Reindeer Poop

As I write this, it's 12:45 am and I've just submitted my last paper for my ethics class, the one that was due at 11 pm. I've written 3 papers for this class, the most recent 7 pages long, not including the abstract and " page + 1/4" of references.

Writing papers for Dr. Derenzo has been a challenge: she IS the self-described "Accountablity Police". I really thought I'd started early enough to meet the deadline. However, to be truthful, despite putting in approximately 15 hours on this piece, I still could have managed to turn it in on time.

I could have turned in a sloppily edited paper on time. Nah, if it's worth doing, it's worth doing right. If I get dropped 1/2 grade for lateness, so be it. I know I turned in the best paper I could write.

There's also another way I could have made it by the deadline. I could have skipped the talent show at The Gusto Theatre tonight. I made a conscious decision to walk away from my paper for a couple hours... the approximate time it took me to finish my edts.

I made that choice for a variety of reasons. The first of those was simple: my girls have had to walk around here on eggshells, not to mention spend time away from home as I've struggled to write papers and attend this class. We don't subscribe to cable, so while I've been here they couldn't even entertain themselves on my laptop (I've been using it) or the family computer (it sits in my bedroom and my workstation for writing and studying happens to be my bed). They deserved to have Momma take them someplace fun.

My second reason was to show support for my friend, Henry Dowell, the impetus behind everything that happens at the theatre. I couldn't begin to thank him for all he's done for my girls, especially P.D., in taking the time to teach them about drama over the past year and a half. Plus, in the course of dozens of rehearsals and working past one fairly bad spat (my bad, Henry) he and Kelsey Shea, his right-hand woman, have become very good friends to me. Supporting each other, that's just what friends do.

My third and not the least reason, was to show support to my "theatre babies". Participating in productions at the Gusto has not only added to the lives of my children, but also to me in giving me the opportunity to meet and learn about so many really awesome teenagers and kids. I've watched them learn and grow with every show, and couldn't help but fall in love with them. I am constantly rewarded for taking an interest in and loving these kids, they never fail to let me know they love me back.

I delighted in every performance tonight, just out of sheer affection for the kids on stage. Several of the segments featured the "Gusto Dancers" performing one of the many dances they've used in shows over the past year and 1/2. I was tickled when they called P.D. to the stage to perform with them. I laughed when, as they prepared for their final dance of the night, to Funkytown, they called Benny (another parent) to join in.

Then, the chanting started from the stage, "Kel-ly, Kel-ly, Kel-ly..." Who was I to tell them no? I've seen them do the Funkytown dance so many times I actually surprised myself by knowing most of the moves... when I wasn't running into Heather, another Gusto parent. And I can't tell you how much fun it was or how great it felt that they wanted me to join in.

So, my paper was late. I'm accountable, I'll take any penalties.

It was SO WORTH IT!!!!!

Guest Blog Spot: The REAL spirit of Christmas.

My friend, Mike, asked for a spot on my blog. I'm sure Mike believes that it's more well-read than it is.

Mike's sister has been my best friend since I remember having friends, and I've known him (and his tenacity) since we were itty-bitty kids. (I watched him chase a rooster than was almost as big as he was with a tobacco stick.) He's family, I am required to oblige.

Hopefully, if you don't live in Lexington area, this may inspire you to offer help where ever you live. I cede the floor to Mike:

Hey everyone! Christmas is here and I would like to take the opportunity to wish everyone a very Merry Christmas! For some people this holiday season will be especially hard due to job loss/financial hardship, difficult family issues or worse...the loss of a loved one. It may not mean much at the moment, but you are in my prayers and the prayers of many others.

Christmas is a magical time. Time for hope, optimism, love and security. For a lot of us, Christmas is a beautiful time. Time to spend with family and loved ones. However, for many families, all that is wanted and needed is for a hot meal to share and maybe a gift or two for their precious children. The spirit of Christmas lives in the heart of children and we have an opportunity to keep that spirit alive. There are many charitable organizations in need for food, clothes and toys for these families and I ask that everyone take the time and think about what they can donate. Clothes, toys, food, money? It doesn't matter. Everything counts and is desperately needed!

For those in the Lexington area, if you do not know where to go to donate, please allow me to point you to Quest Community Church at 410 Sporting Court next to Champs and Meijer off Reynolds Rd. For others, I am sure any church will be willing to accept your donations or at least point you to where your gift is needed.

http://www.questcommunity.com/

http://www.questcommunity.com/being%20christmas%20year%20end%20letter.pdf

Quest has teamed up with God's Food Pantry and other kitchens for feeding the poor. According to the latest reports, these places are short 35000 pounds of food . Also, Quest is teaming up with Vineyard Church and the Catholic Action Center for toy donations so that some families in need can have something for their kids to open this year. The goal is to supply for 15000 families! Together and through God's great plan, we can answer their prayers.

For those of us who are able, it is the time of year to give generously and see those generous gifts be used in ways that God has planned. You don't have to believe in God or be a Christian to understand that there are people that need our help. I simply request that if you can spare some food, clothes, toys or money please do not hesitate to offer assistance to those in need. For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life (John 3:16). The key word there is GAVE. He gave this gift to us not to sit under the tree unopened but to be opened, received and shared with everyone. So I ask that if you can, please donate what ever you can to what ever charity you choose.

God bless you all and have a very Merry Christmas!

Update: 12/20/10: From the Quest page:

Quest Community Church - YOU DID IT! U became Christmas for 1000s by giving 35707 lbs of food & filling an entire semi (+4 over) w/toys. Awesome!

Yep 35k pounds of food and a full semi trailer full of toys. Christmas is going to be great for a lot of families in need. Thanks to all who donated!

Cha-ching!

What? A new post?

Well, yeah.

1. The semester ended yesterday.

2. Today was a snow day, so we put the tree up!

I will tell you, last year's tree o' my discontent was introduced to the garbage guys. I only wish I could say shortly after Christmas.

I almost kept it. After the debacle that was last year's lighting, I ordered a Lightkeeper Pro from E-bay. John and Sabrina brought me an endless supply of light spares. John and I spent hours (and hours, and hours) trying to get it to re-light. We replaced approximately 50 lights. We shot (and shot and shot) those strings with the Lightkeeper. We managed to get half the light-strings going again... As I took it down, I kept thinking it seemed a shame waste all that hard work, when John and I could anticipate another merry exercise in frustration and futility the following year...

After New Year's, the neatly-packed-up box waited on on the back porch for the snow to clear so I could carry it to the storage building out back. Then it waited for the mud to dry up. Then it waited for me to get tired of tripping over it and find some divine inspiration to pick up and carry the hated object the 50-or-so steps to the building.

Meanwhile, Sophie the Wonder Dog discovered that chewing on cardboard was her new favorite past-time. Then she discovered that eating Christmas lights made her sick. (Yes, she chewed enough away to crawl in.) So, procrastination led me to dispose of the hated object. (Procrastination as a positive? YES!!!!! Cha-ching!)

The girls and I made fun of the tree displays that were already up in the stores before Halloween. Somehow, I had it in my head that I was the only one who might need a tree this year, so I waited until about a week and a half ago to take the girls shopping for one.

We carefully surveyed our findings. We debated the merits of real trees (as much as a 9- and 5-year old can contribute to said debate). We decided without the Christmas-y smell, they weren't worth the trouble, so we went from tree-to-tree in the Wal-Mart real-tree collection sniffing. (None of the Wal-Mart trees had any aroma worth mentioning.)

We went to Lowe's and K-mart, admiring the Christmas yard decorations... somehow I think God frowns on light-up pigs dressed up as angels, but who am I to judge?

We decided on one as close as we could get to our old tree, turns and all. We chose the 7 1/2 foot "Madison w/colored lights" from K-mart (apparently, Martha Stewart no longer has a Christmas tree line in the L-town K-mart). As is the lot of procrastinators, I found one on display but none in stock. Oh well, the truck was due the next day, (Wednesday) maybe there'd be one on it. I went the next day, no truck.

Annnnnd... speaking of no truck, I had to take my truck (which had been immobile for a month) and get it fixed before I could buy the tree so I could get the tree home... I digress. Oh well...

When we finally got back to K-mart on Saturday, not only were there no Madisons in stock, the display was gone too. Much to P.D.'s disappointment, the only one even close was only 6 feet tall, and it didn't turn either. At least the box was much easier to carry. (Procrastination as a positive? YES!!!!! Cha-ching!)

This year I wore long sleeves, so only my wrists look like I've been working in hay. Although this year's tree bragged of 1563 tips (as opposed to the 1506 on the Martha tree), I must say, it seemed much easier. Since this one was so comparatively small, I didn't need the turn function, it turned in the base anyway.

As I worked, I kept hearing much whispering from the kitchen. then the microwave running, so I stopped shaping for a bit. When I stopped, they noticed I wasn't making any noise and hollered "Momma! Don't come in here! It's a surprise!" When they allowed me in, they had prepared lunch for me: a plate with their version of a grilled cheese (toast the bread, then put on the cheese and melt it in the microwave), a pre-sliced and cored apple, cheese puffs, and almost hot hot chocolate. I must say, it was the best lunch I've had in some time. How such sweet babies came from my sarcastic line is beyond me.

With the smaller dimensions, we decided only to hang the ornaments that actually meant something to us. It's made a much homier, more aesthetically pleasing tree. I couldn't be more pleased with how this one has turned out.

Finally, the "surveying angel", because of her large size, seems to overpower our new tree, so she's now sitting on a side table for mere decoration... Um, in the same spot she's been sitting since she came off last year's tree. (Procrastination as a positive? YES!!!!! Cha-ching!)

ME-OW

I love it when opportunity presents a moment to simply appreciate the things we already have. Others may have so-called "better", but finding those little perks can certainly do much to keep jealousy at bay.

Deat used to name all our vehicles. His convertible Mustang, was, of course, Sally. My little Ram 50 from when we first married was Rachel. His Sebring was Fritz. My GMC Sonoma was Gertie Mac.

My current truck is a 2001 Dakota, she had just 4,000 miles on her when we brought her home. We needed the Dakota because at the time, it was the only small extended-cab truck that featured a bench for a car-seat rather than the traditional jump-seats. My old job kept me on the road constantly, so in keeping with our previous logic, he chose one with a 4-cylinder motor for economy, plus it met my preference for a standard transmission. We test drove it a few miles, it seemed perfect for our needs.

That said, let me add: there's a reason Dodge stopped making 4-cylinder Dakotas in 2001. The body is too big for the motor. "Daisy" has no power at all. Living on the edge of Appalachia, Home of Steep-Hills-Everywhere, this doesn't make for a pleasant driving experience. Going north on the interstate, in several places I have to down-shift to keep her from dropping down to 40 miles per hour.

I will say, in this manner she has probably protected me from my lead foot on more than one occasion. And, she's managed to take me over 160,000 miles (Deat couldn't drive a standard, so I know it was me). Deat picked her out, and made every single payment as a present for me. Money can't buy her.

The current car is a 1997 Buick Riviera that has had the same last name on the title since she first came off the lot. She belonged to my in-laws, and we bought her from them a few years ago when my mother-in-law decided to upgrade. Deat loved new cars, but since she had all the bells and whistles, she was satisfactory to him. She also embodied a nice typical Buick feature, the simple smoothness of the ride. He never loved her enough to name her, however. She's given me very little trouble, despite the 131,000 miles showing on her odometer.

When I embarked on attending school, I knew times would be lean, but I decided that was okay; I didn't have any debt outside my mortgage, and while they aren't the newest, I had two completely-paid-for vehicles to drive. I figured if one broke down, I'd have the other one to use until I could get repairs. So what if the newer of the two was nine years old?

A few weeks ago, I spent quite a bit of time riding with my sister in the new Tundra she bought for her husband. I had no idea of all the technology available. It has blue-tooth installed to take your phone conversation right through the speakers. It has GPS. It has a jack for their I-pod so they can choose from hundreds of songs they want to listen to. I could go on and on. It's a beautiful truck.

Since then I've been the teeniest bit green over it. I looked at the vehicles in my driveway with a bit less pride, and perhaps the slightest bit of distaste. I started noticing that it seemed that everyone at church, every one of my peers at school had nicer and newer automobiles. I started to feel the tiniest bit inferior.

This morning, however, the Buick gave me that "second-to-savor" I needed while driving back from taking the girls to school.

Miss B.B.'s preschool is on the very south end of town, right off the old north-south route. This road, especially near the start and end of the school day, is as busy and hectic a road as any I've driven in Lexington. At this particular intersection, you might wait and wait and wait even to simply turn right. Oftentimes, especially in Daisy, I have to wait for the light to change to get out. It's not horrible, but it can be an annoying, lengthy wait because the "change" trigger usually does not engage unless there is another car across the intersection.

This morning, I arrived at the intersection just as my light turned red. Northbound traffic was really moving, but I saw a small break coming up. The Riviera has another wonderful feature: a Supercharger. I turned, stepped down on her and she took off like a shot, 10-20-30-40-50. She seamlessly merged in, never even slowing the vehicle behind me. I grinned at the small adrenaline rush I had when her motor awakened from her typical almost inaudible purr to her quietly powerful roar.

I think I'll call her "Kitty."

To Tony

Tonight I received some unhappy news. A dear friend (Tony) has been battling cancer for some time and has kept me and other friends updated through emails (similar to the "Deat Updates" I did when Deat was ill.) Tonight, he sent one telling us that he's essentially lost the battle, that the doctor told him there's nothing left to do. Tony guesses that he may have a few months left.

He asked a favor: to write or email a memory of him or a time he's shared with each of us that he can compile in a book for his family. I love this idea, as some of you know I've asked Deat's friends to do the same on his memorial website as a gift to my girls. I love that Tony is putting this together himself; but that's Tony... he's putting together something that will comfort his family long after he's gone. I'd tell you more about how great he is, but hopefully my contribution will do that for me.

So, this is what I wrote.

You never know how much the little things you do bless someone, and so often we forget to tell people how much something that seems like a "little thing" means to us. I am humbled and honored to have that opportunity.

Almost 10 years ago, my husband was unhappy in his job, and was offered a chance come back to the job he had loved at the radio station here in L-town, Kentucky... 100 miles from my family, my friends, and everything that was familiar to me. Two days after we had decided to move, we learned I was expecting our first baby (P.D.). I was intimidated at the idea, but as I told Jerry (Deat) , "You're miserable, you're fixing to make ME miserable, you'd probably make the baby miserable... Let's go!"

In the first several months after our move, I was spending the weekdays in central Kentucky doing my old job, coming back to L-town on the weekends. I had been away to college, but this was different, this was GOING to be my HOME but I didn't really have much in the way of opportunities to get used to it.

When someone said to me, "Oh, you live in L-town, do you know so and so?"

I replied, "Well, if they're not Catholic or a public official, I doubt I've laid eyes on them!"

A better answer would have been, "Well, if they don't work at the radio station or they aren't Tony Cambron, no."

Tony was St. William's, and really L-town itself's ambassador to me. St. William's was a very welcoming community, but Tony really stood out. He introduced himself the very first time we attended and made a point to speak to us every single time he saw us, usually with a joke or funny story, and always with that great welcoming smile. Tony was the guy who really made me feel that this town "could" become my home.

He always asked how I was coming along, and when P.D. was born, he was the first to carry her off and show her to the rest of the church. Of course I had to have "P.D.'s buddy" at her first birthday! Thank you for that, Tony.

My other big thank you's are for the comfort he brought me during the hardest period of my life. These updates seem so familiar to me, I sent them out in '07 and '08 when my husband was battling Lupus and kidney failure. Tony sent me the best responses, and for those I am grateful. When Deat was in the hospital here in L-town, Tony came to see him. When I came in later, Deat mentioned Tony's visit and laughed as he shared their conversation with me. I don't remember what they talked about... but at a time when Deat's smiles were fewer and farther between, it was a million-dollar conversation to me.

Losing Deat was, and is, by far, the most difficult thing I've endured... but Tony was a bright spot in that, too. The night of Deat's visitation, we invited people to get up and tell their favorite story about Deat. I loved hearing them all, but Tony's was my favorite. He told of watching us come into church and how, eventually one of girls would "act up" and demonstrated how Deat would end up collecting all the "baby stuff" up and carrying her out...

then he did Deat's walk.

I pointed and howled with laughter, "THAT'S EXACTLY IT!!!! I used to tell Deat all the time, 'honey, if ducks had long legs that's exactly how they'd walk!'" I can't describe how, in the midst of so much sorrow, how much that laugh meant to me. It wasn't the act of someone making fun, it was the act of someone who cared enough to know; of someone who loved and respected my husband.

Tony also took the time to write a beautiful tribute on Deat's memorial site, a wonderful gift to me and to my girls, and one I treasure. I've read it well over 100 times, and it always brings comfort.

Tony Cambron, you're about as fine a man as I've ever known... and I thank God for putting you in the places He has in my life. I also thank YOU for being who you are: God knew you'd bless me, and you have, again and again. I am especially grateful to God and to you for what you sent to me tonight, for this opportunity to TELL you.

We've been so lucky to have you, Tony. I know this journey is frightening, and I wish I knew just the exact right thing to tell you to make it easier, but I'm not sure I do. So, I'll remind you of something you said in your gift to me... I'm sure Deat will be right there with St. Peter, ready to strike up a conversation to make you feel at home.

We love you, Tony.

Kelly, P.D. and B.B.

Extra Credit

I'm here tonight seeking extra credit. My mission, should I choose to accept it, is to chose a theory that interests me and spend the next 2 weeks incorporating the core concepts of that theory in my everyday life and interactions, and to journal about that nightly.

The good news is, I've decided to kill two birds with one proverbial stone: work toward some extra credit and alleviate my guilt about not providing T.L. and Delmer something to comment on. The bad news is you'll probably be reading more about Adlerian Theory than you ever hoped to. I find everything about the material I'm learning fascinating, but you may not. I asked Dr. Parsons about injecting humor on a project in another of his classes and was told no, so I'm not sure how I'll approach this assignment.

If it becomes too dry, at least my readers will have a sound substitute for Ambien!

Giggling

Just passing along an entertaining website: www.ticklenotes.com. It's okay in the latest entries, but I've been reading the stuff from '07 and giggling my head off.

Mostly, it's stuff he's overheard... with a couple other random entries. Just sharing!

Random School and Counseling

Yeah, yeah, I know, it's been awhile. I'm sorry!

School... uh, wow. So many things run through my head about it...

1. I have this fear I'll have to quit blogging when I become a counselor. I mean, I don't think you can find this blog just by Googling my name, but what if a client DID find it somehow? Way too much self-disclosure here.

I like to think I'm pretty transparent in my friendships, so I don't mind my friends' reading it. Strangers? Well they don't know me so who cares if they judge? But client relationships are very different animals. Guess when the time comes to make the decision I'll be checking the ACA Code of Ethics.

2. My first semester was very emotional for me, I wanted so badly to do everything RIGHT. I wanted so badly to be respected my peers in my classes... I didn't handle the pressure well and lost control of my emotions in more than one class.

I did my paper for Foundations of Counseling about "Stress in Master's Level Counseling Students" (ha ha!) but the topic was perfect for me to do... I learned a great deal, most importantly being that some of my issues, the areas where I felt particularly anxious, were already recognized stress factors for counseling students. In the course of writing the paper, I came to the conclusion that if you're a stressed-out master's level student, at least in a counseling program you're dealing with a staff that is trained in recognizing your issues and is willing to help you sort them out.

Also, I learned (the hard way) that an A- isn't worth 4 points, it's only worth 3.7 on the Lindsey Wilson grading scale.

SO, the pressure is off! If my peers think I'm a basket case, so what. Damage done, can't fix it... and my profs have shown an interest in helping me succeed. Besides, my 4.0 is already blown, no more pressure there either... Whoo hooo!

3. That said, (and with aforementioned pressure off) I LOVE learning this stuff. My classes have been and are absolutely fascinating to me.

Tonight was the first meeting of Systemic Family Therapy. I was nervous because the image I had in my head of this prof (from students who have already had him) was that he was a real hard-a**... so I was nervous, but I really liked him. He seemed pretty forthright, so I don't imagine I'll have to guess about where I stand. Besides, I really, really enjoyed the lecture he gave tonight. I feel good about the class.

4. Which leads me to one other thing I worry about a bit. My friends know, I live by the philosophy "If you 'think' something nice about someone, you should just 'say' it"... I'm torn by that in dealing with my profs because I don't want to come off as a brown-noser.

I'll admit, I have a pretty bad case of hero worship for the profs I've had so far. I think much of what we learn in class is simply "how to be a better person" for lack of a better way to describe it. Since these people are TEACHING these things, they've already internalized them.

Recognizing this huge admiration thing I have going, I worry about where to "draw the line" in my dealings with them. I guess I'll keep learning as I go...

Oh, and I promise I'll try to blog more often...

WOO HOO!!!!

Checked my unofficial transcript to see how I did in my first class

I got an A! I got an A! (repeat 100 times)

GRIN!

Getting Out and About

Last night was just plain happy. I doubt I can do it justice.

As is the theme of my blog, a huge part of my healing process has been searching for who "Just Kelly" is. For a long time after his death, it felt like an act of desperation:

Is there anything left in here that's "just me", and therefore, any part of me that DOESN'T ache for his input? Deat's mark seemed to be on every single thing I did or even thought about.

Facebook has actually been a tool in this process in that it's allowed me to reconnect with people who knew me well before I was ever Deat's wife, people who remembered a previous version of "justkelly". For a while, I mistakenly imagined that perhaps I could just remember who I was before we married and just "be her" again. (BEEEP, wrong answer.)

Even on the few occasions I did "go out" with old friends initially, I found (much to my frustration) that I couldn't stop talking about Deat. It seemed impossible to find very much about myself that had not, in one way or another, been touched, honed, refined by his influence.

I decided "getting out socially" was just too much of a hassle. As much as I care about the friends I've been out to see, I just felt so awkward and uncomfortable with myself, it was hard to completely enjoy it. So, I haven't "gone out" anywhere without P.D. and B.B. for almost a year, often using them as an excuse to stay home.

Several months ago, I was reminiscing about my days at EKU, and wondered what happened to Richie. Richie was 6 years my senior, one of the guys in "The Gang" who taught me to play and love the game of pocket billiards... but he was more than that, too. (Okay, so I had a crush on him...) Despite the bravado in the Powell Building, he's one of the most soft-hearted people I know. I don't know if I ever actually came out and told him how I felt, but I know he knew. "Romantic near-misses" aside, we grew to be very close friends.

We got in touch with each other a few times after college... one of those times was soon after he'd gone through a very painful divorce... not long after that was when Deat and I got together, and we lost touch again.

So, got on Facebook, typed in his name, and bang, there he was. We corresponded on Facebook, and soon got on the phone and talked for hours.

He had been remarried for several years to Wendy. He sounded so much more comfortable with himself than he'd ever been: it was easy to tell that Wendy is a primary factor in that. He admitted that when he read that I was widowed, he couldn't help but shed tears for me, his friend. He told me that it reminded him of how important it was to tell the people who really influenced your life what they meant, so he wanted to tell me.

He also said the tears also came from trying to imagine what I'd been through, how in the world he'd go on if he'd been in my shoes, if he'd lost Wendy. To me, that spoke volumes about their relationship, and I was so happy he'd found someone he loved so much. I just knew I'd love her too.

BUT, Richie is a talker. He told me that Wendy knew all about who I was, well before we got back in touch... all of it. Ugh. Of course, I responded that her feelings came first. The last thing I wanted to do was create friction in his marriage, and I knew I would be uncomfortable if I were in her shoes. But he said he'd also already told her that we'd gotten back in touch, and she knew he was planning to call me, so not to worry.

A few days later, I saw Richie "on" Facebook and IMed, but it turned out it was actually Wendy putting up some pictures on his page (Wow, this is awkward) but we ended up in IM conversation. She was gracious and I could already tell she had a great sense of humor. We had a great conversation, "friended" each other, and started chatting.

We had a direct conversation where she admitted that she suddenly felt stupid for having been nervous about me. I told her not to feel stupid, to me, it just meant that she knew she had something of value and her first instinct was to protect it! I told her I completely respected her marriage and would never do anything to jeopardize it. Heck, she's the best thing that ever happened to Richie, the last thing I want to do was mess that up!

From there, Wendy and I became IM buddies, and until I went back to work, chatted nearly every day. Most of the time, our conversations have very little to do with Richie at all. She's totally amazing. How many women would have been willing to give me a chance? Not many, but she did. I got to keep my dear friend, and add a new one. (Oh, and she's also a reader, Hi Wendy!)

So, anyway, she and Richie decided that I needed to start getting out more, and asked me to come to their town so we could all go out and let Wendy and I finally meet face-to-face. Anytime Richie and I talked, he'd harass me about how he needed a partner to play pool at a restaurant/pub where he and Wendy are regulars.

I still love to play, but I'd only played a couple times in the last two years. I really didn't want to embarrass myself, especially since Richie sounded so convinced that I was a better player than I am. We made plans for one weekend, but they fell through. (Partly from a mis-communication, partly from my apprehension.)

(Man, I prefaced the dog-doo out of this entry, didn't I?)

This past Thursday I happened to see Wendy online and was telling her about how I was going to miss the girls since they were going to my parents' for the weekend, and Wendy jumped on it. "So, you're free Saturday night, huh?" (Oooops!) Okay, no ducking, time to get out again. I was nervous at first, but then, in the course of a lecture Saturday our professor mentioned that worrying was wasted energy.

Okay Kel, so stop worrying, find your pool stick and just go!

I arrived at the restaurant, was there for 5 minutes and felt completely at ease. Wendy is just as awesome in person. At dinner, she or I would say something and the other one would chime, "Me too!"

After dinner, we headed out to the pub they'd been telling me about. Wendy and I settled in at the bar and started playing some silly computer game, but it was fun. We "people watched" and laughed about some of the antics of some of the uh," less-than-sober" patrons.

Brief bar-table billiard etiquette lesson for those who don't know:

The winner keeps the table. On most tables that take quarters, the rule of thumb is that if you want to play, you place your quarters on the table and wait your turn to try to beat the winner. If you win, you play the next one waiting.

Richie put his quarters up, followed by a friend of his. His friend left, so when Richie won, I was next in line to play. After that game, we asked the next ones in line if they'd play partners against us.

We started playing a little after nine, and kept the table until just before last call about 12:30. I shot so much better than I imagined I still could. (I'm sure Richie and Wendy's confidence helped!) We laughed and talked and just had a great time.

Then opponents and by-standers started complimenting my game. Geez, I had forgotten how good that felt!

Funny moment: I stepped out for a quick smoke-break and ran into a pair of guys that Richie and I had just beaten. One of them stopped me:

"Man, you are really good!"

(smile) "No honey, you just think I'm good because you aren't used to seeing a female play well at all."

"Well, you're 10 times better than me, and your partner, he's 100 times better. I want so bad to play like he does, but I just can't."

"Well, here's a little perspective. You're how old, 22 maybe?"

"Twenty-one"

"Well, there ya go. My partner in there, he started teaching me how to shoot the same year you were born!"

He seemed to feel better after that.

It was just a simple, comfortable, happy night, on so many levels, for so many reasons.

• Had a night that was just "for me." and knew Ev and Ab were in good hands so I could relax.
• Finally got to "cement" my new friendship with Wendy.
• I saw first-hand what a great marriage God blessed my dear friend Richie with, and it made me so happy for him.
• It was so neat to see Richie be "the top dog". To use an old "Gang" expression, he shot like "God on the pool table."
• Spent time doing something that I loved, and had loved well before I ever met Deat. On a VERY rare occasion, Deat would come watch me play, but it still wasn't his interest. Pool was one tiny aspect of me that was, and still is, truly, "just me."
• While I did mention Deat from time-to-time, it was just a comfortable part of conversation, it didn't feel awkward, or even "compulsive" as it used to.

Thanks, guys, I so needed that!

After Deat's death, it took a long time to accept that the best part of my marriage was that nearly every single part of me was colored by my relationship with Deat. I had to instead learn to embrace that fact and incorporate it into this new life. Trying to run away from that simple truth wasn't making the pain lessen anyway, much as I tried to "will" the hurt away.

So, okay, most of who I am is still wrapped up in Deat and his influence, but not all. Saturday night I saw a lot of the old Kelly: just older, wiser, and much more comfortable in MY own skin.

Hmm, maybe I should have named my blog "justkellyhere 2.0"

Funny thing happened on the way

past the 2 year mark/2nd of Deat's birthdays since his death...

I started feeling a weight lift. I started WANTING to work on accomplishing something for myself again. I really started seeing myself as somebody "other" than just Deat's widow. I know, I say that in my bio... but lately I've started really feeling it.

I know some of it was simply passing these milestones. It's hard to describe. I also think a great deal of it changed after a really rough "practice" group therapy session for class a couple weeks ago. I had to view myself in a pretty harsh light and I didn't much like what was being reflected back to me.

Somehow, I also think I can attribute part of it to completing my first class (It was "Group Counseling Techniques") toward my masters' tonight. My master's, that I decided, by myself, (okay, with a big ole push from above) to pursue.

I really wish I could fully describe it. For the first time, I'm spending more mental energy looking forward and less looking back... and it doesn't feel like something I have to WORK at. It doesn't feel disloyal anymore. I suppose some of that came from, as I mentioned before, deciding a couple days ago that Deat would have chastised me for making a big deal out his death date as a morbid thing to do, and probably would have insisted that I not do as much as I did. (see February 23 post)

But, I did cheat and do one more thing... I learned I've picked up a couple readers who don't actually know me (how exciting!) and one of them asked me what happened. Rather than even try to condense that incredibly long story, I copied the file that had all the "update" emails from his illness into a new blog, "What Happened." (Okay, so I was fresh out of catchy titles)

Maybe that seems like more dwelling, but somehow, to me, it felt like another step toward closure.

Will I still talk about Deat and about widow issues? Well, uh, yeah. Kinda hard to erase 17 years of my life... and I wouldn't want to if I could. This journey was/is part of who I am today.

It's just that as of recently, it's doesn't feel like the only part.



Note: Just now as I was reading what I thought was final edit, it just so happened that "Send Me On My Way" started playing. (#173, second from the last on the player on the right as of this writing) came on. Turn it on, it fits this post perfectly.

An Exerpt from a Cat's Diary

Deat would have been 35 today, so over on Facebook I posted this. (Don't forget to pause the player on the right so you can hear it)

Happy Birthday Buddy. You always made me laugh.

This is a spot that Deat and Trevor recorded while Deat was at WWEL. Trevor is doing the intro, Deat is the cat. I wanted to only upload the sound, but since FB won't upload mp3 files, I had to make a movie. I included the pic from WYMT on the first few seconds, b/c that's how Deat looked when he was announcing, but I only left it up for a few seconds because it's funnier if you just listen...

Today, 2 years later

It was two years ago today that God released Deat from that horrible illness. I've been flip-flopping for 2 days about what to do about today, about what to write... should I recap the last 2 years?

Um, no. Not tonight. I actually made a point today NOT to mention what today was to the outside world, at least not until now. I didn't want a bunch of those old sad looks. P.D. asked me this morning if we were going to do anything special, I told her I had thought about it, and I didn't think her Daddy would want us to. (I actually think he would find that morbid.) I think she was relieved.

Besides, I've lived those last moments, that day, that night, over and over. Deat wouldn't want me to do it again... I'm sure I will at some point, accidentally even, but I'm not doing it on purpose. I may do a sort of recap sometime the coming weeks, but not tonight.

So, here's a weird disjointed collection of things I wanted to talk about:

1. I did do a couple things today. I called Jack at the jail (Deat's old boss). He's not running for re-election, so I wanted his take on who's running. We had a nice little chat, but he was too busy to talk about it much. I also called Todd, a dear friend and deputy at the jail who has since been moved to the night shift. I cannot say enough about how much these two people (and everyone at the jail, really) did for us during Deat's illness. I am forever grateful and love them both. And Todd, well he always makes me laugh. Todd can make griping about something the funniest thing you ever heard.

2. Right turn, Clyde. (If you don't get the reference, you obviously didn't get dragged to the drive-in to see Clint Eastwood in the late 70's like I did. Anyway, for my purposes it's just a warning that I'm switching gears)

3. Yesterday, B.B. looked at P.D. and said "Sissy, you're an asshole" This is a problem... mostly because it's so funny to hear her say it, it's hard to correct her properly, and partly because it's my fault.

Me: B.B., (trying so hard to keep the giggles to a minimum) honey, you can't say that, that's a bad word

B.B.: You called Mr. Dowell an asshole.

(Yes, same Mr. Dowell, you know I really like you when I start calling you names. At this point I lost it and laughed. I'm a really bad mother!)

4. I don't remember whether it was Tina or Sabrina who gave me the Gourmet Mint Chocolate Truffle hot chocolate that I've been avoiding... but I had a cup tonight and whichever one of you it was, I love you to distraction. As for the other one; no, I won't be sharing.

5. Tonight as I was looking up something on my computer, B.B. sat down on the corner of my bed (My desk sits right beside it... I gotta finish the basement at some point and get this thing out of my room!) got my comb and started combing my hair. "Momma, look at the bathroom, look out the window. (When I comb her hair, to get her to turn the way I need her to, I tell her what to look at. "Look in the mirror, baby, look out the bathroom door... ) I had no idea that having someone comb your hair for you felt so good. And it was just a great moment. Little does she know, she'll be stuck with this chore for life...

6. And we have lots of great moments. Earlier tonight it was while the girls were unloading the dishwasher, (B.B. does the silverware, P.D. everything else) then sitting down together for supper. P.D. was just chattering away about this and that. After B.B. finished my hair, she and P.D. were playing some make-believe game together.... I hope someday B.B. realizes how lucky she got in the big sister department. We're a pretty cool little team, we three girls.

So there, I blogged. Onward through this life we go...

It's Almost the Two-Year Mark

And what a journey it's been so far. May I say the learning curve has been much longer than I imagined?

P.D. asked me question yesterday that threw me for a loop.

"Mama, did you love Daddy?"

"What? Yes, more than anything in the whole world! Why would you ask me that?"

"Well, I hear you say that he was your best friend, I never hear you say that you loved him."

"You don't remember? Daddy and I always kissed each other hello and goodbye... we constantly told each other we loved each other."

"No, not really I don't."

Wow. You really never know what they know and don't know. I had to remind myself, P.D. was only six... he's been gone for almost a 1/4 of her whole life. She remembers special things he did and said, but what he was like, day-to-day, eludes her. B.B. doesn't remember him at all.

The one thing, perhaps the only thing I've been consistent about in the past 2 years is my concern for my girls' feelings in all this. I've made a special point to give them as much information about their Daddy as I can, and to preserve anything that might give them any inkling about who he was for when they're older. I read books, talked to therapists, and I really thought I had THAT PART of this life covered.

"Everything else can fall apart, as long as I handle this well, I'm okay." I will say, I am pleased that P.D. felt she could ask... I did something right.

Today, P.D. and I practiced her lines for a play she's in... "The Four Presidents" at The Gusto Theatre here in L-town. God bless Mr. Dowell, he gave P.D. a part as one of the reporters, knowing her Daddy had been one.

I really enjoyed giving her tips on how to deliver her lines. It gave me the perfect opportunity to tell her how much I loved hearing her Daddy on the air, and how beautiful I thought his voice was. Yet another lesson learned, thank you God for the chance to immediately act on it.

Along the same lines, if you knew Deat, (Jerry), and you haven't already, please take a few minutes and go to the guestbook on his memorial website, and share a little about him, especially any good stories you may have. You can SAY how great he was, but a story will SHOW it.

I think it will mean so much to the girls to read about their Daddy and what he was like from all sorts of angles. Also, if you know other people who knew Deat, (especially those that I may not know) please, pass the site along. You have no idea what a gift you'll be giving my girls, and therefore, me.

Yet Another Reason I Hate That Tree

When I was trying to fix the tree, I needed a power strip so I could reach... so I borrowed the one from the sump pump...

It's been raining here for 3 days straight. I'll let your imaginations take it from here.

Maybe I could just forget about a playroom for the girls and offer them an indoor pool...

Accountability

Okay, you guys are my witnesses... I will be avoiding the computer until my house is clean.

No really.

I mean it.

I'm really going to clean the house today.

No if, ands or buts.

Uh.... (dang, I ran out of things to say to keep me from it...)

New Year, Big New Beginnings

Today was HUGE. Today I went to orientation for Lindsey Wilson's L-town-Campus Counseling and Human Services Master's degree program. I'm finally going after the career I originally planned for myself way back in 1988.

Of course, being the procrastinator that I am, I put off filling out my paperwork until, uh, today. I've been thinking about this career change for years, well before Deat ever became ill. I just never felt I COULD. I actually began taking steps toward this goal in May, but I've been nervous about it. I've had the financial aid confirmation since July, but I still kept dragging my feet. Today, the deadline was looming, time to fill it out...

I was going down the form, merrily filling in blanks until I got to the last requirement before the signature:

VI. AUTOBIOGRAPHY:
Please attach a two (2) page type-written statement describing your reasons for seeking an advanced degree. Detail any areas of specific interest. Please include, to the extent that you are aware of them, areas of strength as well as areas of growth, both personally and professionally.

Okay, so I find this little gem at 1:30 pm, I have to pick up the girls at 3, and be at the orientation at 6. Two pages? I can knock that out. And, thanks to some help from Filly and kids (they came over early to help occupy my girls and to keep them while I was at orientation) I did.

A funny thing happened when I started writing. I just kept getting more and more excited. By the time I did the final edit, I was grinning like a maniac. It's really, truly official: I'm making my first major step toward a new life. I'm taking my first step toward new beginnings for the girls and me. I'm taking the very first all-on-my-own major step I've made in over ten years. Scary as it's seemed for these many months, it's really starting to feel good.

Also as I was finishing, I realized that this essay included some information I've yet to share with my readers. It may be a bit formal and dry, (or it may be a bit too informal for the purpose) but I hope you enjoy it anyway.

This is how and why I'm going to become a counselor, as addressed to the Lindsey Wilson office of Admissions:

My faith is integral to my decision-making process, making my reason for seeking an advanced degree in Counseling and Human Services is simple: God led me here.

I began college as a Psychology major in August of 1988, with the goal of helping people. Of course, I spent the first few years working on my general education requirements.

Up to that time, I had led a fairly sheltered life. I was continually taken aback by the life-experience of my dorm-mates: stories of rapes, abuses, losses experienced due to suicides or drugs, growing up in single-parent homes, or worse, homes with an abusive parent or step-parent. With my naturally empathetic nature, these stories haunted me.

I spent a year out of school.( January 1991-December 1991) During that time, I experienced a huge betrayal from two people I had been trying to help, was devastated by it. God used this betrayal to draw me, in my brokenness, to Him. My priest referred me to a wonderful therapist who incorporated my faith into my healing. While I benefited greatly from the few sessions I attended, I remained hurt and wary from the betrayal. Adding the betrayal to the previous experiences in the dorms, I feared that I would fail in my efforts to assist others. I worried that with my sheltered past, I would’t be able to “relate” to clients’ problems. I realized there would be times that I most certainly would not be able to see a patient through to “recovery” and doubted that I would ever be able to “leave it at work”.

When I returned to EKU in the spring of 1992, I took a selfish option: I left the field, worrying that this career would “break my heart.” I took a career-counseling course to seek a new field of study. My two best options at the end of course? Counseling or Advertising/PR.

I transferred to Morehead State in Fall of 1992 as a Journalism major with an emphasis in Advertising and Public Relations, and I enjoyed it a great deal. My “dream” at that time was to design ad campaigns for major corporations, however during my tenure as an advertising representative for the campus newspaper, I discovered a talent I had not realized: sales. As one of ten representatives, I brought in almost half of the overall revenue that semester. My only sales training had been listening to my father talk to customers in his Allstate office for many years, I couldn’t understand why everyone wasn’t having the same success that I was. I believe the traits and skills that made me a successful sales person will serve me well as a therapist: empathetic listening, genuine interest and concern for my clients needs, and an ability to assess and gently offer need-based suggestions and solutions. Often during my sales career, I found customers sharing far more of their personal lives with me, a complete stranger, than one would expect.

After I graduated, I moved home to P-town, Kentucky and although I sought careers in design, I soon learned that the salespeople made higher incomes. In my quest for financial independence, I continued in media sales and promotions until after my marriage to Jerry (Deat) in 1999. Late that year, I was contacted by the National Federation of Independent Business with an opportunity that offered almost double my current income. In my desire to support my husband’s broadcast career, it seemed to be the best option.

The career change was fortuitous; in February, 2001 my husband was offered to return to a position here in L-town, Kentucky. My employment allowed me to simply switch territories to accommodate the move. Our older daughter, P.D., was born in September of that year. I joined the board of the childcare center we chose for her in December, and it was there that I met Traci, the director of the center.

Traci, like me, was transplanted to this area. We bonded instantly and became inseparable: calling each other multiple times a day, lunching together often, seeing each other through aggravations, hospitalizations, the gamut of headaches and heartaches. I had never become so close to anyone so quickly. One Thursday afternoon in June of 2002 I called her at work to say, “I just wanted to tell you I thank God every day for bringing you to me.” The next morning, she died in a car accident on her way to the center. Her 3 year-old son was flown to UK, but died about 3 weeks later, leaving her husband and 1 year-old son.

For the first month after her death, I was consumed with helping her husband. I then ran out of jobs to do, and crashed. This was my first experience with the death of a close loved one and I was completely confounded with the myriad of emotions running through me, highs and lows hitting one after another with no warning. Finally, my husband insisted that I seek counseling.

I researched grief online, and while it was helpful, the 3 sessions I had did wonders for me. I found in this instance, the value came from simply letting out my feelings. I could finally express all my pent-up hurt: I felt I couldn’t talk to my mother, it upset her so much to hear my hurt; I couldn’t talk to my husband, he not only hurt for me, he was grieving his own loss. My therapist didn't know me, didn't know Traci. I could rattle on to my heart's content with no guilt. However, in the final session, my therapist said something that cut straight to my heart, “You know what the real shame is? YOU should have been a counselor.” I was never satisfied in my sales career from that point on, but I felt powerless to leave it.

From here, the story fast-forwards to July, 2007. My husband’s kidneys failed from Lupus complications. I kicked in to high-gear as super-wife: keeping notes of every word from every doctor’s mouth (he had 8 different ones), requesting copies of every single lab report, keeping track of the 12-16 different medications on a database. If there was any question about whether the doctor had the best, most recent information, I spoke up. I maintained a calendar and attended every appointment from Somerset to Barbourville to the UK Hospital and at the end, to St. Joseph’s L-town where his body finally said “no more” and he died February 23, 2008. Several physicians commented during Deat's illness that they wished more patients had someone to advocate on their behalfs as I had Deat's.

That said, God used Deat’s illness to demonstrate His infinite love, glory and protection to us. God sent strangers with messages we would need to hear. Prayers were asked, and answered, often within hours. Many experiences we’d had in the previous years, experiences that had left us scratching our heads, “Why, God?” suddenly made sense in that the blessings we would need to help during that traumatic time were already in place before we knew we would need them. God even put the final prayer, one I didn’t know I could pray, on my lips at the moment Deat died. I’ve often been told I should write a book detailing the blessings as they came, one after another.

I'm overwhelmed with gratitude for all God gave us during Deat’s illness. I knew God had a purpose; I wondered what it might be. A few weeks after Deat’s death, “God’s Call” for His service became stronger. I met with an internet friend here in L-town, and (similar to my initial meeting with Traci) the friendship immediately clicked. She felt like an old friend from almost the first minute and we quickly fell into easy conversation. Before we parted that day, she looked at me and said, “Wow, you should have been a psychologist or a counselor or something!”

God started sending those comments to me from all sorts of different directions. In the initial months after Deat's death, I quickly learned: while this is club none of us wanted to join, no one “gets it” like another widow. I took a great deal of comfort in talking with other widows, until more than one suggested that I would be a good therapist. Even my grief-therapist at the time agreed. I kept shaking my head, no.

In September, 2008, I realized that in my grief, the motivation required for a successful sales career simply wasn’t there. My priorities had changed. I took a desk-job here in L-town. Not long after, in the course of a conversation, the director of my two daughters' current child care, a dear sister in-Christ, suggested, “I think you’d be a really good counselor.”

Knowing she would understand the reference, I cried, “No! I don’t WANT to go to Nineveh!” A few weeks later, a friend at my new job dropped a brochure for this very Counseling and Human Services program on my desk as she walked in from lunch. The pull just kept growing. I’d find myself imagining how satisfying pursuing my original plan would be.

Finally, in May, 2009, I was fired from my job and my basement flooded twice in the same 2 week period. Financially, my girls and I can live frugally and survive for 2 years on Deat’s social security and with some public assistance. God removed any argument I had for avoiding this career option. I, only partly in jest, looked to heaven and said, “Okay! Okay! I’m going! I’m going! Just don’t send the big fish!”

The Theory of Stupid

I was reading the Not-Right-Writer's blog today... she's an old friend from high school, super-smart, quirky in all the best ways, but a bit too hard on herself. Her most recent post included a lament about her husband and his actions... a few things he did that annoyed her to no end, and as her reader, knowing her feelings about aforementioned things, I'll say justifiably so...

HOWEVER... I know the secret to dealing with such "things"! I pass my secret, The Theory of Stupid, along to almost every new bride I know, to me it's key to preserving harmony and the female sense of well-being.

I started to write NWW a note, but since she reads my blog, I thought it better to impart this wisdom to all married womankind; a morsel that offers that extra bit of sanity for women in our Mars/Venus marriages, if you will.

Early in our marriage, I used to get REALLY frustrated with Deat. (St. Deat? Yes, St. Deat.) Sometimes it seemed every action he took (particularly outside my presence) was designed to wreak havoc on my mental and emotional stability: his jeans laying on the bathroom floor, RIGHT IN FRONT of the hamper, AGAIN! I fell into the seat-left-up toliet, AGAIN! He moved the papers that I desperately needed for work the next day and left me scrambling, AGAIN!

Then one day it dawned on me: He's just stupid. Deat didn't drop his jeans on the floor to annoy me: He's just stupid. He didn't sit giggling, planning the fun when I had stop everything and wash my behind from falling in the toilet: He's just stupid. He CERTAINLY didn't plan to interfere with my ability to help bring income into the house!

See, the problem with we women is we interpret every single action as MEANING something... as SAYING something about our husbands' feelings for us, for the things we value. "This means he doesn't CARE!" The reality: most of 'em, they just don't think that far ahead.

The good news: ladies, you can apply The Theory of Stupid to almost any idiotic move your husband makes! Truly, most of the time they aren't thinking about the consequences or our dismay... that doesn't mean they don't love us, they're just stupid.

I think I chose "stupid" because "thoughtless" feels too much like a major character flaw... something to fester over. "Stupid" has just enough meanness to satisfy the need for revenge, but at the same time, you really can't STAY mad at someone simply for being stupid.

He really does love you, he really does care about your well-being... He's just stupid.

Playing with My Blog

I've been goofing off with this last night and all morning... it could have something to do with the cleaning that I'm desperately trying to avoid, but nothing to do with my competitive nature. (TLC, these blogs don't count... or maybe this and prior 2 could count as 1.) Or, it could have EVERYTHING to do with the fact that the girls have been at Deat's parents' house since Thursday night and this place is WAAAAAAY too quiet.

Anyway, I've finally figured out how to put THE RULES in a prominent place, and have the player available on every page.

I also chose a new random question to answer in my profile last night.

The new question was: You've successfully slain the dragon! How will you toast your marshmallows?

And I answered: Um, gee. Maybe if I'd TAMED him instead of slaying him I'd have options here...

Then I got to thinking: What if people think I'm calling Deat "The Dragon"?

So, for the record, Deat was not a dragon and I didn't slay him; though, there were a few random times in our marriage that he was and I wanted to. I have the autopsy report to attest to my innocence. (If you are offended by dark, recovering-widow humor, my apologies)

Just in case, I'm going to go seek a new random question now...

Oh, and While I'm Entertaining...

Yes, I've mentioned it before, I am a huge What's a Delmer Look Like Fan.

I was just re-reading "Dear Airline Person" It's a prime example of why I think Delmer is so great: He's polite to fault and never takes himself too seriously. Some might (erroneously) assume he's a pushover. Not so, but in this post he even meets injustice with good humor. He's also the one who taught me to do my best to entertain. (That, and he directed his readers to my "Humbug" post. I was flattered beyond words!)

If you go read "Dear Airline Person" , after you read it don't forget to go back and click the "they break guitars" link in the post!

Oops, it isn't the first day of the year anymore

Did I mention I'm not a big holiday fan lately?

I've often heard that the second year after losing a spouse is worse, and from the last 10 months, I completely concur. I talked to Sam today and we agreed that this Christmas (the second one for each of us) was much harder.

I told him I think it's because during the first year you're so busy figuring out the mere logistics of how to live life without your spouse, that you're almost too busy, too focused on figuring out what your "new normal" needs to look like, to greive properly. The second year, you have all your new "hows and whys" for your day-to-day in place, so its then that the magnitude of what you lost sets in.

Since that's a rather dreary topic, and I do so love to entertain, I decided to again add a bit of media for your amusement. I watched "Hancock" tonight, (Love Will Smith in any movie he does.) and this was the intro music. I liked it so well, I looked it up so you, dear reader, wouldn't have to.

Don't forget to pause the automatic player at the top right of the page! (Or, alternately, you can select #158 on the auto-player and skip the player below altogether.)