The Veteran

This week, I met a former Marine who reminded me of a spontaneous encounter I once had with a returning veteran.

The war was over. We were victorious in the Persian Gulf. Washington D.C. was crawling with twenty-something military veterans who were marching in a victory parade.

In 1991, I won the coveted position of Advertising and Sales Promotion Assistant for one of the largest in the oil and gas companies in the world at their corporate headquarters in Northern Virginia. I had six months to show my stuff, working on all facets of national advertising and sales promotion campaigns. If I earned rehire status from all eight of my upper-middle level managers , I'd leave with an offer for a full-time, coveted marketing rep position.

After five months at corporate, I felt like a veteran myself. First, you had to have the required uniform: navy blue, black or gray suits with skirts only, stockings and heels.

Your desk was to be tidy or spotless at all times with no personal items, except a coffee mug. You were allowed to work with one of two files at a time, as long as they were neat. Everything else was to be out of sight. If you looked too overwhelmed with your current position, you would never get promoted to a higher one.

Corporate employees were required to begin their day no later than 7:30 a.m., but, if you were looking to get rehired, you got there before everyone else and were the last to leave.

Because we worked at U.S. Marketing and Refining division, everyone was required to drive to work separately, no car pooling. The only exception to this rule was the people who were transferred to Virginia from New York. They were so accustomed to public transit that a special shuttle was provided for them from the Metro to the office. The higher-ups overlooked my lack of car ownership because I was still enrolled in college in Philadelphia, where, like New York, it was a detriment to own a car.

Lunch was to be purchased at the corporate lunch room. The food was fresh and cheap, but eating lunch in the cafeteria was the best way to network with the VP's. You could get noticed and invited to join one of them at any time. This type of invitation could alter the trajectory of your entire career.

The U.S. Marketing and Refining division was comprised of various levels of middle to upper-middle management. Most had been with the company for more than thirty-five years. They were hired as marketing reps after the World War II. They had all begun their careers in the infantry as marketing reps. They were hardened by the politics of their service. They were all men.

As an attractive blonde, I got a lot of attention at corporate, simply because there were so few of us. The only women employed at U.S. Marketing and Refining were secretaries. Since they were getting pressure to promote women, they would have to hire some at the entry level. When I went out into the field, I noticed that the women marketing reps all looked like me. Blonde hair worn in the big, organized mess-style of the day, perfect makeup, well-fitting suits and very high heels. Basically, we looked like we had just walked off the set of Murphy Brown or Designing Women. We were all hired by the same guy. He was into blondes with big hair.

After I had assimilated all of these corporate rules and morés, I was supposed to be creative. I was so worried about blowing this opportunity that I was a nervous wreck. I thought that if I didn't do it perfectly, that I would lose.

My favorite thing to do was ride home from work on the Metro. I'd go exploring around town, meeting people and then inviting myself to join them socially. I didn't know anyone in Washington D.C. so unless I wanted to spend all weekend working or obsessing about work by myself. I fell into a group of three other women about my age. We were the Sex in the City girls in training.

I rode the subway to meet my friends the Friday night before the victory celebration parade when I noticed a very cute guy with short hair. I had become accustomed to introducing myself to strangers, but girls, not guys. Still, I had this strong feeling that I would deeply regret it if I didn't say hello. I prayed for the courage to talk to him, but he was sitting on the other side of the Metro car.

Then we exited at the same stop. We stood next to each other on the long escalator up. I took a deep breath and said, "Nice weather we're having," or some equally lame line.

He looked relieved that I had said something first. He smiled and said, "Yeah."

"Are you in school here?"

"No, I just got back from Iraq. I'm a Marine. We're marching in the parade tomorrow."

I gasped happily and said, "Really? Oh thank you so much. I'm so glad you are home."

He smiled. "Do you have plans tonight? I have to get back to the hotel. They let me go visit my parents in Virginia, but I have to have dinner with the guys. Then I might be able to get away, but I have to be back by 11:00. Could I meet you?"

"Well, I'll be busy for an hour or so. If you want to hang out, meet me outside the building at 7:00."

For an hour, I wondered and hoped that he would show up. I couldn't think of anything else.

Emotional Constipation

I am feeling emotionally constipated. I have some things on my mind. A good friend of mine is in the hospital. The next two weeks mark the losses of my dear grandmother, and my first baby. I will be attending the wedding of my niece whose sister was killed last October.

I think I want to cry, but I'm not ready. Mostly, I am reminding myself to breathe. I have been affirming that I rest in God. I am almost able to recall that God created all of the people involved here and that God's love is eternal, and, therefore, so are they.

I miss my family and I want my friend to come home from the hospital and have coffee with me like we do every Monday. I really want this all to be resolved tonight. This is perhaps the biggest source of pain - wanting to be in control of the schedule, of the whole thing really.

When I feel emotionally constipated, I don't want to breathe or pray because when I do, it hurts worse. I feel like a little kid who is not getting her way and so I am holding my breath until things resolve the way I want them to. In other words, I am having a sorrow-induced temper tantrum.

Just writing that is helping the whole thing seem more workable. I think I'm going to set a goal of breathing deeply and feeling whatever comes up for the rest of this evening.

If you feel like it, say a prayer for my friend, oh heck, and for me too.

Mulch Your Neighbor

We hung Tibetan prayer flags on Kiddo's swing set, sending blessings of love and compassion and some other stuff in Tibetan that I can't read. The kid says, "The wind is blowing the prayers through the whole neighborhood. Push me, Mommy."

Blessing the neighbors while pushing the kid is a cool meditation. I considered this for about 30 seconds, then I thought hard about herbicide and mulch.

Change or Die

Suffocation is not the way I want to die. Not at all. I have not always thought this way, but in the last few years I have gotten very clear about not wanting to die by suffocation. But why do I feel this way, I wondered.

Turns out, I have been suffocating a little bit every night in my sleep. I have sleep apnea. I had the sleep study and I have seen the printouts recording me not breathing several times per night. I also have records of my oxygen levels which drop very low.

I must have this belief because I know exactly what it would feel like to suffocate. I don't like it.

I tried the CPAP machine. The hose slapped me in the head every time I moved. Also, my room is cold at night and the humidity gathers in the top of the mask and rained on me every night. I also know a little bit about what it would be like to be water-boarded. No thanks.

I was told to try an oral appliance. I found an oral surgeon with terrific credentials who makes such things and accepts my insurance. They actually only accept my secondary insurance so I went into this process knowing I was going to pay for 80% plus other stuff that wouldn't be covered at all.

And so began our relationship.

They made me the appliance and it worked pretty well. Then we started fine tuning. There were some major lab errors, miscommunication, and misunderstandings. At one point, my jaw was so messed up that only my two front teeth would touch. Despite all of the challenges, the appliance did help some so the worst part of the pain was that I couldn't wear the thing. Those nights were just like most of the last 20 years, sleepless, except now my body had a taste of a good night sleep. My body was demanding rest.

After two or three nights without adequate rest, I became desperate, overwhelmed, and frightened that I would be sentenced to live out my days without rest. So, I did what I do when I feel frightened and powerless. I tried to control.

I started building my case. I watched all the bills come in and lamented how the charges were adding up with no solution. I gnashed my teeth and wrung my hands over the wasted gas. And they still couldn't get it right. The self-righteousness kicked in big time, and I was getting really angry.

I walked in there demanding that they fix it. I felt resentful every time I had to go to the office for them to try and fix. So basically, I had my right foot to the floor on the gas pedal, and my left foot to the floor on the brake pedal. I was totally revved up, wasting gas and stuck.

Since I walked into the office demanding a solution, everyone in the office stopped looking me in the eye. I could see and feel their pity. I hate pity. Pity says, "I'm better than you, you poor pathetic thing. Your situation is just terrible, awful. I wish there was something we could do for you, but you are beyond human aid."

The dentist called me a problem child. I'm sure he was joking. I wanted to press his throat.

It seemed to me that they did not know what they were doing. They were ruining my teeth and jaw, depriving me of sleep, and charging me a couple thousand dollars plus travel expenses. And, they were making fun of me. I had lost perspective.

I had to admit; I didn't know what to do.

I lost confidence in them, and I lost confidence in my ability to avail myself good care.

I prayed for a miracle.

Then, I called the insurance company to find out about filing a complaint that would result in me not having to pay for this experience. I found out that I can file a complaint, but then I will have no sleep and a long, drawn out hassle with no guarantee that I could get out of paying for what had been done so far.

I also called a couple of other offices who had doctors or dentists who do this sort of thing. These other people said that they made this appliances, but they did not specialize in making them for sleep apnea. Plus, the others wouldn't take my insurance.

I thought about it. Treating sleep apnea with dental appliances is what he does all day long. He is a diplomate for the professional academy of folks who treat sleep apnea with dental appliances. He does accept my insurance.

I figured, I am already into this mess. Let's see what happens.

I called my guy, left a message. He actually called me back. I prayed, and told him how I felt when he called me the problem child. I told him I was concerned about the rising costs. I told him that since acrylic was chipping off of my appliance into my hand, I wasn't so sure it would last.

He apologized. He told me his plan to help me. Then he told me he would make me a new appliance for free.

I thanked him, but I still didn't know what to do. I hate that.

I asked myself what my part in this situation really was. I was blaming them. I needed to stay in the office until I felt comfortable with the changes they had made, even if I felt like I was taking up too much of their time. I wasn't communicating either.

I set aside the case I had been building. I went over there having made the decision that I would show up believing that we were going to work this out together. I knew I couldn't force the solution, but I brought my best attitude.

I got my miracle.

The entire office staff was so kind to me. They listened and spent extra time with me. They answered my questions. They talked to me like I mattered. They told me that they hadn't given up on anybody yet. The doc said that he would make me a new appliance and then he would fix the old one to match the new one. Yes, I am paying more than I thought I would, but I am getting a $2000 appliance for free.

As she was making new molds of my teeth, the assistant shared with me that she had experienced a miscarriage one month ago. I got it. I understood why she was offering me pity. She was having her own sorrow and pain. Pity was the best she could do under those circumstances. She probably couldn't be confident because her confidence had just taken a huge hit. She was powerless too.

I have heard that we should be kind to others because every one of them is fighting some kind of battle. Having experienced a miscarriage 12 years ago, I knew a bit about what she was going through. I was devastated when it happened to me.

I talked a little about my experience of losing a baby. I didn't pity her at all. I just wanted her to know that I knew what it was like. We were equals.

When I left, I felt like I had been to a completely different office. The only that had changed was me and my attitudes.

I felt so happy and grateful. I can change. I have other options beside cut my losses and run. For the longest time, I had two choices in stressful times - fight or run. It felt so good to have some other choices. This way of thinking makes every disagreement a crisis. What an insane way to live.

There is no guarantee that the new appliance will work better, but I know that I can take of myself while being respectful. I don't have to feel resentful about going to the office. I can be as serene as I decide to be.

I could have created a huge dramatic mess of this situation; I was on my way. Instead, I got proof that my new way of thinking and acting works. Sanity has returned to my life because today I can learn from my mistakes and try something new.

I feel like a grown-up. My kiddo has a grown-up for a mother. Aren't we lucky?

Beat the House

I spent the day beating on my house - with wiffle balls. I bought my kid about 30 wiffle balls for batting practice. As with many of the toys I purchase that I think the child will love, I end up have more fun playing with it than the kid does. I started smacking them around the back yard, and it was very satisfying. Tossing the ball, swinging, and connecting so that it flies across the yard and bangs into the house is inspired. It really feels good to hit something and experience "cause" and then watch it crash into something (without breaking anything) "effect."

Watching it crash on the neighbor's house is just exhilerating. I feel like I am being sneaky, breaking the rules, being bad. The ball bounces off of the siding and into a planter. I giggle. Then, I have to run over, and let myself into their yard to collect it. I feel silly. So, here I am with the 4 year old who is enjoying the swingset, and I am the one who is acting out. What fun.

It's a great way to work out some of my aggression about the neighbor's "perfect" house and yard. I drop my ball into their yard and think, it's not so perfect now is it?

I truly believe that I have an inner 8 year old who likes to cause trouble. She is a lot of fun. She body surfs in the ocean at high tide. She cracks my bubble gum in public places. She likes to fart, and blame someone else. She laughs at dick jokes, and bathroom humor. She is snotty. She is nasty. She likes to be dirty, and tell everyone that she smells. She burps loudly. She flips off inadament objects because they are annoying. She runs naked past the picture window, hoping to grab the clean clothes before the neighbors see her. She uses the men's room if the ladies' room is occupied. She picks her nose. She picks fights, just because. People find her annoying, and she doesn't care. She whines. She makes fun of people she likes. She swears as often as possible.

Finding an opportunity to have fun with my inner 8 year old while hanging out with my 4 year old is a challenge, and, today, I found a way: batting practice.

The Witch is Dead

After months and months of prayer and meditation, I heard a rumor that the "difficult" neighbors are probably moving to Eden Prairie.

Could it be? Is it possible? I don't usually get off that easy. Difficult people usually stay around until I don't care anymore. I am happy to report that I pretty much don't care anymore, unless I am using them as an obsession to avoid being in the moment.

What a miracle. I feel like singing: Ding, Dong, the witch is dead. I am, of course, the witch.

The rumor also included a report that they want to ask for $400,000 for their house. If that is true, we are all going to grow old together.

Starting Over

Thank God for do-overs. This morning, I raised my voice so that my kid would get dressed so that we could go to the gym and have fun. I felt like a jerk. I was standing there saying hurry up, I told you we needed to go. Why do I have to raise my voice?

I had to ask myself why? I suppose I had run out of tools. I created a little crisis to get the energy moving. Only problem, it through me off center. I don't like to be on the receiving end of someone's fake crisis. It is really uncomfortable to feel like the other person is forcing me join me in their crisis.

Anyway, I created this crisis for the kid so we could get to the drum class on time. Kiddo got upset, but so did I. I felt like Mickey Mouse in Fantasia when he becomes the sorcerer. With a flip of the wrist, he creates a mighty wave which impresses him. Then, the water completely overtakes him.

I summoned the energy to make someone behave the way I wanted, then I felt awash in anxiety as if I should make the rest of the day conform to my will. Oddly enough, nothing went well. When we got to the gym, I learned that we should have signed up 24 hours in advance. I had pushed for nothing. I felt guilty, and I had too much juice. I just couldn't settle down. My serenity had been swept away in a wave of contrived crisis.

I spent the morning trying to catch my breath. There seemed to be at least 15 things which needed attention right now. I was in react mode.

Meditation gave me a way to start over, even though it was kind of nutty. I know I had at least 4 breaths that didn't involve thinking. I'll take it.

I told the kid, "You know, I didn't like raising my voice. What is another way I could let you know that we need to get going? How 'bout a special word like popcorn?"

"Mommy, just say - we have to get going."

"So the next time we need to roll, I should just say, we have to get going?"

"Yes."

"Okay. Let's give it a try."

We ended up having a great afternoon painting the house with Crayola paints, playing wiffle ball, and jumping in the bounce area. After dinner we road bikes up and down the side walk.

Can We Get Off It?

I voted for Hillary. Yes, I did. I really thought that she would be the most formidable candidate to go up against McCain.

I can't seem to get off it. I know I need to move on and support Obama, but I am just not ready yet. I feel really dragged out after 16 months of campaigning, and I don't even watch television news.

When I heard Hillary's final speech as a potential nominee on Saturday, I cried. As far as we have a nation have come regarding women in leadership positions, we as a society can't see a woman president. I am amazed that I got to see a woman go after the nomination for the Presidency. I was pretty certain that would never happen. Still, I felt really sad that even a woman with experience and strength couldn't get out from under the way the press depicted her. If Hillary can't break the glass ceiling, who can?

I remember growing up with my father who did not believe that women could compete with men. Period. He thought my sports and activities were a nice way for me to pass time, but could not compare to those of my brothers. Boys sports were worth committing the entire family to long weekends at hockey arenas or ball fields. Girls sports were a waste of a sunny Saturday when he could have been on his boat. No matter how accomplished I would become, it wouldn't compare to what the boys were doing. It seemed so unfair. It still does. Back then, it made me want to achieve and show them that girls' pursuits did matter. With this line of thinking, I put so much pressure on myself that I would under perform.

This is an old hurt of mine which has been brought to my attention in the last month as my kid begins extracurricular activities. I have been spending time sitting with these feelings of disappointment instead of getting angry and feeding into the wanting to "prove them wrong" or change or control how they think about me, girls and women.

Personal feelings aside, I feel really sad that she didn't get the nomination. I felt she was a leader who could stay focused despite all of the muck that would be flung at her. I felt that she would stand strong in her national agenda without waffling. I felt that she had the wisdom of years of experience that would guide her in dealing with nations around the world in a fair and firm way.

I just don't get that from Obama.

My hope is that Obama will be able to assemble a team of the best advisors, as well as a kick-butt running mate.

I am going to pray for an open mind and a new experience with Obama. I am going to pray for the willingness to see him as the next President of the United States. Maybe I will need to watch TV news to hear some of his speeches.

My hope is that the Obama supporters whose candidate will get the nomination will bear in mind that Hillary supporters are going to need convincing. I hope that they will see that bad-mouthing Hillary will not make me or folks like me get behind Obama, just the opposite in fact. Even after Hillary said she was withdrawing from the contest, these people are still speaking ill of her. Enough. They need to get off it too.

The Rebate

I find myself easily wounded the last couple days. I haven't meditated, other than 5 minutes with the Holy Spirit, and, frankly, I am sensing a rebate on my neurosis.

I noticed it yesterday when my kid slipped on the floor whilst playing with her cousins. Boom, kid down. One of the cousins started laughing hysterically. It seems that any time the cousins fall, they laugh and that keeps them from crying when not absolutely necessary. With 4 cousins under the age of 7 in the house, I can see the wisdom in this theory. It gets pretty loud, especially when you throw in the kiddo.

Anyway, she slipped, and cousin laughed. I noticed that I felt somehow mortally wounded. I just felt sad, like crying sad. I think that I must have had one of those not-in-this-moment flashbacks where my brothers were laughing at me and I wasn't laughing, but I didn't know that yesterday. I just felt like my feelings were hurt, and I felt this way for way too long.

I thought, you must be tired. And, wow, I'm not (spiritally) well today. Implied in this last thought, I better relax and take it easy. This is not the time to complain or get into gossip or get into debates. When I am spiritually off the beam, I will defend my opinion to the last. I start the war innocently enough. "Can you believe that people actually vote based on whether someone is pro or anti abortion rights?" I seemed to forget that I know that members of my family, to whom I am speaking, vote this way. Guess what? All other things being equal, so do I.

Luckily, I was spared the pain of starting the right v. wrong war. This is progress. Still, I thought it was weird that I would be so hurt when the cousin didn't laugh at me.

This is the epic story of my life prior to age 38 1/2 or so. In at least the last few months, I have been lifted out of this pain. Since I altered my spirital practice including watching daytime TV, I got a rebate. A neurotic refund.

Emptiness - A New One on Me

Emptiness. I am sitting with it. Since I am wishing that I knew what was on the other side of the emptiness, I am obviously not sitting with it entirely well. The hardest part is that I've decided it's kind of boring. It's the absence of drama, of anything really. I am just not that familiar with this feeling. It doesn't feel like depression. I still want to participate with life, and do what needs to be done.

I have never really tried to describe this feeling, I suppose because I think it is boring. When I was working as a writer, when we weren't currently assigned to a project, we called it, "on the beach." I would usually be so exhausted that I couldn't enjoy the beach. Today, I'm not so tired anymore. I feel peaceful. I like my peace with some edges of joy or happiness.

My chest feels relaxed. My body feels warm and rested. My head is clear. I am breathing.

It's lightening here; I think I'll go do window.

Demographically Speaking

Neilsen ratings called us tonight. They asked me a couple questions, and, as soon as they heard that my husband knew about some new Jackie Chan movie, they said they had met their quota for my age range. Is there another person in the household between the ages of 12 and 65? Then, they asked him all of these questions about the movies he was going to see and why. I felt insulted.

I resent that the demographic that advertisers are aiming for is white male, aged 18-35. I think that this over-focus on the white male is not good business. Women have money, and we spend it. If we really enjoy a movie, we'll see it again with different friends.

Also, I do not like the movies that this demographic selects. They are typically all form and no substance. Forgive me, I like character and plot.

Finally, I seem to have a virus today so I haven't really spoken to anyone except the cable company. I feel lonely. Daytime TV is soul sucking. In 8 hours of programming, I discovered one program that I might watch again. It's a new modeling contest show for women 35. These are gorgeous women who seem to be stepping out of their comfort zones. They seem to be trying to see themselves in a different way. I also noticed that they all seemed to have really wanted to pursue fashion, but felt that it was not available to them. The fact that they are older and have some life experience behind them actually adds some substance to the form. The best ones have the ability to project a little bit of unguarded spirit. Since the show just started, there wasn't any cattiness or fighting. The hosts seem credible, professional, and not bitchy.

I may watch this one again. I wonder if there are any more of my demographic out there?

Things To Do Today: Sleep & Eat

I didn't panic. I felt like sleeping most of the day, again, and it was okay.

Typically, if I have two low energy days in a row, I start to look for causes and conditions. Do I have a cold? Did I overeat? Am I going back into a depression? I obsess about what could be the cause of this downturn. Thus, I do not rest, and then feel worse. I get resentful and impatient with my family, demanding that they respect that I feel yucky. They don't like this type of Some kind of mother. They like different kinds of Some.

Today, I thought, what would I tell a friend who called and said that they were tired and wanted to sleep all day? I would tell them to rest and see what happened.

I actually applied this idea to myself. I took a shower. Dealt with the phone man. Made an apple pie (frozen, thank you very much - though someone else's mom made it). I read a chick novel, and dosed on the couch while my kid played paper dolls.

Then I went to see the dietician. I have been trying eating when I am hungry and then eating what I am hungry for. This sounds rather elementary. Having spent 18 years attempting to heal from a nasty strain of bulemia/binge eating disorder, this is college level work. Eating food as fuel and for no other reason is radical.

Self, are you hungry? If yes, how hungry are you? Based on that answer, what do you want to eat?

Trusting the answer to those questions is a huge leap. My fears slap me in the head: what if I go back to mindless eating? What if I make myself sick? What if I get fat again? What if I end up in the mental hospital?

This line of thinking really takes the fun out of meals. It is exhausting. Anyway, all of those questions can be dodged if I simply eat whatever I want mindfully and stop when I am hungry.

The question of being hungry is interesting. I used to keep myself so busy that I wouldn't register I was hungry until I was about to pass out. It's like my belly was trying to tell me to eat, it was getting a busy signal from my brain. I was told that the feeling of impending death was not hunger. Oh. Now that I have stripped as much craziness out of my day as I can tolerate, I'm getting the message earlier.

This weekend, I enjoyed whatever I wanted to eat when I felt hungry. I had homemade brats & beef bourguignon. Old Dutch Carmel Corn Puffs & homemade blueberry pie. I ate red licorce, pancakes, scrambled eggs & toast. Chips & hummus. I ate until I felt I had enough, and then stopped. It was a glorious weekend.

After two days on the couch, I thought my weight would be up, and that the dietician was going to tell me to reel it in & go back to my exchanges. Quite the opposite. I lost weight. I do not understand this not dieting process at all.

What's more: I explained to her that I am premenstrual, and it seems that all I want to eat is bread & chocolate so maybe this eat what I want thing isn't such a good idea right now. She said, "Well, it's two days before your period. Why don't you try eating whatever sounds good to you and see what happens. Its just two days."

That was the most uncomfortable thing she could have possibly suggested. I felt terror. Oh no! This is too hard. What if I go nuts? What if I just go off the deep end? Is this really how normal people eat?

Yes, it is. Normal people do not use exchanges for all their meals. If they are hungry, they eat. If not, they don't. If they need a snack, they have one. They don't eat everything that is put in front of them just because they paid for it. Huh.

This just seems like entirely too much work. I am so used to following these prescribed plans that I have remained disconnected to what I really want in the moment. I have trusted the plan. I have defended the plan. I have forced my family to conform to my meal plan, which for most of 17 years has excluded sugar, flour, friend foods, with weighed and measured portions. When I started eating dessert, my husband had a spiritual awakening.

This eating thing is another extension of my mindfulness practice, and, let me tell you, letting go and trusting my body to let me know what to do is still uncharted territory a great lot of the time. After so many years of out of control and then over control, I am a rookie at feeding myself.

What I know for sure is that I am not hungry right now. I think I'll just stick with that until it changes.

I rested today. I did not die. We ate dessert first, before the lovely dinner my husband made for us. I did not die. Maybe this is part of living. I don't have to panic right now. Actually, some decaf sounds good. Maybe some water. Maybe I'm starting to get the hang of this feeding thing.

To sum it up for me today: sleep when tired, eat when hungry.

Some Kind of Mother

My new nickname is "Some," as in "Some kind of mother."

I took a 107 minute nap today. 107 minutes is the exact length of Enchanted, the movie. Yes, I am that kind of some kind of mother, at least some of the time.

I started to feel like I was melting after lunch today. I thought I needed some protein so I threw down a handful of hard salami to no avail. I was asleep on the couch within 5 minutes.

I am also some kind of mother who remembered and then forgot and then remembered and ultimately forgot to buy my in-laws a present for taking care of our kid this weekend.

I remembered that we forgot to buy them a gift as we pulled into our neighborhood to drop off our gear so that we would have room in the car for the child. We were already an hour late to pick up our 4 year old from two retired grandparents who have never really spent a lot of time with any children.

I called and sweetly told them that we would be there directly. I didn't tell them that we were making a pit stop at the mall to find them some black licorice as a present because we forgot to get them one because we were having such a great time thinking only of ourselves.

Turns out, there is no candy store at the mall. What? It can't be. We are already an hour and a half late. Desperation had set in. After a friendly, easy going weekend, we had fully injected ourselves back into the rat race.

Macy's, that's it. Macy's has a candy counter. We ran the entire length of the mall to find that Macy's does have candy, but not black licorice. We punted, and bought a few different things, including a bag of Swedish fish with a Macy's label and a price tag that read $8.00. The fact that we paid that much for a half pound of Swedish fish is truly more embarrassing than forgetting to by them a present. Anyway, since, appearances do matter, I simply pulled the labels off the cellophane bag which made it look like we had given them some Swedish fish that we had plucked from the mostly finished bratwurst and saurkraut in the dumpster behind the Das Wurst Hus.

Is it worse to not bring a gift or to give one that looked like some Swedish fish rejects?

We grab the black licorice substitutes, and sprinted to the car. About 4 steps away from the car, I feel all of my energy run out of the imaginary plug in the bottom of my left heel. I was starving.

I said to my husband, "Hon, I just ran out of gas 4 steps back. I have to eat something now."

Says he, "I ran out on the up escalator. Let's go to Wendy's."

As I shared yesterday, my husband and I spent an idyllic weekend in a lovely small town where fresh-faced, friendly people greeted us warmly and invited us to enjoy ourselves in their beautiful town. In Lanesboro, MN, the townsfolk stop to give directions and yield the right of way to other drivers, pedestrians, and bicycle riders, and then tell them all to enjoy their stay.

In Edina, MN, one neighborhood over from ours, old men in large Cadillacs tailgate behind starving parents who are driving the speed limit despite the fact that they are late to pick up their preschooler from Grandma's. Since we could not satisfy his need for speed as we were making a right hand turn into the Wendy's Drive-thru lane, said Cadillac driver attempted to run us off the road.

My husband laid on the horn for at least 25 seconds. I am not kidding. "I haven't heard a horn like that since I was in Manhattan," I howled.

"You haven't been in the car with my dad," says he, "Dad would lay on the horn until everyone in the car said his name.

"At least I didn't flip him off. He flipped me off."

"That old guy flipped you off? You are spiritually evolved."

And since I am Some, I graciously thanked my in-laws and handed them the fish. She looked confused so I said something like, oh I pulled the label off; it wasn't quite right.

We collected the child and headed home. Transaction complete.

After my nap, I am unpacking the kid's suitcase, and I find new pants, swimsuit, t-shirts. I report the extra clothes to my husband, and he says, "Oh, yeah. Kiddo and Grandma went to Target and the Kid told Grandma that Kid has no pants that fit."

Technically, this is true. Kid's pants from last fall are too small, but it is summer. No one wears pants in the summer in Minnesota. Most of us try to be as naked as possible from March until October when we adopt the all-upholstered look for 9 months.

This makes sense to me, but clearly I am Some.

The Ape Hanger Sitting on a Hol(e)y Bike Seat

I rode my bike about 32 miles this weekend without pain. Discomfort, yes. Chronic debilitating pain, no! I prayed for a miracle, for the best possible outcome regarding riding a bike. I also asked that I be mindful of my seat so I could make adjustments as I rode.

I have suffered from chronic pelvic pain for several years. My lower back would ache and slide out of alignment constantly. One wrong move picking up baby toys, and I was on the couch for three weeks. My vulva burned with all of the symptoms of a yeast infection, but without the actual infection. I could barely sit. My bladder ached. I thought I had a bladder infection, but no infection. I was in pain, and, worse, I thought I was crazy.

The pain effected every area of my life, but, especially, my marriage. I really wasn't able to participate in the aspects of marriage that are just between the two of us. One of those things was bike riding, my husband's favorite passtime. When we were dating, he bought me a bike because he wanted to share his favorite thing to do with his sweetheart.

Having lived in Center City Philadelphia for years, where drivers flatten bikers for sport, and they end up on the 6:00 p.m. news, I gave up riding a bike. When I tried it again, I found I really enjoyed it. I didn't have to be in the best shape to feel the sun and the wind on my face. I had to remind myself to keep my lips closed while smiling because the gnats were smashing into my teeth.

I liked that I had a bike that was mine, and I rode on the trails surrounding Minneapolis by myself a lot. I even rode in the Minnesota State MS150, a bike tour raising funds to help those suffering from Multiple Sclerosis. I didn't ride 150 miles, I rode a manageable 40 miles. On the last leg of the ride I crossed the finish line where hundreds of people, including many in wheelchairs holding thank you signs, cheered. It was really exhilirating.

Then the pain began. I had bascially given up ever riding a bike again. We debated selling my bike and helmet in the garage sale last fall, but I couldn't do it.

Over the last year, changes have occurred in seemingly unrelated areas of my life and health. For example, for at least twenty years, I didn't sleep through the night due to sleep apnea. As I began to sleep through the night, the pain improved. I also worked closely with physical therapists to stretch and strengthen my core abdominal muscles so that the pelvic floor wouldn't have to do all the work. I started walking, 15 minutes, three times per week, last year. I eventually was able to join a gym and begin weight training.

I addressed my nutrition, and, with the help of a dietician, learned how to eat snacks so that my blood sugar stayed stable so that my body didn't have to go into spasm in a perceived threat of starvation. I also began a very helpful protocol for supplements that really gave me energy that I needed to get through the day.

There were other treatments and many difficult setbacks given the level of system failure going on with my body. I was very discouraged a lot of the time. In fact, I still have setbacks, but today I can accept what is happening so it is not that bad. This attitude allowed me the freedom to try. I knew that if I did have a setback, I could recover.

My husband and I hadn't celebrated our wedding anniversary for six years. It was time. We chose Lanesboro, a charming little town in Southern Minnesota. They have gorgeous bike trails that follow the Root River and wind through rolling hills and farmland.

In addition to prayer, I got a new seat on my bike with a big hole cut in the middle, and "ape hanger" handle bars that allow me ride sitting up straight. I practiced at night on the flat streets of my neighborhood, which accounts for my lack of blogging in the last few weeks.

I came prepared with three ice packs, two small, one large enough to cover my entire lower back. I also squeezed my big blue exercise ball in the backseat of our sedan so I could bounce and relieve pressure to the perineum. I brought a large therapeutic wedge so I could lie inverted in a supported bridge pose to further relieve pressure.

I packed herbal pain medicine as well some ibruprophen.

Mostly, I focused on the possibility of a miracle, that this bike ride could only work with divine intervention. I had done all of the getting ready to give the bike ride a good college try. Even though I was nervous, I felt peaceful. The kind of peace that I feel when I am stepping out on faith.

I received a miracle. I got to enjoy a glorious summer day with my husband, sharing in his favorite passtime. I'm sure he could tell that I was still nervous. My mind was really on "think" mode. I chattered about all sorts of things for the first 11 miles. Then I got more comfortable and too tired to talk so I just focused on my exhale like I do in my mindfulness practice. Turns out, I didn't need all of my backup pain plans. The only discomfort I had was the same as everyone who is a rookie bike rider: my sit bones were tender. In total, I only used one ice pack. I stretched, bounced on my ball and swallowed a couple of herbal pain pills.

I have never had a more peaceful and completely fun weekend with my husband. This experience isn't a guarantee that I will never have pain again. What I do have is success that I can put in my back pocket. I can use all of the tools that worked this time; hopefully, I'll have similar results. I'm just going to wait a couple days until my sit bones are less tender.

I am amazed. Before I started meditating, I used to only learn from the pain of my mistakes. Today, I get to learn from the joy of my successes as well. I never had it so good.