Happy Anniversary!

Congratulations to Bryan and Lisa on their second wedding anniversary!

Back then I wrote a series on marriage that I hope you'll enjoy reading again. It starts here.

Witness my fitness

Introducing...

(drum roll please)

Aunt Judie's Excellent Fitness Adventure! It's a new blog I've created just for chronicling my efforts to lose weight and get fit.

I don't get many comments here, but I would sure appreciate your encouraging words there. Please visit often (there's a link on the left side of this page).

Breakaway - Part 7

Read from Part 1

"You can't go home again." That's the old saying my supervisor used when I let her know I was quitting and moving back to Chicago. I didn't really understand what she meant, because of course I could go home. And I did.

I arrived back in Chicago the same way I left. A friend had driven me to the airport in December and that same friend picked me up the follow August. So by age 21 I had moved out and back in to my father's home three times, two of those times being on my own (paying my own way). Over the next few years I would actually do that a couple more times before he finally (and rightly) told me it was time to leave the nest for good.

Breaking away from the life you know to try something new is a good thing to do, especially if you are doing it in a smart way for the right reasons. And sometimes even if that is not the case, it's still an OK thing to do. I left my home and my job and my real friends because I was bored with my life. And the way I did it wasn't well thought out - I moved thousands of miles away to a place I had never been with no job, no car, almost no money and no real friends to depend on.

But it turned out alright for several reasons. First, I had a lifeline. I had not burned bridges when I left home. The foundation of my life - my family - would be there, and I remained tethered to that foundation. And I had my core beliefs. I knew what my limits were, what I was willing and not willing to do. And I was not too proud to admit when I was lonely or broke or scared.

Some people have told me they admire me for what I did back then, that my breakaway was "brave". I don't think of it that way. It was just something I needed to do, and when the opportunity presented itself, I took it. I didn't need to be brave, because I always knew I could go home.

So, to those of you who are feeling the need to take a big step outside or away from the life you know, I say go for it. But do it better and smarter than I did. At least visit the place you're thinking of before you actually move there! Don't assume or fantasize what it will be like to live there. Save up some money so your options (like where and with whom you will live) aren't so limited. Don't be too proud to ask for help when you need it. Hold onto those lifelines of family and friends. You will learn that those lifelines will stretch a very long way, but don't let them break.

And above all, know yourself. Before you test your core beliefs in a new situation, you have to know what those beliefs are. You already do, but you may not realize it until they are tested.

And in the end, maybe that's what a breakaway is really all about.

Breakaway - Part 6

Read from Part 1

When I say "core beliefs", I'm not talking about my faith or religious beliefs. And I'm not talking about what is legal or socially acceptable at any given time. Although my core beliefs may sometimes align to some of those things, they aren't dictated by them. I use this term to describe the boundaries I have put on my own behavior, based on what I believe to be the best way for me to live.

For example, there is my core belief that casual sex is not good for me. There is certainly a religious alignment there for me now, but back then there really wasn't. And then there is my core belief that you don't mess with another girl's guy. There is certainly no law against that, but it is just something I wouldn't do.

So when the guy roommate suggested on more than one occasion that we get on his motorcycle and go away from where we were and see where life would take us, I didn't consider it for a moment. Well, maybe once I did consider it, but just for a moment.

Funny thing was, he never made sexual advances towards me. He just wanted to run away and take me with him. I never flattered myself thinking it was because he had feelings for me. He needed a breakaway, maybe because of a fear of commitment (he had been married three times already). I don't know for sure. But I knew it certainly wasn't the right thing for me.

And considering that a lot of his friends had been from his heroin days, the fact that none of our partying and flirting and kissing led to sex is what may have saved my life. Very little was known about AIDS at that time...it was just starting to be diagnosed (and almost exclusively in the gay community) in the United States. Had I not stuck to my core beliefs, there is a very good possibility that I could have contracted the disease from an IV-drug user.

Don't get me wrong...this does not make me a better person than any of them. I'm not talking about sin or even right and wrong (as seen by others). It just means that those core beliefs served me well in that situation.

By the time I had decided to move back home to Chicago, the roommates were ready to move to their own place together. He had not run away. When I left they were renting a house together and seemed happy. They also both had hepatitis.

We lost contact after about a year.

continued

Father's Day

I grew up without a mother. She left when I was eight and had very little contact with us before she died nine years later. Thank God for my father, the man who struggled and sacrificed daily to bring up his four children while also conquering his own demons. And thank God for the other people in our lives who helped fill the void.

A girl growing up without a mother is one kind of pain. A boy growing up without a father is something different. Pastor Greg Laurie writes his Father's Day thoughts for the fatherless from his own experience.

So today, give thanks to your heavenly Father for your earthly father, and pray for those without fathers, especially boys. Also pray today for those who have lost their dear fathers since last Father's Day.

And if you can, give each one of them a big hug.

Breakaway - Part 5

Read from Part 1

This is not easy for me to write. It might seem like no big deal to some people, but admitting so publicly what I was like during that time is embarassing.

I was 20 years old and living 2,000 miles from home in an environment where booze and drugs were everywhere. Nobody around me seemed to think it was a big deal. The drugs didn't interest me. I had tried pot a couple of times in high school and I didn't like the feeling. I would try cocaine once a few years later, but that's only because I was drunk at the time.

My favorite way to party was good old-fashioned booze. And because the guy roommate was older, getting it was no problem. The only problem was paying for it. I remember several times when I was so broke before payday that I was literally counting my change to see if I had enough money to get a burger at the corner Jack-n-the-Box.

For the most part I was a weekend partier. It usually didn't affect my work, but there were a couple of times when I had to call in sick because of a hangover. But it was what I almost did several times while under the influence that could have killed me. Because not only were booze and drugs readily available, so was casual sex.

Ever since I found out the specific details of sex (a friend explained it to me during the most boring class of my four years of high school - freshman music), I knew that it could never be considered casual or something to do just for fun. And at the time I wasn't remotely religious, so it wasn't that God would be unhappy. It was just such an intimate act that I could not even imagine sharing it with someone unless it was part of a committed love relationship. This became one of my core beliefs.

So of course I ended up with the reputation of being a tease and a prude. I would party and drink and that lead to flirting and kissing and to the guys that implied a promise of lots more to follow. But it wasn't just during the parties that those opportunities presented themselves. I was living with a guy whose girlfriend spent several evenings a week at school. The guy was a former heroin addict.

And it was 1981...and most of the world was about to hear about AIDS for the first time.

continued

Breakaway - Part 4

Read from Part 1

Back in the 1970s there was a great TV show called Three's Company, about two girls and a guy sharing an apartment in Southern California. My situation wasn't exactly the same, as the other girl and her guy shared a room and I had my own.

The problem was this is not what I agreed to. I was paying half the rent. It took me weeks after I realized the guy wasn't leaving to get up the courage to bring this up to my roommates. They didn't see a problem, as the guy didn't take up much space, and besides, all the furniture was hers so she should have to pay less anyway. I still didn't think it was fair, but given the circumstances I decided I could live with it.

I talked to my dad on the phone every Sunday. One week he would call me, and the next I would call him. And every single week the first thing he said was "has that guy moved out yet?" He really, really disliked the idea of me living with them.

In the eight months we lived together, I experienced several new adventures and witnessed some behavior that, had I gone to college, might not have surprised me. Being so close to the university campus, our building was virtually a coed college dorm. Fortunately, most of the action took place in the recreation room down the hall where I couldn't hear it.

But on balance, it wasn't too bad. The gal was really smart and we had some great conversations, and debates about society and politics were my favorite. She had very liberal views, especially about sex and relationships. The guy roommate was from the South and would make us eggs with biscuits and sausage gravy every couple of weeks. He wasn't even 30 yet and had been married and divorced three times! He had been a heroin addict, but only smoked weed when I knew him (I think).

Some of my personal adventures during my time there, quite frankly, I'm ashamed of and not comfortable sharing in detail here. But what I want to tell you is that my core beliefs almost certainly saved my life.

continued

Breakaway - Part 3

Read from Part 1

The job I had just started was in a fairly large office of an electronics company. I worked in the sales department as a secretary, and another secretary there had a friend who needed a roommate. It seemed like the perfect solution for both of us. So I entered into a shared housing situation with a virtual stranger.

There is something about a lack of fear - along with a lack of funds - that makes you do things that, in a different situation, you would never dream of doing. I guess you really just do what you have to do, but only up to the limits created by your core beliefs. Which, by the way, is why it is so important to have them.

My new roommate D and I found an apartment near the university where she was taking classes at night. It was a pretty cool place in Long Beach, on that great road called the Pacific Coast Highway. We were on the third floor (I think) and on a clear night you could see the lights of the Queen Mary. The apartment was designed for roommates, with two bedrooms on opposite sides of the unit, each with its own bathroom.

Within a week we were moving in. She had her own furniture, which was good since I had none. I somehow acquired a used mattress and box spring and slept on them on the floor.

The day we moved in the terms of our living arrangement changed, but I didn't know it at the time. D's boyfriend A helped us move, and he spent the night. The next day D asked if I minded if A stayed for a couple of weeks until he found another place. Sure, why not?

Well, he never left.

continued

Breakaway - Part 2

Read Part 1

To my 20-year-old self, it seemed perfectly reasonable to pick up and move 2,000+ miles away. I had friends to stay with, and I had skills that would get me a job in any office in no time. I had no car and very little money. But all I remember feeling was excitement.

I figured it was best to tell my dad I had a job before I left. I knew he would worry, and I so I planned to tell him a second lie when I actually did get a job and say the first one just didn't work out. No harm done, right? Well, the problem was I told him I was going to work at a Westin Hotel (I had actually put in an application there). So the day after I left, who calls my dad's looking for me to set up an interview? The Westin Hotel of course!

My dad was a wonderful father. He gave us a lot of freedom, and fostered our independence. He rarely yelled. When he was really upset he would be devastatingly silent. At least that's how I remembered it.

Thinking back all these years later, I cringe at what I must have put him through with that move. His 20-year-old daughter flies away to live with people he has never met, so far away that the possibility of visiting was slim. But at least she has a job...NOT. When he called me on my lie, I could tell he was more disappointed than angry. And concerned, of course. And hurt. Hurting him was the worst feeling in the world.

Within a couple of weeks I had a job. Finding a job wasn't as easy as I thought it would be, and it was a three-bus-ride commute! I was surprised. I had assumed that all big cities had the kind of transportation system that Chicago had. Boy was I wrong on that!

And shortly thereafter my friends asked me to move out. I don't remember exactly why the welcome mat was pulled out from under me so suddenly, but they broke up not too long after that.

So I had a job but now needed a new place to live.

continued

Breakaway

The young people in my life are growing up. I see them hit those milestones like driving, first jobs, graduation, moving out...and I remember what it was like to be taking those first big steps on my own. It was exciting to say the least, but sometimes daunting and just a little bit scary.

We all have breakway moments, when we know it is time to take one of the bigger big steps. We may have no idea what that step should be, but we just know we have to take one. It's like a growth spurt. You don't recognize it when it is first starting, but soon you know that you will just bust out of your skin if you don't make a move.

By the time I was 20, I had moved out and back in with my dad twice. The first time doesn't really count as a breakaway...I lived with my grandmother for a while after my grandfather died. I'm not sure the second time exactly counts either, because it was known to be a temporary situation.

I agreed to sublet my boss's downtown studio apartment. He wanted to move to California to live with his girlfriend, but couldn't wait the three more months he had on his lease (his own breakaway). I paid half the rent for his furnished place, and then at the end of the lease I arranged for the moving of his furniture and then moved back home. I was broke a lot, and more than once had to walk almost an hour to get from work to the apartment because I lacked even the dollar for the bus. But it was a whole summer living in downtown Chicago, so who cared?

My former boss and I kept in touch, and when I expressed my desire to do something new with my life, he encouraged me to come out for a visit to stay with him and his girlfriend for a while. One conversation led to another, and I decided to make the move to California. I did some long-distance job hunting and had some good leads, but had no job lined up when I said goodbye to the life I had known, bought a one-way ticket and stepped on that plane.

My California adventure started with a lie I would soon regret.

continued

The Kid

In the movie The Kid Bruce Willis plays Russ, a successful consultant who is about to turn 40 years old. He makes a lot of money, but is still single, has almost no friends, and doesn't want anything to do with his family, especially his father. He doesn't remember his childhood, and his left eye twitches when he is stressed.

One day Russ finds (or maybe hallucinates) a kid in his house who he soon realizes is himself from the past...about to turn 8 years old. The Kid's name is Rusty and he is chubby, has a bad haircut and talks funny. When Russ discovers that other people can actually see Rusty, he tries to figure out why The Kid is there.

At first Russ thinks it is happening so he can give Rusty advice so Rusty won't be such a "pathetic dweeb". Well, Rusty isn't so anxious to accept advice from his almost-40 self, because he sees Russ as a "dog-less, chick-less, jerk with a twitch." Each thinks the other is a loser.

In the end, they can't change the past. But they do help each other. Russ teaches Rusty to stand up for himself, and Rusty helps Russ remember and understand a horrible, life-changing event, the day when that twitch first appeared.

This story hit home for me big time. Eight was an awful age for me, with a big horrible life-changing event.


What would she say to me if my eight-year-old self saw me right now? And what would I say to her about how I got to be the me I am today? Well, it doesn't matter because the past is past. All any of us can do is move forward and make the changes we want to make in our own lives.

Although I might tell her that she won't always be a pathetic dweeb with a bad haircut, buck teeth and ugly glasses. Well, at least the hair and glasses have changed.

Thoughts about thoughts

Change your thoughts and you change your world.
(Norman Vincent Peale, the author of The Power of Positive Thinking)

Do you believe that is true? I do. But it is not easy to change one's thoughts. We get used to how we think about things and those thoughts almost become automatic. But consider what your days would be like if you adopted even one of these Peale quotes as part of your personal philosophy:

Believe in yourself! Have faith in your abilities! Without a humble but reasonable confidence in your own powers you cannot be successful or happy.

Do not be awe struck by other people and try to copy them. Nobody can be you as efficiently as you can.

Formulate and stamp indelibly on your mind a mental picture of yourself as succeeding. Hold this picture tenaciously. Never permit it to fade. Your mind will seek to develop the picture...Do not build up obstacles in your imagination.

Think enthusiastically about everything; but especially about your job. If you do, you'll put a touch of glory in your life. If you love your job with enthusiasm, you'll shake it to pieces. You'll love it into greatness.

Try it!

The fabulous forties

"I'm gonna be 40, and it's freaking me out."

I overheard this a few months ago from a woman customer at the counter of a clothing store. The woman behind the counter told her customer not to worry, that the forties are the "best time of your life". Not surprisingly, the customer reacted with scepticism! I couldn't help myself...I walked up behind the woman and whispered "in your forties you finally stop caring about what other people think of you."

It was the thought that came into my head at the moment, but that's not exactly what I meant. Of course I care what people think about me! I still want people to like me. I want to make a good impression with my work, my attitudes and my looks (by making the most of what I have). I still want men to think I'm pretty. But I have reached a point in my life where I finally know that what other people think about me does not define me.

If I let what other people think about me define me, I would be prudish, closed-minded, judgmental, fat, lazy and lacking in self-control. I have been called some of those things to my face...quite recently in fact.

What I am is human, with desires that sometimes clash with my beliefs. I sometimes desire the wrong thing at the wrong time, or desire the right thing at the wrong time (there seems to be no right time to desire the wrong thing). Some of my beliefs have been seriously challenged lately, which is a good thing. If your beliefs cannot stand up to a challenge, they might not be worth believing in.

I don't believe everything I did 20 years ago, or 10 years ago, or even a few years ago. Sometimes I think I know what is best for me and the people I love, and then I see or experience something that challenges that belief. But I have reached an age and a state of being that lets me consider all sides of a situation without completely doubting who I am and how I live my life.

Perhaps the forties, for those of us who are fortunate to live this long, are a time for truly getting to know yourself. Heck, I'm almost 48, and I would have to live to 96 to consider this time in my life "middle-age"! But maybe there is just no way to know yourself until you've had these many years of experience. I don't know.

I just know that I love my life right now. And even though there are things I want that I know I can have but would not be good for me...I know I am loved. I am deeply and sincerely loved. By God and by the people in my life who truly matter.

It is a fabulous time indeed.

What is it like for a guy...

...when a big chick flick is about to come out?

According to John Kass of the Chicago Tribune, it is terrifying. He wishes to spare men the agony of being dragged by their girlfriends or wives to see a certain movie that opens in two weeks.

Click here for the full column and your free "Kass SATC Absolvo Carta".

Thank you for your service to mankind, Mr. Kass.

If I believed in signs...

...this might just be one:


It's hard to see in this picture, but that's a DOUBLE rainbow. I've never seen such a thing in my entire life. And what was I doing when this possible sign occurred? I was hoping for some way to know I was doing the right thing.

You see, I am on a path that started long ago, the catalyst of which is a circumstance that I just found out no longer exists! So do I go through with it? Do I take the easy road, which in a way means staying stuck? Is the path I am on leading me toward something or away from something? Or both?

Or is this double rainbow just a spectrum of light from the setting sun on a rainy evening?

Sometimes decisions are forced on you, and sometimes you are blessed with too many options. With all the world is going through today, to whine that I don't know what to do because I can do anything I want seems the height of self-centeredness.

But then I saw this. And it made me feel like somebody was trying to tell me something. I am doing the right thing. I need to keep going on this path.

Memory lane - Part IV

Read from Part 1

Somewhere (almost 30 years) deep in a landfill is a box of letters. Well, I doubt there is much left of them after all this time. This was about a year's worth of correspondence from the boyfriend of my senior year in high school.

Those were the days before email and before unlimited long distance calling plans. He was in college over 400 miles away most of that year. When he wasn't, he was only 300 miles away at home. It was a lovely time in my life, and I loved our correspondence - long, newsy, sweet letters, about one for each week. Plus cards for special occasions.

I treasured those, so much so that I pulled them out to read daily for months after he broke up with me. Then I realized I had to let go. I knew I was in danger of never recovering from that breakup unless those letters were gone. It took a couple of attempts before I could finally let the garbage truck take them away.

Fast-forward to a few weeks ago, when I started packing for my move. I started in what I knew would be the the most difficult spot - a little oriental cabinet where the last of the Daniel memorabilia had resided undisturbed since my last move. It was finally time to say goodbye to most of that.

First, I read through every sympathy card. Many tears, a few laughs and a couple of who is that?s later and I was done. The only thing left from that pile is a note from my brother, a man of few words who wrote that tears "wash the soul clean and make our hearts open to life's joy". I wouldn't part with that piece of paper ever.

But then there were the letters...my letters to Daniel during our friendship and courtship, and his to me. Not a whole lot of them, as he was not much of a writer so I didn't write much either. Re-reading my letters to him was like looking at a history book of me - my feelings, my hopes, my busy days - in my own hand. The fact that he used the back of one to calculate how much outside lighting would cost to run for an hour (37 cents) doesn't make me think he didn't treasure that letter. He kept it, didn't he?

But it is time to say goodbye to those letters as well. He's been gone almost as long as we were married. And moving on is what this year seems to be all about for me.

My mother didn't have many opportunities to give me advice. One thing I clearly remember her telling me is to be very careful what I put in a letter, because you never know where it will end up. That was good advice. But I am so glad I never let her words prevent me from expressing my true feelings on the page to the people I loved. For me, writing is still sometimes easier than verbal expression.

My memories of Daniel are fading, and that is alright. We can't live in our memories, even the good ones. We have to live in the present. And when we do, today becomes a memory for tomorrow.

Memory lane - Part III

Read from Part I

I have been promising my hair stylist that I would create a "Gallery of Hair" for her, and I want to do it before I move out of state. So here it is:

Ladies, if you're thinking that once you grow up you will finally stop stressing about your hair, forget about it. Even now, at the ripe old age of 47, I'm thinking of growing it long again. Or getting a natural salt-n-peppa buzz cut (my friend Lisa and my other friend Lisa would kill me).

Depends on how I'm feeling tomorrow.

continued

Memory lane - Part II

Read Part I

I have only been hospitalized twice in my life. First was being born, then when I had my tonsils removed at age six. A lot has changed since then.

Prices, for one thing. My mother's hospital stay for my birth cost $26 per day. The total for four days including the operating room, anesthesia and drugs - $151.92.

For my tonsils surgery six years later, the doctor charged $150 and the hospital (with lab, x-rays, drugs and the room) charged $134. Oh, plus $35 for anethesia.

And keeping patient records was a little different than today. My first few months of doctor visits were recorded on one index card by hand. The receipts were hand-written also, but the doctor bills were typed. And that four-day hospital stay when I was born...that is unheard of today as insurance companies want you out as quickly as possible.

It is an interesting experience to hold these things in my hands.

continued

Memory lane - Part I

I used to have this recurring dream, that I'm back in high school (at my present age) because I never really graduated. Well, I have in my hands (not really in my hands because I wouldn't be able to type) my high school diploma. Now they can't make me go back!

As I keep going through my things to get rid of stuff that I refuse to move even one more time, I'm scanning pictures and papers that I want to keep and tossing the originals. Lots of dust, lots of laughs, lots of tears, lots of closure coming my way. And a lot of trivial crap that nobody cares about.

Like this - according to my grade school report cards...

- I was unable to tie my shoes by the end of kindergarten, but I could recognize what color they were.
- I had no special abilities noted from 1966 to 1968 (bummer).
- I was a "back captain" (what??), a "paper" monitor (news, construction, toilet? not sure), and in charge of the Halloween Talent Show in 1970.
- I was an "office girl" in 1974. Wow...I found my career at age 14.
- And last, but not least, my very favorite encouraging comment from a teacher on a report card...

Seems my fate was sealed decades ago. Who knew?

Tune in tomorrow...that's when I go through my medical records!

continued

Photo shoppe

After taking a two-hour nap this afternoon, I woke up with a start and realized I had a really cool project I could work on. I am moving in a couple of months (don't know where...and that's a story for another post), and I am still decades behind in my scrapbooking. I'll never catch up, and I don't want to move this huge box of photos AGAIN.

So I spent the evening organizing, scanning, and tossing. I've backed them up. Now I can share a couple of the gems:

As a bridesmaid in 1980. My favorite hairstyle, but not my favorite dress.

My favorite Halloween costume. I actually travelled on a Chicago city bus wearing this!

My favorite cats-eye glasses. And my least favorite haircut ever.

Only a few thousand more pictures to go.