Soul Mate Kind of Friends

Here's a cool thing about my life... at every stage I have met great friends, the kind that are life-long, even-when-you-haven't-talked-in-a-year kind of friends where things are natural and you always wish the best for each other. I am crazy blessed with a lot of those kind of friends.

But I also have a number of people in my life who are soul mate kind of friends. These are the people that I can maybe remember the first time I met them, but have no idea how we got from saying hello to knowing each other backward and forward because getting to that point usually took only one conversation. I was thinking of this topic because my friend Kelly and her daughter Meg were over the other night and they are those exact kind of people. I got to be the lucky person who Megan needed to come see because SHE GOT HER BRACES OFF! and I feel so soul-mated with this kid that if it wouldn't have been a production, a big surprise she couldn't wait to share, I would have been a little heartbroken. Yes, I know... braces wouldn't actually break my heart. But the fact that her almost-14-year-old self thinks I might be a smidge cool enough to share things with... it makes me feel just a little bit like a rock star.

I'm sure I'll be writing about many soul mate friends on this blog (Susie being one of them... I promise she's a fabulous soul mate friend, and not just a girl who pushes cigarettes on me *smile*) because they are all such an essential part of my day-to-day life. They are the ones who so effortlessly let me live vicariously through them and their families, making my life feel absolutely whole and complete. I've not only been welcomed into their families but their extended families as well. I get to be a part of their kids' lives, but more importantly they don't mind that I love their kids like my own. They put up with the crazy dog and come hang out at my place with me anyway, and the ones who live far away keep in touch like we live just down the block. I am blessed, people. So here's an idea: when you read this take a minute to call one of your friends that you maybe haven't talked to in a while and tell them how blessed you feel, too. I guarantee it will make your day as much as you will make theirs.

Your Hair is Pretty

You know how sometimes you're just annoyed to death with someone but you bite the inside of your cheek for fear of saying something that will make everything worse? Or you're in the middle of a conversation and you need a great comeback but none come to mind? (For the record, not having a comeback is the story of my life.) If so, I may have an easy solution for you.

When my niece Anna was little she was the most articulate little thing you could imagine. Somewhere around the age of three or so, a large number of us were gathered at her parents' home on the weekend of an Iowa vs. Iowa State football game. Anyone from Iowa knows this is a sacred sport weekend for the rival schools, and being in the hometown of the Iowa State Cyclones meant the game was being taken more seriously than you can imagine. While a large number were gathered in the living room watching the game, a few of us stragglers were still finishing up dishes in the adjoining kitchen.

Enter Anna. She walked into the kitchen wide-eyed with a hand on her hip, declaring the need for a family meeting. She informed her mother that she had heard "inappropriate language" (I kid you not) and there needed to be a discussion about it. Her mom, while all about open communication, knew better than to interrupt this particular game and convinced Anna to wait until the game was over. Thankfully, Iowa State won or this next part might not have been so funny or well tolerated.

When the game was finished the TV was turned off and somewhere around a dozen adults sat on couches with all focus directed at the three-year-old conducting the meeting. She made sure all eyes were on her and began...

"I was hearing inappropriate language when you were watching the game. I heard words like shit, damn and ell (meaning hell... cutest mispronunciation you've ever heard). And in THIS family, we use loving words like good job, I love you, your hair is pretty."

At that point I had a pillow shoved so far down my throat to keep from laughing I thought I might die right then and there. And it would have been so worth it. She was the cutest little swearer I'd ever seen in my life.

And here's where I get to my point of this post. The next time someone is driving you to the brink, use LOVING words. Go ahead. Tell them their hair is pretty. I swear to God I'll never let it slip what you're really trying to say.

If You Want the Rainbow

"If you want the rainbow, you gotta put up with the rain."

This is one of my friend Kelly's favorite quotes, and believe it or not it comes from Dolly Parton... the great philosopher that she is. With the way the weather has gone so far this spring, you can understand why this quote seems to stick out in my mind a bit.

Storms have proven themselves to be difficult for me. I used to think old people were exaggerating when they claimed they could tell a storm was coming in their joints. Now I know they were either playing it down or my body is just a ridiculously excellent meteorologist. The pressure and the increased pain in areas of my body that I can usually count on to be a little less troublesome never ceases to amaze me. I think I'm lucky that I have a curious mind because I find the whole process to be somewhat interesting, despite being unpleasant.

Along with the increased pain usually comes some form of headache... anywhere from an annoying pressure to a lay-in-the-dark, don't-move-a-muscle, pray-to-God-tomorrow-comes-quickly migraine. The only addition to this equation is the fun of getting to care for Riley, as he usually starts throwing up if the migraine lasts more than two days. God I love that dog, but him mimicking my symptoms would be easier to deal with AFTER the headache is gone. Truth be told I feel so bad I'm making him sick that I end up cuddling him more than he does me. I'm kind of a softy that way.

Since I'm always open to new callings, I am often asked by friends to give them my own special forecast... Do I think school will be called off tomorrow or just a late start? Will the track meet be on? How will camping be this weekend? And my all time favorite was when dad wanted to get into the field but wasn't sure if the ground would be dry. I hated to break it to him that I can only tell what the weather will be like in my general vicinity... not two and a half hours away. Sweet of him to have so much faith in me, though.

One thing is always consistent during my storm troubles... I really look forward to the rainbow. I hold on for the headache to go, the sun to come out and the little extra energy to show up after being so exhausted the previous days. I begin to feel like I'm starting over, starting fresh... like I've been granted a reprieve from something worse than my normal self, which suddenly makes the normal not seem so bad.

Do me a favor and remind yourself of this the next time you have to go through a rainy season: There's nowhere to go but through it. Whether that means you have to white knuckle it or maybe be cuddled a little on your way through, I promise if you keep plugging away to the other side the sun will come out and the blessing will be there. God promised you the rainbow. And He promised to be right there with you in the center of the storm. All you have to do is put up with the rain.

Old Dog... New Trick

Last night three friends were over at my house for faith sharing. We usually do a great job getting to the chapter we've read and discussing the questions it poses for us. Admittedly we sometimes get sidetracked on tangents here and there... but I'm sure somewhere in those tangents our faith comes into play as well. 

Sometimes we also take the whole "breaking bread together" literally and order chinese food. Just to make sure we have enough sustenance to share to our full potential, of course. We dished up our sweet and sour chicken, joined hands and Susie prepared to say grace. And that dog you see pictured all over this blog? He felt the need to join in as well. As soon as we joined hands and he realized he had no involvement in the process, he vocally reminded us of his ability to pray, which prompted Susie's prayer to begin with, "Oh, Lordy!"

For whatever reason, as is so often the case, my mind immediately went to a memory about one of my nieces and nephews. When my oldest nephew Alex was a little boy, probably about four years old, he and I were having lunch together just the two of us. We sat at the table and I said we should say grace. I'm used to the very Catholic way of doing things, but my little guy had more evangelical experiences than his aunt. He put his head in his little hand, swaying it back and forth, and began in his best southern drawl (imagine the italicized parts are exceptionally drawn out)...

"Jesus, we just want to thank you for all this food. I just wanna ask you to help me to be a good boy. And bless us, Jesus. Amen."

It was so sweet and pure and honest, it made me want to eat him up for lunch. He's still just as special at 16 as he was all those years ago, but I think the fake southern accent is probably gone when he prays now...

I'm afraid I'm still more on the Catholic side when I say grace, but I think this photo will show you that I've done my best to improve Riley's skills at praying before meals.

Bless us, O Lord, and these thy gifts...

Just Like You...

I'm not entirely sure what seed got planted in my head to make me decide to start this blog. It just seemed like a good idea one day so I putzed around on the computer and in no time it was up and running. It was almost too easy, but I suppose if it wasn't I wouldn't have dove into it without thinking about it a little more. It's only been a week of writing everyday but I'm really glad that seed was there. 

I used to work at a magazine in town, which has long since been bought out and moved to California. I'm pretty sure the name isn't even the same anymore. I look back now and realize I was so incredibly lucky to get a little piece of my dream before this disease took away my freedom to work. I got to be a part of getting a magazine published. I was able to write articles and have my name in print. I got to travel to trade shows in Chicago and Denver, and did interviews with major companies. I got to be a part of something that is tangible and that's pretty amazing to me.

I think a lot of my life, looking back, worked out that way. I was never a major player at a magazine, but I got to be a part of producing one. I was never a well-known singer, but I was appreciated in my community. I only sang at church and weddings and funerals, but I think I touched people when I sang and I know they offered me a lot when they listened. I was never a celebrated actress but I got to be in plays and musicals and relished every moment.

It's amazing that when you look at what you have, instead of what you won't or don't have, you usually see that in one form or another you've gotten what you wished for. It may not have been yours for long enough, or it may not have been as big as you dreamed it would be, but it was there. 

That's why I really think I started this blog. I got tired of telling people what I used to do and who I used to be. I used to be a writer. I used to be a singer. I used to love to dance. When my friend's daughter Alex was a little girl we would spend a lot of time snuggling on the couch and talking about what she dreamed of doing or being. One day she looked at me and said, "When I get bigger I'm going to be just like you." Then she cocked her head and looked right in my eyes, obviously wondering what exactly that meant. Her eyes lit up and she declared, "I'm going to be sick!"

After I picked her mom up off the floor and revived her from her faint, I did my best not to bust out laughing and explained to her that I liked doing a lot of things, and she should just be whatever made her happy.

But for the record, Alex... I'm a writer.

Simple Kindness

When your life takes unexpected turns, if you are paying even the slightest attention you see basic life lessons magnified to extreme degrees. For example, I have always preferred to be the doer. I want to be the one who helps out a friend, sends the encouraging note, organizes the party. I want to be the helper, not the helped.

Life lesson number one: you must be willing to do both in equal measure.

Being the helper is not always a selfless act in the end. I've derived a lot of pleasure when I've been useful to someone or when I've been able to lessen a load. I find that the minute I start feeling sorry for myself, if I can find a way to do something for someone else my mood lifts immediately. And it's not because of that saying that you can always find someone worse off than yourself. I really hate the idea of comparing hurts or trials... just because mine looks worse it doesn't mean yours doesn't hurt your heart more. No, it's because no matter how big or small, doing an act of kindness is simply the right thing to do.

I paid attention to how I treated others, how I wanted to affect the world, but I never noticed as much what others did or did not do. Until I needed help. Boy are people willing to be kind and wanting to be helpful... and boy was it hard for me to let them. I didn't look at it as them getting the same kind of satisfaction as I did when I was a helper. I assumed it was burdensome for them, and by being a burden I wasn't lightening their load anymore. But when I took a step back I had to acknowledge how hard it must be for my friends to watch my body and abilities slip away from me and not be able to do a thing.

It was on a night when I had just gotten home from a hospital stay in Iowa City and three of my friends came to my condo to hang out with me and welcome me home. We were all laying in my bed chatting and my friend Meg noticed the bruises on my hand from the IV, went and got some lotion and started massaging my hand for me. It was the most overwhelming act of kindness to be cared for when you're tired, in a way you didn't even know you needed. People make grand gestures, and I am grateful for that. People think of ways to help that I would never even think of asking about. And I am grateful. But the lesson I've learned is that it is in paying attention to the actual need that makes the biggest impact, even when it is as small as a hand massage.

I began to notice little things all the time. I had gone to visit someone about five years ago, and we were heading into Hy-Vee to pick up something for dinner. I was walking with a cane at the time, and moving slowly. It wasn't until she reached the doors to the store that she realized I was still halfway back in the parking lot. It didn't offend me at all, but it made me realize how fortunate I was that when my friends walked with me in the mall, they walked with me. And they never commented on it, or made a big deal out of it. They adapted to my pace, and for that I am so grateful.

All of this has made me realize that it's also my responsibility to let them help. I notice it the most in my nieces and nephews and how easy it is for them to be kind. My nephew Thomas is always the first, even in a room full of adults, to ask me if I'd like his chair. My niece Anna, when I couldn't go into a room with everyone else and watch a movie because the carpet was wool and I would have a reaction, shrugged and said she'd seen it before. She would rather do something else anyway so she hung out with me. Kindness.

And last summer, when I was home at mom and dad's I was walking up the stairs from the basement, which sometimes feels like climbing a mountain to me. My 7-year-old nephew Christian walked by the top of the stairs and noticed me coming. He stopped and said, "Just a minute, Aunt Sara... I'll help you." I opened my mouth to say that it was ok, he could go play and I'd be up in just a minute. But I stopped and said instead, "Thanks, buddy. That would be so helpful." The look on his face is why I'm writing this post. His face lit up as he put his arm around my waist. His little body didn't help me physically at all, but his spirit and his smile helped my heart. And I know he has it in him to do the same for someone else someday.

That makes a lot of this worth it.

The Bad Influence(s)

So I was trying to think of a lighter tone to take for the blog entry today, and if I ever need to get a smirk on my face I only need to think of a story about my friend, Susie. (If you're reading this, Suz, I promise to be gentle...)

For you to understand the irony of this story, I have to start with one of the first times Susie and I ever went out together. Or rather, the time I forced her to get off her butt and join us for a drink. We were in college at UNI and a bunch of us hung out in the lounge at St. Stephen's, the Catholic Student Center. (With that knowledge alone you should feel assured that this story is going to be fairly tame in the grand scheme of things).

Myself and two friends were talking about where to go out that evening... now that we had done our churchly duties it was only fair we partake in normal college-kid duties as well. It was at this time that we happened by a lovely, blonde-haired girl watering ferns along the window ledge, trying her best to conceal the fact that she'd been crying her eyes out.

I stopped, having met her once before, to make sure she was ok... the time before when I saw her she had commented on being homesick so I thought she may just need a friendly face to let her know college was SO much better than being at home. But after a short conversation I quickly surmised that she was crying over a boy. Stupid boys. And lucky for Susie... we had a cure for crying. She'd be joining us for a drink and did not have right of refusal.

We felt it was a critical mission to keep her from crying in the plants, in her apartment or anywhere else she could think to go. Because WE weren't crying and we were certain our good moods would be infectious. As much as she tried to him-haw her way out of it, we were on our way for our night of fun and frivolity. The fact that we had no idea the bar we took her to that evening had a gay night is really beside the point... the four of us girls at a table seemed to fit in fine. We drank, danced, laughed, sang... and found out the next day that it might not be the most appropriate place to go on a Tuesday night.

The point of all that is, in the beginning I thought I was corrupting poor Suz. And then we got to know each other and she quickly learned that going out for a drink is about the wildest thing I'd ever done.

Flash forward a few years to Susie and I living at the big house with friends of ours (not a prison, just a really big house). Susie has a condition with her heart that I can't remember the name of off the top of my head, which was causing her to have dizzy spells. When she mentioned the problem to her doctor, he made the decision to take her driver's license away for a period of time, which to anyone would be devastating. And it was for Susie as well. Because I hate to see a friend upset more than anything in the entire world, I promised we could do absolutely anything that might make her feel better. You can see how I got myself into trouble on that one.

Her license was only good until midnight, so she and I packed up her Hyundai (you have to pronounce it Hi-YUUUUUn-Die to get the full effect of our mood on that trip) and started on our way to visit her parents' farm. Because when life hands you lemons, you go home to see your mom. Susie drove until the clock struck midnight and then we stopped at a little gas station to switch drivers. It was a finality that was not making Suz feel any better, and she decided in that moment she knew exactly what would cheer her up. She wanted me to smoke a cigarette.

It drove her CRAZY that I had never smoked before and had no intention of trying. I obviously paid better attention to the Just Say No lecture and her new mission in life was to make sure I had the experience to find out just what I was saying no to. I gave in to the pressure and walked into the Prairie Dog truck stop acting as though I had been smoking all my life.

Woman behind the counter: What can I get you?
Me: A pack of Marlboro's, please.
Susie (whispering in my ear): Do you want to try those lights over there? Just to start?
Me (defiantly): No, because I don't want anyone telling me later I didn't smoke a REAL cigarette!
Woman behind the counter: Hard or soft?
Me: HUH?

I decided on the hard pack because I figured the cigarettes would stay nicer and not get crushed... ever the organizer that I am. And, of course, we needed a lighter. And this is the one I just had to have:

 
If the woman at the counter hadn't figured out by now I was not an experienced smoker, she certainly did when I thought all the lighters were broken. Then she showed me the child safety feature. Yep, I was that girl.

We took our smokes (like my lingo?) and our handy-dandy lighter out to the car to find that a trucker had blocked us in, and he was nowhere in sight. It was going to be awhile before we got on the road, so I (at midnight, mind you) rolled down my window, put on my sunglasses and did my best Sandy-Gone-Bad at the end of Grease impression and smoked a cigarette. And it was enough of an experience that I never felt the need to do it again.

Of course, when I had lunch with my brother Steve at the Olive Garden that week and was telling him all about it, the only part the waitress heard as she dropped the bread sticks off at our table was, "I felt like such a skank... we were doing it right there in the parking lot."

Needless to say, he never took clients to the Olive Garden for lunch again.