What I thought I knew - My first memory of being sad probably dates back to when I was age 4 and Pam pushed me off her bunk bed. There was a big to-do about this and we were mad at each other for a while. Maybe sad is part of being mad? I don't have lots of memories of being sad when I was little; I was pretty happy growing up. I did begin to notice that my mother did not enforce the rules with my sister as much as she did when I transgressed. This really burned me up. Why shouldn't she get into trouble too? A really sad event, one that seemed unfair at the time and just ridiculous now: I left my oversize red/white teddy bear on the garage floor overnight. My mother threw it out, telling me that it now probably had fly eggs in it and was no longer decent to play with or bring inside. What did she have against that bear? My grandmother bought me a new bear, pink and yellow - it was somewhat satisfying, but I was still unhappy about what my mother had done. OK, so feeling sad was about loss and feeling betrayed.
I went to grade school at Darby Avenue, just down the street from our house. Being picked next to last for the team sport was sad. Getting in trouble for talking to Elise in the first grade was somehow fun. Having to stay in at recess to finish an assignment was sad. Not being allowed to stay out late during the summer was sad. Actually, life was fairly simple, and I never thought that I was missing anything. Getting punched in the stomach by a boy in the 5th grade was puzzling and sad, but I didn't tell anyone. Mostly, I remember being sad because I was not the prettiest or the most popular. Actually, I think being sad about those things prepared me to live with the idea that I was not going to profit from my looks, but I still had to do my best. Putting that in writing makes me want to tell that little girl that she's great. That leftover sadness reminds me of why I now believe everyone has their own talent and skills - we each choose a medium that is unique and special to ourselves alone.
Moving to Salt Lake City when I was in the 9th grade was especially sad for me. Just after we moved there, during Christmas, my grandmother died. I missed out on her advice as a teen. She once convinced me that mixing prints would be OK, and zoweee.... I learned something from her about style. I noticed that my grandfather was sad after her death, and I would write letters to him because I wanted to make him feel better. Sadness when I was a teen came from not knowing anyone in Salt Lake City and having to re-adjust to the social norms, much different from the San Fernando Valley in California. My boyfriend my senior year of high school lived so far away that I was often disappointed by the minimal amount of time we were able to spend together. What was really sad: he did not make it to the airport to see me off the morning I left for college. I guess disappointment does not always have to be sad; it's part of any normal life.
Leaving home was a shock. I was homesick for at least a month and very sad. I probably cried. Then I got married, finished school, and started working. Skipping past the ordinary sadness that comes with every marriage, was the alternate joy of friendships and eventually three daughters. Mostly, the sadness in my marriage came from my lack of assertiveness and inability to stand up for myself or my boundaries and my lack of any sound communication skills. OK, so far sadness is from being mad, not being picked first or being pretty enough to be noticed, losing someone, adjusting to a new place, disappointment in relationships due to my lack of communication skills and, lets face it, wimpy self-worth. (I decided I didn't want to be a nag or a bitch, but I had no alternative plan B when it came to asking for what I wanted.)
What I know about feeling sad: The saddest I've ever felt was when my mother and then my father died. That still catches me occasionally, and it's been 10 years or more. Watching my in-laws die was also upsetting. My ex-husband moving out was a relief, but I felt sad for years after that, I think because I was alone. Grieving is now part of my experiences. For about 10 years, I worked for an agency where one of my duties was to complete Domestic Violence Evaluations. I interviewed perpetrators and victims, and over the years, accumulated a lot of sorrow and depression talking, thinking and writing about how awful people can be to each other. Since becoming a counselor, I have had clients with stories that make me cry on the drive home from my office. When I was laid off from the 10-year job, I was depressed for about a year, and am still experiencing the the stunned back-lash of what felt like betrayal. I looked for work, but was too depressed to give a good interview.
I think after writing this, that for me, sadness comes from anger, disappointment, loss and betrayal. It doesn't matter if it happens to me or if I hear about it happening to someone else. I used to watch "ER" on television every Thursday night after my dad died, and I would inevitably cry at some point during the episode. I like to cry in my car. I'm alone, the music is loud, and no one in the other cars knows me. Lately, as I continue to try to build my business and live off my savings, I experience sadness as anxiety over making enough money and fear that I won't. When my daughters are having disappointing experiences, I feel sad, often because I can't fix it for them and also because I didn't give them all the tools necessary to avoid disappointment. That would be a pretty big tool box, and I don't have all the tools necessary myself. Boy, THAT's sad.
Sometimes the daily routine becomes overwhelming. The trick is to realize that I usually feel better after even a bad night's sleep. If I dwell on things till late at night, I find that writing them down as a list of things to do helps me to sleep. (Never put anything on your list that you know you are not going to do....it will never give you the satisfaction you get from crossing off the items...) I know when I've become anxious and sad by the ache in my shoulders and neck and the dreams that involve driving a bad car (the Pinto or the 1967 VW bus I used to have) and being unable to find my exit or get off the freeway. If I want to feel better immediately, I call my best friend and just the sound of his voice talking about his day soothes me - and he knows when I need a shot of tequila to ease the pain. I'm sure there is more to being sad, so I'll reserve the opportunity to write about this more in the later blogs. After all, I've got a few more years to live and I still have the chance to run out of money and be sad about working the weekend shift at - (no offense kids), Chicago Connection.
Monday, June 13, 2011
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Thirteenth Blog - What I learned about menopause
What I thought I knew - Well, really, I didn't know anything. It's not something I talked about with my mother. I don't remember her going through the big change, because, by then, I was married. I guess I could ask my sister about her experience or maybe my youngest sibling, my brother. As Bill Cosby would say, "Right!" In fact, I missed the big puberty movie in the 6th grade as I was out with the mumps. I learned more about sex from reading my Dad's Playboy magazines and guessing or asking my friends. All I can say is, thank goodness tampons were invented. (Just a warning, if you don't talk about this stuff, you will either be disgusted or fascinated...)
As I reached 50, my doctor, whom I saw once a year, indicated that I needed to stop using birth control and apparently I needed to arrange my thoughts around the possibility of menopause. I won't bore you with the scientific facts or proper names for the stages that signify the end to a monthly irritation, although I'm more irritated on an unscheduled basis than ever a mere period could instigate. Over the years and with the discovery (by me and for me) of birth control with low dosages of hormones, my experience was pretty mild, not even requiring pain pills. I know some women have not had the same "nice" monthly vacation from dry underwear, but I had some moments when I was younger.
For example: I didn't "start" until my doctor insisted it was time when I was 16 years old. He gave me some pills to get puberty rolling, unfortunately not increasing my cup size any. Until I was in my 30's I never had a regular cycle. This often created some anxiety and several tense months here and there. Perhaps having children was the beginning of a cycle that was actually monthly. I recall having my heaviest periods when I was unprepared. Or maybe, when one is unprepared, toilet paper is just not enough. I've been unprepared in the Amazon jungle in Ecuador, but thankfully, there was the equivalent of a 7-11 at the bus station when we were heading back to Quito.
What I have learned - My doctor was right, although my body did not change immediately after my 50th birthday. I continued to cycle for about a year, being forced to worry about pregnancy from a condom's point of view. Then I was unaffected by a period for about 9 months, then for about 4 months, then 6 months. One Thursday when I was probably 51 and attending a morning meeting, I complained about being hot. My friend Wendy accurately pointed out that I was "having a hot flash." I began to think that she was right. RATS! This is noticeable at night; I layer the blankets, pulling them up and kicking them off later. I did some gentle research on-line, but was annoyed by an overabundance of remedies for menopause. I wondered about the question over taking estrogen or battling it out all by myself. Because I tend to allow my body to be in charge (I'm still in charge of taking care of my body), I still have gray hair and I have not asked my doctor about taking estrogen.
Not sleeping. This is not a symptom that is commonly advertised as a part of menopause. What you do hear about is the mood swings. I say, well of course!!! I'm not getting any quality sleep and I can't seem to finish my dreams. This comes and goes as your hormones no longer do their job of regulating your body's habits and, your emotional moods. There are times when I'm in an extremely good mood, ready to tackle anything and very productive. For instance, recently, it only took me 1-1/2 weeks to make and finish a quilt (measuring 95 x 95 inches). I wonder if that is what a manic phase is like? Then, because I don't sleep well for days at a time, I feel like I can't get anything productive accomplished. I don't have the energy to think about things that require thought, such as writing this blog or doing anything to market my counseling business.
Sometime, I feel things very strongly. Maybe that was my first symptom, in my late 40's. Sadness strikes me during movies, in the car when songs that are reminders play on the radio and when I'm watching an emotional TV show - this can last for a few days. It always gets better, which is great. Feeling sad is not the same as when I've been depressed after losing a job or my parents. But thinking about those things makes me sad. I wonder if there is a cycle to this roller coaster of heat, sleeplessness, sadness and great energy. I'll let you know later as I learn more, because I've got to try to take a nap this afternoon. Or, I will just lay there and get up after a while.
As I reached 50, my doctor, whom I saw once a year, indicated that I needed to stop using birth control and apparently I needed to arrange my thoughts around the possibility of menopause. I won't bore you with the scientific facts or proper names for the stages that signify the end to a monthly irritation, although I'm more irritated on an unscheduled basis than ever a mere period could instigate. Over the years and with the discovery (by me and for me) of birth control with low dosages of hormones, my experience was pretty mild, not even requiring pain pills. I know some women have not had the same "nice" monthly vacation from dry underwear, but I had some moments when I was younger.
For example: I didn't "start" until my doctor insisted it was time when I was 16 years old. He gave me some pills to get puberty rolling, unfortunately not increasing my cup size any. Until I was in my 30's I never had a regular cycle. This often created some anxiety and several tense months here and there. Perhaps having children was the beginning of a cycle that was actually monthly. I recall having my heaviest periods when I was unprepared. Or maybe, when one is unprepared, toilet paper is just not enough. I've been unprepared in the Amazon jungle in Ecuador, but thankfully, there was the equivalent of a 7-11 at the bus station when we were heading back to Quito.
What I have learned - My doctor was right, although my body did not change immediately after my 50th birthday. I continued to cycle for about a year, being forced to worry about pregnancy from a condom's point of view. Then I was unaffected by a period for about 9 months, then for about 4 months, then 6 months. One Thursday when I was probably 51 and attending a morning meeting, I complained about being hot. My friend Wendy accurately pointed out that I was "having a hot flash." I began to think that she was right. RATS! This is noticeable at night; I layer the blankets, pulling them up and kicking them off later. I did some gentle research on-line, but was annoyed by an overabundance of remedies for menopause. I wondered about the question over taking estrogen or battling it out all by myself. Because I tend to allow my body to be in charge (I'm still in charge of taking care of my body), I still have gray hair and I have not asked my doctor about taking estrogen.
Not sleeping. This is not a symptom that is commonly advertised as a part of menopause. What you do hear about is the mood swings. I say, well of course!!! I'm not getting any quality sleep and I can't seem to finish my dreams. This comes and goes as your hormones no longer do their job of regulating your body's habits and, your emotional moods. There are times when I'm in an extremely good mood, ready to tackle anything and very productive. For instance, recently, it only took me 1-1/2 weeks to make and finish a quilt (measuring 95 x 95 inches). I wonder if that is what a manic phase is like? Then, because I don't sleep well for days at a time, I feel like I can't get anything productive accomplished. I don't have the energy to think about things that require thought, such as writing this blog or doing anything to market my counseling business.
Sometime, I feel things very strongly. Maybe that was my first symptom, in my late 40's. Sadness strikes me during movies, in the car when songs that are reminders play on the radio and when I'm watching an emotional TV show - this can last for a few days. It always gets better, which is great. Feeling sad is not the same as when I've been depressed after losing a job or my parents. But thinking about those things makes me sad. I wonder if there is a cycle to this roller coaster of heat, sleeplessness, sadness and great energy. I'll let you know later as I learn more, because I've got to try to take a nap this afternoon. Or, I will just lay there and get up after a while.
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Twelth Blog - What I thought I knew about friendship
What I thought I knew - What follows is somewhat historical in nature. I supposed when I was growing up that everyone had the kind of family relationship I experienced. I had two parents, and although both of them worked, my mother was home in the afternoons and throughout the summer. She was a teacher, and at one point, I got a ride with her to my junior high school. My father was a Lutheran Pastor, and he was home almost every night. We all went to church every Sunday, my father leaving early for the first service and the rest of us arriving at church in time for Sunday school. I had friends from school, friends from church and the friends in my neighborhood. Until I reached the 7th grade, these friendships seemed mostly effortless, even though I was never an early pick for a team sport, like kickball or dodge-ball at grade school.
My best friends in grade school were the neighbors. There were originally two girls my age, Penny and Betsy, later Ruth, and Nathan. Penny, Betsy, Ruth, Nathan and I were all the oldest children in our families. When all of us were outside, there were about 20 kids to play Kick the Can, Capture the Flag, Three Flys Up and Red Rover. We spent the summer days outside and the school evenings outside. I don't remember feeling awkward about being friends with any of them. When I entered Junior high, Ruth was my best friend, but that did not last in the chaos of so many new people to meet. At this point, my social life began to center around the church youth group, where there were several somewhat older boys who were handsome and funny and I longed to be noticed by them.
Junior high was where what you wore and who you knew became more important. In those days, we were not allowed to wear tank tops or see-through clothing, although the skirts were pretty short and hot-pants were, for a short time, wildly acceptable. I got my first pair of Levis; girls were finally allowed to wear pants to school when I was in the 7th grade. Although I was feeling confidant about my position with several friends, I was not one of the popular people. I don't recall making any great friends from junior high, but I looked forward to attending church and seeing all my friends there. When I was in the 9th grade, my parents moved from the San Fernando Valley in California to Salt Lake City, Utah. I was stunned by the move; I did not have the right clothing and I knew nobody. I attended Wasatch Junior High ("Hey you Wasatch Warriors..."), the school where my mother taught 8th grade English.
Salt Lake City was different. I had to get a jacket and warmer clothing. I had to take a Sewing Home Economics class because of the difference in semesters and school credits even though I already knew how to sew! I had gotten used to wearing Levi 501 shrink-to-fit pants in California, but no one in Salt Lake City wore those; I think the jeans worn there were Sailor pants. A girl from my church, Kim, made friends with me and invited me to her house. She was in my confirmation class at church. She is responsible for my first alcoholic beverage, a beer while hanging out at a park with friends. She also took me to the "stomp" dance at Skyline High when I was in the 10th grade, introducing me to her friends, "The Who," and smoking pot all in the same night. I wonder where she is and where her life took her.
In Salt Lake, I also had friends at church from confirmation class and the youth group. My dad always took the graduating confirmation class camping, and that was fun. The youth group also mingled with other church youth groups for events in town, camping and socializing. I met Becky at those events, and she is still a close friend, although living in Tacoma now. I dated a guy I met at one of those events named Rex, but he blew me off one day after school, breaking up with me in the parking lot by not letting me get into the car for the usual ride home. In the 11th grade, I began dating a guy from my church. We would make out in his car (he had a hot Duster that he later traded for a Charger or something like that...), go skiing and go to movies. He was fun, but not long term for me. In high school, I became close friends with Jill, my locker mate. We once went fabric shopping and both got the same shirt fabric, which we inevitably wore on the same day to school. I never knew what happened to Jill, as she moved to Washington to follow her boyfriend towards the end of high school. I also remember Chris, who dropped out and disappeared to have a baby. Actually, I hated high school.
After my junior year, I started dating a recent graduate, Jeff. Unfortunately for me, he lived a long ways away from me and could not always count on his car, (a '60s Comet). I began hanging out more with Becky, who was headed to the same college as I, Pacific Lutheran University. I thought we could be roommates, but dorms assign people differently. I was very homesick when I left for college; back when there were no cell phones, you had to write letters to keep in contact with boyfriends and parents. My roommate Beth brought me a matching bedspread, hailed from central California, and was soon a great friend. She is a free spirit living a responsible life and still lives in central California with her husband Doug, whom she met at PLU. I also met my husband, Neal, at PLU, and we took vacations with Beth and Doug, even cooking our first Thanksgiving turkey dinner together.
Our best friends after we were married and living in San Bruno were Jim and Kathy. We played Hearts with them every week, Jim and I cheating outrageously. I have no idea what they are doing now, but I miss those games. Eventually, Neal and I moved to Seattle, living with our renter, Karl (also from PLU). That was weird, and I don't recommend living with friends like that. Be sure you have good boundaries if you want to remain friends. Our friends in Seattle were mostly from work. Neal began working for Hewlett Packard and I worked for a time at Leasametric, then at Seattle University for their Computer Systems department. Mostly, I remember visiting with Theresa and Rob, Geir, and other friends from PLU. There were many great dinners consumed during that time. Geir was always getting tickets for the hottest band in town and bringing berries and ice cream to our home. After we put in a hot tub, this was more frequent. He used the hot tub even when we didn't want to, bringing his current girlfriend with him.
When Neal worked for HP in Lake Stevens, we met Bill; he later followed us to Boise. He taught me how to troll in a slow boat in Lake Stevens, where I got the largest fish I've ever caught, some kind of trout/salmon? I have pictures. He lived in a house with almost no heat, and I hated visiting him there. Bachelors don't clean their bathrooms. Once, when he was showing slides of his trip to Ireland, Neal and I schemed to find a way to annoy him and I sewed all his shirts together at the buttons. Later, he retaliated by "forking" (putting hundreds of plastic forks) into our lawn. We also spent time with Becky in Tacoma and went swimming and ate lots of nachos with Pat and Jill. Good times when we were all thin.
Weddings of friends I have attended: Jim and Kathy, Beth and Doug, Pat and Jill, Geir and Kari, Becky and Gary, Kathy (my sister) and Bo, then later Kathy (my sister) and Jim, Tof (my brother) and Margaret. I regret that I did not even know about the weddings of Mark and David (not to each other)...I would like to have attended!
In 1987, we moved to Boise, to pursue a job with Hewlett Packard and hang out with my sister Kathy and her then husband, Bo. We started the camping in Featherville and learned to love the high desert. Initially, we hung out mostly with Kathy and Bo, but the neighborhood where we purchased a house on a cul-de-sac was full of people our age. Summer daiquiris from home canned peaches, camping together at Ponderosa, barbecues in the front yards, giving Popsicles to all the kids and having the occasional kegger party was the design of the neighborhood. Unfortunately, most of us got divorced and I don't see any of them anymore, just sometimes their grown children. It's too bad, because Jayne used to make me toffee on my birthday. Actually, I get chocolates for special occasions now from my best friend!
What I know now - I am still friends with most of the people dating back to late high school, and by this, I mean Becky and Beth. We exchange Christmas cards at the least and visits between here and there every once in a while. After my divorce, I began attending Graduate School and hanging out at the Dutch Goose, where I met John while dancing there. John introduced me to rafting rivers, dirt biking and eating well. He is a tremendous cook and we understand each others jokes. He supports me and insists that I be my own person. While in school, I met about 14 people whom I got to know pretty well. I share an office and lunch every other week with Lib, a fellow student and now a colleague. She got me my first full time counseling related job and offered her house for my oldest daughter's dressing room when she got married last year. She keeps me sane about counseling issues and has more condiments in her refrigerator than most specialty food stores.
My other best friend is my sister Kathy. She thankfully lives in Boise now (not Mountain Home) and is always available to go shopping or sewing with me. Kathy is the most generous person I know, volunteering her time to complete taxes for free and watching my children while I was in school. Her two children have grown up with my children and they are now good friends. I find that my children are also my friends too, some of the time. A few years ago, I joined a woman's networking group that meets every Thursday for breakfast. The food is not so good, but the women are tremendous and have helped me start my business and kept me company at coffee shops. I needed some friends and support, and these women are all people I can talk to about whatever; they share their lives with me.
Friendship is a lot easier to start than I thought when I was a child. There are no restrictions like I believed. I can talk to anyone, and find something we have in common. I learned to greet anyone by watching John talk to everyone he meets anywhere. When we visited Arkansas a few years ago, I realized that John's friendly socializing is part of a southern tradition. Everyone in Arkansas started up conversations with us as though it were the most natural thing to do, which it can be if you practice being friendly and are interested. The most interesting thing I have learned in the past few years is that friendships and relationships and potential relationships are more important than anything else in my life. I know this, because people are more interesting than anything else in my life. Even quilting, my favorite hobby, can be done in a group setting with my sister and my daughter and her friends. If you are a friend to me and reading this blog, make a comment or send me a letter. I still need you.
My best friends in grade school were the neighbors. There were originally two girls my age, Penny and Betsy, later Ruth, and Nathan. Penny, Betsy, Ruth, Nathan and I were all the oldest children in our families. When all of us were outside, there were about 20 kids to play Kick the Can, Capture the Flag, Three Flys Up and Red Rover. We spent the summer days outside and the school evenings outside. I don't remember feeling awkward about being friends with any of them. When I entered Junior high, Ruth was my best friend, but that did not last in the chaos of so many new people to meet. At this point, my social life began to center around the church youth group, where there were several somewhat older boys who were handsome and funny and I longed to be noticed by them.
Junior high was where what you wore and who you knew became more important. In those days, we were not allowed to wear tank tops or see-through clothing, although the skirts were pretty short and hot-pants were, for a short time, wildly acceptable. I got my first pair of Levis; girls were finally allowed to wear pants to school when I was in the 7th grade. Although I was feeling confidant about my position with several friends, I was not one of the popular people. I don't recall making any great friends from junior high, but I looked forward to attending church and seeing all my friends there. When I was in the 9th grade, my parents moved from the San Fernando Valley in California to Salt Lake City, Utah. I was stunned by the move; I did not have the right clothing and I knew nobody. I attended Wasatch Junior High ("Hey you Wasatch Warriors..."), the school where my mother taught 8th grade English.
Salt Lake City was different. I had to get a jacket and warmer clothing. I had to take a Sewing Home Economics class because of the difference in semesters and school credits even though I already knew how to sew! I had gotten used to wearing Levi 501 shrink-to-fit pants in California, but no one in Salt Lake City wore those; I think the jeans worn there were Sailor pants. A girl from my church, Kim, made friends with me and invited me to her house. She was in my confirmation class at church. She is responsible for my first alcoholic beverage, a beer while hanging out at a park with friends. She also took me to the "stomp" dance at Skyline High when I was in the 10th grade, introducing me to her friends, "The Who," and smoking pot all in the same night. I wonder where she is and where her life took her.
In Salt Lake, I also had friends at church from confirmation class and the youth group. My dad always took the graduating confirmation class camping, and that was fun. The youth group also mingled with other church youth groups for events in town, camping and socializing. I met Becky at those events, and she is still a close friend, although living in Tacoma now. I dated a guy I met at one of those events named Rex, but he blew me off one day after school, breaking up with me in the parking lot by not letting me get into the car for the usual ride home. In the 11th grade, I began dating a guy from my church. We would make out in his car (he had a hot Duster that he later traded for a Charger or something like that...), go skiing and go to movies. He was fun, but not long term for me. In high school, I became close friends with Jill, my locker mate. We once went fabric shopping and both got the same shirt fabric, which we inevitably wore on the same day to school. I never knew what happened to Jill, as she moved to Washington to follow her boyfriend towards the end of high school. I also remember Chris, who dropped out and disappeared to have a baby. Actually, I hated high school.
After my junior year, I started dating a recent graduate, Jeff. Unfortunately for me, he lived a long ways away from me and could not always count on his car, (a '60s Comet). I began hanging out more with Becky, who was headed to the same college as I, Pacific Lutheran University. I thought we could be roommates, but dorms assign people differently. I was very homesick when I left for college; back when there were no cell phones, you had to write letters to keep in contact with boyfriends and parents. My roommate Beth brought me a matching bedspread, hailed from central California, and was soon a great friend. She is a free spirit living a responsible life and still lives in central California with her husband Doug, whom she met at PLU. I also met my husband, Neal, at PLU, and we took vacations with Beth and Doug, even cooking our first Thanksgiving turkey dinner together.
Our best friends after we were married and living in San Bruno were Jim and Kathy. We played Hearts with them every week, Jim and I cheating outrageously. I have no idea what they are doing now, but I miss those games. Eventually, Neal and I moved to Seattle, living with our renter, Karl (also from PLU). That was weird, and I don't recommend living with friends like that. Be sure you have good boundaries if you want to remain friends. Our friends in Seattle were mostly from work. Neal began working for Hewlett Packard and I worked for a time at Leasametric, then at Seattle University for their Computer Systems department. Mostly, I remember visiting with Theresa and Rob, Geir, and other friends from PLU. There were many great dinners consumed during that time. Geir was always getting tickets for the hottest band in town and bringing berries and ice cream to our home. After we put in a hot tub, this was more frequent. He used the hot tub even when we didn't want to, bringing his current girlfriend with him.
When Neal worked for HP in Lake Stevens, we met Bill; he later followed us to Boise. He taught me how to troll in a slow boat in Lake Stevens, where I got the largest fish I've ever caught, some kind of trout/salmon? I have pictures. He lived in a house with almost no heat, and I hated visiting him there. Bachelors don't clean their bathrooms. Once, when he was showing slides of his trip to Ireland, Neal and I schemed to find a way to annoy him and I sewed all his shirts together at the buttons. Later, he retaliated by "forking" (putting hundreds of plastic forks) into our lawn. We also spent time with Becky in Tacoma and went swimming and ate lots of nachos with Pat and Jill. Good times when we were all thin.
Weddings of friends I have attended: Jim and Kathy, Beth and Doug, Pat and Jill, Geir and Kari, Becky and Gary, Kathy (my sister) and Bo, then later Kathy (my sister) and Jim, Tof (my brother) and Margaret. I regret that I did not even know about the weddings of Mark and David (not to each other)...I would like to have attended!
In 1987, we moved to Boise, to pursue a job with Hewlett Packard and hang out with my sister Kathy and her then husband, Bo. We started the camping in Featherville and learned to love the high desert. Initially, we hung out mostly with Kathy and Bo, but the neighborhood where we purchased a house on a cul-de-sac was full of people our age. Summer daiquiris from home canned peaches, camping together at Ponderosa, barbecues in the front yards, giving Popsicles to all the kids and having the occasional kegger party was the design of the neighborhood. Unfortunately, most of us got divorced and I don't see any of them anymore, just sometimes their grown children. It's too bad, because Jayne used to make me toffee on my birthday. Actually, I get chocolates for special occasions now from my best friend!
What I know now - I am still friends with most of the people dating back to late high school, and by this, I mean Becky and Beth. We exchange Christmas cards at the least and visits between here and there every once in a while. After my divorce, I began attending Graduate School and hanging out at the Dutch Goose, where I met John while dancing there. John introduced me to rafting rivers, dirt biking and eating well. He is a tremendous cook and we understand each others jokes. He supports me and insists that I be my own person. While in school, I met about 14 people whom I got to know pretty well. I share an office and lunch every other week with Lib, a fellow student and now a colleague. She got me my first full time counseling related job and offered her house for my oldest daughter's dressing room when she got married last year. She keeps me sane about counseling issues and has more condiments in her refrigerator than most specialty food stores.
My other best friend is my sister Kathy. She thankfully lives in Boise now (not Mountain Home) and is always available to go shopping or sewing with me. Kathy is the most generous person I know, volunteering her time to complete taxes for free and watching my children while I was in school. Her two children have grown up with my children and they are now good friends. I find that my children are also my friends too, some of the time. A few years ago, I joined a woman's networking group that meets every Thursday for breakfast. The food is not so good, but the women are tremendous and have helped me start my business and kept me company at coffee shops. I needed some friends and support, and these women are all people I can talk to about whatever; they share their lives with me.
Friendship is a lot easier to start than I thought when I was a child. There are no restrictions like I believed. I can talk to anyone, and find something we have in common. I learned to greet anyone by watching John talk to everyone he meets anywhere. When we visited Arkansas a few years ago, I realized that John's friendly socializing is part of a southern tradition. Everyone in Arkansas started up conversations with us as though it were the most natural thing to do, which it can be if you practice being friendly and are interested. The most interesting thing I have learned in the past few years is that friendships and relationships and potential relationships are more important than anything else in my life. I know this, because people are more interesting than anything else in my life. Even quilting, my favorite hobby, can be done in a group setting with my sister and my daughter and her friends. If you are a friend to me and reading this blog, make a comment or send me a letter. I still need you.
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Eleventh Blog: What I learned about taking photos
What I thought I knew: In my family, photos keep us connected. My mother kept the photos. She put them in scrapbooks that were rectangular, with black pages. The photos were kept on the pages by being inserted into four corner holders. This must have been time consuming and tedious, but I loved looking through the family history. We had an uncle who took family portraits in black and white. I can remember my parents and siblings posing on his couch, me with my head gently leaning aside, trying to look romantic. I have several of his family photos framed at my house, dark, casual and full of meaning and memories.
My mother and father had a 35mm camera with a separate light meter. The light meter was forever being dropped, replaced, misplaced and studied for the magic numbers that must be translated to the camera for a proper light setting. The first prints of our family were in black and white, with white borders and small sizes. By the time I was in grade school, they were taking color slides. My parents took photos of the first day of school (we had new outfits), Christmas (we had new outfits) and Easter Sunday (we had, well, you know.) They took photos of our vacations and the friends with whom we camped and hiked and traveled. They took photos of parties that took place at their home and of church functions. My dad liked to take photos of nature, his most infamous, looking upward from the bottom of various trees.
After vacations, we would have slide shows, setting up the projector, finding a wall space and eventually, fighting with the roll-away screen. My parents accumulated about 20 boxes of slides throughout their lifetime, and I always enjoyed looking through them. My mother printed up many of the slides, compiling a wall of cheaply framed photos for all of us to enjoy. I have some of those framed prints in my hallway, along with the photos of my children that I framed. When I got married in 1979, my husband and I purchased a Pentax K1000 for $100.00 dollars. This camera was fantastic and modern, with a built in mechanical light meter, although the flash was still an attachment and very manual. I still have it, along with a spare (my parents bought the same camera) leftover from my parent's estate and some extra lenses. My husband and I also took slides and I believe I am storing 14 boxes, all in trays and waiting in the darkness of my closet for the projector. Sometime after our children were born, we started taking prints, and now I have almost as many books of photos.
In my family, I have taken most of the photos over the past 30 years or so. One of my intentions was to capture the rich scenery of the Western states. However, photos of people that I know and love are much more interesting. Yes, it's nice to capture the first spring flower, but it's better to capture my children hunting for Easter eggs, or friends and family sitting around a campfire or Thanksgiving dinner. I love to photograph my children without their knowledge. This was possible when they were small, but now that they are in their 20's, they insist on posing and combing their hair and looking away or making faces. A family tradition, started I believe by my sister or aunt, is to give the person next to you rabbit ears with two fingers in a peace sign. It's even better if they don't know it's happening. This pose appears in every family event, a ridiculous but persistent continuity in our lives.
What I have learned: Actually, I'm still learning. I purchased a digital camera last year and read through the booklet that came with it. I'll never use the many whistles and bells that are part of it's program, but I like to be assured that they are part of the camera. I have over 1200 photos from the past year that I have yet to print! I'm behind, and I don't like that. Digital gives you the potential to fiddle with every photo, print only what you like, upload the photos to a photo center anywhere for printing and view them online or on your new flat screen TV. It's almost harder than prints, because I can compose a shot AFTER I record it. I have been instructed to store my photos by 1) actually printing them, 2) storing them on my computer hard drive and 3) storing them on archival CDs. I can send my photo files to friends and family who appear or might be interested in my photos. Sharing digitally is lazy and wonderful, but I still prefer prints. Whenever my oldest daughter visits, she flips through all of the photo books, just like I did when I was young.
One of the benefits of being the photographer for me is that I can hide. If I'm tired, or not feeling like conversing, I just move around and take photos, which I later use for blackmail ......er.... publish on Facebook ......er.... well, I don't even get around to doing that. Even with the Pentax K1000, it was fun to just be the observer and record people and places. My photos can be divided into people, nature and records of events, (a boring category and not necessarily as interesting.) It's exciting to be able to "publish" my favorites online. My digital camera is great at taking close-ups, but my Pentax K1000 was (is!) much better at action shots. I took the Pentax on a rafting trip, using up 10 rolls of film on the Middle Fork of the Salmon River in 2000. The Pentax is probably more durable than the digital, but I love that I can take zillions of photos digitally. Of course, I carry an extra battery and memory card. If you are lucky, I carry the cord that plugs into the TV for viewing. Also, I have lots of slides to show you.....
My mother and father had a 35mm camera with a separate light meter. The light meter was forever being dropped, replaced, misplaced and studied for the magic numbers that must be translated to the camera for a proper light setting. The first prints of our family were in black and white, with white borders and small sizes. By the time I was in grade school, they were taking color slides. My parents took photos of the first day of school (we had new outfits), Christmas (we had new outfits) and Easter Sunday (we had, well, you know.) They took photos of our vacations and the friends with whom we camped and hiked and traveled. They took photos of parties that took place at their home and of church functions. My dad liked to take photos of nature, his most infamous, looking upward from the bottom of various trees.
After vacations, we would have slide shows, setting up the projector, finding a wall space and eventually, fighting with the roll-away screen. My parents accumulated about 20 boxes of slides throughout their lifetime, and I always enjoyed looking through them. My mother printed up many of the slides, compiling a wall of cheaply framed photos for all of us to enjoy. I have some of those framed prints in my hallway, along with the photos of my children that I framed. When I got married in 1979, my husband and I purchased a Pentax K1000 for $100.00 dollars. This camera was fantastic and modern, with a built in mechanical light meter, although the flash was still an attachment and very manual. I still have it, along with a spare (my parents bought the same camera) leftover from my parent's estate and some extra lenses. My husband and I also took slides and I believe I am storing 14 boxes, all in trays and waiting in the darkness of my closet for the projector. Sometime after our children were born, we started taking prints, and now I have almost as many books of photos.
In my family, I have taken most of the photos over the past 30 years or so. One of my intentions was to capture the rich scenery of the Western states. However, photos of people that I know and love are much more interesting. Yes, it's nice to capture the first spring flower, but it's better to capture my children hunting for Easter eggs, or friends and family sitting around a campfire or Thanksgiving dinner. I love to photograph my children without their knowledge. This was possible when they were small, but now that they are in their 20's, they insist on posing and combing their hair and looking away or making faces. A family tradition, started I believe by my sister or aunt, is to give the person next to you rabbit ears with two fingers in a peace sign. It's even better if they don't know it's happening. This pose appears in every family event, a ridiculous but persistent continuity in our lives.
What I have learned: Actually, I'm still learning. I purchased a digital camera last year and read through the booklet that came with it. I'll never use the many whistles and bells that are part of it's program, but I like to be assured that they are part of the camera. I have over 1200 photos from the past year that I have yet to print! I'm behind, and I don't like that. Digital gives you the potential to fiddle with every photo, print only what you like, upload the photos to a photo center anywhere for printing and view them online or on your new flat screen TV. It's almost harder than prints, because I can compose a shot AFTER I record it. I have been instructed to store my photos by 1) actually printing them, 2) storing them on my computer hard drive and 3) storing them on archival CDs. I can send my photo files to friends and family who appear or might be interested in my photos. Sharing digitally is lazy and wonderful, but I still prefer prints. Whenever my oldest daughter visits, she flips through all of the photo books, just like I did when I was young.
One of the benefits of being the photographer for me is that I can hide. If I'm tired, or not feeling like conversing, I just move around and take photos, which I later use for blackmail ......er.... publish on Facebook ......er.... well, I don't even get around to doing that. Even with the Pentax K1000, it was fun to just be the observer and record people and places. My photos can be divided into people, nature and records of events, (a boring category and not necessarily as interesting.) It's exciting to be able to "publish" my favorites online. My digital camera is great at taking close-ups, but my Pentax K1000 was (is!) much better at action shots. I took the Pentax on a rafting trip, using up 10 rolls of film on the Middle Fork of the Salmon River in 2000. The Pentax is probably more durable than the digital, but I love that I can take zillions of photos digitally. Of course, I carry an extra battery and memory card. If you are lucky, I carry the cord that plugs into the TV for viewing. Also, I have lots of slides to show you.....
Monday, April 25, 2011
Tenth Blog: What I learned about exercise
What I thought I knew: Remember when you were told there would be a test of your physical ability? In the late 1960's, this included counting how many sit-ups and push-ups you could do in a specified time. Since that was the only time we did these two exercises, naturally, I was not very good. Actually, I wasn't very good a kickball, playing on the "rings," dodge ball or running. I was good at kick-the-can, a version of hide-and-seek, handball on the garage door, riding my bike everywhere (a Raleigh 3-speed), three-flys-up (actually, I sucked at that), Red Rover, climbing trees, hiking and swimming in the backyard pool. This was before organized sports were so popular and available for girls. Yes, the boy across the street played football in grade school, but I was only a cheerleader with his sister for one game.
When I was in Junior High, for some reason, every year, we played volleyball. This was not the organized sport my daughter's played. There were no after school sports for the girls and I don't even know if the boys had any opportunities. I wasn't paying attention. I enjoyed volleyball at summer camp and in my parent's yard after they got a sturdy net. I hated phys ed, especially when I had to purchase a uniform before 7th grade (shorts and top) and was forced to talk my mother into letting me buy a bra so I would not be totally embarrassed in the girls gym. I was embarrassed anyway. Whoever thought that taking kids who dressed in private at home, showered alone and decided to put them in an awkward social situation like a locker room must have been fully developed, had a perfect body, perfect hair, and been raised in a communal situation.
Enough about adolescence. We did not run for exercise or ride our bikes for exercise or work out. Working out was for Olympic athletes who lifted weights. We played, we camped and hiked, we skied, we \WALKED TO SCHOOL, we walked to our friend's homes and we went outside until dinner and then stayed outside playing after dinner until it got dark and then begged our parents for more time. When I was in high school, I actually used my asthma to get out of some of the P.E. classes. By then, I had noticed that the boys had much cooler stuff to do in gym, including playing baseball and football. I had a one-piece uniform, royal blue, shorts attached to a top, and we were required to "take a shower" twice a semester to pass the class. I don't remember any extra-curricular sports available for girls, except for swimming. My locker mate swam, giving her excellent shoulders and a chance to see more of her boyfriend.
As a young adult, I did not exercise at all. I went to college, got caught cheating on the written exam in the required P.E. course, took it again with the same grade and never did the required running. I will probably never run. About this time, the late 1970's or early 1980's Jim Fixx began the running revolution and a market for exercise clothing and running shoes was born. I wore Keds (cloth sneakers) growing up. (I also wore orthopedic saddle shoes in white until the 7th grade because I had high arches. Still do. Have high arches that is.) It wasn't until the mid to late 1970's that you could purchase an athletic shoe. Gradually, working out became popular, thanks in part probably to Arnold the Govenator, I mean the Terminator Schwarzenegger. It became reasonable to spend time in the gym, and people found a new use for steroids.
I did not watch the Olympics until the early 1980's. Sure, I went to baseball games (go Giants) and I think I went to a Ram's game with my dad when Joe Namath was playing, but that is sports, not exercise. Meanwhile, gym memberships became popular and sprung up like coffee shops did in Seattle. I moved to Boise with my then husband and resumed the camping thing, with only gardening for exercise. We brought our first daughter with us (nice, huh?) and she was followed by two more daughters. Nobody can keep up with the all day movement of toddlers. Just try to do everything they do and then you will probably need a nap and a blankie. We went to the parks and the kids ran all over the place and up and down and climbed and played. It was exhausting for me, watching them and worrying about potential injury.
When my daughters got into grade school, they all, in turn, played in the semester games and ran in the races. Where was this when I was a child? My middle daughter in particular could really run fast. Also, they attended summer basketball camp at the grade school, and at the final game, the parents were totally creamed by the soon-to-be 6th graders.My daughters all played volleyball and basketball in junior high, and the middle daughter ran track, taking the Boise City title in her event, the 800 meter run. I miss attending their games, sitting on uncomfortable bleachers and waiting forever for the girls to get in the car. In the mid 1990's, after my husband moved out, I still weighed close to my high school weight and I would go dancing on weekends when the kids were with him. I was in pretty good shape, and had not yet begun to realize middle age.
What I know now: In the fall of 2008, after I had reached my 50's I decided to try exercise. I knew that I had no stamina for skiing and for any other recreation. I was overweight, had high blood pressure and high cholesterol, although that was inherited. I was referred to a personal trainer, now a good friend, who put me through the routines three times a week. By the following spring, when I traveled to Ecuador to visit a daughter attending school abroad in Quito, I was quite able to keep up with the guides when we hiked around in the jungle. (Your mother, she is very strong......) I have continued to meet with the trainer three times a week and have added some cardio (riding my stationary bike). I have learned to say "cardio" and "resistance work" and "triceps, biceps, gluts, abs, obliques, etc." I can do 400 bicycles at a time and 56 push-ups in a row. I can do sit-ups without someone standing on my toes (thanks for the tip from a friend) up to 50 at at time when pushed, and I don't get out of breath when I am skiing. My recovery time is quicker after a grueling run downhill through the powder and I drink a lot of water. I have learned to stretch to avoid future pain and I believe that working out three times a week and cardio three times a week is the insurance policy that will enable me to attend the marriages of any grandchildren. If I get any.
HEY! Now I have a waist-line, something that had gradually disappeared in my 40's. I have shapely legs and arms-and except for being sore, I plan to keep exercising. Yes, it's a pain in the neck. The older you get, the more you have to move to keep fit, but I'd like to be here for the next day and the next season and the next adventure.
When I was in Junior High, for some reason, every year, we played volleyball. This was not the organized sport my daughter's played. There were no after school sports for the girls and I don't even know if the boys had any opportunities. I wasn't paying attention. I enjoyed volleyball at summer camp and in my parent's yard after they got a sturdy net. I hated phys ed, especially when I had to purchase a uniform before 7th grade (shorts and top) and was forced to talk my mother into letting me buy a bra so I would not be totally embarrassed in the girls gym. I was embarrassed anyway. Whoever thought that taking kids who dressed in private at home, showered alone and decided to put them in an awkward social situation like a locker room must have been fully developed, had a perfect body, perfect hair, and been raised in a communal situation.
Enough about adolescence. We did not run for exercise or ride our bikes for exercise or work out. Working out was for Olympic athletes who lifted weights. We played, we camped and hiked, we skied, we \WALKED TO SCHOOL, we walked to our friend's homes and we went outside until dinner and then stayed outside playing after dinner until it got dark and then begged our parents for more time. When I was in high school, I actually used my asthma to get out of some of the P.E. classes. By then, I had noticed that the boys had much cooler stuff to do in gym, including playing baseball and football. I had a one-piece uniform, royal blue, shorts attached to a top, and we were required to "take a shower" twice a semester to pass the class. I don't remember any extra-curricular sports available for girls, except for swimming. My locker mate swam, giving her excellent shoulders and a chance to see more of her boyfriend.
As a young adult, I did not exercise at all. I went to college, got caught cheating on the written exam in the required P.E. course, took it again with the same grade and never did the required running. I will probably never run. About this time, the late 1970's or early 1980's Jim Fixx began the running revolution and a market for exercise clothing and running shoes was born. I wore Keds (cloth sneakers) growing up. (I also wore orthopedic saddle shoes in white until the 7th grade because I had high arches. Still do. Have high arches that is.) It wasn't until the mid to late 1970's that you could purchase an athletic shoe. Gradually, working out became popular, thanks in part probably to Arnold the Govenator, I mean the Terminator Schwarzenegger. It became reasonable to spend time in the gym, and people found a new use for steroids.
I did not watch the Olympics until the early 1980's. Sure, I went to baseball games (go Giants) and I think I went to a Ram's game with my dad when Joe Namath was playing, but that is sports, not exercise. Meanwhile, gym memberships became popular and sprung up like coffee shops did in Seattle. I moved to Boise with my then husband and resumed the camping thing, with only gardening for exercise. We brought our first daughter with us (nice, huh?) and she was followed by two more daughters. Nobody can keep up with the all day movement of toddlers. Just try to do everything they do and then you will probably need a nap and a blankie. We went to the parks and the kids ran all over the place and up and down and climbed and played. It was exhausting for me, watching them and worrying about potential injury.
When my daughters got into grade school, they all, in turn, played in the semester games and ran in the races. Where was this when I was a child? My middle daughter in particular could really run fast. Also, they attended summer basketball camp at the grade school, and at the final game, the parents were totally creamed by the soon-to-be 6th graders.My daughters all played volleyball and basketball in junior high, and the middle daughter ran track, taking the Boise City title in her event, the 800 meter run. I miss attending their games, sitting on uncomfortable bleachers and waiting forever for the girls to get in the car. In the mid 1990's, after my husband moved out, I still weighed close to my high school weight and I would go dancing on weekends when the kids were with him. I was in pretty good shape, and had not yet begun to realize middle age.
What I know now: In the fall of 2008, after I had reached my 50's I decided to try exercise. I knew that I had no stamina for skiing and for any other recreation. I was overweight, had high blood pressure and high cholesterol, although that was inherited. I was referred to a personal trainer, now a good friend, who put me through the routines three times a week. By the following spring, when I traveled to Ecuador to visit a daughter attending school abroad in Quito, I was quite able to keep up with the guides when we hiked around in the jungle. (Your mother, she is very strong......) I have continued to meet with the trainer three times a week and have added some cardio (riding my stationary bike). I have learned to say "cardio" and "resistance work" and "triceps, biceps, gluts, abs, obliques, etc." I can do 400 bicycles at a time and 56 push-ups in a row. I can do sit-ups without someone standing on my toes (thanks for the tip from a friend) up to 50 at at time when pushed, and I don't get out of breath when I am skiing. My recovery time is quicker after a grueling run downhill through the powder and I drink a lot of water. I have learned to stretch to avoid future pain and I believe that working out three times a week and cardio three times a week is the insurance policy that will enable me to attend the marriages of any grandchildren. If I get any.
HEY! Now I have a waist-line, something that had gradually disappeared in my 40's. I have shapely legs and arms-and except for being sore, I plan to keep exercising. Yes, it's a pain in the neck. The older you get, the more you have to move to keep fit, but I'd like to be here for the next day and the next season and the next adventure.
Monday, April 11, 2011
Ninth Blog - What I thought I knew about my hairstyle
What I thought I knew - Growing up in the 1960's and 1970's, hair went from long and straight (Cher and hippies) to shaggy and layered (Farah). In the beginning, I had almost no hair. Also, I was blond for a time. My mom always cut my hair when I was little. The first haircut I remember getting at a salon was when I was about 5 or 6. We were in Nebraska visiting my mother's parents on the farm outside of Fremont. My grandma took my sister and I into town for pixie haircuts. We appear in old photos with short hair and bangs, wearing the shorts and shirt outfits my mother had made for us. The shampoo I remember being popular was Breck, and conditioner was not yet a necessity; mom only washed our hair once a week when we were young.
During junior high and high school, I always had my hair tapered to a V in the back. It was thin and limp, with waves in inconvenient places, accentuating a high forehead. I did not use hair spray, and the most volume I got from my style was flipping it over upside down. (Stand with your head at your knees, your hair hanging in front of you, then flip it over your head as you straighten up.) This technique produced about five minutes of volume. My hair would grow out to resting below my shoulders, then it would fray and get split ends. I pretty much hated my hair, especially when the layered shag look was introduced by Farah Fawcett in the TV show, "Charlies Angels." The best I could do: after washing my hair, I would put it in about 12 braids to dry. The resulting look was wild, frizzy and somewhat freakish.
Getting a real haircut was not a budget item when I was growing up. However, I recall my mom gradually getting away from curling her hair a la the 1950's and changing to the short, teased and sprayed late 1960's look. She would often have her hair done at the end of the week, and Aqua Net became a grocery list staple. She looks hip and cool in photos from house parties in the 1970's. My mom also began coloring her hair early in the 1960's. I later learned that she, like my sister, went gray and then white early in life. My sister had thick wavy brunette hair and my great grandmother (mom's side) had pure white hair. My dad maintained mostly brown hair until he died. When I was in my 20's my mom stopped dying her hair and began experimenting with new styles and perms. I got my first perm during my 20's and it improved my hair immensely after the first week of frizz wore off.
I can't remember when I started wearing bangs, but I believe it improved my look. Probably during college. I had a terrible haircut in 1978 that was free from someone's friend who was getting their beautician's license. It shows up in my wedding photos. I tried a few times to grow out my bangs, but have been unable to get past the in-between stage where your hair hangs in your face. This seductive look is fine for my daughters, but annoys me. After I got married, I cut my husband's hair for about 10 years. I began spending money on my hair when I lived in Seattle, going to the local beauty college, where, you get what you pay for. After moving to Boise, I began going to an inexpensive national chain. This was especially affordable because I had three daughters. We would walk-in during their haircut sales and thumb through the ridiculous hairstyles that beauticians invent for contests. Actually, that's half the fun of getting your hair cut.
What I know know - It is always worth the money to get your hair cut at a real salon. I found someone on the recommendation of my sister, and she worked wonders with my limp and thin hair. She cut it shorter, and taught me to use a blow dryer. I had a style for the first time in my life when I was in my 40's. I spent more money, made an appointment every eight weeks and loved how I looked. Or is it that I cared about how I looked? Maybe it was having a better job and the budget for a good cut. Somewhere along the line, a friend recommended that I use a leave-in conditioner, and that did wonders for my look and my ego. I still use the same conditioner 20 years later.
After turning 50, I had a hair surprise. No one tells you this will happen - but for me it was great! My hair became curly and full of body waves. It had gradually gotten darker and darker, looking more like my sister's hair when she was in her 20's. Her hair now has gone from salt and pepper gray to a beautiful white color, thick and generous and long. At this point, my hair has become highlighted by silver here and there, just like my dad's and will probably never be totally gray. My three daughters all have different hair. The oldest has that thick long dark hair you envy in shampoo commercials; the middle daughter has curly and thick and long light colored locks and the youngest has my straight, sort of flat hair, but much darker. My youngest spends the most time on her hair, occasionally adding extensions, getting highlights or fiddling with it in front of the mirror. They all stopped curling their bangs after high school, and look much better for it. We all got our hair styled in an up-do for the oldest daughter's wedding, we looked elegant and formal for the event, even though the appointment with the beautician started at 9:00 AM.
Now, hair can be any length and cut in any way. Men went from long hair in the 1970's to short hair. The weirdest look at my high school was the guy who shaved his head. Now, shaving your head can be a style (for men). I still see men with long hair, and that's the style I prefer. Today's styles on young men somehow make them all look alike to me. I even heard someone's dad telling their son to get their hair cut! (Deja vu from the 1970's.) Women, or at least myself, spend more time on haircuts and styling than ever. You can use hairspray, straighteners, blow dry your hair or just get a cut that allows you to just let your hair dry naturally. Take that Farah! If you don't like your hair style, change it. The best thing about a hair style is that it will grow out eventually, allowing you to be re-created at the hands of your beautician. Get a good one and trust her or him.
During junior high and high school, I always had my hair tapered to a V in the back. It was thin and limp, with waves in inconvenient places, accentuating a high forehead. I did not use hair spray, and the most volume I got from my style was flipping it over upside down. (Stand with your head at your knees, your hair hanging in front of you, then flip it over your head as you straighten up.) This technique produced about five minutes of volume. My hair would grow out to resting below my shoulders, then it would fray and get split ends. I pretty much hated my hair, especially when the layered shag look was introduced by Farah Fawcett in the TV show, "Charlies Angels." The best I could do: after washing my hair, I would put it in about 12 braids to dry. The resulting look was wild, frizzy and somewhat freakish.
Getting a real haircut was not a budget item when I was growing up. However, I recall my mom gradually getting away from curling her hair a la the 1950's and changing to the short, teased and sprayed late 1960's look. She would often have her hair done at the end of the week, and Aqua Net became a grocery list staple. She looks hip and cool in photos from house parties in the 1970's. My mom also began coloring her hair early in the 1960's. I later learned that she, like my sister, went gray and then white early in life. My sister had thick wavy brunette hair and my great grandmother (mom's side) had pure white hair. My dad maintained mostly brown hair until he died. When I was in my 20's my mom stopped dying her hair and began experimenting with new styles and perms. I got my first perm during my 20's and it improved my hair immensely after the first week of frizz wore off.
I can't remember when I started wearing bangs, but I believe it improved my look. Probably during college. I had a terrible haircut in 1978 that was free from someone's friend who was getting their beautician's license. It shows up in my wedding photos. I tried a few times to grow out my bangs, but have been unable to get past the in-between stage where your hair hangs in your face. This seductive look is fine for my daughters, but annoys me. After I got married, I cut my husband's hair for about 10 years. I began spending money on my hair when I lived in Seattle, going to the local beauty college, where, you get what you pay for. After moving to Boise, I began going to an inexpensive national chain. This was especially affordable because I had three daughters. We would walk-in during their haircut sales and thumb through the ridiculous hairstyles that beauticians invent for contests. Actually, that's half the fun of getting your hair cut.
What I know know - It is always worth the money to get your hair cut at a real salon. I found someone on the recommendation of my sister, and she worked wonders with my limp and thin hair. She cut it shorter, and taught me to use a blow dryer. I had a style for the first time in my life when I was in my 40's. I spent more money, made an appointment every eight weeks and loved how I looked. Or is it that I cared about how I looked? Maybe it was having a better job and the budget for a good cut. Somewhere along the line, a friend recommended that I use a leave-in conditioner, and that did wonders for my look and my ego. I still use the same conditioner 20 years later.
After turning 50, I had a hair surprise. No one tells you this will happen - but for me it was great! My hair became curly and full of body waves. It had gradually gotten darker and darker, looking more like my sister's hair when she was in her 20's. Her hair now has gone from salt and pepper gray to a beautiful white color, thick and generous and long. At this point, my hair has become highlighted by silver here and there, just like my dad's and will probably never be totally gray. My three daughters all have different hair. The oldest has that thick long dark hair you envy in shampoo commercials; the middle daughter has curly and thick and long light colored locks and the youngest has my straight, sort of flat hair, but much darker. My youngest spends the most time on her hair, occasionally adding extensions, getting highlights or fiddling with it in front of the mirror. They all stopped curling their bangs after high school, and look much better for it. We all got our hair styled in an up-do for the oldest daughter's wedding, we looked elegant and formal for the event, even though the appointment with the beautician started at 9:00 AM.
Now, hair can be any length and cut in any way. Men went from long hair in the 1970's to short hair. The weirdest look at my high school was the guy who shaved his head. Now, shaving your head can be a style (for men). I still see men with long hair, and that's the style I prefer. Today's styles on young men somehow make them all look alike to me. I even heard someone's dad telling their son to get their hair cut! (Deja vu from the 1970's.) Women, or at least myself, spend more time on haircuts and styling than ever. You can use hairspray, straighteners, blow dry your hair or just get a cut that allows you to just let your hair dry naturally. Take that Farah! If you don't like your hair style, change it. The best thing about a hair style is that it will grow out eventually, allowing you to be re-created at the hands of your beautician. Get a good one and trust her or him.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Eighth blog - What I thought I knew about communicating properly
What I thought I knew: In the beginning, I spoke like a child. Not really my line of text, but then, that is the difference, no? Sometime as a child, I learned to keep what was bothering me to myself. I was not allowed to yell or disagree with my mother or other authorities. I really thought she knew it all, and, for sure (granted), she was a genius. (I moved away from the San Fernando Valley before being a "valley girl," with it's dangerously cute speech patterns, was something to be made fun of by TV and movies.) I did not expect to write about my long history of hedging honesty in order to be safe. After all, I speak English and am an American woman; I have the right to ROAR! The roaring was gradually removed from my emotions; I was not allowed to be angry or taught to respond to anger appropriately except to feel fear and the need to escape. Somehow, by never learning how to deal with conflict, not allowing anger or uncomfortable feelings permission, I lost out on some of my self-worth or self-esteem. Maybe, if a part of me was "unworthy", (the anger) or "not good enough" (the fear) then because I could not cope with conflict, taking risks and making bold decisions was and is much harder for me.
Self communication is like a road map with major highways that lead us to things we seem to know such as what we enjoy eating, how we speak, who we communicate with and where we spend time. The side roads, the dirt roads, the untested paths gradually get set aside resulting in better marked main roads. Speaking to other people who know us well continues marking the main roads. Taking risks, talking to new people, trying on new forms of communication is the challenge and a learning process, a process that I deny myself sometimes because I am afraid.
What I have learned: Communicating with myself is the hardest lesson - I mentally cringe when I ask myself to try something new. Creating an attitude with positive intention in my thoughts and then speaking out (roaring) about who I am and what I want to do and how I like things to be is the most important part of my adult life. I will not be who I really am externally unless I speak honestly and also make the effort hear other people speaking. I can't stop listening to people or music because it seems too annoying or deny some art form or event because it seems strange; annoying and strange are risky and learning more about something I start out disliking gives me more information about myself. Listening to what other people speak provides me with valuable information about their perceptions. I am constantly amazed at how other people make decisions in ways that are different (not like mine): this may explain why I became a counselor.
As an adult, I have learned that my communication skills are lacking and at the same time, holding me back from being great. I can do mediocre, but this year, I want to try to be better. Letting someone know that I appreciate them is just as important as letting them know that I am uncomfortable with something. I need to speak up for what I value, against what I find reprehensible. Conflict is inevitable, but it's OK for me to believe in my values and speak them honestly. Actually, I hate learning this; however, those people I know who are honest make the best friends and companions. They don't lie to you; they don't keep the difficult truth from you - they don't hide. I'm tired of hiding and being afraid to speak. Maybe it's the out of whack hormones from menopause, but way to go biology!
I'm a counselor and part of my chosen profession is to help people increase their communication skills. Building skills takes practice, and at first is uncomfortable. I guess that's how I learned to play piano, cello, sew expertly, mow the lawn, bake an apple pie and lower my cholesterol with a lot of fiber intake. Learning something new, even if annoying and strange can take you off the main road and give you options in your life, add to your interior resume and increase your self-esteem. Becoming better at communicating has the rewarding and reinforcing side effect of bringing people closer to each other, even if the message is uncomfortable. Honest communication also gives you the power to step away from the bad decisions you might have made or improve the situation and rise above mediocrity.
I thought I would be writing about cell phones and email. Send me a note or comment and keep the communication between all of us strong.
Self communication is like a road map with major highways that lead us to things we seem to know such as what we enjoy eating, how we speak, who we communicate with and where we spend time. The side roads, the dirt roads, the untested paths gradually get set aside resulting in better marked main roads. Speaking to other people who know us well continues marking the main roads. Taking risks, talking to new people, trying on new forms of communication is the challenge and a learning process, a process that I deny myself sometimes because I am afraid.
What I have learned: Communicating with myself is the hardest lesson - I mentally cringe when I ask myself to try something new. Creating an attitude with positive intention in my thoughts and then speaking out (roaring) about who I am and what I want to do and how I like things to be is the most important part of my adult life. I will not be who I really am externally unless I speak honestly and also make the effort hear other people speaking. I can't stop listening to people or music because it seems too annoying or deny some art form or event because it seems strange; annoying and strange are risky and learning more about something I start out disliking gives me more information about myself. Listening to what other people speak provides me with valuable information about their perceptions. I am constantly amazed at how other people make decisions in ways that are different (not like mine): this may explain why I became a counselor.
As an adult, I have learned that my communication skills are lacking and at the same time, holding me back from being great. I can do mediocre, but this year, I want to try to be better. Letting someone know that I appreciate them is just as important as letting them know that I am uncomfortable with something. I need to speak up for what I value, against what I find reprehensible. Conflict is inevitable, but it's OK for me to believe in my values and speak them honestly. Actually, I hate learning this; however, those people I know who are honest make the best friends and companions. They don't lie to you; they don't keep the difficult truth from you - they don't hide. I'm tired of hiding and being afraid to speak. Maybe it's the out of whack hormones from menopause, but way to go biology!
I'm a counselor and part of my chosen profession is to help people increase their communication skills. Building skills takes practice, and at first is uncomfortable. I guess that's how I learned to play piano, cello, sew expertly, mow the lawn, bake an apple pie and lower my cholesterol with a lot of fiber intake. Learning something new, even if annoying and strange can take you off the main road and give you options in your life, add to your interior resume and increase your self-esteem. Becoming better at communicating has the rewarding and reinforcing side effect of bringing people closer to each other, even if the message is uncomfortable. Honest communication also gives you the power to step away from the bad decisions you might have made or improve the situation and rise above mediocrity.
I thought I would be writing about cell phones and email. Send me a note or comment and keep the communication between all of us strong.
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