Gia's (out)POST

Looking Forward

noreply@blogger.com (JeannieB) — Mon, 18 Jul 2011 20:10:00 +0000

Let's face it. It's time for some forward thinking. I mean, take a look at my last post. There is no doubt that a blog post about a colonoscopy is a glimpse into someone's state of mind. And I was definitely in a state of mind.

Yes, there was that single moment of inspiration when I thought someone might possibly benefit from reading about my experience, but it was Fleeting (oh, excuse the pun). I was tired of doctors and office visits and packing, and it showed in every word. From beginning to end (and again, please pardon the pun).

Now I'm past all the medical probing and prodding, healthy as a horse, and unpacked from the NOVA/DC to Henderson, NV move. We have driven over 3,000 miles in a 26-foot Penske truck in the heat of summer, loaded or unloaded the truck a total of five times as we road tripped from Virginia to New Mexico to Nevada to Utah and back to Nevada, picking up belongings from storage units/locations in 3 states. We are moved in. We are unpacked. We are settling into our new home. We have boxes in the garage, but very few. Now it's all about sorting and filing and getting rid of excess. It's a lot of hard work. But it's the next step to our future and we are looking forward.

This I can do. Without a doctor. Without an appointment.

Praise the Lord.

It's All Behind You

noreply@blogger.com (JeannieB) — Fri, 24 Jun 2011 16:26:00 +0000

It's been a long time since I was cheered on while sitting on a commode, over 50 years to be exact. I think I was two.

And yet, today I found myself cheering silently for me (while my husband murmured his own encouragement from the living room "you'll get through this, honey").

And that's what preparation for a colonoscopy does for you. It reminds you of those toddler days when a diaper was quite often the best option: with every form of laxative known to man lined up on your bathroom counter, and a corresponding time chart taped to your bathroom mirror, life as you knew it (as a grown adult) is about to end.

It's not just the lack of food that makes a grown woman (me) want to cry, but the recognition that there is no where in the world she would rather be than within 10 feet of a bathroom, newly recognized as Laxative Heaven.

And that is how my past 36 hours were spent - NO diapers, but always within 10 feet of our tiny bathroom. However, in our 640 square foot, 1-bedroom condo that means I could be in any of our three rooms and STILL make it to Laxative Heaven in just a matter of steps, so I probably should not complain. Doing this in a 5,000 square foot home would add another level of difficulty.

In all seriousness, the past 36 hours were much less uncomfortable than I had imagined they would be during the past six years. Yes, I have been dreaming of this day that long. Why, you must wonder. Well, it's simple. Six years ago I turned 50, the recommended age for your first colonoscopy screening. I've put it off that long.

And yes, dreaming is probably a bit of a stretch. It was more like a nightmarish fear of the unknown. If you've read Dave Barry's Colonoscopy Journal, you can understand how unknown and imagined expectations (17,000 feet of tube) can feed an unnecessary fear which will grow and fester inside us until the only cure is a regimen of laxatives and a colonoscopy.

Reading Barry's column was the best medicine I could have taken, I laughed and laughed late Thursday evening as I read his hysterical "journal" of his colonepic experience (yes, that's a new word - colonepic).

But, leaving the humor behind, here are the details. I have survived a colonoscopy and I am here to tell you about it. Read along.

Per the good doctor's orders, I stopped eating solid foods on a Wednesday at 7 PM (dinner). This was easy since I was tired and ready for bed at 10, and I was not hungry after dinner. I sipped some water in the middle of the night and slept well.

The following day, I started seriously drinking clear liquids at 7 AM (Thursday). I am a Starbuck's junkie so I hit my favorite haunt and ordered several iced drinks to go. I enjoyed green tea, and passion tea, and water all day long as I was running errands and keeping appointments. I was never hungry. And certainly never thirsty.

In the evening on Thursday I had a few Popsicle's, one bowl of clear chicken broth, several cups of green and red jello, and more passion tea and water. I still wasn't really hungry, however, I discovered that habitually I would get off the couch and check out the frig every hour or so, looking for anything I might want. It was rather enlightening to see my own habits in action, and not be able to act on them.

Earlier that day, at 2 PM on Thursday, I had taken the prescribed laxative pills. At 5 PM on Thursday I drank a full bottle of laxative, followed by a large glass of water. And again at 5 AM on Friday, I drank a full bottle of laxative, followed by a large glass of water. All per doctor's orders.

Word of CAUTION: the liquid laxative is dangerous, I was very happy the doctor's directions included a suggestion to be VERY close to a bathroom after (while) drinking the bottled laxative. And without any gruesome details, let's just say I lost more than a few pounds that night.

And I'm not going to lie and say it was a great night's sleep. It wasn't. I slept, but I also woke up to visit Laxative Heaven several times. But it wasn't miserable or painful, it just wasn't all that restful.

It is very important to remember that you should not have ANYTHING (liquid or solid) within 4 hours of any type of surgery requiring anesthesia (with the exception of doctor ordered laxatives and liquids - in my case, the 2nd laxative bottle and a large glass of water).

Early Friday morning, we drove to the hospital, where the nurses were professional, quick and thorough with the paperwork. And eager to share the locations of all nearby bathrooms.

I was then presented with a lovely hospital bracelet and designer backless gown - I felt like a princess.
Well, not really, but so far this had not been a terribly unpleasant experience. Of course, it wasn't what I would term a pleasant experience either. But I was resigned to the fact that it needed to be done. I was not nervous or anxious. I just wanted it over. And I was dressed for the occasion.

There wasn't any "real" prep (like when you have major surgery), just vitals, an IV drop (for the anesthesia) and a warm blanket over the legs (absolutely say "yes" when they ask if you want one).

The anesthesiologist wanders in, makes sure you are who you should be and are there for the same procedure she thinks you're there for, then explains that it's an IV anesthesia, no needles in the arms, no tube down the throat, simple, easy. A nap of sorts.

And then the doctor arrives, looking all dapper in his crisp cotton shirt and silk tie, to say hello, make sure you are who you say you are and are there for the same reason he thinks you're there ("I have 3 questions for you: What's your name? Who's your doctor? Why are you here? Perfect. Thank you. Good night.")

And you're out.

And then you're awake. About 30 - 45 minutes later.

And surprisingly, feeling just fine. No memory of what just happened (which is nice, because you can pretend that your dignity is in tact and nothing at all happened while you were napping). And there are no lingering signs of the long feared procedure either. A smiling nurse offers you juice and pretzels, and compliments your hair (which I always find hysterical in a hospital bed).

Following your awakening, you "stabilize" for maybe 15 minutes, the nurse checks your vitals, the smiling doc comes in to tell you all is well, and you're done. Discharged. It's over.

In and out (please pardon the pun) in less that 2 hours. Check-in to check-out.

And it's off to brunch, cuz you are hungry. Nothing spicy, please.

In hindsight, I suppose if I had it to do all over again I should have done it at age 50...

But then again, you know what they say about hindsight - it's all behind you.

Just Bury Me in a Moving Box

noreply@blogger.com (JeannieB) — Mon, 06 Jun 2011 16:23:00 +0000

I can't count the number of moves I've made since I married my children's father in January 1976. However, I am certain my children can.

It all started because I married a building contractor. You know the type - "If we build it, they will buy." Anyway, that was the theoretic plan. We would build a home, move in, and then sell it for a profit which was to be applied to the purchase of our next home. Somehow, no matter how good this sounds, it never really happened, but we managed to move around from one Hi-land Mountain Homes new-build to another for two decades (from Lake Arrowhead, CA to Running Springs, CA to Lake Arrowhead, CA to Crestline, CA to Lake Arrowhead, CA and to another home in Lake Arrowhead, CA...) I hope you get the picture.

And we weren't just accumulating and moving belongings over the years. We were accumulating and moving children. Often, or more accurately, almost always, I was pregnant when we moved, or had a newborn. Such fun. So each move included at least one more child, until we were moving our six children from house to house.

And then we weren't. When I moved from California with the kids, the number started dropping. (we moved from Lake Arrowhead, CA to Provo, UT then to another home in Provo, UT).

Karynn was the first to bolt. I can't say I blame her. The divorce between her Dad and me had been hard on everyone, but our children took the brunt of it - as children of a divorce always do. She was ready to head off to college and didn't waste a minute doing so. And it was there she met her husband. Cedar City (home of Southern Utah University - SUU) has been her family home ever since. Her four children were born there, and there have been less than a handful of moves in their 14 years of marriage, and all within a 5-mile radius. Lucky for them! Karynn has a successful photography business, Bloomshoot Photography and continues to be an amazing mother and wife. (we had moved from Provo, UT to Holladay, UT to Cottonwood Heights, UT to another home in Cottonwood Heights, UT and then back to Lake Arrowhead, CA while Karynn was at college).

And while I was moving around, her Dad and his wife were doing the same, so the kids always remind me to DOUBLE the number of moves I've made when calculating their individual moves.

Kurt was next. He was off to Honduras (yes, he preferred the stability of a third world country over mine). Two years later, returning with a newfound appreciation for our country, he wasted no time before heading off to Cedar City, UT to attend SUU (and meet his wife), before landing at BYU to complete his Juris Doctorate and Masters in Accounting. Since then he has traveled the world with his wife and children, visiting Europe, Guatemala, Honduras, and beyond, then spending several years on Wall Street and dedicating six months to an economic program in Chile before returning to familiar territory in Utah. He manages his two successful online businesses Rocket Relief and Settle My Tax. We will see how long the former homebody (although he was never unadventurous) stays planted (we had moved from Lake Arrowhead, CA to Yucaipa, CA while Kurt was in Honduras).

Kollin didn't last much longer. He bounced back to California with me, after our five years in Utah, but was soon out and about as an 18-year old living on his own. Florida beckoned and he accepted the call to serve a two-year LDS mission, working with the hearing-impaired and speaking through American Sign Language. From there, he traveled to Washington state to visit Hal, Kelly, Kalen and me, where he met his soon-to-be wife on a road trip from Washington to Provo at the beginning of a school year. Since then he's bounced back to Lake Arrowhead, CA once, but has landed firmly in Salt Lake City, UT with his wife and two girls, where he hangs his 3rd degree black belt at his own Jeff Speakman's Kenpo 5.0 studio. His classes include young children (he is the best martial arts instructor I've ever seen with children especially), teenagers, young professionals, mature adults, and he also teaches the hearing-impaired. (we had moved from Yucaipa, CA to Roslyn, WA while Kollin was in Florida).

Kyle might have stuck around after high school, but decisions (not mine) about college funding effectively led him to leave family behind and head out on his own. He went north to Arcata and Humboldt to start his college education, then back to Southern California and UCLA to finish his degree. He supported himself through college and is quite an amazing person. Following graduation (and I mean immediately following graduation, we had barely swallowed the celebratory dinner) he was off to DC for a new job, with his girlfriend soon to follow. And he has been in DC and at the same job, ever since. I think he will move west again someday, but for now they are happy and love the DC life. They have good friends and a beautiful penthouse apartment - Kyle has been featured in an online apartment magazine for his keen decorating skills (URL coming soon!) (we had moved from Roslyn, WA to another home in Roslyn, WA to Salt Lake City, UT and then to another home in alt Lake City, UT while Kyle was in school).

Kelly made Washington state her home. She graduated from Cle Elum High School where she had discovered her passion for customer service and hospitality while also working at Suncadia Resort. She still calls Cle Elum her hometown, although she left Washington soon after graduation, having only lived there for a few years (I sobbed for two days straight when she left). She headed to Utah for school, landing in Cedar City and graduating from Southern Utah University. She met her husband in Cedar (do you see a pattern here?) and they have chosen to make their home in Cedar, with only two moves so far in their less than two year marriage, the last move landing them in a gorgeous new home that we all love to visit! Kelly is a personal trainer and photographer (URL coming soon!) :) (we had moved from Salt Lake City, UT to Albuquerque, NM (and Kalen had moved to Brazil for one year) while Kelly was in school).

Kalen, although my youngest, left the roost relatively earlier than her brothers and sisters. I cried my eyes out when she left for Brazil at the age of 16 for a year-long Rotary Exchange. She bounced around in Brazil from host family to host family before returning to Utah and the scattered reality of her Mom (and dog) living in Albuquerque, her Dad living in California, her step-dad living in Utah, and her brothers and sisters dotting the country in DC, NY, CA and UT. I am certain she felt a bit homeless. It didn't take long for her to stubbornly choose to live "on her own" and state clearly and firmly that she wouldn't be living with any of us, all at the age of 17. If she was going to move in the future, it would be her choice, not ours. So off she went from Utah, to California, and finally to DC in February 2011. So she's in DC, where I thought I would live for a decade or more, but instead I am leaving. Life is putting me on the road again. So sad. So sad. But Kalen loves it here. She is finally launched; attending NOVA until she figures out her major, and working as a full time manager at Real People. She's found a great guy and I am feeling as if maybe I can finally let loose of the apron strings, the same strings she cut long ago and I tucked carefully into my pocket. Kalen's sense of style is flawless, and a future as a bilingual designer/buyer or personal shopper is inevitable. Brazil has stuck with her, both the couture style and the Portuguese language, but she will always be my baby. (URL coming soon!) (during Kalen's time in Brazil I moved from Salt Lake City, UT to Albuquerque, NM).

And there you have it, the saga of my many, many moves and the reactions of my children - either to plant their feet where they landed, or explore the world, but wherever they are each one has chosen to become an entrepreneur. No one's going to move them around the country, they will move when they want to. They are in control. They have no fear. They adapt. They are unlimited in their energy. And they are bright, optimistic, ethical, hardworking, grounded adults. I couldn't be prouder.

I will mention that nearly every move in my life has been because I had been recruited for a new position with a new organization, or found a new position...as a single Mom with six kids, better opportunities were difficult to turn down. I am ever grateful for the offers that came my way, but the long-term effects of all those moves are very real. Some of my children say they are grateful for the experiences, it made them who they are; some don't quite feel that way. And I agree with both positions. As for me, I have the paper-cut scars on my heart to live with, knowing that no matter how many positive effects there might have been, there were also negative effects that linger here and there with my kids.

Life is rarely what I expect it to be. And now I am off to another adventure in Henderson, Nevada with my husband Hal (who is no longer living in SLC, but is right here with me in DC - and the official moving truck driver). My kids don't have to move with me this time and they don't have to move me either (believe me, they are cheering right now), but I will be leaving two of them in DC, and there will be tears flowing down my cheeks for days.

I've loved getting together with Kalen and Kyle. It's been good to spend time with them, especially since Kyle has been so far away for so long. What a joy he is and how proud of him I am. And Kalers, well, what can you say about your youngest child who happens to be a beautiful, willful, strong, fun, intelligent daughter? I can only say one thing. She lights up my life and I love her to pieces. I will miss them both terribly.

But as I leave (again), Kalen and I can look back on some unique segments of time when it's been just the two of us - Cle Elum in the hotel and our first rental, Salt Lake City in our rental and the condo, and then the long drive from Victorville, CA to Washington DC and the time we've spent together since she's been here. In spite of the many moves in her life (over 20 and she's only 19), we've had some pretty precious time together, something none of my other children ever really had - with the exception of those first 3 years with Karynn which I remember much better than she will.

But there's always a silver lining, and now I am looking forward to being close to more of our kids and grandkids. We won't be in the same city, but we will be within driving distance. I can go to baseball games; I can be at birthday parties! I can attend concerts; I can enjoy my grandchildren! I can hug my kids! I can take them to Disneyland or to California beaches. And DC is a flight away...and I will visit as often as I can.

Life is so crazy, it's never calm. At least mine isn't. And now I'm back to packing. But I'm excited and can hardly wait...it's a new challenge, a new opportunity. Honestly, I don't know what I would do without all the fun memories of my past life, in all the wonderful places I've lived, with all the amazing people I've met. I have very few, if any, regrets. It hasn't been smooth, I've hurt myself and others along the way, but it's my life and I own it. And truth be known, I love it.

My kids are incredible. Patient, long-suffering, strong, valiant, honest, loyal and brilliant. They have made my life joyful, as I have bounced around from place to place. I will be eternally thankful.

And when my moving days are over, I will have the memories of friends and family to keep me going until it's time to just pack me away for good.

And when it is time...just bury me in a moving box. That's where I will feel most comfortable. And who knows, you might find a better plot for me someday... and I will already be packed. For the move.

Treading Water

noreply@blogger.com (JeannieB) — Sun, 15 May 2011 20:53:00 +0000

When I was a young girl, my sister Melanie was like a fish in water. She not only tanned beautifully, she swam beautifully. She was the quintessential Southern California beach babe.

I, on the other hand, was a redheaded, fair-skinned treader. I was very, very good at treading water.

When we were in grade school, our parents kept our bathing suits and beach towels in the trunk of our car. This may seem a bit odd, but in Southern California in the 60s, not everyone had a pool in their backyard and we were a member of the pool-less club.

Often, we would head out to see friends on hot summer days, especially on Sunday afternoons following church. We would be sweating against the plastic covered back seats, wishing for a/c (something else not everyone had, and we again were part of the a/c-less crowd) until we parked at the curb in front of a friend's home and jumped out of the car. And then we would hope....!

Hope was everything on those hot days to two Southern California girls.

We were never allowed to ask our parents' friends if we could swim, even if their kids were in the pool. Even if we were sweating rivulets. Even if HOPE was beaming from our silently begging eyes. And even if Marco Polo (our favorite game) was underway.

My parents made it clear that asking was rude; so we waited, mutely counting the passing minutes of lost swim time until finally someone would comment that it was too bad we hadn't brought our suits. But wait! Weren't our suits ALWAYS in the trunk of our car? Yes!! (My mother was brilliant!)

And off we would go, my sister and me, quick-change artists diving into a deep, cool swimming pool without a moment's hesitation. One tan, one white, both thrilled to be swimming - or treading - again.

Life isn't much different than swimming. Some of us easily swim along with the flow, some choose to make it more difficult and swim upstream, some are show-offs and love to cannon ball through life, some of us never really learn to swim at all (my grandma Mimi never learned to swim, she wouldn't even fill her bath more than 2" deep for fear she would drown), and sadly, some of us do drown; then there are those of us who end up treading water when we least expect it, no matter how many swim lessons or life lessons we've experienced.

Treading is not my chosen way of life, it just happened. Swim lessons began when I was 5, and I loved them and always passed; I even certified as a Junior Lifeguard (Melanie, of course, was a full-fledged Lifeguard). The point is, I have always enjoyed swimming, but I often prefer to just tread water and watch everyone else frolic around, making mental notes as I wait to join in the fun at the right moment, or in the right game, or with the right partner.

Similarly, downtime following the loss of a job has its moments, and I've certainly made the best of them, but surrounding those fun-filled moments of travel and leisure are large pools of empty time that must be endured. So here I am, treading again, only this time I'm treading time, not water. Still watching, still making mental notes. Just waiting to jump in at the right moment, or with the right company, or for the right job.

Treading definitely has its benefits. It allows a person to save their energy, plan their strategy, breathe evenly, enjoy the view, think clearly, strengthen their talents, assess their assets (and maybe some others), and bide their time, all the while staying involved from a safe distance on the sidelines - observing quietly, considering the next move. Treading has been good for me.

Soon, as always happened in the pool, someone or something will come along and force me to take a deep breath and duck under the water with a quick push off the side, or break into a still-not-perfect crawl stroke to carry me to the other end of the pool. In any case, I will love the rush, the thrill of change, the soothing satisfaction of knowing that, as nice as treading has been, I can - and will - do whatever it takes to get wherever I need to be. All with appropriate exceptions, just as my parents taught me so long ago - I won't be rude, or mean, or dishonest, or unethical.

I may regret that I was never really a fish in water, but I am ever grateful that in my life I've never felt like a fish out-of-water. Even now, between jobs, between homes....I'm in a good place and treading easily.

I think I'm almost ready; I may need a little more treading time before I finally drop to the bottom, bend my legs, pump my arms and push off, but I'm close. I love that moment when I burst upwards and break through the surface with a smile on my freckled (and now wrinkled) lily-white face. I love it when life finally makes sense again, after a period of tread-ful wondering.

It feels triumphant. It feels joyous. It feels new, and life-giving, and right. It's rejuvenating. I can hardly wait!

Those are the moments we live for, we work for, we strive for, but treading is part of the plan. After all, isn't much of life spent "treading water" as we wait for those exceptional ah-ha moments of clarity, of love, and of success? What would we do in between, if not for treading? Treading keeps us honest. It keeps us busy. It keeps us out of trouble. Sometimes it saves our life.

Treading - patiently waiting, planning, pondering - has a place in our lives, even if we think we are ready to jump. So tread on....I know I will, because as I said above, "I am very, very good at treading water."

As for Melanie, she's still tall and tan....and a swimmer, but oddly after decades of summers apart, we are finding ourselves in the same pool again. Unemployed and treading. But not for long...

Hey Melanie?

Marco....!

Life As I Know It

noreply@blogger.com (JeannieB) — Mon, 14 Mar 2011 19:22:00 +0000

I'm one of those people that always thinks the best of others. I trust. I hope. I believe. This isn't always good.

But, in spite of my inclination to be positive, there are days when it's not as easy as it should be. I've had a few of those recently, and splattered throughout my life; dotted between the highs of children and grandchildren - births, weddings, graduations, missions, performances, or even those rare family vacations or amazing road trips, or when immersed in a good book or soul-touching music or conversations with good friends.

If it wasn't for the highs of faith, friends and family, those dark splotches of disappointment would have blotted my life to a dull shade of gray. And yet, it's so easy to take them for granted. The highs are often underestimated and undercelebrated.

How grateful I am for simple faith, family time, leisurely strolls and honest talk. We spend our lives racing around on the fast track , walking and talking at a rapid pace, and making time for family and faith only when it's convenient.

But then, there comes a moment of clarity as we mature. It's painful. It's hard to accept. But it's real, and it comes...trust me. And in the moment we realize, with a remorse beyond description, that somewhere along the line our focus shifted, our life spun out of control, the darkness took over and we missed the point. We let our life race by, or run over us, or drag us along. We didn't live our life, it lived us. We suddenly realize how much time we wasted.

I've done this. I am guilty. And I am sorry. Sorrier than anyone could ever know, except someone who has experienced this sudden awakening, this reality that there isn't a second chance.

Early in life, you have the opportunity to marry the right person, you have one chance to raise your children, and you have one shot to start early and build a life of financial responsibility. Once that "one" time has past, all is not lost, but you can never go back and redo what was done, or not done.

I don't think kids realize this. I know I didn't. It was something that I just didn't think about. If anyone had asked, I would have told them that at 56 I would be happily putting my last kid through college, looking for a place to retire, and enjoying time with my grandkids. But life didn't turn out that way, and part of the fault is mine - maybe all of it - because I didn't have a real plan. I could have answered the question, but I didn't have a plan.

I do now. It's too late to go back and redo. It's too late to be less trusting and more cautious. It's too late to enjoy curling my fingers through Kurt's blond curls again, or snuggle in bed with Kollin, or make it to Kelly's parade, or spend more time reading with Kyle, or be home more for Karynn, or listen more carefully to Kalen. It's too late.

It's too late to look at the kid's Dad and say "This isn't about us, it's about the kids. We're a family, let's do this."

It's too late to not rush into a rebound marriage. It's too late. It's done. But as I told my daughter, I can only hope that my kids have learned how NOT to do things because of my mistakes, as much as they may have learned how TO act when I've made correct decisions. It's the only silver lining in this mess of a once-only life that I know. I pray that they learn from my mistakes.

But I refuse to let remorse or sorrow darken the days I have left on earth. I refuse to let disappointment in people whom I trusted send me spiraling into depression or despair. And I refuse to waste even another minute of my life on someone else's dishonesty or immorality or disloyalty.

I still believe in people. I still wake up positive and ready for a new day. I still refuse to let the dark splotches of disappointment and negativity and betrayal and failure - in others and in myself - define who I am.

Because I am happy, I am excited, and I am about to begin the next chapter in my life! And this is the life that I know and love. My life. And I claim it, I own it, I take responsibility for it - the good and the bad. And I have a plan this time, so watch out. I'm going to take charge, but I am going to hold others accountable too.

We all have a moral responsibility to be cognizant of how our lives weave into the lives of others, and to be careful, and respectful, and responsible when dealing with friends, family, coworkers, partners, colleagues, those we pass on the street, employees and employers. And those who don't realize this and live by it, will not succeed. Those who do, are not promised a smooth ride, but at least they can bounce over the bumps with head held high.

It's a new day. And my chin's up. Bring it on.

Speech is Powerful.

noreply@blogger.com (JeannieB) — Thu, 03 Mar 2011 15:08:00 +0000

My last blog entry was made when I first became aware of the self-righteous and insensitive Westboro fanatics (I was a little late to the so-called party). Maybe my head-shaking astonishment when facing the reality of this group's hateful actions is what silenced me - I don't know.

And to refresh your memory, the Westboro "church" speaks out, especially at the funeral services for fallen soldiers, to publicize their belief that God hates the United States because of its tolerance of homosexuality. Their sense of heavenly entitlement is stunning.

This week the Supreme Court delivered their absolutely correct decision regarding the Right to Free Speech in our country. However, it doesn't change the fact that although we can litigate rights, we can't litigate kindness, sensitivity, tolerance, respect and common sense and decency.

In the words of Chief Justice John Roberts, Jr:
“Speech is powerful. It can stir people to action, move them to tears of both joy and sorrow, and — as it did here — inflict great pain. On the facts before us, we cannot react to that pain by punishing the speaker.”

If a narcissistic person or group chooses to "speak" from a self-serving, self-righteous and self-appointed place, they have the right to do so, even when it offends or further breaks the hearts of grieving parents who are burying their courageous son - a Marine, Lance Corporal Matthew Snyder -who was killed in Iraq, or causes added anguish to already tormented friends and family attending the funeral.

As confusing as this might seem on the surface, the 7-1 decision by the Supreme Court is rock solid at its core. Our freedom of speech allows discussion, debate, the sharing of ideas. And ideas change the world. We can only hope that an idea will change the hearts of the Westboro "church" members and their leader.

Tough times call for tough decisions. But in spite of what seems obvious, this wasn't one of those tough decisions. I am sorry for those who weren't allowed to grieve or bury their dead in peace. But they should find solace in the integrity of their actions and the courage of the son they buried. I am sorry for those who feel entitled through self-dictated, erroneous actions taken in the name of a God who would never stoop to such levels.

This is not about a Supreme Court judgment, it's about unrighteous judgment.

The real lesson isn't about free speech. The lesson is about love. And love is an action.

The actions of the Westboro Baptist "church" have nothing to do with love.

Yet another thing that can't be litigated.

Come, Follow Me

noreply@blogger.com (JeannieB) — Wed, 12 Jan 2011 03:11:00 +0000

I'm stunned that the so-called Westboro Baptist "church", professing to be Christian, has issued official 'hate' statements through its founder regarding the deadly massacre last weekend in Tucson.

They plan to picket the funerals of the 9-year old innocent girl who was killed, "because the family is Catholic".

The church founder posted a video in which he said, "Thank God for the violent shooter, one of your soldier heroes in Tucson. However many are dead, Westboro Baptist church will picket their funerals. We remind the living you can still repent and obey."

I'm stunned. Literally was in tears when I read this. It gave me creepy chills. Talk about the pot calling the kettle black, what a cruel thing to do, what a hateful, superior attitude. How non-Christian can you be? Not much more than this group.

When Jesus said, "Come, follow me...", the Westboro path of hatred was not on the map. And it never will be.

Come, follow me. Such a simple request. Humble, simple, pure, quiet, embracing, inclusive, loving.

Everything the Westboro group is not.

I don't hate these misguided people.

But my heart aches because of their hate.

Target Practice

noreply@blogger.com (JeannieB) — Sun, 09 Jan 2011 19:24:00 +0000

"The world will end soon, because Heavenly Father won't put up with the evil abuse to his innocent children much longer." These were the words of my friend, Carolyn Fenn, probably two decades ago. And we're still here, and children are still being hurt.

She's right, our days are numbered, but we could have one or thousands of years ahead of us, and free agency is still around, bringing with it pain and sorrow for the choices made by those who don't care about anything or anyone but themselves.

I am thinking of yesterday's massacre in Tucson, AZ, at an event held by Rep. Gabrielle Giffords (shot and in critical condition, and the assumed primary target of the gunman), which took the lives of many, including a 9-year old girl. An innocent 9-year old girl, a student body officer recently elected at her elementary school. A daughter. A sister. A granddaughter. A friend. A little girl. An innocent.

Born on 9-11, Christina Taylor Green "came in on a tragedy and now she's gone out on a tragedy," said her father, John Green.

And there were others, 20 or so hurt or killed in this tragic incident. My heart goes out to all of the families who were hurt or have lost someone, but today I am focusing on an innocent 9-year old girl.

I love to shoot a revolver. One of my favorite things is to head to the shooting range for target practice. I have a gun. It's in a safe place in my home. I don't carry it with me, although I'm beginning to think I should.

But this is not about guns.

Yes, political targets were illustrated on US maps in last year's elections with gun sights and bull's eyes to identify their locations.

But this is not about Sarah Palin or the tea party.

To label either as responsible for this horrendous incident is like labeling all Muslims as terrorists. Or all Mormons as polygamists. Or all liberals as abortionists. Or all conservatives as war hawks or millionaires.

This is about an innocent 9-year old girl. Shot and killed in the open public spaces of Tucson, Arizona.

It's not about maps. Or guns. Or political parties.

It's easy to point fingers, but that's child's play. It's time to be adults.

We need to stop the madness. Our madness.

This country will not fall at the hands of another, if it falls it will be of our own doing. Neighbor against neighbor. Brother against brother.

We can no longer place blame elsewhere. The ugly, damaging fighting within our country, between parties, is not something we can afford to ignore any longer.

It's time to get back to common sense, even when no sense can be made of this terrible tragedy. We need to remember that we are all on the same team, even if we look at things from different points of view.

We need to elevate the position of every individual, every person, every human being, in the minds of our youth, and in our own minds. We need to value life and teach that same value to the younger generations.

We need to respect the opinions of others, even when they don't align with ours. That's what the United States of America is all about.

We need to teach our youth to value themselves, teach them that they are important. And we need to treat them as persons of great worth.

We need to teach and remind our children how to manage their anger, how to treat others. We need to teach them how to walk away. We need to teach them how to succeed in this life, but just as important, we need to let them fail when they are little and then teach them how to jump up and try again.

We need to set better examples, not just in our own families, but to those around us. We need more humility.

We need to pay closer attention to those who seem "different".We need to be aware, and act on promptings or hunches, not pretend they do not exist. We need to watch for warning signals.

And we need to care about others and be aware of their lives. We need to pay attention.

We need to be careful about the imagery we invoke through our creative marketing efforts.

We need to choose our words carefully.

Maybe we do need to pack. Maybe not.

We need to think about gun safety and availability. We have rights, but we also need common sense.

But in this terrible incident, there will be no sense. There can't be.

It's about a 9-year old girl. And her family. And all of the families affected by this tragedy.

Families who will never have dinner together again, because someone is missing. As Christina's father said, "We were four people and, now we're three."

We need to have dinner as families.

We have to stop the killing of innocent people. Of innocent children.

Soon our children will not feel safe outside of their homes. And this is our own doing. We can't blame the Muslims for this one.

This tragedy is about a 9-year old girl, and about our nation and whether we will divide amongst ourselves or unite for truth and freedom.

Yes, this tragedy was a random act of violence, a crazed man with a gun, but somewhere, sometime, maybe there was a moment when someone looked the other way, or didn't care, or lost interest. Somewhere, sometime, maybe something was missed that could have prevented this loss of lives. Maybe not. But I would rather err on the side of doing more, than doing less.

Maybe the world is going to end soon, maybe not. If my friend's observation of so long ago is based in truth, I don't know how He's held out this long. I know I couldn't. Too many innocent children are being hurt through abuse, war, slavery, and incidents like the Tucson massacre.

Innocent children. Probably with more common sense then many adults have.

We need to listen more. We need to love more. We need to be more childlike, not childish. Teachable. Eager to contribute. Happy, like Christina Taylor Green, who often would say to her mother, Roxanne Green, "We are so blessed. We have the best life." And we need to get past the sorrow and anger of today, and work for a more unified tomorrow.

We need to use common sense. And keep target practice on the range.

May they rest in peace. And may their families find peace.

And may we all find peace in this chaotic world.

Country Strong

noreply@blogger.com (JeannieB) — Sun, 09 Jan 2011 04:45:00 +0000

As sad as Country Strong was, there is something about country music that lifts my spirits - broken trucks, cheating lovers, drunken nights and missing dogs excepted.

When I hear country music, I smile. My toes tap. I want to dance. To laugh. To be with friends.

John Denver said it long ago, "Country roads, take me home, to the place, I belong.....", maybe not to West Virginia, but to home. Wherever that is.

I recently had a revelation. I realized something: on Facebook I cannot list a hometown. It has dawned on me that I don't have one.

If home is where the heart is, I suppose I'm "home" whenever I'm with my kids. But those are their homes, not mine.

I suppose I could list Lake Arrowhead. Or I could list Roslyn. Or Utah. I could list Albuquerque. I could list DC or Virginia. But none of them are really home. Not yet. Not any more. So I'm leaving FB blank, for now.

I have no place I call home. Or maybe I have many homes.

I think there's a country song here somewhere.

Last November, I Purchased Gas for My Car

noreply@blogger.com (JeannieB) — Thu, 06 Jan 2011 23:48:00 +0000

This is a true statement. The last time I purchased gas for my little Honda Accord was in November 2010. Today I filled the tank (to the tune of $45). Today. January 6, 2011. Wooohooo.

Now, granted, I was out of the country for 20 days of the seven weeks, but that leaves a month of driving on one tank of gas. I may hate traffic, I may not be wild about DC, but my commute is not something I can really whine about. I have the best of both worlds. DC and a three-mile commute. With rare exception, I can be in my office chair in 20 minutes, door-to-door. This includes parking in the parking garage and walking to my office 2 blocks away.

But today was a rare exception. It took a little over 45 minutes to drive a little less than three miles this morning, beginning with a crazy situation in my parking lot and ending with a nearly full parking garage by my office.

As my son-in-law has pointed out on Facebook, I don't waste even a minute of travel time. I make more phone calls on the road than anywhere else. In fact, that's pretty much the only place I talk on the phone. (It's not something I've ever really enjoyed). It drives me nuts to sit down and talk on the phone when I'm at home. But driving, bring it on. I'm hands-free. I'm legal. And I'm happy to talk on the phone.

So, from gas to phone calls, my commute is a positive part of my life. I avoid the traffic, I work from home to balance the time I'm not in the office, and I listen to country western radio. Not a bad start to the day. Certainly better for me than riding the metro with a crowd of somewhat miserable-looking commuters (I can't say that they are really miserable, or not; they just look it). Some people prefer the metro, kudos to them! It's just not for me.

I'm still getting used to DC, but that's the point. I'm getting used to it. Doubt me? Gimme a call.

And as long as I have gas and my cell phone, we can talk.

Love, Life, Liberty

noreply@blogger.com (JeannieB) — Tue, 04 Jan 2011 00:09:00 +0000

Today was a day of reflection. After 21 days in South America, more than half spent working (but always having fun, cuz that's my style), it's time for me to regroup.

As always, the topics that come to mind are Faith, Friends, Family, Finances, Fysical Health :), and Fun, or maybe it's easier to just say Love, Life, Liberty. You may think I'm simplifying with the L's, over the F's, but I'm really not.

Love. It's all about relationships. And honor. Relationships with god, with friends, with family, with colleagues, with yourself. It has to be reciprocal, it has to be respectful, it has to be honest. Relationships can't be forced or pretend. And they must be honored.

Life. It's everything. Simply everything. Choices that make life better, or worse, involve everything and everyone: people, things, places, actions, thoughts. Laughter is truly the best medicine when life gets you down. Life is not a rehearsal. It's a one-time shot. So live, take chances. Learn from your mistakes and keep moving forward.

Liberty. It's about freedom. From guilt, from debt, from disloyalty, from dishonesty, from poor health, from boredom. A safe haven for life. A way of living. The only way to live, actually. Free. Aware of your limitations and respectful of them, but free to live and love. Free, that is, to live with respect for others. Free to live with honor in your deeds. Liberty. Freedom. A cause worth fighting for. A way of life worth living.

I know who I am. It's taken more than 3 decades to figure it out. I suppose I could continue to be hard on myself for taking so long to "grow up" (I've certainly beat myself up over and over during the past twenty years), but I am choosing to celebrate the fact that I've arrived.

And I have. I'm here. I'm wide awake and smiling. No hiding, no pretending, no false hopes, no selective awareness. I've arrived. I'm here. I'm aware. I'm alive.

Life hasn't been terrible, but it certainly hasn't been what I expected. And at times it's felt like a really long haul, but I made it. I'm here and hopeful, because when one door closes, another opens. Maybe more than one.

Today I am choosing. And I've chosen love, life and liberty. And not just for me.

Chile, ciao!

noreply@blogger.com (JeannieB) — Sat, 01 Jan 2011 13:07:00 +0000

My last day in Santiago. My last day in South America. I'm going to miss it.

We spent Christmas in Buenos Aires and New Year's Eve in Santiago. Every day has been fun and new!

Today we are going to the Galvez home in Las Condes for lunch. Cata's family would like to meet Kurt's family, and vice versa. A few weeks ago I had dinner in their home. What wonderful friends I made in this lovely country.

I'm thinking of returning to South America for a few weeks every year - to Argentina to take some cooking classes, and to Chile for the perfect weather, and maybe to offer some cooking classes. :)

Until I'm back in DC, ciao!

My Return to Sanity

noreply@blogger.com (JeannieB) — Sat, 01 Jan 2011 01:12:00 +0000

After 5 months of attempting to blog on my "other" blog - DC(undercover) - I have exited stage left and returned to Gia's Outpost. I love this blog, I love who I am here, I love where it started.

I'm back - or almost. Right now I am in Santiago, Chile after spending time here and in Buenos Aires, Argentina for both work and pleasure. For Christmas, actually. I had an amazing time.

2010 has been an important year for me. I made a move to DC for a job and cause that I love. I have traveled to South America and met amazing people. I was able to spend time with Kurt and Ashley and their family in Santiago where they are living for six months with Start Up Chile.

There are critical parts of my life that still aren't what they should be, but I'm working on them

My kids are safe and good and happy. My grandkids are healthy and growing and fun.

My life is good, for the most part. And I am relatively happy.

And I am returning to sanity. Blogging here is the first step.

I'm almost ready for a hike.

PS Click here > DC(undercover) if you want to read my August - December 2010 blog entries.

ABQ to DC in a Click

noreply@blogger.com (JeannieB) — Mon, 02 Aug 2010 19:21:00 +0000

It's all about speed these days. How quickly we can get from one place to another. High speed internet.The quickest route from point A to point B. How long it will take for our food to be served. How late will our bus, metro, plane be? How much of our personal time will be wasted?

Well, the news is good. With just a quick and simple click you can follow me from the Land of Enchantment to the Land of Taxation without Representation (also known as the Land of Disenchantment) and never have to leave home.

It's kind of like being Samantha on Bewitched, but instead of wiggling my nose (or yours), all you have to do is click and voila, you will be with me in DC as I drive by the Washington Monument every day on my way to work, and pass the side entrance to the White House just a few blocks from my office, and wave toward the Pentagon on my way to a favorite shopping mall.

Yes, I'm becoming a city person, but I will return to the Land of Enchantment and Gia's Outpost on occasion. But, for now, I will primarily blog from DC...since I am now living and working for Atlas Economic Research Foundation in DC.

So, basically, I'm just a click away. Hope to see you there...or here...well, you know what I mean. :) Just come to http://dcundercover.blogspot.com/ and visit sometime.

Hugs to all...

It's Time

noreply@blogger.com (JeannieB) — Wed, 21 Jul 2010 03:10:00 +0000

It's time. Not that I even know what time it is (all my clocks are packed), but I know it's time, past time even. It's time for me to be outta here. Gone.

I have managed to work from home on my computer (and yes, I can see what time it is on my laptop), but it's not like being in the office in DC - WHERE I AM SUPPOSED TO BE!

This move has not been smooth. Some have suggested it's a sign. I absolutely don't agree. If anything, it's a test. A test of my patience and my tenacity. And I am gonna pass.

Tomorrow the mover's will arrive and my ABQ home will be emptied, and I will leave too. It's about time.

No, it's time.

Yoga Moves

noreply@blogger.com (JeannieB) — Sun, 18 Jul 2010 23:15:00 +0000

8 AM. That is when my moving van was supposed to arrive earlier today. It's now 5 PM and no moving van.

No moving van, and no phone call to let me know they are delayed, lost, drinking beer, in need of a nap, overturned on the freeway, stuck in Phoenix, visiting relatives, or whatever the excuse might be.

I am supposed to be moving to DC today; instead I am sitting on my couch in Albuquerque. Waiting. Stalled. Totally suspended. Reflecting.

There are other times in my past life that I remember as feeling frozen in time with no control over my intended progress. Failed marriages, teenage trials, employment frustrations. Times when the decision that was altering my life and controlling my immediate destiny was not my own. Someone else made a decision that changed my plans, my life, that day or forever.

As I have learned from these past experiences, there's not much I can do about someone else's choice or action. But I can definitely choose better for myself. I can adapt, I can be positive, be flexible - to a point, anyway.

So, I am changing airfares, advising my new boss that I will not be arriving at my brand spankin' new DC dream job tomorrow. And I am doing a lot of deep breathing.

Flexibility. Deep Breaths. Reality Suspended. Absentee Movers.

Ommmmmm.

Sanity

noreply@blogger.com (JeannieB) — Thu, 01 Jul 2010 05:11:00 +0000

Sanity is not overrated. Insanity, however, is most definitely overrated.

How would I know this, you are probably wondering...or for those of you who know me well you probably understood immediately. I know, because I bounce back and forth between the two on a fairly regular basis. (If you have doubts about this - bless your soul - I would simply admonish you to ask my kids.)

It's true. I can be completely sane one day, and the "other side of the coin" the next. However, I am never insane enough to call myself insane in a public blog.

Sanity is not overrated because it's the real world. It's truth, unveiled. It's consequences for actions. It's reality, sometimes a sad reality, but reality.

Insanity, on the other hand, is overrated. Not because it can't be fun, because it can. And not because it's boring, because it's anything BUT. Insanity is overrated because it's not real. And no matter how fun or entertaining something might be, if it's not real, and you are living in it, it's not a good thing.

My life borders on the insane 35% of the time, and probably dips into insanity about 5%. That leaves a full 60% of my life that is completely sane. Which means I am a bit more than half sane, and I can live with that.

Now, if only everyone else could.

There Was A Time...

noreply@blogger.com (JeannieB) — Sat, 26 Jun 2010 04:37:00 +0000

Old age tempers you. I don't care what anyone says, it does. The battles I would have fought when I was younger don't even cause my right eyebrow to raise anymore.

It's just not worth the effort. At this stage of life, effort is carefully monitored and preserved for those critical moments when you might need it.

Like tonight. I have been working all day but suddenly, around 8 PM, I had the bright idea to clean out my closet. This was one of those critical moments when effort and the energy associated with it were necessary.

At this stage of life we store energy. We need those reserves for life changing, life saving, life altering events. And I don't just mean cleaning out closets, although that effort can be life changing, saving and altering!

No, I'm talking about events that take your (our) breath away. Walking up stairs, for instance. Or taking the dog for a jog. Or babysitting. Carrying in the groceries.

Daily energy zapping events.

OK, maybe I'm exaggerating a bit, but there is some truth in the need to store up reserves for the future, and not just for us old folks. Life isn't always a piece of cake and reserves of faith, hope, trust, optimism, courage, and energy can make all the difference when we are faced with trials and challenging tasks.

Personally, I seem to be storing body weight for a future famine, but that's another post for another day.

There was a time....and there will be more times.

Never doubt it.

I've Had Just About Enough of Jake

noreply@blogger.com (JeannieB) — Fri, 25 Jun 2010 02:37:00 +0000

I wondered what would motivate me to write here again. My life has been pretty crazy the past month and a half, but who would have thought The Bachelor, Jake Pavelka (and his now ex-fiancee Vienna) would be the catalyst?

Not me, that's for sure. I was pretty much over them both at the end of last season's The Bachelor series, but now...here they are again. Breaking up. Publicly. With anger. With tears.

Can't they just go away? I suppose writing about them here isn't helping them to "go away", but as far as I am concerned they are gone.

I have had enough of Vienna's big tear brimmed eyes and quivering lower lip, both carefully tilted over her enhanced breasts.

And even worse, is her ex-fiance Jake. The supposed pilot ("aviation will always be part of my life"), wanna-be actor, limousine company co-owner, always a boyfriend, never a husband.

I didn't like him from the beginning. Anyone who grins like that has something wrong with them. And the tears, well, I don't need to say another word about them, do I?

For the record, I think they are both a bit questionable, however, in spite of the early bidding against Vienna, I think Jake is the one to be wary of. He's only out for himself and that was obvious from the early minutes of The Bachelor.

Abs can only get you so far, and I think Jake's at the end of the six-pak, so to speak.

Good bye, PLEASE.

Just, go away.

For our sanity.

Please.

Two Hundred Posts

noreply@blogger.com (JeannieB) — Wed, 19 May 2010 00:44:00 +0000

I can't believe I have made 200 posts since I started this blog last year. That's a lot of posts. 200, to be exact.

If only there had been 200 very important things to write about, but take note: I managed anyway.

So, thanks to any and all who have wandered to the Outpost and stayed for a spell (at least long enough to read a little bit of this or that). I appreciate it, and my hope has always been that something I have experienced or witnessed or pondered or felt and then shared here has helped someone somehow.

Many hugs, and many tomorrows for us all. Here's to 200 more posts!

When the Tables Are Turned

noreply@blogger.com (JeannieB) — Sat, 08 May 2010 00:11:00 +0000

I find it so interesting that some people feel they are entitled to forgiveness, patience, understanding and more, but are not willing to reciprocate with even a modicum of similar accommodation of others.

Although I am not immune from being insensitive at times or having the very worst possible timing, the one factor I hope I always consider and will never lose, is the human factor.

The human side of me that remembers that we are all humans, just people trying to get through life - with families, and grandkids to see, and bills to pay.

And I hope I am a person that remembers that certain things in life may seem obvious at first glance, but are anything BUT what they seem on second glance.

Sometimes responsibility has nothing to do with it. Sometimes making an exception isn't the issue. Sometimes it's just about being human. And sometimes people forget that.

Sometimes I wish that I could turn the tables and let the other person feel and experience the fall-out of their own self-importance, but that would make me the same as them and that's not who I am or want to be.

One thing will not change, however. I refuse to ignore the human factor, to put regulations and ill-advice before relationships. And I don't have time for prima donna's, or to repeat junior high. Been there, done that, couldn't deal with them then and never even wanted to buy the t-shirt.

If patience is a virtue, then forgiveness must be a golden virtue. But today, all I can manage is silver.

However I am in NM, the land of turquoise and silver, and it appears that silver is all that's expected.

I guess I am going to have to look elsewhere for gold.

Bundle of Joy

noreply@blogger.com (JeannieB) — Fri, 30 Apr 2010 15:54:00 +0000

Our newest bundle of joy arrived last week and already she has hearts fluttering from coast to coast. Addison Claire Avarell came into this world to join her big sister, Makinlee and her parents Kurt and Ashley. What a beautiful family!

I am so lucky to be a grandma, a mom and a mom-in law. There's just nothing better!

I love being Gia. And I can hardly wait to hold this new little spirit. Thank you, God.

Does It Rest Well on My Heart?

noreply@blogger.com (JeannieB) — Fri, 30 Apr 2010 02:18:00 +0000

I never bought a WWJD bracelet.

However, I did ask myself the question on occasion.WWJD? What WOULD Jesus Do?

But in the past few days I have been exposed to two variations of the 90's message bracelet, both communicated with words. No metal involved at all.

Today Siobhan Magnus, the most recent cast off from American Idol said the following: "I do what I do because it rests well on my heart and it is who I am."

ME: How lucky that at her age she knows who she is. And to make choices based on how they rest on your heart...what a perfect concept. I want to live my life making every decision with the qualifying requisite that it rests well on my heart. I wish I had done this my entire life. However I am not going to make a DIRWOMH bracelet.

And earlier this week, I was reading a profile on FaceBook and read the following (slightly edited to protect the privacy of the author) with my thoughts immediately beneath each quoted paragraph:

HER: "Favorite things to do and things that are interesting to me: Hanging out with my awesome family, U.S., Roman, Greek and Egyptian history, politics, public policy, pointing out -- and being annoyed by -- hypocrisy and bad behavior in the political classes regardless of party affiliation, trying to make every days' decisions in a way that will glorify God. I would travel every week if I could."

ME: Wow. I wish that was my profile. I want to be like that! I wish that was how I thought of myself, and how others knew me. I love hanging out with my awesome family, and I love history (although I haven't taken the time to study it in my adult life), and I am increasingly annoyed by hypocrisy and bad behavior in politics, whether it be a candidate, elected official, political party or pundit, or over-the-top grassroots groups. And more than anything I wish I was making my decisions in a way that will glorify God...I need to remember him more. And I would definitely travel every week if I could, and often do.

HER: "I come from a close family - pretty much all of them (except my Mom) still live in Massachusetts and I miss them every single day."

ME: I have a close family - and although most of them live in Utah, in recent years we have been spread throughout the nation. I miss them every single day.

HER: "My best friend is Kelly, and my aunt, who's 92, is still one of the most fun people on the planet. I am adopted, and have a great relationship with my birthmom and siblings who I met 12 years ago."

ME: My best friend is Dee, and all three of my daughters, the four most fun people on the planet. My Mom was adopted and I am beginning a relationship with her birth-relatives through FaceBook and hope to meet some of them someday.

HER: "I have two kids, two cats, one great husband and a lot of deer to eat my plants. I love my work so much that it is my hobby too."

ME: I have six kids, eight grandkids, a borrowed dog, a husband living in another state and lots of out-of-control plants in my backyard that desperately need deer to eat them. I love my work and the associations it allows so much that it is my hobby too.

HER: "I am an unapologetic conservative, but not a fan of political mockery, so I don't put photos of Obama on my website where he looks like the Joker, or has a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. This is difficult as I believe that Obamafear transcends traditional politics and this is the first time ever that I have been truly afraid for my country, or what will be left of it when he's done."

ME: I am an unapologetic conservative, but not a fan of political mockery, so I don't put photos of Obama on my website where he looks like the Joker, or has a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. This is difficult as I believe that Obamafear transcends traditional politics and this is the first time ever that I have been truly afraid for my country, or what will be left of it when he's done.

HER: "I used to be wretchedly selfish and made lots of really stupid decisions until one day when my friend Pam brought me to Bent Tree Bible Church in Plano, Texas and Jesus leaped into my heart, nearly knocking me over in the process. (Literally) Previously a disillusioned Catholic, I was "born again" - a term I previously mocked - and I have never looked back. I believe with all my heart that His death provided me with eternal life, that He walks beside me every where I go, and am grateful that He accepts me the way I am, sins and human failings included."

ME: I consider myself at times to be wretchedly selfish and prone to really stupid decisions, in spite of my 'conversion' 26 years ago. I don't remember Jesus leaping into my heart, but I do remember reading the scriptures on my couch in the little apartment in San Bernardino, CA and feeling a warmth through my body as I FELT the truth of the gospel in my soul. I believe with all my heart that His life and death provided me with the opportunity of eternal life if I live appropriately. I want to believe that He walks beside me every where I go, but I don't think I invite him along as often as I should, and I am inadequately grateful that He accepts me the way I am, sins and human failings included.

HER: "I am now a proud member of McLean Bible Church, and cheat pretty much every day on prayer, as I feel closer to God through music and song than anything else."

ME: I am now a quiet and faithful member of my church, but not as outwardly active as is politically correct and expected, and admittedly not as diligent as I could be, and I cheat pretty much every day on normal, accepted prayer, as I am only able to concentrate on my thoughts and supplications when just about anywhere but kneeling beside my bed. I think this can be traced back to being a young mom at the side of her bed with children knocking on the door or bursting in. I wasn't the type who could just continue praying (which would have been the perfect lesson through example), so my prayers often ended before they really began.

HER: "Every day I wake up and wonder if I can find a way to tell the men and women of our Armed Forces that I love each and every one of them, and I keep them in my musical prayers every day."

ME: Every day I wake up and wonder if I can find a way to tell the men and women of our Armed Forces and the missionaries in the field that I love each and every one of them, and I keep them in my thoughts and prayers every day.

HER: "I am delighted at the kind, funny, delightful woman my daughter has turned out to be and amazed at the deep faith and patriotism that lives in my son's heart."

ME: I am beyond delighted at the kind, funny, enjoyable and authentic persons my children have turned out to be and amazed at the depth of conviction each has to their own principles.

HER: "Somedays I still want to kick the cat or slam the door, but mostly, I'm just grateful."

ME: Ditto. Even if it doesn't rest well on my heart.

Bottom line: Two women I didn't even know have made a huge impact on my life by their example and their words. Someday I will tell them.

And when I do, that will rest well on my heart.

It's Nine O'Clock Somewhere

noreply@blogger.com (JeannieB) — Thu, 22 Apr 2010 03:38:00 +0000

It’s time to reevaluate. Again.

I am wondering, and when I am wondering about things, I also like to wander.

So, basically, I am wondering while wandering - about choices, and to Miami. In case you were wondering (and wandering).

It dawned on me today, that for the first time in over three decades, I am making decisions based on my wants, and my needs, as opposed to probably more than 90% of my past decisions which were made while in survival mode, or because someone told me I should.

This isn’t a new thought, I realized this sometime last year, but I think as the three-legged stool of my life starts to level out, I am reevaluating exactly what this might mean. Obviously this is a real change in my life and I am embracing it fully; I just like to analyze the why of everything, like: why was my stool so wobbly for so long?

Family, Faith, Finances – the three-legs of my typically wobbly stool. Family, because in life there’s nothing that matters more. Faith, because without it life has no clear purpose and sometimes makes no sense at all. Finances, because life is about money.

There, I said it. Life is about money. But shouldn’t it be about family and faith and service and friends?

Most of us divide our time between work and family. We calendar meetings and ball games and service projects and work hours. We talk about dinner-time and quality-time as if they are appointments in our day planner, but sadly, they rarely are.

And maybe that is part of the problem: these special times, dinner-time and family-time and quality-time and time-to-give-service-to-others, get lost in the myriad of other prioritized activities we manage to log onto our calendars, but they rarely make it onto our radar screen of scheduled planning.

I recently listened to a lesson on prayer, given by a mother of five. She talked about her college days when she was younger and had moved overseas for a semester-abroad program. She talked about the homesickness that sometimes engulfed her, in spite of weekly phone calls home.

She shared that the one constant she could always count on was her knowledge that at 9 PM her family was kneeling in family prayer. They always had, they always would. What a blessing and comfort this knowledge was as she was away, and what an admirable daily tradition for that family.

I wish I had done something like that for my children. It wouldn’t have mattered if one of them was not able to be there, the fact that they would have known that at 9 PM, or some appointed time, the members of their family were kneeling in prayer could have brought wayward teenagers home on time, and dawdling students home earlier from the library. It would have made me be certain to be home as well. It would have united us in prayer, no matter where we were individually.

It takes faith to create a standard such as family prayer, every night at 9 PM. It takes faith to follow through when not everyone is home, or when other things interrupt. It's easy to make the excuse that 9PM just doesn't work because it's too late for some of the family, or someone hasn't arrived home, or etc. But, when you stop to think about it, what could be more deserving of a calendared, structured, planned time? Remember the three legs on my stool? Well, two of the three are present at family prayer: faith and family. Those aren’t bad odds.

In fact, they are great odds. But they are odds I didn’t take advantage of, to the detriment of myself and my children. We could have used that time together on our knees. We could have used that structure. We could have used that comfort. We could have used that unifying habit, whether we were physically present at 9 PM or not.

I suppose it's not too late for me to start this tradition now. I’m not with my children, but they are always in my thoughts, so, from now on, whether alone or with family, I plan to have family prayer every night at 9 PM.

Just planning it is comforting to me, and I hope my now-grown kids will find comfort in knowing that their mother is praying for them and their families at 9 PM every night too.

It’s never too late to start a good habit, to act from faith, to think of family, to give service, or to find yourself.

I love reevaluation. I love choices that are made because I want to make them and need to make them, not because I am forced to make them to survive, or told to make them.

And I am beginning to love structure. Self-inflicted, self-managed, self-implemented structure.

Wondering while wandering is just one of my things, and that isn’t going to change. But regular family prayer just became my favorite thing.

See you at 9. Somewhere in my wanderings.

A Fashionable Death

noreply@blogger.com (JeannieB) — Mon, 19 Apr 2010 18:17:00 +0000

I can see it now...my obit. "It was death by fashion...."

Normally I don't think a lot about what my obituary will read, but today I had a moment. Or two.

As I was racing through my little adobe house, fashion-necessity-scarf flying behind me simply from the speed of my movement, I was suddenly, and without warning, stopped cold in my tracks as my body arched backward, the artfully tied knot at my throat tightening as the silken fabric constricted around my neck.

What in the world?!

I stopped, not by choice, but by force and caught the now-taut scarf in my hand, tugging it from my airway as a few carefully chosen words spewed from my mouth (proving that I was not truly being strangled or suffocating, it only felt that way).

My equally carefully chosen, artfully hand-painted, fashionable accessory had almost been the death of me when the silken strands on the ends somehow caught in the door frame of my bedroom as I was rounding the corner at Mach-5, and stuck, even as I kept flying forward.

It would have been a fashionable death, so to speak, but I am not ready to die under any circumstances. It took me 20 years to even wrap a scarf around my body in any way, so to have this near-death experience happen, when I have been so overly cautious about being trendy, was a bit disheartening.

Anyway, I have escaped death once again. And I looked good doing it, too.

And so I'm off. And my scarf is flying. We are alive and we look good.