Bring It On!

Dear Diary,

This time of Holy Week has got me thinking.  Christians have two celebrations that are biggies: 

Christmas

and

Easter.

In my own little warped way, similar to a Would You Rather game, I asked myself if I had to choose between the two, which celebration could I not live without? (If you have trouble with double negatives like I do, I am asking, essentially, which do I like the best?)

Of course I am glad I can celebrate BOTH!  But for me and many others, Easter is the grand
poohbah of Christian celebrations.  The creme de la creme.  The piece de resistance.  The observance to end all other observances.

I don't think I am going out on a limb to say that the world probably would choose the other.  I'm thinking the jolly, round man wins the popularity contest over the hairy rodent, cute as he is.

("Tommy, the Easter Bunny is watching you!" doesn't have the same ring to it.  And "Egg on a Shelf" would just roll off and make a mess.)

True, Christmas is a wonderfully happy time.  It is full of awe factor and awww factor (as in "awww, what a cute baby!").

But Easter doesn't just make me happy.  In fact, in the days preceding it I can -- and should -- feel sad.  But that is what makes the joy so much sweeter! 

My joy at Easter is deeper than Christmas joy.  It is spiritual. It is physical.  I can feel it fluttering inside my chest, quickening my heart rate, bringing tears to my eyes, simultaneously lifting my spirit and the corners of my mouth.

I can feel the perfect LOVE of God, demonstrated on the cross by a Savior who is Resurrected! 
My mourning turns to dancing on Easter!

So while I enjoyed Christmas, bring on Easter!
Bring on the JOY!

He is Risen, He is Risen indeed!

Joyfully,
LJ

Apparently I Have a Problem

Dear Diary,

I'm feeling a little like a guilty youngster right now. 

I had a recent routine physical, and had to fill out that wonderful form prior to seeing the doctor.  You know the one.  It has multiple columns describing multiple symptoms from multiple areas of the body.  Aside from the fact that I felt fine when I walked into the doctors office but now, suddenly, am overwhelmed with an onslaught of symptoms that any hypochondriac would rival, I now also need to reveal: 
a) if I am a smoker (no)
b) do I drink alcohol (yes)
and c) if yes, how much?  (1x week).

One time a week.  That was my most truthful, ballpark guess-timate.  Who is really counting, right?  Well, the doctor, I guess.  She actually called me on it:  "Oh, you have a drink once a week?  Wine?" 

"Uhhhh, yeah.  Or a beer if I'm hankerin' for it.  But mostly it's wine, I guess."

This conversation was on Monday, the morning after having been entertained with dinner and wine at a friend's home.  Weekly wine allotment: check.

Back at the doctor, I am told I will have a fasting blood draw in two days.  Fine.  It's an easy 10-hour fast the night prior.

Except that was the night I decided to have a GNO with a coupl'a margaritas, Downton Abbey on Netflix, and a soul sister.  All well-before the fast began, but, still, wondering if the alcohol and the guacamole were going to affect my cholesterol levels the next morning (and the doctor would somehow "see" I was drinking neither wine nor beer on a Tuesday night!!).  Mucho agua went through this body before la sangre went out.

Now it's over. 
The blood has been drawn. 
I've had wine and margaritas....
 
Tonight was taco night. 
My generous husband offered me a beer. 
Why sure, I respond.  What a nice compliment to my taco! 

Whoa!  Three drinks and the week is barely half-finished? 
I would not be keeping a mental tally had it not been for that moment with the doctor.

Now you know why I am feeling like a guilty youngster. 
Not because of the three drinks so far this week.

Because I don't know how to count.

Cheers!
LJ

My Top Five

Dear Diary,
Recently I came across this saying, which expresses my feelings rather well -- especially in light of the prolonged winter weather we, in the Midwest, are currently experiencing.

I do try to look at the world with rose colored glasses. So rather than pining about my current inability to live in warmer climes, I have decided to try to find five reasons to be glad I live here, in the Midwest.  Here goes:

5

Perhaps Baby Jesus didn't have a snow-covered manger (and the neon-lit palm tree probably captures the aura of his birthplace better than a tinseled evergreen), but I just think Christmas yard decor looks better with a layer of snow under it.

4

Easter eggs are less prone to spoiling in a 30-degree-wind-chill egg hunt.

3

I only have to hear people complain about the heat/humidity two months out of the year.

2

I am boosting the economy in my quest for the most healing lotions, moisturizers, saline sprays and drops.

And the #1 reason I am glad I live in the Midwest: 

Hurricane season is not one of our four.

Feelin' rosy,
LJ

Strive to Thrive

Dear Diary,
Today I thought I'd share a little of what I have been learning about myself over the last few weeks since the start of my new job.

I'm calling it

LJ's Strive to Thrive and Not Just Survive Guide

When in the tunnel moments of life, here are a few handy tips to help me stay focused on the light in the distance.

• Enlighten myself about others who are in worse situations than I.  Seriously!  The I'm so glad I'm not THAT person mentality can be therapeutic.  This may sound callous but, truly, I do not mean it to be.  A sure way to be thankful and count my blessings is by getting tangibly or spiritually involved in the lives of others who are in troubled times.  [www.persecution.com is a great place to get started.]
• Remind myself that my situation is only for a season.  Granted, some seasons (like winter, for instance) seem longer than others, but there will be an end -- or at least a change.
• Smile!  Plaster it on!  Try not to burden others (other than very close friends) with sudden outbursts or rants of self-pity.  Really.  It may feel good to unload one's burden at the time, but it is not pretty to those unsuspecting acquaintances caught off guard after routinely asking, "How are you?"
• Call mom.  She is the only person God made who is obligated to listen to her offspring's pity parties without repercussions or bias and with complete sympathy.  But understand:  Once dumped on, she is also just as obligated to offer her advice.  As a mom myself, I understand this balance.  When mom is not home, dad can serve as stand-in.
• Keep a couple of prayer warrior friends up to date.  Again, try not to wallow too much.  We want to keep our friends.  Debbie Downer is not invited to every party.
• Here's the last important tip:  Find the nearest Trader Joe's.  Purchase a couple of boxes of Dark Chocolate Almonds.  Label byline: Roasted almonds drenched in dark chocolate and sprinkled with sea salt and turbinado sugar.  I don't know what turbinado sugar is, and, frankly, I don't care.  If you are a sweet-and-salt nut like I am, this is the comfort snack to beat all.  [It also makes a great gift, hostess or otherwise, hence the need to buy more than one box.  Coincidentally, my birthday is next month.]

If anyone has their own handy tips to add, please comment!

Striving to Thrive,
LJ

Finding My Groove

Dear Diary,
I can't find an hour to myself these days. 

It is hard getting used to working again.  At home I am always feeling rushed to get things done -- and this is only the priority items (like fashioning dinner out of a frozen block of chicken breasts in less than 30 minutes); the toilet scrubbing just has to wait.  In time I will relearn to budget my time.  I have done it before.  After much hub-bub and drama -- literally-- my kids' extra-curricular schedules are winding down to a slower pace. 

Tonight I got a reminder call from a charity to which I donate household items.  I have no idea what happened to my "reminder postcard," so I never got the pickup date marked on the calendar.  Read between the lines:  I never collected any gently used items for tomorrow's pickup. 

For once, I was happy to have answered the reminder phone call.  And how fortunate that I cleaned out some cabinets a few weeks ago.  I didn't know then that I would be scrambling tonight to gather some bags full of stuff.  A quick scan of my closet and out go a few blouses and sweaters I haven't worn in a long while, or just don't fit like they used to. (ahem.)

Maybe that's the best way for me to clean out:  go into the closet with an empty bag and desperate intentions.  It makes for a quick separation of what would otherwise be a lengthy, emotional disposal process.

Back to the prioritizing....

So, we've run out of shampoo and are using our travel bottles until I find time to get more.
And, yeah, the school notes are piling up and I'm sure I owe some money to someone for some collection or field trip of some sort. (Don't get me started on the library fines.)
And, yes, I miss my carefree writing time here in my diary.

But I will find my groove. 
Some days, like today, will have a happy ending. 

And someone who needs it more than I will be getting a gently used blouse out of the deal.
That's a good day.

Gettin' my groove on,
LJ

More Than Meets the Eye

Dear Diary,

I'm feeling old.  Well, maybe more like "out of sorts."

When one hits the mid 40s, one becomes used to the term ma'am instead of miss.  I was first called ma'am when I was in my late 20s, by a dental assistant who wasn't much younger than me.  Boy, did my day go down hill from there.  How many people can say they remember the moment that moniker was applied to them?  Yes, traumatic.

But at this point -- at 44 -- I am impervious to the ma'am label.  There are other reasons I am feeling out of sorts these days.

I am in a new work environment.  After being a work-at-home mom for almost a year, the mental transition hasn't been easy.  The well-spring of emotions that this job has elicited will be expounded upon another day, perhaps. 

Picture an elementary school setting.  Not only am I surrounded by young children, but by fertile young teachers with the makeup and hair and clothes to go with.  A silly statement, but I bet most readers get what I mean.

There are a few of us seasoned folk sprinkled into the mix.  The days of pregnancies, potty training struggles, and preschool programs are long gone for me.  Since I no longer fall into the Young Marrieds category, I feel like a middle-aged alien wandering the halls of the school.  OK, I exaggerate a bit, but still, the thoughts of "I don't fit in" pop into my head at least once a day.

When I look at this honestly, I know I am feeling this way because I am comparing myself to these women.  Women who on the outside appear to be put together, golden highlights, baby bumps and all.  Lunchroom talk about ultrasounds, overseas adoptions and sick toddlers have me nodding and smiling either in sympathy or in polite agreement.  (I am the newbie so these people are still perfect strangers to me. I can't offer up much more than this at this stage anyway.) 

I miss the Young Married stage and the energy, exuberance and honeymoon attitude that goes with it. Although, I feel equiped to handle it so much better now that I am in my 5th decade!  I can see why grandparenting is the best!

I think I am mourning what I had, and which I now have to greet in the faces of these women on a daily basis. 

Make no mistake.  I love, love, love the life I am leading now.  I am blessed despite life's hardballs. 

In time I will get to know these women who, right now, are only two-dimensional figures of youth and happiness. 

There is more than meets the eye.  And in time, I pray they will find this true of me too.

LJ

My Tunnel Moments

Dear Diary,

On the verge again.

Moments away from the worst winter storm of the season. 
Goody for afternoon rush hour!

A phone call away from knowing if my first day of work is tomorrow or the next day.  Yes, I am newly employed until June. 

Meanwhile.....

I read Tessa Hardiman's blog today and I loved her analogy of Tunnel Moments, referring to the state of mind of an athlete prior to entering the arena (via the tunnel). As a stage performer, I could appreciate her definition of tunnel moments, which has given me some food for thought.

But my tunnel moments evoke a different image.

When I first read her title I was thinking about tunnels, as in driving-out-west-through-the-mountains kind of tunnels.  As a kid from the Midwest, where tunnels were something I dug every winter in the drifts of snow piled against the house, I loved going through mountain tunnels on vacations, and couldn't wait until the next one came along.

Am I the only one who feels this way?  (Yes, present tense, feels.  I am still a kid a heart!)
Driving along in the bright sunshine only to be suddenly engulfed in darkness, sunglasses removed and headlights switched on; and sometimes Dad would comply with my deep desire to hear the car horn reverberate through the cavern before rolling out into the open road and sunshine again.

Why the thrill?  I can only guess it is the change of scenery, if only for a moment.
It is knowing that, once entombed, there is sunshine at the other end, and that the darkness is only a temporary blindness for which we have tools to overcome, and from which there is recovery. 

Tunnel moments.
Temporary darkness for which we have the tools to overcome,
with anticipation of the light we know is there,
and are in constant motion to attain.

Dr. Phil, eat your heart out.

Now that I am at the end of this post, the snow has arrived (with gusto), and I got the phone call. (I start tomorrow.)

I know of people going through their own tunnels right now.  I pray they find the tools to get through it, knowing there is a light at the end!

LJ

The Lord is God, and he has made his light shine on us. Ps 118:37

Snow Day!

Dear Diary,

The kids got their wish.
The teachers got their wish.

They didn't even have to wear their pajamas inside out and backwards.
They didn't have to put a spoon under their pillow.
And they didn't have to put an ice cube in their toilet.

Somewhere, some kid did a snow dance for God.

And *poof* the superintendent of schools robocalls a few thousand households last evening to tell us school is cancelled today.  Due to the snow that was predicted, but didn't really come.

Admittedly, some of the Midwest are on their second snow day.  So there was some precedent in this system. But we didn't deserve even one day. 

So, we got three inches.  Big deal.  The roads are fine, there is no ice or high winds.
We got a gift.  We've been waiting all winter for this gift. 

Not to work on projects. 
Not to work on speeches or worksheets.
Not to attend practices.

Just to be.

I understand, some working families are put out by snow days, especially ones that, perhaps, were called prematurely.  But as for me, I say

Thank you, Mr. Superintendent.
And thank you, God!

LJ

A Beauty-filled Season

Dear Diary,
I have a round magnifying mirror suctioned to my vanity mirror in the master bath.  Because of my membership in the aforementioned blurry vision club, I need it to see where I am putting my eyeliner. Hopefully on my eyes.

It is not pleasant to look into my unnaturally magnified reflection. 
What is the tendency? 
To look at all my beautiful attributes?  No. 
To observe all of my flaws and imperfections.

Yet if I refuse to look into the mirror, if I choose to remain blurry eyed to the flaws, my beautiful attributes will eventually become marred with the grotesque, like weeds choking a garden.

But if I take the time (and steel myself) to confront the offending defects, I can choose to do something about them. (Could someone hand me my tweezers?) 

This is how I observe Lent. 
For me it's an examination of self. 
A close and up-personal exam. 
An honest, ugly, bare-all one. 
A repentant and remorseful one.

Because only by weeding out the uglies can my best self be revealed.
My best actions, words, and thoughts can come forth.
My Christian life and light can shine brighter.

Have a beauty-filled season,
LJ

A Whole Lotta Nuthin'

Dear Diary,

I am breaking away from my Downton Abbey Season 2 marathon to write.  (Mary: just tell him you love him; and Mrs. Bates: you are a nasty, nasty woman!)  Thanks to Hulu for making my viewing much easier since the library only gave me three days.

It’s fun to despise the despicable chaps and become endeared to the misguided but lovable ones.  And boy, there is not a dull moment in Downton!  I usually want to speak in my refined British accent after watching, too.  Oh, and I l-o-v-e Maggie Smith’s character! 

OK, now I am gushing.  On to other things.

I enjoy this time of writing.  It is a great outlet for me.  My initial intention with this blog was to write my life comments for my family-- my girls and hubby, mainly.  But as my posts increased, my ears (and heart) would perk up when I would hear an occasional comment from my friends and extended family who are also reading what I write.  I have tried to tell myself it’s the act of writing that is satisfying me.  But that is a lie.  It’s knowing there are others who are reading the words that truly satisfies me. 

What good is putting a note in a bottle if no one ever reads it? Or paint on canvas?  Or musical notes onto a staff?

Not all of my writing is meant to be shared.  I have diaries from my growing years that I am happy no one else will read, at least while I am alive.  I believe I practiced scrawling my anticipated married name on a few pages even before there was a proposal!

Even though I have yearnings to sit and write, I don’t always know what to say.  I have a few thoughts on topics scribbled on paper but they don’t always "take off" the moment I have time to expound. 

Such is today.  Since my last post I have been swamped with time consuming activities, Downton being one of them.  Housework, not so much.

In the midst of the chaos, I have been longing to sit and do this.  To write.  But I don’t have anything in particular to say today. 
So I guess I’m done. 
And I thank you for reading this anyway.
And I'm sorry I made you read to the end before you knew I wasn't writing anything.  That's a couple of minutes you could have spent on Facebook. 

Better luck next time,

LJ

One of THOSE Parents

Dear Diary,
I'm actually surprised this scenario hasn't happened sooner.  At least to my knowledge.

I guess the delay stems from my deep desire to not bring attention to myself.  (Actually, I secretly like attention, but only if it's positive. You know, the isn't she cute/smart/funny, or boy I wish I could be more like her, kind of attention.  It's the negative, brow furrowing attention I shun.)

I am talking about embarrassing my kids.  I'm not one of those parents who deliberately embarrasses their kids in front of their friends.  I am too genteel for that.  Especially if they are new friends.  However, I have no problem singing to the radio while driving carpool if they are old friends.

But I won't go around talking about my kids' skin problems or do my Super Grover impersonation in front of their friends just for kicks.  Some parents might do that.  My brother for instance.  But not I.

So the other day I was informed by my freshman daughter I was needed to drive home not one, but four additional friends from school.   Upper classman.   And three of the four were boys.
Hmmmm.  Interesting. 

If I were one of those parents, I could have used that pent up time in the car to really make my daughter (and her friends) uncomfortable. 

I imagine some mortifying conversation starters like this: 
* So, you guys got girlfriends? 
* Do any of you go to church? 
* Don't you think my daughter is talented/smart/cute? 
* You wanna be my friend on Facebook? 
* Are you looking to make an extra buck? 'Cuz I could use some help shoveling my driveway.

That's just the tip of the iceberg.

But that is not me. 
I want to be a cool mom.  Or at least a nice mom. 
Outgoing, without being in-your-face. 
Showing interest, without the inquisition.
Pleasant.

With all the friends deposited safely-- and seemingly without embarrassment-- at their destination, my daughter admitted she had "warned" at least one of the boys ahead of time about me and what I "might say."

WHAT? 

Innocent, little me?  Tame, conscientious, ever-mindful me? 

I was surprised. Though I always knew it, up till now, my kids had never admitted to my face that I had the potential for embarrassment.

Yet, perhaps even more surprising was that I felt somewhat flattered.  I felt validated as a mom of teenagers.  So I do have a little edge.  Just enough to make my offspring a little paranoid.

I admit that feels kind of good. 
And I've only just started.

Rockin' the boat,
LJ

Fab Finishes

Dear Diary,

I mentioned to my oldest daughter the subject of my Fun Firsts post of yesterday.  Being the sensible one, she asked, "Why are you writing about that?"  I told her that's what I mostly write about:  useless, random stuff.  

She then reminded me of an incident she still remembers. 
"See that pen over there?" She points across the room to her bookcase. 
I didn't really see it (probably because of my hyperopia status; see It's a *Small* Problem), but to amuse her I said "sure."  She said, "That is the first pen I've ever used that has completely run out of ink.  I was saving it but you threw it away.  I had to fish it out of the garbage can!"

Wow.  She got such satisfaction out of finishing the use of that pen.  I knew then that I had to follow up Fun Firsts with this post, Fab Finishes!

So here are some items in which I relish the finish, perhaps because it is such a rare occurrence, or because I can't stand the sight of it any longer and am glad to get rid of it.

The latter thought, for me, is the half-eaten boxes of cereal in the pantry.  They have been sitting around because, well, no one really likes them.  Usually it is a new flavor of an old standby, which everyone has tried but no one cares for. They prefer the original.  (Like a Part IV of any movie series.  Never as good as the first three.)  So, only out of obligation, M-O-M eats those cereals (since I paid good money for it, dag nab it)!  And it is a relief to finally throw away the empty boxes of Honey Kix and Vanilla Cookie Crisp and get back to my Multi-Bran Chex.

Besides pens and stale cereal, what are some other triumphant finishes?

That 10-year-old tub of petroleum jelly.  Come on.  Admit you have one somewhere in your linen closet or medicine cabinet!  Takes a long time for those to go bad.  I don't think I've ever seen the bottom of one of those plastic tubs.

Lip balm.  My daughter claims she can never finish one before she loses it or it gets old and gross.  I, however, don't have that problem.  But it is momentous -- on a small scale -- to finally reach the end of that tube. (And you get the fun first of starting a new one!)

Economy sized mouth wash.  Especially when I don't like the flavor. Well, why do they make it purple if it isn't going to taste like grape soda?

Jigsaw puzzles.  That last piece.  The silent kudos to self when it snaps into place.  Satisfied sigh.

I could start a discussion on those things I dread to finish, like the toilet paper roll ('cuz now I gotta replace it) or the milk ('cuz now I gotta go all the way down to the fridge in the basement to replenish it).  But I'll save that discussion for another time.

What are some more fab finishes?

LJ

Fun Firsts

Dear Diary,

I opened a brand new jar of peanut butter the other day. 
After taking the cardboard seal off the top, there it was: the whoosh of peanutty scented air, and that smooth top layer of brown creaminess -- without the toast crumbs. 
What satisfaction I got out of plunging my knife into it!

It got me thinking about other new things for which I get the most satisfaction out of its first use.

A calendar.  That blank canvas on which to shape and mold the year ahead.  Though, let's face it, the kids' schedules really do most of the shaping and molding.  But still, look at the rows upon rows of blank little squares, just waiting to be filled with multi-colored ink scribbles by me, the Master Destiny Maker.  (Let me at least indulge in that falsehood for a brief moment.)

Stickers.  Collecting stickers was a big thing when I was a kid.  Stores used to carry all shapes and sizes.  But, honestly, it was hard to actually use those.  I had a kind of scrapbook to put them in so that I could look at them -- unused -- and show my friends.  Once I was given a whole roll of personalized silvery stickers with rainbow hearts!  Awesome when you are ten!  I rationed those. I did NOT want to use those up.  They were too precious, too priceless.  Rainbow hearts?
Irreplaceable, really. 
So I didn't. 
And I still have them. 
(I did use a few. If you look closely at my profile picture you'll see one!) At this point I wish I could use them up. But what is a 44-year-old going to do with silvery rainbow-hearted name labels? 
And I don't know any little kids with my name to give them to either, so save the suggestion.

Moving on.

Shampoo.  Because I am a good Girl Scout and always prepared, I will purchase a new bottle of shampoo before I actually run out of the old stuff.  Usually it is a different brand or fragrance.  Whatever grabs me or is cheap.  Once I get it home I can't resist using it --just once-- before I'm finished with the old bottle.  Oooooh!  I feel so underhanded and rebellious when I do that!  Sad what thrills me.

How about books?  A new book that has yet to be dog eared, dropped in the tub, highlighted, or jelly smudged (have I mentioned I read when I eat lunch?) is a treasure to open for the first time.

Here's more off the top of my head:
Can of paint.
Nail polish or lipstick.
Pack of gum.
Bag of potato chips.

What else?

LJ

The Unpredictable Walk

Dear Diary,

I have written about my walks and paths taken before (Killing Time,10/26/12 and Sharing My Path, 9/25/12).  I haven't been on one in a while.

It is the middle of winter here in the Midwest.  I started walking regularly last spring, when it was
50-or-more degrees outside.  I can find no motivation to pile on the layers and attempt to go walking for half an hour when it is 40-or-less degrees outside.

I think about walking; how if I just get out there and do it, it won't be nearly as bad as my inner couch potato wants me to believe.

So while I was thinking about walking today, about where I would go to do it, it dawned on me that even though I can just go out my front door to walk, my preferred place actually involves getting in the car first. Here are my three most walked paths.

The 'Hood
My neighborhood is a big square made up of two blocks. I would need to walk around it several times to reach my 30-minute-minimum requirement.  That can be dull.  The only time I do this is when I am lucky enough to be with a couple of neighbors.  We walk until we are out of breath from gabbing so much!  Without the company, this walk is dull and predictable.

The 'Hood II
My backyard borders a different neighborhood.  My yard happens to connect to it via a walking path.  It is a larger neighborhood, with a windy, circular road and even a couple of inclines.  And it is large enough to just meet my time limit.  A little less dull, but still a predictable walk.  Same houses, driveways, and barking dogs.

The Speedway
It used to be a racecourse for Jaguars and Ferraris in the '50s.  It is now a public space preserved into a walking/biking path and is surrounded by woods, prairies, and hills that will make my heart pound and thighs scream.  It is ideal.  My preferred path.  Its twists and turns make it a more interesting exercise.  (And with friends, it's even better!)

As I thought about these three paths, the two predictable ones and the one less predictable, I realized why I preferred the one.  Because of the unpredictability.  I prefer the one in which I can't see too far ahead.  I don't know what will greet me around the tree-lined bend.  Another walker?  A hill?  The end?

Sometimes in life I wish I could see into the future, to have a predictable path.  It's the safest way, right?  But then I would become complacent. Always knowing where I am going would probably breed discontent and laziness.

Better to be kept pondering and alert, wondering what is just around the bend, and delighting in the anticipation of what is to come, be it an uphill climb, or downhill relief.

Yes, it is the middle of winter here in the Midwest.  And after yesterday's ice storm, tomorrow will be record breaking 60-degree warmth.  Guess where I'll be walking?

Warmly,
LJ

It's a *Small* Problem

Dear Diary,
I have a problem I must face sooner or later, and really, it is "later" now.

It crept up on me a few years ago, slowly, subtly.

It gave me urges to squint, blink, or force my eyes open as wide as they could go. 
But the problem persisted.

I acquired hyperopia. 
I now belong to a group of people called the middle-aged hyperopes. 
Sounds like great club name for aging rope-jumpers.

No.  It's farsightedness.
What a pain.

Over-the-counter readers have helped for a few years.  But the visual distance at which I have to rely upon them is becoming a greater one.  What was once a use for tired eyes during bedtime reading has now become a necessity for reading price tags, recipes, and menus.  Yes, there is a big difference between a 3 and an 8, both in price and in measurement!

My place on the age-eyesight continuum is now to the point that I can't read the writing on the GPS mounted on the front windshield.  Kind of important when driving in uncharted territory, so to speak.

Perhaps the latest little mishaps seal my bifocal lens fate.  Let me mention two of them.

My body hates the dry air, which is prevalent in winter here in the Midwest.  I use a lot of lotions and potions to counteract the effect dry air has on me.  I have spent many-a-day squirting a store-bought saline solution up my uncomfortably dry nasal passages.  I also use another solution to give relief to my dry eyes, which I use often throughout the day.  I stick them in my purse to use when I'm away from home.  The problem came one day when, sans glasses, I grabbed from my purse the nasal spray, and proceeded to relieve my eyes with it. Yeah.  I can tell you the saline used for the relief of one body part does not transfer to relief in other body parts.  And can be slightly irritating.

Continuing with my lotions and potions theme, on a weekend away from home, I decided to make use of those little bottles of shampoo, conditioner and lotion the hotel so generously provides. After my shower, I needed to squeeze out some lotion for my luxuriously soft supple skin, ahem.  OK, I actually needed it for my wrinkly, crinkly neck. So I dabbed it on, and boy, did it start a subtle stinging sensation. 

My beauty tip for the day:  Conditioner may not be used as a substitute for lotion.  Rinsing with cool water is recommended.

But I do count my blessings.  I was glad I chose not to use the conditioner (i.e.lotion) in the shower earlier. Hey, those bottles are tiny and the letters are even tinier!

So, I shall continue to use my readers, which have become a semi-permanent hair accessory.  Reaching for the top of my head to pull down the glasses nestled there has become second nature to me.  Who needs bifocals, when my readers have a lovely home atop my head? 

One day I will embrace my identity as a MAH (middle-aged hyperope). 

Just not today.

LJ

Not a Trivial Matter

Dear Diary,
By now I think it has been established that I like to write about trivial things.

• Household chores
• Vacations
• Post-Its
• Deer Sightings
• Parakeets
• Sitting around a parking lot
• Etc.

Honestly, my day is full of trivial moments.  Heck so is my life.  So here comes another trivial observation for me to write about. Well, it's a confession, really.

I am no longer confident in my ability to use a pen and get my thoughts properly down onto paper, and get it right the first time.  I am talking about writing a good old-fashioned letter (a rare, antiquated activity these days).  I need to first type it on my computer.  If it is a good long letter, I have no problem printing from the word processor and then just scribble my sig at the bottom.

But there are a few occasions when I want to send a hand-written note.  However, I start by typing my thoughts onto paper, tweak it, spell check it, and then hand write it out. (In fact, honestly, this is why I decided to blog my writing instead of journal it.  Hand-writing vs. typing these posts?  Easy choice.) 

Yes, much of my daily life is made up of triviality, like decisions on typing vs. writing.  Decisions and situations that are mostly unimportant in the grand scheme of life.  In fact I think most of my life is white noise trivia.  Stuff that takes up my time, which masks what really matters.

So what does matter in my life?  What gives my life its value?

My relationships and my faith.

Matters of the heart and soul are never trivial.

Soon I will be writing a letter.  Actually two.  To strangers across the sea.  To prisoners I don't know.  And it is no trivial matter.

I will spend a long time fashioning/typing the words I will eventually put to pen.  I will look up scripture and think carefully about my message.  These letters will probably be some of the most important letters I have ever written.  One will go to a man named Alim, in China, and one to Imran, in Pakistan; both persecuted under a government hostile to Christians.

Here is more information on the persecuted church and prisoners who need encouragement to get through each hour of the day.  The Voice of the Martyrs is doing amazing work of supporting the persecuted and their families around the world.

And I am happy to discover they have a blog!
http://www.persecutionblog.com/

These are stories that amaze me.  These people are my heroes.  They struggle daily for survival, while I harp over trivial matters.  It humbles me.  It points me to the awesomeness of God.

Now that is no trivial matter.
LJ

Time to Face the Mess

Dear Diary,
I have so many loose ends to tie, which is why I sit here in front of the computer, honing my writing skills and avoiding the unpleasant.

I took a good look at my bedroom this morning.  It is this close to being featured on the reality show Help! I Can't Find My Bed, Nor My Spouse.

I have a fairly large bedroom, so it has become the place where I put things that don't otherwise have an active role in the rest of the house.  I have a section which is the odds 'n ends holding area.  It holds my things I only use seasonally or occasionally --space heater, steam cleaner, empty gift boxes, craft stuff, stuff to give away, and yes, even a crib mattress.  And where else does one put the twelve-box package of facial tissues from Costco?  Then I have a corner for the bins of seasonal and oversized clothes that will eventually fit my daughters.  Then I have the ironing area, complete with hanging clothes, which has already been established in this diary as a limited activity zone in my house.

On top of that, I decided that this year the top of my queen-sized bed would be off-limits to all the birthday and Christmas gift wrapping in December, including removing sticky tags and cutting the annoying sparkly, yet festive, paper to size.  (No more sparkly-paper-covered gifts from me.) So I created a folding table wrapping area, which, along with all the gift wrap and bows I had to keep nearby, used up the remaining space I had left on either side of the bed.

It's time to take down and pare down.  And it's daunting. 

I like to tidy.  There is a satisfaction in that. 

But it's hard to pare down sometimes.  To let go of things I might need again someday.

Well, the time has come to face the mess. 

If I were really shameless I would provide a before and after photo of today's work.  Nahhh.  Some things, like my messy room and my actual ability to clean it up, are best left to the imagination.

Shamefully Yours,
LJ

Audacious for Advice

Dear Diary,

Ever meet an expert or professional of some useful service and want to pick their brain or get free advice?  I do all the time. 

Oh, you are a hairdresser? 
What do you think of my hair? Do you think this cut fits my face?  Should I take out the gray?  How do I hide my cowlicks?  Do you know a good cosmetologist?  I need to learn how to accentuate my eyes. Better yet, do you know a good, but cheap, cosmetic surgeon?

You are a family practice physician? 
Boy, do I get pains in my (fill in the blank).   In fact, right now I am kind of achy in the (fill in the blank).  Is this something I should get checked out, or just take Advil, or what?  And there is this thingy on my foot. Do you think it's serious? Will I need x-rays/surgery/medicine/therapy?

You work for a talent agency?
You know I used to be on the stage. Loved it.  Was told all the time I'm a natural.  Always wanted to do ads and TV and stuff.  Have you seen my kids?  They are pretty photogenic. My oldest did a rad Scarecrow in Wizard of Oz in 6th grade.  Yup, they are pre-tty talented.  And, well, you know where they get it from...

A techno geek?
Wow, you know my computer runs real slow, and sometimes my keyboard won't type the letter 'a'.  Oh, and to properly boot it I have to simultaneously press Shift-F12 while standing on one foot and humming the UW fight song.  Can you check it out for me?

You are a photographer?
Wow, we are looking to get the family portrait done again since the last one we did was before our youngest was born.  Now she's 10.  You think you can pull off the miracle of getting all five of us to simultaneously take a good picture (complete with ten non-blinking eyes)?  Oh, and could you give me some highlights and a chin-tuck while you are at it?

Just to clarify, these are not things I would actually say to a specially trained person outside of their office.  I may think them, but I am otherwise too shy and conscientious to bother them with my little problems.  "Make an appointment," my right-shouldered angel of conscience would say. Audacity is not me.

I am guessing there are some who don't mind answering those questions, even on their day off.  Likewise, I'd guess there are many who grit their teeth in annoyance when they are asked for their professional opinion for the umpteenth time at a dinner party.

Thankfully I don't have a vocation like that so I am not peppered with requests for advice or opinions. 

"Oh, LJ, you are a wife and mother of three girls?  What is the best way to wash a pink, sparkly tutu?" 

Until next time,
LJ

My Xtreme Vacation

Dear Diary,
So, I'm back from Christmas vacation.
This was not just another pack the dog, kids, and husband into the minivan and "off to grandmother's house we go" kind of vacation.

Nope, this excursion was Xtreme at every turn.  Before I go on, I must provide a warning to my more sensitive readers that some descriptions and comparisons may be too graphic for your sensitive natures.  Steel yourselves.  Or look away.

I originally wanted to write about my first surf lesson -- and it will be mentioned. But I realized there were other things worth highlighting as well.  Let me itemize just a few of the Xtreme moments.

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Worshipping the Almighty God on Christmas Eve, who humbled himself to become a helpless, human child, because he loves me so very much.  That is undeniably, Xtremely awesome!

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Finding myself with my finger stuck in the barrel of a Glock.  Surprised?  Yeah, I was too. The circumstance of this event is too Xtreme to even explain here, so maybe it's better left to the imagination.  Assuredly, it was not loaded and I still have all ten fingers.

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Plunging 200 feet on a 90-degree drop aboard SheiKra, the Diving Roller Coaster of Busch Gardens, Tampa Bay. 
Oh. Yeah.
One second, weightless; the next, pulling so-many-G's at 70 mph. 
That is Xtreme, especially at my age.  My 13-year-old daughter was on one side of me.  Another boy about the same age on the other side.   I giddily warned him I would be screaming my head off.  He gave me the "OK, lady" head nod, then proceeded through the whole ride in the Hallelujah hands-to-heaven position.  Showoff.

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Fishing for the big catch 8.5 miles off the coast of Clearwater.  Plenty of fish caught, the biggest by my husband (grouper, 26").  Perhaps the Xtreme moment was throwing a cast-off, 12-inch grouper back into the water and watching a pelican dive for it -- and successfully scooping it into his sack of a beak.  It was like watching him snag a 5 lb. barbell!  How would he swallow that thing?  He flew off a few yards to contemplate this without an audience.  Good moment for the National Geographic Channel I'd say.

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Surfing for the very first time!  For all the times in my life that I've been to the coast, surfing was not something I have tried.  Not until the spontaneous invitation from my cousin hit my eardrums.  Yes, I will try it, but no, I don't have my suit and isn't the water freezing?  Oh, you have a wetsuit I can borrow?  Well then, I have no more excuses!

This was a head to toe wetsuit.  I have never put one on in my life.  Stuffing myself into this thing took all of the concentration and muscle effort I had.  And to boot I was in the bathroom where I couldn't escape the mirror showing me just what I was trying to put into this thing. I panted, pushed, and prodded my flesh into the neoprene tubes.  It was like stuffing Jell-O into a straw.  I think it took me 10 minutes to get it on, and I was weak, so weak, from the effort.  My cousin kindly called through the door, "I'll help you get the zipper up."  Good.  I was too fatigued to do it myself anyway.  I open the door to be told, "Uh, the zipper goes in the back, not the front." 
WHAT????  Now I gotta put this thing on ALL OVER AGAIN, after I first EXTRICATE MYSELF from its rubbery grip???  Close door.  Tug, pull, peel, pant.  Pause.  There it lay.  A rubbery blob of a body suit that WILL NOT get the best of me!  The bathroom walls and mirror were closing in on me.  The fatigue was overwhelming, but, no, I am not a wimp!  I will show it who is boss!  Weakly tug, shakily stuff, and breathlessly prod.  Victory!  Another assist with the zipper and I was off to the beach, weak-kneed and shakey armed.  (Thank you for carrying the board, cuz.)

The rest of the experience I will summarize as a salt water cleansing.  I learned that it is very important -- nay, essential, to stay to the back of the board while surfing.  This lesson was taught over and over again.  The picture here is of a rare moment when I became one with the wave while kneeling.  The rest was pretty much a water boarding experience.

So, my Christmas vacation had its moments of new discoveries and experiences along with the familiar traditions and events.

But there is one thing I have wanted to do for a few years now.
Something so horrifying and outrageous that even my husband tells me, "No way." 
I know people who have tried it that say "never again."
My Xtreme desire?

To have just one meal at the Waffle House.

It's Xtreme, but YOLO!
LJ

A New Day

Dear Diary,
Ahhh, the new year. A clean slate in the form of a crisp, new, freshly marked calendar hanging from my fridge.

I find it amazing the psychology that goes into the dawn of one day -- which is no different than any other day except the date assigned to it: January 1.  It is a day loaded with meaning and good intentions for the year ahead.

Wouldn't it be nice if we could assign that newness of January 1st to every day of the year?
The high hopes and expectations.
The vows to change our lives for the better.

Somehow it just doesn't work that way, especially come mid-January when we have already
failed our diets,
shirked our commitments,
and given excuses.

Well, I am glad I have this time to feel optimistic and hopeful, and even just a little bit in control of my destiny (ha!)

May 2013 be full of  "Happy New Days"!

LJ