Things I Don't Like

I don't like crooked hats....do you? If Nick wears his baseball hat in a crooked fashion, I immediately tell him to change it. Right now, I am watching a movie and Anne Hathaway has on a very stylish hat, but it's crooked - oh my! What to do? The thing is, I've been realizing lately that it's not just crooked hats I don't like. There are actually several things I don't like. Such as:

-mash potatoes with lumps (I was once forced to eat them, and I gagged)

-early morning

-cooked cabbage

-waitresses who forget if it was me or Richard who had iced tea

-a bad movie I paid to see

-people who bitch about all the crap they don't like

-elderly people who smoke while wearing oxygen

-the fringy things that hang on the car wash spinner thingies.

Before I continue to reveal my obvious freakishness, I will stop there. Unfortunately, there are many other things that bug me. Why do so many things bug me? This has been a topic with my therapist and also a quite vivid argument in my own mind. I have come to a few conclusions (now, these may seem obvious to you, but this has been quite revealing for me):

-I am judgmental - more judgmental than I would like to be and definitely more judgmental than my christian faith would have me be.

-Easy-goingness is part personality trait and part choice. I don't have it going for me in the personality department on this one, so I'll have to focus on choices.

-A good frame of reference: in the big scheme of things, does this really matter? and even more importantly, can I do anything about it? If the answer to these is no - time to move on.

This all looks fine and dandy on paper, but actually adjusting to this frame of reference is another thing entirely. Just like eating an entire bag of doritos, complaining, whining, and judging may feel oh so good at the time, but just as soon as you are finished, regret inevitably follows.

I am not writing this, so that people will write back and say, "It's okay," or "Really, you aren't THAT much of a bitch," but rather to share with you what I am personally working on and towards. If you see me snapping a rubber band on my wrist, it is probably because I have just been snarky to someone or at the very least about someone. But hey, I'm working on it! : )

I'm Back!!!

I'm sorry for my serious delinquency in writing. I have been having some real ups and downs this past week, and I honestly thought about chucking the idea of the blog altogether. I have started wondering: is all of this blogging, twittering, facebooking "stuff" a vehicle for one to be self-absorbed and obsessive? I'm starting to think maybe. It's good therapy for me, though, so for now, I'm sticking with it.

There are so many things I could write about tonight....I have a gazillion thoughts running around in my already crowded head. Such as:

-self-doubt

-being judgmental

-swinging from one extreme emotion to the next

-photography, photography, photography

-Nick

-family

-trip to Iowa for 4th of July

-family

-the effects of the oppressive heat

-worrying about my health

-not wanting to go to the doctor to stop myself from worrying

-this blog

-family

-the book I'm reading, Handle With Care by Jodi Picoult

-the movie My Sister's Keeper - based on book by Jodi P. - out tomorrow

-family

Do you notice a repetitive theme going on here? Yes, I continue to be focused on thinking about my family - even though it is among a long list of other thoughts, concerns, wonderings. Still, it all seems to go back to family. And that's a good thing. A challenging thing but a good thing, none-the-less.

Have I told the story of my birth? Excuse me, our birth? It's a great story, and I've heard it many, many times. I've heard it so many times that the images I associate with it have been burned on my brain, and I think I actually remember it. 

Amy and I, as I have mentioned, are the youngest of seven children. My parents were average, middle class citizens who were struggling through and yet enjoying life as parents of five children/young adults, ages 19-7. Why then, you might ask, would they embark on another pregnancy? Fate? Fate or blind luck or God's plan? Hmmmm....I'll go with God's plan. 

Our conception and arrival were definitely a shocker for the family. When my mom announced at the dinner table that she was pregnant, our brother Jamie (nine at the time - I think), laid his head down on the table and cried.  This is not my favorite part of the story, as I am sure Jamie must have been thinking: another kid around here? However, Jamie is a bit of a sentimental guy, so I like to think of his tears that night as tears of joy! : ) Yeah, right!

My mom tells the story most vividly of how she came to be pregnant for the sixth time. My oldest sister, Vicki up and moved to Florida with her steady boyfriend, Dean. Dean was a bit of a wild child/hippie/free spirit - you get the idea. Mom and Dad absolutely adore him today - all of these years later when his presence in our family seems an absolute perfect fit - but back then they say they were, well...worried. 

My mom was so worried, in fact, that her "cycle was completely out of whack!" She describes herself as practically crazed - out of her mind, in fact - that Vicki had moved to what seemed like a world away. I know you see where this is headed. In her grief and despair, she was given a distraction by God: a baby! 

Let me interject her that I cannot imagine being in my parents' situation. I think of how the world has changed since then, and how young and middle aged couples are so deliberate in their actions these days. 2.5 kids are planned out carefully as not to leave out proper time and resources for ballet and karate lessons and of course, the biggie, college tuition. Expectations revolve so heavily on creating the well-rounded, fulfilled child. I envy the "it will all work out" philosophy that couples with large families must have had back then. I am sad that so few people will have the experience of a large family as I have. 

Anyway - back to the story. Mom's pregnancy was fairly normal, I guess. She was 35, almost 36 at the time she was pregnant. That is my age now - like I said, I cannot imagine it! She did say she was unusually large, and she could not eat enough to keep up her own body weight. She said she could see her ribs - sticking out behind her largely protruding belly. She said she was so large, in fact, that she could rest a plate on her belly and eat off of it! She wondered if she was having twins, but the doctor assured her that she was only having one, as he heard only one heartbeat....no ultrasounds back then, of course.

We were born on the 3oth of July, so I can only begin to imagine her misery in the heat of the summer. I'm not sure what she was doing that day. I need to ask her that - I really have only heard the delivery and post-delivery stories. After Amy was born, her stomach did not flatten out, and it was then, and only then, did she and the doctor realize there was another baby! ME! I know it will be a shock, but my delivery was complicated! I was a medical hassle from the very beginning! I was breach, and to make matters worse, my mom had completely stopped having contractions.

At this point, Dad says he was standing directly outside the delivery room smoking cigarettes as fast and furiously as he could. In the thirty one minutes between Amy's birth and mine, he claims to have smoked a pack - or at least he felt like he did. In a moment my mom describes as pure desperation on the part of the doctor, he put his hands on my moms stomach and literally pushed me out.

I may be overanalyzing things - as you know I am prone to doing - but I find it so amazing that in many ways Nick and I came into the world in such similar fashion. Nick was pulled out of me, while I was able to do nothing but pray, and my mom must have been feeling equally helpless as the doctor forced me into the world. I thought about my entrance to the world a lot when I was in the asylum, as well. The journey of our lives seems to be sprinkled throughout with consistent themes....is that by choice or chance? From the beginning and throughout my life has been filled with surprise, concern, one-in-a-million (or at least one in a few hundred thousand) moments and events that forever altered my journey and the journey of our family.

The next part of the story is also an interesting detail that seems to have been a beginning to a life-long pattern. Since I was a complete shock, when my siblings came to the hospital to see their new brother or sister, they were blown away to realize they had two new sisters. When my dad showed us to them through the nursery window, he said, "That's Amy and that's the other one." They had not picked out a name for me yet. Amy and I have discussed many times how our whole lives have been the same line over and over, "You know Amy, and this, of course is Angie," said with a tone implying, "the one with cancer." 

Recently, Amy attended a New Year's Eve party in our hometown in Iowa. She said it was great to see people she hadn't seen in years. She did say she spent a good amount of the evening, though, answering the question, "and how is your sister?" She claims that even relatives in our family remember me long before they recognize her. When we were younger and up into college, this was a source of contention for both of us. Amy felted slighted by being my shadow. I felt awkward and angry about being in the spotlight. And one night, sitting in the car in a rainy parking lot on the campus of MU, we got it all out. We discussed it until we couldn't cry or discuss it anymore.

Someday I will write more about that night and about that discussion. It's a moment in time I don't want to remember and I don't want to forget. It's a moment in time that reminds me of the miracle of life and family and relationships and communication. Most importantly, it is a moment in time that reminds me of one oh so important and undeniable fact: we are in this together.

Ho Hum

We are in Kansas City (Blue Springs, really), and we are already two games into the state championship tournament. We have won two games! We have had a sort of up and down season, so we are all really excited to be doing so well in the state tournament. It is Friday morning. We left our friends' house at 6:00 am to get to the ballpark in time to warm up for an 8:00 game. Now I'm tired, but I don't want to sleep and waste good girlfriend time with my friend, Angela. She has three little ones, ages 7, 4, and 2. Even though they are younger than Nick, he is still having a great time. I am sitting by the window, and Ican see them all in the backyard, running, jumping and laughing. How great!

I'm having too good of a time to write anything too serious here today.

I will say to all moms out there - isn't it wonderful to see your child do something he loves and even more, succeed at it! Nick has had two really great games, and I'm so happy for him to have success.

Until tomorrow.

Hot Summer Day

Well, it was a hot, sticky day in Missouri, and I despise hot, sticky days! : )

I remember coming home from the Hampton swimming pool when we were young and being sun burned and tired - worn out from a day jumping in and out of the refreshing water and making regular trips to the concession stand for lemon heads and jolly rancher suckers. We were usually at the pool with friends or with our nephews, Jess and Ty. We rode our bikes to the pool most times. It was definitely a different time. Good memories, for sure. The one amazing thing about my memories of the Hampton swimming pool - and there are MANY, for sure - is that I don't ever remember feeling self-conscious or strange about being there with my scars, bald head, and eventually one leg. I think that's a very good thing.

We are off tomorrow to a ball tournament in Kansas City. We are staying with my best friend from my years at MU. I'm excited to reconnect...less excited about sitting in 110 degree heat! YIKES!

One thing I learned while doing my photo shoot today, is that good can come even when things seem rather hectic and disheveled! Miss Sophie was a character, and every time I looked her way, she would crinkle her nose up in a frown! So all pictures of her were taken on the sly! : ) I think the pictures and the kids are precious. Here is one of each of them - could have posted so many more! J. if you see this, send me a text to let me know what you think...If you remember how! : )

The Future

I keep reminding myself of the saying my sister Vicki gave to me: the best thing about the future is that it happens one day at a time.

I think it is hard to develop a business and to embark on reinventing yourself without thinking about the future. I spent all day today thinking about my photography business and all of the tasks I need to complete to make it a successful, enjoyable venture. Inevitably, I find myself swimming as hard as I can against a sea of self-doubt. In the next moment I am feeling like, "yeah, I can do this." There are just so many darn what-ifs in life, and I think when you've been through a lot, like I have, you are always waiting for the other shoe to drop. It's hard not to think this way when the other shoe has dropped so many times. And it is exhausting fighting against the natural thoughts that come into my mind. As soon as I think something negative, I go into battle mode, fighting against that thought because if I don't, it just might consume me.

When I look back on my life, I am well aware that I never had my present situation in mind for myself. When I was just out of high school, I remember sitting with a friend, on her dock, late into the night, discussing where I saw myself heading. I told her then that I never really saw myself being a mom. I told her it just seemed so impossible. There were too many questions: Had the chemo left me sterile? How would I be pregnant and get around with one leg? How would I carry a baby? What would I do if I fell with the baby in my arms? How would I live with knowing my child was embarrassed of his mom with one leg? She encouraged me and told me that where there's a will there's a way. Still though, I doubted the possibility.

I try and think of my motherhood as an example of achieving more than I ever thought possible for myself. Very quickly behind that thought, comes memories of all of the trips to the ER over the past few years, with either Richard's or my health hanging in the balance. I certainly never expected those events either. Why does our mind focus so easily on the events that scare us and cause us to surrender our dreams?

The truth is, I have always wanted to be a photographer. A part of me thinks that the getting around part might be difficult. In my head, I choreograph how I would get around different settings where I might be taking pictures. I have no doubts that I am talented enough or smart enough. My doubt lies mostly in my physical abilities and in all the what-ifs that might get in the way. Will I have the will power to fight through those? I just don't know. I can feel myself gaining my strength and fight back, but having to fight through another difficult situation seems extremely daunting to me at this point. Richard keeps encouraging me and asking me, "Why are you so hard on yourself?"

Fear. I guess that's it. Fear of what might happen if I'm not hard on myself. Fear of what is up ahead...and harboring the idea that maybe if I think about all of the crap that could happen, then at least I'll be prepared and not be blind-sided. Logically, I know that it does no good to worry. Life happens. My heart won't let it go, though.

Tomorrow I am photographing my first baby and his toddler sister. I am so excited for this opportunity. I am way less nervous than I thought I would be, which is a good thing. Mostly, I am looking forward to being around people and for sharing my passion with them. After my session, I have a counseling appointment. I have lots to say this week, as it has been full of ups and downs. There are so many questions I wish my therapist could just answer for me. I know that's not how it works, though. I know the answers have to come from within.

I will post some pics tomorrow.

Crying

Before I start officially writing today, I want to stop and say a word about my spelling and grammar. Considering I used to be an English teacher, one might expect my grammar and spelling to be meticulous. Not so, obviously. So to my English teacher friends who are reading, or to any of you closet grammarians out there, I am sorry. I cannot spill my guts and worry about punctuation. It is just too much. The burden is too heavy! : )

I wrote last time about not crying when they told me about amputating my leg. This has been an issue my counselor and I have talked quite a bit about. I feel awkward at times because I have a hard time crying in front of other people. There have been times when I have, but it is usually out of anger, not sadness or sentimentality. The only three things that consistently make me cry are seeing/hearing children sing, the movie Stepmom, and the ending of Rocky IV.

I know, I'm a freak! : )

I know if Richard read this, he would have a hard time believing it, so let me say that I do cry in front of Richard. He has never said, "don't cry," and I really appreciate that about him. Unfortunately, he bears the brunt of most of my crying - I guess all husbands have that pleasure to some extent. The past three years, with all of the trials and tribulations we have encountered, have brought on even more tears than usual.

When it comes to crying around other people, I just feel very, very uncomfortable. I do not feel uncomfortable if someone else is crying. In fact, I think I'm pretty good at listening, talking them through it, etc....(I guess I should be if I'm a counselor, for goodness sake!) Even when I was younger, other girls would be crying at movies, at 8th grade graduation, at the cards in Hallmark. Me - nothing. 

Tonight I had dinner with some dear girlfriends from my teaching "family." One of our special group is moving out of state. Tonight's dinner was to celebrate her and to have a good gossip session before she leaves. We gave her a touching poem that one of our friends wrote about our group, and everyone was shedding tears. Not me. I did, however, cry on the way home, listening to music in the privacy of my car. 

Because I am usually wondering what others are thinking about me, I wonder if others see this as a sign that I don't feel as much or care as much. This is certainly not the case at all. I think, though, that I do have a hard time expressing how I feel in words and "in person." I am great with writing. I have expressed myself many times in letters to friends and family and, of course, in this blog. But when it comes to speaking how I feel, it is much harder for me.

I have no problem speaking how I feel when I am angry. In fact, I have no problem crying out of anger, either. In fact, that is usually what happens when I become very hurt or angry. I cry. This makes arguments/confrontation very frustrating for me, because I am often a blubbering idiot. I wonder if so much anger comes out because I hold other things back....or maybe I am just plain overanalyzing the situation. Either way, I do know I feel awkward and inadequate at times because I cannot adequately explain how I feel. Often I give gifts to show how I feel but am often left wondering if the person got the point.

I have been thinking about this quite a bit lately - obviously. I have a counseling appointment on Wednesday, and I plan to share this with her. I have not cried when I am there. I almost always cry after I leave. Why can I not let myself go? Why is it so hard for me to shed tears of joy and sorrow at appropriate times?

After a bit of an up and down week, I feel content tonight. While I am still very much in a state of flux and self-exploration, I am feeling more and more a part of the real world every day, which is to say I feel like I am escaping the "funk" that has consumed me for months. If I was a crier, I might even be crying tears of joy! But alas, I am off to sleep, completely dry eyed and wondering if ever those tears might come. 

Grieving

I have broken my writing streak - I apologize. I decided in rather last minute fashion, that I would come to Iowa with my parents this weekend to see my niece's dance recital. You might wonder why I would travel four and a half hours for a dance recital. Laura is no ordinary dancer. She began in kindergarten and is now going to enter the eighth grade. We have seen her grow up in her dancing, although one fact has always remained constant: she is the best dancer at the recital. I know you think I'm just biased, but this is not the case. She really is the best! : ) No joke. For years I have been seeing her recitals on DVD, but last year Richard and I came to our first recital. And I was hooked. This year I had the special added enjoyment of spending time taking pictures of Laura. Not only is she a wonderful dancer, she is also an all around wonderful person. As her aunt Peggy put it this evening, "She's pretty special, isn't she?" That she is. I think her pictures reflect that. Here are a few of my favorites:

(That's her in the front, and she had to hold that pose for a long time...she was awesome!)

The music at the recitals is usually amazing, and today was no exception. I get so emotional when listening to music, don't you? Today, as I watched the girls dance - moving their bodies gracefully (at least most of them), I long to have two legs. I let myself go down the "what if" path for just a moment: what if I had two legs...I would ice skate and dance and run up and down the stairs and not be tired or sore or so hot all of the time. There are not many moments when I feel this way, but watching ice skating, dancing, and gymnastics always gives me this intense feeling of longing. 

Many times in the last few months, I find myself looking in the mirror and not exactly recognizing who I see. I wonder if I look different to those around me. I know I am heavier, but it is deeper than that. Jane (aka, therapist) says I am a mode of self exploration, and this is why I feel so odd, even to myself. 

The thing is that since I lost my leg at the age of ten, I don't really remember having a leg. I don't long to be the person I was...to me I am who I am. The longing is more of a longing to be someone else - to change who I am into someone who is more self-confident, assured, and comfortable. To me, I think having a leg would provide all of that. In my mind I think, "Surely if I had two legs I would feel so good about myself." I quickly remind myself of the many two-legged self-conscious people I know, but I'm just sure that wouldn't be me.

In order to know what they were seeing on x-rays, the doctors at the Mayo Clinic did a biopsy of my left femur to see what was inside. I already knew in my heart what was inside my leg. It was cancer. I was sick - again. I woke up from a nap, still in the hospital recovering from the biopsy, and my parents were there, along with a few doctors, one being my surgeon. My parents were crying. My mom was sitting to the left of me, on my bed. My dad was on the right side of the bed, standing back a ways, looking away, trying to protect me from the pain in his eyes. Amy was out at the nurses station, and I could see her through the glass. 

"We are going to amputate your leg," the surgeon said. I remember these words but none of the words before those or even those immediately following. I remember an intense desire to escape the room, to run away from the news and especially from the pain my parents were experiencing. I wanted nothing more than to grab Amy and run. Run. Run. As much as I wanted to escape the situation, it was one I had myself prepared for. I knew before the biopsy was performed that the cancer had returned. I just felt it in my gut. And so the news, while devastating, was not a surprise to me.

I did not cry - not one bit - upon hearing the news. I just sat there making myself go away somewhere in my mind. My mom supported me, "It's okay to cry."

"I don't feel like crying," I said matter-of-factly. And I didn't. I did not hold back tears to protect them from my pain. The tears were not there. Had this come from years and years of training myself to hide my emotions? Was I in shock? Was this my coping mechanism? 

I do know that as the years have gone on, I miss having my leg more and more each year. I guess I expected it to get easier instead of harder, but as I get older, I am more and more aware of my physical limitations, and I feel more and more trapped inside a body that won't do what I want it to.

Still, I refuse to give into the pain or to the thoughts I feel when I watch Laura dance. Am I torturing myself? No, I don't think so. I want to see her dance. I want to celebrate her ability to do so. I want her to know how much I love and support her - nothing, no feeling - is ever going to stop me from doing something as important as that.

The Hard Stuff

When I started writing this blog, I did so for me, so that I would have a place to write my feelings. Secondly, I did it for other survivors. I have spent my life on the cutting edge of survivorship, and there have not been many resources to let me know how other survivors feel, and so I wanted to offer this as one of those resources. I am finding that it is hard to write about the really difficult things, though. Just as in my life, I often put out a front of "I'm good," as to avoid the difficult explanations and possible hurt that goes with saying how I really feel. I ask myself over and over: is it worth it to say how I really feel? Or will it be another way I might cause pain in my family. The answer is, I don't know. But I do know that the really hard stuff is usually what needs to be let out. It is what eats us up inside and causes us to hold back on our dreams.

I am realizing in my counseling that much of what I do in my life is driven by one single factor: an attempt to make up or make right the pain that was caused to my family, especially my siblings, by my years and years of being sick. Always, always, always in the back of my mind - and sometimes in the front of my mind - is the notion that I've caused so much pain. I know my parents missed really, really, really important moments in the lives of my siblings because they were caring for me. I know that my parents, especially my mom, have to live with knowing that, too. How we interact, the habits we have as a family seem to be colored so much by this fact. And the more and more I try to make it right, the worse I feel - it is a a vicious cycle.

I try and appear totally okay when I am around my siblings - it's not fair to be any other way - since they've already been through so much. I try and do and say things that will be somehow representative of the pain and guilt I feel without letting them know my motives. I try and say and do things that might keep them from worrying about me.

This is the thing - it's never enough. It will never be enough. Nothing I say or do will ever take away what happened. I tell myself over and over that I did not bring on Ewings Sarcoma - it was nothing I did to make it happen. It is not my fault. We all did the best we could do. Over and over I tell myself this, and still it is there - the guilt. What a useless but gripping emotion. 

I am learning that what is inside me comes out in anger, annoyance, and bitterness. I do not want every time I get together with my siblings to be a counseling session, I'm not saying that. I guess I just want to be real. And maybe in the end that won't look much different than I am right now. I don't know. I just want to worry less about what my life has done to them.  And maybe saying these things out loud - or at least on the screen - will free me from some of this. That is something I am working on with my counselor - it is on me to get through this. It is nothing my siblings have done to make me feel this way. I am realizing, though, that my reactions to situations are colored so much by this ever present guilt, frustration, ughhhhhhhh feeling I continue to harbor.

So there it is....the truth. The hard stuff. There it is. I put it out there for me. For other survivors who, too, might know the grip of guilt. Let it go....let it go...I am pushing publish before I chicken out.

Ughhhhhhhh

Hey. I have had an exciting day....I have been working on "researching" photographers. I have had a good time looking at other photographer's websites - getting inspiration and ideas. I am the type of person that jumps right in and gets going on things. I don't know if this is a good or bad thing...I guess at times it could be a bit of both. I have had a dream to do this as a career for many, many years, and I am so excited that I can start to see it happening. I am so thankful for Richard encouraging me to go for it. I know not everyone has this. It's awesome.

I have been somewhat frustrated, confused, angry, unsure today even amid my excitement about the photography stuff. This is really hard to explain. If I explained it how it is going around in my head, I would definitely hurt someone's feelings because the things in my head are harsh. This is making no sense. Richard is laying beside me, and I said, "I don't know how to write this. I have no idea what to write."

This is what he said: "Write about how exciting the last few days have been for you. Write about how it is hard to push forward when fear and depression are lurking around the corner." I swear - word for word this is what he said. Who has this kind of man? I love him. I really do.

I think I may do a photo shoot of him. I wonder if I did, if anyone would be able to see in his eyes and hands and arms what I see. Comfort. Strength. Wisdom. 

Before I go to far, let me say he is a man. Annoyingly driven by items on a list to be accomplished. Moving forward with seemingly no emotion at times. But then he blurts something out like he did moments ago, and I am amazed.

In a way I feel I have grown up being married to Richard. I have always felt older than my age, I guess from my experiences, and I guess that is why it is possible for me to be married to someone who is 25 years older than me. (YIKES - that sounds like a lot when written on the screen!). He has taught me a lot about control and about commitment and reliability. I think I have taught him some about passion and sharing and FUN! : ) I think he only started dancing in his underwear after he met me! 

One thing he really gets about me is what I was going to write about earlier....and that is my  lack of sympathy for others going through difficult times. I can look at the situation and have empathy to a certain extent, but I am very much of the "pull up your big girl (or boy) panties and deal with it" philosophy. I have so little tolerance for people who just wallow in their miserableness, unable to ask for or accept help. I'm a counselor for goodness sake! I sound like a real B@#!. But really, when does sympathy become enabling? Do you give a homeless person on the street money? I don't. Is this bad?

I have a LOT of anger inside me about people I know (and some that I love) ruining their bodies with substances. I KNOW it is an illness. I KNOW it is an addiction. I KNOW it is terribly hard to quit drinking, quit smoking, etc....but still, no kindness. The worst part is I hate seeing what they are doing to themselves but it REALLY irks me that it affects me, Richard, and Nick. Whenever I am sick, one of the first things I think about is how those who love me are going through me being sick - AGAIN. And so I guess it pisses me off that others don't do the same. Why can others not see the damage they are inflicting?

Amy and I were discussing a person we know who is close to some family members and who is really having a hard time with life. This person has been without a job for over two years and is now losing his house and is going to move in with his daughter. Amy said, "I feel so sorry for him." And see, I don't. Not at all. Not even one little bit. In fact, I said it sucks for his daughter, and he will probably mooch off of her for the rest of his life and that he is able bodied. He could get a job at McDonalds or something. She said he has an illness (alcoholism), to which I replied, "Then get help." She thinks maybe he doesn't know where to get help. To which I replied, "Oh, please. What a bunch of bullshit. Look in the phone book, go to the ER, get it together!" So we continued the conversation back and forth, eventually discussing why it is I feel the way I feel. I said this is something I may talk with Jane (my therapist) about tomorrow. She thinks this is a good idea, because it does seem odd that I wouldn't be at least a little sad/sorry for him.

Is it a cop out or excuse for me to say that I've been through a lot, and so I don't have much patience for others getting themselves together? I don't think people need to be perfect. I DO think people should have a plan for themselves, responsibility for their well-being, and respect for the well-being of those around them. And by the way, I'd like to have world peace while I'm at it. : )

I have so much appreciated those who have supported me in my many, many ordeals, so I do not mean to sound ungrateful or unmindful of that. Whether others around me realize it or not, I do try and get up and go and have a plan for myself....not just for my sake but for the sake of those who love me. I don't want to see them hurting. Sometimes this drives me crazy - literally, and it is what caused me to contemplate suicide this year. I hate being a burden on others.  Perhaps this is why I have so little tolerance for others who are? 

This is a deep, deep and complicated topic. I am going to end now before no one ever reads this blog again because it is so....I don't know....WEIRD! :) Thanks for listening! 

The art for today is a digitally altered picture I took on the way to our lake. Normally where there is one dandelion, there are many, many more. This one was out there, seemingly all alone. It struck me - this is me. I look like I should be part of "the crowd." Really, I feel fragile and isolated and alone. But not always! Sometimes I feel unusual (in an exotic sense), beautiful, and just one of many! So yeah, this is me. Angie the Dandelion:

The Answer?

Okay...I think I've got the photography bug!!! Could this be the answer to my question: what can I do? I did get another art order today, so I think that will continue to grow as well. I'm really getting excited. I have loved hearing your comments.

I am definitely going to start writing more about my childhood soon. There is so much I'd like to share. For tonight...I'm tired because I have been editing the pics I took of Amy's kids tonight. There are SOOOOO many good ones, and when I left there, I didn't think I had many. She looked at them on my camera and said, "I don't think you got any of the three of them. That's okay, it's hard to get three of them all looking good at once." Oh yea of little faith! Here are some of my favorites...I could have uploaded all of them, but then I'd be up until the morning. : ) By the way, I only uploaded them in low quality bc I didn't want it to take forever, so imagine them much crisper and brighter in color.

Have a great one!

P.S. Guess what I said to make them laugh? "Auntie's sweating like a PIG! Do I look like a PIG to you?" Will was cracking up! I'm not sure kids I don't know would have found me quite so funny! : )

Learning to Back Float

Well, I went to the pool this afternoon with Nick, my mom, and my dad. I sat under the umbrella the whole time with mom and dad, and I had like 53 band-aids all over the spots I don't want to get sun (I still have lots of spots from my horrible rash at the end of February)- okay, it was really only 7 or 8 band-aids, but it seemed like 53. Dad joked that if I continue to use band-aids in such a fashion, he is going to buy stock in Johnson and Johnson. Ha! Ha! He's so funny! : )

Whenever we are at the pool, and I am watching Nick swim, I usually think at least once of the time my dad taught me to back float on a lake in Minnesota. My mom has the picture, and I really want to get it and have it framed. Maybe I will post it here some day....promises, promises.

The cool thing about this experience was that in high school we studied a poem about a dad teaching his daughter to back float. This is the poem:

First Lesson

Lie back daughter, let your head be tipped back in the cup of my hand. Gently, and I will hold you. Spread your arms wide, lie out on the stream and look high at the gulls. A dead- man's float is face down. You will dive and swim soon enough where this tidewater ebbs to the sea. Daughter, believe me, when you tire on the long thrash to your island, lie up, and survive. As you float now, where I held you and let go, remember when fear cramps your heart what I told you: lie gently and wide to the light-year stars, lie back, and the sea will hold you.  Philip Booth  Man, I love that poem. Isn't it amazing? I have many times felt tired as I'm "thrashing" to my island - wherever that is (I haven't figured that one out yet), and I am so thankful that my dad taught me to survive. And even though he isn't "holding" me now, like he did when I was little, there are so many lessons he taught me that make me able to stand/float on my own. Like: -Get up. Get up and get going. One day when I was a teenager he tried to wake me, and I wouldn't get up - like most teenagers, I wanted to lounge until noon or so. He said, "If you are not up by the time I get back here, I'm throwing a glass of water on you." I have to admit that I thought "yeah, right" to myself. In between wakefulness and sleep I heard him open the cupboard, turn on the faucet, turn off the faucet, and then I heard his steps coming back down the hallway. I jumped out of bed, just as he turned the corner into my room. Even though I was out of bed, he threw the whole glass of water right on me, all over the wall and everything. So, yeah, he taught me to get up and get going - which is a valuable lesson on days when you really have to try. -It ain't so bad.  One of our loves growing up was the Rocky series of movies. If you don't love the Rocky movies, well....I don't even know what to say if you don't love them. Just don't tell me, because I'll be too upset! :) In Rocky III (which is my least favorite, next to Rocky V, which I don't even count), Mr. T. is beating the hell out of Rocky, and Rocky keeps saying, "Ain't so bad. Ain't so bad." When I was getting chemo treatments, my dad would say this to me, and we would laugh. It sucked, we both knew, but it felt much cooler to say, "Ain't so bad." This applies to many life situations, don't you think? And, last but certainly not least: -Faith. Rely on your faith. I have been thinking about this one a lot lately....conversations with family and friends keep bringing me back to the issue of faith. There have been times when I have wanted so badly to be angry with God. In the end, I never really can. There are many, many things I don't like about the Catholic church, but I'm so thankful that my parents raised us with a faith background. And even if there are things I don't believe in, I still find God and peace when I am at mass - lots of other times, too, but definitely at mass. My dad is not one you might expect to be faith-driven, but he SOOOO is. This is not to say he is perfect, because he's not (right, mom?) : ), and it's not to say he is holier than thou, because he's not that, either. He is generous and has always given his very best for his family. I know he is following the example of Christ in that regard. I also think it's great that he has not been judgmental as my siblings married and joined other churches. I know he is as proud of my brother Jamie and his involvement in the Lutheran church as he is of any of us in the Catholic church. Faith. It's really about faith, not religion. He taught me that.

Dad doesn't read my blog - mostly because he is just not a computer guy, but maybe Mom will call him in to read this one. He will be teary-eyed, no doubt. He is also very sentimental. 

One last thing, unrelated to Dad. You must RUN! I mean RUN to artonawhim.org (there is a link on the side of this blog, too) to see my photo shoot of Nick. We did it this afternoon before our excursion to the pool. I am learning photography. Someone tell me what you think. Which is your favorite?

Plan?

Hey all. Tired tonight. I've been browsing the web looking at photography info....gathering up stuff for my next counseling meeting - you know she asked me to develop a plan. I am beginning to realize this may be an exercise in getting me to realize it is impossible to plan. What is it John Lennon said? Life is what happens while your busy making other plans.

Here is a photo of some wildflowers Richard and I discovered on a outing today. Enjoy.

It is 10:30 pm, and I'm home alone. Well, the doodle is here with me, but my boys are not. Richard went night fishing with his brother - does this sound fun to you? I see no appeal myself. Anyway, Nick went to his dad's, so that left me home alone.

I worked on scrapbooking pages for a book I am putting together for my niece, Ellen. It is her birthday at the end of June, and so I am scrapbooking this year in her life. It has been a great project. My favorite thing about making handmade gifts (which if you know me, you know I do a lot of), is that while you are creating the gift, you cannot help but think of the person for whom you are creating the gift.

Thinking about Ellen makes me smile and feel all warm inside! : ) Amy's (my twin) daughters are only a little over a year apart. It is funny because one looks like Amy and one looks like me. Ellen looks like me. She also looks a bit like her mimi (grandma on her dad's side), but I love to think she looks like me. Plus, she has some of my endearing qualities as well! : ) She loves a cold pillow. She moves her arm around to find the cold spots. I DO THIS TOO? Is it possible that it is a hereditary trait to like the cold spots on pillows? Weird, huh? She is also a "picker." Not a good trait at all, but one common to us, nonetheless. THe other day she asked me excitedly, "Auntie, did you like to pick at your gym wart? I have been picking at mine!" Okay -that's kind of sick, but hey, we can't help it. She has dimples like mine. She is sweet like me! : )

Okay, she's not ALL like me. She is skinny as a rail, something I've never been. She wears glasses and looks absolutely adorable in them. I don't think she is nearly as shy as I was when when I was her age. She is very bubbly and outgoing. She laughs all the time - sometimes we even have to say, "Ellen, stop laughing." 

When I think about her life - and really the lives of Nick and Amy's other two - I am amazed and proud of how good they have it. They are, for the most part, carefree and happy kids. They have most things they desire. They have been raised in faithful homes. They are encouraged to do their best at all they do. They have the same love and family togetherness that we grew up with and value so much.

I cannot help but wonder about their futures. Back to the wanting a crystal ball syndrome. I guess everyone wishes for the kids in their lives that it would be possible to prevent any pain in their lives. I hope they make good decisions. I hope they marry someone who treats them well and that they treat their spouses with kindness and love. I hope they continue to value faith, family, education, and togetherness. I hope they will rely on each other the way Amy and I and our siblings have relied on each other.

Because I only had one child - something I never wished for - I guess I consider Claire, Ellen, and Will to be like my children and even more importantly, like Nick's siblings. He loves them just the same, I know. Birthdays and holidays and gatherings are not complete unless we have each other.

I'm feeling very lucky tonight that even though I'm home alone, I feel so strongly that I'm never alone. I am blessed with a family that guarantees that. How wonderful!

Here is one of the pages out of Ellen's digital scrapbook:

Is she not the cutest?

A Plan

I have been waiting anxiously all week for my counseling appointment. I did not get to go last week because I was at the farm - therapy in its own right. So, I was really looking forward to today's appointment. I was a little more than disappointed when I left the appointment feeling somewhat irritable and exhausted. I started the session by telling her that I always seem to be most bummed out on Mondays and Tuesdays. It was not long before we were talking about my career, or lack thereof.

I left, although frustrated, having come to some very clear conclusions:

1. It is hard for me to be unsettled. I want what I want, and I want it NOW! Like Veruca from Willy Wonka. : )

2. I thrive on being around people.

3. I attach much of my "worth" - right or wrong - to my career.

4. Things are never easy.

THese were good things to come to a conclusion about, but I am still left wondering what to do in with this great expanse (hopefully) of a future that is in front of me. When I was in Iowa, Vicki gave me a gift - a wall hanging that says: The best thing about the future is that it comes one day at a time. I struggle so much with remembering and most important accepting this fact. If it were up to me, I would have the next thirty years planned out blow by blow. My counselor says this comes from years of uncertainty about my health. Duh! Sometimes what she says seems so obvious, but many times I haven't thought of it in the way she helps me to.

So, after many, many questions from her, we brainstormed ideas of what type of work I could do that would allow me to work part-time, with a flexible schedule to allow for resting, etc..., that would be a passion, that would be around people, and that would enable me to earn a little money. Not asking too much, right? Actually, we came up with several options: teaching an adult ed class, getting Daisy trained as a therapy dog, continue to pursue the art stuff, add digital scrapbooking to my art services, counsel kids on a part time basis.

There are lots of options, but knowing the options and making them happen are two different things entirely. She encouraged me to consider the exploration of these options as exciting. Right now, I feel it is a bit daunting and scary. Way down deep I feel a tiny twinge of excitement. She also encouraged me to be open to possibility. Again, easier said than done.

One last option we talked about was to get disability payments. I have been torn about this for a while. Getting disability obviously says one thing: you are disabled. She asked me: are you disabled? This was so hard for me to answer. So I said, "yes and no." She laughed and said that was a cop out answer. Try again. I said in my heart I don't consider myself disabled, but I know I can't work full time anymore because of my health. So what does that mean?

She said next week she would like me to come with a "plan" for how I am going to explore my options. Who do I need to talk to? What could I read or research? What are the options?

She reminded me that self-exploration is difficult and to go easy on myself for feeling what I am feeling. I think next session, I may ask her if I can take her picture and then put it up all over the house to remind me of what she says... : ) Just kidding. I guess that would be kind of creepy. 

I will end now. My brain is about to EXPLODE! I am still having problems uploading the art. I think the files may be too big. I am seriously considering offering my digital scrapbooking services. I am going to post sample pages on my art website this weekend, so check it out. 

I will share this picture of my incredibly handsome and talented son, Nicholas Jay. : ) Is he not the best looking baseball player you've seen in a while? Ok, I'm a little biased!

Have a good day!

Be a Good Girl

I am having a really, really good day. I hope you are to. I am so excited about the comments! :) This is really silly, I know, but it does help to be encouraged. I don't feel weird in my dark bedroom writing my innermost thoughts, but when I see someone in public and they say, "How are you? Are you feeling more like living these days?" it sort of freaks me out. Yes, this did happen to me yesterday.

One comment from my sister said I should not be so hard on myself, and this is something I talk to my counselor about. It is hard for me to consider mediocrity. I am not saying I am a superstar at everything I do, but in general I try to do everything I do to the best of my ability. I am also pretty competitive, and I like to keep ahead of the game. It feels good to be good at what you do. It is something I have thrived on my entire life. I guess everyone does this to some extent....but what makes some people overachievers?

My parents always insisted that we be respectful as kids. This carried into my treatment as well. There was one doc I was particularly annoyed with in my teenage years. I admit I was pretty sarcastic and unpleasant to him at times. Of course I thought he deserved it, as he seemed to be a real doof at times. My mom would often "scold" me by saying, "Angela, you should really be nicer. He is doing the best he can." My response was: "Too bad that isn't good enough."

Often I get myself in trouble by my harshness. I have so little tolerance for others at times and expect them to strive for greatness like I lead myself to believe I do. The funny thing is, it really never seems to be enough in my mind. I have never done enough - there is always more I could and should do in my mind.

There was one day we were in a counseling staff meeting at work. We were discussing scholarships and a set of twins who were a bit unequal in their academic achievement. Both were great kids but one was at the very top of the class, getting scholarships, etc...I commented that I could understand that situation, being a twin myself. One of my co-workers, who does not know Amy, said, "Yeah, but at least you were the smarter one."

I was shocked and laughed. "No, you've got that wrong. I was not the smart one. Amy was always at the top of the class and much more academically successful."

"Wow!" the co-worker replied. "Knowing you, I would have never guessed that."

This is something I still think of often today. The descrepancy between how we see ourselves and how others see us is amazing. The truth of who we are is probably somewhere in between how we see ourselves and how others see us. I am always sure I know what others are thinking of me - that my hair looks bad that day or that I'm being a bitch. The truth is I don't really know what others think unless they tell me. This is often a hard fact for me to accept.

I wonder if this comes from years of wondering what others think of me. Again, we all do this, but I think I am overly sensitive of others' opinions. When I was little, it was always a goal of mine to get a sticker at the end of my visit at Mayo. I would try and be the best I could be - brave and strong. I felt my "worth" depended on it. I don't know how I gathered that, but I did. I very much have the suck it up attitude, and I know I get that from my dad. It serves a person well in the most difficult of situations. However, I wonder how far is too far. When is it okay to let your guard down and just say, "This sucks!" Is it ever okay just to throw an out and out fit about life? I never thought so, until recently, and mostly I'm still torn. When I talk to Nick and when I counseled kids at school, I almost always go with the, "that's really to bad but deal with it" philosophy. Does this make me harsh or brave? or neither?

When I was involved with Camp Quality, a camp for kids with cancer, it was always expected that the kids be respectful. When I became the director, it was important to me that we continue this tradition. One afternoon, we had guest singers who were staying after their performance for dinner. We lined up at dinner for a buffet style service. One of the staff members let me know that "Mike" (change of name to protect the innocent : )) had butted in line in front of our guest performers saying, "I eat before you because I'm dying."

This was a twelve year old kid whose actions were obnoxious as all get out - even if he did have cancer, and I stand by the idea that it is important to admit to these things. Just because a child - or anyone for that matter - has cancer, it does not mean we have to like what their actions or choices they make. I have to admit that I was pretty fired up at Mike upon hearing about his announcement to the guests. One of the frustrating things was that Mike was actually doing quite well at this time and not in any real immediate danger of dying. He was not terminal, in other words.

I got my emotions in check and took Mike for a ride on the golf cart....It was never a good thing to get a ride on the golf cart! : ) I was calm but stern. I told him what I heard and asked him if this was true. He admitted that it was. I stopped the golf cart, turned to him and said, "Listen, we are all dying. Every one of us. Just because you are going through a difficult time - a really difficult time - does not mean you have rights to be rude or to use your situation to get your way."

He got kind of teary eyed, and for a moment I thought I had been too harsh. In the very next moment, my heart told me to stand strong. I assured him - still being serious and stern - that this was a great lesson to learn. I told him that I thought he had a lot of potential to use his experiences to do great things....and then I smiled, "but while you are here, you are not going to get any special points for having cancer. I consider you to be just as normal as any Joe Shmoe on the street."

He smiled back. I think it meant a lot to him to have someone call him on his little game. I think he was relieved to find out that his experience as a cancer survivor really didn't mean he was "special." Who he was - his personality and spunk - that is what made him special. Yes, his treatment probably formed some of that, but it certainly wasn't everything. I think about Mike and that conversation, and I try to tell myself the same thing: I am who I am, and I should always try and be the best I can be. 

And on the days when I don't earn that "sticker" because I've been a "witch" or because I've been indulging in a major pity party...well, those days I'm still working on. I'm working on accepting those days as part of the package. I'm working on accepting all of me...not just the good girl who earned the sticker.

Every time I upload a file, it says "internal error." I'm not sure what that means. I'll investigate more and work on posting art tomorrow. I promise! I guess I might have to start whipping out some poetry...at least I don't have to upload that.

Thanks again for the comments!

The Good, the Bad, the Ugly

Today had a true mixture of the good, the bad, and the ugly. They were as follows:

THE GOOD -

• I got to talk to Megan...we talked about my blog entry and about all of the silly things we did that I could have written about. Great conversation.
• I went to lunch with my dear, long time friend, Molly. Even though we both live in JC, we don't see each other often. It is always easy to catch up.
• I got my hair cut. Love an hour at the salon.
• I had lots of laughs with Nick today.
• I delivered an art order.
• I went to the Sheriff's BBQ with Richard and Nick - saw friends.

THE BAD -

• Still in a bit of a funky fog today and kept screwing up things - like I went to my haircut at the wrong time.
• I had a nagging headache all day today. I assume it is because I did not sleep with my CPAP machine last night. Yes, I wear a CPAP machine. It is quite a lovely "mask" that forces air into my lungs at night, so my oxygen level stays up. Someday I will write more about this and about the sleep tests I had to determine I needed one...a great story. I associate CPAPs with fat, old men, but still I wear one and am happy to report Richard finds me incredibly sexy in the contraption! : )
• Still only 25 readers today. 
• ONE stinking comment (and I loved it, AZ) but really, one comment? Come on, humor me people!
• My good, good friend J. called to tell me she was at the hospital with her husband, who is also a dear friend. It is hard to feel helpless when your friends are hurting.
• I felt completely useless as an artist...growing a business is HARD and FRUSTRATING.

THE UGLY -

• I got my haircut today. I love the time at the salon, but I just don't feel great about my physical appearance. UGH!
• I had a MAJOR, MAJOR, MAJOR sweating attack in Barnes and Noble while sales clerk was helping me search for a fairly trashy romance novel we are reading in my book club. I think she thought I was sweating thinking about the book! : ) How embarrassing. Plus, Nick wouldn't stop laughing at me when we got in the car. He kept repeating, "Mom, it looks like you just got out of the shower!" And it did. 

So, lots of different emotions today. I am happy to report (I guess) that there was no crying involved, and I feel good about this. I sometimes feel like I am about to bust with all the crap that is inside me. 

Thus, today's piece of art....a digitally altered photo of the silos on "the farm."

They have held "crap" for years and years and years and are still standing. What does this mean for me? Hope? : )

UPDATE: Twenty five minutes later, it is now 12:37 am, and I cannot get the blankety blank file to upload, so I'll post the art tomorrow. It's been that kind of day. Definitely a sign it's time to go night night. 

"A Picture a Day Keeps the Doctor Away" Project

Well...still in a bit of a funk, although I had a great time at Amy's. We had good food and lively conversation. I've vegging and surfing the net some since I got home. I have decided, in a moment of pure insanity, I'm sure, to attempt to post each day for the next 365 days - even if it is just a short post. With each post, I am going to include an original piece of art - be ready to experience several mediums: digital collage, photography, maybe even a bit of poetry - oh my! 

It is also my wish that you tell one person about my blog - preferably somebody who will join the readership. Currently, I have about thirty readers per day, but I would love to have more. Can you help?

Finally, I would love to hear your opinions on works of art I post here. I am not going to explain the piece, so I would love to hear your interpretations....post opinions in comments. Thanks to everyone who continues to read. It makes me feel good to know someone out there is listening! : ) 

Today's piece:

Bummer

When I was a counselor, and I would have a kid come into my office to tell me about their woes for the day, one word almost always came out in response: bummer. Partly, I meant to show empathy - I really did care and wanted to be able to help so badly. Sometimes, the bummer came out with a more sarcastic tone, as if to say, "Don't feel sorry for yourself...." or "Get your shit together..." (because of course I couldn't say "shit" at school and oh how I sometimes wanted to).

I am having a bummer kind of a day. Last week and weekend were so busy, I hardly had a moment to think. Today, I woke up feeling tired and unmotivated and somewhat sad....do you ever feel sad but can't put your finger on why? I did take a luxurious nap, laying cross wise on my bed in front of the fan. Still, after waking up for the second time, I cannot shake this fog. 

Today is my mom's birthday. I have made her cute notecards that she has been desiring. I have an art order to fill, so I did that today as well. We are going to Amy's tonight for dinner - which is always, always, always delicious. Richard is fishing with some friends and was torn - fishing or dinner at Amy's - a genuinely hard choice. Thinking about this makes my heart feel full, because Richard has only recently really started to enjoy our extended family time. He is private and quiet and from a small family. Our routine "togetherness" has been somewhat difficult for him to get used to. But today he was very disappointed to know he was going to miss Amy's dinner. It reminds me of how close we have grown in the last months - trying to ride the waves of ever changing emotions and circumstances.

The most embarrassing and frustrating thing of the day came when I called a shop owner to inquire if she needed more pendants. It seems she got the wrong bunch of pendants (which Richard delivered on a day a few weeks ago when I had a rough day). The pendants she got still have gluey stuff on them. She did not seem mad, but I was hugely embarrassed. It seems lately I just can't get it right. Maybe I am trying to hard.

I am not accustomed to failure or really even to these bumps in the road. When I graduated from college, I got a teaching job immediately, and also a counseling job when I completed my Master's degree. I have published writings, delivered speeches, directed a camp....It has not been neurosurgery or anything as important as that, but I have felt accomplished in my own small way. Now I cannot seem to just enjoy this time off - even though I know (and everyone reminds me) that I should. I feel somewhat useless and unfulfilled. I guess this will be the topic for my Thursday therapy appointment.

I need to go now...I may write more later. Maybe some good family time will release me from my annoying funk. Tomorrow or the next day I will feel embarrassed that I even wrote about this today. Oh well.

Until then,