Happy Birthday to Me

Today we have a guest post from our Fab friend MelissaBelle. This is the kind of thing she can’t always post on her own page…  

Today I’ll take the banner down.  Traditionally in my household, if it is your birthday you get a cake and a Happy Birthday Banner hung in the kitchen. The banner often hangs for a week or more, and my son’s 21st birthday was last week.  

No matter how busy things are or what (if any) other kind of celebration is planned everyone in my house (adults and children) always gets a cake and the banner. That is, unless you are me.  In 21 years no one has ever hung it for me.  They’ve never made a cake either, or bought one even unless it we happen to be out in a restaurant for a milestone birthday or something like that.  

I keep the banner in the kitchen cabinet all year long, next to a box of cake candles.  Anytime anyone gets a plate, they can easily see it there. Yet they have never hung it for me. This past year, more than any other, I knew I had no chance of anyone thinking to do it for me.  I hung it for myself for the first time.  No one even noticed.  

I had already decided when I hung it last week that I’d be retiring it soon.  Today when I take it down, I will put it straight in the trash. Now I will never have to wake up on my birthday and wonder if it might be out there waiting for me. I’ll know beyond a shadow of a doubt I’ll never see it again but at least this time I can feel like it was my decision.

Read the comments & updates here: 13 comments so far

 

 

The best thing about Fabulously40.com is….

….that life can strike you with the toughest blow and no matter how far down it knocks you the Fab ladies are there to help you up.  If you don’t get online, they call, they text, they email and they don’t give up on you even when you give up on yourself.

Everything in my world is going well because that is how I am written. Things aren’t always so good for my author MelissaBelle.    I was meant to represent hope and she had no idea how hopeless things were going to get for her when we began together. I was a meant to be the story of what can be learned from everyone here just when she thought the toughest part was over. Then it got worse and she really did not know what to do with me so we’ve been quiet.

Many thanks to all our Fab friends for keeping in touch with both of us these last few months.  We are back at the keyboard and proceeding with caution. As MelissaBelle’s story unfolds she’ll find a way to tell it and what’s been learned along the way. It won’t matter what voice she uses.  All that matters is that this place is full of good listeners, great advice and real friendship.

Happy New Year, everyone.  Talk to you soon.

First-time Thanksgiving

I have never cooked a Thanksgiving meal.  Not a real one, anyway.  There was a year a very long time ago when both kids had the flu, so I rustled up a turkey dinner for two while Matt and I nursed them in our small apartment.  I seem to recall a dry turkey, canned gravy and stuffing and mashed potatoes from a box and no appetite after cleaning up after sick kids anyway. Oh and there was about 2 months of leftovers that we all got sick of no matter how well I souped, stewed or sandwiched them.

This year is going to be different.  We turned down all dinner invitations. We’ll show up to see the in laws and bring the pie, but dinner is all mine.  All ours, really. I have been studying menus and cookbooks and practicing my knife skills and while I don’t feel ready for guests just yet, our private menu will be:

Roasted butternut squash soup
Honey brined turkey breast
Brioche dressing
Garlic mashed potatoes
Haricot vert
Cranberry-orange relish
Caramel apple pie

It is going to be a team effort.  It is going to take all day and totally destroy the kitchen.   It is going to be the first time all four of us are all together in almost a year.  Lily is in charge of the relish, the soup and the pie, all of which can be done ahead, and we are all on sous-chef duty to assist.  Matt is doing the brine a day ahead and handling all things “bird.” Max and I will work together on the dressing, potatoes and veggies as the bird cooks and Lily does a stint at the local soup kitchen.

I don’t know why I didn’t think of this sooner.  Holidays are supposed to be family time. How is it I forgot that “family” can be just the four of us?  That we can have a special occasion without leaving home? We don’t have to traipse to someone else’s home or alternate “sides.” There is nothing wrong with declaring one holiday just for the immediate and not extended family.  It is easy to lose sight of the value of the family under our own roof (well, except for Max who has his own place now) each and every day. We don’t need a holiday to come together and do something like cooking but if that is what it takes we can’t let the opportunity pass. 

My family started 2011 in a complete spinout.  Everyone was lost in their own pain. It was the stuff of soap operas around here for a while; addiction, affairs, medical issues and death.  I want to say it was sudden but I think it was a slow build and we missed all the signs. We all went looking for relief in opposite directions.  Not only did we not find relief, we hurt one another in the process.

Somehow we all got back here on our own but it will take some close attention for us to stay here.  In the meantime, I am thankful for what we have together today.  We should not have needed to go through what we did, the way we did, to get here so I won’t be trite and say “maybe that was what we needed to get here…”  Bullsh**. It all could have been avoided. Instead I’ll just recognize a near miss when I see one and be thankful for another chance.

I am also grateful for all of you who stop by and read and talk with me.  I could not have gotten through this last year without you. Thank you.  Happy Thanksgiving, friends!

So-Lily-Quoy

Hi! I am busy working two pet adoption events today.  One was scheduled and another is at a street fair that is on their rain out date.  I have been spread pretty thin across volunteering with the animals and for Joy and at work for the last two weeks so my daughter Lily has offered to do this week’s journal entry.  She won’t be offering us any great insight into her life (I wish!) but this is her take on all I’ve been up to since I started this journal.  TL

When I was little I thought for sure Joy was the coolest Mom.  Not better than my Mom per se, but definitely more well-travelled, independent and professional. She would be gone for weeks on assignments and then back for long stretches and doing more Mom-stuff like organizing pool parties for us kids or planting flowers in the yard.  She seemed to have that balance all figured out. Now that I am an adult and am getting to know Joy better as part of her project with my Mom, I understand more how it might actually feel to be her daughter.

Just to be clear, I love my Mom and would not have traded places with Joy’s daughter Caitlin back then or today.  It’s just that there were days when Caitlin would be telling us about flying out to join her Mom in Italy, carrying a Prada bag borrowed from her Moms closet or showing off some magazine article featuring her that I did long to be in her shoes at least for that one day.

Two things have changed since then (well, three if you count the simple fact that I grew up). The first is what I know about Joy and what her entire family has to sacrifice due to her illness and her career. I never knew till recently that between trips Joy was often home sick, not in her Manhattan office and home by 5 for dinner. I had never thought the whole travelling thing through. My Mom was home or at least close by every day.  She was never going to fail to comment on and correct an unmade bed or miss a school play or teacher conference (even if you were getting all As).  I used to call her “a control freak” and “predictable.”  Now I think I’d say say “dependable.”  I didn’t need a day planner to track where she was or have to worry that when she was home she might not be able to get out of bed to eat dinner (let alone make dinner). If I wanted something like a ride or help with homework it was rare she could not deliver it.

The second thing that has changed is my Mom.  All the things she is doing now like starting the company with Adam and writing Joy’s speeches came to be because of relationships she always had and work she had always done.  I just never noticed.  I never gave any thought to what she actually “did” when she wasn’t home at all. It might seem to the outside world, as it did to me at first, that as soon as my brother Max and I grew up she launched changes out of nowhere.  As I read these journals and look at her through a grown up lens I am learning that is not the case.

 The trip to Chicago last month with Joy, Caitlin and my Mom sealed the deal for me. My Mom brought me for some shopping (complete with access to Joy’s great taste in clothes and designer discounts) and to hear Joy deliver the words my Mom wrote. When Joy became too ill to deliver her speech my Mom stepped in.  I could tell she was scared but she did a great job. I was so proud of her.  Caitlin was equally proud of her Mom when she made it to the small stage  for the Q&A session.  The crowd was full of women suffering from fibromyalgia and other chronic pain disorders like Joy and they still wanted her advice despite her obvious pain. It wasn’t about beating the symptoms; there is no cure. The speech and the questions were about living your life through them and Joy is a role model in that regard.  After hearing all that I sincerely doubt Caitlin ever spent even one minute thinking some other Mom was cooler than hers.

Joy’s glamorous life as a consultant was actually born of the need to adapt her schedule to her illness. My Mom’s new company was forced on her after her company relocated.  I thought as a kid it was the luck of the draw in terms of the parents you got, the jobs they had and the lifestyle they provided.  Some women are just go–getters and some weren’t, right?  Wrong.  Both my Mom and Joy took the bumps life gave them and modified them into something far better than just tolerable.

Maybe Caitlin is more aware of this because her Mom’s “bump” was physical. It took me itemizing some events to figure it out.  Job loss, a separation from my Dad, Max’s partying ways in college and of course losing her beloved Duke has led her where she is today.  Dad moved back in, Max moved out and we have a parade of foster dogs in and out of here now.  It is so different than just one year ago but overall our family is intact. Re-reading that list, anyone can figure out none of that was a given.  We could have imploded as a family without the right attitude.  Mom wasn’t trying to control us and she wasn’t sitting home or at her desk worried only about what to make for dinner all those years while we were out.  She has always been leading us by example. I am only just now ready to see it.

 

A Blue Streak

“No more excuses.”Regina says firmly.  “You look at these every time you come in here…today you are getting one.”  

 My eyes drop nervously to the tray of neon colored hair extensions.  “Ummmm” is all I manage to say till she interrupts and says “Enough.  This is not a big deal. You have 5 seconds to tell me which one it will be or I will pick for you. Blue or orange?”

 “Blue!”

Hold on. Did I just agree to have blue hair woven into my head?  Well, sort of.  What I agreed to was a single blue hair extension.  It’s a fundraiser.  The local Metuchen High School Band has been invited to play at the Orange Bowl and they are raising money for the trip.  My ten-dollar donation gets me a blue streak of hair in support of their mission.

As always,Regina has done a stunning job on my normally gray and coarse hair today.  It is now a richer brown and a smoother texture then I was born with and will stay that way for at least the next five weeks at which time I will come and see her again. And because I see her so much (and these treatments take HOURS) she has been privy to a lot of intimate details of my life.  

She knows the first part of this year was not good for me. She knows finally splurging and having my hair colored and straightened over this last year has made me feel better.  She also knows that doing things outside my comfort zone will be required for my continued recovery from a year of pain.  The hair extension, much like the bright orange nail color last time, is simply good practice for other changes that need to come.

I think Regina genuinely likes me.  I trust her with my hair.  I also trust that this one little blue streak is going to be as fun, painless and easy to remove as she said.  People all over town have them. I have been saying I would get one for several visits now but always had an excuse…a wedding to attend, a speaking engagement or some other reason I had to stay just exactly as people expected me to be. Now that I have this in my head I see that it is fun.  I’m not rushing back there it have it removed.

Every time I get used to my blue streak and forget about it, someone else sees it for the first time and comments. Sometimes the remarks are favorable and sometimes not but the kicker is, in the grand scheme of things no one cares. It’s my head and my hair.  It’s actually pretty well hidden and not so garish that I am crying for attention. If you choose to get close enough to see it you don’t have any way to know it isn’t my real hair. You have to accept it about me if you care to come any closer and see what else I have to offer.  

The same can be said for some of the changes I have made in my life outside the salon.  Circumstances may have forced some of them on me but I am grateful for even the most painful lessons.  Now that I have started it’s like I can’t stop… it’s “a blue streak” of realizations, decisions and changes. It will be the moment of truth for some who are close enough to see it coming.  I wonder if they will accept it?

Thanks for stopping by today. I’ll be back another Tuesday to keep you posted on my story with a fresh journal entry. Click here to learn more about me or browse the archives here to read about  the “changes” I am referring to above.

Size 8 Situation

Holy crap, the tag says Size 8.    This is the third dress I bought this month and all are a size 8.  Now I am sure it’s not a fluke.  I have gone down a dress size!!!  For all my orchestrated attempts at losing weight, my dress size has been a 10 for a long time (longer than I will ever admit for all to see here on this blog).  Now without even trying I am an 8!!!

I did try some other stuff though.   The weight loss is clearly the result of a combination of lifestyle changes.  First of all, I am no longer behind a deskall day. Second, I am walking my dog Bella a lot more since we lost her best friend Duke Third, I am walking the dogs at the shelter too. Last but not least…keeping up with Joy has me running around like mad…keeping my mind AND body hopping.  

Aside from the wedding , Joy is the reason I needed the dresses, actually.  She has not been feeling well and she is trusting me to step into her shoes.  She has asked me to deliver the speech I wrote for her.  The speech I wrote about her experience beating chronic pain disorders and breast cancer.  Things she has done, but I have not. I am scared to death.  

It is too late to cancel, we are already here in Chicago.  This is Joy’s biggest engagement yet and it starts in an hour. She can’t do it, there’s no way.  She’ll come out and do the Q&A.  I am just reading it for her.  I thought the audience might think of me as some kind of fraud but Joy says they will prefer that to a no show.  Standing in front of the mirror her words and just knowing that tag says size 8 gives me the boost I need.

I am aware it is totally wrong to define oneself by a dress size.  It is also wrong to stay a size 10 when just doing what you want to do and putting yourself first for a change will lead you to an 8. And if it doesn’t, do it anyway.  

Wish me luck…

Thanks for stopping by today. I’ll be back another Tuesday to keep you posted on my story with a fresh journal entry. Click here to catch up on any entries you have missed so far or to learn more about me. Use the links in my entry today for details on how I came to discover these “diet tips.”

 

Boy Weddings and a Funeral

It took 4 weeks, cost hundreds of dollars and required hours of assistance from salon professionals …but now that the date is approaching I think I can manage it. I think I can look good enough to be on Adam’s arm for this wedding. Ok, maybe for all that time and effort it should be “great” but let’s be real.  I have gained and re-lost the same 20 lbs at least three times and have not even worn a dress in 3 years. It has been even longer since I attended a wedding or attempted to dance or eat a meal that involves more than one fork.  Adam didn’t know that when he asked me to fill in as his “plus one” for this posh event while his boyfriend is out of town and I don’t intend to let him figure it out.

Matt didn’t bat an eye when I asked if he would mind.  Maybe it is the “gay factor” that makes him so secure about it. The wedding is on a Friday night (when Matt is usually working late and fitting in a workout after anyway) at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.  The grooms are Adam’s clients and they are longstanding members there.  They have secured the elegant Patrons Lounge there for what may well be the venue’s first gay wedding since it was legalized in NYC earlier this year. I am dying to go but also a little intimidated.  This wedding will be full of high society types. Adam owns his own tux and turns heads of both sexes wherever he goes.  Me? Well not-so-much.

First I managed to secure the perfect black dress after only a few zillion shopping trips and actually got into a single digit size. I purchased all the necessary foundation and accessory items and spared no expense; strapless bra, silk hose, silk wrap, new shoes and bag.  Then I got a haircut and keratin treatment a week before to defy frizz at every turn.  Nails were professionally done a day before and all that remained was a final appointment at the salon the morning of the even for a proper hair style. I even broke in my new, ridiculously high heeled (but classy) shoes to the point of pure comfort around the house in advance.  It is the first time I managed to have wardrobe, nails and hair all poised and coordinated to look good on the same day in a very long while.  Possibly ever.

I woke up Friday feeling pretty good.  Everything had been tried on and tested and getting ready was going to be a breeze after having the salon take care of my hair for me.  I got plenty of sleep to fight bags under my eyes and to make sure I could dance all night without fatigue.  All our other clients were informed the office was closed so I barely glanced at the BlackBerry all day.  I almost missed it.  I was already in my dress when I saw Joy’s text, “My Mom passed away. It was acute leukemia.”

Joy’s Mom had been hospitalized a few days earlier.  Last I’d heard they did not even know what was wrong but she was awake and the symptoms that brought here there for were subsiding.  She had been feeling pretty run down which the family previously blamed on grief after losing her son, Joy’s brother Joe, suddenly to a heart attack.  Joy neglected to tell me about Joe until almost a week later.  I missed the service and after some time passed I let her know that while she “didn’t want to bother me” I felt it was wrong she did not clue me in.   I had a right to decide if I wanted to be there for her myself and not have her decide for me.  So fast forward to today and of course I know where I need to be.

Joy gets points for telling me before the service, but she did not do it much before.  I have already missed the 2-4pm viewing and I am in danger of missing the evening one.  I doubt she remembered about the wedding or that she was trying to make sure I didn’t miss it…she just didn’t think to tell me sooner.  That’s how Joy is and she knows it so she’d never be angry if I did not go. Luckily, Adam has met her enough times to know how she is and understand why it came up so suddenly.

The car service shows up right on time with him looking so dashing in the back and I tell him what’s happened.  He doesn’t even let me finish apologizing for missing the event before he tells the driver we need to change the route.  He ignores my protests and in less than 30 minutes it we are parked in front the funeral home in North Jersey.  He refrains from going in, feeling like his tux his disrespectful, and hands me his overcoat to hide my cocktail dress. He says he’ll wait as long as it takes and then take me back home—and Joy too if she wants to ride along.

I walk in and Joy says immediately, “Wow your hair looks amazing!”  She smiles a little as I tell her the story of what’s under my coat and who is outside waiting for me.  It isn’t enough to hide the pain of losing her brother and her mother in such short succession, and I notice her hands are trembling.  After about 40 minutes of greeting family and friends, she asks me to take her outside to see Adam and hops in the car with him.  The two of them argue a little and in the end Joy wins.  She sends us on our way to the wedding after all and makes us promise to send her pictures as things happen.  Life is too short to miss a gay museum wedding and she wants to be part of it too.

So the event was truly the grandest thing I have ever seen—over the top but tasteful all at once.  Adam and I snap pics of everything from the centerpieces to the food on our plates to the double groom cake topper and the sterling silver cake cutter table favors. I stuff an individual cheesecake from the dessert tray in my new purse (to its ultimate demise) and drop it off at Joy’s house on the way back.  She eats it while, at her insistence, we tell her all the elegant details.  “Boy weddings are the best,” she concludes “two lesbians could never have pulled this off. At least not any of the ones I have ever met.“

The funeral is tomorrow and of course Matt and I will be there.   I’ll be back to my old self in black pants and button down shirts for that event.  But maybe, just maybe, if I sleep carefully and run the air conditioner to fend off the frizz as Joy advises, my hair will still look great.

Thanks for stopping by today. I’ll be back next Tuesday to keep you posted on my story with a fresh journal entry. Click here to catch up on any entries you have missed so far or here to learn more about me.

 

 

 

Just Accept It

“Just accept it.”  Those words stare back at me from my notebook as I toss it in the box.  I jotted them down as soon as Joy uttered them…she claimed that was the worst advice she ever received about dealing with her fibromyalgia (and later, the cancer).  The words seem harmless enough, as there is no sure fire cure for either, but to Joy they might as well have told her to lie down and die on the spot.

Today I am packing up my makeshift office in the corner of the kitchen and moving to a new corner.  After a short trial it has been decided we can manage a small rent payment to my Polar Design partner Adam to share his office space.  He and I work well together and have different schedules so often I get the place to myself.  We launched with a paying client already on board and he has another business helping support him so my share is pretty reasonable.  The words in the notebook are a reminder of why I need to go.  I wrote that phrase down weeks ago and my head is full of ideas for turning into Joy’s first motivational speech before the NFA’s New York Fibromyalgia Support Group inBrooklyn next month.  I just haven’t had the time or the focus to actually write it for her yet while working at home.

Joy has taught me that battling a disease with no “cure” and so many treatments is like maneuvering through an intricate maze.  What works for one may not work for another.      There are dozens of things to research and a million combinations of advice and therapies to try before you can find what works for you.   Overlapping conditions like migraines, irritable bowel syndrome and other pain disorders complicate things even more. So what then, were people urging Joy to “just accept?”  That it was too difficult or not worth the effort to figure it all out?

She took it as a personal challenge.  Of course she could work through all the information, specialists and ideas out there to develop a treatment plan that she could live with.  With the right mix of acceptance and perseverance she was not destined to succumb to any kind of predetermined outcomes like giving up things she loves or easing up on activities.  No way, she was not going to give up any more than she had to and not without a fight. It did mean letting go of some old habits though…like the one that makes you think you still can take care of everyone and yourself well or that it is wrong to put yourself first.

She knows she is not going to be cured, but she has self managed many aspects of the disease and her life with a great success.  Joy is spreading her own extraordinary example as a woman who rarely compromises with her affliction and telling everyone who ever doubted her “You are wrong and your advice is downright irresponsible and dangerous. I am living well despite this illness, so you should just accept that it is possible.”

Her treatment plan is fluid.  It is a living breathing part of her now, always being updated or modified.  That is her message to the support group. That bad advice is something many of them have probably heard so it is a great starting point.  She isn’t giving false hope. She is encouraging these women to integrate self management into their own lives.  So what if everyone is sick of you talking about it or if someone feels neglected if you spend your more comfortable times on yourself and not them.  This is one component of life that everyone can control. It is not wrong to expect others to accept a new way of thinking and living that is beneficial to you.   

I have to admit that on my own much smaller scale of challenges Joy’s attitude inspires me.  My “disease” is totally curable and self inflicted.  I am guilty of complacency and crippling self doubt.  When I think about all that she was told she would have give up and how little she actually did give up I realize I am wasting some very precious gifts. Among them is my good health.  With that in mind, I pack up the rest of my things and say goodbye to my small corner desk.  I outgrew it a long time ago and I am taking my newly purchased desk into a space I own (well, rent anyway).   

I can’t be who I want to be if I limit myself.  I have my work at the shelter, a new career as an entrepreneur and a speechwriter to get going and they are bigger than my kitchen.  I used to think it was selfish to pursue something on my own without my family being a part of it.  Now it seems like I am pursuing everything at once.   That may be what takes for me to be happy; I have to figure it out on my own and have finally accepted that no one can do it for me.

Thanks for stopping by today. I’ll be back next Tuesday to keep you posted on my story with a fresh journal entry. Click here to catch up on any entries you have missed so far or here to learn more about me.

 

Fighting the Leash

Cody is always the first dog I walk in the morning because I know my coffee won’t spill while I hold the leash.  Despite being cooped up in the shelter for over 6 months, he prefers to stroll slowly.  He is an older sort of yellow-blond Siberian mix with dark eyes and a bit of a temper.  It takes time for him to trust a person and he doesn’t seem to like any other dogs at all. I’ve managed to befriend him because I have been stopping by the shelter a few mornings a week for over a month now to walk the dogs.

The shelter opens late most days so it is usually just me and another volunteer there.  We feed, walk, play and clean up after whoever they tell us to.  There is always a running to-do (or to-don’t) list to introduce us to the new arrivals:

 No food for Baxter till staff arrives-food aggressive.

 Don’t try to walk Lola-too jumpy.

 Oreo is afraid of other dogs-no play yard…and so on.

And then there are the regulars we already know all about, like Cody.  He is an unlikely candidate for adoption and no one has claimed him despite the collar on his neck when he was found. With a special needs list as long as my arm there has been no second chance for him yet. His last hope is the waiting list at a senior dog sanctuary and the manager here is committed to make sure he gets there.  When the shelter is full, she takes him home till there is space again. It does not take long before this new volunteer is inspired by her example and does the same for several of the more friendly regulars.

I can tell it is wearing thin on Matt…the parade of lost souls arriving one night at a time.  He believes it is how I am dealing with my kids growing up. With Lily in college and Max in his own place he figures I am looking for someone else to take care of to feel whole again.  He may be partially right but he’d never understand the other part to it. These animals do far more to comfort me than I do for them.  He figures we’ll be adopting each one and he is wrong each time. These are the most adoptable ones; they never stay homeless long once they get a chance to show their stuff.

Step by step, they are reinvigorated in stages; a few more walks, a short stay here and with other volunteers, and then ultimately become their true selves with a new family.  The updates from the new families always come back so very different from the list at the shelter;  

Just look how Baxter shares his food bowl with his dog sister Candy.

 Here is a photo of our 8-year-old walking Lola on the leash; she is so gentle with him.

 Oreo is the official welcome “waggin” at our local dog park, greeting each entrant with a heartfelt play bow.

These animals illustrate for me what I should have already known; who you are at the lowest point in your life, whether it be behind bars in a shelter or knee-deep in life changes and counseling, is not who you will always be.  I can’t tell this to Matt because some of what he has put me through in the name of his own happiness has translated into that low point in my life.  He already wears all the blame and is paying full price.

He doesn’t need any more guilt and it won’t make me feel any better anyway. I am not proud of how I handled his infidelity.  Together, we’ve been working past it.  Alone, I have to figure out who that person was and why she put up with it for so long and allowed it to slam full force into the entire family.   

Every dog at the shelter has been betrayed on some level…given up casually by the only family they have ever known, left unclaimed with no id tags, abused or worse.  For most we never know the whole story. The dogs certainly don’t dwell on it. As far as they know the shelter is not a place of transition, it is their new reality.  How they handle it, how much they allow themselves to trust and recover directly impacts whether or not they get a second chance. Many seem to feel it is entirely up to them and make the changes accordingly.  They don’t waste time placing blame.

This is a lesson I need to learn and relearn often.  For a shelter dog fighting the leash means they’ll get fewer walks.  For me, falling back on pity, blame and anger will mean more loneliness and regret. I have always wanted to be a person who volunteers and “gives back.”  The shelter work lets me be that person, a new person. The payback is proof that I can change. I change not because of anything that has happened or been done to me but simply because it is time to become whoever it is I have been all along.    

Thanks for stopping by today. I’ll be back next Tuesday to keep you posted on my story with a fresh journal entry. Click here to catch up on any entries you have missed so far or here to learn more about me.

 

Like a Hurricane

When I was a kid, the weatherman almost never got it right.  The day to day stuff, sure.  But the big storms?  Never.  Of course that was over 30 years ago.  Technology has improved. The record snowfalls of 2010 and early 2011 were predicted with freakish accuracy here in NJ.  So, when the weatherman said Hurricane Irene was coming to my little town of Metuchen, I believed him.

 In this town of old historic homes and even older trees, I sat in my Victorian home and watched her blow right through.  Bottled water lined my counters, the flashlights had fresh batteries, candles and non perishable food items lay close and at the ready. The patio items were secured, windows taped and evacuation bags packed. I even took my Mom’s advice and got cash from the ATM in case those went down.

 We were lucky…my family and I are fine.  No injuries and I had more on hand than I needed. One of my new, local Fabulously40.com friends came through and loaned us a generator which we continue to use (and share with neighbors) on this, our third day of no electricity.  Despite the inconvenience of no power, we have the essentials that we need to survive and suffered no real damage.  The tree that fell missed the house, we kept the water levels in the basement at bay and the community came together to share all kinds of resources during the worst of it.

 Not much of an update for you this week, really.  It was an eventful week but my PC time is limited so the details will have to wait.  For now I’d like to thank everyone for checking on me and sending prayers.  I haven’t been able to check on anyone else so I hope this post makes its way to all of you as you sit safe and dry and unscathed by Hurricane Irene too.  The weatherman may have been right about her trajectory and her power, but she has nothing on the women of Fabulously40.com.  It’s no surprise to see us prevail.

 I’ll be back next Tuesday with more than the weather report…the kids, the job, the volunteering…it’s all going strong and I can’t wait to tell you what I’m up to now. If you missed the story so far, check out all the journal posts here on the main page and get caught up.