Author Archives: chenson70

No making sense of it

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I have told many people that the biggest reason I write is because it is therapy for me.  Regardless of whether anyone read my blog or not, I would continue to write.  I do it for sanity.

And I need to write today more than ever.  The tragedy in Newtown, Connecticut, is shocking. How do you hear the news that 20 children between the ages of 5 and 10 have been killed and not think that you have misheard or gone a little crazy?  How do you not sit down and do the thing that helps you feel sane again?

But I’m not feeling more sane.  I feel insanely sad.  My nieces and nephew are between those ages.  I could throw up just thinking about someone shooting them.

I was in a meeting from 9 AM until 2 PM today and I had little knowledge of anything going on outside the four walls of the room.  I left work a little early and walked outside into some beautiful, sunny weather.  I checked my Facebook and saw all these updates on “shootings” and “tragedy” and “sick about CT” and “I will hug my child tight”.  I turned on NPR and quickly learned about what happened.

It’s so disconcerting to juxtapose a beautiful, sunny Friday with a tragedy.  It felt surreal to be driving home, listening to the details.

I do not agree with the majority of President Obama’s policies, but I will applaud him for his news conference today.  He did a great job.  I found myself crying in the car.

I’m just furious at the shooter.  I want to call him evil.  I want to paint horns on him and automatically assume that he had no morals, no conscience, no soul.  And maybe he didn’t.  Right now, all my anger is at Adam Lanza.

He had to have mental issues.  Didn’t he?  Doesn’t there have to be some sort of underlying mental health disease that would trigger a person to do something so evil?  I so want to believe that acts this ugly can’t be committed otherwise.

I am not casting stones on people with mental health issues.  I’ve struggled with my own mental health problems in the past, fighting depression.  But I have never, ever, not once in my whole life had one thought about hurting another person.  And I thank God for that.

I did some intensive group therapy once and one of the women in my group did think of hurting others.  She also heard voices.  But I also knew her very violent and abusive background.  And she was trying to get help.  I had a lot of sympathy for her.  She hated having these thoughts.

I have no sympathy for Adam Lanza.  Is it because he actually acted on his thoughts?  Or because I didn’t know him and his story?

In the end, I don’t have to have sympathy for him.  I can have a world of anger and that’s ok.  But the anger at him still doesn’t help me make sense of this tragedy.

I do not believe that “it was just God’s plan”.  That is one of the most asinine statements.  I don’t believe that God enjoys seeing us suffer.  I believe that He wanted Adam to get help, to stop, to make the right choice — and what happened “was just Adam’s plan.”  Adam made it and Adam  carried it out (at least based on what little I know right now where the media is calling him the shooter).  I believe that God is crying with us.

This is mostly an incoherent rambling of thoughts, but in the end, my prayers are with the parents, children and people of Newtown, CT.  My prayers are also with every parent and child as they deal with the scariness of this story.  May you all get through this.

JOYful holidays

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This picture perfectly illustrates how I have felt about the holidays for, oh, about the last 20 years.  I saw this image on Pinterest the other day and I laughed out loud because it is funny, but then I started to think about how much I related to the picture.

I grew up in Christmas tree farm country.  Lots of people make their living growing and selling Christmas trees, so they are not just a tradition that brighten and decorate the house once a year, they are a source of income and security for lots of families.

I dated and lived with a Christmas tree grower for many years during my 20s, so I was a “Christmas tree widow” for 10 years.  And you really do lose your loved one to the fields during the harvest season — only about 6 weeks to make the income for the whole 52 weeks of the year.  The pressure is high and the work days are long.

And in the end, you get a Charlie Brown Christmas tree.  They weren’t quite as bad as the one pictured to the left, but we always got the left over, culled trees.  The good trees were sold, not saved for the house.

These years began my disenchantment with the holidays.    Even after the Christmas tree grower and I finally split the Christmas tree ornaments for good, I had little joy in the Christmas season.

I would turn the radio station when Christmas carols came on;  I stopped getting a Christmas tree; I hated shopping for Christmas presents because of the crowds.  The only thing that I liked about Christmas was the reason behind it:  Jesus’s birth.

This year, however, ring the bells!  Ding dong!  The witch is dead.  Or, sticking with the theme, Scrooge has seen all three ghosts and converted.  I am actually enjoying this holiday season.  I enjoyed decorating the Christmas tree.  I even put lights on a tree outside!  Yesterday, I went to Wal-Mart and found myself dancing in the aisles to the cheery Christmas music on the speakers.  I realized what I was doing when I noticed that one little boy kept standing at the end of whatever aisle I was in, watching me.  Once I realized what he was doing, I put some extra wiggle and kick into each aisle.  I figured the kid should get rewarded (or punished depending on his point of view) for stalking me in Wal-Mart.

The difference in this year and past years — this year I’m not depressed.  That bitch disease has been stealing Christmas from me — depression is The Grinch!

I’ve gotten my Christmas present early this year — I’m dancing in the aisles again (literally).  I hope your presents are as awesome as mine has been.

Straightening out the nose-mating opossum myth

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I love it when you find unexpected information on the internet.

me:  I saw a possum in the backyard when I pulled in the driveway last night.  Wow, they are just ugly.

Matt:  Yes, they are.  (pause)  I don’t think they have any natural predators.

me:  Well, let’s see.  I’ll google it.

Quick Google search and I found a site called “The Possums Pages:  FAQs“.  I found out that 1) in America that they are properly called opossums (true possums only live in Australia) and 2) yes, natural predators are foxes, bobcats, coyotes, dogs and owls.

me:  This guy really must love the ugly little bastards.  There is all kinds of stuff on this site.  Oh, my god, listen to this–

Do opossums really mate through the nose?  This is a myth that has been around for ages and has become so prevalent that I actually have seen a few websites about opossums which state it as a fact.  The truth is, there is no truth to it.  The whole crazy idea seems to have come about because the male opossum has a bifid (forked) penis, and the only corresponding parts on the female appeared to be the nostrils.  The myth states that after mating through the nose, the female later sneezes the tiny fetuses into her pouch.  Rather than indicating what a unique animal the opossum is, this story actually just reveals how bizarre some people are in what they can imagine.  In reality the male has a bifid penis because the female has two uteri (wombs), and sperm are deposited into each womb during copulation.  But mating occurs through the vaginae (sic), not through the nose.

Matt:  Did you just say, “she sneezes the fetuses into her pouch?”  Did I actually hear that come out of your mouth?

me:  Yes, that’s what it said.

(I continue to read opossum facts.)

me:  Here’s the next one:

What are male and female opossums called?  Male opossums are called jacks, females are called jills.  (Sound familiar?)  The young are referred to as joeys, just like their Australian cousins.  A group of opossums is called a passel.

Matt:  A what?

me:  A passel.

Matt:  Are you pronouncing that correctly?

me:  Yes, it says a passel.  A passel of opossums.  That’s hysterical.  Say it.  A passel of opossums.  (laughing)

Opossum guy, I have new respect for the ugly opossum because of your FAQs.  Well done.

Beauty isn’t always as plain as the nose on your face

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I rarely get on soap boxes, at least publicly.  It’s just not my thing.  But there is one topic about which I am passionate — little girl’s self-esteem and the constant messages about what is “beauty” and “pretty” and “normal”.  If you’ve ever seen a three-year old little girl in a bathing suit, she is completely body unself-conscious.  Visit her again in about 4 years (6 if you’re lucky), and you will find a little girl who has already started to worry about weight, who has already started to compare herself to the other little girls to see if she “fits in.”

It makes me livid.  Because self-conscious little girls can grow into self-questioning little girls, into teenage girls with self-esteem issues, into girls that make poor choices in a desire to be accepted, in hopes of being thought pretty, in pursuit of fitting in.  And what rips me is just whose definition of pretty and fitting in and acceptance is it?  Whenever I look at a magazine or TV or any mass media, I want to take a Sharpie and draw bulges and lines where the model’s body really is, pre-Photo-Shopping.  I have two beautiful nieces, and I dread the time that they believe that the world’s expectations of beauty are based on photos of people who have themselves been altered to represent an unrealistic vision of beauty.

I am ranting based on my experience and my own non-scientific analysis of the world in which we live.  I haven’t read formal studies, but  I remember my own childhood.  I grew up in a very female-dominated atmosphere.  My mama had 6 sisters and, on most Sundays, the sisters and their families gathered at my grandparent’s house.  Thus, for the Sundays of my childhood, my cousins and I spent time in a house full of females, discussing their lives.  A common comment that we girl cousins heard from these aunts’ and mothers’ mouths was “I am so fat.  I need to lose weight.”

This statement was never directed to anyone else.  It was always self-directed and normally met with a chorus of “No, you don’t.”  Yet, the message that we heard was “Fat is BAD!  Bad. Bad. Bad.”

Regardless of the fact that we children were told “You are beautiful.  You do not need to worry about how you look.  You are beautiful”, it didn’t matter because our female role models were always talking about being fat.   I internalized that message and in talking to my sister and my female cousins, so did they.  My self-esteem about my looks suffers now because of this and because I am not 6’4″ tall and 95 lbs., which is the body type for all clothes.

My mama used to say “Pretty is as pretty does” — and it is so true.  But no one should think they are ugly.

As an additional thought, I have some songs that I think are good songs for sharing.  These songs underscore the beauty to be found in all “little girls”:

Who Says?

Selena Gomez & The Scene

Beautiful

Christina Aguilera

Free to Be Me

Francesca Battistelli

The Beauty in Ugly

Jason Mraz

Happy Girl

Beth Nielsen Chapman

Don’t You Know You’re Beautiful

Kellie Pickler

Smile! You’ll live longer (or so happy people say…)

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I don’t actually have much to say.  I just wanted to share some short videos (1 min or less) that I watch whenever I need a pick-me-up, whenever I need to smile.  And who doesn’t need those little attitude boosters every now and then?

Tucker

I love this sooo much.  The description says that Tucker wasn’t trained to do this (which may or may not be true) but that he just does this everyday on his own.  I love to think that this dog just feels the need to express his artistic side.  If you really want to smile, read some of the viewer comments.

Keep Swimming

When I get frustrated, I tell myself “Keep Swimming.”  Dorie may have sung this, but my friend, Wendy, sent me this clip (*waves* Hi, Wendy), so I also think about her whenever I watch this.  And she is my example of pure energy–she is a dynamo.  That image also makes me smile (and giggle).  It may be dog paddling some days, but I’m swimming, damn it.

Cali Dancing

This is a video of my niece, Cali, dancing.  She had just gotten a new toy bear that sings “The Pina Colada Song”.  She is so happy and so free in dancing and expressing her joy.  It is just all about living in that moment for her.  My heart is gladdened when I see this.  And why shouldn’t it be?  It’s a bear and “The Pina Colada Song”!!  If it were a parrot, say, and “The Pina Colada Song”, eh, I probably wouldn’t dance.  That’s not that worthy of bootie-shaking.  But a bear and pina coladas — worth getting on the dance floor every time!

Feel free to add my videos to your arsenal of favorites.  Or let me know what your favorites are for putting on a smile.

Ghost of Christmas future

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I did our weekly grocery shopping yesterday and on the way out the door, I spotted what I thought was an “Angel Tree” for local needy children.  You know, pick an “Angel” with a child’s name and a list of the gifts that they want and / or need for Christmas.

Instead, this was a “Senior Tree”–a tree for needy senior citizens.  I had never seen such a thing.

I am always saddened by the Angel Tree kids that ask for notebooks and pencils, gloves, socks, a winter coat, all those things that seem like necessities and not like fun, playful gifts for Christmas.  I guess one version of Heaven will be a world where kids don’t have to ask for basics but can ask for (and get) frivolous gifts, gifts that they totally don’t need but just want.

The gifts that the Seniors asked for broke my heart as much as a kid asking for school supplies for Christmas.  I picked a senior named Sarah who asked for a sweat suit, some chocolate, some tissues and a soft blanket for her bed.

I went back to the store tonight to buy all the items for which Sarah asked.  And being a contemplative person, I naturally started to think about my (I-hope-I-have-them) senior years.

Matt and I don’t have any children, either with each other or with other people.  For me, a childless state isn’t something that I consciously chose–it just kinda happened this way.  One path taken, another path missed, a spell at this rest stop, and ta-da, before I knew it, I was in my late 30s, still single with no children.  Matt and I met; he reluctantly fell in love with me (I fell in love more willingly with him) and we married, but we both knew that at this point in our lives, we didn’t want to have children.

One of my greatest fears is that I will be old and alone.  I guess I could add at this point the cliché about having 30 cats, but I won’t.  (Well, actually, I just did, but I didn’t mean to.)  Who is going to take care of us when we get old?  Who is going to make sure that we are ok?  If Matt goes before I do, then I’m really going to be alone.  I really hope that I go first.  (Sorry, Matt, if that seems selfish.  It is, but I’ll be dead so you shouldn’t be mad at me.)

I hope Matt and I look happier than this when we're this old...

I hope Matt and I look happier than this when we’re this old…

Matt has wisely pointed out that having children doesn’t necessarily mean that you will have someone to care for or about you when you are old.  I know that.  But my imaginary children that I raise in response to seeing how poorly other people are raising their children are so well behaved that I just know that they would take care of us and love us and feed us and change us.  (My imaginary children also always do their homework, never talk back, obey without question, and respect me unreservedly.  I’m that good of an imaginary mother.)

It is very scary to think that in 20 to 30 years, somebody could be pulling a card off of a Senior Tree with the name “Cristy” on it.  Will they be as saddened as I was by Sarah’s card?  I’m going to start stocking up now on tissues and chocolate so that I can ask for some fun stuff.

Here’s my prayer:

If I ever have a card on a Senior Tree, Dear Lord, please let me have enough friends and loved ones to visit me and provide companionship, remember me on my birthday, buy me sweatsuits and food that I like, send me emails and letters, and remind me that I am loved so that I can ask on my card for:

  1. Dr. Dre headphones (to listen to my 80s-90s Rock w/o disturbing my roommate)
  2. Some exercise bands to stay in shape to fight the other women for the limited men at my age
  3. Good mixer to make mashed potatoes (to fight the other women for the limited men at my age)
  4. Two words:  PLASTIC SURGERY

Amen.

Pinterest is making me crazy

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I am convinced that “another pinner says” is the new equivalent to “an unnamed source” — there may or may not actually be a person who tried that recipe, made that craft, used that home remedy to remove stains.  My guess is that in most cases, “another pinner” actually refers to some corporation or other invested party because some of these things DO NOT WORK and no actual person would recommend or pin or repin.

The alternative is that I am a bumbling, incapable individual.

This may be the ultimate truth.  I would like to believe that it is my Pinterest conspiracy theory and not a mid-life deterioration of my abilities.

CASE STUDIES:

Someone pinned this FABULOUS recipe with only TWO ingredients for AWESOME pumpkin muffins — canned pumpkin and yellow cake mix.  I have seen it pinned and repinned.  Potentially some of the grossest food I have put in my mouth.

TWO INGREDIENTS — how could I have messed it up?  But it sucked.  Yet it still keeps getting passed around the world of Pinterest.

Easy to make Christmas tree ornaments.  Three ingredients to make your own clay (corn starch, baking soda and water), shape and bake, then decorate.  Do it with YOUR CHILD!  How hard could it be (repeat: do it with YOUR CHILD!).

Here is photographic proof of how hard it was:

Matt walked in and said, “Those are some ugly cookies.”  I had to say, “No, those are some ugly Christmas tree ornaments.”

I’ve been making Christmas tree ornaments as gifts for the last 8 years.  None has turned out this bad — but this is the first year that I got the idea from Pinterest.  Coincidence?  I DON’T think so.

Am I the only one actually trying to make the items on Pinterest so am the only one seeing that the shit on there is just pretty to look at and not really do-able by the Average Joe?  If so, that’s ok, but let’s call a spade a spade.  Pinterest should be a website about things we dream of doing, cooking, making, seeing, tasting, reading, dating, wearing, decorating, living in, etc. but don’t have any intention of actually getting off of our asses and doing.  “My Wish (but will never do) List”

I would have saved a whole lot of time today.

My dreams are paying me back for being mean to rodents

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I just spent the majority of the last 24 hours in bed with a migraine.  It sucks but is a fact of life for me.  Right now, I feel fine but weak.  Knock wood, this one is gone.

I had one crazy dream while I was asleep.  I am a vivid dreamer.  Sometimes I dream these really complex story lines.  I wake up and think, “Wow, if I could just write that down, I would make a million dollars from being an author.”  Sometimes, I compose music in my dreams.  It is always really beautiful to me.  For the first 10 minutes or so after I wake up, I can usually remember it, but then it is gone.  The 99% of my brain that I am not using is f’ing brilliant, people.  The 1% that I am using–meh.  So-so.

This afternoon, I dreamed that Matt and I went to this party.  It was what I would describe as “New Age-y”, if I ever got invited to a New Age party.  The hostess broke us up into teams and we played word games and such.  It was not a mix-n-mingle party.

The hostess, in my dream, had 5 pet squirrels.  When we finally broke for snacks, the 5 squirrels attacked me.  I learned (via my dream) that I can not protect my face from 5 squirrels.  Four squirrels, yes; but I am overwhelmed by five.

I never had an unhealthy dislike (or fear, it would seem) of squirrels until I met Matt.  He detests squirrels.  Hates them.  Tries to run over them with his car and laughs with glee when he is successful.  He deemed our wedding day a “lucky day” because they hit a squirrel on their way to the church.

I sent him this picture once that I found on the internets and it may be his favorite:

Another one bites the dust.

Now, my subconscious is paying me back by sending me dreams of squirrels attacking my face.  *sigh*  It’s true–no snarky deed goes unpunished.

______________________________

On a different note, I’ve been working on our Christmas card for this year.  I showed it to Matt tonight for his thoughts and we changed a few things around.  I dumped it into the cart for checkout and then had a reality check when I saw the final bill.

I love my friends and family, but I really don’t need to spend that much money so that you can get a Christmas card from me with our picture on it.  Do I?  I don’t think so…so, you’ll be getting regular, non-photo-ID Christmas cards from me.  Maybe with a picture of Jesus on them, instead.

Here’s a screen shot of what the card would have looked like so you don’t feel like it’s a total bag of coal Christmas.

Merry Christmas from the Elders (seems a little ridiculous to also sign)

Cross-country chronicles

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As a lifetime resident of the same state, I just spent my second Thanksgiving away from home.  The first time was during my semester abroad when I had a good excuse for not flying home for Thanksgiving.  This year, Matt and I decided to fly across country to visit my sister and her family.

I have only heard tales, urban legends, about holiday travel.  The lines, the delays, the crowds, oh my.  It wasn’t that bad, but I am very grateful that we got to see my sister and her family with relatively minor incidents.  Some, though, are just worth repeating.

________________________________

Scene:  Flight from Charlotte to Salt Lake City; 7:30AM

I am reading my SkyMall magazine, doing what I always do–wondering if people actually order things from the SkyMall magazine, like the $300 Star Wars chess set.

Matt:  They are taking us back to the terminal because there is a medical emergency on board.

me:  Really?  What’s going on?

Matt:  See the guy two rows behind us?  He’s unresponsive.

Flight attendants are standing around the guy, asking him, “Sir, sir!  Can you hear me?”  The guy said something that I couldn’t hear, but then I heard the attendant say, “How much did you have to drink?”  It became clear that the guy was just stinking-ass drunk.

Drunk guy:  I need to get to Seattle.  I’m going to Seattle.

Attendant:  No, we’re taking you back.  You shouldn’t be on a long flight.

We waited and waited to go back to the terminal.  Then they had to pull us to a gate and people with a wheelchair came on board to get the Drunk guy.

Attendant:  Sir!  Sir!  Can you hear us?  We need to get you off the plane.

Drunk guy:  Where are we?

Attendant:  We’re in Salt Lake City.  You took quite a nap.

Drunk guy:  I gotta get to Seattle.

Captain (of the plane, y’all):  No, you gotta get off this plane.  (You could almost hear the ominous music).

Attendant:  Come on sir!  (Pulling him up.)

Drunk guy:  DON’T touch me!  I’ll go with you, but don’t touch me.

It was the Perfect response.  Have you ever noticed when someone is drunk and someone gets too close to them (in a non-sexual way), everyone always pulls out the “Don’t touch me!” line?  Like, “hey, everyone….I’m being all reasonable and stuff and it’s this asshole who is touching me that is crossing the line.”

After they got the Drunk guy off the plane, they had to put more fuel in the plane because turning back to the terminal used so much fuel that we might not have made it to Salt Lake City.  Wha?  Isn’t that cutting it a bit close?  I could have totally lived the rest of my life without that bit of information.

_______________________________

On my flight from Salt Lake City to Seattle, I sat beside an extremely gawky and large 12-year boy.  He picked his nose a lot.  Matt asked me what he did with his “findings” — I had to admit that I didn’t know because I was trying to avoid looking.  I hope that he wasn’t flicking them my way.

Then the little girl sitting behind me threw up.  A couple of times.  It was righteous.

________________________________

It was very wet in Seattle.  A lot of rain.  Did you know that they just voted to legalize marijuana?  But I still had to go to the pharmacy to get my Advil Cold and Sinus with pseudoephedrine.

I’m a fickle dog person.  Ashleigh and Dan have a French bulldog, Lola, and she was a sweetie pie.  So, now I want a Frenchie.  A bulldog, people.  I’m too tired to be thinking about anything else.

Lola, the Showgirl

Grateful that I don’t have to be grateful any more

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Today I am grateful that it is not a law that I write a blog about being grateful every day.  It was sucking the fun out of writing a blog.  I was beginning to approach blogging like a chore, a drudge, a (*gasp*) job.  Enough’s enough!  This is supposed to be fun.  No more self-imposed blogging every day.  I’ll write when I have something to say, whether it’s interesting or not.

But I do have a month’s worth of things for which I am grateful.  I’ll just list them instead of writing about each:

  1. Family and friends
  2. Sister
  3. Chocolate soy milk
  4. antidepressants
  5. Elastic waist bands
  6. Digital libraries
  7. Harry Potter books
  8. air conditioning
  9. hugs from my husband

Actually, I’m having a hard time coming up with my list.  I think that I’m distracted by hunger because I just started to list “Cinnamon Life Cereal”….

I’ve had several bad days recently–no sleep, a cold, work-related stress.  I have a picture that perfectly expresses my mood.  It’s a picture of my roommate from freshman year in college, Grace* (*not her real name).  She was in the middle of what we called an “all-weeker” (instead of an “all-nighter”) during finals week.  I’ve never sympathized with Grace more than this past week.  I’ve wanted to give the whole world the bird.

Grace, I feel your pain.