Stress Free in Pink

After a very long, stress inducing, headache riddled week, when I arrived home Friday evening I was ready to destress.  I spent the weekend getting every ounce of residual stress out of my body.  I opened a bottle of wine and poured, put on some music and sang out for the world to hear while dancing in my kitchen, spent some time with my beautiful niece, whose only care in the world is giving hugs and trying to get someone to put on the movie about the "baby dogs" (Lady and the Tramp), making my grandma's chicken and rice soup and enjoying it with my parents while my dad told stories about eating it as a kid, and finally as the fat-free icing on the stress-free cake, what do I find on television tonight...Pretty in Pink.  I'm sure if any one's reading this, some of you just groaned at the thought of Pretty in Pink. I do not care.  You can't bring me down or change my mind.  I love this movie.  It's my favorite Brat Pack movie.  I love everything about it.  The eccentric Andie and the straight laced Blane falling in love while fighting the odds.  And sure that's the story line in several John Hughes films, but there's just something about Pretty in Pink.   I've seen it probably 50 times at least and I'll likely watch it 50 more.  I can hardly wait to watch Iona tell Andie not to waste good lip gloss, or Duckie profess his undying love for Andie while riding his bike by her house, or for Blane to chase Andie out of the prom....oh 80s movies, you're the best stress relief ever! 

Fall from Grace

Picture in your mind the most graceful image you can imagine. A seasoned professional ballet dancer on toe shoes. Jacqueline Kennedy commanding a room just by walking into it. A pod of dolphins moving through the raging ocean waters effortlessly. Do you have that picture of grace in your mind? Well I am the opposite of all of those images. I am quite frankly one of the clumsiest ungraceful people ever. I will and have tripped over nothing, literally nothing in my direct path of walking except my shoe or bare foot hitting the floor, and I have tripped. I once turned around to check out a guy who had just walked by me, and when I turned back around I walked directly into an overgrown shrub. In case you were wondering, that is not an awesome first impression to make. I also once tripped and fell down at least five steps about a third of the way down the steps in Bramlage Coliseum, taking a few people with me. Did I mention it was a conference men's basketball game, close to a sold out crowd? As if I hadn't realized I had fallen on concrete a genius in the student section felt the need to point it out by not only laughing and yelling, but also physically pointing at me. Thanks, guy. Unfortunately for me, and those around me, not only can I trip on a thread, but I drop things. A lot.

I have a friend who once dropped two full adult beverages, in a row, simply because she forgot to hold on to the glass. She did have an excuse, we had been consuming adult beverages for quite a while at that point, plus we were sidetracked convincing patrons of the bar our other friend was indeed Miss Kansas. (By the way it totally worked and we scored free drinks all night, hence my friends lack of ability to hold a drink any longer).
I generally do not have those kinds of excuses to fall back on when I drop things; it's usually just because I'm a klutz. Last week I ran down to the neighborhood grocery store by my office to make a salad for lunch. I created the perfect salad, placed the lid on securely, turned around to head to the check out lane, and promptly dropped my salad in the middle of the main aisle of the grocery store. I ate a frozen meal for lunch that day. Several months ago my cell phone screen went white and died. I was so upset. I am lucky it lasted as long as it did, I dropped that phone countless times, and several of them were from my outside balcony onto the pavement and rocks three floors below. I have two sets of wine glasses, neither are a full set any longer, because I have dropped at least one from each set and shattered it. Today was no exception to my abundance of grace. This morning, in a balmy 4 degrees, I ran down three flights of stairs in wet hair and no coat, (but did take time to put my snow boots on!) to start my car so it was nice, warm, and defrosted on my way to work. Thinking ahead. This was going to be a good day. As my foot hit the ground I slipped and dropped my keys in a snow drift. It wasn't a small snow drift. Needless to say, I was late for work today.

The Bird Plague

A few months ago I attended a workshop in Wichita as part of my yearly ethics training which is necessary to renew my social work license every two years.  Usually these aren't the most spellbinding of workshops, but this one was fairly entertaining.  One thing I did take away from the workshop was the idea to start a gratitude journal, listing at least five things you are grateful for everyday, to help recognize the little things in everyday life.  In the profession of social work, and child welfare in particular, it's very easy to get caught up in the negative, cruel, and distressing moments of each day, and let anything positive get lost in the shuffle.  So for several reasons, I decided the idea of a gratitude journal was a good fit for me.  Today I would like to share with the blogshpere something I am grateful for today. 

Today, January 3, 2011, I am grateful for the simple fact I do no live anywhere remotely close to Beebe, Arkansas.  (I suppose I should be grateful that on December 31, 2010 I was not remotely close to Beebe, Arkansas, but I just heard the story today.)  For those of you who have not heard, in the hours before the New Year, thousand of dead black birds rained from the sky in Beebe, Arkansas.  Thousands of dead birds!  It's like the reality of Hitchcock or Poe.  Dead black birds covering people's lawns, roofs, the town streets, a black bird massacre, and the reason for this is completely unknown to the people who are paid to know these things.

I cannot even begin to imagine being outside at the time of the black bird invasion.  I likely would have suffered an asthma/panic attack and passed out in the middle of the raining of the birds.  I am terrified of birds.  Terrified.  The evil eyes, the pointed beaks and claws, and the horrible sound of those flapping wings, it gives me goosebumps just thinking about it. Yuck, yuck, yuck!

So today, I am grateful to live in a community where men in hazmat suits are not walking around the town picking up thousands of dead black birds, bagging them, and sending them off to be examined for cause of death.  The pigeon who did not fly off as quickly I wish it would of when I was walking to the courthouse today was enough bird drama for one day.

Ode to Gladys

Growing up we had an elderly couple as our neighbors. Their names were Gladys and George Finney. I don't remember George as well, because he passed away when I was still fairly young. What I do remember of him, he was always outside working, always in overalls, with one exception, when they would come over to our house for a birthday party for one us girls, he was always in a suit.

Gladys was like a third grandmother to me. I went over to her house a lot as a kid. My sisters and I are all fairly far apart in age, so I remembering playing on my own a lot, and when I didn't want to play alone, I went to see Gladys. She was such a kind woman. Always had a smile on her face, so happy to see anyone when they walked through the door. I didn't even knock when I went over, just opened the door and yelled, "Gladys, are you home?", and lucky for me, she was always home. I would run down the block to the store for her, or do random things she "needed help" with, which I'm sure she was still capable of doing, but took pity on the poor lonely neighbor girl. I remember going over there and just sitting and talking to Gladys, watching TV with her, but mostly I just loved being around her, there was something very comforting to me just being in the same space with her.

Some of my best memories of Gladys are:
Gladys loved word search puzzles. She had stacks of word search books, and always had a pen holding her place. I have a vivid memory of having a huge word search of animal names for school one time, and I went straight to Gladys for help. I still love to do word search puzzles.

Gladys also used to put a little bit of 7up in with her bowl of sherbet. Doesn't sound very appetizing, but I loved it as a kid, it was like a reverse float.

Gladys used to make divinity, and all kinds of candy and cookies around the holidays, but I loved divinity! I can't remember the last time I ever ate divinity, but I will always remember standing in Galdys' hot kitchen "helping" her make divinity.

Gladys always had on a dress and usually an apron. That's how I remember her always. In her kitchen baking or canning, busy in the kitchen with something.

As Gladys got older she eventually had to move into an assisted living facility. She wasn't always the most tolerant of the staff, stating they would come in her room and just, "dumb around." Which is a term my family still uses to this day. Another thing I still say, is "Orphie", that's what Gladys used to call Oprah, not sure if she really thought that was her name, or she just thought Orphie sounded better.

Gladys passed away on June 4, 2005. Today, December 21, is her birthday. She would have been 101 today, and I could think of no better day to honor her memory then today. So Gladys, you were part of our family, and we loved you dearly. You impacted my life in multiple ways, and I think of you often and always with love. I hope George met you at the gates with a gooseberry pie and a brand new word search book.

Christmas Explosion

My living room floor is covered in Christmas. The tree I dragged out of the way too small closet, is laying on the floor, still in it's box, begging to be let out, put up, lit up, and decorated. The ornaments are laying beside the tree, again, still in their boxes. Table runners, tree skirts, garland, nativity scenes all taking up space on my living room floor, while I sit on my arse staring and writing about it. I love Christmas, and I love decorating my little apartment for Christmas, but for the life of me, I cannot find my motivation. It may have something to do with the fact I slammed my head on a shelf, twice, trying to dig all my decorations out of the too small closet. I'm sure my neighbors wonder what was going on over here, because I was definitely not quiet about my feelings upon slamming my head on the shelf. It may have something to do with the simple fact, I'm tired, pooped from the week. Or it may have to do with the fact I waited until 10:00pm to begin decorating my house for Christmas. Whatever the reason, my pretty tree with it's sparkling lights, glittering butterflies and ornaments, and my garland that cozies up my fireplace with it's happy pink lights, are just going to have to wait until tomorrow night to bring Christmas to this apartment. Right now all I want to do is take four ibuprofen, put some ice on the back of head, make a cup of tea, and sink into this big comfy couch.

Back in Action

I feel like a mother who abandoned their child only to return eight months later and expect everything to be just as it was. When I started this blog I was so excited to document this new decade in my life, and actually I've had a lot of experiences since turning 30, but instead of writing about them I guess I've just been living them, which is not such a bad thing. Today I am renewing my writing life and will become more dedicated to my little blog that I love. The renewal comes from trying to get my sister to start her own blog, and while we were talking about it I was so excited and full of ideas for her I realized how much I love doing this myself! I'm back, baby!

Hearts and Flowers and Chocolates, oh my!

It has come again this year. Valentine's Day. I have not had the best luck with love in my life. I've dated, sure. I've dated plenty of guys. Good guys and bad guys, guys with brown hair guys with very little hair, tall guys, short guys, guys who teach and guys who tend bar, guys who play music and guys who play mind games. (Please excuse my Dr. Suess distraction, once I got started I couldn't stop.) But I will not let Valentine's Day make me feel bad for being single. I could have settled and sold myself short for the sake of not being single, but why would I do that? I'm fabulous! I my friends am what one calls, "A Catch". So I will continue to date as the situation presents itself, and I will not settle. I deserve love and love I will get. Happy Valentine's Day!