..It's that Light.

I wish I had more time to read - I love it.  My current book club read is "the life-changing magic of tidying up" by Marie Kondo.  So far it's inspired me to organize my storage closet and pitch a few bags of stuff.  She's also taught me to roll up the clothes that live in my dresser other than fold.  That's kinda weird as I've only rolled up clothes when I've taken big trips and needed to cram a lot of things and keep them wrinkle-free into a suitcase.  I didn't come to Utah with that many clothes, so the rolls of shirts and leggings suggest I am a total minimalist, but if Kondo says it will change my life, I suppose I'll try it.

Sometimes I glance at the blog by Middle Aged Mormon Man.  He's way more pious in his blog than me - even though I am working hard on fully living the gospel - I don't often write about it.  He often comes out with his thoughts and musings on gospel truths every Sunday.  This week, he posted a cute string of thoughts I felt would be fun to share with you.


http://middleagedmormonman.com/home/2015/10/reflections-reflections/

I was most tickled by the study he refers to that infers that non-Mormons can recognize Mormons about 60% of the time and Mormons can recognize other Mormons almost 70%.  It's our skin.  It's that glow.  That light. How cool, rad and gnarly is that?

The daughter of a friend of mine is on a study abroad with BYU in Jerusalem.  A non-Mormon local at one of the Christian tour sites said to her group "You are Mormons, aren't you?"  They affirmed and inquired how he knew.  He responded that the Mormons coming through all seemed to possess "a light in their eyes".

Yeah... we get that a lot.

For more on what my children and I believe, please look here.

Ciao!

Losing and Finding My Inner Child

Two months after my mother's passing, I'm still in heavy processing.  It's really REALLY strange to lose a parent.  The people who moved closer to me during this time have been people who have lost a parent or someone close to them.  I have felt them lean in toward me as I swim in grief.  It feels really good to not feel alone or abandoned and feel like loved ones are carrying me a little.  A man bearing his testimony in church described what we do for each other as drafting like in cycling.  We each have our moments in life where we can step in, take the lead with the headwind and let others just draft behind us.  I like being able to do this for others, but it's just my season to draft.   I am grateful to be pulled along for now and am eager to accept emotional support during my season of resilience-building.

I'm pretty sure I have changed a bit after my mother's passing.  It's like I stepped more fully into adulthood - at age 40.  I've done some remarkable things in my adult life, but there was always a part of my mother who could not see me older than eight years old, I'm fairly certain.  So my eight-year old approval-seeking, whiny self, with little credibility as an adult no longer has a place at the table now that my mother is gone.  It's really interesting, but there is a part of me that left with my mother.  Some of my inner child.

I've evaluated this and panicked a little thinking, Wait...can I still be FUN?!? I've always been a fun girl.  Okay, maybe there were a few years inside my marriage where I wasn't so fun, but darn it, I think most people who have known me throughout my life would describe me as fun in a childish playful way. Where did that girl go?  

A friend came for a visit the other evening and to lighten up a heavy conversation, I dragged him on the trampoline.  We jumped and laughed, jumped and laughed until my face hurt.  I think I found her, sulking on the trampoline wondering if she can come back to the table.

Ciao!

Courage: Showing up in the arena with no guarantees

I've lightly referenced my swimming in the deep waters of Brene Brown this year.  Since January, I've read her two best selling books, Daring Greatly and I thought it was me, but it isn't.  I've also taken a ten week workshop on her work, because apparently, I like to frequently sit in my own shame puddle.

No seriously, it was some degree of agony mixed with catharsis.  The work has changed me.  Made me more creative.  It helped me understand and come to terms with what happened inside my marriage. As we hit midlife, the marriage was no longer a vehicle for meeting our individual needs and most ardently not repairable.  I feel bolder to publish my thoughts.  I'm getting comfortable with that uncomfortable act of embracing my self regardless of who is looking.  So I've gone out and picked up her latest book Rising Strong, because apparently, I have more work to do.  I found an audio interview with Brene Brown that inspired this post.  The link is posted at the end.

I'm better at recognizing my shame triggers. Recognizing them reduces any harmful acting out we all tend to do when those triggers are tripped.  It might take me a few weeks to understand what's happening for me.  I'm aiming for getting to just a few minutes to process.  Still, at least some processing is happening.

To wear courage, one must first be vulnerable.  To be vulnerable, one must first get really intimate with shame.  We all have our own and unique "shame triggers".  Shame is a universal human emotion.  It washes over all of us similarly.   We each have our own ways of responding to and resisting shame which negates vulnerably and by default blocks courage and connection with others.

Brown's social research concluded that shame is not unique to women.  Men feel it too.  Where women's shame has been researched to be rooted in body image and one's degree of grace and accomplishment, men are found to hold shame around "do not be perceived as weak".

According to Brene Brown, a woman who has done her work is one that can just "be" with a man in his shame and vulnerability without rejecting him for it or confusing it as weakness.

In contrast, when a man can hold space for a woman in her shame and suffering...without trying to problem solve or fix... thats a man who has done his work...

Brene reminds us, "One of the deepest paradoxes about vulnerability (is this)...When I meet you, vulnerability is the very first thing I try to find in you.  And it's the very last thing I want to show you in me.  ...because It's the glue that holds connection together.  Its all about our common humanity.  When we own our stories, and  share our stories with one another and we see ourselves reflected back in the people in our lives, we know we are not alone.  It's the heart of wholeheartedness, the center of spirituality.  It's the nature of connection... to be able to see myself, and hear myself and learn more about myself in the stories you tell about your experiences."

I'm paraphrasing Brene here when she says...It is a willingness to show up and be seen in our lives. Courage is born completely in vulnerability.  I would argue, so is love.  If we haven't come to terms with all of our shame triggers, then how can we fully love another?

Common shame triggers are often rooted in getting hurt, feeling rejected, abandonment.  I could write an article about what my particular shame triggers are, but I'd like to leave a shred of mystique.

Working through, in and among shame and vulnerability is the practice of being in the arena and being uncomfortable.... it does not go well all the time for any of us.

Brene extracts the lyric from the popular song Hallelujah. 

"Love is not a victory march.  Its a cold and broken Hallelujah"  - 

Enjoy the my very favorite acoustic version of Hallelujah right here....

Showing up in the arena - with no guarantees - helps people around us get braver... I think that's why Brene Brown is an accidental best selling author and why 20,000 people have accidentally looked at this blog.  We crave authenticity and honesty and vulnerability.

"It's when we lose our capacity to hold space (in these) struggles that we become dangerous.."  When you figure out and master all of the above, the million dollar question becomes, what do YOU do when you are witnessing another in shame?  If you are like much of the general population, you are just glad it's not you.  Maybe you are just a little grateful that it's someone else getting mauled in the arena this time.  When was the last time you set foot in the arena?  Have you ever, really-ventured-in?

When talking about sharing our life struggles Brene's interviewer offers,  "What goes wrong for us is part of our gift to the world.  It's what enables us to connect and be compassionate."

Regarding Midlife crisis or what Brene calls Midlife unraveling..."There is a place and time in our lives where we realize that growing up, when we felt pain, when we felt small, when we felt unseen....We constructed walls and moats and we protected ourselves and we shut down parts of ourselves.  This happens in midlife where we realize - Oh God -  to be the person we want to be, to be the partner, to be the parent; we have to take down everything we put up that was supposed to be keeping us safe and that has not served us."

When we shut down vulnerability - we shut down joy.  Many ask themselves,  "Do I take this all down and be seen?  Or do I keep it all up?  Most keep it all up and it is just so heavy."  She attributes this to those who age poorly or rapidly, when we cannot get on top of and master our shame demons. They are mastered by speaking them.

"If courage is a value that we hold as important then vulnerability is the only way in and through."

Most of us are brave and afraid in the exact same moment all day long."

Here is the hour long audio clip where much of this material was extracted...

https://soundcloud.com/onbeing/brene-brown-the-courage-to-be-vulnerable

Ciao!

Eulogizing Mom

My Mother's memorial service had about 50 people there.  Many neighbors I had grown up with, cousins and extended family, people who worked for my mother, her very first manager when she was a secretary at Eastman Kodak, a high school teacher I was close with and some friends I grew up with came to support me.  I am grateful to the extended family who brought some dishes to pass.  I am incredibly grateful for a former neighbor of mine who I was not very close with, but who totally set up and broke down the food for the memorial service so that I could visit with people.  It turns out, she was a convert to the Mormon church about nine years ago.  Leave it to the Mormons to throw together a party and chip in and just be so helpful....

I was so buried with responsibility the week of her service, that I took about five minutes to write her eulogy.  Thankfully, I had about a month to ponder it, so it came rather quickly.  After delivering it, I recalled about 34 more things that belonged in there, but I think she would have been happy with my words.  

------------------------------

Thank you everyone for coming to my mother's memorial service tonight.  For those I haven't met yet, I am Heather Whitley – Linda's only child and mother to her five grand children. We live in Utah.

I want to first thank her brother Todd for helping her so much around her house in my absence the past couple of years as her health deteriorated. I also want to thank Sylvia and Gerry Fitz who worked with my mom on everything from getting her bills paid, to helping her manage her email, to purchasing a new computer to running to doctors visits and keeping her day to day life in order – again in my absence. I also want to extend gratitude to her other brother Terry for helping me with the larger decisions over my mother' care in the final weeks of her life. It was wonderful for me to reconnect with him. After her passing, I have been so grateful for the help of my Aunt Beth on my father's side for helping me get mom's things organized and packed up and for my cousin Whitney and uncle Terry for spending a couple hours yesterday working in her home. Terry brought his much needed dry sense of humor that brought some laughter into the kitchen. Thank you for those who flew in from out of town to be a part of this. I am so grateful to reconnect with you as well as meet some of you who knew my mother long ago and learn more about her through you.

I so wish I could have brought my five children, but I had much to accomplish while here and they had not seen their father in a very long time, so we took this time to allow them to reconnect.

Because of the nature of her illness, there has been much focus on the illness itself and what got her there. But what's been nice about having some time since her passing go by before I could get here, I could take the space to reflect on all of her amazing qualities and aspects of her life that touched me and everyone who knew her.

A single mom of five, I haven't had a lot of time to do hard grieving while caregiving for my own children over the past month - it was so interesting that as soon as I boarded the plane and it pulled away from the gate, the tears started streaming down my face as I had just enough alone time and no immediate responsibility that I could actually ponder my mother. In fact, my neck hurt from straining to keep my head turned toward the window so as to not startle the poor man seated next to me... My mother is gone.  It is a difficult reality to get my mind around.

The things I miss most about her – her scent, the sound of her voice, her warmth, are probably the very things that bonded me to her as a newborn.  I was expecting to walk into her home and be among her clothes and be overcome by the scent just as I was every other time I walked in her home...but you know what? It's gone. The unique scent I remember walking into her home every time I visited...gone.  It left with her.

One of my earliest memories is of her holding me facing her, rocking me in a large rocker in my nursery. I think I must have been up with a fever or teething and I have this memory of her holding me and playing with my hair… To this day, if anyone plays with my hair, I'm instantly relaxed and sleepy...a conditioning brought on by my warm mother. It's really a shame that she did not have many more children. I know she would have loved to.

She loved to entertain. I have lots of memories of her cooking and preparing the house for guests. Lots of memories of her loud giggle that filled the house. If I was up in my room getting ready for company, I always knew guests had arrived because my mom would greet them with some cute remark and her giggle would carry up the stairs.

She was legendary among family and friends for her cooking. Various people have cited the following as favorites of hers…. Coconut cream pie, chicken parmesan, stuffed shells, clams casino, thanksgiving dinner worthy of Williams and Sonoma, Breakfast casserole.   I can testify that what made her cooking special was extra sugar and butter and salt…

She always had candles lit for guests and her home decorated for the holidays and cleaned like crazy to show her appreciation for the people she hosted and her gratitude that they were there. She would dress up for having guests for dinner. I was always in awe of her ability to arrange flowers. These are the things that made her unique and special.

She would not always have the patience to teach me how to cook but she'd always make me a tiny pie in a custard cup I could fill with jelly. In fairness, I wasn't that interested in cooking as a little girl. But it was my junior year in college, when I had an apartment of my own, I would frantically call her and ask her how to make something because I was hosting someone for dinner or a small group of friends. So our mother-daughter bonding in the kitchen occurred entirely over the phone and she did a great job.

When I was in high school, my mom worked full time at Eastman Kodak while simultaneously attending Syracuse University. She earned dual finance/accounting degrees which would change her career. Mothering five children, I can say that it's the teen years where our children ironically need us the most. But my memories and experience of her doing that were only positive. I'd often come home in the evenings from school/sports or friends and she'd be buried in her school books. I felt proud of her though. Not abandoned in any way. She lost her mother during this season as well. Her career would end up culminating into Finance Manager for global internal contracts of ITT Space Systems which took her all over the world. I was very proud of her.  She was proud of her "government classified" status on ITT satellite systems.  

I think the culmination of events in her life during this time were more difficult on her than any of us could imagine. I feel like sometimes we women, carry the entire world on our shoulders and try to do it with grace for as long as we can.

After I left home for University as a young adult, we talked almost daily - it seemed as though she was trying to fill the void in her life left by her own mother. After two and then three, four and five of my own children, both our lives evolved in ways that would reduce our contact with each other substantially. But I missed her calls. I missed the closeness that we once had.

It's been cathartic to go through her things and get to know her again, a bit. She always did have great hats. She has about 34 pairs of designer sunglasses, some prescription, some not. She always had good lipstick. I sat by myself this week, packing her up and felt like a little girl trying on her sunglasses, hats and lipsticks – searching for signs of her in all this “stuff”….

I feel my absence and geographical distance during the end of her life may be misunderstood by some… Please understand that I am honoring my mother in the very best way I know how...by raising and mothering her beautiful five grandchildren in ways that would only honor her and make her proud.

Her and I have done some healing this week, as I have been in her space and had the responsibility of being steward over her belongings. We have had many little conversations and I have strongly felt her presence here. Yes, she is still giggling.

I want to invite any one who has even the tiniest of memories of her to please share them with us. It is healing for me and these are things I can share with her grandchildren….

--------------------

At this time people came forth with things they loved about her...her cooking, her immaculate yard and flower gardens - thought to be the prettiest in the neighborhood, her leveling the wage playing field for women she supervised at ITT Space Systems and her love of her dogs - Flatboat retrievers - she was a breeder of champion show dogs for many years in her retirement.  Lastly, she was a doting daughter and my grandfather's "go-to" person in every sense. 

Ciao!

Farmers Market First Date

I was invited to the Salt lake City downtown Farmers Market.  It was a fabulous first date idea!  The weather was perfect.   I am ashamed that I have not yet brought my children to a farmers market in Utah.  Maybe I've been afraid of being disappointed.  I mean, Vermont is like the cradle of locally grown, locally-owned, organic, cottage industry and I just couldn't fathom how in the world, Salt Lake City could replicate Vermont's farmers markets.

Plus, I've been known to come home from farmer's markets with kittens.  Yes - I was practically the victim of a crime back in Vermont - When my older children were toddlers, I innocently walked down the stoney pathway admiring the fresh peaches and corn on the cob in the market booths - children in tow- when I was TARGETED by this elderly woman holding a tiny cute orange kitten and a tiny even more adorable black kitten. "Free kittens!" Substitute kittens for the apple in the Snow White photo here and you will get the gist of my story.

They were apparently born in her barn.  Feral.  She showed them to my children.... I was open to taking the orange kitty, but then my son whined that we couldn't possibly leave the black kitty who was clearly the brother of the orange one.. I was duped.  Suckered.  I brought them both home.  I have to be careful at farmer's markets. I'm really NOT A cat lady. I swear. They kept the mice at bay in our country log home. I happily no longer possess animals.

The Salt Lake Farmer's market did not disappoint.  I was blissfully without my children as I was invited by an unfamiliar male.  It was a mellow morning where I could listen to whatever tunes I wanted on the drive there, as the five usual voices clambering to dictate what tunes are played were not present.  I had no idea what I wanted to listen to.  I pondered what would be best to get me in the mood en route to a farmers market, so I opened up Tracy Chapman "Talkin' 'bout a revolution"  {What better way to get in the mood to protest Walmart and Costco for the day and support local growers?}  I also broke out some James Bay.  A friend introduced me to James Bay in another outing... I had never heard of him or his music, but I immediately downloaded some and fell in love with the Coffee House-type tunes.  The kind of tunes I listened to ardently before my kids hijacked my radio, my time and my playlist.  Big girl music.

I'd like to see what Mr. Bay looks like without the hat and his hair tucked fully behind his ear, but he seems to dig this look in every video, so that's cool.  His music is great.  I'm hooked.







Parking was more difficult than in Vermont, but on the walk from my car to the market, I admired vintage signs and walked past some of Salt Lake's homeless taking refuge along the buildings.  It was all kind of urban and artsy.  Wait, I just re-read what I typed...












My date was really nice.  Fun.  Good conversation. I was impressed with his idea to hit the farmers market together.  It was a unique way to get to know each other for a couple of hours.  He bought me a strawberry lemonade and we shared some Pad Thai and sat on the grass and conversed.  We browsed the produce and the pottery.

















We ate some juicy peaches, picked up honey stix for the kids left behind.  I picked up some turquoise pottery I've been coveting for the shelf over my kitchen sink.  It felt great to get out and about.














The visit recharged my social batteries and I'm inspired to take my children there for breakfast next Saturday morning.  I plan to hit this breakfast booth for biscuits and gravy ...check it...

Ciao!

We are One Year Pioneers In Utah

Candlelight & Wisteria has crossed 20,000 views! Might be time for a new platform. Thank you!

I sit on my porch in a faded sage green wicker sofa, which adorns this cute light brown brick 1940s brick cottage.  I hear birds chirping and landscaping on the golf course nearby, I hear the far away sound of I-80 which is oddly busy for an important Utah holiday.  The sky is this exotic blue grey, but starkly blue and so typical of the desert sunrise.   My little son thinks I-80 sounds like a waterfall, and I close my eyes and think he's right - maybe Niagara Falls - its drone is like white noise.   I contrast the difference between desert city life and small, quaint, quintessential Vermont life with rolling green hills and white church spires that I left behind a year ago.

I fell asleep on my front patio last night, drifting off to the sound of my wind chime in the light breeze and the quaking of the young aspen overhead.  And of course the distant I-80 waterfall.  I felt content.  I might have stayed outside all night - the temperature was perfect - but I don't yet have a masculine entity to watch over me in my home - so as I startled at the sound of a critter in the rustling bush nearby, I was reminded of that fact and sulked to bed, anticipating the day I might feel safe to stay outside.

I think I am the first one up in the neighborhood and I'm back out on my beloved tattered second-hand outdoor wicker.  Today is Pioneer day in Utah and I rose at dawn to place American Flags in front of seven homes on my corner - a boy scout / church tradition that lines a handful of Salt Lake neighborhoods on certain national holidays and Pioneer Day.

Pioneer day is a celebration of the Mormon pioneers who settled the valley around 1847.  It's a day where everything stops for parades and fireworks, pool time and barbecues.  It also represents the approximate anniversary my children and I arrived in Utah.  We arrived on July 19th, 2014.  We remember it was a Saturday evening because we rose early Sunday morning, and in hasty chaos inside the U-Haul trailer parked in the street out front, located semi-wrinkly Sunday clothes to make it to church.  It was the day we met the people that would become our closest friends and take us under wing.

Unlike most of the people we are friends with here, I do not have pioneer heritage in my lineage.  I am from the northeast and with the exception of one family in the 1800s who traveled to Missouri, then Illinois and back to New York, I can't find anyone who made it to the far west.  I realize my children and I are now the pioneers in my family -  how fitting that we rolled into Utah just in time to experience Pioneer Day.  

I am grateful for the 1840s pioneers who tarried across the Great Plains, suffering hunger, death of loved ones, blistered feet and hands for walking the way pulling handcarts, illness, stillborns yet they came together as brothers and sisters and carried each other's burdens to make it all the way.  My dear friends are likely descendants of these brave souls who left everything behind, and I feel enormous gratitude to their heritage.

Ciao.

Life's Beautiful Surfing Mess

I have been in deep thought about my mother's passing on July 3.  This piece is an attempt to organize my thoughts.  If you knew what a jumbled chaotic mess my brain is at any given moment, you would realize what a smoke screen my exterior is.

My mother died of liver disease.  Cirrhosis.  The kind related to misuse of alcohol perhaps combined with too much acetaminophen.  It is a ten or 15 year progressive illness, so this history of hers dates back to almost when I left home for University.  Her drinking began also close to the time her own mother - the family matriarch - passed away.  Her diagnosis however, only came into my awareness about a year and a half ago.  Precisely the time when I was home with a newborn and came to understand my husband had chosen a different course for himself and the family that would lead to divorce. I have handled both of these events primarily alone or sometimes with close friends to whom I am grateful they were willing to simply bear witness to my suffering.

We all have different coping mechanisms when we are faced with grief, loss or really intense emotions.  My mother was an incredibly sensitive woman, and I believe life on Earth was emotionally painful for her.  She chose a couple different vices to cope with the intense feelings that she did not have the tools to process or understand.  

I believe addiction touches every single American family in one way other another.  We each handle the perceived shame of it differently.  Where some families want to push it under the rug or keep it discreet, I'd prefer to blow the lid right off the sucker and call it for what it is.  In this season of my life, I wield a very large metaphoric floodlight and shine it on that which wants to remain hidden.  Shining light on it reduces its power over one's life.  

Pushing emotionally charged things under the rug, killed my marriage and my own family.  That in and of itself is some people's coping mechanism - pretending an issue does not exist.  I believe we give it more power, though, when we try to deny it or push it away.  Eventually it will find a way to rear it's head.  It will find a way to surface.  And in that extra time, lies suffering and reduced relationships with others.  

I realize my mother's tendencies to deny and cope by dulling with substances, followed by my own marrying into a family with substance abuse issues, must have subconsciously created a need in me to FULLY FEEL EVERYTHING.  I gave natural birth to my children  - one of the most intense forms of suffering a human can experience on this earth - and then I became a midwife, so that I could bear witness to others' suffering on a regular basis.  I am articulate about my feelings, and then publish them.  I give power to my emotions and feelings rather than seek to dull and chase them away. It is in this process that I find some semblance or order in my life and bring order to my feelings.  

As a youth, I was never overly drawn to experiment with drugs and alcohol - okay there was that one season....  but for the most part, I'm fascinated enough with the intricacies and mysteries of my own mind, emotions, and heart that it actually scared me to alter my natural state at all.  The experiences I had when I was offered and partook in alcohol or other means of coping - really frightened me.  I was aware at a young age that I was interesting enough as it is, if I just spent enough time with myself naturally.... it was like a recreational activity or adventure. 

My feelings and emotions are always shifting, never the same for more than a few days or even hours.  Much like in childbirth, the less we meddle with our body's natural chemistry, the sooner the feeling passes and we emerge slightly changed.  Different.  Herein lies spiritual and emotional resilience and growth.

I have never surfed, but I imagine how I feel as I ride the waves of my own human emotions, and I think this is how surfing might feel. 

Grief

Over the past year, I've gotten to know myself better through grief.  I have had moments where my entire body - especially my heart -  hurts and aches.  On my darkest days, precisely at the point where many people in our culture might have sought an addiction to cope and avoid, I pulled the covers over my head for a few hours and just let it ride over my body.  After observing myself and this powerful feeling that originated outside of me yet occupied my total being, I learned that it would reliably pass in 4-6 hours.  I grew to the point where rather than run to my bedroom, I could notice the grief when the wave washed over me.  I'd stop whatever I was doing and just notice it and then close my eyes and feel it.  I learned to deeply breathe, placed my focus on where it felt strongest in my body.... and then focus all the love for myself I could muster right there - to that spot.  And it would pass.  

I grew resilient enough that when grief came knocking, I could stop what I was doing, actually speak its presence out loud to whoever happened to be with me or just to myself, and notice how it took my breath away for a few moments.... Since it's desire was to choke and paralyze me, I instead started to deeply breathe in and out when it came.  And sometimes within moments, it would pass.  My coping skills became sharper, as was my ability to feel and put words around the feeling.  This is how I moved through the grief of my divorce and my mother's illness and passing simultaneously.  

Anger

This is a tricky one... Anger is one of the more complex feelings for me to comprehend.  My understanding of it though, is what lies beneath anger, is grief.  Something unmet.  I have had some anger.  Some normal and related directly to the events in my life over the past year.  Sometimes I feel anger with people I love when their words or actions elicit frustration.  I feel frustrated sometimes, by circumstances and situations.   I'm learning what best cancels it, is patience and faith.  With anger and frustration comes a great deal of passion.  Passion - in it's bridled form - is something I'd like to hang onto.  Someday, when I am married, I will have significant physical expressions of my grief and anger to manifest intimately, with a man who is equally in touch with his emotions or wants me to help him get in touch with them.  I'm curious if this will equal fireworks. 

Love

I am on a walk to be able to love someone correctly, and be able to receive love willingly.  I am learning to establish greater boundaries and manage expectations.  I feel love every single day.  I feel love for my children and for my friends.  Following the horrific grief that I have allowed to work change in me, my heart today feels like this open and expanding canvass upon which my future will be written.  It has no bounds.  Love knows no bounds.  

I realize that my intense feelings, emotions and expressions of them will be too much for most men to handle.  It may take a some time to partner with the one emotionally and physically available man who fits with me like a puzzle piece at precisely the right time for both of us, and who wants to go surfing with me.  I can wait.  God is suggesting that I wait a bit longer - not to rush.  

Joy

Sometimes I get glimpses of joy.  More and more moments are coming every day, where the joy overrides the sorrow.  I love and appreciate my life, my moments with my children.  Moments with my friends.  I can feel the permanent joy filling up my heart as things are observed, heard, smelled, felt and I guess you can say even tasted.  I believe all five or six senses are to be used to feel joy.  It's that sixth sense I am most interested in listening to and developing further.  It's pretty active in me. 

Gratitude

I have gratitude to my mother, whose own vices and life choices have ironically made me the woman I am today.  Without her particular life course, I might not want to fully feel life as I do.  Every day I open my eyes feeling gratitude for a new day and a new shot at Life and feeling it all.  

This... is Life's Beautiful Surfing Mess.

Ciao!

Restorative...the word.

So....{twirling my hair....avoiding eye contact....staring at the ground....fidgeting my feet like a smallish child}.

I've met someone.  A man.

I've met a man...

Isn't that what grownups say when they are hinting around that they've met someone...different?  That a relationship may be underway?

I've met a lot of men...this one...I keep saying "Yes" to for some reason.  I haven't put too much thought into it.  I just notice that I keep saying yes to his invitations.  It's been a couple months.

He's representing a ton of first hurdles for me to get over in dating... I tend to "freak out" when I get to a new place..like that first date.  First meet of the kids...first kiss...first outing in public....first meet of my friends....

I-just -totally-freak - out.... and then I'm fine.  He's been super patient and tolerant.  Available. That's important to me.  He checks in with me most days.  We've had a couple hiccups and moved past them.  We've taken some space then returned to normal.

He landed himself the Chewbacca ringtone for a week or two, then ended up with his own ringtone. This took some effort.  I noticed.

He is super reverent and weaves scripture into many of our deep conversations- which freaks me out in its own way.
He instigates meaningful conversations with me and doesn't shirk from my exhuberant expressions and responses.
He throws a mean spiral.
He is kind to my children and working toward creating a bond with them.
We laugh.
He's "jacked up" ~ according to my son.  In my son's lingo, this means he's got musculature.
I like what happens when he kisses me.  "Restorative" is the word brought to mind.

I'm not saying this is SERIOUS or anything.  I mean...that would totally freak me out to say that out loud or put pen to paper on that.  So we continue to date other people and be okay with it and laugh about it. What that means, I'm not quite certain. But I'm enjoying what's there in this season of my life.  I am grateful.

Ciao.

Daydreams of an Immaculate Lawn

I wish I could say I've mastered the landscaping to date. I'm CLOSE.  Just not quite there yet.  I reside in one of those neighborhoods where the lawns...immaculate...kind of like everyone's lives here.  Immaculate.  The families...immaculate.  I feel...kinda messy.  But aspire to be immaculate.  This next month, I'm taking on the tasks of rehabbing my lawn to immaculate status.... in hopes that it will transcend into my emotional life.  Yes, I think I'd like to be more emotionally...immaculate.

Sprinkler system turned on...check.
Lawn mower and trimmer repaired...check.
Lawn mower and trimmer repaired AGAIN...check
Weed and Feed operation underway...check.

I burned out about 25% of the lawn with the above weed-n-feed operation.  Dead grass patches.  I spilled some and was curious what would happen.  Would the grass become like a lush jungle with a little too much weed-n-feed?  Or would it kill it.  The latter.  Totally killed it.

Need to take lawn mower back into the shop for the same belt, cord issue I had it repaired for a few weeks ago.  This invariably involves burdening some neighbor to help me transport it by use of a truck.  I actually loaded it into my SUV once.  I like being self-sufficient.

I love that I have elder male neighbors who are not afraid to chastise my teen son if they see me doing too much around the yard.  Everyone seems to look out for me....and my children.  I feel protected here.  Loved. I want my lawn to fit in and be worthy of those it abuts.  Could take years...

This photo is not me, but a terrific piece of art depicting how I feel.

Trimming... Back in rural Vermont, people called these things "Weedwackers".  Here they are more refined and called "edgers" or "trimmers".  I have not yet mastered trimming.  I think my head almost exploded when I had to search online for the proper oil to gas ratio.  Was it 50:1 or 30:1.  Figuring this out and executing it took me an entire afternoon.  I think I had to take a nap after.  Then a friend came and edged my lawn anyway.   Said person came back to restring my trimmer head that was missing a doo-hickey making it not really string-able.  More head explosions....

I was off the hook for another couple of weeks, though.  My edging is looking a little ghetto right now, so it's time to buck up and just do it.  I'm kinda scared.  Will report back.   I do love the feeling of getting the trimmer started.  I feel so...capable.... kinda like....

  But I'd really like to outsource trimming eventually.

Ciao!

Chewbacca Ring Tones

Dear Outer Space: It's been so long since I've written!  I'm sorry.  I've been a bit preoccupied on a number of fronts.  We are almost to 20,000 views on our blog!  Maybe this post will knock us over that hump.  I'd love to know more about what people like that I'm writing, so that I do more of that.

My mother passed away this weekend.  I'll write more on this after I have time to understand all the feelings I'm having.

I'd like to update about my dating but I'm not ready yet.  First let me digress into the sphere of ringtones.

As I look back on my marriage with some time and distance,  it has been helpful to set some personal guidelines in my dating, so as to not repeat any cycles or draw in that which I had experienced before.  I found that it helps to use special ring tones to serve as triggers and a reminder that I am to hold out for that one alpha male who is really...well, really alpha.  Willing to stand up to me and not put up with any of my nonsense, but also willing to go the distance and be...well... ALPHA.  Anything short of full-on display of that, well....he gets a special ringtone.  Meet my special friend, Chewbacca.

I'm quite serious... It's a helpful reminder that when Chewie lights up my phone, there is a reason to not get swept up by the contact.  This is the ringtone assigned to the fallen soldiers who by either their choice or mine opted out, sexted, wanted me to sext, texted way too late at night for last minute plans or other behavior that I feel cautious around.

I love Chewbacca, but he doesn't speak English.  He doesn't speak my language and I don't really want to marry or be intimate with Chewbacca.  He's so nice and furry, but he's always second in command to Han Solo {swoon}.

Ciao!

God's Grace. I want it.

The following is a transcript of a talk I gave in Parley's 3rd today, April 26, 2014.  The ward is filled with an amazing and devout group of men and women and I felt honored to be asked as well as intimidated to publically bear so much of myself... My honesty was well received. 

I was asked to pick a conference talk to speak on today, the one I was most drawn to was President Dieter Uchtdorf's talk on “The Gift of Grace”.

I've been pondering the topic of Grace lately… the Term has several definitions, but in its most widely used form in our language is defined in Webster's as follows:

: a way of moving that is smooth and attractive and that is not stiff or awkward.

: a controlled, polite and pleasant way of behaving

: skills that are needed for behaving in a polite way in social situations…

Ask my children or anyone close to me and they would likely say that I possess none of these definitions of Grace. I was not an ice skater or a dancer….to my parent's dismay, I was a ski racer and later a professional Downhill mountain bike racer. The kind that wears the full face helmets. The kind of sports you might briefly catch on TV and think: yeah – those women eat their cornflakes out of skulls. Graceful is not something I am familiar with in a physical way.

In social situations – I suppose I could be graceful when necessary. But it's not my default modus operandi. Particularly in this season in my life...

After all…. According to Harvard women's studies and history professor Laurel Thatcher Ulrich,

“Well behaved women seldom make (or change) history” Isn't that right?

I feel like I slid into this ward and neighborhood last summer mach 2 with all of our hair on fire. With five kids - including an infant - and just a U-Haul trailer. We came with essentially some clothes – enough to get through fall – and the most important things - ski gear and mountain bikes. That's it. I was fleeing a difficult domestic situation back in Vermont. Initially, I thought the move might be temporary. Enough time for my other half to make some productive decisions about our marriage and family. This never occurred. Or it didn't go as the children and I had hoped and prayed. It was me who had to make some dramatic decisions regarding my marital status and make our stay in Utah more permanent.

What has emerged in this very difficult season in my life is my inner FIVE YEAR OLD.  Maybe FIVE is too generous. I have a 15 month old and that's precisely what I'm referring to. We all have one. Do you know what I'm talking about? The kind of inner toddler who has outbursts and tantrums when things don't go exactly our way? Well mine has had center stage.  

Last week, some of our belongings arrived via truck from Vermont. As the children and I sat staring at the broken items, and pondering the missing items – a representation of all that has occurred in our family over the past year - my toddler-self best let her expression fly through my thumbs in a flurry of angry, spiteful texts…. This was not graceful. The things I said were downright unkind. I've just never experienced this magnitude of hurt before and I can't seem to get a grip on and censor my inner toddler. After all, divorce was not supposed to be my story. Or my kids' story. Just the other night, I was at a social event - the end of the season Park City Ski Team banquet and for the first time, someone introduced me socially as the “Ex wife" of my children's father. I wasn't ever supposed to have an Ex-husband. Or be someone's Ex-wife. This disparity between reality and my hopes and expectations has definitely caused a lack of grace. In every form.

As I spend time with amazing women of our ward family, I recognize that they have an aire of Grace to them. I don't pretend to think they don't have their own difficulties. And they haven't walked in mine… but I am so grateful for the women who have taken me on walks or had me over for a soda who sit full of grace while my inner toddler whines and wails and makes complaint of the situation I'm in. I leave saying “Amidst my challenges, I want more of what they have.” So while pondering a talk, it was no surprise I was drawn to President Uchtdorf's talk on the Gift of Grace.

Grace is one of the most frequently used terms in the scriptures and is almost always in reference to God's Grace. It turns out, that Webster has an alternate definition of Grace that applies here - totally different from the others…

: an unmerited divine assistance given humans for their regeneration of sanctification.

It is this Grace that President Uchtdorf speaks of in his imploring that we get clear on our understanding of God's grace. His talk explains what God's grace is exactly, and how we obtain it.

It has become a task of mine to reconcile my lack of grace with God's grace.

President Uchtdorf begins with the reminder….

The Savior's Atonement cannot become commonplace in our teaching, in our conversation, or in our hearts...God loves us deeply, perfectly, and everlastingly. I cannot even begin to estimate “the breadth, and length, and depth, and height...[of] the love of Christ.” (Ephesians 3:18-19)...A powerful expression of that love is what the scriptures often call the grace of God...It is a most wondrous thing, this grace of God. Yet it is often misunderstood. (D&C 78:17)...We cannot earn our way into heaven; the demands of justice stand as a barrier, which we are powerless to overcome on our own….Through the sacrifice of Jesus Christ, the plan of mercy appeases the demands of justice (Alma 42:14) and [brings] about means unto men that they may have faith unto repentance (Alma 34:15).

I interpret this to indicate that repentance is the key that unlocks the grace.

President Uchtdorf goes on to say, “ With the gift of God's grace, the path of discipleship does not lead backward; it leads upward.”

I understand this to mean that rather than return us to our state of innocence as children, God's grace accompanies us through our walks in trial and lack of our own grace - back to Him. More like Him. So we might ask, “Why bother to be obedient and how do we access this gift of God's grace?”

President Uchtdorf states, “...we must enter through this gate with a heart's desire to be changed – a change so dramatic that as Mosiah 27:25 describes as being “born again; yea, born of God, changed from [our wordly] and fallen state, to a state of righteousness, being redeemed of God, becoming his sons and daughters. (Mosiah 27:25) God pours out blessings of power and strength, enabling us to achieve things that otherwise would be far beyond our reach. It is by God's amazing grace that His children can overcome the undercurrents and quicksands of the deceiver, rise above sin, and “be perfect[ed] in Christ.” (Moroni 10:32) ..His grace refines us. His grace helps us become our best selves.

President Uchtdorf reminds us of Christ's visit to the home of Simon the Pharisee. Outwardly, Simon seemed to be a good and upright man. He regularly checked off his to-do list of religious obligations: he kept the law, paid his tithing, observed the Sabbath, prayed daily, and went to synagogue. But while Jesus was with Simon, a woman approached, washed the Savior's feet with her tears, and anointed His feet with fine oil. Simon was not pleased with this display of worship, for he knew that this woman was a sinner. Simon thought that if Jesus didn't know this, He must not be a prophet or He would not have let the woman touch him.

President Uchtdorf challenges us: Which of these two people are we most like? Are we like Simon? Are we confident and comfortable in our good deeds, trusting in our own righteousness? Are we perhaps a little impatient with those who are not living up to our standards? Are we on autopilot, going through the motions, attending our meetings, yawning through Gospel Doctrine class, and perhaps checking our cell phones during sacrament service? Or are we like this woman, who thought she was completely and hopelessly lost because of sin?

For me...I'm both people. Here in Utah, as a convert, as someone who has undergone the formal repentance process...I'm that woman..the sinner. But when I turn my head eastward and look upon all that I left behind and fled with my children from, I become Simon the Pharisee. I can roll both ways.

You see, eight years ago my family was baptized and sealed in the Palmyra temple. My husband and I felt it was right for the children but our testimonies were fragile, at best. We loved our microbrew beer, our dark coffee and wine with dinner. I was adjusting to a new dress code and had just given birth. Tithing was near impossible with a bleak economic environment the northeast experienced in 2009. It was a lot to undertake for a young family. We had an hour drive to a tiny branch where my children were half of primary and there was intense pressure to attend. Everyone in a tiny branch has a calling and I had one despite having an infant. My husband paced the halls with a noisy toddler, missing priesthood for a couple of years and I was a counselor in primary and a teacher in Relief society. It was not long before we succumbed to the exhaustion of an entirely new culture and ceased attending…

The adversary had designs on destroying our newly sealed family and took advantage of our inactive status. Our marriage began to crumble for the first time in 12 years. After about a year of inactivity, I knocked hard on the door of my bishop and when he was found to be in the hospital, I made a frantic call to my stake President with a sense of urgency for me to start the repentance process. It was this repentance process that I had a bonified “Come to Jesus” moment – a spiritual experience so powerful that I cannot ever turn my back on. I had drifted from my sacred covenants. I needed help. My heart was broken. I recall about a 24 hour period that was so dark, I contemplated taking my own life. Imagine the mother of what was then these four beautiful children, in such a dark place, that the voices inside my head were suggesting my children would be better off without me.

It reminded me of the scene in the Joseph Smith History – where the darkness was so terrifying right before God appeared to Joseph. “I was seized upon by some power which entirely overcame me, and had such as astonishing influence over me as to bind my tongue so that I could not speak. Thick darkness gathered around me, and it seemed to me for a time as if I were doomed to sudden destruction.” (Joseph Smith History)

Such was my spiritual experience as I finally came to Christ for the first time.

I found the repentance process humbling yet loving and I could not wait to be able to take the sacrament again after a long hiatus. I understood it to be a sacred privilege to take and when the young men bless and pass it, it almost brings tears my eyes, especially now that my eldest son has this honor and responsibility to pass this sacred ordinance.

I understand well the phrase “broken heart and contrite spirit”. Because I can still feel it so close to the surface. It is so painful, that it is difficult to comprehend that God would prefer us to walk in that state constantly, but that's precisely what He wants. Most of us walk around trying to avoid that kind of pain of a broken heart. We go on anti-depressants, turn to addictions, absorb ourselves in our own self-righteousness – anything to prevent that feeling of FEELING HEARTBROKEN over things we have done or our own shortcomings. Yet this is precisely what He asks us to do. It takes tremendous courage to walk around with our hearts dangling outside our bodies every moment of every day. Yet this is what he asks of us.

President Uchtdorf goes on to say, “Do we understand our indebtedness to Heavenly Father and plead with all our souls for the grace of God? When we kneel to pray, is it to replay the greatest hits of our own righteousness, or is it to confess our faults, plead for God's mercy, and shed tears of gratitude for the amazing plan of redemption? (Luke 18:9-14)

Why then do we have to be obedient to any of this? President Uchtdorf reminds us “Brothers and sisters, we obey the commandments of God – out of love for Him!"

But it is not this obedience that earns God's grace. “The Spirit of the Lord [our God]” brings about such “a mighty change in us, that we have no more disposition to do evil, but to do good continually,” (Mosiah 5:2)

I think I have answered my own question on how to bridge the gap between the deficiency in my own grace and God's grace. Every day I must ask myself if my heart is properly affixed to the outside of my body in the most vulnerable way.

President Uchtdorf concludes with “Today and forevermore God's grace is available to all whose hearts are broken and whose spirits are contrite.” (3 Nephi 9:19-20)

I bear my testimony that if we keep the commandments and walk continually with broken hearts and contrite spirits (reminder that 'contrite' means: regret for bad behavior) that our good works and obedience will merge with God's grace leading to greater possibilities in our lives. Thank you all for being examples of this in our community, and I say this in the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.

In Praise of Dating Younger Men

In my first season post divorce and a very difficult un-fun year of my life, I find myself choosing with intention to date younger men.  I just turned 40 a few days ago.  Okay, a few weeks ago.  FINE, a few months ago.  November 25th.

 One of my first dates was with a 30 year old, and most recently, a 32 year old.  I have become really clear that this is the season for me to do precisely this.  I feel like avoiding any middle age man who dons the "cloak of divorce".  I cancelled a first date last week with a very nice man my age who shares my faith but spoke negatively of his ex-wife in our first and very brief phone call to set up the date. I actually lost some sleep over it and phoned him the next day to report my discomfort of the heaviness of the prior call and I cancelled.  I feel empathy for men ~ so much pressure to lead and take initiative with women with constant risk of rejection.  I can't imagine how scary it is.  This man did all the right things to initiate and follow through.  He was not the first man to raise the pink and orange flags of trying to bond over demonizing a former spouse. I know from the affair I suffered through that some women fall hook, line and sinker for this method of bonding -  but to me wreaks of lack of responsibility taking and is a turn off.  My time is so precious to me as is the nature of how I was hurt in my divorce, that I can't be with one who utters a single negative word about his former wife, mother of his children.  So I cancelled and went to the SLC temple solo ~ initiatories ~ and paced the spring gardens in silence and contemplation among the tulips.


Furthermore, my children....are having difficulty wrapping their minds and hearts around the concept of a blended family with another man's children.  That will likely shift...  but for now, 'tis the season to date younger men with no divorce baggage and no kiddos.  Sofar nothing remotely serious has transpired, although a few hints at exclusivity happened once after a first date.  Flattered but I was not in that place.  I'm of the thinking of "Let's pretend this is not an impossible situation where you would want to combine lives with a woman with five children or where I would want that for you".  I want to attend ball games, sleep in the desert, tailgate with takeout, feel like a teen again...without the responsibility of real life for a while...  Yes, this is what I want for just a few minutes.  I still haven't really REALLY been kissed yet.  I'm glad. I guess I am holding out for the right time, man and place.  Not really sending any signals... maybe I'm not good at sending signals yet.  Note to self...work on sending kissing signals... These men are cute.  No, they are stinking handsome and I'm actually really excited that they're finding me.  I still got it!  Kinda... maybe. Most of them have expressed integrity around dating me.

I think I need a Microderm abrasion, though,  to peel off about 18 layers of my face from the stress that I have absorbed the last year so I look like I could pass for their age bracket.

It's been entirely innocent.  Lots of flirty texting.  I am a writer after all, so I'm enjoying the form of texting communication that accompanies younger men.

I am NOT used to or interested in sexting...this deserves a blog piece all its own... I'm interested in social research on the matter and why people would do this.  There also needs to be a phrase for this recreational activity that is something to the effect of "I did not inhale".  I'm finding even observing and being on the surprising receiving end of this activity oft used by younger men in direct conflict with my religious and moral values.  Younger men definitely trip and push comfort zones and buttons.  I flip flop between totally blowing someone off who does this and hanging in there patiently to see if something shifts.  I like the unpredictability but at the moment, I'm totally confused.

I just came across this article, In Praise of Younger Men - O Magazine and felt it deserved some plugging.  I could relate to a few things in here.

Ciao!

Bone Marrow Pate or Beef Butter

The day I made Bone Marrow Pate, was a day I could rejoice that the medicine I was using to restore the effects of blood loss from a Red Cross donation was a day I could actually blend beef bone marrow into one of my favorite things in the world, BUTTER!  Because I am not an intentional food blogger, I wanted to give you a link to someone who did it right ~  MommyPotamus.com 's idea of using rosemary decorating mashed potatoes with it... she's a genius and I bow to her.

A great deal of my kitchen items are on loan in Vermont until spring so I am making due with more manual aspects of culinary endeavors.  As a result, mine did not resemble butter or even an appropriate  pate as it really requires a mixer to accomplish well.  But I hand blended it and it still tasted amazing - it just wasn't as pretty as it could have been.  My goal on this was food as medicine, so that was accomplished. Next goal, medicine and aestietic appeal.

Whole Foods only sells marrow bones in bulk bags of six.  My intention was to make a kettle of broth from a couple of the bones.  Someone in the grocery checkout suggested I make a pate out of the bones, so I did both!

The first thing I did was toss two bones into my cast iron kettle full of water with celery, carrots, a purple onion and beef bouillon.  Adding apple cider vinegar helps bring the minerals out of the bones and into the broth.  Apple cider vinegar pretty much deserves its own medicinal use page.  I consume it copiously in as many ways as I can find.  But pretty much involves just a spoon and my mouth.  

Oh my heck, yes that's a steak knife I'm slicing veggies with.  A really dull one. 

I tossed in some parsley. Parsley is used as medicine for kidney and liver strengthening, prostate health, and intestinal ease.  It's a good one for soups and broths.  My mother always used the dried.  I went for the fresh this time.  Isn't it purdy?  I felt healthy just having this all in my hands. Being mid-winter and the middle of ski racing season, I've been feeling a bit short in delivering the fresh veggies to my family.

I brought it to a boil and then simmered for 2-3 hours.  That was the broth.  No photos exist because I had to quickly depart for other activities.  Skim the crud from the bones off the top and you have a broth that is really nourishing. I ate it plain and served it over Jasmine rice.  I felt re-energized within minutes of the first bowl.  I had it for breakfast the next morning.  And lunch.  Energy restored.  it really works.  Or just a placebo.  You decide.  It might not be as pretty as those Mormon casseroles, but it's probably a wise dish to serve a neighbor who is ill or recovering. 

With the remaining bones I tossed them on a tarnished cookie sheet (this is one of the reasons why I'm not a professional food blogger) and fired them up in the oven at 375 for 15 minutes.  I think next time I'd go to a 425 for 15 minutes.  I think the marrow consistency would be more appealing and easier to blend if it was heated at a higher temp.

This looks really nasty, I know. I had to show you what the cooked marrow actually looks like,though. 

Upon taking them out of the oven, the marrow resembles a gel and can be scraped out of the bone into a mixing bowl.  With the marrow warm, I added purple onion, cilantro, sea salt and olive oil and blended.  Looked a little funny and clumpy but tasted amazing over crackers and bread.  I'm scheming for doing the butter-laden-beef-butter with rosemary next time over potatoes.

Ciao!



















Here are a couple of my favorite images of how other people across the world wide web served out their marrow bone pate/butter.  Mine resembled the naughtiness served directly in the bone or on toast.

Too much of this could probably take your cholesterol over the top, but is cholesterol actually bad for you?  It's actually the body's manner of speeding healing.  It's an indicator of inflammation and probably indicative of some other underlying issue that needs resolving.  Pregnant women's cholesterol can be through the roof then usually resolves after pregnancy.

Bone marrow has fats in it that are super helpful to the body and brain!

Ciao!

Whole Foods Bones and Death Star

I donated blood for the first time the other day.  I've always wanted to do it, but wasn't quite sure what was involved.   I felt it was time that I donated a part of my healthy body to those who need it more than me.  I can make more.  Some people can't.

They took a pint.  One pint is equal to two cups.  More blood loss than this in childbirth and midwives consider it a hemorrhage and are breaking out the life-saving medicines.  Donating blood is a significant act on our bodies.  As I waited for the procedure to begin and asked how much they would be taking, I realized I had not eaten much that day and started to get a little nervous about how my 5'3" 115 lb frame would handle the loss.  I spaced eating.  What a dummy!  I probably nibbled here and there leftovers from my toddler or other children but it was just a busy day where I had neglected to eat well.

Well nourished women can withstand a normal blood loss of about a pint in childbirth and go on as if nothing happened.  Slightly anemic women with busy homes and other children to care for often take weeks to feel normal after blood loss in childbirth.  The Red Cross requires about 8 weeks spacing between donations to allow the body to recover.  This is almost as long as midwives treat the postpartum period and how long most surgeries take to recover from.

I am a total and utter morning person, but I woke up the next morning (12 hours after donating blood) feeling like I could sleep for days.  I begged my smallish children to let me sleep for a few extra minutes.  No dice.

I decided to give myself the standard midwife prescription that we ask mothers to prepare after giving birth to speed recovery.

Bone Marrow.

I dragged myself into Whole Paycheck - I mean, Whole Foods - and grabbed a bag of Marrow Bones and some veggies to make a nourishing broth.  Here is one of my favorite funny clips about Whole Foods to get you in the mood:

As I navigate the murky waters of divorce and feel generally balanced, happy, accepting and ready for a new future, my blood shortage took me physically and emotionally a step or two backward where I found a return to my personal divorce-survival rule of not making eye contact with anyone in public lest a conversation or human interaction start.

I give off the "DON'T APPROACH ME, I'M AN INTROVERT" vibe really well.  It's getting harder and harder to pull this off as I feel more and more healed and ready to step out socially.  But my depleted blood state tossed me right back into that "safer" isolated emotional place today in public.  Implement: No Eye Contact (NEC). A DEFCON 5 day. 

As I loaded my bounty onto the belt in the check out line, an older gentleman behind me broke through my DEFCON 5 and said,

"What are you using those marrow bones for?"

 The voice inside my head said, "Mr., You seem really nice and harmless and all but I have not given you eye contact and therefore not given you permission to acknowledge my existence, are you really talking to me? CAN'T YOU SEE THIS DEATH STAR IS AT A DEFCON 5?!?" 

I was polite and divulged to him that I donated blood for the first time and it kinda took the wind out of my sails and hoped a soup with bones would do the trick.

He pressed in asking me questions about how I planned to prepare the Bone Marrow and had I considered making a spread, and did I know gourmet restaurants charge $30 an ounce for a pate that I could easily make at home with my bag of bones, etc?

I was more shocked at why he bothered to ignore my OBVIOUS DEFCON 5 that I was intrigued and listening to what he had to say.  He had immediate credibility.

Maybe I'm not doing a good job with the DEFCON system when I'm feeling anti-social.  Maybe he used The Force on this Death Star.

In all actuality, the work on vulnerability I'm doing in area of Brene Brown is showing outwardly.  After donating blood, and feeling empty and lethargic, I had four irritating hours strait of Brene Brown between a workshop and my monthly book club.  Between losing half of my blood volume and feeling drained from self-reflection, my Death Star defenses are rendered useless.  Gone.  Gonzo.  Not a chance of coming back, especially walking around short of a pint of blood.

Whether I like it or not, strangers are talking to me - in the grocery store, at the gas pump - and I'm responding and ready to have human connection.  Maybe wholeheartedly and consistently for the first time in a long time.  It's good!  Because what came out of it yesterday is a new and quirky pate to try and share with you and a feeling of connectivity with another human being that I will never see again.

I smiled and relaxed as I thought of trying a gross pate made out of marrow, feeling it work in my body and telling you all about it.

Because I was already through checkout, I loaded groceries in the car then returned into produce for the herbs he suggested.  Walking around a pint short of blood started to feel better just from a little human connection that I fought and resisted going in there.

I'll post the Bone Marrow Pate separately.

Ciao!