We Are!

A few days ago I stopped to take a photo of a beautiful sunflower growing in the midst of weeds and dirt. One stunning flower. Standing tall. Being extraordinary in the midst of the ordinary.

It made me think of something my youngest son said recently after traveling to Altoona for his football game.  He said "Why is every town outside of State College crap? I mean look at this place (Altoona). Who would want to live here? State College is the best place on earth!"

I tried to be unbiased when I answered his question. I mentioned that every town has good and bad qualities for example Altoona does have a nice shopping mall, but I had to agree with him. We do live in a pretty, sweet place.

Yesterday I was fortunate to attend a home PSU football game with one of my favorite families in the world. I live close enough to the stadium that I can comfortably ride my bike to and from home games. So I loaded up my backpack with snacks and goodies and took off for their tailgate.

Along the way I saw people celebrating and smiling and wearing their blue and white. It made me smile and think about everything this town has gone through in the past three years. 

It has not been easy.

Yet, despite all of the changes, we remain resilient. Just like that sunflower.

When I say "we" I don't just mean the people in this town. I am referring to every single person who makes the trek to Happy Valley and supports this university. These are passionate, beautiful, civil people.

After riding my bike across the IST bridge I continued along Pollock Road and noticed the car in front of me had a Texas license plate. I got a little teary eyed when I saw JOE 409 was its license plate number. 

I arrived at my friends' tailgate just in time to watch the Blue Band march to the stadium. As the band got closer and closer you could feel the energy and the anticipation. It was palpable. I looked across the street and noticed a man comforting his wife as she tried not to cry. I could see her lips shaking as she gently blotted away tears. Maybe they were Blue Band parents or maybe they were just caught up in the moment; regardless, I found myself trying not to cry too. The band was not able to play at the now defunct TailGreat, but for the first time ever, they were playing and dancing proudly all the way into the stadium.

The flurry of emotions did not end there: 

- There was a video that played at the start of the game that showed clips of Joe Paterno. The entire stadium erupted with cheers (and tears). 

- The playing of the national anthem and the students singing their alma mater arm-in-arm filled me with pride.

- The drum major running onto the field and sticking his back flip. Awesome!

- A cheerleader bringing a rose to her parents.

- The big guy in front of us who stood up and gave us a high five every time there was a good play.

After the game ended, I hugged my friends, and headed home. As I pedaled along I thought about the reasons that make our hometown so special. I decided it has nothing to do with shopping malls or stadiums. It has to do with the people. It has to do with the feelings and the emotions. It has to do with the camaraderie of overcoming undeserved, unwarranted obstacles. 

Jay Paterno wrote in "Paterno Legacy" about asking his father why after every game he had the team recite the Lord's prayer. Joe told him "The words, Jay, the words:" "Our Father" "give us this day our daily bread" "forgive us.. as we forgive" "we" "us" every pronoun is plural. There is no "I" or "me."

I believe that is why this town, this university, this special place called "Happy Valley" is unique. We celebrate and commiserate not individually but as an extraordinary collective. 

"We are!!!" and always will be. 

Us

"I set out on a narrow way many years ago
Hoping I would find true love along the broken road
But I got lost a time or two
Wiped my brow and kept pushing through
I couldn't see how every sign pointed straight to you"

Wes and I married other people in the same month of the same year. We were married for nine years to those other people before separating in the same month of the same year. One year later, the first week I had ever spent without my children, we re-met directly above the center of the earth (Zeno's). He was the skinny, nerdy farm boy that helped me pass physics in high school. I was the one who sat behind him in homeroom every morning asking about his weekends and telling him to get out there and find fun with a wild woman.

"Every long lost dream led me to where you are
Others who broke my heart they were like Northern stars
Pointing me on my way into your loving arms
This much I know is true
That God blessed the broken road
That led me straight to you"

One of my favorite quotes from The Perks of Being a Wallflower is "We accept the love we think we deserve." As we were leaving Zeno's my friend suggested that I should ask that cute guy with the glasses out on a date. I answered incredulously "Who? Wesley Hackenberger from high school? No way." And she answered, "Why? Because he is a nice guy? Because he would treat you well?" My marriage ended very badly and shattered my self-esteem. I truly did not think I deserved much.

"I think about the years I spent just passing through
I'd like to have the time I lost and give it back to you
But you just smile and take my hand
You've been there you understand
It's all part of a grander plan that is coming true."

Well, the next day Wes called me at work and asked me out to dinner. I tried to find a reason not to go, but a free meal to a struggling single Mom was reason enough. We had a nice time and joked about drinking wine all over the world. I was not looking for love. My heart still hurt and I had three young children to raise. No time for dating. No time for fun.

"Now I'm just rolling home
Into my lover's arms
This much I know is true
That God blessed the broken road
That led me straight to you."

Luckily for me, Wes is extremely patient. He could see what I could not imagine. Us. He wrote poignant, beautiful, hilarious letters to me every day and slowly my heart began to open. We started to spend more and more time together. And then it happened. He kissed me. I looked into his eyes and started to cry. There it was... us. Our future. Our love. It had been there all along. I was just too afraid/stubborn/unwilling to accept it.

That was eleven years ago. Today we are celebrating our ninth anniversary.  My children and I have been blessed beyond measure to have Wes join our team. Wes and I have been enjoying traveling, having fun, and drinking wine all over the world.  He will smile and tell you that he found his wild woman. I will beam and smile and tell you I finally found true love.

*Lyrics by Rascal Flatts "The Broken Road" sung by our pastor Joel Blunk on our wedding day.

Grace

If you see me at the market sobbing over a box of raspberries, please excuse me.  Randomly crying is my new thing.  It is unpleasant and unexpected and I apologize in advance if I cry on you. 

We wear a seatbelt because it is supposed to keep us safe, but do we ever expect to be in a vehicle accident?  We know our children are going to leave the nest, but do we expect the nest to feel so vacant when they are gone?  A friend is diagnosed with ovarian cancer, the diagnosis is not good, but do we really expect her to die?

Expectations and reality do not always coincide.

I have known Wendy since our sons were infants.  We met at a playgroup.  I was wearing stretch pants and a ponytail.  She looked like she just walked off the runway. That never changed. No matter what, Wendy was always strikingly gorgeous.  Hair.  No hair.  Wig.  Pregnant. Her beautiful, blue eyes and her brilliant smile would take your breath away. 

Meeting her was by chance.  Getting to know her was a gift.  If you were fortunate enough to know her and receive that gift, you would have quickly realized that Wendy’s outer beauty was only magnified by her generous and loving heart, her strength and determination, her wit and intelligence, and her grace.

A few days ago, I was able to tell her that her photo should be next to the word grace in the dictionary.  She smiled and replied  “That’s sweet.”

I cannot wrap my brain around the cruel fact that she is gone.  When Marty told me Sunday morning that he feared it would be her last, I did not believe him.  Even when he told me exactly two hours later that she had passed away, I did not and still do not want to accept it.  I truly believed and expected Wendy to beat the odds. 

My emotions range from being really angry to being really sad. I find myself crying at the weirdest things.  Like raspberries.  She always loved them.  One time I complained about raspberries being expensive.  She said with her trademark smile “That’s because they are so good!”

I have also cried every time I see her house and that happens to be every single time I leave my home.  Hearing any song by Prince will force me to pull the car off the road and sob all over my steering wheel.  Every time I see a gray Pilot I look for her to be driving it.  Vegetable soup from the Waffle Shop is our favorite.  Not sure when I will be able to eat it again.  We messaged each other emoticons constantly.  The red crab with the pinchers that continually pinch we used to symbolize beating cancer.  Fuck that crab. 

Grieving sucks!

There is a quote from John Greene’s book A Fault in Our Stars “What a slut time is.  She screws everyone.”  I completely agree.

Even though my heart hurts, and my steering wheel is covered in snot, I am buoyed by her spirit.  Her strength continues to give me strength. 

Her words continue to be inspiring and comforting. The following is from her Christmas letter written only a few months ago:

“Even in the depths of the mental and physical pain I currently feel, I know that my life has been blessed in ways that many people never get to experience, or never take the time to acknowledge, in their lives.

My disease brings me to the threshold of life and death every day.  Every day I remind myself to be grateful that I have been given one more day… no matter how much pain I am feeling both mentally and physically.  Life can be so short and fleeting… my goal is live each day graciously and gratefully.”

It all seems surreal.  I miss her more than I can put into words. 

The last thing I got to tell her via text was “I love you”.   And even though she was extremely weak and barely conscious she responded with four hearts and a kissy face emoticon.  That, I expected. 

Choices

_­Last week, I put a case of water under my grocery cart.  The cashier didn't see it, and I wasn't charged.  So I went to the customer service desk and asked to pay the $3.99 that I owed.  The customer service representative thought I was crazy.  

This blog is not about stealing water.  This blog is about making choices.

Every day we are faced with countless choices.  

Sometimes the choices are simple.  What should we wear.  What should we make for dinner?  Should I bother even paying the $3.99?  

Other times the choices are significant.  Which college to apply/attend?  To be married or not?  Buy a house or rent?

The degree of difficulty in making a choice should depend on the outcome or consequence.  Unfortunately, our ability to make a rational decision can be influenced by ego.  Thoughts like "That won't happen to me" or "I will be fine" are powerful and easy to accept.

I recently made a choice.  It seemed simple at the time.  

To drive or not to drive? 

Maybe you can relate.  Maybe you have had some wine.  It's late.  You feel fine.  You are by yourself.  Instead of asking for a ride home or calling a taxi, you choose to drive home.

This is not a simple choice.  This is very significant. And with very significant consequences.  

Just a few nights ago, after attending a charity event and having wine,  I decided that I could drive.  It was late.  I was by myself.  It was less than five miles.  I just wanted to go home.  

I drove less than two miles before I was pulled over for suspicion of driving under the influence.  

The officer had me get out of my car, on College Avenue, to conduct several sobriety field tests and a breathalyzer test.  Then I was handcuffed and driven to Mount Nittany Medical Center for blood analysis. 

If you are debating whether to drive after even one glass of wine, think about me.  A middle-aged woman being asked to stand on one leg in front of Kildaire's (in high heeled boots) then asked to walk toe to heel in a straight line in front of an audience of college students.  Think about the humiliation of being handcuffed and placed in the back of a police vehicle under bright lights.  Or, being tossed off to a nurse not by name but by "d.u.i. suspect".  

And if that doesn't deter you, consider the shame that accompanies this offense.  Shame is defined in Webster's dictionary as:

1.  a : a painful emotion caused by consciousness of guilt, shortcoming, or impropriety

b : the susceptibility to such emotion

2.  a condition of humiliating disgrace or disrepute : 

3. something that brings censure or reproach; also :something to be regretted.

For the past five days, shame has consumed me.  I haven't told one single soul.  Not even my husband.  

I have been dreading reading the newspaper for fear of seeing my name.  I have been avoiding phone calls.  I feel like I have needed a vomit bag to open the mailbox. 

But hiding or trying to hide what happened, only makes what I did more insidious.  This isn't about stealing a case of water.  And I'm not crazy.  

I have always tried to live my life openly, honestly, and authentically, but these past 5 days I have lived in purgatory.  

I can't do it any more.  

My intent in writing this blog is to bring awareness to this issue.  My ultimate intent would be that anyone who reads this story (especially my children), will choose NOT to drive and will always choose to be upfront and honest.

By speaking the truth (I told my family tonight), I already feel a huge weight being lifted from my heart.  I will still dread going to the mailbox for the next few weeks.  I will still have to deal with my sentencing. and I must accept that I made a mistake.  

I made the wrong choice. 

Thin Mints are an Oxymoron

Well, my journey to bikini was thrown a curve ball. A curve ball in the shape of round, little COOKIES! It's Girl Scout cookie time, and my home is filled with boxes of the yummy creations. The boxes arrived on Friday. Today is Sunday, and the past few days have been quite a struggle.

I wish I could be the kind of person who can avoid the delicious treats (that are only available once a year which makes them taste even better). I really do! But, alas, I am not. My idea of eating one thin mint is to eat one entire sleeve of thin mints. Now, for the record, I have not - and I repeat - have NOT eaten an entire sleeve today, yesterday, or even Friday when the villains disguised in cute, little, green outfits delivered their contraband to my home.

Although I must confess, I have had, eh-hum, a few... just to be polite, of course.

Superman is brought to his knees with kryptonite. Show me a pretty, purple box of Samoas (a.k.a. Caramel Delites), and it's all over. The head games start immediately.

For example, yesterday morning I needed to take my daughter for an eye exam. We were playing our usual game of beat-the-clock and the clock was winning. As I filled my thermos with coffee, my internal discussion went something like this:

..."hmmm, a few thin mints sure would taste good with this java. I don't have time to make egg whites and broccoli. Each cookie is a mere 40 calories. That's nothing! I can have 2 or 3 and still have consumed less calories than my normal breakfast."

The only problem with this rationalization is that this breakfast WAS nothing. No protein, no nothing. Just a full on sugar fest.

So I'm trying to re-strategize my thinking and rid myself of these demons.... by donating all of the remaining boxes to the food bank!!!

To Bikini or Mumu?

What do you do when you have a degree in kinesiology, earn a living as a personal trainer, yet weigh more today than you did after giving birth to 3 children in 4 years?

Knowing what to do and actually doing it can be a difficult choice.

I know what to do. I know how to fix this. What I need is motivation and accountability.

Sooooo, recently I booked a trip to a swanky, adults only hotel in Mexico. The type of hotel you don't wear a frumpy Mom-suit by the pool. We are talking brazilian string bikinis. Ugh!!!! Hence, MOTIVATION.

Kicking my own ass isn't a problem. I will gladly exercise until the cows come home. What I struggle with is.... how should I put this... being happy (which I blame solely on my husband). Before I met him, I was a struggling, single mother of young children who weighed 25 pounds less than this married mother of teenagers. No lie. 25 freaking pounds!!!! When I am miserable, I don't eat. When I am happy, I LOVE to eat. So all of this happy, wining and dining stuff has landed me with a body I don't even recognize.

Enough is enough!!

As of today, I have decided to bare it all (and I am not talking skin). I am inviting you on my no holds barred journey to squeeze back into a bikini and not hide under a mumu in Mexico. I pledge to document daily the good, the bad, and most certainly the ugly. Please, please, please.... help keep me ACCOUNTABLE for my actions. I hate disappointing anyone. Deal?

Fear, Gratitude, and Hugs

There is a framed photo on my desk of a hammock on a beach. The colors of the photo have faded. The memory has not.

A few years ago, I was talking to a dear friend, Karen, about my marriage. She could tell by my voice that something was terribly wrong. Immediately, she invited me to meet her in Puerto Rico. She was going there for a job interview and said I could just stay with her and relax for a few days. My husband (now ex-husband) refused me permission to purchase an airline ticket. I was crushed. The next day, a Fed-Ex package arrived with my ticket to Puerto Rico and a note from Karen that read "See you soon!"

She picked me up at the airport and for the next few days we laughed and we cried.. and somewhere in that time, my heart started to heal. Before going back home, I walked on the beach, settled in on a cozy hammock, and stared at the ocean. Lying there, I became overwhelmed with bittersweet emotions: fear and gratitude. Fear that my marriage was about to end. Gratitude for the gift of our friendship as well as the joy and peace that I felt for those few precious days. Wanting to freeze time, I placed the camera over my tear drenched eye and seized the moment.

That photo still stirs up powerful emotions.

Karen and I have been friends since our college days at PSU. We were both kinesiology majors and met at our personal training job. I went on to run a YMCA in Williamsport, PA, get married and have 3 kids. She went on to work at La Costa Spa in California, then moved to Milan, Italy, and ended up joining the Navy to pursue her dream of becoming a pilot.

While I was birthing babies, she was flying P-3 airplanes and playing Navy volleyball all over the world. She even won the 2001 Armed Services Volleyball Championship. Karen retired from the Navy after actively serving for 10 years, became a pilot for JetBlue, and continues to serve in the Navy reserves.

A few months ago she was surprised to found out that she was called to be a commander of a ground unit in Afghanistan. She left her home and her job in May and is currently in Fort Bragg preparing for her deployment.

So when she asked me to meet her in Virginia Beach on her last free weekend before going off to war, I didn't hesitate, I went.

I received her call Thursday evening (minutes after arriving home from a family vacation), tried to get a flight the next day, but had to wait until Saturday. She sent me a text Friday night "Can't wait to pick you up tomorrow and give you a big hug girlfriend!" We were hugging by 9am Saturday morning outside Norfolk airport.

For 36 hours, we were inseparable. We rode our bikes to the beach and spent the entire day laughing and reminiscing and staring at the ocean. That night we listened to live music and danced the night away.... the entire night... and watched the sun rise the next morning.

That's how we roll. Pack as much as possible in to the time we have together... sleep is rarely included. Unfortunately our rendezvous adventures are few and far between and always bookended with trips to an airport.

This past weekend was no exception.

As we were packing up to leave the beach house, she remembered that her driver's license was in my wallet. I placed it in her hand and she said, "Good thing we remembered my ID, you sure don't want to be me."

Nothing could be further from the truth.

She is my mentor and my idol. I love her like a sister. And, if I could protect her from harm in anyway, I would do it without question.

When the time came to do that drive, that miserable journey back to the airport, a sick feeling started to stir in my belly. We have done this exchange a million times in a million cities, and it never, ever gets any easier. As co-pilot, I sang along to songs on the radio and told silly stories meanwhile secretly chanting to myself "don't cry, don't cry, don't cry". And I didn't. Not until I got out of the car, stood on my tippy toes and reached up to give her a hug.

When I got home I looked at that photo of me on the hammock staring at the ocean and once again was filled with bittersweet emotions: fear and gratitude. Fear for the unknown. Gratitude for the gift of our friendship as well as the joy and peace that I felt for those few precious hours.

Karen will return home in July 2011 and you can be sure that whenever that happens, where ever that may be, I will be catching the next flight out to see her... and will give her the biggest hug this world has ever seen.