Happy Birthday to Me.

Today is my birthday. That’s right, on this day, September 8, 1967, I was born. Did you do the math? That makes me 43 today. The big 4-3. Of course my youngest constantly wants to make me older, so it was a good reminder to her that I was in fact only 43. Then I had a nice Facebook post from a friend that reminded me I was the ‘baby’ of our group. So I guess in some circles I am still the younger one. Whew!

My mother likes to tell the story of the night I was born. Apparently, she and my Dad hosted a party that night. My mom relays that she was in labor all day and thru-out the party. Being my mother (and one who would never want to bother anyone) she never said anything, waited for the guests to leave, DID THE DISHES, then told my Dad they needed to go to the hospital. The details go on to reveal that her doctor showed up just in time, but he too had been at a party and ‘had alcohol on his breath’. Somehow it seems to fit, that the OB that brought me into this world had to get a little liquored up for the grand event. Then of course there is the detail that I was born at 11:58 pm, 2 minutes before my paternal grandfather’s birthday. Apparently Grandpa Purdy was none too happy with mom for not holding out the last 2 minutes. There was even delivery room talk amongst the hospital staff that maybe they should just cheat a little and say that I was born at 12:01 am on September 9. My mom didn’t think that would be right, so my birth was recorded correctly as 11:58 pm on September 8, 1967.

I was the third of four children who would all find themselves maladjusted in one way or another as we left home and entered adulthood. Some of those things still creep up. For example, this morning when I finished doing my hair with the straightener, I looked in the mirror and said to myself, hmmmmm, mom would say that it looked like I just brushed my hair with a stick. This was a oft spoken comment of hers if I ever wanted to wear my hair straight and not in a mass of hard-roller infused curls. I think I still must have indents in my skull from those darn hard plastic rollers. Don’t even get me started on the home permanents. That chemical smell still gives me shivers.

As I turn 43, I have to take inventory. I have more aches and pains than I ever dreamed a 43 year old could have. Last night I had cortisone injections in both feet because of recurrent bursitis. Silly me, I always thought that bursitis was for people in the rest home. When they took my blood pressure, they informed me that it seems to be creeping up a little too much these days. Ah yes, another family inherited trait...thanks Mom and Dad! Then of course there is the cholesterol issues that require medication, and the bouts of tendinitis that seem to come more frequently and last longer. My favorite is when I complain of something to my doctor and he informs me, ‘well you are getting older’. Awesome Doc, that helps me a lot. So, the lesson in all of that is to apparently buy stock in companies that make ibuprofen because I am pretty sure I will be on a constant drip of the stuff before I am 53.

The inventory also includes good things. My marriage of 22 ½ years is one of the top things. We still enjoy just hanging out together, even if that means long periods of silence. Some may say that is boring, I think it is comforting. The kids. I look at some that are my age (or a little younger) who are chasing toddlers and while there are days that I may miss that, I am thoroughly enjoying the adults that our kids have become/are becoming. Josh leaves in a couple of weeks for his junior year of college. Kirsten just started her senior year of high school and is beginning to plan for her college years. Then Annika is finishing up junior high this year and is slowly becoming stronger and more independent. All in all, pretty good, pretty good indeed.

I guess turning 43 isn’t so bad. It could be worse, I could be turning 50 today. I KNOW I’m not ready for that yet.

shhhhhhhhhh

Today is Friday and I'm NOT at work.  It feels a little strange.  For the last many years, I have always worked on Fridays.  My reasoning for working on Fridays was varied.  I never liked to cook on Friday nights and this was acceptable to Dean so I didn't have to worry about that when I got home.  Often our office would quit working early on Friday afternoons and spend the last part of the day talking and sharing a bottle or wine.  Fridays were a somewhat slack day to be at work.  Now that has changed and I am at home.  ALONE.

I can't tell you how good it feels to be at home.  Is it wrong of me that I enjoy it A LOT when everyone is out of the house and I am here alone?  Sure I had to get groceries, do laundry and clean the house (we have weekend company coming), but being able to do all of these things on a Friday and NOT a Saturday feels so great.  It even makes me almost forget the part about how my paycheck is going to be pretty tiny when I get the next one.

I can't tell you how good it feels to be at home, ALONE.  I love my kids and Dean, but there is something about the solitude that is so nourishing.  I can think without interruption.  I can fix myself something to eat without being asked if I can fix someone else something too.  I can sit on the computer without anyone asking me questions.  I can sew (a renewed passion that I am thoroughly enjoying).  Wow, I can even read a book.  I can even go to the bathroom without someone coming and knocking on the door (yes, my youngest still does that--a door closes between me and her and she panics).

I am by nature a very social person, but I have a secret...I really love to be alone too.  Now its time to finish preparing for our weekend guests.  I can't wait for that time either.

Cat House

I never thought I could love a cat. My aversion to cats goes back to childhood. My father detested cats. Honestly, I don’t even think detest is a strong enough word for how he felt about these felines. He had nothing good to say about a cat, ever. I think this hatred was heavily influenced by his father. Grandpa Purdy (yup, that was his name, Purdy–he was the definition of country boy), told stories about ‘getting rid of’ kitten litters from his neighbor Elsie’s cats. You honestly don’t want to know the details of that. My negative view of cats was definitely molded by my paternal side.

As children we used to go and visit Grandpa Purdy and Grandma Beuna (again, that WAS her name and she too was the definition OF country). They lived on the original family homestead out on the edge of nowhere west Yakima. Down the road was their slightly crazy neighbor, Elsie. Elsie defined ‘cat lady’. She lived alone in what once had been a beautiful house but which she had allowed to become completely overrun with cats. I remember Elsie was missing the tips of several fingers. As a little girl, I wasn’t afraid of this, but I was curious if maybe the cats had bit off the tips of her fingers. I don’t think there was ever an explanation given for the stump fingers. Hmmmmm.

Elsie’s house was full of beautiful antiques that were well worn by her collection of cats that roamed throughout her home. I loved Elsie’s house. It was a classic old farmhouse with a huge kitchen and beautiful parlor with beveled glass pocket doors. I think my love of antiques started at that place. So many treasures that were being ruined by those felines. Elsie’s favorite, was a siamese named ‘Sing’ that slept wrapped around Elsie’s neck. Sometimes, when we stayed with our grandparents, Elsie was out of town so we would go and feed all of her cats. One time we counted over 30 INSIDE the house. I can still remember the putrid smell. Then there were the outside cats and of course the 7 skunks that she also fed. Grandpa Purdy and my father could not stomach Elsie’s love for cats and the damage that they had done to her home. In today’s world, Elsie would have been the perfect subject of a reality show on animal hoarding. No one could understand how she could let those animals ruin her beautiful things.

I never thought I could love a cat. When I was young, I went thru a brief period of wanting my own kitten. This was mostly because my best friend Renee’ Lineberg received an adorable kitten for her birthday. I thought she was the luckiest girl in the world. However, the kitten grew into a cat and the attraction was lost on me. Ever since I have had an aversion to these creatures, that is until Kirsten’s boyfriend Marcus brought us a small black kitten to watch for a couple of weeks.

Kaja came to stay with us temporarily. Kirsten had been begging for us to add a kitten to our collection of animals. I told her ‘NO’ repeatedly. Kirsten and Marcus kept sneaking the little thing to our house for me to see and hold, hoping that I would give in. There is something pretty funny about a 6'3" 260 lb boy putting a tiny kitten in his cargo shorts pocket and watching her peek out. I thought I was in the clear when I told Kirsten the only way we were adding another animal to our household is if one of the existing animals found a new home and that DIDN’T mean getting rid of the swamp bowl (aka fish bowl). That slowed her down for a while, until Dean said that we could watch Kaja for 2 weeks when Marcus went on vacation. I was doomed.

I never thought I could love a cat. Kaja came to stay. This tiny, solid black furball with light eyes. She charmed us immediately. The favorite part was watching her stalk our Chihuahua Trini. Poor Trin. She would walk thru a room and Kaja would lay in wait in behind the sofa and as Trin would walk past her, she would launch herself over Trin. It was hysterical. Trin would just turn and look at Kaja with a look that said ‘you are such an idiot you dumb cat’.

After two weeks, we couldn’t bear to think of Kaja returning to Marcus’ house. We were afraid that the rest of the litter would pick on her. After a lot of debate, we decided to find a new home for Trin. One where she could be doted on and receive all the attention that she required. That’s right, we replaced the old girl with the new cuter baby model. Kind of like the CEO that takes up with his secretary. We wanted the new and flashy and younger pet, the one that everyone finds adorable. Not the cranky old hag.

Kaja continues to be adorable. She takes turns stalking each of us and then launches herself into the air as we walk past her. She is such a dope, laying flat on the ground thinking that she can’t be seen if she lays very still. Yesterday, she crawled into a mailing bag and hid, hoping we wouldn’t see her, then she would stick her paw out and scratch at our feet if we got close to her. The kids friends all love her, much different from the dog, whom no one could stand. We still cringe when the doorbell rings, so conditioned we were to Trin going into barking hysterics when guests came calling and that door chime button was pushed. I miss Trin, sometimes, but I do love this little cat. I would say that my father is probably rolling over in his grave that my house is now a ‘cat house’, but I don’t think you can say that about someone whose body was cremated, can you?? I’m sorry that was a bad joke, but the dark side of me couldn’t resist.

Trin, we miss you, but Kaja we are glad you came into our house to provide us with some much needed entertainment.

Letting go.

How do you let things go? I have a MAJOR issue with this in some circumstances. Some things, I am so good about letting go of. Purging my closet. Purging my cupboards. Moving to a new home. Getting rid of major items. All of those things come rather easily to me. The thing that is tough for me is to move past those emotional hurts that I can do absolutely NOTHING about. I’ve written about this before. What do you do when you know you need to move on and forget, but you keep running in that circle?

Today I am in that loop again. Dean gets annoyed with me sometimes, because I will bring the same thing up over, and OVER, and OVER AGAIN. He will say to me ‘why do you keep torturing yourself?’. I honestly don’t know the answer to that. The logical part of me is completely sane in these matters, the emotional part of me is a complete wreck. I lose sleep. I wake up at night and go over situations and over and over them. I replay conversations. I think of things that I wish I had said, or that I wish I could say or that I wish I hadn’t said. Bottom line, usually I can’t get over it because I hurt and I’m lonely and I miss someone, or I miss the relationship that I thought we had.

We have been in a small ‘crisis’ mode around our house this past week. Our youngest is in emotional turmoil about going to school next week and so she has taken a few steps backwards in her journey towards good mental health. It is always tough when this happens. This week is no different. Yesterday, her Dr. told me to NOT stay home with her. She said it was Dean’s turn and for me to stay home with her would not be a good thing for her. So, what was I to do with my day? I didn’t have to be at work. The pathetic part was, that I sat and thought, I don’t really have anyone that I can go hang out with for the day. I miss having close relationships where I could call and say, hey I am coming over. You know, the type of last minute/pop in/ randomly text cryptic messages only they understand kind of thing. Don’t get me wrong, we have some amazing people in our lives, but yesterday I felt very alone. Maybe because it is the type of situation where you are alone, no matter who you have in your life. Only Dean and I really know how it feels to be her parent. It isn’t fair to expect other people to understand.

I ended up spending the day doing a variety of things. We had 2 appointments so that took up some time. I went to a restaurant and read a book while eating lunch. I got a pedicure. I did some browsing in different discount stores. It was a peaceful day, all things considered, but it gave me too much time to think. And then, I found myself again in that loop of feeling inadequate and bad friendship material. I’m still there again today. If only the one I really miss contact with would reach out. But I know that won’t happen and so for today, I’m going to be sad about that. And tomorrow, is a new day.

Can you do me a little favor?

Under the heading of, you just can’t make this up... I was at work one day a few weeks ago. My boss and wife had just returned from their vacation. Their summer vacations usually consist of fishing excursions and this year was no different. This year’s flyfishing adventure took them to all parts Colorado. Bossman informed me upon his return to the office that in their hastiness to get off the river and to their hotel, the last day of vacation they had left behind Lynn’s fishing waders and gear bag. ‘Bummer’, I said. ‘Oh no problem’ he said and that is where MY problem began.

He began to relay the tale to me. They discovered several miles down the road that they had left the bag behind. As luck would have it, the woman who was house sitting in their absence had a sister who had a boyfriend that lived in (again SUCH luck) the very area of Colorado where said bag had been left on shore. It was almost miraculous! Again, this is where MY luck began to run out. This is where I began to get that sinking feeling, a favor is coming here and of course suddenly THEIR problem became MY problem.

Before they had left Colorado, the boyfriend of the sister of the house-sitter (did you follow that?  me neither) had been contacted and had retrieved the bag. Thus the favor comes in, ready for it?? NOW Hugh and Lynn wanted me to ‘help’ them get the bag back home. Silly me, when I hear the query ‘will you help?’ I still think that means that there will be HELPFUL participation by ALL participants. Nope, in this case it really meant that I would be figuring this out. All by my big girl self! Oh, but rest assured, there would be participation from the other participants, just not HELPFUL participation.

The plan was simple in theory. Arrange for a pre-paid UPS shipper to be sent to the house sitter’s sister’s boyfriend (whom I am going to dub ‘Pot Boy’ for the remainder of this entry). The first set of information that I needed to complete this task was as follows: (1) Pot Boy’s name and address, (2) Pot Boy’s e-mail address, (3) approximate size and weight of item to be shipped, (4) value of item to be shipped, and (5) verification that Pot Boy could take the item to UPS to ship. Not too difficult right?

I sent my first e-mail to Lynn asking her for items 2-4. (E-mail #1) Instead of replying only to me, she started an e-mail chain to Pot Boy, Hugh, and me. (E-mail #2) Let’s suffice it to say that it took three more e-mails (E-mails #3, 4 and 5) before I was able to obtain ALL of the necessary information.

I went on UPS’s website and I arranged for the pre-paid shipper. I created a .pdf version of the same and sent an e-mail out to Pot Boy with the pre-paid shipper attached (E-mail #6). Whew! My obligations under the favor are now complete. NOT.SO.FAST.SMARTY.PANTS.

I received an e-mail from Pot Boy (E-mail #7). He mused that while he had received my e-mail, he wasn’t sure how he was going to print out the attachment. (Oh boy, sinking feeling begins to creep in). Maybe he could go to a friend’s house and print it out there. That would be BRILLIANT Pot Boy! You try that, and keep me out of THAT loop.

Within an hour I received an e-mail from Lynn (E-mail #8). She was concerned that Pot Boy lived in a small apartment.  What if he couldn’t print out the UPS shipper, maybe I should mail it to him???!!!??? At this point, I am thinking about the part of being asked to ‘help’. I’m thinking about how this implies that ALL participants will HELPFULLY participate. AND I’m thinking, SERIOUSLY??? I sent it to you too, why don’t YOU print it out and mail it to him, it is after all YOUR FISHING GEAR BAG.

No, I decided to take the high road. I reminded myself that I am paid to be at work, no matter what I do. If they want me to take care of this little item for them instead of billing clients for REAL work at the rate of $125.00/hour, SO.BE.IT. I sent another e-mail to Pot Boy (E-mail #9) and copied Lynn and Hugh. Would it be best if I mailed him the prepaid shipper? If so, WHAT address would he like me to mail it to? I received a thank you e-mail (E-mail #10) from Lynn. Later, I received an e-mail from Pot Boy (E-mail #11). He requested that I mail him the prepaid shipper, but please don’t use HIS P.O. Box because he doesn’t go there that often (somewhere in the background, I faintly hear him inhale, hold and exhale.) I quickly typed an envelope and mailed the blasted thing. Anticipating that I was FINALLY done with it, I sent what I hoped was my last e-mail (E-mail #12) informing ALL parties that the prepaid shipper had left the building on its way to Pot Boy.

So, was this the end of it?? For a week, I was lulled into false sense of security that the task was finished. The freaking bag was on its way home. Then, this past Thursday, the envelope I had mailed the shipper in was returned. The envelope was marked ‘Insufficient Address, Return to Sender’. WHAT?? NO. FRIGGIN’.WAY.

I quickly checked back at E-mail #11. I verified I had used the provided address. I googled the name of the business and came up with the SAME ADDRESS. Ok, so NOW what?

I sent an e-mail to Pot Boy (E-mail #13). Riddle me this--is there some additional information that should be included? I wait for him to respond. I receive a reply from Pot Boy (E-mail #14). He can’t understand why it was returned. He suggests that maybe he should just go and ship it and not worry about the prepaid business. Knowing this will only mean more headache for me down the road, I reply (E-mail #15) that I will give it one more try. If he doesn’t receive the shipper in a few days, just ship the sucker and WE will try to reimburse him for the costs. I type a new envelope and put it in the outgoing mail.

An hour later, I receive an e-mail from Lynn (E-mail #16). She has new information! Oh JOY! (the choir sings in the background). She says that the address I am using (which let’s not forget was provided to me BY the recipient–aka Pot Boy) is the PHYSICAL address of his work. She has found a P.O. Box for the business that she feels I should use instead. I retrieve the envelope from the outgoing mail bin. A third envelope is typed, shipper inserted, sealed, stamped, finished. I send an e-mail out to all interested (or disinterested) parties (E-mail #17) stating I have mailed the shipper to the P.O. Box that Lynn has found.

I go back to billable work. The mail is taken out to the Post Office. All SHOULD be right with the world. Until......

I receive an e-mail from Pot Boy (E-mail #18). As I read it, I again hear in the background the sound of SOMEONE taking a long drag.......His e-mail read as follows: ‘Yes, the post office sucks. I thought you were shipping Fed Ex. That could be the problem. The postal service is terrible TERRIBLE here.’

Uhmmmmmmmm. Let me get this straight. Pot Boy thought I was going to FEDERAL EXPRESS THE PRE-PAID UPS SHIPPER??? GET.OUT.OF.HERE. Great, now I am contemplating taking a long drag! NOOOOOOO, get yourself together woman!

I reply (E-mail #19). I inform all parties that I am using the P.O. Box (provided by Lynn hours earlier and typed onto the third envelope) and will mail (and by that I mean the old fashioned U.S. Postal Service) the prepaid shipper today.

A half hour after the mail was taken to the post office, I received a reply (E-mail #20) from Pot Boy: ‘Mailing address is the owner’s house. If not too late to Fed-X or UPS to the store address. If you have already done it I will just ask my boss to look for it’.

I sent the following reply (E-mail #21): ‘Too late…the mail has left the building. I sent it to the P.O. Box, by regular mail (U.S.P.S.). I didn’t think this warranted me fed-x-ing the UPS pre-paid shipper to you, but maybe I was wrong. Of course there is still always the option of accessing your e-mail at a place where you have access to a printer and you could print out the attached shipper. Then you have to take it to UPS. Again. I was told that you could ship the waders by UPS. If that isn’t going to work and you have to ship by Federal Express, then I have to start over at step 1.  Let me know when you have received everything and shipped it. Thank you again!’

Any wagers whether or not I am done with this favor? Somewhere in the background I can hear someone  take a deep drag. Wait, was that me????? Naaahhhhhhh.

Can you count to 100?

Someone just sent me a note that I might feel better if I wrote something...she was right, so I am taking her advice. It has been too long for me.

I read an article recently that talked about a couple that decided to try an experiment and reduce the number of items they each owned to 100. They started out slowly, giving away and/or selling most of their belongings. Some items, like the tv, they put out of use in a closet for a month to see how they felt with it being gone. After a period of time, they finally achieved the magic number: 100 items. After this methodical purging, they were able to eliminate a large portion of their debt. The wife was able to quit her well-paying job and instead now spends her days working part-time at a job she enjoys (although the paycheck is a lot smaller) and spends time volunteering for projects she cares about. They even moved out of their 2 bedroom apartment into a 450 square foot studio. The result? They said they were much happier and content to be off the proverbial treadmill in order to provide for all the excess ‘stuff’ that had once filled their home and lives.

It got me thinking, could our family do that? Could we reduce the number of items that we own to 500? When I say number of items, that means each and EVERY thing. A fork would be one item, a book one item, a toothbrush one item, a pair of shoes one item. You get the picture. The idea intrigues me, it intrigues me a lot.

I decided I would present it to my family and see what they thought. I waited to spring the idea until we were all together at a restaurant for lunch. I shared that I had recently read the article and was wondering if they thought we could do the same thing. What would they think? Well of course the reviews of my proposition were mixed. Our youngest, ever the worrier, responded with panic in her voice (what else is new?)...’we’re not going to do that are we?’. Our oldest shrugged, but you could tell the wheels were turning. Yes that means your stacks of books that you enjoy so much. The middle one...well the middle one can’t part with an old pair of jeans so you can guess how she greeted the idea.

I think Dean was intrigued. You could tell he mulled it over for a bit, or maybe he didn’t. Maybe he was mulling over something else and had already chalked it up to one of my hair-brained schemes. I can usually read him like a book, but this time I wasn’t sure. While we both desire to have a smaller home and have already made one big downsize move in the last five years, this was something even more extreme.

That afternoon, I kept processing the idea in my head. If I really decided to do it, HOW would I do it? As I sit here and type this, I look around at all the items that surround me. For instance, I LOVE dishes. A few years back I got rid of several different sets. That’s right ‘sets’ of dishes. I decided to keep only those that had come from family members. My mom’s Franciscan Apple dish set that she had started when she got married. My Grandma J’s good china set that I was lucky enough to receive after my Grandparents were both gone. Then my latest treasure, a beautiful set from my Great Auntie Al. Before she died, she had wanted me to have them. I don’t think I could part with these yet, they are all too special. My idea is that each of my 3 kids will one day receive one of the sets. I counted. Those 3 sets comprise 270 items (and yes I counted a cup and saucer as 1 item). That doesn’t even include the other treasures in my china cabinet. The 3 cordial glasses that my Grandma C gave me for my 3 kids. When they were little they would go and spend the night with her in her apartment. She would set the table with her fine dishes and serve them grape juice in those little cups. She trusted those toddlers with her finest dishes and they thought it was so special. I couldn’t give those away to anyone but the kids and they aren’t ready for such belongings yet.

While I do crave a simpler life, I don’t think I am quite ready yet to reduce my belongings down to only 100 things. I think I could do it if I had to. I’m just not ready yet. Are you?

Marcus

 I haven't had enough time to write lately.  I know that soon this will be a problem of the past and I will be able to indulge in my need to share in written form.  Tonight I am thinking about our friend Marcus.

Marcus is our daughter Kirsten's boyfriend, although that almost seems like an immature title to call him.  He is more than that.  This is a child that is very endearing.  He is a big lug of a boy that has stolen our hearts, as he has stolen the heart of our middle child, Kirsten.  Frankly, we feel the same way about Josh's girlfriend, Evy...such a sweet girl that has stolen Josh's heart...but for right now I am thinking about Marcus.

Marcus leaves for his freshman year of college at the crack of dawn tomorrow.  When I say 'big lug'...I am reminded of the nickname for my OWN father....  My dad was my mom's 'big lug'.  A boy-like man that played football and loved life and people.  Marcus is very similar.  Marcus is 6'3" and 265 lbs and loves football and people.  He also loves our daughter, Kirsten.  It is a mature love though, not that teenage co-dependent, drama up and down love.  They have a relationship that is rooted in Christ as the center and it is pretty touching and special to witness.  I am sure all parents feel this way, but I am quite proud of them.  They are WAY more mature than I ever dreamed of being at their age.  Tonight as he gave me a big good-bye bear hug I was sad that I won't be able to see him on a frequent basis, yet I am SO excited for him and the wonderful things that he will get to experience as he leaves for college.  He plans to  attend Northwestern College in Orange City, Iowa.  He  also plans to play football and participate in Track (scholarship money is on the line!).  He envisions using his passion for playing football in some type of ministry to his fellow teammates and students.  We know God will use him as his heart is open for that.  We also secretly (and now not so secret!) hope that he and Kirsten are as right for each other as we think and will in fact make a life together someday.  For now, we wish Marcus well and will  continue to pray for him and his future, no matter what. 

Marcus, we love you and we will  miss you.  We also know you will do great things!  You showed us again tonight your great heart for others and we found you endearing yet again!!  You are awesome!