How invested are you? Do you have stocks, bonds, real estate, currency, or a 401K? These investments are important to you and your future, right? You need to plan for your retirement and be prepared for the unknown. So where did you go wrong? You never invested in yourself!
You can live in a nice home, drive an expensive car, wear designer clothes, and get your hair and nails done, but that is just a cover up. What is really going on inside? I am speaking of your health. You can dress it up however you choose but it doesn't change what is underneath.
You pretend, you justify, you persuade, you convince yourself you are doing the best you can. But the reality is quite the opposite. You are weak, pathetic, lame and lying to yourself. Putting garbage into a pretty box wrapped in beautiful paper and tied with a bow is still garbage on the inside. It rots over time and gets stinky and requires more and more effort to cover up.
So why are you willing to invest in your material future but not your physical future? One is more important than the other because if you're dead, you won't be around to enjoy the material things you worked so hard for.
Your poor health is costing you more than you think. It's easier to just grab lunch at the nearest fast food restaurant because you're in a hurry to get to your next big sales meeting. You deserve those happy hour drinks and appetizers because you put in a long hard day at the office. You earned another night on the couch because you worked a 12-hour day closing yet another multi-million dollar deal. You're just too tired to go for a walk or get to the gym. The kids have so many activities and homework that you just can't be selfish and workout.
Admit it, you have used these excuses time and time again to justify why you have not invested in your health. How many medications are you taking to control your high blood pressure, your anxiety, your cholesterol or your depression? You blame your genetics or your life stressers. You justify because you must provide for your loved ones. You convince yourself you are a good person because you are putting others before yourself. You persuade others to follow your lead because you feel guilty for not investing in yourself.
Guess what? You are wrong. You are doing a disservice to everyone. You are setting a poor example for your children, family and friends by continuing to eat unhealthy, not exercising and working yourself to death. If you keep on your path of self-destruction, you won't be around to enjoy your home, your family or your material possessions.
There is nothing more important than your health. If you're healthy, you're happy. You're happy because you're alive. More than likely, the average person will not make a living being at an optimum level of health, but it will save you time and money. You will sleep better, feel less stress, need less medication, won't need to keep buying bigger pants, and there will be fewer trips to the doctor's office.
We all need to earn a living. That is a fact of life but what's the point if getting to the finish line comes sooner than you want it to? Step back and evaluate what type of race you have chosen to participate in. Will it be a race full of hurdles you can jump? Will it be a race where you have to use a pole to vault yourself over the bar and hope you make it? Or will you just tread water and hope you can hang on long enough?
The choice is yours to make. It does not have to be one extreme or the other, but you must find a balance. Do you want to teeter on the cliff's edge not knowing when the rocks will give away or walk the tight rope with a safety net below? There are no guarantees in life, as we all know, but you can make a choice to prolong your warranty so how much are you willing to invest in yourself?
Rachel
Saturday, March 31, 2012
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
Stupid is as Stupid does.
You can't fix stupid. Or can you?
We see Stupid everyday all day long. Often times, we look the other way. We try to convince ourselves we didn't actually see Stupid. We chalk Stupid up to ignorance, youth, immaturity and maybe even lack of actual intelligence. But Stupid lurks everywhere. Stupid never takes a vacation. Stupid shows up on time, every time.
Stupid is reliable. Stupid never lets us down. We fight Stupid, we argue Stupid, we ignore Stupid, we laugh at Stupid, but we can never seem to get rid of Stupid. Do we really want to fix Stupid? Is it possible to fix Stupid? Should we fix Stupid? How will society change if Stupid no longer exists?
We are patient with Stupid. We educate Stupid. We correct Stupid. But sometimes, Stupid just won't go away. We get frustrated and even swear at Stupid. We can't escape Stupid.
We don't like to think we are Stupid, but at one time or another we are Stupid. We make Stupid decisions, make Stupid comments and make Stupid moves. We understand Stupid and still can't stand Stupid because we see a little bit of Stupid in ourselves.
What is our responsibility to Stupid and how much are we accountable for Stupid? That is up to you. You decide Stupid's strength and it's hold on you. If Stupid rules than you must live by Stupid rules.
DON'T BE STUPID!
We see Stupid everyday all day long. Often times, we look the other way. We try to convince ourselves we didn't actually see Stupid. We chalk Stupid up to ignorance, youth, immaturity and maybe even lack of actual intelligence. But Stupid lurks everywhere. Stupid never takes a vacation. Stupid shows up on time, every time.
Stupid is reliable. Stupid never lets us down. We fight Stupid, we argue Stupid, we ignore Stupid, we laugh at Stupid, but we can never seem to get rid of Stupid. Do we really want to fix Stupid? Is it possible to fix Stupid? Should we fix Stupid? How will society change if Stupid no longer exists?
We are patient with Stupid. We educate Stupid. We correct Stupid. But sometimes, Stupid just won't go away. We get frustrated and even swear at Stupid. We can't escape Stupid.
We don't like to think we are Stupid, but at one time or another we are Stupid. We make Stupid decisions, make Stupid comments and make Stupid moves. We understand Stupid and still can't stand Stupid because we see a little bit of Stupid in ourselves.
What is our responsibility to Stupid and how much are we accountable for Stupid? That is up to you. You decide Stupid's strength and it's hold on you. If Stupid rules than you must live by Stupid rules.
DON'T BE STUPID!
Saturday, March 24, 2012
BOOBS Rule!
Boobs, boobies, tatas, moobs, titties, tits, fun bags, breasts, headlights, cans, jugs, hooters, honkers, knockers, rack and the list goes on!
Boobs are in a class all by themselves. They serve multiple purposes and attract an endless amount of attention from both sexes. Boobs are functional, practical and entertaining. Boobs play an important role in our lives from birth into adulthood. They feed us in our early years, evoke curiosity in our youth, prompt exploration and excitement in our teens into adulthood.
Boobs come in many shapes, sizes, dimensions and even substances! Everyone has their own ideal of what kind of boobs they prefer, men and women alike. Some like flat, others perky, some big, some small, some just a handful, others a mouthful and even some like more than they can handle. Some real, some saline, some silicone, some Kleenex.
Boobs evoke many emotions for a variety of reasons. Sadness if they are too small, frustration if too big, painful if cancer ridden, and excitement if just right. It doesn't matter if you are a male of a female. We can't help but stare at them. We notice them. We make fun of them. We want them. We don't want them. We strap them down, we push them up, we hide them, we flaunt them, we covet them, we hate them, we love them.
Boobs seems to take on a life of their own and transform over time. As we age and gravity comes into play, they begin to droop, sag, hang and sometimes take on the 'rock in the sock' or the 'coin-purse' look. So we push, pull and shove them around sometimes with fabric or by going under the knife in an attempt to keep them just as they were.
What is it about boobs? We even use the word boob to describe someone - "Quit acting like a boob". "He is such a boob". Some get offended when a mother 'whips it out' to feed her child, yet when it is whipped out in a strip club, everyone is game! We are dismayed by wardrobe malfunctions but may enjoy low-cut shirts. Most don't appreciate the shadow of a nipple through a shirt but get excited when one 'nips out'.
Boob are so confusing. So many mixed messages. Sometime we can touch, sometimes we can't. Sometimes we can talk about them, others times it's taboo. Sometimes we can look at them without getting chastised, other times we get slapped. So many rules and they are always changing!
So next time you have a rack attack and can't help but wonder what those jugs can handle. Take a step back and realize that even those knockers which make a great set up fun bags will keep you a breast of all the boob rules if you attempt to turn on those headlights!
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Gray Matters
Have you ever noticed the different standards between men and women? How did these come about and why do they continue to take hold? Do they actually bother us or are they just accepted as part of the stereotypical differences?
It begins at a very young age. If a boy likes to play with dolls, he is a sissy. If a girl likes to play with trucks, she is a tomboy. A boy who is promiscuous is experienced, a girl is a slut. A man with gray hair is distinguished, a woman is old. An assertive or aggressive man is successful, whereas a woman is a Bitch. A man who made it to the top earned it while a woman slept her way there. A man who is muscular is athletic, a woman is butch. A stay home Dad is a lucky, a working mom is neglectful.
Some of these may be a bit oversimplified, but the general idea is there. We are a double standard society. We try to fight it and pretend we have progressed past these stereotypes but they still rear their ugly head time after time. It'snot just between men and women as we al know. You're thinking, don't be silly. This isn't true anymore.
But it is. When is the last time you saw a fat, bald woman with wrinkles on the news? When have you seen a man selling a cleaning product on TV other than Mr. Clean or Oxiclean? How about a male escort/prostitute on a TV series? A non-sexed up female cop on a TV series?
Of course, we reinforce some of these stereotypes without even being aware that we are doing just that. Is this a bad thing? Does it really matter? Is it a true depiction of everyday life or do we project it to be what we think it should be?
Not everything is black and white. There is the 'gray area' but should we be allowed to pick and choose when that gray area should be applicable? We are all guilty of the 'gray area' whether you admit it to yourself or not. I'd like to think of it as a compromise. It can cross every facet of your life. We mold this 'gray area' into our lives because we must. Without the 'gray area', we would be a very rigid and unforgiving society.
A few examples: You're either married or single. You are a woman or a man. You are gay or straight. But even these classifications get blurred as we progress as a society. Couples are in committed relationships, but not married. There are transgender and transsexual individuals. We have bi-sexual individuals. Is one better than the other? Who says? What makes 'them' right? These all fall into the 'gray area'. It does not make one any better or any worse than the 'black and white' classifications.
We are all human. There is no gray area about that - we are not different species. It's the life we choose to lead that creates the differences among us. It's our choices that create the 'gray area'. A bit simplistic yes, but stripping it down to the basics sometimes opens our eyes to just how closed our minds have been.
It begins at a very young age. If a boy likes to play with dolls, he is a sissy. If a girl likes to play with trucks, she is a tomboy. A boy who is promiscuous is experienced, a girl is a slut. A man with gray hair is distinguished, a woman is old. An assertive or aggressive man is successful, whereas a woman is a Bitch. A man who made it to the top earned it while a woman slept her way there. A man who is muscular is athletic, a woman is butch. A stay home Dad is a lucky, a working mom is neglectful.
Some of these may be a bit oversimplified, but the general idea is there. We are a double standard society. We try to fight it and pretend we have progressed past these stereotypes but they still rear their ugly head time after time. It'snot just between men and women as we al know. You're thinking, don't be silly. This isn't true anymore.
But it is. When is the last time you saw a fat, bald woman with wrinkles on the news? When have you seen a man selling a cleaning product on TV other than Mr. Clean or Oxiclean? How about a male escort/prostitute on a TV series? A non-sexed up female cop on a TV series?
Of course, we reinforce some of these stereotypes without even being aware that we are doing just that. Is this a bad thing? Does it really matter? Is it a true depiction of everyday life or do we project it to be what we think it should be?
Not everything is black and white. There is the 'gray area' but should we be allowed to pick and choose when that gray area should be applicable? We are all guilty of the 'gray area' whether you admit it to yourself or not. I'd like to think of it as a compromise. It can cross every facet of your life. We mold this 'gray area' into our lives because we must. Without the 'gray area', we would be a very rigid and unforgiving society.
A few examples: You're either married or single. You are a woman or a man. You are gay or straight. But even these classifications get blurred as we progress as a society. Couples are in committed relationships, but not married. There are transgender and transsexual individuals. We have bi-sexual individuals. Is one better than the other? Who says? What makes 'them' right? These all fall into the 'gray area'. It does not make one any better or any worse than the 'black and white' classifications.
We are all human. There is no gray area about that - we are not different species. It's the life we choose to lead that creates the differences among us. It's our choices that create the 'gray area'. A bit simplistic yes, but stripping it down to the basics sometimes opens our eyes to just how closed our minds have been.
Monday, March 19, 2012
Aging Badly
Why are we in such a rush to grow up? When we get here, we want to go back, back to the carefree days of our childhood. We wish we would have cherished those times more than we did. If only we knew then what we know now.
We couldn't wait to turn 13 so we were officially a teenager, 16 years old so we could drive, 18 years old so we could vote, and the coveted 21 years old so we could legally drink. And after that, it's all downhill. No one wants to turn 30 years old because you're no longer a 20 something and once you turn 40 years old you are halfway to death!
I have never really been bothered my age except for the early milestones mentioned. I didn't blink an eye when I turned 30 and I was excited to turn 40 because then I could compete in the Masters category for my figure competitions!
So rather than dwelling on my numerical age, I live by the age that I feel I am. As a result, some would say that I am aging badly.
I'm happy about it. I'm doing a great job at it. I have no regrets about it and I hope I just keep getting better at it. Aging badly has done wonders for me! Don't be confused. It's a good thing. You will want to age badly too.
So what are the rules to aging badly? There are no rules unless you want to make some rules. But rules just get in the way so forget them. You can do those things which you didn't do as a youth but wish you had done. Now, I'm not talking about doing drugs, smoking, drinking excessively or just being plain stupid. It's a craft that you can master but you will need practice. You may have homework to do but it's homework by your design. Homework that stimulates and challenges the kid lost inside of you.
So how do you begin? That's up to you. You must decide what aging badly means to you. For me, it means I have gone against the grain of the norm for my age bracket. I began getting tattoos at age 38. I wear my hair longer than a 41 year old should. I say things that are 'inappropriate' but funny, according to my 15 year old daughter. I don't do things to please others, I do them for myself. I have muscles that a suburbanite mom should not be sporting. I wear clear five inch high heels with an itsy-bitsy teeny weeny bikini on stage (for figure competitions people, I have not become a stripper!). My idea of relaxing is sitting in my recliner knitting while watching cop shows. I'm a home body. So as you can see, I am all over the board. I cannot be classified as a muscle head, a knitting granny or a biker chick. I don't fit the norm.
I don't always do what is expected, but do as I want to do. That's the beauty of being aging badly. I am in charge of my decisions both good and bad. I get to reap the rewards and suffer the consequences but it's because I have chosen to age badly.
I'm aging badly by most people's standards. Yet, I feel happy, fulfilled, and inspired by my choices because they are MY choices. They fit me and are not the standard for anyone else. I spend a large portion of my free time working out and I've never been healthier. But some would say I'm obsessed and others presume and assume without really knowing the truth. I love what it does for me both mentally and physically. It is a stress reliever, a time to think, a time to relax and a time to exert my frustrations.
At night, I knit and crochet like a granny in my recliner while I watch cop shows. So does that mean I am a couch potato addicted to reality TV? I'm aging badly because what 41 year old enjoys granny crafts? I am young. I should be out living life and enjoying happy hours. I have my own version of happiness.
My diet is restrictive and many people say "You only live once Rachel, why don't you enjoy it?" Little do they know, they hit the nail on the head. I do indulge now and then on fabulous foods. My addiction to chocolate rears it's ugly head more often than not. However, I have been overweight in the past and did not enjoy it. I hated putting on four pairs of pants each morning to see if the next would fit better than the last. So 'living life' and eating whatever I wanted backfired and in the end made me miserable.
My standards of 'living life' are different than most. It took me along time to get here and now that I have arrived, I will continue to age badly and enjoy every minute of it. Aging badly will permit me to live a healthier, happier, medication free life. My grandmother has aged badly and is 96 years old to prove it. But that is a story for another day.
Youth doesn't need to be wasted on the young. But it will be wasted on you if you don't stop acting your age.
Rachel
We couldn't wait to turn 13 so we were officially a teenager, 16 years old so we could drive, 18 years old so we could vote, and the coveted 21 years old so we could legally drink. And after that, it's all downhill. No one wants to turn 30 years old because you're no longer a 20 something and once you turn 40 years old you are halfway to death!
I have never really been bothered my age except for the early milestones mentioned. I didn't blink an eye when I turned 30 and I was excited to turn 40 because then I could compete in the Masters category for my figure competitions!
So rather than dwelling on my numerical age, I live by the age that I feel I am. As a result, some would say that I am aging badly.
I'm happy about it. I'm doing a great job at it. I have no regrets about it and I hope I just keep getting better at it. Aging badly has done wonders for me! Don't be confused. It's a good thing. You will want to age badly too.
So what are the rules to aging badly? There are no rules unless you want to make some rules. But rules just get in the way so forget them. You can do those things which you didn't do as a youth but wish you had done. Now, I'm not talking about doing drugs, smoking, drinking excessively or just being plain stupid. It's a craft that you can master but you will need practice. You may have homework to do but it's homework by your design. Homework that stimulates and challenges the kid lost inside of you.
So how do you begin? That's up to you. You must decide what aging badly means to you. For me, it means I have gone against the grain of the norm for my age bracket. I began getting tattoos at age 38. I wear my hair longer than a 41 year old should. I say things that are 'inappropriate' but funny, according to my 15 year old daughter. I don't do things to please others, I do them for myself. I have muscles that a suburbanite mom should not be sporting. I wear clear five inch high heels with an itsy-bitsy teeny weeny bikini on stage (for figure competitions people, I have not become a stripper!). My idea of relaxing is sitting in my recliner knitting while watching cop shows. I'm a home body. So as you can see, I am all over the board. I cannot be classified as a muscle head, a knitting granny or a biker chick. I don't fit the norm.
I don't always do what is expected, but do as I want to do. That's the beauty of being aging badly. I am in charge of my decisions both good and bad. I get to reap the rewards and suffer the consequences but it's because I have chosen to age badly.
I'm aging badly by most people's standards. Yet, I feel happy, fulfilled, and inspired by my choices because they are MY choices. They fit me and are not the standard for anyone else. I spend a large portion of my free time working out and I've never been healthier. But some would say I'm obsessed and others presume and assume without really knowing the truth. I love what it does for me both mentally and physically. It is a stress reliever, a time to think, a time to relax and a time to exert my frustrations.
At night, I knit and crochet like a granny in my recliner while I watch cop shows. So does that mean I am a couch potato addicted to reality TV? I'm aging badly because what 41 year old enjoys granny crafts? I am young. I should be out living life and enjoying happy hours. I have my own version of happiness.
My diet is restrictive and many people say "You only live once Rachel, why don't you enjoy it?" Little do they know, they hit the nail on the head. I do indulge now and then on fabulous foods. My addiction to chocolate rears it's ugly head more often than not. However, I have been overweight in the past and did not enjoy it. I hated putting on four pairs of pants each morning to see if the next would fit better than the last. So 'living life' and eating whatever I wanted backfired and in the end made me miserable.
My standards of 'living life' are different than most. It took me along time to get here and now that I have arrived, I will continue to age badly and enjoy every minute of it. Aging badly will permit me to live a healthier, happier, medication free life. My grandmother has aged badly and is 96 years old to prove it. But that is a story for another day.
Youth doesn't need to be wasted on the young. But it will be wasted on you if you don't stop acting your age.
Rachel
Sunday, March 18, 2012
Braced for Life
I remember it like it was yesterday. It was a day that changed my life. I was only 12 and in the sixth grade. I was a happy, healthy kid who had very little to worry about in life. But that one day changed everything, both good and bad.
I was in the nurse's office. Every sixth grader in the school had to go through the screening. Most were checked and sent back to class. If you had it, they kept you back and you waited in the hard plastic chairs that rubbed against the wall. I was sitting in one of the chairs, just me. All of the other chairs were empty. All the other kids had gone back to class. I almost started to cry but wouldn't let myself. All my friends already knew because I was not back in class.
I already had glasses. This was not fair. Why me? The school nurse came out of her office and handed me a note for my parents. It was in an envelope, sealed of course! Why the big secret? It was about me, so shouldn't I get to know what it says? I knew I couldn't open it. In my house, you didn't do things like that or you spent quality time in you room. So I left and walked back to class holding the envelope which did not hold a winning ticket. That much I knew.
I walked to elementary school and the walk home never took longer than it did that day. I needed to know what was in the envelope, although I had a general idea. I thrust the envelope at my mom. I had to know. What did it say inside? She opened it, read it, and looked at me. She asked me to turn around and lift up my shirt and bend over. I did and she ran her hand up and down my spine. I had scoliosis.
My spine was crooked, really crooked. I panicked. I knew a kid on the swim team who had scoliosis. He had to wear a brace. That thing was ugly and huge! There was no way I was ever going to wear one of those, ever!
I went to Gillette Children's Hospital which is a 'teaching' hospital. I went through multiple evaluations and had so many x-rays, I'm sure I actually glow at times. During my appointments I stood in a cold sterile room where the walls were covered with light boxes which projected photos of my spine. I spent a lot of hours in that room over a period of three years. Back then, the rooms were not all warm and cozy like they are now. It had a cold tile floor with fluorescent lights and white walls. I still remember.
Then the doctors and student doctors would pour in for the appointment. Sometimes there were as many as eight of them and all staring at me standing there in my little girl bloomer undies and no shirt. Being on the verge of puberty, this was very traumatic for me. There is no other way to describe it. They were almost always all men with the exception of the nurse. Standing in the middle of a cold sterile room, practically naked, with a bunch of men staring at me. I was asked to turn around so they could look at my spine, bend at the waist to see the curvature better, turn sideways to see how my shoulders rolled forward, face front so they could see one shoulder dip lower than the other. The ritual was the same every appointment and could last a half hour. Now keep in mind, I had been a competitive swimmer for many years at this point so I was not exactly shy about my body, but being naked in front of strangers at this fragile age was no picnic in the park.
The day arrived to get fitted for my Milwaukee brace. I was now in the seventh grade. I was at a brand new junior high. It was located out of my regular school district so I had no friends. I was the new kid. My siblings were attending the adjoining senior high school so I was along for the ride to keep us all together. Lucky me.
In order to get the brace to fit my body, I had to go into the hospital for three days and be fitted. My parents would not allow me to get the experimental muscle shock treatment. This was a unit that was applied, via electrodes, to my back to stimulate the muscles at night while I slept. It was too new and had not been tested long enough to yield favorable results. I was doomed to the back brace. I had a double curve and one was high on my spine so the Milwaukee Brace was the remedy. It is still in use today.
The process included wearing a 'wife beater t-shirt' and I was covered in a plaster cast from my neck to my butt. It was a complete mold of me. Once hardened, it was cut off and the metal pieces were formed around the plaster cast. The pelvic area was made of very hard stiff plastic with holes for air. I had a 2- inch wide bar up the middle of my chest which attached to a metal hoop around my neck. There were two more bars, about half the width of the front bar, which ran up my back to my neck and attached to the hoop. The hoop was held shut by a big screw that I fastened in the back. I had a thick pad under my right armpit to push my spine towards the center and another on my lower left side to push my spine the opposing direction. I also had a 5- inch wide cloth panel that wrapped all the way around my abdomen and was secured in the back to pull me forward. I was being pushed and pulled around like Gumby!
I was in my own private jail. I had to wear my brace 23 hours a day. The only other time I got to take it off was for swim practice. When I returned to school, I learned what it felt like to be THAT kid. I was a geek, a dork, a nerd, a freak. I was the only one in the entire school with a brace. A brace that could not be hid unless I wore a turtle neck. But once I sat in my desk, you could tell, I could not bend at my waist, only at my legs. The plastic in the back pressed against the chair seat and drove the brace up into my chin. I was called crippled by a classmate. It was devastating. I didn't want to go back to school.
But I was stuck with it. I had no choice. I had to wear it. There were no options. It wrecked everything. Clothes, boy crushes, making friends, and summer time was the worse! It was hot and gave me a pancake shaped butt!
Over time, I adjusted. I made it a strength rather than a weakness. I was already a competitive swimmer and athletic. I loved gym class and enjoyed beating most of the boys in the Presidential Physical Fitness testing, even though I was a 'cripple'. I used it to psych other swimmers out at swim meets, when I wore it up to the starting blocks underneath my warm-up suit. I went canoeing in the Boundary Waters with Camp Widji for four weeks. I carried canoes over portages while wearing my brace. I went backpacking in the Big Horn Mountains for three weeks while wearing my brace. I broke my brace at least three different times. The doctors were in shock. No one had ever broken one of their braces. I was different. I set a new standard. I did not let the brace control me. I controlled the brace.
I wore my brace for three very long years. As my body matured and my spine stabilized, I was able to decrease the amount of time I had to wear it each day. Eventually, I only had to wear it at night while I slept. I divorced my brace in the middle of my sophomore year of high school. But then, I got braces on my teeth. That was nothing compared to what I had just gone through. I already had glasses so my parents decided it was best not to completely geek accessorize me at one time and held off on the braces until then.
I kept my brace for a very long time. I moved it from house to house as I grew older. It was a reminder of what I had over come. A reminder of my time in jail. A reminder that no matter what life threw at me, I could handle it. This may seem ridiculous to most of you, but it changed my life.
I realized my brace confined me but it did not have to define me. I understood what it was like to be different, but different in a unique way. We are unique for a reason. It is up to you to find that reason and build upon it. It's time to embrace your obstacles and design a course through them.
Rachel
Braced for Life
I was in the nurse's office. Every sixth grader in the school had to go through the screening. Most were checked and sent back to class. If you had it, they kept you back and you waited in the hard plastic chairs that rubbed against the wall. I was sitting in one of the chairs, just me. All of the other chairs were empty. All the other kids had gone back to class. I almost started to cry but wouldn't let myself. All my friends already knew because I was not back in class.
I already had glasses. This was not fair. Why me? The school nurse came out of her office and handed me a note for my parents. It was in an envelope, sealed of course! Why the big secret? It was about me, so shouldn't I get to know what it says? I knew I couldn't open it. In my house, you didn't do things like that or you spent quality time in you room. So I left and walked back to class holding the envelope which did not hold a winning ticket. That much I knew.
I walked to elementary school and the walk home never took longer than it did that day. I needed to know what was in the envelope, although I had a general idea. I thrust the envelope at my mom. I had to know. What did it say inside? She opened it, read it, and looked at me. She asked me to turn around and lift up my shirt and bend over. I did and she ran her hand up and down my spine. I had scoliosis.
My spine was crooked, really crooked. I panicked. I knew a kid on the swim team who had scoliosis. He had to wear a brace. That thing was ugly and huge! There was no way I was ever going to wear one of those, ever!
I went to Gillette Children's Hospital which is a 'teaching' hospital. I went through multiple evaluations and had so many x-rays, I'm sure I actually glow at times. During my appointments I stood in a cold sterile room where the walls were covered with light boxes which projected photos of my spine. I spent a lot of hours in that room over a period of three years. Back then, the rooms were not all warm and cozy like they are now. It had a cold tile floor with fluorescent lights and white walls. I still remember.
Then the doctors and student doctors would pour in for the appointment. Sometimes there were as many as eight of them and all staring at me standing there in my little girl bloomer undies and no shirt. Being on the verge of puberty, this was very traumatic for me. There is no other way to describe it. They were almost always all men with the exception of the nurse. Standing in the middle of a cold sterile room, practically naked, with a bunch of men staring at me. I was asked to turn around so they could look at my spine, bend at the waist to see the curvature better, turn sideways to see how my shoulders rolled forward, face front so they could see one shoulder dip lower than the other. The ritual was the same every appointment and could last a half hour. Now keep in mind, I had been a competitive swimmer for many years at this point so I was not exactly shy about my body, but being naked in front of strangers at this fragile age was no picnic in the park.
The day arrived to get fitted for my Milwaukee brace. I was now in the seventh grade. I was at a brand new junior high. It was located out of my regular school district so I had no friends. I was the new kid. My siblings were attending the adjoining senior high school so I was along for the ride to keep us all together. Lucky me.
In order to get the brace to fit my body, I had to go into the hospital for three days and be fitted. My parents would not allow me to get the experimental muscle shock treatment. This was a unit that was applied, via electrodes, to my back to stimulate the muscles at night while I slept. It was too new and had not been tested long enough to yield favorable results. I was doomed to the back brace. I had a double curve and one was high on my spine so the Milwaukee Brace was the remedy. It is still in use today.
The process included wearing a 'wife beater t-shirt' and I was covered in a plaster cast from my neck to my butt. It was a complete mold of me. Once hardened, it was cut off and the metal pieces were formed around the plaster cast. The pelvic area was made of very hard stiff plastic with holes for air. I had a 2- inch wide bar up the middle of my chest which attached to a metal hoop around my neck. There were two more bars, about half the width of the front bar, which ran up my back to my neck and attached to the hoop. The hoop was held shut by a big screw that I fastened in the back. I had a thick pad under my right armpit to push my spine towards the center and another on my lower left side to push my spine the opposing direction. I also had a 5- inch wide cloth panel that wrapped all the way around my abdomen and was secured in the back to pull me forward. I was being pushed and pulled around like Gumby!
I was in my own private jail. I had to wear my brace 23 hours a day. The only other time I got to take it off was for swim practice. When I returned to school, I learned what it felt like to be THAT kid. I was a geek, a dork, a nerd, a freak. I was the only one in the entire school with a brace. A brace that could not be hid unless I wore a turtle neck. But once I sat in my desk, you could tell, I could not bend at my waist, only at my legs. The plastic in the back pressed against the chair seat and drove the brace up into my chin. I was called crippled by a classmate. It was devastating. I didn't want to go back to school.
But I was stuck with it. I had no choice. I had to wear it. There were no options. It wrecked everything. Clothes, boy crushes, making friends, and summer time was the worse! It was hot and gave me a pancake shaped butt!
Over time, I adjusted. I made it a strength rather than a weakness. I was already a competitive swimmer and athletic. I loved gym class and enjoyed beating most of the boys in the Presidential Physical Fitness testing, even though I was a 'cripple'. I used it to psych other swimmers out at swim meets, when I wore it up to the starting blocks underneath my warm-up suit. I went canoeing in the Boundary Waters with Camp Widji for four weeks. I carried canoes over portages while wearing my brace. I went backpacking in the Big Horn Mountains for three weeks while wearing my brace. I broke my brace at least three different times. The doctors were in shock. No one had ever broken one of their braces. I was different. I set a new standard. I did not let the brace control me. I controlled the brace.
I wore my brace for three very long years. As my body matured and my spine stabilized, I was able to decrease the amount of time I had to wear it each day. Eventually, I only had to wear it at night while I slept. I divorced my brace in the middle of my sophomore year of high school. But then, I got braces on my teeth. That was nothing compared to what I had just gone through. I already had glasses so my parents decided it was best not to completely geek accessorize me at one time and held off on the braces until then.
I kept my brace for a very long time. I moved it from house to house as I grew older. It was a reminder of what I had over come. A reminder of my time in jail. A reminder that no matter what life threw at me, I could handle it. This may seem ridiculous to most of you, but it changed my life.
I realized my brace confined me but it did not have to define me. I understood what it was like to be different, but different in a unique way. We are unique for a reason. It is up to you to find that reason and build upon it. It's time to embrace your obstacles and design a course through them.
Rachel
Braced for Life
Saturday, March 17, 2012
A Minority in my own Family.
It happens without warning. It can't be helped. I fought it at first. It was an uphill battle but in the end, I surrendered. I quit. I don't like it and hate admitting it. But I realized this day was going to come no matter how hard I tried to avoid it.
I turned into my mother. It's OK. I can admit it. It's a love/hate relationship with myself. I was going to be different, be a better version of her, be a new-age mom, cooler, calmer, more fun, more understanding, more patient. But then I realized, I could never even measure up. If I could be half as great as her, I'd be a success.
I love my mom. I love her for all that she taught me whether it was through fear, brain washing, fear, life lessons, fear, love and fear. She helped mold who I am today and for that I am eternally thankful. I am a strong independent woman who can stand on my own two feet thanks to her. (Well, my dad too.)
She is a great role model. I was raised with the mentality that life isn't fair and the sooner I accepted that, the better off I'd be. I could be angry about it or be twice as good as the person next to me. I am one of seven kids and being the second youngest has not always yield the best results. My mom refers to me as the 'forgotten' one as I was so quiet and obedient as a child. I'm not making this up - it's true!
I learned the family golden rules very early in life. It was never an issue 'if' I was going to college, it was a matter of 'when and where' I was going to college. My parents didn't pay for weddings, didn't co-sign loans and only paid college tuition with what they could afford at that given time. If I moved back in after college, I paid rent and still lived by the house rules regardless of my age. These were the big important rules and of course, there were many more house rules as with any family. My house was strict - no bullshit. There were consequences for bad actions or lack of action. My mom and dad did not mess around and I knew it. I was kid number six, I observed, I learned, I soaked it in like a sponge. I watched my older siblings test the waters and knew I enjoyed my bed, food and shelter. I was taught I could be anything I wanted to be when I grew up as long as I worked hard. It didn't matter that I was a girl.
I learned life is hard but it would be harder if I was lazy and dumb. We worked very hard in my family. We had a paper route from the time I was in the second grade. We all helped. That was back in the day when there was a morning and afternoon newspaper. We delivered it on foot or from our banana seat bikes with the paper sac strapped onto the handle bars. We collected payment door-to-door. We were like letter carriers - gotta get it there regardless of the rain, sleet, or snow. We had the same paper route for 10 years.
I mowed lawns, shoveled snow, cleaned houses, and babysat. I got my first job as a bus girl and a hostess when I was 15 years old. I taught swim lessons, life guarded and became a waitress at 16, a skill which carried me financially through college and into adulthood. During tough financial times, I was always able to fall back into it and make it through. I learned how to work hard from watching my mom and my dad.
I pursued my dreams because I was taught it didn't just have to be a dream. It could be reality but my determination and dedication played a factor in making that dream a reality. It wasn't just going to fall upon me. I had to work for it.
One of the most important things I learned from my parents was acceptance. You see, I am one of seven children but I am one of two 'homemade' or biological children. Now if you were paying attention, I said I was kid number six. My only other biological sibling is my youngest sister and she is kid number 7. She and I were born last. My five older siblings are all adopted and either black or bi-racial. They all were members of my family before I was even a twinkle in my parents eye. My siblings are not step siblings or foster siblings, they are my brothers and sisters. I've never thought of them any other way - not once, ever. It is what I know and all I have know for my entire existence. This is my family.
You may ask why does this matter. It does. It helped define who I am. I refer to it as my bonus education. I feel privileged to have this unique education in a world that is so predicated on first impressions, stereotypes, and social classes. My family is unique. My mom and dad are unique. I am a minority in my own family - one of two white kids, with white parents, and five black siblings. This may be a more common theme today, but it was not the norm over the last 40 years.
So I've learned I am happy to have become my mom. We have many similarities, traits, and interests. I hear her voice, in my head, when I am speaking to my children while passing on the same motherly advice she once gave me. I exhibit her mannerisms when I least expect it. I have her drive and ambition to succeed and yet, I know I am not as great as she is and can only hope to be half the person she is someday.
My mom is a great mom and she found it in her heart to be a mom to five other children that needed a mom. I may be a minority in my own family but it's one in which I would never trade for the world. I hope you, too, are lucky enough to have a mom like mine. But she is mine and not for sale and I'm proud to say I've turned into my mom.
Rachel
I turned into my mother. It's OK. I can admit it. It's a love/hate relationship with myself. I was going to be different, be a better version of her, be a new-age mom, cooler, calmer, more fun, more understanding, more patient. But then I realized, I could never even measure up. If I could be half as great as her, I'd be a success.
I love my mom. I love her for all that she taught me whether it was through fear, brain washing, fear, life lessons, fear, love and fear. She helped mold who I am today and for that I am eternally thankful. I am a strong independent woman who can stand on my own two feet thanks to her. (Well, my dad too.)
She is a great role model. I was raised with the mentality that life isn't fair and the sooner I accepted that, the better off I'd be. I could be angry about it or be twice as good as the person next to me. I am one of seven kids and being the second youngest has not always yield the best results. My mom refers to me as the 'forgotten' one as I was so quiet and obedient as a child. I'm not making this up - it's true!
I learned the family golden rules very early in life. It was never an issue 'if' I was going to college, it was a matter of 'when and where' I was going to college. My parents didn't pay for weddings, didn't co-sign loans and only paid college tuition with what they could afford at that given time. If I moved back in after college, I paid rent and still lived by the house rules regardless of my age. These were the big important rules and of course, there were many more house rules as with any family. My house was strict - no bullshit. There were consequences for bad actions or lack of action. My mom and dad did not mess around and I knew it. I was kid number six, I observed, I learned, I soaked it in like a sponge. I watched my older siblings test the waters and knew I enjoyed my bed, food and shelter. I was taught I could be anything I wanted to be when I grew up as long as I worked hard. It didn't matter that I was a girl.
I learned life is hard but it would be harder if I was lazy and dumb. We worked very hard in my family. We had a paper route from the time I was in the second grade. We all helped. That was back in the day when there was a morning and afternoon newspaper. We delivered it on foot or from our banana seat bikes with the paper sac strapped onto the handle bars. We collected payment door-to-door. We were like letter carriers - gotta get it there regardless of the rain, sleet, or snow. We had the same paper route for 10 years.
I mowed lawns, shoveled snow, cleaned houses, and babysat. I got my first job as a bus girl and a hostess when I was 15 years old. I taught swim lessons, life guarded and became a waitress at 16, a skill which carried me financially through college and into adulthood. During tough financial times, I was always able to fall back into it and make it through. I learned how to work hard from watching my mom and my dad.
I pursued my dreams because I was taught it didn't just have to be a dream. It could be reality but my determination and dedication played a factor in making that dream a reality. It wasn't just going to fall upon me. I had to work for it.
One of the most important things I learned from my parents was acceptance. You see, I am one of seven children but I am one of two 'homemade' or biological children. Now if you were paying attention, I said I was kid number six. My only other biological sibling is my youngest sister and she is kid number 7. She and I were born last. My five older siblings are all adopted and either black or bi-racial. They all were members of my family before I was even a twinkle in my parents eye. My siblings are not step siblings or foster siblings, they are my brothers and sisters. I've never thought of them any other way - not once, ever. It is what I know and all I have know for my entire existence. This is my family.
You may ask why does this matter. It does. It helped define who I am. I refer to it as my bonus education. I feel privileged to have this unique education in a world that is so predicated on first impressions, stereotypes, and social classes. My family is unique. My mom and dad are unique. I am a minority in my own family - one of two white kids, with white parents, and five black siblings. This may be a more common theme today, but it was not the norm over the last 40 years.
So I've learned I am happy to have become my mom. We have many similarities, traits, and interests. I hear her voice, in my head, when I am speaking to my children while passing on the same motherly advice she once gave me. I exhibit her mannerisms when I least expect it. I have her drive and ambition to succeed and yet, I know I am not as great as she is and can only hope to be half the person she is someday.
My mom is a great mom and she found it in her heart to be a mom to five other children that needed a mom. I may be a minority in my own family but it's one in which I would never trade for the world. I hope you, too, are lucky enough to have a mom like mine. But she is mine and not for sale and I'm proud to say I've turned into my mom.
Rachel
Friday, March 16, 2012
How in LINE are you?
Lines. Lines, Lines. They are everywhere. Straight lines, curvy lines, dotted lines, solid lines, bus lines, grocery lines, clothes lines, traffic lines, waiting lines, lines of credit, notebook lines, power lines, run your lines, line of work, parallel lines, lines of communication, lunch lines, airlines, time lines and so on. The lines never end!
Think of the chaos that would exist without lines! Such a simple concept but one that keeps us in line even though we still may step out of line. We are taught to stay in line or there will consequences if we step out of line.
We really need lines of communication in our line of work. It is easier to get from point A to point B if we follow a straight line. But we hate waiting in lines yet we wait in them at traffic lights, stores, airports, ticket counters, and lunch. We have to color in the lines, read between the lines and write on the line.
We wait in lines every day. However, there are some lines that irritate us more than other lines. A slow moving line, a line of traffic, a bad line of credit, a downed power line or a grounded airline because it affects our timeline. We have very little patience for these lines yet still stay in line because we don't want to get out of line.
We make decisions based on lines. It begins as the shortest and fastest line. But once you're boxed in the line, it becomes THAT line. You know, the one, the one that you always pick. The "how do I always end up in this line?"
We are tempted to cross the line, but then we run the risk of getting clotheslined. We cross over county and state lines using airlines or bus lines after waiting in traffic lines which often run parallel to power lines. While driving, we stay to the right of the dotted line, left of the solid white line but are allowed to cross the yellow dotted line but not the solid yellow line. We must stay in line!
The line is unappreciated. It lacks shape, style, and character all alone, but when thrown together with just about anything it takes on a whole new dimension! The line governs almost every aspect of our daily life. So next time you are waiting impatiently in line, stop and appreciate the line because without it, everyone would be out of line!
Rachel
Think of the chaos that would exist without lines! Such a simple concept but one that keeps us in line even though we still may step out of line. We are taught to stay in line or there will consequences if we step out of line.
We really need lines of communication in our line of work. It is easier to get from point A to point B if we follow a straight line. But we hate waiting in lines yet we wait in them at traffic lights, stores, airports, ticket counters, and lunch. We have to color in the lines, read between the lines and write on the line.
We wait in lines every day. However, there are some lines that irritate us more than other lines. A slow moving line, a line of traffic, a bad line of credit, a downed power line or a grounded airline because it affects our timeline. We have very little patience for these lines yet still stay in line because we don't want to get out of line.
We make decisions based on lines. It begins as the shortest and fastest line. But once you're boxed in the line, it becomes THAT line. You know, the one, the one that you always pick. The "how do I always end up in this line?"
We are tempted to cross the line, but then we run the risk of getting clotheslined. We cross over county and state lines using airlines or bus lines after waiting in traffic lines which often run parallel to power lines. While driving, we stay to the right of the dotted line, left of the solid white line but are allowed to cross the yellow dotted line but not the solid yellow line. We must stay in line!
The line is unappreciated. It lacks shape, style, and character all alone, but when thrown together with just about anything it takes on a whole new dimension! The line governs almost every aspect of our daily life. So next time you are waiting impatiently in line, stop and appreciate the line because without it, everyone would be out of line!
Rachel
Thursday, March 15, 2012
Plastic vs. Fantastic
What kind of 'Doll' do you think you are? Are you the ever popular Barbie? Perhaps a Bratz? How about an action Figure like G.I Joe or a Transformer? Cabbage Patch Kid? American Doll?
They come in so many varieties and an even wider price range. But they all still have the basic major parts including a head complete with a face, a body, arms, legs, hands and feet. Optional parts may include ears, fingers, toes, belly button, boobs or a butt. Apparently, these 'optional ' parts are not an essential component to all dolls as they are to a real human.
Some are super model thin, some chunky like a butterball, others muscular, and others resemble a bobble head. The higher end dolls talk, sleep, cry, pee, drink, or sing while others convert into modern day super heroes. We all played with some type of doll as a child regardless if we are boy a girl.
As we grew older and more curious, we began to search for those 'missing parts'. Barbie was well endowed and admired by both sexes. G.I. Joe held his own with the ladies as did Ken. They, too, seemed to be missing some very key body parts. However, as kids, it was a fleeting thought for the most part. We were intrigued with the 'slutty looking' Bratz dolls. What is cooler than a doll with a set of double D's and lips that cold suck the chrome off a bumper? Transformers drew in the slightly awkward boy who could actually transform the sports car into a stealth robot in a mere 100 moves. In his world, he could provide Miss Bratz with a cool ride and be a studly action hero!
So who did you align with as a child? Did that change as you became an adult? Have you ever thought about why and when it happened?
When I was a kid my mom refused to buy us Barbie dolls. She said they were degrading to women. Well, as a mother of five girls, she fought a losing battle. We won. We never did get a Ken doll as she certainly did not want Ken violating Barbie in any form. Instead of using visual aids with Barbie and Ken, we had a big thick "Me and My Body' book to read on the shelf whenever we wanted. Because that is what every 9 year-old wants, real-life photos of the human body going through puberty sprouting hair and bumps in areas that we were scared to even look at in the bathtub.
Yet, we played with Barbie for hours, combing her lush golden hair, dancing her around on those wonderful pixie-stix legs and dressing her in outfit after outfit like a runway supermodel. But the novelty wore off, her legs didn't bend, she didn't talk and she certainly didn't have any talents to speak of. Barbie became a disappointment. She was all fluff. She was boring. We wanted more.
Wonder Woman, G.I. Joe, Superman, and Bionic Woman dolls all caught our eye. They served a purpose, they looked great and helped people. They had substance to them. We didn't know necessarily why we liked them, even though they only had one lousy outfit! We dressed like them for Halloween and ran around the house in our capes. Barbie didn't have a cape. She had a great car and even a dream house, but no cape, no powers. Great hair and boobs only go so far. Soon, you left her lying naked because it was just too hard to get that shirt over those double D's and that golden mane became a rat's nest - too much maintenance.
So again, which doll are you? Are you a shallow, high maintenance doll like Barbie or are you a life- saver caring doll like the super heroes? Are the car and dream house more important to you than how you can help others?
Most of us are not one extreme or the other, but maybe a mix of both and then some. We all have our own needs which need to be filled but also have that inner desire to help others. It can be an internal struggle at different stages in our life. We all want success and happiness and how we achieve that is a very individual path. But sometimes we need a reminder that there are many others out there who have come to a fork in the road or a hurdle they need help getting over and we must decide - are we willing to give up something of ourselves to help another succeed? What will we sacrifice if it means the one in need will overcome? Barbie or Wonder Woman? Ken or G. I. Joe? Which one are you today? Which one will you be tomorrow? Will your choice cause you to be cast aside or pulled in tight? Because it is a choice, a choice that only you can make. Friend of Foe? Selfless or Selfish?
Dolls are plastic and you have the ability to be nothing short of fantastic - cape or no cape. Seek out the super hero within and you may even surprise yourself at just how strong you are.
They come in so many varieties and an even wider price range. But they all still have the basic major parts including a head complete with a face, a body, arms, legs, hands and feet. Optional parts may include ears, fingers, toes, belly button, boobs or a butt. Apparently, these 'optional ' parts are not an essential component to all dolls as they are to a real human.
Some are super model thin, some chunky like a butterball, others muscular, and others resemble a bobble head. The higher end dolls talk, sleep, cry, pee, drink, or sing while others convert into modern day super heroes. We all played with some type of doll as a child regardless if we are boy a girl.
As we grew older and more curious, we began to search for those 'missing parts'. Barbie was well endowed and admired by both sexes. G.I. Joe held his own with the ladies as did Ken. They, too, seemed to be missing some very key body parts. However, as kids, it was a fleeting thought for the most part. We were intrigued with the 'slutty looking' Bratz dolls. What is cooler than a doll with a set of double D's and lips that cold suck the chrome off a bumper? Transformers drew in the slightly awkward boy who could actually transform the sports car into a stealth robot in a mere 100 moves. In his world, he could provide Miss Bratz with a cool ride and be a studly action hero!
So who did you align with as a child? Did that change as you became an adult? Have you ever thought about why and when it happened?
When I was a kid my mom refused to buy us Barbie dolls. She said they were degrading to women. Well, as a mother of five girls, she fought a losing battle. We won. We never did get a Ken doll as she certainly did not want Ken violating Barbie in any form. Instead of using visual aids with Barbie and Ken, we had a big thick "Me and My Body' book to read on the shelf whenever we wanted. Because that is what every 9 year-old wants, real-life photos of the human body going through puberty sprouting hair and bumps in areas that we were scared to even look at in the bathtub.
Yet, we played with Barbie for hours, combing her lush golden hair, dancing her around on those wonderful pixie-stix legs and dressing her in outfit after outfit like a runway supermodel. But the novelty wore off, her legs didn't bend, she didn't talk and she certainly didn't have any talents to speak of. Barbie became a disappointment. She was all fluff. She was boring. We wanted more.
Wonder Woman, G.I. Joe, Superman, and Bionic Woman dolls all caught our eye. They served a purpose, they looked great and helped people. They had substance to them. We didn't know necessarily why we liked them, even though they only had one lousy outfit! We dressed like them for Halloween and ran around the house in our capes. Barbie didn't have a cape. She had a great car and even a dream house, but no cape, no powers. Great hair and boobs only go so far. Soon, you left her lying naked because it was just too hard to get that shirt over those double D's and that golden mane became a rat's nest - too much maintenance.
So again, which doll are you? Are you a shallow, high maintenance doll like Barbie or are you a life- saver caring doll like the super heroes? Are the car and dream house more important to you than how you can help others?
Most of us are not one extreme or the other, but maybe a mix of both and then some. We all have our own needs which need to be filled but also have that inner desire to help others. It can be an internal struggle at different stages in our life. We all want success and happiness and how we achieve that is a very individual path. But sometimes we need a reminder that there are many others out there who have come to a fork in the road or a hurdle they need help getting over and we must decide - are we willing to give up something of ourselves to help another succeed? What will we sacrifice if it means the one in need will overcome? Barbie or Wonder Woman? Ken or G. I. Joe? Which one are you today? Which one will you be tomorrow? Will your choice cause you to be cast aside or pulled in tight? Because it is a choice, a choice that only you can make. Friend of Foe? Selfless or Selfish?
Dolls are plastic and you have the ability to be nothing short of fantastic - cape or no cape. Seek out the super hero within and you may even surprise yourself at just how strong you are.
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
Asswords that begin with the letter 'P'
On most days, I can't even get my child's name right when they are standing right in front of me. I generally name at least two of the dogs' names and possibly a cat before I actually get their name right and even then, I've called them by their siblings name who isn't even around. So the fact that I need to remember a gazillion different passwords just to get through my day is often a frustrating task. And this whole concept of the 'Help Desk'. Really?
It all begins when I awake in the morning. I am not even out of bed when my iPod touch alarm goes off, I have to enter a password to turn it off. Of course, I forgot to dim the screen the night before so now my corneas have been scorched from the bright screen. Heaven forbid if I want to select the snooze option, I will have to enter another password which can't be done because I can't see . Yes, I know, I can turn all of these passwords off but then my data would not be secure. I would receive nasty grams from all of you crying that your email accounts have been hacked and you are now getting telemarketing calls on your unlisted phones thanks to me! So, really, save your breath. You will need that breath later when you're screaming at you work computer because your pasword has expired and you are locked out because you entered the new password incorrectly three times. We will get back to this later.
Shortly before I regain my eyesight and after stepping in the freshly puked up hairball, courtesy of the cat, I can stumble thru my morning routine. I'm feeling empowered and ready to take on the day ahead but I'd really rather be sleeping. But I forge ahead. I'm feeling confident. I'm feeling strong. I know the passwords today. I log onto my home computer, I need to enter a password, another to get into my email, another to check my Facebook (so I know if anyone has had a worse morning than I have already), another for my bank account to verify I haven't been robbed over night, another on Blackberry to ensure I will not arrive to any surprises at the office, another to spy on my children's text messages, emails and Facebook posts, another on my phone so I can see my schedule. It's not even 8:00 am and I am already approaching double digits for password entry. I'm feeling exhausted, I am feeling I should go back and lie down to recover before I even get to the office. I fight the urge and push forward. I pray the garage door opener works so I don't have to enter the garage passcode.
Time to head in to the office and fight the good fight. Thank goodness I don't need to enter a passcode to enter the building. This isn't necessary because they figure if I can make it through the obstacle course that awaits in the lobby, I deserve to be in the building. Our entry gate into the building is simliar in nature to the rotating blades of a snowblower tipped on it's side. It takes skill and finesse to get through without having it snap back in your face and break your nose. Once through the jaws of death, its time to enter the death trap they call an elevator. Once inside, the door opens and shuts a minimum of seven times, yes, seven. Not once, not twice but seven. There is no known reason for this other than the elevator is older than Hugh Hefner, but I'm guessing he performs a bit better. If I'm lucky, I will make it to the eighth floor without any bumps, skips or groans. Keep in mind, there is a newly printed sign in the elevator that starts with "If you get stuck..." So clearly they KNOW there are problems with the elevator but hey, let's just take our chances!
Now the real fun begins. I must enter three passwords, using two different login ID's, just to log onto my super secret squirrel computer. And it just goes down hill from there. Another password to search the mail database, another to search the driver's license database, another to search our agency database, another to access the internet, another to access the court system, and about 25 other paswords to access investigative databases. And then there are the ever annoying password rules - can't use the same password for the previous 10 passwords, must use a capital letter, a symbol and a lower case, must be 6-10 digits, it can't be your username, must be only 8 digits, has to be changed every 30 days, every 60 days, every 90 days, blah, blah, blah. Hey, don't kill the messenger! You either hate me right now or are laughing your ass off. You are officially in PASSWORD HELL!
Then it happens, you forget one of the passwords! You also forgot to write it down on the tablet inside you desk drawer, just to the right of your computer, where you shouldn't have written it down in the first place because now you have violated Password Rule #87 in addition to forgetting the password. You're screwed. It's time to call the HELL Desk.
The Hell Desk. They give us a convenient 800 number because it will be easier to remember, right? Of course it is. I know what would help me remember, it's not appropriate, but I can guarantee you no one would ever forget it. I'm warning you, it's not nice, but you would feel better if you could type this into your phone keypad. I'll give you a hint, it begins with an 'F' and ends with a you. It's the correct number of digits too! Magical, isn't it? You can even still put the 800 in front of it. Don't you feel better? I do.
The Hell Desk is happy to help you after you have punched in 52 prompts to help identify your problem. Then you will be placed on hold (only for a brief moment, of course) and forced to listen to some Lawrence Welk elevator music that you listened to just hours before in the death trap! See how it's all coming together for you. Knowing you are going to be on hold for "just a brief moment", you want to get a few things done that don't require your wonderful password protected vault, which is commonly referred to as your computer. You're holding the phone to your ear because your company is too cheap to get you a hands -free set. They would rather you file a worker's compensation claim that they can deny down the road because you didn't complete the paperwork properly. You are waiting ever so patiently and decide after your 'brief' 20 minute waiting period, you will try the 'hands-free' option. You'd like be a bit more productive and earn that salary.
Finally the geek squad picks up on the other end and the day is looking up! What's your username, what's your social security number, what's your date of birth, what's your work reporting number, what's your mother's maiden name, what was your date of hire? After the interrogation has ended, you can finally log back in to your computer. And then, you get an email from the Hell Desk asking you to complete a survey on their service. But look at that , it's time for lunch! The survey can wait because we all know by the time we get back from lunch we will have forgotten our newly reset password so the cycle will repeat itself.
Passwords are kinda like a Rubik's cube. You know it can be done, you know people do it every day, but for some reason, you can only get the top row of colors on each side to line up. So you try and try and try again only to keep messing up the opposite sides until you have completely messed the entire cube. Then you can't even get one damn row! It's just like your passwords, so many of them, all familiar hints and clues into you life to help you remember them, but still you mess up one and you can't have access to anything.
So, I'm convinced whomever invented the password devised the 'password' simply to enable him to open the Hell Desk in order to provide himself with employment. So tomorrow, when you log onto your computer, sit back, take a breath and open the password drawer and enter your password correctly.
Rachel
It all begins when I awake in the morning. I am not even out of bed when my iPod touch alarm goes off, I have to enter a password to turn it off. Of course, I forgot to dim the screen the night before so now my corneas have been scorched from the bright screen. Heaven forbid if I want to select the snooze option, I will have to enter another password which can't be done because I can't see . Yes, I know, I can turn all of these passwords off but then my data would not be secure. I would receive nasty grams from all of you crying that your email accounts have been hacked and you are now getting telemarketing calls on your unlisted phones thanks to me! So, really, save your breath. You will need that breath later when you're screaming at you work computer because your pasword has expired and you are locked out because you entered the new password incorrectly three times. We will get back to this later.
Shortly before I regain my eyesight and after stepping in the freshly puked up hairball, courtesy of the cat, I can stumble thru my morning routine. I'm feeling empowered and ready to take on the day ahead but I'd really rather be sleeping. But I forge ahead. I'm feeling confident. I'm feeling strong. I know the passwords today. I log onto my home computer, I need to enter a password, another to get into my email, another to check my Facebook (so I know if anyone has had a worse morning than I have already), another for my bank account to verify I haven't been robbed over night, another on Blackberry to ensure I will not arrive to any surprises at the office, another to spy on my children's text messages, emails and Facebook posts, another on my phone so I can see my schedule. It's not even 8:00 am and I am already approaching double digits for password entry. I'm feeling exhausted, I am feeling I should go back and lie down to recover before I even get to the office. I fight the urge and push forward. I pray the garage door opener works so I don't have to enter the garage passcode.
Time to head in to the office and fight the good fight. Thank goodness I don't need to enter a passcode to enter the building. This isn't necessary because they figure if I can make it through the obstacle course that awaits in the lobby, I deserve to be in the building. Our entry gate into the building is simliar in nature to the rotating blades of a snowblower tipped on it's side. It takes skill and finesse to get through without having it snap back in your face and break your nose. Once through the jaws of death, its time to enter the death trap they call an elevator. Once inside, the door opens and shuts a minimum of seven times, yes, seven. Not once, not twice but seven. There is no known reason for this other than the elevator is older than Hugh Hefner, but I'm guessing he performs a bit better. If I'm lucky, I will make it to the eighth floor without any bumps, skips or groans. Keep in mind, there is a newly printed sign in the elevator that starts with "If you get stuck..." So clearly they KNOW there are problems with the elevator but hey, let's just take our chances!
Now the real fun begins. I must enter three passwords, using two different login ID's, just to log onto my super secret squirrel computer. And it just goes down hill from there. Another password to search the mail database, another to search the driver's license database, another to search our agency database, another to access the internet, another to access the court system, and about 25 other paswords to access investigative databases. And then there are the ever annoying password rules - can't use the same password for the previous 10 passwords, must use a capital letter, a symbol and a lower case, must be 6-10 digits, it can't be your username, must be only 8 digits, has to be changed every 30 days, every 60 days, every 90 days, blah, blah, blah. Hey, don't kill the messenger! You either hate me right now or are laughing your ass off. You are officially in PASSWORD HELL!
Then it happens, you forget one of the passwords! You also forgot to write it down on the tablet inside you desk drawer, just to the right of your computer, where you shouldn't have written it down in the first place because now you have violated Password Rule #87 in addition to forgetting the password. You're screwed. It's time to call the HELL Desk.
The Hell Desk. They give us a convenient 800 number because it will be easier to remember, right? Of course it is. I know what would help me remember, it's not appropriate, but I can guarantee you no one would ever forget it. I'm warning you, it's not nice, but you would feel better if you could type this into your phone keypad. I'll give you a hint, it begins with an 'F' and ends with a you. It's the correct number of digits too! Magical, isn't it? You can even still put the 800 in front of it. Don't you feel better? I do.
The Hell Desk is happy to help you after you have punched in 52 prompts to help identify your problem. Then you will be placed on hold (only for a brief moment, of course) and forced to listen to some Lawrence Welk elevator music that you listened to just hours before in the death trap! See how it's all coming together for you. Knowing you are going to be on hold for "just a brief moment", you want to get a few things done that don't require your wonderful password protected vault, which is commonly referred to as your computer. You're holding the phone to your ear because your company is too cheap to get you a hands -free set. They would rather you file a worker's compensation claim that they can deny down the road because you didn't complete the paperwork properly. You are waiting ever so patiently and decide after your 'brief' 20 minute waiting period, you will try the 'hands-free' option. You'd like be a bit more productive and earn that salary.
Finally the geek squad picks up on the other end and the day is looking up! What's your username, what's your social security number, what's your date of birth, what's your work reporting number, what's your mother's maiden name, what was your date of hire? After the interrogation has ended, you can finally log back in to your computer. And then, you get an email from the Hell Desk asking you to complete a survey on their service. But look at that , it's time for lunch! The survey can wait because we all know by the time we get back from lunch we will have forgotten our newly reset password so the cycle will repeat itself.
Passwords are kinda like a Rubik's cube. You know it can be done, you know people do it every day, but for some reason, you can only get the top row of colors on each side to line up. So you try and try and try again only to keep messing up the opposite sides until you have completely messed the entire cube. Then you can't even get one damn row! It's just like your passwords, so many of them, all familiar hints and clues into you life to help you remember them, but still you mess up one and you can't have access to anything.
So, I'm convinced whomever invented the password devised the 'password' simply to enable him to open the Hell Desk in order to provide himself with employment. So tomorrow, when you log onto your computer, sit back, take a breath and open the password drawer and enter your password correctly.
Rachel
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
The Decathlon
It's time. It's time to get down to the nitty gritty. You may not like it, because I know you will love it! We all have one and in fact we often may race to use it first. We like it spacious, we like it well stocked and we like it clean, some of us even have little compartments within larger compartment. It serves many purposes - some practical, some functional, and even some exciting uses.
We all have one. It doesn't matter if you're a male, female, young or old. Oh, I can only imagine where some of your minds have taken you and I must say I'm not ashamed of you, but proud! Proud that you are exploring those avenues of your mind where you often do not go. Admit it, you went there but you are still a bit confused, right? You're guessing.... What is she talking about? A purse, a man bag, an arm, a leg? And no, it's not your butt! Geezzz... Get a grip.
Well it goes by many names but you will recognize most of them, some not so nice, others very politically correct. The bathroom! Do you feel let down? Don't be disappointed, there is still some fun left to have. You may call it the can, the head, a biffy, outhouse, lavatory, restroom, powder room, the john, the pisser, the shitter, the potty or the throne. I imagine there are several more that I have not thought of but that's what's comes to mind.
Now how can the bathroom be exciting you say? Well think of all the activity that goes on in the bathroom. (I will try to keep the imagery to a minimum here.) Other than the obvious use of the bathroom which men sometimes use like a doctor's waiting room by catching up on all their reading material they have missed over the last month. Which of course, generally renders the room useless and 'yellow caution tape' should be put up. But give it some thought. What do you do in the bathroom on any given day, week, or even month. We do the obvious tasks of showering, brushing our teeth, shave, make-up, hair, etc. All practical and necessary for proper hygiene. Then there are the fun activities if you are 'lucky' enough. If you don't know what I am talking about, then you are not one of the 'lucky' ones so just keep reading. There are also the tedious chores of cleaning and sanitizing, but that's why we have kids - right? Well, it's not just your own bathroom that you use frequently, you use many other people's thrones' too! But we ALL know that not all thrones are as pristine and cleanly as our thrones. So here in lies the problem...
The age old question of when you are out with your significant other and the dreaded- "I need to use the ladies room." (Notice when we are out in public, it's the 'Ladies Room' as if it ranks higher in the hierarchy of 'johns'.) Plus, women tend to go in pairs which completely baffles men. What do we do in there? Why do we go in pairs? Is there a party in there? Why are 'couches' in there? You have candy machines (aka feminine hygiene products) in there? You have walls on your stalls? You have lotions and perfumes in there? So they know we have a lot of 'stuff' in there but still ask us when we come out "what the hell took you so long?" So here is the answer boys...
Its called the 'Hover'. We learn it when we are young girls. It's tricky and a skill which can be mastered over time with extensive practice. It comes with challenges and sometimes failure can be disasterous! We were not blessed with the innate ability to pee while standing. Yes, I know, this is not news to you, but I don't think you truly appreciate the bathroom Olympics that occur during that whole three minutes you had to wait outside the door. We cannot and must not sit on the toilet seat!
I'd like to compare it to the decathlon in the Olympics. There are many events which take place, each requiring a unique skill set to accomplish. It's not a simple unzip and rip.
First and foremost, if you have a purse, you cannot hang it on the hook or place it on the floor while conducting your business due the high risk of it being stolen. So you must hold it. Now you are down to one hand, but two if you are skilled. If you add a child to this mix, all bets are off and you have no hands because you must hold your purse, and hold your child so the darling doesn't peep under the stall, on the nasty floor, while you are conducting your business. Now if you have pants on, you gotta hold them because you can't let the cuffs hit the 'nasty floor' either. And then of course, you, (the impatient man waiting outside) are text us asking what the hell is taking so long. We think it's an important call because who are we (as a women) to miss a call or text? It could be Sally calling with the latest gossip about Jane! And if it's that time of the month, forget it! We are fed up with this shit of trying to go to the bathroom while holding our pants up, keeping the kid from being a peeping Tom, holding our purse, digging for our phone and we can't find a damn tampon in this duffle bag we call a purse. So when we come out and you ask "what the hell took you so long?' Consider yourself lucky that you will live to see another day.
Now, you'd think it would be an easier task to use a public bathroom per se when I am at work. Well in my case, not so much. This would be more like a pentathlon, shorter time frame but more intense. I head in with all my gear. That would be my law enforcement gear - gun, handcuffs, baton, keys, extra magazines (bullets, not Cosmo!) AND my purse. Same obstacles apply - need to drop the pants, but can't let them touch the 'nasty floor', gotta hold onto my gun because I will learn the true meaning of 'in deep shit' if that gets taken from under the stall. I need hold the other side of pants so my handcuffs, baton and extra magazine aren't exposed under the stall because you know that darn 'peeping Tom' in the next stall is just waiting to grab it! And I need to hold onto my purse all while trying to hold the door shut because the latch is broken. Great! Plus, there are a whole two sheets of toilet paper left because the next bathroom check isn't until 5:00 pm, according to the chart on the wall, and it's 4:59 pm. So while holding all my 'gear' in place, holding up my pants, holding the door shut, I attempt to dig in my duffle bag, which I call a purse, to look for that kleenex I know is in there. However, much to my surprise, I forgot that I used it at lunch to wipe the table off since the napkin dispenser was empty. But there is that little post-it note stuck to my wallet with the grocery list on it, so it is sacrificed for the greater cause. Who needs food, if I didn't eat food, I wouldn't even be in this predicament in the first place!
So as I emerge and my male co-worker opens his mouth to ask "what took me so long?" he clearly recognizes the look on my face as one his significant other has given him and says - "Wow, that was fast!" I'd like to think he has learned from a previous experience, but I know it's really because I carry a gun (because I did not let the peeping Tom get it) and the consequences are much more severe than a night on the couch!
We are all participants in the bathroom club but only a few are true Olympic bathletes!
Rachel
Olympic bathlete
We all have one. It doesn't matter if you're a male, female, young or old. Oh, I can only imagine where some of your minds have taken you and I must say I'm not ashamed of you, but proud! Proud that you are exploring those avenues of your mind where you often do not go. Admit it, you went there but you are still a bit confused, right? You're guessing.... What is she talking about? A purse, a man bag, an arm, a leg? And no, it's not your butt! Geezzz... Get a grip.
Well it goes by many names but you will recognize most of them, some not so nice, others very politically correct. The bathroom! Do you feel let down? Don't be disappointed, there is still some fun left to have. You may call it the can, the head, a biffy, outhouse, lavatory, restroom, powder room, the john, the pisser, the shitter, the potty or the throne. I imagine there are several more that I have not thought of but that's what's comes to mind.
Now how can the bathroom be exciting you say? Well think of all the activity that goes on in the bathroom. (I will try to keep the imagery to a minimum here.) Other than the obvious use of the bathroom which men sometimes use like a doctor's waiting room by catching up on all their reading material they have missed over the last month. Which of course, generally renders the room useless and 'yellow caution tape' should be put up. But give it some thought. What do you do in the bathroom on any given day, week, or even month. We do the obvious tasks of showering, brushing our teeth, shave, make-up, hair, etc. All practical and necessary for proper hygiene. Then there are the fun activities if you are 'lucky' enough. If you don't know what I am talking about, then you are not one of the 'lucky' ones so just keep reading. There are also the tedious chores of cleaning and sanitizing, but that's why we have kids - right? Well, it's not just your own bathroom that you use frequently, you use many other people's thrones' too! But we ALL know that not all thrones are as pristine and cleanly as our thrones. So here in lies the problem...
The age old question of when you are out with your significant other and the dreaded- "I need to use the ladies room." (Notice when we are out in public, it's the 'Ladies Room' as if it ranks higher in the hierarchy of 'johns'.) Plus, women tend to go in pairs which completely baffles men. What do we do in there? Why do we go in pairs? Is there a party in there? Why are 'couches' in there? You have candy machines (aka feminine hygiene products) in there? You have walls on your stalls? You have lotions and perfumes in there? So they know we have a lot of 'stuff' in there but still ask us when we come out "what the hell took you so long?" So here is the answer boys...
Its called the 'Hover'. We learn it when we are young girls. It's tricky and a skill which can be mastered over time with extensive practice. It comes with challenges and sometimes failure can be disasterous! We were not blessed with the innate ability to pee while standing. Yes, I know, this is not news to you, but I don't think you truly appreciate the bathroom Olympics that occur during that whole three minutes you had to wait outside the door. We cannot and must not sit on the toilet seat!
I'd like to compare it to the decathlon in the Olympics. There are many events which take place, each requiring a unique skill set to accomplish. It's not a simple unzip and rip.
First and foremost, if you have a purse, you cannot hang it on the hook or place it on the floor while conducting your business due the high risk of it being stolen. So you must hold it. Now you are down to one hand, but two if you are skilled. If you add a child to this mix, all bets are off and you have no hands because you must hold your purse, and hold your child so the darling doesn't peep under the stall, on the nasty floor, while you are conducting your business. Now if you have pants on, you gotta hold them because you can't let the cuffs hit the 'nasty floor' either. And then of course, you, (the impatient man waiting outside) are text us asking what the hell is taking so long. We think it's an important call because who are we (as a women) to miss a call or text? It could be Sally calling with the latest gossip about Jane! And if it's that time of the month, forget it! We are fed up with this shit of trying to go to the bathroom while holding our pants up, keeping the kid from being a peeping Tom, holding our purse, digging for our phone and we can't find a damn tampon in this duffle bag we call a purse. So when we come out and you ask "what the hell took you so long?' Consider yourself lucky that you will live to see another day.
Now, you'd think it would be an easier task to use a public bathroom per se when I am at work. Well in my case, not so much. This would be more like a pentathlon, shorter time frame but more intense. I head in with all my gear. That would be my law enforcement gear - gun, handcuffs, baton, keys, extra magazines (bullets, not Cosmo!) AND my purse. Same obstacles apply - need to drop the pants, but can't let them touch the 'nasty floor', gotta hold onto my gun because I will learn the true meaning of 'in deep shit' if that gets taken from under the stall. I need hold the other side of pants so my handcuffs, baton and extra magazine aren't exposed under the stall because you know that darn 'peeping Tom' in the next stall is just waiting to grab it! And I need to hold onto my purse all while trying to hold the door shut because the latch is broken. Great! Plus, there are a whole two sheets of toilet paper left because the next bathroom check isn't until 5:00 pm, according to the chart on the wall, and it's 4:59 pm. So while holding all my 'gear' in place, holding up my pants, holding the door shut, I attempt to dig in my duffle bag, which I call a purse, to look for that kleenex I know is in there. However, much to my surprise, I forgot that I used it at lunch to wipe the table off since the napkin dispenser was empty. But there is that little post-it note stuck to my wallet with the grocery list on it, so it is sacrificed for the greater cause. Who needs food, if I didn't eat food, I wouldn't even be in this predicament in the first place!
So as I emerge and my male co-worker opens his mouth to ask "what took me so long?" he clearly recognizes the look on my face as one his significant other has given him and says - "Wow, that was fast!" I'd like to think he has learned from a previous experience, but I know it's really because I carry a gun (because I did not let the peeping Tom get it) and the consequences are much more severe than a night on the couch!
We are all participants in the bathroom club but only a few are true Olympic bathletes!
Rachel
Olympic bathlete
Monday, March 12, 2012
Do Your GENES fit?
We all have several pairs of genes. Sometimes they fit and at other times feel very confining. We tend to get very frustrated when we want them to fit our body and they just don't cooperate. Our mind sees and feels one thing but our body reacts completely different. In our head, we know our genes fit perfectly but when we try them out, crap, something just isn't right. Why is that?
They come in so many styles, shapes, sizes and even colors. So many options. We test them out. We push them to their limits, we are sometimes swallowed up by them or even completely blow them out. Yet we just can't seem to get rid of them. We allow them to pile up knowing that there will be an opportunity to try them out again as each pair of genes is unique and serves a purpose.
Well, we have more control over our genes than we realize. At one time or another, they fit.
Genes are no different than blue jeans - skinny, boy cut, low-rider, boot-cut, flare, old/worn, and our favorite - stretchy! So many varieties yet they are still jeans. You, too, were born with several pairs of genes and although you had no say in what genes you received, you do have control over how you wear them.
I'm fat, I'm too skinny, I wish my hair was curly, I wish my butt was smaller, I wish I was funnier, I don't want a widow's peak, I wish I was smarter, I want dimples, or I wish my eyes were blue. This list could go on forever as we all have 'flaws' in our genes and often have a desire for a several different pairs. Now, you can't go out and buy a new pair of genes like you can a new pair of jeans, but you still have a say in how you present those genes.
Just because everyone else is wearing skinny jeans doesn't mean those are the right jeans for you. Your genes are unique. They are what makes you - you. Your genes may have not given you a great butt to put in those jeans, but your genes fit you and only you (unless of course you are a multiple but even then you're not a clone!) So quit comparing your jeans to everyone else's genes. You have designer genes, so unique that it's too expensive to copy them.
You got what you got, so deal with it. Jeans can be modified like we did in the 80's with safety pins and rubber bands (don't play dumb, you remember!). And genes can be modified to a certain extent, you can change your hair color, wear colored contacts, get a boob job, lip injections, liposuction, rearrange your nose, etc but in the end your genes are still your genes.
I have been modified since I was a tiny little tyke! I wore corrective shoes, eye glasses, a full body Milwaukee back brace, and braces on my teeth. In fact, I like to think of myself as the million dollar woman! Laugh if you must , but I know all that bracing cost my parents a bundle!
But I also know my genes fit me like a glove and my body is only a pair of jeans housing the real genes. Our genes make us who we are and it doesn't matter what the jeans look like on the outside because its the genes on the inside that matter.
So embrace your genes because in your heart you know they will always fit YOU!
Rachel
They come in so many styles, shapes, sizes and even colors. So many options. We test them out. We push them to their limits, we are sometimes swallowed up by them or even completely blow them out. Yet we just can't seem to get rid of them. We allow them to pile up knowing that there will be an opportunity to try them out again as each pair of genes is unique and serves a purpose.
Well, we have more control over our genes than we realize. At one time or another, they fit.
Genes are no different than blue jeans - skinny, boy cut, low-rider, boot-cut, flare, old/worn, and our favorite - stretchy! So many varieties yet they are still jeans. You, too, were born with several pairs of genes and although you had no say in what genes you received, you do have control over how you wear them.
I'm fat, I'm too skinny, I wish my hair was curly, I wish my butt was smaller, I wish I was funnier, I don't want a widow's peak, I wish I was smarter, I want dimples, or I wish my eyes were blue. This list could go on forever as we all have 'flaws' in our genes and often have a desire for a several different pairs. Now, you can't go out and buy a new pair of genes like you can a new pair of jeans, but you still have a say in how you present those genes.
Just because everyone else is wearing skinny jeans doesn't mean those are the right jeans for you. Your genes are unique. They are what makes you - you. Your genes may have not given you a great butt to put in those jeans, but your genes fit you and only you (unless of course you are a multiple but even then you're not a clone!) So quit comparing your jeans to everyone else's genes. You have designer genes, so unique that it's too expensive to copy them.
You got what you got, so deal with it. Jeans can be modified like we did in the 80's with safety pins and rubber bands (don't play dumb, you remember!). And genes can be modified to a certain extent, you can change your hair color, wear colored contacts, get a boob job, lip injections, liposuction, rearrange your nose, etc but in the end your genes are still your genes.
I have been modified since I was a tiny little tyke! I wore corrective shoes, eye glasses, a full body Milwaukee back brace, and braces on my teeth. In fact, I like to think of myself as the million dollar woman! Laugh if you must , but I know all that bracing cost my parents a bundle!
But I also know my genes fit me like a glove and my body is only a pair of jeans housing the real genes. Our genes make us who we are and it doesn't matter what the jeans look like on the outside because its the genes on the inside that matter.
So embrace your genes because in your heart you know they will always fit YOU!
Rachel
Sunday, March 11, 2012
Pocket Lint
The lint in your pocket is more important than you think. We all have it. We know it's there. We can see it when we look for it. We can even feel it tucked tight in the corner if we try really hard. We dig deep to get that quarter out for the parking meter. We get annoyed because a piece of pocket lint is adhered to it like glue. We brush the lint off because the quarter serves a much more important purpose- preventing a parking ticket. So why is it there and why should you care?
Pocket lint is remnants of things that, at one time, were important to you. The lint may be bits and pieces of paper that you wrote a pretty girls' phone number on. The lint may be fibers from a tissue you wiped your nose with so you weren't forced to use your shirt sleeve. It could even be snippets of a ten dollar bill you found in your jeans pocket after washing them. A ten dollar bill that bought you that drink at happy hour which allowed you to get the pretty girls number that wrote down on that piece of paper.
So you see, pocket lint is very important. It provides a brief insight into your life. You may think this is ridiculous, but I bet if you went to the hamper and pulled out a pair of your jeans, you might be surprised what you may find and you will realize even those things you think are invisible and unimportant play a significant part in your life.
This carries over in to many aspects in our lives. Think of all the people and things you overlook and pass by each day without a second glance or passing thought. So much is taken for granted. We are busy. We are pre-occupied. We are engrossed in our phones, iPods, computers, GPS, and tablets. We forget the things that make our lives REALLY work. The lint in our pocket, made up of important pieces of our lives but is quickly forgotten.
Do you know you building custodian's name, the parking garage attendants, the letter carrier, the school bus driver, crossing guard at school, gym desk clerk, locker room attendant, or snow plow driver? In some form or fashion, they have a job just like you. They work to provide a service for you - services that make your life easier and allow it to run smoother. Yet, somehow we have a tendency to overlook these individuals because we feel they are here to make out lives easier and we expect it.
I am as guilty as the next person. I know some of the individuals above but others, I have no clue. I, too, get caught up in 'stuff'. But sometimes when I stop and think, I try to imagine my life without these people.
Who would empty my office trash so it doesn't stink when I dump the rest of my lunch. OK, well, I rarely have anything to dump- after all chicken and broccoli is very tasty! How would I get out of my driveway and get to work to earn a living if no one plowed the snow? Who is going to deliver my snail mail and bulk mail (this pays my salary so please accept with a smile). Who would make sure the locker room doesn't smell like a big stinky shoe? So you see, we pass over very important people every day without realizing how much they are adding to our life.
Now I know we can't stop and meet and greet every Tom, Dick and Harry in our every day life. We'd never get anywhere or accomplish anything. However, a smile, a nod of the head, an eyebrow lift or simple "thank you" goes a long way. It's a gesture to let them know you are aware of their existence and the role they play in your life. You never know when you may need them when you least expect it. Some like to call it karma - good or bad. I'd like to think it's just good ole' human kindness. We all serve a purpose albeit a wide variety. We are unique, we are human. We make mistakes and have bad days. But remember, sometimes a smile goes a long way.
So think about your pocket lint and what it has done for you. It's Sunday - the start of a new week. And I hate Mondays, but...try to take notice of one person or thing each day this week that you would normally store as pocket lint. See what it does for you and more importantly what it does for them.
Rachel
Pocket lint is remnants of things that, at one time, were important to you. The lint may be bits and pieces of paper that you wrote a pretty girls' phone number on. The lint may be fibers from a tissue you wiped your nose with so you weren't forced to use your shirt sleeve. It could even be snippets of a ten dollar bill you found in your jeans pocket after washing them. A ten dollar bill that bought you that drink at happy hour which allowed you to get the pretty girls number that wrote down on that piece of paper.
So you see, pocket lint is very important. It provides a brief insight into your life. You may think this is ridiculous, but I bet if you went to the hamper and pulled out a pair of your jeans, you might be surprised what you may find and you will realize even those things you think are invisible and unimportant play a significant part in your life.
This carries over in to many aspects in our lives. Think of all the people and things you overlook and pass by each day without a second glance or passing thought. So much is taken for granted. We are busy. We are pre-occupied. We are engrossed in our phones, iPods, computers, GPS, and tablets. We forget the things that make our lives REALLY work. The lint in our pocket, made up of important pieces of our lives but is quickly forgotten.
Do you know you building custodian's name, the parking garage attendants, the letter carrier, the school bus driver, crossing guard at school, gym desk clerk, locker room attendant, or snow plow driver? In some form or fashion, they have a job just like you. They work to provide a service for you - services that make your life easier and allow it to run smoother. Yet, somehow we have a tendency to overlook these individuals because we feel they are here to make out lives easier and we expect it.
I am as guilty as the next person. I know some of the individuals above but others, I have no clue. I, too, get caught up in 'stuff'. But sometimes when I stop and think, I try to imagine my life without these people.
Who would empty my office trash so it doesn't stink when I dump the rest of my lunch. OK, well, I rarely have anything to dump- after all chicken and broccoli is very tasty! How would I get out of my driveway and get to work to earn a living if no one plowed the snow? Who is going to deliver my snail mail and bulk mail (this pays my salary so please accept with a smile). Who would make sure the locker room doesn't smell like a big stinky shoe? So you see, we pass over very important people every day without realizing how much they are adding to our life.
Now I know we can't stop and meet and greet every Tom, Dick and Harry in our every day life. We'd never get anywhere or accomplish anything. However, a smile, a nod of the head, an eyebrow lift or simple "thank you" goes a long way. It's a gesture to let them know you are aware of their existence and the role they play in your life. You never know when you may need them when you least expect it. Some like to call it karma - good or bad. I'd like to think it's just good ole' human kindness. We all serve a purpose albeit a wide variety. We are unique, we are human. We make mistakes and have bad days. But remember, sometimes a smile goes a long way.
So think about your pocket lint and what it has done for you. It's Sunday - the start of a new week. And I hate Mondays, but...try to take notice of one person or thing each day this week that you would normally store as pocket lint. See what it does for you and more importantly what it does for them.
Rachel
Saturday, March 10, 2012
ROCK the BOAT
It’s hard but that doesn’t mean it is impossible. There are many stages in life and each one brings it own challenges. How we approach each of these challenges and the strategies we use to tackle them help define who we are as a person. It begins very early in life, even before we can recall those memories.
It could be as simple as trying to get a cookie out of the cookie jar without mom knowing. Yet, we forgot to wipe the crumbs off our chin even though we successfully got the cookie out quickly and quietly without mom knowing. But we learned from that ‘mistake’ and knew to wipe our mouth the next time. As we age, the challenges become bigger and more involved. Bullying on the playground, disagreements with friends, frustration with homework, obeying our parent’s ridiculous rules, or family issues all appear to be overwhelming at their initial appearance in our lives.
As a result, we learn problem solving and coping skills. We begin to master these over time and hopefully improve with each episode we encounter. We learn how to manage our anger, express our gratitude, vent our frustrations, and trust our instincts, etc. We learn our limits. We set our limits. We often do not exceed our limits. So the question is why?
It’s called Life. There are rules we must live by. Some are set by you, by society, by government, by loved ones, by religious beliefs, and many other sources but the rules exist and we are acutely aware of them. We live so much of our life by the rules that we forget they are meant to be broken. It goes against everything we are raised to believe but without stepping outside of the ‘rule box’, we cannot learn.
As children and teenagers, we tested the limits put upon us but as we grow older we are reluctant to keep pushing those limits. Why? We are comfortable. We are mature. We have responsibilities. We don’t want to rock the boat. It’s time to rock the boat…
I was settled into my life as a mom, wife and a probation officer. I had become the stereotypical suburban wife. I thought I was happy. I thought I had everything I wanted. I thought I had achieved my goals. I was wrong. My father died three days after my 31st birthday. I took a new perspective on my life. I was not happy. I had not achieved the goals I had set for myself. I lay awake at night thinking about all of the things my dad did not get to accomplish. Most of all, I was sad that he would not see my children grow up and he wouldn’t be here to enjoy his ‘golden years’. I promised myself I would not have regrets. Life is a gift and does not last forever.
I began to rock the boat. I began to evaluate my marriage, my career, my physical health, and my mental health. My weight had topped out at 176 pounds on my 5’7 frame. My life was in need of an overhaul. My dad’s death shook awake my inner strength. I had fallen asleep along the path of life. I took stock of what I had become and where I still wanted to go. I began breaking the rules.
I applied for my dream job as a federal agent. It was a 9-month process followed by an additional three months away at school, far from my small children and husband. I was in therapy for my marriage. I picked up the pace on my exercise program. I was awake. I began living my life. It was the greatest gift my dad gave me.
I joined Weight Watchers and lost 40 pounds in three months and have kept it off for eight years. I enjoyed success as an amateur triathlete often placing in the top three of my age group. I stepped up my weight lifting program and improved my nutrition. I made sacrifices to reach my goals. Working out became a habit and as much a part of my day as my family and my job. I suffered setbacks along the way but each one made me stronger and I continued on my journey. Due to several running injuries including a torn lumbar disc and two torn high hamstring tendons in my right glute, I traded in triathlons for figure competitions and have never looked back.
Now at 41, I can look back at the last 10 years and I know I took control. I am a federal agent, I am divorced, I am a single mother, I am a girlfriend, I am an athlete, I am a daughter, I am a friend, I am a sister, I am a daughter and I am a woman. But most importantly I am becoming who I want to be. I continue to grow each day. I have so much to accomplish on the road ahead. I hope to inspire and help those that think they can’t, those that don’t have time, those that have too many excuses.
It’s time to take control of your life. No one else can do it for you. It’s not easy. It’s not painless. It doesn’t come quickly. It takes patience. It takes perseverance. It takes discipline. It takes dedication. I took control. I rocked the boat and now I am ROCKING my world! When will you begin?
Rachel S. Williams
www.mycellblock.blogspot.com
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)