Old Shoes

I own a pair of Converse tennis shoes that I ABSOLUTELY-WITHOUT-A-DOUBT-LOVE-EVER-SO-MUCH. I got them in 2006. I know this because the heel of one of the shoes Maui chewed up right after I bought them. Tanna got Maui in 2006.

I have worn these shoes EVERYWHERE. They fit so good. They are comfortable beyond words. LOVE THEM. I have other Converse tennies, however, no pair provide the comfort that these specific shoes have given. Time has taken it's course and they are DESTROYED. I still have them. Can't bear to part with them. My birthday rolled around this year and I was given some money. I bought new Converse. I love them, but they aren't quite the same. So I keep my old ones and still wear them periodically.

In the Movie "All about Steve", Sandra Bullock wears a pair of red boots ALLTHETIME. Of course people give her grief about her boots. She sunnily ignores them. At one point, Sandra's character says:

"They make my toes feel like ten friends on a camping trip"

Describes my converse to a tee.

In April, I received a Facebook message from my friend Sunnie. She was coming to Utah in June for a conference and I would get to see her. Sunnie lives in Vermont. I haven't seen her in 28 years.

I was 18 years old. I was newly married to a Navy man. And found myself in Norfolk, Virginia. You have to know that I came from a TINY town in Utah with NO stop lights and not many people. To move to a city filled with stoplights and teeming with people was (needless to say) a bit of a culture shock.

Oh! the stories I could share. I went through TWO hurricanes. Trust me, we didn't have those in Utah!  A pimp lived in the apartment above me. (I don't think we had pimps) and his prostitute wore her red dress EVERY SINGLE DAY and stood on the corner out my front door. (I'm PRETTY sure we didn't have that in Orangeville). Definitely an eye opener for a small town Utah girl.

Mark and I were the only white people in the apartment complex. One day, my neighbor gal came beating on my door. As soon as I opened it, she placed her hands on her wide hips and demanded to know if I was racist. I paused a moment then answered as honestly as I knew how. "I don't think so."  That was the beginning of a good friendship. However, "good" is an interesting choice of words. I don't recall her name.  I don't even know if she still remembers me. The Navy is transient. People come and go as husbands were drawn back to "normal" life and away from military enrollment. Our friendship fell victim to the "normal" world.

I had only been in Virginia a few weeks when Mark was called out on a cruise and would be gone for three months. Dirt poor is a way of life for beginning military families. We didn't own a phone, a car, or even a television. I spent endless time reading and walking the beach across the street from my house and MUCH time was spent smashing the cock roaches living in my home. Yeah. Gross.

I met Janine Powers. We became FRIENDS. Janine came from Tennessee and had the COOLEST accent. We spent many hours together swapping life stories and enjoying the company of one another. Janine taught me to make fried chicken. Southern style. To this day, my family is grateful for THAT lesson. AND Janine had a television. A COLOR television.

Janine and Sunnie were friends. That's how I met Sunnie.

The three of us did everything together. When we were evacuated for one of the hurricanes, Janine, Sunnie, her son Crory (no, that's not a typo. His name is Crory), myself and Tyson went together to the shelter. We went shopping together on the Navy base. We watched the Miss America pageant together on Janines COLOR television. We mourned the leaving of our men to the sea and anticipated their homecoming. "Back then" there was a ship return phone number you could call. When the men pulled out of port, it wasn't as if we knew the exact date and time the ships would arrive back into dock, so we called and called and waited to hear the ships name. The dates and times were subject to change, so as their arrival date approached, we phoned more frequently for fear that we would miss the arrival. I remember walking to the pay phone by my house and calling the number just to hear the name of Mark's ship. "The U.S.S. Canisteo AO-99 will be arriving on this date at this time and docking on this pier" brought comfort beyond measure.

When Sunnie told me she was coming to visit, I was thrown into these memories. 

Wednesday evening, Sunnie took the Frontrunner from Salt Lake to my home in Provo. We sat outside and talked and talked and talked. We laughed and laughed and laughed. I miss her SOVERYMUCH!  I didn't realize the depths of the missing stuff until I saw her again.

It was as though the past 28 years hadn't happened. We told stories of our new children and filled in the gap of the ages of time that had passed. But it was like picking up right where we left off. 

Sunnie knits. She brought me a prayer shawl she had made. She had written some of the prayers that she had said while she knitted me the shawl. I can't describe the beauty of these prayers or of this woman. 

Thursday found me in Salt Lake where I took her to Temple Square and to the Arts Festival downtown. More time for talking and laughing and comfort.

As with any hello, there comes a goodbye. Ours came following dinner Thursday evening.

Janine and Sunnie are my old shoe friends. There might be a day when the three of us can reunite. Maybe not. It would sure be nice, but it really doesn't matter. My friends shared a past with me that is confusing and weird to some. THEY know the stories that I know. They shared the pride, the joy, the loneliness, the despair, the excitement, the highs and the lows...all the wonder of being a Navy wife.

Introducing:

Sunnie Joy and Janine...

The Weight Of My Mistakes

At times I am haunted. I'm not necessarily proud of every single decision that I have made in my youth, teen years and now adulthood.

Am I to be pitied? Is my soul black? In my quiet times, these are things that run through my mind.

I spend mounds of time and oodles of energy searching within myself to discover if I am a liar. Is the "face" that the world sees the true me? Or is the image I see in the mirror a better reflection?

When I was young, I spent countless hours watching families and people and kids and parents and random strangers. I took note on what I liked and what I didn't think was too cool. I was determined to be the "good" that I saw. Does that mean that inside I am foul?

When I was young (I don't remember how old, or what grade, but I had to be in elementary school because this story involves recess) there was a boy. I don't remember his name. I remember him having dark hair and being a large-er boy.

Each recess we went to the playground and along with my friends, I would spend the 15 minutes kicking him. And laughing. Granted, he came on out and took it like a champ. He would laugh with us. This empowered us more, so, we would kick him harder.

Then we would walk in the school and move on to math, science or reading as if we hadn't just bullied some poor kid and justified it because he was a willing participant.

I want you to know I felt NO remorse. None.

One day, after recess, (I wish I could remember his name) came to me. He was crying. He told me he didn't like us to kick him and that it hurt his feelings. It hurt his legs. He wanted me to stop it.

I was mortified. For some stupid reason, it didn't gel in my thick skull that I was HURTING him. It was all fun and games. Right?

I am relieved to say that it stopped that day. We remained friends. I moved. I lost contact. However, I'm ashamed to say that it took him pointing out my bad behavior before I even attempted to make a change.

Was I instrumental in forming a sad, lonely life for this boy? Does he understand that I am appalled that I did this? Does he know that if I saw that behavior now, I would come UNGLUED and stop it INSTANTLY?

Sometimes, I think it doesn't matter that I changed my ways. It matters most that I hurt him.

Bad decisions and mistakes gather on our shoulders and we stoop and sag from the weight.

I want to hold my head high. I long to look in the mirror and view the reflection with pride.

Where the sidewalk ends

Summer has taken it's hold on me.  Because I can't hardly stand to sit at the computer when the sun is out, I've slacked on my blog. This is a really cool story, though, so I thought I'd sit down and get it out.

As with every story, there are many facets. This is my version. It goes like this:

A couple Friday nights ago, Mark and I were sitting in the family room when Jaden came up the stairs to tell me to call Tanna at work. It drives my family bonkers that I never have my phone on me. I hate hauling it around and I swear that if I'm upstairs? My phone is down. If I'm downstairs? It's up. This time, it was charging in my room.

I grabbed my phone and called Tanna to see what-the-heck was going on.  Tanna answered and immediately said, "Before you say anything, hear me out."  Not a good sign. This means "I found a kitten and can I have it?" or some sort of I-don't-want-to-deal-with-it  question. Instantly I had "No. Absolutely NOT" on the tip of my tongue.

Tanna said:

"There's an old man here. He's lost. His family is coming to get him but he needs a place to stay the night. Can he stay with you?"

What?

"He's harmless, mom."

"I'm okay with it, I guess, but you better talk to your dad and see what he says."

Thomas was our guest that night.

Thomas has Alzheimer's. He walked into Tanna's store and said "Have you seen my wife?" Tanna told him that there was nobody in the store and let him know that an older lady hadn't been there. She could tell that Thomas was confused and asked him if he had a phone. He did.

This is where I stray in knowing EXACTLY what happened. Somehow, Tanna got hold of Linda. This is Thomas' daughter. Are you ready for this? Thomas had been missing for a couple of days from COLORADO. Yep. You heard me correctly. Northglenn, Colorado.

The police got involved and told Tanna that they could:
A.) Put him in a hotel until the family came. But there would be nobody with him to guarantee that he would stay.
B.) Put him in the Psych Ward at the hospital.

Nuh uh. No way. "Mom! Can he come to our house?"

Thomas and Mark swapped Navy stories until late that night. I rested on the couch while they talked and laughed like old friends.

Morning came. Tanna jetted to Salt Lake to grab Linda from the airport. While she was gone, we took Thomas around Provo. We showed him the LDS temple being built blocks from our home. We took him around BYU. The entire time he regaled us with both humorous and heartbreaking stories.

Soon enough, Linda and her husband arrived at our doorstep. They were jumping in the car with Thomas to take him home.

Linda shared that Thomas had told them that he was on University Avenue right by Deseret Bookstore. It just so happens that in Northglenn there is a Deseret Bookstore on University Avenue. For Thomas to describe his location as such, it raised no warning flags.  Linda told him to go to the nearest gas station and she would come pick him up. That's how he arrived at Tanna's work. She was the nearest gas station.

The police in Colorado ran a search for Thomas' phone. Imagine Linda's surprise when she found out that Thomas was indeed on University Avenue by Deseret Book...in UTAH.

I did ask Thomas where he was heading. He told me: "I was going for a drive. I followed the road and this is where it ended."

Simply because my beautiful, kind-hearted daughter refused to let this sweet little old man be alone for one more minute, we added new branches to our family tree.

Promise Me

Through the years we have had different kids live with us. My boys had many friends that simply needed a safe place to land "for a minute." Interestingly, the boys I MOST worried about came through with flying colors. One moved on to ROCK college and continue on to Graduate School. The other has a family and works hard to provide a stable home environment. They have grown into respectable young men heading down paths that will lead to success. I'm proud of who they are and what they have accomplished.  Whew! Load off my shoulders.

The other day I pulled up Facebook and read the following post:

If I can live a junkie life, I can live the homeless life. Did it at age 14, so i can do this again

I have had this stupid post on my mind. Not just a little bit. A whole bunch. I worked in the yard all weekend and my thoughts kept drifting to my friend and this post.

Tiny lived with us for a small stretch. You would have to look him in the eyes to see what I see. BUT I see him. I do. He is such a good kid. The world is simply waiting for him to take hold and become the hero in his own story.

There was a small stretch of time when my boys lost friends to drugs, alcohol, even suicide. They have been pall bearers and were forced to say goodbye and place their friends in the ground. Heartbreaking is not nearly a strong enough word. But it WAS heartbreaking.

When I went to Jordan's funeral, Tiny was there. After the services, he walked up to give me a hug. Imagine his surprise when instead of wrapping my arms around him, I kicked him. Hard. In the shins. 

I told him I wasn't doing this again. I'm not. I'm not. I'm not. I won't watch him destroy himself. I won't attend another funeral. I won't bury him. Ain't gonna happen.

So, Tiny, knock it off. I'm serious. See what I see. Believe in yourself like my family believes in you. 

Christopher Robin said to Pooh:

“Promise me you'll always remember: You're braver than you believe, and stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think."

Tiny. If you are reading this...I believe in you.

Timing is Everything

I got an email from Pat last week. She said:

A little background here. I have been feeling a tightness and pain around my ribs. I’ve complained about it to my drs.
The plastic surgeon sent me for an xray. Nothing there. 
So, I’ve suffered through for a month or so, Still not going away so I call my gp and ask for any other thing that will help. He sends me in for a ct scan on Mon. Uvrmc.No call on Tues. Then his nurse finally calls me back. Blake wants to see you in the office - yesterday.That was around 3.  I finally buzz up there around 4ish.Blake reports that there is something on my sternam. The tech writes ‘mass indicated on sternum. Metastasization conducive to breast cancer.So, Blake says not to panic or think the worst, we will not know for sure until they do some testing/biopsy. However, he gives me a hug when I’m leaving and says don’t worry too much about it. It’ll get all ironed out. After several tries got a hold of the oncologist’s office. Spoke to the dr. he says he has looked at the scans. They see two lesions on the lung and one on the sternum. I have an appt later today to talk to him about the CT scan and scheduling a biopsy.

I haven't seen Pat in a while. Life gets in the way and my days slip into weeks which slip into months and I find that I haven't done a single thing that I vow to do. Ugh.

Saturday, I made time and went to a matinee with Pat.

She's sick.

Yesterday I asked her what her oncologist said. She told me that the focus will be to keep her as comfortable as possible. Radiation to see if they can get her pain level down. Then chemo to see if any of the tumors can be kept at bay for a time. 

I'm pissed. Okay, I'm sad but most mostly I'm mad. Beyond words. 

In 2011 the movie Country Strong hit the theaters. Because I love movies, popcorn, and Tim McGraw, (not necessarily in that order) I headed to the local Cinemark a couple of weeks after it was released. I VERY MUCH liked the movie and when it was released to DVD, I promptly bought it. 

In the beginning of the movie, Beau and Kelly (Garrett Hedlund and Gwyneth Paltrow) are writing/singing a song about timing. 

Makes me think. What if I hadn't moved into those apartments? Many stars aligned to place me there. Mark and I divorced. I moved to Montana. I decided to go to school and I moved back. I landed in those apartments. 

I was sad to be divorced. I was scared to go to school. I was busy with little kids. I needed a good friend.

I met Babbette. We became friends. Good friends. I met Calleen. We became friends. Good friends. I met Donna. We became friends. Good friends. And I met Pat. We became friends. Good friends. 

Makes me think that there really is a purpose to the little things. Through heartache and sadness, I met some of the most wonderful people. Pat is one of them. 

I have dear friends. I have been blessed with wonderful relationships that transcend time. Timing is everything.

Well, you can call it fate

or destiny.

Sometimes it really seems like

it's a mystery.

Cause you can be hurt by love 

or healed by the same.

Timing is everything.

Diviine Intervention

Nope. I didn't spell it wrong. I spelled it Diviine because, quite simply, that's how you spell it.

I have had a client for many years now. She owns a company that creates and sells modest clothing in Utah. Trust me. It's a BIG DEAL in Utah. The majority is LDS and it is extremely difficult for the members of the church to find clothing that is modest as well as stylish and fashinable. Diviine Modestee has done that. Brilliantly. You can check out her stuff at diviinemodestee.com.

Tiring of the search for modest swim wear, Chantelle developed a line called Divinita Sole and I get to design the fabric for the suits. I love, love, LOVE it. It's fun to go to the pool and see a swimsuit and think "Oh! I designed that!" In fact, when Dawn took me on my "Get-away Extravaganza" to California last year, we were basking on the beach in Catalina and a suit passed that I recognized. When I asked the wearer of that suit where she got her swimsuit, she gushed on and on about this wonderful company that creates these amazing clothes and it was SO FUN to say "I designed that fabric." Made my day!

I imagine that you know this blog isn't about clothing. It's about me. Duh.

When I was fired from Studies Weekly, I lost all of my benefits. Suck. The timing of it all has been immensely stressful and I have spent many, MANY hours wrapped in fret and worry about my inability to help financially. The interesting sidekick of this disease is that the symptoms worsen when compounded by stress. My doc has explained that my brain can't exactly multi-task any longer. I concentrate on the simple things that YOU PEOPLE do without thinking. You know. Stuff like walking, and talking, and sitting, and standing. Therefore, when stress enters into the picture and my brain wants to process it, my walking and talking and sitting and standing pay the price. I don't exactly know how to prevent this. Stress surrounds us. All of us. So I'll wobble and stumble and stress. And maybe, somehow, it will work out perfectly fine.

My doctor has pushed and pushed for me to attend physical therapy and speech therapy. The last time I saw her, she asked if I had been going and I had to tell her about losing my job and my benefits and that I would not be able to attend any therapy. To say she was dismayed is an understatement. Therapy is very important in keeping some of these symptoms at bay for a longer period of time. Too bad for me. Can't afford it. Not going. Period.

A few weeks later, Chantelle called to schedule a meeting about some graphics. Since I am unable to hide some of my symptoms any longer, when we met, I told her what was going on. She sat right here at my desk. Right beside me. And cried.

Two weeks later, my Diviine Intervention came in the form of an email. Chantelle wrote:

...I have not gotten you off my mind since we saw each other and constant urge has come to help you.  I talked to my accountant and I have the approval to go ahead.  I will need to pay the therapist directly but all bills can be paid...

Could this REALLY be true?  Do I really get to go to speech and physical therapy? In one word...YUP! I have gone to one session and will going to my second today.

We're all learning together right now. This disease (although rampant in my biological family) is very rare. My therapists have been doing research to find what I'll be needing and how best to help me. They are kind and helpful and easy to talk to. I'm excited to see if this old dog can learn new tricks. 

It seems that I am destined to be the beneficiary of some pretty amazing gifts. I dream of being the benefactor and hope to pay each act forward some day. Sigh. I am grateful beyond words. My family is excited and hopeful and ohsovery grateful for the love and kindness offered to us.

Just when you think the world is black...

Who knew? Right?

The Native Way

Diana is Navajo. Pretty cool, huh? I've always thought that Diana is one of the most beautiful people I know. Tall, thin, dark skin, straight hair, beautiful smile. Sigh. Imagine my happiness when Tyson picked her to be his companion for life. Happy, happy, happy!

There was a pow wow at BYU last week end. I have known about the pow wows. Apparantly they travel around and a couple times a year they land at BYU. When Tyson and Goose were young, they used to attend the pow wow with the Nakai family. However, the pow wow remained something that the kids did and I have never attended one.

When Diana mentioned that she was making jingle dresses for Hailey and Madison (Haileys cousin from Diana's sister) to wear to the pow wow, I told her this was the year that I wanted to go. Diana always gracefully and enthusiastically says "okay" but I don't know if she is really thinking "Oh crap." Regardless, I went and I am OHSOGLAD that I went. Wow.

I don't know what I expected. There were natives dressed in the most elaborate costumes I have ever seen. It was the most amazingly, beautiful thing. For being a gal so full of words to say, I find myself at a loss to truly describe the enormity of my emotion I felt upon seeing the beauty and honor in our native family.

According to powwow.com:

Pow Wows are the Native American people’s way of meeting together, to join in dancing, singing, visiting, renewing old friendships, and making new ones.  This is a time method to renew Native American culture and preserve the rich heritage of American Indians.

I witnessed 9 singing groups. Okay, I'll be honest here. It sounded a bit like hollering in the beginning, but as the day wore on, I was able to recognize the different languages within the hollering. During one of the songs, Donna (Diana's mom) mentioned that she loved when the women joined in the song. Because I was so riveted by the dancing, I hadn't noticed. The next time women joined the singing group, I paid attention. It WAS beautiful.

So much of what our native ancestors did held deep meaning and purpose. Donna pointed a variety of tradition within the dances.

What really struck me, aside from the beauty of the costumes, the dancing, the singing, was the solemn honor each member felt for each other and the traditions that were being celebrated. A dance was performed for friendship. At one point, there was a ceremony to honor those that were graduating from college. They presented each student a gift. A line of graduates was formed and anyone who wished to offer their congratulations could do so. The line of well-wishers was enormous.

I admire the honor within our native american culture. I love the reverence held for our earth and the animals and plants that reside here. I don't think they had it wrong. I think we "white men" do. I believe that if we truly honored where we come from, our respect for ourselves and others would grow.  A native proverb states:

"Treat the earth well: it was not given to you by your parents, it was loaned to you by your children. We do not inherit the Earth from our Ancestors, we borrow it from our Children."

I love that Diana is in our family. I love that she is teaching her kids the native way. I love that her family honors the native tradition. I love that I will have the opportunity to learn from that honor.

Crowfoot, a warrior and orator said:

"What is life? It is the flash of a firefly in the night. It is the breath of a buffalo in the wintertime. It is the little shadow which runs across the grass and loses itself in the sunset."

Yep. Beautiful.