Category Archives: Family

Contemplation, Family, getting in shape, journaling, Life, lifecoaching, Me, Native American Women, Nature, running

One Month Later…

One month later.  I’m still at it.  I either walk or run/walk six mornings each week.  I still take one day off each week.  I don’t have a set day because of my crazy work schedule.  It’s the day that I have to leave to early to get a workout in before I have to go.  I still don’t like to get up in the mornings to workout.  I’m still not a morning person.

Oh, I try to make excuses.  My feet hurt, my ankle is twingy, my knees are sore.  I still go.  I really am proud of myself for keeping at it.  I write tonight because I already don’t want to get up in the morning and workout before I leave for a full day of meetings with 150 miles to drive, but I’ll get up.  It’s run day, so I will run.

I did add the second half of the course.  I was run/walking 1.57 miles each time and now I am up to the full 3.1 miles.  I thought I would give myself a week or so to acclimate to that distance but, who am I kidding.  It isn’t that far.  One day of running it and one day of walking it, my body knows what to do.

I’ve started buying the equipment.  You know, the arm band to hold my phone.  I am tired of a sweaty phone case because I have shoved it into the shoulder strap of my top.  I have added at least three pair of shoes my wish list.  I will have to get the warmer gear out soon.  I think I have at least a week of time left before I have to start dressing for much cooler weather.  I don’t mind that little nip in the air for running, for now.

I am having a lot of trouble wrapping my head around the later sunrise and earlier sunset.  I don’t like the idea of running in the dark.  It isn’t like the city, where lights are everywhere.  No, this is the sticks, a yard light or two, some porch lights, then darkness.  It’s a quiet area, people wise.  It is a very active area for wild life.  I see foxes, deer, I hear coyotes, and owls.  Thankfully it is getting too cold for snakes to be out in the early morning, but you never know at this time of year.  And, let’s not talk about other people’s dogs that may or may not be leashed.  I will probably just stay inside to “run” on the elliptical unless it is a day that I don’t have to leave to early.  I’m not afraid of the dark, just the critters that roam the night.

I am already planning the workouts for the deep cold.  Walking won’t be a problem but I don’t know about running in really cold weather.  I’m not that addicted.  I don’t think that I will be by deep winter either.

I am thinking it is also time to start adding some weight training. I don’t know what to do and I don’t have time.  It has been a process to add time to walk and to run.  Now I have to figure out how to add that critical weight training.  I have to figure out the time.  I still don’t want to be a morning person, but right now, it is the most logical time to lift.  After work I have reports to write and a husband to spend time with so after work isn’t an feasible option for me.

Okay, now to rest.  I still don’t want to get up early and run….

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Contemplation, Family, getting in shape, Life, Me, Native American Women

I Did A Thing…

I had a  very hard summer.  I lost a lot of weight, I was hospitalized, I have to use insulin now, I gained some weight back, and I finally had to give up sugar, yes, a very hard summer.  But summer is coming to a close.  The wonder of fall is about to begin.  I’m tired.

I know that in addition to having to lose weight I also need to get physical exercise.  I can walk or step or lift weights, or all of the above.  I hadn’t started doing anything and I was getting restless.

Dropping 50lbs wasn’t hard, just hard on my body.  I’ve never been dehydrated before, it wasn’t fun.  I gained back 15lbs once all my cells could function again.  I didn’t realize how sick I had let myself become.  Still, I needed to do something physical.

Out of the blue one evening, my daughter called and informed me that she had signed up to run her first 5K.  I was impressed!  I thought it was about time to start walking but could I actually run again?  I haven’t run for about 15 years and I am 57 now.  I thought about it a couple of days and decided to join her.  I signed up for my first 5K run.

I have until April 2020 to get my self into shape.  I downloaded an app…hahaha, ain’t that the way of it.  I decided that the app was going to be too slow for me.  I push too hard sometimes and so I just jumped in, all by myself.  I’ve been a distance runner before, surely I can do it again.

I chose interval training, you know, some walking and then some jogging.  So far it is working well.  I have a 15:45 mile going.  My goal is 14:29 or less per mile.  I am not running the entire time, yet.  I’m not even up to a full 3.1 mile course.  So far,  1.57 miles a day has been it.  I’m lazy.  I set my alarm everyday, like I’m going to really jump up and start moving….a girl can dream.

I usually get up about half an hour after the alarm.  I let the dogs out, feed the cat and then put my shoes on.  One day I walk the entire course, the next day I do the interval training.  Most days my eyes are still half closed as I take my first few steps.  I gripe, internally, for the first 5 minutes.

I started lengthening my stride.  I don’t take those little baby steps as I slowly jog along.  Now I am taking actually running strides.  I’m proud of that.  Oh, I don’t run far with that stride, but I do run now.

I will be 58 when this race happens.  As always, I want to look good as I cross the finish line, no matter what my final time will be.

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Contemplation, Family, journaling, Life, lifecoaching, Me, meditaton, Native American Women, Writing

The Day I Started Taking Over the World

 

It was a long time ago, this story’s beginning.  A child was trying to be born.  Her mother, just a child herself, a little bitty sprite of woman.  Still three months shy of her 17th birthday, not 100 lbs., tiny, bound and determined to be someone’s mother.  Her small size was causing major havoc on her body this day.

The things that she should have known, she did not.  The things to do, what to expect when going through your first child birth, the danger signs, what to tell your doctor…all of this she was not aware of, not because she was incapable, but because she was alone.  Raised by her grandmother, mom left when she was very young.  Pregnant on purpose, because if she was pregnant, they had to let her get married.  A husband who was about 5 minutes older than she.  You might say, she was an angry young person to do all of the things her father and grandmother told her not to do, and you would be correct.  Nevertheless, here she was, in labor with her first child.

Now it was time.  While modern as hell, it was 1962, and the things they know now, were not the things they knew then.  They pumped a lot of drugs into that tiny body as she was ready to give birth.  Her labor was long and hard.  When the child finally emerged, she was blue, lifeless.  Fetal monitors not what they are these days, I can’t tell you whether the medical staff expected this or not.  But the young woman had now gone into seizure immediately after the birth and it took the concentrated effort of the entire medical team to save her life.  The stillborn child was placed on a cold table next to the gurney and forgotten as they worked to keep the little bitty woman alive.

Minutes pass, the mother-to-be will survive.  As the doctor and his nurses continue to stabilize her, for no reason anyone can name, that little blue baby begins to wail.  She announces her presence like it is no ones business.  Everyone turns in surprise, maybe even awe.  Not expected, not expected at all.

Flash forward, 56 years later…no matter how I have lived my life in the past, I think about how I began in this life.  No, I don’t remember it, this is the story that my mother told me, more than once.  No matter what kind of decisions I made in the past, I make them now with this story in my heart.  I still do this to people, still, for no reason anyone can name, announce my presence…and yes, sometimes with a wail.

What do you say to a person who started out like that?  What do you expect from someone who decided to live even when others thought she would not?  I asked this of myself, more than you think.  I continue to answer myself every day.

 

 

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Contemplation, Family, journaling, Life, Me, Native American Women, Uncategorized

Pressing Tears

My days had been busy with work projects which for me, generally means writing lots and lots of reports.  I can easily spend six hours a day trying to keep up with all the reports that I am behind in.  This is a heavy weight on my shoulders, being behind.  When I am not working to catch up with those reports, I am making and keeping a hectic driving schedule, meeting after meeting after meeting..

My husband has been off work for about six weeks now.  He was injured while on the job and workman’s comp pay has been trickling in.  He feels guilty.  Because my main concern was that he follow his therapist instructions and get better I had not been asking him to help more around the house during this time and so many of my home chores were also getting behind.  I did not feel guilty.  I rarely do.  There is only so much a human can do in a day and if work is taking up most of my time I can forgive me for not being the perfect housewife.

But this day he had been trying to do more around the house.  He had done the dishes and was busy working on the laundry.  He then passed through the kitchen and asked if we had a spray bottle.  I was just finishing up a batch of reports and asked him why?  He said he had some shirts to iron and needed to spray them down with water.  I reminded him that our iron had spray capability, all he had to do was fill the water reservoir.  He thanked me and wandered on his way to set up the ironing board.

For the first time in weeks I felt a little guilty about not getting to all my chores and I remembered how well he did not iron shirts.  Oh he was able to get the big wrinkles out but his attention to  detail around the collar and sleeves was a bit lacking.  I smiled and announced that I had finished report writing for the day and told him that I would get his shirts done.

There were three shirts laying across the back of a chair and three hangers thrown on the bed.  I laid the first shirt out across the board and started.  The first shirt was tedious.  I was thinking “why did I say I would iron?  I hate to iron”, and I do.  It is my least favorite chore.  Those permanent press inventors are real hero’s of mine.  The second shirt began and my shoulders and stance next to the board relaxed and I started to smile.  I was remembering that this was one of the chores I learned at my mother’s side.

There are so many things that our mother’s work hard to teach us when we are young.  Sometimes those mother’s get to know if they were able to pass on all the knowledge and wisdom they accumulate to their children and sometimes they don’t get to know if they were successful.  I am not sure if my mother knew that I had mastered the collared-shirt.  It was not one of those things where she said “here, do it like this”.  No, this was one of those “osmosis” teachings.  She would iron shirts and pants for my step-dad and I would sit or stand next to her and talk.  She would talk too but she never stopped ironing.  I learned by watching.

The longer I stood there that day and the more shirts he “found” in the closet that needed to be pressed (there were five by the time I actually got done), the more I enjoyed my task.  I took the time to remember her standing there with her ironing and I learned to enjoy my ironing.  I know that my step-dad appreciated looking nice when he got dressed for work and I know that my husband really appreciates putting on a crisp looking shirt.  I smiled more and more as I turned the shirt to the angles on the board.  I took a certain amount of pride as I hung each shirt when I finished it, making sure that each collar was in proper position and that the sleeves were aligned on the hanger.

I wasn’t so much proud of me.  I was proud of what my mother accomplished as she ironed and talked and of what I learned as I talked and watched.  I was happy that she had been able to pass on so much to me, things she did everyday as mother and wife that she passed to me to use as I became mother and wife.  By the time I had finished ironing my eyes were glassy with early tears that I didn’t let fall.  He would not have understood at that moment how very close I was to my mother.  I could feel her smile as she finally knew that she did, indeed, succeed.

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Contemplation, Family, Life, lifecoaching, Native American Women, Sundance

To Whom Much is Given…

I tend to measure my relationship with my Creator against my relationship with my children.  We say in our prayers “Heavenly Father” or “Grandfather” and that is how I look at my personal relationship.  When I come to a bump or have a query I think about how I respond to my children as a mother and I imagine that this is the way my Father responds to me.

I have a really hard time not yelling at people who mean well but who give others who are standing in pain what sounds like sage advice when they say to them “God is just testing you”.  Folks, I have never once tested my children.  I do not recall ever being tested by my own mother.  I did not have to prove that I loved my mom or dad.  I do not test my own children to see if they really love me.  I think…why would anyone say something so cruel to a child (of God) who is in pain or confused about a situation?

I have said many times “to whom much is given, much is expected”.  I said it again last night.  I stand watching a loved one bear what looks to others like a huge burden and this is the reminder that was whispered into my ear.  As I wrote those words out I knew that if he was not “given much” he would not have any real understanding of what I was saying to him.  But I also knew in my heart that these were the words he needed to hear.

All is not lost.  He is not being tested to see how strong he is.  If he were not given much to begin with, none of this would be happening near him.  He would not be expected to know what to do, he would not be able to continue to praise God for all of his blessings.  He would not already have the answer to his prayers.  The Tree would not be calling him into the circle.  The heartbeat of the people would not be calling him to sing again.

I started thinking, even last night before I went to bed, about the number of people I know who have been “given much”.  I was really amazed.  There are a bunch.  It turns out, at least in my life, that it is not rare for me to see amongst my family and friends many who have been “given much”.  There are some who have much love, much intelligence, much wisdom, much beauty, much charisma, much of so many abilities.  I smiled because I realized that it was no wonder that my own life ran so smoothly and evenly keeled, I mean, look at all these wonderful people I know who have been given so much and whether they know it or not; giving back what they have freely, as was given to them.

I was still thinking about this morning.  This past 30 days has been rough on my family.  But this is a family that was given much and we know that much is expected from us in return.  We get tired, we get weepy, we get sad but we are never without hope, truth or love.

No, my beautiful family, we are not being tested.  We are being given the opportunity to show the world where our strength comes from and Whose children we really are!

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Family, journaling, Life, Me, meditaton, Native American Women

Dig Deep, Look High, Be Thankful

Rough week.  Lots to think about.  Decisions to be made.  I was very happy for the last of the warm weather to be able to sit outside with my coffee and do some praying while I thought…

I am a protector, this I know and understand.  I protect those I love and I protect them well.  But what happens when those I love walk out from under the protection?  I begin to understand a little bit about how the Creator feels when we walk away from his protection.

I was reminded of a story…my childhood was not smooth but honestly, for the most part I remember being happy.  There were seven of us…mostly girls.  I am the oldest of the brood.  When I was 18 and my next two sisters in age were 16 and 15, one of them took me aside and told me that my job was done.  They didn’t need me anymore.  They were grown and they had me to thank for getting them this far but I was no longer needed to protect or guide them.  For real, she said it just like that.  I remember standing there with my mouth hanging open in disbelief.  I remember being hurt, in my heart. 

This hurt lasted several days.  I didn’t know what to think.  I wasn’t sure of what my place was supposed to be anymore.  I know that she did not tell these things to our Mother.  I know I didn’t tell her, either.  These were things that were shared just between the sisters, as some things just are. 

I had been praying, for the past year, to be free, to grow up, to not be responsible any more.  I had been the big sister since I was 18 months old and it had been a tough 18 years.  Those siblings were a lot of work.  Still, once she had said those things to me I just couldn’t be anything but hurt.  It took several days for me to realize that all of my prayers had been answered.  It was a sudden realization. 

Then I started smiling again.  Then I started planning!  Within two years I was gone.  I had started my independence in college but then joined the Air Force and was off to basic training and I never looked back.  MY life had begun. 

Several years later I was home for a visit and the very same sister who had so happily dismissed me made sure to tell me that our whole family had fallen apart and it was all my fault for leaving.  This time I just smiled.  I knew who was responsible for my life and who was responsible for hers (or the “families’ life” as she put it).  I returned to my own life intact.

That story came to mind as I pondered this week.  It is my life again.  There are steps I need to take to make sure that I am healthy in spirit.  My loved ones will stay under my protection or not…I don’t make that choice.  I will remain strong as my protection does not end and my family is worth the effort.

My world changes from time to time with my age and experience.  There are things that need to be done now that I have crossed this line and become the grandmother.  Ceremonies that need to be completed so that the journey can continue.  I am looking forward again as the week ends and I sit here, I realize, happy for my rough start.  It makes me dig deep into my soul and look high to the Creator and to be thankful for everything.

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Contemplation, death, Family, Life, Me, Native American Women

Rock and Roll Payday Memories

I spent the day on the road. Total miles logged was 230. When you spend that much time alone you have a tendency to think about things that normally you do have time to think about. Today I spent my time thinking about my parents. There are just certain things that trigger memories and then when I am driving I have time to let those thoughts keep running.

My mother died 3 years ago. Her passing was not easy. She was ill and she had suffered a heart attack. She lingered for two weeks in a hospital that was far from her home. She was not alone, one of her daughters and her husband were there with her. My father died several years prior to her passing. His passing was not easy. He suffered complications of diabetes after a surgery. He was not alone, two of his daughters, his sisters and several of his nieces and nephews were there when he passed.

I think of this and I am glad to have been an intimate part of that passing. I wish that I had been able to be there for my mother as well but I am glad that the same sister who stood with me while my father passed, stood by my mothers’ side as well. I can think of no greater expression of love than to be present at the passing of a loved one. To hold that hand and to say “I love you” or “thank you” or whatever is on your mind to say at that last moment.

The first thing I do is to plug in the ipod and cue up Janis Joplin. I play the entire uploaded album as loud as my factory installed speakers will allow while singing along with Janis and I smile because she was one of my mother’s favorite musicians. The I look for a convenience store, any one will do as long as they sell Payday candy bars. I buy the biggest one I can find and I eat the whole candy bar, savoring every bite and I smile because this was my dad’s favorite candy bar.

While I complete these little rituals I have established for myself I wonder about my parents. I wonder where they are? I wonder what important works they are working on these days? I wonder which of their heathen children they are watching closely today?

I hear so many people lament over the loss of a loved one that spend so much of their lives espousing their belief in a Creator and an afterlife that promises to be so much better than this life we live on this world but when push comes to shove…what they actually believe is far from what they have espoused. The absolute lack of faith explains so much to me.

For me, blaring Janis Joplin and wolfing down a Payday candy bar are the traditions that I hope I am passing down to my own daughter who someday will face these things. Someday she will think of me. I trust that she will just play the music she knows I love and eat a candy bar that was my favorite and smiles knowing that my new adventure has begun. I hope she wonders what I am up to and I trust she knows that I am having a blast.

She will then take everything that I have given her and pass those things on to her daughter and that makes me so happy. I know deep in my heart that my parents are happy about this as well, whatever they are doing today.

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death, Family, Life, Me

Been a Slow Day

Yeah, I’m lying. My days are never slow. It just seemed that when it comes to writing I have been procrastinating and since I don’t admit to being a procrastinator I decided to say it has been slow.

I had been thinking that we had to take time out of regular life to bury my mother-in-law. She lost her fight with Alzheimer’s. But I realized that I was thinking wrong…taking the time to bury a loved one is part of regular life. It is no different than when a new life comes into the family.

We moved her into our home a year ago, when it became just way too expensive to have her continue to live in an assisted living home. My husband quit his job to stay home and take care of her.

Our lives are busy, have been busy for many years now. Our children are all grown and gone which left us plenty of time to do other things. The busyness did not slow down once she moved in. We had to rearrange who did what when but we continued to stay busy.

Several friends offered to help us during these months so that we did not just unplug from life. They would come over and sit with us and they would send us out to dinner while they sat with her to make sure that she stayed safe. Our friends were and continue to be wonderful blessings in our lives.

Then the fateful day was approaching and we had hospice come in to help us out with those final details. We called all of those friends who had spent so much time with us. We wanted to make sure that they had to opportunity to say goodbye. They had taken the time to become her family and they deserved the chance to be there in the end…if they so desired.

She passed and we started the process of fulfilling her last wishes. One of the friends come over one morning for coffee and she sat in tears thanking me for allowing her to be part of the entire process. She had been sheltered her entire life from death and she did not know what it felt like to say goodbye to a loved one in such a beautiful way. She and her (then) fiancé came into the process with us. They are married now and begin their lives as a family with this beautiful experience. I am happy to have had the opportunity to share.

I am constantly amazed at the people that I know who claim to be spiritual in their everyday life and when something like this happens they fall apart, not only falling apart but getting angry at God for the loss. I don’t get it. How do you profess to believe in such things as an afterlife and then get angry at God when a loved one gets to go home?

My children, my husband, my brother-in-law, myself…all sad to be sure…but also all very happy that Mom-Grandma was no longer suffering, no longer not knowing who her family is, no longer being alone. She is surrounded now by complete, total, eternal love. I cannot be anything but happy about that…happy for her. We will miss her, we already miss her. We both walk into the bedroom looking for her, still….

We had the traditional burial, her wishes fulfilled. We notified all the family we could of her passing. Now we prepare for her Memorial. This one is for those beautiful friends who gave their hearts to her, claimed her as their own Grandmother for a short time. We will share those stories that we dared not share at the funeral home (she cussed a lot) and we will eat…holy smokes she loved to eat and we will do so in her honor!

And now I have taken the time to sit and write this final chapter in our adventures with her. Now I can stop procrastinating about writing and just get on with my life. I did so without tears (progress).

Who knows? There may be more to write about later, depends on what stories are shared this weekend.

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Family, Life, Me

Surviving America

Ok, so I survived another holiday weekend. Oh I know that technically the holiday happened during the week but it was close enough that many people tacked on the weekend as well. There were numerous office populated with the dreaded skeleton crew. Some of us who ended up working while others were off playing. Yes, I was one of those who worked on Friday…but it was nice so I did not mind. On the plus side there were not nearly as many emails as I normally would have to read during the weekend.

I accidently started a family tradition years ago and now the 4th of July is my daughters very favorite holiday. I always found this highly unlikely because I do not know ANY kid who picks July over Christmas but I have come to accept over the years that she really does like the 4th of July more than Christmas!

When my baby was young I started taking her to fireworks displays in town, the big ones. We had two big displays in Fort Wayne each year. The first was at the traditional end of the Three Rivers Festival and, of course, the 4th of July show. She named each of the fireworks big booms by the sounds that accompanied the flashes. I was not a fan of the backyard do-it-yourself shows put on by the dads and granddads. Oh not that they were not fun for the kids (and yes, that is supposed to be the target audience) but it was not so much fun for me.

These shows became such a thrill for my daughter that even after her father and I were no longer married she still insisted on going and by then it had become his tradition as well. I liked that for her. Some years we would meet up during the show and some years it was my turn to take her. She was just happy to be out and looking up into the night sky those hot summer nights.

Over the years I have found myself sitting on some grassy knoll waiting for the sun to set and the show to begin. I have noticed that, over all, the fireworks have not changed so much. Probably safer for the pyro techs and computers have made some of the shows interesting with music blaring along with each big bang but essentially, they are unchanged and I think that this is one of things I like the best.

These days I am heading out to find “my spot” alone. My husband does not find the excitement that I find in a good old firework show. But I am never lonely. I chat with my camped out neighbors and we share snacks and drinks from time to time. I meet new people who have also found what a nice spot we have all discovered. There are always the new people in town who did not realize that our little town offers such a great show.

This year I sat with my girlfriend and her son as well as several other friends. She is an Ojibwa woman. We were quite the sight, two full-blooded Native women sitting in the grass in our camping chairs eating snacks and drinking pop waiting on a celebration we aren’t so sure about but we like the fireworks. We laugh at the irony and we clap at the really cool displays. Her son heads out to scout the crowd and see who is around, not that he knows anyone, he is one of those guys who finds a new friend everywhere he goes. He comes back exited that he found a Di’ne woman sitting on the hill. We are three now. Native women who sit in the crowd celebrating the birth of America, who would have thought?

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death, Family, Life

As Night Begins to Fall

Her teeth are sitting in the plastic cup beside her bed. Her one good eye is open but unfocused.   She will respond to a silly nickname spoken in love and it doesn’t have to be the same nickname twice; it is the love in your voice she hears and it is the love she responds to, then she is gone again.

The doctor gives her a good prognosis, providing she can survive the surgery. Her mind is not what it used to be, her body is frail despite a good constitution. We kissed her and loved on her and let the tears fall after they wheeled her out of the room.

He remembers walking home for lunch in grade school. She was never a good cook but she was smart enough to know that her little boy thought it was a grand treat to have biscuits with jelly for lunch….

Prayers are for “what ever the Creator has for her”…nothing more.  Now we wait.

He remembers the weekend he decided to run away…out of state to an outdoor rock concert.  He still laughs when he tells the story about how she made his father drive to Michigan to find him…needle in a haystack.  He went home after the concert…she was so angry but happy to have him home.

The minutes tick by, friends come out to sit with us.  It wasn’t too long ago that we sat in the same waiting room with those same friends for that friends’ mother…I guess turnabout is fair play after all.  There are smiles and jokes all around.

I update all the facebook family while we have time.

Time; this is when it runs at its’ slowest…waiting for news…good or bad.  It was only an hour and a half but I swear it felt like six.  I was thinking that I should have brought a hoodie or something, it is 95 degrees outside and cold in the waiting room.  Why is it always cold in the waiting rooms?

The nurse finally calls her name so that family will know.  A quick glance into her eyes tell us much and for the first time since we sat down our shoulders relax and we look into each others eyes, eyebrows raised to ask “good news?”.    He is a good surgeon they say, so we head to the next room to await our consultation.

She won’t remember anything, not the pain, not the hospital food, not the nurses names or faces, not the gentle hands of the surgeons.  We will, we will remember prayers answered and sighs breathed out and a bracing for the next phase of her life…however long that may be….

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