The “I Know Monster” stole my kid.

                                                                   The “I KNOW” Monster Stole My Kid.   Wed, 07/01/2009 – 8:52pm by cheekyredhead

The “I KNOW” monster has reared its ugly head today in our home. Yes … it finally has made its way here and we cannot get rid of it! The “I KNOW” monster has stolen my kid!

You know the “I KNOW” monster, because …well …I know you do. We all do. It grabs us while we are sleeping, usually about the time we turn thirteen and does not let go of that tight grip on us until we realize that we DON’T know everything. And of course you KNOW that can take years!

In the meantime, frustrated parents try to explain how to do this or that and all they hear is “I KNOW” which will drive most adults nuts. It is how my parents got grey hair. Why? Because we know that they don’t know everything. We have been there … remember?

One of our sons wanted to make spaghetti tonight for dinner, but when we tried to explain why you put the sauce in with the meat to simmer he insisted that we must boil the pasta in the sauce. Never mind that he has eaten it the way I have cooked it for all thirteen years of his life and watched me make it numerous times, but all we heard was, “I KNOW! I know how to do this so let me do it!”

Well … if it was how to make a bed or scrub a toilet I don’t think I would have objected, but this was our family’s dinner we are talking about. So what did we do? We let him do it his way.

It was gross. It was a goppy, gooey mess and the meat was hard and chewy but he insisted during the entire meal that it was “the best spaghetti he’d ever eaten” and tried to get all of us to agree with him. Nobody did and that just made the monster more upset. My husband and I just looked at each other.

Later crawling into bed, I turned to my husband and said, “The ‘I KNOW’ monster is here. We weren’t ready for it yet but it is here and we have to put up with it until it grows up.”

All he could say was, “I know, I know, I KNOW! Remember back when we had it? That sucked.”

Yes I know.

What? or What!

WHAT!

As a mom of three teenagers I sometimes wonder if they listen to half of what I say and find myself praying they at least allow some of what they are ignoring to seep into their subconscious.    Anyway that is my life day in and day out…listen to me…pay attention…this is important…. been there right?   

Kids seem to take on parts of our own personalities. When they do, seeing that little piece of yourself in a mannerism, a laugh, or perhaps that one trait you wish they hadn’t grabbed onto and kept as their own; it can just drive you nuts.  On the other hand, it may just make you want to burst out in laughter.

I am going to step out of my comfort zone and admit that I routinely torment my kids.  Not in a painful- going to get arrested sort of way- but in an “OMG tell me you didn’t just do that” kind of thing.  There is a sort of bizarre sort of satisfaction from watching them squirm a little.  I know I am not the only one that has done this to their kids.  Some of us have perfected this little game.  My sister feels it is payback for all the embarrassing things our kids have put us through but I prefer to think of it as simply humor on edge. 

How does one teach teenagers patience?  My father had a unique and exquisitely painful way.  He simply made you wait until the day before you absolutely positively had to have an answer and yes that is torture.   If you pestered him about it the answer was always “No” but if you were patient the answer was almost always “Yes” unless you did something to screw things up for yourself.  

Unfortunately I never mastered that one skill regrettably.  Because of this I am tormented daily with all the “Have you decided yet?” pokes at my thin resolve.  It is okay because I have my own arsenal of tools which I use in other ways.  Perhaps my husband and I accidentally on purpose erase the “Robot Chicken” episodes the kids thought they were sneaking around recording behind our back.  The best part is that he and I watch them first and then discuss how funny they were while they are in ear-shot.  The groaning we hear when they discover they are gone is fabulous.

Today was my shining achievement and I am here to brag.  Yep- I am very proud of this one.  My son has this habit of always saying “What?” like he is innocent when it is obvious he isn’t.  It sometimes wears us all thin because we know this is his way of rubbing it in.  He is very sneaky but not clever enough to cover his tracks.  Sometimes he revels in actually getting caught and of course he simply says his signature “What?”

Today he went around all day long saying “What?” only the tone was very different.  I started paying a little more attention and discovered he was following around my daughter insisting that she tell him “what” she had done.  Hmmmm….my Mom radar was going off so I had to know “what” was going on but I knew that with all good things one must wait.  Bedtime I hear him still asking her “what did she do” and all she would say is “You’ll know, it is only a matter of time.”  He groaned.

After about an hour I called my daughter on her cell phone and asked “So what did you do to your brother that has been tormenting him all day?”  She laughed and said, “Nothing.  I just figured if he was going to be going around saying ‘What’ all the time that I’d give him something to really say ‘What’ about.”  Yes!  I love it!  She has been taught by the master.  That girl deserves chocolate.

Real Superheroes In My Pants

Wed, 07/01/2009 – 10:56pm by cheekyredhead

Super Heroes?

I do not care what anyone says. Super-heroes were designed to make men feel like they can somehow measure-up to women, because we ARE the true super-hero.

Now I know that sounds like I am going to embark on an all-out man-bashing extravaganza but I am not. I am just going to remind you how powerful women actually are.

Do men need to be reminded that they are powerful? Alrighty then.

How are women powerful?

Who instinctively “knows” when something isn’t right and gets up off their hiney to go make sure it is? That is a super-power. We just “know” and that sometimes saves lives, prevents the house from burning down, and has prevented many kids from tying the cat to a wagon because somehow they imagined the cat would enjoy a ride.

Women are equipped to intuitively know that if something might go awry, that we can prevent it or die trying. Our mothers all insisted on clean underwear because who knows when someone might need to see your underpants.

Seriously, nobody ever asked to see my underpants. They may have wanted to do something else with them but “seeing” them was never the ultimate goal. I am fairly certain it was not high on someone elses priority list.

Perhaps the goal of clean underwear was to protect our superpowers? Sorry, I don’t hide mine there do you? We never tell where they are stored or hidden. Women must keep a certain level of mystery about them.

Women use “creative” logic. When we do give a reason for something it is always connected to thousands of other reasons and of course we will take the time to explain it all but wouldn’t it just be easier to go with it rather than question it?

We are all “The Queen of Multi-Tasking” because it was our idea in the first place. Everything we do is a multi-task. Planning what we will make for dinner is just as labor and thought intensive as what we plan to wear each day.

I am certain a woman created the original grocery list. It is part of our planning and multi-tasking. If we were going to need a man to step in and help, he obviously was going to need a list.

Ta Da..here is your list. He stood there and stared at you didn’t he? Why? Because more likely than not that list had already been made before he entered into the equation. That alone astounds him or unnerves him.

We don’t give ourselves enough credit because everything we do is important.

Recently at a party I asked a woman I had just met what she did when she wasn’t going to parties. She sighed and said “Oh I just work at the rail yard.” So I asked her what she did there.

At first she said something about her job not being all that important but after some questions I had to tell her that she needed to be proud of what she did. She had an intensive job and it was not “just a little job at a rail yard.”

This woman coordinates all the incoming and out-going merchandise in southern California on the rail system. This is world-wide merchandise. There are huge considerations to be made between a shipment of bananas, electrical equipment and potentially explosive materials. She makes decisions all day long that affect us all.

I stood there in shock. She had looked at what she did as “some little job in a rail yard” but she was actually a multiple project coordinator.

When I asked her what her title was she said that she didn’t have one. Before she left that night I had convinced her that no only did she need to make sure her boss clarified her position with an actual title, but her job description needed to be written. This is an essential change that will reinforce her future.

Do you think she felt empowered? I sure hope so.

Criminey. Why do we let ourselves be convinced that what we do in life is so little that we do not deserve a title? There are woman everywhere toiling away in positions, doing important things, and feel it is not important. Do we really need a title? In a man’s world you do.

What would she have written down on a resume if she had to make one? She didn’t even have a job description.

I suppose that the point I am making here is this: Women typically do whatever is necessary as it is “our job.” We plan ahead, multi-task, organize, make lists, and accomplish great things. We take these skills for granted because we use them every day.

Whether you are coordinating world trade or a PTA event, those skills are pretty important. These are skills we intuitively do while instinctively prioritize all the time. We can thank our Mom for this very impressive skill-set.

For a while I wrote resumes for extra money and I learned to ask people many questions in order to help them really represent their skills.

You’d be surprised how many women used this phrase, “I just did ______for ten years. It was not an important position.” That is as ridiculous as a woman saying, “Oh I am just a Mom” like that isn’t important and we all know a mom is VERY important.

A Mom is probably the most important job ever!

We underestimate the power in what we do and how well we do it.

Reach for those super-hero powers! I don’t care where you keep them. Be proud of everything you do.

Waiting Games…Ya Gotta Play!

Stink Face!

Thu, 05/14/2009 – 7:49pm by cheekyredhead

We have all been here. Stuck sitting somewhere like a captive and unable to leave for some reason. I have spent a great deal of time in my life waiting—we all have. We seem to wait everywhere: Airports, trains, doctor offices, the DMV and so on…and that list does go on and on. Admittedly I am a people-watcher and on some level I consider this a spectator sport. I simply find ways to entertain myself so I play games.

My first game is “What were they thinking when they left the house this morning?” Yes, people do wear PJ’s as well as leather to the grocery store and school events. In the midst of summer bathing suits are everywhere except to a beach or pool, and odd things such as boots and a mini dress (on a guy) always tend to make me giggle. The whole “buttloaf trend” cracks me up (no pun intended) and that is an article all to itself. (See article: Look there is a Buttloaf!)

In California not much surprises me anymore but it is interesting what I see. This game is much like my “Pick out the tourist” game which I play all the time. “Socks with sandals” is the eternal “Why?” we all shrug over. How many different prints can one person layer on another? Last week I saw a man with white ankle books circa 1960’s also wearing a Magnum PI Hawaiian shirt and military green shorts. Perhaps this game needs another file for “Did they get dressed out of a donation bin?” My grandmother would turn in her grave knowing all the fashion blunders I see every day.

A game I play when stuck in one room full of people is “If we were stuck here and could not leave, who would freak out first?” which then leads me to a separate part of that game which is, “Who is most likely to hook up here and who will be left as the odd man out?” This always leads to another one of my favorites, “If that person and this person had a kid they would look like that person over there.” You are smiling—you have done this too.

My husband and I play games together in public too. Our games are usually “What do you think they do for a living?” or “Let’s do voice-overs for that couple over there” which can be entertaining. We also play who in this room would be voted “Most likely to _____” and “Guess who does not have all their original equipment.” While my husband is proudly famous for pointing out “new improved” perky women, I am an expert on spotting rugs. Yep—they never fool me. I seriously prefer bald men…it is the “new naked” and I love it. Toss those rugs men—you don’t need them!

While I am not opposed to staring and thinking bizarre things about adults I am also not opposed to including kids in my games. Kids are fabulous and love to play along. We play “What kind of pet do we think they have?” and “If they were an animal what would they be?” My daughter loves to play, ”Guess what they had for dinner” because she is famous for wearing hers all over her shirt, even now at 16 she manages to continue this trend much to my dismay.

I of course play games on my kids too. My favorite one is called “Stink face.” This comes in handy if you happen to have a pouter, and it has been known to immediately cure pouting at any age. When one of my kids would pout in public (they all do—even yours) I usually say, “OMG—you have Stink face!” And then we all put on “stink faces” and of course the original pouter cannot keep pouting because it eliminates the power of pouting by diluting it. We all laugh and game over—Mom won and the pouter lost.

While in most of these games nobody ever wins, my intent is never to actually make fun of anyone. I try very hard not to point and laugh but life does have its moments when that is necessary and even needed, Games like these develop a silly way of paying attention, noticing details, and observing the human condition. I laugh at myself all the time. My kids point and laugh at me all the time. I always win the “Where is Waldo” contest because I practice every day.

Life is too short to sit and stew over having to wait somewhere—look at things differently—Let the games begin!

Holiday Gift Challenged?

We have all had those holidays which stand out in our memories.  It may be a fabulous memory which makes us all warm and fuzzy inside, to be compared to every future memory and be measured by it. 

We all have those holiday memories we’d like to forget—like the year both my Mom and my Aunt felt they had to be the one cooking the turkey and my Mom’s turkey imploded. Seriously…it became a heap of bones and the meat sort of disintegrated and it was a humbling experience.
 
As children we had ideas about sugar plums just as much as we anticipated the tooth fairy…probably more.  Later in life as we married and somehow combined families and our family traditions changed.  We created new memories together.  We have had that gift we thought was going to rock someone’s world which turned out to be as exciting as a flat tire. 
 
There are those of us that prayed, pleaded, and made deals with God (or whoever else was listening) to just this one time–get that one thing or to be able to give that one great thing which would change our relationship with someone. 
 
Of course there are also those times when we all thought “What the heck was this person thinking” when we opened a gift which astounded us.  An example of this was someone close to me, her mother-in-law gave her a retractable clothesline one year, a sink hair strainer the next, and it just went even further downhill after that. (I am not kidding)  And yes, we try to remember holiday seasons are about giving, not receiving….but still “What the heck!”
 
I suppose I’d like to think that we all hold onto some memories we cherish and find ways to laugh about those which perhaps fell short.  It is not always so easy.  As a young kid my father owned a prosperous business and Christmas was magical–our living room looked like the Sears toy department had exploded in there.  Then when he became a minister, sold his business and gave those funds to the church, and our Christmas changed dramatically. 
 
How does a 10 year old go from abundance into being thankful for a birthday cake for Jesus and one small gift?  It was hard, which perhaps explains why I am HUGE about Christmas now as an adult, and why my home has a Christmas tree in every room. (Yes even bathrooms) 
 
The lesson I learned at 10 was not an easy one, it shaped my vision of holidays, and gave me new appreciation for what I had, and taught me that it really is about giving.  It did not prepare me for those who can never be pleased no matter how hard you try, whose expectations are so absurd and unobtainable, or worse—never learned about the gift which really comes from the heart. 
 
This year will probably be the leanest holiday season many Americans have ever had in their lifetimes.  As a nation we are re-evaluating priorities, learning the hard way that credit cards are possibly either works of the devil–or what saves our holiday from being dismal.  I am thinking that many Americans this upcoming holiday season are going to learn about that gift which comes from the heart, embrace it or simply be disappointed by it.  This woman is hoping that they embrace it.
 
There are a few of us which have already experienced difficult holidays.  We are the emotional war veterans of lonely holidays, times when we felt guilty about what we couldn’t give or felt guilty receiving something decadent.   One thing we all share is our renewed faith that people do give gifts from the heart and we should be open to celebrate each one no matter how small or insignificant anyone else views it.
 
While I tend to be a bit cheeky and kid around a lot…it has always been the thing which helped me cope with the emotionally difficult times.  I still make a Christmas birthday cake for Jesus, smile while I serve it, and think about how precious that cake was way back then when it was so hard for me to appreciate it.  That cake was simple…we didn’t even have frosting. 

Every year my cake now is decorated on the top with chocolate chips. Why?  Because some higher power gave us chocolate and I am going to celebrate it!  Why can’t Jesus or any other religious figure take credit for chocolate?   Several years back my mother began making gingerbread men for Christmas–anatomically correct gingerbread men–and YES even a preacher’s wife can be cheeky.   (Now you know where I get it from)
 
SO—I am asking you to consider and ponder your holiday memories.  Sharing a painful one helps you heal and sharing one that was really meaningful makes you appreciate it even more. 

Thanksgiving brings us renewed ability to appreciate those we care about.  Christmas brings us time to celebrate those relationships and share little pieces of ourselves.
 
I challenge each of you to perhaps write down and exchange a holiday memory with your family or someone close to you.  Exchange them and read each other’s memories.  It will remind you that sharing them with the people close to you is more important than you realize.

This is your dress rehearsal for the upcoming holidays.  Writing these memories down on simple paper, exchanging them–giving parts of yourselves to each other–is the greatest gift from the heart.  Memories are priceless and should be cherished.  The best way to honor a memory is to share it.  
 
And remember….it is okay to be cheeky.   Humor heals.

The Famous Cheekyredhead

Announcing: The Famous Cheekyredhead

ME!

I am probably the most naive person on the internet. For years I have been quietly typing away, spewing out articles, stories and goofy commentaries on only three websites, happily going about my business, making tons of friends and hoping that I was perhaps the best kept secret. I have actively guarded that secret and kept it from my family. Why? Privacy of course…okay insecurity. How about privacy AND insecurity?

Have any of you ever “Googled” your name or alias? It never occurred to me because I apparently live under a rock, but tonight my husband asked me if anyone had ever asked permission to forward any of my articles or stories.Of course this has happened a few times and I will freely admit that it stroked my ego…

 YES…it felt REAL GOOD.

I have made it a habit of asking permission from an author when I have reposted something wonderful that simply had to be shared. I always carefully made sure the original author was given credit and gave links to the original source. Everyone has been great about it. Authors love sharing stories because that is what it is about.

Well, my IT guru husband and I “Googled” my alias “Cheekyredhead” and found some really remarkable things. A nice lady that is “all about yarn and weaving” seems to share my alias as well as a few porn stars. Aside from that shock I sat back and viewed the vastness of the internet and saw that my little articles, stories and general goofiness has been forwarded, book-marked, and reposted to “infinity and beyond” now making me feel a bit silly about my perception that I was maybe a tiny treasure here on this site.

I suppose the bigger irony is that I have been so careful to keep my stories from my family, as if I were a child guarding a secret box of chocolates. It has made me consider why I kept them so close to me, failing to share them with the people I care deeply about. Writing can be a deeply personal thing.

My stories and articles are often based on fact and well embellished with a healthy dose of imagination. They are the essence of me while also both fiction and folly. Was I afraid of some haunting great big critical red pen to be wielded against my little stories?

Perhaps it is insecurity, but the opinions of those close to me are highly valued and I may have been a little hesitant to be given that brutal honesty I am sometimes so famous for. Does anyone want to be told that the little stories they feel so guilty about hiding are in fact possibly pure rubbish?

Wow, I guess I do not give those I love enough credit—where is the trust—where is the love? I know that is what you were thinking. It is hysterically funny actually. I never realized I was so insecure. The evidence of my insecurity is astounding and overwhelming…heck, it is all over the internet!

Well, today I made a great big girl step into the realm of honesty I value so much. Yes, this Cheekyredhead is coming out of the closet for all to see. I am walking out into the open for the sun to shine on my smiling face as I announce proudly that I am THE original Cheekyredhead!

What the heck does that mean anyway? I guess it means that I am ready to actually to take the credit for my writing, goofy banter and silliness. I will confess that I was bewildered, shocked and very pleased that people have thought enough of my writing to forward it and share with others. That means so much to me!

One of my favorite people in the whole world once said, “You love me, You really love me!” and that of course was Sally Fields. While I have never accomplished what she has, I know that feeling now and it is real and it is sweet and also scary. I will not be picky “You like me, You really like me!” is equally meaningful.

The bottom line here is that phrase has new meaning to me. Thank you…REALLY… THANK YOU! I am so excited I am screaming. I am sorry. Am I famous? I am so excited!

My first public appearance was a very nervous experience. I was terrified that nobody would be there—that all my friends online would evaporate and suddenly not exist. All the skills I had honed and worked on in our local Toastmasters club went out the window. With sweaty palms and a ball of nerves, I contemplated whether an empty room would be as mortifying as one full of BIG expectations…

I took a deep breath and I ran out yelling “You like me…YOU REALLY LIKE ME!” and then the laughter began. I felt so loved, liked and needed. What more could anyone ask for? I never thought anything would ever be as good as chocolate (except my husband of course) but nothing and I mean nothing can match someone asking for your autograph! I don’t care if it was a 7 year old! These are my fans!

Then my husband convinced me to finally come back in the house. He insists the internet is not the vastness of the evening sky in my front yard and apparently I was just hustled by a brownie scout for three dozen cookies…I do remember signing something.

I suppose announcing my success to the neighbors as they pulled out their trash cans does not equal a press conference. It was a great little piece of heaven for five minutes and perhaps a lifetime of embarrassment in the future. Darn. Was that my five minutes of fame?

My neighbors now know me as that crazy redhead lady at the end of the cul-de-sac. On line people know me as THE “Cheekyredhead” or “thr REAL Cheekyredhead” and even on facebook as “CheekyPowell” but now all of you know me here as the most naïve person on the internet.

Yep..That is the real me, but I have always been real. Really…I am serious. Yes- all real, no inter-changeable plastic parts, this is all me. My superhero costume is being made. My laptop eagerly awaits its next punishment and somewhere there are three dozen Girl Scout cookies with my name on them. They deliver right?

Of course all my adoring fans can have an autograph…but they will have to find me first. There is no scheduled repeat performance in my front yard but if you wait a couple months I will I have plenty of cookies to share.

Are You Listening?

Are you listening?                    Sat, 07/04/2009 – 12:12am                      by cheekyredhead 

Hey You!

How many of us have people in our lives which we love with all our heart BUT we would like to scream at them “Are you Listening”
I know.  We all do.  Caution…rant to follow.

They never listen do they? Of course that doesn’t stop them from asking for our advice which we will freely give only to stand back to view them forgetting every word just uttered from your mouth. It is irritating and frustrating.

Yes, they know we are right.   You can see it in their eyes in that split second when they make that choice to ignore your advice.   They have picked the more difficult path–the one they shouldn’t have taken–and you witnessed it.

They know you will be there when it falls apart, and of course they know it will– but they are hoping with all their might that for once– you might be wrong.

Why do they do this? I think it is like a train wreck. It is horrible but somehow you just have to look, and once you look your are committed to staring. Staring then becomes hopeful yearning. It is that hope we all grasp for, the unattainable, which pulls us toward it even when we know it will be our un-doing.

There is a certain pull towards anything inherently bad for us. It is like “bad” is to “flypaper” and we are always getting stuck in it. Not just us, but those we care about. This is why they ask us for advice but never follow it.

They know instinctively that we can help them but they are not ready to really take that help. It is because they know we have been there. It was not pretty and we lived to tell others or warn them of the great danger. Because we survived that pain obviously they will.

When we set back and watch them falter, we do not simply shake our heads in dismay. It is because we re-live the pain of being there in that “place” and knowing that pain intimately. Somehow it just isn’t right to be forced to re-live it. They have no idea how much that hurts until they have to re-live it themselves.

No matter how many times you buy chocolate ice cream, there is a bottom in that container which will stare at us defiantly as if to announce “finished.” Love however is limit-less. It multiplies every time we think about love and heals all hurts beyond imagination.

Those that we love and care about, we cannot prevent their pain by putting our hands on our hips and demanding that they listen. I know, it would be easier if they would but they won’t.

What would they learn if we always did it for them? Why should we be the ones that always “save the day” and take the pain away? Life simply does not work that way.

So what do we do when this happens besides silently screaming inside our heads?  Nod knowingly, step aside and let them fall?  Perhaps the best thing we can do is simply not give them those answers anymore.  They don’t listen to our answers anyway.

What are we anyway?    Someone to give free advice at no price?   Of course we are.  That is what friends are for.

Remarkable Wonderment

 Remarkable Wonderment

Do you think others see you quite differently as you see yourself? As time has past I know I view myself as my much younger self. In my mind I am still that 20 year old that danced on SoulTrain—SO many years ago. My children cannot imagine me ever being that cool. I wish I had pictures of it.

As children we looked at everything with wonderment and awe. Perhaps we just need to give ourselves permission to release those dreams we once had, the hopes and desires that so often get waylaid by what life tosses in our path. Who or what is in our way…limitations self-imposed or constraints we allow to define us, we can change those things. It only demands an active choice.

Given the opportunity to choose right now, what would you choose? Can you see yourself conquering that hill, losing that weight, learning to dance, getting a degree, or moving across to the other side of the world? If we can visualize it, we can choose to accomplish it. Whatever your choice may be, it ultimately will be to do whatever it is in a remarkable way. Why remarkable? Being remarkable IS doing everything the best you can offer and affecting those around you in a positive way.

When we look at life with a renewed view firmly within wonderment, we can’t help but strive to be remarkable. When we do everything remarkably well then we also tend to rub off on others. Wonderment and being remarkable is contagious. It immediately sets us apart from the masses of people merely moving through life in a robotic fashion. They will want to know your secret, because we all secretly want to be remarkable.

I am here to challenge you to do a few things…not all at once—maybe one a day—or one a week, and they are simple tiny things.

First: Make eye contact with everyone you meet and simply smile. Count the amount of smiles you get back.
Second: Decide to dedicate yourself to being the very best______that you can possibly be and do that. Be consistent and people will notice.
Third: Look for ways to help someone without personal gain. Why? If you do this you will know why, and sadly if you don’t then you won’t.

Wonderment and being remarkable are the keys to success in happiness. Doing these three things everyday will open paths you never thought possible. I would love to hear from you after you do this experiment. Consider it seriously—these are TINY things. Even if you only do them for one week you will notice a big change, and once you regain that feeling of wonderment, another remarkable thing about life will embrace you. Joy.

After that—I predict you will never stop doing these tiny three things. In fact, you will start looking for more ways to be remarkable. The interesting thing about this is that soon you will begin to see more options, more opportunities, and you will feel those limitations which had held you down all these years suddenly fall off of you. You will realize then that wonderment and being remarkable will show you the way to making your dreams come true.

I know this because I am filled with wonderment and awe. I am becoming more remarkable every day. So can you!

 

 

Not “That” Cool

In NO Time

My daughter came across my old scrapbook and demanded to know “Who is this really cool chick!” and then “Wow this is So retro!”  Well it was me but do you think she’d believe me? Why is it so hard to believe that I could be cool—or was even VERY cool at one time in my life?

Somehow, “Wow–this is SO retro” just does not seem to be as big a compliment as I had hoped. I guess it is easy for me now to understand that whole “mid-life crisis” thingie. Perhaps that is what happens when we suddenly are faced with being “Just not ALL that” anymore, but I think I must have a choice.

Looking in the mirror I see the fine lines and at times they feel like giant crevasses that I have managed to crawl through during my life. Why must there be evidence all over me? I close my eyes and take an inventory and I am still that REALLY cool chick–I am just a slightly older — OKAY perhaps a lot older. Why can’t that just make me even more cool?

Last night I looked through that scrapbook and memories washed over me like they happened just yesterday. Dancing on Soul Train with Bo Derek Braids..who could have possibly been as cool as me? It is just impossible. Could I dance like that now? Hell yes– but I wouldn’t be able to walk the next day. Okay, I’ll give you that one. Perhaps I am older. How about that time I scaled a cliff without safety gear just because I knew I could do it? Alright that was just foolish I know–but I did it. Doesn’t that make me cool? Perhaps not.

What would make me cool in the eyes of a 15 year old? Seriously I don’t think it is possible. I mean, I am one of the coolest people I know and if I can’t be cool the who can? The coolness factor is now questionable and that is frightening. You should be frightened…I am. I am looking at the pages in that scrapbook like it will contain the miracle answer… and of course I know in my heart it will. OH man…I just read something I wrote in there….”If you must try to be cool–you aren’t.” What was I thinking back then? Could that be true?

Of course, if I was absolutely cool then—I still am. Why am I doubting myself or my coolness now? Of course I am cool. I am as cool as a 50 year old woman can be. Damn cool. Why is being cool so important? I guess if I had to choose between cool and beautiful…wouldn’t cool be ageless? What about beauty? I guess it is reasonable to think that if a “coolness” factor can transcend time shouldn’t beauty too? Okay let’s just suppose for a moment that beauty changes, it is still there right? Of course it is so why wouldn’t cool morph into even more coolness as I age?

I can’t imagine how I suddenly became so uncool. I called my Mom and asked her. She’s cool so she’d know right? She assured me that I am as cool as ever but my daughter had blighted coolness vision. My Mom said that she will be healed about the same time she becomes a Mom herself.

Damn. I hope I am “uncool” for a long time. I am not ready for THAT kind of cool.

The Start of Cheeky Life

In a small rural dusty town in Texas lived a homely redhead, scrawny and awkward, with freckles appearing to bloom over her face like the small flowers across the prairie. Cheeky would look in the mirror, wrinkle her nose, and try to wash them off. Grandpa called them “angel’s kisses” but as she pondered on her reflection they simply were reminders and confirmation the tremendous amount of time she had worked the fields. As the oldest of many siblings her chores were numerous and the significant amount of responsibilities which were saddled upon her gave her face an age far beyond her actual years.

As the local preacher’s daughter, Cheeky was held up to much higher standards than those around her. Perfection was always beyond her grasp even though she constantly strives for it, needed it, and even prayed for it. Her father, a man of great faith and good intentions, was a man of meager means. While she listened attentively to his sermons about living on faith, those stirrings of hunger failed to keep quiet, as a reminder that one cannot live on mere faith alone. She knew that you must be willing to work hard and be determined to do whatever is necessary to achieve what is needed.

A kind neighbor, an elderly lady, appreciated her helpfulness and willingness to work hard and as a reward Cheeky was allowed to pick any book from her bookshelf to take home to read. Cheeky ran her fingertips gently across the beautiful leather bindings unable to choose. With some assistance she finally made her choice, hugged it as closely as she did the old lady, which had given her such a marvelous prize and excitedly ran all the way home to read it.

Finally after chores were done, homework completed, and all her younger siblings quietly asleep, Cheeky tiptoed over and removed the cherished treasure from its hiding place. She smelled the leather binding, felt its well-worn, gilded edges and smiled. Cheeky was about to embark on another adventure, far from this small homestead and far from anything which to this point was her boring and limited life. This book was her great escape. It was what will give wings to her dreams. Books were the endless possibilities which gave her hope for her future as Cheeky knew that knowledge was the key to her eventual escape to the city.

The Grapes of Wrath kept her spellbound. The author made this story so real it felt as if he had written her into the story itself. The smell of the rain, the pain of hunger, and the wistfulness which is beyond simple faith was contained on these pages. Oddly while it comforted her to know she was not the only one whose life was such a struggle, she felt somehow greatly saddened. Where had her great adventure gone? The story contained on those pages was as real as her life and just as painfully true. 

As she closed the book after reading the last page Cheeky felt robbed. This book was her life and not the great adventure or escape she had been so excited to read. While this story was of a time very long ago, she was experiencing much of what the main character had. It was at this moment that Cheeky had made a decision which would change her life. She would devour every single book she could find and glean the wisdom from each. Her goal would be to use that wisdom to change her future. Cheeky promised herself that four years from this point that she’d be anywhere on earth but here.

Cheeky was a determined and odd kid. I will of course finally admit here at this moment that Cheeky is in fact, me. That determination took me many places during these past fifty years and as far from that small rural farm community as I could possibly get. I read everything I could put my hands on. It didn’t matter if it was the manual that came with a John Deere tractor or the back of a cereal box. I devoured books and continue to still do.

When I was eleven I found a huge box in an alley which was full of old reader’s digests. I dragged that box home with a beaming huge smile. You’d have thought I had found some great and valuable treasure and of course I had. I read every single one and soon realized that I absolutely loved the vocabulary pages and using them to test myself. Later I learned that this had made me a great collector of words which has helped me in every position in life.

Our family finally moved to the city. This was a time in my life when my library card was my most valuable possession.  The local librarian started to think I actually lived there and more than once called my mother with her concerns. Personally I think she originally thought I might put her out of a job, but her second call to my mother was about me reading from the “adult” section. This was particularly hilarious as this small town’s “adult” section had a human sexuality section and romance novels, neither of which gave me more information than I already had assimilated. It was simply the quietest place in the library.

I have come a long way from that dust bowl in Texas. My face is still covered with freckles but I have learned to appreciate them as badges of honor. This homely child grew up and danced on Soul Train, went into the US Air Force, had dinner at the White House, and had a successful twenty-year medical career. I am now a full-time student, which means I am reading constantly and explains why I am here. 

Today I read for pleasure, for content, and to maintain my medical/professional knowledge. I still do read everything I can get my hands on. My children are often fighting with me to read the cereal box. I have shared my love of reading with my children, starting with Winnie the Pooh and then later Judy Blume’s books. 

 Currently I am an author and a part-time editor, primarily for medical journals and curricula (yawn) but I have started writing articles for several Web sites and found that I love it. Often those that are avid readers find themselves also writers in some fashion. The more I read, the more I have to share. 

Books and reading seriously changed my life in more ways than I can really express. Cheeky was and is real, part of my youth and the keeper of my dreams. I still devour every book I can find and my favorites are usually works in fiction.  I believe we all have one special book which opened us to adventures we otherwise would not have experienced.  Books really do give our dreams flight.  What book made an impact on your life?

Hanging with my peeps.

Leap of faith

The traditional girls night out is something I used to look forward to but after I got married a year ago I am afraid I have let that tradition fade a little. Last weekend my friends insisted, my husband demanded I go, and so I went and it was great.

Does it sound like I am a little less enthusiastic than I should be? I know–it is weird. I did have a great time BUT…and you knew there would be a “but” as I am well known for my “cheekyness”…it was odd. Perhaps I should explain.

Before I was married those “girls nights out” saved me from boredom and large containers of ice cream, neither of which is healthy. I looked forward to them–I even planned them. So why did I suddenly just not “need” them anymore?

I know what you are thinking–I got married so I didn’t “need” them anymore to catch a man but that is wrong. Our “girls nights out” rarely if ever had anything to do with finding a man and it was not what some people would assume to be “man-bashing” parties either.

This was a group of women, all successful professionals with wonderful careers. We would meet, celebrate our successes and gave each other encouragement or advice. We mentored each other. Men had nothing to do with these get-togethers unless we had a male colleague that we needed advice about.

When my 20 year medical career ended due to a work injury I felt like I had nothing to celebrate and the advice was not forth-coming. Why? Because none of them had been in my spot and were afraid, having watched just how easily my career was taken from me. The end of my career was like that wart everyone pretends they do not see and the silence was deafening. Nobody knew what to say.

So, I went to “girls night out” with apprehension, afraid that I had moved on with my life in a direction these women may not approve of. Prior to this I would simply state I was “retired” and they all feigned jealousy, but they all knew how much I had loved my career and they knew I had mourned that loss deeply.

A year had passed since we last had met and my life had changed dramatically. This cheekyredhead was not the same as the one they had known for so many years and I was unsettled with the idea I might be sitting in on a judgement session and I may be the main course.

What an idiot…me that is. They were glad to hear that I was in school rebuilding my education after colleges ripped it apart. These woman were surprised and very supportive when they learned I am now an activist fighting for change, writing legislation for the American Legion to change policy at colleges and universities. They were all pleased that I hadn’t let my injury steal my need for adventure and became certified in scuba diving.

More than anything, I realized these women had been pulling for me all along. Sometimes when life sends you big curves there are switch-backs too. I had missed these women, the camaraderie we shared and their support.

I may not have that career which used to define me so well but now I have more options to choose from. Colleges may refuse to acknowledge my vast experience and military career but they will feel my mark on them ultimately as my goal is now to foster change. If not for me, for others like me.

These women reminded me that nothing is as vibrant as a goal. We had all supported each other’s goals in the past and it had been silly of me to think they wouldn’t stand by me now.

Now more than ever I realize that each of us in that group will someday be in my shoes, either by a forced retirement or technology evaporates our speciality. We must be forward thinking AND keep our friendships strong. Change will always be the center of our relationships.

My husband was relieved that I was once again “Hangin’ with my peeps”…in his words: “You have to stay connected and involved.” I am SO glad I went and I look forward to our next “girls night out” because I no longer feel as though I didn’t have anything to add.

That was just silly. How many of you have ever found me unable to find anything to add? It is more an issue of making me stop!
All of you will probably say my comments need to be more brief.
You are probably thinking…Thank goodness for her “peeps!”