Bag Lady

I was 15 when I got my first purse.  It had a long strap that allowed it to hang at my waist.  It looked like something a hippie, flower child would have.  My grandmother bought for my trip to California.  A small wallet held my new driver’s license, a card with emergency numbers and $10.00 emergency money.  My passage into womanhood had begun.

As a young wife beginning my working career, I made the switch to more grown up and conservative purse.  It held a wallet along with a brush, lipstick and my checkbook.  As I added children to my life, my purse became much larger. Style was not important.  Cheap vinyl and many pockets were all that mattered.  It held the basics and crackers, a small bag of Cheerios, Kleenex, band aids, and an assortment of small toys.    I always had paper and pen to entertain the kids.  The onset of panic attacks in my life added a bottle of Valium to the mix.

As my life became complicated and I slipped into addiction, my choice of purses changed as well.  I needed much larger bags now.  Style wasn’t as important as functionality.  The wallet held the usual items as well as rolling papers. Mini bottles of booze along with cigarettes and a lighter were required items.  Breathe mints, eye drops, bottles of pills, and spare deodorant were needed items.  Organization was lost and things were thrown into the bag without thought.

After sobriety, life changed along with my purse.  I still preferred larger bags with lots of pockets.  Over time, I became more courageous and chose vibrant colors and designs.   Now the more essential items were my meeting schedules, antacids, and candy.  My wallet once again contained money, a checkbook, pictures, and credit cards.

Today I carry a smaller satchel type bag.  I have a huge wallet that holds all the basics along with 20 key cards for discounts stores.   The wallet comes with a detachable strap so I can carry it alone.  A pill box is a necessary addition.  One of the most important things in a purse is an outside pouch for my cell phone.   Inside the purse is a phone charger, extra hidden car keys car, a small notebook to capture ideas for writing and a variety of pens.  Since I am a college student now, I also carry a huge backpack/book bag .

I wonder what my purses will be like in the coming years.  I am getting older and I am sure the changes in my life will bring changes in my purse and the treasures inside.  I imagine I will always own a purse even if I don’t get out much.   It holds so many things that are important in my life.   They say that to dream about a purse represents secrets, desires and thoughts that are being closely held and guarded.  It symbolizes your identity and sense of self.   You know, I think that might just be true.

Running On Empty

The other day my friend sent me a picture of her gas gauge with bars showing she had no miles left until empty. We laughed and talked about knowing better.   This morning the gentle dinging sound as I started my car reminded me that I needed gas. I should have stopped last night but it was rainy and I was tired. I looked at my gauge and the needle was teetering close to the little line that says, “you will be sorry if you don’t fill this car up NOW.” Yes, I have run out of gas before and it is not a pleasant experience. Once again, I was running on empty.

I tend to do the same thing in other areas of life.  I stay up too late when I have to get up early.  I don’t eat healthy, nutritious food.  I don’t exercise enough…or I just don’t exercise. I don’t play and have fun.  I isolate and don’t talk about things that concern me.  I spend too much time being negative and worrying.   I don’t take  to journal or write.  I forget about quiet time to meditate and pray.  Eventually my light comes on and I see the signs very clearly.  I am running on empty.

It is time to fill up my tank.  The car is an easy fix.  I just pull into the gas station and fill it up.  Of course, with gas prices these days, it isn’t as easy as it used to be.  Filling up my personal tank can be a challenge, too.  I am working part time and going to college almost full time.  Writing papers, studying, and preparing for class all take a lot of time.  I have to pay bills and do time consuming things like laundry and cleaning.  There are also all the day to day activities that get in the way.

I am exactly like my car.  I have to fill my tank.  I can wait until I am almost on empty and push to see how much  farther  I can go before I breakdown  on the side of the road or I can do the smart thing and refill at any time along the way.   I imagine I am still going to push it from time to time, but I am going to try to do better.  I still have a roadside assistance plan for my car…. just in case.

Remembering An Old Friend

I looked at the updated syllabus covering the rest of the semester. Our academic writing professor didn’t want to overwhelm us with what was to come next so he only gave us assignments up until Spring break. The first thing that caught my eye were the instructions to read chapters 1-5 of Catcher in the Rye. Catcher in the Rye is a book that holds some very significant and bitter-sweet memories for me. My mind raced back to my senior year in high mmschool.

My grandparents sent me to a very small, private Baptist high school. Most of my classmates were affluent and many had been in elementary and junior high together. I was just as much a misfit and outsider here as I was in other areas of my life. I ate lunch with a small group of three girls. Our conversations were often strained and usually boring. In my junior year, I became friends with Eileen. We took Driver’s Ed together the summer before our junior year and, we both had a crush on our instructor. It was truly a bonding experience. Her mother was the school secretary, so Eileen attended school for free. That made her a bit of misfit as well. She was pretty and smart but still an outsider. I loved having a friend at school. It made my last two years more tolerable.

The first day of our senior year we met the new English teacher. Miss Foster was young, and this was only her second year of teaching. I was immediately drawn to her. She paid attention to me in class and encouraged me. Most of my other teachers classified me an underachiever. “She is so very smart but just doesn’t apply herself,” was the verdict. No one ever bothered to ask why I didn’t apply myself. Miss Foster said I could be a writer.

Eileen stayed after school everyday waiting for mother who worked until 4:30pm. I walked about ten blocks to my grandmother’s office to wait for her. Most days I stayed and hung out with Eileen for a while. We started going to Miss Foster’s classroom at the end of the day. We would all sit around and talk. She told us we could call her Bitsy after school. We even convinced her to be a chaperone for us the next summer on a cruise to the Bahamas. Our senior class wasn’t going to be able to take the traditional Bahama cruise. The school’s administrators decided it wasn’t a “wholesome” environment, so our class was going to New York City and Washington, DC. We thought our parents just might let us go together if we had a teacher go along. We never did ask them.

Eileen was out sick one week, so I was able to have some one on one time with Bitsy. She told me she wanted to talk with me about something important.

“I have something I want to give you.” She pulled two books from her satchel.

“I want to give you these two books. They are different from anything you have read before. I think you will get a lot out of reading them. You are so smart and I know you will understand them. I must warn you; they have some ‘four letter’ words in them. If you want them, I have to ask that you never show them to anyone. Keep them as something private, just for yourself. If someone does see them, you can’t tell them where you got them. If anyone knew I gave you these books, I could lose my job. Do you think you can keep this secret?”

“Yes, I promise I can. I would really love to read them.”

I had no idea what the books were about and I didn’t care. I would read anything Bitsy gave me. I would go to any lengths to protect her. You could have tortured me and thrown me into jail and I wouldn’t have budged. I imagined myself much like the Apostle Paul being martyred for the sake of the Gospel, only I was doing it because I wanted to keep her in my life. The lonely little girl in me saw her as a mother figure. She had no way of knowing that I was a champion at keeping secrets. I had kept secrets since I was old enough to talk.

What strange titles for books- Franny and Zooey and Catcher in the Rye. She was right. I had never read anything like them before. I devoured Catcher in the Rye much as a wild animal devours its prey. Lines like, “Mothers are all slightly insane,” made me love this book. I was infatuated with Holden Caulfield. I knew that had he been a real boy we would have been the perfect couple. I knew he would “get” me. Bitsy laughed when I rushed in after school the next week and asked her if there were any other books like these I could read. I told her that I found something in them that was real and that made sense to me. She promised to find others for me.

Just two weeks later we were in class when the principal came to our room and asked Miss Foster to come to her office. My heart sank; Could someone have found out? I would deny everything if asked. Miss Foster returned just before the end of our class. She was carrying a bouquet of flowers and it was obvious that she had been crying. A man in a military uniform followed her into the classroom. We all knew she was dating a man in the Navy. They announced their engagement to the class as she showed off her new ring.

That afternoon Eileen and I went to her room to find out all the details. She had an unusually sad look for someone who had just been engaged.

“I have to tell you both something. You can’t say anything until it is announced on Monday to the rest of the school. I wanted to tell you this myself.” My heart was racing. I wanted to put my fingers in my ears and say “lalalalalala” and pretend I couldn’t hear her talking. I had an idea what was coming next.

“I know you remember how unhappy I was because Micheal was being transferred to Virginia. He came to propose to me because he wants me to go with him. I am going to be leaving in three weeks to go with him. I am going to miss you both more than you can imagine.”

I put on my brave face and congratulated her. I told her I was going to miss her very much. Inside I was screaming’ “Please don’t go. Please! I don’t think I can survive the rest of high school without you!” I cried myself to sleep that night and for a week after she left. I was used to losing people in my life but it never got any easier.

I hid the two books away. I kept them on my book shelf for many years after I left high school. I never opened them or read them again. I have known that Catcher in the Rye was on our list of required books since I registered for the class. Even though I ordered all of my other books early, I didn’t buy that one until yesterday. I stood in Barnes and Noble holding the book and for a few moments I became that scared, wounded sixteen year old girl who fell in love with Holden and the book. I didn’t know if I was ready to meet Holden Caulfield again, but I think I am. I thought about Bitsy and how much she changed my life in just a few short months. It’s one of the things that amazes me most about my life; the right people show up just when I need them most.

“Among other things, you’ll find that you’re not the first person who was ever confused and frightened and even sickened by human behavior. You’re by no means alone on that score, you’ll be excited and stimulated to know. Many, many men have been just as troubled morally and spiritually as you are right now. Happily, some of them kept records of their troubles. You’ll learn from them—if you want to. Just as someday, if you have something to offer, someone will learn something from you. It’s a beautiful reciprocal arrangement. And it isn’t education. It’s history. It’s poetry.”
― J.D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye

Time to Take a Stand

In 1994, Congress passed the Violence Against Women’s Act. (VAWA) You can find information about the VAWA online if you want to know more about it. Here is one such document. Basically the act provided $1.6 billion to offer community based responses, investigation and prosecution of violent crimes against women, allowed civil suits if prosecutors failed to prosecute a case,and established the Office of Violence Against Women.

It was reauthorized in 2000 and in 2005 with some expansion each time. Statistics show that there has been a marked decrease in the rate of intimate partner violence and deaths. More cases are being reported and more victims are being supported in recovery. All states now have laws in place to provide for warrantless arrests,  “rape shield laws”,  laws concerning date rape, and stalking. This act has had a major impact on changing the way violence against women is viewed and handled. In 2011, Congress failed to reauthorize the act.

Here are the reasons the House Republicans oppose the re-authorization of the act.

1. The act gives limited powers to tribal authorities to prosecute non-Indians accused of assaulting their Indian partners on tribal lands. Currently, non-Indians who batter their spouses often go unpunished because federal authorities don’t have the resources to pursue misdemeanors committed on reservations. **39% of Native American and Native Alaskan women will be abused physically or sexually in their lifetime. Most abusers go prosecuted.
2. The act would extend the definition of violence against women to include stalking. **Many states have established laws for stalking, but this would now be included in the VAWA definition . Republicans say this “dilutes” the definition. Really?
3. It would also allow some battered illegal immigrants to claim temporary visas. **It seems this provision is being dropped by Democrats in an attempt to appease the Republicans so this act can pass.
4. It would include same-sex couples in programs for domestic violence. **Again Republicans say this will “dilute” the focus on domestic violence. I think not passing this act dilutes our ability to protect all victims of domestic violence, but that is just my humble opinion.

Some have gone so far as to imply that the money used for rape crisis centers and domestic abuse hotlines, etc. is really going to support feminist programs. They say this act increases divorce, causes marriages to break up and is set up to cause the hatred of men. If a woman is in a violent marriage then the marriage should break up and divorce is a viable solution. I don’t hate all men. I dont’ hate men at all,  although I will admit I don’t always understand them. I just hate the violence inflicted on women by men.

And, before you go postal and scream that women can perpetrate violence against men, I will concede that you are correct. Men typically have access to more resources to leave and the ability to protect themselves. I dont’ want that debate to get in the way of why we don’t have a VAWA in place after documented evidence that the act saves lives. Also, part of the reason the Republicans are opposing the act is the language inferring that men could be recipients of help from this act. Oh my, that would be just dreadful.

This is my view and my opinion. All I am asking is that you look at the facts. Do some research. Get involved. If you find that the VAWA is valid, and saves lives, and helps your community, your city, your state, and your country, then PLEASE do something about it. Write your congressman/congresswoman. Call them, email them. Do something. Don’t just sit back and say, “All this violence a bad thing.”

We often stand in horror and disgust as we hear stories from other countries of women being mutilated, tortured, and baby girls being killed because baby boys are the only ones of value. Slavery was abolished in our country a long time ago, yet girls are sold into slavery around the world every day. We ask how these other countries can allow such atrocities to occur. Yet, we stand by while our politicians squabble over language in an act that prevents death and violence in our own country.

I am a Christian. Yes, a church attending, praying, Bible reading Christian. I stop just short of wearing the WWJD bracelet. Jesus showed us the way to treat other human beings and that included the women in his life. I dare you to read Luke and not come away seeing Jesus treat women with respect, caring, and love. WWJD-What Would Jesus Do?  I will let you answer that question for yourself. For those of other faiths reading this blog, I challenge you to look into your own beliefs and find answers about these issues.

I don’t believe we can be rid of all violence in our world.  I am not a Pollyanna.  I do believe we can effect change.  We see evidence of that all around us.  I don’t believe the VAWA is going to rid our society of domestic abuse, violence, or rape.  I do believe this act can make a difference.  Yes, I was once a women who lived with abuse.  I lived with child abuse in many forms as a child and as a woman I lived with abuse in my marriage.  I found help and a way to live my life free of violence.  I hope this act will be reauthorized and other women find help as well.

“Great opportunities to help others seldom come, but small ones surround us every day.” Sally Koch

Broken Hearts

The fact is: Heart disease kills one in three women each year – that’s approximately one woman every minute. But it doesn’t affect all women alike, and the warning signs for women aren’t the same in men. What’s more: These facts only begin to scratch the surface. To learn more, click here. 

In 2003, the American Heart Association and the National Heart, Lung and Blood Institute took action against a disease that was claiming the lives of nearly 500,000 American women each year – a disease that women weren’t paying attention to. A disease they truly believed, and many still believe to this day, affects more men than women.

Stemming from that action, National Wear Red Day was born. It’s held on the first Friday in February every year to raise awareness about heart disease being the No. 1 killer of women.

From time to time I write about an issue that is important to me.  Many of my friends support issues that have touched their lives in some way.  One friend who gave birth to a premie supports the March of Dimes.  Many of my friends support suicide education and prevention  programs.  Other friends support causes such as MS, MD, Cancer Awareness programs, and AIDS awareness programs.  I have two issues that stand out for me.  One is mental health (including alcohol and drug awareness) awareness programs.  The other is the American Heart Association.  National Wear Red Day is  a reminder for women to check health checkups, take preventive care when it comes to heart disease, and know the signs of a heart attack or stroke.

Before March 7,2008 I never really thought much about heart disease.  It has always seemed like an issue for old men. None of the women in my family have ever had issues with their heart.   My father died from complications of heart disease, but he was a man after all.  Truth is, I didn’t really know many people who had died from heart attacks.

On the morning of March 8th, 2008, a phone call changed my life.  My friend’s voice cracked as she told me that my best friend had died the night before.  I didn’t understand.  She was only 57 years old, just a year older than me.  She died from a massive blockage in the arteries of her heart.  An ambulance was called but she died before they could reach her.

I have always heard that you can’t die from a broken heart.  I thought I might for a long time after that.  She did die from a “broken” heart. No one really knows why or how her heart was in such bad shape.   She dealt with many health problems over her lifetime and had undergone gastric bypass surgery a year earlier.  She had lost a lot of weight and was leading a more active lifestyle that she had in many years.  It just didn’t make sense.

I share this story with you today because there is something we can do to help ourselves and other women. We can support each other when we are dealing with the stress of living life. We can encourage our friends to eat better, exercise, quit smoking, and get yearly check ups.  We can share information about health checkups and about the signs and symptoms of heart disease and stroke.

I still miss my friend more than I can tell you.  I don’t know if some test might have found her problems or if she ignored signs of a pending problem.  I only hope that sharing this information will help  keep the women in my life heart healthy. 

 

 

Pens and Paper

When I was in high school, we used pens (or pencils) and paper for homework, tests, and taking notes. Granted I was in high school a long time ago, but things have certainly changed in the last 40 years.

We had the choice of blue or black pens.  They all looked very much alike other than the ink color.  Notebook paper and notebooks were fairly standard.  Shopping for school supplies did not require a lot thinking or a trip to the mall.

Today, however, we have pens in every shape and size imaginable.  We have ink in colors from black to fuchsia and many shades of purples, reds, blues and more.  We have pencils that can be erased while you are working, but in 48 hours they become permanent like ink.  We have pens that only work on special moleskin notebooks that can be uploaded to your computer.

Those are all available if you need to use paper and pen.  If you walked into some of my college classrooms you would see more laptops and tablets on the desks than you would notebooks.   There are still some professors who will not allow the technological monsters in class.  Students are forced to kill trees and use notebooks.  There is a more expensive alternative if you choose to purchase notebooks made with organic paper.

I must admit that I am guilty of opting for computers more often than pen and paper.  My handwriting has become more difficult to read over the past few years. I blame my computer keyboard for that.  Since entering the world of academia, I have purchased a number of notebooks, folders, and pens.  I am relearning to take notes.  Taking them is easier than making sense of them at home.  Fortunately,  our written papers for class are expected to be done using the computer.

As I “type” this post on my laptop, I am waiting a reply to a text message. (Yes, I use text messages more than I talk on the phone.) I sent a message to my friend who is a student at the college I attend.  I have my first test on Thursday and the professor didn’t give us any instructions.  The syllabus tells us everything but doesn’t say anything about tests.  I messaged and asked her if  we took tests with pencil or pen and did they provide answer sheets or do we bring notebook paper?   It may seem like a “Duh” sort of question, but I really don’t know what to expect.

There are a lot of things about going back to school that are a challenge this first semester.  I know it will get easier.  I had to figure out the online system where the professors post their syllabus, study guides, and more. I had to decide if I was going to buy new books, used books, or rent books.  Finding my way around campus is getting easier but I have no sense of direction and get lost easily.   The amount of reading, paper writing, and studying is more than I anticipated.  I didn’t study much in high school so I have to learn how to study.  And my book bag is heavy!

Just a few months ago I worked in a profession where I was well-known and respected.  Everyone knew me and I was comfortable in the office, meetings, workshops, etc.  People sought me out for advice and support.  I am now a bit of an oddity.   I feel like an outsider.  I am often very much alone in the midst of hundreds of people.

College has been a dream for a very long time.  I feel alive when I am in class.  I love being on campus.  I want this more than I have wanted anything for a very long time.  So, I will buy some pencils, put pens and notebook paper in my book bag, and study.   I just hope the professor can read my writing.   Wish me luck!

Smarter Than A Fifth Grader?

I walked along the uneven brick sidewalk with the determination of someone who knew exactly where she was going.  Truth is I was watching my steps to be sure I didn’t trip while trying to sneak quick glances at the building’s names.  I was caught up in the sea of students who reminded me of my teenage grandson and his friend.  Huge book bags hung from the backs or shoulders of almost every student. Some walked briskly while others rode skateboards or bikes.  Most walked alone, however some were in groups of two of three.

I spotted the name of the building where I would take my first class.  It had taken a bit longer than I planned but I arrived, found my room and took a seat in the front row.  All of the early arrivals had taken the favored seats along the wall of the back of the room near the window.  I felt every eye in the classroom zero in on the older woman invading their classroom.  After all, college is when you experience life without your parent’s watchful eye.  It is much like allowing a spy into the enemy camp.

I am a non traditional student.  Most friends would confirm that I a non traditional person.  Physically, I am 61 years old but I don’t feel that old, I don’t act that old, and many say I don’t look that old.  I love my computer, laptop, IPad, IPhone, and IPod touch.  I text more than I talk on the phone.  I am up to date on contemporary issues, music, and movies.  Most of my friends are considerably younger than I am. I am physically active and although I am bit slower at times, I can keep up with most of them. I am not trying to ignore the reality of my age, but I choose not to be defined by it.

After only two days of classes I am acutely aware that I have been out of school for a very long time while my fellow classmates are fresh from high school or technical colleges.  My classroom learning was over 40 years ago.  If you’ve ever watched the show, “Are You Smarter Than a Fifth Grader”, you will see adults put to shame by fifth grade students answering basic school questions.   My analytical and critical thinking skills are not quite as sharp as my classmates. Class notes are a long forgotten skill.  My test taking ability will be called into service next week.   It all means I may have to work harder to keep up.

Yet, I am excited to begin this journey.  I love being in the classrooms.  My brain is like a sponge on steroids trying to absorb every moment of this experience.  I had all but given up  hope that this dream would ever become reality.   When my car broke down the day after my first classes, I will admit that I was discouraged.  However, after $1000 in repairs my car is back in service and I was back in class today.  Syllabuses (or syllabi), notebooks, folders, tests, homework, research, and papers are the things that fill my life today.   All I need now is “*faith, and trust, and pixie dust.”  (* Quote by J.M. Barrie in Peter Pan)

Life As I Know It

Yes, I am attempting the Ultimate Blog challenge again. I am already a couple of days behind because of the nasty flu virus that inhabited my body on Christmas day. It took an arsenal of drugs to push it out of my body, but it left me with broncopneumonia. I have another batch of drugs to fight this battle.

Some may question my resolve in attempting the challenge when I will begin college classes tomorrow. I haven’t been in a college class in over 40 years. My friend Anna, who is a junior at the same school has been very supportive and encouraging. However, as she prepared to return to campus these past few days,  her support has taken a different tone. “Your life as you know it is over” she told me last night. “Just wait and see,” she said with a perverted gleam in her eye.

Tomorrow morning I will walk into a classroom with no idea what I am doing.  I will still be battling this demon cough.  I will still have other responsibilities to handle.  I will still spend time with friends and family.  I may have to ask my 15 year old grandson for homework help. I will still be doing this blog challenge.  I will still be 61 years old.

Just in case I find myself taking this all too seriously, I only need t0 look at the door to my room.  There is a beautiful handmade sign hanging there. Anna’s younger sister made it for me from deep blue (my favorite color) construction paper.  It says: “College of Charleston Girl.  Love you, Cathy.”

My friend is right.  My life as I know it is over.  Maybe that is going to be a good thing.  I believe I am creating the life I have always dreamed of living.  I don’t really know, but do we ever know what tomorrow holds?    I may fail miserably or I might just be the best senior citizen student the college has ever seen.   Either way, I am ready to find out.

 

Somethin’ Bout A Truck

It started as a simple lunch conversation with friends.

“He has the sexiest truck.  He really does.”  She was talking about a young man she knows. It was a simple enough statement.

“I have never really thought about sexy and truck going together.”  I thought my friends would agree without hesitation.

“What?  Are you kidding?  A man with truck is about the sexiest thing around?  Don’t you know that song Somethin Bout a Truck?  You aren’t a country girl are you?”

I was surprised at the reaction.  I was raised in the country.   I am told that being raised on the river here in the low-country may not translate to the same country as the upstate folks talk about.  Yes, my friends are from the upstate. ( For my readers not from this area, the upstate refers to the northern most part of South Carolina and the low-country is the coastal area.)

I later searched the internet for proof that “truck” was sexy.  I found several songs by country singers about trucks and those men are indeed sexy.  I suppose seeing them in their natural environment and driving a truck might qualify as sexy.  I am still not sure I totally get it.

Later that evening at dinner we scrutinized the parking lot.  We looked at several trucks and my friends explained which ones were indeed deemed as sexy.  One smaller beat up truck did not make the cut.  I pointed to one of the more modern “lifted” trucks.  It had a big lift kit and was raised several feet in the air with huge tires.  My friends laughed.   I then learned that trucks with too much lift and flashy tires indicated that the owner may be trying to make up for something, let’s say, lacking in his life.   An F 350 with crew cab and a couple of nice decals seem to be the sexiest in the parking lot.

So I decided to check this out for myself and did a Google search for “sexy trucks.”  Much to my surprise I found an article listing the “Top 10  Sexy Trucks of 2012.”  Who would have guessed.  Here is the description of the number one sexy truck.

There is just something about the 2012 Ram 1500 R/T that gets my blood going. This pickup is the sexiest truck for 2012 because it looks good from any angle and there is not one problem I can see with the look of this vehicle. Every part of the body is color matched providing a clean and sleek look. The hood has a mean bulge with air inlets that let you know this truck is all business. The rims are huge 22-inch forged and polished wheels which just add to the overall sexiness of the Ram 1500 R/T. The base price on the 2012 Ram 1500 R/T is $31,685. The truck comes with a 5.7 liter V-8 HEMI engine that cranks out 390 horsepower and 407 lb-ft. of torque through a 6-speed automatic transmission. The Ram 1500 R/T also rocks 4.10 gears which help it to accelerate from 0-60 MPG in 6.1 seconds making it one of the fastest stock production trucks. That is sexy!

Don’t believe that will compete with the 50 Shades of Grey phenomenon, but you know,   I am beginning to think my friends just might be right.  I might just have to check out those big trucks rolling down the road and their drivers.  Remember, women drive trucks, too.  I wonder if guys consider a woman driving a F350  sexy?   Maybe, just maybe, my next car should be a truck.

Walking the Maze

A blog post by Tamara called, “Which Daily Task Takes Up Most of Your Energy?”   You can find the link here:  http://faithandsubstance.blogspot.com/2013/01/which-daily-tasks-take-up-most-of-your.html

I had to think about that question for quite a while.  Six months ago I would have answered the question without hesitation.  It would have been a tie between my job and my home life.   They consumed most of my time and energy leaving little for me or anyone else.  When I did manage to pull away from the two and do something that sustained me instead of draining  me, I felt guilty.   Yes, I understand feeling guilty is a choice, but it is difficult to break old patterns.

I have shared the changes in my life in my blog posts.  In September, I left my job and in October I moved into a new living situation apart from my marriage.  My answer to the question is much more difficult now.  I no longer have the challenges I faced while married.   I do work part time but I do my work and walk away when my hours are complete.  I knew my job was a huge part of my identity but did not realize how difficult it would be to define my life apart from it.

Since I was 18 years old, I have always taken care of someone and worked.  Now I only have to take care of me.  It isn’t as easy as it seems.  So to the question at hand, my answer would have to be that trying to figure out my new normal is taking most of my energy.  I often wake up and realize that I have no place I HAVE to be.  I have so many choices each day.  It reminds of the corn maze I walked this fall.   There were so many different paths and turns.  Some led to dead ends while other led to another challenge or reward.

I will start college classes in another week.  I may revisit this question then.  I imagine the answer will be quite different.  Until then, I will keep taking things a day at a time.   I am rather enjoying this life maze  I find myself in at the moment.  I am also very grateful that some of you are walking it with me.

Tamara, Thanks for the prompt for today.