Thanksgiving

Wow, Thanksgiving really creeped up on me this year. I will get extremely emotional about EVERYTHING thanksgiving-related if I allow myself. It is really one of my favorite holidays (I guess there are not that many to choose from, but you know what I mean!) and it reminds me the most of my dear Grandma Jenna Lee.

For today, my short list of THANKS:

LDSJournal. My Grandma Nellie faithfully kept a thorough Life Story for herself and husband all of her years. It is a blessing to us, her posterity, to be able to read and learn more about the amazing woman that was our Great Grandmother. LDSJournal helps me be more like my Grandma Nellie and gives me a good and easy way to journal with a purpose.

Google Profiles. (Mine is here) I had second thoughts about doing it, but after I Googled myself and saw all sorts of weird stuff, including things I tweeted, I figured I at least wanted to be a little in charge of how much info people could find.

My Family. Not only the ones here with me now, but the countless generations of ancestors I have. People who lived their lives and went about their business just like myself. They had thoughts, emotions, lives of their own. They were passionate about things, had religious convictions, loved, felt heartache and were basically the same as me.It's easy to read or hear about stories and let it die there. It's amazing to me that my ancestors were so REAL. Without knowing it, they were paving the way for me to become the person I am today. Choices they made in their lives affected not only them and their immediate families, but me any MY family. I get super overwhelmed when I think too much about it, but I am infinitely grateful for my Family, and for the ancestors that paved the way for me to become me.

Music. For my soul delighteth in the song of the heart; yea, the song of the righteous is a prayer unto me, and it shall be answered with a blessing upon their heads D&C 25:12. There is just something about music that speaks to my soul. It's nice to know that the Lord feels the same way.

Heaters. I am not sure I need to expound, but they're really useful (to take a line from Thomas the Tank Engine)

My Car. It's nice to have reliable transportation and to be able to get places I need to go.

My nephews and the Princess. I am so grateful for these kids' presence in my life. They are a blessing beyond anything I can describe. They are a grounding force in my life and my calming influence. Without even knowing it, they brighten any day they are in. They are a handful a lot, but I cannot even express how much joy they bring into my life. They are the perfect balance for work (which leaves me not ever wanting children) They remind me of the joys and countless blessings that come from motherhood.

When the Music Stops

...It's all on us.

That's a quote from The Cleaner. I love that show mainly because it always starts (or ends) with a monologue from Benjamin Bratt's character.

I think that quote is one part of being a "grown up" that scares me. There is no longer anyone else to blame or take any responsibility for my life. I tend to get bored and make rash decisions just to kill the boredom.

I started looking for nanny jobs about two months ago. I had quite a few interested people, some close and some far. It was basically a repeat of the last time I looked for a nanny job with one exception: I was dragging my feet big time.

At the time, I didn't really want to admit it, but I knew this was one of those instances. The kind where I would not be able to make a rash decision and still end up on top. I knew that no matter what nanny job I took, I would reach this same point eventually. The point where I get restless and get an insatiable desire to wander.

It always plays out the same way. I get bored, change things up a bit (or a lot!) and then end up bored again. It's a never-ending cycle.

On a completely unrelated note: I adore the song Fireflies by Owl City. It annoyed me at first, just because it was all weird and techno-like, but after I really listened to the words, I fell in love. I love the camaraderie that comes from a song that explains your feelings so well. It's always nice realizing that a complete stranger, who probably does not have much in common with you or the same life experiences, can still understand (and more importantly, describe) your emotions. Anywho, just some thoughts on my day!

My Own Brand of Crazy

Well, it is a pretty well-known fact that I am crazy. I just feel like I should share a (maybe a few) story about my own brand of crazy. Hopefully, by sharing, I'll be able to recognize it earlier and earlier.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My Fiddle

Once upon a time, I decided that my life's dream was to be able to play down-home fiddle. Devil went down to Georgia-style. Because it was my life's dream, it made sense that I should be able to play it by ear. Yup folks! By ear. How does one play the fiddle by ear, you might ask? Here is my easy, tested, 7-step plan!

Step one is to buy a fiddle online for an exorbitant amount of money. (check!)

Step two is purchasing a few hundred dollars' worth of fiddle music from ITunes while waiting for said fiddle to arrive (check!)

Step three is listen to fiddle music 24/7 while waiting for online-bought fiddle to arrive, allowing your brain to memorize the music and preparing your hands to play (check!)

Step four is pick up the fiddle and hope your brain has created the required muscle memory in your hands (not quite a check...)

Step five is repeat step four for a few weeks, while simultaneously trying (in vain) to hide your shame that said plan is not quite panning out (check!)

Step six is come to terms that it is entirely possible that playing the fiddle by ear is A LOT harder than it sounds (check!)

Step seven is list the fiddle on craigslist and ksl and eventually sell it to a [horrible but true stereotype] Asian family, who wants it for their 8-year old child--and wish you could return the hundreds of dollars worth of ITunes music (check!)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Heart Attacks...

Well, one day, I was having chest pains. I was absolutely convinced that it was a heart attack (calm down! Turns out it was pleurisy :) and I called my mom, frantic that I was dying (after I took a healthy dose of aspirin to thin the clot in my heart, of course!) She was trying to talk me down, but I was not having it. I was convinced I was having a heart attack, and was on my death bed (and also quite annoyed that my mom was not concerned that we were having our last EVER conversation) My mom finally, in a very triumphant voice and happy she had bested my retarded logic, told me that in the event of a heart attack, your extremities go numb.

This part is very important, and also absolutely true. At the very moment my mom told me about that symptom, MY HAND BEGAN TINGLING.

Yup, my own brand of crazy. :)

Life, the Universe, and Everything

Ethnic

I think it is slightly entertaining that there is a politically correct word that people use to describe my Ethnicity. Ethnic is the go-to word when wanting to describe something from another culture. Ethnic music, ethnic food, ethnic dress. How much more vague can that phrase honestly be?

Ethnic, according to Merriam-Webster online means a group of people classified by a common background. Thus, ethnic music could mean anything from down-home country to the twangs of a didgeridoo.

Of course, there is another definition that Merriam-Webster gives for the word Ethnic --Heathen. Heathen is actually the first definition it gives. I think that it is ironic that the politically correct word most people use to describe people from another culture, first and foremost means heathen. Apparently, if you are a person of color, you must also be strange, uncivilized, and not Christian. It is politically correct, though, so no complaints, right? :)

~~-~~-~~-~~-~~-~~-~~-~~-~~

Fragile

I cannot type that word without imagining the father from A Christmas Story in my head "Fra-Geel-Lay" It must be Itallian! That line really makes me laugh.

I think that if I had to describe life with one word, Fragile would be pretty close to the top of my list of words. I feel like life is happy and fulfilling, but I also know it is so fragile.

It's easy to think of fragile as meaning on the verge of breaking, or easily broken, but I like to think of fragile more as something extremely precious. Something that, yes, is easily broken, but is also worth defending and protecting.

I don't remember where I was going with this anymore, but...

Life is good, and I'm a happy girl!

Wild Horses

...I want to be like you.

Throwing caution to the wind

I'll run free, too.

I kind of love Natasha Bedingfield. Or at least this song :) It brings up the same feelings that Wide Open Spaces, by the Dixie Chicks does. Those songs speak to my soul and stir up all sorts of restless emotions. They make me want to uproot my entire life and start over somewhere new. Not necessarily because starting over is an option, but because the unknown is fascinating.

I feel like Americans are a restless, wandering people. We have always loved the anticipation and surprise of discovery; whether it is a new valley or a new planet. We like to be aware of our surroundings and thus be assured of our place in this Universe. From the earliest beginnings of Europeans on this continent, we have been curious about what is ahead, and eager to be the stewards of our destinies.

Wandering is a way to control our destinies. It is a way to open new doors of opportunity and move forward. I am realizing more and more that I am pretty firmly planted here in Orem, Utah. I like the known. I like the familiar. However, the more thought I put into it, the more I realize that staying rooted here just equals me closing doors on myself.

Sure, there are a lot of (really convincing) reasons to stay where I am, and not mess with the mix (the economy is comparably good here, I am close to my family, it is familiar, don't fix something that aint broke, and so on) But there are also a lot of really alluring options out there.

My Grandpa lives in a house that his grandfather built. He is the 3rd generation to live there, and the 4th also inhabits it now. My Grandpa's great-grandfather is buried in the same cemetary that he will one day be laid to rest in. I like that my family has a history there in the charming town of Malad, Idaho. I like that I have some sort of heritage there, but I am not sure that is what I want from my life.

When people trace the path that is my life, will it be a tiny circle, with me never venturing out of my comfort zone? Or will I take the plunge and do something different? Forge a trail far out into the unknown? Honestly, I am not sure right now the answer, but I know which I would prefer.

Thoughts I am Thinking

This post is more for my own records than anyone else. That being said, if you choose to read it, I ask that you read the following two paragraphs first.

After writing this post, I was not sure if I would post it or not. I debated with myself, and finally gave it to my sister to get her opinion. Her suggestion was adding a happy ending, so people would not think (basically) I was about to kill myself.

My solution is this Disclaimer: This post is by no means my cry for help, or anything similar. It is me, recognizing for once, that I have suffered with depression for a long time. I have no suicide intentions or ideations. I do not equate myself with psychopaths. These are thoughts, and nothing more. I feel 100% safe.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Where to begin…

When I write the pages of my life story, where will I begin? Shouldn’t every story have a dramatic start and a happy ending? Or perhaps a happy and innocent beginning with a tragic ending. It’s hard to pinpoint a starting point in my own life story. I do not remember my birth, and the details of my early childhood seem so foreign to me now, I can’t start there. But where then? At the onset of adolescence? After finishing High school? After starting my current job? None of my options leap out of the page at me. I suppose I will just start with:

Who am I?

That question seems so cliché. It’s been done and overdone millions of times. Adding my own query to the pool does not even ripple the water. But it is a valid question. I tell people all the time that you cannot get anywhere without first knowing where you started and who you are. How hypocritical that I really can’t answer those questions for myself.

I know who I want to be, or who I think I want to be, but there is much to be desired when reality meets dream. I wish I were successful and driven, an icon to strugglers everywhere. I wish I were in control. Not just of my surroundings and my personal space, but my emotions. Right now, it seems like I am constantly on the brink of another exploding session. I pity the targets that are hit constantly with my rage, but it is just that. Years of pent-up rage.

Lots of stuff has happened to me over the years. Some of it is clear as day to me, but most of it is more like mud. The memories surface sporadically, and usually when they do, I wish they hadn’t. It’s much easier to have the memories be skeletons in my closet, because I can shut the door and ignore them. It is another monster altogether to be confronted by said skeleton. It rocks the foundations of my world. It shakes everything I had known to be true.

I found a poem I wrote when I was 18. I think it was right before I went to Hawaii, to escape the hell that was home at the time. It shocked even me. I had completely forgotten the entire incident. I had forgotten how lonely and forgotten I felt. I had forgotten the utter sadness that drove me to run away, thousands of miles to the island of Hawaii. Not even my therapy baby could save me from the fate I was heading into. I had to get away from the hurt.

The hurt of that incident is one of those memories that was like mud to me now. I move on from and forget things, which is a good survival mechanism on one hand, but a bad idea for someone trying to function as a human being. Emotions are not bad things. They are the one thing that humanizes the entire human race; the one tie we all share. The truly monstrous people you read/hear about are people who lack basic emotional response—the sociopaths who do horrific things without remorse and without emotion. Those are the ultimate monsters of our world; they look like us, but they lack that basic connection with others.

Michael Meyers from Halloween, is the best example. He has haunted our nightmares for over 30 years. The reason he makes a consistently good villain is because he never cares. He kills and slaughters people without second thought, and for sure without remorse. He stares at people he is killing; confused about the situation, but unable to make the emotional connection required for true remorse. He is the embodiment of monster.

I have learned (or been conditioned) to turn the emotional response off in stressful situations; it is better for me to never deal with a problem than to confront the fact that a problem exists. Thinking back on so many things in my life, I wonder how many other situations in my life have been smoothed over with the magical putty that is my mind. I literally feel like someone took a big spatula and smoothed over all the bumpy spots; all I am left with is a smooth finish. It is disconcerting; to look back on your life and remember only an eerie smoothness. Not memories, or happenings, but just a smooth surface, like an undisturbed pond. Literally a picture in my mind where I know memories should be.

It is only because I know there should be more there, that I am even aware of this sensation. I have fleeting memories of bad things, and they never meet up with that glassy surface. It is an uncomfortable feeling, like you have forgotten something important; like you know there is more to the story, but you are not sure you want to know at this point. I am truly scared about what I might find out if I ever go digging further into my memory. But, I figure it’s got to be better than the fallout from these anger attacks.

Open Water

Water fascinates me. I adore playing in water, whether it is a chilly lake or the ocean. A day (or even a few hours) playing in water cannot be beat. There is nothing I would rather do with my time. I have always loved swimming and playing in the water. I am not sure what the allure is, but I love it. Since I was super little, I have loved playing in the water. Not much except my size has changed.

Water also scares the life out of me. Since I was at least 12, I have had a fear of open water. I do not like what I cannot see below me; I have an irrational fear of it. I grew up hearing stories of my Dad and his adventures on the high seas, and I was always scared of sharks in the water. I even panic in pools and lakes, certain that there is a shark below me, biding its time until it eats me.

I know these fears are irrational, and I have known for a long time that they are not normal, but I have never said it out loud. Uttering those words somehow lets the Universe know that I am in on this big conspiracy. I am not sure why speaking my fear scared me for so long, but I somehow thought that the sharks circling below me were being lenient on me because I was unaware of their presence.

I am also "secretly" afraid of ghosts. It's a paralizing fear. One that I only overcome through self-talk or a lot of effort. I feel the same way about vocalizing my fear of ghosts; you just don't do it. Somehow, the ghosts leave me alone if I don't know they are there. However, saying out loud that I know they are there, or I am scared of them, means they will somehow become very angry. Angry ghosts = horror movie setup. Everyone knows that the fat girl is either a) non-existant in the horror movie, or b) dies early.

I cannot allow myself to be in either category. Thus, I live with my paralizing, irrational fears, safely tucked into my mind. No one I encounter is any the wiser until now. I guess my secret is out. I suppose I will have to be weary of ghosts in my mom's house, and watch out for those sharks next time I float the river.