It seems like I am averaging about a blog post every six months. And every time I say, "Oh, I'll get better at posting,"- Yeh, okay. I suck at this game.
There has been a bit of change going on in my life over the last six or seven months. I can thankfully say that things have changed for the positive and it has been a long time since I have truly been this happy. With work, life, health and family all in a good place, what negative there is left doesn't have too much space to roam or annoy me.
I am learning how to re-balance my life; which hasn't been quite as difficult as I thought. I have been reconnecting with some very special people in my life lately and realizing how great, and patient, they are with me-and not to mention how much they love who I am. "It feels so great to hear you giggle on the phone again," my best friend said to me the other day. I like to hear myself giggle too- it feels great.
As I start on the next chapter, page by page, of my life, I look forward to laughing early and often, being around people that love me unconditionally, never compromising or settling for what isn't what I really want and just being me. Happy, chatty me.
Sunday, July 22, 2012
Friday, December 2, 2011
He Was A Simple Man
The song, "Simple Man," by Lynyrd Skynyrd, resonates deep with me this week. Once upon a time, I went and saw what was then the remnants of Lynyrd Skynyrd, three, yes, three times, in concert. Leon was the only surviving, original member of the band. I met him once- in Bangor, Maine. He put his arm around me and escorted me to the bar, where my friends awaited me, including my boyfriend, Sam. I bought Leon a drink (while my friends agreed he should have bought one for me). It was a moment I will never forget.
I will also never forget that night hearing my hotel room door being virtually banged down by an irate, sleepy and embarrassed Sam, who, in his sleeping stupor, had walked out of our room, and found himself in nothing but his boxers, at the front desk trying to figure out what room were were in, at about four in the morning.
Leon died about two weeks later while on tour with the band, in Miami. It was a true end of an era. I felt fortunate that I had the opportunity to tell him how much I appreciated the band, their lyrics and that nearly every song could still be rocked out to twenty years after they had penned them all.
Sam was an only child, born to hippies who taught him the way of the earth. They taught him that being simple and true to one's self was best. Life was not about how much you had, but how much you appreciated everything around you. After his parents split, his taste for relationships were not pleasant, or at least the thought of marriage. "All marriages fail," he would tell me on many an occasion- usually when the topic of "what's next" would come up. "Why can't we just be simple and live together and love each other?"
And so we did. For a long time. He was my simple man.
Time passed. And so did our relationship- the way of the tide- a tide that never did come back in. After a long time of questioning, late night phone calls, tears and then healing- we became friends again. I was happy and away from the environment we called our home. He had conquered his demons and had moved on to the other coast to start anew.
"It's so nice to have a civil conversation with you, Lisa. I am glad we are friends."
"Me too. I am so proud of you, Sam. I never lost faith in you. You are the most driven man I know. You work so hard. Keep setting your mind to the next mountain to conquer and you'll be happy. You are my friend and always will be. Call me whenever you don't think you can conquer what ever it is. I am here for you. I know you better than anyone else on this earth."
He never called.
After I received the news this week that he had passed away, I was devastated.
I found my pictures of him. Pictures when we were living and loving together. Camping, canoeing in Northern Maine. On his boat. Playing with our dog, Micah. I thought of Sam in his happy places in life. That is where my memories of him will remain.
It is my hope to all that knew him- through the good, the bad, the ugly and the goofy, find that time in your life that you loved him most. And keep those memories vivid.
I will also never forget that night hearing my hotel room door being virtually banged down by an irate, sleepy and embarrassed Sam, who, in his sleeping stupor, had walked out of our room, and found himself in nothing but his boxers, at the front desk trying to figure out what room were were in, at about four in the morning.
Leon died about two weeks later while on tour with the band, in Miami. It was a true end of an era. I felt fortunate that I had the opportunity to tell him how much I appreciated the band, their lyrics and that nearly every song could still be rocked out to twenty years after they had penned them all.
Sam was an only child, born to hippies who taught him the way of the earth. They taught him that being simple and true to one's self was best. Life was not about how much you had, but how much you appreciated everything around you. After his parents split, his taste for relationships were not pleasant, or at least the thought of marriage. "All marriages fail," he would tell me on many an occasion- usually when the topic of "what's next" would come up. "Why can't we just be simple and live together and love each other?"
And so we did. For a long time. He was my simple man.
Time passed. And so did our relationship- the way of the tide- a tide that never did come back in. After a long time of questioning, late night phone calls, tears and then healing- we became friends again. I was happy and away from the environment we called our home. He had conquered his demons and had moved on to the other coast to start anew.
"It's so nice to have a civil conversation with you, Lisa. I am glad we are friends."
"Me too. I am so proud of you, Sam. I never lost faith in you. You are the most driven man I know. You work so hard. Keep setting your mind to the next mountain to conquer and you'll be happy. You are my friend and always will be. Call me whenever you don't think you can conquer what ever it is. I am here for you. I know you better than anyone else on this earth."
He never called.
After I received the news this week that he had passed away, I was devastated.
I found my pictures of him. Pictures when we were living and loving together. Camping, canoeing in Northern Maine. On his boat. Playing with our dog, Micah. I thought of Sam in his happy places in life. That is where my memories of him will remain.
It is my hope to all that knew him- through the good, the bad, the ugly and the goofy, find that time in your life that you loved him most. And keep those memories vivid.
Monday, October 24, 2011
Orange, Tombstone and Vodka- Who are You?
As expected, I survived the Gala. And made some great new friends in the process, and became closer with a few more. That, is what got me through it all, I do believe.
I had a reality check today when someone said to me, "So, what do you like? Tell me about yourself." I was stumped. Of course, things came to my mind, but not without prodding by the one asking. I walked away from that situation, thinking to myself- "Shit, what do I like? Who am I? What is there to tell outside of "working mother of two, from Maine, enjoy fundraising, ... blah-blah - blah- bleck!!!"
Of course, this caused pause for me all afternoon with great jolts of "who I am" coming to me long after that conversation- on top of feeling like a complete idiot for not being able to articulate like an adult at the appropriate time. For that, I owe a few people this monologue:
I love musicals- Evita is my favorite. I have only seen it once, but it makes me cry and I sound damn good as Eva Peron. One day I will play her on stage- even if it's a puppet stage.
My eyes and that smile of mine are my best features.
I love laughing until I cry and then giggling about what made me laugh until I cried for a few days after that.
I like walking in the woods and taking photos. I used to have my own dark room and a camera that never left my side.
Tombstone is one of my favorite movies of all time- next to Ya Ya Sisterhood, and Fletch. Val when he looked good, Sandra as the defiant daughter and Chevy because he reminds me of my Dad because he introduced me to that movie over and over and over again.
I could go on any floating vessel and be content- all day long.
I am addicted to bagels and cream cheese. I don't care if the doc says I can't have gluten, I will suffer the consequences for that round piece of toasted heaven.
My favorite place on Earth is Sagadahoc Bay, in Georgetown, Maine. Not because it's home, but it's my place of sanctity, sanity, and peace.
My favorite color is orange. It reminds me of a sunset, or a...
sunflower which is my favorite flower- paired with any flower that has hues of red, orange and yellow.
To me, sea shanty/folk music ranks nearly as high as Alternative when alternative was cool.
My favorite holiday is Halloween. I don't have to wrap presents, barbecue or bake and I can be someone not myself for an entire day.
I have a girl crush on Adele and Alanis Morrisette.
I'm not big into shopping- unless it's for shoes.
I'm not a girly-girl, unless you make me be. Much preferred to be in flip-flops, t shirt and jeans.
I firmly believe that everyone should be entitled to have a drink and a smoke whenever they feel like it without criticism.
I also believe that everyone should freely be able to have a child of their own and everyone should be able to choose whether to have a child or not, freely.
Coffee, wine and vodka are my beverages of choice.
I despise water but I still drink it.
I could eat Mexican three to six meals per day uninterrupted for an indefinite amount of time.
I believe that children should tune to your schedule and go to bed early. Everyone needs their rest.
I would rather give away everything I have if it makes me, and someone else, a happier people on the planet.
More to come...
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
The Job and Frozen Waffles
The school year has begun. Not just for my kids, but for life at work as well. The parking lots on campus are filled with kids clearly not recollecting anything they learned in driver's ed just a few short years prior. There is an unspoken five minute grace period for anyone attending a meeting on the opposite side of campus due to no parking and, best of all, the non-profit event world is in full swing.
When we are not worrying about making it out of our own events still standing, there are invitations for nights out to support the community. I have dodged the bullets this fall as we are allocating less money for us to go network (read: poach donors) in our backyard with our business cards as spotlights after the sun goes down.
And at home, I have been working on juggling getting both the boys, myself and my coffee out of the house by 7ish everyday. If I drop them both off, it gives me two more minutes with my oldest that I, and he, will appreciate one day. No more morning gym workouts for me- cancelled those so I can make frozen waffles and hunt for the reclusive sneaker in the closet.
Back to that event business. I, once I committed about 150+ people and their checkbooks to this event, which is now at a head count of 460, decided to volunteer to take on the game that we love to hate- seating. It has consumed me. I have inherited the name "Twitchy" amongst my colleagues because every time I receive an email, call or message that "Jack Smith is now coming, but Joe Blow isn't, but he's given his tickets to Mary Jane and her tribe of four", I start having a small Turret's session as I realize that our hard work has to be re-done, my spreadsheet is no longer perfect, and my post-it note table circles pinned up on the Gala War Room wall, need to be moved. Again.
But, it'll all be over at midnight on Saturday. Then what?
My chocolate brown velvet dress and heels gets replaced with my Pats t-shirt, some skinny jeans and flip flops, and I'll be off to the next project. But not until Monday morning. When I have to get up and do it all over again. Frozen waffles and all.
When we are not worrying about making it out of our own events still standing, there are invitations for nights out to support the community. I have dodged the bullets this fall as we are allocating less money for us to go network (read: poach donors) in our backyard with our business cards as spotlights after the sun goes down.
And at home, I have been working on juggling getting both the boys, myself and my coffee out of the house by 7ish everyday. If I drop them both off, it gives me two more minutes with my oldest that I, and he, will appreciate one day. No more morning gym workouts for me- cancelled those so I can make frozen waffles and hunt for the reclusive sneaker in the closet.
Back to that event business. I, once I committed about 150+ people and their checkbooks to this event, which is now at a head count of 460, decided to volunteer to take on the game that we love to hate- seating. It has consumed me. I have inherited the name "Twitchy" amongst my colleagues because every time I receive an email, call or message that "Jack Smith is now coming, but Joe Blow isn't, but he's given his tickets to Mary Jane and her tribe of four", I start having a small Turret's session as I realize that our hard work has to be re-done, my spreadsheet is no longer perfect, and my post-it note table circles pinned up on the Gala War Room wall, need to be moved. Again.
But, it'll all be over at midnight on Saturday. Then what?
My chocolate brown velvet dress and heels gets replaced with my Pats t-shirt, some skinny jeans and flip flops, and I'll be off to the next project. But not until Monday morning. When I have to get up and do it all over again. Frozen waffles and all.
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
"Full Time Working Mother of Two Whose Carb Addiction Turned Nearly Deadly"
Alright- a little dramatic title, but bonus points for getting you here.
I have been suffering with upper abdominal pain for the last four months, topped with unexplained weight gain, intestinal issues and no energy. Looking back in hindsight, my symptoms started well before that- more like about 18 months ago when I plateaued on my weight loss, regardless of what I ate, did, lifted, ran, walked or slept.
Thinking the upper ab pain was from a pulled muscle, then perhaps an ulcer, I underwent a Molotov cocktail of IBS and GERD inhibitors, pain medicine, a sonogram, endoscopy and a good round of blood work- all of which proved that I was a severe hypochondriac with a huge self esteem issue. Not the diagnosis I had anticipated.
I was at wits end. I contacted a natural healing specialist on the Eastern Shore of Maryland, who, after five minutes and one glance at my blood work, determined what I never wanted to be diagnosed with. "You have a gluten intolerance. Your body has been fighting against itself so long to digest the gluten that now certain parts are exhibiting pain, or malfunction."
Great, I'm thinking. How in the hell am I going to become gluten free with everything I have going on- you know, life?!
She continued. "You are going to get better. Don't go GF cold turkey. Take a day or so to digest, ha ha, this information, start to go through your cupboards, hit a good grocery store this weekend and off we go! You are going to heal. I promise you. You can do it."
So, with a handwritten note by the doc of good brands to look for, things to avoid, books to read and tote bag full of supplements to get my body back in good working order, I was back in the car.
I immediately came home and dove into a box of Wheat Thins like they were my last supper before my early-dawn execution. But, after dinner, I sat down, organized my supplements for the next ten days, started to think about what I would need to substitute and tried to keep it simple. You go out to eat, you get a salad- you go to a commercial restaurant, you look on their menu (like you already do anyway) and just find the GF stuff. It'll be okay.
It's been about two days since I've been given the news and today is my first full on Gluten Free day. I haven't broken out into withdrawal shakes, hives or started speaking in tongues. And I'm already starting to feel better. Tomorrow's mission is to track down some GF bagels with some hormone free cream cheese and I'll be in heaven- like the good old days!
Check in on my progress, my failures and successes. And if you have symptoms that seem unexplainable, seek medical advice. Don't make any assumptions or jump on some diet bandwagon because it works for someone else. And if you feel like how I felt, deflated and knowing there MUST be an explanation for your symptoms, remember the natural specialists out there, too!
I have been suffering with upper abdominal pain for the last four months, topped with unexplained weight gain, intestinal issues and no energy. Looking back in hindsight, my symptoms started well before that- more like about 18 months ago when I plateaued on my weight loss, regardless of what I ate, did, lifted, ran, walked or slept.
Thinking the upper ab pain was from a pulled muscle, then perhaps an ulcer, I underwent a Molotov cocktail of IBS and GERD inhibitors, pain medicine, a sonogram, endoscopy and a good round of blood work- all of which proved that I was a severe hypochondriac with a huge self esteem issue. Not the diagnosis I had anticipated.
I was at wits end. I contacted a natural healing specialist on the Eastern Shore of Maryland, who, after five minutes and one glance at my blood work, determined what I never wanted to be diagnosed with. "You have a gluten intolerance. Your body has been fighting against itself so long to digest the gluten that now certain parts are exhibiting pain, or malfunction."
Great, I'm thinking. How in the hell am I going to become gluten free with everything I have going on- you know, life?!
She continued. "You are going to get better. Don't go GF cold turkey. Take a day or so to digest, ha ha, this information, start to go through your cupboards, hit a good grocery store this weekend and off we go! You are going to heal. I promise you. You can do it."
So, with a handwritten note by the doc of good brands to look for, things to avoid, books to read and tote bag full of supplements to get my body back in good working order, I was back in the car.
I immediately came home and dove into a box of Wheat Thins like they were my last supper before my early-dawn execution. But, after dinner, I sat down, organized my supplements for the next ten days, started to think about what I would need to substitute and tried to keep it simple. You go out to eat, you get a salad- you go to a commercial restaurant, you look on their menu (like you already do anyway) and just find the GF stuff. It'll be okay.
It's been about two days since I've been given the news and today is my first full on Gluten Free day. I haven't broken out into withdrawal shakes, hives or started speaking in tongues. And I'm already starting to feel better. Tomorrow's mission is to track down some GF bagels with some hormone free cream cheese and I'll be in heaven- like the good old days!
Check in on my progress, my failures and successes. And if you have symptoms that seem unexplainable, seek medical advice. Don't make any assumptions or jump on some diet bandwagon because it works for someone else. And if you feel like how I felt, deflated and knowing there MUST be an explanation for your symptoms, remember the natural specialists out there, too!
Thursday, February 17, 2011
A Little Late- But In a Good Way
So, as promised, I was going to post right after retrieval. We all accept the fact THAT didn't happen. My apologies. I became wrapped up into life as I came out of the cloud of needle pricks and mid-afternoon phonecalls with script changes and anticipations of travel dates to Rockville.
All in all, the egg donation process was a great thing. What?! you say? (Read the previous posts to catch up). I feel like I am at a point now where I can realistically look back into weight loss (just ten pounds, c'mon!- not that much to ask!) and not feel like I have something fighting against me besides the obvious- me.
Despite January being calm at work-besides a new friend and co-worker (same person, don't be confused) joining the normal chaos, me giving eggs to a stranger and my kids being only on antibiotics once- February is proving itself to be a bear of sorts. To begin with, it's the shortest month we've got to deal with- there is some fashion of false promises as far as weather goes. 50 one day- kids off for two days the next due to 1/10" of ice accumulation on one roadway in one county. At work, there is a culmination of emotions in the office where we're starting to feel the annual pull- and the request to really push hard the last 90 days of our fiscal year to get our shit together and bring in the dollars; after we've spent the last nine months enduring the work to accomplish the very same thing.
To add to this, my sister has a birthday. Nothing traumatic there, but since she's 13 years younger than I and I have a clear memory of her birth, it makes me feel incredibly older than I should. And not that that's enough- I have a birthday this month. February 29th. Yes, Leap Year. The answer is no (not this year), yes (I celebrate in February when I can), every presidential election (when I have a birthday and finally 7 3/4 (the age I turn in 2011).
I have had many of my friends, partners in my Leadership Anne Arundel class, donors, etc. asking me how I balance it all. I really think that day time happiness plays a huge role in my life. As I reflected with one of my donors recently when asked about me working outside the home, away from my kids, I said that knowing that I have to work and being miserable in my job would make me a miserable person. But, having the opportunity to do what I love doing (making people happy) makes knowing that I have to work much more tolerable. And isn't that the way everyone is? Do I miss my kids? Of course I do. But, do I love what I do outside the house? Damn straight. Will my kids respect that decision and have more respect for me when it's time for them to, will they? I can only hope.
All in all, the egg donation process was a great thing. What?! you say? (Read the previous posts to catch up). I feel like I am at a point now where I can realistically look back into weight loss (just ten pounds, c'mon!- not that much to ask!) and not feel like I have something fighting against me besides the obvious- me.
Despite January being calm at work-besides a new friend and co-worker (same person, don't be confused) joining the normal chaos, me giving eggs to a stranger and my kids being only on antibiotics once- February is proving itself to be a bear of sorts. To begin with, it's the shortest month we've got to deal with- there is some fashion of false promises as far as weather goes. 50 one day- kids off for two days the next due to 1/10" of ice accumulation on one roadway in one county. At work, there is a culmination of emotions in the office where we're starting to feel the annual pull- and the request to really push hard the last 90 days of our fiscal year to get our shit together and bring in the dollars; after we've spent the last nine months enduring the work to accomplish the very same thing.
To add to this, my sister has a birthday. Nothing traumatic there, but since she's 13 years younger than I and I have a clear memory of her birth, it makes me feel incredibly older than I should. And not that that's enough- I have a birthday this month. February 29th. Yes, Leap Year. The answer is no (not this year), yes (I celebrate in February when I can), every presidential election (when I have a birthday and finally 7 3/4 (the age I turn in 2011).
I have had many of my friends, partners in my Leadership Anne Arundel class, donors, etc. asking me how I balance it all. I really think that day time happiness plays a huge role in my life. As I reflected with one of my donors recently when asked about me working outside the home, away from my kids, I said that knowing that I have to work and being miserable in my job would make me a miserable person. But, having the opportunity to do what I love doing (making people happy) makes knowing that I have to work much more tolerable. And isn't that the way everyone is? Do I miss my kids? Of course I do. But, do I love what I do outside the house? Damn straight. Will my kids respect that decision and have more respect for me when it's time for them to, will they? I can only hope.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
A Hen and A Scale Walk into a Bar...
I am on day eight of stimulation for the egg donor process. They have a new protocol so things are going a bit faster than before- which just fine by me. It truly is very exciting for me to be a part of this and hopefully by this time next week, a very deserving couple will be on their way to parenthood.
I have also started a Biggest Loser contest with some parents and friends at my youngest son's school. Granted I lost 2.4 lbs last week, the fact I am on hormone stimulating drugs, prenatal vitamins and am growing around the middle slightly makes the first two weeks of the contest a bit of a pre-training session, rather than real competition. And if you know me for five minutes, you realize that I am as far from competitive as it gets. I am using this contest as a motivator! Alice Anne! A motivator!
The last, oh, six months, have been a bit of a stress physically and emotionally, so I am hoping for a relaxing spring- so I can get in primo shape for the beach season.
At last count there were 14 follicles growing. For those who don't know, that is potentially 14 eggs. They actually won't know how many eggs they will get until I go in for retrieval. Even with the best technology, some things remain a mystery. I am at the point where I am feeling mildly uncomfortable, but am still able to move around and be productive.
The doc comes in this morning during my exam, takes one look at the screen and noted the plethoria of images and makes the uber obvious comment that I am very fertile. I smile, nod, and say (inside my head), "No shit. That's why I have two kids and you've picked me twice to do this." He says, "You may want to consider doing this again."
Otherwise, I am adjusting well to my new digs and role at work. My goals are focusing more on the planned giving for the Foundation. There is still a bit of transition going on at work, all positive of course.
I'll post again after I go for retrieval. Or if something needs to be shared.
I have also started a Biggest Loser contest with some parents and friends at my youngest son's school. Granted I lost 2.4 lbs last week, the fact I am on hormone stimulating drugs, prenatal vitamins and am growing around the middle slightly makes the first two weeks of the contest a bit of a pre-training session, rather than real competition. And if you know me for five minutes, you realize that I am as far from competitive as it gets. I am using this contest as a motivator! Alice Anne! A motivator!
The last, oh, six months, have been a bit of a stress physically and emotionally, so I am hoping for a relaxing spring- so I can get in primo shape for the beach season.
At last count there were 14 follicles growing. For those who don't know, that is potentially 14 eggs. They actually won't know how many eggs they will get until I go in for retrieval. Even with the best technology, some things remain a mystery. I am at the point where I am feeling mildly uncomfortable, but am still able to move around and be productive.
The doc comes in this morning during my exam, takes one look at the screen and noted the plethoria of images and makes the uber obvious comment that I am very fertile. I smile, nod, and say (inside my head), "No shit. That's why I have two kids and you've picked me twice to do this." He says, "You may want to consider doing this again."
Otherwise, I am adjusting well to my new digs and role at work. My goals are focusing more on the planned giving for the Foundation. There is still a bit of transition going on at work, all positive of course.
I'll post again after I go for retrieval. Or if something needs to be shared.
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