Bora Bora

Yo
Bora Bora?
Come away with me
Sand between our toes
Salty sea
Hands to yourself 8 hours a day
While you sleep beside me
And I pray
But not to a God
No way
Hand on my thigh
Oh... my
Sex and books
In the bed, on the beach
And I reach
For you
And I whisper
It's okay
To feel something for me
Okay? (Pkay?)
And you say shhhh
Let me have my way
With you
Shhhh
Words will not do
But for me
Yes
Words
So with my hands on your face
And my lips at your ear
... I love you
No!
It's brain chemicals, yo!
Science, bitch!
Didn't you know?
Time to go home
There is no love here
No Bora Bora
Only fear
But what about...?
No
Just no
I told you already, yo
Time to go 

Funny Ideas

I have two best friends. Heartache and Loneliness.
I didn’t choose them. They chose me.
I sometimes try to ditch them. Say I don't want to be friends anymore. Tell them to go away.
But they are not the type of friends to give up so easily.
They really like me, and so they stick around. Loyal, you might say.
And so, after a while, I invited them in.
If nothing else, they feel comfortable.

They are jealous friends though. No one wants a jealous friend.
Jealous friends chase everyone else away.
Love? No way in hell is Love allowed in the circle. They told Love to fuck off.
Happiness? Okay, Happiness can stop in once in a while for dinner. But, after dessert and coffee, buh-bye.
Too much Happiness can make a person sick, they say.
Intimacy? What? With someone besides us, they ask?
I say, sure, why not?
And they look at each other and laugh.
Apparently that’s funny.
I didn’t know.

They don’t want to share me.

Don’t get any funny ideas, they tell me.
Funny ideas will only disappoint you.
Stick with us and everything will be just fine.
Climb in the warm bath we’ve poured for you. Lay back and relax. Let us wash over you.
Ahhhh.
Feel that? Doesn’t it feel wonderful?

Tears burn at my eyes.
Don’t cry, they say.
Hush now.
Don’t cry.
Let us towel you dry. Let us climb into bed with you.
We will warm you. We will keep you company.
There, there.

Oh, to be on a first name basis with Heartache.
He’ll eat your soul.
And Loneliness?
Watch out for that one.
He’ll cuddle up to you and dig his claws in.
Never let go.

But we know you so well, they say.
No one knows you better than we do.
That counts for something.
We’ve got your back.
We love you.
Best friends forever. 

Proposal

On New Years Eve 2003, my now husband took me for a night on the town. He pulled strings and got us a reservation at Tribute in Farmington Hills. This restaurant closed in 2009, but for many years, it was quite the landmark... often making the list of top 50 restaurants in America.

It was something. I don't think I had ever been in a restaurant quite like this before. We had an entire team of wait staff. Each team is dedicated to serving just one table. Their whole goal is to pamper you and give you a night to remember. Which they did.

We ate fancy French cuisine. It was like course after course of deliciousness, presented in such a pretty way. Almost too pretty to eat, but eat we did.

When it was time for dessert, the wait staff carried out covered silver platters to present to us. In turn, they each lifted the lids from their respective platters... when the final lid was lifted, there sat a beautiful diamond ring surrounded by flower petals. A platinum ring with a canary yellow diamond. My heart jumped. (Later, my husband would say he chose a canary yellow diamond because it was "cute" like me.) 

I looked into Walt's eyes... and he said (get ready for this)... "Well?"

No "Will you marry me?" No romantic overture or sentiment. Just "Well?" I think this is known as the No Nonsense Proposal. Get 'er done!

Maybe he was nervous.

Irregardless, my response was... "Well what?"

(That'll show him.)

And so he asked me to marry him and I said yes. And we kissed and the wait staff cheered and made a big production of it all. And we were too full to eat the pretty desserts. 

I love my canary yellow diamond. It's unique and different. I don't personally know anyone else who has one. Whenever I look at it, I think of frog leg soup and flower petals and a gorgeous man who chose me to be his wife.

Mike, Mike and Mike

Men named Mike. I had to swear them off a long time ago.

In fact, had my husband's name been Mike instead of Walt, I would have turned down the first date. Really. It's that significant.

Mike #1
There is no trauma associated with Mike #1.
I only mention him because his name was, well, Mike.
We went to high school together. Hung out with the same group of friends. He was best friends with Joe, who eventually became my boyfriend. But Joe was dating Jennifer initially, and so Mike asked me to prom, and the four of us went together.
Mike's mom asked him to ask me what color my prom dress would be so they could plan accordingly.
I wore black. Not a popular color in 1987. But that's who I was.
So what did Mike do? He got a gray tux with a teal colored tie and cummerbund. We clashed horribly.
We danced to Lady in Red. He had never touched me before. I didn't actually know if he even liked me. We were just friends, really. Although I did kind of like him.
"Lady in red is dancing with me cheek to cheek..." (Red=black in this case)
By the end of the evening, I felt slightly smitten. Not overwhelmingly so, but smitten, nonetheless.
He drove me home... walked me to the front door... and shook my hand goodnight.
Shook my hand.
Shook my hand?

Mike #2
Quite a lot of trauma associated with Mike #2.
We worked together. I was in a committed relationship. But that didn't stop me from falling hard for Mike #2.
There was a ridiculous amount of chemistry between us. Like enter the same room and the temperature goes up 20 degrees kind of chemistry. Make eye contact and the rest of the world falls away kind of chemistry.
Craziness.
I tried to set him up with a couple different friends. We'd all go out together so I could introduce them, see what might happen... but it just drew us closer together. He was supposed to be interested in my friends. But he was interested in me.
On one of those nights, I drove him home. He invited me in. I should have said no. Instead, I said yes. He offered me a glass of water. We sat on the couch and sipped our bottles of water. And then he reached over and pulled me onto his lap. He slid his hand under my top and unhooked my bra. He kissed me. And kissed me some more. And kissed me for, I don't know, a very long time.
And then I went home.
And the guilt was torturous. And the infatuation I felt for him was torturous. I fell in love with him.
We never kissed again.
And he moved away.
I was heartbroken. I thought about him daily for 4 years. And then every other day for another 2 years. And then I accepted that it was truly over, this relationship that never had a beginning or a chance or a proper ending.
I can still picture him, as clear as day.

Mike #3
Mild sadness related to Mike #3.
When I was going through my divorce, while still living in Texas, I met Mike #2. During one of my visits to Michigan. He was friends with my friend's boyfriend.
On Halloween, I went to a nightclub with my friend and her boyfriend, and we ran into Mike #3.
I was dressed as a cow. 
He hung out with us a little, and then not. And then again.
We all went back to my friend's house and climbed in the hot tub. It was one of those chilly nights when it's really awesome to be in a hot tub. Warm water, crisp cold air. Heaven.
My friend and her boyfriend had had enough of the hot tub and excused themselves.
Mike #3 and I stayed in the hot tub half the night, talking. Just talking!
I learned that he had never had a professional massage before. As a massage therapist, this broke my heart.
The next day, I told my friend I wanted to go buy Mike #3 a gift certificate for a massage. So off we went. I flew home shortly after, and she gave him the gift about a week later.
She said he grinned from ear to ear.
I visited Michigan a few more times before moving there.
One night, he spent the night at my friend's. It was really late and I told him not to drive home. Said he could stay in my bed... in the guest room...
As soon as we got into bed, he drew an imaginary line down the middle and told me I couldn't cross that line.
I agreed.
I stayed on my side and he stayed on his side. And then he said, "Can I give you a kiss goodnight?"
And we crossed the imaginary line. But only for that kiss (and maybe a few more kisses).
He started calling me. It wasn't easy. He traveled for work, all over the country. I hadn't actually moved to Michigan yet. I had no business seeing anyone.
I saw him once more. We went out with other friends, and he hugged me... the longest hug anyone has ever given me.
My friend and her boyfriend broke up. And my contact with Mike #3 started to become further and farther apart. Until it just... stopped.
A few months later, when I actually moved to Michigan, I didn't call Mike #3. I don't even know if he was ever aware that I was living not more than 15 minutes from his house.

My middle name is Michelle. Had I been a boy, my mom tells me my name would have been Michael. Just something to mention. 

Life Line

A very long time ago, I had a male friend... who happened to have cerebral palsy. Some of his challenges were physical... issues with balance, spasms, gait, speech... and some of his challenges were cognitive. But he was able to get around ("I can walk," he used to say. "Who likes to jump, anyway?") and he really appreciated life. He was sweet and funny.

We would sometimes go to movies, sometimes out to eat, sometimes shopping. And we would go to random festivals and street fairs. He liked to be around other people... and to people watch. And he really liked cotton candy.

At one festival, we decided to visit a fortune teller. We both had our palms read. I don't remember many of the details of what she forecasted for me, but I do remember what she said to him... that his life line was very long... longer than mine. And he got upset and said that my life line needed to be as long as his. Otherwise he would have no one to go to fortune tellers with down the road.

After we left the fortune teller, we were walking down the street together, talking and eating our cotton candy. A car full of guys drove by and slowed down when they neared us. One of them yelled out the window, "Hey! What are you doing with the 'tard?! You can do better than that!" And they all laughed. I looked over at them and stuck both of my middle fingers up in the air as the car peeled off.

We shrugged it off. Losers. But we were both a bit frazzled, and I could tell he was upset even though he didn't say much and tried to laugh it off. It made me wonder how often he was subjected to the ignorant cruelty of other people.

Our favorite thing to do together? Go to old libraries and wander the stacks. One of the libraries has over 10 million items. You can literally spend an entire day wandering around. One floor is just maps and globes... another floor is comprised of photographs from the 1850's to the 1980's. We spent a lot of time there, exploring and learning.

One day at the library, we were perusing the archives. We were joking around about something and he got a little handsy with me. He grabbed me, kind of rough. I told him no and he stopped, but things got very uncomfortable very quickly, and I said we should leave. So we left. We said an awkward goodbye, and then I walked home... with a huge heavy lump in my stomach and some tears.

I didn't spend time with him after that. I was afraid, I guess. I would still see him on occasion in group settings... and I couldn't think of one single thing to say to him. It made me feel sad and kind of sick. And then my life circumstances changed and I moved. We never saw each other again.

That was so very long ago.

Whenever I see a sign for a fortune teller, my eyes involuntarily peek down at my life line. It's kind of short, when I really stop to look at it. It's just a fleeting thought, only to disappear as quickly as it surfaced. Memories can do that... invade, and then go... poof.

Dirt

I was in an abusive relationship when I was younger. It's still hard to admit. There is so much stigma. People wonder... why would she stay? She must be stupid. What is wrong with her? She deserves it. And so on.

I was madly in love with a very complicated man. I had never been in love before, and so you can imagine how I might have been feeling... that whole first love thing. It's incredible. I was completely consumed with loving him.

I won't go into all of the details of how our relationship came to be. Even that was complicated. It evolved over time and involved a lot of confusion and drama. But it did come to be.

(Wow, this is hard to talk about.)

I knew being in a relationship with this person, loving this person, was unhealthy. He had a lot of demons. Even though I had a vague sense of this from the beginning, it didn't stop me from loving him. I thought, oh, he just needs ME to love him... he will change... if I love him enough, he will love me enough.

When I was a freshman in college, my roommate dropped out. A high school friend moved into my dorm room (because it was far superior to her dorm room). She was a confidante. And she was a witness to this hailstorm of a relationship. She was the one who actually said the word "abusive" for the first time. Out loud. I had thought it and I had felt it in my gut, but I couldn't articulate it. Hearing her say it... oh my God. Oh my God.

I didn't leave though. Why? Because he was smart. And funny. And could be so sweet. He was endearing. We had passion. I was closer to him than any other person. And he would apologize. Beg for my forgiveness. Make promises. Tell me how much he loved me. And so I stayed. And stayed. And suffered. He never beat me, but there was physical violence. He was controlling. He would cheat on me, and then tell me details about his sexual encounters with other women. He made me feel like dirt ("You, you are so special, you have the talent to make me feel like dirt. You, you use your talent to dig me under... and cover me with dirt"). The emotional suffering was intense. A part of me died. I'm not kidding. It sounds melodramatic, but it's true. A part of me died.

I'm not able to pinpoint the ending of our relationship. As with everything else, it was complicated. But it ended. And I went on to date other men, fall in love, get married, get divorced, date other men, fall in love, get married.

I share this story only to shed light. Not for sympathy or shock value, as I know most of you don't know anything about this, including my own husband. I don't talk about it. Not because of the stigma so much, but more because it is not important. It does not define me in any way.  

Yes, there have been long-term consequences related to being in an abusive relationship. Some have resolved over time, some have not. A long time ago, I forgave him and, more importantly, I forgave myself. I have no ill will toward him and wish him the best. I rarely think about our relationship. It tends to rear its head when I find myself struggling with certain things... confrontation... letting someone know they did or said something to hurt me... saying I'm sorry... letting go of "walls" that keep me from being closer to someone. In those moments, if I really stop to think about it, I can trace it back to him. How it affected me over the long haul. I guess there will always be certain scars.

But I don't consider myself a victim. Not at all. I am a strong woman. And I still have an enormous capacity to love. That was not taken from me. My heart is pretty open to possibilities. This sarcastic and surly chick is still an optimist.

I Love My Friends, Volume Three: Jen

This is Jen. Everybody say, "Hi Jen!" I met Jen online about 2 years ago. No, not on a dating site. Silly. We met through an online garage sale site. Because we both like to buy and sell crap. Stefanie used to take dance in Howell, and Jen and I would meet on a street corner for our transactions. Yes, transactions. On a street corner. We called it "our corner." Jen and I talk all day long... online. We talk about all kinds of things, but pretty much all of our conversation is tinged with humor or sarcasm or both. Because Jen is damn funny. She is witty and smart and freaking hilarious. I try to keep up with her banter, but she runs circles around me. She's quick. I'm like, slow down, I'm trying to be funny here! But she leaves me in the dust. There are a lot of inside jokes in our friendship. We could have a series of Seinfeld episodes. Some of the titles could be... 1) The Mexicans 2) The MDQ 3) The Ruby and The Greta 4) The Poodle Skirt 5) The SIDWA with a dose of POOS and Betty 6) The Gay Bedding 7) The Bowling Green One of the greatest things about Jen is her generous spirit. She has helped me with projects and other things, and she is always willing to do a favor for me. She is my favorite favor sharer. I can't think of anyone else who is so happy and nice about doing favors. I try not to take advantage of her kindness in this arena. Jen is full of sage advice, incredibly supportive, a great encourager, and did I mention damn funny? If not, I just want to say she's damn funny. Damn. Funny.

Honeymoon

School Memory.   So, I'm now attending John Carroll University. I'm commuting. I live at home with my parents. I actually like commuting because I'm not really the dorm type. Plus I have a part-time job and a boyfriend and my job and my boyfriend aren't anywhere near John Carroll. So it works. But there's this boy. He commutes too. I know this because I stalked him for 2 years. Well. I did. We would see each other between certain classes or during certain parts of the day, but as soon as he'd look at me, I'd look away. I could not hold eye contact with this boy. And forget about ever talking to him. I couldn't do that either. He talked to me a few times... and I think I stopped breathing. I can't remember what happened after that. His name was Alex. And he graduated a year before me. So, it's now 1995, 3 years post-stalking, and I am married to my first husband. We are at the airport, leaving for our honeymoon. And Alex and his new wife are there... also on their honeymoon... on our flight... across the aisle from us. And his wife was cute. And he smiled and said hi. And then he fell asleep on the plane and I watched him sleep (I got away with it because his wife was also asleep). And it was just so... strange.

Disposable

Do you ever feel bad about something you did or didn't do 20 years ago?   After I graduated from college, I took a year off before starting grad school. I worked at a residential treatment center for emotionally disturbed children. It was... something. There was a guy who worked there. Steve. He was very bright and cared about the kids, but we butted heads constantly. We never agreed on how to handle certain situations, and I pretty much dreaded having to deal with him. And him me. I resigned from my job there when I started grad school. But I kept in touch with a couple of the girls from the treatment center. One in particular who had been discharged home. Teresa. There was a "reunion" of sorts at the treatment center, and she asked me to go with her. And we saw Steve there. He was very happy to see Teresa. Maybe not as happy to see me. Many, many months later, I checked my mailbox at school. And there was a note from Steve in there, hand-delivered. It would take some effort to find out that I even had a mailbox, let alone drive there, so I was a little thrown. He asked me to call him and said he'd like to see me. And so I called him and we struck up a friendship. And then he asked me out to dinner, and I said yes. But I really just wanted to be friends. And I kind of panicked over the idea of going to dinner with him, so I canceled very last minute and then never spoke to him again. I didn't return his phone calls, even though he called for weeks. What an awful thing to do. I don't know why I treated him that way. I have never been the sort of person who treats people as disposable, but there you have it... I did that to another human being. I wish I could apologize.

Typewriter

Back in the late 90's, I worked for the Alzheimer's Association. I was the first social worker hired at the Akron Tri-County Chapter. I helped launch a pilot program to assist caregivers, and I started a support group for individuals in the early stages of the disease, which was my very favorite thing. I bonded with those families like nobody's business.

Through that support group, I met Herb and Anne East. They were both in their 80's. Anne had Alzheimer's and Herb was her caregiver. They had no other family support, and Herb got very attached to me. He called the office daily to talk. I always did my best to maintain a professional distance with the families I worked with, but it's hard not to get personally attached to people. I have a soft spot for the elderly as it is... and this couple became very dear to me.

 

When I moved to Texas, they were pretty broken up. I remember telling Herb, in their living room, and he cried.

We kept in touch via letters. He would get out his old typewriter and write to me. He always started his letters with, "Please excuse the typed letter, but I do not write any better than I type, so here goes." I think those letters took him hours to finish.

I still have those letters.

I moved in 1999. In May 2001, I received this letter:

"I am trying everything and every way to keep Anne comfortable at home. Hospice seems to want her to go faster. This gets on my nerves and I tell them I don't want to hear this. Anne gets irritated at me when I turn her over and over in bed. But the good part is, in five minutes, she tells me, "I have to keep you around." She whispers mostly when she says anything now. I know time is catching up with me and I walk with a cane, don't get a lot of sleep or rest, but I will keep going as long as The Good Lord provides. Anne is my life and we have been married 57 years. I know your thoughts and prayers are with us. Please come to see us when you come to Ohio. Make it soon. Anne sleeps a lot now but she still has good days where a smile tells a lot even if words fail her. I know whatever you do, it will be very helping and healing, not only in body and spirit; you have a beautiful big heart. We wish you more than luck. We pray that you have a healthy and happy life now and forever. You can see by now that I cannot type or spell and I ran out of correction fluid so I will stop now. I'm sending you an old picture of us taken at our church a year ago when Anne was happy and feeling well that day. Our Love, Herb and Anne East."

And a handwritten P.S. at the bottom... "Thanks for being a special friend."

Anne died soon after this letter. And Herb is also gone now.

I have often questioned my decision to get my masters in social work. I sometimes regret that I chose that route rather than something else. But then I think of people like Herb and Anne East, who touched my life and let me touch theirs. And I guess I shouldn't ever question my social work career. It was a gift. And it's contributed to who I am today, in so many ways. It doesn't matter that I no longer work in that field. I met real life angels, and I am so thankful that I was able to help some people along the way.

Soccer

As a child, as an adolescent, as a teenager... I was not involved in much. I played viola in the school orchestra, but that was the extent of my extracurricular-ness.

I wanted to play piano, badly. But my dad said no. He didn't want to rent or buy a piano. It would take up too much space. Pick a smaller instrument, he said. Thus the viola.

I wasn't athletic. I didn't care for sports. I liked writing, but I didn't join any the various groups related to journalism. Why? Because I wasn't a joiner. And my parents didn't encourage involvement in after-school activities. They both worked and couldn't provide transportation. And so it was easy to just say no.

Nowadays, we start our kids young. Parent-tot gymnastics at age 12 months. All kinds of Mommy and Me groups. Dance lessons at age 3. We push our kids to get involved, have play dates, join things... succeed! Everything is competitive. From toddlerhood on up.

And so Stefanie did all of these things, and then some. She loved to dance, she loved gymnastics. She was a non-aggressive sort of child, and so these individual sports suited her. No one in her space. No one in her face. Just her in her own bubble, twirling and tumbling.

My husband is Mr. Soccer. Always was, still is. Played soccer, coached soccer... everything from high school to club soccer to Olympic Development to University of Michigan. Soccer, soccer, soccer. When he suggested that our daughter play soccer, I winced and said, "Oh. I'm not sure. She isn't really the assertive type. I think she prefers her individual sports."

I don't know why exactly I was opposed to soccer, but I was.

So we waited.

And then she started playing soccer. And I dreaded the thought of being a soccer mom. I could not see myself sitting on the sidelines, game after game, practice after practice, watching SOCCER. Soccer? Yeah, I don't do sports. Thanks, but no.

But something amazing happened. As I sat there in my lawn chair on the field, I found myself cheering. I found myself bonding with the other soccer parents. I found myself feeling proud of my daughter and her teammates. I realized that I immensely enjoyed watching them progress and develop. I made soccer friends of my own. It dawned on me... I love soccer!

I became the unofficial team mascot. "Honey" is my name. Story for another time. But you know you're integrated into the soccer world when you're the team mascot. That's right... there is no going back.

Watching my daughter's transformation has been incredible. She is a pretty darn good player. She has bonded with her teammates in a way that fills me with envy! How I wish I had that experience as a child! How truly wonderful to watch her confidence build. And how absolutely sweet and special are these girls. Look at them.

I see now that I was close-minded. I dismissed the idea of soccer just because I am not athletic... because I never played sports... because I don't watch sports. How silly of me. What a dummy.

How can this photo not make you smile? To be part of a TEAM... wow. It's fantastic.

Ugly

Someone asked me to share another story. So, how about a story of love and loss? It was 1991 and I met a boy named Lee. Lee Jeremy Justin Hall. He was a student at the University of Akron, played guitar in a band, had long hair and striking blue eyes. I liked him immediately. At the end of our first date, he walked me to my car. He backed me up against it and told me to close my eyes. He kissed my nose, then my forehead. Opened my door, told me to make it home safely so we could see each other again. We spent all of our free time together. We never did typical date stuff... we just liked to go for long walks, talk, study together. And we liked to read to each other. Our favorite books were The Little Prince and The Tao of Pooh. He eventually moved into my apartment, and before bed I would say, "Lee Jeremy Justin Hall, please read to me." And he did, pretty much every night. He was well-read and well-spoken, and kind of a tender soul. I remember driving in the car with him... we had known each other maybe a month... and he said, "You are the most unique and interesting person I have ever known." And he used to write letters to me. I still have one. And it says: I want you to know you are the most important person in my life. When I think about you, I can say beyond any doubt "I am living." Thank you for giving that to me. But above all this, I just plain love you. I love you! We were together for 2 years. And then it happened. I found something he had written. I don't know why I read it, but I did. And it said, "Sometimes I look at Leslie and think, she's ugly. My girlfriend is ugly. Why do I have an ugly girlfriend?" He came home later that evening in a really good mood and wanted to do something together, but I couldn't be around him. So I feigned illness and went into the bedroom. I sat there, totally upright, shaking, my head about to explode. After an hour or so, I walked into the living room and said, "I want you to leave." And I threw all of his belongings into a big pile on the living room floor. He had nowhere to go, really, but I took his apartment key off his key chain and, in my non-violent way, hit him and shoved him out the door. And then I cried for a long time. Weeks, months, I don't remember. And, for years, in the back of mind, that word haunted me. Ugly.

I Love My Friends, Volume Two: Sarah

This is Sarah. Everyone say, "Hi Sarah!"

Sarah will probably not LOVE that I am talking about her on Facebook. Fakebook. But this is not fake... this is real, honest, sincere stuff I'm talking about here.

I also met Sarah through Moms and Tots. 6-7 years ago. Sarah's daughter, Adelaide, is Stefanie's best friend. I love the two of them together... they represent everything sweet and innocent... and they are so darn cute.

And Sarah is my dear, dear friend. Our girls have taken dance and gymnastics together, we served on a board of directors together, and I used to babysit for both of her kids over the years. Liam came after Adelaide, and I cared for him when he was a baby while Sarah took some classes. I immediately loved him as much as I loved Adelaide. They are the sweetest kids you could ever meet. I credit that to Sarah (and her most excellent husband, Andy). Sarah is an amazing mother. When it comes to my own child, I can't think of anyone else in the world I trust more than Sarah... when I drop Stefanie with Sarah, I know she is in the very best hands.

And Sarah's mom is amazing too. She always greets me with a warm hug and treats us like family. And Liam calls me Aunt Leslie... which I love. I love that he thinks of me as family.

Sarah is the epitome of beauty. I kid you not. She is so pretty. She has a sparkle in her eyes and the most gorgeous smile. Look up beauty in the dictionary... her picture is there.

I thank my lucky stars for Sarah. Love her so much.

I Love My Friends, Volume One: Sandi

This is Sandi. Everyone say, "Hi Sandi!"

Sandi and I met through Moms and Tots (a nonprofit I founded back in the day... basically a very organized moms group). Her daughter, Ella, was not quite one when she joined. My daughter was 18 months old. To this day, Ella and Stefanie are really close pals. Just like me and Sandi.

We can go long periods without seeing each other and it doesn't affect our friendship. We always pick right back up where we left off. I love that about us.

Sandi has beautiful blue eyes, an infectious laugh. She helps me through tough times. She understands. We sometimes laugh like hyenas when we're together. I love her to pieces.

She lost her mom last summer... her best friend. I don't know what that feels like. My heart ached for her. Still does... because I know how much she misses her mom. I always say little prayers for them both.

Sandi is a strong person. She's tough and tender, all wrapped up in a beautiful package.

Postpartum

See this little girl here? I don't think I knew what love really was until she came into my life. She is my sweet, funny, smart, adorable girl. My favorite companion. We have an incredible bond.

Want to hear something crazy? When she was first born, I did not feel attached to her. Don't get me wrong, I took care of her in every way she needed care. But I did not feel that instantaneous bond that I assume most mothers feel. After a challenging pregnancy and an unwanted c-section, I then had a baby with colic. And I had postpartum depression. And I felt very isolated. At that time, I didn't have a support system here in Michigan, and Walt worked long hours. I was home alone, during a Michigan winter, with a baby who never stopped crying and never slept longer than 20 minutes at a time. It was physically and emotionally exhausting and miserable, and I didn't think it would ever end. I felt really hollow and sad, and I felt immense guilt for not really liking my baby very much. 

But I went through the motions during those first 12 weeks... and then she started to smile on occasion. And maybe she would occasionally sleep for an hour straight. And after our initial struggles with nursing, she was finally feeding well. And I could say that I not only loved her, but I liked her too. And then another 12 weeks went by and, all of a sudden, I had a happy baby. She giggled and smiled all the time. She loved for me to read to her and play with her and snuggle with her. She was super attached to me. And I was super attached to her.

There is no perfect birth story, I suppose. I look back on that time and it makes me teary... but I did the best I could, and it turned out just fine. And Stefanie and I became the best of friends over the years. I can't imagine that our bond could be any stronger... she is the light and love of my life. And I know she feels the same about me.

Little Pink Pill

Going out on a limb here. Here is a picture of my little pink pill.

It's not a happy pill, as some people like to call it. It doesn't work that way. And depression is not a flaw in character, but rather a flaw in chemistry. Some of you will see this post and never look at me the same. But that's okay, I'm not posting this for you. I'm posting it to bring awareness and to maybe help someone realize that it's okay to get help.

There is a family history of depression on both sides, so I was basically doomed from the start. I remember feeling such embarrassment over talking to my doctor about it. I waited until I was 29 years old, but really, I think I can trace my depression back to my childhood. No one screened for it in those days. You just muddled through. I have never been suicidal, I have never been a substance user or abuser, and I have always been functional. But when you have depression, you sort of feel like you always have a low grade fever. And everything has a hazy gray cast, I guess you could say.

I do really well on my medication. Low dose Celexa, in case you are curious. And I don't walk through life thinking of myself as a depressed person. When I do feel it sucking at me, I overcome it. I find comfort in books, music, Zumba, creating things, writing, laughter, all the people who bring joy and love to my life... so many things. I love life. I can't imagine what it's like to feel as though you need to end your life to find peace.

We hear of celebrities who commit suicide... and we may know people in our own lives who have... but, for whatever reason, Robin Williams' death has really affected me. He always had that sad look in his eyes, even when he was making us shake with laughter. I just feel sad that he couldn't get through this.

So, if you are depressed, know that you're not alone in this... and it truly is okay to take an antidepressant. I don't feel any shame or stigma about it anymore. My doctor once said to me, "If you live in Michigan, you need an antidepressant!" Ain't that the truth.

A Story of Lost Friendship

When I was younger, I had tons and tons of pen-pals. Some of them became real life friends. In middle school, I started writing letters with a girl named Dana. She lived in Ann Arbor and I lived in Cleveland. We had the opportunity to meet since we didn't live too far from each other. Her mom drove her to my family's house to visit for a few days, and I would go spend time with her family also. We had the chance to do that several times as teens. And we would write each other 15-20 page letters, all the time.

In adulthood, we became very close friends. I moved to Texas, but I'd fly up to Michigan and spend whole weeks at her house. We helped each other through some tough times. Her boyfriend was killed in a water skiing accident. It was a terrible tragedy, and I was glad that I could be there for her... and we would go to the mausoleum together. She said none of her other friends knew what to say or do, and she appreciated my willingness to go with her to visit his grave. It was hard for her to go alone.

And then I went through my divorce. I spent a lot of time visiting her during those long months during/after my divorce. During one of those visits, I was pretty lost, and caught up in my own thoughts. And she got mad. Said I wasn't any fun. Resented that I sat around and moped. We got into a huge fight, yelling and screaming and crying (well, I cried)... and I had gone out onto her back deck, and she locked me out of her house. And she drove off.

I ended up calling her mom to ask if she could please let me back inside the house. I was supposed to stay for a couple more days, but I changed my flight... I packed up my stuff and called a cab and flew back to Texas. We didn't talk for a while, but we did eventually talk again. And I ended up moving to Ann Arbor... for a job... but the whole reason I looked for a job in Ann Arbor was because of Dana.

Things were never really the same between us, even though we now lived 10 minutes from each other. Other complications arose due to relationships we were in with new loves (long story), and when I asked her to be in my wedding, she said no. And that was that. We never spoke again. It's now been 11 years since I've talked to or seen her. Before that, we were friends for 23 years.

I don't miss her anymore, but I do still think about her from time to time. Weird how life is. To think I moved here because of our friendship, and started a whole new life here... that she wasn't part of for very long. So now when people ask what brought me to Michigan, I just say it was for work... I leave out the part about Dana.