Zombies, the Apocalypse, and Resurrection

The Walking Dead (season 2) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I'm embarrassed to say that I like the terrifying and grotesque zombie apocalypse tv show, The Walking Dead. My teenage sons began watching and with every gasp and groan of disgust I found myself drawn closer to the screen.  Decaying flesh and gunshots to the head in a seemingly endless stream of blood and gore are not my usual thing. What keeps me intrigued are the choices that the survivors make and by survivors, I mean the non-zombies. The obvious analysis for the show's popularity is, in my mind, that we are already living like zombies or fighting zombie tendencies on a daily basis.

In some ways I am a terrible, terrible cliche. Middle aged woman, wife, and mom walking on a treadmill of routine, numbing myself with food and (zombie) tv - longing for something but not really working that hard for anything.  I don't mean this as a debbie downer rant.  Whether it is work or parents or children, at a certain age most of us begin looking outward to what other people need of us, instead of inward to our own still unmet desires and interests.  So when someone started talking to me about The Walking Dead as  insanity, and asked, "Who would really be fighting so hard to live in that type of world?", my unexpected reply was, "We're doing it right now, all the time."

My most recent attempt to stave off zombie cooties occurred over the past month (one of my excuses for not writing here), as I applied to an alternative certification program for urban teachers in high need schools.  More than one person said, or thought, "I never knew you wanted to be a teacher?!"  Either did I really.  It emerged after a conversation where someone asked me if I had ever thought about a different career and if I did, what would I be?  I said teaching, in part, because the presentations and teaching moments I have in my current job, I enjoy quite a bit.  As a test I believe, the universe plopped an advertisement for the alternative program in my email the next day.  Instead of giving in to my routine (zombieness), I ran from the zombies that were chasing me and towards the application, and then the interview, and then towards the preparation for the basic certification tests.  It was the scariest thing I have done in about 16 years (birth of my first son) and it was exhilarating. Unfortunately, this week I found out that I did not pass one of the pesky math exams which means I can not be in the 2013 cohort and begin training. It is disappointing but I am grateful for the experience.  It's like the whole, "it's better to have loved and lost", type of thing.  For the past month I was not a zombie. For the past month I was more than just someone running away from zombies.  In fact, I was listening to my gut and trying new things.  I was running towards a goal. I was walking towards resurrection.

Shedding the @#$%!

I didn't make any official resolutions at the beginning of the new year.  It's not that I didn't have any ideas, it was worse. I knew that I wasn't feeling committed to success. Why say it if you know you don't really mean it, was my thinking.  My list, if I had made one, would have included better fitness, eating healthy, watching less tv, and thinking more positively.  Writing more was probably on the "non-list" also. Alas, there was not a list and 17 days into 2013, I remained listless.

As I let the obligatory guilt and low level shame sluff away, I noticed something important.  As much as I wanted to lose a few pounds off my midsection, I wanted to lose a whole bunch of other things maybe even more.  It started as a disdainful look at my cluttered closets and turned to a long, piercing stare down of my kitchen cupboards.  Slowly but persistently I began to hear an official call to arms -  purge!

clutter (Photo credit: Sean MacEntee)

I woke this morning mentally prepared for a day of letting go of the c-rap in my home. Who knew that we had three separate jars of cinnamon, oregano, and baking powder? Combined and tossed. Herbs that I don't even like to cook with but that have secured prime real estate on my lazy susan for years and years - garbage. How long have I stared at that half used jar of confetti sprinkles? Can't remember when? Goodbye.  I tell you, it was like a mini-colonic.  I opened the cupboard again and nothing fell out, nothing tumbled past my head or crashed to the counter. (What is this new feeling?)

Recycling bins (Photo credit: olishaw)

Next, I went through the medicine.  Again, how many bottles of ibuprofen does one family need? Outdated prescriptions and boxes of allergy pills with one lone tablet remaining.  Why did we keep that dog medicine that our neighbor gave us when her pet died? Why do I have vodka, Irish Creme, balsamic vinegar, and olive oil mingling on the shelf willy nilly?  The recycling bag of emptied bottles was filling up with completely gratifying speed. (Do I look thinner in these yoga pants?)

Upstairs, the chair in my bedroom screamed out to me.  The chair from hell that holds the perfect nightmare of odd socks and mix matched tidbits.  Mutual fund statements, an Easter card, a broken and half dismantled trumpet, and so many socks! Sort to charity, toss, match and toss some more. I gave those socks a fair shake.  They had at least a year or two to find their mate.  The jig's up.  After this last load of laundry, all single footwear will be banned from my chair! The "maybe it'll show up" whispers will not sway me.  This is a brutal purge and I am not playing. (I look so good in this v-neck tee.)

The unread books, untouched refinishing project, unused cookbooks, cracked containers, and dusty jewelry still remain but they are not long for my world. The truth is that shedding so much of my @#$%! is exhilarating.  I feel 10 lbs lighter and notice a little muscle definition. During my break I sat down to jot these thoughts instead of watching an episode on Netflix. I feel absolutely positive!  Maybe this is just the jumpstart I needed or maybe I'm just better at sprint activities than I am at lifestyle marathons.  Whatever it is, I'm taking it and loving it.

Cookie Day=Sanity

Napoleon Creams, Russian Teacakes, Cherry Blossoms, Nutmeg Logs, Maple Nutty Bars, Cranberry Pistachio Bark, 3 Shortbreads, Lemon Iced, and the still illusive-perfect-spice-cookie, these are the bits of the holidays that surround me today.  I just finished my annual cookie day(s), baking the Christmas treats that will highlight our gatherings and care packages. (The picture here doesn't do them justice.  I clearly don't have a career in food photography.)

My husband and sons, brothers and sisters, various neighbors and kids' classmates are always anxious to see if their favorite sweet treat will make the cut and be included in the lineup for that year's cookie day. Many people have questioned my sanity, my patience, and my commitment to 8-9 different varieties.  What about just making the perfect shortbread and calling it a day?  The answer is that cookie day IS my sanity and helps restore my patience with the small difficulties in my life. You see, cookie day is a labor of love and it is a labor that I share with my best friend.

Cookie day has evolved into an overnight and now this year, two nights and two days of baking mania.  13 pounds of butter and 12 pounds of powdered sugar later and my friend and I divvy up the "fruits" of our labor and return to our normal mom, family, and work demands. We return to a schedule of short phone calls, squeezed in during train commutes or waiting spells in the parking lot during school pick ups. I always think that we will delve into some heartfelt, Hallmark movie type dialogue during our baking intensive.  Maybe it's the effect of inhaling so much butter or tasting so much dough but what we really do, is just hang out with a dash of goofy.  It's such a gift, my favorite holiday gift, to spend time with her and just relax.

So, for the person on your list who you can never find the "right" gift, I suggest a day of hang time.  It's amazing to me to be with my friend and not have to watch the clock.  It's a sad commentary on our over scheduled lives but I know I'm not alone.  The more we work so that we can afford stuff, the more we wish we could just be with each other and relax a little.  Let that be your gift.  And if the family or coworkers in your life get frustrated with you being unavailable for a day or two, do what I do.  Feed them cookies.

To Plan or Not to Plan

The only real, formal plan I had this summer was a one week reunion with my siblings.  Camping trips, a water park or two, barbecues, and house projects were just normal summer things that I assumed we would plug in before school started again.  We all know what happens when we assume. School starts in one week and none of our normal summer highlights have occurred.  I feel like an ass.

I have good excuses for how my summer derailed.  First off and most importantly, it felt cruel to go camping or to a water park when my youngest son would have to sit out with his broken leg.  Then, I had the super hot, killer temps that forced me into a fetal position, whining in front of the air conditioner, instead of painting, for big chunks of June and July. And of course there was the Olympics, that seemingly made it impossible to do anything except watch...and watch...and watch.

Missed weekend trips and lingering house projects are not the end of the world. I know this well. Some of the things that filled our summer could never have been known about even if we had sat around the dining room table intentionally plotting out a vacation adventure.  Since we had no plans (other than the fabulous week with my sibs) we were able to respond in the moment and travel to be with family when there was an unexpected death.  We spent other weekends helping my brother-in-law with a big out of state move.  Not planning -it's not a bad thing necessarily. 

Last weekend though, I had no plans except for a brief work commitment and an evening barbecue.  We got an invitation to join our friends at a lake house and I was so excited.  I'd have to move some things around but it could work.  Then a last minute update came through Facebook that my son's youth group was going to have an overnight lock-in.  I got frustrated, feeling the tug-of-war between my wants and my kids.  Just as I had my son agreeing that a lake house sounded better than staying up all night with other teenagers, I got a message from a friend who currently lives in England.  She was in town with her family and wanted to get together, you guessed it of course, during the lake house weekend. It's a great unexpected and rare opportunity to see a good friend AND it's backing out on my dearest friend who lives just miles away but who I see only occasionally. Yay! and Ugh! all in the same moment.

Do other people go through this?  Tell me it's not just me.  If I planned better would some type of firm clarity take hold?  Am I jerked around so much because I haven't pinned things down?  Or is my fluid planning allowing me to take advantage of  unexpected opportunities and the needs of people I love?  This weekend I know exactly what I'm doing and it's big.  We'll be hosting my brother-in-law as he helps us put a new roof on our garage, grilling most of our meals, and going school shopping for the boys.  Unless of course it rains...

Found Treasure

Obverse of United States one dollar bill, series 2003. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

"I had a great day!  I found two dollars and a penny today!"  My son was giving me the quick summary of his school day during our 1 minute phone conversation when he checks in and tells me he's home.

"Where did you find two dollars?", I asked.

"In my wallet." He cuts me off as he hears me start laughing a little, "Well, it was like I found it because it was in a hidden spot in my wallet and I forgot it was there."  I told my husband the story later in the day and I laughed all over again.  What a silly, goofball of a kid we have.  Where does he come up with this stuff?!

Indeed.  His words hit me today in a different way.  I've mentioned here that I've been in a funk.  It's been a low time for me and a frustrating time.  I want to feel different, more motivated, but never seem to find the secret key to unlock or unblock my malaise.  Today, I asked my son if he wanted to go to the gym with me.  As I became soaked in sweat on the spinning bike, cranking the music in my ears, and letting the endorphins kick in, I remembered my son's found treasure. 

Part of me was annoyed with myself for not going to the gym earlier.  I felt so good, why didn't I do this sooner?  What took me so long?  My son could have done the same too but he didn't.  He just reveled in the moment. We always have the choice to be present in the here and now or dwell on the missed opportunities or the broken pieces.  We can waste time looking at what others have that we don't.  We can look past our life in hopes of finding some future great thing.  I want to look for more of the hidden spots in my life.  As an insurance policy, in case I backslide, I'm also going to tuck two dollars in a secret spot in my wallet.

Time Flies

Yesterday I wrote about some thoughts I had while driving and how it connected to my feelings for my son's own driving future, in It's A Small World.  Linking to Facebook, I wrote, "In honor of my son receiving his driving permit today."  I  don't know how many people read the post but a lot of folks reacted to the Facebook teaser.  How could it be possible that he could be old enough to be in driver's ed?  Disbelief, sadness, and big blobs of denial filled the comment section.  If he was old enough to drive, what did it mean about us?

I do miss the little boy.  There are times when I wish it was possible to freeze the frame and keep my sons as they are.  I've thought that at most every age (although I considered farming them out to relatives between 10-11 yrs old).  Every year, sometimes every month, has brought a new skill, or interest, or quality that deepened who they are as people.  As much as I would like to keep my 15 yr old dependent on two wheel or chauffeured transportation, I'm just as curious to see what type of 16 yr. old he becomes. 

I'm confident that my son is going to be great and hopefully take the right amount of risks to be interesting and curious about life without getting hurt or put in jail.  What the Facebook comments triggered in me was an evaluation of my own growth.  How could my son be so much older?  I don't feel like I've changed much...ooooh, maybe that's a problem. As my children get older, I come closer to the age when parenting will not be a main focus for my energy.  The children in our life, whether they are our own or the nieces and nephews, neighbors, and friends, remind us that life is all about change and growth.  Kids shove it in our faces, "Look what I can do!  Look how much taller I am.  Look how I can figure things out without you.  Look how I have my own ideas and opinions."  More and more, I'm getting the itch to explore what I can do.  What would be a stretch for me?  What is something that would expand my interests and skills?

Don't get me wrong, I miss the lazy snuggling and the toothless, drooling grin.  I miss the courageous first steps and chasing after lightning bugs.  I miss the excited first hit at a baseball game and the proud completion of that first piano recital.  There's a lot of things that I miss but I don't think I want to keep my kids little as much as I want to be growing too.

Behind the Curtain

Sinus pain, itchy throat and eyes, plugged ears, pre-menstrual funk, and fatigue - not a good weekend.  I really didn't feel like writing today.  A small voice inside called out though, urging me to be real.  One of the reasons I started writing was to be more honest and uncover some of the parenting and general life stuff that we all gloss over as we greet each other with, "I'm fine.  How are you?"

funk-o-mart (Photo credit: Digital Sextant)

I'm not fine today.  I don't have to be.  No one is fine all the time.  If they are, then they are lying or on serious medication.  Every once in awhile we need to show each other what's behind the curtain.  We need to share what lies deeper, beyond the surface.  My struggle sometimes is that I feel giving voice to my funk will make it grow.  If I tell you  how much my foot hurts, will that make it feel any better... no.  I go between feeling disingenuous or feeling like a Debbie downer.  Here's what I'm coming to this week - the more real I am with people, the more my friends and family can call me out on my $%#&.  If I only talk to people when life is good and manageable then I don't really have a source for being held accountable or receiving genuine concern.  And in terms of others, if I'm not real, than I just perpetuate the fallacy that being a good person or striving for good parenting means you're always good.  We all know that's not true. 

I feel crappy.  So, how are you?

p.s. Zemanta is the program I use to find legit photos for the blog.  It picks up on key words in the blog and makes suggestions for appropriate images.  The words, "pre-menstrual funk" inspired the pic above.  Smile.

Setting the Paddles Down

The rest of the family drove to South Dakota yesterday to attend the funeral of our dear Uncle Leroy.  I have a major work event and will be flying out at the last minute tomorrow morning.  There are all kinds of things that I'm thinking about as a result of the trip and this work stuff.  The one thing that is overwhelming my senses right now though, is the silence.  I came home yesterday and was overtaken by the peacefulness of my home.  There was no teasing, tapping, or juggling balls dropping.  No yelling instructions from the floors above or below, no dog barking at people on the sidewalk.  It was wonderful.

Image via Wikipedia

This is where you might expect me to launch in on the restorative qualities of meditation or yoga.  I know that meditation on a regular basis would probably be great.  What I'm reflecting on is the jolt that my system felt, not on the creation of a new discipline. What was so good about the silence yesterday was that it was a change in my normal life routine.  I didn't realize how much noise was in my life until I had those few conscience hours in the house by myself.  For someone who lives alone, I imagine that intentionally planning dinners or parties in their home would have a similar impact.  There is value in shocking our system a little, creating opportunities to BE in a different way.  Allowing ourselves a chance to see what we take for granted or what makes us uncomfortable.  When the paramedics charge up the "heart shocker" machine and set the paddles down, there is the anticipation of revitalization, renewal, restoration.  I feel lucky that I had a moment where the defibrillator was unexpectedly set down on me.

Secure Your Air Mask First

MD-88 (Photo credit: grahamwetzler)

I'm about to travel on an airplane later this week and it couldn't come at a better time.  I don't need the trip to escape from anything or to have a break.  I need the flight attendant instructions, specifically, the clear expectation that "...in the event of a disruption in cabin pressure, secure your air mask first and then assist the children in your care."

I need that metaphorical image because I've had one of those weeks where my fully grown, adult person has internally morphed into myself at age 14.  We all have those terrible days where we become filled with doubt or flirt with an ugly self-hating loop.  The thing that I have going for me (and that I hope you have), that I didn't have as my younger self, is the faith that these feelings will pass.  In order for these type of days to pass I have to focus on the basics.  It's the time for me to get good sleep instead of doing another load of laundry.  It's the time for me to read a book instead of worrying about the list of errands.  It may be the time to go see a friend instead of planning something fun for the family.

The flight attendant instructions are key guidelines for every parent, every son or daughter, or every good friend - we have to take care of ourselves first, just a little, before we can tend to others.  Secure your air mask first. 

Coming Out of the Fog

Yesterday, I found myself telling lots of people about this new venture with writing.  I actually said to one, "I haven't felt so alive in a really long time."  As soon as it came out I paused a little.  Oops.  Unplanned, unprocessed sharing - what was I starting to sort out?  If I wasn't fully alive before, what was I?  Where was I?  The quick summary is that a major personal shake up, a stretch of unemployment,  the loss of some important supports and friends, and a foot surgery that was slow to heal had left me in a fog.  I was moving forward, one foot in front of the other, getting the laundry done, and buying groceries but sort of in a highly functioning, zombie type of way.  O.K., that may be a slight exaggeration, but in general, I wasn't anywhere close to embracing Oprah's challenge to be my best self.

Fog in Wayanad (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I've been reading a daily meditation book every morning and about a month ago the entry encouraged me to trust.  You don't know what to do with your life?  You don't know what actions you should take or what direction to go?  Trust.  Things will not always be this way.  People, ideas, opportunities will cross your path.  Healing/peace will come.  Trust that that is true.  Trust enough to listen.  Trust enough to stay open to possibilities.  For me, it was trusting two dear friends expressing concern that, "you aren't yourself".  Listening to their caring nudges encouraged me to make some significant changes.  One of the changes I had made was the reading of the daily meditation.  A month or so into it and I read the passage on trust.  I remember thinking, "I'd rather have a to do list."

Trust I did though and as promised, pain morphed into zombie plodding which morphed into awareness which morphed into openness which transformed into the ability to hear my own voice again.  I knew deep down that this would happen.  I'm glad that I had the patience to remain open.  I'm glad that I was able to start listening to the new thoughts and ideas in my own head and not just run a constant replay on my negative reel.  I'm glad that I had enough people around me who were cheering my voice back into it's full timber.   I hope you have those things in your own life or can be one of those cheerleaders for someone else.