Hello...Again...You Probably Don't Remember Me But...

After much thought and consideration, I've decided to come back from my blogging sabbatical and do my best to rejoin the blogging world.  (Yes, I realize I have tons of catching up to do).  I picked the word sabbatical because it's been a full year since I've posted a public blog and I thought sabbatical sounded much better than I-was-too-paranoid-to-post-anything-because-stalkers-were-twisting-everything-in-the-blogging-world-making-my-personal-life-a-dramatic-hot-mess-but-I've-removed-myself-from-those-people-and-cleansed-emotionally-spiritually-physically-and-everything-else-and-I-think-I'm-mentally-balanced-enough-to-blog-without-my-worlds-attacking-me-or-something-like-that-anyway.  Basically, I'm ready to write about the happenings in my small town life world and I'm hoping you still want to read about it.

So, after a full year break, I'm kind of wondering where to begin.  I know I used to do this all the time...effortlessly...and now I'm punching at the keyboard hoping more than rambles will come out.

So far it feels like rambling.

I hope you don't mind.

I am a bit rusty.

But I do have to tell you about winning the best x-ray of the day award.  (Clearly I win the best awards!)

For months, I have had a sensitive tooth.  Actually, maybe years.  Basically since I went to the dentist the last time (2012) and they gave me a filling, this tooth has been bothering me off and on.  I finally got the courage to make an appointment with the free clinic down the street.  Naturally, I have been doing my best to holistically fix my problems with oil pulling and clean toothpaste.  Still, the pain hasn't gone away, hence me finally caving and heading to the dentist.

I arrived 20 minutes early to do the "new patient" paperwork, even though I'd spent a lot of time at the clinic last year when I was told I might possibly have thyroid cancer but instead it turned out to be an incurable life-long auto-immune disease called Hashimoto's. 

They called me in at the exact time of my appointment and I was on my way to get an x-ray of my pearly whites.  I'm always amazed at how much technology evolves every time I get dental x-rays done, mostly because I still remember the awkward bit on this and don't move for ten minutes...each side...and now it's bite here while the machine spins around (making me incredibly dizzy) and then it's done. 

Eight minute later, the x-ray was developed and the dentist was in the room with me.  "You have the best x-ray I've seen all day, I just want to hug you for having good teeth."

"Thank you."  I responded, not really sure if I should give this dentist a hug or not.  I always think about the stats of dentists and suicides and I really wanted to give him a hug...but I didn't.

"Seriously, most of the people who come in here have a mouth full of holes and cavities, and you have a really nice x-ray, nice gum line, everything looked really good.  So, why are you here?"  He asked.

I secret give myself a high five for doing the oil pulling over the last few months and I've even more convinced it works before I pointed to the painful spot on my mouth.  "Sensitive tooth..."

"When it's hot, cold, or sweets?"

"Mostly cold."  I replied.

"Show me exactly where it hurts."  He leaned in close towards my mouth, almost like someone would do if they were about to kiss me, only his fingers came clawing towards me instead of lips.

"Well, it's not sensitive right now..."  I said as I tried to remember the exact spot where it has caused pain in the past.

He moves his fingers around in my mouth, lifting my lips for a better look, or pushing them aside.  "If it's not broke, then don't fix it.  I don't want to go drilling around in there when I can't see the problem, so here's what we are going to do..."  He hands me a tube of toothpaste for sensitive teeth, "use this, and only this, for a few weeks, and I'll have you come back in and if it's still bothering you, I'll put a seal over your filling, but I'm pretty sure this is all you need.  You had a really good x-ray, I wish all the patients x-rays looked like yours."

And just like that, I was out the door, with my tube of sensitive tooth toothpaste, and the best x-ray of the day award.

A Tribute to Life

A lot has happened since my last blog post (and believe it or not SJ, I intended to blog about these events, yet time has snuck up on me and this is my first chance to sit down with my laptop and let my fingers dance over the keys) such as TWO really hot make-out sessions with the tattooed tipper, spending the weekend with the Asian and then "breaking up" with him,  saying farewell to Grandma, and hearing other tragic news making my week whirlwind and summarized into three deaths, two funerals.

It's been a hectic couple of weeks.

Anyway, the weather is finally pulling through and giving us some nice sunny days and I took the opportunity to walk in the woods and sort some things out that have been going through my head lately.  The first hike of the season I spent a lot of time thinking about my grandma.  I had gone down to see her and say my goodbye to her a few days prior to the hike and I didn't think she would last much longer.  I even prayed that God would just take her home so she wouldn't have to suffer any longer.  (She passed away 12 hours after my hike...)  But the one thing that I couldn't get off my mind during this hike was LIFE and how it is all around us.

It's even more evident in spring and on a first hike of the season.  New life is everywhere.  Moss is growing over dead trees, flowers are popping up under a pile of shrubs, birds are singing, and life continues to grow and thrive as I walked through nature, observing the mystery of it all.

Each step had me pondering about purpose and if I was living my life to full potential, and as I started to make my way up a familiar hill, my breathing got heavier and heavier.  I had to stop, not only because I was out of breath, but because I wanted to jot down everything on my mind.

This is what I scribbled down....

It doesn't matter how many times I've hiked up this hill, I am always breathing heavy by the time I reach the top.  My heart is pounding and I can feel it outside of heart, on my arm, in my stomach, and down my thighs.  My whole body screams it's alive and in full throttle.  And I wonder how many moments like this I really have in life, when I am so in tune to everything my heart is saying in the moment.  Did my heart beat like this when I got my driver's permit?  Did my heart pump through every vein when I talked to that guy for the first time?  Did I feel this alive when I woke up this morning? 

Life is amazing.  It's full of simple moments that open our eyes to a new understanding.  Life is full of joy.  It takes our breath away when we least expect it, and that is a beautiful thing.

With the passing of my Grandma, and "Crazy Aunt" Betty, and Shawn's twin Shannon, all in the same week, it's really made me take the time to appreciate life and all of it's little unexpected blessings. 

I've heard all the tributes to those who have passed, so I guess that's why I wanted to take the time to post a tribute to living a life worth remembering, so someday someone can tell stories about how crazy I was at my funeral because I wasn't afraid to life my life.

Pretty. Stupid.

I'm feeling pretty stupid right now.

It's kinda ridiculous.

Like I'm an emotional mess kind of pretty stupid.

And why?

Boys.

I don't know what has gotten into me.  Actually, I do know what has gotten in to me.... HOPE has gotten into me and now I'm starting to doubt what I thought and what I felt and what I assumed.

It all started when the tattooed tipper came in.  We waved and Heather ran over beside me and gushed to me about him.  "I don't know what it is about him but he really gets my heart racing.  I think I might dump my old man and chase him down."

I was not aware Heather was crushing on the tattooed tipper but after she told me this, he gave me the signal to come give him a hug.  I walked over and he wrapped his arms around me so tight and gave me a big bear hug.  He seriously gives the best hugs.  This hug was exceptionally big and I swear he lifted me up off of my feet while hugging me.  I suppose that is one way to sweep a girl off her feet. 

"Wow, that was a big one!"  I exclaimed.

"How's my favorite girl?"  He asked while he sat back down on his bar stool.

We made small talk and somehow we get on to the topic of what he sells at his toy shop.

"Magic cards, D&D..." he rattled on while I shook my head telling him no interested in the merchandise, and then he said, "board games."

"Ohhhhh I love board games!" 

"You should stop in the store sometime."  He suggested.

"Yeah, I will have to do that sometime."  I agreed.

"You really should.  I'll be waiting for you."  He added.  I let out a quick laugh that pretty much said yeah, ok, whatever, as I started to walk away.  Then he added, "Seriously."

I almost ran into the counter.  I flashed him a quick grin and went hiding in the back kitchen.  While I was replaying all of this in my head, I realized I was just one of those girls I hated.  Heather had just confessed to me about her crush and seconds later I was hugging him and "making plans".  Granted Heather has a man but it was one of those moments when I actually thought, "duh, he likes me, not you, just watch me prove it.."

And then today came and all that confidence and hope that I'd been finding lately, fizzled away like dust in the wind, when Heather ran over to me to tell me a story she'd forgotten to tell me yesterday...
"Tattooed Tipper saw me walking to work and so he offered me a ride and that just made my heart explode, I really wish I didn't have a man!  And then do you know what he said to me?  He said, 'Don't you think it's about time we make those rumors about us true?"

I interrupted her story.  "There's rumors?"

"Oh yeah!  He said he's got a table in the back of his shop that would work...Oh man, this guy really gets me going, you know."

I gave a faint smile.  "Yeah, I know."

Suddenly my brain was on over drive.  How had I missed out on "their" rumor?  I hadn't heard anything about anything.  Even I hadn't heard a rumor about me and the tattooed tipper and I thought for sure, out of all the people there, we would have the best rumor going, since he's always tipping me and I'm running out to hug him.

And since the tattooed tipper was already on my mind, it was like everyone needed to talk about him today, like when they told me about Woo Con.... the very first College of Wooster comic convention, and how he had a booth at the event.   Everyone told me I had to go check it out.

So I did.  I got cleaned up after work, took a little extra time making myself look pretty, and actually believed it for a moment that I was extra pretty today.  I went on a walk and found the event to be utterly disappointing.  No people in costumes, no characters to people watch, and there were three "booths" filled with comic books.  Worst yet, I didn't even see the tattooed tipper amongst the twenty people at the event while I was there.  I quickly excited the building and slapped myself on the forehead. 

What was I thinking?  Of course he doesn't like me.  He just likes my cooking....and that's what he told me several months ago, but being the girl that I am, I refuse to listen to a guy when he is telling me the truth because I saw it differently.

And then on top of that, the guy I've actually been seeing and spending time with apparently doesn't want to see me this weekend.  So, I'm sitting home alone, like a loser, writing a blog that maybe one person will read, like a loser, and eating chocolate to help sooth my emotional feelings, like a fatty.

I liked life better when I had a dose of hope and not reality. 

Namaste

Last night while I was skating around in circles at the local roller rink, SJ asked me if I was ever going to blog again.  Without hesitating, I said, "No, probably not."  And, honestly, I meant it.  I couldn't think of one thing I could blog about even though I went from being an almost-every-day-blogger to falling off the face of the earth in October. 

But then, while I was tugging at some material before putting a staple in it while at my upholstery gig, an idea for a blog post came to me...and then I let out a little laugh.  I can't believe I forgot to tell SJ about this....

(More back story...)

One of my resolutions for this year was to get back into yoga and focus on healing myself, emotionally, physically, and spiritually.  I'd like to say that I'm off to a good start because I feel really happy and like I'm in a good place right now.  I rid some toxic people out of my life and have finally learned how to focus on myself without being overly selfish.  One of the ways I do this is yoga time.

The other day at work someone showed me a flier called Restaurant Yoga and I was immediately intrigued.  I looked at the start time of 2:30 pm, which is the exact time I get off of work, but with a little talking to with the boss, she said I could leave early since I'm "into all that working out and fitness stuff, as for anyone else, I doubt they'd really go to the class, but I know you, and you actually want to go do yoga..."  Restaurant Yoga is taught by someone in the food industry and the class is for people in the food industry.  Though it is a bit discriminating, food service stress and being on your feet all day does require certain ways to de-stress.  Most of my coworkers de-stress with drugs and alcohol, while I work out and get acupuncture.  Anyway the next thing I knew, I was in a yoga studio and working on perfecting my downward dog.

(Boy, I have a lot of back story... this is what happens when no one in the blogoverse has any idea what you've been up to for months... and I'm trying to keep this short but I don't think there is any chance of that happening....)
 
I really enjoyed my first restaurant yoga class and couldn't wait to go the following week.  This time, I packed my change of clothes and rode my bike into work, this way I could bike over to the yoga studio in a short minute ride.  I entered the studio and was greeted with my name by the yoga instructor from here on out I will call Master Yogi.

I've only ever done yoga one other time with a male instructor.  This experience happened when I lived in Miami and got to experience beach side yoga... something I wish I would have stuck with while I lived there.  That experience actually got me blogging to begin with which suddenly makes this post more ironic...

Master Yogi asked me if there were any stretches that I wanted to focus on during the class and I mentioned to him that my knee had been bothering me since I went to a ReFit class on Monday night, and that I would love it if we could work that out.  He talked to me about muscles and used their proper names which made me feel increasingly dumber while I kicked off my clunky work shoes.  (Yes, I forgot to pack different shoes with my change of clothes so I looked pretty silly on my bike ride...)

I headed into the heated room, laid out my mat, and started rubbing my feet until class began.  I tried to clear my head and allow my muscles to release the tension from the busy lunch rush.  Master Yogi walked into the room and gave his class a gentle smile.  "How is everyone today?"

I did an awkward smile and nod and stupid facial expression that should have easily been read as I'm doing alright, but Master Yogi wanted each of us to verbalize how we were feeling.  So, I spoke up and said, "Doing alright!"

Class began with child's pose... my favorite yoga move besides savasana.  I stretched as far as I could but since it was our first stretch, I was still a little tight.  Master Yogi came over and traced my spine and then he places my hips in his hands and pulled me towards him.

And that's when I lost complete focus on yoga and could only think about how nice his hands felt on my body.  I felt a bit flustered, exhaled, and tried to find my focus but I could still feel him pulling my hips towards him.  He released his hands and I was glad I was hiding my head in my child's pose because I'm pretty sure my face was beat red.

We spent the rest of the class doing stretches for the knee and the muscles that would lead to a sore knee.  (Master Yogi listened to my complaints and based the class on my needs... what's not to love about yoga?)  We did hip openers and come core work, and soon it was time for cool down, but to be honest, I was thinking about Master Yogi's gentle smile and soothing brown eyes.  Not to mention his admirable butt muscles.  Yes, somehow yoga went from calming to my mind wandering and wondering if I was developing a crush on Master Yogi because of the way he grabbed my hips. 

Nonsense, I told myself.  But when it was time for savasana, I couldn't close my eyes, nor could I relax.  Master Yogi must have noticed because he crouched down by my shoulders and lifted up my head, pulling my neck and then placing it on the ground for me.  Then he took his hands and rubbed my sweating forehead from the center and out to the temples, then down the back of my neck, and gently rubbed my neck.

My senses came to me before I mumbled that I loved him and his touch. 

When class was over, I quickly wiped down my mat, rolled it up, and headed out the door.  Master Yogi came out of the room as I was putting on my backpack.  He addressed me by name then asked me if I enjoyed the class.

All I could think about was his body... naked.

"Yep, great, thanks, see you next week."  I quickly spoke before running down the stairs.  This yoga class is going to be difficult if I keep getting turned on by the instructor.

The Day I Went to Prison

Something that has always been on my list of things to do is go to prison.  Not just any prison but the Ohio State Reformatory in Mansfield, Ohio.  Unfortunately, I was still a child when the prison shut down (December 31, 1990) so I could no longer serve my 25-life but luckily, as it turns out, I still got to go to this prison...on a tour.

This prison is a rather popular and historical sight.  If you've seen The Shawshank Redemption, you are familiar with the grounds because the movie was filmed there twenty years ago.  Yes, that's right, TWENTY years ago.

I decided to watch the movie before heading to the reformatory so I could look for certain movie scenes and have a better understanding of the movie location.  It really is a good movie.  Every time I watch it a new part stands out to me.  Everything about it is so well written (thank you, Stephen King), the acting is spot on (thank you, Morgan Freeman and Tim Robbins) and the directing is perfect (thank you Frank Darabont).

I got a little giddy when I saw the ever so popular sign...Brooks was here...so was Red.

Finally, I was able to cross the Ohio State Reformatory off of my things to do while I'm alive list.  I tried to get my family to go with me a few years ago but it never got beyond talk.  I had a friend ready to go along with me last summer but we never got around to it.  So, when my coworkers realized we all had Monday's off, we decided we should do something fun together...and so we decided to put in some hard time.

Since they only offer self guided tours during the week, we made our way down the winding rows, up creaking staircases, past the warden's living quarters, through the cells, and past the solitary confinement corridors.  Every bit of the building was fascinating.  From the paint falling off the walls, to the brick ceilings, to the unexplained smell from the cells, we were actually happier that we decided to do a guided tour with our audio player instead of coming on a day where we would have had to join in with a group. 

There are tales of ghost sightings and horror stories.  At one point, I think I heard what sounded like a fight in the jail cells two stories up, but Sonja thinks the dust and eeriness of the building was getting to me.  Then, later, Dee was walking and her cell phone fell out of her back pocket.  No one was around, and she hadn't done anything to shift her position to make her cell phone fall out, it just did.  That was enough for us to hurry our pace out of that room!  In another room, Dee was listening to the audio telling us about visions of a small boy that was unexplained. We got to the closets and I dared Dee to open up the door. It was a short door, probably something the size of a kitchen-under-the-counter-cabinet-size.  When's Dee opened up the door she said someone's been in here because there were skidmarks in the dust...something we'd seen in a bunch of other rooms. 

"Say, something a small boy would make?" I mention as she opens the other door.  We see a tiny hand print.

"A kid was in there messing around." Sonja said.

"Or possibly a little boy ghost who likes to play hide and seek..." I added.

Sonja rolled her eyes while Dee shivered. " What! You just told me the ghost story of the little boy! It's possible!" I defended my comments.

It was a really neat place to visit and if it isn't already on your do-soon list, be sure to put it there!  It's a little bit of everything.  It met my behind-the-scenes desires, it met my ghost-hunting desires, and it met my historical nerds desires.

It took us about three hours to get through every room.  Sometimes we would climb in small spots because curiosity got the best of us.  From some of the windows we could see the new and functioning prison where we saw current inmates spending time outside and walking the grounds.

This was the first time I've really hung out with these ladies outside of the work place and it turns out that we had a lot more fun together outside of work than we do when we're working similar shifts.  I have a sneaky feeling we'll have more adventures planned for another Monday and I'm looking forward to it.

Prison is the new sexy.  Bow chicka bow wow.

Sonja:  Please stop, I'm embarrassed for you.  (Any time Dee and I would take ridiculous pictures.)

Sonja:  I take it you've never been blackmailed before...because you're giving us a lot of pictures to use...

P.S.  I posted a ton of pictures on my Instagram so if you want a better tour...click here.

Dinosaur Eye

I’m having a hard time enjoying life when I know my thyroid is four times larger than what it should be and that there are soft tissue lumps on my thyroid, however, I’m doing my best to stay positive by reminding myself that I tend to eat and live a healthy lifestyle.  Then the haunting words seep in, words like cancer, and how so many family members have had cancer…and luckily all also cancer survivors.  I’m not letting my mind wander at that option for long because it’s one of those—I’d rather cross that bridge IF I get there things.

So, I’m doing my best to go about everyday life and continue to make healthier choices by cutting out more sugar, more wheats, more meat, more processed food.  It’s making my work day a lot harder since I work with foods full of sugar, wheat, meat and processed. 

The other night I had a WILDTREE party.  For those unfamiliar with this company, they are an organic based food company with lots of food products to make cooking and eating healthy actually something easy to do.  There are no GMOs in their products and none of that other bad stuff.  Knowing the best thing I can do for my unresolved thyroid issue is eat organic, I’m thankful for this company. 

A few days before my party I remembered to invite my female friend Kyle.  She has some health issues that limit pretty much everything she eats.  Since I knew the products were better than most, I was thrilled to learn the foods in Wildtree’s catalog could be consumed by her.  We ended up talking more about our health and I told her about my recent diagnosis.  Since she is a traveling ultrasound technician, she said she would give me a quick ultrasound before the party to give me a little bit of peace of mind since my official ultra sound isn’t until May 6.

With the Wildtree consultant setting up, and the other early arrival, Kyle put the machine to my neck and we all looked to the computer screen. 

“Well, there’s your thyroid—whoa!”  Kyle said as she went slightly pale.

“So, that’s not good, is it?”  I do my best to remain calm but I’m relieved I’m doing this with close friends.

“You have a very large mass on your thyroid.” Kyle confirms.

“It looks like a dinosaur eye.”  I continue to look at the screen as I slow my breathing.

“What’s that color mean?” SJ asks as she looks over my shoulder and at the screen.

“Color isn’t good, is it?”  I ask but I already know by Kyle’s expression.

“IT could be benign.  Remember when I gave Deb a scare?  Hers wasn’t anything and she had color too.”  Kyle says, trying to comfort me.  “But, if it is something, you can have your thyroid removed, so it could be something fairly simple to fix.”

I nod my head but my eyes can’t leave the screen that looks like a dinosaur eye.  Since the ultra sound scan, I can find and feel my mass much easier.  It’s nearly the size of a golf ball.  And the only thing I can think is 1) How long has it been there?  2) What caused it to grow? And 3) How can I make it disappear and still keep my thyroid?

Naturally, financial issues keep sneaking in on me since I got a call from the financial consultant about my upcoming ultrasound.  I’ve been denied for Medicaid.  I’m really not sure what I’m going to do…and the not knowing if this large mass on my thyroid is cancerious or not, isn’t really helping.  But, like most things in the medical field, I have to hurry up to wait some more, and I don’t like the waiting part.

However, I’m glad I have a friend with a portable ultrasound machine to give me a heads up, a friend who works in a holistic chiropractic office who has a bundle of information on alternative health plans for whatever I might be going through,  and a few nurses in the family, makes me think I’ll be able to give as much information as I’ll need to make it through this, but most importantly, I have some friends who are being encouraging and supportive despite my insecurities at the moment.

And it's true...I've been nothing but a hot mess lately.  At least I kinda have an excuse to be...right?!?

The Unfair Disadvantage of Being a Writer

One of my friends is writing his third book and we have been in heated discussions about the proper use of commas, quotations, and other writing technicalities. Then, we talk about spelling errors, lousy feedback, and whether or not being an indie author is a good thing or not.

The more we discuss these things the more I wonder what the world has against writers.

It seems indie/self-published authors have a bad reputation.  The theory is the only reason indie authors are published is because they couldn't find a real publishing company to take on their story so they had to self-publish their work.

This isn't true at all.

Some people like the freedom of self-publishing, some people work better without the rules and regulations, and some people simply want to express themselves through the art of writing.  

And writing is just that...an art.

Sure, we can learn the proper placement of commas, point out spelling errors, and a variety of other thing as steps in honing the craft but writing is still an art from.

It's a talent.
It's a gift.
It's a blessing.

It's an expression.

It's not something that can be learned without allowing yourself to be a part of the evolution.  Writing is exhausting; emotionally, spiritually, mentally, and physically.  To write well, you have to pour yourself 100% into writing at all times, day after day, hour after hour, project after project.  Not everyone understands why those with the passion of writing exclude themselves from company to write something down or keep a notebook that makes you look like a schizophrenic.

At the same time, writing is completely exhilarating because we allow so much of ourselves to be a part of the expression of words on a page.

So then, why do I think writers have a huge amount of pressure on them?  Because we do!  We have to satisfy ourselves through our writing and still satisfy the readers and the critics.  Others have high expectations of us with our usage of grammar and our artistic ability or story-telling and mixing words on a page.  We have certain word counts to make a "legit" novel and those who do go through a proper publishing company are told how to rewrite their story so it will become a money making product instead of an expression of art.

Doesn't it seem unfair?  

But what about that small budget movie maker who wants to display his talent at the indie film festival?  That's okay because that person is an artist, right?  But wouldn't that mean they aren't good enough to get into Hollywood so they take a cop-out to work in their desired profession because MGM didn't hire them?

And what about that band that plays at the bar on Friday nights?  You listen to their self-produced album constantly because the music is so raw, so authentic, and their talent...wow, you'd love to hear them on the radio someday.   Are they ruining their chances of making it big with their record releases on their own label instead of something Simon Cowell produced?

Instead of being able to use indie author experience on our writing resume, it makes us look like a sell out, when, like many other artists, we are using it as a chance to expose our talent until we "hit it big." 

I love to write and I am very bashful about sharing my talent beyond the blogging world because of these stereotypical issues.  People have told me I should go to college so I can be a better writer if that's what I want to do with my life because then, I'd at least have a degree... and that suddenly makes me a best-selling author.  That's how it's supposed to work, right?

I have a friend who teaches creative writing 101 or whatever her course is called.  She constantly posts her students flaws, mistakes, and other ridiculous things they've written.  Because of her posts, I refuse to ever take a college course on writing.  She can easily tell them what is wrong with each paragraph and this bothers me she's posting it on social media, exposing their "mistakes".  Her students are people in pursuit of their dreams and no matter how creative they are, it doesn't fit in the handbook of how to be an author.

Writing is as much as an art form as painting is yet it isn't recognized as such.  If an indie film maker can find his picture, and a unknown musician can find his song, then a writer should be able to write in their own voice — even if that means breaking some of the rules.