Five Years In

Five years.

Deat died five years ago, February 23, 2008.

In some ways, it doesn't seem so far in the past. When I look at what's changed between then and now, it seems like a long, long time. P.D. and B.B. aren't 6 and 2 years old anymore; they're 11 and 7. My youngest is older, now, than my oldest was, then. 

I've been building up toward this post for several weeks; unsure of what I wanted to say but sure that I needed to say SOMETHING. I decided to include an inventory similar to one I've used with clients to see if those ideas lead somewhere interesting. They did for a bit, but it still took me 3 more days to finally finish.

Family - Deat and I hoped to foster a sense of "all for one and one for all" in our family culture. It's hard to be objective, but I like to think of us as a tight little team. I think the girls understand that we depend on each other, and we each have to contribute to make this thing run smoothly. I think in some ways the adversity probably bonded us a bit tighter from necessity. I will admit, I still wish the girls' had the benefit of Deat's life perspective to compare and contrast with mine as they decide for themselves where their values and priorities lie. Luckily, I have a pretty good memory and share as much of who he was with them as I can.

As for extended family, My parents and siblings still live in or near P-town, Deat's are still in J-town, and all of them are still my family. Sometimes folks are surprised to learn I have a close relationship with Deat's parents and his brother and family. It's hard for me to imagine the kind of pain it would be to lose them, too.

Friendships and Leisure Activities - In my married life: Deat was my very best friend; Sabrina filled most any of the gaps in between... not to mention that the girls were small and there just wasn't room or time for outside socializing.

Five years later: Over time, God has blessed us with a tight support network of friends to hang with. In just the past year we've been to several cookouts, taken a group trip to the Knoxville Zoo, a group trip to the aquarium in Gatlinburg, went to and hosted Christmas parties, hosted a five-family yard sale, had several get-togethers with just the Ladies and other get-togethers for the whole families, both here and at others' homes, had overnight guests from out of town twice, had  Theatre Babies coming over for dinner, participated and performed in a few plays.

The common theme of all these activities?  Lots of love and laughter. I can't imagine being more blessed than we are.

Health/Exercise - See previous post

Work/Career/Education - Big changes there. In February 2008 I was in my 9th year as a membership representative for the nation's largest small business lobby. I signed up new members through cold calling; renewed existing members through delivery of an annual progress report. I had a large territory that extended into several counties. And I soon realized I had no more desire to get out of the truck and actually DO my job than the man in the moon.

Part of the problem was that I traditionally gave a very folksy pitch that included anecdotes about the things my husband would say. I didn't know how to adjust it to take Deat out of it. Add to that plain old grief and situational depression; I didn't have much desire to talk to anyone; much less about the politics that were often of more interest to Deat than to me.

I realized part of the reason I loved the job was because I "shared" it with Deat: I just didn't want to do it anymore, but had no idea what I could do. So God told me. In January of 2010, I returned to school, and in 2012 I finished my M.Ed. in Counseling and Human Development.

Today I am a licensed counseling associate working for an agency. Interesting that I left my old job in part because I shared so much of my own life in it, and moved to a job where my experiences help me to relate to my clients, but the less I discuss my own life, the better.

Most important lesson of late: Empathy does not mean putting MYSELF in the client's shoes; I know how I think and it's unlikely that the client thinks the way I do. Empathy is closer to understanding how my client feels about the shoes he or she is wearing.

With that in mind, I do want to share a bit about the shoes I wear and what they mean to me:

1. I am not broken and I don't want to be treated that way. I've moved through the worst of my grief. If anything, I'm less vulnerable: Very little about the future scares me anymore. The worst thing I could imagine happening, happened, but I survived it. I'm here, my girls are here, and we're okay.

Am I the same person I was five, six years ago? No. I wasn't the same person, in 2008 that I had been in 2003, either. If I seem quirky and strange, well, believe it or not, I was quirky and strange before I became a widow, before I became a wife. T.L. can attest to that.

2. My life doesn't need "fixing." I don't need a husband. I don't need a boyfriend. I don't need a shoulder to cry on. I don't need a substitute father for my girls. If I need help, I ask for it. Our gang of friends includes some really fantastic examples of upstanding faith-filled men who look out for us. I also have an awesome brother and brothers-in-law. I have plenty of models to help me show the girls how a good man conducts himself so they'll know when they're old enough to start evaluating their own potential suitors. (And with that bunch of fellas looking out for my girls, I feel sorry for the first guy to come calling!)

For me, I'm not saying I'm opposed to a romantic relationship. I'm clarifying: if I do have a man in my life, it will be because I allow him to be, not because I need him to save me from the life I have. Right at the moment, I don't see a great deal of free time to pursue such a relationship, but if I did find room, let me add a warning: if I complain, don't try to fix it, try listening... that's probably all I want.

3: I see myself as blessed. And that's how I want you to see me. Don't cry for me for the loss of my husband; rejoice with me that I had the privilege to be his wife. I got to be married to the greatest guy I ever knew for almost 9 years, and I have the wonderful second family he left me, as well as two beautiful girls to carry on his legacy. Why would you feel sorry for that? My challenges of the past  five years weren't/aren't greater or lesser than yours. They were/are just different.

Finally, I won't pretend that I was Miss Strong and Brave all the time. There were periods in there that were truly horrible, and feelings I hope I never experience again. Do I still miss Deat and wish he were here? Without question. Little things can still bring fresh pain. That said, as time goes on, it does get more bearable, and easier to live with.

At some point the "new" normal stops being the new normal, and without fanfare, it becomes simply, THE normal. The resentment of not living the life you had planned gives way to acceptance of the blessings in the life you still have.

To paraphrase the reminder plaque our beloved neighbor, Miss G. (also widowed), plunked down on my end table on a day when I came to her crying and struggling:

"It's (still) a wonderful life!"

Post Number Ninety-nine

Hello? Anybody here? Oh, let me dust the cobwebs off that chair,  this place sat empty for a while... have you noticed that usually happens when I plan to write more?

What happened? Well, it was time to do the annual tree trimming post... but nothing funny happened. We just put it up... I couldn't even come up with a mildly amusing spin for it.

Then, I just didn't know what to write about. The most interesting moments usually happened with clients, and I can't write about them for confidentiality reasons. I can't be too careful...not to mention school and my job and blah, blah blah.

But tonight I have something to write about. Tonight I finished a take home-test that was my last assignment for the last class I needed for my master's degree. I've worked on the test all day, but couldn't seem to get that last two-page essay question done. I got on Facebook complaining.

And here came a flood of support, friends from all different parts of my life cheering me on. I got the essay finished and posted that I was done, and here came even more support. Fifty-something "Likes" and congratulatory comments total between the two posts... I am so grateful for every single one of those. I can't say how much it meant, especially in light of..

The REST of the story...

No one knew it, but today marked 4 years since Deat's death. I am so much better than at times I ever imagined I'd be, but having that in the back of my mind was still hard. Having all those people offering me well wishes, it really highlighted so much for me, how far I've come, how blessed I've been. How absolutely blessed I AM.

In some weird way, through the cheers of my friends, I could hear Deat cheering, too, "You did it, Buddy, you did it."

MC Antics, Part 2

I left my treatment planner book (the one I needed to do homework) at work. This morning I had to go meet up with the MC at his regular pre-work stop so I could pick up the book, hurry home, and get busy.  (Where does he go every morning? I could tell ya, but I'd have to kill ya).

I asked a lady at said location if she'd seen him. She gave me a puzzled look.

Me: Oh, I'm his intern.

Nice Lady: Oh, you're Kelly, is that right?

Me: Yes, but I'm not as bad as he says, I promise.

Nice Lady: Oh no, I've heard him talk about you. He says you're awesome.

Wow. I've worked really hard in this internship, but to find out he bragged about me? I had to turn my head to keep her from seeing a little tear in the corner of my eye.

I think you're awesome, too, MC.


It's just that my friends know better than to let you in on it!

Quick Post for the Fans of the MC

The semester is almost over... I may see daylight again... I just had to share this with you guys.

On Tuesdays I ride with the MC to one of our work sites in another county. We were consulting about one of his "older clients" on the way.

The MC: Man, I hope when I get old I'm not that crabby.




I almost spit coffee all over the windshield.

Okay, So I'm Full of Myself. Meanwhile, you can fill up on Five-Minute Chocolate Cake

The MC asked me why I blog. He does. not. get. it. When I tried to answer him, I didn't get it either, or at least not well enough to tell him. I told him about always wanting to write, the original mission of this blog and so on.

What surprised me was he didn't call BS. (I hope because the answer I gave him was mostly true.) The teensy part I didn't mention (but I'm sure he knows) is that blogging appeals to my ego. I'm owning up to it. The idea that people actually come see what I'm up to, actually enjoy reading what I write, feeds that little sucker. This especially true since I started monitoring hits with a couple stat counters.. it's so fun to see that little spike in the graph! (Besides, you people are so stingy with comments... I digress.) I also noticed that when I blog more often, I get more hits per entry... go figure. Gotta keep it current.

So, with that in mind, I recently made a deal with myself to blog more often, shooting for twice a week. I realize I'm going to have to be entertaining to keep you coming back. Unfortunately, my brain is shutting down from papers and studying and school projects and work projects and elementary school stuff, and kid stuff and Friends' stuff and my stuff and at some point if I kept going along this vein your eyes would being seeing the words but your brain would be hearing the following, and you'd probably be doing what Peppermint Patty is doing here:

So, I've been scoping out other blogs for sources of entertainment for you people. One technique I discovered for those "hard to come up with material" days is the photo essay. 

SO, for your entertainment and edification, I now present to you a photo essay from a recipe someone sent me on email. I actually posted this on Facebook about 6 months ago... but I'm short on brainpower and this is easy. If you don't enjoy it, I'm sorry. (But will you please please please keep coming back anyway?)

Five Minute Chocolate Cake

Warning! Dangerous! Continue at your own risk! If you read this you will be only five minutes away from chocolate cake at any given time!!!!

First you need these... a tablespoon a butter knife...
and you also need a large coffee mug (not shown)

Put 4 tablespoons of this in the mug

Then 4 tablespoons of this

Then 2 tablespoons of this...
Stir all the dry ingredients with the butter knife until 
well blended...

Break this and put it in the mug...
Stir stir stir with the butter knife until well blended...

Add 3 tablespoons of this

Then 3 tablespoons of this...
Stir stir stir

Now 3 tablespoons of these, stir stir stir

Just a splash of this, stir, stir stir

All stirred up it looks like this!

Pop it in here, if it's 1000 watt, just set for 3 minutes, 
if it's stronger, lower the power setting. 
I set mine for 9 but I think 8 might have been better. 
It will start growing

And growing

And GROWING EVEN MORE!!! 
(Next time I think I will try a bigger mug,
 but the recipe said it would grow out of the top)

Take your butter knife and run it around the edges... 
Dump it on a plate...
Have a little taste...

And the verdict is... pretty darn tasty! *

Makes enough for 3 really, but B.B. didn't want any!
Ice cream makes it PERFECT!

Enjoy!


* Thanks for playing, uh, neighbor kid...

Aaaaah! and Texting with the MC

Okay, all of you who encouraged me and said I could do this grad school thing and be a single mom and hold a job/manage an internship: WHAT WERE YOU THINKING!!!!

If you're guilty of this, please raise your hand...

(Looking up seeing hand) Oh, this was originally MY idea wasn't it? (Well, sort of)

I have 4 baskets of clean laundry still waiting to be folded... (Okay, so that's not really new).

I have a new shower curtain somewhere in this mess that once resembled our living space... if I could find it to put it up...

I have a passel of car-wash supplies I bought 2 weeks ago (not to mention a gently used wet/dry vac Daddy gave me 3 weeks ago) hoping I'd find an 2-hour window in which to attack Kermit...

My hair is longer than it's ever been... not because I want it long but because I can't find time to get it cut.

I have SERIOUS grad-school Senioritis...

I have children who are starting to forget what I look like...

Hopefully,  I'll remedy some of that this weekend. Then... between Monday, August 22 and Thanksgiving I'll have two (count them, 1, 2) of  sixteen weekends off until Thanksgiving. I will have eight (count them, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 6, 7, and 8) internship classes to attend from 6-9 pm on every other Thursday night. I will have clinic on Tuesdays, which means no getting home before 7 pm  on seventeen (count them 1, 2, 3... oh nevermind) Tuesdays in that period. Oh, and that doesn't even touch the HOMEWORK I'll be doing, the tests I'll have to take.

But then, I'll be DONE. At least with THIS chapter's struggles. MAN I want a cigarette, but I'm 3 months, 2 weeks and 11 hours smoke-free, so I can't even do THAT!!!

Speaking of done, I'm wrapping up this semester's paperwork this week. Part of that is my evaluation of the Master Counselor, (the MC) then his evaluation of me. As you may have guessed, every now and then, I have to remind Mr. OCD to take a breath to avoid a freak-out. Last night, I had class at 6, but 5:50 I hadn't heard from my babysitter and had to call for backup... knowing class had already begun while I waited. No pressure. To amuse myself, I texted the MC.

Me: What's that I'm always telling you to do? Breathe?

MC: Yes, what's up?

Me: Babysitter didn't show. Waiting for backup... I'm okay... Just not breathing. :-/

Later, in internship class, I got his reply:

MC: S--t happens! (yes, he put the dashes in... sometimes he chooses to show a semblence of tact)

Me: Be nice to me. I'm evaluating you as we speak.

MC: Ya but don't forget, I play a role role in your FINAL grade.

Me: Look here you old coot, you should be looking for grade HIGHER than an A to give to me for putting up with your S--t!

(Okay, so I didn't really send that last one, but I WANTED to.)

Cheat Post

Besides internally debating whether to tell you people about the topic-I-say-I-am-avoiding, I've also been busy working on the "Book of Me" for my Life-cycle Class. I have different assignments for different pages of the book.

I am NOT creative in visual arts. I wish I was. In fact, I wished SO HARD that I was, my journalism degree has a emphasis in advertising and PR... I designed ads for much of the early part of my after-college career. I'm pretty good at figuring out how to use publishing software. I know what I like when I see it. I can create a decent logo and "thematic plan" for company stationery. I can re-create what I see with the right tools, but creating visual magnificence in my own?

Uh, not really.

So, this assignment has been taxing to say the least. I want my stuff to be phenomenal... but the grade doesn't require visual phenomenal. I don't think I'm capable of visual phenomenal anyway. I settled for quick and dirty.

However, I think Dr. A has been sufficiently impressed at my ability to accomplish the unstated goals, while effectively rebelling against the stated parameters, of each and every assignment. Mostly 'cause I'm just charming enough to get by with it. If you can't dazzle them with brilliance, baffle 'em....*

Anyway, since I've been so busy with that stuff, I'm cheating tonight and posting the first assignment, The "Now" of my Life. The assignment (the abbreviated version) was:

Get a recent picture of yourself. Glue it to the center of the memory-book paper. Cut out symbols from the magazines and catalogs to describe:

• Your greatest achievement 
• A disappointment 
• Your values 
• Relationships that are important for you today 
• Hobbies 
• A wish or wishes for the future **

Glue these symbols around your picture. Try NOT to cut out words,*** because symbols can be more graphic. Once you have your collage, use your writing paper to describe what the symbols mean. Write a summary about yourself as you are today.

(When you read the write up, you have to pretend you don't really know me and haven't read How Widowhood Has Impacted My Life a million times, K? K.)

The phrases correspond to the bold type in the write up.
If you click on the picture it will blow it up. I recommend right-clicking
and opening in another tab or window.

The Now of My Life

As I expected, I had a great deal of difficulty finding “symbols” to represent my life. The assignment specified to try to use symbols instead of words, but no pictures I found seemed to reflect my current experiences, values and mindset. Besides, I love to write, I love words.

Although I don’t expect I will see myself as “Deat’s Widow” forever, our marriage, and his life has been the most relevant factor influencing every aspect of my world during the past 13 years. I know his death and the changes it brought continued to impact nearly every facet of the past 3 and ½, as is reflected in the choices I made for this page. 

We start this page in the top right corner, and move clockwise.

The most important of these is the be well, the theme to recovering from this loss, particularly since I often wondered if “well” was something I’d ever be again. My “little problem solvers” are my daughters, and my motivators when I wasn’t finding motivation in any other realm, when I was “hitting myself in the head.” The three of us were/are: “THE BRAVE,” standing together in the face of a devastating loss and facing the world together. Oh, and we are “Incredibly Nice.”

Still, motivation wasn’t enough. Merely surviving wasn’t enough. Depression and sadness was a dead end. I had to set a goal for the future: to get organized, to find joy in the family life I have instead of lamenting the one we had planned but were denied. Perhaps the most empowering step in that process was making the decision to return to school for my master’s degree.

Our life changes still present challenges, and sometimes not everyone in the house is on board with the sacrifices we have to make to get to this new place… sometimes Mommy’s Little Monster rears her little head. But, Life LIVES in our house. Between the positive changes we’re making, our old friends and the new friends who have come into our lives, I have to say, 

I’m Blessed.

* Five extra points for finishing that phrase

** Ten points for finding every one of those things in the write up. (Hurry, I have to tell Dr. A where they are!)
*** I never have excelled in the "follows directions" column of my report card...

Stopping By for a Brief Catch-up

Hellooooo? Anybody here?

(Wiping off a chair) Here, sit down, sit down, I'll put some coffee on. Things get really dusty around here when I don't come in often enough...

I'm sorry I haven't been here to write, it's not because I didn't want to. For the 4 people who check in regularly, I thought about you the whole time I was gone. I was actually DOING STUFF. (Yaay! There was a time in the history of this blog when I didn't want to leave the house!) I composed entry after entry... in my head.

Out and About

I had one about my last visit with Richie and Wendy (shooting pool of course!) but things were busy so I could only memorialize it in pictures (Mostly on Facebook). Richie beat me to death, Wendy is a doll baby, love them both to pieces... nothing big and new, and we didn't discuss anything amazing or earth-shattering. Then again, with great friends you don't have to, it's enough just be together.

Still not digging how I look in these "we took a shot of ourselves" pictures,
 but I'll get used to it. It's the shot of the other two I really wanted anyway

Miscellaneous

I considered one about how much I'm enjoying visiting while the girls are at theater camp, how much I love my Theatre Babies, but you already know that... I am planning some mischief with my Gusto Girlfriends (the theatre Moms) but since many of them read this blog, I'll have be careful what I report... stay tuned!

I thought about writing one about Dr. P and what a great professor he is... epitome of what a counselor should be and all that... but for the girls in my cohort and me, giving Dr. P a hard time is one of the best parts of Internship Group Supervision class... so I really can't write a whole blog entry being NICE to him...

Then there was the one about...  Never mind.

The MC

The one I most wanted to write is about my new internship for this semester, more specifically, to introduce you to my boss. The Master Counselor is a Vietnam Vet, and a graduate of the same master's program I'm in.  Dr. P commented that my supervisor was very good at what he does; so I entered this internship with a teensy level of hero worship going before I even met him. Add to my preconceived visions of him a deep, all-business voice, a blunt no-nonsense approach to nearly everything, plus a wee bit of (admitted on his part) impatience, and I was almost intimidated into submission....

Best description I can give it: He likes some things a certain way, I'm particular about certain other things... we get together and play musical OCD. I would have written an entire blog about him a couple weeks ago, but privacy is also in his list of hang-ups, so I had to ask permission first, knowing his answer would be a big, fat NO. It took me a week to get up the nerve to ask him.

"I promise not to use your name!'

"Oh, well I guess that's okay then"

I had no intention of using his name in the first place. To me, referring to him as "The Master Counselor" is  infinitely more amusing. I, of course, am "The Counselor's Apprentice."



(No kidding, every now and then when we're having a round and round discussion, I hear the music that starts at around 2:15 start playing in my head. If I'm not careful, I can see the MC resorting to the action at 8:52.)

However, I think we're getting the hang of each other. I'm there to learn, he's willing to teach. He has a ton of experience... seems to enjoy passing his learning along, and he's stinkin' brilliant. (Don't tell him I said that.) Sometimes I learn as much at lunch as I learn in an entire weekend of classes. I bring some technology experience to the table that's come in handy lately, and he makes an effort to let me know it's appreciated... which means a great deal to me. PLUS... he counsels from a holistic perspective, including the spiritual. I think God stuck me right where I needed to be.

Wish I could write more, but there's a pile of laundry the size of a VW Bug on my bed waiting to be folded. (Well, I won't be folding it tonight, but I wanted you to know it got put off so I could get this much typed out.)

I'll try to get back here soon, promise. Lock up on the way out...

Go forth and Zumba your little brains out, Pollyanna!

Survival tool

I'm still smoke free. I made it to one month on the second of June, and forgot to celebrate, so I'm doing that now, with a fresh piece of nicotine gum... aaaaahhh.








Observations and Addictive-Thinking Randomness

1. The cigarette is still a much more efficient nicotine delivery system than the gum... you can "dose" yourself much more effectively to your craving. That said, I don't want a cigarette.
    
2. I don't want one because I'm finally out of the "habit" of smoking. I'm still addicted to nicotine, but I'm out of the habit. I have stepped down from 4mg gum to 2mg gum. Smoke-free is an accomplishment, but I have no illusions that my addiction is gone.
   
   
3. The nicotine gum you buy now isn't like the old kind (rubbery and gross). I'm not a huge gum fan, but since it delivers my nicotine, I'm liking it more.
   
   
4. It's interesting that I'm starting this at the same time I'm starting my addictions counseling internship. For example: One of the things you learn when studying addictions is that for the addict, the physical acts surrounding the addiction start to stimulate the same centers of the brain as the drug itself does: the act of procuring the drug, the acts preparing to use the drug. i.e.making the buys; laying out the paraphernalia; for a cocaine addict, making the lines; for an IV user, tying off their arm.
   
   Anyway, the day I bought Kermit, I forgot to bring any of my gum with me. After 3-4 hours at the dealership I started getting antsy, the feeling I'd have when I'd normally ask around if anyone had a cigarette... so I asked around if anyone had any nicotine gum. One guy said no, but he had some plain gum... (gum that happened to be the same size, shape, and flavor as my nicotine gum.) As soon as I started chewing it I felt better, even with no nicotine. Weird, huh?
   
   
5. I still have some of that sardonic bitterness I had when I first quit. However, all those things reformed smokers annoyingly use to try to convince you to quit, telling you about how great it is to be a non-smoker? Um, well, they are starting to be "real" to me.
   
   For example, I can REALLY smell the lilacs in my backyard now. Food does taste better. I can really smell smoke on other people now and I'm relieved that my clothes don't smell like that anymore. I really have more energy to get things done around here (either that, or I just need something to do with my hands since I don't have a cigarette in them, but that works, too).
   
   Gee, I hope I don't start sounding that annoying. I probably will, (Okay, I just did. Anyway...) but I'm already pretty annoying in other ways, adding one more way will be okay if it keeps me smoke-free.
   
   
6. The "coughing up gross stuff" you get warned about? It's not as bad as I've been told, at least not so far. It doesn't happen that often and it does remind me why I don't want to smoke anymore.
   
   
7. Fighting the weight gain is going to suck. I think I've gained 7 pounds!
   
   Ah well, I've come farther with not smoking than I ever imagined I would, let's see how I can do with not eating. Hey, I could start a good exercise regimen now. At least I won't lose my breath so easily.
   
   (Okay, that last note of positive-thinking was annoying, even to me.)

Forbidden Love

Have I mentioned I hate big decisions? I do. What a REALLY hate are the conversations six months later.

"I wish I had zigged. If I only had zigged instead of zagged..."

(Oh, you noticed that I started this post with an "I hate.."?  Why yes, I am still smoke-free, why do you ask?)

We are now entering the standard "Big Long Story" portion of the post: the part that exists to befuddle you before we tie the opening statement and the title all together at the end. You may proceed.

Daisy the Dakota is dying, a slow and painful death. A couple of months ago, I noticed anytime Daisy idled (for instance, at a stoplight) her oil pressure gauge dropped to nothing. I've had her looked at twice for that, with various parts changed to no avail. Now, I just rev Daisy to keep her oil pressure up instead of allowing her to idle. The people ahead of me in the Mickey D's drive-thru LOVE when I do that!

Last week (on the one day it didn't rain) I turned on her air conditioning for the first time this year. I watched her temperature gauge immediately rush to the danger zone. Fortunately, we weren't far from home and when I turned her heater on it dropped again; the girls and I only had to play mobile sauna for about a mile.

And, Monday, she reminded me that wet weather just DOES NOT suit her; she died in the parking lot at P.D.'s school. She made all those teasing noises that say "If you'll just keep trying to start me, I might just go..." as behooves her sadistic tendencies. Of course, this was before I got B.B. dropped off, and only 45 minutes before my scheduled follow-up meeting in C-town for a THE internship... the one that is far more amazing than any I imagined I would be lucky enough to land... the one where the supervisor-to-be (The MC) specified in our previous meeting that I'd need reliable transportation.

Of course, I did what any resourceful single mom with all the emotional control of a counselor-to-be would do in this situation: I proceeded straight to my much-deserved nervous breakdown; then called Sabrina crying hysterically. Sabrina was able to decipher enough of my gibberish to come and get us, take me to drop off B.B., and calm me down enough to notify The MC that I'd be about 20 minutes late. She even thought to bring a book to read so she wouldn't be bored during my meeting.

God loves me. He gave me Sabrina.

As we drove to C-town, we discussed my need to buy something reliable. I told Sabrina I began looking the Friday before, after my first meeting with Mr. F (edit: now known as The MC). I whined about having such a hard time finding something I could afford without mega-miles on the odometer. She asked me what I had priced, then stopped me.

"Kelly, those are all trucks."

"Uh, yeah."

"Why haven't you looked at any cars?"

Because I drive a truck. I've driven a standard-shift truck, of one make or another, nearly my whole adult life. I belong in a truck. Really, would I look right in a sedan? A coupe? Pul-eeze. My truck is an extension of who I am.

Okay,  I learned to like Kitty, I learned to trust her. She was responsive and aimed to please. But she was an exception. I'd be okay if Kitty was still around, but even if Lying Lady had not lied, and her insurance company had paid, Kitty's repairs would cost more than her book value. I didn't think I'd find another Kitty.

Sabrina reminded me/enlightened me about a few things on our trip that day:

1. I, apparently, am such a boy!
   "You fix plumbing, you took apart your mower, you have your own tool-box. You talk about trucks the way most women talk about jewelry."
   Well, okay, yeah, I knew that. I'd much rather do the "honey-do's" than the housework.
   
   
2. "You need to get over the idea that you need a truck. Trucks are expensive to buy, and expensive to own. You need a car if for no other reason than the gas-mileage."
    Well, yeah, I knew that, too. Auto companies stopped making fuel-efficient trucks in the 90's.
   
   
3. Driving a person around who seldom rides with other people (and who has A.D.D. to boot) is much like driving around with Sabrina's Labrador in the front seat. Said person is used to watching the road, so when said person doesn't have to, said person's head zips around with a similar zeal.
   "Oooh, look at that! And that! And THAT!"
   Apparently, taking me places is quite amusing.

I accept Sabrina's assessments, and I at least told her I accepted # 2.

After my meeting, she took me to a car lot she recommended because she knew the owner was a stand-up guy. She waited in her car while I looked.

I even gave that older model red Grand Am serious consideration. I dickered with the salesman for a better deal (and, according to Sabrina, I am such a boy at negotiation too.) But then, the salesman had to mention it...

The 2003 F-150 extended cab that they were repairing at the shop up the street to get it ready to sell. Clean title. 93,000 miles.She booked for $8,000. Had a loan value of $6,800. Might be able to let me have it for $5,400.  You can go look at it if you like...

I got back in with Sabrina and tried to look nonchalant.

"I don't know about that car, Sabrina, I think I better let my father-in-law look at it..."

"Oh, stop, you forgot all about that car the second he mentioned that truck."

Sigh.

After lunch Sabrina took me back to Daisy who by this time was feeling much drier and more cooperative. I took Daisy straight my mechanic and insisted he check her distributor cap. Yep. Thirty minutes and fifty bucks  later we were back in business.

I tried not to think about that F-150, even as I was turning the wrong way (toward the car lot's shop. not home) out of my mechanic's.

I went to see her. She's beautiful. V-6 motor. A milky silver color. Supercab. Sport package. Two rear suicide doors that preserve her sleek lines. (I'm not into Crew Cabs.) Black bed cover. Lots of leg room up front, acceptable leg room in the back. Good stereo. Automatic transmission, but I can overlook that. Automatic windows. Keychain door locks. (I never had THOSE before!) I looked it up, she'd likely get 14 mpg in the city and 20 mpg on the highway...

I *could* make my route back and forth to my internship highway miles as much as possible...



She looks a lot like this one, but with a bed cover instead of that silly rack. I'd look good tooling around in that, no?

Yesterday I took her paperwork to run it by Perry, one of Deat's closest friends here in L-town. He said No.

Last night I called Pat the Wonder Brother and told him about her. He said No.

Tomorrow, I'll take G. and V. to see her so they can say no.

Mostly because I know I should, but I don't want to say no.

I've always secretly wanted an F-150, but it just does not appear to be in the cards for me. I'm going to have to say no.

I hate making big decisions because I have to be PRACTICAL.

But wouldn't "Felicity" be a nice name for her?

Worth It

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!!!!!

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!

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!

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!”