Monday, April 20, 2015
This week, I had someone at work ask me why "I am the way I am." Baffled, I think I uttered some lame excuse about my dad dying when I was 7....although I am still unsure what I was making excuses for. Although I didn't care to ask her what she thought was so horrible about me, I am angry at myself for making an excuse or giving her an answer. She certainly didn't deserve either.
Saturday night, after an evening with friends and a few glasses of wine, I laid in bed talking to Joe, telling him that very story. And I think I had an epiphany when I finally said "I hate my job. They just make me feel bad about me every single day." Joe said I was very profound because or in spite of the wine. Either way, I came to a very important conclusion.
I am happy with me in spite of my bumps, warts, and all out flaws. I like my life (other than work), love my family and thoroughly enjoy where I am at these days. I have a few people who love me for who I am and I honestly don't need the masses to love me too. It's alright with me if it's 3 people plus my cat who think I am okay. Really.
And in telling this to my mom, she reiterated what I somewhat already knew--that people are not comfortable with you being comfortable with yourself. I do not look for acceptance from everyone--especially co-workers. I honestly don't care if you approve of my clothes, my hair, my personality "flaws" or my refusal to shop at Kohl's. I'm okay, even if you are not okay with my being okay. Does that make sense?
I am me and I am good with that. Oh sure, there is a line around the block who will tell me what is "wrong" with me, but I'm choosing not to listen. And while there may be a moment or two when I'm tired or not feeling well when I will doubt my inner voice, for the most part, that voice will kindly tell you to stuff it.
It is what it is.
Saturday, April 18, 2015
April has been exceptionally warm here, so Spring cleaning the house has been difficult as the yard and garden beckons. Also beckoning is Hobbes--he absolutely LOVES if we are out in the yard with him, so he marches in often to announce that it is time for everyone to go outside. It is very distracting....and annoying.
Also very tempting.
Thursday, April 16, 2015
This was right when Joe and I started dating. He is dreamy, isn't he? In his shorty-short swimming trunks with just a hint of sunburn.....
Tuesday, April 14, 2015
There is something about the smell of chlorine that transports me back to those memories of living in that damn pool for 4 years. I remember wearing two suits for practice and covering up our lightweight, too-thin Speedos for meets. It was Cheryl and I, yucking it up on a team that was pretty weak and didn't win a whole lot. Not the same could be said for us--we placed pretty regularly. Good times. *sigh* Good times.
Cheryl texted me the other night to tell me that one of our swim coaches, Mr. W, passed away the other day. This news really touched me as Mr. W was such a big part of our swim team days in high school. He was just one of those cool teachers that went beyond the job and did so much for us--taking us on ski trips and reffing "animal ball", which was basically water polo with no rules. He took my brother and some other students camping and canoeing to the boundary waters in Canada--a trip my brother remembers as life-changing.
W was there to guide us in our goofy years, but never trying too hard to be our friend. Instead he was a guiding force, silently frowning when we went too far or too wacky, but laughing when the antics were harmless and silly. He once boosted me and Cheryl over the railing to the second-floor viewing stands to avoid a boyfriend who was waiting outside the pool door.
When I read the news, I actually cried. I was sad to hear of the loss of someone we all loved so dearly. I guess it just finalized those memories for me. We are older, W is gone. It was sad news.
I needed to swim yesterday, to remember the man who was such a big part of my swimming "career." I decided I'd dedicate my mile swim to him--silly, I know, but I wanted to thank him in my own way for instilling the love of swimming in me.
As I eased into the pool, I told Lupe the story of Coach W and that we lost him this week.
"I'm swimming for W today, Lupe" I told him. And then I noticed that a few other swimmers were sort of half listening to my story.
"Okay. Let's ALL do a lap for Coach W!" I yelled. And the lady next to me yelled "YEAH!" in return. (I love these people at the pool)
It was like swim team days all over again.
Monday, April 13, 2015
Joe and I worked our hineys off in preparation of spending the day at the ballpark on Sunday. So, Saturday was spent house cleaning, assembling a new patio table, mowing and fertilizing the lawn, and firing up the waterfall for the pond. We then spent the evening moaning how sore we were and anticipating what we were going to eat at the game the next day.
"I love the smell of the bratwurst at the park," I told Joe.
"Yeah, me too. But, I want to try something else this time," he chimed in.
"Yep. I always think I'm gonna try the Tex Mex or the hamburgers, but the damn bratwurst smell always gets me."
"Okay, so I'm gonna be strong. No bratwurst for me! I'm gonna just smell the smell and go find something new to eat for a change," I announced.
So, that was the plan. We were gonna hang tough, fight the urge to just eat the bratwurst because it always smelled so good---but we were gonna try something new.
And we did. We both got the Tex Mex--me the nachos, Joe the burrito--and we enjoyed them. I was so dang proud of myself of mixing it up that when I finally sat down to enjoy it, I proceeded to spill my beer....into my shoe.
So, me AND my foot had a really nice time at the game. Plus the White Sox won too.
Sunday, April 12, 2015
Saturday, April 11, 2015
Yeah, I get into trouble.....a LOT.
(Disclaimer: I was flipping through old photos when I found and posted this one--not knowing that this was actually the 150th anniversary of the death of President Lincoln. I posted this to be silly and meant no disrespect, knowing full well the Lincoln boys were chock full of mischief themselves and their parents found it all amusing. I apologize if I offended anyone--I truly meant no harm.)