Three Months Late, and One Fiddy short.

I've been meaning to write this for a while. I saw a friend post something to Facebook. Something I don't typically take too seriously. It happened right after the election and referenced the way each man talked about his wife. The emphasis placed on the word "chose", to be exact. Here's my thought. I would rather be "chosen" than not. My logic comes from this line of thinking; Most people who are considered chosen are above the caliber, and higher quality than those surrounding them. It implies that the man saw his wife as the woman of his dreams. Like so many "chosen" people in fairy tales, only she could save his world from desolation. The barren waste of lonely existence could only be averted if she saved him. Not just any woman would do either, mind you, there was only one. The idea that it would be degrading for a woman to be the chosen person in a mans life is beyond me. Granted we don't tend to lean that direction when thinking about it, but I like to believe that the romantic in that man ( which I saw because I bothered to observe)saw this woman as his saving grace. That without her, he would be a lonely miserable, worthless human being. Oh what honors and Grace is bestowed on a woman who can win a man's mind to the point where he knows he is nothing without her. That his only choice to be saved from a useless existence is the one where he musters every ounce of courage, places his pride, his dignity, his very life on the alter and begs her to marry him. THAT is the choice. The one where he stoops below what his ego would allow and asks her to save him. Again, I offer that it is better to be chosen, than to have been the one to choose. Although marriage is a solemn ordinance in which two people help to save each other through encouragement and growth; I do not believe that either one can say they did not feel the uplifting love, and compassion of the other in the courting process. As well, it can be measured that healthy, solid relationships are usually made from two people who will, often times, willing admit that the other person is the most amazing person they've ever known. There is a mutual adoration that should always be there. Each should lift the other, and not forget that it was an act of Agency that brought them to that place. That they sacrificed pride, and ego to get Home. Either way, I find it romantic that he admitted to a nation that he chose a woman to make him a better man.

Keep Calm and Chive On

Love is a craving we all have. It fills the deepest parts of our engines. We are fueled by it and we know it. Somewhere deep in our inner most parts we know it. Our confusion over Lust and Love is understandable. If you don't have true Love as a child you have no idea how to replicate it. We go from Lust to Lust and feel mildly satiated, but never full. It is then a strange and undefinable moment when we suddenly encounter true Love. I'm not talking about the Snow White singing to with the birds, and rabbits, and dancing raccoons. I'm talking about the Love that drives the human spirit to unending hope, humility, and insane bravery. It's the sort of things that gets you to buy a plane ticket home for Christmas after not having talked to your family for 10 years. It tells you to drop money in an old mans cup as he sits hunched on the sidewalk. It tells you that the morning will be beautiful even if you're living in hell. And what does all this mean to me? It means I have a 12yr old husky who doesn't like to sleep, a wedding reception I'm trying to plan for some people who seem to think the only way to get married is with a huge party, and bills to pay. on very little sleep i've managed to upset my healthy diet with copious amounts of caffein, get most things for the wedding done, and convince my dog that she can hold still for 3 hours while I sleep. I really don't understand what's wrong with Punch and cookies. Most receptions are over the top and annoying. People HATE them. The best wedding I ever went to was one where the whole thing was 3 hours. from the bridal march to the send off. It took them 2 minutes to exchange vows after a pastor had taken 5 minutes to wed them. then they cut the cake, danced, and invited us to dance. 3 hours later they were on their way and we were all headed home. Wanna know what they served? Russian Wedding Cookies.. or mexican wedding balls; which ever you call them, and punch. BEST. RECEPTION. EVER. I hate those cookies, but I loved the simplicity of it all. I will never forget the conversations, the photo's, the laughter. It was small and intimate. Personally I will take intimate over the public spectacle. I'm not a celebrity, and I have no desire to be. So why would I want hundreds of people to parade through a room and pretend to be happy for me when they have NO F&$%ing clue who I am?! " oh but Deb, the more people you invite the more presents!". . . I have lived on my own for 10+ years. If I need something I earn the money to buy it. I've got everything I need, and even somethings I want. I don't even want presents! I want simple. I want to be surrounded by the people who care for me the most, and I want to enjoy them as we celebrate the beginning of a new chapter. THAT is what weddings are about. people just get out of control. I will confess that I've reached a place where I'm not even sure I want to get married anymore. Pretty much done. I just think there are things more important that presents. I think the time with family is of more significance to quality of life. I gotta walk Makaio. She's starting to whimper. Plus I had laundry in the dryer I should probably get. So, I'll go take my dog for a run and retrieve my laundry. You find a reason to do more than Lust, and discover what true Love is.

's Wonderful -Ella Fitzgerald

I believe in laughter. I believe in not taking life too seriously. I believe you can laugh at everything, and that although somethings are sacred, you can laugh at just about everything. I do not believe your opinions are any less important, but most certainly not more important than my own. But most of all I believe in being a better person today than you were yesterday. If you can't belong to something, or believe in something, or do something that makes you better; you're a waste of the human condition. No but seriously... Lighten up. Sometimes I wonder if people understand the idea of accountability. They seem to think that by limiting ones freedoms you somehow create a better person. Wrong. Pigeon holing a human spirit is the fastest way to create a disastrously dangerous society. Granted anarchy isn't much better, but if life has taught me anything it's that the extremes are never the correct answer. The closer to the center you aim the more on target you are... It's that simple. I know, it's a ground breaking thought, but they kept telling me to aim for the center in archery too. Seems like someone had it right back in the dark ages when they made a target with a noticeable indicator of center ground. It works that way morally too. Aim for the center. Banning all guns is bad, but giving people carte Blanche is also bad. Having some rules in place to remind people to use common sense is more than likely your best option. ( btw have you ever tried to blog from your smart phone? Stupid auto-correct and funky keyboard size... Throwing me way off) likewise with alcohol (prohibition anyone?), drugs, seat belts ( tell me you fasten yours when riding in the back seat and I'll call you a liar.), texting, jut about anything. The more we restrict it the easier it is for criminals to make money off it. People crave agency, and structure. Seemingly incompatible, but both capable of co-existing. In fact you can't really have one without the other. To have agency you need a frame work of consequences that are unchanging. To have an unchanging structure of consequence that aren't just pretty words without power you need people to have the agency to chose them. Shoot at me, I will take aim at you. Not a bad thing, just a consequence of your decision. Hug me, I will hug you back. Agency- consequence. Amazing how this seems to escape most politicians right? But here's the biggest enemy to agency; fear. Fear creates a state of anxiety in which you are willing to give your freedom of agency to another who can no better decide for you your consequences than I can predict the weather tomorrow without looking at the forecast. It sounds good, but how the heck do I know?! Allowing someone to take your agency is not freedom, it's slavery. Pure and simple. Make no mistake about it the people leading you want slaves, not equals. If they wanted equals their pay checks wouldn't be any bigger than yours. This is a serious matter. Which I chose to laugh about while I watch the world circle the drain into oblivion knowing my humble opinion means nothing without he numbers backing it. And since I'm making as much as the rest of you we all know I'm not changing the world anytime soon. All I can do is fill my corner of the world with laughter and the occasional funny observation from Ike to Ike. Hoping that these little rays of sunshine will inspire someone to take back heir agency and fight against the tyranny of accountability without choice.

Those Thin Fashion Scarves and 4 Hours of Sleep

I think I've finally figure out what it means to be in the moment. No,I'm not talking about this ridiculous YOLO non-sense. That is a retarded person's way of justifying stupidity. I'm not talking about seizing the day either. No, this is a much more precious gift. There are moments in our life where the memory of one singular moment in time is so real and vibrant we remember it until the day we die with every vivid detail as though it were a still photograph we had studied for a life time. These moments can be either terrifying, or joyful. Either way we tend to be unable to recreate them on our own. Most of mine have been terrifying. Over the past 3 months I have had moments that have made me catch my breath, and generally made my heart beat almost through my chest. I have discovered the intimacy of simply holding hands. The magic in doing nothing more than touching your foreheads together and simply being that close to someone. Pressing your hand against someone else's as you smile uncontrollably. The way the breeze passes through your hair, and the flush feeling on your cheeks. Intimacy in all it's glory! I have always believed that BYU is a deal breaker. I wanted nothing to do with it. I applied to RICKs. My only college clothing from that particular round of college is a shirt that reads "Forever RICKS". I proudly own it. I am a Penn State fan regardless of the fact that Ricks became BYU-Idaho. I have bet against the Y, and I have cheered on Utah for years. I'm known for being able to play chess with humanity around me. I have successfully avoided having any direct contact with BYU people who weren't related to me by blood or marriage. I will go to Provo if that is where I am to be. I found a reason to forget the angst, and a person who was able to take the bad taste for BYU out of my mouth. Even better was that it was done in the most amazing, yet simple way. Based on the situation with the Major I have always had a skewed perspective of what beautiful is. I understood "beautiful" and "hot" to be the same. Thursday night I was taught that there is a difference. Beautiful is better than Hot. Beautiful is the thing that makes a woman great, and worth keeping. Hot is what turns you on, for lack of better vernacular. All this time I have tried to be what someone else wanted me to be. I've been a pin-up, I've been a beach bum, I've been a sophisticated woman, and a street racing shorty. I had a period where I figured out that I didn't want to be what the next duechebag wanted me to be, but I didn't know who I was. I figured out who I was and I've started living that. But I didn't feel beautiful. I felt "ok". Suddenly here I am looking into someone's eyes listening to Him tell me that I'm beautiful all the time. In my head I'm thinking " uhm, when I help out at football practice I'm sweaty, and gross, and usually not wearing make-up... not only that but you must clearly be forgetting that day you came over while I was sick and you made me dinner and I promptly threw it back up. there was NOTHING beautiful about that.". Looking closely, and trying to get every ounce of communication off the touch I'm getting to confirm it, I can see in His eye's and feel in His touch that He's serious. I've got to admit. I don't know what that means. What does it mean to be beautiful? How do you quantify that? Well, for the man who has been trying to teach me what that means I will move to Provo and bloom where I am planted. Looking in those eyes and watching the strength in the gentleness. . . I will forget the angst. Because You are the only exception.

Aches, Pains, Bills, and Sunshine

Faith is a strange object. It is something we all believe to be a quality held by the best of humanity. Yet if I were to ask a quantifiable definition of the word it would escape the most educated of us. The reality is that no one can actually quantify this almost magical quality. It breathes, and lives, it touches and reaches, it wanes, and strengthens, waxes cold, and hot, it gives, it takes. Much in the same way that life itself is moving and unending so to is Faith. Even if one lacks it in self. There is always someone with sufficient Faith to carry us to our most honorable destinations. Amazingly enough their Faith soon breathes life into our own and our happy arrival is based less upon their superhuman Faith, and more on our own. This "seed" is planted when, and where WE plant it. There is not divine gardner determining who will be a suitable pot. We are ALL given a seed, and as the gardner expected to plant it. How we tend our preciously delicate seed is our own merit. If we so chose we may indeed place it upon the shelf and bother no more about it. We may plant it in the best potting soil known to man! We may simply fill a pot with dirt from some deserted pile and figure it MIGHT have enough nutrients to produce a fruitful plant. We may even drop it in the earth and layer it with fertilizers, hydration, and sunlight. It is our AGENCY to do with it as we please. Though I do not believe we should be startled at the results of our care if we do not tend to things properly. Even if gardening is no where NEAR a talent we have a responsibility to do our best to educate ourselves on the needs of the living thing we are now responsible for. I am NOT a gardener. I kill just about everything I touch. That I have managed to keep a pot full of bulbs alive for more than one season astounds me. I believe the saving graces is my Mother's semi-annual visits. with regular conversations with a person who is a master gardener I have managed. My flowers are not winning awards, but they live. They will get more beautiful as I practice this age old art on them. So too, we must tend to our Faith. Planting it in the best we have. Making room in the center of our hearts we place the small fragile seed, and cover it. Regularly checking in with our own Master Gardener we talk of life, and love, and all things under the sun. Learning to care for our Faith. As we converse we are giving strength to the new growth. As the growth becomes bigger it becomes stronger. It does not shoot up to 60 feet over night. But by small and simple increases it grows strong. It is tender while young and must be protected from the storms that rage around us. Once it is fully grown it will withstand the hurricanes of the negative world in which we find ourselves, and come out the other side beautiful and radiant inside us. I have needed a massage for over 5 months. My arms fall asleep while I'm laying on my back arms at my side. My hands cramp and spasm as I try to give the massage my reputation demands. I ache every day before I ever get moving. but knowing the toll this work takes on my own body I have refused to receive work until I can properly compensate. September is the month when ALL my bills are due. State licensing for my craft, vehicle registration, student loans, phone, liability insurance, car insurance, you get the picture. Adding to this a horrid mistake by a payroll company last year which has left me shoveling out to the IRS more than I would ever believe they deserve. Either way, I'm holding to my budget with unflinching commitment this month, and a massage. . . ISN'T in the budget. A client who is also a friend engaged me in conversation and I stated very plainly that I usually give them the massage I wish I could get myself. This led to the topic of when I had ACTUALLY had my last massage and not the fib I tell clients to get them to take care of themselves. which of course led to my reasoning behind having waited so long. The subject changed again and I thought nothing else of the words exchanged earlier. It is a common conversation for me to have with clients I've been seeing for 2 years or more. I finished up, and left the room so They could dress and went about my remaining duties as if nothing had changed. Typical end-of-shift duties. As I went to the front to turn in my lotion bottle, and see that I had filled out all my SOAP notes the manager on duty greeted me with a look of hesitation. Never a good sign. I asked if I wanted to know what I had done. She responded " there's something for you", and held up a tip envelope. I was confused to say the least, and when I reached for it and she held it back from me my consternation was increased. " You're not going to like this, but you can't be mad at me! it's so you can get a massage from Rick. I wasn't given a choice!" she states emphatically. I snatch the envelope and look at the front. " So Deb can get a massage from Rick" is written neatly on the front. I didn't even need to see the name of my benefactor to know who had left it. "I'm gonna killer her" I state in low tones. I turn to leave and my manager on duty just smiles. My anger is feigned and we all know it. As tears fill my eyes I can not even begin to describe the sense of relief and weight that is lifting from my body. The act was unmatched in kindness and generosity. There is NO WAY the meaning and significance of the act was known to my benefactor. There will never be words to describe the sensation given by Faith rewarded. There are moments in our lives when it may feel as though Providence has forgotten us. In these Abrahamic moments, as the Heavens seem closed to our upturned cries for relief and sustenance, a friend of a more mortal nature steps up and shows us that the miracles in our lives are given BY the divine THROUGH the mortal.

Sacramento is all Leatherby's and Old Town. . . Or So I'm Told.

We all know what a "Man Moment" is. . . But for the men out there who don't; it is those moments when whatever you think is the right answer, you're wrong. You say this thing you think is funny, or cute, or not that big a deal and it turns out to be one of the most insulting things you could have thought. OR!! She's expecting you to read her mind/understand her hints and you miss it completely and end up disappointing her. It happens. They are forgivable moments and as a woman it helps to have a label to put on this inexplicable idiotic behavior. Now that we've got that cleared up: I have moments when because of what The Major did I need help, but I have no idea how to ask for it. I find myself desperately hoping someone will see the inner pain and turmoil and run to my rescue. I pray desperately, through the tears I am crying myself to sleep with, that someone will take over and fight the rest of this battle for me. Or, just simply hold me so I can cry. I am tired. I am very tired. I pretend that I'm not, and I am pretty good at convincing myself of the matter from time to time. Lets face it; I'm not 18 any more. The ability to go non-stop at full speed is not something I can do. So between fighting my personal demons, trying to support people I care for, learning news that is devastating, and maintaining a good working base of medical information in my brain I'm pooped! I don't know how to ask for help. I spent a goodly portion of my life on my own. I hate to say it, but even with 13 siblings I ended up with 'only child' syndrome. I need help. I need someone to tell me to stop, and give me permission to break down. I need to cry, and I need someone to hold me while I do it. These things are both cathartic and healthy! I need someone to tell me to say 'No'. I need someone to hear my silent cries for help and recognize that I can't do this anymore. I need to feel safe falling asleep. I need 6 hours of uninterrupted slumber! I haven't slept through the night in 3 years. I wake up after a short bit from either a nightmare, or a sound that puts me back in a basement. I've only ever trusted one man completely. I know He wont be around forever because no one lives forever, and I was His 'late lamb'. The thought of losing Him scares me silly. It makes me a nervous wreck, and as I realize that the time when He wont be around is getting closer I start freaking out. Now not only do I lose sleep because of The Major, I lose sleep because my Dad wont live forever. Nothing will ever replace Him. He has saved me from myself more than once. Of all the convoluted, painful, irritating, mess of situations that brought Him into the right place to be my Dad I couldn't be more grateful. He is here, and He has always been here when I need Him. So as you get older and suddenly realize your Dad is a Grandpa, and a Great Grandpa is starts to sink in. . . you can fight it, but it hits you. The bond there is undeniable, and no one can ever love you the same. You want to scream at the sky " YOU CAN'T TAKE HIM! I NEED HIM!", but you know it doesn't change a darn thing. Everything that is living must die. It is a PART of living to die! This is scientifically irrefutable. So why bother? I do need Him. I can't keep Him, but I do still need Him. I will ALWAYS need my Dad. But at some point we have to bust out the pull-ups, and move on. Now I recognize that not everyone has this relationship with their Fathers. I have been spoiled in this regard I know. It doesn't change that even if you're not the child feeling this, perhaps you're the Dad a child feels this way about. I have made a mistake tonight I will probably regret for a long time to come. I had someone who would help me through this. Hold me while I cried, and probably would've stayed long enough for me to fall asleep. I decided it was more important for them to get some sleep than it was for me to get help. I gave something I did not have to give, and created a deficit in my ability to be emotionally sound. I gave all the signs I needed and wanted to share. Then shut the offer down because I believed the demand to great, and my deserving of the help to little. Here I sit, pouring out my hurt and pain to an electronic device realizing I will cry myself to sleep once more, and still not feel any better when I wake because I couldn't muster the courage to beg for one night of help. Though my intentions were noble, and of good intention, I have put someone else's wellness above myself and left unable to hold myself together. I have damaged the mental/emotional health of myself, and in so doing put at risk the physical. It is a grave mistake indeed. The worst part is that they are a willing helper. They actually WANT to come to my rescue. I need only ask. . . I unfortunately do not know how to ask. For this I owe the deepest apologies. I am sorry I denied you a chance to serve me because I believed the demands on you to serve others were too great. I set you up for this "Man Moment" and I am sorry. It was cruel, and ungracious of me.

She's So Fluffy I'm Gonna Die!

I really have no idea what I want to say. I had a moment earlier where I was going to rant about something and I thought to myself " this is genius! you should blog this!". . . Of course it's gone now. I should have started the process before I lost it. Perhaps it will come to me again as I rant about ranting. Nope. pretty sure it's gone. Darn it. Well, I've thrown My back out loading the dishwasher. :) Funny story about that actually. I've had a horrid week. News I didn't want combined with emotional frustration due to being female, I suppose, created the perfect storm. I've been in tears, and just a mess emotionally. I need a massage. Either way; the emotional state of one's self directly affects the physical aspects of the self. So with all this emotional turmoil I am left to strain through the physical. With the fatigue setting in I've been volunteering with a high school football team treating injuries. (My feeble attempts to get the attention of the coach I happen to fancy.)I figured I have been carrying my table up and down the steps of my apartment for almost 2 years so I should be able to do this easily. Well I did fine, I've put in 3 extra hours of work including days off. It's not hard work but still. When you have a day off your body expects to use it to rest. So here I am, loading the dishwasher after a week of this non-sense and unsuccessful attempts to get the attention I'm craving. ( note that I'm trying really hard to not be selfish about this and respect the fact that work is something most people prefer to be functional for) I use the most horrendous body mechanics imaginable to place a heavy pan in the lower shelf of the dishwasher. . . *POP* there it goes. Almost stealing every breathe I have in me I feel it slip out of place. First time I've ever really thrown it out. I straighten up only to discover that about halfway there I can barely arch my back let alone get it straight. I lay down on the floor. In the kitchen. Yup, dishes half loaded and I'm on the floor wondering how I missed that bread crumb under the edge of the oven. It took me 2 hours to be able to crawl into the bathroom where I have a linen closet. I pulled the heating blanket from the closet and plugged it in, laid on it and finally pulled myself into bed. All I can think at this point is " really?! loading the dishwasher?! you work 400lb men! you deliver deep tissue to clients who break other therapists and do just fine! you did it doing something so inglorious?! Oi Vey." Clearly I am no master of deep thought. But It was a great reminder that our physical and our mental are tied tightly to each other in our health. We are to care for both to be Well. Wellness is not just passing a physical. It is most intricately woven into the pattern of life that the spirit and body work in unison as a team. Pulling life through the tissue and sinews into animation. They must be treated together as conditions are both. Fatigue of the body must be treated with heart and tenderness. Fatigue of the spirit must be treated with strength of body. As we take vacations we improve our mental ability to warn us the physical is in need of rest. The nutrition and training of our bodies gives the mind a boost of energy. Treat both, and treat them lovingly. Honesty, Awareness, Compassion. The foundation of all healing begins with self.