Brass in my pockets, chewed food on my shirt.....

These are just my observations. I do not care to back them up with facts. It's just something I've noticed. Thought it would be interesting to get it out of my head. Anyhow....if you had told me 20 years ago that the life skill I would learn in college and use the most would be waiting tables, I would have said you were nuts. Yet here I am, at my advanced age, trying to plow through school and money getting so tight that we were arguing constantly about it, waiting tables once again. For some reason, it is not a very respected profession. You can make a lot of money at it, depending where you work. But let's face it, it is not brain surgery. It is, however, dealing with people on a most basic level. And that can be very difficult. I had a hard time even finding a job. And I have tons of waiting experience. So I am not proud of where I work. It is not an easy place. It wears me out. It is a place where families like to go. They run me ragged, which is fine. They do not tip at even a 15% rate, which is not fine. But here is the thing I have noticed the most. People let their children be rude. This stops me cold everytime it happens. And yet it happens nearly everytime I work. And let me say this. When you allow your child to be rude to a server, it speaks volumes on the type of parents you are. I have see families grasp hands and pray at a table, the n let their children demand things from me while spitting food out of their mouths. I have seen families with religious tracts in their hands let their children rudely order from me. I am picking on the religious here a bit because I expect more, I suppose. The other night I had a family of four. (No religious affliation with this family that I could tell) The children, 2 young boys I guessed to be about 6 and 8, would demand things from me, while bits of biscuit and food are flying out of their full mouths! The parents were looking right at them. No one suggested to wait until they finished chewing. The parents simply indulged the children, then looked at me expectantly, waiting for me to step-n-fetch-it, so to speak. I (both as a server and a patron), have watched children run around restaurants, while waitstaff, with large trays of food or hot beverages dodge them left and right. I cannot help wonder what the kids get out of acting like that. What lessons are learned. Are the parents too lazy to parent? Do they expect others to do it for them so they won't be the proverbial bad guy? I truly do not know. I am the mother of 3 children and the step-mother of one grown child. None of my children are perfect. They are lovely, but they have each had their moments. But I swear, if I ever heard them be rude or demanding of a server or hostess or food-runner, they would be jerked out of the restaurant so fast they would not know what happened! I mean it! I live in the deep south now, where people demand their children to say "yes ma'am, and sir and no ma'am and sir." Yet they allow then to speak rudely or pull on my arm, or say "Hey you" to me. It is a puzzlement. It makes me sad. Oddly enough, it seems more prevalent here than on the East Coast. Not sure why. I am aware that most who read my blog wouldn't allow their children to act in such a manner. But I am interested in what can be done. I am just venting a little. But truly, truly, we need to treat people with kindness. Years ago I was waiting tables in Birmingham Alabama. It was a beautiful Sunday afternoon, and I had the patio. A huge group of teenagers came and sat outside in my section. They were awful. TYhey were rude, disrespectful, and just plain nasty. I one point I heard them talking about their church and telling another customer they were all part of a youth group. I casually asked one of the girls where they went to church. She told me, plus filled me in on what they had planned for the afternoon. (some sort of trip to the zoo.) Anyway, the next day, I called that church and asked to speak to the youth minister. I told him about my experience with the kids that represented his church. (I am not going into great detail, but I will say they were messy and obnoxious). I told him that he might want to mention to them that they were not acting in Christ's image. He was very kind and apologetic. But I never heard anything from them. He didn't suggest they come apologize or make amends, that I could tell. But to this day they stand out in my mind for how they acted. I could go on. I waited tables at a diner at Auburn. They way drunk fraternity brother's would act sometimes was nothing short of horrifying. But I digress.....maybe. Maybe not. Maybe if their parents had insisted that they be polite and kind, and to treat people with respect I wouldn't even be writing this right now. Like I said, just some thoughts. Now I gotta go wait tables. I'll letcha know what happens.

I Know This Much is True

I haven't seen you in a long, long time. You look so good! Your eyes sparkle! You are radiating health. You look loved. You seem so full of purpose. What you did for us all was such a complete gift. There is no way to sincerely thank you. Words are inadequate.

You brought us together. So many of us, scattered about the south, and beyond. But there we were, in a park, at a party, at the Ritz. We were reconnecting. We were hugging. We were crying, and laughing, and singing, and dancing. It's all because of you. You took an idea. You charged full steam ahead and developed this seed into the most lush, amazing garden of people. You introduced us to some pure, amazing talent. Some we were aware of. Some may have been a bit before our time. But you brought it to us. ANd now we know. And for years we are going to talk about this weekend. You gave us such a gift. You gave us each other.

We were able to thank and praise special teachers. We were able to remember those who have gone. We were able to eat some of the best Boston Butt known to man. We were able to huddle around a bon fire laughing and drinking and playing. Things maybe we don't get to do much. We saw each others sweet faces. Faces that have changed, yet still hold the innocence of our sweet southern youth. You gave us this gift. You brought us together. You are just simply an amazing soul.

So....from the bottom of my heart Audrey, I thank you. We are all so much better because of you. You worked so hard on this. Thank you. It was, in a word, glorious.

You Shine!

Lonely Planet Indeed

I know I am my own worst enemy. I know I am responsible for my success or lack there of. It's tough admitting these things. It sucks realizing that the best skill I took from college was waiting tables. And I don't blame anyone else. I have always talked myself out of things that could help me. Now I have woven a very twisty, tangled web around myself and I am not sure how to get out of it. I am one of those people who can truly have a conversation with anyone. You would think that would have helped me out in life. Instead, I think it has held me back. I mean, I don't know who or how to identify myself. Am I religious Amy who came from a strong, but very mixed up background of religions? Am I Poor Amy who has struggled so hard the last several years to make ends meet? What about my dirty mind? What about my compassion? What about my age? Where do I belong? I hate being lonely, and I look around constantly trying to figure out if other people are lonely, or sad, or struggling, or hiding something.....anything that could make them approachable. I am totally non-threatening. I am missing my friends! it is frustrating to move to a new place, and feel so isolated. I miss the warmth and security of m dear friends. I miss the openess and the ridiculous laughter. I miss the confessions and intimacy of really close friendships. I am so frustrated with myself. This is more of a rant, I know. I can and will again be thankful for all the blessings I have. Tonight, I am just really angry at me. It's not that I don't know how lucky I am. I have been blessed with some amazing friendships. I just miss them. Damn the military and all it's moving. It brought me the very best, then took it away. Damn college with everyone going 1000 different ways. I was too young to realize how long it might take to see the people I loved again. Damn High School....and the total ridiculousness of that time. I thought I'd stay in Alabama forever and never again have to fall in love with another place and different people. Again.....I am so thankful I got to travel and meet people. I am thankful that I found a church with some of the warmest most giving souls I have ever met. I just miss them. I just do. That's my heart tonight. Lonely. Now I have to go out and work. I AM grateful for a job. it's not what I want to be doing, and it's hard not to be defined by it..........but tonight, my heart is on other things. And they are all over the world. I miss you my dear, sweet, hilarious, compassionate, smart, witty, giving, far-flung friends. Now I gotta go..........

"If it makes you happy, then why the hell are you so sad.............."

I am going to try something here. It's no secret that I have been dealing with some heavy handed feelings lately. Unhappiness seems to permeate from my every pore. Things in my house have unfortunately become untenable lately. Okay....so that's the way it is. I am tired of listening to myself whine. And while turning this thing around, or just getting through it may not happen today (though I am trying!) there is something I can do. I am gonna focus on what makes me happy. And what makes the people I love happy. What makes YOU happy!!

If you are a parent, it is a bit of a cop-out to say our "children" make us happy. Though their general presence may indeed make us happy, I think on a deeper level, it's the more distinctive traits they display that make us (me) happy. When my children were babies, I used to relish that point while nursing when they would look me in the eyes. They all 3 did it and it was so freaking sweet. Genny did it while kicking me in my chest. She was undoubtedly a most flexible baby. Her little foot was constantly thumping me in my chest. Samuel was rough as hell, but he would look at me in the eyes, and I would simply want him to stay in that moment forever. Livvy would hum while she nursed, looking up at me with enormous green eyes. When they started to get a little older and their personalities started to emerge.....well that made me happy. It still does. I remember being at the playground with Livvy when she was just about 3. Genny was an infant. Liv was running and singing and playing when she stopped and looked at me and said "Mommy, I just love spending time with me!" ANd Genevieve.....thank goodness she was adorable, because she drove me nuts. She did not like to be away from me, and I would drag her wrapped around my ankle while I did laundry. When we were stationed in Germany her favorite song was "All-Star." Her favorite place to sing it at the tops of her lungs was in German department stores or restaurants. The only 2 words I could usually make out from the German's were "Shrek" and "Americans." They were not smiling when they said it. Then there is my little guy, who is about to turn 5. His personality comes out in jumps and starts. He was late to talk, and now never hushes. He has a lisp or a bit of a speech issue (as does Genny) but nothing I am in any hurry for him to change. He loves "army guys" (his term) and tractors and trains. He does not like dogs very much. He does an excellent robot dance for a white guy. Yeah, he makes me pretty happy. They all do.

Make-up makes my mom happy. Sexy shoes make my sister happy. The Andy Griffith Show makes my dad happy. Her chocolate lab makes my step-mother happy. I like clean underwear, clean sheets, and folding laundry. (I will fold it at your house if you have it. My friend Stacy says I have a laundry Zen thing.) I like to bake. I like a good comedian. John Stewart makes me happy. Margret Cho makes me happy.

If you are an actor, does opening night make you happy? Or is it the rehearsal process that makes you happy? When I was doing theater, it was alwyas the first dress rehearsal that made me happy. All that work, then you watch everyone transform as they put on costumes. The witnessing of characters coming to life. That made me happy! The thought still does.

If you are an artist or designer is it the process or the product that makes you happy? Maybe it is both. Maybe it is the idea of a new project that makes you happy. I like to think of it. It makes me happy.

What movies make you happy? I can't watch Napolean Dynamite without starting to smile when Pedro realises he's won the election. The ending of that movie truly makes me happy.

They Might Be Giants makes me happy. Sonic makes me happy. Climbing in bed with a brand new novel that smells soooo good, makes me happy.

Hearing my children laugh makes me happy.

Seeing Kelly makes me happy. Thai food with Becky makes me happy. Going on ridiculously long drives with Stacy makes me happy. Watching "Fin and Euba" makes me happy. Singing "I was there to Hear Your Borning cry" makes me happy. Spending time with my sister, any kind of time, makes me happy. Hearing my Grandparents talk about their 63 years together makes me happy. Being with my extended family makes me very happy. Reconnecting with people who meant so much to me at different times of my life, well, that makes me happy.

I know I am skipping over people and things. This is just a start for me. I am not sure what this week is going to hold. Things are bad. But I am going to try and carry these mustard seeds of happiness with me. My guess is they will come to me tenfold. Now I am gonna go hang with my little guy. And that makes me happy.

Warning: Scorpio Ramblings

Well, wow. November is here. My sister and I spent an entire day yesterday devoted to our children. I adore my kids. I loved doing disgusting halloween things for them. Helping them come up with costumes. Of course, by today, I've already been accused of hating them and I bear the distinct honor of being "The Worst Mother Ever (rrrrrrrrrrr)" I will be signing autographs soon.

I used to love November. Even 5 years ago I did. My birthday is in November. I have so many dear friends who have birthdays right around mine. And man, I love a birthday! Whether it is mine, or someone else's, I love to celebrate the fact that we are born!! At least I did til I turned 40. I never wanted to make a big dramatic deal over the fact that I was 40. I mean, it's better than the alternative, right? But the past 2 years have been really rough ones for me and my family. And it all seems to get worse right around my birthday. I am not sure if it's the fact that Christmas is looming around the corner, or that another year is coming to a close, but whatever it has been, or is....it has really been bad. Soooo....Thursday is my birthday....and already I can feel the anxiety starting to build. I am trying to take those deep cleansing breaths and approach it positively. But I am freaking out about it. Of course I am not merely 40 now. I am actually officially "in my 40's." But again, it's better than the alternative. I guess. Maybe it's because my marriage has become so heavy and hard to bear. Maybe the terrible toll of our financial situation is just wearing me out. Whatever it is, I just want it off my back. I want to celebrate my birthday like a 5 year old would. With perfect wonder and complete abandonment. To be so excited that there is a day just for me. All about me. Of course, no one is more ego-centric than a 5 year old (except for maybe Rush Limbaugh, but that's an insult to 5 year old's!), and I certainly know it is not just a day about me. (Roy Rogers was born on November 5th too!!) Anyway, I am self-centered enough as it is!

So I am not sure how to approach this year. As with every on-coming winter before, I worry about depression settling in on me. I have to be real careful about that. I want to see a change in me this year. I am desperately trying to stay in Massage Therapy School. But money is short, and I am not sure what may happen. But I want to challenge myself to look outside me. To really get involved in something important. (volunteer, job, not sure) I want to be the change I wish to see in the world. I want my children to see me do something. Oh god. I just don't know. But I gotta do something now. Or I fear I will sink. And I just don't want that to be an option. Soooo......hmmmmm......I have to do something other than just be "The Worst Mother in the World!" I am very open to suggestions. I am also open to prayers. Or chants. I'll be back on Thursday..........and I'll be 42. I'll go from there.......

Every Picture Tells a Story Baby (send up to The Kinks)

Sometime around 1943, a young army Air Corp Sergeant stationed in Newfoundland is asked by his buddy to join him and his girlfriend and her friend for a night out. The young sergeant begs off. He really doesn't want to go. His buddy keeps after him. He tells him that his gal's pal is pretty. Maybe he used the term "a real looker." Whatever he said, he ended up convincing the young sergeant to go with him. They went to the USO for dinner, and then to a movie. He saw her again the next night. And the next, and the next. And thus begins a history, that somehow leads to me. I love the stories of how my grandparents met. I love the details. I want to know more! I love hearing what they wore, or the kind of car that they drove. I love my families history. Both my mother's and my father's. The story of my hungry Grandaddy courting my Grandmama. He wouldn't eat at her house because there were so many children and such little food. He would put a bisquit into his coat pocket before church and after church, he would make his way to my Grandmama's house, stuffing his mouth with cold bisquit because he didn't want to take any food from my Grandmama's sisters and brother's.

Both sets of my grandparents are from Kentucky. And while my parents have long since divorced, i crave the connection between my 2 families. I am amazed at how we come together. how we fit and who we are. I love to pour over pictures of my cousins and their families. It is so amazing, becuase even though we may not know each other well, we have a connection. Sometimes it is a very physical connection. Today, at my sweet grandparent's house I was looking at pictures. I found a very good picture of my GrandpaEarnie's late brother, Troy. I was completely amazed at how much I favored him. How strange. I have been feeling insatiable about the stories of my family lately. Maybe it's because this is the first time as an adult I have ever lived near them. I'm not sure. Whatever it is, I love how the family tree works down to me....and how I perpetuated it even further.

I love looking at photo albums. Any one who knows me knows this. If I have been to your house, I have more than likely seen your baby pictures and your wedding pictures and maybe even pictures of you having your children. The mystery of what makes us who we are is so fascinating to me. I saw a baby picture of my dad today. It was his first birthday. He is looking at his cake, but tucked behind his ear is a little curl. That baby is now my daddy, and my children's Grandaddy. But something about that sweet baby curl touched me. I am connected to that curl. To the sweet little chubby baby legs. That sweet, innocent baby boy became my daddy. The picture of my Mama sitting on the floor in a sunbeam holding a newspaper. I love to examine that picture for clues, looking for the girl, and the woman that my Mama later became. I will pour over baby pictures of my cousins looking for likenesses. Looking for connections. I am totally intrigued by connections. And by history. The history of what makes me, me. The sweet ancient pieces of my family, that slowly fall away with each passing year. Yes it's very sentimental. But each of those pieces of my own personal history have a story. And my god....do I love a good story. Thousands of little pieces of DNA all swirling around that helped create me, and I, in turn, helped create my own little pieces of history. My own curly-headed DNA that each have their own story. Life goes on. Sweet..............

Dumbo

Been thinking about this a lot. And Audrey said to keep writing. I love Audrey.

20 years ago I was diagnosed with chronic depression and panic. Over these 20 (22 years actually) some odd years....I have watched myself literally come and go. The first panic attack I had was at Auburn. This is the first on e I ever paid attention too. There were probably others...I just remember this one so clearly. My boyfriend did not like me. That is a big old problem. And I could tell he didn't. He despised my major (theater), hated my friends, was scared of my mother and all her wrath and power, and I think, in his very small mind, he was scared of me. I was very sad. I had no...I mean ZERO self confidence. I loved being at Auburn, and I adored my major. it felt right. I had made some marvelous, caring, and precious friends. But I never totally felt like I belonged there. I was always waiting for someone to come tap me on my shoulder and tell me that Auburn had made a mistake, and that I would have to pack my bags and leave. So....my boyfriend. He was from a town even smaller than mine. He was my dear friend's cousin. He was good and sweet and everything I thought I should marry. He was also a bigot, a racist, and his family's adorable 'golden boy.' He was also, I should mention, very
Southern Baptist. After a difficult previous relationship with a Mormon, I really thought I was doing what my family wanted me too! In fact, they had told me to find myself a "good Baptist boy." So I dressed up every Sunday in heels and beautiful boutique dresses his mama bought me and stood up next to him in church. Even though I didn't agree or sometimes even believe in what all was being taught. But I really wanted to make everyone happy, and proud of me. So I stuck with it. Trying so hard to make him like me. And he just did not...... Now, I am not certain why he even stayed with me. I was begining to show signs of severe depression. I was crying a lot. Uncontrollably. I was not eating. I had no energy, was having terrible nightmares, and sometimes found myself gasping for breath even when I was resting. Then one afternoon he let me borrow his car to go to rehearsal. I needed to put gas in it. After I got out and put gas in the tank and paid, I got back in and headed toward the theater. Then I noticed people were honking at me. I looked around, but did not spot anything wrong. Someone else honked at me and pulled around me. They pointed at something. I could not tell what. Suddenly, I started to get really scared. I didn't know what I had done wrong, but it must've been something. A few more people honked and pointed, but by that time I was just crying. Then the next person yelled something out of their window at me. I completely fell apart. I was crying so hard, and couldn't catch my breath. My heart was banging, and I was about to throw up. Somehow I pulled over to the side of the road. I curled up in a ball and just sobbed. I begged God to just let me die because obvioulsy something was really wrong with me. I am not sure how long I stayed on the side of the road, but it took me a while to calm down. When I finally was calm enough to get out of the car and see what the problem was....well, it was simply that I had taken the gas cap off and placed it on the roof of the car. It was still there! I could still see the gas station from where I pulled over! I dont think had even gone 100 yards! I was so overcome with shame. Now I was late for rehearsal ( I had one line as a maid in The Philadelphia Story!) and I would get in trouble for that. And I still did not understand what had happened.

Later, when I tried to explain to the boyfriend what had happened, I was stopped cold by his complete lack of concern or sympathy. He said something to the effect that I was getting as crazy as my mother and then told me I needed to pray. I told him I had prayed. It didn't seem to make a difference to him. Evidentally, my prayer wasn't of the right mind. It makes me sad, now when I think of it. I was trying so hard. I was trying to not turn into my mother (who was well, um, batshit crazy at that time), and trying so hard to be the right girl for my family. I was starving myself because I thought that would help me get cast more, and because my mother was constantly reminding me how much losing 5 pounds would make me feel so much better! Wah wah...i know.....But what gets me now, is just how clueless I really was. It is so easy to look back on all of this and say wow, I really needed some help! I did go to a doctor, eventually, who diagnosed me with panic disorder. For years I took Paxil, (a whole other story!!) I got to thinking about this stuff, because today I felt panic surging up inside me. I used some yogic breathing and a little bit of prayer to center myself. It may require more than that....i am not sure. Still trying so hard not to use medication. I am going to go for a walk in a little bit. I will walk, breathe, and pray. ANd I will think about that boyfriend. Eventually, he did break up with me. My heart was very broken for a while. Until I realised it was the best thing that could have happened to me. You know, it's funny. I can look back on all of my relationships with fondness, or laughter, or even irony. All but this one. I still think about how sad I was and how hard I tried and how I always came up short. This relationship never has made me smile nostalgically. Maybe because it came at the time I mark as the beginning of my battle with depression. But I don't think that's it. I think it may have more to do with my lack of judgment when it came to my boyfriend. There is so much more to the story of him. But I started this blog for the purpose of tracking my health and walking. Funny what helps make us healthier is sometimes just letting go of old junk. Anyway, I am going walking on this glorious afternoon. I can bet I come back a better, more together person. Walk. Breathe. Pray.

Taking the Bully by the Horns

My dear friend Audrey has given me wonderful advice about this blog. She told me to just start writing. The right words will come. Everyone needs a fabulous writer as her mentor! I just happen to be so lucky. I am getting ready to go walk on this beautiful morning, but I have had something on my mind for the last several days. I'm gonna try and write this down.

Supposedly, EVERY single American kid goes through an awkward stage. Experts (whoever the hell they are) tell us this. Our parents and teachers tell us this. Anyway, I truly thought I had completely put my horrible awkwardness far, far behind me. But dammit, FaceBook keeps popping up with people I haven't seen or heard from since that time. And it makes me think about it. And it makes me question just how much I really put away. Again, the last thing I want to do is sound like I am whining or feeling sorry for myself. But I want to tell this story. It's mine. I might hurt my parents a little, but they are strong, and i think they can handle it.

"Blubber" by Judy Blume, was my favorite book in the 5th grade. The book is about a heavy 5th grade girl who becomes the target and victim of her class. Ultimate teasing and bulling ensues. But one of the worst offenders soon finds the tables turned and makes some pretty big self-realizations in the process. This book was really well done. And thought now it feels a little dated, it still holds some heavy truths for certain kids. When I was in the 5th and 6th grade, thankfully I wasn't a fat kid. That would be the last thing I needed. Up until about 5th grade, I was fairly normal. I wore glasses, but so did a lot of other kids. I also got braces at a rather young age (at that time), getiing them put on right after the 3rd grade. My grades were average to good. I loved to read. I had a pretty normal family. Just my mom, dad, and younger sister. Nothing too unusual. When I was going into the 4th grade, my parents moved to Owensboro KY, where my dad had a new position with GE. It was while we were living there that things started to get sketchy, and later to fall apart. My parents began to fight. Their arguments were loud and explosive. Then they turned violent. It was during this time that my mother, my sister, and I moved back to Tennessee. After staying with friends and family, we finally moved into a little duplex near the elementary school we would attend. During this time of upheaval, something happened (well, several things actually) to my normally attentive mother. She stopped eating, she stopped coping, and ultimately, she stopped caring for us like we needed. My sister and I were pretty much left to fend for ourselves. It did not go well.

Kids tend to have a radar and can pick up on the weakest link in a heartbeat. They wouldn't have needed much of a radar in my case. I practically advertised all the disfunction that was going on around our house. I had not been to the orthodontist in so long, several of my brace brackets had come off. (pretty) I had out grown my clothes and my shoes, and my mother cut my hair very short because it was driving her crazy! Plus some eye doctor had decided that perhaps I needed bi-focals. Oh yeah. Just what every 5th grader needs! I walked into my classroom basically begging to be made fun of!! And boy, did they ever! After our 5th grade teacher read "Blubber" to the class in an attempt to help us understand how bad it feels to be teased, my bright class basically just gleaned the evil antics of the characters from the book and looked for a victim. And lo and behold, there in my bi-focaled, half braced glory, stood the perfect victim. Me!

Now my class was smart about how they approached the teasing. It's not like today where anti-bullying campaigns fill the halls and auditoriums of America's schools. Teachers were not on the lookout for bullies. (I believe they were in the breakroom smoking cigarettes and downing coffee, but that's another story.) We were left to our own devices much more then. There were no paid playground monitors. That job fell to some kid in the class. So playgrounds were basically torture chambers for the meek. I, personally, was not allowed on any apparatus, unless I barked. My class had dubbed me "The Dog" and I had to perform to get to do anything. If I wanted to use the bathroom, I had to bark, and sometimes beg. If I wanted to get a tray in the cafeteria, I was told to bark. This lovely moniker followed me into the 6th grade, where I would come in to class in the morning and find my desk pulled away from everyone else s because nobody wanted to sit "by the stinky dog!" I was pushed, tripped, my shoes stepped on and torn. My wonderful project on Julius Caesar was crushed. When I had my school picture made, some kid jumped up and down behind the photographer making monkey faces. ANd I made it fun for them. I yelled, screamed, bawled, brayed, cursed, threw things! I even tore a girls earring! I am sure i made it a pure pleasure for them. There is nothing more fun than a victim who responds so deliciously. Wonder why I hated "Lord of the Flies?" Anyway, the amazing thing was that the adults in my life were so seemingly unconcerned. I know my teachers knew about it. But teachers are human, and sometimes it is easy for them to fall into the pack as well. My PE teacher definitely did that. She was downright cruel. My mother would say things like, "Well Amy, that just happens to everybody!" My dad was not there. My grandfather told me to pray. I did pray while I was dodging rocks at the bus stop. I prayed for everyone of those little fuckers to be hit by the bus! But....no such luck. For about 3 years, my young life was a living hell. I will say now, as an adult, I am amazed at what grown-ups would say to a little girl. When I finally did get to go to the orthodontist, he actually yelled at ME for not showing up to my appointments! Like I could drive the 9 miles into town myself? My grandparents yelled at me because my shoes were completely falling apart. Now I know that this was the late 70's and early 80's, and the "Me" generation was in full swing. But what the Hell?

My home life was pitiful. That is something I don't like to talk about even to this day. There are very few photographs of me during this time. I am thankful for that. When I see them, the chaos of that time comes running back, and even thought I am a happy, healthy adult, I still get those terrible feelings when I look at pictures. But, you know, things do tend to change. I grew up. Got contacts. Got my braces off. My family moved to Texas and then to Alabama. We were happy for a while. I got a chance to totally reinvent myself. And boy did I ever! And although my family really did put the "fun" in dysfunction, I will always be grateful for getting away from that horrible time. I mean actually, physically getting away. Of course, I swore I would NEVER move to Tennessee again. Ha......well, here I am! Because, things do change. My Dad, whom I now adore, got scary sick. My Mother, who just makes me laugh, now lives near here as well. And my beautiful sister, with whom I share these memories, is here for support, and to back me up in just how ridiculous the situation (s) actually got.

Here is another little tid-bit of craziness. I, of course, work very hard not to transfer my past onto my children. They are not me. My husband and I are not my parents. But since we moved back to Tennessee, one of my daughter's is now a student at that elementary school I went to. The first time I went in to register her, I will admit, I had to fight a little panic. But I walked around the school a little. I was safe in my anonymity. I did some yogic breathing. I looked at the bright and beautiful classrooms. I saw the well-dressed, smiling teachers standing at their doors with huge 'first day" smiles. And I knew it was just going to be okay.

As an after thought, I will say that I am very glad there is "anti-bullying" legislation in most states. I will also say, no child deserves to be bullied for their race, sexual preferences, or economic background. What I went through has made me who I am today. Most of the time, I am okay with that. I know that there are children who had it much worse than I did. I pray that there will not be more. And I have had the opportunity to be such a proud mother when I witnessed one of my children standing up for another who was being harassed. So I have much hope for this current generation. I think about what Woody the Cowboy says to the evil Sid at the end of Toy Story. Two simple words......."Be Nice!" We can do it!

This is not going to be easy to write. I may make some of my dearest friends mad. I may lose some of my dearest friends. I am sorry, but my heart is heavy. and I must write.

I have been very angry at God lately. Today, I realized my anger has been misplaced. And today, I really need to pray for a friend! I am not eloquent enough to be political. I have very strong political feelings, but I cannot put them into words. But I have proudly claimed myself as a Christian, because I believe in Christ's amazing love and forgiveness. Seems to me, that being a Christian these days is a very convoluted business. I am having a very hard time understanding why more congregations are not standing up and saying "Enough is enough!" We cannot with good conscience be the wealthiest country in the Western World and not take care of some of our poorest and sickest fellow Americans! Now it is no secret that I currently do not have health care. Neither, then do my beloved and precious children. Every night, we shop for affordable plans for our family (healthy family) of five. Brian has a good job. Of course, I am now in school and looking very actively for work. I am thankful that he is employed, and that currently we are healthy. And I am not counting myself amoung the sick and the poor who do not have health care. But it completely boggles my mind that we as this amazingly strong country, do not have an affordable health care system in place. And it leaves me amazed that Christians, yes, followers of Christ, no matter what your religious affiliation may be, are not advocating this. Why not? Personal responsibility? You think our president is the anti-christ? It's not our place to look out for one another?

When someone in a congregation gets sick, or a family's house burns, or someone loses their job, what do we do? We go to them. We serve them. We love them and bring them food, clothing, and once in our case, a car! Because we love Christ and want to be like him. The humble footwasher. I have seen and even been on the recieveing end of some of the most amazing compassion ever. And personally, I have to think about this when I get upset at how divisive we have become. And of course, I have to point out, that being served lovingly isn't just a Christian thing. I would be completely remiss if I didn't point out that one of my most stallwart amazing friends is a Pagan. But.....she would wash my feet in a second. Because she has compassion.

I don't want to lose who I am because I am confused about how I believe. It is obvious I am not conservative in my beliefs. I make no excuses for that. And what got me thinking about this whole mess to begin with, was my need to pray. I have not been doing very much of that lately. And now I have a friend who really needs and deserves to be prayed for. So now, I need to turn to God. And PLEASE do not think I am overly making myself important. I am SO just one person. One person who really loves her friend. One person who hates to alienate people and make them angry. One person who got mad at God, for human problems. And it is scary to get angy at God. But I also don't want to spend my life being a coward. Not standing up for what I believe in because it's not popular or because it's going to make someone angry. And as far as serving one another goes....I have LONG way to go on that! I am remiss at taking care of my fellow man. For stopping and looking around me at who just might need me for a second, a minute, or maybe even longer. And I am NO Bible scholar, nor do I care to be one. But I love that story in the Bible about the bleeding woman. The one that was so disgusting no one had anything to do with her. And in a huge crowd she (a lowly woman), touches Christ's robe hem. And he feels her. He reaches out to her. And she, the poor and lowly, dirty, gross, bleeding woman is healed. And whether you are Christian or not, that's not a bad example to follow.

No matter what you feel about our Nation's health care issues, I would like to ask you this. If you believe in prayer, will you pray for my friend? If you believe in lighting incense and chanting, will you do that for my friend as well? Because she is very special to a lot of people, and she is scared right now for health reasons. I know this blog is about me....but today, I want it to be about her.

This is Dedicated to the One I Love

"You wonder how these things begin. Well, this begins with a glen. It begins with a Season, which, for want of a better word. We might as well call September."

My precious friend John Hallum read those words at our wedding, 14 years ago tomorrow. And while John is no longer with us, I can still hear the sweetness in which those words (From Tom Jones and Harvey Schmidt's play "The Fantastiks") were read. Our wedding was a bit rushed. Brian was given orders to Schofield Barracks in Hawaii about 6 months into our relationship. We decided to get married, and pretty much put together, with the help of wonderful family and friends, a wedding 5 months later. We had a couple of minor catastrophe's, but we did it. On a very cool Saturday in September, at the Historic Soldier's Chapel on Fort Meade, Maryland, my darling Grandpa Ernie married us. I wore a white cotton Laura Ashley wedding gown and carried lots of yellow and white daisies. It was a very sweet day.

Now 14 years and 4 children later, we are not without our bumps and bruises. Yet, here we are. We have made each other laugh. We have hurt each other enough that we made each other cry. Yet, here we are. We have watched family and friends as their marriages fell apart, and mourned with them the losses that they felt. Yet, here we are. We have fought, yelled, screamed and pushed each other way too far. We have been through times so bad we barely speak of them outloud. Yet here we are. Each of us has felt pain so deep, the other one could never reach it. We have been through counseling. We have been through moves. We have lost people so close to us the pain was palpable. And yet, here we are.

I don't think there is any magic button for making a marriage work. And ours certainly is not guaranteed to make it. But right now, today, we are making it. And I celebrate that. I certainly am aware of my shortcomings. I know I can be difficult to put up with. But somehow, the planets align and the greatest gift one can be given gets laid in my lap. I am loved. I cannot see into the future. I am perfectly aware of the fact that things happen to relationships. Some people damage the ones they love so deeply, that turning back is not an option. So I am celebrating this past year with Brian as a gift. And I can only hope that the choices we make can give us another year.

And I remember the end to the little monologue my dear friend read 14 years ago...and I have to agree with it.....
"It is September, Before a rainfall,
A perfect time to be in Love."

Happy Anniversary Brian.

The Inevitable FaceBook Post

Um....I just was really touched by a note someone sent me on Facebook. It made me think, and it almost made me cry. I think a lot about FaceBook, because it has caused me to open up areas of my life that were once locked away tight. When you meet up with friends on here that you haven't seen in almost 30 years, it really does make you think. A lot. I was not a good friend to one of the best people ever in my life while I lived in Maryland. And the thing is, she lived in Maryland too! I let guilt and fear rule me. Instead of breaking the crazy strong bonds of stupid guilt, I kowtowed to them. I could have (and almost did) lost one of the most important relationships in my entire life. But of all things, a social networking site originally designed for college students, has strengthened our friendship. I love seeing her face everyday, even if it's just in a picture. I really do love to hear what she's doing (and she is one of those people who is always doing something amazing). She's not the only one. I now get to hear about my cousins, far flung about the USA. I only saw them once every 4 or 5 years depending on weddings, and funerals. And now I get to talk to them if not every day, at least once a week. I see pictures of their adult children. I know of their accomplishments. Otherwise, I hate to say it, I wouldn't. And my cousin with the new baby....it is just great to get to chart the little one's progress. In a way, FaceBook has brought me closer to my family. Is it silly sometimes? Of course. I mean, who really cares about what Gilligan's Island character I would be (Maryann btw), or what I ate for breakfast. But I now get to see what my friends from college are up too. I see pictures of their children, see videos of plays and commercials and TV shows they've done. And then there are the friends from my much younger life who are on here. Because I have moved around so much, I lost contact with a lot of people. Well....um...wow!! Here they are on FaceBook! My darling best friend from middle school! I always guessed she would become an actress....but no! Let's try more like a Rocket Scientist!! And the amazing thing about her is that though we could not be more different politically, I really do like hearing what she has to say. So...FB is teaching me tolerance!! (Okay, I admit, going a bit overboard here......but c'mon, this is really neat. My best friend from 8th grade!!) I have been totally blessed to be able to keep up with friends made while we were in the military too. When you are thrust into all kinds of situations with the Army, you tend to make friends fast and hard. Now these relationships are much easier to keep going.

I guess people could say that FaceBook is a waste of time. And yes, if your children are screaming for your attention or your husband wants to make love to you, or your house is on fire....then I think your next status update can wait! But I love knowing that a friend has a job interview. Or that someone from my church is dating someone new. These are lovely. They make my day better. They take the focus off of me. I love pictures of new babies, and vacations, and soccer games. And in my totally selfish way...I love people (friends!!) making comments to me. I eat it up! I should also point out that since I got on FB in November, I have already met up with 2 very dear old friends! I would have never gotten to do that, I don't think, if it hadn't been for getting in contact with them on here. So that right there makes it worth it. I am personally glad that all of us middleclass moms hijacked FB from the teenagers! I have been touched, strengthened, and humbled by my friends. I look forward to stronger bonds and more meetings.If that makes me a FaceBook addict, than okay! I'll be the first one to attend that 12 Step meeting! "Hi! My name is Amy, and I'm a Facebook addict.....now give me my chip!"

Back to School & Back problems!

Oh the IRONY!!!! I started massage therapy school on Thursday, and here I am on Sunday with my back completely out of whack!! It hurts so bad I can hardly breathe. Thanks goes to my husband for letting me use his laptop. (Mine got stepped on! ANd while usable, there is a big, dramatic hole in the screen, and some of the keys don't work!) I actually took those old people back pills (um....Doans I think?) and I am waiting for some relief. Damn 40's and the damn problems that come with them!! I haven't had my back bother me much since I was nursing Sam and hunched over him all of the time. ANYWAY....yeah, now I need a massage. Thankfully, my class is going to be totally hands-on. It is all women except the instructor. Sweet, soft-spoken, crunchy instructor. I liked him. He is slight, but you can tell he is very strong. He also looks quite a bit like my sister's boyfriend. There are 12 women in the class. I am actually not the oldest! There is a grandmother of 4 (who is only 47) who is from Kentucky, whose husband did something "bad" so she is starting her life all over again. She is so beautiful. I loved her smile. There is another grandmother who is an LPN as well. There are a couple of really crunchy, granola types. Cool hats, cool dresses, bad shoes. A couple of really hot young women. An Danish yoga instructor with a 14 year old daughter. And then there is plain old me. A lot of the class is taking the full load. This bums me out, because I want to take the full load as well. But I am paying for this class piecemeal as it is. Ugh! Irony again. Now I have the time to take all of the other classes, but I sure don't have the money. There are very few jobs in Hendersonville. I am worried to death about everything. I am interviewing at Sam's preschool for a substitute teacher position. But working at a preschool is the last thing I want to do. Anyhoo....look at me get off topic so fast! Back to the school.....It is so peaceful and pretty. It is in downtown Nashville at an old train station. I would like to spend a lot of my free time there. I love the location (Nashville is a pretty cool little city!) and I really like to explore. The school smells wonderful, all clean and fresh. Of course it's painted in lavenders and celedons (yep, I read my J Crew catalogs!!)...so it is very soothing. For the 4 hours I was there, I was relaxed, for the most part. Some things worry me, like my utter lack of experience. But I am not afraid to touch people. And I like to be touched too. I am going to try to talk about this with specific detail. I don't want to forget a moment of this experience. I feel so blessed to be getting a chance to start over. I want to savor this chance, and make the very most of it. So I made it through class number 1. Let's see how I do with class number 2, when we get physical.

I think my little green pills have kicked in. I'm gonna give my husband his laptop back. The little battery button is flashing at me! I write like I touch.......too much!! It's like his computer is telling me to shut up. Okay. More later.

First Day of School, First Day of School!

I am this massive ball of anxiety!! My head aches, my body aches, even my nose is aching! And the irony of my whole anxiety is that I am worried about starting class. Let me clarify. Worried about starting MASSAGE THERAPY class. What the hell is wrong with me? Are "worry" and "massage" even allowed to be in the same sentence? Shouldn't I at my (somewhat) advanced age be able to waltz right in a classroom with no problem at all? And a classroom with massage tables no less??? I feel like every nerve in my body is raw. So obviously it's been a long time since I have been in a classroom. I know I'm not gonna be tested on trigonometry tomorrow night. But the cold hard truth is that I have never been a great student. Well, it totally depended on the subject. When I was at Auburn, I did really well in classes I was interested in. I loved my acting classes, heck, I even eeked out B's in Theatre History, and my stage make-up classes were some of my favorite ever. When I transferred to Auburn, my GPA was a 389. Not too shabby! But the truth about it is, I only took classes I could do really well in. Literature, yep! Creative Writing? Oh Yeah! Biology? Nope. Math (any kind)...hahahahaha. In fact, when I came to Auburn on a full scholarship, the woman in the registrar office told me she didn't think they had ever admitted a student without the pre-requisite math classes. But somehow, I got around that. And I don't know what I am so worried about right now. That they are gonna find out I didn't take college math? Ooohhhh.......maybe that I can't take notes? Hey, my daughter's picked me out awesome new notebooks and pens. (Though I did have to nix the Jonas Brother's folders. Sorry Gen!). I even have a pretty lunchbox I can borrow if I need to. I guess I am gonna be learning a lot about good relaxing breathing. Guess I should practice it on myself. I remember at Auburn, how at the beginning of each quarter it was so scary. Being in theatre, it always meant new competition. Plus, I was never sure if I would be in classes with the people I had grown to adore. Walking into a new classroom was never my favorite experience. But I lived through it. I came away better for the experience. And in the end, I came out with some lovely friends and really sweet memories. SO I guess I'm trying this student thing no matter what. I'll go in and stake out my desk (or table?), and try to look aloof yet friendly. (Ha, who am I kidding? I don't have an aloof bone in my body. Aloof like a cocker spaniel maybe!!) So, I'll just try to look friendly. My kids have to go into new classrooms every year. If they can do it, so can I. I'll grab the best looking Granny Smith apple I've got and set off for my first day. So it's been 18 years since I've done this.....ugh, here goes.............................

Oh Sir Mix-a-lot....where art thou??

Today, my walk was long and lovely. I started at the beautiful new library here in town, which has a great trail all around it. It's hot, but the signs of fall are everywhere. Trees have begun to take on a very tired, haggered look, as if they are begging for the makeover they will get in October. It's not AS humid as it was, and the poor, noisy cicadas are screaming their last ridiculous songs. When I walk, I don't take my MP3 player with me. It's got a bunch of stuff on it I love, but there are a couple of reasons I don't take it. I love to hear noise. The birds, the train, dogs, even traffic, help me move along. But I am a little bit afraid that if I wear my MP3 player, I might embarrass myself. You see, I sing when I have it on. I cannot help it, or control it. And since I cannot hear myself, God knows how I sound. ANd I am not sure how my fellow walkers (and runners) would feel about being serenaded with a really bad rendition of Lilly Allen's Alfie. (though it did just occur to me that all the other walkers and runners are wearing music players as well......) So I walk tuneless, though I still sometimes sing....just I can hear myself.

Today as I was holding the front door for my pre-schooler, my husband told me my calf's were looking nice. I was delighted by the compliment. Not that he doesn't compliment me, just that I have really been working hard at this, and he noticed. As I started walking, I was sort of chanting things to myself. I noticed that I am not very kind to myself. I was singing (to myself)..."Boobs, belly, butt and thighs butt and thighs" to the tune of "Head, shoulders, knees and toes." There was a time in my life where I would have paid for big boobs. Now I just want them to not be so ostentatious. Granted, I did breastfeed 3 kids a cumulative of over 5 years, but uuuggghhhh.......they are like pendulums attached to my chest. So I am still not being kind to myself. These were life-giving boobies. I need to be nicer to them!! Why is it so hard to be kind to ones self? Then I skip down to my belly....yuck. Okay, that wasn't very kind either, now was it? Then the butt........oh man, big butts have been so celebrated as of late. But a big ole "mom butt" is not a pretty thing. See....listen to me....so hard to be nice. Know what, I am going to skip the thighs all together!! I don't want to self bash. I know my body is better than it was 6 weeks ago. I really want to celebrate that. And I am so lucky to be healthy!! I also know that self bashing is not going to do me any good. I had this beautiful friend who had the prettiest legs. All she did was talk about how fat she was (she was not!). I would get so frustrated with her. I don't want to fall into the routine of fishing for compliments either.."What? You are NOT fat!! Now so & so is fat! But not you!" It's so disingenuous to do that. I am more than my body. And taking care of myself is great.....but being kind to myself, well that's a challenge. I want to be grateful (again with the gratitude) for what I have, and take good care of it. I have to make friends with myself. But I still don't want to sing out loud while I am walking. Maybe someday. But it will be a nice song. I'm taking requests.................

Demi-tasse

So....I come to the keyboard humbled, and a bit embarrassed. But I did post this blog on FB. I opened myself up. And all in all....I am really glad I did.

A few things about me:

Though I am chronically depressed, it does not always pin me to my bed (thank god!)
I stopped taking cymbalta beacause it was too expensive, it made me apathetic, and well....it was killing my sex drive. (cringe, I said "sex") I will probably battle this forever, but I am not interested in it taking me over. I may suffer from depression, but I do not want it to define me. I am so much more than that one word. And I do not, at this point, intend to give my life over to it. So I am lonely and jobless? So are a lot of other people. I am just grateful, actually so very grateful I had a place to put it. And my friends, my wonderful, far-flung community of friends, I am so, so very grateful to you. You all came to my rescue. And God, it has been sweet. My cup runneth over.

My favorite author (Anne Lamott) says to "Breathe, pray, and walk." That's what I am doing. And the Divine, sneaky as he or she may be, is answering my prayers. Maybe (and here I shall channel Garth Brooks) the Divine is "unanswering" my prayers. But whatever it is, I know it is right and it is good. And again, my cup runneth over.

So here I am. All middle-agey and full of kinks. But I feel beloved. I have children that are amazing, ridiculous, beautiful, and totally luscious. My husband is trying. I am not easy. But at the end of the day, for some reason, he loves me. My family is near. I have a home. I am dog-sitting two adorable little bichons. And so....you got it. My cup runneth over.

I just want to add that I remember so clearly 8 years ago today, as a young mother living on Fort Meade Maryland, how real everything that happened that day was to us. Some of my neighbors did not see their spouses for months, as they were immediately deployed to NSA, Pentagon, or Afghanistan. I remember how the post was put on lockdown. How my friend and neighbor Lisa and I watched as humvees with armed patrols rolled by us on our daily walk. How we literally clutched each other when a surveillance plane flew very low over us one morning. How I went upstairs the night of Sept. 11th, and wrote everything that had happened down in both of my girls babybooks. As horrible and scary as the attacks were, I knew then, and still believe it now, how lucky I was to be raising my family in a country that was so safe. Some people have to go through every day what we went through that horrible Tuesday. So many people showed such unbridled heroics that day. We all have such vivid memories of where we were at what we were doing and that beautiful, fall-like day. I am so thankful for all those who kept us safe.

So, I guess thankfulness and gratitude are going to be my MO this weekend. I am going to tie something around my wrist so I don't forget it. Thankfulness and gratitude. Yep....my cup definitely runneth over.

Chapters

I don't know who reads blogs, if anyone, other than me. And I don't know who reads mine, other than a few dear friends and some of my family. I struggle with how personal to let these things get. Does it really matter anyway? Do I really want to share very, very personal details with everyone? Should I? But then, when I read other blogs, I really want honesty. ANd believe me, I can tell when people are bullshitting me. I want to feel touched, appalled, sickened, devastated, overjoyed, blown away when I read what people have to say. And I guess....I really want to give those feelings as well. The thing is....I am in a million pieces right now. And I don't know how to put myself together. I wish I were a character in an Anne Lamott or Rita Mae Brown book. Then when I went through these times, I would be shored up by quirky, totally forgiving friends who just adore me. And it's not that I don't have wonderful friends. I do! But no one close by. I mean, my precious sister is close by. But she is distracted with her own massive tasks of raising three boys, and tending to a new and growing relationship. As she should be. Plus, she is not responsible for my well being just because I moved close to her. I can tell that this is taking on a whiney tone. I don't mean to do that. But I am lonely. So, so utterly lonely. It completely sucks. Being a former military spouse, I know how to move around and make new friends. That's why I don't understand why it's so hard here. This time. We did the right thing by moving here. We were falling apart. My marriage was unraveling. My children were really suffering. I could see the toll of all of our day to day problems, on their sweet faces. Things were (and are) going to be better in Tennessee. Family is close by! Cost of living is much lower! B's job much more exciting! I got to stay home with the kids over the summer! (Loved that, btw).

Now.....school is back in session, Little Man is in pre-school 3 times a week, and I start Massage Therapy school a week from Thursday (1 day a week to start, more classes to follow). But I desperately need to find a job. And although I wasn't thrilled to go back to waiting tables, the more I thought about it, the better it seemed. I simply love being around people. Love the pace. Love the crazy people you get to work with, and I 'm good at it! But I have heard nothing from anyone!! I hate this feeling of being frightened. I don't want to scare the children. But we have a whole week until payday. And nothing left after bills and groceries. (and school fees. DAng, they love the school fees around here!) I feel like I am fighting to keep myself from falling down one of my black holes. And if this were one of the novels I love, I would meet with my friends over a good red wine and we would laugh and find a way out of this. But, I am not in a novel. This is real life, with very real people. The most precious people I know. I will not lie about this sitiuation. Please (umm...God I guess)....show me a way out of this.

So....a whole blog of whining. Hopefully things will look better in the morning (said Scarlett). I do not want to be trite. I just want Anne Lamott to write me a better chapter. This one sucks. I want to edit, and rewrite. Anyone gotta red pen I can borrow?

Oooo that smell. Can't cha smell that smell?

So I had Sam with me all day....so I couldn't walk this morning. Okay.....Back to School Night at G's school, so I had to wait to walk till this evening. It's definitely getting dark early, so I pounded out the door a little after 7pm. Knew my route. Knew I couldn't visit Johnny and June. Knew it was gonna be a focused, good walk. And then.....I hit the neighborhood. This is not the first time in the 3 weeks that I have been walking (hard) that I noticed it.....but I could not ignore it. I could smell the scent of fabric softner wafting out of dryer vents. I could smell the grass folks were mowing. But there was something else I could smell as well. Something that took me flying back in time. High school parties in a barn. My certain California friend who, other than me, had the only pair of Vans in Greenville, Alabama. That unmistakable smell of college parties. That toasty, marshmellow smell of concerts. Especially The Grateful Dead. A smell I associate with broomstraw skirts and birkenstocks. There it was.....floating out in several places in suburbia. Unmistakable.

Now it has been years since I possibly partook of anything one might consider illegal. Still and yet....that smell. I just thought it was interesting and a little bit strange that I noticed it in 3 separate, but distinct places. I dunno. Maybe it's way more prevalent than I thought. And while I know this has nothing to do with weight loss or exercising, it just caught my attention. And made me smile............happy someone is able to relax their troubles away. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna go listen to Box of Rain. I'm in the mood for a little Jerry Garcia right now. Hmmmm......wonder why?

Visiting the Man in Black

While looking to add distance to my daily walks, I decided a couple of weeks ago to walk through a rather large cemetery about a mile away from my house. It's a neat place. My half sister Brandi is buried there. It's kinda nice to walk around and search out her grave. Sometimes I go see her. I have visited her grave more this summer than ever before. I also recognize names on graves sometimes. Really distant childhood memories. The name of a vice-principal, or the name of a Sunday school teacher's younger brother who committed suicide when I was 11. Anyway, you know, it's a very basic, respectable cemetery. The owners don't like a lot of stuff set on the gravestones. There are a lot of rules about the type of (artificial only) flowers you can put on the graves. That is except for one........The grave of Johnny Cash.

I love his grave. He and June are buried together in the front part of the cemetery. Their graves are covered with a large granite stone and surrounded by a small marble wall. All around their graves are large, colorful, and live wildflowers. (More in memory of June, than Johnny, I'm sure). It's the brightest spot in the whole place. Sunflowers, and big purple coneflowers , bright red Indian paintbrushes, and black-eyed susans are planted near the little marble wall. But the coolest thing, is what people leave behind in memory of Johnny. It is ever changing, and fascinating. Giant cans of beer, tons of colorful guitar picks, cds, personal messages, pennies, roses, lyrics to various songs. It is a constant rotating gallery of interesting detritus. (I am sure the cemetery owners are vigilant, and clean the graves off weekly, if not more!) I will try to remember to take my camera with me sometime. And even though I am usually focused on burning calories, it is really hard not to stop and look at all the things people leave behind. I should also mention that Mother Maybelle Carter, and many other members of the Carter family are also buried there. There are more often than not, very interesting things left for them as well. Sort of a small memorial to the Kings and Queens of Country Music.

SO, all in all, not a bad way to add extra mileage.......though I do have to stop and look at least a couple of times a week. Then, I go back on my way, walking hard and fast, and singing "Ring of Fire" as I go!

"The Pill"

by mamie

I have been on the off and on "The Pill (but a lot more on) for the last 20 years. I love "The Pill." I know for a fact that there were several instances where "The Pill" saved my life. I have tried many variations of "The Pill." I have experienced tons of side-effects, both the expected and the bizarre. I have been pregnant 4 times, and have had 3 children on "The Pill." My husband has been on and off "The Pill" as well. Whoa....what? Well, so I am not talking about birth control (although with some of the side-effects, I may as well call it that.) I am talking about nearly every anti-depressant ever produced. And now....I am 3 weeks pill free. Ready for my little white key-chain. My life feels very different without my nightly dose of Cymbalta. It's scary. But I like this kind of scared. I am at the right place to do this. I don't want to be ambivalent about things anymore. I need to feel. I am steady enough to do this at this time. Now, I would never advocate just going off without seeing a doctor first. And I am VERY thankful for anti-depressants. They have helped me through awful tunnels. And if I need them again, I will promptly go and get what I need. But so far, I am enjoying my techni-color world. I am enjoying the energy to follow through with things. And walking is a hell of a lot cheaper than Cymbalta. ( which was averaging $180.00 monthly since we lost our insurance. )

So here's to "The Pill!" I am happily replacing the groggy side-effects with the blisters and sore feet side-effects of walking. But I am grateful it got me to this place. Without it, I may not have made it this far.