worry about it, I’ll just keep being depressed.” And if you’re me – you don’t want to live a pretend life.
I want a real life. I want a real married life. And I’m willing to sacrifice – but I need to know that he is, too. And since we both think counseling is a good idea, I guess that is the first step.
So, you may wonder, what does all this have to do with the Rehfeldt Christmas Eve Party? Well, I’ll tell you.
It was shaping up to be an okay Christmas. Not a GREAT Christmas. When you are having marriage troubles, spiritual troubles, it extends to all areas of your life. Our recent bout with marriage troubles erased our motivation to decorate for the holidays, try hard at our jobs, and made us be not-so-jolly in general.
Still, my sister-cousins, Charity and Colleen were home for Christmas – an unexpected present. Charity and I were able to sit down and create a Christmas Eve skit – You might be a Rehfeldt if… - as a take-off on Jeff Foxworthy’s You might be a Redneck if…
Brett and I skipped caroling, so I could make my mother-in-law’s famous Mashed Potato Casserole and my not-so-famous Cream Cheese Biscuits. Then, we headed to the party site.
We enjoyed some delicious food. People were making small talk, asking the normal questions. Unfortunately, one of the “normal” questions people ask is “How is your job?” After the third person asked Brett how his job was, and he launched into the same depressing story (a story which I have heard over and over and over and over again), I decided to go talk to Mom.
Admittedly, we did talk about Brett’s job, but just for a minute of two. Then, I became involved in talking to other people and (frankly) just having a good time.
After a while, I went outside to get a soda. There were Mom and Brett talking in a lively manner about him sticking with his job. They both seemed upset, but then Mom turned and went inside. Brett was so angry; I could almost see steam escaping from his head.
“Okay,” I thought. “I’ll just go further out in the parking lot and talk to him until he calms down.”
But that’s not how it worked out. We ended up arguing.
He wanted me to sympathize with him, to be part of his pity party. I knew that would enable him to be negative, so I refused. I just didn’t say anything.
I want him to suck it up and just do his job – there’s a reason why it’s called “work” - it is not necessarily supposed to be fun, you know.
We argued all the way through the party, sitting outside in the car. I cried, and he sighed.
Eventually, Mom came out to let me know the skits were starting. I told her that I wouldn’t be able to participate. She could see something was wrong, so she ended up bringing out our gifts from Santa and our dishes from the party, so we could leave without going back inside.
My face was all splotchy from crying, so I was very grateful.
I felt bad brushing family off, especially my cousin Aaron and his wife, Linda, who we don’t see often enough. Also, for letting Charity down in the skit reading. Plus, I felt more than a little sorry for myself – missing my first Rehfeldt Christmas Party.
The rest of Christmas was pretty dismal. Brett and I worked things out – he’ll stay at his present job until he can find a new one. But I stayed home with Mom and Gary while he went down to his family’s Christmas in Geneva. I just could not handle hostility from Dave and Dawn, considering what an emotional wreck I was.
It was a good decision. Mom and I watched movies, and I cried some more while Gary made us all hot chocolate.
Like I said, and not to be depressing, the fourth worst Christmas ever.
But at least nobody died.
Friday, December 29, 2006
Back in the Blogosphere
Hello, everyone!
I’m back and so sorry for the lack of communication. I did not drop off the face of the earth (although I felt like it with not being able to blog regularly). Our PC monitor decided to depart from this earth rather unexpectedly this past week, and we just now got a replacement.
I’ll be posting regularly again now that I can actually see what I am typing.
Here’s hoping everyone had a better Christmas than yours truly did.
Bah Humbug, indeed!
I’m back and so sorry for the lack of communication. I did not drop off the face of the earth (although I felt like it with not being able to blog regularly). Our PC monitor decided to depart from this earth rather unexpectedly this past week, and we just now got a replacement.
I’ll be posting regularly again now that I can actually see what I am typing.
Here’s hoping everyone had a better Christmas than yours truly did.
Bah Humbug, indeed!
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
Shopping with SAWs
There’s just something peaceful about grocery shopping.
I love perusing the aisles, looking at all the wonderful foodstuffs available. For one thing, it automatically makes me grateful for the abundance we enjoy here in the United States.
It also makes me marvel in wonder that I am now, in fact, a grown-up and can shop for my own food.
One of my favorite books as a teenager was a slim paperback, Sein Language, by comedian Jerry Seinfeld. It’s a collection of some of his more memorable comedy material. In it, he says that the greatest thing about being a grown up is the ability to eat whatever kind of food whenever and wherever you want. “Hey, it’s 3:00 a.m., and I want to eat a cookie. And I want to eat it in bed, and HEY, I can – because I’m a grown up.”
It’s true. I love being able to choose whatever I want to put in my cart. Lately, I’ve been jonesing for fruit snacks. Now, normally, I don’t eat fruit snacks, but I’ve just had this craving for them recently. So, last night, I threw a box of Welch’s Fruit Splash fruit snacks in my cart. No one made fun of me for eating fruit snacks “at my age,” and all I had for dinner last night was three fruit snack packets.
I REFUSE to shop with the barbaric hordes at “the” Super (aka Subhuman) Walmart. Instead, I enjoy shopping at a neighborhood grocery store where the fresh produce is amazingly good. (By the way, I’m pretty sure all the produce at Walmart is dead on delivery. Seriously, I’ve been in their produce department – I wouldn’t feed that stuff to starving criminals!)
Last night I stocked up on all the good stuff – bananas, green grapes, raspberries, blackberries, cherries, and my favorite apples – Pink Lady Apples (these are my favorite because they taste so good and have such a great name – makes me think of my beloved Mary Kay and the bad girl group from Grease – how could I ask for more from a fruit?).
I also shopped for the rabbits. Our rabbits are incredibly spoiled, but I never feel guilty about it since they bring us so much delight and unlimited cuteness. The rabbits get a fresh all-veggie diet, including carrot chips, parsley, cilantro, kale, endive lettuce, red leaf lettuce, and spinach. For an additional treat, I will occasionally throw in some fresh basil – which they go CRAZY for. Some fruits are safe for rabbits and a small piece makes a great occasional treat, such as bananas, peaches, and apples. Peyton and Hannah’s favorite treat is bananas. They practically climb up my leg when I’m carrying a (still completely wrapped) banana!
As I shopped, I came to face-to-face with one of my least favorite “types” of grocery people – Slow Aisle Walkers (SAW). Now, I understand there are some people who can’t help walking slowly up and down the aisles. Say, like elderly people and people with disabilities. Okay, I get that – I’m not totally unsympathetic.
BUT, yesterday I had to deal with SAWs and with Aisle Blockers (AB). You know who these people are. They stand on one side of the grocery aisle and angle their cart so it blocks the entire aisle. So, you end up standing there, with your cart in front of you, unable to go any further, forced to wait congenially while they decide whether they want creamy or chunky peanut butter.
Sometimes ABs like to talk out loud about their decisions. Sometimes they even ask your opinion – LIKE I CARE WHAT KIND OF PEANUT BUTTER YOUR EIGHT YEAR OLD LIKES – MOVE YOUR CART ALREADY!!! “Oh, that’s nice. I’m sure your daughter will love that creamy peanut butter. Excuse me.” And you move on, gritting your teeth.
Sometimes you will run into those people who are both SAWs and ABs. This happened to me last night. A young family – young mom, young dad, and barely-able-to-walk young daughter. It was like they hadn’t been out of the house in years. They walked so slowly. I blame the toddler - that kid needs to learn how to MOVE IT!
Unfortunately, the family was about one aisle ahead of me, so I kept getting stuck as they walked slowly and blocked aisles with their cart. I took several routes to avoid them and just kept ending up in their path. It was amazingly frustrating! Eventually, the young mother noticed that her daughter kept drifting out into the main aisle like a drunken sailor and managed to pull her back toward them. It’s a good thing – that kid was about get mowed down – not by me, of course :-)
Finally, I left the young family in housewares where they debated the idea of buying sippie cups. Thank goodness, I didn’t have to go down that aisle, too!
Checkout was pretty easy and breezy, and I got in my car ready to head for home. On the way, I got stuck behind some guy who was distracted and wouldn’t GO on a GREEN light. It took me all of five seconds to realize it was the young family, again! I gave a not-so-gentle nudge of the horn, and the minivan finally edged out into traffic.
I drove home shaking my head and muttering – “Some people.” You know, come to think of it, maybe grocery shopping isn’t always all that peaceful!
I love perusing the aisles, looking at all the wonderful foodstuffs available. For one thing, it automatically makes me grateful for the abundance we enjoy here in the United States.
It also makes me marvel in wonder that I am now, in fact, a grown-up and can shop for my own food.
One of my favorite books as a teenager was a slim paperback, Sein Language, by comedian Jerry Seinfeld. It’s a collection of some of his more memorable comedy material. In it, he says that the greatest thing about being a grown up is the ability to eat whatever kind of food whenever and wherever you want. “Hey, it’s 3:00 a.m., and I want to eat a cookie. And I want to eat it in bed, and HEY, I can – because I’m a grown up.”
It’s true. I love being able to choose whatever I want to put in my cart. Lately, I’ve been jonesing for fruit snacks. Now, normally, I don’t eat fruit snacks, but I’ve just had this craving for them recently. So, last night, I threw a box of Welch’s Fruit Splash fruit snacks in my cart. No one made fun of me for eating fruit snacks “at my age,” and all I had for dinner last night was three fruit snack packets.
I REFUSE to shop with the barbaric hordes at “the” Super (aka Subhuman) Walmart. Instead, I enjoy shopping at a neighborhood grocery store where the fresh produce is amazingly good. (By the way, I’m pretty sure all the produce at Walmart is dead on delivery. Seriously, I’ve been in their produce department – I wouldn’t feed that stuff to starving criminals!)
Last night I stocked up on all the good stuff – bananas, green grapes, raspberries, blackberries, cherries, and my favorite apples – Pink Lady Apples (these are my favorite because they taste so good and have such a great name – makes me think of my beloved Mary Kay and the bad girl group from Grease – how could I ask for more from a fruit?).
I also shopped for the rabbits. Our rabbits are incredibly spoiled, but I never feel guilty about it since they bring us so much delight and unlimited cuteness. The rabbits get a fresh all-veggie diet, including carrot chips, parsley, cilantro, kale, endive lettuce, red leaf lettuce, and spinach. For an additional treat, I will occasionally throw in some fresh basil – which they go CRAZY for. Some fruits are safe for rabbits and a small piece makes a great occasional treat, such as bananas, peaches, and apples. Peyton and Hannah’s favorite treat is bananas. They practically climb up my leg when I’m carrying a (still completely wrapped) banana!
As I shopped, I came to face-to-face with one of my least favorite “types” of grocery people – Slow Aisle Walkers (SAW). Now, I understand there are some people who can’t help walking slowly up and down the aisles. Say, like elderly people and people with disabilities. Okay, I get that – I’m not totally unsympathetic.
BUT, yesterday I had to deal with SAWs and with Aisle Blockers (AB). You know who these people are. They stand on one side of the grocery aisle and angle their cart so it blocks the entire aisle. So, you end up standing there, with your cart in front of you, unable to go any further, forced to wait congenially while they decide whether they want creamy or chunky peanut butter.
Sometimes ABs like to talk out loud about their decisions. Sometimes they even ask your opinion – LIKE I CARE WHAT KIND OF PEANUT BUTTER YOUR EIGHT YEAR OLD LIKES – MOVE YOUR CART ALREADY!!! “Oh, that’s nice. I’m sure your daughter will love that creamy peanut butter. Excuse me.” And you move on, gritting your teeth.
Sometimes you will run into those people who are both SAWs and ABs. This happened to me last night. A young family – young mom, young dad, and barely-able-to-walk young daughter. It was like they hadn’t been out of the house in years. They walked so slowly. I blame the toddler - that kid needs to learn how to MOVE IT!
Unfortunately, the family was about one aisle ahead of me, so I kept getting stuck as they walked slowly and blocked aisles with their cart. I took several routes to avoid them and just kept ending up in their path. It was amazingly frustrating! Eventually, the young mother noticed that her daughter kept drifting out into the main aisle like a drunken sailor and managed to pull her back toward them. It’s a good thing – that kid was about get mowed down – not by me, of course :-)
Finally, I left the young family in housewares where they debated the idea of buying sippie cups. Thank goodness, I didn’t have to go down that aisle, too!
Checkout was pretty easy and breezy, and I got in my car ready to head for home. On the way, I got stuck behind some guy who was distracted and wouldn’t GO on a GREEN light. It took me all of five seconds to realize it was the young family, again! I gave a not-so-gentle nudge of the horn, and the minivan finally edged out into traffic.
I drove home shaking my head and muttering – “Some people.” You know, come to think of it, maybe grocery shopping isn’t always all that peaceful!
Saturday, December 16, 2006
Gorgeous But Deadly
Colin Farrell is also an inspiration for one of my Bruised characters. “His” character is the angry, abusive foster father in the novel. So, as good looking as he is here, imagine him very, very mad.
Tom Who?
Tom Welling is the inspiration for one of the main characters in my novel, Bruised. Often, I watch his show, Smallville, to capture his mannerisms. Here’s a photo for those of you who don’t know who he is or what he looks like.
Gone Awry But All Right Anyway
I had such big plans for last night. I was going to get all our laundry done, all our dishes done (via the dishwasher – I’m not crazy), wrap gifts, write our Christmas letter, and maybe even CLEAN (yuck) a little.
What DID I get done? One load of laundry, one load of dishes, and …that’s it.
I took a break to watch a Quantum Leap episode which must have been the season opener, since it was like two hours long. Then, I had to get my Tom Welling fix, so I watched an episode of Smallville. By then it was after 10:00 p.m., and since I knew I had to work today, I decided to go to bed.
Then, when I got upstairs and climbed into the nice toasty bed where my husband had already zonked out for the rest of the night, I was restless. So I started reading this new Judaic mystery book I checked out from the library. It’s a mystery, but also a comparison between Jewish and Christian beliefs – written from a Jewish perspective. It’s fascinating, interesting, and I can’t wait to see whodunit. Since my last conscious thought was reading the book, I’m not really sure when I did fall asleep.
I think, mentally, I was a little lazy last night, since I knew today was going to be oh-so-busy. First off, I’m working today. We’ve got a special PR event, and I’m trying to get caught up on all my work before the holidays hit. Then, at 7:00 p.m., we have my cousin’s Paul and Kara’s Holiday Luminary Party. We can only stay at their party for an hour, since we have Game Night Group tonight, too. We’ll get there a little late, but that’s okay, since usually we go to 1:00 or 2:00 a.m. the next day anyway.
December has really snuck up on me this year. Normally, I feel like I have plenty of time to prepare for it. I always get our trees up and all the decorations up. But, this year, time has just flown by. I don’t know why, but I’ve just been especially busy this year – or especially lazy. Either way, our house is bereft of any Christmas decorations.
I have, however, finished most of my shopping. Mom – check. Charity – check. Colleen – check. Rehfeldt Family Christmas Gifts – check. Co-worker Gifts – check. I do need to get a gift for Gary, Brett’s family, Candice, and Grandma. But then, I’m done. Yeah!
Candice asked for a gift card this year – easy as pie. Mom says that’s what Grandma wants, too. We’re getting Gary a flannel shirt from Gander Mountain (don’t worry, he doesn’t read my blog – doesn’t know what a “blog” is) and getting popcorn tins for Brett’s family. And, boring but dependable, getting each of the kids $5 this year. It’s all we can afford – ends up being $55, after all. I’m a little worried about what to get my oldest nephew Bryan. He’s 21 and engaged, so I don’t think $5 is going to cut it anymore. I’m thinking maybe a gift card to a restaurant, so he and his fiancée can go out to eat.
Oh, and I almost forgot Al – Brett’s dad – he’s getting a certificate to Outback, one of his favorite restaurants. Brett’s brothers and sisters often go in and get him a really NICE expensive gift, but they never invite us to go in with them. We’ve asked to be included, but they conveniently “forget” to ask us every year. I’m not really sure why they do this, but after this year, I think it is on purpose. This has not been a shining year for the benevolence of the rest of the Soderstrom family. Or at least some of them. Some of them should be ashamed of themselves, since they proclaim to be Christians but act every other way than Christ-like. And that’s all I’m going to say about that.
So, today is going to be a busy day. I’m excited and looking forward to spending it with people I like (my co-workers), family, and friends.
Cheers!
What DID I get done? One load of laundry, one load of dishes, and …that’s it.
I took a break to watch a Quantum Leap episode which must have been the season opener, since it was like two hours long. Then, I had to get my Tom Welling fix, so I watched an episode of Smallville. By then it was after 10:00 p.m., and since I knew I had to work today, I decided to go to bed.
Then, when I got upstairs and climbed into the nice toasty bed where my husband had already zonked out for the rest of the night, I was restless. So I started reading this new Judaic mystery book I checked out from the library. It’s a mystery, but also a comparison between Jewish and Christian beliefs – written from a Jewish perspective. It’s fascinating, interesting, and I can’t wait to see whodunit. Since my last conscious thought was reading the book, I’m not really sure when I did fall asleep.
I think, mentally, I was a little lazy last night, since I knew today was going to be oh-so-busy. First off, I’m working today. We’ve got a special PR event, and I’m trying to get caught up on all my work before the holidays hit. Then, at 7:00 p.m., we have my cousin’s Paul and Kara’s Holiday Luminary Party. We can only stay at their party for an hour, since we have Game Night Group tonight, too. We’ll get there a little late, but that’s okay, since usually we go to 1:00 or 2:00 a.m. the next day anyway.
December has really snuck up on me this year. Normally, I feel like I have plenty of time to prepare for it. I always get our trees up and all the decorations up. But, this year, time has just flown by. I don’t know why, but I’ve just been especially busy this year – or especially lazy. Either way, our house is bereft of any Christmas decorations.
I have, however, finished most of my shopping. Mom – check. Charity – check. Colleen – check. Rehfeldt Family Christmas Gifts – check. Co-worker Gifts – check. I do need to get a gift for Gary, Brett’s family, Candice, and Grandma. But then, I’m done. Yeah!
Candice asked for a gift card this year – easy as pie. Mom says that’s what Grandma wants, too. We’re getting Gary a flannel shirt from Gander Mountain (don’t worry, he doesn’t read my blog – doesn’t know what a “blog” is) and getting popcorn tins for Brett’s family. And, boring but dependable, getting each of the kids $5 this year. It’s all we can afford – ends up being $55, after all. I’m a little worried about what to get my oldest nephew Bryan. He’s 21 and engaged, so I don’t think $5 is going to cut it anymore. I’m thinking maybe a gift card to a restaurant, so he and his fiancée can go out to eat.
Oh, and I almost forgot Al – Brett’s dad – he’s getting a certificate to Outback, one of his favorite restaurants. Brett’s brothers and sisters often go in and get him a really NICE expensive gift, but they never invite us to go in with them. We’ve asked to be included, but they conveniently “forget” to ask us every year. I’m not really sure why they do this, but after this year, I think it is on purpose. This has not been a shining year for the benevolence of the rest of the Soderstrom family. Or at least some of them. Some of them should be ashamed of themselves, since they proclaim to be Christians but act every other way than Christ-like. And that’s all I’m going to say about that.
So, today is going to be a busy day. I’m excited and looking forward to spending it with people I like (my co-workers), family, and friends.
Cheers!
Friday, December 15, 2006
Amazing Apocalypto
I have a movie recommendation. If you want compelling heart-stopping action, heart-breaking emotion, and a sprinkling of comedy – go see Mel Gibson’s Apocalypto.
Angie e-mailed me on Thursday and asked if I wanted to catch a movie, Apocalypto, before she left for vacation on Friday. She also threw in a little schmoopyness by saying, “I just wanted to see you before I left.” Sa-wheat!
Angie and some members of her family – but not her kids or her husband – are going to Orlando, Florida for a week of December fun! No kids, no husband – boy, does she know how to take a family vacation! Lucky girl!
Anyway, we worked it out so we could catch an early showing of the movie. It was us and about ten retired people. I think they must get a discount on Thursday or something, because they were out in droves to see other movies!
Anyway, we watched Apocalypto, and it was fantastic. It really held me from the beginning to the end. Yes, it was a little bloody at points, but I don’t think it took away from the story or was distracting in any way. It was just true to life during that time period.
So, if you’re wondering if it’s worth the $8.50 – I give it two thumbs up. And that’s all I have to give!
Angie e-mailed me on Thursday and asked if I wanted to catch a movie, Apocalypto, before she left for vacation on Friday. She also threw in a little schmoopyness by saying, “I just wanted to see you before I left.” Sa-wheat!
Angie and some members of her family – but not her kids or her husband – are going to Orlando, Florida for a week of December fun! No kids, no husband – boy, does she know how to take a family vacation! Lucky girl!
Anyway, we worked it out so we could catch an early showing of the movie. It was us and about ten retired people. I think they must get a discount on Thursday or something, because they were out in droves to see other movies!
Anyway, we watched Apocalypto, and it was fantastic. It really held me from the beginning to the end. Yes, it was a little bloody at points, but I don’t think it took away from the story or was distracting in any way. It was just true to life during that time period.
So, if you’re wondering if it’s worth the $8.50 – I give it two thumbs up. And that’s all I have to give!
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
A Fog Unlifted
I had an other-worldly experience driving to work today. It was like being submersed in an Ansel Adams photograph. The fog was really heavy - giving everything this spooky, soft, wispy look. The tree branches stretched out like skinny arms, and everything was shrouded in white cotton clouds.
It was SO cool!
There I was, driving to work in this ethereal world, sipping my recent purchase of a Panera hot chocolate listening to Alan Jackson’s rich voice sing beautiful old hymns. It felt great, almost like a waking dream. I sang along to Blessed Assurance, Everlasting Arms, and I Come to the Garden Alone (which always makes me cry and think of Aunt Kathy – she and my Uncle Scott used to sing that song together at people’s funerals).
As I was driving, I though about that old Native American phrase – “Today is a good day to die.” The first time I heard that phrase I thought it was morbid and pictured writhing savages spitting out the phrase on their dying breath in the midst of tribal war.
Later, I learned my perception was wrong. The phrase was used when a person felt like everything was going right in their lives - that they were, in fact, at the peak of their lives. The reasoning being that they could die while everything was right with the world.
As Christians, we are supposed to live every day in the present, since we don’t know when the Lord will return or when our time on this earth will come to an end. As I drove on in the fog I thought about today being a good day to die. If my sip of hot chocolate was the last thing I tasted, if I died in that moment. I pictured my car lifting up and driving to heaven, like that car in Grease.
I felt happy picturing myself driving up through the fog to heaven. I thought about seeing my dad again and Brett’s mom. I imagined the loving arms of Jesus wrapped around me and his whispering, “Welcome home, my child.”
I’d see my Aunt Kathy singing in the heavenly choir. Streets of gold, star studded mansions, saints on every corner, and a mighty sky I can barely imagine.
I snapped back to earth at the next red light, after a zooming yellow Mustang cut me off. I drove the rest of the way to work contemplating. I don’t think about death all that often, but ever since Dad died unexpectedly, I do think about it. I think of myself as finite and fragile and life as something to be treasured but also held loosely. We don’t know the number of years, months, days, hours, or minutes in our lives. And we don’t have to. He does.
I’m 28 years old and there are a lot of things I want to accomplish yet. There are a great many things I’m thankful for – people, things, and experiences in my life. But Dad’s death taught me that “our times are in His hands.”
God willing, I live for a great many more years, but (rapture not withholding) if not, today is a good day to die.
It was SO cool!
There I was, driving to work in this ethereal world, sipping my recent purchase of a Panera hot chocolate listening to Alan Jackson’s rich voice sing beautiful old hymns. It felt great, almost like a waking dream. I sang along to Blessed Assurance, Everlasting Arms, and I Come to the Garden Alone (which always makes me cry and think of Aunt Kathy – she and my Uncle Scott used to sing that song together at people’s funerals).
As I was driving, I though about that old Native American phrase – “Today is a good day to die.” The first time I heard that phrase I thought it was morbid and pictured writhing savages spitting out the phrase on their dying breath in the midst of tribal war.
Later, I learned my perception was wrong. The phrase was used when a person felt like everything was going right in their lives - that they were, in fact, at the peak of their lives. The reasoning being that they could die while everything was right with the world.
As Christians, we are supposed to live every day in the present, since we don’t know when the Lord will return or when our time on this earth will come to an end. As I drove on in the fog I thought about today being a good day to die. If my sip of hot chocolate was the last thing I tasted, if I died in that moment. I pictured my car lifting up and driving to heaven, like that car in Grease.
I felt happy picturing myself driving up through the fog to heaven. I thought about seeing my dad again and Brett’s mom. I imagined the loving arms of Jesus wrapped around me and his whispering, “Welcome home, my child.”
I’d see my Aunt Kathy singing in the heavenly choir. Streets of gold, star studded mansions, saints on every corner, and a mighty sky I can barely imagine.
I snapped back to earth at the next red light, after a zooming yellow Mustang cut me off. I drove the rest of the way to work contemplating. I don’t think about death all that often, but ever since Dad died unexpectedly, I do think about it. I think of myself as finite and fragile and life as something to be treasured but also held loosely. We don’t know the number of years, months, days, hours, or minutes in our lives. And we don’t have to. He does.
I’m 28 years old and there are a lot of things I want to accomplish yet. There are a great many things I’m thankful for – people, things, and experiences in my life. But Dad’s death taught me that “our times are in His hands.”
God willing, I live for a great many more years, but (rapture not withholding) if not, today is a good day to die.
Sunday, December 10, 2006
The Incredible Laziness of Being Sick
What began as a tickle in the back of my throat has finally evolved into a full nose blowing cold. And, because I do not believe in suffering alone, I have kindly shared my ailment with my husband.
Isn’t that nice of me?
In the marriage vows, we’re asked if we take each other in sickness and health – but nowhere does anyone ask “even if you are both sick at the same time?”
I am an only child. Brett is a youngest child. So, it goes without saying (although I am going to anyway) that we were both pampered and a little spoiled growing up. In the past, we’ve had a great many disagreements over this very fact. This stems from both of us being used to someone else taking care of us.
I remember the first time I realized this was going to be a problem. We were newly married and in our first apartment.
One morning, I noticed there were crumbs on the counter by the toaster. Since I hadn’t made toast, I assumed the crumbs were from Brett and figured he would clean up his mess. The next day the crumbs were still there. And the next day.
Finally, I asked Brett to clean up “his” mess. He looked totally surprised. Turns out, he had been waiting for me to clean it up, since he didn’t remember making any toast, and figured I would clean up my own mess.
And there we were – stuck. Who was going to clean up the mess? Whoever did would be volunteering to clean up anonymous messes in the future for the WHOLE of our married life. Who would cave first?
Well, I caved and cleaned up not-my-mess. Why? Because as stubborn as I am, I knew when anyone visited our apartment and saw a mess they would automatically think of me as a horrible housekeeper – just because I was the “wife.”
Why doesn’t anyone blame the husband? I mean, he has the same two arms I do. And he makes two times the mess I do. But invariably it happens that any household dirt and mess is blamed on the wife’s bad housekeeping.
Over the years, I have become used to – although never happy about – living with a slob. I love, love, love my husband. He has a great many endearing and wonderful qualities. But he is not a neat freak.
Oh, he’s a neat freak about certain things – his things. His guns, his books, his records…stuff like that. We’re talking about clothes, cleaning, and consuming.
Now, I’m going to sound like a typical wife, a stereotypical wife, but in this case, the stereotype IS the reality. My otherwise wonderful husband leaves all his dirty clothes in piles on the bedroom floor; he manages to share half his food with his clothes and the carpet; and he wouldn’t know how to load the dishwasher, the dryer, or what a toilet brush was if it bit him on the nose.
Like I said – normal.
Over the years, we’ve developed (like every other couple) our own way of coping with the situation. We’ve both learned and grown and changed several of our habits.
But all that goes out the window when we both get sick. Because, when we both get sick, we suffer not only our own ailment, but a case of extreme selfishness.
This comes from both of us having the same sickness desires. When we are sick, we both want to lay on the couch, watch TV, and have someone wait on us.
But - when we are both sick - that is impossible for several reasons. First, we only have one good couch. Our other couch is broken and the only other thing to sit on is a chair. Now, you show me a sick person who is comfortable sitting on a chair!
Second, we have different “watching materials” for when we are sick. I like to watch romantic comedies; Brett wants to watch World War II documentaries. Then, of course, we have to decide who will dole out the medicine and make tea and soup. Who, indeed?
This morning I woke up – after a very wonderful Saturday – coughing, sneezing, and with a very sore throat. I turned over, looked at Brett, and saw he was suffering, too. Eventually, I managed to pull myself out of bed. I knew we were in no shape to go to church – not that anyone would want what we have, anyway.
I immediately figured that if I did the laundry, started the dishwasher, and fed the rabbits, I could sack out on the couch and get in a couple of Murder, She Wrote episodes (courtesy of Netflix). After I’d gotten everything started, I grabbed a pillow and headed to the couch. And there he was – The Selfish Lump I Married. Already comfy on our one couch.
Well! Well! So, he snuck in when I was busy cleaning up all the anonymous messes. I knew this day would come! I shouldn’t have caved all those years ago. If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have cared about the laundry, dishes, and rabbits – I would have been the one going straight to the couch. I would have been the one snuggled up watching TV.
When I’m sick, I get very temperamental. And, for some reason, when I looked at my poor, sick husband, I did not feel the least bit maternal or nurturing. I was sick, too. I was much sicker than he was. So, I did it. Something I would NEVER do normally.
I kicked him off the couch.
Actually, he left the couch of his own volition. But only after I gave him a five minute lecture on why a good husband gives his wife the couch, especially after he’s sat by and let her do all the chores – which he could have – but didn’t – help her with. I became judge, jury, and executioner. So, I guess, in essence, I gave him the chair.
Eventually, he wandered back upstairs and went to sleep. I, on the other hand, felt a little guilty (but not all that much) and watch four episodes of MSW, three episodes of Quantum Leap, and one episode of the Mary Tyler Moore Show. Then, I took a two hour nap.
I’d finally had enough of “me” time, even though I am still disgustingly sick. I washed and bagged all the rabbits’ salad, ran the dishwasher, washed and folded clothes, and then went in to check on my husband.
He was out like a light, slightly snoring. Standing there watching the man I love (most of the time) snoring and sniffling, I sensed that maternal, nurturing feeling spring back up inside me.
I shook him gently awake to see how he was doing. He told me he was planning to go to work tonight. I was touched – he’s very sick, and he’s still going to work to help provide for us. It’s one of the many ways he shows his love for me.
Love is a funny thing. It causes us to have higher expectations of the one we love. It can also make us mad when they don’t meet those expectations. But it also helps us to forgive and forget and facilitates peace back into our hearts.
So, I guess the next time we’re both sick, maybe I’ll let him have the couch. Maybe he’ll even consider giving me the couch.
If not, that’s okay; I have the power (apparently) to give him the chair.
Isn’t that nice of me?
In the marriage vows, we’re asked if we take each other in sickness and health – but nowhere does anyone ask “even if you are both sick at the same time?”
I am an only child. Brett is a youngest child. So, it goes without saying (although I am going to anyway) that we were both pampered and a little spoiled growing up. In the past, we’ve had a great many disagreements over this very fact. This stems from both of us being used to someone else taking care of us.
I remember the first time I realized this was going to be a problem. We were newly married and in our first apartment.
One morning, I noticed there were crumbs on the counter by the toaster. Since I hadn’t made toast, I assumed the crumbs were from Brett and figured he would clean up his mess. The next day the crumbs were still there. And the next day.
Finally, I asked Brett to clean up “his” mess. He looked totally surprised. Turns out, he had been waiting for me to clean it up, since he didn’t remember making any toast, and figured I would clean up my own mess.
And there we were – stuck. Who was going to clean up the mess? Whoever did would be volunteering to clean up anonymous messes in the future for the WHOLE of our married life. Who would cave first?
Well, I caved and cleaned up not-my-mess. Why? Because as stubborn as I am, I knew when anyone visited our apartment and saw a mess they would automatically think of me as a horrible housekeeper – just because I was the “wife.”
Why doesn’t anyone blame the husband? I mean, he has the same two arms I do. And he makes two times the mess I do. But invariably it happens that any household dirt and mess is blamed on the wife’s bad housekeeping.
Over the years, I have become used to – although never happy about – living with a slob. I love, love, love my husband. He has a great many endearing and wonderful qualities. But he is not a neat freak.
Oh, he’s a neat freak about certain things – his things. His guns, his books, his records…stuff like that. We’re talking about clothes, cleaning, and consuming.
Now, I’m going to sound like a typical wife, a stereotypical wife, but in this case, the stereotype IS the reality. My otherwise wonderful husband leaves all his dirty clothes in piles on the bedroom floor; he manages to share half his food with his clothes and the carpet; and he wouldn’t know how to load the dishwasher, the dryer, or what a toilet brush was if it bit him on the nose.
Like I said – normal.
Over the years, we’ve developed (like every other couple) our own way of coping with the situation. We’ve both learned and grown and changed several of our habits.
But all that goes out the window when we both get sick. Because, when we both get sick, we suffer not only our own ailment, but a case of extreme selfishness.
This comes from both of us having the same sickness desires. When we are sick, we both want to lay on the couch, watch TV, and have someone wait on us.
But - when we are both sick - that is impossible for several reasons. First, we only have one good couch. Our other couch is broken and the only other thing to sit on is a chair. Now, you show me a sick person who is comfortable sitting on a chair!
Second, we have different “watching materials” for when we are sick. I like to watch romantic comedies; Brett wants to watch World War II documentaries. Then, of course, we have to decide who will dole out the medicine and make tea and soup. Who, indeed?
This morning I woke up – after a very wonderful Saturday – coughing, sneezing, and with a very sore throat. I turned over, looked at Brett, and saw he was suffering, too. Eventually, I managed to pull myself out of bed. I knew we were in no shape to go to church – not that anyone would want what we have, anyway.
I immediately figured that if I did the laundry, started the dishwasher, and fed the rabbits, I could sack out on the couch and get in a couple of Murder, She Wrote episodes (courtesy of Netflix). After I’d gotten everything started, I grabbed a pillow and headed to the couch. And there he was – The Selfish Lump I Married. Already comfy on our one couch.
Well! Well! So, he snuck in when I was busy cleaning up all the anonymous messes. I knew this day would come! I shouldn’t have caved all those years ago. If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have cared about the laundry, dishes, and rabbits – I would have been the one going straight to the couch. I would have been the one snuggled up watching TV.
When I’m sick, I get very temperamental. And, for some reason, when I looked at my poor, sick husband, I did not feel the least bit maternal or nurturing. I was sick, too. I was much sicker than he was. So, I did it. Something I would NEVER do normally.
I kicked him off the couch.
Actually, he left the couch of his own volition. But only after I gave him a five minute lecture on why a good husband gives his wife the couch, especially after he’s sat by and let her do all the chores – which he could have – but didn’t – help her with. I became judge, jury, and executioner. So, I guess, in essence, I gave him the chair.
Eventually, he wandered back upstairs and went to sleep. I, on the other hand, felt a little guilty (but not all that much) and watch four episodes of MSW, three episodes of Quantum Leap, and one episode of the Mary Tyler Moore Show. Then, I took a two hour nap.
I’d finally had enough of “me” time, even though I am still disgustingly sick. I washed and bagged all the rabbits’ salad, ran the dishwasher, washed and folded clothes, and then went in to check on my husband.
He was out like a light, slightly snoring. Standing there watching the man I love (most of the time) snoring and sniffling, I sensed that maternal, nurturing feeling spring back up inside me.
I shook him gently awake to see how he was doing. He told me he was planning to go to work tonight. I was touched – he’s very sick, and he’s still going to work to help provide for us. It’s one of the many ways he shows his love for me.
Love is a funny thing. It causes us to have higher expectations of the one we love. It can also make us mad when they don’t meet those expectations. But it also helps us to forgive and forget and facilitates peace back into our hearts.
So, I guess the next time we’re both sick, maybe I’ll let him have the couch. Maybe he’ll even consider giving me the couch.
If not, that’s okay; I have the power (apparently) to give him the chair.
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
A Delightful Change of Plans
I had big plans for tonight. I was going to come home, put my Fall decorations away, and start cleaning, before I put my Winter decorations up.
Usually, I’m on top of the game when it comes to getting ready for Christmas. I put everything up the weekend after Thanksgiving like clockwork. But this year the time just seemed to get away from me.
Part of it involved a couple days of deep depression. I used to think that my depression was from my dad’s side of the family. My dad’s older brother, Phil, was clinically depressed and committed suicide at 21. But, after reading some of my cousins’ blogs, I think I might be cursed on both sides.
Much of my depression had to do with the Holy Spirit. I was being convicted. And I knew it. I have this all-too-human tendency to try to hold on to my worldly desires. I have a really hard time letting them go, even when it becomes painfully obvious it is exactly what God wants me to do.
I had been consumed by conviction and depressed because the last thing I wanted to let go were my earthly pleasures. Nothing was necessarily wrong with these pleasures, they are usually common things like watching TV, but I was being led by the Holy Spirit. My time was God’s time and the things I was doing were not a wise use of that time.
Last night I hit close to rock bottom. I spent most of the night crying, letting go, and asking for forgiveness and guidance. I started reading John Piper’s book When I Don’t Desire God. So far, I’ve enjoyed it, and it helped me get through the night.
As a result, I woke up this morning feeling recharged, refreshed, and most importantly – still redeemed. God’s forgiveness knows no bounds – even the seemingly fathomless bottoms of my wicked heart.
Then, to add even more blessing, I had a good day at work. I managed to overcome the design block I’d been encountering and felt revitalized. I even had more energy.
That’s the problem I battle most days. By the time I get home, I’m too exhausted to DO anything – like cleaning and decorating. But today felt different! I drove home anticipating what I could get done – cleaning and decorating-wise.
Brett was still asleep when I got home. The lights were out in our bedroom, and I hurriedly started to change in the dark, ready to get to work. Then, I heard a sleepy voice.
“Hey, where’re you going?”
My husband may be 37 in real life, but in his heart, he’s eternally 18! Whenever I’m home and in our room, he acts like we’re teenagers who have snuck upstairs to make out. It’s very endearing to be desired by a man with sleep-tousled hair who’s looking at me like I just stepped out of a Victoria Secret catalog (and believe me, I didn’t).
All in all, it wasn’t a hard decision to make. Cleaning or *quality* time with the man I love? Hmmm… So, there went my time and my energy.
I eventually got back downstairs – at 8:00 p.m. The house still isn’t clean and my Christmas decorations aren’t up, but my husband went off to work with a smile on his face.
All in all, a delightful change of plans!
Usually, I’m on top of the game when it comes to getting ready for Christmas. I put everything up the weekend after Thanksgiving like clockwork. But this year the time just seemed to get away from me.
Part of it involved a couple days of deep depression. I used to think that my depression was from my dad’s side of the family. My dad’s older brother, Phil, was clinically depressed and committed suicide at 21. But, after reading some of my cousins’ blogs, I think I might be cursed on both sides.
Much of my depression had to do with the Holy Spirit. I was being convicted. And I knew it. I have this all-too-human tendency to try to hold on to my worldly desires. I have a really hard time letting them go, even when it becomes painfully obvious it is exactly what God wants me to do.
I had been consumed by conviction and depressed because the last thing I wanted to let go were my earthly pleasures. Nothing was necessarily wrong with these pleasures, they are usually common things like watching TV, but I was being led by the Holy Spirit. My time was God’s time and the things I was doing were not a wise use of that time.
Last night I hit close to rock bottom. I spent most of the night crying, letting go, and asking for forgiveness and guidance. I started reading John Piper’s book When I Don’t Desire God. So far, I’ve enjoyed it, and it helped me get through the night.
As a result, I woke up this morning feeling recharged, refreshed, and most importantly – still redeemed. God’s forgiveness knows no bounds – even the seemingly fathomless bottoms of my wicked heart.
Then, to add even more blessing, I had a good day at work. I managed to overcome the design block I’d been encountering and felt revitalized. I even had more energy.
That’s the problem I battle most days. By the time I get home, I’m too exhausted to DO anything – like cleaning and decorating. But today felt different! I drove home anticipating what I could get done – cleaning and decorating-wise.
Brett was still asleep when I got home. The lights were out in our bedroom, and I hurriedly started to change in the dark, ready to get to work. Then, I heard a sleepy voice.
“Hey, where’re you going?”
My husband may be 37 in real life, but in his heart, he’s eternally 18! Whenever I’m home and in our room, he acts like we’re teenagers who have snuck upstairs to make out. It’s very endearing to be desired by a man with sleep-tousled hair who’s looking at me like I just stepped out of a Victoria Secret catalog (and believe me, I didn’t).
All in all, it wasn’t a hard decision to make. Cleaning or *quality* time with the man I love? Hmmm… So, there went my time and my energy.
I eventually got back downstairs – at 8:00 p.m. The house still isn’t clean and my Christmas decorations aren’t up, but my husband went off to work with a smile on his face.
All in all, a delightful change of plans!
Big Sexy Hair
Okay, I admit it! I’m addicted to big hair.
I love big hair. Love, love, love it! My addiction comes from going to a private Christian school where otherwise worldly fashions arrived about ten years later than the world experienced the trend. In other words, when I was a senior in 1996, we were still dressing and doing our hair a little more like 1986.
And BIG hair was still in.
Everyone had big hair. Everyone used ozone killing hair spray and hot rollers. And guess what? I still do. I love my hot rollers. If I had to pick my favorite invention, hot rollers would be right up there.
But lately, at the ripe old age of 28, I was told by my *amazing* hair stylist that I have – gulp! – FINE hair! A lot of it, but still fine in texture. I had always been told I had thick hair. I – it appears, according to my stylist – have been lied to. I have a lot of hair, yes – but it is not thick.
My stylist and I had this conversation because I was noticing a new trend in my hair. I would get my hair perfect (well, big and poufy enough for my standards) in the morning, but by 2:00 p.m., it was so limp it looked like I had gone swimming on my lunch hour. I was distraught!
So, my stylist gave me a new cut with *natural lift* and recommended a new shampoo/conditioner/hair spray brand. I took her advice, bought the products, and went home to try them out.
So far, the products are doing great. I love them, and I don’t look half drowned by the middle of the afternoon.
The problem? Well, the product name. Yesterday, Brett told me he feels a little funny showering in a stall with two giant red bottles proclaiming “BIG SEXY HAIR” in big, black letters.
I also felt funny asking my mom for BIG SEXY HAIR for Christmas. It’s an unforgettable name, that’s for sure!
Oh well, it works and that’s what matters.
Oh, and to make up for Brett’s feeling funny, I told him that I won’t mind at all if he decides he also wants to use my BIG SEXY HAIR! Mmm… wouldn’t you love a man with BIG SEXY HAIR?
I love big hair. Love, love, love it! My addiction comes from going to a private Christian school where otherwise worldly fashions arrived about ten years later than the world experienced the trend. In other words, when I was a senior in 1996, we were still dressing and doing our hair a little more like 1986.
And BIG hair was still in.
Everyone had big hair. Everyone used ozone killing hair spray and hot rollers. And guess what? I still do. I love my hot rollers. If I had to pick my favorite invention, hot rollers would be right up there.
But lately, at the ripe old age of 28, I was told by my *amazing* hair stylist that I have – gulp! – FINE hair! A lot of it, but still fine in texture. I had always been told I had thick hair. I – it appears, according to my stylist – have been lied to. I have a lot of hair, yes – but it is not thick.
My stylist and I had this conversation because I was noticing a new trend in my hair. I would get my hair perfect (well, big and poufy enough for my standards) in the morning, but by 2:00 p.m., it was so limp it looked like I had gone swimming on my lunch hour. I was distraught!
So, my stylist gave me a new cut with *natural lift* and recommended a new shampoo/conditioner/hair spray brand. I took her advice, bought the products, and went home to try them out.
So far, the products are doing great. I love them, and I don’t look half drowned by the middle of the afternoon.
The problem? Well, the product name. Yesterday, Brett told me he feels a little funny showering in a stall with two giant red bottles proclaiming “BIG SEXY HAIR” in big, black letters.
I also felt funny asking my mom for BIG SEXY HAIR for Christmas. It’s an unforgettable name, that’s for sure!
Oh well, it works and that’s what matters.
Oh, and to make up for Brett’s feeling funny, I told him that I won’t mind at all if he decides he also wants to use my BIG SEXY HAIR! Mmm… wouldn’t you love a man with BIG SEXY HAIR?
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
Wondering What To Do
What do I want to do? WHAT do I want to do?
Well, right now, I want to go back to bed, seeing as I’m writing this around 5:30 a.m. (I just yawned so big my jaw cracked!). (Oops, I did it again!) (Sorry for the Britney Spears reference.)
Actually, what I’m talking about is my career. And I’m really conflicted about it.
There is a very real possibility I’ll lose my job in late 2008, early 2009. My organization is merging with four other organizations. I’ve known about it for a year. Our corporate headquarters in New York have given us plenty of advance notice on the merger and produced lots of materials to help all of us through the process. Unfortunately, there are no job guarantees for anyone.
It doesn’t automatically mean I’ll lose my job, but that there is a distinct possibility. And a possibility means I better start thinking about being prepared for that eventuality. Which leads me back to my question – WHAT do I want to do?
The reason I chose Communications as my major in college was because it was a stretchable major. I could make it fit many types of jobs. I mean, is there a job out there where good communication ISN’T necessary? Not really.
And lately, I’ve been feeling like what I really want is a nice, long vacation. I’ve taken several days off and enjoyed some long four day weekends – and it’s never long enough. I mean, NEVER long enough.
I want time. Time to do the mundane – laundry, cleaning, decorating, creative cooking, stuff like that. I want to work on my books for days, not hours. I want to be free from deadlines. I want to stay home. I don’t want to do any graphic design. Just for a little while. To be free to get caught up.
Aha, but you see for me that is not an option. For two reasons. First, I like to work. I thrive on the socialization and accomplishment. Secondly, we’d be in the poorhouse, or at least my mom’s house, if I didn’t work.
I married Brett because I love him - definitely not for his money and definitely not for his eventual prosperity. If we both had to live on the income of a warehouse worker, we’d be living with Mom and Gary. Seriously. My job provides the bulk of our income.
I’m okay with that. Brett’s GREAT with that. In fact, if I could make MORE money, he’d love to stay home, too! But, it does produce a certain amount of pressure. At times, I feel like my working years are stretched out endlessly in front of me.
See, I love my job. I do. But the possibility of losing it, no matter how well they’ve prepared us, no matter how willing they are to help us find new employment, has opened a door. I’ve got to start thinking about my career future. And since staying at home is not an option, I’ve got to start exploring the possibilities.
Which means I have to make a list of what I love about my job, what I like about my job, and what I really don’t care for in my job. That part is easy. The problem comes from finding an open job that incorporates those preferences, and of course, preparing my heart for whatever God opens up.
There are days when I envy people who can stay home. I don’t mean “work” from home. I mean those people who don’t have a set schedule and can stay in their pajamas and hair rollers all day, if they want to.
Because, just for a little while, I’d like to do that. Just to experience the freedom. Unfortunately, unless we win the lottery, it’s just not an option. And (since I’ve mentioned it twice now) I guess that really does bother me deep down – just NOT being able to have that as a possibility! Oh well, nothing I can do about it.
My original boss hired me on for this job as a writer. I wrote copy and did basic public relations. We hired on a professional designer for all our graphic design work.
Oh, sure, I did a little design. I even went to a couple seminars on it.
Then, my new boss (who I like SO much more than my old boss) started. She sees me more as her personal designer and herself as the writer.
Through the two years I have worked for her, I have struggled with this. First, over two years, I have learned that I don’t like doing graphic design. I can do it. I can even do it moderately well, but I’ll never be an expert or a professional, and I don’t want to be. Secondly, no matter how much I LIKE my boss, it still burns me that she took my writing opportunity away AND that she thinks she’s a better writer than I am.
So, as much as I like my job, it’s not like I can’t see myself doing something else. I would miss the amazing people I work with and their friendly every day camaraderie. But, I suppose I could manage.
So, I’ve got to start thinking about what I want to do. I mean, if I open up the windows for my dream jobs, I’d have lots of options. I could be an author, a columnist, or a movie reviewer. But, even if I’m serious, there are still jobs in public relations – maybe not right now – but eventually. And, obviously, God will open the doors He wants open for me – even if it’s NOT in public relations.
Still, I’d appreciate your prayers for God to guide and direct me. That I won’t worry and stress out about it. That I’ll be up for the challenge and willing to step out of my comfort zone – the one I’ve had for six years now. That I’d be content no matter what the circumstances. I’d appreciate it.
Oh, and if you want to pray that we DO win the lottery? You can, too! But I don’t think it (or He) works like that!
But, then again, who knows?
Well, right now, I want to go back to bed, seeing as I’m writing this around 5:30 a.m. (I just yawned so big my jaw cracked!). (Oops, I did it again!) (Sorry for the Britney Spears reference.)
Actually, what I’m talking about is my career. And I’m really conflicted about it.
There is a very real possibility I’ll lose my job in late 2008, early 2009. My organization is merging with four other organizations. I’ve known about it for a year. Our corporate headquarters in New York have given us plenty of advance notice on the merger and produced lots of materials to help all of us through the process. Unfortunately, there are no job guarantees for anyone.
It doesn’t automatically mean I’ll lose my job, but that there is a distinct possibility. And a possibility means I better start thinking about being prepared for that eventuality. Which leads me back to my question – WHAT do I want to do?
The reason I chose Communications as my major in college was because it was a stretchable major. I could make it fit many types of jobs. I mean, is there a job out there where good communication ISN’T necessary? Not really.
And lately, I’ve been feeling like what I really want is a nice, long vacation. I’ve taken several days off and enjoyed some long four day weekends – and it’s never long enough. I mean, NEVER long enough.
I want time. Time to do the mundane – laundry, cleaning, decorating, creative cooking, stuff like that. I want to work on my books for days, not hours. I want to be free from deadlines. I want to stay home. I don’t want to do any graphic design. Just for a little while. To be free to get caught up.
Aha, but you see for me that is not an option. For two reasons. First, I like to work. I thrive on the socialization and accomplishment. Secondly, we’d be in the poorhouse, or at least my mom’s house, if I didn’t work.
I married Brett because I love him - definitely not for his money and definitely not for his eventual prosperity. If we both had to live on the income of a warehouse worker, we’d be living with Mom and Gary. Seriously. My job provides the bulk of our income.
I’m okay with that. Brett’s GREAT with that. In fact, if I could make MORE money, he’d love to stay home, too! But, it does produce a certain amount of pressure. At times, I feel like my working years are stretched out endlessly in front of me.
See, I love my job. I do. But the possibility of losing it, no matter how well they’ve prepared us, no matter how willing they are to help us find new employment, has opened a door. I’ve got to start thinking about my career future. And since staying at home is not an option, I’ve got to start exploring the possibilities.
Which means I have to make a list of what I love about my job, what I like about my job, and what I really don’t care for in my job. That part is easy. The problem comes from finding an open job that incorporates those preferences, and of course, preparing my heart for whatever God opens up.
There are days when I envy people who can stay home. I don’t mean “work” from home. I mean those people who don’t have a set schedule and can stay in their pajamas and hair rollers all day, if they want to.
Because, just for a little while, I’d like to do that. Just to experience the freedom. Unfortunately, unless we win the lottery, it’s just not an option. And (since I’ve mentioned it twice now) I guess that really does bother me deep down – just NOT being able to have that as a possibility! Oh well, nothing I can do about it.
My original boss hired me on for this job as a writer. I wrote copy and did basic public relations. We hired on a professional designer for all our graphic design work.
Oh, sure, I did a little design. I even went to a couple seminars on it.
Then, my new boss (who I like SO much more than my old boss) started. She sees me more as her personal designer and herself as the writer.
Through the two years I have worked for her, I have struggled with this. First, over two years, I have learned that I don’t like doing graphic design. I can do it. I can even do it moderately well, but I’ll never be an expert or a professional, and I don’t want to be. Secondly, no matter how much I LIKE my boss, it still burns me that she took my writing opportunity away AND that she thinks she’s a better writer than I am.
So, as much as I like my job, it’s not like I can’t see myself doing something else. I would miss the amazing people I work with and their friendly every day camaraderie. But, I suppose I could manage.
So, I’ve got to start thinking about what I want to do. I mean, if I open up the windows for my dream jobs, I’d have lots of options. I could be an author, a columnist, or a movie reviewer. But, even if I’m serious, there are still jobs in public relations – maybe not right now – but eventually. And, obviously, God will open the doors He wants open for me – even if it’s NOT in public relations.
Still, I’d appreciate your prayers for God to guide and direct me. That I won’t worry and stress out about it. That I’ll be up for the challenge and willing to step out of my comfort zone – the one I’ve had for six years now. That I’d be content no matter what the circumstances. I’d appreciate it.
Oh, and if you want to pray that we DO win the lottery? You can, too! But I don’t think it (or He) works like that!
But, then again, who knows?
Sunday, December 03, 2006
The October Connection
Getting wrapped up in YOU is a human prerogative.
We tend to think of ourselves first and assume the way it is for us is the only vantage point from where we can make any judgments. In fact, I never really thought about how other people were brought up or how they could have different viewpoints than me until I met October.
Of course, I had met people who disagreed me before. But I always had the luxury of assuming they were wrong and then dismissing them and their ideas.
But October was inexplicable. We had completely different world views. Completely different ideas of how the world should be run. How people should be treated. How crime and punishment should meet. And we had long, drawn out discussions where we talked about it.
I liked October. Probably because I’d never (and haven’t yet) met anyone like her. She was self deprecating, yet flirtatious. Mostly quiet, then she’d explode with dialogue on topics I’d never even thought about before.
She was an unusual roommate. And we were strange friends. But, since I could (and still can) name my true friends on one hand, I wasn’t about to leave this truly interesting person just so I could find a boring one who agreed with me.
Besides, living with Tob (her nickname) was an adventure. I’d come back to my dorm room and never know what to expect.
Tob and I became roommates by default. My roommate (and my soul mate at that time) and I had a falling out, and she was moving out. I was in a brand new dating relationship and my security blanket was leaving me. I was unstable and unsteady but amazingly stubborn.
Tob’s roommate was moving out to room with her best friend who was coming from Michigan. All the other rooms were unchanged or otherwise arranged. Tob and I were the only two singles with double rooms. So, it was either each other or an unknown entity – incoming freshmen.
I still remember how it happened. My roommate (who was not speaking to me) was moving her stuff out while Tob was in the hallway. Tob and I had made the transition to friendly-say-hi-and-how’s-it-going-while-waiting-for-the-elevator relationship.
She eyed me tentatively and then took a long look inside my room which was dominated with a giant James Dean poster and various magazine cutouts of Tom Cruise. I took in her green sweatshirt with the yellow Tweety-Bird and tired expression. It was a strange sort of moment. It was as though we accepted each other in a way that we couldn’t even understand. Even in light of our amazingly different personalities.
So, Tob and her one suitcase moved into my room.
She’s told me that our friendship saved her life that year. Unbeknownst to me, she’d spent the previous year in deep depression after a dating relationship ended badly. She’d barely made it to class, had a D average, and gotten several unexplained rashes that the doctors attributed to stress. So, she wasn’t the happiest of campers when she moved in with me.
In spite of that, I still liked her. She was so different from me that I couldn’t help but notice. My previous roommate and I had been on the same wavelength. We didn’t agree on everything, but it was like we looked at life from the same big, happy kaleidoscope.
October had one suitcase. I had five. My closet wasn’t big enough to hold all my clothes. She used a third of her closet space. My dresser was stuffed with hair and make-up accessories. Tob didn’t wear make-up and kept her hair bands in a plastic sandwich bag.
She liked to sleep on the hard floor at night occasionally. I’d be snuggled up in bed and look over in the morning, and there she’d be – on the floor, under a single blanket, feet uncovered and resting on the radiator for warmth. I’d shake my head in wonder.
Sometimes, when she was feeling less flagellated, she’d sleep in the bunk above me. She’d tell me about bumps on her leg and how she thought it was cancerous.
“I think I have cancer,” she’d say and flip her head over the side of the bed where she could see me.
“You don’t have cancer.” I’d assure her and go back to reading my textbook.
“I really think I do. How do you know I don’t?” She’d flip back over and stare at the ceiling in concentration.
“People our age don’t get cancer.” I’d say, firm in my belief at that time that bad things don’t happened to good people.
“Sure they do,” she’d say and then list cases of where they, indeed, did get cancer. “So, do you think it is?”
“No,” I reassured her.
“Well, if it is, then it’s my own fault,” With a martyred sigh, she closed her eyes.
I put my textbook down, stood up, and studied her. “How is it your fault?” I’d ask, leaning over the side of the bed.
She turned toward me. “I’m a wicked person and probably deserve it.”
I spite of that dire prediction, I couldn’t help smiling. She was so depressed, so worried about something that wasn’t even happening, and already blaming herself. I never blamed myself – for anything.
“You’re not wicked,” I assured her. “Let’s go eat something.” And she’d haul herself off the top bunk, and we’d venture out into the city.
If it hadn’t been for October, my Chicago life would have been safe and boring. Her penchant for the unusual took me to some interesting places. We went to dinner in truck stops where we were the only women and everyone stopped eating when we came in. We ventured to places in the city where I’d never have gone on my own.
Tob also taught me about myself. She’d worry about immigration and life on the mission field. She’d notice the kids in class that no one else did. I was mainly concerned with getting good grades and my high profile internship with a prestigious Chicago company.
One night, we talked about the world. Tob expounded on immigration and on the increasing mission field. She talked about the sacrifice needed. I disagreed. If people chose to go to the mission field – that was their choice, and I shouldn’t be expected to feel sorry or bad for them – they made the decision. As for immigration, I could have cared less. It didn’t affect ME, I told her.
It affects all of us, she told me then sighed. “Who do you think you are, Miss Ethnocentricity, where the world revolves around you?” She asked me. It was a long nickname, a clever insult, and one of the funniest things I’d ever heard. I laughed for a long time. In fact, we both did. And the nickname stuck!
After that, I tried not to be so focused on me and my life. I didn’t know how NOT to be friends with my roommate, so it was easy to incorporate Tob into my life. She was still recovering from her break-up, so she felt a little funny when I asked her if she wanted to go out with me and Brett. But she did.
Pretty soon, she went out with us all the time. Brett loved it. He was amazed and pleased to discover there were two women out there who enjoyed his company. So, he not only gained a girlfriend, but a new friend as well. And I got to know my new friend even better. And Tob didn’t have to stay locked up, in self-imposed solitude, in our dorm room. It was a good situation for everyone.
Over the next year and a half, Tob and I became extremely close. She’d make rice for dinner and sit on the floor studying her linguistics books, and I’d eat granola bars, sit on my bed, and sketch out assignments for my creative writing assignments.
She’d point out interesting linguistics patterns to me. “Have you ever noticed that ‘chruck’ sounds like ‘truck’ to the untrained ear?”
I’d try out new story ideas. “I’m thinking a Laura Ingalls-type meets Steven King. What do you think?”
We became as comfortable as old shoes and bathrobes - as different as could be, but totally accepting of each other eccentricities. By our last semester together, people were coming to us for advice. We answered questions on roommate etiquette, soothed troubled waters, and tried to maintain the peace.
One girl even confessed to us that she had snuck into our room, when we weren’t there, and just lay down on my bed. When we laughed and asked her why, she said that it was just so peaceful in our room. “I needed good vibrations.”
Tob once gave me one of the nicest compliments I’ve ever received. She said I always affirmed her. That I believed that she could do it and could do it well. I told her it was because I was always affirmed growing up. My parents always told me how proud they were of me. And when people are proud of you, you naturally try to do better.
When she eventually graduated, she was scholastically a full year and a half ahead of me, she was worried about who I was going to end up with for a new roommate. When I told her I was going to room with Jeannette – the girl who came in our room to find peace – she knew it would be a great fit. And it was.
I hated to see Tob go, but I knew it was the right thing for her. We are still good friends, perhaps even best friends, able to pick up where we left off.
Tob’s life has not been an easy road, and I know she would say the same about me. Together, we’ve weathered great heights - proposals, marriages (she was one of my bridesmaids), children – and low valleys – death (my father’s), unexpected pregnancies, and more.
But she’s my rock. We still don’t agree on everything. But we still love and need each other – and each other’s viewpoints – desperately.
And, isn’t that what friendship really is? I know it is, especially for Miss Ethnocentricity.
We tend to think of ourselves first and assume the way it is for us is the only vantage point from where we can make any judgments. In fact, I never really thought about how other people were brought up or how they could have different viewpoints than me until I met October.
Of course, I had met people who disagreed me before. But I always had the luxury of assuming they were wrong and then dismissing them and their ideas.
But October was inexplicable. We had completely different world views. Completely different ideas of how the world should be run. How people should be treated. How crime and punishment should meet. And we had long, drawn out discussions where we talked about it.
I liked October. Probably because I’d never (and haven’t yet) met anyone like her. She was self deprecating, yet flirtatious. Mostly quiet, then she’d explode with dialogue on topics I’d never even thought about before.
She was an unusual roommate. And we were strange friends. But, since I could (and still can) name my true friends on one hand, I wasn’t about to leave this truly interesting person just so I could find a boring one who agreed with me.
Besides, living with Tob (her nickname) was an adventure. I’d come back to my dorm room and never know what to expect.
Tob and I became roommates by default. My roommate (and my soul mate at that time) and I had a falling out, and she was moving out. I was in a brand new dating relationship and my security blanket was leaving me. I was unstable and unsteady but amazingly stubborn.
Tob’s roommate was moving out to room with her best friend who was coming from Michigan. All the other rooms were unchanged or otherwise arranged. Tob and I were the only two singles with double rooms. So, it was either each other or an unknown entity – incoming freshmen.
I still remember how it happened. My roommate (who was not speaking to me) was moving her stuff out while Tob was in the hallway. Tob and I had made the transition to friendly-say-hi-and-how’s-it-going-while-waiting-for-the-elevator relationship.
She eyed me tentatively and then took a long look inside my room which was dominated with a giant James Dean poster and various magazine cutouts of Tom Cruise. I took in her green sweatshirt with the yellow Tweety-Bird and tired expression. It was a strange sort of moment. It was as though we accepted each other in a way that we couldn’t even understand. Even in light of our amazingly different personalities.
So, Tob and her one suitcase moved into my room.
She’s told me that our friendship saved her life that year. Unbeknownst to me, she’d spent the previous year in deep depression after a dating relationship ended badly. She’d barely made it to class, had a D average, and gotten several unexplained rashes that the doctors attributed to stress. So, she wasn’t the happiest of campers when she moved in with me.
In spite of that, I still liked her. She was so different from me that I couldn’t help but notice. My previous roommate and I had been on the same wavelength. We didn’t agree on everything, but it was like we looked at life from the same big, happy kaleidoscope.
October had one suitcase. I had five. My closet wasn’t big enough to hold all my clothes. She used a third of her closet space. My dresser was stuffed with hair and make-up accessories. Tob didn’t wear make-up and kept her hair bands in a plastic sandwich bag.
She liked to sleep on the hard floor at night occasionally. I’d be snuggled up in bed and look over in the morning, and there she’d be – on the floor, under a single blanket, feet uncovered and resting on the radiator for warmth. I’d shake my head in wonder.
Sometimes, when she was feeling less flagellated, she’d sleep in the bunk above me. She’d tell me about bumps on her leg and how she thought it was cancerous.
“I think I have cancer,” she’d say and flip her head over the side of the bed where she could see me.
“You don’t have cancer.” I’d assure her and go back to reading my textbook.
“I really think I do. How do you know I don’t?” She’d flip back over and stare at the ceiling in concentration.
“People our age don’t get cancer.” I’d say, firm in my belief at that time that bad things don’t happened to good people.
“Sure they do,” she’d say and then list cases of where they, indeed, did get cancer. “So, do you think it is?”
“No,” I reassured her.
“Well, if it is, then it’s my own fault,” With a martyred sigh, she closed her eyes.
I put my textbook down, stood up, and studied her. “How is it your fault?” I’d ask, leaning over the side of the bed.
She turned toward me. “I’m a wicked person and probably deserve it.”
I spite of that dire prediction, I couldn’t help smiling. She was so depressed, so worried about something that wasn’t even happening, and already blaming herself. I never blamed myself – for anything.
“You’re not wicked,” I assured her. “Let’s go eat something.” And she’d haul herself off the top bunk, and we’d venture out into the city.
If it hadn’t been for October, my Chicago life would have been safe and boring. Her penchant for the unusual took me to some interesting places. We went to dinner in truck stops where we were the only women and everyone stopped eating when we came in. We ventured to places in the city where I’d never have gone on my own.
Tob also taught me about myself. She’d worry about immigration and life on the mission field. She’d notice the kids in class that no one else did. I was mainly concerned with getting good grades and my high profile internship with a prestigious Chicago company.
One night, we talked about the world. Tob expounded on immigration and on the increasing mission field. She talked about the sacrifice needed. I disagreed. If people chose to go to the mission field – that was their choice, and I shouldn’t be expected to feel sorry or bad for them – they made the decision. As for immigration, I could have cared less. It didn’t affect ME, I told her.
It affects all of us, she told me then sighed. “Who do you think you are, Miss Ethnocentricity, where the world revolves around you?” She asked me. It was a long nickname, a clever insult, and one of the funniest things I’d ever heard. I laughed for a long time. In fact, we both did. And the nickname stuck!
After that, I tried not to be so focused on me and my life. I didn’t know how NOT to be friends with my roommate, so it was easy to incorporate Tob into my life. She was still recovering from her break-up, so she felt a little funny when I asked her if she wanted to go out with me and Brett. But she did.
Pretty soon, she went out with us all the time. Brett loved it. He was amazed and pleased to discover there were two women out there who enjoyed his company. So, he not only gained a girlfriend, but a new friend as well. And I got to know my new friend even better. And Tob didn’t have to stay locked up, in self-imposed solitude, in our dorm room. It was a good situation for everyone.
Over the next year and a half, Tob and I became extremely close. She’d make rice for dinner and sit on the floor studying her linguistics books, and I’d eat granola bars, sit on my bed, and sketch out assignments for my creative writing assignments.
She’d point out interesting linguistics patterns to me. “Have you ever noticed that ‘chruck’ sounds like ‘truck’ to the untrained ear?”
I’d try out new story ideas. “I’m thinking a Laura Ingalls-type meets Steven King. What do you think?”
We became as comfortable as old shoes and bathrobes - as different as could be, but totally accepting of each other eccentricities. By our last semester together, people were coming to us for advice. We answered questions on roommate etiquette, soothed troubled waters, and tried to maintain the peace.
One girl even confessed to us that she had snuck into our room, when we weren’t there, and just lay down on my bed. When we laughed and asked her why, she said that it was just so peaceful in our room. “I needed good vibrations.”
Tob once gave me one of the nicest compliments I’ve ever received. She said I always affirmed her. That I believed that she could do it and could do it well. I told her it was because I was always affirmed growing up. My parents always told me how proud they were of me. And when people are proud of you, you naturally try to do better.
When she eventually graduated, she was scholastically a full year and a half ahead of me, she was worried about who I was going to end up with for a new roommate. When I told her I was going to room with Jeannette – the girl who came in our room to find peace – she knew it would be a great fit. And it was.
I hated to see Tob go, but I knew it was the right thing for her. We are still good friends, perhaps even best friends, able to pick up where we left off.
Tob’s life has not been an easy road, and I know she would say the same about me. Together, we’ve weathered great heights - proposals, marriages (she was one of my bridesmaids), children – and low valleys – death (my father’s), unexpected pregnancies, and more.
But she’s my rock. We still don’t agree on everything. But we still love and need each other – and each other’s viewpoints – desperately.
And, isn’t that what friendship really is? I know it is, especially for Miss Ethnocentricity.
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