Slapping the Snooze Button on a Major Wake-up Call

I'm sure you've either watched an episode, or seen promos for the reality TV show, 'What Not to Wear.' The format of this half hour of "learning through someone else's" pain starts with an ambush surprise of the person who is about to have her (usually her) entire wardrobe tossed for new, appropriately stylish for their age, lifestyle and body shape. The subject of each episode gets $5,000 to create a new wardrobe, but there is much greater cost to being selected as a subject: her dignity.

I've watched the show a couple of times; probably less than 3 hours of my life all together. After the first two episodes, I was hoping that one of my friends was going to "save me" by secretly videotaping my outfits and nominate me to be a candidate on the show. Then I saw two more episodes where the subjects were completely broken down. There's a lot of baggage behind body image. Thirty minutes on national TV is no instant fix.

The 5th episode I watched, I'll be honest, was in and out of consciousness during the flu. It still counts.

Since the 5th espisode, I've blogged about not caring about wearing ChuckT's to work. In fact, there've been a few good friends who were trying to be gentle with me in their comments about them. I even wore them to the annual staff party last year. Why? I found a gazillion excuses.

And I wonder why some people don't take me seriously. When it's all said and done, people should take my work seriously, not my choice of footwear. Should. Some people can't get beyond it.

I'm not going to change who I am. But I'm ready to change the packaging. Because, contrary to last year's protestations, I really do care. I care a lot.

Here's the thing. I'm surrounded by college students and young professionals where I work. While most of them never age (graduation and a new class of freshmen every year), I do. While I know I look younger than my age, I'm still not presenting myself as a 47 year old career woman. Yes, I'm 47. You want to make something of that?

Belligerently defying cultural norms of work place attire only works for those professionals who never appear in public. I never realized how public I am until my boss pointed it out to me last year. My new job accountabilities have me more in public than ever. I also have to be a grown up and now that I'm not just representing myself, I'm representing the institution, the arts, and a bunch of people who take their presentation seriously. I'm ready to shed my former identity. I'm ready to evolve. It's been ten years since pre-maternity; this current body isn't going to change any time soon. So I can make more excuses or....

I tripped onto a local style consultant. Literally, tripped onto finding her through the Lehigh Valley Style Magazine's E-commerce center. Her name is Kathy Moses. I watched my 6th episode as a way to get ready for this consultation. For me, my wardrobe limitations start with the shoes. It's always the G-D- shoes!

Kathy came to my house to do a complete wardrobe assessment. I was ready to throw out everything and start from scratch. That's what I learned from TV, after all.

Luckily, Kathy showed me how to make some of the pieces of my wardrobe work, how to start sprucing it up, and which pieces no longer work for me. I'm sure Steve will be relieved to know that I'm not going to need to budget a ton into an emerging fashion diva. After doing last night's budget projections for the kids' fall extra-curricular activities.... I was getting ready for a nice experience, but was prepared to keep the wardrobe lessons in the dream folder.

This is the "radical" thing I announced on Monday. What's the big deal? Ask any middle aged woman who's trying to accept where she is in life, and let go of previous images that keep making her depressed. It's the trigger that gets us to sign up for crazy diet programs, insane eating binges, or worse, thinking that her body is bad. I recognize that this is the pinnacle of first world problems.

What was the trigger this time? A former student asked a question on twitter, posed to 20-30 year olds; "Do you feel like an adult?" My first reaction was, "me neither." Then I realized, I am an adult. A dang fun adult, who loves the responsibilities: career, husband, kids, homeowner, dog owner, etc.

I'm ready for more of this. I hope to share some of the lessons on this blog, #Frump2Fab; keeping it from daily Twitter noise, because Lawd knows there's too much noise there. I'm hoping that in 3 months time, all my clothes really work for me.

Wanna know how dire the situation is? I actually wore this- - - - - - - >
to work this  week.

Save me, Kathy!

(don't worry, I'm not donating the Chuck's. - they're still good for Girl Scouts and kilt crawls.)

Oh... and another big radical change? I gave up eating meat.

Let's be clear about transparency

Let's be clear about transparency in social media. There is no "one rule that fits all" definition of transparency, IMHO. I have found that when I fully embrace who I am, the relationships I make both personally and professionally, are much richer because I'm being as honest and open as possible. There is also no "one rule that fits all" with regard to applying common sense. If one is posting on any social media platform, there's a level of discretion with regard to work related comments. The discretionary bottom line shifts for personal posts, or for posts that reflect comments about the organizations I represent.

But common sense and restraint are often challenged by the changing levels of privacy of social media platforms. While I can create "circles" of friends on Google+, or levels of access on my Facebook Friends list, not all privacy features of the platforms are clearly articulated. The lesson I learn over and over again, read the fine print on all the updated security policies for each and every social media platform you use. 

What new trigger did I learn about Facebook this week? "Liking" a post cannot be limited in the news feed. The "like" feature is kind of fickle on the ticker. Businesses who encourage happy or potential customers to "like" their business in order for a spot on someones news feed are not always seen. This feature is constantly being updated. Never a dull moment in social media, is there?

No dull moments in learning by doing either. While I fully embrace "learning by doing," and not just reading about it, there are moments when some lessons come with a bite. I "liked" a post on Sunday. The "like" prompted a rather public argument in which another friend sent me a private message afterward asking me if I was OK.

I like posts and links to articles that spark my curiosity about subjects I find interesting. That's why I "like" them on Facebook. Nothing more. I encourage debate, as long as it's considerate and on topic. If you think that anything you post or "like" may cause a reaction from a person in your friends list, circle, or whatever connections you have in whatever social media platform you are using, be prepared to suffer the consequences of your actions.

I hope readers of this post may consider the same. I will continue to explore and practice the same restraint on my own page. I feel that social media is a two-edged sword. I enjoy sharing material I find interesting among friends. Some like what I like, some don't. I'd like to remain open to the possibilities of what social media can offer for civil dialog.

I'm not so sure that my transparency is courageous. I think it's simply how I'm wired. I accept that others are wired differently. Some folks have a more argumentative style, others more private in nature. Funny how at 47, even though I've figured out a few things, I still don't know a whole bunch of stuff.

Yay?

22/90

Good Idea.

The week started out pretty well; typical meetings that net a bunch of ideas I want to implement. Each of these ideas are of course, extremely important. I simply must do every one of them so that people know what a good person I am. Good idea.

I haven't yet carved out a weekly time chart that blocks of dedicated time slots for various accountabilities. I haven't yet written the list of accountabilities in order to see how I fit them all into a weekly work chart. I haven't yet carved time out of the weekly work chart to work around the kids shuffle schedule. I haven't inserted the daily hour for my work outs. Good ideas.

I haven't organized my menus that combine health, budget, and caloric intake and a simple to use grocery chart. Good idea.

I buy things on Groupon and rarely redeem them. When I bought them, the expiration date was so far away, I knew I'd schedule that massage, or go bowling with the family. Neither happened. Today I'm going to beg the photo processor to give me an extension. (Note 2 below) Good idea.

*******

I could go on, and on with this list of self-flagellation, but why make the reader suffer the same words I suffer with from moment to moment in my head? That's not a very nice thing to do to the kind people who actually read this. By golly, I really wish I can do all these things and be at peace. Or at least I'm convincing myself that when I accomplish all of these things, I will be at peace.

I'm a compulsive person. I need to learn restraint. This is part of the developing 12-step program (see note 1 below) for over-committers anonymous. (admitting that one cannot control one's compulsion) Since I've revealed the reasons I've developed this coping mechanism, I'm trying to figure out how I can move from this HUGE self awareness to the next level.

I can't do this alone. (recognizing a higher power that can give strength) My "go-to higher power" is very challenging for me. As a "cradle Catholic," I still want desperately to find the comfort in the Church. But today's Church has moved so far to the right of the social justice and principles that built my moral compass. The Church of Vatican II is now ancient history. The Church of today is more concerned with my vagina, and eliminating all of the things that take care of it, rather than guiding my decisions about what to do with it. If only the Church was more mindful about a few of their penises.... I need my Church to help me be a good person; nothing more. Instead of seeking out a priest or Catholic authority for my higher power connection, I want to look into greater depths of spirituality. Honestly, I wish I could find another Catholic who can help me with this greater step without being a preachy political nutcase. I've met a few preist in my life that would fit this criteria; but they all live in Wisconsin. Nothing against any of the priests in the Lehigh Valley; I just don't want to be guilt tripped into going to church. I want to be there because it means something to my soul. When it's time for spiritual reflection, I want it to be spiritually healing. I get more spiritual healing from Bruce Springsteen than the new Mass. "Consubstantial" just isn't there for me. I wish the Church would take a few lessons from other religions. Oh wait, I forgot. Church leaders are omnipotent. For a second I thought only God was. My mistake.

I wonder if I can skip this awareness, or switch it with the next level. (examining past errors with the help of a sponsor; experienced member); any other over-committers who have learned to control their compulsive need to take on every good idea that comes along?

Even though I'm barely past the first step, I know I need to move on to the next:

• making amends for these errors;
• learning to live a new life with a new code of behavior;

As for being a self-admitted over-committer, the last step is noble, but to me (at this point in my self awareness) completely counter to what I'm trying to accomplish.

• helping others who suffer from the same addictions or compulsions. 

Seriously? ... perhaps this is beyond my perceived abilities at the moment.
As I've been writing, this thought came to me. Do I have a short circuit in my decision making process? There must be a flow chart for this.... By golly, the internets have done it again!

Thank you, Dr. Hoefer. Your voice sounds very similar to Mr. Fred Rogers. Are you related? 


As I've said in previous posts - actions speak lounder than statements on a blog post. July 1st is the official beginning of my new job description. Not much is changing in what I do. However, I have this amazing opportunity to change HOW I do it.

If my mid-life crisis is about figuring out how to enjoy the rest of my life rather than in trying to realize delusional dreams, than holy moly, hip-hip-hooray! I'm finding this process rather liberating. 


****


21/90

Note 1: Here are the actual 12-steps from Alcoholic anonymous. I see now by reading them why some recovered alcoholics are either very devout, or very atheistic. 

• We admitted we were powerless over alcohol—that our lives had become unmanageable.
• Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.
• Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him.
• Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves.
• Admitted to God, to ourselves, and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs.
• Were entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character.
• Humbly asked Him to remove our shortcomings.
• Made a list of all persons we had harmed, and became willing to make amends to them all.
• Made direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others.
• Continued to take personal inventory, and when we were wrong, promptly admitted it.
• Sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God as we understood Him, praying only for knowledge of His will for us and the power to carry that out.
• Having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these steps, we tried to carry this message to alcoholics, and to practice these principles in all our affairs.
  (wikipedia)

Note 2: I'm canceling all email subscriptions to stores, donation centers and Daily Deals. Since I've self-diagnosed a compulsive disorder, I need to remove all temptations for a while. This diagnosis is completely valid. I have a doctorate. Even though their are not qualified letters, I'll take it.

Your Mileage May Vary

Did you know that you can improve your gas mileage by lowering your speed to 55 MPH? Of course you did. Last night, I had this idea for a blog post, so I went searching for some websites that would give me a good source for this "tale" I heard my driver's ed teacher tell me so many decades ago.

Coming back from a great vacation, I find that some of these tips for more efficient driving are a ver sensible way to approach my desire to craft my 12-step program for over-committers anonymous. All tips from the U.S. Department of Energy.

Observe the Speed Limit While each vehicle reaches its optimal fuel economy at a different speed (or range of speeds), gas mileage usually decreases rapidly at speeds above 50 mph.

One of the causes of emotional burnout is that I'm working too much and too fast to be present in what I'm doing. Life is flying at great speed. I want to strangle people who tell me to "enjoy my children now, because it all goes too fast." It goes fast, because I'm packing too much into my work that I can't stop working even after the work day ends. I really don't want to be constantly checking email because I *think* there's something important I might miss. The truth is that I allow work at home so that I keep busy enough that I can't possibly think about... 

Really? That again? It's not really that present in my thoughts 24/7. I've spent most of my life training to be busy enough that I barely think about it any more. I realize it's going to take some time to change the cycle to be NOT working all the time. Slowing down will fill my time with better quality work. 

That 10 minutes I come across in between meetings? Maybe a few Sun Salutations or Downward Dog.

Remove Excess Weight Avoid keeping unnecessary items in your vehicle, especially heavy ones. An extra 100 pounds in your vehicle could reduce your MPG by up to 2 percent. The reduction is based on the percentage of extra weight relative to the vehicle's weight and affects smaller vehicles more than larger ones.

Apparently, gravity sucks for cars and bodies alike. This post isn't going to tangentially rant about my weight issues. But, there it is; the perfect analogy. I should take the Dr. Oz RealAge test for another reminder of what I already know.

Avoid Excessive Idling Idling can use a quarter to a half gallon of fuel per hour, depending on engine size and air conditioner (AC) use. Turn off your engine when your vehicle is parked. It only takes a few seconds worth of fuel to restart your vehicle. Turning your engine on and off excessively, however, may increase starter wear.

At the end of the work day, I need to stop working. (duh!) It's actually a little more than that. I need to figure out a way to know that I've reached the end of 10 hours of commitment to work, and use the rest of my waking hours for joyful things. Not that I don't get joy out of my work. Clearly, I just need to know when to work at work; be satisfied that I did a fair amount of work at work, and use the four hours left in my day to tend to things that bring me peace; things I never seem to find time to do. Cleaning my house before it becomes a critical mess, exercise, other domestic things, reading my Celtic book library, enjoying friends.... why shouldn't I allow more time for these things?

Use Cruise Control Using cruise control on the highway helps you maintain a constant speed and, in most cases, will save gas. 

I know this sounds a little anal - but my cruise control should be a schedule in which I don't allow distractions at work. Oh, and saying "no, I wish I could, but I don't have time" a little more.

Use Overdrive Gears When you use overdrive gearing, your car's engine speed goes down. This saves gas and reduces engine wear.

I honestly don't know what this means for driving techniques. I'm going to interpret this analogy to my over-committer's anonymous 12-step program by saying that I've got to trust that work will be fine when I'm not there.

Over-committing is really such a silly thing to do. And yet, it's amazing how much of it I allow. I think I need to find a sponsor.

20/90

Well Travelled Fruit

One of my most annoying habits is packing too many items for trips and never using them. This habit may have started in my gigging days. I used to bring copies of reports and emails to read if I had a few moments to divert my attention from the conductor. Patiently waiting for the strings to pull a difficult passage together was never my strong suit. I knew that I could and should be listening to their work because I would be hearing something that would bring me better understanding of the score in its entirety. I'm not always a "good" musician.

Cripes, I play the bassoon! All of the difficult passages are in our excerpt book. The rest of the bassoon parts are usually oom-chucks underneath all the groovy melodies carried in the upper parts (like, all the other winds, trumpets and violins). If I haven't yet figured out how to oom-chuck the accompaniment after 12 years of intense study and practice, I was an idiot and shouldn't be paid to make these silly sounds.

Inevitably, I'd be absorbed in a paragraph when I realized I missed an entrance. I'd tuck the document away and out of reach before I got caught by someone else (like the old school conductor who would have stabbed me in the eye with his baton if our union would allow). Now that I have two mobile devices that allow me quick access to all sorts of distractions, it's even harder not to check in just for a quick second. But the students are watching me - I should set a good example.

Bad professor.

But I digress. This post is about all the stuff I carry with me and never get to. Mind, I don't just do this on vacations, I do this every time I pack up to go home. My reasoning is that if one of the kids gets sick, I want my work with me. Jimminy - I'm totally hooked up at home. I have a computer and a few gazillion books I could be reading there as well. What on earth compels me to continue to lug home tote bags full of papers?

Guilt.

I simply must learn how to reasonably plan for what I will accomplish at home, and at work. Stick to that plan, or let it go.

Like this grapefruit.

I bought it at the grocery store about three weeks ago thinking it would make a fine breakfast on my new diet tracking system. I brought it back and forth to work for an entire week. Since it was still intact when I started packing for my road trip (sturdy little fellow), I put it in my lunch bag for a snack on the road.

I'm really going to be able to peel the sucker, including the thick pith for consumption? That's what I do when I'm the co-pilot. I never said I was particularly brilliant. Bright maybe, but brilliant? Nope.

This grapefruit  traveled from Bethlehem, PA to Kenosha, WI to Appleton, WI to New Berlin, WI to Ann Arbor, MI to Bowling Green, OH to Toledo, OH and all the way back to Bethlehem and found itself back in my refrigerator.

This morning, I woke up early for a 6am webinar. By the time I got dressed and the kids ready for their summer program, I had not eaten my own breakfast, I grabbed the same grapefruit and tucked it in my ONE tote bag (I'm betting better at this, too) for grazing at the beginning of my work day.

I had that sucker peeled and in a bowl before I turned this computer on. Already ate three pieces and dripped grapefruit juice on my keyboard.

Good girl.

19/90

Let the vacation linger

It was a great vacation. Check that - it was an epic vacation. Even though I snuck in a week and a half of work days in between Harry Potter World (Universal Studios in Orlando, FL) and a week off to clean my house. I consider that, and a week long road trip to various places which included a work related conference, in its entirety - my vacation. It was exactly the way I wanted to spend the past month in my life.

[I just edited, "the last month of my life" - after leaving this page to tuck in the kids, I came back to the paragraph and though it read more like an epitaph]

My life. I waste so much of it worrying about stupid, self-absorbed.... things. I let myself sweat over the small stuff. No matter how many folks post those silly little inspirational cartoons on Facebook, I did not heed their message. Amused by the generosity multiple shares of George Takei's "words of inspiration" cartoons, I allowed only a chuckle. I did not head their wisdom.

The house cleaning was a cathartic exercise of removing the clutter that blocked my serenity. The purging of stuff to find the surfaces in which to spray a lemony scented cleaner. To find satisfaction in a house that smelled of the clean standard of Mad Men decree, is to realize that I'm a sucker for commercial credibility.

I've may have mentioned that my tuck in routine with the kids ends with a question instead of a prayer, "What was your favorite part of the day?" It's great to hear how simple their responses sometimes. They are just that honest.

In thinking about my favorite parts of the vacation, I think a few of the awarenesses from simply giving myself time alone were the best. Even though I hate lists, here they are:

1. The importance of not working. Not doing anything remotely linked to work. Or even trying to make a work connection. No guilt required.

2. Seeing people for a face to face visit. Social media has opened new worlds of people and layers of relationships that I never would have encountered without. But making the time for a conversation without the distraction of dings, alerts, prompts, or the luxury of internet timing; challenging memory and wit - sheer joy.

3. Driving wearies me from the anxiety of traffic, bridges, and tunnels. Funny that I don't trust bridges, even though I work in a nationally recognized engineering university - (I work in a university that also has liberal arts, business, and education colleges; but our provenance is engineering).

4. Long distance driving brought me back to audio books. I used to listen to books when I was a gigging musician. There were times I couldn't wait for rehearsal to end so that I could run back to the car to hear more of the story. Even though I was done with driving an hour before I got home, the story was getting to an epic battle (Clash of Swords, Red Wedding - no spoilers, please). It was close to an NPR moment - but I usually have those in the parking lot at work on Fridays during Story Core.

I went back to work today. After dropping the kids off at their summer program, I happily went back to my office. No butterfly stomach; just happy to see Susan again, and to crank up the air conditioner in my stuffy 3rd floor sanctuary. After a long look, I started to get a little overwhelmed at the thought of the move I'll be doing end of next week. I quickly pushed that aside, unpacked my briefcase and got to business. The email was a large snow drift of messages that could only be taken down one shovel at a time. And that's OK.

Got the kids home and cooked them the first home cooked meal in about a week. Lovely and generous as Steve is, his cooking energy last week was more about dialing the phone than presenting a four-square meal. Lucky for me, there's left overs in convenient take-away boxes for my lunch.

I had a chance to swing by the last Tunes at Twilight for 2012 with a 3 liter box of Shiraz to share with my twitter friends. Got home in time to read to the kids and tuck them in.

I'm still on vacation.

18/90

Rules

Gotta say - after a day of regrouping with my arts administrators in higher education peers, I have some thoughts. Not so much about the various ideas I will be stealing to see if they would work at my institution; but driven by the gathering of people who know EXACTLY what I'm trying to do in my work, and totally validate it.

We all work tirelessly in arts engagement on our campuses; not for ourselves, but in our shared purpose. We truly believe in the power of arts in nurturing the souls and identities of all the students, staff and faculty we serve.

BTW, there's also a ton of data that backs up the fact that participating in arts making is a sure fire way for any person to develop their own creative and innovative muscle. These dedicated and generous people are my kindred spirits. We work in a variety of administrative structures. We have a plethora of accountabilities to manage, while also initiating conversations with various offices, and other working groups outside our direct reporting structure. We boldly cross traditional lines in the sand. We reach far beyond expectations - we see things in a big picture and share strategies that support our common causes.

There is no competition amongst our group. We truly want each of us to be successful.

This is the professional group in which I get the most support and guidance for what I hope will make a difference.

However - at the end of this informationally rich day, I keep circling around a few thoughts for what I will be doing when I return to campus on Thursday. These quotes are probably going to end up in some graphic page I'll frame for my office. Right next to the big pair of old fashioned pantaloons; my "big girl panties."

"Treat others as you want to be treated"

~The Golden Rule

"Treat others in the way they like to be treated"

~The Platinum Rule

"The way you treat yourself sets the standard for others"

~Sonya Friedman

"If you don't love yourself, how in the hell you gonna love somebody else?"

~RuPaul

17/90

Who is judging me?

Leaving the Lawrence campus this morning felt a little like leaving a family member I might never see again. It was just so hard - driving out of town, seeing things that still look so new and yet so familiar. It's a reflection of how much I've changed, and remained the same. While I've had a few successes and major life changes, there's still so much self doubt that lingers. I know this sounds a bit dramatic. But stay with me a little.

It's not really the pain of leaving my youth behind. The self doubt comes from a realization of so many things that I didn't do when I was in college. So many people I really didn't get to know then. So many classes I wished I had taken. So many experiences I wished I could have afforded. I'm not feeling anxiety wondering if I was worthy of the experience, or of the degree. It's wondering if I took every advantage I could. Did I waste opportunity? When I heard a new alumni talk about his Lawrence experience (class of 2011), I wondered if I would have even been accepted into the university....

The grown up voice starts to take over.

A sponge can only take in so much. One needs to accept the finites in life. There are paths. We cannot walk them all at the same time. The trouble is, there are more than two paths that diverged in the yellow wood of Lawrence. As hard as I tried to walk down more than one simultaneously, I had to choose.

What is my biggest regret?

I've just seen some folks for the first time in 15-25 years. I professed such fondness for them, and yet I made no effort to see them in between either graduation, my wedding, or the 10th Reunion. If not for Facebook, I would have been even more overwhelmed with learning about all of my classmates' accomplishments and lives. And now that we all have access to this fancy internet - we can stay in touch better, right?

I decided then and there, that I need to make an effort. I need to be a better friend to those who supported me then and now. I need to really be there.

Actions speak louder than pledges on a blog.

As soon as I hit Highway 41 to start the seven hour journey to the conference in Ann Arbor, MI, I called my brother Kevin. He lives in New Berlin, WI - I'd be an idiot not to stop by even for a brief chat. I'd be more than an idiot. I'd be a terrible sister. It doesn't matter that we vent our political differences on my Facebook page. It doesn't matter that he rolls his eyes every time I start whipping up the drama. He's my brother. He's the one who invited me to his little sibs weekend at St. Norbert's when I was a freshman. I don't know how I got there, or how I got back to Lawrence. For pity's sake, though - our campuses were only 25 miles from each other. And I didn't make the effort.

I'm so ridiculously proud of my brother. So what the hell, Silagh?

*****

It was a nice visit, mom. See - we get along now. But Erin didn't make me a sandwich. I'll be remembering that.....

16/90

Unbalanced

I'm back in the place where I started to learn about myself and my place in the world. The place where I was totally broken, and built back up. The place where what I learned was so much more from the people I met, than from the books I read. The place that offered me failure on a platter; and I ate it up.

I'm overwhelmed by feelings of anxiety, delight, and joy at seeing old spaces and faces. I embrace the nostalgia while I'm hearing updates about what the institution has been doing and how alumni are supporting current students. We have lots of opportunity to pay forward the gifts we were given. I work in higher education. I see the work behind the scenes. I get it.

The women's bathroom in the music-drama building;
my college practice room

There's so many new buildings and facilities on this campus. Spaces and amenities that produce a fair amount of jealousy. I'm fighting feelings of resentment for students who now enjoy them. Yet, the dorms are still the same, and there are plenty of remnants of the spaces I invested much time and brain sweat. These students are still in the same place I was - being broken and built up again to find a way to change the world.

The same Fox River flows at the bottom of Union Hill. There are two students who still mow the lawn on the hill; one pushing the mower in parallel lines down the hill while the other steadies the weight of the mower with a rope on the top of the hill. There are still students who stay on campus in the summer to work during Reunion weekend. They remain a lingering image of our past selves. I've often said to my colleagues on campus; we age, but the students never do.

When I was a student, I would look at the reunion classes of 20+ years and think they looked so old. I hear my classmates say to each other how much we still look the same. We know who is telling the truth.

I graduated 25 years ago at the tender age of 22. These numbers are not at a fulcrum; my life after college is longer than the years preceding graduation. I'm feeling out of balance. I've relived four years of my life in the past day. The swoosh of memory, of lessons, of pain, and of survival has put me off-center.

There are times when a person has to completely clean out the room in order to put order in the space. I just spent a week doing this in my home. I removed all the built up clutter; relocated it to another room, sorted out the things to keep from the garbage. If there was no immediate or future purpose of an item, it went into the garbage.

I realize now that I'm doing the same thing with my college memories. The lingering memories that serve no purpose of inner peace are leaving me. I have found that once again, this campus, these friends, these faculty have helped me find myself again.

"You have earned your good luck through the struggles you've had." (Marjory Irvin, June 16, 2012 3:15pm)

I am blessed with a few moments of grace to accept all of this history as the fabric of my being.

15/90

note: thanks to a conversation with classmate Jeffrey Jolton who shared this articulation with me at lunch today. It was just the frame of mind I needed to face a blank screen.

Hitting the road

Just a quick post to let folks know I'm bound for Appleton, WI. Just picked up my sporty (red; ain't it cute?!!!) rental car which fortunately has a CD player in it. I'm ready for 14 hours of George. R.R. Martin's 3rd book of his "Song of Ice and Fire" epic. Wahoo - adventures for an adventure.

I'll be staying with my mom tonight - I hopefully will get to Kenosha, WI before 11pm, if I end this post soon enough and don't get stuck in traffic anywhere on I-80 or in the Chicago Loop. If I planned this right, I'll hit the lower side of Chicago after rush hour.

I used to be a road warrior. I took cross country trips to conferences in my little Red Tercel. Let's see how much my nerve can take.

All alone.

Missing my kids and Steve.

Knowing the dog is sad to see his mistress drive away.

But I'm seeing some old friends. I'm retracing the steps of my college days. I'll even get to thank some profs who should be given medals of honor for their service (and for encouraging me when I really didn't deserve it).

I'm going to find a big bounce this week.

14/90

The morning after

Yesterday I revealed not so much a family secret, but something I didn't write about until yesterday. I posted the piece on Twitter only once in the #LUBlogTribe fashion. What kind of surprised me was the number of comments from my friends on my limited Facebook post. Some of these friends knew, others didn't.

Steve's diagnosis is known in the immediate family; his brothers and sisters, a few of his aunts and uncles. When his parents were still living, he didn't tell them. His decision; we all respected it. My own family knows. We've even told the kids, but they don't really see Daddy as being sick. They've only seen a few side effects of interferon. When I started blogging last summer, I wanted to write about it, but respected Steve's privacy. He didn't want his employer to know. This past fall, he finally told his employer.

What I know about multiple sclerosis is from watching it kill my father. It wasn't so much his body that gave out, it was his spirit. I don't want to see that happen to Steve, or to the kids. But more than anything else, I do not want to wallow in fear of any future that could look like my past. I also need to remind myself that it's not me that's sick - so I need to buck up and deal with it.

Steve was diagnosed when our kids were five months old. He's been living with the diagnosis for nine years. He's on and off medication (currently off now), and his MRI's have shown little progression. He's in a good place. We're both dealing more with our bodies natural decline from age more than with MS. We both laugh at our failing eyesight, lack of energy, and fond memories of what we used to be able to do when we were younger. Steve is still working in the garden and mowing the lawn. He is still the smartest, most pragmatic and patient guy I know. And my gosh, he's still handsome.

***

I made a couple of big Facebook mistakes last year which led me to filtering my "friends." The first mistake was posting an epitaph for my mother-in-law too early. Learning about the death of a loved one from Facebook isn't cool. No matter how much I needed to share, I learned restraint from that mistake. A few months later, I posted a work related cryptic vent. Two colleagues reached out to me, one on Twitter, one in a private message on Facebook. Realizing the post was causing more trouble because I had to spend time explaining it, I took it down. But not before someone chatted about it at work - and the chatter made it all the way to my boss, who is not a social media user.

That same week, I had a pretty extensive political 'discussion' on my FB page. I kept it on my page because I believe social media is a place for conversation. If I can't demonstrate that, I shouldn't be using it. I have been recognized as one of the early adopters of social media on campus. I credit social media for many of the successes I've achieved, not so much for the work, but for the people with whom I have connected through social media. My work is about connecting art to people and helping people develop their own relationship with art. From that circle, other important factors about my work is that trusting relationships need to be built on honesty, transparency, and visible presence.

It only took one comment from my boss, "You are visible enough on campus and in the local community that you need to be careful what you post on your Facebook page."

I'm not famous, not by any means. I do realize that I represent my institution, but I also know that who I am is part of that representation. I wear my heart on my sleeve. I'm intensely open and honest about my feelings and opinions. I suck at poker. I talk too much, and I'm trying to be a better listener.

I'm hoping that by writing, I'll be able to capture some things that I'll need to refer back to in the future. But more than that, I hope to expunge the thoughts that continue to whirl in the head and take up too much space and energy. Thanks to all who are following along.

13/90

I'm getting too used to this - maybe

Maybe I mentioned this before. I'm hanging out at home with the kids this week on a stay-cation because their school ended last Wednesday and their summer program doesn't start until next Monday. For the last seven years, I've never taken all of the vacation time I've annually accrued. In fact, I've ended up losing it because I didn't take it. I may as well have written a check back to my employer. Guess I'm just trained to work all the time because that's what musicians do.

But I'm not a professional musician any more. So why am I compelled to work all the time?
I know why. I need to admit this and come clean - it's called distraction from things that I don't want to face.

The habit of keeping myself so busy in order to not think about something painful started in high school. No, I think even earlier than that. Keeping me busy was a coping mechanism my mom used in order to help us deal with my father's multiple sclerosis. Back in the 1970s, families didn't have access to support systems available today. Keeping us all busy and out of the house was to keep our minds on positive things, and not dwell on dad's declining health at home. By the time my dad died in 1980, I was involved in so many extra curricular activities, I could barely keep my head straight. That's how I liked it. Too busy thinking about practices, rehearsals, meetings, float building, dances, boyfriends, and hair styles so that I didn't have to feel. I was so afraid that if I felt something, I would collapse.

It's been thirty-two years. It's a long standing habit that while I'm completely aware of it, I can't completely stop. I know why. I'm ashamed to admit it, because it reveals my cowardice.

My husband has multiple sclerosis. There. I said it. And the reason why I overload my life is because I go back to the old coping mechanism. I've got be pluck up the courage and be here.

Granted, I'm going to be taking off for a week. When I get back, I've got some major resetting to do.

Steve's cool with me writing about this now. I'm grateful for this; I have a few more posts aching to get out on this subject.

12/90

LU Profs who made an impact

Students and young alumni from Lehigh may be confused by the title of this post. It's the not many faculty colleagues who inspire and motivate my daily work, this post is about the people who kicked me in the butt when I needed it most when I was your age...

Yes, I also walked to classes barefoot in the snow, 2 miles, uphill, both directions. Lawrence University is in Wisconsin, donchya-know.

Bob Levy

The king of breathing. He was our esteemed Wind Ensemble dictator, ahem, director who demanded we do more listening to ourselves as an ensemble than try to out perform each other as individuals. If we weren't blending, we were ruining the music. He let us know that, no matter what the consequences of pride or ego. He required we listen to recordings of the Eastman Wind Ensemble. One piece that I remember with great fondness is Joseph Schwantner's "...and the mountains rising nowhere." The percussion parts on this were a bitch, as were the rhythms in all of the sections. Oboe players got to play tuned crystal glasses. At some point we all had to sing. If you want to hear a recording of it, here's a link. Make sure you give yourself a quiet space for 12 minutes to hear the whole piece. And make sure you don't have the volume up too high in the beginning. Trust me, it gets fantastically loud. Playing this piece was one of the best memories of Lawrence. Taking it on tour was pretty cool, too. Ending up at Eastman was an achievement I never, ever dreamed of when I was an undergrad. Each time I played in the Eastman Wind Ensemble, I remembered Bob's mantra to breath and listen to each other. I would pinch myself when I'd look at the ceiling of the Eastman Theatre; a picture of the chandelier was on one of the albums we were assigned.

One thing to note about my Lawrence experience. I switched instruments from flute to bassoon in my freshman year. I had good reasons. Not really knowing at the time, the unusual decision turned out to be the best thing I could have done, despite the ridiculous amount of frustration it brought.

I had never seen a bassoon up close until freshman year, so when I was given the chance to try it over Thanksgiving break, I took it as a novelty. By my sophomore year, I took the plunge, dropped the flute and focused on the beast. Bob let me play it in ensembles, even though I didn't have complete control over the sound. On one occasion in rehearsal he yelled at me in front of everybody, "Silagh, if you can't restrain that thing, don't play. Just sit out."

I was devastated. He knew it. After rehearsal, he took me to the student union for coffee to encourage me to keep trying (and to apologize, I think). It was a combination of his demand and my stubborn determination that I buckled down even harder - spending as much time in the practice room as I could on long tones, scales, and trying to teach myself how to adjust reeds. The bassoon teacher was only available on campus one day a week. Looking back, I should have transfered. But I'm so glad I stuck it out - for so many other reasons.

My senior year, I auditioned for the concerto competition. Of course, I was competing against some amazing performers: Mary Leavall (flute), Rob Hudson (trombone) - the classmates who were top of their game in high school. Add another 4 years to their already incredible talent, while I had only 3.5 years on the bassoon, there's no way I could even compete. But I did anyway because I'm that delusional. After the competition, Bob came up to me to tell me that although I didn't win, he was impressed with the hard work I put into it, and he was pleased that I was going to continue studying in a masters program. He was being very fatherly, telling me that what I did wasn't normal and not to give up.

Fred Sturm
At the time I was a student, Fred was director of LUJE - Lawrence University Jazz Ensemble; the coolest ensemble in the entire conservatory - according to me. Since the bassoon shouldn't swing (except from a rope - there, I plugged in one of the most popular orchestra instrument jokes), I wasn't able to join the group. I was a wannabe jazzer. All the kids in the LUJE just had it so together. I could only admire them. Before the conservatory renovation, LUJE had their own rehearsal space in the International House, second floor. There was a bathroom on that floor where Fred allowed me to keep my bassoon reed stuff in the bathtub so I wouldn't have to move it all the time.

Fred is a kind soul. And the only other person I know who switched instruments in college. He didn't take me under his wing, but just knowing he understood what I was putting myself through meant a lot. It was so cool to see him in the faculty at Eastman when I got there as a doctoral candidate. I was so glad I finally got a chance to play in his program there in a couple of studio jazz concerts, and film score writing projects. Just him knowing where I came from, and that I was finally in the ensembles meant so much to have him see me there.

It's good to know that Fred is back in Appleton. LUJE just means so much more with him there.

Dane Richeson
Dane joined the Lawrence conservatory faculty my sophomore year. He made a huge impact on the conservatory, especially with the ladies. Yes, he's still pretty gosh darned handsome. But it was his mysterious and intentionally deep musicality that drew us in. He brought so much music to campus, not only in his jazz drumming, but in his starting the Sambistas (which grew into the LU Percussion Ensemble). Man, those were some great concerts.

I have one favorite memory of Dane. While he was performing a ton off campus, he also had to teach the percussion methods course for one term; 8-10am, four days a week. It was brutal for all of us. The day we had to study crash cymbals, I was really..... sick. (a little excessive fun the night before in Pat's Tap). Dane delighted at seeing my green face, and demonstrated the proper technique three inches from my ears. I totally deserved it.

Dane inspired me to try new things later in my graduate studies. In a somewhat tangential way, Dane pushed me into exploring the Balinese Gamelan at Bowling Green State University. This is where I met my future husband. Thanks, Dane!

Marjory Irvin
Any connie from the class of '87 knew Ma Irvin. She was the tough as nails music theory teacher we all feared as freshmen, and revered as seniors. For some strange reason, I was put in the A level theory class with the other more brilliant musicians my freshman year. It was intimidating enough being paired with the top flutist in Wisconsin for a room mate. Music theory is the practice in which you "train your eyes to hear, and your ears to see." (Ms. Irvin, 1983). As an example, we had daily aural skills exercises where we were given the first note, then after a string of intervals, had to know that last note. Thus, by hearing, we could see what note ended the phrase by noting each in turn on the manuscript. We also had to know the quality of sound (major or minor) of a chord just by seeing it in the score. We also had to learn how to analyze and write 4-part harmonic chord progressions in order to learn the rules of western music construction. We were pulling apart music bit by bit so we could understand the structure. In way, it's like pulling apart an engine to understand how the parts fit together. We were to eventually know how to hear a score of music just by reading it.

Ms. Irvin was tough, but fair. I was doing a lot of whining about music theory, not really wanting to apply myself. I turned passive agressive and didn't turn in some of the assignments at all. She did the best thing any teacher could do to a student who has potential, but doesn't apply it toward the work: she failed me my freshman year. I was put on academic probation, and nearly lost my scholarship.

She didn't give up on me. There were a few times when she pulled me into her studio to make me explain to her the process of secondary dominant chord progression, or the differences between the three augmented sixth chords and how the inner voices should resolve to the transitional key change. She knew that if I could explain it, I would get it.

She taught me one of the best lessons as a mentor; if the student doesn't understand a concept the first three times you repeated the explanation, the teacher (you) are the one not listening. It was the first time I was introduced to the theory of multiple intelligences - even before Howard Gardner's theory became international renowned.

More than being an excellent teacher, she was my friend. When students were kicked out of the dorms in between terms, she invited me to stay at her home instead of go back home. My reasons for not wanting to go back to Kenosha were stupid, but she didn't judge. I'm sure my mom was as grateful as I was for a place to stay. Marge was an excellent cook, and an incredibly interesting person outside of class. She introduced me to Pouilly-Fuisse; not a particularly expensive wine, but a fancy name. She even named her cat after the wine. Every time I see this label, I think of her:

I hope I get a chance to see these folks next weekend. I have to thank each and every one of them for giving me the tools I use in almost every aspect of life, both in and out of performing music.

11/90

I can't believe I survived

Yes, the wonderful 25th college reunion is coming next weekend. I've been thinking about seeing old friends, mostly my dear friend Eileen. Eileen is an incredible person who stuck with me through thick and thin - even stood up at my wedding. She moved out to Seattle when I moved out to Rochester. I haven't seen her in 15 years. I will most likely cry buckets of tears upon seeing her again.

If there is a DJ they should spin all the "good" tunes from the 80s; a sensible line up of tunes beyond top 40. When I was in college, MTV was just starting. All the "guilty pleasures" we hear sung on American Idol were the ones we danced to at frat parties. The "stoner" kids were listening to the Grateful Dead - you know, the band before Phish? The "cooler" kids were listening to alternative rock like R.E.M. and Talking Heads. My friend across the hall freshman year (Patty) introduced me to English Beat and UB40. Sweet love of God, I better hear some Prince while I'm there....

All this nostalgia. All these memories. I'm sure more will come flooding back when I smell the lingering oder of the paper mills - kind of like rotten eggs. It's not a particularly pleasant smell - but will trigger more memories, no doubt.

I hope to see some of the local sights that used to be taboo night time adventures: Senator Joseph McCarthy's grave. Harry Houdini's statue is in the downtown area, not too far from campus. And of course, there's doing "the avenue." That's what we called bar hopping. You started on one side of College avenue and worked your way down to The Cove. The drink you had to order at The Cove was the Vulcan Mind Probe: 1/2 ouzo, 12/ rum. Or a Long Island Iced Tea. Of course, you'd be wrecked by this point - but you'd have to stumble back through all the bars on the other side of the avenue. Inevitably, all drunks would end up crammed into Pat's Tap. There wasn't a lot of room. By the end of the night, the floor would be covered in peanut shells and the air thick with clove cigarettes.

Oh my gosh - remember Cleo's???? Christmas decorations all year round. I think at the 10th reunion, they were selling the bar. I grabbed one of the decorations. I still have it.

There was a small park next to Pat's. One would often hear a drumming session going on. Or people just pacing themselves. Hanging out - talking about everything and nothing.

It's a wonder to me I never saw anyone passed out on the benches that lined the campus walk ways between Pat's and any of the dorms. I always felt sorry for the kids who lived in Trevor Hall - man, that was a distance!

I wonder if the students working this reunion weekend are going to hear anything from my classmates like I did 25 years ago. In 1986, I was checking in the 20th reunion class of '66 who were staying at Trevor Hall. This one gentleman walked into the lobby, took in the scene and said in an all not too quiet voice, "Dude, I dropped my first quaalude in this lobby."

Nice.

I'm sure our shared memories will be confessions and marvels of our own survival.

10/90

What if....

After raving about a personal religious issue yesterday, I want to switch directions so that instead of seething in anger, I can direct my thoughts toward more positive imagination.

What I love about cleaning the house, cooking a complicated dish, sewing, making bassoon reeds, or doing anything else with my hands that takes me away from writing, is that my head gets to wander. Most of the time, I'm re-imagining conversations I've had, or discussions I'm going to have in the future. It's kind of a rehearsal. Like most folks, I probably dwell on confrontational issues a little too much.  I don't want to stew over work in front of the kids. I grab the dog, and we both get a good session; me and my thoughts, him and his sniffs.

For the next four days, the weather is going to be progressively warmer. If I'm going to get out with the dog, it'll have to be in the morning because he's a mess of thick black hair (which really needs his annual shave), and I really don't like being over heated.

Morning walk/runs will also give me the chance to re-direct my thoughts more into "what if" imaginations. I just hope that I can leave many of those thoughts on the sidewalk. If not filtered, I can become irrationally dedicated to implementing all the ideas - putting me in the looney bin, for certain.

Today's thoughts will be focused on,

"What if I was actually able to finish all of my house hold goals before I head to Wisconsin?"

****

any conclusion? Yup - limit the number of goals on the list. Ta-dah!

9/90

When Good People Do Nothing

I follow Mayor Cory Brooker (Newark, NJ) on Twitter. He's an exemplary model of using the tool to engage with his constituents. He occasionally posts little quotes that make me pause. While they may not be his own all the time, they are definitely worth sharing. This one got me today:

Cory Booker ‏@CoryBooker

Evil triumphs when good ppl do nothing. But love prevails when a community of conviction engages in rebellious kindness & defiant compassion

I did a little bit of digging on this quote. It seems the first part comes from Edmund Burke, a 1770's Irish statesman. Other's have used the quote: from JFK to William Safire. It's even used as a tagline to a 2003 Television mini-series, "Hitler: The Rise of Evil"  While the context of the quote connects to a bounty of considerable issues, I remain fixed on the reflection it stirs in my own thoughts.

My thoughts surround a recent issue;a "showdown between rebel American nuns, a bishop, and [again] the Vatican." See today's Guardian. My favorite quote from the article
"It has become abundantly clear that, particularly in matters related to the pelvic zone, the hierarchy is not interested in exploring questions or engaging in dialogue," columnist Jamie Manson wrote in the National Catholic Reporter. 

While looking up the full post for the context of the above quote, I found another post by the same author in which a disturbing trend is happening. This article was triggered by "an ad placed in The New York Times urging liberal and nominal Catholics to "quit the church" because it can never be changed from within, and to participate in it is to cooperate with its oppressive system."

With every new seemingly-removed-from-reality-as-we-know-it-today thing that comes from the Holy See, I'm ever more disturbed and troubled at the lack of spirituality and humanism of The Church. I know reasonable folks would ask, "Why do you stay, if you don't like it so much?"

At this point in my life, leaving the community and identity of being a Catholic would be similar to the pain of going through a divorce, or worse, disowning a family member.

Identifying as a Catholic (for me) is not about blind obedience to a body of leaders who are ever more distant from the people they are supposed to lead. My Catholic identity is part of my cultural heritage, and the part of my spirit that gives me strength when I've had really tough life challenges. Do I pray? Yes. Do I attend weekly mass? Sometimes. Why not every week? Simple:

When the homily is about politics; when the music is so badly out of tune that I can't even think, I won't be able to have my reflection with God. I prefer going to daily mass in the morning, if I can squeeze it between exercise, getting kids out the door, and reporting for work. The daily mass typically covers three readings from the bible, and a short sermon. Maybe a couple of songs sung in a capella, if the priest wants. There's usually quiet time after communion to meditate for a few minutes. I cherish this time. If I want to know what's happening in the parish, I'll grab a bulletin.

Do I believe in God? Yes. Do I believe there was a Jesus? Yes. Do I believe there were hundreds of people who devoted their lives to helping others in the model that Jesus lived? Yes.

Do I believe there are and have always been leaders in the Church who thrive on their power over others more than embrace the humble teachings of Christ? Damned right.

The values I learned as a Catholic are a part of my life and struggles to simply be a good person. I think about the prayers we say in mass as a way to reflect on my actions toward others. That's it. I will speak aloud the prayers in Mass - all except one line. Because I do not believe in "one Holy Apostolic Church." (Apostle's Creed) I believe there are many doctrines who embrace the teachings of Christ, and other inspired spiritual leaders. Just as there is more than one color of skin on the planet, there is more than one way to address the souls within.

Back to the issue of the day's concern.

In 1894, the Sisters of St. Joseph built the convent and the school as part of Holy Infancy Parish. There are two nuns who, after serving the Church and Catholic Schools for more than 50 years, have just retired from leading my kids' school. These two nuns were the last of the order at the school, and the last of a great generation of religious women who dedicated their lives to teaching children. These women didn't teach just the sacraments and the parts of mass, they lead the school by educating the whole child spiritually, academically and emotionally. My kids' education is based on the gospel values of love, justice, and peace. These women gave children the tools necessary to be a good people in life after school and outside of the Church. Academics aside, I send my kids to the school because I believe the teachers and the co-principals helped me and Steve raise our kids to be decent human beings.

Even the kids, at the tender age of 9 years old, understand that their school is special. My son said it best: "Having strict teachers is a good thing because no one is allowed to make fun of anybody else. We get so much more work done, and can do fun things when people get along."

For the Vatican to question them, and any other women or lay person who has dedicated their lives to teaching in catholic schools on any level angers me as if they were attacking my own mother. For Christ's sake, if it not for the nuns, who else would have kept the church together during all the priest sex scandals?

We need another Martin Luther. I'd settle for another Pope Paul VI.

8/90

Productive Procrastination

Those in the #LUBlogTribe, or friends who regularly see me post on Twitter/Facebook may be wondering if I'm doing OK. I've been in a sort of radio silence for the past couple of days as I work on some very messy, detailed, long overdue organizing of my home. I'm purging every room, closet, storage area, nook, and cranny as a way of preparing for a job shift at work.

The job shift is something I've known about since last December. It's been a long process, but I still can't write too much about it now. There are many details that still have to be worked out with the transition. I have been thinking about these changes- perhaps too much. I know things will all be fine; but until I settle in the next phase, there's much to plan so that the new position comes with reasonable expectations of actually getting things done. My own expectations, that is.

I also need to stay home bound while the kids are in between school and summer program for the next week. What better time to purge than now?

I tend to dive into new tasks with a flurry, upset every order, and then poop out before I finish. If I actually finish a goal, there's recovery time. This process usually applies to major home modifications, yard work, or worse, moving into a new home.

I've been reading some student and young alumni blogs about moving and setting up their new personal space. It makes me a little nostalgic worrying about moving into a new dorm room or apartment. When I first went to college, all of my stuff fit into a compact car with room for me and my mom. Each time I had to leave a dorm room, all of my stuff would need to be moved - therefore purging just became part of life. I delighted in claiming my space; my little bit of domestic bliss.

Then I had my first apartment. My senior year at college, I was able to negotiate off campus housing and lived above a restaurant on College avenue. I think it was called "the Casbah." Whatever it was, it's closed now. I know there was live music and the ever present smell of bacon.... (like I said before, college reunion coming up)

I'm not sure what my reasons were for *needing* to live off campus, but I'm sure they were silly. I should have stayed in the dorm. Right after commencement (which was 100 degrees in the shade), my mom and siblings had to help me move out. It was a mess. I had too much stuff that just had to be dumped; notebooks, mattress, meaningful bits that meant enough to hold on to it for a time. I've never been a clothes horse, but there's just something about life that adds crap to your possessions. All of the crap needed to go. It wasn't going to replace the emptiness I was feeling, leaving my friends and the campus that meant so much. I had changed so much in those four years. I made great friends, huge mistakes, and learned enough about who I wasn't going to be - but I still had to figure out what I was really going to do with my life. The random objects weren't going to give me direction.

I only had seven weeks before I started a master's program in Ohio. In that very short summer, I went home to get my wisdom teeth pulled, and then spent a few weeks performing in Birch Creek Music Festival. Oh yes, and both of my brothers got married that summer. One in August, the other in September - six weeks apart from each other. (I think that's right; another blur of my life then)

Oh my gosh, my poor mom. (yes, another "a ha" moment of how much crap she had to deal with. The summer of 1987 must have been pretty tough on her)

As I packed the Chevy Citation to move myself to Bowing Green, OH, I once again found a need to purge - and I also became a really good packer.

Twenty-five years later, I find myself purging as if I need to move out of the country. I've made a list of areas to tackle one at a time. Yesterday, I got through a big one; the room on the other side of the laundry room. It's a kind of walk in closet that could be made into an office. I pulled everything out into the family room and sorted for 8 hours. All the office supplies, craft supplies, photos and sewing projects are identified. Here's the rub:

I'm now so obsessed with organizing the office supplies that every time I see a rogue paper clip, I stop what I'm doing and put it in the new office. It also took me ten minutes to brush my teeth this morning - or I should say, I had the toothbrush in my mouth for ten minutes as I kept finding random bits in other places of the house.

I know this about my work habits:

If there's something I need to do, and know that it will take a huge effort to do it, I will find something else to keep me busy enough so that I can't do the thing I really need to do. Which of course, is nonsense because I end up doing the distracting then on top of the thing I should be doing in the first place. The distracting activity is noble; not lazy

Steve first called me on it when I was supposed to be studying for doctoral comprehensives, and I just couldn't because the toilet needed cleaning and I really, really needed to bake cookies.

7/90

"..for the night is dark and full of terrors"

Anyone who's watched a few episodes of HBO's "Game of Thrones" knows the line. While the show has a few tangled and complicated story lines, some of the characters get quite repetitive. That's where the drinking games becomes very effective.

Steve and I have been watching the second season; always on DVR 20 minutes late because we want to be sure the kids are tucked in before we watch the gratuitous violence/sex/blood. After each episode, we read a recap on the NJ Star Ledger; especially the writers who haven't read the books either. Season 2 just finished last night. I'm hungry for more. (I'm relieved that Peter Drinkage's character survived Season 2 - LOVE him)

Good thing our local library has all of the books available. I'll just have to wait my turn for the printed ones, or see about borrowing the audio CDs for my long drive to Wisconsin.

Actually, that sounds like a super idea. Back in the day, when I was doing my best contribution to gas consumption, I was listening to epic tales told in classy accents to keep me interested and awake all those long miles between home, rehearsals and concerts. I listened to all of the Anne Rice Vampire novels. ("Lestat"...... in a long, breathy voice. delicious!) And a few other forgettable series books that were on the limited audio book shelf in the Bowling Green public library. I actually got through the Council of Elrond on audio only because I was paying attention to the incredible sexy British accent. Before that, each time I tried so hard to read it so that Steve and I could have something of his youth to share - but I kept falling asleep. (this was before Peter Jackson's films)

Here's a little secret: I'm a sucker for accents. Some older ladies get a heart flitter when they see a muscle guy. I can appreciate the work that goes into body building. But my head turns at accents. Next, my fancy goes to the ballet dancer physique. Then, tickle my interest with a great sense of humor... If you have all three, I'm not supposed to talk to you. Although being married for nearly 20 years, and meeting plenty of accented, funny male dancers, I'm pretty sure I'm not going any farther than fantasy.

But when my menopausal hormones are cooking up hot and sweaty night sweats, and I need a shower at 3am because my dreams are scaring the pajamas off me....

.... yes, the night is dark and full of terrors.

then I crawl back into bed with my handsome, funny, gentle husband. He waits for me to give him a signal that it's ok to touch me, and he pats me wherever his hand finds me. And I fall asleep knowing that he's there for me, as I will always be for him.

6/90

Oxygen Mask Instructions

What an incredible weekend I just had. Maybe not spectacular by other people's standards, but compared to the many weekends I had before I went to Orlando last week, definitely a great one. Seems that going on a vacation really did a full reset. Hard to believe where my head was a month ago. But no need to try to revisit that state of mind.

"If you dwell on what you've left behind, you'll never see what lies ahead."

It's a line from one of my kids' movies, Ratatouille. There's a ton of great lines in that one. Every time I watch the movie, there's another line that hits me.

So what's so great about this weekend? I got a chance to think.

Just sit and think.

I also had some time to make a plan that should return my home to a place of serenity once I've knocked all the of the little goals off the list. For the next two weeks, my kids will be finishing school, and I will be taking time away from campus to stay home. I get to pretend to be a stay-at-home mom. Of course, I'll still have work lingering - there's a few meetings I'll have to attend, email to keep under control. I should also get to some of the things I've promised my volunteer groups.

I should think about work, too. I must put some perspective on all the ideas I have and PICK the ones that will be effective. I'm starting to get comfortable with not doing everything that comes my way. I'm getting better at realizing that even though I can do lots of things, I don't need to do them all. There's also a pretty long reading list. Better make sure I make time for that before I take on too may projects.

After taking that vacation, I'm actually looking forward to the reflection time. I'll be doing lots of that thinking while I tackle the many household tasks I have set.

What else was incredible about this weekend? There was a lot of things going on. Many of my colleagues were working their butts off at the SouthSide Sale. For the first time in four years, I elected not to volunteer. I also didn't volunteer at the School Block Party.

A good friend told me that I should make sure I take time to take care of myself before I completely burn out. Before vacation, I was more than a little burnt. I was toast. Crispy. Pretty darned useless.

A long time ago, I had a mentor tell me that the need to take a vacation is in direction proportion to the available time to take it. It's kind of a Murphy's Law.

So how did I finish this great weekend? I took a mini vacation. I did the Kilt Crawl fundraiser for the Celtic Cultural Alliance. Steve generously stayed home with the kids while I went downtown to raise funds with friends in my Cow Kilt. Even though it was a duty of being a CCA Board Member, there is nothing too challenging about it. In past years, I did the Kilt Crawl after serving a long shift at the SouthSide Sale, then spent the evening at the Block Party. At Kilt Crawl the following day, I was barely able to stand. The Monday return was a spectacular failure. I was operating at 30%.

That was just stupid.

So this year, I made a choice. I hope my colleagues understand. I'm finally heeding what every airline attendant says at the beginning of every flight:

"Put your oxygen mask on first before assisting others."

I did that this weekend.

5/90

I will not succumb

I've written previously about my relationship with Jenny Craig. I had joined the weight-loss program in 1996, and again in 2002, and again in 2011. Even though I was able to drop weight, when I stopped eating the not so tasty and very expensive food, my weight came back on. I'm obviously a very good customer for them.

Not anymore.

You suck, JC. Your food stinks, your "counselors" don't have any real training (except for selling). For the amount of money you charge, you could at least hire nutritionists to work with your clients on meal planning after they stop eating your meal plans. How about counselors who actually have degrees in counseling? Want to get to the real issues of why you overeat? Talk to a psychologist, not a weight loss counselor who has lost their own weight. I mean, if I have a broken bone, I'm going to see an orthopedic surgeon, not talk to someone who had their own broken bone.

"Here, use my cast. It worked for me."

Dieting and exercise make me nuts. I think about it every day. I'm frustrated, I'm defeated, and I want someone else to figure out for me. But that's exactly how I ended up angry at Jenny Craig. Isn't it just like a citizen of the first world - diverting self loathing at a program or a product? Never want to admit that the tool works only when utilized with knowledge. One usually doesn't use a screwdriver to pound in a nail.

This applies to most things in life, BTW.

Steve suggested I return to JC a few weeks ago. He knows I'm frustrated. He knows it's ridiculously expensive. But he also knows that I'm much happier when my BMI is not at "obese" levels. Yes, I went public on that. Steve is always willing to support me in whatever I want to do that will make me satisfied with life. There's great trust and support in our relationship. He totally gets me, and still loves me despite my self loathing, selfishness, and childish ways.

According to every online BMI calculator, I am obese. There is no fudging numbers. I can't suck in my BMI in a full length mirror. I know that if I lose 10% of my current weight, so many pending health issues will diminish their likelihood. I know I have good genes (thanks to my Irish genealogy, the Italian side gave me my appetite) - but I'm gambling with the odds. I also have bad knees. Pain would be less if I dropped weight.

I've got to make a substantial change here. And it means I'll have to dedicate some time and energy, and  be persistent. There are much better tools available to me now. And I'll have to figure out how to make the tools work for me.

What I got from JC was an established weekly menu; all meals and snacks accounting for calories-not sure about nutritional value. While I did learn portion control through modeling, I did not learn how to adjust my own daily cooking and eating habits. When I cook for the family meals, I'm not paying attention to calories. Luckily, there's an app for that. in fact, there are two that I have been using this past week to a very good start. I actually feel like I can sustain my efforts with tools that make planning easy and adjustable.

All Recipes.com When you join the free membership category, you can make and save meal plans. And you can search the recipes by (get this!) by "recipes under 300/200/100 calories." I plan meals for the next 4-5 days, and only cook enough to feed 4 people. If there's a bit of leftover, next day lunch is already calculated. After a meal plan is created - voila, the shopping list is done, too. I transfer the ingredients I need into my Wegman's app and I can more easily stick to the list.

MyFitnesspal.com Best calorie counting app I've found yet. Another free membership and it has an iPhone and iPad version. The only bad thing is that they don't sync to the web based profile. Or maybe I'm doing something wrong. Either way, I'm logging food in the iPad, and for now, that's working fine. The food data base is really good. And (get this) when I type recipes from Allrecipes.com, they are in the app. If they aren't, I can very easily figure out the calorie count of a meal I create.

My dream app would be one that syncs my workouts from Runkeeper. But that would be just too lazy.

One of the projects I have planned for the summer is to come up with 30 meals my family and I can agree on. I'll put those meals on cards, and shift them around the next three months of meal planning. Then, in the fall, I'll do it again. This leaves room for new meal ideas and a few adventures. Same goes for lists of other meals and snacks.

Biggest piece of wisdom I have to share - mindful eating doesn't happen in a week. And for me, it doesn't happen when I pay someone else to be mindful for me. It will take a very long time to undue these bad habits. But the most important motivation stares at me now with innocent blue eyes. And she's starting to worry about her pudgy tummy at 9 years old. And she's about to enter that time in her life when kids can be cruel. And there is nothing wrong with her body.

But she's watching me - and she's learning how to feel bad about herself image from that observation.

4/90