Night moves...

As I walk into the room, I can feel his eyes follow me. It’s a little unsettling at times but I would never admit it. Not out loud. 

I pull my robe closer, tightening the belt a little. Still his eyes follow me. I move towards the door, intuitively knowing what he wants as he sits quietly, impatiently waiting. 

I think sometimes that I must believe in reincarnation. When I look at him, it’s easy to see. 

In a previous life he would have been an arrogant king, looking down his nose on all the commoners beneath him. To bestow his attention on you would be some great acknowledgement that indicated you were somehow worthy to be in his presence. I imagine I would have been a maid, much like now.

I hear the wind blow outside and imagine the chill it will carry at this time of night. There is a small sense of anticipation. As I reach the door and turn the handle, my mind drifts and  I wonder if this is how his servants felt centuries ago. I am there to do his bidding. Nothing more than a servant put here to meet his needs.

More than slightly annoyed to be called out of my warm bed in the middle of the night, I brace myself against the chill I know is coming.

I turn to see if he has followed. I am only slightly surprised to see him standing nearby, his eyes still watching me intently…waiting. 

I finish turning the handle and pull gently, careful not to make a sound so I don’t wake the others in the house. His mood seems dark like the night sky, his movements slow and deliberate. 

He stops and watches me for a moment with what I can only describe as a look of calm arrogance. I watch him closely, waiting for him to make the next move, just wanting this to be over as quickly as possible. 

Resolving myself to his mood, I turn to push the door closed knowing this dance by heart. We play this game each night. He beckons, I answer.

I glance back and his eyes lock with mine. Cool. Dark. Brooding. As I move to close the door, I see a flash of movement. Before my brain has time to register what has happened, he’s gone. Like a flash, he is through the door and without a sound he disappears into the night. Damned cat.

Memories...

Every so often, like a lot of moms, I will pull out the boxes and boxes of photos from years gone by and dust off the memories of when my children were still babies. I will marvel at their tiny faces, caught so perfectly on camera. It’s as though I can read what’s going on in their tiny little minds. I can see the trust shining from their eyes as I hold them and pose for the camera, not realizing just how fleeting those moments would be. 

As the layers of photos are lifted away, a new era begins to unfold right before my eyes. The chubby cheeks of a baby soften to the slightly firmer and sometimes thinner cheeks of a toddler. There are pictures from all phases of their lives. First steps, first fishing trip, first ride on a trike and the first day of school. The photos tell the story of their lives, each turn of the page giving way to new memories and a slighter older version of the baby at the beginning of the book. 

For me, the pages of each smiling baby slowly leads to pictures of an adult child followed by new baby pictures…pictures of their own children and the phases of this new life starts to unfold. I can see the resemblance to the baby I had myself, so many years ago. This one has her mother’s eyes, while that one has her father’s mischievous grin and still another is a laughing little boy that is the spitting image of his father. I am in awe of them. They are so young and so perfect with their life stretched before them like an untouched canvas, waiting for them to draw their own masterpiece. 

As I sit and think about all the things my children are experiencing with their own children, I feel joy and happiness deep within myself. I know just how precious these times are which is why I also feel a moment of bittersweet longing. There are so many things I want to tell them, things that my mother tried to tell me but I was too young and too all-knowing to listen. 

I want to tell them to cherish these moments. To slow down and listen, really listen. Listen to the thoughts that tumble from their children’s minds and watch their little faces as they absorb each piece of information you give them, like tiny little sponges soaking up every drop of attention you bestow on them. Cherish the times they want to crawl into your lap for a snuggle or want just one more story at night. Cherish the times when you are in the car together, whether it’s a quick trip to the store, a trip across town or even across state. Turn the radio off and talk about all the things they are thinking and seeing, even if it’s just calling out the color of every single car you see. No matter how old the game may become to you, to them they will never tire of it simply because you are playing with them and talking to them. They have your attention and that’s all that really matters.

If I could tell them anything, I would tell my children to cherish the here and now. Spend your time intent on making memories and building ones that will last a lifetime not only for you but for them as well. If I could tell them anything, I would tell them that each of these moments is that perfect photo that will one day be tucked away somewhere, waiting to be pulled out, dusted off and reminisced over. Don’t let the years fade away so that one day, you are sitting in a quiet room, wishing you had taken more time to make more memories. Don’t keep telling yourself that you will spend more time with them tomorrow. Tomorrow will be here before you know and soon it will be yesterday. Spend more time making memories rather than dwelling on the ones gone by. Do it for yourself and do it for your children.

Best friends for life…or this week anyway!

A few days ago I was talking with a co-worker about my best friend that lives in South Carolina. I had mentioned I was hoping to see her this summer and was looking forward to a girls weekend at some point as well. Later in the day, the same co-worker asked about my plans for the weekend at which point I replied that we were planning on having dinner with my best friend and her husband. She seemed confused and I couldn't understand why until she asked if my best friend was coming down for just the weekend. For whatever reason it wasn't until that moment that I realized just how many “best friends” I have.

At the ripe old age of 45, I have been blessed to have many wonderful friends throughout my life. Some I have known since I was a little girl while my newest best friend and I have only known each other a couple of months. The idea of a “best friend” has been an anomaly to me since I was a little girl.  For as long as I can remember, I have had several "best friends" at any given time. Whether it's a childhood friend, someone I have only known a short time, my sister, my daughter or my husband, I simply can't remember ever having just one best friend.

Now don't get me wrong, I understand how people, especially women, form friendships and bonds with other women and there is that one person who truly is a “best friend”; someone they go to no matter what and that is the only person they share their deepest secrets, fears and desires with. For me, there are a series of best friends that have come and gone throughout the years. It used to really bother me when I lost touch with a “best friend” and it still does at one level. At another level though, I have come to understand that, for me, friends truly do come into our lives for a reason, a season or a lifetime.

Recently, it seems as though I have been reminded of this on a regular basis. Take my friend LeeAnn for example. LeeAnn and I grew up together in a very small farming community in the Florida Panhandle. It was a very small community so my mom had known her mom since they were young. When I moved away from my home town in the ninth grade, LeeAnn and I tried to stay in touch. At first we talked on the phone occasionally, I would go see her when my family would go back to visit my grandparents and we wrote to each other all the time. As the years passed, we both got married, had kids and it was not uncommon for a year or two to pass without us seeing each other or even talking. Then something would happen that would cause our paths to cross and suddenly we were best friends again. The last time I lost touch with LeeAnn was about ten or twelve years ago. I thought of her often but each time I would go back to our old home town, I never seemed to have time to look her up or if I did, despite the smallness of the town, I could never seem to easily locate her. Then, a few months ago, through the magic of the internet and Facebook, LeeAnn was back in my life. With the simple exchange of a few emails, we were all caught up and were best friends again.

The list of best friends over the years is too long to list. Some names I can recall without any effort at all and each one has a very special memory. There are others that I can vaguely recall but no real details that let me pinpoint a name or any exact details of the friendship. I only know they exist because I cannot remember a time in my life when I wasn’t blessed with having at least one “best friend”. Someone I could call anytime, day or night and know without a doubt they would be there if I needed them. Today is no different.

To list each of my current “best friends” would take more room than the space here (or your attention span) would allow. Each one is different and each friendship is as unique as the women themselves. No two friendships are the same and I think that's why I have so many “best friends”. They each have a reason for being in my life just as I hope I do to theirs. They each offer me a different perspective and manage to enhance my life in so many ways. The one thing that is true of all of them though is the fact that I know without a doubt, if something happened and I needed one of them, they are only a phone call away. In the same token, the same is true for them. I would be there with a simple phone call and request.

As time goes by and my life continues to change and grow, just as everyone else, I am sure there will come a time when another friendship will slowly fade away and a new friendship will take its place. I will mourn the loss of that friendship because I know just how special true friends are but I will also rejoice in the new friendships I will form. I will be thankful for each person whose path crosses mine and whom I am fortunate enough to call “best friend”...for a reason, for a season or for a lifetime.  

Starting over...

Over the past few months I have been lucky enough to be offered a couple of new opportunities at my job which allow me to grow and expand my knowledge base in the wonderful world of configuration management. The downside is that each new “opportunity” also requires relocating to a new office.

Moving from office to office is a lot like moving from house to house, albeit on a much smaller scale. Each time you move you have to sort through all of the items in your office, decide which items are worthy of packing and which ones can be tossed. There are also those items that make you stop and wonder “how the heck did that get there?!” and “how did I get so much stuff, in such a small space, in such a small amount of time?!”.

It was during my most recent move that one of my new co-workers stopped by to see how the unpacking was coming along. As we chatted, he made the comment “well, there’s nothing like starting over”. After he left I thought of how very true those words are and just how often we “start over” in life.

For me, starting over first came when I got married in nineteen-eighty-three and moved out of my parent’s house into a home with my new husband. Although, technically speaking, I guess that would actually be referred to as starting out since we were young newlyweds, living on our own for the very first time in our lives. It wasn’t long though before the starting over truly began.

Over the years, each time we moved to a new house, a new town or even another state, we had to start over. There was the birth of our children, new jobs, new friends and too many situations to list that each required its own form of starting over. Even death is, in a way, starting over since you have to learn how to live with someone who had previously played a big part in your life.

In two thousand eight, I made probably the biggest starting over decision of my life. I decided to leave my marriage of almost twenty-five years and start over. This was a very scary move and one that caused a lot of alienation between me and the people I loved the most. Without getting into all the “why’s” here, let’s just say that this was an extremely difficult decision and one that I knew would have many repercussions.

Fast forward to a few short months later and I once again found myself starting over when I made the decision to start dating and then again when we decided to move in together. The following three years were filled with a series of starting overs as our lives changed and grew. The purchase of a home together, career changes and his fourteen year old son coming to live with us seem to all be part of some giant starting over domino effect. Each starting over brought its own unique set of challenges and rewards. Getting married again was a HUGE starting over event for both of us. 

As I think back on the many times in my life I have had to start over, it occurs to me that, in its own way, each day is a way of starting over. You get to leave yesterday behind and begin a new day fresh and clean, kind of like one of those old fashioned chalkboards so many of us grew up knowing. Each day, the teacher would erase all the chalk from the board and occasionally would even take a wet cloth and wash the board. The days of our lives are like that. Some days we are able to start fresh with a clean slate, all the chalk of yesterday washed away. We have the opportunity to do whatever we like with our fresh new chalkboard. The lessons we can learn are endless. Other days there are remnants of the previous days lessons that didn't quite get erased completely. These are the things that we carry with us from day to day that keep us from moving forward. Like small children, we are so intent on trying to see the vague lines of chalk still left, trying to put the pieces of words back together again, that we fail to realize that lesson is gone. It's in the past and it's now time to face a new day and a new lesson.

Each and every day should be viewed as a gift...as a clean chalkboard with which we can start over. Don't worry about the faint lines, still barely visible from yesterday's lesson, but focus instead on the new lessons you will learn today. Think of each day as a chance to write whatever you like on your chalkboard. Whether it's something as major as a big project at work or something as simple as a grocery list. What you do with your chalkboard is up to you. When you awake tomorrow, how will you start over?

Just between you and me...

These are words I hear on an almost constant basis. Someone has a secret and they just have to tell someone, so for whatever reason, that person seems to inevitably be me. Now don't get me wrong! I'm not complaining...not at all! In fact, it's quite an honor to know that people trust you with their secrets. Sometimes it's friends I have known for years and then other times it's someone I've only recently met. On a rare occasion or two, it's been a perfect stranger. That happened to me a few weeks ago and for some reason, it's been on my mind recently.

So without giving any real details (it IS a secret after all), here's basically what happened.

I was in WalMart ...wait, let's stop here for a moment. As you get to know me, you will find many of my stories start with "so I was in WalMart". If you hate WalMart or have never been, you should go. Trust me! Some of the weirdest/strangest/funniest/that-did-not-just-happen moments usually involve WalMart and the people that shop there. You can thank me later!

So anyways, where were we? Ah yes! I was in WalMart, walking along, minding my own business, when I happened down the candle aisle. As I was standing there, minding my own business, I heard someone say "fresh linen or fresh breeze? what do you think?"

I turned to see who was speaking and who she was talking to and came face-to-face with an elderly lady holding two bottles of the scented warming oil in her hands, looking at me expectantly.

"Excuse me?" I said.

"Fresh linen or fresh breeze? I can't make up my mind."

"Oh...I...ummm", I struggled for a moment to get my mind off the thoughts that were crowding it just a few seconds before and tried to concentrate on the conversation.

"Well, I'm not sure", I finally replied. "I guess it depends on which one you like best and what you're getting it for."

She smiled sweetly and started to move away when she turned back and started talking. I'm not sure what she said, something about getting older and it being harder to make her mind up. She started telling me about her children when they were younger and how she took care of them but now they are grown with children of their own. As she continued to talk, her story seemed to pour out of her. She talked of her daughter and son-in-law dying in a tragic car accident and how their three teenage children would be moving in with her. She talked about how she had lost her husband of fifty-something years just two years prior after a long battle with cancer. She talked about all the changes she had to make to life since his passing and how losing him had affected her in so many ways. Then she told me her secret.

As we stood there in the candle aisle, with all the hustle and bustle going on around us, she started telling me how she truly felt. Her worries and her fears; her happiness and tears. She went on for several minutes about things that had quite obviously been weighing on her heavily for some time. She didn't ask for my opinion or advice and I didn't offer it. She needed to talk and she needed someone to listen. That person was me.

When she was done talking, she wiped away a small tear that sat at the corner of her eye and giggled nervously. She apologized for unloading on me and for pouring all her problems on a total stranger. I did the only thing I knew to do. I hugged her. She was hesitant for a moment but then she hugged me back....really hugged me. She placed her weathered cheek against mine and hugged me tight, as if we were old friends saying goodbye, knowing we would not see each other for a long while if ever again. When she stepped back, I said the only thing I could say. "I'm glad I could listen." She thanked me and moved away, the moment gone.

As I watched her round a corner and disappear, I stayed where I was for a moment, lost in thought. I thought to myself "what an odd but also incredible experience". I looked for the woman in the store as I continued my shopping and every so often I will catch myself looking for her again each time I go back to that store but especially when I pass down the candle aisle.  I also catch myself thinking of her from time to time and wondering how she is and what happened to her but mostly I think of the words I uttered in that moment in time when there was nothing else to say....I'm glad I could listen.

How many times have we been in that same position? Something is weighing heavily on your heart and you just need to get it out but there is no one you can talk to. Sure you could call your best friend or your sibling or even your spouse or significant other. But we don't. We hold it in because we don't want to lay our burdens on others. We don't want to weigh them down with the things that are troubling us because we know they are dealing with their own burdens. Mostly, we are afraid. We are afraid of laying everything out there and appearing weak or whiney or any one of a hundred other negative things we think others will think of us if we confess our fears and what weighs heaviest on us. We also worry they won't listen.

How many times in life have we been in a position that we have laid our heart open to others with the hurts and fears we are carrying, only to spend the next ten minutes to an hour or more hearing about how they had a similar experience and all they went through. Or we tell them how we feel and then get a long speech about what we need to do to correct the issue. How many times do we just listen and then say, I'm sorry you're going through this and I'm glad I could be here for you?

The thing is, we are all guilty of doing the exact same thing. Someone comes to us with a problem and we want to make them feel better so we start sharing stories of how we overcame something similar and offer advice on how they could deal with the issue. Advice that is most often never asked for. It's a lot like speaking to someone who has lost a loved one to death and saying "I know how you feel". No, you don't know how they feel. There is no way you can possibly know how they feel because you are not them. No matter if you have also lost a parent, a child, a spouse or any number of other people in your life. Each and every relationship is different. No two are exactly the same, just as no two people are exactly the same. How you feel is just that...it's how you feel.

My challenge to you and to myself is to break free of the need we have to fix things. We have to take a step back from time to time and realize that no matter how heavy our burdens may be, there are others around us that are struggling too. Sometimes people just need an ear to listen, knowing that they can speak honestly and opening about what is weighing heaviest on them. They need to know you will keep their secrets, not judge them for what may be seen as petty or insignificant to you and to just listen. The next time someone needs to talk to you, give it a try. Keep an open mind to what they are sharing with you and when they are done, let them know you are glad you were there and you are glad you could listen. You may be surprised at how much it not only helps them but it makes you feel pretty good too.

Thanks for listening! :-)

What did you just call me?!

Anyone who knows me will tell you, I'm from the south. All I have to do is open my mouth and it becomes blaringly apparent. Yes, I have all of my teeth...well, almost all of them except for one top pre-molar that was lost due to an accident but you totally can't see it's missing unless I "open wide" so let's just say I have them all for the purpose of this story. Deal? Deal! I also have a very distinct southern accent. While I cannot tell that I have one because to me, I sound just like everyone else (strange, I know) other people assure me I do, so I go with it. A lot of people try to guess where my accent is from and when I finally just tell them so they will stop guessing, they seldom believe me. You see, I'm from the great state of Florida and I currently reside on the east coast of Central Florida. If you're not familiar with our wonderful state, here's how it basically works. Get in your car and start driving north. The further north you go within the state, the further south you get. Head west towards the Florida Panhandle and that's where you'll find my hometown. A tiny, little farming community called Berrydale. I'm a native. A true Florida cracker.

Now growing up in the country is not as bad as some people think. Yes, we may have missed out on a lot of things "city folk" got to experience but I was surrounded by lots of family. I grew up healthy, happy and loved. What more could a kid want?! I also grew up surrounded by chickens, a few hogs, a cow or two, a jackass named Jack (and yes, this is an actual animal and not one of my relatives) plus too many cats and dogs over the years to mention. Things were very simple. Life was simple. The people are simple. Well, some of them are but then there are some that are actually highly educated. Many of my relatives, including me, have some level of college and many work in jobs making close to or over six figures. We are fairly intelligent individuals with the misfortune of speaking with a slight twang or drawl when we talk. Because of this, people tend to automatically deduct a hundred IQ points as soon as we start speaking. To get to the point of this post, you needed to know that so the rest of the story will make sense.

I was recently offered a new position at work which required moving to a different campus and a new office. I have learned over the years that males, for some reason, are particularly fascinated with the southern accent. I sometimes think the only reason I get asked questions at all is so they can hear me try to pronounce big words without tripping over my own tongue. I have also learned this can come in handy. Professional people, especially men, tend to have more patience with women who have a southern accent. I think they just automatically assume that since you speak a little slow then your brain probably works the same way. It's basically, "I'll talk slow so the poor little slow girl can understand me". It's like talking really loudly to people who don't speak English and makes just as much sense. So, when I have difficult tasks to tackle or need help with an especially demanding challenge, I just turn on the smiles, thicken the accent a little and you'd be surprised at how far a "please" or better yet a "pretty please" will get you. I am also surprised when my accent takes things in a completely different direction.

Today I was walking down the hallway when I passed one of the guys I work with and another guy. The guy I work with stopped me to introduce the new guy.

*NOTE: names have been changed to protect the idiots guilty.

Bob*: "Helen, this is John*. John is one of our System Engineers. John*, this is Helen. Helen is one of our CM's and she is also our resident redneck."

(chirp chirp chirp)

WTF?! Resident redneck?! Seriously???  What do you say to that? I can tell you what I would have said if I would not have been in a professional setting with a new employee present. I would have said "WTF?!"(only I would have used the actual words and not the letters). At what point in time did it become "ok" to call someone a redneck? And what exactly is a redneck? As I stood there for a moment, not sure of what to say or do, I kind of chuckled to lighten the moment and not make things even more uncomfortable. I said something to the effect of "welcome to the company" and "I look forward to working with you". I shook John's* hand, smiled sweetly and was prepared to make my get-away when Bob* apparently caught on to the fact that maybe "resident redneck" wasn't the proper term he should have used.

Patting my arm lightly he said, "I'm sorry. Resident redneck probably wasn't the best choice or do you prefer country bumpkin?"

At that moment, something happened to the filter between my brain and my mouth and as I smiled sweetly once again I replied, "That depends. Do you prefer a punch in the face or can I chose my target?".

Luckily John* thought it was funny and I used his laughter as a cover to slip down the hall and out of site. I'll definitely have to lay low tomorrow and hope that no one from HR reads my blog. ;-)

Goodnight Moon...

“No, seriously…good night! Go to bed! Let the sun come up and shine and light the way. Wait…I’m sorry…my bad. It’s four-freaking-thirty in the morning! The moon SHOULD be up and I should NOT!!!”

The above is a little snippet of a conversation I had in my head this morning as I stumbled from my house, coffee mug in hand, keys dangling from my fingertips and my body protesting. Every.Single.Step.

Since we are just getting to know each other, let me take a moment here to tell you a little about me. I am 45 years old, 5 feet 4 inches tall (despite what the little wench at my doctor’s office puts on my chart…I am NOT 5’ 3 ½”!), a plump 150 plus (we’re not saying how much plus) and I am NOT a morning person. To me, mornings should be spent lying in bed until the sun has risen and our body brings us awake naturally. Alarm clocks should NOT wake us up at 4:30am so we can willingly go to a building and pay someone to allow us to torture our bodies with machines that are meant to…well, to torture people! Did I mention I also hate exercise?

My wonderful husband is 6 feet 4 inches tall, weighs between 180 and 190, and can eat pretty much whatever he wants, run a mile and be right back at the weight he started at. He enjoys running and exercise in general. He is also a morning person. Yeah…not good! Why you ask? Because since he’s a morning person, he thinks everyone else should be a morning person too. He jumps out of bed each morning, sometimes literally whistling, ready to start his day. I find myself with my eyes half open about halfway through my shower and if I’m lucky, by the time I leave for work (usually about an hour later) the cobwebs have cleared away enough that at least I’m not a severe detriment to me or others on the roadways. By the time I’ve been out of bed for about 2 hours or so, my mind is starting to function normally and my day begins.

So, back to where we started…4:30am wake-up call and going to the gym at an hour that no sensible person should. The thing is, there are actually quite a few people at the gym at 5am. I know…crazy right?! If you are one of those people and you actually enjoy exercising and pushing yourself physically, I applaud you. I on the other hand would much rather spend my time ohhhh, I don’t know…having a root canal maybe? But seriously…I know that after the initial shock wears off and my body starts to feel the positive effects of eating healthy and exercising, things will be better. In the mean time, I will fuss about the early morning wake-up calls and the pain of using muscles I forgot I had. I will mumble and grumble and my dear sweet husband will do what he always does…jump out of bed each morning, encourage me to “step-it-up” and continue with his evil plan to convert me to a morning person as well. Yeah…good luck with that one buddy!

I "AM" a writer!

There. I said it. I am a writer. But then again, so are you. And you. And you. And yes, even you! Oh yes. I see you there. Hiding behind your screen, thinking I don't see you but I do. I see you because you are me and I am you. I was the one who always WANTED to be a writer but procrastinated and bemoaned that it would never be. Then, out of the blue, it occurred to me. I AM a writer! Each day, I log onto facebook and post the thoughts that pop into my head. Sometimes they are simply things I have done that day or plan to do and other times they are simple witticisms or sarcasm that seems to drip from my tongue without thought. I also write emails, both personal and professional, which require me to take the thoughts that are rambling around in my brain, form comprehensible sentences of them and send them out into the wide open world of the internet. But I have a secret. One I have kept even from myself. I have already accomplished the one dream I had and never thought I would. I am a published writer.

What's that you say? You haven't seen my work on the bookshelves of your favorite bookstore or online at your favorite ebook store? Well, that's because they are not there. But it doesn't mean I haven't been published. I have. Many times in fact. Over the years, my job has taken me to some pretty interesting positions within the telecommunications world. In those positions, it seems I inevitably find myself in a position of writing. Training manuals. Employee handbooks. Technical updates. The list goes on and on. Most recently, I was selected to write an article for our newsletter at work about a certification program I was selected to go through last year. It was about the course itself but also about my experience. The pro's, the con's and whether or not I would suggest the training program to others and why or why not. I even received an award at work for it. Yay me!

So why am I telling you all of this? It's really quite simple. In life, we tend to do what I have done. We sit and moan and list all of the reasons why we can't do something or why we haven't and see our goals slip further away from us rather than look at them from a more realistic standpoint. If you take a step back and look at the things you want to accomplish most, don't look at all of the things you still need to do to reach that goal, look at all of the things you have already done. Look at how close you are to reaching that goal instead of how far you have to go. I think if you look really close, you will find you are a lot closer to your dreams than you thought...or, as in my case, you have already reached them and have simply not taken the time to appreciate what you have accomplished. So go ahead. Pull that dream out of the corners of your mind, dust it off and look at just how close you are to making it come true. You can thank me later!