December 25, 2011--First sight, hind sight, second sight and vision.

So, it was probably inevitable that I would write about my latest adventure. On Friday, I had laser vision correction.


As I sit here watching television with complete clarity, it's still hard for me to believe that I am not wearing glasses or contacts. The vision in my eyes truly was corrected. Certainly having one's vision corrected is at once miraculous, but at the same time routine these days.

But, as easy as it has become to have our vision corrected, sometimes, the way we each look at the world is so unique, that we are unable to change the way we see it, even if the way we see it is potentially harmful to ourselves or others. Other times, we have great fortune, and people show us a new way of both looking at, and seeing things.

I turn forty in six days. For the last two months, my husband of nearly sixteen years, plotted and schemed secretly with family and friends to surprise me with a weekend away. I was waylaid by the gesture. Everyone I work with was involved in the secret. My sister was an active plotter. Several friends assisted Jeph in his scheming. Even my grandma was involved in keeping the secret--though the other conspirators would agree, she nearly blew it.

I think a lot of my friends. I care about their struggles and triumphs and always want to do anything I can for any one of them. I know they care about me too, but I never saw them as people who would work so hard to ensure that such a special surprise would come off without a single hitch. I couldn't see that they cared so much. My vision of them has been corrected.

As this master plan came together, my grandmother, who nearly blew the whole thing, revealed to me that she had recently been diagnosed with high blood pressure and was on the road to having a long list of additional testing done. I happen to have a fairly young grandmother who has never been seriously ill. As she struggled not to blow Jeph's surprise, she only managed to make me concerned about her health. For the first time in my life, I saw that she won't be around forever.

Sadly, there are people in my family who were born taking advantage of my grandmother's generosity and love--people who will barely lift a finger to help her with anything and who live in her house rent free and contributing nothing. In my eyes, they are the most unforgivable kind of parasites; in hers they are grandchildren.

I started to consider what might happen if something did happen to her, and I didn't like that vision. I think it's always hard to love someone, especially a family member who has worked so hard throughout their life, be taken advantage of. It's hard to see those people rant, rave and be unpleasant, or even to be just plain antisocial. It's hard to understand how the people we love don't see these people in the same way we do, and the difference in vision can frequently drive wedges between us and those we worry about.

As much as we often see others in different ways, we probably even more frequently see ourselves differently than others do.

In the same way I couldn't see that my friends cared enough about me to help pull off a fabulous surprise, I didn't see myself as someone worthy of that kind of gift. A friend I care very dearly for recently shocked me when she shared that when discussing her child's future if something happened to her and her husband, Jeph and I came up as possible guardians. I could never have imagined that in looking at me, she would see someone worthy of that kind of responsibility. I've always thought of myself as one of her friends, but kind of on her periphery.

I write this blog about once a week, but I only occasionally get any feedback. Sometimes that bothers me. It's because I can't believe it's any good, or that anyone has even seen it if nobody says anything. Sometimes I think it's a lot like the radio signals we send to outer space trying to make contact with whomever else might be out there. Who even knows if I make contact? But as much as I often think that, sometimes someone will express being so moved by something I've written that it makes up for all the times I hear nothing. So I continue, whether I receive any feedback or not.

Sometimes we realize that something we deal with everyday takes on new meaning when we are going through an event ourselves. As this holiday weekend rolls on, one of my friends is grieving the loss of one of her beloved dogs. She's a fairly pragmatic person who works in an emergency veterinary hospital. She sees a lot of hopeless cases. It's not unusual for her to be forced to accept loss multiple times a shift. There isn't time to dwell. It's hard to remember the pain when you have to move so quickly, and gallows humor often ensues. There often is talk of a patient who is trying to "go to the light" and this kind of thing. Nobody means anything hurtful by it, it's just what you do to get through. When you're the one saying goodbye to your furry child, there is a moment of clarity. In those moments, you see what it feels like to be that hopeless case's parent, and it is only natural to come unglued when someone is trying to "get through" as you are losing a best friend. I see the strength in this person every time I am around her. I love her and wish there was never a time I would have to see her dealing with such a loss.

Christmas means different things to different people. For true believers, it's a time to celebrate the birth of their lord and savior. For others, it's different.

I recently was listening to an interview with a soldier who got to return from Iraq this holiday season. He was asked what Christmas was like for him last year. He and his friends had a small tree that they decorated, but they were working. There was nothing special going on that day for him. He saw Christmas as just another day.

One of my friends is working this entire weekend and struggling with health issues and some personal challenges. She isn't able to spend any time with family or friends, and the load she's been carrying around is weighing her down during a time that for most of us is joyful. For her, she sees this weekend as a reminder of things she wishes were different.

I'm not one of those true believers. As I talked with a friend yesterday about what Christmas means to me, I was comforted not to be the only non-believer. We both "celebrate," but we long to celebrate something different. Gatherings of people we truly care about, and the opportunity to do nice things for them is what Christmas means for us. We see the joyous spirit of the season and want to amplify that, even though the religious spirit of the holiday means little to us.

We won't all ever see things with the same eyes. Some security systems are set up to use retinal scans in order to achieve access. Our eyes are like our fingerprints. My guess is that like our eyes and our fingerprints, we also have our very own visions. Sometimes, we learn that the way we saw something in the past was wrong. Sometimes, we learn that we can see things others can't. Sometimes, no matter how much help we have from other people, we can never see things the way they truly are.

Of the times of the year I could have had the vision in my eyes corrected, perhaps this time of year only gives me shades of drab brown and gray to look at when I go to the window. I know when the spring comes, I will be rewarded with shades of green and flowers every color of the rainbow. I don't feel cheated by the drabness of the season though. For me, having some of my other vision issues corrected has been just as bright as that green flickering light I focused on Friday.

As this holiday weekend and this year draw to a close, I hope we all get to see the world we are hoping for, and I hope we have the vision to achieve it. 

When I Look at the World--U2

December 19, 2011--Not so sure promoting nerd love is the right message.

So, I found myself wandering around, somewhat aimlessly, at Target today. I was killing time while I had some prescriptions filled. I picked up a few things, including cheese, which I now seem to have been obsessively craving for days. I ran across something in the girls' clothing department that kind of bothered me.

Hanging on a rack was a cute little blouse with eye-glasses over a heart and a slogan that read "I love nerds." On the one hand, it's a sweet sentiment on the other hand, what?!

Now, I have been a nerd pretty much all my life. Nerd has several definitions and means different things to different people. For me, it meant that I learned to read and write fairly quickly and I adored school with the exception of math. As previously stated, I was never into any sports. By the time I hit eighth grade, I was wearing glasses just to be able to see the blackboard. I read Agatha Christie novels, "Dragonlance" novels and was endlessly trying to check out the book "Mein Kampf" because I was a total World War II freak. (I still don't know why it was always checked out in our high school library.)

Needless to say, I didn't exactly run with the popular crowd. My personal twist was to start wearing primarily black and white by the time I was a junior in high school, and given a very controlling and sheltered home life, I didn't date or go out with friends much. At one point, an ex-boyfriend actually referred to me as 'one of those easy, greasy peace people.' I'm not completely sure what he meant by that, but I am pretty sure it was nothing nice. He read "Dragonlance" novels too, but I think he forgot that when he tried out for the wrestling team and got a letter man's jacket.

As early as I started to love school, I realized that I wasn't a popular kid. In second grade there was a girl I greatly admired and esteemed--sadly, she was a complete snob. She had one of those really cool 'satin' jackets of the time that was color blocked and had a roller skate applique on it. She wore a pink, floor length formal dress for our group picture day. And she had these really awesome tall boots with a pocket on the outsides. It's probably her fault that I endlessly covet tall boots that will fit over my calves. Damn her!

Sometimes, she acted like I was one of her friends. Other times, I was not nearly cool enough to be in her circle. I remember one day she asked me how I felt and for whatever reason, I answered that I wasn't feeling too hot. She responded "That's because you're not." I was 'lucky' enough to be  invited to her birthday bunkin' party that year. I didn't have a really cool sleeping bag or anything like that, just a pillow and blanket. I felt really awkward there with all of her awesome friends, and her fancy party. I was too embarrassed to tell anyone I had to go to the bathroom and I didn't know where it was in their giant maze of a house, so I peed my pants overnight. Without revealing my shameful secret, I said I wanted to go home and luckily, my step-dad came to get me and didn't so much chastise me for my soiled bedding.

That little top in the little girls' section probably would have fit someone in my second grade class. This many years later, even though life has probably "equalized" us in most respects, the sting of her snobbery and harsh words was fresh when I saw that little shirt. I'm pretty sure I never saw anything like that in any children's section when I was six or seven. That girl in my class didn't need help learning how to differentiate who was 'cool' and who was 'not.' Imagine how much more sophisticated her insults might have been if she'd had that kind of retail assistance.

Jeph and I are considering having a child of our own. I'm pretty sure he would agree that he was a member of the "cult of nerd" growing up. We savor the fact that our nerdiness and lack of popularity put us in a different social category--'most likely to succeed.' And to this day, I read goofy fantasy novels; become obsessed with weird, geeky styles; and fail to listen to the cool music. I'm okay with that. I think I'm a little more well-liked than I was as a kid. The circle of people I find myself in seems to be one that works to know who I am, instead of stopping at my quirkiness. But I worry. What if our child is a nerd? What if there's a girl or boy in second grade that treats our little Apoc the way that girl treated me?

In second grade, I didn't know I was a 'nerd,' I only knew that it hurt when people didn't include me, teased me, and made me feel unworthy of their friendship. I wasn't smart enough to understand that actually, they weren't worthy of mine.

Being a nerd is just one kind of 'person' you can be in school, or life in general. It seems to me, having such a classification called out on a piece of clothing for children sends the wrong message. Yeah, I know, it said "I love Nerds," but for a child that age, wouldn't it be better for it to say "I love my friends?"

It's just a thought.

Defying Gravity--Idina Menzel and Kristin Chenoweth

December 6, 2011--Don't be sad and unispired.

So, around a week or so ago, my closest friend posted the following Facebook status: "inspire me."

I have been thinking about that simple, yet impassioned plea ever since, and today, I am watching something that prompts me to respond with the following: "look around."

I sit watching a report by Richard Engel on gold mining in Mali, West Africa. Gold mining in Africa is nothing like mining during the Gold Rush of the American West. It's not the adventure of men hoping to strike it rich. It is backbreaking work done by children and women who often receive little if any payment for their efforts. Engel speaks to one boy on his first day who has no plans to be working the mines forever. He aspires to be a student and a soccer player. Families work side by side for at most, four dollars a day. The young boy Engel speaks to will be paid a bucket of dirt for his first day's work--it might have gold in it, if he's lucky. It's heartbreaking to watch as children lie on the ground exhausted at the end of the day, with nothing to show for it. Engel himself climbs down into one of the mines, which have footholds near the top, and then as he describes it, "nothing to hold onto" as he goes down.

And that's the truth of it, there's nothing to hold onto. The people working the mines of Mali have nothing to hold onto. Everyday, their hopes are chipped away like fist-fulls of dirt. Every bit of inspiration, lost, like the footholds that stop as you go down.

It's easy to be dragged down by the day to day grind of life. It's easy to get lost in hopes and dreams that sometimes seem completely elusive. I know that I often feel that. I have the "gift" of experiencing hopelessness, but fortunately, even I sometimes forget what that truly means.

I forget that not getting to do something I really want to do so badly is not the same thing as being without hope. I was reminded of this last night. I desperately wanted to see Florence and the Machine, but the show was completely sold out. There had been no hope. As Florence says, "it's always darkest before the dawn," because as it happens, I scooped up a couple of tickets at the last minute. Impossible. When Jeph and I were discussing what I thought of as good fortune, he said "There's no saying 'no' to you."

I wasn't sure how I felt about that statement. On the one hand, perhaps it speaks to my perseverance: when I really want something, I do everything I can to make it happen. On the other, it speaks to a possible sense of entitlement. I know Jeph knows that for a great deal of my young life, when most people are making all kinds of mistakes, and running wild, I was told 'no' at every single turn. It's probably why he works so hard to make sure 'no' is a rarity and that as many as my "have to's" happen as can.

I have a great life filled with amazing amounts of opportunities. In some respects, every opportunity stolen from me in my childhood and youth has been returned to me in spades as an adult. As I sit here and think about the fact that there's no saying 'no' to me, I think about that boy in Mali who looks around him and wants more, and I wish there was someone to say 'yes' to him. I wish there was someone to give him footholds so he will never stop trying to climb to his dreams.

Even under the worst of circumstances, being born and raised in the West affords one the option of living a life built on inspiration. Having the freedom to try and overcome our most difficult of origins is more than most people in other parts of the world can even dream of. We literally have the opportunity to dream, and often, there are people and things all around us to plant the seeds.

Another friend posted a link about a book he recently read and recommended to his friends. It prompted a brief discussion of a couple of teachers we had in elementary school who planted the love of reading within us. For two of us, it was Mrs. Johnson reading "James and the Giant Peach" in first grade, for Bob, it was Mrs. Highfill reading "The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe," in fifth grade. Imagine if you lived in a world where a teacher was akin to that fictional witch. While it's true that we all want and expect more from our education system, just the fact that we have one is something we never should take for granted.

A few weeks ago, I took on the second of my required shifts at a local emergency veterinary hospital. It was the hardest day of work I have ever had--hands down. For days, I fought to recover from the feeling that I didn't do nearly enough. Every moment of the ten hours I was there, I was both painfully aware of, and awed by how amazing those who do it every day are by comparison. Even though I felt like a failure in many respects, that day of work increased my awareness and it makes me want to do better in my regular job.

Inspiration can be practical and impractical.

Yesterday, I watched part one of the new Syfy miniseries "Neverland." Though we've never talked explicitly about it, I think "Peter Pan" must always have been a favorite story of my grandmother's. As a child, I remember every time she would come to get me to go someplace, I would ask how to get wherever we were going and she invariably answered the same way: "Second star to the right, and straight ahead 'til morning." As a result, I'm kind of fond of "Peter Pan" myself. Over the years, there have been many treatments of the J. M. Barrie tale. I've enjoyed most of them, and to a degree, "Neverland" is no exception. It gives a little bit of the backstory behind how Neverland came to be in the first place and how the characters came to be there. Admittedly, the story is much "thinner" than the imagery and effects, as is not atypical of Syfy's attempts to be "epic." That said, as a lover of "eyecandy," I still find it wonderful. What strikes me about it is that this old story has captured the passions of people who work in very modern industries.

You  just never know where inspiration is going to come from.

Another story from my childhood that never failed to capture my imagination was "Charlotte's Web." Every year, the animated version worked its way onto television. Most people gravitated toward Wilbur or the beautiful Charlotte. I found myself drawn to Templeton. I remember the character voiced by Paul Lynde, a favorite of mine from--yes--the Donnie and Marie show. Templeton was the brains of the outfit. He collected tidbits and scraps of--everything! Each little scrap of paper or packaging was potentially valuable to him, and thanks to his pack-ratting ways, Wilbur never had to worry about the slaughter house. So now, Jeph, you know why I can rarely throw anything away.

Inspiration can come from that piece of trash you're getting ready to throw away.

It can also come from giant and fantastic displays of talent and beauty. Last week, I watched a movie I hadn't seen in quite some time. As I watched Julianne Moore, Meryl Streep and Nicole Kidman bring "The Hours" to life, I was reminded of a story I have to tell and where pieces of it come from. There is something about tragic, haunting stories that touch me in a way that nothing else does.

Last night, I didn't have to hear the word 'no.' Last night, I got to watch Florence Welch wail like Boudica in one of the most beautiful venues in Kansas City. Based on her lyrics, I think Welch is also moved by the tragic and haunting. There's a fragility in her strength that I can't compare to anyone else in music right now. Her extreme talent fills me up like a gas tank that was hanging at a quarter full.

It's as simple as looking around. It's as simple as selecting a play list. It's as hard as dreaming, and it's as hard as stretching to reach the footholds that can allow us climb to those dreams. Never overlook the availability of inspirational opportunity. For some of us, it's easier than mining for gold.

"Rabbit Heart (Raise it Up)" Florence and the Machine