Some people think today, December 21, 2012 is the beginning of the end. I sure hope not. There is still too much to experience and appreciate. Plus, I really did finish my Christmas shopping and some people would miss out on some really cool gifts.
There has been a lot of senseless tragedy lately in the news. Many people have felt the sadness but also feel an increased sense of fear and disgust at mankind. There are plenty of bad people, but let's not forget the world is filled with even more good, kind, loving and generous people.
This past week I went to the mall in a mad dash to get my Christmas shopping done. On a whim, I decided to stop at Auntie Ann's for a pretzel and some of their delicious lemonade. The line was terribly long, but hey, it's worth it, isn't it?
As I stood in the long line, a man lined up behind me. He told his friend he was going to get a pretzel then meet him in the Barnes and Noble. After an eternity in line, he asked me if there were any other pretzel stands in the mall. No, I replied, and anyway, Auntie Ann's is worth the wait I said.
We started to talk and he shared he wasn't from the Richmond area. Being very vague about where he WAS from, he started to share his story with me. He had lived in New York but now travelled the country prospecting and was just in town visiting his friend. As it turns out, he had been a very successful housing contractor in New York but when his marriage failed and the business started to falter, he sold everything and started to travel. As he said, he's too young to call it retired but "he's living the dream".
I was fascinated with his story. We stepped up, I ordered and then advised him of what he should get. He kept talking after the order came up. I noticed an empty table right next to us so I asked him if he wanted to sit with me. Sure, he said with a smile, talking the whole time. It became evident he just needed someone to listen to him as he shared all of the life revelations he's had since starting his new adventure. That was one of the most interesting and heartfelt conversations I've had in a very long time. In the span of about 20 minutes, he relayed his joys, sorrows, revelations, hopes and dreams. He's thought about forgiveness, the meaning of life and how to find true purpose in his life. When his friend approached, he stood and said "by the way, I'm Ken". I shook his hand and wished him well. This guy really made my day.
Believe it or not, on the way home I stopped at the pharmacy and had yet another experience of beauty. There was a little girl, maybe age four or five, dressed in her pretty red Christmas dress. She was waiting with her grandma for her pictures with Santa to develop. I asked her what presents she had asked for and she replied something I couldn't understand. The lady next to me said "that's a video game". OH, I replied. The grandma then said, "She had first asked for new guitar strings earlier and it made me choke back tears". As she said this, I looked and saw the fairly new, still red, stub where the little girls left arm had once been. She struggled to put her Santa hat back on and succeeded. I smiled at her and said "I'll bet Santa brings you some great presents". She smiled shyly right back at me and I thought, wow, this kid really is an inspiration, and for some reason, I think she WILL play that guitar one day.
One other story I would like to share is that not once, but twice, in the span of three weeks, my daughter has misplaced her money. The first time was her entire paycheck she had just cashed for her rent, to the tune of several hundred dollars, and the other happened yesterday, when she left her purse at the Jimmy Johns in the Chesterfield Mall. Lucky for her, the very honest property manager of her apartment complex found her envelope of cash in the parking lot and returned it. To say that we were shocked is an understatement. It would have been so easy for someone to find it and keep it. That woman didn't make it on the news for her moral actions, but her honesty is amazing. What of the purse? Well, several hours after realizing her purse was missing, she called Jimmy Johns and told them her Mom would stop by to pick it up after work. She asked the girl if there was any of her money or credit cards left and the girl replied she only saw receipts and lip gloss. Alex was devastated.
When I arrived, I asked again, "is all the money gone?"
I felt so bad for Alex because her Christmas money from family was in there. To my surprise, the girl said "There's an envelope with some money in there". Sure enough, her credit cards and cash were once again intact. Unbelievable! Whoever returned the purse and to the Jimmy John's staff who could have pilfered it, thank you for your honesty.
When you stop and think about all the people who generously volunteer their time and talents with children, animals, elderly, homeless, disabled and ill people you begin to remember there IS kindness and love in this world. When you're short a dime at the checkout and a stranger promptly offers one, there is generosity. When you or your family has a medical scare and a friend sits patiently by your side, there is love. When a traumatic disaster occurs and complete strangers offer any type of help they can give, there is compassion. Yes, this world is filled with good people.
Wishing you a very Merry Christmas and a New Year filled with peace, love, hope and happiness!
Friday, December 21, 2012
Thursday, November 22, 2012
Grandma's Church Window Cookies:A Funny Memory Full of Love
Growing up, my Grandmother would let me eat Stove Top stuffing for breakfast when I stayed the night at her house. I really loved that gop of seasoned bread. She would make it just the way I liked it, nice and mushy. It was an added bonus knowing my mother would be really mad if she knew Grandma had given it to me. Every child likes to feel like they have one up on their parents every now and then.
Grandma made the best pork chops ever, wonderful chocolate no-bake cookies and a variety of other tasty treats. Once she was making me some of her delicious, coveted buttered noodles, only to hand me the bowl and dash my dreams of yummy goodness. The noodles were swimming in milk. I knew right away it wasn't some lame attempt to cover up an absence of butter in the house because as I looked at my beloved noodles bobbing in the milk, I saw the little yellow bursts of butter exploding at the surface. Immediately I informed Grandma of this mistake. Her response? "You love milk in your noodles." Not wanting to hurt her feelings, I gently reminded her that POLLY, my sister, loved milk in her noodles, I however, did not. Immediately Gram looked hurt. The guilt of being such an ungrateful little brat washed over me. I ate the noodles and learned to keep my mouth shut when someone tried to do something nice, even if I didn't like it. I never asked for noodles again.
A few years later, Gram discovered a new cookie recipe. I never did find out exactly what all was in it, but the cookie appeared to have a chocolate outer ring encasing brightly colored marshmallows. This creative confection was then rolled in coconut and baked. She called them Church Window Cookies. Gram loved the bright colors and unique appearance of these cookies. Oh boy, I thought. The chocolate was a great idea, but I hated both marshmallows and coconut.And I do mean HATED them! When they were fresh out of the oven, Gram eagerly gave me a cookie, the excitement in her face gleaming as she just knew I would love this tasty, sweet creation she had made for us grand kids.
I wanted to barf.
As I put the cookie to my mouth, I said a silent prayer pleading for the strength to eat it without showing a look of thorough disgust that would betray my face of gratefulness. I will never forget that disgusting, spongy yet dried out, baked marshmallow taste, rolled in equally dried out coconut. My mouth ceased the production of any and all moisture as that horrific taste penetrated every taste bud.
Forcing a smile, I said "Oh, those are good. Thank you Grandma!" and I tore off out the front door, cookie in hand. There was a good sized crack between the porch and the front step. I stuffed that sucker in there so fast I scratched my fingers. I never did figure out if there was ever any correlation between that cursed cookie and the ant problems at the front of the house.
Church Window Cookies became one of Grandmas treasured traditional cookies, especially at Christmas and Thanksgiving. Luckily, I learned quickly that the way to avoid them was to just blend into the crowd as the family gathered. Throwing in a "everything tastes really good, Gram!" was an additional assurance to avoid those horrific things.
When I was 18, I joined the Air Force. Grandma was kind enough to send care packages to help quell my homesickness. She would send lovely little cards with loving, encouraging words, a few dollars to buy something and little updates from home. At Christmas, among the gifts she sent was a cute little tin. Growing up in a family that loved tins, you just knew something home baked would be in there. Immediately I got excited as I thought about chocolate chip cookies, chocolate no-bake cookies, and maybe some homemade hard candy. I excitedly pulled of the lid, hearing that little "clang" pop, peeled back the wax paper and stared with mortification.....Church Window Cookies. Now don't get me wrong, she put the good ones in there, too, but thanks to the close quarters of the sealed tin, the taste of those Church Window Cookies had contaminated the entire contents. I tapped one of the "window panes" of the cookie. Geez, it was like a ceramic tile. That damn coconut had overpowered the oatmeal in the chocolate no-bakes and completely deconstructed all flavors of the chocolate chip cookies. And the smell....stupid Church Window Cookies.
As I dialed Gram's number and she answered the phone, I told her that the package had arrived. "Thank you for the cookies Gram, they are wonderful!" making sure I conveyed how much I appreciated her thoughtfulness. She asked if they had arrived okay or had they broken up? Seizing the opportunity to prevent any future waste of perfectly good cookies, I told her overall they were "pretty good, but a little crumbly from all the jostling." I followed with the suggestion that perhaps she could separate them and wrap them in small bundles next time. It worked! For the next 18 years or so, I received loving, edible, care packages from my thoughtful Grandmother. I did however make an error in judgement shortly after I married my husband. I revealed to Grams that he liked the Church Window Cookies. She doubled the amount sent.
As I sit here today and remember Gram's love for her family, excitement around the holidays, and her thoughtful support for those far away, something occurred to me about those Church Window Cookies. As much as I couldn't stand those cookies, they symbolize a special love. A love from a grandmother in her kind gesture of making them and a granddaughter's love by not hurting her feelings and showing sincere appreciation for her thoughtfulness. When you think about a Church Window, stained glass comes to mind. It's a beautiful thought, thinking of those cookies and making the comparison between the two. You cannot see through the glass but if you look at it in the beautiful bright light, it is bursting with vibrant, beautiful color, perhaps even a sun beam ray illuminating the room. This is how memories of my Grandmother make me feel, as I bask in the warm glowing memory of her love.
Grandma made the best pork chops ever, wonderful chocolate no-bake cookies and a variety of other tasty treats. Once she was making me some of her delicious, coveted buttered noodles, only to hand me the bowl and dash my dreams of yummy goodness. The noodles were swimming in milk. I knew right away it wasn't some lame attempt to cover up an absence of butter in the house because as I looked at my beloved noodles bobbing in the milk, I saw the little yellow bursts of butter exploding at the surface. Immediately I informed Grandma of this mistake. Her response? "You love milk in your noodles." Not wanting to hurt her feelings, I gently reminded her that POLLY, my sister, loved milk in her noodles, I however, did not. Immediately Gram looked hurt. The guilt of being such an ungrateful little brat washed over me. I ate the noodles and learned to keep my mouth shut when someone tried to do something nice, even if I didn't like it. I never asked for noodles again.
A few years later, Gram discovered a new cookie recipe. I never did find out exactly what all was in it, but the cookie appeared to have a chocolate outer ring encasing brightly colored marshmallows. This creative confection was then rolled in coconut and baked. She called them Church Window Cookies. Gram loved the bright colors and unique appearance of these cookies. Oh boy, I thought. The chocolate was a great idea, but I hated both marshmallows and coconut.And I do mean HATED them! When they were fresh out of the oven, Gram eagerly gave me a cookie, the excitement in her face gleaming as she just knew I would love this tasty, sweet creation she had made for us grand kids.
I wanted to barf.
As I put the cookie to my mouth, I said a silent prayer pleading for the strength to eat it without showing a look of thorough disgust that would betray my face of gratefulness. I will never forget that disgusting, spongy yet dried out, baked marshmallow taste, rolled in equally dried out coconut. My mouth ceased the production of any and all moisture as that horrific taste penetrated every taste bud.
Forcing a smile, I said "Oh, those are good. Thank you Grandma!" and I tore off out the front door, cookie in hand. There was a good sized crack between the porch and the front step. I stuffed that sucker in there so fast I scratched my fingers. I never did figure out if there was ever any correlation between that cursed cookie and the ant problems at the front of the house.
Church Window Cookies became one of Grandmas treasured traditional cookies, especially at Christmas and Thanksgiving. Luckily, I learned quickly that the way to avoid them was to just blend into the crowd as the family gathered. Throwing in a "everything tastes really good, Gram!" was an additional assurance to avoid those horrific things.
When I was 18, I joined the Air Force. Grandma was kind enough to send care packages to help quell my homesickness. She would send lovely little cards with loving, encouraging words, a few dollars to buy something and little updates from home. At Christmas, among the gifts she sent was a cute little tin. Growing up in a family that loved tins, you just knew something home baked would be in there. Immediately I got excited as I thought about chocolate chip cookies, chocolate no-bake cookies, and maybe some homemade hard candy. I excitedly pulled of the lid, hearing that little "clang" pop, peeled back the wax paper and stared with mortification.....Church Window Cookies. Now don't get me wrong, she put the good ones in there, too, but thanks to the close quarters of the sealed tin, the taste of those Church Window Cookies had contaminated the entire contents. I tapped one of the "window panes" of the cookie. Geez, it was like a ceramic tile. That damn coconut had overpowered the oatmeal in the chocolate no-bakes and completely deconstructed all flavors of the chocolate chip cookies. And the smell....stupid Church Window Cookies.
As I dialed Gram's number and she answered the phone, I told her that the package had arrived. "Thank you for the cookies Gram, they are wonderful!" making sure I conveyed how much I appreciated her thoughtfulness. She asked if they had arrived okay or had they broken up? Seizing the opportunity to prevent any future waste of perfectly good cookies, I told her overall they were "pretty good, but a little crumbly from all the jostling." I followed with the suggestion that perhaps she could separate them and wrap them in small bundles next time. It worked! For the next 18 years or so, I received loving, edible, care packages from my thoughtful Grandmother. I did however make an error in judgement shortly after I married my husband. I revealed to Grams that he liked the Church Window Cookies. She doubled the amount sent.
As I sit here today and remember Gram's love for her family, excitement around the holidays, and her thoughtful support for those far away, something occurred to me about those Church Window Cookies. As much as I couldn't stand those cookies, they symbolize a special love. A love from a grandmother in her kind gesture of making them and a granddaughter's love by not hurting her feelings and showing sincere appreciation for her thoughtfulness. When you think about a Church Window, stained glass comes to mind. It's a beautiful thought, thinking of those cookies and making the comparison between the two. You cannot see through the glass but if you look at it in the beautiful bright light, it is bursting with vibrant, beautiful color, perhaps even a sun beam ray illuminating the room. This is how memories of my Grandmother make me feel, as I bask in the warm glowing memory of her love.
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
Fate and Circustance...a Personal Reflection of an Unexpected Gift
I was just reading over my posts. Counting them, actually.
This blog was started as a class assignment for my College Composition class. We are required to submit at least one entry per week for the entire duration of the class. I think I'm one or two short, most likely due to some of the recent events in my life lately. This is not about those events.
It's funny, as I read over my original post, the original "Fate and Circumstance", I remembered the original intent of this blog. To entice the readers to share their own stories, both the trivial and seriously life changing stories, and I noticed something. Along the way, I received a few emails and phone calls alerting me to the fact that several people had TRIED to post, but the page just wouldn't accept their replies. I still thanked them and truly appreciated the fact that they tried.
Guess what? Due to a computer glitch, operator error or who knows what, each of you are a part of my current circumstance. As I sit here and think about the original intent of wanting to both share and receive, I see that fate, for some unknown reason, dictated a little differently.
Originally, I thought it would help me feel less insecure posting personal thoughts and experiences by inviting others to join in. It was terrifying opening up for the world to see. My class was never required to share our blog outside of the classroom but a few months ago a friend posted a little quote on Facebook. It simply read something about accomplishing your dreams. Then a few days later, again on Facebook, I saw a quote made by Eleanor Roosevelt that really inspired me, too. Since I don't have a great memory, I personalized it a bit and turned it into "Do something that scares the hell out of you everyday". Now, I don't mean the play in traffic or stick your tongue in an electrical outlet kind of scary, but something that challenges you personally.
Writing is very personal for me. I've always loved to write but several things have happened over the years that stopped me. You know, the kind of things that make you feel like you played with fire and got burned, the kind of stuff that makes you back off of something because it hurt so bad.
The day that I wrote the first blog, I was in a frenzy of emotion. Writing about Tom, I laughed at memories of him at work, cried at the loss of him and missed his treasured friendship deeply. Thankfulness for knowing him kept me motivated, and seeing him in my mind's eye, throwing up his fist in triumph as he often did, was such a release of emotion for me. He would always say to everyone "do what makes you happy". What sage advice.
As I debated at launching the blog publicly, my finger lingered over the enter button, contemplating whether to send it. Would I face ridicule? Did I sound stupid? Would I offend anyone?
I thought of good old Eleanor Roosevelt. Time to be scared. The theme from "Jaws" rang in my mind...da da, da da, da da, da da da da da da...SEND!
In an instant, I had faced a huge fear and knew there was no turning back. "Well, that's that!" I thought and felt both liberated and worried. Did I do the right thing?
A few hours later, I checked my Facebook. Many familiar names were glaring at me from the screen. John, Nancy T., Steve, Leigh, Christine, Bobbi, Tammy, Beverly A and Beverly W, John, Alexandra, Kathy, Jeff. Encouraging, kind, and loving comments were written below. "Great job!"" Loved it!" "You made me cry!" were just some of the comments. Several others sent me private emails, sharing how much it touched them to read this tribute to Tom. To say I was overwhelmed and grateful is a sincere understatement.
I have been blessed to have many people from my past and present, new friends and complete strangers email me and post responses to my blog. Several people have stated that the posts have struck a cord with them, made them laugh or made them think. Thank you to each and every one of you who has now become a part of my life, inspired me and helped rediscover my passion for writing. You are all a wonderful, inspiring and appreciated fate to have!
This blog was started as a class assignment for my College Composition class. We are required to submit at least one entry per week for the entire duration of the class. I think I'm one or two short, most likely due to some of the recent events in my life lately. This is not about those events.
It's funny, as I read over my original post, the original "Fate and Circumstance", I remembered the original intent of this blog. To entice the readers to share their own stories, both the trivial and seriously life changing stories, and I noticed something. Along the way, I received a few emails and phone calls alerting me to the fact that several people had TRIED to post, but the page just wouldn't accept their replies. I still thanked them and truly appreciated the fact that they tried.
Guess what? Due to a computer glitch, operator error or who knows what, each of you are a part of my current circumstance. As I sit here and think about the original intent of wanting to both share and receive, I see that fate, for some unknown reason, dictated a little differently.
Originally, I thought it would help me feel less insecure posting personal thoughts and experiences by inviting others to join in. It was terrifying opening up for the world to see. My class was never required to share our blog outside of the classroom but a few months ago a friend posted a little quote on Facebook. It simply read something about accomplishing your dreams. Then a few days later, again on Facebook, I saw a quote made by Eleanor Roosevelt that really inspired me, too. Since I don't have a great memory, I personalized it a bit and turned it into "Do something that scares the hell out of you everyday". Now, I don't mean the play in traffic or stick your tongue in an electrical outlet kind of scary, but something that challenges you personally.
Writing is very personal for me. I've always loved to write but several things have happened over the years that stopped me. You know, the kind of things that make you feel like you played with fire and got burned, the kind of stuff that makes you back off of something because it hurt so bad.
The day that I wrote the first blog, I was in a frenzy of emotion. Writing about Tom, I laughed at memories of him at work, cried at the loss of him and missed his treasured friendship deeply. Thankfulness for knowing him kept me motivated, and seeing him in my mind's eye, throwing up his fist in triumph as he often did, was such a release of emotion for me. He would always say to everyone "do what makes you happy". What sage advice.
As I debated at launching the blog publicly, my finger lingered over the enter button, contemplating whether to send it. Would I face ridicule? Did I sound stupid? Would I offend anyone?
I thought of good old Eleanor Roosevelt. Time to be scared. The theme from "Jaws" rang in my mind...da da, da da, da da, da da da da da da...SEND!
In an instant, I had faced a huge fear and knew there was no turning back. "Well, that's that!" I thought and felt both liberated and worried. Did I do the right thing?
A few hours later, I checked my Facebook. Many familiar names were glaring at me from the screen. John, Nancy T., Steve, Leigh, Christine, Bobbi, Tammy, Beverly A and Beverly W, John, Alexandra, Kathy, Jeff. Encouraging, kind, and loving comments were written below. "Great job!"" Loved it!" "You made me cry!" were just some of the comments. Several others sent me private emails, sharing how much it touched them to read this tribute to Tom. To say I was overwhelmed and grateful is a sincere understatement.
I have been blessed to have many people from my past and present, new friends and complete strangers email me and post responses to my blog. Several people have stated that the posts have struck a cord with them, made them laugh or made them think. Thank you to each and every one of you who has now become a part of my life, inspired me and helped rediscover my passion for writing. You are all a wonderful, inspiring and appreciated fate to have!
Friday, November 16, 2012
One Brown Shoe the Other One Black
It's funny how an everyday, seemingly insignificant event can change a person's perception on life.
After many years, I have realized something about myself. I'm a fixer. Not cars, not computers or plumbing, but people. Absolutely nothing goes without my notice. Sad person? Make them happy! Worried? Let's calm those fears! Scared? Ahh, there are no monsters under the bed. Little problems, big problems, it doesn't matter,there is a solution to every problem and by golly, I'll help find it. It is the right thing to do and I'm one of those people obssessed with doing the right thing.
I'm not just your average fixer, either. I am hard core. Just ask my husband how many animals, causes and even people have been drug home by me. The man is a saint when I look back and realize just how many times in 25 years he has sucked up my need to fix something and been gracious enough to view it simply as my being a "good hearted person". He has gracefully sacrificed both financially and personally for me in my quest of ridding the world from any negative activity. He just accepts it because it's the right thing to do.
You see, in my own little world, everyone needs to be happy. Mickey Mouse, Barney, and The Cleaver family from Leave it to Beaver REALLY know how to live. No hurt feelings, everyone is mannerly and kind to one another. Everyone does the right thing, all the time. Life is so grand, it's disgusting by many peoples definition.
Now you might think this is a nice trait to have, trying to be a perpetual ray of sunshine, righting the world from wrongs, but it has recently come to my attention as to where a huge source of my everyday stress stems from. It really drives me nuts to have things "not right". Whether it is someone not being full of bliss at home or even a complete stranger who is down on their luck, this compulsion to have everything perfect comes at a cost.
The way I came to realize this odd, compulsive aspect of myself came about a few months ago while consoling a friend who was having a rough time. It hurt my heart that she was depressed so I decided to give one of my best pep talks. Oh yea, we were going to get rid of all this undeserving misery my friend was feeling. Turn that frown upside down! The sun will come out tomorrow! Everything will be just fine, honey. This whole conversation went on via Face book chat, back and forth and back and forth.
Trying to help paint a realistic picture for her and ease her worries, I typed in the words "Perfection does not exist". I hit "enter" and suddenly, the words just sat there on the screen. I stared at those four words for what seemed like hours. It hung in the air like a cloud. "Perfection does not exist" I read over and over and over again. I wrote the phrase for her, but somehow it kept echoing back to me. It was the oddest feeling to sit there looking at something that had sprung from my own fingers, yet it appeared so foreign. I said the phrase out loud and something clicked.
The past two years have held a multitude of challenges, losses, and life changing events for me and my family. As much as I desperately tried to fix things, it all seemed to avalanche. No matter how much I smiled, did nice things, helped someone out, I could not stop the slew of unwanted life events that were unfolding. With no breaks between these events, that feeling of helplessness climaxed a few months ago when my beloved dog Timmy again started to have seizures. He spent two days having Grand mal seizures about every two hours. I slept on the couch to help him through these horrific episodes. I had very little actual sleep during those two days.
When I went to work the next day, my boss stood there looking at me strangely. She said "Amy" and looked at the floor. Confused, I said "What?" She again looked at the floor in front of me. I looked at the floor and still it did not register. The lack of sleep must have affected my thought process because I started to think, "there must be a snake down there!"
Roberta is one of those very kind, gentle hearted people. She will give the "gentle nudge" to call attention to something that could be considered a delicate situation. She finally lifted her eyebrows and said "your shoes". I looked down, and sure enough, like a beacon blazing through the darkness, was one brown shoe on my left foot and one black shoe on my right foot.
I stood there staring at my feet. Exhausted, overwhelmed, and feeling helpless from life's recent trials, I had a flash of pure mortification. Oh my gosh, I look like a fool! Oh no, I made a mistake! Oh heavens, my boss hired an idiot! The mask of goodness, correct decisions and happiness were ripped from my face. What on earth would June Cleaver think of this horrendous debacle? Could the floor please open up and swallow me whole?
Suddenly, in my minds eye I saw the words "Perfection does not exist". Hmmmm. "Perfection does not exist".
Shit.
I started to laugh. "Perfection does not exist" ran through my mind again. "I'm really wearing two different color shoes" I thought.
Fully realizing I was sleep deprived, I made sure I didn't let loose with the laughter that was in my heart, but in my head, I relaxed. I mean, I really and truly relaxed. All of this pent up responsibility I felt to save the world of every woe flew out of me like a thousand doves taking flight into the heavens.
I cannot stop life's miserys from happening. Life is not perfect and a person can only do what they can do. I am not perfect. Never have been, never will be. Perfection does not exist. So what if the dishes sit in the sink for a while? Who cares if someone chooses to be mad at me? If I don't get the A on that Essay, the world will not fall off it's axis. It's really okay that perfection does not exist.
Now don't get me wrong, I really do like to try to be a nice person, do the right thing and help people but I have come to realize that I cannot save the world nor do I want that responsibility. That's pretty darn presumptuous and impossible, anyway. I actually feel a little ashamed of myself with all of the "helping" I've done over the years. Albeit well intentioned, in a way, it's easy to ask why on earth I would ever think I possessed such super powers that everyone would even want my help?
Sometimes life throws each of us a circumstance that we can control, others not. The difference is how we receive each of these events and our willingness to accept them.
For all of you fellow world savers out there, and if you read this through, there is a good chance you're one of them, I wish you the gift of looking upon your feet and finding one black shoe and the other brown.
After many years, I have realized something about myself. I'm a fixer. Not cars, not computers or plumbing, but people. Absolutely nothing goes without my notice. Sad person? Make them happy! Worried? Let's calm those fears! Scared? Ahh, there are no monsters under the bed. Little problems, big problems, it doesn't matter,there is a solution to every problem and by golly, I'll help find it. It is the right thing to do and I'm one of those people obssessed with doing the right thing.
I'm not just your average fixer, either. I am hard core. Just ask my husband how many animals, causes and even people have been drug home by me. The man is a saint when I look back and realize just how many times in 25 years he has sucked up my need to fix something and been gracious enough to view it simply as my being a "good hearted person". He has gracefully sacrificed both financially and personally for me in my quest of ridding the world from any negative activity. He just accepts it because it's the right thing to do.
You see, in my own little world, everyone needs to be happy. Mickey Mouse, Barney, and The Cleaver family from Leave it to Beaver REALLY know how to live. No hurt feelings, everyone is mannerly and kind to one another. Everyone does the right thing, all the time. Life is so grand, it's disgusting by many peoples definition.
Now you might think this is a nice trait to have, trying to be a perpetual ray of sunshine, righting the world from wrongs, but it has recently come to my attention as to where a huge source of my everyday stress stems from. It really drives me nuts to have things "not right". Whether it is someone not being full of bliss at home or even a complete stranger who is down on their luck, this compulsion to have everything perfect comes at a cost.
The way I came to realize this odd, compulsive aspect of myself came about a few months ago while consoling a friend who was having a rough time. It hurt my heart that she was depressed so I decided to give one of my best pep talks. Oh yea, we were going to get rid of all this undeserving misery my friend was feeling. Turn that frown upside down! The sun will come out tomorrow! Everything will be just fine, honey. This whole conversation went on via Face book chat, back and forth and back and forth.
Trying to help paint a realistic picture for her and ease her worries, I typed in the words "Perfection does not exist". I hit "enter" and suddenly, the words just sat there on the screen. I stared at those four words for what seemed like hours. It hung in the air like a cloud. "Perfection does not exist" I read over and over and over again. I wrote the phrase for her, but somehow it kept echoing back to me. It was the oddest feeling to sit there looking at something that had sprung from my own fingers, yet it appeared so foreign. I said the phrase out loud and something clicked.
The past two years have held a multitude of challenges, losses, and life changing events for me and my family. As much as I desperately tried to fix things, it all seemed to avalanche. No matter how much I smiled, did nice things, helped someone out, I could not stop the slew of unwanted life events that were unfolding. With no breaks between these events, that feeling of helplessness climaxed a few months ago when my beloved dog Timmy again started to have seizures. He spent two days having Grand mal seizures about every two hours. I slept on the couch to help him through these horrific episodes. I had very little actual sleep during those two days.
When I went to work the next day, my boss stood there looking at me strangely. She said "Amy" and looked at the floor. Confused, I said "What?" She again looked at the floor in front of me. I looked at the floor and still it did not register. The lack of sleep must have affected my thought process because I started to think, "there must be a snake down there!"
Roberta is one of those very kind, gentle hearted people. She will give the "gentle nudge" to call attention to something that could be considered a delicate situation. She finally lifted her eyebrows and said "your shoes". I looked down, and sure enough, like a beacon blazing through the darkness, was one brown shoe on my left foot and one black shoe on my right foot.
I stood there staring at my feet. Exhausted, overwhelmed, and feeling helpless from life's recent trials, I had a flash of pure mortification. Oh my gosh, I look like a fool! Oh no, I made a mistake! Oh heavens, my boss hired an idiot! The mask of goodness, correct decisions and happiness were ripped from my face. What on earth would June Cleaver think of this horrendous debacle? Could the floor please open up and swallow me whole?
Suddenly, in my minds eye I saw the words "Perfection does not exist". Hmmmm. "Perfection does not exist".
Shit.
I started to laugh. "Perfection does not exist" ran through my mind again. "I'm really wearing two different color shoes" I thought.
Fully realizing I was sleep deprived, I made sure I didn't let loose with the laughter that was in my heart, but in my head, I relaxed. I mean, I really and truly relaxed. All of this pent up responsibility I felt to save the world of every woe flew out of me like a thousand doves taking flight into the heavens.
I cannot stop life's miserys from happening. Life is not perfect and a person can only do what they can do. I am not perfect. Never have been, never will be. Perfection does not exist. So what if the dishes sit in the sink for a while? Who cares if someone chooses to be mad at me? If I don't get the A on that Essay, the world will not fall off it's axis. It's really okay that perfection does not exist.
Now don't get me wrong, I really do like to try to be a nice person, do the right thing and help people but I have come to realize that I cannot save the world nor do I want that responsibility. That's pretty darn presumptuous and impossible, anyway. I actually feel a little ashamed of myself with all of the "helping" I've done over the years. Albeit well intentioned, in a way, it's easy to ask why on earth I would ever think I possessed such super powers that everyone would even want my help?
Sometimes life throws each of us a circumstance that we can control, others not. The difference is how we receive each of these events and our willingness to accept them.
For all of you fellow world savers out there, and if you read this through, there is a good chance you're one of them, I wish you the gift of looking upon your feet and finding one black shoe and the other brown.
Sunday, November 11, 2012
The Girl Who Grew Up In the Attic
I'm not sure why, but I've been reminiscing about something all day long. It is something that happened a long time ago, maybe when I was seven or eight years old, but it was a circumstance that impacted my life substantially.
As my great-Grandfather aged, he chose to live in a nursing home. His daughter-in-law, my Grandmother, would visit him several times a week, always taking him chewing tobacco and candy.
Grandma always took one of the grand kids with her, and on this particular day, I was the one to accompany her. Truthfully, I was a little frightened by my great-Grandfather because he would speak harshly to me sometimes. Not wanting to risk any chance of upsetting him, I decided to slip out in the hallway while they visited.
As I stood outside the doorway, I noticed a very small woman holding some dolls. I remember smiling at her and saying hello. She just stood there and stared at me, a very cold stare that scared me. Thinking I had done something wrong, I hightailed it back into the room and sat there on the bed, waiting for the visit to end.
When Gram and I entered the hallway to leave, the little old lady with the dolls was again in the hallway, looking at me. Not wanting to be rude, I told her goodbye. She continued to coldly stare at me.
When we got in the car, I asked Gram "why does that lady carry baby dolls? Does she have granddaughters?" Grandma simply replied "No. She doesn't have any granddaughter's." Gram said nothing more.
Hmmm. That just didn't make any sense.Why would a grown woman have dolls if she had no granddaughters? On top of that, Gram had stopped talking. Why had she stopped talking? Gram NEVER stopped talking!
I looked at her and said "then why does she carry baby dolls around?". This was just sheer craziness, adults don't play with dolls! Gram saw the confusion in my eyes and took a deep breath and said "Amy, her name is Haddie and she doesn't have any family, so she carries the dolls." Huh? NO family? Stunned and utterly confused, I asked "you mean she is an orphan?".
Normally a very quiet child unless something interested me, Gram knew if I was curious about this lady, I would not stop asking questions.
Gram looked at me and said "When Haddie was a little girl, she wasn't very smart. Back then, if a child was different, families were ashamed of them. Her family was embarrassed that Haddie was not like other children, so she grew up in the attic, away from people. She never learned how to talk."
Now, it was common knowledge Gram could stretch the truth a bit at times and this just sounded like a big old fib. I stopped talking and thought "I'll ask Grandpa. He always tells me the truth".
I waited for Gram to be out of earshot when I cornered Grandpa and whispered "There is a lady at the nursing home that carries dolls. Did she really grow up in the attic?". Grandpa looked at me with those sky blue eyes, full of sadness and thoughtfulness, and replied "Yes, baby, she did."
To say I was an extremely sensitive child is an understatement. When Grandpa told me it was true, I started to cry for the lady. How horrible! I imagined a little girl, scared and lonely, all alone in a dark, scary attic, with only a baby doll to love. To this day, I have a hard time believing that those types of occurrences happened more frequently than people know.
After I learned of Haddie's upbringing, I vowed that I would be her friend and love her, because everyone needed someone to love them.
Gram silently knew that I wanted to help this woman. Wanting to encourage this compassion in her grandchild, Gram started taking me every time we went to see great-Grandpa. I would pass by the nurses station, asking about Haddie. She would always quietly appear, standing there just staring at me, holding that doll on her shoulder. I would talk to her, my heart breaking at the cruelty this person had endured. Our eyes would lock and the cold stare silently gave way to a look. Sometimes, she would point at something and grunt. I don't know why, but this did not scare or unnerve me in any way and I understood she was trying to tell me something.
One day, for whatever reason, Haddie wasn't there. The nurses knew I was worried. As Gram and I finished visiting my great Grandfather, we entered into the hallway. Haddie suddenly appeared with her doll. With immense relief, I told her I was sorry we hadn't been able to visit and I would see her soon. She appeared to give what I thought was a smile, touched my arm to stop me and put her doll upon my shoulder. She then reached in her pocket and gave me a little crocheted circle. It was red and about the size of a half dollar. I was stunned.
That memory still touches my very soul. The fact that she trusted me enough to let me hold her beloved baby doll and then to give me a gift overwhelmed me with emotions. For some reason, it gave me such an overwhelming feeling of hope and love that I still can't completely articulate nor understand to this day. As far as the little red crocheted circle goes, I don't know if she made it, found it or where it came from but the fact that someone who had been so mistreated in life trusted a little girl and offered a friendship is a testament to the power of the human spirit. In that moment, Haddie changed my life forever.
Over the years, I have met some downright miserable people. Some are rude, some are mean, some have taken great pleasure in hurting others. One thing Haddie taught me through her silence is that people are not always what they seem. They may have been a victim of abuse, mistreated, or maybe have suffered immense loss in their lives, but when given the chance, they will share the beauty that lives within all of us.
When my great Grandfather died, we stopped going to the nursing home but I never forgot Haddie. I know the nurses continued to watch over her and treat her well, but I still missed seeing her. In my heart, I always hoped she knew that someone genuinely cared enough about her that they missed her.
The true irony of this story is the fact that a well intentioned child set out on a mission to be charitable and change a little old woman's life, and in humbling reality, Haddie changed mine. May each one of you that reads this be fortunate enough to have someone like Haddie impact your lives with such powerful, loving emotions that no words are necessary.
As my great-Grandfather aged, he chose to live in a nursing home. His daughter-in-law, my Grandmother, would visit him several times a week, always taking him chewing tobacco and candy.
Grandma always took one of the grand kids with her, and on this particular day, I was the one to accompany her. Truthfully, I was a little frightened by my great-Grandfather because he would speak harshly to me sometimes. Not wanting to risk any chance of upsetting him, I decided to slip out in the hallway while they visited.
As I stood outside the doorway, I noticed a very small woman holding some dolls. I remember smiling at her and saying hello. She just stood there and stared at me, a very cold stare that scared me. Thinking I had done something wrong, I hightailed it back into the room and sat there on the bed, waiting for the visit to end.
When Gram and I entered the hallway to leave, the little old lady with the dolls was again in the hallway, looking at me. Not wanting to be rude, I told her goodbye. She continued to coldly stare at me.
When we got in the car, I asked Gram "why does that lady carry baby dolls? Does she have granddaughters?" Grandma simply replied "No. She doesn't have any granddaughter's." Gram said nothing more.
Hmmm. That just didn't make any sense.Why would a grown woman have dolls if she had no granddaughters? On top of that, Gram had stopped talking. Why had she stopped talking? Gram NEVER stopped talking!
I looked at her and said "then why does she carry baby dolls around?". This was just sheer craziness, adults don't play with dolls! Gram saw the confusion in my eyes and took a deep breath and said "Amy, her name is Haddie and she doesn't have any family, so she carries the dolls." Huh? NO family? Stunned and utterly confused, I asked "you mean she is an orphan?".
Normally a very quiet child unless something interested me, Gram knew if I was curious about this lady, I would not stop asking questions.
Gram looked at me and said "When Haddie was a little girl, she wasn't very smart. Back then, if a child was different, families were ashamed of them. Her family was embarrassed that Haddie was not like other children, so she grew up in the attic, away from people. She never learned how to talk."
Now, it was common knowledge Gram could stretch the truth a bit at times and this just sounded like a big old fib. I stopped talking and thought "I'll ask Grandpa. He always tells me the truth".
I waited for Gram to be out of earshot when I cornered Grandpa and whispered "There is a lady at the nursing home that carries dolls. Did she really grow up in the attic?". Grandpa looked at me with those sky blue eyes, full of sadness and thoughtfulness, and replied "Yes, baby, she did."
To say I was an extremely sensitive child is an understatement. When Grandpa told me it was true, I started to cry for the lady. How horrible! I imagined a little girl, scared and lonely, all alone in a dark, scary attic, with only a baby doll to love. To this day, I have a hard time believing that those types of occurrences happened more frequently than people know.
After I learned of Haddie's upbringing, I vowed that I would be her friend and love her, because everyone needed someone to love them.
Gram silently knew that I wanted to help this woman. Wanting to encourage this compassion in her grandchild, Gram started taking me every time we went to see great-Grandpa. I would pass by the nurses station, asking about Haddie. She would always quietly appear, standing there just staring at me, holding that doll on her shoulder. I would talk to her, my heart breaking at the cruelty this person had endured. Our eyes would lock and the cold stare silently gave way to a look. Sometimes, she would point at something and grunt. I don't know why, but this did not scare or unnerve me in any way and I understood she was trying to tell me something.
One day, for whatever reason, Haddie wasn't there. The nurses knew I was worried. As Gram and I finished visiting my great Grandfather, we entered into the hallway. Haddie suddenly appeared with her doll. With immense relief, I told her I was sorry we hadn't been able to visit and I would see her soon. She appeared to give what I thought was a smile, touched my arm to stop me and put her doll upon my shoulder. She then reached in her pocket and gave me a little crocheted circle. It was red and about the size of a half dollar. I was stunned.
That memory still touches my very soul. The fact that she trusted me enough to let me hold her beloved baby doll and then to give me a gift overwhelmed me with emotions. For some reason, it gave me such an overwhelming feeling of hope and love that I still can't completely articulate nor understand to this day. As far as the little red crocheted circle goes, I don't know if she made it, found it or where it came from but the fact that someone who had been so mistreated in life trusted a little girl and offered a friendship is a testament to the power of the human spirit. In that moment, Haddie changed my life forever.
Over the years, I have met some downright miserable people. Some are rude, some are mean, some have taken great pleasure in hurting others. One thing Haddie taught me through her silence is that people are not always what they seem. They may have been a victim of abuse, mistreated, or maybe have suffered immense loss in their lives, but when given the chance, they will share the beauty that lives within all of us.
When my great Grandfather died, we stopped going to the nursing home but I never forgot Haddie. I know the nurses continued to watch over her and treat her well, but I still missed seeing her. In my heart, I always hoped she knew that someone genuinely cared enough about her that they missed her.
The true irony of this story is the fact that a well intentioned child set out on a mission to be charitable and change a little old woman's life, and in humbling reality, Haddie changed mine. May each one of you that reads this be fortunate enough to have someone like Haddie impact your lives with such powerful, loving emotions that no words are necessary.
Sunday, November 4, 2012
How my Disney Obsession Came to Be
People often wonder why a grown woman loves Mickey Mouse and Disney as much as I do. Some people ask me, so it makes me think some others might wonder but feel rude asking. Seeing as I have a lot of "life" worries going on right now, I think this is a good time to share my love for The Mouse and the joy Disney has added to both my personal and my family's lives over the years.
When I was little, Walt Disney (including the actual man) would air every Sunday night at 7:00 pm. It was the rare time that my sister and I would actually get our jammies on and sit together on the floor without fighting. There was something very special about that.
Mr. Disney would come on and talk a little bit, giving a quick story or give a little introduction of the movie he was presenting that night. Tinkerbell would sprinkle her pixie dust over the castle and the show would begin.
Disney movies have always contained a virtuous message. Good conquers evil, honesty prevails, be true to yourself, be loving to others, be kind to animals and so on. Being a child who had a vivid imagination, loving animals, and wanting the world to just be a happy place, I ate this up. For that one hour every week the world was perfect.
When I was 13, Gram and Grandpa flew me to Florida for a visit and took me to Walt Disney world. It was truly magical. The artistry that goes into anything Disney is beyond words. Attention to detail, with an emphasis of turning fantasy into reality. All the cast members (this is what a Disney employee is called) are wonderful and friendly. The parks are clean and authentic beyond description. Walt Disney has stated "I don't want the public to see the world they live in while they're in the park. I want them to feel they're in another world."
Today, Walt Disney World in Florida has four completely different themed amusement parks, and two amazing water parks. Then there is the music, entertainment, Broadway class shows, and world class shopping at Downtown Disney. I absolutely adore the street performers Disney hires that are located throughout the Downtown Disney area. You can't imagine how much of a total escape it is. From the celebrity inspired Planet Hollywood to a Cuban night life scene charged with Latin music and food, there really is absolutely something for everyone.
Did I mention the all new bowling alley, movie theatre, House of Blues, Cirque Du Soleil or Disney Quest that features every variety of video game from the 1980's through today's virtual reality games? Not to mention Disney Quest's build your own roller coaster!
The resorts on Walt Disney World each have a theme. There are value resorts, moderate resorts and deluxe resorts. You can stay in budget rooms that feature Animal King and Nemo, or try the Pop Century Resort for an all American experience. Love sports? All Stars resort is a complete indulgence for these folks. Moderate resorts vary from beach themes to sprawling mansions set in the old south. To experience a completely elegant amazing resort, the Deluxe rooms might be for you. Imagine having your own private balcony that backs to a African Safari or a Polynesian luau complete with amazing dancers from all over the world. I guess I should mention the amazing Tree houses, too. All of the above mentioned resorts (and this is only the tip of the iceberg of the amazing selection) have heated pools. Most resorts have multiple pools to ensure a close proximity to your room and prevention of overcrowding.
The food at Walt Disney World is unbelievable. Every cuisine you can imagine and some you never knew existed. Epcot is a foodies Utopia. One of my personal favorites is Morocco. Not only is it 100% authentic in decor (Disney flies in experts from each of the countries for both architecture and cultural adherence) they feature belly dancers throughout the day. You can select from Italy, France, Canada, United States, Japan, Mexico and England just to name a few. Around the world in a day or two!
Epcot is also home to my favorite attraction experience, Soarin'.
Imagine standing in line for an attraction and being entertained while you wait ( I don't want to give it away for those who are looking forward to trying this for the first time but want to share in the Disney difference). Your pre-attraction experience involves music, graphics and movement. As you approach your final wait time, you are ushered to your appropriate line for your "flight instructions". You watch a short, very entertaining, clip prior to boarding. With Disney, it's not just a ride, it's an experience!
After you board your hang glider, you are safely buckled in and then whisked up in the air. You hear squeals of delight all around you. The clouds suddenly appear and you are flying over oceans, orange groves, and aircraft carriers just to name a few of your views. Smell-o-vision? Oh yeah, Disney's got it! When the ride ends, you will want to experience it again and again.
What about a trip into space? Mission Mars will shoot you right up there, either with full G-force or with the mild version, your choice. Again, you are fully trained prior to your blast-off in a fun filled, star laden mission brief that creates a total submersion in the experience. You are even assigned a role to play while "in space". It's a real thrill hearing families yelling to each other and bonding while using their imagination. Everyone exits with excitement in their voice!
For a milder ride, but equally engaging for both children and adults, hop on a giant clam that takes you under the sea with Nemo and friends. Dora will also accompany you with computerized graphics custom designed for each rider and is fun for kids and adults alike. Kids are amazed when they see Nemo and his friends appear in life like form just for them.
As you can see, I love Disney and the amazing family fun it offers. My family has visited Walt Disney World multiple times and each trip has been amazing and built wonderful memories to treasure and we consider it an investment in our family together time.
As many of you know, I signed on to become a travel planner that is dedicated to Walt Disney vacations. Hopefully now you'll understand why I love it so much and want to share my knowledge and love of Disney with anyone who will listen. Treasured memories keep me going back and spur me to plan trips that other families will treasure for a lifetime. Call it fate, it you will, but I sure love that Mouse and would feel privileged to answer any questions you have or to assist you in planning your trip to Walt Disney World.
I plan to write more later about Walt Disney World and all it has to offer, but if you would like more information on how to take advantage of my Disney experience, please feel free to contact me for further information regarding "The Happiest Place on Earth"!
amy.mcvaugh@mymickeyvacation.com
When I was little, Walt Disney (including the actual man) would air every Sunday night at 7:00 pm. It was the rare time that my sister and I would actually get our jammies on and sit together on the floor without fighting. There was something very special about that.
Mr. Disney would come on and talk a little bit, giving a quick story or give a little introduction of the movie he was presenting that night. Tinkerbell would sprinkle her pixie dust over the castle and the show would begin.
Disney movies have always contained a virtuous message. Good conquers evil, honesty prevails, be true to yourself, be loving to others, be kind to animals and so on. Being a child who had a vivid imagination, loving animals, and wanting the world to just be a happy place, I ate this up. For that one hour every week the world was perfect.
When I was 13, Gram and Grandpa flew me to Florida for a visit and took me to Walt Disney world. It was truly magical. The artistry that goes into anything Disney is beyond words. Attention to detail, with an emphasis of turning fantasy into reality. All the cast members (this is what a Disney employee is called) are wonderful and friendly. The parks are clean and authentic beyond description. Walt Disney has stated "I don't want the public to see the world they live in while they're in the park. I want them to feel they're in another world."
Today, Walt Disney World in Florida has four completely different themed amusement parks, and two amazing water parks. Then there is the music, entertainment, Broadway class shows, and world class shopping at Downtown Disney. I absolutely adore the street performers Disney hires that are located throughout the Downtown Disney area. You can't imagine how much of a total escape it is. From the celebrity inspired Planet Hollywood to a Cuban night life scene charged with Latin music and food, there really is absolutely something for everyone.
Did I mention the all new bowling alley, movie theatre, House of Blues, Cirque Du Soleil or Disney Quest that features every variety of video game from the 1980's through today's virtual reality games? Not to mention Disney Quest's build your own roller coaster!
The resorts on Walt Disney World each have a theme. There are value resorts, moderate resorts and deluxe resorts. You can stay in budget rooms that feature Animal King and Nemo, or try the Pop Century Resort for an all American experience. Love sports? All Stars resort is a complete indulgence for these folks. Moderate resorts vary from beach themes to sprawling mansions set in the old south. To experience a completely elegant amazing resort, the Deluxe rooms might be for you. Imagine having your own private balcony that backs to a African Safari or a Polynesian luau complete with amazing dancers from all over the world. I guess I should mention the amazing Tree houses, too. All of the above mentioned resorts (and this is only the tip of the iceberg of the amazing selection) have heated pools. Most resorts have multiple pools to ensure a close proximity to your room and prevention of overcrowding.
The food at Walt Disney World is unbelievable. Every cuisine you can imagine and some you never knew existed. Epcot is a foodies Utopia. One of my personal favorites is Morocco. Not only is it 100% authentic in decor (Disney flies in experts from each of the countries for both architecture and cultural adherence) they feature belly dancers throughout the day. You can select from Italy, France, Canada, United States, Japan, Mexico and England just to name a few. Around the world in a day or two!
Epcot is also home to my favorite attraction experience, Soarin'.
Imagine standing in line for an attraction and being entertained while you wait ( I don't want to give it away for those who are looking forward to trying this for the first time but want to share in the Disney difference). Your pre-attraction experience involves music, graphics and movement. As you approach your final wait time, you are ushered to your appropriate line for your "flight instructions". You watch a short, very entertaining, clip prior to boarding. With Disney, it's not just a ride, it's an experience!
After you board your hang glider, you are safely buckled in and then whisked up in the air. You hear squeals of delight all around you. The clouds suddenly appear and you are flying over oceans, orange groves, and aircraft carriers just to name a few of your views. Smell-o-vision? Oh yeah, Disney's got it! When the ride ends, you will want to experience it again and again.
What about a trip into space? Mission Mars will shoot you right up there, either with full G-force or with the mild version, your choice. Again, you are fully trained prior to your blast-off in a fun filled, star laden mission brief that creates a total submersion in the experience. You are even assigned a role to play while "in space". It's a real thrill hearing families yelling to each other and bonding while using their imagination. Everyone exits with excitement in their voice!
For a milder ride, but equally engaging for both children and adults, hop on a giant clam that takes you under the sea with Nemo and friends. Dora will also accompany you with computerized graphics custom designed for each rider and is fun for kids and adults alike. Kids are amazed when they see Nemo and his friends appear in life like form just for them.
As you can see, I love Disney and the amazing family fun it offers. My family has visited Walt Disney World multiple times and each trip has been amazing and built wonderful memories to treasure and we consider it an investment in our family together time.
As many of you know, I signed on to become a travel planner that is dedicated to Walt Disney vacations. Hopefully now you'll understand why I love it so much and want to share my knowledge and love of Disney with anyone who will listen. Treasured memories keep me going back and spur me to plan trips that other families will treasure for a lifetime. Call it fate, it you will, but I sure love that Mouse and would feel privileged to answer any questions you have or to assist you in planning your trip to Walt Disney World.
I plan to write more later about Walt Disney World and all it has to offer, but if you would like more information on how to take advantage of my Disney experience, please feel free to contact me for further information regarding "The Happiest Place on Earth"!
amy.mcvaugh@mymickeyvacation.com
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
Grace
Not long before I left the skilled nursing facility I worked at, I had an amazing encounter with a patients family member. It is a story that still touches my soul and encourages me to stop and question from time to time if I could ever hope to be such a moral person.
It was an ordinary day. *Ms. Stevens was scheduled to be discharged from the hospital and transferred to the nursing facility that afternoon. I called her daughter and set the appointment to complete her admission paperwork and start the long term care Medicaid process.
*Lillian arrived on time. She was dressed very casually, a bit of a plain, nervous looking woman with over sized glasses. She was very quiet and didn't look at me much when I introduced myself. I assumed she was understandably having a barrage of mixed feelings about "committing" her mother for long term care.
I started with the usual small talk as I opened the seemingly endless contract of information, forms and Medicare gobbly goo. She continued to look at the table.
Not wanting to prolong her discomfort, I decided to quickly give my speech and provide her my business card and wait for the inevitable questions.
I began with the patient information form which includes the usual emergency contacts, confirm drug allergies, etc. This moves into the more personal Medicaid questionnaire. It involves the tally of all assets, incomes, liabilities. Unfortunately, this form almost always makes people very uncomfortable but the information is necessary to submit to the state in order to qualify for the Medicaid program.
She readily provided the information, but at the end, when it required a signature, she froze. "I'm not paying for her care." It was said with such force, I was kind of surprised. I assured her it did not, under any circumstances, make her liable for any bills accrued. After a bit of a hesitation, she signed it and we moved onto the stack of other Medicare, Medicaid, HIPPA and in-house forms.
Anytime a form dealt with Medicare, Medicaid or bills, she would again state "I'm not paying for her care." I continued to assure her we could not hold her liable for her mother's bills.
About three quarters of the way through, she leaned forward and burst into tears. I looked at her, stunned. She blurted out "I'm sorry, you must think I'm a horrible person." Utterly confused, I asked her "Why would you think that?" She replied "I keep telling you I'm not paying for her, and I know that sounds so cold." I put my papers down and looked at her and said "Lillian, I do not think you are a horrible person. Medical care is very, very expensive and I know I personally couldn't afford to pay for some one's long term care on top of my family's care. Please don't think I'm judging you. Your concerns are normal ones." She sat up and said "Look, she is my mother but she abandoned me twice when I was a kid. Once when I was two, I don't remember that one, the next time I was seven and she left me at a carnival. She just took off with one of the Carnies and left me there, all alone. I was scared to death! Her sister took me in and raised me. Whenever my mother would come to visit, she always let me know what an inconvenience I was".
My heart broke for Lillian. I imagined that poor child, all alone amongst all those strangers. As I looked at Lillian, I was overwhelmed with her dilemma. I was both sad and in awe at the same time.
Here was a woman who obviously was still pained by what her mother had put her through. Her mother had decided to discard her like yesterday's trash. What did that feel like? Was her aunt willing to take her in, or had she been pressured? What type of childhood had Lillian experienced?
With all of these thoughts and emotions raging through me, I stood up and gathered Lillian in my arms. This beautiful woman, who had endured such pain, actually had the grace and decency to ensure this vile "mother" was taken care of. Many people who have suffered at the hands of a parent often will turn a blind eye or even take pleasure in the said parents decline in health (trust me, I saw a lot of good and true evil while I worked there) and take that opportunity to "get even".
"Lillian, I am so in awe of you right now. Don't you dare believe for one second you are a bad person. I admire you so much for being such a loving human being that you would still watch out for your mother after all that she put you through. Not many people would to that. Here you are, listening to all of this, taking time out of your life, to make sure she is taken care of. You are an awesome person!"
Lillian seemed a bit relieved but shared that she probably wouldn't visit much. She wanted her mother taken care of, but she just couldn't bring her self to personally do so. Her guilt amazed me and touched my heart. It was a shame that Ms. Stevens didn't have a clue what an amazing daughter she had missed out on.
I moved to Virginia shortly after Ms. Stevens was admitted but Lillian made such an impression on me that I'll never forget her. I pray that she knows what an amazing human being she is and she finds it in her heart to heal. No one should have to carry a burden like she has.
As much as I would love to think bad thoughts about Ms. Stevens, Lillian's actions are a valuable lesson to me. Just as I could have judged Lillian in her worries about finances and assumed she was uncaring and greedy, one has to think...what happened to Ms. Stevens to make her so seemingly callous? Did she perhaps have a mental illness that caused her to just leave her child? Did she do it because she thought her daughter would be better off? We will never know.
This I do know, when someone hurts me, I have control over the fate of how I deal with it. I can be angry and take it out on the world, or grow with it. If Lillian can forgive her mother for such a horrid circumstance, I hope I can find it in my heart to use grace in my forgiveness of others.
Lillian, wherever you are, thank you for being such a beautiful person. The world needs more people like you!
*Names changed to protect patient privacy.
It was an ordinary day. *Ms. Stevens was scheduled to be discharged from the hospital and transferred to the nursing facility that afternoon. I called her daughter and set the appointment to complete her admission paperwork and start the long term care Medicaid process.
*Lillian arrived on time. She was dressed very casually, a bit of a plain, nervous looking woman with over sized glasses. She was very quiet and didn't look at me much when I introduced myself. I assumed she was understandably having a barrage of mixed feelings about "committing" her mother for long term care.
I started with the usual small talk as I opened the seemingly endless contract of information, forms and Medicare gobbly goo. She continued to look at the table.
Not wanting to prolong her discomfort, I decided to quickly give my speech and provide her my business card and wait for the inevitable questions.
I began with the patient information form which includes the usual emergency contacts, confirm drug allergies, etc. This moves into the more personal Medicaid questionnaire. It involves the tally of all assets, incomes, liabilities. Unfortunately, this form almost always makes people very uncomfortable but the information is necessary to submit to the state in order to qualify for the Medicaid program.
She readily provided the information, but at the end, when it required a signature, she froze. "I'm not paying for her care." It was said with such force, I was kind of surprised. I assured her it did not, under any circumstances, make her liable for any bills accrued. After a bit of a hesitation, she signed it and we moved onto the stack of other Medicare, Medicaid, HIPPA and in-house forms.
Anytime a form dealt with Medicare, Medicaid or bills, she would again state "I'm not paying for her care." I continued to assure her we could not hold her liable for her mother's bills.
About three quarters of the way through, she leaned forward and burst into tears. I looked at her, stunned. She blurted out "I'm sorry, you must think I'm a horrible person." Utterly confused, I asked her "Why would you think that?" She replied "I keep telling you I'm not paying for her, and I know that sounds so cold." I put my papers down and looked at her and said "Lillian, I do not think you are a horrible person. Medical care is very, very expensive and I know I personally couldn't afford to pay for some one's long term care on top of my family's care. Please don't think I'm judging you. Your concerns are normal ones." She sat up and said "Look, she is my mother but she abandoned me twice when I was a kid. Once when I was two, I don't remember that one, the next time I was seven and she left me at a carnival. She just took off with one of the Carnies and left me there, all alone. I was scared to death! Her sister took me in and raised me. Whenever my mother would come to visit, she always let me know what an inconvenience I was".
My heart broke for Lillian. I imagined that poor child, all alone amongst all those strangers. As I looked at Lillian, I was overwhelmed with her dilemma. I was both sad and in awe at the same time.
Here was a woman who obviously was still pained by what her mother had put her through. Her mother had decided to discard her like yesterday's trash. What did that feel like? Was her aunt willing to take her in, or had she been pressured? What type of childhood had Lillian experienced?
With all of these thoughts and emotions raging through me, I stood up and gathered Lillian in my arms. This beautiful woman, who had endured such pain, actually had the grace and decency to ensure this vile "mother" was taken care of. Many people who have suffered at the hands of a parent often will turn a blind eye or even take pleasure in the said parents decline in health (trust me, I saw a lot of good and true evil while I worked there) and take that opportunity to "get even".
"Lillian, I am so in awe of you right now. Don't you dare believe for one second you are a bad person. I admire you so much for being such a loving human being that you would still watch out for your mother after all that she put you through. Not many people would to that. Here you are, listening to all of this, taking time out of your life, to make sure she is taken care of. You are an awesome person!"
Lillian seemed a bit relieved but shared that she probably wouldn't visit much. She wanted her mother taken care of, but she just couldn't bring her self to personally do so. Her guilt amazed me and touched my heart. It was a shame that Ms. Stevens didn't have a clue what an amazing daughter she had missed out on.
I moved to Virginia shortly after Ms. Stevens was admitted but Lillian made such an impression on me that I'll never forget her. I pray that she knows what an amazing human being she is and she finds it in her heart to heal. No one should have to carry a burden like she has.
As much as I would love to think bad thoughts about Ms. Stevens, Lillian's actions are a valuable lesson to me. Just as I could have judged Lillian in her worries about finances and assumed she was uncaring and greedy, one has to think...what happened to Ms. Stevens to make her so seemingly callous? Did she perhaps have a mental illness that caused her to just leave her child? Did she do it because she thought her daughter would be better off? We will never know.
This I do know, when someone hurts me, I have control over the fate of how I deal with it. I can be angry and take it out on the world, or grow with it. If Lillian can forgive her mother for such a horrid circumstance, I hope I can find it in my heart to use grace in my forgiveness of others.
Lillian, wherever you are, thank you for being such a beautiful person. The world needs more people like you!
*Names changed to protect patient privacy.
Saturday, October 13, 2012
This Sucks!
Pardon the expression, but this week has totally, utterly, miserably, sucked. I'm honestly really kind of angry at what a sucky week this really was.
I'm sitting here trying to think of something clever to write for this week's entry in "Fate and Circumstance", but I just keep thinking of how much I didn't like this week.
On Monday, my poor little one-year old grandson had to have surgery to fix a totally, utterly, botched circumcision. Let me tell you, it rips your heart out to see that perpetually happy child crying in pain. The good news is that once he heals, he should be fine. I pray he heals VERY quickly.
Tuesday: sucked...our sweet, comical dog, Timmy, started to again have a series of cluster seizures. This had happened about a month ago and we were able to pull him through. I had hopes we could do it again, even though they had intensified. This was a battle we had dealt with for the last 3 years and I thought for sure we could do it again.
Wednesday really was horrible. The seizures couldn't be controlled and decisions had to be made. I wanted to write a tribute about our crazy, sweet, lovable Timmy but it hurts too much. We said goodbye to him Wednesday afternoon.
I don't remember much of Thursday. The emotions and lack of sleep from the prior three days really affected me. I know I went to work early but I guess I just tried not to think about much.
The last two days I can't access the college's "Blackboard" where all of our assignments are listed. Great, I can't get my homework done. More stress and aggravation. I just wanted to get everything done so I can relax. Sucks!
I guess I have a choice. I can look at these circumstances and say my fate is to be depressed and feel miserable.
Nope. Time to take the bull by the horns and un-suck the weekend. I'm so done with the suckiness.
I choose to think about all of the kindnesses and professionalism that was shown by the wonderful staff at The Children's Urology Center and the fact the doctor repaired my grandson.
I choose to remember how much joy Timmy brought to our lives and the wonderful impact that adopting an "unwanted" animal brought to our lives for nearly nine years. Anyone who met him knew how awesome he was. If ever there was a dog who could have been a stand up comedian, it was Timmy!
I choose to count how blessed I am to have the outpouring of understanding support from wonderful people who know the pain of losing a beloved pet, a member of our family, and the fact that Timmy was surrounded by a staff of veterinary medical professionals that truly loved and fought for him.
I'm blessed to work at Heather House Studio, where my boss's have been wonderfully supportive this week by allowing me to take the time to help with my grandson. They also allowed me to bring Timmy to work with me so I could monitor him on Tuesday and understood when I didn't go to work when we had to make that horrible decision on Wednesday.
I'm thankful today is supposed to be a nice day. We are going to take the family to the pumpkin patch and take tons of happy pictures.
As far as the homework goes, I'm going to say a prayer that the site begins to work. If not, I will deal with it later. Today will not suck. :)
I'm sitting here trying to think of something clever to write for this week's entry in "Fate and Circumstance", but I just keep thinking of how much I didn't like this week.
On Monday, my poor little one-year old grandson had to have surgery to fix a totally, utterly, botched circumcision. Let me tell you, it rips your heart out to see that perpetually happy child crying in pain. The good news is that once he heals, he should be fine. I pray he heals VERY quickly.
Tuesday: sucked...our sweet, comical dog, Timmy, started to again have a series of cluster seizures. This had happened about a month ago and we were able to pull him through. I had hopes we could do it again, even though they had intensified. This was a battle we had dealt with for the last 3 years and I thought for sure we could do it again.
Wednesday really was horrible. The seizures couldn't be controlled and decisions had to be made. I wanted to write a tribute about our crazy, sweet, lovable Timmy but it hurts too much. We said goodbye to him Wednesday afternoon.
I don't remember much of Thursday. The emotions and lack of sleep from the prior three days really affected me. I know I went to work early but I guess I just tried not to think about much.
The last two days I can't access the college's "Blackboard" where all of our assignments are listed. Great, I can't get my homework done. More stress and aggravation. I just wanted to get everything done so I can relax. Sucks!
I guess I have a choice. I can look at these circumstances and say my fate is to be depressed and feel miserable.
Nope. Time to take the bull by the horns and un-suck the weekend. I'm so done with the suckiness.
I choose to think about all of the kindnesses and professionalism that was shown by the wonderful staff at The Children's Urology Center and the fact the doctor repaired my grandson.
I choose to remember how much joy Timmy brought to our lives and the wonderful impact that adopting an "unwanted" animal brought to our lives for nearly nine years. Anyone who met him knew how awesome he was. If ever there was a dog who could have been a stand up comedian, it was Timmy!
I choose to count how blessed I am to have the outpouring of understanding support from wonderful people who know the pain of losing a beloved pet, a member of our family, and the fact that Timmy was surrounded by a staff of veterinary medical professionals that truly loved and fought for him.
I'm blessed to work at Heather House Studio, where my boss's have been wonderfully supportive this week by allowing me to take the time to help with my grandson. They also allowed me to bring Timmy to work with me so I could monitor him on Tuesday and understood when I didn't go to work when we had to make that horrible decision on Wednesday.
I'm thankful today is supposed to be a nice day. We are going to take the family to the pumpkin patch and take tons of happy pictures.
As far as the homework goes, I'm going to say a prayer that the site begins to work. If not, I will deal with it later. Today will not suck. :)
Wednesday, October 3, 2012
The Pitbull Who Changed My Mind
I'm an animal lover. Well, I should say I love all animals except hippos and until 2 years ago, Pit Bulls. The hippo thing won't ever change. Ever. But that's a different story.
In May of 2010, my daughter woke me in distress, shoving a cold, wet and whiny puppy in my face. "Mom, you have to help this puppy, he's really sick."
I opened one eye and replied "uh, yea, it's too young to be away from its mother". By the size of the pup, the ear openings, and the eyes of the pup, I aged it at about three weeks. She then told me the mother had died and the "breeder" had sold the puppies because "they couldn't take care of them". I will refrain from my rant about irresponsible"breeding".
As I sat up in bed to take a closer look at the tiny little pup that fit in my hand, I sighed...a stinkin' Pit Bull! The one and only breed I despise and I'm supposed to help it? Why? So it can eat my leg off? Terrorize the world?
In that moment, as I silently cursed the situation and cradled that cold, listless little "beast" in my hands, I never imagined how this dog was going to affect my life.
After a night of slowly warming the pup and forcing liquids into him, I took him to my vet for an exam. Tom checked him over thoroughly, noting the paleness of his gums and his ridiculously bloated belly coupled with extreme listlessness.
About 30 minutes later, the blood and fecal results were ready. "Amy, you do know he's probably not going to make it, right?” I nodded in agreement, but the challenge was now on. All of God's creatures deserve a chance, even the dreaded Pit Bull.
I could write for days the list of wonderful, devoted people who pulled together to help this pathetic little pup. Tom the vet, took him home for two days. The pup came to Richmond Animal League’s Loving Spay and Neuter Clinic with me almost daily, where, in typical RAL fashion, my friends, staff and fellow volunteers I didn't even know, eagerly held him, fed him, and kept a constant vigil over this little guy. It took about a week of force feeding before his appetite kicked in. Constant dewormings (18 total...the normal is one to two), supplemental nutritional drops, special puppy foods and many loving hands finally pulled him through. Sadly, over the next four to five days, we would hear one by one, how each of his 11 litter mates died, as they did not receive even a chance at proper care.
The boy who had originally purchased the pup didn't realize the special care this dog was going to need for the long haul. Not only because of his health issues, but the behavioral issues often found in dogs that are separated from their mothers at such an early age. With the help of both Tom and my daughter, the boy finally relinquished ownership to me. I had every intention of getting the puppy stable enough to find him a good home with someone crazy enough to adopt a Pit Bull.
One day my husband said "we ought to call him something besides "him". As fellow dog lovers will agree, naming a dog is dangerous territory...it often leads to "adoption" by said fosters and there was no way this Pit Bull was staying on a permanent basis in MY home. Hesitantly I asked what he was thinking, Pit Bull Baby...P.B.B ...Pibbs? This was a strange name, let's keep it formal, you know, to keep the distance from him I thought. "I like MR. Pibbs better". Non committal, not too cute. Yep, it would do.
By this point, Mr. Pibbs was about three and a half months old. Finally he was declared worm free and my own two female dogs were eager to "mother" him. Libby, my own personal RAL "foster failure" quickly became his surrogate mom and Angel, his annoying big sister, was eager to correct him on EVERYTHING. He ate the attention up!
I started to do research on Pit Bulls. How much time do I have before he "turns"? I just knew this sweet cuddle bug of a puppy who loved to go out front and sniff flowers would become a menace to society soon.
Training. Everything I read about Pit Bulls went back to training, consistency, being a good leader, etc. I wanted this pup to have the best chance at life so my husband and I agreed we would take him to obedience class so his new owners might have a prayer.
In comes Rich, the dog trainer. He patiently listens to my questions and concerns. Rich loves Pit Bulls. As a matter of fact, Rich, on his own time, is a legal advocate for the breed. He has owned two Pit Bulls, both of them rescue dogs. As he talks about his beloved Sammy, who has passed on, I hear a slight catch in his voice. I silently think, well, that amazing dog must have been a fluke. That doesn't sound like any Pit Bull I've ever heard of in the news.
We start beginner’s class. Graduate. On to Intermediate. Piece of cake. Advanced? Breezed through it. Mr. Pibbs is invited to the Canine Good Citizen class. Always eager to please us, he graduates with honors and receives his certificate from the American Kennel Club.
We have done our job. Time to find him a home. I take him back to see Tom one last time to ensure he is healthy.
During the exam, Tom steps back and says "Amy, he has bonded with your family so much, I'm kind of worried that you might be setting him up for failure if you place him somewhere else." I look at Tom and again at Mr. Pibbs. My eyes well up with tears and I whisper "thank you".
When I went home and shared the news with Don, he smiles and immediately says to Mr. Pibbs "welcome home little buddy!” He doesn't admit it right away, but you can see he's as happy as I am that this goofy, happy dog is destined to be with us.
Today, Mr. Pibbs and my one year old grandson are best buds. We were cautious and slow with the introductions and using common sense, the baby is never alone with any of our dogs. Mr. Pibbs and Maddox play ball, Maddox sneaks him treats and kisses. Mr. Pibbs takes great pride in watching over Maddox and will dutifully listen to our resident "mini Caesar Milan".
He still loves to go to Petco and visit "Uncle Rich", jumps at the chance to visit all of his many friends at RAL and loves kids and kittens. He adores Frisbee, following commands (show off!) and will still stop and sniff the flowers. Mr. Pibbs thinks everyone is his friend but watch out for his tail...aka the "happy whip". Just ask anyone who loves Pibbs…that tail hurts!
Since I took the time to educate myself, I have come to know countless fabulous Pit Bulls. They tend to be loving, devoted dogs that are eager to please humans. Their love and loyalty are beyond measure. Sadly, they are also the most misunderstood and discriminated against breed. I'm ashamed at the fact I was once one of those people. Entire counties have outlawed and euthanized countless dogs that are even "suspected" to have any type of Pit Bull DNA. Many of these dogs were actually ripped from their homes for absolutely no reason and destroyed. These were loving pets whose responsible owners were left in complete dismay and shock as their dogs were taken.
The decision to keep Mr. Pibbs has impacted my life so much, even outside of the home. My hatred of the breed is now replaced with compassion and admiration. I am also an advocate for the breed. I feel privileged to occasionally help with the wonderful Gracie's Guardians, RAL's Pit Bull division. This group came into existense in part due to the Michael Vick dog fighting atrocities, with Gracie being one of the actual dogs rescued from this ring of horrors. This small group of wonderful, devoted people quietly spend countless hours rescuing, advocating and educating for this breed. They do fundraisers to help raise awareness and gather funds to sponsor spay and neuter programs. They are kind, humble people who truly love the breed.
Pit Bulls are awesome dogs, but they are not for everybody. They need a strong, consistent leader who understands their behavior. Responsible ownership, as with any dog, is key. Their love of people is unbelievable if you understand them.
October is Pit Bull Awareness Month. Gracie's Guardian's will be hosting an encore screening of the informative documentary, "Beyond the Myth" on Sunday, October 14, 2012 at the Byrd Theater, 2908 W. Cary St. Richmond VA, 23221.
I have seen this documentary and highly recommend it. It is informative and realistic about the breed. It also shows the shocking extreme measures some cities have taken to eradicate the breed, based on nothing but hatred and myths.
Mr. Pibbs is not perfect. His one downfall has been his dislike of certain other dogs. We work with him and make sure he is never in a situation he shouldn't be in.
Who am I to judge? I don't like hippos.
***For further information regarding Gracie's Guardian's or tickets for "Beyond the Myth", please visit RAL's website @ www.ral.org. You can also find Gracie's on Facebook.
Friday, September 28, 2012
CP Can't Stop Me! An Amazing Story of Triumph And Courage
I grew up in a small, working class suburb of Detroit, Michigan. Back then, it was a great community to grow up in with safe streets and had a warm, small town feel. Everyone knew everyone, so when I heard one of our "local boys" had written a book a few years ago, I of course had to know who it was.
His name is John Quinn. He was a little older than me and went to school with my sister. He had grown up in the house three blocks down on my street: the one with the giant anchor in the front and the ice rink in the winter.
What on earth did a boy from Garden City have so special that he could write a book?
In that small town, where everyone knew everyone, John and his family had kept a secret. A secret that makes his story so special. I highly recommend you get his book, "Someone Like Me".
You see, John was born with Cerebral Palsy (CP), a neurological condition that affects the muscles and can interfere with balance, coordination and development due to a type of paralysis of the muscles that can lead to spasticity (involuntary jerking of the limbs).
John did not walk until he was three and half years old. Although he never gave up trying to keep up with his siblings, his parents knew something just wasn't right in his development.
When John was 11 years old, his older brother came home from Navy boot camp and changed John's life forever.
John could have grown up and taken a job close to home, you know, something that could be easier for him due to his "disability". Nope. John took one look at his brother and made an impossible, unbelievable, seemingly unattainable decision.
My original intent for this entry was to share John's story of fate and circumstance but something happened in between that changed my choice.
As I stated earlier, John was a few grades ahead of me and I didn't know him personally.On a whim, I emailed John through Facebook and asked his permission to share his story of inspiration. To my surprise, he wrote me back and gave me the go ahead. As we emailed a few times back and forth, he mentioned he would be coming to Washington D.C. Oct 4th to deliver a speech (I looked it up, he will be the keynote speaker at the Veteran's Administration Headquarters in D.C. to kickoff the National Disability Awareness Month) and do a book signing.
Hmmm, a circumstance? Fate?
It occurred to me that readers just might want to meet this inspirational veteran, motivational speaker and published author.
There is no way I can capture the true essence of John's incredible, inspirational story so I decided to give some basic information and encourage you to check out his book, "Someone Like Me".
Thank you John, for allowing me to share your story but most of all, for being a true inspiration of courage, hope and perseverance in reaching any goal a person sets their mind to!
To preview John's first chapter and learn more about this amazing man, please visit www.johnwquinn.com.
His name is John Quinn. He was a little older than me and went to school with my sister. He had grown up in the house three blocks down on my street: the one with the giant anchor in the front and the ice rink in the winter.
What on earth did a boy from Garden City have so special that he could write a book?
In that small town, where everyone knew everyone, John and his family had kept a secret. A secret that makes his story so special. I highly recommend you get his book, "Someone Like Me".
You see, John was born with Cerebral Palsy (CP), a neurological condition that affects the muscles and can interfere with balance, coordination and development due to a type of paralysis of the muscles that can lead to spasticity (involuntary jerking of the limbs).
John did not walk until he was three and half years old. Although he never gave up trying to keep up with his siblings, his parents knew something just wasn't right in his development.
When John was 11 years old, his older brother came home from Navy boot camp and changed John's life forever.
John could have grown up and taken a job close to home, you know, something that could be easier for him due to his "disability". Nope. John took one look at his brother and made an impossible, unbelievable, seemingly unattainable decision.
My original intent for this entry was to share John's story of fate and circumstance but something happened in between that changed my choice.
As I stated earlier, John was a few grades ahead of me and I didn't know him personally.On a whim, I emailed John through Facebook and asked his permission to share his story of inspiration. To my surprise, he wrote me back and gave me the go ahead. As we emailed a few times back and forth, he mentioned he would be coming to Washington D.C. Oct 4th to deliver a speech (I looked it up, he will be the keynote speaker at the Veteran's Administration Headquarters in D.C. to kickoff the National Disability Awareness Month) and do a book signing.
Hmmm, a circumstance? Fate?
It occurred to me that readers just might want to meet this inspirational veteran, motivational speaker and published author.
There is no way I can capture the true essence of John's incredible, inspirational story so I decided to give some basic information and encourage you to check out his book, "Someone Like Me".
Thank you John, for allowing me to share your story but most of all, for being a true inspiration of courage, hope and perseverance in reaching any goal a person sets their mind to!
To preview John's first chapter and learn more about this amazing man, please visit www.johnwquinn.com.
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
A Shared Blessing
Before I moved to Virginia, I worked in the admissions department of a skilled nursing facility. I loved this job because it allowed me to interact with people on a very personal level and really get to know their family dynamics. Little did I know that I would also get the opportunity to witness some pretty amazing events that just can't be explained. This particular story is actually my all time favorite.
About two months after I started there, a very nice, stoic gentleman came in requesting long term care for his mother. We sat down for a long time going over what type of care our facility offered for people with Alzheimer's, her finances, next of kin, etc. The man informed me that he wouldn't be able to visit every single day because of his work and distance to the facility. Sensing that this bothered him, I told him we would call him if it became necessary and as long as his mother was able to participate, we would keep her busy with various activities when he wasn't there.
Mrs. Ware* was a very, very quiet woman. It became obvious that her Alzheimer's was advancing quickly and she would often sit in her bed, staring out the window. She did not participate when taken to activities and even had to be fed by the staff. She was sadly very withdrawn and unaware.
Her son visited every other day, like clockwork. He would go into her room, tell her the days events and just sit and watch TV with her. She hardly ever spoke or even acknowledged his presence.
I worked in the front office so after the initial first few months, I didn't get the chance to see Mr. Ware* very often but knew by the patient reports that he continued with his visits.
One night I was stuck at work late, which meant I was also running late to pick up my daughter. As I started to walk fast down the hall, the heels on my shoes echoed "click, click, click" on the hard floors. All of a sudden I heard "excuse me, miss?" come from Mrs. Ware's room. "Oh shoot!" I thought as I glanced at my watch. Since she had been there for almost three years at this point, I knew she didn't necessarily need me in particular so I thought "let me grab a CNA". For some strange reason, something drew me from that thought and I went into her room. "Can I help you with something, Mrs. Ware?" As I stood there looking at her, she appeared very alert, which I found odd. She then said "could I talk to you for a minute?". In my mind I thought "oh boy, am I going to be late!". "Yes, Mrs. Ware, what can I get you?". She quickly replied "Do you know my son, George*?", I told her that yes, I did know George and he was a very nice man. She then said "Did you know he visits me almost every day? I am so lucky to have him for a son" and she smiled. That was all she wanted to tell me.
The next morning I went into work and my boss, Joann, told me "Mrs. Ware passed late last night". I could only look at her as she shared this news.
Two days later, Mr. Ware was walking past the front lobby, picking up his mothers personal items. Again, something told me what I had to do.
I quickly crossed the lobby and asked him if I could speak to him for a moment in private. Not sure if I was making the right choice, I told him of the events that took place the night before and told him I was sorry if what I said upset him as he stood looking at the floor.
He looked up at me, eyes full of tears and threw his arms around me. "Thank you so much, I always wondered if she even knew I was there". In that moment, I knew why she had told me this and I was so grateful that for some unknown reason, I had been blessed to share this gift with him. It suddenly occurred to me the inner turmoil and pain this kind and gentle man had endured all this time. Now he could be assured his love for his mother had not been unnoticed and his efforts to show that love had not been in vain
This event took place almost 9 years ago and it still touches my heart. Even though the circumstances dictated that I should have hurried along, I am so thankful that whatever caused me to stop in her room blessed me with this wonderful gift. Fate was kind that day!
*Patient and family names were changed to protect their privacy.
About two months after I started there, a very nice, stoic gentleman came in requesting long term care for his mother. We sat down for a long time going over what type of care our facility offered for people with Alzheimer's, her finances, next of kin, etc. The man informed me that he wouldn't be able to visit every single day because of his work and distance to the facility. Sensing that this bothered him, I told him we would call him if it became necessary and as long as his mother was able to participate, we would keep her busy with various activities when he wasn't there.
Mrs. Ware* was a very, very quiet woman. It became obvious that her Alzheimer's was advancing quickly and she would often sit in her bed, staring out the window. She did not participate when taken to activities and even had to be fed by the staff. She was sadly very withdrawn and unaware.
Her son visited every other day, like clockwork. He would go into her room, tell her the days events and just sit and watch TV with her. She hardly ever spoke or even acknowledged his presence.
I worked in the front office so after the initial first few months, I didn't get the chance to see Mr. Ware* very often but knew by the patient reports that he continued with his visits.
One night I was stuck at work late, which meant I was also running late to pick up my daughter. As I started to walk fast down the hall, the heels on my shoes echoed "click, click, click" on the hard floors. All of a sudden I heard "excuse me, miss?" come from Mrs. Ware's room. "Oh shoot!" I thought as I glanced at my watch. Since she had been there for almost three years at this point, I knew she didn't necessarily need me in particular so I thought "let me grab a CNA". For some strange reason, something drew me from that thought and I went into her room. "Can I help you with something, Mrs. Ware?" As I stood there looking at her, she appeared very alert, which I found odd. She then said "could I talk to you for a minute?". In my mind I thought "oh boy, am I going to be late!". "Yes, Mrs. Ware, what can I get you?". She quickly replied "Do you know my son, George*?", I told her that yes, I did know George and he was a very nice man. She then said "Did you know he visits me almost every day? I am so lucky to have him for a son" and she smiled. That was all she wanted to tell me.
The next morning I went into work and my boss, Joann, told me "Mrs. Ware passed late last night". I could only look at her as she shared this news.
Two days later, Mr. Ware was walking past the front lobby, picking up his mothers personal items. Again, something told me what I had to do.
I quickly crossed the lobby and asked him if I could speak to him for a moment in private. Not sure if I was making the right choice, I told him of the events that took place the night before and told him I was sorry if what I said upset him as he stood looking at the floor.
He looked up at me, eyes full of tears and threw his arms around me. "Thank you so much, I always wondered if she even knew I was there". In that moment, I knew why she had told me this and I was so grateful that for some unknown reason, I had been blessed to share this gift with him. It suddenly occurred to me the inner turmoil and pain this kind and gentle man had endured all this time. Now he could be assured his love for his mother had not been unnoticed and his efforts to show that love had not been in vain
This event took place almost 9 years ago and it still touches my heart. Even though the circumstances dictated that I should have hurried along, I am so thankful that whatever caused me to stop in her room blessed me with this wonderful gift. Fate was kind that day!
*Patient and family names were changed to protect their privacy.
Tuesday, September 11, 2012
An American's Remembrance
It seems fitting to make an entry today, as our nation remembers that fateful day 11 years ago when that horrible, gruesome, tragedy hit our nation, forever changing our lives.
At the time, my family and I lived at Dover Air Force Base, Dover, DE.
I remember my husband, who was at that time an active duty Air Force fireman, calling me from work and told me to turn on the news. As I looked in horror at the first tower alight in smoke and flames, the second plane hit. I whispered "oh my God. That is no accident."
With the base on full alert, I drove the 3 miles to my daughter's elementary school. They had ushered the children to the auditorium and I remember the look of fear in their eyes when I opened the door. It took every ounce of my being not to grab my daughter's best friend, Sammy, but I knew if I waited much longer I might not be able to get back home on the base.
I remember being at my friend and next door neighbor's house with the 5 kids. As we tried to keep them occupied and their minds off of the terrible tragedy I couldn't stop thinking about what type of dangers our husband's would soon be in. Suddenly, it became oh so real what "sacrifice" was really going to mean.
We spent a lot of time praying. Praying for the victims lost, their families who must be racked with anguish. Praying for answers, for comfort, for understanding. To this day, I pray for a family of 3 that I never met. You see, they were on the plane together. Mom, Dad and a 3 year old daughter. This family was much like mine but there was one big difference. They would not know the joy of watching their little girl grow up into a woman.
Over the next few days, one became keenly aware of the quiet of the sky's. The absence of commercial plane noise became eerie.
I also remember the day I was on the telephone with my sister, standing outside when suddenly I heard the "whoosh, swoosh, whoosh" sound of the helicopters delivering the remains of the lives lost at the Pentagon. Their identification was to take place at the Dover Air Force Base morgue.
I remember volunteering at the chapel, preparing healthy food for the chapel staff in a feeble attempt to feel as if I were helping in some small way. The pain and sorrow deeply etched on their faces grew each day as they heroically tried to offer comfort to the victims families as they went through the process of "identification".
With this great sorrow, I also remember a country pulling together. Sharing love and kindness. Churches overflowed with spiritual conviction. Old Glory flew on every corner, every house, adorning every shirt.
For a brief while, we were a whole community united. United in patriotism and for love and concern for our fellow man.
On this painful day, in honor and remembrance of those who lost their lives, and indeed, as we were all affected in some way, let us remember what it really means to appreciate and honor what it means to be an American. Let us all remember.
At the time, my family and I lived at Dover Air Force Base, Dover, DE.
I remember my husband, who was at that time an active duty Air Force fireman, calling me from work and told me to turn on the news. As I looked in horror at the first tower alight in smoke and flames, the second plane hit. I whispered "oh my God. That is no accident."
With the base on full alert, I drove the 3 miles to my daughter's elementary school. They had ushered the children to the auditorium and I remember the look of fear in their eyes when I opened the door. It took every ounce of my being not to grab my daughter's best friend, Sammy, but I knew if I waited much longer I might not be able to get back home on the base.
I remember being at my friend and next door neighbor's house with the 5 kids. As we tried to keep them occupied and their minds off of the terrible tragedy I couldn't stop thinking about what type of dangers our husband's would soon be in. Suddenly, it became oh so real what "sacrifice" was really going to mean.
We spent a lot of time praying. Praying for the victims lost, their families who must be racked with anguish. Praying for answers, for comfort, for understanding. To this day, I pray for a family of 3 that I never met. You see, they were on the plane together. Mom, Dad and a 3 year old daughter. This family was much like mine but there was one big difference. They would not know the joy of watching their little girl grow up into a woman.
Over the next few days, one became keenly aware of the quiet of the sky's. The absence of commercial plane noise became eerie.
I also remember the day I was on the telephone with my sister, standing outside when suddenly I heard the "whoosh, swoosh, whoosh" sound of the helicopters delivering the remains of the lives lost at the Pentagon. Their identification was to take place at the Dover Air Force Base morgue.
I remember volunteering at the chapel, preparing healthy food for the chapel staff in a feeble attempt to feel as if I were helping in some small way. The pain and sorrow deeply etched on their faces grew each day as they heroically tried to offer comfort to the victims families as they went through the process of "identification".
With this great sorrow, I also remember a country pulling together. Sharing love and kindness. Churches overflowed with spiritual conviction. Old Glory flew on every corner, every house, adorning every shirt.
For a brief while, we were a whole community united. United in patriotism and for love and concern for our fellow man.
On this painful day, in honor and remembrance of those who lost their lives, and indeed, as we were all affected in some way, let us remember what it really means to appreciate and honor what it means to be an American. Let us all remember.
Wednesday, September 5, 2012
Fate and Circumstance
Have you ever wondered how a specific circumstance has affected the fate of an event? This thought has always fascinated me.
Every single day each of us make choices that can impact our lives or others in a small way or it could have a major life changing impact.
Just imagine going to your local ice cream shop and looking forward to getting your all-time favorite; vanilla ice cream. You always get vanilla because you just know it is simply the best flavor ever discovered. You love it so much you even named your dog Vanilla!
When you get there, the only flavor they have left is strawberry. Now you have a real predicament as this is the very last day to use your free ice cream cone coupon. Given the circumstance, you decide, "what the heck, I'll try some Strawberry ice cream". WOW! What an event! Now you can't wait to get home to celebrate by renaming your dog Strawberry after your new favorite flavor.
This is just a simple, fun example of how circumstances can affect everyday fate in our lives.
I hope to engage you, the reader, in not only reading and hopefully commenting on my stories, but to encourage you to share at least one of yours.
Sometimes when life is overwhelming, it's a nice distraction to ponder both small and large events in our lives. It can also help us to find purpose in an event that offers encouragement, hope or even just a little comedic relief.
Recently, I lost a very dear friend of mine. We literally worked side by side every day and would often have discussions about how interesting life was and how we as humans are all interconnected and can at times impact even a strangers' life in our daily actions.
In memory of him, I can't think of a more appropriate first story of circumstantial fate than the one of how he came into my life and ended up being one of the most positively influential people and best friends I've ever had.
I moved to Virginia in January of 2006. Within a month, my elderly cat, Skippy, had developed a sore spot on the side of his face and was sneezing profusely.
Not knowing the area well, I drove to the only vets office I knew.
When I arrived, I was told I could come back on Saturday and just sit and wait to be seen. I explained that Skippy had severe anxiety and was terrified of strange dogs and I was afraid it would over-stress him.
Needless to say, I finally asked if there were any other vets in the area. The receptionist gave me two different numbers and suggested I try the one that was a little further away.
I called the vets office and was promptly given an appointment for later in the day.
As I drove out to what seemed to be the middle of nowhere, I noticed the mailbox number on the highway led to a small, rundown, bright green house. My thought was, "you have got to be kidding me!". If Skippy weren't so obviously uncomfortable I would have just went home but desperation often motivates a person.
After checking in, I was quickly taken to a small exam room with very aged windows. The next thing I knew, as I sat there holding my terrified cat, in walks this giant man with a booming voice. With eyes full of compassion, he introduced himself. I neglected to mention that Skippy was also terrified of strangers so I was amazed to see him so calm with this man.
Sadly, Skippy was diagnosed with an aggressive form of cancer and the vet recommended we take him home, spoil and love on him, and come back when we felt his quality of life was diminished. He then gave us some sedatives to keep Skippy calm for the next time we came in.
About a month later Skippy had lost his appetite and was in pain. Again, we were given an immediate appointment.
Without going into specific sad details, we let Skippy go. It was gentle, dignified and I've never had a vet so genuinely caring. He even cried with my husband, Don and I.
We decided to stay with this vet for the rest of our animals. He even helped with several of my foster dogs during times of crisis and was always available. It just amazed me how a human being could be so darn compassionate. Little did I know!
Fast forward about four years. One day I was at his clinic when one of the staff members approached me and asked if I would be willing to help cover for one of their assistants who was going out for surgery. After all the help I had received over the years, I happily volunteered.
Several weeks later when I was offered a permanent job, I accepted and stayed on as his assistant. Our friendship continued to grow and it got to a point that I really think he was meant to be my brother. As much as we always got along, we actually got into a very heated argument one day over a snake. It must have looked comical as his six-foot-seven frame yelled down at my five-foot-four self, wagging my finger at him and yelling right back. I know our co-workers didn't know what to think as we are both known as the happy go lucky, never get mad types and never had a cross word for anyone.
Funny thing was, we later agreed the argument was pretty funny and the incident became known as the "Great Snake Fight of 2012". Imagine being furious with someone and literally continuing to work shoulder to shoulder with them! Truth is, it made our friendship even stronger as we knew and accepted each other for who we are.
On June 2, 2012, while my husband and I sat in Red Lobster, I received a phone call. My dear, wonderful, loving friend had collapsed in a heap at his daughter's softball game. Even though they were enroute to the hospital as we spoke, I just knew he was gone. Suddenly, our conversation from the night before was profoundly prophetic.
Every day I am so thankful I was fortunate enough to have such an amazing friend. I also cherish the fact that my friendship with Tom blessed me with many more friendships that I truly value. Some may even become fodder for this blog.
Prior to moving to Virginia, I worked in the admissions department of a skilled nursing facility. Since I was the initial point person and was responsible for all paperwork signing, explaining, etc., I had the opportunity to really get to know the patients and their families.
Tom loved hearing about some of the phenomenal crazy stories of fate I was lucky enough to witness and at times be a part of.
I'm anxious to share some of those stories as many of them are about love, hope and forgiveness.
For now though, I invite each of the readers to either comment on my story, or even better, share one of your own.
You never know; if you have taken the time to read this, perhaps fate has had a hand in it.
Every single day each of us make choices that can impact our lives or others in a small way or it could have a major life changing impact.
Just imagine going to your local ice cream shop and looking forward to getting your all-time favorite; vanilla ice cream. You always get vanilla because you just know it is simply the best flavor ever discovered. You love it so much you even named your dog Vanilla!
When you get there, the only flavor they have left is strawberry. Now you have a real predicament as this is the very last day to use your free ice cream cone coupon. Given the circumstance, you decide, "what the heck, I'll try some Strawberry ice cream". WOW! What an event! Now you can't wait to get home to celebrate by renaming your dog Strawberry after your new favorite flavor.
This is just a simple, fun example of how circumstances can affect everyday fate in our lives.
I hope to engage you, the reader, in not only reading and hopefully commenting on my stories, but to encourage you to share at least one of yours.
Sometimes when life is overwhelming, it's a nice distraction to ponder both small and large events in our lives. It can also help us to find purpose in an event that offers encouragement, hope or even just a little comedic relief.
Recently, I lost a very dear friend of mine. We literally worked side by side every day and would often have discussions about how interesting life was and how we as humans are all interconnected and can at times impact even a strangers' life in our daily actions.
In memory of him, I can't think of a more appropriate first story of circumstantial fate than the one of how he came into my life and ended up being one of the most positively influential people and best friends I've ever had.
I moved to Virginia in January of 2006. Within a month, my elderly cat, Skippy, had developed a sore spot on the side of his face and was sneezing profusely.
Not knowing the area well, I drove to the only vets office I knew.
When I arrived, I was told I could come back on Saturday and just sit and wait to be seen. I explained that Skippy had severe anxiety and was terrified of strange dogs and I was afraid it would over-stress him.
Needless to say, I finally asked if there were any other vets in the area. The receptionist gave me two different numbers and suggested I try the one that was a little further away.
I called the vets office and was promptly given an appointment for later in the day.
As I drove out to what seemed to be the middle of nowhere, I noticed the mailbox number on the highway led to a small, rundown, bright green house. My thought was, "you have got to be kidding me!". If Skippy weren't so obviously uncomfortable I would have just went home but desperation often motivates a person.
After checking in, I was quickly taken to a small exam room with very aged windows. The next thing I knew, as I sat there holding my terrified cat, in walks this giant man with a booming voice. With eyes full of compassion, he introduced himself. I neglected to mention that Skippy was also terrified of strangers so I was amazed to see him so calm with this man.
Sadly, Skippy was diagnosed with an aggressive form of cancer and the vet recommended we take him home, spoil and love on him, and come back when we felt his quality of life was diminished. He then gave us some sedatives to keep Skippy calm for the next time we came in.
About a month later Skippy had lost his appetite and was in pain. Again, we were given an immediate appointment.
Without going into specific sad details, we let Skippy go. It was gentle, dignified and I've never had a vet so genuinely caring. He even cried with my husband, Don and I.
We decided to stay with this vet for the rest of our animals. He even helped with several of my foster dogs during times of crisis and was always available. It just amazed me how a human being could be so darn compassionate. Little did I know!
Fast forward about four years. One day I was at his clinic when one of the staff members approached me and asked if I would be willing to help cover for one of their assistants who was going out for surgery. After all the help I had received over the years, I happily volunteered.
Several weeks later when I was offered a permanent job, I accepted and stayed on as his assistant. Our friendship continued to grow and it got to a point that I really think he was meant to be my brother. As much as we always got along, we actually got into a very heated argument one day over a snake. It must have looked comical as his six-foot-seven frame yelled down at my five-foot-four self, wagging my finger at him and yelling right back. I know our co-workers didn't know what to think as we are both known as the happy go lucky, never get mad types and never had a cross word for anyone.
Funny thing was, we later agreed the argument was pretty funny and the incident became known as the "Great Snake Fight of 2012". Imagine being furious with someone and literally continuing to work shoulder to shoulder with them! Truth is, it made our friendship even stronger as we knew and accepted each other for who we are.
On June 2, 2012, while my husband and I sat in Red Lobster, I received a phone call. My dear, wonderful, loving friend had collapsed in a heap at his daughter's softball game. Even though they were enroute to the hospital as we spoke, I just knew he was gone. Suddenly, our conversation from the night before was profoundly prophetic.
Every day I am so thankful I was fortunate enough to have such an amazing friend. I also cherish the fact that my friendship with Tom blessed me with many more friendships that I truly value. Some may even become fodder for this blog.
Prior to moving to Virginia, I worked in the admissions department of a skilled nursing facility. Since I was the initial point person and was responsible for all paperwork signing, explaining, etc., I had the opportunity to really get to know the patients and their families.
Tom loved hearing about some of the phenomenal crazy stories of fate I was lucky enough to witness and at times be a part of.
I'm anxious to share some of those stories as many of them are about love, hope and forgiveness.
For now though, I invite each of the readers to either comment on my story, or even better, share one of your own.
You never know; if you have taken the time to read this, perhaps fate has had a hand in it.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)