De-find You

I met someone this weekend that told a story I have heard many times before. Young woman meets a man, falls in love and marries. The marriage lasts for well over twenty five years and ends abruptly. No notice, no planning, just one day, one mate decides to tell the other, “I am leaving. I want out.”  

Put on the brakes, el pronto, and change gears.  Pull out your new deck of cards and start shuffling because you will need a new set of cards to finish out your life. Nothing in the past will be quite the same.  You will need to change because your future will be different.   I try to explain this to women when they are facing this scenario. Some women are extremely receptive to the idea of change and some are just not ready to make the transition, even though it is inevitable.   Change is a part of growth, and we must accept it.  Accept it with grace and humility and move on. Resisting it will only make it harder and more stressful.

This weekend the person I spoke with was contemplating who she was and wanted to be.  How exciting I thought that was!  I think, in her mind, it was a scary journey.  In my mind, maybe it was what God intended all along.  It apparently took her husband leaving for her to actually stop, and take a good hard look at herself. 

Now, in wonderment, she is trying to define herself and figure out who she is.  She admitted she has never really been sure.   I think she will find, as others see her, a beautiful image of love, compassion and humor.   But she must see,  feel and experience that with her own eyes and heart.  Self-worth and self-love are part of God’s gifts to us also. We must accept those blessings bestowed on us like all of his others.  

For far too long, she, and many others like her, have been hiding behind the shirt tails of her husband, quite literally, defining who she is by her last name. A marriage does not mean we lose our identity.  A strong relationship should entail a discovery of continually growing and redefining ourselves as life changes. A supportive mate should allow their partner that growth, in fact should welcome it. It is a reciprocal process as time passes. In her case, this woman I speak of,  much of her identity was tied up into her partner, what he wanted her to be, by her own choice. When he grew weary of someone playing a part, whether well intended or not, out the door he went. 

The more we talked I began to see that her hurt had more to do with the fear of being alone with herself and finding herself than the divorce or losing him.  Interesting, aye?  I kept hearing the song in my head by Jason Mraz,  “I am Yours.” It is such a simple little song but with a wonderful message about life.  See how precious life is if we just open up and enjoy it.   Love it and each other.  In this case, she needs to love herself.  Without doing that, she will never love another.  That alone will keep her warm and happy every day. That alone is a precious vital gift that only she can bestow on herself. 

Total dependency on another is not healthy.  As we age, death is inevitable, death of a marriage or physical death.   Our sole existence cannot be tied exclusively to one individual or one entity.  It can’t be encapsulated in one relationship, or when that relationship ends, our life ends.   We can’t sum up life is good simply if we have food in the cupboard or when we are hungry, life has nothing fruitful to celebrate.   Life’s value can’t be solely in being rich with lots of coins in the bank or there is no richness involved in the sound of God’s angels singing or hearing someone say I love you with heartfelt meaning.  Life’s existence and purpose must be self-defined and unfortunately some individuals lose something they love before faced with defining it.   

So the next time you run into someone whose marriage has ended after many years, instead of questioning what went wrong, I recommend a different focus.   Open up your mind and heart and encourage them to grow,   Maybe this is the time for them to live more fully, concentrate on recreating themselves a bit or fine-tuning some things and enjoy living in a slightly different way. And perhaps it is a reminder to you to do the same! 

                                 

Stories to Tell

The years seem to pass quicker the older I get.  Isn’t that ironic when now I want everything

to move slower. I want more time for daylight, weekdays, and yes, even weekends.  But my

reasons for wanting long weekends are not for the same reasons as when I was in school, no not at all.   I want to savor the moments, have the luxury of just relaxing, taking in the splendor of living life to the fullest.   Too much time has gone by where I was living by the seat of my pants, in perpetual motion.  I look back and sometimes wonder where I got the energy to get it all done so quickly and still keep moving.  If I had to do it all over again, I could not possibly come up with enough kinetic energy to do so.

  

There were days when I was working part time and attending college full time.  All the while, I was raising my two children, holding down a house, managing the household finances (barely!), the kids select soccer seasons and whew, whatever else came my way.  Nights ended at midnight with my studying and days started around 5:00 a.m.

As the years have flashed by, and the seasons change, so have I. I sure wish my body would recirculate like the leaves on the trees do and when fall returns, my body would look rejuvenated and as pretty as it did last autumn.  Mine gets each year, a bit older, more wrinkles, and possibly a teeny bit slower too, if one was clocking my speed.   It is safe to save Mother Nature is not as kind to mere Mortals as she is to the planet Earth.  That tree in our front yard will be here long after me and be just as majestic.

When I was younger, visiting with family was boring.  Just sitting around talking was painful. I would be looking for any distraction to help make it more bearable.  Now I simply find it so refreshing to spend time with family, immediate and extended. It is amazing how those bonds, no matter the time between visits or distance, seem to build quickly and they renew intently.   The similarities are quickly recognized and the shared memories warm the heart.   I find myself craving for more time and not less time with family to celebrate our connection.

Friends of yesterday years helped influence who I am today; some in small ways, some in large ways and some were just a fun piece of my history.   How I would enjoy reminiscing

with them!  In the past, running away from times in my life when I didn’t have it all together, e.g. high school years, sounded ideal. Now, as the pieces of my life fit, it would be so entertaining to collect some of those former friends and actually connect live, in person and just celebrate life, the fact of what we were and who we are now.   One day we will all be connected again, in a more perfect world and but all of us have come a long way and have hopefully grown.  The past is a blessing and the present is a blessing also.

I find more and more things in this world we live in to smile about and less to worry about as I age.  Cynicism is an attitude.  It is a choice.   It is allowing the negative to underlie everything you see, think and feel.  If I do that, I can’t enjoy the moment.  I worked too hard to be here, at this moment, to not enjoy it.  There is so much good surrounding us if we look and feel with an open heart.

Plus I believe in miracles. I see them every day. I think with a closed mind, you don’t see them.  I have faith and believe God makes things happen all the time.  I didn’t feel this so much when I was younger. This is something I have become more aware of as I have grown older and deepened my faith.  Try adopting this attitude for a while and you may be shocked at what you see happening all around you. 

My favorite memory of old was listening to elderly people tell stories of their life, growing up. 

There was this one lady, Louise, for example. She lived in a nursing home next to my grandparents’ house in Piqua, Ohio. Louise was wheel chair bound and had no legs. When she was younger, she use to attend grand gala events at a huge home in Dayton, Ohio down the street from where I grew up. in Saville Estates. We use to simply call the home the Mansion.   It was easily the biggest house in the neighborhood and towered on a huge hill down the street.  It always looked horrible when I was kid, run down, with huge outdoor pool overrun with weeds, signs of decay on the columns running alongside the walk ways leading to the pool, ivy growing up alongside the house.  

Louise described the house from back in her days, when her relatives owned it.  It was a different day and time. She showed me pictures of her family from outside on the grounds and inside the home.   It was like something from Tara in Gone with the Wind. Simply beautiful!   The pool water was crystal clear with the ladies and gents around the edge of the water in their full body bathing suits as was the custom in those days.   The yard was well manicured and looked as clean and proper as a golf course on the pro tour. 

The day I ran over to Louise’s one bedroom to hear my afternoon of stories and found her room utterly empty only to be told she had died, my heart sunk.  She cannot be replaced.  She brought to life her life to me.

Stories of our life told to younger generations should do that; bring an earlier era to life. Take time to do that. History is best served that way.  I use to crave listening to older people talk about their lives, some twenty and thirty years ago. Those recanting were so much better than a boring history book.   I always wondered what it would be like to have a pocket full of stories like that to tell. 

It is as if I woke up one day and became one of those old women sitting on the front porch.  I have a wheelbarrow full of stories, oodles of wonderful yarns about people I have met along life’s journey. Oh, and tons of stories about me, about history in the making, when microwaves first came out, where I was when the Shuttle blew up, when cloth diapers were used only, etc….  Some of the stories are funny, some sad, some make you think.  All of them have touched me in their own unique way.   Isn’t it amazing how much we learn in life from just everyday living?   It is as if recanting our steps in life we can help someone else vicariously visit the history of us, our legacy. The joy of a story is being taken to a land far far away  without your feet leaving the ground.

As we age, before our feet leave the ground permanently, perhaps we should all consider doing this, tell someone your story. 

....And Then There Was big girl Ava

 I have had many wonderful moments in my life.  Moments where I thought nothing to come would ever surpass the experience.  Events that centered around my family, in particular my children and also there have been places I have visited that were dream vacations for me. 

When I look back, there are far too many to name.  As I age, perhaps it is safe to say that there are

even too many to recall.  Yes, I am getting closer all the time to my Grandma Gliatti’s age and one day, I will look in the mirror and perhaps see a reflection looking back at me that bears even more resemblance to her.

But the one thing I never expected in the line of superior events in life was a little pint sized child to rate up there on the list of most prized moments in life.  That is, any time spent with her is special indeed.  With her unpredictable attitude, a smile that lights up a room and personality bigger than life, she has attached herself to my heart strings and every moment I spend with her is a highlight in my life.

I am talking about none other than my one and only granddaughter.   I think God intended for me to only have one for He knew Ava could not be surpassed. She is a handful so he only gave me one.   (God knows everything; he planned this perfectly!) 

Whether she is gouging up my make up by literally digging into it, and proudly putting it under one side of her face, as she is fond of doing, she turns into a beauty queen who looks like she has been beaten up.  But never mind, she is proud of her cosmetology skills and so am I!

So many times, when I watch her, it is like a slice of the past. She mimics her Aunt Boo Boo, my daughter, in many ways.   Both, as children have no volume control. When they walk into a room, it can be like a tornado hit. No one has any doubt who Ava is just as with my own daughter.  The energy and life they emit is contagious.  Dancing, walking on tippy toes and singing came naturally to Boo just like it does to Ava.  It is amusing to see that many of the same traits Ava’s daddy finds amusing in his own little girl he found irritating as ever in his sister.  Now he has to live with them all over again!   I suppose he has learned to just suck it up! 

The loving nature of Ava is one of the things, when I die, I will miss the most. The way she holds my

cheeks in her hands and looks at me and then kisses me.  My heart melts when I watch her comfort her baby elephant at bedtime and tell him not to be scared that it is bedtime and that she will protect him and it is time to go to sleep.   What a kind caring big heart in a tiny little chest.   It sure makes me proud I brought her daddy into this world. 

When I go to Ava’s house, she immediately tells me to take off my shoes.  That is her way of saying to me she does not want me to leave. She will continue saying it over and over again until I remove them.   It is an endearing trait, like so many others she has.  I sometimes wish I could capture all these little nuances and put them in a time capsule so when she grows up she could look back and see the beauty of what she was as a little girl.   She would indeed be proud.   I know, by then, I won’t be here forever or remember to tell her all of the little details that make her so darn special and uniquely her. 

It melts my heart when she is sad because she is, by nature, a happy child who enjoys life.   When her language processing catches up to her speaking skills, she will not be good at keeping secrets!  I can foresee in the future a blabber mouth of sorts like her aunt!  Oh, not everything, just the things no one wants her to tell anyone! 

Ava is real, Ava is precious, Ava is genuine and Ava is one of my greatest blessings.  When I go to heaven, I will ask but one thing.  I want to be the angel that, every time Ava’s mouth turns into a frown, I can slip back down from heaven and push the corners gently back up into a smile.   And ever so softly whisper in her ear, “I love you, smile, you are Grandma’s big girl!  I have your backside always."

Video Link Below:
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Season Celebration; Coming Home in 2013

With the holidays winding down, now comes the time for reflection of what the holidays meant to me and to us all.  Several times, I could not help but reflect on how my husband and I would approach this Christmas knowing Dan, my step son would no longer be on this earth any longer to be a part, in any way, of our Christmas day, or so I thought/felt.

This holiday is the time of year when good friends become more like family.   Those

family  members we are often too busy, other times of the year, to communicate with, we find time to now.  Even if it is simply to jot off a Christmas wish, a phone call, an email, to let them know they are loved, thought of or wished well for the upcoming year. 

It is the time we say good bye to a year and hello and praise to an upcoming one.  It is a time for rejoicing in memories of the past year, reflection on what went well, and what we learned. And hopefully, a time to draw from the experience and be a better person for our future, no matter how long or short it is.

 As I drove into work on Dec. 26^th, I was thinking about how splendid it had been to be in contact with so many people that are near and dear to me this year during the holiday season.   That is, all except for one, Dan, who we lost in March.   As I pulled close to work, into a mostly deserted parking lot, out of the blue, on the radio, the song we choice for his memorial tribute blasted out of my radio,   “I Can Only Imagine.”  It could not help but remind me that he was signaling to me that he was home, and yet here with us for the holidays.   It was a nice closure to Christmas.

I then reflected further, as the year was winding down, to what the ultimate joy is in

the holiday season for so many of us. As my son once said, as he grew older, Christmas is just not as much fun once you get past the toy stage.  We all go through that period until we realize the true meaning and joy of the season.   I tried to capture some of it on the attached video. It is not just about gifts, it is not just about Santa, nor about our family of origin either. The holidays is more about a feeling, an attitude, a rejoicing in what life is suppose to be about, what we make it, what we do for one another, what we celebrate, what we create as home and who we invite into our home.  Think about it and make 2013 a year to remember. And to celebrate your home!

(Video best viewed in full screen & if you encounter trouble loading it off this site, it is loaded on you tube under above name)

Lessons in Holiday Shoppers

Working retail during the holiday season has reminded me of the worst and the best of the holiday shoppers, that being all of you!  Oh, I have seen it all, from the best of the best to the extreme worst. 

There was the woman that threw a fit because a door buster for $9.99 would make her 25% off coupon exempt.   It stated it on the ad and on the coupon but she was smoking hot. Forget the fact it normally retails for $25.00 and she was getting it for 60% off.  She wanted a manager to personally explain why and until so, she did not want to budge from the counter and let another person be rung out..  Give me a break lady. I was about ready to pull out my wallet and pay the extra $2.50 just to get her to quit blocking up the line! I told my associate to give her the discount and even that displeased her; she still wanted an explanation. I told her to go to the service desk for one. I was only authorized to give her the 25% because she was so unhappy.   Oh brother! 

Then there is the other extreme, the kind gentleman who sees someone short on money and offers to pay the difference for someone in front of him. Or the woman who has a list from a teenager on an angel tree. Never having had children of her own, she not only buys everything on the list but adds a few things to the list for the girl.   Her additions are simple things she asks me to help her pick out.  The extra added list included  a winter coat, leather jacket, prom dress,  2 pair of jeans, coordinating legging outfits and 3 extra tops with matching pants in addition to the items she was suppose to choose from!  She said it was important the girl be happy on Christmas since she had no parents and would feel alone like she did with no children.  This, she said, was her best gift for Christmas to herself. Why is the world not full of more people like this? Does this not epitomize unselfish love and giving a gift without any personal recognition either?  

I love the guy who yelled at my worker when she pulled out her calculator to double check her math. Our calculator was missing one day and the dresses were not ringing up right so we had to mentally calculate the costs and readjust them on our register. She wanted to make certain she had the cost figure right.  When she pulled it out, the man yelled at her assuming she was placing a call with some profanity thrown in there.  When she explained what she was doing, no apology was given.  He did not even react as if he heard her. Of course he didn't for then he would have to admit he was being a jerk.   Some people show their true side when on the other side of the counter, when being serviced instead of servicing others. I duly noted other customers did apologize, for him!  Those others have a conscious and have compassion.  They will certainly get to heaven in the express lane.  He will be stuck in the car wash for his dirty mouth.  

Let us not forget the rude customer service folks behind the counter either.  The one that is snappy with the customers.  They wait for the customer to bring up coupon savings without mentioning it in order to drive up their sales dollars.  If the customer doesn't ask about any deals, the service personnel doesn't either so they drive the sales up.   Most are paid either based on commission or based on sales goals, e.g. sales dollars rung up per hour.  Isn't good service trying to provide customers with savings? I find doing so will net return customers. In fact, they will spend more if I present savings, not less.   Wake up people, be helpful to others and mindful of providing savings to all.   Selfishness is so unattractive and will come around in the end to bit you you-know-where.   Ouch!  Also, how disturbing to have conversations going on among employees when you are there trying to get service. I, as a consumer, hate that, and as an employee, I hate to hear or see that.   Extremely rude! 

The shoppers that are sheer joy are the ones with the faces of love of Christmas and full of the spirit of giving and of the season!  They come in the store full of bounce and zip ready to find gifts for others and, along the way, buy gifts for themselves too. They laugh, smile and speak of their plans. They greet others with smiles, help others with decisions and wish others Happy Holidays with no hesitation.   They appear carefree, full of the light of the light of the season.   They emulate Christmas.   They are why I am here this season; they are contagious to be around.  

It will take a very long time to forget the little boy from hell that came skipping into the department two nights ago.  He was dragging every article of clothing he could reach right along his way, a tornado with a cute little face with moppy blond hair in his face, leaving a massive path of destruction behind him everywhere he wandered. At one point, he wandered away from my department and with him, his parents left also. Yeah!

But that was premature thinking. His mother quickly came flying back towards me, quicker than his feet flew through our entire area,  all the while frantically half yelling for me to help her. She said he was missing.  I called our Security Department immediately.   When I began to describe him, I was met with, “We know who this boy is.  Is this the same boy that was banging his head in the mirror behind you, tearing the bags out behind the register and running in and out of the changing rooms and being a holy terror over there?”   Needless to say, they had not lost sight of him from the minute he walked in the store.  Once he was safely back to his parents arms, he was brought back to my department for a joyful reunion to me. In his exuberance to see me, he proudly stomped his foot on mine as hard as he could, while I was ringing out another customer.   Ah, the love of a cute 4 year old, aka Dennis the Menace.   I wonder if he would recognize what coal is.

The stories I have heard make me feel like I have a better understanding of what bar tenders must hear. It is so wonderful to hear about other people’s lives.  When you are a stranger, and are brought into people’s lives in these rare moments in time around the holiday season, people are so much more sentimental and open.  I have heard such moving stories and learned of such giving hearts. 

Several women have brought their teen age daughters to shop with them and landed up buying them extra things for gifts.  Their unknowing daughters are trying on items in the dressing room and their moms sneak back out front to the registers asking me to put something on hold or an associate I work with so the gift will be a total surprise all the while telling their daughter “no, we are not buying one more thing.”  I wonder what it's like to feel as if not getting a shirt is the end of the world.   When you age, you miss that kind of stress somewhat. As we get bigger, so does our problems, our stressors.    We need to practice what we teach our kids, don’t sweat the small stuff, the name brand sweater is awesome but at the end of the day, how you feel about you matters the most. 

Though the experience is eye opening and a thrilling ride in many ways, nothing can replace the joy outside my working life. If I need reminded, last weekend I got it.  Standing at the register amongst a throng of customers, answering questions, getting pulled this way and that, I thought I detected a familiar voice.  At first I ignored it, but then it came louder and I made out the word, “Grandma.” I knew in an instant it was my grand-daughter Ava.   She was dressed all girly from head to toe and out on a shopping trip with her mommy and came by to say hi.  I was so proud to show her off.   I scooped her up, as soon as I had a chance, to give her a big hug and tell her I loved her.  There is nothing in the store that is as priceless to me as that baby girl or the time I can spend with her.   Christmas is only one day, the time we spend preparing is something we should do all year long. Something to think about, aye?

The Gift of an Autistic Adult Son

It was a long Saturday night at work.  I needed a break and headed over to the coffee stand to get a chai tea.  As I waited for my drink, a woman caught my eye. She was sitting nearby on a bench with her arm around a young man. He was good looking, appeared very shy and had headphones on. Something about him struck me as very different, for starters, he kept his hand downward and seemed to smile a great deal, something I seldom see young people his age do.  

His mother, I presumed, had her arm over his shoulder was lightly rubbing his shoulders with her hands and occasionally bending over whispering something in his ears.   As I glanced over and caught her eye, we exchanged smiles.  Once I got my drink, I went over and asked her about the headphones as they looked quite different to me, larger than normal I thought. It was then she told me that they were a special pair, to reduce sound because her son is autistic and has issues with auditory stimulation. Too much noise over stimulates him so they put those on when in public to cut the noise level down to decrease the incidence of outbursts.  

I told her I had young grandchildren that were autistic and found them to be extremely loving children. She began to tell me the story of her son.  He was her second child. She had been a kindergarten teacher when he was born four years after his brother.   He seemed to be behind early on but she assumed he would catch on and catch up eventually. Once he started in school, he was considered more of a problem child as he was given to fits and being somewhat violent out of frustration and diagnosed with autism at that point. He was removed from public schools as she quickly learned they were not the best equipped, in her opinion, to deal with her son’s needs.   She quit her job and devoted much of her time to getting him into special therapy and classes for autistic children.  

He is now 22 years old, operates at about the age of a three year old and is the one of the biggest joys of their family’s lives.   He is extremely affectionate and asks for nothing in return.   He speaks but is limited in his vocabulary.  The most important thing to a mother and father he can say though, communicate his basic needs.    

He has his  odd idiosyncrasies but that is what helps make him special and unique. For example, he enjoys picking up trash so while we were talking, off he went in a circle picking up some trash some loiters had left on the carpet around us.   His mother watched him all the while with a smile on her face and said she has learned to find his little tasks like this endearing.  There is no use in telling him that the cleanup crews will clean up the pieces of paper he is picking off the carpet.  He derives so much happiness in doing so that to interrupt him would only cause him anxiety and sadness.   If they don’t watch him at home, he enjoys talking all of the toilet paper off of the rolls and the paper towel rolls as well!  These types of things are part of the humor and joy of living with autism.

He cannot tie his shoes but he can wave at people when they address him, and at times, he does. His mother said she was not sure how he would react to me but I could try to say hello to him.   He kept looking my way and smiling so I slowly looked at him and made eye contact a few times. Then I knelt down being careful not to get too close and lightly put my hand on his back right by his mother’s hand, smiled and said hello.  He stared down at the floor, smiled real big and said hello back.  For an autistic person, this is wonderful, this is a welcome, and I was so pleased he accepted me. I told him it was a pleasure to meet him and meant it!  That exchange meant my day,  he was just a sweet young man.

His mother’s story did not end with her son.   This Thanksgiving season has more in store for her family. As she sat there on that bench, so peaceful and full of joy, beneath the surface, she is praying reverently for a miracle.  

I hope those of you reading this will too.  You see, as she sat there, hanging on to her son closely, as if the two of them were the only two people in the world, her world could get quite a bit smaller indeed.

Her husband and her only other son, 26 years old has both been diagnosed with Stage 4 colon cancer. She went on to elaborate and tell me the prognosis is not good and everyone at the church is praying for some sort of miracle. She knows in her heart they will be healed.  However, she is not sure it will be done on earth, as it is looking more likely it will be healing in heaven.  She is accepting God’s plan with the grace she accepted her autistic son twenty two years ago.  They were only at the mall today because both men were having a good day and wanted to get out.  She sat there telling me that she was so grateful that she had her son because one day he may be all she has and she would need him as much as he needs her. 

I told her I would share her story.  Thus, I am.   I believe her faith is beautiful and shows the light of God.   I believe that is partially why her son’s smile is so bright.   I told her of my young grandsons and she offered words of wisdom.  I hope you, that are reading this, will find the time to reach out to this stranger in prayer.  

There is no way I could hear this story and not reflect on my two grandsons, Ty and Jake.  Her son was so good looking and really looked like any other twenty two year old. For some reason, I sensed he was autistic but yet there was nothing about him to clue me into it directly. The woman told me that once you have been around autism you seem to have a keener sense of those that possibly have it than others do.   I believe I met her for a reason.   She was truly inspirational and she loved hearing about our family’s Jake and Ty. 

I also believe, if you think of this woman’s story this Thanksgiving, you will realize you too have a lot to be thankful for and to be smiling about. The image of her, the loving mother,  on that bench with her devoted innocent son sitting next to her wanting nothing but his mother’s unconditional love was precious.  In a world full of unsatisfied wants and needs that seem to be endless, it is refreshing to see quiet acceptance and embracing of what some see as a difficult situation.  Who would imagine  themselves in this situation and sitting anywhere happy and at peace?

May we stop for a moment in our tracks and reflect on what we truly do have. May we rejoice in those gifts.  And last, but certainly not least, bless you for what you bring to God’s kingdom, your uniqueness and the light you shine.  May it continue to shine on earth till our true King calls you home.  

Updated video on Ty Ryan & Jake James Glasmeier Below :

Teresa Marie - You Did It On Your Own!

Sometimes real people are as inspiring as super heroes. It depends on what they do with their life, with their special skills, with their blessings.   There are those that do nothing with them. There are those that make riches, quite literally.  There are those that weave a web of fame or power.  And then there are those that create history, working hard for mankind.   Then there are those that inspire others simply by their human frailty, by their humbleness.   Those special folks that are not looking for accolades from anyone for what they do, they simply give out of the pure goodness of their heart because they love and care about others and believe God’s word says we are to love unselfishly and be there for each other, even when others forsake us.

I remember years ago meeting such a little girl. I was only about 4.  She was beautiful, and had a gorgeous white veil on and a dress that made her look like a mini bride to me. She was singing songs and dancing outside of a Catholic church around a serene image, a concrete statue of Mary that was adorned with flowers.   She was the type of child you knew,  with a glance,  would one day make Mary proud. She would certainly grow up to be  a loving kind happy mother.  She had that look in her eyes that showed a maturity beyond her years.   There was always an intensity about her, a deep passion and yet a need to care for others.  

It took many years before she actually did conceive a daughter.  She did not complain, during all those years in between,  as she had her son. A  second child seemed like something that would never happen in her lifetime. Getting pregnant was not easy anymore.   And the thought of a daughter, not in the cards.  What did she even know of mother - daughter relationships anyways?  Her life had been void of a real stable mother figure anyways how who would be the role model for her? She would have to totally wing it on her own.

One day, the news came that she was indeed pregnant. Not long afterward, I learned that the baby was indeed a girl, a

precious daughter for the little girl with a veil with flowers stuck in her hair and a bride dress on at age six,  with no mommy.   She was now going to be her own little’s girl’s mother.  God wanted her to have a chance to see what she missed. Now she would capture the joy of the experiences from the other side of the relationship she never had!   Her eyes lit up and her heart began to sing, just like they did when she six and went round and around the statue of Mary, singing her songs of praise……

                            

TABOO - Is Breast Cancer a Dirty Word?

It has been a long time since I have curled up on my bed and thought long and hard about what is was like to be there suffering through chemo. Last night I did just that.  I came home, after being asked to leave work early and laid in my bed in the dark just reflecting on that period of my life. Sometimes it seems like eons ago. Other times, it seems like yesterday. It reality, it was five years ago.

I was told at work last night, after less than a week of working at a high end women’s fashion store that being a breast cancer survivor is something I am not to share with anyone. Being a survivor is something other women see as very sad, depressing and is not pretty.  A customer I assisted this week had a pink survivor bracelet on and I congratulated her on her recovery.  She told me she was a two year survivor and had just had her reconstruction completed from her double mastectomy.   The manager did not care to hear any of that; she said any talk of breast cancer is totally unacceptable. No one cares whether I had cancer or not and there is to be no talk of breast cancer in the store.  Breast cancer is sad, depressing and does not make anyone feel pretty. We are in the business of making people feel happy and pretty. If people don’t feel that way, they won’t spend money.  I want sales in my store and for that to happen, women need to be happy.” 

She made it quite clear I am not to mention to anyone ever again that I am a breast cancer survivor.  This discussion took place in the back stock room right after I got to work. All the other employees in the area were quickly told to leave the room as it was obvious I was going to be talked to in private by the big boss.   There were two other items on her agenda discussed but this was the item that really took my breath away.  Quite honestly, I was shocked.

I was told that the effect of me mentioning breast cancer to her business was that it would create a negative spiral and cause no one to want to shop in the store if they knew a survivor worked there.   I am to only talk about the clothes in the store.  She spoke as if I stand around and talk about breast cancer on the job for hours.   No one there knows anything about my battle, not the type I had, where I had treatment, where I lived when I was diagnosed, etc…because I have never discussed a single aspect of it with anyone, including a customer.  

She went on to warn me that my hours will be cut if I am heard bringing up this subject again.  Eventually she would have to let me go, as in lose my employment.  Breast cancer is an ugly thing.   Women will walk past her store and not come in.     She continued to educate me on how she feels the other half of women see breast cancer, seeing women like me as sad and feeling more like what she described as pitiful than compassion towards a survivor.  Customers will then, according to her, not feel beautiful being in the store or want to buy clothing there and will leave not spending money.    She will not stand for me affecting her sales.  Cancer is ugly.    It doesn’t seem to matter that there are signs all over the store about her corporation sponsoring hope for breast cancer, even selling Hope T shirts benefiting breast cancer.    Or that this store is for women, a disease that affects women.

This was repeated to me countless times.   I suppose she thought I had a severe case of chemo brain and wanted to be sure I heard it all correctly and it stayed etched in my brain. I have never, in five years, been made to feel so unclean and ugly as I was last night about the fact that I had breast cancer.   No one has ever looked me straight in the eye and actually said to me that nobody cared that I had breast cancer. Though I know that is not true as I have a wonderful support system, the sting of her words burns in my memory and heart. I find tears stinging my eyes even now when I think of my friends that have died and those that have fought to survive this dreaded disease being cast in this ugly group with me. 

I pride myself on having a positive attitude.  I can’t believe women would discriminate against other women simply because of a disease no one asks for.  But yet, it does exist, in a high end women’s clothing store in mainstream America.  Odd too that it would occur in the South where the disease is even more prevalent.   I had a conversation with only one other customer at this store about breast cancer.   This woman was in the store trying to buy a Hope T shirt in the size large as she could not find it at the other store location.  I asked her if she knew anyone that was affected by breast cancer.  She responded with who she knew.  I told her I was a survivor also and thanked her for her support.  I asked her if she was walking the Komen Walk and when she responded no I simply said thank you for wearing the shirt to show your support.  

However, during this exchange, a young twenty-five year old employee and another employee close to my age were standing idly by as it was slow that evening,  apparently ease-dropping on the conversation.  They must have heard something they found offensive and reported it back to the manager that I had indeed admitted to a customer that I was a breast cancer survivor.  That preempted the need for me to be reprimanded even though this woman was in the store for no other reason but to purchase the shirt for breast cancer.

I think what  I found the most upsetting was her general attitude about breast cancer. It was a reoccurring theme of it being ugly. Yes cancer is ugly,  but to imply that the women who survive it  are somehow perceived as ugly individuals and would somehow discourage other women from wanting to be around them  as it would interfere with their ability to feel beautiful is short sighted and unfair.  Furthermore,  to elaborate and state that women would actually avoid shopping at a clothing store to avoid being near a cancer survivor employee is just plain outrageous.   That mentality went out  years ago; cancer is not contagious.   Her concern is dollars in her store, nothing else. And for this conversation to take place in October, Breast Cancer Awareness Month when the whole country is focused on awareness of one of the top medical issues we are faced with, how hypocritical.  She does not want to know if her customers are survivors, she just wants them spending money. Where is the heart and soul of the business model here towards the true inner beauty of a woman? How can you make a woman beautiful if you are unwilling to unleash her inner beauty also?

Today, I simply retreated, much as I did when I was in treatment.  My objective today was to digest how the world views me, a breast cancer survivor. I am not happy I had cancer, I did not want it, I am sad I had it.  But I am glad, in particular, I put the survivor at east, earlier this week,  in spite of the pain it caused me later in the week.  I am glad because her recent surgery was indeed painful, emotionally more so than physically. She needed to hear, from someone who had been there, right then, at that time, while trying on clothes, she was indeed beautiful. I suppose, in some ironic twist of fate, God put me there. And how twisted it is  that Saturday night I am sitting at the same store, in the back stock room.   Essentially I was being told for the same reason, because I am a breast cancer survivor and revealed it,  I am a deterrent, somewhat ugly, for anyone wanting to shop there.   I am blessed I told a woman the complete opposite earlier in the week on the other side of the wall.  

Earlier in the week, when this one customer told me she was a two year survivor, with that hopeful look that I would understand, I simply said five years for me. We shared that knowing look that says, ‘been there, done that.’ I told her what every women wants to know that has been to hell and back, “You look beautiful.”     I congratulated her and told her she looked awesome.   And we hugged.  

As the customer, a survivor,  stepped back in to the changing room, I was waved up out of the changing area by the assistant manager quickly.  She pulled me over to the side and said urgently, “Do not get close to the customers at all.” I explained to her, the assistant manager, that the customer had whispered to me she just got her final surgery complete on her reconstruction work.   She was a breast cancer survivor.  It didn't matter to her what the customer was going through, she did not want me talking about anything like this.  It is this mentality that this topic if foreign to them and not pleasant. 

It was apparent this assistant manager was upset by her demeanor.   Maybe when you have not walked the road of cancer, you cannot relate to how life changing it can be.  Or maybe you don’t understand how easily survivors naturally bond.  Having a support system when you are out there, trying on new clothes with a new body was wonderful Godsent for this lady. She had her new breasts in place and I was there for her, to stand by silently and give an honest opinion.  She knew I had been where she was just a few years before, without us exchanging a word.  She bought a multitude of clothes that , over $750.00.  

Incidentally, when the customer went to pay for her purchase, the assistant manager would not allow me to ring out her sale at the register. It was my customer and we are paid commission.  The assistant manager took the entire sale as her own. I suppose she was punishing for the exchange about breast cancer. 

Sales numbers and dollars are the only figures my supervisor, soon to be promoted to the district sales manager is concerned about. Here are some real hard numbers to look at also.   2.9 million and 18 million. The first number is how many  cancer survivors there are as of June 2012 in the United States according to the American Cancer Society and the second figure is the approximate number there will be in 2022. Among female cancers, breast cancer is the most prevalent with 41% getting breast cancer. The national norm is 1 out of 8 women get diagnosed.  The single largest group of cancer survivors is breast cancer survivors, making up 54% of all cancer survivors. That is a sizable percent of the buying population. If this manager, soon to be district manager of a female clothing store is correct in her assumptions, this organization is surely in for some rough times ahead!

I suppose I should caution other breast cancer survivors out there to not share their success with others in the work place or run the risk of being reprimanded. But, I leave that up to you to decide.  I will never open my mouth again without hesitating.   The look in her eyes, of total lack of compassion, was unfathomable to me. I had just come from walking the Susan  Komen walk.   I always knew I was prettier before cancer and here someone was pointing it out to me loud and clear. 

Sometimes, as a survivor, you think you are invincible, on top of the world. Then something happens and you feel knocked back down. Usually it is another cancer scare.  I never dreamed it would be a callous comment that would send me reeling.   Last night, I felt hit by a boulder that left me taking a critical look at myself.   At least at first it did.  Now not as much so. 

I hope other women that haven’t had breast cancer don’t look at breast cancer survivors like these three women do.   I pray they don’t.   I wonder, if this attitude is reflective of their company as a whole or just the individuals?   Actually I pray breast cancer survivors are not thought of as ugly, sad pathetic individuals who are bad for business and bring sales down for women’s clothes.  Fighting cancer is hard, is it fair we should also have to fight misconceptions after the fact that are groundless?  Please don’t prejudge us. 

It is hurtful and unfair to be judged based on a diagnosis for anyone, no matter what the diagnosis is and not for who you are as an individual.  Breast cancer does NOT define the person; it is a disease, treated and they hopefully conquered. 

I am strong.    I am a survivor. I will not be silenced.  If I was meant to be, God would have taken me. And yet, I am still here, still standing strong.  

The Good Ole Cheek

Something happened yesterday that reminded me of my grandpa. I was at lunch with my grand-daughter and she kept reaching over and pinching my cheeks with her hands.  In her excitement to see me, she could not contain herself, nor find a way to express it other than just busting out this tight huge smile and squeezing just as hard as she could.  Yep, she had some of the Italian blood in her. I knew then and there, my Grandpa was smiling with joy at his great-great grand-daughter!

When I was a little girl, every time we were met at the door to walk into Grandma Gliatt’s house, Grandpa was always right there behind her all smiles.  The next thing to come was the dreaded cheek pinching.  It was Grandpa’s way of being endearing and no one had the heart to tell him it hurt like hell.   We loved him just the same. His face always had the kindest smile on it with a twinkle in his eye but when he grabbed your cheek and shook it, you prayed the minute went quickly.  When Ava did that yesterday, if I closed my eyes, I could have swore it was Grandpa again coming back to cheek on me again!

 It makes me reflect on just how much time has truly gone by since he passed away, both of my grandparents. They were from Italy and when they died, a rich history went with them.  The stories they would tell us of their life, when we could understand their dialect, which could be a challenge, were fascinating.  I wish I had more time with them to hear more stories.   It helps me understand where I came from, part of who I am today.

An integral part of growing up should be listening to older generations tell stories of days gone by.  These are the best history lessons of life.   Children need exposure to many role models and thrive on adult attention from more than just their parents.  I remember one older senior citizen named Louise that lived next to one of my grandparents.  She was an invalid with no legs.   I use to go over and visit her every time we saw those particular grandparents. She would weave on her big loom and also tell me elaborate stories of her years where she was courted and attending galas and enjoying life to the fullest.  These visits were treasured by both her and me.  It gave Louise an opportunity to share a glimpse back over the wonderful life that she had led.  This mutual time gave me a chance to peak into a world I would never know existed.  

I sometimes wonder, if in this world of modern media, technology and competitive sports for children of all ages is there time or an effort to have children be told stories?  Are they encouraged to bond with elders anymore?  The richness of history can really be found much more in the spirit and stories of those that have lived it.  Young people need to find the time to spend with those that have those experiences while they are here. 

My neighbor in Kettering, Ohio baked apple pies and told me about her children, husband and her years as a school teacher.  I was in grade school but she wanted me to know what life held for me in my future.  She died while we still lived in that house but I knew what kind of woman she was and I admired her.  I aspired to have the kind of heart she had and have the depth of love she had for her kids and her husband.( She was also a great baker! )  

I write my blogs for many reasons.  One of the motivations though is as a legacy. I want the opportunity to leave stories about me behind. I remember so many older people that cared enough about me, as a child, to sit and tell me their thoughts.   They shared their lives with me and I feel I am a better person because of it, their selfless sharing, and their openness.   

We live in a different reality.  There is a fear in society about talking to strangers. In my neighborhood, most of the folks don’t even know each other’s names much less talk to each other.  It is hard to even talk to a child unless the parents are friends for safety reasons these days.   Hence, never would a child come knocking on a door just to talk.

Society also tends to be quite a bit more judgmental.  I think more people are afraid to express these feelings due to the tendency to be categorized as this or that.   I understand that concern, however, I suppose I am a risk taker of sorts.   These women taught me that life is about risk taking.   Leaving my stories and reflections behind is like the old lady who weaved on the loom and sat alone in the retirement home.  If she never talked to anyone, her stories would have died with her.   Silence is not always welcome.  Blessed are those that share and more blessed are those that listen.   Please know, as you read this, I am squeezing your cheek…ever so slightly…      Grandpa Tell Me Bout The Good Old Days by the Judds

                                       YouTube Video Link Above

UG-LY

As I was checking the SPAM comments of my blog page, I took time to view several unpublished comments. I routinely check these incase any reside there in error.   I feel, out of consideration for any potential reader that vests energy into writing feedback, I need to be forthright in checking that folder.

In my searching and scanning for anything of substance, I found the usual comments alright. Most of them, needless to say, listed under SPAM are not, shall we say, suitable for print.  Oh there was everything from the usual "Sex sells" agenda to the personal proposition by someone I have never heard of whom, apparently, has no shame.  I suppose anyone that has a blog is just like anyone that has an email, free rein for unwanted emails and comments.   Geez, reader, if you wanted even a remote chance of a hook up to a blogger, read on.  I would strongly suggest you read the blog and at least attempt to comment on it! There is my dating tip for the day, free of charge.

  

What amazed me, this time, about the comments under SPAM was the sheer volume of comments about one topic,  Uggs.  Let me repeat that incase you think you read it wrong, as I thought I had, Uggs, the boots. I put it in Google it to see what I was missing as there were comments from so many different sources about these boots.   What I learned was that Uggs are quite popular and made from sheepskin. They originated in Australia or New Zealand, apparently depending on which country you ask.  What is in agreement is that they date back as far as the 1950's. What other fashion dating that far back is considered trendy?   

This particular style of boot was worn during both World War I and II by aviators. The styling of the boots makes them functionally comfortable and the added insulation was a nice bonus for the pilots in the small cockpits. This type of boot was worn in the same time period by China and in the Arctic areas also due to the easy availability of sheep shearers, the main product component of the boots.  

  

How funny it is that the name came from a slang term from a woman calling these boots ugly, thus the term 'uggs."   The inside is fleece so they’re super warm and comfy with the outside made of leather (though sometimes synthetic).  In the country of origin they were constructed and worn for practical purposes, warmth and comfort period. They also used this type of construction and brand for slippers.   These slippers began to be popularized in the surfing industry and made their way internationally.  This caught the eye of the United States.  Uggs were work by the US team in 1994 Winter Olympics, Lillehammer garnishing even more notoriety.   

The Uggs are apparently popular and considered quite fashionable by some but deemed by others unattractive. I am told they are extremely comfortable and some women that claim to be, in their own minds anyways, fashion icons, say they are extremely cute. Each individual on my page had personal comments about Uggs about what their individual comments and thoughts were about Uggs as if I had written a blog about the darn boots. Some loved them, others hating them.  That is fashion for you, one person says these are simply to die for and the other person saying this item is a total waste of money, and  I would die before being caught wearing this with a cute outfit! 

Well, what is the average woman to do?  I reflected on the string of comments that had not got published due to being in my SPAM folder and not having one thing to do with my blog.  Oh brother!  Someone raved about what colors looked best, some poor soul without a life actually lamented about how lousy they held up in the rain (as if I care?), there were comments about what not to wear them with, what price to pay, where to buy your first pair of Uggs, what they go best with, and on and on.   It was like reading a monologue that never ends until I just said aloud “Enough!”  I quit reading and just hit delete all, that is SPAM comments with the word Uggs in it!

And yet, it was too late. It was gone from my computer screen, but not gone from my head. All that talk of Uggs was running back and forth in my brain.  It was like they forced me to write a blog about those darn boots. I felt I was somehow possessed by their madness towards these stupid iconic boots. I knew I would not get a moments peace from their idiotic rants they left on my page I read and somehow absorbed.   Here I am, writing about those darn Uggs, just as if they are commenting on my blog that I didn't write, prior to me writing it,  as if I wrote it. Did you follow that? If not, don’t worry, it has to do with their crazy ranting not mine.   

I should have wrote down the emails too.  I could have jotted off a few emails to those women.  They need to know those boots are not to die for.  They are not life altering.  There is a political campaign going on here.  Perhaps putting some of that passion towards our political process might be better spent.   Perhaps following public policy issues verses public fashion might take precedence at this time?  

Oh well, you touch some people’s lives with your blog and then there are those others. More importantly than the telling of a story, is hearing yours, the reader.   When someone opens up to me, ah, that is the real reward.  Shared caring, going full circle is the magic.  

So, I suppose it is with some degree of sadness I read those SPAM messages hoping beyond hope that one day a comment will be something worthy of my time.  But I am not altogether disappointed this time.  Due to this SPAM folder, I learned a great deal. Who knew there was so much to learn about Uggs?  And, if you can’t go through a day and learn something new about anything, a day is wasted.   And I may have just come up with another idea for my birthday list in November, to boot!